Tilted_Axis
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Chapter 71: The Greedy Kiln, Complacent In Her Crib
🕑 Added 2021-03-28 13:40:14 +0000 UTCStaring at the statue of a famous humorist, William Shakespeare, I point and then write, “Why does the comedian, Shakespeare, have a statue here?”
“Comedian?” Noah leans closer to my message, making certain he is reading it correctly. “I never smirked, much less laughed, at anything he’s written in my life.”
“Yeah, he’s a very well-respected writer and playwright,” Summer says, watching Leo.
I eye the statue of Shakespeare standing in a commanding stance. ‘...He wrote crude humor for the nobility. That’s what I was told anyway.’
Giving up on understanding, I pen a message for Leo, “Repeat everything once more.”
He breathes and points off toward where, if I recall, the carousel is. “We were going back to the car to get another cup of coffee near the capybara bubble tea place and carousel and then on our way back, she said something about portapotties near the volleyball courts. We went there; she said they were gross, so we instead went to some that were adjacent to the dreaming treehouse gazebo.”
I nod. ‘Good lord. I do not know any of these places. I have been here over a month but spent all of it hiding.’
He continues, “And at the gazebo, some bushes shook and she said ‘someone’s over there.’ We checked them cause it’s kinda weird for someone to be hiding in bushes at three in the morning, but there was no one there. So she went into one of the portapotties and I never noticed her come out. I waited for a long time and then knocked only to find it unlocked and no one inside.”
‘Sounds as if he was not very alert if she left or someone took her without him noticing.’
His arm drops and releases a long breath of hot air. “I think I should go check around the gazebo again,” he says, gesturing toward the northeast of the park. “If you don’t mind, can you try checking around her car again? Like I said, it’s parked close to the carousel just up the path and across the road.”
“Aye, we will see if we can find her there.”
Leo nods and marches eastward toward the treehouse gazebo thing he spoke of.
Scanning the area, I ponder a search plan. Since it is still an hour or so until sunrise, the park is quiet, calm, and freezing, so I doubt she would go far. The Shakespeare statue is around a thousand feet from the marble stage we spent the twilight hours observing the Consortium. I do not wish to go too far into the park’s southern area with only Summer and Noah. That is not something I should do dressed as the Fairy; the carousel is as far as I am willing to go.
“We should just go back to the RV,” Summer states with a groan. “She probably just chickened out.”
Noah motions at Summer while nodding. “Yep, the job is done. We should just say hasta la vista, get some coffee, and call it a night.”
Wagging my finger, I write, “Hush, we shan’t search long and we have time to waste until Galtry finishes her meeting with the Consortium. I have nary any desire to return early and be forced to participate.”
“Wait.” Summer raises an eyebrow. “You’re just trying to dodge the meeting?”
I do not answer her aloud. ‘Aye, that I am, but I also doubt that a raptor, if there is one about, would go against a group of armed people. Those types are cowards that tend to take advantage of favorable circumstances. [1] Further... I have an odd bout of restlessness.’
Glancing off to the side, I recognize a certain statue a mere hundred feet away. It is the statue of someone named “Robert Burns,” I had intended to come read the tablet but never did so. ‘I did pass through this area when I first arrived. I was in a hurry and then avoided the main path from then on. Come to think of it, there were many things I passed by, but kept my distance.’
Moving to the statue’s tablet, I stare downward—the tablet has been defaced. Someone has painted over it and drawn a fist with its thumb tucked beneath its index finger. Beneath that, someone else has written in neat, flowing script what seems to be a Robert Burns quote.
“Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.”
‘Lowland. It’s reminiscent of how the Lowland Scotts write and speak. Not very popular in London. Resembles a prayer that might be recited before a big meal.’ I peep behind me; some snow falls from the branches of a tall tree. Hearing the snow, Summer and Noah also look back. I return to studying the tablet. ‘I suppose I shan’t ever know what it said before.’
“Oh, a fan of Robert Burns, are ya?” I flinch when an accented voice talks. Next to me is a man cloaked from head to toe in clothing with only a meager opening for his narrow eyes and spectacles. Gasping at me, he says, “Wow! The infamous Fairy, can’t believe how lucky I am to meet you!” He states each word as if he is pronouncing them in his mind before speaking them aloud.
‘From whence did he come?’ I hear Summer and Noah shuffle closer to us. ‘I suspect this man crept up on all of us.’
On my yellow paper, I compose a question and then tap the tablet, “Doth thou knoweth this poem?”
“Ah, that I do, that I do! It’s ‘The Selkirk Grace,’ a rather appropriate Scottish grace for Thanksgiving day, don't you think?”
I nod while studying his eyes; they are fixed, unmoving… sharp.
Patting his belly, he proceeds to declare, “But it’s imperative that along with being thankful, we don’t take more than our own fill.” He nods to himself and raises a finger. “Of course, you should eat enough to satisfy yourself, but not so much that you become fat while the others are still thin. You never know how they might react if ya get too greedy with them sitting at the same table!” He laughs and goes to stroke his chin as if there was a beard there, but he stops himself before doing so.
Moving a few steps back, I hold my gaze.
When I do not answer, he becomes impatient and asks, “What about you? Wouldn’t you agree?”
His pupils have not shuddered or dilated a single poppyseed. I shake my head. “I do not. I would eat until I believe I might burst.”
“Is that so?” He chuckles.“That’s a shame.”
“I do not believe it is a shame, but I am afraid I must take my leave now.” Turning toward Summer, I write, “Let’s circle between the Shakespeare statue, their ride, and the marble stage. If we cannot locate her within the hour, we shall contact Galtry and the Helping Hands.” I glance back; the man has departed and is wandering toward the Sheep Meadow camps. I make a note in my head to mention him to Terra. Tearing off one of the papers, I resume my message to Summer, “Galtry may have concluded her business with the Consortium by that time.”
Terra moved their meeting up last night, which is why it is occurring so early. I am sure this will have made Lincoln and Pierce suspicious, but everything should suggest the robbery was the Hex Church’s doing. Regardless, both of us agreed that they have every intention of coming to compromise with us, considering they were moving the haze in the first place.
“I’ll text the others and have them let me know when the meeting is over,” Summer states, removing the rectangle, phone device. “I’ll also update them on our actions.”
I nod. ‘Aye. Do whatever that is, I suppose.’
We progress toward the carousel, where Leo stated they had left their ride. The carousel is another memorable landmark I happened upon when I first arrived.
Arriving several minutes later, I notice a woman holding a little girl in her arms. She raises her higher so that the girl may see inside the building’s windows. They both have tired eyes and appear to be waiting on someone. ‘Oh, wait, that is the pudding cup girl; Gen probably misses her. I thought they lived close by. I wonder why they are staying here.’
A little boy and his father exit a small green hovel to the mother’s and girl’s left. Summer points at the hovel. “That’s what a portapotty is if you didn’t know Fairy.”
I nod, following the family as they walk off together.
We search the area, finding Jessica’s ride but not Jessica. With nary any luck, I follow Noah to where he says the ‘volleyball court’ and ‘portapotties’ are.
Fifteen or so minutes later, we stand outside a fenced-in courtyard that is full of yellowish sand. I tilt my head and kick a bit of the strangely fine sand. Summer and Noah attempt to explain what this volleyball game is, but I am not giving them much mind.
The cattail wiggles within the arc suit as we circle past the portapotties, Sheep Meadow, Frisbee Hill, and someplace called ‘Skater’s Circle.’ We discover nary any sign of Jessica and have arrived back at the marble stage.
‘Did someone really nab Jessica?’ Tapping my metal boots against the brick, and then write on one of my yellow papers, “Summer, return to the RV. As soon as the Consortium departs, inform Terra of what has happened thus far.”
She shakes her head. “I’m supposed to stay with you; I’ve already texted the others.”
I scan the area behind me and then shake my head. I start to write, “Nay. I wish for thee to go there thyself. Tell her...” but a deep scream interrupts me.
An older man sprints down an icy path. He stops, points toward a sparse grove, and shouts, “I-I’m gonna go get help! I’ll be back!”
Resuming his sprint, he flees toward Sheep Meadow.
‘A raptor?’ My sword bounces against my right leg as I rush to where the man came from.
Summer and Noah seem like they want to protest but follow nevertheless. They pant as we come upon a sign that reads, “307th Infantry Regiment Memorial Grove.” The grove does not seem that large, around two hundred feet across if I had to guess.
Moving past the sign, I migrate off the path and follow the fresh footprints left by the man that sped past us. Without feeling in my feet and my body’s strength stat being lower than my cattail’s, I have to be cautious not to trip. Once I travel fifty feet into the grove and round a tree, I reach the end of the footprints.
Silence.
A single scarlet droplet falls. The thunk of it smashing into the snow leaves me frozen.
My mind blanks. ‘...One. Two. Three.’
“Cut her down!” Summer yells.
“Fuck!” Noah runs past me, shouting, “I-I don’t have a knife!”
Another droplet of scarlet hits the snow. ‘Five. Six.’
“Here! Use mine.”
“But w-where is it tied off to!?”
Another droplet of scarlet. ‘Nine… Ten.’
I look up. Dangling in the trees is the bloody figure of Jessica. She is suspended by her arms and neck. Not in rope, but… vines, nay, thorn-covered briers. Blood streams down her arms where the briers dig in deep. I examine her face. It is pale, cold, and quiet. ‘I know what a lifeless body looks like.’
“Here; cut here!” Summer yells.
‘Nay, do not!’ Pulling my sword from the sheath, I raise it at Summer and Noah to stop them before they can proceed further. ‘I know what a lifeless body looks like and this is not it.’
A puff of hot air exits Jessica’s nostrils. Her breathing is slow.
The briers around Jessica’s neck are not taut. It appears as if it might be upon first glance, but it is simply made to look that way. My eyes trace the briers that wrap around her arms, finding they run to the tree Noah is standing by with his knife. I trace the briers around her neck. They run upward and wrap around a limb. It is impossible to cut it from down here.
“H-hey, you can cut it if you want,” Noah says, backing away from the vine.
I drop my sword to my left side; it slices through the snow. Pointing at my neck, I point at Jessica and then the limb.
Summer stares at it, following the briers down to the tree where it is tied. “Shit, cutting that would have maybe killed her…” Her eyes dart in the direction the man fled. “Do we need to go find help too...? Or maybe we can climb the tree?”
The wind blows; the cattail thumps against the back of the cuirass. I inspect the ground beneath Jessica. It has been dyed a deep crimson.
Noah rushes to a tree on my right. “There’s a paper here!”
Peering over, I heed a brownish-yellow paper stabbed through a split branch of one of the trees. It flutters in the breeze; the crinkle of its edges is the only noise out here.
Noah yanks it from the tree. Flipping it backward and forward, he states, “It’s blank.”
He holds it out so I take it into my right hand. As he said, it is blank, yet upon closer inspection, I do not believe it to be paper; rather, it is parchment fabricated from an animal’s hide. Skillfully so, there is nary a sign of oil from fat, neglected hairs, or any other substances that a novice might overlook.
My arm drops to my side, and my hand tightens around the sword’s hilt.
Listening to the world around me, I hear… nothing; not a bird, not the breeze, not the masses of people. This sort of quietness is unique. It is not absolute like Tenebrous; it is a focused hush. It is one I have encountered before. Two occasions come to mind: once when Sir Mouser lost an eye to a sparrow hawk and once when I was attacked by a voracious street hound.
Both events had something in common. ‘A predator is hunting...’
The snow that’s saturated in Jessica’s blood bulges and then droops. ‘...And I am its prey.’
“The note!” Noah shouts.
Raising the note, a message has emerged, “Your honeyed words have seduced many into your predatory web. We have all agreed it’s best to smother such a threat in its crib. Try to run, but flies do not easily abandon the shop of a sweet maker. - 𐎷𐎡𐎰𐎼𐎭𐎠𐎫.”
‘We; as in more than one! They are working together!?’ From there, words in a language I have never seen sear themselves into its surface. Where my leather gloves clasp the parchment, they smolder. I cast it away from us. It spins, sailing several feet away. Jessica’s body is drawn higher into the trees; something whizzes past my head. Blazing rays spring forth from the parchment.
Heat. I feel warmth upon my Kiln. Summer and Noah fall to the ground covering their faces. A pop comes from one of the pouches at my waist. My cerulean skirt blows back as the snow beneath my feet hisses.
The three of us are wrapped in dark-red flames.
Yet a black bubble has formed around the three of us, warping the flame around us. Looking to my feet, muck drips from one of my pouches and pools at my feet. The pool begets a complex black symbol. I have seen it once before when the Bishop was in a similar predicament. This is a sign that the brooch presented to me by Terra days ago has activated and is shielding me.
The dark-red fires lose strength while the black much turns to steam. The muck dissipates and the flames disperse a second later.
My head shoots downward. All I find is Summer shoveling snow onto her trouser leg to snuff a flame. Though her skin is red, it is not burnt. My gaze shifts to a tiny flame that burns on my abdomen; I smother it with my glove.
Looking back, I discover Noah against a tree with his head down. He must have been swept out of the brooch’s area of protection. His skin is bright red; some pieces have peeled back; blood leaks from the back of his head. Some residual red flame clings to his trousers. It dissipates, snuffing itself.
A clump of snow falls from the branches above my head and hisses upon reaching the metal plate that covers my chest.
“Buzzing… Noah?” Summer lifts her head; her body is fuming in the raw air. She gazes off toward a tree; her mouth drops open.
Following her gaze, I discover a seven-inch-long black, arrow-like projectile embedded in the bark of the tree. ‘It’s a bolt. Was that what I heard whistle past me!?’ The bolt creaks and splits open at the end. Above the bolt, a piece of the tree’s bark breaks and falls away, unveiling a buzzing black mass within its core. ‘Those are… flies!? The whole interior of that tree has been turned to flies!’
Something moves below the snow. Slush drifts inward, refilling the edges of the cavity left in the snow by the fireball. A drop of Jessica’s blood re-stains the snow, a low grumble rises.
From beneath the snow, there is a shrill screech as something bursts to the surface. I grip the sword with my left hand and brace it with my right. Whatever it is, I cannot see; its arrival has sent a flurry of snow into the air.
In less than a second, the foul breath of a beast fogs the glass of my helmet. Its jaws clamp down upon my blade; my arms buckle under the force of its charge. My sword hits my chest and before I can comprehend it, I am being carried backward. The buzzing grows loud as I am driven toward the tree of flies. It lowers its head as my back strikes the tree and like an eggshell, it shatters. A black swarm of flies scatters. I bounce and then scrape upon the snow until coming to an abrupt stop against another tree’s trunk.
I lie on my chest and watch the crown of the tree I was smashed through strike the ground and decay into a squirming mass of flies that take flight.
My eyes drift to my sword that lays in the snow next to me. I hesitate to take it in my hands. ‘I… I believe this is the part in the performance where the valiant and chivalrous knight takes their sword and fights fearlessly...’
The blade reflects my helmet within it; I stare at it. ‘Verily, God knoweth, I am none of those things. I am someone who lived a life of hardship only to find an abyss where I expected relief. Contrary to many stories, those things served only to make me a greedy and frantic monster—not a heroic knight that is for certain.’
I take the sword and throw my palm down into the snow, pushing myself up. ‘But. right now, all I see reflected in that sword is a knight, nary a sign of the thing beneath it.’
Blundering to my feet, I raise the sword. ‘Even if it is just a costume on someone such as me, I take pride in my ability to perform.’
Black dots surround me—a countless number of flies swarm my helmet. They shroud everything and I still do not even know what charged me.
Another whizz and another bolt sails by. This time I glimpse the end of it within a palm of my face.
‘Aye I will need help, but in this armor, I am far too slow and I shan’t abandon it! That would leave my shell vulnerable to bolts and the beasts.’ I race toward where Summer should be; I hear a crack. It must be the sound of a tree breaking, freeing more flies, because they seem to have grown thicker.
A shriek accompanied by the outline of a beast’s paw emerges on my right.
The cattail rushes out of the opening at my neck. Catching the beast’s paw, it bends beneath the paw’s force but parries it away from me. Light-brown fly viscera splatters onto my mask as the paw crashes into the snow next to me.
My boots kick up snow as I dart away and pass by Noah’s body covered in flies. I use the tendrils to ladle some of the fly remnants dotted across my helmet into itself.
A wall appears in the corner of my vision.
I glance at the name and dismiss the wall. ‘Not helpful!’
Drawing the cattail back into the suit, I force it into my leather glove. When I come upon a figure crouched in the snow, I stop, hook its arm, and yank it to its feet. Less than a few inches from my face, I see Summer with her mouth shut tight, her eyes closed, and her fingers in her ears. Flies tickle her eyelids, venturing to wriggle beneath them; she sneezes, propelling a fly from one of her nostrils.
I push Summer in the direction of the RV. ‘Good lord, hurry!’ A bolt bounces against the backplate of my armor. Shoving Summer anew, this time she races ahead. ‘Now it is merely a matter of time before help arrives!’
With that thought, something short and shrouded by the flies stabs at me. It pierces the suit’s neck—black haze leaks. ‘Not just beasts!’
I swing the sword at its short figure. The sword encounters a tiny amount of resistance before whatever it is, is sent floundering away. Though I do not have technique, neither do beasts and whatever else is here. ‘I pray with such trickery and roundaboutness, these Kiln are not strong!’
The flies expand outward; my vision widens. They whirl around me, creating a circle. ‘I presume the beast is having a tough time locating me! That suggests the Kiln’s control is limited, similar to my copepods!’
Glancing earthward, I recoil. Something that resembles red and yellow potato tubers is twitching in the snow, spitting a yellow, syrupy substance.
‘Good lord! What creature would be attached to that!?’ I glance at my breastplate, discovering the same substance on it. ‘This is disgusting!’
From outside the cloud of flies, three distorted figures step into the arena. ‘It’s…’ My sword wavers, though they have been twisted by the other Kiln I recognize. ‘...the Elderly Rats.’
Fungus thrives and grows upon their bodies. Stemming from their torso and forehead tubers that resemble those that would be on a potato, jut out and extend past their backs. They wield long staves of rusted metal scraps and wear fragments of wood tied to their shoulders and torso by vines; the familiar figures raise their weapons.
I shake my head. ‘What hath been done to thee!?’
A screech comes from above them. My eyes drift upward, finding the trio is shadowed by a much larger, hunched figure of around eight feet in height. There is only one beast of this size I would suspect to be amongst the Elderly Rats’ numbers.
Shambling into the arena, it blemishes the snow in yellowish drool while glaring at me with a single eye. Boils that leaked pus were once spread amidst absent chunks of flesh; now, those are all capped with fungi and mushrooms. Rather than appearing rotten, it is more bulbous or bloated. Underneath its fattened flesh, there is a serpent-like shifting that bulges the skin as it wiggles about. Once, it squeaked like a lion roars, but it sounds closer to a screech of agony.
Long bony spines on its back move as it raises itself onto its legs and then drops forward with a piercing screech as if it’s rejoicing having found me.
This is the twisted form of the Wretched Rat, transformed by an unknown number of Kiln since our encounter in the chamber pot tunnels a moon ago.
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[1]. Raptor: a robber, plunderer, abductor, ravisher.
