The Exceptional Clockwork Journey of The Perpetually Alone Hugo Gerard (NaNoWriMo 2012)

Chapter 6

Awkward spacing, laziness, lots of words, more action, peace out :P

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Chapter 6

For the next half an hour, Hugo lay on the forest floor, alone with his own thoughts.

A golden Oriole sung from the branches of a nearby oak tree, shifting its thin legs on the branch, back and forth, back and forth.

Hugo watched, peering curiously as the bird turned its head to the side and froze, wings folded permanently against its side. Was the bird, shaking? Hugo froze; his back arched against the leaf ridden forest floor, and sat up, furiously looking in the bushes for anyone, anything that had made the bird freeze.

The thing with animals was that they could see the unseen, predict something that would happen before it did. If, for example, a tsunami was coming, all the animals that lived close to the sea would travel upland to safety hours, even days before danger arrived. Hugo was not one to miss this important fact.

“What is it?” he whispered, standing and walking closer to the branch where the Oriole resided, still frozen to the spot. Beginning to become frustrated being left in the unknown, Hugo dashed forward towards a bush and pushed it open, looking through all the leaves interconnecting with each other.

Suddenly, a pierce chime rang through the forest and Hugo immediately knew it was that of the Oriole. Knowing danger was there, Hugo scrambled from the forest floor and dashed forward, his deep mahogany trench coat tailing behind his, creating gusts of wind that just barely touched his ankles, providing minimal annoyance. But still be kept on, running and running. After who knows how long, his hat was ripped from his head and he was roughly pushed up against a tree, his head smacking against the old bark.

“What are you doing here, boy?” the gruff voice asked, pushing against the collar of his jacket.

“No-nothing sir,” Hugo replied, stuttering under the pressure put against his windpipe.

“Sure,” the man replied, chuckling lightly. “You’re Time’s lad, aren’t ya?”

Hugo nodded and pushed back a clump of his hair to look into tortured silver eyes that watched his every move. “Who are you?” he whispered, squirming under the man’s hold.

“I’m your worst nightmare, boy,” the man spat, looking up through tendrils of dark mahogany hair.

“Ho-how do you know about Time?” Hugo replied.

“You aren’t a very smart one, are ya boy?” the man replied harshly.

Not knowing what to say to that particular comment, Hugo stayed silent.

“Whom do I look like to you, boy? Huh?” the man turned his head to show a peak of a long and wicked scar that ran from his forehead, over his right eye, and to his jawline.

“Oblivion,” Hugo gasped.

“Aye, it seems ya do have a brain in there,” Oblivion smiled wickedly. “I’m your uncle, boy.”

“My name is not boy,” Hugo snarled, throwing his head to the right and attempting to kick the man in the shin. “It’s Hugo!”

“So, the dog has a name,” the Lanrete smirked. “Fitting, don’t you think? Come ere’ Hugo, old boy!”

“I am not a dog,” Hugo tried to move his pinned arms but failed.

“Aye, but you are,” Oblivion looked into Hugo’s eyes. “Followin’ Time’s every order, every beck n’ call.”

Hugo did not deny it.

“See, e’ doesn’t deny it, boys! We’re going to have some mighty fun tonight.”

Just then, Hugo caught a flash of silver eyes and gasped, realizing he was almost completely surrounded by Lanrete.

“You’ve finally got it, haven’t you, boy? Time in Oblivion, Oblivion is Time. It all connects. And you, boy,” Oblivion narrowed his eyes. “Have disrupted the balance. You defied me, boy! Me!”

One silver eye rolled to look at Hugo. “And you’re gonna pay for it.”

That one silver eye was the last thing Hugo saw before he was hit over the head with something hard and heavy and fell into a deep sleep.

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“Oblivion!” someone called, stirring Hugo from his sleep as he shook his head and opened his eyes, taking in all the surroundings.

In front of his was a Lanrete with his back turned. “He’s up!” the Lanrete called, cupping his hands around his mouth in an attempt to make sure his master heard him.

“I heard ya the first time, ya varmint. Now come over ere’, I need ya to fill up some buckets with Quenret. It’s time to get some information out of the boy,” Oblivion ordered, stepping out from behind a tree so Hugo could examine him.

Surprisingly, except for his hair and eyes, he looked quite a bit like an older version of Hugo. His posture was impeccable, shoulders back and hands thrusted deep into the pockets of black slacks that hung loosely on his form. His hair was just above shoulder length, covering his eyes, but Hugo could still tell that he was watching him. His deep gray tail coat was ironed and clean, but still hung loosely on his frame, which told Hugo that Oblivion had not eaten in a while. His skin was a ghastly pale white color, clearly fitting with his hollow cheeks and sharp nose. All in all, he was vastly younger and better looking than Time.

“What are you looking at, Boy,” Oblivion stepped forward, his coat billowing out after him. “You’re about to get tortured anyway.”

A little taken aback by his forwardness, Hugo’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I have buckets of Quenret, Clockwork’s greatest weakness. They’re like the opposite of oil to gears, they clog them up, and eventually…” Oblivion paused. “They pop.”

Hugo shivered involuntarily, earning himself a grin from the Lanrete.

“You’re afraid, good. It will make this all the more easier for me.”

Pulling up a nearby log, Oblivion sat on it, facing Hugo.

“So, Hugo. Tell me, has your mother ever seemed, strange to you?”