The Escapist (21 page)

As he stood there a wind invisible to all others but himself blew through Etiainheim, calling his name, seducing him and his Itse to follow.  Its haunting song enticed them with the chance to stay together, to exist only amongst the cosmos in its unspeakable glory, to reside amongst the stars forever bright.  It was wonderful, and the more he gave in to the wind the surer he felt.  He was ready.

“Stop.”
A sharp tug at his hand closed his heart to the pulling winds and he looked down at his soul, the small mechanical boy whose face now frowned up at him. 

“It is not our time, there are others who need us!”
The child did not move his lips but instead spoke directly to Oscar’s mind and Oscar knew instinctively that he would be able to answer in turn.

“Ok, I'm sorry.”
he thought to the boy.
“I know.  How do we get to Vergil?  I don't know, ask George?  Piggy!”
He conversed with his Itse effortlessly, all thoughts and emotions instantly registered in one another so that the conversation was almost one-sided.  Other means of communication suddenly seemed superfluous, almost primitive.

Oscar looked up from his Itse, the course of action decided and hand in hand they walked together toward the jester.  Strangely, as they closed upon the small toy a myriad of voices arose, all clamouring to be heard.  They sounded like they belonged to Piggy but it was a sea of conversation with no coherent stream of thought to follow.  Abruptly Oscar let go of his soul's hand and the voices stopped.  He linked hands with his Itse once again.

“You can hear him through me.  We can communicate if you like?  Yes, I would like that.” 
Oscar's mind reached out into the myriad of Piggy's voices.
“George, it's me Oscar.”

The voices immediately turned their attention to Oscar, a jumble of competing dialogues.

“Oscar.  Hey Oscar. It's Oscar! My friend, my best friend.  Is he ok?  I don't know.  Hopefully…  I still have his pick, I could go see him.  Yeah…yeah!  Good idea.  Bet he needs cheering up, dealing with Edmund and the matrons.  Oh the matrons! Oh I hate Edmund.”
  But amidst the cacophony of thoughts came a stronger voice, drowning out all others.

“Hello Oscar.  Your Itse has been waiting for you.  You didn’t follow him the first time and he’s been watching for you ever since.  He often comes to see me though.”
The jester moved closer to the mechanical boy, jostling him in a friendly manner.  Overjoyed at the chance to communicate properly, Oscar spoke again.

“Oh Piggy, it is you, pal.  How have you been?”

“We’re fine now.  The electrostation is hard work, but we are well looked after.”
Oscar saw flashes of Cid the foreman and a stone golem as though Piggy’s Itse had relayed the memories from both sides for him.

“We tell Cid about you, you know?  We ask him to try and bring you here. We miss you.”

“I can't come yet mate, I have to help the other children – the toys.  I must stop Edmund and the vultures, the matrons.  Otherwise they will keep on suffering until it’s too late.”

“We hate Edmund and the matrons, we understand.  We want to be at you side to fight as well.  But we are two parts of the same person and not everything can be done on this side.  Our mind forgets Edmund and makes it hard for us to follow.” 
The jesters face showed a frown, his stitched mouth and half moon button eyes looking sad.

“It’s okay.” 
Oscar interjected again. 
“I understand.  Though did you see which way they headed - the rat or cat?  The black beast and the broken toys?”

“They took the train one after the other. The rat looked injured, they were slow to follow.  Cid tells us the trains head to the coal mines – that or the front lines of the war.”

“Which one did they take?”

“This one.”
The jester point to a track, though Oscar was disappointed to see it was not so blackened with coal dust as many of the others.  He had a bad feeling about it, not least upon seeing a familiar looking link which glinted in the half light near the rails.  He turned back to the jester to confirm his suspicion.

“Wait, was there a knight?”

“Hmm, a knight?   We did not really notice, but maybe.”

“Thank you George, we...”
The boy looked down at his own Itse, then up to the jester.
“We miss you too.  Can you try and show your mind – the other part of you - that I'm ok and will try to get to him soon?”

“I will try. Goodbye friend.”  
And with that the jester turned around and sprung off back towards the electrostation.  Oscar turned back to the tracks, picking up the armoured link as he went and adding it to his collection.   He moved over to the particular track indicated by the jester to wait for a locomotive to draw near.  Oscar's Itse turned to him.

“I must change.  Why?  We cannot spend too long together.  It's not our time.  It will only hurt more later if not.  I know.”

Taking
his silence as acceptance but with a visible effort, the mechanical boy pulled away leaving Oscar suddenly numb.  Immediately he began to fold in upon himself, metal sliding over metal, each movement making the metallic mass smaller.  Soon all that was left was a mottled brass key, lying next to the tracks.  Without the boy, Oscar felt strangely cold and empty - a sensation that he now realised had been with him ever since stepping foot into Etiainheim but which could only be noticed after experiencing the joy of being united with his soul.  And in fact, he reflected, this was the very purpose for which he had first found himself in Etiainheim, the result of being so close to death. 

Alone again, Oscar felt as though he might break down at any moment.  He could not face this on his own, not now.  Yet as he stooped and grabbed the key off the floor a flood of warmth re-entered his body, coursing gratefully through his blood stream.

“I will still be here for you!  I know.  Don't be upset, I will help you communicate with other souls.  Try not to connect too often though.  It will only hurt us more later on.  Okay, I'll miss you.  As will I for you.”

Filled
with a sense of security once again, Oscar relinquished the key into his pocket. Its lingering bliss remained reassuringly close to hand and -for now- he resisted the urge to succumb to it.

Chapter 19

The track stretched off into the distance, as if a line had been drawn into the earth all the way to the horizon.  At first Oscar had walked alongside the tracks looking for an engine to carry him, but the packed mass of coal carriages and locomotives at the depot meant he did not have to wait long until a train was headed his way. 

When it arrived, it was no ordinary train.  But then nothing ever was in
Etiainheim, he reflected, rather pleased that this should be the case.  As with the crimson dragon he had observed earlier, the locomotive which headed the train had a more lifelike quality than a traditional engine.  Its arrival was announced by the distant sound of horse hooves clopping slowly across the ground, but to Oscar's delight this did not result in the arrival of anything like the creatures he was so familiar with seeing back in Singeard. 

Instead, the arrangement that now approached him was a wooden Pegasus, four times the size of any ordinary horse and bound with metal sleeves and rivets like a cooper would bind a barrel.  Decorative wings protruded slightly from the main body, folding back on themselves so that they were displayed proudly against the flank.  It was an impressive structure but one which Oscar’s instincts told him was not an Itse.  Thinking back to Vergil’s theories on the surroundings in Etiainheim, he presumed the Pegasus could only therefore represent the collective impressions people had subconsciously given; in this case to a particular locomotive.  And although the construction showed some elements of equestrian behaviour, its soul-less origins could be glimpsed every now and then through the disjointed and mechanistic mannerisms.   

Trailing from the reins of the Pegasus was a convoy of carriages which shunted behind it in time with its laboriously slow, steady trot.  Each carriage was small and square, with varying levels of cargo.  There was no clear apparatus from which to board and so as the winged horse passed, Oscar scrambled up quickly onto the nearest half-empty carriage.  He nimbly avoided the wheels, springing from a connecting rod and used the wooden boards on the side of the carriage as hand holds to haul himself up and over.  Using the cargo as a perch he was able to sit quite comfortably, his upper body level with the lip of the carriage so that he could maintain a view of his surroundings.

The train moved along frustratingly slow, only slightly quicker than if he were to alight and jog alongside.  Bit by bit the electroplant and nearby town grew smaller in the distance until -by what he judged to be midday- they were just a blur of blue flashes in a patch of grey smog on the horizon.  The Pegasus train cut across field after field and only once the town was little more than a speck did the locomotive finally begin to gain pace. 

First there was a steady increase in the clopping sound, which grew in magnitude faster and faster, louder and louder, until eventually the horse broke into a full gallop with all legs pounding at the rails.  The carriages pulled at their reins, the weight of the cargo straining slightly against the irresistible force.  Yet still the rate of acceleration did not abate and the beating sound grew in frequency and volume, the earth now roaring in reply.  Field after field hurtled by in a spectrum of greens and yellows and the wind whipped violently at Oscar, threatening to carry him away.  It was exhilarating and terrifying and the boy grasped the carriage tightly to stay aboard. 

As the velocity of the train seemed to reach its climax, another noise broke across the crescendo of galloping hooves and the roaring wind.  An incredible creaking sounded out and as Oscar watched, the two wings of the Pegasus unfurled awkwardly from the body.  They were broader in span than Oscar ever imagined possible and stretched out horizontally, flapping rapidly until the sails along the wooden frames caught the air.  The carriages strained against their reins once again, as a jolt was followed rapidly by the sudden transfer of sound: the roaring hooves ceased and all that remained was the whooshing beat of flapping wings.  The convoy stabilised in speed and Oscar watched in astonishment as the horse flew gracefully just yards above the tracks, its load buffeted along gently in the slipstreams behind it.

Hanging over the edge of his carriage, the boy flew across the landscape. Towering bridges spanned great lakes of pure blue crystal water which perfectly mirrored the sky.  Natural tunnels paved their way through hills and forest, zigzagging between the tallest trees.  Oscar passed them with only fleeting memories, enraptured as he was.  It was not long however until a deeper sense of melancholy swept across him.  The changes were reflected almost imperceptibly in the features of the landscape.  It may have been the fading in the colour array or the faint fragrance of smoke in the air; either way Oscar could not rid himself of the gradual feeling of depression that imposed upon him as they passed.

The sense of entropy persisted as all vivid hue was washed from the earth and bled out of the sky.  Even the sun seemed to lose its vigour, now appearing as a dying star fighting to burn what little it could to sustain a flame.  As though losing its momentum in this bleak and hardened landscape, the train gradually decelerated, breaking into a gallop and folding back its wings.  The carriages too sank back down to the rails, rocking slightly but finding purchase to sit true once again.  As one, the convoy ground to a halt.

Oscar finally had time to look around properly.  They were apparently on the outskirts of a small village ravaged by the guns of a not too distant war.  Piles of rubble sat where houses had once stood.  The few Itse who remained looked downtrodden and shaken, grey creatures beleaguered by years of suffering.  To Oscar’s eyes there was a sense of the toys about them, not dissimilar to how he had first seen them at the Institute: not necessarily wrong, or even polluted but neglected somehow.

He waited hopefully for the horse to move on, but to his dismay the mechanical beast stood motionless.  The machine had stopped, not even shifting with the mannerisms it had previously displayed.  It was as though some hidden figure had simply flicked a switch and turned it off.  But Oscar was reluctant to alight into these gloomy lands.  Reaching inside his pocket for reassurance, he touched the key and the welcome warmth came to his heart.

“Where are we?  I don't know, I think we are nearing the front lines.  I am worried - where is Vergil?  We can’t do this alone.  Do not fret, just follow your instincts.  We will get there soon.”
Oscar released the key and a chill returned, though he felt slightly better nonetheless.  He climbed down from the Pegasus and cautiously began to make his way through the village.

Walking along the cracked pavements Oscar could see Itse cowering in the few houses that still remained.  They ducked into crumbled alcoves as he walked past, fearful of what new miseries a strange presence might bring.  Small fires burnt everywhere - the only warmth in a harsh environment - and smoke lined the air.  To Oscar, the village appeared as a deck of cards on the brink of collapse.  Stone and brick walls mirrored the deterioration of the souls, so fragile that the slightest encouragement might topple them.  His hand wavered over the key as whispers of worried voices sought him out; each one scared or upset, lamenting lost loved ones and calling out in anguish.

“Ohhhh, leave me alone, why won't you go and stop haunting me.  I could not save you, i'm sorry I...”

“...will they stop, this bloody war, why can't...

“...her, my baby.  Hush now.  She was so young!”

“Mustn't, no.  Never ever go to the cemetery, that's where… where they haunt… where they...”

The last comment resonated with Oscar, who at that very moment had been gazing up at a hill where the spire of a church was visible through the surrounding mist.  It stood out starkly, the waning sun striking it in such a way that it was illuminated from behind.  Seeing little to catch his interest in the crumbling village that surrounded him, Oscar set off towards the church following a path that cut through the centre of the ruins and up the hill.  It was depressing to be in this small village, for -unlike the town and the electroplant- there was no colour at all, no life to either the Itse or the surroundings.  Living on the frontlines was clearly taking its toll.

During his life Oscar had never known the full story of what was happening in the war.  All anyone received was whispers from an unseen government to ‘keep up the effort’ and ‘knuckle down’.  Newspapers occasionally showed a picture of some decorated soldier or new artillery gun or barrage balloon to be sent off, but that was it.  It was as though they were being informed of the latest fixtures in a game no one wanted to play and yet no one had the energy to say 'enough'.  But for these souls, these people, it was a living torment.  The most they could wish for was that the conflict would move elsewhere.

Passing through the centre of the village, Oscar realised it must not have always been like this.  Maybe there was a time when the front lines were further away, perhaps even a time before the war had started, when the village would have been just a quiet little place of no particular importance.  It may have been quite pretty; a quaint area that fitted unassumingly with the surroundings.  Either way it could not have been the sorry place it was now.  Contemplating the structures on the brink of collapse, Oscar had a sudden desire to visit it in Singeard, to see what physical damage had actually taken place.  But then again, maybe this was enough, for he was seeing how people felt and that was surely the truest representation of any damage.

The village was a sombre place, but the misery of its people was reflected most tellingly in the church. The moment Oscar started up the hill towards it he felt there was something odd about the place.  While the tired building looked ordinary enough from afar, once he was close enough to take in the detail he could see the church was sculpted out of thousands upon thousands of anguished and sorrowful stone faces.  Contorted and surreal, the tormented visages formed the walls and arches and adorned the window panes.  The net effect was overwhelming: it was a distressing sight that made him want to turn heel and run, and yet he forced himself not to. 

Reaching the main entrance, Oscar cautiously peered around the two large doors that opened into the nave.  Either side of the aisle a scattering of souls resided, all of them grey and lacklustre like those he had witnessed in the village.  They murmured in unison; a melancholy hymn, though one so quiet as to be barely audible.  The Itse swayed back and forth gently, conducted in their droning chorus by a similar being who stood behind a pulpit. Though he had a clear view from a raised platform, the Itse took no notice whatsoever of the boy peering so curiously upon the congregation.  In fact, concentrating more closely, Oscar perceived the soul to be so withered and old that he might fail to notice even if the walls were to fall down around him.  Indeed the Itse’s character was so aged that cobwebs and insects adorned the folds and patches of the grey robe which draped from his shoulders.  His eyes were closed as though asleep and his bony hands swayed to direct the audience as though they had a will of their own.  Strangest though was the shackle at his foot which tied him bodily to the pulpit.  And, looking round, Oscar noticed that he was not the only one.  In fact all the Itse were shackled in some way or other, whether it be to each other or the pews: they were all bound inescapably to the building.

Oscar was so engaged with the scene before him, that he let out a small cry as something brushed past his legs.  None of the covenant showed even the remotest sign of having noticed but looking down, Oscar was both shocked and delighted to see a mottled orange feline twining around his ankles.  Just as he was about to stoop and stroke her, a thought occurred to him and he reached instead for the key to bridge the gap in communication.  As soon as his hand neared it, a cacophony of voices bombarded him.  At first he couldn’t pick out the individual personalities in amongst the mingled contributions from those in the church.  Yet as he focused his mind, Josie's voice rang out across all others.

“Oscar, it's Oscar!  Hurray for Oscar.”

“Josie! I'm so glad to see you. Are you ok?”

“Well, we suppose, but it’s hard.  The others are mean, they always bully us.  We miss our old friends.  We miss you too.”

“It's ok. I'm here now, in
Etiainheim at least.  We can continue together. Do you know where Vergil is?”

“Vergil? We do not know Vergil.  The man-rat is this way though, he has been waiting for you.”

Oscar’s heart leapt at these words and he turned eagerly to follow the cat, tucking the key carefully back into his pocket as he went.

The cat led Oscar around to the back of the church building, flying just above a well trodden path that led over to the cemetery.  Sitting high up on the statue of a crying angel, the rat was waiting and jumped up excitedly in recognition of his approaching friend. 

“Oscar, dear Oscar!  It's good to see you.”  Vergil winced in pain with the effort of such enthusiasm, but did not let that stop him.  In the next moment he had vanished in the usual puff of blue smoke, reappearing on Oscar's shoulder and pinching the boy’s cheeks. “You look well.  Better than the last time I saw you.”

“I could say the same for you.” Oscar laughed.

“Yes, well, nasty blow that.  Should be fine though.  It will heal in time, besides I’ve have had my fair share of knocks and scrapes.” Vergil replied, though Oscar could not help but worry that the rat was in more pain than he let on.

“Glad to hear it.
” he joked back. “Would have been a shame to get rid of you. So…how did you get here?”