The Scribbler Guardian 1: Arks Of Octava Read online

  “I am most sure. I’m giving them a reflexive instinct, like the need to blink the eyes or swallow food.”

  She nodded, her breath coming in shallow bursts. The husband leaned and put his lips on her cheek. “I need you strong for this.”

  She nodded firmly. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

  They held their hands out and Poe had a moment’s hesitation before he gripped both with authority.

  The woman’s energy was the first to shoot right into Poe, turning his fingers into vice grips. Poe fought not to crush their hands as he engaged in a fierce power battle. Her energy was wild and hungry, and sent Poe chasing after it through his body. At finally locating the start of it, Poe attempted several times to lasso it with his own. The second he managed, her power seemed to melt and spread, slipping through his hold. Poe was near panic with the unusual behavior when the woman inhaled and released a slow breath. Immediately the energy slowed and Poe took the opportunity to harness it. He realized as he did, the power was allowing him—a permissive action—and Poe used great caution to guide it to the energy stored in his arm.

  Poe carefully initiated the meshing process. He just needed to brush their energies enough to accurately read the blueprint scribbled upon it by their creator. He discovered Sarah had been designed first. The Scribbler was female. That explained maybe why Sarah held the dominant power. Poe slowly made his way along the codes, investigating the man’s energy next. He barely contained his shock at learning it was more potent than the woman’s. But… subservient to hers. Astounding!

  Finally Poe found the Scribbler’s life source in the codecs, and tagged it. Gliding his authority over every inch of their energy, he anchored dense power chords at each code. This was the most time consuming, but quite necessary for the launch to survive the distance.

  With everything in place, Poe took in a slow breath, drawing their energy into his lungs. When it was at full capacity, he mentally loaded the command into it—Let there be life, not death—then encapsulated it into the stored Bog energy in his arm.

  Poe pulled the metaphorical trigger and a bright explosion lit up his mind and slammed him onto his back. He rode the vicious power down the corridor until it reached the silver line leading to the Scribbler. The violent birthing of an idea arrived like a whisper in the mind, whispered into a part of the Scribbler she’d not be able to resist.

  Poe became aware of the concerned voices above him. “Are you okay! Oh my God, I think we killed him!”

  Poe fought to bring order to himself, waiting as his own energy eased back into the living fabric of his mind. As the final remnants disappeared, warmth spread into his body and heated up his nervous system, making it hum with life. He fluttered his eyes, only to open them to darkness as expected.

  “Oh thank heaven!” the woman gasped.

  “Man, I thought you were dead,” Drake whispered.

  “It’s normal,” Poe fought his way to sitting. “I’ll be blind for a few minutes.”

  “Holy shit,” Drake said, “are you serious?”

  “Quite.”

  “Oh my God.” Guilt strained the woman’s voice.

  “Please…” Poe didn’t need or like all the mush. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “We’ll get you on the chair.” The man and woman grabbed his arms and helped him stand. Poe hated the feeble feeling that came with this part. Even though he’d only reversed the 8-fold-way six times in his existence, it was a sensation he’d never like.

  “If you don’t mind, I need to rest.”

  “Mr. Poe?”

  Poe looked in the direction of Kane’s scared voice. “Over here.” He held his hand toward him and when the boy’s small hand was in his, he pulled him onto his lap.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “Not at all. That job merely challenges my sight for a bit.” Poe caught a shadow before his face.

  “You can’t see anything?”

  “I see a little.”

  “Wow,” he whispered. “I’m not sure I want to learn that trick Mr. Poe.”

  Poe chuckled. “It’s not so bad. Just like lying in bed awake with your eyes closed.”

  “I’m very good at that,” Kane said. “I finished the puzzle Mr. Poe.”

  “We’ll need to be going,” Drake announced. “Unless you need us to stay.”

  “Absolutely not, I’m fine. Go and tend to your daughter. We will be by tomorrow.”

  Poe sensed fear in the silence of whether or not his little trick really would work. But he would not coddle the couple further. His word was enough. The child would live.

  “Lock the door behind them, dear boy,” Poe instructed after endless exiting pleasantries.

  “You can teach me the sleeping trick tomorrow Mr. Poe, if you’re too tired.”

  “I shall perform my sleeping trick on you this night. And tomorrow, I will teach you how. For now, I need to sit a moment until my sight returns.”

  “How long does it take?”

  “Only a few minutes.”

  More like thirty, it turned out to be. Kane snuggled next to Poe like a puppy, trying to embed into the warm protective folds of its mother. The act filled him with a strange warmth that seemed to vibrate through his blood. He obeyed the urge to pull the boy closer and chose that time to perform his sleeping trick on him. Poe hummed a tune and directed the octaves through the boy’s mind, only to find it bound tight with a dense material. He discerned the material was of a self-defensive sort. Why should he need such a thing?

  Lowering his voice to a deep vibration, Poe aimed the serrated octave at a single spot until he managed a small entrance. Once again, he hummed the essence of sleep into that space, until light snores sounded from the boy. Then he carefully patched the hole so that nothing could enter thereafter, and laid his own head back. The seduction of sleep saturated his limbs and Poe submitted happily to its silky will.

  Chapter Four

  “Are we almost there?” Kane looked up from his spot in front of Poe on Mage.

  “Very soon. Over that hill.”

  Kane wiggled in excitement, patting Mage’s neck. Poe had brought his wings in order to tour Octava quickly and without a province pass. Air space was unrestricted for him as Province Patroller.

  Coming over the ridge, Poe heard laughter at the small pond, as did Kane. “Can I go?”

  “Hold on, I’ll get you there.” Poe hurried the horse to the tree nearest the small body of water and Kane hopped off while Poe hung the reins on a branch and headed toward the family. They were a perfect fairytale picture, the little girl in a bright yellow, frilly dress that matched the sunlight. He’d been worried over the young girl’s treatment of Kane. He was sure the boy’s social manners were a bit eccentric but the little girl ran to meet him like they were old friends.

  “I’m Isabelle,” Poe heard the tiny voice squeak.

  “My name is Kane.” He saluted. “Pleased to meet you mate.”

  Poe grinned at how the little girl covered her mouth and laughed like he were exactly the playmate she’d hoped for.

  “You’re funny!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. “Come and see what I made for you.”

  “For me?” he cried happily as he followed.

  “It’s a surprise!”

  Drake met Poe, looking out at the two kids now huddled over the surprise next to a large Sapian tree. “Isabelle is a sweet girl,” he said.

  “I see that.” Poe nodded once, glad about it.

  “Kane is too.”

  Poe regarded him at hearing the questions in his tone. “I don’t know much about him. I found him in the Horror Bog scared to death. He wouldn’t give all the details.”

  “Scared,” the man said, concerned as much as confused. “Do you think he’s a Miskriat too?”

  Poe shrugged. “I’m still digging.”

  “Hello, Poe,” Sarah said, hurrying over, then pointing behind her. “I’ve prepared a spread of food, enough to feed an army. And I don�
��t mean ants, either.”

  Poe stepped back as Drake put his arm around his wife and pressed his mouth to the side of her face. Her skin flushed with her huge smile.

  “Not in front of company, mister,” she whispered, lowering her eyes.

  Indeed, Poe thought. He followed the couple to the tree with the spread of food. “Children!” Sarah called. “Come and eat.”

  The children exchanged words and nods then shot out in a race. Poe was pleasantly pleased that Kane had the sagacity to let the girl win and pretend he’d tried his best.

  “You’ll win next time, I’m sure of it.” Isabelle’s voice squeaked in a manner that tickled the ears and made one smile. Odd little trait, but harmless enough.

  “Look at all the food!” Kane said, spying the blanket full of it.

  “Have a seat the two of you, and I will serve you where you sit.”

  “Ohhh, like a prince and princess,” squeaked Isabelle.

  “She looks like a princess,” Kane aimed his thumb at her.

  “And you look like a prince!” The little girl’s perfect blonde curls bounced with her adamant green eyes that matched her mother’s.

  Their cute laughter erupted, a contagious energy that had them all joining in. Poe was quite surprised with the ease that accompanied their little social call. Entirely unexpected for a certainty. He’d anticipated the need for all sorts of shields to ward off strange contagions.

  “Look at me!” Kane chomped quickly on his carrot. “Ehhhh… what’s up doc!?”

  Isabelle tried out the trick, her tiny voice making all of them laugh.

  Despite the simplicity of the visit, an hour of socializing felt like an eternity to Poe and he was desperate to be done. “Kane,” he called. “Would you like to go flying?”

  He jerked wide eyes to Poe then spoke to Isabelle before giving her a huge hug and lifting her off the ground in a spin. Setting her down, Poe recoiled when he put his mouth on her cheek before running back at a break-neck speed, little Isabelle jumping and waving her animated goodbye.

  Quarks and hadrons, he’d need to cleanse the boy’s mouth.

  Poe donned his wings and harnessed Kane to his chest, laughing at his non-stop questions. How fast would they go, would they be able to see the entire world, could they race birds or hunt dragons, or fly clear out of Octava?

  With their goodbyes finally done, Poe commanded Mage to find his way home, then spread the mechanical wings. Kane gasped and Isabelle covered her mouth with wide eyes.

  “You look like a great giant eagle!” the girl exclaimed, laughing.

  “I’m being taken hostage!” Kane yelled. “I’m going to be food for hungry were-children!”

  Isabelle jumped up and down and Poe chuckled as the device’s boosters engaged his calves. “Here we go.” Poe bent his legs and jumped, shooting into the sky with the aid of the rockets.

  Poe flew over Octava, pointing out answers to Kane’s endless questions.

  “And what’s that?” he asked.

  “That is the capital of Octava.”

  “Wow! What’s it called?”

  “Octava,” Poe chuckled. “And that is the Parturition. Where traditional beings are kept during creation.”

  “That’s gigantic!”

  “It’s as big as it needs to be.”

  “How do they know how big it needs to be?”

  “Because they know how many Traditional Scribblers there are. Compared to the Scribbler’s realm, we’re a small population.”

  “So is it like a school Mr. Poe?”

  “More like a home.”

  “Where do they go after?”

  “Hold on, I’ll show you.” Poe soared up higher to give him a better view of the layout of the land. “Do you see the capital?”

  “Is that it?” He pointed and cried, “It’s like the puzzle!”

  “Yep. It’s a quark with seven sides. Do you see the land surrounding Octava?”

  “There’s seven pieces of land.”

  “Yes, one for each angle of the Quark. Those seven pieces of land are where the character beings go, once they are published in the Scribbler’s world.”

  “How do they know which to go to?”

  “Depends on what kind of story you’re written into.” Poe pointed them out. “You’ve got the Romance Genre, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Western, Thriller-Suspense, and Paranormal genre.”

  “That one is mine then,” Kane pointed to the Horror.

  “Seems like it.”

  “Where is yours Mr. Poe?”

  “I don’t have one. I’m a first class Miskriat, remember?”

  “So there’s no place for you?” He sounded sad.

  “I get to live wherever I choose, actually. You see all the small lines in the genres? They tell where the stories have more than one genre mixed in them. They’re called sub-genres. And the fat lines cutting the main genres in half are large walls dividing the Traditional provinces from the Independent ones.”

  “Why did they divide them if they’re the same?”

  “Because the Independents are sovereign. They don’t belong to Traditional Octava and are not governed by all their laws. They have their own laws.”

  “Why can’t they still belong to Octava?”

  “They don’t want to. They want their own laws and own ways.” The law of sloppy, irresponsible, and unsolicited creativity Poe wanted to add.

  “Is that… bad Mr. Poe?”

  “It always depends on the Scribbler. And with the Independent Provinces, that responsibility falls on each Scribbler rather than the Seven.”

  “The Seven?”

  “Guardians of Octava. There is one that resides over each genre.”

  “And guards them?”

  “Yep. Ensures creations remain true to their Scribblers.”

  “And the Independent Provinces don’t have Guardians?”

  “None but their Scribblers.”

  “But… if the Scribblers don’t live on Octava Mr. Poe, how do they watch over them?”

  “They don’t.” Poe flew lower for a closer look. “Tell me what you see.” He soared over the seven Independent provinces.

  “Wow,” Kane gasped. “There’s so many people Mr. Poe. Much more than the Traditionals. They need more space!”

  “The price you pay when you give the power to create without unified structure and discipline.” Poe flew higher again.

  “What are the lands behind the Independent provinces?”

  “The seven Bogs of Octava.”

  “Seven too? One for each genre Mr. Poe?”

  “Now you’re catching on. The realms recyclable. The energies of characters go there after their life is over.”

  “When is that Mr. Poe?”

  “That depends on how well a story’s life is loved by those in the Scribbler’s realm. The more people like it, the longer the story is kept alive. And if you’re really loved, you can become a classic and never die.”

  Kane was silent for a while before he said, “I don’t think my story is going to be loved Mr. Poe. And I don’t want to go to the recyclable. I don’t. Can’t I stay with you Mr. Poe? Can’t I become a Muskrat like you?”

  Poe’s chest tightened in an odd way. “Not to think about now my dear boy. It will work itself out. Look,” Poe said, “The Western Bog. It’s guarded by Gunsmoke and The Six Gunned Gorilla. Would you like to visit them?”

  “The Six Gunned Gorilla?”

  “Yep. Six Gunned Gorilla is an ape named O’Neil.”

  “An ape?”

  Poe made his way to the Western Bog. “He was kidnapped from Africa as a baby and brought to the United States. Bart Masters bought him. Mr. Masters was a good man, like a father to the gorilla. He taught his gorilla to fetch firewood, gather water, dig, cook, clean, and most importantly, shoot a gun.”

  “Wow! I want to see him. What about Gunsmoke? Did his guns smoke Mr. Poe? That would be so funny!”

  “Nearly there now. And Mr. Gunsmoke’
s guns did indeed smoke, but not the way you’re thinking. He was a masked hero of the Purple Sage—rode a coal black horse that was fast as lightening.”

  “Like our Mage!”

  “Indeed. And he was aided by Pedro, a young Mexican teen who used smoke signals to let Mr. Gunsmoke know when he was needed.”

  “What was he needed for?”

  “Bring bad men to justice. But for the criminals that were really bad, Mr. Gunsmoke had other skills. Like fighting and shooting a gun. He was the best gunslinger around.”

  “I’m gonna be like Gunsmoke Mr. Poe!”

  They landed near the Bog and Poe didn’t remove his wings but merely closed them. Even the Western Bog wasn’t safe with malformed Independent half-shot-creations wandering about.

  “Are they nice Mr. Poe?” Kane whispered, looking toward the large crater in the ground that held the Western Bog pool several hundred feet down. You reached it by a circular stone stairway that hugged the cylindrical walls clear to the bottom of it.

  “I think they are.”

  “You’re not sure? I don’t want to get shot by a gorilla with six guns.”

  Poe laughed. “They can’t shoot you, Kane.”

  “How do you know? Their guns don’t work?”

  “No, they’re not allowed to shoot an inhabitant of Octava.”

  “Mr. Poe!” Kane yanked on Poe’s clothes. “Am I from the Traditional Horror?”

  Poe looked at him. “I’m not sure.”

  “Me either. How will I know? Do you think Mr. Gunsmoke might know?”

  “I don’t see how he would,” Poe said, turning to lead the way to the Bog Pool.

  “Can the gorilla talk Mr. Poe?”

  “No. He’s a real gorilla.”

  “And gorillas can’t talk.”

  Poe chuckled. “Not last I checked.”

  “Can he do hand signing?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  “Mr. Poe?” Poe turned abruptly at the worried sound of Kane’s voice, and panicked at seeing his body had gone translucent. “I have to go now, Mr. Poe.”

  “What’s wrong?” Poe reached for him and his hands passed through the boy. “Kane! Are you dying in your story?”

  “I have to get back Mr. Poe. They’re coming now.”