"1.1.1 By Road"
(Companion to "By Rail")
1.2 by CT
A two-lane road meandered through the countryside. Alongside it strode a boy, backpack slung over one shoulder and absorbed in a book. Whatever his destination, he didn't seem to be in any great hurry.
Once in a while, he managed to pull himself away from the pages and idly survey the scenery. Clouds ambled across the sky, in no more rush than the boy.
Birds circled above, little more than black dots. They swooped and traced idle patterns with their wing-tips. The boy could almost imagine that they sculpted thin air. Grinning at such a fantastic thought, he turned back to the worn paperback.
The power of the words seemed to wane. He found his eyes wandering, taking his mind with them. His measured steps slowed to a shuffle, then stopped altogether. The story simply couldn't compete with the bright day.
"Ah, I guess I'll finish it later," said the boy to no one in particular. Shrugging off the backpack, he slipped the text into a zippered pocket. He contemplated the neon bag for a minute, then dropped it on a patch of dry grass.
Reaching for the sky, he stretched, his shoulders nearly meeting with a loud crack. Then he threw himself next to his load. He didn't know when or where he would be needed; better to get rest while he could. Satisfied with that logic, his bright eyes began to slide shut
In the distance an engine rumbled. One turquoise eye peeked open again, curious.
A van lumbered into view, catching the glare of the sun and obscuring the driver. It chugged along, the engine occasionally coughing a complaint.
Losing interest, the boy settled back down and waited for the noise to subside.
"Hey buddy, need a lift?"
Startled, he sat up. The vehicle idled next to him, muttering threats of mutiny. The dinged paint appeared to be white in origin, though the dust made it hard to tell. "You talkin' to me?"
A stocky boy grinned at him from the driver's seat, ash-blue curls restrained by a headband. "I don't see anyone else around, Blue," he responded, noting the traveler's electric shade of hair.
The traveler blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well," he drawled, his New York accent intentionally thick, "Where are ya goin'?"
The driver's smile shifted, looking a bit bewildered but no less good- natured. "That's kind of the problem, I dunno," he shrugged, "I thought you might."
'Blue' couldn't resist. Suddenly, he found himself in the mood for talk. "What are you, a taxi?"
"What d'you mean?"
"You're just drivin' around and askin' a perfect stranger where to go," he smirked, amazed at his own cheek. He barely talked to his parents, but insulted the driver as if an old friend.
The stocky youth took it in stride. "Well Blue? You comin' or what?"
"First off, I'm Rowen, not 'Blue,'" mock-growled the traveler. Taking a hold of the bag straps, he rolled to his feet. He found his earlier good mood increasing, as though magnified by his new acquaintance's mirth. "Guess it beats walkin' nowhere."
"And I'm Kento," chuckled the second teen. As his passenger got settled, he slid his foot from the pedal. The engine choked, garbled, and lurched forward.
Rowen braced himself as he surveyed his new surroundings. His worst expectations fell flat; except for a wayward candy wrapper, the interior seemed well-kept.
Easing back into the seat, he contemplated every warning he'd heard about hitchhiking. A sensible, level-headed, and fairly perceptive boy, he knew better than to accept rides from strangers. To go with Kento, though, seemed as natural as catching a ride home from school.
With a mental shrug, he threw the caveats out the window. "You know," he remarked to Kento, "You don't even look like you're old enough to drive this piece of junk."
"Hey, that's no way to talk about my wheels," chided Kento, effectively darting the question of age. Noting this, Rowen glanced at him, then let it drop.
A yawn nearly split Rowen's jaw in half, a reminder from the interrupted nap. Once again, he closed his eyes and relaxed.
Gradually, the drone of traffic pulled him back to reality. The open air and sky had been replaced by towers of glass and paths of concrete. People, cars, and buildings crammed together. Though a native city-dweller, Rowen still found himself fighting a twinge of claustrophobia.
Kento announced "Welcome to Toyama." A low rumble echoed through the cabin, which Rowen took to be the motor until he saw the other boy's sheepish grin.
"Hey, all this driving makes me hungry," exclaimed Kento, as Rowen arched an eyebrow.
"That's your stomach? I thought this thing was finally gonna explode."
"Watch it Rowen, or you're not getting any lunch," threatened Kento cheerfully. "Can you reach the bag in behind you?"
Stretching, Rowen's fingers brushed against brown paper. With a grunt, he managed to yank it forward, amazed by the weight. He pulled out a couple of packages and discovered he felt famished.
Kento helped himself. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he unwrapped a hamburger and devoured it in a couple of bites. Rowen followed suit, easily pacing the husky driver.
"Hey, there's plenty…" an eerie silence interrupted Kento. His perpetual smile disappeared; the van sat completely still. "Aw, man," he griped, cranking the ignition.
Gradually, the babble of confused voices replaced the traffic. Cars crammed the street, but not a single one moved. Rowen looked around, foreboding beginning to creep in. Then he looked up.
Kento, about to start raging, noticed the thunder-struck expression on his companion's face. "What…" he glanced around, belatedly noticing he didn't have the only car troubles. Then he followed Rowen's gaze to the sky. "Whoa!"
The heavens seethed. They seemed ready to boil over, wanted to scorch and sear the world below. In the middle of the maelstrom, right above their heads, a castle shimmered into view.
People began to disappear. No screaming, no warning, they simply evaporated. Kento yelled something, which Rowen couldn't catch over his own cry. Twin points of energy encased the boys, one orange and one midnight blue. The power dissipated; sheathed from neck to foot, both boys stood in armor.
His grin re-appearing, Kento stuck out a hand. "Well whatta ya' know. I'm Kento of the Hardrock."
Dressed in a darker metal, Rowen cocked his head. "Rowen of Strata, nice to meet ya.'" He returned the handshake.
A distant clash of metal met their ears, causing Kento's eyes to light up. "Let's go!" he proclaimed eagerly.
_______________________________________________________
The boy in red armor groaned. As the blade came whipping toward him
again, he could only throw up his arms in defense.
The blow never came. Another boy darted in front of the first, blocking the
cut. Puzzled, the warrior in red opened his eyes.
"I'm Rowen of the armor Strata," announced his savior, ignoring the
sting. " This is my friend; head's up!"
A third youth crashed to the ground, driving deep cracks through the
pavement. "Hey buddy, you gonna save all the fun for yourself?" he admonished.
"Call me Kento, of the Hardrock; Justice is my reward."
(Companion to "By Rail")
1.2 by CT
A two-lane road meandered through the countryside. Alongside it strode a boy, backpack slung over one shoulder and absorbed in a book. Whatever his destination, he didn't seem to be in any great hurry.
Once in a while, he managed to pull himself away from the pages and idly survey the scenery. Clouds ambled across the sky, in no more rush than the boy.
Birds circled above, little more than black dots. They swooped and traced idle patterns with their wing-tips. The boy could almost imagine that they sculpted thin air. Grinning at such a fantastic thought, he turned back to the worn paperback.
The power of the words seemed to wane. He found his eyes wandering, taking his mind with them. His measured steps slowed to a shuffle, then stopped altogether. The story simply couldn't compete with the bright day.
"Ah, I guess I'll finish it later," said the boy to no one in particular. Shrugging off the backpack, he slipped the text into a zippered pocket. He contemplated the neon bag for a minute, then dropped it on a patch of dry grass.
Reaching for the sky, he stretched, his shoulders nearly meeting with a loud crack. Then he threw himself next to his load. He didn't know when or where he would be needed; better to get rest while he could. Satisfied with that logic, his bright eyes began to slide shut
In the distance an engine rumbled. One turquoise eye peeked open again, curious.
A van lumbered into view, catching the glare of the sun and obscuring the driver. It chugged along, the engine occasionally coughing a complaint.
Losing interest, the boy settled back down and waited for the noise to subside.
"Hey buddy, need a lift?"
Startled, he sat up. The vehicle idled next to him, muttering threats of mutiny. The dinged paint appeared to be white in origin, though the dust made it hard to tell. "You talkin' to me?"
A stocky boy grinned at him from the driver's seat, ash-blue curls restrained by a headband. "I don't see anyone else around, Blue," he responded, noting the traveler's electric shade of hair.
The traveler blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well," he drawled, his New York accent intentionally thick, "Where are ya goin'?"
The driver's smile shifted, looking a bit bewildered but no less good- natured. "That's kind of the problem, I dunno," he shrugged, "I thought you might."
'Blue' couldn't resist. Suddenly, he found himself in the mood for talk. "What are you, a taxi?"
"What d'you mean?"
"You're just drivin' around and askin' a perfect stranger where to go," he smirked, amazed at his own cheek. He barely talked to his parents, but insulted the driver as if an old friend.
The stocky youth took it in stride. "Well Blue? You comin' or what?"
"First off, I'm Rowen, not 'Blue,'" mock-growled the traveler. Taking a hold of the bag straps, he rolled to his feet. He found his earlier good mood increasing, as though magnified by his new acquaintance's mirth. "Guess it beats walkin' nowhere."
"And I'm Kento," chuckled the second teen. As his passenger got settled, he slid his foot from the pedal. The engine choked, garbled, and lurched forward.
Rowen braced himself as he surveyed his new surroundings. His worst expectations fell flat; except for a wayward candy wrapper, the interior seemed well-kept.
Easing back into the seat, he contemplated every warning he'd heard about hitchhiking. A sensible, level-headed, and fairly perceptive boy, he knew better than to accept rides from strangers. To go with Kento, though, seemed as natural as catching a ride home from school.
With a mental shrug, he threw the caveats out the window. "You know," he remarked to Kento, "You don't even look like you're old enough to drive this piece of junk."
"Hey, that's no way to talk about my wheels," chided Kento, effectively darting the question of age. Noting this, Rowen glanced at him, then let it drop.
A yawn nearly split Rowen's jaw in half, a reminder from the interrupted nap. Once again, he closed his eyes and relaxed.
Gradually, the drone of traffic pulled him back to reality. The open air and sky had been replaced by towers of glass and paths of concrete. People, cars, and buildings crammed together. Though a native city-dweller, Rowen still found himself fighting a twinge of claustrophobia.
Kento announced "Welcome to Toyama." A low rumble echoed through the cabin, which Rowen took to be the motor until he saw the other boy's sheepish grin.
"Hey, all this driving makes me hungry," exclaimed Kento, as Rowen arched an eyebrow.
"That's your stomach? I thought this thing was finally gonna explode."
"Watch it Rowen, or you're not getting any lunch," threatened Kento cheerfully. "Can you reach the bag in behind you?"
Stretching, Rowen's fingers brushed against brown paper. With a grunt, he managed to yank it forward, amazed by the weight. He pulled out a couple of packages and discovered he felt famished.
Kento helped himself. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he unwrapped a hamburger and devoured it in a couple of bites. Rowen followed suit, easily pacing the husky driver.
"Hey, there's plenty…" an eerie silence interrupted Kento. His perpetual smile disappeared; the van sat completely still. "Aw, man," he griped, cranking the ignition.
Gradually, the babble of confused voices replaced the traffic. Cars crammed the street, but not a single one moved. Rowen looked around, foreboding beginning to creep in. Then he looked up.
Kento, about to start raging, noticed the thunder-struck expression on his companion's face. "What…" he glanced around, belatedly noticing he didn't have the only car troubles. Then he followed Rowen's gaze to the sky. "Whoa!"
The heavens seethed. They seemed ready to boil over, wanted to scorch and sear the world below. In the middle of the maelstrom, right above their heads, a castle shimmered into view.
People began to disappear. No screaming, no warning, they simply evaporated. Kento yelled something, which Rowen couldn't catch over his own cry. Twin points of energy encased the boys, one orange and one midnight blue. The power dissipated; sheathed from neck to foot, both boys stood in armor.
His grin re-appearing, Kento stuck out a hand. "Well whatta ya' know. I'm Kento of the Hardrock."
Dressed in a darker metal, Rowen cocked his head. "Rowen of Strata, nice to meet ya.'" He returned the handshake.
A distant clash of metal met their ears, causing Kento's eyes to light up. "Let's go!" he proclaimed eagerly.
_______________________________________________________
The boy in red armor groaned. As the blade came whipping toward him
again, he could only throw up his arms in defense.
The blow never came. Another boy darted in front of the first, blocking the
cut. Puzzled, the warrior in red opened his eyes.
"I'm Rowen of the armor Strata," announced his savior, ignoring the
sting. " This is my friend; head's up!"
A third youth crashed to the ground, driving deep cracks through the
pavement. "Hey buddy, you gonna save all the fun for yourself?" he admonished.
"Call me Kento, of the Hardrock; Justice is my reward."