CHAPTER 11
His head throbbed like someone was using it for a drum. That was the first indication that he was alive.
The Joker groaned as he slowly got to his feet. What he needed was some Excedrin. What he got was a shock. Rubbing his temples, he began to look around to get his bearings. What he saw didn't match what he expected.
He'd half expected to find himself back in his cell at Arkham. He was pleasantly surprised to see that was not the case. But he was no less puzzled. Where was he? He didn't remember there being any forests in Gotham City.
Briefly, he thought that his gang had spirited him out of the city, but instantly dismissed the idea. He was, as far as he could tell, alone out here. On the off chance though, he called out to his various minions. Nada. Then how could he—
Of course! He slapped himself upside the head, instantly regretting it. The time machine, that was the only answer. Somehow in the explosion the machine must have transported him somewhere. But where? Or when?
Who cares, as long as he was away from 'Flatman'? Anything beyond that wasn't an immediate concern.
He was about to try and make his way towards civilization (whichever one it may turn out to be), when he heard shouting not far away. At the same time, he noticed smoke rising up out of the canapé in the same direction. A forest fire? Great. Where was Smokey the Bear when you needed him? But as he continued to watch, the fire didn't seem to be reaching the rest of the trees, and the shouting was now intermixed with what sounded like steel ringing out. Like a hammer on a forge or something. Intrigued, the Joker headed towards the clatter.
When he parted the last branch, he found himself in a rather large clearing. But the woodland splendor was lost on the purple clad figure. His attention was drawn elsewhere.
For example, the rampaging mob that was running through the village at will, looting, burning, and killing.
Bemused, he strolled through the village witnessing the carnage with the approving eye of a professional. Yes, now this was the stuff! All thoughts of his headache vanished as he allowed the ecstasy of the moment wash over him.
He amiably wandered around, a perpetual calm in the whirlwind around him. He passed frightened villagers running for their lives, occasionally tripping one up to help the chasing marauders.
Women with babes fled into the woods to escape the savagery that had descended upon them. Men fell to the ground, their brains spilling out like ripe fruit. Houses fell down as structures gave way to the ravages of fire. All this and more the Joker watched with total approval.
Whoever was in charge of this merry band of murderers was efficient, the Joker gave them that. Not that imaginative, but they made up for that in brutality. Yes, the Joker mused to himself, not a bad raid.
Idly, he picked up a fallen knife. Nice blade. He balanced it in his hand. Good feel too.
"What's that?" He heard a feminine voice to his left. Turning, he saw a blond haired woman come into view from behind the huts. She was flanked by several men.
"N-nuth'n," the man quickly shoved something down the back of his pants. Amused, the Joker lounged against a hut.
"Tsk, tsk…" The woman slowly shook her head in mock sympathy. "You know I don't like liars Caloklic. And I like people who steal from me even less." Her eyes narrowed, all pretense of understanding gone.
"If there's one thing I expect, even from scum, it's obedience. I decide who gets what, or did you forget that? Whatever we take is mine. And I decide what's to be done with it. Isn't that right boys?" The other men grunted affirmatives.
"If we can't trust each other," she said, all wide-eyed innocence, "who can we trust?" Then the 'innocence' was gone, and in its place was a maniacal gleam that reminded the Joker of someone. Oh yeah, that good-looking chap he saw whenever he looked in a mirror.
"Callisto," Caloklic warbled, backing away from the woman and her knot of adherents. "Let's not do anything we'd be ah regrett'n, okay?"
"Oh, I won't regret this…"
Turning on his heel, Caloklic dashed away, with the group right after him.
With the merest flick of his wrist, the Joker tossed his newfound knife into the back of the retreating figure. Caloklic let out a gasp, then dropped like a stone to the ground, dead. The action brought the pursuing group up short, and for the first time they noticed the strangely-clad figure with chalk white skin and emerald green hair.
"Good help is so hard to find," The Joker said, shaking his head ruefully.
All looked at the man worriedly, except for Callisto, who, unperturbed, detached herself from the group. Walking up to the Joker, she looked from the dead figure of Caloklic to him and back.
Meanwhile, the Joker was examining Callisto just as closely.
It was quite obvious by now that this woman was the orchestrater of these festivities. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was a bit surprised. He knew women were capable of such brutality (why should men have a corner on the market?), but he had never come across one. This lady was the real deal. No simpering goody-goody wannabe like Catwoman, and obviously possessing more intelligence than Harley Quinn could ever hope for.
The look in her eye, the way she held herself, right down to her attire, it all spelled one thing to the Joker: kinship. A feeling quite foreign to the Clown Prince of Crime. To travel who knows where, and over who knew how many years, to end up finding a kindred spirit. Or perhaps, dare he hope, an equal?
To Callisto, the man was an enigma, and she found herself for the first time in a long time interested in something. Curiosity was alien to Callisto - if she couldn't gut, burn, or pillage it, she didn't care about it. But this man held her attention.
His clothes were like nothing she had ever seen. Everything from the cut to the uniformity of the color, to the color itself, was unknown to her. But the clothes were only part of the mystery.
His face, and what other parts of exposed skin she could see, was the whitest white she had ever seen. Not flesh toned, but actually white. White as milk. In fact, the only deviation she could see was the lips, which were blood red. A red that no amount of berry juice could procure. And to top off this brightly odd looking figure was green hair.
But as much as his appearance interested her, it was the less obvious, the subtle things, that really gave Callisto food for thought.
First off, his actions. Here he was, surrounded by death and destruction, and he didn't even bat an eye, as though he were used to it, or even approved of it. And his demeanor towards being confronted by a large body of armed killers was complete indifference. He held himself surely, coolly, not intimidated. And then there was his killing of Caloklic. Why had he done it? It wasn't his fight. He had had no stake in the matter. To impress her? No, she immediately dismissed the thought. This was a man who felt he needed to impress no one, of that Callisto was sure. So then, cold blood.
So here was a man, indolently lounging in a blood bath, killing for pleasure, and seemingly unconcerned by her approach. She was fascinated by the spectacle. She had never met anyone like him, in either looks or demeanor.
As she drew up to him, the man stuck out his hand.
"Joker's the name, larceny's the game."
***
"Uhhhhhhh…" Robin grabbed his head, which at the moment felt as though it was going to explode.
What happened? Still holding his head, Robin slowly opened his eyes. While he didn't know what he expected, being in the middle of a dirt path running through what looked to be a forest was not it.
Gingerly getting to his feet, Robin freed some aspirin from his utility belt and swallowed them. Having done what he could for his head, he set about figuring out where and when he was. Robin was bright; he realized that after the explosion he'd blacked out, then when he woke up he was somewhere he shouldn't be. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
He was on a path that ran in two directions. From the look of things, traffic was fair both ways, so one being as good as another, he chose east.
He hadn't gotten very far when he heard someone coming around a bend up ahead. He froze. It just occurred to him to question what he should do when encountering someone. He had no real idea at what point in time he had landed. He could be anywhere from one to one thousand years in the past. He could end up meeting anyone from a Dutch colonist to a caveman. The travesties that could result were rife.
Quickly coming to a decision, the Boy Wonder ducked behind a rock to the side of the path. From here he could secret himself and observe who was coming, and maybe get an idea of where and when he was.
***
Gabrielle rounded the bend in high spirits, swinging her pack, singing (slightly off key) about adventure and the open road.
Robin watched from behind his rock, taking her in with his eyes.
She carried with her a staff. This told Robin that there were many dangers around for one to have to arm themselves. It also told him that there was no centralized government, no police force to depend on for protection. And the weapon itself denoted a more primitive time period. How primitive he couldn't be sure of until he had more information, but off the top of his head he'd guess anywhere from 2,000 BC to AD 1000.
The girl's clothing didn't bear any distinguishing features, so he couldn't really make out where he was.
She must be a competent fighter, judging by her easy handling of the weapon and desire to travel a wooded, possibly criminal strewn, path by herself. She was young, not more than four or five years older than himself, Robin would wager.
She was inherently non-violent by nature, as evidenced by her weapon of choice, which pleased Robin. He could see various objects which appeared to be paper scrolls poking out of her carry sack, which, by the way she was handling it, was her own. That could mean she was an intellectual of some sort, which would fit in with the non-violent tendencies.
Green 'sports bra', brown skirt, same colored boots… all very 'earthy' tones. So while he couldn't mark her nationality from them, he could tell that she was a gentle person. The cool colors fit in with the rest of the overall image.
And by her decided stride, she obviously knew where she was going. So, it was at that moment that he set about following her. She'd eventually lead him to some sort of civilization, and he could go from there.
Slipping out from behind the rock, he took to the forest, shadowing the girl.
***
The village was in disarray. Night had fallen, and the pale moon was helped in its luminescence by the fires that burned in the hulk that had once been a community.
Women wailed, clutching their dead loved ones, rocking to and fro the way only the suffering do. Children cried out for their parents, weeping pitifully, while dogs growled and fought over the flesh of what had once been their masters.
It was this scene of brutality and horror that Xena found herself staring at from the edge of the meadow.
Men stood in groups or singly, saying nothing, doing nothing. As though they were some sort of puppets that, without anyone at the moment pulling their strings, had collapsed upon themselves, no more animated than the blackened spars of what had once been their homes.
Callisto's reign of terror had already begun. Xena clenched her teeth in impotent fury. These people would never be the same. Oh sure, in time they may rebuild their village, remarry, even have more kids, but they would be forever scarred. The hurt they had sustained would never go away, the pain would be forever etched in their memories.
An inarticulate rage swept over Xena. If only she had been here, if only Callisto hadn't escaped, if only she herself had never visited Cicera… The thoughts of self-blame only fueled the fire. In such a state she could not think clearly. She only wanted to lash out at the perpetuators of this heinous crime. To atone for herself in some measure by beating on them.
It was in the midst of this clouded thinking that she saw a shadowy figure at the periphery of the village, bending over, poking around stuff. Scavengers. Dirty rotten scavengers. Men who would go among the dead to take what they could that was of value. Men who made their living at the expense of the misfortune of others.
Incensed, she strode towards him boldly, the glare of the fires behind her lending a sinister corona to her outline. But so immersed in his activity was he, that the man didn't notice Xena until she was upon him.
He let out a startled squawk as he was hauled roughly to his feet.
"Wha—what—" The rest of the sentence was snatched from his throat by the slap across his face.
Tasting blood in his mouth, the man looked frantically at his assailant.
"What are you—" Xena slammed the man into a tree. The tree reverberated with the impact.
The terror in his eyes held no solace for Xena. The aggression, the guilt, the suffering she felt unleashed itself in wave after unrelenting wave.
Above the laments of the villagers, none could hear the slap of flesh upon flesh as Xena struck savagely at the man. He was already nearing unconsciousness while Xena was just getting warmed up.
She slammed him into the tree again, jolting him to alertness. She was beyond rational thought at this point; she wanted only to assuage the pain she felt in her soul. The scavenger was only the trigger for the release of her pent-up frustrations. The trigger, and the target.
She was about to hit him some more when a voice sounded from the night:
"Stop."
Xena whirled around, the man forgotten. She could make out only the vaguest of man-shaped forms. The scavenger's partner? A returning raider?
"This isn't your fight." She turned back to the scavenger and backhanded him. It was then that she could sense the stranger reaching for her. In one quick movement she released the scavenger and spun around to slash at the specter. Only her arm whistled harmlessly through mere air.
Surprise flickered across her features for the briefest instant before she collapsed to her knees, the wind driven out of her. Gasping for breath, she saw the stranger clearly for the first time.
He wore a cape, that much Xena could make out. That, and he seemed to be wearing a mask of some sort. It looked like the cowl ended with two points at the top, like ears almost. The rest was turned away from her as he bent over the scavenger.
Having assured himself of whatever it was he'd been occupying himself with, he left the scavenger to come stand in front of Xena.
But in the brief reprise she'd been able to recover herself, and when the masked man stopped in front of her, she acted. With lighting speed, she knocked the legs out from underneath her would-be foe. Having him at an equal advantage, she leaped at him, only to see the man roll away and get to his feet in one deft move. Following suit, Xena eyed her opponent coolly, sizing him up.
Six-two, six-three, athletic build. The cape would be a liability, she noted academically as they circled each other. Or at least she was circling him. He was just turning on his heel, watching her as intently as she was him. Perhaps more so. A cry tearing from her lips, Xena initiated combat.
A quick left jab was blocked even as the man's other hand came at Xena's head. Dodging, she barely avoided the blow while bringing up an elbow to the stranger's face. No sooner did impact seem imminent, than the figure's head snapped back, missing the attack by centimeters.
Slightly off balance by the miss, Xena felt a crushing pain in her lower ribs as an open handed thrust hit home. Grunting at the pain, she reversed her momentum and swung her elbow back the way it had come, and while it missed again, the knee she brought up didn't, slamming home into the solar plexus. She was rewarded by the grunt it elicited.
But before she could capitalize, the man took advantage of his doubled up position and body tackled her. Then, using Xena's prone form to catapult himself into a summersault, ended up landing on his feet.
He had already turned around and was waiting by the time Xena stumbled up. Open handed, he just stood there, as implacable as ever. Eyeing him more warily, Xena launched another attack.
Block, block, thrust, parry; they were a blur as Xena pressed the offensive, ever backing up the caped figure. Snapping out a kick, Xena felt nothing but air, then the next second she felt nothing at all as the outstretched limb went numb. Inhaling with shock, she tumbled to the ground. Frantically, she looked for her opponent, only to see him standing nearby, the same complacent look on his face. He had no intention of attacking her while she was down.
Had she been thinking straight, that would have set off bells in her head, but as it was, her wounded pride was foremost on her mind. Grimly, she jabbed at her leg, hitting the specific pressure points needed to restore the flow of blood.
So, he knew pressure points. Definitely not your common thug. An assassin then? Could Callisto have known she would be through here and had this guy waiting? She shook her head, both to clear it and to banish the thought. No, that wasn't Callisto's style. She wanted Xena herself. But whoever he was, one thing was for sure. He was going down.
Hoping she'd had time to cool down, the mysterious man addressed her, palms upraised.
"I don't want to fight…"
"Too late for that buster!" she snarled, cutting off whatever else he was going to say. Xena went into full attack mode.
She'd never seen anyone like him. He was without a doubt the best fighter she'd ever met. Regardless of what she did, no matter how spectacular the move or difficult the counter, he kept pace.
Up, over, around and through the clearing they fought. But for every shot Xena managed to land, the stranger landed two of his own.
Ducking a kick, Xena tried for a foot sweep. But he flipped in mid air, landing upright, negating the desired result of the move and struck out a foot of his own at Xena's midriff, which landed with a resounding "Offfph!"
But she blocked the palm seeking her face that followed, and threw out a punch of her own. However, the next moment her gut was giving her fits again by having an elbow jammed into it.
So it went on, a match of martial arts prowess the likes of which the world had seldom seen. Xena had learned many styles and many tricks traveling the world. From Egypt to Chin, from Britannia to Rome, she had wandered. And all these came fully to bear against the strange-eyed man before her.
Thinking to gain the advantage, Xena sought to take the fight up into the trees. But even as she let out her war cry and back flipped into the branches, her erstwhile 'partner' was nowhere to be seen.
Startled, she looked back to the ground where she had left him: not there. Looking about the tree, she came up fruitless as well.
It was only her keen hearing that gave her time to dodge to the side, avoiding the metal disk by mere inches. But it was enough to set her off balance, forcing her to correct herself by leaping to the ground.
Coming up on both feet, Xena was rocked by a foot impacting into the side of her head.
Caught off guard, it was followed up with a blow to the middle that bent Xena double. And it was all topped off with a wasp-like movement to the neck, which Xena, dimly through the pain, recognized was a nerve pinch.
The last thing she saw before blacking out was the masked face of her opponent hovering over her.
"Who… are… you…?" She managed to croak out.
She wasn't sure if it was the thunder and lighting that struck just then, distorting his words or not, but what he said would ring through her brain while she slept.
"I am… Batman."