Rev 1: Made some fixes and content changes.
Rev 2: Made some more fixes.
Ben dropped into a graceful crouch so fluid it looked choreographed. One palm was pressed to the ground in front of his feet. His eyes were backlit by an orange glow, luminous in the darkness. Seeing him made Tyler understand why primitive man might have huddled around a fire fearing the snap of any twig. On some primal level, he had become every large hunting cat, murder in motion, and the reason that fearing the dark was not only understandable but wise. He padded in smooth whispered steps toward Jack.
“I could hold you in place more firmly than you held me, but I think I’d like to see you try to run.” His voice had that damn snake like cadence. He advanced almost lazily.
Jack by contrast looked clumsy, as he backed away tripping over the body at his feet.
Ben reached him, and casually lifted him by an arm and a leg to waist height, as if he weighed no more than a small child. He spun in two quick rotations and released a screaming Jack, who flew into the wall in the manner of an Olympic hammer throw, smashing through drywall and pipe causing water to cascade over him. Considering the steam and his shrill screams, Tyler was sure the water must have been scalding.
He knew he needed to act, but to his shame hesitated. Jack had brought them both here for torture at worst, humiliation at the very least. He deserved this didn’t he? Well, he did deserve payback not death. Tyler ran to interpose himself between them, momentarily halting Ben’s approach.
Ben brushed his hand in the air, as if batting a mosquito. “Get out of my way. You don’t need to die.”
“This isn’t you,” said Tyler. “You don’t need to do this.”
“You’re right.” His sharpened teeth formed a grim smile. “I get to do this. It will be a pleasure to do this.” He came to a stop directly in front of him. Gesturing to the crawling Jack he said, “You think he can escape?” He lifted Tyler with one hand off the ground. “Do you?”
This was it. Tyler thought. He began to tense. His heart was hammering in his chest so loudly that he could barely think. He was going to die, and it was going to be for Jack. This was so fucking unfair.
He noticed Ben was still talking in some fucked up cat-plays-with-mouse-long-villain monologue. “… I’ve been changed I’m not the pitiful, weak thing I was anymore.” His lips contorted into a mad smile.
“What did you say?” asked Tyler. His heart slowed. He could feel his face mirroring the smile. “What did you say?” he repeated. If Ally saw him now, she would think he was insane.
“What?” Ben didn’t expect the interruption, and for a moment could only stare blankly.
“You weren’t changed. You were altered. The Spoken can be altered.” It was subtle, but he saw it, the orange lights flickered briefly and for just a moment were replaced by golden bird’s eyes with black dilated pupils at their center.
“I see you” Tyler said. He concentrated, saw the filaments, and spoke again, “Ben Warren.”
His voice was like a plucked guitar string vibrating to an odd harmonic tone. He was in the rectangular room again facing the man in black. Only something was different, this man looked similar but he wasn’t Thought, more like his mirrored reflection. Tyler heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Ben, the old Ben before the change, approaching.
“What’s going on here?” Tyler said, looking between the two figures.
They ignored him. Ben spoke, “How is it that I knew your name? That you’re now a man?”
“Call me Memory,” the man said, “for such I am.”
Is that what this was, thought Tyler, a memory?
Memory turned slightly and gestured to the blank wall behind him with one hand. Pictures began to flow across its surface. A scene from school formed. Ben’s head was lowered. He was walking down a crowded hallway. The perspective panned back to take in a watching Jack and Seth.
“That’s him,” Jack said. This wasn’t Ben’s memory, Tyler realized.
Seth scrunched his face in an approximation of thought. “Why, that twerp? What’s he done?”
“They don’t have to do anything. Everyone thinks there needs to be a reason.” Jack made a fist. “It’s like being god. We choose. We let them make up the reasons afterwards.”
“That’s fucked up.” Seth shrugged. “Got nothing better to do though.”
The scene shifted. They were kicking Ben on the floor of the cabana. Jack bent over him to retrieve something on the floor. “He’s got asthma. Fucking priceless.”
“Stop.” Ben was shaking. “I don’t want to go through that again.” Tyler noticed bruises had formed on Ben’s face, and one of his hands was massaging his ribs.
“You don’t want to remember?” Memory seemed taken aback. “Our memories are tools. I suppose you could become tabula rasa. It is a simple matter, but wouldn’t you rather be strong?”
“I’m not strong,” he said dropping his head. “I’ve learned to live with it.”
“You survive certainly, but you could do more.” He sighed. “I had hoped for the Speaker instead of you, but that it seems is my brother’s fortune.”
Ben looked up, “Speaker? What?”
Memory raised a hand cutting him off. The screen started replaying the beating in the cabana. Moans and wheezing began to fill the chamber. Ben was flailing. He fell to the ground under invisible blows. “Listen,” said Memory, “everything may seem predetermined, but it all starts with a free choice. I need you to make that choice.”
“How?” Ben’s voice hardened. He grunted in pain.
“Do I have your assent to make you strong?” The words sounded slippery, greedy in some way.
Tyler tried to shake Ben, but his hands ghosted through his shoulders. His words went equally unheard as Ben said “Yes” in a crystal tone so pure Tyler felt tears on his cheeks.
“Kneel,” Memory said. The screen went blank, and the bruises were gone from Ben’s skin. He knelt and Memory spoke like he was reciting an incantation:
The blood upon the ground will speak
of deed and Mark, death of the meek,
the ember that ignites in pique,
by redcap’s teeth,
by vampire’s thirst, and banshee’s shriek:
a knife unsheathed.
Scion of one of the nine Archons, rise.
A note of discordant music vibrated the air. Tyler could see the filaments around Ben snap into focus, and drive themselves like nails into his skin. He screamed, and then his form began to shift before Tyler’s eyes.
Ben came to his feet with a smooth unnatural grace that would have made a cat seem clumsy. Darkness began to stream into the room and coalesce under his feet. Reaching down he touched the tip of his finger into the pool, and it crawled like a living thing over his body in tiny tendrils.
Memory began to turn, and then jerked to a stop to focus on Tyler. “Speaker, how is it that you are here? This is most irregular. Do you seek to undo what has already happened?”
“If this is a memory, how do you see me?” He took an unconscious step back.
“I do not experience time as you do,” said Memory, “I was here, and am here now, answer my question.”
“The spoken can be altered,” said Tyler with halting conviction.
“You sound like my brother.” He laughed. “You can overwrite the record in a small way, but once the rock is cast into the pond, you cannot predict the ripples.” He pointed at Ben still in the grips of transformation. His voice began to get jerky, manic even, “He gave assent. You heard it. There are rules. Murder will have its handmaidens.” His skin rippled. “Why couldn’t I have had you? Tyler saw himself now on the screen. His body was bound to a great tree, whose limbs stretched without end across the horizon. His left eye burned like it had been set on fire. He cried out.
There was a sharp pain to the back of his head. He had been dropped onto the floor of the cabana. He was back in the normal world. Forcing himself to his feet, he rubbed the back of his head with one hand.
Ben’s face was pale and sweaty. Tyler touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Ben met his gaze, his expression rueful. “No, it is still inside me.”
Tyler pulled him to his feet. He saw a trail of blood leading beyond the cabana door. Jack was gone.
Rev 2: Made some more fixes.
Chapter 11
Ben dropped into a graceful crouch so fluid it looked choreographed. One palm was pressed to the ground in front of his feet. His eyes were backlit by an orange glow, luminous in the darkness. Seeing him made Tyler understand why primitive man might have huddled around a fire fearing the snap of any twig. On some primal level, he had become every large hunting cat, murder in motion, and the reason that fearing the dark was not only understandable but wise. He padded in smooth whispered steps toward Jack.
“I could hold you in place more firmly than you held me, but I think I’d like to see you try to run.” His voice had that damn snake like cadence. He advanced almost lazily.
Jack by contrast looked clumsy, as he backed away tripping over the body at his feet.
Ben reached him, and casually lifted him by an arm and a leg to waist height, as if he weighed no more than a small child. He spun in two quick rotations and released a screaming Jack, who flew into the wall in the manner of an Olympic hammer throw, smashing through drywall and pipe causing water to cascade over him. Considering the steam and his shrill screams, Tyler was sure the water must have been scalding.
He knew he needed to act, but to his shame hesitated. Jack had brought them both here for torture at worst, humiliation at the very least. He deserved this didn’t he? Well, he did deserve payback not death. Tyler ran to interpose himself between them, momentarily halting Ben’s approach.
Ben brushed his hand in the air, as if batting a mosquito. “Get out of my way. You don’t need to die.”
“This isn’t you,” said Tyler. “You don’t need to do this.”
“You’re right.” His sharpened teeth formed a grim smile. “I get to do this. It will be a pleasure to do this.” He came to a stop directly in front of him. Gesturing to the crawling Jack he said, “You think he can escape?” He lifted Tyler with one hand off the ground. “Do you?”
This was it. Tyler thought. He began to tense. His heart was hammering in his chest so loudly that he could barely think. He was going to die, and it was going to be for Jack. This was so fucking unfair.
He noticed Ben was still talking in some fucked up cat-plays-with-mouse-long-villain monologue. “… I’ve been changed I’m not the pitiful, weak thing I was anymore.” His lips contorted into a mad smile.
“What did you say?” asked Tyler. His heart slowed. He could feel his face mirroring the smile. “What did you say?” he repeated. If Ally saw him now, she would think he was insane.
“What?” Ben didn’t expect the interruption, and for a moment could only stare blankly.
“You weren’t changed. You were altered. The Spoken can be altered.” It was subtle, but he saw it, the orange lights flickered briefly and for just a moment were replaced by golden bird’s eyes with black dilated pupils at their center.
“I see you” Tyler said. He concentrated, saw the filaments, and spoke again, “Ben Warren.”
His voice was like a plucked guitar string vibrating to an odd harmonic tone. He was in the rectangular room again facing the man in black. Only something was different, this man looked similar but he wasn’t Thought, more like his mirrored reflection. Tyler heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Ben, the old Ben before the change, approaching.
“What’s going on here?” Tyler said, looking between the two figures.
They ignored him. Ben spoke, “How is it that I knew your name? That you’re now a man?”
“Call me Memory,” the man said, “for such I am.”
Is that what this was, thought Tyler, a memory?
Memory turned slightly and gestured to the blank wall behind him with one hand. Pictures began to flow across its surface. A scene from school formed. Ben’s head was lowered. He was walking down a crowded hallway. The perspective panned back to take in a watching Jack and Seth.
“That’s him,” Jack said. This wasn’t Ben’s memory, Tyler realized.
Seth scrunched his face in an approximation of thought. “Why, that twerp? What’s he done?”
“They don’t have to do anything. Everyone thinks there needs to be a reason.” Jack made a fist. “It’s like being god. We choose. We let them make up the reasons afterwards.”
“That’s fucked up.” Seth shrugged. “Got nothing better to do though.”
The scene shifted. They were kicking Ben on the floor of the cabana. Jack bent over him to retrieve something on the floor. “He’s got asthma. Fucking priceless.”
“Stop.” Ben was shaking. “I don’t want to go through that again.” Tyler noticed bruises had formed on Ben’s face, and one of his hands was massaging his ribs.
“You don’t want to remember?” Memory seemed taken aback. “Our memories are tools. I suppose you could become tabula rasa. It is a simple matter, but wouldn’t you rather be strong?”
“I’m not strong,” he said dropping his head. “I’ve learned to live with it.”
“You survive certainly, but you could do more.” He sighed. “I had hoped for the Speaker instead of you, but that it seems is my brother’s fortune.”
Ben looked up, “Speaker? What?”
Memory raised a hand cutting him off. The screen started replaying the beating in the cabana. Moans and wheezing began to fill the chamber. Ben was flailing. He fell to the ground under invisible blows. “Listen,” said Memory, “everything may seem predetermined, but it all starts with a free choice. I need you to make that choice.”
“How?” Ben’s voice hardened. He grunted in pain.
“Do I have your assent to make you strong?” The words sounded slippery, greedy in some way.
Tyler tried to shake Ben, but his hands ghosted through his shoulders. His words went equally unheard as Ben said “Yes” in a crystal tone so pure Tyler felt tears on his cheeks.
“Kneel,” Memory said. The screen went blank, and the bruises were gone from Ben’s skin. He knelt and Memory spoke like he was reciting an incantation:
The blood upon the ground will speak
of deed and Mark, death of the meek,
the ember that ignites in pique,
by redcap’s teeth,
by vampire’s thirst, and banshee’s shriek:
a knife unsheathed.
Scion of one of the nine Archons, rise.
A note of discordant music vibrated the air. Tyler could see the filaments around Ben snap into focus, and drive themselves like nails into his skin. He screamed, and then his form began to shift before Tyler’s eyes.
Ben came to his feet with a smooth unnatural grace that would have made a cat seem clumsy. Darkness began to stream into the room and coalesce under his feet. Reaching down he touched the tip of his finger into the pool, and it crawled like a living thing over his body in tiny tendrils.
Memory began to turn, and then jerked to a stop to focus on Tyler. “Speaker, how is it that you are here? This is most irregular. Do you seek to undo what has already happened?”
“If this is a memory, how do you see me?” He took an unconscious step back.
“I do not experience time as you do,” said Memory, “I was here, and am here now, answer my question.”
“The spoken can be altered,” said Tyler with halting conviction.
“You sound like my brother.” He laughed. “You can overwrite the record in a small way, but once the rock is cast into the pond, you cannot predict the ripples.” He pointed at Ben still in the grips of transformation. His voice began to get jerky, manic even, “He gave assent. You heard it. There are rules. Murder will have its handmaidens.” His skin rippled. “Why couldn’t I have had you? Tyler saw himself now on the screen. His body was bound to a great tree, whose limbs stretched without end across the horizon. His left eye burned like it had been set on fire. He cried out.
There was a sharp pain to the back of his head. He had been dropped onto the floor of the cabana. He was back in the normal world. Forcing himself to his feet, he rubbed the back of his head with one hand.
Ben’s face was pale and sweaty. Tyler touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Ben met his gaze, his expression rueful. “No, it is still inside me.”
Tyler pulled him to his feet. He saw a trail of blood leading beyond the cabana door. Jack was gone.
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The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson