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.
~~~
Mom, Dter, and I went shopping. We had an exclusive invitation to a private merchant. Mom didn’t want to go until she heard that no one shops at will there. No. One. The merchant extends an invitation, you accept or deny. The invitations were also group tasks. If one invitee could not attend, no one was allowed to enter.
It took some cajoling and promising of sushi later, but Dter agreed to go. I gave her some funds to splurge on herself. Mom would not stop reminding of her monetary wealth and her intentions to purchase whatever I wanted. But I know how she is. The price of her benefice is malicious indeed.
The attendants all wore red. The ground floor was covered in red decor. I realize I’m dreaming but say nothing. I see wings that specialized in what I personally wanted. Nothing had a price tag. An exclusive merchant stocked with our deepest desires and no obvious cost? And my daughter is here? I whisper to Dter not to commit to anything until she hears from me. I ask for the manager. I have questions and I want them answered now.
The manager appears as an older thin man in a black suit and red tie. Mom sees the diamond jewelry and takes off in that direction. Dter sees painting supplies and goes in a different direction. There is only the manager and me.
“Good day, Ms. Keri. Or would you rather I call you Weaver?”
“Details. Now.”
“Everything offered to you and yours has already been paid for. There will be no debts incurred should items be chosen by your family. However, anything chosen can not be transferred to another owner once you depart from the premises. And a token of acceptance must be surrendered. How that token appears differs from person to person, but it is usually an outpouring of legitimate emotion.”
That… sounds okay. I look around and see more things I want but I’m still wary. I turn back to ask the manager who my patron is for this event but instead I find a mini-café. A little table with two chairs is present, along with two freshly poured coffees. One chair is taken. I almost left the building when I saw who was there.
“What do you want more than anything right now, Weaver?”, the tablemate said.
I deeply sighed and almost burst into tears. If this was a trap, it was a well researched one. I did not answer, but sat next to him and took up the waiting coffee.
Over the next several hours, we conversed. But of that conversation, I don’t remember a single word. I suddenly realized I had forgotten about my mother and daughter. In a panic I said I had to go find them. He offered to come with me. I accepted.
The attendants led us to the basement level. Dter was laughing in peals of silly laughter. Of all the items offered her, she chose only a little posable reference doll and a paint set. Her token? Joyous laughter. She laughed so well, the basement attendants were able to take her laughter and make dolls and toys for young children. So she was goofing off with the red and brown clad brownies, pixies, and wee men so everyone would laugh and keep making toys.
The Wee Folk loved having her there. She was aware of the inherent dangers of the Wee Folk and pointed out she was safe. Besides, look at all the toys they made from her laughter! I conceded she was okay and asked for my mother.
The attendants led me and my tablemate up to the second floor. The moment the doors opened, I knew Mom was there. Loud screeching and angry shouting led me to her. She wanted all the jewelry since there was no monetary cost, but like hell was she going to grovel for it. I stayed out of sight and asked what her token was.
An attendant whispered, “Gracious thanks. If she can accept the gift without bitterness or haughtiness in her heart, she can have it all.”. I shook my head and turned back to the stairs. My tablemate asked why I didn’t try to speak sense to her.
“Mom always has to be better. In some way, she has to be better than the giver. She will piss on a freewill gift and belittle anything she can’t use to brag about. She makes a big deal about money. No monetary cost? Worthless. Did you hear her yelling? She was not kidding about how much cash she brought. And it is useless here. She knows no other currency.”
I thought on the coffee again. “What is my cost? What did I have to pay for your company?”
“Humility. Recognizing you are not that special that I can’t treat you like the [redacted] you are.”
“I don’t know if this is you or not, but either way, you’re fulla shiet.”
He laughed. “You’re not the first to observe that. More coffee?”
I heard Dter laughing in glee in the distance. I heard Mom pounding a table in rage. Why the fuck not. “Can they make chili coffee?”
The red garbed attendants bowed as we went back to the table.
~~~
More eclipsed sun and full moon. I know what constellations are on the hood and feet of the robe, however I do not want to get into that.
The flag and the robe could either represent a people or a person. If a people, then that counts me the fuck out. Liminal Keri is liminal. Always. I can’t get away from it. I’m the boundary and the gate. And I seem to have a bad habit of escorting shit from either side.
If a person, then it would represent me. And another god damn puzzle. That I’m tired of playing. I have shit to do Universe, and fetching elbow grease is not one of them.
And the sunstone is doing its little thing with no signs of material fatigue for those of you still curious. And the little miniature lotus blooms are changing color as they mature. The older ones are turning a delicate shade of blue. Pretty.
~~~
“You look different.”
“My perception of myself has changed. And I don’t feel like playing jester right now.”
“What am I going to do with you now?”
“You can start by identifying yourself. You’re familiar, but then I’ve mistaken lies for comfort before.”
“Ouch. You don’t know who I am?”
“Dinner, if you continue to pester me.”
“Then I will leave you in your comfort then.”
It was only as he left, that I realized I was hearing the sound of scales sliding over stone as he circled me.
God
fucking
dammit.
~~~
One for the fury and the fire high burning.
Two for the hands that heat the steel.
Three for the witnesses that watch this working.
Four for the forces I bind and seal.
Five for the fingertips pricked and bloodied.
Six for the sigil drawn in blood deep red.
Seven for the heavens that hide in fearing.
Eight for the hunters waiting to be led.
Nine for the pieces they will make of their prey.
Ten. Begin.
~~~
Any reason why Anthony Bourdain and I would be crawling under the post-apocalyptic buried remains of “old” (read: current) Philadelphia? We scrambled through shock wave blasted buildings, and walked down streets that would never see sunlight again. Above us, New Philadelphia had been built and the expanse of the new city completely blocked out all sunlight and exposure to the above-ground environment to the old city, effectively burying it.
So we were scrambling around, looking for nothing in particular, while he rambled on in his stream-of-consciousness narration that his shows are (in)famous for. Every conversation starts with a scrap of a memory of food. A wrapper. A restaurant ad. But turns sideways and upside down and next thing you know we’re talking about the evolution of political parties in America and how quickly Americans will vilify the old to sell themselves the new while not paying attention that the new is just the old with a new layer of whitewash on it and look hot dogs!
We almost got in trouble when a Government Survey Crew stumbled across us. They were in full exosuits complete with self contained breathing apparatus, and stared at us in horror and shock as Anthony and I were in jeans, shirts, and a few layers of coats. They did not understand how we were able to even breathe in that environment.
Anthony went off on one of his spiels about the more isolated the government and those that worship the government became, the less able they were able to function in the environment, because they actually managed to stop themselves from adapting to the world. They were of the belief that the world should be forced to remain in a static formation, never changing, never evolving to something different, just encased in rigidity. And these workers were the proof of it.
Yea, the air was stagnant and we were exposed to a great variety of bacteria and it will take a month’s worth of hot showers before the stink came out of our skin, but we (Anthony and I) would not become ill because we did not try to force our environment to conform to a rigid ideal, we adapted along with it.
But if the workers were to take off their masks and just breathe one gulp of air, they would fall over in spastic attacks and probably have at least one major organ fail just from the exposure. Their sealing themselves away into the ideal environment meant they could not adapt to changing conditions.
The survey crew just stood there flabbergasted as Anthony continued on rambling. I asked if we should run. “Run? Oh no. We’ve been documented on more cameras than you have blood cells already. It’s useless to run. But I’ll tell you a secret. We’re untouchable. Because if the government agencies try to bring us in for whatever sins against the government they’ve made forbidden this term, they have to acknowledge that despite all their rules and regulations, we still thrive. We don’t need their rules to live, and that you and I are standing here is proof of that. Proof the government doesn’t want documented. And you know how much the government loves documentation. So we’ll go on down that street where they used to make the most visually disgusting cheesesteak subs. But they tasted like an angel’s…”
The survey crew turned around without saying a word. Anthony and I continued exploring “old” Philadelphia.
~~~
The more I think on it, the more I think I’m going to have to edit a few posts. I called the entity that possessed me a ‘demon’ because of how ke presented kirself to kirself. (The mirror scene in the tavern.) But after meeting the other two in the cafe, there are certain tells that point to a different class of entity altogether.
The style of clothing, the kukri sword, the way the coffee is served, and the skin tone all point to an Arabic mythology. The chill of the uncorporeal hand is a giveaway as well. I’ll look up djinn and related myths later. Just making a note to myself for now.
~~~
One for the fire that burned unyielding.
Two for the hands encased in steel.
Three for the witnesses that watched in silence.
Four for the forces my strikes reveal.
Five for the fingertips long unfeeling.
Six for the sigil now buried and dead.
Seven for the heavens that pretends all’s well.
Eight for the hunters and their wolves well fed.
Nine for the realms where the stains fade away.
Ten. End.
~~~
The letter was wedged into a newly made hollow outside the door of the lair. It reeked of stonework, reminding me I forgot to take the fragments of Roger’s ring to Esse. While the hollow served as a needed mail shelf, I wasn’t happy about the addition being made without my permission. I checked the letter, sensed no magic on it, so brought it inside to read in comfort.
“I could force you, but the backlash may not be worth the impaired performance. I’m asking. This time. I have a job for you that requires you to don the [war mask]. Bringing the shield is highly suggested if you haven’t internalized it already. A ‘hunt’ has been called. I think you’ll enjoy it. If you commit, mark your shield with the symbol below in your blood and wait outside your lair. The huntmaster demands all that run under him to be bloodied. The symbol marks you as my offering for the night. I know you write, but if successful, you will remember very little of the hunt itself. There are many dark crevices in your mind where even ravens fear to be. Good hunting. — ‘Esse’”
Esse has taken my snide ‘name’ for him and made it his own. I’m sure he knows to what I refer to by it. Cheeky shit, signing it in great flourish like a highborn title.
I threw the letter on the table and pulled the shield off the wall. Four feet wide when in display mode, it becomes three feet wide when taken in hand. I heard scales on stone behind me, and the letter being taken off the table.
“He doesn’t own you.” Snake sounded younger than I remember.
“He remade me. Close enough.” I don’t turn around. I’m too busy changing the shield’s appearance to a light stone gray.
Snake, in naga form, comes up behind me. He is close enough to reflect my body heat. Close enough to strike me. I have never been able to counter his venom. I brace for sudden escape.
“You don’t trust me.”
I say nothing. Instead, I extend my left hand calling the war glove Esse had tricked me into donning. The skin of my right hand yields easily to the glove’s talons. Five bloodied digits mark the six pointed symbol quickly onto the shield. I lick the wounds closed and call the war glove for the right hand.
Snake blocks my exit. “You’re looking forward to this? You’ll become just another berserker, destroying everything in your path. This is not like you. What does he have that can compell you?”
I want to laugh and cry at his words. But I have no more tears and I want to save the laughter for the mocking of my prey. “Did you know I’m an amalgam? Of course you did. You’ve spent time at the anvil of my spirit yourself. I’m waiting for the game clock to play out. I’ve already lost. So why not? I am a cruel and vicious person, Snake. Always have been. I’ve tried being kindhearted and gentle, only to be abused and chained for it. I may not remember this hunt, but I will enjoy myself. If you don’t want your toy to be at risk of hurt, then I suggest you put it away. I can’t win against you. Not when you had a hand in my making.” I called the war mask, and with it my cloak changed from feathers to [something else]. Holding the mask, I stepped towards the door but Snake didn’t move.
“Where is the doll the Little Ones gave you? Does the Svartalf still have it?” More snake than human in appearance, lidless emerald eyes pierced me. Four hands flexed in preparation for grappling. I can’t win against him, but I will not yield passively.
“Is that the excuse you want? Yes, Esse still has it. He refuses to surrender it. But the doll is recent, and my reforgings have been ongoing since I was 9.” The sound of a distant horn stops my breath. “Take me down or get out of my way. I have shit to break.”
Snake stares at me in silence. The horn sounds again, closer. He lowers his head and moves out of my path. Though he has said nothing, I know he means to get the doll from Esse. I find myself not caring about this, or the implications of the attempt.
I step outside the lair. Eight hunters are beyond my fire. The black horse is present, waiting for me to decide. He paws the ground in tense anxiety.
As I approach him, I slide the war mask over my face. Something deep within awakes. The last I remember, was the huntmaster sounding his horn, and we responding as a pack.
~~~
Besides, I can feel his mark/tattoo on my shoulder and I’m quite fucking awake thank you very fucking much. So some shit is going down somewhere. He’s going through the trouble to watermark and claim my ass now which only makes me curious as fuck.
Too early to go take a looksie.
Dinner is still in the oven for one thing.
And I’m quite sure I’m not going to like what I see when I finally take a look for the other.
~~~
Hmm. I took a looksie. (Dinner is done and served.) Snake’s mark, which is usually the size of a large rubber band twisted to resemble a Mobius strip, has turned into an aegis covering over the back of my right shoulder. Rainbow scales with metallic lining cover from shoulder crown to midway of back, from arm to spine.
It is growing. It is changing color as I watch. It is unmistakably Snake.
Hmm.
~~~
The initial scales have dulled into the steady gleam of polished steel. Still spreading outward from the crown of the right shoulder, they have crossed the vertical divide of the spine and are approaching the left shoulder and the lower left waistline. None are crossing to the front of the body. None are going past the waist. My back feels cold and numb, but not in a frightening way.
And I am still clueless to Snake’s intentions and to what the flying fuck is going on over there.
I do believe I’m going to step into some shit tonight.
~~~
“You set everything on fire.”
“It was all going to hell anyway, might as well finish things off properly.”
“When did you know it was a dream?”
“When the second one showed up while I had my hands full with the first.”
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“Because I had an illusion in my hands. That wasn’t her. So I was free to do as I wanted to.”
“Why did you stop when you did?”
“… … I needed to find my limit. Just how much depravity could I inflict on a person now.”
“You are not well.”
“Gee, Snake, of all the creatures that come across me, you should know that by now.” ~deep sigh~ “When the second one appeared, I knew you were behind this. I just don’t know if that was you in my hands or if you were just watching. Why did you allow me to go through with it?”
“I needed to find your limit.”
“And?”
“You held back this time. You are not well, but are not depraved.”
“Snake.”
“[Weaver].”
“Do that again, and I will rip the illusion from you, and finish the job directly on your body.”
“I am more than you know.”
“I am less. Much, much less.”
“I have found your limit.”
~~~
Figured out why Snake went Mad Artist with the scales. It wasn’t until I remembered when Esse the Svartalf lost his shit when the Ravens replaced my heart and some bones. Something had happened to the doll when the Ravens did that, and he vivisected me to find out exactly what the Ravens had done based on the change to the doll.
Drastic changes to me are reflected in the doll, then. It would not take a great leap of faith to say that drastic changes to the doll are reflected in me.
Like… say… markings of ownership/patronage/(loyalty)?
Much of the night was spent in unsettled hypnagogia. Not quite there, not quite here. When I was there, I was in the lair, wrapped by fifty feet of determination, and having violent fevers and spasms. When I was here, I was ice cold despite having three very good blankets layered over me.
The scales kept changing. And I realized what was happening. Snake was sending a very clear message to Esse. The scaling of my back was being reflected in the doll’s state. But Esse wasn’t taking the challenge passively. He started changing something on the doll which changed the scales on my back to a different kind of skin covering.
I’m tired.
And then after dawn, the dreams seque into that.
I’m going to go get some whiskey, and/or rum, and I suggest none of you get in my fucking way.
~~~
Dunno if y’all remember the Imposter Snake that accompanied once upon an alternate world. After I realized it was an imposter, I parted company with it, but not before promising it I would spend time with it again. (It was lonely and said so.)
The mountains floated in the sky above us, while I constructed a little tent with table and chairs. It appeared as a Ribbon Snake, which threw a wrench into my hospitality plans. I had brought tea and cups for us both.
“So, the proper way to take of this “tea” is to have hands and sip?”
“That’s the proper way. But if you want to do different, I’m game.”
“Here, pour some in this little dish. I want to know what it feels like.”
So I did. Filling the saucer with hot tea, I chided the Ribbon Snake to be careful of the temperature. It delighted in the texture of the fluid on its skin and coiled contentedly in the saucer.
“You came back.”
“I said I would.”
“Many say they would come back. Few do. Why did you?”
“I said I would.”
“I’m not doing anything proper by this tea, am I?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not offended?”
“Should I be?”
“Many are when I do things that aren’t proper to them.”
“Then we are more alike than it appears. Here is all I need to know. Are you at peace with my hospitality? If you aren’t, what can I do to help you feel better? If you are at peace coiled up taking a bath in tea, then what business is it of mine? We aren’t having a formal affair. We’re having a moment together. And besides, I’d rather my guest be at comfort. I need that kind of peace right now.”
“I like the way it tastes. I’ll smell like this for a few hours after you leave and it will make me happy.”
The Ribbon Snake rested lazily in the saucer, its head laying on the edge above the fluid. As the tea cooled, I offered to warm it up a bit, but it declined saying the cooling was a nice experience on its own. We said nothing more as the impossible day meandered on. The mountains floated in seemingly random movements. The fields wore their vibrant colors without fading.
“So many come through here in a rush. I crawled on your shoulders because I wanted to see where you were headed. So few stop to just watch things like you are doing now. Did you get to where you needed to that day?”
I thought on the destination. “Yea, I got to where I needed. It is good you didn’t come with me. I don’t think you would have enjoyed it.”
“Did you?”
I didn’t say anything, but sipped my tea in sadness. A wet and cool thing touched my arm. I looked to see the Ribbon Snake was trying to lay across my hand and arm the way a person would try to convey sympathy. The gesture made me smile, but I couldn’t hide my sadness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad and hurt. So few stop to talk to me and I don’t know what are safe questions to ask.”
“It’s okay. I often don’t know what are safe questions to ask, either. I just… have a lot on my shoulders lately, and not just the physical ones.” I laughed. “Careful, you’re starting to act proper!”
The Ribbon Snake looked at me a little cross the way a little snake could, then it got the joke and laughed along with me. I felt the snake’s body cool so I warmed up my arm it was laying on. It was surprised to feel the warmth and asked why I did that.
“In my physical world, animals of the kind you appear as can’t warm up on their own. The wet will cool you off and make you uncomfortable. I share my warmth to counter that. It wouldn’t be right to allow you to be discomforted when a little thing from me would put that to right.”
The Ribbon Snake snuggled against my arm in loose loops. “Not many that talk to me do things like this. I’m sorry I tried to fake being your friend when I first saw you. And I’m glad you came back to visit me.”
“I didn’t think you were trying to be mean that day, that’s why I let you go in peace. And I’m glad we’re having this day also. It’s a nice day.”
We rested side by side in silence for a few hours longer. I felt time pass in the physical world and knew it was time for me to go. The Ribbon Snake wet itself in the cold saucer of tea and rubbed intensely against my arm again. “Now I will smell of tea and smell of you. If only for a few hours. I will smell this, and be happy. And I will remember the smells and be happy again.”
The Ribbon Snake crawled up my arm to drape across my shoulders while I broke down the tent, table, and chairs. I walked down the path to the starting point while it snuggled contentedly against me. “You have snake scales on your back. Is that from the real snake you were expecting?”
“Something like that.”
“I am glad we are nice to each other, or the snake that placed these here would be very upset with me. And I don’t want to make that snake upset.”
“That’s my job.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. We’re here. I have to go.” The Ribbon Snake slithered off of me gently to the ground.
“Will you come visit me again?”
“I can’t guarantee I will, or even if I can. But I am glad to have visited you today.”
“Me too. Thank you. Good bye.” The Ribbon Snake didn’t want for a response from me, but turned and buried itself under the vivid colored world.
I turned, took a step forward, and a step to the side, and left the floating mountains behind.
~~~
Hot desert. Too damn hot desert. I change form to a snake and start to burrow under the sands. Where ever I am, it can wait until nightfall before I start exploring. I don’t have all my wits about me, and remaining human is dangerous here.
Before I am completely covered, a hand grabs my tail and pulls me out. “<Aha! I thought I saw one! A fine gift from the earth you are!>” I understand the language but don’t recognize it. I hiss and squirm to try and fall away, but the grip is strong. “<Wait. You’re no ordinary snake. You have the scent of magics on you.>” I taste the heat of flame, but no smoke. A dread starts to sink in.
The hand shakes me viciously and I find myself being shaken out of snake form back into a human form. Weaver Ravencloaked dangles dazed from the tall figure’s hand. While I struggle to find my breath, the figure looses kirs. “<Black feather cloak! If this is her…>” Oh fuck, now what?
I’m shaken violently again, this time to unconsciousness. I wake up being carried into a tent. My hands and feet are bound with magic and physical ties. There are shouts from the one carrying me and the scurrying of others. I’m laid on pillows arranged on the floor and I can feel other peering over me. I lay limp and pretend to be unconscious still.
“<Prepare a messenger! I need to send word to [unintelligible].>”
“<A human? Here? Not many can cross the divide now. Where did you find this one?>” “<Wandering the desert if you can believe. Careful, she has magic. She was turned into a snake when I found her.>”
“<These aren’t buzzard feathers. This cloak is worth more than the human wearing it. But I can’t find the clasp to undo it!>” “<If that is who I think it is, you won’t. But you will wake her up. Stop that.>” “<She’s just a human.>” “<Look closer at her. You’ll see why she’s bound.>” “<How did that get around her heart!>”
“<She smells funny and familiar. Do I know her?>” “<How do you know that’s a female?>” “<See the lumps on her chest?>” “<Are they like camels then?>”
I absorb the magic of the ties into myself. It was more reinforcement of the ropes than anything specific against me. While one of the speakers was pulling me back and forth looking for the clasp to undo the cloak, I took advantage of the movement to loosen the ropes until they only appeared to be holding me.
“<Where is that messenger! I must get word to [unintelligible] and quickly!>” “<The youth is coming!>”
“If you need a courier immediately, I do function as such. However, your message won’t arrive bound and muted.” I released my hands and feet, stretched as if waking from a long nap, and in a brazen act, reclined on the pillows with my hands behind my head. “And no, human breasts do not function like camel humps. And they are not a reliable indicator of gender, either.”
The interior of the tent came to a sudden silent stop. I looked around and counted four djinn in dark brown clothing, head scarves, and veils pulled away from bronze toned faces. By all rights, I had a right to be pissed and swinging. But I wasn’t in a fighting mood. I shielded my eyes instead.
The action sparked the curiosity I was relying on. “<Why did you cover your eyes? Do you find us unsightly?>”
“You are unveiled, I arrived uninvited, and I am not of your kind. Isn’t that crossing a line?” I heard a series of “<Oh!>” and a scrambling of cloth as the four djinn veiled their faces.
“<You are my captive, and you are concerned about etiquette?>” The largest of the djinn, the one I recognize had caught me in the desert, loomed over me in a threatening stance.
“I was your captive. And I have enough trouble with your kind already. I think the last thing either one of us should do is take a misunderstanding and blow it up into a war, eh? You had a chance to restrain me, and you blew it. I now have a chance to hand you your ass on a silver platter, and I am intentionally letting it go. The desert is no place for grudges. If you insist on sending your boy to brag that you have caught me, go ahead. I won’t be here when your lord’s men arrive to collect me.”
“<Then why are you still here if you can leave anytime?>” “For the same reason your three men on the other side of this tent wall haven’t attacked me. We are both restrained by curiosity.”
The djinni’s eyes widened and brightened. “<Humans have little worth here. I thought you a quick sale at the slave market. Then I saw the feathers of your cloak, and wondered if you were the one I heard about. When I shook you into your human self completely, I could feel the [artifact] around your heart. There is a bounty on your head, and on what you carry.>”
I did not move from my reclined position. But I did note the many varied ways I could exit the tent, and this realm. If the djinn blocked one avenue, I had several others. I will not be caught like I was at the cafe again.
“Your messenger already left. You were saying that to buy time, to make me think no one knew I was here.” The djinni said nothing, but the eyes narrowed answering my question.
“Then I will be quick with my questions. I expect your lord’s men to arrive ready to destroy this compound into nothingness. Answer me truthfully and there will be no quarrel between us. The colors of your clothing… do they mark tribal affiliations?”
The question surprised kir. “<Yes.>”
“And the adornments on the headscarves and veils as well? Or is that family specific?” “<Usually family. It depends on what is available.>”
“Gold for gold’s sake is not valuable. But what can be fashioned from gold is?” “<Gold is heavy string to us. Why these questions?>”
“You’ll figure it out as I ask. Gemstones are more valued than gold?” “<Yes. No. Not all. Certain ones are.>”
“Opal.” The djinni said nothing. “Not the flashy opals that humans like. The plain ‘potch’ opals, because of what they can be used for.” The djinni’s face was nearly completely veiled but I could tell the jaw was firmly set. “One of those is worth… a life?”
The djinni revealed a large kukri and held it over kir head. I did not move from my position nor took a defensive stance. “You bound me. You brought me into your tents as a captive. I have proven myself beyond your ken and forgiven this offense. And now you attack me for seeking knowledge? Is this the hospitality I can expect from the djinn? Are the stories about your kind true after all?”
Ke paused, shame crossing kir eyes. Ke put the blade away and called for drinks. Ke sat down across from me and unveiled kirself. “No messenger was ever sent. The three men I sensed were the reflections of the other three occupants of the tent. You were hoping to scare me off when it was clear I had the upper hand.”
“<What you have… around your heart…>”
“Marks me as dangerous to the djinn.” Ke nodded after I completed kir sentence. “If you knew how it came to be there, you would find me insane for remaining in arm’s reach of you. Is there really a bounty on my head for this?”
Ke nodded again.
“Then when word gets out that I was here, you and yours may be at risk for not capturing me. A few more questions, I ask of you. Then I shall leave in peace.”
A brass pot was brought in, filled with that thick syrupy coffee that I now associate with the djinn. A thimble size cup was poured for me, and a thimble size cup was poured for my ‘host’. We saluted each other in silence and took a hospitable sip.
“Why do you veil yourselves?”
“<The men of dirt, your kind, finds our appearance beautiful to the point of insanity. The faces of your kind differ between men and women to your eyes. The faces of my kind don’t. They have tried to capture us to serve as servants to them. In ancient times, the more powerful sorcerers would try to collect stables of us. We stopped showing our faces to your kind.>”
“Then I have been in error. I thought the djinn were without gender because I could not tell male from female.”
“<Does it matter if you speak to a male or a female? Does that change my actions towards you or how you have responded? Gender does not bind us as it does you. Is the knowledge of my gender a prize?>”
Ouch. Guilty. “It is. And if it is that precious, then I shall not ask. If you want me to know, if it is important that I know, then you will tell me when you will.”
We sipped the thick coffee in silence more. “<Why did you come here, to the desert?>”
Questions for questions. That’s fair. “I thought I saw someone I knew, and the trail led me here. I was in error, I think.” A thought… “The potch opals… ” Ke winced again. “Possession of them is restricted to certain classes?” Ke nodded.
“So the djinni that started this whole mess with me, ke had a headchain with 5 potch opals and wore them openly. Kir veil was adorned with flashing opals, the type that humans value, and sapphires. That is a person of high standing?”
“<Was. He was exiled for…>” Ke caught kirself and let the statement trail off. “<Even his name is forbidden to speak. And you are the last person to see him alive. There are many that would want to speak to you about this.>”
I finished the coffee. “I should be leaving. The longer I stay, the more likely I’ll attract other unwanted attention. But first, I need to do something.” I left the tent and looked about the compound’s grounds. I was looking for plain desert sand. The djinni followed me in a mix of curiosity and fear. Finding the sand I wanted, I called forth my fire and played with the sand until I made a crude desert glass. From the glass, I fashioned a small squat jar with a fitting lid. In the cold night air, it didn’t take long for it to cool.
I presented the milky green glass jar to the djinni. “A token, then. Let our parting be in peace and with no recrimination. I know it’s crude and plain and probably of no value. But let it be a witness between us.”
The djinni took the jar willingly and nodded. “If any come to me and ask of you, I shall say you avoided my traps and escaped into the desert. But first, they shall have to ask. Good travels. And may you find the one you had sought.”
I refashioned my cloak to resemble the traveling clothes I have seen the djinn wear. Less likely to be looked at closely if I look like I belong here. My ravenfeathers became a hood, and I pulled my shadows around me as headcovering and veil. When I looked at the djinni, ke smiled and nodded in approval.
I left kir at kir compound, holding the milky green glass jar close. I entered the dark night of the desert and was swallowed up by it entirely.
~~~
I am Devouring.
I am Destruction.
I am Death.
I am the Unmaking, the Unwinding, the Undoing that breaks all without mercy or regard for station or wealth.
I am coming for you.
I am Ravenous.
I am Reaping.
I am Rending.
I am the Silence that cuts off the scream, the Searing that freezes the souls of men, the Sword that can never be turned away.
I am coming for you.
The fool and the blind say my husband’s purity stopped my dance before. The wise and the seeing know why I stopped. It was not his time.
I am the maw of the black hole.
I am the leech of entropy.
I am the end of everything.
I am coming for you.
~~~
“<You’re looking for who?>”
“He gave his name as ‘Prince’.” Well, kinda, sorta, not really, but I’mma test your ass before I say any further.
“<And you are sure he is a djinni? There are many tribes among the djinn.>”
“But only a few are willing to speak to humans.”
“<True.>”
“I know the name he gave me is a false one. But his ego is such that he might sling it around among his kin as well.”
“<Ah, then you say his name means ‘Prince’.>”
“Yes.”
“<Hmm. Do you know what tribe?>”
“Something to do with the desert.”
“<Then he is either an exile using you to build his ego, or a careless but real prince. The desert tribes do not put up with such foolishness for long. Any that brags of such a title will be forced to provide proof. The greater the brag, the greater the proof. A braggart of a prince will be reduced to a pauper in a night. A real prince will appear as that pauper.>”
“Among the tribes, he will. But to a human, would he?”
The djinni fingered the cuffs of his robe in thought. “<Good question. Tell me, Human, what would you gain by finding this djinni? Why do you risk wandering through our lands?>”
“I have questions, that only he can answer. Once he appeared to me as a great lord. At the time I believed the assumption. But I have been disabused of many a lie. And I need to know the truth of this one as well.”
“<And if he is a great lord?>”
“Then I leave.”
“<And if he isn’t?>”
“Then I leave.”
“<You’ll leave empty handed.>”
“The same as I arrived.”
The traveling merchant grabbed my hands and inspected them closely. I was not bound, I could flee. “<You can manipulate fire.>”, he said without emotion. “<Can you fuel a forge?>”
“I could. What do you need made?”
“<How bad do you want to find him?>”
“What do you need made by my human hands, that an ifrit could not make?”
The merchant glanced up at me with danger in his eyes. “<What do you know of glass?>”
“The desert sand here makes a milky green glass, that almost looks like…” I let my voice trail off. His eyes glint with flashes of greed.
“<Show me.>”
I reached down and grabbed a handful of desert sand, but made sure he saw I grabbed his footprint. The action made him shift nervously for a second before recovering his stoic stance. I squeezed the sand in the crucible of my fist, flicking off impurities and rejecting unwanted streaks of color. What I allowed to remain I fashioned into a lumpy bauble the size of a small marble. It was milky green with a hint of blue. It looked like potch opal at first sight, but gave away its glassy nature on close inspection. I handed it to the djinni merchant, still unnaturally warm.
He inspected it closely, holding it up to the light of the sun at first, then whispering revealing magics over it.
“It looks like, but will not function like… ” The smile on his face told me I gave away my ignorance.
“<This is something else. Something… worth the name of a prince. Stay close to me, human. If anyone asks, you are my servant. And tell no one else of what you can do.>” He reaches into his bags and pulls out a striped headdress and black veil with iron weights. “<And use this to cover your head with. It marks you as my property.>”
I took the fabric but did not change. “As long as you understand I am not your property.”
He looked up from his study of the desert glass. His leonine eyes regarded me coolly, as if weighing gains and costs. “<Yes. You are not my property. But humans are slaves where we are going. Either you pretend to me my slave, or you wind up the slave of others.>” As I pull my headdress off, I make sure my hair is the normal nappy afro. There is no hint of feathers on me. “<And what is your name, anyway. What shall I call you?>”
“Trouble.”
“Trouble? You mean like <’troublesome’>?” I nodded. “<Yes, yes, that will fit. Humans are known to be troublesome slaves. Your name is not a name and that will work to your advantage. First… ‘Trouble’… we are going to stop by a particular set of dunes. I want to see what glass you can make with the sand there. And then we shall see what comes.>”
My Lord of Fire. Are you really such, or are you just another wisp of wishful thinking? I’m tired of waiting for things to happen to me. I don’t have much time left. If you will not come to me, I will come to you.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.