Knights Apocalyptica

Chapter 110: Sonnet

Chapter 110: Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

-Shakespeare, Sonnet 18 (2nd Era, 1609)

With this new unknown threat, the Knights fell into a tight formation in front of the wagon and cattle as the metallic shapes drew closer. Erec’s eyes locked on the mechanical beast whirling across the landscape. Despite his perception and the enhancements of VAL, it was still difficult to process what exactly he was even seeing.

[By Dan, are they driving cars?]

And VAL was right. As the rolling cloud of dust came into focus, he saw men and women wildly riding death wagons—steel contraptions bigger than a man, yet smaller than their wagon. From the old-world history books, they only vaguely like the ‘cars’ he’d seen pictures of. Where usually, those sleek designs were simple. Yet those had welded spikes and were rigged with an obscene amount of weaponry. Most of which Erec couldn’t divine the purpose of.

This was the exact kind of old-world tech that the Church so much as heard a whisper about would demand a crusade to bury in the wasteland sands.

Humans clung to the frames of these steel beasts. They waved and hollered at one another as the massive wheels beneath them kicked up dust. Behind them, a thick black smoke plumed from the vehicle exhaust pipes. Oddly, with all that plating and modifications, this machinery was familiar to the Armor he and his fellow Knights wore.

“Weapons drawn. Follow my lead,” Boldwick ordered, putting himself in front of them all.

Erec yanked his battle axe free and slung its heavy weight on his shoulder.

He’d expected fights. Plenty of them on this expedition; the promise of them made him relish this trip. But when he’d pictured that, he showed slamming the axe's edge into massive monsters. He imagined himself tearing apart grotesque horrors or conquering impossible odds for his allies.

Not taking on other humans.

“Those are incredible,” Garin said, then whistled, his sword hung loose in his hand.

“Try dreadful,” Colin said, “Watch how they jerk around when they hit a rock; how awful to ride one of those things. Our Armor is far superior; look at them, too, drenched in sweat from the sun. I can already tell that these people reek from this far away.”

“Don’t think they care much about all that. No doubt used to the heat.” Gwen replied.

For as far away on the horizon as the group started, they closed the distance in record time. In minutes, their vehicles stalled out a good couple hundred feet away, enough to be supremely wary of the Knights, and both sides got a fair evaluation of each other. Enough to let Erec know that, without a doubt, he wanted to take a close look at those cars. The weapons attached to them—barrels and gas tanks, lighters and wires… All of it screamed war on a completely different stage.

Yet if those weapons turned towards them… It wasn’t like retreating into the cave would be their best option, not with the wagon already out in the open.

Boldwick raised a hand to acknowledge this new crowd, then set that same hand on the hilt of his sword. Waiting.

Sixteen cars. Each had imperfections and modifications that made for a stunning array of rusted metal coffins. The grand unification between them went beyond their dusty exterior but instead laid in the pure sense of utility and danger radiating off the damn things—that same energy transferred to their pilots—or rather, drivers—who were rough looking. Even now, they hung from their rides; a couple dropped down and stretched, yelling and jeering at one another and debating who could take who in a fight. Most wore deep tans, no doubt a product of their lives lived fully under the sun.

But their eyes. They were complex; what had they seen out here?

“You the leader?” one called, swaggering away from the cars. He pointed at Boldwick, a yellow grin on his thin face. His hair was pulled back in a tail. His most stand-out feature was the vast array of tattoos and scars, ink staining his skin and wrapping all around his body. Most of it was geometrical and oddly familiar…

“Glyphs?” Erec asked under his breath.

[Oh. But there are some odd lines.]

They weren’t like the ones in the Kingdom. Erec hadn’t heard of glyphs used in such a way—but if he pictured it, that man was something like what was in his head. Yet VAL was right; the lines were wrong. Odd angles, extra connections… An almost free-form shape that defied the more conventional and confined framework of what he’d known.

Boldwick strode forward, hand still on his sword. “Hail. That I am.”

“Ah,” the man stalked closer, shamelessly looking over Boldwick Armor as close as he thought he might get and scanning the steel wagon. “So you’re one of those. Heard about you,” he snorted, the rifle slung over his back, swaying slightly.

“One of those?”

“Tin cans? Kingdom folk? Heard stories about your reclusive and dangerous people. Chip on your shoulders. But then, don’t know what to expect with that shell of yours; in person, bit more intimidating than I’d have thought.”

Boldwick kept quiet, feeding into that image. Maybe he was trying to get him to share more about himself.

“I see. Well. This a miraculous occasion! A story for my family—as long as you don’t label us all as sinners and blasphemers and burn us down,” he winked. His tone didn’t betray at all that he thought that to be likely. Overconfidence?

“…That part of the Kingdom isn’t representative of what’s in front of you right now.” Boldwick shook his head slowly, breaking the front he’d presented. “As long as you don’t intend a fight, I think we’ll cooperate fine. But you have an advantage over us since we’ve never heard of you. State your intentions, then, and we can go from there.”

The stranger looked long at Boldwick and the rest of the cavern, that grin growing.

“How about this? I want a story. So, we take the day and break some bread, and you and yours talk with me and mine. I got some questions for you since I’m curious, and you’re more chatty than I’d have expected, based on the tales.”

Another long pause for Boldwick. There was unease in Erec’s gut at this idea, but he blamed his previous experience with Seven-Snakes and that whole nightmare of a situation.

Boldwick didn’t have any such hangups. “Aye, we could do that. Break bread, as it were?”

“Oh, wonderful!” The tattooed man clapped and spun around to face his horde of cars. “I’ll give my family a shout, tell’em we’re hunkering down for the day and talking to you folks. Sure, they’re as eager as me to meet you folks; come to our cars in a few, and we’ll get the tents set up and start some fire. Damn! Nothing better than a day of drinking, and we could sorely use it.”

With that, he returned to the cars and shed any tension from the situation as if this were one big stroll through the Kingdom. His people were already cheering, and in the distance came the sound of a gunshot. Instantly, all the Knights tensed as they prepared for a fight—but it was evident from the behavior of the other group that it hadn’t been an attack. No, one of those insane people’s shot their weapon into the air in celebration.

The noise brought Erec back to the sewer… But it somehow didn’t seem as powerful.

Boldwick surveyed the Knights and cleared his throat. “Morgana. You are to wear your Armor; everyone is until we can better sort out their intentions. But, given our goals to establish and explore the marks on the map as gathering points for humanity… This presents an unexpected opportunity. I don’t have to mention this, but I will; this is definitively an act that the Church would damn us for doing, but I think we’re all on the same page about that at this point.”

“Would you like us to gather information?” Olivia asked politely.

“As much as you can, without being too overt,” Boldwick replied.

“Let's all liven up,” Garin laughed. “By the tension, You’re treating this as if it’s a grim mission to take down a Rift—they’re just people, we’re just people. I’m looking forward to it. No need to treat it as some elaborate spying mission.”

“Why wouldn’t we be tense? Why on earth would any of us look forward to dining with people not even from the Kingdom? Absurd.” Colin scoffed but fell in line anyway and stepped forward for their instructions.

With that, Boldwick barked out some quick orders and limitations on conduct—namely, helmet stayed on, though visors could be opened. Weapons were to always be within reach unless otherwise ordered by him. And to stay relatively sober, someone was always to keep awake, and all were to remain within sight of at least one other Knight.

As they walked towards the set-up camp, a flare of nervousness ran through Erec. This, like walking into the wasteland, was crossing the threshold to another world. Each step brought him closer to the unknown. A world accompanied by the soft thrum of someone playing the guitar and haunted by the full-belied laughter of tough people from a harsh reality he couldn't imagine. Though he didn’t know what to make of it, there was an odd comfort to it that left him unsettled. It was almost like walking back into his home before his mother vanished on them.