The Town

         Lisa grabbed a red, vibrant flower. It had 24 petals in total that sprawling out in a pattern, the petal looked undamaged as the day it blossomed thanks to the self-regeneration properties that kept it alive in the heavy winters that plagued its’ native land.

          “The Red Lover should do well with the Bitterroot…” she muttered, grabbing a tool and setting it down beside her.

          Lisa plucked each of the petals, put them on a flat, wooden surface and started to grind them, the petals breaking into a powder. She picked up the wooden board and slid the powder into her cauldron. She gave it a minute or so for the powder to blend with the boiling water and bitterroot sap, then patted out the flames beneath the cauldron with her boot.

           She looked to the far wall where the grandfather clock lay. “Alright, Mason should be arriving in an hour for his medicine…” She said, then grabbed a large, freshly made waterskin and poured the elixir. Quickly grabbing an inked quill, she scribbled in a note on how often to take the medication. With the package complete her exhausted hands dropped the quill onto the table, then she wiped her sweaty brow.

          KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

          She checked the grandfather clock again. No, she hadn’t misread it—Mason was still set to arrive later. And all other appointments were scheduled other times during the week—Fridays are generally quiet.

          She sighed, rinsed her hands quickly, and rolled down her sleeves as she walked over to open the door.

          “G’afternoon.” The bounty hunter Red Cloak stood at the doorstep, then knelt down a bit to fit his large frame, 7ft tall frame through the doorway and stepped inside. He looked around the quaint patient lounge, nearby tables holding plants up as light shone brightly through the windows. “Nice space.”

          “Seeing how you’re back, does that mean you’ve held up your end of the deal?” She asked, a smile creeping onto her face.

          “Yeah, ‘bout that…” The figure sat down on the couch that faced the examination room. “I… nah, you should siddown first ‘fore I give you the news.” It gestured to a chair across and to the left of it.

          She gave the figure a judgmental look, eyebrow raised. “I prefer to stand.”

          “Smart, most of the time.” Red Cloak said, taking a slow breath through his rebreather. “But it’s not wise today.”

          “Just spill it.” She spat bitterly.

          Red Cloak sighed. “Our deal just got null and void—"

          “WHAT—”

          “—On account of the Metori bein’ property of the Royals.”

          She grew quiet. “I thought you had no love for them.”

          “No love don’t mean no sense.” It said, Lisa’s face contorted in this ugly mix of distress and anger reflecting in its vizor. “They’re petty people, miss. You hurt them, and they’ll return the favor tenfold.”

          “You said you’d kill him. No questions.”

          “Aye, no questions.” It said, his metal hand reaching a part of the couch that looked blackened and disfigured. “But I operate on what’s doable. What’s profitable. That target’s bad for business, miss.”

          “…You know what they’re capable of.” She nearly whispered, just barely mustering the will to remain audible.

          “That’s why the hunt is off.” It said, getting up and making his way to the door. It absentmindedly put its’ good hand along the wooden wall, fingers tracing the wallpaper. It started to slow down at a point, noticing how some of it looked like it was broken apart and peeling off, the wood looking old and damaged beneath.

          “No, not The Royals. The Murderers.”

          The figure froze. After a moment, it pulled back the wallpaper a bit, and focused on the wood. It wasn’t old. It was scorched.

          “Ah.” It said, breathing slowly. “Olen was in the crossfire durin’ the war, wasn’t it?”

          She remained still, trying to keep her composure. The figure looked back. Reflected in its vizor, it noticed that her lip quivered slightly, her eyes scrunched up as her muscles forced a controlled expression.

          Her face reflected in the visor for a bit more, as it stood there for a few more moments. It reached into its belt, counted some Roi, and set it down at a nearby table. “Here. 75% of your down payment. The remaining 25% is just to cover time expenses.”

          It took another step and opened the door.

          The Red Cloak stopped and looked back one last time.

          “I’ll be in Olen over the next couple days. Metori won’t be comin’ near your shop, miss.”

          Then it left.

…

          Gale slept with one eye open. Not voluntarily—It seemed that it was an aspect of his larger order, so he physically had to. He leaned back on a nearby sofa in the room facing her bed and the nearby windows. It was in an awkward shape and Gale had to be rather stiff in order to avoid falling, but it was the most comfortable object he had slept in his entire life.

          His dreams ended up being flashes of other Metori faces. Some male, some female. Gale didn’t quite know what an older Metori looked like, so his mind filled in the blanks. The grey skin appeared more wrinkled, although the untrained eye see cracks in stone instead, failing to realize the nuance that revealed the brow and skin was organic muscle. The flames started to flicker less bright, old and weathered over time.

          The two figures had parts of Gale’s appearance. Gale’s tall figure and physique matched the male, but the shape of his eyes and facial structure matched more of the female.

          Some part of Gale’s subdued consciousness recognized these as his parents—Or at least, what he thought his parents would be like. The features that matched his own swapped between the figures, the figures themselves morphing into infinite possibilities in his imagination as his mind desperately looked for an answer.

That answer didn’t come.

          Gale’s imagination changed. He saw Puffrel and her father behind her. An obscured figure to the right of Puffrel, and what was presumably Puffrel’s mother next to the World King.

          Looking past them, he noticed hundreds of other ancestors, some taking the forms of statues he saw in the estate with their names easily recognizable to him, and others… uncertain. Others remained a mystery still, their faces blurry when he tried to focus on them.

          He looked—Or at least, he thought it looking—between his theoretical ancestors and Puffrel.

          I know more about her family than I do about mine.

          His mind went back to his brothers. If this was what Gale remembered, barely a scrap of a theoretical history, was this the same for all his brothers?

          Is our enslavement all we know?

          Gale felt his fists clench, his brow furrowing. He began to walk through a new environment as his mind filled in the space. He stepped over the meticulously maintained grass and simplistic roads of the estate, his brothers working on various odds and ends. They’d absentmindedly glanced at him but couldn’t speak.

          Not that they even tried.

          Gale started to walk towards the edge of the estate. He could feel that, as continued to march from the gardens that now swarmed over his entire surroundings, the orders fought against him. His foot pulled back. His muscles tensed. His vision blurred temporary, when he blinked he’d end up walking the other way. It was fighting against him, keeping him in line.

          But he pressed on. When his foot pulled back, he would wrest it off the ground and bring it forward. When his muscles started to lock in, he’d mutter to himself, ‘Keep going.’ And every time he blinked and went the wrong way he’d adjust his direction and run.

          Then he picked up speed.

          He began to jog, forcing his will to combat the orders. He saw the other slaves, looking at him quizzically for split seconds—Something that shouldn’t have been possible.

          ‘Follow me!’ He shouted, calling them over with a swing of his arm. ‘We can get out!’

          How does he speak…

How am I speaking…

I-is he right?

Voices of the other slaves filled his background as they slowly began to rise to their feet, the tools they carried hitting ground with a THUD.

The sound started small but as others copied it the sound began to echo throughout the estate.

          There was still a mental chain around his legs. Gale took a crack at it, loosening the grip and permitting him to run. Some slaves started walking behind Gale.

Gale gave them a look of determination. ‘You see? We’re not supposed to be able to do this! It can’t control us anymore—Fight it!

          The slaves in the background began to quicken their movement, speed walking as if they desperately needed a cane but moving forward all the same. A harsh wind blew against them, pushing dandelions to fly all around them, the force trying to push them back into their manacles.

          But they kept on running.

They ran to the glory of the sun.

          The exit of the estate loomed ever closer as Gale sprinted. His brothers began to rush behind him, as he looked quickly from side to side, seeing faces full of disbelief at what is happening, but refusing to stop for anything.

          Gale grinned. A large grin, his teeth shown and relaxed as he felt a spur of hope in him. ‘That’s it! Keep going!’ He shouted to his brothers. ‘Don’t stop until you can’t see the estate anymore!’

          Gale eventually rushed past the estate borders, moving into the forest as heavenly light filled the plains up ahead, lights reflecting off of the trees that the leaves glowed like lanterns. The sound of animals, the river, and the movement of creatures through the environment.

          He wasn’t chained to the ground. He wasn’t doing a forced, repetitive task.

          We’re free.

          Gale looked behind him. ‘Come on! They can’t—’

          Gale froze.

His brothers stood at the very edge. Some of them had even crossed the border, standing at the edge of the estate. But they didn’t follow. They looked past him, their eyes empty, their head flames fading and growing low, the sparks flickering for a few more moments, and then went out like a dying candle.

          Gale turned around, frantically searching for an answer in their faces. ‘We’re past the borders! Don’t stop! We’re almost there!’

          They just looked at him, dimly acknowledging his presence. Some were slumping, some stood anxiously, but all of them didn’t move. For all intents and purposes, they were corpses stringed up like a puppet.

          ‘Why won’t you run?’

          ‘Prone.’

        Gale’s knees buckled under him and them his body quickly locked into position. He was on his knees, his hands being the only thing preventing him from falling completely. He kept pushing, his will moving his face up to see the speaker.

          The World King towered above him, looking down at him with waves of disdain yet only a hint of annoyance. His arms were crossed on his chest, the clouds around him and those forming his wispy beard fading gray, like the clouds were about to rain.

          ‘This-this isn’t… true. We were… we are… free…’ Gale spat, the mental chains trying to force his mouth closed every second.

          ‘Silence.’

        Gale’s mouth locked up shut. He tried to vocalize something, anything, but not even his lungs would move.

The World Queen stood next to him, and she slowly moved forward. ‘Did the slave seriously think that he could escape?’  She said, snickering with cold eyes staring down at Gale.

          ‘I believe so, mother.’ A young boy holding a wooden short-sword in his palm looked down at Gale. Like the Royals, clouds formed around him and wings lay unfurled from his waist. He had his father’s hair, yet his mother’s viridian eyes, trying to be stoic like his father but a light smile dancing on his lips. Gale somewhat remembered him walking across the estate a few times, always getting a part of his appearance yet never the whole picture.

          The world king kept staring at him. ‘Is it possible that they believed it, Dahl?’

          ‘It is, your majesty.’  Dahl said. ‘Your orders, unfortunately, can only control the physical body. But they do not control the mind, and its potential to think. To hope.’

        ‘There are other ways of dealing with that.’  The World King took a step closer and Gale’s knees and arms completely gave way, utterly prone. The World King grabbed a side of his head and titled Gale’s eye up to him, the grip firm and uncomfortably tight.

          ‘The others stand behind you. They did not listen to your meaningless cries, slave.’  The World King spoke in a normal tone, a bored expression appearing on his son’s face as he yawned and walked away, now bored with this game. ‘It is because no amount of yearning will free you. I own your hope, as much as I own your heart.’  The king pointed at Gale’s hole in his chest.

          ‘Resistance will never work. If you breathe, it is because it doesn’t bother me. If you work, it is because of my will. You LIVE because of my orders.’ Gale grit his teeth, shaking his head in refusal as the World King’s boot pressed against his cheek.

          The king rose. ‘They never listen the first time.’ He muttered to himself, Gale’s vision blurring in the dirt and grass. ‘Rise. Look at them.’

          Gale rose slowly, fighting his will yet turning around just the same. His eyelids snapped open, refusing to close. He looked in the crowd, the sad faces blurring together as tears began to well up in his eyes—Except a new face.

          Puffrel?

          She looked at him, her eyes and face sullen and without any emotion.

          Silence.

          5…

          4…

          3…

          2…

          1…

          ‘Go back to work.’ Transparent chains erupted from the ground, grabbing onto Gale and forcing him down, solid black encapsuling his vision.

          Gale woke up, his heart pounding, a rush of anxiety in his voice as he brought his sword out in front of him, eyes rapidly tracing the room in search of a threat.

          He found none.

          Gale sheathed the blade.

          What did it all mean? Was that… just a dream?

          Gale’s thoughts ran frantically, beads of sweat slowly falling off his brow. It felt too real. Could it have been a spell? A premonition? A possible future?

          Gale replayed it in his mind, how the memory ended leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Over and over, he remembered it, transfixed by it all.

          He stopped.

          He realized it didn’t matter what it was. Spell, premonition, dream, future, the message was clear.

          In order to be free, he needed to get rid of The Royals.