I walked into a private back room of a someplace bar expecting to catch up with some esoteric friends for beer and/or shenanigans. (Beer optional. Shenanigans required.) They had a tagalong in the form of a Me Too guy who wanted to catapult himself into the upper echelon of our not-a-coven gatherings. He identified me as the person to unseat and often got on my nerves.
Too bad Me Too couldn’t get his head around the fact we met because we were friends and that we all were wooish in some way was just a happy accident. The Uncoven would regularly roll our collective eyes at him, and the only reason he was tolerated in our backroom shenanigans is because he didn’t try to mooch anything off anyone. After spending too much money buying the look, the books, the accessories, and the tattoos he felt would prove his might and power, he started bringing in the One Sure Thing that would topple the current power structure and allow him to take over every time he came by.
I walked into the room to find the shenanigans in process was the rest of the Uncoven giving Me Too an imperial verbal asswhipping for an odd ballish thing he had placed on the table. It looked like a small ceramic vial barely taller than my hand is wide. It reminded me of a miniature version of the Deadhead Rum bottle. He sat on the couch behind the table with an arrogant post smiling smugly at the collection of unbelievers around him.
An Uncovener greeted me. “He brought a new toy. Says it contains a powerful spirit that only he has safe control over. He’s been demanding we respect his authority or he’ll sic the bound spirit against us.”
My turn to roll my eyes. “That’s it. Kick his ass out. I know this is open space, but it’s also our space. And we don’t come here for this kind of bullshit. I certainly don’t.”
“Well… that’s the thing. I think there is something in it, but it’s doing a number on his ass and he doesn’t realize it yet.”
I look at the Uncovener. “Parasite or rider?”
“My guess? Parasite. Feeds on attention.”
“Like what you guys have been giving it and him?”
“Heh. Yea. Busted.”
I notice the room has become quiet and all those present are looking at me in expectation. “My services start with a fee of an intact case of Samuel Adams Lager or fifty dollars. That will buy an investigation into the circumstances and an honest opinion of what I find. Removal fees are significantly higher.”
The burst of sharp laughter in the room reduced the irritating tension. Me Too jerked his chin towards the small bottle on the table. “Your turn. Examine it. I’ll tell it not to bite.”
I handed my hat and purse to the nearest Uncovener. “I’ll examine it, then I’ll examine its aerodynamic properties as it precedes your ass being thrown out. I have had enough of your shit. There are no rulers here, and no throne to conquer.” I was so pissed at him, I ignored my own rules of engagement.
Rule 0: Assume what you see is not what it is.
I grabbed the small bottle with my left (non-dominant) hand with full intention of turning around and hurling it if not into the bar proper, then into a different dimension. I grabbed the bottle, and the bottle grabbed me.
My hand spasmed around it, compressing the flesh of my fingers against it. A terrible pain sliced into the bones of my wrist and started working its way up my forearm. The fit started the moment I realized the trap I had voluntarily walked into.
I fell to my knees as I willed to endure the fit. Panting from the pain but with full fire in my eyes, I looked up as Me Too crossed his legs. “I told you. I would be your better. If you submit to me, I’ll let you go.”
“Only a fool throws away a head start. Keep sitting there, motherfucker. This isn’t the first jar that has tried to swallow me, and you aren’t the first idiot thinking they’ve outsmarted a Fury.”
The thing inside the small jar tightened its bite on my spirit and tried to gnaw a hole in which to crawl. Its intent was to worm its way into my spirit and devour me from the inside like a good parasite does. Instead it found that portion it had bitten off was biting it back instead. It tried to cease hostilities and pull back to the safety of the container, but I was fucking pissed at this point. Nothing bites me without paying some sort of price.
“You? An Erinys? Your superpower is hubris and now you’ve been caught. Empty threats can’t counter me now.”
As I forced myself to stand, I noticed the other Uncoveners had long stopped laughing and were staring at me in shock. They had not expected any reaction from the jar. I could barely move my left elbow. My left hand and wrist remained locked around the jar.
“Lemme guess. Each one of y’all handled this damn thing with no ill effects.” The Uncoveners nodded.
“Of course they weren’t affected.” He bounced his crossed leg with mirth. “You are my target, and now my prisoner.”
I called for chalk which was quickly handed to me. (The bar has blackboard signs.) I declared my independence from Me Too with a very vulgar hand gesture from my right hand. Feeling out the table and finding nothing, I drew an imperfect circle on the scarred wood surface. At the 45 degree point of each quarter, I marked four different glyphs. After a bit of thought, I marked a fifth glyph in the center of the circle.
“Gentlemen, I could use some assistance. Don’t bother trying to pry the jar out of my hand. Instead, once I place my fist in the snare, I’ll need help keeping it there. Anyone wanna try themselves against my possible augmented strength?”
Two Uncoveners stepped forward. They arranged themselves so that while their hands would be on my left arm, they could squeeze my body between their bulk to keep me mostly in place. Me Too scoffed at us.
“No, asshole, I’m not a Fury. But you’ve broken several codes of conduct with this act of hostility, and the person who brought you is also on the short end of that stick. How much shit you’re gonna catch is dependent on how quickly I extricate myself from this jar and what other oaths you violated to come after me.”
I swung my nearly unresponsive left arm onto the table so that the fist landed squarely in the circle. My assistants kept their grip on my arm the entire time, and only applied pressure once my fist was in place. They were almost too slow as my arm attempted to swing up and away from the table with such a violent action, I was almost tilted off my feet.
As I watched the muscles in my hand begin to spasm violently again, I took another look at the glyphs I had marked. I recognized two of them from a previous dream. My assistants wedged me between themselves as they placed their weight on my arm to keep it from shifting. As my hand ground away the fifth glyph, there was a flash of light that was more felt than actually seen.
My hand opened as if the fingers had been sprung apart. The jar tipped over and rolled a bit without leaving the chalk circle. My assistants immediately released their grip on my arm and I was able to lift my hand neatly from the table.
“I’m dreaming.” The two Uncoveners that assisted me nodded in agreement. Everyone else looked at each other quizically. “There is no other place these two glyphs exist except in my dreams, and in certain dreams, at that. Most of this is window dressing, but the contents of that jar is very fucking real.”
Me Too shifted uncomfortably for the first time in this encounter. “You see…” His voice cracked as his uncertainty exerted itself. “You are already under my power if you are confusing the real world for idle fantasy. Yield to me and I’ll undo the damage.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked at my assistants. Horatio grinned back at me. [Pescado] nodded a formal greeting.
“Right. Enough of this bullshit.” On the table, the little jar continued to roll around in random moments, but was not able to roll out of the chalk circle. “I’m obviously targetted for some shit, but are you another Traveller or just another link in the chain?” I reached in my satchel expecting to pull out either my wand or a knife.
Instead I withdraw a 12-inch long, half-inch thick, flat-ended black rod appearing like stone but feeling like iron. Definitely not from my personal collection. I raised an eyebrow as I remembered where I had seen such a rod before. Circles and spirals. Turning in. Turning out. Let’s see if Socheniel’s rod works as well in my hands as it does in his…
Me Too began to get up from the couch, either to confront me or to run, but I moved quicker. I touched his forehead with the rod with just enough force to ensure contact and nothing more. I felt something like an earthquake shudder through the dreamscape as Horatio and Pescado prepared to provide any further assistance.
Me Too’s head snapped back and he fell back the few scant inches he had moved. The spot where the rod made contact turned red, then scabby brown, then black. It then fell into his skull as his body jerked once before falling slack.
Horatio, Pescado, the now faceless Uncoveners still in the room, and I watched as the hole in Me Too’s forehead grew larger. More and more of his face fell into the emptiness that filled his form. Some of the Uncoveners looked away from the bloodless sight with disgust. I observed the path of destruction as I absentmindedly put away the rod back in my satchel.
First the face fell in. Then the neck and the chest. I wasn’t sure if this was Socheniel’s blight at work, or what a construct looks like when it has been disconnected from its power. The unmaking paused at this point allowing me to make the observation there was nothing under the skin of Me Too. I could only guess if there had been something and the rod’s tap had destroyed it first, or if Me Too was like the Hollow Men and completely lacking anything of substance. Suddenly the rest of Me Too’s body collapsed in a slump of dust and sighs of forced movements of air.
Most of the room lost its details as Me Too decayed. Some of the faceless Uncoveners merely excused themselves and left. The rest of them just disappeared. After Me Too’s collapse, there was only Horatio and Pescado appearing in their chosen state, myself appearing as my waking world self, the round table still bearing chalk marks, and the small ceramic jar with a now distressed spirit within it.
“Well, hell. The spirit was real. Go fucking figure.” I reached to pick up the jar and Pescado reached to stop me.
“Is it safe to handle now?”
“It is. Glad I put the fifth glyph down. Hope it’s not too mad at me for only giving it a snack and not a full meal.”
Horatio furrowed his brow. “But it was a glyph, not a mouth…”
Pescado laughed at him as he pulled his hand away from mine. “It’s a symbol in a symbolic universe. Come on, now.”
I picked up the jar and found the outer layer was no longer hard ceramic. It had decomposed as well and now appeared like a layer of tightly wrapped onion skin that had hardened and aged. I flaked off the mini jar appearance and found something like a large buckeye underneath. The seed rattled as I moved it, causing the now humbled spirit inside to be terribly frightened. Wrapping my senses around it, instead of a wormy parasite, I felt something vegetative and vulnerable.
“Whatever had yoked this thing is gone now. I can’t in good conscious destroy it, but I’m not going to add to my collection of tagalongs. Do either of you have anything to say about this thing?” Both Horatio and Pescado shook their heads. “Okay, then. I’mma take it to the Shamblings. Since this is a seed, they may have a better informed opinion about where to take it, or destroy it. I trust you two will return to your assigned places without having to be babysat?”
They both nodded. I tucked the seed into my satchel and left the now minimalist scene.
The Forest of Shadows was thick with unusual foliage. I didn’t remember seeing substantial swaths of green canopy overhead, but since when are dreamworlds static. The lush roof over me distracted me long enough for a pool of Shamblings to seize me and pull me into their forest floor embrace.
I was recognized as a friend nearly immediately, and the dogpile increased as the rest of the hive came together over me in their version of a “welcoming hug”. Pleasantries were soon exchanged and I spent a few moments relaxing in the grip of sentient mud.
“We sense you have come for a purpose.”
“I have.”
“Share with us your concern.”
“Lemme get a hand free and I’ll show you.” They relaxed their grip around me and I retrieved the seed from my satchel. “This was used against me, but I broke what was using it. I have no place for it. Does your hive know what to do with it?”
The Shamblings took the large seed and “tasted” it. I could feel the spirit within it screeching in unprotected fear. “This kind is not food to us, but we know a place where it can be planted. What comes of it may not be safe for humankind to handle.”
I snuggled under the mud covering. “Safe for humankind, or safe for me?”
The hive chuckled and the mud quivered as if a mild earthquake was rumbling underneath us. “You are not safe for you. It will be planted in a place that most humans don’t go to by accident and only a few can find if determined.”
“That works for me.” Being covered by warm mud is very comfortable. I found myself finding excuses to remain in place instead of waking.
“Shall we tell you stories of our being?”
“Yes. I would love to hear them. I can stay awhile, I think.”
I do not remember at what point the Shamblings fell quiet. Only that their embrace was both more snug and more soft. A hard layer formed on the surface far above me, as they ensured that this time, nothing would disturb my rest.