Chapter
X
The Sky is Falling...
...
and no one knows
It was late dusk when Cale finally walked down the road to the station, hands tucked in his pockets and head hung as he trotted through the gravel, kicking the tiny grains ahead of him. He had long since gotten use to the darkness; in a world with little light, everything was colorless and stoic with no distinction. He had met no one coming along the long road back and silently blessed this; his own voices were enemy enough without fear of another along the road. His thoughts kept returning to all that had happened what seemed like only minutes before. The images stayed fresh in his mind, though he had seen nothing but the yellowed light striking the sand before him and the dunes far off. He would push them aside, try to ignore them and pretend they had never happened; yet the voices would return, the same strong pangs of horror and fear, now faded at the seams like rain down a pane of glass. Cale remembered looking into his friend's eyes and seeing the pools of blackness and despair that they shed like tears. The very human spirit was broken and reflected, constantly hidden in the shadow of dark brows worn with sleepless nights and undeserved suffering. He found himself wondering what exactly it was that kept such a resigned spirit in the light of life, to toil away and suffer another day instead of resting eternally, but such thoughts were slashed as the station came to light and Cale raised his head.
The station was quiet. Next to the entrance was a long bench, and sitting on this bench, -- a slumbering head set on one shoulder -- was Tek. In the pale cream light, Tek's murky olive skin was insipid, blending with the drab sepias of the planet. He looked peaceful, slumped on the bench with one clawed hand clutching the luggage on the ground beside the bench. With a pang of guilt, Cale remembered his promise to return and meet Tek here hours before. Weary, he collapsed on the bench next to the alien and began trying to shake him awake.
Tek grumbled and spluttered as he stirred awake, blinking his sightless gold eyes and turning towards Cale. Reaching a hand to touch Cale's face, he sighed and let go of the luggage. "Cale…" Tek muttered with an edge of relief. "Where have you been?"
"I'm sorry Tek… I got a bit sidetracked…"
"'Sidetracked'?" Tek crinkled his trunk in an expression Cale had come to recognize as disbelief. "Hmm, where at, I wonder? I may be mistaken, but it could not have possibly taken you that long to get something to eat, even knowing you."
"Trust me, it's a lot more important than food."
"Oh…? And important enough to leave me waiting here as well, old and blind as I am?"
Cale crossed his arms and set his brow. "Look, I'm sorry about that, but you don't understand."
"Then what is it?"
"It's Tai."
Tek paused and tilted his head, trying to place the name of some ghost. "Taylor? What about him?"
"He's here, I saw him. He's alive. Though… I'm not sure for how much longer…"
Tek huffed. He had been expecting a story of some sort, but dragging poor Taylor into this…
Cale was exasperated. "I'm serious! I ran into him when I went to get lunch, then he sort of… ran out on me. You have to believe me. Tai's in a lot of trouble… if we don't do something, he'll die…"
Tek held up his hands. "Alright, yes, slow down for a moment… you say Taylor is here? Are you sure? Did you talk to him?"
Cale nodded. "I'm positive, I'm sure it's him... well... he's different now, a lot different... but it's still him. I got him to talk to me for a while when I walked back with him... he told me about the Tyrad... he looks horrible, he's got all these scars and a brand on his wrist..."
The Vusstran folded his arms, trunk curling. "Hmm... where is he now?"
Cale turned and gestured far to the east, where the horizon was just beginning to glow. "Down the road, far down the road in the dunes… he's on some kind of run-down little farm there. I tried to go with him, but he wouldn't let me."
Tek grumbled. "He was sold, then, and here all along… hmm. What do you suggest we do, then?"
Cale looked struck; despite his storm of thoughts he hadn't come up with a definite plan as to what was to be done. "Well, we have to get him back somehow…"
"That much is obvious," Tek grunted. "The question is how to get him back… is there some way we could buy him back?"
"I doubt it. There's no bargaining with this guy… you should have seen…" Cale grimaced. "There's a way, I know there is. Worst comes to worst, I could break him out somehow…"
"Hmm, yes, let's hope it doesn't come to that."
The two continued to banter all the way back to their room at the hotel until it was finally decided that Cale would go back on his own, meet this man, and attempt to speak with him about the issue… only talk and attempt to bargain, he promised Tek, nothing else. Tek agreed that Cale should go alone and at first light, Cale should set off.
Cale, however, had plans of his own.
Round mismatched eyes stared fearfully in the dark. Cody rocked back and forth at the foot of Taylor's bunk, clasping his toes with awkward hands. He turned to watch the shaky rise and fall of Taylor's chest, ears tuned to the wheeze of his breath. It was late, and everyone was asleep now but Cody. He was sleepy too. If he stopped rocking, his eyelids drooped. Cody shook his head. No. Bad. Gotta stay awake. Gotta help. Be a good boy.
Taylor's body shook with a loud cough. Cody sunk back against the corner as Taylor rolled over and heaved, spitting up blood, gasping for air. Eyes wide, Cody scrambled out of the way, tumbling onto the floor. He jumped at Dover's bunk and began tugging on the blanket.
"Unk-le!" Cody shouted. "Wake up! Wake up!"
Dover stirred, Cody's desperate voice sinking into his mind. He sat bolt upright, shaking the sleep out of his eyes. "What? What is it?"
Cody hopped on the tips of his toes and pointed over to Taylor's back. Dover's eyes followed and he sprang out of the bed, placing a hand on Taylor's shoulder. Taylor was cringing and shaking under his fingers, face smeared with his own blood. The crude bandages Dover had made with pieces of an old shirt were soaked black. Taylor's eyes were closed; he was unconscious. Dover rubbed his face with his free hand. "Oh, Christ..." he muttered.
Cody clung to the edge of the mattress, craning his head up to see. "What's wrong? Is Uncle okay?"
Dover was silent, staring down at Taylor's body. He sighed and pulled his hand away. Cody looked up at Dover's dark, towering form as he turned and walked past. "Wait here, Cody. I'll be right back." Cody's head snapped around just as Dover pulled open the door and walked out.
Cody sat on the floor and began to rock again. Time passed, hours and hours of time; at least, that's how it felt. Cody's eyes watered and he began to cry. His only answer was the silence of the night and Taylor's forced breathing.
The screen door creaked and slammed shut. Cody wiped his eyes and looked up at Dover. In his arms were a blanket, a small stack of hand towels, and a roll of bandages. He stepped around Cody and placed them on the bunk, kneeling down.
Cody stood up, wringing his hands. "Where did Uncle get...?"
Dover shushed the boy and handed him one of the towels. Cody clutched it in his arms and sat back down. It was always like this. Uncle would never tell him about anything that he got. Putting together Dover's tousled hair with the scent of chamomile on the towel, Cody was sure he knew where they came from.
On the front porch of the manor was a rocking chair. Here he saw her sitting every day, smiling at him. Cody didn't know much about the Lady of the house. He had a vague memory of sitting in her arms as a tiny baby, looking up into her blue eyes. Unlike Master, who was always drinking out of glass bottles and yelling and hitting, the Lady was nice. She had a soft voice, and only gave nice touches and kisses. One time he saw her and Uncle Dover touching and kissing, but they didn't see him, so they didn't know he saw. Whenever Uncle Dover got something, he and Uncle Taylor would fight and yell for a while. Cody wasn't sure why. Uncle Taylor got things too, sometimes.
"Cody? You there?"
Cody looked up to see Dover waving at him. "Can I have that?" Dover asked, nodding at the towel clutching in Cody's arms. Cody glanced down at the towel and held it out.
Taylor woke late the following morning. His vision was cloudy and he ached everywhere. He was wrapped heavily in bandages around his side and his arm, and blood was crusted underneath his fingernails and black on the mattress, his skin a pallid shade, splotched purple. He clenched his eyes shut and flinched. Memories flooded back to him… had he really met Cale the previous day? No, it must have been a dream, like always… yet he vividly remembered the sound of his voice, the long talk on the way back, running through the field… he pushed the visions aside and opened his eyes to the common sight of the tiny room, bathed in pale sunlight. It was quiet and devoid of either of his companions. His mind was clouded with lassitude. He tried to push himself off of the bed. A spasm of pain rippled through his body, leaving him gasping for breath. Gritting his teeth he attempted to stand again, clutching the bunk for balance, trying to wall off the pain as he had taught himself to do. He noticed his bloodstained shirt folded on the opposite bed next to a grungy-looking bowl filled with a dark paste. Stomach growling, he hobbled over and downed the meal. Pulling on the torn shirt, he stepped outside the little shack.
Outside the land blazed in the vapid autumn sunlight. The soil was caked and dry, and the sands surrounding looked dun in the morning light. The mountains in the distance were obscured by a layer of haze, fading their majesty out of existence. The radiance glared into Taylor's sore black eyes; he lifted a filthy hand to try and shield his eyes as he looked out above the horizon. Looming over the mountains reared the billowing forms of dark clouds, ready to belch forward and block out the autumn rays. The air was tainted with the dry blood of the earth, the dust of the departing life, and the crackle of anticipation. A breeze caressed Taylor's face before sweeping toward the foreboding shapes in the distance, together with the silent whisper of unnerving calm.
Out in the fields a figure was bent amidst the measly spate of crops. The sickly plants slumped yellow in the cracked earth, barely able to keep up the struggle to thrive towards the beating sun. With a sickening pang, looking at the field, Taylor realized the harvest would be meager this year. The figure in the field stood up tall in the sun and waved. Taylor returned the gesture and made off through the field, brushing his hand past the shriveled foliage as he passed.
As he neared, Taylor caught the glint of Dover's smile, the sparkle in his eye and the amused chuckle as Taylor arrived before him, squinting. Dover broke into a burst of laughter when he took in Taylor's bedraggled appearance.
"Man, Taylor, you really got the boot this time," Dover remarked by way of greeting.
Taylor scowled. "What are you doing out here, Dover? It's not your shift."
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dover retorted, holding up a spade just as innocent looking as his own face. "I'm working."
"I didn't ask you to take my shift," Taylor snapped.
"Yeah, it's kind of hard to when you're half dead."
Taylor's eyes narrowed.
"Look, it's no big deal," Dover sighed. "You and I both know you couldn't possibly handle it, not after last night, and besides… you did it for Melody."
"Melody was different. She was pregnant. I just got a scratch on the side, that's all." He wheezed with pain as he spoke; every breath pressed against his battered ribs, making his chest burn. "While we're on the subject, where did you get the bandages, Dover?"
Dover turned away, pulling at one of the plants. "Bandages? What bandages?"
"Don't be dense… you got them from the mistress, didn't you?"
"Yeah, so what? She offered to help, I accepted. What's wrong with that?"
"'What's wrong with that?' Do you think she really cares about us? That she really cared about Cody?" Taylor snarled. "She's using you. You know she is. She knows she can get you to do anything--"
"Shut up!" Dover snapped. "You think I don't know that? Do you think I'm some kind of whore? For Christ's sake, you were bleeding to death. What the fuck was I supposed to do? If it weren't for her, you'd be six feet under. You have no idea the stress I was under last night trying to save your stupid ass, or how much it messed up Cody to see you that way. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
Taylor stood looking at the ground, dazed. He ran his hand over his face and shook his head, skin color draining. "Sorry, Dover... I- I just…"
Dover caught him just before he hit the ground.
He knocked three times on the door, the sound reverberating through the decaying wood, and stood waiting there on the covered porch. Cale muttered little words of encouragement to himself; his heart was pounding in anxiety, and a light sweat was beading on his forehead. Wiping his face with the back of his hand he took a deep breath – and held it, head snapping up and hazel eyes glinting as he saw her, watching him from the left wing of the porch with a smile.
She sat in a delicately crafted periwinkle rocking chair - a glaring contrast to the tattered farmhouse with its chipped paint and whitewashed sides. Hands as perfectly smooth as a porcelain doll lay clasped on her lap atop a flowing petticoat. She smirked at him as a cat would smirk in sly wonder of a mockingbird that crossed its path. Bronze ringlets framed the cream face of the young woman. Her only flaw glared out of half-lidded eyes - for they were a blue as cold as a gravestone on a winter's eve. All of Cale's previous concerns vanished as if a drain had been opened to his thoughts, and he stood there dumb-founded on the threshold, still holding his hand to his forehead.
Her brow knitted as she stared straight back into his eyes, moving like honey dripping over bread. "Pardon, did I startle you?" she simpered.
Cale dropped his hands and clasped them behind, giving himself a mental jolt. "N-no, ma'am," he replied, surprised at his automatic formality.
The brows unraveled; she smiled again. "That's just as well. Are you looking for my husband?"
"Your… your husband? Oh… yes, yes I am, I need to speak…" He was saved by the thud of footfalls from across the parlor inside the house, and within a moment the door screeched open. Cale's heart dropped into his shoes.
The man who stood before him was almost eye level with himself, yet Cale felt insignificantly smaller. From his refuge below the windowsill he never got a clear sight of the man the night before, and it was much too dark to see anything but his silhouette as he came barreling out of the shack. The man who stood before Cale now was stocky with calloused, brazened skin. Thin black eyes glared out beneath dark eyebrows, and the man's balding head was hidden beneath a patched cap. He eyed Cale with insolence, suspicion flashing behind his beetle orbs; then, before Cale could get a word out, walked past to lean over the porch rail towards the fields beyond.
In the field Cale could see two figures, one supporting the other. The man's nose crinkled, and with a roar he bellowed at the two figures. "BOYS! Get 'ere NOW!" And he turned from the railing. Cale was still watching as the first figure made a very rude gesture at the man's back with its finger and was slugged in the side by the other.
The man stopped as he caught sight of Cale standing there again. He tossed around doubt for a second, then gave in and continued heading for the porch steps, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Back to work," he grunted at Cale.
"Johann, dear," the woman called at his back. "This boy is here to speak with you."
The man halted. "That so? What does he want?"
Cale blinked at the woman, who nodded. He folded his arms and tossed the hair out of his eyes. "Sir, my name's Cale Tucker. I'm here about a friend of mine that you currently have listed under your property."
"Do I now?" he remarked, turning around; if he was surprised, he didn't show it. "So what of it?"
It was about this time that the two boys from the field came trudging up to the house. Cale recognized Taylor right away; Cale winced when he saw the bruises, scabs, and bloodstains that littered his mangled body. The other Cale didn't recognize, but inferred it must be Dover, who had intervened the previous night. He was scowling and still rubbing his side.
The man didn't seem in any way perturbed by Taylor's appearance; his eyes were darting about the ground, searching. "Eh, where's that little whelp?" he muttered.
No sooner had the words left his lips than a small boy with soiled blond hair came waddling into view, clasping onto Dover's leg. The boy's bedraggled clothing was splotched with soapy water, and there were smudges on his round cheeks.
The man sneered as Dover lifted the boy up to sit on his shoulders. "Right then, that'll do," he muttered. "You, boy, you've got to come quicker when you're called, hear?"
"Yes, Mas'er," The boy peeped, curling Dover's short hair through his fingers. "But I - "
"Quiet. I don't want to hear it." The boy was immediately silent, bottom lip trembling. Cale's flinch at the man's rebuke caught Taylor's notice, and his eyes widened. Cale looked down at his feet. "There are some crates out back I need brought 'round front here, some gents will be coming back later to pick 'em up. You better be careful movin' them or whatever damage done comes out of you, understand?"
There was a general murmur of assent as they turned away and trudged out of sight. When they were gone the man spun round to face Cale.
"Well, Mr. Tucker, which one is it?"
"Uh… he goes by the name of Taylor."
His nose crinkled. "Taylor?"
"He's the one with the long bangs and all the bruises."
"Oh,him! That wretch? I bought him off the Tyrad years ago." He leaned back against one of the poles holding up the porch roof. "Didn't take long for him to break, almost thought he'd be too old when I got him… that's right, the others called him Taylor…"
Cale winced, but remained passive. "Yes, that's him."
"I see… so what was your plan? Just show up and take him?"
He shifted his weight. "Well… something like that…"
"Alright."
"… What?"
"Alright, you do that. Go get your friend."
Cale titled his head in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
He folded his arms, smirking. "You've got my word. Just one thing: You take only him, nothing else."
He came around the back of the building and peered around the edge, squinting at the flood of sunlight. Large wooden crates had been stacked in uneven, lopsided rows against the building wall. Taylor was standing besides one, glaring up at Dover standing on another, who was reaching up to grab a crate towards the top of a stack.
The raised voices told him right away that they were arguing. Frankly, Cale wasn't surprised; it reminded him of the same sort of arguments he and Taylor had gotten into since he dropped out of the stars.
"… Just give me the hunching box, Dover!" Taylor was shouting.
Dover grimaced. "It's okay, I got it!"
Cody, who was sitting atop a two-crate stack with his feet dangling over the edge, watched the two bemused - he was twisting his tunic around between his fingers and swinging his battered feet back and forth, humming some song out of tune.
"Bullshit! You've been working all morning, there's no way you can carry that."
"I'd carry it a kek just to shut you up," Dover retorted, sliding the heavy crate off the stack. "As if you're in any better condition! You might pick up a crate and lose an arm or something." Dover made to act out such an inevitable horror and almost dropped the crate on Taylor.
Cale cleared his throat just as Taylor went to counter. Taylor spun around. Sweat glistened on his brow under his long bangs and his irises shone obsidian black in the sun.
"Tai! Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Taylor crossed his arms. "I'm kind of busy right now, Cale," he growled. "Why don't you just go back to Tek and forget about it? It's worked for you before."
Dover frowned, giving Cale a scrutinizing look. "Who the hell is that?"
Taylor rolled his eyes. "He's no one."
Dover set the crate down on the ground, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "Yeah? What does he want? Hey, if you've come for a show, there's nothing to see here. Get lost."
Cale shrugged, smiled. "Alright then, okay… but only if you come with me."
Dover eyed Cale suspiciously; Taylor scoffed. "Oh, sure, Cale. Maybe this time he'll just kill me for it." He spread his arms, the scars and the bloodstained shirt gleaming.
"He couldn't. Not if you never came back."
Taylor dropped his arms. "… What are you playing at?"
"I talked to your- … uh, that guy. He said you could come with me."
Dover laughed. "What's the catch?"
"No catch."
Dover shook his head. "Come on, there has to be a catch. I've been under his boot most of my life, he wouldn't just let Taylor go."
The smile faded off of Cale's face. "Well… I can only take Tai."
There was silence for a moment as everyone glanced at Taylor. The wind whistled in their ears.
"I'm sorry, Cale," Taylor said, "but I can't leave."
Cale and Dover both cried out at the same time. "What?" "Why not?"
"Because I can't leave you two here!" Taylor shouted right back at Dover.
"Oh yes you can! Listen, I don't like this guy one bit – no offense," ("None taken.") "And I don't like his white-horse crap, but if he's serious, then you need to get yourself out of here."
Taylor bristled. "And leave you here to rot? Sorry, but I'm not him."
"Okay, pretend I'm not standing right here…" Cale muttered.
Dover had climbed down off the boxes and was standing with his arms folded to Taylor. With their fixed scowls and narrowed glares, one could have been a reflection of the other. "When are you going to get your head out of your ass, Taylor?" Dover yelled. "Are you going to let yourself die rather than accept help? Who do you really care about? Make up your mind!"
"I have, and I'm staying here!" Taylor screamed. Dover stepped back; he bumped Cody's crate and the boy let out a gasp, bursting into tears.
"Now look what you did!" Dover shouted over Cody's cries as he took the boy in his arms and tried to muffle the tears.
Taylor bit his lip. He glanced at Cale, hazel eyes sparkling in sympathy. He stepped back, turned and ran.
Cale trudged back to the front of the house. He was still there, leaning over the rail of the porch. When he saw Cale approach, his face cracked into a grin and he burst out laughing.
The blond-haired teen stopped and glared at him. "You tricked me, didn't you? You knew he wouldn't leave them."
"I hate to break it to you, boy," he said, chuckling. "But if you fell for that, then it seems I know my own property much better than you do."
Inside Cale was raging with frustration, but he swallowed it. "So is that it?"
The man smiled and tossed his head. "Not if you don't wan' it to be, boy. It's your call."
Cale slumped in his sweatshirt. How do you beat this guy at his own game? "Okay, how about a bet?"
"Oh?" The man responded, though his eyes were gleaming. "Whaddya have in mind?"
Cale thought for a moment. His eyes drifted over the faded wood, the rusted screen door.
"I bet you I can fix anything on this farm," he said at length.
"Anything, hmm? Even, say…" He tilted his head and nodded at the decrepit little windmill in the field. "That?"
Cale turned and looked it over. "Sure. Why not?"
"Alright. So what's in it for you if you win?"
He turned back and grinned. "If I fix it, you let Tai and the others come with me."
"You fix it in a day and they're yours. Starting tomorrow. And what's in it for me?"
"Well…" Cale hesitated. "If I lose, I'll take their place."
"You lose, you join them."
"Fine. Deal."
"You pretty confident, then?"
"Like I said, I can fix anything."
"We'll see about that."
