Sir Thomas Sharpe (justametaphor) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-09-20 11:47:00 |
|
|||
Yennefer meets a strange figure in her dreams who comes with a warning about the second and third floors.
An eerie mist swept across the forest floor. The sky was pitch black. Night, but not night. There were no stars above because that was beyond the scope of the dream world. Even the trees seemed to fade into a background blur the further one looked into the distance. Only nearby elements had any clarity. And while that clarity was detailed — the crinkling sound of leaves beneath the feet, the coarse ridges of bark on tree trunks, the wet mossy scent of autumn in the air — it was also fuzzy. And it was changing. Continuously morphing and manipulating to the dreamer’s thoughts. Thomas could exert some control over it if he focused. But more often than not he allowed the dreamer to guide the path of the dream. It was like a waltz and he’d accepted a long time ago that he wasn’t always equipped to be the lead dancer. But he’d been in this dream before. Well, not this one exactly, but another quite similar to it. Her dreams always had a vividness that the others didn’t. In the beginning, Thomas had been surprised by the similarities. The way her thoughts and emotions held steadfast from one version of herself to another. Not always for the same reason, of course. And there were outlying exceptions. But she was more consistent than some of the others. She was more disciplined. She was like a conductor standing before an orchestra. Careful and precise. Meticulous. Masterful. But that’s because of her power, wasn’t it? Thomas had a few theories. Some were based on the experiments conducted in his world. Others were from his observations in this one. And while he couldn’t always reach her, because she didn’t always have that magical fortitude which made her unique, he could always hear her. And he always kept tabs on what happened to her. Because he listened. He listened to them all. Dreams were a reflection of people’s emotions, but they didn’t always make sense. Thomas learned early on not to show himself completely. Disguises made the interaction easier. It was less shocking to the subconscious mind. Especially his face. Both the one before his death and the one after came with complications. And, in the case of certain people, confusion. He was commonly mistaken for someone else even though the likeness was less than skin deep. If they had been in the tower, he would have taken on the form of one of her friends; the eels swimming in the murky white pool of chaos. But that would be jarring here. So he chose something more natural. Something familiar but not too close to heart. A stag, but not a very impressive one. No large rack of antlers. Just a few knobs and points to distinguish him from a doe. He didn’t walk out from the forest. This was a dream. Logic didn’t need to qualify. He simply appeared before her on the winding path through the trees. “You have to stop trying to break through the barrier. The wards are there for your protection,” the mangy stag said. Whatever peaceful calm the forest was surface level. Beneath the tree's bark, embers were growing. They ebbed and flowed, the orange glow emanating behind the sketched line of bark. Her hand flattened against a tree, her palm flattening to allow herself to feel all parts of it. The tree was pulsating and alive, but it didn't burn her. She peeled bark off to reveal the core of the light, and even then, it did not burn her. She placed her palm against it once again, and a rush of hot wind blew her hair and dress against her body. Then an ache made itself known in her belly. She had a vague remembering of this. Sabrina. She'd stabbed her there with an arrow, and together they'd fallen from a tower. Was she okay? Did she manage to save anyone? And then the thought was gone as soon as it came, but her dress was still dirty, tattered, and torn in all the spots. It simply was no longer an issue. The moment, however fleeting, had deserted her as everyone else in her life had. "There are people trapped," she told the voice. She hadn't seen its form yet. "Unlocking them may be the key to getting back home." Home. Home had been sweaty meetings with Witcher who had bound her to him. None of it was real, and the tree's embers darkened with her emotions, deepening from orange to red. The beating inside them more forceful. Yennefer turned and though her legs did not move, she found herself standing next to the beast. The newly formed horns still had their youthful velvet, and Yennefer yearned to touch them. She found animals were far more honest than human beings or whatever passed for them in any world. Her head tilted to look at him though she didn't recall doing it. "Do I know you? Your voice is familiar." Dreams were funny things. You could hear the same voice over and over and not recognize the sound. This time, she felt as if they'd been here before. That this wasn't the first time he'd appeared to her. Maybe last time, he was something else. “They’re trapped because they’re dangerous. Releasing them will only make things worse.” The stag stomped its front hoof in the dirt. Not forceful or insistent, but almost with a kind of temperamental irritation. This was a conversation Thomas had had before. Over and over and over. Sometimes it was with her. Sometimes it was with one of the others. But people were naturally inquisitive. People didn’t like locked doors. Curiosity beckoned them. And every time it did he made himself known. Because in this case curiosity could kill more than just cats. “And they won’t help you get home,” he added, turning his head to scratch at his side with a nibbling bite. His coat had a deep reddish hue in the dim lighting, but it didn’t look entirely healthy. Some of the hair was pulled out, leaving dry patches of open flesh. And near his neck was a gaping wound that looked as though an arrow might have pierced it. But it didn’t bleed. It was just a hole, blackened and empty. He looked up at her when she asked about his voice. His eyes were two different colors. One was blue, almost translucent. Like ice on a lake. The other was crimson. Bloodshot. Neither looked very deer-like. They were more human. But this was a dream. Weird things were to be expected. “We’ve spoken before. In this world and in others.” One of the antler nubs grew a few inches, stretching out like dough. It seemed to happen both instantaneously and in languid stop-action movements that contradicted each other. Time didn’t have to make sense in dreams. “Please, Yennefer. Cease your prying into those floors. There are nightmares behind those doors. Nightmares that will never leave you.” "My life has been a nightmare," she told him slowly, deliberately. Yennefer was not usually a particularly lucid dreamer, and the dreams she had were mostly memories that played themselves out in different ways. They were pieced together from bits of her life, like a story reel or misery and loneliness. She remembered now. She was a hunchback with other deformities that the people in her world saw as weakness. Now, in the dream, her dream self flickered between the two. Her curiosity in this deer increased as the wound caught her attention. It encompassed her view entirely until she felt the edges of the wound. Her hand waved over the spot, and it instantly closed and smoothed over. Her hunchback ripped through her dress made of ropes, and refused to flicker away like it had before. Her fingers gently felt the patches of missing fur, reanimating them as she drew runes across them. Her jaw twisted and hardened. "Who are you?" There were words she tried to say, but her attention was caught by bandages around her wrist. She tried to claw at them, but they wouldn't come off. She wasn't ashamed; she wasn't hiding these anymore. "Tell me who you are?" “Who I am isn’t important,” Thomas said. His tone was composed and lacking in any real emotion. Maybe that was because of his form. Or maybe it was because he spoke the truth. It didn’t matter who he was. He wasn’t living and he wasn’t among her and her kind. He existed in a separate plane. He was just the messenger. The self-proclaimed protector. The deer blinked its eyes. The icy blue one had a glistening shine as though it might be holding back a tear. The red eye was hard and stoic. It responded more slowly than the other. Like it was a dead thing simply going through the motions. He watched as she flickered, filtering back and forth between her two selves. He wasn’t surprised by this or by her hunchback appearance. If anything he was familiarly calm. That’s how she would have looked in his dreams. If he had dreams. The deer turned its head when she healed the wound on his neck and gave part of herself — part of her dream strength — to clean his mottled coat. “You don’t have to do that. It won’t make a difference. The rot always returns.” Beautiful things are fragile. “You can call me whatever you want. Introductions don’t matter much here. You won’t always remember. And I’m not the thing you should be fixated on. That’s the risk of saying too much in this place. When you wake up you might remember the wrong thing. You might remember my name instead of my warning. There isn’t time for that. The important thing is that you stop meddling with the locked rooms. They must remain locked.” This time only the blue eye blinked. “And we can’t keep meeting like this. Eventually someone will notice.” He looked into the bleak darkness beyond the trees. “It’s hard to get away from her as it is.” "I'm more than capable of remembering more than one thing," she said, her voice echoing through the trees. They rustled and the embers filtered upward into the grey sky where a storm was brewing. The clouds morphed into ominous shapes — some Yennefer recognized, others, she didn't. A house, for example. A manor that towered behind the other clouds. The door was open, but Yennefer could not see inside save for the lightning that seemed to only strike behind the door. She turned away from him, a dramatic turn that billowed her dress around her. It reminded her of sword play. A sword — Geralt's — appeared in her hand and as soon as she looked down at it, it disappeared. Like all things in life, it was just as fleeting. The forest blurred inward, and they were in a corridor. She couldn't see him behind her, but she knew he was there. It was a castle. Cintra, though she'd only seen it from the outside. A girl with hair as white as snow ran past, but she couldn't see her face. A lioness followed her, turning to growl at the sorceress, before continuing. "Don't patronize me. This isn't the first time I've dealt with monsters." When the scenery changed, so did he. Part of that was conscious and part of it wasn’t. Sometimes — most of the time — it was easier to let the dreamer decide who he was or what he looked like. This time he was a man, dressed in the attire of one of the Cintra city guards. His face, however, was covered by a dark sash that wrapped over his nose and mouth. His head protected by a helmet that hid his hair. Only the eyes were visible, again crimson red and icy blue. And the bridge of his nose which was lightly stained with blood. He walked clumsily as though adjusting from four legs to two. He frowned when the little girl ran past. And then a lioness. He waited, half expecting a white wolf to follow, but that didn’t happen. Sometimes it did. “Monsters,” Thomas whispered, his voice muffled by the sash. The same voice as the deer. Calm, collected, but sad. There was always an ache in his voice. The lingering kind. Like someone who’d had their heart ripped out of their chest. Like someone who’d lost the most important thing in their life. Lost and never to be found. Just beyond the corridor was the sound of laughter and frivolity. A feast, perhaps a festival. Maybe a victory dinner from a battle against a bordering enemy. Thomas could hear the sound of glasses clinking, fists pounding on tables, and the cackling snort of a foolish queen. He slowed his pace to keep them in the corridor. “But there’s only one thing you need to remember.” He turned to face her. There was a glare in his eyes that didn’t match the softness in his tone. “Derleth isn’t entirely what you think. There’s more to it than meets the eye. This isn’t even what it looks like. But the creatures behind those doors … They can do real damage. Not just in this world. And they’re angry. They want you or someone else to let them out. I’ve held them back a long time. And, truthfully, I’m not even the best person for that job. I’m tired. But you … You could keep them from getting out. That’s what you should be doing. Not poking at them for answers. Because they don’t have the answers you’re looking for. And even if they could send you home. You wouldn’t want to take them with you.” He waited for a moment. He wasn’t afraid to plead if he had to. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Help me make sure those doors stay locked. Please.” Help me make sure those doors stay locked. Doors were tricky things, and the corridor was endless and full of them now. Each door was different then the previous one. Iron. Wood. Stone. Slathered in paint, in blood, or something else. Some had no handles, some had windows. All of them left her feeling cold. Yes. I will. She folded her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms for warmth. It wasn't working. This was the kind of cold that was deep in your bones, that you could never shake out. Her dress didn't fit over her shoulders. It was cut for the body she'd had created, not the one she was born with. Maybe the feeling of insecurity and judgemeone of a young, deformed girl was why she agreed as easily as she had. She'd already ruined one world with her selfishness. How? Her mouth never moved, but she could hear her voice as if she'd said it allowed. It felt like sharing secrets with Istredd, intimate moments that were lost forever now. That she would never be allowed again. There was nothing to go back to. She was gone there, and yet remained here in this doomed place that recycled itself every week. A chill ran through his thoughts as the corridor converted into an endless stretch of closed doors. He felt as though a hand were reaching out to grab him from behind. Slow motion. It tingled his consciousness; instinct attempting to warn him. Thomas glanced back over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. Nothing but doors and an empty hall of stone. But she was there. Somewhere. He knew it. She was looking for him. Always looking for him. And she was enraged. It was only a matter of time before she realized what he was doing. If she caught him it would be over. She’d use the others to hold him back. To keep him down. And then she’d use the same trick to get out. And then they’d all be in trouble. Because she was bad. But others were worse. “I don’t have much more time. The others are starting to notice something isn’t right.” Thomas glanced at a door beside him. Blood dripped from the arched moulding and curled over the cast iron door to the ground. But before it touched the floor it turned and began spilling upward. Thomas gave Yennefer his full attention then. He saw her deformity, the twists in her spine, but it didn’t shock him. She might have looked disfigured on the outside, but he was just as marred and mutilated on the inside. And not merely because he was dead. But because Thomas had spent much of his life complicit in evil. Sometimes refusing to act was just as villainous. “Someone always tries to break the seal on the wards. Because there’s great power in this place. The energy it took to hold these creatures was immense. Enough to cross worlds.” Well, sort of. It was very complex. Derleth was different. It had a pull. “There are others like yourself with powers that could release the chaos in here. Others with the ability to sense us. You must not let them breach our barriers. I’ve managed to reach some of them the same way I’ve reached you, but not everyone is as receptive. And not everyone remembers.” Because a dreamer had to want to remember their dreams. "Stop anyone who tries to tamper with the seal." Where was the seal? Who in this place could even breach it? Whoever it could be needed to be incredibly powerful, and while there were strong people here, there was really only one person who was considered to be equal in power — and arrogance — as she. The one with the Eldritch Magic. His ego was worse than hers, but she had earned her through decades of work and study. She swiped the back of her hand against her mouth. There was an amount of spittle at the corner of her lip, like it had been before she'd transformed herself. The jaw mishapenness couldn't keep her mouth closed. This dream was becoming too realistic for her tastes. "I'll remember. I promise." It began to snow above their heads. A soft falling of white flakes from a ceiling that no longer existed. It should have felt cold, but in this dream it didn’t. Yennefer couldn’t see because of the sash that covered the bottom half of his face, but Thomas gave a small smile. It reached his eyes, well one of them anyway, in an encouraging glint. But before it became much of anything a faint trail of blood seeped out through the fabric of the sash and wafted into the air. It curled around the side of his helmet and twisted upwards. He didn’t seem to notice, but his posture slumped more. Tired. So, so very tired. And then the door nearest them began to shake. A loud clanking sound interrupted the dream, followed by a low agonizing moan and the etching of nails against the iron surface. Thomas winced and, for the first time since they’d started speaking, a rush of fear flashed across his eyes. “She’s coming,” he whispered, panicked. “I have to go.” Thomas turned to Yennefer once more. For a fleeting second there was another look in his eyes. This one was ashamed. Apologetic. Like a child who’d just disappointed their parents. He looked as though he might say something different — something more personal — but whatever caused that guilt-ridden expression receded as quickly as it arrived. “If you need me you can find me here. Or in the quiet spaces. The stairwell is a good place to put your ear to the wall. But don’t stay too long. It’s best not to draw too much attention to yourself.” The door rattled again. “Be safe, Yennefer. And mind the people around you. They might not always know what they’re doing.” The corridor darkened, the lamplights flickering to a dim. His form slowly began to fade, easing into a translucent haze before it finally disappeared. And when he was gone, the only thing left in his place was a small pile of snow. |