1The next several seconds were just images, really. Feelings. They weren't entirely happy feelings, either, and more or less began with Gage registering the fact that a tree, however mighty an oak it was – and that was, indeed, the first thing Gage noticed about it – was not supposed to be in his path. How unfortunate that the rain decided that exact moment was perfect for stopping and revealed that, indeed, a mighty oak seemed rather intent on not moving out of the way…
Chains…there were a lot of chains. Gage didn't necessarily dislike chains, per se; he didn't believe he'd ever actually compiled his thoughts on the subject either way. But what he did happen to know was that he didn't like being in chains. It took about three seconds, from peaceful oblivion to a sudden bizarre awareness, for him to decide he didn't like the whole "bound in innumerable chains" look, mostly because it was what he was sporting now. He shifted, and then blinked, surprised that for the sheer amount of metal wrapping his body, there was very little noise. Looking around didn't tell him much, in the strictest sense; he was bound, obviously, by glowing chains…apparently the only source of illumination in a space that seemed very…illumination-less. This was not good. The chains seemed to be his only support, holding him aloft; he followed the long links with his eyes as they stretched off into the blackness, with no visible origin. Huh.
"Hello?" The reverberating echo of his own rather frightened voice surprised him at first, but it was quickly to be overshadowed by what happened next. His voice, after traveling a while and obviously getting a little bored, decided to come back and rattle him up. Yank his chain, so to speak.
HELLO. Massive earthquakes of sound tossed him about like a pebble, shaking his very bones until he thought he could stand it no more and then – it changed. His eyes slammed shut against the sudden daylight out of habit, though he realized a little sheepishly moments after that there was no need; apparently his eyes didn't have to adjust. And…it was raining. At least, he could hear the rain. One eye crept open to find a pleasantly moist day all around him…and his body still bound, cocoon-like, in those ugly chains. He frowned, focusing unhappily on this for several minutes before he realized that he wasn't alone. People in black stood in a silent circle around him; handkerchiefs lifted to soggy eyes. Beyond them, the hill was peppered with gravestones. Something clicked in the corner of Gage's brain, but the rest of it was fairly intent on being stupid.
"Huh. Who's funeral?"
Yours. His bizzaro-echo voice again…but softer, quieter…he only swayed a little in his metal hammock. And then the rest of his brain decided to get with the program and click as well. His?!
Twisting rather uncomfortably in a manner he wasn't aware he was capable of, he found himself hovering over a grave. The headstone read, rather conveniently:
Gage Redfeather
Loving Son and Brother
He'll be missed…sort of.
Well…shnaps. He peered curiously at the last words, 'Sort of,' which appeared to be…glowing?
A preacher started the service at last, going through the usual ramble that Gage found, now that the fact he was dead had semi-settled in, sort of boring; very unoriginal stuff about how angels were going to swoop down and scoop him up into Heaven, and a strange tangent in which the priest tried to somehow tie Gage's death in with suffering over in the Middle East and how his own caring hands would have provided a break or some such thing, which in truth made Gage a little guilty. He hadn't really been paying much attention to the stuff happening over there.
It was a drag, just floating there in chains and watching people sob, especially when it became obvious that they couldn't see him or hear him, no matter how much he tried to rattle his chains or bark out the American anthem. At last it was just his mom and his girlfriend, Mandy – again, an enthusiastic chorus of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" brought no result other than his own slight embarrassment – and then they left, too. Hours passed; the sun dropped lower and lower and soon was out of sight.
The full moon changed the scene; as the light crept on its way up the hill, Gage watched, startled, as figures slowly started to materialize over their own graves, wrapped in chains as he was…but blankly staring forward, as opposed to his own wild thrashings. Calling out to them did no good; they seemed strangely content to molder there, and Gage was soon disheartened.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap. OK, let's review…I was on my way to Mandy's house, intent on partying hardy. Or, well, at least semi-hardy. Then there was a mighty oak. A very, very mighty oak. That was probably the mightiest effin' oak I've ever seen in my entire life. His train of thought paused, confused, and then rambled on. Sooo…then I died. And then there was the black place with the chains. And now here I am, not partying, and very much dead, or so I assume. And that was the tiniest group of mourners I've ever seen!
His silent ranting was interrupted by a very sudden and very unwelcome snapping of a twig. The lack of trees or other twig-producing vegetation in the immediate area was the least of Gage's concerns; he whipped around – somehow, despite the chains – and found himself face to face…well, at least, face to goofy-looking headdress…with a wizened, tiny little Indian guy. There wasn't any exact moment where the little old man didn't seem like a Brave right out of the old cowboys-and-Indians Westerners; he wore a gigantic headdress half as tall as he was decorated garishly with all sorts of feathers, and he was suited in wrinkled old leather practically covered in brightly-colored beads and mouse skulls and what have you…but Gage got the feeling that what he was seeing wasn't necessarily what was actually there.
Maybe the old guy was going to dig up his bones and scatter the remains about.
Under the light of the moon, the tiny old man bent with a will and purpose, digging into the cold grave-soil with gnarled hands. He dug deep, ripping roots and stones and handfuls of mud out of the way before his yellowed fingernails scrabbled noisily on the thin oak casing of Gage's coffin. He span around, rustling through the darkness, and then returned with a gigantic, leather-bound axe; he lifted it high, brought it down with a horrendous chop that shattered the pitiful barrier between himself and his prize. Cackling madly, he ripped Gage's bones free and tossed them into the wind, chanting a mad old Indian chant at the top of his lungs, and then skipped off to do crazy old Indian things…
…Or so went the whole ordeal in Gage's head. Still thoroughly chained and thoroughly dead, he bobbed up and down a little in confusion, staring at the wizened little Indian and realizing with a shock that the old guy was staring right back at him.
"…Um?"
The old Indian grinned, revealing many missing teeth. "Apparently, you don't get what's happening here." His voice was rich and young, startling from such a fossil, and Gage could do nothing but stare.
"Let me catch you up on things. My name's Bill. What I'm doing here, how I got here, and whatever else you're probably wondering is of little consequence. What matters to you, or what should, is that I'm here to set you free."
Gage decided staring was, strategically, his best option at this point. A minute or two of silence passed, and the old man sighed. "See, there is a lot of stuff you apparently don't know about. Take…oh…Evil as an example. There's a lot of Evil in this world, Gage, and the Good Guys who Fight It are few and far between. Personally, Good and Evil really haven't meant all that much to me…but it just so happens that Good has bothered to earn my respect, and so I've dedicated the rest of my life to paying it a favor. Namely, making a few more Good Guys to even out the scales a bit."
A little more staring, on Gage's part. The guy was apparently going to give Gage all the time he needed to digest this. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable with all this Good and Evil talk, to tell the truth. "So…what exactly does this entail?"
"Sending you out into the world. Ha-CHA!" A minute of pure bizarre passed –- an occurrence, Gage reflected, more and more common in the last several hours - in which the old man had judo-chopped Gage's chains…and they began to unravel. Heck yes! Gage strained against his loosening bonds, and they burst into dozens of fragmented little pieces with an audible POP!
Awareness rushed in around him; he was so different now. He lifted a hand to the moon, stared in surprise. The light filtered through him like through smoked glass. "I'm…still dead?" Bill the Indian guy chuckled; Gage whirled to face him, stupidly surprised that he was still there.
"In a sense, yes. You're a Ghost Prince, kid; there are only a dozen creatures like you in the world, as you'll soon find out. Don't worry about purpose, or what you're doing next. The rising sun will tell you." And with that, Bill did a strange little jig and bent double, folding inward on himself again and again until he was, of all things, and owl; he flapped once or twice, and then launched himself into the night.
"…The rising sun will tell me?! What kind of crazy hippie Indian wacko New-Age…thing…of…stupid…stupidity is THAT?!" A little late, but Gage felt like he needed a good yell. ...Wait, did that old man just turn himself into an owl? Gage Redfeather, mental quick-draw master. He let his face fall into his hands, screamed as it passed right through them, tried again, failed, tried once more and got it right.
Shnaps. There was a lot he was going to have to get used to…
A/N: And the marvelous saga begins! Look for Slicing and Dicing and the work-in-progress Wolfking, both of which will eventually tie into this story.
Next? The sun actually rises, in which Gage is indeed told of his mysterious purpose! Oh, the excitement!