The In-Between Tales

Chapter 7: Out Into The World

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The roar of rain had turned into a comforting drone around them as they made their way down the hill. John eased his mount into a more sedate walk given that he was able to hear the splattering of mud under the horse’s hooves. While he wasn’t seeing any sharp dips or inclines, that didn’t mean that the tall grasses ahead weren’t hiding some pitfall, and he’d rather avoid either of them getting hurt.

His senses were caught off guard by a roar of wind coming from his left, the pumpkinheaded Horseman nearly jumping out of his ash-and-dust-covered clothes. But then he caught sight of the whirling twister of wind and metal twirling happily through the air, like Cannonade was dancing in the rain. The movement came with smatters of bells, and what sounded like a cheery flute as the wind-being provided his own musical backdrop.

Watching the sight made the pumpkin’s carved grin feel somewhat real, though before either of them could get lost in the moment the rain suddenly changed. Moving from merely lulling to almost combative. Cannonade was forced into a much more dangerous-looking spin, the wind-being almost tumbling to the ground. Though John quickly forced his mount to gallop to where Cannonade had landed, the wind-being seemed alright if not somewhat dazed.

But before John could actually marshal his throat into workability, another roar of wind ripped across the plain, the grass blowing like tossed wheat from a scythe. While the immediate strength of the gale fell away, there was a constant hum of wind in the air now. John’s pumpkinhead looked off in the direction where the wind had been blowing from.

He felt something in him quail at the sight of the building, pitch-black clouds on the horizon. John glanced towards the middle distance, and couldn’t help but notice that the forest he’d initially come from, where the city of Patiti had been, was no longer visible. They couldn’t have gotten that far away, could they?

Though the sight was attention-grabbing, the fact that the storm seemed to be coming towards them was far more of a problem. Hurriedly, John turned in the saddle to Cannonade, reaching down to meet the wind-being as the semi-vaporous form rose off the ground.

“C-Come on, we h—”

He wasn’t able to finish before another gale ripped through, causing the horse underneath him to start. Not that Cannonade needed more cajoling, the wind-being grabbing onto the back of the saddle for orientation.

John took the hint and ushered his mount to a gallop. Turning his gaze to the opposite horizon, he tried to pick out a landmark. Something, anything. The storm was nearly upon them. Outrunning it wasn’t an option, was it?

Well, John supposed as he urged his mount to go faster, they were probably going to find out one way or another.

But there were other sounds, signs of trouble. The increasing sponginess to the ground, the way the wind continued to howl and how the sounds seemed to have Cannonade tucking himself into John’s shoulders as if that would somehow shield him. They might be washed out. The horse might hit a slope and fall, then they would be trapped, trapped like—

A CRACK-BOOM from behind had John jolting, a cry in his throat as he instinctively dug in his heels and looked back. Past Cannonade’s more vaporous form the clouds whirled, dark and beyond menacing as multi-colored lightning crackled from their folds. Somehow the colors looked sharper — more real and there as the electricity zapped off with multitudes of harsh shades — the clouds themselves so black that to John’s pumpkinhead eyes, they might’ve been portals to some bottomless abyss.

He could feel the horse straining under him. Even though they were practically flying over the long grass the storm seemed to match their pace, bearing down on them almost like the pursuing flight of a hawk. Intent to grab, rip, tear, DEVOUR—

“’EY, HEADLESS HORSEMAN, OVER HERE!!”

The shout had John nearly reeling out of the saddle, his later thoughts being that he was downright grateful he didn’t fall or yank the horse to a halt. His eyes caught sight of motion running in a sort of arc that went from parallel to across. What looked like an odd blur of a man and something…vehicular?

That was really the best way to describe it. John was able to see the gray-green clothes on the person, one hand upraised and waving what looked like an off-white handkerchief. The thing the figure was on also had wheels. The Horseman could faintly hear the steady hum of something under the roar of the storm but he had no frame of reference for what it was he was seeing.

But, in what seemed like a nearly storm-tossed sea, it was a flickering possibility of a safe haven. The Horseman’s vision narrowed to a point, zeroing in on that calm road that their rescuer was urging them towards, tensing with the notion that they must get there NOW!

Though he couldn’t help noticing that the closer they got, the more the thundering of the storm, the roar of the wind, all of it, fell to a quiet, far away hum. The only thing John could hear with clarity was the rumble of the horse’s hooves, the gentle breeze Cannonade always seemed to exude, and that persistent, mechanical hum of the wheeled…thing?

As the horse was able to get onto the rudimentary gravel road, John was able to take in more and more of their apparent rescuer. It…looked like a man, dressed in the earlier mentioned clothes. They almost were like a muted sort of uniform, the wry frame they shrouded riding this strange metallic hulk, part of which was an entirely different color. The figure also wore a sort of dome-shaped hat, some sort of simplistic helmet, and was dressed so strangely John couldn’t help staring as he tried to take it all in.

Though John wasn’t able to do that for long before he remembered the storm that had just been breathing down their necks, and his pumpkinhead spun around to see just what had happened to it.

And it was strange. It almost looked like the storm had somehow altered course. Or perhaps the road itself was pulling away. Either or, it was turning into a haze, growing smaller and smaller until it was barely a whirling dervish on the horizon. Just before it could disappear entirely, John’s attention snapped to his mount, which had slowed to a trot with heaving breaths. Automatically a dusty, gloved hand came up to pat the beast’s neck, a grateful whicker escaping as his horse slowed to a walk.

“Think we can slow down, we’re well outta the way now.” The voice of their rescuer spoke again, John sliding off and giving his horse a break as he walked. It caught his attention that he’d made the mistake of coming down on the wrong side; their rescuer and his strange vehicle were now hidden by the horse’s body. There were also a number of interesting noises coming from them, clanks, the hum of the vehicle itself winding down, and scuffling as the apparent party got out to walk.

That was actually a lot of noise for one person, John thought as he gently tugged the horse to a stop. What on earth was going on over there?

From Cannonade’s tinkling bells, John figured that he didn’t have anything to fear, but the thought was driven out of his head as he came around and took in his first proper sight of their rescuers.

He’d initially assumed that there was just one, and had been somewhat mistaken given that one of them was apparently made of metal. The being was tall, steam softly venting from what looked like slits on its cheeks and pipes protruding up from the shoulders. Its livery was that of something, or someone, official. Perhaps a toy tin soldier, with brighter and polished metal in burgundy and green, a black, tall hat with a golden piece on the front that sat above a slightly reddish brim. It towered above the Horseman, standing perhaps equal to Cannonade, its eyes a sort of greenish white as it stared John down.

“Tim, give the poor guy a breather—” Someone, the person who’d yelled to them in the first place, spoke up, to which John’s manners immediately leapt into the fray.

“Hh-GHK!!”

And then his poor throat proceeded to give out and reduce him to a coughing, choking fit, nearly bent double as he tried to get some semblance of vocal workability back. Distantly John knew he could hear Cannonade, the wind-being’s presence a collection of nervous whistling and bells as an ethereal hand pat the shoulder of John’s dusty coat. But there was another hand and an actual voice as well, thumping him between the shoulder blades as their rescuer went on.

“Easy there, easy. You been hittin’ the Marlboros a bit too hard, Jack? You’re covered in soot.”

“J-John,” he finally graveled out, turning his dusky pumpkinhead up to at last make eye contact with their rescuer and finding himself a bit flummoxed to note that that was really all to see. Except, not quite. Underneath that simple, domed helmet was what off-handedly looked like a doll or a mannequin, but with eyes that shifted between everything from size, to shape, even to color. One moment they were round and blue, the next small and darkly brown…

But still there was a part of John that snapped against his shocked stupor in rebuke. This…man, this being, had rescued them, and was politely accommodating his own infirmness. The very least he could do was provide the generous soul with his name.

“Muh-my name ‘s John.”

“Alright, well, I was close enough,” the green-gray-dressed person replied, holding out a hand for the Horseman to shake. “Nice to meet you, John. Where’re you headed?”

Thankfully by this point John’s throat had managed to pull itself together, so it wasn’t too much of a chore to answer.

“N-Not sure. Just, on.”

“…Well, we’re going to the Market,” their rescuer answered, John somehow feeling the capital letter on the name. Before he could comment on the notion, the metallic being leaned over and started to talk in a voice that thrummed with a low rumble. Not too dissimilar from their vehicle.

“I apologize for frightening you before. My name is Tim.”

That seemed to jog the memory of their other rescuer, who immediately jumped in.

“And you both can call me Joe. Geez, sorry, here you are running your throat ragged givin’ me your name and I didn’t even give you mine.”

“It’s alright,” John started before Cannonade sounded off with a tinkle of bells, waving to get everyone’s attention before letting off with a familiar round of cannon shots clustered together. Even though in retrospect John could say that he should have expected the noise, it still made him flinch.

“A, cannon?” Tim’s polite but overall lost tone prompted John to speak up, better they square this away than leave the pair in the dark.

“His name ‘s C-Can-non-ade.”

“How did you not guess that? Figured that’d be your specialty,” Joe jibed, nudging a friendly elbow Tim’s way with a wink, only for the metallic man to give a steam-exuding sniff before waving him off as if the strangely dressed figure was an annoying fly.

“Would I have you guess the make and type of a gun just from the sound it makes?” Tim’s question had Joe briefly raise a finger, seemingly about to speak before conceding the point with a shrug.

“Fair enough. Anyway, the Market’s as good a place as any to go. You both wanna come with us? We’re mostly goin’ to drop off some stuff, so we’ll have plenty’a time to show you both around.”

John couldn’t help passing a look to Cannonade, very aware that the wind-being was his own person, only to be met with a completely open gaze and a cheery ding.

Complete agreement, it seemed. And, well, he certainly didn’t have anywhere to be.

“We’ll go.”

“Alright! Seein’ as that’s settled, we’ll keep moving along. Just follow us and we’ll get there,” Joe said at first, before throwing a glance to the still slightly trembling horse. “Though we’ll keep it at a walk for a bit, give your four-legged buddy there a break.”

It was something that John couldn’t help appreciating, as while his horse was walking along, he didn’t want to push the poor animal anymore. Besides, his own legs worked fine, unlike his throat. He could stand to walk for a few miles.

Cannonade easily fell into step next to the horse and his rider, though John noticed that the wind-being was trying to stay on the path rather than meandering. It was hard to tell if he was doing this to mimic the rest of the group or because there was some genuine property about the path that made it more appealing.

They were walking for only a minute when John remembered what this Joe had called him. While half of the title was correct, the Horseman couldn’t help getting stuck on the first word.

“Wh-Why did you c-c-call me, that?”

“Call you what? Jack?” Joe asked, glancing over from his efforts to steer his mechanical steed. “That’d be because of your jack-o-lantern of a head. I hope you don’t hold it against me; it is a very identifiable feature.”

“No, no,” John murmured, the Horseman wrestling with his maligned vocal chords for a moment before he managed to press on. “You c’lled me…Headless, Horseman? Why did you…?”

Unfortunately the Horseman lacked the vocal flexibility to truly express his thoughts, and this felt like a somewhat dangerous topic as it was. So, in lieu of words, he gave a somewhat sweeping gesture to himself, hoping that the meaning made it through.

Thankfully something about it made sense, Joe’s ever-changing eyes flickering through some deeper emotion that was there and gone before John could name it. Instead, he waited on pins and needles for the oddly-dressed being to speak.

“Well, wasn’t a hard leap to make. You an’ your horse do look like you rode right outta the papers of Washington Irving. If you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

“Who’ss, that?”

“Uh,” Joe hummed, briefly casting about for his words. “Think he was some kinda writer back in the day, back in what I’d call the colonial period. He wrote a lotta different things, think he wrote about this one guy that fell asleep for a hundred years and then got back to his life to find out everythin’ that changed. But he also wrote about a guy named Ichabod Crane, and the Headless Horseman. Honestly, if we’re just goin’ by the general characteristics, you’re a dead ringer for the second.”

Before John could muster up an answer for all the information he was just given, Joe went on.

“Sorry if that wasn’t right or if I was rude. Was just the first thing that came to mind when I saw you.”

“N-No, you didn’t off-offend me, I just…” How to give voice to the veritable tumult that was on his mind? Was this going to be like that god from the city, the god of death and war? Were there other beings out there that knew more about John, the Horseman, than he himself did?

Or were willing to make assumptions based on how he looked?

“I h-haven’t been traveling much, is all,” John finished lamely, both aware of Joe, Tim, and even Cannonade watching and not sure how to give voice to all the thoughts spinning around inside him. If anything, the best thing this conversation could do was end, even if John wasn’t sure it should.

“Well, glad to hear that. We’re not far from the Market I think, but if I did insult you I figured the next hour or so was gonna be awkward.”

It would probably have been too, John feeling a sort of lightness in his chest at Joe’s fainter chuckle. Very briefly, the Horseman did want to reciprocate, could feel a bubble of laughter in his chest. But before it could rise into a proper laugh his throat spasmed, the resulting cough smothering even the faint sound of humor. It made his thoughts fall a little, and he couldn’t help the fruitless wish that the pumpkin covering his face was a little more expressive. Then at least he would have one mode of communication that wasn’t hamstrung.

But before John could really go further into the thought, Joe spoke up again.

“Actually, do have to ask somethin’.”

“Y-Yes?” John bleated, wondering where this would go.

“So, what the heck were you thinkin’ travelin’ out in the In-Between? Your horse sure don’t look like a reliquary, what was your plan with that storm?”

“I, uh…” John’s eyes cast about from inside the pumpkin, not even sure how to answer. He hadn’t considered it. And apart from the scant implication of unfriendly lands, he hadn’t heard much of things out here. Also, the In-Between? In-Between what?

And then there was the mention of the storm, but he wasn’t even sure how to broach that. There was a part of John still turning that over in his mind, so instead he replied with the one question he felt safe asking.

“Th-The In-Between?”

The question did get Joe’s attention, but he had to take a moment to look at John and seemingly gauge whether or not he was joking.

“You mean you’ve never been out in the In-Between before?” The question was entirely genuine, or at least seemed so, but before John could answer Joe said something else in a more thoughtful undertone. “Guess it’s no wonder you weren’t traveling on the Route.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“The In-Between. You want a good idea of it, look up.”

At first, John could only stare uncomprehendingly at Joe, not getting what on earth he could have meant. But then the being simply pointed a finger skyward, the Horseman following it with his eyes as he held his pumpkin on his head.

And looked up into a veritable maelstrom of light and color. It was like the heavens had opened up above him. He’d seen the stars while he was in Paititi, but somehow they’d never been this bright and clear.

He had probably been staring for a good few minutes before the sounds of bell chimes cut through his daze, John turning to look at Cannonade. The wind-being’s face was showing an expression that the Horseman had come to associate with happiness, eyes gleaming softly as they seemed to crinkle at their edges. It reminded John of how eyes were when a person was laughing, light with the emotion in them bubbling over.

Though it did bring to mind the somewhat awkward thought that Cannonade was laughing at him, which took some of the whimsy out of the moment. What complicated that notion was that Cannonade rounded off the “laughter” by giving John a pat on the shoulder. The gesture was made with obvious care but it wasn’t quite gentle enough that it avoided the Horseman’s knees knocking together.

And, seeming to sense that there were multiple ways his reaction could be taken, Cannonade started to gesture out a message. First, he pointed to himself, raised an airy finger in a facsimile of the number one, and pointed up at the sky. The fact that the wind-being was quick to give an exaggerated impression of stunned shock helped John figure out what Cannonade was saying, there being a faint sense of a smile in his words as he tried to speak.

“Jus’ like your first time?”

Cannonade enthusiastically nodded, eyes still crinkled in that happy way as his body language practically beamed high spirits. But what John was utterly unprepared for was when the wind-being lurched forward and practically yanked him off the ground in a hug. It left John’s feet dangling inches from the path they were on, the Horseman briefly frozen between the notion of should I be letting him do that? and when was the last time this happened to me?. If he was honest with himself, John would state that he hadn’t received something like this at all in recent memory.

But while the feeling of being hugged was nice, John wasn’t sure it ought to be going on for quite this long. Even though Cannonade was lightly swinging the Horseman’s smaller frame around, the motion didn’t quite hide the laughter coming from Joe or what sounded like an amused whicker from the horse still standing alongside them.

Thankfully Cannonade did not need much prompting to set him down, John reeling a little on his feet before the ground felt steady underneath him. But, though his brains had been knocked somewhat off-kilter, John couldn’t help giving voice to a question that had been on his mind.

“Y-Ye’ve traveled b’fore?”

Cannonade blinked at the question, his expression moving from that pure happiness to something a little more conversational as he nodded again. Less enthusiasm that time but there didn’t seem to be any ill will.

“Where’ve you…?” John started before trailing off, realizing just a hair too late that Cannonade would have a difficult time answering him. Not that Cannonade himself seemed to really realize that, or if he did it didn’t show.

Instead the wind-being set off with a flurry of sounds, only some of which John could readily identify. Running water, rushing wind, indistinct voices talking and shouting, muffled sounds of singing, along with other noises such as hissing, rumbling, and odd clatters that sounded very similar to the strange vehicle that Joe and Tim had with them.

Speaking of, the pair understood the predicament, Joe coming to the verbal rescue.

“Wait, so you’re decently well-traveled?”

Cannonade nodded again; his attention refocused on Joe.

“Alright. I’ll list off some places I’ve been and you can tell me if they seem familiar to you. How does that sound?”

There was an eager nod from Cannonade, Joe silently following Tim’s nudge to get moving. As they went along, Joe listed off names, John passively taking them in as he minded his horse.

“Alright, have you been to Lemuria? Kinda warm, humid, lotta plants, everything’s built in stone if that helps…”

Cannonade seemed to think for a moment before nodding, the air briefly filling with the rush of wind through trees, vague voices, and the lapping of water.

“Yeah, was just there. Really scenic place, good to visit. Nothin’ really happens there but for some that’s a plus. Moving on, how about Shangri-La? Big place, more upscale, high elevation. Not a lot of naturish scenery in the actual city but, if I had to describe it I would say it’s almost done up like the buildings are supposed to blend into the mountain peaks. White stonework, detailed carving…”

Cannonade had to give the description a fair amount of thought before he finally came to a consensus, shaking his head “no” before bringing up a somewhat indistinct hand to waggle back and forth. No, but not really sure?

“If you snuck in, more power to you. The main city’s definitely a lot more strict about travelers, you gotta go through an intensive amount of questioning just to stay up there. And they will likely give you more hell if you want to be a permanent resident. The rest isn’t so bad, had some good food down in the lower villages. And, what’s another one?”

“Kitezh?” John knew Tim had said what was probably a name but for the life of him the Horseman couldn’t figure out firstly what it was, and secondly, how the metallic man had made that sound with his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, that one,” Joe went on before turning to Cannonade. “You’d definitely know that one if you’ve been there. Tends to be cold, lot of metalworks. Some water, but it’s mostly surrounded by woods. Can’t say the people got an abundance in friendliness but it can depend on where you go and how you arrive. You create problems for them, and they tend to draw off. You’re friendly with them and they’re good to you. Y’might just have a hard time tellin’ because they’re not the most…expressive folks. If that makes sense.”

Joe’s words definitely painted an interesting picture, one that definitely had John listening, enough that the Horseman was somewhat surprised by Cannonade nodding and doing a quick rerun through some of the earlier sounds. Again the air filled with the hissing and groaning of metal and the blowing of winter wind.

“Yeah, gets pretty cold up there,” Joe said in reply before moving on to a new topic. “What about Atlantis? That’s probably the most happening place, so to speak.”

The veritable cacophony of noise that came from the wind-being nearly had John jumping out of his ash-covered skin. And there were so many different types of sound, from metallic hums and wind to indistinct voices and rushing water. Indeed, if all of the noises were from this Atlantis, then it truly was the “happening” place that Joe implied it was. Especially since it sounded like the voices were from numerous people, the thought making something squirm in the Horseman’s chest.

“Yeah, figured. Think everyone’s made the trip there at least once,” Joe replied before he jumped onto the topic of another place. “What about Avalon? That one’s a bit more out of the way, sometimes people forget it’s one of the original cities…”

“It’s…alright.” Tim’s voice spoke up, John listening attentively as the mechanical man went on. “Just a bit too much salt air. Not a lot of people though. A very nice place to go if you’re looking for someplace quiet.”

“Yeah, it is near the ocean. Not a lot of trees though, mostly rolling hills, cliffs… Any of that sound familiar?”

John was a little curious about that one. The quiet definitely made it seem more palatable, though a part of him was more interested in seeing exactly what Cannonade thought; had the wind-being been there before?

Peeking around his horse, John watched as Cannonade went through the motions of “thinking,” seeming to stroke his chin, porthole, glowing eyes roving around before they happened to lock with John’s ashy, smoldering gaze and he snapped out of the pantomime to give a soft bell whistle to the Horseman, like he was saying hello.

It did provoke John to wave back, the pumpkin grin feeling just a little more real before he realized that he’d accidentally distracted Cannonade.

“Uh, bud? You remember Avalon?” Joe asked, snapping his fingers to get the wind-being’s attention. Cannonade jumped before “thinking” hard for a second, eventually devolving into a head-shaking negative and an apologetic chime.

“’Salright. Yeah, Avalon’s not exactly prime tourism, an’ I think that’s how the residents prefer it. Anyway, we still have a few more if you’re up for it.” And, at Cannonade’s eager nod, he went on. “Alright, alright, lemme think…”

“What about El Dorado?” Tim brought up with another bout of steam hissing from his vents.

“Ohh, right. That one sound familiar? It’s kinda big, not quite as built up as Atlantis, same kinda environment as Lemuria though. Hot, muggy, jungle climate. Not as strict as Shangri-La, but it’s definitely gotta—” Here Joe paused, taking a hand away from his strange contraption/vehicle to gesture for his words. “A culture. We’ll go with that. Proper society, with all the trappings, benefits, an’ problems.”

Cannonade truly did look a little befuddled at the description, at least at first. Giving it a moment of thought, he did give a sort of so-so gesture before nodding.

“You’ve been?” Tim asked, glowing eyes seeming to narrow as though he didn’t understand. And, to be fair, John was a little confused himself. But, maybe this was like that other city, where there was an inner and an outer area…?

Cannonade did nod, this time a bit more sure, but he didn’t exactly look thrilled about the city. It made John a little worried that this “culture” might not have been the best memory for his friend, maybe something had happened to Cannonade in El Dorado…

Though, thankfully, it didn’t seem as though Joe and Tim wanted to pry much, moving on with quiet understanding to a different topic.

“And, well, can forgive you for not knowing about this one, but have you ever been to Potter’s Bar?”

The name did get Cannonade to look up. But from the way he was tilted his partially armored, semi-transparent head, the wind-being honestly looked confused. But, well, perhaps that was to be expected, Joe had made it seem like not many people went to this bar. Though before they moved on from that, Tim spoke up.

“Maybe you remember the old name. During wartime, it was called Pater’s Bar.”

That did get a reaction, Cannonade reacting in the same way one would when confronted with a softer, but still pleasant memory from their past. The bell chimes were still there, but gentler and interlaid with the sounds of whistling wind, a crackling fire, the sounds of heavy feet moving over a creaking wooden floor…

It conjured an almost calming mental image, but a part of John had gotten stuck on the mention of “wartime”. Immediately it made him want to leap into the moment, ask what seemed like a very pertinent question, but his throat felt like it was closing up. Memories of screaming, rat-a-tat-tat, it’s ready to fire…

But before he could get too lost in the reverie, the conversation went on, carrying his attention with it.

“Huh, then you’re definitely not a newbie traveler if you remember that,” Joe replied, voice a little soft. “Hey, quick trivia, you know Nibiru? Used to be the old version of this.”

His gesturing to the ground they were all currently walking on didn’t make much sense, but before John could think to question it, Joe went on.

“Kinda looked like a big desert, but the sand’s got this weird glow. Some rocks, looking a bit like crystal in spots? Generally speaking though, wasn’t a good idea to sit in one spot when going through there, storms could still affect the place.”

It definitely sounded like an interesting place, though apart from his internal goggling at the idea John couldn’t help riveting himself to watch Cannonade’s reaction. The wind-being was giving the mental image his customary thought, but something about it seemed to ring some bell. He immediately came up with the sounds of wind blowing and moaning, before an ominous crackle of lightning came from somewhere close and Cannonade zipped around the group in a circle.

John did try to follow the wind-being with his eyes, though it was a little difficult given that one moment Cannonade was doing a lap on his side, then on Joe and Tim’s side, and coming back to the middle. All the while though, he’d been playing the same noises. But John could have sworn that he’d heard someone, a man’s voice, shouting out indistinctly when Cannonade came to a halt and the sounds faded away.

“Yeah. When the storms came, you had to run for any safe haven. Didn’t matter if it was your destination or not. Better than being out while the world went sideways. Not to mention the monsters…”

“The larger ones would not come into Nibiru though,” Tim cut in. “Just the small ones. Then, if they happened to run into those crystals…”

“They’d get sucked down to Halqu,” Joe finished, before catching John’s uncomprehending stare. “Oh, right. Basically Halqu’s kinda like…almost like a jail for things that go after travelers. The official-like name is that they’re Chaotics, beings of chaos an’ destruction, but really? You got somethin’ that likes to eat or maul everything in its path, you call it a damn monster. You want a good idea of what they’re like, then think of that storm you just got away from.”

“The bigger ones like to hide in storms like those. And once they get you, they will eat you.” Tim’s lower voice gave the declaration an appropriately ominous rumble. It made John’s head briefly turn to consider the horizon again, but by that point the haze that marked where the storm had been was long gone. All that was around them now was long grass blowing in a placid wind.

When John looked back he happened to lock eyes with Joe, who’d seen his reaction.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, the Route knows to avoid messes like that. It’s a smart road. Only downside is you still have to walk from point A to B. Generally faster if you got a vehicle, or a mighty steed.”

The last was somewhat more of a joke, though there was warmth in it as Joe indicated John’s horse. The Horseman himself couldn’t help sneaking a steadying hand to the horse’s head, as much for its stability as his own. The horse returned the gesture in a nudge and a friendly whicker, nosing at his Horseman’s pumpkin head.

“Thinking we might wanna saddle up, actually,” Joe suddenly said, catching John’s attention again. “Get moving proper. We definitely still have some distance to go. Though, just wanna ask…”

The last was more addressed to Cannonade, the wind-being perking up again at being the center of attention.

“You ever been to Mu? Been only once, but I definitely remember it. Hot and muggy, some mountains, mostly jungle climate. Not so much a city, though, more like a stomping ground for monsters.”

Cannonade didn’t need to think nearly as long for that, nodding with a collection of sounds ranging from rushing wind, running water, to rustling greenery and very soft sounds of twigs being crunched underfoot. Not exactly illuminating why he was there, though John couldn’t help noticing both Joe’s words and the fact that Cannonade seemed to recognize the place right away. Why would he have been there, of all things, and for how long?

“Do you remember Olympus?” Tim asked, the question coming like a bolt out of the blue, and so suddenly it caused Joe to stall for a moment in getting his odd vehicle set up. John certainly didn’t recognize the name, but he did see how there was an almost palpable ripple that went through the group.

Joe’s expressions flickered between features so quickly it might as well have been some kind of a shiver. Tim’s porthole-ish, mechanical gaze, though aimed at Cannonade, had so much weight to it you could have bowled someone over. As it stood, the wind-being didn’t seem comfortable under it, but he did have an interesting reply.

He shook his head in a negative, but cupped an indistinct hand to the side of his head as a brief hum of whispering filled the air.

Not been but heard about. John almost wanted to ask but he wasn’t sure if now was the time, or if he would be able to get his words out in a way that was coherent. Maybe later, then.

If anything, he thought as he swung himself into the saddle, he knew he’d have a lot to mull over on the ride to the Market.

***

Though John wasn’t exactly sure what the Market would look like, he did have something of an idea as to what the concept was. What elements would have to be gathered for something to be considered a marketplace rather than just a mere collection of stores. A variety seemed to be the most important, as well as a fair amount of people, though he hadn’t had time to really explore the smaller markets of Patiti before he’d left.

Or, perhaps the more accurate thing was that he did not allow himself more time. While there had been some variety to the things he’d seen in Patiti, it all seemed to fall into some range of mildly familiar to utterly incomprehensible in a way that bordered on nerve-wracking. Especially since only some of the denizens seemed to speak his language. The rest of them would yell in a smattering of native tongues, and while John did gain something of an understanding for certain words, he wasn’t nearly so confident enough to try holding a conversation, his malformed and broken voice be damned. So, even though there had been the occasional thing that caught his eye, the Horseman had forced himself to stay aloof and away from the bustle. Usually, he’d just cut through while on an errand. Sparing the whole thing a glance as he went by was the most contact he’d had.

And he had no idea what to expect from here, though the large wooden and stone gates he was seeing arise from the landscape ahead certainly fit some kind of bill…

It helped that the roar of sound from Joe’s machine was dying down, like some nonverbal cue that they had arrived at their destination. Easing his horse to a trot, John watched Joe steer his machine to the turn heading off the Route, leading right to those gates. The powerful hum of the mechanisms died to a dull void as Joe stepped off, giving Tim enough room to unfold his towering frame free from the odd side car the machine had.

Cannonade had come to a similar halt at John’s side, standing by as the Horseman swung himself down from his steed. The sound of something clanging against wood nearly made John jump out of his ashy clothes. At least, before he turned and realized that the sound had come from Tim knocking on the gate. He really should have expected that, he was winding himself up over nothing…

Though any chastising thoughts about the matter were chased from John’s pumpkin-head as the gate opened and let out a downright towering figure in tattered brown clothes. The most striking of the lot was a dark-colored coat that might’ve been a lighter brown at one point, and a wide-brimmed, equally dark hat. The coat did look a little familiar to John, the style of it reminding him of his own. But much longer, altered in a somewhat patchy fashion with the intent to fit the being standing before them.

The being who was looking at them over the lip of a scarf obscuring the lower half of their face, eyes a sort of ominous gold as they took in the group. Those eyes lingered on every face in turn, for only a few moments, before the body language changed from appraising to welcoming. With a slight hissing clank, the being’s arms came up to be held out in front of it, palms up and open to them, even as a second set of arms were folded against its body. Though John could not see much of its body, apart from an odd pair of legs that looked, stretched, reversed…it reminded John of the back legs of an animal.

The toes were tipped with claws, which dug into the ground, it almost looked like it was made of something metallic…?

Clockwork.

The Horseman’s hands stilled on the reins, internally puzzling over this word that had simply popped into his mind. It was, helpful that he knew it, but from where had it come from? There had been nothing of the like in Patiti…

“Hello, gentlemen! Oh, been a while since I’ve seen you two. The Unknown Soldier and the War Machine. Still rolling around the ‘Verses in that bike of yours?”

The word bike immediately leapt out to John, his ashen eyes briefly turning to the machine Joe was pushing along as he went to meet this being. So that’s what it was called?

Though that wasn’t even getting into what John had just heard, from this strange being, no less. Perhaps a part of him should know better than to judge simply by words, especially given that both of those names sounded like titles. But which was which again?

“Heh, clearly, Drove. And we’re here to off-load some junk,” Joe answered, not sounding the least bit bothered by any of this.

“Yet again,” this “Drove” answered, a somewhat masculine voice ringing with metallic echoes and reverberations. Though not like Tim, Tim had a cooler, more reserved air. Drove’s voice radiated something like a human warmth when he spoke.

Well, almost. John wasn’t sure why, but something about the clockwork being’s demeanor put him a little on edge. Maybe it was the overt friendliness, the familiarity that he clearly wasn’t a part of.

Or, well, it could also be that he had no idea what to expect from this Drove, which was a fair thing to be concerned about. Drove clearly knew Joe and Tim, enough that he was able to use these… titles that John had overheard. John was entirely foreign, and while Drove was friendly now there was no guarantee he would stay that way when confronted with a new face.

“Well, I know you boys, both traveling light. And I see you have some new folks for me to meet!” Drove’s words immediately had John bracing himself, eyes blinking as his spine straightened. In that moment, the Horseman was acutely aware of the crunching, heavy treads the clockwork being made as he came closer.

“Though I do believe I have seen you before.”

The softer declaration made John start, though as he looked up he realized that Drove was not speaking about him. His attention was not even on the Horseman; Cannonade had instead fallen under a careful, searching gaze as Drove’s oddly golden eyes took him in. Even though he did not move from his spot right in front of the wind-being, John had the distinct feeling of the clockwork man surveying Cannonade through every avenue available. Walking around the wind-being, coming close to inspect him from armor to indistinct limb, even peering closely into Cannonade’s partially transparent face and porthole eyes. Meeting the somewhat silvery gray glow with gold. All without moving an inch.

Cannonade, for his part, seemed a little lost for, well, sounds. The wind-being instead met the golden stare with something a bit more quizzical, if not bothered. But, to his credit, Cannonade held his ground, even gazed back like he was trying to place Drove in turn.

“You know each other?” Tim asked, polite if not curious. And not sounding at all worried by the exchange. It definitely helped the something that was fluttering about in John’s chest like a trapped bird, though he was unsure if it was a sparrow, or a hawk. The Horseman was not sure that he liked the idea of his friend being put on the spot like this, especially given that Cannonade had issues with properly communicating. And if this Drove didn’t really know Cannonade, then he might not honor the wind-being’s needs. Still, he was hardly sure what to do about it, Cannonade didn’t seem afraid…

Though there was a part of John that couldn’t help inching just a little closer, putting himself shoulder to shoulder with Cannonade rather than a few feet away. Both Cannonade and Drove towered over the Horseman, but he stood straight all the same. And still and poised as the Horseman could be, though he did notice Drove’s eyes turn to him at the movement. The clockwork man’s consideration of Cannonade seemed to end right then and there, his eyes now going over John with the same clear, searching scrutiny.

“Hmm. No, I don’t think we ever formally talked,” he finally said, more addressing what Tim had asked. “But I think it’s coming to memory just where I saw you. Might’ve been a cold night in Pater’s, during the darker times. You had the Hunter with you, and a few others. Was curious, but given how that one can be such a right hard-ass I didn’t think it would be a good idea to poke around too much.”

John chanced a glance up at Cannonade, seeing how the words provoked some glimmer of recognition in the wind-being’s eyes. Cannonade did a pantomime of the same “thinking” gesture John had seen in the conversation before, though he quickly played back a series of sounds that John recognized. The soft crackle of a fire, the low hum of wind, the sounds of heavy boots across a wooden floor…

All sounds he had “recalled” when asked about Potter’s, or Pater’s Bar. If anything, that seemed to confirm Drove’s tale, at least in part. It didn’t explain much of what he’d said, but perhaps, John thought, it would be best to ask for more complete answers later. Especially since the clockwork man had reconvened to consider the Horseman again.

“And I do not believe we’ve met. Nor have I seen you in my Market before. Might you be a new god, by any chance?”

The question was casual, but the mention of godliness had John teetering somewhere between ready to fight and completely ill at ease. It brought with it the “god” of Patiti, and what he’d said about the Horseman’s future.

May your weapons always find their mark. May you always be where you are needed. May you always thrive in battle.

The blessing of a god that reveled in the death of a young calf. And probably many more. John definitely wasn’t sure he wanted it, nor did he want anything in common with this god, who had been so quick to label him a being of death and destruction.

“Yeah, sorry. He’s got a bad throat, might have some problems answering you. His name’s John.” And John had totally gone into a daze right then and there, hadn’t he? Even if he was not exactly sure of Drove, something in the back of his mind pushed for him to at least try to introduce himself.

“H-Hello,” he started, pushing through the gravely feeling in his throat to continue. “I’ve c-come fr’m Patiti.”

“Patiti?” Drove echoed, golden eyes widening. “Haven’t heard that one in a while. People were starting to think it’d gone under. Good to hear that it’s still kicking.”

“Patiti?” Joe asked, before continuing more to the Horseman himself. “John, you’ve been holdin’ out on me.”

That was when his voice chose to cut off again, the traitor, leaving John fumbling between anxiously trying to indicate that he hadn’t meant to do anything untoward and he hadn’t known that that was important! The most he was able to do was make a strangled croak, which hardly did much to prove he wasn’t someone with something to hide…

“Hey, don’t worry about it, you can tell me more later,” Joe said, patting the Horseman’s shoulder and rousing a small cloud of dust and ash. “But, yeah, we found ‘em both out in the In-Between. Figured it’d be better to ride together than separate.”

The last had been addressed to Drove, the clockwork man watching the interaction with a somewhat hard to read sense of laissez-faire, with a silvery grin to match that shone over the lip of his scarf.

“Makes sense. Don’t think you’ve been to the Market though, so I’ll give you the rundown. The 411, as it were.”

And with that, they were led to the gates themselves, Drove reaching out and simply pushing open the heavy-looking wooden slabs. It let them into a sort of courtyard that was decorated with a mix of metallic shades, the ceiling apparently open. But as John looked up he was surprised to see that the swirling star-scape had ceded to a sort of twilight purple-orange with faint clouds. Reaching up to be sure his pumpkin didn’t slide off, the Horseman more fully considered the sky above before throwing a glance through the gate archway before it closed.

No, there was a definite difference. Had they perhaps entered a new world entirely? Was the Market its own separate world?

Truly this was a land of wonders…

Though they seemed to be ringed in by buildings, or a building, it was also catching John’s notice that they were entirely alone, with no other people of any kind around. The walls were colored with metallic shades, the silver, brass, and faint tracings of gold reminiscent of the floor. At first, John wondered if the walls were decorated with images. He’d seen similar sorts of things in Patiti, but after a moment of trying to puzzle out the different pieces he had to concede that if they were it wasn’t in any sort of way he understood. If anything, the metallic colors were arranged into shapes that fit together, creating simple designs that were rather pleasing to the eye.

It was calming, though as they approached the other side of this courtyard John couldn’t help hearing a hint of a dull roar on the other side of another gate. It immediately reminded The Horseman just what the purpose of a market was, and had him briefly stiffening. Especially as he realized he had no idea what to expect in terms of specifics. Presumably there would be a lot of people, and they would be selling things, but apart from that?

John hadn’t even a clue about the sort of beings that he would find on the other side of this door. And it suddenly struck him just how big the courtyard was. Was that because of the sheer volume of people, or because they were…bigger?

Well, that might not have been an achievement. It was suddenly striking John that he was the shortest member of this group…

“Alright, the ground rules are this,” Drove spoke up, metallic voice ringing to be heard over the dull roar. “Whatever you break, it’s yours. If it turns out it’s cursed, no refunds or returns. So do your best to keep your wits about you when shopping. And while I do try to vet the people that come in through the majority of the entrances, I can’t personally account for every last one. So, keep a careful eye on your belongings, please.”

The notion of any of his things being taken had John’s hands twitchingly head for his pockets where the locket, whistle, knife, and handkerchief were. Though his hatchet, sword, and pistol were also somewhere on that list of things he was concerned about. He might not remember what or who he was before, but without these objects it seemed less and less likely that he would find anything out.

While there were things that bothered John, made him feel less sure of himself, there was still a part of him that’d like to see…something, of who he was before. He wasn’t sure why, maybe he wasn’t going to find anything worth noting. Maybe he’d find something worse.

But perhaps he’d find something better, something that wasn’t just steeped in blood and death. It was something to hope for.

Even if the hope could ultimately devolve into ash.

The Horseman ended up so lost in his thoughts he only passively registered the sound of Drove walking up alongside the group. It wasn’t until the clockwork man stopped next to him that John snapped to.

“Hey. Word to the wise, don’t fidget with your stuff. Makes you look like you have valuables, and folks that like to walk with valuables will pick up on it.”

It was sound advice, though John’s shifting around had uncovered the weapons at his belt, which Drove’s golden eyes immediately spotted. But the Horseman was not expecting the next comment that came from the clockwork man’s mouth.

“Though, honestly, that’s a nice pistol. Fits the old colonial motif you’ve got going on.”

“Y-You know about…?”

“That? Yep. Could probably place just about any object, if I got long enough to examine it. Why? You have some things you want examined?” Drove leaning down, like he was trying to look John in the eye, had the Horseman nearly wanting to shy away before he quickly realized that that would not be a good way to respond. Besides, the whole lesson here seemed to be “don’t be the weaker party”. Don’t flinch, don’t show any sign of fear. It felt entirely counterproductive to how John truly felt, but if it kept trouble away…

Though that left him with the notion that Drove had just presented him, and there was a part of John that jolted at the chance.

“Yes.”

“Careful there, you haven’t even heard my terms. And I think your friends want to get going.” John followed Drove’s eyes, catching how Tim and Joe were going over something packed into the sidecar of their “bike”. Cannonade was curiously watching, but at the flicker of motion from John and Drove, the wind-being looked over.

“How about this,” Drove started, yanking John’s attention back to him. “When they’ve finished their business, which will probably take a day or two, you can come back to me and we’ll hash out the details. We’ll agree on payment, we’ll do the appraisal, and see how things go from there. That work?”

John could hear the hum on the other side of the door even more keenly than before, the sound hastening his decision.

“That, ‘s fine.”

“Alright,” Drove replied, patting John heavily on the back and stirring up a cloud of dust. The clockwork man paused a little at that, glancing down at the Horseman before reaching back and knocking on the heavy door.

This seemed to be the cue someone on the other side needed, John’s brief embarrassment at his exterior swept away as the doors began to slide open.

There was a veritable crowd past the door, the eyes in John’s dusky pumpkinhead widening as he witnessed all sorts of beings walking by. Some were humanoid, of all colors of the rainbow practically and quite literally, with some walking like he would and others floating just off the ground. There were people who looked half-animal, at least a few half-equine bodies seen in the crowd, a man of fire was walking by with a being that looked like a living tree…

“Everyone through!” Drove called, probably more to get the Horseman’s attention given that he’d gone still with his hands grasping the reigns. Joe and Tim were already walking the “bike” through. Cannonade was about to follow though he too seemed a little goggle-eyed, head turning this way and that as he gaped at it all. As John, and his horse, pushed through from the rear, Cannonade caught wind that he had to get out of the doorway and hurried on.

It pushed them right into the throng of the crowd. John tried his best to keep in line with the movement, and more importantly keep Joe and Tim in sight, but it seemed like every minute there was something new. Now that he wasn’t so focused on the moving crowd, the Horseman was more readily able to take in the other part of the Market: the actual wares that were being sold.

Or to be more accurate, the sellers themselves. All seemed to be cut from similar cloths as the people out walking. But as John walked past a stall he could not help noticing a person carrying an umbrella and dressed in very dark clothing, gleaming red eyes meeting the Horseman’s as he glanced over.

Hurriedly he looked away, trying to look more like he was taking in the whole scene rather than staring at one person. It was fairly easy to do so, the stalls were arranged on either side of the sort of street that they’d walked into, and every one of them seemed to have something different. He could spot everything from clothing and cloths, pottery, books, blankets, even food here and there. A few things looked like they might’ve come from a place like Paititi, a more tropical, brightly colored sort of environment, but there were also plenty of things that John had simply never seen before. Beeping metallic objects, glowing mirrors that changed color, and moved! Odd-looking stones with equally odd inscriptions, odd markings in general…

There was truly no end of the things that could appear here.

The street between the stalls was also fairly wide but John could spot areas here and there that seemed to split off into smaller alleys. Ways for more people to get through? He wasn’t entirely sure…

The feeling of the ground rattling under his feet snapped the Horseman from his mulling. His pumpkin head yanked up to see a downright towering being made of stone that was trying to go the opposite way. Joe, Tim, and Cannonade had already managed to sidestep him, but the Horseman and his horse were still right in his path. The noise was also causing the horse to shy away, snorting and lifting its head in nervousness at the sheer size of the being. John leapt into action, firstly making sure the horse wouldn’t bolt, and secondly easing them both to the side of the “street” to let the stone man pass.

It made the Horseman a little nervous to look up and realize that the craggy face was staring down at him, greenish-brown eyes glowing in its head as it met his dusky gray pumpkin. But, for all John’s worry, the only thing the stone man offered was a polite nod as he skirted by. Along with a rumbling apology for startling the horse.

Considering that they’d been close to getting run down, John couldn’t help standing there, marveling at the fact that that had gone so well. And that he and his horse had come through intact. He was nearly about to watch the stone man continue on through the Market, like a living mountain, when someone calling caught his attention.

“Hey, John! Over here!”

The call came from Joe, his shifting eyes a little wide as he darted forward and nabbed the Horseman’s arm. While the touch briefly startled John, the fact that the figure did only that, clasping his shoulder with a grounding sort of stability, helped center him back in the mission of the moment.

Mission? John couldn’t help a faint headshake at the idea. He wasn’t on any sort of mission. If anything, he was more sight-seeing, though hopefully he’d be able to do that without being rendered an ashy smear on the road.

“You alright?” Joe was asking, snagging the Horseman’s attention. But really, while John knew he was completely unhurt, the whole thing had felt so near that he wasn’t able to manage more than a nod.

It satisfied Joe, at least. Though the figure’s shifting eyes definitely detected something given that his next move was to wrap an arm around the Horseman’s shoulders, steering him and by extension his horse down the street. Cannonade gave a few questioning, somewhat worried-sounding chimes as they reunited with the rest of the group, though John did his best to wave the wind-being’s concern away.

He still did not feel very much up to speaking though, which might not have helped.

A lot of the earlier euphoria and curiosity had died down. While there were still wonders in every stall they passed, John couldn’t bring himself to do more than merely glance. Though before he’d felt like a proper tourist, there was a part of him that had slammed back into barely calm calculation, eerily aware of just where the Others all were. And, even though nothing had happened, there was a part of him that expected trouble in every close brush with another person, every wayward glance.

It was almost a relief that their party began to slow down, Tim and Joe apparently having reached the first of their stops at this Market. The place wasn’t one of the main stalls, more of a hole in the wall, but the inside was quiet and devoid of the rush from the outside.

“Alright, just keep to the back and stay quiet. We’re not hanging around here,” Joe suddenly murmured, catching John’s attention and immediately putting the Horseman on his guard.

Though he and Cannonade ended up standing at the entrance of the shop while Joe and Tim went a little farther in, John couldn’t help glancing around. Just to see if he could get a better idea of what was coming.

The lighting was poor, a few lit candles here and there being the only source of illumination apart from the outside, he spied bundles of herbs hanging in a line. Just a pace or two in front of where he and Cannonade were standing. Joe and Tim were approaching what looked like a counter, roughly carved out of rock, and there were more, well, things present on it. Jars, boxes, not all of it plant-life. Despite the earlier warning John couldn’t help leaning forward a little, trying to pick out what he could in the gloom, before a rustle snatched up his attention.

John had thought that the back of the place had looked rather open, and the reasoning for why immediately crashed in on the moment as the shop keep made…their appearance, skittering out of the dark. It almost looked like it could have been something out of someone’s nightmares, a long, spindly upper body protruding from a spidery lower half. Its upper body was dressed in dark robes, matching the black color of its lower half, a hood covering its face though John wasn’t quite sure he wanted to see what was under it. If the hands were any indication, it was just as nightmarish as the arachnid body they were attached to, the limbs clawed and colored a dark, malformed gray.

Then again perhaps the Horseman should not be making those sorts of remarks, given that he himself was a similar dusky gray, but the state of the hands just screamed some sort of…unwellness. Either due to some sort of a disease or because this very creature was something…wrong. John couldn’t quite put an exact word to the feeling, but he couldn’t deny the visceral-ness of it. It briefly made him glance back in the direction of the door, just to make sure their escape had not been closed off. But he quickly found that hard to surreptitiously do given the pumpkin restricting his field of vision.

And besides, the creature had started talking in a low, sly sort of whisper of a voice. Though there was still a dull roar from the crowds outside, John found that he didn’t have much trouble hearing what was being said.

“Ah, the War Machine and the Unknown Soldier. To what do I owe the honor?”

“We came to settle our debt, and brought you the materials you wanted.” Tim was the one answering, taking a package that Joe handed him and holding it out to the spider creature. Strangely enough they didn’t move to take it themselves, instead gesturing to the side and allowing a much smaller figure through. The mere slip of a woman that came forward threw John off at first.

Though after a moment of staring there were a few things that he noticed. One was that she seemed, beautiful, but in the same way a statue was considered beautiful. There was an air of perfection to her features, to the curtains of black hair that spilled down her frame. But it was tinged with a more subtle feeling of wrongness, as if there was something too perfect about it.

It also didn’t help that the woman happened to glance over and make eye contact with John, the Horseman’s eyes widening at the pure black orbs that bore into his own eyes. There was a brief shock of fear at the sight, but a newer, more smothering feeling flooded in, turning the Horseman’s thoughts into a dull mush.

Why are you fighting, why are you afraid? There’s nothing to fear here…

John didn’t realize that he’d taken a step forward until a familiar bell noise heralded Cannonade grabbing his shoulder. The wind-being gently pulled the Horseman back.

“You ought to keep a better hold on your…helper.” Tim pointed out, metallic eyes more than a little flinty as they went from the spider-person to the supposed helper, who had darted back behind the counter. John wasn’t entirely sure just when she had moved. The Horseman’s thoughts veered between somewhat unnerved at the idea that there was a chunk of time that was just…missing, and a weird sort of fogginess that felt like he’d flown to his feet before he was properly awake.

“Ah, my apologies,” the spidery creature murmured, though they didn’t sound too sorry. “We normally have one customer per visit. My colleague must have thought your friend was spying.”

“He was not.” Tim pointed out with no small amount of steel in his tone. “We will thank you not to do that again, please.”

“But he is traveling with you? Another UnAligned, is he?”

“That is not a part of our bargain, and I do not think I ought to be the one to answer.” The response did seem more than a little…rude, but John couldn’t help feeling like Tim might’ve been a little justified in trying to shut the conversation down. Neither he nor Joe looked like they wanted to be there, the pair already edging back like they were in the process of leaving.

“Ah, so the Many-Faced hasn’t claimed him yet,” the spider creature said, seemingly answering their own query. “Quite an interesting entity, I’m certain that Drove would be happy to have another UnAligned.”

Drove? What did Drove have to do with anything? Though John’s mind was a-whirl with thoughts about that — was Drove and this Many-Faced one and the same person? — he couldn’t help feeling more than a little discomfited about being referred to as an interesting entity. It reminded him just a little too much of the war god and the temple…

A Horseman, a mere caretaker of animals, and yet you have weapons…

“Sure he would,” Joe bit out, hurrying the next few steps over and ushering John and Cannonade back out. Tim was not too far behind, and apparently took the fore on giving a more formal goodbye. It didn’t seem like the spider creature heard Joe.

“Perhaps. Fair weather to you, and consider our debt settled.”

And back out they were, as if the whole thing never happened. John couldn’t help looking around as though he’d see something else incredibly out of place. The horse whickered softly at his side, nudging at John’s shoulder and snapping him out of the daze. Giving a rattle of a sigh, the Horseman patted the side of his mount’s head, trying his best to stay level with Cannonade, Joe, Tim, and their odd bike.

“Hey, you two doin’ alright?” Joe suddenly asked, catching John’s and Cannonade’s attention. Cannonade hardly seemed bothered, giving a short, pure chime that exuded ease, which completely contrasted the foggy knot of emotion that had taken hold in the Horseman’s mind.

What had just happened, why is Drove called the Many-Faced, should I talk to him later, would I be safe talking to him, what is an UnAligned, who was that, what was that, what am I?

“John, you good?” Joe’s fingers snapping in John’s face made the Horseman jolt, briefly fighting with his throat to answer.

“’M alright.”

“You might’a fooled me more if you weren’t the guy that just got zapped by what I’m pretty sure was a vampire. Really. How are you.”

The words caught John completely off-guard, the Horseman left fumbling as he tried to both insist no, it’s fine and also giving voice to all of the questions that he had spinning around in his pumpkin head.

And, eventually, John decided to put at least one of the questions out there, carefully feeling his way through his words.

“W-Why does Drove hh-have that name? Why did..they call him many-faced?”

Though John couldn’t help glancing up at Joe’s face after he asked his question, he found he had a hard time puzzling through the figure’s more minimal expressions. It almost looked like Joe was cringing a little, but he muscled through the immediate emotional reaction and gave the Horseman an answer.

“Well, that’s kinda how things go here with the older god, incarnate types. They get into a rut, and it’s hard to break out of it. Folks got long memories, especially if you tick them off. And Drove, well, he’s definitely done his fair share to tick off a lot of people.” And, seemingly realizing that wasn’t the most comforting of things to be told, Joe went on. “Not that he, y’know, caused some major atrocity, or anythin’ like that. It’s just…back when he was a younger god, in order to get anywhere or have any kind of protection, you had to be part of a pantheon. Y’know how it goes sometimes; it’s a big club an’ if you ain’t in it, you can tell.

“So, well, Drove had to kinda claw his way up from the bottom. Show ‘em he was just as much a god as the others, pantheon or no. Kinda gave him a bit of a reputation as a trickster god, but all things considered he was pretty tame. Might’ve had to check your pockets, from what I’ve heard, but he wasn’t gonna get you to give away your firstborn or nothin’ like that. He’s definitely mellowed a lot over the years, an’ he’s always played straight with us. Technically Tim an’ me are UnAligned, an’ really that’s a catch-all term for a god or spirit that doesn’t fit into a pantheon. Doesn’t mean anythin’ bad, just is.”

The frank explanation calmed down a lot of John’s more racing thoughts, the Horseman considering the cobblestone ground under his feet as he puzzled over it in his mind. If anything, from the way Joe was explaining it, John himself likely was an UnAligned. Not that he knew enough about himself to really say so…

“An’ yeah, ‘bout all of that before, don’t worry too much about what the yokai said.”

“You-kai?”

“Kinda a demon, but not exactly all fire an’ brimstone. Definitely got an air of creepy around ‘em. The important thing to remember with folks like that, is usually there’s only a nugget of truth to what they say, an’ the rest is all perspective,” Joe explained, eyes turning to the crowds ahead. It didn’t quite feel like the conversation was done, though John couldn’t help feeling like he might be overstepping as he went into his next question.

“What s-s-sort’uf debt did you have?”

That got a bit of a barking laugh from Joe, the figure’s eyes crinkling at the edges with humor as he answered.

“Long story short, be careful who you get parts from. Wasn’t like we had to go too far outta our way for what they wanted, but, y’know, don’t wanna be on the hook for something for the next few centuries.”

Oh.

Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to see Drove then. He had definitely made it sound like there might be some sort of deal-making involved, and if anything John was far more sure that he wanted to avoid being “on the hook,” as it were. It did make the somewhat tired, frustrated thought rattle through his mind that, well, he’d only been “out in the world” for a short while…and it already seemed like he was just running into more problems.

Granted, while there was the thought that he could just consult Joe about it, John found that first, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get into it just now. And second, their recent stop was making him wonder more just where they were going. That couldn’t have been the only stop, could it?

Joe was perfectly happy to explain when asked, which helped ease the moment further away from the confusing mire that the yokai had left things in.

“Oh, trust me, definitely not doin’ anythin’ like that. We’ve got a few books that we’re hopin’ to off-load, an’ our major stop is to Hephaestus. Guy’s lookin’ for metal for some project, an’ we’ve found some fragments he might like. He’s also promised a tune-up, which I wanna hold him to.”

“We do not need to impose…” Tim spoke up, but Joe waved him off.

“Nope. He offered. I’m taking it. Besides, can’t deny that getting a forge god to take a look at your mechanics might be the best thing for you. Your guns haven’t been workin’ right since that mess out in Mu.”

John blinked at that. He’d initially been under the impression that Joe had been talking about the motorbike. Granted, Tim was made of metal, it did make sense. Sort of. Cannonade also jumped in with a questioning chime, sparing the Horseman the need to ask about the apparent venture Joe was referring to.

“We ended up in Mu partially by accident. Some god’s vassals apparently thought it’d be funny to try taking on the guy with the title War Machine. Guess they thought they’d get some kind of recognition outta takin’ down a personification of war. Or, they could’ve just been nuts. That likely was an option too.”

Cannonade surprisingly enough didn’t seem too thrown by what Joe was talking about, the wind-being giving an agreeing whuff of air before turning and immediately catching sight of something slowly spinning on the end of a string in one of the stalls. John had seen similar things in Paititi, though this one looked like it was made with different materials. The effect was still the same though, as when Cannonade gently directed the air the pieces softly rang with chimes.

The wind-being then imitated the sounds, bringing a charmed laugh from the younger-looking saleswoman that was managing the booth. She even waved to them as they went on, the people milling around quickly taking her out of John’s view. A faint breeze ruffling through the air caught the Horseman’s attention, dusky eyes briefly glancing to Cannonade before he realized that the wind-being was not the source, and in fact seemed to be looking in the direction of where the breeze was coming from: behind them.

Just as John started to look over his shoulder, the breeze picked up, turning into a brief burst of a gust as something long and sinewy swept over their heads. A few nearby trinkets rattled at the blast, someone letting out a shout and a few more exclamations in a language that John couldn’t identify. Holding his pumpkin on his head, the Horseman was able to catch a brief glimpse of the apparent creature that had caused the wind, it almost looked like some sort of snake, with a mane and antlers. Cannonade gave an almost answering hum from nearby, John looking over to see the wind-being rising up a little like he meant to follow.

“Hey, waitaminute—”

“Cannonade.”

With both Joe and Tim speaking up, John did try to do so as well but something in his throat caught and made him bend double with the coughing fit. That immediately got Cannonade’s attention, the wind-being hurrying back to be at John’s side. The Horseman easily heard a somewhat worried round of chimes over his pumpkin head, though by that point the fit had already subsided and he did his best to wave Cannonade off.

Apart from a few questions as to whether or not John was okay to travel, the others were alright with letting the incident go. The Horseman himself was more than thankful for it, though he did notice that Cannonade was keeping a bit closer this time around as they went up the street.

They ended up walking for a ways, and taking a right, before they came to the next stop on Joe and Tim’s list: a small, makeshift stall that was practically overflowing with books. Old, new, leatherbound, flimsier and tougher covers, it seemed like this person was walking around with just about half a library in their booth. They were something themselves. John tried to figure out exactly where their face was before he realized that it looked like he was just staring at them. The Horseman then tried his best to perhaps not consider them head-on.

Granted, it was a little confusing, given that it seemed like this being looked like a humanoid shape shrouded in a semi-transparent veil. And, though it was hard to see from a few paces away, it didn’t look like there was a face where there should have been…

The veil itself though was part of quite an ornate outfit, one that sort of reminded John of the garbs he’d seen in Patiti. Though, instead of being brighter colors, the majority of it was a deep purple, with dark blue accents. The veil was merely one piece, with what looked like small bits of embroidery on either side of the head, the clothing almost resembling some sort of dress or robe. Long sleeves, flowing fabric. It was a bit hard to tell if this was truly a dress, given that the shop keep was very much behind the counter of their booth. It certainly looked like one in all other respects…

“We’ve come across some new novels, I’m certain the Library will appreciate the additions,” Tim was saying, Joe reaching into a bag strapped to the back of the motorbike. He did glance up enough to give John and Cannonade a brief wink and a more stealthy thumbs-up, a sort of signal that all was well and hopefully things would be wrapped up soon.

Well, if anything John could say this stop looked far more friendly than the last one…

He briefly noted how Cannonade drew away a little, the wind-being growing somewhat transfixed by a booth that appeared to be selling tapestries. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem like someone was watching it, perhaps the seller had stepped away.

“More of its period-related novels, dramas, got a good copy of Moby Dick in there for the more adventure-hungry folks…” Joe rattled off, and though the shop keep did seem to be looking his way, John had the feeling that they weren’t hearing Joe given that their head immediately went back to Tim.

“We have an edition of The Last September, by Elizabeth Bowen, Moby Dick by Herman Melville, The Catcher In The Rye by J. D. Salinger, Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt…”

“Youngsir, are you looking for a tonic?”

The sudden voice made John jump, coming from the small pocket of space in between himself, his horse, and the line of booths that Cannonade had trailed away towards. It did look like this apparent seller was a man, at the very least the wizened, bearded face seemed to suggest that. The man’s face was bearing a grin, suggesting friendliness. But the way he’d suddenly appeared put the Horseman ill at ease. Where had he come from?

“Ah…’m sorry?” He graveled out in reply, not that the man seemed bothered about repeating himself.

“Tonic, sir, tonic. You sound as though you had a bad throat. We sell tonics, sir! Many things to heal the body!”

It did come a little bit fast, almost aggressively so, but the words were at least helpful ones. But John wasn’t sure that any tonic would be able to heal him, his only attempt at drinking something back in Paititi had just caused a frightful mess. It had taken forever for the soppy, sludged ash to dry…

“Nuh-No, that’s alrigh’…” He said, though his throat was still reeling on the heels of its previous upset, and none too eager to work again. Even still, the Horseman tried to get his point across, gesturing a negatory with his arms and easing away from the seller. Not that the man seemed to take that for an answer, already digging in a small pouch he held at his side.

“I can show you, youngsir! It heals!” And with that he came up with a small bottle, pressing it into John’s gloved hands. Briefly the Horseman glanced down at it, a little bemused by the makeshift-looking label as well as the somewhat oily liquid he could see sloshing around inside.

“Ah, th-thank you, but…” His somewhat halting words were cut off as the man reached into his personal space again, this time with an outstretched hand. “Wh-Wha—?”

“Payment for my services, youngsir!” The man replied, smile looking a touch more predatory than John last remembered. Immediately it became clear just what was going on, the Horseman growing annoyed as he thrust the bottle back.

“Nn-No, I do nuh-not—”

“I give service, youngsir, I get paid!” The seller cut him off, proffering his hand insistently into John’s space. “Take anything, gold, metals, trinkets! Anything you can spare!”

The problem was that the Horseman wasn’t sure he should be sparing any of it. Even something like the locket might be immeasurably important to him. Important to figuring out who he was.

And he hadn’t wanted the bottle to begin with…

“No.” The Horseman graveled, feeling like his throat was filling with bits of stone, if not glass. “Take it—”

John’s voice completely croaked on the last word, a soundless wheeze of “back” barely audible to his own ears. The seller took that opportunity to throw up his hands like the display confirmed something, before shoving the bottle away and beginning to reach for John’s coat pockets. The Horseman yanked himself back, all but throwing the bottle as a soundless grinding tore at his throat.

He could feel it happening again, that moment in the temple where something else had been wrapping around his voice in a stranglehold. A powerful something, to be sure, but not one that he was sure he wanted to let out.

But the seller was coming, he was getting too close, stop stop STOP—

The Voice was there, waiting on the tip of whatever passed for John’s tongue in that dusky pumpkin. But before it could come out there was a sharp shree of a whistle, Cannonade’s towering frame interposing itself between John and the seller.

“What is going on here?” Tim’s voice cut in, polite, metallic tones clipped as he marched into the fray. Joe was also coming, but instead of going for the heart of the scuffle he went to John.

“You alright?”

Immediately John put the bottle in Joe’s hand, pointing at the seller and feeling more than relieved when Joe made the connection. The Horseman turned away, keeping close to his mount’s head as he tried to regather himself. The conversation happening behind him blurred a little in his ears; the seller’s irater tone, Tim remaining like a verbal iron wall, and Cannonade occasionally chiming in with another sharp whistle blast. Joe’s voice flickered in and out, but it didn’t seem like he was really a part of the conversation, either getting talked over or going unacknowledged.

It felt like a good few minutes, but John could register the sounds of the conversation winding away from heated and into something more calmer. He still didn’t want to move away from the shelter of his horse. It took the sounds of someone’s feet stirring the dirt behind him to make John turn from that peaceful zone.

“Hey, you good? How’s your throat?”

It was Joe. Tim was doing the job of making sure the seller was safely away with Cannonade thrumming irritably, flickering back and forth behind the metallic soldier like a jilted animal. The figure seemed to be doing his best to keep John calm, approaching where he would be clearly in view and pitching his voice to pacify. Briefly, John found himself looking into Joe’s shifting eyes, more out of instinct than any real thought. It had been the easiest way to read people in Paititi, given the language barriers.

But…it didn’t feel altogether needed here, and if anything, it felt a little insulting to do given that Joe had been nothing but helpful. So, given that his throat was no longer willing to cooperate, John opted to give an answer by raising his hand and waggling it back and forth, hoping he was getting across the right message.

So-so.

“Alright, fair enough. We’re gonna be a few more minutes, just gotta finalize the switch and get our pay. Then we’ll be on our way to Hephaestus. If it’s any consolation, he doesn’t let folks like that hang around his forge. You’ll be left alone.” There was a faint, wry sort of grin in those last words, though somehow John didn’t feel like he was being laughed at or demeaned. It felt like both a reassurance and that same, off-the-cuff humor he was beginning to recognize Joe by. Familiar, like the weight of the pistol, sword, and axe at the Horseman’s belt.

It calmed him enough, and while John hardly had his voice back, he still tried to give the figure, the soldier, a nod to show he understood and was alright with that heading. Whatever altercation there had been with the seller seemed to have wrapped up, Cannonade coming back to drift at John’s side. The wind-being did take a moment to “kneel” next to John in an effort to look the Horseman in the face, a concerned rush of air teasing at the ashy coat the pumpkinhead was wearing.

His throat still felt unsure, but John tried his best to reassure there too. It was with the same nod, and what he hoped was a more calmer, happier look about the eyes. But with a static face John could only manage so much. It appeared to do the job for Cannonade, the wind-being giving a happier sounding chime as he straightened back up to his towering full height. The gesture also had a return, in the form of another semi-indistinct hand patting his shoulder, and John took it with good grace.

Though as John looked up, his dusky eyes immediately lit on the fact that things appeared to be wrapping up at the booth. The ornate shop-keep was waving to Tim, Joe was busy maneuvering the motorbike around so they could partially reverse course out of the row they’d ended up in. And, thankfully, there hadn’t been any more surprises. But, now that the Horseman thought of it, the much more imposing figure of Cannonade likely kept anymore sellers away.

“Tell Dye I said seeya ‘round, would’ya?” Joe called to Tim as he drew level with the horse, the towering metal soldier nodding with a softer look to his glowing green eyes. John watched Tim turn back, briefly confused. Had Joe just called the shop keep “Die”?

Something in John’s eyes must’ve been apparent to Joe, given that his own, shifting eyes crinkled with a private joke, patting the Horseman on the ash-covered shoulder.

“That’s Dye. Like color dye for clothes. Speakin’ of which, she made you somethin’.”

The something was drawn out of one of Joe’s front shirt pockets with a flourish, John staring at the colorful bit of fabric before he remembered he was supposed to take it. It was a handkerchief, embroidered on a softer, off-white background with silvery and orange threads. John ended up looking at it from a few different angles before he pieced together the scene, that of a rider on horseback, in a forest of tall, ghost-like trees. It even looked like the rider had a tiny pumpkin for a head, though John couldn’t help noticing that it looked like the pumpkin was glowing. A nice effect, but it made him wonder if this was supposed to be depicting him, or someone else.

Though, really, how many other people were walking around with a pumpkin for a head? Never mind ones that were covered with what seemed like a fire’s worth of ash?

It was still a wonderful present though, John readily tucking it in his coat with the rest of his odds and ends. He did try to make sure he wouldn’t get this and his old handkerchief mixed up; the new one seemed almost too beautiful to use.

Glancing up, John noticed that Tim was coming back from the booth, just as a delicate-looking person in white with green-tinted skin walked up to the tapestry booth. At the presence of a potential customer, Dye walked out from behind the book booth, displaying the flowing skirt of violet with silvery highlights.

John had glanced over the tapestries before, but now he took them in with a new interest. He was somewhat familiar with the craft, he’d seen the like back in Patiti. But Dye had taken and nurtured it in the same way one would a garden.

Images of spiraling designs, modeled to look like landscapes that teemed with wildlife. If John hadn’t seen the many, many types of beings frequenting the market, he might’ve been more goggle-eyed at the depictions swirling over the larger tapestries. It seemed to imply some sort of communion, some sort of greater gathering of the strange and wonderous. What was interesting was that they all seemed to be heading in one direction, John’s eyes naturally being drawn to the next tapestry.

But this next one was not quite so wonderous. Instead it depicted a bizarre dichotomy: a glowing, opulent city of light colors, but looming over it was a figure wreathed in glaring white. The figure’s body language was domineering, controlling, its hands outstretched over the city like it was trying to seize the fragile spires. Twist the life out of them.

But the most detail was in the eyes. The eyes were…off. A little wide and too staring, not helped by the fact that there was nothing else in the face. Nothing with which you could use to guess intention or thoughts. Just that looming, grasping frame, and too wide, almost uncomfortably knowing eyes.

Those two items, the city and the figure, took up most of the tapestry, though there was a small bit at the bottom that caught John’s attention. It was at the bottom of where the city was. A sort of fracturing that looked like the foundations of the buildings were coming apart.

A softer chime caught John’s attention, the Horseman starting out of his momentary daze to see Cannonade waving a “hand” in his peripheral vision. The wind-being’s next act was to point in the direction of Joe and Tim, who had gotten back to their motorbike.

Hopefully this would be the last. While the Horseman didn’t feel like his experiences were completely bad, there was a lot that he now had to mull over.

Thankfully, Joe seemed to catch on to the drooping in John’s frame, the figure calling back to the Horseman.

“We’re heading to Hephaestus now. It’s a bit of a hike but we should be there soon.”

John took a moment to swing himself up into the saddle, Cannonade falling into place next to him. Even though he was doing his best to keep his gaze forward, a few things still caught the Horseman’s eye. At least, in a passive way. A trio of…men? With equine lower halves. A taller, more well-covered up figure with a serpentine tail trailing behind. A figure seemingly made of ice surveying something in a booth. A gaggle of small men, dressed in furs, tramping in the opposite direction. A being dressed in a white suit with colored accents, a gold dome hiding the face from view. A decently sized booth entirely dedicated to those blinking not-tapestries and metallic things, a figure in a hood lounging in the center of it all, looking up and scrutinizing the group as they went past.

After a few minutes, John was also noticing a change in the booths. The buildings had had an orderly, but somewhat cramped look before, with booths and gaggles of beings gathered on each side. Here it was starting to become more…spread out. There were fewer and fewer booths, and there seemed to be a particular theme to the ones that were around. A few food stalls, more odd tapestries and blinking lights, but a lot of focus on tools, metalworking.

The people frequenting this area seemed to continue the theme, John doing his best to be discrete as he glanced about. The buildings in this area had larger doors, a few of them left open, displaying machines similar to the motorbike that Joe was still pushing.

Though these were far more complex, the Horseman’s molten eyes widening at the fact that one had honest to goodness wings. There were others, smaller ones, with four wheels and a covered cab, all with different looks to them, but one, a larger, black one, had the lights on. It was the one closest to the flying machine, John happening to catch the movement of a person carrying something. He was tall, with an odd-looking coat and a haircut so short the Horseman wondered if he’d had his head shaved. Then again, perhaps it would make sense, if he was working so much with machines…

The man looked up at the procession, immediately locking eyes with John who did his best not to flinch as he looked away. It took them a few minutes to fully move on from the doorway, but they immediately came upon a larger, more ornate building that stood a little taller than the rest. There was a good plume of smoke coming from the top, it reminded John immensely of the clockwork, geometric motifs of the entrance hall.

Was this where Drove lived? But it looked like they were heading towards it, hadn’t Joe said they were going to see Hephaestus…

They didn’t have far to go to get to the apparent front door, Tim taking the lead and knocking against the metal. It took a moment, but someone did answer. A towering man with intense, almost igneous eyes, though once he’d looked away from that John couldn’t help noticing that the imposing figure was wearing a brace around his right leg.

“Hey, Hephaestus,” Joe said, as conversational as you please. “We’re here about that tune-up?”

The words got an appraising look from “Hephaestus,” who looked from Joe to Tim, correctly guessing which bit of machinery was going to be “tuned-up.” Well, credit to him, John had definitely gotten it wrong at first…

“Come in,” Hephaestus’s voice rumbled, gesturing shortly as he turned to head back into his forge. There was a slight slowness to his movements, but overall the apparent god wasn’t hampered very much by his lameness. John was also noticing how things were somewhat…spread out in spots? At least somewhat. He was noticing places and sturdier bits of furniture that could be grabbed if needed. Maybe the brace couldn’t stay on all the time?

But of course it likely couldn’t. The Horseman scoffed at himself as he hopped down from his horse, stalling at the door as he wondered if his steed could actually come inside. The door was certainly big enough, but would that be polite…?

There was a sudden movement from within that immediately got John’s attention, a towering, cyclopean being peeking out from some corner of the workshop. The Horseman froze, especially as the being’s eye turned on him, but the cyclops’s attention immediately went to Hephaestus.

“Do you want help with this one?”

“No, no need, Arges. I’ve worked with him before.”

“Alright, I’ll be in the back if you need me.” That seemed to be all the conversation that was needed, the apparent ‘god’ moving on into the forge with purpose, Tim in tow, and the cyclops turning back to whatever he’d been doing. Cannonade had been about to follow, but given John’s pause the wind-being had halted, staring back almost in askance.

“It’s okay, nothin’s gonna mess with ‘em. C’mon in.” Joe said in enough of an undertone that only John and Cannonade caught it, the Horseman somewhat hesitantly leaving his steed tied in next to the door.

He was able to catch up with the rest of the procession, trailing behind a little as they entered a larger room. The Horseman saw what looked like a forge, but much bigger than anything he had seen before. There were a number of surfaces around, some marginally clear, but there were mixes of metal ore and what looked like they might be some sort of blueprints on, well, bluish paper. One of them was partially unrolled, John briefly spotting what looked like some sort of vehicle with multiple wheels and…was that a chimney sticking out of the front part?

The Horseman was so engrossed with trying to figure out what exactly he was seeing that Hephaestus sweeping the apparent plans away made him jump. Glancing up into the forgemaster’s piercing gaze, John immediately looked down, trying his best to seem like he hadn’t been spying.

“Hmm.” Came a low hum, like rumbling earth. “I see you’ve found another new…spirit.”

“Yes.” Tim’s reply seemed candid; it did ease John’s mind a little that he’d might’ve made some sort of faux paus. “We found him, and him, out in the In-Between.”

The latter “him” being Cannonade, who perked up from his staring at the fire within the forge to look over at the rest of the group.

Hephaestus did not seem one for conversation though, giving the “new” pair a sweeping stare before getting to the apparent task at hand.

“What did you want me to look at?”

“A general checkup would be for the best. I have been having…” A hiss of steam, before Tim went on. “Some issues as of late.”

“And by issues, we mean…” Somehow, it did not sound like a question. More like a prompt.

Understandable, as John figured that Hephaestus would be needing more information to do any kind of fixing. It didn’t mean that there wasn’t a slight bit of intimidation in the gesture; nothing about this apparent god seemed to have any sort of genial-ness to him. Warmth, definitely, but that probably ought to be expected.

“A few of my smaller guns in my left hand have been unusable, I suspect they are either jammed or the internal components have melted. The cannon in my right arm is completely nonfunctional, and there is a slight grinding when I move the joint. Joe confirmed that it is clear of ammunition, but there is definite heat-related damage.”

“Heat related, from overuse? You’re generally impeccable about taking care of yourself.”

“We had a bit of an incident while passing through Mu.”

Tim’s reply was pretty straightforward, but Hephaestus’s brow furrowed like there was something still unclear about it.

“You fought a Chaotic?”

It was a word that John definitely remembered hearing before, his mind already making the association with the violent storm he and Cannonade had narrowly escaped. But something about this didn’t seem right. John was fairly sure the mention of Chaotics hadn’t come up in relation to Tim’s apparent fight, at least not before…

“About three. One of them was very persistent.”

“Took about five shots with the cannon to get it to stay down,” Joe finally spoke up, the figure more standing off to the side and letting Tim have his conversation. Apparently this was too important not to mention.

It definitely put some thoughts into John’s mind, had Joe said it took five shots, from a cannon of all things? In the Horseman’s mind, there was the aimless, but somehow very certain knowledge that it generally only took one.

“The others just weren’t as crazed, I guess.” Joe went on, letting the matter drop with a wave of his hand. Though there was a part of John that wanted to ask questions, to figure out more, he couldn’t guarantee his throat would hold out. And it looked like things were moving on anyway given the dismissive rumble of a sigh on Hephaestus’s part.

“Alright, is there anything else I need to know about?”

“No other major problems, though I think my joints in general could use a look over.”

With a nod Hephaestus went about clearing the rest of the table, indicating that Tim could lie down.

“Y’want me to stick around?” Joe asked, more for the mechanical soldier’s own ears than anyone else’s. John felt like averting his eyes again, more than willing to let the pair have their conversation without eavesdropping.

“I think I should be fine for the first part, but maybe…” The second part trailed off, but John could figure the overall message given that the metallic man’s glowing eyes jerked to the Horseman and Cannonade, Joe patting him on the shoulder and turning to John.

“Seeing as this is gonna be a while, wanna take five down at the park?”

“Th-The what?”

“There’s a little patch of green just a bit down from where we are. Head out the front door, make a right, and go until you see a metal fence. Should be pretty quiet this time of evening, and this is mostly just gonna be standing around waiting for something to happen. If anything interesting happens, I’ll fill you both in later.” Joe said, currently green, almond-shaped eyes crinkling at their edges in the hint of a smile. Cannonade drifted up, eager at the promise of an excursion. But before he could withdraw entirely, the wind-being caught sight of Hephaestus about to stoke the fires in the forge, giving a cheery whistle and gesturing something before sending a contained blast of wind into the heart of the fire.

Though John’s immediate worry was that this might be more explosive than Cannonade would intend, the wind-being seemed to have control over the whirling air. The fire burned higher without escaping the confines of the forge. After a moment the trick faded away, but by then the temperature in the room had climbed, presumably to a degree that made it primed for the actual smithing process.

“I know you like the cyclops, but it really looks like you could use a sylph or two,” Joe said in the ensuing silence, Hephaestus giving a rare, rougher smile as he responded.

“If sylphs were more inclined to work, perhaps I might consider employing them.”

He then turned back to his forge, the brief spate of conversation over.

“Go on,” Joe spoke up, gesturing the pair the rest of the way out the door. “Come back around dark, I’ll be standing outside.”

[break]

The park wasn’t really anything spectacular. It didn’t have much on the wilder forests of Patiti, or the wider expanse of the In-Between. But it was a quaint little area, with trees growing here and there along with a pond sitting in what looked like the middle. It wasn’t enough to hide the presence of buildings surrounding it, but it did offer some space. More than enough that John felt like he could breathe again.

Well, not that he really breathed, but it was the principle of the thing.

His horse echoed his sentiments, following the Horseman’s trek down into the center of the park. When they came close enough, the mount dipped its head into the water to drink. Cannonade breezed along, riding the wind currents as though they were something tangible.

Which…they likely were for the wind-being, and their influence was felt in the softer rustle of greenery all around. It was a calming sound, soothing given that it covered for the lack of animals. Granted, while there was a part of John that logically knew animals might face some hardship living in such a small and busy place, a part of him couldn’t help missing the bustle of forest life dearly.

Glancing up, there were more reminders of nearby civilization in the air, with smoke billowing up into the sky, but there were still stars shining their brightest even in the smoggy air. The fall of night was still apparent in the darkening azure hue, albeit the presence of the forges gave it a duller cast. Then again they would be gone from here soon, though the thought left the Horseman wondering just what new sights he would see in the days to come.

There was also the fainter thought of what those sights would look like a year from now. But to keep himself from feeling too small, the Horseman let that sink to the back of his mind. Instead he looked from the heavens above to the sight of Cannonade drifting lazily over the water, the half-formed visibility of the wind-being’s frame looking as if it were lounging in the air. Even with the armor fitted to his chest and in bands around his limbs and head, Cannonade looked settled into the moment, truly and utterly.

It was another sight that relaxed the Horseman’s restless spirit a bit more, allowing him to feel more at peace then than he had for his whole memory. And, with his hand resting on his horse’s shoulder, it felt all the more serene.

The moment did carry, but it was disturbed by a newer breeze coming at the Horseman’s back, along with a faint rustling noise that sounded as if someone were walking by. Perhaps John should have expected it, given that this hardly seemed like a private garden. But there had been no one else he’d seen so far. So the sudden, apparent presence felt a little odd.

It didn’t help that when he turned, the Horseman became aware that darkness was beginning to cloak the rest of the garden in a shadowy shroud. It made it hard to see if there were some other party out there.

Though there was a flicker of something, be it light or movement, that drew the Horseman’s smoldering gaze. It was there and gone before he could gauge more than a cursory few things, but he had the distinct impression of something shimmering gold. Something that almost resembled a pair of eyes.

The thought put a chill in John’s mind, the Horseman’s stance turning from calm to wary and fearful as he leaned away from the shadowed trees. The horse at his side gave a whinny, head turning to look in the same direction, but at the moment there was nothing there.

A faint bell chime caught John’s attention, the Horseman glancing back just in time to see Cannonade turning over in the air, drifting to be nearer to the pair. John had no idea what to say. After all, he could’ve just seen someone out on a walk, who perhaps might’ve been just as keen to be left alone. It wasn’t like they’d stuck around for a chat…

“Hallows?”

Now that was a voice the Horseman did not recognize, and it was coming from the direction that the eyes had been in. The exact content of the speech escaped him, his fickle throat growing tight as he turned back around to see just who had spoken.

It took him a moment to even see the person in question. But when they shifted around in the branches of the tree they were sitting in, it quickly got John’s attention. The most he could make out, at first, was a longer, dark, and more willowy frame stretched out in the branches like it was a lounge chair.

It also wasn’t immediately clear how they got up there, given that there weren’t many available hand or footholds. Though as the figure swung up and leapt down, their slower-than-it-should-have-been descent hinted that they had some sort of control over themselves, or…

The brief flash of likeness brought to mind Cannonade, who had crept up behind John and his horse in the interim and was eyeing the newcomer with just as much wariness. The wind-being did give a low whistle as he approached, mostly to let the pumpkin-headed Horseman know that he had drawn near. And perhaps also to potentially drive off the newcomer if they should prove to be a threat.

But, at least for now, it did not seem as though the newcomer was intending to be a threat, given their more open posture as they drifted through the air like a living shadow. Bits of color were starting to fill in as they came into the light, paler skin standing stark against eyes of black sclera and gold irises, skin dappled with what looked like some kind of tattoos.

These weren’t entirely visible. The figure’s dark hat and long pants, white shirt, and black long coat covered it along with their light, flowing hair. But it looked almost like sets of triangles, or some other shape, on either cheek, forehead, and neck. The stance, apart from floating in the air, was fairly casual, hands in their pockets and shoulders relaxed like they might’ve been strolling down the street.

Though, apart from noting these things, the Horseman was infinitely more concerned by the expression on that pale face. The odd eyes narrowed as they seemed to take him in. The figure’s gaze was practically picking John apart, starting with his pumpkin head, moving to his dusky, ash-covered clothes, and then on to his company. The horse whickered nervously at the attention, Cannonade giving a low hum as he made eye contact, but for the moment the figure didn’t seem too bothered by either of them. If anything they clearly had eyes more for John, given how their gaze immediately went back to the Horseman and went up and down his frame one more time.

“No, guess you’re not him…” They, she, murmured. “You do look an awful lot like him though…”

“Wh-Who?” John graveled, hoping against hope that his voice would not fail him now. Thankfully, the figure grew more animated at the promise of a conversation. Even if she was following a few slightly nerve-wracking habits like not touching the ground and drifting around in a manner that reminded the Horseman of someone aimlessly pacing.

“Another god I’m looking for. His name’s Hallows. No one’s really seen him for a while, but when I saw you tooling around the Market, I thought he’d maybe popped back up after a regeneration. Would explain the new outfit and look, but…” Her words were calm, even casual as she went, but John felt his spine stiffen as she considered him closely again. “Yeah, no, you’re definitely not him.”

There were plenty of odd things in what she had just said, but for the moment the Horseman could not give voice to any of them. At least, not before his opportunity was inadvertently stolen away by Cannonade, who gave an inquiring chime from over John’s shoulder.

“Oh no, don’t think I’ve forgotten you back there. Can’t say I’ve formerly met you either, but I think we’d get along just fine.” The confident statement came with the figure bringing her hands out of her pockets, exposing equally pale limbs edged in dark claws. Her fingers waggled in the air, John just barely able to see whorls of darkened wind spiraling off. These banded through the air like sound waves, one of Cannonade’s indistinct limbs reaching around John to meet it as it came close.

The wind-being flinching back at first made the Horseman worry his companion had been somehow hurt. But Cannonade didn’t seem more than surprised, observing the darker bit of air clasped in his “hand” with keen attentiveness. His arm was still partially held in front of John as well, the Horseman unable to help his own tentative curiosity as he reached out.

Though he was touching only air, a brief sensation traveled up his fingers, like an electric chill. That went in time with a strange reverie that came on so suddenly John couldn’t help wondering if it was something that had been shaken loose from his own mind.

The feeling of a cold, cloudy night with the wind whooping and warring through the trees, the kind of night that made you dream of a hunt roaring across the landscape, of ghosts and monsters capering about in the dark…

It passed just as soon as it came, but it left John confused all the same. At least, until he happened to glance at his and Cannonade’s conversation partner. The darkened clothes, the sparser hints of brighter color that mirrored the hazed outline of a moon in the night sky. And, in between one blink and the next, the Horseman couldn’t help the disquieting feeling that the tattoos on this being’s face and neck had shifted to resemble equally odd-colored eyes.

The effect was there and gone, but the Horseman couldn’t say he was in the habit of mistrusting his own eyes. Especially when there had been so many other odd occurrences in this one interaction alone.

But, even as he couldn’t help shying away from this strange, slightly threatening entity, Cannonade gently tapped John on the shoulder, and mimed that the Horseman should cover his ears. While he couldn’t really cover much through his pumpkin-head, John did try. He ended up nearly jumping out of his ashy clothes as Cannonade rose in the air and let loose with a roar of thunder and howling wind.

The cacophony lasted about three seconds, ending with a round of cannon fire. John shakily pulled his hands away, Cannonade giving a chime as he lowered back down. The pair’s attention was then grabbed by the figure clapping, a wide, sharp-toothed smile splitting her face.

“It’s lovely to meet you too! Pity your friend there isn’t joining in.” This was directed more at John, the Horseman finding himself bereft of any idea about what he should be doing. How did one even begin to accomplish such strange feats?

“Y’know, actually, seeing as I haven’t seen you around before, I have to ask, how long’ve you been around?” The figure asked, clawed hands tucked behind her back as her upper body leaned forward. Even with this faintly probing air, she was smiling and unblinkingly watching the Horseman.

“I, ah, I just left Patiti,” John stammered out, trying his best to keep himself from backing into Cannonade.

“So you were in…Patiti? And this is your first time to the Market?” Thankfully the way the apparent entity was asking these questions didn’t feel too interrogative. More like she was confirming the facts of the conversation, which John supposed was fair.

“Yes?”

“Don’t sound very sure of yourself there.” She came back with, sharp-toothed grin growing just a little wider. If John’s pumpkinhead allowed for movement he might’ve frowned at the remark. But in lieu of that he simply squared his shoulders and did his best to answer with certainty.

“Yes, buh-both of, those, are true.”

“Hmm. And where were you before that?”

Before? Now that was definitely a question, and one that John hadn’t much of an answer for. He’d simply wandered into Patiti one day, by all accounts, and stayed until he found he couldn’t anymore. Before that, everything was blank. But he should still answer, and what better answer than the truth?

“…I, I do not…know.”

The admittance definitely piqued his conversation partner’s interest, gold eyes keen as they peered over and seemingly into John’s pumpkinhead.

“Hmm, so you could be a regeneration, or a completely new god…”

There was a word that John had heard twice now and still had no context for. And, given that it was coming up in accordance with his situation, he felt it would be good to correct that.

“A, re-gener-ation?”

“A regenerated god-slash-goddess. Turns out, we’re very difficult to kill.” The explanation was accompanied by another sharp-toothed smile. The figure looked like she was lying down in midair as she spoke, her hands propping up her head. “Granted, this sort of a tactic does not always work and it’s not a widely understood one. Probably given that, if you studied it, you’d have to mortally injure your subject. The war definitely gave plenty of accounts though.”

It was so casually said that John almost missed it. But he couldn’t help chasing the mention like a dog after a particularly choice piece of meat.

Even if he wasn’t so sure he’d like the answer…

“War?”

“Yep. Though it’s all over now, supposedly. Done with, all back in the rearview mirror.” Seemingly to punctuate the last few words, the figure melted down into a shadow that sprung up to physicality just behind John and Cannonade. In a seeming effort to be companionable, she threw her arms over the pairs’ shoulders, partially pulling Cannonade down to accommodate the gesture. John went stiff as a board at the contact, nearly about to pull away if it were not for the last bit of advice she had for him alone. “If you’re that new, the most you need to know is to avoid the wilder parts of the In-Between.”

It had already looked plenty un-inhabited when John had been out there, unless there was some unknown context for this too…

“Wh-Wilder parts?”

“Y’know, when it gets dark and stormy. It kind of shifts around sometimes, but out there, there always are dragons. So to speak, anyway.” The arms were easily removed from John and Cannonade’s shoulders, the figure drifting a bit ahead like she was about to walk away. Though, not without one last word, head turning back a bit as golden iris(es?) flickered over her face. “Some say he’s still out there, after all.”

“…Who?” John forced out after a moment, unable to help the question. This seemed…incredibly significant, and from the way the conversation had been going this “he” likely was important to the earlier mentioned war. But, instead of giving a straight answer, the figure simply turned back around, raising a finger to her lips. There was still the hint of a devil-may-care smile, but it intermixed with a slight, warning edge to those golden-black eyes. A hint of seriousness, for sure, but John wasn’t certain he truly understood the implications.

“Can’t do names. More often than not, it’s harmless, but sometimes you do end up getting someone’s attention.” Seemingly spinning on her heel, the figure went back to reclining in the air as if it were a comfy hammock, arms folding behind her head as she continued. “We are gods, after all. Suppose it’d be a bit useless if we didn’t come when called.”

John found he didn’t have much of an answer for that, his mind still trying to wrap itself around the notion of gods, goddesses, regenerations, and a war. A feeble croak of “s’ppose so” was his only real reply, the figure seeming to take that to mean the conversation was over.

“Whelp, it’s been nice meeting the both of you, and hey,” she said as her eyes lit on John again. “If you do happen to spot another god with a pumpkin for a head, especially if he calls himself Hallows, you let me know.”

“Hh-How, I don’ even know your name…” It might’ve been a bit rude to say, but it was the truth.

“You can call me Trick. And, don’t worry about how the news gets to me, likely enough it will.” The figure, Trick, replied, lazy, sharp-toothed smile back in place as she gave a slight bow at the introduction. “Though I don’t think you gave me your name either…”

“John. It’s, John. The Horseman.” The somewhat stilted presentation did get that searching golden gaze again, though it cut off with a nod like John had confirmed something before Trick spun on her heel and “walked” off. As much as someone could when they weren’t touching the ground.

“Again, nice meeting the both of you. Here’s hoping we can do it again sometime.”

And, in between one blink and the next, she faded into the shadows of the now completely dark park, leaving John and Cannonade standing alone.

“…Odd.” The Horseman graveled out into the silence, Cannonade giving a seemingly agreeing chime in response.

^^^

Joe was waiting at the door of the forge by the time they got back, John feeling a little bad given that the initial agreement had been that they’d be back at dark. Technically it was a bit past that now, though Joe waved off his attempt at an apology by pointing out that the terms had been around dark, not right as it got dark. It was meant to give them some wiggle room, as Joe had called it.

The thought had been on the Horseman’s mind to mention what had happened in the park, but coming into the main part of the forge presented an immediate distraction in the form of Tim. His arms were completely detached and partially disassembled on the table. Apparently, while the general check-up had revealed that Tim was mostly fine, apart from some tune-ups to his legs and neck to be sure they wouldn’t stick, his arms would need a lot of care.

Hephaestus was letting them stay in a separate room while he worked through the night, something that seemed to be normal given that Arges checked in with only a few questions as to whether or not anything would be needed.

The accommodations were sparse, simple cots and blankets. Even though the Horseman couldn’t help thinking that he might be better off not using it on the grounds of making a mess, he was still pushed towards it with stubborn insistence on Cannonade’s part. Joe might’ve had his own words, but his attention was taken up by making sure that Tim was able to get settled in, seeing as the metallic soldier currently had no arms.

John ended up sitting on the side of the bed, feeling tense as a spring while he tried to keep his ash more to himself than anything else. A faint chuckle caught the Horseman’s attention, though Joe kept his amusement at the predicament mercifully short.

“Can you even sleep?”

The question stopped John cold, smoldering eyes turning to the floor in a thousand-yard stare as he tried to remember if he’d ever really slept. Maybe a few times in Patiti? More often than not though, he’d stay in his own room, or would simply ride around and familiarize himself with the city. It was a habit that made him very good at running packages.

“So, I’m going to assume that’s a probable no?” Joe’s voice snapped the Horseman out of his musing, John belatedly realizing that it wasn’t a good thing to drop out of the conversation like that. And, likely enough, Joe was correct.

“Yeah, that can happen sometimes, depending on the person. Still, don’t wanna just leave you sitting up with nothing to do.” Joe said to John’s brief reply of a nod. The figure thought for a moment before turning to the bag he’d taken from his motorbike. “Here, how about this? Was gonna give it to you eventually, figure there’s no time like the present…”

It took a bit of digging, but Joe came up with a simple, brown-covered book, holding it out to the Horseman. Curiously, John took it, peering at the title emblazoned on the front.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Tales.

And, underneath that in smaller lettering was a name, presumably the author: Washington Irving.

The name was somewhat familiar, John’s eyes turning from the cover to Joe’s shifting features in partial askance. Thankfully, the figure seemed to read into the cue without a verbal prompt.

“Yep, thinking I mentioned him to you already. That’s Washington Irving, an American writer from the later part of the 1700s, ish? Either way, I’m thinking you’re either gonna love that book, or you’re gonna be annoyed at the comparison. You never heard of him before?”

John replied to that with a shake of his pumpkinhead, though strangely enough he found his worn throat trying to fill in the blanks with more context.

“No. I-I don’ remember anything, b’fore Patiti.”

“You just kinda showed up there?”

“Mhm. Though…” Well, no better time to bring it up, right? “I mmmet some-one, in the park. They thought I might be a, a regen-era-tion.”

Joe’s eyes, this time blue and somewhat slanted, narrowed at that.

“Did this mysterious informant give you their name? And, well, if you’re a regeneration, it’d be a little hard to know, really.”

Given that the term “regeneration” felt like it had turned John’s vocal chords to mincemeat, he was hoping that the rest of the conversation would be fairly short. Or, at the very least, the Horseman hoped he’d be able to find another means to participate. Still, this was something he’d wanted to talk about, might as well be out with the rest.

“Said their, her name w’s Trick.”

There was the faint memory just after the syllables left his mouth that openly speaking the name of a god or goddess might not be the best of ideas. But, still, it was out, and a brief glance around proved that nothing had really changed.

“Huh. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. And, yeah, maybe keep mentions a bit more subtle. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with Chaos-type demiurges, but I’d like my night uneventful.” Joe spoke up, correctly reading into the flurry of movement the Horseman had made after his words. “As for what she said, well, like I said, you’re not gonna really know if someone’s a regeneration just by meeting them. Really, the only way to know for sure is if we ran into someone who knew you before and could recognize you.

“It’s a possibility, but not much beyond that. You’re better off just living your life as is, and if you find out something, well, you take it as it comes.”

It was sound advice, though it left John’s eyes to turn back to the book in his hands, ash-covered gloves brushing over the cover.

“…You don’t have to take the book, if you don’t want it. Just figured that reading it would be more interesting than staring at the walls.” Joe suddenly spoke up, snapping John’s attention forward again.

“No. I’ll…keep it, f’r now. Thank you.” Even through a throat that felt like it was gargling gravel, the Horseman tried to put as much gratitude as he could into the words. He hadn’t exactly gotten many gifts before. Though he had a feeling this was liable to be confusing, as he glanced at the pages, the writing style brought him a strange form of comfort.

“Alright, though,” Joe said, pulling out a metallic rod from his pocket and twisting it. John couldn’t help marveling at the fact that the rod began to glow from one end like a torch. When he didn’t immediately move to take it Joe proffered it again. “C’mon, you’re gonna want it. I’ll be turning off the lights and, spirit or no, you’re gonna want to keep from straining your eyes.”

John carefully took the metal rod, trying his best to examine it before he ended up accidentally shining the lit end directly into his eyes. Thankfully Joe had been facing in the other direction and hadn’t seen that.

By the time the figure turned back around John had recomposed himself, settling down on the cot with the look of someone who was pretty much ready to start reading their book. Joe settled in on his own cot, the Horseman glancing over as Cannonade whirled to a sort of loose pile of faintly shifting metal. Tim was still lying prone on what looked like a work bench, it suddenly striking John that he was the only one really awake at the moment. Then again, being surprised was more than a little foolish, they had all been getting ready even before Joe had come up to talk with him…

So, with that in mind, he settled down on his cot with the glowing rod and the book, diving right into the first chapter. After a few paragraphs, it became apparent that the writings were just as much of a memoir/journal as they were a collection of stories. Washington Irving had been a traveler in his day, though the way he spoke and wrote felt…reassuring, in an odd sense. It was almost like John had a friend telling him about their most recent trip, or their thoughts on different topics. The places named, in both England and the Americas, also felt familiar. But apart from a vague shadow it didn’t stir up anything concrete in terms of memory.

Just that calm reassurance, like he was finally on stable ground. And for the moment the Horseman had no desire to question it, more drawn in by the writing than thinking about the whys of his current state of mind.

In a sense, it left John in the perfect frame of mind when he found the story that Joe had mentioned before, about a man named Rip Van Winkle. The Horseman’s attention was absorbed by the tale, finding a strong sense of sympathy in the latter half when the man tried to go back to his home only to find that everything he knew had been turned upside down. The mention of the loss of his dog ended up taking John completely by surprise, the Horseman finding that to be the part that struck him the most keenly. For him, it would be like losing his mount, the thought enough to drive John from his cot to the nearby window.

Thankfully it overlooked the front part of the forge, the Horseman able to see his horse. Seeming to sense the rider’s gaze, the horse lifted its head, dark eyes seeking out the window and meeting the smoldering, pumpkin-shrouded ones of the Horseman himself.

It was a comforting thing, the tension easing in John by degrees, and after a moment he stepped away from the window, rearranging himself on the cot with his light before he picked up the story again. The story continued on, the ending being somewhat satisfying in that Rip Van Winkle was left to live out his days in this new time. Then again, John couldn’t help ruminating, perhaps that was easier to do given that only a hundred years had passed, and the man was still in the lands he had been born in.

Definitely wouldn’t be as easy if it were happening in a place like Patiti…

The thought brought a somewhat uncomfortable feeling to the Horseman’s mind, something he wasn’t sure he could rightly put a name to so for the moment he tucked it away and went through to the next story. Or essay, as it turned out. This one was discussing a sort of reverie that the writer had in a library, where he spoke to a book about all that had changed since the book itself was published.

It wasn’t called a book though, it was called a quarto, which was a little confusing at first before John clued into what a quarto actually was.

A quarto, it seemed, was a short and small book, and Irving’s dialogue with it suggested that it could be easy to misplace such a thing. Perhaps due to size, though John couldn’t help noting the mentions of longer works, of grander epics that had apparently been lost to time. The notion of copying books by hand, the presence of this new thing called the printing press, some of it felt like a familiar debate to John. Though he wasn’t sure exactly where he’d heard it. Patiti had not had such things, perhaps this was a sign of something trying to come through his patchworked mind?

Still, while it was interesting, it didn’t invoke anything concrete. Nothing he could attach a name, a face, or perhaps a date to. So he went on. The mention of someone named Shakespeare also seemed rather familiar, not that John could’ve said why. Apparently Irving knew the man well enough though, perhaps he’d been famous?

Definitely not from Patiti though, so maybe it was something coming through. It just wasn’t anything real or definite. Nothing that told him who he was.

The rest of the essays were, in their own sort of way, calming but also somewhat frustrating. They detailed parts of Irving’s trip, the people he’d seen and met, the customs he’d taken part in and experienced. It all felt, normal, in the strangest way. Like it was a dance that John had been taught a long time ago and was picking it up again. But the frustrating thing about it was how abstract it all still seemed. Shouldn’t he be remembering something more? Who he was, where precisely he’d been? The names of the places, in both America and Britain, all sounded familiar. Enough to tug at his mind, but not enough to really shake anything from his subconscious to the surface.

Nothing about who he was, beyond some nameless entity of death and war.

The thoughts stung, and John ended up glancing over the last few pages of the essay rather than really reading them. It made him somewhat unprepared to flip to the next, realizing belatedly that it was the start of what must’ve been the last bit, as it was so close to the end of the book.

The piece itself also had an interesting title: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. In this, it was similar to Rip Van Winkle, more of a story, and in that comparison it eased John’s mind. It might have had a personal connection, somehow and somewhere, but only in the tangential sense. There was nothing to really remember, no recollections that the words were meant to provoke. Just a story, to be quietly taken in and turned over at his leisure.

The words themselves were spellbinding, painting a vivid image of the small village and its landscape, though there was a paragraph close to the beginning that gave John pause. The town was the sort that had its fair share of tales, superstitions, the most prominent among them being the story of a, a Hessian trooper who had been decapitated by a cannonball.

If John could’ve, he’d have swallowed, but instead he settled for a brief grasping at the lower part of his neck. Feeling spellbound now for a completely different reason, he read on as the story detailed the manner in which the trooper, a man on horseback, haunted the valley and the surrounding area. He rode out on an equally phantasmic steed, searching for the head he’d lost, with great blasts of wind-being the supposed sign that the Hessian was riding and trying to get back to his burial place before daybreak.

…and that the spectre is known at all the country firesides by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

By all rights, that should have been where John stopped reading, where the Horseman would put the book down and simply let the matter die, maybe ruminate on this apparent connection, but he couldn’t stop, smoldering eyes growing wide as they stared through the holes in his pumpkin head. Almost like a miasma, the specter of the Headless Horseman was swept from the forefront of the tale, moving back into the scenery as it slipped into a more broad, languid prose, detailing how the region itself often seemed to play tricks on the unaware eye.

The Horseman in the story seemed to be proof of that, with the writer ruminating on how the village somehow seemed to avoid most of the progress of its era, like some supernatural force held it in a kind of limbo. But the first true change of the story was the arrival of the new schoolmaster, a one Ichabod Crane. His description created an image in John’s mind; a man that was exceedingly lanky, tall to the point of slightly towering, with a nose that made one think of a birdlike weathervane on a house. He’d quickly grown integrated with the townspeople, making himself as invaluable a member as he could be given that he didn’t have a fixed home. It was something John could empathize with, though the mention that the schoolmaster was a fervent believer in the supernatural did nudge him away. Especially with the resurgence of the Headless Horseman, or the Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as he’d apparently also been called. The second name did allow John some distance. But remembering back on how Joe was the one who had given this book to him, and how John had stirred recollections of Washington Irving’s writing on first glance, the Horseman wasn’t feeling confident that the distance would last.

Though he was somewhat swept up in the drama of Ichabod growing particularly close to one of the women of the village, a one Katrina Van Tassel who was the daughter of a wealthy farmer. The farmer’s wealth was a draw to a schoolmaster looking to leave his humble beginnings. But there were obstacles, as John figured there would be. He’d definitely seen his fair share of such in Patiti.

In this instance it was one of the locals getting in Ichabod’s way, an Abraham Van Brunt, otherwise known as Brom Bones. Brom clearly had eyes for Katrina. Given that he was among the more well-thought-of members of the community not many were willing to stand against him. Well, no one except for a strange out-of-towner that aspired for more in life…

It also helped that Ichabod readily ascertained that he wouldn’t be able to fight Brom openly, leaving the boisterous bruiser resorting to more backhanded tricks and pranks. There was the brief mention of supernatural elements again, Ichabod becoming convinced that a horde of witches were making the countryside their home. Ultimately it didn’t put him off his courtship.

But then there was the mention of a certain party, John easily able to read into what was happening as Ichabod rushed his students through their lessons and got ready. The description of Ichabod’s apparent horse for the evening, Gunpowder, distracted the Horseman for a moment. John found himself wincing a little at the mention that the steed had burrs in his tail. Likely it was meant to give Ichabod a more foppish look, but on some level that rankled John. Spirited or not, the animal needed to be taken care of…

Though the name, Gunpowder, also made John think, but for entirely different reasons this time. Especially since, was it customary to name your steeds? Maybe people had done it in Patiti, but, well, he hadn’t necessarily understood the language…

And, well, he hadn’t really felt the need to before, but he himself had only recently come by his own name…

It made his thoughts flit to the horse still waiting outside, the Horseman making a quick note to think about potential names. No one had asked, but maybe it could be something for just the two of them.

Throwing his thoughts back into the story, John picked up with Ichabod arriving at the party being thrown by Van Tassel, the described scenery of the countryside causing a rosy glow to settle over the images forming in the Horseman’s mind. The scenery of the party turned into a similar sort of reminisce, the imaginings all feeling like something maybe seen in the flickering of a campfire, or a candle. Warm and comforting, in their own way.

It might’ve had the same sort of feeling as a memory, but for the moment John didn’t want to get too caught up in the analysis of his mind. There was a growing part of him that simply wanted to enjoy the story for what it was, rather than impose something else over it. There was also the mention of Brom’s introduction, his horse Daredevil also grabbing John’s attention in both description and how Brom seemed to be characterized by it. Daredevil, true to his name, was a maelstrom of energy, and Brom liked that on account of it giving him a proper test of his mettle.

Which was all well and good, John supposed, but his internal, gut feeling was that a horse and its rider should be in some kind of agreement. Then again, for Brom and Daredevil, maybe the wildness was the agreement…

It was something the Horseman forced to the back of his mind, though he tucked the mention of the name, Daredevil, back with his earlier thought regarding names. Neither that nor Gunpowder felt suitable, did not encompass the feeling that his own steed brought, but they were examples to venture forth from.

The mention of ghost stories cropped up again, as it seemed a favored thing in the community, and though there was a faint, uneasy bristling to whatever passed for the Horseman’s innards, he forced himself to take it in. Brief light was made of a Dutchman specter, and of course, the “Galloping Hessian” came ambling back into the forefront of the tale. But the tales told were somewhat tame: a man was cajoled into getting on a towering steed along with the equally imposing rider, only to be thrown into the river when the rider transformed into a skeletal apparition. Brom himself claimed to have challenged the Hessian to a race, and apparently would have won it if the Hessian hadn’t seemingly vanished in a blast of fire close to the finish line.

It was a strange bit of hilarity to an otherwise looming specter, the likeness to an avid, living horseman making the ghost seem a little more human, more playful. John’s mind couldn’t help wandering to the notion of his own self, if he had been the one to take the challenge and race Brom and Daredevil.

Maybe he’d have won that, without needing to burst into flames. Granted, John was decently sure he’d likely just go up in a cloud of ash, that seemed more his motif.

The words of the tale brought on a somewhat dreamlike daze, making John’s smoldering eyes glance over the words on the page, and finding himself utterly blindsided when Ichabod unceremoniously left the house. Glancing back in an effort to find out why drew the Horseman’s gaze to a particular bit, reading about how no one could really say what had happened. But it seemed that Ichabod had tried to go up to Katrina, and there had been a falling out of sorts implied.

As to why, the author claimed ignorance. But the allusion was that Katrina had been false from the start, potentially leading Ichabod on in order to test Brom. Which was more than a little underhanded as far as John was concerned, and made him feel more than a little disconnected from all of these characters. Ichabod was concerned more with status than with his own betterment, or even Katrina’s well-being. Shouldn’t that have been what he would have been concerned the most about, if he’d truly been in love? But then again, Katrina didn’t seem to care for Ichabod either.

Truly they were made for each other… Brom was really the only person who seemed to have some moral high ground that John didn’t feel objected to. Kneading at the side of his gourd, John read on, smoldering eyes furrowing.

Though his eyes quickly blew wide as he realized just where the story was heading, that Ichabod was going to have to go through the same area where the Galloping Hessian, the Headless Horseman, had been seen. Where Brom and the specter had had their race.

John read with the same fascination one had when watching an accident in the process of happening, but with no means to affect the outcome. For Ichabod, the dour mood of the scene had turned into a frightening tension, the pedagogue growing fixated on his recollections of the stories of the headless specter, as well as others. The tree where Major Andre had been hanged briefly frightened the schoolmaster, but the real fright came when Ichabod went further down the path, and a shape rose up out of the gloom.

He’d tried to rouse a response out of the mysterious entity only for them to remain completely quiet, stymieing his efforts to discern who, or what, this being was. John tried to take in what he could of the description. Tall, very tall and big, seemingly more of a dark shape than anything real. But slowly the figure melted somewhat out of the gloom, certain features becoming clearer in the telling. The shape was a figure on horseback, the horse itself a monster of darkness and shadow, and it seemed to take pains to be on Gunpowder’s blind side. Ichabod tried to speed up, slow down, do anything he could to make the other rider leave off. But whatever his inexperienced riding skills were able to cook up, the other easily matched.

And, as they came over a rise in the path, Ichabod was able to spot that the figure did not have a head, and instead seemed to be carrying it on the pommel of his saddle.

If John had a working heartbeat it would have been roaring in his ears, his eyes hurriedly scanning the text to see just what would happen. Ichabod threw himself into a round of kicking at Gunpowder to make the older horse move. While there was a part of John that couldn’t help wincing, he did also completely understand the emotions at play.

The “encouragement” did provoke Gunpowder to speed up, though the headless rider matched it as well as he’d been able to match everything else, turning the tense standoff into an outright chase. And it only seemed to grow worse as, instead of continuing on the road to Sleepy Hollow proper, Gunpowder veered off and headed down the hill to the bridge that was near the church mentioned in the Galloping Hessian story, where he would race to following his nightly escapades. It did provide a brief beacon of hope; the stories had said that the headless specter could not cross the bridge, that he’d vanished in a blast of fire and air. Ichabod certainly seemed to believe it would, the text describing how the schoolmaster’s relief began to grow at the promise of safety. The loss of the saddle from the breakneck ride felt like an afterthought, but John did notice it as he endeavored to keep reading, too invested to back out now.

And Ichabod was able to push Gunpowder forward with one last burst of speed, the aging horse racing over the bridge and making it to the other side, seemingly escaping. But then Ichabod slowed down, looking back to see if the Headless Horseman would vanish like he had in Brom’s story, only to be struck by a thrown head and knocked from Gunpowder’s back. Gunpowder, the Headless Horseman, and his black monster of a steed passed Ichabod by, leaving the pedagogue to lie at the side of the road.

Numbly John flipped forward, scanning by the pale light of the electric torch as the townsfolk went looking for the wayward Ichabod, only to come across his hat and the remains of a shattered pumpkin. Someone stated that they’d seen the schoolmaster elsewhere, having more or less turned his life around by marrying, and going into law, though the townsfolk all said that the Headless Horseman had spirited away the pedagogue to parts unknown. Brom always looked “rather knowing” when the tale was brought up, the last obstacle in his way to marrying Katrina cleared and allowing him to lead her down the aisle. Ultimately, no one could say one way or the other what precisely had happened to Ichabod, the teller of the tale stating that he didn’t believe in the ghost.

But…

John quietly put the book down, briefly glancing around like he was worried that the silent reading had somehow roused one of his companions. Turning the electric torch off he sat in the darkness, before operating on some half-remembered instinct and lying down on the cot. But he didn’t sleep, smoldering eyes staring distantly at the ceiling as the imagery and words of the tale spun through his pumpkinhead.

It was a rider with a pumpkin for a head, a soldier, what’s a Hessian, a German soldier, he couldn’t cross the bridge but he did was it really the Horseman or just Brom, was the Horseman even real to begin with was it supposed to be me?

The last question pinged around in John’s mind, feeling like a stone thrown into a dark stone hallway. There was no telling where it landed, or what it might’ve stirred up, but it left the pumpkinheaded, ash-covered soldier feeling deeply exposed, like he’d just found a sign taped to his back that no one had bothered to tell him about.

If the Horseman isn’t real, am I supposed to be…

Even though John wasn’t sure if he truly had a head or proper face underneath his pumpkin, he still felt the tense creep of a headache all the same. In an effort to dispel it he pressed both hands to the front of the carved face, before dragging them down and then having to fix it when the motion also pulled the pumpkin off-center.

The HEADLESS Horseman…

Briefly his hands lingered on the pumpkin, a crazy urge erupting to just, pull it up. Pull it up and hold it aloft. But just as quickly was another sick swoop of an instinct, practically quailing away from the notion like it was some sort of…

…Specter? Ghost? A legend made flesh, made REAL—

John quickly pulled his hands away from his head and face, holding them stiffly at his sides before he crossed them over his chest. He tried to feel less like he was restraining himself and more like he was actually resting.

He stayed like that for a long time, simply staring off into the dark, trying not to get too caught up in the thoughts spinning around his pumpkinhead.

***

“Did you actually sleep?” The voice made John jump, even as he belatedly attached a name to whoever was speaking. That was Joe, were the others waking up?

It didn’t seem so, though as John tried to flip his head over to look he did see Joe sitting up. Of course, the Horseman had had to forcibly grab his own pumpkin and steer it around to properly look, but, whatever worked, he supposed. Not that Joe seemed to begrudge him much, patiently waiting for John to get himself settled.

“F-Finished th’ book.” The Horseman finally managed to get out, feeling like he was fighting against more than just his usual malady as he tried to speak.

“You did? How’d you like it?”

Joe’s tone was neutral, polite. Not openly taking sides, and betraying nothing about what might’ve been going on inside his head. The notion was, more than a little unsettling, though John couldn’t help reasoning that the careful speaking might’ve been due to the fact that the soldier was trying to be considerate regarding John’s own feelings. Gauging the moment, it was the sort of thing the Horseman himself would do.

But, then again, Joe had to have known that this would have some impact, right? He had to have known. He was the one who made the reference to Washington Irving to begin with, and he’d been the one to suggest that John read the book. Even handed it to him, though even as his thoughts started to spiral, the Horseman couldn’t help one last plea, pointing out that the other soldier had not harmed him once. If anything the more hands-off approach might have been a way to ease John into the revelation.

And, really, what had his impression of the book been?

Good, frustrating, memorable, home-sick, and finally a mirror held uncomfortably close…

“…Something.” John finally came out with, staring down at the unassuming brown cover and lettering. There was a long moment of silence before Joe answered, tone now a little more casual even as he pried.

“Is, there more to that something, or…?”

For an instant the Horseman found himself waffling over just what to say, before deciding to have out with it. Hell, his throat might not let him beat around the bush too much…

“’S, is this who’m supposed to be?” And, when he realized that that likely didn’t make much sense on its own, he went on, resting a hand on the little brown book. “John ‘s, John is, not my real name. I just, took it.”

At first the Horseman wasn’t sure if he should be offended by the faint laughter that started up after what he’d said. But Joe didn’t seem to be having a laugh at his expense, waving away the more confused and irritated stare as he replied.

“Technically, Joe isn’t my real name either. My real name is the Unknown Soldier. Joe’s, well, it kinda started as a bad joke. And it stuck around from there.”

“A, a joke?”

“There’s a saying about calling someone “your average joe”. I knew my face, or lack thereof, was a bit off-putting. So that’s how I’d break the ice.” Joe settled more fully onto the cot, letting his elbows rest on his legs as he considered a spot on the floor. “Made people laugh, made ‘em loosen up. Could actually have a conversation from there. Didn’t help that only certain folks could hear me to begin with…”

“…What? What d’you mean by…?” John started, trailing off as the Unknown Soldier’s shifting eyes turned to him again, going from wide and blue to somewhat more hardened around the edges brown. Though their look was calm, as even-keeled as ever. John really needed to stop expecting some reprisal for simply asking questions, it wasn’t good for his mind…

“Well, the way the rule seems to go is that if you’ve either been on an active battlefield, or been involved in a battlefield, you can hear me. ‘Course, that was easier in the old days, finding less and less people that’re able to tune into whatever frequency I’ve got going on. You were a surprise, admittedly.” But, before John could reply to that, Joe went on, a smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes, this time green. “Though, figuring with the hardware and the outfit you got, I probably shouldn’t’ve been that surprised. You were gonna be either a soldier or a ghost.”

Even though there was an innocence to the statement, it immediately reminded John of, well, a lot of the questions that had been churning in the back of his mind. About who he was, what he was, and what that might mean for him in the future.

John didn’t necessarily try to let this leak out into the current moment. Though he figured from the quiet it was easy enough for Joe to tell that something had struck out with his words. The other soldier continued on in a more conciliatory hum.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I’m glad I don’t have to gesture at you to make myself clear. It’s plenty awkward, y’know?”

“Y-Yea, I—” John started before the attempt fell flat with a gravely cough. But the few words he was able to utter got the point across sufficiently enough.

Or at least that one. As Joe gently patted one of his shoulders, the Horseman considered simply trying to discuss with Joe what had been said, more in piecemeal, since he’d left Patiti. It was just, hard to know how to really encompass all of that in a way that would not strain his throat.

But there was a question he could start with, he just had to work past his blasted, malcontent throat…

“I, have a question…”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“H-How did you, kn-know, what you were? Who? …Wh-Who told you?”

“Well…” Joe started, leaning back as he marshalled his response. “Was kinda in parts, over a while. Mostly popped up during the tail end of the war, and considering that everything was kinda in a bad way, no one really noticed or cared much for the new guy. I think most’ve ‘em didn’t really know what to make of me, or may have thought I was something or someone else. Wandered for a bit, found Tim, he was the one that introduced me to Drove. Kinda just went back and forth, following along with Tim for a bit. Traveled, went places. Kind of just helped open up my perspective overall. Though I knew I was somethin’ a little more than just some construct, which was what everyone was initially writing me off as.”

The story trailed off, there being a slight pause before Joe looked to the side and caught John’s rapt expression, a faint snort slipping out as he continued.

“Yeah, so, already knew they were off. It’s just kinda an internal knowing. I guess the best way of describing it is to say something to the effect of ‘blood will out’, but instead of blood, replace it with godhood. So, it’s, admittedly not something that can really be pinned down or named. It’s just something you kinda know, and you keep going on and doing your thing until things kinda click.”

It was, both helpful and not. Helpful because it was broad enough that John could easily apply it to his current situation, and bad seeing as it was so broad it could really mean anything. Hardly gave him parameters to work with, a clear direct message to implement, nothing. The only thing he really understood from any of it was that he was on his own to figure things out.

…Which wasn’t what he’d really wanted to hear, all things considered. Some clear-cut answers would have been nice.

He hadn’t necessarily been trying to broadcast his discontent, but something about it must’ve leaked over to Joe anyway. His only response was to give a light chuckle and reach over, gently jostling the Horseman’s shoulder and resting his hand there. It was a strange feeling, sort of welcoming but also a little harrowing, John just barely restraining himself from flinching at the prolonged contact.

Though it wasn’t, bad. It didn’t feel bad. If anything, and more in retrospect, John was somewhat, almost gratified by it. Cannonade had been similar in terms of affection, and while the Horseman didn’t quite know how to feel about that either, he had the sense that it was some marker for knowing how close you were to someone.

So, perhaps this meant that he’d gained another friend. He didn’t have long to ponder on it though before Joe started speaking again.

“Don’t look so put out. Truthfully, that’s really the best I can tell you in terms of solid ‘how’ or ‘what’. Thing is, there’s a pretty wide variety of godly types out there, and there’s different benchmarks for all of them. Even between the so-called ‘classes’, it really depends.”

“Whu’s,” John’s throat garbled before he coughed and tried again, this time a bit more succinctly. “Classes?”

“Oh, yeah, like…” Joe’s eyes shifted through about three different eye colors and shapes in the time it took him to come up with an explanation, but he did eventually have one. “Things you can be a god of, y’know? So, you have the big things, like sky gods, harvest gods, and so on and so forth. Kinda did some reading at the Library, when I was figuring things out. Apparently some folks have done a lot of looking into that sort of thing.”

There was a part of John that wanted to ask about that, a library seemed like a good place to try to go to at some point if he wanted to find answers. Though he wasn’t sure how to articulate that in a way that wouldn’t be too straining on his throat. And Joe was already continuing, so the Horseman simply decided to keep the thought on hold for later. Maybe he’d have another opportunity to ask…

“It was an interesting bit of research, given that what I found was in a lot of cases, you only sometimes have gods that are purely one thing or another. Usually enough what you’ve got is this thing the researcher called a ‘multi-type’, where they’ve got lots of aspects crammed under one banner. Especially with the UnAligned, non-pantheon gods, it was a big thing.” Joe’s gesturing did help sort of illustrate the concepts that were being used, though John felt like he’d gotten the main gist of it anyway. “I’m supposed to be a war and death type god, more death but, hey, soldier typically means there’s war somewhere in there. I’m definitely no barely-there specter, for sure.”

There it was again, that mention of war coupled with the addition of death leaving a bit of a sour taste in John’s pumpkinhead mouth, or whatever lay behind it. But before he could ask, or really react, there was a slow building of noise coming from where Tim and Cannonade were “resting”. Or, to be more accurate, where they had been resting. Tim’s eyes were lighting up, and Cannonade’s more languid slump of wind and armor was starting to spiral up into his usual towering, twister-shape.

“Good morning, you two!” Joe called, waving from where he was sitting on John’s cot. Cannonade readily gave a chime, waving, it seemed, to both Joe and John at the same time. John automatically waved back, his pumpkin grin feeling a little more real in the moment. But he couldn’t help wondering what Cannonade’s apparent journey must’ve been like. He was a god too, wasn’t he? And a god that…also couldn’t really talk. Did he have the same issues with communication, or was he able to reach out somehow and get the answers he needed?

Maybe it would be a conversation topic to have, but perhaps another time. Tim straightened and nearly slid a bit too much to one side, his weight thrown off by the fact that his arms were still missing.

Oh, right, Hephaestus, though as John remembered the name he couldn’t help musing on whether or not their host would’ve finished with this apparent job. He remembered mention being made of actual cannons in Tim’s arms, could that be fixed so quickly, or would they be here longer?

Still…the notion of staying in the Market reminded the Horseman about what Drove had said, back during the previous day. That he could give John some answers, appraise the items that he had on his person.

That these could perhaps be trying to tell him something, and even if he no longer remembered what perhaps Drove could provide the lexicon, so to speak. Though that also brought to mind the notion of payment, and the Horseman re-realized that he hardly had anything to barter with. Nothing substantial, anyway. Would Drove ask for the items? It hardly seemed worth it to gain information about them and then lose them all in one go…

A chime cut through John’s thoughts, his frame jolting as he looked up at Cannonade, a hand automatically coming up to hold his pumpkin on his neck. Joe had already gotten up, guiding Tim off the slab as the mechanical man was gingerly moving. Like any mistake could send him spilling to one side or another. And John knew he wasn’t going to be able to pick Tim up if he should fall, the mechanical man towered over him…

Though speaking of towering, the Horseman returned his attention to Cannonade, reading into the confusion and slight concern in the tilt of the wind-being’s head, another, more unsure chime sounding off.

There was the thought to reach out verbally, but when he tried with his head craned back the position immediately made his throat feel like he’d gargled glass. So, instead he traded verbal for physical, reaching out and briefly resting a hand on one of Canonnade’s gauntlets. It was hard to know if reaching out to the wind-being’s actual arm would result in his hand falling through, so he opted for the more cautious approach.

And Cannonade appreciated it, wind whipping gently around the Horseman’s frame in a sort of reciprocation, the air humming with sounds of rustling grass and trees, far-off running water, it sounded like a serene forest scene.

It calmed John’s nerves as the sound of heavier footsteps echoed up the hall, coming to their door. But the noise only heralded the arrival of Hephaestus’s apparent apprentice, the cyclops creature that they had seen the previous day. Apparently, Tim’s arms were “nearly reassembled” and the forge god wanted to some tests with them before sending everyone on their way.

Though, as John regathered himself and followed along with everyone else, that meant that he had far less time than he thought to come to a decision regarding Drove’s offer…

The forge itself looked just as impressive as John remembered it, towering ceilings and various projects both partially assembled and still in theory scattered around on various workbenches. Tim’s arms were fairly easy to pick out, given that they were somewhat separate from the rest, more in the middle of the room, and the color of the metal stood out. There were also some silvery, newer looking bits in there, poking through the earlier shades of red and green. Not that John knew precisely what he was looking at, but he could infer that some parts of the arms had been replaced. And, perhaps they would have, if the damage had been so severe…

A shifting off in the corner of the room snapped up the Horseman’s attention, his eyes hurriedly looking to where Hephaestus was turning away from some smaller metallic object that he covered with a sheet. The forge god was still wearing his brace, but John had no doubts that if there was some sort of problem that Hephaestus had more than enough means to deal with and diffuse it. Even as he moved back to Tim’s arms, a sweeping stare passed over all present that made the Horseman feel like they were being personally sized up, picked apart. Figured out to see what made them tick.

It did make him wonder what Hephaestus might’ve seen in someone like him, but he didn’t think he’d even begin to work up the nerve to ask. Besides, the forge god’s burlier arms were currently occupied by Tim’s, the decidedly bigger appendages lifted easily from their perch.

They had to be half as tall as John himself was, and Hephaestus was lifting them so easily…

Though before John could do more than feel disquieted by the notion, Hephaestus’s voice rumbled forward, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Alright, hop on the table. We can get this sorted out in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Tim replied, all crisp politeness, but he still staggered his walk and stood there at the table with a look like he was considering how to get up without toppling over. There was a slight pause at that before some sort of nonverbal communication went on, the apprentice coming forward and more or less lifting Tim into the proper place.

“Aww, don’t be so put out, you’re getting the royal treatment.” Joe’s voice spoke up. The Unknown Soldier kept some distance so as not to get underfoot, but he still made the effort to reach out. John could also see Tim’s more porthole, mechanical eyes view the group at large, the Horseman trying to stand maybe a little straighter if not look slightly less out of his depth. If anything, that way Tim could just focus on what was going on, not need to worry about someone else losing their mental or physical footing.

Maybe John might’ve also tried to make the pumpkin grin a bit more real, though he wasn’t sure how successful that was, and the moment rapidly moved onward. Hephaestus had levied one of the arms into place, and there was a sort of hissing burn of metal as the forge god got to work. It was hard to tell from where John was standing, but he could see what looked like fire. Was the arm being melted back on?

His honest first question was whether or not that hurt, though judging from the utter lack of a reaction from Tim, it clearly didn’t. If anything he seemed more patiently waiting for the process to be done. Which was somewhat impressive, as John could figure that if he had his arm currently being reattached, he might not have been so calm about it.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Hephaestus did pull away, the metal making up Tim’s shoulder still cherry-red and plinking softly from the heat. There was a part of John that couldn’t help watching the manner in which the metal cooled, the conversation around him somewhat blurring in his ears as he stared.

It was, somewhat silly perhaps, but he couldn’t help making the comparison to the cannonball that had nearly, well, killed him back on that battlefield when he’d first left Patiti. It had looked very much the same way, the metal cooling and plinking as it sat there in the grass, his frame nerveless as he realized just how close he came to losing his head again…

A chime sounded off from somewhere to John’s left, the Horseman jolting with a startled, ashy cough as he looked around and immediately spotted Cannonade. The wind-being had gotten closer, porthole eyes seeming to search out something in John’s face. Not that the Horseman was remotely sure what the wind-being was looking for, smoldering eyes casting around before he tried to will his throat to speak.

“W-Wuzz wrong—?” It choked off a bit at the end, but the words were clear enough. Not that Cannonade seemed to have a clear answer, the wind-being tilting his more vaporous head as he studied the Horseman’s jack-o-lantern face for a few more moments. However, he eventually gave a more apologetic-sounding chime, a sorry for bothering you that he rounded off with a somewhat gentle whuffle of air at John’s soot-covered clothes and frame.

It was soothing, though it had also firmly taken him out of the moment. By the time the Horseman glanced back the metal had cooled over, Hephaestus giving Tim’s frame a somewhat searching look before speaking up with a low rumble.

“Let’s test your movements, and make sure the cannons are working properly.”

“Ooh, hear that? They’re gonna let you shoot at things.” Joe faintly teased, Tim giving the figure a more easy-going eyeroll and a huff that sent more smoke coming from his facial vents. While there was a part of John that was curious about whatever might come next, he was also wondering if there was some excuse he could potentially offer to avoid the apparent cannon-test. A part of his more logical mind argued that it was foolish to try avoiding it. If he was going to be traveling with the likes of Tim and Joe, he’d likely want to know how their weaponry worked. And, if anything, he’d be a very poor friend to simply leave out of some mental discomfort. Tim had been the one getting picked at and taken apart, after all.

But there was a more…not quite emotional but definitely jumpier side of his mind that argued that he knew precisely how a cannon sounded and did not need to be reminded. Would it be interesting to see what type of a cannon was so small it could fit inside Tim’s arm? Maybe, but John didn’t think he wanted to see such a thing actually being used. Or at the very least, not without giving him ample time to get some distance.

However, he wasn’t sure when to break in and actually mention something about, maybe needing to step away for a bit. Especially when the scene became more taken up by Hephaestus’s tests, which were somewhat fascinating to watch. Tim’s arms were guided through a few movements, the arm raised up, lowered down, bent at the elbow, rotated at the shoulder and wrist. The fingers twitched about as the forge god kept careful watch, occasionally asking if something was ‘catching’ or if the movements felt off in any way.

Some might’ve called it boring, but John appreciated the calm more than anything. It gave him more time to see where things were going, and as the cannons were mentioned again, he figured that his time to say something had come.

“I nuh-need t-t’go…” He stammered out once he waved Joe down. Though to his surprise, the Unknown Soldier seemed to immediately understand.

“Oh, right, you got a live animal waitin’ for you outside,” Joe replied, the Horseman briefly kicking himself as he realized he could’ve easily just used that as an excuse. Except, not really, it would probably be good to check on his steed, for both him and the horse. His friend had definitely needed less than most mounts, but it was a habit of theirs to check in periodically, when they weren’t doing runs throughout Patiti.

All things considered, it was a good ritual. And in retrospect, John didn’t want to abandon it simply because of the newer surroundings. So, waving to the others, he went back out through the front hall and out the door.

There was an odd, somewhat paradoxical moment of fear that his horse wouldn’t be there, but it was easily proven wrong. The black mount was standing inside of a small, sheltered area, still patiently waiting for the Horseman to come out, and giving a softer neigh in greeting as he did. Coming down the stairs, John stood next to the horse’s head and gently rubbed a hand alongside the great beast’s jaw.

“Th-Thought ‘bout names. Which would, you prefer?” He asked his mount in a gravely murmur, the horse giving a quiet snort and nudging into his pumpkinhead. Wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was lighthearted enough that he didn’t feel anything but calm.

Then a somewhat muffled BOOM rang out from somewhere nearby and made the Horseman jolt in his boots, his horse also giving a startled noise.

Immediately his hands came up to soothe, and thankfully when a second BOOM went off, it didn’t cause nearly as much alarm. John by that point had settled back into his earlier position.

But a little more mulishly this time, wondering again if he was being foolish by avoiding direct exposure to the cannons. Then again, if he hadn’t come out then his horse would’ve just been sent into a panic with no one to offer any calm or company, which, made things feel better. Somewhat.

Maybe he could just ask Tim later for a demonstration, when there wouldn’t be an audience that could see his reaction. Or maybe he could just avoid bringing it up at all, at this point John was hardly sure which to do.

And, after a few minutes, it seemed like he would have to take a rain check on the decision entirely, seeing as Cannonade drifted out the door and headed for the Horseman and his horse. Even though a part of John did relax at seeing the wind spirit, there was another part of him that felt like it was shoring up. Maybe throwing on a little more of a front than he might have normally. Which probably wasn’t a good thing, Tim and Joe would be along at any moment.

But still, manners dictated that he at least wave to Cannonade as the wind-being came near, said wind spirit giving a cheery chime in return. Briefly John couldn’t help wondering if there was a way to emulate that same, not-bothered-ness that Cannonade seemed to have about him.

Though, if there was, the Horseman wasn’t sure how to do it, his mind putting the thought aside as he tried to let the feeling go.

“A-‘re Joe and Tim coming?”

Another chime, Cannonade’s semi-transparent, partially armored head “nodding” its confirmation. Before he realized it, John was asking another question, one he was honestly surprised at himself for.

“…Did, th’-the test go well?”

Another chime, and this time Cannonade had a bit more of an “answer”. The wind-being’s arms whirled, pantomiming an explosion as sounds of ignition and muffled BOOM rang out.

It came on so rapidly that John was unable to hide a wince, the Horseman trying to cover for it with a half-bark of laughter that turned into a round of strangled coughs. By the time he was able to catch himself, Cannonade had already drifted near, the wind-being’s hand patting John’s back as he made some softer, wind-rustling-through-trees sorts of noises. With a final, rattling inhale John was able to clear his throat, giving a shaky wave to Cannonade to reassure the wind-being that he was alright.

Or at least as alright as he was going to be, given the circumstances. Though Cannonade did draw back, he wasn’t entirely ready to stop hovering. Didn’t exactly help that John could only muster up so much air for speech.

“S-Sorr—”

A somewhat muted whistle rang out, Cannonade kneeling a bit to look the Horseman in the eye as he patted John’s back a few more times. Even though there was a knee-jerk bit of polite instinct that said he should try to elaborate, respond, at least let the wind-being know his efforts were helpful, the most John’s throat could manage was a croaky wheeze.

That turned into a somewhat dismal sigh. The Horseman sagged on his ash-covered boots as a hand came up to press to the mouth of his pumpkinhead, before he realized how futile that would be and drew it back down. However, before John could get too sunk into his own mind, he was abruptly snatched up off the ground and hugged close to Cannonade’s armored front. The switch was so sudden the Horseman barely had the wherewithal to make any protest, and he was left hanging there as his mind struggled to keep up with what was happening.

What did sort of help though was the presence of softer songbird chirps, drifting out from Cannonade’s windy form. That was followed by more rustling wind, ruffled tree branches, and the softer sounds of what must’ve been a stable, judging from the somewhat far-off sounds of horses and people going about their daily business.

In a strange way, it was comforting. Even homely, John finally seeing the effort for what it was and slumping into the hug.

“Th-Thank, you…”

At least his throat didn’t catch on that one, though as Cannonade was setting him down another ruckus came as the door was pushed open.

But the newcomers were only Joe and Tim, like Cannonade had told him earlier. John watched, and semi-listened, as both said their farewells to Hephaestus. Tim lingered a little longer for some last-minute words, though both gathered themselves quickly enough as they rejoined the group.

“Alright, this’ll be our last day in the marketplace. So, if there’s any shopping you wanna do, now might be the time.” Joe announced as he turned to the bags on their motorcycle.

That might’ve been a good move, though John couldn’t help the somewhat pessimistic thought that he had nothing to barter with. Well, nothing that he wouldn’t mind losing. But before he could fully resign himself to just window-shopping, Joe turned and proffered a familiar little book.

“Also, here, think you forgot this. Unless you don’t want it, can swing by the Library’s stall and drop it off.”

The this in question was the book titled The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Tales. It did take John a moment, though he did concede that he would be a bit sour losing the small volume. Even if it had been…confusing, potentially even mind-wreaking, he wasn’t quite willing to part with something that had, just for a moment, made him feel like he was properly centered.

Who knows, perhaps he might even understand some of the parts that might’ve gone over his head, if he read it a few more times. Though as the Horseman properly held the book he realized belatedly that he didn’t really have anywhere to store it. At least, not on his immediate person. Turning to his horse, John rummaged around in the bag where his sleeping roll had been stored, along with a few other odds and ends. A whetstone, for one. No actual ammunition, though that thought never seemed to worry him much, for some odd reason.

Finding what felt like a safe nook to store the small book, the Horseman turned back to the conversation, just in time to catch Joe’s next words.

“We’re gonna go out the way we came in, easiest way to go without having to contend with some city immediately off the bat.” The figure’s voice was casual, and it was good to hear the itinerary, though Joe’s next words felt like they hit John right in the stomach. “’Sides, Drove generally gives you a good send-off.”

Oh. Drove. The name immediately drew up a reminder in the Horseman’s mind, the mechanical man’s words that he would do an “appraisal” for the various items that John was carrying. Suddenly each thing felt like a collection of hot coals in each of his pockets.

…He could just, say no, right? Drove wouldn’t be too bothered, would he? Admittedly, the Horseman didn’t remember any overt malice in the clockwork man’s tone when he’d made the offer, although…

John had been wrong before, when it came to the way things worked here. The spider creature, the you-kai, came to mind immediately, the Horseman stifling a slight shudder at the remembered sensation of his conscious mind sliding away.

…That had also been when he’d heard about Drove’s other title, hadn’t it? The Many-Faced. Not exactly someone you wanted to offend, at least not from John’s perspective. Trickster, duplicitous, someone that might want to go the extra mile to make sure even an innocent offense was answered for.

Though, as John sort of fell into step with the others, he couldn’t help remembering the other…goddess, she had been a goddess, right? Trick, the dark, wind…person. John wasn’t even sure he’d implicitly refer to Trick as a lady, it seemed to denote some sort of daintiness, or damsel-like quality that Trick definitely did not have.

But, Trick hadn’t been malicious. Trick had just talked, even explained a few things to the completely oblivious Horseman. Things she didn’t have to. If she’d been malicious, she could have just left the scene and let him be confused.

They were going back through the apparent machine quarter of the Market, John briefly pausing at the door to the large…workspace. He’d really have to learn if there was a special sort of term for what this was called. Especially since the presence of the winged mechanical vehicle, and the one on four wheels, made it seem worlds apart from Hephaestus’s forge. The Horseman couldn’t help staring, before he realized that he was falling behind and hurried to catch up.

That left him staring at Tim’s back, watching as the piping there vented a bit of steam. The mechanical man’s steps were heavy, but deliberate, John watching as Tim took the fore on cutting a path for the rest of them as they went out into the busier part of the market. It was a little less congested, but there were still a good number of…beings out and about, John staring even more as a giant, furry creature plodded on in the opposite direction. Something mechanical looking but on four legs skittered through, resembling a bug as it scooted to one of the stalls, entering into some sort of negotiation with the shopkeeper.

John was too far away to hear what was said, though it definitely looked like it was just a normal interaction. At the very least, no one apart from him was staring, the Horseman stiffening and putting his eyes forward again at the realization.

There was another sight primed to snatch up John’s attention, a stall that he’d noticed yesterday. It was full of colorful, weird metal and not-metal things, lights flashing, sounds, enough that the Horseman wondered how the shopkeep didn’t go mad with the blinking and beeping.

Then again, maybe he or she had, given that John couldn’t see anyone minding the place. A softer whistle caught his attention, the Horseman looking back and up to see Cannonade leaning over the back of his horse, porthole eyes curiously studying him.

While the wind spirit wasn’t being the least bit threatening, or really demanding, John still tried to convey something of what was going through his head. Or at least some manner of explanation, though the moment he had the thought about explaining the Horseman knew it would take far more effort than his throat was willing to allow. So, for the moment, he just kind of waved a hand at the display, moving aside a bit to give Cannonade more room to see.

It was actually somewhat gratifying that the wind-being didn’t look any more enlightened by what he was seeing than the Horseman did, or felt, though John barely had the thought when he registered Joe and Tim making their way back over.

“Huh, didn’t take you for a tech guy.” Joe was saying once he’d came within earshot, brown eyes shifting to green as he glanced over the odd wares. “See anything you like?”

John simply stood there, long enough to wonder if he was coming off as a true simpleton, before just opting to gesture widely at the whole thing and letting his shoulders slump.

“Waitaminute. Is this your first time seeing anything like that?” Joe suddenly asked, the Horseman straightening like a caught animal as he looked at the figure.

Oh, well. That was actually a much simpler question to answer, wasn’t it.

“…Yes.”

Joe’s eyes shifted through at least two more particular shapes and colors as he glanced between John and the display. But before the Horseman could worry that he’d committed some major faux pas by admitting to ignorance, Joe thankfully began to answer.

“Oh. Okay. Well, those things are, ah, think they’re for appliances…that’s definitely a circuit board or two…” None of those words were anything that John really understood. But before he could indicate that, Joe seemed to get sidetracked by something more at the back, some kind of blinking set of boxes… “Oh wow, they got some arcade cabinets, wonder where they dug those up…”

Thank everything Tim seemed to read something in the Horseman’s static pumpkin grin, given that he leaned in and began to explain in much, much simpler terms.

“Arcade cabinets are games. Electronic games.” Electronic was also a word that John didn’t really understand, Tim cottoning on and going a little further. “Electronic is…it runs on electricity. Think of it like, captured lightning?”

“Oh god, you don’t know what electricity is.” Joe broke in, head turning to John to stare at the Horseman, the rest of his body following suit and a hand waving as he continued. “I handed you a flashlight last night. How did you not start asking me a bunch of questions.”

It actually seemed like Joe might’ve been upset that John hadn’t spoken up in the moment. The Horseman rushed to more or less explain himself as much as his throat would allow.

“I, I th-thought it was a t-orch…”

The waving hand thankfully paused, turning into a more relieving and stabilizing hand on John’s shoulder as Joe went on at a much calmer pace.

“…Well, you’re not wrong, but, definitely feel free to ask more questions. Even if you can’t, y’know, say anything, just grab one of us and point at the thing.” Joe even helpfully gestured out the progression of motion, before reeling back with his hands folding over his head and helmet. “God, we’ve just been breaking your worldview about fifty times in a day and you’ve been just sitting there…”

“S-S-Sorry…?”

The hesitant, halting apology immediately dropped Joe from exasperation to reassurance.

“No, no, this is on us. This is an us-sorry, not a you-sorry.” A bite of chuckling slipped out, Joe’s shoulders briefly juddering even as he held up his hand to explain. “I know I’m laughing a bit right now, but the whole thing is, really, really absurd. I completely forgot that you likely don’t know what half the things we’ve been seeing are.”

“You gonna actually teach him, or…maybe buy something?”

The new voice speaking up made John jolt, the energy of the conversation had him completely missing the return of the shopkeeper of this odd little stand. Thankfully for his nerves, Joe was the first to speak up, and gave the Horseman a name to pin to the nondescript face.

And it really wasn’t a face with much…description. Similarly to Joe, the shopkeeper’s face didn’t have much by way of features to it, almost pale skin partially hidden under concealing, darker clothing and a hood. However, unlike Joe, this figure’s eyes were static, faintly glowing and more whitish. If anything, the sort of light reminded John of the electronic wares in the stall around them. A sort of different, artificial light, even with what looked like a fully formed pupil and iris. The figure also was in possession of a mouth, though this was drawn in a hard line. Not quite a scowl, but not really friendly either.

“Oh, hi, Anon.”

“Hi.” ‘Anon’ replied shortly to Joe, before turning a thankfully less annoyed demeanor to John and properly greeting him. “And hello, stranger from a strange land. You new around these parts?”

Well, it wasn’t exactly a polite greeting, but it was one, John nodding even as Joe semi-answered for him.

“Very. We found him the other day.”

A good amount of the irritation seemed to give way to slight…exhaustion, almost. Anon sort of, not quite shrank back, but left some of the bristling behind as he leaned away and let them more fully peruse the stall.

“Well, guess if you wanna catch a guy from…Colonial America up, guessing this is either the best way to do it. Or the best way for him to have a mental breakdown.” John wasn’t exactly sure what a mental breakdown was, but it didn’t exactly sound pleasant. Before he could even try to figure it out, Anon went on, looking more to John himself as he asked another question. “So, do you need to know what something is, or…?”

That was… an entirely too big question to ask, John left looking and staring around as he tried to focus on just one thing. However, glancing up brought his attention to the strings of lights ringing the top of the stall, blinking in a way that honestly seemed disorientating. How on earth did Anon get customers if that was going on over their heads?

“…Wh-Why iss ‘at…” John finally managed, pointing up at the lights and, more as an afterthought, opening and closing his hands to mimic the flashing he was seeing. Thankfully it didn’t take Anon much to figure out what the Horseman was talking about, his more synthetic eyes glancing up before he off-handedly replied,

“Oh, yeah. That’s a light. Those’re ambient lights. If the flashing’s annoying I can change it.”

Anon drew out a small, object, holding it briefly up to the lights and…they changed. John watched with complete stunned silence as they went from blinking white to a much softer fading in and out between different colors. It was actually somewhat nice. “And this is a remote. You press buttons, it changes the settings, the colors…here, try it out.”

The ‘remote’ was held out to John and dropped into his hands. It was funny how such a little thing could provoke such a big change in the environment. Now, the light was much softer, easier to handle, the Horseman’s eyes briefly casting over the various ‘electronics’ in this newer light. It honestly made them look much less threatening, though the sort of blinking lights on all of them were still a little much as far as he was concerned. So, in lieu of looking at that, he turned his attention back to the ‘remote’, spotting a few different buttons, and a selection of what looked like colored buttons in a good number of shades. It almost looked like a tiny rainbow, the Horseman briefly marveling at it before curiosity finally got the better of him and he pressed the blue one.

The lights switched to a solid, fading-in-and-out blue, John feeling a little more bold and trying green next. That one and the blue one were fine, yellow and purple were also good too, though red briefly made him feel twitchy enough to hurriedly switch it back to the yellow. He could also read the sort of labels under the topmost buttons much better with the yellow, piecing together the words ‘flash’, ‘fade’, and ‘strobe’. Flash he didn’t like, fade was fine, but what on earth was strobe?

John pressed that button and quickly decided he didn’t like ‘strobe’. It was like flashing but a little more intense. At least with yellow it wasn’t as bad, the Horseman quickly regathering himself and changing the lights back to a calmer fading in and out.

Though with that his curiosity regarding the buttons had petered out, his attention turning more to the ‘remote’. Admittedly there was only so much he could discern through his gloves, but he had a feeling that this…remote, wasn’t made of any material he had ever seen. Definitely not wood, didn’t seem like metal…maybe it was metal, but a different kind. Whatever sort of material it was, it felt light, smooth…perhaps glass?

No, no glass tended to have some heaviness to it. And glass typically wasn’t a solid black like this was. The Horseman rubbed his thumb into it, trying to figure out what he could through the tougher material of his glove.

“Ohh, yeah, you probably don’t know what plastic is, do you?” Joe suddenly spoke up, the words snapping John out of his more meditative, curious state as the Horseman jolted and looked to the figure. Now that was a word he knew he’d never heard before, his vocal chords straining as he tried to get a feel for the sound.

“P-las-tic…?”

He did seem to get the pronunciation right, at least. Joe nodded before launching into another round of explanation.

“Plastic is…not metal, it is a different sort of material. It can be softer, more rubbery, or hard. Easier to manufacture, and a lot of…electronics, and other things from the later periods, all use it.”

Easier to make? So much so that many things from the future had it? John turned his gaze down at the remote again, eyes somewhat wide before furrowing in the eyeholes of his pumpkin as he rubbed his thumb against the material again. Perhaps it was odd to make comparisons, as ‘plastic’ seemed like a material all of its own, but he couldn’t help his next question.

“…S-So, metal-glass, in-between?”

Joe nodded again, gesturing with a hand wiggling back and forth as he went on.

“It’s kind of in-between that, yeah. Easier to use, mold up into what you need. And, not so breakable. So, plus.” His words grew a little more matter of fact as he went on, John rapidly realizing why. “It does also last a lot longer than you want though, a good amount of trash is usually just old, well, this.”

That, definitely conjured a very interesting image. Namely that of lots and lots of similarly small things, like the remote, simply lying in a pile. And it couldn’t be reused? It seemed like an awfully wasteful way to make anything. Handling the remote with a distinct care, John gave it back to Anon, the figure putting it somewhere below the table.

“Yeah, planned obsolescence is a bitch. No idea why so many worlds can’t just move forward with something better.” The candid swearing made John blink, though he had a feeling that such things were normal for this particular…person. Anon definitely seemed like a person, in his own way. Odd quirks or not. “So, guessing you’re not buying anything?”

“Nope, sorry, Anon. We don’t have space for gadgets where we’re going.” Joe replied, waving off the overture even as he was physically moving on.

“Yeah, yeah.” Anon’s reply was candid, and remained so, but his next words had John stalling on his feet. “Have fun trucking around the Nevernever. Don’t die.”

“Thanks.” Joe’s reply seemed to hint that this was just normal parlay between general folks around here, Tim also not commenting and Cannonade seemingly more drawn by the notion of moving on to more adventures. John, on the other hand, had to take a moment to remind himself to get moving.

The Horseman hurriedly led himself and his horse away, falling into step next to Cannonade who gave a cheery chime at his friend’s presence. The noise did make the pumpkin grin feel a little more real, though there was a brief spot of excitement in the form of someone loudly haggling with another shopkeep over…something. John couldn’t really tell what the something was, it honestly looked like some form of food.

Maybe, meat? He could dimly smell something cooking, though the thing itself looked like some sort of breaded… perhaps a sandwich.

It sort of struck John that he’d stalled again, slowing on his feet as he tried to work out just what he was seeing. Especially since Joe had stopped, calling back to the Horseman when he’d realized that John had fallen behind.

“Sorry, s-s-sorry…” Even if his throat were somewhat addled, the Horseman still tried his best to offer apologies for the delay, even as Joe was waving them off.

“No, no, you are good, just don’t want to risk you getting lost in here…” Before John could muster himself up enough to reply, not that he had much to really say, Joe went on.

“Geez, can’t believe we just…didn’t ask about any of that.” The figure turned to look the Horseman in his vegetal face, eyes shifting from wide brown to smaller blue. “So, guessing you have more questions?”

Well if that didn’t hit the nail on the head…

John stalled entirely before he nodded so rapidly he was worried his pumpkinhead would fall straight off. He must’ve looked fairly striking, given the faint look of amusement crinkling the edges of Joe’s eyes as they shifted from brown to green.

“Yeah, can figure. So, any you want to ask?”

What did he want to ask? Now that John was taking a moment to actually think about it, it was a rather large, difficult-to-wrangle conundrum.

Well, it was probably for the best to sort of, mentally list it down? Maybe? At the very least, it would give him something of a process to follow.

The question was, what to ask about first…?

“Wh-Wha’ were the…” John started, his throat briefly seizing on him before he mastered it and continued. “Veee-hic-les, in the other fffforge?”

“Vehicles?” Joe asked, head tilting as he considered the question. Thankfully for the Horseman’s throat, he quickly figured out where to conversationally go from there. “You mean like a car? Wait, shoot, you’re not gonna know, okay, a car’s got four wheels, all on the ground, rolls like a, okay, okay, a cart. Trucks are similar, but they’re bigger. Usually used for hauling, they got an open spot for that, that’s how you’ll know.”

Slightly fumbling as it was, the explanation did make sense, and the comparison of carts was actually rather helpful. John definitely knew what those were, and the description of a “truck” was also rather…enlightening, in its own way. So, in a manner of speaking a “truck” was just a motorized version of a cart.

“Car, th-think I saw a car…” The Horseman replied, right before he remembered another thing he’d seen in the other forge. “Wh-What ‘bout, wings?”

“Wings? Oh, wait, you mean like a plane!” Well, thank everything decent that John hadn’t needed to explain much further. Though he wasn’t sure he’d heard that word used in that context before…

“…Plane?”

“Yeah, those are…well, they fly, if you’ll believe it.” Joe replied, a fainter, almost fond huff slipping out as he continued. “They used those in my time, for fighting and transport of munitions.”

That seemed, honestly too fantastical for John to believe. They would fly munitions to soldiers? How far away from home were the men that were fighting?

There was a part of him that felt like he was just barely scratching the surface, like there was a whole wealth of knowledge and experience somewhere under a few more layers of questions. But, would he be able to ask, would he know what to ask?

Would his throat even hold up to it?

But the Horseman had been silent for just a bit too long, Tim seeming to at least read the confusion and leaning in to add his two cents.

“If it is any consolation, I had to be told what they were too.”

All things considered hearing that from Tim, who seemed like the most put-together of the group, was definitely a relieving thing for John. The Horseman’s hand automatically held his pumpkin in place as he looked up at the metallic soldier.

“…R-Really?”

There was a steam-exuding huff that could’ve been read as a sigh but Tim’s more calm tone drew back the exasperation John thought he could sense. A part of him couldn’t help wondering if Tim had active control over when the steam released; did it perhaps happen involuntarily? If anything, it seemed slightly inconvenient, if it could be used as an emotional indicator.

Though the Horseman’s thoughts were cut off as Tim continued, metallic voice rumbling in his chest.

“Yes. The things I remember, as I was later told, were more central to the…1800s, Europe, I believe.”

…It was somewhat interesting hearing that sentence, as it felt like a set of coordinates on a map that John was only so familiar with. Europe, he had some…memory of. Though it was more secondhand, given to him by Washington Irving’s writings. The number was also, more vague. Perhaps, before he’d arrived in Patiti, he might have had a better grasp of it.

Before…

Though before John could grow too lost in his thoughts, the sound of Joe speaking up rattled him from his own mind.

“…Wasn’t your first experience with a car almost getting hit by one?”

“Yes. Do not stand in front of them, or planes. They are not able to stop or correct nearly as well as your horse would be.” Tim’s instructions were fairly matter of fact, though he couldn’t help injecting a level of slight anxiety into the moment for John, who couldn’t help thinking back to a black cannonball appearing and filling his field of vision—

The Horseman jolted himself out of his…daze, reverie? One of the two, hurriedly nodding to show he understood. And, well, while he couldn’t help being curious, John definitely wasn’t fool enough to mess with things he had no understanding of.

…Well, no understanding of yet. Perhaps that might need to be something he’d change, especially since it seemed like there was so much…modernity out here.

He just wasn’t sure if that prospect was galvanizing or terrifying. Maybe it was a mix of both.

John’s thoughts were weighty, though he still tried to keep track of what was going on around him. They were still moving, the Horseman caught some questions about food. As it turned out, while Joe didn’t necessarily need to eat, he did enjoy the act of doing so. And, as it happened, there was a good range of foods to choose from.

A section of the market, apparently close to one of the entrances, was entirely dedicated to it. John tried his best to stay close, but there were simply too many things to see. In a way, it was similar to the larger markets in Patiti, John remembered riding through them a few times.

But there was so much more. People speaking in different tongues, with all manner of food, many of which were not necessarily human. Tim pointed out another cyclops who was selling some things, called ‘gyros’ and ‘moussakas’. John caught a glimpse of some odd skewers cooking over a fire, that was quickly whisked away from his sight and replaced by yet more oddities. Within the next five minutes, the Horseman learned what ‘pizza’, ‘spaghetti’, and ‘ramen’ were. The latter looked like it ought to be some kind of soup rather than its own distinct type, though he clearly wasn’t the expert.

There was also some kind of, tentacled…thing, that was clearly alive and looked almost neon, appendages attempting to poke their way free from their bucket before the vendor smacked them back in with something that sparked. John was quietly dragged away by Joe, the figure murmuring something about how the unusual animal was an interesting taste, but tended to cause temporary paralysis in the mouth when eaten. This had the Horseman slowly turning to stare at his companion, Joe’s shifting eyes growing sheepish before he replied, hey, I was curious and this guy was the only one willing to sell for what I had!

Judging from Tim’s somewhat loud ‘exhale’ of steam, this might’ve been a bit more of an arduous adventure for the metallic giant. Before he could elaborate Joe was moving on and the group hurried to keep up.

But it didn’t seem like the figure was going too far away; his apparent target was a smaller stall with a sort of…reptilian creature behind the counter. However, the rest of the place looked like any one of the other stalls, red and white checkered décor, the sign above reading ‘Randazzo’s BEST New York Italian and Pizza!’.

“Hey, Maurice. You got some of the good stuff today?”

The reptilian figure turned, John getting a glimpse of something that he was sure he’d seen some depiction of in Patiti, but perhaps with a much darker color. This one was a lighter green, and walked upright. It was something that was baffling though given that John couldn’t see any way to see how that worked that didn’t involve climbing over the counter, he kept his curiosity in check.

“You know I do! Anything for one of my best customers!”

“I’ll take a pepperoni pie, maybe half with anchovies? Lookin’ for some zing.” Joe replied, John trying to follow along as best he could. What on earth were anchovies? It sounded, vaguely familiar, but the Horseman was ultimately at a loss. Still, Maurice knew, the reptilian ‘man’ giving Joe a thumbs up and going to his makeshift kitchen in the back of the stall.

There were a few minutes of preparation, John somewhat distracted as Joe turned back to Tim and mentioned something about their ‘leaving soon’. But the Horseman did see how the reptilian figure steadily pounded out a small circle of what looked like dough.

“—Thinkin’ we’re pretty much done with our errands anyway, unless there’s anything else you think we oughta off-load here.”

“No, I think we still need the tools.” Tim remarked drily, venting steam with a soft hiss. A flare of nerves went through whatever passed for John’s innards, though it was hardly because of the topic itself. No, it was more because it was pushing the Horseman to a decision that he realized he was somewhat putting off.

He still had Drove’s offer of appraisal beating away at the back of his mind. But there was a large part of John’s mind that couldn’t help pointing out how it seemed to be a very dog-eat-dog world out here. Drove would want something for his services, wouldn’t he? And what could John offer, except for his own items that were the keys to his past?

It would be inconceivable to give them away, wouldn’t it?

This was a problem that had John’s attention and worry all through the rest of the conversation, and the apparent prep of Joe’s meal. Before the Horseman realized it, Joe was coming forward, returning Maurice’s enthusiastic thanks with his own gratitude and what looked like some pieces of metal, a new cooking knife, and…what was that, a bag of herbs? Definitely looked like it, though it was whisked out of sight before John could have a hope of identifying what they were.

And, well, the group was heading off to what looked like a small seating area, John taking a moment to make sure his horse was well situated before settling in. There was only so much space to really sit, the ‘seat’ was more of a low wall. Tim had remained standing, Cannonade drifting to hover in a crouched position next to said wall.

“You sure you don’t wanna sit down?” Joe asked, as he was opening up the somewhat flat box the apparent food had come in. John couldn’t help sparing a brief, wondering stare, it almost looked like a pie someone had forgotten to properly close up, the ingredients left to sit out in the open. Anchovies, as it turned out, were either the small circles of meat or the small fish on either side of the…what even was this called again?

Oh, right, he’d been asked a question…

“Nuh-No, thank you…”

The reply seemed to satisfy Joe, at least for a few moments. He was in the midst of raising a slice of the odd-looking pie to his face before something seemed to occur to him and he looked over to John again.

“Just checking, do you need to eat?”

Well, it was nice of Joe to offer, though it was another thing John would have to turn down. Attempting to eat in Patiti, of any particular sort of food, hadn’t really felt like eating so much as just tossing things into his vegetal mouth. He’d often have to scrape it out later, too… “No, doesn’ taste like anything.”

“Huh, too bad. Pizza’s a pretty great part of modernity. At least when it’s done well.” Joe said, taking a bite out of the slice of ‘pizza’. With the distraction, Tim leaned in and offered a bit more elaboration.

“He only goes to this one. Apparently the other places we’ve found in Atlantis and El Dorado are…sub-par.”

El Dorado and Atlantis were the other cities, if John remembered right. Through what looked like a mouthful of food, Joe offered an odd gem of advice.

“Can’t blame ‘em, they ain’t New York City.” The figure swallowed, gesturing as he went on. “There’s a saying that the further you go from New York, the worse the pizza gets. And, well, Maurice has the best slice of little New York you can get out here. Besides, not like I can really get much of an anchovy breath.”

The words got a somewhat wondering whistle from Cannonade, Joe’s eyes crinkling in a smile as he went back to his meal. Another few bites, and he presented another question to John.

“So, just wondering, you have any thoughts about what you wanna do when we’re done here?” There was a good pause, to which Joe realized that the Horseman was maybe feeling a little less than sure about his options. “I mean, if you wanna travel with us a bit longer, that’s alright. You being new and all, it’d probably be for the best.”

It was a nice enough sentiment, though considering how things might go with Drove, John wasn’t sure it was something Joe ought to be promising. But the Horseman didn’t realize how his hands had settled, jolting to attention when Joe pointedly cleared his throat.

“Alright, what’s on your mind? If you’re worried about logistics of travel, we’ll try to be mindful about ‘em.”

“Hh—S-Sorry?” John rasped, taken aback by the sudden question. Joe pinned the Horseman with a somewhat inscrutable stare before going on with a quieter matter-of-factness.

“…You’ve got your hand on your sword, John. Not really in a good position to draw it, but you seem like you’re chewing over something pretty big. So, what’s on your mind?”

There was a long moment, John internally choking on the matter before he decided it would be simply better to just show the part of the problem that could be shown.

He ended up moving his hands to his sides, sagging a bit in his boots and letting out a sigh that probably vented a good amount of ash. Reaching into his pocket, the Horseman turned up the most conspicuous of his personal affects: the locket.

A movement out of the corner of his eye did herald Joe looking over, the constantly shifting eyes, now brown and large orbs, furrowing as he tried to see.

“…That’s, an interesting thing to have. You got a lady fair somewhere we don’t know about?”

It did seem like the sort of personal affect or favor that would’ve been given by a ‘lady fair’. Though given his lack of memory John knew that this could’ve been something he’d just picked up. But, how to explain this?

“I-I don’ know.”

“You don’t know?” Joe echoed, looking even more confused at the Horseman’s gem of an explanation. Albeit, with his attention focused on Joe, John had forgotten about Tim and Cannonade, the pair growing drawn in by the intrigue.

“May I have a closer look?” The mechanical soldier asked, carefully reaching out. There was a faint moment of wariness at Tim’s larger, potentially-less-than-gentle hands taking the locket, but John did haltingly set it down in the mechanical palm. Tim, thankfully, was careful, his other hand carefully nudging the locket as he parsed what he could.

“It is…potentially brass? Does not feel like anything too soft. Though that does make me wonder what sort of temperatures it was exposed to, in order to be sealed shut like that.”

“Sealed shut?” Joe questioned, popping the last bit of pizza in his mouth and coming around so he wouldn’t be leaning into John.

“It does not look like it can be opened. Unless you wish to try.” Tim replied, letting Joe take the locket. The soldier’s hands and fingers pried at the tiny seam for a moment, but he was forced to call quits. John had noticed Joe glancing to him before he stopped; he didn’t think he looked that nervous, but perhaps it was a forgone conclusion. Even if the locket was irrevocably damaged, something about the idea of it being lost, or destroyed, made an unnamed sort of tension grow in whatever passed for John’s stomach.

He didn’t want to lose it, the notion somewhat startling considering he didn’t even know what was in it. If there was anything at all.

“Yeah, it’s…definitely stuck. Have you had this, the whole time, or was it something you found here?”

“H-Had it. From before.”

“Before?”

“I don’…remember.”

“You don’t remember where you got this?” Joe asked with a bit more comprehension, waiting for John’s nod as he seemed to think, before offering another question. “Is this the only thing you’ve got that you don’t remember where or when you got it?”

John shook his head, scooting a bit to the side as he reached into his coat and disgorged the rest, moving the newer handkerchief and the volume from Washington Irving off to the side. After a moment, he indicated his own weapons, technically they counted too. He’d always had them. There was a somewhat troubling bit of silence, before Tim spoke up.

“…Is it alright if we handle these as well?”

John couldn’t help starting for a moment, looking between the items to the others, before giving a more polite nod.

“Hey, no worries. We’ll be careful. And if there is something you don’t want us messing with, you say so. Or, well, gesture so. Whatever works.” Joe spoke up, clapping a hand over John’s shoulder. The gesture did rattle the Horseman’s stance a bit, but the contact was, oddly soothing. In its own way. It made him feel a bit better when the trio leaned in to take a closer look.

Cannonade, quite noticeably, was not touching anything. Or, not visibly doing so. He’d grown briefly enraptured by the somewhat tattered handkerchief, a small gust of wind quietly lifting the cloth from the stones and letting it spin and flutter in the air. It moved like a miniature twister, John growing bemusedly enchanted with the sight before Cannonade let it flutter back to sit on the wall. The wind-being turned his head towards the Horseman, letting out a softer chime and a whoosh of air blowing through the trees. Strangely enough it almost felt like an approval, John’s shoulders relaxing a bit even as he looked over and realized Joe had quietly picked up his axe.

Well, the implement was more of a hatchet than an axe, it fit in a hand easily enough. Joe carefully rubbed a thumb alongside the edge, feeling the wooden handle and easily settling into the act of gripping it.

“You’ve been taking care of this?” The soldier asked, glancing up at John enough to see the Horseman nod. “Yeah, can tell. It’s got a pretty good edge, the grip’s good too, did you make it?”

The pause was noticeable enough that it had Joe looking up again, John only able to offer a shrug. Not that the soldier seemed to begrudge him much for his lack of an answer, giving a nod as he went on.

“Well, if you did, you’ve got some real skill with this. Then again, didn’t folks in that time period have to be resourceful? Would make sense if you made it.”

Tim, meanwhile, had turned his attention to the carving knife, and the wooden whistle. The tin soldier’s larger hands looked like he should’ve shattered both items as he touched them, but they were instead carefully grasped. John watched, a little more bemused, as Tim seemed to bring the knife and the whistle together, almost, checking the way the knife could be used?

No, John realized, he was looking at how the whistle had been carved. The knife was definitely fine enough to have been the implement. Though again, John had no idea if the two items were even related. But whatever Tim saw did seem to satisfy him, the tin soldier giving off a satisfied burst of steam from his facial vents as he set both items down.

“…Have you ever tried to get the locket open?” Joe asked, more absently as he looked over the handkerchief, glancing up to see John sort of waffle between a yes and a no. “Gonna say maybe?”

“W-Was…wwworried ‘bout breakin’ it…” The Horseman replied, no small amount of hesitation clogging his voice. He had, not long after the strange rain festival in Patiti, given the idea a shot. Namely because he’d desperately needed a distraction. But for all of his careful, focused efforts, the locket had stayed closed.

He could probably still pick out the tiny scratch he’d made with the carving knife if he looked. Though the mere memory of realizing he’d accidentally caused even a small blemish was enough to make him feel immensely jittery. Like he’d almost thrown it into a fire, John doing his best to shake off the notion and be more present with the much-calmer moment currently happening.

“So, were you gonna take this to someone? I’m assuming you’re not trading any of these.” Joe said as he put the handkerchief back down, surveying the small collection of items with Tim and Cannonade. All three glanced back to John as his throat made another rasp, the Horseman trying his best to actually answer.

But, after a few moments, it felt like the best John could offer was a name.

“Drove.”

“Appraisal?” Joe asked shortly. John nodding with a somewhat nervous, if not shamefaced air. Only to be completely upended as the soldier replied, “Ah, yeah, that makes sense.”

At the Horseman’s more quietly stunned air, Joe went on.

“Drove would be the guy to talk to about this. He’s the one that knows about Earth items like an encyclopedia, from pretty much any time. Hell, maybe he could get the locket open.”

The latter sentence was one that John had not been expecting at all, the Horseman’s ashy, molten eyes wide and staring through his pumpkinhead as he fully looked at Joe. Seeing John’s goggle-eyed look the soldier chuckled, clapping the Horseman on the shoulder again.

“Yeah, he could! You saw what he looked like, he’s got a good amount of experience with metallurgy. Though he might charge you extra for that.”

The mention of charges threw a good amount of cold water on John’s enthusiasm, his ash-covered frame unable to stop a faint shudder. Though his eyes immediately looked down, he could easily tell that Joe, and perhaps also Tim and Cannonade, had noticed.

A rush of air at John’s back confirmed that notion, the Horseman lightly buffeted by a wind that reminded him of the woods and stables. The rush of softer noise was a good, ephemeral security blanket that did help him calm, even as he glanced back and saw Cannonade and Tim watching him.

“Are you worried for what the service would cost you?” The metallic soldier asked, voice a softer rumble. And, well, barely any words needed, John just gave the question a nod.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, just asking for information tends to be pretty light as far as cost goes. It’s asking for physical stuff that might land you in hot water depending on who you talk to.”

This was more than a little relieving, but John couldn’t help the last few flutters of nerves. What if he needed to ask for more? What if Drove wasn’t in so charitable a mood?

…He very much needed to stop thinking so much about the ‘what-ifs’. The Horseman had the distinct feeling they weren’t actually helpful. As he let out a choky, ash-exuding sigh, Joe’s hand patted him on the shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright. I know Drove, and I know how to talk to him. You’ll probably need someone there to intermediate anyway.”

The words had John looking up through his pumpkinhead, smoldering eyes wide as he looked at Joe’s shifting gaze. He felt like a man trying to parse through a book in a barely-familiar language.

“You…help?” Was all he could manage, his throat was feeling rather tight all of a sudden. Joe, for his part, gave the whole display a huff that could’ve been a laugh if he’d put more energy into it, thumping John on the shoulder again.

“You absolute idiot. What, you thought we were just gonna let you walk into your first market transaction without some kind of guidance? Besides, we were all new at some point too! I think you’d rather avoid my first…well, fiasco.”

At John’s look of askance, he went on.

“Well, it wasn’t spectacular or anything, but when I first got here I’d gotten my bike messed up and needed new parts. And, well, maybe I was banking more on the kindness of strangers being enough to soften the blow a bit. Turns out that’s not a universal cultural concept. In a brief word, be careful with some of the folks you talk to, ‘cause many of them will be lookin’ at you trying to figure out what you could do for them.”

Which, to be fair, was something John had already figured out to some degree. It was, in part, how he’d landed his delivery job in Patiti. Though the other half of that was simply not know the language, and therefore having less than a conceptual understanding of what he was agreeing to. It worked out, but, considering what he’d seen if their…festivals…

The water temple. Red rivers running down the long steps. A slaughtered calf and a hellish light. John blinked and tried his best to force the images away.

He didn’t need to think about that right now.

A chiming over his head drew the Horseman’s attention to Cannonade, the wind-being seeming to wait for John’s eyes to turn to him before sweeping down and lifting him off of his seat on the crumbling wall. The motion left John fumbling like a startled cat, one hand holding desperately onto his pumpkinhead as a series of garbled noises came from his throat.

It took him a long moment to realize that Cannonade was…hugging him. Again. The wind-being’s arms held him with a surprising firmness against the armored chest, though the grip was hardly suffocating. If anything, once John went still for about ten seconds, Cannonade quietly set him down on the wall. The Horseman’s clothes were ruffled but otherwise he was intact.

“Well, don’t think either of us can follow that up,” Joe laughed, crumpling up the last of the leavings from his lunch as he got to his feet.

“We will see Drove as we leave. Joe will come in with you, if he does not allow anyone else.” Tim’s ironclad tone was a relief in its own way, giving John something to anchor himself with. An itinerary, something solid to follow. At least for the next few hours.

As they left the food stalls, John couldn’t help wondering if there were times, or days, when the Market wasn’t quite so busy. It felt like there were less…beings, around. There were also a few empty slots where stalls could fit, had those been there yesterday?

Or maybe they’d come by a different way, and he was just overthinking it. Really, all of the wares were jumbling together in his mind, it was starting to feel like he’d maybe seen this thing somewhere else, but not the shop-keep. Perhaps it was an item, or a particular type of thing, they had in surplus?

But for all his musing, it didn’t feel like the Horseman was the right mind to puzzle it out. He did also get momentarily distracted at some of the other patrons, a strange, ethereal reptilian creature with leathery wings hanging around what looked like a small stall for books and papers. Its dark feathers fluttered a bit, head turning like a bird as it abruptly looked at him.

John caught a momentary glimpse of yellowish, reptile eyes before he snapped his gaze forward, pretending he hadn’t been staring at the other patron. He perhaps caught a sound like a snort, or perhaps a laugh, but he didn’t look back as their group continued on.

He did start to recognize a few things, especially the clockwork gate on the ‘wall’ that they’d come through. There were also a few more smaller, humanoid people milling around, the Horseman briefly reminded of the pushier seller from yesterday as he tried to stay close to the shelter of the others and his horse. It was a brief distraction, but nothing could cut out the sounds of Tim knocking heavily on the metal door.

Alright, moment of truth. There were the sounds of mechanisms shifting and humming, the door sliding open and opening again on the familiar entryway they’d passed through when they first came.

John briefly wondered if Drove was elsewhere, before he caught sight of an oddly moving bit of mechanics to the right. His eyes snapped to it, widening a bit as Drove seemed to almost, meld his way through the wall? There was the thought in John’s mind that it might’ve been an illusion, but it looked very real for the few seconds he’d seen it. Not to mention, Drove took a few extra moments to adjust his coat and wide-brimmed hat before stepping out to join the group.

“Hello again, gentlemen! Ready to leave?”

“Well, almost. Our friend’s got some stuff he’d like for you to look at.” Joe spoke up before John could even think of trying to back out. The Horseman’s eyes turned from the Unknown Soldier to the towering and by now very interested Drove.

“Oh, do we? An actual appraisal?”

“Yep, thinking that’s what it’ll be.” Joe words were casual enough, but there was a definite note of insistence as he went on. “Gonna have to request that Tim or I sit in though, John’s not really able to talk that well.”

“Yeah, was noticing that last time I saw him.” Drove spoke up, before abruptly crouching a bit to look the much-shorter Horseman in the eye. “You giving them permission to sit in? It’s gotta be from your own, well, mouth. Otherwise I’m gonna assume they’re strongarming you and nix the whole thing.”

Feeling incredibly on the spot, John froze before he automatically tried to make something come from his throat. It felt like dredging up broken glass, but he definitely didn’t want to look like the weaker partner here.

“…Yyyess…”

The one word felt far harder to actually say than the Horseman knew it should’ve been; his nerves were definitely on edge from this whole thing. But, if he wanted answers, he needed to do something about it, right?

He needed to, and he could do this. Especially if, like the others had said, he kept it to just information. Just knowing things about the items. Not actual work. Though, he wasn’t quite sure what sort of information he could use as a barter. There had to be something knocking around in his mind, right?

“Alright, I’ll take that. Right this way.” Drove spoke up, heading back to the wall he’d walked through before. John couldn’t help an honest worry that the clockwork god was going to have them walk through the wall too, though as he directed John where to tie up his horse he seemingly triggered some mechanism that caused an actual door to open up.

“Mind your heads, and other body parts. There are exposed machines in here.” Drove called back as he stepped through. Funnily enough, his longer jacket and hat weren’t much of an impediment from just how confidently he strode through the narrow hall. Even still, the occasional glances at the moving, shifting parts swimming over the wall made John feel like the space was closing in on them.

Needless to say, he was more than relieved to step out into an actual room. John couldn’t help looking around at the space despite his nerves, it felt…slightly familiar in terms of décor. More…he supposed the term would be rustic; there was a set of wooden chairs, a thick table with ornate detailing, the walls looking like they might’ve been plaster. Or perhaps Drove just made the metal look more like plaster?

But what really caught John’s attention was the larger window shrouded in a gauzy sort of curtain, reminding him a bit of a boat’s sail. It gave the room a warmer look, and illuminated a number of paintings hanging on the walls. All landscapes, depicting wilder and strange scenes. Forests, a desert shrouded in dark, stormy clouds, a jungle that could’ve been taken right from Patiti, towering mountains with white peaks that scraped a deep blue sky.

“Here, you all can have a seat.” Drove was saying, snapping John back into the moment as he followed along with the rest of his — God, they were really his, weren’t they — group. Though the Horseman couldn’t help noticing the somewhat impish look to brass-colored eyes as Drove refocused his attention on him.

“We’ve got an art-lover in our halls?”

John managed a faint, if not slightly trembling nod, endlessly thankful when Joe managed to pick up the conversation.

“Well, what can we say? You’ve got a helluva collection.”

With a sigh that seemed more like a machine’s rumble, Drove settled into his chair, eyes turning back to the various paintings and letting them all ease into their seats. John was grateful for the momentary relief, even as he couldn’t help listening to the clockwork god’s words.

“Yep, from everywhere in the Verses. Got a number of folks out there with a good amount of creative talent and only so much workaround with it. Not everyone’s a grand adventuring type like you two. Besides, I get one painting, and they can have their stall here. Seems like a fair enough trade.” It seemed fair enough, John briefly wondering on the economics of art in what seemed like a bartering system. It looked nice, certainly, but you couldn’t eat it, or use it for other things apart from decoration. Meaning that there likely was only a small pool of people that would trade for it. “Remind me to ask you where you’re going after this, might be able to point it out.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Joe replied, tone friendly though he quickly got down to business. “So, just to keep everything straight, and make sure everyone’s on the same page, we’re just looking for information about the items presented. Not work or restoration. Honestly a lot of them are in good condition anyway, so I don’t think they’d need much.”

“Alright, you’ve intrigued me. Let’s see these items.”

There was that feeling of being on the spot, again. John’s movements seemed far too slow for the situation as he reached into the various pockets of his coat, and drew out the items therein. And, with a flare of instinct, he put his axe, sword, and pistol on the table too.

Why not get everything out of the way, right? Though it left John feeling more than a little nerveless, and exposed, as Drove reached over and went for the first item.

Which happened to be the carved whistle. John watched with the closest approximation he could have to bated breath as the metallic fingers carefully held the item, Drove’s brass eyes intensely scanning it.

“…Well, it’s handmade. Think it might be oak? Which is an interesting choice, oak tends to be tougher as far as carving...But, it looks like it should work. Have you actually tried to use this?”

The question was directed at John, who stiffened before shaking his head. No, he hadn’t. If anything, he’d been worried about it accidentally slipping into his pumpkin; his mouth couldn’t actually flex and move like a normal person’s could.

Which was something that Drove noticed too, given his slight frown as he turned his gaze back to the whistle.

“Yeah, that makes sense—” Whatever he’d been about to say next was cut off as Cannonade made a DING noise, ethereal hand reaching forward. Though John couldn’t help worrying that this was violating some protocol, Drove gave the wind-being a quietly humored look before looking to the Horseman.

“You mind if he borrows this? Think he wants to see if it works.”

At John’s more dazed nod, Drove let Cannonade take the whistle. The wind-being turning it around in his hands to figure out how it was structured before he orientated himself and shoved his face against the mouthpiece. The resulting SHREEEE rang off the walls, John jumping in his seat while Joe leaned away, even as his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

“Well, good to know it works.” The Unknown Soldier spoke up in the resulting quiet, Cannonade giving a cheery bit of birdsong before gently placing the whistle back on the table. Drove gave the scene a rumbling chuckle, a metallic hand going for the next item.

The carving knife, John’s eyes watching Drove pick it up as he couldn’t help another internal flare of tension. Though Drove handled the second implement with as much patience and care as the first, his brass eyes quietly scanning it as his hands turned it over, looking at it from every inch.

“Homemade, typical for what you would find during the time period of the American Revolution. Lovely work for the era…” Another turn, and Drove’s brass eyes widened. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Joe echoed, the rest of the group sitting up a little straighter as Drove’s eyes turned to them.

“There seems to be a mark, or…markings, carved into the handle. Hold on.” Taking a hand away from the knife, Drove made a flicking motion. John jumped as a small flame appeared on the end of the clockwork god’s pointer finger, Drove holding it closer to the handle. John could vaguely spot some sort of…movement, almost, happening within the clockwork god’s eye. But he was too far away, and it was too quick for him to really see it.

“…It’s about, a line of different marks, down the handle. Honestly, I’m amazed at how…finely done they are.” Drove’s voice turned meditative, weighing the knife in his hands for a moment before he looked back to the others. It might’ve just been John’s more paranoid imagination, but, the clockwork god seemed to be looking at him in particular. Trying to get a read on what he might’ve known about the item?

“You don’t normally see such fine detail on an implement of this era, especially since a lot of these do not look like markings a colonist would have made.” Though, with a slight chuckle, Drove amended his statement. “Well, unless it was some damn fool who thought Native American pictographs and imagery would look flattering on a knife. Which, is possible. But, for how finely this is done…”

“When you say ‘finely’, what do you mean?” Tim spoke up, John somewhat glad that someone had asked. Fine detail really only told him so much, and…had there been glyphs on the knife and he’d just not noticed? Maybe he’d thought they were something else?

“Here, see the marks around the ends of the handle. It’s in a ring near the blade and the butt.” Drove elaborated as he handed the knife over to Tim, the metallic soldier looking over the handle. “It’s small, far smaller than anyone could’ve managed without some sort of…tools, or perhaps esoteric means.”

“The knife’s enchanted?” Joe asked, John’s now wider eyes looking between him and Drove.

“Enchanted, maybe. But at the very least, I’m pretty sure it’s not cursed. I could tell that a mile away.”

“What sort of enchantment would be on a carving knife?” Tim said, sliding the aforementioned knife back across the table.

“Welllll…” Drove hummed, taking it again as he looked it over. “It’s a knife. Depending on what these marks mean, it might be anything from extra dexterity when carving to stabbing something really, really good. Though in all instances where there are such…enhancements, on a weapon of sorts, it usually suggests some kind of outside interference. Just checking, you’re not what one would call a magic user, correct?”

This question was directed at John, the Horseman fighting down a jolt even as he shook his head. And quickly adjusting his pumpkin a bit, not that Drove appeared overly bothered or humored by it. Instead, the clockwork god turned a thoughtful look from the ash-covered soldier to the knife, treating it as a normal parley in the conversation.

“Hmm. And you’ve always had all of these items, right? There was never a time when you…didn’t have them?”

John shook his head again, Drove giving him a longer, more inscrutable stare. Just when it felt like he was going to ask another question, the clockwork god suddenly redirected his attention to the items still gathered on the table.

“Have a thought, but let me look at the rest of these to be sure. And, gonna go ahead with the actual weaponry, if you don’t mind.”

John couldn’t say he had much by way of a protest, not that he could’ve voiced it if he had one. But there was the distinct sense of something having not gone according to plan, or something that was out of place, or unusual, about what he had with him. Briefly, the Horseman tried to make eye contact with Joe, or Tim, but he wasn’t able to turn his head enough before Drove went for his pistol.

Immediately off, John felt his eyes snap to Drove, tracking his movements as he carefully handled the gun. Now that tension was turning into a vibrating nerve running from pumpkinhead to ash-covered feet, John’s mind scrambling to keep up with this strong emotional lurch. Was it because the item in question was a gun? Something that could be very dangerous if handled incorrectly, or in the wrong hands? It was possible, but…

But John had the distinct sense that it was…a little more than that. It was like seeing a hand ghost over his own soul, in a strange way. But the instant the Horseman had the thought he couldn’t help wondering why he would be thinking that. The pistol wasn’t…integral to him, really. It was a pistol, there were likely others out there.

But this one is mine…

Now John couldn’t fight a jolt, the movement catching both Drove and Joe’s attention as the clockwork god stopped talking — had he been talking the whole time? — and there was a creak from Joe and Tim’s chairs as they looked his way.

“John? You good?” Joe spoke up, suddenly realizing that the Horseman was sitting like a man on the electric chair rather than a simple seat. John also realized that his hands had moved to clench tightly over his knees, his eyes turning to see Joe, Tim, and Cannonade’s concerned stares though his gaze yanked itself just as quickly back to Drove.

Who was still holding the pistol. My pistol. Mine. The brass eyes were quietly watching John’s reaction…and perhaps the barest hint of a wry smile was hanging around the metallic face.

“…Did you want me to put this down?”

Thoughts about the appraisal warred with mine mine mine, John feeling a slight, almost heat, behind his breastbone. It, didn’t quite hurt, but it felt…dangerous. Reminded him of loud, too loud, a ball of black filling his vision…

“Yes. Down.”

“Alright, suit yourself.” Drove said, placing the item back on the table. The lack of contact made the heat unspool from John’s chest, the Horseman letting out an ash-covered sigh as his head dipped on his neck.

“So, do you want me to look at the sword next? Or the axe?”

Discomfort. John bristled, feeling something squirm at the idea of either being so cavalierly held. Potentially broken, though Drove…hadn’t done anything so far to suggest he would do such a thing.

But that reaction, that had been…not good. Something about it felt dangerous, like sitting on a bomb about to go off. The only thing that felt remotely comparable was…

Patiti. Leaving the temple. That booming shout he’d somehow made.

Shoving down thoughts of those stony halls, and whatever might be ticking away inside him, John tried his best to answer the question. Pick one, he had to pick at least one.

The sword? Immediately the weird tension flared at the idea. Mine mine mine. So, not the sword. Too important. The axe?

It felt like a tense moment of negotiation with this…feral and strange instinct nudging up from the back of his mind. But, after a long instant of deliberating, waiting, he felt something release inside.

Compromise. Understood.

“Th-The axe. Please.”

John didn’t even try to look to the side to see what Joe, Tim, and Cannonade were thinking. His focus was all on Drove, how the clockwork hands began to settle around the handle before lifting the axe off the table.

It felt like the world was coming in just a hair too sharp. Drove’s voice suddenly seeming too present and almost too loud even as John tried to listen.

“…Hand axe, best used for a singular person if they want to survive in the woods. Light, easy to carry. Good edge on the head too, you’ve been taking care of this.” Brass eyes flickered to John — checking on him, or perhaps seeing what he was thinking about this? — but suddenly they looked down, metallic fingers brushing over the decoration on the handle.

“Hmm. Now, this is interesting. You’ve got, I suppose, more Germanic designs around the handle. Sort of puts me in mind of a stein, you ever see one?”

This being addressed to John, the Horseman freezing for an instant before shaking his head.

“Large, well, kind of looks like a mug. Usually for beer, liquor, what have you. And more often than not, well decorated. People really made art out of those things. If you get the chance, do try to see one. You’ll notice that the markings are similar, if not the exact same. Sometimes it might go by family, or region, but, I wouldn’t know exactly. Germanic gods and entities are harder to come by than most. Them and some of the…less conjoined pantheons.”

It didn’t escape John’s notice that Drove glanced back at the table as he said this, the Horseman unsure what he might be looking at before it occurred to him: the knife. The knife also had markings. Culturally important ones. But…Native American and, Germanic, those weren’t remotely near each other, were they?

“So, I’m guessing that means you’d rather I just slide the sword back to you and move on to the next item, right?”

Drove’s words had John stiffening before he nodded, the Horseman unable to completely look away though he couldn’t help feeling a slight bit of shame. What was going on with him? He never remembered feeling like this before.

But, had he ever let someone handle his…weapons, before? Joe had, touched the axe, back when they’d been discussing it on the wall. But that hadn’t provoked this kind of a reaction. But…maybe it was because Drove had taken the pistol first?

Had he…ever let someone touch the pistol, or the sword? He couldn’t remember, and not remembering now was more than a little disturbing. Especially with that reaction. Could…this strange feeling have caused him to hurt someone if they’d tried?

A form wreathed in molten red…

“This is actually pretty well done.” Drove suddenly said, John’s eyes yanking themselves back up. The clockwork god was delicately handling the handkerchief. “A little, singed, I think, but the work is definitely not one of an amateur. I think those are…baby’s breath, around the bottom, that could be a bluebell, or something else given that we don’t have a color, carnations, maybe heliotrope in there? Again, it is small, so…we’re kind of guessing…

“This one’s…maybe a poppy? Though there’s a good number of flowers that look similar. Could be…peony, brown-eyed susan, a nasturtium, maybe, that would make sense…”

“What’s a nasturtium?” Joe asked, the first thing that John had heard him say in a while. But before he could so much as glance in the soldier’s direction, Drove spoke up.

“I’ll answer the questions at the end of the examination. Especially since…I do know what this one is, and, well, rather interesting choice…”

“Wh-What…?” John croaked, Drove’s eyes going to him before pointing at a small, embroidered design on the upper right corner.

“That looks like sage. Which is a very interesting choice for a handkerchief that I presume was going to a soldier on the battlefield. Sage is known, in the language of flowers, to mean wisdom, or immortality. You can also burn it to rid an area of spirits, cleansing. If you’re the type to do such a thing.”

“What do the other flowers mean?” Tim asked, Drove placing the handkerchief down flat as he went over the different flowers.

“Baby’s breath, everlasting love, if that one’s a bluebell, it means humility, carnation, kind of depends on the color, but overall it means…fascination. And, the love of a girl. Could also be a mother’s love for her child. Heliotrope, eternal love or devotion. And, well, this one…”

Drove’s fingers began to point to the opposite corner, John trying his best to keep up.

“If it’s a poppy, it means consolation. If it’s a peony, it means being bashful, or a happy life. Could potentially also imply shame, but…depends. Brown-eyed susan is known for justice. But a nasturtium, that one’s more interesting. Especially with this group.”

“You going to keep leaving us in suspense?” Joe said after a moment.

“No, I am going to tell you!” Drove said with a laugh, thankfully not delaying much as he went on. “Nasturtium is a flower that means patriotism, or conquest. Victory in battle. Like I said, very appropriate for this group. One last thing…”

He pointed to another part of the design in the opposite corner, readily moving on.

“Thinking that one’s a Gladiolus. Which is the flower of gladiators. The sword of lilies. Integrity, strength, and victory. And that one’s an edelweiss, a flower significant in Germany, meaning courage and devotion. As well as purity and resilience. Also does tie in with the axe quite nicely.”

The axe which still lay on the table, John turning wondering eyes to it as he couldn’t help mulling over what he had heard. He definitely hadn’t thought that the design on the handkerchief was that important, though he’d very much liked it. The things involving…fighting, he wasn’t too sure about, but love?

Had there been someone who loved him? Enough to make this? The thought boggled the mind, and went straight back into that empty hole before Patiti. That long…blank, before he’d simply woken up as himself.

Again, there was a part of John that couldn’t help wondering if there had been something in the earlier days. Something he might’ve had a better chance of recovering and remembering if he’d been more aware of it. His mind had been, frazzled, seeming to jump from thought to thought like an animal fresh into the world. But…not totally.

He’d known…things. How to care for his weapons. How to care for himself. How to set up camp. How to listen, how to learn.

How to survive, really. That was all he’d known. But these weren’t entirely simple tasks. How to survive in the wilderness, someone had to have taught him that, correct? Information didn’t just spring into being in a person’s head. Someone had to have put it there.

Like someone put the markings on the knife? The thought had John looking back to it, eyes zeroing in on what he’d just assumed was part of the wood. They weren’t overt, these…lines, these glyphs. They were small, hard to see. Not the sort of thing one simply carved into a knife handle. And…he could almost say the same thing for the axe. There was detail, depth, John looking at it with new eyes as he realized…someone with a hand tool would’ve had a very hard time doing this.

Perhaps, for someone else, it might’ve been the work of a lifetime.

…But he had seen strange, even fantastical things since he’d come here. Lights that would shine at all hours, that you could control with a mere button. Machines that outpaced horses, and flew. Magic and monsters. Gods and demons.

Perhaps, even if he didn’t quite realize it, John was one of that paradigm himself.

What a strange god you are, so new and with a power so old…

Horses and people screaming, the sounds of weapons, A BLACK BALL FILLING HIS VISION—

The power over death, and with a hint of warrior’s blood, could you be a god of war as well?

John found the tension climbing in his body again, forcing his mind to move away from those thoughts. To calm down. He’d already had one…episode, the last thing he needed was to have another.

The last thing he wanted was to look, insane. Or feral. He was not a monster. He wasn’t sure what he was, but…he was himself. And, that wasn’t a monster, right?

Or, at the very least, he hoped not.

But before John could do more than ease the tension gripping his chest and body, he felt…a new sense of something sitting around his sternum. Looking up, his eyes caught Drove’s hands carefully brushing over the locket, the clockwork god’s brass gaze turning to John at the movement.

“Last thing you’ve got here. I’m gonna turn it over if that’s alright.” The words were careful, even slightly quiet. John glanced from the locket to Drove’s face, giving the barest hint of a nod. The locket was turned over, Drove’s eyes scanning the metal before he went on.

“Firstly, if there was meant to be some sort of symbolism in the engraving it’s…going to be impossible to tell. The whole thing is fairly melted. I see, potential circular imagery, orbs, perhaps something about cycles, but that’s the most I can make out. If there’s writing, it’s pretty much gone. There’s also the matter of what might be inside.”

Another glance to John’s face, another nod in reply, Drove’s hands now carefully standing the locket on its side.

“…Which, unfortunately might also be damaged. Guessing you’ve already noticed how it’s been sealed shut. Ordinarily, I would suggest taking it to a metalworker…” John caught how Drove’s eyes turned back to him, the Horseman stiffening slightly as their gaze met. “…But, in this case, I would not recommend it. Perhaps this is one of those things that will reveal itself more in time.”

Withdrawing fingers from the locket, Drove left his gaze aimed at John, nodding at the collection of items on the table.

“Pick up the pistol and the sword. You don’t need to do anything with them, just put them back.” And, once John did: “Feel a bit better?”

Having refitted the pistol and sword in their respective places, John paused before giving a small nod. Strangely enough it did, though before he could do more than notice Drove spoke again, brandishing a finger at the rest of John’s belongings.

“Alright, everything else too. It can all go back. I’m done. Though, I suppose I’ll need to thank you.” At the Horseman’s more incredulous look, Drove went on with more of a smirk in his tone. “It’s not everyday I’m entrusted with divine weaponry, unconventional it may be. Godly-charged implements though, they do have their fun quirks.”

“That is what you meant by enchantment.” Tim spoke up, metallic voice rumbling with understanding.

“Yep!” Drove cheerfully replied, quickly launching into a more in-depth explanation. “Much like Poseidon’s trident, or really, any number of staffs, swords, or implements a god carries, anything that’s a part of their ensemble has its symbolism. And power. It is a part of them. Can figure that’s why you weren’t happy when I grabbed the pistol. Is that the first time you’ve had someone touching that, by the way?”

The question had John briefly tracking back through his memory, though again, he could come up with nothing similar to what had just happened. Admittedly he was rushing his thought process a little bit, but the Horseman had the feeling that lingering would be unwise here. So, even though a part of him rankled at the not-so-thorough check, he still nodded.

“Mm. Could tell. You looked ready to rip my head off.” Drove’s reply was equal parts dry and matter of fact, John finding himself wincing. Had it been so obvious? “And, there is a certain degree of trust that goes into that sort of thing. Hence why even places like Pater’s Bar don’t have people hand over their weaponry. It’d cause too much trouble, and whoever you have watching it all would have to have the patience of a saint. Word to the wise, especially if you’re…new?”

After a moment to be sure that he was supposed to actually respond, John did give another nod. Though it felt like an admittance of some…deformity. Like the notion of his…self, who or what he was, was some awful secret. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the others, to see how they were taking this potential revelation. But, maybe they’d already guessed, and he was the one lagging behind. It was possible, even if it didn’t make him feel better.

“…Yeah, could guess that too. Most gods don’t freely hand over their own weaponry, or items.” Drove’s words were quiet, more of an aside, but still perfectly audible. The Horseman couldn’t help that renewed sense of wrong, wrong, WRONG, but the clockwork god quickly moved on. “Like I was saying, seeing as you are new, keep a very close eye on those. Chances are they’re likely important for something, even the more benign stuff. Don’t just hand them off, or trade them, they are worth more than their weight in gold.”

Which, seemed fair enough, though John could hardly imagine what smaller tokens like the locket and handkerchief could do. Though perhaps, given how taken off-guard by everything he’d been thus far, it might be better to just listen and adhere to what he was being told.

“Though now we come to the matter of payment…” The sudden change of subject had John immediately looking up, smoldering eyes wide as he realized what was going on. God, did he have anything to pay with? Though for all of the Horseman’s nerves, Drove didn’t seem nearly as bothered, laughing as he continued. “Oh, come now, no need to look so nervous! You can pay me in kind!”

“He means, information for information.” Joe illuminated, leaning in a bit from John’s side as he spoke up.

“And you’re a veritable treasure trove, not that I think you realize it.” Drove’s more sure demeanor slipped a bit as he looked John in the eyes again, scanning him up and down as he thought aloud. “Though, the vocal issues are a problem…How good’s your penmanship?”

“Uh, don’t think I’ve seen you write…” Joe hummed in the resulting silence, shifting eyes looking to John.

“We’ll give it a shot, I’m patient.” Drove replied, placing a small pad of paper and a pencil on the table. “Alright, start with something simple. Your name, maybe?”

It took a moment for John to properly grip the pencil, and, to be fair, it wasn’t as though he’d had much opportunity to do something like this in Patiti. But, after a bit of fumbling, he managed to find a proper hold that didn’t feel too straining on his hand, and let him scribble out his own name.

John

There was a thought to put in the title he’d…sort of known from before? Given himself? It was a part of him too, but writing out The Horseman might’ve had him struggling a lot more. And, with how he was still fumbling over his grip there was an honest worry in his mind that he might accidentally break the pencil, which would really set this whole endeavor back.

A creak alerted him to how Drove was leaning over, getting a quick look at the result before leaning back with a satisfied look on his metallic features.

“Okay, that’s not bad. You’ve got a bit of a scrawl going, but it’s legible. We’ll stick with straightforward questions.” And, with a slightly more dramatic flair, “So, you said you came from Patiti. How’s that place been fairing? Seasons regular, the people doing well?”

The one nice thing about doing this was, the more John wrote, the more comfortable he was becoming with writing. His handwriting was still on the sloppier side, but he could feel his actual posture begin to even out the more he wrote, falling into something a little more natural.

The seasons are dry and wet, the people are, busy. Growing and planting, or harvesting, it depends. They have festivals. To different gods. They wear brighter colors, their city is

How to really describe it? The Horseman couldn’t help taking a moment, trying to pick through his own memories. Patiti wasn’t that long ago, but with everything he’d seen in the Market it took an instant for him to sort through what was with what had been. But it didn’t take too long for him to find those older recollections, and the odd little quirks he’d spotted in the Patiti populace and architecture.

Patchwork. There were, different styles at work that I saw, different murals of different gods and icons. I remember on my last day I saw people fighting over a tree.

“Typical jungle, or arid climate if you go further up. You probably wouldn’t have known this just by being there, but the inhabitants are holdouts from the Aztec and Incan peoples. Or at least, last I heard they were. So, yeah, there probably would be some division over things. Especially since I think those cultures have slightly different ways of worship. Think if I dug around a bit I could guess what the deal with the tree was.” Drove thought aloud, stroking his chin for a beat before his eyes refocused on John. “How did you end up there? Especially considering they closed their borders a while ago.”

That, was both a good question, and a somewhat enlightening bit of information. Not that John was entirely sure what to do with it. Patiti had been connected with the larger world, this… multiverse? Why had they closed their borders?

But was now really the time to ask, when the Horseman was to be paying in information, rather than for him to ask Drove questions? Maybe this was something he could figure out on his own later, the thought appeasing his curiosity enough for him to focus entirely on Drove’s question.

Do not remember. Woke up there. I was able to leave, but there was not a direct road.

Drove did read what John wrote, though he didn’t speak for a bit, instead leaning back in his chair as he looked John up and down. However, thankfully for the Horseman’s nerves, he eventually fell into the same habit as before: thinking out loud. There was the thought that Drove might’ve been doing this for everyone else’s benefit, but John put the musing aside to pay attention to what was being said in the here and now.

“Bit of an odd place to plunk down someone from the Colonial Era in North America, not the South. If you were some sort of Spanish conquistador, I might’ve understood it, but you haven’t given me that impression. Betting there was a helluva an adjustment period for you.” A look, but whatever Drove saw in John’s face, he didn’t follow up on. Instead, he seemed to jump onto the second part; the mention of how there was no direct road. “Yeah, that tracks. All things considered, it’s incredibly lucky you made it as far as you did. Traveling around the In-Between without a direct route has…problems.”

“They were about to get eaten when we found ‘em.” Joe reported from the side, John glancing at the Soldier before looking back at a more wry chuckle from Drove.

“Like I said, very, incredibly lucky. Betting you won’t make that mistake again though.” More thought, and the clockwork god had a new topic. “They still have their patrons? Or, guards, guardians, I guess is another term for it. These would be gods that, monitor and patrol the city. Keep it safe from outside threats…”

While John had definitely had his fair share of meeting with gods here, the idea still being incredible to think about if not a bit terrifying, there was the still-present memory of what had happened in the temple just before he’d left. The red god that was summoned from the blood of a slaughtered calf, and probably quite a few human victims in the past, the one that had given a dubious blessing.

“Guessing from your expression, you’ve seen at least one?” Drove hummed, shattering the Horseman’s thoughts and yanking him back to the present like a sharp tug on a rope. But the one issue was that John had no idea of how to depict this…god’s name in writing. If Drove had asked him to write a phrase from Patiti’s native language, John would’ve hardly known how to do that either. Which, left talking. Perhaps if he kept it simple, he could weather it out?

How had the girl’s father said it again?

“Hu-Hutzul—”

John choked about halfway through, the stammered smattering of sounds turning into a round of choking coughs that had him gripping the edge of the table to stay upright. Because folding into a huddle was likely a very untoward thing to do in front of a god, even if he’d been relatively understanding about his issues prior.

By the time the fit died down Joe was patting the Horseman’s shoulder, the sound of bells and moving pressure against John’s back betraying the closer presence of Cannonade, the wind-being having gotten up and come to hover behind him. Though while the contact was relieving in its own way, John’s eyes quickly turned to Drove. Thankfully it didn’t seem as though the clockwork god held much ill will, even though there was a quiet frown on his face as he stroked his chin.

“Yeah, that might be a bit much on the throat. But! We do have a workaround. Have a look at this.”

Drove took out what looked like some…piece of paper? Setting it down on the table he slid it in John’s direction, giving the Horseman a moment to look. The header made it clear: South American Deities. And, helpfully enough, there were pictures to go along with the names, John able to recognize the imagery he’d seen in Patiti. Though, most of the names didn’t make much sense to him, and perhaps that was fair. It wasn’t like he’d seen them written down. He wasn’t even sure the people of Patiti really wrote them down either, or at the very least they never did in front of an outsider like the Horseman.

However, as John’s eyes roved over the page, he spotted a familiar bit of iconography next to a name in the lower right-hand corner.

“Can vouch for this group, they’re either AWOL or in El Dorado. You’d have probably seen—” Drove was saying, cutting off his explanation as John abruptly pointed at the picture he’d noticed.

“Oh. This one?” The clockwork god asked, taking a closer look at the image and the name next to it. “Yes, that would’ve been a mouthful— Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec God of Solar Worship and War. Represented by hummingbirds, or eagles. A lot of those that die in war are considered sacrifices to him.

“Though you seem to act as though you’ve seen him. You looked at the picture, not the name.” Drove’s words were careful enough, but John had the impression from his searching stare that the clockwork god was looking for more. Feeling a new, squiggling sense of nerves, the Horseman quietly grabbed the paper and the pencil, continuing to write.

I was involved in a dispute. I do not know how or why I it was considered important, but I was brought into one of the temples. On my last day. I met this god. He said that I was also a god. Of war, and death. He did not seem completely sure.

Again, touching on that part of John that he was…perhaps a little less than comfortable with. But before he could sink too deeply into those thoughts, Drove was answering, tone surprisingly candid.

“Hmm, could see that. War, definitely, death, potentially also. Most entities of that caliber are what we call a two or three aspect. It’s rare to have a god, goddess, demiurge, what have you, with just one aspect. Ironically enough, this makes them more powerful, but somewhat specialized. Can’t go certain places, certain things are bad for them, etc., etc.” John couldn’t help listening, even over the internal roar of his own thoughts. In a way it was…good, to have some questions answered, to have information to fall back on. But at the same time, applying these definitions to his own being felt…dehumanizing.

But, perhaps the labels were accurate seeing as whatever John was, it wasn’t human. Had he ever been?

The thought dragged, pulling through his mind like a rock through water. It took John a moment to realize that the spotlight was back on him, Drove tapping the table as Joe gently hummed the Horseman’s name.

“Sorry. Thinking we’re almost done. Just wanna ask one last question.”

One last hurdle, it seemed. John straightened, smoldering eyes peering anxiously at Drove as he awaited the inevitable.

And, funnily enough, it seemed like the clockwork god needed a moment to compose this particular question. Albeit, if it was the last, the carefulness made sense. Had to be sure of what you were asking, especially in such a transactional situation.

“…Part of the reason that Patiti closed their borders, as rumor would have it, is because of a mutually agreed-upon code known as the Accords. In brief, the more modern, or at the very least the less-tied-to-ancient-traditions entities had a bit more weight after the war. So, they threw some of that weight around, and basically told the old guard to knock it off with certain traditions. One of those was, well, originally human sacrifices but they expanded it to include anything sapient. Basically, if it can think, it doesn’t go on the altar. Lot of ‘em threw a tantrum over it, though someone made the point that the concession was simply over sapient sacrifices, and non-sapient animals were fine. Which, made a lot of them calm down, but the old guard hanging around Patiti, they didn’t like that.”

“And they shut their borders?” Joe’s question got a nod from Drove, though John couldn’t help thinking of his horse downstairs. And the calf on the dais.

As well as a particular festival…

“Yep, that they did.” Drove was saying, drawing John back out of the recesses of his mind. The Horseman did have to adjust his pumpkinhead, but he did try his best to pay attention. “Last I’d heard, they closed off and…pretty much withdrew off into the In-Between. And no one’s heard from them since. At least, not until you showed up.”

You being John, who stiffened a little upon realizing that he was being drawn into the conversation again. Drove went on, head canting to the side a bit as he got to the meat of what he wanted to say.

“Guess what I’m curious about is, are they still holding true to their traditions?”

It was a pretty clear yes or no question, though John couldn’t help holding back on a direct answer. On one front, he extrapolated that the use of the calf technically hadn’t violated these Accords. A calf was an animal, and…as far as he’d known, it hadn’t had human intelligence. But, there was the festival, for the water god. John hadn’t known much about it, most of it he’d managed to figure out from watching the denizens of Patiti and a very broken explanation from the innkeeper’s son.

And…he’d known something had been sacrificed. He remembered the red on the temple stairs, discernable from even a ways away. But, as to what that had been…

He hadn’t known if it was related or not, but the Horseman had some distinct memory of hearing a scream. Again, from a long ways away. Might not have been human. There were many things that sounded human but weren’t.

But he hadn’t seen what had been put on the altar. He knew there were other…tribes, other peoples, that were present, but they didn’t live in the city. Why, he didn’t know. But, if you were to get sacrifices from somewhere…

It would’ve neatly explained why he’d stumbled across a fight on his way out. When he’d found Cannonade. John hadn’t given it much thought at the time, more than willing to put everything about the place behind him, but…

I don’t know. They did not permit me into their practices, and I did not speak the language. But there was a festival I was witness to, involving a god of water. I never saw what was sacrificed, but

…Did he dare to say it? Or, well, write it out for all to see? On one front, he didn’t know for sure. This was hearsay, not fact. And he’d distinctly only seen the sacrifice of a calf. Not a person.

But had they done that simply because the Horseman was an outsider? To keep him from waging some sort of retribution? The people of Patiti had never really accepted him, could it have been some sort of subterfuge on their part?

Too many questions, and the others were waiting. John tapped the pencil against the paper in self-directed irritation before just plowing onward, skipping the earlier but.

I never saw what was sacrificed. I heard something, or someone, scream, and I saw the blood. I did not see what they put on the altar. There were also others in the area, but not considered a part of the main community. There was fighting, a lot of fighting.

There was a long moment of Drove simply looking over what John had written, the Horseman briefly growing worried that this might bring some sort of retribution or punishment on him. Though, he couldn’t see how, or why. He’d been honest. He hadn’t lied. If Drove wanted more specific information, he would have to look elsewhere.

“…If they’re still holding to their old traditions, then there being outsider-tribes makes a good amount of sense. The Incans and Aztecs were superpowers as far as the South American continent, both with pretty big empires. But they weren’t the only tribes. They conquered and subjugated a good amount, and, well, if they didn’t like you…”

It was left unsaid, Drove giving a sort of half-shrug to fill in the blanks, but John got the message. And, expedient. What better way to deal with troublesome people than to work them into a religious rite?

Even if the thought made whatever passed for his stomach turn. A movement off to the side drew John’s attention to Cannonade, the wind-being drifting in a sort of exaggerated lean over the table. Porthole eyes tried to catch a glimpse of the scrawled-on paper still in Drove’s hand, the clockwork god easily catching on and turning it so Cannonade could see.

“You have any thoughts?”

The question did get a slight start, but Cannonade quickly withdrew into reading the actual text. He then, pulled back, resettling on his chair with his more transparent arms quietly folded in front of him. To John’s eyes, the whole of Cannonade’s being seemed to withdraw, folding in just a bit tighter like a nervous animal. The wind-being was also staring down at the table, only looking up when someone called his name.

“Cannonade? You alright?”

Cannonade’s windy frame rippled like a startled cat, eyes looking to Joe and then Drove as he tapped on the table.

“Did you have something you wanted to add?”

The clockwork god’s voice had gone quieter, that more gentle tone from before slipping back in. Cannonade fidgeted a bit more with hands, before seeming to close his eyes, and a new collection of sounds emanated from him.

Screams, crying, the sounds of guns and things clattering and smashing together. The final noise chilled John’s mind; the scream of a baby.

There was the thought in his mind that again, he couldn’t be sure. But, in that very moment, it was like someone had just taken the scream from his own memory and played it back. Though much closer and nearer; had Cannonade seen what John hadn’t?

The thought was…equally relieving, and more than a little ominous. But, what could they do about it now? Patiti was worlds away, and, with this implication, John knew he didn’t want to go back.

“…So, guess that’s a resounding yes to my question.” Drove spoke up, withdrawing and getting to his feet. “Also, thinking there’s a matter I need to deal with downstairs. I’ll show you out.”

“Thanks again.” Joe spoke up, the words hastening a bit of manners to the forefront of John’s mind.

“Th-Tha-Thank you…”

“Don’t mention it. And, well, us non-Aligneds do need to look out for each other. The Pantheons do it plenty, why the hell can’t we?”

Again, more of a sense of history, or implication, that John wasn’t quite privy to. Though he couldn’t help just being relieved that the ordeal seemed to be over. Following Drove, Tim, and Joe back down the stairs, the Horseman found that Cannonade had lingered behind him. It was hard to tell in the low light, but he had the feeling that the wind-being was still mulling over what he’d recalled.

But as John chanced a glance back, the movement caught Cannonade’s attention, the shifting, ethereal face brightening as he let out a chime. It was almost believable, if John hadn’t been paying attention for the past ten seconds. Reaching back, the Horseman proffered a hand in Cannonade’s direction, feeling a touch more assured as the sense of something loosely grasping his fingers registered.

It almost made him miss the door opening at the end of the stairs. But he didn’t miss a startled hiss from Tim, Joe’s softer oh hell, or the sounds of his own horse snorting and pawing at the courtyard floor.

The Horseman hurriedly turned his gaze forward, trying to see around the group. Given his slightly higher vantage point, he was able to see something over Tim and Drove. But… what he saw almost didn’t make sense.

It was…almost like a heat wave in the air? Hard to register, there and gone, but the more John tried to look, the more he could register this…gap. It was almost like seeing a blank space in the shape of a person.

And it was moving. The Horseman stiffened as he distinctly spotted a sort of rise to the shape, like a person straightening up. But there was nothing—

“Drove, we presume?”

The voice was another layer of wrongness, John feeling something crawl down his spine as it registered. Heard, yet not. Present, and somehow feeling like it was coming from everywhere. From this…not-person? This blank thing?

“John.” Joe’s voice caught the Horseman’s attention, his eyes jerking between looking at this thing and trying to actually see the Unknown Soldier. He…felt like he had to keep watching. Like it would move if he looked away. Like it would suddenly be much closer.

“John, focus on me. Looking at ‘em’s gonna give you a headache on top of an existential crisis. Focus on me.”

There was already the crawling feeling of something that should not be permeating John’s mind as he tried to pick out features, actually see what it was he was looking at. But, it was thwarting his attempts to do so, and worse still, this thing wasn’t alone. There was another blank standing seemingly behind it, or was it just the one? He couldn’t tell, but as Joe gripped the Horseman’s shoulder, it snapped John from his frantic daze.

“Look at me. Focus on me. Not them. They’re not here for you.”

That was…relieving. And finally made John’s smoldering eyes slide away from what was in front of him.

“Alright, can figure this is gonna be a fun talk…” Drove was saying, John internally wondering how the clockwork god could be so calm. Did, were these blanks just something that people saw every day?

But while there were plenty of questions battering at John’s mind, if not a good amount of frayed nerves, the Horseman kept quiet. Instead, he went with the others as Drove allowed them past, the clockwork god giving a more theatrical overture for the two blanks to join him upstairs. The words blurred a bit in John’s ears, especially since he had the unsettling feeling that one of the blanks was looking right at him. Somehow he managed to keep the tremble in his hands to a minimum, untying his horse and following Joe, Tim, and Cannonade out.

It wasn’t until the doors closed behind them that Tim directed them all to stop, steam still hissing from his facial vents as he spoke.

“Take a moment. Catch your breath.”

“The hell were those guys doing here?” Joe’s tone was definitely a bit crosser than John was feeling, but the Horseman wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.

“No idea. But they seemed to be here for Drove, not us.”

“Yeah, and it better stay that way. Damn spooks.”

Spooks? Was that what those were? Somehow John had the feeling that whatever he’d seen, it was a bit more damaging than a typical ghost. Seeing his confusion, Joe let out a noisy sigh before speaking up.

“Most you gotta know about those is that they’re nothing but trouble. Avoid them if you can. They stick their nonexistent noses into anything that strikes their fancy.”

“They are Sentinels. They maintain order for different dimensions, and make certain that elements of the In-Between do not enter those universes.” Tim’s words were matter of fact, though it left John gaping a bit. He…wasn’t even sure where to begin as far as asking questions, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answers. “They, dislike it when we, that is to say, entities like us, poke into different universes, either to take things or interfere with the people who live there. If you do that, then they will be after you. Though, they can have other reasons for wanting to talk to someone like Drove.”

“He runs this place. Maybe someone’s been dealing contraband again.” Joe’s words were tired, still with a touch of that irritation, though the soldier was already turning to his motorcycle. The conversation was, apparently, done for now. “C’mon. Let’s not just stand on the doorstep, don’t wanna still be here if those two leave this way.”

Hurriedly mounting his horse, John waited for Joe and Tim to settle in, wincing slightly at the roar of the motorcycle. Still, he pretty readily followed the pair back onto the road cutting over the grassy plains, slightly relieved at Cannonade’s telltale sound behind him.

Even though Joe and Tim hardly seemed frightened, John couldn’t help the distinct feeling of escaping from some unknown pursuit.

***

It was funny, coming back out onto the open plains of the In-Between, especially after experiencing the riotous, overwhelming bustle of the Market. By contrast, the In-Between was practically a safe haven for John’s mind. The Route snaked through a field of long, rustling grass, a plain that dipped and rose over mountains off in the distance like a sort of ocean frozen in the motion of creating waves. He could see forests, or perhaps the faded afterimage of one, off on the horizon. And the perpetual twilight was always above, a literal sea of stars drawing John’s attention up every few minutes.

Somehow, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of that, even as his memories lightly poked at him with the storm he’d encountered moments after leaving Patiti. In an effort to mollify them, John looked down and noted the presence of the Route once more. He couldn’t help noticing that it looked a bit different now, more…black? Flatter? His horse’s hooves also made a distinctly different sound as they clattered over it, reinforcing the change and reassuring the Horseman that it wasn’t just in his mind.

A quick glance told him that Tim was also taking in the shift too, the soldier’s metallic head turning this way and that as he considered the newer road and looked to some point on the horizon. John did catch a glimpse of Tim reaching over and getting Joe’s attention. Whatever the message was it was lost on the wind. But Joe reached up, waving to get John and Cannonade’s attention, and pointing to a small turn off on the road ahead.

Following Joe’s lead, the Horseman eased his mount to a slower trot, coming to the side of the Route and following the turnoff. John watched the more beaten black surface turn to something more comprised of harder dirt and earth, a little more familiar, leading into a sheltered knoll ringed in by trees.

As he was dismounting, he couldn’t help overhearing a small bit of conversation between Joe and Tim.

“Is this one of the smaller settlements?”

Smaller? John vaguely remembered the mention of the other cities, but he didn’t remember if any of them could be considered ‘smaller’. In fact, from the sounds Cannonade had provided, they had all seemed like monoliths in their own right. But before he could mull on it for too much, Joe absently replied,

“If it is, don’t think it’s one of the longer lasting ones. Not seeing any homes, or hearing any people. This might be a spot on its last legs as far as habitability.”

Then was it a good idea for them to stay here? Seeing how John hurriedly looked in their direction, Joe waved off the Horseman’s nonverbal concern.

“Think we’ll be fine for a bit. The Route wouldn’t have lead here at all if it was dangerous. More likely than not it’s just been abandoned. Nature tends to take over if that happens.”

The notion of people abandoning their habitations, especially considering what might be waiting for them out in the In-Between, had John trying to marshal his throat to speech.

“D-Does, do people, often abandon their, homes?”

Thankfully he didn’t have to repeat himself, Joe got the gist easily enough.

“If it’s one of the big cities, usually no. Places like Atlantis, El Dorado, even Patiti, maybe, they were built to last. Although…” A quick glance at the close gathering of trees surrounding them, John’s smoldering eyes following the Unknown Soldier’s line of sight. They looked tall but almost bunched in, like the land around them had rippled in some way and forced them together. Trying to look beyond them was even more difficult, but John could swear there were a few odd shapes sticking out from the straight lines the tree trunks made. Perhaps, a beam? Or maybe the remnants of a stone wall…?

“Yeah, there might’ve been something here at one point. Small town.” Joe hummed, drawing John’s eyes back to him. “But, things change, and the In-Between, well, it’s a big, constantly shuffling place. If there’s nobody keeping a place present, it eventually goes away. And, hopefully, everyone manages to get out.”

Implying that there were times when people didn’t, John looking at the Unknown Soldier with a quieter but no less fraught stare. It wasn’t missed, Joe coming over and resting a hand on the Horseman’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it. Not much that can be done now. Besides, if a place is collapsing, there’s signs. Only reason someone might not leave at that point is because they didn’t want to leave.”

Or couldn’t. Though John wasn’t sure he wanted to delve into such morbid things, especially when they were sitting in one of these collapsing places. Temporarily camping, whichever the term.

Though, even with John’s attempt to move beyond it, he still probably looked worried. Hence why Joe spoke up again.

“You know something I noticed?”

At John’s questioning look, Joe went on.

“You switch between both hands pretty readily when you’re writing. You started off with your right hand, and after Drove asked about…think it was the stuff involving Patiti’s culture. You started writing with your left. And then you went back to your right. You didn’t even really think about it, did you?”

The observation had John’s gaze yanking back down to his hands; God, had he done it so easily?! He hadn’t even paid attention—

A nudge at the Horseman’s shoulder jolted him from his spinning thoughts, his gaze snapping back up to Joe. The Unknown Soldier’s shifting eyes waited for the Horseman’s smoldering, jack-o-lantern gaze to meet his before going on.

“Hey, don’t get too wound up over it. It was just something I noticed. Though, speaking of…” Joe seemed to hum and haw for a moment, internally weighing his words before finally just coming out with it. “…I was also noticing something else, namely that you didn’t seem too happy talkin’ about things with the Aztec and Incan gods. Just, wanted to dig into that a bit.”

John, wasn’t so sure he wanted to do that. Especially since things had been going well. What, did they think he was going to do something untoward? Had the Horseman done or said something to indicate that he would behave poorly? Perhaps they were worried since he’d been exposed to a closed-off, potentially hostile culture…

“Hey, hey, nothin’ too crazy. Just, wanted to get into what you put down. Namely that whole business about…I guess getting a formal diagnosis from an Aztec war god. Especially since I know the pantheon guys of the old world often aren’t the easiest guys to talk to.”

Oh, well. That made a good amount of sense. John’s eyeline fell a bit as he reconsidered, wondering how much to say, and what he might be able to say.

“If it helps, I’ll try to keep things simple.” Joe went on, giving it some thought before launching carefully into the conversation. “So, you get involved in some kinda…dispute, right? And get pulled before this god?”

Yes and yes. John gave a nod, trying his best to both think back but not get… too close to the recollections. He didn’t want to freeze up or make it seem like he was being dishonest.

“Guessing that was likely an ordeal. So, you’re…talking to the god, and they, or, he, just told you you were a god of war and death? They just, dropped that?”

Well, yes. But it was a bit more involved than that, and John wanted to make sure the story was straight. So, marshalling his throat, the Horseman tried to both formulate what he was going to say, and actually say it.

“H-He s-s-said, I was, p-p-potentially, a god of war, and death. H-He gave, a blessing. The, the people, in the t’mple, swarmed me. I left that night, and…met…” John knew trying to say Cannonade’s name would be hard, so he simply gestured to the wind-being in question. Cannonade straightened at his inclusion, though there was a softer, almost comforting chime that came from him as he realized the importance.

Joe definitely was listening, though it took another long moment before he could marshal some kind of a response. Not that John blamed him, the Horseman would’ve needed a moment too. But for all of the responses John had been expecting, the Unknown Soldier threw a curveball.

“Honestly, hearing all of that, I’m amazed you didn’t try to make a break for it the second me and Tim started tossing around the concept of gods. Guessing Cannonade here was a big factor in that.” The last sentence had a fonder edge, directed at the wind-being himself who hopped to with a lightening face and a much happier chime. And, at John’s more disbelieving stare… “So, I drag you through a Market of all kinds of out-there things and you don’t immediately wanna run for the hills? You’re made of sterner stuff than I thought, Mister Horseman.”

“I-I didn’ mind, the Market. Was, loud, not…bad.” John replied, the frozen jack-o-lantern grin on his face feeling a bit more real in reciprocation to the smile in Joe’s tone. Though, when comparing Hephaestus and this… Huitzilopochtli, John could already see several major differences. Both had been standoffish, though perhaps that was a thing that came with divinity. John definitely didn’t mix well with the inhabitants of Patiti. But, when remembering how things had gone with Hephaestus versus Huitzilopochtli…

“I, wh-when I talked to…him. He spoke of…claiming my her-heritage. Spoke of…battles, and war. And…I do not think I want to be…cons’dered, the same as him…”

That was the core of the discomfort, really. John, the Horseman, he did not want to be like this Huitzilopochtli. He did not want to be like these gods that called for the murder of children. That reveled in death and bloodshed. That took sacrifices of others for their own power.

The Horseman had had the thought back in Patiti, and he still had it now; I don’t want to be a monster. Especially not now, when he had…what he definitely hoped were friends. A potential life eons away from that. That did not just consist of running, fighting, and dying. A real life. He didn’t just need to be the Horseman, an ashy shadow of some other time and some other war. He could be John too; he was starting to like being John.

He just hoped that he could be John for a little while longer. Maybe then, with being John under his metaphorical belt, being some warlike specter…

…No. It’d still hurt. But maybe knowing something else even for a little while would be a welcome reprieve.

“I don’t think you are, if it helps.” Joe’s more murmured words were quiet, but snagged the Horseman out of his thoughts like a snare on a rabbit. “For starters, two completely different cultures at play there. The Aztecs and the Inca, well, there was a reason their neighbors only liked ‘em so much, tends to be the downside of human sacrifice. But, I think you might be overlooking some things.”

Gesturing for John to sit, Joe settled down against a stone, taking another long moment to pull together his own thoughts. Tim had just finished igniting a small amount of wood and kindling for a campfire, Cannonade sending a flicker of wind to help the flames grow. There was a brief stab of recrimination on John’s part, perhaps he should have helped. But the larger share of his attention was drawn back to Joe as the Unknown Soldier took what looked like a compass out of his pocket. As his fingers turned it over and over, shifting eyes gazing meditatively into the building flames, he started to speak.

“Firstly, while there is a lot of blood and death in war, there are also moments of valor. True, most don’t want war to happen, and it’s plenty bad when it does, but it often delivers some inspiring stories. It’s a good thing to keep in mind with any concept, that there’s both good and bad sides.” That seemed to be the toughest part of the thoughts broiling in Joe’s mind, the green-gray uniform moving in a shrug as he grew more candid. “Folks say war is hell, and y’know what, they might be right. But if you don’t wanna be indicative of the bad, then maybe you can be the angel in hell for someone. Know they all don’t wear gowns and halos. Think a few of them carried swords.”

A hiss of steam heralded Tim leaning in, the War Machine having his own perspective to impart to the Horseman.

“Sometimes in life you have to fight for what you believe in, or to protect what is valuable to you. Could be a place, could be people. But you make that choice.”

Joe snapped his fingers, the smile not seen but heard as he pointed in Tim’s direction. “’Xactly, wise words from the War Machine.”

“You were talking a bit too much, Unknown Soldier. Though you came to the point rather well at the end there.” Tim replied, a metallic finger carefully poking the brim of Joe’s odd, domed helmet over his eyes. Pushing it back, a faint, almost echoey laugh came from the soldier’s shifting face, eyes creased with mirth as he settled in.

“Where do you think we will go from here?”

Tim’s question had Joe straightening, a second of internal calculation in his gaze before he resettled and put the compass back in his pocket.

“I dunno. Thinkin’ maybe just head into the first bigger city the Route takes us to and see where to go from there.” And, after a moment… “Think you both will be joining us for that?”

This question being directed at John and Cannonade, the pair looking up as they were drawn in. And, ended up looking at each other. There was a part of John that was somewhat pleased that the wind-being was, in his own way, considering the Horseman’s opinion. It felt like a return to their own time around their own campfire, back in Patiti. But, this was a bit different. Four people traveling together was something of a larger ask, though Joe and Tim knew this place far better than either of them did. And, that companionship John had noticed before, that definitely factored into things as well.

So much so that when Cannonade tilted his head, giving the Horseman his own approximation of a smile, John read it as an agreement that the wind-being too was fine with the arrangement.

At John’s nod, the Unknown Soldier gave a short bark of a laugh, clasping one of the Horseman’s hands in his own. His other hand swung up to meet one of Cannonade’s more loose appendages in an approximation of a handshake.

“Happy to have you both aboard!”

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