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2006-09-17
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Retired
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Tell Me How the Fairy Tale Begins
The threesome decide to spend a few days at Yosemite, not simply because it is quite beautiful, but also because Phil so very obviously loves the company. Thus a short while later Mike is seated under the awning outside the Airstream, poring over a map and trying to figure out what path Diana took those many years ago. Diana, unfortunately, does not remember the route at all clearly. All she can come up with is general images of rolling empty plains as far as the eye can see, terrible mountains and frightening rivers to pass, often hunger... the descriptions she gives are such that it's not at all clear the two little succubae would have made it alone, without Croaker's muscle -- just as much as he depended on them to maintain his sanity.
Jason comes up from behind and hugs Mike: now that he's more used to the bond between then, he's very casually affectionate... at least when there's no one else around. He knows Mike can be twitchy about that sometimes. "I sure hope we can find a better opportunity for Phil," he muses before sitting next to Mike. "I may have given him one good meal, but I hate the idea of leaving him alone again. Any ideas on where to go next?"
Mike sighs, resting his chin in one hand, "I'm thinking if we sort of... tack back and forth across the land as we go, maybe we'll trigger something in Diana's memory? She's out with Phil right now -- due back soon, I think -- and he's showing her around to see if Yosemite helps her remember more." He waves a hand across the map, then starts pointing, "Right now I'm thinking maybe Tahoe? Definitely Vegas... after that perhaps Phoenix, followed by Denver and then Dallas... what do you think? Any suggestions?"
Jason pores over the map a little. "I don't have much of an idea in the way of geography and what the country was like back then... I might suggest going a little further north though, before we tack down to Texas. If we head towards South Dakota we can then tack down through Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma, before getting to Dallas." He smiles a little. "Course, part of that is I always wanted to see the Badlands and Wounded Knee Memorial."
Mike chuckles quietly, "Ah, South Dakota? Hm... might be a bit cold, but okay, we can do that." There's a quick thunder of hooves, and Phil comes cantering up with Diana on his back, her face alight with laughter and her ebony hair wind-tossed and shining in the sunlight. Mike watches silently and raptly, his eyes bright. Jason can 'feel' his internal wonder that such a woman as Diana would want him.
Jason's heart melts, and he squeezes Mike's shoulder. "Gotta stop thinking that, Mike... you're very lovable," he whispers to the man as he looks at Phil and Di. He's very relieved the centaur seems to be getting more comfortable with Diana.
Mike sighs softly, smiling up at Jason from his seat, "Ah, don't tell me you've never thought that too?" Diana practically bounds over, dragging Phil along by one hand, bubbly and euphoric over some sights she's seen. She enthusiastically describes them, concluding with, "-simply gorgeous -- you guys have to see them too!"
Jason nods as Di comes over. "I have. But you're a gifted writer and scholar, incredibly successful in your work. I'm just an average student, with no set life goals or accomplishment. If she loves me, then you have no excuse," he replies with a smile. He remembers the dream he had, where Beatrice as his shadow tried to get at him through fear about sharing Diana's love with Mike. But then they're no longer alone, and Jason turns his attention to Di. "Phillip probably showed me a lot of those things that afternoon we went riding..." he replies, squeezing Mike's shoulder again. "But that still leaves Mike, if he doesn't mind waking up a walking bruise..." he teases.
Diana giggles, enthusiastically hugging first Jason, then Mike, "Oh, that'd be lovely, pet -- d'you think you'd enjoy it?" She whirls lightly, beaming up at Phillip, who's ducked his head under the awning extended out from the side of the Airstream, "Phil, would you be willing to take Mike for a ride too?"
Phil blinks a bit startledly at her -- close up, her enthusiasm can be a bit stunning -- and stutters, "Uh, he, uh, surely, ma'am! Uh... what?" Mike chuckles, "Di, sweetheart, talk a little slower maybe?" He grins teasingly at Jason, "Hey, hasn't been that long since I rode -- I might do okay!"
Jason can't help but laugh at Phillip's befuddlement. Not meanly: he knows how Diana can affect normal, well-socialized people. "On your back, Phil. She wants Mike to see the beauty of Yellowstone." He glances curiously at Mike. "You ride? I didn't know that."
Mike smiles, "Used to. Tried it initially for a story, enjoyed it so much I kept doing it. My... third wife competed in hunter/jumper, in fact." He's silent a moment, a slight shadow falling over his face; then he smiles, adding calmly, "Long time ago."
Jason's expression looks pained, not wanting to bring up bad memories... though part of him does want to help Mike work through the baggage he's been carrying all these years. "Well then, you're overdue, hon," he asserts, diverting the topic smoothly.
Mike grins quietly at Jason, then looks over at Diana and Phillip. "Sweetheart, come look at the map?" He traces out the path they're thinking of taking, asking Phillip and Diana if there's any suggestions they have. Di doesn't have any -- she's looking forward to the traveling! Phillip suggests making sure they have warm clothes for the Badlands. When quizzed about his memories, he too has very poor recollection of location. Initially at least he simply traveled with the Indians, passively traveling with them as he healed... and by the time he was clear-headed enough to be able to point out a locale he's pretty sure of, he knows a significant amount of time had passed. He adds quietly, "But I'm pretty sure it was the north of Texas. No further south than where Dallas is now, from what cowboys I talked to later said."
Jason strokes Mike's hair a little as they look at the map together, presuming he doesn't pull away... his heart unable to not ache for Mike's pain, no matter how he tries to play it off, or repress it. "I wonder about this... if maybe all the supernaturals came out around the same area. And if they did or if they didn't, what was significant about the spots the Gates opened," he muses. "It's too bad we don't have a better idea of how long ago this was."
Mike nods absently, studying the map -- and, incidentally, not pulling away. "I'm starting to wonder if this 'Gate' we keep hearing about is the same one for each of them... or a different one." He frowns consideringly, "The problem is it's hard to tell how old a stretch of grass seen by the Gate is. Was it last year? Last decade? Last century?"
Jason scratches his chin. "From what both Bea and Phil have said, it seems likely that they were around for at least a century, probably between one and a half and two. Which covers a lot of ground."
Mike nods slowly, "Yes... which makes me wonder if the Gates are anchored in time as well, or not. Although I'm not even sure I should say gates, plural, or not."
Jason shakes his head. "It's hard to say. From what little knowledge we have, there's no way to tell if they were all, er... expelled at the same time or not. They might have been, and just not remember each other."
Mike raises a thoughtful eyebrow, "There's a thought..."
Yosemite is wonderful. The threesome have a very, very pleasant vacation there, and Mike and Jason are happy to note Diana's tears at leaving her home are dispelled. She's still a bit sad when she thinks about leaving her mother and Croaker behind, but she's now looking forward with interest as well.
Phillip takes Jason and Mike both on as many rides as they wish, and gladly shows them all the parts of the park he knows. Perhaps unsurprisingly he also looks much, much healthier by the time they leave. His expression is wistful as he waves goodbye to them, cantering along beside the huge Airstream for a while, but the entire group consoles itself with the promises they'd exchanged -- the threesome would try to find a better place for Phil to live, and he'd implement their suggestions, taking folks for rides and leading hiking groups so he could teach them about the beautiful park.
Jason's own expression is sad and wistful as he watches Phillip's form fade in the side mirror... he turned out to be such a sweet fellow, and he's sorry to be leaving him behind. He's at least grateful for what they were able to do for him while they were there.
The drive to Tahoe isn't very long, even in the slightly slower Airstream. By noon the group are there, having a pleasant lunch and people watching. Admittedly the tourist season is just beginning, but Diana's pleased at being in a small city again. She wants to run around and check out the shopping. Mike turns to Jason, "You mind if we spend the night here?"
Jason smiles. "I'm in no hurry," he agrees readily. He's currently tapping away on Mike's computer, doing a little on-line research about centaurs. Diana cheerfully drags Mike off for shopping; he has a mix of amusement and rue on his face. He asks Jason to pick up a few things while they're gone, if it's all right -- and then they're gone, and peace and quiet falls around Jason.
In the process of his on-line research, Jason learns about a great many different centaurs of note: Pholus, who was accidentally killed by one of Heracles' poisoned arrows when a bunch of other centaurs attacked. Eurytion, who was the leader of the lapith Centaurs, who was later killed by Heracles (this one deliberate). Nessus, who tried to rape Heracles' wife (what was it about that man and centaurs?), and Rhoecus and Hylaeus, who tried to rape the female warrior and athlete Atalanta.
Other sources provide more information... that of all the Centaurs, Chiron was the only immortal, and some suspect that he was originally a god from the pantheon of Thessaly, and was later absorbed into Greek mythology as a centaur. He was also said to have sacrificed his life for Prometheus, so he would be freed from his eternal torment. In the process of finding out more about Chiron, however, Jason is led in an unexpected and disturbing direction... Chiron was also said to be present in Dante's 'Divine Comedy' -- the work upon which Dante's Inferno came from. Jason's attention sharpens.
What he finds out next both fascinates and disturbs him: although he was quite the bibliophile and much of his studies focused on literature and the humanities, he had never cared for the more religiously oriented works like Dante and Milton. If he had, he would have realized there was a growing connection forming. Beatrice, named for Virgil's muse. The Seventh Circle of Hell, which housed the violent souls, was guarded by the Cretan Minotaur, and was said to contain the Centaurs, including Chiron.
Jason does his best to see if he can find more data points, but nothing jumps out at him... he never got a clear idea of who or what the seeming wizard was that he stole the potions from, or the beast that he was fighting. Googling 'night hound,' as Beatrice called the inky shapeshifter, gives no useful information. The internet does contain a wealth of information about the Divine Comedy itself, and he makes some notes about future sites to re-reference for later, even as he scoffs at some of the conclusions that Dante was said to suggest at in his work. And then he just sits, pondering what he has learned. Is it all a coincidence? Or is it very probable that the 'other place' the supernaturals were expelled from was, in fact, 'Hell'? Was Dante a seer, and his work actually biographical to some extent?
Jason doesn't know how to feel about this. He made his decision, true... he turned his back on God, out of love for Diana and a belief that Lilith was given the short end of the stick in historical depiction. And yet it still worries him, and makes him wonder about the truth of these things. The timing also fits: there had been conversation about there being no supernaturals around during the Age of Reason, and "The Divine Comedy" was considered the first great work of the Renaissance. Where had all the supernaturals gone? To 'Hell' apparently. And for some reason cast out around a hundred and fifty years ago.
Jason angsts over whether or not to tell Mike and Diana about what he's learned. Of course, maybe Mike already suspects... after all, he knew about the Divine Comedy, enough to give Jason a simple lesson in it after his first odd dream. But Mike is still having issues, and Jason doesn't want to add to it... and certainly doesn't want to suggest to Diana in any form that she is 'evil.' Jason finally decides to put it aside for now... there's connections, to be sure, but nothing that leads anywhere concrete yet. If the information becomes unavoidable, then he'll fess up... but for now, he'll hold his peace.
By the time Jason's finished, it's gotten late. The heated awning he's under is comfortable and well lit, but he can see things are dark and quiet further away from him, and the wind occasionally tugs a bit coldly at his hair and clothing. Mike and Diana aren't back yet, but that's not surprising... however, he's not yet had a chance to pick up the groceries Mike had asked for.
Jason's not sure he can pick up extra virgin olive oil or sake at the corner 7-11. However, asking for directions at the front gate of the mobile home park garners him the location of a nice nearby grocery store that will carry some of the slightly more esoteric things Mike has asked for. Jason sets out cheerfully, the directions scribbled on a scrap of paper by the old lady behind the desk.
The night is very, very dark and the stars are brilliant. Being a ways out of the town itself like this means the Milky Way is incredibly clear and shining... like a winding path Jason could follow himself, if he only knew how. The wind picks up as he's out of the slight shelter of the trailer park, whispering as it touches his face with cool trailing fingers.
Jason is in a muddled state. On the one hand it is a beautiful evening, and he can't help but look at the wondrous star-lit sky. But on the other hand, the weight of knowledge gnaws at him a little on the way. The lingering doubt and fear and worry is enough to encourage him to take along the gun Michael got him, under his coat. The calmness of the surrounding area sooths him only a little, and he tries to distract himself a little by picking out the constellations... he wonders about those as well: the Centaur was suggested by some to represent Chiron. Absently, a bit of trivia comes to Jason: the last word in each of the three parts of The Divine Comedy is "stars." This knowledge is not reassuring.
The stars glitter in cold beauty above him, and the constellations are easy to see. The Centaur, Orion the Hunter, the seven sisters of the Pleiades, Cassiopeia's chair, the Great Bear and the Little Bear... a quiet voice in the night croaks, "Spare some change?"
Jason is startled and nearly jumps out of his skin! "Gahhh!" he stammers, looking around warily.
A huddled form by the side of the road cringes away from Jason, the voice old and weary, "Don't hurt me, mister!"
Jason puts a hand against his heart, feeling it pounding. "Jeez, I'm not... I mean... I'm sorry, I was just distracted..." he apologizes, suddenly guilty. He peers at the man curiously, the voice causing sympathy to well up within him. In the back of his head he wonders if that is the reason Diana loves him... he has an enormous heart.
There's a moment of silence... then the blanket-wrapped form peers cautiously up at him, and a tiny curled hand is held out to Jason, "Spare some change for an old woman who's hard up?"
Jason smiles sadly at this poor, seemingly homeless woman. "I can probably do you a little better than that... but what are you doing out by the road like this in the middle of the night..." he murmurs as he reaches for his wallet to see what he can spare.
The moonlight falls across the woman's face, even though she's shrouded in the blanket, as Jason shifts to stand closer to her. Her eyes are inky pools of darkness, and heavy wrinkles etch her cheeks, speaking of a life spent outdoors. She tilts her head at him like a small bird... then suddenly shakes her head and speaks again, "Ai-yah, no. No. Give me nothing. I have something for you, boy." She rises with difficulty and a few grunts of effort. She stands about chest high on Jason as she reaches back out to him from under the blanket. "Here. You need these more than I do, boy."
Jason has his wallet in his hand as she stands, and he blinks stupidly at her, confused and suddenly a little scared... not of her, but of her words. Her face in shadow is also disconcerting, and he tries to get a better look without being rude about it. "I don't understand. And I've got the money to spare; it's not a problem, ma'am..." He does reach out with his left hand, curiously, as she reaches out with her own.
The little woman looks up a bit at Jason, her hooked nose almost beak-like. Her eyes are deeply shadowed by her forehead and the blanket, and yet Jason still can't see any white to them -- they look a solid, obsidian black to him. The blanket is old, dark, and dirty-seeming, and its folds shroud her like dusty old wings, making her seem shapeless and dumpy. Her hand uncurls like a bird's claw, dropping a few things into Jason's outstretched hand. She peers at him for a moment, her head still tilted slightly... then she cackles softly, turning and hobbling off.
Jason stares after her, his jaw flapping a little uselessly, unable to form a coherent thought or question. And then he finally looks down at what is in his hand. Gleaming faintly in the moonlight, three objects rest in Jason's hand: a little oilcan, a tiny walking stick, and a miniature hatchet. Clear as mud, Jason thinks, and looks back up. "Who are you?!" he calls, almost plaintively.
The wind whispers and caresses his face, then tugs suddenly at his hair -- and just as suddenly the little scrap of paper with instructions whips away, whirling and dancing through the air as the wind takes it! The little old woman seems to be gone, though. There's only the heavy croaking of some night birds flying by. Jason guhs and snaps his hand after the paper, fortunately not dropping his wallet in the process... he quickly puts the items in his left hand into his jacket pocket, and his wallet back in his pants as he chases after the paper, floundering for it...
Irritatingly, the wind almost seems to be teasing him! The paper flutters along whitely in the darkness, slowly whirling downwards and almost in reach, then suddenly snatched upwards by the wind again... dancing and bounding along through the air, turning and swaying back and forth... until finally it's gone. "Goddamn it..." Jason growls, scared and frustrated, looking around vainly for the paper and not finding it. Faced with that, he tries to get his bearings at least, and to remember what the instructions said... maybe he can get there on his own.
The darkness is like a velvety blanket, narrowing in his ability to see. Stars above, a tiny circle of vision below... it is vaguely claustrophobic feeling. The wind's soft whisper continues unabated, but now Jason can hear something else... something rhythmic and repeating with the wind's gusts. It's like a faint, irritating screeching a bit further down the road... like metal against metal, perhaps?
Jason feels for the comforting bulge of his weapon, his heart beating faster... he feels like he's being toyed with, and it only makes him more anxious. "What the hell is going on?!" he demands at the darkness, hesitantly moving in the direction of the noise... trying to see what could be causing it.
Abruptly Jason can see a fence start along one side of the road. It looks like a regular chickenwire fence with two strands of barbed wire topping it... and after walking for a few minutes Jason can also see the source of the ever-louder sound. It's a very old, squeaky gate, swinging randomly in the wind and screeching painfully each time it moves. The noise is amazingly loud. Under the gate is an old, beat-up cattleguard. From the amount of rust on the gate, it would appear it has been here longer, however. Jason grits his teeth at the ear-piercing sound... he move towards the gate with the intent to close it, just to try and get his heart stopping from racing so he can think clearly.
The screeching is truly horrific this close, occurring irregularly as the wind pushes the rusty old gate back and forth. A packed-dirt road or driveway twists off into the darkness, leading away from the road Jason is on. Jason grips the gate in a firm hand, to stop it from moving, looking over it with mild curiosity, and to the road beyond as he pushes it slowly closed, trying to figure out if there's a way to keep it shut...
As Jason comes up next to the gate the wind seems almost malicious, yanking the gate hard so the metallic scream is a long, ear-piercing crescendo, finally fading exhaustedly into silence as Jason holds the gate still. As he swings it closed the torn-metal scream is repeated, this time backwards. It's a simple metal gate, wide enough for a car to pass, but curiously there doesn't seem to be any way to latch it closed. Jason glares at the gate. "You're pissing me off," he accuses the inanimate object. The dirt driveway is framed by some low underbrush... and is that trees further into the darkness? The gate gives a melancholy squeak, and as it brushes against his side there's a metallic *clink* from his pocket.
Jason blinks, bemusedly, wondering... and then he remembers. And then his face screws up into a grimace. "Ha. Freaking Ha. Freaking Ha," he says to the night. "Okay... I'll play your game," he finally mutters, rolling his eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the oilcan. "Cute. Very cute," he mumbles as he goes about trying to figure out where best to apply it. Squinting in the dim light, he squeezes the can, trying to lube up the rusty hinges, realizing that's where the grinding noise comes from.
The oilcan is a bit larger than he remembers, and it takes a moment to figure out how to use it properly. Once Jason's got the hang of it, the can makes gentle galoop! noises as he presses it. The oil is black and viscous in the darkness, while the wind seems to shriek frustratedly around Jason, yanking at his jacket and the screeching gate. A few moments of oiling, though... and the gate is finally blessedly silent. The wind seems to settle too, softening down to a sulky murmur.
Jason nods a little, as if the dying wind confirms his suspicions. "Okay... I'm here," he says to no one in particular, letting go of the gate once it's no longer squealing its ass off. "So where do I go from here, hmm?" He points at the road beyond. "M' supposed to follow the Brown Dirt Road?" He reaches into his pocket and takes out the other items... the stick, and the hatchet. He studies them a little as he starts walking down the road.
Now the horrible metallic screeching has died down, it's rather peaceful as Jason walks along... until he practically trips over something in the road! Jason guhs! and shouldn't have been paying so much attention to the items in his hand... his fist clenches around them, though, as his other hand lashes out to catch himself as he sprawls, preventing himself from going face first into the dirt at least. "Motherfucker..." he growls.
There's a sharp yelp as Jason trips and falls, followed by a snarl. It growls disconcertingly close to his head -- and looming up out of the darkness Jason can see a canine head. The big dog has a rope tied in a figure-8 around its neck and body, and the fur has been worn away from under it. The dog stares down at him for a moment, eyes and teeth glinting in the moonlight -- then snarls again, tearing at the rope with one clawed hind foot. Jason can feel the rope under his hand, in fact -- old and worn and twisted.
Jason stares fearfully at the dog, and tries to crawl away from the menacing beast while not getting up, hoping that his submissive position might prevent it from attacking... absently gripping the rope curiously, hoping it's tied to something... Jason's movement pulls on the rope, and the big dog yelps, then snarls frustratedly again as the rope abrades against its skin. Apparently the length isn't very long, as Jason can feel a solid tug on the other end also. It's a big white dog, like a bull terrier or something, and it seems to have blackish streaks tracing down through its fur from where the rope has worn away to the skin... no. No, that's not dirt from the rope -- that's blood! The poor dog's skin has been abraded to bleeding by the rope!
Jason blinks. "Good god..." he mutters in shock at the bleeding dog, even as he continues to stare at the growling animal in fear. The dog sits when Jason quits pulling on the rope, scratching frustratedly at it again, whimpering slightly as it abrades across sensitive skin. It takes Jason a while to overcome his anxiety over the dog, continuing to inch away... and doing his best not to disturb the rope in the process. As he moves away, he tries to look around for the other end of the rope.
As Jason inches away, carefully not disturbing the rope, he can easily see the other end. It's tied securely to a short thick wooden stump or peg that's been hammered into the ground. Jason purses his lips, looking from the post, to the unhappy looking dog. He moves over to the seeming peg, getting into a crouched position. "If I take this out, will you attack me?" he muses, as much asking himself as the dog. He's sympathetic, to be sure... but his sympathy at the dog's situation wars with simple practicality.
The dog pays no attention, more focused on the scratchy old rope. He's chewing on it now, although it's making him foam bloodily and he's whimpering with pain as he does so. Jason grimaces at the whimpering. "Oh, hey now..." he mutters. He looks back at the peg and grips it gingerly, trying to see if it can be taken out without tightening the rope.
The wooden peg is a good 4 or 5 inches thick in diameter, and splintered at the top where it was hammered securely into the ground. It doesn't give at all when Jason takes a hold on it. He nods a little. "Makes sense... if it was loose at all, the dog would have pulled free," he muses. And then he gets the idea. "Okay... might as well make use of this thing..." he reaches into his pocket and takes out the hatchet.
Curiously, as Jason does so he realizes he can no longer feel the oilcan. The hatchet is larger than he remembers too -- a solid, comforting heft in his hand. Jason mmhmms, but has no scathing retort this time. Gripping the hatchet close to the head, he uses the blade to saw gingerly at the rope... trying to cut it in one thwack might not work, and might also piss off the dog.
The rope seems to practically writhe around under the hatchet, not cutting at all. The dog yelps again, bloody foam splattering near and on Jason as its big head swings around. It growls, staring at Jason, and again its teeth and eyes glint in the darkness. Jason swallows. "Hey, come on... I'm trying..." he argues to the dog, backing off a step. The dog slobbers a bit, trying to either spit or lick its chops clean -- it's hard to tell -- then snarls and snaps in a sudden burst of anger at the rope.
Jason hefts the hatchet... this might be stupid. But he's used a hatchet before as a boy scout, and he might be able to get it clean... pulling it back, he swings the hatchet down, trying to cleave the peg in twain. The hatchet hefts easily, and it's like old muscle memory coming back. The swing is swift; the strike clean -- and with a sharp keRACK! the peg splits in two, right down into the ground. It falls away from the hatchet, one piece on each side, and for a second the chopped rope seems to writhe like a live thing. Then a shiver travels down its length and, just as the dog looks startledly up, it unravels and falls free, away from the bleeding dog.
The dog looks in surprise down at the rope for a moment -- then leaps up and bounds a few steps away from it! It stands there tensely for a moment, staring at the loose bits of rope lying inertly on the ground... then relaxes with a sigh. Looking up at Jason, it bounces over to him, unexpectedly slurps his face wetly, and bounces away into the darkness. Jason blinks, shrinking away at the wet thank-you, but relaxing when it's just a tongue and not teeth that gets him. "You're welcome!" he calls after the dog, getting to his feet. There's the faint clicking of nails on the packed dirt, fading into the distance... then just the soft whisper of the wind again.
That... and the sound of someone sobbing.