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.
~~~
Hmm. I’m in formal attire, but not as Courier. It hints at a martial attitude, but I have no markings of loyalty. And all my scars are showing. I can’t hide them. Not here.
Not in this dark hall.
My cap in hand, I am being escorted to a throne room, where I have been summoned to. But I don’t know by what name I have been called. My nerves are knotted. I feel like I just got called into the principal’s office.
I’ve never been here in person. But instinctually I know it. I know it very well. It reminds me of a dialogue I had while waking.
Oh.
Oh shit.
The four shadow forms that escorted me down the hall pull aside when we enter the grand throne room. I continue on down the deep red carpet alone. I stop a respectable distance from the solitary throne and kneel with bowed head.
To human eyes, there appeared to be only two solid figures present. Me, in my black martial attire, and the softly glowing white gowned, white queen seated on the impossibly black throne. To human eyes, that is.
But one of my eyes is dead. And I see I am surrounded by the dead, some bodied, some not. Behind the throne is a dark shadow suggesting the shape of a muscled human male. I know he could assume a more physical form if he willed. Technically, this is his realm after all. But he has granted a portion of it to his queen, and respects the boundary made by the gifting. One of his hands grips the throne. The other rests gently on the queen’s shoulder. I see it shift slightly.
Her red lips, the color of blood… or of pomegranates, I can not tell… smile slightly in a brief gesture. I was meant to see it.
The Bright Queen in the Dark Hall does nothing by happenstance or by accident.
“Weaver. Twice I have imposed on you, and twice you have complied. Thank you.” Her voice is soft. I could easily imagine her reading poetry on a late summer day, sighing at the flowers and the impending harvest. But it is as soft as polished steel. No matter how gentle the touch, I must not forget who she really is.
I nod my head in acknowledgement. This is not the time to be a brazen fool and defy authority figures. “My Lady, if I had known it was you requesting me, I would not have answered so disrespectfully. Forgive me, my Lady, I thought I was dealing with mortals.”
My head is still bowed, but I could feel her smile again. “If you had known it was me, you would not have assisted at all. Your disbelief is well known.” Ouch. Guilty. “Your answer was not filled with disrespect. You answered prudently. Your trials are also well known.” I nodded at her words.
“Look at me, Weaver. Speak the name you know me by. The name you would not write earlier.” I looked up at her by her command, but I was confused. I know her by two names, and both I have written. But then I realized, there is a difference between speaking a name commonly, and speaking a name powerfully.
I spoke her name, the name I know her by, and my awareness fell under her hand, where there fell a shiny red drop… of blood or pomegranates, I do not know.
~~~
“You wanted proof I’m not a Time Lord?” Closing my eyes for five hot second and opening them to the sight of a supernatural cobra towering over you with a spread hood in a threat display is… par for the course.
“Yea, Snake. I want proof.”, I teased. I’m smiling. He’s smiling. Well, as best a snake can smile. There’s a subtle hint between a full threat display and a snake showing sarcasm. The hood muscles are not completely tensed.
“I don’t hate the Daleks. I pity them. Viewers may make light of the appearance of them, but the society that drove them into creation, and their own cognitive dissonance of the vast chasm between their ideals and their reality, makes me pity them. Not hate them. But then again, I’m not a Time Lord.”
“Are you taking a liking to the series?”
“It intrigues me.”
“Am I going to run into Daleks over yonder now?”
“Nope. Because they already have an analogue in your Waking.”
“How so?”
“The Daleks want a perfect universe, where everything is ordered according to their perfect standards. But that can never be achieved, even if they did manage to wipe out every other species. Because even at their core, they are still mortal flesh. They are imperfect. Their drive to extinguish all others is masking their own disgust for their reality. Sound familiar?”
“It might.” For some reason the discussion made me uncomfortable. “So what about the other popular Bad Guys? The Weeping Angels and the Vashta Nerada?”
Snake chuckled. “I do believe you already described the Vashta Nerada. As far as the Weeping Angels are concerned, you’ve already encountered your personal emanation of one.”
“Let me guess. My reflection in the mirror.”
“No. Your Shadow.”
Snake loosens his grip on me, allowing me to slide back to the Waking where my coffee is still in my hands. Maybe twenty seconds has passed. His words echo deeply.
~~~
“Doesn’t Blood mean anything to you?!”
I looked up at the girl, at the letters she held. I took them and held them up between us. With elaborate gestures, I set them aflame. I made sure she saw them burned to ash in my hands. I took her hand while she stood shocked, and poured the ashes into her palm.
“Our father banished me for not having enough. It means nothing. I owe him, and you, nothing. Whatever lies he has told you, are yours to deal with. Not mine.” I wiped my hand on her sleeve and turned to walk away.
“Monster!” People were gathered around us, trying and failing to remain hidden. She had an audience and she was going to use it. “He said you would be cold, but to reject your own kin? You soulless monster!”
“The blind can not understand the sighted.”
I left the market before she could answer. Turning the corner, I saw the Envoy waiting for me. “You, of all people, know fucking better.”, I lowly growled at him.
“Thank you for not killing her.” He formally nodded his sentiment.
I walked past him holding my anger to myself. “This time. Next time she crosses my path, I will break her. You know what that clan is capable of. I will not be snared.
“Very well.”
Very well, indeed.
~~~
I have tried every night since “Among Friends, Part 1”, to go back there and see things through. And every night, I have been diverted elsewhere. Just realized why. The Elder, after being told of the covenant-breaker in his midst, dismissed me and told me to resume my duties until summoned. And that is just what I’m doing. He has to deal with this inside the boundaries of his covenant oath, or he will make things worse. It is unpleasant for me to watch, because if his opponent is willing to break some rules, he is willing to break more. It is going to get worse before it gets better.
Also figured out how my ‘kin’ was able to find me. (She had the presence that accompanies active participants.) My father (and extended family) knows nothing of what I do. So how did she find me? Bloodlines. She followed our father’s blood that we share.
The family ‘tradition’ treats outsiders as prey. Judging by her age and request, she is in the process of being initiated into the tradition. Her trial is to bring me under the family’s thumb, one way or another. She didn’t expect me to be an active participant in this realm. I suspect she thought it would be a simple task of summoning and binding my (sleeping) spirit. Surprise, bitch.
The letter she brought with her was an appeal from someone claiming to be an ancestral spirit asking me to take the girl under my wing as my apprentice. The letter I had received earlier was much the same, but called me out for having the same father and rejecting my filial duty. The final straw was her bragging around that corner of town (read: the City) that she was related to me and thus whatever honor and respect I had earned, she was due, because Blood, yo.
No.
Well, now I’m a cranky bitch. I’m trying to behave in the City, but I will not be hunted. Out of respect to the Envoy (and all the trouble I’ve stirred up already), I walked away this time.
Guess I gotta go fuck up another altar, and serve up some roast pig. Again.
~~~
He teased me about my bad habit of speaking in absolutes, and pointed out each time I do so, I get my ego and my ass handed to me in neat little slices. I pointed out the long term trend of types of divinities I’ve visited and wondered about the implications. He pointed out my (lack of) vocation. After all, I’m not a psychopomp, a spirit-speaker, an initiate in any mystery, a bruja, a witch, a priestess, or even a devotee. I’m just me, he said.
“And just who are you?”, he asked with unusual flourish.
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m Weaver, you know that.”
“Weaver, eh? Weaver the what?”
“Weaver the Storyteller.” I gave him a smiling side-eye. “The price of my name is my name. You know that. What are you alluding to? Which game am I about to be deployed in, this time?”
He said nothing for a long time. So long, the silence made me uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, the words were muffled by his raised drink. If not for the absolute silence, I would have missed it.
“Garak, is that you?”
~~~
The Ocean dreams. It dreamed I was once again in its embrace. It dreamed I dreamed and shared its dreams with me.
The Ocean dreams. It dreams of what dreamt it into being. It dreamed of how the Sky came to be and why the two are so far apart and yet so similar.
The Ocean dreams. It dreams of [the Dreamer] that dreamt the Ocean that dreamt the currents that dreamt the life that dreamt the humans that dreamt me that dreamt [the Dreamer]. I was lost to the dream.
The Ocean dreams, and I dream with it.
~~ ~~ ~~
The liquid warmth jarred me. Coffee spilled on my chest. “Careful. You don’t have your coordination back yet. You were quite deep. Let me hold it. Just sip.” It takes a while to recognize the white robed, white turbaned figure. The cuff of the sleeve has a spreading coffee stain. He is holding a wide shallow bowl to my lips.
I look at him dimly. My face furrows. The movement reminds me I am solid flesh. I wrinkle my mouth and remember speech. “Snake.” He smiles and holds the bowl to me again.
“The Ocean.” I grunted instead of nodding. “Your eyes were open but your body was completely limp. I could smell seawater on your breath. I know you are eager to catch up with your Lord of Earth, but you said a graveyard is involved?” I nodded. “I think you should wait until these visits to the Ocean’s dreams subside.”
I took the bowl and emptied it. Folding it up into a mug, I asked for more coffee. I didn’t realize I was crying until he wiped a tear from my face. He asked if the Ocean’s dreams were that intense.
“No.”, I lied. “It’s just I finally figured out why Ravenwoman needs my skull after I die and I can’t remember!”, I said truthfully.
Snake looked at me without comment. Only after I finished the mug of coffee did he speak. “It will take time to decompress. No wandering tonight.” He sat back at the table and picked up a tablet. It was strange to me to see him with technology. The dissonance made my head hurt so I laid back down and went to deeper sleep.
~~~
Laughter. Deep hearty laughter accompanied by the scent of rich cigars and blackstrap molasses.
“What’s so damn funny?”, I growl at the thickening shadows. My tone is menacing, but I can’t help but genuinely smile. I think I know what the laughter is about, and if I’m right, it’s funny as hell to me too.
“Nuttin’, girl. Not a damn thing.” He doesn’t show himself, but Rummer John is nearby. I feel a faint touch go across my neck. Can’t tell if cloth, finger, or blade, all are soft at that light a pressure.
“Bullshit.” I pout, and he laughs again.
“Still don’t know what you are, girl?”
“I’m whatever I need to be at the time I need to be it. But officially, I’m just a storyteller.” I’m matching mirth for mirth with him now. “Why the interest, Rummer John? Why so concerned for someone that’s not yours?”
“Oh ho! You’ve woken up, it seems!” I hear a hint of surprise, a hint of warning, and can feel the dangerous flashes in his eyes. “No, girl, you ain’t one of mine. You’re the Ravens’ toy, not mine. But you’re a fine drinking companion just the same.” He doesn’t step out of the shadows, but I can hear him circling me. His voice ever moving clockwise. I am not afraid.
“I got a question, oh Restless One… [that person on Tumblr], why did you hide her from me until now?”
“I didn’t.”
“Bullshit. Okay… fine… you didn’t hide her from me, you just kept my attention elsewhere! Same difference!”
He laughs again, and in the laughter stops moving. In my left ear he speaks plainly. “If you had encountered her when you wished you had, you would not be where you are now. Tell me, Little Bundle of Questions, why was the seal scoured from the terrace?”
“Because if I continued along a formal ceremonial magician path, I would have caged myself. It served a purpose, and I had outgrown it.” I thought a bit more. “But her path is closed off to me, as it was even then. I understand why the licensing and restrictions now. I would have gotten nowhere.”
“No, girl. You would have gotten somewhere, but it would not be where you are now.” The voice lowered to a whisper. “And considering all that has happened, you would not be sitting there, writing furiously to capture my words. Understand?”
I didn’t answer him, but I understood. It’s been a tumultuous year. I came very close to jumping off the overpass several times. He’s right. I was not stable enough to deal with the extra information overload that would have come from it.
His voice suddenly jumps from left to right. “Don’t tell me, you’re considering formally making yourself one of mine! The Ravens may have a problem with the conflict of interest that would arise, you know.” Oh the stinkeye I threw in his voice’s general direction! Oh, the laughter that reflected back to me!
“My turn for a question, dear Game Player… Why did I resist identifying with the Ravens for so long?”
“Eh? That’s easy. Because everyone and their damn invented cousin did so! Ravens are ooky-spooky and mysterious and cloaked in the darkness of an unfeeling world!” Hearing Rummer John mock existential angst made me giggle to the point of tears. “You’ve never been one to do things like everyone else. To identify with ravens is a low-hanging fruit for you. Which is why that bitch [*] had to burn your ego out of your ass. You thought you were better than mere ravens!”
I winced. He had the truth of it and he skewered me with it. Point to Rummer John. I left the bait on the floor between us and resumed my verbal sparring. “Guess what else is low-hanging fruit, oh Mystery Man. Guess what has become another stereotype that everyone assumes when they see my skin color and hear that I’m of a woo-woo persuasion. If I’m going to take up that symbolism, Your Lordship, I want to earn it. And all you have to do is tell me it’s not mine, and I’ll drop it. Because even though I’m not yours, those not knowing will assume I am. So what I do will reflect on you, and for some strange damn reason, I respect you enough to not want to reflect badly on you.”
The silence thickened along with the cigar smoke. I worried I had overstepped my bounds (again) with my words.
“You have your own painted face. Use that. But all else, you have earned.” He spoke with strange respect. “But take up the hat with care. For the hat will call me onto you. And as much as you have sat beside me, you have never carried me.” His voice dropped an octave and became coldly severe. “And when I arrive at a place, I never leave empty handed.” I swallowed hard at the implications and formally bowed in acceptance.
The silence felt like curing mortar, holding us together yet still apart. When he spoke at last, his voice was far away and receding. “You still have time, girl. You would not have this, if you didn’t.”
The room cleared. My coffee mug is empty. I don’t remember finishing it off. Well then, guess I better start my day.
* “That bitch” = Ravenwoman. When I first began going (read: being yanked) to the Boneyard, I had a lot of cruft to be purged from me before I could be of use. Most of it was emotional issues. I was thrown into the fires of the Boneyard many, many times by Ravenwoman until I understood the purpose and the process.
~~~
Sometimes it feels like my Dreamworld scars are present on my Wakingworld face. I have mostly the same physical presence, so the marks easily fit on this warm flesh.
Snake’s scales are cool on my back. Refreshing, even. That doesn’t bother me. It’s a welcome reminder that he’s back. (Don’t tell him I missed him.)
It’s my dead eye that has me musing. Over yonder, unless I will it hidden, the right side of my face is burnt black and permanently scarred. The right eye is a globe of matte white. Dead and dry. But I can see out of it, I just don’t see the expected visual range. Over yonder, that is.
All this time, I thought that unusual. The circumstances by which the scarring appeared varied until I accepted that my Dreamworld self was indeed altered. (written and posted elsewhere) Until I accepted that I was different from what I believed I was. And since then, I wondered why was it so easy to accept once I did.
Once upon a time, when I was a kid and ignorant of the horrors that human inflict on each other… I received my first lesson in the depths of humane evil. I was targeted and intentionally run over by a bicyclist going about 30mph. My head hit the asphalt twice from bouncing, I’m told. I don’t remember. It is how my skull was cracked, and the neural wound incurred that would lead to so much physical shit later in life.
I had forgotten overhearing the doctor conferring with my parents about my unusual recovery. 3 days in a catatonic state, and then I woke up like nothing happened. He was concerned about my vision, however. He was worried that I would lose the vision in my right eye. That never happened, however, and as I grew up, the vision in my right eye was always better than the vision in my left. In the Waking world, that is.
It’s strange… to be able to trace this thing to that happenstance.
Though, knowing what I know now… I am almost insanely curious to know what happened to me Over Yonder for those three days I wasn’t Here. I don’t remember a single thing of it. I heard a commotion behind me on the path home from school, then I was being asking which ice cream did I want and I was in a hospital with a tube in my hand.
Is that when my Dreamworld body received the burn scars? Did I go to the Boneyard then? Is that why it felt so familiar when I was thrown there as an adult? Is that when I started Courier duty… running messages between…
~mental full stop~
~sudden realization~
~sound of deep laughter echoing in the distance~
Oh.
I have always been Weaver.
#dream
#Not really a dream but needs to be filed as such.
#Now I’m curious about the week I was in a coma during my military service.
#The day they were going to transfer me to a long term care facility I woke up.
#They said I was one score point away from being declared brain dead.
#I don’t remember what happened during that week either.
#But I bet that’s where my martial regalia over yonder came from.
#I need a drink.
~~~
“Not enough metal for an axe head. Dammit.” I shoved the blank back into the forge. Snake entered carefully.
“When did we get a forge in here?”
“While you were off on your mission. Have any contacts for weapon quality steel?”
“Maybe.” Snake was in naga form when I turned around. A gold trimmed sash hung about his waist. Gold jewelry adorned his human upper half. I noted his scales as a naga are a different color than before his mission and absence. “How adept have you become behind my back?”
“Depends on the material. Jewelry metals I can do. Weapons and armor with normal metals I can do, but fail on pre-enchanted metals. Gemstones are a case by case basis.” I smiled at his conspiratorial grin. “Why?”
“You may have a source, but you’ll have to prove yourself first. How much weapon grade steel you get will depend on how well you prove yourself adept.”
“A test. I’ll take it. Where and when?”
The naga lord turned to leave the smithing room. Over his shoulder, Snake said, “Here. Tonight. I’ll get the materials while I’m at the temple.” I bowed in sincere acknowledgement. He paused, gave me a severe glare before breaking into chuckles, and left.
I closed down the smithy and placed the hot blank on the stone for later and left for the Waking.
~~~
In summary:
- By the time I made it to the lair, I was in no condition to do a damn thing.
- Certain earworms while waking are certain folks calling me over.
- Other folks have a sudden interest in the Ocean’s Separation Myth.
- ~searing light~
- What is a offhand scribble for you is a torment for me. I hope someone treats your anxieties the way you’ve treated mine. After all, everyone else can do it, why not you, right? Don’t think me easy prey because I am so public. You won’t be the first devoured by their own hubris.
~~~
Among Friends, Part 1.1
“You do not look well, Friend. Are you ill?” I look up from my knitting to find I am back in the Friend community. I don’t remember falling asleep. I am confused.
The wife of the Elder has laid her hand over mine. She is watching me intently. We are alone in a room of her house.
“I’m… distracted. I have obligations waiting for me when my year of service is over, and I am concerned.” She nods in understanding. “Tell me, and forgive my ignorance… what month is it?”
She looks at me oddly for a moment, then smiles sadly. “You have been preoccupied since… It is July, Friend. It has only been two weeks since your… discovery.”
Two weeks. My mind races to predict all that has happened in those two weeks. “Are things easing or worsening to you?”
She tilts her head in thought. “It has not eased, this heavy air. But it has not worsened either. I have been watching the blackberry bush for signs. The ground around it does not feel right, but the bush is still healthy. I do not know if that is important, or not.”
Good, she has learned to pay attention. “It is very important, Madam. And a good observation to make. You will see quickly if anything in the… situation… has changed, and without using skills forbidden to you. I may lose myself in my work again. If it is important that I return at once, pull me into a private room and call me by the name of ‘Weaver Oathbound’.”
“Such an odd name… is it a sorcerous one? I can not use it if it is.” She was a mix of curiosity and fear.
“No, Madam. It is just my name, but one that I will respond to at once if you, or your husband, were to call me by it.”
“I understand. How intense is your work, that even here where there are so few demands of you, you are still in demand!”
“Indeed, Madam. Indeed.”
I allowed my hands to resume knitting, and pulled myself away so I may face what I have to finish in the Waking.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.