Barty Kite

2nd of Thraous, in the Waning within the 2nd year of the 3rd Cycle of the 1st Generation, 2:00 p.m.

                Barty sat in the tilled dirt playing with little figurines of horses and lions. Men passed on either side carrying metal and wood. All around him there arose the frame of what would become a grand circus building. The underground sections had been built by his grandfather Felca for when he pitched his red and white tent. Among the working men strode a tower of a man, hands behind his back, bellowing instructions that everyone jumped to obey, that was his father, Sefca. Barty stopped playing and jumped up to hug his father, Sefca reached down and patted him on the head before gesturing around himself. “Do you like how it looks so far?”

                “It’s bigger.” Barty said staring up at the metal beams joined together far above his head.

                “Yes,” the older man nodded, “far bigger than my father’s tent and it will be yours one day.”

                Barty nodded but he felt a knot inside, “It’s so far from mom, and from home.”

                “Just during the darkest months when people need levity the most, he waved his hand it will not seem like such a long time when you are older.”

“Why doesn’t mom come with us?”

Sefca sighed and rubbed his forehead, “travelling doesn’t agree with your mom she always feels sick when going such a distance, the rocking of the boat and the increased power of Inchemy she did come when you were younger, but she was always miserable, the separation is hard but…” Sefca looked at Barty then cleared his throat. “I have business to attend to so I must go, food is already prepared and is in the fridge.”

                Barty just nodded and watched his father leave to enter a vehicle that had just turned up. Sefca opened the door to get in and Barty noticed a woman in a business dress and red lipstick in the seat beside his father. Barty recognized her, the head of the contracting company his father was working with.

18th of Prios, in the Waning of the 2nd year, 4:00 p.m.

Barty walked with his father, Sefca, down the busy streets. Fishermen bustled all around carrying netting and baskets and the smell of brine, sweat, and alcohol reached his nostrils. His shirt was soaked through due to the stifling humidity and heat, he breathed deeply, and smiled, he was home. He was back on the island of Fac’con, a tiny island province within the nation of the Seffalon Islands.

                His father had expected construction to last five months, but due to fewer storms than expected construction had lasted four. They were going to surprise his mother though not because of any romantic notion on his father’s part but due to the unreliable nature of the towers. They hadn’t been able to call her from Nexus city and his father didn’t want to spend to many G’s at the pay phone trying. Even when they could have called from their ship his father had been unable to connect even with the unlimited tries. “…I still do not understand the construction of those communication towers, millions of tax dollars for something that barely works.” His father grumbled as they came to their manor near the center of town. The house was a tasteful mix of the modern and the classic island hut look. With treated exposed lumber and a faux thatch roof, but with all the expected amenities you would have in a big city.

They came to the door and swung them open, Barty dashed in calling, “Mom, Mom, We are hoooooome!”

                From his parent’s room came a rustling and a man Barty did not recognize slunk out sheepishly. Barty knew what had happened, yet he was surprised when his father held the door for the man and let him leave. Barty’s mother, a thin woman with raven black hair came out crying and making excuses, Sefca just hugged her and kissed her, her shoulders dropped, obviously relieved. “Do not worry, my wife, I will not hold you to a higher standard than that which I hold myself.”

                They ate and His mom just kept a loving hand on his father the whole time. Being tucked in both kissed him on his forehead, his mom read a short story to him then smiled and told Barty that she loved him.

In the middle of the night Barty’s mouth grew dry and he called for his mom to get him water. When no reply came, he shrugged and got up and walked to the fridge. As he passed his parents’ room, he heard wheezing, sounds of a struggle, coming from the bedroom, curious he peeked through the slightly cracked door to see his father on top of his mother putting his bodyweight down on her throat. He began to shake, and tears ran down his face as he slowly turned and left going back to his room where he curled up and stayed all night and all the next day until the police arrived and came into his room asking him questions, all of which he answered honestly. His father was then arrested for murder, for strangling his wife, he had apparently called the police and told them what he had done.

11th of Nextious, in the Waning of the 3rd year, 4:00 p.m.

After a year and a half Sefca managed to pay bail from the money he had received from the circus over the dark months in Nexus City. Barty though was not overjoyed to be leaving his uncle’s custody with his father.

They spoke little in the following weeks, Sefca was preparing for the coming circus and Barty just wandered the streets trying to avoid being at his father’s.

                After stopping by a vending machine and getting a sandwich, a large boy came up to him, “Hand it over.”

                Barty saw red, he shoved his sandwich in his pocket and grabbed the nearest object, a loose metal pole. He beat the bigger kid, shattering his hand, breaking his ribs, cracking his back, and concussing his skull. When he was done, he felt tears on his cheeks, he quickly wiped them away and ate his crushed sandwich as he hurried home.

                As soon as he burst in the door his father turned to him grinning, “Tomorrow we sail for Nexus City!”

                Barty was relieved, his shoulders relaxed as his tension melted away. He was not going to have to worry about the ramifications of beating that bully. His happiness was quickly dampened as he remembered who he was leaving with.

12th of Lordos, in the Waning of the 3rd year, 8:00 p.m.

“Does that rebel Can’nut really think he can just overthrow the government?” Sefca scoffed as he read the paper after one of the shows. Sefca and Barty had been in Nexus city for five months, so they were beginning to get packed and ready to go home.

                “Do you mean Cuh’nok?” Barty sighed.

                “Yeah, yeah. I mean he is making grandiose promises of cheaper goods, having to work less, and other bull.” Sefca threw the paper in disgust, at least we live on an out of the way fishing island.

                “Perhaps we should stay here till everything passes?”

                “Nonsense.” Sefca shook his head, “I don’t want to hear anymore cowardly talk out of you.”

                Barty looked down, “Yes, father.”

                Sefca nodded seeming happy with his sons reply, after a minute he speaks back up, “Where did that little calico go that you found?”

                “Uh, I think he ran off. I. I haven’t seen him in a while.

                Sefca grunted. “You need to learn to take better care.”

17th of Lordos, in the Waning of the 3rd year, 3:00 p.m.

Home again! But things were different, there were less fishers, less boats, less vendors, and less talking. Sefca stalked ahead ignoring the changes, but Barty followed in his shadow looking this way and that taking everything in.

                From the paper Barty knew the war was going bad, bodies were piling up, the beaches were running red with blood. Almost every island had had some fighting, all except Fac’con.

                When they got to the house Barty’s father ignored him, he just put his luggage away and left. Barty was left in a big empty house. He fixed up a salad with some fruit, and he watched a couple films on the couch.

                He woke up. He had fallen asleep, and the large wood box television was just displaying static. Someone was shaking the couch he was on. His mind searched for what it was that shook him before he realized it was the house itself. Gunfire whizzed and popped; bombs detonated mere feet from the front door. Barty rolled off the couch and ducked into the kitchen; he hid by the island as stray bullets broke the glass. After an explosion jolted the house a meat cleaver fell beside himself. He grabbed the cleaver as he would a rope that led to safety. Tears blurred his vision, and he sat on the cold wood floor.

                How long he sat he didn’t know before he heard shouts at the door as his father burst in bleeding and bellowing, “Barty, are you alive!?” Barty poked his head up about to call to his father until he saw a makeshift cudgel hit the back of the big man’s head sending him stumbling. Barty crawled out of the kitchen and by the couch as he saw a man in a black mask with a blue arch on it raise the cudgel to smash his father again. Leaping from his hiding spot he swung the cleaver into the attacker’s abdomen. Blood trickled, and then poured, painting Barty’s hands. Pulling the cleaver free he knelt by his father. As the masked man held his stomach and writhed on the floor.

                “Father. Are you ok?”

                “I’ll be ok with some rest.”

                “Do you miss mom?”

                Sefca started, and then barked a laugh. “That cheating whore? The only thing I miss is her small body.”

                “I killed the calico, father.” Barty felt a tear touch the corner of his eye, “and I just now killed a man. But father,” Barty raised a clever, “What I’m about to do is kill a worm.” Sefca’s eyes widened as his son brought the cleaver down into flesh. Down, into the meat. Down, blood sprinkled his face. Down, he cleaves bone. Down, the cleaver passes through the abdomen, no more to cut, and sticks into the floor.

31st of Gavos, in the Waxing within the 4th year of the 2nd Cycle of the 2nd Generation, 2:00 p.m.

Barty stood, straight backed with his arms behind his back on the dock in Fac’con. A man with a blue arch embroidered on his breast lazily asked, “Reason for leaving the Seffalon Island?”

                “I run a circus in Nexus city.” Mr. Kite replied.

                “Do you have the paperwork allowing you to leave?”

                “I do,” he handed the papers over, the blue arch stamped on each page.

                “Everything is in order, carry on.”

                Mr. Kite nodded to the man before stepping onto the boat. He deposited his luggage in his room then he went on deck to a small, secluded balcony off from the dining room and waited.

                The sky had grown dark before a man in a black suit, and shirt came up and stood next to him. Mr. Kite did not look into his eyes. But he did take note of the missing pointer on the left hand.

                “I have arranged for eaiz to be brought into the city.” Kite reported.

                “Good,” the man said. “You account for about half of the eaiz in the city, and due to your effectiveness, the boss has given you a special task.” Kite said nothing, knowing the penalty for interrupting. “We have been hired, anonymously, to get a police officer Rick Arthur Estle to leave the force and quit his investigations, he is becoming too effective.”

                “I could just kill him.”

                “Then the Lord Chief will get involved, due to the murder of an officer. No, you are to use this.” He places a copper amulet inscribed with a foreign script, with a glowing green stone in the middle. “This is an amulet of mind control, though it could be better described as an amulet of puppetry. The victim will have full mental function but no bodily autonomy. With this you are to have Rick kill his wife with Inchemy, you will break him, while keeping the heat contained in the Crick district.”

                Mr. Kite picked the amulet up. “I will do as commanded.”

22nd of Thraous, in the Waxing within the 1st year of the 3rd Cycle, 10:00 a.m.

The Guardian peaked through a window into a clean white room and directly into Rick’s eyes. He blinked, then sneezed.

                “Bless you.” A bored voice said to his side.

                Rick looked over to see a thin white-haired man in glasses, “Who?”

                “I am your therapist. Your old police department is paying me to help you. It is rare for people to have two extra sets of memories. But it does happen, and I specialize in helping those with extra memories.”

“I don’t need…” Rick struggled to get up, but he was cuffed to the bed. “What?”

“You still need a trial for your unauthorized investigation, though I have heard they will just be fining you and taking away your Private Investigator license. I do have some good news though, you are alive. Good thing a local heard a scream or you would have bled out while drowning.”

Rick gaped at the man, “Kite?”

“Dead, and his crew have been deported back to Seffalon to await whatever fate they may find. Now quiet down the news is back on.”

                Rick looked at the television as a picture of a fiery ball popped up on screen, the reporters told him that was the Guardian, which meant they gray at the bottom of the picture would be the top of the sky, it looked like it was boiling, and churning. Then pictures of black nothingness. Rick felt himself shake physically; as they explained that most everything beyond the sky was emptiness, how could so much nothing exist above? Rick was overwhelmed and tears began to fall down his face.