The Arcadian Ring

Griffon Sharpe stumbled along the dark alley. The moon was a blur and he could have sworn he saw two. Griffon was not like the other teens his age, and it was not the usual things that separated him from the others. Griffon had killed his parents, the years of abuse, countless escape attempts, countless reprisals for trying to escape, had become too much to bear. In the ultimate act of self-preservation, he poisoned them. He called the police, who were all but too familiar with the situation.

He pleaded self-defense and won after all his medical record spoke for itself. For a while things were fine, and then nightmares, which were followed by drinking. He was an alcoholic at seventeen. In the last two years, he had been through thirteen foster homes. It was a new record according to his worker, who believed it was nothing to be proud of. After tonight, it would most likely be fourteen.

He stopped at a rusted-out dumpster filled with cockroaches and proceeded to urinate. He whistled as he did so, and even went as far to try and write his name. It proved to be nearly impossible, as his drunken state made it difficult to stand. He thought he heard something, but couldn't be sure, he had been hearing a lot of things when he was drunk lately.

Griffon did hear something, and that something was waiting with a bag to put over his head. Griffon while physically taller than his assailant did not have the reflexes to fend it off. Or his assailant's companion. He was trussed up with his hands behind his back, and a bag over his head. He was ushered into a vehicle of some kind judging by the height it was an SUV.

A familiar voice spoke, “He smells like an alehouse”, the displeasure in the voice was clear as a bell.

Griffon could not remember where he had heard the voice before, but in his defense, he could barely remember where he lived half the time. He turned to another voice speaking.

“I am sorry my lord, this one was the easiest to snatch, none will miss him here. His parents died by his hand. We had a peek at the medical file he has more broken bones than any one child should”, a very English sounding voice said.

The familiar voice grunted, “Mmm, abused I assume?”, it asked, Griffonwas sober enough to recognize it as male.

Griffon kept his mouth shut for the moment. His nose detected a fruity smell in the air, not something a male would wear. His seat was extremely comfortable, very uncommon for a normal vehicle. Their proper speech meant they were upper class. He only knew this because he spent some time with a rich family. Griffon was rather impressed his alcohol addled mind noticed so much.

A third dumb sounding voice, “Maybe we should remove the bag, milord?”, it asked

Milord immediately nixed the idea, “No, we wait until sobriety has taken hold. There is no telling what he will do”, there was a finality in the sentence.

“So what are your plans for me?”, Griffon asked with a bit of a laugh.

Milord cleared his throat, “That depends greatly on what happens when the bag comes off. Tell me boy how often do you drink?”, His voice cracked a little as if talking to Griffon was painful.

“I have been drunk for the last three days”, Griffonsaw no reason to lie to his kidnappers.

Milord spoke to his associates, “Drying him out will be our first priority gentlemen. I refuse to present him to my wife like this. She has suffered enough, there is no need to put her through more”.

Griffon realized where he knew the voice from and started to panic, “No, No NO! I killed you, I watched the life leave your eyes. I was free I WAS FRE...”, his tirade was cut short by a blow to the side of the head.

The great thing about alcohol is you sleep so deep you don't dream. For Griffon, this was the only escape from his past. His dreams were of his parents rotting away, all the while pointing at him. Their corpse-like faces mocking him, telling him he would never achieve anything, and his worthless hide was only good for selling to the next pervert.

He awoke to the clink of a chain, the musty smell, and softness underneath him. He opened his eyes, head pounding. He was in a lavish room, it reminded him of something he saw in Romeo and Juliet movie once. The bed itself had been carved, and the name Griffith was staring at him. The sun was in his eyes and he hid from it like a vampire hissing at it. His ears picked up arguing in the hall.

“Dearest I do not think it wise to see him right now. I could kill Seymour for opening his mouth”, a male voice said angrily, followed by rapid footsteps.

A female voice shouted back, “He needs to be loved and cared for. That medical file was hair above the drivel Edgar Allen Poe wrote”

“He is not Griffith”, the male voice shouted

The female voice screamed, “I know that. Nothing will ever replace what was taken from us. That young man is profoundly lost, and despite what you think husband of mine, he is still our blood. I will treat him as the family end of discussion”, she burst through the door, and the heavy wooden banged against the wall causing Griffon to wince

Her long honey blond hair and bright hazel eyes, and the familiar heart-shaped face came closer. He long gowns swept the floor as she moved, with her heels clicked against the cold stone floor

Griffon scrambled cowering in the corner of the bed, “It's not real, Its not real. I died and I went to hell, this is my punishment for what I did...”, he said his eyes were darting wildly back and forth, he was shaking involuntarily, and the guilt he felt twisted in his gut like a knife.

The woman who looked like his mom fought him until she held Griffon in her arms. She sighed softly, “You are not in hell Luke, just another reality, one that never came to pass on your world”, she said as she stroked his hair.

Griffon stopped fighting and surrendered to her embrace, “I killed you because I couldn't take it anymore. I am so sorry....”, as you can imagine Griffon was taking quite the turn over the whole thing. Thoughts and feelings he buried were now surfacing, add sobriety, and a distinct lack of alcohol he was devolving rapidly. “Whiskey”, he said in a shaky voice looking up at the woman with soulful eyes. He yearned to drink the pain away, anything was better than facing reality sober.

The alternate mom shook her head, and a tear fell from her eye, she got up and left. Griffon was left alone again. For the first week, he remained chained to the bed, and the people who looked like his parents did not come to visit. The second week the Mom and Dad doubles came to cry over his sorry state something his previous parents had not done. When he began to level out again, they gave him another ten days to be sure. The situation was beyond delicate considering his history.

It was then the visits from Wentworth Holt began, a man who dressed like someone from the early nineteen hundreds. His tailcoat pressed shirts and white gloves may be marked him as a servant. His wrinkled face and kind brown eyes watched Griffon for a moment.

“How are we doing today?”, the man asked in a refined voice, “I am Wentworth, I was the young masters, personal attendant”

Griffon was not listening to him. His brown eyes were transfixed on a hip flask Wentworth had tucked in his belt. He was hypnotized by it, and now was waiting for his chance to strike. Not a word escaped his lips. His only goal was to get his hands on the flask.

Wentworth started to lay out clothes, “I am sorry we locked you up, but we need you sober. I am also sorry you are caught up in something you just don't understand. I cannot imagine how you are feeling”, he paused ruffling Griffon's brown hair.

Griffon grabbed his arm and his other hand streaked toward the flask like a viper. Wentworth said something, and Griffon felt like his hand was hitting a brick wall. Unfortunately, he had leaned too far forward, causing him to crash into Wentworth and the pair tumbled onto the floor. Griffon made a second attempt on the flask. Only to have Wentworth say something, causing him to slide across the floor. In addition to being denied the flask, his pride hurt as well. He was larger than Wentworth, he should have been the victor.

Griffongave up and glared at the Manservant, “What did you do?”

Wentworth pulled a chair up to where Griffon leaned up against the wall, “Magic, this world is magic”, he said dusting off his uniform.

“Do I have magic?”, it was a valid question. Griffon would never have believed, had magic not been used on him personally

Wentworth smiled, “There is a strong possibility you will have it. In most cases, those from other realities tend to inherit the powers of their dead doubles. However, we must make sure you have beaten the drink first. Drinking and casting often end in disaster. Ask yourself do you want to live in a world of wonder, or continue to live in the bottle?”, the manservant did not sound harsh but there was genuine care in his voice.

“I want to try this world of wonder. Can I ask for something to eat?”, Griffon was famished, he had barely eaten in the last few days. “Then I want to know why I was brought here”

Wentworth got up and headed to the door, “Anything in particular?”

“Sandwiches and coffee please”, he said rising to his full height as the man left.

Rather than sit in idle anticipation, Griffon decided he should get familiar with his surroundings. He contemplated the differences between him and his dead double. His parents came from poor families. He was conceived at a party, a moment of passion leading to a lifetime of misery and hatred of one another. Misery and hatred he became the butt end of. This Griffith has so loved his parents were willing to replace him by any means necessary. A strange concept to Griffon no matter how he sliced it.

This Griffith was the complete opposite of him. He had a trophy case with various medals, from competitions ranging from poetry to archery. There were several journals sitting at a writing desk, where he expected to see inkwells and quills, instead, he noted ballpoint pens.

He was passing by a bookcase when he noticed several candles with flickering flames. Griffon had not walked so fast they should be flickering at all. He studied the shelf and at first glance, there seemed to be nothing unusual about it. Closer inspection revealed a wooden block painted to resemble a book. A closer look revealed, “The Secrets I Keep”, written on the spine. He carefully grabbed the woodblock and pulled it back, a muffled clicking noise could be heard, and the bookcase swung open

He entered the passage and found a circular room lit by some kind of lamp, there was no oil or candle contained within. His better judgment told him it might be best to not find out what was in the jars. The room was immaculate

His eye caught the armor stand in the corner. On it was a fine leather long coat, well-crafted leather armor, some kind of arm guards made from a similar material. He saw the brass fox mask it was not all that intimidating. The metal gloves captivated his attention the most.

The gloves were heavy made of steel, and if Griffon was not mistaken were some sort of firearm. He looked at the pad just below the barrel and surmised it must have been the trigger. There was an ejection system, and the barrel was fed by a ring around the wrist.

The west wall looked like an investigation board, names dates, occupations were all connected by tacks and string. The name at the top said, “Emperor Eisenfaust”. The story of corruption among the nobility was as old as time. Much to his surprise Lord Sharpton was on the board as well.

“Who the hell were you Griffith?”, he asked himself.

Griffon heard someone coming down the passage and hid just beside the door. The heavy footsteps got closer and closer. Griffon tensed up ready to fight if necessary.

“There is no need to hide master Luke. It is just me Wentworth”, the manservant's familiar voice echoed around the chamber.

Griffon revealed himself, “What was the prince doing with all this?”, he asked gesturing around the room.

Wentworth motioned him to follow, “I was hoping to have this discussion once you had been here for a while longer. It seems you share the old master's curiosity”, he said brightly

Griffon followed Wentworth back to the room, where a platter of meat, bread, cheese, and a decanter of coffee was waiting.

“What was the prince doing with a secret room?” Griffon asked as he started to build his sandwich.

Wentworth got a nostalgic look on his face, “Your...Lord Sharpton brought Griffith some comic books from your reality on his last visit. Needless to say, his imagination went wild, and he sought to emulate the heroes he read about”

Griffon had a hard time understanding why a nobleman would do such a thing, “This world has magic, why would he do that?”, he asked.

Wentworth poured some coffee for them both, “Why do you think we still have nobility?”

“I have no idea”

“We still have nobility because the nobility keeps it that way. They use the realities to see potential threats to their power. For instance, the women suffragette movement never happened, so women are still the property of their fathers and husbands”

Griffon was starting to like his new family less and less, “Do they plan to conquer other realities?”

Wentworth laughed ironically, “No, the nobility have problems enough keeping the common folk in line. It was how the young master died, he was sent to collect taxes or something of the sort, and walked into a rebel ambush. The very same rebels he organized himself, as pride”

Griffon was having a hard time getting his head around the idea, “The people did not know who he was? It does not seem like the smartest way to go about starting a rebellion”

Wentworth agreed, “Yes it would seem that way. However, the nobles are a tight-knit group and if word got out one of their own was instigating a rebellion, they would lay waste to this area and occupy it”

“Let me guess as a show of strength he burned the village to the ground”, Griffon asked

“I am afraid so, but that was to keep someone far worse from taking over. The truth is Lord Sharpton hates the way things are. He is a bit of spineless coward and will only speak out if he is coming from a position of strength”

Griffon sucked in air through his teeth, “Who runs the show?”

“A man named Krieger Eisenfaust the first. He makes your worst rulers look cute and cuddly if I may be so bold”
“Is he unreasonable?”

“Of course he is unreasonable. To ensure people stay loyal, he chooses the least productive areas and puts them to the sword”, he pulled out a pocket watch, “I must go now. My job was to prepare you for court tomorrow, but your present discovery sidetracked the lesson”

Griffon smiled, “Don't worry I learn quickly”

Wentworth did not look convinced, “Let us hope you can back up that claim”

Griffon spent the remainder of the day reading books about Pangea. Three empires existed, and in the center of the huge landmass was something called the Arcadian Ring. Not much was known about it, as many expeditions had gone missing. From what he read the area was nothing but thousands and thousands of square miles of dense forest.

Milesia was a part of the Estonian empire, which covered the whole northern expanse of Pangea. The Southwest was ruled by the Zulu Nation and stopped shy of the Illomba desert controlled by nomads, and on the upper Southeast were the Mongol. Wars between the three were exceptionally rare, as the natural barriers between the empires made it completely worthwhile to squabble closer to home.

He soon fell asleep with the book open. For the first time in weeks, Griffon slept without a nightmare. He awoke in his bed, wondering how he had got there. Wentworth had returned and opened the curtains. He was humming.

Griffon looked up at the man, “What time is it?”, he asked rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Wentworth looked at his pocket watch, “Six in the morning young master, things have changed, and we have very little time to get you out of here”, he sounded very concerned.

Griffon yawned with unconcern, “Care to elaborate?”, he asked as he walked over to the chamber pot and relieved himself.

Wentworth pulled out a scroll and handed it to him, “Read that, and tell me if it sounds concerning”, there was an urgency to his voice, and he seemed on edge.

Griffon read the scroll, “It has been brought to my attention the leader of the Milesian Rebels has been identified. Griffith Sharpton will be punished to appease Emperor Eisenfaust. If he fails to show up the country of Milesia will be crushed under the boots of the imperial army”, Griffon read it again just to make sure he understood.

Wentworth put his hand on Griffon's shoulder, “Worry not young man, he will not kill you”

Griffon did not feel any better, “Please tell me, what will he do?”

Wentworth pretended not to hear, “So what will it be for breakfast?”

“Wentworth just out with it I am not Griffith, and I am far from fragile”

“I will leave that for Emperor Eisenfaust, to tell you. Now let us get you ready to face him”

In the span of twenty minutes, Griffon was dressed in fine clothes that were more comfortable than they looked and was paraded down a dark hallway. Griffon knew if he was being kept alive his fate was bound to be worse than death, or something akin to it. He just hoped Eisenfaust was halfway merciful.