Crown, Rumor, Spirit

Eorlan exhaled in frustration, and rubbed his temples. The crown seemed heavier with each passing day.

He longed for the days that he'd never get back--riding his horse for weeks in any direction he pleased. Foraging for supplies, finding himself in a new bed each night, with a new companion beside him. The life of a prince is one without cares. His responsibilities were few, and his freedom great. He took a great many hobbies, not the least of which was sampling all of the fine wares--and all the fine daughters--of every farmer and merchant within forty leagues of the castle.

Expectation was always waiting for him when he got home. Disappointment from his father, quiet silence from his mother. They couldn't see that it was the pressure to be kingly that made him run away.

And now they never would.

It had only been a month since the death of his parents, and the Kingdom was still in shock. So was he, he supposed. The crown was still fitted to his fathers' head, it still smelled of his wine, and tasted of his sweat. Not that Eorlan had sampled it, but a King becomes quite intimate with his crown in a very short while.

And what is a king without a queen? His mother had selected a suitable match for him, a beautiful young girl from a high family. She was certainly beautiful, and very well may have the intellect and strength to rule beside him. But all he could see was the thousands of women he would never get to fuck again, at least not without inciting a civil war. Oh sure, a King could rightly have any woman in the Kingdom he wanted--but Meneira's father had no doubt paid a handsome price to make sure that the next King came from his daughters belly. He would not have her honor undone.

He sighed again. There were worse fates in this world than having to fuck in secret. And now, as King, he had much greater things on his mind.

Like the letter he held in his hand.

Dark rumors were swirling to the north. Beyond the Great Ocean word had come from the Colony at Crag Mountain. Reports were vague and dark. Past the expanse of the Nir fields, something older than man was rising. They had not a name for this power, but there were legends enough in this new land.

Already they had discovered the Nir, a proud, stout people who dwelled in massive structures rising from the flat plains their slaves tended for them. They were smart, and they were rich, but they were passive. No one knew what laid inside their towers, and the Nir weren't ready to let anyone know but themselves. But they were fine living alongside and even trading with the race of Man.

But no warning was ever given to what laid beyond their lands. As the Colony expanded its territory, launching subcolonies across the new unspoilt continent...it soon became apparent that this continent was not new at all. There were old things here, ancient ruins with indecipherable script and haunted by old spirits from when the world still had magic.

He shuddered. Magic. The very thought sent shivers down to his feet, and shot back up into his temples.

And now men were missing. And the ones who returned could speak only of giants that walked like trees, and shot blue fire from their fingertips. Tall crystal cities that appeared out of nowhere, only to disappear within an hours time.

They were mad.

He hoped to the gods that they were mad.

seesaw, row, aroma

Aurora had always thought the ocean would be still. But she had never been on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean before, so it was hard to say for sure.

Of course maybe that was because of the shipwreck that had just happened.

She had always been alone, but there had always been other people around. Now she was alone, in a rowboat, without oars, in the middle of the ocean. And it WAS still. And she WAS alone.

She smiled.

"Finally." She said, to the ocean.

She laid back in the boat and took a nap.

---

"Help!" Came a voice, waking Aurora. She rolled her eyes, and begrudgingly sat up.

"Help!"

The voice was coming from a small boy, even smaller than herself, clutching the side of a plank with all his strength, since he wanted to continue living for some reason. The boy was dressed in a tiny black suit that someone else had picked out, and he had somehow managed to balance a large black chest on the plank of wood that was currently serving as his lifeline.

"What do you want?" said Aurora.

The boy was not expecting that question. He panted, "I had hoped that would be obvious."

"Well it's not. What do you want?" Aurora repeated.

"I'd like to continue living, for one. As such, if I may request asylum on your vessel and storage for my belongings, I would be most appreciative."

Aurora sulked. She was looking forward to some peace and quiet, and finally some alone time. She never got to be alone. If it wasn't her parents, it was her baby sister it seemed like. Someone was always talking to her about something she didn't care. Whenever she did listen, she was sorry she had, since now she had to do something. She hated responsibility, and hated owing someone for no reason other than the fact that they had asked you.

And now that they were all dead and at the bottom of the ocean, she thought she had absolutely nothing to worry about.

Her stomach grumbled.

"Do you have food?" She asked

"What?"

"In that large black chest, is there food?"

"I...there might be some trail mix or something,"

She sighed. It's not like she'd be able to shake him. It's hard to shake a tail in the middle of the ocean without oars.

"Fine. You can come on. But only if you promise not to say anything."

He stopped, taken aback.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

"Well?"

"I wanted to agree, but I wasn't sure when we were starting."

"Let's start after you get onboard." And she extended her arm out towards him.

---

She wished that she had noticed his aroma before she had let him on the boat. The mix of boy-musk and the smell of a new suit that had been sitting in ocean water for most of the day wasn't a great combination, but a promise is a promise, and she would hold up her end.

And as it turned out, the boy would hold up his end as well. It had been a week since he'd climbed onboard the boat, and she hadn't heard a peep out of him in that entire time. He wasn't like most boys. Most boys would have lasted 5 minutes without opening their mouths.

But as it turned out, he didn't just have some trail mix, he also had some books. And that was enough to keep the two of them occupied. It was good that neither of them got seasick, or the trail mix wouldn't have stayed in their stomach for long.

They ate about half of the trail mix before Aurora realized they should start looking for more food. She fashioned a fish hook out of a hairpin and pulled a thread from the boys suit, and they were able to catch some small fish using some of the dried fruit as bait.

"You don't have a grill in there, do you?"

He shook his head.

She smiled, "What about a Sushi roller?"

He smiled, knowing it was a joke.

"I probably should have thought ahead on this one a little more, huh?"

He nodded with a smile and returned to his book.

Suddenly, Aurora felt like she was being ignored, and that upset her more than the idea of a lack of quiet.

"Okay, you can talk now if you want."

The boy looked unsure.

"I'm Aurora."

The boy squeaked. "Braden."

And then for the first time in their lives, both Aurora and Braden had a friend.

Cemetary, Wire, Accident

The shovel hit something solid in the ground.

"Here we are." The Old one said to the Young one.

The young one peeked out from behind his jury-rigged computer setup strewn all about his small metal cart.

"That's what I thought. You would have gotten to the coffin hours ago if you had just digged there first."

"Dug."

"Excuse me?"

"The correct past tense form of the word 'Dig is 'Dug' not 'Digged'. Can't you look that up on your computer there?"

The Young one steamed, while the Old one continued. "And besides, this isn't where your mess of wires told me to dig. I'd still be slogging out dirt if I had listened to that abomination."

"You shouldn't be so dismissive of technology. It's just a tool, the same as your shovel."

"Maybe. I'd hate to dig a hole with it, though. Now get down here and help me clear this out. I don't want to be in this cemetary all night"

It took a few minutes, but the dirt was soon cleared away, revealing the length of the wooden coffin.

"Now lets take a look at that pretty face." The Old one said, pulling the top of the coffin off.

"Oh God," said the Young one. In the coffin was a young girl, not older than 16. "She looks so peaceful..."

"She looks dead to me." the Old one said, and to show his point pulled up one of her hands and let it flop back to her side.

"Stop it." Said the Young one.

"Jesus man, she's already dead. What do you want me to do?"

"I...I don't know."

The Young one had obviously gotten worked up over this. He stepped back and composed himself. "How do you think she died?"

The Old one surveyed her "No obvious wounds...of course the funeral home would have cleaned that up anyway. Car Accident? Disease maybe?"

He stood up and looked at her. "Only one way to find out."

On cue, the Young one grabbed the mess of wires from the cart and dragged them over to the girls head. He attached them carefully to specific points along her skull.

"Ready?" Said the Old one, after a while.

"Ready." Said the Young one. "Beginning download."

Rhinoceros, crisps, runway

Rhino huffed, his nostrils swelling to twice their size.

"There's no need for that, Sir Rhinoceros. I assure you our plan is quite secure." Said Vizier Stork. He touched a wing to his beak, "And I know a thing or two about keeping things secure."

This made Rhino huff no less. "I serve the King; I do not serve the Stork. You'll have to convince him of this folly. Until then, I wash my horn of this matter." He turned slowly around, and stomped out of the secret meeting underneath the shade of the Wide Tree.

Meerkat snacked loudly on a bag of spider crisps. "Well, I suppose that's that, then."

Stork tried to calm Meerkat and the others at the meeting. "Of course not. I'm sure Sir Rhino will come around in time."

"I think you'd have an easier time convincing King Lion than that old brute. If you ask me, we don't need either of them."

Baboon quietly raised a finger, "We have brains, but no strength with which to back it up. Who will take and protect this new kingdom, I ask? An army of your kin, Meerkat? Or perhaps you'll convince the Elephants to pay mind to someone other than than Elephantkind? Or maybe you mean to turn the Hippo into a warrior?"At that, everyone laughed at their expense. Hippo turned an even darker shade of red, while Meerkat slowly steamed.

When the laughter had died down, Meerkat began slowly, "You underestimate me, good Baboon. My allies are greater in number and in kind than you might think." He snapped another spider crisp into his mouth. "Spymaster!"

In an instant, Leopard dropped down from his unseen perch atop the Wide Tree. The animals drew away in fear, giving him a wide berth.

Meerkat smiled, enjoying the baboon's skittering especially. "Tell us what you have seen, Leopard."

Leopard described the camp his cold, emotionless eyes had seen. "A few tents, some artillery, and a runway. There aren't many in number now, but they mean to stay. And they will only grow."

Baboon regained his composure, and scoffed. "and do you mean to have an army of spies to go against the Human scourge? You cannot hope to do this without consent of the King."

It was Stork's turn to chime in. "You leave that to me. Cheetah!"

The slender, tiny-boned cat slinked from his bed beneath the tree. "If you please, could you summon our friends the Hyenas? I believe they have a favor owed to us."

Cheetah nodded, and took off in pursuit of their new dark allies.

Baboon shook his head. "I too, can take no part in this."

Meerkat spat onto the ground. "Why can none of you see what is happening here? I have seen the man-cities that stand in place of the jungles of my cousin mongoose. Do you think they mean anything different here? They push out all others and destroy the land wherever they go. There is no one that is safe, no not one. If the King and his loyals want to sit by and be slaughtered, then they need only wait and do nothing. But for me, I will not stand by and wait to die. I will strike, now, while I still can. You can tell that to your king." He threw down the bag and climbed on top of the Stork. "Let us leave these short-sighted simpletons."

"As you wish, Lord Meerkat."

Cheese, Prejudice, Tartan

"There is only one way that this ends." bellowed a burly man on the other side of the field. He was large and angry, but clearly not a soldier. He appeared to be their leader, but perhaps that was only because he was the largest and the angriest. 


'Army' seemed a rather generous description of the band of men and women in front of MacLeod. A half-dozen pitchforks raised in the air, and half as many tartans. This wasn't an army, this was every able-bodied human being in the entire village. Standing together to defend their homes, their cows, and their cheese. How adorable.


MacLeod thought sweet words would most likely be wasted on such a group of hard-line believers. "I disagree, General Cheesebeard. There are precisely two ways that this ends. I'm afraid neither are what you would prefer."


His jabs only made the large man grow larger and redder. "This ends with your head on a spike, as a sign to anyone else who would demand tribute. No king has ever come to Owenfield. We do not bow."


MacLeod smiled. "Well that rules out the easiest option, then. Very well, I shall see you tomorrow." He stirred his horse, turned around and began to trot off towards the forest. 


He could feel the confusion and perhaps even disappointment on the voice of the burly man. "Where do you think you're going?"


Continuing his trot, MacLeod called back "Well I can't very well kill you all by myself, can I?"


That was all the fat man needed. "Oh no you don't." Then, to the crowd behind him, "As one, we charge!" 


They cried in unison, "As one!" and MacLeod heard a rush of feet behind him.


He kept his horse's pace. The peasants were a long way off, and the forest was at least half that distance. 


He pulled an apple out of his saddlebag, and bit down into the sweet-tartness.


He swung his horse around, and found the large leader with his eyes. MacLeod must have been projecting calmness even better than he thought he was, because the leader's eyes were filled with fear. That was all MacLeod was waiting for. 


He pulled a whistle out of his jerkin pocket, and blew a long, loud note into the forest.


The peasants stopped dead in their tracks. But it wouldn't have mattered.

As one, the regal raiding party rode out of the forest, and felled their swords to the peasants necks. It was over almost as soon as it began.


MacLeod rode past the field of bodies, up to the large leader who's prejudice had dared defied him. He was still breathing, and his eyes were as open as the gash on his torso, both of which seemed fixed on MacLeod. 


MacLeod met the man's gaze. "I told you there was another way. While it was my men who killed them, their blood is on your hands just the same." 


The man did not have the strength to answer, but he did have the strength to spit. MacLeod cleaned the spittle and blood off of his shoe.


MacLeod kept his gaze for a moment, then called over to one of his lieutenants. "Sir Duffield, do we have any spikes handy?"

Tank, Plaster, Work

There was a time when I didn't need to do this. A time when sky-tanks never hummered through the skyline. A time when we were free.

Some say it's no good to think of that time, but for me it's the only thing that keeps me going. I'm older than most, almost 30 now. I remember the time before they came. Most of these kids, they've never known anything other than obedience and sleeping on racks.

It's amazing how quickly the American spirit was crushed.

I knock quickly on the metal grate, and wait for a response. I'm at an unmarked brick-and-plaster building on an unmarked street, in what's becoming an increasingly unmarked city. There's no response after a minute, so I knock again, randomizing the pattern of knocks, something the Skitters have trouble doing.

I hear another random knock back.

I tap the first few bars of the Star Spangled banner on the grate, and it opens. A fifteen year-old-face covered with dirt greets me. "Where have you been?"

"And a good morning to you too, Trevor" I say, stepping past him into the building.

He runs and blocks the inner door to the rest of the compound. "It's been three days. You know I can't let you in until you've been verified."

I sigh. We have no way of telling the Skitters from us, not really. But these teenage savages have a nigh-religious trust in their blood rituals. No matter that I've seen a man-skin shed blood as a Skitter burst through the thin mask of his body, they need to see red. I think it gives a sense of security, something that makes it feel like they're in control of the situation.

But as much as it's complete bullshit, my stomach is growling and there's no way the Skitters are feeling as generous as the Lord of the Flies is this evening. As if the nosepicker has ever read that book, or any book for that matter.

I slide my pocketknife out from its sheath, and place it on my palm. The kid watches with dead eyes. He is not a fifteen year old, but he is not a man. He is something else entirely: a soldier.

"Satisfied?"

He nods, and opens the door into the marketplace.

As I walk through, he says, "But where have you been?"

"Working." I say, and continue on to sell my wares.