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.
~~~
“Hey, uh, Snake Dancer, that’s an awfully large rattle you have there.”
“Yup.”
“Looks like a baseball bat with clankers drilled in.”
“Yup.” She taps it lightly against her leg. Each clanker gives a little, subtle sound. The mass quantity of them together, however, makes the room shudder with deafening echoes.
“How unwieldy. How am I supposed to reproduce that in the Waking?”
She laughs. “Silly. You know damn well most of my regalia can’t be made in the Waking. The closest you can make is a symbol of a symbol.” ~tap~ ~RATTLING~
“Okay. No more games. What gives? Why do you look like you’re about to beat someone’s ass with your rattle?”
“Your guest overstepped his bounds. I do believe the rules he accepted was if he fucked with you, you would eat him.”
Yea. He did. Tried to trip a fear reaction in me during a dream. Made it appear that Dter had been grievously injured. When I inspected the scene, I discovered his machinations. He begged mercy, and told me why he tried to scare me.
Seems in his travels, he preys on the fearful and the superstitious. Makes them afraid, usually in some sudden shocking way and collects the energy the fearful person freely emanates. He said he never stays long in one place, so not to drive the inhabitants into madness or illness. Just shocks the shit out of them, collect enough to keep going for a while, then moves on to the next house.
My mother had mentioned having a nightmare yesterday, but she wouldn’t tell me the details of it. Only that it was probably influenced by whatever TV show she slept through, again. And that she was jerked out of the nightmare by a trio of kids. I realized the trio of kids that ended the nightmare were the Regulars that camp in her room. The guest had tried to scare her, but was prevented. So he came after me. Yea. Time to eat him.
“Yea. Think I’ll go do that.” I start to head into the house. Snake Dancer stops me. She smiles knowingly, raises her massive rattle, and shakes it gently.
The cacophony makes me wince and shakes my shadow loose from me. It rises and embraces me from behind. Nails rake my chest as a deep purring reminds me who this is.
“No. You won’t. You’ll be outwitted. You think too much. And still have too much compassion.” Snake Dancer tilted her head and smiled at the warm shadow nuzzling my shoulder. “Her, on the other hand…”
I shook my head, remembering the massacre in the City. “Last time I let her loose, it was a bloodbath.”
Snake Dancer cocked her rattle on her shoulder like Babe Ruth. “Can you control me?” The question caught me off guard. “Can you? How many times have you tried to jump into this… skin? I am you. I am not you. Can you cross the divide of our differences?”
“I… I haven’t had need to try. Snake warned me that regalia came with the price of forgetting. Besides, you’re not dangerous…”
“Do you know me? Or do you only know what I allow you to remember? I am [redacted], [also redacted], [citation needed], and [prove it, bitch]. But you don’t know or remember any of that. Because you are not any of those. You are Weaver Many-Names. But you are still limited in what you can do.”
Snake Dancer lifted her rattle and gave it a deliberate hard shake. The sound buckled my knees and only my Nagual kept me upright. “You are trying to be everything, trying to consciously live every facet of yourself. In your scramble for identity, you are trying to force ill-fitting pieces together, making a coat of scraps held together by wishful thinking.”
She lowered the rattle and let it gently touch the ground. My Nagual lowered me to a seated position before her. “Now then, Weaver Thread-twister has things to do in the conscious world. But if you don’t follow through with the rules you established, you will release him from having to abide by them. He fucked with you, and tried to feed off you. You’ll have to eat him, it’s in the rules. But nothing in the rules says which “you” will eat him. If you try to consciously rule your Nagual, she will ever be the shadow that you fear. Learn to trust her again.”
The Nagual stepped from behind me to stand beside Snake Dancer. Naked but for the black jaguar pelt and skull, she looked at me with steady feline eyes. Snake Dancer nodded, and the Nagual melted into the surrounding darkness.
I wanted to follow her, having regained the use of my legs again. I started to scramble to my feet.
“Oh no you don’t. Go take care of the business you can take care of best!” Snake Dancer shook her rattle in a twisting motion. The sound gave me vertigo and I stumbled back to my knees. “And while you’re at it, Weaver Story-Teller, find a different name for me, and one for your Nagual.” Immediately a name for Snake Dancer lept to mind. I wanted to argue against it, but she just smiled and shook her rattle over me with gleeful, violent jerks.
The sound broke the world around me and I woke up in my bed with a start. And ringing ears
~~~
The constellation Orion hung brilliant in the clear night sky. I sat on my roof and watched the surrounding neighborhood light ritual fires and hold ceremony for the group of stars. That the stars were scattered across unfathomable distances was irrelevant to them. All that we have been able to infer about the stars were willfully ignored for this night.
Tonight, the constellation is alive.
Tonight, the gods walk among us.
I continued nursing my beer and watched the revelry.
They are having fun and not hurting anyone (without consent). What business is it of mine what they do or what they believe?
I tilt my head back and empty the bottle. A glimmer in the sky catches my attention. I watch further and slowly the outline of a woman appears. Her body stretches across the sky.
“I see you.” She starts in surprise. “You are as large as the Milky Way. Trying to hide behind Orion is not going to work.”
You do not tremble in fear?
“Should I?”
There was a time if any but my priests saw me, that person would be put to death.
“Different era. Different country.” I wished I had another beer to offer her. “I understand you but the language is not familiar. What name shall I write you with?”
Name? You would name me? I, in whom is all things, and from whom came all things? And you would name me!
“Where are your priests? Where are your temples and sacred places? You’ve been gone for too long. At first I thought you to be Nuit because you were hanging on to Orion. The human world has changed in ways that will wound you as you find out. As for the name, I’m a Story-teller. My language doesn’t handle long descriptors well, neither spoken nor written. My language treats names as symbols of symbols. I’m not trying to limit or control you. I just need something better to write than Naked-Woman-With-Body-Of-Absolute-Night-Glistening-With-Stars. See? How am I supposed to tell your story like that?”
The woman shifted position in the sky, twinkling stars as she did. The Orion revelers were ignorant of her presence and gave credit of the display to their preferred gods. She watched and listened silently.
A sudden avalanche of syllables poured into my head. The vowels were tones I had never heard before. The consonants sounded like splintering wood and rumbling stone. “Remember what I said about symbols of symbols? It’s not going to be a true representation of your chosen name. It’s going to be the closest my knowledge, language, and dialect can approach. Again, please, a little slower so I can catch nuances.” She spoke again in my head, several times until my apophenia kicked in and a discernible pattern was caught.
“Hello, Samantha. Most folks here call me Weaver.” Samantha looked at the revelers sadly.
Next we meet, Weaver, bring more beer.
I laughed as dawn chased Samantha from the sky, and me from the dream.
~~~
A curious Anon asked: “Why were you worried about Clan Bear after you killed the bear [in the dream Allons-y]?”
Because the last time I dealt with Clan Bear directly, I got in deep shit. I’m not Clan Raven, but I’m raven enough to be guilty by association. (Clan Raven pulled a prank. It did not go over well. Have no idea what they did. Not asking.)
The last thing I need is a major clan/tribe/family/house marking my ass as Kill On Sight.
Things may have settled down since I last was in Bear country. I don’t know. I often don’t hear of those politics until I find myself in the middle of shit, again.
I didn’t want to kill the bear, but it was obvious it was not going to stop until it made lunch of Lady Athena. The circumstances that sent me there absolved me from the blame of killing the bear. This was duty.
After the bear was dead, I saw my hunch about the halberd was correct. It was made to capture the spirit of whatever it dealt a killing blow to. At this point, my duty was done. The bear was dead. Lady Athena was safe. (And unfortunately, Allons, but he’s going to feel that for a while.) I could have walked away right then, leaving the bear’s spirit to Allons.
I don’t know about you guys, but to me Allons didn’t deserve jacque shitte for his… performance. The bear’s death was duty. Letting that cock-up claim the spirit as a trophy? I’d have to answer for that, even if only to myself.
I’m sure word got to Clan Bear about what happened. They may still demand a price from me. Releasing the bear’s spirit is my good-will gesture that I have no grudge against Clan Bear. (That, and the thought of Allons having his way with the spirit just angers and repels me.)
~~~
She came to the Bridge shortly before sunset. I blocked her entry. She looked at me, not surprised to see me. “I don’t want to pass, Demon. I just need to be here. I don’t even need to be on the Bridge. Just before it. You are barring my entry. I am barring another from even knowing you are there.”
Weaver turned and faced the sun before me. Behind me, the spirit of the Witch came across the Bridge. “She came. As I said. Still you wish to do this?” I nodded. “The eclipse will open her. Be prepared.” I nodded again and studied Weaver.
She found her wings, at last. She wears them intensely. I smiled. Weaver lives intensely, exists intensely. Always have.
The full moon started to rise behind me while Weaver was calmly telling some fool to turn back. She will not allow him to pass. I watched the well armed man attack her. She feinted and dodged the charge, only to grab his weapon and arm. Using his momentum against him, she whirled him around, disarmed him, and threw him on the ground. She threw his weapon beside him. He picked it up, and fled in fear.
She turned to face me, this ingenue, ignorant of where she has placed herself. The setting sun, the Bridge, and the rising moon were aligned.
Weaver smiled. “There. My duty is done. He’ll be chasing rabbit holes trying to figure out what ‘demon’ I am.” She laughs brightly. “Oh hey, a lunar eclipse? I… ~herk~” Her head suddenly jerked back, her eyes fully open as if they could express the scream caught in her throat. Her fingers twitched as her body stiffened.
“Grab her! Pull her onto the Bridge!” The blue flame that was the Witch burned fiercely behind me. I grabbed Weaver’s cloak and pulled the unresponsive woman towards me. Embracing her, I dragged her onto the Bridge. When she lost contact with her realm, the stiffening broke into rattling shudders. Her breath escaped as a series of screams. Her spirit was being ripped from her flesh. Nothing living can cross the Bridge.
The Witch watched as the eclipse proceeded. In the darkening night, Weaver continued dying. Her body stopped twitching, and her breath was too shallow to watch. The moon’s face now the color of blood in shadows, Weaver died in my arms. A blue flame burned in her open mouth. Weaver’s spirit.
The Witch retreated from me. “Now. Seal her. You will bind yourself to her if you do. Still you wish to do this?” I nodded and summoned my spirit-breath from my own depths. I covered Weaver’s mouth, trapping her spirit between our bodies. I paused in sudden consideration of what I was about to do to myself.
“If you do nothing, her body will decay and rot as the moon emerges.” Her tone asked me if I was having second thoughts. No. I’m not. I emptied my lungs into hers, blowing her spirit back into her body. I emptied my flesh into hers, sealing her spirit with my own.
…
…
“Yea, that’s Weaver Far-Traveled for sure.” “She looks rough.” “‘S not the first time she’s stumbled in here beaten up and half dead.” “I thought she was some badass. You know, like Xena and shit. That, is a cosplayer.” “Quiet, she’ll hear you and I want no trouble.” “Upset your princess was bruised by a pea?” “Keep talking shit, it’ll catch up to you.”
The whisperers outside the door moved on. I looked at my hand and saw a human’s. I was alone in the room, covered by a black feather cloak.
Weaver’s raven feather cloak.
I sat up and looked in the mirror. In the reflection, I saw my demonic form holding Weaver comfortably as she slept. The raven feather cloak was wrapped around her form. She is unconscious, but not defenseless.
I heeded the warning and looked away. Stumbling around the room, I found a basket of knitting. Looking at the threads wrapped around the needle, the pattern made no sense to me.
Knit one, yarn over, knit two together.
The hands knew what to do. As I picked up where Weaver left off, I started to see why she enjoys this.
A knock on the door. A loud voice on the other side. “Eh, Weaver? Food’s ready. Ya want a bowl?” Food? Yes, this body should eat. Speech is harder than knitting. I couldn’t even mumble. “Di’n think ya’s ready. Ya came in pretty tore up. Jus t’ let ya know, I ‘av other guests. One’s an ass ‘n bragging that ‘e can take ya. I’ve already warned ‘im, so if ya break ‘im, ya break ‘im.” I grunted in acknowledgement. Weaver will have dinner. Then I shall have dessert. Once I remaster walking.
And another row of this knitting. Knit one. Yarn over. Knit two together.
~~~
She stirs. I knew I would not have much time. Still, she stirs sooner than expected. Not yet, Weaver. Not yet. I shall be quick. But not yet.
Weaver is known for the black of her cloak. She may wear anything else under it, but the cloak is her mark. I must make sure she is not suspected for my actions.
Besides. My color, if one can truly call it a color, is white.
…
The stranger walked through the back alleys towards the condos. Wrapped in robes of white cloth, with white cloth covering the head, the stranger was clearly visible. But everyone that looked at the stranger looked uncomfortably away. There was something wrong about the figure, something that made the viewer shudder in fear. Everyone saw the stranger. No one wanted to remember seeing. No one did.
At the back side of the condo, the stranger stopped. From under kir robes, white feathered wings emerged. With ease, ke flew up to the penthouse suite on the sixth floor. Alighting on the balcony’s fence, ke called silently to the man within.
The stranger folded the wings back under the white cloth. Ke called the condo’s occupant again, demanding the man’s presence.
“No, I need to be alone! Go suck on Tom’s dick for a while! I pay you to keep my guests happy! Make them fucking happy!” A portly, middle-aged man dressed in a satin bath robe stepped out the sliding glass doors. The belt was loose, allowing his stomach to part the robe. “Damn bitches. Everyone wants a piece of me. No one wants to pay.” He laughs as he closes the doors. “But they do. They always do.”
The stranger spoke. “Yes, debts are always paid. Eventually.”
The man looked in the reflection in the doors. Recognizing the stranger, he took a sip of his drink. On turning around and seeing the stranger squarely, he downed the rest of the drink and threw the empty glass away. The sound of it breaking reassured him. “Anything can be broken.”, he whispered to himself. “Anything.”
The man opened his arms in a grand gesture of greeting. “Heeyyy! Long time no see. If I knew you were coming, I’d get some real nasty bitches for you. You like ‘em dirty, right? Souls and bodies in need of punishment, and shit.” The stranger did not react to the man’s offer. The man felt pulled by the static figure. He wanted to run away, but found himself coming closer.
“Have you my payment?” The stranger’s voice was a woman’s tone with a man’s timbre. It confused the man.
The confusion gave the man enough strength to stop approaching. “You’re smaller than I remember. And shorter. And your voice is different. No one knew of that deal. No one, except the priest, but he broke the deal! Ha! What’s with the mask? Take it off! I want to know whose ass is about to get thrown off my balcony!” Emboldened, he took another step towards the stranger.
“I take many forms, as you know. What business is it of mine that you went to a priest. He could not dissolve our agreement. Have you my payment?”
The man had approached close enough to see under the hood. The stranger wore a white mask that fully covered the face. No skin was exposed. No openings for eyes, nose, or mouth. No marks to distinguish the mask. The sight unnerved him.
“You’re not him. You can’t be. You can’t be! Not here! Prove yourself! If you are who you claim, then we’ll settle this shit! If not, you die!”
The stranger nodded. “A reasonable request.” Ke stretched out kir arms, opening white gloved hands. An aura of brilliant white light with golden spears of glimmering highlights surrounded kir. Grand white feathered wings extended outward and upward. “Have I proven myself?”
The man started laughing, even as he was urinating on himself from fright. “It’s you. It’s really you. I knew you weren’t a demon. You couldn’t be. Angel, blessed angel. No wonder the priest said he couldn’t do anything for me.” He took a sloshy step towards the glowing stranger. “This was just a test, right? I used my power justly, and now I’ll be rewarded.” He started laughing in relief. “An angel!”
The stranger brought kir right hand up to kir left shoulder. To the man, it appeared ke was saluting him. “An angel? The difference between an angel and a demon, is perspective.” The man’s face contorted in sudden fear as a glint off the stranger’s shoulder caught his attention. Ke brought kir hand sharply to the right.
The sickle cut smoothly through the man’s neck, slicing even the bone without pause. The schlicht of the weapon silenced all other sounds until the dead man’s body crumpled onto the balcony floor. His decapitated head hit hard against the concrete, the skull cracking as if confirming the man’s death.
The stranger raised kir weapon. Stuck fast to the clean blade was a small blue flame. Ke plucked the flame off the blade and tucked it into kir robes. “Paid in full.”
Ke tucked the sickle away and jumped off the balcony. Appearing as a ray of sunlight, the shocked onlookers watching through the glass doors quickly forgot all they saw of the stranger.
…
“What have you done!”
“Collected what is mine.”
“The City! The Envoy… stop…”
“Sleep deep, Weaver. I have only two more to collect. They think their precious City will keep them from me.”
“Will… write… tell…”
“I worked hard so your body won’t be recognized. Your hands are bloody enough as it is. You will be blamed for my actions. Do you want to be known as possessed? Again? The angels’ work on you made this easy for me. Sleep, Weaver. Let me spare you the madness of the possessed. This will be over soon.”
~~~
After being pushed back into the depths of sleep, I found myself at a business meeting. I was an outside consultant, and thus allowed to blow off dress codes and such. While everyone else was in sharp suits and tight appearances, I was in a loose shirt and jeans. They had briefcases and portfolios. I had my knitting basket.
A man had asked a woman about how to turn something mundane into something magical. She started explaining rituals, timing, and consecrations, using a quarter as her physical example. After she went on for a few hours, she asked me about it.
I picked up the same quarter and explained from my point of view. How an emotional attachment to an item gives it the appearance of being imbued, when really it is the belief it is that opens the believer. But if the item is used for certain workings over time, it will take on esoteric aspects that would continue even in the hands of someone else. By this process, enchanted items could be made.
At the end of my monologue, I try to return the display quarter to the woman. She tells me to keep it. Since it’s mine anyway.
“How can you be so sure?”
“It’s lying next to your laptop.”
I wake up with a start, and after wrestling with keeping the memory of the harvested spirit (I won, see previous post), check my desk.
Indeed, next to my laptop, is the very quarter used in the dream exposition. Down to year, state featured, and dirt.
It wasn’t there yesterday morning. It appeared sometime during the day, but I didn’t look at it.
~side eye~
I have errands to run. Then I think a good ol’fashioned purging is in order.
~~~
“Hey, [Trouble], come do a good deed and help me.” The tribesman waved me over to his table. He had a folded newspaper in one hand and a pen in the other.
I put down the full bucket of water I was carrying. “My name is not [Trouble], but I will get in trouble if I help you. [Oldest Mother] said…” ~slap~
It was just a swipe across the face with the newspaper. But it was the same treatment you give a dog, or puppy. “You have not earned the right to speak her name, [Trouble]. I don’t care she dragged you in and said you were tribe. You are not of my blood. You have no right to speak blood-names. You use the same white name as the whites that bred you, [Trouble].” He had a sneer to his face. He wanted me to rebuff him, to give him a reason to strike me harder.
[Oldest Mother] said for me to bring the water quickly while it was hot. Pause to catch my breath if I needed to. But not delay any further than necessary. She also said to explain this to any that would stop me, and tell the delayer to bring the water in my stead.
“Will you carry the water in my stead?” I was soundly beaten about the head for asking. It was only a folded newspaper, swung wildly. It did not hurt. But the feelings were clear. I was a misbred bitch, that should be put down before I ruin the lineage.
The sound of splashing water caught my attention. He had intentionally kicked over the ten gallon bucket. The water spread then cascaded down the short stairs to the outside. He grabbed me by my shirt. “You are going to help me, then you are going to answer for your wasteful laziness. For spilling all that water and wasting time.” He’s no different from the people [Oldest Mother] rescued me from.
Behind him, in the hall, I saw a glimpse of her. She had been watching the entire time and was judging him with narrow eyes. She looked at me, and nodded.
“Okay.” That wasn’t a good enough answer. I was slapped open handed for the shortcoming. He released me and I just sat down on the wet floor. I figure he’s going to beat me no matter what I do, so might as well just get it over with.
My response confused him. Where was the fight? Where was my rebellion? He spit on me in disgust then remembered his “task”. He threw the newspaper in my lap. “Here. Finish the crossword. Maybe you’ll learn something.” He left, still confused by my surrender.
The water drained quickly through the worn boards of the raised floor. The warm, dry air quickly pulled away any moisture left by the hot water. [Oldest Mother] had seen me, and nodded. Guess I’ll do this damn puzzle.
Another tribesman came up behind me. He watched over my shoulder. I was filling in the puzzle from top to bottom. He recognized an answer near the bottom. When I didn’t stop in mid-entry to fill in the answer he wanted, he tried to snatch the pen. Another tribesman came around the corner and asked him if he was helping me. “I’m pretty good at these. I’ll help, too!” Neither one asked if I needed help.
Soon I was surrounded by tribesfolk, all assuming I needed help, all trying to help me, and all getting upset that I’m not listening to them first.
I never needed help. I knew all the answers. I just wanted to write neatly.
But I’m [Stray Dog] that [Oldest Mother] dragged in. How would I know anything? Everything I know is white. That’s what the tribesfolk tell me. Sometimes in angry tones. Sometimes in pitiful tones. They don’t bother to ask what I know. I know more than they think, but because I can’t use their language to express it, it’s worthless to them.
The newspaper is snatched from me. Someone was impatient and decided to finish it. They start arguing over answers and handwriting neatness. In the fuss, I slip away. The bucket has been refilled and waits for me in the hall.
I finally get the bucket to the back rooms. [Oldest Mother] is there, seated on her carved stool. In her lap is a beaded dress, hair medallions with black feathers tied to them, and a black feather fan. There is another woman standing beside her, glaring darkly at me but holding her tongue.
“Ah, girl. Good. You managed to get away.” [Oldest Mother] smiled softly. I bowed and muttered about the water. She laughed and nodded. “They call you [Stray Bitch] behind my back, because you have no name. How about we give you something better? Something fitting.” [Oldest Mother] smiled in satisfaction, the woman standing with her only frowned.
[Oldest Mother] stood and gently laid the clothes on the stool. “The water is for you to wash up with. [Brown Feather] will help you.” [Brown Feather] looked like she would rather kick me down the stairs instead. “Dress in these, then come meet me on the hill. You’ll know where. Come find me.”
I nodded and bowed respectfully as [Oldest Mother] left out the back door. [Brown Feather] snorted at me. “I refuse to touch filth. I’m supposed to remain clean.” I didn’t remind her the whole point of the washing up was to become ritually clean, not when her statement is a jab at my brown skin. She’s always taken offense to me because of my skin color. She’s descended from free peoples, while I’m descended from slaves. [Brown Feather] has never allowed me to forget that.
Instead, she entered my room and began loudly talking shit about my things. I had painted chicken and turkey feathers as a hobby. Some to match raptor feathers that I did not have a right to have. Some had little scenes of life. Some were reminders of my dreams. All were personal.
When I didn’t take [Brown Feather]’s verbal bait, she began ripping them off the wall and viciously mutilating them. As she did, the real reason for her hatred towards me came out.
“Why you! Why an outsider! Why an unclean blood dog! You are only fit for selling and fucking! I am true blood! I have been training for this my whole life! I should be [Oldest Mother]’s successor! Not some whore filth like you!” I can hear her breaking everything in my room within reach. She is ripping the paintings and shredding my clothes. I know if I enter, she will attack me and claim self-defense.
I also know that this must happen. All ties I have here must be broken. There must be nothing for me to come back for.
Now washed up, I begin to dress myself. But as I slip the beaded dress over my head, my appearance changes. I appear of the same bloodline as the tribe. My hair darkens, straightens, and lengthens to my waist. My build slims even as I gain a few inches in height. My skin tone lightens but develops an intense red undertone. I become Tribe.
[Brown Feather] mistakes my silence for cowardice and comes out my destroyed room. She is asking if I had fled in fear yet. She turns and sees me as I place the shoes on my feet. “You… you can’t be…”
I want to enjoy her shocked expression, but I can only pity her instead. “[Brown Feather], you are [Oldest Mother]’s successor. That has never changed. Later, you will be the one that goes between the tribe and the spirits. That is not where my path leads. I was never a threat to you.” I fix the medallion at the crown of my head. The three black feathers turn white.
“Then why did she teach you the dances! And the songs! And the stories! Why did she teach you these things meant for me!” [Brown Feather]’s face was a mix of rage, jealousy, and fear. “And what tribe are you going to go between for? What tribe will accept a whore blood like you?”
I understood. I finally understood. “I go between for neither tribe nor spirit. I go between because I belong there. I go between for those that need me to. No tribe will claim me. No blood can. Which is good. I am free to wander.” I come to the door of my room. Everything within is devastated. I came here with nothing. I leave with nothing. I leave nothing behind.
I turn back to [Brown Feather]. I smile a genuine expression. It confuses her. “Goodbye, [Brown Feather]. I’m sure you will be a good [mother] to your tribe.” I bow in respect, and leave the same door [Oldest Mother] used.
It is brightly foggy on the hill, when I catch up with [Oldest Mother]. She smiles and fusses over my new appearance. “Do you know your name, girl? Or do I need to give you a new one?” We both chuckle.
When I pinned the hair medallions to the crown of my head, I had become lucid. I knew who I was. “I have many names, [Oldest Mother], but it seems “[Black Feathers]” is my favorite this time around.” I held up the feather fan.
“Then walk your path, [Black Feathers], and be true to yourself, no matter what skin you wear.” She bowed in deep respect to me, surprising me. We clasped hands as equals, and parted as strangers. Each one becoming merely a story for the other.
She turned back to her tribe and descended down the hill. I came up to the crest and slipped between hill and fog, reality and story, waking and dreaming.
~~~
The fog brightened and cleared. As Weaver Ravencloaked, I walked along the brightly lit path. The walkway led to a billowing white tent. One side had been rolled up and tied securely. Within the tent, a table and two chairs waited. On the white cloth covered table was a brass pot and two cups. One chair was occupied. The seated person regarded me coolly in the breeze teased day.
“You’re not going to sit?” The androgynous figure was dressed in several layers of white cloth. Arms wrapped from the wrists with white strips that disappeared under the long sleeve outer robe. The inner robe was fastened up to the neck. The head and neck were covered in expertly wrapped white cloth. The only skin visible was the face and hands. The angular facial features reminded me of Persia, but the skin tone reminded me of the bronze of the Turks. A thin gold chain, from which hung five small blue opalescent gems, was attached to the head covering and graced the forehead. Slightly glowing leonine eyes were the only giveaway the person sitting here wasn’t human.
“Who did you ‘jack the tent from?” I did not sit.
Ke feigned offense. “I would be wounded, but it is a fair question. I did not steal nor borrow it, Weaver. Just thought you would like a brief reprieve after such an intense dream. Did you dream well, Weaver? You were so deep, not even I could find you.” Ke gestured towards the open chair. “Sit, Weaver. I have no harm in store for you.”
I sighed and sat. “You’re fucking up my reputation, you know. I had not long ago bragged of not being concerned about possession again. You’re also fucking with my sanity. How much are you influencing me?”
Ke poured what smelled like too-strong coffee into the petite cups. “Do not think you are at my mercy, Weaver. It was a risk to take you. As long as I do not harm you, I have been granted… time. The first collection, I thought it best to tuck you in my pocket and bring you along. Keep you safe.”
As ke slid the mud thick coffee towards me, I saw the white gloves and featureless mask ke wore before. I did not need them to recognize kir.
Ke poured a second cup for kirself and continued. “But you saw too clearly, remembered too well. I could not risk that again. So I sent you under the hill this time.” Ke delighted in the coffee’s aroma. “Did you dream well? You look rested.”
I thought of [Oldest Mother] and [Brown Feather]. “I think I stepped into someone else’s grounds.” The coffee did smell good, even though it was thick enough to seize an engine. “The first time? What did you do?” I conceded I’m out-witted, for now, and took the dainty cup. The first sip brought tears to my eyes from the intensity. I resolved to look up Turkish coffee when I woke up.
“Under the hill, many paths cross. You probably did step into someone’s dream. I’m sure you handled yourself well.” Ke placed two small gold stands on the table. On each stand, ke placed what appeared as hand blown glass bulbs, long and thin. I am reminded of squid eggs. The bottom of the bulbs are round, thus the stand to keep them upright. The top of the bulbs were sealed with gold and attached to a gold ring. Inside each bulb, a tiny blue flame burned.
“I did what I set out to do, Weaver. I thought I would have trouble, but it seems my second debtor was too ashamed of our contract to tell anyone. When I came for him, he was prepared, and surrendered his payment peacefully. No great bodily damage was necessary, I only needed to prick his skin. The coroner will mistake it for a papercut.” Ke regarded the second bulb fondly. “I would have gladly agreed to an extension, but he tried to run and hide.”
“Which brings me to a question of my own, Weaver.” Ke placed kir weapon of choice on the table. “You wrote well and accurate of my first debt. Except this. This is not a sickle.”
I got the hang of the coffee. Lick a bit of it, and let it dissolve slowly in the mouth. “I know.”
Kir brows furrowed. “If I am going to be written of, I would like it to be accurate. Why the intentional error?”
“Of all the dreamwalkers, why me? There are many that you could use to gain entry into the City. Why pick one that even the Envoy distrusts?”
Ke regarded me coolly. Ke took a sip and answered. “Because you won’t be shattered afterward. You have mostly isolated yourself well from me. Your body suffers, but not your mind. Because of that, my task will be completed very soon. You are a well trained horse.”
I did not show my anger, my disgust, my crippling fear, or the cracks in my sanity. I just nodded. The angels taught me better than I remembered. Ke tapped kir weapon.
“It strikes me as important. Very important. Like how the police withholds clues from the public that only the murderer would know, your weapon of choice is a detail best kept private. For now. When you have left me, I’ll reveal it. But not before then.” Ke nodded. “Also, it’s your test. I know how vain you are about it. I have resolved not to tell it. You want it told. If I reveal it before you leave me, it is proof you are unduly influencing me. And whatever bargain you have struck with my protectors will be rendered null and void.” Ke glared at me while I licked the last bit of coffee. “Needs rum.”
I stood to my feet and placed the empty cup upside down on the table. “It’s time for me to wake up, Demon. By the way, this appearance is very lovely. I wish I could draw it and show others. Why didn’t you see this in the mirror at the tavern?” Ke refused to answer, filling kir mouth with coffee instead of words.
I bowed respectfully and began walking down the path towards wakefulness. “Because that mirror shows the truth of things. And this appearance is just another mask.” Kir words were soft on the wind behind me. I heard a rustling and knew the table, tent, and chairs left as the Demon receded into my depths.
I continued on into the Waking, and the nauseous headache that was waiting for me.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.