167 lines
7.6 KiB
Markdown
167 lines
7.6 KiB
Markdown
---
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title: 00064
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created: Wed, 15 Feb 2023 17:58:35 -0700
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updated: Wed, 15 Feb 2023 17:58:35 -0700
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public: yes
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syndicated: yes
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---
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### 00064 {#00064}
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Back at the fish market, Marvelo squints into the pouring rain and
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swears under his breath, frustrated at the limited visibility.
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His colleague is lying on the floor behind him in some kind of state
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of deeply altered consciousness, along with an inkling, a toque, and
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an owl. In fact, the only waking beings left inside the market are
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himself, a fluffy little duck, and a sticky hemogoblin.
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"I've seen stranger things," he shrugs and admits to himself.
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The duck and the goblin are both fluffed up and huddled up next to
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each other softly quacking and chirping to themselves.
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He pauses and holds his breath as something indistinct catches his
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attention. Years of training have produced an instinct he has learned
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not to question. It has saved his butt more times than he can count.
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Sometimes it screams at him and the danger is apparent. Like that
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time with the Permian Raiders off the southern tip of Harshwind
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Glade. Other times, such as this, all he gets is the vague feeling
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that something is off. He waits. He's been here before. His
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subconscious has spotted something, noticed some pattern that doesn't
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fit its surroundings. He knows if he's patient, his conscious mind
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will catch up and realize what it was.
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He squints out into the pouring rain. There! A flash of red close to
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the ground.
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"What in the world," he wonders as a small child wearing a bright red
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dress toddles into view. It looks up at him blankly as the rain beats
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down on its head and shoulders.
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"What are you doing out here, little guy? You're getting soaked!"
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Marvelo, concerned, rushes forward to comfort the child.
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> Inky gingerly takes the coin with both hands, small digits clamping
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> onto the straight edges. They look at the Twenty-one Fiver nestled
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> against the fuzzy outlines of one palm before peering up again at the
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> figure seated before them. "Thank you, Great Spirit." Inky says. "If
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> truly allowed to choose, then, this one accepts the price."
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>
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> They toss the coin up into the air. A beat, and they are hovering a
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> few feet above the tracks, between the fork and the oncoming train
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> with no walls. Inky watches as the child's body begins to shrink as
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> rapidly as the black uniform expands, the entire apparition thinning
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> and becoming translucent. The shirt continues to grow until the hem
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> brushes the train tracks and the collar peeks over the invisible tops
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> of the train, the trousers and shoes having been pushed into the
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> stones and earth below.
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>
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> A portal, the child's voice supplies distantly. At the back of their
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> awareness, Inky homes in on the coin as it continues to spin. When
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> the train thunders down upon the oversized shirt doorway-apparent,
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> they brace for the force of the impact. Instead, all they could feel
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> is a creeping weariness, like water draining through tea leaves in a
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> sieve, while being suddenly surrounded by and staring into a deep
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> reflectionless pool.
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>
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> Is it two to two, or two past eight, Inky wonders.
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>
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> The last thing within their consciousness is a gleam of silver as the
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> coin lands on one of its corners mid-spin, bounces off the small half
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> table and falls into the shadows.
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You sink into the dark reflectionless pool, letting its waters close
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over you and pull you under. You ponder its depths from within in its
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embrace, mindless of the passage of time.
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After a few minutes, or a few days, you notice faint light rising up
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here and there from below. Fuzzy, cobwebby human shapes float
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suspended in the waters. Some far away, distant as stars. Some drift
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close enough that you would be able to discern their features, if
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they had any.
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You realize all at once that these are the dream forms of sleeping
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Basmentarians everywhere, and that you are floating in Ousia, a
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solitary awakened dreamer in a literal sea of the passive slumbering.
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As though responding to your realization, the waters bear you up and
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you pierce the weak membrane between water and air. You float
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effortlessly and the gentle waves nudge you ever onward toward some
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unknown shore. Or merely farther out to sea. You're not sure.
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You continue to see the dreamers all around you. You watch curiously
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as you float by two that seem to have bumped into one another and
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fused together, their cobwebby bodies sprouting hard crystalline
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growths and spreading like creeping vines, forming a lattice and
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creating a small floating island.
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After a few hours, or a few weeks, you wash up on the beach of a
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large island. There is a steep rock, a pillar of a mountain, jutting
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straight up from the center of the island some distance ahead. And
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jutting from the pillar is a fractal structure of interconnected
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towers, all sprouting and branching from one large central tower. The
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top of the tower disappears far overhead, obscured by a rippling
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aurora of green and pink lights in the sky.
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Some distance down the beach, just out of hailing distance, a lone
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figure stands gazing at the sea, their back to the tower.
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The figure waits.
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The tower's strange geometry beckons.
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> Kasutva, how can I know that I can trust you? What do you gain in
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> helping me, and was there really no way for you to communicate with
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> me without beheading yourself? That seems a little bit distraughting.
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> Like, do you need a bandage or some headache medicine or something? I
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> feel like if I yanked my face off I'd need an ibuprofen. I have
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> some if you want? (alex rummages in a coat pocket and finds a bottle
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> of pain killers, and offers them to the being).
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>
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> Right anyways, answers questions. I'm looking for my Uncle first and
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> foremost. He dropped off the map a few days ago, and I can't find
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> hide nor hair of him. Then the murders started. Shit at HQ when wild,
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> hit the wall literally, and now I'm in some sort of fever dream
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> talking to what can only be a manifestation of my own subconscious, or
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> perhaps someone else's. Look. I need to get back to Inky, we're trying
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> to meet someone and we're running late, and in the scheme of things my
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> problems aren't so big if the world's going to end because some mad
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> hatter is after these blasted crystal's we've been collecting..
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Even as you speak, you notice the edges of Big Kasutva's "wounds"
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start to close until its flesh begins to once more envelop and
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enclose its face.
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The creature courteously accepts a few pills from you, but simply
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deposits them in its satchel.
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"No, it doesn't hurt us," say the two voices together. "And little
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matter if it did. It is necessary for us to speak."
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They listen to your story. Big Kasutva's voice starts to become
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muffled as its skin now grows over its mouth. Only its eyes are
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visible as the two of them continue. "If your Inky has come to this
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place, then there is only one place they can have gone." They gesture
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to the sea. "And that place is Ephemeris. The Heart of the Dreaming
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at the center of Ousia."
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Big Kasutva finally falls silent as it heals completely. It guides
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you to the shoreline, where a long pier has suddenly appeared.
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Mushroom Kasutva continues to speak for both of them.
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"We only ask to accompany you as you go. We wish to see Ephemeris
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ourselves. But we cannot abandon our post here on the dunes," it says
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looking at Big Kasutva. "And we," it says gesturing to itself, "are
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too small to brave the sea alone."
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Big Kasutva stops short of the end of the pier. The little mushroom
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hops right up to the edge and peers down at the water.
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"All that is left is to jump, Alex. And let the waters of Ousia bear
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you up and carry you to Ephemeris."
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It hops up to you and extends itself in a clear request, despite its
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lack of limbs, that it wants you to pick it up.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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