The Font
Chapter 3
The wind blew hard against the mountainside and two lonely figures
scaling steps cut into the stone there. The first figure was garbed
in a thick brown robe, the material and cowl of which afforded him
some protection. On his bck was a heavy woven basket, covered by a
lid secured by leather straps. Behind him, a fat bird shaped vaguely
like a turkey labored in pursuit, bleating with effort as it climbed
each step one by one.
"Not much further, my friends," the acolyte called, and it was true -
another hundred steps delivered them to a rocky plateau high above
the plain they had departed that morning. The bird looked over the
side of the cliff and bleated softly in dismay.
"Have a care, my flightless fowl, for if you fall your stubby wings
will let you down hard," the acolyte called. The dodo looked back at
him, honked and waddled back to safety.
Most of the plateau was under the protection of a high stone wall
that extended in an elegant curve in either direction from where they
stood. Together, they approached the only visible feature, a heavy
iron gate set near the stairway. There they stopped, and the monk
put unshoulder his pack and put it on the ground.
"This is where we must part," he announced. "As a lowly acolyte, I
am not permitted into the presence of the Font of All Wisdom. You
two, however, are welcome and will be greeted with all the decorum
befitting an undead hero and his spirit guide." With that, he turned
and walked back to the stairs and descended out of sight.
"Honk!" the bird called in farewell. It waddled to the door and
slammed it's heavy beak against it once, twice, three times,
producing a loud clang on each strike. Then it settled down next to
the basket and waited.
A few moments later, the door opened. In it stood a red-haired woman
clad in a blue dress with wide swaths of cloth hanging from her
arms. She looked right over and past the bird and the basket and
said mechanically, "You are expected. Come with me."
The dodo looked at the basket and bleated. In response, the lid
popped off and the basket tipped over, and out poured John Doe. The
Undead Hero's body was still recovering from the beating it had
suffered in Slinky Avenger's basement chamber of artistic horrors,
and for the most part, he was still restricted to boneless flopping
for movement. An unfortunate side effect of this was the inability
to arrest his fall. John landed on his face, and his eyeballs sprang
from their sockets. This time, however, his strained optic nerves
snapped, and the two orbs went rolling past the woman and down the
hall.
"A little help?" John asked trying to locate the woman by ear.
"I will provide a conveyance," she answered in her unnerving
monotone.
Hearing her footsteps receding, John called out , "Don't step on my
eyeballs! If you see them, pick them up, please?!" A few moments
later, she returned with a wheelchair. She scooped the mangled
rodent into the basket, then poured him into the seat. Between the
three of them, the Dodo got himself sitting upright. The woman then
began to push John along the hallway.
"So, um, what's your name?" he asked, trying for conversation.
"I am Lo-Ra, servant of the Font," she said simply.
"Ah, okay! That explains everything!" he said cheerfully. After
several more moments of travel, the wheelchair stopped. Although
blind, John had a sense of space around him. He heard his spirit
guide whistle softly in amazement.
"Hey, try to find my eyes, would you?" he asked Lo-Ra. "And some
super-glue?"
"SILENCE!" The voice echoed with command and power. John's mouth
closed with a click. Minutes crawled by, and the only thing he heard
was the sound of heavy breathing, some sort of rythmic thudding
sound, and something like paper rustling.
"Uh, mister Font? I--"
"SILENCE!"
John quieted down again. After a few more moments, the sounds
stopped, and then the voice said, "Searching, you are? What you
seek, finding, hmmm?"
John took a moment to puzzle this out, then said, "Mighty Font of All
Wisdom, I , huh? Wha?" he stopped as he felt a tap on his
shoulder. Hands grasped his head and rotated it to the right. "Oh,
thank you. I have come seeking knowledge and wisdom, to help me
determine the path my life is to take now that the Master of All Evil
has been vanquished!" He waited expectantly.
"We are... the rangers."
John considered this a moment, then said, "Yes, I have traveled quite
a ways to find the answers I--"
"Size matter not."
"Uhm, thank you for that reassurance, but--" he began.
"Try not. There is do, and do not. There is no try."
This one struck a chord, and suddenly, the pieces fell together. "I
got it!" he yelled. "Star Wars, right? And wasn't the first one
from Babylon Fi--"
"NO! THEY'RE MINE! ALL MINE! MINE! MIIIIIIIINE!!!" the Font of
All Wisdom shrieked. John heard footsteps charging towards him, then
the blind, crippled, wheel-chair-bound weasel was sent flying by a
crushing blow from an unseen fist. He slammed against a wall dropped
onto the floor in a re-broken heap.
When John recovered his senses, he was being lifted back into the
wheelchair by Lo-Ra. In the distance, the rustling of paper and
thumping sounds has resumed with some sense of urgency. Then he was
being rolled away from the site of his injury.
"Never question the originality of the Font. It is forbidden," Lo-Ra
cautioned in her lifeless monotone.
"I'll make a note of that," John wheezed. The chair stopped a
moment, and he felt a pair of small, round objects pressed into his
hand, along with a tube. He spun them in his hand, and realized he
was looking at himself, holding his own eyeballs and a container of
Crazy Glue. A quick pan around the rest of the room showed they were
in a kitchen, and Lo-Ra was setting a plate on the counter.
"Honk," the dodo bleated. John handed one eyeball over to the bird.
The dodo held the orb like a camera in it's beak while John glued his
nerve endings together again and popped the other back into it's
socket.
"There is food here. You may help yourself," Lo-Ra said. By the
time he had both eyes installed and cleared his vision enough to look
around, she was gone, but the rumble in his stomach reminded him of
her offer.
"Food, that's what I need!" he told his avian ally. "Nourishment to
restore my undead frame to it's original super-rodent status. Come,
my pet, and let us see what our host has to offer." He climbed
carefully out of the wheelchair and tottered around the counter to
the refrigerator. Then he opened it and looked inside in wide-eyed
wonder.
He had never seen so much cheese in his life or unlife. Every shelf
was filled to bursting with packages of coagulated dairy products.
He saw swiss, muenster, brie, cheddar, port, and smoked versions of
each. There was limburger, mozzeralla, goat cheese, and a host of
other, more exotic types. Apart from these, there was nothing else
at all in the refrigerator.
"Honk!"
"Huh? Oh, yes, here," he said, and hastily unwrapped a block of
provolone. He broke it in half, set some in front of the bird and
then took an enormous bite. He chewed a moment, then made a face.
He looked at his bird and saw the same sentiment mirrored in it's
expression.
"Old cheese," he said, crumbs falling out of his mouth and onto the
floor. "It seems they've been cut off from the source, and get by on
old stores of horded dairy." Still, it was not bad cheese, and the
pair had a filling, if not very enjoyable meal. By the time it was
finished, John could feel the nourishment going to work on his super-
efficient body, knitting bones and weaving torn tissues, restoring
him to his original self.
The kitchen door swung open again, and Lo-Ra entered. John saw her
and said, "Thank you for the repast, servant of the Font, but I have
not yet had my hunger for wisdom satisfied."
"You are welcome. You may stay and rest and meditate on the Person
that is the Font of All Wisdom. I shall show you to the library."
She left again, and the Undead Hero followed her, his waddling
spirit of vengeance bringing up the rear. They passed down numerous
cavernous halls lined with large pictures in ornate frames. In
passing, the weasel realized he'd seen most of these before.
"Hey, aren't these stills from 'Babylon 5' and 'Deep Space 9'?" he
asked.
"No. They are original photographs capturing the exploits of the
Font of All Wisdom," Lo-Ra answered.
"Funny," John mused. "I didn't realize Patrick Stewart was the Font
of All Wisdom."
Eventually, they arrived at a heavy, iron-shod wooden door. Lo-Ra
stopped and unlocked it, then turned to them.
"Contained within this chamber is all the collected thought of the
Font of All Wisdom. Partake of it, and know erudition," she said,
then returned back the way they had come. John and his bird watched
her go, then pushed the door open and entered.
The room was shockingly small. The single battered particle-board
bookcase was even more shockingly small. But the collection of three
loose-leaf notebooks was absolutely stunning.
"That's IT?!" John squawked in outrage.
"Honk," the dodo replied.
"Ah, of course you are right, my avatar of grim justice. Wisdom came
to Buddah in a single instant, so naturally, true wisdom will be a
small, select compilation. Let us peruse."
He took down the first binder, and found a collection of Thundercat
fanfiction. He read the first few pages, then said, "So Cat's Lair
has a holodeck, and Lion-O looks like commander Sisqo?" He closed
the book, returned it to the shelf and took the next one. He flipped
rapidly through more of the same, and frowning, returned it as well.
"This is bizarre," the weasel said. "People accuse Rivero of being
derivative, but at least he adapts books nobody but he has ever
opened before. These are like reading mid-season re-runs from the
Sci-Fi channel."
"Honk!" the dodo bleated excitedly and nodded towards the last
notebook. John took it, blew the dust off of it, and smiled.
"'The History of Thundercat Fandom'! At last, something we can grow
in wisdom from studying!" He sat down on the bare floor his bird
beside him, and began to read aloud :
********
In the beginning, there were the Thundercats, and those who loved
them. Then came the internet, and those who loved the Thundercats
were scattered and disorganized, like dust in the depths of space.
But their common interest drew them together, until at last enough of
them had gathered to ignite into a bright star in the darkness. They
called their new creation the Thundercat Alliance, and it lit the
path for a host of fans to follow.
But as the TCA grew, so did the ego of it's nominal leader, MGD.
Likewise, it's diversity increased in manners he could not abide.
Ultimately, the TCA exploded, schisming into two factions. The
artists, writers and creative personalities fled, guided by the
Lunatac Goddess, and created the Treasures of Thundera. MGD and his
fellows remained behind in the now barren wasteland of the TCA,
content to rule in Hell rather than serve in Heaven.
One of the leaders of the new movement was the Font of All Wisdom,
who's steadying council saved the nascent ToT from certain
destruction numerous times, earning him proper fame and the love of
everyone he met. Naturally, it was destined that he join with the
Lunatac Goddess, and their union would spread peace, prosperity and
joy throughout the fandom. It was only logical that she love him.
She had to. He was the frickin' Font of All Wisdom, goddammit, why
couldn't she see that?
Sadly, there was an interloper, an evil power determined to alter the
universe for his own sick desires. Called the Elven Lord, he was a
cosmic loser that everyone hated as much as they loved the Font and
the Lunatac Goddess. But this cagey fiend struck at the heart of the
fandom through the heart of the Lunatac Goddess, seducing her with
his dark powers and transforming her into a stuck-up snob who would
no longer return the Font's e-mails or phone calls.
The Dark Elf's corruption of the Lunatac Goddess is nearing
completion. He is sick, twisted and totally wrong for her, while the
Font is totally right for her, but she is blinded by his false
magic. The Font has struggled to warn her of her impending doom, and
would again were it not for those bothersome anti-stalking laws.
Unless a champion emerges to strike a blow for truth and true love,
the Lunatac Goddess and all of the fandom will be corrupted, and
eventually, destroyed.
********
John took a deep breath and closed the book. He set it aside, got up
and turned to his bird. When he spoke, the fire of purpose sizzled
in every syllable. "At last, my paragon of punishment, my course is
made clear. The path of my life is made plain, it's purpose
presented to me in sure terms and solid, just cause."
"Honk?"
"I will unite the fandom! I will restore the Thundercat universe to
it's original glory!! I will be the healer who brings the divisions
together into one great, glorious whole!! And to begin my new work,
I shall rescue the Lunatac Goddess from her captor and restore her to
the Font of All Wisdom, where she belongs!"
The bird blinked. It had no clue what to say to that.
TBC