Chapter 22 – The Crash

They didn’t have any paper. Whatever rules and obligations the Order of the Chlorophallic kept, ‘no paper’ was on there somewhere. It was alright. It was a small thing, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but Lily was very, very happy to be moving on. Brother Sycamore, as well, had been a small thorn in her side, coming up to her departure. He was doing what he thought was best for her and him and his entire way of life, but Lily would have preferred to be left alone and not hounded by a man considering her a god.

He had questions. She did not have answers. And when she did have answers, she did not want to say. He thought she was wise, letting him work out the mysteries of existence for himself, so that they would be more impactful when they finally came to him. She let him believe whatever the hell he wanted. It was not her place to interfere with this cult.

He wanted to follow her and lay himself down at her feet. Even the insignificant hassle of a mud puddle would fall to the bridge of his body. At least he didn’t tell anyone. Then she would be beset by them in droves. A handful of them would honestly want her to kill them, grant them freedom from this mortal coil by the divine smite of a god hand. As it was, they probably just thought that she slept with him. Honestly, just as annoying. It also probably broke several tenets, but those ones that no one really cares about.

Lily was just glad she was alone now. No hanger’s on, none whatsoever. Just her, the path, the barrier and the world, one foot in front of the other, taking her further and further down the road. When she was hungry, she ate. When she was tired, she rested. That was it, a simple rhythm that got overcomplicated over millennia of human existence. Things like buildings and taxes and music and art just got in the way of walking from one place to another, becoming no one and nothing. Everything built upon that truth was a lie. There was nothing inside and nothing out. Only small impulses to suppress or follow.

Night fell and she rested. The chill crept in her hand and lit up the world. The arcs provided enough light to read a map by. She should be at the lumber yard by sometime tomorrow afternoon. That was too soon. The sawmills would drill in her head and pierce her delicate ears with white hot spikes, meeting in the middle to complete the circuit and deliver 1500 volts right to her frontal lobe. The joys of industry and manufacturing, noise and capital colliding right in her face, blinding and deafening everyone till they were incoherent and comatose. If there were no leads there, Madder was getting his ass kicked and she would go back to the cave over the crag and try and forget the whole thing ever happened. Wait a few weeks in absolute silence, then pick up and head for New Lilac. That would be loud and busy too, but there was a beach and it was warm. And beyond New Lilac was the Viper Crater and that was as quiet and warm and serene as any place that could be found in this world. She set the map down. She needed to buy a new shard when she had the chance, too. Something else to add to the list. Madder might get out of his well-deserved beating if there was a place to get one at Mawly. Her heart rate slowed, and her breathing deepened until she fell asleep.

She did not dream. She never did. Or if they happened, she never remembered them. She woke up to a crisp morning with snaking fog winding its way through the trees. She could see her breath in the air, crackling with electricity before dissipating. No matter how many times that happened, she always had to do it at least twice, making the little storm clouds out of frozen air. The chill outside made her insides feel a little less intense. She shouldered her pack and continued on the trail.

As with any path, travelers took it, more the closer she got to the encampment. More and more off shoots fed into the main river, getting a steady flow of patrons coming and going, mostly going. Couriers were the main species she saw, cargo strapped to their backs in massive towers of wrapped metal, whatever contents inside hidden from the world and only able to be glimpsed by their true recipient. Or a curious courier with a pen knife. People always peeked in the packages. That was not wrong, not really. Curiosity got the better of everyone, and indulgence was not the worst thing in the world. If they stole, then they were bastards. Lily specifically wanted to know what was in a bright pink case carried at the absolute top of an elderly man’s spire. It was pink, and the rest were black, if not a metallic gray. It was different and thus it had to be something important.

The crease in her forehead relaxed when she realized that the noise from the mills and the saws had vacated all the premises. It was quiet and silent, and the scent of fresh sawdust suffused the air. That was the one fact that Lily looked forward to. She liked the dry air too. The weather right now may not be cooperative, but the mills themselves had to be as such.

Most of the people were not on the street. That was something else to be savored as well. A lone figure walking through a deserted town, hood up and steps unworried, there was something to that, something with weight and momentum. And the fog curling on the ground, swirling her feet in winding coils, that helped a lot too.

The guild hall loomed out of the mist, quiet as the grave. Lily walked inside and the noise and the light hit her like a hammer. The thundering footsteps of the log driver’s jig bounced off the beams in the ceiling, the toasts of full glasses sloshing on the floor, little cymbal hits on the percussion section of the room. Lily winded her way through the jubilant masses, every footstep almost stepping on someone’s toes.

A large man crashed into her, face red and wild. He glowered at her, her head not eve reaching his collarbone.

“You spilled my drink,” he growled.

“You know how this goes,” she whispered back, “You know how this plays out. Everyone knows how this plays out. You can stop it. You can stop it right now. All you have to do is turn around and pretend the mysterious stranger in the hood does not exist.”

“Apologize.”

“You are an idiot.”

He swung, fist arching over her head. Short stature did have advantages, especially against the inebriated. Her palm found his sternum and she gave a surge. His muscles seized in a rock solid slab and he crashed to the ground. A cheer went up. No one knew the exact specifics, but something happened and someone got hurt and that was more than enough reason to finish their drinks and go order another round. A fine gentleman clapped her on the back and got a nasty pop from the chill he withdrew his hand and tried to turn the cogs in his alcohol addled mind to figure out what witchcraft had just taken place. He didn’t figure anything out. The ghost with the hood melded into the crowd, evaporated between glasses and tables never to be seen again. He turned back to his drink, carefully stepping over the still body on the floor.

“Happy Harrison Day,” said the bartender with a smile, “All drinks half priced. What can I get you?”

“I don’t drink. I’m here for someone.”

“Tall guy, blonde, red coat, big sword?”

“Yes.”

“Corner over there with the lady in the purple hood.”

Lily nodded and left the bartended to consider the fact that Madder apparently had a type. He didn’t see the appeal. Another fight broke out and another body hit the floor and another cheer rose from the carousers. Lily’s forehead crease came back.

Madder’s new best friend had passed out, and he didn’t look like he would remain upright for too long either.

“Frieeeeeend,” slurred Madder as he sloshed in his seat. His companion did not stir.

“Madder,” she sighed. The wooden booth was not that comfortable. The table was much too close to the bench. Her knees kept bumping into Madders. “What is going on today?”

“It’s Harrison Day!”

The bar crowd cheered again at the mention of its existence.

“It’s the day an old foreman died. They unionized the day after. And now, every year, they all get really, really drunk. And probably have sex. And do whatever people do when they celebrate. Why don’t you have a drink?”

“I don’t drink. Who’s this?”

“Penny. Penny! PENNY! Wake up. Lily’s here. She’s the nice lady I was telling you about.”

The hood stirred and murmured.

“That’s Penny. She threw a knife at me and now we’re friends. And she’s asleep. You should be quiet.”

“You’re an idiot too. How old is she?”

“No idea. Old enough to fool a bartender and that’s good enough for me.”

Lily took her hands to her temples.

“Where is your room? I’m taking her upstairs.”

“Hey, you get on my case, but you’re the one that gets her? That’s not fair.”

“We’re having a very serious talk when you sober up. I’m talking her out of this so nothing bad happens to her. Give me your key.”

Something in her eyes cut through the haze of spirits and alcohol. He handed over the small bit of plastic and metal, coming to life under her touch. The floor responded in kind. She dragged the comatose kid onto her shoulders and the drunken crowd parted before the might of the fireman’s carry. A green light snaked its way through the grain in the wood, leading her down the hall and to the elevators. With a soft ding, the wood paneling fell away to a small room devoid of any and all cheer. Not for lack of trying, however. The piped in music, so soft it completely bounced off her ears, did its best. It just failed miserably. The woman on her back shifted and Lily shifted for her. She couldn’t have her slipping away.

The doors dinged again and the noise was gone. The green light still pulsed with its set trajectory, snaking across the ground, up the walls and across the ceiling, spiraling down, down the corridor of endless identical rooms. She lost count, but she did find one with a green aura that opened at her touch. Inside were a soft bed and a claymore leaning against the wall. Lily groaned. Amateur, everyone she knew was an amateur. Do not leave weapons around, and if you absolutely have to, make sure they are sheathed and horizontal. The tip was going to wear and now the floor was damaged with a deep gouged. Don’t make people’s lives harder than they had to be. It was a very simple maxim to live by, one that not that many people could pull off apparently.

“throw up,” murmured the girl, Penny, her name was Penny, strung across her back. Lily let her fall on the bed, on her side. It happened, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She settled in a chair. This was why she kept to herself.

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