Sundered Skies

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Armies marched, cities burned. The wind tasted of glass, ash, and suffocation. That day the world died. Yet we survived, or did we? Can one really call this living?

The words falling from parched lips. The figure stood staring out across the pock marked valley floor, tussling the stumpy low brush as the wind brought abrasive breath to bear. Carrying gritty particulate across the mans hodgepodge garb, exfoliating the scant exposed sections of skin. The worst of it filtered out by the cloth wraps, the space between his mouth and mind flooded with memories. Eyes exposed yet unblinking despite the kiss of grit upon them. A weathered patchwork chainmail cloak and hood perched upon his head and shoulders, draping down across the rest of his form down to his knees. Swaying gently in time with the old mans body, ignorant or uncaring of the wind. He breathed deeply.

“It was a day like today, unlike today. The rivers, the rivers…” his comments swallowed partially by the distance to sentient ears and the sound of tools meeting hard surfaces.

“What’s he on about? Did he just say rivers?” The smallest of the group pipped up, in-between shovelful's.

“Who gives a shit that’s what. Tha one’s not right in the head. His minds gone, if he ever had one tha is. Ignore tha crusty old bastards mumblings he’s mad as tha day is long. Now shut ya word hole and keep shoveling Newmeat or I’ll make sure his ramblings are tha least of ya problems.” The lean man with the hammer, barked from behind tired eyes outlined by puffy skin the color of bad plums, as he wound up for another blow.

“Old balls, get back ta work before they notice!” he spat in the old mans direction without turning to face him.

Yet the old man stood still, transfixed on something in the sky that only he seemed able to see. The cataracts in his eyes the only clouds marring the unbroken horizon, the pristine sky; the color of ocean depths. He continued to speak to himself or perhaps to somebody who was no longer there. The rake in his hands falling idly to the ground with a distinct clatter, as at that moment the wind decided to abandon the valley.

The sound reverberated and for a moment the gathered men flinched and paused, not for the sound of the rakes impact but the one that came immediately post. A shrill winding noise that one feels before its heard began to arise, and all the men aside from the old one returned to work with frantic vigor, looking in every direction aside from that which the noise originated. Four of them beginning to heave a mostly full cart away from the others still in the process of filling. Slinking away as fast as possible without making it look like a panicked rout.

Despite the clamber of their toil the noise of the approach cut through like a honed blade. It was a weapon of the psyche, to balance the weapons intended for flesh the wielders also possessed.

The gait slow, deliberately so. Cruelly even, to allow the dread of the sound to age as fine wine. A ponderous grinding noise, as gravel and shards were crushed to mill-flour beneath the iron boot-falls of the enforcers. Each impact heavy, authoritative, and absolute. Behind their iron masked skull helmets, shone beedie eyes. Though they appeared orange, few would have known for only the foolish dared to match their gaze for more than a heartbeat.

Inside an ironclad gauntlet, the flick of a wrist and the tightening of tendons enticing the runes of the metal maul to activation. The argillaceous mixed smell of burning ozone exuding as a neon glow enveloped the ‘Enforcers Aid’.

“What was that? The lead enforcer asked, the question directed at the two others trailing him like a cloak. The lead enforcer continued before either of the others could speak. “To the untrained ear it might sound like a tools been dropped, but we know better don’t we? That is the sound of sedition, and that won’t do will it?” he said, casually dragging the enforcers aid across a nearby cart, sparks flying as the metal moaned in protest.

“Did I give his leathery ‘majesty’ leave to cease working? I must have, no other reason why such an event would be occurring would it? Tisk, tisk, tisk,” the lead enforcer asked languidly, twirling the enforcers aid around by the handle, approaching the old man from behind.

The old man didn’t turn and simply muttered something about rivers and rainbows, staring up into the sky and tasting the air through gritted teeth.

“Fairytales? You’re spouting on about fairytales while your better addresses you? Time for a lesson in reality old man.” The enforcer rumbled, moving into strike, hands tensing as the grip on the maul intensified and it began its journey of violence.

“Lay off him! He’s old and confused! He didn’t mean to ignore you!” Blurted out Newmeat, surprising everyone, including themselves with the brazen display of defiance as they interposed between the towering enforcer and the old man.

The enforcer spun on his heel, bringing the maul around in an arc which elicited a flash and trail of arc lightning. The enforcer pausing as he held it above up for a devastating blow, Newmeat collapsed and shielded their face. Frozen in place with terror, eyes closed, flinching in anticipation of the pending bludgeoning. Regret oozing from every pore.

“Please mercy lord! This one is fresh they know not their place!” The lean man pleaded, falling to his knees in supplication. The sudden protest and movement arresting the enforcer's swing, causing it to instead hover around Newmeats shoulder. They remained motionless as the enforcers maul gingerly pushed back the hood to reveal a head full of nicks and stubble. The remains of a crude spotty shave, and the recent tattoo of a processing sigil still raw. The enforcer grunted and gave a slight nod.

“What’s your name? The iron-clad enforcer demanded.” Turning towards the lean man kneeling in supplication.

Eyes fixed to the earth, head bowed in obedience the lean man replied in rote. It was a trick question, and he knew it.

“I am no-none, I am nothing. A convict has no name, a convict possess only their crimes until absolution through duty or death. A name is granted only by a convicts betters.” He flinched awaiting the pain that would give the words emphasis. The punctuation marks used by the enforcers. Pain was grammar for their kind, the verbal supplication only half the equation.

The enforcers maul drifting lazily past the supplicant figure's chin close enough to singe the coarse fibers of the tattered weave robe beneath and the assortment of hairs to feeble to warrant the title of beard.

“Correct.” He said in a tone rich with self-gratification, as he turned to face the quivering poorly shaven pile of regret at his feet.

“learn from this one ‘Newmeat’ and you might live long enough to have one of these other reprobates slit your throat for your cloak, while you sleep. ” He chuckled, quickly mirrored by the other two enforcers still hovering like iron specters. Fingers twitching In anticipation, the flickering of a serpent's tongue tasting the air for violence and prey.

“Now as for this pile of pin-bones and sclerosis. What are you muttering about?” the enforcer asked, brandishing the glowing maul in a dramatic flourish for the entertainment of his entourage.

The old man turned to face the iron-clad enforcer. Meeting their gaze eye to eye, pupils becoming hard specs of void as all expression of mirth faded away. The old man lifted his head and came up to his full height, the cloudy unfocused look moments before replaced by a gaze of burning determination, pure forged will. He closed the distance between them with a confident stride. Drawing so close it looked as if they might collide, before stopping before the iron skull-mask. The old man and the enforcer held their gazes unblinking, neither of which showing the slightest tremble of fear. The old man drew even closer, his breath visible in the chill air.

“Marshmallows are the fluffy poop of the cloud bunnies!” The old man said with steely conviction that would have shamed even the most devoted priests by comparison. “Only the marmalade squirrels know the truth of it!” He bellowed, raising an accusatory finger to hover damningly an inch away from the iron symbol of the empire on the enforcers ornate chest plate. So close the spectators half expected an electrical charge to arc from the tension between the two.

The silence was deafening, broken only the the rhythmic hum of the maul, as a metallic gauntlet tightened its grip. It started as a rumble, a shaking, and proceeded to magnify with every passing heartbeat until it erupted.

“Holy fuck! Hahahahahaha! The enforcer exploded into laughter. “It’s true, they were right about you! Ya, senile old shit. Marshmallows? Cloud bunny shit and marmalade squirrels! You’re as crazy as I’d heard!” The enforcer spat out in between raucous fits of laughter. The other enforcers unable to contain themselves joined in and all powered down their weapons.

“Ugh, haven’t laughed like that in a while. You’re lucky I’m such a charitable person. Anyway,” he said returning the maul to its holster and beginning to walk away, stopping suddenly and delivering a swift gut punch to the lean man as he passed. “Back to work vermin. Either of those two give me anymore trouble and I'm blaming you personally.” The enforcer said before striding away still laughing, entourage in tow.

Once they were out of earshot, the lean convict, turned and grabbed Newmeat by the scruff of their shirt.

“Don mistake what I did thar fa friendship Newmeat. You’re part of my crew and unfortunately, if you get beat ta shit it makes me look weak, and our quotas don’t meet themselves. I can’t have that. There’s a pecking order here and you’re my property, fuckin get it? You will live and learn or not, but if you ever do something tha stupid again I will smash your bones into kindling myself. We clear?”

“Crystal,” replied Newmeat through gasps, as the lean one shook them like a ragdoll.

“And you…” He said staring at the old man, who returned the gaze without flinching.

The old man smiled, and then put up three fingers in a gesture that heavily implied the lean mans mother has non-consensual sexual relations with livestock, before going back to staring down the valley, searching for something nobody else could see.

“Are just fuckin crazy…” the lean man finished in a defeated tone, returning to work. As he turned away, the old man shifted slightly and caught Newmeats eyes, he favored them with a nod and a smile, as he mouthed a couple words silently. No birds. Much to Newmeats puzzlement.

“Word of advice Newmeat, ya think I’m a prick tha’s fine. But listen ta me and you’ll make it. That crusty old badgers been here so long nobody even knows how old he is. His mind is rotted, this place it wears on ya. He’s insane.” The lean man said tossing Newmeat their shovel and proceeding back to work.

Regaining composure Newmeat spoke up, though little more than a whisper. “G-g-got it. But I have to ask, if he’s so crazy how hasn’t he been broken by now?”

“I said he’s crazy, not useless. Tha crusty pricks tougher than shit, probably the hardest worker I’ve ever seen ta boot. Does the work of ten of ya newmeat sods, and not a peep of complaint, enforcers recognize that at least,” he replied conspiratorially, searching for the next cluster to hammer and vent his frustration upon.

"That said, there are benefits too, crazy and tough is a dangerous mix, people tend not ta fuck with ya if they know they might have to deal that. He’s part of the crew like it or not, just don’t listen to any of that slop that drivels out his mouth.” Newmeat nodded, glancing over at the old man, only to find a vacancy.

Before Newmeat could voice any concern, their attention was stolen by a curious sound funneling down the valley. A loud warbling crack followed by scattered tinkling, clinking. Direction-less echoes, subtle at first slowly amplifying as more joined into the climbing choir.

“What’s happening?” Newmeat asked, turning to see the lean man already far away in full sprint, legs pumping as hard as they possibly could. Running towards the ramshackle structures constituting the camp.

A moment later the giant bell rang. The area burst into a frenzy of footfalls and screaming as any who weren’t already fleeing took flight. The growl of a Enforcer boomed through a large metallic horn nearby.

Newmeat rubbed their eyes in disbelief. As a tinkling tidal wave took on form, the light reflecting of a countless number of hair-thin needles falling down and surging forward in a chaotic orgy, giving a wavy appearance, sparking and distorting the perception of depth as it rolled down the valley towards him. The noise and imagery forming a hypnotic symphony.

Newmeat stood perplexed, panicked,and paralyzed. Eyes drawn upward in an attempt to escape the visual assault before them.

The sky shimmered, it was heard before it was seen. Thunder that was not thunder, as the polished surface cracked, the deep majesty splintering in a mind-bending kaleidoscopic labyrinth of spider-webbing fractures. A refractory illusion cascaded as a multitude of colors vomited forth above and the world seemed to freeze. Then chunks of the sky descended in ragged jerking motions, the pieces scattering into storms of numberless blades, edges, and hairpin needles. The squall of broken sky scything downwards with malicious intent.

Newmeat stood, paralyzed by fear or the mind-bending spectacle they couldn’t tell as shards began to make contact digging into the ground and reflecting or shattering after impacting surfaces too hard to pierce.

Suddenly Newmeat was moving, quickly, weightlessly, as their legs left the ground. Finding themselves still unable to move but marooned upon the shoulder of the old man, who scooped them up midstride and carried them as if they weighed no more than a child. The two sped across the valley floor, scant moments ahead of the squall of evisceration crashing down. The old man's acuity belaying the difficulty of the terrain and cloudiness of his eyes as he darted into a bush-covered stone cloister concealing a tiny cave.

The old man chuckled, as the howling cacophony of blade-fall spat from outside the minuscule sanctuary.

“First time eh? Don’t take it too hard. Everyone freezes up their first time. Then again, for many the first time is the last time. Hehe.” He said with a mischievous smile.

“Welcome to the grind, Newmeat.”