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It starts the usual way: A flash, a bang, a person standing, disoriented, near a long stretch of deserted road.

But this man falls to his knees-

(thousands of voices; screaming, crying in his head; anger and despair and everything in between, and he can’t fight, can’t ignore, can’t resist them; stop, stop, Goddess why won’t it STOP)

-and clutches his head, letting loose an agonized shout of surprise.

Then it's over, and it's like it never was.

Jamie lowers his hands, noticing in a detached manner that short strands of blond hair come away in his fingers, and sits back on his haunches, blinking. The last thing he remembers is laughing at a joke -- a bad one, with three tavern wenches and a statue -- and climbing a ladder to get at the apples high in an Olau tree. His shirt still smells like the orchard: sun and fruit and green, growing things. Had he fallen? Is this a fevered hallucination brought on by his broken body and healing magic gone wrong? Grace never could get the hang of it. She’s probably given him an extra thumb.

No. All’s right with that.

Digging his fingers into the earth beside the road, he watches it sift back to the ground. It's chunky and rough, but not dry. Even so, it's clearly not the smooth, dark soil of Olau. Jamie sniffs his hand, frowns and pulls himself to his feet. The road crests a hill to the west. Maybe there's something on the other side to explain what's happened; maybe not. Nothing to do, he supposes, but to start walking.

He'll get back to the pain (voices) in his head later. When the mood strikes.

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"I think you're right," Eleanor decides after a little consideration.

She then addresses the beast. "Ok... um, Mister Troll. Death or taxes sounds reasonable. What is this going to cost us?"

Her level of respect is shocking really. Until she appends a further question:

"And, do you take credit?"

The troll scratches the back of his head with its erstwhile toothpick, looking puzzled.

"Sack of spun gold," counting off on his fingers, "or firstborn child, or... Credit? Okay." He rips the roof off the toll booth and reaches inside to pull out an old fashioned credit card swiper that has obviously seen better days. It's tiny in his large, stubby fingers. So tiny that he almost immediately crunches it between them. "Oops. Stupid troll. No credit. Troll could eat him," he offers helpfully, pointing to Jamie. "Good toll."

Jamie shakes his head. "No. Thank you, but no. I'm not at all appetizing. Very stringy."

Saddened, the troll makes a lumbering turn toward Eleanor.

Eleanor scrunches her face up distastefully.

"Seriously. He's all bone. And I'm too small. I wouldn't even be a decent snack for you."

Her mind is currently working very hard to dredge up all her knowledge of fairy tale trolls. Unfortunately, all she can find are some sketchy details from Three Billy Goats Gruff, and instantly starts regretting the stubborn and near exclusive love affair she had with the tale of Snow White as a child.

Still... those details might be enough.

"Shame about the lack of credit." She sighs plaintively. "We don't have any spun gold or children on us."

"However," she goes on, more brightly, "there's a guy following behind us who has spun gold out the wazoo. He could pay for all of us. And if not, he's at least two hundred and forty pounds of good eating."

Playing along, Jamie smiles enthusiastically. "Trust us, that's a much better deal for a troll."

The troll either isn't convinced, or is taking his time understanding Eleanor's offer, and looks back and forth between the bike and the road they'd just traveled. However, the trunk is slowly lowered to the ground, which Jamie takes as a good sign.

"Good for troll. Let you go, get double toll." He nods once. "You lie, troll make you dead."

The warning loses something when the troll then uses his free hand to scratch his ass.

Eleanor makes another disgusted face, but quickly replaces it with a cheerful smile.

"Oh, don't worry. We wouldn't dream of lying to you," she lies.

She starts the bike moving forward again and tips the troll a little salute off her helmet as she veers slowly around his bulky frame.

"Farewell, Mister Troll, and thank you. It's been a pleasure doing with business with you. Say hi to our friend from us when he gets here."

"Okay." The troll replies. "Den troll eat him."

A loud crash behind them makes Jamie whip his head around, but it's only the heavy tree trunk hitting and blocking the road. The troll lifts both his feet several times, like a dog circling before lying down, and gingerly rests his ample behind on the trunk, right at the yellow line running down the center of the pavement. The trunk breaks in half.

"This kingdom is very strange," Jamie laughs near Eleanor's ear, looking forward again, "to employ such civil servants."

Eleanor turns her head when they are out of bludgeoning range, and yells back at the troll.

"SUCKER!"

Her mother would be proud. Joining Jamie in his laughter, she then opens the throttle, sending the bike zooming over the bridge and into Nebraska.

"Believe me, that wasn't normal," she replies once their mirth has subsided. "There've never been any real trolls like that on Earth, far as I know. Not outside storybooks. They live in other worlds like yours and my mom's."

She idly wonders whether this could be her mother's version of Earth. It had magical gates connected to the Fables' home-world from what she remembers, which could explain the presence of a troll.

Gearing up for an explanation of the Divine Realms, Jamie opens his mouth to yell over the roar of wind and engine, but sound fails to escape the sudden constriction in his throat. He feels fury and frustration in equal measure, and there's no reason why. A sharp pain starts in his temples and spreads across his head like an ice crack, and he (can't resist) gives in to the overwhelming urge to look back.

"LIES," bellows the troll, pulling himself to his huge flat feet and appearing, with added distance and anger and spittle flying, far more intimidating than he had before. "You LIE to troll. No toll, troll make you dead. No escape. Troll make you dead NOW!" And, picking up his broken tree trunk, he slams it into the ground with enough force to leave it upright when he backs away, blowing into what can only be a hunting horn.

"Eleanor..."

The pavement starts to tremble under the bike. Jamie tightens his grip instinctively, fighting the sensation that the ground is moments away from swallowing them whole.

Edited 2008-07-22 18:26 (UTC)

Reacting to the heavy concern in Jamie's voice, Eleanor checks her mirrors, looking for the cause of the shuddering road. She assumes it's the troll spazzing out and attempting to give chase. But it's not.

"Shit."

Answering the call of the troll's horn, a squad of hideous goblins have appeared on the roadway behind them, hollering and swearing and generally screaming for blood. There are ten in total, and they're mounted in pairs on ferocious-looking giant wolves—wolves that are gaining fast on Eleanor and Jamie, despite the fact that the bike's speed is approaching seventy.

Each of the back seat goblins seems to be wielding some kind of military assault rifle with an under-barrel attachment, while the driver goblins bear crude swords and axes that are more in line with the team's primitive armor and helmets.

Accelerating hard, Eleanor wonders whether the gunners can actually use their weapons.

They can. That's not to say that a number of goblins weren't sacrificed during the learning process, but they've figured out enough to make their strange weapons spit fire.

That's what Jamie thinks they're doing, anyway. The image isn't helped when the nearest creature lobs something small and round that explodes with a deafening roar just short of their rear wheel.

"It seems his threats weren't idle after all," he comments dryly, though their speed throws the words to the wind.

Some of his mother's armor would be nice, he thinks, leaning in and presenting as small a target as possible. So would a weapon, really. Knives aren't much use against this type of magic.

Eleanor winces as her question is answered by the detonation of the 40mm grenade. That was far too close for comfort. As are the bullets that are whistling past and thudding into the asphalt around them.

The motorbike's speed increases grudgingly, thanks to the burden of the extra passenger and all of Eleanor's gear in the panniers, and eventually tops out at eighty-five. It's very apparent that this pace is not going to be enough to get them clear of the chasing party.

"I can't out run 'em!" Eleanor yells back to Jamie.

So it's time to level the playing field. She reaches under the back hem of her tank top and draws a lovingly-maintained 9mm Beretta out of her waistband. Her mother's model of choice. (Her mother's actual handgun, if truth be known. Eleanor stole it when she was twelve.)

"Stay down!" she warns, and twists in her seat to take aim on the nearest enemy.

With his upbringing, Jamie knows not to argue when someone yells an order like that. He ducks, lifting his arm slightly on the side she's not facing to keep an eye ahead and on their flank. It's awkward and uncomfortable, but the bike stays reasonably balanced.

And he sees the two goblins coming at them from his side.

Eleanor's weapon barks in his ear, leaving him temporarily deaf, and unseats the passenger goblin -- blows him clear off the wolf's back, actually; he rolls to his feet and snarls, then is lost in the dust behind them. Jamie hears more shooting, but the first goblin, the one with the sword, keeps coming, so Eleanor must have other creatures to worry about.

Jamie studies the wildly waving sword, and the sword bearer, then shouts: "Don't shoot this one!"

Having taken out the most imminent threat to their lives, Eleanor has indeed moved on to other targets. One of the chasing wolves pulls up, lamed by a round from her second volley. And its gunner slumps forward, his skull now home to a 9mm slug.

In the wake of that success, she yells an answer to Jamie:

"He's all yours! Go crazy!"

The blonde demi-god is currently shooting left handed in order to keep pressure on the bike's throttle with her right. It's not her natural preference, but she's just as accurate working this way—a benefit of having parents who are both phenomenal marksmen, and who trained her very thoroughly.

With remarkable composure, she drills the next closest warg between its front legs, puncturing its black heart. The beast lets out a strangled yelp and nosedives unceremoniously into the tarmac. Momentum then flips it tail over head, spraying blood and flinging both goblin riders into the unforgiving road surface. They won't be pursuing anything for a while.

"Three for one!" she crows. "Take that you ugly motherfuckers!"

Go crazy, the lady says. If he weren't so tense, Jamie would laugh. They passed crazy a long time ago. Now that Eleanor has left the sword-goblin to him, he's unsure what to do with it. He wants the sword, that much he knows, but he hadn't gotten any further in his planning than that.

He doesn't even like swords very much, but having one would make him feel less like a sitting duck. That's the idea, anyway.

The goblin doesn't care whether or not Jamie has a well thought out plan. He urges the wolf closer, galloping up to Jamie's right leg and preparing to skewer the unprepared man on his blade.

"Goddess. Hold on, Eleanor."

For lack of a better idea, Jamie lets loose a terrified sounding shriek, wide-eyed, and points over the goblin's shoulder. Confused, the creature actually turns and looks.

Ha!

Jamie kicks out, leaning the other way when the sudden movement threatens to unseat him, and kicks the goblin as hard as he can; all while grabbing messily for the sword. A moment of wrestling follows, a series of kicks... and the blade is in Jamie's hand, minus the goblin. Stunned, he stares at it.

"I can't believe that worked."

The goblin can't believe it either, and reaches for another weapon at his side. Jamie does a double take and swiftly slices the creature's throat, leaving a gaping wound and no worry that the goblin will attempt to retrieve his sword a second time.

The ample reinforcements coming from the left -- forcing the bike off the main road, toward a thick area of trees -- might, however.

"Me either," Eleanor replies, on the brink of laughter even at this time of peril. She stopped shooting and took full control of the bike again when Jamie commenced his action hero routine. And his kill sparks a further congratulatory cry from her: "Way to go, AJ!"

The elimination of the swordsman still leaves an angry warg galloping along beside the bike, just as intent on finishing Eleanor and Jamie as its late riders. With ruthless efficiency, Eleanor puts a bullet between the creature's eyes as it swings its gaping, slobbery jaws towards them.

It's only when the beast falls by the wayside that she spots the reinforcements approaching on the other flank.

"Fuck."

She quickly empties her magazine into the new group, dropping the two lead wolves and three other goblins. That's enough to buy them a few more seconds of road time before they are cut off. But it does leave them with an ammunition problem.

"I'm out!" she announces, frantically scanning the terrain to their right.

"Hold tight! It's scenic detour time."

As luck would have it, there's a narrow break in the trees coming up, with ground that doesn't look too rough. She aims for that, leaving the pavement and somehow managing to keep the bike upright as they speed over the grassy shoulder, through some light brush, and into the woods.

Not too rough, but definitely rougher than the road.

"See?" he grunts, wincing as they fly over a small dirt mound. "Plenty of time for... ah... sightseeing."

Jamie is actually looking forward to the woods. They won't be as exposed, even if they have to stop and leave the bike, and it's more natural for him to try to blend into the trees than hide behind Eleanor.

They cross the tree line and he exhales slowly, relieved; until he looks back to see if they are still being pursued. The answer is yes, but more troubling is the way the trees are closing behind them, like soldiers marching into place. His view is quickly blocked. Up ahead, the trees seem to be moving out of their way.

It's probably just a wood god or goddess, intrigued by their plight, but Jamie points it out anyway, fingers tightening on the stolen sword.

"The trees are letting us pass," he informs Eleanor. "And not the goblins."

Frustrated howls come from beyond the woods, the sound dampened by distance and protective foliage.

"Seriously?"

Eleanor eases back on the throttle and checks their nine for herself. Jamie's sitrep is confirmed—they seem to be in the clear for now, uncanny tree behavior notwithstanding. "Huh. Weird," she assesses. She suspects that they aren't out of the woods yet, metaphorically as well as literally. But the respite from fighting for their lives is welcome.

Ahead, the way continues to appear even when they seem to be approaching impenetrable clusters of trees and undergrowth. It's a little unnerving.

"Maybe we finally found some friendlies in this fucked up place," she hazards. "Better than Team Ugly anyway."

The Honda isn't an off-road bike, but it's not struggling much on this spongy trail of leafmold and dirt. Eleanor slows their progress even more to navigate occasional rocks or exposed tree roots without damaging the suspension. And, shortly, she brings them to a complete halt.

"What do you reckon?"

She doesn't see that they have many options. It's keep going or head into the trees on foot. Either way, she's not leaving her bike behind, much like Jamie wouldn't leave a horse.

Jamie reckons he's very glad not to be moving anymore. Scrambling off the back of the bike, he stretches his long legs and turns his neck until it pops. A sigh of relief, and he smiles at her before taking a closer look at their surroundings. The sword is still in his hand, held loosely, as if he's forgotten it's there.

His smile is different, here. Less teasing, less knowing. Almost happy.

"A wood god, perhaps," he suggests, striding through a strip of undergrowth to rest a hand on a thick, mossy trunk. He senses something, but he'd be hard-pressed to describe what. Or why. "Maybe it doesn't care for the troll and his minions."

There. Something, a weak flash of light, blinks in his peripheral vision. Cocking his head, he squints to try to see it better.

It almost looks like sunlight reflecting off of glass.

It's nice to see Jamie in his element, but there are more pressing matters to take care of.

Eleanor stays put on the gently idling bike, her feet planted in the soft earth on either side to keep it vertical. One hand delves into the right hand pannier and retrieves a small box of bullets, which she then proceeds to press one-by-one into the empty magazine of her pistol. She works with well-practiced speed, and no more than thirty seconds later the slide clunks back into its normal place, chambering the first round.

"Anything's possible, I guess," she concedes.

Noticing Jamie's preoccupation, she peers through the densely ranked trees in the same direction.

"Gingerbread house?" she queries. From her angle very few details can be picked out, but the block of contrasting light is almost certainly a building of some variety. Given what they've been through so far today, her suggestion is reasonable.

"No. That would be silly."

Frowning, Jamie takes another step into the trees.

"It looks like a small village. I think I see-" He puts a foot on an exposed root and pushes up, craning his neck for a better angle. His upper torso quickly disappears into the foliage.

Jamie has a lot of experience climbing trees.

"Yes! I see people," he calls back.

"Yeah?"

She sounds vaguely interested.

"Normal people?"

It's worth checking. For all she knows, they might have stumbled upon a commune of dark elves, or a coven of witches.

Her gun now reloaded and returned to her rear waistband, Eleanor removes a crumpled soft pack of Marlboros from the front pocket of her jeans while she waits for his report. She gives the pack a shake and flicks the bottom, presenting one of the four remaining cigarettes through the tear-hole. In short order, it's plucked out, placed between her lips, and set alight by a Zippo.

Ahhh, that's the stuff.

"Well," says Jamie, "they walk upright and appear to have the appropriate number of limbs, but more than that is hard to say from this distance."

There's a rustling sound, followed by a pause.

"Although it doesn't seem too far to walk," he adds at last, somewhat hopefully. Sniffing the air, he pokes his head out of the tree to eye Eleanor, and examine her cigarette. A curious look crosses his face.

Thwack.

It's followed closely by surprise, as he goes flying through the air and lands on his back in the soft earth, sliding until his head thumps against the bike's front tire. A shower of leaves accompanies him, making it hard to tell what precipitated his fall.

"Unngh."

Eleanor tracks his comical flight and landing with raised eyebrows. Judging that he's not in any major pain, she leans forward when he's come to a complete stop, with her head canted slightly and a wry smirk on her face.

"You alright there, AJ?"

"I meant to say, probably not the best idea to play around in trees like these. My bad."

The fall robs Jamie of breath. A full minute passes before he can speak. Until then, he pulls himself up on his elbows and stares blankly at Eleanor. At least she didn't assume he fell from his own carelessness. In her shoes, he probably would.

"The tree," he wheezes eventually, "hit me."

It's almost petulant. Trees usually love him! As much as a normal tree can, that is.

Eleanor takes a languorous drag from her cigarette while Jamie recovers, and continues to look mildly amused. Despite the fact that she didn't see the blow, the sound effect and his angle of exit did suggest some kind of defensive strike by the tree.

"I'm guessing it didn't like being grabbed and trodden on," she surmises.

Without warning, a thin leafy branch stretches out from a different tree and gives Eleanor's bare shoulder a vicious slap.

"Ow!" she cries. "Hey! What the fuck was that for?"

The bough withdraws just as quickly under the girl's withering scowl.

"I've got fire here," she warns. "You don't wanna be messing with us."