The Wings of Freedom: An Elsewhere Tale

Time for another short story, one that addresses the idea that Dreamers always work with the good guys.

The Wings of Freedom

The prince was unceremoniously thrown forcefully into the cell.  Turning over on the ground, he looked back at the two guards who had ‘escorted’ him to the chamber. 

 

Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the bars and hissed, “You will pay for this.  You, your families, your goddamn pets … I’ll strangle them with my bare hands!”

The face of one of the guards went bright red.  He stepped forward, only to be held back by the other.  

"He’s not worth it." She hissed in his ear.  "He’ll feel the headsman’s axe tomorrow anyway."

The offended guard glared angrily at the jailed prince for a moment longer before turning away and heading for the door, the other guard following suite a moment later. 

"I’ll make everyone you even cared for pay in blood!" The prince screamed as she closed the heavy iron door. 

His only answer was a series of heavy clicks followed as numerous deadbolts slid into place, securing the prince in the cell.

Still fuming, the prince looked at his surroundings.  The cell was essentially a heavy iron cage in the center of a small room with metal walls.  There were no windows, no doors save the one, and a small vent to allow the circulation of air. 

"Okay, okay." He murmured, massaging his temples.  "This isn’t a problem.   They’ll come to get me once they realize what happened.  I just need to wait."

He spent the next few hours brooding on his cot, imagining all the horrible and foul things he’d do to the people who wronged him.  Not just the guards, mind; the prince had a sharp mind and a perfect memory; every person who wronged him from the jester who dared to make a joke about the prince to the King of the miserable little keep in which he was now imprisoned would feel his wrath. 

As the hours of night began to wane, the prince felt a slow desperation begin to seep though him.  Where were they?  They were supposed to be watching over him.  They were supposed to be helping him.

His ear twitched as one of the deadbolts slid back into place with a loud thunk. 

"Finally!" He exclaimed, clambering to his feet and moving as close to the door as his cell allowed.  "It’s about damn time!"

One by one, the deadbolts slid back into place.  As the door finally opened with a loud creak, the muffled sound of conversation from the other side became clear.

"Chinese?  We haven’t had chinese in awhile." Said the first man to enter, a thin fellow in a white robe.

A dark-skinned woman with a guitar slung over her shoulder stepped into the room behind the robed man.  “I dunno, Jay.  The last time we had chinese, I was sick for a week.  How about Sushi?”

"Come on, Melody; we do sushi on Friday, and it’s only Wednesday.  How about Mexican?  Some nachos would be killer right now."

"Hmm."  The woman scratched her chin as she considered.

The Prince screamed, “Where the hell have you two been, you incompetent buffoons?  You’re supposed to be keeping me safe, not disappearing when the palace guards start chasing me!”

"Geez, man." Said the robed man.  "Chill out already."

"Chill out?  They’re going to execute me!  Do you know what that means?  They’re going to kill me!"

"Well, yeah, man!  You tried to force yourself on that poor girl; even if she wasn’t a princess, you’d be in some serious trouble."

"She was promised to me!" The prince said defiantly.  "That makes her my property, and I can do whatever I damn please with her!"

There was a definite drop in the room temperature at the prince’s comment.  Melody opened her mouth only to be interrupted by Jay snapping his fingers.

"Italian!" He said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  "There’s a great little bistro I used to visit in New York that makes a great meatball calzone!"

The prince stood dumbfounded, which gave Melody enough time to say, “Oh, that sounds good, but those things run right through me.  Maybe a sub sandwich?”

"I’m going to be killed in a couple of hours!" The prince screamed.  "Stop talking about food!"

"Well, we’re hungry!" Melody snapped.  "It hasn’t been easy keeping an eye on you for the past few weeks."

Jay nodded at the prince, adding, “You are a bit of a prat.”

"Excuse me?" The prince was livid.  "It isn’t for sub-creatures like you to question the bloodline of kings."

"Sub-creatures?!" Melody said, outraged.  "We are Dreamers of the Elsewhere Incorporate.  We can twist reality into whatever shape we need."

"And you have to do what I say." There was an air of smugness about the prince as he continued, "That’s what you said, right?  You’re here to make sure I’m right where I’m supposed to be."

Jay scratched his bearded chin.  “That is what I said.”

"And my proper place is on the throne!  I am the last heir to King Jonas, not that low-born thug Matthaius.  As such, I demand you get me out of here and help me deal with that horrible whelp."

"Horrible?" Melody began to circle the cage, one finger tapping against the bars.  "Let’s talk about horrible, shall we?  The first time we met, you had just tried to steal the gold from a travelling merchant."

"I am to be king." The prince said stiffly.  "Everything in this realm is mine."

"Next," Melody continued as though she hadn’t heard him, "You nearly kicked a beggar to death for the crime of asking for a single coin."

The prince snorted.  “I’ve no time for such scum.  If she couldn’t work, she deserved to starve.”

"And the gypsy who gave you a bad fortune?  The child who accidentally splashed mud on you?  The guard who tried to help you up when you slipped?  The town crier who had the misfortune of passing just a little too close to your window?  If we had left you to your own devices, how many of them would you have killed and/or robbed?"

"You wouldn’t understand.  I will be king!  I must act like a king!"

Jay snickered.  “I dunno, Mel; sounds like a king to me.”

"You’re not helping." Melody told him. 

"Neither are you!" The Prince kicked at his cot.  He wanted it to go flying against the cell walls for dramatic effect, and only ended up with a sore foot when the bolted down cot didn’t move an inch.  "It’s not for you to understand, it’s not for you to judge."

"He might have a point." Jay suddenly grinned.  "Pizza?"

"FOR GOD’S SAKE!" The Prince screamed, his voice nearly breaking, "STOP TALKING ABOUT FOOD!  I COMMAND YOU TO GET ME OUT OF THIS CELL AND HELP ME RETAKE THE THRONE LIKE YOU SAID!"

There was a long pause as the two Dreamers traded glances. 

"Let me tell him." Melody asked, clasping her hands together.  "Please let me tell him."

Jay shrugged and waved at the Prince.  “Be my guest.”

"Thank you." Melody smiled briefly at her partner before she turned her sights on the prince.  "We didn’t say anything about installing you on the throne."

"Don’t be stupid!" The prince snapped.  "You said you were here to put me where I was supposed to be!"

"And here you are." Melody leaned closer to the bars, adding in a softer tone, "In a cell beneath the true king’s castle, all ready for the chopping block in the morning."

"How dare-"

"I dare because you would have treated that poor princess like a sex slave until she committed suicide.  I dare because you would’ve murdered innocent people just because you didn’t like the look of them."  She leaned close enough to the bars for the prince to see the fire in her eyes. "I dare because you would’ve led this country to war, all to expand your empire."

The prince shrank back from the look on Melody’s face. “W-what?  What are you talking about?”

"I’m talking about the future, prince." Melody began to circle the cell again.  "You see, you didn’t need us to retake the throne; a sneaky little bugger like you would’ve found a way.  There are always those tempted by power, and they would’ve helped you kill the true king just for a chance at power.  They wouldn’t have gotten it, of course; you’d have them killed as well just to cover your tracks.  Or maybe because you’re a sadistic little bastard."

"You’d be stopped eventually; all dictators eventually are, but hundreds of thousands of people would die because of you.  Children who would have grown up to be artists or storymakers, or maybe even Dreamers, all dead because of one greedy, beastly, and downright evil little norm."  Melody faced the prince again, this time with a smile on her face that sent chills down the prince’s spine.  "And now none of that is going to happen.  The true king will lead this country into an era of prosperity, all because of us.  Job well done, Jay."

"You too, Melody." Jay paused.  "I’ve got it.  Wings-2-Go."

Melody smile became genuine even as a look of horror spread across the prince’s face.  “Ooh, yes.  I love their chicken quesadillas.”

"Then it’s settled!" With that, Jay approached the door.  With a wave of his hand, it swung shut and the deadbolts slid back into place.

"Nice and secure." Jay turned back to the prince.  "So that’s that.  Have a nice life, kiddo."

"Wait!" The prince said, grabbing the bars as Jay and Melody approached another door that appeared on a previously blank piece of wall.  "You … you can’t just leave me here like this!"

"That’s the thing." Melody said as she followed Jay through the door.  Leaning her head outside the doorway, she smiled at him.  "We can."

The door swung shut and vanished, leaving the prince alone in his cell, unable to appreciate the first rays of dawn that were slowly shining over the castle.  It was just as well; he would have probably been too busy screaming to enjoy it anyway.

 

Small Talk

As I went into the office today, as usual I engaged with some small talk with the person I was about to relieve for the night.  As usual, they said almost nothing, seemingly emanating waves of resentment my way.  The latter might just be me, but the strangeness of the situation suddenly occurred to me.  You see, I am not a very social person.  I know, you no doubt just gasped in shock, thinking, “What?  A Fantasy author isn’t a social butterfly?  Egads!”

No, no; I can admit it.  I’m a bit reticent … oh, and let me know if you actually thought egads, let me know in the comments or in a response, or in whatever blogger has for this sort of thing, as you are awesome. Thing is, I always felt out of place when I was growing up.  Again, I know: “Shock!” Still, it seemed that no matter how hard I tried to fit in, I never found a place.  Even with the outsiders of the school, I felt like an outsider.  I’m not crying Aspergers or anything, but social interaction’s just something I don’t think I’ve ever understood.  Well, that, or I went to school with a bunch of pricks; sadly, I have far too much evidence from years of bullying to discount that one. Still, it wasn’t until my senior year that I realized that I was trying too hard, and just stopped giving a damn.  

Even afterwards, however, befriending other people mystified me. I never had a proper girlfriend, though I do feel that somewhat due to the mysterious disappearance of Bridget Cunningham (no, she didn’t disappear; she just moved away.  I was still in junior high, though, so she might as well dropped off the planet …but that’s a blog for later). Even just trying to make friends, normal friends, proved a daunting task.  To this day, I can name on one hand the people I consider true friends, people who I can hang out with who don’t make me feel like some awkward hanger-on. Small surprise, each of them has a surrogate in A Dreamer’s Knight.  Max Wingate, Jude Chaisson, Morgan James, Matthew Crumpler, Naomi Fultz, and yes, Bridget Cunningham.Everyone else?  Just someone I hung out around, never feeling like I was hanging out with them. It was almost like there was some manual on social interaction that everyone else seemed to get, that I just missed at some point.

So how is it that I come into work, and find myself the talkative one?  I didn’t magically become an extrovert, did I?  No, I think the reason is a lot simpler than that. Somewhere along the way, I learned to act like a ‘normal’ person, to make a little small talk so that people around me were more comfortable. I’m still the same introvert, I just find myself around those who haven’t or just won’t adapted in the same way … and that’s fine.  I hate talking, even in the polite sense, and would rather just quietly change shifts, especially with people like the one I relieved tonight.  I’m not joking about the strange air of resentment; I get that from a few of my coworkers, a feeling like they just can’t stand me, but some shred of politeness keeps them from just blurting it out … or worse, that they think talking to me is somehow beneath them.  

Y’know what, though? That’s okay too. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that there are some people who just aren’t cut out to be friends.  Call it social differences or attitude, or the fact that some people are just jerks.  Hell, call me a jerk; I’ll admit it, I’m not always the nicest person to be around, though I do try to maintain a pleasant demeanor these days. Well, more pleasant anyway.  So in the future, if you meet me and I simply smile and move on, don’t take offense. I’m not necessarily avoiding conversation; I’m just avoiding making small talk just to feel I’ve filled my social quota for the day.

Alan T. Tryth, bullying, social interaction, small talk, introvert, jerks, conversation, ramblings

A Cut Thread

My ability to write has always been rather fluid in nature. When I have a good grasp of the story thread I want to tell, I can just hold on and follow it, and the words will just come to me.  It can feel a little spooky at first; sometimes, I wonder if I’m truly writing, or just recording an alternate reality I can just barely sense (which, if I’ve ever roped you into a conversation about the Unending Cycle of Creation, you will no doubt recognize as a key component of that belief). 

Sometimes, however, I'll come to a near or complete halt. Progress through the chapter will be slow and not very satisfying; like a nice sandwich that you microwave and eat, only to discover it's still stone cold in the middle. Sorry; I haven't had breakfast yet ... but you know what I mean.  In my experience, however, this isn't actually writer's block, but a sign that I didn't properly follow the story.  I wandered off and got lost in some possible thread that I subconsciously realize will ultimately go nowhere or just won't work. 

When facing this situation, I've discovered only one effective method of dealing with it; deleting the entire chapter and starting again.  Yes, even if I like part of the chapter.  Yes, even if it took days to write the chapter.  A dead story thread isn't going to please anybody; the reader or the writer, so I just suck it up and delete the chapter, two chapters if it's a particularly brutal situation ... and you know what?  I have always found the new chapter to be better.  I'm not saying it'll work for everyone, but hey; give it a try if you're stuck.  

The Last Piece, an Elsewhere Tale

Ready for another short story?  Well, too bad!  You're getting one anyway. -Alan T. Tryth

The Last Piece

An Elsewhere Tale

The puppet-lord hung in the air like a marionette, his arms moving jerkily as though controlled by one not accustomed to their manipulation. Once fair and even handsome in a cold way, the puppet-lord’s corpse was now bloated and covered with cracks that showed nothing but darkness beneath the creature’s skin. Rows upon rows of needle-like teeth were bared as the horrible creature snarled at the intrepid heroes who faced it.

“Kinda funny, isn’t it?” One shouted over the hiss of stream steam that filled the chamber.“Mister ‘I manipulate the strings of fate’ ending up as the biggest puppet of them all.”

“Yeah, really poetic.” The elvish sorceress said through clenched teeth, her crystal staff exuding a purple-tinged glow that enveloped her and her companions. She flinched as the puppet-lord’s engorged hand slammed against the magic shield. “Any chance you can hurry up and think of a way to kill the bastard?”

“Working on it.” One peered through the flames filling the chamber with difficulty.  The blue-green streams of steam energy escaping from seams in multiple pipes hinted that the stream generator was about to become an issue. He considered using this to his advantage, but decided against it; the stream generator was directly beneath the city’s busiest district; if it went, a sizable chunk of the city would be going with it, to say nothing of his companions, Lena and Gregor.

He glanced at the short form of Gregor, who was busily digging through his backpack, presumably for some artifact or object that might give them a way out.  While the young archivist had managed some impressive feats, One feared nothing in the fellow’s bag would be enough.

It was a shame; One had enjoyed the assignment.  Gregor was a jolly fellow who never let his dwarfism inhibit him in anything he did, even his repeated attempts to woo the sorceress Lena.  Lena was quite a refreshing change from the usual archetype as well; she hadn’t questioned him in the slightest, even after his slip up in the Boverstall Marketplace.  She knew he was something more than a simple traveler, and had accurately guessed his presence had something to do with her and Gregor’s mission to stop the puppet king.

The three of them had made quite the team; Lena’s magic, Gregor’s strange affinity with anomalous artifacts, and One’s technical and Elsewhere know-how brought them past the gates of the Locked City, into the puppet-king’s throne, and now directly fighting to save the fates of thousands.

There was one thing he could do; invoking his Anti-ka Maru would leave him powerless for awhile, but would give him the strength to defeat the creature and save his friends. That was a last-ditch option, however, and he wouldn’t go that far unless he was certain there was no other way.

That’s when he saw it; the beast passed through a spray of stream escaping from the pipes, and as it did so, One saw the escaping stream follow; it wasn’t mere coincidence; the foul thing was absorbing it, growing stronger as it pulled more of the stream into itself.

Lena must’ve noticed it as well, as she soon shouted, “The generator!  It’s absorbing the energy!  If we shut it off-”

“-it might starve the damn thing!”Gregor finished.  

“Guys, hurry!” Lena said, visibly struggling to maintain the protective field.  

Unfortunately, it was too late; the puppet king brought both fists down on the magical bubble with enough force to shatter it and slam into the ground with enough force to knock Lena, Gregor, and One off their feet. It approached Lena, its twisted body crouched low and its maw open as though to devour her whole.

“Oy, Ugly!” As the creature turned, Gregor leapt onto the Puppet King’s gangly neck and pulled his now-empty backpack over the monster’s head. The puppet king roared and staggered away from Lena, its arms sweeping in vain as the elven sorceress moved out of its range.  

“One!” Gregor shouted, “Go for the console!  I’ll keep it busy!”

Nodding, One powered up his tek-boots and dashed toward the generator’s controls, narrowly ducking under another sweep of the puppet-king’s claws.

Leaping over the railing surrounding the controls, he scanned the console briefly before finding the emergency deactivation button.  As he raised his hand, however, another hand slapped over red plunger, sending a loud warning klaxon echoing through the chamber. One barely had time to register the smile on the face of Narrator Number Two before the stream generator rumbled to a halt, the steam escaping from the pipes ceasing a few moments later.

The puppet king turned toward the generator, no doubt sensing the loss of its power source.  It staggered in the direction of the generator, despite the fact that Gregor still had his bag over its head.  It fought to throw him off as it walked but only managed to injure itself as its limbs crashed into the metal pipes that formerly carried stream energy across the city.

Without the stream energy, the creature’s limbs grew thinner by the moment.  It eventually managed to drag Gregor off its shoulders and hurled him to the ground, prompting a panicked cry from Lena. With a final anguished roar, it took a step toward the fallen man, only for its spindly legs to shatter under the force.  It collapsed on top of Gregor in a broken heap that wheezed for a few moments before finally lying still.

“Gregor!” Without a second glance at Two, One leapt from the console platform and hurried over to his friend.  He hefted the corpse of the puppet king off the ground and tossed it aside as Lena knelt beside Gregor, her hand on the side of his neck.

“His pulse is strong.” She said, worry in her delicate features.  She leaned down and held her ear over his mouth, only for him to swiftly kiss her on the cheek. Relief mingled with annoyance on her delicate features, Lena sat up and slapped Gregor’s cheek. 

“Totally worth it.” The little man said, grinning from ear to reddened ear as One helped him up.

They stared at the corpse of the puppet king for a long moment before Gregor asked, “So … that’s it?”

“I guess so.” Lena said uncertainly. “We already destroyed the artifact that turned him into this.  With the puppet king himself dead, all held in thrall should be free.”

More silence followed.  “Seems like there should be, I dunno, more fanfare.” Gregor said, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, we just saved the city, didn’t we?”

“Perhaps a parade is what you desire?” Lena asked, a kind smile on her face. “Our actions today have left the world a better place.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gregor said, “And I’m glad, really.  He needed to be stopped before anyone else was hurt. I just …”

To his surprise, she knelt down and brought his face to hers. One couldn’t help but smile as his two friends kissed. He had long suspected that Lena was harboring some affection for Gregor, and Gregor had been all too willing to confide in One about his feelings for her.

When they released, Gregor gulped and said weakly, “Does this mean you’ll go out on a date with me?”

“Don’t push your luck, little man.” She walked toward the heavy iron doors that led out of the chamber for a few moments before adding, “Yet.”

“All right.” Gregor said, snapping back to his usual cheery self, “C’mon, One! Let’s go get something to eat.”

“I’ll catch up with you later.” One said, patting Gregor on the shoulder.  

Beaming, Gregor jogged after Lena, unaware of the envelope One had just stuck on his back. One hated drawn out goodbyes, and figured the two had plenty to talk about on their own without him hanging around.

Shaking away the light feeling of Story’s End, One walked back to the generator’s control console, where Two was waiting.

“Well look who finally decided to show up.” One said, his hands on his hips. “Are you just bored, or did you run out of prostitutes?”

“Of course not. There’s no upper limit on debauchery, man.” Two glanced at his watch. “That reminds me; I’ve got an appointment in about an hour.  I’ll spare you the details. Wanna get something to eat before then to celebrate me successfully completing this assignment?”

“Your successfully completing this assignment?” One said, unable to believe what he was hearing, “You disappeared months ago!  We hadn’t even met Gregor yet!”

“Ah, but I pushed the emergency shutdown button.” Two said, cracking his knuckles.  “Not too shabby, eh?”

“You pushed it a second before I could.” One said, his eyes narrowing.

Two shrugged. “I was still first, which means that I saved the day and deserve all the credit for the assignment. See?”

Two held out his cellphone; on the screen was a chart displaying Dreamers and their completed assignments. One, who didn’t particular pay attention to the completion chart, was startled to see his own bar surprisingly low, while Two’s bar was quite high. It didn’t take long to put the pieces together.

“Flipping the switch on Trask.” One said as realization stole over him, “Closing the valve on Algos, stopping traffic in Masske.  You’ve been taking all the credit for all the assignments we’ve worked on just because you did the last task?”

“Hey, relax, One!” Two said smoothly. “We can’t all be the best.”

One could only glare at his partner for a few moments as the CPD formed on the nearby wall. 

As they started for the door, Two put his arm around One’s shoulders and said, “Besides, it’s not about who gets the credit; it’s about helping people.  At the end of the day, you’ve made the universe a better place, and that’s what’s truly important.”

“Get stuffed, Two.” One said as they passed through the doorway.

Late Night Ramblings

It's nice to take a break.  I've been pushing myself to finish Mass Effect Slipstream II - The Life of One, since I'm only a few chapters away from finishing, but I promised myself I wouldn't work on the weekends.  I do that all week; the least I can do is give myself a few days off to goof around.

My roommate's cats are swirling around my ankles, looking for attention (or food, more likely). I'm a bit hungry myself, but I'm gonna at least finish this before I go fishing around for something.

I really don't know what to do with myself.  I could play minecraft, I suppose; I've been recreating the Elsewhere Mansion on the excellent Vox Populi server, starting with one of the larger floors, The Library.  Fortunately, I have a template to work from, as I built it in single player creative previously.

It took ages in creative, as each floor is a maze complete with secret paths in some of the shelves that sometimes reach into other floors, so you can imagine how hard it is to recreate in survival.

Quartz and leather take time to collect, but I'm in no hurry.

I usually work on it while listening to Drunk Minecraft episodes, though sometimes hearing the inevitable explosions from youtube can cause me a bit of in-game anxiety. Vox Populi hosts three worlds: diamond, emerald, and gold (I'm on diamond), and there is plenty to do if you're looking for a server on which to play.

Not sure if I really want to do that, though. I'm kinda wanting to go look up the more recent Evil Dead movie; with a new one on the way, I've been meaning to give that one a watch. I've finally broken down and signed up for netflix, so there are a ton of shows there I'm wanting to watch (recently, I've been watching a lot of Columbo. There's a Dreamer if I ever saw him.  It never gets old watching criminals completely discount him as a threat, only to stumble head-long into the trap. 

Oh well. Just a note; I'll probably start divvying up the posts; Elsewhere every other day, with other posts being small reviews and thoughts on things I feel have an element of Dreamer to them.  I have a few more short stories too, and I'm hoping to be able to write some more, perhaps even enough to fill out another book.

I'm gonna go get myself a sandwich. You folks have a nice night, okay?