Patience wasn't one of Matiya's virtues. In fact, it was probably so low on the list as to be virtually non-existent. The Mother required her to be here, in this very spot on this strange patch of bright sunshine, and that's exactly what she'd do. She was an obedient daughter, after all. Besides, who was she to argue with the Higher Divinity. She sighed, and stretched her long legs out straight, staring at the bizarre thing in front of her.
There shouldn't be anything bizarre about a cornfield. Especially on such a day as this. Sun shining down, deep blue sky, small insects buzzing nearby in the air. Nothing bizarre at all, except it wasn't here the day before yesterday. There was no cornfield, no insects, and in this part of the realm, the clouds rarely allowed Sol more than the briefest of peeks through. Someone had burst into the Bloodstone pub the day before yesterday raving about the unexplained apparition. It didn't grow, it didn't fall from above, it just appeared out of thin air overnight and brought its odd sense of bucolic serenity with it.
Matiya knew what it was. It was a sign. A sign from the Prophecy that another King was about to cross over. She also knew that this would be the Fire King, a man that would become a fierce protector and provider for his people as well as one of the founders of a new age of rebirth and order in this realm. Few took her theories or the Prophecy itself seriously, considering it some type of conspiracy theory or mad ramblings on old parchment; but what people thought of her was of no consequence. After all, she had firsthand knowledge of what was happening in The Depths, and who was behind it and if Lee needed proof, this was definitely it! He flatly refused to come with her to investigate the appearance of the cornfield, but stayed behind at the Bloodstone in Schilliner. A few pints and a little smoke would make him more receptive anyway. Damned stubborn bastard he was!
Matiya shifted around in boredom and discomfort. Wasn't easy on her near seven foot frame to be sitting on the ground this long, and the sword on her back grew heavy, as if it hated waiting as much as she did. Finally, she sensed some movement in the corn stalks further back in the field. A cloud passed over Sol for a moment and a breeze with the slightest whiff of rotten vegetation assailed her nostrils. She sat up straight and a slow smile played at her lips. It was about to happen.
"C'mon, Slim. Run like hell." Matiya whispered, and waited...
Malachai stumbled along through the dark rows of corn. At first, he walked in confidently, ready to meet his fate, not even acknowledging his wife Ruth's tearful goodbye. He obeyed the Word of God, this was his destiny! Isaac delivered the message of He Who Walks Behind the Rows, and the Age of Favor had been lowered to eighteen plantings and harvestings. Unfortunately for Malachai, this meant a trip into the sacred corn for his own voluntary self-sacrifice.
He felt honored to become One with his God, but as the rows darkened around him, and a sinister rustling began, he thought perhaps he wasn't in for spiritual enlightenment. The once familiar rows closed in around him, and the feeling of foreboding turned to terror. Eventually, he just ran. His thoughts turned back to Ruth and the child she was about to bear. His first and only child. Ruth was of the opinion she would birth a son, but now he would never truly know. His son would never know him either, and one day he would be running through the corn, as Malachai did now, smelling it's damp energy and wondering exactly what God might do with him when He caught up to him. Malachai began to feel not only terror but betrayal and regret as well.
As he wrestled with his feelings, he sensed a looming presence behind him, catching up to him. He dared not turn around. Dared not look back to see He Who Walks Behind the Rows there. He didn't want to see the face of God! Out of desperation, he hooked left, and burst through a row, turned right and ran straight ahead. The rows were becoming narrow and claustrophobic; the tops closing in over his head. He felt herded and trapped, and began to feel a pain in his chest and left shoulder from the stress the fear and flight put on him. He wasn't sure how much faster he could move, or how much longer he could run.
Directly ahead, he saw what seemed to be daylight. How could that be when the sky over his head was as black as Isaac's hat? The pain in his chest intensified as he ran on. His own body turned on him. His chest felt as if he had swallowed broken glass, and his lungs would no longer take in air. He had the sensation of the Thing behind him reaching for him. At any moment, he expected cold fingers to touch his shoulder, or maybe coil around his ankles. The bright light in front of him continued to shine brighter than before. He thought he could actually see grass and sunlight...and was someone sitting there in the grass? Maybe waiting on him? He wanted to know who was waiting on him. Maybe they'd help him, and help Ruth as well, because this horror would be her fate one day, sooner rather than later. In his heart and soul, he wanted nothing more than to defy this fate, be with Ruth and see his child be born! He wasn't sure if he screamed it or thought, "You canNOT have my soul!" but it was the last thought burning in his mind as his overtaxed heart finally burst and he leaped, through sheer force of will, out of the clutching hands of God and into the light in front of him.
Ruth's fading face was the last picture his mind showed him before he fell into a blinding light. He felt a curious jerking sensation, as if a rope was tied to his spine at the base of his skull and someone was lightly, yet firmly, tugging at it. It was an uncomfortable sensation, yet not painful. He barely had time to register the sensation at all before he crashed through a wall of light and sprawled on grass bathed in brilliant sunshine. As he lay face down trying to get his wind back he heard a low, resonant female voice say, "Well it's about time. Shit, I thought you weren't gonna make it! You got some legs on ya, Slim!"
He glanced up to see an odd-looking woman sitting on the grass a few yards in front of him. Her hair was unkempt, very long, and a slightly deeper red than his own. She wore a black leather jacket, very worn blue jeans and...a sword? Was that the hilt of a sword sticking up from behind her? It sure looked like one. From those few words, Malachai heard the heavy southern accent, and knew she wasn't from Nebraska.
He quickly got to his feet on shaky legs and tried to compose himself. "Who are you Outlander?" The strange woman threw back her head and laughed. Her voice was unnaturally deep, and her laugh gave him an unwelcome shiver.
"Outlander? In case you haven't noticed, Slim, you ain't in Kansas anymore." She became serious and surveyed him with a careful eye, then continued in a low, warning tone, "You're pissin' in my yard now, so you might wanna tread lightly."
Malachai tried to regain some of his previous bravado, he was, after all, the right hand of Isaac. The right hand of Isaac who had just turned his back and ran in the face of God. He thought, before he could stop himself.
Drawing himself up to what he hoped was his most formidable posture he continued, "Who are you to claim this land? This land belongs to the Lord God, He Who Walks Behind the Rows..."
The redheaded woman interrupted him before he got any further. "He Who...what? That's your GOD out there?" She looked slightly annoyed, and then she stood up, and up...and up. She towered by at least a head over Malachai and probably more. "Fuck." She spat, "Lemme tell you about your 'God'." She stepped towards him. "First though, my name's Matiya. You can call me Mattie if you want. Just don't call me late for happy hour." She extended her hand. "Pleased to meetcha, Slim."
Malachai looked at the hand offered to him and willed himself not to step back, "My name is Malachai."
"Yeah...Malachai." She grinned. Wide. Very wide. "You gonna shake my hand, Malachai? I don't bite." As Malachai stared at her outstretched hand she added, "Much." in a low, growly tone, then chuckled.
Malachai narrowed his eyes and glanced up, unwilling to shake this bizarre woman's hand. "I do not associate with Outlanders. You will all be sacrificed! It has been told to Isaac of your fate." While speaking the words, he realized he no longer had the desire for belief in them. It was just a comfortable script to fall back on in this unfamiliar place.
"Ah yes! Isaac! I know about that little sumbitch too. He's been duped like a mark at the carnival. All of you have. You haven't started snappin' to it yet, Malachai? Ever question why you had to celebrate the big one-eight by running through cowshit and cornrows instead going to the titty bar like a normal fella?"
Malachai's expression darkened. "You speak BLASPHEMY, Outlander! This will not be tolerated!" He went for the knife that was still at his side. Though he was untrained and rough, he still had a speed born of repetition. He'd dispatched his fair share of Outlanders in his time. That had been his job after all. He threw the crude weapon at the woman, and was shocked to the core when she flicked out a hand, almost too fast to actually see, and snatched the knife out of the air in mid flight.
She spun it around to handle-up and studied it, proclaiming, "Corncob handle. Ya know, Slim, I could make some real crude jokes here, but I won't cuz..." she looked up and grinned, her teeth had grown. They were longer and pointier! He knew it! "...it'd be counterproductive. Ya dig?" she gave a wink and a nod.
Malachai wasn't sure how to proceed. She wasn't afraid or running away as others had done, and where was he? This felt nothing like Gatlin!
"She knows."
He started and looked into Matiya's green eyes.
"Ruth. She knows it's bullshit. Your son will know too. Play your cards right, and you'll get to see it all come down. Would you like that, Slim? Would like to get a chance to maybe kick God right in the ass?"
"What do you know of Ruth?" He frowned. This woman was almost as strange as Isaac. "Are you a...Seer?"
"Yeah! I see shit! I saw you running through that corn! Tell me, if your 'God'..." she made a grand, sweeping gesture, "...was so damn fantastic and kiss-my-ass wonderful, why were you runnin' from him?"
"I..." Malachai began, and then stopped. Why indeed. Why was he still defending what he sought to escape?
She walked past him and stood at the edge of the corn. He finally was able to see the sword she carried strapped to her back. It was made of an unnatural white metal. Skull motifs adorned the handle, and it was as huge as she was. Even in it's sheath, it was the most beautiful and terrible piece of weaponry he'd ever seen.
"The fella you call God is actually a whiny little bitch of a Lesser. He's HARVESTING all of you like goddamn cattle. Using you to populate his ranks and abuse his station in the scheme of things." She spit into the corn, and it began to rustle. "Your buddy, Isaac thinks he's got some kind of 'favor' with your God, but really he's just a means to an end." She turned back around to face Malachai. "Ever wonder why this last 'sacrifice' pissed him off so much? Wonder why he decided to start taking you earlier? Ever wonder about anything, Slim, or do you just go at it head-down, like a cow up the kill-chute?"
Malachai frowned, yet still felt as if he should provide some kind of rebuttal, "The Lord has provided for us! When the drought came, he made rain and the corn grew! We were favored with abundance, and we gave thanks. We obeyed His Word."
"And for what? To wander off in the corn when life starts taking hold? Long enough for you to be 'fruitful and multiply' but young enough not to ask too many questions?" Matiya pointed at him, then gestured back at the cornfield, "You are one small pool of souls your God draws on. He keeps you young and dumb. Keeps you slaves and servants and he keeps you afraid."
"I fear not in the eyes of God!" Malachai spat, without true conviction.
"You got some good legs on you, Slim." Matiya gave him a sidewise glance and a sly, knowing grin.
"Address me properly! My name is Malachai!" He said fiercely, trying to cover up his own shame and the slight blush that tinged his cheeks.
"Alright, alright! Malachai." She held her hands up in mock defeat. "It's all good. You're the bigtime player here! Tellin' me how it is!"
"Your mocking wears thin, Outlander." He said, his tone more weary than aggressive. He felt tired and confused and out of arguments. If he had been back in Gatlin, he would have slit the throat of this blasphemer immediately. Or not. This woman would have given even Isaac pause. She knew things, and both her stature and the aura she gave off was frightening.
"Well, Malachai. If we're going to be proper felons here, you can quit calling me 'Outlander' and start calling me by name too." She offered her hand to him again. "And whaddya say we get away from this fucking corn and sit down to converse like regular folk. Got someone for you to meet too! We got us a deal?" Matiya gave what she felt was her most charming smile. She looked only slightly less like a shark.
Malachai turned to look behind him at the corn. He should walk right back into it as was promised! Who had promised though? Really? Ruth once again came to his mind, he hadn't turned to look at her as he walked into the rows, but he'd heard the tears in her voice and dammit! He hadn't been ready to leave her, and he wanted to see his child born. He was finished defending this farce!
"I did not want to leave." He said out loud, and with great conviction. "I. Did. NOT." His lips thinned into a determined line as he looked up into the bright green eyes of the giant woman in front of him. "We have an accord, sister Matiya." he said, and shook her hand.
"Well hallelujah! Let's GO!" She laughed and then patted Malachai on the back, a little rougher than he expected. He stumbled forward.
"Still got your knife...shit, you got better blades to look forward to!" She turned back to the cornfield behind them and whizzed the knife into it. "There you go, asshole! Keep your corn, I like peas anyway!" she laughed long and loud. She walked away quickly, and Malachai tried to catch up, not looking back at the corn again. It began to wilt as her fading words continued to float back to it on the gentle breeze, "...and barley and hops and peppermint schnapps...Gods bless the buzz! Over the lips, over the tongue look out brain, here it comes! Let's GET drunk!"
More bawdy laughter followed this jovial, senseless outburst, but not even the corn was listening, as the entire field of it wilted, withered and melted into the ground. It's purpose had been fulfilled, it had delivered it's most precious gift, it's time was past.
"Where are we going? What is this place?" Malachai asked as they made their way down a hill. The brightness of the sunny day faded, getting somehow weaker the further away from the cornfield they got.
"We're headed onto neutral ground. Or...safe ground."
"Safe from what?"
A dry chuckle was his only answer. He studied the woman closer as they walked. Everything about her was loud! Even her clothes were loud. The leather in her jacket creaked, trinkets and chains on it jingled and there was a 'ka-CHINK ka-CHINK' with every step she took. Malachai glanced down at her feet. She had spurs on her boots. He could not ascertain, based on her personality he'd seen thus far, whether they were functional or purely ornamental.
She also loved to talk, but most of the things she said made no sense to him. She rambled about war and music and...partying. Whatever that was. He honestly tried to understand, but it was like another language. He felt a moment of homesickness, wishing he was back in Gatlin with Ruth where things made sense and he had control over his situation. He felt very small here. The stature of his new companion didn't help either. She was the tallest person he had ever seen. She was most likely near seven feet tall. Where did a women such as her come from? She was positively unnatural!
Sighing, he looked to his right, at a low hut-like structure a ways off the road and then stopped dead in his tracks.
Realizing the young man was no longer at her side, Matiya stopped and turned around. "What's up, man?" Matiya saw Malachai staring at a trail leading to a small homestead.
"What...are...those things?" He pointed at several creatures moving around outside the hut. They might have been three feet high at most. They couldn't be more than waist-high on him, and had skin the color of grass. In fact, when he looked closer, they appeared to be made of grass, or some plantlike material. They also had two sets of eyes, one set in the place you'd expect them, and another smaller set immediately under those. Two of the green creatures communicated with each other somehow, through chirps and peeps while a few others stood listening to them. Sensing they had an audience, all of the little green creatures turned their many sets of eyes on Malachai and Matiya, and then all of them held their arms straight out, palms-up.
"Those are Weedlings. They're harmless. They live all through the hills in those little mudhuts. They raise Shimai goats and keep to themselves." Matiya raised her hands in a similar gesture, only positioned her palms facing the Weedlings. They all bowed slightly and went about their business. She watched Malachai stand there staring, his mouth hanging open. Finally she sighed in irritation, "You're catching flies! Let's GO! Told you we weren't in Kansas anymore."
"Nebraska! I am from Gatlin, Nebraska." He looked back up at her with big, deep blue eyes. He seemed so very young in that instant. Young and lost and confused. He had no idea what fate had in store for him, or what had been foretold to Matiya during her journey into The Depths. There were a great many things to be revealed to this poor, young fellow.
Matiya just shrugged and told him, "Same difference. Come on, man. Can't keep Lee waiting, because he's an asshole sometimes."
"Is this Lee your Seer?"
Matiya laughed. "No. He's like you and me...a warrior. Well, when he's not being an asshole." She noted Malachai's puzzled expression, and continued, "You didn't come here on vacay, Mal. There's a purpose to everything, and before you ask, we'll talk about it all at The Bloodstone when you meet everyone. Schilliner is just ahead!"