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cerillosvillage · 6 years

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Ten: The Enemy Guns

So let the enemy guns/ Cut me to ribbons/ For my eternal soul/ Will know the way back home

Warning: Animal death

The dust storm overtook Glyph while she was still a few miles out from the village. It was of course a problem, but she'd weathered worse. She pulled up a bandana up over her face and pulled the brim of her hat down, pressing her horse onwards.

The dust only got worse as they went, turning the world into a solid wall of brown. Visibility fell to nothing - she could only barely see her own hands in front of her face. She pulled on the reigns and stopped her horse, concerned now for its eyes. She dismounted, squinting in the dim light to try to find a rock or set of ruins to take shelter behind.

There seemed to be a shape in the dust, something tall - possibly a tree, possibly the remains of a chimney. Glyph had to weigh her options. Stay where she was and wait for the dust to pass, or head for possible shelter. She wanted to get some sort of protection from the storm, but was afraid of going off course or of her horse stepping into an animal hole and breaking its leg in the reduced visibility.

As she thought, she'd turned towards her horse's body, and when she looked up again she jumped. The shape was closer now, bigger, darker. It moved through the flying sand, coming closer to her. A person? Seemed awfully tall for a person.

"Hey!" Glyph yelled, though the sound was muffled by her bandana. There was no response. The shape got ever closer, slowly becoming more defined.

It looked like a person at a glance. Had roughly the right shape. But the proportions were wrong, the legs far too long and the arms… was she seeing double? Or triple, rather? She could've sworn she saw six arms lift up to the sides of the figure.

Her first thought was of Elyakim and his monsters. Her second was of the revolver on her hip. She unclipped her holster, taking hold of the grip. She wasn't sure what good the gun would do in this weather, though. It might get clogged with dirt and refuse to fire. Still, just having the thing in her hand made her feel better.

To her relief, the dust seemed to be lifting. Almost as if the figure were driving it away. That was a cold comfort, though, as she could now see the figure more clearly. It was tall, humanoid, with massive horns like an ibex and, yes, six arms.

And a sword that glinted in the beams of sunlight that broke through the storm.

Glyph was in the process of unholstering her gun and shouting a warning when a horrible shriek sounded right next to her ear. She reacted just in time to avoid her horse's front hooves kicking out as it reared up, screaming in fear. She grabbed for the reigns, managing to catch them just as a dull thump cut off the animal's cries. The thump was followed by a sickening squelch and something hot and sticky streamed over Glyph's arm. The horse staggered, and would've pulled Glyph down with it if she hadn't thought to let go of the reigns.

It collapsed on the ground, blood gushing from its neck, seeping into the sandy ground. Blood covered Glyph's arm as well.

Glyph swore, then swore again as she felt a blade whizz through the air just next to her face. The six-armed figure was right there in front of her, swinging its gleaming, razor-sharp sword at her. She ducked and rolled, focusing first on just getting away from the thing. The figure spun, pirouetting like a dancer, thrusting its blade at her again.

Glyph managed to get her gun out, aimed as best as she could, and pulled the trigger. She pulled it again. Again. Three bullets sank into the figure's abdomen, and it paused for just a moment, cocking its head to the side like a curious animal.

There were no wounds. No bullet holes. It did not bleed. It just absorbed the metal into itself.

And again it swung its sword.

Glyph ducked, but she wasn't used to fencing. She didn't know what she was doing. The tip of the blade managed to just graze the exposed flesh just between her eye and her bandana, and blood gushed down the side of her face.

She rolled away again, springing up as quickly as she could, aiming her gun at the figure's sword instead of its body. She fired one round.

The bullet caught the sword at the hilt, knocking the weapon out of the figure's hand. Glyph dived forward, snatching up the blade, holding it in her left hand, the gun in her right. She climbed to her feet, holding both in front of her, not sure how exactly to proceed but grateful at least that she had managed to get the upper hand.

Or so she thought.

That feeling of triumph didn't last long.

The figure turned to face her, holding out a hand. Dust from the air around them came towards it like insects in a swarm, forming into a long, narrow shape. More dust packed onto it, becoming more solid. Then it glowed white-hot.

This all took only a few seconds. And there it was - another sword, just as sharp as the one Glyph held.

The figure swung its blade down. Glyph did her best to knock it aside, but with no training in bladed weapons, she reacted too late. The tip of the figure's blade sunk into her shoulder and she cried out.

Acting purely on instinct, she raised her gun and fired her remaining two shots at the thing's head.

Fat lot of good that did. The figure didn't even react this time, just pulled the blade out of Glyph's arm and raised it again.

Glyph dropped her gun and passed the sword to her good arm. She struggled up to her feet and, with a shout, lurched forward, plunging the sword into the figure's abdomen. Again it paused, tilting its head as if confused.

That was all Glyph needed. Just a moment of hesitation on its part. She yanked the sword out, then turned and began to run. The dust got thicker around her, and she blindly stumbled forward, debris slicing the exposed skin around her eyes.

Pain blossomed across her back and she fell to the ground. Her shoulders felt warm, something trickled down between her shoulder blades. She didn't need to check to see - she knew she'd been struck. But if there was one thing she wasn't going to do, it was giving up and waiting to be done in. She reached out with her good arm, grabbing at the hard ground, pulling herself forward. She didn't know where the figure was, it was so quiet. She only knew she had to keep moving. She had to get away.

And then she heard a sound. The scraping of metal on metal. A scuffle of feet on the desert ground. A loud, masculine grunt, and then more clanging metal.

Then there was an arm around her middle, hefting her to her feet.

She didn't know who had taken hold of her, or where they were going, but she let them drag her along, just barely managing to get her feet under her.

They ran. And ran. Slowly, the sky got lighter. The dust got thinner. And suddenly, they were clear of the dust storm.

There was a horse tethered to a spindly dead shrub a little ways ahead. Her savior dragged her to it, helping her up onto the saddle. She left bloody handprints on its pale coat.

Her savior came around the front of the horse to untether it, and she finally got a clear look at him. It was Cinna, the tanned, blond patrolman. Or was he still a patrolman? She hadn't kept up with his role in the village after the Cerillos had reclaimed the place.

Cinna said nothing, just climbed up on the horse behind her. He threaded his arms under hers and took hold of the reigns, spurring the animal forward.

He kept the horse running as fast as it could until they crossed into the fields that covered the plateau above the canyon. A few figures spotted him and ran forward. Glyph was dizzy from the lost of blood, and couldn't focus on what they were saying as they pulled her down from the saddle. The world swam, then went dark.

She awoke indoors, laying on a sheepskin, wrapped in bandages, and facing the wall. She groaned and turned over. She immediately regretted doing so. Her back burned with pain. She tried to lay on her other side, but her injured shoulder protested. Unsure what else to do, she sat up with great effort.

Cinna sat on a bench on the other side of the room. He looked up when he saw her sit. He quickly climbed to his feet and poked his head out of the door, quietly talking to someone outside.

Magdalena, the short, sturdy leader of the Cerillos, stepped inside. Glyph was glad to see her - she liked the woman. She was soft, but tenacious, and showed incredible strength of character after her village on the plains had been destroyed.

Glyph was less pleased to see the second person step into the room.

Ajra. Her grandmother. An evil, abusive woman if there ever was one.

"Get out," Glyph hissed through clenched teeth.

Ajra paused, glancing at Magdalena. That was odd. Glyph had never known Ajra to defer to anyone else.

"Glyph," the village leader said gently, "can you tell us what happened?"

"Only if she gets out," she nodded at her grandmother.

Ajra and Magdalena shared a look. Again Ajra paused, but then she made a huffing noise, turned, and left.

Magdalena came to sit next to Glyph. Cinna followed suit.

"Glyph," she said, "it's important that you tell us what happened. Cinna did not see everything."

"There was something out there in the dust storm," Glyph said. "I didn't get that great a look at it, but I think it may have been one of Elyakim's angels. It was like them - tall, almost human, but with lots of arms and these big long horns. And swords."

Magdalena nodded. "Was there anything else you noticed?"

"Not really, I was too busy trying to get away from it. Although -- it seemed like it was controlling the storm."

Magdalena lifted a hand to her chin, running her thumb over her lower lip. She seemed deep in thought.

"I need to talk to RedRock," she said after a moment, though Glyph had no idea why a storyteller had any bearing on the situation.

"Cinna, would you stay with Glyph?"

"Of course."

At that, the woman got to her feet and was out the door. Glyph had questions, certainly, but Cinna was helping her back down onto her side and was applying a soothing-smelling poultice to her back. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but she realized now that she still felt heavy with exhaustion, and let her eyes close. Just to rest them.

#rockbreaker lore #long post

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onlyolive-blog1 · 7 years

Text

january 2, 2010.

in hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have read that stupid fucking book.

to preface, olive rose graff did not enter into the year 2010 with the mindset that, “hey, maybe i’ll off myself, and maybe i need to be prepared for that possibility.” that’s not what happened.

it was more the fact that reading that book (you know the book — look at the show that caused all the netflix controversy in march 2017. that book.) had made her increasingly aware of the fact that, like, immortality is not a thing that exists. you can go at any time. shit can happen. life happens. life was going to happen.

and if it did, when it did, she wanted people to remember her.

not like that, but…

she didn’t want to just die. she didn’t want to die and have that be that. that just sort of sounded like bullshit.

she finished the book on new year’s eve, after a party at lua’s that she had begged out of early and she was now sitting up with her back against the headboard and the soft glow of her bedside lamp keeping the pages illuminated as she got through the end of the story.

from beside her, her phone lit up with a few pictures sent from bryson and teddy and wilco and lua’s phones of whatever it was that she was missing out on as the new year raged on without her.

she’d stayed long enough to give bryson a kiss in the shadows of the hallway and rally out a “boo” with the rest of their friends as auggie and teddy’s kiss lasted well past midnight and went from the middle of the living room floor to the far corner of the couch.

but now she was home. she was home, and she was finished with her book, and she was wide awake.

it was fucked up, really, the whole situation.

it wasn’t like that stuff actually happened.

so why did she keep thinking about it?

why did she keep thinking about leaving that kind of impression?

like… tone it down, edgelord. you’re not dying any time soon.

and yet. and yet.

she got out of bed.

it was three in the morning, the incoming texts on her phone had died down, and she was getting up and moving to her desk. she flipped on the lamp, she opened her desk drawer to pull out her journal and grabbed her favorite ink pens, and she began to write.

teddy. auggie. syd. lua. peter. shea. wilco. ginny. jade. bryson.

they were her people. they were her family, had been her family since middle school and some even before that. if something happened, if their post-graduation plans got fucked up because… of anything…

she just needed them to know that she still had shit to say.

she was olive graff, and she always had shit to say.

“are you insane?!”

“well that seems like an awfully judgmental question for a flower child.”

eliza louise lange’s lips pursed together and olive could see her eyes watering. eliza didn’t live in georgia — she lived in south carolina — but she had promised olive that she would make the trek from charleston after new year’s to deliver olive her christmas present. what she hadn’t expected was to get a box of letters in return.

a box of, like, postmortem letters.

“well this seems like my dearest friend is planning to do something and—”

“—i’m not planning to do anything,” olive was quick to assure her, resisting the urge to make a joke about why eliza always felt the need to talk like a character out of anne of green gables, since this was definitely not the right room temperature. “i just… if something happens? i don’t know. it’s probably really stupid—”

“—it’s incredibly stupid!”

“eli. can you just do this for me? don’t make me ask your boyfriend. he’ll probably dig the plot.”

eliza’s eyes narrowed into slits over the jab in her boyfriend, cinna’s direction, and she looked down at the shoebox in her arms again. “so… what do you want me to do with these? you’re really going to have to walk me through this.”

“maybe nothing!” olive quickly assured her. “just… if something happens to me, like… we… i don’t know. we had this stupid road trip planned, and i don’t want them to, like, forget about it just because it was my stupid idea and i’m not around to force them to still take me on it. so… if something happens and my life turns out to be some, like, pathetic lifetime movie tragedy or i get murdered — that’d be way more dramatic, let’s go with that — so i get murdered, right? and anyway, my murderer’s at large, nobody’s caught the guy, he’s got a hook for a hand, and—”

“oli, focus.”

“—anyway. then i just… want you to give my friends these letters. let them know i’m still out there somehow. that i still want them to hang out and… go on the trip, or whatever. i dunno. it made more sense when it was four in the morning and i was sleep deprived, i guess, but. i still want that. promise?”

eliza just about bit a hole in her bottom lip without bothering to reply.

“eli.”

her eyes finally met olive’s, swallowing hard.

“fine. for your sake, you better hope it never comes to that.”

“i’ll keep an eye out for any hooks in any hands, deal?”

a beat. “deal.”

#stories

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