The Gathering

Chapter I: The Prophet and the One

Kail watched the sun rise over the mountains. The plains below were flooded with its soft light. He tried to shake the images of the past from his mind, but even as the purple mountains of his ancestors stood in the distance, Kail was unable to appreciate their beauty.

To him, the earth itself was a shadow. Everything he saw on the horizon was nothing but a grotesque caricature of what it used to be. Kail resented the clich There was a time when he had hope, but that part of him was gone for too long, and he had all but convinced himself it was never going to come back.

There was a rustle from the pile of blankets beside him. Kail looked over to see the small mound shake and move. "How many sunrises have you seen?" a muffled voice asked.

"More than you ever will, Old Man," Kail said.

The pile moved and flaps flew out. One of the folds lifted and a wrinkled, speckled crown emerged. Wispy white hair clung to the old man's face on one side and hung like gallows ropes about the other. He raised himself on his elbows and reached to his side, picking up a silk bundle. He carefully unrolled the silk and withdrew pair of lavender tinted glasses from it. He gave them a quick wipe with the cloth and then adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. His milky eyes then surveyed the area in front of him until his purple lenses landed on Kail. "You've had those same glasses since we met. They can't still be helping you see," he said.

"They never did," The Old Man replied. When he saw a curious look come over Kail's face, he elaborated. "When I was young, I found myself in an old church. The light through one of the last glass panes shone down on me, and I don't know how or why, but through the glass, it soothed my eyes, cooled them. So, I got my hands on some of the glass and brought them to a blacksmith who fitted them for me. I wrap them in silk every night," he said, holding up the dingy looking silk ribbon.

"Might need a replacement for that," Kail said glancing back. "We should get moving as soon as you're ready," he said, turning back to the horizon.

"What's your rush?" the Old Man asked between grunts, shifting to rest his elbows on crossed legs.

"My rush? We're still wanted men in this country, Old Man. Or did you forget that since the last time we were here?" Kail asked.

"That was many years ago, Lazarus. Besides, if you're so concerned, should we not stay off the road?" the Old Man countered.

Kail sighed at the sound of that name. Lazarus. It had followed him for the better part of three centuries, and there was nothing that he could do to stop the Old Man from using it. "If I thought you could handle it, we would, but this stretch? You'd never make it off-road."

"Very well," the Old Man said, grabbing his walking stick and hauling himself to his feet. He then turned and leaned over to start placing his blankets in a large rucksack. "How long until we reach the city limits?"

"A few keys. Provided that you keep pace, we'll be there in a few hours." Kail pulled himself away from the horizon and focused on his companion; studying the frail creature and wondering how the Old Man had made it this far, and if he had the rocks to see it through.

"Are you alright?" the Old Man asked, continuing to stow his many blankets. "You look like someone just danced on your tomb. And that's saying something."

"Cute. Just remembering something," Kail said reaching into his satchel, feeling for their passports, coin purse, a collapsible trowel, and a spark-starter of his own design. "Come on."

The two men packed up the rest of the camp in silence. Kail was sure to bury his embers deep, and to rake the area over so that it would have taken a trained tracker to know that someone had been here.

It was hot, and the air was heavy. Kail could hear the Old Man's labored breathing after the second key. He slacked his pace, saying nothing, but the Old Man thanked him, nonetheless.

The road was empty this early in the morning. As the sun continued to rise, Kail could feel his own footfalls getting heavier. A glance backward told him the Old Man was feeling the same. Through the rippling waves of heat, Kail could saw the first violet hues of the fields of maize when they came within a key of the city.

Kail pulled a silver watch on a chain from inside his duster and opened it to see the ivory face and silver hands that were telling him it was around seven-thirty. The Old Man piped up from behind him and asked, "So what was the dream then?" His voice had a rasp, and a wheeze that held Kail up for a moment.

When he did not answer, the Old Man waited precious little time before saying, "I know you can hear me, Lazarus. What was the memory?"

Kail looked back at the Old Man. "For someone who's vision isn't great on the best of days, your perception continues to astound," he said.. "Just something that happened a long time ago," he said to the Old Man.

"A long time ago? That's a lot of ground to cover, old friend."

Kail took his own labored breath. "Forget it."

"Well, I take it by your responses that it has something to do with the day you died," the Old Man said.

"And what makes you think that?" Kail asked, feigning amusement.

"In all the years I've known you, there have only been two things that you will not talk about. The first is the day you died, and the other-"

"Yes, I was thinking about the day I died, satisfied?" Kail said, and began to walk again, accelerating to a quick pace.

"No, but you may be if you tell someone about it," the Old Man called to Kail's back.

Kail had not heard the Old Man, but he didn't need to. He'd heard it before. What good was going to come from talking about it? It happened half a millennium ago. There were no words that could assuage five hundred years of pains and sufferings. It wasn't going to bring the colors back into the world or the people he lost.

"Lazarus do slow down!" the Old Man said, shuffling eight paces behind Kail. "I'd like to be able to go...the rest of the way...after all."

Kail continued to march at his accelerated pace. With his mind consumed with frustration, he failed to notice the Old Man falling farther and farther behind.

How was all this his responsibility? Why did they come back here, to this place? This was not his home anymore. All that remained here was the perversion that humanity had become.

Kail did look back once his ire had subsided and saw that the Old Man was in the road hunkered down on his rucksack. He held his walking stick across his lap, tipped his invisible hat to Kail and waved meekly. Kail then looked at the cracked earth, dropped his shoulders, and made his way back to the Old Man.

"Well now, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" he asked with almost boyish charisma, propping himself back to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Kail asked.

"Well, I'm taking a bit of a respite from your grueling pace," the Old Man said.

"I meant here. I could have made this run myself, in half the time. Why did you insist on coming along?"

"I don't know," the Old Man smiled back. "You know me to be a man of faith, Lazarus. I was compelled to come, and here we are."

"Right. A 'compulsion' dragged you away from the Island and your books?"

"It is true. I do miss my books. They'll be there when I get back. When faith calls you to action, there is little to be done to resist. And besides, it has been nice seeing the lands I used to call home."

"Home? Look around. Look at what people did to this place!" Kail said.

As the landscape was revealed in the morning light, Kail could not find it in himself to believe that the Old Man was here for nostalgia.

"Looks the same to me, Lazarus."

It had been many cycles since the Last War, but it had left its marks and left them deep. After the first missiles went into the air, civilization as he knew it quickly devolved.

The years that followed were no kinder. The remains of humanity not only had to fight each other, but also a mutated, violent Mother Nature. Mountains were leveled, old rivers dried up and new ones had sprung forth. Lakes had formed in the craters left behind by devastating WMDs. The landscape had taken on an almost Dali-an appearance, which Kail realized was all the Old Man had ever known.

"Lazarus," the Old Man began.

"Please, don't call me that," Kail said in instinctive response.

"You are right that I don't know what I don't know. But you need to remember that I do know what I do. And we are where we are intended to be, doing what we are intended to do. It's not pretty, and it certainly isn't clear, but it's what I have for you. And besides, where else do you have to be?" the Old Man asked, straightening himself up.

Kail hated riddles, and there was something very poignant about him being at the crux of this one. He should turn around and take the Old Man back to the Island and then come back on his own. It would add many lunar cycles to his time away, but what was that to him, really? If it was not the time that halted him, then what was holding him there when every sense told him to go? Whatever the answer was, it would have to wait.

"If we don't keep moving, we'll find ourselves in custody, and this trip will be over regardless of your 'compulsion.' You need to keep up. We can rest in the city," he said. Whatever philosophical quandaries there were, he had not lost perspective on the actual elements that might get in their way.

"We've only been stopped twice since we docked, with no issues by the way, and that was a whole lunar cycle ago," the Old Man said.

Kail could not disagree with him but that did not mean that he wanted to throw caution to the wind. It was easier to keep one's discretion in the Outlands, but they were about to enter one of the cities. Once inside, it would be impossible to remain unseen.

Kail dropped his hand into his satchel and again felt for the leather bindings of the forged visas they had obtained after making landfall. If their other discretionary efforts failed, the visas were the only thing between them and a Hurricanean prison cell.

"Honestly, Lazarus, you must be the sourest living person on the earth," the Old Man said, reading the lines in Kail's furrowed brow.

There was truth in that, and Kail had to admit it, sourly. One did not live the full extent of his years and turn out an optimist.

"We still need to keep our eyes open, Old Man. I'd hate to think that we'd come all this way just to get picked up by some H-man," Kail said. The Highwaymen, not unlike their bandit-themed namesakes, were the common name for the Imperial constables that patrolled the roads between the cities. They were known for their strict enforcement of the road laws and were far less well known for their charm.

Not long after his warning, Kail looked down the road and saw a dark spot in the distance. It was taller than a man, which meant that he was likely mounted. Kail and the Old Man had just entered the part of the extra-urban matrix where the trees stopped and gave way to short, sparse bushes. There was nowhere to hide, and there was no way that they hadn't been seen. There was a glint on the rider's chest that could only be an Imperial badge. As the rider approached, Kail reached into his satchel to get out their forged papers.

Letters of Passage were worth their weight in gemstones in this age of the world, especially for the dying Old Man. His Majesty had all but outlawed the travel of his kind, and this approaching rider would be happy to enforce the law.

The Highwayman came upon them riding on a rammalion: an animal that was the product of the nuclear age following the Last War. It was a massive beast, standing about seven feet from the topmost crest of is horns to the bottom of its double cloven hooves. The great horns curled around its head in concentric rings of a male, compared to the smooth horns of a female. Kail could see the sharp, sallow incisors as the animal curled its lips, chomping the bit. The wild red eyes darted between Kail and the Old Man like two coals in a fire.

"You have your papers, Master?" the Highwayman said from atop of his steed. There was rarely any formality in this part of the country; you were seen as guilty until proven innocent.

"Yes, sir," Kail responded, feigning intimidation. The Highwayman looked down from his high seat, scrutinizing the two travelers. He had situated in a spot that the brim of his hat was just blocking the sun, causing Kail to squint as he addressed the H-man. He produced the two leather envelopes that he had pulled out of his bag and walked them over.

"You're headed to Motropolis?" the Highwayman asked as he opened the first envelope and perused its contents. "Master Darien?"

"Yes, I haven't been there in some time," Kail responded.

"What's your business there? I don't see a caravan?" the highwayman said.

"Collecting an inheritance. I'm meeting with Hadrian Goole today," Kail lied. Goole had been an executor back from a time when Kail was still living in Motropolis. He hoped that the lawyer was still in business, and alive for that matter. The H-man seemed to accept that response and went on validating the visas.

"I've never been," the Old Man said. Kail tried to flash him a look, but it was too late. The Highwayman shifted his attention to the mortal.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" he barked at the Old Man.

"I was unaware I needed it, son." The Old Man said, unable to help himself.

"Master Darien, you need to keep your slave in line. That kind of insubordinate behavior isn't tolerated in these lands. It's bad enough they let them walk the streets openly here," the Highwayman said, closed Kail's visa, and opened the Old Man's.

"Apologies, sir, I'll see that he receives a reprimand." And for a moment, Kail thought of turning that lie into a truth.

"No, Master, you won't. Looks like your pet's papers are expired. Which means that you're coming with me," he said. He then dismounted his steed with an eagerness that made Kail sick. "You'll have to pay a fine and pick him up at the Stonegarden Precinct in a few days," he said to Kail, but the Highwayman continued to stare at the Old Man with the hungry eyes of a predator. There wouldn't be much of him left to recover if he was taken into custody.

Kail saw the H-man's eyes flicker only for an instant when there was the sound of sliding metal. He drew his blade quickly across the H-man's neck and easily loosed the head from its shoulders.

"We need to go," Kail said, and began rooting through the bags on the newly decapitated body.

"That was rash, wasn't it?" the Old Man started.

"How was this any different than any of the other lawmen we've had to put down since we got back?" Kail asked. The list was not a long one, thankfully, but the Old Man certainly knew better than to go opening his mouth causing trouble. "Sometimes I really think that you'd rather spend a week in a prison cell. I made sure these visas were good for a full cycle. This H-man wanted to crack your skull. You want to be brought to the edge of death over a piece of paper?" Kail asked.

"This is becoming tiresome, Lazarus. Can we try a non-fatal tact next time?" the Old Man asked rolling the H-man's head back to his body with this stick.

"We could. But him, or others like him?" Kail said, pointing at the headless corpse with the end of his knife, "No." Kail turned and faced the Old Man. There was so little that he understood, or at least he made it seem that way. Kail could never tell if he was simply nae or foolishly optimistic.

The Old Man sighed in response, like a child who was told to come in after dark. "What now?"

Kail resumed searching the body of the highwayman, looking for an answer to the Old Man's question.

The highwayman's papers said that he was Clyde Ungar, from Empire City. Based on the volume of tolls that were in the man's bag, Kail figured that he had been on patrol for a few weeks; on his way out of Motropolis. Kail smirked at the thought that he wouldn't need them anymore. He also found a few confiscated passports, corresponding to the weight of the man's purse.

He scanned the immediate area; no one around, which was good, but there was nowhere to hide the body, and not enough time to bury it.

"Why not tie him to the rammalion?" the Old Man said, noticing the wheels in Kail's head.

Kail smiled in response, thinking that there was something darkly poetic about the Old Man's solution. He drew the Highwayman's sword and planted it in the neck, right up to the hilt. He then took the head from the ground and mounted it on the handle of the sword.

Kail secured the highwayman to the saddle with some leather straps that he cut from the saddlebags on the rammalion. When the H-man was sitting more-or-less upright, he took his kukri and padded the steed on the rear, which sent it galloping west, away from the city. "How long before somebody sees him?" the Old Man asked, holding his hand to his brow, shading his already cloudy eyes.

There was no answer that would have brought anything positive to their morning, so Kail just said, "I don't want to think about it. Let's go," turned on his heel, and continued walking.

"Are we taking the right path, Lazarus?" the Old Man asked as they approached a trifork in the road.

"Don't use my name," Kail said looking at the three roads ahead. It was the path on the right that was going to bring them to the city gate. The middle road led to the sea in the east, and the leftmost path would take them into the frozen Northlands. "You know where we're going. You've been on these runs before."

"Not in many years, my memory is spotty when it comes to geography," the Old Man said, holding his hands up in apology.

The Island had provided a haven for Kail and the other Islanders. Away from Gideon, and away from his oppressive, harmful laws. The catch was that it was an Island, and as such, did not produce certain things. Kail then started making bi-yearly runs to the mainland to stock up on things that they could not get or make on the Island. The biggest thing was metal. The Island had no natural metal deposits, aside from some near useless nickel and sulfur from the volcano. They brought livestock and seeds and other building materials with them to get their community started, and those had flourished. He had even managed to successfully breed the birds that he found when he was working in Vineland and had kept an aviary there.

Thinking about the birds had deepened his melancholy as they continued down the westward path toward the city of Motropolis.