Me as I’m going through the shit: “I’m not going to write a single word of this. Nope. Ain’t a damn soul gonna know about this because there is no way to possibly convey all the nuances that is flooding my awareness without trivializing, compartmentalizing, or dismissing any of it and it’s all fucking important.”
Me, right now: “Fuck. Gotta write.”
If I write out the scenes, it’s gonna be five thousand words, hella lotta jumping between simultaneous moments, some heresy, and a few moments when the purists will lose their shit while screaming $Deity would never do that.
I don’t have time for five thousand words today. (Though I always love tweaking the noses of the purists that can’t imagine their gods would have… I dunno… independent agency or some shit and do things that “tradition” says they would never do. See also: Set and tacos. Mmm… tacos…) So instead I’ll just write the pivot points. How you choose to examine these shards and what you do with them is entirely up to you.
DEEP FUCKING WATER: I stood at the Well of All Things on the crest of the hill. I knew the old man was standing behind me. I did not ask for permission or forgiveness. I needed to know [a thing], and the only way to find out was to taste the water. The chill of it stung my lips, and a strange bitterness caught in the back of my throat. I knew I had dipped my fingers in water, but the numbing that spread through me from my throat down suggested otherwise. He had the grace to let my hand drop before he swung the blade through my neckline, decapitating me once again.
When I opened my eyes, my head was at the bottom of the ocean. [The Personification of the Ocean] was holding my head in its lap, and my body was lying beside it. The head had long drained of blood, but osmosis was still pulling blood from the torso into the surrounding water. I noted the red blood appeared black under these conditions while all else was the darkest and clearest of blues.
“You seek [Leviathan].” I did.
“You already have [Leviathan]. You have it every time you [do a certain thing]. You just never had a name for it, and now you do.” I understood.
“Do you know the difference between [the old man’s] water and mine?” No, I do not. I do not understand how they are connected.
“My water runs in your veins. That is why he has to drain it before he can use you. My water is not pure, but is necessary for life.” What adulterates water in blood?
“Salt.” I understand now. And I now knew the boundaries [of certain things].
«Tell me what you have learned.» The old man’s voice pulled at my attention. [The Ocean] released me and allowed him to pull me bodily from its realm as well.
EARTH FOR THE EARTHY THINGS: “What is your favorite go-to for geomancy rolls?” The bright and well-dressed youth of a god unrolled a cloth before me. It contained all of my geomancy sets. A set of D&D polyhedral dice that contains the platonic solids. A set of cube dice in different colors for different elements. A set of 4 (USA) coins in different denominations. And a set of four small flat stones, marked with one dot on one side and two dots on the other. All of these sets are physically dedicated to the use of geomancy divination and nothing else. I wanted to snark about him placing four sets of four items, but realized this time, the count was circumstantial to who was speaking.
“To be honest, Sir, none of these. When I’ve had to do geomancy at the drop, I’ve just pulled out four coins from my wallet. A dime, a penny, a nickel, and a quarter. Heads is one point, tails are two. Then when done, I make sure to spend the coins as soon as possible or drop them in a tip or change jar.”
“But you have these dedicated sets. Doesn’t the use of mundane, unspecialized items muddy the readings?”
“No, Sir.” I sat back and thought about it. “To be honest, now that I think about it, the less pomp and circumstance around the drawing of the mothers, the more plugged in are the resulting figures and overall reading.”
“And if you had no coins?”
“There’s rocks. Pebbles, really. There’s always a little bit of dirt on the ground, and always a way to make a random pattern in it, no matter how often the sidewalks are swept. Or leaves. Or trees in the distance. Houses. Telephone poles. Cars going by. There is always something physical I can count on. Literally.”
“Then is geomancy about the tools, or the process?”
“The process, Sir. As long as there is earth, there are tools. It is the process that reveals what the earth has to say.”
He rolled up the cloth. “Remember this. Stop trying to fancy up your process to the point where it becomes disconnected from what you are trying to achieve. Maybe one day you can become high-frou with your tools. But not yet. Earth for the earthy things. Open your eyes and see.”
He placed his sun-hued hand over my eyes and pushed me into a deeper state.
POWER IN THE WORD: The old man held my head on the ground beside my exsanguinated body. Lining up wound for wound, neither flesh responded. “Don’t give me that look, young lady. I know this isn’t your first death, here or there. Since you have been so gracious with me in sharing what you have learned, I will share with you what I have learned.”
He leaned over and whispered three words in my ear. At the last word, the wound resealed itself, reattaching the head to the body, but my flesh was still dead.
He switched sides, and whispered those same three words into my other ear. A jolt ran through my flesh and restored all blood that was lost. My heart began to beat but my spirit was still detached from my body.
He propped open my mouth, and leaning in so close, our lips brushed each other as he spoke, he whispered the first two words without breath. He then took a deep breath, covered my mouth completely with his, and breathed the last word into my lungs. The rush of air, empowered by the word, filled every last bit of me and cleaved my spirit back into my body. My closed eyes opened in surprise and I kicked before realizing who was over me.
He sat back, smug as fuck, and told me to repeat the words he spoke. I said the first word, and a strange power ran along my nerves. I said the second word and that power sang in my blood, eager for a target. I said the third word and a great thunderclap deafened me as the power left me aimlessly.
“That is my gift to you. Use it well.”
The old man used his staff to stand over me. He tipped his hat in farewell, and with a smirk that should have terrified me, turned and made his way down the hill.
I remained lying on the slaughter fields around the Well of All Things, completely stunned by the turn of events and the revelations that came with them. I resolved not to write a single word of what happened, but we all know what happens to resolutions, don’t we.