What are “Tumbled Dreams”? These are the posts I made to my tumblr during the week because I felt they did not warrant a separate post on this blog. However, these “interstitials” often explain some of the backstory to the larger dream posts. For those readers that only read Three Different Ways, they may help explain some of the characters and sudden changes in plot and direction.
~~~
After I stumbled away from… some place loud. Ugh. All I remember are cards, loud shouts of happy people, cigar smoke, and the sense of having done something fun that I’m sure is going to bite me in the ass later. After I stumbled away, I fell.
I fell under the world, but I don’t think I went Under The Hill.
I wound up in scenario after scenario. All looked like scenes from my waking life. Either family events, or some movie I have seen. Some were resolved before segueing on, some remained tense and broken. At first I thought it meant I needed to tighten my wards more as many of the scenarios took place in my room. But then I realized what all these had in common.
Someone was trying to speak to the dead. One side would not hear clearly until I was pulled in. I would fix things right up, or reveal the delusion. Next scenario.
Not all the speaking dead, were dead. Some were the anguish of a mourning living heart stuck on denial or bartering stages. “She can’t be gone, I hear her through this haunted radio.” “The pipe broke because he hated me in life and is now haunting me! That tree roots grew in it is irrelevant!” Some were relieved, some were disappointed. I didn’t get paid for much of my work. No dead to speak to? Well, no services to pay for!
The last straw for me was my family crowding in my room because their magic phone wasn’t working. It took a little tinkering from me, and the clarity improved. I heard my dead grandmother’s voice. And instantly knew it wasn’t her. When I challenged the imposter, my mother began beating me over the head. How dare I? Don’t I recognize that voice? If Mom says that’s Momma, then that’s Momma!
I kicked them all out while they continued to hurl insults at me. “Go on! Pledge yourselves to another false god. You’re writing checks that takes blood to redeem, and not a drop of it will be mine!” They didn’t like that, either.
But just before I closed the door, I saw my eldest nephew. He was dressed in a formal black suit, with a black shirt, and a black tie. His mother was dressed for a funeral. I heard Mom asking the imposter to look over my nephew. It wasn’t his clothes that made me pause, it was what was on his head.
Or rather, what was missing and what was sitting in the gap. A large amount of skull and brain was gone, leaving the strangely intact scalp fluttering loosely. His huge afro had been pulled back into a bun, and a dainty black wire crown was pinned to the sunken top of his head. At first glance, it looked like a black chicken was nesting on his hollow head. A further look confirmed it is a crown.
He saw me staring and began primping in jest. He’s going to a party, he said. He’s the man of honor, he said. It’s the start of a new life he said. His mother got annoyed at him and yelled at him to come along. “God, [Nephew], are you really going to be late to your own funeral?”, she snapped at him.
The assembled family left, all wearing black. Many of them looking at me in disgust because I’m in all white, I’m not attending the funeral, and none of them told me about it anyway. I close my door and start piecing together what the scenarios had in common. When I get to what just happened, I lay down on my bed feeling unable to change future events. I can only question if to share this dream with family or not. I close my eyes in frustration.
I open my eyes to find I’m in the same position. Only the hangover headache tells me I’m awake.
~~~
I blinked. Not “close my eyes for five hot seconds” blink. Not “lubricate my eyes” blink. Not “turn my back” blink. I blinked out of existence.
I was here. And I was.
Then I was not.
Then I was.
And in the space that the clock said was two seconds, I was eternity, I was infinity, I was everything, I was nothing, I never was.
In those two seconds, something else was. But all I know of what happened, was Snake’s very alarmed face and two of his four hands holding my face, while his two other hands were pushing me back into myself, and his soft voice cooing that I just need to hold on and everything will be okay while his tone lied like a serpent because his eyes were the distillation of something akin to panic if Snake could ever panic.
And now every thing seems a little off. As if vertical was no longer 90deg to horizontal, but 89.99999999999999999999deg and I could now feel that immeasurable difference between what was before and what was now even though the rest of the world is proceeding with no fucks.
I think I need a nap now.
~proceeds to nap~
~~~
“Still mad at me?”
“Fuck you, Snake. And yes, I am.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because at your core, you have a point. And I forgot you will intentionally push my buttons to make sure I get the point.”
“No, that is why you’re speaking to me so soon after exploding. Why are you smiling?”
“I want to go hunting, Snake. I want to put the axe to good use. And as I sit here and blacken the surface so it is matte, I am wondering what kind of mayhem will I have tonight.”
“What happened to ‘Start no shit, have no shit.’?”
“Shit happens.”
“And if your expected hunting party doesn’t materialize?”
“Then I hunt alone.”
“You’re determined to hurt someone by dawn, aren’t you?”
“Maybe not someone, but something. Yes. I have an itch to scratch.”
“Weaver Bloodwing. You don’t get this excited over a something. Only over a someone.”
“You have a few hours to decide if you’re bringing heals or not.”
“I thought you said I make a shitty cleric.”
“You do. When you’re trying to maintain control over me. If you come along, you’ll only have to worry about staying out of the way. I trust you can do that.”
“Pride goeth…” ~sigh~ “I’ll see if I have something to wear. I promise not to let your ass get beat up too much.”
~happy purring~
~~~
~sips tea~
“I hope you’re happy. The scales on your back have turned silver again. I can’t shift them this time.”
~sips tea again~ “Yes, Snake. I’m happy.”
“You likely won’t remember anything once leaving the lair.”
“Yup.”
“You likely won’t have anything to write in the morning.”
“Yup.”
“You likely will wind up where you don’t want to be.”
“Yup.”
“Then why the hell are you so calm and peaceful about it?”
“Because, Snake. Sometimes, I just have to kill some shit and be done with it. Can you feel the rumbling? The unified sound of a cohesive unit? I hear it. Weapon on shield. The stomp of the prepared. They won’t say a word, but just strike weapon against shield until their number is complete and the call for silence comes.”
“And you’re happy with this? I thought you chafed at being a soldier.”
“I chafed at being a soldier against my will.” ~sips tea~ “You know what I am, Snake. And you know what makes me happy. You can’t send me to seal a man’s soul for eternity in an iron dagger, and then bitch me out for going on a hunt. You can’t take advantage of my skills, and then try to shame me for enjoying what I do.”
“… I won’t be your cleric tonight. Esse, it seems, has accepted your offer. He has plans that I will not be able to observe.”
“Good.” ~sips tea~ “Cry ‘havoc’, and let slip the dogs of war.”
“Dogs? Or wolf?”
I say nothing, and sip my tea in silence.
~~~
My feet are soaked in blood and other fluids that normally reside bounded in flesh. Esse’s camp is behind me and receding. I was warned I wouldn’t remember anything. I remember nothing after arriving here a few days ago. My shield needs to be repainted. It has a few dings on the edge but it has held up well. My shaggy furs are splattered with blood and it may take a while to clean the mask but at least I still have my axe!
This isn’t my axe.
The edge has a chunk missing, and a fatal crack from failure point, through face, to handle. The axe feels almost plastic, like a cheap ass fantasy piece made for “display purposes only”. This isn’t my axe.
I whirl around and begin moving back to Esse’s camp with purpose. Where the fuck is the axe I made from Tibetan steel? There will be some undoing happening if I don’t get my axe back.
“Bloodwing!” One of the roving sentries calls for my attention. “Commander wants to see you. Said you’d know why.” He points to the useless junk I’m still carrying. “Said to remind you to bring the broken one back.” Well, that’s one way to get my attention.
I thank the sentry and change course for the heart of the camp. Some soldiers give me jealous stink-eye. Some give me fandom eyes. Most just grunt brusquely as I pass.
A loud deep timbred voice booms from the Commander’s tent. “I feel a dark cloud approaching, like the dead denied their due! Let Bloodwing pass, or she’ll show you how effective a broken weapon can be.” The guards at the entrance snapped to attention, saluting me. For real or for mockery, I don’t know nor care at this point.
Esse, in full armor as black as his humor, is standing over a table with my axe on it. Four other svartalfs, also in full armor and bearing subtle cues of leadership are pouring over the axe with him. Three of them give me vicious stink-eye when I enter. The fourth doesn’t react. Esse stands straight and greets me with a strange formality.
“Weaver Bloodwing, Scourge and Reaper, Brightbane and Bonerender, welcome.”
I wanted to be informal and friendly with him. Well, what passes for friendly between us anyway. I figured he had the axe. There was no way he would allow his student’s foreign steel to leave without a thorough inspection, after all. But I am reminded he is a svartalf of great rank and high position. And this is a military camp. “Commander! I was informed you required my attendance! I am Bloodwing. What is your request?”
“What? No ‘Esse’? No expletives? I stole your baby, after all…” He traces a finger down the shaft in a way that dared to make me insanely jealous.
“Commander Esse, I am a mercenary in your camp. It is not my place to cross that line first. But now that you have, give me my damn axe back and take this paper maiché piece of shit!” I chucked the broken axe on the table. It clattered to the edge and rattled the table. Two of the svartalfs reached for their weapons. One was surprised. The fourth never looked up from his inspection of my axe but smirked. Esse just laughed and laughed.
“My fellows, do not mistake her impudence for the errors of mere humanity. She knows her place, and how far she may push her luck. If you raise your hand against her, be prepared to enter your next battle without that hand. I’m told she’s developed a taste for spiced knucklebones.”
“You ass! Is no one immune from your baiting?” I came up to the table, not as an equal, but as an Outsider. I refused to allow the other svartalfs to lord over me. Only Esse has a hold over me, and even then, I’m going to rattle those bars as often as I can. I poked the broken axe. “Please tell me this was wielded by the enemy. It’s flimsy as fuck and can’t even bear its own weight.”
“It was.” His severe face bid me to wait before speaking. “It was scavenged off one of our fallen.”
“Then it’s one of ours? Originally, that is.”
Esse picked up the broken axe, inspected it closely, then passed it to the other svartalfs for inspection. One noticed a maker’s mark and looked sharply at Esse but said nothing. The others made the same call I had. The axe was made for looks, not for use. When they finished inspecting it, Esse handed it back to me. I immediately looked at the maker’s mark. I rubbed it, thinking it a stamp, but it is engraved. Esse’s forge.
“That paper maiché piece of shit came out of my forge.” Esse’s mirth was gone. The others probably thought his sudden darkening was from my insulting of his work. I knew it was from the fatal failure. He allows nothing to leave his forge without being tested. He would never have allowed this axe to even exist.
“An apprentice? Trying to scam resources to sell counterfeit goods?” I turned the broken axe over, looking closely for clues to the forger.
“An apprentice would not be able to engrave my signature. That is my axe. I know how it came to be in the hand of the fallen, and from there, in the hand of the enemy. What I do not know, is what you did to it.” He lifted my axe. “And how you did it, with this.”
He took the broken axe and fitted the point of failure against the blade of my axe. They lined up perfectly. The tent filled with silence. Some from curiosity, some from accusations. I ignored the other svartalfs and just raised an eyebrow as I smirked.
“Fuck if I know, Esse. You know what happens to my cognition when I yield. I remember nothing after reporting to you when I arrived. I came to, a hundred yards away from camp after leaving this morning. I don’t even know if this blood I’m wearing is mine or not!”
“I know. And only a handful of that blood is yours. You make a very dangerous berserker.” He placed the broken axe down and closely looked at mine. “This isn’t Mongol steel. It’s not Damascene either. What is the source, and what is the price?”
“It’s Tibetan steel, and that axe is not for sale.” Esse glared at me but I remained stoic. “I had to prove myself to one of Snake’s contacts. The test required me to forge a phurba, and proof it. In return, I was granted a small amount of steel for my own making.”
“‘Proof’? Or ‘prove’? Your language is confusing at times.” The fourth svartalf, diminuitive compared to his fellows, but still larger than me, spoke with a diplomatic and soothing tone. I internally marked him as trouble.
“‘Proof’. There was a step after forging I had to complete. I had to seal a soul in it.” Everyone looked sharply at me. The fourth svartalf smirked slightly. I realized he knew the answer already, but needed me to be the one to speak it out loud. Esse looked at me as if I had grown dragon wings.
“Well, we know how it was done, then.” The smallest svartalf stood smartly and cocky. “And we know why we couldn’t duplicate the effect. Quite an amazing feat, to draw out the soul of metal.”
Esse handed me my axe back. I gave it a thorough inspection. Not for fear he had damaged it. That is not his way, to destroy work from jealousy. But because it felt heavier despite not having changed at all. As I ran my thumb along the still sharp blade, I felt the difference. And I understood what was meant by ‘the soul of metal’.
“Well, Esse, I don’t know what to tell you. You taught me how to forge weapons. It must be a property of the Tibetan steel, I suppose.” I suddenly felt completely exhausted. “Day approaches the human world. I won’t be able to stay much longer.” I put my axe in the belt loop and had every intention of saying farewell and leaving.
A sudden splitting headache buckled my knees. I felt my head falling back but I was not struck. Strong arms caught me before I crumpled onto the compacted ground. My descent was controlled by the svartalfs that caught me. “You are not dismissed yet, Bloodwing. But my other questions can wait. I would be a poor commander not to care for my troops. You will remain in my care until your weakness passes.”
I felt myself being lifted off the ground. Dazed, disoriented, and barely able to move, I was not able to protest at what I felt was an underhanded move by Esse. The headache bloomed and darkness poured into me.
Did I have to wake up with the headache as well?
~~~
Shamblings. Mycelium.
Why did it take me so long to see it?
~~~
“How the hell am I supposed to record this when my language lacks the words to describe it?”
“That’s why it’s called a Mystery Tradition, dear.”
~~~
“Wait a minute. An outsider can’t understand the tenets of a mystery tradition. Unless there is the deep understanding that comes from being taken up by the mystery tradition, it’s just fancy words and elaborate costumes. No matter how detailed the transmission to the outsider, without understanding, it is nothing. A museum piece.”
“You understand the place of the Outsider, well.”
“I should. It’s been one of my chief camping points for most of my life.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I… I understand. These things. I grok them. What you are showing me.
“This is a problem?”
“The implications frighten me.”
“Save your fear, [Weaver]. Don’t spend it on these little things. This is but the entrance. The terrors are deeper down.”
~~~
Bill the Jumper came back. Gave me a song and dance about wanting to be sent to his after-life. I say “song and dance”, because it was clear he was still in denial about his death. When I informed him that I can’t create the pocket universe he wanted, he flew into another rage. “I am a god! And you must do as I command.” When I demanded proof, he fled, saying my disbelief crippled him.
Horatio is now on standing orders to capture Bill and hold him. Enough of this shit. No one has come for him by now, and I will not play these games any further. If there is a god’s claim on Bill, I’ll find out and hand him over. Otherwise, to the Boneyard we go!
Speaking of capturing… I now have in my possession a good size ruby with an arsonist fire spirit held within. It was terrorizing a neighborhood, and I was dispatched to assist the firefighters to deal with it. Having them layer their water streams made for an interesting 3D sigil. It had a choice, be sealed in the ruby, or be destroyed. It chose the ruby.
I was supposed to hand the ruby over to a different department. But my boss said my payment was cash, or the ruby, whichever I wanted. The other department uses non-humans as slaves at best. I kept the ruby.
I better get started on the Artifact Chamber.
~~~
Got the axe back. More discussion with “Commander” Esse about what happened to his axe. We both agree the soul-sucking is a property of the black Tibetan steel. We disagree on my involvement in the process and why it happens when I wield it but not when the other svartalfs tried. Asked if the military objectives were met. “You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted. Why bother with unnecessary details?” Yup, military.
He sends me away, but doesn’t dismiss me. I’m sent Under The Hill to watch the very things I did not want to deal with. When I return I rip into him about it. “Your connections are valuable. Do not throw them away so lightly.” There are words and words between us. I resolve not to get entangled in other people’s threads. The observed thread has enough knots as it is. Not my problem.
My back crawls in pain. The scales are changing, softening and coloring. Esse is displeased. I remember to ask for the doll. He smiles and states it is safe. He formally dismisses me and I snap back to the lair. Snake waits until I scream out my sudden rage then starts to strip me for washing. “No doll?” “Fucker won’t give it up.” “Remember the last time a doll was used against you? May be time for that again.”
After a much needed soak in the river, I settle under the pelts and watch the sun symbol and curls turn gently in the hard stone sky.
~~~
“And that’s why I will not touch your bare skin when I’m in human form.” He hands me coffee and wraps a cloth around my naked body before hugging me. “You will always have that fear. I don’t like the taste of it.” He leans against me, waiting until my heart rate falls again. “I had to push you, or you would never break those chains. I had to push you, in the manner best fitted for you. I will not apologize for it.”
I didn’t want an apology. I wanted a rationalization. I wanted an explanation that shows me the ‘big picture’. If he hadn’t pushed me then, I would never have found (uncovered) my Nagual or freed my Shadow. But dammit I still was confused and ashamed of it all.
Talk turned to the sunstone, the Chamber of Randomly Acquired Artifacts, what to do with the ruby, teasing me about inks, what to do with ahi steaks, why the Little Ones made the doll in the first place and why that doll can be used against me like that, and the mystery of that part of me that this human flesh could not contain.
Talk also turned to yet another Tumblrite, and one of the entities of kir sphere made an appearance. But where Snake wanted me to drop a clear note, I’m going to remain ambiguous unless that entity drops the dime kirself. Boundaries after all. I don’t know how that Tumblrite will react and I’d rather watch folks skipping around the mulberry bush than needlessly send someone into a panic attack. If it’s any consolation, it was all good talk, and some adoration of the entity happened. (To Snake’s amusement and barely concealed jealousy, I might add.)
~~~
“That face. Those markings. Those, you can share.”
“Why?”
“Because they mean nothing to you, and everything to the one that knows them.”
~~~
It was another emotional night. While I managed to keep my online presence mostly jovial and upbeat, internally I was in shreds. A late night private conversation brought the boil to a painful head, but also lanced it and relieved much of the pressure I had been placing on myself. I will admit to having a very skewed vision of myself, and sometimes I need to be reminded I am not who I think I am… in a positive way.
So I went to bed without the pressure, but with the blood and the bruising and the lingering echoes of pain that comes with lancing a boil on the soul. Okay. I’ve been through this before. Time to crash the lair and go bang on the anvil for a while and make something with all this latent heat I have running through me. Right?
So why am I stretched out in the darkness, flat on my back even though there’s no surface there, with my left arm suddenly wrenched out in a painful grip? I’m in my nightgown, fresh tears flowing down my face. I look over in the darkness and see someone wearing my face.
The figure’s shape reminds me of my father, but ke is wearing an image of my face tightly. Literally, as if a halloween mask. “Holding on to pain, dearie? Well, let me help you release it!” The figure holds an 8” chef’s knife over kir head. Light from unseen sources glint along the length of the polished steel. Wait. I know that knife.
Before I can think where I’ve seen it before, the knife is brought down into my left upper forearm. I can feel the metal scraping against the bone as the figure pierces my arm, twists the blade slightly, and pulls the turned blade three inches down the length.
But blood doesn’t squirt from the wound. Instead, animated vines as thick as pencils sprout from the flesh. Whipping wildly in the dark space, they are covered with a multitude of dark red thorns reminding me of chicken spurs. Some of the thorns become buds and the flailing dark mud-green vines hide the thorns among blooms of blood red roses. The scent from the roses is both sugar sweet and putridly gangrenous. A certain combination of attraction and revulsion.
The vines surprise the figure, who recovers quickly. “No pain? Ah, then shall we release more?” Oh, there is pain. Shards of the sensation flow through my veins, tearing into the vessel walls as if I had mainlined iron shavings. This amount of pain in the waking would have me gasping for breath, I’m sure. But I’m not awake. The vines have reminded me. I know them well. They only burst from my flesh when I’m being overwhelmed from dealing with my mother.
They are her symbol, you see. She has always grown roses, and has always favored the deep red ones. But they are also a symbol of her love. Poisonous, choking, parasitic, tearing into me and eating into my soul. The appearance of beauty from a distance, but the moment she, or the vines, touch you, you are shredded and exposed to pain-inducing toxins.
They are out of place here.
The source of the pain I was wrestling with had nothing to do with my mother.
Why would I be seeing those vines now, and from that knife…
Oh…
That knife…
The blade most favored by J in tormenting me because it was the blade my mother promised to gut me with one day. Ke loves to remind me that I am so worthless, my own mother can’t stand that I exist.
That motherfucker.
The figure stabs my arm again, and more vines erupt. Ke laughs. I smile. Ke sees me smiling and stops laughing. I laugh. Before the figure can withdraw, the vines wrap around kir right hand that was holding my left arm. More vines snatch the knife before it can be pulled free from my flesh. The figure tries to pull away, but the thorns bite deep into the flesh. Ke cries out in surprise and pain.
“Hello, J. You cowardly motherfucker.” As I sit up, I pull the blade from my arm and slice the connected vines free. They spring around J, knocking kir over. “I think this is what you wanted to see?” I take the chef’s blade, and calmly slice my neck from ear to ear. But instead of arterial blood, more thorny vines spring out. They thicken to the girth of ropes and leap from my body onto J. Binding kir hand and feet, ke is unable to get up, unable to get away. The thorns pierce kir all along the length of kir body, and a dark viscous mass oozes from kir wounds.
My throat seals up once the vines leave me. So do the gashes in my arm. “Oh. No. Wait. I forgot the purpose of this blade.” I remove my shirt and stand over J. “I’m going to give you what you’ve always wanted to see.” I place the blade, but realize the mask is still over kir face. “Oh, wait. Here, let me get this out of the way. You’ve lost your touch. A plastic mask? I remember when you could be my body double perfectly.” J shook kir head emphatically, but I ripped the mask off anyway.
J has no face. Just a smooth blank area. Not even the indentations to suggest eyes or mouth. No ridge to serve as artistic nose. Just a blank face. “You were called ‘J’ because you laughed like the Joker. You are now ‘No-Face’, because… well… you have none! But you still see! I can sense you tracking the blade. I wonder if you can scream with no mouth.” Swiftly I stab the full length of the blade into my side, and slice across my abdomen.
It hurts. Oh hell, it hurts so bad. But it is a familiar pain. It is the pain of all the verbal abuse my mother poured into my ears. It is the pain of being held away from the rest of her family because I’m half black. It is the pain of my niece introducing me as her “light-skinned auntie” to excuse how I don’t have the same cultural background as her. It is the way my half-sister would always remind me in private that I will never be as good as her because I’m only half black and she’s whole black. It is the pain of my mother telling me she should have smothered me in the crib because she should never have carried a wetback’s baby. It is a pain I know very well.
And it is a pain that no longer cripples me.
Dark green vines pour from my wound. They move like snakes and are quick to cover J’s struggling body. I mean… No-Face’s struggling body. Ke screams and screams and pleads and cries, even though ke has no mouth. I let go of the emotional pain, and my body empties of the thorny rose-covered vines.
The thorns are digging into every inch of No-Face’s body. Ke is hoarse from screaming. Perhaps it is good ke has no mouth, or I think the vines would have invaded kir by now. “Aww, poor No-Face. All prettied up with those roses and nowhere to go!”
Wait. No-Face is still here. At the first sign of trouble, No-Face didn’t blink away to safety. Ke is still here! Ke is bound! I grip the blade in delight.
“Well, then. How is this for a turn of events. What am I going to do with you, No-Face? I finally have you. You can’t escape this time. The vines are keeping you from blinking away.” I lean over kir and poke a foot with the tip of the blade. The skin is pierced and black liquid oozes out. Ke recovers kir voice and screams anew. “This… hurts?”
I smile. “This hurts!” I start laughing. “Oh, No-Face. We’re going to have such a lovely time. I have many things to show you, so many wonderful delights to entertain you with. You always wanted the depths of me. Tonight, I shall share them with you.”
And I did.
No-Face still exists… I think… none of the pieces were destroyed… just… scattered.
And the vines don’t hurt me anymore.
~~~
~finds appropriate clip art~
~modifies clip art with body markings~
~looks at the hot mess~
Fuck.
Yea, so, the skin of the… person… was a dark purple that was UV reactive. The marks was a horizontal bright purple line under the eyes, crossing the nose, another horizontal bright purple line crossing the face just above the eyebrows, and a bright purple arc about an inch below the hair line, suggesting it was following the contours of a third eye.
There were thick bright purple horizontal lines on the arms from shoulder to hands, but the hands themselves were not marked. And the collarbone was highlighted in the bright purple ink.
And the androgynous figure was stark ass naked and gave no fucks about it.
There. Much better describing it than my scribbles.
~deletes file and pretends it never happened~
~~~
On lockdown last night. Voluntarily. So all my dreams were in my head and a reflection of internal shit. Sources of frustration came up. Sources of frustration dealt with. All in a slapstick and humorous manner. No guilt, no shame of my actions. I was on stage and these were only props. In the end no solutions were found but a lot of steam was vented, which is a solution in itself.
I wake up to find cold hands pulling something off me. My skin feels tight, as if sunburnt. “Done stuffing people parts in jars?” I move to push myself up and find I’m in the four-armed nagini form. It’s been a while.
“Yes, I snooped. Lie back down.” He is a four-armed naga himself. “You’re shedding and I know how uncomfortable this can get. He pulls another loose strip of skin off.
“But I’m not…” I’m not inherently serpentine. I know Snake Dancer is… but… huh?
“You always have been.” Snake read my too loud thoughts again. “Just because you were not awake, doesn’t bring the process to a halt. You are many things, Weaver Many-Names. Now hold still. The skin at the rattle always catches.”
“What rattle? I never had a rattle as a nagini. I was patterned after the king cobra!”
Snake shakes the tip of my tail gently. ~chkchkchkchkchk~ “Tell me again of [Snake Dancer] within you, and say you have no rattle.”
“I lie corrected.” He gathers all the shed skin and throws them into the fire. He coils around me, pulls the pelts over us, and I go back to deep sleep.
~~~
I’m sitting on the sea cliff’s edge. The waves battled against the sharp rocks below and the cliff suffered the wounding of it. I sat still, watching the fading sunset, with my ever shifting chimeric form slowly transforming from one set of appearances to another.
The girl child, wrapped in ragged tatters, came from the misty darkness behind me. She looked at my twisting horns, at my scaly skin, at the tusks that fought for supremacy, and smiled. Showing no fear, she sat beside me and snuggled close, wrapping her arms around feathers and spurs.
“Who the fuck are you? And why aren’t you running?”
She laughed. “You know who I am [Weaver]. And why should I run?”
Yea. I knew her. “Pandora is going to come looking for you. And then what.”
“Pandora is on a date.”
I laughed. “Shouldn’t you be in the box then? You make a delicious morsel of a snack running around here. With all the evils of man behind us, it’s a wonder you weren’t abused on the way here!”
“It’s lonely in the box. And you’re here. I’ll be okay.”
“Child. Do you not see me clearly? Do you not know what I am capable of? I am a product of those evils. I am Cruelty, and Maliciousness, and Envy, and Greed, and Sadism, and the Devouring Dark.”
“Do you know how I was able to come straight to you? How I could find you even though you sit on the Edge Of The World?”
A glimmer of gnosis flitted through my head. I snuffed it out as quickly as it appeared. It is a lie, I tell myself. I am not capable of that, because it always proves to be a lie. Every time I believe in that lie, I am wounded even deeper than I was before.
“I am not a lie, [Weaver]. You see endless fields and uncrossable abysses between here and her box. But I tell you the truth, all I had to do to reach you, was let go of the box, and you were in my arms. Now why do you think that is?”
The lie appeared again, brighter this time, and refusing to be cast aside. So I devoured it, as I do all the things that hurt.
“Oh [Weaver]. I’ll always be here.” She reached up and patted my chest. I felt my smothered heart beat against the cold viscous covering. A flare of heat blew off a shard of the chill.
I shuddered from the flare.
I closed my eyes to the child holding me, refusing even to acknowledge her name.
Pandora needs to put a better lock on that box.
~~~
Via SMS: “Smothered heart? But your heartflame!”
Oh. Yea. I didn’t write about that. It happened a couple weeks ago. My heart… um… I can’t remember. Only that I woke up as cold as the dead. And I couldn’t feel anything. And that my body became such a heavy burden, that I struggled to breathe.
I thought the unquenchable had been quenched. But a sudden shock later, and the hard covering hiding my heart was cracked. And what a jet of plasma and heat screamed through that crack!
Little by little, the cold encasement has been cracking and falling away. But my heart is still mostly bound by it. I find myself not caring.
I find myself not caring about a lot of things lately.
But I don’t think I’ll ever have as deep a crisis of self as when I discovered my heart still burned. I was resigned to continuing the rest of this life with a cold dead heart. A fitting end, I thought. And now, I’m not. And I don’t know how I feel about that. Only that I don’t feel as much as I used to. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
All I know is fire always rails against that which cages it.
~~~
~restless hands shuffling (Fey) tarot to keep busy~ ~suddenly feels the sensation of two hands gripping around mine stopping the shuffling~
Ace of Swords
2 of Chalices
Ace of Chalices
~puts tarot away and puts water on for tea~
Tagged with:
- #I’m less concerned with which Ace is me.
- #And more concerned with who the other Ace is.
- #Because it’s only me in here.
- #And it is a very empty here.
- #dream
- #Technically it’s not a dream because I was wide awake.
- #Technically it is because those hands were very real and very physical and very noncorporeal.
- #Also I think I need to keep a record of it in that digital journal and such.
- #Also: Paradox.
~~~
~~~
A small table. An overhead light. Two goblets are on the table, filled with something clear and red.
I’m holding a tarot card that has just been handed to me. The Ace of Chalices. “My card. I believe you have been expecting me.” The voice is many voices speaking in unison. “You are the [Ace of Swords], correct?”
I lower the card to see across the table.
My head jerks in sudden vertigo and the vision spins.
~~~
Between physically drawing the cards, and the flash vision, there has been a subtle, barely perceptible scent. I just figured out whose scent it is.
Malphas.
I better go see what drink he likes, and prepare for a meeting in the cafe again. What am I being pimped out for this time?
~~~
So one shard of me is deciding the fountain pen quandary, and one shard of me is preparing for a possible meeting at the cafe, and suddenly a third shard of me pulls away and stands at the door to the room.
I look up in surprise to see myself in the Warmaiden’s shaggy furs and bearing the shield and axe.
“Da fuq?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just letting you know I’m stepping out.”
“Uh-uh. No. It’s been months since I split like this. You don’t get to go ‘step out’ unless I know why at least.”
“You know.”
“I’m supposed to be watching only unless requested to intervene. Or have you forgotten what happened at the River?”
“Heh, no, I haven’t forgotten. And we… I… have been requested to intervene.”
“…”
“…”
“By who and on whose behalf?”
“Contract work. But you’ll approve.”
“No. Bullshit. I want fucking answers, bitch.”
“Bitch, is correct. I go as Wolf.”
“I see that. But by whose request and on whose behalf. I have enough wherewithal to make you heel.”
“You do. If you must know by whose request, you’re going to have to come with me. But I assure you, [ke] is the beneficiary of my actions.”
“Will you be seen?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Don’t make it worse. And stay out of [his] way if you can help it. Interaction with him will make shit awkward as fuck.”
“My role is not direct. I will be far from the main field of battle. Tell me, [Keri], how does a lone wolf hunt?”
“By picking on the weak, the old, and the frail. By… oh. Be back in time for the meeting at the cafe. I’m going to need your guile.”
“This won’t take long. You going to write this up and post it?”
“Of course. I want to prime the pump and see how many will claim to have spotted you tonight.”
“Vain.”
“Greedy.”
Laughing she steps through the door and disappears. I feel a little empty inside, but not in a threatening way. The Bitch has 90 minutes to take care of business. I sip my tea wondering if she’s going to bring souvenirs home or not, and return to wondering if I’ll be able to find homes for the other three fountain pens in the set should I purchase it.
~~~
She stood at the door with a bloody scrape on her cheek. “Sorry about that. But I wanted the fucker to commit first. Would be a poor fight if I didn’t give him a chance to reconsider, eh?”
“Him?”
“I speak neutrally. Haven’t the faintest clue what his preferred pronouns was before I changed them to ‘it’.” She smiled and rubbed the axe handle against her face. I was reminded of its attributes.
“Any new weight to the axe?” She looked a little scuffed up, as if in play rather than war. Damn, I’m arrogant.
She held the axe out for my inspection. “Arrogant as fuck, and rightly so. When weapons speak, courtesy is useless. The metal has not fed. And my time apart from you draws to a close. You’ll likely not remember what happened clearly, and I know you must be obtuse with what you post. So I shall make my report quick.”
She placed her hand on my shoulder and I knew what to post…
The Red Eye blinked, and turned white. It will not see again.
And with that, I resume my previous position, and watch from a far distance. Now if y’all will excuse me, I have drama to settle at the cafe, and a tarot card (or two) to have explained.
~~~
Malphas graced me with his presence at the cafe again. Much to my surprise. He appeared in a different form though but took no offense when I asked for his credentials. He let me inspect the minutiae until I was satisfied it truly was him. It amused him. Once assured, I thanked him for not stopping time and called for coffee.
I wanted to cut to the quick and ask about the cards outright, but that would be rude as fuck. Malphas’ tell is one I will never forget. It is a stark reminder of how vulnerable humans are. So I let him lead the conversation. I figure since it is now clear there will be some sort of ongoing business relations here, I might as well get to know who I’m dealing with. The cards can wait. We wind up talking of the last time we sat face to face, of different coffee drinks, of Tumblrites, of the nature of man, on the proper care of feathers, on poppets and over-reliance on, and if I would consider meeting others of his “kind” as my name is coming up in scuttlebutt more often. He suddenly switches to the topic of the cards and the entity I’m supposed to be partnered with.
“Too fast? Yes, it was. My apologies. You’re more careful than most humans that are open in your fashion.” He nodded and pulled a tarot deck from his coat. He placed three cards from the Fey Tarot on the table. “But you did understand the message immediately. I like that.” Ace of Swords, 2 of Chalices, Ace of Chalices. “Interesting imagery, don’t you think? Worth another look when you are awake. Now, most humans open as you are would take such a message as a directive and go forward with that. But you… you challenged it. That’s why we are sitting here, yes? You know I’m behind both the message and the… person… represented as the Ace of Chalices.”
He sat back in smug delight at my caution. “I could order you, and you would throw that back at my feet, and rightly so. You have a different kind of fear, one dispelled by knowledge and familiarity. But I can’t use that fear to my advantage. I like that. So, I will ask, that you consider a partnership with one of my… clients. Yes? No rush, and you always have the option to say ‘No’.”
I finished my coffee before answering. “What partnership? To what end? Who is the client? What is my cost for participating? What do I stand to gain? Everyone warns me about your infernal nature, completely overlooking that I’m not exactly Little Miss Holy myself.” Malphas let a loud cawing laugh at that. “I don’t appreciate being committed without even a consulting kiss. I am my own, Malphas. Do respect that. Yes, I fear you, as any prey animal would before an apex predator. But you won’t be the first to scourge me. That cherry was popped long ago.”
He leans in close. “You didn’t say ‘No.’.”
I copy the pose. “I didn’t say ‘Yes.’, either.”
He picks up the Ace of Swords card and tucks it in my shirt. “Information you require to proceed, information you shall have! I like you.” He sits up with sudden formality. “There is no rush in what I wish to occur. And I do love working with informed partners. Will you be making this meeting a public record?”
“I shall, unless you request otherwise.”
“No, no, continue in your fashion. This is good.” He finishes his drink, thanks me for the hospitality and conversation, and leaves. I wait until his presence has completely left the cafe before relaxing.
“The Envoy is not going to be happy with your guest.” Jill came to take away the cups.
“Don’t tell me there is a protocol for this too!”
She chuckled. “There is a protocol for every non-human interaction in the City. Mostly bullshit drawn up by the factions to give themselves a sense of importance and control. He reduced his presence so not to overwhelm bystanders, but anyone that has ever touched the Goetia knows one of them was here. And knows the usual precautions were not present.”
“Aww, fuck. Did I make things worse for you and the cafe?”
“Are you kidding? We’re going to have to expand if you keep increasing business! Expect the second floor to be open soon!” Her tray filled with dirty dishes, she smiled happily and bounced to the back.
I laughed after her and soon left the cafe.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.