Mythos Prelude

  Episode Jackie

  Chapter 1.2

  by Caide Fullerton

  Wren: “It’s Roy. He’s not here.”

  Leaning in through the doorway with a few dark locs hanging over her worried expression, Wren delivered this message to the others inside the ruin.

  Hearing this, Alistair and Roche immediately abandoned their banter, the former striding to the door while the latter hurried to a nearby pillar where a patchwork battleaxe was propped up. She’d gotten the other three’s attention as well—Jacqueline handed her child over to Arianne, instructing Loid to guard the two as he made for a spear.

  Wren ducked back outside, swiftly followed by Alistair; just as she’d said, Roy was nowhere to be seen. Alistair cast careful glances around their surroundings; no sign of any struggle or a large monster.

  Alistair: “Oi, Roy!” He raised his voice, calling out into the wasteland. “Roy!?”

  His voice echoed off the trees, but no response came. The next moment they were joined by Jacqueline, who shot glances around their surroudnings in much the same motion as Alistair.

  Jacqueline: “A monster..?”

  Wren ground her teeth. “We were right by the door. We would’ve heard it. We should’ve heard it.”

  Roche: “He can’t be far.” Stepping outside with his axe slung over one shoulder, Roche spoke. “He may be… irritating, at times, but he wouldn’t leave his post without reason.”

  Stepping off the cobbled stones in front of the ruin and onto the muddy earth, he continued, “Fan out. Stay within sight of each other and the base.”

  With a collective nod, Alistair, Jacqueline, and Wren all took off from the cobbled porch. Keeping a closer watch on the others than on the forest, Alistair moved parallel to the old ruin, stepping past its furthest wall after only a few moments.

  This particular ruin was a short ways off of one of the many well-trodden dirt roads that wound through the wasteland. In this region, where the crimson willows grew in great numbers, the foliage typical to the wasteland grew much sparser, seeming to avoid the roots of the bloodred trees. While this made it possible for Humans to walk off the main paths, it still wasn’t something Alistair did lightly; one slip on the uneven ground could get him a face full of poison grass, after all.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need to search very long or far at all.

  Movement ahead caught his eye, and there he was—Roy was standing out among the trees, fixated on something unseen. After a moment he took a few slow, cautious steps backwards, keeping his eyes forward, and then he swiftly turned around, hurriedly jogging over the shelved roots with another glance behind him.

  Alistair: “Oi! Found him!” He shouted back to the others, alerting Roy to his presence as well, who nearly jumped.

  Roy shifted a quick glance to Alistair and the direction he’d come from, then began to slowly pick his way towards the old man, scratching his neck with one hand.

  Alistair: “What is it?”

  Roy: “Nothing, just—“

  Alistair: “Ya think I’m dumb, Roy? The fuck were ya looking at out there?”

  Roy stopped, hesitating for a second before pushing past Alistair as he spoke, “Just a lone Kritta. I scared it off. Nothing to bother the others over.”

  On cue, said others rounded the corner of the ruin just as Roy was approaching it. Seeing Wren’s determined face, Alistair preemptively answered with a “False alarm.”

  Wren: “False alarm..? Roy, the hell were you doing!?”

  Roy grumbled, his face tightening before he cast his gaze to the side with a smack of his lips. “The lot of you are so uptight. Can’t I take a piss in peace?”

  Roche: “Damn it, Roy! You were meant to be on watch! What if a monster showed up at the door!?” Roche’s fiery eyebrows competed with his voice to see which could shout Roy down the hardest.

  Roy: “I don’t wanna hear it from the sentimental drunkard! I was only gone a minute.”

  Wren: “Weren’t you the one worrying the most about the Carrion?”

  Under her disattisfied glare, Roy could only huff in frustration. “Ugh, just drop it! Nothing… nothing showed up, so it doesn’t matter.”

  With that he shoved past the others, returning to his post. Wren and Roche both went in pursuit, levying more complaints at him, leaving Jacqueline behind to eye their backs carefully.

  Alistair: “Botherin’ ya too, eh?” The old man asked as he walked up to her.

  Jacqueline: “He’s acting strange. I don’t buy it.”

  Alistair: “He told me he scared off a Kritta.”

  Jacqueline: “I don’t buy that, either.”

  With a nod, Alistair stepped past her, holding his hands behind his neck. “Well, he won’t be our problem for much longer. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him in the meantime.”

  Jacqueline sighed. “Guess so. I’ll go let Loid and Arianne know what happened—and check in on my darling Jackie.” Her irritated voice took on a singsong tone as she shifted the subject to her child, walking briskly with a skip in her step.

  She passed Roche and Wren, who had stopped before the doorway to continue berating Roy, the haggard man brushing them off indignantly. Finally giving up with an exasperated sigh, Wren turned to the apporaching Alistair.

  Wren: “Are you sure you have to leave? I… I know it’s against the taboo, but… Well, you saw what just happened. I don’t know how we’re gonna manage without you.”

  Alistair nodded grimly, taking a short pause to choose his words carefully. “Much as I wish it wasn’t necessary, that’s just the ways things are. This is the fourth split for me—ya get used to it eventually.”

  Wren clearly wasn’t satisfied with this answer, but before she could retort Alistair raised a finger and continued, “For all his faults, Roy was right about one thing: a Carrion’s bad news, and it ain’t the only monster on that tier. The taboo goes unbroken for a reason: most groups that break it end up dead.

  “There’s no number of Humans ya can throw at a Carrion and win. It just ain’t possible. They tend not to bother with small groups, so that’s just how we live. I wish I could change it, but I can’t, and I’d much rather say goodbye than have any of ya die.”

  Wren cast her gaze downward, clenching her fists. “I know. I know that, but…”

  It was times like these that Alistair couldn’t help but see Wren as a little kid, forced to grow up too fast. He saw the same in Loid and Jacqueline as well. Childhood was a luxury not afforded to anyone in this wasteland; even someone as capable as Wren was bound to stumble under decades of pressure.

  Beyond that, her worries were well-founded; what she’d said earlier was correct on all counts. Roche was getting old, and Arianne and Roy weren’t far behind; before long, she would have to take over as the group’s main fighter, and perhaps even its leader.

  Alistair reached out to lightly jab at her shoulder. “Hey, howsabout we get in that spar we were just talkin’ about?”

  Wren: “Eh, seriously..? Is it… really the time for that?”

  Alistair: “’Course it is. Ya were all fired up for it before. Oi, Roche—“

  Before he could even finish calling out the other man’s name, Roche tossed a wooden sword at Alistair’s head, which he swiftly caught in one hand. With an unimpressed huff, Roche patted his daughter on the shoulder.

  Roche: “I agree, you oughta teach that hag bastard a lesson before he leaves.”

  Conflicted, Wren glanced between the two men before finally giving in with a sigh. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you, old man.”

  Alistair merely chuckled at her words. “Gettin’ cocky already, are ya?”

  Wren was strong, skilled, smart—she was more than capable of protecting her group.

  But all that would mean little if she lacked confidence in her own abilities.

  As his final action before he was forced to leave them behind, Alistair felt that granting Wren this confidence was the very best thing he could do.

  That was why,

  Alistair: “I ain’t going easy on ya, either, kid.” Now standing across from her in the small clearing just in front of the ruin, he assumed a lazy stance with the wooden sword held forward at his hips.

  Wren smirked, sliding into a proper stance as she took the spear slung over her back, flipping it around in her hands so she was holding it backwards, the blunt end aimed forward.

  The next moment, her eyes narrowing fiercely, Wren dug her heels into the mud, launching forward with a mighty lunge.

  Keeping a calm composure even as she charged at him, Alistair watched on as—she was suddenly frozen in time.

  It wasn’t just Wren—the whole world around them and even Alistair himself had paused, time itself coming to a complete stop.

  For someone to live as long as Alistair had in the wasteland was a rare and impressive feat. In that regard, Alistair understood he’d only made it this far because he alone possessed the means to “cheat”.

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  To put it another way, Alistair possessed a unique power.

  Though it’d been decades, he could still clearly remember the day he first called on this power. Just as it had done this time, the world around came to a stop, granting him the edge required to come out victorious.

  To say that this was “the ability to stop time”, that wouldn’t be entirely accurate—or, depending on how you looked at it, it was a far more accurate description than one would expect. Alistair’s body was not exempt from the freezing of time, even though he was the one that initiated it.

  The only thing left free was his mind.

  As time around him stopped, Alistair alone could still think. His mind could wander in much the same way his body could, allowing him to step away and look back at himself. In this state, his mind could borrow the senses of his body—he could still see and smell and feel, and while the concept of sound couldn’t quite exist outside of time, his “ears” were aware of all the sounds that had been playing the moment he stopped time.

  As his mind stepped to the side, a slice of white void came into view behind Wren, where his body’s senses were unable to reach. Were he to look inside the ruin or behind any of the nearby trees, he would find more such slices of nothing; if he were to wander out further, he would come to a seemingly infinite white void where his body’s senses found their limit, the world at the void’s edge a blurry mess of flowing, fading colors, as if the world itself were a dripping watercolor painting.

  This ability was the sole advantage Alistair held over the rest of the world. In this state he could not move his body, but his mind could study, could think, could ponder; with this, he could reduce even the most dire situation to a calm thought experiment, allowing his mind to determine the optimal way to move his body before time resumed.

  With a touch of humor, Alistair thought of this power as the ability to simply “take a break” from reality. It was his Recess.

  Though he had an admittedly small sample size to pull from, Alistair had never met another Human with this same power, nor had he observed a monster that acted similar to him. Conversely, he’d been careful to conceal the existence of this power throughout his subtle questioning; only Jacqueline knew of it, and even then only the basic concept.

  It was only thanks to this power that he’d lived as long as he had.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, Alistair focused his “eyes” on Wren. He’d promised to go all-out, and he had no intention of breaking that promise to the younger warrior. To prove just how capable Wren was, he needed to lose to her while truly giving it his all, and Recess was no exception to that.

  And so, time resumed.

  Wren, freed from the shackles of paused time, lunged forward with her spear outstretched. Taking a slight step back, Alistair batted the tip of her spear aside with his sword. Unfaltering, the younger warrior pushed forward with a flurry of spear thrusts; Alistair nimbly avoided each strike with perfectly calculated movements, twisting his old body and occasionally deflecting the spear’s end with his wooden blade.

  Thus, over the course of several minutes, the first 7 seconds of combat elapsed.

  Wren: “What happened to not going easy, old man!?”

  Alistair: “I’m just gettin’ a feel for ya, kid.”

  With a slight smirk the old man pivoted, taking his sword in both hands as Wren made her next move. With Recess he had already predicted its trajectory, and he easily dodged the strike aimed at his shoulder with a quick twist. Carrying the momentum of his twisting body, he brought his sword down on the spear, knocking its end down to the dirt. He then stepped forward, dragging his blade along the spear’s haft as he swung it forward.

  If Wren did nothing, he would hit her hand; if she dropped the spear, he would strike her chest. Of course, she was discerning enough to know that, so she did neither. Her feet dug into the mud and she sprang backwards, barely evading the tip of the sword.

  As Wren sprang back, Alistair pushed forward with another swing. The flow of battle was now completely reversed, with Wren dodging backwards as Alistair unleashed a flurry of quick swings. Aided by the foresight granted by Recess, his perfect footwork kept him between Wren and the end of her spear, preventing her from defending herself or mounting a counterattack.

  Wren grit her teeth as she was forced back by attack after attack, clearly wracking her brain for a solution—during one of his Recesses, Alistair couldn’t help but ponder as to just how strong she’d be if she’d been blessed with the same power as him.

  After several increasingly close evasions, Wren made her move as Alistair swung his sword horizontally. This time she sprang back diagonally on her spear’s side, flipping it up in her hand. Thrusting the bladed end into the ground, she yanked its shaft to the side like a lever, stopping Alistair’s sword just before it reached her.

  Alistair was loathe to resort to clashes of strength, since that was something he couldn’t predict the outcome of during Recess. Thus, he chose not to push against Wren’s spear, pulling his sword back to watch for her next move.

  Entering Recess again, Alistair studied Wren closely. Her back leg was raised as if preparing for a kick, but she was too far back—she wouldn’t reach him at this range, without him even needing to dodge. Such a folly was uncharacteristic for her. No, that wasn’t her plan.

  —Wren kicked the spear.

  This move would have certainly caught anyone else off-guard, but, having foreseen it with Recess, Alistair hopped to the side. The spear was sent spinning past him, bouncing back into the air slightly as its blunt end struck the ground. With Alistair dodging away, this gave Wren just enough of an opening to leap forward, retrieving her spear and aiming it back at Alistair.

  “Back at square one, eh?” Alistair mused to himself as he routinely studied the situation in paused time.

  The moment time resumed, Wren slid and pivoted on her feet, lunging for Alistair again. This time she thrust her spear forward with one hand, which only made it all the easier for Alistair to repeat the same move as before, batting it down to the ground and rushing past her defense.

  This time, she was prepared. The moment Alistair struck her weapon, she yanked it backwards and opened her hand, letting it slide freely between her fingers and thumb, only taking hold of it again just before it slipped out of her hand. She then flung it forward, again releasing it to slide freely; this gave it much less force than a proper thrust, allowing Alistair to easily stop it with the tip of his sword, but even so Wren had succeeded in getting her weapon between them.

  Gripping her spear in both hands again, she rammed it forward, past Alistair’s sword, aiming for his shoulder. The old man only barely managed to avoid it with an unattural twist of his torso, but even then Wren didn’t give up, lowering the spear and driving it into his exposed side.

  It was a weak, sloppy attack, but in this position not even Alistair could hope to avoid it. He let the spear push against him and knock him off his feet, throwing his weight towards it. He tumbled right over the spear in a somersault, rolling shakily to his feet on the other side of Wren.

  Even now Wren refused to let up, quickly reversing her arms to swing her spear in a wide arc, its tip trailing just above the ground. It was all Alistair could do to hop backwards away from it.

  Wren: “You getting sloppy, old man? That was a perfect opportunity to get past my spear again.”

  Alistair: “As if. These old bones can’t keep up with a yungin’ like ya.”

  Wren smirked, taking that as a joke, but it was the plain truth. She was significantly faster than him; he’d never be able to keep up without Recess.

  Holding her spear at her side, Wren slowly backed away. Alistair raised his sword, stepping to the side to slowly circle her as he watched for her next move.

  After a few tense moments, eyeing Alistair carefully, Wren dug her feet into the mud. In the next moment she launched forward, raising her spear up in one hand, reared back. Observing this in stopped time, Alistair wanted to cackle at her boldness.

  She was preparing to throw the spear.

  In most cases, projectiles were the worst type of weapon to use against Alistair. If he noticed them before they were fired, it was simple for him to calculate their trajectory and avoid them, and unlike parrying a physical blow, their equation started and ended at where they were going.

  In this case, however, Wren was leaping forward while about to throw her spear. Such an attack couldn’t be perfectly accurate, even for her, and it would leave her unarmed while rushing directly into his attack range. By all accounts, it was an utterly bizarre and foolish move.

  All the more reason to be wary of it.

  Time resumed, and the leaping Wren flung her spear forward. Just as he’d planned, Alistair effortlessly avoided it with a sidestep, the spear whizzing past his head. As Wren closed in, he readied his sword and entered Recess again.

  Now her aim was clear. Her left hand had started to reach behind her—for the metal wire strapped to the back of her belt. While Wren’s primary expertise was the spear, she was dexterous enough to use this wire to disarm opponents.

  Her strategy was simple in its essence: distract him with a reckless ranged attack while closing the distance, then disarm him before he could realize what was happening.

  Absurd as it was, she had executed it quite well. It was a strategy that would work on anyone who wasn’t Alistair.

  Time resumed, and Wren slid to a stop in front of Alistair, whipping out the wire from behind her back and swinging it forward. Its end wrapped several times around the blade of the wooden sword, and she yanked hard to pull it away. Alistair put up a resistance, but, placing another hand on the wire, Wren wrenched the sword out of his grip. Yanking it to her side, she spun it around vertically with the wire, releasing it at the apex of the circle to send the sword spinning into the air. She then caught it and aimed the sword down at Alistair with a smirk.

  Raising his eyebrows in faux surprise, Alistair smiled and gave her a slow clap. “Nice work. Looks like you win.”

  ? ? ?

  It didn’t take long for things to wind down once Wren and Alistair’s duel ended. Much as Roche wanted to treat the occasion as a celebration, there was only so much his hearty attitude could do to distract from the reality that the group was splitting, and that they might never see each other again. It didn’t help that Roy’s episode had soured things for everyone.

  And so, with drinking, heartfelt discussion, and morale-raising sparring out of the way, all that remained were the more practical affairs that come with the splitting of a large group. They needed to divide up supplies and decide which route each group would take.

  You must never gather in large groups, and you must never stay in one place for long. Though much of the wisdom of their ancestors had been progressively lost to time, these tenets had been successfully drilled into the minds of every Human in the form of “the taboo”.

  That said, it wasn’t entirely uncommon to encounter other groups of Humans if you were lucky enough; Alistair had met different groups every few years himself. The taboo prohibits different groups from mingling—such a statement would obviously be false. If a small family stayed together their entire lives, their bloodline would certainly end, after all; as such, it was quite common for groups to swap members, as was the case with Loid joining Alistair’s group today.

  Of course, something being practical didn’t make it any less of a tearful affair. It was only natural that Loid would leave with his wife and child, but he no doubt held as many reservations about leaving his parents and half-sister as they did about letting him go.

  Reservations or not, the time came all the same. With a looming threat as great as a Carrion, they couldn’t afford to waste any more time than they already had, after all.

  Outfitted with freshly-packed supplies, two groups now stood opposite each other in the afternoon sun. Unable to muster the right words, they were enveloped in silence. Finally, Loid stepped forward, opening his arms to embrace mother and father. Roche patted his back firmly, and as they separated Arianne laid a gentle kiss on his forehead.

  Roche: “Live well, all three of you. If you keep pace, we’ll meet you here again as we complete our loops next year.”

  Alistair chuckled. “Ya know the chances of that linin’ up so perfectly are slim to none, right, musclebrains?”

  Roche: “Shut it, you hag bastard. I happen to believe in fate.”

  Alistair: “Heh. Same goes to y’all. Stay safe out there.” He turned to Wren, “Keep up your training, kid. You’re already stronger than me an’ Roche, even if ya don’t believe it. Pick up their slack and don’t let anyone die, hear me?”

  Meeting Alistair’s earnest gaze, Wren nodded, clenching her fist. Beside Alistair, Loid turned a nervous look to Wren; as she noticed it, Wren looked away for a moment, and then, with a heavy sigh, she stepped over and squeezed a surprised Loid in a tight hug.

  Wren: “...See us again. I mean it.”

  Hearing this, Loid took a deep breath and nodded. “We will.”

  Jacqueline: “Don’t worry. Roche was on the right track with that stuff about fate.” Piping into the conversation, Jacqueline addressed the others with a cocky smile. “We won’t die, and we’ll definitely see you all again.”

  Roche: “That’s right. I want to meet my grandchild again once they’re old enough to do more than just babble.” Roche reached out with one of his large, firm hands to gently stroke the hair of the baby in Jacqueline’s arms, eliciting a happy coo.

  Alistair smiled at the two, and took a deep breath himself. “Well then, we’ve no time to waste. Roy, don’t go causin’ any more trouble, yeah?”

  Roy: “Fuck you too, Al.”

  Alistair: “C’mon now, ya really want those to be your last words to me?”

  Arianne giggled, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh, you know he doesn’t mean it. Be safe, Alistair.”

  He gave Arianne a nod and a lazy salute, and with that he turned around, leading the way. Loid and Jacqueline followed shortly after, and the other group turned to make their way down the other path.

  As two groups separated, only Roy was left hesitating, eyeing Alistair’s back with a suspicious glare.