Banner Men
ISIAH GHOST
A rush of wind caught a breeze in the perma-cold of the Droke, hitting the body core like an ice cold hand grasping the insides as Isiah Ghost exited the Hall of Delights - one of the many Whore Houses in Prudence that nestled amongst the Gambling Houses and Information Houses. It was all part of Isiah's varied duties, to empty these establishments of their profits and transport them to Prudence's heavily guarded Coffers. The Hall of Delights was one of a handful of BDSM Houses, often and fully frequented by the most, and the least, despicable people in the Droke - from the Four Houses combined.
And those members of the Four Houses came and spent their money; for which they were whipped, bitten, burned and slapped - not only that, they Wagered on the War, bet on the Machines in the Battle Grounds which had been in perpetual war since long before anyone could remember.
First came the war of man versus man. Soon this practice stopped, when many realised they could simply use animals that had been mutated by What Came Before, out in the vast Wastelands, and breed them for fighting. But the creatures died much too easily and were eventually too difficult to train in the quick turnover. So the battlers created organic machines; something of metal, rubber and plastic housing a remedial creature's brain. This quickly became the preferred method of warfare, as these organic machines could battle day and night, winter or summer. All weathers.
And still the perpetual war existed between the Four Houses, though the original meaning of what brought them to conflict in the first instance had long become lost to the Histories. To the Four Houses it was no more about winning or losing. It was a war of pride. It also had become an excuse for technical development, still with room for subterfuge and cunning, not to mention the nasty web of Wagers, taken on the smallest loss of a piece of metal plating to a malfunction on a massively destructive scale. It was a distraction to the real wars and battles of the Houses; machinations a little less obvious and better hidden.
The Battle Ground itself covered several miles of the Droke - through hills, mountains, forests and lakes, also old dead towns and villages. The whole area was a grid many squares long and wide, like a mega chess board stretching from one side of the horizon to the other. Almost no one was foolish enough to venture there, though it turned out to be a fantastic place to hide, provided you could dodge the battling Machines, their ordinance, the great rolling treads, the unexploded weapons and the massive chopping bullets, large enough to obliterate you in one shot. If you could survive all that, then sure, it was a great place to hide.
While everyone had their own agenda, occasionally those agendas clashed.
But Isiah Ghost, he had what he called Conditional Loyalty. He remained loyal to Prudence, its people and Madam Severity, only because Severity helped him out when he needed it most.
Isiah Ghost had been one of those crazy hiders in the Battle Grounds once, and Madam Severity's Engineers had taken pity on him, as had Madam Severity herself.
These damned tattoos.
Isiah almost wished he'd never had them, but he was young, out in the Wastelands, being brave - or stupid - on a hunt for supplies, which were abundant there for the foolhardy to find, and one or two tattoos didn't seem that far-fetched an idea to have done. Being in the Wastelands, though, odd things began to happen. They began to talk to him. And he talked back. It was a novelty at first, quite amusing and distracting. Eventually they began to drive him mad, and he hid out in the Battle Grounds, where madness seemed a common trait. Machines blowing other Machine's heads off was his daily tableau. It was different now, though. Oh, they still drove him mad, those tattoos, but he was less mad than he had been. Or at least he hoped so.
He neared the end of his daily routine when the Weeping Eye on the back of Isiah Ghost's neck whispered something to him. Unfortunately he wasn't paying enough attention to it, hence when the bludgeoning blow came to the back of his head, it took him by surprise. Suddenly everything went black.
#
When he regained consciousness, things were still black, but this new darkness was of material making. Some kind of bag had been placed over Isiah Ghost's head and his breathing was becoming shallow in the quickly filling carbon dioxide air pocket. His head was spinning, more than usual. He could hear two men talking. One was called Fenny, the other Gant. It seemed Fenny was sure, but Gant was not.
"Fenny, it's a Banner Man! Are you fucking crazy?"
"Might be. But he's worth it. He's worth a lot."
"You, however are a worthless piece of shit." This voice came from Isiah.
"What did you say?" asked Fenny, snatching the bag from Isiah's head. Isiah took a deep, necessary breath. Fenny repeated himself.
"It - it wasn't me." pleaded Isiah, "It was him."
"Him who?"
"Him." explained Isiah, pointing to the face of a Clown, tattooed to his right bicep. This Clown head wasn't alone. It was joined by two other heads; one of a Stunning Woman, of Spanish descent, and the other of a Crew Cut, Square Faced Man, Smoking a Blunt of a Cigar. The lady was called Fair, the cigar sucker Battle. The one who had spoken was called Mockery.
"Jesus, Fenny! He's fucking mad!"
"Shut up Gant. You know why you're here?" asked Fenny of Isiah.
"Yup."
"So best you just sit there and shut up, so you get returned in one piece. Capisce?" said Fenny with pointed finger.
"You'll get no ransom for us, you know. Madam Severity don't pay for employees." explained Battle.
"Well, I might just have to kill you, then." shrugged Fenny. Gant shifted uneasily.
"Go ahead. Better do it to me, afore I do it to you."
Fenny reeled on Isiah, "Who do you think you are?"
"I dunno, but one of us better learn it fast. My fists are about to explode on yer." smiled Battle. Fenny threw the bag back over Isiah's head, "That it? That all yer gunna do? What a shitbag." continued Battle.
Gant got to his feet and moved over to where Fenny was standing, "Come on, Fenny! Let's just go! Leave him here? They'll think the Battle Grounds got him!" As if in way of punctuation, a massive explosion sounded in the near distance, followed by a rending of metal. They were close to the Battle Field. Close, but not too close. Fenny and Gant were desperate, not stupid. Okay, they were a little stupid, but the desperation outshone the stupidity.
Fenny was an Engineer, and Gant was a Programmer. They had fallen into debt after some Wagers went askew, even though they were guaranteed sure-things. So sure were they, that it was Fenny and Gant who had perpetrated the original crime. And they certainly didn't want an inevitable visit from the giant Child. They had grown accustomed to their limbs over the years, and they were quite keen to keep them, as it turned out.
Desperate men do desperate acts, however. Kidnapping a Banner Man was amongst the very last ideas that should occur to even the most desperate of people. In their case, it was their first. Well, Fenny's first. Gant became aware of the kidnapping when he entered the old decrepit house in a long dead town on the outskirts of the Battle Field, where Fenny had tied Isiah Ghost up and stuck a bag over his head. When Gant had seen the Banner Man there for the first time, he said, "Fenny, it's a Banner Man! Are you fucking crazy?" which is where he came in.
#
It was quiet at last, and Isiah assumed he had fallen asleep, perhaps from the lack of oxygen. Fenny and Gant really didn't know how to kidnap. Keeping the victim alive was an important aspect, or else what would there be left to ransom?
Isiah shifted uneasily as Mockery came to life.
"Ghost. Hey Ghost! So, you been lost like this before?"
"Don't want to talk about it, Mockery. Not the time for humour."
"But, I don't know, you seem to be trapped? Tied up? Kidnapped?" the tattoo laughed.
"Leave him alone, Mockery. Poor guy's sad. You're sad, aren't you?" Isiah nodded.
"Oh do pipe down, Fair. Your opinion is as worthless as the skin you're drawn on!" countered Mockery.
"He needs to grow up, get a pair! Only way he'll learn!"
"You tell 'em Battle!" laughed Mockery again.
Sometimes, just sometimes, Isiah Ghost wished they would all shut up.
#
Isiah woke to hear Fenny and Gant's further diatribe.
"Let's take him to the Battle Grounds, Fenny. Just leave him there."
"No. We've come too far. Do you want that beast Child to remove your leg? 'Cause that's what's going to happen if we let him go."
"No. No! Not murder, Fenny! I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a murderer!"
"Look, I made a mistake, I know that now. Just a rush of blood to the head. I saw him there, alone, without his squad. I thought, hey, here's an opportunity not to be missed? Quick clout round the head, and whoomp! Instant cash!"
"'Cept it isn't is it, Fenny? We're right royally fucked, aren't we, Fenny?!"
"Let me think awhile."
Alas, for Isiah, he found blackness again.
#
Isiah, after some unknown period, was awake, and he had been for some time. There were no sounds, save the clattering of metal, the rending of Machine and the endless, endless guns. There was something comforting, even homely about it for Isiah Ghost. He had spent many an hour sitting up at night, listening to the sounds of destruction outside his non-existent window, back when he was mad, or rather when he was young.
Oh, but oh, but oh. He was so depressed, desperate and lonely right now.
The Razor Wire tattoo tightened its grip, drawing inky blood from Isiah's left forearm. He was becoming tense, and a self-harm tattoo was just the remedy. It also paid into Isiah Ghost's personal peccadillo. See, he was a masochist at heart, and the pain eased the release of endorphins into his blood. It didn't kill the voices. The voices were always there. Waiting.
That's it! Give up! Then, finally, silence! So easy. They want to kill me anyway. That constituted the majority of Isiah's thoughts.
And then Emily Crowe, the tattoo Girl With the Bird in Hand, in the Oval Frame, taking up position on the same arm as the three heads, except lower down on the forearm, began to talk. Her voice soothed Isiah, ever such a little bit, but enough.
"Don't give up, Isiah. What of duty? What of loyalty? What of bravery?"
"What about them?"
"You have a place in this world, Isiah. People rely on you, even if you think they don't. Madam Severity relies on you, even if you think she doesn't. There are the small people too, those you protect; those you help, even when you think you don’t. They will never say it, but they need you too. Prudence needs you. I need you, Isiah."
Isiah didn't need to hear any more - for Emily Crowe, he would do anything, "Okay. For you. For you I will do what you're asking."
"Thank you Isiah. Without you I am nothing."
"Ditto, Em."
This time, Mockery, sensibly, kept his inked mouth shut.
"Girl with bird speaks truth." added the Oriental Dragon on his competing upper arm. It was sometimes less Confucius, more Confusing. Despite its redundancy, the Oriental Dragon included, "They come."
Isiah heard the angry mutterings of Fenny and Gant getting closer. It was difficult to hear exactly what they were saying, but it went something like this;
"You do it."
"No you do it."
"I told you, I'm not doing it, Fenny!"
"You have to."
"Why do I have to?"
"I did the getting."
"So? It was your idea."
"It was our idea."
"Not kidnapping a Banner Man, it wasn't!"
"Get his Banner."
"His what?"
"His Banner. Banner Men carry them, as an emblem of the House they protect. He who holds it holds the power of the House."
"What good is that going to do us?"
"Maybe we can, I don't know, sell it back to Mother?"
"Sell it? To Madam Severity? Now I know you're mad, bonkers, totally flipped your lid!”
"I don't know. Maybe another House would want it?"
"But -"
"Just get it, Gant."
"Alright! Alright. Right. It's - it's here, in his pock - there! Got it! Uhm, here. Now what?"
"The knife."
"I told you, I'm not doing it."
"Do it Gant!"
"I - said - I'm - not - agh!"
"Shit! I'm sorry - Gant? Oh shit! Oh shit!"
All Isiah could hear was a strange kind of gurgling - an all too familiar sound. Fenny removed the bag from Isiah Ghost's head. Fenny was scared. Very scared. And very dangerous. Fresh blood dripped from the knife he held before him. He slowly backed away from Isiah.
"Right! I suppose I've got to do it now. Okay. Right."
#
Mockery, in the darkness, had begun.
"Look, Ghosty. I know we don't see eye to eye, but, well, survive, or I'm gonna kill ya! No, seriously. Survive. And just for this one time, I'll help."
"Magnanimous as ever," said Fair, "Isiah, my favourite boy. Remember, the life led without adventure is a life not lived at all. Or something like that. You know, this all reminds me of a story about a young man -"
"Oh, Jesus. Not one of your stories?" interrupted Mockery, mockingly.
"Shut up, Mockery, you odious, effusive turd. Anyway, as I was saying, there was this young man who once did the most foolhardy of things. No, not foolhardy - adventurous! That's it. Adventurous. Anyway, he would venture into the Wastelands, regardless the danger. He would do what must be done, to feed himself; to feed those round him. Okay, he went a bit mad, but that young man is still in there, in that frightened, timid, overemotional shell we all know and love. Isn't it, everyone?"
"Don't tell me - is the young man to which you refer Isiah Ghost?" smirked Mockery. Fair shot him a murderous look.
"Yeah, what they said." expressed Battle, emotionally, "Just kick 'em in the nuts! If that fails, punch 'em in the throat."
"Though tattoos do not suffer consequences of actions, they nevertheless want survive." explained The Oriental Dragon.
"Yes, Isiah. You must survive. Do it, you brave boy!" said Emily Crowe. The little bird in her hand fluttered its delicate wings in approval. The Kanji tattoo, which, much to Isiah's chagrin, spelled out the word 'Twat', suddenly changed to the Kanji character, 'Strength'. The Weeping Eye in its benevolence also whispered its agreement.
And the Mjolnir tattoo, filling Isiah's whole fist with its Runic Magnificence, suddenly woke, lifted wispily from its epidermic haven, to connect with Fenny's exposed and upturned throat. It was followed by the most awful crunch, and Fenny dropped like the corpse he had become - dropped in a heap on the floor.
"Nice punch!" enthused Battle, and the guns of the Battle Field rang a chime of bullets seemingly to the victory, but Isiah himself was laid low, perhaps from shock, but more likely from weakness. They had not fed him at all. Not even a mutated rat. He remained there, amongst the bodies of his captors, until he was strong enough. The tattoos, unusually, stayed quiet.
As soon as he could move, Isiah Ghost got to his feet and walked out of the collapsing house, where the sky was dark with thick smoky clouds over the Battle Fields. Those clouds were tinged with red, orange and a touch of yellow, accenting the fires, the firing of guns and the pollutive Machines below.
Tomorrow was going to be a bright day, it seemed. Not over the Battle Fields, of course. Because nothing penetrated that thick black cloud. Not even that burning, constant star up there somewhere.
The beautiful Raven, inked on and right across his chest, rose ephemerally from its nest into the air, searching and probing. It dived, it spun and eventually frittered away to nothing, returning to its place on Isiah Ghost's skin. He then turned his palm over, where there was drawn a Ship’s Compass. The eight spikes, alternating white and black, spun rapidly at first, then slowed until the Compass found its point. House Prudence. That way a bit.
As he left the scene, Isiah stopped briefly to retrieve the Banner, the deep crimson cloth with the Emblem of House Prudence and its Ruler, Madam Severity, from the dead Engineer, Fenny. It was clutched in a dead man's grip, and Isiah Ghost had to break the fingers to release it.
After all, what would a Banner Man be without his Banner?
Isiah Ghost knew that, despite his reservations he had a purpose, and his purpose was in that direction; Prudence. Prudence was his purpose.
After all, he still had profits to collect before the close of business.
No comments:
Post a Comment