Post by Mizagium on Jan 28, 2017 21:49:31 GMT -5
Elsewhere, beyond the boundary of Awesome Land, and certainly not in space…
Chapter One: Stubborn as a Mule
Elias McThorn drove his hoe into the virgin soil with an audible grunt. Flecks of dirt sprayed up, and again when he freed the tool. He rested it briefly on his shoulder and stepped slightly forward – he squared up, and assaulted the ground again. He did this over and over as he had for the previous day, and likely would all the next day. The land was too new and the move had taken too long. If he didn’t get a move on, planting season would leave him behind.
The noon sun blared down upon him the cloudless skies, causing sweat to bead and run down his face. It didn’t drip in his eyes like it used to – and for once he was thankful he’d gone bald already – but it did stream all over and soon he was soaked. His eyes stung with the salt, but he blinked it away as he always had. This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d farmed his whole life. His bones were practically made of corn stalks, and his blood dirt. Elias tried to laugh at the thought, but the fatigue that seized him almost convinced him it was true.
Chunk! He drove the hoe once more into the soil, but didn’t retrieve it. He braced against it, panting. When had things gotten so hard? Ever since he was old enough to toddle, he was out on the fields with his father, Manias, and his brothers, Jonas, Zekiah, and Eustane. He’d been taught to water and plant first, then to till, and before he knew it, he was off and settling his own farm, like the men did in Splendid Land.
So practiced, so ingrained, why did he now struggle to rise?
You’re getting old, Elias, he reminded himself, as he did almost daily now. It was true. He creaked in the morning. He grumbled when he rose from a seated position. Food didn’t taste like he remembered. And now he had to fight against himself just to till a dang field.
Should had kids when you had the chance, you fool, then they could be out here, taking over the hardest jobs. But he and Melody had too busy living to notice time passing – and then it was too late.
Elias strained his arms to lift his hoe and through gritted teeth, returned to work. The sky stayed clear as the sun completed its westward journey, turning Elias’ hairless head a nice burn red. He’d numbed to the sunburns that came with working in the field, or he thought he had. Somehow, he knew he would feel this one in the morning. He watched, distantly, as each swing came slower and with less force until, at last, the tool slipped from his hands and he collapsed forward. Knees and palms slapped the freshly tilled earth and managed to keep him on all fours.
The aging farmer heaved and gasped for air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His fingers dug into the dirt and gripped big handfuls, squeezing them as if he could pour all his frustration into the ground cause sprouts to jump out. Would that he could channel frustration like that – he could sew the whole field right now. But, alas, he could not. At least – he hadn’t yet awakened a power like that. So, he knelt there in the dirt, frantically sucking in air, cursing his frailness.
When he could no longer afford to wallow in the dirt, Elias pushed himself up and shuffled back to the cabin, leaving his tool where it lay. That was bad farming etiquette. Elias practically heard his father’s admonitions, but the pounding of his heart quickly drowned Manias out.
He paused only long enough to blow Melody a kiss before stomping inside. He left his shoes by the door. In the kitchen, he retrieved one of those new pre-made dinners that were popular over in San Rando. At Melody’s insistence, they’d stocked up on a couple of weeks’ worth of them before moving out to the new farm, which was part of the reason for the delay. He’s fought her on it then, but now he was very glad he’d lost – even if they did have a distinctive plastic taste. He didn’t even need to heat it up! Just peel and eat.
It was almost insulting to a farmer like him. Almost.
He took his bland food-like stuff back outside and eased down beside Melody. He ate a few mouthfuls with the disposable spork provided before he turned to her and said, “I’m getting old, Melody.”
Melody didn’t say anything. She never did, these days.
“Maybe this was a mistake. Shoulda stayed with yer brother and Suzie. Wasn’t so bad in the city; least I didn’t feel like I was dying.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “Sorry, bad joke.”
Elias only managed to choke down two-thirds of the pre-meal before casting it aside, unsatisfied. He reclined against the one-story house and watched the light fade. “I miss you, Mel. Once you left, I think all my strength went with you.” He touched the headstone beside him, almost caressing the smooth marble. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. I was kidding myself when I said we should get a farm.”
He remembered proposing the idea to her, remembered how excited she was to go. Although he’d been a farmer, she had been a city girl. Elias still thought of himself as a farmer, but there had been that decade period after meeting his future wife where he’d lived and worked in San Rando. That had been fun, but the dissatisfaction set in, and he had suddenly yearned for the country. Of course her family had tried to protest, but Melody had insisted on getting Elias back out.
“And look where it got you, Mel.”
Before he could say more, a distant rumbling drew his attention. A dust cloud formed over the southern horizon, covering more and more as the sound drew closer. The rumble crystallized into a mechanical hum – and then individual sounds. Elias sighed but kept his posture relaxed.
A few minutes later, four men on motorcycles rode up. One, the obvious leader, took a few laps around the house on his back wheel before joining his comrades before Elias. The farmer reassessed his opinion. They weren’t men, just boys. Boys with long, straight-ironed hair wearing jean vests with no undershirts, and very tight banana-hammocks. Elias had that flash of old-guy ‘kids these days’ before he recalled that these boys were not the norm.
They called themselves the Steel Rod Boys for reasons more esoterica than they ought to have been. Zuzma, their leader was the one with slightly longer, much blonder hair. Sunglasses shaped like starbursts defied gravity to stay affixed on his face, shielding his eyes from Elias. The others wore more mundane (and more practical) sunglasses.
Zuzma revved his bike’s engine a few times before shutting it off and dismounting with a wide stance obviously intended to show off his bulge. Elias cringed at the sight of so much pale, hairless leg.
“It’s ya boi, ZUZMA!” the other three announced from their bikes before clumsily shutting them off. They took up position around their leader and held something like a pose for long enough that Elias got the impression they were waiting for him.
“Evening, boys,” he greeted with a polite nod. “Help you with something?”
“Yo, this ol’ fool tripping’,” one of his cronies declared. Elias identified a mole on his brow. “Thinkin’ he can talk to Zuzma like that.”
“Straight trippin’,” another agreed, his voice higher than the others.
“We bes’ teach him some respect ‘fore he says somethin’ he regret,” the last one decided, more portly than his comrades.
“Teach,” the other two agreed. They folded their arms and nodded to different, unheard rhythms.
“Can I help you boys with something?” Elias asked again, more firmly.
The Iron Rod Boys prepared to go off again, but Zuzma raised his hands for silence. “Listen man, this land here? This is my land – Zuzma’s land!” He spoke much more eloquently than his followers and spread his arms wide. “This is all Zuzma’s land!”
Elias had the feeling he wasn’t talking just about the farm. “Well, I must apologize, Zuzma – “
“Ya Boi Zuzma,” mole-face corrected.
“…Ya Boi Zuzma?” Elias responded slowly.
“No, no, Ya Boi Zuzma.” He gestured with a finger at Elias.
“…Mah Boi Zuzma?” Elias tried.
“Word.”
Elias squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “Listen, Mr. Zuzma, there must be some kind of mix-up. This land here is mine. Got the deed inside. And I don’t recall seeing anyone else’s name on it. Just me and the bank. Sorry, maybe you’re looking for the Der Vans farm over yonder?” He jerked a thumb eastward. He didn’t want to send these bozos after anyone else, but maybe he could confuse them enough with more words and directions. It seems to work on the henchmen, because they all shared a confused look. Zuzma, however, just sighed and shook his head.
“Naw, man. You don’t get it. This is all Zuzma’s land. And anyone on Zuzma’s land, has to pay the fee.”
“Fee?”
“Yeah, fee. You got corn in your ears, you old – “
“Fee for what?”
“Fee for – for what? For letting you live on Zuzma’s land!” His cool exterior cracked a little. Elias was getting to him, but he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted. People with delusions of grandeur were dangerous when you pushed them too far. Best to end this quickly.
“Well, look, even if I did have a, uh, Zuzma tax to pay – I ain’t got anything to pay you with. What you see here? That’s all. Farm isn’t even up and running yet. Why don’t you boys come back after the harvest? Put it on my tab. I’ll have something for you then.”
“You just don’t get it, old man,” Zuzma declared with something like sadness. “We ain’t coming back later. We’re here now. Rode all the way out – and we’re not leaving empty handed.”
Elias had had enough. With a groan, he stood. “Yes, you are.”
Even if he was older and a decade out of practice, he was still much bigger than Zuzma. He stood at least a head taller, and probably weighed sixty pounds more. Sure, some of that was fat, but he looked big. Had it just been Zuzma, Elias was sure he could take him down – and the kid knew it by the way he stepped back involuntarily. Even with one of his friends, Elias might have sent them running, but not all four.
Zuzma recovered quickly, turning his back step into a tactical retreat to his bike, from which he retrieved an arm-length metal pipe.
Hence the name, Elias thought.
The other Iron Rod Boys did the same, and, on cue from Zuzma, talked away from their bikes to surround the farmer. Only the leader looked totally confident. Perhaps not used to actually facing resistance, mole-face, high-voice, and pot-belly shuffled uncomfortably in place and shot each other nervous looks. Zuzma just stood there, pipe resting on his shoulder.
“Think you’re tough, eh?”
“I’m not the one threatening an old man.” Elias squared his shoulders and did his best to make his weary body straighten. He dropped his voice a little, too.
“Tch.”
“Besides, I already told you: I don’t have anything for you.”
“Well, that’s a problem now isn’t it?”
“Only if you make it one.”
“Whuzzat?” High-voice pointed with his pipe to the discarded meal tray. “Food?”
“Totes,” pot-belly said. “That’s those pre-made meals you can buy over’n San Rando. P cheap, but p tasty, ‘specially with hot sauce.”
“Shut it,” Zuzma snapped. “You been holding out on me, old man.”
Elias honestly hadn’t considered the meals until then, but even now that he was, the decision had already been made. There was no way he was going to give these punks anything – not one scrap.
“You wouldn’t like those; they taste like how you all look.” That was dumb. He was just going to upset them even more.
“Yo, man,” high-voice protested, “I think we’d taste p good, ya know?”
“Shut up,” Zuzma growled.
“’Specially with some hot sauce, man,” pot-belly offered.
“Shut up.”
“Wait,” mole-face said, and lowered his pipe, “Wha kind a hot sauce? Not that Samacha stuff?”
“Yeah, man,” pot-belly put his down, too. “Slather some o’ that over anything – can make dirt taste like – “
“I said shut up!” Zuzma whirled around, brandishing his pipe. “All three of you idiots! Stop. Talking. And you,” Zuzma spun back to threaten Elias, who had taken the opportunity to edge closer to the house. “I’ve heard enough out of you – out of all of you. Stay right there. Ricke, Aldion, Glucon: go inside and take all of the damn meals. I’ve had enough of this place. Hurry up so we can get the hell out of here.”
The three Iron Rod Boy lackeys hesitated only a second before slinking off towards the house. Heedless of the Zuzma’s threats, Elias stepped between the boys and his home.
“You won’t be taking anything.” Elias wished he’d brought the hoe back with him. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it would have been better than nothing. Bare-handed intimidation only works so much. He thought that he might have been able to scare them off, if it wasn’t for Zuzma. That was the thing about bullies: they needed backup to be strong.
Out of patience, Zuzma shoved one of the boys aside and swung his pipe at Elias’ head. Elias braced for the blow that never came. Zuzma had stopped mid-swing and stared at his weapon with wide, confused eyes. After a moment, he grunted tried to continue the swing, but couldn’t. He tried to pull back, but failed, too. He gripped it with both hands and jerked in all directions, but he might as well have been trying to move a mountain.
“Well,” he gasped finally, “don’t just stand there: get him!”
Ricke, Aldion, and Glucon shared another of their trademark glances, but moved in on Elias, who was too busy marveling at Zuzma to notice. High-voice swung half-heartedly and encountered the same phantom grip. This time, though, after the blow was halted, it changed direction to hit pot-belly in his chest.
“Wha’ wuz that for?”
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Tha’ really hurt, man.”
“I’m sorry bro, it wasn’t me, yo!”
Mole-face’s arm jerked out to hit high-voice in the shoulder.
“Ow, man, what tha fizz?”
“My bad.”
Then pot-belly’s arm failed and on it went in that fashion.
“What are you idiots doing?” Zuzma demanded, still fighting with his own weapon.
“Fo’get this, yo,” mole-face announced and dropped his pipe – well he tried to, but even though his hand left the pipe, it continued to hover in the air. His friends followed suit, creating three masterless metal pipes that, as one, turned on Zuzma.
“Hey, whoa whoa, what the – “Zuzma’s own pipe finally pulled free of his grip. All four pipes circled around him like sharks about to feed. The other boys had already run back to their bikes. “What? Don’t run away, you cowards! Help me!”
And then, something even more curious happened: the form of another young man materialized out of the air. He was gray all over, gray like metal, from his hair to his clothes. At first, Elias thought it was a fifth Iron Rod Boy, but the others seemed equally perplexed. This new figure held one hand out, twirling one finger in the air. When the figure noticed Elias staring, it winked one glowing eye and stared moving its hand in a line.
The circling iron pipes mimicked this motion, pushing Zuzma back towards his bike. Whenever he tried to resist being corralled, one pipe or another lashed out, smacking him just hard enough to bring him to heel. The gang leader nearly fell onto the bike and fumbled with the ignition.
“This isn’t over,” he declared. “We’ll be back for – hey wait a minute!”
All four bikes lifted from the ground. Elias chanced a look at the newcomer to find it had extended both hands now and was raising them up, up, up. Although the face was a uniform gray, he could swear a smile formed. All four Iron Rod Boys held on for dear life as their vehicles continued up and then – zoomed away, back over the horizon at breakneck speed. They barely had time to shout in surprise before they were out of sight.
A long moment passed before Elias collapsed the stoop in front of his house. His heart throbbed again and he struggled for breath. His whole body shook and for a moment, he thought he would start crying. But he didn’t; Elias held it together and said to the stranger.
“Listen, I wasn’t lying to the Iron Rod Boys: I really don’t have anything to pay, but – it’s late and you’re a long way from anywhere important, so you’re welcome to stay here long as you like. Got a spare…well a couch, but you’re welcome to it.”
The strange gray boy – it did appear more masculine than anything – regarded him with another smile. “Thank you,” he said with a voice that sound like someone drumming on a metal plate. “Thank you, but I have to be going.”
Elias rubbed at his chin. “Well if you leave, what in Seraphina’s name am I going to do when they come back?”
The boy shook his head. “Won’t come back.”
“We – You embarrassed them. I’d be looking for payback if I were them.”
“You would not have been looking for trouble in the first place. No. Cowards. Bullies. They will posture and puff and blow until someone knocks them down.”
“Maybe so, kid, but I ain’t the one to do it.”
The gray kid tilted his head questioningly. “But you already did. Bullies come by, threaten, demand – you stood up, said no.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Courage.”
“Nah, not that. Just stubborn, really. I couldn’t actually have done nothing about those punks. I ain’t that strong.”
The gray boy shook his head, and paced away from Elias. “Strength not necessarily physical. Many different kinds. Strength to stand up to bullies. Strength to defend those who are weak, to stand up for what is right.” He knelt beside Melody’ s gravestone. “Strength to wake up every day, to keep going. Strength to carry on.” He held Elias’ gaze for a long moment before the latter broke off.
“Shoot, kid, you’re too young to be sayin’ such wise stuff.”
“Wise? Maybe. But wisdom comes from experience, yes?”
“You sure talk a lot older’n you look.”
“How old do I look?
Elias laughed. “You’re sure something. Listen, I know you said you can’t stay, but if you ever swing by this way again, you’re always welcome here.” Elias rose with a groan and offered his hand.
“I appreciate that.” The gray stranger went to take Elias’ hand when another voice interjected.
“Stay away from that thing!” Both Elias and the gray kid paused and, as one, turned to see an odd, black-cloaked figure pointing at them accusingly. They hung like that, hands extended, and stared at the new arrival, Elias with a baffled look, the gray figure with resignation.
“Pardon?” Elias asked after the silence had stretch too long.
“I said, stay away from that thing!” The mysterious hooded figure pointed again for effect. Elias furrowed his brow. The mysterious figure spoke with a voice that he couldn’t place and either masculine or feminine. It seemed to defy identification, and he was sure that, if he heard it in a crowd, he would be unable to pinpoint the source.
“Him?” Elias retracted his hand and jerked a thumb at his guest.
“Yes, that.”
Elias almost had the voice, but as soon as the speaker stopped, it slipped away from him like the wind. “Now just hold on, are you with those Iron-Rod Boys? Because he already sent them packing, and I don’t appreciate you coming here and – “
“Be silent!” The cloaked form swept its hand in front of it, as if in dismissal. On cue, a force slammed into Elias and shoved him back. It wasn’t the wind, but nothing solid had hit him. Much like the stranger’s voice, once the attack was over, he couldn’t identify the source. “Do not interfere.”
“I have had just about enough of you freaks,” Elias declared. Brimming with indignation, the old farmer straightened his shirt, hiked up his trousers, and prepared to let the mysterious stranger have it. “Now look, I don’t come to your home and tell you how to dress and act all mysterious and edgy, so I’d appreciate it if y’all didn’t come to my farm and intimidate me, threaten my guests, insult my – “
“Elias.”
Elias halted mid-stride and -sentence, and stared. He didn’t recall ever telling the gray guest his name. “But – “
“No. In this, let it go. Here for me, not you. Correct? If I go, you will leave this man’s farm alone?”
The black-cloaked figure huffed and crossed its arms. “Of course. I don’t have any interest in fighting with an old man and his sad excuse for a farm.”
Elias bristled again. “Now see here – “ but a look from the boy quieted him. “Are you sure?”
“This is a conflict I have been avoiding, but no longer. I apologize for bringing it to you, but I will take this trouble with me.”
“Kid – “
“Johnny.”
“Johnny – you don’t have to – “
“I do. I really do. I have a habit of shirking responsibility, something I’ve been working on. So, please, go inside. Rest. Sleep. Forget about me.”
Reluctantly, Elias turned to go. “Look, kid – Johnny – I’ll go on in. This ain’t my business, I can tell that. But I don’t think I’ll forget about you – couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He extended his hand one more time, and Johnny shook it. Then he turned and went inside. A single lamp flickered on in the window, and the curtain rustled.
The gray Johnny smiled at the house, then faced his pursuer. Even though he knew who it was, he still experienced the same sensation of vagueness that Elias did. The mysterious hooded figure really didn’t look like anyone in particular, which was partly the fault of the cloak itself. He’d seen enough of them to recognize the way they perfectly concealed the wearer, even down to their auras. People who wore them could speak with their closest friends and never be discovered.
Yet, even that couldn’t totally account for the lack of individuality before him. Cloaks didn’t conceal voices, even if them made them hard to place. This figure’s voice was somehow without substance, reverberations without tone or pitch, noise that triggered the language centers of his brain without registering familiarity. He shouldn’t have been able to identify the other, even with his foreknowledge – but then, he wasn’t a complete person either, so maybe they shared that bond.
“Courage,” the figure said, both an observation and a declaration.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t think you’d be so easy to find, Courage.”
“And yet.”
“I sought you out first. I need you.”
Johnny – Courage – signed. “You don’t need me. You never did.”
“Oh shut up.” Johnny thought there should have been anger in those words, but instead, he heard a distinct lack of anything. Just words. “I’m not some simple farmer. I don’t need a lecture from you right now.”
“Then leave.”
“Not without you.”
“You think it will be so easy?”
“There’s enough of you in me that I’ll find the rest of you. All of you.”
“And then what?”
“Make you mine.” The mysterious hooded figure extended its hand again, fingers splayed. Johnny went rigid. He struggled against something shapeless and solid as concrete. He tried to step back, to turn away, but he couldn’t. Had he been capable of it, he would have felt fear. But he didn’t. All he could do was meet the unseen eyes of his captor. “All mine.”
“You won’t be able to hold me, any us. You aren’t him.”
“Shut up. I can be whoever I want to be, now. Isn’t that what Mimics are?”
While speaking the other had crossed the distance and placed the open hand on his chest, almost lovingly. “I want what you have.”
“This isn’t the way.”
It didn’t answer this time. Instead, the cloaked figures fingers pushed into Johnny’s form, bypassing clothes, skin, muscle, and bone to take hold of something…else, something more ephemeral. The form of Johnny winced, although it couldn’t truly feel pain. Rather, the discomfort stemmed from having the very core of one’s essence separated from the physical vessel. Not many experience this sensation and live. Fortunately or not, this Johnny wasn’t truly alive. Once this core was pulled forth – a glowing gray sphere that pulsed slightly like a heartbeat – the gray form of Johnny flickered and disappeared, like a candle snuffed by a sharp breath.
The black-cloaked figure held this orb, this Fragment of Johnny at arm’s length for a long moment, unsure that it had actually worked. Then, ever so slowly, it brought the core to its own chest. The Fragment core resisted at first, but gave way with a little effort, sinking into the flesh beneath. The figure staggered, not in pain exactly, but discomforted. The Fragment resisted the new host at first, but upon finding it similar enough to the original, settled in and began to radiance its essence throughout the new host. Fifteen other sources of similar energy flared up in all directions, responding to the frequency to which the figure was now attuned.
It had worked. It really had worked.
Brimming with newfound confidence, the mysterious hooded figure danced a little in place before stepping towards the next desired Fragment, and vanishing.
-
Bonus Throwback Edition!
In a land far from the action of everything else, a old farmer was hard at work hoeing his field (heh, hoe). He was doing an alright job until the Iron Rob Boys rode up.
"Hey old man, give us your all yer kandiez, yo," demanded the leader, Zuzma, who was dressed in nothing but really tight speedo. And sunglasses with five points like Simon at the end of Gurren Lagann.
"I ain't got no kandiez," the farmer declared, waving his hoe at them
"Then I guess we're just gonna have to beat you until you give us the kandiez." He told his three sidekicks, Ricke, Aldion, and GLucon to surround the farmer while he beat him up. He produced a large iron pipe from...somewhere (giggity) but before he could use it, the pipe flew out of his hands.
"Whata?!?!?!"
The pipe was caught by a Mysterious Gray Boy who looked suspiciously like Johnny.
"Who are you?" Zuzma demanded.
"I'm J - I mean - nobody, but stop beating up that old man."
"Why don't you make us?"
"LOLK" The DEFINITELY NOT JOHNNY person proceeded to defy physics all over the place until this Iron Rod Boys ran away.
"Oh dang that was awesome," the farmer said.
But Johnny wasn't listening to him. He'd spotted another Mysterious Hooded Figure approaching. "Go back inside and don't come out," he told the farmer.
"I found you at last," the Mysterious Hooded figure said.
"I wasn't really hiding"
"Silence! Now, I will make you mine!!!11"
"Wut"
But before not-Johnny could do anything, the Mysterious Figure ran up and pulled out his soul! Oh noes! Only it wasn't really his soul because that wasn't Johnny (like I said before) but a Fragment, so he just disappeared.
"Ahahaha" the Mystery Figure then absorbed Johnny's soul Fragment and opened a portal in order to go find the next one.
Chapter One: Stubborn as a Mule
Elias McThorn drove his hoe into the virgin soil with an audible grunt. Flecks of dirt sprayed up, and again when he freed the tool. He rested it briefly on his shoulder and stepped slightly forward – he squared up, and assaulted the ground again. He did this over and over as he had for the previous day, and likely would all the next day. The land was too new and the move had taken too long. If he didn’t get a move on, planting season would leave him behind.
The noon sun blared down upon him the cloudless skies, causing sweat to bead and run down his face. It didn’t drip in his eyes like it used to – and for once he was thankful he’d gone bald already – but it did stream all over and soon he was soaked. His eyes stung with the salt, but he blinked it away as he always had. This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d farmed his whole life. His bones were practically made of corn stalks, and his blood dirt. Elias tried to laugh at the thought, but the fatigue that seized him almost convinced him it was true.
Chunk! He drove the hoe once more into the soil, but didn’t retrieve it. He braced against it, panting. When had things gotten so hard? Ever since he was old enough to toddle, he was out on the fields with his father, Manias, and his brothers, Jonas, Zekiah, and Eustane. He’d been taught to water and plant first, then to till, and before he knew it, he was off and settling his own farm, like the men did in Splendid Land.
So practiced, so ingrained, why did he now struggle to rise?
You’re getting old, Elias, he reminded himself, as he did almost daily now. It was true. He creaked in the morning. He grumbled when he rose from a seated position. Food didn’t taste like he remembered. And now he had to fight against himself just to till a dang field.
Should had kids when you had the chance, you fool, then they could be out here, taking over the hardest jobs. But he and Melody had too busy living to notice time passing – and then it was too late.
Elias strained his arms to lift his hoe and through gritted teeth, returned to work. The sky stayed clear as the sun completed its westward journey, turning Elias’ hairless head a nice burn red. He’d numbed to the sunburns that came with working in the field, or he thought he had. Somehow, he knew he would feel this one in the morning. He watched, distantly, as each swing came slower and with less force until, at last, the tool slipped from his hands and he collapsed forward. Knees and palms slapped the freshly tilled earth and managed to keep him on all fours.
The aging farmer heaved and gasped for air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His fingers dug into the dirt and gripped big handfuls, squeezing them as if he could pour all his frustration into the ground cause sprouts to jump out. Would that he could channel frustration like that – he could sew the whole field right now. But, alas, he could not. At least – he hadn’t yet awakened a power like that. So, he knelt there in the dirt, frantically sucking in air, cursing his frailness.
When he could no longer afford to wallow in the dirt, Elias pushed himself up and shuffled back to the cabin, leaving his tool where it lay. That was bad farming etiquette. Elias practically heard his father’s admonitions, but the pounding of his heart quickly drowned Manias out.
He paused only long enough to blow Melody a kiss before stomping inside. He left his shoes by the door. In the kitchen, he retrieved one of those new pre-made dinners that were popular over in San Rando. At Melody’s insistence, they’d stocked up on a couple of weeks’ worth of them before moving out to the new farm, which was part of the reason for the delay. He’s fought her on it then, but now he was very glad he’d lost – even if they did have a distinctive plastic taste. He didn’t even need to heat it up! Just peel and eat.
It was almost insulting to a farmer like him. Almost.
He took his bland food-like stuff back outside and eased down beside Melody. He ate a few mouthfuls with the disposable spork provided before he turned to her and said, “I’m getting old, Melody.”
Melody didn’t say anything. She never did, these days.
“Maybe this was a mistake. Shoulda stayed with yer brother and Suzie. Wasn’t so bad in the city; least I didn’t feel like I was dying.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “Sorry, bad joke.”
Elias only managed to choke down two-thirds of the pre-meal before casting it aside, unsatisfied. He reclined against the one-story house and watched the light fade. “I miss you, Mel. Once you left, I think all my strength went with you.” He touched the headstone beside him, almost caressing the smooth marble. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. I was kidding myself when I said we should get a farm.”
He remembered proposing the idea to her, remembered how excited she was to go. Although he’d been a farmer, she had been a city girl. Elias still thought of himself as a farmer, but there had been that decade period after meeting his future wife where he’d lived and worked in San Rando. That had been fun, but the dissatisfaction set in, and he had suddenly yearned for the country. Of course her family had tried to protest, but Melody had insisted on getting Elias back out.
“And look where it got you, Mel.”
Before he could say more, a distant rumbling drew his attention. A dust cloud formed over the southern horizon, covering more and more as the sound drew closer. The rumble crystallized into a mechanical hum – and then individual sounds. Elias sighed but kept his posture relaxed.
A few minutes later, four men on motorcycles rode up. One, the obvious leader, took a few laps around the house on his back wheel before joining his comrades before Elias. The farmer reassessed his opinion. They weren’t men, just boys. Boys with long, straight-ironed hair wearing jean vests with no undershirts, and very tight banana-hammocks. Elias had that flash of old-guy ‘kids these days’ before he recalled that these boys were not the norm.
They called themselves the Steel Rod Boys for reasons more esoterica than they ought to have been. Zuzma, their leader was the one with slightly longer, much blonder hair. Sunglasses shaped like starbursts defied gravity to stay affixed on his face, shielding his eyes from Elias. The others wore more mundane (and more practical) sunglasses.
Zuzma revved his bike’s engine a few times before shutting it off and dismounting with a wide stance obviously intended to show off his bulge. Elias cringed at the sight of so much pale, hairless leg.
“It’s ya boi, ZUZMA!” the other three announced from their bikes before clumsily shutting them off. They took up position around their leader and held something like a pose for long enough that Elias got the impression they were waiting for him.
“Evening, boys,” he greeted with a polite nod. “Help you with something?”
“Yo, this ol’ fool tripping’,” one of his cronies declared. Elias identified a mole on his brow. “Thinkin’ he can talk to Zuzma like that.”
“Straight trippin’,” another agreed, his voice higher than the others.
“We bes’ teach him some respect ‘fore he says somethin’ he regret,” the last one decided, more portly than his comrades.
“Teach,” the other two agreed. They folded their arms and nodded to different, unheard rhythms.
“Can I help you boys with something?” Elias asked again, more firmly.
The Iron Rod Boys prepared to go off again, but Zuzma raised his hands for silence. “Listen man, this land here? This is my land – Zuzma’s land!” He spoke much more eloquently than his followers and spread his arms wide. “This is all Zuzma’s land!”
Elias had the feeling he wasn’t talking just about the farm. “Well, I must apologize, Zuzma – “
“Ya Boi Zuzma,” mole-face corrected.
“…Ya Boi Zuzma?” Elias responded slowly.
“No, no, Ya Boi Zuzma.” He gestured with a finger at Elias.
“…Mah Boi Zuzma?” Elias tried.
“Word.”
Elias squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “Listen, Mr. Zuzma, there must be some kind of mix-up. This land here is mine. Got the deed inside. And I don’t recall seeing anyone else’s name on it. Just me and the bank. Sorry, maybe you’re looking for the Der Vans farm over yonder?” He jerked a thumb eastward. He didn’t want to send these bozos after anyone else, but maybe he could confuse them enough with more words and directions. It seems to work on the henchmen, because they all shared a confused look. Zuzma, however, just sighed and shook his head.
“Naw, man. You don’t get it. This is all Zuzma’s land. And anyone on Zuzma’s land, has to pay the fee.”
“Fee?”
“Yeah, fee. You got corn in your ears, you old – “
“Fee for what?”
“Fee for – for what? For letting you live on Zuzma’s land!” His cool exterior cracked a little. Elias was getting to him, but he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted. People with delusions of grandeur were dangerous when you pushed them too far. Best to end this quickly.
“Well, look, even if I did have a, uh, Zuzma tax to pay – I ain’t got anything to pay you with. What you see here? That’s all. Farm isn’t even up and running yet. Why don’t you boys come back after the harvest? Put it on my tab. I’ll have something for you then.”
“You just don’t get it, old man,” Zuzma declared with something like sadness. “We ain’t coming back later. We’re here now. Rode all the way out – and we’re not leaving empty handed.”
Elias had had enough. With a groan, he stood. “Yes, you are.”
Even if he was older and a decade out of practice, he was still much bigger than Zuzma. He stood at least a head taller, and probably weighed sixty pounds more. Sure, some of that was fat, but he looked big. Had it just been Zuzma, Elias was sure he could take him down – and the kid knew it by the way he stepped back involuntarily. Even with one of his friends, Elias might have sent them running, but not all four.
Zuzma recovered quickly, turning his back step into a tactical retreat to his bike, from which he retrieved an arm-length metal pipe.
Hence the name, Elias thought.
The other Iron Rod Boys did the same, and, on cue from Zuzma, talked away from their bikes to surround the farmer. Only the leader looked totally confident. Perhaps not used to actually facing resistance, mole-face, high-voice, and pot-belly shuffled uncomfortably in place and shot each other nervous looks. Zuzma just stood there, pipe resting on his shoulder.
“Think you’re tough, eh?”
“I’m not the one threatening an old man.” Elias squared his shoulders and did his best to make his weary body straighten. He dropped his voice a little, too.
“Tch.”
“Besides, I already told you: I don’t have anything for you.”
“Well, that’s a problem now isn’t it?”
“Only if you make it one.”
“Whuzzat?” High-voice pointed with his pipe to the discarded meal tray. “Food?”
“Totes,” pot-belly said. “That’s those pre-made meals you can buy over’n San Rando. P cheap, but p tasty, ‘specially with hot sauce.”
“Shut it,” Zuzma snapped. “You been holding out on me, old man.”
Elias honestly hadn’t considered the meals until then, but even now that he was, the decision had already been made. There was no way he was going to give these punks anything – not one scrap.
“You wouldn’t like those; they taste like how you all look.” That was dumb. He was just going to upset them even more.
“Yo, man,” high-voice protested, “I think we’d taste p good, ya know?”
“Shut up,” Zuzma growled.
“’Specially with some hot sauce, man,” pot-belly offered.
“Shut up.”
“Wait,” mole-face said, and lowered his pipe, “Wha kind a hot sauce? Not that Samacha stuff?”
“Yeah, man,” pot-belly put his down, too. “Slather some o’ that over anything – can make dirt taste like – “
“I said shut up!” Zuzma whirled around, brandishing his pipe. “All three of you idiots! Stop. Talking. And you,” Zuzma spun back to threaten Elias, who had taken the opportunity to edge closer to the house. “I’ve heard enough out of you – out of all of you. Stay right there. Ricke, Aldion, Glucon: go inside and take all of the damn meals. I’ve had enough of this place. Hurry up so we can get the hell out of here.”
The three Iron Rod Boy lackeys hesitated only a second before slinking off towards the house. Heedless of the Zuzma’s threats, Elias stepped between the boys and his home.
“You won’t be taking anything.” Elias wished he’d brought the hoe back with him. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it would have been better than nothing. Bare-handed intimidation only works so much. He thought that he might have been able to scare them off, if it wasn’t for Zuzma. That was the thing about bullies: they needed backup to be strong.
Out of patience, Zuzma shoved one of the boys aside and swung his pipe at Elias’ head. Elias braced for the blow that never came. Zuzma had stopped mid-swing and stared at his weapon with wide, confused eyes. After a moment, he grunted tried to continue the swing, but couldn’t. He tried to pull back, but failed, too. He gripped it with both hands and jerked in all directions, but he might as well have been trying to move a mountain.
“Well,” he gasped finally, “don’t just stand there: get him!”
Ricke, Aldion, and Glucon shared another of their trademark glances, but moved in on Elias, who was too busy marveling at Zuzma to notice. High-voice swung half-heartedly and encountered the same phantom grip. This time, though, after the blow was halted, it changed direction to hit pot-belly in his chest.
“Wha’ wuz that for?”
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Tha’ really hurt, man.”
“I’m sorry bro, it wasn’t me, yo!”
Mole-face’s arm jerked out to hit high-voice in the shoulder.
“Ow, man, what tha fizz?”
“My bad.”
Then pot-belly’s arm failed and on it went in that fashion.
“What are you idiots doing?” Zuzma demanded, still fighting with his own weapon.
“Fo’get this, yo,” mole-face announced and dropped his pipe – well he tried to, but even though his hand left the pipe, it continued to hover in the air. His friends followed suit, creating three masterless metal pipes that, as one, turned on Zuzma.
“Hey, whoa whoa, what the – “Zuzma’s own pipe finally pulled free of his grip. All four pipes circled around him like sharks about to feed. The other boys had already run back to their bikes. “What? Don’t run away, you cowards! Help me!”
And then, something even more curious happened: the form of another young man materialized out of the air. He was gray all over, gray like metal, from his hair to his clothes. At first, Elias thought it was a fifth Iron Rod Boy, but the others seemed equally perplexed. This new figure held one hand out, twirling one finger in the air. When the figure noticed Elias staring, it winked one glowing eye and stared moving its hand in a line.
The circling iron pipes mimicked this motion, pushing Zuzma back towards his bike. Whenever he tried to resist being corralled, one pipe or another lashed out, smacking him just hard enough to bring him to heel. The gang leader nearly fell onto the bike and fumbled with the ignition.
“This isn’t over,” he declared. “We’ll be back for – hey wait a minute!”
All four bikes lifted from the ground. Elias chanced a look at the newcomer to find it had extended both hands now and was raising them up, up, up. Although the face was a uniform gray, he could swear a smile formed. All four Iron Rod Boys held on for dear life as their vehicles continued up and then – zoomed away, back over the horizon at breakneck speed. They barely had time to shout in surprise before they were out of sight.
A long moment passed before Elias collapsed the stoop in front of his house. His heart throbbed again and he struggled for breath. His whole body shook and for a moment, he thought he would start crying. But he didn’t; Elias held it together and said to the stranger.
“Listen, I wasn’t lying to the Iron Rod Boys: I really don’t have anything to pay, but – it’s late and you’re a long way from anywhere important, so you’re welcome to stay here long as you like. Got a spare…well a couch, but you’re welcome to it.”
The strange gray boy – it did appear more masculine than anything – regarded him with another smile. “Thank you,” he said with a voice that sound like someone drumming on a metal plate. “Thank you, but I have to be going.”
Elias rubbed at his chin. “Well if you leave, what in Seraphina’s name am I going to do when they come back?”
The boy shook his head. “Won’t come back.”
“We – You embarrassed them. I’d be looking for payback if I were them.”
“You would not have been looking for trouble in the first place. No. Cowards. Bullies. They will posture and puff and blow until someone knocks them down.”
“Maybe so, kid, but I ain’t the one to do it.”
The gray kid tilted his head questioningly. “But you already did. Bullies come by, threaten, demand – you stood up, said no.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Courage.”
“Nah, not that. Just stubborn, really. I couldn’t actually have done nothing about those punks. I ain’t that strong.”
The gray boy shook his head, and paced away from Elias. “Strength not necessarily physical. Many different kinds. Strength to stand up to bullies. Strength to defend those who are weak, to stand up for what is right.” He knelt beside Melody’ s gravestone. “Strength to wake up every day, to keep going. Strength to carry on.” He held Elias’ gaze for a long moment before the latter broke off.
“Shoot, kid, you’re too young to be sayin’ such wise stuff.”
“Wise? Maybe. But wisdom comes from experience, yes?”
“You sure talk a lot older’n you look.”
“How old do I look?
Elias laughed. “You’re sure something. Listen, I know you said you can’t stay, but if you ever swing by this way again, you’re always welcome here.” Elias rose with a groan and offered his hand.
“I appreciate that.” The gray stranger went to take Elias’ hand when another voice interjected.
“Stay away from that thing!” Both Elias and the gray kid paused and, as one, turned to see an odd, black-cloaked figure pointing at them accusingly. They hung like that, hands extended, and stared at the new arrival, Elias with a baffled look, the gray figure with resignation.
“Pardon?” Elias asked after the silence had stretch too long.
“I said, stay away from that thing!” The mysterious hooded figure pointed again for effect. Elias furrowed his brow. The mysterious figure spoke with a voice that he couldn’t place and either masculine or feminine. It seemed to defy identification, and he was sure that, if he heard it in a crowd, he would be unable to pinpoint the source.
“Him?” Elias retracted his hand and jerked a thumb at his guest.
“Yes, that.”
Elias almost had the voice, but as soon as the speaker stopped, it slipped away from him like the wind. “Now just hold on, are you with those Iron-Rod Boys? Because he already sent them packing, and I don’t appreciate you coming here and – “
“Be silent!” The cloaked form swept its hand in front of it, as if in dismissal. On cue, a force slammed into Elias and shoved him back. It wasn’t the wind, but nothing solid had hit him. Much like the stranger’s voice, once the attack was over, he couldn’t identify the source. “Do not interfere.”
“I have had just about enough of you freaks,” Elias declared. Brimming with indignation, the old farmer straightened his shirt, hiked up his trousers, and prepared to let the mysterious stranger have it. “Now look, I don’t come to your home and tell you how to dress and act all mysterious and edgy, so I’d appreciate it if y’all didn’t come to my farm and intimidate me, threaten my guests, insult my – “
“Elias.”
Elias halted mid-stride and -sentence, and stared. He didn’t recall ever telling the gray guest his name. “But – “
“No. In this, let it go. Here for me, not you. Correct? If I go, you will leave this man’s farm alone?”
The black-cloaked figure huffed and crossed its arms. “Of course. I don’t have any interest in fighting with an old man and his sad excuse for a farm.”
Elias bristled again. “Now see here – “ but a look from the boy quieted him. “Are you sure?”
“This is a conflict I have been avoiding, but no longer. I apologize for bringing it to you, but I will take this trouble with me.”
“Kid – “
“Johnny.”
“Johnny – you don’t have to – “
“I do. I really do. I have a habit of shirking responsibility, something I’ve been working on. So, please, go inside. Rest. Sleep. Forget about me.”
Reluctantly, Elias turned to go. “Look, kid – Johnny – I’ll go on in. This ain’t my business, I can tell that. But I don’t think I’ll forget about you – couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He extended his hand one more time, and Johnny shook it. Then he turned and went inside. A single lamp flickered on in the window, and the curtain rustled.
The gray Johnny smiled at the house, then faced his pursuer. Even though he knew who it was, he still experienced the same sensation of vagueness that Elias did. The mysterious hooded figure really didn’t look like anyone in particular, which was partly the fault of the cloak itself. He’d seen enough of them to recognize the way they perfectly concealed the wearer, even down to their auras. People who wore them could speak with their closest friends and never be discovered.
Yet, even that couldn’t totally account for the lack of individuality before him. Cloaks didn’t conceal voices, even if them made them hard to place. This figure’s voice was somehow without substance, reverberations without tone or pitch, noise that triggered the language centers of his brain without registering familiarity. He shouldn’t have been able to identify the other, even with his foreknowledge – but then, he wasn’t a complete person either, so maybe they shared that bond.
“Courage,” the figure said, both an observation and a declaration.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t think you’d be so easy to find, Courage.”
“And yet.”
“I sought you out first. I need you.”
Johnny – Courage – signed. “You don’t need me. You never did.”
“Oh shut up.” Johnny thought there should have been anger in those words, but instead, he heard a distinct lack of anything. Just words. “I’m not some simple farmer. I don’t need a lecture from you right now.”
“Then leave.”
“Not without you.”
“You think it will be so easy?”
“There’s enough of you in me that I’ll find the rest of you. All of you.”
“And then what?”
“Make you mine.” The mysterious hooded figure extended its hand again, fingers splayed. Johnny went rigid. He struggled against something shapeless and solid as concrete. He tried to step back, to turn away, but he couldn’t. Had he been capable of it, he would have felt fear. But he didn’t. All he could do was meet the unseen eyes of his captor. “All mine.”
“You won’t be able to hold me, any us. You aren’t him.”
“Shut up. I can be whoever I want to be, now. Isn’t that what Mimics are?”
While speaking the other had crossed the distance and placed the open hand on his chest, almost lovingly. “I want what you have.”
“This isn’t the way.”
It didn’t answer this time. Instead, the cloaked figures fingers pushed into Johnny’s form, bypassing clothes, skin, muscle, and bone to take hold of something…else, something more ephemeral. The form of Johnny winced, although it couldn’t truly feel pain. Rather, the discomfort stemmed from having the very core of one’s essence separated from the physical vessel. Not many experience this sensation and live. Fortunately or not, this Johnny wasn’t truly alive. Once this core was pulled forth – a glowing gray sphere that pulsed slightly like a heartbeat – the gray form of Johnny flickered and disappeared, like a candle snuffed by a sharp breath.
The black-cloaked figure held this orb, this Fragment of Johnny at arm’s length for a long moment, unsure that it had actually worked. Then, ever so slowly, it brought the core to its own chest. The Fragment core resisted at first, but gave way with a little effort, sinking into the flesh beneath. The figure staggered, not in pain exactly, but discomforted. The Fragment resisted the new host at first, but upon finding it similar enough to the original, settled in and began to radiance its essence throughout the new host. Fifteen other sources of similar energy flared up in all directions, responding to the frequency to which the figure was now attuned.
It had worked. It really had worked.
Brimming with newfound confidence, the mysterious hooded figure danced a little in place before stepping towards the next desired Fragment, and vanishing.
-
Bonus Throwback Edition!
In a land far from the action of everything else, a old farmer was hard at work hoeing his field (heh, hoe). He was doing an alright job until the Iron Rob Boys rode up.
"Hey old man, give us your all yer kandiez, yo," demanded the leader, Zuzma, who was dressed in nothing but really tight speedo. And sunglasses with five points like Simon at the end of Gurren Lagann.
"I ain't got no kandiez," the farmer declared, waving his hoe at them
"Then I guess we're just gonna have to beat you until you give us the kandiez." He told his three sidekicks, Ricke, Aldion, and GLucon to surround the farmer while he beat him up. He produced a large iron pipe from...somewhere (giggity) but before he could use it, the pipe flew out of his hands.
"Whata?!?!?!"
The pipe was caught by a Mysterious Gray Boy who looked suspiciously like Johnny.
"Who are you?" Zuzma demanded.
"I'm J - I mean - nobody, but stop beating up that old man."
"Why don't you make us?"
"LOLK" The DEFINITELY NOT JOHNNY person proceeded to defy physics all over the place until this Iron Rod Boys ran away.
"Oh dang that was awesome," the farmer said.
But Johnny wasn't listening to him. He'd spotted another Mysterious Hooded Figure approaching. "Go back inside and don't come out," he told the farmer.
"I found you at last," the Mysterious Hooded figure said.
"I wasn't really hiding"
"Silence! Now, I will make you mine!!!11"
"Wut"
But before not-Johnny could do anything, the Mysterious Figure ran up and pulled out his soul! Oh noes! Only it wasn't really his soul because that wasn't Johnny (like I said before) but a Fragment, so he just disappeared.
"Ahahaha" the Mystery Figure then absorbed Johnny's soul Fragment and opened a portal in order to go find the next one.