Urban Gothic

by Stephen Coghlan

  Downcast but determined, Veleda stepped from the copse onto her family’s land. Wherever they were, the area was not unfamiliar to Alec. The cold air left the ground hard and brittle with frost, while a lake of fire burned nearby and a pond of glass shimmered across the lot. The flat roofed buildings seemed to indicate a milder climate, despite the bitter chill.

  Shrugging, Alec followed his charge. He paused as a two-headed goat trotted across his path, bleating and leaping before it disappeared into a bramble. Marching silhouettes still crossed his path, but they weren’t quite as difficult to ignore, and Alec wondered if they had faded a little in his eyes.

  As the music of the glen vanished, Alec felt on edge, but Veleda seemed happy, yet nervous. “This way,” she indicated, ducking between two multi-colored shacks and darting through the shadows between them. They crossed through two yards fenced in stone and clay. Emerging from a narrow ditch, Alec saw a three story circular building that had a domed roof and was surrounded by outbuildings, stables, and a barn.

  Although Veleda had led them this far, Alec now took the lead as they entered the main building and found themselves lost among paintings and murals.

  When they reached it, the kitchen was a disaster. Pots, pans, cutlery, and utensils littered the floor or lay haphazardly on the counters and benches. Broken ceramics crunched underfoot, and furniture was dented or smashed as if seized by a giant’s hands. Examining a pot that lay by the oven, Alec was relieved to see the rings of hardened minerals that indicated hours of rest and evaporation.

  Sliding past her guardian, Veleda hurried through a door on the other side of the kitchen. Alec hurriedly pulled a cleaver free from the plaster wall and followed.

  Twists and turns down serpentine corridors that seemed as though they had been chiseled from one giant log left Alec feeling dazed. Clay and cast-iron figurines, curtains of gemstone and silk, surreal frescoes, and tapestries woven from spider webs all played with his eyes as he charged ahead at a dead sprint; desperate to keep Veleda in view. Finally, they emerged from the passage.

  He only had a moment to take in the giant leaves, long petrified by age and shimmering as if crystalline, that formed the arching ceiling. Around him, the great room was filled with a knotted and aged tree, which seemed to breathe, sing, and glow all at once. The air was fresh and moist, sliding comfortably into Alec’s lungs as he caught his breath.

  Veleda was by the great trunk, her arms were outstretched, and the smile she wore was one of bliss and contentment. It was the look of an addict getting her next hit, a babe finally realizing the voice she heard was her mother’s, or the look of a bride walking down the aisle.

  “Mistress!” someone shouted. Alec shifted his weight, and the heavy blade of a cutlass sliced through the air, barely missing his head. Bringing his right arm into play, the stout staff he still carried crashed into the face of an anthropomorphic lamb, knocking the first of his several attackers senseless.

  Alec blocked a descending wood axe from another with the staff before the cleaver he carried bit deeply between the new attacker’s shoulder and body.

  A scraggily-dressed knave followed, wielding a dark onyx blade ornately touched with gold and swinging from below. For a third time, the staff parried the jab. Alec released the wood and caught the attacker's wrist with both hands.

  “Don't”

  Veleda’s voice was loud and desperate, but the pulse beating in his ears rendered Alec practically deaf, even as he bent the knave’s wrists inwards, pulling him off balance.

  “Kill”

  Memories flooded back. He was beating the young mugger who had dared to rob him, grabbing the youth by the throat. He was in the house, struggling with an insurgent who had just tried to disembowel him with a dagger while Sylvain, Frederick, and Kiso hurried to help—

  Shooting forward, Alec wrapped his fingers around his attacker’s windpipe. He squeezed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he prepared for the motion that would snap the neck.

  “Them!”

  Then he was Alec again, and he knew what he had to do. The attackers were not professional warriors; they were farmers, workers, and servants. A push-kick slammed the knave against the wall where he sagged, stunned into silence.

  All but one of the remaining mob hesitated. A thin, smoke-shrouded wraith dressed in dark robes that absorbed the surrounding light advanced.

  Grinning, Alec ran forward. Just before they collided, he ducked and rolled, disappearing into the swirling mists. He emerged from the maelstrom on his toes. His hand shot out and clutched the living shadow’s throat. Lifting the figure off its feet with one hand, he blocked the thrust of a thin blade with his free hand. Alec twisted and slammed his opponent into the unforgiving wooden floor. Stunned, the dark one released its blades, and the onyx swords rattled away. Their clattering was the only sound in the room.

  Grabbing the figure’s hood, Alec exposed the face of his opponent. Her dark skin was almost as black as the cloak she wore, but was lighter than the tattoo whose curved lines wrapped around her features, crossing over her high cheekbones, across her long, narrow nose, around her dark brown eyes, and up to the braided hair that was pulled tight across her scalp. Twin lines ran parallel down her face from her forehead to her lips.

  Turning her head away from Alec’s piercing gaze, his opponent looked into Veleda's violet orbs. She spoke in a voice that was deep and smooth, and carried an accent that Alec could not identify. She whispered, yet it seemed to echo about the room. “Welcome home, mistress.”

  “M'lanth!” Veleda cried in relief.

  Releasing his hold, Alec stood and extended his hand to his defeated foe. When she took the offering of peace, her sleeve fell back to reveal arcane glowing tattoos that started just after her wrist and continued all of the way up her arm. She was light, weighing almost nothing in his hold, but she found her footing without issue, and her bare feet seemed to hold the ground as if she were welded to it.

  As the dark warrior embraced the Seer, Alec brushed dust from his pants and chuckled. “I assume you two are friends?”

  No one shared his humor, and a small collection of servants murmured beneath their breaths and stared at Alec in horror. Pointing into the masses, Alec demanded a translation.

  “They say you are ‘him’,” someone called from the crowd.

  “Who's ‘him?’” Alec snapped back.

  “It’s not,” another voice joined the fray. “He moves differently, and he's skinnier.”

  “Who is ‘him’?!” Alec yelled.

  “Tend to the wounded.” M'lanth ordered.

  Veleda knelt near the one whom Alec had hacked with the cleaver and cried out, “Find a doctor! He’s been hurt by a Crafter.”

  The crowd pulled back in fear. Some threw themselves against the farthest walls, while others performed whatever gestures were relevant to invoke the mercy of their deity. Some even hid their faces or stared in reverence.

  “Hurry!” M’lanth’s cry caused a rush of activity.

  Guilt flowed through Alec’s heart as he watched the wounded being carted away, but then his soul hardened. They had attacked him first; he had only been defending himself.

  M’lanth spoke to the remaining mob, “I want a perimeter formed in case any of the unbound king’s goons show up.”

  Everyone scrambled to follow her orders except the one whose blade Alec had taken. The knave came forward to claim it, but shifting his weight, Alec leveled the knife at the man's throat.

  “Victor's spoils,” he growled.

  When the knave seemed fit to protest, M'lanth silenced any objection.

  “You were useless with that blade, K'tath.” She reminded the peasant. “If you take back your dagger, you can come with us, but you will die, and he will claim it as his own then anyway.”

  Shrinking against the threat, the man retreated alongside the other peasants and farmers who hurried to their duties. Plucking up the scabbard that the knave had hurriedly left for him, Alec secur
ed his weapon and walked back to the two women, who chatted quietly by the roots of the gigantic tree.

  “You should not have come back.” M’lanth spoke in her crystalline voice. “But I'm glad you did.”

  “It’s not for long.” Veleda replied. “We've just come to get supplies.”

  “Let's hurry, then.” M'lanth moved forward as if to guide Veleda from the room. Unwilling to let her take Veleda out of his sight, Alec blocked her path, one hand on his appropriated blade. Both fighters remained seemingly relaxed, but they sized each other up nevertheless. The earlier battle may have ended in Alec’s favor, but he was certain that M’lanth had not revealed all of her tricks.

  “Stand down,” the woman insisted. “No harm will come to our Lady in my presence.”

  Alec tensed. I

  t was as close to saying ‘move it or lose it’ as she was going to get.

  “We will be fine, Alec. My shadow-knight and I will return in moments.” Veleda reassured her companion. “Please, make yourself at home.”

  With those words, M’lanth brushed past Alec as if he were little more than an idle statue, and focused her attention back towards Veleda.

  “Your family…” the warrior began.

  “I know.” Veleda answered sadly, presumably interrupting so she did not have to relive whatever horrors she had already endured.

  Then they were gone.

  Left alone, Alec rested his back against the giant tree. Once more, the beat of the dreamscape filled his head. Closing his eyes, he lifted his arms and welcomed the beauty of it into his soul. The music he heard was the sound of a thousand chimes singing gently across a faraway plain. Alongside the crystal whispers was a deep and resonant beat, slightly slower than that of his heart. It rose and fell gently with each breath, pulsing in his ears and chest. He could almost taste the tranquility. His ears felt—not heard—the shifting tones, and his very muscles trembled with each throb.

  Then it was over, interrupted by the return of his companions. Veleda had changed her leggings and had replaced her beaten top; M'lanth held a new bundle of gear in her arms.

  With an underhand toss, she threw a ration pack to Alec. He caught it one-handed, and she ordered, “Eat and gain strength, guardian.”

  “Guardian?” he asked.

  “Have you not protected our Lady thus far?”

  “I have.”

  “Then,” M’lanth turned back to her preparations, “you are her guardian.”

  Alec processed this for a moment, then shrugged and unwrapped the meal. She was right; he supposed as he bit into the soft, buttery pastry filled with meat and vegetables, he had taken up the role without much thought. To hear it aloud renewed his determination.

  Once he had finished his food, Alec looked at the shadow-knight and nodded his thanks.

  “So, you travel with us?”

  Momentarily disappearing from the room and returning with a rucksack, Veleda tossed it to her newly appointed guardian. “M'lanth will accompany us. We will appreciate her presence.”

  “Where to now?” he asked, adjusting the weight of the bag on his back that he was still free to fight and draw his new blade.

  “Back to the forest.” M'lanth answered. “And onward from there.”

  The two warriors prepared to leave, but stopped when the woman they had both sworn to protect failed to follow. Looking at Alec, M’lanth nodded to indicate he should talk to Veleda. Stepping softly, he returned to his charge’s side.

  "This is your house?" Alec asked in awe.

  "Kind of," Veleda answered. "The top floor of our community hall belongs to my blood, and the other floors belong to my second uncle and my distant cousin, but it’s all been ransacked an no one's home. None of my family is here."

  Her hands clenched until her vermillion nails pierced her palms. Crimson blood trickled over her pale skin in an outward sign of the force of her emotions.

  "A long time ago, my ancestors fed the viewing tree their life-force when it was time to move on from this realm. In time, it came to give us this home. Since our blood was infused with it, the tree became a magnifier for our powers. It is so connected to us that we learn to talk to it when we're born."

  "What's it saying to you now?" Alec asked.

  "It’s lonely." Veleda responded with a sigh. She closed her eyes and laid one slender hand against the trunk of the tree. Alec watched as rivulets of blood ran down the grooves in the rough bark. At that moment, the room seemed to grow more vibrant and energetic. When he looked back at her again, the smile she wore reminded Alec of a wolf about to consume its prey.

  “And it’s my duty to bring our family back.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The fields were empty as they passed the houses on their way back to the glen, and Alec saw no one, but felt as though they were being watched. At first, he assumed it was the villagers on guard, but as he set foot on the grassy field, sorrowful trumpeting rang out from the trees.

  Loosening her blades from their scabbards, M’lanth let her cloak swirl into vapor, covering most of her body in shadows.

  Taking note, Alec prepared to draw his blade as surreptitiously as he could.

  “Who waits for us?” the shadow-knight asked of the Seer. “The caution comes from the glen itself.”

  In answer, Veleda winked at Alec, wearing a mirthless smile. “Due to my ancestry, the wandering field is on our side. You wished to know what happened to those who disrespected the trees? They are asking you to give them fertilizer for their roots.”

  “And who are we to deny such a request?” The shadow-knight’s smile reminded Alec of a snake before it strikes. As the swirling mist overcame her, she vanished into the woods.

  Stepping off the beaten path and into the moss and trees, Alec approached the glen. Veleda walked directly down the path as an easy target, hammering her heels into the earth and forcing the dozen enemy troops ahead to take notice.

  “Welcome back, Seer of Neviah,” one of the soldiers sneered. He was part man and part machine. The wires that hung from his head glistened and glowed in a kind of Morse code that symbolized the transfer of data. His eyes were lenses, constantly shifting as they adjusted to his surroundings. His body was armored in beige plastic and metal and cooled by grilled fans that hummed softly.

  “Your Lord and Master wishes to have a word with you,” sneered a man in a pristine business suit as he stepped around the machine man. Removing his sunglasses to clean them, he exposed empty sockets, through which a red light glowed from the very back of his skull.

  “He is not, and never will be, my Lord,” Veleda hissed.

  “He is this land’s ruler…” the man in the suit began.

  “This land’s disputed ruler,” she countered, jutting her chin forward.

  The machine man began to argue, but stopped himself. His head jerked from side to side spasmodically as the lenses whirred to focus on something distant. “She's not alone.” Training the lenses directly on where Alec hid, the cyborg hissed. It sounded more like the screeching of an old modem than a noise any biological being could make.

  “You have delivered after all,” the eyeless one laughed. His chuckle sounded like dry leaves being crushed.

  “Do not jump to conclusions,” The man of flesh and machine sounded tinny, as if he had entirely surrendered to his robotic side. “Data insufficient. I cannot provide a positive ID.”

  Only the apparent leader remained fixated on the Seer now. The rest spread into a circle, weapons ready and staring into the bush.

  “Reveal yourself,” said a knight whose onyx armor seemed to be hammered into his flesh. The exposed edges of his skin oozed with pus and ichor. “Or our captive dies.” Alec saw a gaunt figure standing beside the armored behemoth, a rope wrapped around their neck.

  “Va chier! Go to shit!” Alec responded, refusing the dark knight’s demand.

  Unamused at such an unhelpful reply, the eyeless one casually waved a hand towards the knight.

  Wrenching
the noose tighter around the captive's neck, the dark knight forced the figure to his knees. Despite the fibers biting into the flesh of his throat, the prisoner looked Veleda in the eyes and rasped out, “Run!”

  Alex felt a rare moment of concern as he recognized the man’s face.

  In the realm of Banality, Frederick was a shell of a man; rarely conscious and barely alive. A buried bomb had cost him the use of his legs, and flames from the blast had melted his skin, seared his lungs, and left him in constant agony. In the other realm, he spent his days in a drug-induced haze. Between rare moments of lucidity, he mumbled of faraway lands and sights beyond description.

  Frederick’s ramblings finally made sense; he had been trying to tell Alec of his doppelgänger’s adventures. It was little wonder that he had chosen bedlam over Banality. Gone were the scars, replaced with healthy glowing skin. His wasted and atrophied limbs now twitched with barely restrained energy, and his eyes, once dulled by drugs and pain, now glimmered vibrantly.

  “I swear to you bastards,” Alec’s voice echoed off the surrounding trees. “If any of you bring harm to him, I will send you to Hell.”

  Emitting a mechanical sound that might have been a laugh, the machine man turned with one hand raised.

  The stone that thudded against the mechanical man’s head was small but fast, and from the wound poured numbers, letters, and symbols that coursed down his neck.

  Snarling, the man in the suit tore off his glasses and sought out the origin of the projectile, only for a flying sword to cleave his head in two. The heavy blade split his face vertically as it dug deep through flesh and bone. He fumbled desperately with both hands to push his head back together before falling to the soft grass.

  Desperate to save his friend, Alec rushed forward from his cover as the dark knight brought his blade down towards Frederick’s neck. He knew he would be too late even as he charged.

  Suddenly, an unusually supple maple branch wrapped around the knight’s sword arm and yanked him from his feet, flinging him into the pond, where the heavy armor he wore dragged him to the bottom.