Tetra Mezzo Cammin, an incomplete fiction

Four men set out to prove their mettle and worth. Here, I have recorded what sketches they gave of their great deeds. My name is not important though some might beg to differ. I can only ask that you trust my re-telling about the four that walked along the middle road, or the tetra mezzo cammin.

“They call me Rebel, Johnny Rebel and have I got a tale for you!”

“Who are you, mate?” asked little Joe as sweat beaded on his forehead and collected just above a furrowed wrinkle in his scalp.

“Details Joe, details. I’m here for the mezzo cammin and I want it now!” Rebel was known to play hardball with just about any weapon of his choosing. The crazy thing was that he himself was a weapon, and he enjoyed scaring the little people.

“If I take this here toothpick and show you its many torture-like uses, I’m sure we can come to an agreement, no mon ami?” Rebel, who was smirking now, displayed all of his white pearly-like teeth all neatly packed and packaged like feathers in sardine can.

“I don’t know how you found me, but I don’t have the mezzo cammin,” stuttered Joe
hoping Rebel would believe the lie. Joe had always been considered a jack-of-all-trades in the business. If you ever wanted to find out whom to screw or not to screw, Joe was the one to ask. Although as of late he would get slippery with his information, and in the business you quickly got your throat slit for such a mistake.

“You must think I can’t tell when you’re lying Joe. Don’t forget that I am Rebel, Johnny Rebel moron! I was one of the truth-spotters of old, and you my friend are reeking with the smell of lying. I have a good mind to…”

“Wait! Johnny, m-maybe I do know something about the middle road. Just don’t hurt me p-please Johnny,” retorted little Joe.

Johnny’s left eyebrow was raised as he said, “Wait a minute Joe! Why the quick switch, huh? You tryin’ to buy time son? What are you up to?”

“N-no Johnny I ain’t tryin’ to do anything. I p-promise! Look I have the map of Al-gierzad right here.”

Rebel’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, as his toothpick fell to the ground. He was now staring at the exact map replica of the famous Al-gierzad continent. It was a country rich in AU-ore, the most expensive fuel on the planet. It was rumored that the land of shadow and myth could be ruled by the one who possessed the fuel cells of AU-ore on Al-gierzad. The way to get there was through the mezzo cammin.

“Where Joe did you get this! Speak, or in a few seconds you won’t be able to!” shouted Johnny as he reached for little Joe’s scrawny neck.

“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you, but I’d rather show you where I found it.” Little Joe pointed toward the dusty wall in the corner of his labyrinthine dug-out, a caked mud-pack of brick and straw and water.

Rebel slowly placed his left hand from off of Joe’s neck and let it rest on his left hip to unloose his holster. With his other hand he pinched the carotid artery in Joe’s neck, and Joe was dead. That quick and that simple.

The whole was an entrance of some kind leading toward an unknown road. “Could this be the entrance to the mezzo cammin? Has it been in Joe’s possession all this time? You’re slippin’ Rebel, slippin’ real bad, and fast!” He bit his lip in response until he could taste his own blood. He always punished himself for his mistakes.

Two hours earlier

“Hey Lou ain’t that Rebel ridin’ like a mad man on Pegasus?” The quaint observer is called “Sight” on account that he can see in any direction for miles as if the object were up-close.

“You can best tell me Sight. You know I can’t see worth a shit, man! Although there aren’t too many people who can ride on a steed that fast across the plains, throwing up dust clouds of mixed earth and wind.” Lou the loquacious philosopher. His talent, to relay information in the most descriptive manner possible. To everyone else, he just talked too damn much!

“He seems to be headin’ toward little Joe’s spot. That the only place this far east, right?”

“Sight because a man is heading in coincidental direction toward a destination you and I happen to assume may be a familiar territory…”

“Lou! I’m just sayin’ he may be going that way, right?”

It pained Lou too answer in mono-syllabic phrases. After all where was the fun in that? Yet he replied to his faithful pal with as much flair as was allotted to the positive acquiescence, “Yes, Sight, yes!” He walked away seemingly bothered, but also newly intrigued as to the possibility of Rebel’s urgency.

“Well I for one would like to know where Rebel’s going, especially that fast. I’m takin’ Illyana with me,” replied Sight. Illyana Rustica was a model horse of consistency, except when the damn horse needed to take a shit. She had been plagued with chronic bowel gastrointestinal problems since birth. She was as fast as any horse on the planet, except for Rebel’s Pegasus, but fast nonetheless. Once her legs kicked into gear she could outrun even the shadows of Dumlinar on a good day.

“Sight you might want to make sure she’s okay to take out. I ain’t seen her do her thing in a couple of days. And don’t forget her meds too, or her blanket.”

Lou cared a whole lot about Illyana. Rumor had it that the horse had saved his life way back in the days of the AU-core mining operations. Those days were tough, gritty days. A man couldn’t walk three feet without being covered in the ore from head to toe.

“She’ll be fine Lou and besides what trouble could we possibly get into out here in the middle of Donar?”

Lou winced instinctively as if his trepidation had foundation. He felt scared, a feeling not readily welcome into the bloodline of the Icarian warriors, of which he was a member by birth. This secret he had hidden well, or so he thought. Now and then his keen senses raised a red flag of warning only under extreme conditions, and right now the flags were not only red they were waving furiously in the winds of fear…