Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord

By

Joseph Devon

Note: There is a print link embedded within this post, please visit this post to print it.

(Please note: This story is the sixth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4 and 5. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Probability Angels: Part 1” and continue on in order.

Or you can go here and buy the book or go here and view the book in its entirety.)

Kyokutei walked through the upscale hotel restaurant. There were lustrous burgundy leather booths and thick crystal glasses everywhere. A waiter clicked a long lighter a few times and an order of Banana’s Foster was set into motion. The atmosphere was thick and conversation seemed barely able to make it across the tables before falling with soft thuds into the thick carpet.

Kyo disapproved and found himself disliking the entire place. His nose curled in a snarl, although he was unaware that his emotions were leaking onto his face.

He was dressed in a frayed rayon suit and his neck was worn red from the cheap collar stays in his shirt. None of the diners or waiters noticed him as he walked, literally, through some of their tables. He made his way to the rear of the room and then ducked into the kitchen. Walking through a chef or two and past a rack of rolls he turned into a back corridor, past a walk-in refrigerator and freezer, then through a doorway covered with thick plastic strips and onto a loading dock. A few more turns through boxes and past a row of metal lockers painted gunmetal green and he was in the loading dock office.

Hector was seated at a beat up lunch table reading a tattered paperback novel with a cowboy on the cover. He folded it closed and tapped it against his thigh leaning his large frame back in his seat as he stared up at Kyo through his mirrored sunglasses.

“Gregor here yet?” Kyo asked.

Hector shook his head. “Not yet.”

Kyo pulled a metal folding chair out across from Hector and sat down. He looked around the room, then over at a stack of newspapers, puzzle books and pornographic magazines piled next to a work sink. He stood up and began flipping through, looking for something to read.

“Feel like a game of cards?” Hector asked from behind him.

Kyo flipped through a few more naked woman and crossword puzzles then turned around and agreed. “Sure,” he said, returning to his seat.

Hector produced a deck of cards with the shine worn off of them and began to shuffle. The slough of old cards filled the room as Kyo tried to make himself comfortable in the warped metal chair. Hector cut the deck, cupping one half in each hand, then shuffled again.

“So,” Hector said, “can I ask you about-”

“No,” Kyo answered.

Hector shrugged off this rebuke with a quick laugh, as if he had been expecting it, and continued talking, only handling more of the conversation by himself without looking to Kyo for any input.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I have you pegged from somewhere in feudal Japan. But that’s a pretty large swatch of time, so that doesn’t exactly narrow the field down much, does it?”

He smiled and slid the deck of cards into the middle of the table. Kyo reached out and cut the deck, dropping one half next to the other. Hector reassembled the pack. “You know I’ve met a couple of testers from that era. Lots of samurai wind up in our group.” He began dealing, the sound of cards against smooth metal the only response to Hector’s unspoken questions.

“From what I’ve gathered,” Hector continued on undaunted, “the old samurai code, or whatever you called it, gave you a pretty solid in into our little world. You had to uphold such,” he stopped dealing as he searched for the right word, the sudden silence stifling, “loyalty to your master, your…what is it?” He snapped his fingers a few times.

“Daimyo,” Kyo said.

“Right,” Hector said, smiling again, enjoying the small output he had drawn out of Kyo. “So this loyalty was so strong that protecting one’s daimyo,” he spoke the word slowly, sounding it out, looking to Kyo as he did so as if for verification of his pronunciation, but Kyo gave no reaction. “So this loyalty was so strong that protecting the daimyo was basically a constant. Almost any action to protect another person in the line of duty would create the needed two choices because there was always this protecting of the master in mind. It’s like a free pass. Does that sound right?”

Kyo still didn’t answer. He only leaned back in his chair, facing half towards the table and half towards the wall and began drumming one set of fingers on the table. Hector laughed, clearly enjoying the difficulty of drawing any reaction out of Kyo. He resumed dealing.

“Fine, don’t answer,” Hector said.

The cards rasped across the table softly.

Kyo’s fingers drummed down repeatedly.

The rhythmic staccato patter of the drummer’s sticks drew to an end leaving only the soft sound of wind through the snowfall.

Kyokutei, samurai of the Tsuwano Domain, was standing in the town square watching as three official looking men gathered to address the crowd gathering around the drummer’s summoning. Everyone in the crossroads was at a standstill. Even the wind died down allowing the snow to fall in thick drifting flakes that piled up on Kyo’s cheekbones before melting. Kyo had heard this proclamation read in another village of the domain yesterday.

Word had spread and most of the townspeople knew to some degree what was coming, but as the proclamation was read there was a broad range of reactions and a lot of confusion as the extent of the news sank in.

“People of the Tsuwano Domain,” one of the men read. He was a samurai, his ceremonial helmet and armor imposing in the dark winter afternoon, “your master and leader, Ichiro Hideyoshi, has been sentenced to an honorable death by Imperial decree after an incident in The Imperial Palace. All lands of the Tsuwano Domain are to become the property of Akira Mitsukuni.” The man to the left of the samurai preened as this was read, and Kyo shielded his eyes from the snow to get a better look at him. Dressed in the robes of a statesman, Akira Mitsukuni was a thin bony man whose most discernable feature was a large mole growing on his cheek.

The third man of the group was less familiar to Kyo. Dressed in the elegant robes of a monk, the man’s head was shaved bald and he was taller than either of the other two.

“All goods and belongings owned by the former master Hideyoshi,” the samurai continued reading, “are as of now officially the property of Akira Mitsukuni. This includes any land or goods belonging to the family of the former master.”

Kyo knew what was coming next and he began to make his way through the crowd of villagers, all of whom scattered in front of him.

“All servants of your former master,” the samurai in the center of the square went on, “are now to serve in the Mitsukuni house. And all samurai who served Ichiro Hideyoshi are to become ronin. They now have no master.

“This case has been decided by imperial decree. Ichiro Hideyoshi was allowed an honorable death at his own hands. According to the Emperor this incident has been dealt with fairly and no further action,” the samurai’s words grew in volume and intensity as he read this, “is required.”

As Kyo continued through the crowd he wondered if the change he felt was real or in his imagination, if the people surrounding him were actually thinking about him differently already or if that was all in his head.

The mud was frozen into ridges under his feet and the snow continued to fall in stale white rifts as he walked along. He approached the edge of town where he had left his horse. She was tied up where the western road finally shed off the last of the shops that sat alongside.

Kyo stopped and ran his hands down his horse’s nose. She pressed back against him appreciatively. Without realizing it, Kyo passed a long while like this, lost in thought, feeling his horse’s velvet brown muzzle under his palm. He was roused from his thoughts by the pounding of horse hooves on the frozen mud road. He backed up around to the far side of his horse and watched over her saddle as the three men who had read the proclamation, the monk, the samurai and the lord, all rode past on their way out of the town. With anger Kyo noticed that he had remained behind his horse, had ducked behind her saddle, had hidden from sight.

The decree stated that his lord was dead and that he was now without a master. Lesser samurai should begin their new lives as ronin immediately, but as one of Ichiro’s closest advisors it was expected of him to honor the memory of his lord by refusing to live such an existence and join Ichiro in death by his own hand instead. All of this he knew, yet standing in the road as those three men rode past had upset him greatly and he was angry when he climbed up onto his horse. He was angry when he rode off east in the direction of his home. He was angry when he stopped at the roadside stall just on the outskirts of his own village.

There were no other customers, not surprising on a winter’s afternoon, and Kyo walked up to the bamboo counter and stood leaning against it. The hut was cozy and the cedar planks used to soften the look of the hard wooden struts created a pleasant aroma.

“Was the proclamation any different the second time you heard it?” a friendly voice said, and Kyo turned to see Noboru walking into the hut. Noboru was a squat dumpling of a man who had been running this stall, serving up his daily creations, since the day Kyo had come to serve under lord Ichiro. Back then Noboru had been a boy but his skill in cutting a fresh fish had been apparent. As a samurai of the domain it was customary for Kyo to get to know the local artisans, and Kyo’s love of sushi had made him a frequent visitor to Noboru’s hut. Over the years a strong bond had developed between him and the sushi chef. After a long period away from home this stall was always Kyo’s first stop before continuing on to his house and many conversations while lingering over sake had drifted into things Kyo would rather not carry over the threshold of his own doorway.

“No,” Kyo said as Noboru laid out a woven mat on the counter, “the proclamation was the same.”

“Not surprising,” Noboru said. He began creating.

“I didn’t recognize the monk,” Kyo said.

“He was recently placed in charge of the monastery up in the hills.”

Kyo nodded at this. “And the samurai looks familiar enough.”

“Date Masamune. Second in command to Akira.” Noboru began to plate a few pieces on the woven mat.

“That’s what I thought,” Kyo said, waiting until Noboru had finished before taking in the presentation with his eyes. After examining it for a few moments, he plucked up a piece and peeled the outer layer of rice off, exposing the pungent aroma of fermented carp. It was deep and earthy and with a lingering punch that flowered far back in the depths of his skull. He tossed the rice into a wooden bucket next to the counter and popped the fish into his mouth, savoring the give of the meat and the odors that wafted up into his nose.

“It’s an Imperial decree,” Noboru said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Kyo nodded, took another piece, peeled and chewed and savored and swallowed. “I serve my master first.”

“Then you know what you need to do,” Noboru said. Kyo was obliged to follow his master into the next world. To accept the life of a ronin would be an insult to his former master, not to mention a humiliating role for Kyo to assume.

“I serve my master,” Kyo repeated.

“It was an Imperial decree,” Noboru said.

“I serve my master-”

“It was an Imperial decree!” Noboru shouted, banging his fist down on the bar.

Kyo turned and glared at him. Had the two not known each other for almost two decades the act of an artisan daring to interrupt a samurai would have been unheard of. They were friends, though, and such exchanges were welcome if not encouraged by Kyo. Still, as Kyo’s hard eyes burned into Noboru’s face, it was made clear that nothing further would be tolerated.

Noboru took a deep breath and regathered his thoughts. “The decree clearly stated that the Emperor viewed this matter as closed and no further actions were to be taken. He was disavowing any thoughts of revenge. This isn’t a local matter anymore; this has the Emperor’s eye. Ichiro is gone. His power is transferred to Akira. And you should take the honorable route and join your master.”

“My master was set up,” Kyo said, “and this was nothing more than a power play by Akira. The monk was lying. The samurai was lying. And,” Kyo continued, holding a piece of sushi up as he spoke, his eyes focused on some far off point, his words coming out stubborn and unchanging, “I serve my master first.”

He popped the piece of sushi into his mouth and began to munch on it.

“Shit,” Noboru said nervously.

Kyo grunted in agreement.

The plastic flaps in the entranceway rustled and Kyo looked up from his cards to see Gregor and Nyx coming into the back office. Kyo placed his cards face down on the table and slid them towards the center. “I almost had gin again,” he said.

“Yeah, sure you did,” Hector said, not relinquishing his cards.

Kyo began to stand up as Gregor drew near but Gregor waved him back down, smiling. “Please,” Gregor said, “finish your game. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

Kyo was frozen half in and out of his seat by this statement. He seemed unsure of what to do but after a bit he sat himself back down and gathered up his cards.

“All right,” Hector said, discarding, “let’s just see how you-”

“Gin,” Kyo said, picking up Hector’s discard and laying his hand face up on the table. “And I don’t want any coffee, thanks,” he said, swiveling around to look at Gregor. “I’d like to just hear what you have to say and be on my way.”

Gregor turned, the empty glass coffee pot from the coffee maker on the counter in his hands. “That’s what I like about you, Kyo,” he said, “always direct. Always to the point. Always professional.”

“Thank you,” Kyo said. “Can we get on with this?”

“Sure, sure,” Gregor said. “Although I’d like some coffee. Let me just make up a pot?”

“Sure,” Kyo said. “Just try and make it quick.”

“I can’t control how fast water bleeds flavor from coffee grinds,” Gregor said conversationally. “Wait,” he went on, looking more intently at the coffee maker, his voice occupied now, “can I control that? You know I’ve never thought to…” he leaned in and began to peek and peer at the coffee machine from various angles.

Water began to drip into the pot, a high pitched ringing sounding through the room as the empty glass vibrated. Slowly the pitch changed as more water accumulated. Hector began to deal out more cards, sluffing them across the table.

It was during another snowfall next to the fountain in their garden that his wife had finally turned on him. Five months had gone by since the enforcing of the edict had made him a ronin and he had done nothing to avert the shame this brought upon his family. If anything he had been doing his best to bring more shame than the title of ronin alone could bring. He had been frequenting bars and brothels in the local town and had been known to stay out all night in a drunken stupor.

“You,” his wife seethed at him. “You think nothing of me. You think nothing of your son. You only drink and whore and drink some more. Other samurai who served Lord Ichiro beside you, they have long ago brought great honor upon their families by following their master into the next world but you have done no such thing. You lack the courage to be what you have to be; instead you act like a coward. It is bad enough that you turn your back on your former master, but to not even seek out a new master to serve so that this family might once again hold its head up high. You are lower than the shit clinging to the bottom of the pig out in the yard.”

Kyo loved his wife. And she was entirely right, which only made him love her more. Her outburst had been within earshot of two visitors to their house that day as well as any number of servants, and even though their privacy was supposed to be guaranteed within their own house, Kyo knew that word would get out that his wife had tried to shame him and rebuke him and get him to do the right thing.

It was enough. He could leave the house now and separate himself from his wife and son and it would all be his own fault in the eyes of the domain.

That evening he made it formal by having a notary draw up papers of divorce. He would never see her again. He would never see his twelve year old son become a man.

It hurt. But Kyo bore it.

He went to Noboru’s hut after. Again there were no other patrons. He stood next to the counter and listened as Noboru swore while laying down the woven mat and muttered to himself while preparing a few pieces of sushi. There was a rift in Noboru’s personality as he proved unable to not prepare a plate to the best of his ability even while cursing and displaying obvious disappointment at Kyo’s presence.

“Five months,” he said when the plate was arranged. “Five months!” he said again, not raising his voice but speaking in a forced whisper, as if worried about being overheard.

“They expected something like this,” Kyo said, peeling the rice off of a piece of fish. “All three of them have been guarded since the day these lands became Akira’s. They needed convincing that there was nothing to guard against. Patience was required.”

“Five months and all you have done is drink and rot.”

Kyo stared down at the woven mat decorated with pieces of sushi and didn’t deny this. “Patience was needed,” he said. “And tonight the monk dies.”

Noboru repeated the fear he had voiced countless times in the past few months. “The gods will be furious with you, Kyo, if you attack a monk on holy land.”

“He’s no monk,” Kyo said, chewing a piece of fish. He swallowed laboriously, the piece of sushi sticking in his throat. “And I serve my master first,” he said distantly.

That night in the mountain monastery Chiro Takase, the tall bald monk, stirred in his sleep. His bed was soft and his sheets were smooth and his large room was ornately decorated to impress even lower ranking lords with the worldly wealth that Chiro had accumulated. Chiro was about to fade back into sleep when he heard a small noise, possibly the same noise that had woken him up in the first place. He rolled over and noticed that the charcoal brazier that he kept by his bed to warm him on winter nights was out and he cursed whichever student of his forgot to refill it that afternoon.

He sat up and tested to make sure; putting his hand up against the bronze container. Feeling nothing but cold metal he cast off his sheets and slipped his feet into his slippers. It was dark by his bed, but the open window cast a perfect rectangle of light from the full moon onto the matted floor. He picked up the brazier and began walking towards the door, the bronze chain jangling against his leg. As he stepped into the square of moonlight there was another metallic sound in the room and suddenly the glint of moonlight off of steel was in his face as the tip of a katana blade pressed into his neck. Chiro froze, rigid, back arched as the point of the sword pressed into his skin. He tried to relax but he felt the rasp of metal against his neck and a small trickle of warm blood began to flow down to his collar bone and he forced himself to stay even more still. “You can take anything you want,” Chiro said, “just please-”

“You lied,” a voice from the darkness behind the blade said.

“I…what?”

“Five months ago. You lied and said that master Ichiro had committed an act of unforgivable rudeness to the emperor while you were entertaining him and Akira. You lied.”

“I did no such thing. What right do you have to come in here and-”

“You lied!” Kyo roared and stepped into the moonlight, his face terrifying in anger. He removed the sword from Chiro’s neck and moved in close, gripping the monk’s neck and pressing against it with a smaller dagger. “You lied and now you will pay for that mistake.”

“I am a monk of the-”

“You are a disgrace to these robes.” Kyo dragged the dagger down Chiro’s chest and slit his silk robes in two or three places, cutting the skin as he did so, and Chiro felt the cold winter air blowing across the blood on his now naked skin and began to tremble. “And you are no monk,” Kyo said, his face up close to Chiro, his hard eyes glaring. There was a moment, a pause, a hesitation, as the only sound to be heard was Chiro breathing fast and heavy. Then he gagged as Kyo slid his dagger into his throat, cutting quickly so the monk wouldn’t have time to make any noise before he died.

Kyo let the body drop and wiped his dagger off on the monk’s bed sheets. He stared down at the corpse sprawled out in the moonlight. At the end something had gone wrong. Something deep inside Kyo had shifted. Something had slipped out of his grasp as he had stood here inside a monastery and had the audacity to lecture a monk on what was right. Kyo assumed it was his body reacting to finally being able to act after five months of playing the part of a disgraced ronin and he forced himself to stop thinking about it and instead began to ransack the monk’s room.

The next day word spread quickly through the neighboring towns that a bandit had robbed the mountain monastery and that Chiro Takase had been killed. Everyone was shocked.

Akira doubled his guards.

“There we go,” Gregor said, sitting down with a fresh mug of coffee. Nyx took the fourth seat at the table. Her purple lined eyes were bright as she stared at Kyo, and her mouth was constantly in motion as she worked something over with her tongue, a cough drop or a piece of hard candy, occasionally clamping it between her back teeth to suck at it lovingly. Hector opted to deal another round of cards, this time giving a hand to Nyx and Gregor as well.

“Can we get started?” Kyo asked.

Gregor put his mug down, sloshing a little coffee over onto his hand. He wiped his hand on his pants and picked up his cards. “Well,” he said, rearranging his hand, “there’s really nothing to get started. I just wanted to have a chat with you. Just sit down and talk with you again. It’s been awhile,” he smiled at Kyo then discarded.

“Well then let’s talk,” Kyo said, “and get this over with.”

“We were just talking earlier,” Hector said, his voice brash and obviously aimed once again at getting some sort of reaction out of Kyo. “We had a lovely little talk about Kyo’s past, isn’t that right?”

“I don’t remember saying much,” Kyo said.

Nyx laughed, her voice ranging up and down in tone like a melody gone wild as Hector shifted uncomfortably and accidentally bumped the table, sloshing more of Gregor’s coffee out of his mug.

“Shit,” Gregor said jumping back, trying to avoid getting his pants soaked while Nyx continued laughing.

The bar fight in the second year was when Kyo had started to worry. There was laughter and rice wine spilled all over him as a few drunken samurai had singled him out for abuse. It was not the first time this had happened. As a ronin he was despised by most samurai and he noticed that even some villagers were less than respectful to him. Granted, villagers were not bound by custom to show any reverence to a ronin but plain common sense should apply. Kyo still carried his swords with him.

But the samurai in the bar didn’t care about this. It had been two years since Akira had folded these lands into his own and the samurai who served him were completely in his control. Ichiro was all but forgotten and Kyo’s existence was never equated with the warrior he had once been. He was viewed as a joke, his swords were considered ornament. And so there had been laughter in the bar and sake sloshed out of cups and onto the floor as the samurai roughed Kyo up. And none of it was very new. Kyo had allowed this kind of thing to happen a few times before, only this time when he was thrown out of the bar and into the muddy street he didn’t pretend to lose his balance and fall. Instead he really did lose his balance and fall, his wrist twanging with pain as he landed on it hard as some mud landed in his mouth from where his body splattered down. And there was no cloak, no shield, none of the usual feeling he had when these altercations occurred, the notion that it was going to be okay, that if he could persevere then they all would know the truth soon enough. Instead he just felt pain in his wrist and heard laughter all around him and tasted gritty mud in his mouth and the sake he had taken to drinking more often recently clouded his head and made the laughter seem to be coming from everywhere. He got to his feet and began walking, then felt one last kick to the back of his legs that sent him sprawling again onto the side of the road.

This time he sat for awhile, not noticing the stink on him, before he caught his breath and stood up. He walked slowly, rotating his wrist in circles as he went, trying to test to see how much it hurt.

There was a crowd in Noboru’s hut. More samurai. Kyo sat outside and waited, falling into a doze as his body worked through the sake he had drunk. He woke up, gurgling and gasping, when Noboru sloshed a bucket of cold water onto him. By the time he realized what had happened another bucket of water hit him and he stood up wiping the water out of his eyes.

“You stink,” Noboru said, the evening light casting shadows on the road.

Kyo only nodded. “Can you draw me another bucket?”

Noboru walked off, then returned a few minutes later and laid the bucket at Kyo’s feet. Kyo rinsed as much of the mud off of him as was possible then stood up and started to walk inside. “You still stink,” Noboru said. Kyo stopped, held up his hands as if unsure of what else he could do. Noboru sighed and waved him inside.

Kyo leaned wearily against the bar. Noboru laid out a mat. “Sake first, please,” Kyo said. Noboru very deliberately finished making the piece of sushi he was working on, then brought out a porcelain cup and poured Kyo a cup of rice wine.

“You get into another fight?” Noboru asked.

Kyo nodded.

“Kyo, what are you doing to yourself?”

Kyo tilted his head back and threw the sake down his throat. “It’s just an act, Noboru. You know that.” Noboru heard the underlying statement as well. Noboru was the only person who knew that. “Soon enough this will be done and people will know. It won’t be much longer.”

“It’s been over two years, Kyo,” Noboru said softly, relenting in his attitude and going back to crafting something for Kyo to eat. “Your son has earned a sword of his own. And your wife,” Noboru pointed off into the distance to emphasize his point. “Your wife has moved to a different province. “

“I know,” Kyo said. “I know. But next week, the samurai dies.”

Noboru looked at Kyo, at the mud still clinging to the edges of his robes and the red seeping into his eyes and the rough stubble that was sprouting from his chin. He agreed with Kyo, but was surprised to find how much of him was doing so in a patronizing manner. “If you say so. How?”

“Date Masamune has taken to riding alone once or twice a week through the forests in the western part of the domain.”

“And?”

“If he is alone, that will be enough,” Kyo said, staring determinedly down into his empty sake cup. “I will need a horse, though.”

“I’ve got one you can borrow.”

Kyo shook his head. “I’m quite capable of stealing a horse for myself, thank you. A ronin has to learn how to fend for himself from what is-”

“But you’re not really a ronin, Kyo.” Noboru was appalled at the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. From the look on Kyo’s face it seemed as if Noboru had physically struck him.

Kyo rolled the empty sake cup a few times in his hand until he had shaken off what Noboru had said. “Was joking,” he said through a baffling set of emotions, “of course. Borrowing one of your horses is out of the question as is anything that could lead any one to suspect you were in any way involved in this act.”

“So…are you going to really steal a horse from-”

“No!” Kyo yelled, hurt and angry, his hand banging down on the bar hard enough to make his woven mat full of sushi pieces jump in the air. He shook his hand in the air and flexed his fingers. “Of course I’m not going to steal a horse. I’ll return what I take or compensate the owner fully.”

“Of course,” Noboru said. “Of course.”

Date Masamune enjoyed his weekly ride through the forest, especially now that spring was coming and the flowers were starting to bud. The stillness of the forest seemed comforting to him and it was pleasant to be away from all the demands of his inferiors and all the stress of his superiors and just ride. Plus he knew he was a handsome sight, up on horseback, his hand crafted armor shining in the sun. He knew this impressed the people when he rode through town.

The sun was getting low and he was contemplating turning around and heading back. He reined in his horse and turned her around in a tight circle, her nose brushing close to the trunk of a thick tree when he felt something sing through the air next to his face and heard a vibrous thunk. He swatted at his cheek, assuming it was a bug, and turned his head to see what the sound had been and then his horse began skitting sideways and he managed to get her under control as he stared at the arrow buried in the tree trunk.

“Dismount,” a voice behind him said. “You fight me to the death today.”

Date slowly turned around and saw a bedraggled man, who was familiar in some far off way, standing on a rise behind him. The man was armed with a bow and carried the two swords of a samurai.

“Dismount,” the man said again.

Date nodded, began to slowly raise one leg over his saddle, then kicked hard and yanked his horse’s reigns, taking off through the forest in a thunderous gallop.

Kyo’s eyes narrowed. His legs widened their stance. His hands moved. An arrow was notched, aimed and fired before he took his next breath.

He lowered his bow and began walking. He came upon the horse first, the arrow in her haunch deep and the blood red and mixing with the dark forest earth. He continued walking, shaking his head as he heard the lame horse whinny behind him. He stood over Date.

“I said to dismount,” Kyo said as Date crawled along through the green sprouts of spring, dragging a broken leg behind him. “I said we would fight with honor,” Kyo said, and the horse let out another loud whinny of pain. Date continued dragging himself forward.

“If you won’t fight with honor,” Kyo said, his growing impatience making his words harsh and trembling, “then at least die with honor.”

Date didn’t respond, didn’t look back, only continued to try to crawl away, his hand crafted armor dragging pieces of branches and clots of mud along with it. “I said die with honor!” Kyo yelled, infuriated now, and he reached a hand down and grabbed Date by the shoulder, rolling him over and sitting him up as Date screamed in pain, then screamed in fear, then began sobbing.

“No,” Date said, hands in front of him to ward Kyo off, and his sobbing increased. “No, I’ll do anything you want,” he said, spit and snot smearing on his face as he begged. “Anything you-”

“Die with honor!” Kyo roared, shoving Date back onto the ground, where he collapsed in a shuddering heap. Kyo’s anger fumed up in his throat and he found he couldn’t talk, only kick and kick and kick as Date shrieked and then Kyo was kneeling on his chest and cutting his throat before stumbling off to sit with his back up against a tree a few feet away.

A few minutes later Kyo caught his breath and stared at the body of Date Masamune. He found he could only glance at it for a few seconds before he had to turn away. He realized he had forgotten to even mention who he was. His wrist still hurt. His head was roaring. He cleaned his weapons and backtracked to find where he had hidden his horse along the trail.

The next day word spread quickly through the neighboring towns that Date Masamune had been killed in the woods in the west of the domain. Everyone was shocked. People began to whisper.

Akira ordered his palace fortified.

Gregor made a last attempt to wipe more of the coffee off of his pants. “Well,” he said. “I guess these pants are ruined.”

“Sorry bout that boss,” Hector said.

Nyx sucked on her cough drop.

“Can we get on with it?” Kyo asked.

“Of course,” Gregor said, dabbing a few more times with the rough brown paper towels he had found by the sink. “Will you two excuse us?” He balled up the paper towel and threw it in the trash as Nyx and Hector stood up and left. “I was hoping to get a chance to visit with you a bit,” Gregor said, sitting down again at the table, “but I can see you’re a busy man so I won’t keep you any longer than I need to.”

Kyo drummed his fingers on the table top.

“I don’t suppose it’s any secret to you that I don’t exactly see eye to eye with Epp,” Gregor said.

“You’re not working on another trial, are you? Because that struck me as one of the larger wastes of time I’ve had in awhile.”

“No, no,” Gregor shook his head. “Nothing at all like that. And the trial wasn’t…I was just testing the water there, you could say. Wanted to see what side of the room people sat on. That sort of thing. But what I’m planning now, well, it’s a little different. Now normally I wouldn’t bother you with any of this but you have a….a strange role in all of this.”

“I worry you,” Kyo said.

“It’s not that you worry me. You make me sound so sinister,” Gregor laughed. “No, it’s just that you’re such an unknown, Kyo. One never knows what you’re going to be doing or really, even, what it is that you can do.”

Kyo stared at Gregor and waited to see if he would say anything more. When nothing more came he drummed his fingers over the table top and turned away. “Why is it when I ask people to come to the point, they invariably become more obtuse and vague?”

Rather than let himself be rebuked, Gregor answered back in turn. “Because you’re a keeper of secrets, Kyo. Everyone who knows anything is going to want to pry your little mysteries out of you. You should have learned that by now. If you act mysterious, people are going to respond with curiosity.”

“It’s not an act.”

Gregor rolled his eyes and sighed.

Kyo’s jaw tightened.

Noboru shook his head.

“Just let me in,” Kyo said.

It was night and Kyo had stumbled his way to Noboru’s shack after being kicked out of the last tavern.

Four more years had passed and Kyo’s name had become lost to anyone of import. Noboru sighed again, then stepped aside and let Kyo stagger his way inside.

Noboru started to unroll a mat but Kyo waved it away. “Just bring out the bottle of sake,” he said gruffly.

Noboru did as he was told, then stepped back and looked with distaste at Kyo, who was sloshing a large gulp of sake around in his mouth before swallowing. When he was done Kyo turned and looked at Noboru, chin pressed in close to his shoulder, a wavering smile on his face. “Eh?” Kyo grunted.

Noboru had no idea what was being asked.

“I think,” Noboru said carefully, “that maybe it is time that this ended. Or at the very least, that you should not come around here anymore.”

Kyo sucked something from between his teeth, then turned back to the bottle and took another long pull.

“You have become an utter wreck of-”

“I’m almost done,” Kyo said quietly, not meeting Noboru’s stare.

“Almost done? Your master was killed almost seven years ago, Kyo. This is no longer anywhere within the bounds of sanity. Everything has moved on. Everything. Your wife no longer lives here. Your son I have lost track of. This isn’t even my main shop anymore, I’ve moved to a larger location. This is mostly just storage for me. I am beginning to believe that there is no honor in what you’re doing. It would have been more honorable to charge at your enemies instantly upon learning of your master’s death and have fallen in battle that way. I mean what if you had become ill and died? What if one of them had become ill? There would have been no way to prove that you were taking the honorable course rather than drinking yourself into a pickle.”

Kyo looked up, scared. “This is just an act, Noboru,” although his hand never left the bottle.

“An act?” Noboru shouted. “An act? No act lasts this long, Kyokutei. Just how many different lives do you think you’re allowed to lead? You have become what you pretend to be.”

Noboru watched and noted with pain that Kyo did not deny this last statement. He only stared down at the bar and held the bottle next to him. “Akira has ordered his number of guards drastically reduced,” Kyo said softly. “This month the lord dies.”

“You know you can’t survive.”

“I’ve been dead for six years,” Kyo said quietly. “Death was the only way out, it was just a matter of how. Once I finish what I started, I’ll do the honorable thing. I won’t wait for the Emperor to judge me; I won’t wait for the town to hear. I will either die trying or die right there in Akira’s palace by my own hand.”

“I will pray that you die honorably,” Noboru said, “and that you still have a spirit left to save.”

Kyo didn’t say goodbye, he only walked off into the cold winter night with the sake bottle still in his hands.

Later that month the snows came in thick and deafening, their white blanket covering the entire land over the course of one night.

The courtyard of Akira’s palace was obliterated in white and as Kyo dropped from the wall he landed with a soft thud, dipping down to one knee, his body tense, one hand buried in the snow supported on strong flexed fingers, ears open to hear if anyone was coming. He heard only the wind. He felt the icy burn of the snow against his hand and savored it. He felt the numbing wet of the snow against his knee and he smiled. If he were capable of controlling the weather he couldn’t have planned a better night. Thick snowfall made everything seem as if it were moving even when it wasn’t, it made sounds difficult to hear and easy to dismiss, and it made guards stay in by the fire, neglecting their rounds and growing sleepy.

He had killed two by the rear wall before making his way over, but he didn’t expect any more interference until he reached the bedroom of Akira himself.

He forced himself to wait a few minutes longer, to make sure he heard nothing else moving, then he took his frozen hand out of the snow and tucked it into his robe, feeling it come back to life as he crept forward through the courtyard.

He met no one as he stepped inside the palace hall.

Outside the snow began to peter out and breaks started appearing in the clouds.

His luck held as he made his way through the palace and he came across no more guards even as he walked quietly down the hallway towards Akira’s bedroom. He took a grip on the door, knowing that he would have to be quick, and took a short series of fast breaths before sliding the door back with a hard shove and leaping into the room. There were two guards on either side, one of which fell instantly under Kyo’s sword. The other was young and inexperienced and in the darkness Kyo quickly dispatched him as well, his sword sliding cleanly into his stomach before he pulled back and strode over to Akira’s bed.

The lord was cowering beneath his bed sheets, scrambling to retreat as much as he could, if only a few more inches towards the head of the bed. An alarm gong sat a few feet away, forgotten and unused in Akira’s fright. Kyo had assumed that he would get one chance at Akira before being cut down by the guards that would be inevitably summoned, even in this small provincial palace, but no alarm had been sounded and he found himself with no need to hurry.

Fragile gray light was starting to spread in the sky and Kyo stared at Akira, scrawny in nothing but his sleeping gown. Kyo was surprised to find that he had nothing to say, no act to perform, and that he was tired. He stepped forward, drawing his sword, and finished his job.

When it was done he carried Akira’s head along with him and returned to the hallway. As he passed the guards on the floor one of them gasped and attempted to move. In the morning light Kyo looked down and saw how bad the wound was, his eyes scanned all over the body but he took little notice of anything, instead, suddenly drowsy, he continued on, Akira’s head at his side.

It was bright out when he entered the courtyard again and the white snow was blinding. He placed Akira’s head on the ground then knelt in the snow and prepared to end his life as well as he could. He hoped to bring some small amount of honor back to his family by doing so.

He would have no second to finish the job if he wavered. He would have nothing but himself. Most of the samurai he had known had refused to think much about this act, some had been terrified of it, some had opted to deal with it by never thinking about it. Kyo had always gone through life with a blundering determination and had taken the time to speak with a doctor on the subject. He knew that earliest possible release for him would be to pass out from blood loss after the initial cut, but that the highest possible honor he could gain for his lord and family would be to make it through a second cut, maybe a third, before dying.

He removed his smaller dagger from its sheath and held the point against his stomach. He said a prayer for his lord, his wife and his son. Then he took a deep breath, wished for the salvation of his own spirit, and drove the point of his dagger up into his body.

Then everything went wrong.

“It’s all right, I guess,” Gregor said. “You don’t have to answer the question.”

“I’m really not sure I can,” Kyo answered. “Although I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I would if I could.”

Gregor smiled. “I know. Being an unknown can be an advantage sometimes. Although, rumor has it that Epp was there right at the moment you became one of us.” Gregor was staring at Kyo, then he closed his eyes and shook his head, correcting himself. “No, wait, what am I saying? You never became one of us. You became…well you became whatever you are, I suppose, and rumor has it that Epp was there at the moment that that happened.”

“I’m the same as you,” Kyo said. “I’m just completely different.”

“Regardless, it’s this strange relationship you have with Epp that worries me.”

“We do go way back, him and I.”

“Yes. Yes you do, and although you’re happy to throw obstacles in his way that you come up with, I’m wondering what would happen if someone else were to come up with something that might challenge Epp. I’m wondering, you know, how you might react.”

“You all have to do what it is that you do. Whatever interactions you’re planning on having with Epp, I’m not going to go out of my way to interfere, unless you involve me directly, of course. But I don’t owe Epp anything. I don’t owe anyone anything. That much I made clear right from the start.”

“Right,” Gregor said, his curiosity once again overriding the direction he wanted the conversation to take. “What was it that happened there, at the start, as you put it?”

Kyo only looked down at the table.

Kyo was shocked at the pain, at the feeling in his hands, at the amount of steam that was boiling up from his body as he opened it up with his dagger, and then the blur of the last few hours came sharp upon his mind and he cried out.

Six thousand miles away, Epp stopped talking in the middle of the conversation he was having with a new tester beneath the city wall of Rome.

“Did you hear that?” Epp asked.

The other tester shook his head, confused, and then tried to restart the conversation. Epp held up a finger for silence.

A moment later there was another cry as Kyo pulled the blade further across his stomach and remembered the young guard he had left dying a few minutes ago up in Akira’s bedroom, and how his eyes had looked blankly over the guard’s body in the gray light of dawn, and how he had registered that the wound he had dealt was fatal and then continued on. But as Kyo knelt in the courtyard everything else he had seen finally became clear in his head and he cried out again as, a few yards away on the floor of Akira’s bedroom, Kyo’s son took his last breath.

“What is it?” the new tester asked Epp, who had dropped to his knees and covered his ears with his hands.

Epp looked up, bewildered. “You don’t hear that?” Epp cried out. The young tester shook his head again and began to grow nervous.

In the courtyard Kyokutei’s mind was a mess as he started to fade, forgetting about any chance of saving his own spirit he only begged over and over again that his son could somehow be saved, even if it meant his own disgrace. Then he died.

Then he stood up.

A man with blacker skin than he had ever seen and wearing some sort of leather jerkin was standing in front of him.

“My name is Epp,” the black man said. “What on earth did you just do?”

Kyo turned and looked down at his own body lying in a swatch of red snow. “Am I dead?” he asked.

“I think we had better talk,” the black man said.

“If you say so,” Kyo said, deferentially, assuming this man to be a god.

“I do.”

“My son,” Kyo said, and turned to run back inside.

Epp didn’t follow, knowing from experience that it was impossible to protect his kind from certain pains. Instead he stood in the snow and looked down at Kyo’s body, then looked up to see Kyo running across the snow covered courtyard. Epp’s eyes grew puzzled and he shook his head. “What are you?” he asked as the samurai’s back disappeared into the palace.

It was hours before Epp was able to calm Kyo down. Then it was hours more before either one of them could make much sense of what had happened. They were standing in a frozen field. The snowfall had only accumulated a dusty half inch, the rest having been blown off by the wind. It was almost dark again and Epp was peering back over his shoulder.

“Are you still all right?” Kyo asked.

“I believe so,” Epp said, squinting off into the horizon, “I can still see home.”

“And when do I get to return home?” Kyo asked.

Epp sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve tried to explain to you, you don’t go home. Not ever again.”

“So I am dead,” Kyo said, “and soon to be reunited with my lord and ancestors.”

“No,” Epp answered. “No that isn’t it either. I am trying to explain this but even I don’t quite understand it. I’m sorry for that. Usually you get a decade or more to make your choices, but you…” Epp faltered, baffled again at the conclusion he had reached, “you somehow…you were your own first choice, and you chose to protect yourself by dying at the exact same moment that your son was dying, who was your second choice,” Kyo wasn’t listening anymore and Epp didn’t blame him as he continued on just once again trying to get a handle on it himself, “and it all must have happened in the space of a single heart beat. I mean the chances of that…for that to have happened…” Epp trailed off then once again dredged up the only solid piece of information he had, which was also the most amazing part of all of this in his mind. “I heard you all the way in Rome!” Epp shouted, pointing off into the horizon despite knowing from previous attempts throughout the day that the concept of Rome was not about to sink into Kyo’s head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“But I’m done now and I would like to rest.”

“You can’t go home now, Kyo. You flew through all the barriers and tests and landed, in the space of a heartbeat, in the role of a tester. I keep trying to tell you, you serve all of humanity now.”

“No,” Kyo said softly, sitting on the ground. “I am through serving.”

“That’s not a choice you can make anymore. You, somehow, already made it. You now serve-”

“NO!” Kyo screamed and Epp stumbled backwards in fear the man’s roar was so loud. “No more masters,” Kyo screamed again, standing up. “No more serving,” he yelled, only this time his voice cracked and became hoarse and his foot landed funny on a frozen rut of dirt so he fell to his knees almost immediately. “No more serving,” Kyo said, his voice back under control as he looked up at Epp, pleading.

“I honestly can not say what would happen if you refused to ever push,” Epp said. “I really can’t. Most testers who don’t push, they begin to fade away.”

“Like death?” Kyo asked.

“I suppose, yes. It’s a type of death.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I’m not sure what…I really don’t know what to do here,” Epp said, and then he swore as he looked back at the horizon. “I don’t even know where I am and if I don’t get back soon I won’t be getting back until your people discover my people…or the other way around.” He turned back to Kyo. “Someone will find you. Do you understand? There have to be other testers in this land. Someone will find you. You are not alone. Until then,” he sighed, “I’d give you some advice if I had some but I don’t. Or if you want to you can come back to Rome with me. At least you’d be sure to be amongst your kind and I’d be there. It might be nice to know that at least one other-”

“I can get to where you’re from,” Kyo said, still kneeling in the dirt.

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can,” Kyo said, staring off at the horizon. “I can see where you came from.” It was the first action Kyo had taken since his death that in any way indicated to him that what Epp had told him was real, that he wasn’t human anymore. In some strange way he was actually able to see the path Epp had taken to get here.

“But that’s impossible. I can barely even see where I came-”

“I can see,” Kyo interrupted. “You can leave now. I have family to look after.”

“I need to start moving,” Epp said. “Or I’m going to be here permanently.”

“I know. Go. I’ll be able to find you again.” Kyo tilted his head as he looked west, and was again amazed to see that Epp’s trail was so clear to him. “Go.”

Epp hesitated. “I try to welcome those I can into this world as gently as possible,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you, Kyokutei.”

“Thank you, Epictetus. The sentiment is enough.”

“Not hardly,” Epp said, then turned to the horizon, wavered, and disappeared.

“Again,” Kyo said, “I’m not going to answer that.”

“I know,” Gregor said. “But you have to understand that it’s fun to try and piece you together.”

“Actually it is no fun at all. I’ve been trying for centuries.” Kyo stood up and brushed his hand against his suit jacket before extending it to Gregor. “I have no reason to interfere in anything you might be planning as long as it doesn’t interfere with me.”

Gregor stood up and took Kyo’s hand. “Great,” he said, smiling.

“One word though,” Kyo said, dropping the handshake. “I don’t like you very much, although I like very few testers so you shouldn’t take that personally. But I do think you are talented, so if you think you have found something that will be able to pose a challenge to Epp, I believe you. On the other hand, I’m not sure how smart you are, so I will tell you to think twice about messing about with it, whatever it is. Anything that could even begin to pose a challenge to Epp will be something that you yourself will have difficulty controlling.”

Gregor opened his mouth a few times as Kyo spoke to begin replying but Kyo talked through him, then turned and walked out of the room before anything was said.

Gregor watched him go. “God forbid you just answer a couple of questions,” he said to himself, watching Kyo walk down the hallway. “Still,” he perked up, “neutral is neutral I suppose. And once Epp is gone…” He smiled. Then he turned and began to make up a cup of coffee that he might finally be able to finish.

Out in the hallway Kyo gave a curt nod to Hector, who grinned at him, and a nod to Nyx, who bounced up and down on the balls of her feet with giddy energy as Kyo walked back out into the restaurant. Nyx took a long, slurping suck on the object in her mouth, enjoying its taste so much she didn’t notice Hector glaring at her until he cleared his throat and she froze, like a student caught chewing gum.

Hector held a cupped palm up in front of her mouth and she obligingly slid the object out between her lips and into his hand. Hector held it up to the light, turned it around a few times, then stared angrily at Nyx.

“What?” she asked. “I stopped off for some Chinese before I came here.”

Hector handed the finger bone back to her; she popped it into her mouth and resumed sucking.

“Hey,” she said, elbowing Hector in the side as she turned around and looked through the office door at Gregor stirring sugar into his coffee. “What do you think he tastes like?”

Hector’s lips curled up slightly at the corners of his mouth in an uncontrollable boyish grin. “Lack of foresight,” he answered.

Nyx giggled with her mouth open.

—–

Click here to buy Probability Angels now!

Or click here to read Part 7.

(In a sparsely furnished room sits Nyx. Nyx is young, barely in her twenties if not still a teenager. Her hair is dark black and pert bangs rest on her forehead over heavy lidded eyes rimmed in purple eyeliner. She is sitting back in a semi-daze, as if contemplating taking a nap. She reaches up lazily and wipes a bright scarlet smear off of the corner of her mouth. A fine mist of something similarly colored is splattered over the carpet and the interviewer’s chair which sits across from her, noticeably empty.)

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Hector. Hector is broad shouldered, his large frame is barely contained by a three-piece suit. His eyes are covered with mirrored sunglasses that hug his face close. His arms are folded and he doesn’t seem to happy about being here. Up against the near wall Gregor is seated, his face hidden behind the newspaper he’s reading.)

Joseph Devon: Okay, Hector, it’s good to have you here.

Hector: Yah.

JD: Now we’ve covered most everything in other interviews except what’s been in the works on your end of things.

H: What’s that mean?

JD: I mean we’ve gone into what testers are and how they work and live and some of their history. All I really have questions about for my readers is what you’ve been up to in the graveyards.

H: I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. (The newspaper rattles and Gregor’s face appears. Hector glances over and gets an assenting nod from Gregor.) Yeah? (Gregor nods again) Okay. (The mirrored sunglasses turn to face the interviewer again) You want to repeat that?

JD: I was wondering if you could say a few words about what you’ve been up to in the graveyards.

H: A tester stops pushing, they start to rot. A lot of these end up in graveyards, you know, because they wind up chasing after their choices. So, yeah, I’ve been doing some work in graveyards.

JD: Were you the first one Gregor brought back?

H: (Hesitant) No, there were others. I’m just naturally suited to the work that needs to be done.

JD: And can we talk about that work? Frankly and openly?

H: How’s that?

JD: You were a goner, you were a decaying corpse of a tester, weren’t you? And Gregor figured out, (looking over his notes) I’m not sure when, but he figured out that if you feed healthy testers to a rotting tester, the rotting tester begins to grow back. In fact, he found out that they grow back far more powerful than before. Is that right?

H: (Looking over at Gregor) How much does this guy know?

Gregor: It’s okay.

H: You sure about this?

G: It’s okay. I talked to him yesterday. You can talk to him today. And Nyx will talk to him tomorrow.

H: (Indicating with his finger as he talks this through) You talked to him yesterday? (Gregor nods) And I’ll talk to him today? And then Nyx is going to be here tomorrow? (Gregor nods again. Hector thinks this through one more time) Okay then. (Turning back to the interviewer) I guess fire away.

JD: When a tester rotting in a graveyard gets fed enough healthy testers, they come back stronger-

H: That’s right. We’re stronger than before. Much, much, stronger. And faster. Make sure you put down faster.

JD: Okay, yes, I think I’ve got that. But some parts of you don’t quite regenerate fully, do they? Like your eyes? Or Nyx’s hand?

H: Yeah, that’s right. Some parts don’t quite grow back again. They stay a little rotten.

JD: Can we see your eyes?

H: Fuck off.

JD: (Forcing a laugh) So that would be a “No?”

H: (Not responding)

JD: Okay. So can we talk about you for a bit? You were in a graveyard at one point. So that means you gave up as a tester, you refused to work. Would you care to talk about that?

H: This is ridiculous. (Turning to Gregor) How much of this do I have to sit through?

G: I thought it would be interesting. I guess not. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. We’ve really got nowhere to go, though. You might as well kill some time.

H: Nah. (Turning to interviewer) We’re done.

JD: Um…I…okay. I guess we’ll just finish with the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” What is your favorite word?

H: Love. (To Gregor) Did you do the jumble yet?

JD: What is your least favorite word?

H: Let’s just go ahead and mark down that I answered “Love” for all of these okay? (Takes a section of newspaper from Gregor’s outstretched hand and begins flipping through it)

JD: Well. I guess that means we’re-

H: Shhh.

JD: (Whispering) Sorry.

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Gregor. Tall, lean, and pale, Gregor has a sharp confidence to him that he emits through an easy smile and casual attitude that seem at odds with his gaunt coloring and middle aged face. When he needs to, he can appear imposing, if not downright frightening, with a pointed gaze that burns through sallow eyes.)

Joseph Devon: Gregor, I thank you for joining us.

Gregor: And I thank you for having me.

JD: Now, we’ve been through a number of interviews and we’ve covered most everything concerning your world, I hope. But before we get started, is there anything you’d like to say about being a tester that you want to make sure gets mentioned?

G: Nothing that comes to mind, no.

JD: Right. I suppose if we’re going to talk to you we’re going to have to talk about the Council. Is that going to be a problem for you?

G: No, what happened there happened centuries ago. I’ve long ago made my peace with the Council.

JD: And have you made your peace with Epp?

G: (Smiling his easy smile) I hardly think it’s right to go blaming Epp for the actions of a hundred other testers, do you?

JD: (Slightly put off) I suppose not. Um…(Looking through his notes) so can we talk about what brought on the Council’s punishment for you in first place?

G: Of course. I was opting to do things a little differently when I first started testing.

JD: How so?

G: I’m sure you know the basic idea, we interfere in the lives of humans and we gain energy from them by altering them.

JD: By pushing them forward.

G: That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. At any rate, I decided to see what I could draw out of an entire village up in the mountains of Eastern Europe.

JD: And how did you do that?

G: I’m not going to give up any secrets here, Mr. Devon, but it’s enough for you to know that I was striving to become an icon, a myth, a legend amongst those people. I was curious to know what ways we were allowed to interact with humans, how many undiscovered tools were still left to be found.

JD: And what did you become?

G: I became myth (smiles). I became legend.

JD: You became the origin of vampires.

G: I did. But don’t say it like that. My work has been used and ingested and chewed up and turned around so many times that I actually like to distance myself from today’s notion of vampires. All the stories and movies you have today, they really stray away from the simplistic beauty of what I did up in that village. Of the reaction I was able to build. It was wonderful.

JD: You were just trying to see what was possible.

G: That’s right.

JD: And you ran headfirst into another group of testers, also sensing that new things were in the wind, and also curious to see what was possible.

G: That is a very good way of putting it. I ran right smack into the newly formed Council.

JD: And they opted to punish you, which we’ve already discussed with Kyo.

G: You talked with Kyo, did you? You didn’t get anything interesting out of him, did you?

JD: Not a lot, no.

G: That one’s a bit of a mystery.

JD: That’s for certain. Anyway, is it true that Epp was against the Council by the time they had decided to punish you? He says that he was leaning towards considering your work genius.

G: That sounds correct, yes.

JD: Epp was against the Council?

G: No, that sounds like something Epp would say.

JD: I see. And you, during those years, spent a lot of time in graveyards?

G: That was where they drove me. I didn’t have many other places to go.

JD: And you learned a lot while you were there?

G: Not so much, no. I think maybe you’re going to want to save those questions for Hector.

JD: Hector hasn’t agreed to meet with me.

G: (Surprised) No? I’ll have a word with him. You’ll want to see him and Nyx I’m assuming?

JD: Well, yes that would round out the week nicely. Thank you.

G: (Waving off thanks) It’s not a problem.

JD: Okay, so to end, can we just talk a little bit about what you have in the works currently?

G: I’d really rather not talk about it. You know how it is as a fellow creator. You don’t want to give too much away. It ruins the effect.

JD: Yeah…yeah that makes sense. But it’s safe to say that you don’t entirely agree with Epp’s school of thought.

G: Let’s just say that I don’t think Epp speaks for all of us.

JD: I suppose that will do for now. Um…well okay then. Thank you. I guess we’ll move on to the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” You ready?

G: I am.

JD: What is your favorite word?

G: Possible.

JD: That’s interesting.

G: Why?

JD: That’s the same…never mind. What is your least favorite word?

G: Structure.

JD: What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

G: A blank canvas, or the equivalent thereof.

JD: And what turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

G: I don’t know. Too many rules, I suppose? That sounds so corny but I suppose it’ll do.

JD: What sound or noise do you love?

G: Bacon frying.

JD: What sound or noise do you hate?

G: I loathe loud trucks. Or cars. Those muscle cars? Ugh. Get a life.

JD: What is your favorite curse word?

G: Motherfucking hell.

JD: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

G: I could see a pilot. Not a pilot today, but back in the old barnstorming days. Flying a biplane in loops and that sort of thing.

JD: What profession would you not like to do?

G: I have no interest in math. So anything too math heavy. Income tax filer.

JD: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly

gates?

G: Your gains have outweighed your costs.

JD: Thank you. Very interesting.

G: Agreed.

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Kyokutei. Kyo is dressed in a cheap lime-green suit that that doesn’t fit very well and doesn’t seem very comfortable. His face is suggestive of Asian descent and he has high cheek bones and thick dark eyebrows as well as tufts of hair sprouting from his chin. There is a wavering quality to him, as if he is more than one thing at once. At times he appears as a ratty imp, at other times he looks like a great lord or powerful leader from another era who has woken up in the body of a used car salesman, and who has continued on in that role, partly out of curiosity and partly out of an inability to figure out how to get back to his old life.)

Joseph Devon: Kyokutei, I’d like to welcome you.

Kyokutei: Thank you, Mr. Devon.

JD: Now, we’ve been chatting with testers all this week…but (pausing to choose his words carefully) you’re not quite like them, are you?

K: I prefer direct questions.

JD: What are you?

K: I don’t exactly know.

JD: So you are different in some way from the testers I’ve been talking with?

K: That much is certain.

JD: Now (looking through his notes) Epp once stated that you have never once pushed, and that you made a conscious decision to live that way once you came to know the tester’s world.

K: Epp likes to see the best in people. I’m not sure I would have phrased it that way, but, yes, I have never pushed out of choice.

JD: Okay. Right, but, we’ve also heard from any number of people that testers who don’t push will slowly decay, or I think the word “rot” was used as well.

K: Yes.

JD: You’re not rotting. You just don’t have an abundance of…energy, I guess I would say?

K: I shop at thrift stores, yes.

JD: Right, but you don’t rot.

K: No.

JD: (Clearly wanting Kyo to take the initiative and begin talking on his own) So how does that work?

K: How does what work?

JD: How is it that a member of Epp’s world is able to never once test a human and yet not become a rotted permanent visitor in a graveyard?

K: I’m different.

JD: Yes, but how are you different.

K: Why does it matter?

JD: I’m curious. We’re all curious. How are you different?

K: Well, it’s like this. I’m different in that I’m not the same as the other testers.

JD: (Pausing for a split-moment before realizing that Kyo hasn’t actually answered anything) You don’t want to talk about this, do you?

K: Not very much, no.

JD: So how am I supposed to let my readers get to the bottom of Kyo?

K: You’ve got a two-thousand year old Roman slave who can toss people to the far side of Mercury and I’m the point of interest?

JD: Epp answered all of my questions. You haven’t.

K: You wouldn’t understand my time, you wouldn’t understand my culture, you wouldn’t understand my life.

JD: How do you know what I’d…never mind. (Shuffling quickly through more of his notes) Would you describe your relationship with Epp as a friendly one?

K: I would, yes.

JD: Even though you’re out to destroy him.

K: (Shaking his head) Everyone phrases it like that. I like Epp. Epp has a unique problem that most people can’t understand, he has no method of measuring himself. Other testers? They can try to do what Epp has done. Epp? He has nothing like that. There was a period of time a few centuries back when he came to believe that he was slipping as a tester. He was focusing on the wrong things, like putting together the Council. He asked me if I would figure out ways to challenge him. That way, he could be sure he still was on track and wasn’t simply believing his own, I guess you could say his own hype.

JD: Now, the Council-

K: Was a complete disaster from top to bottom. There was no need for it, but Epp thought it would be nice if there was a central, how would I put this, location, I suppose, or base of operations. I believe his idea was simply to allow testers to congregate and share ideas. Maybe set up some systems to facilitate the training of new testers or to answer questions. I think that was what he had in mind, but with Epp it is hard to be sure. I do know that the end result was more formal than he was looking for. It became a governing body of sorts, for those without bodies. Silly, in my mind, but some people went for it in a big way. And they jumped all over Gregor. Starved him out. Then it basically imploded. Now the Council is probably closer to what Epp envisioned, but it’s very lackluster. Not a lot of real power.

JD: Interesting.

K: Not particularly.

JD: And you helped the Council to prosecute Epp recently for Bartleby’s disappearance?

K: Correct. Not my finest work.

JD: Because you turned on Epp like that?

K: No, because it was an ornamental gesture with no real backing. I felt like a paper tiger up there. But I hadn’t thrown anything new at Epp recently so I went along when Gregor wanted to put him on trial. There’s not a lot they were going to be able to do. After the Council punished Gregor all those years ago most testers finally got it through their skulls that it was just too much damned work to uphold a punishment like that. I mean, they starved Gregor out. They had gobs of people following him around, making sure that he was never able to push, and they did it for decades. Truly idiotic. Was never going to stick. And, as I said, after that the Council just became more of an informal club. But Gregor wanted to put Epp on trial and, as I said, I didn’t have anything better to do.

JD: I see.

K: Do you?

JD: Maybe.

K: Splendid.

JD: I think we’re going to end this now. We’ll just work through the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” You ready?

K: Are you?

JD: What is your favorite word?

K: Redemption.

JD: What is your least favorite word?

K: Revenge.

JD: What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

K: Very little.

JD: And what turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

K: I’m not a big fan of being given too much instruction.

JD: What sound or noise do you love?

K: Footfalls crunching in the snow.

JD: What sound or noise do you hate?

K: Fax machines.

JD: What is your favorite curse word?

K: Go fuck yourself.

JD: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

K: A monk studying Zen Buddhism.

JD: What profession would you not like to do?

K: Government work.

JD: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

K: We serve rice wine.

JD: Okay, we’re done.

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Bartleby. Bartleby is dressed in black from top to bottom. His clothes blend in with his hair which is just as dark and hangs in short pin-straight lines about his head. His age is hard to tell, he could be anywhere from twenty to mid-thirties. His demeanor is standoffish, as if he isn’t entirely sure that he is okay with this interview.)

Joseph Devon: Welcome, Bartleby, and thank you for coming.

Bartleby: Yeah. Yeah, it’s no problem I guess.

JD: So we’ve talked with a few of your kind thus far, gotten a wide range of perspectives, is there anything that comes to your mind that we absolutely must know about being a tester?

B: I don’t…not that I can think of, no.

JD: All right. Then let’s dive right in. You are roughly the same age as Mary, and like Mary you are one of Epp’s students? Correct?

B: (Taking a deep breath as if choosing his words carefully) I’m not so sure that I’ll ever refer to Epp as my teacher again. Frankly, I’m not sure that anyone, anywhere, ever, should refer to Epp as their teacher.

JD: (Checking his notes) Right, right. There was an altercation between you and Epp when he felt you weren’t progressing as a student.

B: You could call it an altercation I suppose.

JD: What happened?

B: What you need to understand about Epp is that he doesn’t consider himself a teacher or a mentor or a leader. If he assumes anything close to one of those roles, it’s under the assumption that you will learn. He isn’t interested in how smart you think he is, he isn’t interested in feeling superior to you, he isn’t interested in any of that. He teaches so you’ll learn, and if he gets the feeling that you aren’t taking a proactive enough stance as a student, if you start to worry about making him happy rather than learning what you came to learn, well he doesn’t react too well.

JD: How did he react?

B: He kind of grabbed me by the shoulder and tossed me onto the far side of Mercury.

JD: The planet?

B: Yes. That would be correct.

JD: You’ll have to forgive me, but how-

B: He’s Epp.

JD: How far is it possible for one of you to travel?

B: No idea. It’s a mix of how far your kind has gone and how far one of us believes is possible to travel. See, your world and our world are constantly intertwined and your notions of your world greatly affect ours. If I had let Epp down in the year, I don’t know, 52 AD, before telescopes had allowed you to actually see distant planets and what have you, then I’m not sure how far Epp could have sent me. It’s like cell phones. (Reaches into his pocket and takes out a cell phone) We use these all the time now. The notion of having a personal communication device didn’t exist for us until you guys came up with it. But we only use the idea of cell phones, it’s not like we have cell towers set up in some parallel universe. And, it’s worth mentioning, that long distance communication was possible for us before you came up with it, it just required a very deep understanding of the nature of things and a tremendous amount of energy. Epp was probably able to do something similar to making a phone call eons ago.

JD: That’s interesting.

B: Our relationship is give and take. Epp drilled that into me over and over.

JD: And then he threw you onto the far side of Mercury.

B: (Doesn’t respond for awhile) Yeah. Then he did that.

JD: Now you wound up with some side effects from that trip.

B: Yes. We can just get right to it. I now light on fire constantly and without control.

JD: You’re prone to bursting into flames?

B: You’re repeating me.

JD: Sorry. Can you explain that?

B: I can explain it to my liking, yes. Whether it makes sense to you is not up to me. But I was on Mercury, where the temperature can reach up to eight hundred degrees. And I traveled there almost instantly. Now you, if you were to land there, you’d just burst into flames and be killed in seconds, but I don’t technically have a body so obviously I didn’t die. Instead I was suddenly dealing with molecular motion and chemical reactions that I had never seen anything like. It was different, wildly and completely different and whatever part of me I use to interact with the physical world has been unable to take in and deal with all the…all the crap I dealt with while I was there. (Irritated) So, no, I can’t control what happens to me so much any more, it’s not like I was able to get used to the energy shift that happens when you travel millions of miles and hundreds of degrees like that (Snaps his fingers. Outside a burst of lightning flashes).

JD: (Looking outside, confused) I had no idea it was supposed to rain today.

B: (Rubbing a palm wearily against one eye) Sorry, that might have been me. (Looks outside) I’ve got a lot on my mind recently. (Clearly getting worked up as smoke begins to billow up out of his shoulders) Can we maybe wrap this up?

JD: (Alarmed) Absolutely. We’re going to end with the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” You ready?

B: I just said I was.

JD: What is your favorite word?

B: Ice-cold water.

JD: What is your least favorite word?

B: Alone.

JD: What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

B: The thought of showing other people what I can do.

JD: And what turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

B: Bursting into flames.

JD: What sound or noise do you love?

B: A woman’s laughter.

JD: What sound or noise do you hate?

B: Any large machinery that isn’t properly oiled.

JD: What is your favorite curse word?

B: Son of a bitch is always nice.

JD: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

B: Let’s see…whaler?

JD: Whaler?

B: Yup. Does it have to be a current profession?

JD: It doesn’t have to be anything, no.

B: Then whaler. One of those guys who worked on a whaling ship a couple hundred years back. I’m not sure what role on the ship I’d like, but I’d figure it out.

JD: What profession would you not like to do?

B: No idea. Ballet dancer.

JD: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

B: We’re air conditioned.

JD: We’re done. Are you okay?

B: I think I’m fine now, thanks.

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Mary. She is a small woman and noticeably self conscious, but when she loses herself in the moment she is capable of exuding an energy that can captivate an entire room. Her hair dangles in golden twists about her face and her cheeks seem to shine when she smiles.)

Joseph Devon: Hello, Mary, thank you for joining us.

Mary: I’m happy to be here, Joseph.

JD: Okay, so we’ve met with Epp and gotten the perspective on testers that two-thousand years can bring, and we’ve met with Matthew and gotten a brief overview from a relative newcomer. Before we get into specifics, is there anything you’d like to add from the perspective of someone from the middle-ground, so to speak?

M: Hmm…I don’t know. There’s a lot to it. I guess…could I say that?

JD: You can say whatever you’d like.

M: Then yes, I think that’s what I’d like to add to your notion of testers as a whole. In the end it isn’t as if we go through a transformation in our personality, just in our physical being, so over the years the more I interacted with other testers, the more I came to realize that there isn’t much in the way of rules for us. You’re going to come across all kinds. (Hesitating and thinking over her answer) Is that what you were looking for? Something like that?

JD: That was just fine, Mary, thank you. Now, you’re, what, three or four centuries into this?

M: That is correct.

JD: And before making your first and second choice you were?

M: I was a nun.

JD: That in itself provides an interesting perspective. Do you think your previous calling has affected the tester you have become?

M: Of course! But on the other hand who I was as a person probably has had more impact than anything. I think that’s what I wanted to say earlier. Can I change my answer?

JD: This isn’t that formal of a setting, Mary. We’re just having a conversation. You can revisit anything you’d like.

M: Oh, I see. Yes then, I think it’s important to realize that while all of us have the initial choices in common, who a person is or was defines them more as a tester than anything. I’m willing to bet that Epp, when he was human, was a very likable man who enjoyed learning new things. If you extend that out two thousand years you wind up with someone who has come to understand most of the current mysteries of the universe.

JD: So a tester will be defined by his personality traits that carry over from his days of being alive?

M: No, oh is that what I said? That isn’t quite it. It’s also important to remember that we constantly grow, or don’t grow, as testers. We aren’t fixed in stone. We’re just people with a slightly different way of interacting with the world. I think that’s what I wanted to say. How much a tester learns is up to that tester, and how much they grow is up to that tester, and…and how much they fail, too, I suppose.

JD: Right. According to Matthew if a tester doesn’t do his work regularly he can start to (looking over his notes) decay, I think was how Matthew put it. Would you care to talk about this?

M: You’re talking about graveyards, aren’t you?

JD: You tell me.

M: Well you know about the pain, the hurt that can overtake us? And how it gets so that the only thing that seems to be important to us is visiting with our choices?

JD: Matthew went into that, yes.

M: Okay, then follow that through to the end. If a tester gives in, decides not to do his work and decides instead to visit with his choice permanently, if they don’t force themselves back to the work, then they’re going to just sit and visit with their choice forever. During the first few decades this means visiting a living person, but after that it means visiting their final resting place. And, Matthew was correct in that not doing any testing will begin to wear away a tester. Epp believes we are paid back by the universe for pushing people ever forward. I’m not sure if that’s entirely correct but that is the basic idea. We’re nourished in some way by the work. Neglect the work, we start to, how did Matthew put it? Decay? So if you visit, or rather, if I were to visit a graveyard, I’m likely to see any number of testers who have given up. They’ve opted to wait out eternity at their choice’s final resting place. And so graveyards are filled with the wasted remains of our kind. It’s sad…and dangerous. Epp never should have risked taking me and Matthew to one.

JD: How dangerous?

M: Very. One of those things tore apart Epp’s leg. It was my fault, really.

JD: So these failed testers–

M: Oh, I don’t like that. Don’t call them failures, that’s too harsh. It’s a difficult world we live in.

JD: Okay, so one of these testers who has chosen to visit permanently with their choice, they could pose a real threat to a healthy tester? Is healthy the right word?

M: Healthy is fine. And no, the testers in the graveyards are very sluggish and slow. You would have to go out of your way to get into their way for one of them to hurt you. Which is exactly what Epp did. (Shaking her head) I really have a hard time watching him limp now. Did he mention how that was all my fault?

JD: It didn’t even come up.

M: Oh.

JD: At any rate, the graveyards as you describe them, and the constant threat of giving in to your desire to see your choices, that makes it seem like you live in a very bleak sort of world.

M: That side of things can be, but then there are the mountain tops.

JD: The mountain tops?

M: (Nodding) They’re the complete opposite of graveyards. Mountain tops are where testers go to rest after finishing a push.

JD: Because pushing can take so much out of you.

M: Very much so, yes. After a decade long push it’s possible for a tester to travel to Mount Everest or high up in the Andes and collapse for a century or more.

JD: A monumental nap, if you will?

M: Yes. I consider it a very special treat to be able to visit a mountain top.

JD: So you can’t get up there normally?

M: No. No testers can. Not on their own. You have to have recently pushed, or you can follow someone up who recently pushed. They’re sacred places. They are reserved for those who need their rest. I really do love them. If you could come with me to Everest I could show you the exact opposite of the graveyards. I could show you hope triumphant and optimism everlasting sprawled out peacefully on rock faces and snowy clefts.

JD: That does sound nice.

M: It is.

JD: Okay, I think we’ll end on that and move right to the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” You ready?

M: I am.

JD: What is your favorite word?

M: Faith.

JD: What is your least favorite word?

M: I suppose I’ll go with the obvious and say doubt.

JD: What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

M: Beauty? Does that make sense?

JD: And what turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

M: (Wrinkling her nose) Pettiness.

JD: What sound or noise do you love?

M: No one believes me, but on a good winter night the wind atop Mount Everest hits a note three octaves above perfect C. In the deep black of midnight it is wonderful.

JD: What sound or noise do you hate?

M: Babies screaming.

JD: What is your favorite curse word?

M: I am not going to answer that.

JD: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

M: I would do anything to have the courage to perform on stage. Broadway fascinates me.

JD: What profession would you not like to do?

M: Something where I have to argue a lot. A lawyer, I guess.

JD: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

M: The world is most certainly a better place because you existed.

JD: Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.

M: (Smiles) That was fun.

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Matthew. Matthew could just barely be considered a short man and his thinning hair makes him look older while his blue eyes are playful and childlike. He is constantly shifting positions, one minute sitting forward eagerly as if excited for the interview, the next moment shrinking back in his chair as if he is about to take a final exam that he is sure he is going to fail.)

Joseph Devon: Matthew, thank you for joining us.

Matthew: (Smiling) Oh, I had nothing else of much importance going on tonight anyway.

JD: So we had a chance to talk with Epp yesterday. He gave us kind of a beginner’s course in your kind.

M: (Laughing) I find it hard to believe Epp could make anything sound like a beginner’s course.

JD: You find him to be a difficult teacher?

M: First off, I don’t think I’d call him my teacher. Not to his face. He can shirk that title and that can have some odd results. You can ask Bartleby about that. And second, no, I think Epp is a great teacher, but when he gets all (makes a yap-yap motion with his hand) it can be difficult to follow. When he gets rolling I don’t think he quite understands that the rest of us aren’t two-thousand year old geniuses.

JD: I could see that, yes. So he gave us a brief overview of how one of you is made. It’s rather confusing, I must say.

M: Yeah? You thought so? That always made sense to me. Although I’m pretty new, I only became a tester about eight months ago.

JD: Maybe you’d like to explain it your way?

M: Well it’s pretty easy really. My wife and I were held up and the mugger’s gun went off and the only thing that went through my mind was, “Me not her, me not her, me not her,” over and over again. Something, somewhere, heard that and let my little wish come true. I wound up in this weird sort of limbo, just bouncing around, and my wife got a chance to continue her life. Pretty normal.

JD: Normal?

M: (Laughing) Oh yeah. Just your average self-sacrifice boilerplate kind of stuff. Anyway, so I was supposed to hang around until she passed away and then we’d both move on together, only there was something I didn’t realize, and that was that my daughter was involved too. So I had a choice to make, move along with my wife, or use my daughter to keep me here and become a tester.

JD: So this all made sense to you at the time?

M: Of course not, during those twenty years or so as a newbie I had no idea what was going on. I can only make sense of this now looking back. At the time things were…they were pretty jumbled. Dying will do that to you. But after making my second choice, well, things started to make a little more sense. (Pauses and thinks this over) Yeah, it was after I got cast loose that I was able to make sense of this.

JD: Now, would you mind going into more detail about that, about what it’s like to be cast loose.

M: It sucks.

JD: More detail than that?

M: You have to say goodbye. You have to say goodbye to both of them. I had to let go of my wife and daughter, who I had just met, on a deeper and more profound level than you could possibly understand. And you’re alone. Totally alone. And, as if that isn’t bad enough, as if the funny little ache you carry around with you isn’t enough, the hurt can come back to you at any time.

JD: The hurt?

M: Yeah, the pain of letting go, of saying goodbye forever, can just come ripping into you at any time. It’s like if the single worst moment of your life was allowed to come back to you without warning, only it was twenty times stronger than you remembered. That’s what the pain is like. You’ll all of a sudden have this, just, catastrophic heartache and you’ll of course want to compensate by going to go visit with one of your choices. It’s rough. (Running a hand over his face) It’s rough all over.

JD: And what happens if you go for a visit?

M: Well, you’re going to need to ask someone else about that, I’m pretty new so I don’t know if I understand it entirely. But basically I think you can sort of get stuck. You have to keep in mind, the urge is like a drug, once is never enough, so you can wind up making a visit that lasts for centuries. And, again I’m not sure I have this right, but I’m pretty sure that if we don’t put in work, if we don’t push or test, after awhile we start to decay.

JD: (Nodding) We’ve got some questions about that for some other people, yes.

M: Yeah. So, anyway, the pain is bad, and it can lead to the urge to visit with your choices. Or, hell, the urges can just come on their own. And, and¸ you need to keep in mind that doing the work? Testing itself? That sends us back into the moment that created us. I’ve only really pushed once, this little girl, but all I heard the entire time was my wife’s scream, just over and over and over again. And I came out of it terrified and feeling utterly alone and wanted nothing more than to see my daughter. So digest that. If we don’t push, we rot, but in order to push we have to face our worst moments over and over and over again.

JD: That’s interesting, I’d never thought about it quite like that.

M: Well…me either for that matter. It’s probably best not to. And, you know, it’s important to note that there are some upsides to this condition of ours. We get to create greatness. That’s pretty neat. (Smiles) And I can light my cigars without needing a match. And the views from the top of Mt. Everest at midnight, on a clear night? Astounding.

JD: I’m sure they are. All right, I think we can wrap things up there. I’d like to thank you for coming. We’re going to end with the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” You ready?

M: I am.

JD: What is your favorite word?

M: Um…I don’t know. Mushrooms?

JD: Mushrooms?

M: Yeah, mushrooms. Isn’t this one of those, “There are no right answers,” sort of things?

JD: Of course, yes, no mushrooms is fine. Perfectly fine. I was just expecting something different I guess. No, it’s fine. What is your least favorite word?

M: (Frowning in thought) Well, now I kind of don’t like “mushrooms.”

JD: What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

M: I have a great desire to no longer be the stupidest person in the room, so I work very hard to catch up with the people who have been testing for hundreds of years.

JD: And what turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

M: Feeling like I’m trying my hardest but not gaining any ground.

JD: What sound or noise do you love?

M: Rain against a window.

JD: What sound or noise do you hate?

M: Crowds. Being surrounded by a large crowd.

JD: What is your favorite curse word?

M: Cock-knocker.

JD: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

M: Something easy, like a data entry person, something where I could just go in, do my work, then be done for the day and not have to think so god-damned much.

JD: What profession would you not like to do?

M: Cashier someplace crowded.

JD: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

M: You’re allowed to rest now.

JD: Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.

M: Same here. That was fun.

(In a sparsely furnished room the interviewer sits across from Epictetus. Epictetus’ dark black skin is offset by his immaculately cut suit, and both of these combined with his muscular tone and stern dark eyes would make him seem imposing if it wasn’t for the warmth in his smile.)

Joseph Devon: Good morning, thank you for coming.

Epictetus: No problem at all.

JD: So this is the first in a string of interviews. I wasn’t sure where to put you in the order, but I decided that it was probably best to start with you.

E: I take it this means I’m going to be getting all the hard questions.

JD: Unfortunately, yes. Should we start with your age?

E: I’m roughly 2,000 years old.

JD: Roughly?

E: We don’t really have any means of keeping a written history, so some information gets lost.

JD: And by “we” you mean?

E: Testers. Or pushers we’re sometimes called.

JD: Okay, and what is a tester exactly?

E: Have you ever had something bad happen in your life that, once you got through it, you looked back and viewed as a positive influence? A source of growth?

JD: Maybe.

E: That was the work of a tester.

JD: I’m not sure I…I don’t think I understand.

E: (There is a long pause as Epp leans back in his chair and stares off, thinking. He comes back to us smiling.) Well, let’s take you for example. If you make it as a writer will you look back on these years of struggle as a formative time? A time of learning?

JD: Not really, this seems kind of like a giant pain in the ass. I want to hang out in Spain and drink all day. That’s what I thought I was signing up for with this writing gig. It’s taken me somewhere rather different.

E: (Laughing) Testers are often misunderstood. But didn’t you say awhile back that “every word matters,” in your writing? Did you always have that viewpoint? Did you always rewrite stories four or five times? Did you always force yourself to focus as much as you do now?

JD: Not so much, no. I used to not believe in rewriting.

E: And would you say that all the years and all the piles of rejection letters for your manuscripts were what made you constantly return to the work and attempt to improve yourself and your craft?

JD: I don’t think I like where this is heading.

E: So isn’t it possible to say that being rejected has made you into a better writer?

JD: Has one of you been rejecting my stories?

E: (Smiling) You know I can’t answer that. And there many other factors than testers at play in this universe. But that’s just an example of how one of us might go to work. It can be as simple as altering something in the physical world, like maybe slipping rejection slips into your SASEs, or it’s possible someone went to work inside of you, forced you to doubt yourself, applied pressure to you to go back and relearn your job.

JD: (Clearly uncomfortable) Can we stop talking about me specifically? It’s a little weird.

E: Of course.

JD: Thank you. Now a couple more questions about testers in general, and then I’d like to hear a little more about Epictetus specifically.

E: My time is yours.

JD: Would you describe yourself as a ghost?

E: Not really. Although it’s quite possible that many ghost stories you’ve heard are actually about a tester. We exist in your physical reality, that’s important to note, but we interact with it differently. I’m capable of being visible to you or not, for example. And to pick up, say, this pen I could either manipulate it through physical exertion (Epp picks up the pen in question with his hand) or I could manipulate the very basic energy contained in the pen at a quantum level (Epp stares at the pen and concentrates, it cracks and curls up until it compresses into small ball before disappearing).

JD: (Impressed) You owe me one pen.

E: It would seem that I do.

JD: Right then. Now, how does one become a tester?

E: Through a series of choices. Essentially, a person becomes a tester by finding themselves in a situation in which they, and two people close to them, are in danger of dying. For me it was a house fire two thousand years ago. I woke up in a house full of flames and heard my wife screaming. The only thought that went through my head was that if someone was going to die that I wanted it to be me and not her. In fact, I believe I did some begging that this would be the case. And it was. I died. She lived. This is what’s known as the first choice.

JD: You mentioned three people, though.

E: Yes, well, after the first choice is made a tester exists in a kind of a trial basis. These are called newbies by some people. You become this otherworldly thing that can disappear and (laughs) destroy pens and such. But you aren’t a tester yet. There’s still your second choice to be made. That’s where the third person comes in. For all testers it seems like there was only one other person involved, it seems like a straight forward trade, your life for theirs, but that isn’t the case. Eventually that other person dies, and then everything becomes clear. When my wife eventually passed away it finally dawned on me that I had heard two other people screaming in that house fire. My wife and another woman who meant a great deal to me. After attending my wife’s funeral I had to make my second choice. It was time to actually decide if I had sacrificed myself for my wife or for this other woman. And, in this second choice, it is possible for a tester to be born. If you decide to protect the other person, if I had chosen that other woman as the reason for my sacrifice, then I would have become tethered to her and when she finally passed on I would have exited from this world.

JD: But you didn’t make that choice.

E: No, I chose my wife, who was passing away. Now it gets a little confusing. Because, while I did choose my wife, my bond with the other woman was strong enough so that I didn’t actually follow my wife from this world. But once my wife passed, because she was the one that I chose, all bonds ceased to exist. In other words, in choosing my wife I chose to remain here, on this world, but become permanently separated from those that I loved. Those, in fact, that I loved enough to die for in the first place. I became a tester.

JD: You’re right, it is a little confusing.

E: (Laughs) Yes, but that is more or less the point. There is an odd little hiccup in the universe that allows us to exist. A loophole, if you will, in what seems to be a simple moment of self sacrifice. We juke the system and stay behind while the doorway to the next world closes. But, yes, it can get confusing, and in the end it doesn’t exactly matter. The thermodynamics involved in an internal combustion engine are also confusing but you don’t need to understand them every time you want start your car. I loved my wife enough to die for her, and when she passed on I decided I loved the world enough to not go with her and cast myself adrift forever.

JD: Okay, and we’re going to look at that sense of being adrift when we talk to some other testers throughout this week. For now, though, we’re running out of time and I want to just get a little history on you. What was your greatest push?

E: They all have their merits but I’m assuming you’re talking about Newton.

JD: Yes. I’d like to talk briefly about that and Kyokutei’s role in it.

E: A lot of people don’t understand Kyo. And for good reason I suppose. He is a little different. But he’s tough and he’s pure, that much I can tell you. And, after I had been testing for about fifteen hundred years, I felt I was getting soft so I enlisted Kyo to help me, to challenge me, to attempt to destroy me if possible. One thing Kyo did was to dig up a young boy named Isaac Newton. There was such huge potential in Newton that failing while pushing him could have obliterated me. So Kyo is basically a tester for the testers. Although he seems to only be working for me at the moment.

JD: Possibly because you’re the only one crazy enough to ask someone like him to destroy you.

E: (Smiles) Possibly. You have to understand, though, after fifteen hundred years of anything you’re going to begin to wish for some way to shake things up.

JD: That seems perfectly understandable. All right, I’d like to thank you for coming. I didn’t get around to asking you everything I wanted but, like we said at the beginning of this, it’s probably best that you get asked the hard questions even if that means a little less Epp than I had hoped for. We’re going to end with the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot and used by James Lipton from “Inside the Actors Studio.” You ready?

E: Most certainly.

JD: What is your favorite word?

E: Possible.

JD: What is your least favorite word?

E: Can’t.

JD: What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?

E: I try to keep with me a sense of wonder at what people can accomplish.

JD: And what turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

E: When I think back at how long I’ve been here…it can sometimes seem to me like I’ve overstayed my welcome. Like maybe it’s time to move on.

JD: What sound or noise do you love?

E: Perfectly shaped ice cubes dropping into a nice, thick, crystal whiskey glass.

JD: What sound or noise do you hate?

E: The roar of a fire.

JD: What is your favorite curse word?

E: (Laughing) There was a wonderful one in use in Gaul awhile back but I don’t think it would translate well. I guess, “Ah, fuck,” is nice. Sort of flows nicely.

JD: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

E: I’d like to be a cook. A cook in the local bar, you know, I don’t want to be a chef. I like more rustic stuff. I want to be the guy who makes the buffalo wings that you crave every weekend.

JD: What profession would you not like to do?

E: I don’t think I could be a surgeon.

JD: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear god say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

E: (Thinks for awhile) That was some good work you did; now go see your wife.

JD: Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.

E: No problem at all.

1) The above title. I am writing and publishing a novel online in installments. Installments. That word has eluded me for, like, eight months now. I kept telling people I was writing a novel in serial form, whatever that is. I’d explain the site and this project and then say something, “And, on top of that, some of the stories are sort of mixing together so really I’m now also writing a novel in serialized form.” Which doesn’t make any sense. I swear, without a keyboard under my fingertips I make about 85% less sense. Not that I make tons of sense with the keyboard. Anyway, installments. That’s the word I’ve been wanting to use. It’s okay though, I’m just the writer here. It’s not like I’m supposed to be able to think up descriptive words and phrases for things and stuff.

2) I’ve been tinkering with the site some. I know a lot of you don’t particularly need to read all the blathering and blundering I do before I get to a new story, so now you can subscribe to get the stories and just the stories in your reader or inbox. It’s in that button off to the side there by the orange chicklet. However, before you take this option I should tell you that…

3) We’ve got another Matthew and Epp story coming next. When I got it into my head to write and publish this novel in installments (serialized? seriously? that’s the word I’ve been using?) there were a number of things that didn’t occur to me. One of the bigger ones was that long time readers would be coming into the later parts having read the earlier parts six, seven, eight months ago. Which makes things difficult, especially when you write like I do. Normally for something like this there’d be a “Previously on <example> this happened…” But I’d rather write three more books than summarize any past one so hopefully I’ve figured out a different way to do this. Which I will be rolling out in the blog as the next deadline approaches. Hopefully it will work.

Oh, and 4) Flying monkeys. Go tell some people. Go here and tell them. Tell them! Tell them what you have seen here and that quality fiction is alive and well on the internet (maybe not that last story so much but you know what I mean) and tell them to rejoice.