The Scribbler Guardian 1: Arks Of Octava Page 9

  Charlotte drew closer so she could see it clearly. “Oh my,” she whispered, as much fascinated by the ink work as she was with the body that held it. This was her character, her creation. Standing right there. In her living room. In North Carolina. On Planet Earth. She reached out and touched him, just needing to feel the real. But once her fingers connected with his warm skin, they slowly explored the magnificent form, a sculptor appreciating her creation. “You’re real,” she whispered.

  “I am,” he said.

  The strain in his voice reminded her of his need to not be touched. Now she wondered if the requirement was only with her. She drew her hand back, but it wasn’t easy. Her fingers were hardly done, they itched to explore more.

  “You’re magnificent,” she couldn’t keep from saying.

  The boy nodded at Charlotte. “He’s famous in Octava too. He’s a first class Miskriat and he’s the only one who can do that trick with other Scribblers. Mr. Poe, this musical note has numbers.”

  Charlotte felt a pang of something bordering possessiveness and eyed the man curiously now. “Trick with other scribblers? Do tell, Mr. Poe.”

  He shook his head a little and buttoned his shirt. “You made me so that I can communicate to other Scribblers that are not mine. What do the numbers say, Kane?”

  Her brows raised, the possessive feeling worse. “And what do you communicate to them?”

  Kane spouted out the numbers and Poe answered dismissively, “Just things. Can you scribble those numbers?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She fetched a pen and did as he said and scribbled them, chicken scratch and all. “So, just things,” she repeated. “Like what things?”

  Chapter Nine

  Poe was ready to leave this place. It seemed all wrong. Except it wasn’t. He’d felt the truth of it when he’d taken her hand. She was the one. His Scribbler. He didn’t let his mind touch the other things distracting him. He’d use The Eraser trick to wipe it from his mind later. There was no purpose to have such a memory marring his powers, whatever was left of them through the passage.

  His Scribbler was a woman. A woman of all things, who played a man. A woman who felt things toward him he didn’t understand. A woman who provoked things in him he didn’t understand. He wanted to feel deceived but clearly it was commonplace to be multiple Scribblers. He also wanted to be dumbfounded with her fragility. Her flaws. Her… limitations. And most of all, her lack of knowledge about Octava!

  And Divinities, he’d then done the unthinkable! But it’d been necessary to keep her from being sucked into the Shadow Gorge. He’d only heard of such a place, never witnessed it before. Thankfully in his studies, he’d learned how to escape its clutches. Although… that last act was one of panic. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. Maybe it was the terror in her gaze—sky blue gaze—he was somehow able to see, that had provoked the instinct. Whatever it was, it was the right thing and that was all that was important, traditional methods aside.

  Poe returned to the real issue. “You were supposed to know about Octava, about everything.” Yes, that. Something was very wrong about that. He turned in the direction of heat coming from her gaze. He really wished he could see so that she’d practice manners and not stare so much. Something hit him then. An alarming notion. “Are there others that don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Miss Pane,” Poe said adamantly. “How many Scribblers don’t know about Octava?”

  She shot out a several breaths before a shrill, “Try all!”

  “All!?” he exclaimed. “How can that be? How can all the Scribblers not know about the world they created? How is that even possible?!” And yet, as catastrophic as that would seem to be, perhaps it was not. “Could this be part of the problem on Octava?” he wondered.

  “What problem?” she asked.

  Poe again looked in her direction. “Octava is a realm of fiction. That means the stories there, although they are fashioned after reality, are not entirely real.”

  “I don’t get it,” she whispered, astonished.

  “Take your beloved horror genre, for instance.” Another shock on top of all the rest was learning his Scribbler was one of those, too. “No real harm is to befall the horror characters in Octava.”

  A moment of silence preceded her sudden gasp. “Really?!”

  “Yes, really.” Just how deep did this ignorance run of Octava in this realm?

  “Oh thank God,” she gasped. “I already had guilty feelings writing it and to learn it’s real. Oh my God, I’d die to find out the horror I created was real!” Poe sensed her body wilting in relief and his mind interpreted her height to be short by the angle of her voice when it reached him.

  “Do not thank your God yet,” Poe said. “Something is wrong on Octava. Characters are being harmed. Someone or something has interfered with the ancient laws. Characters—like Kane here—are being abused in some very horrific ways.”

  “He saved my life,” Kane said.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  “I walked into a trap saving his life. I was rescued by two fairy giants and the one called Master, the one who sent us to Earth to escape the Eight Gendarme.”

  His Scribbler repeated him in confusion.

  “Eight executioners that uphold the ancient codes of Octava. Each represent the Seven Genres and the capital of Octava.”

  “Wow. And what’s the capital?”

  “Octava.”

  “Ah.” There was a perfect mix of horror, realization, curiosity, and awe in her tone. She had a rather strong voice for a small person. Twenty-nine? He’d thought it a bit comical when she considered herself old. Thank the Divines she was at least not one of those Romanticologists. He’d never have attempted to save her life in the manner that he’d done had she been, he was certain. Her pre-determined resilience to that disorder would properly safeguard her.

  “What is The Seven I heard you say? And why are you blind again? I didn’t make you blind; did I do something wrong, mess up?”

  “No,” Poe said. “When I reverse the Eight-Fold way, it causes temporary blindness. And apparently, launching beings through the Forbidden Embolus of Octava is a potently magnified form of that technique.”

  She gave another sound of astonishment. “Eight-Fold way, Forbidden Embolus, Planks, Scribblers… my head is spinning.”

  “Can I have some more chocolate?” Kane asked.

  “Of course! Please allow me to direct you to the couch again, Mr. Poe.”

  “Kane, will.” He needed to perform The Eraser trick before he let her touch him again. It seemed she had a power over him to a degree—as his Scribbler, no doubt—and until he adjusted to it, understood it, he’d prefer to not touch.

  “Suit yourself. Are you hungry, master Kane?” she asked.

  Poe slowly walked at the boy’s guidance. “I’m starving!” Kane said. Her clear fondness of the boy was a relief to him.

  “I will whip up something in a jiffy. Are you both warm enough? When I return, I’ll have a hundred questions,” she said even as she walked away, Poe could tell.

  Was she prone to discussing five things at once? It was cumbersome to his brain, especially after her episode with the Shadow Gorge. If Charlotte were as prolific a Scribbler as she claimed, no doubt she was accustomed to multi-tasking. Or was she just scattered? She’d not finished him in six years. Not that he cared, nor did he want to ever be published. He enjoyed his freedoms as a Miskriat.

  And then there was the matter of Kane. The boy was a genius, able to see and read what seemed to be a map. The numbers indicated coordinates, hopefully. This must have been the reason he was sent with him. And what of this map, where did it suddenly come from? Was it always there and Earth’s realm revealed it? Had it just been put there? And by whom or what?

  Whatever those answers were to his questions, Poe knew one thing. Whoever was responsible had to use strict orchestration. Perhaps The Seven Arks did it? Would The Seven Guardians have done it?
Did they send The Seven Arks to begin with? He’d wait till they were in private to remove his upper clothes and let Kane look for more. Having the heat of his Scribbler’s eyes or curious touch was as inappropriate as it was a bad idea. Not to mention, his human body had the oddest reactions and responses from either. Just the barest trace of her finger made him feel like a puppet under her command. For some reason it brought to his remembrance something else. He’d urinated for the first time in his existence. Although he knew he’d been created with a body for that, he’d never had reason to actually do it. Not in his story and not out of it. It was like the eating thing. People on Octava did it more out of habit or pleasure, than necessity. Quite the opposite here on Earth. His body’s needs were not to be ignored. And urinating was certainly not mind over matter in this realm.

  “Do you guys like beans?” she called from the kitchen.

  “Beans?” the boy whispered.

  “Just say yes. To be polite.”

  “Yes,” Kane yelled.

  “Yes ma’am, is the proper way to answer a lady, I believe,” Poe whispered.

  “Yes ma’am!” he yelled before whispering, “What if I don’t like the beans?”

  “Then you’ll put them in your pocket when she’s not looking.” Kane laughed and the sound made Poe smile. “She’s a Scribbler, I’m sure she’s a good cook.”

  “I hope so. My tummy hurts,” Kane whispered.

  Poe’s own made a strange noise. “As does mine. I think eating for humans is different than for beings on Octava.”

  “You think?” Kane whispered.

  “I do.”

  “Mr. Poe, I gotta go.”

  Alarm filled him at the words, the same he’d spoken before he disappeared on him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to pee!” he hissed.

  “Dear boy,” he gasped, hating to think he’d been suffering. “You know where the facilities are, go to it.”

  He shot up without a word and Poe felt the presence of his Scribbler approaching shortly after.

  “How long will you be blind do you think?”

  He followed her voice, his mind doing the standard puzzle solving, connecting the sound to things. With her, it connected velvet and… red hues. “The most I’ve been blind for is approximately an hour.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Perhaps two.”

  “Oh dear,” she whispered, sounding too near him. “So tell me about this reversing the eight… something way.”

  “Eight-Fold way. That’s the principal physics governing Octava. It’s a highway of energy and power that sustains the realm and it originates from the realm of Scribblers. When I project my own power and energy into this highway, I’m going in reverse of the laws.”

  “Wow,” she said, sounding impressed and even closer. “I made you smart, didn’t I?”

  Her brazen bragging distracted him.

  “You find that funny?” she observed, clearly pleased with that.

  “I… find it comical, yes.”

  “But it’s true,” she said, amazed. “You’re fascinating.”

  Poe was uncomfortable with talking about how fantastic he was. “Being human isn’t easy, I see.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Is it different? I mean than being on Octava? Tell me how!”

  “It would seem that there are needs you can’t ignore here, like on Octava.”

  “The bathroom!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. Especially that.”

  “Is that where our master Kane is?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

  “It is. I didn’t even think to ask the poor boy.”

  She hissed in something akin to pain. “So that was the agony you were in.”

  “Excruciating agony, yes.”

  “I am so sorry. I thought you had prostate issues.”

  The laughter in her voice made Poe resent the blindness. His mind didn’t like puzzles. It was accustomed to making visual connections with sounds. “I would have surely had problems had I waited a second longer.”

  “Is there pain at all in Octava?”

  “Only basic pain, nothing extreme. Just enough to tell you no, not that.”

  “Tell me about Octava, Mr. Poe.”

  Her voice went from velvet to warm silk in rapt fascination, prompting Poe to oblige her. “It’s a lot like your realm or is supposed to be. Or so… they say.”

  “They?”

  “The leaders in Octava.”

  “Who are?”

  Poe proceeded to detail his realm to her, bit by bit, allowing her to guide him with sporadic questions, every answer prompting more fascination than the last until he feared she’d burst from it.

  He paused long enough for her to hurry food to them, nothing fancy she said. Straight out of a can. He knew of those types of foods, people on Octava ate that trash. Poe wasn’t really into food on Octava but when he ate, he ate proper foods. But here on Earth, he was glad to have any kind of food, just so he got it in that second.

  “I should let you eat,” she said at one point when Poe had stopped for the fourth time to answer one of her questions.

  He dared not argue. “Thank you. I have never experienced hunger quite like this.” While Kane mmmed the entire time he smacked his food down, Poe slowly ate his, insisting on feeding himself which turned out to require carefulness.

  He was not happy that he was still in utter darkness after eating. He’d hoped that would have improved things. How long would this blindness last? It would be extremely difficult to locate The Seven while blind. It put him dependent on a seven year old and his Scribbler. Both were unthinkable to him.

  “How about a lovely fire?”

  Poe followed his Scribbler’s words that moved, as though she spoke as she went.

  “Exactly how tall are you?” Poe dared to ask. “I am guessing five foot two inches by the size of your voice.”

  She gasped. “Exactly right! Wow, Mr. Poe, you have amazing talent for a blind man.”

  “My mind has a habit of—“

  “Figuring things out,” she finished. “I know. That is one thing I do know about you, yes. To me, a character with a brilliant mind is the best character of all.”

  Poe couldn’t argue with that. And he supposed she was responsible. He suddenly felt her presence far too close and drew back when she sat next to him. “Go on,” she said. “Touch me.”

  Alarm filled Poe. “For what?”

  “To see me. Here. I won’t bite.”

  She took both his hands and lifted them to her face. Instincts warred in him to pull away and yet answer the hundred questions he had. The questions won out.

  “You’re smiling,” he said.

  “She’s got a pretty smile too,” Kane said, nearly ruining the data he was collecting.

  Poe thought maybe she didn’t smile often. He attempted to keep his touch scientific but it required delicate exploration to capture the details he wanted. He kept his discoveries to himself. The softness of her skin was rather remarkable. Her nose was small, her forehead as well. Her eyebrows thin. He ventured to her hair. “Where is the rest of your hair?”

  She laughed. “It’s chopped off. I don’t see the point of having long hair if I don’t go about doing womanly things.”

  Womanly things required a lot of hair? Poe ventured to her ears and stroked his fingers over every inch. He paused at tiny hard objects on the lobes.

  “Those are earrings.”

  “Earrings.” Her ears were small. Like her nose. Poe’s fingers went back to her mouth, her lips, rather. They weren’t smiling so much now, only a little. Though her mouth was small, her lips were not. He traced the edges, dumbfounded with the odd symmetry. When she smiled, he pulled his fingers away.

  “Something wrong with my lips?”

  “No,” he said. “They’re just…” he wasn’t sure how to explain it.

  “They’re fat, I know. Like my nose.”

  “Your nose isn’t fat,” he corrected.
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br />   “But my lips are,” she said.

  “They’re…”

  “Fat. It’s fine. I already know.”

  But the tone in her voice said it wasn’t altogether fine. “I would say they’re voluptuous.” Her snicker made him panic. Had he used the wrong term? “As in robust.” Her abrupt laughter said he was getting colder. “Chubby.”

  “Oh my God,” she squealed in peals of laughter, “stop before you get in trouble!”

  But to get anything wrong left Poe in a state of needing to get it right. “What about curvaceous? Healthy?” He continued on, waiting for her to indicate he had the right term. “Fine, assist me. What about rotund?”

  “Rotund!” she exclaimed. “Call them what they are, Mr. Poe. They’re fat.”

  “Fat isn’t correct. Fat is merely the state of excess. This doesn’t properly describe it.”

  “Okay enough about my rotund lips. Now you have an idea of what your Scribbler looks like at least. When your sight returns, you can check your answers.”

  “Hoping that will be any minute.”

  “I’m sure by morning, whatever that effect is, will have worn off.”

  Kane yawned next to him and Poe reached for the boy.

  “Somebody is tired,” his Scribbler said. “Would you like to camp out in here by the fire, master Kane? I have all the gear for that,” she said excited.

  “I love camping!” he exclaimed. Poe stroked the boy’s hair, remembering how dirty it was and how terrified he was of water.

  “And I will sleep on this couch, nearby, if that is okay?”

  “You can camp with me, Mr. Poe!”

  “I’ll camp on the couch, thank you.”

  “And I’ll get pillows and blankets.”

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte had to pace once she was upstairs. She breathed through the avalanche of emotions racing through her. There was a lot of wow going on—okay more like a lot of holy shit factors flying, but the biggest one she realized was Mr. Jeramiah Poe. Fanning her overly heated face, she gasped on excitement and wet her dry lips. She needed drink. The way he affected her had officially reached beyond the point of brushing off. She wasn’t sure why, what, or how, only that she needed to tone things down. She sounded like a giddy teenager! The man affected her in a way she shouldn’t be, but ever since he’d saved her life with his mouth… dear lord his mouth. She touched her lips, remembering the feel of his. Full and firm and pressing. She closed her eyes and relived the feel of his exploring fingers. So large and yet he’d been oh so gentle and careful. Such an odd thing from him, and yet not.