Endfall (9 page)

              Lyrah watched for moments after. The harsh winds blew with greater force now. It was becoming a blizzard. Rezzifer came closer and said, “Lyrah, we must hurry.” She put up her hood and began to walk South.

THE WALL

“Damn,” Milo said, stopping the chariot. Smoke plumed from the front, and the metal along the sides of the chariot rattled. Milo stepped out, onto the sandy ground. He looked back at Salem in the distance, where just an hour ago he saw lights and smoke. Lyrah would not tell him what happened.

Now Milo stood resting near a single barren tree, deep in the far reaches of the plains. There was sand alloyed in the snow for as far as he could see. Now, at this time of thought and distant desperation, he missed Lyrah, more than he imagined. He tried pragmatically to not think of her, but without intention, he did. And he did often. He wished she would tell him more. According to the directions she had given him, he was a mile or so away from her friend. But what halted Milo was in front of him rather than his mind; a massive, black wall, latent in fog.

The wall was like a physical representation of a loud organ sound, twisted and bellowed in his ears. It carried an oppressive feeling, like it was watching him. Odd, that a dormant object could strike fear into him like he had only seen in a nightmare. It was like every drawing moment he remained staring at it sent more and more shivers in his spine. The wall was easily hundreds of feet high, and there was no way to predict how thick it was. It seemed like it went on forever in both directions, East and West.

              Milo saw something else in the distance, closer to him than the wall. It was a light,yellow and very dim, flickering
.
Was that there the whole time
?
Milo was hesitant to respond to his observation. But soon it became bothersome.
Could be the friend.
When he got closer, it did appear to be a house, for the foggy silhouette was shaped like so and there were more orange-yellow lights.

            
 
The fog grew thicker and the wind picked up. This is when Milo noticed that the wall was gone; and now in its place was the rest of the deserted plains he saw before.
What
?
He walked up to the house quite swiftly, pushing aside thoughts about the wall. He was shivering a bit, beginning to feel the breath of the wind. The lights were on inside. Milo slowed down a bit as he reached the front steps of the house. The wind blew the wooden planks into their creaky niches. Everything on the outside of the house seemed to have its own sound, its own character.

              He knocked on the door, feeling somewhat awkward. He waited a moment, and there was no answer. Milo leaned in close to the door and pressed his ear onto the wood, listening inside for anything.

              Milo heard a voice from somewhere inside. “Number seven!” called the voice, muffled. It was a very elder voice, sounding aged but wise. Again the voice came, “Number seven!” and following the voice was laughter, from other voices. There were a bunch of people in the house, Milo suspected. He knocked on the door a third time, this time louder. Suddenly the laughter stopped and silence cut its way into the moment. And then there were footsteps coming towards the door at a rather alarming speed.

              The door opened calmly. Standing in the doorway was an unexpectedly tall, elder man with short, white hair. Milo was hesitant to speak, but the man spoke first, “Are you Milo?” he queried, coming in a loud whisper. His voice sounded full of hope, as if he had been suffering from something awful, and Milo was his savior.

              “Yes,” said Milo, also spoke softly, “Are you the ally of Abraham’s?”

              The man nodded silently. “Come inside, Milo.”

              Once inside, the man walked Milo into a room with many fancy, hand-crafted chairs made of dark wood. The walls were a cream color, and much of the room’s decorations in dark complimenting shades, all lit by a fire in the fireplace. In the center of the room on the floor there lay a large lion skin rug. “Not
the
,” he said.

              Milo sputtered a question, “Sorry, what?”

              “Not
the
.”

              Milo wasn’t getting it. “Not what?”

              “You said
the
ally. I’m
an
ally. Abraham has many.”

              Milo stood. “Oh,” he said, “right.”

“Sit in which ever chair you like,” said the man, “I will be back in just a moment.” Milo sat down in a chair close to the fireplace. It wasn't a long wait, for the man came back in just moments. “My name is Riddley,” he said.

              “It's nice to meet you, Riddley,” said Milo. The old man named Riddley sat down in a chair near him.

              “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like,” Riddley said. He almost seemed like he was on the brink of stuttering with his next statement. “I assume you know, then?”

              Milo believed he knew what Riddley spoke of. “Know what?” He said.

              Riddley had drawn a blank expression for a moment, then said, “About the doctors,” he paused.

Milo was wrong. The fire cracked loudly. He was noticing every sound in the room, for he had a dreadful premonition of what he would hear from this man’s voice.
It was a fire
. Riddley said, “Salem is in ashes.”

              “I know.” Dread. “Lyrah told me.” More dread.

              “Who?” Riddley was shot with curiosity at the mention of the name.

              “A friend of mine,” Milo said, drawing his gaze to the fire, “She told me that there was danger in Salem.”

              “Ah,” said Riddley, beginning to fidget in his chair. “So who sent you? It was Abraham who sent me the letter, a notice saying that you would arrive.”

              “Yes, it was Abraham who sent me,” said Milo.

              “Ah,” said Riddley, “Well, sorry for the strangeness of all this. Would you like some tea?”

              “Sure,” Milo said. Dread.

“I’ve just had a long day.” Riddley began to walk into the other room.

              “Riddley?”

              “Yes, Milo?” He asked, stopping but not turning.

              “Do you live here alone?” Asked Milo. Riddley shot him a sort of confused look.

              “Why, of course,” he said. “There are no other chariots here. Why do you ask?”

              Milo was hesitant to answer. “Never mind.” Riddley began to walk back into the room.

              “Milo,” he said, “There is no reason to keep things hidden in this house, even the silliest of things. Whatever it is, I’m sure you can tell me.”

              “It’s just that I heard voices coming from inside the house, when I was outside.” Riddley still had a blank expression. “There were three voices coming from the inside, but you are the only one here.”

              “Ah,” said Riddley, “Well, that is strange. Did you hear what the voices were saying?”

              “Just one thing,” said Milo. “One of them said, ‘number seven’ and then there was laughter from two people.” Riddley looked very puzzled.

              “Well,” he said, “Sorry, Milo, but I don’t have any explanation. But I will keep my ears open, I guess.”

-----

              “We know everything we know because we found it all left behind. They kept records, manuals, & journals – everything, in books. There must have been a sort of advancement past that at some point because the numbers of those books thinned out drastically in the later times.” Riddley’s voice was clear.

              “Do you mean the metal men?” Milo asked.

              “Yes, the dreaded machines could have been a large part of that advancement.”

              “Who created them?”

              “Who created them? I wouldn’t know,” Riddley approached his chair. “Whomever it was must have had a strong relation with Sir Magnus Ezler.”

              “Magnus Ezler?” Milo didn’t like tea, but having it his hands made him feel less empty. The dread hadn’t gone away.

              “He had an 85% ownership of the codex label
P.W.R.
”

             
“Sorry Riddley,” said Milo, “I don’t know much about –”

              “It’s a title for a government owned program. There were 35 projects, I believe.”

              “Government owned? Which government?”

              “That’s just it. It was a combined effort of all of them. Even though only a select few from each party were a part of it.”

              “And this person had 85% of it. How do you own a program?” Milo asked. He set down his tea. It was cold.
Curious how he knows so much about a secret codex.

              Riddley sat down. “It just wasn’t like other programs.”

              “You said there were 35 projects. What were they?”

              “I have strong reason to believe the metal men were a part of it; as at least one of those projects. I only know a real bit about one. The rest are a complete mystery to me.” Riddley sipped his tea. He swallowed, unveiling a face of disgust. His tea must have been cold too. There was a tide of not silence but of question.

              “You were a part of the group.” Milo said. It was supposed to be a question but came out more like an accusation.

              “Guess that, did you?” Riddley’s eyebrows were messy and torn, which was appearing to Milo for the first time.

              “It’s pretty obvious.”

              “Why I’m all the way out here, I suppose.” He chuckled. He sipped his tea again. Milo was starting to think Riddley didn’t even like tea either. “Some serious storming is upon us, Milo.” His tone had shifted. “Are you prepared?”

              Milo knew his honest answer wasn’t what he wanted to say. “Yes,” he said.

              Riddley raised his boney index finger, starting intently at Milo. “Come with me,” he said.

              Riddley led Milo down a long hallway. The walls were painted green and the ceiling was curved, lined in a goldish wood. There were more than a dozen doors, each with a red door knocker. At the end of the hallway Riddley stopped at the final door and raised his hand at Milo, who stood at least two lengths behind, signaling a halt. Riddley let out a soft breath, holding his position for a moment and putting his ear up to the door. Milo just now noticed a haze forming near the ceiling and drifting down, a light colored smoke. Milo wasn’t sure that was comforting.

              “What I’m about to show you will brand your role in this ordeal.” Riddley pushed a hand shakily towards the handle of the door. “I knew you were of great capabilities.”

              “I hope you’re not overestimating me.” Milo said.

              The door swing open swiftly with a loud creaking sound and Riddley rushed inside. It was nothing more than a shallow closet, the inside as cream and dusted as the living room. But in front of the door there stood a small table with a locked chest atop it.

              Riddley spread his wrinkly hands over the lock and faintly hummed a tune. “This,” he said, pulling a key from his pocket, “is what was left of the project I worked on.” He put it in, turned it twice, the lock clicked. Riddley opened the lid of the chest, and revealed a bundle of items laid in red velvet. On top, something black, made of a thick cloth material. Riddley grasped it and raised it up. “The cloak,” he said. He turned it over, and Milo saw the symbol of a lion displayed under the hood. It was a cloak of mighty quality, he suspected.

              “Who was it for?” asked Milo.

              “The user,” Riddley replied, painting a grin.

              “The user of what?” Milo’s attention caught Riddley’s intent, almost in mid-speech. Riddley looked downwards into the chest. Underneath the cloak, the strangest sword Milo had ever seen. It was a gray metal, but unlike other swords that were molded to a point, this was rectangular, having actually no sharp edge. Four equally rectangular shapes extruded from the hilt, creating a cross shape.

              “This is no ordinary weapon.” Riddley cautiously picked it up. “It’s yours now.” He held it out to Milo. Milo opened his mouth to speak, but Riddley was already inferring. “You don’t have to use it to kill. You don’t have to use it at all. But it’s yours.” His pointy nose lifted, eyes tilting somewhere Milo couldn’t see. And he spoke again, “Someone’s here.”

              Riddley swung open the front door with alarming speed. “Who are you?” he grouched.

              There was a voice, and Milo knew it instantly. He peered from behind Riddley.

              “Lyrah!” He exclaimed, “She’s my friend.”