War of the World - Part 2

This is Part II of a story I never actually intended to finish when I started it. But now it has a middle (which will be continued from here), and quite possibly even an ending. So, since it was asked of me, I'm going to continue and see where it takes me.

In case you missed it, Part I of "The War of the World" can be found here: http://www.brittonpeele.com/2008/09/war-of-world-part-1.html
You would do well to read it if you want to have any idea what's going on.

- Britton Peele

II

Ashes to ashes…

Dusk to dust.

As the sun rose higher, the world grew hotter. Maybe this was hell after all. We had been walking for what felt like hours at least, and seemed to be getting absolutely nowhere.

“Why won’t you just let me die?” I asked Dennis more than once.

“Because the man in charge ‘aint done with you yet,” he would reply.

“Where are we going?”

“Town,” Dennis replied simply.

The sword he had handed me seemed to weigh heavier in my hand with each passing step. “Why the hell am I carrying this damned thing?” I asked.

“There’s a brutish fellow causing a ruckus in town,” Dennis explained. “Drunkard, brawler, womanizer… You need to take care of him.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, planting my feet firmly in the sand. “I need to what?”

Dennis stopped when I did, walked a few steps back to me, and planted his arm firmly on my shoulder. “Think of it this way. If you can’t do it, there’s a good chance you’ll die. And that’s what you want, right?”

Touché… Sort of.

“Why me?” I asked. As if the things I was experiencing could get any weirder. Was I supposed to be some sort of hero now? That wouldn’t exactly fit in with my lifestyle.

“You’ll see,” came the reply. “But you’re the only one who can stop him.”

How helpful.

“So when we get to town…” I began.

“We’re here,” Dennis interrupted.

I don’t know how or when it happened, but I looked up from the sandy tops of my shoes to see that a small town (or would “village” be more accurate?) now occupied the once empty horizon.

“How…”

“This way,” Dennis said as he trudged onward toward the buildings.

The town seemed simple enough. Very old-fashioned – practically medieval – and mostly made of wood. People walked around in simple clothing, with most of the women in long dresses and the men garbed in tunics. They moved to-and-fro in the streets, occasionally jostling one another as they performed their duties. Their lives moved ever onward, not a care in the world.

What a perfect place to wage a war.

But the way Dennis described this place, this world between worlds, implied that the war was already going on. You could never guess that from the people here. Were they oblivious to the events around them, or was something else going on here?

I was about to ask about this when we apparently arrived at our destination. Dennis stopped in front of a large building with the word “Tavern” on the front. No clever name, no claim to ownership… It merely was what it was.

“He’s in there,” Dennis said, nodding toward the tavern door.

I stared at the door for several seconds before looking back at Dennis. “That’s it? No explanation, no advice, no guidance?”

“What do you think I am? An oracle?”

“I don’t know what the hell you are, or what this place is, or why I’m even convinced that any of this is really happening! How do I know that I didn’t really pull that trigger? Maybe I’m not quite dead, and this is all one big shock and drug induced fever dream.”

“Maybe.”

I almost wanted to strangle him.

“Doesn’t change what you have to do,” he continued. “This is your task, whether you’re awake or dreaming.” He opened the door and motioned for me to enter. “Come.”

What choice did I have?

The noise in the tavern was deafening in comparison to the silence of the desert – or the emptiness of my apartment. There were just so many people in that one place at once…

I was never a huge fan of people.

Dennis exchanged polite nods with several of the patrons, as well as someone who appeared to be the tavern master. He had obviously been here before. None of the same people even gave me a first glance, much less a second one.

We walked through a crowd of people who were talking, drinking, singing, and even dancing. The whole scene made me feel slightly uncomfortable.

“That’s him,” Dennis said after quickly scanning the room.

I followed his gaze to the man I could only assume was my apparent target. A large, muscular man who was quickly downing what must have been at least his seventh mug of beer or ale or… whatever they drank here. Two women in rather suggestive clothing hung on either side of him, rubbing their hands over every inch of his body.

Drunkard, check. Womanizer, check.

Brawler… Guess it was time to see.

“Recognize him?” Dennis asked.

I found the question odd. I had never seen anyone who looked like this man before. “No.”

A sad smile tugged at the side of his lips. “You will.”

“So am I supposed to just walk up and pick a fight or what?” I asked. If so, it would be good that I had the sword, despite not knowing a thing about how to use it. I would never stand a chance against the brute with fists alone.

“He needs to die,” Dennis answered.

He said it so casually and so callously that I was a bit taken aback. I lowered my voice, afraid that someone would hear us conspiring. They would have to pick out our conversation amidst what sounded like hundreds, but I was still worried. “He’ll tear me to pieces!”

Dennis shrugged. “Not if you’re smart about it. You may recall that Goliath was bigger than David. This is nothing in comparison.”

“What do you want me to do, throw a rock at the man and cut off his head in front of all these people?”

“You could.”

“Damn it, Dennis!” I said in as loud a whisper as I could manage. This was crazy. Insane, even. It wasn’t as much the idea of taking this man’s life – he may, indeed, have deserved it – as much as it was the thought of his blood being on my hands. I wanted to go unnoticed, uncared about. This would draw too much attention. “I’m not doing this!” I declared firmly.

Dennis frowned. “You’re scared?”

“That’s not the point, but yes.”

He sighed. “Fine. We’ll leave.”

That was it? We could just go? I could decide to walk away?

Immediately, the world grew quiet. The clinking of glasses stopped. Conversations ceased. Music refused to play.

The crowd to my right parted as someone made his way toward the brute I was supposed to kill. People looked upon the newcomer with confusion, with awe, with concern… With fear.

I was with the ones who were confused. Confused and shocked.

It wasn’t a monster or a warrior or even a woman who stepped through the crowd, but a boy. Young. Simply dressed. Short hair. Couldn’t have been more than thirteen, at oldest. Had a strange air of familiarity around him.

Yet he was walking right up to the brute, both determination and apprehension on his face.

“Mr. Hyde,” Dennis said barely above a whisper, “meet Dr. Jeckle.”

I looked from Dennis to the brute to the boy, trying to put the pieces together. Suddenly the realization of what was happening hit me like a brick. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dennis didn’t look away from the silent confrontation in front of him. “If you won’t fight and kill him, the boy will.”

“That’s insane! He’ll be squashed like a bug!”

“He has to try. If he doesn’t, he’ll die.”

“If he does he’ll die!”

“He may win. You never know.”

I wanted to pull my hair out, but restrained myself. “I thought you said I was the only one who could kill him!”

Dennis gave one small, short chuckle before looking at me. “You still don’t see, do you?”

“See what?!?”

“He’s you, brother,” Dennis replied as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “The boy and the brute… They’re both you.”