"Follow That Same Old Road"
Title: "Follow That Same Old Road"
Author: Rissy James
Rating: 14A (possible eventual 18+)
Summary: DG is the only hope of a country laid to ruin by an evil Sorceress. An elaborate, carefully constructed trail awaits her, but will she forge her own path?
Warning: Technical AU. All series spoilers apply.
Author's Note: Written for the second annual "Big Damn Challenge"; a link to my table. Inspired by the Everworld quote: "It doesn't count if the plan works by accident!"
Follow That Same Old Road
Two
Noise
It's dark when she wakes up; it surrounds her, blankets her, and makes her cold. There is nothing around her, only a lonely world cloaked in a dark veil. Slowly, she realizes she can see a bit, which is something at least. She puts her palms flat on the ground to push herself up, but her hands meet dirt and tree-needles. There is no bed of grass. Above her, the navy sky is cast with stars, the moon low enough to play peek-a-boo through the silhouettes of the trees that surround her.
She's in a forest, and that means she's far from home.
She sits up slowly; listening for movement, for whispers, for the sound of water. Only the wind greets her with a low whistle.
She's never spent much time in the woods, but it doesn't take much expertise to know she's alone. She doesn't understand how she came to be alone, until the logic of travelling by tornado leads her to the conclusion that they've all been separated. Her parents wouldn't leave her alone, not in this strange place.
She gets up and walks a slow circle. Her eyes are adjusting but there's not much difference. Rock, fallen log, trees numbered one through seven. Another stone, and then another, jutting up out of the ground, anchored. Finally, she stops at the sturdiest tree and sags to the ground.
The moon doesn't move, but another soon rises above it. She wants to be dreaming, but she knows she's not. She really isn't home any more, not in Kansas, not anywhere she's ever heard of. Two moons, what strange fortune. She sits unmoving, her heart feeling the weight of several hours passing but her brain is telling her sensibly that it may be closer to just one.
When her ears are finally perked toward the intrusion of her borders, she's mentally prepared. She hears them coming, which means what stalks her is not an animal. Footsteps, too many to discern a proper number; the walkers do nothing to cover the sound they make, and DG is unsure if this worries her or not. Maybe she's being underestimated, or perhaps those that creep up on her are confident enough in her helplessness.
There's a thick branch in her lap, one she found during all her stumbling; it's gnarled but mostly straight, a decent club in a pinch. She's resourceful, although there are precious few options.
“What be this wretched creature?” asks the first voice, cutting through the night around her. It makes her jump despite herself, and she's ashamed because the voice isn't at all fearsome, or threatening.
“Perhaps a spy from the west, at the Witch's behest,” says a second voice; though there is fierce conviction in the tone, the lyrical pitch of the voice makes her question her invaders.
There is a flare of light as a torch is lit, and then another. She scrambles to her feet to find herself surrounded by the strangest folk she's ever laid eyes on. Tiny men streaked with war-paint, weapons in their hands and on their belts and strapped to their ankles. Warriors, all pointing spears and axes at her. She raises her weapon of choice in defence.
She tries to remember what her pop told her, but she's jarred by the bright colours of their faces.
“My name is DG,” she says. “I've been separated from my family. I'm lost.”
“Do you often wander the woods at night, child?” the seeming-leader asks as he steps forward; he hangs his axe on his belt and regards her with openly suspicious eyes that seem to bug out of his red-painted face.
“I wasn't wandering,” she defends, “I was sitting here waiting for help or morning, whichever came first.”
“Waiting for the Sorceress, no doubt!” pipes up the blue-dyed second-in-command. “A long way off from the Old Brick Route.”
“I don't know anything about a Sorceress,” she says honestly.
The leader snorts in disbelief, and speaks to one of the men at his back. “Bind her hands and bring her to the camp. Leave her on the ground among the insects and the damp. Come morning, if she lives, we shall see.”
Under
She's thrown to the ground with little force, but her knee connects with a tree root, and she can barely bite back the shout of surprise. She's untied and left alone, they don't expect her to go anywhere, and if they do, they doubt she'll get far. The malicious little toad-warriors are hostile and angry, and scared of some witch.
She'd woken up that morning in her bed in the attic in Kansas believing that witches were contained to fairy stories, along with pygmy bounty hunters painted up like it's Halloween. The cyclone-in-a-bottle has tossed all her beliefs to the wind, as it were. Now, she learns as she goes.
So she pays attention.
It's hard to see the stars because of the lights strung through the trees. The tiny sparks dance like flames, which seems absurd when she thinks about it.
There are murmurs and dull footsteps above her. Every once in a while, there's a laugh, high-pitched and happy, unrestrained. She grows used to these sounds and lets them lull her; one by one, the lights above her go out, and the voices grow dim before ceasing all together.
It's dark, and a little cold. She turns the collar of her leather jacket up; the fleece rubs against her chin and irritates her skin.
She watches the path of the moon when there is no longer a sign of life in the trees. She can make out the stars again; she searches for Polaris, though it's a fool's notion. What about the two moons doesn't tell her she's not looking at the same sky? Maybe she's being childishly hopeful.
It hits her after a few hours, how utterly alone she is. She's not sure where to go or what to do. When the dawn breaks, she might very well be killed. She can't stumble out of the woods in the dark.
Her pop had told her about the road the little man had mentioned. The Old Road, she can hear Popsicle's voice clear in her head, and it warms her. All of life's answers can be found along the Old Road.
This road is meant to lead her somewhere. To Milltown. She needs to get there. She knows that's where her parents will head, if they've safely touched down at all.
She tries to sleep curled up on the ground, but after a while, she rises again and backs up against a tree. She puts her hands in her hair and fights off the tears of tension that want to betray her. Yes, she might be alone in a strange land, there might be a witch about and bloodthirsty little gnomes out nipping at her heels, but it's no reason to cry.
A few tears leak; a hitching sob or two. She gains control over it fast, but not before the gentle creaking of ropes above her head gives way to a soft voice.
“Hey... hey! It's okay, don't cry. No reason to cry on a nice night like this!”
“Who's there?” DG hisses; she's distracted from her tears for a moment.
“Shh. It's okay, don't be scared. No reason to be scared on a nice night like this!”
“You said that already.” She looks up into the darkness, seeing nothing but shadows and stars.
Glimmer
The reading room is filled with electricity, and she can feel it caressing her body. Her alchemists work meticulously, preparing their subject while she paces the room impatiently, listening to the beast strapped to the chair whimper in fear and mental exhaustion.
“We are ready, Sorceress.”
She walks slowly to the center of the room. She runs her fingernails along the glass tank, the faint screech drowned out by the droning of the mechanics that surround them. The pillars of magic and science meet in this room and she is in control of it all.
“Tell me of my future,” she whispers when she reaches the Viewer. He glances at her uncertainly. His breathing is quick; he's scared. Never too scared to give her what she wants.
The Viewer closes his eyes. He gasps, and there is a flash of white light within the tank. In a moment, a clear image swims into focus. It glows green, and the brilliance and beauty of it stuns her into silence. Her stone, her Emerald. Her birthright.
“You cannot see where it is?” she asks; she knows the answer to this, but still she pressures, still she will have him beaten if he does not have the power to break through the magics protecting the stone.
“N-no,” he stammers. His eyes cut toward the alchemist standing at his shoulder, an electric prod in his hands. The Viewer knows the bite of this menace very well, and he shifts uncomfortably under his restraints. He screws his eyes tighter, and his breathing ceases all together as the Emerald disappears from the tank and is replaced by an ever-changing cloud of light and mist.
“Your end comes!” he shrieks suddenly.
The reaction in the reading room is immediate: the alchemist sets upon the bound Viewer, shocking him into dull submission with the electric wand. The Viewer sobs quietly for a moment before his body jerks against its restraints. He sits rigidly in the chair as light bursts within the tank and the Emerald becomes visible again.
“The one to light the way approaches,” Lylo mutters, turning his hands over and staring at his gloved palms. The Sorceress pays no mind to the Viewer, however, as her gaze is drawn once again to the tank. It isn't the image of her most sought out treasure that pulls her, it's the new image imposing itself over the Emerald, which soon disappears into obscurity as a pale face in profile replaces it.
A girl; pale, round-faced, tumbling dark hair.
“Who is she?” the Sorceress demands, turning on the Viewer and coming closer to his chair than she ever has before. She all but leans over him as she barks again, “Who is she?”
The Viewer trembles beneath the hard gaze of the Sorceress. He tries most valiantly to lock eyes with her, but he only catches sight of the black tattoos that spread across her chest before dropping his eyes pathetically. “Only one,” he whispers.
The Sorceress straightens. “What did you say?”
“Only one, one alone. Only one,” he repeats.
Point
DG is snatched from sleep by something bouncing off the top of her head.
Her bleary eyes take in her surroundings as she sits up properly, just in time for another projectile to hit. Crying out, she sees it roll across the ground in front of her. It's a pine-cone, but it's been painted a light shade of true blue. A third is fired, but it pings into the tree above her head. She looks up to see a group of children above her on a rope bridge, giggling amongst themselves as they pelt her with pine-cones.
“Hey, leave her alone!” comes a familiar shout.
One of the itty-bitty bullies shrieks in delight. “It speaks!” The children run off together from one precarious rope-bridge to another, leaving DG to wonder what is happening as she pulls herself to her feet.
“Hey!” she calls, letting her head fall back to look up. Between a maze of bridges hanging from the trees is some sort of free swinging structure, connected to nothing in particular. A cage.
There's a bit of scuffling as the cage jumps this way and that, before a face pokes out the hole in the bottom. He seems friendly enough, and at least he's smiling.
“Hello down there!”
“Was that you last night?”
“Last night?” he asks, puzzled. “It might very well have been, but I don't remember. See -”
“Quiet down, Headcase!” snaps the odious little leader as he walks easily along the rope bridge; it swings and sways beneath his feet, and he moves as if on steady ground. His second-in-command is right behind him. “You there! Girl! What are you doing this far east?”
She tilts her head back a little more. “I told you, I got lost.”
“There are no human towns left in the east. Where are you going?”
“Um, Milltown? What do you mean, no human t-”
“Just follow the Old Brick Route,” the red-faced leader says.
“How do I find it?”
The second-in-command breaks into laughter. “How does she find it? How came us by this twit?”
DG is offended. “Hey, I'm just a tourist! Just tell me which way to go and I'll get out of your hair!”
“I can show her!” pipes up the man in the cage, the one the leader calls 'Headcase'. “I know the way!”
The second-in-command's laughs louder, wiping at his eye. “Oh, happy day! We can send them both away. If we catch them again, we use the blades on them.”
The leader is more reserved. “You can't protect her, Headcase. Milltown sits past the Fields.”
The man in the cage gives a squeak. “The Fields. You mean... The Fields? You know, that might be the reason I'm still in the east. I couldn't figure it out, why I was here I mean, but when you say 'fields' I get the nastiest cold dread in the pit of my stomach so I do believe -”
“Quiet, brainless fool!” shouts the leader. “Oh, to be rid of two headaches in one morning.”
DG watches as the man in the cage is released. He joins her on the ground after clambering gracelessly down a ladder. He might be the oddest man she's ever laid eyes on. A thick zipper cuts through the top of his head; it's closed and she finds herself very grateful for this. Her imagination is too vivid as it is without the help of her new reality.
“To reach Milltown, go west,” says the leader from his position above her. He does not join them on the ground, and DG gets the funny feeling that he will not lower himself to do so. She'll be glad to leave these nasty little feather-fiends behind.
“How come you don't rhyme and your friend does?” the man called Headcase asks the red-painted leader.
He gives a scowl, and grumbles loud enough for DG to hear him from the ground. “Good luck,” he says to her, before waving her off. “You're going to need it with him in tow.”
Sentry *
Her new friend is clumsy. And chatty. She likes him. His name is Glitch, but he doesn't think it's his real name. He hated the cage but doesn't know why he was in there. He knows the way to Central City, wherever that is, he just needs a minute. But then he moves onto something else, and before she knows it, the whole morning is almost gone.
The bricks were easy to find, and they are easy to follow. Glitch wants to walk slowly because there's no hurry, but yes, she's in quite a hurry. She needs to get to Milltown, she needs to know if her parents are all right.
“Can I ask you something?” she ventures.
“Is it about my zipper?”
“It might be.”
Glitch laughs. “I kinda like it.”
She stops and chuckles, because she thinks he's joking. When she sees the serious look on his boyish face, she's immediately contrite. “Why?” she asks.
“I don't know if you've noticed,” he says quietly, “but it's a bit dark around here at times. I have a feeling I don't want to remember what's happened to me.” He reaches up and touches his zipper delicately, near the seam on his forehead. Then he shrugs and smiles.
She has the urge to hug him, but refrains. Instead, she touches his shoulder briefly and mirrors the smile he's given her.
There's a sound then, and she's not sure what it is. She looks around as it sounds a second time. It's sharp and clear, but small. She sees the dog just as it barks the third time, its two front paws coming up off the ground in its excitement to get their attention. And it is trying to get their attention, because when she points the dog out to Glitch, it comes tearing down the hillside to the bricks and jumps up with its muddy paws against her knee.
“Hello,” she greets the dog with a smile.
Glitch hunkers down and gives the dog a good scratch behind the ears. “Good boy!” After sniffing curiously at Glitch's wrist, the dog bounds away from them, back up the hill away from the brick road. “Twitchy little thing, isn't he?” Glitch muses, watching after the dog with a bemused look on his face.
The dog watches them intently from its perch atop the hill. In the stillness of the day, they can hear it growl impatiently. A dog with an agenda, what a strange place, DG thinks. Nevertheless, she climbs the hill, winding her way between the trees to meet the little dog. It - he - jumps happily at her.
“I think he wants us to follow him!” she calls down to Glitch.
“Didn't anyone ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” comes his incredulous reply.
DG grins down at the dog. “You're not a stranger, are you?” she asks him. Why she thinks the dog's face is friendly, she's not sure, but she's never heard of a pup playing the villain.
She glances down the hill to the yellow brick route ambling its way lazily through the trees. The dog is skipping ahead now, down the other side of the hill. In the distance she can see a ribbon of grey water snaking through a marsh-field, and a roof with a sturdy chimney poking up near the edge of a clearing.
It's a good twenty minute walk. Maybe thirty, she readjusts as she watches Glitch stumble up the hill after her.
She turns back to the cabin by the creek. If she squints her eyes, she can make out a thin stream of blue smoke rising from the chimney.
Index
One