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storyunrelated · 2 months

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Bad Dreams - Part Three

I saw a man. A man perhaps a little older than Rose and myself, and clearly not in a good way.

A man who had, at some point, decided to have only a loose relationship with eating and with hygiene and who, as a result, had got both angular and pungent. Greasy in places, dark under the eyes and pale just about everywhere. He did not inspire confidence.

Sorry to judge by appearances, but you can tell quite a bit about someone from these things sometimes and context is important - the scrawny, pale man in the dark house with newspaper on the windows makes the mind go certain places.

All of the above was also elevated to new heights by the final detail of the man being shirtless, but being shirtless in such a fashion that suggested it was more because he’d entirely forgotten about putting shirts on, rather than by having made an active choice to be shirtless.

Top to bottom the immediate, overwhelming impression was of someone who’d become so focused on something other than themselves they’d rather let it slip from their minds that they were there in the first place.

Not a great start. Oh well.

“Evening,” I said, giving a wave with one hand and putting the other hand behind my back. The other hand was the one holding the crowbar. Best to try and make as good a first impression as possible, being an intruder in the man’s house notwithstanding.

The man did not move a muscle. He then blinked, which counted as moving a muscle in my book.

“Who are you?” He asked. Surprisingly restrained given the circumstances.

I could have answered this, but instead I chose not to.

“Terribly sorry, we were expecting to find a witch,” I said instead.

“I am a witch,” the man said, maybe a touch testily, as though this was something that he ran up against a lot. Though maybe it was also because we were in his house. Maybe a bit of both.

I looked him over, tip to toe.

“...where’s your hat?” I asked.

“We don’t have to wear a hat,” he said and this time he was definitely testy and it was definitely about the witch thing.

I looked Rose over, tip to toe. Particularly the tip, where the hat was. Where the hat almost always was. In fact, no ‘almost’ about it - where the hat always was. Not a day had passed since she’d got the thing when she’d been without it. I thought those had been the rules.

“I like my hat…” she mumbled.

The man cleared his throat to get attention back on him.

“My next question - before I call the police - is going to be why are you in my house?” He asked.

You’d think he’d sound less calm, being confronted by two housebreakers. I certainly wouldn’t be so cool and I was one of the housebreakers. Right then I was mostly running on nerves and gut impulse, my brain clinging on for dear life and only able to react after I’d said anything.

Maybe he got a lot of this sort of thing?

“We’re here about the dream skimmer you got sticking out the chimney,” I said, pointing upward, in case there was any confusion about where the chimney was.

He went very quiet for a moment. I think I heard him swallow.

“Ah,” he said, at length.

He looked like a man who knew he’d been caught out. Because he was a man who had been caught out.

“Still feel like calling the police?” I asked.

“No, ideally.”

“Would that be an admission of guilt?” I asked. He looked at me like I was an idiot.

“That would suggest I have anything to be guilty of in the first place, which I reject. I’d just rather not get any more people involved and stomping about the place,” he said.

“Naturally. But since we’re already here and stomping about the place you’ll humour us?” I asked.

“If that is what it takes for you to go away,” he said through gritted teeth.

“How very obliging of you. How is the dream skimming going, just to ask? Well? Skimmer doing what it’s meant to be doing? Skimming?”

I could tell my breezy attitude towards what he plainly considered his hard work had got under his skin almost immediately, as much as he might have tried to hide it. Him and Rose too - witches were a touchy lot when it came to their witchy-business, weren’t they? Presumably it’s important to them.

Fair play, I guess. Must be galling to pour work into something and then have someone like me come in and be a smartarse about it. Would I like it if someone broke into my house and started undermining my confidence? Probably not.

“It is performing a little over what I expected,” he said, coolly.

“Delightful. Show me.”

His mouth worked a little. Whatever he’d expected it hadn’t been that.

Why else would I be here?

“I don’t think you’ll be able to appreciate the mechanism, especially given that you are not a witch and wouldn’t even be able to perceive half of the work that’s gone into it. You wouldn’t understand it. You can’t,” he said.

I didn’t think I was missing much, honestly.

“Humour me,” I said, pulling my crowbar hand from behind me and proceeding to stare him down.

Normally I’m not very good at staring anyone down and it’s not something I have a lot of call to do, but this was a special occasion and so I really poured myself into it, really meant it. I imagine that I was holding a crowbar helped a bit as he folded pretty quickly, all things considered, breaking eye contact and seeming to collapse in on himself a little bit, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Fine, fine…” He said turning around and gesturing for us to follow.

The very picture of sullen, he was.

“Come on,” I said to Rose, who squeaked.

“Really?!” She hissed.

“If all else fails I’ll crowbar our way out,” I said.

“That is not reassuring!”

She still followed, however unreassured she was, and we went up the stairs after the man. Cautiously, admittedly. I’m relaxed but I’m not an idiot. Hence the crowbar.

Downstairs had been house-like. In need of a clean, but house-like. Upstairs had been mauled. Doors were removed, plaster was exposed, holes had been knocked through walls, tubes and cables and wires ran everywhere and while I was getting nothing the wince on Rose’s face suggested a lot of magical jiggery-pokery going on.

The man, still sullen and now also mixed with open annoyance at us lollygagging, was stood waiting for us by an open doorframe.

“In here,” he said.

“After you,” I said again, giving him the nod. He glared but went in, and we followed again.

Was this going how I expected it would go? Not really. But it seems to be going well enough.

I think. I have no precedent for this sort of thing. Feels like an adventure though. I think.

We entered into what was one room that had plainly been two rooms before he’d had his way with them. He’d apparently knocked through a wall to link the two together. Not properly, I should point out. Bits of the wall remained here and there and the whole affair was held up by bits of wood the structural capacity of which I did have much confidence in. Professional it was not.

But that wasn’t the main thing, nor was that really the thing that I was paying attention to. The reason why he’d mangled the rooms together was on account of the great, sprawling, tinkling, hissing, gurgling thing that had been built and which took up most of the available space.

The dream sifter, presumably. Really didn’t look like much this close. Look like a still had had a run in with a milk churn and then left in the rain for a day or two. It was leaking in more than one place. Leaking what though was harder to say. Something.

“Very nice. Should it be leaking?” I asked, pointing to the more prominent leak. He looked, hissed, and swept up a roll of gaffer tape and quickly and liberally applied it. From the looks of the thing this was his standard response. There was a lot of tape, not to mention discarded rolls piled up in the corners.

Probably should have just made it less leaky, really. He’d save money on tape.

“Right. You’ve seen it now. Go,” he said, tossing the tape aside and glaring some more. He wasn’t getting out of this that easy.

“Hold on, hold on,” I said. “Explain this thing to me. What does it actually do?”

“You really wouldn’t understand,” the man said.

“Well, you can try. And if nothing else I’m sure Rose would appreciate hearing it. Right?” I asked, looking over to her. She was really coasting on this whole thing so far and leaving most of it to me but, in fairness, this whole thing had been my idea so I could hardly blame her.

“Um. Sure,” Rose said. She was squinting. The man was too, I noticed. Presumably the room was swimming in witchy nonsense that I was entirely unaware of, being so mundane and inert and all.

I looked back to the man and he stared at me in open, exasperated disbelief for a moment before his shoulders slumped.

“Fine. But will you then please leave me alone?”

This was another question I chose not to answer. Just gave him a winning smile instead.

He tried to explain it and I tried to follow his explanation, I really did, but I am as has been said magically inert and on top of that I’m also not that bright, so he got about three words in before I lost the thread completely.

Broadly speaking, I understood what he said something like this:

The bulk of the sifter sat in the room where we were, looking at it. It was the big ugly thing which was leaking. The delicate, sifty bits went up the chimney. Those were the bits we saw wafting about over the house, doing the sifting.

Alright, that made sense, I could follow that.

The sifty bits sifted. Shocking, I know. They sifted dreams out of the air and snatched them before they reached their proper destination and then drew them down into the main part. He did not explain how or why or where or when or anything about why dreams were just floating about loose instead of being entirely inside people’s heads but that was fine, I was beyond that, I was comfortable knowing I’d never know.

Magic. Whatever.

And then once in the main part of the sifter the dreams were condensed and distilled and filtered and whatever whatever. Basically the thing took dreams and through a series of arcane and fiddly processes turned them into some kind of liquid. Dream liquid, liquid dreams.

And this stuff was good stuff, he said. You could use it to do a variety of dream-related activities, apparently. Dream whatever you wanted. Live whole imaginary lives doing the impossible. Marry a cloud and have a whole family of raindrops, whatever tickled your fancy.

I thought you could just learn how to lucid dream. Couldn’t people do that already? Maybe that wasn’t good enough?

The man did mention, offhand, that a side effect of people having their dreams sifted or intercepted or whatever was that the ensuing void tended to invite bad dreams to come in and fill the space. Again, how that worked was something that was glossed over completely but here at least we finally had our explanation as to why any of this bad dream business was happening in the first place.

It was happening as a side-effect. This wasn’t the intention at all. The intention was this dream liquid the man wanted. The bad dreams were a consequence of the process. Somehow that’s even more galling than if it had been on purpose. Poor Nisien’s screaming and exhaustion and my bad nights were an afterthought.

In fact, no, not even an afterthought, not even a thought at all. Just background noise.

Grr.

I felt I’d heard enough.

“Why?” I asked, cutting in as the man warbled on about some point to do with the bottling process. He blinked at me.

“Why what?” He asked.

“Why did you decide to do this?”

“...I don’t understand. I did explain how it worked, didn’t I?”

“Well enough, sure. I mean why did you think this was something you had to do? Dream liquid? Why did you build this instead of just not building this? Why aren’t you playing pinball right now or literally anything else?”

Not a complicated question, I thought. He blinked at me again as he was having some difficulty working out where I was coming from. I could see him working through a slow formulation of an answer in his head, trying to hack his reasons down into something someone else might understand.

What works in our head is often difficult to put into the heads of others. Often it doesn’t survive the journey. I’m aware of this. I gave him time.

“With access to the raw, distilled essence of dreams I’m able to fully control the dreamscape. Lucid dreaming is a crock and a waste of time and beneath me, anyway. Total control is the real deal, I can do whatever I want, anything at all,” he said, eventually, slowly.

This was not a compelling answer to my not-very-complicated question. It was barely an answer at all. I pointed to the sifter again, just for emphasis.

“So this machine is sucking in the dreams of just about everyone within a however-many square mile radius, leaving a void that bad dreams rush into, and you’re basically melting all those dreams you’ve effectively stolen down into something that you fiddle about with and inject into yourself so that you can have whatever dream you want?” I asked.

“That is a ridiculously oversimplified and crude way of-” he started, but I did not let him finish.

“It’s a yes or no question and I’m holding a crowbar.”

His eyes flicked to the crowbar.

“...yes.”

The crowbar gets results. Humanity really did peak with that one.

Certainly a crowbar was infinitely superior to this dream-snaffling whatever. All these dreams all sucked in so one person can benefit? Those numbers are shocking.

“That’s spectacularly inefficient,” I said.

“Yes, but-”

I wasn’t finished though:

“Not to mention overwhelmingly selfish.”

But that should have gone without saying.

I mean honestly, I’m not even sure how anyone could get anywhere with a plan like this. How could you even start? How could you not run through it in your head, see how horrendously selfish it was and realise that, as an exercise in theory it’s diverting but in practise it would just be disgustingly self-indulgent and therefore something you shouldn’t do?

Was I missing something? Was this just me?

“Selfish?” He asked, as though the word had been a slap in the face.

“Well, yeah. If you can’t figure that out on your own I’m not sure where to start. If you eat someone else’s lunch that’s also selfish, did you know that?”

“It’s not selfish,” he said, pouting. Actually pouting.

“Feels pretty selfish from where I’m standing,” I said and he bristled a moment before replying.

“I’ll admit it’s unfortunate that some people are having bad dreams but there’s really only so much I can do about that.”

Big of him to admit that it was unfortunate.

“You could always not do it. You could do that,” I said.

He ignored this.

“It’s only in it’s prototype stage. I’ll admit it’s far from perfect now, but it’s getting better every day. Soon, pretty soon, I’ll have the ratio all the way down to one-to-one. That’ll just be one person maybe running the risk of having a bad dream - which they might not even remember anyway! - so I can dream whatever I want. Do you have any idea what I can do in those dreams?” He asked instead.

“I shudder to think.”

That took him a second.

“Not like that!”

“Hmm.”

I was thinking. I was always thinking, obviously, as are we all, but right then I was thinking about this whole thing, this whole business. Thinking about it and what I should do about it. Clearly I should do something, shouldn’t I? But what, and why?

Questions, questions.

This was a bad thing he was doing, yes? Yes, I think I can comfortably say that. Deciding that your personal enjoyment ranks above the discomfort or outright suffering of however many other people. Especially since this particular type of enjoyment is the explicit cause of that discomfort. That’s a bad thing.

I think I can follow this so far.

With that being the case what was I meant to do? Was I meant to do anything? Were any of us meant to do anything?

Maybe I’ve got a bit beyond the scope of the issue, there. Let’s pull back in a bit.

Let us say that he is right when he says the thing can be improved. Let’s assume that for a moment. Even if he got that machine down to one-to-one efficiency that’s still ensuring someone else has bad dreams so he can have good dreams.

What if he rotated who the machine picked? Isn’t it likely someone is going to have a bad dream anyway? Where’s the harm, really? Would they even notice? In the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

Yada yada. Questions like these serve to pluck away at your energy, slow you down and divert your attentions, make you doubt yourself. Sure, if you ignore them you might make a mistake, but if you listen to them all you might end up doing nothing, and doing nothing is usually what someone doing something they shouldn’t wants you to do.

Sometimes a Gordian knot just needs cutting. Sometimes you just have to say bollocks to compromise and go full-on hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle.

So no dice. Decision made. No dream stealing. Not on my watch.

You want to have good dreams you wait for them like anyone else. Or do it in a way that doesn’t attract my attention, and the attention of my crowbar.

“Rose, you might want to step outside,” I said, which seemed to snap Rose out of whatever quiet funk she’d slipped into. Seriously, she’d really clammed up ever since we broke into a guy’s house and been confronted by the guy whose house we’d broken into.

“Huh?” She asked.

“I’m going to draw a line under this,” I said.

“Oh, right. Okay. I’ll just - I’ll go. Meet you outside,” she said, shuffling out of the room with only one or two backwards glances. The man was suddenly just a touch nervous. I could see this.

“Where’s she going? What are you talking about? What do you mean draw a line?” He asked.

“You’re a clever fellow, I’m sure you can figure it out,” I said.

Though of course I actually started smashing his sifter before he figured it out. Ain’t I a stinker.

I’m not an expert at smashing but I like to think I did an alright job. I aimed for one of the leaking spots with the pointed end of the crowbar, wedged it in, heaved, and managed to lever off a good half of the thing away from the other half. Made an awful noise and sloshed clear liquid all over. Seemed a good start.

“What are you doing?!” The man squealed, lunging but clearly unsure what to lunge at. Did he lunge at me to stop me or lunge at his machine to try and save it? He hesitated, and while he hesitated I kept going. I pried more bits loose, I whacked the crowbar into the bits that looked like they’d crumple best, I hooked the curved part over dangling bits and yanked.

I made a frightful mess. And in a very short time, too. Maybe I have hidden talents.

In a few seconds what had been a ticking, whirring, leaking device was now several bits of wheezing, leaking, non-ticking, non-whirring junk strewn across the floor and sat in puddles of clear whatever. Presumably that stuff was dreams? Condensed, liquified dreams? Didn’t look like much.

“How selfish of me,” I said. Zing.

The man was on his knees, scrabbling. Again, he obviously didn’t know what to scrabble for first and was just halfway scrabbling at everything in his hysteria.

Sort of ineffectual for a witch, you’d have thought. Maybe if he’d had his magic rod to hand he might have had better luck in beating me off. Aha. I imagine he just found the whole thing a bit overwhelming. Everything’s easier after the fact, isn’t it?

“Do you know how much that cost?!” He wailed at me, eyes glistening. I think he was about to cry.

And I wasn’t sure what this was meant to make me feel, this line about cost. Was I meant to feel worse because he’d spent more money on the thing than I might have suspected? If he’d been frugal, should I have felt less bad? Is a questionable decision that costs more easier to defend? Hmm.

If people wanted to spend money doing something they probably shouldn’t that’s perfectly allowable. Just not clear why it has any bearing on what I do or think. Value is, after all, largely subjective, is it not?

I don’t really know.

“Lots?” I asked.

“Yes! Lots! Fucking lots! Oh God, most of those components were bespoke, too!” He shouted, holding up a handful of bits that had fallen out of loosened casing. The bits glistened. They certainly looked fragile and fiddly.

“What a shame,” I said.

The man deflated, a sob wracking him. He looked down at the puddle he was kneeling in.

“And you wasted all these dreams! Wasted! You wasted them!” He said, angry now, pointing at me.

“Yeah, sure. This was all my fault.”

Mean, this exact thing was my fault, I’ll admit. The smashing bit and the making a mess was my fault. But the greater blame really can’t be ignored or moved here, come on. This is like when the bad guy says it’s not their fault they murdered people, but the fault of the good guys for trying to stop them.

Not quite like that, but similar. Right? I know what I mean.

“Strictly speaking you wasted them. I just made your dream-wasting machine fall over. But that’s splitting hairs. In future if you’re going to make my housemate’s life miserable so you can enjoy yourself, don’t. Pleasant dreams, now.”

If I’d had sunglasses I’d have put them on then. I don’t care if it’s nighttime, that’s a great sunglasses line. Kind of felt bad to waste it, but chances to drop lines like that don’t come around often and the real waste would have been saying nothing.

My hands were tied.

He didn’t say anything after that, which was good because if he had it would have ruined the moment. So I left him sniffling in his puddle of dreams and went back outside to try and find Rose.

I couldn’t find her out back because she’d gone out the front and was there standing under a streetlight looking like she’d prefer to be anywhere else other than on a street waiting under a lamppost.

“Well that’s sorted,” I said, cheerfully, giving her a wave as I wandered over.

“What did you do?” Rose asked.

I considered saying something else pithy and cool but I was far too tired to come up with anything else off the cuff so just stood there gormless and silent for a second before just coming out with it.

“Smashed his thingy with a crowbar,” I said, waggling said crowbar just so Rose knew which crowbar the thingy had been smashed with. Rose did not look impressed.

“How very direct,” she said.

“It did work pretty well. Last I saw he was crying on the floor so I think we can write this one up as a roaring success.”

“Your definition of success…” Rose tailed off and sucked her lip a moment. “I don’t know how to finish that sentence.”

“That’s fair. You were very quiet in there,” I said.

“You seemed to be on a roll. And I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Felt weird being inside someone’s house when we weren’t meant to be, even if he was, you know, doing something like that. It was kind of nerve-wracking.”

Now that it was done I could feel the tension that I’d been ignoring starting to get the better of me. The trembling had nothing to do with the encroaching chill of night, let me tell you.

“You’re not wrong,” I said, looking at my hand.

Oh God, what had I done? What had any of that been? What had I been thinking? Had I done the right thing? Had I done the right thing the wrong way? Had I done the wrong thing? Was I going to get into trouble? Was he going to tell anyone? Had it even worked? Had I just wasted an evening? Why did I feel so sick all of a sudden?

Eurgh. Worries. I hate those. I stuck my hand in my pocket and bit my tongue.

Ow.

“Can we go?” Rose asked.

“Probably wise.”

So off we went. We didn’t talk as we went. There wasn’t much to say that we hadn’t said before we set off home and besides it was late. Wouldn’t do to be talking in the street and waking people up. Proper sleep hygiene had been the motivating force behind this whole endeavour, after all.

Hadn’t it?

I bid Rose a good and restful night once we got to hers and then carried on back to mine on my own, thinking about the evening, about what had happened. Was that what an adventure felt like? Was this what you were supposed to do after one had concluded? Just go home? Was there something else I should have been doing? Was I going about this all wrong?

Was there a book I could read?

By the time I’d got back home and got in and put the chain on the door I’d stopped worrying about it. Or, rather, I was still worrying about it but was confident that a proper night’s sleep without any nightmares would make me feel a lot better about it. That is to say, everything would make sense in the morning and there wasn’t anything to be gained fretting about it in the dark.

Everything is always the worst it can be in the dark. This is pretty widely-known.

Nisien was still on the sofa, but had clearly rolled around enough to dislodge the blanket I’d laid over him, because that was on the floor. Despite this, he actually looked quite peaceful. Certainly looked more peaceful than he had any night that I’d seen him recently. Sleeping happily, comfortably.

That made me feel much better about the evening. That was an accomplishment. I might have done adventure wrong, sure, and maybe I’d made lots of mistakes, but I’d still fixed what I’d set out to fix. If nothing else, Nisien was going to get a proper night’s sleep. And this was good.

Objectively good. In my book.

I put the blanket over him again, obviously, because that was the nice thing to do. He stirred as I did so.

“Nngh? Wassis? Sorry, sorry...” he mumbled blearily, blinking, squinting. I patted him on the head.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” I said.

“N’okay…” and he did.

Yes, definitely an objectively good thing. Solved a problem for a friend. People might question my methods but my results are impeccable.

And so to bed. Knackered me out that adventure. Popped the crowbar back under the bed, stripped off most of my clothes at least until I ran out of energy, crawled under the covers and did my best to quiet the churning, raging thoughts rattling around inside my head. All the loose ends could be sorted out tomorrow. Didn’t have anything else that needed doing, and it was unlikely there’d be another adventure so soon.

Well that was exciting.

END

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fionas-treasure-chest · 6 months

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Two Dreamers

Chapter One

Korvosa - 1st of Rova 4722

Two women sat at the edges of a festival square erected in the center point of Old Korvosa. Long strings hung between old worn stone buildings, with paper butterflies pinned to them at roughly even distances. The wind was gentle as it blew across the scene making the butterflies' blue and purple wings seem to flutter in a lazy pace and rhythm. The sky was noisy with the sounds of flutes, drums, and laughter. And the air smelled of sea salt and fresh fried fish from nearby dockside vendors.

One of the women, Kostella, was dressed in a showy outfit of silks and leather that were dyed in the bright and bold colors favored by her tribe. Her lips were obscured by a gauzy blue scarf decorated with bright green stars that twinkled from glitter dust applied across the fabric. Her eyes were alight with mischief and wonder. Her figure hinted at her stout strength, with boots that ran up her firm tight calves and tight hard abs peeking through a hint of midriff just above the waist of her trousers.

The other, Nascha, was dressed in far more muted colors. But unlike Kostella, her outfit was a simple robe cut in the style of Shoanti ritualists with big wide sleeves that hid her whisper thin-frame and a plunging neckline that ended just beneath her belly button. Her skin was a similar shade of dark umber to match Kostella's. Her hair was fashioned in wild spikes that looked even wilder next to Kostella's well-cared-for waves.

“Kostella,” said Nascha as she reached for her hand. “Have time for a question?”

Kostella turned her hand so their palms met and laced their fingers together. She squeezed her fingers and offered a smile and a nod.

“Of course,” Kostella said as her nails scratched along Nascha’s wrists, “You can always talk with me. What is on your mind?”

The Varisian’s lips curled into a warm and encouraging smile that peeked through the opaque scarf she wore over her lips.

“I didn’t mean to, but I sensed your thoughts. And you keep thinking about how you only truly like Korvosa during the festival seasons.” Nascha lowered her gaze to their clasped hands. “So…why do you come back as often as you do? When all this time we could have stayed out in the axe-clan lands or perhaps wandering the road as your tribes oft-do?”

Kostella resisted the urge to shut her eyes or release her dear friend's hand. This wasn't the first time Nascha admitted to touching her mind and reading her inner feelings and thoughts. And though she's grown to accept her friend's unusual gift, it didn't make it any easier to accept at the moment. Especially with how private Kostella was as part of her association with thieves' guilds and crime families across Varisia.

Kostella drew in a breath and cleared her mind as best she could. She squeezed Nascha's hand and then spoke in a voice that was smooth as velvet and deep as a well.

“What brings this up?”

Nascha bit her lip. She kept her eyes low and fixed on their clasped hands. Her fingers shook and her body stiffened. She felt so stiff that she reminded Kostella of a brittle plank of wood.

“I worry. You have encouraged me to pursue my dreams. So I can’t understand why you stay where you aren’t happiest.”

Nascha glanced at Kostella’s face. Their eyes met and locked for an all-too-brief moment.

“So why?” Nascha asked in a fiercely determined tone.

Nascha’s fingers tightened around Kostella’s.

“Hmm…” Kostella said. “Let me think for a moment.”

Nascha bobbed her head and Kostella lowered hers until her chin rested on her chest. Her free hand drummed and her breathing slowed to a lazy pace. Kostella felt how deeply this question mattered to the woman and she had to…needed to give it all due consideration and care.

Why do I come back? Kostella thought.

Korvosa was far from being “home” to Kostella. It was a gloomy place filled with dreary people who seemed untouched by Queen Kroft’s legitimate benevolence. The energies of the city didn’t match or suit the woman in any way, shape, or form.

Also, like most Varisians, her family wandered the roads and valleys of Golarion. ‘Family’ was out there beneath the unblemished sky rather than indoors tucked beneath blankets and painted stucco ceilings. And though Kostella had ties with the city’s thieves guild, those ties were mercenary at best.

Nothing truly tied her to the city. Yet… that wasn't true. And realizing that made Kostella wonder…

“Why am I doing this?” Kostella said.

Nascha raised Kostella's hand. She kissed her knuckles one by one until the Varisian opened her eyes. She gazed at Nascha who could only smile a smile that was marred by regret and sorrow.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Nascha said, “It’s clearly distressing and—”

Kostella shook her head and raised a palm.

“No no. It is fine.” she said. “I think, I needed to think about this. Because I shouldn’t stay here if it isn’t doing anything for me, no?”

“Perhaps…” Nascha said, “you could leave with me on the boat to Absalom. We could find our dreams there, together.”

Kostella’s heart raced at the suggestion. She felt the song of the festival more keenly than she ever had. As if the mere thought of running from Varisia to be with her partner was cause to celebrate and sing. Yet, her heart ached in some dark noticeable corner. An ache that she didn’t even dare to hide.

“I…could. But what of my family? What of the life I have here? You are leaving to seek the Pathfinders and learn about your gift. How could—?”

“You help?” Nascha asked. “By just being there. You taught me to not ignore an opportunity out of fear. Especially if it’s something you crave so much it hurts. And it’s only right to offer you a choice, you never considered.”

Kostella blinked at her partner.

“Did you pluck that from my mind?”

Nascha shook her head. “I didn’t have to. You may be able to fool the Korvosans. But you can’t ever fool me. Our hearts know the truth better than anyone else.”

The wind shifted and tugged at Kostella’s scarf. Like a curled finger, it plucked and dragged her scarf down her face until Nascha could see how her lip quivered as the Varisian searched for the right words to say.

"I…it's true. I would be glad to follow you. But I don't know what kind of life I could have in Absalom." She gestured a hand towards the festival, where Desnan priests gathered with carts full of wired cages that contained countless swallowtail butterflies. A crowd of Korvosans, Shoanti, and Varisians alike gathered with their hands stretched out towards the sky waiting for the butterflies to be released.

“Does Absalom even celebrate Desna properly?” Kostella said with a small giggle.

“There is one way to find out. Will you come with me?”

Kostella bit her lip. She knew what her heart wanted to say and had no doubts about what she’d choose to do. But the part of her soul that spoke against it had reservations she couldn’t quite shake. Especially given how the two women had only met one month ago to the day. Was there truly hope for their relationship if she took this one big chance?

Kostella didn’t know. But she knew that she’d regret it if she was anything less than honest with her partner. She parted her lips to speak.

DESNA DREAMS!

The shout snapped Kostella out of her distraction. She turned her head towards the square just as the priests opened the cages and shouted the phrase. And like a sea of twinkling blue kites, the air was flooded by a sea of swallowtail butterflies. Some floated to brush against the paper decorations that hung between buildings. Others soared into the sky and fluttered away. While still others roamed into the crowd of onlookers and landed upon their wrists.

“It’s so beautiful…” Nascha said, “Is this a proper Desna holiday?”

Kostella smiled and squeezed Nasha’s hand.

“It is.” Kostella said. “My tribe participates in this ritual wherever we can. It is the only time we gather in large numbers in cities.”

“But what does it all mean?” Nascha asked.

Kostella giggled. “Oh, if we were paying attention, the priests would have explained it better than I.”

“Yet I want to hear what it means to you.” Nascha said.

Kostella blinked as she watched the butterflies flap and flutter to and fro. Their colorful wings shone in the light of lanterns and ghost light spells that decorated the Korvosan square.

“Well…it speaks to hope. Of an unexpected gift for a kindness that sought nothing but to do some good.”

Nascha looked down at their linked hands.

“What does it mean if a butterfly lands on you?”

“That’s a good omen. Similar to how your clan feels after the first pearl is plucked from the sea each spring.”

Nascha chuckled under her breath. "Then it seems Desna has something to say to the both of us."

Kostella looked away from the festival and down at her and Nascha's hands. She gasped when she saw the smallest swallowtail butterfly resting on the back of Nascha's hand. The tiny creature flapped its wings as if gesturing at the two women at once. It then leaped off Nascha's hand and flew away as if its point were made.

Both women sat and watched the butterfly as it flew south further and further until it was just a spec of blue on the dimly lit horizon.

Kostella squeezed Nascha’s hand.

“You know…perhaps I will take you up on your offer. Whatever happens, at least we’ll experience it together.”

Nascha threw herself at Kostella and wrapped the stronger woman up in a sweet tender embrace.

Chapter Two

Aboard The Yarnton - 10th of Rova 4722

Kostella was five days into her first boat trip and she was already over it. She felt like she had seen everything there was to see, even with all the new sounds and smells of the sea surrounding her. The horizon was the same endless sheet of blue. The sky was blanketed in the same sheet of stars and clouds. And she’d already explored the ship from bow to stern.

You couldn’t stop the ship and step outside to walk around and pluck fresh fruits from trees and bushes. The familiar sounds of creaky wooden wheels were replaced by the harsh whistle and flap of wind and sail. And worst of all, most of the crew seemed unwilling to play cards with her just because she won a few games too many.

How does anyone travel like this? She wondered as she paced the width of her room from wall to wall.

Kostella paused in midstep and threw herself down on the bed she and Nascha shared. It rested beneath a small bolted window with glass strengthened by alchemicals that gave a slight scent of pine and grease. The light that poured in illuminated a small squat desk beside the bed that carried only a fat-bottomed pitcher of water. A wide chest was bolted to the floor at the foot of the bed. Its lid was ajar as it was overstuffed with clothes and supplies Nascha and her had brought aboard. The entire square room was illuminated by the swinging of a magical lantern that glowed and dimmed at preset hours of the day.

It was a room like many others aboard the ship. It had a few scant decorations scattered about that gave it just enough character to make Kostella feel at home. Or at least for what it was worth, while they were out at sea.

“Are all ships like this?” She said, folding her arms across her chest.

Rap-Rap-Tap

Kostella's heart skipped a beat. She jumped out of bed and rubbed at her cheeks until her frown relaxed to a thin line. She hopped from foot to foot and stretched her arms wide. She then looked at the door just as it opened. She then grinned when she saw Nascha on the other side.

“Greetings!” Kostella said with a wide smile. “Are you done reading on deck then?”

Nascha bowed her head then stepped past the threshold and shut the door behind her. She turned her back to Kostella and reached down to lock the door with a dull soft click. She then looked over her shoulder and looked for her lover’s eyes and smiled only when their gazes found one another.

“I was distracted and came down to find you?” Nascha said.

Kostella’s eyes shone as she clapped her palms together.

“Oh? Did something happen?”

Nascha giggled and shook her head.

“No. And I’m not going to look for you ONLY when something’s going on.” Nascha said.

The Shoanti took a step forward and rested her hands on Kostella's hips. She drummed her fingernails down along the other woman's curves.

"Then why did you—?"

Nascha puckered her lips and shushed the varisian. She shook her head side to side then leaned in until their foreheads touched and their noses brushed together. She moved her hands up the varisian’s body, then along her arms until her hands covered Kostella’s. She then parted her lips to whisper sweet words meant only for her ears. Her breath smelled like a cozy breakfast and sounded like a song.

“Come up to the deck with me.” Nascha said. “If no one wants to play cards, we can dance.”

“And if we can’t dance?”

Nascha’s grin curled to a devilish angle. Her eyes shone with mischief. And her body swayed in an excited wiggle.

“I have no doubt you’ll find a way for us to dance. Come on, let’s go!”

The shoanti slipped out of her lover’s grasp and seized her wrist. She then twisted and spun on her heels in a motion that made her dress sweep and wave. She tugged Kostella towards the door and reached a hand to throw open the door…only to find that it was locked.

Nascha stared at the door and slumped her shoulders.

“You forgot you locked the door, didn’t you?” Kostella said.

Nascha pinched the lock's turn piece and flicked it open. Then slipped out pulling her love behind her. The lovers skipped down the ship's hall with a bounce in their steps and giggles between them.

Chapter Three

Absalom Arodus 10 - 4723

It had been nearly a year since Kostella came to Absalom and the city suited her far more than she ever thought. It was a city that was far more accepting of her culture than Korvosa ever had. Pathfinders often spoke with her to learn about her culture. Merchants were curious about how their wares compared to what was found in Varisia. And travelers were happy to hear her stories of faraway places they'd never have the chance to see.

It was everything she ever wanted in a home, but never knew she needed. Especially since it was a home she shared with her love. It felt cozy in ways she never knew to such a degree that she stopped yearning for the open skies and wild roads she knew in Varisia.

Life had become a comfortable routine of happy days and lazy nights. And Kostella could ask for nothing more.

So she couldn't explain why tonight was so unlike recent nights. Why did she lay in bed and stare at the ceiling of the inn room she and Nascha shared? Why does she ignore the woman sleeping by her side…

…and why she couldn’t stop thinking about Korvosa.

Kostella sighed. She turned her head towards the bedside table on her side of the bed. The surface was a cluttered mess of shiny trinkets, interesting knives, colorful scarves, small glowing magical gems, and a single letter that stood out from all the rest.

She stared at the letter as if it were a devil at the foot of her bed. Her lips pursed in a rueful pout and her cheeks puffed out as she sucked in a breath. She read the address once again as if hoping that it would be meant for anyone else this time. But the envelope bore the same damned address…

Kostella Salache

Absalom via The Pathfinder Society

“Why couldn’t they find anyone else?”

Nascha murmured and shifted until her shoulder brushed against Kostella's back. She hummed a hum that she only did when she was trying to coax her back into bed. But the sweet simple gestures they shared between them just didn't work that night. And it made Kostella's heart sink and chill as guilt tugged at her mood.

“Go back to sleep,” Kostella said, “I’ll get back in position before long.”

Nascha rolled until she pressed her cheek against Kostella's back. She rubbed her cheek up and down as if hoping to cover herself in her lover's scent.

“Mmnngh nhhh. No you won’t. You’ve been out of sorts since that letter came. And you still haven’t told me what it said.”

Kostella blushed…

"I thought you could figure it out and…"

Nascha reached up and cupped Kostella’s hip. She drummed her fingers along the silk covering her woman’s body. She always enjoyed touching her and tracing her muscles and curves. It had become something she did when she wanted the courage to speak her mind.

“...We both know that’s a lie. I don’t read minds without consent or great need and I don’t think this is either. What is so terrible that it leaves you so tense?”

Kostella sighed and bit her lip.

“Please, tell me.” Nascha said.

Kostella was silent for quite some time. She knew that telling her love what was on her mind was the right thing to do. But it hurt so much to think about. Especially since she had finally come to accept Absalom as her home and Nascha as her home’s hearth. She almost wished Nascha was a little more forceful with her psychic gifts so she wouldn’t have to say it.

But, she loved Nascha because of her devotion and kindness. And she loved how much Nascha cared about her privacy. Nascha would never betray that privacy, even if it was more than obvious that something was haunting her that night.

No, Kostella thought, it is up to me.

Kostella reached for the letter. She took it out of the envelope and folded it against her knee. She then turned on a nearby lantern and read it aloud.

“It says…”

Dear Kostella,

I do not know you beyond your name and I suspect this will come as a surprise. But I need your services in protecting Korvosa. Something is causing the city much harm, with citizens disappearing in the middle of the night and an entire expedition vanishing. My people are scared and I don't have the answers for what's happening or why, so I have spoken to councilors and priests for guidance.

I was desperate enough to seek out a Varisian harrow reader on the off chance that it would lead to insights. And, strange enough to say, but it led to a vision from Desna. The reader whispered your name to me, just as a swallowtail butterfly landed on my cheek.

I am no fool. I know about the many Gods of Golarion and hold Desna in equal regard to my God, Abadar, and to Korvosa's god, Asmodeus. There were no butterflies in the harrow reader's wagon. So I have to assume that Korvosa needs you for salvation. I have spent a month tracking you down and heard that you had traveled to Absalom last year to assist a Pathfinder in training. So if this letter reaches you, I beseech you to come to Korvosa along with a band that will meet you on the 15th of Arodus and come to Korvosa.

I realize that Varisians have been mistreated by the former queen. And all that I have done will never wipe away that stain. You have no reason to assist me or my city. I can only pray that you will feel my sincerity in these words.

Sincerely, Queen Cressida Kroft

Kostella tossed the letter back to the table.

“That is what has been on my mind all night.” Kostella said.

“...you don’t know if you should stay or go. Do you?”

Kostella shook her head.

“Not in the least. Kroft has done right by my people ever since the Scarlet Queen’s death. But her city is still a playground for the same nobles who supported evil men, like The Butcher. Her heart is in the right place, but, as she said, I have no love for Korvosa and if it falls, then the Varisians can just move out and stay on the roads as we always have.”

Nascha sat up and wiggled into Kostella’s lap. She then took the varisians arms and wrapped them around her waist.

“You don’t believe that do you?”

“No. I can tell when someone is running a con. But, this makes no sense. Why would she send a letter to a vague address and hope it reaches me? And the details within…the butterfly, acknowledging our disparate faiths and…”

Kostella sighed.

“I can’t help but feel that Desna needs me in Varisia. To do what, I haven’t the slightest, but, she has helped my people so many times. My heart tells me this is what I must do…”

“But I’m holding you back?”

Kostella squeezed Nascha’s waist and shook her head so fast her hair whipped the back of Nascha’s head.

“No no you could never! Would never…”

“Shhh let me finish.” Nascha said. “I don’t mean that you feel restricted. Because you are happy here. By the hells, I bet you could even take over this city’s thieve’s guild in another year or few. You don’t need me to make you successful since you always find a way. Nor could I restrict you even if I tried, because the best cages I could make for you are made of kisses and hugs.”

Kostella giggled.

“To be fair, that is a strong cage.”

Nasha patted Kostella’s knee.

“I know it is. But, since I met you, you had this spark and brilliance that shone through on rainy foggy nights and in the darkest nights. And a large part of that spark is your faith in Desna and your love of your home and people. And though you claim that your tribes would be just fine if Korvosa fell, we both know that isn’t guaranteed. What if her nobles are acting against her and seek to reestablish the old ways. What if The Butcher wants to wipe out the Varsiains entirely!”

Nascha turned and kissed Kostella’s cheek.

“I will be fine, my love. The Pathfinders have taught me so much about my powers in just under a year and I suspect that I’ll learn much more by the time we reunite. And we will meet again, because I’m ordering you to stay safe.”

Nascha pouted with the gravest look she possibly could…which made Kostella laugh. She giggled and fell back onto the bed and pulled Nascha with her. Nascha pinched her love and both women dissolved into a fit of giggles, hugs, and snorts that somehow ended with them falling out of bed in a cocoon of blankets on the floor and bruises on hips, elbows, and knees.

It wasn’t the most comfortable place for them to sleep. But certainly the best as Nascha rested her cheek against Kostella’s breast and Kostella brushed her fingers across her lover’s hair.

“You convinced me,” Kostella said, “I’ll do this. And I’ll have many stories to share when I return.”

“You’d better, or I’ll send you to Desna until she teaches you to have a better imagination.”

Kostella feigned a gasp. She then spoke in a stage voice that was as melodic as it was a bellow. Something she picked up by learning to perform with Absalom’s theater guild during the early spring.

“Betrayal! My lover intends to wound me.”

Nascha giggled then sang in response, “Nay goodly rogue. I’ve no intention to harm. When a simple sleep spell would suffice.”

The women then rattled off impromptu stage lines in between giggles until they slept. Neither of them noticed a blue swallowtail butterfly watching from outside the window.

----- This story was written as a request for my good friend @moxpunk . Her character has been a wonderful addition to my Pathfinder 2e campaign and I was so honored to have the chance to add to her story.

#pathfinder #writers #women writers #writer #my writing #writing #writers on patreon #writers on tumblr #writers on twitter #writing commissions

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