Dark Tales From Dandelion

1

Putnam looked at the sheet again as he left the Inn. He’d need to find a city map. It was a large city and though Putnam had been here before, he hardly knew where everything was, let alone some 363 Sugar Hollow Rd; it could be in any number of holes in the wall or up in one of the tree-districts. He walked through the brick streets, winding and weaving through residential districts filled with little flower beds surrounded by fences on the sidewalks. A large river ran through the town and he kept to the northern side of it for now; he’d heard some questionable things about the southern side of the city. The business districts were busy with activity. It was a comforting buzz for some, but Putnam was accustomed to a mostly quiet life at the Manor House so it only irritated him. From where he stood, he saw six of the many tree-districts that grew high into the sky; giant trees with many buildings—businesses and residences—built into the large branches and trunks.

Putnam was constantly vigilant. In much the same way he could scrutinize a room for one speck of dust, he could see the inconsistencies or possible pitfalls of any situation. Quint was brilliant, but brilliance could lead to blindness in areas not completely obsessed over by The inventor of The Cleverly Named Hallway who could miss the fact that his shirt had been on backward for three days. This is where Putnam came in. He sorted out the discrepancies of Quint’s life. This one just happened to be a bounty on his head.

Putnam walked into an open square and past a few Cri folk in brown suits the same color as their fur. They stood about as high as Putnam’s chest. There were Shaedae hares of Eastern Arak-Shak as well as Rahjim toads of Western Arak-Sharak, both obviously avoiding each other as they made their trade deals with the Cri folk. The two races couldn’t get along over where the line between their lands actually was. It had been a fight that had gone on as long as anyone could remember. The two had so much in common that it seemed to work to their detriment. Both races were very spiritual, very good with money, and very self-sufficient. It was funny really, unless you got in between the two in an argument. The Shaedae would trade with the Cri who would then trade with the Rahjim and vice versa but never directly dealing with each other.

Putnam made his way through this sea of commerce and petty feuds, trying to avoid any and all eye contact. He stared straight ahead toward his goal in between two garden beds with trees. The map covered the entirety of The Endynas City and there was a dot showing where Putnam was standing in relation to the rest of the city. He was one mile into the city from the western wall. A Rahjim toad in a full black tie and tails was speaking through a Cri man to a Shaedae to Putnam’s left.

“—I think that he is asking an awful lot of us in this one. We only have so much to spare. The land has been dry this summer, dryer than usual, and most of my crops are drying up. The potatoes pull up rotten, the corn—“

“My pigs have black veins running underneath their skin! Have you ever heard of Thrast—in a PIG?” Said the Shaedae Hare, his whiskers twitching in frustration.

“Gentlemen, please. If we are to continue this transaction, we must do it peacefully. Otherwise I will have to ring the bell and you will have both travelled here for nothing. Now. If you could move your borders just slightly one way on either side so the crops could have a chance in different soil next year, and the animals could have fresh grazing ground—“

Putnam tuned out the rest of what the short Cri man was saying. He found it ridiculous. These Shaedae and Rahjim came here to Endynas for the specific purpose of paying Cri people to mediate their fights. If the Cri mediator felt the two were getting too heated, he rang a bell and thrummers would come to enforce the toad and hare to leave the city at once. It was so silly for all but the Cri who were taking advantage of a never-ending source of income.

Something that was disconcerting, though was the mention of Thrast in a pig. Putnam had only heard of it in thrummers. He filed it away and decided he’d just talk with Quint about it when he saw him next. Putnam was good at filing things away, he did it nearly every day. Back to the task at hand …

He looked up and down the map. Sugar Hollow, Sugar Hollow … he thought as he looked. He pulled out the sheet of paper from his inside breast pocket and made sure he had it right. Cri lane. Costello Rd, probably actually because of Quint Costello, our eccentric friend and inventor of The Clever, Putnam thought. He continued looking, hoping it was close before looking toward the eastern wall nearer the Forever Forest.

He saw it. Sugar Hollow Rd. A small road. In between two larger ones. Putnam pulled out a pen and the paper with the bounty. He started scratching down directions for how to get there then walked into the nearest alley.

He climbed onto the windowsill of one of the buildings bordering the alleyway and jumped up to the next one. After some more climbing and a couple of phase warps, he made it to the rooftops of some of the taller structures he had seen from the ground. The rooftops were all relatively close together in most cities like this where architecture had to be crammed into every inch.

Putnam needed to get to the place he was going fast while also avoiding any unwanted attention. He perused the rooftop he was currently on, looking for potentials that would best suit his cause. Deva-tar-ta. The legs were powerful and good for swimming as well as jumping. Putnam grabbed the phase-warp, took in a few deep breaths through the mouth and exhaled, shaking his head a bit to mentally prepare for what he was about to do.

He started running as fast as he could and landed on the red shingled roof directly in front of the last one he had been on. This roof was slanted so he slid down and pushed his legs into the shingles right before he would have fallen off, propelling him fifteen feet across another open shopping market like the one he’d found the map in. He flew threw the air above the heads of the people down below. Some looked up and pointed, notifying others of Putnam’s presence.

Putnam landed on a shorter roof than the last and scaled the wall up to the next one using the sticky suction tips of his Deva-tar-ta fingers. He sprinted across this roof and jumped to the next, then he fell through the roof of a house and into the dining room of a very old couple having tea. The two looked at each other and then at the phase-shifter, then offered a cup of tea. Putnam declined and jumped back up through the hole in the roof.

“Sorry!” He yelled back at them. He unfortunately did not have time to compensate the couple. He had to get there and back before Vance woke up and did something crazy.

When he arrived at Sugar Hollow Rd.—which was like any side street he’d seen in large cities: grimy, probably wet even when it hadn’t rained, and definitely depressing—he looked around with his Deva-tar-ta eyes which were superior to that of many other creature’s eyes. The street was still. No one came or went. Putnam moved cautiously across roofs until he saw the number 363 above a black door in the side of a long stretch of yellow wall across the street. This form was superior in many ways, but Putnam was most comfortable wielding a sword in his original oily black form. He dropped down onto the street in the Deva-tar-ta form and as soon as he landed he was oily black.

His sword and sheath appeared strapped to his side, Vance’s on his back. He was a form of complete darkness—no clothing, no genitals, only the body of a man and a sword to go with it. Black and endless as the Void, He left a kind of trail of himself behind as he walked. Some described it as a black smoke, while others said it looked like a trail of black oil that disappeared as soon as you got a good look at it.

There was a peep hole on the door. Putnam walked out of sight of the door and grabbed a potential where he was Vance, then he held up the bounty next to his head. He knocked once. The door swung open. The man who answered the door looked like he’d been held under the light too long and it had fried him. He lifted a too-big eye nearly up to his hairline to speculate upon this midday intruder. Putnam thought his hair looked like Quint’s.

“Where are the heads?” Asked the man.

“They safe. Near here. I gotta make sure you good for it first. You let me in?” Putnam said in his best impression of Vance’s accent. The man sucked on his teeth and looked Putnam up and down. He held his hands out to his sides in a shrug.

“No heads? No entry,” he said and he turned around to walk back inside. Putnam’s wey-shin made its way through the doorman’s neck like it was melting butter. Blood squirted out. Another man with a transmogrifier jumped out of the darkness behind the door and shot blindly, turning the man in front of Putnam into a beetle. Putnam withdrew his sword just in time to escape it being turned into part of the beetle’s flesh.

Putnam crunched the beetle underneath a boot and jumped toward this next man, drawing the sesnickie blade from his back as he did so. He drove both blades through the stomach of the man—who he’d identified as an empty one of the Hate due to his red robes and shaved head—the sharp ends facing out, then pulled them both outward, cutting the man’s torso from its legs.

The circular room was dimly lit. Putnam realized he was surrounded by several forms in red cloaks. He kept his swords out, but grabbed a potential as he rolled toward one of the empty ones. His vision became omniscient. He could see everything around him, his naked skin was that of the Faedroni people whose skin had sight. The extra brains in Putnam’s head reeled with the information of sight everywhere. It was a lot to take in, but he could deal with the strange sensations for the benefits of the vision. He had no eyes in his head, only a mouth and nose; his skin was pink, hands sticky.

He spun as he came up from his roll, taking the empty one’s head off with one blade while the other arm bent up to stab another through the face, then cut through the skull to free itself. Putnam ducked as another transmogrifier shot came for him. He rolled out of the way, came up and danced to the one who had fired, cutting both hands off. Putnam grabbed the transmogrifier that had just been shot at him to smash the teeth in of an empty one trying to sneak up behind him. Putnam quickly killed the man by slitting his throat.

There were two left that were armed with seven-shooters. They fired. Putnam’s extra brains, he found, were magnificent tools. He could see where the men pointed with the guns and where the bullets would go. His skin could watch the bullet in a kind of slow motion. It would be far too much to process if Putnam were dealing with his normal one brain and two eyes, but he was now completely accustomed to the abilities as if he’d always had them. The extra brains were teaching his original brain how to handle the added stimulation.

He ducked and danced around the bullets, moving not necessarily more quickly, but more precisely than he would usually be able to. The two seven-shooter empty ones reloaded and Putnam jumped up and spun, catching both guards in the face with a kick that sent them to the floor. As Putnam landed, his blades went into the faces of both guards. The blood covered Putnam, but he did not want to risk phase-shifting it off, because this was a rare form for a potential to present itself as … he’d never had it before and he didn’t want to lose it now. He reached down to one of the red-cloaked individuals and cut off a dry piece of their cloak. He wiped himself with it, getting off as much blood as he could—the blood was covering parts of his skin’s vision.

Putnam grabbed another piece of cloak and wiped his blades with them, then he walked out of the circular room to a hallway that branched off to the left. It was dimly lit with thrumming lamps that shone toward the ceiling in little circular divets in the carpet. Putnam walked down the hallway with both swords out. His head didn’t move to ensure his safety—it didn’t need to since his eyes were not in his head but all over his body.

At the end of the corridor, the hallway branched off into a perpendicular corridor. A figure appeared from the left side; a body terrifyingly white that shined brighter than the lights that lined the hallway. The wings were blacker than Putnam’s original oily-black form. Rakshasa ….

Putnam felt the vibration run through his body, trying to make its way to his heart. Quint had taught him a technique that could help him in these situations. If he kept his focus on one point, he could transcend the thrumming somewhat, but he couldn’t worry about what it was doing to him. This was difficult, however, and the Rakshasa was able to touch Putnam’s heart and he felt something come just a bit loose in his chest. He grunted.

Putnam became very still. He ‘embraced death to be given life’ as the Ken-Phae saying went. Though it hurt like a knife to his chest, he stopped worrying over the vibration trying to rip out his heart. He moved like water through two poses, dancing slowly through the movements with both swords. The thrumming began to leave his heart. The Rakshasa tried to intensify the vibration, but Putnam sliced through it with the sesnickie blade as it came toward him. The vibrations weren’t something you could see, they could only be felt, and he felt where they were as he cut them in half with the fang blade. Then Putnam rushed forward. The startled Rakshasa stood unbelieving and frozen to the spot as the sesnickie blade rammed through its left collarbone and into the wall behind it, pinning it to the wall and cutting it off from the vibrations.

“Are there more?” Putnam asked with some difficulty; he wasn’t used to talking through this mouth and his voice was like gravel. Putnam cut off the little finger on the thing’s left hand with his other sword. The Rakshasa screamed as the blood poured onto the carpet.

“NO! Please no more! Please! It was Leere. Leere wanted it! I swear! No, there aren’t any more of us—of m-my kind here,” he said.

Putnam lowered his blade.

“What do you mean Leere?” asked Putnam, his injured heart hurting a bit more at the mention of this name.

“It’s Him! He’s back. Our Lord. Is finally back. Glory to the Void, The Hate’s Seventh Son, The Forgotten One, The Empty One, Void, Vanitas, Tomhet, Leegheid, Vuoto, Vazio. Leere. He’s back to bring the Void,” said the Rakshasa.

Putnam raised his blade to the man’s throat.

“He will align all realities and make them one. As he did before.” The man laughed. “Then your kind won’t exist any more, will they? No more ‘infinite potentials’ for the phase-shifters. The Necrolore will be once more,” said the Rakshasa.

Putnam paused. “What did you just say?”

The Rakshasa smiled. “Heard that one have you?”

“Where did you hear of … what you just said?”

“That’s what he is. That’s what he was before. The Necrolore. As he will be time and time again.”

The Rakshasa had no reason to lie about this. Putnam believed him; all of the signs … the key travels to its Mother to open her head.

Putnam’s eyes were wide with his inner terror and the Rakshasa just laughed. Putnam slit his throat and withdrew Vance’s sesnickie blade from its body and the wall.

Putnam walked down the hallway in the direction the Rakshasa had come from. There was an office here with a large case sitting open on a desk. Putnam walked around the desk and saw that it held all the Worth promised on the paper with the bounties—two hundred and eighty thousand Endynas dandys. Putnam really didn’t care if this would put a price on Vance’s head or not; putting his wey-shin away, he shut the case and walked out of 363 Sugar Hollow Rd., the case in his left hand, the sesnickie blade in his right. He grabbed a potential where he was a Deva-tar-ta and climbed back onto the rooftops, making his way back to the Inn.

2

Putnam walked back into the room in his butler form. Vance still lay on the bed in the same position Putnam had left him in. Setting the case of Worth down on the bed and opening it, Worth side facing Vance, Putnam went over to The Drifter and searched through all of the pockets of the cape—of which there were a substantial amount, more than Putnam would have guessed by looking at the cape—looking for any and all drugs that Vance had hidden inside of them. Putnam sorted them all out in little piles all across the large bed.

There were more Triendria suppositories, several no-sleep and perfect-rest tabs, some blue powder that Putnam was pretty sure was Roxy powder, and enough Boosts to keep even the heaviest user going for a month at least, maybe more. Putnam left the perfect-rest on the bed, pocketed a few of the tranquilizers, poured the Roxy powder out into the toilet, pocketed one of the Boost shots for future use, then took the rest of the Boosts into the bathroom and set about shooting the orange liquid of every syringe into the sink.

Vance still lay on the bed with the money, unconscious. Putnam drew in one long breath then took out the Boost he’d saved in his pocket and rammed it into Vance’s left arm.

“AH!” Vance cried, clutching his arm where Putnam had Boosted him and looking around the room wide-eyed, smacking his lips as he turned. “What the fuck? Where’s Quint? Did you just … ” he gestured to the Boost in Putnam’s hand, “hit me with that?”

“I did indeed,” said Putnam indifferently. “Quint left.”

Vance continued his stimulant-influenced evaluation of his situation, turning his head and moving his tongue about psychotically, rubbing his legs in a frantic way. Then he noticed the case.

“What. Is that?” Vance asked, pointing at the Worth.

“That,” Putnam said, “is yours Vance. If you want it.”

Vance frowned. “Why is that mine?”

Putnam threw the folded up piece of paper at Vance. Vance unfolded it and read.

“What did you do? What the fuck did you do?” Vance started rifling through his cape pockets. Realization played upon The Drifter’s face, and he reached for his seven-shooter, but Putnam was too fast. The sesnickie blade caught the hand mid-draw right in the palm. Putnam guided the palm up with the blade without piercing it.

“I’m told it only takes the slightest penetration to keep you from thrumming with one of these,” Putnam said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but there are a few precautions I must take.” Putnam pushed the blade into the center of Vance’s palm just enough to draw blood. No thrumming crashed into him, so he assumed the fang blade had done its job. “As I said. I do not wish to harm you, but I will drive this through your hand then straight up your arm if you try anything … questionable. Nod if you understand.” Vance nodded. “Good. Thank you. Now I usually am pretty thorough when I go behind the scenes of Master Quint’s life to do a job that needs doing for the sake of Quint’s … good health, let’s call it. But after being inside that mad trancer’s mind vibrations, then the story you told about them on Jubilee Street, then you pissing yourself in the hallway. It really set the stage to your benefit for me to find that bounty and not immediately color Lack-A-Daisy’s walls with your sick brains.” Putnam felt mist threaten to obscure his vision and his mouth twitched as he pushed and his face softened. An ache rolled around in his stomach.

“I’ve decided to try and help you instead,” Putnam said.

“By stealing the Worth for the … ” Vance trailed off as Putnam increased the pressure of the sword point on his hand.

“This Worth is what brought you here. I give it to you without you having to bring in my friends to the Rakshasas. I give it to you, and I also give you your life—as in you get to keep it. I don’t, however, give you either of these for free. I am under the impression that your mind is sick. Much like that man’s mind—the one on the street—is sick. He believes he is in that other place, or at least chooses to believe it. Going into that mind made me understand something I never did before. It made me understand that the members of my order who profit off of Roxy Milk, are profiting off of it by spreading a mind disease.” Voids, Callus, but you had it right the whole time. “You believe you are in a certain place that is good even though you are in a constant state of suffering. You can’t remember what your life was like before you had the Boosts as a companion. You paint the love of the drug as a beautiful story filled with romance, but you just can’t quite break into the happy part of that story. See, I knew it wasn’t real, but I wanted to trick myself into believing it was real again, so I could have an imaginary solution to my suffering. That’s what the mad trancer did to me. That’s what these do to you, don’t they—the Boosts?”

Vance just sat, so Putnam continued.

“You helped me get out. I know it was not a very long event, but it showed me some things I wouldn’t have known before. You helped me get out. And now I am going to help you. That is how you earn your keep. You can have the money that was on my friends’ heads, you can keep your life, but you won’t be using these illusions anymore to get by. You will quit the Boosts completely after the one you are currently on wears off, you will stay with me for the rest of the trip to the Tower of Tones. While the drugs get out of your system and you go through withdrawals, I will be keeping your sesnickie blade. If you try to buy any Boosts, I will kill you with it. If you try to run away, I will kill you with it. If you take any drugs, I will kill you with it. If you try to touch the sword, I will kill you with it. You will give me your gun and any other weapons you may have. I have some of your tranquilizers in my possession which I will give to you to ease your withdrawal symptoms and help you sleep easier. I will not tell Quint about the bounties and I forgive you the trespass. If you get clean. Does that sound like something you can follow through with, Vance?”

“Man … my name is gonna have a price on it now too, but I gotta say … ” Vance said, his voice cracking and his mouth twisting in a pouty frown. “That sounds like the best Voiddamn idea I’ve heard in years.” And with that, Vance threw himself at Putnam in an embrace and sobbed loudly. At first, Putnam was preparing to shove the sword up Vance’s wrist like he’d said he would, but it happened so fast and now Vance was in his arms, so he slowly let his arms embrace the man.

3

The two prepared themselves to leave the Endynas City. Putnam had strapped Vance’s gun holster to his waist. The Drifter was left with no weapons and no drugs.

“I forgot to mention that if you try any funny business like going into Svargaloka to get away, I will find you there as well and kill you with this blade,” Putnam said, tapping the sesnickie blade.

“I got it man. The worst of it won’t start until tonight, but I ‘preciate the encouragement,” Vance said, smiling.

“We will head for the Forever Forest immediately. You will be uncomfortable from what I’ve heard. Can you tell me what it’ll be like?”

“Like I said. It won’t get that bad ‘til tonight when shit just starts gettin’ weird. I’m gonna be talkin’ some crazy ass shit man, so consider yourself warned. You might have to physically restrain me. Sometimes I see shit that … ain’t really there. Or maybe it is. I really can’t tell any more. It doesn’t mean I’m running away, it just means I’m having a … ” Vance turned his face away. “It means I’m just having a fit and I need your help. If you still offerin’ that is, knowin’ about all that.”

“I can do that. How long does it last?” Putnam asked.

“After it starts tonight, it’ll be about eighteen cycles. It’s not that long of a withdrawal when you consider something like Roxy where you’re just sweating for days and shittin’ the bed. After eighteen cycles you’re in the clear from the physical crampings, puking, and hallucinations, but then you’re like an emotional vegetable for three days. I’ll be here but I won’t be. That’s when I always went back to the shit before when I’d try to get off. For some reason that was worse—the mood swings and all that,” Vance said.

“And what happens if we knock you out with tranquilizers when the withdrawals start? Maybe strap you to a dirfweed while we travel?”

Vance smiled at Putnam.

“I like the way you think, man. Well, if we go that route I won’t have to go through the physical shit really. I might puke but as long as you tilt my head to the side, I’ll be good.”

“That’s what we’ll do. That way I don’t have to chase you down if you start seeing things that aren’t there. I have some business in the Forever Forest. I’m going to find Fiona, Prudance and the one who kidnapped them both. Hopefully the Drake has found his way there, but either way I’m going to get them back and you’re going to help me. We will go into town, get food, water and two dirfweeds and head to the forest,” Putnam said. “Ok?”

“Ok Putnam. Um … thanks man,” Vance said and reached his hand toward the phase-shifter. Putnam took the hand and shook it. Then the two left the Inn and—after getting enough food and water for a couple of weeks, renting two dirfweeds, and buying some rope for tying Vance’s unconscious body to his dirfweed during his withdrawals—left the Endynas city through the eastern wall and walked into the Forever Forest on dirfweed back.