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.
~~~
New gear? No. An aspect I’ve always had but was afraid to wear. The Svartalf knew damn well what he was doing when he sent me to deliver the war scythe to its master. I wasn’t in Courier mode. I was conscriptable. He knew the war monger was not going to just allow me to leave. Not when I arrive armed and armored myself.
I didn’t write about that night. When the war monger blew his horn and all reason fled from me. It was a good night, for our side. For those that crossed our path, not so much. The snatches of clarity I caught between the war horn soundings were enough for me to see hints at what the Svartalf had wanted me to become. And why he is angry the Ravens of the Boneyard sealed me first. The Svartalf may just get his way with me after all. The more I restore myself, the more misanthropy chills my overheated blood.
~~~
Three white crows at the tips of three wind-blasted pines. Three witnesses that watched my graceless entrance and mocked my stupidity. I thought Loki was one of them, because it changed shape to speak to me in human tongue. I was sure a trickster was involved when they burst into laughter just before the bear ate my face.
That wasn’t Loki.
I thought later they were the Ravens of the Boneyard, and I had seen them as white because of my misinformed understanding at the time.
They aren’t of the Boneyard.
Three white crows at the tips of three wind-blasted pines.
What ever you wanted of me, I am incapable of delivering it now. So why the flying fuck are you haunting me still. Fuck off. I’m done. I’m counting the days until I’m completely done.
~~~
(After forging the war scythe, before sending me off to deliver it.)
Svartalf (SA): Here, I made you a decorated shield to go with that sword of yours.
Me: You do know you’ve made a mashup of two… three different cultural references here, right? And one of them, I have no right to.
SA: You do know you have no culture. Right? You’ve rejected the dominant culture you were born in, and what you should have by right of blood has rejected you.
Me: ~sets jaw~ What of it?
SA: Someone once told you that there is not a single book where your lore will be found. No mythos that can explain you. You exist in between the stories and the words. Who then can say this is not you, when they can’t say what is you.
Me: …
SA: Well, how it appears, like the sword, is greatly dependent on your mental state when wielding it. I just thought it should look nice when it’s hanging on the wall of your lair. Not like you’re going to actually use it.
Me: ~angry glare~ It’s too fanciful. This animal and that animal are separated by an ocean and a continent. That’s too great an inconsistency.
SA: And you’re talking to something that some people think is a representation of the dead, and some people think is a hallucination of an out of control mental patient in need of forced medication. Your point?
Me: You’re an ass.
SA: You are finally seeing what I am.
~~~
In the bag the Three Prostitutes gave me were:
- A little bag of dirt.
- A dried root bundle.
- A small piece of paper with a diagram. It shows the dirt and root bundle placed in a wide shallow bowl along with water.
- A rolled bamboo mat, tied with a black silk ribbon.
I came up with a wide shallow glass bowl and followed the diagram. The root sank immediately. Unrolling the bamboo mat reveals a painted scene. A closeup of a pond surface, with pink and white lotus flowers and little floating leaves. As I hung up the painting, a sweet scent filled the room. I turned around to find the root bundle had not only opened but matured. Little green leaves floated in the bowl, and a single thimble size lotus flower had opened. White petals edged in pink.
I received a message from the temple that maintains the shrine where the pots were installed. They thanked me for the donation and said my request the display face the water was unusual. The first day, a monk watered the pots. The second day, it did not need watering. The third day, the monk came out to find the pots already watered. Curious, he hid himself overnight to see who was watering the pots. He found at night, the larger fish in the pond were squirting water at the pots, almost like playing a game. He takes this as evidence my gift to the water spirits was accepted.
~warm fuzzies~
~~~
(Keri’s Note: Earlier in the day I discovered some fool person had set a curse jar against me. After deploying proper countermeasures, I asked certain folk and Folk if the curser was of their doing. The messages referred to in this post are some of the answers.)
On a side note, I made a sunstone for the lair. ~shrugs shoulders~ I had to work off the Sudden Flare Of Indignant Anger off somehow. So why not take a quartz sphere, split it, hollow it a bit, drop a fire seed, seal it back up, and embed it in the roof of the lair.
That will only last about a week before the seed dies or the quartz shatters from the heat, but hey, it works. The next one will be made better. But in the meantime, you know, just having a bare ceiling like that is kinda… boring… so I started drawing around the embedded sphere because a solar symbol should have flames, right? Red solar symbols and white solar symbols and blue solar symbols because it’s my ceiling and I do what I want!
A message arrives at the lair. “I neither cover nor shield. No interference from me.” Awesome. Major Playa #1 is not up in this mess. Good. Just need to hear from a few others before I turn this up to 11.
I look back at my doodling in surprise. I have covered nearly the entire stone ceiling in a huge circular solar celebration with the sunstone at the center. In greater surprise, the sunstone is not only providing nearly true sunlight in the lair, but it is empowering the symbols causing the entire image to glow softly in the way the sun glows through cloud cover.
The miniature lotus is loving the light.
Maybe I should get pissed more often. Or morose more often. Or distracted more often.
Maybe I should just get a cowbell for when I need to shake things up.
Another message arrives. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw your cowries. But then again, I know you need a firm confirmation. This isn’t my child. I have no objections to what you want to do.”
Boom-de-yah-da.
~~~
We talked a bit while we shared the rum. I could only handle demure sips of the strong dark alcohol, while he slugged glasses at a time. The Rummer knew what I was going to ask (gossip flies faster than thought) and was surprised I would actually ask it of him. I’m not ‘his’ after all.
True. I’m not his. But I do have some modicum of professional courtesy. He laughed and wrote his answer on a paper. He had me read it on the spot, and bid me record it for later before I opened my mouth to ask for clarification. After all, I still had one more ‘paperwork’ to file. He said after I went to that ‘office’ and got my request stamped one way or another, his answer would make sense.
I put on my Best Clothes. I brought the Consideration Fee. I was granted an audience and I spoke to Madam. I presented my gratitude for the audience and tried not to trip over my words too much. I was teased about cowrie shells. Finally, Madam asked why my request for an audience, and why the unusually stiff formality that went counter to the stories about Weaver.
I told her.
I told her everything.
I asked for clarification, and permission.
“Why do you need my permission, when this is not of me? What have you not said to me?”
She placed her hand on my head. I yielded. (As if I could stop her!) She saw the things I have written about the curse jar, and the things I have not written about the curse jar.
Madam is… not happy.
Madam gave me a few choice words to pass on to the maker of the curse jar. Madam gave me a few other things, but never you mind what those are.
Madam clarified that before I approached her, she had no role in this.
Madam clarified that now, she’s all up in this shit and is taking it as a personal affront.
Madam has given me permission to do what ever I will to do in this matter.
And so, I was dismissed from Madam’s presence. I returned to my lair, and read again the Rummer’s response. Now, I understand. I know what my options are, and the price for taking advantage of them. It is a price I am willing to pay.
~~~
~ahem~
YOU BLINDED FOOL! How could you mistake that for me? How dare you mistake that blighted mockery for me! Is the reality of who I am too much for you to bear so that you must turn away from the heavy truth and see out an imposter?
For that is what you have bound yourself to! A NOTHING! The half rotted spirit of someone that thought themselves to be great, but refused to be led to the cemetery when that time came! And this is what you are serving with your offerings and your pleadings and your defilements!
Once there was a time when knowledge was hidden from the sight of all men, when only those that were granted leave to step within the gates and without knew the truth of things. But now, it is everywhere! You have no excuse for not knowing the difference between me and that… blight. Like you, the one that delivers my words was not brought into the lineages that know my names and my symbols. Yet even she was able to suss out the truth of things, and bring to me those things that I require. The two of you drink from the same river of knowledge. How is it she has found the sweet water and you have found the piss?
It doesn’t matter now. You have taken my holy names and bestowed it upon that rotting carcass. You have placed offerings in my name that are an insult and a disgrace to me! You rejected who I am and how I appear because it does not reflect you, and have made a false god in the image of my excrement!
I have no mercy for you! NONE! The false god that cuts your tongue and eats your eyes will be brought to reckoning for the duplicity. And those that follow it will be cut away and disowned by the very earth they walk on.
I have told the one that writes these words to not mention my name. It has been defiled by you enough. She tells me my message will be placed where you can read it. If you cut yourself away from the parasite now, you will only have to deal with what she bears for you. Continue to defile my name, and I will deal with you myself. Do not think my husband will protect you. Nor my sisters. Nor my brothers. This is a slight against me, and I will deal with you myself.
So. Either you know who spoke this. Or you don’t know who spoke this. But, out of the 550ish tumblr folk and the several dozen others that follow me via RSS, one of you know who spoke this. We’ll be “talking” later, I’m sure. And how’s that rash? Funny how volatile substances can seep through damn near anything, eh? You really should knock the shit off and take care of yourself.
~~~
I picked the tea mug up and took a sip. It tasted… different.
I put the spiked tea down on the table and realized I wasn’t in my room anymore. The hard thunk of a heavy glass near my hand only confirmed it.
“How long are you going to play this game, girl?”
“It’s not a game. And I don’t know.”
“They worry.”
“I’ve checked in. They know I breathe. And that I haven’t shut them out.”
“You can mope just as fine with them as without them. They know your moods by now.”
“This isn’t about moping. And that’s part of the problem. They shouldn’t have to accommodate me like that.”
“You trying to keep them clear of the curse jar?”
I laughed, harshly. “They probably knew before I did. You did. I just didn’t catch your hint until today. Besides, there was nothing of them in the jar. Just me. A personal affair.”
“You have your wits again. Why are you staying away? That you are being open in the public avenue while keeping the private ones shut is starting to smack of insults and snubs.”
“I have my wits about me for how long, this time? Once the matter of the curse jar is dealt with, I have to deal with the other things that have been uncovered. And then what? How long do I pretend that everything is okay, that it’s only a phase? How many times to I get to make the self-deprecating remarks that everyone laughs awkwardly to in polite conversation. But I can still feel the looks they are giving the screen. The cringing, and the uncomfortable glances?”
“They don’t…”
“Bullshit they don’t. They do. They should. They have every right to. I’m not right in the head. And I’ll never be. How long do I pretend they can carry me when I’m dead-weight? How long do I jump from one shelter to another? How long do I remain afraid?” I don’t look up at him. I don’t think I could bear the stare he is assaulting me with. “You, of all people, know we’re running out of time. I’ve run out of time. I feel the weight of futility and it can’t be hidden under an adventure this time.”
“Maybe this curse jar is getting to you after all.”
“I know the different flavors madness can take. The curse jar is like sugar-free diet brownies. Rejected by the body at both ends. No. This isn’t the curse jar. This is me facing the reality that I have failed. It was all for nothing. And the only thing left for me to decide is how graceful, or graceless, an ending I want to make of it. The matter of the curse jar is just a distraction.”
“You still have two years, girl.”
“Unless something drastically changes in one and a half of them, it’s wasted breath. And by drastically change, I mean making sea-front property in Arizona. That’s not going to happen. It’s over. It’s done. I woke up too late. I acted too late.”
He finishes off his glass and picks up his hat. Leaving the bottle on the table, he grips me by the chin harshly and turns my face up to him. “It’s over, girl, when I say it’s over. Do you understand? If it takes threats to keep you from this foolishness, I will gladly oblige. You have endured a lot of pain in the physical realm, but you have touched only a hair of what the human body can withstand. Try it. I will seal you in your own skull and you will never leave it. Do you understand me, girl?”
I wasn’t surprised to hear him say these things. They only confirmed what I have long suspected. I didn’t answer verbally, but only silently cried.
He let go and stood over me. “You have something to deliver tonight, I understand. It’s a strong weight with an intense force, and it’s going to be influenced by the one carrying it. Observers are already jostling for position. This Svartalf of yours has woken something up, but it seems he didn’t take into account how it would affect the rest of you.” He started to walk away. “You still have a lot to uncover, girl. And you still have time.”
~~~
Her harbingers were waiting outside for me. Weaver emerged from the lair, not as Courier, but as Devourer. Her boon was wrapped around my arm. I would be wearing her colors, my face intentionally obscured so those that saw me (and lived after) would know by whose command the destruction was wrought.
She could have easily dealt with this herself, but she had a point to prove. She was not the genteel and demure goddess that the modern world continually tries to synchronize with vulnerable lambs. She was a Warrior, a viciously calculating bitch that would sweep over high and low scouring her enemies from her realm like the driving of cattle.
And tonight, her chosen Scourge would do just that in her name.
I pulled the war-mask over my face, yielding to the aspect Esse the Svartalf had woken. I yielded to her harbingers, allowing her adornments to cover and uncover me in a militarization of the feminine form. Feathersword and shield became twin machetes. To look at me was not to see Weaver. To look at me was to see her and the fury of her anger.
I started at the curse jar, where the intent had been corrupted by me such that the curser was finding more and more of themselves pulled into the jar and trapped. I was in no hurry to destroy the jar, having turned it into a toy for my hands. The curser swore and cried and begged for mercy. Twas but a sport. Just a game. They didn’t think Keri could actually be touched by so simple a thing.
The reasoning only infuriated me more. If they spoke the truth, they were in the wrong. If they were lying (most likely), they were in the wrong. I swore I would not destroy the jar, but I would use it to devour more and more of them.
There was a jarring shock as the contents of the jar was poured out and scattered. They had enough. The (false) god that promised them protection had failed them. In the abandoning, I saw clearly the link from dumb ass shit to lying spirit.
My interest in the curser has faded. They are nothing more to me. The lying spirit on the other hand…
I scream, and the North Wind screamed with me. I lift a machete and strike. A portion of the lying spirit is cut away. Kir scream is swallowed by the North Wind.
“[Madam] sends her greetings.” My voice sounds so distant. I didn’t think it was possible to disassociate here. [Madam’s] Scourge raced forward.
…
I wake in the lair. My front is covered in battle wounds that are quickly healing. I don’t remember anything after the first strike. Is it done? I lift my right hand and see Madam’s beads wrapped around my wrist. No, it is not done. I will be her Scourge again tonight. I guess I’ll have to live another day then. Can’t leave a job unfinished. I guess I still have some pride left after all.
~~~
“How the hell is it, that a thing of fire like you is drawn to the color blue?”
“Ask the one that stitched me together. I seem to be a walking contradiction.”
“You put yourself together, remember, human?
“Am I? Human? People forget ‘Frankenstein’ is the name of the doctor, not the monster he made.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you look, you can see the seams. I’m done trying to keep them in repair. Humans made me what I am, and those same humans can’t bear to see what they’ve done.”
~~~
There were more than [Madam’s] harbingers waiting for me when I exited the lair. Certain Folk were waiting as well, observing. Some to see who the human was under the mask. Some to see if the human was going to crack under the combined stresses of this world and the other. Some just because they were able to be there.
Everyone loves a spectacle.
The Winds themselves were there, by [Madam’s] command. I would be riding one as a steed. My black horse was present and took personal offense at the exclusion. I reminded it of Esse’s Warmask and what happens when I wear it. “We’ll go hunting later, eh? Right now, this has to be settled.” The horse nodded, suddenly playfully. Some of the observers chuckled knowingly. Some of the observers were ignorant of what I meant.
The other Winds are waiting for me to join them, to hunt down the Pretender. My actions the night before was a one-on-one battle, giving the Pretender the chance to yield and be defeated with honor. The Pretender fought well the other night, but when it was clear I would be victorious, the Pretender fled rather than admit defeat.
[Madam] is known to fight dirty, but only when she has to. So far she has been lenient with the Pretender. But to run was the last straw for her. “It pretends to be me, and then flees from battle? It pretends to be me, and leaves those sworn to it at the first hint of struggle? Coward! It wishes to be hunted? [Weaver]! My aegis restricts you. You wield the machetes fine, but you have better skills.”
[Madam] removes her boon from me. I drop to the ground, suddenly unable to ride the Winds. Before I could call the black horse, it was nudging me with a complete lack of subtlety in my back. “Shall we have fun?” It reared and neighed loudly.
Donning the war-mask buries my cognition. I can not place it haphazardly. I have to have a clear focus, a clear desire. I asked [Madam] was I to ferret the Pretender out, or if it was mine to finish off. “What do I know of hunting? Nothing. I have been wronged and I will be avenged. I don’t care how the coward is torn to pieces, only that it is torn to pieces! If it had stood its ground, I would have settled this myself. But I will not be mocked! It thought it was safe from me because of our different realms? By pretending to be me, it entered my realm! I use you, Weaver, to make a point to all! (For I know you write of what you do here.) I can and will use everything to safeguard what is mine! Mock me, and I will bring you low! So many think they are safe because of a lack of proper initiation. When they touch what is mine, they become mine! And I am not the only child of divinity that has grown tired of this abuse. Take up your mask, Weaver Many Faces! My Winds will assist you. Show me how to hunt! Find and take down your prey!”
I bowed with solemn formality. “As you have commanded me, [Madam], so I obey.”
I donned the mask.
I remember the Winds and the winds surrounding me, adding speed to my steps.
I remember dark forest undergrowth and darker caverns.
I remember slipping between worlds, following the Pretender’s scent as it tried to shake me.
Sharp cries. The sound of flesh yielding to weapons. Snarling and jabbering.
The Winds shrieking in my ears, drowning everything else out.
Darkness.
I wake up in my lair, covered in battle wounds again. My chest is crosshatched with a multitude of healing scratches. None of my injuries are severe enough to do more than itch. My mouth has an odd taste to it. I think I ate part of the Pretender. ~smacks mouth~ Eww… yea… I did.
The shield is hanging on the wall, it’s ‘default’ appearance changed by me. No animals are portrayed on the shield. Just a braided border, and three large black circles. I’m not done changing it, but that is a thousand percent better than what Esse had made. As I think on it, I realize he made it pandering on purpose. If it was properly made at the beginning, I wouldn’t have taken it as mine. By making it improper, I would be forced to accept it to change it. Suckered again.
My arm carries the fading echoes of [Madam’s] aegis. I remember her words, that I am known as a recorder of events. Fuck. Looks like I won’t be able to withdraw from writing after all.
So, in summary, the curser no longer has a direct link to me, and only has to deal with the effects the curse jar poured on themselves. The curse jar was changed from harming me, to being a source of power for me. The entity that was pretending to be [Madam] to the curser was outed as such to the curser, defeated twice, and kir link to this world broken. (For now.) And [Madam] didn’t ginsu my ass into little bitty pieces. (I was worried she would. Because reasons.)
I stumble from pallet to table. It will be time for me to wake up soon. I’d much rather stay here. The miniature lotus plant now has three little blooms floating on the surface of the water. Nearly the rest of the water’s surface is covered in little leaves. Above me, the sunstone glows warmly, the connected drawings glow dimly, and the solar symbols turn almost imperceptibly in their stations on the ceiling.
How is it, I have this nugget of peace in the middle of the maelstrom that I am? I don’t remember when I laid my head on my crossed arms beside the lotus bowl. Only that somehow I went back to sleep, and during that sleep, the migraine that was wracking my body in the waking was literally broken.
~~~
A glass of rum for him. A strong ass cup of coffee for me. I pouted to not see any rum in the coffee.
“Until you get your head out of your ass, no rum for you!” He punctuated his statement by moving the bottle of rum out of my reach. “You’re being a little shit, you know. And the repercussions of your actions are rippling out.”
“I’ve done nothing to anyone else… except that pretender… and that bastard had it coming.”
“Snitch. You could have handled it yourself. You didn’t need to run to [Madam] for help.”
“I didn’t run to her for help. I had to make sure I was in the clear. It wasn’t my intention that she knew the spirit was pretending to be her. I just wanted to verify that she wasn’t the divinity covering the curser. You of all people know I have to tread carefully around the Lwa and the Orishas. But she wanted to know the whole thing… and… well… I don’t blame her! Did you see how the Pretender was portraying [her]? I’d take that as a personal affront myself!”
He pushed the untouched cup of coffee towards me. “Show me. Show me what you saw.” I took a big gulp of coffee and constructed an illusionary duplicate of the outside of the jar and the altar it was set on. He looked and gave a low whistle as answer. “Oh. Hehehe. Yea.” He nodded. “[That ain’t right]. Could you imagine if the pretender tried to pass off as [Not Going There]?”
I was in the middle of finishing off the coffee when he said that. I nearly choked and coffee went up my nose. “Ow. That hurts.”
He nodded and dismissed the illusion. “Now that I have your attention. What’s this about pulling your threads in?” He gripped my left arm, sliding his thumb over a particular mark. “Girl, you’re bound to her. By more than just juju. It’s a bond I will not break. You’ve made her stumble twice already, and she’s worried sick for you. You’ve been able to bullshit nearly everyone else, but there are two you will never be able to bullshit. Two humans, anyway. One has been watching from the periphery as you asked, keeping [kir] distance. The other is being pierced. Self-destruct if you want, but if you take her with you, you will find yourself in worse circumstances than merely being an adornment on my table.”
I didn’t try to pull my arm away. “Does it always come down to threats?”
“You seem to be immune to kindness.”
“A cotton wrapped fist is still a fist.”
He squeezed my arm, painfully. “If I have to [oh shit he went there], I will.” The threat, scared me and made it hard to keep a straight face. “I’ll do it. And I’ll do it in public. I know what scares you, girl. I know what you fear. I will take advantage of that, to protect those I cover. Understand?”
I half whimpered, half laughed. I could only nod. He released my arm, patted the symbol lovingly, and stood from the table. He started to walk away, then turned and snatched the rum off the table. “Not a single drop, girl.” He waggled a finger in my face then left with a bounce in his step. “And you better do as you’re told, girl. If I find you haven’t… well…”
Well… fuck.
~~~
The sunstone shattered. I didn’t realize how gloomy the lair is when you rely on human sight to see. I was used to not using human sight before the sunstone, but its presence spoiled me. Shards of hot quartz sprinkled the table and my head. The solar symbols ceased glowing and stopped moving. I collected the pieces (fishing some out the bowl), retrieved what was left in the installation, and sat outside to autopsy the remains.
First thing I noted was the fireseed was triple its original size and rapidly expanding. It was now larger than the hollow I had made. Checking the quartz pieces confirmed my suspicion. The fireseed grew larger than the container. Something had to give and the quartz gave first.
I glanced again at the fireseed sitting in the ashes by the fire. It had swollen to five times its original size but was now a dulling red. I am reminded of a red giant star. It clicked. I knew why it failed.
What are the two forces working on a sun? Fusion and gravity. What do those two forces do? Expand and contract. Fusion wants to go nuts and in doing so, tear apart the sun as the explosive nature of the reaction forces matter apart. Gravity wants to keep everything together, pulling each mote of matter closer and closer. Fusion keeps gravity from crushing the sun, gravity keeps fusion from blowing it up.
The fireseed was growing. I think because its power was tapped by the solar symbols and the feedback had triggered the growth. After all, I made it to mimic a sun, called it a sunstone, and set it in the midst of my ‘heavens’. The Little Sun That Could!
The quartz was not prepared for the fireseed’s expansion. I had it so the fireseed’s light would be emitted over a larger surface, and to keep the fireseed from touching anything directly. Without reinforcement, it quickly succumbed to the expansion of the fireseed.
In this moment of reflection, the unbound fireseed had swollen from the size of a pea, to the size of a watermelon. It had changed from bright intense light to a barely perceptible glow. It was warm only because of its proximity to my fire. I touched it, and the thin surface collapsed revealing cold ash inside. It grew too fast and burned itself out.
I’m sure there is a lesson there. Hell if I can see it.
I took up another quartz sphere, split it, and hollowed it a little larger than the first. But this one, I altered. I worked markings along the split that when separate meant nothing. But once joined, the markings would create an intense bond. Other markings wrapped around the exterior of the halves like restraining belts on machinery. Once the two halves were joined, the completed markings would hold the quartz sphere tightly, placing a compressive force on the sphere and what the sphere contained. Simulated gravity for a simulated sun.
I drop another fireseed and seal up the quartz, making sure the markings are aligned. There is a flash and the completed sphere shrinks slightly. I note this sunstone has a slightly different output than the first. I should look up what energies compressed quartz gives off. I admire Madam Curie but I don’t want to repeat her demise.
Installing the new sunstone went without incident. I found some Fears had tried to sneak in the dark, but they found this human wasn’t afraid of either Dark or Trivial Matters. Tastes like radishes.
I sit back at the table and resume work on the shield. I’m seriously considering raiding Esse the Svartalf’s workshop to recover my doll. But I’ll need more of my wits about me first and I’m still scattered.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.