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.
~~~
The whistle of wind over wing was felt, never heard. Cutting between realms and kingdoms, I was the shadow of flight, the fledged messenger. “Find him. Find him that cannot be found. Find him. Find him that cannot be grasped. Find him. Find him that isn’t. Find him, and deliver this message.”
I knew precisely who I was set out to find. And I knew where to find him. The scenery melted away unnoticed. I only noted that jumping between worlds took only the flash of thought, but always felt like a solar lifetime.
I arrived at the familiar entrance. While I do know the recipient, I am not myself at the moment. I bear the words of another, and decorum demands I forgo any social advantages I normally would have. My raven body elongates, the feathers remaking themselves around me into the martial uniform of the Courier.
I knock at the entrance, and wait. The door opens but I still remain without. When I do not move, low chuckles flow from within. “See. Weaver is running messages again. She will not enter until I grant her permission.” More chuckles follow the familiar voice. “Enter!”
I entered, seeing nothing except him that I sought. The message burned brightly in my mind, but he was not alone. I could not speak.
“She doesn’t see me?”
“You are not the one she seeks. You only register enough to prevent her from speaking. This must be a private message.” He laughed while his guest chuckled. “Speak, Weaver! Tell me your message!”
I spoke in bright glyphs that formed from the sound of my voice and hung clear before my face. The message delivered, I was still bound. He bid me speak it again. I did as ordered, the lines obscuring my sight. “Thank you, no reply. Well done.”
I came to my senses at once. My friend had an amused smirk on his face, but said nothing. My clothes shifted into another martial style, but one that is a fashion preference than a statement of rank. Realizing fully where I was, I should have been immediately at ease.
But he was not alone.
And it was slowly dawning on me what his guest appeared as.
The prudent and safest action to take would be to politely excuse myself, turn so not to see his guest, and depart the premises at once.
Since when have I been prudent or safe about anything?
I slowly turned my head to my left, towards his guest. It was my intention to apologize for my interruption, and make a formal acknowledgement of the guest’s existence followed by a graceful exit. My eyes caught strange filaments of inky black spikes that writhed and pulsated with ripples of even blacker fur.
Something squishy, touched the left side of my face. Squishy, and covered in an uncountable number of small, barely perceptible suckers. When it touched my face, my human instinct was to flee at great speed and damn decorum all to hell. This wasn’t “normal”. This wasn’t human. This was something that lurked under sewer grates and in abandoned houses. This was a predator.
It touched my face and I stopped turning towards it at the touch. My sight lingered on the barbed, fuzzy, mobile spikes. The sucker covered appendage gently nudged my face to the right. Understanding without words soaked through my skin from the touch. You’re not ready to see me. Not like this. I accepted both words and gesture without comment and turned back to my very amused friend.
“You know nightmares intrigue me.”, I said in a half-apology. He nodded. “And your guest is triggering so many fear instincts in me, I am drawn to it.” He nods again, and chuckles. “However, I shall take your guest’s advice and hold my curiosity in check this time. After all, I have interrupted your private meeting. My message is delivered. My lingering is unwarranted.” I bowed in formal punctuation. “Do convey my apologies to your guest, if I have insulted kir in any way.”
My peripheral vision registered a movement off to my left, along with a series of splorches that I understood was the low chuckling I had heard earlier. No longer in Courier mode, I could not understand any further of the guest’s sounds. I smiled and bowed again in formal display towards my friend. I closed my eyes, turned my head to the left, and nodded in a formal farewell to his guest. I turned to my right, opened my eyes, and exited the way I came in.
As soon as I stepped clear of the threshold, the door closed behind me and the entire edifice disappeared. I felt the night was still young, so I abandoned myself to the interrealm winds. I took a step forward, then a step to the side, stepping between and away.
~~~
Horatio is back. His trinket hangs heavy on my hip. I’m told he is ready for service.
Am I ready to be his master?
So much has happened. I’m still relearning who and what I am.
We shall see.
~~~
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sez who.”
“I say.”
“Who are you? What are you accusing me of? And what gives you the right to do so?”
“Never mind who I am. It’s what you are pretending to be. All this talk of unquenchable fire, the burn scars of your arm. What do you know of burning? You claim something you have never experienced.”
“I claim self-powered flight as well, will you challenge me on that also?”
“That is pure fancy. The burns have no basis in reality, but you carry them as if they happened to your flesh. You are an offense to real burn victims.”
“The burn scars are representative of the pains I have borne. Would you like to feel them?”
“Burn, bitch. I want to see you burn.”
“As you wish.” ~floomph~
“That’s not burning! That’s a visual trick! You don’t know the pain of being burnt alive!”
“I don’t? Are you sure? Here, give me your hand. Allow me to share my experiences with you! I’ll even be nice and share physical experiences only!”
“No! I don’t have to prove myself! Let go! Ahh! Shit! You burn! You’re burning me? Let me go! Oh Goddess, help me! LET ME GO!”
“You say I don’t know pain. You say I haven’t felt my skin being roasted off my back. You mock my pain by challenging the only sensation I have not felt in the Waking! Here, asshole, share my pains that I can never forget! Share the freezing of my hands, feet, and ankles! Share shattered bones in my feet and ankle! Share the cracked ribs and the cracked skull! Share a heart that suddenly stopped and was dying because it forgot how to beat! Share the migraines that made one hospital consider inducing a coma so I would not feel anymore! You mock me because of fire? I AM FIRE! YOU CHALLENGE MY EXISTENCE? BURN YOU BASTARD! BURN IN MY LIFE! NOT ALL FIRE IS PLASMA! NOT ALL PYRES ARE DRY! YOU WANT FIRE? HERE YOU SUNAVABITCH! I AM FIRE! RECEIVE ME!”
Ashes.
And even those burn into nothingness in my hands.
The blaze that I am illuminates the darkness such that I am the sun rising in a foreign land. My tears are molten metal. I can touch nothing, lest it incinerate from the glare of my attention. But my flames are being tempered, held back from running away in a self-consuming reaction. Two dark arms reach around me from behind. My Shadow, my Nagual is holding me back from self-destruction.
I smile and hold her arms.
“So, when are you going to accept these for what they are?” Snake Dancer is standing before me. My flames swirl around her regalia without harm. She is gently shaking the one solid form the flames have granted me.
“When I get proof.”
“You are fire made flesh, and you demand proof?”
“Yea. External proof.”
“You’re a stubborn bitch, you know.”
“As stubborn as a river in flood.”
~~~
I started writing this out in full, and realized the important parts were getting hidden by the details. So, let’s try this summarizing thing again, eh?
It’s at least a decade from now. I have a little curio shop where strange things can be found, or commissioned. I’m not a “licensed and professional” tarot reader, but I’m known to play poker with tarot cards.
A woman has come looking for me. She’s heard rumors of what I can do, and wants me to perform a working on her behalf. After the usual bullshittery of refuting her oblique references, she finally comes out and says what she wants.
“I want you to break me.”
“Huh?”
“I’m stuck in life. I’m burdened with a dozen roles that I do not want to play. But every time I try to clear myself, I wind up getting more roles dumped on me. I want you to break them off me. I want you to break me free.”
“And you think magic can do that?”
“I don’t care what name you give it. But I know you can do that.”
“You don’t know what you are asking. Go home and ask your socially acceptable woo-woo person to give you a tarot reading, take a martini and a lover, and forget about me by morning.”
“I did. He said his cards said I would live a nice long life as a powerful, independent woman as the Queen of Swords.”
“And this is bad?”
“I know enough about tarot cards to know the Queen of Swords is not the way I want to live out my life. Cold. Sterile. Surrounded by the fading legacy of others. You know who else lived a long life as a powerful, independent woman that could also be described as the Queen of Swords? The Wicked Stepmother. I want a different fate.”
“What else did he say?”
“He told me where to find you. He said you would refuse me once I made it clear what I wanted. He said you could do what I want. He also said I would regret it. He said I should be content with what I have, because if you comply, I will lose it all.”
“He’s right. Go home, lady. You don’t know what you’re asking, and you’re still sober.”
“I have twenty thousand dollars on me, right now, cash.”
“I can’t guarentee you will get what you want. Hell, I don’t even think you know what you want.”
“I’m not supposed to haggle on things like this, right? Is the price too low? I have lots of money, might as well spend it on something that matters.”
“This isn’t about money. Much. I’m not one of your socialite flufferites that will give you a lecture on positive thinking, have you hold a quartz or two, and sing lullabies in reverse. If you get buyer’s remorse, that’s enough money to imprison me on a fraud charge. You’re talking about shattering your life, your bonds to the people you know, and most likely your mental state as well.”
“I’m not gullible. I’ve looked you up. I found your old blog posts about your own shattering, and how you’ve come through it. And I know it started with something you called the Bitter Glass. That’s what I want. I want the Bitter Glass. And I have twenty thousand dollars right here to reserve me the next pour.”
She was resolute. The more I tried to talk her out of it, the more she insisted. I pointed out my insanity that I never have fully recovered from. She countered that I was in charge of my life now, and not beholden to anyone else. I pointed out that her family will likely send her to a mental hospital should she have a mental collapse. She said she has a private doctor that is already prepared. I pointed out it will also uncover her own sins, that she will have to face herself. She said that’s what she wanted.
“You don’t even know who poured the Bitter Glass. Are you sure you want to place yourself in his grasp?”
“I will rather take a chance at freedom and be broken by it, than remain the comfortable slave of others. I do believe you said something similar.”
I said nothing, but started taking out tarot decks and placing them on the table, face up. “I haven’t said yes, I haven’t said no. We’re going to play with cards today. A Celtic Cross reading first, for you. To find out what you are not telling me, and where you are really at. If that passes my inspection, then we shall see if I will be the one that helps you. And even then, the one that holds the Bitter Flask may refuse to pour one for you. So keep your money in your purse. Nothing is set in motion yet.”
She rejected all my decks but two. The Bosch Tarot, and the Universal Waite. She lifted her hand to choose and…
beepbeepbeepbeep … beepbeepbeepbeep
The alarm sounds unusually loud. It shatters the dream and jolts me into the Waking. I snark a bit elsewhere about leaving twenty grand behind, but am unable to return to the dream.
Good thing I bought rum today. I think it’s going to be put to use soon.
~~~
I blame you (all of you) for last night’s dream. I was counting my tarot decks but every time I laid the decks out to be counted, I had an extra deck!
Universal Waite, Trimmed Thoth, Small Thoth, Legacy of the Divine, Marseilles Convos, Dollar Majors, Bosch, wait, what’s this?
No, that’s not right. ~sweeps decks off the bed and counts them out again as she lays them out~ ~extra unknown deck~
Exasperated, I yell out loud: “Excuse me, Madam, but I thought you were going to steal decks! Not drop one off like the Tarot Fairy!”
From the laptop screen (which was showing my Tumblr dash), a new message arrived for me which simply said: “NOT IT! But let me know what it is when you find out!”
After counting and recounting a few more times, I realized what the extra deck could be. I have a copy of the Miniature Tarot, that I had purchased partly as a gag, partly so Dter could have a deck of her own to play with. She uses it as a story prompter when she’s stuck writing/drawing her stories. I never used it for legitimate readings because she was worried about “juju exposure”, so I always forgot about it when counting decks.
So I pull out the cutest little deck ever and toss it on the bed. Once more I start counting. Universal, Trimmed Thoth, Miniature, Thoth, Legacy, Convos, Dollar, Bosch… ~expletives~ Unknown deck.
The Unknown Deck is still in its box, and is wrapped tightly in dark grey silk. I tried to unwrap it, but the silk was a klein surface. No matter how many folds I pulled away, there were more folds covering the box. I could feel the cardboard under the silk, and the deck was able to tap gently against the sides. But the cardboard was not embossed, so I had no distinguishing features.
The Unknown Deck also changed size when I tried to compare it against my known decks. It was twice the size of the Miniature, but when I compared it against my trimmed Standard Thoth, it was larger than the Standard deck. It was shorter than the Legacy but taller than the Universal. I was not going to get any hints to what it is other than it is counted as a tarot deck.
Dear Universe,
My Wallet and my Budget are in agreement with me. NO. Not going there. Not chasing another new deck. I’m chalking this dream up to all the fun on my dash about the Tarot Fairy and everyone’s fun teasing her and each other about it. Knock the shit off.
Sincerely,
Me.
~~~
“Who are you, whose breath chills mine? Who are you, that rattles my joints? Who are you, that blights the ground on which you stand? Who are you and what the fuck do you want with me?”
A half-fleshed hand reaches down from the skeletal mount. The voice was the wind in winter branches, but I understood it anyway. “I offer, an experience. How long has it been since you ran on the hunt? How long has it been since you chased down prey? I am on my way to join others for the call has been sounded, and I felt the predator in your soul cry out to join. Take my hand. Come with me. Let us hunt on this cold night.”
I didn’t take the offered hand. I shivered from the unnatural chill that surrounded it. “Who is the prey?”
“Someone worth hunting.”
“Who leads the hunt?”
“Someone worth following.”
Yes, I did feel bloodlust rising in my depths. It’s been a long time since I willfully gave in to it. It will be a while more.
“Then tell me later how your hunt fared. I will not be joining you this night.”
The hand retreated, the rider offended in my refusal. “Are you sure? True, you know not of me and mine, but I can hear your predator soul. You will come to no harm, for you will run as one of us.”
“I asked three times for your identify. A fourth time for clarification. And you have answered none. You hide your form in scraps of flesh that aren’t even yours, but your ever hungry nature is evident to me. No. I will not ride with you. I will not risk becoming one of you. I have waited long, I can wait longer.”
The rider pulled sharply on kir steed’s half-rotted reins. Saying nothing, ke left me chattering in the midst of the darkness. Shivering, I fell to one knee, and found myself still in my room, still warm, still whole.
I think it’s time to batten down the hatches.
~~~
I’m not saying I partook in any great epic battles where I emerged battered yet victorious earning respectable nods from those gritty veterans while the remnants of my opponents dripped off my weapons.
Nope. Not saying that.
Just saying when the Svartalf talks you into helping him forge a weapon (or two), don’t be surprised he also has you field-testing it.
~~~
A martial minded Anon asked: “What was the weapon(s) your Svartalf forged last night? And how did the testing work out?”
I was about to launch into a detailed description of it because I thought for sure there was no such physical weapon because the blade was too thin, and too long, and sharpened on the wrong side. I thought. But I hit up Google anyways and wouldn’t you know it, there is such a thing!
A war scythe.
I didn’t personally test that one as it wasn’t made for me and only the one it was forged for may test it. However, the war scythe’s wielder was very happy with it, and gleefully demonstrated how it can cleave a human body through skull, spine, and ribcage in one blow.
The other weapon was “accidentally” forged during the intentional forging of the war scythe, and is best kept unwritten. Accidentally, my left ass cheek! He knew what he was doing when he had me help him keep the forge fired up. Someone that detailed and meticulous doesn’t get “caught” shorthanded or without tools. Certainly not in his own forge!
Unspoken question: “So if you knew you were being played, why did you help?” Because my friend asked me to help, and I trust him not to put me in (too much) danger.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.