A Dyad in Time

by D. D. Prideaux

  “I guess this is the understanding room then.” Tchook fizzed on my shoulder and then flowed down my arm, his non-head looking for something on the back of my hand. Turning it over, I saw the symbol from the previous room tattooed there. The black mass motioned towards me and then back to the centre of the room. Great. Souvenirs from my time in this place. I made a small bet with myself that every time I completed a room, I would get a new mark. A new stamp to show my progress and a new scar to remind me. Looking back at the centre of the room I realise that the symbol was repeated on the ceiling and as my eyes move between the two decorative statements, thin shafts of light shot out of the floor to connect with its sister engraving. Hissing and spitting, three shafts of light connected the three points of each triangle to each other and the fourth connected the filled in circles.

  Tchook splatted to the floor, curious noises coming from him as he made his way over to the puzzling light. I follow, releasing the handle and feeling the door close behind me. From a few feet away the beams look solid, crackling and warning us away from them. Pausing, I watch as Tchook’s non-head sniffed at them, extending his un-neck to keep the most of him away from the strange magik. The grave smell hit me again, twisting my stomach into knots as I watched creeping shadows flicker around the room. Skull parts, bones and evil stare at me from everywhere. This place is sick. An iciness tried to take me as I stood there, but I shrug it away and walk over to crouch next to Tchook.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  He squeaked with a little excitement, turning his mass from me and back to the magik in quick succession. What have you found? I lean in a little closer to the crackling, but don’t see what he does. Sitting down, crossing my legs I take a few deep breaths. Pushing the sick and icy feelings away I close my eyes and one-by-one shut my senses off. Staying completely still I then open my eyes, feeling my pupils dilate with the change in darkness. A trick I had learned from who knows where helped me slow things down and that’s when I see it. Small objects were flying up each of the shafts of light incredibly quickly. The beam was broken, letting the object sit there untouched as it flew past me. Watching their relentless progress was quite calming as I notice each shaft had a slightly different shape on its own journey. A journey that repeated itself over and over. Appearing out of the floor to then be swallowed by the ceiling. My newly tattooed hand reaches up to try and break the light only to retract quickly with a sharp squeal and a curse. Tchook mimicked my movement and sound, making me feel extremely stupid.

  “What?” Tchook bristled, an odd gurgling noise I took to be laughter coming from him. My hand wasn’t in too bad shape from the heat, but smoke came from my skin, a burning trail of flesh left in the beams wake. I look at my watermelon sized friend and was astonished to see that he tried to do the same as I had. My turn to laugh at the movement and sound he made. Serves him right. I knew I had to catch the objects somehow. I knew I had to be quick. Faster than quick. Mastery of my senses and body would be needed to catch these things, tormenting me with their endless processions. I stand up, spread my feet apart slightly and face one of the magikal beams. I’m not sure how long I stand there trying to imprison the first object, but my hands were in tatters when I decide to call it a day. My whole body had broken into a cold sweat at the attack on my hands, trying to manage the pain and focus myself on the task but it was useless. I hadn’t come remotely close to success, I couldn’t even see what I was trying to catch, let alone grab it without getting hurt.

  My shoulders drop, ruined hands at my sides and frustration in my heart. Tchook’s non-shoulders do the same and I walk, he slithers, back towards Djoonga and my healing Bjørneskinn. When we get back into the clinical looking room there’s some food there and I get angry at not being able to eat it. Slumping in the chair I look at the sweet-smelling plate, contemplating if I could dump my face into it and get my fill without using my hands. I’m not an animal I decide, thinking that the food would be fine to have cold after a healing sleep. Making to get up, black goo oozed itself onto the table and picked up the cutlery, a non-head nodding for me to sit back down. I’m tired. I’m in agony. I’m hungry.

  “You want to be by nursemaid?” Metal clinked against porcelain and I find myself staring a fork loaded with goodness. I greedily scoff it down to pleased noises and ruffling from my friend. I feel the warmth flow through me. I feel the nourishment clear my mind and heart. It’s good, and I eat quickly. I hadn’t noticed it earlier but there was a small table next to the bed with a clock on it, the only other furniture in the room. Making a mental note of the time, I clamber into bed, gingerly pulling the fur of my healing Bjørneskinn over my shoulder. Tchook helped me in the end, watching as I winced and struggled to get comfortable but eventually I settle, melting into the comfort and warmth.

  * * *

  Waking up the next morning, I feel and hear the snoring of my globular friend behind my head. Fog swamps my waking thoughts, a thick curtain that needs pulling back gently as I felt my hands. Good as new. The bear skin had also removed all the filth of yesterday from me, leaving me clean and refreshed for the day. A neat pile of new clothes was also laid out on the table, accompanied by a simple breakfast. Painstakingly slowly, I get dressed and eat as quietly as I can, enjoying the odd sounds coming from Tchook. I leave some food, not knowing whether he needed to eat or not and before long the not-so-little black mass made a stretching, yawning shape and squealed with delight at what I’d left him. Turning to think about the day’s work ahead I’d been foolish yesterday, thinking I could just grab the objects on my first try. I wasn’t focused enough and the damage to my hands was too severe, needing a full night's sleep and rest to heal properly. Marking a line on the wall with the breakfast knife I grab my Bjørneskinn and go back into the beam room.

  “I should heal after each attempt.” I said cheerfully to the black shape at my calves. Tchook had formed into a loose shape of me and was mimicking my walk, his non-head looking from his non-feet to mine as we went. “Means I can try for longer and eat food without help.” The familiar crackling of the light breaks my thoughts and I take up my stance from yesterday. Shutting off my other senses I close my eyes and open them again, slowing the movement of the objects. There. I whip my hand out but wasn’t even close, sizzling, burning noises and smells coming from my hand. Dejected I turn to pick up my bear skin, my vision returning to normal. To my surprise, Tchook had elongated himself to my height and was holding the golden fur out for me. Half butler, half towel rack I laugh, the pain in my hand slipping away as I return to my stance and focusing. There. Whip. Sizzle. Burn. Heal. Repeat. Sweat covered my whole body by the time I call it a day. Returning to the room I realise we’d been at it for twelve hours and I’d not even gotten close to catching anything. Sitting down to eat the food that had appeared, I took heart from being able to access my slowing vision quicker as the day progressed. Focus and clarity was coming with the practice and I knew it would help me in the long run. What I hadn’t noticed though, was Tchook sat on the edge of the table, his non-head following each bit of food to my mouth. I share what I had left and then he entertained me for a bit by pulling himself into different shapes and making funny sounds.

  * * *

  I wake the next day and practise the same routine as the day before. Dress. Eat. Share. Mark the day. Try to grab an object. Stand. Focus. There. Whip. Sizzle. Burn. Heal. Repeat. Eat. Share. Watch. Sleep.

  * * *

  I wake the next day and do the same. And the next. And the next. And the next. Nearly a week passes and all I’ve managed to do is get better at focusing my vision. Nearly a week passes and all Tchook’s managed, is to get better at making silly shapes. Routine boredom starts to set in. The kind that drives you mad if you are not moving forward or getting better. When Tchook’s entertainment loses its joy one night I fall into a restless sleep, annoyed at failing so much. Day six starts a little different to all the others though. When I wake, the clothes were there, and the food was ther
e but Tchook was already awake. Half butler, half towel rack was standing as thin and as tall as the room. Near his non-feet, part of him extended out and thin, black, rubber goo extended all the way up to an extended part of his non-head. He looks like a harp with only one string I think, confused by what he’s up to. He ripples when he sees I’m awake and then he forms a little globule of himself at the base of the thin blackness he’d created. It shot to the top of him and then he repeated the movement, the small blob of black relentlessly shooting upwards on its own journey. I grab a handful of food, shove some into my mouth and throw some towards Tchook. It stuck to his side and he absorbed it in a strange munching type movement, squeaking with joy.

  “Let’s practice.” Saving time from not burning and healing myself meant that my hands got quicker, faster. There. Whip. Squeak. Repeat. After a day or two I know I’m ready to try the lights again. Confidently, we leave the fur behind and make our way to the first beam. Smiling and nodding at Tchook, I take my stance. What’s going to happen when I catch it? What’ll happen next? Nervous, I settle myself and feel the room around me. I grind my feet into the floor, hard slate pushing back and reminding me I was on solid ground. Earthy scents waft towards me, reminding me of how much I want to get out. There. Whip. Catch. Light shaft fading. New lights shine now, one in my hand and one that comes from Djoonga. It had been an extremely long time since I felt this satisfied. Since I felt happy and fulfilled from achieving something. Half butler, half towel rack stood there and I high-fived him. Unfortunately, Tchook didn’t know what a high-five was so my hand just slapped into a non-shoulder, a smacking sound making me laugh harder than I had in a lifetime. Initially, the black goo rippled in annoyance but then joined in with a childish, gurgling laughter of his own.

  “No rest for the wicked.” I pocket the shining object and then move to the second beam. I grind my feet again, smell the air and revel in the idea of freedom. There. Jerk. Sizzle. Burn. As I focus on the second object, the first one flew out of my pocket and re-joined the previous shaft that had now, reformed. Djoonga’s light faded and I was left embarrassed and in pain. Of course, I have to grab them all quickly. The butler-rack appeared with the fur and I begin anew. There. Whip. Catch. Move. There. Whip. Sizzle. Burn. Heal. Repeat. To my dismay, the time I have between completing each beam becomes shorter and shorter to the point where I never thought I’d get the fourth and final beam in time. By the end of the day I’m able to catch two objects, but they return to their homes before I can attempt the third.

  Days stack on top of days as I switch between practising with Tchook and the sequence of beams. Tchook had done his best to help, moving himself to mimic the room but I was getting no closer to the third beam. Out of frustration one day I lost my temper with him and I watched as he went into the room to study the bright challenge. Watching him, I saw that parts of him were flowing constantly, like liquid moved without gravity. Then when he thought I wasn’t watching he flicked around all the objects in an elegant dance, striking out at each gap and not once did I hear sizzling or smell the scorches of burning. I was going about this all wrong. Stepping from one beam to the next and bluntly attacking the gaps. I needed to use my own momentum and the space to move between each beam and flow my grabbing motions into one precise sequence. I silently approached and coughed when I was close. Tchook froze halfway between the third and fourth beams, his surface ruffling with embarrassment. He looked so odd, trapped mid-flow. Like spilled paint.

  “Teach me.” And he did. Hours stacked on hours as we spent them repeating the movements, a delicate dance between speed, balance and precision. The whole time I’m also focusing on my vision, maintaining it for longer, practicing by rounding it on new items that we set up in my sleeping quarters. When I was flowing, Tchook moved the object around so I never knew where the next one would be, playfully tripping me or distracting me when he saw I lost focus. Eve used to tease me like that sometimes from the scattered memories I had. I couldn’t tell whether it was me or something else that set up all these mind barriers, but I was thankful when it leaked a memory of her.

  When it came to the actual run through with the beams after countless practices, it only took a few attempts to get it right. The only reason I got some wrong was because I was afraid. Scared of embarrassing myself. Scared of the pain. Scared of failing. Then when I grabbed the fourth object from the final beam I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Smoothly pouring myself from one position to the next I was catching the next object before I’d barely secured the one before it. There. Whip. Flow. Catch. There. Whip. Flow. Catch. There. Whip. Flow. Catch. There. Whip. Flow. Catch. High-five. This time, Tchook understood the high-five and he formed a limb for me to slap against, making the same comical noise as earlier. Weeks of frustrating and training all lead to this moment. Mind-numbing repetition of the same movements had brought us here. To light up Djoonga. To give us access to the next room. Pain, suffering, anger and unrelenting boredom and we could move on.

  Nothing. At least, no freedom. The whole of Djoonga lit up when I caught the final object, accept for the two central figures in the middle of the montage. Two bastions of violence in the madness. All the beams dissipate momentarily before reforming. Thicker, redder, deadlier. You are the sum of all your parts Tor. I look at Tchook who understood too. He’s Tor shaped, only a foot or so tall and expecting us to walk into the next room. He’d gotten good at walking. He’d gotten good at everything. Just as quick as me and just as precise. Like me, he’d gotten good at reading between the lines, or in this case, reading the lines. Staying the same height, he turned himself into a bear shape, the surface of him fuzzy with fake fur. He growled. Not to scare. Not to intimidate. To mock our situation. I would have to willingly transform into my bear form and perform the same sequence I just had.

  Horror grips me as I think about that. I can’t remember much from before, but I know I used to be able to do it, however, my most recent transformations only result in blood. Tall, thin, stretched out butler-rack came up to me and placed black non-hands onto my shoulders, warmth taking the pressure away from my muscles. I could see that sliver of gold again, its warmth taking away the pressure from my heart. We nod at each other as we knew a new practice was needed. We walked back to our sleeping quarters, ate and sat quietly. Part of me wants to sleep and attempt it in the morning, but I know I’m just delaying the inevitable. Somehow, buried deep within memories of memories I knew how to change. Like muscle memory, it was some sort of thought memory. Maybe passing through the door had unlocked some pieces of me. Shown me the path I needed to tread. I looked over at Tchook who was absently picking at the food on the table, unaware of what I was thinking.

  “Want to give it a go?” He coughed up a little of what he was eating, his non-head inspecting the bizarre mess that came out of his non-mouth. He poked it a couple of times with a sharp bit of himself that he made just for prodding then turned to me. I think that was a nod. He blobbed himself into an amorphous mass on the table, a small mound staying in place like he was reaching towards me a little. He knew I had to do this on my own. He was helpless. I looked at the marks on the wall. Already such a long time here. Already so much not done.

  I stand there for a long time, just staring at my hands. I’m worried about what would happen. Looking to Tchook and back to my hands over and over again I’m scared that I’ll hurt him. Closing my eyes, I try to protect myself and him from what was coming. Childish, but it’s all I can do in the moment. Bile pooled in my throat, threatening to make itself known on the floor. Sweat formed on my wrinkled brow, threatening a salty blindness. Fear boiled in my veins, threatening paralysis. Intense physical and emotional reactions to something I’ve never consciously done, that I can recall. Nothing from my recent memories would help me. That didn’t stop me from picking through them in great detail though. Ones from after I lost Eve, a few from before that had been gifted to me by the door. Wait. The door. Like a man possessed I raced through what Djoonga showed me, what
we talked about. Reliving terrible events, experiencing wonderful ones and the greyness in between. I need to find the peace that came with balancing the extremes.

  A tingling spreads through my body as I wrap the good the bad and the average around my heart, anchoring all of who I am to my centre. A blissful sensation ripples through me and when I open my eyes they’re levelled at a spot a few feet above where Tchook is. I’m taller. The threatening sensations had passed, and I knew something was different. A black head bobbed into view before the rest of him followed, forming into a bear. Panicking, I look down at my hands. Freaking out, I look down at my paws. Huge, destructive and deadly things, covered in black fur, matted and a bit dingy. Moving them out of sight I keep inspecting myself. More fur. Two more paws and a large head. I turn part of me around to see if everything has changed. It has, and I laugh. Well, make a gruff noise that could’ve been a laugh. I’ve managed to change and not harm anyone. I’ve shifted and had full control of my body. I’m an animal, acting like a Lucid, moving and behaving like I’m on show. It’s funny.

  The next week or so passes quickly. Practising in both my forms, practising changing, practising control and beating the beams. I’m getting faster and faster. I’m learning to control my bear form, the previous weeks training coming in handy in performing complex moves covered in fur and extra muscle. I’m hopeful about getting out, excited and apprehensive about the next room, but I can’t beat the beams. I’m at my limit. My focused vision ability was perfect, able to activate at a moment’s notice. Moving as the bear had come easily, muscle memory from before Eve and my time in the room accelerating my progress. I’m frustrated. Tired. I shouldn’t have practised changing when I did.