One Way and Another

Part 1: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/he-who-will-not-be-tamed
Part 2: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/the-lies-we-hope-for

Part 3:
Whisper whisper, always whispering.

Daniel woke. Well, he got out of bed anyway. Daniel Dreamwalker dared not dream anymore. The memories he held were not his. The nightmares were far older than he had ever studied. And behind it all was- Already dressed, not hungry, had to get back to work.

Whisper whisper.

Yes, yes, had to check that first. Left that equation undone. Daniel strode down the hall. Others knew to stay out of his way. Far too busy planning his work. Had to start by checking the levels. His chemicals were far more precise than they ever were. He turned the corner sharply and there-there she was. She was with her assistant, on their way to a state meeting. Sara said hello, she was worried. Daniel started to speak, to reassure.

Whisper whisper.

Daniel begged off. Had to go. Down down down. The stairs did not go deep enough, he slowed not at all as he formed the symbols with his hand to open the secret door as the hall hit a dead end. Bubbling, whistling: he had already started his laboratory the minute he got up.

Whisper whisper.

Hours past without Daniel noticing. So close, he probably would sleep in his dark laboratory tonight.

Whisper whisper, always whispering.

Days and days Lione Lionheart wandered. The thick woods yielded from time to time from the wild dense darkness to a clearing on a hill or by a stream that housed a family or two. The people would be friendly. They gave him food, mended his clothes. One woodsman gave him a fine axe, another taught him how to tell time and direction under the canopy. Then he would ask after the wanderer, the shaman, the magus: all these names made them turn him away.

There was always a path leading west. Other paths would web and weave, but Lione stuck with the westward path. He did not know why, it certainly was not because he trusted the Dreamwalker, but he did not have any reason why not. He was putting the most distance between him and the gray city he loved. That was enough for now.

There was plenty of game in the woods, and streams would criss and cross his path every day or so. Also there were nuts and mosses that were not foul to eat. Lione did not trust his woodcraft enough to eat mushrooms or herbs, but he never wanted for sustenance. Occasionally there would be another traveller. He always hid if he could hear them coming. The men who had households warned him about the men who wandered. Some of them were merchants or marshalls, but most were wild and desperate men.

The forest world was so different from his beloved city, but the people were of the same kind. Lione was homesick.

He walked, and walked, and walked. The shade of the trees cast dancing shadows, the rough trail held many stones to avoid, and his worries kept him occupied.

“Well, well, good morning to you sir.”

There were three men blocking his path. One of them had a gun holstered on his thigh. “Hello,” Lione did not slow. One of them stepped in front of him to force him to stop. Lione stood, a long walking stick in his right hand, head bowed, left hand at his side. He slid his left hand back, his ax was under his backpack.

“Well met, gentlemen.”

“Hello, what a fancy timber you have laddie! Dontcha think so, Billy?”

“Fancy fancy.”

“Indeed, my good sah.” The men were amused as they spread out a bit more. “And what, young master, would you be looking for way out here?”

“I am looking for an old man, a hermit of the woods.” Lione felt no reason to lie, though he had no idea why he was telling the truth.

“Old man?” the three exchanged looks. “The old man?”

“Friend of yours, Billy?”

“Eh, how you know my name?”

“I said it a bit ago, dumbass.” This one was the smart one. He eyed Lione sideways for a moment, and then said “What are you wanting from this hermit, city boy?”

“I’m looking for lessons from a country bumpkin.”

Oh, they didn’t like that, not at all. Billy was to Lione’s left, he swung an ugly bat at Lione’s head. Lione rolled under and stood sharply, trapping the club between his stick and body. The hatchet came out with a reverse grip, the butt shoved into Billy’s short ribs. He wasn’t all that tough, he crumbled. The smart one stabbed a short knife at Lione’s face with his left. Lione nodded right. Smarty swung his extended hand towards Lione’s head and back as he drew his revolver with his right hand. Lione was all ready for that. He dropped his stick, stepped to his left bringing his ax up and around to strike smarty’s right shoulder. The shot was well wide, and hid a bloody cry of pain. Lione left the ax lodged in smarty’s shoulder, kicked the gun loose, and let the man stumble in the opposite direction. The third man finally had a clear target. He and Lione were unarmed, he was bigger by far but Lione’s blood was up. A brief exchange. Toe to toe. But Lione, for all his airs, had been in more fights than the older woodsman.

“Young man, you certainly know how to put on a show to rival the Academy.” On a rise off to the west was an old man, tall, leatherbound, a staff in his hand and a short sword at his side.

Lione heaved, trying to get air, the men in various stages of consciousness. “Who...the hell...are you.” the gasping made his words far more threatening than he wanted, didn’t help that he kicked a man and freed his ax while talking.

The old man did not seem to mind. He walked closer. “I am the traveller you have traveled to see. Tell me,” He stopped and leaned on his tall staff, “How is my gray city these days?”