Mount Aratat
Have you heard of Krevel, the Neverhood storyteller? Of the stories I share with you, many were once told by him to his fellow Neverhoodians. Although it’s possible that he was not as frank with them as I am with you.But there are stories that Krevel cannot tell. He will never tell The Perfect Stone, for he remembers none of it despite being the main protagonist. And he will never tell this story, because he never learned its entirety. Indeed, some things may be better left untold. But I know that you have been curious. And so I will tell you.
This is the tale of Mount Aratat.
***
At the beginning of this story, there was a certain Brokenhoodian tradition. When a child of Ottoborg turned 100 years old, they were ready to become adults. But their independence and maturity would only be recognised after they had created a present.No written rules existed which would define the nature of the present. There was only the vague expectation that the person should showcase love and dedication to their family. When Ottimo and Tuborg turned 100, they, in effect, started this tradition. They gifted their parents with a pair of robots: one for dishwashing, which was Caline’s least favourite activity, and one for making pancakes, which was Ottoborg’s favourite meal. The twins said that they wanted to prove themselves, and the tradition had a life of its own since then. Ceola couldn’t build robots, so instead she crocheted two dozens of pristine curtains, which decorated the manor through its many incarnations ever since.
In May 419 of the Neverhood Chronicle, Bortor was nearing his 100 as well, and he was ardently preparing for his initiation. The reason for his zeal was obvious. He was the fourth child; neither as smart and skilled as the twins, nor as graceful and kind as Ceola. He had always felt somewhat under-appreciated compared to his older siblings. And so he would take this opportunity to prove himself – to his siblings, to his mother and, most of all, to his father.
The matter of his father was… delicate. As far as Bortor remembered, Ottoborg had never bothered hiding that he was somewhat displeased with this particular child. “You’re a boy,” he would insist, “you should build robots!” As if he didn’t know any other way to bond with his children than arguing above a workbench! Bortor loved his father, he did, but he also loved the outdoors, trees and animals and all things that grew. He loved horse riding far more than tinkering with greasy wheels, to say the least. But when he tried to relate this to Ottoborg, he was offered no understanding. Robots were Ottoborg’s life, his joy, his creation. In the king’s mind, if his son could not create robots, then he could not create at all.
And that, Bortor thought, is where you are wrong, dad. I will create something that will sweep you off your feet.
He began preparing his present early, almost a year in advance. He spent countless days researching, trying, making. He would come to dinner upset at times and elevated at others, and his family knew that he had been in the stable, where he was working on his present. They were thrilled for his birthday just as much as he was. They could tell that it was going to be something grand.
On the day of Bortor’s 100th birthday, everybody dressed fine and dandy. Ottoborg did not go into the garage to tweak his newest robot, the twins did not follow him; the entire family was instead sitting in the living room, eating sandwiches, telling jokes and singing birthday songs. Caline was smiling proudly, Alan was making coffee, Ceola was embroidering a doily and Gred was sucking on his comforter. They were all impatiently waiting for midday, when Bortor would finally reveal his present and the real celebration would start, cakes and all.
Time was dragging on. Bortor grinned anxiously at a joke but the smile was brittle. He wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts and continued growing ever more nervous. Half an hour before noon, he couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself, saying that he had to make some preparations, and he all but fled the living room. He headed straight to the stable, where his mare Clementine was snorting and stomping. She could sense his anticipation from miles away.
“This is it, girl.” Bortor pressed up against the horse’s warm body and shuddered. “You won’t leave me hanging, will you?”
Clementine nudged him.
“We’ll do it just as we rehearsed, alright? No kicking this time! All of the screaming sheep are safely locked away, so they won’t startle you again. Here here. It will be alright…”
The mare thought that Bortor sounded quite the opposite of alright. She continued nudging him until he gave in and crawled onto her bare back. She walked out of the stable carefully so that he wouldn’t fall off. She was not even five minutes along their usual route when Bortor first slackened and then fell asleep. If Clementine had eyes, she would have rolled them. Had he got any sleep last night? Probably not.
Since the horse had little notion of time, it took a slightly alarmed Alan to run out of the Brokenhood manor and shout at the pair that it was nearly noon. Bortor panicked, but fortunately everything was prepared. He thanked Alan and cantered to the stable, where he retrieved a large package wrapped in linen. He brought it to the garden with Clementine trailing a step behind him. His family was already waiting there.
“Right on time,” Ottoborg chirped, consulting his pocket watch. “Good job!” Bortor nodded. His throat was parched and his tongue was sticking to his palate. Still, he had to speak.
“Mother and father,” he began the speech he had rehearsed many times. “Ottimo, Tuborg, Ceola, Gred and Alan. Thank you for coming. I will now give you… my adulthood present.” He clucked his tongue and Clementine scooted to his side. She got down on one knee, paused for a second for effect, and then she folded her legs under her belly and settled in the grass. Bortor set the fabric-wrapped present down and, before his family’s eyes, he began to unwrap it. He hoped that nobody would notice how much his hands were shaking. This is my family, for Quater’s sake! Not like they’ll bite my head off… Ah… Quater, I hope they’ll like it…
“Oh…” Ceola sighed in awe.
Bortor was holding up a saddle that was nearly as big as himself. It was made of red and white leather, decorated with small neat stitches, and it included all the necessities for travelling: a metal handle at the front, stirrups, straps, saddle bags, a filled water bottle… The saddle looked sturdy but soft, and as Bortor mounted it on top of Clementine’s back, it became obvious that it was made to fit and compliment her. The horse got to her feet, allowing her master to fasten a wide strap around her belly.
Bortor took a deep breath and he turned around.
“This is my present to you,” he announced. “The saddle is yours and the horse is yours. I grant you the permission to ride Clementine any time you want to. I’ve trained her not to startle and she’ll always be meek and careful. What I want to show is that… the world is most beautiful from horseback.”
His throat tight, he looked to his father. Ottoborg was gazing at the horse thoughtfully. He didn’t move and he didn’t speak.
“That’s…” Awed, Caline searched for the right words. “That’s so sweet of you! Thank you!” She danced forward to hug him fiercely.
Bortor hugged her back in relief. It seemed that she understood what he was trying to say with the gift. Clementine had been his personal horse ever since she was a foal, and he had not allowed anyone to touch her, let alone ride her. The saddle was to demonstrate his ability to create, but the heart of his present was this display of trust and generosity. Bortor had been called withdrawn and petty by his family, and he wanted to prove his maturity by overcoming both. It had not been easy. He still hated the thought that Clementine was not only his anymore. But he would do it for them.
When Caline let go of her precious son and gave him enough kisses, Bortor noticed that Ottoborg still had not moved. The family was crowding around the horse now (and, to her credit, Clementine was completely unfazed by this), but Ottoborg stood quietly a few paces away, rubbing at his cheek and making a slightly uncomfortable expression. Bortor’s heart climbed up into his throat. His plan had been to offer his father a ride, but he was unsettled by this lack of reaction. He couldn’t tell what his father was thinking at all.
“Where did you get these materials?” Ottimo asked, running the leather between his fingers. “They’re really fine.”
Tuborg was right at his twin’s side, examining every part of the saddle that he could get his hands on. “Wow…” he exclaimed, “you made this all with your bare hands? I can’t even imagine making something like this without powers to create. This must have taken ages.”
Bortor nodded. Tuborg was right, it had taken ages. “Would anybody like to ride her?” he rasped, staring at his father. “Dad?” Ottoborg didn’t meet his eye, however. He was gazing at Clementine like Bortor was air.
“I do!” Caline cried out. “I want to ride her.”
Bortor sighed and tore his eyes away from his motionless father. He turned around.
“Okay. Everyone, please, step back and make space. Mum, come over here. Put your hand on her nape, here, good! And say ‘down, Clementine’.”
“Down, Clementine,” Caline proclaimed giddily. Obediently, the horse lowered herself into the grass so that Caline could climb onto her.
“Place your foot into the stirrup,” Bortor instructed, “and step into it. Don’t worry, put your weight on it. You won’t kick her. Okay – okay, good! Now grip the handle and pull yourself up… See, you got it.”
Caline settled on top of the horse, sitting in the middle of the large saddle. “It’s so soft,” she ran her hand over it admiringly.
“Now say ‘up, Clementine’.”
“Up, Clementine!”
And Clementine got up as carefully as if she was carrying a baby.
While Bortor was explaining to his mother how to control the horse, he noted with no small relief that Ottoborg had finally stepped forward to take a closer look. The king looked the horse up and down, he touched the saddle once… and he stepped back again, crossing his arms and frowning. Bortor noticed the twins break away from Clementine and walk up to their father, but then he had to shift his focus on leading the horse.
They had only made a few steps forward when Tuborg said behind his back: “Come on, dad, say something nice, too.”
Bortor held his breath. He listened with every fibre of his being.
“I… really want to,” Ottoborg admitted unhappily, “but…” He sighed in disappointment. Bortor found himself suddenly unable to breathe in. “I was really expecting a robot! There were signs, I… My book on mechanics went missing a year ago, and then Bortor began spending so much time away… I’d find a mess in the garage in the morning, and you two insisted that it wasn’t you…”
“Uh…” Ottimo said, sounding wide-eyed, alarmed, and guilty.
…Really? It’s going to turn out this way after all? After all I did? Without realising it, Bortor began slowing down.
“…And this isn’t even mechanical! Not a single cogwheel in it. I’ve been trying hard to think of something nice to say, but…” He really can’t think of a single nice thing to say, Bortor realised. “I thought he finally got it. But he still doesn’t.”
Bortor was standing still. His body was cold. No. This couldn’t be right. He had spent all that time on the saddle. He had hoped that the craftsmanship would impress his father. He had put all that effort into training Clementine, hoping that when Ottoborg felt her swaying under him, he would finally understand Bortor. He had hoped that his father would repay generosity with generosity. But no. Now it was discarded entirely because there weren’t any cogwheels. If Bortor had known, he would have added one as a decoration!
“In Quater’s name, dear!” Caline turned her had in shock and glared at her husband. “Do you even know how terrible that sounds? Bortor doesn’t deserve that!”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ottoborg muttered, “but… but I don’t deserve it either! Would it have been so hard to make a robot instead of a saddle? I’m – I’m sure it wouldn’t take as much time, and I could have helped…”
Bortor stood still like a statue. His back turned to his family, he couldn’t stop the tears rising to his eyes.
“Stop being a child,” Caline began to say.
“So this is it, huh?” Bortor croaked loudly. Everyone fell silent. He balled his hands into fists as a wave of heat washed over him. He spun around and shouted at Ottoborg: “I’ll never be good enough for you!”
“It’s not like it’s that hard,” Ottoborg raised his arms defensively. “If you at least tried…”
“I don’t want to build robots!” Bortor asserted, stepping forward. “Oh, why don’t you disown me already? I’ll never be a good son to you.” He was starting to cry in front of his family. This was bad. This was the worst thing that could have happened.
“I… I still love you,” Ottoborg sobbed. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, too. “But it’s like you’re doing this to me on purpose! Why do you want to spite me so much, Bortor? Why can’t you be a normal child and just make your father happy?”
Breathing heavily, Bortor tried desperately to take control of himself. But it was a lost cause. This was truly it. His father would never approve of him, and it didn’t matter how hard Bortor tried.
It had all been for nothing.
“Then get another son in my stead!” he screamed at his father. “Losing one more child won’t make a difference to you anyway!”
Then several things happened at once. Clementine stomped her legs and neighed loudly. Bortor barely had time to remember that raised voices were the one thing she still hated – before Clementine reared and threw Caline clean off her back. Bortor’s mother yelped in surprise rather than in pain, but it was enough. On an impulse, Bortor grabbed the saddle handle and flung himself up on the horse.
“Hiyaaa!” he shouted and spurred Clementine on. The horse reared again and broke into a flight.
The garden flashed past Bortor. The open gate, the shed, the stable, all of that was gone in an instant. The Brokenhoodian clung onto the saddle, his fingers like claws, his knuckles white. His heart was hammering in time with the thunder of Clementine’s feet. He wanted to scream in anguish and humiliation, but the whipping wind stole all air from his lips.
It had all been for nothing…
***
Griklay counted his remaining money. It seemed that he was quite and utterly broke. He could either buy a dinner, or stay the night in this Quater-forgotten inn. He was no stranger to sleeping out in the open but, on the other hand, he had noticed an unattended flock of hens at the village outskirts. Surely their owner didn’t count them every day… Griklay sighed and propped his feet on the table. Legal dinner and illegal sleep, or illegal dinner and legal sleep? Hmm, decisions, decisions…The door opened then. A pair of customers entered: a fat Skullmonkey and a teen with two yellow horns. The innkeeper greeted them warmly and accepted their order for black Assam tea without batting an eyelid. Griklay goggled a little. All the Skullmonkeys he had met before were loud and intent on scaring young things. They certainly did not drink black Assam tea in run-down inns. With amusement, Griklay observed that the Skullmonkey was, in fact, in the middle of lecturing his younger companion. They must have been regulars here, with a spot reserved and everything. Before Griklay could catch what the lecture was about, the innkeeper stopped in front of his table. He looked decidedly unfriendly.
“So,” he grunted. “Are you going to order something, or are you just taking up space?”
Griklay gave him a charming smile. “Sure, I’m gonna order! What have you got?” Hard-earned experience had taught him that he could smile his way through all sorts of trouble. Sometimes a friendly attitude got you almost as far as money. And if a smile didn’t work, there was always the fight-or-flight option. Griklay was not much of a social person, so he considered any further deliberations too difficult to be useful.
“I’ve got a whole lot of fresh outside air for someone as broke as you.” Welp, bad luck. This innkeeper saw right through him. It was fight or flight, Griklay conceded as his feet were roughly shoved off the table. “I saw you counting your money. Either order something or get out of my inn!”
“Now there, Peterson,” the Skullmonkey called out amicably. “Don’t be so rough with worn travellers. Come, friend, have tea with us.” He pulled a chair next to him away from the table, offering it to Griklay.
“Tea?” Griklay grimaced. “You have to be kidding me. Make it a beer.”
“M-my!” the Skullmonkey exclaimed in scandal, laying his paw on his breast theatrically.
Uh-oh, Griklay realised, should’ve gone with the tea. Now it’s neither legal dinner, nor a legal bed. I’ll be kicked out of the only inn in this town and I’ll be spending the night outside. Oh well. The hens are an option after all!
He stood up from his table and made to leave, but the horned teen surprised him. He pushed his teacup away and ordered: “Two beers, please.” He pulled a chair away from the table and gestured that Griklay sit next to him, instead. Griklay glanced at the innkeeper, who frowned at him. He did not continue throwing him out, though. So Griklay happily scooted over to the other table.
“Bortor,” the Skullmonkey growled at the youngster.
“Uncle,” the boy smiled in return. “I’m an adult now. I can make my own decisions.”
The Skullmonkey sighed angrily. He looked at Griklay, who was standing above him with his arm outstretched for a greeting. “I am Bobuslaw, son of Harambe,” he said coldly. He stared at Griklay’s unwavering hand before he finally reached to take it.
Griklay gripped the furry paw. It was lifeless. “I’m Griklay the hail rider!”
The teen got up and he shook Griklay’s hand as well. At least his grip was proper, not like a dead squirrel. “I’m Bortor, son of Ottoborg.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Griklay nodded and sat down next to Bortor. Then he paused as his brain registered the name. “Wait, son of…? For real?”
Bobuslaw chuckled haughtily. “Yes, it is true. You are talking to a prince. This is Bortor, son of Ottoborg, tenth in his lineage. Today he reached adulthood, that is, 100 years of age.” He sounded unbearably proud, which was surprising considering that he had been scolding Bortor five minutes earlier. Griklay scratched his head. Nobility, huh? This was dangerous ground. He barely knew his way around the commoners. He was sure to screw this up at some point…
“How do you do, your royal highness?” he bowed his head. “Uh, happy birthday! How was your cake?”
“Let’s stick to beer tonight,” Bortor said quickly. “And call me Bortor, please. Um, you mentioned you were a hail rider?”
Griklay smiled. “Ah, yes! I make deliveries, mostly. I can get your letter to the other side of the universe in a jiffy. Thanks!” he took a glass of cold beer from the innkeeper. “Cheers!”
“Cheers,” Bortor replied and clinked his glass with Griklay’s. Thank Quater, he really didn’t seem to stand on formalities. “Yeah but, uh, how do you ride hails?”
Griklay chugged half of his beer and grinned at the prince. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you? Naww, it’s a trade secret! Eighty percent mortality, is what they say. But I’ve been riding hails for years and all I got was a few broken limbs!” he flexed at the perplexed boy.
“But…” Bortor began to say, looking to Bobuslaw for an explanation.
“I believe,” the Skullmonkey stepped in, “that you are confusing meteor hails with snow hails. Snow hails is what you get every winter on the Brokenhood. They are a type of weather created by your father. But, uh, Griklay here is speaking of meteor hails. Those are groups of rocks and ice that fly through the universe at great velocities. Just like the one above us right now! You have noticed dark specks in the sky today, yes? Some adventurers try to ride them,” he gave Griklay a suspicious look, “but it’s incredibly dangerous. I have heard that eight out of ten attempts end with a gruesome death, mostly by falling.”
“See,” Griklay grinned. “You need the know-how! And luck,” he conceded, “but I got plenty of that.” He drew a star on the table for the leprechaun and sprayed a few droplets of beer inside it. Bortor have him a curious look, but did not ask.
“Okay…” he drawled thoughtfully, “so you use the hails to travel. Where have you been?”
And just like that, he had sealed his own fate.
The thing was, Griklay loved to talk about his travels. His adventurous stories had wooed countless girls and Bortor stood no chance either. Soon he was staring at Griklay with mouth agape, devouring his every word. Another round of beer arrived and Griklay kept talking. At some point the Skullmonkey left, saying that he had to greet his neighbours at the next table. (Griklay and Bortor agreed, good-spirited by the alcohol, that he was a boring old man.) The inn slowly filled with townsfolk here for dinner, but the two barely noticed. Beer made Griklay’s stories all the more engaging and fantastic, as it did to all things. They talked and talked and talked and if Griklay took a while to think, he would realise that an incredible thing had just happened. He had made a friend. And it was a prince, no less!
The sun was setting outside when Bortor remembered that he had to check on his horse. Griklay followed him to the inn stable, curious what steed a prince would own. At the door his eyes nearly popped out.
“You have a drivy?!” he exclaimed and burped.
“I already told you…” Bortor muttered, snuggling up to the light green animal. “You didn’t listen…”
“You said you had a horse. I didn’t know it was a drivy,” Griklay objected. “This is so cool! I’ve never touched one of these before…” The drivy turned toward him and Griklay quickly stepped back. Drivies were basically a round ball with two pairs of legs and a tail, and as such they had no face or eyes. But somehow Griklay could tell that this one was regarding him with distrust and suspicion. He recalled the lore: drivies were infamously intelligent, fiercely loyal and very protective of their owners. They could sprint at full speed for hours and jump to incredible heights. This young prince probably had no idea what a “horse” he had. His Clementine was basically a walking moneybag.
“Yeah, she’s pretty cool, aren’t you my girl,” Bortor cooed as he lead the drivy out of the stable. He climbed onto her bare back and the three of them strolled through the golden-hued countryside.
“So I’ve been thinking,” Bortor announced after a while, sounding exactly like the drunk whose alcohol level had just allowed him to make a flawless deduction. “You can go anywhere on hails?”
“Pretty much,” Griklay shrugged.
“Could you look for someone that way? There’s someone I wanna find… five of them actually.”
“Naw man, I don’t do head hunting,” Griklay shook his head. “That’s shady business…”
“No, not head hunting.” Bortor sounded equally surprised and appaled. “I just wanna find them. And… bring them home, if possible.”
Griklay squinted at the prince. There was an explanation at hand, he just knew it… “Who are those five people?”
Bortor sighed. “My older brothers… All we know about them is what the Wall of Records says. Uh, beside Willie and Petri, of course. Willie’s on the Neverhood and Petri died a long time ago. But the rest of them… that’s not so certain. The Wall kinda stops right before saying they died, you know? Dad wanted to find out what really happened to them. He was travelling all over the place in his car… But he gave up looking after he married mum. You know, if I could find them and… finish what he started… do you know how happy he would be? He’d finally stop complaining that I don’t like robots. I just know it!”
So that was the explanation at hand! Griklay had been taught of the seven kings in school, of course. He wasn’t so sure that Ottoborg would be happy about confirming the deaths of his children. But he smelled a deal and he wasn’t about to let it slip.
“Weeell,” he drawled. “Like, sure, you could go looking for them. I mean, hails will let you travel all around the klay universe… plus you got the drivy.”
“Huh? What does she have to do with the price of butter?” Bortor’s brow furrowed.
“Well, I assume you’ve got power-ups?”
“Got what?”
“Power-ups,” Griklay articulated slowly. “They’re a type of fruit. Make drivies shake with power.”
“Ohh,” Bortor nodded. “Yeah, I got a whole saddle bag of those. We’ve got this tree in the garden; we had to put a fence around it ‘cause she wouldn’t stop eating them and getting all hoppy and excited.”
“You got the red ones, too?”
“Sure! She jumps like a grasshopper after those.”
“In that case,” Griklay smiled his most charming drunk smile and spread his arms out, “there is no place in the klay universe where you can’t go. A drivy will get you anywhere if you have power-ups.” He pointed upward, toward the speck-dotted the sky. “See the hail up there? If I wanted to board it, I’d have to find a tall mountain or a tower, and then hope that a rock flies by at just in the right altitude. You? You can just jump up there. But…” he heaved a sigh and shook his head sadly, “even with a drivy you probably won’t make it.”
“What?” Bortor snapped, disappointed. “Why?”
“Because, my horny fellow, you’d be smashed to pieces. Eight out of ten people die riding a hail, they say, and they aren’t kidding.” Griklay nodded seriously. “You would need a guide for that. An experienced one, a true hail rider, one who’s been riding hails for dozens of years.”
Bortor looked at him, eyes shiny.
“And I,” Griklay said, swallowing another burp, “happen to be out of job at the moment.”
When Bobuslaw walked out of Peterson’s inn ten minutes later, suspicious of where the drunks had gone, he was just in time to see Clementine in her red-and-white saddle some hundred meters away. He saw her crouch and then leap, leap like a flea, leap like a grasshopper – up, up, all the way up to the sky and among the zooming specks of the hail. Bobuslaw cried out in terror. He had clearly seen two figures on top of the drivy: Bortor and Griklay the hail rider. He did not know of the agreement the two had made, that Griklay would protect Bortor with his life and in return he would be paid handsomely when they returned to the Brokenhood. He did not know of Bortor’s quest to look for Ottoborg’s missing sons. All he knew at that moment was that eight out of ten people die while riding a hail.
He did not see, however, crushed bodies falling from the hail. No matter how much he strained his eyes, he could not tell what happened to the two fellows at the height of their drunk stupidity.
An hour later, a car screeched to a stop in front of Bobuslaw’s house.
But by then the hail was gone and Griklay and Bortor were too far to follow.
***
Bortor woke up to the smell of horse skin.He opened his eyes blearily, looked around, and finally snuggled back up to Clementine. The fire had gone out, as it usually did during the night on a hail, but otherwise the camp site seemed secure and undisturbed. He reached up and grasped for the water bottle tied to his saddle bags. The water tasted awful. They’d have to make a stop soon.
Bortor stretched his legs and got up. It was time to consult his notes!
Hearing the journal pages rustle, Griklay groaned and rolled over. A pair of bright green eyes peered from the sleeping bag.
“Lookin’ for somethin’?”
“Nothing in particular,” Bortor replied, holding the green stare. “Just… refreshing my memory.”
“Hm.”
Bortor’s journal held all the information on his missing brothers that he had collected over the eleven years of their travels. It contained everything that he was able to remember from the Hall of Records and the testimonies of countless people who knew anything on top of that. The critical information it contained had already guided them to find Creeker and Aloh Al’s chunk of land. Now they were in search of Hondo.
Detailed drawings decorated the notes. Bortor made sure to record each of this brothers’ chunks of land as faithfully as possible, so that he could show them to his father when they returned. From Creeker’s land, he had drawings of lakes with gigantic statues peaking from beneath the water surface. He had a drawing of Griklay diving, tirelessly, again and again. His most detailed drawing was that of a skull and an array of bones. Creeker had been confirmed to be dead. Bortor felt guilty for being relieved rather than dejected. He had sworn to bring any survivors back home, but truthfully, he didn’t want another Willie Trombone in their family. He wanted to provide closure to his father. That was all.
By the time they departed from Creeker’s chunk of land, Bortor was bewildered and somewhat intimidated by his new friend and guide. It took the smallest error to have Griklay shouting at him angrily: wasting water on washing his hands, making a clumsy jump in a hail, burning the dinner when they were low on food… Griklay’s top priority was to survive, and this was a state of mind quite alien to Bortor, who had so far lived with his parents and had never known poverty. Yet, he could not deny that Griklay was capable. He admired his trained muscular form, his hard work and his sharp judgement. If Bortor were this strong and self-sufficient, he wouldn’t need his father’s approval. He could be his own person without worrying about what others might say. And so he gave his best to learn from his mistakes. Soon, Griklay noticed his effort.
“I’m proud of you,” he said simply. “You were a little prince when I met you, but you’ve got talent and you’ve got guts. You could be something great some day.”
He said it so carelessly. Like it was the most evident thing in the world, plain as the moon. It had made Bortor so happy. He had never had any close friends outside of his family. It made him so excited that, maybe, he could finally have a peer who understood him.
Aloh Al’s chunk of land had posed a challenge. According to the Wall of Records, it had shattered against a large planet with Aloh Al on board. Unfortunately craters were far too abundant in the klay universe to stop and inspect each one of them. Instead, Griklay came up with the idea that rather than look for the crash site, they should find Ogdilla and interrogate the specks on his back for information. They had fed and housed Aloh Al all those years ago and they were bound to remember something. Bortor was sceptical, since Aloh Al’s journal reported that the specks’ language was unintelligible, but Griklay proved him wrong. Not only was he able to pinpoint Ogdilla’s location with a surprising accuracy, but he also managed to communicate with the specks using drawings on the ground and high-pitched squealing. Thus they learned that the little beings did, indeed, have historical records about a giant who came from the sky. They were chiselled into a mountainside (little more than a big rock to the two travellers). With the help of a magnifying glass, the records were were readily copied into Bortor’s journal. Griklay then spent three days obsessing over them, talking to himself and scribbling into the journal. Bortor could not stand watching the tortuous effort (also he wanted his journal back); in the end, he asked Griklay to let him in to what he was doing so that he could help.
To Bortor’s astonishment, it turned out that Griklay was performing calculations. The man had dropped out of school after he learned to read and write, but he had taught himself astrophysics because he needed it to predict the velocity and trajectory of heavenly objects. This was how he had been able to find Ogdilla so quickly. The gas giant was somewhat of a hallmark in the klay universe; he moved slowly and on a circular trajectory, so Griklay was able to find him easily at any point in time. However, his understanding of the mathematical expressions was based on bare intuition and some geometry. Most of the time, he had no idea what he was doing other than it “felt right”. Once Bortor understood what Griklay was trying to calculate, he was able to apply his own, rigorous education and together they solved the gravity equations for the current position of the land mass where Aloh Al had landed.
After this achievement, Griklay praised him again, and every word was salve for Bortor’s soul. He had strived so desperately for his father’s acknowledgement. He had spent ages on training Clementine and on making his red-and-white saddle. Clementine’s training was priceless for their travels now, and so was the comfortable and sturdy saddle. But his father failed to appreciate that. Whenever Bortor recalled the helpless words I’m really trying to find something nice to say, his stomach would drop. But Griklay was different. He, unlike Ottoborg, appreciated Bortor’s efforts. And the boy grew ever fonder of him in return.
The results of their calculations were not entirely accurate, but with the help of Clementine’s mighty legs, they managed to locate the land mass in question. After a week of searching, they also found a crater with the remains of a red-roofed house and a hoop-headed skeleton. While Bortor was sketching the landscape, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at Griklay. The man now captivated him. He would never have guessed that such an ill-mannered, socially awkward person had so much to teach him. Before then, Bortor had looked up to Bobuslaw. His uncle was calm and sensitive; he might have been prone to lecturing, but he was an equally good listener. Griklay’s wisdom was different. It was of a grizzled, practical kind: don’t carry around anything you don’t need. Bortor, who was too often consumed with worries of things that never happened, found it freeing.
He felt elated in these days. He felt alive. He felt that this journey in search of his older brothers was what his entire life had led up to. He loved the travelling, he loved sleeping curled up against Clementine every night, he loved the thrill of danger and he loved the security of Griklay’s leadership. He thought that it must have been fate that had made Bobuslaw invite Griklay to their table. No one else would have made this journey possible.
“What’s so funny?” Griklay asked, tearing Bortor out of his daydreaming. Bortor quickly wiped the dumb smile off his face.
“Nothing. I was thinking about how well we’ve been doing so far.”
“Huh,” Griklay narrowed his eyes. To stop him from asking anything, Bortor said:
“So, tell me again: why are we going after Hondo right now? Ed’s chunk of land was supposed to just spin in place forever. Couldn’t we trace where dad’s original world was?”
Griklay shrugged. “I just felt like going for Hondo first. Trust the gut feeling.”
“Right.” Bortor gulped. His gut feeling at that time was all aflutter, like butterflies. “I guess we’re going to find all of them either way.”
“Yep,” Griklay nodded. “The longer it takes, the more I get paid.” Bortor laughed. “What?”
“Well, that… You’ve just said you want to rip off my family. Right in front of me.”
Griklay bristled. “Well… you know…!”
Bortor hushed him. “Yeah, I know.” Griklay’s lack of social skills meant that he basically had two settings: overthinking everything and not thinking at all. Bortor considered it a privilege that Griklay slid into the “not thinking at all” setting when they were together. It was a sign of trust that Bortor reciprocated. “I think my mom will pay you anything for keeping me safe and sound. And if she manages to convince dad as well, then you might be in for some really cool trinkets.”
“A drivy,” Griklay’s eyes lit up.
Bortor laughed. “Yeah, maybe. The twins might be able to create a drivy for you. No promises though.”
“I want a drivy,” Griklay repeated, walking over to the horse and fondling her back. Clementine made a low, satisfied hum. She loved the guy – another reason to trust him. “Won’t you come with me, my darling? Together we’d own the universe. With your mighty legs and my dashing wits…”
“Clementine’s mine, sod off,” Bortor chuckled. The fluttering feeling intensified. An intrusive though appeared in the back of his mind: I wonder what he smells like. He shook his head. Griklay didn’t notice, he was too busy cooing at the horse and promising her heaps of carrots if she came with him. Bortor watched him. And then it hit him like a comet.
Oh fuck, I think I fell in love with him.
His heart began beating faster and his palms became sweaty. He had never been in love. He didn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t even known – he thought that he was enjoying Griklay’s presence because…
But no… no. Looking at Griklay with hungry eyes, Bortor knew that this was most definitely love. The feeling of “I want to be with you forever”, as his uncle Nehmen had put it. A wave of excitement washed over him, followed by a wave of dread. His face grinned; he hid it behind his journal. He was in love! He was in love for the first time in his life, and it was with… with a guy! Was Bortor gay? He didn’t know! He imagined kissing Griklay and he nearly shuddered with pleasure. Yes, that was most definitely what he wanted.
He watched Griklay, who was now telling Clementine of all the great places they’d visit together. The hail rider was utterly oblivious to Bortor’s sudden epiphany. The boy’s entire body itched. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to press up against Griklay’s strong body. He wanted to be swept off his feet and carried into the sunset.
Quater, that was so gay. And it felt so right.
Calm down, Quater, you’re scaring me. Bortor took a deep breath and tried to obey his superego. Take it easy, think it over. You can’t just come up to him and tell him you love him.
Why not?
At that very moment, Griklay looked away from Clementine and noticed Bortor behaving strangely. “What’s up with you?” he asked and their eyes locked.
Now let me pause, my dear reader, for this is a moment of grave importance. This is, you see, a moment of choice. If Bortor had said “nothing”, things would have turned out very differently. The two travellers would have gone on their way, with Bortor hiding his affection and waiting for the right moment which never came. They would have returned to the Neverhood with reports from Hondo and Ed, Griklay would have been paid handsomely and he would have gone on his merry way without ever learning of Bortor’s feelings. However, what Bortor said at that precarious moment was something else. Later he hated himself for it, blamed himself for it, swore never to do such a thing again. But right then, he was young and in love for the very first time. Long story short, Bortor said:
“I love you.”
Griklay did not understand. “Huh?” he uttered.
“I love you,” Bortor repeated, setting his journal on the ground. He got up and walked toward Griklay. “I want to stay with you. Let’s travel the universe, just the two of us, and never go home again…” He rested his hands against Griklay’s chest, stood on his tiptoes and moved in for a kiss.
“What the fuck?!” Griklay cried out and stumbled back. “That was not in our contract! Who do you think you are? Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you can molest me for free!”
“I- I wasn’t-” Bortor reached after Griklay, horrified.
“Stay away from me, Bortor! I’m not into you in that way. Don’t even try, I wouldn’t do it for a million, not for all of your dad’s money!”
Bortor stood frozen in place. His vision swam. Ice penetrated his stomach. I’ve been humiliated once again by someone I trust.
“Get away from my horse,” he rasped.
“Huh?”
“Get away from Clementine!” he screamed, grabbing the saddle handle and flinging himself up. “Come of girl, we’re going!”
The horse neighed in alarm and danced in place, agitated by all the shouting. No matter how much Bortor spurred her, she would not jump.
“I’m not going to say it again! Jump – whoahhh!”
For the first time in Bortor’s life, the gentle Clementine reared and threw him off her back. Bortor hit the ground hard. For a panicked while, he could not breathe. He just lay on his back, gasping for air.
“Are you okay?” Griklay came into his field of view, alarmed. Finally Bortor managed to breathe in.
“Don’t touch me!” he shrieked, getting to his feet. “Fine! Fine, I see how it is! You like him better, don’t you?” He sobbed. Clementine was still dancing nervously, not making a single step toward him. Griklay grabbed her by the saddle strap, face full of worry. Bortor laughed helplessly. “Even you have betrayed me! I got you when you were just a foal. Betrayer… Betrayer!” Clementine winced at the scream and neighed in alarm. Bortor backed away from them until he stood on the edge of the meteor they were riding. He noted another chunk of earth, flying just a few meters away from them. He knew that was able take such a short leap on his own. He stared at Clementine. “Well,” he gave them a lopsided grin. “Will you change your mind if I do this?”
He could see Griklay’s eyes widen with realisation in the last second before he disappeared from view. Then Bortor looked down to prepare for a safe landing.
With horror, he realised that he had misjudged the distance. He looked up, knowing that Clementine would leap from the chunk of land and rush to the rescue. He heard her neigh, but he did not see her. Then his back hit a meteor, knocking the air out of his lungs once again. Breathless, he clawed at the rock, but there was nothing to hold on to. A few more meteors battered his body but offered no purchase. And then, mindless with pain and slowly blacking out, he was out of the hail and free-falling. He saw a barren brown land below him and he realised that he was falling to his death.
I didn’t even get my first kiss…
Griklay gripped Clementine’s saddle strap firmly. “Don’t try anything funny,” he told her and peered over the edge of the meteor. “I swear, that guy…” His gaze swept over the surrounding chunks of land. “Where is he? I can’t see him.” Clementine neighed and lurched forward. Griklay barely held her back. “I said ho! You’ll get hurt if you jump without me. Now where did that faggot jump…” He grew anxious. “I can’t see him. Can you see him?” Clementine neighed in near panic. “My thoughts exactly,” Griklay chattered nervously and leapt into the saddle.
A few minutes later, they returned to the camp site. Clementine was shaking like a leaf. Griklay’s knees nearly buckled when he dismounted her. He grabbed onto the saddle for support.
“What are we going to do?” he whispered in terror.
Original fanfiction summary (letter to OttonandPooky, 2016)
Oh God, I wanted so, so badly to write a Bortor x Nike fanfic this weekend. But I simply had no time. It was maddening. All I did was a lot of daydreaming, imagining the scene. You know how all Bortor/Nike fell apart when I brought up the time axis? Well I spent two days fixing that gap, trying to come up with SOME way for Bortor and Nike to have some sweet shipping before Nike is lost to another tsundere.And I did it. By Quater, I had the most elaborate excuses so that they could meet while Nike and Klogg are in the early years of their first journey, and a little while before Bortor returns from his journey through the klay universe in search for Ottoborg's lost sons. Listen to this.
When Bortor turned adult (meaning 100 years old by Brokenhoodian tradition), there was a big celebration and a sort of religious initiation ritual. During this Bortor had to make something to show his worth to the older men (meaning Ottoborg and the twins). Bortor made a lovely, comfortable saddle and offered that they could ride Clementine on it. This was a generous offer on his part, since he had always taken care of the horse himself (as best as he could, anyway) and he liked to keep her to himself, too. However, Ottoborg was not pleased by this. While the saddle was fine work, Ottoborg said that he expected a robot or something mechanical, like the twins had made. This resulted into a fight between Ottoborg and Bortor, where both said things that they regretted later. In a fit of rage, Bortor set his mind on proving himself to his father by finding his long lost sons.
Before anyone could stop him, Bortor set out on Clementine and in a village not very far from the Brokenhood he found a green fellow who agreed to guide him on his adventure, being promised good fun and recognition from the king himself. This man called himself Griklay. He was of the weird kind, the kind that don't have any manners at all and are awkward and thick among people, but who can get his way around where anyone else would fail. It was only thanks to Griklay that Bortor wasn't robbed, kidnapped or sold into slavery within the first year. Griklay also made sure that the young temperamental boy learned to read tracks and tell a source of water, and generally all kinds of useful stuff. He even taught him to ride hails, huge groups of meteors cutting through the universe at high velocities. The latter was, in fact, very dangerous since a small misstep could easily lead to being smashed against a chunk of earth the size of the Neverhood, but since Griklay managed it with such ease, Bortor never thought twice about it.
When they found Creeker's chunk of land, all its lakes dried from a nearby sun and with a hoopheaded skeleton on the bottom of one of them, Bortor came to like Griklay. When they located Aloh Al's chunk of land, confirming the death of yet another Ottoborg's son, Bortor came to secretly love Griklay. While they were riding another hail, looking for the land of giants where Hondo might be, Bortor confessed.
Griklay told the boy off, saying that he had no interest in him whatsoever and he was in this for the fame and money, not for Bortor. Betrayed and broken-hearted, Bortor mounted Clementine and urged her to jump off the hail. But the horse was wise and she wouldn't jump, because she knew that it was dangerous. Furious Bortor got off and took her by the reins, making the jump himself and thinking that she would follow. But the rein slipped out of his hand. Then Bortor missed his landing on the next meteor. And he kept tumbling and falling until he disappeared from Griklay's sight and fell out of the hail to smash against the land they were flying over.
Griklay was horrified. He thought that Bortor had done it on purpose, that he had been so broken-hearted over his refusal that he jumped to his death. Normally Griklay would take the horse and sell it, but he felt the guilt weighing down on him. Who would tell Bortor's family of the boy's death if not Griklay? So Griklay set out to the Brokenhood to return Clementine, and to say he was sorry.
Now, cut. Let's talk about hails. Hails aren't very common in the klay universe. They're created when big chunks of land smash against each other and fall to pieces. As was said earlier, they're incredibly dangerous. Quite a few cities have been completely eradicated when a hail bore down on them. But they are also the fastest mean of travel that exists in the klay universe. Flying machines, sporting speeds of up to 70 km per hour, can't possibly measure up to them. If you know approximately where and when a hail will fly, and if you can get onto it, it will take you to adventure faster than anything else. Provided that you don't die when you're getting off. Some hails even make a nice, stable, predictable orbit around big objects, making a reliable mean of travel. Sort of like a fast train. Only there's an 80 % chance that you will die.
Now, guess who wants to get in on that. Someone who is not really concerned with being smashed, because they'd probably survive it. Someone who is already late on the way home, and wants to get there as fast as possible.
As was said in The Return, Nike and Klogg mostly chose the safe routes over the fast and dangerous routes. But that was later. This is 35 years into their journey: they are 5 years overdue, not even tenth-way there according to the telescope, and they're grating on each other's nerves hellishly. They have ceased sleeping in one tent. They have ceased talking to each other. They walk a half a mile apart, and when they do talk, they fight endlessly. The only thing keeping them together is that Nike honours his promise to Hoborg to keep Klogg safe, even if Klogg has released him from that duty countless times.
At this time, they have one more reason to fight over. As they near the Mount Aratat, which stands tall above the flat landscape and provides the best opportunity to get on the hail that's currently passing ahead, they come across dead bodies. They are all adventurers whose adventure ended by jumping off the hail. Whether they had committed suicide or just missed their landing, no one can know. They are mostly robbed of their belongings as this land attracts the sort of lowlife who is willing to risk getting smashed by a stray meteor in favour of robbing corpses. The bodies are left to rot. Klogg would love to avoid those. Nike insists that they bury them.
The routine is that they come across a few bodies a day. So when they find one in poncho that seems quite fresh and doesn't even seem robbed yet, it's business as usual. Until Nike turns the body over and realises that he knows this one. It's Bortor. All bones in his body are broken. And by a miracle, he isn't dead yet.
In a stroke of heroism, Nike takes the boy in his arms and starts running. He runs all day and he runs all night, then he runs all day again and YES YOU ARE ATHLETIC NIKE, WE GET IT, PLEASE GET TO THE POINT, AT THIS RATE BORTOR'S GOING TO DIE IN YOUR ARMS BEFORE YOU GET ANYWHERE until he reaches the peak of Mount Aratat where a shrine and a small village around it are built. Nike leaves Bortor is the care of the monks, trusting that they'll help him more than he ever could. (If I was feeling especially gruesome, I'd call the “you are what you eat” rule and have Nike cut him arm off, because best klay makes healing faster.) Then Nike runs off again to return to Klogg and make sure the tsundere hasn't been robbed and kidnapped in the meantime.
By the time the two travellers reach the shrine, Bortor has recovered somewhat (partly thanks to
SO. Nike visits Bortor in the shrine. They make small talk, as Bortor won't speak of anything else, and they slowly get to know each other. Nike offers that Bortor should call him by his name, and not “uncle”, and the boy takes this as a sign of respect and equality, which pleases him. The hail overhead continues. But as Nike and Klogg learn more about its dangerous nature, they become less and less convicted that they want to ride it. All the monks and villagers dissuade them from the decision, saying that it's almost certain death to ride the hail. Like I said, 80 %. It's a violent matter. It makes Bortor appreciate just how much prowess Griklay must have had to ride hails safely for years upon years. And remembering this makes him sad, grumpy and mentally sick. Even as he recovers, he is faced with the decision what he should do now. He's on foot, not much better off than Nike or Klogg. He has the opportunity to go with them, as at least they know where they are going and they will reach their destination. In a few decades. While Bortor's family will believe their son lost or dead. Little Gred, who is 16 years old now won't ever remember his big brother.
To escape from these thought Bortor tries to focus on here and now. He trades stories with Nike, pretending that there never was a falling out with Griklay and they were always only friends. He does a mighty job of appearing calm and collected. He's had a few years' practice at hiding his emotions, and now he's putting that experience to use. He can blame the twitches in his face and the blank expression on his nerves still healing. He can blame his damaged vocal chords for making his voice pained, weak and easy to break. (Both is true to an extent.) Easy as that. But. He can't fool the hoophead.
When Nike smells something, he won't let go until he finds what it is. When Bortor is well enough to stand, he is confronted by the hoophead for not being honest with him and hiding things, even going as far as listing the discrepancies Nike has noticed (such as the real reason to Bortor's journey or why he had jumped off the hail). Bortor's initial reaction is to shut himself off and push Nike out of the room. But the damage is done, and the things that Bortor has been trying to escape are flooding back. When Nike re-enters the room to repeat his stand, the boy is standing by the table and sobbing uncontrollably.
And while the hoophead is insufferable when you try to lie to him, he's wonderfully patient and understanding when you're actually trying to deal with your inner demons. So Nike hugs Bortor, and tells him that talking will help, that it always helps (and he supplies an example of the talks on the Neverhood, which is a lovely example of mild irony and a sign that Nike never once doubted the talk to be more than just talking). Under the weight of all that angst Bortor breaks down and tells Nike everything. (If this was, indeed, a fanfiction, this would be where the reader would learn all the background information that I said in the beginning. Until now, all the reader would have was a broken Bortor who kept saying and doing weird things, like being in a place where he totally has nothing to do.) Caught up in being honest for the first time in decades, Bortor even ends up saying that he's starting to like Nike, and that he thinks that it's because he has lost his companion all of the sudden and he needs someone.
To Bortor's surprise Nike replies to this, in complete seriousness, that he's also starved for contact with someone at least half civil and that he likes Bortor, too. He doesn't forget to add that Bortor is years and years younger than him, but that he doesn't really mind that. Like he said. It's not “uncle”, it's “Nike”. And shit comes together really fast and they cuddle and if I'm feeling especially cruel, they also end up making pancakes.
After this cataclysm, Bortor thinks that he should feel like a new person. He's got somebody who likes him, he's got all the time he wants with him since Nike is serious about escorting Bortor back to the Neverhood. His body's feeling better and things are generally looking up.
Except Bortor can't escape himself.
He just is not the kind of person that Nike is. It was very nice to vent everything, but that didn't make his problems go away. He still gets sick every time he thinks of Griklay. He still misses Clementine like a lost limb. His family will still think that he's lost or dead for Quater knows how many years. All that Nike can tell from the telescope is that there's a very, very long way ahead of them.
It does not help that Klogg seems to hate Bortor with a passion, calling him Nike's lapdog and fawn, and making him realise that no matter what Nike says, Bortor IS quarter his age. And Klogg's words that Nike is just taking advantage of him because he's feeling lonely, they just won't go from Bortor's mind.
Here I should mention that while Klogg IS acting territorial, it's not because he's jealous. Right now he hates Nike's guts. It will take him another 65 years together and one year of separation to even start to realise that he likes the hoophead. Klogg dislikes Bortor because he sees him for what he is: proud, complicated and a tsundere, too much like Klogg for any comfort. Basically there's only one tsundere in town, and that is Klogg. The red-head realises what Nike can not – that if they take Bortor along, they're going to end up even unhappier than they already are.
In a rare show of honestly, Klogg tells all this to Bortor, and adds that if Bortor does travel with them, Klogg will probably slip something into his tea. At the same time he challenges Bortor to run to his big lover and tell on him. It will only show the truth – that Bortor is powerless and whatever Nike decides, will be so.
This is the last straw in Bortor's own doubts. The dream he had for a while is too good to be true, after all. He is no damsel in distress, even if Nike had saved his life. There is no happily ever after for him.
So one night he steals provisions from Nike, leaves a note saying only “Thank you. I'm sorry.” and climbs the shrine to jump onto the ending hail.
In the morning Nike is utterly furious. After beating the truth out of his companion, he ends up leaving Mount Aratat for weeks, making Klogg swear that he won't go anywhere without him (and taking all his gear to make sure, and setting two quite frightened monks to watch over the Hoodian). Nike takes the blame for letting this happen, thinking that he should have seen it coming. Now Bortor is gone, the hail has flown by so there's no way to follow him, and Nike is stuck with Klogg again to make the journey back to the Neverhood. The boy is much probably dead already. Life is grim and Nike is angry.
After taking his anger out in aimless running about and burying close to two hundred dead bodies (Nike never finds Bortor, which is at least a little bit reassuring), the hoophead comes to terms with what has happened. He can't do shit about it now. The most he can do is set his jaw, grit his teeth and get at least that other tsundere safely home.
In the meantime, Bortor rides the hail. He holds no desire to find Griklay, who is still somewhere up in the front, and instead makes his way alone. Being only a few weeks apart and being simply lucky (and yes, smart, and yes, talented because not only does he find his way around, he also doesn't die while at it), he gets to the area around the Brokenhood only days after Griklay. He finds Clementine stalled at the village where he first met Griklay. The stabler has the instructions to take her to the Brokenhood along with a letter, but he isn't too keen on doing it. Even if the lad who left the horse seemed honest and insistent about it (and the letter had some interesting angsty lies in it), the horse and it's wonderful saddle would fetch quite a prize. So the stabler has been hesitating and slowly turning to the decision to sell the horse and burn the letter.
Bortor is short, ragged and thin from eating too little. He is one step away from a beggar, and the closed eyes in the palms of his eyes don't exactly convince the stabler that he is Ottoborg's son. But, with all that shouting and haggling, Clementine hears the boy from the stall and she heroically breaks out. The reunion is tearful and emotional. The stabler decides not to press his point when he sees that the horse loves and defends the boy, and how familiar they are. When Bortor washes himself and puts on the spare clothes in Clementine's saddle pack (Griklay hadn't stolen it, another sign that he really was sorry for what happened to Bortor), he looks a lot more like the royalty he is. He rides into the sunset, reunites with his family, everyone is happy.
Except for Griklay, who never learns that Bortor is alive and well. Bortor doesn't make an issue of letting him know, as he's still feeling vengeful.
And except for Nike, who does learn that Bortor is alive and well eventually, but until then he's stuck with Klogg and has to make his way through. After they make it to the Neverhood in The Return, both sides are very happy to hear that the other has arrived safe and sound. When Nike is called to duty to train the twins, he passes the Brokenhood shortly. Bortor tries to act distant until Nike sweeps him into a hug and says that he's so happy to see him again. And, since this brings back some memories in full force, Nike gives Bortor a kiss. And the entire family is utterly flabbergasted, because while Nike does give out hugs, he doesn't kiss people. And they ask, what has happened, why do you kiss him and not the other kids? And Nike says, because we met before, on our journeys, and I saved his life and we became close. And the twins are like “how close uncle Nike, for Quater's sake, this is our little brother you're talking about”. And the rest of the family is like “Bortor why did you never tell us that you met on your journey?”. And Ottoborg, who is quite good with his numbers (engineering does that to people) asks, “Bortor, if I count correctly, you met Nike and Klogg AFTER they were robbed of their flying machines”. And Bortor admits, “yes”. And Caline bursts out, “Then why didn't you tell us? We've been all worried sick about them (especially Nike, we don't really care for Klogg)! And Krevel and Nehmen, and Hoborg, and everyone else! How could you keep that from them? You know how worried they were. Most of the Neverhood believed Nike and Klogg to be dead! Why didn't you tell us that they had lost their flying machines and were making their way back on foot?”
And… Bortor has no answer to that. Because. If this story really happened in the way I've been telling it, Bortor WOULD have told everyone not to worry about Nike and Klogg, that they are delayed because they have to travel on foot. Then one of the main points of The Return is ruined, because there nobody on the Neverhood knows why Nike and Klogg are late. And I really want to keep it that way, to make that first journey an utter cut-off from the Neverhood.
So.
So.
Damn, you know how much time I've spent writing this? This is another One-year-long Braid by the looks of it! A fanfiction summary that takes up as much place as the fanfiction itself! I wanted to go to bed early tonight, goddamnit, and now it's ten minutes before midnight and I'm three hours late. All because I couldn't resist writing out what I wanted to write the entire f-ing weekend.
But, as you see, all my daydreaming up to this point is for nothing if I want to keep the point that nobody knows what has become of Nike and Klogg until they actually come back. Because for Bortor to make any sort of contact with Nike after Nike stops being a couch potato and becomes that travelman we all desire, AND before Bortor grows out of his turbulent youth, they have to meet while Nike is on the first journey with Klogg. And since Bortor is unlikely to leave for the journey before he turns adult (more precisely, his family won't let him leave until he's an adult), they can't meet before Nike and Klogg are robbed.
I had all that story planned out (save for a few unimportant details) when the last point hit me. I came up with so many new ideas and headcannons just to make this meeting possible. Just to ship Bortor x Nike. Only to find out that, in the end, if I stick to the time axis the meeting is in direct disagreement with already existing headcannons. Now that sucks.
I mean. Sure. I could, like. Make Bortor hit his head on the landing from the hail and hallucinate the whole thing. He's hurt, he's scared and he longs to see a familiar face. So his subconscious feeds him someone he knows – a person who might show up despite being ages away from home. The only person that might make Bortor come to terms with what has happened, by forcing him to be honest with himself. Honestly it's a good explanation. Even all the new headcannons can fit in there. And in the end, Bortor wakes up in the shrine to be told that he was brought in by a monk, and that he's been asleep for days. Then it makes perfect sense that he doesn't tell anybody that he met Nike, because for one, he did not meet him, and for two, explaining to anyone that he dreamed of becoming a lover of someone four times his age would be too embarrassing. Plus his uncle. Like, damn Bortor. Some wacky dreams you have there.)
But, as much sense as this explanation makes, the shipping wouldn't be REAL. And I intended to make it real, all along. If I desperately didn't want to make it real, I wouldn't bother with coming up with elaborate headcannons just to justify Nike and Bortor meeting. Really. It's so dissatisfying.
As far as plot-related miracles go, I suppose that I could make Bortor hit his head really hard on the fall. I could give him a nice cloud over the memories, so that Bortor himself isn't sure what really happened and what has been a fantasy. In this manner, everything listed in the story could happen exactly as it had. But it would be a damn stretch. If you take Bortor, who comes to his senses on the tail of the hail, alone, with only some hazy memories of being saved after the fall and f-ing his uncle, do you think that he will discard the whole meeting as a fantasy? I don't think so. Bortor had to get to the shrine somehow. He must have had a reason to be stupid enough to jump back onto the hail. Thinking that the romance part was just some wishful thinking is one thing. Thinking that he hadn't met Nike at all is another. When all you have to go with is reasoning and some hazy memories that agree with the reasoning, you'll believe the memories at least a little. At least enough to tell your devastated uncles that you think that you've met their brother some years back.
AAAAAARGH WHY IS THIS SO LONG
Now you see how hard I do my daydreaming when it comes to shipping. I want a ship to happen. It will happen. No matter how much I must stretch reality to make it come true.
*sobs* It's 13 minutes after midnight now, I'm going to hell.
Notes on Griklay
- an adventurer, can’t stay in one place for too long
- actually might want to get a partner to settle down with? but knows that it would go terribly wrong, so he laughs at anybody who wants to start a long-term relationship… with anyone, really
- tends to make rash decisions, but in matters of survival is surprisingly matter-of-fact and level-headed
- athlete, works out every day
- carries everything he has with himself; he once had a home but he doesn’t like to talk about it and Bortor never learns of his home (actually had a pretty average childhood, except he dropped out of school; may have been diagnosed with ADHD and felt like his home was too average and confining)
- fucking adrenaline addict; if there are two ways to do something and one of them is more dangerous, then he will fucking choose the more dangerous one
- this applies to EVERYTHING: if Griklay thinks to fall down the stairs instead of walking them down in the morning, by Quater, he WILL fall them down
- actually pretty flirty with girls and has banged quite a few of them; also left most of them heartbroken because he does not have the grace to warn them that he wants no more than a one-night stand
For the money. Bortor is the son of one of Quater’s sons and he promises to pay Griklay handsomely by the end of their adventure.
What does he think of Bortor?
At first he supposes that Bortor will be a spoiled brat, but he quickly lets go of that impression. Bortor’s crafty and he’s used to having to work hard. Plus, he looks up to Griklay (for the survival skills, which he absorbs like a sponge), which strokes Griklay’s ego immensely.
What is his plan with Bortor?
PfffFFF. Plan? None. They’re just gonna go places and Bortor will tag along. The usual. With money at the end of it.
Do they have a plan in case Bortor dies?
… mayyybe. Griklay may want to have a plan because he wants to scare Bortor a little. But he IS level-headed in the case of survival, so… he’s probably want to know what to do if something bad happens.
What are Griklay’s quirks?
The sheer contrast between his jovial disregard for rules in society, and the dead-set seriousness for rules in the jungle. Does not wipe his ass but does brush his teeth. Only takes baths when necessary/when he scares off wildlife with the stench. Is superstitious and does not hide it; has had encounters with fairies and wants to be on their good side.
Notes on the plot
act 1: Bortor runs away (Bortor), 419 N.C.Bortor’s conflict with his father; why and how he left the Brokenhood. Set-up for the gear that Bortor will be travelling with.
act 2: Bortor elopes with Griklay (Griklay), 419 N.C.
Bortor arrives at Smark, where Bobuslaw introduces him to Griklay. Bortor gets drunk and conceives the idea that he will look for Otto’s missing sons to prove himself. Griklay offers to help on the following conditions: The journey will go on as long as Bortor wants it to, Griklay will be paid at its end, and in the case of Bortor’s death Griklay must return to the Brokenhood and let his family know (otherwise he won’t get paid). Bobuslaw sees the pair jump onto a hail (and later informs Otto’s family).
act 3: The missing sons (Bortor), 419-430 N.C.
An overview chapter on the journey progress. What Bortor learns, how Griklay treats him, where they get information and directions, how they travel. Bortor sends letters to his family to let them know he’s alive and well. Creeker’s chunk of land, Aloh Al’s chunk of land, preparation for Hondo’s chunk of land. Bortor confesses and is refused; he jumps off a hail and plummets to his death.
act 4: The field of death (Nike), 430 N.C.
Location within Nike and Klogg’s current relationship. Setup that they want to ride a hail to get home sooner. While collecting dead bodies, Nike finds his nephew Bortor. Nike performs the Run of the Century (TM) and leaves Bortor in capable hands, then he runs back so that he doesn’t leave Klogg alone for too long.
act 5: The fuckening (Bortor), 430 N.C.
Bortor wakes up and hurts all over. Turns out that he’s been out for days. Nike and Klogg pay visits, Nike offers first base, Bortor is secretive, Nike confronts him, Bortor has a breakdown. They fuck. YAY.
A totally different view on the situation: Klogg asserts that Bortor is powerless against Nike and that Klogg won’t allow him to continue on their journey with them. The next day, the famous note “Thank you. I’m sorry.” is found on Bortor’s bed, with a part of Nike and Klogg’s gear missing and Bortor gone. Klogg is thoroughly beaten up and watches Nike run off into the sunset.
Bortor arrives at Brokenhood, much to the joy of everyone. He reunites with Clementine there and he learns that Griklay has told his family he was dead. He deals with some serious PTSD, being unable to go back to the life he lead 18 years ago. His version of the tale is recounted; he leaves Nike out completely. Bortor is fully aware that he could save everyone a lot of worrying if he spilled the beans… and he doesn’t, out of shame. The scene ends with a dream of a pair of strong, warm arms…
Notes: What happens to the Otto clan after Bortor runs off
The last thing that Bortor says to Ottoborg is that Otto is a failure of a father and that he’s going to lose Bortor just like he lost his previous sons. Otto is out of commission for some time after that, since his subconsciousness feeds him a row of unhappy flashbacks. Caline thinks that Bortor will work it out. Ceola thinks that they should go after him. Alan agrees because he wants to scold Bortor for being a prick. The twins assume leadership and… well… they let Bortor go, voting three against two. Neither is too keen on confronting him right now, and Bortor always comes back after running off anyway.After Ottoborg comes to his senses, he wants to go after Bortor and apologise. He still thinks that Bortor should do robots but, by Quater, being on bad terms with him just makes him so unhappy! So he insists that they track him down ASAP. The twins oblige and create a hound to sniff Bortor down. Turns out that Bortor has got quite far by then, and they won’t catch him unless they get a car. (Which smells absolutely terrible because Otto looooves the smell of gasoline, so using a car and the hound at the same time is not feasible. Plus the hound refuses to get into the car.) Luckily his trail goes straight to Smark, and Bortor has been known to run to Bobuslaw on occasions when his family showed him zero understanding. So they come back to the Brokenhood, get inside the car and drive to Smark. They leave Alan to follow Bortor’s trail with the hound, since the Hoodian can go on through the night with no trouble. Walkie-talkies are exchanged to keep both sides informed.
It’s four hours from the manor to Smark, plus the hound creation took some time, plus they were delayed at the beginning. All in all, let’s say it’s seven o’clock by the time they get there.
Now.
Assuming that Ottoborg would want to find Bortor and apologise to him, which he WOULD, then in the current fic setting, Bortor will apprehended by his crafty father and brothers. That means the end of my shipping fantasies, therefore it is not feasible. Bortor must fuck Nike.
How to keep Ottoborg from catching Bortor, but also keep the fact that Bobuslaw introduces Bortor to Griklay, which means Bortor must go through Smark?
I believe that this is the place to introduce hails.
Since in this version, Bobuslaw doesn’t have much time for exposition, we can cut straight to the chase and have Bortor, Griklay and Clementine escape on a hail. A plot-related location could be placed near Smark, where the three can board a hail and never be caught, because Ottoborg isn’t suicidal.
Also, I could have Bortor get drunk. He’d be more than happy to forget the fucking mishap of his birthday, and Griklay loves to drink when someone else is paying. They could get smashed and Bortor could conceive the idea of finding Ottoborg’s lost sons right there, in Peterson’s inn. And Griklay would find it an amazing idea to embark on the journey right there and then (since he is keenly aware that if Bortor gets busted, his adventure’s over), so they just… do. They tell Bobuslaw that they’ll be taking a look at Clementine, and when the Skullmonkey realises that leaving the two drunks alone probably isn’t the best of ideas, he is just in time to see them jump onto a fucking hail. They aren’t smashed to goo, as far as he can see, and he informs Ottoborg and company about it as soon as they arrive. So Bortor’s family knows that Bortor’s with Griklay, they know that Bortor wants to find Ottoborg’s sons, and they know that Griklay is a capable adventurer. But they have no way to follow him fast enough, and without tracking, they won’t be able to find him.
So the twins persuade Ottoborg that… he should let it be. The damage is done, there is no way to catch Bortor now… It is in Quater’s hands. And really, if Bortor is so hell-bent on proving himself, then let him. When he comes back, Ottoborg can finally admit that his life choices are justified.
After that, it’s one long wait for the Otto family, until Bortor’s first letter arrives.
