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Part Eight: Dreamwidth ~ Live Journal

The guard dog tugged at his leash, but he couldn’t escape. He whined and whimpered, but couldn’t make any other noise. He looked up at his so-called master and whimpered.

The look his master gave him was cold. “Sit. Stay. I’ve got preparations to do.”

Against his will, Nepharn the Dog sat and stayed. Around him, the village prepared for the attack, and here he was, with no way at all to break the defenses and let Gorjarn’s men in.

How had she known?

A skinny teenaged girl patted his head. “Good dog.” He thought the smile she gave him was far too vindictive. “Good dog, doing just what you’re told.

Nepharn the Dog whined. He had a feeling today was going to go very badly for him.

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Part One: Dreamwidth ~ Live Journal
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Fran woke up choking. She pulled herself out of bed and slipped through the town. Her throat was still clogged with smoke. It hadn’t worked. Everything was right, but it still hadn’t worked.

She paused to pet the guard dog who was waiting, where he always was, angry and twitchy but willing to let her touch him. He hadn’t been there when the fire came last time. He hadn’t been there when they’d been slaughtered the time before. Had someone cut him loose?

She knelt in front of the dog and muttered a series of Workings into his fuzzy ear. Then, she went to wake the Mayor.

This time it was going to work out.

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Fran woke the Mayor. “Gorjarn is coming. He’s going to demand me, but it doesn’t work out any better for your people if you give me over or don’t.” To the sleepy man’s face, she explained, “I’m a Ranger. We’re supposed to know things. This is what we’re going to do.”

She knew where all the weapons were. She set the mayor to waking up people and gathering them. She grabbed a team of sleepy farmers to repair the walls. Too many scouts had come through that weak spot, come up over the tree.

That left her free to do a series of protective Workings while she walked in circles around the camp, pointing out flaws and correcting weapons stances. They had only a few hours, and they were sleepy and confused. It might not work.

“Look,” she said, not directly to the teenager, but nobody else was around. “This might not work this time. But if it doesn’t work this time, it’ll work next time. Okay?”

Nobody answered her. Somehow she wasn’t surprised.

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Fran surrendered herself to Gorjarn, then watched as he destroyed Jackson anyway. She woke gasping for breath, the feel of the blade he’d killed her with still chilly and painful in her chest.

She paced the town from dusk until the moment Gorjarn for shouted her, noting everything, and then let him kill her again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

The teenager watched her through every incarnation, her eyes so wide, her jaw so set. Fran watched the teen, in turn. It was a shitty way to make a plan, but it was what she had.

She woke up at two past midnight, her chest burning. Gorjarn didn’t get any more creative with his murder, at least.

She was ready.

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Fran woke in the motel room as the sun was just starting to come up. She snuck up into the bell tower and hid, watching as the people of Jackson looked for her and failed.

She watched as they were overrun by Gorjarn’s people, each of them led off in chains. As they led away a skinny teenager, the girl looked directly at Fran, her eyes wide and terrified.

—

She woke early, shaking, curled in on herself from the way she’d fallen asleep in the bell tower. There had to be a better way.

She woke the villagers early and chivied and coaxed them out of town. They watched from a ridge miles away as Gorjarn burned Jackson to the ground. The teenager looked at Fran and shook her head.

—

Fran woke stiff and unhappy. She grabbed her gear bag and staked through the streets, looking for weapons. Spears, sure. Pipe torches, check. Baseball bats, check.

Jackson had three hundred adults and a third that many young children. If they could be armed…

…if they could be armed, it turned out, they might still be snuck up on by Gorjarn’s scouts, coming through the holes in the wall. The teenager screamed “Ranger”, a moment before Fran fell unconscious.

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Fran forced herself awake early. The night was still dark, but she could feel that the leaves she’d gone to sleep in had already transformed themselves into a cheap motel bed.

She’d done every protective Working on herself she could think of before going to sleep. It hadn’t worked. So someone very powerful was transporting her back to Jackson during the night…

…or someone was turning the clock back on Jackson to the day before. She swung her legs down, missed running into her gear bag this time, and headed out into town.

The antsy dog was sleeping in front of the supply depot. The weak spot in the wall was restored. The tree overhanging the wall didn’t have the raw place anymore where she’d scraped the bark. Far out on the horizon, she could see a force of people growing closer.

She woke the Mayor. They woke the defense force, such as it was. The pitiful force gathered in front of the gate, ten people to Gorjarn’s fifty warriors.

“Give us Franciszka the Denier!” Gorjarn shouted. The townspeople stared at Fran. Her, they could take. She was an easy target.

As she darted towards the wall, she saw one skinny teenager staring at her, eyes wide.

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Fran woke with a start. The world was too soft. She’d bedded down in an old substation, barricading the door behind her. She opened her eyes cautiously.

The polyester curtain was hard to see in the moonlight, but she recognized the pattern. Likewise the awful blanket over her. She swung her feet down, hitting her gear bag. That was the same place it had been the day before!

How was she here again? Fran hadn’t met anyone in the town good enough to pull her out of a concrete box without her noticing. What game were they playing? Time to confront them with it.

She grabbed her bag and headed out of the motel as if she belonged there. It was well before dawn, and only a few people were on the street. They smiled at her, as if nothing was wrong. Fran smiled back, wondering how they planned to betray her.

A teenager skidded up from the direction of the front gate. “There’s bandits up there! Gorjarn’s army! They’re demanding fealty!”

What, again? Fran frowned. This was all wrong.

The mayor patted the teenager on the shoulder. “We’ll get through it. We always do. What are they asking for this time.”

“The Ranger.”

All eyes turned to Fran. She spun on her heel and started running.

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Fran woke before the sun to the distinctive creak of polyester bedding. She pried herself up onto an elbow… ugly curtains from the 80’s. Uglier bedding from the same.

She checked her arms for needle marks, her head for lumps. Nothing. She’d fallen asleep high in a tree twenty miles from Jackson, on her way to get reinforcements and make a report.

She slipped out of bed, nearly landing on her gear bag – exactly where she’d left it. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice. From the sounds of things, the town was already awake. She snuck out of the motel the back way.

She could hear people talking, just on the other side of the motel. “…gates can’t hold…”

How were the gates still holding? How had they lasted a day?

“…trade the Ranger…”

No, still not doing that. She moved quietly, sticking close to the building. She couldn’t get to the weak spot in the wall from here, and they’d probably protected it, but there was an overhanging tree on this side…

“Franciszka! Give us Franciszka the Denier!”

They were still shouting for her? She shimmied up the tree as the townspeople started to yell.

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The sun rose. Fran woke to the dim glare coming in through curtains that would never rot. There was something to be said for the way cheap motels had used polyester for almost everything. Ten years after the End, and this one was still running.

She wasn’t here to rate hotels, though. She headed into the fortified town, barely missing an angry guard dog. Something was wrong; she could smell it. She was a stranger, sure, and everyone here hated strangers, but the Rangers were legitimate and she was legitimately here on Ranger business.

“…Gates…” she heard someone say. The town was walled, and not badly-done, either. Any town that had wanted to survive was walled. “…Trade the Ranger…”

Shit! That was it. It wasn’t distrust, it was betrayal. Fran started running. Somewhere on the gate, someone was shouting “Franciszka! Give us Franciszka the Denier!”

She skidded up to the weak spot she’d seen in their walls before anyone managed to catch up to her and clambered over. Rangers helped the townspeople, sure. But they could only do that alive.

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