Dark Tales From Dandelion

1

Fiona lay next to the broken and blown off front door of the Manor House. Her ears were ringing, her head was pounding and her hair was on fire. Her hair … was on fire! She patted it frantically with her hands, then rolled her head around in the dirt until the fire was out. She touched her hand to her throat; it felt bruised and sore. Fiona winced a little at the memory of what had caused that soreness.

Fiona spun slowly around in a circle to look at her surroundings. The Manor House was gone; in its place was a pile of burning wreckage spread throughout the clearing. She saw Pip’s side table where he had usually sat and smoked Sly Grass, entering Svargaloka to do Fishings. That was where he had Fished the card for Leslie that had told them they needed the Eraser. Fiona watched the table burn. She thought of her own failed Fishings—all three of them …. The three cards! Her clothes! The Eraser!

She looked to the Lone Shadow Tree where she had been hanged by that despicable creature. It had not been burned down. As she looked at the shadow tree on the little hill though, she noticed the Shadow Wood was on fire and … was it closer than before? She ran, still naked, as fast as she could through the field of stargazers and burning pieces of the house, when she remembered something—her wings. As she ran, she tried to focus her attention on the spots in her back that had itched and tickled so many times until the wings had come out. She wasn’t sure if she had enough time to get to the tree by foot; whether the trees were actually closing in or not, the fire definitely was and it was moving fast; the Lone Shadow Tree was still half a mile from where she was. She focused on the wings and used the panic of the moment to help her push them out. They shot out of her body to either side. She flapped them once, twice, three times, then took to the air. It was disorienting being in the sky after spending five and a half years without even remembering she could fly. How could she ever have given this up? To spare herself and her daughter some pain. Her daughter. As she flew she grew angry again.

She needed the cards. She knew how to do a Fishing now, but she wondered if she’d be able to do one on herself. ‘You get in the way you get out,’ That’s what Vermilion had said. She was high enough now to glide for a bit, so she stopped flapping her wings. The way she had gotten out before had been using the mantrum ‘I need a door’; so did that mean she needed to use that to get in as well? She pulled her wings in as she aimed herself at the ground head first in a dive to the Lone Shadow Tree. As she neared the ground, she extended her wings to slow her descent. She flapped them a few times, then touched her feet to the ground. She retracted them, which was an odd feeling; she was still getting used to the forgotten concept of bones leaving and then reentering her body. The fang lay there on the ground next to her old clothes, bag, and the wedding dress she had taken off before rampaging through the meadow. She felt at the shoulder that had been stabbed by the tooth—it was sore, though the flame had cauterized the wound.

She picked up the sesnickie tooth. She should not have been able to attune the vibrations with that inside of her, yet she had, and so powerfully that she had destroyed her last home and—she presumed—everyone that had been inside of it. She bit back the pain of it. I have to get to Prudance. She made it her mantrum. She picked up her old clothes off the ground and pulled three cards out of her shirt pocket. I have to get to Prudance. The pants and shirt were unusable now considering Leere had ripped them off of her. She looked over at the wedding dress. She wondered if Carter had showed the creature where it had been. I have to get to Prudance. She walked over to the white wedding dress and slid back into it. She wasn’t sure how just now, but she knew that if she, no—when she saw Leere and Carter again, she wanted to be wearing the dress they’d thought to kill her in. That reminded her of something. Maybe she could show up in something better than her dress. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to come as someone else—someone they both knew of? She went to her bag and moved the books around, the wax, the pens …. She dumped the contents of the bag out. It was gone. The last phase mask she had brought from the Manor House was gone. The Leere phase mask. What had happened to it? Perhaps it had fallen out at some point? She did not haver much time to contemplate this, however. I have to get to Prudance. She took her seven-shooter and holster off of her ruined thrummer belt, put it in her bag, then gathered the contents of her bag back up from the ground and slung the bag over her shoulder.

And now … to Svargaloka. But then, she saw the trees. They were coming closer. It was a terrifying sight. The trees like black tar, closing in with heads of raging red fire. They were only about the length of a sesnickie away, eighteen feet, and moving faster than she thought she had time for. Time did move differently in Svargaloka, but it wasn’t guaranteed to move the way you wanted it to. She needed to get to the Eraser before it was lost to the fire and shadow. Fiona panicked. How to get it out? How? There was no time to get it before the shadow trees got to her. She thought of how she could use the vibrations to do it, but nothing came to her. No floating mantrums now, just terror at the fear of being surrounded by those angry trees. She started frantically digging with the sesnickie tooth. Three chunks of dirt … but it was deeper, much deeper. She looked up at the approaching blackness. She began to hyperventilate, remembering being surrounded by the phase-shifters before she’d stumbled into the meadow of stargazer lilies. She’d accidentally pounded one of the chunks back in. Shit, shit, SHIT!

Here they came. She stabbed down one time as hard as she could into the earth, cutting her left hand open in the process. Blood poured out of her. She covered her face with her hands as the flaming shadow trees overtook her and surrounded her. I’m completely fucked, she thought. She sat there like that, expecting to die, for at least a whole tik before looking up and around herself. She was surrounded by blackness from the trees, but there was a ring of light around her. The flames from the trees licked the sides of this barrier, but would not pass. The trees also tried to get into the ring of light with their roots and branches. They were not happy about something, and Fiona assumed it was her fault. Probably the fire. The trees thrashed at the ring of light, but could not penetrate it. Fiona picked up the sesnickie tooth and started her digging again. She could hear something in the stillness of her protected circle: tik-tik tik-tik.

She dug for what felt like cycles, sweating through her white dress, until the tooth bumped into something hard. She dug the Eraser out by hand. The shiny, smooth, rectangular black shape had been mostly covered by a canvas wrapping with little ties made from twine. Did Pohsib do all this? She wondered as she opened the canvas to see the thing in its entirety. Tik-tik it sang in her head. She picked it up without the canvas as a barrier and immediately felt a mantrum come to her, beckoning her to say it and use the thing. I really should see what it does at least. She could feel the mantrum on her lips when another one came to them instead: I have to get to Prudance. She quickly moved the canvas over the top of the Eraser and breathed heavily in and out. I have to be careful with this, she told herself. No wonder Leslie acted the way he did when he went into it.

She tied the twine to be sure the Eraser couldn’t touch her skin, then started her mantrum. I need a door. I need a door. I need a door.

She sat there like this for two cycles, repeating the mantrum. She remembered Quint’s ear turning into a door. That’s how she’d gotten out her first time in Svargaloka with him. Of course she’d been there before her amnesia and had used similar methods to get out. Same way I get out … how exactly had I gotten out? What am I missing? The Jakeereeds … The mantrum … Jakeereeds listen to the stories of your mind. They take them and … it’s like your stories are just that—stories. Because the Jakeereeds are entertained by your stories. It makes all of those worries trivial, to have someone else look at them, experience them, interpreting them as stories; as myths!

That was it. Her worries—were myths. Shadows playing upon the wall of her brain, begging to be considered reality by her. If she saw that they were shadows, that she was a character in a play … that these were all stories …. She started the mantrum again. It was like entering into a different reality where all was still. Like all the trees that were burning around her were just waiting for her to realize that she was just dreaming after all and look at the truth that was playing in real time all around her. The blackness of the tree was not terrifying, it was inviting and natural. The flames were part of it, because they were there, so why shouldn’t they be? She continued the mantrum, and as she did, she stepped outside of the protective barrier of light. She walked through the darkness of the Shadow Wood. The light from the burning tops of the trees did not touch the black of the understory. Fiona walked and the branches and roots parted before her, guiding her to where she needed to go. She could not see with her eyes, but she knew her destination nonetheless. The trees whispered their approbation with their rustling. I need a door.

The front door of the Manor House lay flat on the ground. I need a door. She approached. She knew that she would not be able to return here, but the sense of loss at that notion was but another story. She wasn’t in that story, she was in the story currently, and this protected her from the desolation of selling herself a story and buying it. All worry was just another story. If she wanted to get immersed in a story some other time, she would, and probably without knowing it time and time again, but for now she needed only truth. She turned the knob of the front door, opened it into the ground and jumped in. The door closed behind her along with a chapter of her life where she had believed herself to be a very important character in a story that to her had been very real.

2

For a moment, the world shifted and Fiona was disoriented. Gravity changed from pressing down above her to pressing at her from the side. Once she was through the door, it closed. She was standing by the giant mushroom in Svargaloka. She looked behind her at the stem of the mushroom, but the door was no longer there; there was no trace that a door had ever been there. She held the Eraser in her bloodied left hand and the sesnickie tooth with her three cards in her right. She looked from card to card. Tree of the Lost, Door of Three Traps, Fang Bites Itself. Well, here goes, she thought. She looked at the Tree of the Lost card and accessed the RIGHT UNDERSTANDING of Svargaloka.; she blinked, looked at the card again, then closed her eyes. She rode the mind grooves. It was overwhelming the amount of information and potentials that infiltrated her psyche. The first sighting of the Lone Shadow Tree and the kinship she felt with it, the marriage to Carter beneath its shadow branches, and Leere hanging her from the tree in the wedding dress she had married Carter in. Void! Nothing came to her. It was working, but the potentials were just too … vague.

She Fished the next card. The Door Of Three Traps. She rode the mind grooves. She was again shown the marriage, the hanging, but the last image(the third trap, she assumed) was new: a tower much like the Tower of Tones, yet not quite as high or wide, with a pathway that wrapped around the entirety of its slopes all the way to the top. The tower stood in the middle of a dead land that bordered the sea. The only life she could see were little bushes with strange fruit growing from their brittle branches. This is where she needed to go, and she had to go to the fractal fields in Svargaloka to get there. Regardless of the card telling her it was a trap, she knew Prudance would be there.

Fang Bites Itself was next. This one took her down a path of making the sesnickie tooth into a blade. The mantrum played like a song in her head down this mind groove. The purpose of the blade was to end Leere’s tyranny. Though she wasn’t sure exactly how the blade would do this, she knew that it would. She now had the why, and the where, but the how and what eluded her. She still didn’t completely understand what to do at the fractal fields. One thing at a time, she thought, and set the cards aside underneath the weight of the Eraser.

Her hand still bled from digging with the tooth, and the blood stained parts of its white surface. She sang the mantrum as it had been sung in the mind grooves of the last card she’d Fished.

Shang-wu-shin

Shaaaaang-wuuuu-shiiiin

She repeated it, holding out the syllables every other time in a melancholic, ethereal melody. As she sang, she pictured what the blade was to look like using the picture of it she had seen in the mind groove. It was a curved blade with one sharp edge. The hand guard was in the shape of a fang, coming to a point that faced the same direction as the blade’s edge. The handle had a cloth-like grip made completely out of the bone. The song knitted very thin pieces of the bone together to make little ropes that were intertwined all over the handle for this effect. The ropes were pulled tight for a firm grip. The wide part of the fang was separated from the rest and made into a sheath with two slits in one side for the purpose of sliding a belt through to hold at the waist. After she was done, she picked up the fang blade and did a few Ken-Phae movements she’d learned from Putnam. She then sheathed the sword and laid it down on the ground next to the Eraser. The Eraser seemed to move slightly as she set the blade near it, but she wrote this off as a trick of the imagination.

Fiona realized she’d lost her belt in all of the commotion of being hanged and burning her house away. She pulled the blade free again and cut off three large strips from her wedding dress. Despite the unnecessary embroidery and the purpose of the dress being limited to the events of one day, the material was rather tough. She tangled these three together in a braid then slid the sheath through it. She tied the makeshift belt around her waist. Perfect. As she looked down, though she also realized her hair was going to get in the way and she couldn’t afford that. She cut off another strip and tied it around her head, pushing the hair back to sit behind her ears. She picked up the three cards and put them in her headband. She turned to look west of the Daisy Forest and saw the fractal fields. Her wings shot out. It felt more natural this time. Then she remembered her bag. Her books were in the bag. Her bullets, her seven-shooter. They were like old stories, old comfortable, bulky stories. Did she want too carry them with her? She reached a hand out to grab the green canvas bag and felt the weight of it by tugging on the strap. She had been a Drake—half Drake, but she could outshoot almost all of the full Drake men and women her age. She had worn her guns when she had no use for them in social situations. The guns were her. The books were her escape and her gateway to the larger world outside of the Manor House while she’d been there for five and a half years. She was something else now though, someone else—someone who didn’t need the bulk of these stories to carry her through her life. She’d left those behind at the Manor House door when she’d come to Svargaloka.

She picked up the Eraser in its canvas covering and took to the sky.

3

“I’ve never been in the keep. Only to a few parts of your city,” Pip sent as they snaked their tale end through the doorway and the opening closed behind. The corridor was made of the same slick black rock as the keep’s exterior walls, and was lit dimly by thrumming lamps on the walls that gave off a moonlight blue glow.

“It takes some getting used to,” Vermilion said, turning left into a wider corridor with ceilings high above. Wooden benches bordered the hall, and there were red-robed figures studying tomes and drinking beverages from white stone cups. There were Deva-tar-tas, Rahjim toads of western Arak-Sharak, Shaedae hares of eastern Arak-Sharak, Cri, humans, and—to Pip’s great enjoyment—sesnickie, all wearing red robes to fit their bodies. None of them so much as turned their heads to look at Pip and their two friends as they passed down the dimly lit corridor. Pip saw something move high above in their peripherals. Red-robed figures walked across invisible platforms in the upper reaches of the hall, entering from—and then back into—the black wall, seeming to walk right through it. All read tomes and drank from the white cups.

“What in the Void?” Quint said.

“It takes some getting used to,” Vermilion repeated.

“Are all of the walls like this?” Pip asked. “Could we—”

“The answer to that lies with the readers’ minds. Good luck getting them to lift their heads though,” Vermilion said. “They speak with us once a year to tell what they have found in the tomes. We are allowed a certain amount of questions after the Three Days of Speaking, then they become silent again. They never answer questions about the way they walk through thew walls or in the air.”

“Reminds me of the Clevers,” Quint said. “I suppose that’s why I haven’t been commissioned to build any here.”

Vermilion shrugged. “Could be it. Drakes have also learned to be somewhat self-reliant, considering out past, though we have developed a symbiotic relationship with the sesnickie. If we needed the space that a Clever would provide, we would simply build more warehouses—seek other land on which to expand.”

“Yes, but you don’t know how much space is within those walls. It could have been a thrumming similar to my Clevers.”

Vermilion raised his eyebrows in a noncommittal gesture.

“The kitchens are just past the Readers’ hallway, and the dungeons are on the other side of that,” Vermilion said, “we will see how far we get. Hopefully they are allowing visitors.”

After walking through the kitchens, catching only glimpses of the great dining hall to the right through Drake-sized doorways—it was a much larger dining room than Pip was used to seeing, with green and white embroidered carpet, Drake-sized leather chairs and couches, and hundreds of tables that looked like they were made of the same stone as Ravencroft Keep—they turned left into a corridor with a descending staircase and golden handrails. It was narrow, and at first glance, Pip wasn’t sure their body would fit through, but, thank the Void, it did; the sesnickie just had to stretch all eighteen feet of themself throughout, leaving no room for anyone to walk beside them.

At the bottom of the stair was a black door with a faded copper knob. Vermilion opened the door and Pip followed him through into a large, dirty chamber with high ceilings. In the middle was a square shaped chasm bordered by rails that went down as far as Pip could see. To either side of Pip, there were more of the square pits, and along the walls were cells holding prisoners. Drakes patrolled the ledges with seven-shooters drawn, walking in long, slow strides.

“This is where Rakshasas are kept, then,” Quint said. It was. Not a question and his tone was almost reverent, though Pip also heard a note of something else. Fear maybe?

“Yes,” Vermilion confirmed.

“But the Little Tower is where you … harvest them, correct? How do you get them there? It’s on the complete opposite side of the city,” Pip sent.

“We are under the ground right now. This dungeon reaches far into Dandelion’s earth, and on the bottom level of the dungeon there is a path that runs between the Little Tower and here.”

Quint was covering his mouth and looking out at the cells pensively with a furrowed brow. “I’ve always wondered if it were something like this. Or if you just slaughtered them as they came. But one thing is puzzling me … how do you get around the vibrations?” He asked.

“Can’t you feel it?” Pip sent. “To me, it smells … dead.”

Quint’s eyes opened wide and his hand moved to clutch a fistful of his wild hair as if this would keep him from falling over.

“These aren’t ordinary jail cells,” Vermilion said.

“I’ve never felt so … “

“Numb?” The sesnickie offered. Quint nodded his head, a lost look in his eyes.

“The guards are compensated. They make more than a Rocco out tin the field could ever dream of making, even though we make commission and the pay is good. These Drakes are Roccos, but they are paid to feel dead inside rather than for killing Rakshasas,” Vermilion said. “No amount of money could make me do this for twelve hours a night.”

“Twelve?” Quint exclaimed.

Vermilion nodded. Somewhere distant, past the numbing death that colored everything here, Pip felt a deep sadness for the Drakes who were trading happiness for Worth, along with a confusion about whether there was another way for the Rakshasas; then Pip thought of the dead sesnickie bodies spelling ‘Loose String’ in the cellar of Fang Tower and this sentiment was quickly extinguished. I’ll tie your Loose Strings for you very soon, you ugly , goat-headed motherfucker, Pip thought.

Vermilion hailed one of the guards and started walking toward her.

“Violet,” Vermilion said in greeting.

The Drake woman smiled and put away her seven-shooters, she was just a few inches shorter than Vermilion and she wore similar clothing—boots, brown leather pants and jacket and a circle-brimmed hat made of the same material. She wore the red badge on the right breast of her jacket, signifying that she was Rocco class three.

“Big sister of the land—” Quint said, going down to his knees to begin the formal greeting of an outsider to the Drake people, but Vermilion reached down and picked him up with one hand, pulling him to his feet. The female Drake stared at Quint blankly.

“Sorry about him,” Vermilion said. “First time.”

Violet shrugged and smiled tightly with thin eyebrows raised. “Welcome back, Vermilion. Do you have any new admittance?” she said, looking at the sesnickie and Quint.

“No, not today. My friend here was wondering if we could speak with the Thrast patients from the Tower of—”

“They are not allowed visitors at this time. I am sorry,” Violet said.

“And why is that?” Quint asked.

“They brought a tower down upon the heads of Drakes and sesnickie alike, as well as many thrummers. More information is required before a verdict can be reached.”

“Where are they?”

“That is restricted information. Vermilion, what is wrong with your friend here?”

What’s wrong is your attitude, thought Pip, though I suppose you can’t be blamed, working with this … deadness for twelve hours.

“I apologize, Violet. As I said, it’s his first time. We will go speak with the Elder Drakes. Thank you,” Vermilion said. The nod that Violet gave before she turned her blank stare back to her duties could have been a flick to ward away a fly.

“That’s all? We can’t try to persuade her a little?” Quint whispered to Vermilion.

“You’d sooner persuade a rock to be water. Violet is standoffish on her says off. Down her … anyways, we need to request access from the Elders,” Vermilion said. “We’ll have to go see them regardless.”

“Would they let us use their store of sesnickie fangs you think? We have to arm the phase-shifters if they are to fight with us, and since ours are all gone … ” Pip sent.

Vermilion shrugged, moving back through the door to the stairway that would lead up to the kitchens. “We can certainly try, and hope they will help us fight as well.”

Pip moved to follow behind Vermilion , but noticed out of the corner of their eye that Quint wasn’t moving—his eyes were locked on Violet.

“If you try anything—I will leave you here. I’m not sure why you need to see these Thrast patients so desperately, but there are more important matters to attend to,” Pip sent only to Quint, then followed behind Vermilion up the black steps. The sesnickie felt some relief at the patter of footsteps they heard trailing behind.

4

Almost a cycle after first taking flight, Fiona was flying high above the fractal fields, the pale green stones shimmering and changing slightly in shape as she looked. She saw nothing of significance in the fractals, but after circling some particularly nasty looking ones, she saw a cat floating in the sky about six feet above her.

“Hello, Fiona,” the black and grey cat drawled.

Fiona started. Her gut reaction was to fly away, but after jerking away she decided the cat needed saving so she flew toward it.

“No need, no need. You may join me if you like. Vermilion would want me to help you. Vermilion is a very close friend of mine, you see, and let’s just say he gave me … a gift,” said the cat.

Fiona looked at the cat skeptically, one eyebrow raised. “Wh-who are you? How do you know Vermilion?” she said.

“My apologies. I am Daisy. Pleasure to meet you Fiona. Vermilion and I go way back. As I said, he gave me a gift. So I am here to help you find your way,” Daisy said.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never come across a talking cat before, and—“

“I am more than a simple talking cat, girl. Heed your tongue. I am the ward of the forest. Where I come from, ‘cat’ is not even a word. Would you like it if I called you ‘bat’ because of your wings?”

“Well, I just—“

“—As I thought. I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. I am Daisy. You are Fiona. We both know Vermilion. You know fuck all of what you’re doing, yes?”

“I wouldn’t say—“

“—Good. Again, I’m glad we understand each other. You’re quite the perceptive one. Now … where is it you need to go, sweet?” Daisy said. Fiona was sure the cat would be giving her the most pleasant of condescending smiles if she were human and her face could make such expressions. She didn’t like this cat. There was something … off about her. But Fiona didn’t have much of a choice because Fiona did know fuck all of what she was doing. She flew up to Daisy and lowered herself down to where the cat sat and touched an invisible platform beneath her feet. She hesitantly let the rest of her weight be supported by the platform and retracted her wings.

“I am sorry dear—about the bat comment. Your wings are beautiful,” Daisy said. “I’m just a bit touchy about how people refer to me.” Fiona had a feeling that Daisy looked for things to be touchy about; maybe she even put things in place for people to trip over, like a misleading outer form so people might refer to her as a Cat even though she was really something else apparently. It was a bit annoying, honestly. There was always somebody offended about something. Why couldn’t they just let people live and fucking talk without getting their precious feelings—

“—Oh, it has little to do with that. You see—We’ve been called cats by those who kicked us, starved us, made us their slaves. So there is a lot of history behind the word ‘cat’ for me. I apologize if that is inconvenient for you,” Daisy said.

“How did you … n-never mind. I didn’t know Daisy, I’m sorry,” Fiona said.

“I don’t expect those around me to just stop having thoughts. It’s really nothing, Fiona. Where were you going?”

“I don’t know exactly what it’s called or where it is. It’s a dead land with only cracked shrubs for vegetation. There is a large tower, not quite so big as the Tower of Tones, but just as black and daunting,” Fiona said.

“You mean to go to the Tower of Truth? That’s interesting. It lies close to the fresh water sea in the Dead Lands. Last I knew, it was abandoned. Those fractals look like a mouthful of dead teeth, black and green rather than white and green like most others. Would you like me to take you to them?” Daisy said.

“Yes. Please. Vermilion’s daughter Prudance is there I believe,” said Fiona.

“If I’m wrong, I’m terribly sorry, Fiona, but last I knew she was your daughter as well?”

“Yes, she is. Any help you could give would be greatly appreciated.”

Daisy looked Fiona over for almost a tik and then nodded her head.

“This way,” she said musically, and started walking seemingly through the air. Fiona followed close behind for fear she might step off the path if she didn’t. After about ten tiks they stood above a group of fractals that looked as Daisy had described: dark green and black as opposed to the surrounding pale green. They looked sick. “Here we are. The fractals leading to the Dead Lands of Dandelion. It’s vast, so you’ll want to pick the right one, sweet. Do you have an image in your mind that is solid? Something you can use as a touchstone? You’ll need it to get to the correct endo.”

“En-what?”

“No time, no time. The correct potential reality.“

“So you’re saying I could pick the wrong one and end up in a different potential reality?” Fiona asked.

“And you’d never even know it! Exhilarating isn’t it?”

“Titillating,” Fiona said.

“You’ll want the one that looks the most itself. It will stay true to its own form the easiest and the others around it will try and copy it, but fail in some way, sometimes only slightly. It’s not a decision to make lightly. When you’ve found it, touch it and get your image of the tower fixed in that oval shaped skull of yours and it will take you there,” Daisy said. Fiona looked down. She could end up somewhere completely different and never know it. The idea was terrifying to her.

She looked back to Daisy, but the cat was gone. Fiona extended her wings to ready herself for a descent when the invisible ground beneath her collapsed and she fell toward the ground. Her heart jumped and she screamed, but caught the air with her wings in time to save herself from being impaled by jagged fractals.

Once she was on the ground, she retracted her wings and began walking through the rows of tainted fractals. The ones on the outside near the lighter fractals were obviously not the fractals she needed because they could hardly stand still, constantly shifting with the influence of the fractals nearest them, copying their shapes. She moved toward the fractals that moved more slowly, and found there were many of these. They shifted like slugs reaching out with their heads to navigate across cobbles.

She continued moving until she found a patch that seemed to sit still, though if she looked hard enough, even these moved—if a bit slowly. She’d narrowed it down to two that were identical as far as she could tell; she looked at every inch of them: There was a small knob on the bottom lefthand side that made her think of a wart; twelve tiny spots on the back like little bubbles, around the base was a ring of crusted solid paste like someone had used an adhesive to get the fractal to stay in the ground. On top were fifteen little ridges like a lizard’s spines. Arms came out of the side disproportionately, one higher than the other reaching towards the sky while the other just reached outward in the direction of the other fractals. There were more bubbles on the front surface; sixty-three tiny little protrusions. She could see no difference between the two which tickled the anxiety bomb in her stomach, making some bile come up in her throat. She swallowed the bile and searched the two for some kind of difference. Again, she found nothing to go on. She looked up to the sky to see if there was a self-righteous cat-god that could help her with her problem, but Daisy was long gone.

She thought of Prudance. She didn’t have much time to sit and ponder which one of these stones was the right one, but if she chose wrong she could end up with the wrong Prudance so it wouldn’t matter much. She felt the knob again—it was the same on both still. She counted the twelve bumps on the back, the sixty-three on front, the lizard spines, the arms. Everything the same.

“UGH!” she yelled in frustration. She walked away to try and fake the fractals out. When she returned, nothing had changed. She collapsed against one of them and let a few angry sobs out. Her back was against the thing’s sixty-three bubbles. Fucking Void-forsaken bumps. She rubbed her back frustratedly across the things, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position. Then she felt it: the tiniest little prodding of a new bump into her back. She reacted immediately, keeping a finger on the newfound bump while counting the bumps on the other fractal. Sixty-four … which means … She stepped to the left where the other fractal stood and as she put her hands on either side of it, envisioned the tower, the dead landscape, the sea raging behind in large black chops, the dried up bushes speckled throughout, and most of all: the feeling of absolute dread that the whole scene incited within her. She focused a bit more on how things would look from her perspective on the ground. In her mind she imagined herself at the base of the Tower of Truth looking up, sesnickie blade drawn in her right hand, the Eraser in her left in its canvas covering. The image in her mind became reality and there she stood at the base of the Tower of Truth in the Dead Lands, holding her blade in her hand, even though she had never physically drawn the sword from its sheath.

Fiona saw a bush up ahead. This was not like the ones she had seen in her Fishing; it had the dried, poky branches and strange red fruit, but it had leaves. The leaves were beautiful—bright orange and red. If I were a bit farther away I’m sure I’d think it was on fire, she thought. She suddenly remembered her hunger and her belly growled. She knew she had to eat it anyway, so she picked one of the red fruits off of the bush and took a bite.

5

Pip and Quint followed behind Vermilion back the way they’d come—through the Readers’ hallway. Vermilion stayed straight , passing the dimly lit corridor where they’d entered Ravencroft Keep.

The hall opened into a brightly lit atrium with several large white stairways branching off in different directions. There was a fountain in-between two of the larger stairs about twenty paces across sandstone floor. The sandstone almost looked gold like the Great Drake Halo, and it brightened Pip’s mood after being in the deadened pit of the dungeons.

“If we follow these steps to the top, we could get there by tomorrow afternoon. It will be morning soon though, and the Elders will be up and about. I’d prefer to hasten the process. The statue in the fountain with the naked woman has a Moving scent attached to it. If you smell it, Pip, you’ll find it will give you the vibrations of the Elders’ council chamber,” Vermilion said.

Pip felt elated at the prospect and rushed to the statue, partly out of relief that they wouldn’t have to climb the entirety of this enormous keep, and partly because it was an exciting idea. A Moving scent? That stayed attached to an object?

The fountain was oval-shaped and long, about twice the length of Pip. As they approached, they saw the statue of the woman who wore no clothing but a gun belt strapped to her waist. She stood in the middle of the fountain, both guns raised in the air with a determined look upon her face. Both feet stood on the back of a man with bat-like wings who had a bullet hole in the back of his head where water squirted out. A bit awful, but I suppose this is beautiful to them, Pip thought. Worse things were done to the Drakes during their enslavement.

Pip stepped over the ledge surrounding the fountain, expecting shallow water, and fell face-first into a pool that reached far below. The water was clear, and Pip could see many creatures swimming in the depths. They pulled the front half of their body out and shook off.

“Could’ve warned me, you Voidless shit,” Pip sent to Vermilion along with a mind smile, before slithering into the water to swim to the statue.

No time for dawdling. We must be quick, Pip thought. The temptation to keep swimming was great, but Fiona and Prudance—and Dandelion, for that matter—were all more important presently.

Pip put their front claws on the base of the statue. It was a little unnerving too put their own feet on the depiction of the dead Rakshasa, but Pip climbed up nonetheless. They looked into the face of the woman standing upon the Rakshasa; there was pain there behind the cruelty—whoever sculpted it had been very skilled indeed.

The sesnickie breathed in. It was the same experience they had when taking in the scent of the Loose Strings. Colors swirled in Pip’s head, and they could feel, see, and smell the vibrations of a waiting area on the uppermost floor of Ravencroft Keep. They Moved back across the room to speed things up.

“I have it. If you’ll both climb on, please,” Pip sent.

The waiting area was in a long hallway. Chairs lined the walls. The large black doors that led to the Elders’ council hall were closed and were as tall as Pip was long. A Drake stood behind a wraparound oak desk to their right. Many Drakes and humans waited in the chairs, while sesnickie waited on all fours wherever there was room for their long bodies.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the desk asked.

“Um, yes. We’d like to see the Elders,” Quint said. “As soon as possible if you please. Are they in?”

“You’ll have to get in line. The end is … “ she pointed with a pen, squinting her eyes until she saw the end, far down the hallway to a point Pip could not see, “there!” she said, smiling diplomatically. “I’m sure you understand we’ve been quite busy with all of the refugees.”

“Janie, we really have to get in there. It’s about Prudance. And a lot of other things, but—”

She raised a hand up to stop him, still smiling. “I’m sorry, Vermilion. There’s nothing I can do. You’re not the first person who has come in asking to be moved ahead.” She gave him a sympathetic look and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” while waving the three of them away. Pip realized there were people behind them.

The three moved away from the desk, and Pip was at a loss. What were they going to do? Soon, Fiona would be at the Tower, and if they weren’t there when she was, she would be alone, surrounded by the enemy.

“I am so sick of this shit,” Vermilion said.

“We don’t have time to wait. We will have to give up on arming the phase-shifters and rally what forces we can in the city,” Pip sent. “Quint, you can go to the thrummers …. Quint? Quint, what are you—”

Quint had lifted into the air. Hives surrounded his eyes in red tendrils, and the veins in his neck slowly became more visible to Pip as they turned black, like an ink spill branching out across a white page, reaching up toward Quint’s head. The eyes turned red, and before Pip could send anything more, they were thrown back against the desk where the woman sat—no longer smiling with her sympathetic rejections—breaking it in two. The large black doors to the Elders’ council hall flew open, and wind roared through the waiting area.

Just like Fiona, Pip thought, astonished. She was the only other person Pip had seen do anything of the sort.

The other people waiting in the chairs lining the walls were pressed up against the wall some clutching to hats or clawing at the wall for some semblance of stability.

Quint landed on the floor and started walking to the open door. The wind stopped, though Quint did not look like he’d returned to himself at all, eyes still red, hives in tendrils, veins black.

Pip looked to Vermilion who stood against the wall to Pip’s left putting his hat back on. The Drake looked at Pip, and they both followed after Quint into the council hall of the Elders.

When they entered the room, the Elder Drakes were slowly making their way back to a long oval-shaped table in the center of the room. With hunched backs and gnarled fingers, they picked up tall-backed chairs from the floor, a few Elders straightening what hairs still clung to their heads.

One man with a beak of a nose and eyebrows like brush-bristles looked at Pip and the others. “What, in Drake’s name, is the meaning—”

“Vermilion?” a woman interrupted the angry man. Her skin was like a bag and she had dark circles under her eyes that reminded Pip of bruises. Her hair was dread-locked and white, and she pushed them out of her eyes with a forearm.

“Hello, mom,” Vermilion said, walking to the woman. She smiled at him and he smiled like a child back at her.

“Hold on just a minute, Vermilion. You cannot just break through the door and expect audience,” said the grouchy man with the eyebrows.

“I didn’t break in. That was him,” Vermilion said, pointing at Quint’s rigid form which stood between the door and the table, his eyes staring blankly at the Drake Elders, his pupils still nonexistent.And as the Elders turned their heads to the thrummed, he collapsed onto the black marble floor.

Pip ran to Quint to inspect him for injury, though the sesnickie was not overly concerned; they had seen Fiona go through this same phenomena and come out the other side of it unharmed.

Still … the black veins. That is the telltale sign of Thrast, Pip thought as they looked Quint over. Now the coughing makes sense. Bastard probably knew and wasn’t telling us. But as Pip studied Quint’s unconscious form, he noticed the black that had filled the thrummer’s veins only moments ago was gone now, replaced with the blue-green of human blood’s natural internal color.

6

“I apologize for our abrupt intrusion , Elders. I know there are many refugees and there is an army at your gates. I have urgent matters to discuss with you, however, so I am grateful to my friend for opening these doors,” Vermilion said, sounding more eloquent than Pip had heard the Drake before.

“I will have none of this! You will wait with the others!” Said the man with the eyebrows.

“Several,” said Vermilion’s mother, “are you aware—”

“No, Amelia, I will not—”

“You will NOT interrupt me, Peveral,” Amelia Cinnabar said, shooting a stern, unwavering look at Peveral, the man with the eyebrows and beak-nose. Peveral broke eye contact first, and Amelia adjusted her circle-brimmed leather hat, and then her poncho. “As I was saying,” she said, looking to the other eight Elders sitting around the table, her eyebrows raised in a taunt , daring the other men and women to interrupt her. No-one did, so she continued. “Are you aware of how many Rakshasas my son had brought back? Elder Camlin?”

A muscular, aged man with a closely trimmed haircut, dark tanned skin and violet eyes, looked to Vermilion’s mother. His face was a square, and his head stood straight up on thick shoulders. He wore several bullets on a chain around his neck. His gaze was piercing and devoid of any feeling. Pip knew that the red dot in the center of his forehead marked him as a Rocco class one.

“Vermilion is the top of his class and has been since he joined the Roccos, starting as a class seven and working up to his current class three. When … she left us, he took full responsibility for his daughter, raising her alone but still bringing home ore than his quota of Rakshasas,” Elder Camlin said.

Amelia nodded. “Camlin, our own Rocco Elder who oversees all of our Roccos in the Rocco Way—our way—speaks for my son, Elder Peveral. Should we let him speak?” She turned to the rest of the Elders. “What say you, Elders? Have you met my son? Does he put on airs?” No-one spoke or met her gaze. “What say you?”

One by one, the Drake Elders said, “Aye.”

“Go ahead, son.”

“My daughter, Prudance, has been taken by the Hate and we believe she now resides on Lavender. They are going to use her to fulfill … there is … a prophesy,” Vermilion said, and he was met with groans and a few curses. “Whether you believe in such things is of little import. The army at our gates believes it, and those that have my daughter on our neighboring planet believe it as well. They won’t stop until it is fulfilled. Prudance’s mother—”

Elder Camlin spit on the floor. Vermilion paused and looked at him.

“—Is going there as well. To stop it, and to get Prudance back,” Vermilion continued.

“You’re saying you found Ali, and now you believe she is going to save Prudance?” a woman in an all leather dress said.

“I’m not asking you to believe in Ali, Elder Rayna. I’m asking for your help. I … do believe in this prophesy. Leere has come back and wishes to make the One Dream—to be the Necrolore.”

“Drake’s sagging balls, Vermilion!” Elder Peveral spat out. “This is your urgent matter? Childrens’ tales?!?”

“As. I. Said, Elder Peveral,” Vermilion said, his thinning patience palpable, “it does not matter if you believe. The fact is that Prudance is on Lavender; the Hate has attacked the sesnickie, killed the Woman in White and many of her thrummers, and now they sit outside of our gates with the confidence—no, the arrogance—that this prophesy has given them, expecting any retaliation to be futile. Let. Us. Show. Them. How. Wrong. They. ARE!”

Pip could feel the intense vibration Vermilion had caused with his words. He could almost be a thrummer with that passion, Pip thought. The actual thrummer to Pip’s right rose now, and Pip assumed this was due to a thrummer’s sensitivity to intense vibrations.

“Well, looks like we made it in,” Quint said, straightening his circle-rimmed glasses. “Bit fucking confused as to how that happened, though.”

Pip sniffed. “Quiet, Quint. Vermilion is making some headway with the cantankerous elderly,” the sesnickie sent only to Quint.

The Elders, thankfully, paid little attention to Quint’s commentary. Elder Peveral, and two Elders who had not yet been named, glanced at the thrummed, but quickly looked back to Vermilion. From what Pip knew of Drakes, they were very proud of their way of life, and how independent they had built their society to be. One hundred years of enslavement had incited a fury and a fervor within the Drakes—to be better, to never be slaves again.

“There are others who believe this prophesy that would do anything to stop it; phase-shifters living in the Dead Lands,” Vermilion said. “Blade masters.”

“Criminals?” Peveral said.

“Our best shot at an attack on Lavender, while also having the numbers to defend the Halo,” Pip sent.

“And who is the sesnickie?” Elder Rayna asked, her leather dress creaking as she turned to Pip with a furrowed brow.

“The reason I am alive,” Vermilion said.

“And that gives them the right to speak at our—”

Vermilion fired a round at the ceiling, then, in a movement faster than Pip could account for, the Drake was on top of the council table, catching the falling bullet between thumb and forefinger. The Elders gasped.

“I—have—been,” Vermilion said, breathing rapidly, not from exhaustion, but from an obviously boiling rage,” Through The Strings, through a Voidforsaken catoptric cistula to another potential reality. I met the Merrilore and the migi folk—I was there for years, and only days had passed here. I taught myself the Ghost Shot while I was there. I had my daughter taken from me by a shape-shifter, and then by Leere Himself. I was almost killed by spider-birds inside of a Loose String—yes, Peveral, spider-birds, don’t look at me like that. This sesnickie saved me from them. They have the right to speak. I don’t care if you old fucks believe any of it. The fact of the matter is: Rakshasas believe they are going to enslave all people, not just the Drakes. It is written in the prophesy. It sounds pretty Voiddamned familiar to me. They are doing it again. They are at our front door, Elders. Will you let them in? Or take this once chance to finish them? To end the Hate?”

Vermilion turned rapidly from face to face, looking down from the tabletop, meeting their eyes. Every one—except for his mother—looked quickly away; Amelia Cinnabar gazed intensely back at her son, her own eyes shimmering.

“Will we continue bickering while these pilgrims maintain these notions? I, at least, have been swayed by my son’s words,” Amelia said, wiping her eyes. “I will not let Drake’s liberation of his people go to waste. Let us be done with these zealots!”

Elder Camlin nodded his square head, his face maintaining the stern expression it had held for the entire meeting.

“I will not be a slave. Some of your claims are outlandish, Vermilion, but from what we’ve heard from refugees the past few days … the Hate is attempting something against us,” Elder Rayna said, her leather creaking as she turned this way and that to the members of the council. “We should have gone to war the moment they had the audacity to burn our wheat surplus fields and camp in our front yard.” The other Elders nodded their heads in agreement—all but Peveral.

That one could use a good biting, Pip thought. And a good eyebrow trimming.

Elder Peveral sighed. “Your words tug at even my own withering heartstrings, Vermilion,” he said. “What are you suggesting we do? What are you asking?”

Vermilion smiled , stepped down from the table and walked over to Pip, nodding to the sesnickie.

“Blades made with the fangs of a sesnickie, in the hands of a Ken-Phae trained blade-master, are more than just deadly—they can through the vibrations themselves,” Pip sent to everyone in the room. “I’ve been to Fang Tower since the attack. Their stores of bones and fangs have been stolen, Elders. The only chance of ending this threat hangs on these phase-shifters wielding fang blades , especially now that the Hate will be fully armed with the things as well. We need what fangs you have to make enough bullets for your people, and blades for the shifters. The thrummers will, hopefully, agree to aid in the singing of these blades into existence. Then I will go to my people and ask that they provide transport for our main offensive force. The shifters will go through a door at the top of the Tower of Truth in the Dead Lands which leads to Lavender. We all have a common enemy, Elders. Let us work together.”

“That is all fine—one cannot always pick and choose the circumstances. But I must ask, sesnickie,” Elder Peveral said. “How do you know all of this?” Vermilion visibly tensed at their side.

Here we go, Pip thought. “It was in a Fishing, Elder Peveral.”

The room was silent.

“And you din’t begin with this because … “

“With respect, Elder, I hardly think it would have changed much about your impressive display of having a shit stuck in your stomach,” Pip sent.

Another silence, then Amelia snorted. Elder Camlin smiled slightly and nodded his head in approval. Peveral started laughing so hard that he doubled over on top of the table.

“Too true!” Peveral managed in-between spasms of laughter. “I haven’t shit in days!” This inspired a louder fit of laughter from the Drakes. Vermilion smiled in relief. Quint’s smile was a bit strained, and Pip was reminded of the thrummer’s reason for such haste in coming to Ravencroft Keep. Pip’s mind smiles were sent into all of the minds at a moderately intrusive level, adding to the good mirth, though Pip also felt the pull of their duty to both Quint and Fiona.

As if sensing Pip’s anxiety, Vermilion said, “so will you help us?”

“Shall we vote?” Peveral said, raising his hand first. He was quickly followed by the remaining nine Elders.

Thank the Void.

“There is … just one more thing, Elders. Our friend here, Quint—”

“The one who broke open our door with his Thrast, yes,” a woman with a shaved head, dark skin and a red leather dress said. She had a kindly face, impassive and serious.

“What?” Quint said. “What do you mean my Thrast?”

“That is what you used. Ordinary thrumming would not have opened that door. Your veins were black, you had no pupils, and hives manifested around your eyes as red tendrils. All the signs of a thrummed channeling Thrast,” said the woman in red leather.

“Um, Elder Genova … how do you know this?” Vermilion asked. “Last I knew it was just an incurable disease thrummers got.”

“Upon intensive study of those patients who collapsed the Tower of Tones, along with the help of one of their surviving caretakers—one nurse Jackie—we discovered that Thrast … is just trapped vibrations,” Genova said.

Quint rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt and looked at his forearms.

Genova nodded. “You’ll notice that all signs and symptoms are gone, because you essentially released the stored vibrations, allowing you to affect things more powerfully than you’d be able to any other time.”

Quint looked from his arms, to Vermilion, then to Pip. “Fiona … “ he said in a whisper. “The whole time … Elder Genova—can one do this consciously? Without blacking out? If we could get to her—tell her … “

“She has her own path, Quint,” Pip sent, shaking their head. “Down the mind grooves.”

“Not that we are aware of. This is very new research. All cases reported a gap in memory,” Elder Genova said.

“Thank you, Elders. All of you. We must make haste,” Pip sent.

“Elder Camlin? Genova? You know what to do,” Peveral said.

Genova nodded her head and walked to the sesnickie, the thrummer and the Drake with Elder Camlin by her side.

“Shall we begin?” Genova asked, then walked away without looking behind her to be sure she was being followed.

We did it, Pip thought. Thank the Void