After Earth Went Dark

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After Earth Went Dark; Part II Chapter 3

As the sun began to set on their little campsite, Elliot decided that he had to do something about the smell of horse. There was a little stream nearby that he could use to wash quickly. He knew it wasn't the best idea to go off in the woods on his own with the sun sinking, but the smell was strong, and he wanted to at least lessen it.

After Louis's revelation that someone was searching for Ida, or for someone that resembled her in appearance and nature, Marcel had taken her aside to discuss the matter in private. Whatever they had decided, the vote on whether or not to enter the town had gone forward, and the group had chosen by a fair margin to take the risk.

The stream was not far away, and Elliot found it quickly. He hoped that it was far enough that he wouldn't be disturbed as he bathed. Stripping out of his clothes, he slid into the deepest section of the stream, which was about three feet, and crouched down so that only his head and shoulders were above water.

The weather had not yet begun to turn, and likely would not start for another few weeks to a month, but even so the water was chilly and took some getting used to. Elliot scrubbed himself down as best he could with just his hands. Even without soap, it felt good to rinse the dirt and oils from tending the horses off his skin. Taking a breath, he dunked his head under the water to rinse his hair out as well.

When he came up, he froze, and not because of the chill of the water. He could hear voices nearby. They were coming from the direction of the camp, so he was not worried about intruders, but he also didn't want to be caught naked in the river. As quietly as he could, he crept out of the water and gathered up his clothes. He knew he wouldn't have time to dress before whoever it was broke through the tree line so instead, he put only his shoes on and darted to the closest tree to hide behind.

Almost as soon as he had ducked out of sight, two figures broke from the trees, walking close together. It was too dark to see who it was for sure.

"Is this far enough?" A voice asked that Elliot recognized but couldn't place.

"I think so." The accent of the second voice marked the person unmistakably as Marcel.

"We haven't had a chance to be... alone in a while." The first voice said. Elliot sucked in a breath as he recognized it as Jay.

"That has not stopped me from thinking about you." Marcel's voice took on a charming tone.

Elliot immediately knew he was witnessing something that was not meant for him. He didn't know how he could slip away without drawing their attention though.

Marcel gave Jay a gentle kiss on the cheek. "You mustn't be so worried about what others would think." He said softly.

Jay slowly put his arms around Marcel. "I know... Just... It's hard."

It was difficult for Elliot to watch for many reasons. He was embarrassed being a voyeur on this obviously intimate moment between them, but also the touching exchange reminded him of Tyr. Jay and Marcel quickly became more passionate. They kissed each other deeply, in a manner that indicated it was far from the first time for either of them.

Jay tried to muffle the noises they made, but they still carried clearly to where Elliot was hiding. Even though he knew he shouldn't watch, Elliot couldn't look away as Marcel helped Jay out of his shirt. Seeing the well-developed torso underneath gave Elliot a tingling feeling through his body. He recognized this feeling as the same electric jolt of desire that he had experienced when he had seen Tyr undress. It was not as strong with Jay, but it was unmistakably similar.

As Marcel's hands began to roam farther down and Jay's quiet moans took on a more pleading tone, Elliot knew it was time to go. It was not right for him to be seeing this, and the two of them were probably too busy to notice his escape. With immense effort, Elliot tore his eyes away from the erotic scene unfolding in the woods just as Marcel dropped lightly to his knees. Elliot thought he caught a glimpse of something between Jay's legs but refused to look back as he stole away into the night.

Spending time with Tyr had made him better at moving quietly, and the two by the river had other things on their mind. Elliot made his unnoticed exit with relative ease. He stopped a few hundred yards away to put his clothing back on and realized that, despite the exertion of fleeing the scene, he was still fully erect from the short time spent watching. The thought of what Marcel and Jay were doing back at the stream by now made Elliot almost regret leaving. It had been a long time since he had touched himself at all in a sexual way.

The loss of Tyr had dulled that instinct powerfully, and even the scarce few times he had done it at Uncle Mark's, it had always been with thoughts of Tyr in mind. Now that he knew Tyr was not coming back, the thought of it didn't seem right at all. Elliot pushed the thoughts and feelings down, as he had become so good at, and finished dressing. He tossed his still damp hair out of his eyes but didn't bother to tie it up again.

Back at camp, most people were bedding down for the night. Elliot folded out his bedroll near the dying fire and pulled his pack closer. His arousal had faded but left a familiar loneliness. He wrapped his fingers around the cold steel of the axe head before pulling it close to his chest. Tucking it under his shirt, he felt the weight of it over his heart and the cool touch of the metal on his skin. He wondered where its twin had gone. Maybe it was buried with Tyr. Or maybe that terrible Hermod had taken it. The very thought of his name made Elliot shake with rage and brought tears to his eyes.

Elliot grabbed Tyr's journal to distract himself. It had been some time since he had opened it, but now he just wanted to be close to Tyr. The familiar handwriting, somehow simultaneously neat and messy, calmed him.

The journal was difficult to read, not only because Elliot often had to keep himself from crying when thinking about the hand that wrote it. Tyr simply vomited his thoughts onto the page with no continuity or formatting. Some pages were nothing but lists of unrelated words that no doubt only made sense to Tyr. Even in his most haphazard entries though, everything Tyr wrote seemed to pass through some kind of mental filter. Elliot also got the impression that Tyr did not even realize he was censoring himself. It was as if the blocks were so ingrained that they had become a part of him.

Elliot also learned that Tyr had a very strange sense of time keeping. It took Elliot a confusing long while to figure out that Tyr often used time measurements like "hour", "day", "week", and "year", almost interchangeably. He supposed it was a way of making fun of the long and tedious way that Tyr talked about time passing in whatever facility housed the mysterious "Project Aesir".

After a particularly tedious entry in which Tyr seemed to just be quoting line-by-line from some sort of gun repair manual, Elliot decided to put the little book up for the night. The dying fire was making it hard to see anyway and the camp had gone quiet around him. As he sat up to pack the journal away, Jay and Marcel made their way into the clearing stealthily.

Marcel waved when he saw Elliot was still awake and gave him a little wink. Jay on the other hand blushed red and looked down at the ground. Elliot wanted to say something to make Jay less uncomfortable but had no idea what that would even be. He also didn't want to disturb any of the others that were sleeping. Giving a small wave in return and what he hoped was a reassuring smile to Jay, he lay back and curled up to sleep.

The town of Madison was small and in very poor shape. The windows of almost every building were boarded over with plywood or lumber, even though many of them seemed to still be occupied. Marcel had given the group an enthusiastic pep talk before entering the town. He had boosted their morale and brought optimistic smiles to their faces at the prospect of entertaining a new group of people.

Seeing the town first hand made their enthusiasm difficult to maintain. Marcel had climbed on top of the wagon as Ida drove it and struck an inspiring pose like a general directing his troops into combat. It was impressive that he could maintain his balance atop the bumbling wagon. The guitar players, Carlos and Jim, strummed an energetic rhythm as they walked along, trying to draw as much attention as possible.

Occasional passersby ducked quickly into alleyways when they saw the group coming, but Elliot saw more than one cautiously peer out as they passed. The people were thin and ragged and most carried makeshift clubs or weapons of some sort. They were used to the worst sort of living and Elliot couldn't help feeling for them.

Marcel called for a halt in the center of town and leapt gracefully down from the wagon. "Listen up my Champions of Cheer!" He called loudly to the troupe. "This may be our greatest challenge yet. There is too much suffering in the world and this little town has seen more than its fair share. Many of these people surely have not felt the warmth of a true smile in a long, long time." He gestured dramatically over the whole group. "This is our mission! Our calling! To help them to forget their sorrow and pain for a little while."

"What is this?" A gruff voice demanded loudly, interrupting Marcel's speech.

Two men stood in one of the smaller side streets. They were both rough and unshaven characters with patched clothing. The man who had spoken had a rusty machete hanging from his belt. His companion carried an aluminum baseball bat that was severely dented and had a large wad of tobacco in one cheek. To Elliot, they didn't really look like the type in the mood for a smile.

Marcel was undaunted, however. He sashayed over to greet the two strangers with his most extravagant grin.

"Hello there! We are the Traveling Theater of Cheer! You may have heard that we were coming to bring a little sunshine back to this place." Though Marcel's voice had the same almost melodic cadence to it that it always did, there was something different about his posture. His knees were bent slightly, and his shoulders were angled away from the two men almost imperceptivity. It was, Elliot realized, a stance that readied him for trouble without seeming aggressive.

The man that had spoken raised an eyebrow and gestured around at the dilapidated buildings and nearly deserted streets. "This look like the place for your kind?" There was disdain in his voice but Marcel either didn't notice or chose to ignore it.

"My friend, every place and every person can surely enjoy some lively entertainment, can they not?"

The man's grizzled face twisted into an even deeper frown. His companion spit brown saliva out of the side of his mouth.

"Why don't you clear off?" the man suggested quietly. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

Marcel beamed, unphased. "We will certainly think about it. Perhaps you will consider coming to the show tonight as well!" He inclined his head politely to the two men before spinning theatrically on his heel and returning to the group, all of whom were looking on anxiously. The two glared at his back before sauntering down an alley.

"What are you all standing around for?" Marcel asked the troupe as though genuinely curious. "Don't you have practicing to do?"

As though a spell was broken, the group members turned back to the task of setting up their camp and practicing their acts. Marcel pulled Ida aside to speak quietly to her and Elliot subtly stepped closer to be able to hear.

"Do you think that was the dangerous man we've been hearing about?" Marcel asked her.

Ida shook her head. "He barely looked at me, or at any of the other girls. If he was looking for someone particular, then we would have caught on."

"Hmm you are right, as usual. What say we take a little trip to visit this bar owner and hear what he has to say?" Marcel turned to the group once more, forcing Elliot to pretend to be busy with the horses. "Jim? Be a dear and look after the camp for a bit, won't you? We'll be right back."

Jim, the older of the two guitar players, nodded solemnly and patted the side of his jacket. Elliot remembered Jay saying that the man supposedly had a gun somewhere.

A strange feeling of tension had been growing in Elliot's mind since they rolled into town. At first, he had chalked it up to the rumors of danger and the rundown state of the town, but now with the thinly veiled threat from the two thugs and Marcel and Ida running off on secret errands, Elliot felt unease hanging heavy over him. Even Marcel's unwavering façade of optimism did little to quell the unpleasantly familiar feeling building within him.

Elliot's stomach dropped into his shoes as he remembered the last time he had felt this creeping suspicion. It had been on that horrible day in the little clearing by the road. Tyr and Hermod had been talking together like old friends, all the while knowing that one of them was going to have to kill the other. Elliot had picked up on the uncomfortable undertones of the conversation but had not understood them until after the fact. Right now, he had that same sense of foreboding. It felt like something was lurking just beneath the surface.

He watched Marcel and Ida depart and let them get a solid lead, then patting Maple's snout once more, he slipped away from the camp and followed them down the street. He hadn't gotten far when a hand suddenly grabbed ahold of his arm.

Before he could stop himself, Elliot pulled the knife from his belt and whirled on the would-be attacker, only to find Jay, staring wide-eyed at the blade now pointed at him.

Quickly, sheepishly, Elliot tucked the weapon away again, although he silently congratulated himself on his own reaction time. "What are you doing?" He demanded.

"Me? What are YOU doing?" Jay asked indignantly. "Sneaking off and pulling knives on people, you could get kicked out like that."

Elliot looked down the sidewalk to where Marcel and Ida were rounding a corner two blocks away. "Just looking around." He lied.

"You're following them, aren't you?" Jay pointed out the obvious. "Why?"

Elliot sighed, looked at the ground, and shrugged. "I don't know. Aren't you curious? Doesn't it seem like something's off?"

Jay twisted his lip. "Yeah, now that you mention it. Marcel was acting a little on edge last night after he talked to Ida."

The memory of Jay and Marcel in the woods made Elliot's face redden slightly but he didn't mention it. "Well, I'm going to try to figure out what's going on. Come if you want, but please don't tell anyone if you don't."

"I'll come too." Jay said. "You shouldn't go off on your own."

The two boys hurried down the sidewalk after Marcel and Ida, ignoring the suspicious looks they got from the rare pedestrians. They rounded the corner just in time to see the two enter a slightly larger building at the end of the block. They approached cautiously but did not try to enter. There were boarded over windows in front with cracks just wide enough to peer though.

The building was as dingy and unwelcoming inside as it was outside. Elliot could just make out Marcel and Ida standing by a bar talking to the man behind it. It was of course impossible to tell what they were saying, but Ida's body language suggested that the man was not being very helpful. It was not a long conversation. Ida abruptly spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Elliot and Jay scrambled into a nearby alley and hid behind a dumpster just in time as Marcel and Ida emerged from the bar.

"You think you know this person?" Marcel was asking.

"I hope not." Ida replied. "If so, we should hope he's moved on from here."

Marcel clicked his tongue in disappointment. "You are nothing but drama, you know. Should we leave?"

Ida ignored his jab. "There would be no point. If he's still here, he already knows we're here. If not, we wouldn't want to catch up with him."

"Darling you need to choose better exes." Marcel's voice dripped with sarcasm. The two quickly passed the alley where Elliot and Jay hid.

"That's not... What are you two doing?" Ida spun abruptly to face the alleyway.

Elliot had no idea how they had been spotted. He had barely been peeking an eye out from behind the dumpster. Ida had barely glanced in their direction.

Marcel stopped in his tracks, peering curiously down the alley, clearly not seeing what Ida was seeing.

"Come out. Now." Ida ordered sternly.

Knowing they had been discovered, Elliot stepped from behind the dumpster, not making eye contact. Jay followed more reluctantly.

Marcel's mouth opened in surprise, then he frowned. "Jay? What are you doing here? Elliot?"

"You really wear it on your sleeve, don't you?" Ida asked Marcel dryly. "You two." She turned her attention back to the eavesdroppers. "This doesn't concern you. Get back to the camp. Elliot, Maple and Timber had better be brushed until they shine by the time we get back."

The boys slunk out of the alley past Marcel and Ida. Marcel gave Jay a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

Back at the camp, the trepidation that the troupe members had felt on entering the town was beginning to give way to routine and training as they rehearsed their acts and prepared for the night's performance. Jay was obviously a little irritated with Elliot for getting him into trouble and he left him to tend the horses with only a brief nod.

Elliot took care of his duties as quickly as he could. He wasn't sure if he was expected to perform that night but decided he had better be prepared. He practiced some of his flourishes and movements with his knife to make sure they were committed to memory. The idea of performing in front of a crowd was suddenly very daunting. Elliot was not much of a showman. Thinking of having people looking at him while he ran through a few paltry knife tricks had him feeling like he would rather crawl under the wagon and hide.

He intended to ask Ida about it when she returned, but when finally she and Marcel got back to camp they both seemed on edge and distracted. Elliot didn't think she would be in a mood to answer his questions. He also reasoned that, if a woman as independent and confident as Ida was worried then there must be very good reason to be. This did not help his pre-performance jitters at all.

Marcel approached him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't be so nervous, my friend." He squeezed gently. "You look like you are ready to be sick."

"Do I have to have to perform tonight?" Elliot was embarrassed to even ask.

"Have to?" Marcel looked at him curiously. "It's not about `have to'. Your talent should be building inside you just aching to be released into the world." He paused studying Elliot for a moment. "Yes, you have to." He said bluntly before turning to depart. "Ah!" Marcel spun back on his heel. "I almost forgot. I found a little something that might help you out."

Reaching into the front seat of the wagon, Marcel pulled out a small wrapped bundle and handed it to Elliot. It clinked as he did. When he unwrapped the cloth, Elliot found four small knives about the same size as the one he carried.

"Can you work with those?" Marcel asked, plucking one out of the bundle and twisting it idly in his fingers.

Elliot lifted another one out and tested the weight. It was similar to Tyr's knife but not exact. "I think so." He said after a moment.

"Excellent! I had one of the boys make this up for you this morning too." He pulled out a round piece of plywood that had been painted like a target. "A bit drab maybe, but for now it will do the job, no?" Marcel hung the little target on one of the poles they used for torches. "Just, be a dear and try not to take anyone's eye out?"

Elliot spent the next few hours practicing with his new knives. The repetitive action of throwing and retrieving was calming and kept his nerves at bay. The different weight of the knives took some getting used to, but after about an hour he was able to hit the little target almost every time from about fifteen feet away. By the time Marcel called a halt so they could get set up for the performance, Elliot had improved his groupings and taken the range out another five feet.

Night fell on the small town and the troupe lit their circle of torches. Marcel seemed to be everywhere at once, giving pep talks, straightening outfits or rehearsing a series of steps. He came to Elliot and examined the scars on the target.

"Fantastic! You will make a wonderful intermission show." Marcel turned a critical eye on Elliot. "We will find you something suitable to wear next time. One step at a time." He chuckled and then was off once more to continue his inspection.

A crowd did gather eventually. Elliot thought they might not. It was significantly smaller than the one at the previous town, only outnumbering the performers by a small handful, but Marcel did not seem to mind. Carlos and Jim opened the evening with a beautiful duet that was soft and slow with complex solos trading back and forth. As soon as they finished, they launched into a more up-tempo tune. Marcel and Ida twirled out to the front performing a sultry tango.

Elliot watched in fascination as the members of the troupe performed their acts. He hadn't known that the show was so varied. Two teens executed an elaborate juggling routine, tossing balls back and forth between each other without breaking their concentration. A young girl bent herself into impossible shapes and contortions that made Elliot wince. All the while, Carlos and Jim provided the ambiance, sometimes with the help of Louis on his box drum.

Finally, Elliot's turn came. Marcel gestured extravagantly, and all eyes turned to him. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt heat radiating from his face. Suddenly his mouth felt very dry. He had never been the center of attention like this before. Forcing himself to swallow, Elliot picked up a knife in each hand. He tried to ignore the stares of the crowd. Someone laughed behind him and he had to convince himself they were laughing at something else. Closing his eyes, he began to run through the series of spins and twirls he had practiced. Very slowly at first.

Marcel began to clap in time with the music that Jim and Carlos continued to strum out. Others began to join in. This gave Elliot something to focus on rather than the vacant stares of the crowd. His motions became faster and more confident and he began to move his arms as he did so to show off his skill. He glanced at the target over his shoulder. It looked impossibly far away, even though he had just been practicing with it earlier.

Elliot caught one knife, turned, and launched it at the target all in the same motion. The crowd gasped but then applauded as the blade stuck fast into the plywood. It wasn't a good hit, but it was a hit. Quickly, Elliot sent the second knife following. This one bounced off the target altogether, causing him to flare up with embarrassment.

Marcel gave him an encouraging nod and Elliot gathered up the other two knives. Executing some more flourishes with them, he sent them both flying at the target one after the other. Both found their mark near the center and stuck there, quivering. Elliot's chest swelled with pride. The audience applauded, and Marcel gestured for him to bow. He did awkwardly before going to collect his knives.

The rest of the performance went off without a hitch. The groups of dancers finished off the evening with the same breathtaking display of coordination and acrobatics that Elliot had witnessed before. Ida and Marcel were an incredible duo, performing flips and twirls at a lightning pace, all in time with the sensual Latin rhythm provided by their musicians.

The reaction when the elaborate dance ended was muted compared to in the previous town, but was a glowing reception compared to what Elliot had feared. The amount of confidence and charisma that Marcel was able to instill in his fellow performers was fully contagious, and even the people of this downtrodden town were not immune.

"Splendid everyone! Wonderful!" Marcel congratulated them all as Ida waited by the donation box. Only a sparse few people dropped anything in, but many of the crowd waited around for a chance to talk to members of the troupe.

Elliot's relief was extreme from the moment his act had finished. Now that the night was through, he was surprised to find that he missed the adrenaline rush he had felt after those last two throws. All the nerves and trepidation faded from his mind, replaced by the elation he had felt when the people applauded him. Already he began to plan what kind of tricks he could practice for the next performance.

Too wrapped up in his own excitement, Elliot didn't notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The mood turned rapidly as a small group of men gathered in one of the streets nearby. The crowd noticed however and dispersed quickly. When Elliot finally realized that the noise had faded away and looked up, he saw that about twenty rough looking men had formed an unfriendly-looking rank near their camp. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they all carried makeshift weapons. The man at their center looked somewhat familiar and Elliot eventually recognized him from his rusty machete as the same man that had confronted Marcel that morning.

"Hello gentlemen!" Marcel called exuberantly. "So sorry you've missed the performance. It would have been so nice to have such a large crowd."

"I told you to clear out." Machete man said in a low voice. "We run this town, and we don't want you here."

Marcel put a hand to his chest in indignance. "Well, I am terribly sorry my friend. If you wish, we will depart immediately, however it would be most kind of you to allow us a night's sleep first."

"No." The man pulled his weapon from his belt. "It's too late for that." He raised his voice, so everyone could hear. "Don't fight back and it will go easier for you. There's a fair few pretty ones among you that we wouldn't want to rough up too much. The rest of you, should have listened." He looked pointedly at Marcel. "If you live, maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

Elliot gathered up his knives. By now, he knew men like this. Like the men that had attacked him and set his adventure in motion. Like the men who had killed his father. Like Brogan the "Bone Crusher" from the Tournament. Like Hermod. There would be no reasoning with them. Blood was going to be shed.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Marcel took a tactful yet subtle step backward that a casual observer might have missed. Elliot noticed that Ida had slowly made her way toward the wagon. "Surely there is a way that we can settle this like gentlemen, no?"

The man in front spit on the ground beside him. "You had your chance for that this morning. It's too late now. You made your..." The man gasped as an arrow abruptly embedded itself in his chest.

Elliot turned as the man toppled over to see Ida, already with another arrow on the string.

"Leave it!" She ordered. "You might win, but it won't be without a fight. Who wants to be next?"

There was a moment of indecision where Elliot thought that maybe Ida's words would sway the mob. With a sudden cry of rage, another man rushed forward. Even though he was immediately dropped by Ida's next arrow, the signal had been given. The mob of men surged forward, yelling incoherently.

Elliot felt the icy grip of fear on his limbs as he tried to make himself react. He grasped two of the knives in his fists tightly. The camp erupted in chaos as most of the troupe members fled. Marcel nimbly dodged out of the way of a plank of wood swung at his head. Another man fell with an arrow in his neck. Elliot jumped violently when he heard the sound of a gun go off. The guitar player Jim had revealed a small revolver from inside his shirt and was taking aim at the charging men one at a time.

Looking down at the knives in his hands then back up at the mob, Elliot's mind whirled. He had never killed anyone before. The thought of ending someone's life terrified him. Then he thought back to the last time he had hesitated. He hadn't been strong enough to shoot the man in the woods, and that man had killed his father.

With a cry of anger, he whipped both knives into the crowd of men. One caught a man in his thigh and brought him down cursing, the other went wide and sailed harmlessly into the darkness. Grabbing up the other two, he quickly sent them soaring after. He did not see where they went though, because a large figure bowled into him, knocking him to the ground.

The man that had plowed over him raised a bat to bring it down on Elliot's head. Elliot struggled to pull Tyr's knife out of his belt. The man groaned suddenly as one of Ida's arrows sprouted from his chest. He toppled backward with a thud.

A shadowy figure detached itself from one of the alleyways and moved in among the group of men. Elliot's heart sank. If people continued to join in, then there was no way they would survive.

As if taking a cue from his thoughts, a strange thing began to happen. Their attackers began to drop right in front of them, struck down by some invisible force. Elliot saw one man fall, then another. No arrows, no gunshots, they simply fell down.

Another angry man ran up on Elliot, who had his knife in hand now. As he aimed and prepared a throw, the man gasped and dropped to his knees before falling forward. Blood began to pool around him and Elliot saw one of his own knives protruding from the back of the man's neck. Confused, Elliot tried to find the source of the attack.

Elliot's heart stopped short for a long moment as another man fell dead about fifteen feet away, his head twisted at a sickening angle. Behind the now dead attacker was that tall, imposing figure. Like a vengeful god, surrounded by carnage he stood, wearing a tattered black tank-top and forest-green cargo pants. The head of a small once impressive axe was clenched tightly in his hand.