Chapter #59The Shadows of Cuthbert by: Seuzz   The experiment, of course, is fraught with risk. You're not so much worried about something blowing up in your face. But splitting someone's essentia, if you've not calculated correctly, risks losing something very valuable. Rosalie's essentia, for instance, contains an extremely rare and valuable connection to Glundandra; and if you screw up, you will compromise your chances of infiltrating the Stellae.
But her essentia is more expendable than any of the others. So that's the bottle you pick up the next morning when your quartet tramps down into the church basement.
You start by extracting Grandmother's old substantia from its bottle and turning it into a "voodoo doll." You then spread out the sigils you think you will need for the complex task to come. First is the "modify essentia" you had drawn up; next to it you lay another new sigil: "extract essentia.." Onto the former you lay the voodoo doll and the bottle containing Rosalie's essentia; onto the latter you lay one of Grandmother's special empty bottles. "Wish there were some crates to hide behind," Rick mutters as you grip the doll in one hand, and the empty bottle in the other.
You close your eyes and murmur the incantation that will activate the "modify" sigil. Your heart hammers in your chest.
A vast darkness encloses you. It's not an oppressive darkness, but an open darkness. You are gripped by vertigo, and everything reels.
Then your eye is drawn by an object. You have no body, but it seems to be above you, and you look up. It's the Moon, the disc long familiar from your own meditation exercises. And yet it seems different. Alien. It chills you with its uncanny countenance. Panic overwhelms you as it occurs to you that you are committing a great sin.
But you press on, staring at it, daunting it back. A sense of normality reasserts itself when realize why the lunar face seems so strange. It is the Moon, the same one that you have seen, but it is the aspect it presents--or would have presented--to Rosalie.
You are inside what the girl would have had. You are violating a sanctified space that the girl herself never got to glimpse. Again, the feeling that you are doing something loathsome overcomes you.
But you press on, and reach out to grasp the Moon. Of course, it is enormous. Of course, it is impossibly distant.
Of course, it fits in your hand, like a smooth billiard ball. You are apprehending it through a spell that lets you do that. Despite the enormity of your action, you smile to yourself.
Though you are in a strange space, and are gripping a celestial object, you can also sense the doll and the empty bottle in your hands. You clench the latter more tightly, and murmur the words that activate the "extract" spell. The Moon lurches in your grip, and you guide it gently toward--
Toward another place. You release it, and it vanishes. But the bottle in your hand grows very warm.
Now you're alone in the void.
Except you're not. There's still something here. You glance around, turning and turning--
You almost swoon. The other presence overwhelms you so much that you lurch backward, releasing everything.
* * * * *
You grab at the hand brushing over your forehead and gasp. You open your eyes. Joe is cradling you in his lap. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly. "Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here." You groan and sit up. Your body shakes all over. "Were there fireworks?"
Frank is huddled next to you as well, but Rick hangs back. "No, you just collapsed," the latter says, and hunches down to examine the bottles. They are both glowing. "So, it was a success?"
"Yeah. That's Sulva in there." You nod at the once-empty bottle. "And that one--"
You shudder. The memory is faded, but it still overwhelms. Glundandra. The impossibly big, the impossibly grand. You're glad you saw and dealt with Sulva before glimpsing it.
"I think that's enough for now," Frank says. "You look--" He trails off.
"And that's how I feel." You swallow shakily. "I think it would be easier with anybody else's essentia. But Rosalie's-- Yeah, that's enough for one day."
* * * * *
You feel ill the rest of the day, and can hardly concentrate on anything. Nate Shabbleman tromps into the house in mid-afternoon, telling you that a couple of strangers have shown up, looking to purchase some of the town's "cash crop." "Don't like the looks of them, Grandmother," he says.
"So deal with them," you snap. "You know how."
"I gotta hunch they might be gummint men."
"Rick! Richard!" you shout, closing your eyes and nursing your forehead with the cold compress. Footsteps sound, and when you open your eyes he's standing before you, next to Nate. "Go with Nate, check out these men he's yammering about. Nate, you do what Richard here says." Nate gives the other a shifty glance. "Do as I say! He'll know what to do. He's got my confidence. More'n you do." With shrugs, they both leave.
But as soon as they're gone, Joe steps into the room. "What do you want?" you snap. "A body's feeling poorly--"
"Don't be like this, Grandmother," he says. "You know. Like Grandmother."
"I've got a town to run--"
"You've got too much to run. Step out of yourself. Or, better yet--" He holds out his hand.
You grumble, but take it, and he lifts you to your feet and supports you as you sag into the crook of his arm.
"Let me help you relax," he says, and leads you up the stairs to Grandmother's bedroom.
"Still trying to get me into bed," you mutter, for that's exactly where he lays you. "Fine."
"Don't be crude. Just let me--" Lightly, gently, he lifts your foot and slips off the sandal. "Let your mind go blank. Live in the moment and let me do the work."
You inhale and exhale deeply, and close your eyes. His fingers press and rub the arch of one foot, and then the other. He works up your ankles and calves, then draws off your skirt. He sits next to you and unbuttons your blouse, and you squirm around, letting him pull it and your slip and bra off. You're too weak to respond to his touches, and he contents himself by slipping an arm beneath you and laying next to you. He takes you in both arms and pulls you close. He kisses your cheek and nuzzles your ear.
He is warm and gentle, and though your body doesn't unstiffen, you do slip from consciousness.
* * * * *
It's dark when you wake, and you're cold and alone. You feel a little better, but not much, and haven't the strength to get dressed. So you get up just long enough to stumble to the door and doubly lock it before collapsing back onto the bed. You brush your face until the control sigil comes up. Inside it are the keys to your puppets. You could dip into Joe, see what he got up to after you passed out. But there are others, ones you've not checked out in a long time. The golem of yourself, back in Saratoga Falls. Monique Travers. Not much interesting there, probably.
Will Shabbleman. He's kept away from you since you'd converted him to a golem.
Prodded by some sense that he needs checking up on, you dive into his consciousness.
You catch him in mid-stride to Nate's car. The town constable slides behind the wheel while you join him in the front. They're just leaving the jail, where the two strangers are now locked up on Rick Bredon's orders.
But Nate doesn't start the car. He just sits there, staring off into the darkness. You wait expectantly for a bit before speaking. "What's chewing you, Nate?"
He's silent, then guarded when he does reply. "You know about them young'uns that came up from Saratoga Falls. You brought 'em to Grandmother, right?"
"Yep."
"You surprised to still see 'em around?"
"Grandmother's got her ways. She told me they're a coupla fakes."
"She tole me the same thing. What's she tole you 'bout the other one? That mangy ol' hippie?"
"What's she told you?"
"You mean she ain't told you nothin' about 'im?"
"She ain't told me he's a fake, if that's what you're askin'. He acts like he knows them other two." You roll down the window and spit dismissively out it. "They're her fav'rites, now."
"How's she feel about yew, Will?"
"Since turnin' herself into Rosalie, she ain't show me no gratitude."
"An' you done a lot for her, Will. Same as me. An' now she's actin' like that old hippie's in charge. You know he was out here a coupla months ago."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I run 'im out. But he comes back, an' he's all friendly like with Grandmother. Friendly like with them two young'uns. I wunner if he knows they're fakes. I wunner if he's a fake."
"She'll be likin' her fakes," you observe. "Long as they're around, we'll jus' be shit under her shoes. More'n usual."
Nate is quiet, and you fancy you can sense him trembling. "I'm gonna tell you somethin' I saw, Will. I'm gonna trust you."
"Same as I gotta trust you?"
"Yep. I was peekin' in the winder at the Big House a spell back. Up to nothin' bad, just wantin' to check Grandmother's mood before going in. You was talkin' to her. Least, I think it was you. Your face-- Well, it changed a few times. You was lookin' like one o' them boys for a bit."
"Didn' know you saw that, Nate. But yeah. That's how we was able to catch them sumbitches. Wisht we hadn', now."
"How's it work?" He swallows. "Could you, could one of us--" Now there is definitely a tremble in his voice. "Could someone do hisself up to look like Grandmother? Like Rosalie, I mean?"
Of course, you don't reply. But it's obvious what he's suggesting: That if disguises are a possibility, someone in Cuthbert could replace Grandmother.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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