SQUEEE The Vorpal Blade has been nominated for Best Spike w/Others at The Lost In Spike Awards.

Chapter 4

"Tara, Luv. Think we're almost there." Spike's voice was cracked, his words almost undecipherable.

It didn't matter. She heard him but without understanding. Exhaustion left her in a state close to unconsciousness. Her mind had been aware of what was happening around her, the tramp of soldiers' feet, a light drizzle of rain, the moon falling and the sun rising. She had felt no reaction to any of it, her mind too tired to process what it absorbed.

The smell of wood fire and cooking food tickled her nose and the pain in her stomach roused her, hunger and stress forming a porcupine ball in her gut. Her surroundings solidified as her waking state replaced the dream world she had inhabited. People, real people, surrounded her. She heard the clop of feet on cobblestone, realized she was passing merchants' stands and buildings and carefully tended gardens. The hum in her ears separated into distinct sounds, human speech, animal cries, insects buzzing, mud splashing, metal on metal. She was conscious of the warmth where the sun played upon her face in contrast to the chill of the morning. Voices looped in and out as she trudged along.

"...and I saw the white army moving across..."

"Buy a pie! Fresh and hot! Give me your penny, get the best I've got!"

"Have you heard the latest rumors? The red..."

Hope sparked and she looked around eagerly. The momentary energy faded at once. She and Spike were still prisoners of the playing card soldiers. The cardboard men were surreal in the light of day, in sharp contrast to the normal people and the village around them. Strange they might be, but none of the villagers spared them a glance, finding Spike and Tara to be far more interesting. Men, women and children followed at a distance, careful not to hinder the procession but watching the prisoners, whispering and pointing and laughing. Tara averted her eyes, too shy and ashamed to look anyone in the eye. She felt like a monkey on display for the amusement of the crowd.

She scrubbed at her eyes. They were gritty from dust and the dryness that comes from crying all the moisture away and her efforts only made them worse. She looked up at Spike's face. He was tight-lipped and grim. His pale, white skin was patchy with grey and his eyes were sunken. His once bright hair had become wet in the rain then matted down with dust. He looked ill.

Tara realized one of her feet was sitting on top of Spike's while her shoeless foot dangled off the ground. He was throwing his hip out and bending sideways at the waist, and she was draped against him. He carried all her weight, moving with an awkward crab-like step. She hampered him more than the chains did.

Her struggle to pull away without tripping caught his attention and his lips moved. Tara thought he was trying to smile. Her eyes were too dry. She had no tears left or she would have cried when she saw that his lips cracked and bled at the attempt.

She shifted so she was standing on her own two feet and had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. She couldn't let Spike know how much it hurt. She was through being a burden. She steeled herself to walk steadily, not betraying the pain that radiated from the lacerations and bruises. From this moment on, she was going to carry her own weight.

Why was Spike's skin so dry?

She felt ill herself, tired, hungry, and foot-sore. She ran her tongue along her lips. They were chapped a bit but not bleeding. She felt her face and found tiny cuts and scrapes but nothing as raw and flaky as Spike's skin. Probably because he'd done everything! He'd carried her in the run from the Jabberwock, prepared and cooked the dinner they never got a chance to eat, and fought the soldier. And he'd done all the work while they marched. He'd carried her--and he was the one in chains! She felt so worthless. She should have gone in the cart. She hadn't wanted to be separated from him but instead of being helpful she had been a nuisance. Again.

Now that she was awake she was afraid. What would happen when they arrived at their destination? What was their destination?

She examined the tall, dark wall of granite they were following. Great craftsmanship had gone into the original construction, the granite blocks laid out in a pleasing pattern, each block carefully aligned, but the mortar had eroded with age and there were signs of recent repair. Small apertures, inset at frequent intervals enhanced the design and Tara peered through one as she passed. Bright green eyes peered back, widening as they met hers then squinting suspiciously. The shadows of the aperture made the eyes seem part of the wall itself. They followed her for as long they could. Curious, she peered into the next gap and found green eyes waiting to catch hers. They couldn't be the same eyes... could they? Her skin crawled. She thought of paintings where the eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you stood.

She decided to quit looking through the apertures and craned her neck upward to see just how high the wall was. It loomed into the sky and she thought it was four or five times her height. She was very close and supposed that might make it seem taller. That might be why it seemed so forbidding. Sharp, pointed rods jutted along the top and Tara wondered whether they were meant to keep people in or out. She supposed she would find out--they were approaching an entryway.

More card soldiers guarded the entrance. They stood in small clusters of three or four, the soldiers in each group standing so closely together they overlapped and a picture formed in her mind, cards in her hand, fanned out so she could see what she held. She wondered if that were the soldiers' nature, to stay together like a deck of cards. One of the guards broke free from his neighbors, moved forward, and slapped hands with one of her escorts.

"Hey! These the prisoners we been hearing of? This the lad what took out Queen Walsh's pride n' joy? Don't look so much." The guards gathered round and Tara resisted the urge to shrink into herself at their scrutiny. She moved so she was between them and Spike. He didn't seem to be aware of their existence and she felt the need to protect him from their gaze.

Eight of Spades wagged a hand with grave importance. "We've taken a bit of the piss out of him. But don't let looks deceive. He's a right scoundrel and make no mistake about it. Took out Six of Clubs in a blink. Weren't for his lady we would've had a fight on our hands, fer sure."

"Looking ferward to that tale over a tall one. Best you get on to the courthouse fer now. No need to draw more demerits than you have to."

The conversation over, the soldiers moved them through the archway and Tara's gaze was drawn irresistibly up. A Castle! The darkness of the night and her dreamlike state had kept her from seeing this as they approached, and once in the village she had been unable to see past the buildings. The entrance led to an outer courtyard and now she was presented with turrets and battlements, a wooden bridge and a moat that was filled with dark, turgid water.

She blinked. The castle was a vision in stark black and white. The sun gleamed against white stone and dark oily shadows advanced wherever the sun could not touch. The fortress was solid and she couldn't deny the evidence of her eyes but it seemed unreal like the soldiers, a fantasy creation. Her mind tried to slide around it. She glanced at Spike to assess his reaction but his eyes were unfocused. Now that she was aware, he seemed to have retreated into his own dreamworld. Tara felt her heart squeeze. Spike was sick. She was going to have to take care of him. She wasn't sure she could take care of herself.

A steady stream of soldiers, villagers, carts and animals moved back and forth over the bridge and in and out of the castle entrance. She could see the chains and apparatus that would allow a gate to be hoisted or lowered, could see the lower rungs of the gate. The entrance made her think of a mouth alternately swallowing and spitting, its jagged teeth hovering and ready to snap closed at any moment. They crossed the bridge and she dragged her feet. She didn't want to enter but a shove at her back told her she had no choice.

Color! In contrast to its black and white exterior, the inner courtyard was dotted with color, shrubbery in a dozen shades of green, flowers and fruits, and banners flapping in the breeze, all multi-hued and bright. The tints and shades dazzled Tara's eyes. She was dizzied by the hubbub and bustle of the crowd that surged and thronged around her. Voices were loud and shrill and the sound of laughter fluted through the air. She could see the castle was actually a conglomeration of buildings, extensions and attachments, a collection of man-made mushrooms sprouting in, out, under and around each other, so close as to be almost indistinguishable.

"C'mon, c'mon, pick up yer feet, Missy. We're mostly there so now's not the time to tarry. Pick up yer feet." Tara felt hands at her back, pushing and saw the soldiers were extending the same treatment to Spike. He reeled, his feet caught up in his chains and she threw her arms around him, pulling him up. She shifted so she could take some of his weight and it frightened her when he didn't protest.

When the soldiers pushed at them yet again, Tara felt something break in her mind and anger flooded out.

"Back off! He can't walk any faster! I f you wanted him to, you shouldn't have put chains on him." Something seemed to spark, something elusive, seen only from the corner of her eye and the soldiers gasped. They held up their hands so she could see they weren't going to push.

The Eight of Spades spoke up but his tone was respectful. "We're late, Missy. We need to hurry and it's yer necks on the line, too. Just a wee bit further. If yer could move a little faster--it's not good being tardy in King Snyder's Court." He pointed to a doorway just a short distance away. Two steps or two hundred steps. Tara wasn't sure either she or Spike could move any faster.

One of Hearts emerged from the building and ran toward them, waving his spindly arms. "Hurry. Hurry up! They're just finishing the last case and if you hurry you'll be on time!"

The Eight of Spades seemed energized. "See, Missy. Yer lucky. If you'll just move it along we'll get no demerits."

Tara tried. Spike gave no sign of awareness. He simply continued to move one foot forward and then the other. Tara attempted to pull him closer, to balance him onto one of her feet in the same way he had carried her earlier but he made no effort to cooperate and she only caused them both to stumble. They fell and the Eight of Spades and One of Hearts grabbed them, setting them back on their feet.

"Careful, little girl. You almost fell into a shadow! Here let him go. Eight, you get on the other side." Between the two of them, the soldiers hoisted Spike off his feet and they jogged away, letting Tara fend for herself.

She trotted as fast as she could but realized she wasn't moving. She couldn't run fast enough or perhaps she wasn't magic enough. She looked around and found she was further from the building then she had been a moment before. She couldn't even run fast enough to stay in place! She thought hard for a moment and stopped running. She took deliberate steps, walked at a careful pace and she moved. What kind of world was this? I f she walked she proceeded as normal, but when she ran she stood still!

As she walked she could see that all the people, all the animals were careful to stay in the sun, deftly avoiding the darker pathways, careful to be completely in the light, not even a finger or toe allowed to fall into the shade. She had noticed too, when she fell, that the nearby shrubs seem strangely sunken, the leaves sparse and withered in the shaded areas. It made her think of the gasping flowers in the meadow where she and Spike had met. For some reason, it made her think of Spike's face.

One of the remaining soldiers drew near. "Missy? Yer need to snap along. Do yer need some help?"

Tara could only nod. The soldier swung her over his shoulder so she hung face down and her rump was in the air and Tara could see the people around her laughing merrily at her plight. She was certain she looked like a sack of meal. The soldier's shoulder was thin and sharp and cut into her belly.

She was jounced and bounced as the soldier trotted along, and she didn't want to look at the faces of the strangers around her. She was glad when the soldier picked up speed and the faces blurred. The uneven gait made her teeth rattle but she suspected they would be chattering even if she were standing still. There was something so wrong here. And whatever it was, it was affecting Spike. She wished her soldier would hurry. She didn't like being separated from Spike, even for a moment.

The soldier passed by a tree and a protruding branch scraped across her arm, leaving streaks of green and brown behind. The streaks had an oily smell and Tara recognized it. Paint. The branch had been painted! Suspicion bloomed in her mind and she tried to look closely at the fauna as they whizzed by but the soldier reached the courthouse and they entered.

She was facing the door, slung over the soldier's shoulder and she struggled, tried to shift her position so she could see. A man's voice, petulant and shrill, was ringing, echoing off the walls.

"Off with his head! OFF-WITH-HIS-HEAD!"

Spike! They were going to behead Spike!

Tara felt the porcupine ball in her gut spread its spines and she wanted to double over from the pain.

TBC...