The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1) (26 page)

"Well, you look
like someone who just found out they killed their best friend,"
Marty said. A spray of spit misted out the hole in his mouth and
hit the floor wetly. Cirrus's men had let him keep the tooth in his
pocket. Marty shook his head at the two of diamonds. "If you've
come for the other teeth, you might want to ask your men. I believe
they had dibs."

Cirrus let
loose a wail that echoed off the stark walls. Marty looked up in
shock. He watched in horror as Cirrus seized his hair, letting his
nails slide down his face again, pushing hard against the scratch,
and clutched at the pocket watch. His fist thumped against his
chest and he choked slightly.

"Cirrus, what
happened?" Marty asked. Cirrus drew up, pulling his breath in and
looking across the room with slanted eyes ringed in red rage and
sadness. He pointed a quivering finger at Marty and let the words
drip out of his mouth like molasses.

"You . . . let
her go. You . . . saw her fall . . . brought her here and –" Cirrus
choked up and clenched his trembling lips together. Marty scooted
back as Cirrus started to stalk slowly across the basement. His
back flattened against the wall, the chains that secured his ankles
clanging loudly in the empty space. As Cirrus neared Marty saw his
shirt was undone near the top and the inside pocket of his jacket
was hanging heavier than usual. His breathed hitched in fright,
whistling up through his teeth comically.

"My girl is
dead," Cirrus said simply, stopping a few feet away from Marty
curled up on the floor.

It didn't
register with Marty for a second.
Dead? Maggie? That's
ridiculous
. She escaped Lucky Creek. Last he heard she had meet
Lucan. Rough, good-hearted Lucan.
Dead?
Impossible. But when
Marty looked back up at Cirrus's face, the pallor of white plaster,
and the grief etched so prominently in his brow, he knew he must at
least believe it to be true.

"Cirrus, that's
impossible," Marty started to say slowly but Cirrus took a running
kick towards his face. Agony exploded, like a firework had been lit
between his teeth, and he saw black and red. Pain ricocheted around
his head and out again through his jaw as the shiny, black brogue
met his mouth a second time and a spray of blood lashed against the
walls.

"You killed
her!" Cirrus snarled through a sob. "You failed both me and her by
letting her fall, forcing me to do the only thing I knew." He
stopped and wiped his nose, shuddering. Marty spat out blood and
tried not to breathe through his nose. The iron crimson dripped
down his shirt and he could taste it.

"Cirrus, listen
to me," he said through red-stained teeth. Cirrus glanced down,
already shaking his head. "Maggie is with your brother, she is
safe."

"My brother?"
Cirrus repeated loudly. His laugh was like a dog's bark as he drew
his hands through his hair. "My fair brother was probably molesting
her when it happened. I hope that bastard went down with her; I
hope he felt his skin split and tasted his own blood on his forked
tongue." Cirrus kneeled down and grabbed Marty's face. His long
fingers held it tight, digging into his cheek and forcing his eyes
upwards to meet his own. Marty quailed; what lay beneath those once
sparkling green eyes was the beginning of something so deeply
twisted, it scared him to face it. It bubbled up like a hot spring
with no one to stop it from surging forth in a violent eruption.
What was before a troubled but beautiful man was now dangerously
toeing the line of madness.

"But the
symbol," Marty managed to say, keeping Cirrus's eyes locked on his.
Gore dribbled over his chin. "It's still warm." Cirrus pushed his
face back with a sniff and wiped his eyes on one sleeve. With the
other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of
marbles. They spilled out over the tips of his fingers and dropped
with tiny clinks to the floor. Marty looked on in disbelief as
Cirrus pushed them into Marty's hand and then pulled out another
handful.

There must have
been over ten in each fist. One was enough to get seriously high.
Two would take you to another place, another time, and back. More
than that and you were treading shaky ground. Cirrus picked one up
and held it out to Marty, his face woven in grief and slightly
manic determination.

"Take it," he
said. Cirrus's voice cracked but otherwise it was the steadiest
yet.

Marty shook his
head quickly and tried to push the marbles back on Cirrus, but he
grabbed Marty's shoulder and pressed him firmly into the wall.

"I need to
forget," Cirrus said. Marty froze.
I need to forget.
Marty
might have thought so before, but not like this. Not to oblivion.
The glass ball that Cirrus held up was swirled with red and blue,
but didn't shine in the overhead lights. It had a dull, scratched
surface that lifted you up clumsily and smashed you back down like
papier-mâché. Marty didn't even do this shit on his worst days.

"Cirrus, you
need to think carefully. If the symbol is still warm, the Walk is
still on." Marty spoke slowly, carefully, watching Cirrus's mouth
twitch and felt the grip on his shoulder loosen. "If the Walk is
on, she is still alive. She is not dead." Cirrus's hand lowered
slowly and Marty breathed deep. "Cirrus, she is not dead."

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Cirrus's eyes
suddenly flared up and he cried out hoarsely, smashing Marty back
into the wall and pulling out a small revolver. He pressed it hard
against Marty's temple and forced out his words through the new
onslaught of sobs.

"You let her
fall
!" He twisted the metal into Marty's head and looked
straight into his terrified eyes. "Take . . . it."

Marty had no
choice. His fingers shook as he accepted the marble and swallowed
it quickly down.

"Another,"
Cirrus breathed. Marty grimaced against the cold metal and
swallowed the second marble. "Again." As Marty's vision began to
blur, he eventually stopped feeling his hands. And he began to lose
count of the marbles. But Cirrus watched Marty unwaveringly as he
swallowed more and more of the drug. Soon he didn't move from the
wall. His chest rose slowly up and down and his eyes fluttered
closed.

Cirrus let the
weight in his heart settle down again to coil around his chest. He
had been so angry. When Leof told him, he turned wild. He ran
through his mansion tearing at the hangings with his fingernails
and smearing his tears against the wall paper. He knocked over
lamps and ceramic sculptures. He even stumbled into his workshop,
screaming, and threw every experiment to the floor. A blast emitted
as each piece broke apart, light flaring up as the half-finished
dreams escaped and evaporated into the air. When the lights died
down and there was nothing left for Cirrus to tear apart he
remembered Marty and realized there was one more thing he had yet
to break.

He looked at
his hand and counted out five marbles, swallowing one after another
quickly and thoughtlessly. He didn't want any thoughts. He didn't
want to consider that the woman he had so relied upon – had dreamed
of – was in pieces. That strength and that beauty scattered to the
winds. Perhaps he could find her again in this haze. And if not, at
least his nightmares were no different than the present ripping
despair. Much better to have only jet darkness and the unexplained
visions of an addict. Maybe he would create some worlds of his
own.

As the marbles
coated his skin in delicious needles, Cirrus let himself start to
drift away. And with it, the despair. Before his eyes closed, he
wrapped himself around Marty and cradled his cheek in the man's
dirty hand. Together they lay huddled in the corner of his
basement, amongst the drips and the blood and the discarded pack of
cards. And he floated away from his mind and the warm, throbbing
pocket watch at this side.

Chapter
22

I don't remember when I fell asleep. It must
have been sometime in between when Lucan came back to the outpost,
he and Cassandra breaking away to talk amongst themselves, and me
sitting up against a tree and trying to eavesdrop. I heard them
whispering, but I didn't pick up any concrete words. They must have
been planning our next move. More secrets.

When Lucan
first appeared at the tree line, we stared at each other for a few
moments. It didn't feel awkward, but it did feel sad. Sad because
we knew we were never going to talk about it again and sad also
because I could see he didn't want to. While I so desperately
did.

But whenever I
did fall asleep, head squished uncomfortably on my bunched-up
backpack, it couldn't have been long until a hand shook me softly
awake. The light had turned to dusty gray, and I could still see
the outlines of the trees and the dry fire pit. The sun must have
set not long before.

Lucan and
Cassandra were both bundled in dark coats that hugged their bodies
and blended well with the dark colors of the night forest. Heads
down and staying still, they would have disappeared altogether. I
pulled on my leather jacket and yawned, feeling my face stretch all
the way to my ears. I couldn't remember the last time I had had a
good night's sleep. Or food.

Lucan was
staring off in the trees, looking even more like an animal on
guard. Cassandra saw me watching him and quietly handed me a roll
mixed with greens and some sort of dense, heavy meat.

"He's
thinking," she said. I tore my eyes away and tried to smile at her.
Cassandra pulled me to my feet and started to pack my bag with
supplies as I began to brush the tangles out of my hair with my
dirty fingers. I concentrated on the sound her voice, the sharp
ting of zippers closing and shoulder straps being tightened.

"As we're now
in the Middle Canvas, there is no telling who might be listening,"
Cassandra said. "We need to move quickly and quietly out of the
forest and into the lands beyond which fringe the capital city.
Sinthinian is one of the smaller border towns and there are many
who are sympathetic to our cause. But we're not going to speak to
anyone, do you understand?" She came around to my front and looked
me directly in the eyes. "You will keep your head down and that
necklace out of sight."

I nodded,
swallowing the rest of my food and letting it settle uncomfortably
in the still gaping hole. Cassandra pushed another one into my hand
and turned swiftly around to join Lucan at the tree line.

He looked over
his shoulder at Cassandra and nodded as she whispered quickly into
his ear. He waited until I passed him before taking up the rear of
the group, eyes flickering over mine as I trudged past. I shoved
the roll into my pocket and hitched the pack higher on my back,
swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth and concentrating on the
gradually darkening woodland.

It took an
hour, or perhaps two hours. It felt like a lot longer because
hiking through the forest in the dark was a bit like walking
through an empty carwash in the middle of the night up a hill.
Every few moments something wet smacked me in the face. I
definitely swallowed a bug. In my mind it was small and fuzzy, but
it probably had around a hundred legs and pincers the size of my
hand. Obviously, one is prone to over exaggeration while walking
miles in the quiet dark. It's hard not to when you can hardly see
the person moving in front.

It was also
hard to be quiet with every stray tree branch, vine or shrub
tangling around my feet like a discarded hose. My companions
certainly weren't making any noise, but I must have sounded like an
elephant.

A few times I
slowed down, or took too much time picking my way through a dense
bit of bush. At those moments, I often felt a hand on my back
pushing me gently on, or guiding me safely through a particularly
knotted bunch of hanging vines. I knew that Lucan was just doing
his job, but whenever he touched me I still jumped. My heart still
panicked just a little bit. It was as if I had forgotten he was
there so that whenever his hand brushed my spine I remembered that
something I really wanted was coming up behind. And even though it
followed me, I couldn't turn about to meet it.

The trees began
to thin out above and soon it was easier to move on the ground. Not
only could I see the vague shifting shape of Cassandra in front of
me but also the path she was following and the wide sky just a
stone's throw away. And when we stepped out of the forest into the
open air it was like a veil dropped from my vision and a giant
shone a flashlight from the heavens. The land stretched out like a
soft blanket and the moonlight turned the grass into a waving sea
of silver, flecked with sparkling rivers and quiet, empty
roads.

Lucan came up
beside me and looked out into the land. All three of us stood still
in awe, taking in the beauty of the perfect moonlit silence. It was
what I thought a dream must feel like: airy and ethereal,
otherworldly yet so familiar.

Eventually,
Cassandra put a finger to her lips and motioned us down the hill.
Bending low at the waist they led me into the gently swaying grass.
The field looked to extend forever and I began to feel overwhelmed
at the expanse of the place. Palet just never seemed to end! Past
the fields there were houses, and beyond that a horizon that
stretched into infinite space. Looking up at the sky I tried to
conceive that I had fallen from there, from the Wilds; the
seemingly impossible, middle world of Palet.

Cirrus had the
right idea, floating between the two. He was always grounded. I, on
the other hand, never seemed to be able to keep my feet on the
ground.

"How big is the
Middle Canvas?" I whispered, coming up behind Cassandra so that we
were almost head to head.

"Palet is
always becoming bigger," she replied, keeping her eyes fixed in
front. "The mind is infinite, with infinite possibilities and
ideas. The Painter was never bereft of any of that, so we just kept
getting bigger. The cities were always expanding." She looked over
at me and smiled. "Soon you will help us to grow."