Dark Tales From Dandelion
Chapter Thirty-Three: Fire

1

Leere sent the message to Carter who remained in the house. Go to the Fishing table in the common room. The Eraser is there. Carter set about doing as commanded while Leere made his way into the woods. There was someone here who had not been accounted for and Leere intended to take care of all loose ends.

Leere entered the Shadow Wood and was instantly covered by darkness. He walked in the darkness for a time, waiting for the voice, or the burps, or the—

“You are a rotten version of who you were. Your vibrations have shifted. Your aura has changed; which is good, if you had any Thrast in your veins.”

“You’ve only made this easier for me, Treespeaker,” Leere said, spinning slowly in circles to try and find Pohsib. A rock whirled through the air and smacked Leere right in his skull’s eye-hole. It hurt.

“What do you call a belt made of watches?” Pohsib asked from the shadows.

I always hated this. “I don’t know … watchbelt?”

Another rock soared through the air and smacked Leere in the back of the head.

“A waist of time!” Pohsib laughed and burped, then laughed some more. The trees seemed to blow in approval at the punchline.

“For Fucks sake,” Leere said.

“Why should you never eat a clock?” Pohsib asked.

“I’m finished, Pohsib. I’ve had my fill.”

“Because it’s too time consuming!” Laughter. Burps. Trees blowing their shadow substance that could be called leaves. A tree smacked Leere with its root across His body. He went flying into another tree, smacking the trunk with His back. He felt like his lungs were broken, and He couldn’t breathe. His back screamed in pain.

“I’ll give you one more—uhhh—chance, you goathead fuck. Actually hold on. What is with the getup anyways? Is there an actual function or—“

“—I’ll show you its function if you come and take a look at it.”

“Only if I get to see the skeleton of your cock as well,” Pohsib said. “Why did the little boy sit on the clock?”

Leere didn’t answer. He’d found where the Treespeaker was hiding.

“He just wanted … to be on time,” Pohsib said, then all the tree roots slowly rose all around Leere. As the roots shot forward to attack, He dodged underneath them. The roots slammed into the ground in an attempt to squish Him. Leere evaded, rolling to the left, and made his way to where Pohsib sat as the trees continued to attack. A tree root grabbed his foot just as he approached the Treespeaker and it twisted, making a loud cracking noise. The pain was terrible. Leere vibrated into the tree at an insanely high frequency, making the atoms move so fast that the shadow tree burst into flames. Pohsib’s concentration broke and Leere used the same vibration on him. Pohsib shrieked as the fire consumed him. The trees all continued to assault Leere, and he set each one on fire as they did. Pohsib kept getting fanned off by the rustling of trees putting out the flames, but Leere was insistent that the Treespeaker should die, so he continued to set him on fire until his face was an unrecognizable black mess.

Pohsib lay on the ground at the base of a burning shadow tree. Leere thought He’d at least allow the Treespeaker the honor of dying with his trees.

Leere headed in the direction he thought may be the way back to the Manor House, but he really had no idea. The house should stay in a fixed place if Pohsib was really dead, but that didn’t mean he knew where that fixed place was ….

An explosion of fire in the sky. There! S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Leere headed toward the explosion, the shadow trees trying to close in on him the entire time. As he got nearer the explosion, the forest became more dense and it was getting harder to dodge attacks from the trees. Flying wasn’t an option because he feared the high thin branches more than the roots, and He still felt something blocking him from Moving within the barrier. Pohsib must still be clutching to life, using these trees to make me unable. The trees of a Treespeaker’s forest could do queer things like this and he had only been able to Move from within their protective barrier because they believed He was Carter’s welcome guest at the time. Or Pohsib has died, taking his jokes with him, thank the Void, and these trees are out on The Strings, acting alone in their grief. That thought was quite a bit more terrifying than the thought of Pohsib imposing what little will he had left onto the Forest of Midnight.

He was almost there when a large root grabbed him by the waist and squeezed. Then it was coiling itself around him like a snake. Leere began to panic.

2

Fiona was suffocating. She kicked a few times, then consciousness faded. She dreamed. Of Carter. Of Vermilion. Of Prudance. Her daughter. Carter, who had married her underneath this tree. Carter, who had become madly obsessed with the vibrations, trying to help her with her blackouts. Was that the thing that had led him to this place? Was Leslie still in there? How much did he have to do with this? Was he the one making Carter act like this? No … that made no sense. Leslie was hot-headed, but he wasn’t a murderer. Carter was the one acting so strange those last six months before the mantra scramble. He had asked her to try and vibrate hatred with him, toward him—toward each other even. She had refused because she did not want to possibly hurt Carter. She had loved him, but also he hadn’t even touched her in two months when he’d asked that question, so she didn’t really feel like reentering their relationship with hatred. Now it was making sense. It wasn’t Leslie. It wasn’t Leere. It was Carter. The horned creature certainly had something to do with it, but she suddenly knew that Carter had wanted this to happen. He may have went into his research to try and help Fiona, but he had come out of it an obsessed creature that barely spoke to her.

She became very angry, yet also joyous. It was a confusing thing much like when she split herself to do multiple vibrations at once. She was angry with Carter, with how he had hoodwinked her, leading her to believe he was something besides what he was, then he turned into a completely different person. She was angry with Quint for being so foolish as to think he could train these vibrationalists by himself, then failing to do so, yet also not sending them to the Tower of Tones. Angry with herself for being fooled, for fooling herself, for seeking out Lady Fae to change her appearance and take her memories away; for allowing Prudance to be changed by Lady Fae and herself as well. Angry with herself for not forgiving her vibrational blackouts sooner.

She was joyous because she was finally free; free to be who she was rather than what she thought she should be. It was the sweetest feeling, like she could live now finally, as herself, open for anyone to see. She felt joyous at the prospect of dying as well, which was odd. Dying meant no more pain, no more worry about trivial matters, no more confusion. Dying was solidly one way; you ceased to exist in the way you had been existing. There were no choices left in death, which meant that there was no fear of making choices anymore. There was no shame in feeling anger at Carter. There was no shame at all. In death, she was free to live.

The noose burned and she dropped to the ground. She was thrumming like never before. She looked at the world through a new lens; hers to play with as she wished in this state of consciousness. It was forever … it was no longer now, or then, or before. She looked at the slowly deteriorating rope dispassionately, then slid out of her wedding dress. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t need to know why; she was dead after all—she was alive.

She exploded in a tower of fire that reached up to the sky. She was fire. She vibrated so fast that she was no longer solid. Thoughts weren’t really happening, they were more like energy waves aimed in a specific direction, like her thoughts and feelings before becoming the fire were the trigger of a seven-shooter and the energy waves the bullets. The fire flew through the air toward the Manor House and ripped through the front door, making objects within the house jump into the air. A table flew above the house in flames which were like a detached part of her body.

3

Carter had been underneath the table with Prudance and they now lay out in the flame-lit field of stargazer lilies, Carter’s skin black and red from the burns. He had shielded Prudance from the explosion and she was mostly unharmed except for some mild burns on the backs of her hands. The Clever was destroyed. No-one would ever be going to the peep show in Harrentree through that door again. The walls in the meditaz had collapsed, leaving behind the marble floor, some of the marble pillars and the marble staircase that had once led into the common room. The Shadow trees were also on fire, and their border seemed to be moving, coming closer to the Manor House.

4

Leere walked out of the Shadow Wood. He had managed to burn away the roots that had taken hold of him. The Manor House was ablaze, a sight that gave him shivers. He could see she was not quite done with her work—she was the fire. Leere could sense that she was still in the flames, though the flames were also not her. He stood in awe of the sight for two full tiks then came to his senses. He looked around. No … no … no—THERE! He extended his black wings and flew over to the pair. As soon as he reached them, he embraced both at the same time.

“Eraser?” Carter asked.

“She will have to bring it to us,” Leere said. He felt for the place within that allowed him to Move and there was no longer a block there. The three forms disappeared from the field of stargazer lilies.

5

Vermilion felt hot. He drew his seven-shooters and hand loaded them; he hadn’t had time to make more wax loops since the spider-bird incident. He was going to kill that goat-headed fuck claiming to be Leere, and the babbling psychopath Carter while he was at it. He couldn’t just stand there in the kitchen, plotting, while Prudance was so close.

As he reached for the doorknob with his wounded right arm, heat consumed him. Fire obscured his vision. The wound on his right forearm burned intensely and he thought this was the end, right as a familiar form curled around his torso and they Moved.

6

Vermilion screamed as he was once again ripped away from his daughter. The pain in his arm meant nothing compared to his grief. Had she died in the explosion? Was she still with the beast and Ali’s—Fiona’s—other husband?

His pants ripped as his knees were bloodied on jagged black rock. Tears spilled from his eyes as he sobbed. The desolate black of the landscape did him no favors.

“She is safe, Vermilion. They need her. No harm will come to—”

“You can’t know, sesnickie. You CAN’T!”

“The Fishing—”

“Tells you jack shit. Vague glimmer, Pip. Glimmers … “

The angry, dark sea was licking at their backs as it crashed against the rocks. They were on a long strip of the jagged rock that led to a large white tower that leaned slightly to one side as it came to a point, much like an enormous sesnickie fang. The Tower was higher than the mountains of the Endynas Valley, higher than the Tower of Tones; it had to be big, sesnickie were eighteen feet long.

“We are here now to help Prudance,” Pip sent, “and Fiona, or Ali if you prefer. But really, we are here to stop a Necrolore from being created. To keep from being enslaved by the One Dream. To save Prudance. Regardless, Prudance had to go. The only way to help her is this.” Pip gestured to the Tower with their head, barbels swinging back and forth. “I am confident … that Fiona can do what needs done, so long as we can keep the Rakshasas away from her while she does it.”

Vermilion coughed and went to wipe some spittle off with his right arm, but winced at the shock of forgotten pain aggravated anew as he touched his wound with the stubble of his cheek. Quint was quick to grab the forearm and examine it behind his circle-rimmed glasses.

“I will heal you, Vermilion,” Quint said.

“No. There isn’t time. It looks like we have a lot of work ahead of us if we are going to try and get sesnickie and Drakes to fight for us,” Vermilion said.

“And we won’t be much good to that effort if our Drake collapses from blood loss,” Quint said, then Vermilion felt the skin tighten painfully, and he grew very hungry with the effort of accelerated healing. He took out some jerky from a pouch and gnawed at the tough meat.

“Will I do you much good here? I mean will I make a difference?” Vermilion said.

“Well not a huge difference, but we will need you as an ambassador to the Drakes,” Pip sent.

The wind blew, drying out Vermilion’s eyes and sending a chill through his bones.

“Take me to the Great Drake Halo, and come back when you are done here. We can do both at once.”

Pip and Quint shared a look.

Pip sent, “I could use your help here, Vermilion. If you’re looking to make things go faster—”

“I’m trying … to believe you. I’m trying to be patient. I won’t run off and do anything stupid. I’m with you guys, alright? I’m just fucked up about it. I spent years in the other endo, away from Prudance; then, when I got her back, she was immediately taken from me again,” Vermilion said. Pip and Quint looked at him, Quint’s face showing his sympathy, and Vermilion assumed Pip was internally wearing the same expression. The sympathy of the ignorant, Vermilion thought, glazed over eyes—a stone wall of incomprehension and wanting to care a little more. He felt foolish. He couldn’t blame them, they just didn’t understand. Vermilion looked them both in the eye. “I couldn’t just … I had to try. Knowing she was that close. You guys understand that, don’t you?” There was a pleading note in his voice.

“I understand, Vermilion. That is—inasmuch as I can understand,” Quint said.

“I do too. I just didn’t want you running off to your death!” Pip sent. Vermilion gave Pip a searching look. He remembered what the sesnickie had said about Leere needing to take Prudance, almost like they had wanted it to happen. Perhaps this was all part of something bigger than Vermilion, but that didn’t take the sting out of it. He was so tired of Prudance being used for ‘something bigger.’

“If this is the only way I can help her, then of course, I want to. I want to do it the fastest way possible. You really think I’ll be able to help here? As an ambassador? And what then?” Vermilion said.

“Yes, I do. I mean, it will at least give us more of a case. Then—if the sesnickie will give us the fangs—to the Tower of Tones, where, hopefully the thrummers will sing the fangs into blades to be used by the phase-shifters. I’m sure the Drakes already have plenty of bullets and grips in the Little Tower?”

“Yes, more than enough. Then to Lavender?” Vermilion asked.

“Then to Lavender,” Pip confirmed.

“And we all go on your back, Pip? The Drakes and the shifters—”

“The shifters will go another way. They cannot Move with the sesnickie.”

“Yeah. And we have to go back to those Voiddamned bickering shifters in the Dead Lands to give them the blades, and to show them the door that leads to Lavender that Pip keeps alluding to. That is—if they’re willing to help, and if not, I will turn out their lights.”

“You mean you’ll hurt them?” Vermilion asked.

“No, they use thrumming lamps. I will turn them off.”

“Oh. Ok, then. How will we transport the Drakes?” Vermilion asked.

“If I have to transport six at a time myself, I will. I am hoping some of the sesnickie will fight with us. They have also been spurned by the hands of the Hate,” Pip sent.

“So I’ve actually just set us back with my little tantrum here,” Vermilion breathed out.

“I wouldn’t go so far as that … “ Quint said.

“Fuck’s sake,” Vermilion said. “Let’s go.”

7

They walked along the jagged, bleak shore that was once Pip’s front yard. It’s been too long since I’ve been here, Pip thought. The sky was rock gray, overcast. Pip looked up to the enormous white fang.

“I assume we will be welcomed with open arms?” Vermilion said. “Just three pilgrims prophesying the end of the world wondering if we might have a moment of your time to talk about Leere?”

“You underestimate how true your cynicism rings, Vermilion,” Pip sent. “Sensickie can be a stubborn lot with rational queries. It’s anyone’s guess how this will go.”

There was no door on the smooth white wall of the tower.

“I will have to Move inside and get you two approved,” Pips sent. “It shouldn’t take long. They know Quint, at least, and the Drakes and sesnickie peoples are old friends.”

“Yes. Tell them Quint sends his squints,” Quint said, squinting.

“You keep trying to make this a thing, Quint, but Quint the Squint will never stick quite as well as Ye Olde Nutsack,” Pip sent, and before Quint could squint any further, Pip Moved inside of the tower.

What they saw horrified them. Sesnickie lay strewn about throughout the forty foot tall entrance hall. All dead, all DEAD! Pip thought. They shook. Blood everywhere, decorating the white walls.

Pip shook the lifeless shapes of three sesnickie before giving up and Moving to the floors above. No life. Pip believed they knew the state of the cellar before Moving there to look at it, but had to check so as not to waste the trip completely.

Pip stood at the top of a wide, metal stair that held to the wall of a large circular Chamber that went down at least one-hundred feet below. There was no store of sesnickie fangs and bones as there had been when last Pip was here, but Pip could see white shapes on the ground far below. Maybe some were left? Pip thought. The sesnickie Moved to a place on the stairs closer to the white shapes on the ground. Pip vomited yellow-green bile at the sight. Pieces of sesnickie had been torn apart to spell two words: Loose Strings.

He knew what I was doing, Pip thought, horrified. And he retaliated. The thought of harvesting bones and teeth from the dead sesnickie that lay throughout the tower sickened Pip further, and if Leere knew they would be here, how long would it take before He—or His Rakshasas—came and attacked Quint, Vermilion and Pip?

“We have to leave. Now,” Pip sent as they rejoined their friends outside of the tower.

Quint looked bewildered, though that wasn’t a very far stretch from the way he usually looked. “Were they hesitant to allow my swooning squints back into—”

“They’re all dead, Quint. All of them that are in there. I don’t know if any escaped. The bones are gone. This must have been Leere’s response to my distraction while Vermilion entered Fiona’s Loose String,” sent Pip who was still shaking with terror.

“Shit … “ Quint said in a hushed tone.

“I … I’m so sorry,” said Vermilion.

“Nothing to do. We must run to the point on the rock where we can Move from the island. Who knows if they are coming back. We will go to the Halo,” Pip sent, starting off toward the spot they’d arrived at earlier. They looked back to see both Quint and Vermilion frozen to the spot. “Run!”

No Rakshasas appeared to hinder the three. Whoever had done this murder would have needed sesnickie to get into the tower. Chained sesnickie most likely, Pip thoughts they ran, their claws clutching to the black rock, digging into it a bit with each bound. Chained and forced to Move for those that would kill their kin. All in the name of a firm belief—of One Dream.

Vermilion and Quint climbed onto Pip’s back as they reached the spot where Moving would be possible for those that rode on a sesnickie’s back. Pip struggled with Moving. The wind blew cold mist onto them, like a chilling, physical manifestation of the coldness Pip felt inside; the waves crashed higher, adding to this feeling that his surroundings were sympathizing. You have to go. It’s no use standing here saying sick about it, Pip thought. Remember the Fishing. The cards never lied, though they could be vague. Perhaps the Fang Bites Itself card was meant to be fulfilled elsewhere.

They were finally able to Move, and arrived on an arid plain. Several burning wheat fields surrounded a pure gold wall that reached one-hundred feet into the air. The wall seemed to shine against the black night of the sky, and it reflected its surroundings, making them all gleam gold on its smooth surface.

“They must be here too. The surplus wheat fields are burning,” Vermilion said, turning around to look behind them. The Drake’s eyes grew large and he fumbled at his belt for his guns and hand loaded bullets into the chambers. Pip turned around. About a half mile away, blood red tents with a skull sprouting goat horns on each one covered the landscape for as far as Pip could see. Cook fires could be seen glimmering; voices shouted.

“REFUGEES!” Shouted a voice from behind them. Pip turned back to the Great Drake Halo. The wall … opened, and hundreds of figures could be seen standing on the top of the wall.

“They’re letting us in! Move quick or eat pilgrim shit!” Quint said, running for the opening in the smooth gold.

Pip followed next to Vermilion. They had almost made it to the opening when Pip heard the flapping of wings above them and felt the familiar weight of Low Vibrations descend upon them.

Bang.

Bangbang.

Bangbangbangbang.

The shots from the top of the golden wall were quick, loud, and precise. The vibrations lifted from Pip as all three of them made it through the opening of glowing gold and into Karad-Dürn.

8

Quint had never been to Karad-Dürn. What stuck out to him most—other than the giant golden ring surrounding the city—was the black keep that could be seen from the entrance, and the sentinel Drake statue that stood atop the middle tower. The keep was made up of seven towers, all standing next to each other in a row. Two of these, the furthest left and furthest right, stood taller than the others and ended in pointed spires, while the remaining four were flat on top. The two flat-topped towers closest to middle were taller than the two that surrounded them, like a stair that led to the tallest point of the keep where the lone Drake sentinel stood pointing its seven-shooter ever westward, almost as if it aimed for the Tower of Truth in the Dead Lands. Peculiar. Why would it aim for the Tower of Truth? Quint thought. And why is it so Voidsdamned big? There had to be at least twenty miles of city between Quint and the black keep.

Then he felt the vibrations. Like a low hum of ecstasy in the back of his skull, it prickled the skin on his lower back and arms. He looked away from the lone sentinel keep and noticed the people and sesnickie standing all around him. Thrummers?

Pip ran for a group of sesnickie , no doubt relieved that their entire race had not been wiped out. The thrummers were holding … something together. There were hundreds of them standing here on the sandy earth near the river that ran through Karad-Dürn. Fifty feet away, little houses stood in a line along the river where a road began, and past this to the east was a small tower that Quint assumed was the Drakes’ Little Tower where transmogrifiers were made.

A group of five thrummers broke off from the rest and approached Quint. They did not look pleased. Wait. Isn’t that ….

“You’re the thrummers that were in Mother’s class,” Quint said, pointing a gnarled, crooked finger at them.

“You’re the old fuck that disappeared after she was killed,” said the man in front.

Uh-oh.

Vibrations drifted down upon Quint, holding him in place. Vermilion lifted guns to the group as casually as reaching for a handshake. They stopped walking.

“If you don’t take those fucking vibrations off of my friend here—and just stop trying with me; the only few that could punch through the repelling grips would have had me on the ground before I cocked my hammers—If you don’t take ‘em off, I’m filling all five of you with metal,” Vermilion said. Quint felt the vibrations lift from him and he breathed out in relief. “That was my wife you just accused us of killing.”

“It’s those winged fucks camped out there on the Plains of Petunia that you want. Well, them and the horned thing that thinks it’s Leere,” Quint said.

The five thrummers looked worn, and if Quint remembered right, they wore the same clothes that they had been in two days ago when he and his friends had been at the Tower of Tones. When we were made aware of Fiona’s true identity: the Woman in White, Vermilion’s wife, Prudance’s Mother. But was she a potential? Or a future self come back? Quint thought.

Vermilion said, “The man who stabbed her is named Carter. He is with Leere now, and—”

“And what happened after she was … after she passed?” Quint interjected. “And what are you doing here now?” The thrummers remained silent. Quint slowly raised finger guns and squinted his eyes. He shook his head once dramatically and said in a gravelly voice, “if y’all don’t start talking … I’ll fill ya full of air.”

Vermilion laughed and dropped his guns. The thrummers did not find it humorous.

“We’ve just lost our home, and our teacher, and you think its something to joke about?” Said the front man with dark eyes and dark greasy hair.

“What’s you name, dark-and-in-charge? That’s what I’m calling you in my head, so I’d rather you correct that now before it sticks,” Quint said.

“I’m not giving you my—”

“It’s sticking … “

“What’s your—”

“Stickystickysticky.”

“—Name?”

“Your name is name? Cruel parents …. Alright, Name, my name is Quint, and—”

“Fuck’s sake! My name is Soffel,” said Soffel.

“Ah! Great name! I knew a Soffel once. Jokester, that Soffel; though, he didn’t quite understand the humor of ‘your mom’ or ‘your sister’ jokes. He would blather on all day with ‘dead baby’ jokes, but if you started a joke with ‘your sister,’ he was quite the cunt about it,” Quint said.

“What does that have to do with me?” Soffel said moodily.

“Well recently, I became acquainted with the potential reality of one of my friends. Two people who’re the same person, but just different potential selves—at least that’s the theory I’m leaning toward the most. So, it could have everything to do with you, good Soffel! Don’t start taking offense to sister jokes, Soffel. That’s how you lose friends.”

“You make no Voiddamned sense,” Soffel said, turning away.

“She taught me as well, along with one of my closest friends,” Quint said, nodding to Soffel’s friends. “We were … quite close. My friend died at the hands of the Hate. My friend—and then my Mother. Our Mother, Soffel—Vermilion’s wife, too. I can’t prove myself to you, but I am sorry for your loss, and for mine.”

Quint attuned the Inner Vibrations . Love, sadness, loss. He thrummed them into Soffel and his friends, then touched Vermilion on the arm, signaling his intended departure from the exchange.

“Wait,” Soffel said. Quint turned back to the dark-haired man. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m—we’re just … lost, man. I’m sorry.”

“No need. I would be skeptical as well,” Quint said, turning again to go. He’d seen Pip with the sesnickie and thought he might get his questions answered there.

“As soon as the valley’s Veils collapsed, we were attacked. At first we weren’t sure what was happening. The Woman in White had just told us in class that we were Rakshasas, then there were Rakshasas everywhere. It almost seemed like she had intended for them to come, like a test or something. By the time we made it to the lecture hall, she was dead—and you gone, along with your friends,” Soffel said.

“But you see … she’s still alive, Soffel. I watched it with my own eyes. My friend—whose past I knew nothing of—changed into the Woman. She fights for us still—for all of us.”

Soffel did not reply, and did not look convinced. The thrummed only nodded his head, his black curls bobbing jerkily against his head, then walked away to a row of canvas tents twenty feet from where Quint stood.

“You believe it’s really her?” Vermilion said, both men gazing at the thrummers walking away.

“I’ve seen stranger. And it explains her power—and her stubbornness—and the anger … “ Quint said. Vermilion chuckled. “She looks just like the woman now. Blonde hair, blue eyes, oval-shaped face. I feel like a Voidless idiot for not seeing the similarities before, but I suppose a change of hair and eye color can go a ways.”

Vermilion scratched his chin. “It’s just … which on is mine? My Ali, Quint. Did she die? Which one had my Prudance?” He said. “Both, I think,” said Quint. “If I had to guess which one was with you, I’d say it was Fiona. The living woman. But perhaps that’s only because I am a romantic.”

“You are?”

“No. But I am an optimist. Here’s Pip,” Quint said. The sesnickie sent a mind smile to Quint.

“There are so many sesnickie here! Did you speak with any of the refugee thrummers?” Pip said.

“A few. Did the sesnickie say anything about the attack?” Quint said.

“Yes. Rakshasas. It happened shortly after I entered your Loose String, Quint. They sent in chained sesnickie who were forced to attack and gain an approval for entry of their Rakshasa riders. Most escaped once they knew what was happening to their nearest allies the Drakes,” Pip sent.

“It seems they were of one mind with the thrummers, though I suspect running to the Drakes may have more to do with their experience in hunting Rakshasas than their close proximity,” Quint said. “I didn’t get the chance to ask how they got here, though.”

“The sesnickie said they were asked upon arrival if they’d be willing to take a group of Drakes to the Tower of Tones to seek the help of the thrummers. The Great Drake Halo was surrounded, and the Drakes were planning an attack,” Pip sent, laying down on the ground and stretching their legs out. Quint coughed blood into his hand. Pip tilted their head at Quint.

How much longer can I hide it? Quint thought. How much longer do I have to live? Rakshasas everywhere, the Hate closing in around my heart just as quickly as the Thrast. Quint closed his hand around the blood.

“So they wanted to get the thrummers to attack from the rear,” Vermilion commented.

“Precisely,” Pip sent.

“Would have been a good fight,” Vermilion said.

“Would have been, if the Rakshasas were not terrorizing the entirety of the Endings Valley. The sesnickie arrived at the normal point where Moving is still allowed, three miles away from the mouth, and immediately felt something was off. They could smell the vibrational difference of the valley, and so tried Moving within the barrier. They found it worked, but also found that—the closer they got, the more it became apparent that the valley was under attack by Rakshasas. They came back to the Drake Halo and were joined by Drakes and sesnickie for a full on rescue mission of the thrummers. They went back and forth, Moving as many as they could back here, the Rakshasas unable to follow into the halo on their sesnickie,” Pip sent.

A new river of consciousness flowed into Quint’s mind, similar to Pip’s but a different kind of flavor—the scents and images of a different kind of interpretation. “The fewer the thrummers we left behind, though, the easier it became for the Rakshasas to slaughter them. Then, something … queer happened. I was on the lowest level at the time, clawing away at Rakshasas with my Drake—Eustis—on my back, when the patients from what I could only guess was an improvised hospital wing—it was not there when last I visited the tower—all at once came out in their thin blue gowns. They walked slow.” The new sesnickie paused for a moment, the images, scents and feelings of their sending becoming more strange, more unsettling. “The area around their eyes was surrounded with hives that looked like red tendrils. The entirety of their bodies—or, at least, all I could see—were covered in black veins that showed through their skin.”

“Thrast … “ Quint said.

The new sesnickie nodded their head.

“I tried to send to them. I wasn’t aware of the hospital wing; I wanted to get them out, but they walked right past me to the area where most of the fighting was happening. I watched as they … froze time, and ripped the Rakshasas apart with the vibrations. They looked possessed—dead eyes. Then they brought the Tower of Tones down upon our heads. Many died in that fall. Once I was released from the freezing—when the tower started crumbling—I jumped for two of the Throats patients, grabbing them with my claws, then Moved back here to the Halo. When we arrived inside—I noticed the hives were gone, and with them … the black veins.”

Quint’s eyes grew large. “Any coughing?” he said.

“They have shown no signs of Thrast since. And they do not remember the battle,” the other sesnickie sent.

“Where are they?” Quint said, a bit more frantically than he meant to. “I—I want to speak with them, sesnickie. Can you take me to them?”

“Any patients we were able to bring back are in the cells underneath the Ravencroft Keep,” sent the sesnickie, nodding their head toward the black seven-spired keep with the Drake statue on top. Quint started walking in somewhat of a frenzy in that direction.

“Quint!” Vermilion yelled. “They won’t just let you in!”

Quint looked back. “Will they let you in, Vermilion?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Then get your big ass up here and get me in that building!” Quint said. He had no time for being friendly. He had to know what these patients knew of the sickness. “You coming, Pip?”

“I’ll have to gather regardless. May as well be now.”

They walked through the rows of canvas tents where the refugees sat around fires, cooking meals, bullshitting with each other. There was a general feeling of loss, and every face held a black stare within dirty skin. Dirfweeds chittered, tied to long poles that had been hammered into the ground near some of the tents.

There were many expected comments, like, “that’s not how I remember it! It was more like thirty!” and, “you don’t understand, sesnickie. Our tower collapsed. We have to completely rebuild. You still have a tower, so don’t be such a Voidless cunt!” The sesnickie, of course, said nothing that Quint could hear.

Quint walked toward the Little Tower until he hit the road that ran parallel to the river, then turned right to walk into town.

The houses that bordered the main road were larger than human houses, giving Quint the odd feeling of being a child again, when doorways were twice his size and the doorknobs were at eye-level. The houses were mostly white with brown wooden supports that criss-crossed. Many yards were fenced in in this area, and Quint assumed this was a nice part of the city. Surely they can’t all be like this, he thought.

Drakes passing by, whether on dirfweed-back or on foot, only added to Quint’s feeling of regression. He’d been around Drakes before, but never in this great of a number, and this was only a residential district. Quint looked up at Ravencroft Keep as if to remind himself that these were trivial thoughts.

“How long will it take to get to the keep by foot, Vermilion?” Quint asked.

“With your short legs? Oh, probably seven, maybe eight hours, Vermilion said.

Quint gaped at the Drake.

“Is there a way to rent dirfweeds?”

Vermilion looked down at Pip. “Um—”

“We can Move there, Quint,” Pip sent.

“And you’ve waited to say this because … “

“Because you didn’t seem in a very receptive mood when you were storming off,” Pip sent. “Once inside the Drake Halo, you can Move anywhere within it. Also, I figured you knew that, what its how well you know Drake culture and history.”

“You know what assuming things does, Pip?” Quint asked, unbuttoning the top of his blue cardigan. He was sweating. Pip did not respond. “It makes you look like a fucking idiot.”

“Climb up Ye Olde Nutsack,” Pip sent. Quint climbed onto Pip’s back, followed by Vermilion. They Moved.

Quint slid off of Pip, his feet hitting the cobbles of a large courtyard. Ravencroft Keep towered at least thirteen-hundred feet above them. From here, at the base of the enormous black keep, Quint could not see the statue of the Drake as he looked up. The middle tower that they stood in front of stretched for a quarter mile in either direction, and was bordered by the remaining six towers which were equally as wide. It was the largest standing structure that Quint had ever seen. He turned and looked at the city of Karad-Dürn behind him. Though it was night, the glow of the giant golden wall—the Drake Halo—kept the city well lit. The Halo seemed to hum softly all throughout the city like a small contentment in the back of Quint’s mind, despite the circumstances. He faced north and could see the entrance to the city where they had walked through the nice area of the city before they’d Moved here. As he turned to his left, Quint could see that there were indeed neighborhoods that were not as pristine as the one he had first walked into; he looked upon the southwest part of town now, and it seemed the glow was faded, any houses he could see were in disrepair.

“What’s over there, Vermilion?” Quint said.

“That is south-west Karad-Dürn. Mostly laborers. A lot of great Drakes live there, but unfortunately there is also a lot of crime. People resort to unfortunate things when they feel they are out of options,” Vermilion said, looking out over the sea of trash that was south-west Karad-Dürn.

Quint squinted and thought of his own upbringing for a moment. I came from nothing and I invented my Clevers. He almost said something to Vermilion about this, but speaking with the Throats patients was more important. He kept his ideas about inherited poverty to himself. “Let’s get into the keep,” he said.

There was no door, much like the Fang Tower. Vermilion walked up to the slick black surface of the keep and raised his hand to the red badge that was sewed onto his jacket, then lifted the badge to the wall. Much like the golden Drake Halo had, the wall parted, making a soft, high-pitched whirring noise as it did. A large, rectangular doorway was revealed to the three. Vermilion turned to Quint’s and Pip. “Ready?”

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