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Spamton startled awake with a gasp, his feathers fluffed up. He rolled and had to beat his wings to keep from falling from his bunk to the floor.
Somehow, his commotion hadn’t woken any of the other messengers and runners he was sharing a tent with, a small blessing. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was up.
It was that damn dream, the same one he saw all the time, where Anthony, his beloved Anthony, was cut down as he was forced to watch before being dragged away and tossed into a pit, his clipped wings fluttering uselessly as he fell further, further, further, until his body was shattered at the bottom of the abyss. And then he’d wake up.
His soul fluttered in his chest, thrumming with nervous energy. He knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep for a while. With a sigh, he quietly lowered himself to the ground, sneaking to the tent flap. No one was supposed to be out and about at this time of night, but he could use the fresh air.
Light from a full moon filtered down, washing the field in pale light. Torches flickered between the tents, signs of the night guards out and about. Spamton avoided them, making for a particular spot near the edge of the camp.
They were currently stationed on a cliff on the south side of Mt Ebott, a strategic spot that let them see anything coming from below, and offered some protection from the rear. Or at least, that’s what he’d been told. He didn’t have the mind for this war stuff. He was just a messenger, and he was perfectly content with staying that way.
At the edge of the cliff, a gnarled old tree overlooked the sharp drop off. Perfect for perching in on nights like tonight, when he couldn’t sleep properly. With a running start, he leaped and fluttered onto a thick, low-hanging branch, talons digging into the bark.
It was too dark to be certain, but he didn’t notice any movement below. Which was perfectly fine with him. He didn’t want to worry about potential attacks, he wanted to try and clear his mind of his gruesome dreams.
“THE MOON IS BRIGHT, BRIGHT! THE PERFECT BACKDROP FOR TONIGHT, DO YOU THINK?”
Spamton gasped, throwing out his arms and wings, waving them to keep his balance. He looked around for the source, spotting a monster sitting on the same branch as him, leaning up against the trunk. How hadn’t he noticed him before?
Well, he was wearing a dark cloak that, the way he was sitting, covered most of his body save for his head. The monster tilted his head and bells attached to his twin, twisting horns jingled. After a moment of staring, Spamton realized he recognized him — although he didn't know him well. He was that monster that was always winning on poker nights, every time he played, without fail. Spamton had tried cheating against him once, and still lost. He still wasn't sure if the monster was a better cheater, or if he was just that good. Either way, he gave him the creeps.
He wracked his brain for a name and, after several minutes, came up with Jevil. That seemed right. It suited his appearance at least.
Jevil let out a giggle. “SURPRISED? DID YOU EXPECT TO BE ALONE IN YOUR LITTLE QUIET?”
Spamton gaped dumbly for a moment before forcing his brain to think. “Yes? No one else ever comes out here.”
“AH, THERE IS A SAYING FOR THAT, IS THERE NOT? A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING?”
Spamton crossed his arms. “I guess. Why are you here?”
“FOR THE SAME REASONS AS YOU, I ASSUME? YOU COULD NOT REST AND FEEL BEING ALONE IS BEST.”
Wow. He nailed it. “Yes. Alone.” He stressed the second word. “Go find your own tree.”
Jevil cackled, shifting so that he was facing Spamton. His tail hung off the side of the branch, flicking back and forth. “WAS I NOT HERE FIRST?”
Spamton ground his teeth together. Technically speaking, he couldn't argue with that. Nor was he in the mood to argue, given the images swirling in his mind. So he just shifted away, further down the branch.
“STRANGE, STRANGE. HOW STRANGE YOU ARE TONIGHT, TO STEW IN SILENCE INSTEAD OF CHATTER AND CRY. YOU MAKE SUCH VAPID COMMENTS DURING OUR GAMES, GAMES!”
Spamton snapped his gaze back to Jevil, lip pulled back in a snarl. “Maybe I'm not in the mood to talk. Did you think of that, wise guy?”
Jevil’s grin faltered for a moment, only to return. He tilted his head to the side, bells jingling with the motion. “DEFENSIVE, ARE WE? PERHAPS YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE, HIDE?”
“Maybe I just don't want to talk about it with a stranger!” Spamton snapped, his inflection turning up at the end like a question.
“PERHAPS YOU'VE SEEN IT, TOO,” Jevil pressed. THE TRUTH, TRUTH. THE FUTURE, FUTURE.” Spamton stiffened, which seemed to be confession enough to the clown, as he threw his head back to laugh. “UEE HEE HEE! OH HORROR, OH HORROR, OH SWEET HORROR. WHAT DID YOU SEE?”
“Nothing!” Spamton hissed defensively. “What would you know?”
“MORE THAN YOU MIGHT THINK, MY FEATHERED FRIEND. THE FUTURE, GOOD AND BAD, AND HOW THIS WAR WILL END. THE DREAMS TELL ME THE VIOLENCE OF IT ALL. FOR YOU, IS IT NOT THE SAME, SAME?”
“No??” Spamton puffed up his feathers and beat his wings to hide the way his gut twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“OH NO? METHINKS THE BIRIDIE IS LYING, LYING!” Jevil shifted so that he was draped over the branch on his stomach, Idly kicking his legs back and forth. “IF NOT DREAMS, THEN TELL ME, TELL ME! HOW DOES IT CONTACT YOU?”
Spamton flinched, dread curling in his stomach. Was it that obvious that something was wrong with him? Or was the clown just that good at reading him? He didn’t like either possibility. “...Letters,” he finally said. “I started finding mysterious letters tucked into my bag, addressed to me. Sometimes I receive them mixed with the mail instead, or get telegrams in a few cases. Whoever it is… their advice has saved me more than once. But the other things they tell me, warnings of what’s to come… It can’t happen. I won’t let it happen!”
“WHY NOT?”
“Why not? You want to be trapped underground? Cut off from everything we’ve known just because the humans fear us? Just because… because a mysterious voice in your dream said so?” Spamton gesticulated wildly in Jevil’s direction.
“HARDLY, HARDLY,” Jevil replied, flashing a toothy grin. “BUT WHEEL OF FATE ALREADY TURNS, TURNS, AND ALL THAT WAS SEEN WILL COME TO PASS. SO WHY NOT ENJOY YOUR BIG FREEDOM WHILE IT LASTS? THEN PERHAPS, YOU WILL BE READY TO BE TRAPPED IN THE LITTLE FREEDOM.”
“No!” Spamton lunged, grabbing Jevil by his shirt, and dragged him up to be face to face. “It’s not going to happen! I’m not going to let it happen! It can’t! He can’t—”
His fingers shook as he pulled away, no longer focused on Jevil but instead trapped in his own visions, dreamed up by that one letter, those eight little words, delivered to him alone on an otherwise blank sheet of paper, centered in a printed font.
The lord will fall, cleaved red by blade.
He could picture it all in his head. Anthony, stabbed through the chest, blood leaking across his foyer floor. Ant, dismembered and screaming, killed by human hands. Ant, ripped apart by monstrous—”
He shook his head, willing the violent images away, and hunched with his head in his hands. “It can’t be set in stone!” he insisted. “It can’t! Otherwise… otherwise… otherwise why tell me? Why bother showing me these things if they can’t be changed. Why the cruelty?”
“IS IT CRUELTY OR KINDNESS? TO KNOW HOW IT ENDS? TO KNOW THAT IT CANNOT BE CHANGED? SO WHY NOT, ALONG THE WAY, CAUSE A LITTLE CHAOS, CHAOS?”
“What is wrong with you?” Spamton hissed, glaring daggers out of the corner of his eye. He groaned pathetically. “It tells me the love of my life is to die violently, and your answer is to just. Let it happen?”
“WHAT WILL HURT MORE, I WONDER, WONDER. TO LIVE IN BLISS UNTIL THE TIME COMES? OR TO LIVE IN MISERY TRYING TO CHANGE IT, AND FAIL?”
Spamton couldn’t answer at first. But after a moment, he shook his head. “No. Those aren’t the options. Pretending nothing is wrong is stupid. Everything is wrong! We’re in the middle of a fucking war, Jevil! I could at least try! Which is more than I can say about you, apparently.” Jevil cackled, so he pointedly turned away. “Maybe you just don’t have someone you care about like that, someone you would do anything to save.”
Jevil suddenly fell silent. There wasn’t even the jingle of his bells. Eventually, he whispered (which, in his boisterous tone, came out more like the average monster’s speaking volume), “THAT IS UN SO.”
Spamton turned back. The clown’s tail drooped, his mouth twisted into a frown. For a second, Spamton thought he might have struck a nerve. But before he could ask, the flicker of torchlight caught his attention, just before a voice asked from the dark, “What are you two doing up there?”
Looking down, he spotted an armored monster standing below the tree, torch in one hand and massive war hammer slung over his back. He didn’t know the monster’s name, but knew he was a skilled fighter.
“GETTING FRESH AIR,” Jevil replied at the same time as Spamton said, “Getting harassed."
“Is that so?” the monster replied. “Y’all best come back to camp before another monster spots you. Someone more strict than myself.”
“SOMEWONE MORE STRICT THAN GERSON?” Jevil asked before cackling. Clearly whatever had come over him had passed. “UEE HEE HEE! A RIOT, RIOT!”
“You haven’t met my captain yet,” Gerson said with a chuckle. “Come on you two, before I have to write you up!”
Spamton fluttered to the ground, Jevil dropping down behind him. Together, the trio started back towards the center of camp.
After a moment, Gerson said, “You know, I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation…”
Spamton tensed, expecting a lecture on the evils of humans. He couldn’t deal with this. Not right now. He was prepared to fly ahead, but before he could, Gerson added, “I know things are hard right now. But just so you know, you aren’t alone.”
“I KNOW THIS ALREADY, YOU SILLY COOT.”
Gerson let out a guffaw. “I’m not that much older than you! Besides, you might know that, but I doubt your friend does.”
Friend? Spamton’s gaze snapped to Jevil. ‘We are not friends.”
“SURE WE ARE, SPAMMY. REMEMBER ALL THE NIGHTS OF FUN, FUN? THE BACKGAMMON? THE CHESS? THE STRIP POKER, POKER?”
Spamton felt his face heat up. “Shut up!”
Jevil cackled, hurrying ahead, leaving Spamton alone with Gerson. The tortoise monster shook his head good-naturedly before winking at Spamton. “Come drinking with us some time, I have a feeling you’ll find more support than you think.”
Then, before Spamton could react, Gerson was gone, leaving him… huh, right in front of his tent.
He shuffled back inside, climbing up on his cot. Well, at least that whole ordeal had… Mostly got his mind off the nightmare. Mostly. It had certainly tired him out.
And for just a moment, as he drifted back into uneasy sleep, he was almost able to convince himself that everything would be alright.