Dark Tales From Dandelion

1

Putnam sighed heavily as he reached for a nearby potential that had just appeared. He became a dry version of himself—no vomit. He had lowered his blade and flicked it clean, wiping it in the grass for good measure. Vance stood up and was apologizing. Putnam was unnerved by the man. Carrying a seven-shooter and a sesnickie blade? It was a sesnickie blade, Putnam could tell. Pure white blade and handle. Who’d he gotten to craft it for him? Certainly not a Rakshasa, they weren’t around Dandelion enough anymore to be making new blades. No, this would require a willing sesnickie—or unwilling if needbe—and a vibrationalist to shape it with the vibrations. The fact that he’d just thrown up on Putnam had only been a small, new addition to the irritation he felt toward the man. He drew his blade—which Putnam allowed—watching the strange thing on Vance’s back unstick itself from the sword and disappear behind him again. What a peculiar thing to see. Was the thing back there alive? And what of this helmet? And what of this large black shape claiming to know his friends? And what of his record of punctuality? He’d be far behind his friends now according to the shadow Drake. Putnam, as usual, let none of these thoughts and the feelings they caused show on his face.

“And if this is the truth, Vermilion. How are we supposed to help you? And are you able to come with us?” Putnam asked.

Vermilion sat on his haunches now, his head tilted toward the ground.

“I could go back to the migi and ask them if there is a way I could get out without using … that thing’s methods. But the migi are far from here. I’m afraid we are running low on time,” Vermilion said.

“And by that thing, you mean the shape-shifter? Red, was it?” Putnam asked.

“Yes. I refuse to use the bullet he used to swap places with me, but I don’t even know where I’d find the things,” Vermilion responded. They sat quietly for a moment.

“Waitaminnut. Couldn’t you jus’ go ahead an’ make the trip? You said it’s been years there, but it’s still Summer One here, the same season it was when you left. So you could go now and it wouldn’t take no time on this side for you to come back,” Vance said.

“I just worry that it might take too long. The time gap could slip. The Merrilore told me there’s no way to gauge it. I don’t want you waiting on me and wasting time you could be using to get to Prudance before she opens the head of the Woman in White,” Vermilion responded.

“Are there any portals on that side that you know of? Anyone near by that could help you in any way to get over?” Putnam asked.

“Over here, this is barren land. No-one around for miles and miles.”

“Sesnickie?” asked Putnam.

“None here,” Vermilion said.

“Svargaloka?” Vance asked, looking up from the speculation of his gloved fingers. Both Putnam and Vermilion stared at The Drifter.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Vermilion said, scratching his chin. He looked to Putnam who had a puzzled expression on his face.

“I hadn’t either. Do they have Sly Grass over there, Vermilion?” asked Putnam.

“Not that I know of, but I hadn’t thought to ask. Only uses I ever had for Sly Grass were getting a Fishing done, and as a test for the Roccos,” Vermilion replied.

“You say you’re gonna help Mama. Is that right?” Vance asked.

“Mama?” Vermilion said. Vance just stared at him. Oh my, Putnam thought. Oh my. He’s one of them. Could he be ….

“He means the Woman in White, Vermilion,” Putnam said.

“Oh! Well that’s the idea. The Merrilore doesn’t lie, she can’t. She told me my daughter Prudance was turned into a baby by Rakshasas, not to hurt me in some way, or get revenge for all the Rakshasas I’ve taken down, but to be made into a key that would be carried by ignorant hands straight to the door she was meant to unlock—the head of the Woman in White. The Merrilore implied that this would not only hurt both of them, but it would make a Necrolore, merging the endos into one,” Vermilion said. Putnam cringed at the mention of the Necrolore. Death to the dreams of all. Death to all shifters. The key travels to its mother to open her head … VOIDS! The prophesy! “She called it the One Dream,” Vermilion went on. “Now here’s where I get skeptical, because it just sounds fucking ridiculous, but I do believe something terrible is about to happen to both the one you call ‘Mama’ and my daughter. I saw the Merrilore do some crazy shit, and nothing seemed to phase Her except for this.”

He knows not of what he speaks. Three thousand years in the works. The prophesy. The death of my people ….

Putnam watched Vance look back at his hand for a bit, then nod, seeming to come to a decision about something. He said: “alrigh’ Vermilion. I’ll help you. I know how you can get to Svargaloka without Sly Grass. I can do it with my helmet, but I know the way the helmet gets there. We can do it, but it gon’ take a minute, and we’s about to have some o’ them shadow fucks trying to kill us. You ’n’ me, Vermilion, aint gon’ be able to fight, so we gon’ need ol’ wey-shin-Ken-Phae here to cover us while we do our thing. I’m sorry I puked on ya man. Now listen, If you helpin’ us, I wanna know your name. I know we can’t do this without you, but I’m not workin’ with you if I can’t have something as simple as your name. Oh, and I’ll know if you’re lyin’,” he tapped his visor, “this will show me your vibrations.”

Putnam hesitated, but realized he probably had no choice. Though he knew he could probably take out The Drifter’s visor, if either one of these was trying to trick him, Vermilion knew his friends and if he was telling the truth, then Putnam needed to help him, not just for his friends, but for the sake of all shifters; The Drifter was of the same order as Quint if he was calling the Woman in White ‘Mama’, and he might just be the one Quint often talked about. Pale skin, eastern accent, a helmet that can see vibrations, a sesnickie blade, it has to be him, Putnam thought. Quint would never forgive him if he didn’t help one of his oldest friends, one of his brothers. And all of this talk about the Necrolore … no, it can no longer be ignored, Putnam thought.

“Phildrious Putnam, Vance. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Alright. These fuckin’ shadows are gon’ be on us any minute now. You gotta cover us. You cool with that?” Vance asked.

“I’ll do my best,” answered Putnam. Vance walked over to Vermilion.

“You’re going to want to sit, Vermilion,” said Vance. Putnam turned away from them toward the open field. He readied himself, and as he did, several shadow creatures rose from the ground, their black forms appearing darker than any color Putnam had seen before, darker even than his own true form. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, then darted toward the black shapes with his wey-shin.

2

“How do you get out of Svargaloka?” said Vance to the Drake.

Putnam spun and sliced three of the shapes in half, their torsos collapsing on the ground.

“Well I usually just focus on a point and say ‘I’m looking for a window’ over and over. Sometimes it takes a while, but it eventually turns and then I get out,” Vermilion said.

“Ok, thass exactly what we gon’ be doin’ here, ‘cept the reverse. You tryin’ ta get in, not out.”

“How though? I’ve never heard of anyone getting in without Sly Grass,” Vermilion said.

Three more of the shapes rushed Putnam, jumping on him, and the phase-shifter disappeared underneath them.

“The Sly Grass is just a middle man. It gets you where you need to go, and does it so well that people have become dependent on the shit, but we already have it in our brains. Dandelion runs close to the dream world of Svargaloka, and I’m guessing that the one you in runs close to Dandelion, so the same rule probably applies,” Vance said.

Putnam exploded out of the creatures as a tower of flames, burning them to nothing with the heat of his body.

“That’s a lot of ‘guessing’ and ‘probably’,” said Vermilion.

“You got anything else you’d rather try big man?”

“No, go ahead, I’m sorry.”

“In my experience, there are different checkpoint type areas in Svargaloka, depending on where you are on Dandelion. On the western side, people will appear at the tree, mushroom, and pond near the fractal fields. Eastern side will take you to the Daisy forests, far from the western checkpoint. I’m not really sure where you’ll be taken if you’re off continent, let alone off world. We can assume though that if you go to Svargaloka from where you are, leaving will take you back to that world—endo did you call it? So you gonna need to get to the fractal fields. I heard something about the thrummer Sylvester using them as a means to travel to different places, but I have no idea how that works. You might try asking the bonjean beetle, even though all the motherfucker wanna do is argue,” Vance said.

Putnam returned to his oil black form, stabbed one creature in the chest, rolled forward and sliced the legs out from under another, then he parried a blow to his left, fainted right, then on an upswing took another’s head off its shoulders. I’m gonna have to ask him to show me some of that shit, Vance thought. The Ol’ Fuck had downloaded the seven pillars of Ken-Phae into his helmet on Lavender, but he still couldn’t move like this. Putnam was like a river, the obstacles in his path were inconsequential to his steady flow.

“Ok, so how do I get in?” Vermilion asked.

“Picture your window, focus on one point, and repeat the ‘I need a window’ mantrum. You gonna hafta be real fuckin’ clear if you want it to work,” Vance said.

“Whadoyoumean clear?”

“Like you’re a crystal that your thoughts just shine through without getting caught in the middle.”

“I’ve felt that way shooting before, maybe we should help Putnam for a bit first,” Vermilion said. They both looked at Putnam, whose legs were that of a dirfweed’s that ripped into the faces of two shadow creatures, pulling half of their heads off as he jumped away.

“I think that motherfucker’s gonna be just fine. If you repeat the mantrum for long enough, and keep your intention focused, you’ll be able to get there eventually,” Vance said.

“I’ll give it a shot,” Vermilion said.

“Cool. We’ll wait for you on the other side of the Veil. If you ain’t back by nightfall, I’ll check Svargaloka. If I can’t find you, we’ll keep going and you meet us down the path toward the Tower of Tones,” Vance said.

“Are you going to help my friends Vance?” Vermilion asked, his voice cracking. Vance looked at Putnam slaughtering the shadow creatures, then back toward Vermilion.

“I—we are going to try. You need to get started. I’ll be here until you go, so all you have to think about is the window,” Vance said.

“Thank you,” Vermilion said.

“Don’t thank me. If you help Mama, I’ll thank you, so you jus’ worry ‘bout that.” We are going to be here a while, Vance thought. I wonder what happens if you stay here for a prolonged period without leaving the Veil.

As if in answer to his thoughts, one or two more shadow creatures showed up behind Putnam, then one or two more. Shit.

3

I need a window. I need a window. I … Void, I’m an awful Father. How could I just. Shit. I need a window. I need a window. I need a window. Fiona will take care of Prudance. Everything will be fine. She’s a fine woman. She is … fine. Maybe … no. I’m her teacher. Teachers can’t. His cock stiffened at the thought. NO! I need a window. I need a window. I need a window. It was becoming counterproductive what he was doing now, making his pants tighter. He arranged himself to give it room, then began to picture his grandma’s eyeballs—for some reason that always worked. Thank the Illusions it did and he was soft again. He started the mantrum. He did this for quite a while before his mind became anything like the crystal Vance had described.

4

Putnam was a death machine. They rose from the ground all around him, some sprouting wings. They were adapting to his abilities, becoming greater in number, their teeth getting sharper, their claws longer. Some of them were spawning with swords in their misshapen hands. Putnam killed them all. He spun, swinging his sword all around him to slice the slower, older shadows in half so he could begin work on the specially crafted ones behind them. He was surrounded. After getting the rest of the trash shadows out of the way, he breathed for a moment, looking at his next opponents. He smiled and rushed toward them, grabbing a phase warp on his way, giving himself another blade in his left hand.

5

“Do not let that Drake escape,” said Alamy the shape-shifter. He was directing this particular third Veil fight himself. He had been told by Leere to watch for the Drake since Leere was no longer aware of the Drake’s whereabouts. Cannot allow too many through at a time … slowly let them grow in number so as not to make the Woman in White aware. “Vass, Cunny, go in with the materialists! The rest of you watch! Learn from their abilities until I say go so you know how to fight them!”

This patch of desert was just outside of the chasm-city peopled by the red shape-shifters. Other races like the materialists also lived in the chasm, but the majority of them were shape-shifters. There was a giant catoptric cistula placed over the land which allowed for two flips of reality. This illusion box mirrored one reality—where the Drake was currently—which mirrored Dandelion’s, so in this selected area of the desert, time moved at the same rate in all three realities, and beings from these other endos could also be seen and interacted with.

The reason for the two flips was so no one died, but still allowed for the vibrations to get through so the shape-shifters of the chasm city could suck them in and use them to power the city. The Drake, however, was in the middle reality, which meant death would truly happen to him or anyone he killed in this area. There was no buffer between him and those he would have to fight. ‘I would prefer to have him alive, but kill him if you must. I will be sending … insurance within my endo as well,’ Leere had said in reference to the Drake. Mustn’t be too obvious, though. Go for the shifter first. Too much attention to one who isn’t fighting may bring the Woman in White’s unwanted eyes upon us. She doesn’t know that the agreement has been compromised.

6

Luckily, none of the shadow creatures were coming toward Vermilion yet. Vance knew they would at some point though. He turned his head to look at the shadow Drake behind him. Vermilion was sitting cross-legged and hadn’t moved since he’d sat down that way. Vance watched as Putnam danced around the circle of shadows that surrounded him, a blade in each hand now, sometimes he’d throw his original blade to hit one in the chest or face—Vance knew that the new blade was a part of the phase-shifter’s body. His aim was perfect; he was a whirlwind, but they were growing in number and becoming more aggressive as time passed. Putnam decapitated one shadow with one sword while jabbing the other sword behind him into the stomach of another. Here came one at Putnam’s side though, and Putnam was busy with two other shadows. Vance aimed his seven-shooter and shot. Gotcha bitch. The shadow collapsed. Putnam finished with the two and looked first at the dead body of the shadow, then at Vance. He nodded, then continued piling dead bodies on top of the others.

Liquid shadow leaked all over the ground surrounding the death—shadow blood. Putnam looked back at Vermilion. Still there, fuck, Vance thought. Wait, what is that? The air around Vermilion seemed to be darker than it was before—heavier, thicker. The thick air was spreading toward Vance, then enveloped him. He instantly started thinking dark thoughts. What am I doing here? What the fuck. This Drake fuck gonna kill yo ass. Genna aint nevah gonna want no fuckin’ cluckhead lookin’ motherfucker like you. Vance had the strong urge to Boost, even though he was still under the effects of the last Boost he’d administered to himself. He began reaching for the needle in his cape pocket, but then he realized something—heavy vibrations cause heavy thoughts, and heavy thoughts get caught easier. A trancer is fuckin’ with Vermilion, and now they’re fucking with me too!

Vance looked around through his screen to see if there were any overactive vibrational currents running in any of the shadow creatures. Nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing unusual for what he’d seen with them so far today. He looked around again, this time focusing on other areas away from where Putnam was fighting the things. You aint shit man, look at Putnam, he’s a much better fighter, a much better friend.

“Shut the fuck up!” he said aloud, then looked at Vermilion who seemed to be looking back at him. “Sorry, man.”

“I can’t get in,” said Vermilion.

“I know. There’s someone or something fucking with us. Is there someone on your side maybe? I can’t find the fucker,” Vance said.

“What do you mean someone is fucking with us?” Vermilion asked.

“They are trancing into us, changing our vibrations, makin’ our thoughts all fucked up. They shouldn’t be able to do it this powerfully with our sesnickie bone grips repelling them. You have one right?” Vance said.

“Yeah I do. Same gun as yours there. I don’t know. I met a … woman who could get through the barrier pretty easily. Makes sense though, ‘cause I keep thinking awful shit and it just gets caught in a loop,” Vermilion said.

Vance nodded his head in acknowledgement, then continued to scout the area for the trancer that was messing with them. There were about thirty shadow creatures surrounding Putnam. He became the fire demon again, burning most of them to a crisp, but still more spawned. Vance felt a panic creeping on behind the heavy thoughts of the trancing cloud that he and Vermilion were in.

“I can’t see nothin’ man. You gonna have to look over there. Putnam isn’t gonna be able to hold these things off forever. I gotta help him,” Vance said, and as he turned back toward Putnam and the fighting, a black shape drew its claws across The Drifter’s face, knocking his helmet off and pushing him down to the ground.

7

Vermilion watched as the black thing slashed across Vance’s helmet, knocking it off. He saw seven little metal ports on Vance’s bald head, little nerves and wires retreating back into his skull away from the open air. Vermilion felt a little sick looking at it, especially the nerve part, and felt glad that Vance’s form was made of shadows in this Veil, so Vermilion couldn’t see the pinkness of the nerves which would make it all the more real.

The landscape was barren and rocky, with a dark reddish glow that made it feel like night even though it was still day. No grass grew here and everything looked hard. There were rock hills and formations making little loops in the air scattered throughout the land. There was a big group of black twisted creatures surrounding one figure that was cutting itself through their numbers. The blood on the ground was black on this side as well. They appeared from nothing here as well and Vermilion wondered if they were of another endo, and why they were engaging in a never-ending battle with people that travelled through the Veil. Was there some deal they had with the Woman In White? It didn’t matter now; Vermilion drew his seven-shooters and ran to his right, his torso twisting so he could face the black creatures. He yelled and fired, first shooting down the one that had attacked Vance—who still lay on the ground—then firing at the ones who surrounded Putnam. One, two, three bullets, die you lumps o’ pilgrim shit, he thought in the thick accent he took on when he was pissed. Four, five. All of his shots hit their targets, of course, but now he had drawn the attention of the black creatures. Some of them ran at him. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Half of Putnam’s pursuers had split off to come after Vermilion. Come on over, you Voidless motherfuckers.

By now Vance had gotten back to his feet and put his helmet on. The three of them were spread out on the field in one big triangle, and now Vance and Vermilion were attracting their own black creatures that popped up from the ground to assail them. Vermilion’s anger was acting as some sort of penetrative force through the cloud of heavy vibrations that was being imposed upon him. He fired, his teeth bared. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. He flicked out his cylinders, opening them and exposing the empty chambers to the light. He pointed the guns barrel-down toward the ground and pulled the cylinders up at the wax loops. As he flicked the cylinders back closed, he hit the button on the sides of his guns that would melt the wax. He pulled the hammers down on the backs of each gun and aimed. A whole horde of the black things were coming after him now—twenty or so—some flying, some running, some slithering

Vermilion smiled. He had plenty of bullets and plenty of targets to shoot them at. Then he saw it … a pure black light in the sky, deeper black than the black creatures he had been fighting; floating there, silhouetted by wings so white they seemed to be made of light. The light was blinding, which is probably why Vance hadn’t seen it, it could easily have been mistaken for the sun. Black light, bright wings, raining down its sickly little feelings down over them. Rakshasa … he knew it was, even though the colors were inverted in this endo which would mean on the other side, its body would be white and wings black. Vermilion ground his teeth together. He used his ghost shot for all fourteen bullets he’d just loaded and thinned out the ranks of the group that was coming for him. Now only six remained, but he knew it wouldn’t last very long as the things just came up out of the ground.

He ran before more could spawn in the spot he’d cleared and gang up on him, loading his guns back up as he went. He kept an eye on the Rakshasa. If he didn’t have the sesnickie bone grip repelling the thing’s vibrations, it probably could have done much worse than it did, but it was only able to affect his feelings and the feelings of those around him. Vermilion was the target, he guessed, because of what the Merrilore had told him. Prudance was the key. Vermilion was Prudance’s father. Vermilion needed to be killed so Prudance could serve her purpose, the purpose she had been set to when the other Rakshasa had turned her into the abomination that she was now. Without looking, he fired two impossibly fast shots where he knew the Rakshasa’s wings were. He was starting to feel a little weak and shaky from the sixteen ghost shots he’d just fired; they required a lot of energy. A hollow, almost painful feeling in his stomach told him he would need to eat soon.

The Rakshasa fell from the sky like a shooting star and Vermilion instantly felt relief as its concentration broke, and the heavy vibrations were gone. He ran toward where the thing should land. He flicked open his cylinders and threw away what bullets were left. He hated to waste, but he needed to be quick, and he needed different equipment. He reached into his jacket and pulled out seven sesnickie tooth bullets then loaded them into the chambers of his guns.

The thing was floating, obviously it had made itself lighter so it wouldn’t die upon landing. Do it now Drake! He thought. He screamed and shot where the Rakshasa was, where it might drift to, where it probably would go after hearing the gun go off, and where it might go as a faint to catch Vermilion off guard. One of the bullets caught it in its shoulder. It shrieked as it started speeding faster towards the death of the ground, it’s vibrations failing as the fang bullet took effect. Vermilion still felt like falling over somewhere in all of this adrenaline, but luckily it was somewhere in the back and the adrenaline was holding the reins. He was slipping into the place Vance had told him to get to while sitting. What Vance didn’t know about Vermilion was that he touched this place all the time—while moving. The grace of a place where no time existed. Vermilion merged with what he saw, it was him as he was it and there was no separation between his pursuit of the Rakshasa and the Rakshasa’s steady fall toward the ground.

“I need … a window,” Vermilion began chanting aloud.

Two black creatures appeared on either side of him, one like a lobster with the hooves of a horse, the other a jagged, jangly thing with fingers like razor blades. They jumped at him, and as they did, he fired one more fang bullet at the falling Rakshasa, just for good measure, then fell to the ground in a roll as the creatures jumped toward him, and as they met in the air above, his guns found their skulls and blew explosions out the back of them. His other bullet ripped through the stomach of the Rakshasa, the following scream coloring Vermilion’s mind in the sweet bliss of projected revenge.

He continued to run toward the falling angel.

“I need a window,” he said it more steadily now, his breath becoming a regulated cycle. “I need a window.”

The Rakshasa was his point of focus. He pulled fang bullets out of his seven-shooters to conserve them, put them back in his coat and pulled his cylinders underneath another wax loop of regular bullets, reloading the chambers. As the wax melted, he pistol-whipped two more black creatures, tearing through their already misshapen faces. They screamed just like men and went down like three heavy sacks of flour, though the brains that came out were slightly more sloshy sounding when they hit the hard ground.

Vermilion cocked the hammers and shot like never before, the drain of his ghost shots not even phasing him in this trance state. He killed, the blood splattering the gray-brown desert sand of this land, painting it black. His coat was covered in it. The window … the window is red. It leads to Svarvaloka.

“I need a window.” He fired and reloaded and killed the black things. The Rakshasa was getting closer to the ground as Vermilion drew closer to the dead angel. Vermilion ran and jumped, using the same method he used for the ghost shot to subtlety flick each muscle and give more speed and buoyancy to his movements.

The Rakshasa slammed into the ground, bouncing once, then landing on its back. Everything was silent. I need a window, he acknowledged dispassionately one more time in his mind, and there it was in the center of the pilgrim’s chest, glowing red. As Vermilion reached its chest with his feet, he kicked the glass, breaking it open, then slid through the opening into Svargaloka.