Rye frequently found that when the going got tough, she preferred not to be herself, but someone else. That feeling was only getting stronger the longer she remained a pile of metal and stone. If she had been whole, she could have truly explored this place, truly taken part in an adventure, and truly made a difference.
As it stood, she had given up trying to play the fool. People weren’t cheery after being worn down by a seemingly unbeatable foe. Mister blaze and mister snow had been harrying them day and… day. If she could conjure one thing from Elia’s home, it would be a restraining order.
When they were outside, the snowy ghost would appear from nowhere, wielding twin thrusting blades that could extend with a flick of conjured ice. If they were inside, the flaming demon would rise from the fire, a scimitar in one hand, a hand for conjuring wicked explosions in the other.
On the first day, they came in increments of three hours. That had left some time to tend to wounds and explore the sunken town some more. On the second day, the bell tower struck first at one hundred thirty five minutes, then once every ninety minutes after that.
It was now the third day, and the time had halved once again. Sam’s armor was looking ragged from the last fights. Hannah had even died when the snow ghost suddenly disappeared, then reappeared right behind her.
She got better, which was to say she was walking in circles, grumping and cursing at their fate.
“They’re summons, illusions. They have to be – how else could they keep coming back? We’re not actually killing them. Or maybe we are and they’ve got a machine in there, something that is… making these devils like clockwork.”
“And there really was nothing up on the bell tower?” Rye asked. “I could have sworn that–“
“No! Nothing! Not even a trace of pigeon crap. The rope just disappears into the building, and that church has one sturdy door we can’t shoulder in.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Sam said tiredly. “We can’t leave.”
That was true. The snowstorm picked up the moment they tried to leave the city premise. Nobody wanted to die of frostbite, as they’d only revive when the ice thawed, which in this place was likely never. If this place had an actual mechanism behind it or not, Rye could not divine it.
The city beneath the stars. A woman cradling a bird. Ancient, way old architecture. Stone trees.
The pile of Rye grumped. If only Elia were here, then her [Psychometry] could likely find them a critical hint, or at least a clue. Their reservoir was constantly wavering at around ten percent. Even if Elia hadn’t needed to constantly tap into it, without hands, Rye could simply not cast a strong enough spell to break open the church’s doors without guaranteeing a horrible miscast.
She would have to risk it soon anyways. It was their best bet.
Rye looked up at the time. Twelve minutes until the next incursion. They were sitting around a fireplace with all the furniture stacked on top of it. Sam was sitting in a chair, holding Rye’s torso. By the way she jerked her head every few minutes she was almost nodding off .
Something had to change.
“Hannah? Could you watch me and Sam for a hot minute?”
The girl stopped pacing and squinted at them with a critical eye. “Are you going to do some… lesbian make out stuff? Because that is the last thing I want to see before I die.”
“I don’t have a head.”
“Then sure, as long as it helps us get out of this mess.”
Rye nodded, then shook in Sam’s embrace like a bumblebee.
“I’m awake! I’m awake. Is it time already?”
“Not yet. Sammy, I want you to relax and take my hand.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, like that. Now close your eyes and follow my lead.”
Due to previous actions, you are moderately worthy.
As Sam relaxed, Rye went inside herself and pulled on the power of her shard of dreaming. She was worthier than most, but even then she felt resistance, like trying to pull a ship’s anchor. As she pulled, something gave away, and she was sucked into her white dream.
***
Sam awoke to the sound of birdsong on a meadow of grass. In the far distance, she could see the sun lazily cresting green hills. It had been so long, the sight alone almost brought her to tears. Then a warm hand entwined with hers and she was certain that if she looked right now, she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back.
But she did and there was Rye. Not a puppet, not a broken heap of false mirth, but in the flesh, with her golden-brown hair and that face that lit up with a smile like the dawn of all that was good and innocent.
Keep it together, she thought. She told you about this. The good will pass. The bad will too. This is just a dream.
“Ta-daaah!” Rye shook her hands and with that smile it was as if a second sun had just risen up to greet her. “Look, do you recognize where we are?”
“It’s our hill.” Where we had our first kiss, up below the lonely peach tree.
Sam looked left where a blanket was spread out in its shade. It was resting in a bed of flowers and plated with her favorite little treats. It honestly looked very comfortable.
Then she noticed that the flowers spelled out her name, and that Rye probably had expected to take her here under more peaceful circumstances.
“Ack!” Rye quickly brushed it away, which was to say she flapped her arms and the blanket just… wrapped itself up and disappeared. “S-sorry, nothing to see here. Oh wow, look at the view, you can almost see Arvale from up here.”
“You can. But it looks… half finished.” Like part of it was a drawing, and the other part was splattered with all influences of life. “You made all of this?”
“Yup! And time flows faster in here than outside, so we have all the time in the world. Well, not all the time, and we aren’t here for leisure. I made this huuuge training area for Elia once way back and it’s next to the baths if you want to go for a swim together afterwards, so, um… yeah. Do you like it?”
“I am speechless.” She dug a hand into the ground below and took in the smell of freshly cut grass. “Can we take the scenic route?”
Rye blinked. “Oh! Sure. I know just the route and – Sam?”
Sam felt a tug as she looked down an overgrown path on the hill.
“The other way is prettier,” Rye said.
“But I want to go this way,” Sam said, and when that was not enough she decided to push some buttons. “If I wanted pretty, I would just have to turn to you.”
Rye blushed and with a gentle tug, let herself be led along. Sam navigated through the underbrush, knowing exactly which boulders she needed to pass to go where she needed. There was a coppice of trees less than a decade old along the way. No forests were allowed to grow untended in that time long before. Her love had been ever faithful in recreating scenes, but perhaps too much. A grave was sat in a place cleared of brushwork; a brother or sister who died in her crib before they were old enough to have a name.
The thicket cleared, and out in the open some hundred meters away stood the estate. Neither of them said anything as they stood there, watching in silence. There was something about this place that made it more real than anything could be. It wasn’t the color of the flowers, nor the texture on the wall she could almost feel just from looking.
This place felt old. It felt foreboding.
She noticed Rye squint at a pair of signs that hadn’t been there in memory. ‘Danger’ read one, ‘Bad place’ read another.
This place isn’t meant to be lived in.
Like she had always in life, Sam mustered her resolve, and when presented with an uncomfortable situation, decided the best way out was straight through. She took a step forward.
“Wait.”
Sam stopped in her tracks. “Yes, love?”
“The baths are this way. And between you and me, you don’t want to go in there.”
“Why?” She asked. “It’s just a place, your families’ estate.”
“Yes, but actually… Remember when I said that I made all of this? Well, I didn’t just make things and places. The power of the shard of dreaming is a lot more than that.”
“You made animals then? People?” By Rye’s reaction, she hit the nail on the head. Sam turned to look at the house then. A shiver ran down her spine, but she turned back with a rakish smirk. “Bean, I know you were lonely, but if I walk into that house and find another me in there, I will be very… disappointed.”
Rye sputtered with all the dignity of a sack of grain tossed down a stairwell. “That’s not it! I… ok, promise that what I tell you next stays between us.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious!”
“I know.” You do that adorable little thing with your forehead and your nose when you’re serious and… nevermind. “So, what bodies do you have buried in your home?”
Rye audibly breathed in. “I didn’t sell the nightmares to the things beyond the sky. I took them all and stuffed them in a box.”
This time it was Sam’s turn to blink. “A box?”
“A box. To use my power, I have to manage dreams. That means experiencing them once, then giving them to someone who fits them. But the world is terrible, and those people with the capacity to still think and dream have a lot of nightmares. A lot. I couldn’t take it anymore, and so instead of dreaming them, they’re there now, stuck in the one place that is the most solid and secure in my entire dream.”
“Rye, that can’t be healthy.”
“I know! I know, but this is the best solution I could come up with. Nobody could help me with this, heck, you’re the second person I even let inside here.” Sam felt her grip tighten.
The past few years must have been hard on her. Monsters, danger, treason, trials and loss. None of that was Rye. Rye was kind and considerate, sometimes a bit of a ditz, but always trying to make sure everyone at the table got their slice of pie. And she was right. You couldn’t remove nightmares from the world no matter how much hard work you put in, even if it was the kind of work that ate at your very soul.
Sam pulled her in close for a hug, letting her face rest on top of her head.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, bean,” she said.
“You couldn’t have been. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
Sam smiled at her, warmly. “We’re together now, aren’t we? And we will be, always. Now, you said something about baths?”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Rye’s face lit up. “Of course. Just this way miss, the hot tubs are to die for.”
Sam grinned, and swooped her up in a princess carry. “Alright, we can go there first. But only if you show me everything.”
***
“What the heck!?” Rye yelled as an elderly man made long strokes in her huge, private bathing area.
He wasn’t alone. Children were screaming and splashing into the water further back. Men were talking animatedly around a table with glasses of beer in their hands, a vendor was hawking fresh pies, and nobody at all seemed concerned that they shouldn’t really be here.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” Sam said. “It really is a luxuriously large outdoor bathhouse.”
Rye’s eye twitched as she saw how someone had graffitied a dick on her meticulously referenced and carved statue of Aloevera, the god of natural baths and springs. There was no way they could find the focus to train in the nearby facilities with these… savages appropriating her bathing realm.
“You!” She pointed at an elderly man doing laps in the calm pool. “Where did you get that towel from?”
“From the towel-wagons.”
“And where did those come from?” ´
He calmly reached the end of the pool, turned around, and made his way back. “Well, from the bathing committee. The new mayor set them up after we found this natural wonder.”
“The mayor of whom? Of Arvale?” Sam called after him, but the old man did not hear her. Then she leaned to Rye. “Does every dream have a mayor?”
“Mine does, apparently,” Rye grumped. “Not that I had a say in it. And I never bothered finishing Arvale enough to populate it. Come, we are going to Littleton.”
“Oh, was that the quaint little vill–“
Rye tugged at the world, eliciting a yelp as they sped through walls and people without touching them. One moment they were in the baths, in the next, Rye dropped them straight into the middle of a busy street. Sam stumbled, and would have been swallowed by the bustling throng of people had they not been holding hands.
“-age. Rye, what did you do?”
“Pinched and plucked the fabric of space.”
Her love watched her intently with those eyes of hers. “I… thought we were taking the scenic route.”
Rye had the good decorum to be slightly embarrassed. “Yes, well, this place is scenic enough. It’s a lot bigger than last time too.”
The humble village of Littleton had gone from town to city to bustling metropolis. The cityscape was overflowing with precariously stacked constructions, clinging to the bizarre towers Rye had used to practice her struts and arches with.
She looked up at where a majestic fountain sprouted from the middle of the town square. A statue with her face and her body stood victoriously above the corpse of some kind of monster, wielding a brush in one hand like a sword, the other covered in white scales. Sam looked too, and Rye felt her gaze on her as she compared Rye to this statue she had not created herself.
“You look good in pants.”
Rye blushed even further. “Oh shush! I am taking us to the mayor now.”
“Let’s walk. Come on, it will give you time to sort your thoughts. I for one am honestly impressed. This is an entire society, with trade and places and people that look so happy.” They stopped at a stall to haggle for an ambrosia fruit. The glade they no doubt came from was one of Rye’s proudest creations. They tasted like an entire meal, inspiration courtesy of the bowl water. “You happened upon some random shard and used it to create a paradise.”
Sam took a bite of the juicy fruit. Rye found she had no appetite. “You used yours to save me.”
“That too. But I also damned Elia to two hundred years of torture. Two hundred years…” She chewed in that slow, meticulous way that meant she was thinking about something. “Say you could go back, have a do-over, what would you change?”
Rye swallowed. The fruit looked more and more enticing. She wouldn’t have to talk for a minute or two while she was eating it.
“We can’t go back, you know that.”
“That was not my question.”
“I would kiss you even more.”
“Smooth, princess, but you haven’t earned that privilege back.”
Dangit.
“Well, I don’t know what I would change, because I don’t fully remember what happened! The Rhuna severed an arm’s worth of my spirit, and with that went some memories.”
“You don’t remember what happened?”
“I remember… most things.” Rye rubbed her arm, feeling a chill come up. “I remember that we had to leave, that I couldn’t stay in that place any longer.”
“If you want, I could tell you.”
“No!” Rye said, then quieter, “no. This is fine. I am fine. It’s just you and me now, how it always should have been.”
“True,” Sam said. “But you can’t tell me that you’re happy with how your life, how everything is. Are you?”
No, Rye could not. But what was she to say? That it was great that they would be together forever, unless they didn’t find a cure for her arm, or one of them died in some horrible way? It was clear that she would choose to have helped Sam sooner. But when it came to things she did have a say in, she could not put her finger on a single point, a single alternative that would have changed things for the better. Not for her, and certainly not for the world.
These sorts of what-ifs were useless anyways. They needed to find a path out of their current trial, not worry about the ones they had already passed.
“We’re here,” she said, looking up at the city hall. It was plastered with posters of a gone by election. “And if I could choose, I wouldn’t want to have been reborn in a world where the only guaranteed end is a violent one. I abhor violent ends.”
She flung the doors open and marched up to the receptionist – the evil wizard, now turned evil bureaucrat Mark– who was busy stamping a document with a Rye-shaped statue stamp. He looked up at her, then at his stamp, then back again.
“Oh, u-um–“
“Where’s the mayor?”
The poor guy paled. “R-right through that door ma’am, miss, ah–”
Rye ignored him and threw the doors open. The mayor cut an imposing figure, even constrained by her suit. The desk and chair looked childish when compared to her large frame, and she threatened to swallow all the light that came in through the balcony window behind her.
“… and that is why I cannot, with clear conscience, support your crew scavenging the mysterious armory. It is simply not a responsible use of taxpayer money, let alone my office and position...” Rhuna turned to Rye and her face paled immediately. “Ah, shit.”
An old man with wiry muscles whom she had been talking to turned around and recognized Rye about as quickly. He didn’t clutch his straw hat any tighter as he inclined his head. “M’goddess.”
“Out.”
Rye glared at the Rhuna, who had gone as still as the statue she was.
“So, you escaped. I’m not sure how, considering I made that reverse tower specifically to hold someone like you.”
“I knew this day would come.” Rhuna licked her lips. Her eyes flicked to Rye, Sam, across the room. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I am playing by the rules of your domain willingly. I was elected, I gained my power through legitimate means.”
“Yeah, I saw your campaign posters. Shaping Littleton for a bigger tomorrow?” Rye snorted. “No matter what form you take, you can’t hide your ambition.”
Rhuna leveled an accusing finger at her. “You were the one who made this place with real-world rules but didn’t bother to place enough basic resources around. There are no woods nearby, so we had to cannibalize some of your abandoned projects for firewood. We had to fight scurvy because your ambrosia is just sugar, no nutrition at all. I fixed that, because I am a good mayor. As for ambition, well, what can I say? I’m–“
“An annoyance, an inconvenience, a small sign that after all these lessons, I still haven’t learned the most important one.” Rye sighed. “But I guess that’s just who I am. I could never execute someone as sad as you.”
Rye snapped her fingers and Rhuna shaped her table into a shield, then bolted to the side. She wasn’t quick enough, as a cage formed around her, bars thick as a giant’s arm. But she squeezed out through the bars as a long, eel-like thing.
“Shapeshifting!? You are not supposed to have that power anymore!” Rye yelled.
“Rye, who is that, what is–“
“That is The 47th Rhuna, aka Emily Watson, aka the most conniving, brutal, and pathetic excuse for an individual I have ever seen.” And now she was running amok in her dream, doing as she pleased. But she was inside Rye’s dream, and Rye knew how to deal with errant nightmares. She created a jar, a heavy one completely covered in paper seals. “Hold this, love.”
She uncorked it and spoke the name of whom she wanted to imprison before Sam could say another word.
“Rhuna.”
A howl came from the jar, a screaming wind tearing through the office and catching Rhuna, who had transformed into her flying long-dragon form, by the tail and slurping her up like spaghetti.
“NOOOooo–“
Rye corked the jar with an annoyed huff.
“Rye. What did you do?”
“Put her into a prison of eternal darkness and quietness. I honestly should just put her into the box of nightmares. Maybe then she’ll learn her lesson, if I don’t forget about her.”
Sam did not look pleased. “Rye! That is, this… it’s torture!”
Rye froze as if hit by a whip. Did she do something wrong? Sure, with how quickly time passed in here, it might have been months at a time between her visits to her prisoner. And yes, what she was doing was undoubtedly not nice. But Rhuna deserved punishment eternal. Her spirit would never be allowed to leave her dream, and with the gods unwilling to censure her, it fell to Rye to uphold justice.
“Sam, she is evil. She lobotomized thousands.”
“It’s Watson.”
“Who?”
“Two hundred years ago. I told you before, we had an outsider among us, a shifty, distrustful young girl.”
Rye blinked. “Is it really the same Watson?”
“How many Watsons do you think there are? It’s not exactly a common empire name.” Sam clutched the prison-jar unsteadily. “She was so young when she joined us.”
“And in the two hundred years since, she grew up to become a monster. Watch,” Rye said, opening a hole in the jar only they could see, and through which they could peek inside, “she is probably scheming my downfall already.”
All they heard was a scream of frustration, then silence, punctuated by distant sobs.
“She’s crying,” Rye said. “Rhuna doesn’t cry. She… how dare she? After all she did?”
“She’s crying because she doesn’t want to be locked up for what is likely to be months, if I got the time dilation right.” Sam put a hand on Rye’s shoulder. “Bean, I know some problems are too hard or harsh to deal with all at once, but you can’t just lock them up and throw the key away.”
Face your problems, echoed a thought from all the way home. They are your responsibility.
“...ok. But if she is as bad as I say, I will deal with her accordingly.”
Sam nodded and with a plop, the cork came off and Rhuna spilled out onto the ground. She looked up at Rye in her puddle-form.
“I am listening,” Rye said. “You better not waste my time.”
“Please don’t lock me up again.” Rhuna tensed into a sheet of rock, then relaxed until she was liquid again. “Your dream is very peaceful. I like it here.”
“I see. And what is your plan then? What is your endgame. And who do you think you are?”
Rhuna frowned. “I never thought I could retire from the place outside. Turns out, I’m the type that needs to keep busy even when I don’t have anything on my plate. As for that last question, well, I’m the Rhuna. I haven’t been Watson in decades. Sorry, Old Maid, no closure from me.”
Rye looked to Sam, who was doing her best not to show her pity. “You know, ever since you popped up in here, I have been doing some thinking on how that was possible. We got the kill-notification when we slashed you with the shard knife.”
“Still alive though.”
Rye nodded. “I talked with Karla, and she reassured me that before she and Justice became aware of each other, Justice was not a person, but a giant, formless ocean of blood. Now, sometimes I’m not sure who I’m talking to.”
“Maybe you’re a bad listener.”
“Think about it, shardbearers and shards seem to become more similar the more they interact, which is why Zippo has been keeping distance from me. He does not want to become like me while Justice enjoys being a person. Maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe, you’re just the shard of shapes, who thinks that you’re Rhuna.”
Puddle-Rhuna frowned. “That’s not funny. Even for you.”
“Really? How long ago was it that you got your shard?”
Rhuna declined to answer.
Rye sighed. “Alright. You can keep playing at being mayor of my dream town. I’ll even hop in and give you some help if you ask nicely. I am not a cruel mistress.”
Rhuna eyed her, then turned back into her oversized, stone-bodied form. “I appreciate that. If you need help then… well, I don’t expect you’d want help from me. But I can ask around.”
“I need the baths cleared of people. Me and Sam need the training area nearby to fight against a strong foe we are currently facing.”
Rhuna winced. “Can’t you make a new one? I promised to keep that place open day in, day out, and the bit of money it generates is needed to pay for the construction of our new sewage system.”
Rye shrugged. “Guess we’ll have less time then. Sam, you can make do with three days, right?”
Sam blinked. “I am good with a sword because I worked for years and years. I’m not talented, unlike Elia. We’re exhausted in the real world too. Just one victory isn’t going to help with that.”
“I would help you another way if I could. But I need functioning hands to cast calm signs or I’ll call down he-who-explodes-stars or some other terrible guest from above.”
Sam chewed her lip, eying Rhuna, who was picking up paperwork that had been strewn about in the kerfuffle.
“How confident are you with fine work concerning your shard of shapes?” she asked.
Rhuna grinned. “I once operated on an undead’s brain because there were, uh… complications during a delicate surgery.” She eyed Rye, choosing her next words carefully. “They died twice, which, considering we didn’t have anesthesia and I had to do it with my bare hands, I’d count as an absolute win.”
Sam nodded, then turned to Rye. “Rye don’t you think she could fix your stone-puppet body?”
Rye paused as the implications slowly dawned on her. “Oh. OOOH!”
She clapped her hands. “Alright. Rhuna, you are coming with me.”
“Outside?” Rhuna said, her voice half hopeful, half full of fear.
“Yes. Don’t worry, it should be a quick one. But if I catch you doing anything sneaky, or anything untoward, it’s back in the jar with you.”