Jason Jones in the Cold

Jason Jones shivered in the mountain air. He'd been travelling for hours, locked in a carapace of hardened slime. It had been loosening slowly, and Jason had strained against it repeatedly, but it was still too tough. While he waited, he watched the landscape pass. It was a hard land, little settled. Very occasionally, he saw what may have once been homesteads; all had been burned some time ago. It was unsurprising that there were so few. The land was visibly dry and devoid of vegetation; terrible for any sort of agriculture. In the absence of precious minerals, there was no reason for anyone to come here, unless they needed to hide.

Jason's escorts were clearly nervous; glancing about from side to side, and, more often, looking up. When the flatbed rocked (as it often did on the rough terrain), Jason could see up; but all he saw were specks of blue on blue; the bird-scouts of the Great One.

The Great One's emissary showed no inclination to talk to Jason further. He simply sat as the flatbeds traveled across the crevasses of the lowlands, to the rocky hills, and into the snowy peaks. It was at this point that Jason began to shiver. But now Jason saw a stray blue tendril draped across a rock; then two, with tiny hexagonal leaves. Within a minute, the flatbeds rolled to a stop under a rock overhang, brushing through a vertical tangle of vines to enter. Eye-creatures scuttled over to the overhang, presumably to keep watch. Something lifted Jason and began heaving him toward the back of the cave; then another joined the first, and Jason's movement evened out. The envoy joined him. Within moments, they were at what looked like another Great One.

This one was quite different, though. It was smaller - almost puny, if anything a hundred and fifty square feet in size could be called 'puny'. The vines draped down to it, as they had to the other, but they were fewer and thinner. Jason began to wonder how he was going to kill it; then the envoy began to speak. He looked... different, somehow.

"Be made welcome to the home of the Maker, First of the Makers, Master of the Plains-Maker and all his creations," the envoy intoned solemnly. "We must speak."

A small creature scuttled up Jason's immobilized body and poured something on his neck. He felt a sharp burning sensation for a moment. Then the slime-shell fell away. Jason breathed in a gasp of fresh, cool air with relief. Then he began coughing; the air was bitterly cold, and smelled of some unwholesome gas.

The envoy waited patiently for him to finish his fit. Then he asked, "Jason Jones, is there anything you would have of us?"

Jason tried to speak, coughed again instead, and then croaked out, "I'd like some food and water, please."

The envoy seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. More creatures scuttled up Jason's body, below his line of sight. The first poured fresh, clean snowmelt in his mouth; Jason drank it in relief. The second brought something... disgusting. Jason ate it, and felt it slime its way down.

He was no longer hungry.

"I'd like my freedom," he told the Maker's envoy somewhat hoarsely. "What can I give you for it?"

The envoy shook his head sadly. "You seem like an honest enough boy. Were it nearly anything else, we might trust you. But even were you to promise us your soul for freedom, the stakes are too high. The next thirty days are everything." He paused and looked at Jason. "You... we've seen something of you, how well you kill. You are dangerous. And we do not say this to flatter you. We will explain somewhat to you, instead, in hopes that when this is all over, you will see my position fairly, and perhaps choose to aid us."

Jason thought about the killing. He thought about the bloodlust he'd felt, and the blood on his hands. He said, "All right. Tell me why you need to keep me trapped here, and why you don't just kill me."

"It's a story," the envoy explained. "In short: over thirty years ago, we were brought here from another world. Others came as well: the centaurs came from the same event, as did an oracle. The centaurs left without explanation, seeking new lands to live on, but we stayed and asked the oracle: Why were we brought here? He answered, 'Thirty-three years and sixty-nine days from today, men in a far city will unleash a power of complexity and nature previously unknown. The sabotage of one boy will loose that power to a purpose unwanted; our summoning, thirty-three years and sixty-nine days before. Thus we must wait, until the power is loosed, the circle closed, and we are returned whence we came.'"

"We considered this," the envoy continued, "and decided that we rather preferred this land to our own. Here, there is no competition, and open space, free to take. Opportunity! So we asked the oracle: How can this be prevented? The oracle, bound to truth, told us, 'If the boy, Jason Jeremiah Jones, does not sabotage the experiment, all summoned here will be prevented from ever returning.'"

"Last I asked: What if Jason Jones is killed before then?" the envoy explained without heat. "The oracle told me, 'He cannot be slain by earth or sky, fire or water.' Thus I settled on my present plan: to find you; that accomplished, to keep you safely away from the experiment, until the time has passed."

Jason Jones stared at him. The oracle. This... destiny. This madness! The Maker had killed people half-way around the world, horribly wounded Jason and seemed ready to incarcerate him, all so that he could stay on Earth, instead of returning home. Jason burned with frustration. But he was utterly trapped. He could do nothing but tell the Maker, through chattering teeth, "In a month's time, I will kill you."

"We'll see how you feel then," the envoy told him without spite. Something began to drag Jason away once more; Jason twisted his neck trying to see, but caught only glimpses of yellow in the corner of his eyes. The envoy walked alongside, telling Jason that "you will be well-fed and watered and in no way will you die by our actions." Jason found this odd, considering his words about the prophecy. Then Jason's carriers lurched, and he found himself tumbling into a pit. His face was buried in a pile of what he hoped was frozen meat; any alternative would be worse. The envoy said one last word, but Jason's ears were ringing, and he could not hear. He lay there, in the darkness, with nothing whatsoever to do.

He tried to gnaw off the meat to form a crude weapon. A sharp pain ran up his teeth, and he stopped.

It was very cold.

Jason tried to sleep.

It was cold.

So cold.

Cold.

Cold.








Feeding time came; Jason came awake with a start to find something nasty stuffed down his throat. The water that came after was a relief. He cleared his throat to shout; but no-one answered.

So cold.

Cold.






Then he was awakened again by the sound of shouting. "You! Boy! Get up - oh, I see." The speaker had an odd accent; Jason had heard it before, but he couldn't quite place it. Then he was whirled around. In front of him stood an old man - no, the old man, the one from the Canadian gas station. He was wearing some sort of brightly-coloured armor and armed with what looked rather like a harpoon-gun, and shouted into Jason's face, "Ready to leave?"

Jason was cold, and rather surprised.

End Arc Three.