A Dyad in Time

by D. D. Prideaux

  “Twelve.” He said to no one, thinking. “Wait here.” Without a trace of hardship or struggle to move his gigantic form he eased himself from the sofa and walked towards a blank wall opposite to where Rosalind was sat. She watched as he made his way across the small space, each step well placed and deliberate. When he reached the bright white, he placed both his hands, shoulder width apart against the cool surface. Where they touched, the wall glowed gold, faintly at first, but growing in intensity until he seemed satisfied. When Leopold was happy, he swept both hands across the wall in a series of short, sharp and stylish movements. The gold light started blinking rhythmically as he spoke words she’d never heard before. A dead language maybe? As he finished, the wall shifted, and a hole formed to reveal a small green box held in a dark cavity. Giant, careful hands reached for the wooden container, passing through a gold barrier and safely pulled the box out. The large, well-dressed man turned, colours, cavities and surfaces returning to the become the blank wall again. No evidence that anything was concealed there moments ago was left behind.

  “I know.” He said, walking back towards her, each step planted calmly and purposefully. “Rather elaborate security, but Surelikai blesses the cautious.” He lightly placed the box down on the green square of leather before lowering himself back into the chair, relaxing at having safely transported the seeds to her. The box was very simple, a small bronze clasp keeping the lid in place.

  “It’s a genuine Landscaper box, almost more valuable than what it contains.” He leant forward, daring Rosalind to open the box. A Landscaper? She smiled, remembering her father telling her bedtime stories about these beings. When she was older she was sad and elated at finding out they were once real, vowing, before dreary reality took over, to seek out all their histories and relics of old. Respectfully, she opened the small lock and pulled the lid back on its bronze hinges to reveal a small pile of seeds. She’d seen them before, enjoying the juxtaposition of how they looked and what they could do. Life giving and powerful, most expected them to be so beautiful you couldn’t look directly at them. Or that they were adorned with Landscaper script that bestowed special powers upon them. Looking at them now however, she liked how they looked. Brown and boring. The only exceptional thing about them was that all the seeds were exactly the same shape and size.

  “How many are there?” She asked without taking her eyes from the box, seeds nestled carefully in red velvet.

  “Thirty-seven.” That broke her stare, shifting her focus to The Merchant. “I have been doing this a long time, dearie.” The same traces of shame and disappointment in his voice. “I would say to choose carefully, however, there’s nothing to distinguish the quality of each seed from another I’m afraid.”

  She knew the gamble. Seeds of the same exact shape and size. Seeds of the same brown and the same boring. Seeds of different quality and effect. They all were life giving. They were all unlike. Leopold passed a small green pouch across to her, the same green, the same red string to seal it as the box. She tried to remember how the book told her to choose the right ones, the wisdom reaching from the past to guide her in words scratched onto paper. Breaking from her trance, she carefully placed all the seeds into one hand, closed her eyes and closed her fist. Turning it to the side, she moved her fingers gently, letting the small lifers fall back into the box, soft bounces not reaching her ears. Where are you? She asked. Who wishes to serve me? Eventually, she finished her ritual, turning her hand back and opening it palm up to reveal twelve seeds. A nod from the moustached man and she let them fall into her pouch, pulling the string tightly to keep them safe in their new home.

  “Satisfied?” He said, receiving a nod from her, this time. “Then let us talk of their worth.” His voice still carrying those traces. “The name of your first true love.”

  “Is that all?” She replied, curious and hesitant.

  “You know the value of names and secrets my dear. Now, give me the name and your hand to bind the exchange.” A giant paw moved across the space towards her, rings glistening in the light. Her skin crawled as she grasped his hand, the incantation feeling invasive and dirty. Icy and Wrong.

  “This is good business.” His moustache marking a large grin at hearing the name she gave.

  * * *

  “What did he want in return for those?” Christophe asked when they finally reached the top floor. His home was bathed in a rusty orange colour, the sun setting through the massive windows and washing over them as they entered.

  “A name.” She responded airily, lost in thought.

  “What name?” Christophe knew the power of names and the price Leopold had once asked of him.

  “It does not matter. We didn’t tell him the truth.” She answered curtly.

  Christophe didn’t like the return of, we. It showed she was losing the unseen battle inside. “You know what happens when you dishonour a handshake from Leopold McKenzie don’t you? They used to call him The Soulmonger.” Christophe finished darkly, frustrated he’d not been there to help Rosalind negotiate and tell her of the man’s history whilst she’d been trapped.

  “Really.” Not a question, just airiness and unreal words. “Quite a promotion from when we knew him in the old days.”

  “I do not think it wise to ignore the bargain.” Christophe pressed the subject harder, wanting her to understand the implications of her choice.

  “We are not some backstreet wytch, Crulechba.” She had rounded on Christophe, the last word cutting through him like a scythe. Her face had contorted, patches of black skin and sharp teeth momentarily showing before disappearing again in the blink of an eye. “We do not bow to the whims of some filthy trader. A hoarder of things. Trinkets and passing mementos that are meaningless. He will burn before we bend to his will.” Her words smashed the air in between them, twisting the space into something ugly and sad. As her face returned to normal, her black eyes changed colour and softened. Her teeth whitened and rounded. Her skin returned to the innocent, warm face he loved, and she looked confused.

  “I’m so sorry, Äsheenie.” Melancholy replacing the poison of her voice. “I don’t know why I lashed out like that.” She closed the space between them, rebuilding the remains of the air and untwisting the knots, making something sweet and decent. Their embrace pushed her outburst to the back of Christophe’s mind. She is not lost yet.

  Consolations exchanged, Rosalind placed another one of those kisses on his cheek and made her way towards the garden of limbs. He couldn’t get used to how those abnormal things moved. The revulsion returned as he watched, wanting to un-watch and he took the opportunity to imagine her in his shirt again, needing the distraction. Thinking about the way she moved. The way she spoke. The way she smiled, helped and the sickness in his stomach soon passed as she reached her children. Why had she called them that earlier? Answering his unsaid question, Rosalind reached up and plucked something from her hair, a sharp needle that she used to prick her finger and gently place a single drop of blood at the base of each body part. Twelve limbs. Twelve drops of blood. Twelve seeds.

  Rosalind enjoyed the discomfort brought by the small hole in her finger. She was alive. She felt. This was good. The phasing, discombobulating movements of her children slowed as she placed a piece of herself at their roots. A soft purring sound came from each one as the red gift seeped into the purple wrapping and touched the skin. I hope I chose wisely. She stood back from what she’d made so far, the orange light deepening around her. A bloodied sun will help the binding she smiled internally. One-by-one, she pulled a seed out from the small bag she carried and held it in between her forefinger and thumb. Holding it up to the sun’s rays she whispered, I love you, to each one of the brown, boring prizes from her meeting. They reacted to her voice, glowing bright blue and hovering away from her gentle grip. She lined the whole bag up, all twelve of her final ingredients forming a perfect row in mid-air. Spaced like she was planting a field they all waited there, floating and patient.

  “Pla
y time.” She said to them all, grinning with delight and clapping her hands together with glee. Not all of them rushed towards their partners in purple-white at once. A couple made their move quickly, flying straight into the centre of the flesh to be swallowed by it. More followed suit, pausing at the surface of their new homes, trying to decide if it was for them. Some swapped their destinations, some didn’t and before long, ten seeds had buried themselves in the strange, fleshy objects jerking and vibrating with a nauseating frequency. When there were two seeds left, Christophe and Rosalind willed them towards remaining body parts, and watched as they chaotically fluttered towards them, like butterflies caught in a violent wind. They bumped into their respective hosts a few times, testing and trying to get in. Or failing altogether. Rosalind didn’t know why they were struggling and thought they may’ve been poor quality seeds, but after a few words of encouragement they were finally taken in. Like children going to a new school they were ushered across the threshold into the unknown. Unsure, and wanting to return to their old school, they complied, knowing they had no other option.

  “What are they?” Christophe had watched the odd dancing movements of the blue-bathed seeds with fascination. Rosalind continued to surprise him, good and bad and he’d waited long enough to find out her plans.

  “They’re going to help us get to Sahld’veba. They’re going to protect us.” Love was in her eyes as she stared at the purring mass of meat in the corner, their frantic movement calming with the additions of her and the lifers.

  “What’s at Sahld’veba?”

  “It’s where she died. The essence of that place is infused with powerful magik, which we’ll need.” She’d turned to face him now, some of that love remaining and directed at him, his face betraying more questions.

  “We’ll need that magik if we’re to open up more crossing points.” She said, matter-of-factly.

  “Why would we want to do that?” Christophe wasn’t scared by the prospect, just lost as to they why and partially agitated by the disruption to his carefully crafted existence.

  “I want to crush The Protectorate for what they’ve done to the Lucidfolk and I want to crush The Balance for letting it happen. But I’m just one wytch.” Christophe looked confused.

  “If there are more crossing points, there’ll be more investigations needed by The Protectorate. Stretched thin they’ll be weak. Vulnerable. I can break them.” She took a few slow steps towards Christophe. “If there are more crossing points, The Balance will not be able to stand by, so they will try to manage the influx of Naïves. My old friends tell me they are few and stretched thin. I’ll have no trouble in finishing them too.” She reached Christophe and held both his hands, teary eyes looking into his. “If there are more crossing points, there will be more food. I’ll be able to eat freely and sustain myself whilst I throw off this curse.” She kissed him on the lips with the softness of rose petals. Lips that had sucked flesh from bone. Lips that had tasted Naïves. Lips that had explored him. She pulled back, opened her eyes and smiled. “Then I can take both worlds as my own. For us.” Receiving a smile from Christophe at that last part, she turned and walked towards the bedroom whilst unbuttoning her top. Without breaking stride or pausing, she let it fall to the ground and walked around the corner out of sight.

  “Why will we need protecting?” Christophe asked to where Rosalind used to be, making to follow her without delay.

  * * *

  Dreeoth was tired. Christophe had him running errands non-stop since that woman had returned. Physically he was at his limit having not slept for days. Mentally he was past his limit, having seen what he had and being torn in hundreds of conflicting directions by his conscience. What would his sisters do? What would the elders expect? What’ll happen to him? What’ll happen to his master? Tired feet carried him forward, a tired mind mechanically completing his errands one after another. A tired soul longed from peace, and to see his sisters. Before long he realised he was sat down on a bench. It was his favourite bench in the city, one that had comforted him before. One that had given him peace as he ate. He always ate when he was on this bench. The Naïve deli down the road made one of the best hoagie’s he’d ever tasted. The crossing points were harder and harder to get across nowadays and he was having to use one that was out of his way in order to get that sandwich. In order to sit at that bench and look out across the still river. It was particularly beautiful, bathed in the setting sun’s warm tones. He watched as water birds fished, catching their dinner and breaking the surface of the water. Ripples casting new shapes and wonderful colours into the air.

  It reminded him of when he and his sisters used to play by the river back home. They had similar birds that used to fish there, and they would skim rocks across the water to try and hit them. They never did of course, the animals all too aware of their surroundings. They would count the bounces as the stones made their way towards the peaceful floating birds. One, two, three, four five, getting excited as the distance closed. Getting scared because they never wanted to hit the majestic forms hunting for food. As always though, the birds would easily swim or fly out of the projectile's path, six, seven, eight, nine. Then the new competition of how many bounces surfaced. Arguments at how many little skips the rocks did before they sank. Fake angry telling’s off by their parents and minders at trying to harm another living thing, before reluctantly judging who won the competition. That was before. A long time before his punishment.

  He realised the sandwich was in his hands and he was chewing. When did that happen? The textures, flavours and tastes of all the ingredients perfectly balanced in his mouth. Each chew revealed a new sensation. Each bite an unknown pleasure. He smiled as he ate, remembering his sisters laughs. Their smiles. His parents trying to hide their own laughter and smiles. Revelling in that small window of time, a glimpse into happier times, he realised the sandwich was gone. Every crumb meticulously hoovered up. Every memory greedily devoured. The sun made its final goodbye, disappearing over the horizon and leaving the bench in shadow. Him in shadow. When did I start chewing gum? He mused. Time he made contact then, his motor systems making the decision for him. Just before getting up, he took the gum from his mouth and placed it in a very precise spot on the underside of where he was sat. To a Naïve, the shape he made with the sticky mass would look like an accident. An unwelcome guest smeared across the bench as he tried to get it off his finger. To his contact in The Protectorate though, it will look very different. To his handler, it will look like a request to talk. A request to get out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - ROLL THE DICE

  All of the lights were fizzing and spitting ferociously. They seemed to crackle with hatred and need as I stared at them. They looked similar to the versions of light that appeared when I completed the rooms as a bear. I know I don’t have to complete the room twice, but the prospect of the danger here was overwhelming. Tchook came to my side, making a disappointed noise that caught me off guard. I laugh at noise itself, but also the emotions he attached to it. They helped in relieving the pressure I felt across my shoulders and in my neck. In my very soul. Thinking about what I needed to do next, the laughter and brief respite left me, and my insides boiled with rage with a focused fury, the flames of my fire sparking out with desire and drive. Harnessing the conflicting emotions within me I consoled myself in knowing I’d seen all this before. I’d been through all this before. The rooms helping me acquire new skills, new awareness and new balance. I just need to put it all into practice in one final run through the room. I’d have to be quicker, stronger, more agile and more deliberate than ever before. Incredible stamina and awareness would be my guiding hands through this ordeal. They would show me safely to the other side of Djoonga.

  “Let’s eat.” My stomach grumbled audibly, Tchook’s midriff scrambling, gurgling and groaning as well. Most meals we’d eaten greedily up to this point, feverishly shoving food down through exhaustion, but this time we ate slowly. Contemplating the room. Both of us visualising th
e outcome and how we’d need to tug on our whole beings to get through. Eight months had led to this final test. Eight months of intense experiences, growth and pain. How long would this take? Would there be more rooms? Did the other Nahgwal have to go through this too? I notice our belly sounds disappear as we finish our plates and I stare at the markings on the wall for a while. I’d lived a long time. Eight months was nothing in comparison and I added patience to the long list of skills and virtues I would draw upon to get through the final run.

  “What do you think?” I levelled my eyes at Tchook’s non-head. Where his eyes would have been.

  “Prrt.” Non-shoulders, nearly as big as mine now, shrug.

  “I know what you mean.” He’s asking himself the same questions I am and getting bogged down in endless outcomes we can’t predict. Worrying too much about the future is fruitless though, it detracts from the present and what’s important. It’s an unwanted distraction which, in this case, could kill me.

  “You think the room will let you help me through this one?” I know the answer but wanted to ask anyway.

  “Pfft.” Black goo shook side to side on a non-neck, a strange almost-head giving me that bad news.

  “I can hope.” I was offended he was so quick to chastise me, and he knew it.

  “Pffrrat?” He said cheerily, wobbling his mass around and flowing side to side a little bit. The way he moved still confused me and made me chuckle at the same time.