EDIT: Fixed an error that was brought to my attention. Apologies, folks!
Glad everyone liked the last chapter! It was a pain to write, and I did struggle a little, but I think it came out pretty good! I'll be trying to alternate between comedic chapters like that and more story heavy ones like this one. Funnily enough, just like Season 5! Speaking of pains to write, this chapter! The Thomas sections were actually perfectly fine (Micheal Angelis's James is amazing to write for, at least he is before the scripts started getting a bit thin and the voice began to grate on your nerves in a way that wasn't funny), it was the bloody story parts that drove me up the wall. You'll probably see as you go along what I actually mean.
CUE THE THEME.
...
Thomas the Tank Engine had been working in the coal yards all day. The little blue engine was very, very annoyed, as he was plastered in coal dust. That, and this was the seventh day in a row that he had been forced to work at the coal yards instead of the other engines. When asked why he was, once again, being forced to work when the other engines were supposedly on the rotor, he was bluntly informed that "Life isn't fair, get used to it, asshole" by a certain red and very loud engine.
"We can't clean you up tonight, Thomas!" called his driver, who looked miserable. Well, how would you like having to work in a filthy place with a rather loud-mouthed tank engine? "There's a problem with the hose pipe."
"What kind of problem?"
"It doesn't work."
"Bother!" said Thomas, his face looking as though he had found something unpleasant that a cat had done "A bath would have been great! Now I'll have to endure all the bloody nicknames back at the sheds! 'How Black is My Coal Yard?'. 'Thomas the Black-Eyed Pea', they'll never end!"
He was surprised to see that they weren't all waiting to mock him. In fact, they were too busy arguing to notice Thomas. On the one hand, he was pleased, because he really didn't want to put up with a whole night of mocking. On the other hand, he was pissed, because that meant no one was paying him any attention. Truly this was a conundrum.
It won't surprise anyone that the source of this argument was James. Impressively, in the few years since the Callan incident, his voice had managed to increase in volume to the point where an alternative nickname for him was 'The Foghorn', which he lived up to as he spoke loudest of all. "I DESERVE A NEW COAT OF PAINT, AND I ALWAYS HAVE DONE! THE FAT CONTROLLER SAYS THAT I AM THE PRIDE OF THE LINE AND-"
"RABBISH!" declared Henry, and took great joy in the way James's eye twitched briefly. "First off, quieten down! You sound like Brian Blessed with a megaphone. Secondly, we're all the pride of the line, and Fatty called you it to get you to shut up! You've been whining all bloody week, and you haven't had to do any of the nasty jobs that I've had to take on!"
"It's been like this all day." grunted Percy. "James, surprise surprise, is getting a brand new coat of paint, and he's not stopped boasting about it for a second."
"Why James!? Why is it always sodding James who gets to have the new coat of paint, and not me!? LOOK AT ME."
"I'd rather not." said James, rather snootily "You're not a pleasant sight, and like every other engine here, you won't understand the needs of a very important engine!"
"Oh, well, alert me when you find one!" And on this note, Thomas fumed away into the shed, where he remained sulking for the rest of the night.
...
Carlin had, several centuries away from Thomas the Tank Engine, two things in common with Sodor's Number One.
One, he too was very uncomfortable. His costume was itchy in all the wrong places, which meant that it was probably accurate to the time, but also made sure that he couldn't really stop fidgeting.
And two, he too was surrounded by bickering people who paid little to no attention to him, which he felt was really odd. Though in his case, it was less because he was hungry for attention, and more because they had come out of nowhere and had a rather weak excuse.
"GOD HAS FORSAKEN US!" wailed the priest. Carlin remembered that the vicar who had saved Trevor from scrap had been terrified of a curse supposedly passed down throughout the years, placed upon the line by this very man in front of him. He seemed to be on the verge of giving in completely to his despair, his entire habit seemed to be in disarray, and his eyes were wild. "He has given us a sign that we have not been burning enough Protestants at the stake! He is cold from the lack of heat, and he has sent judgement upon us all-"
"Oh SHUT UP." snapped Catweazle. The old man was bent over several large parchments, muttering and cursing under his breath as he looked through them. Carlin couldn't see them, but Benn could, and Carlin was interested to see his time travelling companion widen his eyes in shock.
"What use is your faith if you abandon it the moment things get hard?!" snapped the man in the helmet. The man of the cloth shook his head and retreated away, muttering about all the heathens. He turned, and nodded wearily to Carlin. "Noggin, King of the Nogs."
"Carlin, King of the Pub." It was the best he could come up with in this situation. "Those are your men out there?"
"Yes." Noggin bit his lip and looked out. "i am sending them to their deaths, while we sit around here and do NOTHING!" He slammed his hand upon the table. "We need to act now!"
"And we will-!" quavered another old man, this one wearing a light turquoise robe and rolling something that looked like a medieval Rubik's Cube between his fingers "-as soon as his majesty's mage works out what it is we'll be doing!"
Catweazle glanced up, zeroing in on Carlin. It unnerved him, to be frank, the way that this old man seemed to recognize him. But how could he? He had no recollection of ever meeting someone like this, and considering the smell, it was hard to imagine that he'd ever forget. "Now listen to me, all of you." He had the complete attention of everyone around him. "There is no weapon of man that can destroy this foul creature of darkness. Clearly, the Nogs have proved that in rather...interesting fashions. However, there is a way. We have among us two sorcerers of great power, and in my case, great intelligence, we have a creature of the supernatural who has a good understanding of a different kind of magic, we have with us a viking-" He gestured towards Carlin "-who has in his possession a magic that I have never seen before in my life."
Carlin was confused, until he suddenly realized that his whistle was leaking gold dust. The gold dust was the power that Catweazle spoke of. The wizard continued.
"Now, your blacksmiths, Noggin. I would ask you to tell them that construction must begin upon one of these." As he handed the picture to the confused viking, Carlin was surprised to see that it was a very modern Polaroid. "Pour enough of our magic into it, and it shall act as a agent through which we can destroy the Malevolence permanently.
Silence for a moment.
"Get on with it, man!"
...
1998.
James smirked as the workmen began work on his new coat of paint. Tarpaulins had been set up, not only to make sure that the repainting went well, but also to protect James's rather sensitive skin, as it were, from burning in the sun. Henry puffed on by, doing a quick bit of shunting, and scoffed very loudly at the sight of James. This cost him very dearly.
He wasn't looking where he was going, and as he bumped into a line of trucks, the two at the end of the line were knocked over a rather ramshackle pair of buffers that should have been fixed a long time ago. Henry groaned to himself, as the Pinchers began to repair the damage as best they could.
"If you can't work with trucks without throwing a paddy, Henry, why not talk to a tree!? They'll understand your plight, and you know how much you like the forest!" James chortled to himself, thinking that he was a rather clever dick. Well, he was half right.
Henry dearly wished he had fingers to make rude gestures at James. He had to settle for scoffing. "Well, if you'd actually pay attention to anything relevant apart from what benefits you, James, you'll know that there's some new initiative. The Fat Controller's sent out people to inspect the Island for trees that are too close to the line, that might cause bother and so on! I mean, I dislike the idea of disturbing trees as much as the next sane fan of the environment, but this at least makes some sense! He, and to be frank, myself feel that trees left unattended can cause a great deal of trouble!"
"PAH!" snorted James, his inner Scouse coming out in wonderful force. "As if a rotten old tree could hurt a grand and splendid engine such as myself! You must have picked up some woodworm from those trees, Henry! You really are very silly!"
"HA!"
"I would, I would so! I would push it aside!"
"Really?" sneered Henry. "You!? Push a tree?! The only thing you're good at pushing is your own luck every time you open your mouth!"
This insult sent James into a stammering fury. For the rest of the day, once he had been repainted, he clanked around in a rather self-righteous mood, ranting and raving about his beautiful paint and his idiotic companions to anyone who would listen, and a few who didn't. And of course, he got progressively louder and louder as the day went on.
"MAKE WAY FOR AN IMPORTANT ENGINE!"
"Again, alert me when you find one." muttered Thomas.
"You wouldn't feel important if one of these suckers fell on you! You'd feel hurt!" Percy was aware that perhaps hurt was a little bit of an understatement when it came to talking about damage done by falling trees, but he had been working hard with Terrence to remove said trees, and his smile had creeped the little green tank engine out.
"RABBI-RUBBISH!" James said, quickly swapping word mid-sentence. "It wouldn't DARE! I AM JAMES, DEFEATER OF TREES! I SHALL INTIMIDATE IT, WITH MY MAGNETIC PERSONALITY!"
James, as you can tell, is probably insane.
"You should be careful, James." Terrance somehow managed to make those words sound like a threat, even though both Thomas and Percy knew that he only meant them as a friendly warning. "Trees can be just as powerful as engines. Not as powerful as tractors though. We know everything."
"PAH!" screeched James, yet again, this time so hard that his voice cracked. "I AM JAMES, TREEKILLER OF SODOR! And if you'll excuse me, Fat One wants me to pull the express! I am the only candidate for the job, now SHOVE OFF!" And so saying, he stormed out of Henry's Forest with a great amount of hamminess.
"He'll be sorry." Terrance remarked calmly. All without losing his smile.
"Okay, we have got to get you to talk to a plastic surgeon at some point."
...
"So, what have we accomplished so far? Because it looks to me, dearie's, like we've just put together a bunch of useless scrap metal!"
Willo was not wrong. In the two or three hours since the meeting, the blacksmiths of the Nogs had put together a wide variety of things that Carlin and Benn recognized as modern vehicles. There were boats (A tug, tramper, sailing boat, cruise liner and warship), there were aircraft (Different types plane, a helicopter and a hovercraft) and there were land vehicles (A diesel, a bus, a tractor, a traction engine, several construction vehicles, a lorry, a steamroller and a fire engine, along with several cars). But none of them were reacting with the magic, and they rested upon the ground not too far from the tide, limp and lifeless. An early attempt at a steam engine had been abandoned in the corner.
"We should give up now!" wailed the priest.
"No!" snapped Catweazle. "We can't give up! If we fail here, Britain will fall!" He strode over to the blacksmith, who was putting the final touches to his last two creations. The wizard nodded admiringly. "Not bad."
"The problem is-" Alias suggested "-that there is nothing to control the magic once it has been diverted through the machine. It simply dissipates away. To truly master it, something needs to take command of it."
Suddenly, a gust of wind began to blow very aggressively. Everyone grabbed hold of the first thing that came to hand, to prevent themselves from being blown away. Even the Malevolence, who had abandoned the Island to begin it's attack upon the boat, had to hold off said attack to try and recover.
The party looked around for the source of the wind, and there, standing near the banks of the Island of Sodor, stood...well, it is hard to explain what they are,but it shall be attempted. They were the rough size of an average human, but that was where the similarities ended. They glowed with an ethereal light, a light so bright and powerful that no one could make out anything of their faces or bodies. There were a few things that were clear. One, the creature that spoke first was a female, and the figure to which the voice belonged to was taller than that of her companion. Two, the color of the light was different. The woman's glowed with a purple-pinkish light, while the shorter one's glowed with a rather bright yellow.
Three, and this only Carlin knew, these were the two who would become the very first steam engines ever created.
Lady and Proteus surveyed the awestruck humans with some amusement.
"We are the spirits of this Island. That creature is our enemy. We will take control of your machine for you. We will fight. We will win. It is as simple as that."
"Now-" spoke Proteus, deep voiced and stern "-shall we begin?"
...
1998.
James, as it turns out, was very wrong indeed. As he coupled himself up to the coaches at Kirk Ronan, he waited patiently for the guard to wave his flag. But nothing happened, until the Fat Controller hurried up.
"You must go to the yard and collect a heavy goods train, James, it's heavy, so be careful!"
"TRUCKS!?" screeched James at such a pitch that only dogs would understand it. "BUT SIR, I'VE JUST BEEN REPAINTED, CAN'T THOMAS OR PERCY DO IT?! WAH! THEY LIKE GETTING DIRTY WITH TRUCKS!"
Both decided to get rid of the mental images James's little slip up had caused them. Hatt pointed sternly at James, as he was wont to do. "Really useful engines are quieter and don't argue!"
So James didn't. At least until Hatt was out of hearing range. By the time he arrived at the yards, the weather had changed for the worse. Clouds covered the sky, turning it to a murky grey color. James glared at the trucks, who all seemed to be in great humor. In the time since Callan, the Spiteful Brakevan and his cohorts had spread a great deal of mischief across the Island.
And their chance to do so again had come up. Rickety and U.L.P passed the word down.
"Nice color, James!"
"Pity about your face, though!"
There was nothing else to add, it was a legitimately funny quip. Even the other engines shunting in the yard had to stifle laughter at this. James responded with his new favorite word ("PAH!" for the record) and furiously stormed off with his slow goods train.
Soon, they reached Gordon's Hill, after the trucks had acted up something fierce on the way to said hill, the driver knew they were in for a rough time. He took a deep breath, inhaled most of his hip flask and braced himself.
Up ahead, an old tree by the track was being buffeted by the wind from all directions. It wobbled and creaked as it swayed under the huge pressure from the rather powerful wind. Rain had weakened the slope too, making it soft and malleable, much like James's brain. As James approached the foot of the hill, the soil finally gave way, sending the tree sliding from it's perch down onto the track.
"OH BALLS!"
The driver slammed the brake on, and James skidded along the slippery track towards the tree. Shutting his eyes, the red engine prayed that Henry didn't get to see this, for he would never let James live this down. He stopped inches from the tree, his buffers brushing the soil very gently.
"OOOH! HELP! GO AWAY! MOVE, YOU STUPID TREE! I AM JAMES, SPLENDID ENGINE, YOU MAY KNOW ME!"
James's cunning argument surprisingly failed to move the inanimate piece of wood. James tried his best to reverse from the tree, and come back with reinforcements to teach the bark a lesson, but the train was too heavy, not helped by the fact that most of the trucks had slammed on their brakes in terror.
And then he heard a whistle.
"IT'S THOMAS!"
...
This was it. The moment of truth.
The Malevolence had massacred what remained of the Nogs upon the boat, save for a few who had stayed with their chief in case their allies turned on them. Catweazle, Meredith and Willo had vanished behind the forge, to try and make sure that their new friends were fully equipped to take on the mighty dragon. That left Carlin, Benn, Alias, Noggin and the Priest to hold the line until Lady and Proteus were ready.
"Humans. How very, very amusing." The Malevolence spoke with such power and confidence and casual evil that it made them all feel rather sick and giddy. "This has been rather fun, has it not? Such an entertaining game we've played today. I'm almost sorry to see it end!"
"You killed my men! Good men! Men with families and hopes and dreams!" shouted Noggin.
"I know! That's rather the point! I am the snake in the garden of Eden, the jealousy between Cain and Abel, the doubt in men's souls, the terror in the eyes of the victims of the world, the monstrosity deep inside all living beings! Your men died pathetically, Viking! Now, will you face me like a man!? Or will you cower once more, and beg for mercy, like the rest of your stinking kind!"
"We rebuke you, demon!" shouted the priest, his tone wavering but his determination clear.
The Malevolence laughed as he landed, shaking the very ground and sending them all falling backwards, scrambling to pick themselves up. "Ah, it is always good to see a little bit of fighting spirit in one such as yourself! I'll remember you, and your kind, little man! You will die! You and your successors won't die like normal men of god, sitting in chairs, reading hymns and drinking wine! No, it shall be painful! I shall bathe the River Eis in your blood, and I shall laugh while doing-"
"Oh, SHUT UP!" snapped Carlin. And before anyone had a chance to stop him, he blew a sharp note on his whistle and teleported onto the Malevolence's shouler. "Nah nah nah nah, can't f**king catch me, you big ass!"
"What in the name of-Oh, very clever! You have a little sorcerer on your side! How droll!"
"Come on, lads!" Noggin raised his sword. "FOR THE HONOR OF THE NORTHLANDS!" And so saying, he led his last men towards the great dragon, who was swiping at Carlin, growing steadily annoyed. The priest raised his cross and began to chant to himself, trying to keep his faith calm and present in his mind, whilst Alias darted forward, leaping off the ground and shooting from a rather futuristic looking pistol.
And Mr Benn? Mr Benn did nothing but calmly walk behind the Forge. "How's it going?" he asked, as if asking whether or not there remained any jam for his bread.
"We're almost there!" Catweazle wiped his brow, and looked hard at Mr Benn. "How are we doing?"
With a tremendous crash, Alias was sent hurtling through the forge, walls and all. He landed on his back, looking up at the three men and one ghost. He grinned somewhat pained. "Mind hurrying up a bit?"
"COO-EE! COME ON, IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?!"
This cry came from Carlin, who had teleported to what we now know as Gordon's Hill. He waved his arms up and down and stuck his tongue out. The Malevolence snarled, slashed through Noggin's armor, and took off towards the former Mr Conductor.
"He's buying us time!" shouted Meredith.
"Then let's not waste it, duckies!" Willo let loose with his last, best burst of magic...
And then Lady opened her eyes.
The Malevolence had grabbed Carlin, and knocked his whistle out of his hands. He raised the man to his mouth, got ready to bite Carlin's head off...and then stopped, and turned his attention towards the two glowing figures.
One was a narrow gauge engine, bright yellow with a bulky shape that seemed to belay the rather cunning and vicious look in his eyes. Atop his head stood a large lantern, an idea by Meredith, light to counteract the darkness. He seemed bigger than any narrow gauge engine Carlin had ever seen, but even so, he was smaller compared to the other.
And oh, what an other she was! There was no basis for whatever she was, she was as if from a storybook. Her body shone with a fierce electricity, and the parts of her that were golden seemed to crackle with something even more powerful. Her sleek, red-purple body seemed to shudder with passion, and her face, which looked kindly, had the air of a very old, very wise, and very dangerous individual.
"Ah, my old enemies. Back again, are we?!" The Malevolence chuckled, unpleasantly. "Wait your turn. I'll deal with you, later!"
"No. This ends now."
The Malevolence frowned. Something was different.
Carlin hit his head upon a tree and blacked out at this point, meaning that he effectively was denied seeing the actual climax of the battle, and therefore has denied any readers the chance to see how it actually went down. He didn't see, therefore, the way that white and black magic clashed and slammed into each other, the immovable object meeting the unstoppable force. He didn't see the way that the Malevolence dug his claws into Proteus's tank, trying in vain to drag down the mighty spirit. He didn't see the way that Proteus's lamp blinded the Malevolence, giving Lady the chance to unleash blast after blast into his stomach, wounding it fatally. He didn't see the Malevolence make his last stand, proclaiming that this wasn't the end, before the most powerful blast of magic the world has ever seen slammed straight into him, and shattered him into almost nothingness.
He didn't see the various other vessels created by Catweazle's magic suddenly come to life, giving birth to the anthropomorphic vehicle as we know today. He didn't see Noggin the Nog succumb to his wounds, and dragged off by his men to return home to the Northlands to be buried. He didn't see the remainder of the group agree to meet up again to protect the Island of Sodor.
And he most certainly didn't see the Fat Director and Captain Zero head over, pick something up and quietly slid away without anyone noticing.
In hindsight, had he seen all of these things, it might have gone a bit smoother for all involved.
...
"DA-DA-DA-DADADADA-DA!" Yes, that was Thomas playing his own triumphant fanfare as he rushed up the hill. James was embarrassed and was worried that Thomas would laugh at him. But Thomas didn't, as he knew that this was no time for teasing.
Plus he had already laughed himself silly at the next station, so that was rather redundant.
"PEEP PEEP! Ready?!"
"As I'll ever be! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
And so Thomas pulled and puffed as hard as he could, and James too pushed and puffed, and together they managed to move the trucks away, back down the slope of the hill, towards the next station.
They were just in time, as with a horrifying last creak, the tree cracked in two, and toppled over, narrowly missing where James had been only a second before. James went very pale and didn't speak until they'd reached the next station.
Later, he did speak to Thomas, rather humbly, which was rare considering who it is we're speaking about. "Percy and that smiling maniac were right to warn me, thanks for rescuing me, Thomas."
"Oh, that's all right, you'll probably forget your moral by the next series."
"What?"
"I mean, we engines must pull together whatever the weather. Like my rhymes? I'm like a regular Doctor Seuss."
Just then, Edward bustled in, looking cheerful. "Ah, there you are! First off, I'd just like to extend an invitation to the two of you to come to BoCo's farewell do tomorrow! And I've got news from old Fatty. He thinks you're both brave engines, and he's giving both of you rewards. Thomas, you get a new coat of paint, and James, you can pull the express tomorrow."
Everyone was happy.
I give it a week before James starts being his usual self again.
...
"GET UP!"
Carlin's eyes snapped open, as the sudden pain of being jabbed in the side by what appeared to be the butt of a spear sent his pain centers into overdrive. He moaned, which perhaps wasn't what the two hired goons dressed in chainmail wanted, as one grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up, while the other scornfully grabbed his legs and began tugging him towards the door.
"I don't suppose you fellas would consider just letting me go? I'll make it worth your while!"
"Ha! Such a cur!"
"You take that back! I am no cur...okay, I am, but I resent being called one! How would you feel if I called you what you are, which is a pair of very smelly gorillas with the intelligence of plankton!?"
"Go-ril-a?"
"Ah. What year is it, just for the record?" Carlin prayed to god that he hadn't just ruined the entire course of history by telling them the name of a creature that wasn't going to be discovered for centuries to come.
"It is the year of our Lord, 1108!"
Carlin paused. "I must have been asleep for longer than I could have expected! On the plus side, the entire world isn't dead, so...mission accomplished!" He was jabbed yet again as they crossed through another set of doors, and he figured out that perhaps insulting the two guards carrying him was not a good start to the day.
At last, they went through a final pair of doors, into a large and ornate room, in which rested a long table with many wooden chairs, paintings of all shapes and sizes scattered amongst the rather clean looking walls, One one side, a large tapestry hung, depicting a great battle between armies that Carlin recognized as English and French. And all around the room, people stood, talking, chatting, looking anxious, and doing the things that all courtiers liked to do. Or had to do. Whatever.
He was dropped, unceremoniously, on his front.
"We found him, sire, near the moat!"
"You have it?!" The voice was deep, imposing, it reminded Carlin of Charles Dance, or perhaps Christopher Lee. It sounded unhappy.
"Not as of yet, we searched him, but we cannot see it on his person. However, we believe that he is the thief, based on his clothing matching the description."
"I see. You have done well, Captain. Now, allow me to talk to him. I shall...persuade him to tell me the truth."
"Where am I?!" Carlin snapped, finally having enough of being ignored and talked over.
The figure chuckled. It was unpleasant. Very much so. "My my, clearly your nap has not done you any favors, stranger. But, since I am feeling in a generous mood...You are currently in Ulfstead Castle. I am King Godred."
Carlin was suddenly pulled up by a large, hairy and very tough feeling hand wrapped around his neck, and looked into a pair of very angry and very cold looking pair of eyes.
"And you have a choice. You can either tell me where you've hidden my crown and get a swift and merciful death, or...I take my time with you."
Yep. King Godred. Basically, this wasn't actually planned to be a thing until about halfway through Season 4, where I was planning the time travel aspect in Paint Pots and Queens, and the little flashforwards you see for the specials coming up. In this case, I'll be exploring the story briefly told at the beginning of King of the Railway in a different way, to explain a few things about why the Island of Sodor is the way it is in my story.
Trust me, originally, there was going to be a much more detailed battle between Lady and Proteus and the Malevolence, but I just...couldn't write it very well. That reflects badly on me, but hopefully we won't have that issue come Magic Railroad, because I can actually make the two sides look even, relatively. So, yeah, use your imagination, the parts I mentioned were just the cliff notes. And yes, what Zero and the Director were doing will be explained later, I promise you.
One last note, I like to imagine that the title of this one is a double meaning, as it's a tree that knocks Carlin out and causes him to miss this epic fight and somehow teleport in time (Which will be explained, I promise). I thought it was clever, don't ask me. XD.
Next one'll hopefully be a bit better. Gordon and the Gremlins, featuring the debut of one of the best non-Awdry characters, in my opinion!