3/10/24: American Fantasy is, at the time, a work-in-progress. 

CHAPTER ONE

Fiona Turner tilled the soil. The blade cut through dirt effortlessly, unaware of her knees digging into the ground, her arms pressed against its wooden handle. She was wiry. Brown skin made of freckles and bruises from making the stick made of metal bolts and sharpened iron. The prairie wind tried to untangle her canopy of red hair, and she felt a hand touch her scalp. 

Pa ran his hand through the color which was so unfamiliar to him. It was calloused and looked too big to be anything but tender, but whenever it came time to tame her curls, Fiona preferred his hand to Ma’s. Even though he didn’t know much about a lady’s needs, he always knew where to leave alone, so she could keep her loops of fiery orange, and where to tug gently, so he didn’t hurt her head bad. 

He looked around the field, now, bare and sad next to the pretty green and yellow of the grasslands around. “You’re not tilling straight,” he commented. “Remember to look up, so you can see where you’ve been. Dig deeper, too, so you break that hard dirt nice and good, now. If we do a good enough job, we’ll be able to afford that new horse to do most of the hard work for us. Remember that big boy I had an eye on? Up at Old Tuckers’ place? Well, he said if I had the coin, and no one else had bought it off him by then, it’d be all ours. What do you say, honey? Reckon we could swing to buy that beauty by the end of the season?” 

Ma didn’t get up from her chair. The porch shaded her too much so that Fiona had to really squint to see what she was thinking, and she looked like she was thinking that she was just about to finish another knitted scarf. Never you mind that it was spring, which on the prairie meant it might as well be high summer, and never you mind that it was ugly as all that was holy, but neither Pa nor Fiona had the heart to tell her. 

Pa sighed, wiping sweat off his brown, tired face. He ran his hand through a short, black beard, and patted Fiona on the back. “All right. Get back to work, Fiona, and I’ll do the same. No sense in talking about what’s wants if all we do is talk, you know what I mean? You’re doing good work today. Great. Just remember to till straight, okay? That’s how crops grow best.” 

Ma finally looked up from her needles. “Don’t get comfy out there, you too. I’ll be making tea soon. I just got lavender from town, and you know how the general doesn’t ever have anything remotely acceptable for high tea, ‘cept I went in there with you, Elijah, just yesterday, as you remember. Excuse me– except. Anyway, while you were off buying more feed, I had a look at the back, where that owner’s wife doesn’t want anyone looking too closely because she knows she can get away with hiding all the goods to herself. That’s where I found the lavender, and oh, the smell! You’ll just love it Fiona, and it may even get through to your father’s thick nose. I’ve made biscuits, and gotten the latest paper. A reward for– well, I just can’t wait.” 

“Sounds perfect, Mar.” Pa winked over Ma’s wrinkled face. She hated it whenever he called her that. Margaery or Ma, she’d say. Never Mar, or Marge, or Ettiah forbid Missus Turner. 

Fiona watched the Not-Missus-Turner scoop her knitting in one hand and lift the hem of her skirts in the other, heading inside. She loved Ma’s tea time, because she loved a break from the farm work even more. 

“Pa,” Fiona said, over a white porcelain cup with a handle too small for any finger to fit through, “Whenever we pass through Tucker’s place–” 

“Mister Tucker,” Ma reminded her. 

“Mister Tucker’s place,” Fiona amended, “Why do all the horses make weird noises inside the barn? Screaming, like they’re all worked up.” 

Pa choked. “More coffee, Mar?” 

Ma tightened her lips and passed him the pitcher, lifting it with skin so pale it was a wonder Fiona didn’t burn up in the sun like she did. While Ma wore a top with frill sleeves, Fiona was still in her brown overalls, covered with a layer of dust that Ma deemed acceptable after thoroughly brushing her off before she entered the house. 

“What?” Fiona asked, looking between her parents. 

“How’s your tea, dear?” Asked Ma. 

Pa looked like he was gonna say something, then changed his mind. “That’s a big question, Fiona.” He sized her up. “Do you reckon you’re ready for big girl answers?” 

She nodded eagerly. He thought for a moment. “Well, the horses are having a dance, you see. They dance with each other, two to a pair, inside that barn. That’s how Ol’ Tucker likes it. When they’re done, he gets new baby horses, and grows ‘em, just like the other ones, to sell to families just like ours, to help around the farm.” 

Fiona put the cup down. It tasted like green apples. “Dancing? What would horses be dancin’ for? You know, Pa, I’m big enough not to think all your jokes are funny no more.” 

Ma broke into a smirk. “I see you getting your fill of those biscuits, young lady, and I want you to know it’ll be nothing but meatloaf and collard greens for you tonight.” 

“No desert?” Fiona complained. 

“Desert?” Pa asked incredulously. “That field look grown yet? ‘Fraid you’ll have to live with your mother’s tea parties and collard greens until I can spare coin for a new horse, much less an strawberry fruitcake  like it sounds you’ve been craving for.” 

Fiona helped Ma with the dishes– her red hair tied in a bun, Fiona’s hanging down, like always. Ma complained that it would get wet if she kept it that way, but Fiona stood her ground. Besides, if that replaced the weekly bath forced upon her, that was all well and good. As the ladies worked, Fiona watched through the window above the basin Pa back in the field, white shirt sticking to him, his big, muscly arms easily able to push the tool through the ground. Their property stretched for about two hundred acres, swirling around apple trees and over low inclines. Beyond the rickety, wooden fence marking the land as their own, a dirt road cut across the country, past Tucker’s place a few miles down, then towards the trading post, or what Ma called “town”. 

For twelve years, Fiona had called the farm home, and before that, well she hadn’t been out of her Ma’s belly, so she supposed she couldn’t reckon. Through the front porch and past Ma’s outdoor chair, the house was taken up by a small kitchen and pantry, where Fiona and her mother worked now, and a living area with a table to eat on and cozy armchairs for them to sit on and warm up by the fire, on the nights when it was really cold, and the wind rattled the windows and shook the walls. To the side was a staircase that led to Ma and Pa’s room as well as Fiona’s, where she got her very own bed, with a rug underneath and a dollhouse to the side complete with dolls. She wished she could live in the dollhouse– with a gabled roof, stone bricks, tall windows, and creeping, painted vines. 

That night, as Fiona lay in her nightgown, all cozy under her blanket, Ma sat next to her, a book open in her lap. It was one of the ones with pictures, thank goodness. A knight in shining armor held up a rose to a princess in a tower high above. 

“And they both lived happily ever after,” Ma finished eventually, closing the pages. 

“Ma?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you play with that doll house when you were my age?” 

“Why, yes. Why do you ask?” 

“You’ve been staring at it.” 

She smiled. “Have I? I guess I just got lost in my own head, that’s all. Don’t pay attention to me. A lady shouldn’t spend too much daydreaming, or else she’ll never wake up.” 

“But isn’t that what Pa does?” 

Ma looked sharply at Fiona. “Well, first off, Pa isn’t a lady, silly, and second, he always thinks about what's best for us. What’s best for you. That new horse? It’ll really be a big help around the farm, and help us grow more crops so we can sell more.” She gasped. “You know what?” 

“What?” 

“If he sells enough, maybe we’ll finally be able to get you your very own pony.” 

“A pony?” Fiona asked. “What do I need a pony for?” 

“Well, when I was your age, that’s all I ever asked my daddy for.” 

“Did you get one?” 

“Yeah,” She said, wistfully. “It was wonderful.” 

“Where is it now?” 

“Oh, honey, it passed away a long time ago.” Ma looked out the window. “It’s dark out. Time for you to go to sleep.” 

“Okay.” Before Ma closed the door behind her, Fiona piped up, “When do you think I’ll grow?” 

Ma smiled. “I wish you could stay my little baby forever.” 

“Ma!” 

“Oh, soon, Fiona, soon. Your father was a late bloomer, too. Okay, now, try to get some sleep. It’ll be more work in the field tomorrow.” 

Fiona groaned, pulling the covers over her head. When the door closed, she flipped over so her ear was pressed against the bed, trying its best to hear what was happening downstairs. Pa was plucking the strings on a gittern, probably humming the tune to some song from his country. Fiona imagined Ma swaying along to the music, in step with the cicadas and crickets outside. 

“She gone to bed?” Pa asked. He waited half a breath, probably as Ma nodded. “We’re doing all this for her, Margaery. Life won’t be so easy for her if, well…” Fiona thought he was gesturing to something. “We’re both doing our part to make the future a little bit brighter.” 

“I know, Elijah.” 

“That being said… life isn’t so bad, now, is it? We got a house, we got each other, we got our beautiful daughter.” 

Fiona heard the floorboards squeak as Pa pulled her into his arms. They slow-danced together for a while, saying nothing. Fiona stared at the ceiling. She imagined herself back in the field, pulling and tearing at the soil, loosening it. Her fingernails still had some dirt underneath them, and she chewed on them, spitting out the bitter dark stuff. 

The curtains shifted, and she realized her window was still open. Getting up slowly so her parents wouldn’t hear, Fiona tip-toed across the room, letting the carpet cushion the sounds of her bare feet. Reaching up to drag the fabric across the rod that kept them in place, she saw a group of dark shapes moving across the field. Coyotes. They sniffed and pawed at the ground, looking for something. Food, probably, but there was nothing to be had on the empty patch of land. When she slid her window shut, they all perked up, staring directly at her with eyes that glowed in the dark. Goosebumps ran down her arm. They looked at each other until the leader led the rest of the pack into the night. 

Downstairs, Pa said: “What say we do more dancing in the bedroom?” 

Giggling, Ma shushed him, and Fiona quickly got back into bed as they walked up the stairs. She shut her eyes, and dreamed about coyotes running through the woods. 

The next morning, Fiona got up when light broke through her window, as she always did. Pulling on her working clothes, she thudded downstairs, bleary-eyed and yawning. When she saw Ma sitting next to a table devoid of breakfast, and Pa pacing around the room, Fiona quickly sobered off her sleepiness. 

Pa stopped walking and looked at her. “Cow’s dead.” 

Fiona’s heart sank. She followed her father around the back of the house, where a large awning and a pen housed the remains of Delilah. It didn’t look much like a cow, anymore. Rib cages poked out of a red, chewed carcass. Crows pecked at the remains, beaks stained with the still fresh blood. Guts and other innards were strewn all across the pen, some that looked like dripping sausages hanging on the gate. 

Pa pushed aside the wet meat, it slapping to the ground as he pushed the gate open. Fiona turned away as he pushed his bare hands into the remains, sending the crows away with a squawk. He held out the bell that used to be gold-colored in his palm. “Didn’t make a sound.” 

Inside, he washed up in the basin. “Elijah,” Ma started. “Without that cow– I mean, it was producing three, four gallons a day. How are we to make that up before the harvest?” 

He pushed past her, face set in stone. Above the mantelpiece, he took down a big, wooden longbow. 

“Elijah!” Ma said again, as he stormed upstairs. She followed him, trying to talk as well as a person could hold a conversation with a rock. When he came back down, he held a quiver with at least two dozen arrows. “You don’t know where the coyotes went!” Ma said incredulously. 

Before he stepped out the door, Pa turned to Fiona. “Help your mother with the chores, then get back to work in the field.” And with that, he left without another word. 

Fiona turned to Ma. She held a dish rag in her hand, wrist against her forehead, eyes shut. “You heard your father. Come help me with the porridge.” 

When Fiona was back in the field, she looked at the crows, back to feasting on Delilah. The task seemed harder, impossible without Pa. Besides Ma, Fiona was the only living person for miles, working alone on moving dirt across the ground. The handle of the tiller rubbed against her palm, nowhere near as leathered as Pa’s. Splinters cut into her skin, forcing her to stop every few minutes or so to pick them out. She moved across the land, the house growing further and further away. Fiona was careful to watch where she stepped, to avoid leaving her footprints in the dirt she had just plowed. 

It was around lunchtime when she heard the hoofbeats. Riders were coming up the road, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. She watched as they whooped and took potshots at a herd of grazing bison, jeering when the animals ran away before their arrows could take them down. The men all wore black and brown dusters, with wide-brimmed hats. Some carried crossbows, while the one at the front had a big sword in a scabbard. 

They stopped in the patch of road by Fiona. The man in front called: “You there! Miss, come here.” 

Fiona looked at the house again. There was no way to start running there without the men catching her. She held the tiller tight as she slowly approached the rider, squinting to see his face as the sun shone behind his tall frame. He had patchy, blonde stubble covering a scowl. His men had long, raggedy hair and beards. Their clothing was all fancy. Boots polished. One of them smiled at Fiona with black teeth. 

“Your father the owner of that farm?” The leader asked. He had an accent from up north. More refined, like he chose his words with great care.

“No,” Fiona lied. 

He raised his eyebrow. “Your mother, then?” 

Fiona didn’t answer. The man with black teeth looked at the house. “You left her all alone, little lady? Well, maybe I’ll go up and pay her a little visit.” 

He began trotting his horse forward, but stopped when the leader held up his gloved hand. “What’s your name, miss?” 

Fiona swallowed. “Eloise.” 

“Eloise. I don’t mean to give your father any trouble. The opposite, in fact. I have an offer that I think he’d like to hear. If you could tell us where he is, that would be much appreciated. If not, we’ll take a look around your home. See if your mother is more forthcoming. You know what that means, don’t you? Forthcoming?” 

“Ma teaches me,” Fiona blurted out, then covered her mouth. 

The man with black teeth licked his lips. “So, you do have a mamma, then.” 

“I– No!” Fiona’s mind raced. “I’m all alone. They went to town. I’m to look after the farm until they come back.” 

The leader regarded her with burning blue eyes. He got off his horse, tying the lead to a post. Even on the ground, he was at least two feet taller than Fiona. “They left you here by yourself? Forgive me, but I don’t believe that’s right. A young thing like you shouldn’t have such a large responsibility. Please, allow us to stay with you, just until your mother and father come back.” Even though he tipped his hat politely, Fiona knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Boss,” another rider warned. 

“Fiona. Go inside,” Pa’s voice announced behind her. 

She turned. He had a coyote slung over his shoulders. Its eyes had rolled to the back of its head, and the tongue lolled. His bow and quiver were buried somewhere underneath the mess of fur and teeth. She looked back and forth between Pa and the men. Their eyes were scary, but her father’s eyes made her shiver. They were frightened. 

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Fiona,” the leader said. 

She turned and started sprinting towards the house. As soon as she stepped inside, Ma grabbed a hold of her arm, smooth, round fingernails digging into her skin. “Do you know those men?” Fiona asked. 

“Those are bad men, Fiona. Very bad men.” Ma shut the door, bolting it. Then, she started looking Fiona over. 

“Will Pa be okay?” Fiona asked. 

Ma peeked out the window, closing the curtains so the room was day-dark. Not black as night, but dark enough that the only thing Fiona could see were the beams of sun shooting out from the gaps the drapes left. There they waited. Fiona began counting on her fingers, as Ma had shown her. It was a good way to learn numbers, and even though she hated maths, When she reached the thousands, she wished she had that many digits, and stopped. 

There came a knock at the door. A single thud. Ma gasped and rushed to unbolt. She screamed when the coyote carcass came crashing onto the floor. Blood pooled in between the floor planks. Pa leaned in the doorway, breaths coming out in heavy gasps. 

“Damn…” He wheezed. “That thing is heavy.” 

Ma grabbed his jaw and turned his head, just as she had done to Fiona. “What did the Farlenn Boys want with you?” 

He sat down in an armchair with a sigh. Fiona began probing the coals inside the fireplace. Flames rose from the dead, crackling and lapping at the edges of the stone bricks. Their kisses left black soot on the sides. 

“They were trying to find the owner of the farm,” Pa finally said. 

“You’re the owner, ain’t you?” Fiona asked. 

He nodded. “And thank Ettiah for that. If we had to forfeit our wages to some higher up…” 

“What did they want?” Ma probed. 

Pa looked from her to Fiona. Something in his face had changed. He looked pained, like he was suffering from a bad tummy ache. When his jaw flexed, the black hairs on his face turned into an ocean, waves churning across, forming a frown. “They’re from Ashby Thelema.” 

Ma looked ready to explode. Her face was bright red, and her hands were clenched, fingernails digging into her skin. “What does that man want with you?” 

“Who’s Ashby Thelema?” Fiona asked, forming the name in her mouth as one would taste fried butter. 

“He knows who I am, Mar,” Pa said, ignoring Fiona’s question. “He knows who I’m married to.” He stressed the last line, like it was something Ma should consider. 

“Why didn’t he come to me directly? As a matter of fact, why did he send those men in his stead? He think he’s better than us?” 

Pa regarded her with a wry smile. “If he came in here and talked to you, you’d have sent him on his way having to drink from straws for the rest of his life.” 

Fiona giggled. She punched the air, giving it a real bruising before Ma and Pa continued speaking. 

“He thinks you’ll hear him out,” Pa said. “He put an offer on the farm.” 

Ma put a hand over her mouth. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Pa looked into his own hands. “Farlenn said they made the same deal to Tuck, too.” 

“This farm is your life! What’ll you do if you sign it away?” 

“They offered me a job, too, on top of the coin. It’s a lot of coin, Mar. It’ll buy us a new house. You can keep having your tea parties. What he’s wanting to give me isn’t just a pot of gold– it's a consistent source of income.” 

Ma whacked his hand with a ladle. “I know that! But Elijah… how can you trust him? You know what he’s done. How could you even think–” 

Pa rose, smacking the ladle out of her grip. Fiona took an involuntary step back. Ma flinched. “Look at the cow, Margaery! Look at the empty field outside! Look, before we could still sell some milk in town, I thought maybe, but now, I don’t know how we’re gonna make it! I don’t have enough help around the farm– certainly not enough to have a full harvest this year. This is the only…” 

His voice faded as Fiona raced up the stairs. Her eyes stung. She imagined herself back outside, the tiller in her hands. The ocean that was on Pa’s face became the farm. A field stretching into the horizon that was never ready as much as Fiona dug and tugged. Coyotes howled in the distance, and the men on horses howled with them. The hooves thudded against the road, getting louder, louder, louder… 

She lifted her face from her pillow. Someone was knocking on the front door to the house. Fiona got up, opening her bedroom door slowly so it wouldn’t creak. She peaked her head over the stair bannister, and saw Pa move to answer the door. She couldn’t see who was there, but the long silence told her enough. The coyote carcass had been moved, so its glassy eyes and lolled tongue looked up at Fiona as she waited for her daddy to say something. 

“I thought you said I had time,” finally grunted Pa. 

“Oh, you do,” came the voice of the rider with black teeth. “We just realized that it's a long, hard ride back, and–” he giggled. “ –as much as your missy seems to be in an accommodating mood, we thought we’d just inquire if you’d be so polite as to sacrifice your coyote, there. Looks plump as hell, and Ettiah if the boys weren’t looking at it like it was a streetwalker with her tits out on a hot day. Promise, we’ll be out of your hair.” 

Neither Ma or Pa said anything. The floorboards creaked, and the coyote started getting dragged across the floor. The man with black teeth poked his head into the den, grunting with effort as he pulled the creature. He sniffed the air, and it was almost as if he could smell Fiona at the top of the stairs, because he turned his head and grinned at her. 

She ran back into her room and shut the door. 

Hours went by. Fiona shut her eyes, but she couldn’t sleep. She pulled the covers over her head when she heard someone running up the stairs. Sweat trickled down her armpits. She could still see the black, rotting teeth smiling at her. See his purple tongue licking flaky, cracked lips. 

Fiona screamed when the covers were thrown off of her. Pa grabbed her arms, keeping her from pounding his chest. “Fiona! Fiona!” His eyes were wide. “I need you to come outside with me, now.” He didn’t seem to notice or care that Fiona had gotten dirt from her boots and work clothes all over the sheets.  

Fiona shook her head. What if the men were still outside? 

Pa dragged her by the arm, yanking so hard she thought it would come right out of its socket. Fiona thought she’d have to start digging her toes into the floor, when she noticed the lights outside of the window. They were in the upstairs hallway, so the glass faced the side of the house, in the same direction the road outside led. In the distance, beyond some tall trees, the sky should have been dark. It was dark, when Fiona had been forced out of bed. Now, when she looked, it was orange and yellow, and judging by the distance, it was coming from Tucker’s farm. 

She stopped struggling, and both of them raced outside, grabbing empty pails by the doorway. They ran down the road, both undeterred by the chilly breeze. “Faster, Fiona!” Pa yelled. 

As they got closer, Fiona could hear the sound of flames eating away at dry wood, coupled with horses screaming. She had never thought about animals being afraid– they were just animals, after all, raised for slaughter or milk, wool, or eggs– but when she heard the roof caving in on them, still trapped in the pens Tucker kept them wrangled up in in the barn, she understood for the first time their desperation. Fiona realized that animals feared death as much as anyone did. 

There was a pond next to Tuck’s house, and that was where Fiona and Pa dipped their pails into, trying not to spill any as they ran to the site of devastation. Fiona had never seen such a big fire. It licked the sky, consuming the barn so that it looked like a charred skeleton, throwing up screams and burning horses. 

Pa tackled Tucker to the ground, who was trying to run inside to save his animals. She kept throwing water at the flames, the heat pecking at her if she stood too close. Fiona stood away helplessly, splashing the thing with what little water she could hold in her bucket, most of it raining onto the grass before it even touched the fire. From the open doors, brown horses streamed out, turned red by the flames enveloping them. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, stinking so bad Fiona dropped her pail, clutching her stomach and vomiting. A pair of hands held her, holding her steady. It was Ma, her own bucket hanging from the crook of her arm. Fiona hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t with her and Pa. 

Black smoke choked the stars. Tucker sobbed on the ground while Pa kept fighting the fire. This went on for some time, until the fire brigade from town finally arrived, and started extinguishing the inferno. In the end, Tucker saved one foal and its mama. His farm was not so lucky. Pa ushered Fiona and Ma away. By that time, it was daylight out, and Fiona could see the ash streaked in Ma and Pa’s hair. She reckoned she didn’t look much better. She held Pa’s hand, and could only think about sprawling into her bed and finally going to sleep. 

Over the next two years, Tucker sold his farm to the men that had talked to Pa. The ones he said worked for a man named Ashby Thelema. Fiona saw them only once, when Pa followed suit. Their leader shook his hand and handed Pa an envelope he said he could give to the bank in town. Fiona and Ma watched the transaction happen from inside the house, until the rider with black teeth caught sight of them, and Ma shut the curtain. 

Pa accepted a job from them, too, and slowly, they began digging into the land around them. At first, Pa was just a man who held a pickaxe in his hand, beating the earth as it showed more and more of its rocky skin. They started away from their farm, so for a long time they were allowed to stay. Then, Pa was promoted, and he got placed in charge of the other men who had started to trickle in from the surrounding area, helping to widen the hole. He tried to explain to Fiona that they were making a quarry, which gave Ashby Thelema’s company things from underground that helped him build things. Fiona didn’t understand. She didn’t understand why Ashby wanted this land, and why they would need to move out soon. Pa was helping them, leading them, even after he had been given a large amount of money– enough to keep them going without crops to sell. 

One morning, Fiona was awoken by the sounds of men talking outside. She walked down the stairs, yawning. It was early enough that Ma hadn’t started making breakfast yet, and her stomach knew it. Still, her curiosity won over her hunger, and so she opened the door. Their front yard was destroyed. The men had moved on, and Pa was in the middle, swinging a pickaxe down with the others, tearing chunks out of the ground. Fiona had expected him to make her join him when they had first started the project, but to her surprise, the request never came. When she asked Ma, she said that the worksite was no place for a lady, and unless she was getting handed coin by Ashby Thelema himself, she was not to go near them. Still, Fiona was usually tasked with bringing the men lunch that Ma prepared every day. They were civil enough– they tipped their hats or muttered their thanks, and took the food without complaint, devouring it in just a few minutes. They drank so much from their well, that Fiona was afraid that they would drain it completely, although she supposed that soon it wouldn’t matter. When Fiona was done handing out the rations to all the men, she handed Pa his portion, and he’d thank her with a hug and his classic grin, then lean against his tool and start gnashing into the meal. All in all, it wasn’t all bad. Fiona still had to help Ma with cooking and cleaning, but it was less work than tilling the field. In her free time, Ma had given her some books to read, saying that every young lady should know how to read. Fiona tried once in a while to turn a page, but she always got bored and idly drew with pen and paper instead, or counted all the types of birds that she saw fly past her window. 

That morning wasn’t different from the usual routine, save for their new location. The road had been saved, with a tight tunnel running underneath it instead. A wagon she hadn’t seen before lay parked out front, and Fiona figured that they were going to have to finally leave. She would miss this house. She would miss the acres of prairie around them, and the groves of trees just beyond. It had made her sad to see the grasses slowly eaten by the quarry, and even though she knew it could only have been a matter of time until it reached the house, it still took her by surprise. Last night had been oddly quiet– no crickets, no coyotes. Fiona figured that must have been a sign that the work had gained a lot of ground. She wanted to punch herself for not realizing it sooner, although the more she thought about it, the more she realized even knowing wouldn’t have mattered. Pa had signed the contract, and from that point forward nothing could have stopped the project. 

Ma was probably upstairs, washing herself up in the “powder room”, as she called it. The light outside was still gray, but Pa and the men were at it like it was just past luncheon. The breeze felt nice, so Fiona leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight. The men always cursed and told rude jokes with each other, which made Fiona giggle but Ma purse her lips. She had once marched up to them and told them to mind their manners in front of Fiona. They nodded courteously, but gave Fiona a wink. She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Fiona listened intently to one particularly nasty joke about a sailor and a barmaid, before they noticed her and clammed up. She was tempted to tell them to keep going, but something about their uneasiness made her pause. 

They sculked off to the opposite side of the ditch, talking quietly amongst themselves. Fiona wondered if Ma had finally introduced them to her ladle when she had heard them say one too many foul remarks. Careful not to accidentally slide into the hole, Fiona left the porch, walking barefoot across the ground. She was sure that Ma would scold her for getting her feet dirty, but she wanted to say good morning to Pa, and confirm her suspicion. She was aware of how much taller she was than everyone else when they were in the ground. She had grown by a few inches since the fire, but should one of the men crawl out and stand back to back with Fiona, she still wouldn’t be able to match him in height. Her hair had grown wilder, almost as untaimable as Pa’s despite Ma’s best efforts. His black curls reached his shoulders, and his beard, while still short, was considerably bushier. The bronze antlers, which she had been so obsessed with when she was younger, were a little longer, sprouting from the top of his head in twin branches, splitting into smaller ones higher up. He rubbed his hand through them. They were still no taller than the length of his palm, but the first thing anyone noticed when they first met him. Fiona had watched as people’s eyelines started above Pa’s face, widening in surprise. 

Other workers hushed up when she walked by. One of them called: “Congratulations, girl!” before their friend shut them up. 

Fiona scowled at them. “‘Congratulations’? This just means we have to leave, and I don’t wanna.” It felt stupid complaining to the worker, who didn’t care about their house or had anything to do with the decision, but something about the way he had called out to her made Fiona irritated. 

He didn’t reply, and she hurried along, anxious to get to Pa. He was totally oblivious to everything that was going on, focusing on his hunched back and arms swinging the iron tool. Fiona looked at his calloused hands, gripping the wooden handle. They held it tight. Firm. Dirt lay underneath his cracked fingernails, but he didn’t seem to care. All that took up his reality in that moment was himself, that pick, and the ground beneath its beak. Chunks of rock flew up around him, the tool hitting the ground with a plink. Sweat pooled on his brow, spilling into his eyes, making it seem like he was crying. Fiona had never seen him cry, and it was strange to imagine him doing so. Whenever she did, she felt stupid for doing it, as if the water from her face could be better spent elsewhere. 

No other women worked at the quarry, but when Fiona was old enough, she thought she’d ask Pa if she could work with them. Her arms were skinny, but they knew how to handle tools, and she thought that even just a few weeks of digging like that would beef them up. She could just imagine Ma’s face when she came home one day with muscles as big as Pa’s. The thing Fiona didn’t want to admit was that it would give her an excuse to spend more time at the farm, or whatever would be left of it. With a rush, she wondered what would become of their things when they moved. Would she still be allowed to keep her toys? Their furniture? Then she realized that was probably what the wagon was for. 

Enough waiting. Pa didn’t even seem to realize she was there. She gingerly stepped into the ditch, careful to avoid sticking her feet into the sharper rocks. She brushed past some more of the men, and ran to Pa, wrapping him in a tight hug. She kissed him on the cheek, then drew back, sticking out her tongue in disgust. 

“Blahh. You’re filthy, Pa. Was gonna wish you a good mornin’, but maybe I’ll wait until you’ve had a proper bath first.” 

He laughed, setting down the pick. He made a show of brushing his cheek, then turned to meet her eyes. “Why, I’d have washed up if I knew you’d be up–”. 

Pa stopped talking. Fiona’s face felt cold. She looked into his eyes, and followed his gaze. He was looking above her eyes. She slowly reached her hands up, past her knots of curly, red hair, her eyes still crusty from sleep. She felt the place where her hair met, and felt a tough, round knot where her skin had been last night. The feeling was unmistakable. She had felt its same texture a million times when Pa  had carried her on his shoulders. She saw its older, mirror image staring at her now. 

Fiona was growing a pair of antlers. 

Thomas Garland coughed up dust as he slammed the trapdoor open, rubbing dust and dirt from his eye with grimy fists. Once his vision cleared, he looked through the glass sky of Level Four Hundred and into the deep void of outer space. 

He had a lotus tank back in his apartment. It was a small bowl, with a few sprinkled stars shining weakly in a black vacuum. Though to be honest, he thought it looked more like a dark gray. The government had granted him a level one pet license, which he had used to spend that week’s paycheck on a tiny space squid. Often, when curfew was in effect and the lights in his apartment shut off, he liked to lay down on his twin bed and gaze at the squid swimming peacefully in the lotus tank. For many people who could not afford clocks and did not know what time of day it was, they used the darkness as an opportunity to sleep, but Thomas would find himself staring at the bowl for hours and going to work the following day bleary-eyed. 

Whenever humans expired, their remains, for those who could not afford cremation, were vaporized inside of small, metal pods, then subsequently jettisoned into space. Work-related deaths were common, especially on the lower levels, from gang-related shootings to broken pieces of a building falling overhead. They were ghosts of bones floating amongst the stars, after that. Whenever pets met the same end, they were snatched by the authorities before the black market could reach them. Thomas had heard that some higher level organics melted into a puddle of ooze. He thought all this and more as he stared into the bowl.

The lotus tank was no match for the real thing. His eyes lit up with the delicious sight of the milky way galaxy. Billions of stars twinkling in the ever-night, their lights prevailing despite having died millions of years ago. An ancient, ruined satellite drifted in front of the glass. 

Thomas attempted to shift around in the vent. The vent maze ran through the whole planet on every level. A dusty labyrinth with the occasional cockroach. When he had encountered an insect, he had been tempted to bring it back with him. Non-lab grown meats were worth a fortune on the streets. When Thomas had tried to catch one however, they had skittered away. Just as well, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve been able to hold onto one all the way back to Level Three Hundred Seventy-Seven. If he could even find the way home. He had no map of the ventilation system (if such a thing existed- It would cover an entire level), all he had done was climb up. Many parts of the vents had service ladders. He wondered how many people were legally allowed inside (which he was not), and how many of them could see inside people’s apartments. Could see their daily lives. Their naked bodies. Their hopes and dreams. 

Thomas lay on his back and watched the stars, impatiently waiting for the Kessler Syndrome debris to drift out of the way, flinching when one scraped the side of his tiny glass-capped tube. Before The New Planet Project had risen skyscrapers out of the ruins of planet Earth- so many, in fact, that it was now one massive structure around the whole planet- the old governments had launched thousands of satellites into orbit. People began to grow fearful that continuing to do so would result in a collision of the satellites and create a chain effect that made an impenetrable debris field around Earth. They had named their fear the Kessler Syndrome. It had come to pass. 

His stomach rumbled, but he did not want to leave. He searched the nearby area for roaches, cupping his bare hands when he caught one and pierced its head between his forefingers, feeling the wriggling body go limp. Crunching into it, he felt the warm juices run in his mouth. It had a sharp taste, complemented with another flavor that he vaguely recalled was salty. As a boy, he had picked up a potato chip that a government official had dropped on the dirty ground. Old pieces of art showed what Earth may have looked like pre-project, full of lush trees and open skies. Today, however, the only sky was the drainage pipes of the level above. Every street was an alley. He had relished every bite. 

He counted everytime the sun passed overhead, laying on the ground, eating roaches and drinking from the container of water he had had the mind to bring with him. Thomas could not bring himself to tear his eyes away from the spectacle of the cosmos. He had only seen pictures in school, and none anymore, ever since television was outlawed. Everytime the sun was overhead, he smiled. It felt good to take in real Vitamin D. Every level below Level Four Hundred was forced to take pills with their meals. 

When Thomas woke up one day, his eyes fell. He had to return home. It was well past time. Amy, the nurse who worked at the local hospital and his best friend, had agreed to write up fake medical records claiming he was in the hospital for a work-related injury. She had also offered to feed his squid while he was away. Strange as it seemed, he missed his companions down below. His smelly little vent-haven was lonely, occupied by only himself and the cockroaches. He cast one last look at the stars, bidding them a farewell. Thomas almost laughed at the irony. The stars had probably said goodbye long, long ago. 

Taking a swig of water and munching on another bug, he climbed down the gray ladder. The same color as every structure on earth. It was inefficient to paint them. Strange as it was, he had no trouble finding the way back. Somehow, his instincts knew when to go left, right, up, down. Thomas avoided the hot steam shooting out of some holes in the vents. Heard the arguing of young newlyweds. 

He did not know how long it took, but eventually he crashed through the open grate and into his apartment. The stacks of squid food still lay on the dining table, unopened. Amy had probably been too swamped at the hospital to regularly visit. Looking at the lotus tank, he saw the lifeless body of his pet floating in the cosmos.

“Wendy! AC’s broken again!” 

The supply closet door slammed open, revealing Wendy wielding a mop in one hand. Sweat trickled down her forehead. “I knew I wasn’t going crazy! And we just had it fixed a week ago, too. Goddamn it. No one wants to use up their gas to come to some rest stop in the middle of the desert just to keep fixing one ancient air conditioning unit, much less finally clear that tree out back of its spider problem.” 

He brushed back black hair to wipe his own brow. “Wendy, you’ve gotta call Admin.” 

That same old stubbornness crept back into her green eyes. “No, Jack. I can do this. Move from the chair, I’ll use the phone.” 

Jack reluctantly stood up from the faded gray office chair. She sat down and yanked a yellow sticky note from the wall, dialing a number on the old home phone that occupied a good portion of the counter. “Admin’s never gonna even know you did this.” 

“They will when they’re asking you about my managerial skills.” The dial hummed from her ear, past strands of brown hair.

“If they’re asking me. You’ve been trying to get promoted for years now.” He started rummaging through the closet, looking for the portable fan he knew they had somewhere. Jack cursed as he accidentally stepped in the mop bucket. 

“Correction: When they promote me out of this hell hole. Can you- Oh, wait! Someone picked up! Hello? Hello? I’d like to speak to Kevin, please? I’m Wendy. He sent guys to fix our AC last time, and-” She paused, then sighed. “Yes, I’ll hold.” 

“They never hold for Admin!” Jack called in a sing-song voice, slamming the fan on a chair behind the counter, the blades shaking the plastic frame with an obnoxious clattering sound. 

Wendy scowled. “While I’m on hold, one of us needs to clean the bathroom, and I’m already occupied.” 

He gave her the finger and held the mop in front of him like a spear, edging closer to the smelly and spider-infested room. The phone playing an annoying little jingle, that if it had lyrics would be bellowing: “We don’t wanna go to your old, boiling rest area. You’re not the Admin, you can’t make us. You’re just some lowly government employee who applied for the job for the pension.” Wendy already wanted to smack it. 

Instead, she sat it down, and stared out the clear-glass doors, opposite the help counter. One was slightly ajar, giving way for the hellish breeze to scatter the pocket maps she had spent the morning shelving across the floor. At least there weren’t any cars in the parking lot that day, or even on the highway. She could stare out across the desert as much as she liked. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. 

Sighing, she got up, giving the phone the side-eye, and started picking up the tourist pamphlets. Visit Stunning Joshua Tree! Welcome to California! Stop By the Least Interesting Part of This National Park! The swing on the picnic area’s jungle gym creaked in the wind. 

“Wendddddy!” Jack called from the back. 

She rolled her eyes. “What is it?” 

“I think I found out why the AC keeps breaking!” 

Frowning, she abandoned the leaflets and hurried to the bathroom. Nearly slipping on the wet floor, she looked up at Jack, who was on his knees at the top of a stall and staring into a vent. 

“Get down from there! If you decide to break your neck I have a feeling the ambulance’ll take a minute to get here.” 

“Okay.” He said, hopping down. “You should really see this, though.” He held out his arms for her to use a step stool. As she climbed, he commented: “You just don’t want me to break my neck ‘cuz it would ruin your perfect record.” 

Wendy scoffed. “No! Besides, this place’s last manager let all their co-workers get eaten by something. It’s not like the bar’s-” She cut herself off as she stared into the ventilation system. Spiderwebs criss-crossed everywhere made it seem like a fog had enveloped the space, clouding her vision. 

Anticipating her need, Jack was already handing her a flashlight. “Want me to see if my phone’s reception will let me call the exterminators? Unless you want to be breathing bugs by the time the AC people get here, just for them to turn right back around because it's not their job to fight the forces of Satan, and you’re not Admin, anyway.” 

Wendy placed the flashlight between her teeth. “I’m going in.” 

She started crawling forward, brushing webs out of the way. “Wendy, no job promotion is worth this!” Jack called back incredulously. 

“Do we still have that lighter in the bottom drawer?” 

“Yeah, but-” 

“Great, I’ll come back for it. Pick up if they decide to answer!” Crawling forward, she cringed at the dust beginning to cover her hands. If any spiders were actually in there, they would hear the clanging of the noisy vent from a mile away. 

The beam from the flashlight swung back and forth as she kept exploring the system. Occasionally, she thought she heard Jack calling her name, as well as, strangely, other voices. The maze seemed to run forever, despite the small building. Every once in a while, Wendy would come across a fork, and even once a trident, and have to decide which direction to take. She ultimately decided to stick close to the main room, in case she needed to get out quickly. They’re just spiders, she assured herself. I won’t have to get out quickly. One kick from my shoe and they’re done. Nothing to worry about. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about how big those arachnids got under the desert sun. 

It was deep inside the labyrinth, so far in that she didn’t know if she was in the ceiling or under the floor, that Wendy found the first spider. It was about the size of her fist, brown and coarse and furry. She shrieked as it scuttled towards her, black eyes beaded and hungry. Not wanting to get insect juice all over her hand, she used the butt of her flashlight instead, smashing it against it over and over and over again until it stopped wriggling. 

It started to flicker. Not much at first, but then it blinked faster and faster. Looking at the bottom, she saw that she had broken through its hard plastic surface, exposing wire. “No.” Wendy muttered. “No, no no!” She desperately tapped its glass, hoping to startle some life back into it. No such luck. As its last illumination graced the vent, she stared into the eyes of another spider. Ten-legged, spiny, and much, much larger than the last one. 

Emitting a terrible, ear-piercing shriek, the thing chased her through darkness. Wendy crawled as fast she could, scrapping her knees and elbows against the metallic surface. “Jack!” She called. “Jack! S.O.S.! Jack!” There came no answer. Either he couldn’t hear her, or she couldn’t hear him. Whatever. She could do this herself. 

…Right? 

Would Admin even know what she had to go through just to get one AC fixed? Would they believe her, or just see it as another sorry, pathetic excuse of an attempt to get promoted and out of the middle of nowhere?

She turned another corner, and reached a dead end. Light filtered through a grate. She could dimly see the supply closet on the other side, and more-than-dimly hear the spider coming at her. “Jack! Jack! I’m in the supply closet! Let me out!” 

Wendy started ramming her elbow against the vent opening. The creature reached her foot, snapping its mandibles at her. She kicked it repeatedly, feeling the hairs tickle her ankles. It screamed again and again with each hit. The spider scuttled onto the roof of the vent, foam from its mouth dripping onto her. The vent opening fell out from behind her, and she fell back into the closet, hitting the floor with a thud. 

The thing screeched one more time, leaning out of the opening. “What the hell, Wendy?!” Jack yelled as he jabbed at it with the butt end of the mop, until it retreated back into the maze. He quickly jammed the door back onto the vent. He sat on the shelf, his back pressed against it, breathing heavily. Wendy slowly sat up. 

“I didn’t find where they were coming from.” She said numbly. 

“Well they’re obviously coming from that infested tree next to the playground. Jeez, did you know they could get that big?” 

Wendy shook her head. “I mean, specifically where. They’re not walking in through the front door, so there’s gotta be an opening somewhere.” 

He threw his hands in exasperation. “Why didn’t you just look from the outside?” He wiped beads of sweat off of him. “I personally wouldn’t- I think I saw a tumbleweed catch on fire- but you seem to be a government employee-turned-exterminator.” 

She got up, brushing dust and cobwebs off her clothing. “Well I didn’t know I was looking for ridiculously sized holes in the wall.” Huffing, she started walking towards the clear glass doors. She heard the mop clattering onto the floor as Jack hurried to catch up with her. 

“I’m still on hold, by the way.” 

“Great.” 

“I was ready to answer it.” Jack lingered in the slightly-cooler doorway. “Do you want me to get the lighter?” 

She paused and brushed past him, going back inside “I’ll get it.” 

Rummaging through the drawer, she produced it, She started walking out of the building agan. Jack aimed to block her. “Do you need help, at least? If you’re gonna go full Predator on these spiders, I’d like to be part of that. I think I saw a Youtube video on how to make a Molotov-”

Wendy held up her hand. “No, Jack. I’ve gotta do this myself.” 

“Why?” He asked. “There’s a reason the fancy Admin higher-ups need schmucks like us. They can’t do it all by themselves.” 

She rounded on him. “But they’re expecting me to, Jack!” She held up the lighter. “They’re expecting me to take initiative. I can’t rely on you to hold my hand if I want to get out of this miserable place.” She started walking around to the back of the building. 

“We haven’t heard a word from them since we got hired!” Jack called from behind. “They’re not expecting you to take initiative. You are.” 

Aimlessly flicking the lighter on and off, she walked over dirt and sand, sending pebbles and clouds of dust up into the air in her wake. Wendy stared at the looming oak tree, its branches made white by the millions of spiderwebs entangled in the wood and dry leaves. She shuddered, looking at the playground underneath, wondering why any kids used the jungle gym. Maybe no one came by the rest stop because they had all died from the spider bites. 

Edging closer, Wendy eyed the arachnid fortress suspiciously, holding the flame producer at the ready. She stared at the back of the building, inspecting the sandstone bricks for any entrance sizable for a spider of that magnitude to slip through. The hot sun beamed down on her Joshua Tree themed t-shirt. 

She stared at the wall for a long time. Or maybe a short time? She wasn’t sure. Wendy was only snapped out of her trance when she heard someone on the other end of the phone from inside. Sprinting back in, Jack met her wide eyes with his own as he moved to pick it up. 

“No-!” She yelled as he answered. He looked at her, confused, before the person on the other end spoke. “Is this Wendy?” 

Wendy shook her head frantically, mouthing foul language, trying desperately to get it across to Jack to pass her the phone. He paused, not understanding, before saying; “Uhh, no… She called earlier though, and well- um- can I pass you to her?” 

He paused, listening, then nodded. Jack gave Wendy a beaming smile and passed her the phone. She glared at him. “Yes, hello. Is this Kevin? We’ve been on hold for hours and we really, really need our air conditioner fixed. If you could send someone to-” 

“I’m sorry, my receptionist just told me this isn’t Admin speaking?” 

“Well, no, but I actually don’t need their approval for simple maintenance and repair, and it would actually look really great if I took charge of this one this time-” 

He cut her off. “I’m sure you’re a very nice young lady-” 

“I’m twenty four.” 

“- but I’m just more comfortable speaking with Admin directly, y’know? Last time I had a direct job with your locale my guys got eaten by something that didn’t leave much behind. Admin’s had a good track record though. I’m sure if you tell them to talk to me we can set something up. Thank you for your time, Wendy.” 

“But-” He hung up. 

“Sounds like it went well.” Jack commented. 

She slammed her head against the desk and groaned. “I can’t kill one bug, I can’t fix an air conditioner, what’s the point?” 

“What’s the point in what?” 

“The point in trying! In trying to get this stupid promotion. Maybe Adim’s right. Maybe I can’t handle it. Maybe I deserve to be stuck here in the desert until I can retire at the age of ninety-seven.” 

Jack paused, not knowing what to say. “Do you still want me to call the exterminators?” 

She looked up, hair disheveled. “How do you do it, Jack?” 

“Do what?” 

“Keep coming here, day in and day out, not expecting things to be different?” 

He chewed on that for a moment, then shrugged. “It's not that I wouldn’t like some change some day, it's just that I’m comfortable where I am. I live in the moment, y’know? You want to be something more, leave this place for a better one, I get that. Right now I guess I’m just cruising through life. I’ve got a sweet gig. I don’t live in my mom’s basement anymore. I don’t have much to complain about.” 

Wendy’s eyes were downcast, thinking on what he said. Jack looked around. “Hey, do you hear that?” 

“Hear what-?” 

The vents burst open, spewing a horde of spiders into the room. Amongst the black mass was the mother, staring daggers at Wendy. Jack screamed and stood on the desk, hopping up and down as the insects invaded. “Wendy! Use the flamethrower!” 

She leapt onto the desk with him, flicking the lighter on. “‘Flamethrower’? Jack. Look at this tiny flame. You can’t be serious- waaaait a minute!” She started rummaging through one of the desk drawers. 

“It's coming closer!” Jack screamed at her urgently. 

“Just give me one second.” She called, her back turned as she threw various paperweights and other nicknacks from the drawer over her shoulder. 

“Wendy!” He yelped. “It's going to eat me-!” 

She whipped around, spraying a can of insect repellent in front of the lighter. The fire roared to life, engulfing the thousands of arachnids. They screamed in agony as she aimed it at the big one, hissing and spitting. As its hair caught aflame, it leapt at her, sharp fangs glistening. Jack dove out of the way, but Wendy stood her ground. She kicked its soft underbelly so it fell to the ground, face-up. She jumped onto it, using the heavy phone to bludgeon it. “Only I get to kill my coworkers!” She screamed. Panting, she blew a strand of hair from her face. 

The sprinklers activated. They stood sopping wet in a heap of dead spiders. Jack silently walked to the doors and opened them, letting the arachnids float out. 

“Wendy… what the hell?” He asked. 

“I’m sorry-” She began. 

“‘Sorry’?! I almost died! Like, I almost died! I almost got eaten alive by spiders because of you.” He stared at her for a moment. “No. No! Fuck this, I quit!” 

She caught him by the arm. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Jack… I… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand times to get you to stay. I was selfish and I put you in danger and I’m not better than the last manager.” 

Beat. Jack sighed. “No… no you’re not as bad as him.” He rested his arm. “Trust me. You might have been a complete idiot, but at least you weren’t Admin almost shuts down the rest stop bad.”

“Please don’t leave. I may hate this place, but I hate it a little less with you here.” 

He smiled. “Hell, I don’t know how a high school dropout got a job here anyways. There’s nowhere else that’ll hire me.” 

Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. “Admin can never find out about this.” She scoffed. “They probably never will, anyway. Not like they bother checking in on us.” 

Jack beckoned. “Walk with me, ‘young lady’.” 

They walked around back, the sun already drying their clothes. “I’m sorry.” Wendy said. “I shouldn’t have tried to do everything myself. If I’d have let you just call the exterminators, none of this would have happened.” 

He waved a hand. “Eh, they probably would’ve been just as useless as the AC people. I was not helpful in the fight, anyway.” He leaned on her shoulder. “You’d be great over at Admin, Ms. Wendy.” She laughed and pushed him off. 

They stopped to stare at the tree. 

“I don't know when I’m getting out of here, Jack, but I think I’ll take a page from your book. Admin can think what they want of me. I’m gonna take it one day at a time.” She paused. “I have no idea what we’re gonna do about this, though.” 

Jack slowly held up the lighter, its flame burning. Wendy smiled.

Song of the Storm

By Inti Navia

Draft 7/7/22

©2022, Inti Navia

intinavia@gmail.com

Characters 

The DARKHOLD RANGER - Protagonist 

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT - Antagonist

VENIN NO-EYES - Main Antagonist

Sets  

Sunshadow Fortress drawbridge and main hall

Scene One

Sunshadow Fortress. The DARKHOLD RANGER walks across the castle’s drawbridge. Waves crashing against a shore can be faintly heard. The shadow of the ROSEWOOD KNIGHT atop the ramparts covers him.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Who would enter this forsaken place? 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

None of your bloody business. Why don’t you come down from skulking in front of the sun and this fortress’ll truly be forsaken. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

I had heard that the Forsaken Ones were vicious with their blades, or pointing a crossbow, in your instance. I had not heard such a thing about their words. 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

You think a Forsaken One would use one of these? 

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT lets out a booming laugh. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

True enough, stranger, though do you think those raiders would spend time negotiating? If you put down your weapon, I will permit you entry and we shall see where our allegiances lie. 

The DARKHOLD RANGER sighs and holds up his hands in mock surrender. The DARKHOLD RANGER quickly picks up his crossbow again and he darts through the doors, scanning the inside whilst pointing his weapon. Beat.

DARKHOLD RANGER 

Take your blade off my neck, knight.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

You bare no crest on your clothing, yet you are not dressed like a common mercenary, nor would a mercenary come here. The material from your cloak is too finely hewn, if not a bit simple. You’re a ranger from Senia, aren’t you? 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

I can see from your cape that you’re a knight from Mazratha, and from that absurd ruby on your chest that you’re none other than the Rosewood Knight. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

What terrible misfortune that we still hail from opposite sides.

The DARKHOLD RANGER draws a dagger and shoves the knight against the wall. He rips off his helm and holds the weapon to his cheek.

DARKHOLD RANGER 

I should kill you and rid your kingdom of your smirking face.

The DARKHOLD RANGER glances at the open doors to the fortress, then back at the ROSEWOOD KNIGHT. Beat.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Hear that horn? I’ve known its call before. Bolt the doors. No-Eyes approacheth. 

He shoves the ROSEWOOD KNIGHT in front of him and points his dagger at the ROSEWOOD KNIGHT. 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

You bolt them. 

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT sighs in exasperation and closes the heavy, wooden doors, then slides the bolt across. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Up to the ramparts. We must raise the drawbridge. If you must continue digging your blade into the back of my neck, then do it gently, at least.

After a beat, a Forsaken One walks up to the raised bridge. It is VENIN NO-EYES. They wear gray and green, cracked armor. Planting their longsword in the ground and leaning on its hilt, they gesture to an area behind them. 

VENIN NO-EYES 

I demand to speak to whichever pitiful lord holds this keep! 

Long beat.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

That would be I, raider.  

VENIN sees the ROSEWOOD KNIGHT and snickers.

VENIN NO-EYES 

The longboats you see landing on the shore now are but a small portion of my forces. Give up this fortress now, and blood shall not stain the sand. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

You could siege us for a year, and still not get further than maybe fifteen feet up the walls. Though I know you, and you have not the patience for a campaign. 

VENIN NO-EYES laughs. 

VENIN NO-EYES 

I do not see your men around you, Rosewood Knight! I think your words empty, and your forces even more so. Yet, I am more generous than many other Forsaken Ones, and I shall give you until the sunrise tomorrow to think on my offer. Surrender, and no lives will be lost. 

Scene Two

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Come closer to the fire, ranger. Might as well be comfortable before we join the cosmos. 

The DARKHOLD RANGER holds up his cup of mead. 

DARKHOLD RANGER

Got this to keep me warm.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Oh, come on then. If we’re going to be stuck together, there’s no point in not accepting it.

The ranger scowls and doesn’t move. A beat of silence. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT

So, why did you come here? I came because the king was too blind to see that they would use this abandoned fortress of shadow as a foothold to conquer more land, but I doubt you were aware of this place.

DARKHOLD RANGER 

I know it all too well. Ancient power slumbers in these halls. Something, if freed, could be used to bring forth bloody unimaginable horror. Only told through old scrolls most don’t bother unfurling. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT

The Storm, you mean? A god made of thunder and lightning itself? Please, ‘tis only children’s stories and pirate’s rambles. They came here hoping to win a free castle, nothing else. 

The DARKHOLD RANGER grunts, unconvinced. Beat.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Know any songs for our last night alive? 

The DARKHOLD RANGER takes another swig of his drink, then refills it. His hood is no longer drawn.

DARKHOLD RANGER 

They say you sang plenty while you murdered hundreds at the Battle of Evening Yards. ‘Called you the Singing Helm. 

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT scoffs. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Tell me, who do you believe tells these stories? Scouts in their reports? The speeches of Mozrathan nobles? No. They come from the drunken banter of exhausted soldiers. The whispers of scheming lords. They say many a thing about you, I’m sure. Might have even heard of your reputation if I knew your name. 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

I don’t care if that tale about you is a lie. I’ve seen you before. Covered head-to-toe in mud and guts, but it was the same valiant champion of the Rosewood. Standing in the field with the head of Lord Rowan in your hand and that of a mountain giant underneath your boot. Ah, but you’re right. Many think me a monster, and perhaps they’re correct. I’m the Darkhold Ranger. The assassin and backstabber.  

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT walks over to the barrel of mead and pours himself a cup. He sits back down with a sigh for a beat, then leans forward, holding it out for a toast. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

To monsters, then. 

The DARKHOLD RANGER knocks the mug out of his hand, sending it flying. He stands up, getting closer to the knight.

DARKHOLD RANGER 

Don’t presume yourself to be anything like me. I may be a monster, but you’re worse. On that day of mud, I saw the white flash of your smile underneath all that clunky armor. Triumphant and satisfied. 

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT also stands up, scooting his chair back violently. He is taller than the ranger. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

If you hate war so much, then why didn’t you walk away?! Lord Rowan held command of Darkhold Keep, if I’m not mistaken. That frees you of service, or at least as far as anyone else is concerned. Go on and live in your hole in the woods, or whatever it is you did before. Or just cut me down right here, right now. 

He spreads his arms. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

Go on! Do it! What are you waiting for? I’m the only one standing in your way. 

The DARKHOLD RANGER’s knife trembles in his hand. His eyes are downcast. 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

I...I can’t. 

(His voice shakes)

DARKHOLD RANGER 

I tried... once. Going back, I mean. I went back to the forest, determined to stay there for the rest of my life. Tending my cabin seemed easy. All I had to do was chop the firewood, sweep the dust, fetch water from the well... it was all so menial. Nothing like the brutal, week-long marches from one battleground to another, or constant training until your muscles felt as if they were melting. When I pointed my bow on a deer, all I saw was the face of someone who was on the opposite side of the war, frozen in fear before I ended their life. When I closed my eyes, I saw flame and death and carnage on fields ripped of life. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Ran out of those woods with my tail between my legs, back to the same old sneering faces.  

Beat. A log falls in the fire, making the flames crackle. They both sit back down.

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

There are more ghosts than the ones we create. Spirits that grip my mind at night, making me unable to move a muscle. I smiled not because I liked it. I smiled because I was glad to be alive. Glad that the hundreds of ghosts made by my blood-soaked hands hadn’t yet come for revenge. Glad I had another victorious battle to sweep under my name and live up to House Rosewood’s reputation. Oh, how I wished then for sweet, sweet sleep. Now, the only warrior to beat me in battle, the No-Eyes, knocks at my door, and do I get my slumber? 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

Even if you defeat Venin, there’s hundreds more raiders storming this castle. We’re dying either way, so what do you have to lose?

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT smiles a tired smile.

DARKHOLD RANGER 

And don’t fall asleep on me, now. Wouldn’t want to wake up with a Forsaken’s blade at your throat. 

The ROSEWOOD KNIGHT laughs. 

ROSEWOOD KNIGHT 

What’s the point of resting on your last night on earth? 

The DARKHOLD RANGER holds up his mug. 

DARKHOLD RANGER 

To our final fight, and then to sleep. 

The DARKHOLD RANGER starts singing. It is low, slow and mournful, of sailors bidding farewell to their children and ships sinking in crackling storms. The knight joins in. The lights slowly fade as they sing. A very faint, blue glow comes from the depths of the spiral stairs.

END OF PLAY