Hour Of Darkness
John's Chapter, I'm Looking Through You
John and his ebony goliath galloped swiftly towards the shimmering city in the distance. Judging by the distance, they would not arrive for some time.
Horse?
Yes, Master? John shook his head.
No, you can call me John.
Yes, Master John. John shrugged. Whatever. Then a thought dawned on him.
What's your name? The horse seemed to search, then snorted.
I have none.
We must give you one, then. John thought hard, trying to think up suitable names. Blackey? No, too dorky. Radamanthus? No, too long. Wait…where the hell did I come up with that?!
Radamanthus was the keeper of the gate of the Underworld, in Greek mythology. John shrugged. This horse knew so much more than he!
Uhm…right. Anyway…How about…uh…well…oh, I can't think of anything! Surely you must have a suggestion! He patted the horse's neck.
Well…I thought an exotic name, such as Radamanthus, but not quite so lengthy.
Perhaps another mythological name? I'm not completely ignorant when it comes to that…how about Zeus? The horse looked thoughtful, but then shook its mane. Such a name should be reserved for the gods, and a god I am not.
John nodded understandingly. They rode in silence for a while, both searching for an appropriate name.
I wish I had a book of baby names or something. John said, half joking. His mount only snorted.
I've got it! The horse stopped abruptly, and John yelped and wrapped his arms around the huge neck to avoid being thrown to the hard earth. The horse snorted impatiently.What?! What is it?!? Have you a name for me, Master John?! John was silent for a moment, basking in the delight of the title Master John. He snapped back to reality.
Oh, sorry. Yea! It's the best! How about…Aramis? The horse looked thoughtful.
Short…precise…exotic….I love it! Aramis whinnied loudly, rearing into the air, John laughing.
I am Aramis! John patted the ecstatic horse, and they continued their trek to the far off city.
****
Far too many hours later, a sad looking black stallion and a limp body slung over its back stumbled into the city. Aramis was dripping with sweat, not to mention dying of thirst. His black coat wasn't helping, either. Poor John had just passed out completely, mainly from dehydration and the intense heat. The pair entered a small town on the outskirts of the city, Aramis dragging his feet, not even trying to awake John. He watched all who passed with a wary eye, protecting his master as much as he could. Aramis knew that he had to find water, and fast; not only for him, but for John. The town was similar to one of those dusty towns you see in the old western movies, dry and with tumbleweed rolling by. This town was not deserted, however, and the people seemed rather friendly. Aramis plodded up to what looke dlike a saloon, standing at the door hoping someone would notice his plight.
"Hey there! Marge! Have a lookit' this!"
An old man and his wife came out of the saloon, staring incrdulously at the huge horse, not yet noticing the still form slung on his back. Aramis watched them carefully, not wanting to trust them, but knowing that he had to if John was to get help. Aramis turned slightly to give the old couple a better look at John.
"That feller there looks like he needs some help, Billy. Get me soma' that hard whiskey from the bar…"
The old man disappeared into the saloon as the woman approached Aramis carefully, seeming to notice the fire in his eye. "C'mon, horsey. We just wanna help, y'know…"
She reached up to pull John down, but Aramis whirled on her, snorting loudly. Marge fell back into the dirt, cursing. She got up slowly, brushing herself off. "Now, horsey, I wanna help yer master, but I can't if ya keep me from getting' 'im down…" She tried again, more slowly this time, and Aramis only shifted nervously as she slid John from his back. Marge slung John's arm over her shoulder and stumbled off towards the saloon. Aramis started to follow, but soon realized he wouldn't fit through the door. Instead, he stood outside, head in the saloon watching John carefully.
Inside the saloon was dark and musty, the smell of liquor permeating the air. Drunken men stubled around, singing loudly to the player piano going in the background. Marge carefully set John into a chair near the bar with a little help from Billy. He tipped John's head back and poured a little whiskey into his open mouth.
John awoke with a start, coughing terribly as his throat burned with the whisky. "Bloody hell!"
Marge and Billy looked at each other confusedly. Billy turned to John. "What…strange…language…is…it…that…you…speak?" He said, slowly and with many hand motions. John laughed, confusing the two even more.
"English, mates. How 'bout you?" he joked in a weak voice. They just looked at him strangely, so he changed the subject. "How'd I get here? Where's Aramis?"
"If by Aramis ye mean that thing…" he trailed off, pointing towards the door.
John followed the pointed finger, then laughed weakly at the huge horse head poking through the door. He started to get up, but collapsed into the chair again. Marge and Billy secured his shoulders.
"Ye shouldn't move, youngin. Ye need to get yer strength back. Come." With Marge on one side and Billy on the other, they led John up the stairs to a cozy small bedroom."If ye need anything, let us know. There's water in the pitcher and ye can sleep fer as long as ye please. We'll be downstairs." They shut the door quietly behind them, and John heard footsteps pad quietly down the stairs.
John walked slowly around the room, supporting himself on the backs of chairs and other furniture. He found a pitcher full of water as they said, a metal washbasin with a soft white washcloth hanging over the edge, a bar of white translucent soap, and a cup of the same material as the basin. He removed the cup from the nail on which it hang from the wall, pouring a small cup of water. He drank eagerly, but was careful not to overdo it until he was rehydrated more fully. He poured a small pool of water into the basin, soaping up the washcloth and rubbing the cool water all over his head and neck. John winced, realizing that his skin was red and raw, sunburned to the enth degree. He put away the washcloth and soap and walked to the adjoining toilet stall, relieved himself, then inspected his sunburn in the mirror. It covered his face completely, save some strange blotches where his glasses had rested. The back of his neck was raw and blotchy, the skin already peeling in large pieces. He grimaced, then returned to the bedroom. He soaked the washcloth in the cool pitcher water, took another drink, then lay on the bed, placing the cool damp cloth over his sunburned eyes. His glasses rested in his pocket. He was about to drift off to sleep when…
Master John? Aramis' worried mindvoice permeated the darkness, waking John up. He sighed.
Yea, Aramis?
Master! He sounded very relieved. I am glad to see that you are alright. John smiled.
Thank you, Aramis. Did you find water for yourself?
Yes, the proprietors of this fine store supplied me with adequate water. John chuckled at the language Aramis was using. He spoke more eloquently than John, yet Aramis is a horse! John sighed, and the two were silent for a moment.
Aramis?
Yes?
May I sleep now? There was a pause before Aramis responded.
Sweet dreams, Master John.
And you, Aramis.
****
When John woke up, no sun shone through the small curtained window over the bed. Urgh. How long have I been out? He checked his watch; about five hours. He felt much better, though. His strength had returned, his throat was not as dry, and his sunburn was almost unnoticable. Almost.
John cursed as he rubbed the back of his neck; his skin was still peeling in a terrible quantity, and the water didn't seem to help. He walked groggily to the bathroom, looking for a salve of some sort. Behind the mirror was a small medicine cabinet which contained many different coloured bottles, which, unfortunately for John, were all unmarked. He opened a bright green bottle and sniffed the contents.
His mind went fuzzy, an intense pain permeating his senses. Shit! He thought. What is this stuff? He poured the tiniest bit into the washbasin. It came out bubbly, like a carbonated soda. John watched it closely, feeling slightly stupid as the clear liquid did absolutely nothing. He sighed, then returned the cork into the bottle and the bottle into the cabinet. Suddenly, he heard a loud pop behind him. He whirled around on his heels, racing to peer into the washbasin…
…which had disappeared. John looked under the table, on the bed, under the bed, all over the room. He couldn't find it anywhere. He sighed, putting his hands where the basin had sat…and there it was. He could feel it, but he couldn't see it! Fab! He thought, retreiving the bottle once more. As he returned to the bedroom, the washbasin appeared with another pop, sitting in the same place, looking exactly the same. John then had a very crazy idea. He placed a tiny drop on the back of his hand, then waited. Eventually, his hand began to burn like acid, then it flickered and faded with a soft pop. It looked like John had lost his hand! John laughed hysterically. He tossed the bottle from hand to hand (after corking it tightly), laughing at how it looked like it was hovering inches away from his stump of an arm. With another pop similar to the first, his hand reappeared, just as the washbasin had. He laughed, then returned the bottle to its place, not wanting to mess around with other people's stuff. He walked slowly downstairs, thinking excitedly about magic potions and spells…
As he reached the end of the long hall, the light no longer reached from his room. He traced his long fingers along the wall, feeling each creaking step carefully with his toe. As he got closer to the end of the stariway, a door appeared with light illuminating the edges in an eerie yellow haze. Loud voices and laughter came drifting through the door; a wild party was going on tonight! He grasped the doorknob and entered the saloon, being his usual self and not wanting to miss out.
As soon as he opened the door a bottle of beer whizzed by his head and shattered on the doorframe above him. He leapt away, shouting obscenities. A loud, drunken "Sorry!" came from the opposite end of the room, and John smiled despite himself. He closed the door behind him and walked up to the bar.
"Feelin' better, are ye?" asked Marge in her thick accent. John nodded appreciatively.
"Uhm…if you don't mind me asking…what's your name?" John asked timidly. Marge laughed heartily, and several drunken men laughed too, not even knowing what was going on. One slapped John hard on the back, and John started to cough. "I'm Marge, and this 'ere's my husband, Norwegian Yalsburger, but ye can just call 'im Billy!"
John stared at Billy, thinking about that strange name. Norwegian Yalsburger? Riiiight…
John sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the wild party surging around him. No one was talking in a normal voice; everyone shouted to be heard amid the din. John took advantage of this situation to take inventory of the types of people he was seeing.
There seemed to be three types of groups. First, there were the large drunken men dressed in farmer's clothes. Most smelled terrible, but then again, most were too drunk to notice. Second, there were several attractive young women wandering around. John didn't mind this at all. They didn't seem to be prostitutes of any sort; if they were, they were hiding it well. They just seemed to be normal girls around for a good party. Lastly, there were types like Marge and Billy; old, yet full of bubbling energy. All together, everyone seemed to be having a damn good time.
John gazed forlornly at the various alcoholic beverages being passed under his nose (think A Hard Day's Night), beginning to wish he had some money, not like British pounds would do him any good here, but who knows…
He gazed around the room, noticing that the player piano had been replaced with an actual person; in fact, this was a young lady with streaming black hair and striking green eyes. Her voice wafted melodiously through the noise, and John instantly fell in love with the music. He wandered over to the piano all casual-like, then sat at a nearby table so he could better listen to the beautiful girl's song. It was in a language unfamiliar to him, yet it pulled at him with an incredible strength. He practically fell out of his chair. He watched her for some time, listening to the bizarre singing. The words left her with resounding song, but her crimson lips didn't move at all! John studied her carefully. Her long black hair fell in soft waves down to her waist. She had a slim face and even slimmer neck, around whick was strung a leather necklace, much like his own, but instead of an amber globule, the clasp of hers was inset with a deep ebony onyx. Her shoulders were not broad, but not skinny. She wore a leather vest sewn together at the front with rawhide. Light, puffy sleeves flowed around her wrists. She looked like an angel…
John shook his head to bring himself back to reality. He noticed that various people were dropping coins into a small cup on top of the piano, and this gave John an incredible idea.
He returned to the bar, trying madly to get Billy's attention. When the old man finally had time to talk to him between serving customers, he asked John what was wrong.
"Oh, nothing's wrong. I was just wondering if you happened to have a guitar I might borrow." Billy stared at him blankly. John pursed his lips.
"You know…" He made strumming motions with his hands. "…a guitar."
"I have not heard of such a thing. However…" He started towards the back room, motioning for John to follow. "I do have something that might help."
John entered what appeared to be a wine cellar. The air was cool and refreshing after the pungent smell of the bar. Billy looked around for a moment, then pulled a small bottle similar to the one John had experimented with off the shelf. He uncorked it, then handed it to John.
"Alright, lad. Pour this over yer fingers and think of what ye wish." John gave him a skeptical look, but took the bottle nonetheless. He moved to the middle of the room, tipping the bottle carefully. A strong smelling orange ooze seeped out, dropping into John's hands with a disgusting splat. John made a face, but thought hard of his trusty old guitar which was safely home in Liverpool. Before he realized it, he felt something heavy in his hands. He looked down, and there was his guitar! Well, if it wasn't, it was pretty darn close!
John ran his hands along the neck fondly, fingering the strings gingerly and forming a few chords. Billy looked on in astonishment, never before having seen an instrument such as this. John left the wine cellar, returning to the hot, thick air of the bar.
He returned to the piano where the black-haired girl was sitting, just as she was finishing her song. He sat down next to her but in the opposite fashion, legs facing outward. He smiled his ten million dollar smile, and that girl took immediate notice.
"Hullo, luv." She turned quickly, and he knew he had her attention now, although she didn't want to seem to show it.
She didn't respond, looking slightly suspicious. Her face was stony, but her eyes sparkled with a radiance that seemed to be mirrored by everyone in the room. He smiled reassuringly. She stared at the contraption he cradled in his long arms, obviously interested. What is it for?
Her mindvoice was soft and tentative, yet it had an overshadowing that he couldn't quite describe. Why wasn't she talking out loud? A thought then came to John as he studied her slim face.
You're mute, aren't you?
Only in mouth. He smiled, and she smiled back, shyly but genuinely. But…you were singing…
Mindsong. Only you could hear, unless someone was a shawan and doesn't want to show it.
John gazed at her confusedly. Oh, you mean a telepath. Now it was her turn to look confused. She shrugged, the cast her eyes downward, seemingly trying to hide something. She brushed her hair from her face and John could see a tear glistening in her eye. She shook her head and returned her gaze to the guitar. John stared into her emerald eyes, trying to uncover her secret. She caught his gaze and blushed. He started, then remembered the supposed question. Well…uhm…it's a…uh… She smiled, patting his hand.
Relax…
John.
Right then. She offered one slim hand which John shook, and as he did, he noticed that her fingernails were terribly long; not such that it was gross, but enough to be noticeable. I'm Mystique. Pleased ta meet'cha.
John smiled brightly. Sorry, Mystique. This is a guitar. She stared at him blankly.
Well, it's an instrument, like a piano, but the strings are on the outside, and you play it like this… He strummed a few chords to Yesterday, and her green eyes widened to sparkling green circles. She slowly closed her eyes, swaying trancelike. John smiled. She looked so peaceful! He began to sing.
"Yesterday…all my troubles seemed so far away…now it looks as though they're here to stay, oh I believe in yesterday…" He sang the entire song beautifully, despite the fact that it was sort of Paul's song. Throughout the entire rendition, Mystique remained in her trance, lips pursed as if she wished to sing out loud. When he finished, he realized that the entire bar had remained completely silent during the song. Now they cheered in a drunken salute, shouting uproariously.
"A beer for the lad with the singing wood!"
"Two beers!"
John smiled as a huge mug was plunked in front of him, and he drank eagerly. Feeling loosened up, he smiled widely at Mystique.
Mystique, luv. I've got this song I'd love to play with you. May I? He motioned to the piano ivories. She scooted down the bench to make room. Of course.He lay his hands on the keys, then began playing the opening strains of Let It Be. Mystique again fell into a trance, and John laughed in spite of himself. He messed up the song, and Mystique opened her eyes. What strange music you play, Jo…Joh…John? John smiled and nodded in approval.
However… Mystique added, looking slightly sheepish. I believe you played the last key wrong. John laughed, and Mystique smiled shyly.
I have an idea. I have only done this once before, but due to the incredible strength of your mind powers… At this, John blushed. …I believe we can pull it off.
John shifted uncomfortably. People were staring at the two, whispering things about "them shawan…" He shook it off and looked deep into Mystique's eyes.
What do I do? She smiled in response, then took hold of his slim hand. She closed her eyes tightly, John doing the same. She began to chant in a bizarre language that John wasn't getting, so he just sat there and listened to her smooth, calming voice. After a minute, something in his mind snapped, and a bright light flooded his eyes. He cried out in pain, then blacked out.
When he woke up, Mystique was standing over him, beer glass in hand. Mornin', sleepin' beauty!
John laughed, then sat up to take the offered mug. He took a huge gulp, coughed, then smiled at Mystique. So…what happened, why did I pass out, and how long was I out for?
I mindlinked us, because the seal was too strong, and only a few minutes.
Oh. John sat for a moment. What's a mindlink?
It can be formed between two shawan of equal strength. Since your strength is a bit stronger than mine, I worked extra hard on the seal and overdid it.
Did it work? Mystique shrugged. Maybe, maybe not. Shall we try?
John nodded, pulling himself from the floor. She sat next to him on the piano, situating her hands an octave lower than his. It looked as if they were bout to play a duet. The drunken masses looked on with interest. Ok, John. Start playing. John once again started Let It Be, the song running through his mind as he played it. A moment or two later, Mystique began playing in exact synchronization, their hands moving across the keys at the exact same time. John still, however, hit a sour note, but Mystique continued to play beautifully. John decided to try something out. He lifted his hands from the keys, but still thought through the notes in his head. Mystique's eyes were closed, and she continued to play, like a little puppet. John started thinking the wrong notes, and Mystique played them. He snickered quietly, then started thinking a completely different song.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Mystique
Happy birthday to yooooou!
Mystique opened her eyes, laughing. Oh, very funny. Very funny.
I thought so… Mystique just shook her head. Shall we play then? John nodded in response. He hefted his guitar, strumming a few times to get the feel of it, then started. One, two three four…
The duet launched into a particularly beautiful version of Let It Be, John handling the guitar while thinking through the piano for Mystique. Throughout the entire song, the audience was captivated, staring at the two shawan that seemed to know each other since childhood but met only moments ago. The two finished the song to uproarious applause. They grinned sheepishly, then joined hands and took a bow. Gold coins flowed into the tin cup sitting on the piano until it overflowed. Mystique eagerly scooped up the money and headed for a seat at the bar. John followed, despite the many calls for an encore.
****
Why, mother? Why him? You know how this pains me.
Quiet, my child. It must be done. He is not the brightest. The mindlink establishes this.
But mother, he is special! I can feel it…
No more argument. It must be done, or you know what will happen.
Yes, but…
GO!!
****
John found Mystique ordering a double and stuffing half the coins into a small leather pouch around her slim waist. She pushed the rest towards John as he sat down next to her.
Thanks, luv. She didn't respond, seeing as she was chugging a large mug of something that sure wasn't apple juice. John ordered a scotch on the rocks and then explained to a confused Billy exactly what scotch on the rocks was. He got his drink, then turned to Mystique.
So, where do you live, if you don't mind me asking? She smiled.
Not at all. I live right upstairs, the bedroom on the left. Seeing John's surprised reaction, she wondered what was wrong. John laughed.
I guess I borrowed your room for a bit. Sorry! Mystique shrugged.
I saw them bring you in. It didn't look like you had much choice. I don't mind at all. Marge and Billy are wonderful people. John thought to himself for a moment.
How do you communicate with Billy and Marge?
Sign language. They talk to me, I sign back. John nodded, then shifted nervously.
Listen, there's something I've wanted to ask you about, but I haven't been able to pluck up the courage…
Yes?
Well… He shifted nervously, brow furrowing. Well, when you first talked to me, you looked like you were about to cry. Is there any reason why? I don't mean to sound like I'm prying, he added quickly.
She smiled sadly, tears once again glistening in her eyes. She traced the rim of her cup with her long fingers, remaining silent for a moment in deep thought, then answered.
When I was younger, I… A large drunk man appeared out of nowhere, leaning over the couple and breathing noxious fumes. John wrinkled his nose and pulled the man's arm off his shoulder. The man turned to Mystique.
"Hullo, silent one!" He said loudly, sticking his vile face into hers. She all but gagged at his breath, pushing him away. The man swayed dangerously, then wrapped his arms around her. "Ooh! I like the spunky type!"
John! Help!
"Listen, buddy, she's with me." John stood up, tapping the man on the shoulder. He untangled himself from Mystique who greedily gulped in air. "Is that so, stranger?"
The man towered almost a foot above John, his sour breath making the Beatle cringe. His clothes were disheveled, his hair in a complete state of disarray. John swallowed, waiting for the giant to punt him across the room.
Much to his surprise, the man laughed heartily at John's…spunk…and left the two alone, swaggering off to rejoin his drinking buddies. John and Mystique breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Say, you want to go to my room to talk? Don't take that the wrong way…! She added quickly, and John laughed.
Nah, it's ok. I'm not that sort of person.
The two paid for their drinks and headed up the stairs, ignoring the wolf whistles of the drunken hoards.
John flopped onto the bed with a sigh, Mystique sitting across from him on a small wooden stool. John propped himself up on his elbows, regarding Mystique kindly. Now, where were we… Mystique breathed in deeply and a little shakily, then started her story.
When I was a little girl, I went to a small school in a small village; typical farmer girl. My teacher was a wonderful woman, and I loved her dearly. She had a son, named…John…and… She dissolved into chokes, a tear spilling down her cheek. John moved to where she sat, then moved her to sit with him on the bed. He sat her on his lap, and she continued through her sobs.
One day, I was walking to school through the forest near our house when a few boys from school jumped me. They tried to… She stopped, sobbing, and John patted her back, telling her that he understood what she meant. They tried to take advantage of her. Mystique took a deep breath, then continued.
John saved my life. But in the midst of the fight, I was kicked in the throat, permanently damaging my voicebox. This is why I can no longer talk. John nodded for her to continue.
After the dust cleared, the gang ran off. I jumped for joy, but when I turned to find John, he…he…was dead. A long slim dagger was plunged deep into his heart. I cried for days, periodically comforting my childhood love's mother. Together, we made a vow to avenge his death. A few years later, my family was killed by bandits while I was at school, and my teacher adopted me as her own. Together, we developed our mind powers until I could talk again. Ever since that day… She finished, taking in a deep, shaky breath. I have vowed my revenge. She looked up at him through her tears. I suppose that your name and your likeness to my friend brought back the painful memories.
John hugged her tight, and they sat on the bed for quite some time, hours in fact, the only sound being Mystique's occasional shaky breath. He rocked her back and forth until her sobs died down. He held her out, hands around her waist. C'mon, luv. It's dark out, and it's quiet downstairs. Marge and Billy have gone to bed. Shall we go have a drink? Mystique brushed her stringy, tear-soaked hair from her eyes, then smiled and nodded to John. He got up and she followed him downstairs, never letting go of his hand.
****
Mother…he understands…I can't do this to him! He understands…
Quiet, child. It must be done. Need I remind you of my beloved son?
No, Mother. But…there is something about him…
Go, child. You know what to do.
****
John smacked into the door at the bottom of the stair, cursing loudly. Mystique giggled quietly behind him as he rubbed his nose, then pushed the door open.
It was almost completely dark inside the bar except for the moonlight that streamed through the small windows. John sat Mystique down at the bar, then felt his way to the wine cellar, lighting a small lantern and retreiving a wine bottle and two goblets. He poured each of them a glass, then, as Mystique began to drink, he stroked her hair comfortingly. Better?
She smiled at him with returning sparkle in her eyes. Much.
Good.
John left her for a moment to find his guitar. As he walked around the dark room, Mystique stared at his wine glass. Regretting what she was about to do, she produced a small bag from her belt and poured a sparkling white powder into John's wine.
Christ, it's dark in here! There was a loud crash and a curse. Mystique could only replace the bag in her belt as she tried to control her tears.
I'm back! Didja miss me? He asked brightly, guitar in hand. Mystique burst into tears. He looks so much like John…
Oh, Mystique! He gathered her up in his arms again, and she sobbed into his soft shoulder. She quieted after a moment, and he sat back. All right? He queried. She nodded slowly. He reached for his wine glass and took a large swig. Mystique held her breath.
Instantly, everything went fuzzy. John reeled, grasping the bar for support. What the… He swayed, then his legs failed and he fell to his knees. Mystique wailed, Oh, John! Forgive me!
You…you've…killed me…
Everything went black.
On To Chapter Eight!
Back to the intro!
