The Envoy had told me to remove Roger from the City. My first thought was to simply drag him forcibly to Koshari’s Building and evict him with prejudice. But I remembered Roger’s parasitic worms that he was using to steal the imagination and dreams of the citizens, and how he was able to infect me just by manhandling parts of his spirit.
Just how was I supposed to remove something that requires a spiritual CDC response just to approach? Roger may not have any imagination on his own, but with the thousands and thousands of stolen dreams, surely someone has thought up of a way to counter me.
I have to assume that whatever I have made publicly available has been served directly to Roger. Which means if he didn’t know I was coming because of Rat’s and Boss’ infection, he surely knows I’m coming because I just had to tell everyone about it by posting the dream. Fuck.
I’ll deal with the lack of surprise later. First I have to find someway to seal Roger in a container he can not infect or slip out of. Which rules out anything organic or porous. No duffel bags or fancy canopic jars for him.
I’ve had to deal with such an entity before. To obtain the iron I needed to forge the Black Axe, I had to pass a test. Using a certain kind of iron, I had to forge a certain type of dagger to a certain specification, then prove that dagger by sealing the spirit of a malicious entity within it. I completed that test of iron and found I was capable of more than just being a pain in the ass.
I still had iron leftover from the creation of my Black Axe. Just enough to make another such soul trapping dagger. This time, I did not have any qualms about what I was planning to do. Roger has to go. So Roger is going to go. Come hell, high water, and damnation if necessary.
Before locking myself away in the forge, I sent some discrete inquiries to various allies and “interested parties”. Since Roger, and those factions that are assisting him, know I’m coming for him and have a good idea of what my limitations are, I’m going to need some help if I’m going to get close enough to even scratch him with the dagger. “Who wants to help Weaver break shit in the City?” was quickly answered by several instigators. They were told of the task and each agreed to help achieve the goal in their own way.
Assuming I actually complete the task and seal Roger into the dagger, and assuming I manage to get the portable tomb into Koshari’s Building, what am I supposed to do then? The building is an interdimensional space. I’m not the only one with keys to it after all. What is to stop someone from coming behind me, stealing the dagger, and releasing Roger back into the City? After all, there were serious manipulations and shenanigans in play to get him into the City in the first place. I’m sure that those invested in Roger were not going to just allow my interference to stand unchallenged.
I had my answer waiting for me when I emerged from my lair with the prepared dagger and sheath. There were others that had been monitoring Roger’s bullshit machinations from the beginning, but were prevented from acting directly in the City. If I bring Roger, in whatever form I can, to them at a certain place in Koshari’s Building, then they will take him off my hands and make sure he doesn’t cause problems for me or for the City again.
My assistants were given their instructions and what kind of distractions they were to cause in the City. They were also given limits on what was acceptable behavior, and warned about Roger’s parasitic worms. They all laughed away the warning. Roger, despite being a multidimensional being, was a human in a City of Humanity. His worms could only infect other humans. Not a single one of my assistants were human, and were thus, immune. The Envoy was not going to be happy with non-humans running around the City freely, but I will to remind him that he said for me to do what I must to achieve the goal.
I sent the assistants into the City and waited for them to begin. They would actually do very little damage on their own. Instead, I knew many of the factions would not pass up a chance to stab an opposing faction in a revealed weakness. Their main goal was to start a war between the factions. As the other factions were forced to enter the fray because of treaties and big-brother clauses, there would be fewer forces protecting Roger.
I thought about dropping the “Wink” soul collector persona. If I had not publicized those stories, it would remain a good cover. Let Roger think a djinn had entered the City, with a djinn’s weaknesses, and a djinn’s abilities. But publishing the dream meant others knew that Wink was really Weaver. And those protecting him would be prepared for Weaver instead.
Fine.
They were prepared for one Weaver Veiled and Hooded, but were they prepared for four? The three assistants that changed their appearance to match mine were also able to mirror my behavior and idiosyncrasies enough that it would take most people several minutes of study to determine if who they saw was really Weaver or not.
We didn’t give anyone enough time to make that distinction. Magic blades of ice and fire along with a predisposition to spit fire in the face of anyone that actually ducked the blades was enough to convince the opponent that they were getting their ass kicked by the Weaver Chaosbringer. Oh, my poor reputation. So much for reducing the intimidation factor.
We each appeared in a different corner of the City, and started making our way to one of the possible locations Roger was hiding in. The goal was whoever found him first would wait for the others to arrive. In the mean time, faction alliances were sorely tested as the other assistants revealed stockpiles that some factions were trying to keep from their allies, and warehouses full of objects that the Envoy personally objected to. The Envoy was the embodiment of the City, but the Envoy was not omnipotent. The City was actually ignorant of the details of most daily activities. If you think of the City as a person, then all the citizens were individual cells, and the factions were systemic functions. Just as we don’t think about what our spleen is doing until something goes wrong, neither does the City be concerned about the factions. But just as a rapidly growing mole gets our attention, so does some of the factions’ shenanigans. Unless you actively hide it from the City’s awareness.
I wonder if the Envoy is regretting getting me involved. “We removed the mole, but in the process we found your arteries have almost clogged and you’re developing appendicitis.” In the long run the disruptions are a good thing as potentially destructive things are removed with prejudice. But the chaos is hurting worse than a battery of vaccinations, I’m sure.
One of my doppelgängers found Roger first. Ke was able to get close enough to see Roger, but could not make a verification. Those protecting him had figured out one of the doppelgängers was a fey shapeshifter and was using iron based defenses to ward Roger. If that doppelgänger got any closer, the ruse would be up. I and one other converged on the location at once.
When Ravenwoman removed Roger’s worms from me in the Boneyard, she purged my body with fire to destroy any vestiges that could not be plucked out of my flesh. Remembering that, my plan was to get close enough to Roger to be within striking range, and then don the Angelus armor. “Angelling up” is like berserking. Whatever is my focus when I angel up remains my sole reason for existing. Everything else around me is ignored, to my detriment at times. The assistants would keep any resisting forces from interfering with me while I took care of business.
That was the plan, anyway.
We all know what happens to plans, right? Right.
I saw Roger. I did not verify it was Roger. I let my emotions run ahead of my prudence and I angeled up. Before I was able to charge forward with the iron knife, one of my (non-fey) assistants beat me to the punch. Literally. Ke barreled into the Roger we saw with an empowered punch. The body of the target dimpled from the strike before the force overwhelmed it and the skin split open.
Worms. Millions and millions of parasitic worms stuffed into a pouch made to look like animated skin. (At least, I hope it was a synthetic skin. But remembering what I’ve seen elsewhere…) My assistant pulled me up and away from the expanding flood of dreameaters. “It’s a trap!”, ke screamed in my ear.
“Yes, Captain Obvious, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drop a nuke so you might want to leave.” My assistant only grinned and held me tighter. Some entities just want to watch the world burn, I guess.
There are two ways to release the Angelus armor. I could either let go of my control over it, and allow its respective energy to retreat back into my innermosts. Or I could shed it off of me in a violent release that causes indiscriminate damage to the surroundings and tends to set everything on fire.
The City really didn’t need that block of buildings anyway. What with the worm infestation and all. When I recovered my senses, my assistant was still holding on to me. Ke was screaming in those satisfied happy tones of BASE jumpers. It would be a while before I could angel up again.
“We found him. And verified. He is trying to surround himself with citizens. Each one infected into a stupor, of course. He thinks you won’t burn through [innocents] to get to him. But it is definitely [Roger].”
Now I’m angry.
Those involved in the factions usually know what they are signing up for. Astral travelers, hedgewitches, and psychonauts understand that the worlds will affect them deeper than the average dreamer. That is their life, now. But no one comes to work as a garbage man and expect to be used as a human shield. As much as the factions piss me the fuck off with their manipulations and politics, they do try to leave the common dreamer out of their shit.
Bad enough the dreameater worms prevent the dreamer from having control over their dream and their imagination, but now he’s going to lock [innocents] into this nightmare? Aw, hell no.
“Weaver. Bad news.” I yell at the speaker to tell me quickly because I need to charge up for another Angelus run. “That’s the thing. The worms survived it. Look.” What I thought was settling dust was the worms coming to the surface of the collapsed buildings. They survived the fire. But… Shit. There goes my immunity.
My assistant lifted me from the ground as the worms started to converge on me. That was thoughtful of kir, but unnecessary as I still have my raven wings and could levitate on my own. Wait. Raven wings? Boneyard wings! What was burning Rat’s tentacles when he took over my legs? Not my blood, not my flesh, but my bones. The bones the Ravens replaced in the Boneyard.
“Let me go! Drop me!”
“And let the worms have you? Have you lost your mind, Weaver? If Roger gets into your imagination…”
“He won’t! He can’t! I know how to destroy the worms and it isn’t fire! Lemme go!”
“Give me one good reason why!”
In my defense, ke did ask for it.
I reached into the depths of my psyche and called forth my Boneburner aspect. My body became limp in kir grasp and both eyes clouded over as my breathing ceased. At sight of the graying of my skin, my assistant dropped me into the waiting mass of squirming filaments. They enveloped me quickly, seeking to enter my body through the existing orifices or to try to chew new ones.
But what my assistant dropped wasn’t a living body. Boneburners are certain dead brought back to life. That dead aspect never really leaves. Keri has died twice that she is knowledgeable of. Weaver can become death at will, but I sometimes forget myself in the process so it is not an aspect I indulge in often.
It wasn’t the fires of the Boneyard that purged me of the worms. It was decay.
The boiling mass of worms quickly came to a stop. The mound turned gray and started to slump into itself as something in the heart of it collapsed. The pudding mass smouldered as a fire started from within.
“In the end, everything dies. Some things die faster than others.” Feeling the mass death of the worms strengthened me. “The worms can not survive on the dead. They need the dreams and imagination of the living to fuel themselves and feed Roger. When Ravenwoman purged me of the worms, she killed me and held me in stasis in the Boneyard. The worms she plucked out of my heart were already dead. Fire was just releasing what the worms had taken. So, I will kill everything and everyone that moves. And release them with fire. Roger thinks I won’t kill [the innocents] he is surrounding himself with? Heh. Reapers gonna reap. You still in it with me, or are you bailing?”
My assistant perched on an outcrop of debris. “I’m still in. I promised I would help you remove [Roger], and I’m going to do so. I assume you’re going to [call up the complete Boneburner aspect]. Allow me to lead the way to Roger. Just follow my wake.”
Ke didn’t wait for me to answer in the affirmative. Ke resumed kir doppelgänger disguise and started cutting a way towards Roger. I pulled my Boneburner mask over my face and released my awareness to the form. As such, I don’t remember much after this point.
The route to Roger was blocked by enthralled citizens and active factions trying to keep their investment in Roger intact even though doing so placed the entire City at risk. If I sensed worms, I killed the host and burned the body. I paid no attention to what the host was. Animal, human, construct, it didn’t matter. If I sensed the offense of infection, it died. If it died, it burned.
The closer I got to Roger the more I was able to sense him. And by sensing, I mean smelling. It was offensive and anger-inducing as opposed to the average citizen which was neutral and matter-of-fact. Certain occultists had a candy sweet scent, and some hermits were dry and dull, but the worms that infected them all set my teeth on edge.
The departure of my assistants barely registered as my fervor increased. He was close, so very close. I wanted to cut him out of the City and burn even the memory of his name. I did not allow myself to remember any of the citizens that fell to my blades. I knew they would wake up in the morning with tales of horrible nightmares, but when they went back to sleep, they would start a new dream, and a new existence in the City.
I heard Roger call for others to throw apotropaic magics against me. But I was serving the City, so they were useless. He called for necromancers to take control of my animated dead body. But anyone infected with worms died on their feet as I approached. He called for magicians to set traps and snares at my feet. The spreading fires made quick work of their sigils and thrown charms. He tried to run, but I was on him quickly.
Strangely enough, his body held no worms. Of course not, they weren’t sourced from his flesh, but from his spirit. However, I could not allow his body to remain. I was expecting a fierce fight and a vicious engagement. After all it took to flush him out from his hiding spots, and the expenditures of those enthralled by him, surely the Worm Lord himself would be at least a match.
Roger was the same as the last I saw him. Out of shape. Physically weak. Oily skin with that sickly sheen that comes from a diet of indulgences. It took no effort to pin him down. He promised revenge. He promised riches. He promised to share power. He promised to help me gain revenge on those that had wronged me. He promised many things.
I gave my answer by piercing his heart with the prepared iron dagger. He gasped and tried to scream. His physical death was quick. One moment his heart beat furiously. The next moment, he was still. His body cooled rapidly as the iron dagger drank of the inherent life in the flesh.
But the task did not feel complete. There was still a sense of Roger before me. Keeping the body pinned (just in case), I tilted the corpse’s head away from me at an angle. I stabbed up into the skull of the body. I felt the bottom of the skull give away as the iron dagger forced its way into the brain cavity. The crunch was a pleasant and reassuring sensation.
The dagger suddenly heated to near forging temperature. It was drinking everything that is Roger out of the body. When we slaughter a cow for meat, the cow is dead and the spirit (usually) leaves, but the meat that is left behind still has enough life to sustain those that eat it. (Until it spoils, and even then, it just feeds a different set of entities.) The dagger was taking all of that life into itself. Roger’s body hardened under me, and then started collapsing into dust starting at his feet.
I held the dagger in position and watched the flesh flake off Roger’s head. What was left of the brain poured from his ears like fine silt and the eyes fell into the sockets in dry collapsing puffs. The skull broke apart as it too disintegrated. I held still until I was kneeling on fading dust and holding a cooling dagger a few inches off the ground.
I stood and sheathed the dagger. I dropped the Boneburner appearance as my senses and reasoning were restored. “One eviction notice, served and executed. Right. Now for the hard part.” I looked around me as my assistants came crashing back.
“We knew you were successful when everyone stopped fighting us. They just stood there for a moment with the best look on their face. Then the screaming started.” The fey assistant clapped kir hands happily.
The other assistant looked over kir shoulder often. “Yea, well, it’s not over yet. You still need to get to the vortex, right? You called it Koshari’s Building, I believe. Everyone that was infected is having a shit fit right now as the worms are dying within them. But not everyone that was helping this guy was infected, if you know what I mean. If you’re going to get the hell out of here, let’s go!”
We changed our appearances to match each other again and traded subtlety for speed. Making sure to set Roger’s bunker on fire as we departed, we emerged into a barrage of munitions. No longer a fight to protect Roger, now it seemed all the factions were working together to come after me. The iron dagger imprisoning Roger made for a very desirable trophy.
Our decision to mimic each other proved correct. They ignored the “obviously” human and went straight for those displaying fey traits. As such, I was mostly uncontested for the minute I needed to speed away from the scene. When they realized the dagger was not in the feys’ hands, they started coming after me.
The City was already recovering from Roger’s infection. It worked with me by turning me onto straight streets, and turning my pursuers onto dead ends and double-backs. My assistants helped by portraying themselves as more human than I was and confusing the pursuers further. I reached Koshari’s Building in minutes despite having to cross the vast metropolis.
My assistants could not enter the building behind me, so I had no guilt in locking the doors behind me. Without me there to host them, the City would quietly eject them for not being human. Though, I’m sure it would not be before they caused a few more licks of havoc and chaos, I’m sure. As much “fun” as they had assisting me, I’m sure they had their own agendas that took advantage of my covering to complete.
But that was out there. And now I’m in here. Whew. Right?
“Human. Key color, black. Reeking of [black iron]. You must be [Weaver], yes?” I turned to see the lobby of the building was occupied by nearly a dozen armed… individuals. Some had unsheathed weapons, some had firearms off safety, some were clearly magic users. All were staring intently at me. “The [black iron] piece, please. We have no quarrel with you, so if you just hand it over, our business with you is done.” The speaker looked like he just stepped out of World of Warcraft. A well spoken orc warrior with a mallet larger than my head. He opened his hand and held it out to me.
“Eh. You are not the ones I’m supposed to deliver the dagger to.” I knew it was possible to open the building’s front doors to another world, but I was not familiar with which worlds were possible. I also considered that doing so could be the point of this bluff, to get me to run out of the protection of the building. Eleven determined individuals were between me and the room I am supposed to deposit the dagger. I might be able to duck the magic users, but the manhandlers will have to be manhandled. Hopefully, I won’t be triggered into berserking until I’ve taken at least three of them down.
He retracted his hand and hefted his warhammer. “Plans have a habit of changing, don’t they. Give it.”
Give it. Something about his choice of words tickled me. Hand it over. Why couldn’t he just have taken it when I came in? There are eleven very experienced professional assholes here. They knew I was coming in here, so why didn’t they just ambush me when the doors opened?
They can’t assault me in here. It’s a bluff! “No.” I step to my left to get around the brute. He steps with me. I step to my right. He follows the dance but closes the distance. He stinks like an orc.
“Hold. Violence may not be necessary. We understand your personal involvement in these proceedings, and the cost you have paid for the [black iron] alone. We will make it worth your while to withdraw from any further complications concerning the entity you call [Roger].” The magic user in the back of the group opens a pouch and pours jewelry and trinkets onto a small table. The same small table that I had left the keys on when I thought I was leaving for the last time. I smiled at the memory and was mistaken to be smiling at the pretties. “I’m sure we can come to an amicable agreement that will satisfy all our needs without violence.”
I laughed. Since when do I avoid violence in the other worlds? “No. I’m going now. I have a package to deliver, and I gave my word I would. Excuse me.” I tilted my head in a friendly gesture and started to step around the orc again.
His hand blocked my way, but I noticed he did not actually touch me. “I told you she wouldn’t be interested in those.”, he snarled over his shoulder. “People like her prefer fights to conversation. Isn’t that right. Bitches like you need to be conquered before they’ll submit. I’ll take care of this.”
I flustered. Yes, I did. My nostrils flared, and my hands clenched, and my jaw ground thinking of all the physical obscenities I wanted to do to him. But I did not move an inch. I knew it was all part of the script. Whoever throws the first punch, loses the game. As long as they did not make hostile actions against me, they could not touch me.
“Your brother makes an excellent servant. I wonder if you’ll be just as complete in your submission to me. Shall I set you down for an appointment tonight? Maybe he can demonstrate to you how to serve the unconquerable.” Complete bullshit on my part, but hey, since we’re throwing words around, why not take a potshot of my own.
His smug grin faded. Behind him I heard someone whisper to him to keep his cool. I took his hand that was still blocking me, raised it to my face, and kissed it gently. For someone that has the body odor of an orc, he has the softest hands. “Oh, such well cared skin. It looks so lovely. It would look better with the marks of my education on it. Yes, I do believe you will do nicely.”
He snatched his hand back in anger. “I have no master, bitch!” He raised his warhammer over his head to strike me but I did not move. When he committed to the action there was a sudden ringing noise in my ears and the lights blinked.
The noise made me wince and turn away for just a second. When I looked back, the brute was lying on the ground unconscious. His warhammer was shattered. He never touched me. Everyone else was still standing in the position they were before he lost his anger. Some were recovering quicker from the ringing noise than others.
“No fights allowed. A policy that is enforced, I see. That’s nice to know. So you guys can only block me from the stairs. You can’t actually lay a hostile hand on me. That explains the numbers. Nice bluff, but I’m calling it. I can remain in here as long as necessary. Or you can take the chance that those that are expecting the dagger are going to come down here to see what’s taking so long. Because they know I’m here. And they are far superior to me. Do you want to take the chance the building will give them more leeway than it gives us?”
The group of adventurers moved to clear my path to the open stairway. I take a step towards the stairs and note they are prepared to follow me, so I turn and quickly enter the elevator instead. Using my keys to lock out external commands, I ride in silent solitude to the fifth floor. When the elevator doors open, I see I am the only person on the floor. The door to the stairwell doesn’t exist. Keyholders only, I suppose.
Different floors have different states depending on what you are planning to do there. The directives given to me were to take the sealed dagger to the fifth floor, and to approach the fifth suite. There I would knock five times on the door and wait for it to be opened to me. I did as directed and waited in silence.
I blinked and when my gaze lifted, the single door had become a double door set. They were both open. A strange mist flowed out of the bright entrance. It felt cold and dry like stone. I made sure I was presentable and neat appearing before stepping through. I dropped the veil and pulled back the head covering so my face was plainly seen. I thought about wearing gloves, but considering what I have just done, I realized it would be better to not give the appearance of trying to distance myself from the deed.
Patting myself over from head to toe, I removed all traces of the previous excitement. Weaver Ravencloaked walked through the portal.
My footsteps echoed off the large grey stone pillars but not from the unseen ceiling. If there was a ceiling there. Mist and haze moved around me in strange wisps of breezes. I stepped slowly through the solemn atmosphere, trusting that I will be led to where I need to be.
Three sets of pillars were behind me when I saw the guardians. They appeared as Art Deco style stone statues of truly titanic naked men holding equally titanic swords. The lower body of the statues from the bottom curve of the buttocks were carved to make it appear the guardians had been formed from the pillars. (The sword hid their crotch. Stop it.) Their heads were bowed, and I finally saw the featureless ceiling as it pressed on the heads of the guardians. But for all the appearance of being weight-bearing pillars, I knew that if necessary, they would step free of the stone into very animated action.
The three statues faced a square platform from three sides. I walked up to the fourth. On the square platform was a square pedestal. On the square pedestal was a glass cube. In the glass cube was a strangely familiar mound of what appeared to be light-colored clay.
«Identify yourself.»
The unvoice said no words in my ear, but the understanding thundered down my shoulders and made my bones shiver. “I am Weaver Ravencloaked, the one that let Roger into the City, and the one that removed Roger from the City.”
«Why are you here?»
“I was informed that this would be where I would leave the [black iron dagger] that contains the entity I know as Roger.”
«You are correct.»
The bottomless glass cube rose perfectly vertically by unseen forces off the stone pedestal. «Embed the [black iron dagger] within. Ensure no portion of the dagger is exposed.»
I took the sheathed dagger from an interior pocket and held it forward. “The dagger is sheathed in a [black iron] embrace. Do I keep it sheathed and surrender all or do I expose the blade?”
«As you have sealed [Roger], keep [him] sealed. Surrender all.»
I bowed and stepped onto the platform. Two more steps and I was at the waist-high pedestal. With the glass cube removed I could now smell the mound it was protecting.
“Is that… dough?” I leaned forward to get a good whiff. “It is! It’s wheaty dough!” I stood confused for a moment until I remembered the part I played in Roger’s awakening. I had embedded the piece of his spirit I “rescued” in unbaked bread dough that quickly self-cooked. I then, personally, served Roger the bread so that as he ate it, his spirit indwelled in the human form.
It was very fitting then, that bread was what released Roger and now bread will be what seals him.
Without pause make a cut in the dough with a taloned finger. Parting the mass just enough to make a trench, I placed the sheathed [black iron dagger] in it, and folded the sides of the dough over it. I took care to smooth and pinch the seams completely for each side. Once I was done, the round dough was now oblong shaped. I stood back from the pedestal and left the platform to where I stood before.
“It is done.”
The glass cube descended to cover the bread dough. Screeching noises made me wince as the glass fused with the stone pedestal. Perhaps it’s just a hunch, but I’m sure that the “glass” is anything but mere glass. Anyone trying to break in, or out, of that cube is going to have nothing but magnitudes of disappointment.
The ground shuddered as the entire platform descended into the floor. Haze filled the space so that I could not see what became of the pedestal. As soon as the pedestal was out of sight, the platform returned. There was no mark upon the surface. As if the pedestal never existed, or this was a different platform entirely.
The three guardians never moved from their station. There were no sounds other than what I personally was making. Even the presence of the unvoice was gone. I bowed towards the platform so as not to be rude, wished all within earshot well, and turned to leave back the way I came.
To see the stone sword emerging from my chest and penetrating the ground before me was a quick surprise. Mentally, I identified it as one of the guardian swords, but emotionally I was distanced by the assault. Surely that is someone else that has been pierced from above behind her back. Why just think of all the internal organ damage such a strike would produce. Surely the victim would be passing out because of the crushing damage to her heart. Maybe I should turn around and see if I can help her.
I can’t move.
My hands, that were caressing the bloodied sword out of appreciation for the near mirror smoothness of the stone had ceased to respond to my mental directives.
My arms hung limply.
Strange. Why am I still upright? Blood was pouring out of my open mouth as the ruptured arteries conspired with the torn trachea to aerate my blood a little more than was originally intended. I should be a lifeless corpse on the ground.
Oh, the sword is holding me up.
And now the sword is moving. The guardian pulls it free from the ground and lifts my impaled body. As my head rolls to the side from the action, I notice he has legs after all. Still naked. I want to laugh, but I haven’t the air to make sound. Or the blood flow to fuel it.
The platform is gone again. Only a square void remains in the floor. The guardian holds me over the void and I wonder if I’m going to be made into a snack for the ancient and terrible entities here. I better be served with cilantro and guacamole. It’s the least they can do.
I realized I thought that with seriousness. I understood then that the sword was piercing more than my body, but my psyche as well.
A light welled within the depths of the exposed pit. It flared up in a light pillar that illuminated through coat, skin, flesh, and bone. It was very unpleasant. I was very upset that I could not properly scream in anguish as was befitting the scene.
So I followed the lead of my cooling body and blacked out instead.
I woke up lying on my back on the restored platform. I opened my eyes to see a guardian facing down at me from beyond my head, silent and in his pillar. Another guardian was on my left side, and the third guardian was on my right side. My hands had been clasped over my lower chest. My fingers interlaced to keep them from falling to the side. I thought it a striking pose to wake up in, but only if there was an audience that would also appreciate the positioning.
The guardians said nothing, did nothing, remained nothing.
«You have been verified as free from [Roger’s] influence. You may go.»
Oh, that’s what that was about. I sat up gently and examined myself where the guardian had impaled me. Not a mark to be seen, not a smudge to be tended. I nodded in understanding, stood up, and walked quickly (but not rudely) to the unguarded side of the platform. From there I continued to the portal.
Where the portal was glowing brilliantly white from the building’s hallway, now it was nefariously black. Perspective changes things, don’t they.
I passed through, and the doors closed behind me. I turned around with intention of verifying they had closed only to find there were no doors there. The hall of the fifth floor contained the doorways to only four grand suites now. And the doorway leading to the stairwell had returned. The mist, the sense of cold stone, the ominous atmosphere, these were now absent.
I returned the elevator to normal operation and rode it down to the first floor. The lobby was devoid of the gang that was waiting for me earlier. The small table remained nestled between two oversize couches. My memories of what happened here were strong enough to manifest as swiftly moving ghosts.
I left the building via the main doors. I’ll have to face the Envoy sooner or later to tell him that Roger had been permanently removed from the City, and maybe this level of existence entirely.
The Café-on-Main is usually a block away from Koshari’s Building and on the other side of the street. The two are often within view of the other. So I had a good view of the great numbers of people going in and out of the café, including those using the “premium pass” to enter the second floor directly. I’m sure the factions with rooms there are having a wonderful time playing politics.
I thought twice about adding to the randomness there and turned away from the café. My goal was just to walk aimlessly through the City. Wandering helps clear my head, and I was still disconcerted by what I had done to Roger, my role to play in his initial release and resealing, and the usual guilt that come with what I was told was improper behavior.
The City led me through surprise parks and beside quiet canals that were filled with flowering water plants. The Envoy may be pissed but the City itself is consoling me. I’ll take that.
My wandering let me to a forgotten pedestrian bridge over a district that preferred cars as primary transportation. I expected layers upon layers of elaborate graffiti but what I found were some token marks that had faded into obscurity.
As I reached the peak of the bridge, the Envoy stepped out of a \shadow to stand beside me. He greeted me silently and harshly.
“You said!” I noted I sounded like a child caught with still hot cookies.
His lips only pursed tighter.
“While my effect is unpredictable, my personal actions are. They were waiting for me, you know.”
His eyes narrowed. I smiled in response. “Well, Oh Silent One, you should be happy to know that Roger is not only removed from the City, but that he has been sealed in a place that not even I can bust him out of. Whatever he dodged before hiding out here has come back to claim him for perpetuity.”
The Envoy looked away from to across the district. Dotted across the skyline of the City were the plumes of various fires. I spied smoke that was as green as grass. “Eww. That’s hazardous material burning there for sure. Which reminds me, is there a protocol for storing certain materials in City limits? Or at least within range of living spaces? Because my associates found some questionable substances that would be detrimental to human health.”
“I know.” Ah, finally! He speaks! “Did they have to set fire to the stocks?”
I really don’t know what my doppelgängers did while we were searching the City for Roger. I would not be surprised if they had taken advantage of my invitation to work on their own personal agendas. As some factions had acquired their goods through theft and improper deception from certain fey realms, some opportunistic payback was surely going to happen. “I’m sure they had their reason. If for nothing else, keeping up with my reputation of being a firemonger.”
The Envoy sighed deeply. “Not everything that was set on fire, should have been. Not everything that should have been, is.”
I straddled the concrete restraining wall and leaned out. The action gave me a better view of the distance. “Who the hell puts a granary next to a ritual oil warehouse? Envoy, I know it’s not my place to tell you how to run the City, but god damn man! There’s got to be some sort of sanity checks to keep the general populace safe.”
I blinked and the Envoy was standing on the wall behind me. “Wrong concern. It is not your place to approve what the citizens dream up for themselves.” A new column of smoke rose in the distance. “You have not completed the work.”
His use of the word ‘work’ made me wince. “Okay. I’ll bite. What else was I supposed to do? I brought Roger into the City and I took him out. What’s left?”
“He left behind debris that is still choking the City. I do believe they appeared to you as small parasitic worms. What I offer to the factions, I require from you, as you are responsible for Roger’s entrance in the first place.”
I laid down on the restraining wall. “Yes, yes. Work that knife of guilt a little deeper, eh? You might scratch where the guardian of that place shanked me. Lemme guess. Destroy the worms. They should be dead and inert with Roger no longer using them, though.”
“They are inert, but they are numerous. And it will take a considerable length of time for them to be removed organically. Each one that remains within a citizen causes that citizen discomfort. For the good of the City….”
“The worms gotta go. Envoy. Now that the worms are dead, decay won’t work on them. It will require a purging by the application of focused will. Or in Weaver-speak, burn all the things.”
“The factions are offered forgiveness of their unauthorized stocks held in the City in exchange for participating in the purging of Roger’s filaments. I do not offer this to you. I demand it.”
I sat up and patted my hands dramatically enough to make him scowl. “Okay. Fine. I’ll burn some shit. Lemme make a few calls…”
He moved in a blink and was leaning over me so closely I fell back down. “No. Outside. Assistance.” I had never really looked at the Envoy’s eyes before. No whites. No iris. All pupil. They looked like translucent orbs of clear obsidian or the smokiest of smokey quartz ever. He stood up and straightened his tie but remained straddling me. “Outside assistance will not be necessary in this task, as the factions are enthusiastically making sweeps of their district and purging the infected or isolated masses.”
“So they’re making sweeps of their opponents and having a faction war under the guise of purging the worms.”
“Yes. But that was expected, and one of your desired side effects I believe.”
Whoops. Busted. “Heh. Yea. But if the factions have this settled, why are you on my ass?”
“Because the factions are not omnipotent and do not know of any concentrations of infection that you, personally, may uniquely know. As such, your task is to burn out those concentrations, personally.”
Rat. I know he and the other inhabitants of the Rat Nest will respawn when they next go to sleep, but there is still something… unpleasant… about setting a person on fire. Dream or no. “Okay. Move so I can get to work.”
The Envoy stepped down from the restraining wall. I looked over at him, considered where I was and where I needed to be, then rolled off the wall in the other direction and fell to the City below. Coat became wings as I slid into the shadows. It did not take long for the City to deliver me to the Rat Nest.
I landed as Wink. Rat was leaning over the fallen body of Boss. It was clear Boss had died recently, but the infestation was preventing him from leaving the dreamscape of the City. Rat was using a roughly made tool to dig into Boss’ chest. I called his name and he looked up tearfully.
“Wink? Get the heart, right? If I get his heart out, I can make him go away, right?” He dropped the tool and tried to shuffle over to me. His tentacles dragged uselessly behind him. The Rat Nest reeked of rot. “A lot of us just dropped dead. But no one is leaving. They’re all trapped, Wink. My body hurts. I’ll be dying again, and it will be like before. I don’t want to hurt like that again, Wink. What do I do?”
Jesus Fucking Christ. I can’t leave them like this. “Remember I told you that if I came after you, I would tell you before hand?” Rat nodded. I smiled softly. “I’m after you, Rat. Are you going to make this tough or are you going to let me do my job?”
Rat started crying. “Will it make the hurting stop?”
“It might hurt even worse for a little while. But then it will be over. But hey, I have good news.”
“You’re going to put me in a diamond? I’ll finally have a diamond of my own!” He tries to laugh but it comes out in sobs. I reach for him while he is distracted. He tries to pull away at first, but surrenders in sighs and tears.
“Nope. No diamond. The bad news first. You’re going to have to buy another pair of pants.”
He did not wince as I placed my hands around his head. “Why is that bad?”
“Because when you wake up, you’ll have your legs back and you’re going to flash everyone until you get the pants!”
His face brightened and he grabbed my hands as he squealed in happiness. “Really?!” I waited until the fullness of the emotion bloomed on his face before jerking my hands and cleanly snapping his neck. His body fell, still grinning.
“Really.” The word fell softly from my lips. It was followed by a tear that angered me. This would not have happened if I wasn’t so fucking naive before. I let the anger take root and transform my cloak back into wings. I extended them and the black feathers became licks of flame.
Taking on an ifrit form is not hard for me. A gift from my Lord of Fire. (He always said I’d make a better djinn than human.) In the presence of the supernatural flame, everything organic surrendered to the fire. The bodies, the cardboard boxes, the hidden stashes of food and paper money. All inflamed and burning. I followed the scent of rot through the back alleys. Those bodies I found already dead were set aflame. Those infected still alive were killed swiftly and given to the fire before they had fallen to the ground.
As I crossed over where I (and my assistants) had covered in our search for Roger, I would occasionally encounter formal teams that were participating in the purging. But for the most part, I found the forgotten ones. Individuals that weren’t on the factions’ radar, or districts that had no factions to help clean them. I searched as diligently as I could.
The Envoy’s hand suddenly grabbed mine and kept me from racing forward again. “Stand down. Your work is done. Here, I have something for you. A souvenir, if you please.” He waited until I burned off the ifrit form and became plain ol’ Weaver again. He handed me a scrap of cloth that I recognized as a piece of Roger’s twill jacket. (No wonder we dismissed him. No fashion sense.) It was tied in a soft and light bundle. “It is all that remains of Roger. Dead ash, not even fit for brickmaking. However, I think you could use it to make one last statement and completely absolve yourself of your involvement. You have a good imagination, Weaver. Put it to use.”
After making sure that I was clean, presentable, and in full intimidation mode, I went back to the Café-on-Main. Ignoring Jill’s raised eyebrow, I went to the common lobby on the second floor. While I am not a faction member, I am allowed access to places usually restricted to “commoners”. I stood with my back to the wall, behind a small round table, eerily reminiscent of the table in Koshari’s Building. One by one, representatives of the major factions came and either sat in the other available chairs, or stood in awkward comfort until all the factions were represented.
No one spoke. They all watched me. I stood silently with my hands clasped before me and my eyes closed. I opened them, looked around at each representative to make sure I had their attention, then slowly drew the bundled ash from my pocket.
They all recognized the cloth. Some faces smiled grimly. Some faces scowled silently. Some paled. Some were confused. I undid the knot and slowly allowed the ash to pour from the cloth onto the table. I held the cloth over it and willed it into flame. The twill was quick to catch fire and burned steadily. The ash fell to join the remains of Roger under it. Once the cloth had completely burned, I rubbed my fingers to rid myself of even the stain of soot.
“So.” I spoke loudly but gently. The word caught some unaware and they jumped to the amusement of others. “Who else wants to be immortal?” The amused faces resumed frowning.
I did not wait for an answer, but turned and exited the lobby via the staircase. I heard some swearing and half-breathed muttering behind me but I cared not for a word of it.
At my personal booth, the Envoy sat with his hands clasped on the table. He nodded and allowed himself to subtly smile for the first time since this endeavor began. “Well done.”, he mouthed. He closed his eyes as he turned his head away slightly and faded from the booth.
“Are you staying?” Jill stood behind me.
“No. I have things to take care of. Maybe later.”
Jill nodded and left to take care of her other duties. I left the café and the dream.