Rule 16
Hide Big Secrets & Buy Little Secrets
Statement: Morality is a situationally flexible line in the sand. Is it morally correct to kill another person in cold blood? I was raised to believe no. Is it morally correct to kill another person when the only option is them or me? I was raised to believe in self-defense. These two values are at odds in this new world. But so is everything else. Is slavery wrong?
The issue here isn’t one of moral correctness. I can’t preach to what is right or wrong for another person’s situation. If faced with the choice of fleeing or forcing a draw, versus killing an enemy combatant, which is better? There is no simple answer, for people left alive can be treated as chess pieces. That is to say, their existence limits immediate moves by the enemy, or muddles the board all together. But I am no chess master. Not yet.
My attempts at figuring out the black spell were slow, painful, and monitored by a truck full of people. They watched my fingers wiggle and I gave up working on the secret. Sleeping was easier. The last three days had been torture and it was a wonder I’d managed to get this far. My eyes closed and unconsciousness won instantly. I stayed unconscious for a long time.
But during blissful oblivion, I dreamed. In the dream, my legs worked fine. My family was whole. Dad walked in through the door and my brother invited me to workout at the gym. My niece and nephews were alive and happy. I had a new girl I was dating, her face fuzzy and hair jet black. Life was good.
On this dream, I’ll say no more, because such fanciful pleasantries are for those in denial. That is not me. There were not enough drugs in the world to bring back what I’d lost. No matter how much I might wish there to be.
Post Note: I downplay this because it makes me unhappy. I cannot afford to feel sorrow or loss. Nor is there enough time tonight to fully explain what it’s like to know that everything of import had been yanked away. The travesties we committed—and still commit upon each other are terrible. Those who quit or were left behind had been rent limb from limb. People sold their children. We’ve become monsters.
Ask yourself, faced with a world where nearly everyone had died but you gained magic, how would you honestly act? If you say you’d be a warrior, unquestioning and resolute in the face of new dangers, charging forth to explore the mysteries of this new world—then you likely know nothing about yourself. Imagine Hell, and that you’re both devil and sinner.
When I awoke, the world felt off. As if someone had picked up all the items in my house and moved them six inches to the left. It was disjointed and something in the air made me hold still. I expected a face to peer over me at any moment with long creeping fingers.
No such creatures appeared. My neck turned and legs slowly moved. I’d slept a long time; days, maybe. My face felt stiff and legs ached. I blinked and remembered pain that hit me from a dozen different directions.
A faint light crossed along the floor with the faded fuzz of sun. The roof of this tent waved slowly in a breeze. Heat turned the air muggy.
I lifted my hands. The black light had vanished but I’d managed to memorize the first two finger positions. It was strange that magic functioned in such a weird manner.
Post Note: I confess, I’m not sure what magic should have operated like. Words, bat wings, a wand?
My book sat nearby. Someone should have stolen it but there it remained. Its presence served as yet another mystery. Raiders, especially people willing to fire magically functioning missiles into a supermarket, would have stolen anything that gave power. Perhaps I’d judged them all wrong.
Others were in the tent. Most were in terrible shape. Bandages covered stumpy arms and many had wrapping around their heads. The place smelled like cow dung. A thick man with glasses walked around checking people over. He whispered quietly and I couldn’t hear what he said.
The world tilted and blurred. Ringing in my ear refused to go away. I coughed and struggled to sit up. My arms and legs were bound in layers of cloth that hindered movement. The coughing worsened as I stood.
Shoes shuffled across dirt as the attending nurse stepped over quickly.
“Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit,” he said. The man sounded like those damned mini-orc creatures. There was a slight curve to his back as he stooped over me.
I reached for the book. He got to it first and pushed the table away. I fell forward to the ground and managed to clench my teeth until the pain faded. He stood above me pushing objects away to give me space. There wasn’t enough room and falling items were almost immediately caked in a pile of dirt on the ground.
“No. No. No. Bad.” He repeated himself rapidly in a hard to hear tone. The man’s tongue clicked. “Bad. No.”
He pulled out a small blade that was the only clean object in this room. I turned to crawl away but the doctor kept pushing me back. My body had a long way to go before it was fully healed. It felt like my muscles had turned to limp noodles. Thick legs, which had been honed over years of running, were missing tons of mass.
A foot connected with my side. Two ribs cracked. I didn’t cry out. That small victory helped me stay sane when my situation got worse.
“No. No. Tests. We need to understand you. Grafts, you see. Grafts. You can save lives.” He smiled. The man’s arm twitched. “You’re healed already with potions! You understand what that means. Experiments.”
Suddenly, all the other men in bandages made sense. I’d been taken away to a mad scientist’s lair. He wanted to cut me to ribbons and find the secrets of immortality. I barely understood my own healing and now another man was out to gut me.
My next thought was for a weapon. His knife, in my hands, based on what piddle understanding I had, would cut through monsters like butter. I debated for a cool second but realized yanking it away would be impossible. He wielded it with a firm grip and my fingers could barely make a fist.
I fumbled for the spell book. He kicked me, again. A sharp pain crippled me and this time a short cry escaped. He laughed and planted a boot in my side once more. Something inside my chest crunched and breath became impossible. I gasped and tried to reach out, only to collapse inward with knees bent.
“Stay. Sit. I need a sample. God help me. A single sliver. If it works. If it…” He shook his head and wiped his brow with a dirty sleeve.
Chills wracked me. Legs jerked from repeated attempts to breathe. I clutched my stomach and pressed tightly upon the ribs, which made it worse.
“Doctor Krazer,” a dry toned woman said. “That’s enough. Our guest is not to be harmed. Madison’s orders. We need to learn more about his abilities.”
I heaved my chest to get air. None came. Each time I breathed in, pain spiked and I tensed causing myself additional hurt.
The doctor stood and swept backward. His eyes were wide and the surgical knife in his hands vanished. He had on a gray lab coat that might have once been white.
“You know better.”
My chest eased. I shook and saw my fingertips again. They were boney and skin was tightly wrapped. I had no muscle around my wrists either.
“That’s what I was doing. A small piece, just a small one. If can take a sample and put it under the microscope.” He twitched. The man’s body was pale, clammy, and beads of sweat pooled on his brow that weren’t there a moment ago.
Nix scared him. I filed it away and continued my efforts to breathe. The pain rolled by in waves, high pain followed by a dull rush that washed over me.
“You won’t see anything. Magic doesn’t show up on a stethoscope.”
“Compound microscope,” he corrected and twitched. His knife flashed into sight once more and was set down. His arm continued to shake as he placed it on a counter top.
The two of them engaged in some sort of standoff. I took slower breaths and relished the lessening agony. Whatever had happened to me provided quick healing. Faster than I’d ever expected. This explained why I’d be able to walk around after blowing up a homemade shrapnel bomb in the giant’s face.
Post Note: Healing didn’t make me more durable. The explanation I promised is soon, disguised as gibberish.
“He”—she spoke of Coach Madison with the same disgust I felt—“wants him to be tested.”
“Madison wants to waste a rose on the faerie? After all the work I put into growing them?”
Nix simply stared the mad doctor down. Unruly hair hung over her eyes making it difficult to tell if she was happy or sad. Her arms were loose and still, while the doctor fidgeted wildly. They made a strange pair.
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None of the other patients stirred. Either they were too far gone, or didn’t care about these two squabbling. I felt right enough to move again and struggled to scoot away.
Nix walked over calmly. Hair on the back of my neck stood. A crawling tingle made me clench despite the numbness of my body. I shuddered at the sound of her soft footsteps.
Her foot smashed onto my arm. There was a crunch, sharp jolt of pain, and I screamed. My voice shook and the fresh wave ceased almost immediately. I couldn’t feel it, but skin bled and blood pooled. That had been a break, or a fracture.
“Now stand up, or I’ll break the other one,” Nix said.
A rag doll would have had more emotion. She pulled on the broken arm. I felt pressure as the limb wiggled without natural form. Bones pulled apart, causing more blood to flow. A small river dripped onto the ground. I hastily stood and only slipped twice getting my other arm into position.
Breathing was harder while standing.
“There. Blood for your samples.” Nix pointed to the floor. The doctor nodded and shook.
I was pushed outside the tent. Not a single other patient had turned our way. The doctor clearly fell below Nix in terms of power.
Post Note: Like so many things, this is in hindsight, a journal of what happened. I noticed all these details, in between bouts of panic, pain, and fear.
The pain was still there in the background, but distant enough that it didn’t bug me. The last two days had been full of more pain and damage than my entire life before. This new world really was hades. I breathed unevenly as worry set in.
My mind spun in rapid speculations about the nature of this healing. I worried if it was possible to be fixed wrong. Bones might never set correctly or regain full feeling. These thoughts distracted me as we moved from the tent toward another building.
The location was familiar. We were camped in a small wooded park next to the public library. Or, these raiders were and I’d been shoved into a tent near the parking lot’s edge. Other buildings were set up, and a ton of cars were tipped over as fortification. I remembered playing here as a young boy. It served as a stark contrast to the playground of my youth.
Some signs made perfect sense, labeling parts of the camp. One sign, in rather cheery letters above a twenty foot recreational vehicle, read ‘Paradise.’ The RV rocked and faint moans could be heard inside. In another part farther away, across the sun baked parking lot, was a sign which read ‘Purgatory.’
The windows were busted and roof buried in moss. There were signs that one section of the library’s roof had caved in. And the park had plants growing that had obviously been there for months. Their harvest included corn, tomatoes, peas, and other vegetables. I had no idea what season we were in. There were two cows and a chicken coop nearby. Someone had set this place up as a small farm.
Coach Madison, for I couldn’t remember his first name, strode across the parking lot toward Nix and me. He barged in front of us and pushed open the library door. We stepped through without much conversation.
I did note that Nix had my book in one hand. It worried me that other people could pick it up or even notice the object. My experiences with other people were too limited.
“Follow along, Little Dick, and no one will have any problems,” Coach Madison said.
He lied. I knew for sure he wasn’t telling the truth. The man couldn’t even cover it up with double speak like the stewardesses. They, at least, used wordplay to disguise their malicious natures.
My expression may have been dead but my mind wasn’t. I nodded, because both of them scared me. They ordered me around from a position of power. One day we might turn the tables. I assumed that their confidence came from having time to learn their abilities, or the rules of this world. If I survived, then I would catch up.
We went around a corner, back behind a pile of bookshelves and into a small room that might have been used as a study location. It reminded me of the kind of place kids went to talk or drag a television to watch anime.
On the singular normal-sized desk sat a huge jar that had to be bigger than my head. Writing all over the table resembled mad scrawling written by a man suffering from a brain aneurysm. The glass container was upside down.
Inside the jar was a small bed. Next to that sat a table and an extremely small book. Next to the book a winged creature straight out of a children’s cartoon fluttered. She was tiny, blond, and female.
She was writing. I knew from experience that words often changed into new shapes when no one was looking, but based on all the words in perfect English around here, there was clearly a trick I did not understand.
Another inconsistency to life struck me. The letter from my supposed father had been in English too. Did he write it himself, or did one of those small fluttering fairies do it? I had a million questions and none of them were being answered.
My steps faltered and the man behind me huffed in annoyance.
“Come on!” He pointed to a seat. I hadn’t noticed it before, but next to the glass jar were three wooden chairs. The rest of the room was bare. I got the impression this place had been made sparse for a reason.
“Sit. Now, before I have them break your arm again. Sit,” Coach Madison repeated.
Breaking my arm would only be momentary pain. The doctor from before, or nurse, had poked me repeatedly. I knew the pain would turn off after a few seconds, leaving me numb to the damage. Such all-inclusive deactivation made it easier to think, but harder to function. Extremely effective pain meds had the same effect.
I sat anyway, but moved slowly as a small act of defiance. The coach bothered me immensely and I couldn’t remember why. It was all that remained to me, and the coach apparently considered my efforts funny.
He smiled and nodded to another man, who I hadn’t noticed in the room. The other person was short, wore a collared shirt, bowtie, and frowned in disapproval. His head shook. Coach Madison gestured with his palm for something to be provided. Eventually they exchanged a gun.
Madison pointed the gun toward a wall, pulled the trigger, and smiled as the wall exploded upon contact. My shoulders tensed and good arm jerked. A small dark hole sat there. He pointed to the short man. “This is Toymaker, and this”—he held up the weapon —“is a working firearm. If I find out you’re not worth keeping alive, you’ll be branded, or killed. It’s your choice.”
I didn’t like either option, and was awed by a working weapon. It had been my impression that many modern objects were replaced by those powers who kidnapped us. These people had a truck, rocket launcher, and a handgun. It amazed and frightened me.
Madison smiled, leveled the gun at me, and used his free hand to point to the jar. “Little Dick, this is a faerie. We call her Pix, and she tells us we’re stupid. Luckily Pix can be bribed with roses.” He nodded to Toymaker, which was a worse name than Pix. The short man heaved a deep breath, walked over and lifted the jar lid.
The faerie was completely distracted, scrawling illegible words into her miniature book. Madison cleared his throat and the winged creature gradually set down the pencil with tense shoulders.
She turned around and blinked.
The little league coach pointed at my book, which Nix had plopped down on the scrawl covered table. “Tell me about it.”
Pix fluttered over to inspect the item. She did two laps around it then touched back down upon the table and stared up at Coach Madison.
“Two roses.” Her voice sounded purple. There was no better way to describe it. Soft, velvet, and wrapped around my head in a way that dulled everything else. It was higher pitched but at the same time clipped and rapid, but still soft.
“One,” Madison countered.
“Two. It is nasty.” A tiny hand waved at my book. The dull covered item was bigger than she was.
“One.”
“Ironbound. Filthy. Impossible to separate. Even with death. Not like other gifts. Who made this? Who? Who?” the short creature devolved into repeated words. “No. Only one man. One only dirty dweller of the deep. Stupid. Stupid. Told the three not to invite him. They did anyway. Two roses for more.”
The faerie flew around in a rapid circle. Coach Madison growled. She froze down to wingtips and still managed to float mid-air.
“One.” My brother’s little league coach jabbed a finger at the book once more. “What other gifts does he have?”
“One. This houses objects. One object. Changeling orb. Very dangerous. Unpredictable. Essences of many Wildchilds boiled, screaming. They screamed. Down to the bone, then they laughed as many became one. It’s madness made tangible.”
“What does it do for him?” he asked slowly while pointing at me. The faster the faerie creature talked, the more annoyed Coach Madison looked.
The small creature hadn’t heard a word the big man said. She flew around rapidly, but never far from the bottle. “Very weak. Very hard to kill. Closer to them. Less like you. Smiling monster with sharp teeth. Collector of secrets big and small. Watcher. Laughing murderers.”
A small chain connected her ankle to the lid. She approached me and I drew back. Pix wagged a finger at me and smiled with teeth showing. I did not like her, at all.
Coach Madison moved onto threats. “Nix? Can you obliviate our little guest? I think she’s about worn her worth.”
“No! No! I tell you. In human words. Human. Book, Mirror of Souls. Soul Mirror. Star mirror. Many things in one name. Impossible for human ears to hear. Three curses, or blessings, and gifts, or prices, maybe debts. Fickle human tongue is too singular! French were better. Greek were better. English has no words for opposing ideas.”
My head hurt. Coach Madison’s mouth twisted sourly, demonstrating he probably felt the same way.
“Use English or I’ll let Nix erase you.”
Nix must somehow affect magic. Her name was a hint, nixing magic would make her extremely dangerous to all sorts of creatures, myself included.
“His body changes. Is changing. Changeling orb. Stored in the mirror. Reflection. Bound with bloodied iron. Affects spirit. Essence. Opposing elements, internal conflict. How. How do you humans use such singular—” She froze again when Coach Madison growled. Her wings held still until at last the faerie kicked into motion. She flew a circle around the book and pointed.
I didn’t like how much she babbled. The small creature obviously knew more about my abilities, and she was telling a room full of people who couldn’t be trusted. The gun at my head and book being so far away made it difficult to argue.
“Mirror book steals magic. Binds spells to its pages. Steals. Knife inside. Tiny Blade of Shadows. Obfuscates owner. Deadly. With bloodied iron. Deadly to magic. Killer. He’s a killer using our magic. A killer. A hunter. A murderer. A smiling sharp-toothed grin that kills other mad grinners.” The faerie rambled on and spun in circles.
“Very dangerous,” she dragged out the words and descended to the table once more.
Coach Madison stood sharply. Nix stepped back and cast her eyes down. The faerie, Pix, babbled until the jar clamped over her head. The winged creature broke away from her rants and banged on the glass. Coach Madison glared at me with flat lips.
I started to remember why he bothered me so. The reason had to do with other boys on my brother’s little league team. There had been rumors of unsavory actions with some of those kids. Never my brother, but I recalled the coach being released from employment.
The thought made me shudder. Coach Madison didn’t miss the action and shook his head. Inside the jar, his faerie captive banged tiny fists ineffectively on the glass. After a minute of thumping he finally lifted the glass again. I hadn’t seen the gun switch people, but now Toymaker had it. He, too, frowned.
Pix shouted in her purple voice. “Roses! You promised roses for answers! Give them to me. You. And I tell you another secret. A little secret.”
“You’ll tell the secret first or I’ll drown your bottle in a river.”
“Rose first.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
The faerie’s body held still. She stared at Coach Madison, blinking only. The coach glared back. Finally, Pix nodded and spilled the last of her secrets.
“This once man. He’s the last one. Or one of the last. He must have visited the Dwarf Hephaestus’s shop. Only one of those above can make this. The original Hephaestus. Mean. But these relics were broken. He merged them. Made something dangerous. He plays games with the others. Dangerous, dangerous games.”
“That it?”
The faerie nodded and held out her hands and grasped with fingers.
Coach Madison’s face stayed expressionless as he pulled out a single rose and handed it to the faerie. Her mouth grew to impossible lengths. She gulped down the rose as a pelican might eat a fish.
I held very still and struggled to recall all the words she’d said. They were so fast and confusing that it was a difficult task. The words “mad grinners” and “dangerous games” stuck in my head.
Those parts started to sink in. The coach led me outside and we passed by a bathroom doorway with some chest high mirror. My reflection rubbed hands across arms that I couldn’t feel. He, I, stopped and smiled briefly, a mad grin that reminded me of the stewardesses.