The Scribbler Guardian 1: Arks Of Octava Read online

  The screams behind him erupted again and Poe spun and ran—ran to the room with the screams. His head collided into a blunt force at entering and everything tilted sharply sideways as dark spots raced across his vision and sucked away his mind.

  Chapter Six

  Poe’s body bowed and twisted as white heat gripped him hard, wrenching grunting sounds from him as he peered into the face of that creature, that nightmare standing just above him. He wore a soft smile on his hideous face. What was this power that debilitated Poe in the strangest way? Pain. Pain was the only thing that fit its description.

  “That is enough,” the creature said, calmly looking right. “We don’t want to permanently injure him. Give him a moment to gather his thoughts.” It seemed to be speaking to something else nearby as he worked an object from Poe’s mouth. His voice burst forth in a lung shredding scream of agony that he was sure could go on forever.

  Again, darkness came to Poe, but only in sparks. Almost a taunting salvation shooting in his mind. But the light won out, soft glowing shards, dueling with the dark. Poe stared in a daze at the sudden appearance of two birds, the size of butterflies, fluttering above his head.

  Not birds, children—with wings—their faces distraught with panic as they peered down at him. “We came quickly,” they both squeaked.

  “What is that sound?”

  Poe recognized the voice of his horrific captor next to him. Unable to take his eyes from the two fluttering creatures, he wished he understood who, how, why, and what they could possibly do for him.

  “Where is it coming from?” the ugly squid-being hissed now.

  The birds suddenly darted sharply left then erupted into giants with heads near the ceiling. Their muscles bulged and trembled over tree-sized limbs and their screams detonated an explosion that sent the roof and Poe shooting into the air, bed and all.

  He gradually began to feel lighter until it seemed he floated in space. Poe looked left and right. Trees soon shoot up past him on all sides. No, he was the one moving—descending—falling!

  The giant’s face suddenly loomed closely to Poe’s, a surreal picture of something he’d seen in one of the mystical creature books he’d studied. A puff of light suddenly turned the giant back to a human child bird. “The boy is with us,” its tiny voice squeaked, answering the dreadful question pounding through Poe.

  “I brought him,” the other little bird said in a matching voice with vigorous nods and a worried frown. “He is not well.”

  Panic seized him and he fought to sit up, only to have unbearable agony grip him. Collapsing to the bed, he gasped and trembled. What had they done?

  “Master is coming,” one bird said. “He will fix you. Fix you both!”

  Where was Kane? Was he near?

  Poe watched in his hazed peripheral vision as the boy’s unconscious body came closer to him, also on a bed. “Kane,” Poe fought to whisper.

  Divinities, the boy looked dead! What had they done to him? What had they done to Poe?

  The trees around them began to whisper and groan.

  “Master comes.” The two birds spoke and nodded in unison.

  Poe waited in the growing hum and stir of air and suddenly he appeared. A boy, clothed in white, standing next to him. Poe figured he was no more than twelve. His hair was thin, the look of spun diamonds, eyes bright and matching. His face reminded him of the perfect beings in the Traditional Romance Province, skin nearly translucent, a mixture of milk and delicate rose.

  The boy held a wand of sorts over Poe and closed his eyes. Like a conductor of music, he moved the glittery stick above Poe. As the wand weaved, light glowed beneath the boy’s skin until it surfaced on every part of his body in the shape of musical notes.

  The air warmed and then hummed through Poe’s body. The power seemed to explore and Poe’s eyes remained slits of wonder on the boy who continued to wave designs in the air.

  The warmth moved in a melancholic rhythm until the wand paused—a breath of complete stillness and silence. Then the boy erupted in violent hand waving, sending white heat shooting through Poe—stealing his breath. The young conductor commanded the shards of power--restore, rebuild, renew—it was nothing short of a symphony of healing.

  Poe remained gripped by the power until the boy lowered his wand. As he did, the heat slid off of Poe like a stroke of warm fingers. He bolted up and looked around as the boy turned to Kane now and raised his wand.

  He moved it slowly at Kane for many seconds then gradually lowered it. Poe held his breath for the intense orchestra to follow. “I can’t help him.”

  Poe looked at the boy, fear moving him to stand near Kane. “What?”

  The boy’s glittery eyes remained leveled on Kane. “He is trapped in the None. The place between here and there.”

  “But he’s come out of the Story before. On his own.”

  “He used the Paroxysm Exit. Removing him any other way rips the mind in half and creates a chasm between the two realities. His mind is trapped there.”

  “How do we get it back?” There had to be a way, Poe was sure of that.

  The boy looked at him now and the direct gaze caused sensations in Poe he didn’t understand. “You must cross the Forbidden Embolus.”

  “What?” Poe shook his head at the preposterous solution. “That’s not even possible—why--”

  “It is possible. And you must. Seven have gone before you.”

  Poe only knew of one Seven. “The Seven criminals, running from death? We don’t even know where they are, if they made it. What do they even have to do with anything?”

  “I think they made it,” the boy said. “And they have everything to do with everything.”

  Poe shook his head confused now, wondering which questions to ask first. “Made it… where?”

  “To the Scribbler’s realm.”

  “Earth?”

  “They hide there until…” His perfect forehead furrowed with a mysterious struggle.

  “Until what?”

  “Until the 8th Ark arrives. The vessel that will allow The Seven to return. The Sound Scribbler holds all the answers Octava seeks. The realms are in danger. He will tell you what must be done.”

  Poe stood baffled for several seconds, sorting through the most demanding puzzles before him. What business did a Sound Scribbler have with Octava? “Why should The Seven return? They are traitors to Octava. And why is a Sound Scribbler involved?”

  “The Seven are not traitors. And the Sound Realm has been summoned by Octava’s Queen to help.” The boy traced his finger along an invisible something in the air before him. “The evil you have discovered is not a new one.” Poe couldn’t believe his ears with that. “You are but six Octava years; Prodigy of the Chosen. Muse Rider and Diviner of Destinies.” He eyed Poe now as though it just dawned on him, “You, Jeramiah Poe are the 8th Ark of Octava. You must bring The Seven home and fight the war.”

  Poe gasped. “The war?”

  “The war that has been brewing for centuries.” The boy walked to a large log and sat down. Placing elbows on his legs, he propped his chin in the palms of his hands and angled a curious look at Poe. “It has been hidden from the inhabitants of Octava but The Copy Cat grows in strength.”

  The Copy Cat. “Kane mentioned this being,” Poe said. “He was watching Kane.”

  “He used Kane to get to you. Sons of Insurrection.”

  “What is that?”

  “Genetically bred beings able to do what you are capable of. When he found you, he used the boy as a lure to get you.”

  “Why? Why would he want this?”

  “To control the Scribblers, and thereby Earth’s inhabitants.”

  Poe drew back sharply. “Why!?”

  “We are not sure. But we found how to reverse the Eight-fold way and sent The Seven to the realm of Fictional Scribbler’s in hopes of learning that.”

  “And did they?”

  The boy shrugged. “They are waiting for the 8th Ark of Octava. He wi
ll show them the rest of the way.”

  “The way to what?”

  Again he shrugged. “I do not know. That is with the Sound Scribbler, once you find him.”

  “Find him, I’m to find the Sound Scribbler?”

  “I don’t have all the answers. Our knowledge is limited by the Forbidden Embolus. It should be clearer to you on Earth.”

  “Should be.”

  He nodded.

  “And what about Kane, I’m not leaving him this way.”

  “You must take him.”

  “Take him to Earth! What for?”

  “I don’t know. I just know he is required to go.”

  Poe’s frustration was at a pacing, hair pulling point now. Which he did. “How do you know this and how am I to even get there?”

  “The Queen of Octava has summoned the Sound Realm for our help,” he kindly reminded. “And I—Minister of Sound—will send you, most noble Miskirat.” The boy stood, smiling before him. “I will deliver you through the Forbidden Embolus and you will ride your Scribbler’s Plank the rest of the way.”

  Poe nodded absently. “With Kane.” He paced again several seconds then regarded the boy. “And you are sure The Seven made it.” The boy wagged a finger in the air at that. “No? You’re not sure?”

  “We are not certain.”

  “So I’m getting sent through the Forbidden Embolus and we’re not sure I’ll—we’ll make it, and I’m to find the Sound Scribbler, locate The Seven Arks, and head back to Octava.”

  “This is correct.” The boy danced around, drawing designs in the air with his finger as he went.

  “And you seem… at peace about this.”

  “I am. The Sound Scribbler called for you and the boy. I think you’ll make it.”

  Poe nodded, glancing at Kane. “You think so. And… The Sound Scribbler will help Kane?”

  “He’s very powerful,” the boy said lightly, sweeping his arm near the ground, causing the leaves to dance in the air around him.

  A deep grinding noise filled the forest and Poe searched for where it came from.

  “They’re coming,” the boy said softly as he continued dancing.

  “Who is?”

  “The Eight Gendarme.”

  “For what!?”

  “You broke Octava’s Ancient Code when you entered his story.” His tone seemed to wonder how an esteemed inhabitant of Octava didn’t know that. “Those who break it must die. And you must leave now.”

  Poe stared at him in astonishment as the grinding tickled in his ear and the boy waved his wand, a glowing red this time, same as the music notes on his skin. The forest became a hurricane of wind and debris, so much that Poe had to grab hold of Kane’s bed to keep it from flying off. The two fairies transformed into their roaring giant forms and huddled over Poe and Kane. Poe glanced back at the Minister of Sound where various metals lifted from their home in the ground and attached themselves over a skeletal vessel. The boy waved his arms wildly, conducting with a vigor then swept the wand down in abrupt finality.

  Before Poe could appreciate the impossibility of what he’d just witnessed, the giants hurried him to the shiny bullet-like vessel the conductor just created, and laid him in it. Next they laid Kane with him and Poe held him tight as the Sound Minister began orchestrating again. The square hole above the capsule slowly became denser as material formed over it.

  “Go forth, 8th Ark of Octava,” the boy whispered clearly in the roaring wind, “Master Muse Rider—Diviner of Destinies.”

  Darkness surrounded Poe and the vessel filled with something akin to warm air that held them tightly in place. The pressure against every pore of his skin became incredible as they torpedoed through, he prayed, the Forbidden Embolus. Judging by the compression of the air around them, the passage was atom splitting and Poe gasped with his eyes clenched tight. This was it. This was possibly the end of his existence. And Kane. All in the blink of an eye. One moment they were talking about endless tomorrows and now this. Now they were shooting at impossible speeds through an impossible barrier, heading to the Scribbler’s realm to achieve the impossible.

  Poe remembered in a sudden panic what the young boy had said. He needed to use his Scribbler’s Plank to navigate his way to Earth. He mentally shot out his power in a frantic search for the life line that would get them there if they even survived the passage. He slammed into the Plank with a jolting force, astonished. The normally vague tie was like an all-consuming fire, sucking him forward, pulling him until he strained from the tug-of-war. The power inside the vessel fought to keep him from being pulled from his skin it seemed. He clutched the boy, praying he wouldn’t kill him in his desperate attempt to keep from flying apart. And what about Kane? Divinities, let them make it in one piece!

  The second Poe realized he could breathe, he also realized he hadn’t been able to for quite some time. No, that wasn’t it. The air seemed to suddenly evaporate at the same instant a dense substance filled his lungs. Poe gasped, feeling the hard ground beneath him. It was pitch black. He felt around and panicked when Kane wasn’t near him. “Kane! Kane!”

  “Mr. Poe! Mr. Poe, I’m here.”

  Poe scrambled around, searching the darkness. He jerked back at the grasp on his arm.

  “It’s me, Mr. Poe. It’s Kane.”

  Poe felt his face, breathless. “Kane! You’re alive!”

  “I am Mr. Poe,” he gasped happily.

  “It’s so dark here. Where are we?”

  “It’s not so dark Mr. Poe. It’s night. There is a funny white shape in the sky, a circle I think it’s called but bumpy and with a tiny light. Just enough to see.”

  “I can’t see Kane. Dear Divinities, you’re alive!” Poe couldn’t believe it. “I don’t understand. You were in the None.”

  “I was, Mr. Poe. And then I wasn’t. I don’t know what happened. I was yanked by something out of it.”

  Poe took several deep breaths of the strange atmosphere, finally realizing as he blinked. “I’m blind.”

  “You did that trick Mr. Poe. A really big one. You’ll be blind, remember? Not for long though, right Mr. Poe?”

  Poe fought to stand and Kane helped him. “Right, right,” he said hoping to dispel the worry he heard at the edge of his voice. “What do you see Kane?”

  “I see… a house.”

  “A house,” Poe whispered, becoming concerned. “Anybody home?”

  “Not sure, Mr. Poe. It’s dark in the windows.”

  “Maybe it’s late.”

  “I think it’s night time Mr. Poe.”

  Poe grabbed Kane’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Thank the powers that be you’re okay. I worried you wouldn’t make the passage. I cannot believe we made it. I went to rescue you from that dreadful place and got myself trapped there and then two fairies rescued me, only they were actually giants and they flew the two of us to the forest—beds and all—and there I met a young boy—“

  “A boy,” Kane interrupted, amazed.

  “Yes,” Poe hurried. “Not just any boy, he was from the Sound Realm. He called himself the Minister of Sound.”

  “Wowww,” Kane whispered.

  “He had the power to create music with the elements in the very air!” Poe exclaimed, still amazed.

  “Holy bajeesus, Mr. Poe! I wish I could have seen that.”

  “Me too, dear boy! His hair was like diamonds, as were his eyes and his wand glowed different colors as he waved it through the air and caused power to heal my body.”

  “What was wrong with you Mr. Poe?!” Kane cried, his hands gripping tight on his arm.

  “I don’t know Kane, they did bad things. I cannot say what all they broke but the boy fixed it all in a matter of seconds.” Poe pulled Kane close and held his head to his waist. “But he couldn’t fix you. He said you were stuck in the None.”

  “I know Mr. Poe. I heard it all. You were worried about me. I heard everything and I even answered you. I tried to, I wanted to tell you I was okay. I wasn’t afrai
d to pass through the Forbidden Embolus either. I had many dreams about it.”

  “Dear boy,” Poe whispered. “I wished I had known that. And then The Eight Gendarme came for us. And the Sound Minister whipped up a vessel from the metals out of the ground!” Poe laughed boisterously at the absurdity of it. “He whipped up a hurricane, then whipped up a vessel. And I do not doubt that perhaps those giant fairies threw us through the Embolus!”

  Kane laughed. “And here we are, Mr. Poe. We made it. Do you think we should see if anybody is home at that house?”

  “I feel… an odd sensation in my body Kane.”

  “Are you okay Mr. Poe?”

  Poe wasn’t sure what he was. He touched himself and realized he felt different. “Do I look the same Kane?”

  “I think you do Mr. Poe. It’s really dark though.”

  Poe stared down in the direction of Kane. “Are my eyes the same?”

  “They are glowing like lights Mr. Poe. It’s really neat.”

  Poe touched his own face, feeling for the scars. Relief swept through him at finding the sharp facial hair. He touched his head and found his hair unchanged as far as he could tell. Then he touched the part of his body that seemed to hurt and it occurred to him all at once, dumbfounding him. “Quarks and hadrons, Kane!”

  “What, Mr. Poe, what!?”

  Poe could hardly believe the notion that blared through his mind and body even. But without a doubt, it was indeed the reality. “I do say my dear boy,” he whispered incredulous. “We’re humans!”

  Chapter Seven

  Cold terror gripped Charlotte as she stared through the blind’s slats of her upstairs window at the giant man walking with a kid straight for her North Carolina writing shack. Psycho killer with kid burned through her brain along with the reality of just how far, far away from civilization her perfect getaway was. She’d be cut into a million pieces by the time authorities made it to her house which left her with a few main thoughts. Where could she hide and what could she use for a weapon?

  She pushed back the anal voices of her brother, sister, mother—“you need a gun, a hand gun even. This is the real world and you live in it whether you pretend to or not. Murder isn’t just fictional events in one of your stories you know.”