___________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ **** ** ** ** ** The **** THERWORLD CHAPTER 23 (> Madman <) Copyright 1992 by Bryce Koike All Rights Reserved ___________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Any comments, criticisms, opinions, etc, are welcome. I can be reached on Internet as: bkoike@sdcc13.ucsd.edu -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- "I'm trying to tell you something about my life Maybe give me insight between black and white The best thing you've ever done for me Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all Well Darkness has a hunger that's insatiable And lightness has a call that's hard to hear I wrap my fear around me like a blanket I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I'm crawling on your shore" ("Closer to Fine" -- Indigo Girls) -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date: October 3, 1992 Location: Northern California Otherworld Time: 6:30 am In her mind, Angela could see the writing on the paper, clear as day. It was unpolished prose as it was meant to be; scratchings of a mind in pain onto paper. There was no room to clear mistakes. She could see the hand which scrawled each word, the face stony and silent. The moment had been only a handful of weeks ago and yet it seemed like years to her, watching Matt write the story of his madness onto paper and then incinerate it, ashamed of the human being he had become. It had become a Viking funeral in her mind, but the deceased was the ugly side of Matt and she knew that it could not be killed, not by any normal fire at least. Looking into her memory, she recalled the words which caused her to shudder even now: PRISONER My dreams are never sane. No, they are a rush of guttural growls and murmurs, bestial screams in a night that will never fade. Hands grope in the dark, counting out the cracks in the floor of their cell. Bodies twist on iron beds, shamed by the stains of their own waste. Madman cackles and spits, babbling once more. He was the Prince once, but he fell from that tower in his shame. Hands, cracked and bloody, crawl across the cell floor. He seeks forever more for his lost sanity, sometimes even his own quest forgotten between his acts of madness. Here lies the Princess, once of the most beautiful of the Kingdom. She is curled into a tight fetal ball, sobbing, her form and mind raped in the darkness countless times. Her cries are only punctuated with fits of laughter, screeching squeals of hysteria, with underlying growls. The Warden calls her Animal now, but she is not there yet. Sweet Princess, was your innocence abused once too many times? Rat sniffles in the corner, wiping away the snot that oozes from his cold, wet nose. He was the Jester, but laughed once too often, his back now twisted and bent from the chuckles which once leapt so easily from his mouth. He is reduced to crawling on all fours, scuttling about, feeding on his own feces and urine. Demon rattles the eldritch chains which bind him. He is alone in his cell for he devours all within reach. He snarls. His spittle is acid, his blood poison. The sight of his eyes means death. His voice is Corruption. And none can satiate his empty stomach. At the end of this long, unlighted corridor stands the Warden. His voice is stone, his body is steel. His methods suggest violence, hate, and control. It is this torn prison that he watches over with his singular mind. None can escape though many have tried, for the Warden was here before all the rest and his strength reigns supreme. All these dark ones and more within my mind, chained and locked away, hidden in the darkest corners I can find. Tomorrow, the Warden will free them and I will be devoured. A rough hand shook her awake. "Time to get up, girl," Norwell said. "We got a long day ahead of us." Angela sighed. One day to rest. She wanted more. The man was truly insufferable, wanting to wake before the sun was truly up and to hike long past her endurance. Oh, she was certain he meant well, but couldn't he at least let up a little? No, no, that wasn't the man's way. Angela shivered again. Was there a Demon in her? She had glimpsed it in Matt, faced it in Norwell. It was a monstrous beast with raving fangs, more powerful than anything she had ever encountered. She knew that were she to encounter Demon on his territory, she would be destroyed. His spittle is acid, his blood poison. His voice is Corruption. His hands could burn, his claws could reave, his teeth could shred. They were the words of violence and agony, of fear and hate. Angela finally opened her eyes to face the day, though momentarily fearful of what it would be that she was opening her eyes to. Open, though, it was the morning's sun barely peeking through the woods that met her vision and not the dampness of a prison cell and the length of raving prisoners hidden in her mind. Here in the morning there were only the birds beginning to wake and the cool breeze, no longer damp from the ocean's waves. Angela's nose flared in response to the smell of coffee and oatmeal. Her stomach squeezed and demanded to be filled. "Okay, okay," she said to it, "let's eat." -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date: October 3, 1992 Location: Northern California Otherworld Time: 2:43 pm My ancestry is Japanese and has been traced back to the 19th Century. Not very far, but enough to give me a feel for what my ancestors had to face in their difficult times. I know the tales of the early immigrants in San Francisco, struggling to survive in the American sweatshops, then in the war camps of the second World War. And, finally, into general social acceptance in the late 20th Century. Then the formation of the Coalition which brought peace to the wide varieties of those who called themselves Asian and a brief exodus in which a handful of American-Japanese returned to their homeland like some sort of religion journey. And then the massive exodus into space to Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and beyond. My people were pioneers, martyrs, and fools all. To my knowledge, I am the first to have walked another reality, an alternate Earth, one they call The Other World. Number me among those who stood against the Eternal, and those whose uncoordinated efforts now stand against this new threat. I am Jiro Mitsuo and I am a free man. Jiro turned his head down toward the rippled ocean and its flecked surface. He could still see the ashes, remnant's of the boy's belongings, dancing on the breeze to fall into the waves and into eternity. The boy had been called Matt Ryuko and he had given himself for a cause larger than himself. Jiro wondered if it would be possible for him to give a similar sacrifice. The boy's friends had gone eastward, for something called them, something untold, but they had been determined to brave the crossing despite the deaths. No word had been heard from them. There were flowers at the monument. Jiro knelt to inspect them and then took one in between forefinger and thumb and breathed in its scent. Looking upward, he watched the seagulls thrusting their faces into the sea wind, nearly motionless, hovering. Abruptly, one of them let loose a cry and their formation broke and they calmly soared away. The back of his neck prickled. Jiro carefully turned and watched the three who approached. The woman was stark, bony, and austere, her clothing a single piece of white fabric stretched tight across her body. She gave a polite nod and looked down at the grave. The other two were men, one with a beard and tired eyes, the other unshaved with bandages on his hands. Jiro moved out of their way and continued to study the flower. Who had placed flowers on Matt's monument? "This is all there is?" asked the woman in a strange voice. "This small grave?" It took a moment for Jiro to realize that she had addressed him. "It was all they felt was necessary. It is a monument and a reminder to us all." She shook her head. "I was in the city of Los Angeles. I could not experience the moment. I would think that he rated something greater." "Perhaps he wanted no more." The woman smiled. "Someone remembers him," she said as she touched a flower. "And respects him with flowers. These are wild." "There are no others available anymore." "I am Tova." She stood and Jiro had to look up to meet her eyes. There was a moment of soft tension between them before Tova broke their eye contact and motioned to her companions. "This is Xavier Brenton," she said motioning to the man with a beard. He was in his forties. "And this is Bates, our leader." The man with the bandages winced. That title did not seem to sit well with him. Jiro bowed. "I am Jiro Mitsuo." A moment of uncomfortable silence fell over them until Tova laughed. Jiro studied her quizically. Finally she fell silent and her gaze seemed to pierce him through the heart. "I think that you might wish to join us, man of the Combine. We have come to find allies to fight the Dark." That name. That name. Jiro could feel his heart break. "I-" No more words came from his mouth. The Dark. It spoke of untold hatred and evil, of a dread cold coming to steal babies from their cradle. It was the claw of poison touching his soul. The Dark. The woman named Tova laughed, but this time it was bitter. "Yes, perhaps you should come with us, fighting man. I have heard much of you, you who have killed a Hunter, you who have walked the night unseen by any mortal eye." Without a word he followed her. He had no other choice. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Norwell had demanded that they go cross country this day. He explanation was, "What we're looking for isn't on the main trails." Angela could have pried it from his mind, but that would have been cruel. When they scrambled up a ridge, they could look down the rocky cliff and down into a small lake full of water so clear that the bottom seemed sheathed only in rippled glass. Roger was kind enough to allow them a moment's rest there and Angela was determined to remember that scene, looking down at the lake, watching the water birds lazing on a rock jutting from the middle of the lake. A little tune wafted through her head then, an Irish one that her mother had loved, and it made her sad. Mother was dead, she remembered, gone away, her body a hollow, charred corpse underneath the remains of their house. For a time she clenched her hands, despairing with the thought that she had nothing to return to. Things had been set up so perfectly, that her loved ones were dead so none could worry of where she had gone, that her house had been destroyed so that others would assume her dead as well. Would she find a grave here in Otherworld too? Would she be another Matt, her life ended with a tiny gesture to become a small martyr in a world far too large for her own comprehension? When the moment had passed and she was finally able to open her hands, Angela could feel a deep tiredness rushing over her. There could be no rest, though, for Norwell was eager to be off, to head deeper into the forest and mountains where no trails led. They started to work their way down the ridge. "Roger, do you think we could take a look at the lake once we're down to the bottom?" panted Angela as she worked to keep up with him. Roger sighed. "I don't think so," he replied. "I'd like to, I really would, but we've got so far to go today. We really don't have the time." Nodding to herself, Angela concentrated on placing her feet so that she wouldn't step on obstacles that could cause her to stumble and fall. It simply wouldn't do to injure herself; there were no doctors for miles and miles and miles. There was only Roger and her and what could they do together if she was to trip and break a leg? It was easy to make it to the other side of the ridge and soon they were entering into a valley that went down and down, the grey walls towering up on either side speckled with bushes and other plant life. A small trickle had started at the mouth to the valley, flowing down from the lake, and soon turned into a larger stream as others found their way to it. Crossing was difficult and not an hour had passed before their boots were wet and so they sloshed onward, walking in the stream when there was no other place to walk. As the valley tightened further, Angela wondered if this was what an artery was like, clogging up slowly over time from deposits until the opening was so small that not even blood could pass through. The valley continued to dip downward and the walls continued to roll up and up, hiding them away from the sun so that long sleeve shirts had to be worn to keep away the cold. The grey was becoming invasive, turning Angela's already dark mood bleak, making her wonder when the rain would come to rain the day completely. There was a sharp brightness up ahead, though, and she increased her pace to keep up with Norwell. The right valley wall abruptly dropped away as they followed the stream left and they could see far, far down. The stream absently fell off the edge and plunged away. Angela had a distinct feeling that the real world's influence had ended some time ago and that they had entered something else. The valley floor had turned to a thin, granite path that continued to wind left, following what had once been the valley wall. Angela lagged behind, staggered by the view of the forest sea which swam below them. She couldn't judge the distance, but it seemed like miles to her, down and down to a forest floor that couldn't be seen from the distance they were at. This was not a part of the Earth they had known. This was something else, imported into the Otherword by some freak accident in another reality. Or it had been a true part of the Earth, but altered by the rules which governed Otherworld -- rules which did not always connect with those of her Earth. She was already muddled by the alternate paths which her planet had taken and was startled by the numerous similar-Earths which existed, the Norwell-Earth, the Bates-Earth, the Angela-Earth. All of them very, very similar, but each with slight, almost unknown, differences. Some of them were closely interconnected, some of them less so, but they were all called home to them, and there was very little, if anything, that could be used to tell them apart. Who was to say that the Bates-Earth was not the Angela-Earth was not the Norwell-Earth? It was possible that they were the one and the same, but it was equally possible that they were slightly different alternate realities intertwined with each other. And it was completely impossible to know for absolutely certain which reality you were in. The ambiguities were simply too great. The thought hurt her mind and she pushed it away to concentrate on the path. Angela wondered how long the path could continue and if they were descending down toward the forest below them. If so, it would take them many, many hours to reach it. Where would they sleep? On this shallow pathway? There wasn't any room! The path was still drifting downward and Angela didn't feel like asking Norwell. She was relieved a handful of hours later when the wall to their left began to slope down until it met with the path and then Norwell turned inland, still following the cliff for a while, then moving deeper in. Angela felt like she was in Wonderland. She was Alice, but then who was Roger? And where was the Cheshire Cat? Finally, Norwell called for a stop. It was already long past lunchtime and Angela was happy to munch on granola, peanuts, and M&M's while resting her aching feet and legs. Each step she took had felt like she was walking on perpetual bruises, but now with the weight off she was a free as a ballerina and light on her feet. "I think that you'd like resting here," Norwell said. "I can tell that you're taking it rough." Angela shrugged. "I could do more if you really want." He shook his head. "This is the end of the line for now. There's not enough daylight remaining for us to do what we're here to do." Sensing an opening, Angela looked up from her food and said, "What _are_ we here to do, Roger?" The man smiled sadly and shook his head. "You're not ready for that, not yet. In fact, I think that now would be a good time for another lesson." Angela sighed. "Again." "Mm hmm. Come here now. I'm going to teach you some relaxation exercises which should aid your concentration. Now that you've learned to hold yourself in, I'm going to teach you how to look within yourself and understand your bodily functions. With enough practice you'll be able to tell when you're sick or healthy, what parts of you are ailing, and even the emotions you're feeling." The Sight Within. Why did she fear that? The ability held no mysteries to Matt who used it often. What was it that he had said? "If you do not know yourself, if you have looked at yourself in the mirror and seen the demon which stares back and accepted it, then how can you pass judgement on others?" Something like that. "Am I afraid of _my_ demon?" Angela thought. She was automatically following Norwell's instructions and led herself into a self-induced hypnotic trance. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- "I don't like this," Bates muttered to Xavier. "Who the hell is this guy?" "I don't know," Xavier replied. "Look at the way he walks. He's dangerous, whoever he is." "Yeah, but dangerous for who?" Tova turned and glared for a moment, silencing the two men. "If the other man is your leader," Jiro said to Tova, "then why are you doing the speaking?" "He is . . . not exactly prepared for the role yet." Tova continued to lead Jiro away from the other two men. Jiro was all too aware of their curious stares at him. Obviously the woman had not bothered to mention her plans to them. "But as our paths lead the same direction, I have joined ranks with them for now." "And you are joined in a battle against something you call the Dark Rider." Tova shook her head. "There are many of them now across the entire planet. They are the enemy. They are the blackness, the cold hate, the slow death. You are an enemy of those who threaten free life on this planet and that would make you a valuable ally." "You know of me, Tova, but I do not know of you." "That must wait for later. I need to know now of your intent. Do you wish to join a new battle against a new enemy, or do you require solitude?" "You're to the point." Jiro stopped to admire the ocean view. "I have heard stories of strange things happening in the world," he mused. "For a while I thought that the Eternals were behind them, but now I am not so certain. I decided that I could not follow the war parties southward, for their battle was not mine. But I could not stay here in Northern California fighting back the straggling few Eternals who remain alive. I left and found myself here, admiring a boy's grave and wondering where my future would lead me." Jiro sighed. "And now you come with your two companions offering me new battles. Do I know that I can trust you? What guarantee do I have that you are not a part of the strange rumors?" Tova shrugged. "I came asking to know if we can trust you. Now you turn that question back at us. I have no true answer. That, you must decide for yourself. I want you to know this: we are heading north and if you should find your path heading north as well, it might be well if we joined our ranks together." For a long time the two of them listened to the soft waves crashing to the beach below and the cry of gulls in the air. The wind blew in their faces, taking moisture away with them. Jiro closed his eyes and increased his senses so that he could feel the breeze against every pore and smell the sea brine deep in his nostrils. Finally, he sighed with satisfaction and returned himself to normal. "I will go with you. And then we will see about wars." Tova nodded. That is good. Come and introduce yourself to my other companions."