To Serve Weaver

Tumultuous. Yesterday starting from early afternoon was full of Fuck. I think I was having a series of mild fits. It slacked off a bit going into the evening, then snapped the throttle control when I went to bed for the night.

Different plot lines were lived out simultaneously. If I tried to write everything in the order it happened, it would be too confusing to read and too frustrating to write. It’s like trying to write a plot synopsis for Doctor Who. So instead, I’ll write out the plot lines as if they were individual dreams, with a summary as the final post.

~~~

I stumbled through the forest. Disoriented, I didn’t know where I was going. I knew if I could get to the campsite, I’d be able to jump to my lair. But first, I have to find the campsite.

My head is spinning, and I fell often. I lean against a tree to catch my breath and see where I am. There is a ripple in the debris on the forest floor. I sigh in relief. I’ve found a Shambling.

It rises fully, and the usual stench washes over me. The saccharine scent of rotting vegetation no longer repels me. It’s just what they are. But I note the color of this one is different. It’s darker, and more grey. It’s also thinner than what I’m used to seeing. And I can feel its hunger. Shit. Time to go.

I hadn’t even shifted my foot an inch when the shambling rushed me. It shoved me into the tree I had been leaning against and wrapped itself around me and the tree. I cried out as a rib snapped from the impact. Two more shamblings, also darker grey and thin, rose from the forest floor and joined the first in imprisoning me.

I didn’t panic. I was more hurt the shamblings were attacking me. I wondered what happened to the treaty between us. Then the tree behind me began to grow roots into my back and legs. Now, I panicked.

I was disoriented. My awareness was jumping between the forest, the City, the Dreaming Lair, some other place, and the Waking. Sometimes, I was experiencing two worlds at the same time. What would have worked in one world was impotent in another. In all the worlds, I was helpless and captive to whatever circumstance I found myself.

The shamblings were desperate. I could feel that. I could also feel the worms and the roaches trying to bite into my skin. I screamed at them. Told them who I was. All the names the Nine Worlds know me by. They knew. They tucked themselves lower against me, almost in an act of shame, leaving my head and upper chest free. They knew I am Weaver, but their desperation was stronger than the treaty between us. They were hungry, and I was full of warm, fresh blood.

Those worms and insects that did manage to chew through clothes to my skin, and managed to actually bite and draw blood, quickly died. (I was not wearing the raven-feather cloak, and was only in random leathers.) I would feel the sting, the drop of warmth, then the sudden stillness of whatever had bit me. I knew then, the only way the shamblings could kill me, was to suffocate or crush me. I’m not a fan of excessive blunt force damage.

The tree, however, was a different threat. The roots pierced clothing and flesh quickly. Held immobile by the shamblings’ embrace, I could not kick or squirm to prevent the growths from invading the lower half of my body. I could only scream in pain and betrayal. Where the worms wanted flesh, the tree wanted blood. The roots quickly found arteries and veins and invaded them. Like the worms and insects, where the roots found fresh blood, the roots died. But like the worms and insects, the tree kept sending more roots to explore my flesh, binding me more and more to the trunk.

The roots surged in desperation, piercing from my back into my lungs. My screams became gurgles as blood started to pour from my mouth. I lose too much blood, and slump forward, passing out.

“Weaver. Weaver. I can feel your life. Open your eyes, Weaver. Please.” Something cold and damp is against my face, pushing my head back. Something cold and damp is in my mouth, clearing it. “Breathe, Weaver. You have to take a breath. If I pull you down like you are, you’ll die here.” I’m… alive? No. I’m dead. My awareness is still jumping between worlds. When it jumps here, there is the cold embrace of Unknowing. It makes it hard to leave, but the other worlds pull is stronger than this one.

“Weaver, I can feel you. You are not cold and dead. Not yet.” The cold and damp is now at my neck, clutching it tightly but not aggressively. “Your heart has stopped. This will hurt. Forgive me.” Something slams into my chest. Repeatedly. It… hurts. Again. I feel another rib snap. The sharp pain causes me to take in a breath, only to cough out clotted blood. My head is pounding. I slump forward again.

My head is held up and my neck clutched again. “There is the sound I enjoy hearing. The sound of Weaver’s heart. Now, let me hear her breathing.” I guess I’m not dead after all. I try to breathe, but it hurts, it hurts so much. The tree’s roots have destroyed much of my lungs. I open my eyes…

Another shambling. I’m still bound to the tree by the darker grey shamblings. So, more have come for the feast. It wanted me alive so it could complete what the weaker ones couldn’t, I suppose. Any human can die in the forest, but there is only one Weaver. I can’t move. I lower my head in surrender, and silently weep.

I hear more sounds. I turn my head and see I am completely surrounded by shamblings. Dozens of them. These were the dark brown and black colors I knew from the campfire. I can’t take in enough of a breath to speak loudly. I can only manage a whisper.

“Finish it. Kill me. I can’t leave here until you do. A part of me is bound here. These shambling couldn’t do it. But you… if you know the sound of my heart, then you know how to finish my death. Kill me. I’ll never return. I promise.” It hurt to speak. I slump forward again. Waiting. I can do nothing else.

I shared water with them. I shared myself with them. Because of them, I am named Weaver. I don’t understand… I can only cry. And wait for death. I wonder if I’ll wake up in the Boneyard.

“If we kill you, you will never return? Then we must make sure, that you live. You are alive enough for me to free you. I will have to rip you from the tree. It has died and the roots have hardened inside you.” It pushes me against the tree by my shoulders, placing extensions of itself under the exposed portions of my arms. Other dark brown and black shamblings come forward and seize the three dark grey shamblings that still clutch fiercely to me. Even now, they are still trying to feed off of me.

The dark grey shamblings are ripped away from me. They are separated and thrown violently to the other shamblings waiting nearby. As the one that spoke to me embraces me against the tree to support my body, I watch as the others set upon the dark greys viciously.

The sounds of the fight was like the raking of autumn leaves, the rustling of bare branches, the cries of a distant wind. The appearance distracted me from the brown and black shambling’s movements underneath me. Waves of boiling mud and debris, sudden pillars of material reaching outward to escape only to be wrapped in twiggy tendrils and pulled back into the center. The dark greys were ripped apart and devoured by the others. All the shamblings present participated in the merciless retribution. All except for the one that held me.

“We heard your screams. We called out, but you did not answer. We asked the others, and all but one answered. All but one said they did not have you. When we asked them, they refused to speak to us. When we asked them, they turned away. Then we knew what was happening. We came as fast as we could, Weaver. But the forest is large, and you were so far away from us.”

I started crying again. Not from the pain, which had bloomed so great it wasn’t pain anymore. I started crying because I had not been betrayed by the shamblings I knew. I had been remembered. And sought after. It didn’t ask for forgiveness, it didn’t have to. I heard the remorse in its voice, and forgave it with my tears.

It had almost completely engulfed me. Only the dead roots held me to the tree. It had managed to work itself between them. “Let all the air out of your lungs, Weaver, and don’t take another breath. You’ll know when to breathe again.” I nodded and surrendered into its grip. The act of willfully not breathing in again pushed me over the edge and I passed out again. Which is good. I don’t remember the shambling ripping away from the tree. I don’t remember leaving pieces of flesh and lung behind. I don’t remember my ribs exploding out of my back.

I just remember what it felt like after.

They held me face down, and squeezed fresh water out of themselves over me. They pulled away what fouled scraps of clothing remained, along with the dead worms and insects embedded in my skin. They packed my open wounds with a fragrant dirt. It stung at first, a surprising sensation. The fragrant dirt quickly numbed away the physical pain of exposed flesh. They embraced me, and slowly, deliberately, squeezed here and there. The action forcing my ribs back into position.

I passed out again from the pain.

I wake up being carried on my side. There is soft dirt under me, and a covering of leaves above me. The movement is much like a carriage. So little movement, it feels like a snail’s pace. Until I open my eyes and find we are speeding through the forest faster than an ATV. So this is what its like to be caught in a landslide. The notion raises a chuckle from me. A tendril of material raises from my berm and touches the side of my face. “Are we moving too fast, Weaver?” I smile. “No, I’ve just never seen you guys moving at speed. I’m okay. I’m okay, now. Thank you.” I close my eyes and accept I am in their care.

I hurt in places I didn’t think I could hurt. I still have gaping wounds on my back and legs. My awareness is still jumping in between worlds. I’m going to feel this in the Waking, I’m sure. But I’m okay. They came for me. I wasn’t abandoned.

I’m okay.

~~~

This is one of several consecutive dreams that took place yesterday. One part Dream. One part hallucination. One part “fit”. And many parts fucked up. The other stories will follow later.