It was midnight on the summer solstice, and though there was much
revelry going on, none of it was nearby. The rotunda in front of the
gates to the fortress of Camelot was empty, though the sounds from the
main square down the road suggested it was a good party.
The old man appeared in a flash of faint purplish light, transit leaving
the faint smell of ozone in the air. He knew his opponent would try to
sabotage the symbolic sword-drawing. He’d watched that take place months
ago and tomorrow, but Morgana could well warp the timeline at this
critical point. At noon, Lord Artur, a minor noble, would pull the sword
from the anvil in front of Camelot’s gates, and become the first king
of this land in a generation.
A quick inspection told Myrlin Ambrosius that the sword and anvil were
bonded together by some sort of clear glue. The stuff was old, weathered
smooth - he wondered how far back Morgana had gone to pull this off.
Probably all the way.
A quick trip back to base got Myrlin a solvent, but he didn’t apply it
at midnight. Rather, he skipped forward until the sky was graying and
the town was beginning to stir before splashing the clear solvent all
over the epoxied sword. A few seconds, he knew, and it would no longer
be glued.
The old man waited those seconds then experimentally tugged the sword’s
hilt slightly. It slid out a fraction of an inch quite smoothly before
he let go. A child could pull the sword out now. Could he be sure Artur
would get here first?
Wrinkling his brow as if getting a headache, Myrlin Ambrosius let the
monument be and set the device on his left hand. One more button and he
disappeared in another brief purplish flash, expression broadcasting the
hope that he hadn’t made things worse rather than better.
It was a pleasant, clear early fall evening, and the town was just
beginning to grow quiet for the night. With her binoculars, Morgan
watched the keep intently, focusing on the lights in the king’s bedroom.
It was the spring equinox, and Morgan knew that the man wearing the
crown would be returning to his bed, inebriated and exhausted. Ambrose
was growing frustratingly good at catching up, and it was time to try a
more indirect approach, one he’d never think of. Slip a knife in his
ribs and Ambrose would come back and stop it, meaning she’d never get to
actually sink the knife. No, it was time to be more... subtle. Do
something Ambrose wouldn’t notice.
The light in the bedroom went out. Morgan shrugged off the thick cloak
she was wearing, leaving her completely naked except for the timeslip
handpiece and a thin, revealing thigh-length nightgown. She altered the
device, and shifted herself in time and space again.
“Who’s there?” Whispered a worried Artur from behind her. It was
dark, the faintest light leaking in through the curtains. Likely, he
couldn’t see her, but had heard the timeslip.
“Only a dream.” Morgan whispered, stepping silently to the
bedside, internally wondering if she was making the right move. But if
not me, she thought, then who? No-one could be trusted. She knew it had
to be her.
Artur either believed her, or didn’t care. When she slipped into the bed next to him, he gladly took her into his arms.
To his credit, the freshly-crowned king surprised Morgan with his skill
and stamina. What do you know, the big oaf does something well, she
thought, fighting against a lethargic desire to fall asleep right there.
As soon as she could tell he was asleep, Morgan, hoping she had what she
needed, but not entirely fearing a second attempt, poked at the
handpiece, and was gone.
“Master Ambrosius, you said your name was?” The newly crowned king asked after dinner, when he and Ambrose had retired to a sitting room in the keep.
“Yes. I’m a diviner of sorts.” Ambrose sipped the local liqueur carefully. ”A magician.” He wasn’t, but that explanation would satisfy the locals. ”I have received dire portents about attempts against your rule by another magician, a woman. Morgan is her name.” Ambrose had just come upstream from a falling-out with her, but this man didn’t need to know that.
“A magician. Black magic or white?” The king asked cautiously.
“White, liege.” Ambrose assured him. “Divining the future.
Healing. Some personal travel magic. But it has its price even so. But
as Morgan aims to misuse our shared craft, and so I will be here to
counter her.”
The king nodded. “What proof do you have of these claims?”
Ambrose looked past the man. “I was there when you pulled the sword
from the anvil, liege. So was she. There were only a few people there.
Perhaps you remember us? We foretold a great event, and had come to
observe.”
“Yes. I remember now. The woman next to you was stunning. I thought it was a pity that she was your wife.”
“I trained Morgan, but she is not my wife.” Ambrose corrected. ”And she is dangerous. As much ability as I, but no restraint.”
The king nodded sagely. “I will accept your service, magician
Ambrosius. But I cannot make you one of my knight. You are not of any
noble family of this land, even if your homeland pedigree is good.” He frowned. “My
father once kept the counsel of a woad magician, Myrlin Wyllt, his
closest advisor and physician. You, master Ambrosius, will be my Myrlin.
Myrlin Ambrosius.”
“As you like, your majesty.” Ambrose nodded. A title wasn’t what he was here for, but if it made King Artur feel better, he would take it.
Morgan materialized a few hours upstream and a hundred miles from
Ambrose, and sat down in the middle of the cold woods to think. She
could outsmart the old man, she knew - he never saw the potential of the
timeslip. Artur was a menace - he was slowly killing off all the
skilled warriors his land possessed on fools’ errands. He was well into
middle age, and had no children - whoever survived all the “chivalrous”
quests would be left to fight over the scraps when Artur died. It was a
mess.
To save the people of Camelot, Morgan knew she had much work to do, but at least all of time was her playground to do it.
Well, not all of time, she realized as she started punching coordinates
into her timeslip. The words “UNIT ROGUE: RTB” appeared on the handpiece
in red. Ambrose apparently could do that. Dammit. Obviously, a
return to the base as requested would result in nothing beneficial, so
she ignored the words. It did mean she would have to avoid any time
close to modern, the timeslip nets extended well back into the
seventeenth century, and they’d pull her back to base for sure.
First things first, she resolved, setting the device. Let’s try this the easy way.
“Morgan, we can’t police Dark Ages warlords. Actually, as warlords goes,
this guy’s not so bad.” Ambrose pointed out to his partner.
“Not so bad? You’re kidding, Ambrose.” Morgan spun on a heel and pointed to Ambrose. “We
can’t sit idly by and let him destroy these people just because he had
the muscles to pull apart that sculpture in the courtyard. You’ve talked
to him. He’s a fool!” Morgan was pacing energetically across the
stone-floored room, battling against agitation and pent-up energy. Her
looks seemed to be unharmed by or even to benefit from the lack of
electric lights and modern makeup.
Ambrose scratched at the two weeks of growth on his cheeks, surprised
how fast his whiskers had taken advantage of their newfound freedom from
razors. He knew his less impressive looks had fared worse than his
junior partner’s. “He’s a hopeless romantic, and maybe a hair too
trusting of old stories, but I rather like him. Had he been born 900
years from now he’d have become a famous writer or philosopher.” 400
years later still and he’d be doing what Ambrose and Morgan were doing
now, for the same reasons Ambrose himself did them, but he didn’t want
to say that. “Besides, it’s still not our place to police who they make their leader. Where’s that in the charter?”
“Ambrose, screw the charter. These people have bad enough lives as it
is. How many of them will die in pursuit of a magic cup that doesn’t
exist?” She flicked a derisive finger toward the crumpled parchment
of the notice she had pulled from the town bulletin board. It called for
brave men-at-arms to quest alongside the Circle of Knights in Gaul to
search for the Holy Grail.
“Would you prefer he be like his predecessor, who tried to invade the next kingdom over?” Ambrose pointed out. “Look, Morgan, even if you don’t like it, we aren’t here to fix it. We’re here to look, not to touch.”
Rather than turning back toward him at the end of her pacing, Morgan hesitated, then dashed for the door.
“Dammit, Morgan.” Ambrose got up and ran out after her, but it
was too late. The late fall air outside carried a whiff of ozone, and he
knew she had gone. “You would be that foolish.” The new generation of ‘walkers didn’t ever seem to have any sense. History was their playground, they thought.
Ambrose, despite knowing the time was no issue, thought fast, and marked
her in the timeslip grid as a rogue actor. That way she couldn’t go
home without being held, and any other agents would refuse to help her.
Rogues were rare, but they did happen occasionally. He just hadn’t
expected it of Morgan.
“Dammit, dammit.” He continued under his breath, setting his
timeslip handpiece to a date in the past. It was time to stop observing,
and start damage control.
The new knight was young - maybe seventeen or eighteen, but his
equipment spoke of a rich parentage. Ambrose stood behind Artur’s chair,
leaning on the gnarled druidic staff Artur had given him, just watching
the kid present himself. The other knights seemed to be impressed, for
sure. But there was something off about him.
It had been three months for Ambrose since Morgan had lit off, and he’d
been in Artur’s service about a “year”. He spent those months jumping
around to try to find her. He’d foiled some minor sabotage, but mostly
he cleaned up after her. She always ‘slipped away as soon as she saw he
was around.
“What’s your name, sir knight?” Artur asked imperiously.
“Mordred, my liege.” The young man replied.
“From where do you hail?” Artur asked again.
“Nowhere, liege. My family’s lands in Brittany were lost three years ago.” The youth replied evenly. Ambrose noted that - not even a hint of frustration, anger, or regret over that loss. Strange. “I had hoped that through service in your court I might earn my family lands in your kingdom.”
“Who has tested this knight’s skill?” Artur asked.
“I, liege.” Gawain stood. The burly Welshman was almost seven feet tall, and towered over the newcomer. “He has much skill, but little strength of the arm. Even so, I vouch for his prowess.”
“Next to you, everyone is weak.” Artur pointed out, and the knights chuckled. Gawain smiled at the compliment. ”Sir Mordred, sit there.” Artur pointed to a seat only three away from his own. “I will have them etch your heraldry into a new chair this very night. Welcome to the Circle of Knights.”
“If I may, sir, Circles are for druids and witches.” Mordred said. Ambrose cringed - Artur was fond of his Circle.
”If that is so, young knight, what would you suggest?” Artur replied. Ambrose could tell from the tone of voice that the boy was on thin ice.
“Nothing drastic, liege, a simple change of name.” Mordred took his seat, seeming not to notice the peril of his words. “I would call this honored group the Knights of the Artur’s Table Round.”
Artur seemed to settle down. “A name change. I will consider this,
sir Mordred. But now we have more pressing matters. This peasant revolt
in the southern towns must be quelled, and swiftly. I suspect that the
witch Morgana will be found at its root.”
Ambrose winced, but didn’t speak. Ever since he’d told Artur about
Morgan, the king was seeing her influence in every nuisance and crisis.
She had of course been involved once or twice, trying to get people to
assassinate the king and such, but she was hardly the source of all of
Camelot’s problems. Most of her subterfuge was in the past for Artur,
where only Ambrose could undo it.
As Artur started giving out orders to the knights, Ambrose thought he
saw Mordred glaring at him, but when he looked that way the boy was
watching Artur intently. Perhaps he had a concealed dislike for Ambrose,
or for magicians in general? Something to keep an eye on, for sure.
Mordred stood in his usual spot at the parapet, looking out over the
town below. He knew that the kingdom was his by right, he only needed
seize it from the idiot he was ashamed to call father.
“Your time will come soon, my child.” Mordred heard the familiar
voice issue from behind him. He did not turn to look, because he knew
eyes were on him, eyes that could not see his mother lurking there.
“My time is now, I think.” Mordred replied quietly, without moving his lips much. ”The king is in Gaul until Winter Solstice at least, and he left that dolt Lancelot in charge.”
“Lancelot is a womanizer and a fool.” Morgana whispered. ”Apply pressure, and he’s our man.” There was a rustle of cloth from Morgana’s robes as she set something down. ”This
letter is signed by Gawain. It says that the king is dead. It is
addressed to him, and it says that Artur spoke of you with his dying
breath, recognizing you as his son. It also forgives him for sleeping
with the queen.”
“False?” Mordred confirmed.
“Of course. The only person who might see through it is Ambrose. The Myrlin.” She scoffed the title, it was a joke to her.
“He has not been seen here in many years.” Mordred scoffed. “The old man probably crawled into some hole and died.”
“Make no mistake, he is still around.” Morgana corrected her son. “He is conserving his resources. Avoid him if you can. Try not to kill him if you can’t.”
“Not to kill him, mother?” Mordred asked. “He is your enemy.”
“I want him defeated, not killed. This is a time for finesse, my son, not bloodshed.”
“No.” Mordred whispered.
“What did you say to me!?” Morgana’s voice rose, building anger.
“I am going to be king. I will not be your pawn. I will kill who I please, and I will spare who I please.” Mordred’s smile vanished, then came back cruelly. “You can’t stop me.”
“You would reject all I’ve done for you!?” Morgana hissed.
“No, mother. I would do what needs to be done to realize it.” Mordred said. “I will not let your magician’s games get in the way. I will - ”
But a metallic smell drifted to him, and knew his mother was gone. Yes,
she was the woman that bore him, the woman that paid for the finest
tutors to look after him, to train him to be a king. But if even that
family tie would keep Mordred from the throne, then it must be severed.
It was his destiny to be king. He would be king.
Mordred lingered ten precise seconds, then walked away, ignoring his
mother’s false letter. It was time to be King. Time to seize the moment.
His way, not Morgana’s.
Ambrose appeared on the parapet, gnarled staff in hand, and saw the
battlefield below, shadowed by a gloomy, overcast and smoke-tainted sky.
What was left of the town was trampled to foundations and ashes, and
littered with bodies. It looked fresh - hours old only. Two ragged,
broken armies stood on either side of it - one in front of the gates,
below him, and the other farther out. Between them, two mailed figures
dueled, swords and shields ringing blows through the cold air. One of
them was clearly Artur.
Ambrose was spotted in the army below, and the call went out. Belatedly,
he realized that they weren’t Artur’s troops - they bore the colors of
another. Black on Crimson. Mordred? He ducked in time to avoid the
volley of arrows, and set his timeslip to take him back a few hours and
out onto a nearby hill.
The battle was almost accidental. Artur’s army, returning early, saw the
red flags on Camelot’s towers, and circled round, through the woods,
right up to the town’s verge. As soon as the gate opened, they charged
up toward it, not realizing that Mordred was impatiently leading his own
army out to seek Artur’s force. Mordred had numbers and position, but
Artur’s troops had surprise and experience.
Lancelot, still inside Camelot, had closed the gates behind the usurper,
letting the armies decide who would be king. Ambrose respected that
decision, though it would probably mean whoever won would exile him.
At last, the two armies drew back, and Artur and Mordred came to parley.
Ambrose struggled to think of a way to even begin to roll this back.
Could it be one of Morgan’s plots? And how could he even begin to
unravel this one? How far back did it go?
“Yes that's me, and no, it's not.” Morgan, wearied-looking, was at Ambrose’s side. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That’s my... my son.”
Ambrose’s guard rose, but as soon as he saw her wearied, defeated demeanour he relaxed some. “Mordred?” She didn’t look like she’d spent enough years here to raise a child to Mordred’s age. “Why, Morgan?”
“You were winning. I had to try something new.” She admitted. “But even he is against me now. Bloodthirsty.”
Below, the two men stepped back and took combat stances. Morgan gasped. “A duel! Disagreements aside, we’ve got to do something, Ambrose.”
“Morgan, you’ve done enough.” Ambrose waved his gnarled walking-stick in front of her.
“But he’s my son!” She started to claw at her timeslip. ”I have to do something!”
Ambrose waited until she was absorbed in her frantic struggle with the
device, then hit her over the head with his heavy druidic staff. Morgan
fell to the ground, out cold. “Sorry, Morgan. This one’s out of our hands now.” He muttered, picking her up.
Below, the fight raged on. Mordred was faster, but Artur was, even at
sixty years of age, stronger and more skillful. It was an even match.
“I’m sorry, my liege. I cannot help you any longer.” Ambrose
whispered as he set his own timeslip for home. He knew he wouldn’t be
coming back. With one last look at the duel below, Ambrose activated the
handpiece, and he and his errant junior partner vanished in a purple
flash of light.
Part 4 to this story posted previously (here)
“Stay
with me to the end.” She asked, having to speak in a normal tone to be
heard through the wind, even though her face was leaned against my
shoulder.
“I will.” I agreed. “The war will end, you know, at least for now. I think this will be its last battle.”
She
nodded, and swallowed. “That’s something.” The leaves were whipping
about in the air, but none of them came within a foot of us, as if we
were in a bubble. I noticed that the wind seemed to be moving to the
right no matter where I looked - as if it was circling the two of us.
“Matt, do you think I have a soul?” She asked suddenly.
“What?” I asked.
“I
mean, do you think there will be an afterlife for a person you
imagined?” Her voice was brittle, like the slightest touch would shatter
its composed veneer.
I
squeezed my eyes shut. The simple question deserved weeks of thought,
and I had probably ten minutes before the question was answered for her,
one way or the other. “I don’t... I don’t know.” I admitted. “But I
hope so.”
“Oh?” She looked up to me hopefully.
“You
are genuine. You are more a person, more human than I ever learned to
be.” I replied as the wind again gusted. In the distance there was a
crashing sound, as if a tree had fallen.
“You’re
human, Matt.” Laura’s head again fell to rest on my shoulder. “I think
you just want to think you aren’t, it makes things make more sense to
you.”
“I
just killed you.” I replied, and my voice cracked considerably. “I was
able to do it. I’m a monster, Laura. Have been for some time.”
The
wind was now an even roar, as loud as the gusts had been, though it
didn’t seem to touch us. The branches of trees just at the edges of my
vision were all being shaken and pulled, and the leaf litter around them
was blowing into the air. “No.” She replied. “You cared enough about me
to let me choose.”
Tears
stung my eyes, and I blinked them back. I could feel that sensation
cascading down to the baseline world, where I became conscious of the
fact that it was dark, and that I was alone, so no-one would notice. As
soon as I had verified this, though, I dived back in to be with Laura. I
didn’t answer her, I just held her in what I hoped was a comforting
way, as the blowing wall of dead leaves and sticks grew closer to us,
closer to the bole of the great ash tree which we both stood below. As
trees vanished behind this maelstrom, there were crashing noises, as if
they were being shredded by the wind. “Not long now.” I finally said
numbly. For some reason, my words carried over the sounds of the world’s
oncoming end.
“Will you be okay?” She asked shakily.
“When
this world is gone, I will be left in a void in my mind, which is full
of voids.” I offered the explanation to console her. “The destruction of
this world will not harm me in that way.” I had to use that caveat - I
already suspected what would become of me and my war.
“Okay.”
She breathed into my shoulder. The wall of wind was now only a dozen
yards away, closing at a steady rate of a few inches every second. “Did
you plan this show out for me, Matt?”
“I didn’t.” I admitted. “Ending in a windstorm, though, seems fitting.”
“The birds knew before we did.” Laura gave a breathy, dry laugh. “I don’t envy that knowledge.”
I
nodded silently. Now the wind was beginning to spiral around us, too,
swirling up from the ground, lifting Laura’s hair to brush against her
face and mine. Some leaves, too, were lifted, but only a few of the
lightest, driest ones.
I
watched the wall of wind and debris close to five yards, then four,
neither of us speaking. What could I say to her? The raw emotion that
was coursing through my veins in lieu of blood was wordless, soundless,
hopeless. I couldn’t possibly begin. I didn’t want her to be destroyed,
but that was already done - I had already murdered Laura by pulling the
ruling thread out of her reality. I wanted to tell her so many things,
but my mouth stayed closed - I didn’t want to make this last span of her
existence as much a heartbreak for her as it was already going to be
for me. Heartbreak, of course, is the correct term - I realized then
that I bore inexplicable, unbounded love for this person, who was about
to cease to exist, to leave no trace in the world, in any world.
The
wall of wind was mere feet away now, and I could see that it was not
flat - it was curved, the edges of a contracting sphere of chaos. As the
top of this sphere drew down, the light itself faded out, leaving Laura
and myself clinging to each other in an ever-smaller space surrounded, I
knew, by intellectual void.
“Will it hurt?” She asked quietly. Despite the cacophony, I could still hear her perfectly.
“No
more than drifting off to sleep, Laura.” I replied, unsure but trying
to sound confident in my suspicions. “Sleep well, Laura, and dream of
better worlds than I could ever have shown you.”
She
looked up at me for a brief moment, and I saw a single tear break free
from one eye and trickle a jagged, wind-blown path down her cheek.
“Thank you, Matt. I - ”
I
felt the touch of the debris vortex on my feet and head, and drew back,
out of the world, into the baseline. I found myself next to a
guard-rail overlooking the decorative pond on the north side of campus.
It was late, perhaps two in the morning, and the cool air was painting
me a very clear picture of where the tears had tracked down my face, and
dripped onto my collar. I gripped the guard-rail, leaning on it for
support, and took a few breaths, before diving back into my mind and
entering The Room. The fire was far lower than its norm, and a very deep
shade of blue.
You promised her you would end this. The words of my second pattern rang out immediately. To suspend her in that state is... Wrong.
“I
can’t do it, my friend.” I whispered, shaking. “I can’t go back there
and feel her dissolve from my arms. I can’t. It will kill me too.”
Doubtful. The parts of the whole that are most at risk are those that cause the most conflict anyway. Came the reply. You must be strong. I cannot enter worlds without you, you know that.
“I
wouldn’t ask you to.” I managed to get in. “Imagine, this is your
fault.” I called out lamely, not that Imagine was conscious.
Imagine’s
usually confident, cock-sure female voice was broken, shaky in my mind.
“I did not want this, my old friend.” It seemed to say. “This was not
supposed to happen. You were supposed to choose her over the world that
so hurt you, and instead look at what you have done. You could probably
have preserved that world from the madness, and lived there for all
time. Do not place blame for this tragedy upon me.”
“I
could not choose that world over the baseline.” I shouted back. In the
baseline, this shout escaped my lips as a loud whisper. “I couldn’t.”
I
could tell that my mind’s impression of Imagine was accurate - it was
weak, perhaps dying. “Why not?” These two words came unbidden into my
consciousness, barely a broken whisper, a dying breath.
“Because...“
I started, but trailed off. “Because it would be wrong...” I lamely
finished, after a few seconds, clinging to morality out of the same
desperation that a drowning man clings to the lifeguard saving him.
There was no reply. Imagine, in my mind’s self-generated impression, did not have a retort for this argument.
Finish what you promised, and our war is over. My second pattern said after several minutes of silence. Then we can rest, we can learn to live in our worlds in peace.
“But no matter how much I look in those worlds, I’ll never find her again, or anyone like her.” I pointed out.
The baseline holds many real people like yourself. Perhaps even like her.
“And
I hope they never have the misfortune of crossing paths with me.” I
replied angrily. “Don’t you see? Imagine’s way would have saved
everyone! It would have put me out of the position to bring any harm to
any person, except Laura. My friend, what have we done? At what cost
have we come to win our war?”
At great cost, my friend.
The second pattern’s voice never held tone or inflexion, it was only
words, but this time I thought I detected a hint of pain in it then. But
we have preserved the integrity of our being, and we need not maintain
the moral contradiction of keeping an intelligent prisoner in a
fabricated world.
I nodded. “Was it worth it?” I asked.
Let us live, friend, and in years to come you can answer that for yourself.
I
moved to stand over the dying fire - I could tell now that it was dying
- and stared into the flickering blue abyss. “Is Imagine right?” I
asked. “Could I have made that world proof against the storm of madness?
Unknown.
However, it was unknown until recently that worlds could be destroyed
by force of will, so the possibility exists. Would you willingly live in
a world of lies, and deceive someone you love into accepting it as
truth? Could you do that forever, my friend?
“I don’t know.” I admitted.
Then let us not speculate further.
“Let me at least sleep through the night, I will re-enter The Forest tomorrow and end this.”
That compromise seems fair.
Rather
than respond, I pulled out of The Room and hurriedly wiped my face with
the sleeve of my sweatshirt, then headed for the dormitories, checking
the time as I went on my watch. It was three fifteen, give or take, and I
had class at nine.
Rather
than bother with conventions like a shower or changing into the loose
athletic shorts that passed for my sleeping garb, I merely snuck into
the room, under the light-blocking curtain, and up into my bed. I
thought I would have trouble sleeping, but sleep came in an instant.
It
was not the next day, or the day after, or the one after that, but I
eventually did feel the strength in me to take on the daunting task of
seeing my intellectual and emotional murder through. None of my friends
or room-mates knew it, but that unseasonably cold early fall day was my
birthday. They didn’t know because I didn’t tell them, and no-one felt
they were close enough to me to ask when it was that my age changed its
numbering. My parents called and wished me a half-hearted ‘happy
birthday’ at lunch, but the call quickly devolved into snooping into my
personal life, asking if I had a girlfriend yet, that sort of thing, so I
lied to them, claimed I had remembered I was late to a study session,
and ended the call.
In
truth, it was their snooping that reminded me that Laura, suspended in
time, was still waiting for my presence to finish dying. For some days I
had avoided letting my mind be idle enough for my second pattern’s
voice to become apparent, and I had not made use of any of my worlds
save the baseline. I didn’t want to think, I just wanted to buy time,
but I knew that day that I could not begin to heal those hurts until I
was done inflicting them.
The
blue fire in The Room was barely sufficient to see my usual chair by,
it had gone down to the point of being only bluish-black embers glowing
on the hearth. Occasionally, the embers would shift, and there would be a
flash of brighter light.
You have not fulfilled your promise. My second pattern greeted me. But I sense that you plan to, today.
“Tonight.” I replied. “Let the sun set, let me find privacy.”
Agreed. I trust you. It would be destruction to doubt you.
I
nodded, stayed a few moments to watch the blue light crawl across the
embers, then backed out and went about my day, trying not to think of
the night’s planned grim task.
The
night was clear, sharply cold, enough so that even the usual sparse
traffic on the campus footpaths had all retreated to seek warmth
indoors. It was eleven thirty, or thereabouts, when I stepped outside,
and I took a brief time to walk to a safe, relatively hidden place,
where I sat down and dived into my own mind, sifting about for the box
labeled “The Forest.” Finding it, I hesitated.
A
wordless, toneless, expressionless frown radiated from my second
pattern. Taking a deep breath, I upended The Forest for the last time.
The
vortex inched down, and I could feel it dissolving Laura, but she clung
tighter even as her form turned to mist. I almost relented, I almost
pulled out of the world to find a way, any way, to undo the damage I had
done, to call all of this a bad joke, to have a good laugh, and to
leave the woods with her, arm in arm, to see about getting her home. A
life unfolded before me in that moment, a life of us kissing on the
second date and of her confessing to me that she suspected I was ‘the
one’ after six weeks. A life where I proposed to her, and we were
married a week after graduation in the beautiful chapel on the hill
across town from State’s campus, and where we had a lovely honeymoon
cruise in the Mediterranean, after which I took a job to support her,
and she chased her dream of becoming a writer. A life where I was
promoted to management in only two years, and became good friends with
one of the company VPs. A life where Laura’s second book, finished after
our son was born, made enough money over the decades to fund my run for
city councilor, then the subsequent run for mayor, then after that my
play for the local congressional seat. A life where I was pulled out of a
committee meeting in Washington to get the news that I was a
grandfather of twin girls, beautiful, healthy babies born to my son’s
beautiful wife, who we were proud to call daughter-in-law. A life where
Laura and I retired to live in a house by a lake, where those
grand-daughters came to visit often, but in between we just walked at
our aged pace through the quiet woods around our home, remembering the
day we’d met, when we walked similar woods, and we laughed about how
crazy I’d been, to think a world as beautiful as ours to be all in my
head.
Almost,
though, never became a reality. Laura became void in my arms, and was
gone, there was no more wind, no more woods, nothing. I was suspended in
senseless void, and my mind rebelled from it, and reflexively backed
out.
Only
then did I let the emotions get to me. Even in the baseline, I dropped
to one knee because standing seemed impossible, and one hand stabilized
me, resting on the cruelly-cold concrete path. I had killed her to end
my war, and it was indeed over, for the time being at least. I felt like
I should be celebrating, but felt more like dying.
After
several deep breaths, I re-entered my mind and found The Room,
gratefully entering, dropping into its chair as an exhausted soldier
newly home from the front.
It is done. Came the words of my second pattern the moment I was inside.
“I killed her.” I agreed numbly. The embers were almost burned out, and I moved to watch them.
You did what you promised to do.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
How do you feel?
I
watched one ember finally go out forever, then another. “I feel...”
There were dozens going out now, and the wan light was dimming further.
“Broken. As dead as she is.”
The
last embers winked out, and I, all the components of my mind, were cast
into darkness. I welcomed it as a blessing, because darkness seemed a
fitting companion, it promised nothing, but nothing was just what I was
looking for, just what I deserved, welcome.
Part 3 to this story posted previously (here)
I
backed out of the world quickly and focused on my senses in the
baseline. I closed my eyes, standing there in the woods that had been
the model for The Forest, and listened. The wind was stronger out here
than it was in the world in my head, and the birds were singing. I
couldn’t hope to identify what kinds of birds they were, but I could
bring the experience back in, and hopefully it would patch from my
experiences. Forcing a world patch was always hit-or-miss, this was the
best way I knew to do it painlessly.
I
stayed still, listening like that for a full minute, then re-opened The
Forest’s little box in my mind, returning to where I stood when I left.
“Hang on for what?” Laura was asking.
The
trip out was so short that I knew what she was referring to
immediately, and I didn’t bother answering. I remembered the sounds of
the birds, and then focused on the silence. Why was I not hearing any
birds here? “Birds don’t sing much if there’s a storm coming.” I finally
answered. I recognized the patched fact, and rolled with it.
“That makes sense. Any idea how long we have?” Laura either didn’t notice the patch or played along with it.
“Before what?” I asked.
“The storm?” Laura replied, as if that was obvious. It probably should have been.
“Oh.”
I looked up to the sky. I could see a few clouds through the trees, but
it was still mostly blue up there. “Long enough.” I decided to answer. I
wasn’t even sure if the weather here could storm, unless one of us
patched in a storm. “I’ll let you know when you should worry about it.”
“Presumably by running for cover.” She shot back.
“Maybe.”
I jokingly agreed. Strange, I noticed, that we were trading mildly
light-hearted quips when she thought I was a lost cause schizophrenic
ten minutes before.
Then
I stopped, and realized the timeline formula this world must be
following, and backed out again, and as soon as my senses saw the
baseline world again, I leaned against a tree, feeling rather weak. It
was so simple, so straightforward, The Forest was put together by
Imagine for a single purpose. My subconscious had decided to take its
own track to solving my solitary existence.
I
felt my second pattern’s pique at thinking of my existence as solitary,
but both parts of me knew what was meant by that so I didn’t bother
explaining. I felt nauseous at the idea of having a captive companion in
my head, not just out of concern for the captive but out of the
dangerous precedent that set for my rational thinking processes. The
worlds in my mind were not there to replace my existence in the
baseline, but to supplement it, to make it bearable. To quantify and
segregate the parts of my mind that would otherwise defy my focus, taint
reality with mad hallucinations. If those worlds were capable of
sustaining sentient life outside my own - and by all indications Laura
was a sentience inside a mental world - there would be serious
ramifications.
My
mind supplied my imagination a spurt of impish laughter again, and
despite knowing that it was merely my own habit I scowled to no-one in
particular, feeling outmaneuvered. I’d fallen into a trap, I sensed.
That part didn’t bother me as much as the idea that the bait was an
apparently sentient person, a girl named Laura, who seemed like a
perfectly nice person, if one with a bit of a temper. Was there a part
of me so monstrous as to use thinking beings as pawns, toys in the war
for control of my mind?
Imagine’s
false laughter ringing in my ears, I started back towards my dormitory
building, feeling the beginnings of a black mood set in. I knew that I
couldn’t get that pawn off the chessboard without destroying it - even
to never visit The Forest again would be to leave open the possibility
for my subconscious tricking my focus back into it in an idle moment. I
wasn’t even sure I could destroy a world if I wanted to, and I certainly
didn’t want to in this case.
“Hey,
there you are, Matt!” I had reached the door to the room without really
processing the walk, and James looked up from his desk adjacent to
mine. “Where you been all afternoon?”
“Just
getting fresh air.” I replied tiredly. I had no energy for pretending a
good mood, and James knew me well enough not to press the point. He
just shrugged and went back to whatever he’d been doing, leaving me to
sit at my own desk and pretend to read a textbook for a few minutes
while I came dangerously close to surrendering, letting my subconscious,
my imagination, and my dark impulses win the war in my mind if only
Laura could live. The thing that kept me from doing so was the knowledge
that this would never guarantee her safety, even nestled inside The
Forest.
Inordinate concern for the well being of the enigma Laura. The second pattern said, dragging me gently into our stone-walled, metaphysical sanctum.
I
got up from the chair. I didn’t know I could do that, but somehow I
did. I moved over to the mantle, and leaned on the stonework over the
blue-tongued fire, staring down into its heart. “Laura is not an enigma.
Her origins are. You saw. She’s an observer-level thinking being.”
The
ability to collapse world uncertainty into patched facts is indeed
troublesome. Extremely dangerous. First concern must be for personal
integrity. The words bore with them the implication of being chosen carefully to advise caution.
“Personal integrity?” I echoed. “Look at us, my friend, does any of this suggest personal integrity?”
Mental structure has never fit a standard mold, but it has been stable. Instability will show, will crack the defenses.
“Defenses?”
I clenched my teeth, a gesture that I could feel affect my baseline
world form as well. “What good are defenses against this? I’d shed them
all if it meant allowing Laura to live outside my head.”
On this we agree. But we can also agree that that’s not possible. She’s trapped more completely than it is in our power to undo.
I
let the rough stone of the mantle arch press against a forehead I’d
never had in The Room and stared into the fire, agreeing with my second
pattern by not contesting. Every second in The Forest was dangerous,
Laura could unknowingly patch my memories at any time, but at the same
time I liked her, and my stomach twisted with guilt at the idea that a
part of my mind had put her into the position she was in.
There’s only one way to solve this, my friend. The second pattern eventually broke in. Give her the choice. Let her choose what is to be done with The Forest, and then do it.
“I will.” I agreed. “You’re right.”
The
next day I returned to The Forest, forcing composure upon myself. The
days blur together in my mind, here. The events in the baseline world
seemed pointless by comparison to my time in The Forest, and I lost the
ability to associate the two clearly. I could not tell you when I left
this world and what I did in the time I focused on the baseline world.
In The Forest, it didn’t matter anyway - I always came back exactly when
I had left.
I
walked with her for what felt like hours, letting her tell her life
story, and I did not ask what was patched and what wasn’t. I didn’t have
the heart to bring up the choice one of us would eventually have to
make - and she either didn’t realize it or didn’t want to bring it up.
Every so often, the wind would gust, first gently, barely above a stiff
breeze, but later, stronger. Soon we learned to stop talking to allow
the wind to die down, else we were drowned out by the sounds of the
wind-buffeted canopy. Despite the wind, not so much as a leaf fell down
to the ground around us. The trees bent and roared, but did not break.
We
completed a wide loop, returning to the footbridge where we’d talked,
and I led the way down another side path, intending to chart another
wide loop, but Laura stopped below a large ash tree and sat down against
its trunk. “Let’s stop for a bit, Matt.” She suggested, and I complied,
sitting a respectful distance around the tree from her, but not so far
that we couldn’t see one another if we wanted to. The wind gusted again,
and I could see Laura shiver, though what reached us, shielded in the
woods, was barely a whispered breeze.
“You all right?” I asked.
“That wind is unsettling, is all.” She replied. “You sure the storm’s still a ways off?”
“Should
be.” I confirmed, with a certainty I didn’t really feel. In theory, the
storm would split us up, so it would hold off until this conversation
ran its course, if my understanding of The Forest was sound.
“That’s good.” She sounded comforted. “Hey, Matt, it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“To
tell me about you. Outside your questionable sanity.” She shifted her
posture to face me better. “If I’m in your head I think that sort of
thing might be important for me to know.”
I smiled. “I suppose so. You already know I’m a loner. Stories I tell will only ever have one character.”
“That can’t always be true. People don’t live like that. What is it that made you who you are?” She asked.
I
tried to look into her eyes to gauge motives for the question. I tried
to raise my eyes to meet the gaze of a person who was my better, who I
had no business speaking to. But every time I got close, my eyes
instinctively dodged to the side, as if they were afraid. I gave up, and
leaned back against the tree bark, closing my eyes. “I honestly don’t
know. I didn’t wake up one day with a fresh certainty that I should
protect others from myself, you know. That sort of thing builds over
time.”
“You were mistreated?” She asked. “Someone told you you were a menace so long that you started believing it?”
“No.”
I shook my head. “No-one did this to me. Don’t try to blame anyone for
me. No-one wore me down, because I can’t remember the last time I let
anyone close enough for that to actually hurt.”
“I don’t believe that.” She insisted. “You’re too logical, too reasonable, to get the way you are without - ”
“Without
reason?” I smiled. “I have a good reason. I am a destroyer by nature,
Laura. The closer someone gets to me, the more they are damaged. I
learned this early on, and I keep my own counsel to protect others. It’s
not intentional, it just... happens.”
“But
you said that all this came from your mind. Looks like creation to me.”
She probably waved around for emphasis, but my eyes were still closed
so I didn’t see.
“That’s
the point.” I agreed. “I dreamed of worlds where I was not the walking
curse that it was becoming apparent I was, and found those dreams to my
liking. But I can’t live in them. I exist in the baseline world, I
always have to go back there.” I took a deep breath. “But I don’t want
to dwell on my own problems, my own mistakes. I don’t do self-pity,
remember? I play the hand I’ve been dealt and move on.”
“Moving on never looked so much like going in circles.” Laura replied, and that stung, but I couldn’t think of a proper retort.
Rather
than spend a lot of time trying to think of a way to dispute her
observation, I went on to tell her everything - about my second pattern,
about the conglomeration of subconscious forces I’d taken to calling
Imagine, about the other worlds, or at least the most significant ones. I
told her about my room-mates Adam, Rob, and James, about everyone who’s
ever been close enough to me that I have considered letting them inside
my defenses, letting them see who I am. I’d never really let anyone in,
of course - I knew any sane person would be terrified of what they saw,
and I didn’t blame them. I told her about the times I’d thought others
might be like me, the times I’d managed to work up a bit of hope and had
it crushed to nearly nothing by reality. I told her about my
predictions as to the soon-coming end of my life, the endgame to this
contest in my mind, between my consciousness and my dark subconscious,
allied with my demons, a war in which both sides wielded imagination
with all the precision and subtlety of ballistic nuclear missiles. I
predicted to her the coming nuclear winter, the destruction of both
sides, and of how I often wished this burnt-out finale was sooner
coming.
She
occasionally asked questions, but didn’t try to contradict me through
any of it. She’d been so willing to do so before, and this change of
habit confused me. I didn’t bring it up, though.
When
I had run out of things to say, she didn’t speak for several seconds. I
could see that there was no longer doubt in her mind that this was all
just a fabricated world, perhaps my descriptions of things outside it
had provided her contrast to see the flaws in The Forest. We were still
seated below that big ash tree, and the intermittent gusts of wind seem
so far off above us.
The
one thing I hadn’t told her about was her own role in my internal
struggles. Imagine had tried to force peace of mind on me by providing
me a confidant, in exchange for violating or even forfeiting my
morality. That morality was the only reason I had left to fight - I had
long ago lost any visceral desire to win, but I kept holding on because I
knew I was right, and that Imagine was, not evil, but the manner
through which the evil I had kept suppressed could be released. To
accept Laura as a permanent fixture of my mind would be the equivalent
of a white flag. But as my second pattern had suggested rightly, it
wasn’t my decision to make.
“If you could go back and live differently, would you?” She eventually asked.
I nodded without thinking. “Asked that way, yes. Without a doubt. But that’s not the important question.”
“Then what is?“
“The
one that keeps me up at night. All my life I’ve been motivated by
trying to do what was right. Would, the second time through, I be able
to find a place where, looking back, I made the wrong choice? Or would I
have to intentionally contradict my morality to change the outcome?”
She
considered this for some time. “I think you would find the place where
you made a mistake, Matt. It was probably a simple thought, a small
thing.”
I nodded slowly. “I hope so. The alternative is an unbearable thought.”
“You
don’t really want to lose your mind, Matt.” She put her hand on my arm,
and this time it stayed long past the awkward threshold, I raised an
eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt. “You want to change.”
“I
don’t know how to change anymore.” I admitted. “I only know how to be
changed. But whether or not I lose my mind isn’t my decision.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Whose else could it be?”
I
covered her hand with my own. “Yours, Laura. A choice I want you to
make, where none of the outcomes are good. But it’s not mine to make for
you.”
“I
can’t decide the fate of your sanity, Matt. If I could I would choose
for you to remain who you are.” She didn’t shrink from the touch of my
hand, which came as a shock to me. What did she see in me that allowed
her to tolerate me like this? Perhaps - I could almost not think it -
perhaps she harbored actual positive feelings for this wretch?
“Let
me finish.” I held up three fingers. “Option one, I let this world, The
Forest, stay as it is. I visit as I have been. Short term, no change,
but over time the accidental patching will drive me mad. I don’t know
how long it will take. Option two, I leave this world, close it up in a
box, stop the clock and try never to come back. You will not notice -
you will only experience time when I fail and find myself here. In the
end, I will be destroyed in the same way as option one, only over more
time - I might get months, or years, longer.“ I knew that this second
option was the easiest for me, the path that allowed me to make the
easiest, least permanent decision, but I didn’t tell her that. ”Option
three...” I shook my head. “Option three is...”
“What?” She shook my arm. “It can’t be so bad.”
“Option
three is that I try to tear this world apart. I destroy The Forest for
all time, severing all connections it makes in my mind, ending your
life.” I moved to stand, and she did the same, releasing my arm. “If I
succeed, I may manage to preserve the status quo, or even gain a little
ground back. I am fond of you, Laura, but I know that was intended -
this world’s purpose is to shatter my mind, bit by bit. I don’t know
what it would mean to fail, perhaps nothing would happen.”
The
wind gusted again, and the ash tree we stood beside creaked. Laura did
not immediately respond, letting the wind die down before speaking. “I
don’t want to die, Matt.” She said calmly. “If I’m really in your head,
is there no way to escape?” Her tone was still calm, but her eyes
pleaded for a way out. It broke my heart to see that.
I looked down at my feet. “You don’t just live in this world. You are
this world, Laura.” I kicked at a small stone, and watched it bounce
away from me into the underbrush. “You can’t exist without it, or it
without you. Carefully devised to be sympathetic enough to me that I
would have to keep coming back, even knowing what it would do to me. The
sad thing is, if I do lose what’s left of my mind none of my worlds
will survive, not even this one. It’s not your fault. But it’s working.
I...” I stopped. I had almost said to her that I thought I loved her. I
didn’t want to lay that, too, on her shoulders.
“So
you can’t make a decision that harms another, that harms me, but you
think I will for you?” She stepped back. “What do you think I am going
to say?”
“Something
wiser than I can decide myself.” I answered. “The best I can offer is a
temporary life, until my time here breaks me down into madness. In this
world’s time, it would likely only be a day or two.” Not including how
much she would accidentally patch me while dreaming, if she could dream.
That was probably the biggest wild card - probably, she would destroy
me by accident with contradicting patches as soon as she fell asleep.
“A
day or two...” She echoed distantly. “What if I didn’t make any...
patches?” She seemed uncomfortable with this term. “What if we both ran
in opposite directions and never saw each other again?”
“You
would wander a world filled with shallow people, who seem flat and
one-dimensional, because they are. Each one would be a patched person,
and you’d know it. You and I are the only ones here who can think. And
even still you would patch me, Laura. You don’t need to be near
something to patch it. Geography, history, technology, politics, and
more, you patch the whole world when you think too hard about these
things, and I am in that world. You’d just do it less often. You might
buy yourself a few days that way, but I can’t think of a worse hell than
that life.” I gestured back to the path. “If you want to do that,
though, I will play along. I will give you those days if you want them.
It’s the least I can do.”
She stared blankly at me for a full thirty seconds, mind at work, before she looked away and visibly sagged.
“You probably hate me.” I pointed out. “You’re entitled to. This isn’t your war.”
She
looked up at me, and our eyes met, this time mine did not shy away. I
saw not hate, not anger, not frustration, none of what I expected - I
just saw a heartbroken solemnity, and I knew she had decided. “Answer me
this. Why did you let this go on for so long if I’m such a danger to
you? Why not just end this yourself as soon as you knew?”
“Because...”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and avoided eye contact. “Because I
could tell you were... human. More than myself, I think.. But I... I
wanted to give you a few hours. Trade some of my sanity away to give you
some life. You should have gotten more than I can possibly give you,
and I’m sorry I can’t provide.”
Laura surprised me again by stepping forward and putting her hands on my shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that.” She said.
“It
doesn’t matter if I wanted to or not. I did, so you can assume I wanted
to.” I offered a wan smile. “You can assume that I have no regrets,
because when I tell you that I don’t, you don’t have any evidence to the
contrary.”
There
was a brief silence. “I won’t try to say anything about fair, or what
either of us deserve.” Laura replied slowly. “Except that this isn’t
fair, that both of us deserve better.”
“You’re
probably right.” I agreed. “But we have to work with what we have.” I
looked around at the forest, the big ash tree standing over us, wanting
the impossible, to be able to show her other worlds, more fantastic
ones. That was just as impossible as showing her the baseline reality,
just as impossible as showing Rob or anyone else from the baseline this
world any other beyond their own. “I want to give you more than this, I
wish I could. Compared to the other things my mind comes up with,
it’s... dull.”
“Dull?” She smiled. “Not really. Matt, you know what I’m going to tell you to do.”
“I
do. But I won’t be able to bring myself to do it unless you tell me
to.” I admitted. “Even then, I might not be able to.” A gust of wind
picked up, greater than the previous ones, and even down below the trees
it kicked up fallen leaves and pulled at our clothing.
“Then
I will say it clearly. Matt...” She suddenly let her arms slide down
and under my own, to encircle behind my back. She had seemed taller than
me earlier, but somehow now she was able to comfortably rest her head
on my shoulder. “Hold me close, and end this charade. Go and live out
there, but don’t forget, okay?”
I
complied numbly, letting my arms wrap around her. I held Laura in my
arms, trying not to think about the possibility that the embrace was
more than that of friends, feeling her shiver a little in the wind or
from fear and wanting only to comfort her. “I’ll never forget.” I
promised. Then I backed out just a little from the world, let it go hazy
and purplish with mental distance, and looked at it with the aim I’d
never before even wanted - I looked for a way to destroy that world.
Imagine’s
false voice in my ear whispered that all I really needed to do was back
out and throw The Forest into the same pile as all the “XXX” boxes, but
I ignored it. Each repetition got more urgent, more desperate,
shriller. The confidence and strength my mind had lent to Imagine’s
voice faded as I worked, leaving just a desperate, pitiable shriek, one I
empathized with but could not cater to. It went from suggesting to
demanding to pleading to begging as I followed the strands of The Forest
in my mind, and as I located the single thread that would unravel the
whole it became a clawing, maddening thing that wanted only to distract
me from my task.
I
realized abstractly, with my mind split between embracing Laura and
sifting through the guts of her reality, that Imagine had not just used
The Forest as a weapon, but as a desperate Hail Mary. This was, one way
or another, the last battle of our war, and I could win it if I went
through with my task.
My
second pattern snagged my attention as I was ready to do to The Forest
what I believed would destroy it. I obligingly pulled back, and
relocated to The Room. The blue fire was roaring merrily, almost
dangerously,
Are you sure this is the right course? Its toneless words sprung up immediately. Concern and uneasiness were implied.
“No.” I admitted, swiveling the stone chair to look into the fire. “I don’t want to destroy Imagine... Do you think this will?”
We sought only control over Imagine, it was the originator of this escalation. The voice pointed out. I do not think it will be destroyed, but it will be... subdued.
I
agreed wordlessly. This would exhaust my subconscious, my overactive
imagination, my suppressed desires, and give me at least a temporary
peace. It was a shame it had to come at such a high price.
One world is a high price now?
“This world.” I replied simply. “This one... is different. Personal. Besides, one world is more than we have ever lost before.”
Yes, true.
My second pattern did not elaborate, and subsided into silence, leaving
me, for once in my life, completely alone with my thoughts.
I
watched the brighter-than-usual fire for some time, then finally roused
myself and returned to my work. That central thread of The Forest,
already exposed by my probing, would only need to be pulled just right
to cause the whole of the falsehood of the world to collapse upon
itself. I would just need to pull, then go inside to let matters take
their own course.
Imagine’s
attempts at distraction renewed as soon as I emerged from The Room, but
I ignored them, and let myself sink back partway into The Forest, just
far enough that part of my mind felt Laura’s embrace, and my own arms
around her. Just enough that the other part of my mind could see the
consequences of what I was about to do.
I
hesitated there for a long moment, then took a deep breath and pulled.
Though nothing seemed to change, I could see that the damage was done,
that The Forest would collapse. I should have felt amazement - this was
something I’d never had need to try before - but I felt only a sick
feeling, like I’d been hoping all along that it wouldn’t work.
Imagine’s
projected clawing and shrieking stopped, as if the breath had been
sucked from the lungs powering it. Rather than wait for this annoyance
to return, I settled all the way down into the doomed Forest. “It’s
done.” I told Laura quietly. “This world will collapse soon.” As if
confirming my statement, there was another gust of wind, and it didn’t
quite die all the way back down to stillness.
She seemed to wilt a little in my arms, but clung tighter. “Thank you, Matt.” She whispered.
“Don’t
thank me.” My voice was heavy, and I tried to keep her from sensing how
close to tears I really was. “I just killed you.” Another gust, this
one left more residual wind, and the trees creaked alarmingly above us.
Story continues in part 4 (here).
