Chapter #72Multiplicities by: Seuzz   You stare hungrily at Chelsea. She stares vacantly back, a light smile on her lips. Maybe she thinks you're about to pay her a steamy compliment.
But much as you'd like to transact a body swap with her tonight, you haven't the energy. "I think that's all for now," you say.
Joe turns querulous. "Wait, I thought we were having a big argument about finding faces for me and Frank."
"I got other stuff to think about," you say.
"But if the Stellae come looking—" Frank starts.
"Tomorrow. We'll deal with it tomorrow," you say. "Chelsea will have something to say about it all then. Won't you?"
"Uh, sure," she says.
"Great. Joe, can you and Frank go pick us up some burgers?"
"You want to risk us being seen in public?" Now Joe decides he wants to worry about that?
"Fine, then just raid the fridge in the main kitchen." Your palms are feeling sweaty.
Frank steps forward. "Will, are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine. I just got stuff on my mind is all." You avoid his eye.
"Uh huh." Joe and Frank exchange a long glance. "Well, okay. What do you feel like eating?"
"Whatever," you stammer. "I'll be in the bathroom."
"Right." Joe drawls out the word while you hurry for the toilet. You lock the door behind you.
* * * * *
You successfully work out certain tensions while the boys are gone, and are much more relaxed when you reemerge. You avoid conversation by pretending to doodle with sigils, but your attention is elsewhere. Frank is right, you need to start training with your ousiarchs, particularly with Glundandra, so: "Joe, how about you play Jonathan tomorrow. I wanna hang out with Frank, get some work done," you tell him.
He nods. "Good idea. I should fix whatever fuck ups Frank caused with Monique." Frank whaps him for that.
And since Joe will be playing Jonathan tomorrow, he goes to bed in Jonathan's mask, leaving you and Frank to camp out in the living room. He presses you to do a little training right away, but you demur, claiming exhaustion. "Tomorrow," you assure him. "Early, and all day, if you want."
"It doesn't work like that," he says. "You have to get a handle on them first, get a feel for them. That's something that takes time, but it you can't squeeze it all into a day."
"So what will it be like," you ask as you slip into a sleeping bag.
"It's different with different people," he says. "My job— You know, I've never trained anyone before." He bites his lip. "And circumstances are a bit unreal. But we'll start with meditation exercises. Get you used to being in the presence of your new ousiarchs. It's probably gonna be pretty daunting, dealing with Glundandra. That's the biggie, you know."
"Why is that?" you ask. "Glundandra is Jupiter, right?" Frank nods. "But why isn't the Sun the big one? It's far and away the biggest thing in the solar system."
"Joe's better at answering questions like that. But it doesn't have anything to do with the mass of the actual planets. Those are just, like, physical clothing for them. Or something." He shrugs. "But it's kind of like with people. The biggest person isn't always the person in charge. Sometimes it's the smallest person. Like Napoleon."
"Or Chelsea," you blurt out.
Frank nods thoughtfully. "You're giving me and Joe new faces," he says, and doesn't sound enthusiastic. "You're going to give yourself a new face too. You're going to give yourself Chelsea's."
He doesn't intone it like a question, and you nod. "She's a natural leader type anyway," you say. "You know that. It makes sense to pair her with Glundandra."
"Joe and I talked while we were fetching supper," he says. "We figured you'd be doing that." Now he hesitates. "If we're supposed to be hanging out close while I help train you, I suppose that means I should be getting Gordon's face."
You'd not thought that far ahead. "Yeah, that's an obvious possibility," you say cautiously. You're not sure if Frank—your alter ego in his body—would be eager or mortified to be your "boyfriend" once you've take Chelsea's place, so you're not sure how to pitch your response. "She also says she's got that brother, though."
"So I guess we've got a choice," Frank says after a moment's pause. "You'll know better once you've made the switch." He goes over to turn off the lights.
* * * * *
The next morning you eat a quick breakfast with your partners, and then Joe—still wearing Jonathan's mask—takes off for the day. "Why don't you give Joe Jonathan's face," Frank asks. "Someone needs to play Jonathan anyway."
A little avalanche goes off in your head. "We could make that one of his faces," you say. Frank gives you a queer look. "Oh, it just occurred to me. The trick I used to give myself two sets of essentia— It wouldn't be too hard to adapt it for imago. Then we could have multiple faces and switch them around without using masks."
Frank cocks an eyebrow. "Joe would like that. He wasn't looking forward to losing his old body."
"I could tell. And you?"
Frank shrugs. "It's just something for people to look at. But I guess I wouldn't like to cut myself off so totally from who I was." He shifts a little.
"So that's my next project," you say.
"Your next project is working with me," Frank retorts. "Come on. Get cleaned up, and then we'll have a session."
So after you shower you sit down cross-legged in front of Frank. "Put your hands in mine," he says, extending his palms up. "Close your eyes. Relax."
You let your eyes droop and your shoulders sag. Nothing happens. Your breathing becomes slower. Nothing happens. You let your mind go fuzzy and unfocused.
You feel something like a gentle tug that sets you spinning. Two globes hove into view: one's a bright mirror, and the other is a dark, burning mass.
Crap. You're operating with your old essentia. Those are Sulva and Kenandandra.
"It's okay," Frank says. It's like his words are echoing in your mind, not your ears. "Let's see how you are with these."
So you relax and let the planets drift. Kenandandra retreats from view, and Sulva comes to the fore. Its surface is pitted and cratered, but as you draw close you see that each tiny curve is actually an infinitely small, flat surface, highly polished. The Moon is a giant congeries of tiny mirrors. And in each mirror is your face.
No, the Moon itself is your face. And inside each tiny mirror— You can't make out whose faces they are, but they are each different, unique.
You're reminded of when you were working on imago, editing the sigils that compose them. The tiny mirrors are like those sigils, and the Moon itself is like your own imago. You feel yourself swallow, for it's like confirmation of what you just said to Frank: You can give yourself the imago of multiple people, and you yourself would be the sum of them.
Sulva fades, and Kenandandra reappears. It's a dark planet but seems to burn on the inside, like charcoal. Your own intellect quickens at its approach. You're like a gas or a thin liquid, bubbling and fizzing with its heat. Unbidden, sigils form in your mind, swirling and coming together in vast, intricate, complicated diagrams, yet you can take them in instantly. Again, it's confirmation of what you'd just seen: the plan for a sigil that will let you—or your confederates—sport multiple imago. It flares before fading, leaving a sharp, burning imprint of itself in your memory.
You open your eyes. Frank smiles at you. "Looks like you've already got a good connection to your old ousiarchs. Probably you've been working with them for a long time without realizing it."
You draw a deep breath. "I guess. It still feels like a big thing to meet up with them like that, though." A sharp shiver goes through you. "So, should we try it with the others now?"
But Frank shakes his head. "I think that's enough for today. You don't wanna wear yourself out. And if Sulva and Kenandandra were daunting, well— You might wanna save Glundandra for when you're at a hundred percent."
You pale a little at his words, but also thrill.
* * * * *
Chelsea is a little moody when she arrives after school in answer to your summons. "I had to skip out on my friends," she pouts.
"Don't worry about it, Chelsea," you say. "You're going to like what happens this afternoon. I'm going to give you a present. I'm going to make you a queen." You raise your hand to brush your face, then drop it. You're not sure you want the memory of being pawed by "Will Prescott."
Her eyes brighten, and she doesn't object when, in the ballroom, you order her to disrobe. You stiffen all over at the sight of her taut, firm, rounded curves: hips, thighs, calves, buttocks, shoulders, tummy and breasts, topped with that mane of shimmering hair and the pert, imperious expression on her chipmunk face. She lays in the middle of the sigil, and you arrange the empty bottles around her. You close your eyes and extend your hands.
Low thunder crackles, and you open your eyes. There's just a golem there now, with the remote sigil still carved in its chest. Her imago shimmers in one of the bottles.
Frank helps you move the inert slab to the side, then you pull off your clothes and lay in the sigil. Now that it's come to the point, you feel strangely tranquil; all sense of anticipation has left you, for the transformation will be upon you in only moments. You brush your hand over your face, and the world shifts. From inside Frank's body, you look down at your lank and scrawny body: so different from Chelsea's.
You're glad your erection had gone away by the time you'd shifted your place in the world.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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