By The Sword
(Rated T for some gory descriptions involving a dead human, mostly in the first 4 paragraphs.)
by WinkTabby
The everymen and their flagrant misdeeds had grown tiresome. These vile busybodies increasingly meddled in affairs not their own. Scorning and attacking their peaceful neighbors, they believed natural laws favored only their kind. So it had gone for generations, and for generations they had mostly triumphed. Fortunately for Gribbley and his gang, the everymen had also grown careless.
The pot-bellied little bogle kicked at the motionless lump of the dead everyman. With a wave of his knotted paw, he gestured encouragingly to his lackeys who waited and watched hopefully from within the tree line.
"There's plenty for us all to fill our bellies this evening. Eat to your heart's content, fellows, but leave the best cuts to me." As his ravenous underlings set upon the carcass, Gribbley snapped off three fingers and nibbled the already putrefying flesh from them with his razor sharp teeth. Not yet sated, he tore his claw into the chest and wrenched free a few ribs, crushing the bones against his flat molars to suck greedily at the congealed marrow within.
With his delightfully unexpected snack complete, the bogle began preparations for his intended task. He pulled a small bag from his overcoat pocket and added to it a few drops of preserving script from a tiny bottle. With a deep sweeping jab of his claw, Gribbley sliced raggedly across the neck and threw the severed body to his busily feasting lackeys. He withdrew a small pointed mallet from his tool belt and gave the back of the head a few precise, sharp taps along its medial line. With the skull now ruptured, he dug in his thumbs at its base and carefully prised the sides of the cranium apart. With a quick snap of the dangling vertebrae, the brain slipped free from its ruined casing. Gribbley gingerly lowered it into the preserving bag and set it inside his satchel. He had just the buyer in mind. It would fetch a fine price.
The prisoner had lain in sightless, frigid nothingness for an unbearably long span of time with no discernible beginning. In the profound darkness, he huddled against himself on a lumpy cot with no blanket. The stale unmoving air stank of fear and sweat and worse. Occasionally the scary man entered his cell, though he could not have said how often, for he had no sense of the passage of hours or days. He only knew it was the same man by the clackity-clack that his shoes made against the cold stone floor and by the unique smell of him. The confused prisoner didn't know quite why the man was scary. Only that he was capable of unspeakable, unrememberable cruelty.
When powerful urges to fight the scary man came to him, they were immediately quelled by an overwhelming urge not to, almost as if he might have once tried again and again but always suffered the same bleak outcome. What exactly that outcome had been, he didn't know and didn't want to revisit. The scary man changed the prisoner's bandages, adjusted a rope that seemed to be rather improbably holding him together, and spooned cold flavorless gruel into his mouth. This terrifying fellow performed his duties hastily and with icy detachment. No kindness was ever shared, and no words passed between them. For the prisoner had no words to speak, nor did the scary man have any to offer.
He didn't remember when he had first awoken in this place. Around his awareness hovered a vague sense that perhaps life hadn't always been as he experienced it now. Splintered fragments of another life intruded upon his fitful dreams, teasing him with hints of possibility that his reality might have been quite different once. He was visited by only disjointed flashes of imagery and emotion, free-floating in a grand chasm of undefined time and space. Here, a birthday picnic with a pretty girl on a hot summer day. Over there, bitter pangs of heartbreak and regret as a battle-slain friend lay gasping out a final breath. Yet further afield, once upon a distant past, a mother's safe comforting touch. But what was a mother, a friend, a girl?
His mind grasped desperately at a few words, a few pictures, but none of it fit together. Try as he might to shuffle and rearrange these tidbits into a semblance of ordered thought, they defied all attempts to be pinned to a logical framework. He couldn't even think of the words to match up with these half-memories that haunted his existence. His brain felt like a hollow rusted-out machine, stripped of all its connecting gears and wires, yet somehow still operating, producing nothing.
Eventually the scary man stopped feeding him gruel after attending to the bandages. This time, he tossed a squealing rat into the darkness just before slamming the cell door shut. When the prisoner slept, the rat sometimes scurried over him. The rat's presence was detestable for some reason he couldn't have explained. Nonetheless, the idea of sharing his cell with another living being made his wretched situation a bit less frightsome. The prisoner's stomach growled and his body weakened. Still no food came.
One night, or it may well have been day, for it was all the same to him now, the rat nibbled at his toe as he slept. So quickly this awakened him that he sprang out in the darkness, grasping the rat's tail firmly and moving his hand over its delicate body, crushing the life from it. He slammed it hard against the damp wall of the cell, felt it go limp. Without a moment's hesitation, he sank his pointy teeth into the delicious little body. He tore raw meat and entrails from bone and hide, chewing and swallowing with ravenous bites. The more he ate, the hungrier he became. Until this moment, he hadn't considered the rat as a possible food source. The notion had just never crossed his mind. Precious few notions did as of late.
When the scary man finally returned, he laughed appreciatively at the little pile of rat bones next to the prisoner's cot. Another small animal was tossed into the cell. It was furry and soft, and much less afraid of him than the rat had been. It whimpered in the darkness and licked his hand. The animal seemed familiar but he couldn't remember what it was called, only that maybe he had once owned a similar one.
Instinctively unafraid of this new beast, he stroked the little thing's head and scratched its ears as its tail thumped against the ground. Hmmmm...what had happened to that furry happy one he once owned? He couldn't remember for certain, but surely he must have eaten it. Yes, for what else would it possibly have been good for? This animal seemed much friendlier than the rat, but he had trusted the rat, which had eventually bitten him while he slept. Surely a bite from this far bigger animal, when it too finally turned against him, would hurt much worse or even kill him. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Besides, this animal smelled much more scrumptious than the rat and carried far more meat on its bones. He dined well that day.
He slept and he waked, slept and waked, for an interminable stretch. Clackity-clack, here came the scary man. The door opened just a crack and a fizzing leakvane was launched into the corner. A bitter stench tore at his nostrils. He gagged and gasped as the leakvane hissed its crippling burden into the air. Jumping from his cot in alarm, his balance immediately failed him and his mind swam in confusion. He fell to his knees and toppled onto the floor, whacking his head hard against his water bowl as he collapsed.
Several minutes later, after the air had cleared of the choking, debilitating gas released from the leakvane, he heard those hated familiar footsteps as the scary man entered his cell. He lay still as his limbs were bound and a rough burlap sack was pulled over his body. The scary man lifted him, grunting with effort, and hefted his barely conscious form carelessly into a wheelbarrow. Squeak, squeak, squeak went the wheel of the barrow as he was rolled down dark hallways. Left, right, left, left, left, right. Nothing.
The prisoner came to his senses, though his eyes were still bandaged. He had been dumped into a tiny cage in a room that smelled only slightly cleaner than the cell where he had been detained. He was lying flat on his back. When he tried to lift his head, he bumped against thick steel bars just a few inches above his body. His arms and legs were tied up, but there wasn't enough space for him to move much even if he hadn't been bound.
He smelled the presence of the scary man, and then another smell. Someone else was in the room, too. Maybe someone who could help him! Earlier in the hopeless dark of his cell, he had tried to practice forming his nightmarish wild musings into language, for perhaps he would be a bit less scared if he could think in words and sentences. Yet the very structure of his lipless mouth and strangely long tongue felt too foreign to properly mold the meager words available to him now :
"I isssss pppp-prisnnnnner. Yyyyou….hhhhelppppppsssss mmmmmmeeee?" But the stranger in the corner stood still and did not respond. Not a helper, after all.
The scary man thundered, "A prisoner, you say? And why might you imagine that? Were you captured in battle or imprisoned for some crime? Hardly. Prisoners are alive, you see. You have no idea who you are! Do you, little horrible one? No idea what you are." The prisoner shivered in fear as the scary man's hands reached cautiously through the bars of the cage and began to slowly unravel the bandages from his eyes. He kept them tightly closed as even the dim light of the room burned painfully into his skull through his eyelids.
"Open them!" ordered the scary man. And so he did. It had been a frightfully long time since he'd seen anything. His eyes focused slowly now. He blinked rapidly, unable to recall havng ever seen the world from such an odd perspective before. It was all slightly blurry. He remembered something then! Trying on someone else's spectacles. That's what it was like. The scary man held a large mirror above his cage.
"Look at what you are!" barked the scary man. The prisoner failed to recognize the body reflected back to him. He simply didn't know what one was supposed to look like. This body certainly looked different than that of the scary man, though he supposed it must be his body. He didn't remember having such long furry ears or oddly blotched skin, but then again, he couldn't remember having any other type of body either.
The scary man leaned close and spat a curse upon him. "You are neither human, nor he, any longer. You are it, a revenant knit together of discarded bits and dug up parts. Whatever flimsy illusion you may still hold of yourself as a self, know this: Providence has no reach into these halls. I alone have formed you, and only upon my whim do you live or die. Though you are not exactly quite alive. So let us just say 'exist' instead of 'live', shall we? Do you not smell the putrid flesh of which you are knit? It rots without the preservatives I alone am empowered to dose you with!"
I am...it?
The stranger who had been standing at a distance approached slowly. His face was cold, almost colder than the scary man's. He leaned over and squinted down at the cage through weird funny-colored eyes. He studied the prisoner for awhile and frowned. Those disconcerting eyes drew close.
"Well, aren't you quite the...curious thing?" The prisoner's mind jumped upon hearing that. Something familiar in the sound of it...
The stranger seemed to notice a slight change in the prisoner, some mild response to what he had just said to it.
He sneered and addressed the scary man. "You say it continues to cling to memories? That's unacceptable, you understand."
"Indeed. It's still under tremendous shock from the trauma of its construction. A few days more and I'll be able to safely sever the final connection between its processing center and its memory store."
"Why not destroy the memory store altogether? Surely that would be safer?" asked the stranger in a tense voice as he continued to peer curiously at the prisoner, his otherwise impassive face wrinkling in disgust. He clutched a handkerchief over his nose.
"I have tried that in the past, but it was an utter failure. The test constructs experienced rapid descent into madness and nearly immediate degeneration of basic functioning. No, as long as the memories are cut off from the rest of the front brain, they will be no threat to us." The scary man hesitated a moment. "There is a more primitive part of the brain that associates memories with smells, and this must stay intact in order to maintain stability. But any such signals from it would be too unorganized and ephemeral for the creature to make sense of. I shall complete the severing procedure later this week."
"As you must, surgeon. That can't happen soon enough as far as I'm concerned. If it were to escape or if anyone found it in this condition and tried to extract information from it…" The man with colorful eyes paused and took a deep breath. "If what Gribbley told you of its origin is true, we would be quite ruined if it remembered and turned on us. Or more to the point, if one of its friends discovered what we've done…." His voice trailed off. "Well, the fallout of that error would be well nigh unthinkable."
The prisoner hadn't been able to follow the meaning of the conversation, but now its furry ears pricked up at the familiar word. It didn't remember exactly what the term meant, but it was a pleasant word, a solid word.
"I hhhhhhassss…friendssssssss?"
The scary man turned and chuckled hollowly. "Friends? No, no, no. Friends are for humans. You, my dear creature, are simply not human any longer. If you still have any notion of 'friends' rattling about in that topsy-turvy little patchwork mind of yours, you would do well to dismiss the concept as utterly ridiculous for one in your station. You reek of corpse-rot and bear the countenance of an ill-formed hog. That loathsome stench in here? That's you. There are no friends in your present nor your future. As soon as I complete your next surgery, you will be permanently relieved of any burdensome worry over such…foolish ideas."
"Bbbbut...I issssss sss-sstillll pppprisssnnnnnerrrr!"
The scary man kicked the cage angrily. "On the contrary, I rescued you from the prison of your own death! Have you not figured that out by now? Why, without the blessing of my intervention, you would have long since rotted away and been eaten by worms or darker creatures yet."
The prisoner's bony shoulders slumped in defeat.
For endless ages without measure, no one had come. No scary man. No food. Its water dish had grown a layer of slick mold, but it crouched on its haunches and lapped from it anyway, frothy tendrils of drool dripping from its mouth and befouling the water further. It picked scabs from its flaking skin and nibbled on them, a feeble attempt to satisfy the yawning empty pit in its stomach. A raw, inflamed scar danced jaggedly across its skull. How had that happened? It did not know.
Light footsteps echoed outside the room. Someone was coming! Not the scary man, for there was no clackity-clack. These footsteps were lighter and softer. The squeaky bar slid aside and the door creaked tentatively open just a crack. It cringed, anxiously trying to guess whether a leakvane of stunning potive or perhaps a toothsome little creature would be thrown into the cell. The door opened a bit wider.
From a shadowed position in the far corner of the tiny cell, the prisoner turned its head and gazed toward the door. Through eyes still adjusting to the sting of dim light shining in through the doorframe, the silhouette of a miniature man resolved itself against a rickety staircase. No, not merely a man in miniature. There was a word for the immature form of a man, it knew. What was it? What was it? Aha! A child. The prisoner silently crept forward and squatted just behind the door.
It hissed almost silently into the dark, "Am I yet ssssooo brrrrroken they ssssssend a…chhhhhhild to bbbbbbind mmmmmmeeee now?"
Its nostrils flared and tingled as they sensed a delicious smell wafting in through the slightly opened door. A familiar smell. Not so unlike the live baby piggies the scary man threw into its cell occasionally on days when it had performed very obediently in training sessions. Only sweeter and juicier. It was frightfully ravenous, and hadn't feasted on piggies or furry happy ones in an unbearably long while.
The prisoner pounced at the weak-looking child, eager to devour this tender morsel. Yet unlike the helpless little animals it had dispatched so effortlessly in the cell, this new quarry fought back viciously. Round and round they battled, slamming against the brittle wooden staircase. The freakishly strong child tore at the prisoner's face, hurtling his adversary's head against the ground. Shockwaves of agony ripped across its vision and robbed it of sight. Its shoulder was torn brutally from the socket. All it wanted was to fill its stomach! It managed a few good swipes and lunged at its intended meal before the child smashed its head, stunning it for a moment. Teeth shattered free from bloodless gums.
With a tremendous heave, it pounced on the child, smothering him and snapping its ruined jaws towards his head. But the mighty child's hand clawed into its face now, prying open a shattered jaw and cramming a smoking vial between its broken teeth, right down the gullet. The prisoner shuddered and made a final desperate grab for the child as the strong little one punched mercilessly at its throat. A fiery glow suddenly ignited and burned within its chest.
The world exploded inside its head. Plumes of acrid smoke shot outward from its ears, eye sockets, and mouth as flesh crackled under the searing heat of green flames. It staggered against a cracked railing and broke through, casting its bulk helplessly off the side.
As it flailed in vain at the air and caught a strong whiff of the child's most unusual odor, that ancient and instinctive portion of its yet-human brain suddenly lit up, connecting this scent to a long ago severed and blurred memory, a translucent fragment from a lifetime before. Its expiring wreck of a body plummeted ablaze into the dark abyss far below. Down, down, down, it tumbled while its mind stumbled and grasped at the vaguest remembrance of a boy child. A child who smelled funny, who smelled wrong.
Gribbley opened the sealed note his messenger had just delivered. It read simply: "New delivery required. Urgent. Cost no issue." The little bogle jumped up from his chair and pulled the tatters of his ridiculously oversized new maroon cloak around his shoulders as he prepared to go out scouting along the road. Aside from the regrettable loss of his giant simple-minded toll collector a few months ago, this was nevertheless turning out to be an excellent year for business.
Author's note: I always love reviews & feedback, but please be mindful of not posting spoilers for the ending. You're welcome to PM me also if you're wondering about the logic of the story. I've sprinkled hints (including the title) about what's really going on here throughout the story, but PM me if you want to know which MBT chapter to re-read to make it clearer. I'm aware that this story is wildly speculative. But as far as I know, it doesn't contradict anything in the existing canon. I'm not suggesting this is actually what happened, just that it's maybe not absolutely impossible. As far as the writing style goes, there's pronounced repetition of certain phrases and sentence structure, as well as incomplete thoughts and sentence fragments. I did this on purpose to try to give the reader a glimpse into the rever-man's befuddled thought processes and inability to fully understand or articulate his situation. I made generous use of the passive case of verbs in certain areas to emphasize that actions were being done to the rever-man and much of it was beyond his control; he's no longer an active agent in his own existence.