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Tristan's Tale Pt. 01

By: IncomingPornDuck



I had her up against the wall, fucking her from behind, a fistful of her black hair in one hand, pressing her face into the wood with the other. She was gasping for breath. 

"Oh, fuck, Tristan fuck me harder!" 

I let go of her hair and a dismayed whimper escaped her lips, but it soon turned to a gasp of surprise when I smacked her ass harder than I ever had before. The loud smack filled the room, sounding not unlike slapping a pool noodle into the water, which was appropriate: she was so covered in sweat that my hand came back wet. Not that I had much experience smacking her ass, beautiful, pale, and round as it was, I'd only known her, what, two hours? I was already looking forward to controlling her further. 

"Ah! Mmmm, yeah, like that baby..." 

I slammed into her with my entire girth, her hot lips wrapped tightly against the base of my cock, and as they squeezed tightly on me, milking me, begging for more, I brought my other hand to her other cheek, and she practically screamed a raw, throat-raking scream in a mix of pleasure and pain that damn near made me cum on the spot, but, I had a degree of control over these things. Noise wasn't a concern, either, cheap as my apartment was, I'd made sure that nobody in the entire complex would ever hear. 

She pressed her butt against my pelvis, writhing in desire, breathing deep, ragged breaths, shuddering occasionally. Her legs were shaking and weak. We'd been at it for awhile. 

I pulled out slowly, feeling her grip tighten as I drew back, her pussy clenching on my dick, begging me not to leave. 

"No, wait, more, please..." 

I grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pressing her back against the wall. Her breasts were beautiful, the red impressions from being pressed into the wall for so long only turned me on even more. Her gaze bore into me, the auburn-brown of her irises aflame with desire, deepening the color to a shade more charged and alive than it had been when she'd checked me out at the grocery store earlier. 

She reached a hand and grabbed my cock, slowly carressing me, letting her fingers trail from the base up to the tip. 

"Please..." 

Cum. 

With a shuddering cry, she tensed up against the wall, convulsing under my hands. I hadn't dropped the connection to her yet and so I could feel the fire that lit up deep inside her, snaking up her spine and spreading wave after wave of pleasure throughout her entire body. Her hand tightened on my dick, shuddering in jerky, uncontrolled movements. 

"Ohhhhhhhhh...Fuuuuuckkkk..." 

Really? I raised an eyebrow. The fact that she could still talk meant I wasn't done yet. I moved close to her and pressed my body against hers, joining both our bodies in our own mutual sweat, feeling her warmth, she feeling mine, both of us alive and charged with each other. My body matched her shudders and as she rippled on me, I looked deep into her eyes again. Below that, her cute, pointy nose, and then her thin red lips. Mmm. I sunk into her, bringing my mouth to hers, and in the moment her lips touched mine, I shifted the entirety of my power through every cell of my body into her. 

Cum. 

A white light, a scream - an explosion of bliss, the loss of all things physical, the joining of all sensation into a singular pointed feeling of nirvana, no difference between her body and her being and my body and my being and then, cumming deep inside her, peaking at the ascent into infinite pleasure, nothing. 

Earlier 

Sometimes, at the beginning of things, there arises a feeling, a peculiar sensation which says, something is going to happen, soon. I'm sure you've felt it before. A tension in the air, perhaps, or the ghost of a feeling of having forgotten something important. Sometimes it's triggered by a particular event, something completely normal which for some reason appears out of place. This is what happened to me. 

I was on the bus home from school when, looking out the window as one does when listening to music and sitting next to a stranger, when the bus turned onto my street, Bay (as if there's anything approaching a bay near my town) and I saw Ms. Goldblum, an elderly widow who lived on the corner, standing in the middle of her lawn, watering the grass with a blue watering can. I don't know what it was, but something about the image stuck out to me, as if the bus was turning and moving past her in slow motion. She didn't even look up to acknowledge my passage, but my eyes were glued to her, to the watering can. Even its shade of blue, a light, 1 in the afternoon cloudless sky blue, seemed to me impossible. Something was happening, I was convinced. 

And, as with all such feelings which arise inexplicably, I dismissed it. What else would one do? The mind comes up with weird shit all the time. If you listened to your mind every time you got a small inkling of something or a thought came up, well, things would be very, very different. Much easier to ignore the things that aren't consistent with our image of our selves, and I didn't consider myself the kind of person to be set off by an old lady watering her lawn, so, fuck it, you know? 

Coming up to my stop, I managed the awkward wordless communication to the person next to me that I needed to get up, and, as I stood, Joey, a friend of mine who was sitting opposite me, signaled for me to take my earbuds out. 

"Hey Joey, what's up?" 

"Hey. If you're feelin' up for it, we're having people over Friday night at my place. Parents are out of town for the weekend, so, you know the deal. Booze, chicks, music, debauchery of the finest degree." He grinned sarcastically. Joey's great - my closest friend, probably. We share this mutual understanding of how superficial it is to get a bunch of high school kids together to drink, how it's sort of not exactly deep, meaningful human interaction. Thing is, we also find it very fun to get drunk and there's not much else better to do in town. The possibility of getting laid doesn't hurt either. 

"Yeah, I'll let you know. Thanks for the invite." 

He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice - most of the people on the bus were from our school, and gossip spreads as quickly as an STD in a fraternity. "Amber might be there." He winked. "If, you know, you're trying to make something happen." 

The bus pulled up to my stop. "Hah, well, I guess I'll have to be there, then. Later, man." I nodded goodbye and got off. The way he phrased the invitation, "if you're feeling up for it," was not surprising. I'd been in and out of my social life recently, tending toward the reclusive side. Even then, when I was out with friends, they bugged me constantly about how down and depressed I was compared to normal. I didn't have the heart to tell them why. 

The walk from the bus stop is always nice - my neighborhood is relatively wealthy compared to some parts of town, but we're not talking million dollar houses or anything, not by a long shot. The house before mine is owned by an old man with whom I exchange a hello almost every day. It seems all he does is sit on the chair out on his porch and watch the street, with no particular intention. I hardly know anything about him, really, and often think of striking up a conversation, but never have. He wasn't out today, which only solidified the strangeness of the day. It's not like he's never late, but this small disturbance appeared to me unusual where otherwise I would have simply let it pass. 

Once home, I reached in my pocket for my keys, but they weren't there. Not unusual, maybe I'd left them in my backpack but, I took it off and checked - no dice. Oh well. I could always break in through the back, but, on a whim, I tried the door and was astonished when it swung open easily. 

Understand, I live alone, and my door locks automatically. It's the kind that doesn't ever stay "unlocked", not to mention the fact that it hasn't been oiled in half a decade and sticks like hell, you really need to put your shoulder into it. I peered inside. 

"Hello? Anyone home? You know," I smiled weakly, and felt my heart rate quicken, "in my home?" 

No response but an unnerving silence - not even the background hum of the refrigerator was present. I considered calling the cops, but, and maybe I'm just a dumbass, I figured a real man would step in and defend his home turf, and so I walked in and shut the door behind me. 

"Nobody?" 

The front door opens to a living room, which was by all appearances empty. Nobody on the sofa, nobody could really fit under the coffee table, and besides, it was glass. I started walking toward the kitchen, and that's when I heard the door slam shut behind me. 

I whirled around, and, to my complete and utter astonishment, the back of my door was gone, and in its place was a path of white gravel which led out into what appeared to be an enclosed, forested glade. There was no door to speak of, as if it had never been there, and I could see plainly the brightness of the sky through the foliage of the trees. Amidst the interlacing songs of the birds were the sound of insects buzzing, and I felt the humidity of this outside place press on me, the wetness and heat in the air brushing my skin. 

I'll be honest. I walked straight the fuck away from that door and into the kitchen, shutting the door behind me. The sounds didn't dissipate in the slightest, but I didn't turn around. 

It was just so...wrong? As if my house had been dropped into a jungle. Yeah, no thanks. Maybe one of my friends had slipped me a hallucinogen, but, no, I'd eaten alone the past few days. 

I'm not at all ashamed to admit that, so confronted with this predicament, I got some bread from my breadbox and put it in the toaster, fully intending to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I stood at the counter, and watched the heating coils steadily heat to a bright orange. The ticking of the toaster timer only sounded like another insect among many, and the humidity had followed me here too. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that, were I to look behind me, the kitchen door too would be gone. 

So, yeah, I stared at the toaster for a few minutes, okay? I couldn't even fathom turning around, and I was keeping focused on it pretty well, too, but, (and it's always the little things, isn't it?) I felt a sharp prick on my arm, more of an itch, really, and I idly slapped at it. When I looked at my hand, the remnants of a bloated mosquito were splayed across my palm. Indoor mosquitoes, in a town which cancels school if it so much as drizzles? I only had first hand experience with them from traveling to my uncle's cabin, who lives up north by a large lake. 

So that's what did it for me. I wasn't just going to sit here and get bitten by insects I was pretending didn't exist, so, I went to the sink, washed off my hands, and turned around. 

Sure enough, the door to the kitchen too was gone, and the same white gravel led from the doorway and out into the jungle. It curved off to the side after a short while, giving to it a mysterious quality, as if it was asking a question. Do I dare? Do I? 

I leaned on the counter, looking out into the world that shouldn't be there. There wasn't anywhere else for me to go in the kitchen, unless I wanted to crawl into a cupboard, but I got the impression I'd just fall out of the door the minute it shut, and I wasn't one for cowering. I took out my phone, but it had no reception. I stared at it for a few moments, before tapping out a quick "I didn't run away and I didn't off myself, I'll be back soon" in the notes and leaving it on the counter. What else - should I grab sunscreen? Mosquito repellent? What does one do in preparing to walk into a jungle that didn't exist just moments before? 

Well all my outdoor gear was in a cupboard in my room, so that was out. I looked around, but the only thing that seemed to be immediately useful was a jar of trail mix. At that point, everything sort of came to a head, a feeling like, really? The entirety of reality just shifted in front of me, I'm literally going insane or the world is different in a way I can't even begin to comprehend, and I'm looking for, what, a flashlight? I'm seriously considering taking trail mix and walking out of here? 

Ultimately, despite how inconsequential it was in the relative scheme of things, I took the trail mix, unsure why I was even doing this in the first place, wondering if I'd ever see anyone I knew again, and so with no sense of purpose besides a curiosity and a sense of looming inevitability, I walked out into the heat. 

Immediately I felt the jaws of something impossible snap shut behind me and I didn't need to turn around to know my house would not be behind me. I turned anyway, and saw that the path I was on didn't continue behind me at all. In fact, I appeared to be at a dead end, with thick jungle frustrating all attempt of navigation anywhere besides the obvious. I'd only been here a few moments but I could already feel sweat starting to form under my shirt. I turned, and looked at the path curving before me. 

I started my walk. The gravel crunched beneath my every step and I didn't move with any sense of hurry - I figured it was probably a good idea to stay calm and only freak the fuck out if absolutely necessary. I was still figuring things out, right? I'd always had a level head - there's no sense in panicking when you can just walk down the fucking path. So that's what I did. 

As I walked, I was somewhat surprised to find I wasn't thinking of much. It seemed so much easier to just take in this new place, the broad emerald leaves on either side of me, the sky as warm as the air. Each breath seemed to fill me with more and more emptiness, that I saw who and what I was with every inhale and then let it go as I breathed out. A strange, lucid state fell upon me, and I fell into a trance. Walking and breathing were the only things that mattered, and I felt as if I could be on this path forever. 

The serenity was broken, however, when I rounded a bend in the path and came across a child, maybe 8 or 9 years old, sitting in the middle of the road beside a chess board. Though I could have easily walked to either side of him, what I instead perceived was, the road is blocked, and I somehow knew intrinsically that I needed to move the boy in order to continue. I approached him, and sat down on the opposite side of the board. He picked up a center pawn, and moved it forward two spaces with a certainty that confused me, as if it was very obvious that we were to sit here and play chess together, that it was something that he knew would happen. 

"Hello," he said in a high pitched, innocent voice. 

"Hey." I replied, aware of how old I sounded in comparison. Funny - I could remember even then what it was like to be his age, and I didn't feel as old as I sounded. Honestly, in that moment I couldn't even remember my age, just that it was strange to not be young. 

And then we played chess, which was strange considering I'd hardly even touched the game. Yet, somehow, it didn't appear to me that I was playing any game that would be conventionally called "chess", sure, there were chess pieces on a chess board and they moved like chess pieces and the goal was to kill his king, but all of this, the entirety of chess, seemed beside the point. It was more like we were putting our emotions into our movements. In fact, much of our moves were not conducive toward skillful play. He'd shift a rook that was out of danger and threatening nothing back three spaces, and in response I'd move my bishop one space closer to his queen when instead I could have captured it. 

And it worked, somehow, as if we were translating feelings, or communicating somehow in this esoteric brand of exchange. When I think back to it, there is very little in the realm of rationality to be found. It wasn't a logical series of events but, then again, I threw logic out the window the minute my door disappeared. 

In the end, I lost. I had 6 pieces left, including my queen, and he only had a king and a pawn, and I watched calmly as he took all of my pieces, one by one, and I shifted a pawn on the other side of the board, moving it forward, hopping with my knights, and then the game was over. 

He set aside the chess board. "You did very well." 

I laughed a little at this. "Well, that's good to hear. I'm not sure exactly what I did, but, somehow it all felt very appropriate." 

He nodded. "Yes, it was. Do not search for understanding yet," he said, perhaps attempting to sound wise. In his voice, however, it was more than a little funny, but, I wasn't in any position to mock him. Among other things, he did beat me. 

"But, between you and me," he continued, a twinkle in his eye, "I think you'll do very well. Very well indeed. If you meet the two faced man, and, I should hope you don't, but if you do, this is important, okay? Please give him my regards. It might do you some good." 

"I'll pass it on if I get the chance," I replied. Two faces? I had no idea what was in store for me but a growing portion of me was beginning to enjoy this. 

The boy stood up and moved to a side of the jungle, and, brushing part of the bushes, the forest in that area opened up and the white gravel I'd been walking on sprouted from the ground like little drops of rain falling from the wrong direction. 

"You will find shelter for the night here," said the boy, and he began to walk away, in the direction I came from. 

"Wait, but, it's still daytime!" I called out to him. 

"Is it?" he replied, smiling. 

And, true enough, I hadn't even noticed but the sky was darkening at a rapid pace. It was nearing dusk now. 

"Best hurry. You'll be taken care of once you're there." 

The gap in the trees began to close up with vegetation once more and without a second thought I jumped through, running down the side path. Tree limbs whipped at my face again and again and I could feel hot blood on my forehead and cheeks. I kept my hands up to protect myself but this only seemed to increase the frenzy of branches smacking into me, and I soon learned to accept the barrage, even when one particularly nasty one caught me in the eye I continued running forward into what seemed like an endless path. The dark was falling soon, the temperature dropping despite my aerobics. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it or if the forest would swallow me whole. What a sad, stupid ending, I thought. To be left alone in a dream so unlike reality, swallowed by an empty darkness. 

And then I tripped over a root and crashed through the brush into a clearing. I hit the ground hard, bruising my elbow and my knees, and the vision I still had in one eye was swelling slowly and glazed also with blood. And still, it was good not to be running any more. I found relaxation inside of me and I kept with it. 

"Oh no, they really didn't go easy on you, did they?" asked a beautiful female voice, rich and layered with all sorts of notes I couldn't decipher. I couldn't reply, only barely managing to squeak out a weak groan. 

"It's okay, you're safe here, for now. Be light. Can you do that for me?" 

Could I? A voice like that would have me try to drink a glass of water at the bottom of the ocean. I groaned once more - be light? Unsure, I vaguely put my attention on a feeling of lightness, visualizing my body as a feather in the realm of my mind that wasn't fading into unconsciousness. 

"Perfect, thank you so much, here, I'm going to pick you up and bring you to bed - okay? Stay light. You're a big man and I can only carry you if you let me." 

And then the softest fingers known to man traced down my aching sides and scooped me up, and I was pressed into an angelic chest, soft and full. My head rested on her breasts and I nestled deeper into them, feeling their contours mold to my face, losing myself in her skin, in her exotic smell of coconut and citrus. 


Tristan's Tale Pt. 01



"That's it, just relax. Everything is okay now." 

She let me down in something soft, covered me in a blanket, and I fell unconscious. 

~ 

~ 

~ 

The feeling of another body next to me came first before any other consciousness. I felt shoulders and a back on my chest, a full butt pressed into my groin, long legs intertwined with mine. My nose nestled into hair like silk. My hands moved before my brain, feeling, pressing into her thigh and moving up, following her curvatures and sinking over and into the fluidity of her hipbone onto her stomach where my hand rested for awhile. It was warm there, and it felt right. After a moment her hand joined mine, and her fingers traced across my knuckles, relieving tension that I hadn't even realized was there with the slightest brush. 

I pressed closer into her, simultaneously pulling her into me, and still I wasn't even remotely close to awake, whether I was on a bed or not, or under covers, or inside a building, none of this appeared to me as particularly significant. There was only her. And I wanted her, in this dreamy, sleepy way, I wanted a joining of the two of us, not necessarily sex, just a melding of sorts, in whatever way possible, in every way possible. 

She wrapped her fingers around my hand and let out a small moan, guiding my hand up the flat of her lower abdomen and her stomach, then finally slipping between her full breasts where our hands rested for awhile and we breathed into each other, as she inhaled so did I, and our entire bodies contracted and expanded in a rhythm we created and shared together. My dick was getting hard, or maybe it had always been that way and I was just becoming aware of it, but it wasn't a pressing issue, just another part of me touching another part of her. She sensed its growth and made slow gyrating rotations on my pelvis with her butt, filling me all of a sudden with a sense of her own desire. How could I not have recognized it before? She was brimming with it, and suddenly I came to realize, so was I. 

I glided up and over her chest, lightly tracing a nipple and she gave a small, light gasp. I could tell she was sensitive, but in a way which was more than noticing the response from my touch. It wasn't logical, I felt her, and I knew certain things that were going on inside of her, a direct consciousness as opposed to a figuring out of her reactions to me. I brought my fingers to her nipple again and rolled it between my index and thumb and her arousal peaked, and she pressed more firmly into me with her ass. She gave out another little moan, and I traced my finger up her throat and onto her lips. 

She immediately brought it inside her mouth, wrapping full lips around it and sucking greedily. An overwhelming sense hit me - I can't really describe what exactly it was, but I can say what it communicated to me: fuck me, now. A warming feeling, and one which brought me some energy, such that I brought my hand back down to her upper ass cheek and squeezed. It was big and juicy, but smooth, and I massaged it deeply, putting pressure into every angle, slipping occasionally around and into her inner thigh, barely missing her pelvic bone, teasing her, bringing her closer and closer to her desire. I could practically feel her simmering, her skin heating up and her moans more frequent. 

She widened her legs and I moved my hips closer to her, lining up my dick with her pussy and playing the head up and down her slit. She moaned and pushed herself on to me but I withdrew in the same motion, keeping her on the edge. 

And then, in a flash, I understood it, a new connection to her was made available to me. Or, a piece of it. Something in her, it reached out to me, and I received it fully - it was Her, this person was presented to my consciousness directly in a form I could access. I don't know how it happened but I was certain of what I felt, and I had her entire state of being at my disposal, right there in my mind. It was huge, indescribably so, and raw, but somehow it all fit inside one singular feeling. One I could control. I had no idea what to do with it - how do I manipulate another being? I paused my motions, my dick right on the tip of her, on the cusp of joining together, unsure of what to do, a little overwhelmed by it all. 

"Take me. Take all of me," she spoke softly but with a firm confidence that left no room but to go with what she wanted, and I could feel in my mind the feeling I was holding of her turned molten, looking for a place to spill into, and I was suddenly very aware that I was the only vessel into which she could drain. 

Even facing away from me, her words were spoken straight to my soul. Without another moment's hesitation I pushed my by now throbbing cock deep inside her, and at the same time, she pressed her ass hard onto me, sliding down onto me and wrapping me inside her walls, squeezing my dick wetly. And as we joined there, mutually bringing ourselves together, I looked at the feeling I had of her, this strange sense of her existence held in my mind, and, with some will power, I fucked it too. 

I have no idea how. I don't even know what exactly I fucked it with, I just know that I had her essence, her being at my fingertips, and I brought myself into it as well as with her. The feeling was so surreal, a massive synthesis and reworking of my consciousness: suddenly, similarly to how I was the puppet master of my own body and my actions, I experienced the impossible sensation of being in control of another. 

It was different, though. I didn't need to think "raise right hand" in order to raise my right hand, it just happened. With her, I didn't have a handle on the mechanism of moving her, or even a distinction between her mind and body. It was just a big lump of her being, indistinct in its capacity for being comprehended. It wasn't like I could make her move her hand, but when I brought myself into her, making love to her being with mine in this newly discovered mind space, I sensed her whole being react to it spastically, suddenly, her entire body was tense and her mind shut down completely, pressed against me I felt her back taut against my chest, her ass squeezing onto me firmly, her pussy tightening around my dick to the point that I couldn't move it. 

Cum. 

The words exploded into me and a deep, powerful orgasm rose from inside my pelvis, I soon was tensing as tightly as she was and then pleasure unlike anything I'd experienced in my life wracked through my body, wave after wave spread from my dick as I came over and over inside of her - every time I spurted she twitched and grew warmer until such a point that I was incapable of doing anything and her skin was burning my skin. Cum started spilling out of her and leaked around my dick and I was dimly aware of the fact that I was no longer shooting anything out but I was still in the throes of orgasm. 

I don't know how long I lasted there. It could have been thirty seconds or ten minutes, but over the course of our mutual orgasm we slowly regained the ability to move, just a little, which she used to fuck me from the side, rolling her hips back and forth like an ocean wave unable to crest onto shore, raising and falling onto me, and I found I was subdued by this and could only weakly move my hips toward her. She gradually regained her strength and her gyrations increased, and then in a swift, languid movement, she slipped out of me and then turned, spreading her legs over me, at which point I realized that despite my eyes being open, I hadn't been registering my sight, that my eyes had been swollen from being whipped by branches, and with a concentrated effort I demanded to see with will I hadn't known I'd possessed. In a flash, my eyesight came back, and I saw her. Oh my god, did I see her, her lithe, voluptuous form, like a waterfall continuously spilling into itself without splashing, or smoke spilling slowly over the lip of cool metal, and those eyes, so haunting, so clearly viewing me as prey to be consumed. I will never forget those eyes for as long as I live. 

They were completely black, a deep midnight that seemed to absorb the light that shone on her face, the same black of her hair which fell far down her espresso colored skin, straight down her back and also stuck on the sweat of her chest. I couldn't look away, in those eyes I saw the promise of a sexual infinity, life without anything but me and her and our own joining. The longer I gazed into them the more I found that the feeling of her that I was holding still grew, more and more until I honestly could not tell which being I was, and, I've never experienced anything like this since, but I was suddenly experiencing my experience of her straddling over me, slowly moving downward to meet my dick once more, and her experience of me lying down, and the need to fuck me into dust, and all of them were wrapped into one immense gut feeling of pleasure, of life, destruction and absolution. 

She grabbed my cock with one hand and guided it toward her slit, easing it in with a sigh. 

"Oooh..." she whispered in a voice nothing like what I'd heard before, a strained, wicked voice. "Very tasty, lover boy. Take me, take me," she said, in a mocking tone, and the being of her I'd thought I was holding grew inside of me, and I felt the thing I used to think of as me disappear more, and more. 

"How does it feel? Do you like it?" she grinned as she said this, and leaned over me, starting to ride my dick so perfectly as to put all of my past sexual experience to shame - her hips moved up and her ass followed, quickly from the base and then slower up to the tip until only a fraction of an inch of my head was inside of her, and then effortlessly, gravity slid her down around me. I had no idea how I was still hard, and I was aware, in that way where totally inappropriate things arise in moments of extreme danger or focus, that my dick was bigger than I remembered it being. Even then my awareness seemed to come from a distant place, that it had to travel far before arriving in a consciousness that I didn't fully recognize as mine, as her being continued to invade me and I lost more of myself to her. 

Then, syncing perfectly with her vertical motions on my dick she rotated herself in slow circles as well, pulling my cock around and around, then switching directions after coming down to a neutral position, fuck, she was making love to me from angles I hadn't even known existed, and she leaned closer to me, and the event horizon of her eyes loomed closer, more of my being was being ripped away from me and there was her, only her, nothing but her now and for ever after, she brought her lips down to meet mine, sanguine red against her skin and too sweet but still somewhere inside of me I drank from her, she slipped her tongue into my mouth, flicking across mine, making small circles across the tip of my tongue and suddenly I realized I was reciprocating without wanting to, without any desire to. 

"Mmmmm, yessssss," she moaned between kisses, and, without my willing it to, my hand rose to meet the back of her head and it brought her further into me. "My little lover boy, all wrapped up in me. Poor little lover boy." She leaned back, arcing her slim frame so that her head disappeared and I could only see her navel, her perky, tan breasts, and her throat. "Fuck me, lover boy. Fuck me like it's the last thing you'll ever do." 

I was gone. There was nothing I could do and, to be honest, even if I could have recognized at this point a sliver of me in my consciousness, I think it didn't want to resist her. I wanted to be taken, and pleasure on levels I didn't know were possible was coursing throughout my entire body, she'd drag a hand across my chest and I swear it singed the small hairs that grew there, she'd contract her pussy moving up and then relax it going down, then pressed into me with her hips and rocked back and forth, seeming to suck in more of my dick than I thought I had, and if she demanded I fuck her back, then I was going to, and I was going to do it exactly how I knew she wanted me to. 

Hard. Really fucking hard. 

I brought a hand to her back and pushed her onto me once again, her eyes meeting mine and another wicked smile spread across her face. She moved in to kiss me but with my other hand I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, her mouth shot open with a gasp and started she panted in anticipation. 

With one hand on her hair pulling it down, my other hand pressed the small of her back toward me such that her hips had to lift off of me and she slid up to the top of my dick, moaning all the way. I grabbed tighter on her hair - she tried to move her head back toward me but I kept her there, and she tried to push back down on to me, and as much as I wanted her to ride me forever, she wanted me to fuck her, and so I was going to do just that. On my terms. 

"Ooh, lover boy thinks he's got-" 

I slammed into her with as much force as I had in my hips, my cock engulfed by her pussy up to the hilt, and she lost her words. I took a lesson from her and let gravity take me down, relaxing completely, and then tensing at the bottom and shooting back up again, holding her static above me, throat exposed to the sky and her ass pressed into itself making two large, round globes, I started fucking her harder, increasing the speed of my thrusts, and the ecstasy this brought me increased exponentially, dimly, I knew I was being rewarded for compliance, for fucking her how she wanted to be fucked, and, strangely enough, I think this is what saved me, because it pissed me off, I was angry: my own pleasure had been taken from me and was now in the hands of this, this crazy succubus thing, whatever was going on wasn't natural, and suddenly in a crash I realized how much of my being she'd taken away from me, everything fell into place. 

She had been reluctant to let me pull her head away because her eyes were what subdued me to her completely. The bow on the package. Breaking that connection only gave her most of the control over me, but interrupting it, there was still some me left in there somewhere, and it rebelled against being diminished, against being robbed of its ability to furnish its own pleasure. Who did this woman think she was? 

Have you ever anger-fucked someone? An ex, or something like that? If you have, you understand. 

It's one of the best god damn feelings in the world. I poured all of my anger, all of my desire to fuck her and take my pleasure back for myself into my thrusts, she noticed the psychic escape I was making and she struggled against me but I had found strength and I wasn't going to let it go, she writhed against my touch and tried to snap her head back to look at me but I didn't let her, holding her firmly there I fucked her even harder, it wasn't even about sex at this point, this was about power, and perhaps it had been from the start but I was dominating her now, taking my pleasure and making hers, and it felt good to be in control. 

My sense of self grew, and I realized, that, in fact, I hadn't ever even disappeared - only my conception of myself had ever been changed, but I'd been there the whole time. And I saw her being, the thing I'd somehow fucked with my mind earlier, and its shape, I saw her form, her soul, and the things which made her up in a way I can't even come close to explaining, there were colors there in this image that I didn't know existed, feelings that came from places in me I didn't know were there, and all of this was held, impossibly, in the same space. And then, I saw what she'd done to me earlier, when I'd been commanded to orgasm. 

Maybe it was because I'd had it done to me earlier, but I saw that place of hers in more detail than any other, and I knew instinctively what to do with it, and that what she'd done to me was only the tip of a bottomless iceberg. 

Understand, there are clear limitations to the power of words. Any word can only convey so much, and it all operates on a spectrum. I saw the center in her which controlled orgasm, but I saw it from angles and in aspects that I don't even have the vocabulary for. I got "what" it was, totally, and I knew everything that could be done with it. I loosed her hair and she snapped immediately back to me, but I was ready. Her black eyes locked onto mine, and I was still so connected to her experience that I felt her fear, and saw what she saw: that mine too had lost all color. 

She had immediately reached out to control me again and absorb my being, but was retracting now. Exactly what I wanted - I followed her retreat faster than she could leave me and my consciousness arrived in her before she'd made it back. I spread throughout her being, and in a concerted gesture that I timed with pulling her down onto my dick one final time, I returned the command. 

Cum. 

And she did, in every way possible, cumming over me in an explosive fit of ecstasy that stretched her capacity for sensation in directions it hadn't even conceived possible: imagine, you only have ever known up and down, and then out of nowhere, you are made immediately conscious of "left". This happened to her but in her orgasm - it was total and complete. Nothing more and nothing less than absolute orgasmic nirvana blossomed into a supernova in her being. She shook over and over, mouth wide open but unable to emit sound, and then she collapsed onto me. 

Fuck. Holy mother of God. I was tense, waiting for another attack, that this was just a ruse, and so I stayed there, alert, unwilling to move so much as a molecule. The minutes crept by, and her breathing slowly evened out from the rasping gasps of air to a slow, demure cycle of inhales and exhales. I was convinced she was sleeping - on a whim, I sent out my consciousness probing hers, to see if she was truly asleep, but I found I didn't have the connection and that she was as separate from me as the bed I was lying on. 

Holy shit! I was lying on a bed! For the first time, I took stock of my surroundings. We were in some sort of hut, long, curved branches formed the shell and a patchwork canvas of deep brown and blue had been stitched around it. Upon closer examination, the branches, which appeared brown initially, were in fact colored with slices of crimson and purple as well as streaked with yellow. The colors were inlaid into the brown, deeper set but no discernible pattern was apparent to me. But what struck me most, and what took me a moment to realize, was that these colored portions of the framework were what illuminated the room. Somehow, it didn't cast a faux-disco lighting, the colors all gave off the same light. This made absolutely no sense and contradicted everything I knew about light, but considering the wealth of what the fuckery that had just been dumped on me, I wasn't going to start disbelieving now. Although, admittedly, I hadn't ruled out the possibility that this was all some sort of really elaborate dream. Even so, I had to assume it was real, or else seriously risk my safety. 

I slowly shifted so that she - whoever she was, this nameless, beautiful woman who had almost reduced me to nothing - was closer to the bed than to me, and then with a speed and stealth I assumed was granted to me in the same way as the knowledge of the game of chess, I slipped out of bed, and she was none the wiser. 

I didn't want to linger too long lest she wake up, but I'd always been the curious sort - so I took a quick scan of the hut. There wasn't much else inside, besides the bed there was only a nightstand and it appeared empty, so I left the tent, lifting the flap quietly and stealing out of the hut. 

Outside was a clearing centered around a fire pit, which appeared to have been recently used judging by the ash inside, ringed with long wooden benches. The boy I'd played chess with was sitting on one in the inner circle, staring into the ash with his back to me. I stepped over the benches until I arrived to his, where I sat down a few feet to his left. A small wind picked up, and a chill washed over me, a stark reminder that I was completely naked. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 01



"Don't worry, I'm not really a little boy." He'd read my mind - I'd emerged in somewhat of a daze and it hadn't even occurred to me that it was very strange to sit next naked next to a child. 

"Well, alright then," I replied. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to ask questions or not, if I'd even get anything satisfactory. A little while passed, and I took in the scene: empty sky above, blessedly blue, thick foliage of a deep green in the woods around the clearing, and not a single sound. None of the birds or insects seemed to be around. Eventually I figured it was probably worth a shot to ask questions - answers rarely dig themselves out of the ground for you. 

"So," I started, "if you're not a little boy, who are you?" 

"A better question would be, what am I," he replied curtly. His attention was focused on the ashes of the fire pit, and I followed his gaze, boring into the gray and the black. Ash has a particular beauty to it and takes many, the dusty gray of powder, the black of charcoal, and the peculiar places in between, floating above a fire appearing so distinctly as solid but evaporating in an instant into smoke and then nothing. It's hard to fully take in a dead fire, but then again absences are always harder to track than their counterpart. I waited for him to answer, but he didn't. 

"Well, then, what are you?" I asked, a little frustrated. 

"You did very well, you know. Back there," he jerked a finger toward the hut without shifting his gaze. "Most people don't make it out." 

"Thanks, I think. I'm not sure what I did, or how, or what she did, or why, and honestly, should I bother asking questions with you? Just tell me if it's wasted breath." 

"There is no such thing," he replied. 

I continued trying to find what he was seeing in the ash, but it was only a fire pit."As wasted breath?" 

He nodded silently, and that was enough of a response to end my questioning. We sat there for a while, and still I couldn't tell how long time passed, but I do know that there came a point where I noticed the birds had gradually picked up, and the sky was growing brighter. I looked over at the boy to get a good look at him - I realized I wasn't actually sure what he looked like, I'd been so engrossed in the path and then with the chess game and now with the fire that I'd not taken a good look - and he immediately slapped my face with a free hand, not hard, but incredibly quickly. It was apparent that had he wanted to he could have done some serious damage with the slightest intent. 

"Don't look at me like that." He said, an ominous tone creeping around the edges of his speech. 

"Like what?" I replied, hoping to get some more out of him. 

He made some wild, random gestures with his hands off toward my direction. "You know, puzzling. Looking for answers." he sounded irritated. 

"Well, you can't blame me can you? I haven't even asked the obvious question." I picked up a twig from the dirt below and started snapping it into small pieces, a nervous habit of mine. Something very satisfying about building tension and then breaking it, something very inwardly constructive about destruction. 

"No, you haven't, and that's good. Most people blurt it out too quickly, they don't let it simmer enough. You've got to let these things sit, and marinate, really loosen the muscles of your question and relax it so you can understand what it is you are asking. For instance, one might ask, what is no fire? And one might point at this fireplace, and say, this. There is no fire here. But they would be mistaken, it is a truly, truly foolish thing to say, that this is no fire. There's fire all over it." 

"So that's what you're doing, then, staring at the ash? Finding out what no fire is?" I asked, eager for more information. That was the most he'd given me the entire time I'd known him. 

"What?" he asked, annoyed. "No, you didn't listen. There's fire everywhere in the pit. I told you. You are asking me if a drowning man can still breathe, and these are stupid questions, though you are not stupid for asking them." I felt a touch of pride at this - a stupid thing, really, to feel validated by an esoteric child who always talked around what I wanted to know. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pick at his teeth. "You're stupid either way, is what I was saying, by the way." 

"Great. Thanks." I rolled my eyes, stretching up and leaning back. Wait, fuck, I was still naked. "You happen to have any clothes I could wear?" 

He laughed at that, a wonderful, childish laugh, one of the bubbly ones that keep going, which was incredibly surreal of a contrast relative to how he'd been acting previously. 

"Clothes, wow. All of this," he gestured around in a circle, pointing somehow to everything, "and you give a shit about the fact that you're naked? My god, man, you really need to get your priorities in order." 

I stood up and turned to face him, shouting, "Well, what the fuck do you expect from me! I don't get any straight answers anyway, none of this makes any fucking sense, it's all I can do to fucking-" and then, in a flash, before I could get any further, he wasn't in his seat and I was knocked to the ground. The shock of it slammed my eyes closed, and in a panic I thrust them open, and, well, nothing changed. I still only saw blackness. My breath came to me in short, panicking bursts, and a part of me knew, in that moment, that I was going to be killed. 

Then, I felt hot, muggy breath on my neck that smelled like a mixture of dog's breath and the diluted essence of fear itself. "Don't. Look at me," he growled from directly in front of my face, which was a surprise - you know how when something is right next to you, you can sort of sense that there's a presence there? That the empty space has been filled? There was none of that - words from nowhere, growled from the belly of a beast. I swatted at the space to get him away, which in hindsight was nothing short of idiotic, but he wasn't there anymore. 

"Well, I guess you'll just have to go on now. Might be hard without eyes but, I'll give them back to you later. Just stick to the path, you'll be fine," he said, more sarcastically than anything else. "Well, unless you're not fine. Then you'll be, well, not fine. Godspeed!" 

"Wait!" I cried. "Where is the path? How can I follow what I can't see?" 

A deafening silence met my question. I shouldn't have hoped for an answer, but, nonetheless, I'd assumed that maybe I would have been granted some sort of mercy. Fat chance, it didn't appear that there was much in the way of goodwill in this place. 

I stayed on the ground for awhile. I didn't feel that there was any reason to rush, or, perhaps that was just my excuse. Really, I simply couldn't imagine the task ahead of me, something so arbitrary as going on and sticking to the path, I mean, really, I had no instructions whatsoever. Fuck that little boy, or, whatever he was. I stayed with the darkness and on the floor, thinking of the events that had brought me to this precise place on the ground. How strange, this all was. And how strange was it that I seemed to be adapting, that I didn't go crazy. The transition was, while rocky, seamless to a certain degree. I didn't even think twice about fucking a random person next to me, or that all the wounds from being whipped by trees were cured. Though I supposed my eyesight was gone again, I hoped that wouldn't become a pattern. 

I chalked my adaptation up to the human capacity for naturalizing new things, but still, a part of me wondered if there wasn't something wrong with me, or if I was being affected by this place somehow. It certainly wasn't out of the question. Ultimately, I just had to sit with not knowing, and not be too put off by it, which, if you've ever truly set out to do, is much, much harder than it sounds. 

In the end I decided to stand my ass up and then go from there. I certainly wasn't getting anywhere lying on the ground. Shakily, I moved my arms around to get a feel for the nearest bench and, brushing against it, or at least what I hoped to be it, I pushed down and got up on one knee, and then I was standing. Funny - from the ground, it seemed like all I had to do was stand and then go from there, but, now that I was up, I found it strangely identical to being prone, without sight or direction or a clear purpose it didn't really matter whether or not I was up or down. 

Keeping my balance was a challenge - I stumbled into a bench and almost fell again but, righting myself, I got a hold of the vague area around me by sweeping my leg around like a cane. Eventually, slowly pacing forward, and brushing off the dirt from my skin, I found the gap between benches that I knew would lead either out or in, though judging from the angle of the gap I only had to turn left to get out, and so I did so, albeit slowly. My body ached from being tossed to the ground so roughly. 

It took a little while but I made it out of the circle of benches. It's funny, how something so easily navigable as concentric rings of seats becomes a veritable maze without sight. 

And then, the same happened as when I stood: I was without direction once again. There wasn't any gravel beneath my feet, no path to follow. I contemplated getting on my hands and knees and searching for gravel, but decided on holding off on that until there really wasn't anything to do but crawl. Sue me, even naked, alone, and likely unobserved (which was more of a hope than an assumption) I felt I had to maintain a sense of dignity. 

So I walked around, slowly, edging my feet forward. Over time I grew more confident and stepped farther, and more quickly as I consistently didn't run into anything. This was a little unnerving, there wasn't much to go by besides sight because the sound of jungle life was completely absent, the sensation and sound of the occasional breeze didn't provide much in the way of orientation. If only I could echo-locate, that would have been really useful. 

In a nutshell, a whole lot of nothing happened. It was incredibly discouraging, as anybody knows who has been on a path of sorts and been frustrated in their journey, it's hard to consistently fail. Really fucking hard. I began to think, why even try? Why even go along with this stupid game, why be their pawn? What have these people ever done for me? Well, besides the most incredible sex of my life. Admittedly I almost died, though, or something close to it, so that's a bit of a drawback too. 

At the point where I was about ready to give up, past even crawling, to just, sit down and cry, feeling so alone, missing so much, missing my life, my safety, my parents... I heard a flutter, and felt the tiniest flaps of wind against my face, and then some sort of very small creature, an insect maybe, landed on my shoulder. 

I froze. I didn't move a single muscle. It flitted erratically from place to place, switching shoulders, flying in front of my face, and after a few moments of this I decided it was a moth. Eventually it found a spot that seemed to work for it in the crook of my collarbone and, nestled there, it stopped moving. 

My first thought was that this was some sort of sign, or a test of resilience or something along those lines but nothing really changed, I just had a moth resting on me and there wasn't much more to it. Then, it hit me. 

Perhaps this was meant as a guide? I tried to really focus on if it was making any movements on me, perhaps fluttering a wing. I still hadn't moved, afraid to disturb it, so this was tough, I had to sort of extend through my skin and feel it, but, no dice, it was quite still and betrayed no movement, no little scratching or pushing my skin forward and to the left a little or anything of the sort. 

In focusing on it in this way, however, I noticed a familiar sensation in my consciousness, a sudden apparition of the being of this creature. It was subtle, so subtle that I almost dismissed it as an itch of sorts, but no, there was a distinct, small, yes, but distinct sense of the moth in me. I moved my mind toward it, and, to my surprise, found this a really easy thing to do. 

The sense I had of it was much, much smaller than that which I held of the woman in the hut. It was a tiny, fragile thing that I saw. Perhaps this may explain a little how I approached it, while there was no direct visualization on my part, it was all simply a part of my experience, the same as having a feeling sense of having a leg, imagine approaching a suspended blob of "stuff". That stuff was the being of the moth, and, while small, it had many, many nuances to it. 

I couldn't really tell any of the nuances apart from one another, so, I did what any guy would do, and I started poking shit. 

A lot of it had no effect. But sometimes, I would twitch a wing, and feel the twitch myself. What surprised me about this was that the moth didn't fly away at my intrusion - I could only assume that it didn't have the capability for understanding that there could be another in its experience or something along those lines. I kept poking, it twitched here and there, I raised one of its legs, and then once I think I may have pressed on some sort of fight or flight impulse because it flew away. 

And it was amazing - instinctively I was able to reverse the impulse and it flew back to me! Holy shit! This set the tone for the future of my investigations: it was often much more conducive toward understanding something if I fell into that instinctive state of awareness. I didn't get much practice with the moth, barely even anything I would call refining my abilities, but those moments were when I got the deepest understanding of what I was doing. And all the while, I was feeling along with it, you will perhaps never understand what it is to fly, and while it was motivated by panic and so tinged with its flavor, I felt, in my experience, the flight of the moth. I won't try to explain it now but, a fusion of the weightlessness of being in water and the dodging of a professional boxer is a good start. 

As I continued to explore the being of this creature, feeling along, I suddenly hit on sight, and in a blur, I was connected to what the moth was seeing. Understand, I had hardly any mastery over this sort of connection and so even when I felt flight it was a distant sensation, and it often took a few tries of evoking the same change in the moth to get an understanding of what I'd done. 

Sight was a slightly different matter - I didn't have to check twice to figure out what I'd hit on. It was fairly obvious from the start: being away from my vision for so long made it quite obvious when I'd regained some sense of it. And it was really just that, a vague sense of having vision. I couldn't properly "see", but a focused intent on any particular location left me with a vague orientation of the place. 

I turned around, focusing on where I thought the firepit was, and with some trial and error located it as well as the benches. Here and there I'd have to turn the moth, with my mind, of course, to get a better view, but I ultimately settled into a system that was good enough for my purposes, and so settled I eventually came across the beginnings of white gravel to the side of the clearing. I can't even express how cool I felt in that moment. Nothing I'd ever done in my life had ever felt that rewarding. I'd achieved success, man, I was legitimately victorious. I wanted to high five something, and toyed with getting the moth to reach out a leg, but ultimately I settled with grinning like a complete fool, and I walked toward the gravel. 

Once there, it was like rediscovering an old album I loved. Following it was no problem - I hardly had to use the moth for the beginning, and then once I'd settled into it, following its grooves and contours, I found that walking this path was practically second nature, and without my willing it to do so, the moth flew away, and I sent it a mental goodbye laden with gratitude. I didn't know if it could receive such things, or if I could even send them, but the intent was there. 

As I walked, the sound of birds rose gently from the jungle, and the insects soon followed. I got the impression that they were on a cycle not necessarily connected to whether or not it was day or night, but I couldn't really tell. It was nice company though, and I tried to locate the differences in the birds. In the end it was far too chaotic to tell, though there was one that was particularly loud and screeched consistently above the others as if there was some sort of contest. And I only ever heard one of them at a time, which was interesting. 

That's the sort of stuff you think about when you're wandering. It's refreshing, a break from the typical monotony of rationality and logistical thoughts. A little wonder does wonders for the soul. 

In the distance, a new sound emerged, like traffic on the highway. Excitement shot through me - I was ready to get to the next thing, you know? This experience seemed like a nonstop adventure, and, maybe I was still coasting off the high of my success with the moth and with finding the path once more, but I felt ready to take on anything. 

"Alright, so we're going to need to get you dressed now. What do you think of a simple brown robe? Too much of a statement?" 

Funny, how such feelings can disappear in the blink of an eye. I froze, feeling the gravel beneath my feet sink into the ground, and the sound of the jungle fade. Once more, I was truly lost. 

"Um. I suppose it depends on the shade?" I offered tentatively. New tack: play along and hope that goes over better. 

"Well, it's this shade, duh. Thoughts?" replied the voice, directly in front of me. I couldn't really tell if it was male or female, like the typical tones and things which indicated gender were completely absent. It was, well, just a voice. 

"Oh, I can't see right now. A little boy took my sight," I replied. 

"A little boy...Oh, for the love of," replied the voice. "Jasper! I know you're here somewhere. Give the man his eyes back, if you please." 

"No can do, friend," replied the little boy's voice. 

"Hey Jasper," I offered, "nice to know your name," I said smugly. 

Both Jasper and the newcomer burst out laughing. I stood there feeling stupid, my cheeks flushed red for several moments before Jasper spoke up. 

"There are no names." 

His switching from raucous laughter to the esoteric old man-boy was disconcerting at best. I never really knew who I was dealing with. 

"Right. Well, if there are no names, then I will call you Jasper, and you can call me Tristan, and we can call them whatever you like." 

"See? He doesn't get it, like I told you. The man thinks he can see when all he does is use his eyes. He's got no color to him," said Jasper. 

"Alright," replied the neutral voice, "I can see there isn't any point taking this further. Your advice on his robe is not necessary, by the way. I know you're going to suggest the loincloth." 

"Aw, man," said Jasper, disappointed, "How do you always know?" 

"Because you always suggest it. Now leave us." 

"Hah. You know I'm already gone," replied Jasper. 

"Well, now that we're alone, what do you think about wearing a robe? Does that suit you, or would you prefer something more natural, like the clothes you were wearing when you got here?" asked the voice. 

"Wait, we're alone?" I replied. "I didn't even hear him leave." 

"Please answer the question, let's get this moving along, okay? Not everything has to be a trial." 

"Okay, shit, sorry. Well, I don't know to be honest. Does it matter? Is it just up to my personal preference or am I going to offend some ancient custom if I show up in jeans? Wait, hold on, what am I showing up to? What do I need clothes for in the first place? Jasper was just making fun of me for wanting clothes a second ago." This place was starting to make less and less sense the more I stayed. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 01



"Right, robe it is. We'll go with a black one. Do you like black? Who am I kidding, everyone likes black. Here, wear this." I held out my arms, cued by the voice, and a bundle of cloth was deposited in them. It took me a bit to figure out how to put it on without eyes - it wasn't just an over the top robe like I assumed, it opened in the front, and had a belt sewed in that I could cinch by pulling it, though exactly how it functioned wasn't immediately clear to me. Once I felt as close to safe in assuming I had it on right, I smoothed down the front and faced where the voice had come from moments before. 

"Great, you look presentable. Now, remember, don't hold your breath. Breathe out." 

"What?" 

And a dreadfully familiar sensation of jaws snapping shut behind me ran up my spine, and I knew my surroundings had just changed. There was real floor, and a wild assortment of smells. The air was heavier, and humid. 

"His eyes, Jasper." Chills flew down my spine, light like sparrows skimming the ocean's surface, but deeper than any ocean and I shuddered, breathing in a sharp intake of breath as I felt my cock stirring instinctively at the sound of the voice, hardening immediately, and all I could think of was sex, that I needed to fuck something, there was nothing more and nothing less than that in my life. There was only my cock and whatever was going to relieve the need that was surging through my body like a million jasmine flowers blooming in unison, like lightning touching the ground and sparking back up on repeat, I was broken record electric and trembling. 

And then, without feeling a single thing change, or any movement at all, my vision snapped back into me, and what I saw will forever by etched into my mind. 

Across a table from me was a throne, and lounging on the throne with an arm draped across one of the armrests was a woman made entirely of butterflies. You could see through the gaps in the wings, the red velvet of the throne's back, but clearly she was there, with clearly defined features, and a beautiful face. I had no idea how I was piecing it together, but amidst the butterflies was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I was certain, in that moment, that I would never again see anything more beautiful than what was before me. 

She was naked, if that indeed was the proper way to say it. To even say such a thing as "she had large, perky breasts" is slander upon the form that greeted my eyes, the visual spectacle that was organizing itself into the woman before me was nothing short of the epitome of all things beautiful, the quintessential form of aesthetic pleasure, every contour perfectly traced, the dangling of one arm perfectly languid and aloof as it was precise, and she constantly fluttered, lush to the nth degree, multicolored in layers, it was soon obvious that the colors of her butterfly wings changed, and they did so fluidly, cascading from sunset oranges into avocado greens and yellows, flares of violet and pink in all the right places. 

I don't know how long I stood there, holding my breath. There was so much still to take in, when she blinked, the wings folded, and even static on the throne there was a constant sense of rain pouring down into the same clouds from which they fell, she drained into herself and was her own storm drain, one leg crossed over the other hiding her sex, breasts of pastel blues and oil spill iridescence simultaneously. A look of bemused disinterest played on her face, supple in her relaxed posture, I wanted only for her to tell me to end my life so that I might know I only lived on an upward trajectory. Strange, to not know I was born a slave to this woman, this explosion of sensuality and leisurely demise, because for all her curves and colors, there was an unmistakable edge to her composure. I was keen to feel it at my throat, pressing only just slightly, promising an end of flutter kisses on saffron lips and gentle, wet firework orgasms. The butterflies didn't writhe or wriggle together, there was nothing "insect" about them, she was as solid as she wanted to be and I had no doubt that should I trace a hand from her jaw to her hips that the journey would soft, smooth, and unforgettable. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to greet your host?" 

The voice again, fuck, it was everything I could do stay where I was, I practically came from the pressure. The strain must have showed on my face, I was so tense I was fast becoming sore. 

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward the side of the room, then pointing at me. 

I hadn't even taken in the fact that we were in a room at all, much less that there could be anyone else in it. With considerable effort, I turned to look where she was pointing just in time to see a gorgeous freckled girl with blonde hair and pale skin kneeling down in front of me. She held my eyes, mischief sparkling in her irises, and with a smooth gesture she uncinched my belt and spread my robe. 

My cock was harder than it had ever been, to the point that it almost hurt. I didn't even have time to be astonished at how large it was, at least two longer than my usual six, when the girl moved closer to me and took me in her mouth, swirling with her tongue, bobbing up and down and sucking, licking the bottom of my dick. 

I came almost instantly, and the minute I did so she collapsed all the way down to my pelvic bone and I was suddenly cumming down her throat. I don't know how she did it, my vote is on magic, but she began to milk me with her throat contracting and sliding me farther down. Wave after wave gushed into her throat, it was so overwhelming that I started to back away from her, but when I did so she wrapped her arms around my hips and pulled me back deep into her, and I froze up in ecstasy, unable to comprehend anything else but the pleasure of being so deep in her throat. She kept me there for a while, until I calmed down to the point that I realized I had been clenching my eyes shut, and I could open them once more. 

She was staring up at me still, grinning around my cock and mischief dancing in her emerald eyes, and I knew I was in love. Then, after a few more moments, she slid her mouth off of me, slowly, painfully slowly such that I was gasping the entire time, and with a pop she let go of it entirely. She wiped her mouth, then stood up, winked at me and walked away, revealing wide hips and a beautiful, shapely butt. I wanted to fuck her now, somehow I was still horny, and I took a step toward her when I heard a polite cough from the throne. 

"Now, that was all well and good, but really, we should talk. How does dinner sound?" 

I nodded dumbly in response, still overwhelmed every time a syllable tumbled out of her butterfly mouth. 

"Great. Jasper, the meal, please." 

I barely caught him this time. I think it was because of how much there had to be done - suddenly a tablecloth and plates, cutlery, and several dishes were all placed on the table in about half a nanosecond, or so it seemed. But I caught him, just a hint of him, really, a flash of crimson, and then a full table. 

The butterfly woman - I didn't even have a name for her yet - stretched and then sat up straight, selecting some food or another, hell, I wasn't paying attention to the food, or to the table, even. There was nothing else but her, I'd completely forgotten about the blonde girl I was convinced I'd fallen in love with just moments ago. 

"Now, when a guest in another's home, it is considered polite to eat their food, even if only a taste. Jasper worked a long time on this - it's a special meal. You wouldn't want to offend him, would you?" 

Without looking at the table I picked up a slick, silver fork and put random things on my plate - a meat of some sort, a forkful of pudding, something green. My god, her body, her eyes, how does one even look into eyes such as those, so alive, deep set and full of stories. Every time she blinked a new shade of desire was painted there and this reflected onto me. Just by looking at her I was being shown more about sex than I had ever known before, about what it means to make love, the connection there and its place in one's being, what true intimacy was and the courage it typically takes to live it. Most of all, I wanted her to come over and kiss me, and then I could die happy. 

"Alright, I'll turn it down a little. Just having some fun." 

A wave of relief flooded into me and all the tension I was harboring was let out, and I exhaled, my mind starting to turn and my thoughts coming up once more. I realized I hadn't said anything, and the weight of that was pressing onto me. 

"Hi." 

Fuck. Really, that's all I had? Hi? 

"Hello Tristan. Thanks for coming here." she smiled demurely, putting me at ease. 

"Yeah, no problem. So, uh, what can I call you? I've been informed there are no such things as names, but sufficed to say "the perfect butterfly queen" is a bit of a mouthful." I smiled weakly, but she laughed a laugh like springtime and it filled me with as much warmth and joy as the entirety of the season. She put what looked like a fried sweet potato in her mouth, and chewed it thoughtfully. The butterflies in her throat faded to a pale blue in unison as she swallowed. 

"Yes, our Jasper likes to have fun. Please forgive him, it's hard for him to live in the world, it's all so slow to him. He is wise as he is fast, however, it is true, there are no names." She pursed her lips and looked at me pensively. I tried my best not to look like a complete idiot, and failed, probably, and was completely okay with it. 

"Okay, my little Tristan who likes to play with names, you can call me Shae, only if you promise that sometime you will learn to forget it." 

"Well, Shae, I can certainly try." 

"Good enough for me. Now, I'm sure you'd like to, how did you phrase it, "figure out what the fuck is going on?" she grinned, and took a sip from a wine glass. "Right?" 

"Yeah, that would be nice, I suppose. Or, you know, we could make love, right now." It slipped out on accident, I promise. She tossed her head back in laughter, hair coming to rest parted down the side. 

"That's certainly a possibility. Is that something that," and she added a tweak of the presence that had overwhelmed me when first arriving here, "interests you?" 

I groaned as my dick surged to attention, and all thoughts of discourse drained from my brain. We needed to fuck, and it needed to be now. I stood up from my chair. 

Sit. 

I sat right the fuck down. 

"Good," she said calmly, her expression neutral. "Now, I want you to listen. You will only listen, and you will say no more until you are back home. Understood?" 

I nodded. Home? 

"You have been appointed to an old and honorable position as a knight in my order. The reason for choosing you, the mechanisms of where this place is, of who I am, it is all irrelevant. Once returned, you will forget all of this, except you will be left with an impression, and this is what I wish to instill in you." brushed her hair back and leaned forward on her elbows. 

"You are mine. I own you." She let the words hang in the air for a moment before leaning back, gesturing behind her with a finger, and a redheaded woman as exquisite and beautiful as the blonde, with small tits and an extremely thin waist approached her from behind and massaged her shoulders. 

"Now, what you want and what you think is fair is also irrelevant. Your purpose, too, will be forgotten. Know only that for now, you must grow to be useful, and that you wouldn't last a second here. You need training, so, hone your skills. What do I mean by this?" The redhead moved her hands down and cupped Shae's breasts, massaging them too, and I could hear Shae's breath deepening across the table. She leaned back in her throne and felt herself, drawing her hands across her legs, her stomach, moving them close to her sex which was hidden below the table. Small gasps and moans escaped between her words as she continued to talk. 

"There are many, mmm, Houses, and this one belongs, ah! to me. We all have different, ah, goals, fuck, yess..And means of, mm, securing power." She gestured once more with the other hand and another incredibly gorgeous woman with dark skin approached her- where were they appearing from? I didn't care, I was too absorbed in the spectacle before me - and sunk below the table. Soon Shae could barely speak, moaning and writhing on her throne, as the redhead pinched her nipples and leaned over to give her a tongue swirling kiss, while below, who knows what wonders were happening. 

I brought my hand to my cock and started slowly jacking off, staring at her intently, absorbing all of her sexuality as if it was my own, wanting so badly to be over there inside of her, fucking her and kissing her, but I was effectively chained to the chair - I knew standing was not allowed at the moment, but I continued stroking my cock, picking up the pace as her slim body writhed on her throne, and she shuddered once, murmuring. 

"Fuck...Ohh..." 

Her movements became quicker and quicker and I matched the pace of my strokes to her gyrations, she was engrossed in making out with the redhead, and had one hand down below the table, presumably pushing the head of the woman below into her sex, the heavenly smell of which was permeating the room and sinking into my thoughts, the more I breathed the more I was aroused and the more I wanted her, and I felt my orgasm building inside of me, I looked at her imploringly, begging, please, give me something, anything, I need it, but she paid no heed to me as her own orgasm built up and she came, wave after wave coursed through her body and as it did so the entire building shook violently. 

I wasn't disturbed at all, as the building shook, in the confusion I didn't notice the woman I'd woken up next to and fucked earlier had made her way over to me, it was immediately apparent that she was on the verge of orgasm herself, and she shakily straddled me and lowered herself onto my cock, and I came instantly, flooding her with my seed and convulsing in mutual pleasure. 

"Fuuuuuuck! Ohhhhhh! Fuck yessss," she screamed, rapidly swirling her hips on my dick, cumming over and over again, shaking without stop and falling onto me. We rode our orgasms together for awhile until I was so exhausted I couldn't think, much less move, and then she unsteadily stood up and, before walking away, kissed me fully on the lips and stroked my cheek affectionately, and then she was gone. 

I looked for Shae and found her relaxed, strewn across her throne, idly playing with one of her breasts which was flushed pink, the other lavender. 

"As I was saying, you need to train your skills. The bit with the moth was good, but you need more of that. You'll still have it when you get back, you naturally don't understand why or how, but this entire sojourn has been about creating that capability in you. So, off with you. Go practice, and we will send for you when you're ready, and then the real fun starts. I'll be watching, so, do me proud. Honor to the house and whatnot." She let out a big sigh, and let her head fall back. 

"Basically, work on your mind control, okay?" she said. 

I nodded in response. 

"Alright, now I'm going to ask you to leave through the door behind you, but first, I have a question." She sat up, and looked at me intently. 

"Who is the two faced man? You may respond." 

I sat, and thought for a moment, but it didn't take long to come up with the answer. 

"Jasper." 

She nodded approvingly, then gave a dismissive hand wave. "Farewell. Remember, you won't remember any of this." 

I stood up, turned around, and opened the door, and, walking through, entered my kitchen. 

What had I been doing in the kitchen again? Fuck, I was positive I'd come in here for a reason. Suddenly, toast popped out of the toaster, and it came back to me. That's right, I was going to make a sandwich. So I went to the cupboard and got out the peanut butter and jelly, and then made the sandwich, thinking of the homework I had for tomorrow, and of the party on Friday. If Amber was really going to be there, then there was no way I would miss it. I always can spot her in the hallways because she's the only girl in our grade that has naturally black hair. 

Maybe Friday I would finally win her over, we'd been flirting for months and she was clearly interested, but she'd just gotten over a breakup and wasn't trying to jump into anything. I had a good feeling about Friday, but, I wasn't ever sure with these things, sometimes when it comes to interacting with people I just wish I could make them do what I wanted without having to worry about whether or not we're on the same page. 

***** 

Thanks for reading. I appreciate any and all feedback, it's always nice to hear from people.



Tristan's Tale Pt. 02



This is the continuation of Tristan's Tale, set in the regular world. Much of it won't make sense without having read part one. Sex is heavily featured in this story but is not the primary focus, so if you're looking for something quick, this may not be your best bet. That being said, if you're interested in Tristan and where his adventures will take him, read on... 

 

~ 

I woke up the next day from the most bizarre fit of dreams, drenched in sweat. I'd thrown off my blanket some time in the night, so that not only was I sweaty but also cold. I tried to remember what had been happening in my dream, and a few blurry images came up - I'd been running, scared, and also a vague sensation of something changing in my brain. As far as what changed, I couldn't remember, but I was sore as hell, and had a massive headache. 

I began to sit up, and while I was rubbing the sleep out of my eyes I realized I'd just put my leg in something - it took me a few seconds to realize I'd had a wet dream. Great. At least I was about to shower. 

It was seven, and school was at 8:30. I was a senior at the public school of my city, Bridgmont High, and was starting to feel the senioritis creeping into my habits. Normally I'd get up at 6 to give myself more time to prepare but I had been staying up late, fucking around online. Really my entire life has been on a downward track for a while now, ever since my parents passed away a few months ago. Everyone told me it wasn't my fault that they died but, well - 

My morning routine is pretty simple - these days I roll out of bed, hit a shower and eat some cereal before walking to the bus. I've been late a lot recently, sometimes on the way to the bus stop I check the time and realize I have to run to get there, but I just, don't. I don't know why, it just doesn't seem worth it, and so I end up listening to music or reading a book while I sit for a half hour until the next one. 

In the shower, I finished soaping up and shampooing and turned it cold for a few seconds to close my pores, and also to wake me the fuck up. After drying off, I looked in the mirror, examining myself. 

I was surprised by what I saw - everything about me seemed more put together, like my skin belonged to my body for once. Something felt different, something was changed. I chalked it up to feeling off from my dreams, but after a moment, I realized that it wasn't me that was different, it was the way I was seeing myself. I felt confident, and held my own gaze. I smiled, glad to feel relieved from some of the depression that had been plaguing me. I hope this stays. 

After the thought, my head tingled a little and I thought I saw my pupils widen in my reflection. Strange. Ignoring it, I decided to shave the scruff I'd let accumulate on my face. I couldn't grow a beard quite yet, really, I just looked like a disorganized kid, which, in all fairness, I was. But, I didn't know how to explain it, I felt like turning over a new leaf. I decided right then and there to turn the year around. 

I finished shaving and took a long look at myself. Medium length black hair that looked messy on purpose, a look I'd ended up with because it required minimal effort and it looked alright. I took in my brown eyes, my nose, slightly bent at the end from falling off the playground slide. My lips, my somewhat gaunt cheekbones. A few lost freckles. Was this who I was? This face? 

Weird questions to be asking so early. I shook my head, and finished up with my morning. I'd spent too long in the shower, and ended up missing the bus by a few minutes. I wasn't worried, though, my first period teacher was blind as a bat and didn't take attendance, so I could probably sneak in while his back was to the door. 

I realized that I hadn't finished my homework for the next class, chemistry, so I got out the worksheet and my notebook and balanced equations until the bus came. I had a few left over but I could do them in class before it was over. 

The bus, a canonical yellow school bus, pulled up, and the doors opened. The bus driver, Gus, smiled his usual broad smile in greeting. 

"Late again, eh Tristan?" 

I shrugged my shoulders in mock despair. "Lord have mercy on my soul, Gus." 

He smiled, and closed the doors, turning back to the road. Gus is a great guy, never says too much but is always friendly. Totally different from the 7:30 driver, a real dick named Albert who almost ran over an old woman once. We still tease him for it, which I suppose would explain why he isn't nice with the kids my age. 

I didn't recognize anyone on the bus at first until I looked near the back and my heart sunk into my chest - it was Amber, her jet black hair was unmistakable. I walked toward the end, but she didn't look up as I approached. She was listening to music and looking out the window. Feeling bold, I plopped down next to her and she turned in surprise. 

"Oh, hey Tristan! How are you?" she asked. 

I was more struck by the question than I perhaps ought to have been. How was I? Fuck, I actually felt great! That was new. "You know, I'm actually doing really well right now. Thanks for asking." 

She arched an eyebrow, taking out her earbuds. "I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly? Tristan is doing well today?" she said, genuine surprise in her voice. 

I grinned. "Hey, now what's so surprising about that? Nothing wrong with being in a good mood is there?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Tristan, you're like, literally moping 24/7. You barely ever talk and I don't think I've seen you smile in weeks." She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and stared at me, a question forming on her pursed lips. But it passed, and she smiled. "I don't mean to give you shit for it. I'm glad you're doing well." 

"No sweat, Amber. How about you? Joining the late crew today?" I leaned back. 

"Yeah, I just barely missed the bus, I swear Albert was looking at me running to catch it in the rear view mirror, grinning his stupid fucking grin." 

"Hah! I'll bet." I was glad I'd had the balls to talk to Amber a few months back - we'd both gone in for chemistry help at lunch and I'd struck up a conversation while we waited for the teacher to show up. Since then we talked occasionally, while far from close friends, we said hi in the hallways and I felt comfortable sitting next to her on the bus. 

She was by no means short but I was a fairly tall guy, and so sitting next to her afforded me a view of her fabulous chest. She always wore tank tops of different kinds, and unless it was cold out and she had something over them her bust tended to strain against the fabric. They looked ready to burst out, and yet, it didn't come across as slutty because she was so damn pleasant to be around. 

What with the magic of bras I wasn't completely sure how big her breasts truly were, but I wagered at least a C cup. I desperately wanted to find out - today, they were pressing up against the cloth of a pale blue top inlaid with an innocuous lace. 

She was wearing yoga pants, which was always delightful as they flaunted her curves while she walked - Amber had a particular way of sashaying across the floor that left me speechless and borderline infuriated that what she did and what other girls did were both called walking. She had a reputation for having a big butt and was pretty open about it, opting for acknowledgment rather than embarrassment, which I respected a lot. People get caught up in a lot of stupid shit over appearances in high school, but she didn't bother with it. 

I hadn't sat this close to her before, and so I took the chance and glanced down her cleavage when she wasn't looking. It was unfair how beautiful and squeezable her tits looked, and so soft, too, her white skin was flawless and from my vantage point I could see down into her shirt, and the rounded curvature of the sides of her breasts. If only she would pull her shirt down just a little lower... 

A few moments passed, a lull in the conversation settled into place and she yawned, looking out the window, and as she did so she adjusted her top down much more than was probably socially acceptable, revealing the top of her black bra and more of her cleavage than I'd ever imagined seeing before. I had to keep from gasping from the sheer casual nature of the action, it was as if her chest just wasn't out in the open for me to see. Wait, hadn't I just asked for her to pull her shirt down? What the fuck? 

What a weird coincidence. On a whim, I thought, now squeeze your tits together, and waited. After a few moments, she turned from the window and looked at me. 

"What?" she asked, curiosity on her face. 

"Hm? I didn't say anything," I replied. 

"No, I mean, you had a look on your face. What was that look about?" 

"I dunno, I don't know what my face looks like." 

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, Mr. Mysterious," she said, smiling playfully, and put her earbuds back in. She pulled her shirt up nonchalantly. It must have been just a coincidence in the end. As if it could have been anything else, right? For some reason I always hold on to hope that I'll just, suddenly grow magic powers, but that's just a childish dream I'm stubbornly holding onto. It takes me out of the real world, spending so much time wishing for more than what I already have. 

The bus pulled up to school and once inside we said goodbye and went our separate ways down the hallway, and as she walked away I checked out her ass. Fuck, it was just, so incredibly big. Beggint to be squeezed, to be pressed up against me. 

I made it to class, the door was open and I poked my head around the corner. The teacher was talking to everyone, something about the test we'd taken the day before. I had the class with Joey, one of my closer friends, and once he noticed me outside he raised his hand and the teacher called on him. 

"Mr. Daniels, would you mind writing out what you just said about the question we all got wrong on the board? I'd like to copy it down for my notes." 

"Certainly, Joey!" replied Mr. Daniels, an old Japanese man. He turned to the board, and as he did so I slipped into class silently, and sat down next to Joey, who wordlessly put his fist out, and I bumped it. It's nice having friends. 

The class passed in a blur, I was still motivated and feeling good but it was hard to keep track of the lesson, for some reason I kept getting distracted by this nagging sense that I was forgetting something important. Something huge. But what? 

The bell rang, and everyone started packing up. 

"So, what's up with you, man? You're practically beaming. And no shit, you shaved!" said Joey as he put his books in his bag. 

Standing up and slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I shrugged. "I don't know what it is, I woke up feeling good, and it's sort of stuck around." 

Joey beamed up at me. "Fuck yeah, dude. It makes me happy to see you happy. Do it more often." 

I laughed. "I'll get right on that." 

"So, you still down to kick it on Friday? We're getting the invitation list set up." 

An invitation list? That was fancy. "Really? You're really going professional on this." 

"Yeah, we're trying to make it a good night, have it go long without too many people showing up. There's not much we can do once we're there, but just telling people there's a list will hopefully scare a few away." 

I nodded. It made sense - parties in Bridgmont get shut down by the cops really quickly if they get out of hand - neighbors love to complain. Joey's house is good for parties because it's got distance between it and the neighbouring houses, and it's made of old, thick wood which soaks up sound really well. He's in a really nice neighborhood. 

"Sounds good man," I said, and we parted ways. 

Next period was chemistry. I wished I was in Amber's class but unfortunately we didn't share any classes together, her chemistry was the period after mine so we often saw each other in the hall after class, which was something I looked forward to. Class flew by without me being able to focus on anything again, and I was disappointed that I didn't see Amber down the hall when I was going to my last period before lunch. 

On my way there, I heard strange sounds coming from the stairway which you used to get up and down the building and, curious, I went to investigate. When I got closer, I realized that it was the sound of somebody crying upstairs, so I figured I'd go make sure they were okay. I walked up one flight and then turned to walk up the next when I saw Amber huddled around a friend I often saw her hanging out with. She was sitting with her back to the wall, and Amber had an arm around her and was saying something I couldn't understand between the crying. Amber turned, tensing when she heard my footsteps, but she seemed to relax once she saw it was me. 

"Oh, Tristan, hey. Listen, could you do me a favor and go grab Allie some water?" she asked, her tone of voice guarded. 

"I've got my water bottle in my bag, if that works." 

"Yeah, that's fine. Bring it here." 

I walked up the steps, unshouldering my backpack and taking the water bottle out of the side pocket, handing it to Amber. Our fingers brushed as she took it from me and it sent shivers down my spine. 

"Thank you, Tristan," she said, before turning back to Allie. "Hey, Allie, can you drink some of this? It's just water. This is Tristan, he's good, okay?" 

Allie nodded weakly and took the bottle, drinking a sip from it. Mascara ran down her cheeks and her eyes were red and teary. 

"I know it's none of my business, and feel free to keep it to yourselves, but what happened here? Is there anything else I can do to help?" 

Amber sighed, rubbing Allie's back soothingly. "Well, the short of it is that Allie's boyfriend is an asshole." 

"What did he do?" 

"He keeps harassing her, calling her a whore, telling her she's worthless, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. Anyway, currently topping the large list of reasons Mark is scum is that he just took her wallet from her to go buy pot from some guy, they're doing the deal in the bathroom. He'll be back soon, I was just staying here to keep her safe and to keep him away from her once he's back." 

My mood darkened. Abusive men were some of the worst people on this earth. 

"I'll stick around too." I said, unsure of where my words were coming from. 

"Tristan, that's very sweet, but you don't have to." 

I shook my head. "Unless you seriously object to my being here, I won't leave until this guy's been dealt with." 

Allie spoke up for the first time since I'd found them here. "Please, don't hurt him. He means well." Her voice quivered as she spoke. 

Was that what I was planning on doing? Fighting this Mark guy? Fuck, I didn't know how to fight. I actually had no idea what I was getting myself into. What if he was big and whooped the shit out of me? Fat lot of good that would do Allie, and I would at best look like a shitty martyr in front of Amber. 

"Allie, I can't believe you! Why do you keep defending this guy?" 

"You don't understand him. I know he comes across as bad occasionally, but he's got a good heart and he can be so sweet sometimes. I'm trying to help him," she said between sobbing breaths. She seemed to be calming down a little though, which was good. Mercifully, the halls had gone quiet and nobody was bothering us. 

"Occasionally?! This guy treats you like shit on a daily basis, Allie. How do you not see that?" 

"Amber," I said. Now was not the best time for this conversation, I think, and she looked up at me. Her gaze softened, and she appeared to realize the same thing. 

"I'm sorry Allie. I'll shut up." 

"No, it's okay Amber. You're a good friend, thank you so much. And, thank you Tristan. I just need my drivers liscense to get home, that's all. I'm sure he'll give it back." 

Our conversation evidently had masked the sound of his footsteps, because suddenly Mark appeared in the doorway above us. 

"Aw, shit Allie. Who the fuck are these people?" he said, the sneer of anger in his voice. He was a shorter, stocky guy wearing a baseball cap, athletic shorts and a tank top. The beginnings of chest hair were sprouting from what was visible of his chest, and he was clearly a bulky guy. There was no way I could fight him. 

"Hey man, would you mind returning Allie's wallet that you stole? We don't want any trouble or anything," I said, more calmly than I felt. 

His anger flared. "Stole her wallet? She just fucking gave it to me, isn't that right babe?" he said threateningly. Allie broke down into sobs, and Amber wrapped herself around her, glaring up at Mark. 

"You're a real piece of shit, Mark," she said. 

"Ooh, big talk from the bitch who's fucked half the guys in our grade. Standing real tall on your high horse over there, slut." he spat out. 

Amber gasped. "You did not just say that. I can't believe you, what the fuck is wrong with you?" 

"Mark," I said, "Just hand over the wallet, and leave. Alright? And then this is all over. Simple." 

"Fuck you, kid. She gave it to me. And I'm not leaving without Allie. Come on babe, let's get away from these clowns. They're turning you against me." 

"Dude, are you fucking insane? How are you going to stand there and so obviously manipulate her in front of two people who see right through your bullshit? Do you even understand how fake you are? Amber, you're right, I can't believe Allie is with this loser," I said, indignant and carried by my own momentum and rage, "I mean, seriously, if you're looking to date a monkey who's career aspirations include winning the lottery and managing a gas station then here's candidate number fucking one, know what I'm saying?" I had finished walking up the stairs and was on even ground with Mark - I stood at least six inches over him. His face reddened to a deep red and veins bulged in his head. 

He actually took a swing at me right then, a right hand hook aimed straight for my face. Luckily it was a clumsy punch, probably because he was so pissed, so my panicked backwards dodge got me out of the way. 

And then, a strange calm settled into me, and I looked at him. I mean, I really looked at him, and then, like a dam breaking in my mind, I saw who he was, really, truly who he was. I held his essence in my mind, I saw the rage, the abuse he'd suffered as a child, the lack of parenting and the suffering that had twisted him so. I saw how he was holding onto the anger, pushing it burning white hot into his skin because it was the only thing he knew how to do, burn himself and others. 

All my anger and resentment left, and instead I only felt pity. I empathized with him. And so, holding his being in my mind, as he raised his fist to strike at me again, I sent my empathy into his being, and, I don't know how, but I tweaked something, a valve somewhere in the nexus of his consciousness, and I felt him rapidly unwind, and let go of the anger he had inside. 

"Stop this, Mark," I said. And he froze, immediately, fist raised, his face a contorted mixture of anger and surprise. Slowly, I saw the grief appear, and he relaxed his fist, backing down. Grief was good, because grief meant acceptance of sadness as opposed to hiding from it, and feeling that was the first step in moving forward. But I also saw the potential for the grief to further screw with him - he had no idea what to do with it. I concentrated, unsure of how to manage this but knowing that I had power over him in that moment. In the end, I went with my gut. 

I walked over, and hugged him. A full body, arms all the way around, chest to chest hug. 

You don't have to do this. You are loved. 

The thought came to me in a way I recognized as similar to when I'd wished for Amber to lower her shirt. It wasn't a thought so much as it was a command, I realized. It came from a place of powerful intention, not just passing fancy. No wonder I hadn't been able to make her push her tits together, I was giddily trying to live out a fantasy, not truly feeling connected to her in that moment. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 02



Simply put, Mark broke down in my arms. He was bawling, heaving great big sobs into my shoulder. Dead silence from behind me but I wasn't even paying attention to the girls - this wasn't about them. I wasn't sure what was happening but it didn't take a genius to realize I'd effected some sort of mind control on Mark somehow, there was no mistaking this for coincidence. Time enough to deal with that later, for now, I was concentrating on being there for him. I didn't need to have his being at my fingertips to know he was feeling pain, so much pain, built up and twisted for years and years until it colored so deeply his perception of the world around him that he saw enemies in everything. 

Suddenly, he broke away from my hug, and gave me a look, the most peculiar, confused look, then took out a red wallet from his pocket, tossed it at me, and ran away, sobbing. 

Well, that was one way to handle things. 

"Oh my god Tristan," said Amber behind me. "What did you do?" 

I turned to face her, and realized that there was no way I could explain what had just happened to me. I was going to have to lie. "I didn't do anything. I have no idea what the fuck just happened." I walked over to the two of them, handing Allie her wallet. "Here you go." 

She accepted it wordlessly. 

"See? I told you he was one of the good ones, Allie," said Amber, looking at Allie. 

She gave a barely perceptible nod. "Do you think Mark will be okay?" 

I shrugged. "I don't know." When I saw that that response didn't do much in the way of making her feel better, I figured I could say a little more than that and give her something to hold on to. "I think, and, I'm not positive about this, but I saw something shift in his eyes. One moment he was about to hit me, the next, something crept into him." 

"What?" asked Allie. 

"I'm not sure. The closest thing I could say is that it was kindness. I saw real, honest to god genuine kindness in his eyes, and I can only imagine what he was feeling if it translated so obviously on his face. I think he is probably very confused, and confronting some really powerful things about himself right now." 

Allie straightened up. "He needs me. He needs me there with him." 

"Oh no you don't, Allie," interrupted Amber. "People don't just change like that." She obviously was just looking out for her friend, but I had a feeling that I had profoundly impacted Mark, and that Allie would find a man changing into something much better. 

"Amber, I wouldn't be so quick to judge. I was right up there next to him, and, honestly, it was spooky. A massive change, all the rage he had just vanished," I stated. 

She still looked skeptical. "I don't know..." 

Allie turned to her. "Amber, thank you so much. For everything. And you, Tristan, thank you. I need to go see if he's okay. Maybe I'll be able to show him something good, maybe he really needs that." And then without another word, she slipped away from Amber and followed Mark, wherever he went, leaving me alone with Amber on the staircase. 

Amber sighed, rubbing her palms into her eyes and leaning back against the wall. "I don't know, Tristan. Was that the right call to make? I'd feel terrible if she found him and he just abused her like normal." She looked up at me. "That's on us, you know." 

She had a point, but she hadn't seen what I had. She didn't know what I'd changed in him, hell, even I didn't really know how I'd changed him, or what exactly I'd done. But I was sure that it was significant, and along the lines of what I'd told him, that he didn't have to keep acting that way. 

"I'm pretty sure something shifted in him, Amber. I think it will be good for her to be there with him." 

She shifted against the wall, and sighed."If you say so. I suppose we'll have to see." 

"Yeah." 

I sat down on the top step, and she walked up and sat down next to me, and we sat there in silence for a while. 

"I suppose everyone deserves a chance at redemption," she said softly. 

I nodded. It was a peaceful, serene moment, the light from the staircase window illuminating dust motes swirling in the air. It felt like we'd been taken out of the world, as if we weren't in a school staircase. Something about the comedown from moments of high stress is very relaxing. 

"You know," she said suddenly, "that was pretty sexy, what you did. Telling him off to his face, and then staring him down. 'Stop this, Mark.'" She said, imitating me and then giggling. "Very cowboy." 

"Is that so?" I replied, unsure where she was taking this and on my guard. It's not every day your dream girl tells you you're sexy. 

"Yup." she quipped. 

I took the risk. "Well then, ma'am," I began in a Texan accent, "if you'd do this cowboy the honor of gracing his lunchtime with your presence, he'd be happier than a...than...uh..." I searched for the words. 

"Cow out to pasture?" She offered, grinning. 

"Sure, that." I replied, and we both laughed, shrugging off the last of the tension Mark had brought in. 

"Tristan, did you just ask me on a date in a southern accent?" she said mischievously 

Looked that way. "I'm not big on labeling things but, it appears that may have just happened," I said sheepishly. 

"Well, I'd love to. But how will we get out of the school grounds? We can't just walk out the front door, and I don't find the idea of the cafeteria too appealing, personally. Plus, we're in the middle of class right now, technically." 

True enough. "You know," I said, an idea popping into my head. "I think we might just be able to walk out. Want to try it?" 

She looked at me doubtfully, but curious. "Hmm... Alright. Let's see how it goes." 

I stood up and offered her a hand. She took it, and pulled herself up. When I loosened my grip to let her hand go, I was surprised to find she was still holding on. I looked down at her, and she squeezed my hand, and didn't let go, so I joined her there. I picked up my backpack from the ground after replacing the water bottle and then, grinning like fools and full of life and brightness, we walked out of the stairwell holding hands. All because I decided to check out who was crying on the stairs. Sometimes the randomness of the world was staggering. 

It was the middle of second period so the hallways were empty - and soon the doors out were only a short ways ahead of us. Unfortunately, right next to those doors was the front office, which was always manned by a secretary. There were two, both fairly attractive women in their late 20s. The running joke among the students was the principle only hired beautiful women because in the last part of the interview process he made them strip for him. It was only a rumor, but it seemed plausible enough that, like most rumors, it spread like wildfire. 

It got back to the principle eventually, and then one day the secretaries' wardrobe changed, gone were the tight pencil skirts and open tops, and their beautiful curves were forever hidden behind thick sweaters and flowy dresses. Nonetheless, you couldn't cover up a face, and while they didn't wear the degree of makeup they'd been wearing before, they were as bright, cheery, and cute as ever. 

"How are we going to slip past?" asked Amber nervously. Being late was one thing, but getting caught ditching school generally had more severe punishments. I had no intention of being given detention, however. 

"Just play along. Act distressed, like we've been walking quickly," I replied, more relaxed than I really felt. I still hadn't quite accepted the depth of the implications of the powers I'd just discovered, but I was going to try and use them anyway. A little bit of cognitive dissonance never hurt anybody. 

We hurried up to the front desk - Lauren was behind, tapping away at her computer. She looked up, vaguely surprised to see us. 

"Hey there. What can I do for you?" she asked, a little guarded. Students aren't generally seen casually walking around in the middle of class time. 

"Hi Lauren. We need to leave - it's a family emergency and I don't really have time to explain. We already cleared it with our teachers." 

She looked us over dubiously. "Really," she said, drawing out the word, "no time to explain at all? I can't just let you out you know." She was unconvinced. 

"Listen, do you see that blue Civic outside?" I pointed toward a parked car through the glass doors which had a figure sitting in it. Lauren peered over the desk, and nodded. "That's my brother, here to come take us to the airport. We're in a bit of a hurry, sorry!" 

She peered through the doors, then sat back down and waved us off. "Alright, alright, get out of here. Best of luck to all involved." 

"Thank you. They really need it," I replied, and so we walked out the doors. I hadn't even had to try and use any powers, which was a bit of a relief. Then, I realized she would probably be expecting us to get into the car, and could be checking through one of the security cameras or looking out the door. That can't happen. We don't matter to her. 

I wasn't sure if it worked, or what happened exactly, but I felt a familiar tingle in my head and a sense of movement passing between me and some other being, so I felt comfortable that at least something had happened. Whether or not she'd be looking at us would be something I'd find out later, for now, there were more important things to do. 

"Wow, she totally bought it!" exclaimed Amber excitedly. 

"Yeah, that was lucky," I responded. "I was just winging it the whole time." 

She squeezed my hand. "Hey, no need to be so modest. You were pretty slick." 

"Thanks," I said, blushing, "That's certainly something of a first. I don't think I've ever been slick before," I said, laughing nervously. 

"Well, it might not be the last." said Amber, teasing me. "I've actually never done this sort of thing before," she admitted. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know," she said, "skip school, miss class, do naughty things. I mean, I don't have a stick up my ass or anything but I tend to follow the rules and stay out of trouble." 

"I know what you mean, I'm usually the same way. I don't know what it is, really. I think I'm just high off the fact that you're going on a date with me. You're gorgeous, you know?" 

She blushed. "Aw, you're sweet. But let's not spoil it too quickly, yeah?" 

"Alright," I said, embarassed. I shouldn't have been so forward but, it's hard to keep words inside sometimes. It's kind of a dumb impulse, really, the drive to tell somebody that they are beautiful or that you have a crush on them. In my experience, it's much easier and more effective to let things go along smoothly but, even knowing that, well, it's easier said than done. 

We had automatically started walking toward downtown, which was about fifteen minutes away from the school. Along the way, we chit chatted, talking about the little things we had in common, a difficulty with chemistry, mutual friends we hadn't known we had in common, colleges we were considering, things like that. 

And still, even though I was walking with the girl I'd been pining after for a few months now, I couldn't really focus on her. My mind kept returning to the moment with Mark, when I'd consciously connected to him, and I don't know, changed him? Controlled him? I'd felt it as clear as sun on my skin and known it to be true. And then again, with Lauren. I wasn't sure what had happened there, maybe because I was farther away and there was no line of sight? For whatever reason the effect of my will was murkier there. I had a lot to look into. Returning back to Amber, I focused on our conversation. 

"... and that's why I stopped being friends with her. It just wasn't working. You ever get that?" 

"Oh yeah, sure," I responded, picking up what she was talking about. "That's sort of what happened with my last relationship, I just woke up one day and knew, there was a massive mismatch and it had been staring me in the face the whole time. Funny how you can not notice for so long, when, once you see it, it's so obvious." 

"Mmhm. Yeah, that's part of why I broke up with Tyler." Tyler was her most recent ex-boyfriend - they'd separated a few months back. I'd never met the guy. "All of a sudden we were on different wavelengths and we were hurting each other. At a certain point, I asked myself, what am I doing this for? And so I stopped doing it." She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at the sky. Then she turned and looked at me. "And now I'm here," she finished, smiling. 

What a beautiful girl I was with. I felt so blessed, and a profound sensation of gratitude bloomed inside of me. Fuck. Sometimes, things work out, and things are good. Her eyes looked into mine, her black hair parted to the side and her lips pursed. We stopped at an intersection and I swear I almost kissed her right then and there, in that frozen moment where the rest of the world was irrelevant and there was only us, holding hands and falling into each other. It was wonderful and effortless. 

She broke the eye contact, blushing, the pink hue blossoming in her cheeks contrasting with her hair, like the tip of a sunset flowering into midnight, and she started forward, leading me up to her by gently pulling on my arm. We were almost downtown. 

"Where do you want to eat?" I asked. 

"Oh, I don't care, really." 

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, how about we go check out the food trucks?" 

"Sounds good to me! I've never been," she replied. "What are food trucks?" 

"What? How do you go to our school and you've never heard of the food trucks? Oh man, you're in for a hell of a surprise." This was awesome, she was going to get some of the best food you could get downtown. There was a nice little park you could bring your food to, since there was only a small assortment of tables and chairs for the entire half-street of trucks, it was always crowded. The park was much nicer, the benches there were usually open. Our date was shaping up! 

The trucks were all parked on half a street in the middle of downtown - it was in sort of a weird location and appeared initially like an exaggerated alleyway more than a street, but for a couple people coming in and out you wouldn't ever think to go in. 

As we approached, the combined smell of twenty or so grills freshly searing meat and veggies wafted toward us, and Amber looked at me as we were walking. "Wow, do you smell that? That's incredible!" She breathed in deep through her nose, and I grinned, glad she was already enjoying it. 

"Yeah, I've never been this early. They must have just started up!" 

We rounded the corner and the visual spectacle that unfolded before us was breathtaking. We'd caught the street near the end of its preparation, the trucks were of varying shapes and sizes but all had the opening on their side - the window into which one could see the food being made. There was a wonderful and eclectic assortment of food: the middle-eastern truck sporting slowly rotating lamb meat on the counter, in front of a vertical heater. The typical (but not to be discounted) taco trucks, dollar tacos with tortillas made earlier that morning, thick and greasy and delightful. Through a few of the Indian trucks the aroma of freshly spiced curry wafted out, and tall stacks of naan bread lined the back of the inside of the truck. Underneath the sweet and tangy smells coming from the Szechuan Chinese truck was the scent of fresh brown rice. 

The trucks were as of yet not fully assembled - younger men and a few women were hanging up the bright banners and mounting the flags of each particular truck. Members of each truck often crossed over to the others to help them out - in particular, an old Mexican man was the sole proprietor of a taco truck, and it was ensured that he had enough help setting up, people approaching him and asking if he needed anything. Though gracious in intent, there may have been a small ulterior motive involved: I saw the old man sliding small, homemade mazapan candies, small cakes of cinnamon sugar and peanuts, to those who gave him a hand. 

The walls of the street were covered in layers upon layers of graffiti, and the street itself was freshly swept - I saw at the end a team of three younger people with brooms and a half full plastic bag who looked like they'd just finished cleaning up. All in all, the assemblage of this street of food vendors, their interlocking lives and dedication toward creating a good place to eat, the smells and the colors, the smiles and shouts from truck to truck, the jibes and challenges for who would sell the most that day all melded together into a fluid avenue of modernity. Country boy that I was, my heart forever dwelled in the great forests and mountains of the world, but nonetheless I could not ignore the smoky, spirited charm of food truck alley. 

"So, what do you think?" I asked Amber. We were standing at the entrance of the street, having not entered yet. 

She stood there, silent for a moment, then turned and gave me a quick peck on my cheek. 

"It's incredible, Tristan. I can't believe I've never been here before. It doesn't look open, do you think it's alright if we go in?" 

Still blushing from the kiss, I shrugged, trying to act like I hadn't just been kissed by Amber in public. She was being rather forward, while school was still in session and there weren't any students around, downtown was frequented by most everybody, and it seemed odd for her to show affection like this so soon, but, hey, I wasn't complaining. I barely even paid attention to the thought. 

Before I got the chance to answer, one of the guys from the nearest truck, which sold Mexican food, walked up to us with a plate full of pieces of meat speared by toothpicks. 

"Free sample? Carnitas, pollo, and lengua," he said excitedly, pointing to the three meats on the plate. 

"Ooh, I'd love a chicken one!" exclaimed Amber, selecting a toothpick and biting the meat off. She eyed me, sliding the toothpick out suggestively with a wink. The man looked at me with an envious look bordering on awe - I'd forgot how relatively attractive Amber was. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't by any means taking her presence or beauty for granted, but having now spent a little time with her some of the conceptual "dream-girl" beauty I'd layered onto her in my mind had faded and I was just with an incredibly beautiful woman. I cringed when I realized I was growing hard from her teasing. 

"What's lengua?" I asked, trying to distract myself. 

"Eh, cow tongue. Good, good, try!" he urged. Normally, I'd never eat cow tongue but, then again, I also didn't normally go on dates with Amber or mentally manipulate assholes into backing down mid-swing. 

"Do it, Tristan!" urged Amber, playing along with the man. They both grinned at me, and, hey, I'm a sucker for peer pressure when it's bottled by smiles and all in good fun, so I selected one of the lengua toothpicks, and ate the meat. It was delicious - but I pretended to keep chewing it, frowning and looking thoughtful. The two of them looked on expectantly, and I put on a little show, making pensive "mmm" sounds. 

When I swallowed, I faked a gag, clutching my throat and widening my eyes, making like I couldn't breathe. Their eyes widened in shock. 

"Oh shit, Tristan are you okay?" asked Amber, concern all over her face. The man's eyes widened, and all the color damn near drained from his face. 

I let go of the act, laughing. The minute I did so the Mexican man nearly bent over in laughter, slapping my back like I was one of his pals. He shouted something in Spanish to his friends back at the truck, and they called back something which sent him further into a laughing fit, and he walked back to his truck. 

Amber punched me lightly in the arm. "Don't do that! You scared me!" she said, joking, but fading worry there nonetheless in her eyes. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 02



"Aww, I'm sorry." I brought her in close to me and hugged her tight, feeling her relax against my body, and her large, soft breasts pressing into my solar plexus - they had the perfect ratio of being firm, but also compressing against me. I practically melted, her navel brushing against my pelvis, and then she brought the rest of her body closer to me, stepping closer, and all of a sudden we were completely intertwined, where we'd been so far apart just hours before, we were so intimately hugging and feeling each other, counting time in anything other than our mutual heartbeats was nonsensical. 

I can imagine most of the alley staring at us, the lone lovers at the top of the street, because the embrace stretched on much longer than was normal in public, though for how long exactly I couldn't tell. She broke away in the end, drawing her hand across my back and then clasping my hand. Gazing at me, she appeared confused, or hurt in some way. 

"What?" I asked. 

"I... I don't know." she said, sounding completely genuine. "I can't really tell what I'm feeling right now, like there aren't any names for it. I don't know how to translate it or understand it," she continued. The expression faded, and she shrugged. "Whatever. Sorry if that was weird." 

"No worries," I reassured her, "There's not a whole lot that I'm not okay with - just be you, and I'll be me, and if you don't feel like you have to hide I'll never hold you in terms of good or bad, there will be you, and only you, and me, and we will only ever have each other, nothing added, nothing taken away." 

Okay, so maybe I didn't actually say anything after 'no worries'. I learned my lesson after she chided me earlier, but, fuck, it's hard not just spilling my guts out sometimes. 

A few people walked past us into the street, which brought us back to reality a little bit, and so we proceeded down the rows of trucks, taking inventory of what our options were and, after almost going for some delicious looking falafel, we decided on a 4 for $4 special at the taco truck we'd first gone to. 

"These smell so good. Come on! Let's go sit down," she said, dragging me by the arm. I held the food in a bag. 

"We should sit down at the park. I'm all for the vibe here but, grime is only part of the charm of a place when you're not sitting in it, you know?" And it was true - the tables and chairs, while not filthy, probably didn't have to conform to any real standard of cleanliness by the look of them. 

"Ooh, yeah, great idea," she said. "Lead on!" 

We walked there, which took about five minutes, and I brought us to a wooden two person bench slightly tucked away underneath some trees and out of sight from most of the rest of the park. You had to know it was there - I'd been shown it by a friend who liked to read in the shade during lunch, there isn't much of a path leading there, only a vague line where the grass had been trodden down a little over time. 

We settled on the bench, and I tore open the bag, making somewhat of a flat surface with it on my legs, and handed her the two chicken tacos while I took the pork ones. She turned a little, with one foot up on the bench, and leaned into me while she took a bite of hers and I of mine. 

"Mmm...these are delicious, Tristan. This chicken is amazing!" 

"Yeah, we must have got the meat right off the grill." 

We continued to eat in a comfortable silence, not particularly feeling the need to talk much. A mild breeze rustled through the trees. Amber had a blissful look on her face whenever they rustled above us. We finished eating, and I balled up the parchment paper and the torn bag, placing it in the empty water bottle pouch while taking out my water and passing it to her. She drank long from it, a beautiful thing, really, water flowing back into a woman so fluid in the curvature of her frame that the experience may as well have been more of a rejoining than a drink. 

Another breeze passed, and she sighed, leaning into me. It was a warm day, and with her head on my shoulder I was afforded an incredibly generous view of her cleavage, rising and falling with her breaths. Above, the leaves shook, and one fell, spiraling down and eventually landing on her head. I picked it up gently and showed it to her. 

"I think it likes you." 

She took it, placing the stem between her fingers and twirling it in slow circles before her eyes. It was almost hypnotic, a swirling green, but spotted yellow and red in a few places - it was clear that Autumn was tip-toeing into the city. The trees may not all appear aflame in their redness, but red is the color of fire, and it only takes a few embers glowing amidst the leaves and some Autumn winds to stoke them before whole city blocks would glow bright with the color. 

"You know," she said sleepily, nestled on my shoulder "I like to think that when leaves shake around, that they're just taking the opportunity to have a conversation." 

"What do you mean, taking the opportunity?" I asked. 

"Well, it would be awful strange if leaves just shook around without wind, right? People wouldn't trust them, wouldn't line the streets with them or plant them in their backyards. So, it's natural selection, the smart trees were the ones that only shook their leaves when it was windy." She paused, thoughtful. "I bet they really take the time to think out what they're going to say. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity. What if there's no wind for days? You'd spend the entire time next to your neighbor, and maybe you really want to tell them something, but you can't." 

She let the words hang - I didn't know what to respond. It was a beautiful image, and a sad one. I certainly identified with it, with wanting to tell her so much but it not being appropriate for me to do so because we had only been hanging out for a day, even though I'd been thinking of her every day and every night, of her beauty, and now not only was she beautiful outside but it also spilled out of her in her words. What to say? Her black hair tumbling down onto me, I was at such a loss - how do you tell midnight that it need not ever fall away to leave space for the day? How do you ask a starless sky to stay spread across your chest? 

My arm already wrapped around her, I gently brushed my finger up and down her arm and she curled further into me, sighing pleasantly, pushing her breasts together and nestling her head into the crook of my shoulder. I placed my hand over hers, it fit so well, and relaxed into her. 

"Tristan..." 

"Mhm?" 

"I just wanted to tell you that I have a lot of things I want to say to you, and no way of possibly saying them." She said this all in one big breath, and once the words were out a tension I hadn't noticed she'd been holding dissipated. 

"Amber," I began, "I was thinking the exact same thing. I'm totally at a loss. I have no idea what to say, it feels like I should acknowledge this moment we're having here, but I'm scared, I don't want to disturb it in any way and I feel like I'm destined to say the wrong thing and mess everything up." It felt good to get that off my chest. 

She pressed herself up, coming off of me, and turned to face me, her face questioning, and vulnerable. 

"Say it," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Say everything, Tristan." 

"I've wanted to kiss you since the first time we passed each other in the hall, I always can pick you out of a crowd because of your hair and your body, as if amidst a hallway of people there walked the night sky, and you have this walk that drives me crazy and I want to feel you and trace my finger across your collarbone and drink you and be drunk by you and fall asleep in your arms, I want there to be no distance between us, and for you to always gaze into my eyes, when I look at you I breathe infinity in every breath and when you're gone there is a space beside me that is only ever filled by you, and only you, and it's not just how you look it's this crazy fucking connection I have with you, every time you look at me I fucking disappear and so does everything else and there's only you, and the fact that we aren't kissing right now feels like the most incorrect thing in the world, and-" 

She almost knocked me over, throwing her arms around my neck and bringing her lips to mine in a deep, passionate kiss. We stayed there, in that first kiss, her nose against mine, and it was as if the momentum that had swung her forward and on to me was perpetually running forward, that she was suspended at the end of her advance on to me and there was no possibility for moving forward past this moment, that it would ride itself deep into the recesses of time, milliseconds dividing into microseconds and nanoseconds until there was no time and nothing but a statue of her kissing me on the bench in the shade, away from the world, away from ourselves, away from everything but the kiss. 

And then in a fluid firework of sensation her tongue slipped into my mouth, and her hand came to my head, pressing me closer to her while she explored my mouth, flicking the roof occasionally, darting around as I tried to meet her tongue with mine, and we fenced like this for a while until I eventually grew so taut in my desire that I grabbed her body, picked her up, and sat her on my lap, leaving a hand a the small of her back and also on her leg, feeling as much of her as possible, tracing her lithe frame. Her ass, so big and full, pressed into my pelvis and if I wasn't rock hard before there was no mistaking the intensity of my erection now, and it pressed against her butt. She moved her hips, pressing her ass up and down my dick and the friction alone was enough that I knew if she kept it up there would be nothing that could stop me cumming. When she felt my erection, her eyes flared open, desirous. 

She pulled away, gasping, looking at me with a wildness in her eyes that I'd never seen before. 

"Oh my fucking god, Tristan, you are so fucking sexy it is unreal." 

"Shut up and kiss me again?" I said, at once playful and more serious about what I was asking than I'd been with most of the things in my life. This sparked a hunger inside of her and she fell back to me with a fervor, kissing me deeply and then pulling away only to turn her head and kiss me from a different angle. 

I dropped my hand down her back slowly and then drew it down to her ass, cupping it firmly. There was simply so much to feel there, while grabbing it I made circles on her butt and she moaned into my mouth. 

"Mmmm...Oh, fuck..." 

I needed to fuck her, right now. I lightly put a hand on her chest, her breasts hot beneath the palm of my hand, and I gave a gentle push. She backed away, gazing deep into me. I was at a point past words, she looked at me, burning with intensity. And, then somehow I saw her gaze for what it was, and followed it back through her eyes and all of a sudden, in a flash, I held her being in my mind, felt it, felt her, saw the desire, the molten need burning inside of her, I saw the hesitations about kissing me, concerns about not wanting to come off too slutty, concerns about not waiting long enough since her break up, a lot of noise I couldn't decipher, and some strange things I assumed she wasn't even conscious of. It was all there, right in front of me, like putty. I knew it could be molded, and I wasn't in a state of mind where delicate thoughts or really thoughts at all were possible. I wanted one thing, and one thing only. 

Fuck me, Amber. The impulse traveled from my mind to hers, overriding everything that said otherwise, her pupils expanded, and she gasped. 

"Tristan, I'm going to fuck you right now, and you have to be okay with that." 

I moved her off of me so that she was standing - she already had sex hair, and from the look on her face I knew that she was mine. 

"Take your pants off," I said, unbuckling my belt. Nothing glamorous about it - she pulled them down quickly, without bothering to remove her shoes, and then stretched them around her shoes. Thank God for yoga pants. She had wonderfully wide hips which streamed down into her bare sex. 

"Your turn, Tristan. Hurry," she said with a voice dripping need. 

I stood up, and slowed down, dragging the belt out slower and slower as she gazed longingly at the bulge in my pants. 

"Play with yourself, Amber," I said. She spread her legs a little, and brought a finger to her clit, making quick circles. That I'd asked this of her clearly excited her, and she moaned. 

"Ohh, fuck, hurry, Tristan, please, I need you inside me," she gasped between moans. I pulled the last of the belt from the loops and let it drop. 

"Put your hands on the back of the bench, and spread your legs." I unbuttoned my pants and slowly drew the zipper down. 

She immediately thrust her hands onto the back of the bench and turned to face me. I dropped my pants, stepping out of them, and her eyes widened at the sight of my cock. She wiggled her ass back and forth, a tantalizing movement. 

"Tristan, fuck me, I want you to be so deep inside me, take me, I'm yours Tristan all you have to do is take me," 

I walked over behind her and put a hand on her ass, squeezing hard, causing her to gasp. She took one hand and squeezed her breasts through her tank top. 

"Tristan, I can't wait any longer, please," she begged. 

I lined up my cock right behind her pussy, drew it up and down her slit. Somehow, I still had it in me to tease her, I was so hard and so turned on, I almost blew my load just from touching the heat of her sex. She moaned, pushing her hips onto me, and my dick slid forward into the outer folds of her pussy. I moved it up, placing it right at the entrance to her sex, and then in one swift motion, I thrust as far into her as I could. 

It was as if I'd just fallen into heaven, she was soaking wet and her pussy was pulsing around my dick, ripples of heat swirling around me and she clenched down tight, starting to shake. 

"Oh, fuck, Tristan, I'm cumming," she cried out, and her legs started shaking. I put both my hands on her hips and thrust deeper, until the entire length of my cock was fully inside of her and her pussy wrapped around the entire thing, and as I thrust forward my own orgasm rose inside of me. 

"I'm cumming too, oh, fuck," 

"Cum in me baby, cum so hard in me Tristan, yes, yes, ohhhhh," she cried out as I burst inside of her, and I groaned in ecstasy, shaking in and out, sensitive to the slightest movement and cumming harder while I shook. 

I slowly withdrew my cock, groaning with how good it felt, then thrust forward all the way back in again - she was still cumming, shaking and moaning my name, and while no more cum was coming out from my dick I was in the immediate after glow of orgasm, my head reeling, deeply taken in by her, and with my second thrust her orgasm renewed itself and she lost grip of the back of the bench, only staying on me because I had her by the hips, pinning her ass to my pelvis. I drew back, and thrust in one final time and she lost the ability to make any sound but a whimpering moan. 

I pulled out, her sex tight around my softening cock as I withdrew. I was content to watch her ride the rest of her orgasm out, standing there, when it occurred to me that I could have fun with this. I'd lost track of the sense of her but staring at her shake on the bench, I found it again, it's hard to describe, but it was as if it was vibrating, electricity everywhere, most of her being shut down, overridden by the orgasm. I reached out to her orgasm and directed it to subside with my mind. 

She stopped shaking, head hanging down, breathing deep breaths, and I gave her a few seconds there. 

"Oh...my god...Tristan...you-" 

I slapped her ass hard, and as I did so, made her start to cum again with my mind, but only just the beginnings. She turned and looked back at me, confused. She'd never had her ass slapped before, and she'd just enjoyed it. A shame really, that nobody else had taken the opportunity - it was just asking for it, the red hand print on her cheek was so fucking hot. 

"Do you want another, Amber? You've been very, very bad." I said, drawing out the "very"'s, and taking my cock in my off hand, slowly stroking it. Gazing deep into my eyes, I could tell she was unsure, but her need for more was winning out. With just the traces of fear in her eyes, she nodded slowly. 

With a loud SMACK I brought my hand to the same cheek, and sent her into an orgasm. 

"Oh fuck Tristan, yess," she screamed, her knuckles white on the bench. I increased the speed at which I stroked myself, and my dick was soon hard again. As she rode the end of her orgasm, I moved behind her, and pushed just the head of my dick inside of her which she received with a gasp. She whirled back to face me. 

"You're...You're hard already?" 

"Your turn, Amber," I said, "Make me cum again." 

Holding my gaze, with one hand on the bench she stayed turned and brought an arm over to the back of my neck, and using that as leverage she eased up and down along my cock. 

"Yeah, Amber, just like that. Move that ass," I groaned. She felt amazing, slapping into my pelvis with wet smacking sounds. 

"Do you like my ass, Tristan?" 

"I fucking love your ass, Amber. Don't stop." 

She continued moving up and down my cock, holding my eyes, fucking me in a steady, unceasing rhythm. Then suddenly she pulled all the way up, leaving just the head in. She leaned down farther, bringing me with her so that I was leaning over her body, her gorgeous hourglass figure, and she brought the hand that was around my neck to one of my hands, bringing it up to her breasts. 

"Play with my tits, Tristan. They're yours." 

I squeezed one, then traced my finger over to the other, feeling them through her tank top, pushed together and so soft. I could only imagine what they looked like unrestrained. 

I was still being kept on the edge, with her pussy wrapped tightly around the head of my cock. I started to push in, but she leaned out of it. "My turn, remember?" I moaned in response. 

"Amber, please, fuck me," I managed to stammer, and as I did so she started making small circles on my dick with her hips, keeping it right at the tip, occasionally sliding down just a little to tease me. I was going to cum soon. 

"Amber, I can't take this, please, this is torture," I begged, desperately needing her warmth around all of me. 

"Oh, you should have said so," she said mischievously, and then thrust all the way down onto me - I came in an instant, deep inside of her, and she moaned, smiling contentedly as my cum splashed inside her. I pulsed inside of her, taken over by the pleasure of my orgasm until I was completely drained, and I pulled out, staggering back. 

She turned around weakly, and put a finger to her lips, smiling. We looked at each other for second, and then both burst out laughing. 

"What the fuck did we just do, Tristan..." she said, not sounding particularly worried. 

"I think we just fucked in a park in the middle of the day." 

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" she replied, walking up to me, and we enveloped each other in our arms, a sticky, sweaty embrace that we undertook completely. She looked up, smiling, and put out her lips for a kiss, and I met them. My deflated cock pressed against her lower stomach, and she gently took it with a hand, caressing it and massaging it. Somehow, it wasn't that sexual of an act, more like physical therapy than anything. 

"So, what now?" I asked. I didn't really know where to go from here, what, were we just going to walk back to school and go to class? 

"Well, I think pants are a good place to start," she said in an overly matter of fact tone. I rolled my eyes, and picked up my pants, beginning to put them on. As I did so, I noticed a man over Amber's shoulders, who was poorly hiding behind a tree, and staring directly at us. He seemed to be the sole person in the park. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 02



I didn't want to scare Amber, but was worried she'd notice him too, so, panicking, I reached out to him with my mind, hoping that I'd find something there that I could work with. It came easily, thank God, and I held him in my mind. I was in a hurry, and didn't bother scanning or looking into him at all, and simply issued him a command to forget everything he'd seen in the park and to go about his day. He turned around, and walked away with his hands in his pockets. Wow, this was some really crazy shit I had going on. Even then I couldn't let myself be overwhelmed by it, I still had Amber near me. 

She had her yoga pants on, stretched tight over her thighs and her voluptuous butt. And she was holding my boxers. 

"Wait, why do you have my boxers?" I hadn't even noticed I wasn't wearing them. 

"Well, you know," she said slowly, "when you cum inside me, it doesn't just, disappear, right?" 

Oh. "Well, okay then. Guess you can just chuck them in the bushes," I said. 

"A small price to pay, really," she said, tossing them into the park. She was so beautiful, standing there in the shade, that this incongruous act of tossing my underwear out into some bushes was simply the most hilarious thing, and I burst out laughing. She giggled along with me, and after I recovered from my fit I walked over to her and we shared a long kiss. 

She broke away, and held my cheek with a hand. "Tristan, I'm going to go home now. I'd like some time to think." 

I nodded. "I understand. Take all the time you need." 

"Thank you. I really, really appreciate it. You're still cute and really kind of amazing, but, geez, we didn't even know each other really five hours ago. This is a lot." 

"Agreed. A lot of good is still a lot, I totally get it. I think I'd do well with some time to myself too," I said, more to myself than to her. I had a lot to work through. 

"Great," she said, beaming, and kissed me once more. "Don't make it weird in the hallway tomorrow, okay?" 

"I promise I won't propose, if that's what you're worried about." 

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." 

"Yeah." I did. I definitely foresaw being unsure how to act around her in the future. Like, life doesn't just go on after such an intimate collision, does it? Of course it does, but the transition is a hell of a thing to deal with. 

"Cool. Well, I'm going to walk away now. Enjoy the view," she teased, and then pulled away from me, her hand trailing on my body as she left, and then walked away. Her hips swayed as they always did, as naturally as waves in the ocean, like a dance only she knew how to effect with every step. 

I enjoyed the view. I always did. 

I waited for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of victory, and then walked out along the path. There wasn't anybody at the park - 11 am on a weekday isn't really peak time, all the kids are in school and the parents at work. It was possible that somebody heard us but by all accounts and the lack of onlookers and police, we appeared to have gotten away with it. Now, time to figure out what the fuck was happening with me. 

I walked vaguely in the direction of Maple st, the main thoroughfare of downtown. I find I have a much easier time thinking when I'm in motion of some sort - I think it has something to do with occupying parts of the brain that would otherwise distract myself from thought. 

So - where to begin? With Mark, in the stairway, right as he was about to punch me. What had happened there? Just thinking about it brought about a small headache - I'd been standing there, readying myself to get punched when suddenly, what, I "got" who he was? A bit of an intrusion in a way, his being, or whatever it was, just appeared in my consciousness and I saw him in a whole new light. 

As for how exactly I held it, that was a mystery. It was sort of like holding silly putty, or clay, I guess, a clearly distinct shape that I knew I could mold with the right amount of pressure. But it was different than that, because I wasn't holding him in my hands or even really holding him in my mind, he was simply there, and so, seeing him for who he was, damaged, hurt, and dreadfully alone, I sent him my empathy. Sort of like letting water flow down my arm in the shower and then shooting off my hands. The weirdest part to me was how akin the other felt to me - there was a really powerful sense of there being minimal separation between the two of us when I held their being, not like I "was" them or that I lost myself but that there simply wasn't much difference. My mind, their mind, the only difference appeared to be practice at controlling it. 

I could move my body however I wanted but I didn't exactly have control over my mind - nobody does, thoughts and emotions come out of nowhere, who out there can say he chooses to feel lust or anger? Rarely is it so that people have perfect memory - our minds are very much autonomous from our consciousness. Sure, you can get a handle on your mind, make yourself focus or relax and whatnot, but it's far from absolute control. 

With others, the gap between their minds and mine was even larger than with my own. Even so, I still felt them in the same way that I felt my own mind. Very strange stuff. 

My feet had taken me to Maple, where there was a fair amount of foot traffic. I cracked my knuckles and cautiously decided to do some experimenting. If this feeling of controlling people didn't come so naturally I probably would have been freaking out, but it just felt like a skill that I'd always had and was now in the process of refining. It only scared me when I thought about it too much, and so I tried not to. 

The city puts a good effort into making the streets look nice, the medians between both sides of the road were lush enough for a city, and spotting the sidewalks were large granite benches encircling dirt for a tree to grow. Kids often sat on these after school was out, but seeing as it was the middle of the day, most of them were open. I chose one closer to the bus stop, sitting down and looking around. 

Standing still on a busy street such as this is jarring in a way, the sheer number of people impressed itself on me and I realized how surrounded I was at all times by strangers, all with something to do and somewhere to be. It was isolating, being so disconnected from everyone - not like I wanted to make friends with everyone I saw but the fact that I couldn't talk easily to any of them changed how I saw them, like they were stripped of something human, something essential. 

Even so, it only took a little while to spot someone standing still. I figured it would be harder to track change in a moving target, and so when I saw a small, middle-aged Asian man, dressed all in black, resting against the wall of a grocery store, flipping through his phone, I figured he was a good enough target to practice on. 

Focusing in on his person, I tried to call to mind the being-sense of him, to summon who he was into my mind. I stared at him so hard that my head trembled but, try as I might (and I did, staring so intently my head may have started to shake), I couldn't find anything there - he was as foreign to me as he would have been before the changes. 

Damn. I couldn't get a handle on it. It didn't appear to be the sort of thing that I could will into existence, or, at least, the initial connection to the person wasn't. I recalled the times when it had worked - when I'd suddenly found myself holding the person in me. It happened with Mark, then the secretary, Lauren. I realized that both of those first two times, I hadn't tried to find them, in a sense, it had come to me. Of course I couldn't create this holding feeling, I hadn't known what I was doing the first time it happened. Maybe what was needed more was a state of openness? 

Going over the events before each time, I noticed a pattern: common to each occurrence was a deep, usually emotional connection, or some sense of urgency. With Mark and Lauren and the man who'd been looking at me and Amber, I'd panicked, realizing that I really needed something to happen, and so I'd instinctively made it so. There wasn't any component of "trying", it had been effortless. 

And with Amber I'd been overwhelmed by my desire, and so drawn into her, that I was clearly far outside the realm of thought - everything just came up and I went along with it. 

That would explain why I couldn't get a feel for this Asian guy - I didn't really have a reason to, besides my own curiosity, and that was derived from my mind and then carried out in my thoughts, not the instinctual, emotive connection. There wasn't an urgency to the impulse. 

Well, shit, how was I supposed to get a handle on my new power if I couldn't ever decide to use it? Frustrated and tense, I sighed. Oh well - I figured I'd just keep an eye out, then, and try and observe it when it came up. I had time to kill, my day had made an inadvertent turn toward truancy and indulgence to the highest degree, so I figured I may as well enjoy it. 

There was a really nice coffee shop nearby that I used to work at, Dante's Coffee, and I decided to stop by for a visit. It was one of my favorite places to go downtown - I had fond memories of working there and the quality of their stuff was good. It was a little upscale, and a bit pricy, catering to the middle and upper class residents of the area, but even though I'd left about half a year ago, they still gave me the employee discount, and I could go behind the counter if I wanted to spice up my drink or just to say hi. 

It was a nice place to unwind, well lit, without evoking the fluorescent reproducibility of Starbucks coffee stores. There were a few armchairs and a couch, outlets, free wi-fi, and the décor of the place was very pleasant - paintings both modern and antique adorned the walls, and there were even a few hanging metal sculptures which I found beautiful in an industrial way. I had a great relationship with the owner, a grizzly bear of a man named Jed who loved to tell stories. He'd taken a liking to me, probably because I love stories, and know how to shut up and listen. I hoped he was working today - it would be good to see him, it had been several weeks since we'd last spoken. 

I came up in front of the store - the usual sign was outside, a metal-frame folding sign with a wood board screwed on, italic lettering reading simply Dante's. Outside the large glass windows into which one could see the inside of the shop, a single small circular table with two metal chairs had been placed. That was new, I thought, and pushed open the door which read Dante's Coffee, and below that, Since 1957. It was something of a joke - that was the year Jed was born. The store itself was only maybe two years old, but had fast become a local favorite, easing over the 1 year hump which killed most of the entrants into the food business. 

As I walked inside, I remembered why it was that this place had made it where countless other coffee shops had failed. Some people say it was the location, right smack in the middle of downtown, others claim the high quality of the drinks and the pastries, sandwiches, and sweets were responsible for its success. I knew, though, that the endurance of Dante's was due primarily and nearly exclusively to two things. 

The first was the ambiance. From the incandescent lighting to the art on the walls (some of it local, and sold frequently, allowing for a constant rotation), the old redwood of the counter (Jed often liked to tell the story of how he'd chopped the tree down himself, a story he claimed was true) and the deep brown of the chairs, the place had nearly perfected a welcoming atmosphere which invited one to sit, and stay - a home away from home. When you walked into Dante's, you felt like it was your coffee shop, but in an open way which fostered community. That it was open late brought many people together, and lively conversations and debates were known to go deep into the evening, sometimes long past close if Jed was a part of them. 

A large part of the setting of the place was due to the high ceilings - there were in fact two stories. On the ground floor were a few tables and chairs, newspaper stands and whatnot, and the coffee bar, of course. The stairs were on the right side of the room, leading up to a smaller, second story resting above the bar such that it appeared all your interactions with the baristas took place through a window of sorts. 

Above was a lounge, primarily consisting of armchairs and sofas but spotted with a few tables as well. I'd had many a long talk up there, the close proximity of the chairs was such that it was easy to strike up a conversation with the people near you. 

It's a tricky thing, creating a vibe, but Jed had done it masterfully. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but the man's flair for the aesthetic was unlike anyone I'd ever seen. He would occasionally doodle on napkins, leaving behind marvelous landscapes or detailed renditions of birds. This is, in fact, a small part of the second reason why Dante's was so popular - Jed himself. He needs no explanation, every stranger to him is a friend waiting to be made, every beverage or treat a work of craftsmanship to be perfected. 

And one never got a sense that his demeanor had anything to do with manipulating a customer, the employees weren't handed any of the dogmatic "customer is always right" nonsense. Jed treated you well on principle, I'd found, but if he found your integrity lacking, a judgment he made quickly and with precision, his interest in you plummeted. Even in the way a customer might ask for a coffee, just the intonation, if it was needy or rude, then Jed treated the interaction like business - and he did it well. It was almost unheard of that the suggestions box on the wall, which he checked twice a week, had anything but praise, you'd still get your coffee and it would be everything you wanted. 

But if you acted human, and made so much as the slightest attempt at politeness, even a "how are you" could lead into a five minute conversation and a warmth in your chest that was the product of being truly, truly seen, and listened to. He cared, and in an age where appearances are paramount and being cool (which is to say, appearing not to care, right?) is the chief concern for most people under 65, that he cared, and that this quality was imparted upon his employees was enough for people to cough up the extra buck or two, and to come back regularly. 

In part, this judgmental quality of his was why we became close. When I'd started working there, I was a real dick - consistently late, not showing much in the way of respect to the customers. I treated it like it was my shitty high school job. The thing I did so I had beer money. It didn't take Jed longer than a few hours to notice, I'm sure, but it wasn't until a few days had passed that he took me aside, and cut into me with complete honesty. It was brutal. But, he made me a bet - that if I cared more, and treated the job better, and put my heart and soul into it for two weeks, that I'd notice a distinct increase in my tips. If not, he'd give me a raise of a dollar and a half per hour, which when you're working for under ten bucks an hour, is pretty significant. I took him up on it, and I kept my side of the bargain. I wasn't so shitty as to fuck around for the two weeks, plus, he would have noticed. 

And, the son of a bitch was right. My tips increased, nothing ridiculous, but certainly noticeable. After the two weeks, he pulled me aside, and gave me the biggest compliment I'd ever received from an adult: "I'm impressed, Tristan, by how much you committed to our little wager. You're a damn fine man, or at least you're acting like it, and it's an honor to have you on the team." And then he gave me the raise anyway. 

Confronted with such a man, what choice is there but to embody the values he espouses? There wasn't much to it, he was just right. Life is a lot better when you give a shit about the people in it, and treat your responsibilities with respect. I found that, almost immediately afterward, I wasn't even thinking of the money, I had simply changed because it was making me happier. 

Leaving the job was a tough call, but I realized that it was taking too much time away from my schoolwork, my friends, and most important, my family. I felt really keenly the imminence of my departure to college in a little over a year, and figured I could cut back on my expenses enough to warrant losing the job. Besides, I could just get one in college once I was there. Looking back, I am eternally grateful for my decision to quit, because the time I got to spend with my parents, the trips we did, the wonderful times we had, well... It will never leave me. And now, it's all I have of them. For some reason, even though he was practically family, I hadn't told Jed yet, that they'd passed away. I didn't quite understand why, but in part I think I didn't want to burden him with my own pain. The man had done enough for me, and leaving the job was hard enough. 

It warmed my heart stepping in through the door, and the smell of coffee hit me in an aromatic rush, the hints of leather in the couches underscoring the bitter smell of the beans. The newspapers right where they'd been when I left. It's a strange thing, the comfort that can be found in the persistence of small things. 

Thomas, a co-worker who'd only been working there a few weeks before I left, was on, as well as a girl I didn't recognize who was working on an espresso. Thomas smiled when I walked in. 

"Tristan! My man, good to see you." 

There's a certain kind of person, the kind who is excessively friendly and acts as if they are much closer with you than they really are, and Thomas is one of those people. It's a double edged sword of a quality, which has immense benefits in surface level social interactions, but which proves irritating in the long run. Thankfully, I didn't ever spend much time around Thomas, so our interactions were only ever pleasant. 

"Thomas - good to see you too. How goes it?" 

"Not bad, not bad. Pretty slow today, but that's alright, haven't quite hit rush hour yet." He glanced at the clock. "Ooh, somebody's a badass. Too cool for school, eh?" 

I chuckled. "Hardly. It's a long story." 

"Well, shit, I got time," he said. 

I shook my head. "Maybe some other time, man. Sorry. Jed around?" 

"All good! And yeah, he's out back on a phone call. Stick around, I'm sure he'll be back soon. He'd love to see you. Oh, by the way, you met Maddy yet?" 

A tall, skinny blonde girl, she turned and nodded at me, then finished off the espresso and put it on the bar, calling out the name and then coming over to the counter. 

"'Sup, I'm Maddy." 

"Hey, I'm Tristan. I used to work here a while ago." 

"Oh, cool. Jed's mentioned you. Nice to meet you," she replied, smiling, and then heading back in the bar to start cleaning.. She was pretty cute, not necessarily my type of girl - a little more skater-chick than I usually go for, but she had a confident charm about her. She was wearing all black - jeans and a t-shirt tucked into the waistband. 

Jed came inside from the back door behind the bar, and, upon seeing me, beamed. 

"Tristan! So good of you to come by." He walked out from behind the bar and wrapped me in his arms in a huge bear hug, lifting me off my feet. 

"Urg - good to see you..too," I stammered, barely able to speak. He set me down and ruffled my hair with his head. 

"Hey, you're looking more like yourself today! What's going on, eh? Where's that sad, mopey Tristan that's been putting his nose in Nietzsche all alone in the corner?" he said, smiling. The man was all love. 

I'd missed the guy, his friendly demeanor and his hugs. "Well, I don't know, actually. I woke up feeling great today, and it just, didn't go away," I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "I'm trying not to think about it too much." 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 02



"Ah, well, sex will do that to a man," he said matter-of-factly. 

"Wait, I, uh, I didn't-" I stammered, blushing. 

"I was just kidding with ya' Tristan! But it seems I've touched a nerve! Good on you, boy. Now, what can I get for you?" he asked, going back behind the bar, "The usual?" 

"That'd be lovely, thanks." Jed had a way of moving from topic to topic, the guy always seemed to know where to stay and where to simply dip a toe in, and move on. I was grateful to have the sex topic dropped, and I noticed Maddy checking me out out of the corner of my eye. She'd obviously heard the interaction, and I was a little embarrassed. 

"So, what's new, Jed? How's life?" I asked as he got out the personal grinder, a hand crank designed to make one pot of coffee which he only ever used for friends of the store, ensuring the freshest grind possible. 

"Well, you know, business is fine, and not really a concern. Maddy's a new hire," he nodded over to her, "and she's picking it up fine. Here, tell you what, how about you make him his coffee, Maddy? Show us what you got." he smiled, resting the grinder and the beans on the table. 

"Just a regular coffee? Too easy," she said, and took up the supplies. 

"Now, now, there's a subtlety to it," chided Jed lightly. "I kid, a little, but it's true, you know. I've only made a perfect cup of coffee three times in my life, and every time it was for a woman I loved." He scratched his head. "Funny how that works, eh?" 

"Really? Only three times?" I asked, astounded. I hadn't ever heard this before from him.Even before opening the shop, Jed had been making coffee since before he dropped out of college. 

"Yup. It's an impossible thing to chase, so it's only ever happened to me on accident. The amount of things that have to go right, phew, it's not even worth trying." 

"Well then how can you tell?" asked Thomas. 

"Yeah, how do know it happened?" chimed in Maddy, who'd finished grinding the beans and was pouring them into a french press. 

"Ah, well, it's hard to explain. Sometimes, you just know these things. I'm sure once you've made your first thousand you'll have more of an appreciation for it, Maddy. But who knows! Maybe this is the one!" he said, grinning broadly. 

"Alright Tristan, this one's for you. Shooting for perfection here," said Maddy, looking over at me and winking. 

"Well, of course I only drink perfect coffee, so I'll be able to tell," I said sarcastically, putting on a serious air. She rolled her eyes. 

"Maddy, don't shoot for perfection," said Jed. "If you try, you will fail. Guarantee it. The trick with these things," he continued, "Is that you have to make them happen without trying." He tapped the side of his nose with a knowing expression. 

"Huh?" we all said in unison, but Jed just shrugged his broad shoulders. 

"Maybe some day it will make sense to you. I remember the first time it happened to me," he said, and immediately I knew he would be breaking into a story. Me and Thomas exchanged a glance, an unspoken "here we go" sort of thing. Jed gets a look on his face, at once faraway and delighted, and into his tone creeps the dusty layering of the past. Working there, you learn to notice it and then settle accordingly, and let the story soak in. 

"We were camping, my wife Elizabeth and I, out in the Sierras, near Mount Whitney. Beautiful country there. It was Springtime, right near the beginning, so while the days were sunny they were also very cold - we were pretty high up, at least seven thousand feet up, but probably more. You could always see your breath, even with the sun high in the sky." 

"I rolled out of bed before her, and quietly stepped out of the tent. Hard for a man my size, right? But I had a plan, and when you have a plan, things become possible that otherwise aren't. I got the gas stove running, and got six pieces of bacon frying. Nothing like the sound of sizzling bacon out in the country, thing is, you have to keep an eye out for bears. Anyway, once there was some grease in the pan, I tossed in a few eggs. I know, you're thinking, Jed, how in the hell did you bring up eggs on a backpacking trip?" He grinned, and tapped his nose again, a habit of his that really brought you in to his story - you knew an explanation was coming, and it made you ten types of curious. 

"There's a trick to it," he said, "You stuff 'em in a Ziplock bag, each one wrapped in cloth, and make sure to keep 'em at the top of your pack. I brought four - it was my little surprise for Elizabeth, bacon and eggs is her favorite breakfast, we'd just been doing oatmeal and granola bars with dried fruit." 

"In another pan I got water boiling for the coffee. Now, these beans, I could go on and on about these beans, specially harvested in Peru by a buddy of mine. Smelled like heaven. Anyways, to make a long story short, I boiled just the right amount of water, with the exact amount of ground coffee, and let it steep in the press for just long enough. She came out of the tent, asking me what all the ruckus was about, and I had a plate of bacon and eggs and a mug of coffee right there for her. It was perfect, the entire thing, the sun rising, the two of us huddled together. Something really special going on, you know?" 

"Thing is, you can get everything perfect about coffee, time everything right, but it's only perfect if you let it be. Everything only exists in context. That coffee was perfect, but if not for the bacon and eggs, the sun, the hiking we'd done in the days prior, it would only have been great." He shook his head, looking at the floor with his tongue pressed into his cheek, reliving the memory. Then he looked back up. 

"So that's my invitation, Maddy and Thomas. If you put care and attention into the coffee, that's great, but when you hand it over to a customer, make sure they know that you made that for them, and only them, that they're taking part of something special. Even if it's just drip coffee, it's theirs. What I'm talking about is more than a friendly smile, hell, it's in the bones of this place. All you have to do is listen, and it'll come out alright. Tristan here," he gestured toward me, "was just starting to get the hang of it when he left." 

I smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you, Master Jed." I bowed stiffly, and he laughed his deep belly-laugh that was more infectious than that of a giggling baby. 

"Oh, Master Jed, that'll be the day," he said, and blew his nose into a striped handkerchief he always kept in his back pocket, then folded it up and put it back. "Now, Maddy, how's our friend's coffee coming?" 

She was staring intently at the french press, as if it was the only thing in the world. A few moments passed, and then she grabbed a ceramic mug, and filled it just shy of the brim. 

Walking over to the counter, she placed it in front of me, holding my gaze. 

"Here you are, Tristan. I don't know if it's perfect, but it's a damn fine cup of coffee, and you're welcome," she said, smiling. Cheeky - I liked it. The coffee was too hot to drink immediately of course, so I took it and warmed my hands against the mug. Jed chuckled at her demeanor. 

"Hell of a new member we got here, eh Tristan?" he winked at me. 

"Thank you, Maddy. I'm looking forward to it." I was growing more and more interested by her the longer I was around, there was a certain edge to her composure which I found fascinating, and quite unlike that of anyone I'd known before. I imagined what kissing her would be like, how she would feel if I traced my hands across her skin. There was something appealing in her toughness, the modern coquette. 

I took my coffee to one of the tables opposite the bar, and Jed sat down opposite me. We caught up about the little things, I told him about classes and of the party tomorrow, he told me about his daughter and of a new hobby he'd taken up, whittling. All the while, though, while we talked, my gaze would drift over the room and would settle on Maddy. More often than not, she would notice, and match me, almost defiant as she was drying a cup or wiping down the counter, but always interested. 

It became a game. How often could we look at each other without outright staring? I'm positive that Jed noticed what was going on and declined to comment, at a certain point it was simply so obvious. Thomas was oblivious to the whole thing - sometimes Maddy would be having a conversation with him looking at me the entire time. 

I was getting horny just from the sheer intensity of her gaze, even though I was coming fresh off of a pretty incredible sexual encounter, I felt ready to go again, which was fairly atypical of me but I didn't pay much attention to that fact. I was thinking of Maddy, fantasizing as if I was still working here, sharing a closing shift with her and then getting into all sorts of mischief behind the bar. 

Jed was going on about something or other, and I locked eyes with Maddy once more, my thoughts immediately turning sexual, fuck, I was getting so turned on, I wanted to go behind the bar and get her down on her knees, get those lips around my cock. A rushing sensation coursed through my body, and I saw her freeze, tensing. And then, the familiarity of holding another rose in me, and I locked in on her. 

This was going to be fun. 

I pretended to continue paying attention to Jed, while slowly increasing how turned on she was. Her motions grew steadily shaky, nothing crazy, she had it under control and was fighting it, but I was relentless, continuing to push her into her own desire with my mind. I tried something more subtle: creating a thought inside her. I wasn't sure how to go about doing it, I just followed my instinct, honing in on her. 

What if Tristan was fucking me right now? She shivered as the thought arose in her as if from her own accord. Fuck, I bet he'd fuck me so good. Woah - I heard one of her thoughts, in response to the one I'd sent. That was new. 

"You cold?" asked Thomas, noticing her shiver. "I've got a hoodie you could wear." 

"N-no, I'm alright, thanks." she said briskly, turning away from me and moving out of sight. 

I kept up the pressure, furthering how turned on she was, submitting her further and further to her own sex drive. Whether or not I could see her didn't matter. 

His cock parked deep inside me, yeah, oh fuck what if he's into anal? If he wanted to fuck my ass I'd let him. Fuck, why am I so horny right now? I masturbated this morning. Holy shit, this was so hot. I was rock hard under the table and I had no idea what Jed was saying, and I didn't care. I sent out another thought to Maddy. 

I could ask him to fuck me. I felt her eyes widen, and she let the idea hang, toying with it. Fuck, how would we do that? If Jed left I could pass by him on the way to the bathroom. Fuck. What am I thinking? 

I noticed Jed come to a lull in his story, and I excused myself, heading to the bathroom. Maddy followed me with her eyes, and right before I rounded the corner which lead to the hallway with the men's and the women's room, I glanced at her, and then went down the hall. 

Fuck, what was he saying with that look? He's so hot. Fuck it. I can't work like this. 

I heard her say something about going to the bathroom to Thomas. I walked into the men's room, a single restroom that needed a code, and let the door close gently behind me so that it didn't shut completely. 

I stood there for a second, unsure if my plan was going to work, if she'd actually follow through. Somewhere along the way I'd lost the connection to her, so I was just waiting. I figured it was all or nothing, so I lowered my pants, my dick popping out of the waistband. I was rock hard, and incredibly turned on by the thought that I had been toying with Maddy's arousal. 

The door creaked open, and she poked her head in. She saw me standing there, naked, staring her down. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. She slipped inside, shutting the door completely. I put a finger up against my lips, and, still dumbfounded, she nodded, and regained her composure a little. 

She walked toward me, once closer, she took my dick gingerly in one hand, breathing out deeply. I was pretty big. She looked down at it, then back up at me, her eyes full of wonder. I reached out a hand and fingered her jean button, she didn't stop me, and once I had it unbuttoned I unzipped her pants slowly, at once teasing her and trying not to make too much noise. Underneath she was wearing black underwear, and I could already smell her sex, it was intoxicating, my eyelids drooped and then shot back up as she started slowly jerking me off, and pushing me backwards. 

I stepped back as she pressed me forward with the hand around my dick, and soon I hit the wall. She started stroking me faster, and I slipped my hand underneath her clothes, feeling her warm, wet sex. She moaned, desire building in her eyes, her mouth slack and the pace of her breath increased. With my fingers flat I moved in large circles, just teasing her and getting to know her shape and form. 

Then, I slipped a finger inside of her and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, unable to stop a small groan from behind her closed mouth. My other hand came to her throat, and as I did so her eyes shot open and suddenly I had her once more, her entire being at my disposition. I firmly grasped her by her neck, slightly constricting her airway, and raising an eyebrow as I started to finger her faster. She nodded, giving assent, and I could feel her heat rising, her desire aflame and increasing, that she enjoyed sex a little rough. 

I pressed deeper into her with my finger while making small circles with my palm against her clit and her gasps became short and rapid, while her strokes of my dick moved faster and faster, it felt so good, but I wanted more, and I could tell that she did too. I took my hand out of her pants and she let go of my dick to bring them down lower. I spun her around, her back against the wall. To my amazement she lifted a leg and flawlessly placed it on top of my shoulder, and she smirked with pride. She must be a dancer. 

I moved closer, stretching her leg higher and lining my dick up with her pussy. She moaned as I pushed it forward slightly, breaching the outer folds. As hot as it was, I couldn't have any sound from her, so I put a hand over her mouth, leaning in close so that our noses were almost touching, and with the other hand I kept her leg on my shoulder. She was incredibly flexible, and her eyes widened as she breathed deeply and rapidly through her nose. 

I thrust inside of her, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets as I brought her almost halfway down my dick. I pulled out a little, then thrust back in, deeper, penetrating her with my cock, taking her how I wanted to. I fucked her harder, picking up the pace, keeping my hand clamped over her mouth, and she started trying to breathe through the cracks in my fingers, her eyes weakening and her body making slight gyrations forward and back, matching me, so I fucked her even harder, but stopping just shy of being balls deep to avoid the slapping sound, and for some reason staying in that middle area, not pulling out all the way, not going in all the way, felt so incredible, staying in the heat of it, that there was no beginning and no end, and we rocked each other there. 

An orgasm rippled through her, tensing her muscles and her pussy wrapping tighter around my dick, her walls pulsing along its length, and I kept her pressed against the wall there, staying deep inside as she rode the waves of her ecstasy on my cock. It subsided after a while and I took my hand off her mouth, and she looked at me with wide eyes. That's never happened before, she thought, barely able to put the thought together. Not bad, but I wasn't done yet. 

I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her down gently. I felt resistance both in her body and in the being-sense I held of her, she clearly didn't like giving head. That would have to change - I took her mind, and flooded it with the desire to suck me off. 

Immediately, she fell to her knees and took me in her mouth, sliding a couple inches down my cock and sucking in with her cheeks, flicking the tip of my head with her tongue. My god, a girl this good was wasting her talents having reservations about blowjobs. I put my hands on her head, and pushed it a little farther down, inching my cock to the beginnings of her throat. She didn't have a gag reflex, but more resistance came up - she didn't like the idea of having her face fucked, but she had no idea who she was really dealing with. Her throat was mine. 

I could have taken away her resistance and made her fall in love with deepthroating, but instead, a deviant part of me took over and let her resistance stay, keeping the displeasure there. I pushed her head a little farther down, and she put a hand around the rest of my dick so that her lips met her hand. Instead of changing her desire to deepthroat, I stripped her of her ability to stop me, and changed her mind to not feel okay with challenging anything I did. 

I pulled her hand off, and readjusted so that my cock was lined up perfectly with her mouth. I stayed there until she looked up at me, at which point I slid her slowly off me until her mouth was just at the tip of my dick. Relieved, she gave it extra love, swirling around it with her lips and her tongue, sucking tightly on it, and then when she went down just a little bit I took her by surprise and thrust forward while shoving her head down on my dick, and it pierced through all the way to the back of her throat until her lips were around the base of the shaft. 

I felt the cum rising in me, and so I pulled out and then thrust back in, over and over, fucking her mouth until I was cumming, and I pressed her head against the wall, driving my cock all the way down her throat as I came into her, over and over, taking her how I wanted, until I was spent, and then I staggered back, amazed at how good it had felt. 

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, kneeling there, half crumpled on the floor, her mascara a mess from the water running down her cheeks. She coughed, taking in deep breaths, then looked up at me, angry and unsure of how to feel. The confusion was there on her face, undecided between being indignant with how I'd used her, or really fucking turned on by how hot it had been. As the heat of the moment faded, so too did the grasp I had on her, but in the last moments before it disappeared I was able to shift her toward the latter, and she stood up with a devilish grin, all trace of being uncomfortable vanished. 

"Damn, Tristan. Too bad you quit working here, we'd make a hell of a team," she said quietly, pulling her pants back on. 

"Well, I may just have to stop by more often now. You know, for the coffee." 

"Right, for the coffee," she said, a sly smile on her face. She wet a paper towel and wiped off her face as she fixed her hair. She nodded toward the door. "You head out first, I'll need a little while to fix up, and we can't go out at the same time." 

"Alright. Well, thanks for the fuck. That was pretty incredible." This was all so casual - it was incredibly surreal. 

"Mhm." she said, looking at me through the mirror, then back to herself. Apparently she wasn't one for hugs and kisses, and in this context, I didn't mind. The bathrooms of Dante's are always kept immaculate, I remember complaining about how often we were made to clean them before I came to understand how important it was, so it wasn't a question of the place, but rather the way we'd come together, colliding at lightning speed and then departing just as quickly. It felt appropriate. 

I washed my hands first, and then walked out back into the store. Jed was still sitting at the table, and when he saw me, he gestured toward the coffee I hadn't tried yet. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



Author's Note: This story is shaping up to be much longer than I anticipated. To that end, this is not the best choice if you're looking for something quick - sex isn't featured as heavily in this chapter. However, if you're interested in Tristan and the new world he is finding himself in, read on... 

***** 

The hot humidity of the jungle pressed on my skin, a thick, invisible blanket which slowed my steps and left my thoughts sluggish. Then again, that could also be due in part to the fact that I was still drunk from the party. I'd been more or less forced here in the middle of hanging out with my friends, and my head was swimming, barely able to keep up with the changes. One moment, I was dealing with a broken nose in the bathroom, which bled still. The next, I was on a path of white gravel leading toward a brilliant wood building in a clearing. 

Despite the thickness of the jungle to either side of the path, the multitude of sounds both aviary and insect emanating from inside, the path remained completely clear - nothing crossed it, and no weeds grew amidst the gravel. I was wobbling back and forth on my way forward - jungle humidity and alcohol were a terrible mix, I'd only been walking a few minutes and I was already sweating through my clothes and felt dehydrated. 

The building just a little farther down the path glinted in the sun. I called it a monastery because that was the closest word I had to describe what I saw. There was a spiritual quality to it, a serenity in the architecture: bowed tops of the roof, tastefully angled slants here and there in the sides. An open stone archway bordered by a light brown wood fence which lined the perimeter of the place. From a distance, I couldn't get a totally clear sense of it, but what was immediately apparent was the obsessive right angles and rigid, flat walls which nearly ubiquitously marked the urban architecture I'd come from were nowhere to be found. This place was different, and quite small. 

I finally broke out of the jungle and into the clearing in which the monastery was located. Immediately, the air changed, becoming more cool and fresh as I got closer to the building. I wondered if the butterfly queen, would be there. 

But from under the stone archway, which I'd just been looking past a moment ago, came not the woman made of butterflies, but a little boy I vaguely recognized. I had a hard time focusing on him, which perhaps explained why I didn't notice him at first. Right - this was Jasper, or at least, it resembled Jasper, the thing which claimed it was no boy and could move faster than I could see. The two-faced man, a name I didn't fully understand. Something to do with the fact that he was not what he seemed, and that he had two modes: a quiet, almost sagelike wisdom could infuse his every word, which were spoken sparingly, or he seemed completely normal, if very well spoken for a child. I remembered my annoyance at him, and his refusal to answer any of my questions. 

"Welcome back, Tristan." he said, standing before me. In his hand, he held something shiny, and shimmering, and he was wearing a simple brown robe, cinched at the waist. 

"Quite the welcome, kidnapping me from a bathroom, Jasper," I replied. I wasn't going to waste words with him, drunk me wanted some fucking answers. "Pretty fucking rude, don't you think." 

"That is as much my problem as Jasper is my name," he said, shrugging. 

Ah yes, the cryptic business with names. They seemed to be regarded as silly, here. "You're the one who ignored the summons, so we had to come get you," he said. 

I stood there, incredulous. "Summons? What summons?" 

"We tried a few times, once through your dreams, once through a man you were close to, who used to serve here, and once by sending messengers your way. You weren't open to any of the communications, so," he spread his arms wide, "here you are." 

I wracked by brain. "Wait, Jed? You know Jed?" 

Jasper extended the hand with the shiny thing in it. Now that it was closer to me, I saw that it was a necklace - a thin silver chain with a small, roughly hewn pendant of green jade inscribed with some sort of rune in black calligraphy. 

"Put this on, please," he said. 

"I'm not going to put whatever the fuck that is on," I said as I reached out and put the necklace over my neck. 

Wait, what the fuck? I hadn't intended to do that. Realization dawned on me - I'd just been controlled, in the same way that I had influenced Mark, or Amber, or Maddy, it had just been done to me. Holy shit. I opened my mouth to yell at Jasper and demand answers, but when I tried to speak, I found that I had absolutely no idea how. 

"Great, so now that that's settled, here are a few answers. Pay attention," he said, sounding bored. I screwed up my face, concentrating on making words come, and started breathing rapidly, panicking at the fact that I'd lost my speech. 

"So," said Jasper slowly, "You're probably noticing you can't talk. This is on purpose, and the sooner you stop fighting it and shut up internally, the faster we'll go." 

I struggled with it some more, still drunk and angry at the violation of the sanctity of my mind. I found out pretty quickly, however, that there wasn't much I could do, and so I stopped trying, slumping my shoulders. In the end, subdued and irritated, I opted for flipping him off. 

That made him laugh. "Oho! Well, that's rich. You're off to a great start, Tristan, a real nice first impression." I anticipated sarcasm, but he sounded completely genuine. It was off-putting. 

"So," he continued, "Answers, right? First off, we shut you up because it's easier that way. You'll have a million questions, and it's just faster if we don't bother with them, because you don't know the right questions to ask, and my time is valuable." He laughed to himself after he said that, then continued: "And don't bother trying to speak, or fight against it, that power is coming straight from who you call Shae." 

Right, Shae was the butterfly queen's name. I assumed she was some sort of leader around here. 

"You won't get to meet her again for quite some time, I assume. She's got far more important things to do than handle the meet and greet. No, that's my job. It's a wonderful life I live," he said, smiling. "Now, more answers: that pendant is going to prevent you from using your powers. Not that you were any good before, but don't even bother trying now. You're welcome to try and take it off at any point, just know, that you're wearing it for your own good. While you're wearing that necklace, nobody can affect your mind. There's some tremendously powerful protective energy going on in that thing." 

"You're going to be tossed in with a bunch of other people with similar powers, we just call it the Art, by the way, and it's just a huge fucking mess if everyone's manipulating each other during training. We're about efficiency, here, and effectiveness. Keep that in mind, you'll go far." 

"Now, remember, you're welcome to take it off at any point. Or rather, you're welcome to try. Actually, go on, try right now." 

Fuck that! I didn't want to take it off, being protected sounded like a very nice and very good idea for me right now. I was vulnerable and I needed protection. Also, I didn't want Shae messing around in my head anymore. 

"Now, you'll probably notice you don't actually want to take it off. There you go. Ta-da!" he grinned. "Now, if you can figure that one out before someone tells you, you're ahead of the curve. Oh, and don't worry, you'll get speech back pretty soon." 

He tapped his cheek with his finger, and looked pensive. "Well, shit, I'm sure there's more to say, but none of it seems terribly important. How about you just follow me, now?" 

He turned, and walked back toward the arch which led to the front steps of the monastery. I followed him, hastening to catch up. He walked really quickly for a child. We passed under the arch, a single structure which appeared to have been hewn from a single slab of grey rock, with no apparent placement of the top part onto the two curved supporting beams. It was only a foot taller than I. When we passed under it, I felt a ripple in the air, a slight tension settled into me, but then it was gone. 

"Oh, right," he said, starting up the steps, which appeared to be made of the same stuff as the pendant, but colored white, "of course, Shae can still get in your head. She made the necklaces, after all, so she's got the backdoor entrance. She's probably always reading your mind, by the way. She likes to run things her way here," he said, chuckling again. 

"And I almost forgot." He turned, and fished in his robes for a moment before removing his hand and extending it up toward me. On top of his palm was what appeared to be a chunk of rock, roughly angled and colored a pure white. "Take this, it's for you. It's your first test, actually." 

I reached out hesitantly, trying to figure out if I was actually the one who was reaching out or if I was being made to do so without my knowing it. 

Jasper stomped his foot impatiently, a strange action considering his small size and appearance. "Go on, we haven't got all day. Really, it's just much better if you do everything I say. We'll stay great friends, if you can do that. 

I remembered when I'd tried to get a good look at him the first time I'd been taken here, wherever "here" was. He'd told me not to, but I'd accidentally lingered my gaze on him, puzzling out who he was, and in an instant I'd been knocked to the floor. I often forgot that the boy I was looking at was actually a creature which held power and speed unlike anything I'd ever known. 

So I reached out, and took the fucking rock. 

Immediately after I touched it, a blue-green color blossomed from the inside, spreading from the center to the outskirts, following rivulets in the rock that I couldn't see. As I held it in my hand, the color deepened in its hue and seemed to shine slightly when I looked at it. It had an energy about it, but it was hard for me to discern what exactly that meant or what it was like. 

"Hmm. Very interesting," said Jasper, eying me curiously before turning once again up the stairs. I followed him until we reached the top, a small vestibule before the door inside. There was a woven brown mat which covered the entire area, and an empty wicker chair to the side of the door, which Jasper eyed pensively. 

A few wind chimes hung from a beam above, where the upper part of the building jutted out. The chimes seemed to be made of the same wood that had formed the structure of the hut I'd met that woman in before. Wood where, peeled to different depths, it revealed different colors, and cast a small degree of light. The chimes were mostly a tan shade of brown, but grooves here and there had been cut into the wood, leaving them appearing as if freckled by color. I wondered what sound they made in the wind, but the air was still, and it didn't feel appropriate to knock them together right now as I would have done normally. 

"So, that there," he pointed to the rock I was holding - my rock, I wanted to call it - "is called Clay. I know, it's not actually clay, we took the word from you guys a really, really long time ago. Anyways, since you're restricted from practicing the Art on anybody, this is what you'll be training on to get a sense for it. Once you touch it, it's yours, tuned to you. With practice, you'll be able to shape it into things, and that practice will help you become attuned to the Art. Got it?" 

I nodded, and stared at the blue-green Clay in my hands. Why was it that color? Did that color have something to do with me? I looked at him questioningly, and he seemed to understand what I was asking. 

"Yeah, the color?" he asked, and I nodded. "No idea, everybody's is different. I can't actually do any of this shit, so, don't ask me about any of the specifics. I don't practice the Art." That was interesting - he wasn't the same as Shae? I'd assumed they were similar and lumped them together, but it appeared to be a little more complicated than that. 

I stared at the Clay and tried to increase my connection to it. Right now I only felt a sense of ownership, or kinship with it. That it was somehow a part of me. But it was a vague connection, and I couldn't do much with it. 

"Now, you did really well when you first came here - I was especially impressed with how you handled our chess game. Most people fail that completely. And back home you showed some real potential. You actually touched on some pretty powerful stuff, most people only scratch the surface during their first trip back." 

First trip? I didn't like the implications of that - even if it meant I'd get to come home, it also meant I'd have to come back here, over, and over again...Fuck. What had I gotten myself into? 

"Focus, Tristan," he said, and I snapped back to him, taking care not to focus too hard on his form, the memory of being tossed to the ground at lightning speed was fresh in my mind. 

"Now, as I was saying, you did alright back home, but things are different here. Make no mistake, you're at the bottom of the totem pole, you don't know squat, and there's all sorts of people here. So, don't go around thinking you're high and mighty because you've had a taste of the Art. Everyone inside here has, and they're all more trained than you," he pointed toward the door. 

"Now, we won't be seeing much of each other, but you'll meet some other people who run this place. All I can say is, don't be a dick, and do what they say. Your teachers are your best asset." He started past me, walking down the stairs. "I've got high hopes for you, Tristan. You've got some real potential," he said, walking away. I watched him leave, without a clue what to do next. 

He turned suddenly, and added, "Oh, and see if you can make friends with the stone giants. Toodles." 

I blinked - stone giants? - and he was gone. I was alone at the top of the stairs. The man's speed was unreal. 

I turned to face the door, a simple wooden thing, and steeled myself for what would be inside. 

"Fucking hell," I muttered. 

Oh - I'd got my words back. It didn't seem so important now. And, I realized, I'd sobered up instantly once I'd arrived at the top of the stairs. It's hard to notice those sorts of transitions. A return to the norm is a lot easier to slip past you than a sudden change. 

I didn't want to go inside. I didn't really want any of this to happen - that's what I kept telling myself. I wanted to go back home, back to the party, back to Amber. Right? 

But still, even though I was scared, despite the fact that I had no idea where I was, what I was doing, what the purpose of my "training" even was... 

I was excited. I was excited beyond belief. I was about to join some crazy fucking mind control training center? Unreal. I didn't dare pinch myself, lest I be dreaming. And hey, maybe I wouldn't even be gone that long, and wouldn't have time to miss anybody back home. I could handle being at the bottom of the totem pole for a couple days. 

So I pushed the door open, and it swung inside soundlessly, revealing a small, rectangular room stretching out. A woven mat took up all but the edges, along which were shoe racks. I took mine off, as well as my socks, stuffing them in each shoe, and placed them next to some sandals. Judging by the amount of shoes, there were at least thirty people here, if not a lot more. 

The walls of the room were colored a deep orange, and the room itself was lit by torches placed at regular intervals along the walls - the sole decoration. While the flames flickered, the light they cast did not, and they gave off no smoke. Strange. 

I walked forward further into the room, and found that it dead ended rapidly, with two doors opposing each other on either side. Neither of them had handles. I hefted the Clay in my hand, trying to decided which door to go through. Eventually, I chose the one on the right, and pushed it, but it didn't budge. I tried a little harder, putting some strength into it, but it didn't give so much as a tenth of an inch. There wasn't any purchase I could pull on, so I quickly gave up on it, and turned to the other door. 

When I pushed it, it swung open easily, revealing a room filled with beds - almost all of them were occupied. The room was lit by the same sort of flickering torches which emit a constant light. The people in the beds were human, thank god, something I'd been doubting after hearing about stone giants. They seemed to come from all sorts of backgrounds, and in a variety of shapes and sizes. I noticed, with a start, that they were all male. Perhaps the other door was for girls? That would make sense. 

I tip-toed around, not wanting to wake anybody, and looked for an empty bed. While looking around, I noticed that the room opened up into another room on the far right, through a curtain of hanging beads. 

I eventually found a bed, but when I looked closer, the pillow had a small card on it with writing I couldn't understand. It wasn't any language I recognized, perhaps some sort of Arabic? It had some similar shapes to the lettering I'd seen, but it was hard to tell. 

I had spotted a few other empty beds across the room, so I decided to check those out before committing to one. One of the pillow-cards was blank, another entirely black, and after a moment I found one which had written on it, in simple, bold letters, "Tristan". 

Well, that was refreshing - at least not everything had to be a huge mystery. I only had to find the right bed, and that hadn't been too hard. It was a small thing - roughly equivalent to a twin, but long enough to fit me in it, just barely. Most beds were too short for my legs and they stuck off, but this one fit perfectly, and was different, I noticed, from the other ones around me. As if it had been tailored to my size. Creepy. 

I shook my head, shaking my head of the idea. No use in holding mind control as a creepy thing if I was going to be exploring it myself. Spying on me and taking my measurements would probably soon become the norm, I guessed. Or, maybe Jasper had sized me up the minute I'd first met him and played our strange game of chess, who knows. What had Shae said? "Everything is so slow for him?" I wondered what she meant by that, and when I'd get to see her again. 

I sat on the bed itself - it was a little firm. A thin, simple, light blue comforter with matching pillowcase lay on a white sheet. I toyed with the Clay in my hands, idly playing with it. It was physically hard - I tried to press it into a particular shape, but my finger just pressed against the surface, it didn't change at all. 

I looked around - everybody was sleeping, but I wasn't tired. I figured now was as good a time as any to explore, so I stood up and silently padded over to the entrance to the other room. I parted the beads, and they whispered as my hand pushed them to the sides. 

I poked my head through the beads. The next room had hardwood flooring, and large windows on the wall opposite me through which sunlight poured into the room, leaving it brightly lit. On the far right was a rectangular wooden bench which spanned the length of the room, brown against the white wall above it. 

I walked inside, letting the beads fall back quietly, and walked toward the windows. They stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and I wondered for a moment if they weren't in fact sliding glass doors, but when I got closer I saw no hinges or anything of the sort. I soon forgot all about the question when I saw the outside. 

I was much higher than I'd thought, and the windows looked out over a large courtyard devoid of people. At the center was a fountain, which didn't appear active at the moment, and it was ringed by a square stone bench. There was a small square of rock surrounding the fountain, into which paths flowed from different directions, and everything else, the vast majority of the courtyard, was green. Grass spread all over it, and trees had been planted asymmetrically in the grass. They looked like fruit trees - I thought I saw flashes of color between their leaves - but it was hard to tell from up here. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



Around this courtyard stretched the rest of the building, which I could no longer call a monastery. It was more like an apartment complex than anything else, and the architecture of it was nothing like what I'd seen from the outside, with the slanting roofs and curves. The building formed three quarters of a circle around the courtyard, angular and precise in its circumference. At the point where the two ends of the building ran out, they spiked up and met in an oval arch above the path which led inside. I was convinced that the building I'd walked into had been just an illusion, that there was no way that what I was looking out onto was the same as the monastery I'd entered at first. If you looked at the building from the entrance below the oval, I was peering out a window on the rightmost side. Interesting. I turned the Clay in my hands as I wondered how I could get out there. 

I left the window, and turned to look at the long wooden box. It didn't appear to have any hinges either, but there was a small gap between the top and the bottom. The wall above it was different from all the others, a shade exactly like the color of my Clay, I realized with a start. Hadn't it been white when I walked in? I peered closer at the wall, and was surprised to find that it was made of the same stuff as the Clay - a giant wall of it, and perfectly smooth. Interesting - it had tuned to the color of my Clay. My color. 

On a whim, I focused on the wall, searching for its presence. I found nothing, but, resolute, and determined to figure out how to connect with this stuff, I sat down before it, and concentrated. I thought back to the times when I'd connected to people, how my mind had been mostly out of the picture, that their being had simply arisen independent of my attempt to bring it up. As if I'd left a space for it. 

I put the little piece of Clay I'd been given on top of the box before me, below the wall, so that if I got a hit on the big wall I could maybe shift that to my piece and maybe manipulate it somehow. Instantly after I let go of it, it whizzed toward the wall and was absorbed in a fluid instant, leaving not even the slightest ripple on the surface. 

"Hey!" I exclaimed, forgetting the sleeping people in the next room. It wasn't too loud, just a regular volume level. I didn't hear any movement from the other room, so I figured it was okay, and I focused back on the wall. I needed my Clay back. I didn't want to be the guy who'd lost his Clay before ever being taught to do anything with it. 

I stayed seated before the wall and focused on it with an urgency I didn't possess before. Still, nothing happened, and I got no sense of presence of it. 

I was being too pointed in my focus. Too intent on figuring it out, as if I knew what there even was to figure out. That was the problem, I realized, I was fixating on finding something with an idea of what that thing was, when in fact I had no idea. I needed to open up. 

So I directed the intent and urgency I had toward a more open approach, letting my mind un-tense. Relaxing. There was only me, and a wall of Clay. It was still tuned to the blue-green that I had come to realize was my color. 

Wait - it was still tuned in to me. That meant that it was, in some way or another, aware of my presence. Maybe I could do something with that? 

Instead of focusing on the wall of Clay, I focused on myself, looking for any indication that I was being noticed. Have you ever gotten the feeling that you were being watched? I looked for that feeling in my experience. I found it instantly, a sort of vibration in my body that was so subtle I hadn't noticed it. 

Staying calm, and open, I held that vibration, examining it. What was going on here? What was looking at me? 

In a flash, I followed the feeling back, and the presence of the wall rose in my mind. I felt the whole thing, what it was, that I could interact with it and I only had to ask in the right way. It wasn't alive, per se, but it was finely tuned to some sort of frequency which I apparently was able to produce. Sort of like a magnet. 

Holding the wall of Clay in my mind, my eyes shut tight in concentration, I more or less asked it for my Clay back. Not in any way you'd be able to fully understand - I wasn't talking to the wall so much as I was feeling it. It was just a question of changing my feeling so that it would respond accordingly. I felt some initial tugging inside of it, an initial resistance, and I attempted to sooth that by further adjusting my mindset to be similar to it. Holding the wall of Clay in my consciousness, I eased the distinction between myself and it until such a point that there was almost no difference between the two of us. I asked once more for my Clay back. 

I felt a shift, and opened my eyes. A small bulge pressed against the wall from beneath the surface, and then with a smooth ripple that vanished almost instantly, a small chunk of Clay about a third the size of the one I'd had initially eased out of the wall, floating before me, already tinted with my color, albeit a faded hue. I tenderly reached out my hand, palm up, and suddenly whatever force had been holding it suspended in the air disappeared, and it fell to my hand. 

Wow. That was fucking awesome. It glowed warmly in my hand, and the blue-green color flushed a deeper hue when my hand grasped around it. The surface was rough, and it wasn't a single drop, still more like a roughly hewn chunk that had been ripped out of the wall without grace. Still, it was mine - I felt much more connected to it than I had with the initial one. More of me was in it, I think. I barely had to glance at it to feel its presence rise in my mind, though distant, it was much more of a connection than I'd had with the first chunk. 

Even so, I was a little disappointed with the size, and worried that I'd be chided for not having enough Clay to work with in class. I was about to ask for more from the wall, when I heard the beads shift behind me. 

"Well, would you look at that," said a male voice behind me quietly. I turned around, and saw a man leaning against the wall - he was shirtless, except for a necklace identical to mine around his neck, and he was wearing a light pair of dark blue pajama bottoms. A mop of brown hair framed his face, askew from having been asleep, and dark circles ringed under his eyes. He was leaning against the wall adjacent to the beaded doorway, his arms crossed at his stomach. A curious grin was spread across his face. 

With a start, I realized that I could have done something wrong by being here, and by working with the wall. "Hey," I whispered back, unsure what to say. I didn't know where I was or what I'd just done, really, much less who he was or what the protocol was about being in this room, or even awake. Despite the sun shining bright outside, everyone else was asleep. 

"So, tell me," he said quietly, pushing off the wall and walking toward me, "do you have any idea what you have just done?" 

"Um - no. Not really." I responded in a low voice. "The Clay wall took my clay, so I went and got it back. It's not as big though." I showed him the Clay I'd received, holding it out in my palm. 

He shook his head and whistled quietly. "That's crazy. This is your first day, correct?" 

I nodded. "First fifteen minutes, more like." 

"Incredible. Pulling Clay on your first day... That's unheard of," he said warily. Shrugging, he looked out the window, then back at me. "Did you not get a tour yet?" 

I shook my head. "Nope. Nobody was around when I got here. 

He cursed quietly. "Damn. Derrik always steals off when he gets the night shift. Usually it's not so big a deal, as if we'd ever actually get attacked. But that sucks." He put his hands on his hips and looked at my thoughtfully. "You're technically not allowed to be in this room before you know what you're doing, but I'm sure they'll make an exception. Derrik will get the worst of it, though. Hmm.." 

"Attacked?" I asked quietly, my ears perking. Any information I could get was good information - I was working with nothing at the moment. 

"Yeah. Not important right now. Listen, I'm Emmit," he whispered, extending a hand. I shook it, and he smiled warmly. His brown eyes sparkled as he whispered, "Let's give you a tour then, yeah?" 

"I'm Tristan - and that sounds amazing - I'd really appreciate it. I know next to nothing about this place. Or why I'm here. Or the Art. Or Shae, or Jasper, or, really, anything," I said, scratching my head and really coming to understand the depth to which I'd plunged into the unknown. 

"Who are Shae and Jasper?" he asked, bewildered. "Nevermind, we can get to that later. I don't know much, but I can help you get your bearings. First things first, no more talking. Just follow me until we're out of earshot, yeah?" 

I nodded, grateful for his willingness to take direction. At least my silence was voluntary this time. 

He walked over to the beads. As he passed through them he left a hand behind, keeping them separated so that I could close them without making sound. We crept past the beds - everyone else was still asleep, or appeared to be - and padded silently out the door into the hallway I'd first come into. 

The door shut, Emmit turned to look at me, his necklace swinging on his chest. 

"Alright, first things first, we need to get you out of those clothes. They're just impractical," he said dismissively. 

I looked down at my clothes, just jeans and a t-shirt, socks and lace-up sneakers. "What's impractical with my clothes?" I asked. 

"Well," he started, "for one, those pants aren't flexible at all. Well, hm...I suppose you don't even know why you need flexible pants, huh?" he asked, pensively. "You see, I'm not trained for giving tours. Whatever," he said, shrugging, "this will have to do." 

"So, a lot of what we do here is physical training, to keep you in good shape. You're training to be a knight, right, so-" 

"Yeah, I was going to ask about that," I interrupted. "What exactly is a knight in this context? I assume nothing to do with metal armor, and horses, and castles and shit, right?" 

He laughed, and shook his head. "No, not so much. Well, a little. You know of the butterfly woman, right?" 

"Yeah, that's who I meant earlier. She told me to call her Shae." 

He gave me an incredulous look. "You talked to her?" 

I reddened. "Yeah, we had a little chat over dinner, sort of." When his eyes widened, I started to suspect that perhaps not everybody got to do that. "Is that not normal? Actually, is everybody's first time out here the same? Wait, where even the fuck are we?" The questions started rushing in - finally, someone was here to answer them. 

"Hold on, cowboy! You'll get a private meeting with one of the teachers and they'll give you a briefing on what being a knight is all about, who you're serving, really all that. So save your questions for them - if you're lucky you'll have Kiara to introduce you to the world here," he said, "and pray you don't get Jet." He shuddered. "Some people never recover from briefing with Jet." 

"Alright, well I'll keep that in mind, thanks. Not much I can do about choosing my briefing teacher, though, I assume?" 

He shook his head. "Negative. I suppose there's not much point in telling you about your possible first teachers. Anyways," he said, clapping his hands together, "We need to get you dressed, and we need to toss those clothes, and anything you've got in your pockets." 

I winced at the clap. "Hey, shouldn't we be quiet? You know, what with the people next door?" 

"Oh, the doors here are incredibly soundproof." he said, and then crossed the hallway to the door I'd tried to open when I first arrived. 

"That door didn't budge when I tried to open it earlier," I said. 

He grinned. "Precisely! Now, take off your clothes." 

"What?" 

Rolling his eyes, he tapped his foot impatiently. "Go on, I won't look if it makes you uncomfortable. We're going to toss them. Do you have anything in your pockets? That's going to be trashed as well." 

Really? "That stuff's important to me, sort of. My phone, my wallet. The keys for my house, you know? Can't you just store it somewhere for when I go back?" 

A grave look befell his face. "Tristan..." he looked for the words, failing to find them. 

"What?" I asked, unsettled. 

"Well, I definitely wasn't supposed to be the one to break this to you..." He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, concentrating. "Well, to put it bluntly, you probably won't be going back for many, many years. And that's if you make it back at all." He took in a sharp intake of breath, looking at me guardedly, like he was expecting me to hit him. 

The words hit me like a punch to the face. My knuckles turned white as I clenched the Clay so hard I should have cut my hand. The exciting new adventure I'd been off on had suddenly taken a very serious turn. "Emmit - you're not joking, right? This isn't funny, if you're joking." 

"I'm dead serious, Tristan. I'm so sorry." 

Fuck. Holy fucking...I didn't even have the words. An air of menace had suddenly crept into everything - the light cast by the flickering torches, so impossibly inconsistent with the movements of the flame in its steadiness, which had previously seemed so magical and cool, now was tinged with the hopelessness of my capture. The walls a suffocating enclosure, Emmit a plotting enemy. 

How had I let myself get roped up into all this? I'd just walked out into the fucking jungle like it was nothing! Fuck, I was such an idiot. I'd just thrown away everything I had, all my friends, the stability of my life, my college prospects...Amber...Jed...Joey... 

"Tristan, I'm gonna come across as very insensitive right now," he said, putting his hands up defensively, "But, it gets better. I promise. For now, worrying about it is only going to hurt you, and you're just at the beginning of something huge. It's really, really important you start off with as clear a head as possible. Okay? Just some words of advice." 

"Words of advice!" I shouted at him, turning to face him. "Words of advice! You just told me I'm stuck here for, what, how long? How long, Emmit?" 

His face turned ashen, and he looked at the floor. "Decades, at the very least. No less than twenty years," he said quietly. 

"No less than twenty, fucking, years. The people I know will be married and with children by the time I get back! And what, that's the conservative end? Jesus fucking Christ. And you're just telling me to move past it? Fuck you, Emmit." The nerve of this guy! I was beyond angry. 

He stared down for a while, silent. 

"I lost everything too, you know," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the ground. 

Oh. 

Fuck, I felt like such an asshole, taking it all out on him. "Emmit, fuck, I'm sorry," I said, "That was completely uncalled for. It's just, I just...Fuck. Well I guess you understand, don't you?" 

He nodded, looking up at me. "Yes," he said, "I really do." In his eyes was mirrored loss unlike anything I'd ever seen in a person, loss so profound that it appeared as if the entire substance of his irises had been hollowed out with a shovel, that he was a million miles away, that the world around him was to him as hollow as he was. 

"So I fucking mean it, okay? It gets better. And here's a tip: we don't talk about it very often - don't ask people where they're from. It only ever hurts." His voice was dull, and heavy with sorrow, as if he was speaking from the bottom of the ocean to a world he'd never expected to see again. 

I nodded. "Thank you, Emmit." 

He turned from me, and wiped his face. Had he been about to cry? 

"So, take your clothes off, alright? Life moves on, and right now, life is you needing new clothes. I'll bring you back a trunk." 

And with that, he walked toward the door I'd been unable to open, and passed straight through it, as if it wasn't even there. 

I blinked, sure I'd missed something, but the fact of the matter was that he was gone. I went up to the door, and cautiously brought my hand to the surface - it was as solid as before. I shoved it a little, but it didn't budge. 

The mysteries of this place never seemed to run out, it seemed. And now I was expected to undress, right? God damn, I just couldn't understand this world, or these people. It all seemed like so much, like such a ridiculous goddamn amount of crap had just been dumped on me, and everything I'd known had just been taken away, and now I was just, what, I was supposed to just get naked in the hallway and wait for a half-naked stranger to come back with clothes for me through a shut door? 

And that did it for me, I think. Something snapped, and suddenly, I didn't care. I let go of all of it, all my frustration and anger, my resentment, my fear - it had piled up to such a point that I couldn't hold it any longer. There was no room in my life for that amount of distress, I think. Whatever happened, I just gave up on feeling bad, and gave into it. Strip naked in the hallway? No problem, easy as pie. 

I put the Clay on the ground, and then took my shirt off, then my pants, tossing them in a pile on the corner. I didn't bother getting my phone and wallet out - fuck it, I was condemned to live here now, I wasn't going to be held back my currency and a now useless hunk of metal. I stood there, naked as the day I was born, free as a bird. It felt good, owning that sort of liberation, and I basked in the enjoyment in the middle of the hallway. I did some stretches, getting my hamstrings more relaxed, and targeting my lower back, which has always given me problems. I wasn't particularly flexible, and if I was going to be doing physical training, hey, might as well start now. 

"Ahem," sounded a voice from behind me. I'd been leaning over, my bare ass to the door. I spun around, and saw a tall, gaunt man in a white and black three piece suit looking curiously at me from down the hall. There was no necklace around his neck that I could see, and he had strapped to his waist a long, slightly curved sword, sheathed in an ornate black, leathery scabbard. A pair of thin, square spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose. I covered my junk with my hands awkwardly, and blushed. 

"Um, hi there. Sorry, I'm new, I-" 

"You're Tristan. I'm Jet," he said, his voice severe and icy, and he walked forward, standing in front of me with his hand resting formally on the pommel of his sword. "I was just informed of your arrival, and of the absence of the night watch. I wanted to greet you personally. It seems I've arrived at, ah, an inopportune time." His eyes flicked to the Clay behind me, still glowing, and a minute expression of surprise flickered across his face, so small that I barely noticed it. 

Emmit burst from the door-that-was-not-a-door, holding a brown chest. He set it down, and kicked it with his foot. It opened, revealing an assortment of clothes. I took out the first thing I found, a thin, white robe, and hurriedly put it on. 

As I was fitting myself into it, Emmit spoke to Jet. "I'm sorry, Jet, I didn't know you were visiting, and would have taken better care of the newcomer had I known." 

Jet waved a hand. "No matter. You are doing well, considering Derrik's absence." He gave Emmit the slightest hint of a bow one could give without calling it a head nod, which Emmit returned in spades, bending over until he was parallel with the floor. 

"Now," continued Jet, turning to face me, "We will conduct your preliminary briefing in my office at six. Is that clear?" 

I tied off the robe's belt, and thought about it for a second before replying, "No, it is not." 

Emmit stiffened noticeably beside me, and Jet raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, "What about that is unclear to you?" 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



"Well," I replied, choosing my words, "Where is your office, and when is six?" 

Jet adjusted his glasses with his forefinger, pushing them up toward the bridge of his nose. "Hm. Very good. Emmit will answer those questions for you," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I look forward to our meeting, Tristan. Don't be late." He spun on one heel, his sword arcing neatly as he swung. He walked down the hall and out the door. 

Once Jet was gone, Emmit clapped me on the back cheerfully. "Well, the bad news is that Jet's in charge of your briefing. The good news is, that's the nicest I've ever seen him treat anybody. You must have made a hell of an impression on the higher ups." 

"Or, if he's as bad as you say, maybe he's just playing a game with me," I offered, unconvinced. "He seems a little stiff, but I'm a little unsure about him being a shitty guy to teach me about the world. He seems pretty straightforward." 

Emmit shook his head. "You'll see. Just tell me how it goes, yeah?" 

"Will do. So, he said something about you telling me about his office? And what about time here?" 

"Ah, that's right. We'll get to the teacher's offices in our tour, we should have enough time, let me check." He shut his eyes, furrowing his brow, concentrating deeply, and after a span of ten seconds or so he opened his eyes again. "Yeah, we've got about an hour and a half. It's 4:32, and you've got to be at Jet's office by 6. By the way, it's your first day, so things are a little wonky, but normally the day starts at 7, so be up in time to get to wherever you need to be, which, in this case, would be the room next door." 

I looked at him, incredulous. Had he just gotten the time from his memory? "Is that really how you figure out time? Aren't there clocks somewhere?" 

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "No clocks. It's all part of the training. They have bells every hour, the standard deal: however many times the bell is rung is the time of day. But when it comes to minutes, you've got to learn how to go back into your memory and count all the minutes. Ten seconds may seem a long time to you to figure out the time, but it's actually really, really hard to get that fast. Most of the time people just go off the most recent bell rung, and show up early to things to be safe. I'm one of the faster Zeros at getting the time right, and I'm usually accurate to the minute." 

"Zeros?" I asked. "What are those?" 

"Oh, right," he replied, "well I'm sure you'll get more detail with Jet, or, at least, you will in theory. Basically there's a ranking system here, which is more or less just to help track your progress. The vast majority of the people are rank zero, like you. They all live here, in the dorms." 

"How do you increase your rank, then?" I asked. 

"Well, to get to rank one, which is called Set, you need to take off your necklace. That usually takes a couple years or so, if you're going to do it. Many don't even try until five years have gone by, and they're just itching to practice the Art on people." 

"How long have you been here, then?" I asked, eying his necklace. 

"Only a few months, I'm relatively new. Taking off your necklace is a pretty significant event, it changes your life here quite a bit. Anyway, I won't go too far into it, but if you increase your rank you get to move out of the dorms into your own house nearby, mostly so you can have a space in peace away from other people trying to practice the Art on you." 

"You also get to sit ahead at meals, which is a nice little bonus. I'll get into that when we hit the dining room. The entire promotion process is handled by the butterfly woman, or, what did you call her, Shae?" I nodded in response, and he continued, "Yeah, so you get to meet her, which is cool. Cooler for some than others, I suppose," he said, shooting me a sideways glance. "I still can't believe you met her. And you get a chance to change your weapon, but don't even ask me about that. Ask Jet." 

"Alright." Damn, this was a lot to absorb. "How do you move past Set, then?" 

He shrugged. "I don't know. That's kept a secret. There's only fifty or so who've got Set, and they're a real paranoid bunch. Always trying to control each other, and it's all just for training. It's enough to drive you crazy, really." 

"The rank twos, also known as the Odieh, are a lot more mellow. There's five of 'em, we call them the Five sometimes, and they're generally in and out of here. They've always got stuff going on, missions abroad and whatnot, but if you catch them with some time off, they're good people, and very, very intelligent. Jet - he's one of the Odieh. He sticks around here most of the time, and I think he gets a little stir crazy from it. His briefings are terrifying, and he expects to be taken more seriously than the other Odieh, but he's smart as hell, one of the knowledge bases of this place. He knows almost everything, but, whether he'll tell you that or not, that's a different story. The person I mentioned earlier, Kiara, she's also one of the Odieh." 

"Each of the Five has their own niche in the Art, a thing they've specialized in. They're more or less the best at those things, Jet, for instance, he's a master swordsman, while Kiara can use her powers for seduction unlike anyone else. That being said, and I've never witnessed this, but Shae is said to have perfected the Art, in all its forms. And there's also the rank threes, the Sanshos, either of them would make Jet look like a child in a sword fight." 

"Who are they?" I asked, and squatted down to sift through the chest. Emmit kicked it again, and it morphed into a mini dresser: the front end of the chest split into two small shelves which opened like refrigerator doors, and the chest itself divided into three parts, two of which rotated to either side of the middle. It was a remarkable feat of engineering. Inside was a variety of clothing, mostly white, but some black, and a toiletries bag, all divided and sorted amongst the different parts of the chest. 

"The rank threes, well, there's only two of them, and there's only ever been two, really. Only one Odieh has ever made it to Sansho and that's Rinzai." 

"Rinzai?" I asked. 

"Yeah. Anyway, the man is the most powerful knight that's ever risen through the ranks. He's the butterfly woman's right hand man, her top agent, basically. I've never seen him, only ever heard the stories. He hasn't been around for years." 

"What sort of stories?" I asked, standing up. I kicked the chest experimentally, and all the compartments folded back into themselves, leaving a neat, brown chest which appeared only to open upwards as normal. 

"Well, one of the stories goes that his mind is so powerful that he took on all five Odieh at once during a meal, and he didn't even stop eating. See, once you get rid of your necklace, all these games open up, right, and maybe it has something to do with advancing, I don't know, but we're the only people we can train with here, so it ends up being a giant clusterfuck of controlling each other. It's all in good fun for the most part, though sometimes you hear horror stories of people getting carried away." 

"Anyway, so the Odieh, which, let me remind you, are tremendously powerful, each in their own special way, decide one day to try and gang up and overpower Rinzai, right? Make him dance around or do something silly, things like that. I don't really understand the mechanics of it, but that seems to be the general thing people go for with each other." 

"So they all converge on him, you could tell because their veins were bulging in their heads from the strain, and they'd all stopped eating at the same time, staring at him. He doesn't move a muscle, keeps eating his noodles, and after a minute or so all the Odieh come over in front of his table, and sit down cross legged in front of him, with their eyes shut. He made them do that - all five, at the same time. You probably can't appreciate the magnitude of that feat. Getting one person to do that is hard enough if they practice the Art, much less an Odieh. But five?" He shook his head. "Unheard of." 

"So then Rinzai, he finishes his food, and then leaves on an assignment, just vanishes immediately. Get this, though - the Odieh stayed stuck there on the ground for three days. Three days!" he exclaimed, "Five unbelievably powerful practitioners of the Art, each a specialist of sorts, the cream of the crop pinned to the floor like it was nothing. He held control on them from a distance for that long, while on a secret mission for the butterfly woman, no doubt doing all sorts of dangerous stuff. She came down and freed them from his influence herself. No problem for her, of course. Story goes that she could have freed them earlier, but that she chose to let them stew and reflect on what they'd done. Teach them a lesson of sorts: you don't mess with Rinzai." 

"Anyways, there's tons of stories like that, but I go on. Sorry if that was boring, I just get excited about him. He's a living legend - I hope to one day meet him." 

"Hey, don't apologize. I love stories, especially the true ones," I said. 

"Well, everything about Rinzai is more or less legend. Take it with a grain of salt," he replied. "Anyways, go put your trunk under your bed, and come back out, and we can get this tour started in earnest, yeah?" 

"Sounds good to me," I replied. "I really appreciate you taking the time to do this, Emmit. I'm curious, though, why are you awake when nobody else is?" 

"If I had any sense in me, I'd be asleep. Everyone else will probably stay knocked out for a couple more hours, training really takes it out of you, you know? Anyway, I woke up because I felt someone move the wall through my sleep, and that wasn't supposed to happen. So I went and checked it out." 

Interesting. "You felt me take the Clay from the wall?" I asked. That reminded me - I went over to the Clay, which I'd left on the floor, and picked it up. It had faded in color a little since being away from me, but once in my hands again the blue-green hue deepened once more, and I felt the faint connection to it. This was some interesting stuff - I was eager to try and work with it when I got the chance. 

"You know," said Emmit, eying the Clay, "most people can't take their own Clay for months. It takes a lot of training. Normally, you're given some stuff when you first get here and that's it. It's actually a bit of a currency, some people exchange Clay for favors and whatnot, since even when you figure out how to take some, it's challenging. But, taking some from the wall, with no training whatsoever..." he shook his head. "Maybe we've got another Rinzai on our hands, yeah?" I blushed, and he patted my back amiably. "Don't sweat it, man, things will start to make more sense after a couple of days here, once you get the rhythm of things. Go take care of your chest, and leave your Clay inside of it. You don't want anyone to take it from you. I'll trash your clothes." 

"Sounds good. Hey, that reminds me, what's up with this door?" asked, pointing toward the door-that-was-not-a-door 

"Ah, yes, that's right," he said, looking at the door. "Well, this door represents a fundamental starting point for your training, actually. You'll get more into it tomorrow, or even later today depending on how long you take with Jet, but in a nutshell, there is no door there." 

Great, more mind games. I don't know why I expected anything else. "But, there is a door there," I said, stating the obvious. "I touched it." 

"Right," he replied, "and I didn't. So clearly, you're wrong." 

"By that logic, couldn't you be wrong also?" I replied, confused. 

"Yes, but then again, I'm the one walking through doors, and you're the one who still hasn't taken his chest to his room. Go! Let's get out of the dorms, I want to show you around this place." 

I picked up the chest, which was heavy, but had grooves cut into the bottom so that it was easy enough to carry, and brought it over to the door I could actually go through, which I pushed open with my knee. I paced quietly down the row of beds to mine, and carefully placed the chest on the ground, pushing it under the bed. It made a slow shushing sound against the floor as it moved, but nobody stirred. 

I decided to change from the robe into a pair of loose black pants made of synthetic material with an elastic waistband, and a soft white longsleeve shirt. I grabbed them from the chest, placing the Clay in a small, empty groove suited for the purpose, and slipped the pants on under my robe, which I then folded and put on top of the chest to put away later. 

I tugged on the longsleeve, a light thermal blend, and walked out the door where Emmit was waiting for me. 

"Hey," he said, brightening, "now those are some real clothes. None of that constrictive denim, or shirts that don't breathe. If you get sick of black and white, as I clearly did," he said, gesturing toward his dark blue pajamas, "you'll have to get past the door. It's basically just a supply closet and clothing depot in there, but there's some useful stuff, different colored clothes, and I'm sure you'll want more soap once you run out." 

What? "Wait, they only give you so much soap in the beginning, and you need to figure out a riddle about a door that at once is and isn't real in order to get more soap?" I asked, incredulous. The lengths these people went toward making every little thing a test... 

"Toothpaste, floss, shampoo, everything in your toiletries kit, really. It'll run out. Better figure it out quickly!" he said, grinning. "But that can wait. Let's get out of here. Did they get you with shoes on?" 

We walked toward the entrance, and I spotted my shoes still in the shoe rack. "Yeah, that's them right there," I pointed. 

"Cool. Leave 'em, you won't need them for a while." 

I arched an eyebrow. "Really? We just walk around barefoot?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, it's good for you, and it's not like we're in a huge urban city or anything, there's no danger of needles or broken glass. Well, sometimes there's broken glass," he added, remembering something, "but it gets cleaned up pretty quickly, and you get used to the gravel outside pretty quickly." 

We got to the door, and he put a hand on the doorknob, and turned back to me. 

"So, where did you come from when you walked in here?" he asked, overly nonchalant. 

I reflected on my entrance. "Some sort of jungle path, it led to a monastery," I replied, when realization hit me. "Wait, don't tell me," I said, groaning, "there's no jungle out there, and no monastery anymore." 

He pushed open the door, laughing. "Nope! Welcome to Caer'Aton, Tristan. Better get used to it." 

The door opened out into a hallway with light blue and white tile flooring, lit by the same strange torches which lined the walls. All in all, the hallway was probably a hundred feet across, and there appeared to be on either side six or seven more doors similar to the one we'd just come out of. We were the only people in the hallway, and our voices echoed slightly. 

"So, you're going to give me the tour without a shirt, and in pajama bottoms?" I asked, glancing at him. 

"Yes," replied Emmit, giving my comment no further thought, as if I hadn't actually asked a question that needed to be considered. What was the clothing policy here? Could people just walk around naked? Would I have to learn to live with that? I rid myself of those thoughts - I'd only find out in time. 

We stepped further along the tile, and I took in the hallway. "Wow, they don't do much in the way of decoration here, do they?" I asked, looking at the walls, bare except for the torches and doors. 

He chuckled. "Look up, Tristan." 

I craned my neck upwards. A colorful mural formed the limit of the ceiling above, stretching the entire length. I was directly below a depiction of some sort of green, lizardlike creature attacking a young, mostly naked woman in a jungle. She was recoiling in fear, her arms clutched to her chest and one leg crossed over the other at the knee. One of her breasts was visible through a pale translucent shawl which draped over her shoulders. The creature lunging at her reminded me of an alligator, but the face was all wrong. Much too round. 

What was most amazing, however, was the paint. It swayed like a field of wheat brushed by a breeze, viewed from afar, leaving a sensation of looking at events still in motion, fear in the eyes of the woman that was still there. There was a fluidity to the movements of the paint, hypnotic almost, as the entire mural rippled in wind only it could feel. 

"Wow. How did they make this?" I asked in awe. 

"No idea," said Emmit, looking up as well. "The legend goes that the butterfly woman painted this when she first built Caer'Aton. It's supposed to tell a story, if you walk the whole thing, but I can't figure it out, and neither can anybody I know. There's a duplicate in the womens dorm." 

"You said that name before, Caer'Aton. What does that mean? Is that the name of this building?" 

Emmit shook his head. "It's not quite the name of the building. Caer roughly translates to "we have fled", while Aton means "to sit", according to the teachings. It's a language only Shae speaks - I've never heard it, though I've heard the words are nothing like how we pronounce them. Supposedly the language is such that when you combine words, the way you do so, different emphasis and pronunciation and whatnot, it changes the meaning. So, we don't really know the actual meaning of the name, but you'll learn in your briefing that the closest translation we have is Sanctuary, but nobody calls it that." 

"And there's more to Caer'Aton than just this building - perhaps you saw out the window, the mostly circular structure of it?" he asked, and I nodded in response. "Well," he continued, "There are many more such structures as this, and they all house the different peoples. This is just the one for people like you and me, humans, and it is called Caer'Aton Moleh, though we generally shorten that to just Moleh. That's the word for human in her language." 

I blinked in surprise. "Are you saying," I said slowly, "that there are other types of people? That aren't humans?" 

He nodded. "Oh, certainly. I haven't seen any of them myself, because I haven't got my weapon yet. Once I find it, and get some skill, I'll be put in the Arena, and I'll get to meet them, though we will be in suits of armor, concealing our appearance." 

"Arena? And what do you mean by you haven't got your weapon yet?" Something clicked in to place: "Oh, wait, Jet had a sword. You mean something like that?" 

Emmit pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Hmm, there is just so much to explain. I think it is best left for Jet, and not me. Let's try and stick to the tour, otherwise I think your brain might explode out of your ears and I would have to go get a mop." 

"Alright, if you say so." I replied. I was excited to meet Jet, ready to learn as much as possible in my briefing. I started forming a list of questions for him. "So," I continued, "where is this? What part of Moleh is this?" 

"This," he said, spreading his arms, "Is the men's dormitory. This is where you sleep, and where you begin training. Really, you'll spend all of your time here for the first few days, except for meals. Every door you see in this hallway leads to the same sort of set-up we just left. They're not marked or anything, so remember your door. The other ones won't open for you. Well, they can, but that's another test," he said, waving dismissively. More tests...awesome. Judging by the number of doors, there must be a couple hundred boys here. 

"That's a lot of guys," I said. 

"Yup. And I know what you're thinking, and yes, there's a girls dormitory as well. It's just next to us, after the lounge. That's the bathroom, by the way," he said, pointing at one of the doors. It was identical to all the others - another test, I assumed. That was going to be fun... "Showers, toilet, sauna, it's all in there." 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



The close placement of the mens and womens dorms suggested a very interesting future to say the least. "Is everything gender segregated?" I asked. 

He scoffed. "Of course not. Quite the opposite, really, but you are kept very busy for the first few days, and consequently away from women, just to let you adjust before letting you loose. Jet will tell you all about it," he said, then paused, reconsidering. "Actually, I have no idea what he'll tell you. I have a hard time picturing him explain the sexual component of the Art." 

I laughed, not able to imagine that either - the man had seemed so proper, and serious. "Well, if he doesn't tell me, I'll have to ask him." 

"Hah! Let me know how that goes," he replied, smiling. "Alright, first, I'll take you to where you're going to be eating your meals." he said, leading me down the hall. I kept my eyes on the painting, now a depiction of a wide river curling through jungle reminiscent of that which I'd been left in. The movement of the paint left the river water running, the leaves rustling. 

"It's just down here," he said, pointing down a flight of stairs directly next to us, on the right side of the hall. 

"Can we go down? I'd love to take a look." 

He shook his head. "Unfortunately not. Well, you could go down the stairs, but the doors at the end of the stairs wouldn't be open. The meal system is a little complicated, just remember, you'll be sitting closest to the door, alright? And you'll probably have to wait a while for food to come." 

Easy enough. "Alright." 

"Cool. So, let's see, what have we done...you figured out the training room all on your own, you got clothes, we just did meals...damn, I wish I knew the most efficient way to go about this," he said, scratching his head, "though I suppose we'll have enough time. Alright, let's show you where your classes will be once you're done with your initial training." 

He led me through the door at the end of the hall into a large, open octagon-shaped room which reminded me a lot of the top floor of Dante's: large, plush sofas and armchairs everywhere, tables both big and small and all cut from a deep brown wood, a huge, empty fireplace on the far end, and, oddly enough, a stack of small newspapers in a pile adjacent to the door we just opened. 

"Hey, new issue! Nice." Emmit grabbed one of the newspapers, and read the headline out loud: "Annual Moleh Tournament Sign-Ups Available! No way, that's fantastic!" He said, beginning to read the rest of the article. 

"What's the Moleh Tournament? Some sort of fighting competition?" I asked. 

"Oh, no," responded Emmit, folding the newspaper under his arm. "Much more than that. Once a year everybody gets together, and they compete in every aspect of the Art you could imagine. I won't be signing up, I haven't got a chance in hell at anything, but it'll be a blast to watch." 

"Well, wouldn't you need your necklace off to compete anyways? You can't use the Art on others, right?" I asked, perplexed. 

"Oh, no, they have contests for all ranks. The Set have too much pride not to sign up, the Odieh are more or less indifferent, but they are required to sign up, and the rank 3s never do. The competitions for Zeros fall into three categories: Clay shaping, weaponry, and athletics, which is more or less ignored." He scanned the newspaper on the top of the stack briefly. "Hey, looks like sign ups are open for three weeks, so if you work hard at something, you could toss your name in, if you wanted." 

I laughed. No way. "I don't know the least thing about Clay shaping, and unless you haven't noticed, I'm not in the best physical shape." It was true - I wasn't fat by any means, but I was a fair cry from being in shape. I got winded easily, and wasn't strong in any sense of the word. Not to mention I didn't even know the first thing about weaponry. 

He rolled his eyes. "Tristan! You're kidding me, right? Not only did you get your own Clay from the wall, you colored the whole thing! That's nuts!" he exclaimed, then added, "Or, I suppose you don't understand how crazy that is, huh?" 

I laughed, and shook my head. "Not in the slightest." 

"Well, you'll find out soon enough. Sufficed to say that you've got a real knack for handling Clay." 

"I dunno, I wasn't able to manipulate my own Clay at all." 

"Tristan," he said like I was the dumbest person in the room, which by all accounts I could have been, considering it was just me and him there, "most people don't even get color out of their Clay until a few weeks in. Most people don't even get a hit on the initial connection for days." 

"Well, maybe I got lucky, I don't know," I replied, uncomfortable. I had a hard time dealing with praise, but it did feel good to be told I was good at something, even though I didn't have much of a standard to compare myself to. 

"Alright, alright," he said, "I can see you can't take a compliment. I'll let it drop, but, seriously Tristan, hone your skills at working with Clay, and think about signing up for the tournament. The winner in each category gets a small trophy, presented by none other than the butterfly woman herself. Though, I suppose you've met her already. Still, it's a nice thing to do, and it'll get you some recognition around here." 

"I'll think about it," I replied. 

"Cool, that's all I'm saying. Anyways," he said, shifting his attention to the room we were in, "this is the lounge. It'll be packed at night. You'll spend a lot of your free time here if you're just relaxing. I recommend getting to know some people, I played the outcast for awhile, but that was a really lonely business. Life got better once I started socializing." 

"Thanks for the tip." I nodded toward the fireplace. "That thing ever get going?" 

"Yeah, it's on at nights. You'll have plenty of time here to enjoy the atmosphere. So, you see all these doors?" he asked, pointing to the doors on the wall. There were four in total: one opposite ours, and two facing each other on the walls perpendicular to ours. Over each of the doors perpendicular to us hung a tapestry. 

"See that one?" said Emmit, pointing to the door on the left. It was hard to discern the exact pattern of the fabric but it was brightly colored, yellows and oranges and hints of pink, a sunset made cloth. 

"Yup. Where does that lead?" I asked. 

"Into the courtyard - did you see it out the windows?" 

"Yeah, with the trees, mostly grass, a fountain in the middle?" 

"That's the one. A nice place for relaxing when it's sunny outside. It's also the only way to leave Moleh, through the courtyard. Now, the other door," he said, jerking his thumb toward across the room, "That's an emergency exit, it'll take you out into the world beyond Caer'Aton. Don't use this unless you really, really have to." 

"How will I know if I have to or not?" 

He shrugged. "There will probably be lots of burning, and screaming, and people running every which way." 

I arched an eyebrow. "Does this happen often?" 

"Not in my lifetime," he said cheerfully, "but there has been war before, and there may again." 

"Let me guess," I said, "talk to Jet about it." 

"Yup! Hey, you're catching on," he said with a grin. "Now, let's go check out the classrooms." 

We crossed the hall - it was a cozy space, if a little chilly. I could see why the fireplace was a nice addition. 

"So, I wanted to ask you, before, you said you could feel me moving the Clay wall? What exactly did you mean by that?" I asked as we walked. 

"Well," he said, musing, "I don't know where to start..." 

He contemplated the question for a moment, and then clapped his hands excitedly. 

"Got it! Okay, so for one, everybody's relationship to the Art is different, yeah? No two people are equally powerful, or skilled in the same way. It's a subtle thing. I'm what people call an Empath, which is just a fancy label they slap on people who are sensitive to the transference of certain kinds of energy unique to the Art. In a nutshell," he said, scratching his head, "my spidey senses go off when someone near me uses the Art. Similar to how you can notice a breeze on your skin, I notice a breeze in my mind, in a very pointed way. You, my friend, used a lot of energy when you took that small bit of Clay from the wall, probably because you had to muscle it, and weren't very efficient. If you could target that power..." he said, letting out a big breath, "forget about it, you know?" 

"Wow, that's amazing!" I said. None of this made much sense to me, I was sort of taking him at his word, but nonetheless it was really, really nice to get solid information about life here, and about the changes that had happened to me. "You know, maybe I'm a bit of an Empath," I said, "I was able to hear this girl's thoughts, back home. I'd just, erm, manipulated her, or, practiced the Art on her? I don't know how to phrase it. Regardless, I could read her thoughts for a little while after. Is that like an Empath?" I asked, curious as to my place within the spectrum. 

He pondered for a moment. "You know," he said finally, "I don't actually know. Everything's kind of fuzzy when you're back in our world, things aren't as defined as they are here." He shrugged. "Sorry. But, hey, I have a question of my own: what was your first trip like? You actually met the, erm, you met Shae?" 

"Oh, yeah. That was just at the end, though." 

And so I told him the story. From coming home to find my door unlocked, and then my door vanished, to making toast in the kitchen in an attempt to refuse reality - what's that? No, there is no jungle outside my house, thank you very much... Then the white path, the dreaminess of it, the ease with which each footfall came, the synchronization of motion and ground. The chess game with the little boy... 

"Actually," I said, interrupting my recount of the story, "do you know who Jasper is?" 

"No, I don't, sorry. Though, I didn't know who Shae was either but I did know the butterfly woman - who is Jasper?" he asked. 

"The little boy I just mentioned, who played chess with me. Well, he's not really a little boy, he's the two-faced man, and-" 

Emmit's mouth dropped. "You...you played chess with the two-faced man?" 

"Yeah. Well, sort of. It wasn't chess per se, but we did use chess pieces and a chess board. What of it?" 

"Tristan..." he said, shaking his head in wonder, "the amount of things you have done the significance of which you barely understand, my friend, is maddening. This Jasper, the two-faced man, he is the other Sansho, along with Rinzai." 

"Oh, wow," I said, "cool. What do you know of him?" From the look on his face I felt that maybe I wasn't fully grasping the significance of what I'd done. 

"Very little," he said, "not much is known of him, or his origins. The chronology is a little weird, but it's said that he arrived after Rinzai. He didn't go through the ranks or anything, just showed up one day, a little boy to all appearances. This was many, many years ago." 

"Nobody took him seriously at first - who's this new Sansho who hasn't even proved himself? That sort of attitude. And get this, he doesn't even practice the Art. So he gets picked on. There was a grace period, of course, you don't immediately try to manipulate the new Sansho. Soon enough, however, the other students started practicing the Art on him. Or, trying to. When people tried, however, they all failed. Nobody could get a read on him, ever." 

"To put the nail in the coffin, he signed up for the tournament, the only time a Sansho's ever done it. He signed up in every single category, for all ranks. There was some protest, of course, but the butterfly woman allowed it. She probably encouraged it, but that's just speculation." 

"In the end, everybody withdrew from the tournament before it even started. He won every category by default, even the things he couldn't have won in. Shaping Clay, without a command of the Art?" Emmit scoffed. "Not possible. But, neither was a little boy becoming Sansho. People spooked. The entire tournament took one minute, the time it took for him to meet with Shae on stage and be declared winner." 

"Not only winner, though. She appointed him as the cook for all of Caer'Aton Moleh, and to this day, all the food you eat is prepared by him. A fine cook, truly, but it is suspected the true reason he is kept around is to serve as the defender of Moleh. Sometimes, you'll see him walking around, but he never speaks to anybody. He likes to hang out with the stone giants, for anyone else such a thing would be foolish, but for him, they must just be his friends." 

"Frankly, it's unbelievable to me that you met both the butterfly woman and the two-faced man on your first trip. That's simply not how that sort of thing goes for most people," said Emmit, eying me warily. "I don't know what's going on with you, Tristan, but I'd be careful about spreading this information. In a place such as this, secrets are your biggest weakness, and best kept to yourself." He stopped walking, and took me by the shoulder, gazing into my eyes with no hint of amusement. 

"I swear to you that I will never tell a soul." 

There are some people who follow a code, and adhere to their principles. They have integrity, a tangible weight to their words. When Emmit said the word "swear", he revealed a depth there which surprised me. When regular people give their word it is often done knowing that it can be broken. Emmit, however, had too strong a word to break, or rather, going against it would constitute such a dramatic shift in his being that it didn't seem possible. 

This was the impression I got when he swore my history to secrecy, though I didn't understand why he'd make such a big deal out of something that seemed so minor to me. I decided to trust him, though, his apparent integrity left me no choice, and it seemed a good enough idea to play my cards close to my chest, at least until I got a feel for this place. 

"I believe you. Thank you, Emmit - though, I'm not sure why it's such a big deal if people knew." 

He shrugged. "It's for your own good. If you come in sporting stories of having played games with the greatest, then you will be viewed a particular way, yeah? It is of my opinion that this way is not favorable. Ultimately, however, it is your decision," he said solemnly. 

"I am jealous of your experience - it is nothing like mine," he added as we passed through a door and into another hallway. 

"What was your first trip like?" I asked, glad to shift the topic of conversation off of me. 

"Well, I wish I could say. I don't remember most of it. Some vague colors, deep hues of purple and blue, and fear, too. Much fear. As if I was swimming in fog without a body, trying to locate a drop of water. Except, I was inside the drop of water. It was confusing, but when I returned, I accidentally was able to change my cat's disposition toward me. We became very close, Salinger and I." 

"Your cat? Really?" 

He shrugged. "Not everybody returns home able to manipulate women and read minds," he said without reproach, "remember that well. We are all different, and yet there is always much to learn. I have grown much since coming here, and have become adept at molding Clay." 

"What's your color?" I asked. 

"Dark blue. Like a sapphire suspended deep in the sea, reflecting the ocean around it." I hadn't realized, but Emmit was a bit of a poet. 

"That's beautiful, Emmit." 

He shrugged. "They are merely words." 

Far off, I heard the sound of a bell. Emmit perked up, and pointed toward me, and motioned toward my ear to listen. I couldn't pinpoint exactly where the sound was coming from - it was as if directionless, only it was very far away. It rang four more times, a low, even tone, and I listened closely to the sound of the last note, observing it fade into obscurity, and then silence. 

"Five o'clock. You've got an hour, that should be plenty of time," said Emmit. 

"Great. So, what, is the bell system automatic? If class is at seven, wouldn't this wake people up?" 

"It's not automatic, no. A blind man named Dante, who has a keen sense of time, rings it. And, yes, it does wake you up if you are a light sleeper." Dante? Hadn't Jasper mentioned Jed being here? There must be some connection. I made a note to seek out the man when I had the chance. 

"Let me guess," I said, putting aside thoughts of Dante, "another test, figure out a way to not get woken up by the bell?" 

"No, you just put in earplugs. There should be some in the chest I got for you," he said, grinning, "but that's a productive way to think about it. Everything is a test, really. Say you're getting woken up by the bell. Well, control your mind with the Art: don't be disturbed by the bell while you sleep. It's as simple as that, though earplugs are a much easier solution." 

We passed through a hallway that looked very similar to the one we'd first entered into, covered by what appeared to be the same mural that stretched over the mens dorms. 

"These are the women's dorms - we're just passing through to get to the classrooms. It's nearly identical to ours, and everyone's still asleep, so don't get too many ideas." 

We walked further, passing what I assumed was their eating commons, until the flooring changed to a dark brown colored wood. 

"Here we are," said Emmit as we came to a massive set of wondrous double doors made of the same wood as had made the wind chimes, and the hut. Rivulets of color streamed along with the grain, casting a soft light. The surface wood, by contrast, was a deep brown the shade of wet dirt. 

"Classrooms are in here. Once you're finished with your initiation in the training room adjacent to where you sleep, you start on a schedule comprised mostly of class, which is located here. Once you make progress in your classes, you then shift toward more applicative uses of your time: sparring, working with Clay, exercising. Things like that." 

"So," I said, mulling it over, "you're telling me that I get abducted into a whole other world-thing which I don't understand, I'm given powers beyond my wildest dreams, I'm thrust into a reality I barely can wrap my mind around...and I have to go to school." I was sure there was a God, and that he was a sarcastic motherfucker. 

He laughed, and patted me on the back. "Welcome to Caer'Aton, my friend! Were there a better way to instruct you in the Art, I am sure it would be employed. In the end, however, you and I are ignorant, and require much instruction to be of any use to Shae. Classes are an efficient way of going about training a large group - they don't exactly have the manpower for everyone to have a personal trainer. Though," he said, "I would hasten to add that the classes you are imagining behind these walls are not identical to your classes. The entire education process is handled a little differently here. You'll see." 

"Looking forward to it," I replied. The doors were massive, stretching to the very top of the ceiling and at least two arm spans wide. Probably to accommodate a large volume of students - just standing before them left me awed, feeling very small and extremely curious about the knowledge I could glean inside. 

"How do you feel about getting some fresh air?" asked Emmit. 

That sounded lovely. I was itching to get a sense for what the outdoors was like here - I was never really one for being trapped inside walls. "Lead the way!" 

"Alright - there are many ways to get outside, but the closest one to here is back in the lounge. You'll eventually get a feel for this place, I promise. It has a way of working itself into your brain." 

"I certainly hope so," I replied. I was getting fairly disoriented, despite having gone mostly in a straight line. The building itself had a slight curve to it, one that was only noticeable from one end of a hallway looking down to the other, but our path had been straight. "We haven't gone that far, but I can see how I'd get lost if I had to go all over the place. We haven't even gone up or down any floors!" 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



"Well," he replied, "the bulk of this place is filled with classrooms. You probably won't go into most of them once you start specializing your Art." 

"Why specialize?" I asked. "Why not just do it all?" 

"Hey, I don't make the decisions here," he replied. "Though I imagine focusing on one thing gives you a comparative advantage, as opposed to being a jack of all trades." 

We arrived in the lounge, and he led me toward the door over which the sunrise colored tapestry hung. "Ready for your first outside view of Moleh?" said Emmit, overly dramatic, his hand on the door. 

He pushed it open, and we walked through into the courtyard. A path of white gravel trailed from the door toward the fountain in the center - small, rolling mounds of grass separated the path from those that originated from different parts of the building. Trees had been planted haphazardly in the grass, some near the path and some far away from it. I remembered seeing flashes of colorful fruit from above when I'd first looked down. Maybe we'd be able to eat some of it - I felt the beginnings of hunger rumbling in my stomach. 

The sun filled the courtyard, a pleasant warmth surrounding us. I pulled my longsleeve over my head and tossed it over my shoulder - the sun felt amazing on my skin, especially in comparison to the chill of the lounge. My necklace rubbed against the fabric as I took off the longsleeve, and fell back against my chest. I was reminded of its protective powers, and glanced over at Emmit's. They appeared truly identical, from the cut of the jade to its color, and the rune imprinted on the surface in black calligraphy as well. I was very grateful for the necklace, and rubbed it idly, taking in the brightness of the open space. 

"Wait, so it's five?" I asked, looking up at the bright sky, "what, in the afternoon?" 

Emmit shook his head. "I recommend getting rid of the idea of morning and night. Their passing is pretty arbitrary. Just go by the bells, it's easier. Sometimes," he said, "you'll have a month of daylight. You soon forget the existence of the stars, I'll tell you that much. Or, night turns into day five times before a day's worth of time has passed." 

"How many hours are there in a day?" I asked. 

He gave me a strange look. "Twenty-four, of course." 

"I just meant, I don't know, maybe it's different here." 

He nodded, understanding. "Ah, yes, I see what you mean. I assume they keep time differently in the other parts of Caer'Aton, but here it's the same as back home." 

"Alright, well I guess I won't be telling time by the sun at all." 

We walked forward, toward the fountain. A ways ahead of us, there stood a tree which was planted near the road. From a distance I looked for the colors I'd seen from above, but found only the light green of its leaves. Perhaps this one didn't bear fruit? 

As we got closer, Emmit stopped me with an arm across my chest. "Do you hear that?" he asked, cocking an ear toward the tree, which was still a short distance away. 

I listened closely to the silence that settled into our walk. There was only the slight rustle of leaves in a light breeze. 

No, wait - something else was there, hidden between the folds of the wind. A voice, singing. I couldn't make out the words. 

"I think I know who that is," said Emmit, smiling. "Come, I want to introduce you." 

We walked over to the tree, he ahead of me, and the voice, now distinctly feminine, stretched out and interlocked with the wind, weaving together: as it picked up, she altered her tune to leave spaces for it and the leaves, and, was that birdsong? It was coming from behind the tree. 

Emmit rounded the tree, crunching on a few of the fallen leaves, and a whirlwind of red spiraled away from him - the birds I'd heard. They flew out in a cluster, then up and into the top of the tree, chirping agitatedly. 

"I'd know that voice anywhere," said Emmit to someone seated behind the tree. "What are you doing up so early?" 

"Emmit, it's good to see you," replied the voice, as beautiful as ever. Even in conversation she played with the wind, as if a petal in love with an endless storm. "I love this place in the mornings. Without people around," she said pointedly, "the birds are happy to come down and sing along." 

I walked up beside Emmit, and I was hers. 

She was sitting on the ground with her back against the tree, her face in shade except for where sun poked through the leaves in a few spots - she looked up at me. Her ember orange hair cascading down her shoulders as if a resting dragon, aflame against her pale skin, and starlit green eyes so piercing as if to have fallen from the heavens, emerald comets, her hair the comets tail. Standing straight up I was at once frozen and on fire, her gaze like sweet dry ice sensuously massaging my brain, her gaze peeling me away from myself with the soft, smooth persuasions of her irises, her gaze the eye of an emerald hurricane settled onto me. 

A yellow sundress resting slightly folded on her crossed legs, stretching up into the bright horizon of her waist, and down into blue flip flops kicked partly off her feet. The hollow of her neck, wrapped by the thin chain of a necklace falling into her collarbones, her collarbones the lip of a cliff above the curvature of her chest into which the chain disappeared behind her sun dress, and into which I might disappear without a second's hesitation. 

In her hands, a small opal knife, the blade creamy white and minutely folded upon itself like melted chocolate poured from above. The handle, rainbow abalone iridescence pocketed into sandy colored wood. She was working on something in her other hand, carving small, precise slivers off of it without looking. 

"This is Tristan," said Emmit, "he just arrived earlier this morning." 

"Hello, Tristan," she replied. "My name is Jade." 

"Pleasure to meet you," I said automatically. My god - the woman was stunning. A face so beautiful as to put others to shame, polite, sultry, confident with a touch of sadness. I forgot who I was. I forgot where we were. I just stood there, and stared like an idiot - there was nothing else I could do. 

"I'm just giving him the tour right now," tossed out Emmit. 

She gave him a questioning look while continuing to work on the thing in her hand - I glanced down at it and examined it closer, and realized she was whittling a piece of wood, altering the color of the surface with every notch. 

"Are you one of the new tour guides, then?" she asked idly. 

"Derrik is away, as usual," replied Emmit with a sigh, "so it fell to me. We've had quite the interesting day already - Jet showed up while Tristan was butt naked in the hallway." 

She laughed, a mellifluous sound of sparkling water droplets. I was deeply embarrassed - why had he thrown me under the bus like that? 

"That must have made quite the impression! I'm sure he handled it with his usual stoicism. That was probably good for him, though. Jet needs to be shaken up every so often. So he'll be briefing you, then?" she asked me. I got the impression the story wasn't actually an embarrassing one so much as it was amusing and interesting. People here seemed to be pretty accepting of showing skin. I relaxed a little. 

"Yeah, he told me to be at his office at six," I replied. Even saying such a simple thing I felt like a failure for not having wrapped the sentence in a gold foil of words and had it delivered to her ears on the wings of a white moth. Fuck, I realized, nothing I said would ever be right. I needed to get some tips from Emmit on how to speak well. 

"Well, you have quite the busy day ahead of you, then," said Jade. "When he briefed me, it took about twelve hours." 

Twelve hours?! What on Earth would he be telling me that would take me twelve hours to understand? How could I even absorb it all? 

"Oh, is that the new issue?" she said to Emmit, eying the newspaper tucked under his arm. 

"Yes," he replied, "it must have come out some time in the night. The tournament sign ups are available." 

She whittled off a few more pieces. Her hand movements were dextrous and quick - a blur that concealed what she was making. "Are you thinking of signing up for anything?"she asked. 

"What, me?" asked Emmit. "I don't believe I'd have much of a chance in anything. I haven't even got my weapon yet." 

"True enough, I suppose," she replied, "though you have a wondrous mind for poetry, that doesn't do you much good against somebody with a blade at your neck." Balancing the knife hilt on one finger, she let it fall, and immediately caught it with the next finger, keeping it endlessly falling in space. She guided it deftly with her hands in this way, waving it hypnotically side to side, the light catching on the abalone flecks in the hilt, and then suddenly she stabbed smoothly toward Emmit. He recoiled, surprised by the motion despite being far out of reach. She smiled faintly, and returned to her whittling, as if during the spinning of the knife she had been working out in her mind the next notch to cut. 

I was smitten by her, the elegance in her focus, the edge to charm, revealed in that small performance. It's always a beautiful thing, watching someone who knows what they're doing work at their craft. That such expertise came from this beautiful woman, this singer who serenades birds and drew in the light from around her such that there, in the shade, I felt the world illuminated - it is not a simple thing, falling for a woman, and yet it came to me that morning as easily as breathing. 

"You handle that knife very well," I said, admiring. "Where did you learn that kind of dexterity?" 

She smiled demurely, focused on the wood - it was changing color rapidly, if I looked away for only a few moments she had shaved it further and changed the color. "Have you told him about the weapons yet?" she asked. 

"Not yet," replied Emmit. 

"So insecure, still!" she chided him gently and without rebuke. "Emmit, you'll find your Chi, I promise. There's one for everybody, and you are no exception." And then without so much as a shift in her voice, she was talking to me. I don't know how she managed that. "This is not simply a knife - it is as much a part of me as is my arm. Everybody has one, in a way - it's called your Chi." 

So, I had one too? "Chi means something else back home, right? Some sort of energy, like in Tai Chi?" I asked, curious if there was any connection. 

"Perhaps," replied Jade "but I would not be so quick to hold to your words, Tristan. Your Chi is your Chi." 

"I understand," I said, not quite ready for more unclear sayings, but I think I knew what she was saying. Whether or not you call either thing "Chi", they are what they are, the name merely a convenience. "But I wasn't looking for a piece of home in the word. I suppose, in a roundabout way, I was really asking about the connection between this place and home. How are they related? Did one come from the other, or are they separate? Did, for instance, our conception of Chi derive from this one, the weapon?" 

"So curious!" exclaimed Jade, smiling and looking up at me with a thoughtful expression. She looked me over slowly, and seemed to take in all that she saw, and more, as if she was seeing something I wouldn't in a mirror. Though it was only in passing, I was flattered just to have been the subject of those eyes. "A child of wind and water, but there is much fire in your mind. Mmm, I think I would like to meet you, someday, and I would answer your questions, but it would not be appropriate so close to your briefing. I can already feel Jet correcting my mistakes." 

"That's alright," I replied - was she hitting on me? Meeting me? What would that even look like, hadn't we just met? Her eyes definitely seemed interested, they sparkled as she looked at me, like she was taunting, waiting for my reply. I don't know why, in hindsight it was very unlike me, but I decided to be bold, saying "And I would also like to meet you someday, even if only to hear you sing another harmony with the wind." Immediately after saying it, I regretted it - my ass was on the line, and she either was on the same page, or I'd totally misread her and made a potentially egregious faux-pas. 

She blinked in mild surprise. "You hear that I sing with the wind?" 

"Jade, Tristan is full of surprises," said Emmit, "guess how I found him?" 

"How?" she asked, genuinely curious. 

"I woke up because I felt a large surge of energy, and when I went to the training room, I found him seated there - he'd colored the entire wall, and pulled Clay from it, without instruction." 

"For the record, I still don't really know what I did," I said. 

"Well, it's no surprise then that you heard my song-weaving. You'll do well in the tournament, then." 

Again with the tournament! "Emmit said something to the same effect," I said, confused, "and I still don't understand why it's assumed that I'd even sign up. I can't do any of this stuff, I don't have any grasp on the Art, why would I sign up?" 

"I bet he'd do well with his Chi, if he found it in time. You should have felt the power, Jade, it was so...raw." 

"And he has been touched by all the elements." They were talking like I wasn't even there. 

"Um, hello, right here guys," I said. 

"Oh, right," said Emmit, "I forgot to mention, conversation here is a lot more honest. Don't be afraid to say what you feel, because other people won't." 

"Okay, sure, I can get behind that, but how was talking about me in front of my face an example of honesty?" 

Jade and Emmit laughed. "You figure it out," said Jade, grinning and working on the wood in her hands. 

I threw my hands up. "Always with the mysteries!" I said. 

"Well," said Jade, standing, leaving her knife and the wood, now an orange-red ball, on the ground. "I could give you one answer, if you would allow me to read you." She stepped toward me, and I tensed up, unsure of what to do. Say you wake a sleeping dragon, do you run? Is there any point? There are times when being devoured is the best thing that could happen to you, and this was one of those times. 

"Read me?" I asked nervously. 

"Remember how I'm an Empath?" asked Emmit. "Jade is a Seer - she can see qualities in people that they don't even know about themselves. She might be able to tell you what your affinity is with the Art, which would be useful to know from the get-go. You'd know where to focus your training. Once you get a foothold in the Art, the rest becomes much easier." 

Jade stood in front of me and idly brushed the back the dirt off of the back of her sun dress. 

"Wouldn't the necklace block that?" I asked. 

Jade shook her head. "What I see isn't something that can be controlled. Only observed." 

"Alright, well, I guess I'm game," I said. "So what exactly are you going to do?" 

"Stand still, and focus on me," said Jade. 

As if I could do anything else. She wrapped her arms around my neck, interlacing her fingers there, and she came distressingly close to me - her forehead against mine, looking deep through me. She was wearing a perfume, an intoxicating smell I couldn't pin down. Focus on her? How could I do anything but stare into her green eyes, how could I not feel her chest pressed lightly against mine, the swish of her dress against my legs, her soft hands on the back of my neck. I was hyper-sensitive to every touch, the slightest breeze from her passing toward me like a current of electricity charged across my skin. I didn't dare move, afraid of changing the moment. 

Her eyes burned into me, and we stood there for a moment without anything happening. I didn't want anything to change - I could have stayed in her arms forever. The experience was not unlike standing at the bottom of a mountain, looking up. I felt like a water droplet on the tip of a leaf in the forest below a volcano, and for some reason the volcano was paying attention to me, this beautiful and terrifying feeling of being so small, that I could be swallowed in an instant, lost forever, but in her gaze - not so bad a place. 

And then in a flash, something shifted, and the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, and goosebumps prickled up on my skin - I felt seen, in a way I'd never felt before. As if my entire being had wrapped its hands around a warm mug of spiced cider, the diffusion of warmth settled into me, pressing hotly from my neck against her hands, I was radiating heat, I must have been, and glowing, as if my skin was vibrating at her frequency, and she could read my heat signature. I was vulnerable, in the face of her intense gaze, I wanted to retreat, it was too hot, I was scared, but something in her eyes told me I couldn't, or that I didn't actually want to. Locked into that brilliant green. 

And then I realized that I wasn't the only one heating up. She too was sending out heat, or, wait, not heat, but similar. Some sort of distortion that I registered, and it was similar to temperature, but not quite the same. I had no word for it, a sort of shift in the space her body occupied, that she was emanating something I'd never noticed in the world, and I was picking up on it. It was a connection on a level I'd never known existed, startlingly intimate, and all of a sudden I felt as if we'd known each other for a very long time, that we'd flirted for eons and only finally decided to meet each other, that our atoms were once neighbors in a distant supernova somewhere. Even there, I felt, we'd eyed each other, skirted around one another in an orbit of our own. 

Whatever I was seeing in her now, it was nothing short of cosmic, and it had been there the entire time. I was only finally opening my eyes. Maybe I'd taken a cue from her? Picked up on her technique? Was this what she was seeing? My god, I hoped so. 

Jade widened her eyes, and stepped back from me all of a sudden. She turned to Emmit, then back to me several times. 

"I...I do not know what to say," she said. 

"What did you see?" I asked. 

She only shook her head. She made to say something, but closed her mouth, and gave me the most peculiar look instead, a mixture of intense curiosity and fear. But, a different fear, not that I was scary, but that I represented something scary. She pursed her lips, and, spinning, her sun dress twirling around her in the sun, she walked back to the tree, sitting down. She hummed softly to herself, and resumed her whittling. I looked at Emmit, flabbergasted. 

"What the fuck just happened?" I asked. 

He scratched his head, and chose his words carefully. "Some things," he said, "are not meant to be seen. And if seen, they are not meant to be spoken. And if spoken, they are not meant to be heard, because once heard, they might be understood." 

I sighed. "More riddles..." I said, glancing at Jade. She was absorbed by her woodwork, as if we didn't exist at all. 

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Jade," I said to her, resigned. I didn't expect a response, but I said it anyway because if I'd left without giving her a chance to respond to me, I never would have been able to forgive myself. "Shall we go on with the tour, Emmit? You can just bring me to Jet's - I don't want to take up any more of your time." I was dejected. 

"It was good to see you. We will leave you to your birds, Jade," said Emmit. 

"Hmm," she said, speeding up the movements of her hand, working the knife flawlessly around the wood. Many colored slivers dropped to the ground where a small pile was building. She had an amazing speed about her, and a grace and intimacy with the blade that left me a touch unsettled, but more than that, intrigued. Who was this woman who had captivated me so effortlessly, and then walked away silent? What had she seen in me? 

Emmit led the way, walking back to the path, and reluctantly, I followed him. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



"One moment," she called out. I turned to look back at her, and she had stood up. She walked over to me, her steps light upon the ground as if kissing the soil where she walked. 

"Hold out your hand," she said calmly. 

I held out my hand, silenced by my own astonishment, by the grace in her movements, the swinging of her sun dress, the lazy bouncing of her fiery curls. Her slender arm extended, and she placed her hand above mine, and let something drop. 

I looked at my hand - it was the piece of wood she'd been working with. It had been carved to a slightly uneven sphere colored the ember-orange hue of her hair. I at first thought the flaws, the minor bumps and ridges in the wood had been mistakes, giving to it an inconsistent color. However, I looked up and she was walking away in the sunlight back to the shade beneath the tree, and I realized that the minute differences between the hues reflected perfectly the natural highlights of her hair. My jaw dropped. The sheer craftsmanship involved in carving this... 

And as I turned it around between my fingers wondrously, I noticed, just the slightest thing, a small sliver of blue-green, the same shade as I had brought about in my Clay. She'd seen my color, I realized. But what did that mean? And what was this gift? 

"Come on, let's go. You'll see her again, she's into you," said Emmit, tugging me away toward the fountain. I damn near broke the grip and sprinted back to her in that instant, but thankfully a more cautious part of me won over my impulses. These things are best kept at a simmer. I wasn't going to rush this one. She'd been forward enough already, and was now walking away, so I decided to let her be. 

I cast a glance back over my shoulder as we walked away, and saw the red birds poking out of the leaves - the flashes of their plumage reminiscent of the fruit I'd thought I'd seen. Already, as we left, a few had flown down beside her as she sung, and the woven chorus of her voice, the wind, and the birds sang to us a farewell I'll never forget, so lighthearted, and so full of promise, yet, so very, very sad. 

I looked at Emmit. "So, what, is that normal for people around here? Is that how people hook up, and do relationships? It's a strange dance." 

He shrugged. "Yes and no. Jade is unique in her own way, but the Art lends itself toward a certain...openness? The less you have to hide, the better you know yourself, the harder it is for people to control you, the easier it is to control others. Honesty is crucial to the practice, which becomes clear very quickly, and social interactions are a good place to practice honesty. When I first met Jade, she was singing in the lounge, and I wrote her a love poem and asked her to be mine. She said no, and now we are friends." He shrugged. "It works." 

So I wouldn't be too forward with her, then. "That's crazy. That's not at all how it's like back home," I said, trying to relate the difference I was noticing to him. 

He arched an eyebrow. "I know, Tristan, we're from the same place." 

Right. "Shit, I knew that. Sorry, my brain's pretty full right now." 

"Well, I hope you are able to empty it. A full brain won't do you much good if when Jet dumps a swimming pool of knowledge on your head it is already full. You want to absorb as much as possible, yeah?" 

I wasn't sure how to empty my mind, but I figured I wouldn't have too hard a time learning from Jet. I picked up things pretty quickly when I was determined - and I was going to do my damndest to learn as much as possible. 

This was the beginning of my relentless drive to become the best - here, being shown the layout of Moleh, I felt so vulnerable and small encircled by the building, as if I was just another blade of grass. That I had the necklace on was comforting - but that was only a protective charm. I needed something more - to hone my skills, and come into my new life here ready to tackle any obstacle in my way. I had questions, and I needed answers to them, but in that moment I was resolving to become powerful enough to not need to ask any more questions. It had only taken an hour or so of being kept in the dark for me to grow tired of it - I would have to create my own light. 

"If you're wondering, she gave you that," he said, nodding at my hand, where I was rolling Jade's gift around in my palm thoughtfully, "so you could find her. The wood had special properties, if you know how to work it, which she does. You'll probably figure out how to use it after some training. In a nutshell, though, that gift says, "come get me."" 

"Wow. I think I'm starting to like this place," I said, smiling, all of a sudden electric with the possibilities in front of me. Even though she'd been so open and communicated her interest to me, I had the feeling I couldn't just walk up to her and ask if she wanted to have sex. That would be too easy, and from what I'd gleaned of her, she simply wasn't like that. Plus, somewhere behind the intensity of my reaction to her, there was a gentle, demure quality to her composure, a quiet, unassuming presence which I was keen not to intimidate. 

I didn't just want to fuck her, I realized. There were some pretty worrying stirs in my heart, and the wind seemed to brush my feet up with every step. I was light, and I'd barely even met her. I steeled myself - falling too quickly for anyone here would only be a detriment to my progress. I would play it slow, despite how badly I wanted to feel her hair brush over my chest, her legs straddling me, her eyes fucking me totally and completely independent of the rest of her body. She was the type of woman I wanted to take beneath the stars, to show her the universe and prove to her, unfailingly, that she was, to me, more infinite. 

Fuck. This was going to be hard. 

"It's not all easy and fun, of course," said Emmit, "you haven't started truly working yet, or faced the boredom which sets in after the novelty falls away. But life here is not so bad." 

We arrived at the fountain, a large stone structure with four tiers waterfalling into the ones below, growing progressively larger from the top down into a basin at the bottom. I peered inside, expecting maybe some pennies on the ground. 

I gasped when I saw what would have normally been the floor of the fountain: the water went deep, so deep that I couldn't see the bottom, and it was populated with a wide variety of colorful fish which swam amongst a few tall strands of algae which waved slowly back and forth to the cadence of a current I couldn't see. The bottom of the fountain appeared to simply be resting on top of the water, as if it weighed nothing. 

"Wow," I said. It was breathtaking, the water so clear. If you've never seen truly clear water, it's a sight to behold, unlike anything you've seen before. None of the deep, opaque blues of most bodies of water. No, this was so clear that I could see large fish at least a hundred feet down, iridescent scales catching the sunlight in a dazzling aquatic display. Even beyond that, the depths, which finally blossomed with deeper blue into black, seemed so far away as to be hundreds of feet below. 

Suddenly, and I couldn't quite explain it, but the faraway deep water shifted, like the blackness which I'd assumed was just the point that light couldn't reach was rolling around. 

"You see that?" I asked Emmit, curious. 

"What?" he asked, looking over and into the water. 

"Down below, the black part. It...moved, or something. I think it might be alive." 

He laughed. "I doubt it. There are only small fish in the fountain." 

"Hmm," I said, looking past the fish toward the dark. I tried to catch a glimpse of any sort of movement, but whatever I'd seen was no longer there, the darkness consistent. "Maybe I imagined it." 

"Probably - the water below is entrancing, isn't it? It's unclear whether Moleh is actually built over an aquifer of sorts or if it's just a trick the butterfly woman is playing on us. Either way, it is a beautiful thing, and can only be seen from the fountain. You're allowed to try and fish," he added, "though you'd have to shape a fishing rod out of Clay first, and even then most people aren't very successful." 

"But, some people do catch fish?" I asked. 

"It's happened a few times, yes." 

"Then wouldn't it definitely be real, and not a mind trick? You know, if you're holding the fish and all..." 

He shrugged. "Be careful with your assumptions. You can be convinced of much without ever knowing it. For all you know, I don't exist, and neither do your clothes or the rooms we just visited. Anything could be false. Shae is the most powerful practitioner of the Art - do not underestimate her." 

It seemed obvious now that he said it, but the full impact of being under the power of someone who could control my entire mind hit me like a truck. All my perceptions, all my feelings, all my thoughts... 

"So, what, don't trust anything? None of this is real?" I demanded. The safety of the necklace seemed insignificant all of a sudden. "What's the point, then? Why go along with this bullshit?" I asked insistently, infuriated. 

Emmit placed a palm on my shoulder. "Do not be discouraged. There is no use in assuming falseness everywhere you go. It is much better to assume the blade at your throat is real than to assume it is not," he said solemnly but with a grin, "metaphorically speaking." 

"Hmm," I replied, mulling it over. He had a point, but I still didn't feel good about being at the mercy of Shae. "So, she's just a practitioner, then? In theory, I could become powerful enough to match her, and no longer be influenced by her?" 

He smiled, amused. "In theory, yes. But, focus for now on the tour. All of this," he said, sweeping his arms around, "is the center of the courtyard, a nice place to orient yourself around in the beginning. From here, you can get out of Moleh and toward the rest of Caer'Aton, though most don't leave unless there's a tournament happening between the parts of Caer'Aton, or some other special occasion." He pointed down a road which passed under the arch that bridged the two ends of the incomplete circle of Moleh. "You just walk out under there. There are stone giants which live in a grove off to the right - don't approach them. I'm told they are very dangerous, but then again I have never left Moleh, so I don't truly know." 

I looked down the road, through the arch. The path dead-ended beneath it, and a slight shimmer which may have just been a product of the heat of the day wavered at the exit. Beyond, far in the distance, I thought I saw the speck of some sort of structure rising from the ground, but it was hard to say. Mostly, it appeared to be a flat plains. 

"Really? Never once?" 

He shook his head. "Not much reason to. Most of the work and training in the beginning is internal, and the faster I progress the better. I don't have time to waste on sight-seeing, though I am curious what it looks like outside. Anyways, Dante lives up on top of the arch," said Emmit, pointing upwards, "from this angle you can't really see the bell, but you see that part jutting out over the top?" he asked. I craned my neck and shielded my eyes from the bright sky - I only just saw it poking out, silhouetted by blue. "Well, that's where the bell is." In order to get there you would have to climb up the shear stone face of the arch., which didn't strike me as possible. You'd need some sort of system of flight to get there. 

"Dante's blind, right?" I asked slowly, "Doesn't seem so good an idea to leave a blind man up there by himself." 

Emmit laughed. "Dante is one of the Odieh. He's managed so far - I think he'll be alright." 

"Oh, really?" I asked, intrigued. "What's his specialty?" 

"Time, obviously," replied Emmit, scratching his head. "I mean, think about it, we base our lives around sections of time. Meals, sleeping periods, training periods, the calendar year... It would be foolish if those sections changed in length - and yet, it is all based off of a blind man ringing a bell." He laughed, saying, "It's a little silly, but he hasn't been late yet. Though perhaps we wouldn't know if he was," he added thoughtfully. 

Of course. "Makes sense. But, in an Art of controlling others minds, how does one specialize in time? I don't see the connection." 

"That is a good question, and I don't have a real answer. What I've learned in classes though is that time is only ever created in the mind. Therefore control over the mind is control over time. You've had time slow to a crawl doing busy work, and had it speed by in the midst of having fun, yeah?" 

"Hmm, fair enough." I said. Still curious about a potential connection between Jed, who had apparently been here before, and Dante, I asked "So how does he get up there? Or, I guess what I'm really asking, if we're doing the whole honesty thing, is how could I go up to meet him?" 

Emmit shot me a sideways glance, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "He would have to invite you, which means that he'd first have to hear about you, which means you'd have to make a hell of an impression on any of the Odieh - they all seem to know how the others are doing somehow, probably some sort of telepathy. Anyways, he doesn't ever come down, so he would have to ask for you specifically. Why do you ask?" 

That was going to prove to be a challenge. "An invitation, huh?...Interesting. I ask because, well, it's just a hunch, but I think a friend of mine may have been here for awhile and come back. He started a coffee shop named Dante's, I'm wondering if there might be a connection." 

"It's possible. Most do go back, after all." He shrugged, and seemed anxious to get this tour over with. "Anyways, once you find your Chi, you'll be able to train weaponry with the other peoples in the Arena, and that's out there. You can't miss it, just walk down the path." 

"Awesome. I'm sorry Emmit, this is taking forever because I'm asking too many questions. I'll shut up now." 

He smiled. "Hey, it's alright. I'm just trying to get you to Jet's office in time, and we've got..." he scrunched his eyes for a little while, and then said "twenty minutes left." 

I nodded. "Let's get going!" 

"Well then, moving right along with Emmit Tours, over there," he said, pointing to the section adjacent to the men's, "you remember the women's dorms. There are no restrictions on who can be where - you're allowed to go visit whenever, though you can't go inside a room without permission, generally." The two parts were divided by a small connecting building that was slightly higher and a dimmer shade of beige - I assumed this was the lounge. 

"So, that's where Jade lives?" I asked bluntly. 

He nodded. "Yes, she's still a Zero, and has only been here a year or so. Though, I should say, it is an infrequent thing to visit someone where they live. There isn't much to do in the dormitory, yeah?" he said, then he looked at me thoughtfully, his eyebrows frowning. "I would like to say that I am jealous of your interaction with Jade. She was quite taken with you, I've never seen her have that reaction from reading someone before, it was clearly a lot for her to take in. I wish she had had such a reaction with me, but she only told me I was an Empath, and left it at that. I have some resentment toward you because I was rejected, while you were not." 

Well, that was upfront. "I'm sorry, Emmit. I didn't mean anything by it, if I'd have known you had a thing for her, I wouldn't have-" 

"No, you misunderstand," he said, cutting me off. "I communicate this to get it off my chest. These feelings make no sense, speaking them aloud hurries their dissolution. Come," he said, walking toward a path coming from the fountain which led to a different part of the building. I guessed he was already past the resentment he'd been feeling, and he said, "We will go by the training rooms next, and then you should have plenty of time to sit outside Jet's office and ready yourself." 

I hadn't noticed before, but walking toward this new part of the building, I realized that it was subdivided into several sections of differing architectural aesthetics and a somewhat different color scheme. The bulk of the building was covered in blanched, beige shingles. It was the accentuations to the color that denoted different sections - differing colors to the window trims, different decorative inlays along the walls. I mentioned this to Emmit. 

"Oh, yes, I should have mentioned. Moleh has five parts to it. The men's eating commons and dorms, the women's, which are adjacent to the men's, the offices and single rooms, the training rooms, and the courtyard. All are different wings of the building, minus the courtyard of course - it simplifies things a little," he said as we walked on. 

We were headed toward what he had just said were the training rooms. The door leading inside was a sliding door made of bamboo and with a thin paper surface instead of wood or glass. 

Emmit slid it open, and we entered a room similar to the lounge in size but very different in content - the chairs and sofas were gone, and instead the room was divided into four large sections of martial arts flooring - a white mat which had a small give to it. Nicer for falling, I remembered from the half year of Jiu-Jitsu I'd done when I was ten. 

The walls had large scrolls hanging down, black calligraphy similar to the rune on my necklace inscribed there - lettering I didn't recognize. I couldn't read any language but English, but I could recognize Chinese characters or Arabic writing, and this lettering was neither. It made no sense - almost muddied, the distinction between one character to the next was inconsistent. The calligraphy was beautiful, though, there was no denying that. 

The ceiling, a pale yellow, glowed, illuminating the room - I assumed it must have been of the same wood as what Jade had given me. I looked at the sphere to see if it shed any light and examined it cupped between my hands in darkness - yes, it was in fact glowing, but only very slightly. Interesting. 

Two paths between the mats met at the center, and we walked toward the middle. 

"This is the training room," said Emmit, "you'll spend a lot of time here once you find your Chi. Most of your time, actually. If you come in from outside, make sure your feet are clean first if you intend to go on the mats. The next two rooms over to the right," he jerked his finger that way, "are the same as this, and after that there are six private training rooms, but you're not supposed to use them unless you have a good reason." 

"What would a good reason be?" I asked 

"I don't know, I've just heard of people getting yelled at for using it while there were other mats available. It's probably just to foster training with other people than just the ones you know, keep people out on the mats and such." 

"Makes sense. You get more of a spread of training with more people, instead of learning how to beat one person, you learn how to actually fight. Still not sure how fighting and finding your weapon factors into mind control, though." I said. 

"Oh, that's simple. It's like the Clay - you can't practice on people, so you practice on Clay, and get familiar with the Art. With the weapon, well, you'll find out more once you start looking for your Chi, but basically it is a condensed form of your willpower, so condensed and focused that it takes physical form. You can summon and dismiss it at will, though being able to do that swiftly takes a lot of time. When you fight with your Chi, it's like battling with your mind. Say you're trying to make an opponent lift their arm, but they don't want to. Your respective minds fight over that act, and whoever comes out on top gets what they want. Same sort of thing with weaponry, and the skills translate to each other. That's not quite accurate, but it's a good placeholder until you do it yourself." 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 03



"Here's a good example," he continued, "do you remember Rinzai? He came in and had a really good grasp on the fundamentals of the Art, and worked it really well. On his first day he found his Chi, the first iteration of it, a full length sword, which is pretty nuts - most people go for a dagger or a short sword. And from the moment his feet touched the mat, he was better than anyone else. He had no prior martial training, he just knew the Art, and knew his Chi." 

"So it's like cross-training, you start running five miles a day and then suddenly you're able to talk to girls easier because you're confident," I said. I loved the dojo atmosphere, how tidy it was, the minimalist aesthetic. Here was a place for focus - no social bullshit, just training. Fuck yeah. I could see myself spending a lot of time here. The Art seemed to be growing larger and larger in scope the more I heard about it, but it all pointed toward the ability to influence minds. Just, along the way, you also had to become a badass warrior. 

I could deal with that. 

"Yes and no," said Emmit, smiling at my analogy. "You'll hear more about the training room from someone more qualified than me - let's get you to Jet." 

We went over to the left, and passed through the door. 

It was like night and day - suddenly, we were standing on lush, red carpet frilled gold, the room was sensually lit by torches that cast real, flickering light from their smokeless flames, and the hallway smelled like a library brimming with history and dust. 

"Wow, that's a hell of a transition," I remarked. 

"Yes, it is," agreed Emmit. "Probably some form of test for the Odieh, I imagine. Something like being tasked to keep your state of being identical in vastly different environments." Damn, he had a knack for coming up with ways to test one's Art! That was downright inventive. 

He strode forward, and we passed many paintings on the wall, mostly landscapes. Their paint was normal, however, a fact I was strangely comforted by. Of all the unbelievable things that had happened to me, for some reason what made me feel safe was that, well, at least these paintings don't move. It's the little things. Then again, I reflected, this could all be a Shae-induced hallucination. 

I banished the thought. No use in going that way. 

We came up to a door, a plain, regular door with a brass doorknob. The others, I reflected, had been made of crystal, or gold. The door stood out in its simplicity. 

"Here we are," said Emmit. "This completes our little adventure together. Thank you for choosing Emmit Tours, we hope to see you again!" He smiled broadly. What a guy. 

"Thank you so much, Emmit. I can't even truly say how much I appreciate you showing me around, man, would I have been lost otherwise." 

"No worries, my friend. To be honest, my motivations for doing so were at first because I was curious about the person who'd moved such power with the wall and wanted to manipulate them so I'd be on their good side. I have enjoyed our walk, however, and hope to remain friends." 

The honesty was going to take some getting used to. "Of course, Emmit. I look forward to getting to know you better." 

He smiled. "Best of luck in there!" he said, and left. 

I pulled my longsleeve back over my chest, and relaxed my shoulders. Okay, going into a possibly twelve hour briefing on what the fuck is going on with my life. Empty my mind, they'd said out in the courtyard. What does that even look like? 

I sat down against the wall adjacent to the door, and closed my eyes. 

Empty mind...Empty mind... 

Fuck. 

I tried to still my thoughts, but I found that every time I tried to silence one, another would come up in its place. 

I found I kept returning to Jade, to the sensation of being seen by her when she'd read me. It was a powerful thing, and scary - I'd felt so vulnerable, but before such warmth that I could not shy away. Whittling and knowing how to handle a knife, she was hardly a lady in any conventional sense, and yet her movements were so refined, as if every time she took a step or breathed it was precisely on purpose. 

I thought of her hair, embers tumbling on endless embers and a fire so hot and sensual - if I was water and poured myself onto her I knew I'd evaporate in an instant and she would be left still burning. I yearned to be that steam rising from above her, even as I grew ever distant and faded into the air, I would do so having been changed, my very nature altered by her heat. I thought, what if I just went back out there, and sat down, and asked her to run away with me? 

A foolish thought, but it hinted at the isolating effect her gaze had on me, as if anything else were irrelevant, as if anything else mattered. I wanted to feel those soft lips on mine, to press my heart against hers until their beating matched each other, to wrap my fingers around her waist and feel her hips push onto me- 

Shit. This wasn't emptying my mind at all. How on Earth was I expected to do this? I had been submerged in Jade, that any time I let a part of me go through the crack in my mind, she was there, and filled me. I didn't mind having her close to my mind, hell, just thinking of her got me excited for our future prospects of being together. The orange sphere she'd given me was warm in my hand from clutching it tightly. 

How to let her go? Did I even want to? 

Then, it hit me - our reconnection was more or less assured. I didn't need to clutch so tightly. If I let her go, and stopped thinking about her, she wouldn't disappear. It seemed so obvious, but it was a shift, becoming okay with non-attachment. Or, at least the beginnings. And, hell, that didn't only apply to her, I didn't need any of my thoughts. There wasn't a single thing I could think of that would help me in this moment - I had no idea what lay waiting for me beyond that door. 

The only thing there was to do, was wait, and so I waited. 

And waited. 

Thoughts arose, and I let them pass. Fear crept into me, and I let it go. Nervousness, excitement, more fear... I realized I had no control over my mind. Absolutely none - emotions, thoughts, they all arose in me without my permission, so to speak. 

What the fuck? My mind didn't listen to me. I really, truly got that, I experienced the gap between my mind and me, and all of a sudden, it was as if a giant pit had been opened inside of me, where before it had been raining, an endless downpour of thought and emotion, suddenly, there was nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. Complete stillness. No thoughts in my mind. 

Holy shit, I thought to myself, this was fucking incredible. I felt like I was glowing, vibrating with energy. There was so much power here, so much potential. I'm not in my own way anymore. A sinking feeling came to my chest - oh, I was thinking again. Damnit. 

Either way, I'd touched on something massive. I didn't have a handle on it, but I was determined to figure out what the hell I'd just touched on. 

The door opened beside me. "Come in, Tristan." 

I stood up in a slight daze, and walked inside. 

I'd expected opulence similar to the corridor, but I was wrong. Every wall was a bookshelf, stretching all the way to the ceiling, and each shelf was packed to the brim. The room was lit by what appeared to be a regular lightbulb above us, the first I'd seen, encased in a slightly opaque bowl to diffuse the harshness of the light. In the middle of the room was a small desk. A few papers and a pen were neatly placed in front of Jet, who sat behind the desk on a tall wooden chair. The sword he'd been wearing was flat on the floor next to the desk, perfectly parallel to it. 

His spectacles rested on his nose, and he wore the same formal attire as before, though the jacket was resting on the back of his chair. His sleeves were buttoned at the wrist, and he was clean shaven. His black hair was combed over to the side, and gelled handsomely. His lips formed a straight line, and he was expressionless without appearing disinterested. He was the model of stoicism, clean, formal, and neutral to an off-putting extent. 

A large, black tome was also on desk closer to me, as well as a piece of Clay next to it. Wait, that was my Clay! I recognized the odd, angular shape and the small size, and an intuitive familiarity rose within me as I noticed it. A stool was before the desk, and he gestured toward it for me to sit. 

I walked forward, soaking in the room. There wasn't a speck of dust in sight, and all of the books had their spines facing the same way. It was perfect order, nothing was out of place. 

"You're early," he said, his hands interlaced on the table, "I told you to show up at six." 

I sat down, taken aback by his comment. Since when was showing up early a bad thing? "You also opened the door and told me to come in." 

"Yes," he said, making a small tick at the top of the page in front of him with the pen, "I did." 

"This is your briefing - we are meeting to cure you of your ignorance. The sooner this can be done, the better. Some ground rules: talk as little as possible, listen to everything I say, and understand that everything I do is for your benefit. The other Odieh handle briefing differently than I - they are more social. They want you to feel welcome." 

He leaned forward. "I do not care in the slightest about how you feel, and you should be thankful for this. We will skip the pleasantries, and move straight toward the meat of the matter. If you must ask a question, do so, but only if absolutely necessary. Trust that I will tell you everything you need to know. Speak honestly, and if I tell you to do something, do it as if your life is on the line. In some cases, it might be. Understood?" 

I nodded. This guy didn't fuck around. Good. I was going to get some real answers, finally. Or, at least I hoped so. 

"Excellent," he said, making another tick mark on the page. "Now, to begin. This is not the Clay you were given upon your arrival. Explain." 

I thought quickly of the fastest way to tell him what had happened. "I noticed the wall of Clay, and attempted to connect to it. I placed the Clay I was given on the box next to the wall, and it was absorbed immediately. I then took this Clay," I said, nodding toward the Clay on the table, and the faintest blue-green bloomed from the inside, barely perceptible, "from the wall." 

"Good. Now, with your mind, shape the Clay in any way," he said, and looked at me without an expression. 

Well, shit. I had no idea how to do that. I thought people only learned after the first few days? What kind of briefing was this? It felt more like a test than anything. 

Alright then, a test it was. I'd pass his test with flying colors if it meant it would give me some answers. Moving Clay? No problem, I just had to figure out how. 

I picked it up and the faint hue bloomed into the full blue-green color. Jet's expression remained constant. I focused on it, and felt its presence immediately - that was new. But how to change it? 

With a start, I realized that I already knew how. I'd done it before - when I'd taken it from the wall. That was shaping the Clay, in a sense, I'd given it the shape it had now, and separated it from a wall of the stuff. I'd made it distinct from everything else, hell, that was shaping wasn't it? Emmit had said my power was huge. I'd assumed he was just flattering me, but what if I actually had some serious energy to work with? What if I just believed I could do this? 

So, I did. I held the Clay in my mind, and committed to the act of moving it. I knew that I could. It was my Clay, I was holding its presence inside of me. I focused hard on it, staring intently. The intensity of my gaze could have melted plastic, I was concentrating harder than I ever had before. Just...Move...Fuck... 

Something clicked. I don't know what, but one moment I was staring at a rock in my hand, and the next it was like silly putty. It wasn't my color, I realized, it was me. My eyes widened as I felt my whole body vibrate, and my sense of body - you know, the sense that you have an arm, or a leg - shifted to include the Clay. 

I willed it to smooth out, to lose its rough edges and angles, to go from a misshapen blob to a sphere. It didn't even feel like an exercise of will, I just saw it as a sphere. 

In my hands, the Clay rearranged itself into a neat ball. The blue-green glowed brighter, and I saw more distinctions in the color that I hadn't even noticed before - faint, incredibly faint trails of yellow, faint wisps of white and black swirled inside of it. 

Jet made a mark on his page. "Interesting. Change its shape five more times." 

Five? Chump change - I could have done a million, easy as pie. I rolled it out into a small cylinder, then pressed it into an oblong pancake, then made a cube, and a star. For the last one, I shot for something slightly more complex, feeling ambitious: I molded it into a replica of his desk. That was tricky, the connection I had, the ease and fluidity of it hiccuped as I tried to enact the minute movements on it which would sprout legs beneath the surface. It took a moment, but in the end, I got it. Maybe the legs weren't all at 90 degree angles, but they were close enough that it looked alright. I beamed at my creation proudly, and looked up at Jet. 

He pushed his glasses up his nose, and said, "Now, put the Clay in your pocket, and tell me what you just did." 

I grabbed my table, hesitating about squishing it at first but capitulating quickly and returning it to a ball, placing it in the pocket with Jade's orange sphere in it. 

"I believed I could do it, and then concentrated hard on it, and after focusing, I realized it was no different than me. I changed it as easily as I would raise an arm. The table was harder, though." 

"Correct," he said, "You're effectively moving an arm you didn't have a moment ago - the connection isn't as precise. Now, what do you mean, "believed"?" 

"I was wondering how to go about moving it," I replied, choosing the words, "and then realized that I already knew how, that I'd done it when I took it from the wall. So, because I had done it before, I knew I could do it again. So I just, decided to do it again, because I knew I could." 

"Correct. You intended to move it, and so it moved. You can ask something to change all you like, but if you don't demand the change, you're counting on it agreeing with you. You mustn't give it an option - you don't ask your finger to scratch an itch, do you? You scratch the itch," he said evenly. 

"I speak of intent here - keep this in mind. It is a fundamental principle of the Art. To change somebody, you have to intend to change them. To manipulate yourself, you have to not only want to, but to want to past any conception of desire, past wanting, past needing. If you intend to alter yourself, you have already done so, because you intended it to be so." 

"Now, read the book in front of you, without opening it," he said, his expression continuously neutral, his eyes blank behind his glasses. 

I stared down at the cover. What? How was that possible? 

I thought at first it might be some word trick, something hidden, like I just had to read the black color of the cover, or reconfigure what I understood as reading. It didn't appear that way, though - Jet meant what he said. I was to read the book without opening it. 

Well, damn. I would at least have to try. 

The first part, I decided, was to accept that it was possible. In order to do anything, I had to accept that I could actually do it, right? No tricks, just me and my mind. Maybe the book was made out of Clay? 

I reached out to it with my mind, but found nothing like the presence I felt with the wall, or with my Clay. It appeared to be, by all accounts, just a book. Fuck that, I thought, and stared harder at it. Read the book. Read the book, Tristan, come on. See words, see the pages. 

Sometimes I'd think I was getting somewhere, the image of a piece of paper with words on it flashing into my head, and I'd think I was just given some sort of glimpse, but I quickly realized I was just fantasizing. I redoubled my efforts to figure this shit out, to read the book. How simple was that? Read the book, just skip a few steps, don't open it. 

I won't lie - I stared at that book for a little over an hour. The bell rang six o'clock early into my focus, echoing as if from inside the room, and then I kept going until it rang again, seven times. The time seemed to pass quickly, I entered into a weird space of no distractions, just me and the book. 

I got nowhere. A little while after seven, I got discouraged, and looked up to Jet, sighing and sinking down onto the stool. 

"I don't know, Jet. I don't think it's possible," I said, defeated. I thought I'd be able to get it, I really did. I tried so fucking hard, but it just wasn't possible for me right now. 

"Of course it's not possible," said Jet, who hadn't moved the entire time. "How can you expect to read a book you haven't opened?" 

I nearly had an aneurism. Was he fucking serious? I was about to ask him, but got my anger under control - don't waste time, only speak when really necessary. 

"Keep that in mind as you further your progress in the Art. You can only manipulate that which you can see - and you can only see what you let yourself see. I asked you to do this for two reasons: the first, because it is important to be aware of your possibilities - what you can do with what you have. You can't read a closed book, and you can't manipulate a mind you don't truly see." 

"The second reason," he continued, "is to make you aware of a tendency I suspect you might be developing of throwing yourself too hard at a problem. Admittedly, your dedication is admirable, and a good quality to have in pursuing the Art. Necessary, in fact. I would never have achieved Odieh without a, shall we say, obsessive need to understand my Chi. I simply aim to cultivate an awareness in you: know when you are fighting a losing fight. Know when you are looking for something that isn't there." 

"Now," he said, "take off your necklace." 

My necklace? Fuck no, that was the only thing protecting me from his ability to totally control me. Not to mention anybody else who passed by. No - rank one could wait, I needed this thing for a good, long while. 

"No," I replied. 

He arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. "But, Tristan, did you not agree to do everything I said?" 

Fuck. He had a point. But I couldn't just, take it off. Not yet. I shrugged, and shook my head. I felt bad about breaking my word to him - Emmit had emphasized the importance of honesty to me, and look, I was already ignoring his advice. 

"You see, then, that such commitments should not be made lightly. Do not agree to do something you won't be able to do. I asked you to do this impossible thing to illustrate this point." 

I understood. I had trapped myself - I could have easily said no to him. I'd been all gung-ho about doing what he wanted me to do, without considering the possibility that perhaps, I wouldn't be able to. 

"The reason I stress this point is because you will be controlling other people with your mind at some point, and in order to do that effectively, you need to cultivate integrity. You cannot be fractured in any way - a skilled opponent will exploit the crack and dismantle you in a heartbeat. Think: you are controlling someone. If whoever has the power isn't whole and complete, then they don't truly have the power. Real power," he said, "is consistent. Ironclad. Impervious." 

"Now, you must have wondered why you are being trained. Or, why you were brought here in the first place." Finally. The answers I'd been looking for. 

"In short: you are a slave." 

Oh. Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. 




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



Author's Note

Well, this story just seems to grow and grow. I could have sent it out sooner, but it wasn't done -- I wanted to put out more than a fragment. I wanted to have a real arc, a sizeable part of Tristan's Tale.

So, I feel I've got to warn you, If you're looking for something quick and dirty, I'd recommend something else.

But if you want some more depth to a story, then you're in the right place. Thanks to everyone who waited for this part -- I read all of your comments and emails and always appreciated hearing from you.

~~~

The Traveller's Tavern was an ancient building of weathered stone and old, aged wood. It was the longest standing structure in all of Sicil, the last trading post before the Wastelands. As such, the Tavern was the most treasured of all buildings: the last place to get drunk before the long trek through the dust.

Perhaps it was the collective will of the few that lived in Sicil, their need for the place, which had allowed it to withstand the trials of time's passing. The Traveller's Tavern had seen it all, and had a way of communicating that to any and all who entered its thick, heavy doors. A quiet was imposed on its occupants in the crossing of the threshold, in the shouldering open of the door. Those who entered left their baggage behind: within the walls of the Tavern, all peoples were equal.

The Wastelands were never far from anyone's mind.

Stillness hung in the air like accumulated dust on a windowsill, and Harper eyed the timepiece on the wall. He'd be done cleaning in a few minutes. He was drying down the last of the mugs -- he and the boy had already cleaned the rest of the place. There hadn't been much to clean. All that was left to do was to extinguish the candles, and he'd be fast asleep in his cot up in the attic.

He'd closed down the Tavern early that day -- not much business, as usual. The days were stretching in front of him, his future a yawning, empty chasm of solitude. Seemed there weren't many travellers these days.

He crouched down and placed a mug on the shelf with the others below the counter, peering to make sure they were organized properly. No good bar is left unorganized -- he'd learned that from the start. He stood up, stretching the stiffness in his back and his neck, when he was suddenly aware that he was no longer alone.

A man sat at the bar on a stool, resting his elbows on the counter. More a pile of cloth than a man -- his head tilted down, all that could be seen of him was his thin salt and pepper grey hair. The rest was covered in a thick cloak, dark grey and patched in many places, though not completely. A few rips and holes tore through the side of the fabric. The hood was down, folded on his neck and shoulders.

"We're closed, sir," said Harper, attempting not to betray the concern he felt mounting inside him. How had this man come inside without him noticing? He hadn't even heard the door open, and he left it un-oiled on purpose. It was squeaky as all hell. Made it easy to keep track of the coming and goings of the place.

Then, he noticed the staff.

It was resting on the counter adjacent to the man -- a gnarled, black length of wood, and as evil in appearance as the last time Harper had seen it. Looking at it for too long left his mind filled with whispers, and a malevolence not of this world. He shuddered, and looked away from it, resting his gaze on the hunched form of the man.

"So, you're back," said Harper evenly.

The newcomer's hands were crossed over his forehead, in the sleeves of a tattered brown robe. Without a word, he withdrew one, a wretched, frail thing, a wisp of skin and bone, and with it placed something on the table. He slid it forward toward Harper.

Harper eyed the piece. Silver.

That was a surprise in itself. The Traveller's Inn hadn't seen silver in nearly half a year. Traveling nobles didn't make it out to Sicil much anymore. Not these days, the Wasteland being what it was. The times being what they were.

More surprising, however, was the piece itself. Harper picked it up -- it must have weighed three times a normal silver coin. He hefted it in his hand, peering at the engraving, and his eyes widened in shock. He cleared his throat, and then placed it back on the table.

"So you made it there, did you?" he said, eying the stranger.

A nod was the only reply.

"Eastern coin..." mused Harper, looking at the piece. "You know I can't make change for this."

"A bowl of stew please, if you have any left," said the stranger. The voice was completely mismatched with his appearance -- strong, confident, and not in any way indicative of the age which showed in the colour of his hair or the frailty of his hands.

Harper nodded. "Aye. Not much left in the way of meat," he said.

"That's fine. Thank you."

Harper left the bar and went into the storeroom. He returned with a large bowl of stew, which was at this point only warm, and a loaf of bread.

The man had shifted, and was now sitting tall on the stool with the quarterstaff across his legs. His head hunched over, and partly visible, Harper noticed that he looked at least ten years older than when he had last passed through. Deep lines creased his weathered skin, and his beard was fully white where before it had been flecked black.

The man was whittling down the quarterstaff with a small, white blade. With every stroke of the knife, a sliver of the staff flew into the air, and then dissolved into nothing, as if it was only so much smoke gone too far from the fire which had birthed it. Bit by disappearing bit, the staff became less unsightly, less like a piece of wood found in the remnants of a forest scorched by hellfire, and more like a polished quarterstaff. Even so, the whittling did nothing to mitigate the malice of the weapon, and Harper did not let his gaze linger on it for long. Questioning the disappearing shavings was not an option -- not when you're behind the bar.

He left the bowl before the man, then took one of the knives from behind the bar and cut a few thick slices off a loaf of bread. He passed them over to the man. He knew better than to object to the man's actions, much less his presence in the bar. Harper remembered what had happened the last time he had paid the Traveller's Tavern a visit.

The man received the food graciously, set his quarterstaff against the counter, and pulled up his stool, sitting up straight.

Harper was face to face with him. The man's visage was haunted; his eyes distant, as if he'd just met Death himself. Scars both old and new were scattered across his face -- one in particular flashed down his right eye, which was grey. His left eye was brown. His jaw, while old, was hardened, and there was a sturdiness about his character that belied the power beneath the rags. This was a man that had seen battle -- that much was obvious.

"Thank you," said the man, almost as if not to Harper but to the food, and then picked up the spoon which was in the bowl, and set to eating. Occasionally he would dip his bread in the stew and chew on it slowly. He took his time eating, and didn't spill so much as a crumb on the counter.

Harper had seen soldiers of every flag in the Tavern. None of them ate as properly as this man.

He finished his food, and pushed the bowl across the bar.

"Thank you," he said once more.

Harper nodded. "You'll be needing a place to sleep tonight? On account of your overpayment," he said, nodding toward the piece on the counter.

"No, thank you," replied the man, and he stood up, pushing the stool back in line with the rest of them.

"You don't mean to continue on?" asked Harper, surprised. It was getting dark, and if he'd come from the East, the only place to go on was out into the Wasteland.

"I do," came the stranger's reply. He gathered his quarterstaff into his hand, and used it as a walking stick on his way toward the door.

Harper clicked his tongue. "Things have changed since you last came through. Been many years, and the Wasteland isn't kind to fools. A man can't stick to the road and know he'll be safe."

"I do not intend to stay on the road," came the even reply.

Harper sighed and shook his head. "Well you've either lost your head, or you know better than I. No sane man in all the Haerth would dare explore the Wastes. 'Specially not alone, and 'specially not at night."

The stranger paused, and pulled his hood over his head, looking at the door.

"I do not intend to explore it," he said. "I will be visiting an old friend."

Harper peered closely at the hooded figure. "An old friend? In the Wastes? Nobody lives out there, it's naught but dust and demons. Anyone that used to live there's long since died."

"I know," replied the man, unmoving. He stood there in the silence, and seemed to soak it up. "I do not intend to visit the living."

Harper's eyes widened. He didn't know of anyone who knew of that place. That knowledge was supposed to have been lost long ago. He tapped his fingers on the counter anxiously. "You seriously intend to go there? The dead aren't known for their hospitality."

The stranger turned to face him. "Do you remember what I told you when I last was here?"

Harper nodded. "As if I could forget. Never heard of anyone traveling from Sicil to the Eastern Waters before, and yet right before me was a man saying to my face he'd come all the way from the Plains, and was making for the East." He shook his head. "I would have marked you down for a liar if not for the way you handled those bandits."

A faint smile played in the darkness of the hood. "That was a good fight. Nobody died."

"Aye," said Harper, "stripped naked, and tossed out into the rain, but not dead, no. Though, to some, the loss of pride is as much a death as the loss of their life. But," he said, leaning on the counter, "Even so, I didn't think to see you again. Tell me," he said, his eyes wary, "What are you?"

The stranger looked at Harper in silence. It sent shivers down his spine -- the mismatched eyes beneath the hood betrayed no emotion. They were eyes that could watch the world end without flinching. Sweat beaded on Harper's forehead.

"Ask me instead what you truly wish to know," said the stranger. "Your fear has little to do with me."

Harper gulped, and calmed his nerves. He eyed the silver piece on the counter, then flicked his gaze back to the man at the door. "What...What news from the East?" he asked. "Are the rumours true?"

Silence hung between the two of them, taut enough to slice.

"War."

Damn it all. Harper clenched his fists, then let them go with a sigh. "I'll make the necessary preparations. I'm not the first owner of the Traveler's Tavern, and I'll be damned if I'm the last. These walls are tough, and I'll make sure it lasts through the fighting. This place has seen war before."

The stranger looked at Harper, and then around at the building, taking it in as if the history of the place was there before his eyes.

He turned back to Harper with the faintest trace of pity in his eyes. "No, it hasn't," he said softly, then opened the door without it making a sound, and left.

"Ancients above, may they save us all," murmured Harper to the empty room. He stood at the counter in silence for a moment. Sicil was a prized strategic possession, the direct access to the South. It was always a contested territory in the big wars -- not the petty nobles fighting over territory which usually brought in business. That being said, the fighting never spilled into the town proper, and there hadn't been a real war in many years.

The stranger's words hung over his head like a guillotine.

His mind went to the memory of his wife. She'd always made the decisions, the guiding hand behind his usual stalwart composition. What would she have done?

What do I do?

He shook his head, straightened his spine, and finished drying the mugs. He left the candles lit.

"Boy!" he called to the back.

After a moment, a small pipsqueak of a face appeared around the corner of the doorway. His face was creased with the drowsiness of having just been woken up. So young...

"Yes, papa?"

Harper kept his voice even. "...Change out of your nightwear. Get your boots on. I need you out here."

The boy's eyes widened and he disappeared into the back room.

Harper sighed, and looked around the place. There was work to be done.

~~~

Jade and I had moved from the fountain to the grass. We were lying down, our faces turned toward the sky. Her head was on my shoulder, my arm wrapped around her. Ember-orange hair sprawled across my chest, and I swore it glowed beneath the stars.

The night was warm, as if it was summer, though I had no idea if they even had seasons here. We were both clothed, she in her white linen pants and a black shirt, me in a similar black shirt and black shorts, but, despite the fabric, the feeling of her body pressed against mine had kindled within me a fire that burned like hot cinnamon rum. It was as if I was the furnace from which summer drew its heat, and she was at once the coals and the billows which kept it alive.

There is a selfish aspect of being with someone to whom you're magnetized -- as if because I'd won this particular lottery I'd won them all. I felt at once powerful and profoundly small, like I could create entire universes with my willpower if only I hadn't been completely entranced by Jade.

"I can hear your heartbeat," she murmured. Her ear was pressed against my chest.

"What does it sound like to you?" I asked.

"Mmm..." she said, focusing on the sound. She listened for a moment. "Like a heartbeat," she said with finality.

I laughed. "Just a heartbeat?"

"Not "just" a heartbeat. It is a good thing, you know, for something to sound like itself. A rare quality, in people," she said.

"True enough," I replied, trailing my fingers over her shoulder. "I've only ever met a few people who really sounded like themselves, if I'm getting what you mean. Most of the people where I'm from don't know who to be like, so they just guess, they act however they think they're supposed to." I scratched my head. "Myself included, I suppose."

"I don't think that's limited to those people," she replied. "It is not an easy thing finding oneself. I'm curious," she added, "what sort of people do you know that you think sound like themselves?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, thinking back to what I'd said. Jed certainly sounded like himself. Though, the more I thought about it, the less sure I became about what exactly "sounding like oneself" meant.

"Surely you do!" she exclaimed, "Otherwise you would not have said it."

"Er- I was just, I don't know, I was just saying that to give myself time to think."

"Ah," she said, curling up against me, "I see. I forget that you are new here. I think perhaps being honest all the time makes one very literal."

"I can see how that would happen."

"Really?" she asked with surprise, "But how would you see such a thing? Your eyes can't actually see speech, can they?"

I rolled my eyes. "You're joking, right?"

She giggled mischievously. "Maybe." She placed a soft kiss on my cheek, and I damn near melted. "But tell me about these people. I'm curious."

"Well," I replied, trying to focus on the conversation and not the goddess I was having it with, "There's one person, a man named Jed that I know. He may have passed through here, actually. Do you know him? Big guy, very friendly."

"I do not know anyone by that name," she said.

"Well, he's a very honest person, and he loves to tell stories. Helped shape me up a little, so I was a bit less arrogant."

"You? Arrogant?" she asked, incredulous. "Tristan, you have been nothing but humble in the few hours that I have known you. You refused all the praise Emmit dumped on you when we first met, and even now, you haven't said a word to me about how you got that scar! You're quite the legend around here, you know. People's first days are rarely so...complicated."

"Me, a legend?" I scoffed. "Hardly - people just love to tell stories about the things they don't understand. The less you actually know, the more you can make out of it. Like spinning a single fibre into a coat -- you won't be warmed by it."

"True enough," she conceded, "Though the telling of a story only conceals the truth of the matter. It doesn't invalidate it."

"Sure, but so far, it sounds to me like the stories are only based on my disappearance, not on anything I've done. At least, I don't feel like much of a legend."

"Well I suppose I won't press the point. I wasn't saying much. Just that, based on what I've seen, I have a hard time imagining arrogance living inside you." The way she said seen sent shivers down my spine, like she really had seen me, and I remembered when she'd held my gaze and stared into me, how tangible that had been. How bare I'd felt.

"Yeah, I can't take a compliment, I know. But that's different, I meant a different sort of arrogance," I explained. "I'd show up to work late, wouldn't treat customers with respect, didn't care what others thought of me. That sort of thing."

"The kind of arrogance where one assumes the world will just work out for them," she said.

"Yeah, exactly. What I did didn't matter, I didn't consider whether or not I could hurt people. Stuff like that." I sighed, and scratched my head. "Jed, well, he kicked my ass, told me to shape up and why. Something about that guy, when you talk to him, it's like you're only talking to him. Nothing going on besides him."

"That is a good kind of person to know. Kiara has proved to be one such person for me, here."

"Kiara? She's one of the Odieh, right?" The one who'd mastered seduction. I didn't say that last part, but man, was it on my mind. What exactly had she passed on to Jade?

"Yes. She is a fine shaper of Clay. I get personal lessons from her every so often, when she has the time."

"Personal lessons?" I asked. "How did you go about making that happen?"

"I won last year's Clay shaping tournament," she said, "and Kiara got in touch with me afterwards. She liked my work, apparently. One thing led to the next, you know how it goes."

"Sounds like winning the tournament has some perks," I commented.

"Mhm," she said, and brought a hand to rest on my chest. "But let's not talk about that. Tell me about you. Tristan the Bold, more or less finished with his first day at Caer'Aton!"

"Give or take a few weeks..." I muttered.

"Two and a half," she pointed out, "and you weren't even conscious for them, so they don't count."

"Fair enough," I acceded. "Still, it's far from a comfortable entrance. More like Tristan the Unconscious. Though," I said, pulling her close and kissing her forehead, "Things didn't end up so bad."

"Not so bad?" she asked.

"Well, comparing this to my life back home, I don't have complaints."

"I see," she said. "Well, I admit I am curious, but it is not considered polite to inquire about another's life before their arriving in Caer'Aton."

I slowly twirled a finger through her hair. It was soft and bouncy, with a nice consistency and a tendency to make small curls around my finger. "Well, I guess I can see why that's so. It's not really a problem for me, there just isn't much to say."

"I don't believe that for one minute," she said seriously.

"Oh no? Why not?"

"Because it's your life that I am asking about!" she exclaimed. "I don't think it is possible for someone to be alive and to not have much to say about it. Even if life feels empty and hopeless..." she said, trailing off, lost somewhere in her memory. Her energy, her vibe, whatever it was, dimmed. I sensed a shift in her - an inward tightening, as if she sensed danger. "There are many shades of bleak," she finished softly.

I loved the way she spoke. In a way, it was as if she wasn't entirely here ever, that she was only temporarily visiting this plane of existence. I wanted so desperately to know this person, this wild and mysterious creature, but it felt impossible on some level. But, hey, if there was ever anything impossible that I'd try and do anyways, getting to know Jade would probably be it.




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



"It sounds like you're speaking from experience," I said tentatively.

She bristled immediately at the words, and I hastened to add, "But you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I'm just also curious."

Despite my trying to bring the conversation back, she didn't unwind - I felt her tense on my chest, like she wasn't even here anymore, that it was just a body.

We stayed in silence for a while, and I didn't really know what to do. Had I just fucked it up? What was going on?

"My life back home was pretty empty, I guess," I said in an attempt to shift her away from whatever I'd triggered in her. "I've been really out of it for quite a while."

"Out of it?" she asked. Her voice lacked something - the music, the soft exhales coupled with the fire that accompanied her words.

"Yeah. Disconnected from things. People, my life, just generally not in touch with reality. I'd avoid human contact, stay in my room, not do much with my life."

"Why?" she asked, shifting so that she was looking at me, the side of her face on her arm which was draped over my torso. The tilt of the hill below us was such that I could look down at her with ease. I was taken aback by her eyes - they were more vacant than they normally were. Something was missing, a vibrancy that had lit up the night was gone. Like she was only here out of habit.

"I, well...I don't know," I stammered. What, was I just going to jump in and talk about it? It didn't feel right, like there was some sort of hiccup in our relating. Like I was talking to a ghost. She looked at me expectantly, but it was clear she didn't really care.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said, sighing and looking up. "I'm here, lying down under the stars with one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen, and for whatever reason, she seems to actually give a shit about me. I'd rather not think about where I came from right now."

She detached from me, sitting next to me, and propped herself up on her elbows - fuck. I'd blurted it out in a half-panic, trying to bring her back and at a loss for what to say. I felt a rift start to open between us.

Her face, illuminated by starlight, turned toward me, and what I saw wasn't what I expected. She looked sad. Worried.

"Tristan..." she said, and then looked away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come on too strong or anything, I just wanted you to know-"

"No, it's fine, I know what you mean actually..." she trailed off, and looked up to the stars. She shook her head violently, and brought her knees into her chest, clutching them tightly. Something was going on inside her -- I had no idea what, though.

Hadn't we just been cuddling? I was feeling a little confused -- what I'd said had hardly been any more intimate than the space we'd been sharing. Not to mention the song she'd sung for me, or how she'd taken me from Emmit and his friends. Part of me wanted to move closer to her and tell her it was okay, but it was pretty clear that that would not have been a welcome gesture.

So I sat there, like an idiot, and waited for her to say something.

She didn't. A breeze passed over us and her hair, softly ablaze under the stars, drifted across her back and over her shoulders.

After a while, I had to break the silence. Something new that we hadn't talked about, maybe?

"Jade, do you remember when I first met you, and you offered to look at me? With the Seer vision, or whatever it was, to tell me what kind of Art practitioner I was?"

Silence. The slow sounds of her inhales was all that I heard. Then, as if she'd made a journey from far away, she nodded.

"I'm just remembering, you backed away, and didn't say anything. Do you remember what you saw? I just feel like I'm flying blind here," I said. "Call me paranoid, maybe it's just because I've had worlds disappearing on me and reflections of myself nearly choking me to death and a teacher nearly kill me, but I just want a little clarity in my life. That's all."

"I never forget what I See," she asserted.

Was she coming back a little? Maybe I was getting her out of wherever she'd lost herself. "So, what happened?" I pressed. "Do you know what kind of Art I'm best at?" I was curious, I'd only heard of Empaths and Seers, but I imagined there must be more, and, hey, it was as good a topic as any.

"You aren't," she said. "You don't have a specialty."

Well, shit. "Oh, okay," I said, slightly dejected. "I didn't know that was an option."

"It's not. Everybody has tendencies toward one part of the Art or another. But you don't."

I didn't really understand, but somehow I was still disappointed. Something about the label, I think, was attractive. I'd only ever really been Tristan, and there wasn't much else to say. To say that I was an Empath, or something, I just imagined some status associated with it.

"Bummer," I said. She didn't seem to have come back much, but at least she was talking.

She looked at the ground between her legs. "Not really."

"How so?" I asked.

"Being specialized only means you are better in one way than another. That you are not better in one way doesn't mean that you aren't gifted."

I hadn't thought to think of it that way. A little glow of pride bloomed in my chest - maybe I really had a shot at getting good at this stuff. But, that didn't answer my main question.

"Then, why didn't you just say that? Why walk away?"

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. I hoped I hadn't pushed too far. "When I See someone, it isn't just that I am informed of their specialties in the Art. That's just what's useful to you - it's the least interesting part to me."

"I Saw you," she continued. "Do you get that? It is not something to be heard lightly - you. And it is not just sight, it is feeling, and clarity and understanding about who you are beyond what you can understand."

"Tristan..." she said, sighing. She looked at me - life was back in her eyes, a defiant shade of green. "When I Saw you, it was overwhelming. You were bigger than anything I'd ever Seen before. I say this not for your ego but simply because it is true."

"And all of it, all of you was directed almost entirely toward me. Not just facing me, but in that moment, I understood how I'd captivated you, how drawn to me you were. Backed by your power... it was too much."

She turned her whole body to face me, crossing her legs. Though she was only wearing modest nightwear which was in no way revealing, any movement she made had the effect of pressing her shirt to her skin, showing the contours of her body. I couldn't help but notice - around her, I would only ever be hyper-aware of the minutiae of her existence. The way she described my first encounter with her...it was true, and I was even more ensnared in her than I had been at the start -- and I didn't regret it for a moment. Not yet, anyway.

"And then you looked back!" she exclaimed. "That's not supposed to happen."

I remembered the event - I'd felt myself start to heat up, I'd felt the attention that was put on me. I'd felt the difference, when she'd Seen me, and I realized that she was there too in the same way that I was for her. So I'd looked at it, I'd followed her gaze back. I hadn't gotten much - just a strong sense of her. I hadn't really known what I was doing.

"When I really See somebody, I look into their soul. Who they really are. In order to do that," she said, "I have to be just as open. It's...not an easy thing for me to do. In some way, my being a Seer is most ironic. Opening up does not come easy to me -- when you looked back, it was like being slapped in the face."

"Jade, I'm so sorry." Fuck -- by the look on her face, I'd really hurt her. And then telling her that she was the most beautiful girl, or whatever I'd said earlier -- she'd recoiled from that. I was starting to understand that I didn't actually have any idea who she was - that my impression of her was only based on a first impression. That distant, volcanic image of power and presence -- maybe I'd just made that up in my head. That was how it was looking, anyway.

But still, it didn't make sense -- if I'd seen her, who she really was, and she knew that, and then I'd told her she was beautiful, wouldn't she take that positively? I mean, I knew I had a bad habit of telling beautiful girls that they were beautiful, but still.

Jade put words to shame. She was transcendent in a way that the beauty of her physical appearance was only an afterthought, that her very being was the epitome of an unbridled attractiveness reserved normally goddesses of mythology.

Then, it dawned on me.

Did she think I was lying?

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked. Maybe I hadn't learned my lesson, but I went with my gut. What, was I just going to not ask?

She sighed, and nodded, looking again at the ground between her legs. It was bright enough outside that I could tell that the white linen of her pants had been stained brown and green by the grass. She didn't seem to mind.

"Did you believe me? When I said that you were beautiful just now?"

She looked at me, and the same fear was on her pale, starlit face. Not terror, or horror, simply fear. Like she didn't want to be seen.

"Why must you ask so many questions!" she blurted out. "Can't things just be as they are? Can't I just lie down with you, and talk of this and of that, and not worry about everything meaning so much? Must everything be so complicated?"

"Jade, I'm sorry, I-"

"Always with the telling me how I am! Caring so much!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I was scared, when I first saw you so taken by me, by your idea of me. I always am. But I told myself, this time, I would try, I wouldn't run. So I gave you the trinket, the ball that would show you to me."

"And then you disappear! For weeks! For the first time, I'd made an effort to accept another, and they leave." She shook her head. "But I'd made a commitment - I would not run. So I waited."

"When I saw you sitting in the Lounge, this, this strange, bubbling wind fluttered inside my chest. The thought of opening to another, to you, who'd seen me and who'd turned to me with such intensity..."

She sighed. "I don't know, Tristan. I thought I could be okay with it, with you bringing yourself to me...But these questions, all this talk of me and of how I am...It's insufferable! Is there no one who will simply sit, and not attempt to make mountains out of the hills? Oceans out of puddles? Can't anyone just leave me as I am?"

She finished her rant explosively, breathing deeply, and the air fell to silence. I didn't dare say a word.

A loud gong rang throughout the courtyard, deep and pure in its tonality. It seemed to come from everywhere, from inside of me, from the air around me, from above and below. As if the whole world had just rung.

A second ring sounded, identical to the first. I looked up to the faraway top of the Arch -- I could just barely make out a shape at the apex, some sort of enclosed space. The rings continued -- ten in total.

Jade had followed my gaze. We both looked back to each other after the last sound had faded. She smiled weakly, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail with a hair tie she'd retrieved from her pocket. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her pants.

"I'm sorry, Tristan. I know this must feel strange for you, I am sure you must see me as acting hot and then cold. I apologize for that."

I wasn't in any sort of position to criticize. Shit - I'd done this with girls before, and I never seemed to learn my lesson. I had only a vague idea of what was going on with her, and it didn't take a genius to see that she had retreated into herself. There comes a time when your best bet is to toss in the towel, and acquiesce to all demands.

"No worries," I said, my tone guarded. She met my eyes, and must have seen something there, because she smiled again before looking away. Sure, my words were neutral, but you can't blame me for my eyes being on fire with a desire to stay with her.

I was in the midst of one of those horrible moments, where, for an instant everything was light and golden, and now the fabric of our time together was unravelling, and all I could do was watch. Every word brought us closer to being apart, and anything I said to bring us back together would only further separate us. Naively, I hoped that the less I said, the longer we'd have the moment -- that was what motivated my minimalist response.

But it was a fool's task: the moment was gone, and I was grasping at strands of air.

Jade stood up, and looked down at me, her expression full of regret, her silhouette perfect in its form, as if the collective stars above had travelled light years only to kiss her, and in doing so, leave her illuminated.

"Tristan, I'm sorry. I can't move this quickly. I thought-"

"It's okay."

She smiled weakly, and looked at the ground. "But I will not forget you," she murmured. Then, she looked back up at me. "And, selfish as it is, I ask that you do not forget me. I made a mistake - but I hope to continue to meet your eyes without fear."

Right, as if I could forget the girl that captured my heart in an instant, let me just forget the ridiculous speed of our collision and her smell at once delicate and intoxicating, the intimacy in our kiss, the fire in her hair and the everything of her fucking everything, god fucking damnit.

Every time. Every fucking time.

"We will meet again," she said, looking down at me, "If you are okay with that."

"Fine with me. Do whatever you need to do, Jade. We don't have to be anything. I'm not asking anything from you besides you, however you are, and if how you are right now wants to be away from me, I'll just have to live with that." That was how I felt, if I took away the inferno of desire I had for her and the pain at being rejected out of nowhere. So, I put it out there.

She shook her head. "I don't understand you. You are a strange, strange man."

"When in Rome..." I said, and looked away. It's one thing to watch a moment unravel and try and stitch it back together. It's quite another to stare the vacancy in the face once it's gone -- something I learned to not be okay with. When people are gone, they're fucking gone.

I used to stare at my old dinner table, before I sold the old house, and imagine my parents sitting at it. I'd spend hours imagining them doing things around the house. Stupid shit, like picturing my mom vacuuming while I was watching TV. I'd even get annoyed when, in my imagination, she crossed in front of the screen. Anything to make it real, to bring them back.

I'd had to stop it eventually. It took time, but I learned my lesson. Whatever I'd just had with Jade was gone -- she spooked. I didn't want to waste time twisting the knife in my gut, so I didn't look back at her.

She got the message. "Get some sleep, Tristan. I'm sure you've got a busy day tomorrow." She walked away, and as the sound of her footsteps on the gravel slowly faded, I thought how strange it was that someone as remarkable as her would touch the ground while she walked. In my mind, and in the way I saw her, she glided effortlessly everywhere she went.

I listened to her footsteps fade until I couldn't hear them anymore, and then I looked up at the stars. I wasn't looking for anything in particular -- I just felt like shit, like I'd been brought up so high and then dropped out of nowhere. I started getting lost in my head -- complaining about the hole in my heart, getting annoyed at myself for sounding like a melodramatic thirteen year old, but then, trying to reconcile that with the fact that there was an undeniable emptiness in my chest. Fucking hell, I hated being so vulnerable.

I'd just opened up. Days before -- if you don't count the ones spent unconscious. I'd been depressed as hell for so long after my parents passed, and I'd just come out of it. Things had started looking up, and the minute I had allowed myself real feelings, what, 'hey, Tristan, I heard you were feeling good, yeah, we'd like to go ahead and take those good feelings and roll a bulldozer over them a few dozen times, make sure all the nerve endings are fucked, yeah, that sounds great.' God damn. And it was my fault, too. It was all my fault. I was a moron.

Fuck that. Fuck everything about that.

I stood up, and walked toward the lounge. Fuck people, fuck talking to anyone, fuck sleep. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I opened the door to the lounge -- it was mostly empty. A few groups were wrapping up conversations, mostly on their way out of the space. I didn't see Emmit or his friends anywhere -- good. I was in no mood.

I breezed through the lounge, and headed for the Chi room. My mind had a single purpose.

There is a particular characteristic which seems to express itself most in men: a threshold for bullshit. I could only take so much feeling shitty for myself, I could fuck myself up about Jade for so long. Once at critical mass...

It was time to break shit.

As I passed through the office wing, in the opulent hallway of red and gold décor with paintings on the wall, I half-expected to run into someone who would tell me to turn around, to tell me I wasn't allowed to be here. If I ran into an Odieh, I was prepared to give them hell before they stopped me from practicing with my Chi. But in the end, I made it to the steel door at the end of the hall undisturbed.

I put my hand on the door, recalling that it had needed a fair bit of muscle to open, and pushed hard.

It didn't budge.

Maybe it was stuck? I grounded myself, and really put my shoulder into it, and shoved it as hard as I could. It didn't open.

I looked around angrily, like the walls would have a solution to my problem. Hey, world! What the fuck is going on here? I was still pissed, still riding the anger I was carrying around -- all I wanted to do was watch my Chi beat the shit out of whatever I could toss at him, and to maybe start fighting myself. I was pumped enough to try, anyways. Either way, my Chi was still only a part of me, so in a sense, I'd be kick ass no matter if I actually fought or not.

And this fucking door wouldn't open. I stared at it, my anger giving to my gaze an incredulity that it would not otherwise have had. A look like, really? You think you can fucking stop me?

Something shifted in me -- my relationship to the door, or maybe the way I saw it? Maybe I'd just built up enough anger, I don't know, but in my mind, all of a sudden, the door just seemed openable.

So I pushed it, and it swung open with ease, revealing the blackness inside.

Damn fucking straight. That's what I'm talking about.

I walked through into the darkness beyond, and the door swung shut behind me. I recognized the place I found myself in -- it was the transitional space I'd been in after leaving the room of mirrors. I'd half expected to find myself in that room again, with the reflections of myself that had tried to kill me. Thankfully, I didn't have to go through that again. Though, to be honest, in my current state I probably would have just punched them all out without a second thought. I didn't have time to fuck around with self-loathing trying to take me out.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up."

I turned, and saw myself walking toward me. Well, not quite myself. It was my Chi -- discernible from the way he carried himself, and how he looked. More assured, and confident -- an even, steady gaze in his eyes, slightly broader shoulders, a little more muscled. All in all, no individual change was that big, rather, a slew of subtle shifts in his appearance and demeanour signified a degree of power that, if I had looked at myself in the mirror, I would have found sorely lacking.

"Nice to see you again," I replied. He was right next to me now -- I noticed that he had no weapon on him. Previously, he'd arrived with a stout wooden club.




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



"Took you long enough," he said. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms over his head.

"Hey," I replied, "I came back a day sooner than I was originally going to. You can't complain."

"Sure," he replied, "But that doesn't make up for the fact that you wasted two weeks of our time being a whiny little baby. I can't believe you actually let us get cut by Jet like that. Look -- I've got a scar now!" He lifted his shirt, the same as mine, and I saw the scar that wrapped around his side, in the spot where Jet had nearly cut me in half.

I'd been used to seeing it on myself, looking down, or in the mirror -- it was quite another thing to see it on another person, or, rather, on another me. It looked more vicious, an angrier shade of red, and the central streak itself more jagged. Bloody tributaries branched off of it beneath the skin.

"I was unconscious!" I exclaimed. "How the hell did you expect me to get here when I practically didn't exist?"

He spat, dropping the shirt back down. I couldn't tell if his spit landed on the floor, or, really, if there was a floor. For that matter, I had no idea how he was illuminated -- there weren't any light sources anywhere. Besides our bodies, the whole place was dark and featureless.

"If you really wanted to practice," he said, "you would have found a way."

"Well, since you're me, you could have helped. Team effort, and whatnot."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not you. I'm a part of you. I don't make the decisions about our life, you do. I just get stuck with them," he said, patting his side where I'd been cut.

"Fair enough," I replied. I couldn't tell if I liked his attitude or not. It seems obvious, but it reminded me a little too much of myself. Hard to explain -- it never quite felt like I was talking to myself, but it was definitely a far cry from talking to another. Our interactions took place in a grey, liminal zone between the two.

"Listen," I said, "I was thinking -- we train a little more here tonight, get this connection stronger, and then I take you out at the end of this session. I want to start working on people, get some real world experience. I'm tired of shadowy games and fucking around in my imagination. I want to get you out of here. I've got a design picked and everything."

He shook his head, his -- my -- black hair falling in front of his eyes. "Not a good idea. I understand where you're coming from. I really do -- I'm as pissed off as you right now, which is unfortunate because it doesn't help my fighting. But you're speaking from your anger, not from your head. Don't make commitments to take me out when you don't even know what our bond will be like by the end of this training session. You don't know shit about how this works, and neither do I. One thing I do know, however, is that we only get, what, three manifestations?"

I thought about it for a second. "One at Zero, one at Set, one at Odieh. And Sansho, you forgot that," I pointed out.

He snorted. "Get your head out of your ass. You just showed up here, and according to Emmit some people don't even get Set for years. Say it turns out you actually are a prodigy and you get four shots -- my point doesn't change. The amount of times you can turn me into something definite is limited -- don't rush it. Or, rather, don't bother. I won't let you take me out until I can really sense that you feel me. That might be tonight, and it might be two years from now."

Damn. He had a good point. As much as I wanted to show off and get into some real sparring, I was just trying to make myself feel better.

To be honest, I was entertaining a fantasy that maybe Jade would come back to me if I went all badass and pulled my Chi out on my second try. I shook my head. The stupid shit I do... Still, I didn't feel any better. Just frustrated that my Chi, a part of me, wasn't on board with my plan.

I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, focusing on that part of my mind that had found emptiness outside Jet's door. Deep breaths. Empty your mind, Tristan. Focus.

It didn't do much to make the hurt in me go away, but after a few moments, I felt a little more calm.

"Okay. I see your point," I said.

"No," he retorted, "you see your point."

I rolled my eyes. "Lay off with the bullshit. Let's get training."

He grinned. "Hey, if I'm part of you, then you're the one bullshitting yourself, remember? So don't put it on me, that's all you."

I sighed. I was a snarky motherfucker.

"Let's do this," I said.

Last time, we'd started off by searching out reflections of me -- other aspects of myself, like my Chi, but the false ones -- conceptual things I held that weren't actually real. Self-loathing, fear, a bunch of emotions, some buried memories. They all manifested as me -- it had only been a question of finding them, which I'd done by bringing up the feeling of whatever thing they represented.

I'd run out of things to bring up pretty quickly, though not for lack of material. It was exhausting going through my own experience and trying to pick it apart, making distinctions between all my feelings. How many kinds of fear were there, for instance? I'd gone through anxiety, nervousness, panic, foreboding, feeling unsettled, feeling like there was something behind me, and so on. And that was just fear.

Eventually, I'd realized that if I could create manifestations of my feelings, I could probably create things independent of how I felt. It had taken me a little while, but I'd managed to create things for my Chi to fight -- amorphous blobs, vaguely humanoid in shape, with arms and legs and the sole intent of attacking us. The creatures were poorly defined and lacked sophistication at first, but I'd gotten the hang of it and smoothed them out over the eight hours we'd last trained. I'd even managed to create locations for us to be in, as opposed to the strange, vacant blackness we'd been fighting in to start with.

So I had some experience coming into this second round. Time to get down to business.

"You make the place and some stuff for me to fight, and I'll handle the dirty work," said my Chi. "Remember to follow me. Let's run a test real quick, before we start up. Focus."

I put my attention on him, and found the link between us. I didn't have a clear way of explaining it -- it wasn't a tangible link so much as an intuitive sense that, while he was in front of me, he was also a part of me. I had a vague sensation of where exactly in my experience he was. A "Chi part" of the mind, so to speak. When I focused on him, I could hone in a little on the sensation -- it was at best a murky connection, though.

Once connected, he raised his right hand up into the air. Faintly, I felt the impulse in my arm. It was faraway, more like a suggestion than an impulse, or a shadow of a suggestion, but it was there. He moved his other arm, and I felt its echo within me as well.

He started making whole body movements, moving around while raising and lowering his hands, ducking down, jumping, doing a cartwheel -- since when could I do a cartwheel? The more complicated it got, the harder it was to hone in on what the actual movements he was doing felt like in me.

"You get any sense of this?" he asked. He was standing, holding his hands opposite each other as if creating a ball of energy between his palms.

There was something different there -- more of a tingling feeling between my hands. I mimicked the gesture, and it became even more apparent. A sense of energy.

"Yeah. Like a vibration of some sorts, in my hands."

"Cool -- I'm just focusing on the sensation there. I was wondering if it would translate. In general, though, are you getting a feel for what I'm doing?"

"It's faint, but it's there," I replied.

"Good enough for me. Follow along as best you can."

I nodded. "So, are you still planning on fighting with a club this time?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't make a difference to me. It's just an extension of my willpower -- the form is more or less irrelevant, at least in this space."

"Oh. I'd sort of assumed that, maybe, the more you train with a club, the better you get at it. That sort of thing," I said.

He let out a big laugh. "Man, I forget how much of a nerd we are. This isn't a video game, Tristan. I know it's easy to think this is all made up, but, as far as we're aware, this is all real."

"Well, remember what Jet said," I countered. "We're actually being manipulated by Shae in this very instant. That's what's allowing this to happen."

"I know that, obviously, since you know it," he replied. "I'm just saying, even if this is just a hallucination, it's a real hallucination. And what weapon I use doesn't matter here. I don't have skill with weapons in the same way you do. I am a weapon."

Now that was a distinction I couldn't quite wrap my head around. "This is getting too confusing for me," I said, massaging my temples, "But I think I see what you mean."

"It's not too important that you understand that," he said. "One thing you should grasp, though, is that you, as a person, prefer getting up close and personal with stuff, and that manifests in my fighting."

"Sure," he continued, raising his arms preventatively toward my reply, "you avoid your problems and hide like a little bitch, but you don't actually like that deep down. Just saying, don't expect any archery from me. I'm going to be smacking things." He smiled, and a club manifested in his hands. It wasn't too long, and the surface was uneven, but it was thick. I did not want to be on the receiving end of it.

He tossed the club to the other hand, and mid-flight, it shifted. When he caught it, he was holding a simple, steel short sword.

"Come on," he said, tapping his foot irritably, "you already had your dramatic "let's go" moment. So get on with the let's-going. Time's a-wastin."

Time! I'd nearly forgotten. "That reminds me," I said, "Do you think we ought to go find the time-me?"

In the same way that I had self-loathing "me"s, and my Chi, there was also a "me" that kept track of time. He was the one who'd previously made sure I left the Chi room on time, because he kept track of time perfectly. It was interesting to consider that, in my consciousness, I had a perfect record of time, and I simply couldn't access it. I figured that if I worked on that connection in the same way that I worked on my Chi, I'd develop the time-sensing capabilities that Emmit had demonstrated. Food for thought.

"The time guy? I don't care. I'm your Chi, not your fucking secretary," he said. "If you want to keep wasting time, we can go find secretary-you, and ask it if we can fit finding time-you in your schedule."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, well, fuck it. Let's get going."

First things first: I thought about a place for us to be -- I recalled from last time that it would be easier to create the space if I had experience with it. Not that we needed a location, it was just a little nicer. More comforting to be somewhere that at least pretended to be real.

I settled for a square I'd had lunch in while visiting my uncle. He lived out in the country, ten miles out from a small town which was more like a train station with a few houses and shops than a proper town. We'd gone to get groceries there once -- the shops formed the perimeter of a wide terrace of terra-cotta colored stone.

I focused on the ground there in my memory, and willed it into place below us. The color faded in, textureless at first, but soon became distinctly stone. There wasn't much of a change in sensation below my feet, but at least when I looked down, I appeared to be standing on real ground. I fleshed out a bit of the surroundings, adding a few of the tables outside the shops, and some faceless storefronts, the details of which I couldn't be bothered to remember right now. I wasn't going for perfection, just a place to be. Finally, I willed a blue, cloudless sky into existence above us, and the appearance of a sun.

I looked around at my handiwork. If you didn't focus too hard on anything, it was convincing enough. The lack of people was disconcerting, as was the total silence, which clashed with the portrayal of a city, but I was willing to overlook those facts.

"Bravo, good job, very pretty, A plus," said my Chi, clapping halfheartedly.

I grinned. Now came the fun part.

Creating one of the blobs I'd made to fight against was a little different from setting the scene. It wasn't just an image I was going to walk on, or inanimate chairs and tables. I had to give the blob agency. Willpower, of sorts. Otherwise, this was just target practice.

I wasn't creating free will by any means. Just an impulse to attack, and to do so in a way that would actually help my training. Fun as it might be, it wouldn't be particularly useful to feel along as my Chi went about decapitating a horde of lumbering zombies. No -- they had to be quick, and have variety. It was a complex thing I was creating.

At first I'd tried to go about creating each individual component in each blob, creating the outline, the consistency, the impulse to attack, and every particular way of going about it.

That had taken too much time. What I'd discovered after a few hours was that all the components of the blobs, the things I was making them do, they all stemmed from one idea I had of them. The "gist" of the creature, so to speak. On a whim, I'd tried willing one into existence based solely on that general idea.

The result was a more intelligent, faster, harder to fight blob. I couldn't explain why -- maybe I understood these things holistically as opposed to by each individual component.

Either way, I was then able to pop them out much easier. All I had to do was hold the gist of what I had in mind for what I was creating, and then will it into being in front of me. How that worked was a mystery, but damned if I didn't feel like a badass sorcerer while I did it.

With that in mind, while my Chi looked at me feigning boredom (could a weapon even feel bored?), I willed two blobs into being behind him.

They appeared -- humanoid in form, a tall, skinny one, and a shorter, thicker one. Both made out of the same rubbery black material I'd selected for their consistency. They were faceless, and their hands and feet were overly large and blocky -- their slams really packed a punch. Incentive to get out of the way.

Immediately upon their apparition, a smile crept on my Chi's face. He was about ten feet in front of the two blobs, and I was about five feet in front of him. He spun around, keeping in between them and me. Worst case scenario, I could get out of the way well enough to avoid getting seriously damaged, but he did his best to keep me out of harm's way. Or, rather, I was keeping myself out of harm's way. It was hard to remember that fact.

Focus. I kept my attention on his body as he let the two blobs walk toward him. He tossed the short sword up and down in the air, and I felt along with his movements, trying to see how exactly he was positioning himself. How his feet were pointed, how his legs were. Where was his balance? How much weight was in each foot? How was he gripping the sword? What did he feel like?

"Alright boys, who's it gonna be?" he asked the blobs. He'd made an effort to sound nonchalant, but I could hear the excitement brimming beneath his words.

The skinnier blob made it to him first. It swung a silent right hook toward his face, a long swing with a ton of momentum. My chi looked as if he wasn't going to move, but I could feel him -- even though he stayed relaxed as the punch came toward him, he was ready to spring at any instant.

At the last moment, he ducked down, and took a single step beneath its outstretched arm. I hadn't even noticed, but as he'd stepped past it, he'd flashed the sword through its side, dragging it through its rubbery flesh as he'd moved past it. That was fast -- the only reason I could tell it had happened was I felt the faint tension in my arm stiffen as he'd cut through it.

The blob didn't even register the cut. It turned, and sent another fist toward him. He sidestepped to dodge it, and while doing so cut the blade through the blob's wrist, severing the hand. It fell to the ground, and almost immediately disappeared.

No sense in keeping the hand around if it wasn't going to be useful - there was a slight drain on my mind while I had blobs out. Something about them was much more taxing on my energy than setting the scene, so I'd made their existence conditional upon being unified. If anything got cut off, the smaller part disappeared, and it was that much easier to focus on the movements of my Chi.

They only "died" once a certain amount of damage had been inflicted on them. I didn't have a specific number, like units of force applied to their body. It was just a feeling -- this much getting whacked around, and they disappear. They could take losing a hand, or, hell, even a whole arm. But that was stretching it -- I wasn't trying to recreate the black knight from Monty Python. I just wanted realistic enemies.

The shorter blob was in striking range now. It went to grapple with my Chi while the tall one threw out another hook with its remaining hand.

In an exceptionally smooth movement, he glided below the punch, holding up the blade such that the punch actually ended up dragging the arm through the metal. The short one reached out to grab his arms, but with one hand my Chi grabbed a black, rubbery wrist, and pulled the attached blob off balance, sending it falling to the ground.

With the short one delayed, he turned back to its taller friend. He took a step back, and the short sword in his hand flickered into a much longer sword. Stepping forward, he raised it above his head, faking an attempt at a slice downward. The lanky blob darted to the side -- but he'd been anticipating that. He matched the shift as it was happening, and the blade cut down diagonally, slicing it open from shoulder to hip. It froze, falling over, and just before hitting the ground, it disappeared.

The short one he'd sent to the ground had just gotten back on its feet, but its ungainly frame hadn't fully settled, and it wasn't fully centered yet. Without a second thought, my Chi walked confidently over to it. It reached out a hand to grab him, but it was a weak gesture. He kicked it square in the chest, and it fell over. With a small flourish, he raised the sword, blade pointing down, grasping the hilt with both hands, and brought it down into the blob's chest with finality. He twisted the blade once, and it disappeared.

God damn. That was brutal. I'd followed along the whole time, and felt his movements. The certainty of that last strike was impressive -- wholesale execution, plain and simple. I didn't fully understand how he was so agile -- I possessed none of that dexterity. Just trying to imagine the effortless feeling he'd had while dodging punches seemed impossible to me.

He stood up, and the sword flickered into a club. He tossed it back and forth between his hands, grinning.

"Too easy," he said. "Give me something fun to play with."

"Just getting you warmed up," I replied, returning his smile. I'd had a little time to think of some tricks I could pull on him. I'd been looking forward to this.

With a brief flicker of concentration, three more blobs appeared behind him. He spun to face them -- just in time to see the black gunk hurtling toward his face. He ducked left, but it grazed his cheek, and some of it was left there, stuck to the skin.

He looked for the source of the attack -- two of the things had stayed stationary, while the third, a mimic of the taller one from before, was advancing on him. One of the blobs in back put its hand into its companion's chest. It removed its hand, holding a sizable chunk of the torso, and then pitched it toward my Chi.




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



This time, he saw it coming, and got out of the way -- the black projectile hit the ground over to my right, and then disappeared.

"Wait -- this crap is heavy," he said, scratching at the residue on his cheek.

I grinned. I'd designed the blob that functioned as a stockpile of ammo to be extremely dense, as well as rather sticky, so that my Chi had to be extra careful to avoid getting hit, or else he'd be slowed down.

"I bet you're grateful you've got all that practice from me playing dodgeball," I said, and laughed.

The taller blob was getting close to him, and he took a defensive stance, readying his club.

"That was third grade, and you always got hit," he called back. "So shut up."

It tossed out a few punches which he dodged with ease. He grumbled something I couldn't hear.

"What was that?" I asked, feeling his evasive movements in my own body.

"I said, fuck," he grunted as he swung at the blob, connecting his club into its shoulder, "This shit on my face." It backed off from the strike, and sent another punch toward his face. He dodged to the side and made to smash the club into its jaw, but as he moved out of the way of the strike, he was caught square in the chest by a projectile from the two behind him.

He staggered back, but caught his balance in time to be ready for the flurry of blows unleashed by the tall blob. I had moved back as he did, making sure not to get too close to them. Their programming was to attack whatever was the most obvious target -- if I was closer to them than he was, odds were that I would take some serious damage, and I didn't like the thought of that.

He was able to dodge most of the onslaught of strikes, but the last one caught him straight in the stomach, and he grunted, falling to one knee. Wait -- I'd just felt the echo of the impact in my own chest. And it hurt. Not in the conventional sense -- I hadn't been hurt myself, but I'd felt what had happened to him. Even though it was a watered down sensation, I could get an idea for what he was feeling, and it was far from pleasant. The wind had been knocked out of him.

"Watch out!" I cried as the tall one advanced toward him. The slinger blob, as I'd come to call it, was also readying another shot. My Chi was still on one knee, and didn't look like he was ready to do much of anything.

The puncher moved toward him and brought its hands up for a downward slam onto his head. I cringed at the prospect of seeing a mirror of me get its head crushed -- my sense of his body indicated that he was tensed up. Why wasn't he moving?

As its hands were about to slam downwards, my Chi sprang forward from his knees, the club was replaced by a longsword, and, with the force of his full body, he impaled the puncher, pushing the blade through its abdomen all the way down to the hilt of the blade.

He kept running, holding the sword extended as he charged toward the slinger. The puncher lurched on his blade as he ran, jolting on the edge with every step. The slinger threw a black mass of gunk at my Chi's charging form, but it exploded on the impaled puncher instead. I felt the shake of the impact in my arms -- somehow, he was keeping it connected to his center and his legs, so that they absorbed much of the impact. A moment after it got hit by the projectile, the puncher disappeared, and there was nothing left between my Chi and the slinger.

It didn't stand a chance. He had the sword raised high above his head, and he grasped it with both hands. As he did that, it flickered, and suddenly he was holding a massive greatsword, a huge, broad blade extending from the pommel, made of a blackened steel.

He sliced the blade down into the slinger with all his force, severing it from head to toe. It disappeared in an instant. Its companion stood next to it, stationary and unresponsive. Just a pile of ammunition.

He turned back to me. "You like that?" he called out.

"Not as much as I'm going to like this!" I replied.

He looked at me quizzically, and then, as if reading my mind, looked at the still form of the blob next to him. A fat thing, and slightly deformed, it stood dumbly on the ground.

"You better not have-"

The ten seconds having elapsed, it exploded.

Black gunk was flew in every direction, and his body was sent into the air, launched several feet backwards. He landed smoothly, rolling out of it.

Something clicked in me as he did that -- I'd keenly felt the shift he'd intuitively made once in the air, the natural progression to minimizing the impact of his fall. It was a different relationship to the ground, I realized. Not holding it as this immovable surface to be afraid of landing on, but a reliable friend. Taking the fear out of the equation had made it easy to adjust his body into a more suitable position for the roll.

He stood up, which took considerably more effort now that he was weighted down with splotches of black gunk. A little bruised despite his roll, he looked over at me. I was smiling -- as I'd expected, he hadn't thought to dispatch the innocent-looking ammunition reserve.

"That," he said, "was evil." He appraised his body, and all the crap on it. He experimentally tried peeling off the gunk that had stuck to his face, and cringed in pain.

"Does this shit not come off?" he asked, indignant.

"It only lasts about ten seconds after you get rid of the ammo guy," I replied. Sure enough, all the small black bits that covered him and the area around the explosion disappeared all at once. He stood tall, and stretched out his neck.

"Much better. That was devious," he said.

"Need a break?" I chided.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. You getting anything out of this?"

I nodded. "Yeah -- I picked up a little from that roll you did. Still having a hard time figuring out how you're holding your body when you swing, and how you dodge."

"Alright, no sweat. Remember, keep at it, or Jade won't love you," he said, grinning.

"Fuck off," I said. I was not remotely interested in thinking of her right now.

"Touchy!" he replied, keeping up his infuriating grin. He hefted the massive sword so that it was flat on his shoulder, and he balanced it there with one hand on the pommel.

"You good to go?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Ready when you are, lover boy," he quipped.

It was a rather strange thing, I realized, to have a part of myself deliberately bother me. I would have expected I'd be on the same side as myself. Whatever -- I focused on the task at hand. We had a lot of training to do.

We set to it with discipline. I realized pretty quickly that the best way to get my Chi to stop prodding me was to keep him constantly busy, so I did just that, sending an almost ceaseless barrage of different blobs at him. I didn't just have slingers and punchers in my arsenal -- the possibilities were literally limitless.

I made blobs that divided in half when struck and which needed to be stomped out to fully disappear, blobs with sharpened hands instead of the blocky chunks they usually had, blobs that knew how to kick, and blobs that honed in on me instead of him. I got some good practice dodging with those last ones, though I suffered a few blows, and got a sense for how to maneuver around an ally by watching him alter his positioning relative to me.

As the training wore on, it became an almost completely quiet affair. My will was set to improving myself, and I went at it with grim determination. The kind that pushes you through the struggles in life, that strange energy and drive that lets you overcome things which would normally stop you short.

The ultimate goal was, in a sense, to "become" him, as he'd said the first time we'd met. The truth of the matter was that there was no real distinction between me and him -- the only reason I wasn't the fighter he was, the pure manifestation of the power of my will, was because I wasn't conscious of that part of myself.

Following his movements and working on relating to him strengthened our connection. Even after a short while -- how long exactly, I couldn't say, I was so focused that I lost track of time -- I grasped new distinctions in movements and relating to both the blobs, and to a weapon. It wasn't something I could really put into words, which probably had more to do with the fact that I didn't allow myself a period to rest, but I got much more in tune with the fluidity of combat. How to hold oneself in the face of danger.

After a particularly gruelling encounter where I'd set three punching blobs and a dividing blob backed by three slingers on my Chi, I also realized that it wasn't just my relationship to fighting and to my Chi that was altering. I felt my mind strengthening -- creating and sustaining blobs became easier and easier, to the point that it was an almost effortless thing. Something about the creative aspect of it was getting more seamless, like the relationship I had to the Art, whatever understanding I had of it, was becoming more fine-tuned.

But man, fighting was exhausting. It seemed that, even though I wasn't the one doing all the heavy work, I still felt the exertions of my Chi in my own body. It made sense, given that he was me and that I was deliberately trying to follow him and become him, but still, something about tracking the physical wearing out of another being was bizarre.

We came to a natural break in the fighting after he'd neatly decapitated two slingers and their companions. We hadn't yet called a real break, but all it took was an exchanged glance and we both had the silent understanding that we needed to rest.

We walked over to one of the tables outside the poorly rendered shop fronts, and sat at the chairs. I slumped in my seat, he kept his posture and lightly leaned on his elbows. We sat in silence for a moment, breathing the deep breaths that follow long periods of exertion, and which don't need words to fill the silence. We were both covered in a sheen of sweat -- he'd long since taken off his shirt.

"Alright, I'll be the one to say it," I said eventually. "I'm wiped."

He nodded absently and looked around.

"Do you want to call it a day?" I asked.

He shrugged, and fiddled with a small dagger. He'd stuck mostly to the greatsword in the fighting, seeming to prefer the large, powerful strikes it offered, but had changed it to this smaller blade on his way to the table.

"What's going on with you?" I challenged. His silence annoyed me -- if I was going to ask myself a question, I damn well better answer it.

"You're tired, I'm a part of you, I'm tired," he explained matter-of-factly.

"Okay. So, you done for now?" I asked.

"Not me," he said, and then pointed at me. "You."

I got the gist of what he was saying: it was up to me how long we went. I kicked back in my chair and put my feet up on the table, closing my eyes. My muscles were tired, especially the ones above my knees. You can't keep your legs locked while fighting, apparently. My Chi, and so, consequently, I, always kept his knees bent, ready to move, light on his feet.

I sighed. I was tired -- what time was it even, outside of this room? It had been shortly after ten when I'd left the courtyard. How long had I been here? A few hours, at least. I doubted I was going to get much sleep before my first real day tomorrow.

Even so, something inside me rebelled against leaving and getting a good night's sleep. Call it an old habit, or maybe I was spurned still by my hurt at being rejected. Hell, maybe I'm just a masochist. But I knew that, confronted by my Chi who'd told me it was all on me to decide when to stop...I couldn't take the out.

I opened my eyes, and sat up straight, looking at my Chi. He seemed so even and steady, sitting there. A few welts had bloomed on his torso, and traces of what would no doubt become bruises were scattered across his whole body. Even so, he appeared perfectly calm, and looked at me impassively. "Once more into the breach?" I asked.

He nodded. "Make it count."

"Oh-ho! A challenge from a guy two breaths from dying?" I taunted.

"I can take whatever you can toss at me," he returned.

Well then. I started to formulate what to do, my generally overlooked competitiveness rising up.

We stood up, and walked over to the center of the terrace. He flickered his knife into the greatsword, which he somehow was able to hold one-handed, despite its massive size and weight. It seemed even too big for a two-handed weapon, as if it was made for a creature one size larger than him. I told him as much.

"It's just the form," he said. "It's as much a reflection of me as I am. And you." He pointed the tip at me.

"Well, get ready," I said, stepping away from the steel blade. " I don't know how this is going to go."

He faced the center of the terrace, and shifted his stance defensively, holding the sword with both hands diagonally in front of him, the broad side facing outwards.

I focused on the space before him, and started concentrating, bringing up the image of what I had in mind, willing it into reality. I wasn't sure if this was going to work.

At first, there was nothing, and I thought I'd taken it too far, assumed too much of myself.

Then, a massive rift ripped into existence in the air above the center of the terrace, crackling with energy. The portal yawned wide open, revealing a chaotic whirlwind of color and sound inside, as if we were looking through a window into a different world where there were no laws, where the essence of all things was unformed. The noise was deafening - I hadn't expected that - and I hurriedly covered my ears. My Chi remained unmoved, and looked into the chaos.

From within, a pair of gargantuan black hands reached out and grabbed onto the outside edges of the rift. A deep, inhuman scream burst from inside the rift, filling the terrace with fear and the promise of all things being ripped asunder.

The black, textureless fingers wrapped tightly around the edges of the rift, and flexed. A huge gust of air came from inside, and then a massive, round, black sphere landed just outside the portal. No -- not a sphere. A head. The neck, thicker than any tree I'd ever seen, stretched back and down into the chaos.

"What the fuck is that thing?!" screamed my Chi. I looked over at him -- he was at a loss, his eyes wide, his calm demeanor evaporated in the face of what I'd made.

"I have no idea!" I replied. "Go on! Do your thing!" I shouted, fear creeping into my voice.

He looked at me like I was biggest idiot he'd ever met in his life.

"Are you fucking crazy? Call it off! I told you to make it count, not to kill us!"

The monstrous, black blob reached its hands out and slammed them flat onto the ground. A shockwave emanated from where it hit the floor, and the ground rippled under my feet as if I was standing on a waterbed -- I almost fell over, but steadied myself. I glanced at my Chi -- he was still standing.

"Call it off!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know how! I've never done that before!" I replied, shouting to get the words across a sudden mounting rise in the wind around us. Flashes of lightning and bright arcs of power swarmed in the eternity behind the massive head. Thunderous sounds filled the terrace.

"You just fucking made it! Un-make it!" he cried.

"I didn't make it! I made the portal!"

"You what?"

Fuck -- the rising gale which seemed to come from all places, and the reverberation of the thunder made it too loud for us to talk. He didn't get it, though. I hadn't made the big blob.

I'd made the portal.

I don't know what I was thinking -- something like I wanted to keep us on edge. I'd felt my blobs were too predictable, so I'd decided to experiment. I offset the creative aspect onto an outside entity, which I only vaguely formulated as a place from which blobs could come. I'd made it in the same way as the blobs, having an idea of what I wanted, and creating it.

I was starting to see the downside of that approach.

The fists raised up and slammed down once more, sending another, more powerful shockwave toward us as the head unleashed a terrifying roar.

Have you ever seen something scream without a mouth?

It's wrong. It's just fucking wrong.

Everything about this situation was getting out of hand, I felt completely out of my depth. The shockwave hit me and I tried to absorb some of the impact by bending my knees along with it, a trick I intuitively had grasped from watching my Chi, but it was too much, and my tired legs gave out. I fell to the ground, landing on my hip, which sent a sharp, jarring pain up my side.

I vaguely heard a shout, and raised my eyes to see my Chi running toward the head, which was backlit by the chaotic miasma of color from the portal behind it. Nothing like a rainbow, or a colorful mixture that was pleasant to look at. No, it seemed as if none of the colors worked together on purpose. Even the way they glowed from within the rift seemed wrong, as if they were traveling on old light stored in a back pocket of the universe long past its expiration date.

He made it up to the head, hefting the greatsword, and with a leap, soared up into the air and impaled it deep into the flesh of the black, rubbery head. He was left a foot or so above the ground, not even halfway up the surface, hanging on to the hilt of the sword.

It roared in pain, and shook back and forth in huge, slow rolling motions. My Chi was flung off like a ragdoll, and tumbled onto the ground with so much force that no roll could have helped. He lay on the ground in a crumpled heap, unmoving.

"NO!" I screamed, and the massive, black hands stretched out farther. I anticipated another slam and tried my best to ready myself for the ensuing shockwave, but none came. Instead, it dug its fingers deep into the ground, puncturing through the terrace I'd made as if it were rice paper. I felt something twinge in my mind -- I felt the continuity of the environment I'd created weakening. It didn't feel good -- as if my own personal space had been invaded, not just the place I was standing. It was a part of me, and it had just been broken.

Using the entrenched fingers for grip, the massive creature slowly started to pull itself out of the portal. Its entire neck outside the boundary of the rift, it tried to move further, but it was caught, no doubt on the width of its shoulders.

Fuck, this thing was huge, and I was way out of my depth. What was I supposed to do?

I looked around for anything to help me -- what, grab one of the patio chairs that had been knocked over by the shockwave? Yeah, that's it Tristan, throw a chair at the blob titan...

My gaze locked onto my Chi, who still hadn't moved since being tossed onto the ground. Fuck. That wasn't good.

In a panic, I held the image of the portal in my mind -- the thing I'd had when first creating it. I saw its manifestation reflected in front of me, the yawning, chaotic chasm that promised my death if I didn't do something soon.

I frantically tried to banish it with my mind, to hold the image of it and then make it disappear, but nothing happened. I didn't feel a link with it, there wasn't any sort of connection I had to the portal.

I thought about leaving. All I had to do was create an exit -- it was a simple enough thing to do. I just didn't know if it would be safe to leave while my Chi was unconscious, and quite possibly fatally injured.

I was just about ready to start praying to God when an idea came to my mind. I had the necklace on, sure, so I couldn't manipulate people -- it hadn't even occurred to me as a possibility.

But this massive black monstrosity wasn't a person. I didn't know quite what it was, frankly, or what the blobs were, but with a start, I realized that, effectively, all of this area, all of the things going on -- they'd all come from me. Even the gargantuan blob that was beginning to tear open the portal with the sheer pressure of its shoulders pressing against it, that was something I'd made. Sure, it was indirect, so I couldn't just dismiss it outright, but even so...




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



A thunderous, distorted sound like metal being ripped apart at the seams exploded in the terrace as the creature ripped the portal. The rift's edges were frayed, and flailed about like string in a hurricane. The creature let out a terrifying, mouthless roar as it heaved, and dragged itself out so that most of its back was outside.

I'd backed away to the very edge of the terrace -- all it had to do was push a little farther, and I was within snatching distance.

I brushed my black hair out of my eyes, and focused on the blob. Somehow, motivated by desperation, I calmed my mind, and recalled the times when I'd held people's "being" back home, when I'd connected to Clay and manipulated it. I needed to connect to this thing, to get it under my control. Don't force it, don't have any idea of what this thing's being will be like. Empty mind -- cast out the net. What's there?

Almost in an instant I was overwhelmed with the sense of its presence inside of me. It was massive, but, despite feeling the real size and magnitude of the creature, something struck me about it.

It was incredibly simple. More simple than Clay. There was only one thing going on -- an impulse to attack whatever was around it.

It pulled itself yet closer still, and slowly reached out a hand toward me, screaming. I was within reach, I realized. I only had one shot.

Stop.

The outstretched fingers were two feet away from me when they froze.

I froze with them, as if moving would disturb the delicate truce I'd just made between the two of us. I held its presence, its being still in my mind. A quick survey showed that it was completely mollified -- for all intents and purposes, a statue spilling out of the rift.

Leave.

I sent the command with a fury I hadn't realized I'd felt, demanding that its entire existence be dismissed.

Being inches away from death will do that to you.

It slid back into the portal, dragging across the ground as if something was pulling it back in from its legs. A huge burden was lifted from my shoulders, as if the mere existence of that large a thing in this space was weighing me down. Not in the sense that I'd been creating and maintaining it -- just that I'd felt so small in comparison to its size.

The portal yawned still in front of me. My thoughts now collected, I walked toward it with a more rational mind. I hadn't been able to dismiss it before -- why was that?

A quick study showed me that I'd simply been hasty, and panicked. I'd looked for a connection with it without really being open to its presence, without actually focusing on it. I'd been blinded by fear.

Now, calmer, I felt it in my experience. The chaos inside still raged, and I would have stared into it to see what was going on, but I had more important things to deal with for the moment, and I didn't want to risk leaving it open. I focused on the presence of the portal, the agency I'd given it, the creative powers it had, and dismissed it with my will.

It vanished.

I immediately ran over to where my Chi had been tossed.

I was at first sick with fear when I saw that he wasn't where he'd been before. Had he also disappeared? Had I lost him?

After a moment, though, I realized he'd come to, and had backed away from the portal. He was out next to a store opposite the side of the terrace I'd been on.

He was leaning back on the rail which marked the edge of the shop's chairs and tables. His eyes were closed. Blood ran from his lip and was smeared across his face. His entire torso was covered in deep, pocketed scrapes and gashes. His pants were torn in a few places.

As I approached, he opened his eyes.

"Fuck me..." he grumbled.

"I don't think either of us would enjoy that," I said, smiling weakly.

He coughed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "Fuck...you..." he said between labored breaths.

"Same thing, remember?" I replied.

He grinned -- a few of his teeth were missing. "I guess I get it from somewhere, huh?"

"Funny how that works," I said. Then, more seriously, "What can I do to help you? Are you..." I looked for a way to express the thought, "actually hurt? You know, being a mental projection of a part of me and whatnot..."

"Oh, no, I'm just-" he was interrupted by a fit of coughing, and eventually quieted down enough to resume talking. "Just fine. Peachy," he said.

"Help me out here. What can I do for you?" I was suppressing the discomfort of seeing myself so grotesquely beat up and weak. If you've ever gotten into a bad accident and then seen yourself in the mirror, you have an idea of what it's like. The shock: that's not what I look like normally. I suppressed a shudder.

"Get out of here," he advised. "I probably can't have missing teeth if I'm just a part of your consciousness."

"You sure you'll be okay that way?" I asked.

"Don't worry about me," he said, smiling with his broken smile. "Enjoy the headache."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks. I'll see if they have ibuprofen out there in la-la land."

I got up, and looked at the shop wall. I concentrated on the spot with my eyes closed, willing a door to exist where previously there had just been stone. The wall shifted, and I opened my eyes to see that, in place of the stone, there was now a simple wooden door with a brass handle. I looked down at my Chi.

"That'll do pig," he said, smiling a crooked smile. "That'll do."

"Oh, get over yourself." I returned the smile.

"Right back at you."

I swung open the door, and walked out into the red-carpeted office hallway. The door shut behind me. I turned to look at it, and was met with the metal door I'd originally walked through.

God damn. I felt awesome.

And then the beginnings of a headache started to form. I breathed out a deep breath and let some of the tension from the fighting ease away. Man, I was in rough shape, sore all over. Even so, as I walked through the offices and then through the deserted Lounge, I smiled at the absurdity of what I'd just done, and made for the men's dorms. Hopefully I'd be able to catch at least a few hours rest before seven.

I made it to the men's dorm halls, and was momentarily stumped by all the identical doors. Which one was mine again? I was drowsy as all hell from being up so late and worked so hard, and my headache was really starting to set in. A throbbing pain had parked itself in my forehead.

After deliberating in the hallway for a second, unable to remember, I figured I'd just pick a door at random. What was the worst that could happen? I'd walk into the wrong dorm, and walk out.

As I walked through the door I'd chosen, it turned out that the worst that could happen was that I'd walk in on a girl propped up on the bathroom sink, being eaten out by a guy on his knees.

Her eyes were closed tightly shut in rapture, and her rapid, shallow breaths fluttered her chest up and down as she pinched a nipple. Her necklace hung askew between her breasts, clinging to her skin from the sweat.

The guy was totally engrossed in what he was doing, his head buried between her legs. He roved his hands over her thighs, grasping a hand, squeezing her hips -- I took the opportunity to slip out, letting the door close silently behind me. I turned away from it, and laid back against it as if to prevent it from opening.

Well then. That was...interesting. I shook my head -- was I ever going to get used to this place? -- and made for my door, which I now remembered because of its relation to the bathroom.

At the end of the first hallway, before turning into the room with all the beds, I took a second to glance at the door opposite it, the one that I'd seen Emmit walk through like it was nothing. Supposedly it led to a supply closet where I could get a different outfit, and some miscellaneous other things. I only had to walk through the door. Without opening it.

On a whim, I concentrated hard, picturing it as if it wasn't there, and committed to going through it in my mind.

With as much of a running start as the length of the hallway afforded me, I ran a few steps and then jumped at the door.

I collided into it, and stumbled to the ground. Rubbing my head where it had struck the wood, I grunted, and stood up. As if I didn't have enough of a headache already... I was a dumbass. Looked like it wasn't going to be that easy.

I walked through the opposite door. Thankfully, everyone inside was sleeping -- I'd at least be able to get some shut-eye. I walked to my bed and got some pyjamas out of the seemingly magically engineered chest below. Compartments folded upon compartments, doors upon doors -- impeccably organized. Though, to be fair, that was only because I hadn't quite had the chance to use it yet.

I changed, and tossed my old clothes next to the chest. I took the Clay out of my pockets, and the orange ball - don't think about it, I thought to myself- and placed them next to the clothes as I wondered what people did for laundry here.

I crawled into bed, pulling the covers over me, and felt the familiar sense of sleep on the fringe of my awareness. It had been too long since I'd actually gone to bed of my own accord. Actually, this was the first time I'd actually, properly, gone to bed in Caer'Aton. Despite how tired I was, I was struck by that fact, and it gave me pause.

Have you ever had to move, and leave a whole life behind? Even if only for a few weeks. That first night away is always the strangest. The safety and assurance of your bed is gone, placed amidst unfamiliar surroundings. Hell, you're most vulnerable when you're asleep, and if you don't trust the space you're in, when you're dropped into it like a marble into the unknown... It's uncomfortable at best.

And I wasn't just going to camp, falling asleep in a tent or something for a few weeks before going home. For all I knew, I wasn't even on this world anymore. Jet hadn't explained as much as Emmit and Jade had suggested he would -- for the supposed knowledge base of this place, he seemed to have done a lot less imparting knowledge, and a lot more testing me.

I looked up at the bare ceiling above. Sleep felt distant, now, and I reflected on how I'd gotten here.

Surprisingly, the first thing that struck me wasn't the insanity of any of the things I'd done while here: being nearly severed in half, almost choking myself to death in a room that wasn't really a room, made a few friends, all the business with the Clay.

Maybe it was just because I'd walked in on some pretty hot activity just a moment ago, but my thoughts turned to the day or so that I'd been back after first being brought into this world. My first taste of actually using the Art, instead of just messing around with Clay, and with creating blobs in a space of dubious existence.

And what had I done with it? For the most part, I'd used it to get laid.

The thought struck me all of a sudden -- damn, that was some ethically shaky business. I hadn't even thought twice at the time, but I'd more or less forced girls to have sex with me. That it had, to them, been completely of their own will did a little to ease my conscience. Still...

It wasn't me. I wasn't that kind of person, not if you looked at how I've acted all my life. Generally, I'm more on the respectful side, and like to think of myself as less of a dick than most of the guys I know, especially with how I treat girls. I mean, the comparison wasn't much, since I was basing my actions against those of most of the more macho, testosterone-filled jocks and such at my school, but I wasn't the kind of guy to pressure a girl into doing something she didn't want to do.

Hell, I may have had the thought to do so, but I'd labelled it as one of those intrusive thoughts that didn't actually reflect anything about me, and moved on. In a certain way, I just didn't have the balls for it, not to mention I just felt like treating people decently was the best way to go about living.

Could I have been manipulated by Shae? Something along the lines of dramatically increasing my sex drive, lowering my inhibitions?

It was a possibility, I reflected. More than that, it was downright likely. It was in her interests to get me practicing the Art on people as soon as possible, and inherent to it was a certain...ugliness. Controlling another, making them do what I want. I didn't like the thought of not being aware of when, and how I was being manipulated. That was something I needed to work on.

It was one thing to be manipulated by some sort of master mind controller like Shae, but when it came to the other people around here -- fuck that. Defense against being controlled, it seemed to me, was miles more important than any sort of capability of controlling others. I'd need to figure out how to accomplish that, and soon.

I shifted onto my side and my head crumpled some sort of paper. Momentarily startled, I shied away from it, and then picked it up, squinting at the lettering.

I sat up, and held it in a way so that the dim lighting from the torches (were they dimmed at night?) was cast across the surface of the page. The lettering was an exquisite, flowing cursive that was at once authoritative and beautiful.

Tristan,

In lieu of a proper introduction to the logistics of life in Caer'Aton'Moleh, use the following schedule as your guide throughout the day.

What followed was a list, comprised entirely of meals, classes, and a few free periods, and their respective times. Classes went a little over an hour, and were divided into Mind and Body classes. It was split pretty much fifty-fifty. A room number was next to each class period.

Ask someone to point you toward each classroom. Today is Wednesday. On Sunday, the first afternoon Mind class is replaced by a Spirit class in the same location and at the same time. Your schedule is tailored to your growth -- as you work and grow more skilled in the Art, you will be periodically evaluated and your schedule shifted accordingly.

During free periods there are a few things you may do. They are:

-Gathering Clay and shaping Clay.

-Finding your Chi

-Solo Body or Mind practice. Find the athletic training room for Body training.

-Socializing: talking with others and engaging in sexual activities.

-Exploring Caer'Aton'Moleh: you are free to go anywhere you wish. Be advised that beyond the Arch, you are no longer protected from the outside world, unless you are in the Set village. There are dangers involved with being exposed, even on the path toward other parts of Caer'Aton -- do so at your own peril, and do not attempt to find any other places like Moleh. They are hidden to you. The Arena is the only place where you will cross paths with any other peoples, and it is barred to you until you have found your Chi.

There is no reason to be late to any of your classes or to any meals. Always show up on time. Failure to do so will result in unpleasant consequences.

You are not here to indulge yourself. Your ultimate purpose is to leave Caer'Aton. Keep that in mind. Stay focused. I, and others, will be watching.

Cordially,

Jet

I laughed inwardly at his description of "engaging in sexual activities". He had a strange view of things, but I was grateful to have been given any sort of knowledge about this place. The structure was a comfort, given the turbulence of the past days. I vaguely remembered something about training in the Clay room for the first few days -- I'd apparently skipped that, it seemed.

Three bells rang in short succession. I looked around, but nobody was disturbed by it, despite how it seemed to originate from within the room. Four hours of sleep...Great. Hopefully I'd be able to sleep away this headache

I tucked Jet's note under my bed, and lay back down. Sleep crept over me promptly, before I had any more thoughts of the strange turns my life had taken. Right before I fell fully unconscious, a pair of striking green eyes flashed in my mind, silhouetted by a familiar ember-orange. And so, filled with a strange warmth tinged at once with sadness and hope, I fell asleep on my own terms for the first time in Moleh.

~

I woke up to the earth shaking around me. My eyes jolted open with a start -- no, not the earth, but me. Someone was gently shaking me by the shoulder. I peered through the haze of my sleep up at them.

Emmit.

"Are you aware that you snore while you sleep?" he asked, a friendly smile on his tan face, framed by the goofy mop of his brown hair.

"The last time I got shaken awake," I grumbled, "I killed the man responsible with my pillow."

"Well," he replied, "they do say that sleep is the cousin of death. Come! It's breakfast."

"Alright, alright, I'll hold off on the murder. Just for you," I said, and got out of bed.

The room was a sluggish buzz of activity: people crawling out of their cots, stretching, and changing clothes. I saw more than a few naked guys idly crouching down and picking clothes out from their trunk -- I guessed I'd just have to get used to that. If this place was all about honesty, I reckoned feeling squeamish about the human body wasn't really helpful. Still, I felt a little uncomfortable.

"You should get changed, so that you can go to class straight from breakfast," said Emmit. "Speaking of which, do you know what you're to do today?"

Yawning, I leaned down to pick clothes out of my trunk. I tapped it a few times to open all the compartments up, and peered around the black and white articles of clothing. "Yeah, the schedule fairy left a present for me on my pillow." I squinted around at the room -- it appeared lighter than it had last night. The torches did shine brighter during the day, then.

Wait a second. With a start, I realized it might still be dark outside.

"Do you know if it's day outside?" I asked, trying to decide what to wear.

"Still night time," said Emmit. The days and nights behaved erratically, and didn't seem to correspond with any consistent framework of time. "Day and night don't have much of an effect on the temperature inside Moleh. It looks to be a cold day."

"How do you know?" I asked, picking out a black sweater, along with black pants and a white shirt. I pulled off my clothes, self-conscious of being naked in front of Emmit, but he didn't seem to think twice of it.

"I felt the windowpane, and it was relatively cool to the touch. It's a good trick to do in the mornings," he said.

I put on a pair of boxers, then pulled the shirt over my torso, covering the jade necklace.

Jade.

Fuck -- I pushed the thought of her out of my mind. Not now.

I finished dressing, tucked my schedule in my pocket, and yawned once more before nodding for Emmit to lead the way.

Most of the room was empty, but out in the hallway there was a lot more activity. People spilled out from the other dorms, mostly dressed in black and white though not exclusively so. They plodded toward the mess hall. Most of them looked tired, and only a few were holding any sort of conversation. At least I wasn't the only one who couldn't deal with mornings.

The hallway was a much different experience now that it was filled with other people. Previously, I'd been walking around only when nobody else was around. I'd shown up and gotten the tour when everyone was asleep, I'd walked to the mess hall when everyone was already there, and then gone to search for my Chi after everyone was headed to bed.

It had made the place look awfully empty, and lent a sort of ominous presence to the hallways, like they were too big. That I was even more alone than I'd thought, disconnected from all of my friends back home. It's strange how these things work -- because of the absence of others, the place itself had seemed to take on a certain presence itself. Even alone, I'd felt watched, or like I was still in the presence of somebody, or something.




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



Now, the bustle of life filled the place, and I felt just a little more at home. It took the edge off, seeing that it wasn't just me, and that I was a part of a much larger thing. Humbling, in a way.

As we walked toward the mess hall, we did so mostly in silence. Emmit had an idle, curious look about his face -- he seemed like he wasn't entirely here. I expected him to ask me about my evening -- Jade had just gone and taken me from him and his friends, after all. It's what one of my friends back home would have done -- there wasn't much in the way of privacy between all of us.

But he didn't say anything about it. He seemed to be taking in the people around him, trying to puzzle something out. Way more awake and alert than I was. I mentioned as much to him.

He shrugged in response. "I have been up for an hour. I am no longer tired."

"An hour?" I said. "What have you been doing for an hour?"

He avoided meeting my eyes, staring straight ahead as we walked. "I do not wish to answer that question."

"Oh, okay. Sorry man, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," he said, cutting me off. We walked the rest of the way in silence. I was stung from the terse rebuke, and a little unsure where I'd crossed the line.

We went down the stairs toward the mess hall. My seat was at the beginning of the stone table that wound back and forth all the way to the opposite corner of the room, right near the entrance. As I moved to sit down, Emmit patted me on the shoulder.

"Maybe this will finally be your first normal day here!" he said, smiling eagerly. There was no hint of resentment from the tense moment in the hallway. "I'll stop by on my way out to help show you to your classes."

"Much appreciated," I replied, and took my seat.

Fred and Jules were already seated next to and across from me, and they greeted me as I pulled up to the table.

"Well, what do you know. The kid makes it to two meals in a row! Somebody call CNN!" exclaimed Fred when I pulled up.

"Cut it out old man, I'm trying to forget about back home. I don't need you yammering about news channels from the beginning of the day," said Jules as he rubbed his temples in frustration. "Morning, Tristan," he said almost as an aside. "First real night here, huh? How'd you sleep?"

"I'm sixty-seven god damn years old, I'll talk about whatever I please, sonny," grumbled Fred, but his heart wasn't in it.

"I slept alright," I replied. "Only got a few hours."

"Really?" asked Jules. "Why's that?"

"I wanted to burn some steam, so I went practicing in the Chi room for a while."

"On purpose?" asked Fred. He sounded incredulous, like he couldn't imagine why anyone would so such a thing.

"...Yes?" I offered. "Why, is there something wrong with that?"

"Shit," said Fred, "I don't know what it's like for you, but it's torture for an old guy like me! Standing there in a dark room, looking everywhere for the light switch. Can't find the damn thing..." he grumbled.

"There's no light switch, dumbass," said Jules. "It's already lit up, it's just an empty room. Maybe you need to get your eyes checked."

Fred took off his glasses and squinted at Jules before putting them back on. "I don't know, seems like you don't get any prettier when I've got my glasses on."

"Oh, no, Fred doesn't think I'm pretty. Tristan more your type?"

Fred snorted. "Nice try. I've fucked more women than you have years to your age, boy. Know what they called me back home?"

"Again with the home..." groaned Jules.

"The Deal-Sealer," he said with pride.

Jules brought his face to his palm. "That has got to be the worst fuckin' nickname I've ever heard. Mr. Deal-Sealer..." he laughed out loud, slapping the table.

"Man, how do you guys get the energy?" I asked. "We haven't even had coffee yet, and you're already at it."

"What can I say," said Jules with a charming smile, "the old bastard brings it out in me."

Fred rolled his eyes. "The way you talk to your elders boy, it brings a tear to my eye."

"Man, I've got to get Set as soon as possible, or I'm gonna off myself by the second week," I said.

They laughed uproariously, drawing a few looks from members down the line. They were probably the loudest part of our section of the room.

"I like your ambition, kid," said Fred. "Hell, if a little morning banter is enough to get you working hard, then shit, me and Jules have got you covered. Ain't that right?" he asked.

"Damn straight. Though, I've got some bad news about what you said just a second ago. Zeros aren't allowed to drink coffee."

"You're joking," I said.

He shook his head. "Nope. I'll tell you, the withdrawal hit me like a truck when I first got here. I was at two or three cups a morning, toss in a few more later in the day. Apparently we're supposed to be able to control our minds better before being allowed to fuck 'em up."

Fred rolled his eyes. "These people are crazy, it's just coffee. Back home, I-"

"Would you quit that?!" demanded Jules. "I've had to put up with this shit for too long. Get over it, we're not going back, not for a damn long while."

"Ah, what does it matter. I'll probably be dead before I get back," replied Fred.

"Guys, guys, please," I interjected, "At least for the morning, can we save the fighting? At least until the boats come?"

"Fighting?" asked a confused Jules. "Who's fighting?"

"I reckon the kid thinks we're in some sort of disagreement," replied Fred. "We're not. Just different strokes for different folks, I guess. I'm fine with keeping the mornings civil, if you feel so strongly about it."

"Alright, fine with me," agreed Jules.

Hallelujah. "Thanks, guys."

The layout was a little different this time. Where before there had been a plate, silverware, and a glass of water in front of each stool, there was now instead a single fork resting on a small plate, adjacent to a brick shaped gray rock. The rock emanated heat, which I felt immediately as I rested my elbows on the table -- it must have just been removed from a fire or something.

Experimentally, I poked a finger into the water that ran down the middle of the table (there were no boats drifting by yet), and dripped a few drops of water onto the rock. They evaporated instantaneously with a sizzle.

"So, this your first time with the hot brick?" asked Fred.

I looked at the rock before me. "Yeah. Are we seriously supposed to cook on it, and then eat off of it?"

He nodded in response. "Yup. It's not so bad, actually. Food's damn good here."

"I'll say," chimed in Jules. "You ever wonder, though, how they get it?"

"I try not to think about it," said Fred. "Shit, we could be eatin' gruel and it's just the butterflies in our head tellin' us we're havin' steak and potatoes. I haven't been outside Moleh yet, don't really plan on it, but I haven't heard of any sort of farming operation going on here."

It was an interesting point that I hadn't considered. It's one thing to realize that anything could be made up, a figment of my mind produced by Shae's influence. But then it actually hit me for what would not be the last time: the food, the water, even Jules and Fred. I had no guarantee that they were actually there.

I shook my head clear of those thoughts. "It is much better to assume the blade at your throat is real than to assume it is not."

They nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm...Fair point. You come up with that?"

"Emmit told me that on my first day. Sound advice, I think."

Empty boats started coming by on the water - wooden rafts with a carved dragon's head in the bow, and small decorative flourishes in the wood gilding the sides. The food they'd been carrying had been taken by the people up the table.

My stomach rumbled -- I hadn't considered it, but practicing with my Chi for five hours had left me exhausted and starving. I'd thought that perhaps everything that occurred in that room was only happening in my mind, but I couldn't deny how hungry I was, and how strained my muscles felt. I hoped the Body classes wouldn't be too tough. Pictures of a drill sergeant shouting at me to do pushups crossed my mind - I tossed them.

Eventually, food came down the line. A slab of ham made it to me on one boat, and then on another came hashbrowns and a small square of butter. The boats floated gently into the hole in the wall next to me, where the table came from, and disappeared.

I speared the butter with my fork and dropped it onto the brick. It sizzled promisingly, and then before they floated away, I took the ham and the hashbrowns and placed them next to each other in the butter. I let them cook for a little while, periodically checking their undersides to make sure I wasn't burning them, since I wasn't sure how hot the rock was.

As I cooked, more food came by, and I ended up grabbing a few more slices of ham and a small bowl of oatmeal which came with its own spoon. It was tricky trying to juggle the space that was available to me: I only had two surfaces on which to leave food. I somehow managed to get the food off the boats and onto the small plate, and then switched the slices of ham around from rock to plate without burning anything.

Soon, I had a big breakfast in front of me, and I dug into it. While one slice of ham was cooking, I'd eat the one I'd just taken off, interspersed with a bite of hashbrowns. I'd slightly overcooked almost everything, but still, it tasted delicious. I eagerly wolfed down the oatmeal while I waited for the last of my ham to cook.

Maybe a little too eager -- I was making a bit of a mess in my area. Jules took note of it.

"Hey Tristan, want a tip? They don't clean your table for you, just the plates and the silverware and shit. The rock too," he said, pointing to it. "So if you don't want to come back to a dirty-ass eating space, slow down."

"Kids eat too fast these days," said Fred. I looked at his plate -- true enough, he hadn't even finished his first slice of ham, while I'd eaten three on top of the rest of my meal.

"Mmph," I said, my mouth full of delicious fried potato, "Thnk you. All cln 'p."

Jules burst out laughing. "Geez, man, chew your food. Who woulda thought, Tristan, the legendary newcomer to Moleh, the man we thought tussled with an Odieh... he's got no table manners!" Fred joined him in his laughter.

I finished chewing, and swallowed. "Guilty."

Breakfast was wrapping up. I immediately recognized Jet walking down the way. He was easy to spot, his exceptionally well fitting suit contrasted starkly with the casual attire worn by everyone else. He was the first one leaving.

I stared at him as he came closer, hoping to get his attention, but he breezed past me without so much as a glance, one hand swinging by his side, the other resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. One of the medical workers had said he'd stayed by my side the entire time I'd been recovering from his sword strike to my side. I was starting to doubt that.

"Guy's crazy, eats way too fast" said Fred, nodding to Jet as he passed through the doors and out of sight.

I shrugged. "Maybe it's just the place that makes you crazy."

"I'll drink to that! Or, I would if we were allowed beer. Shit rule, that even once you get Set you can't drink. Gotta get Odieh, and even then, I can't imagine Jet kicking back in the lawn with a Corona, you know?"

I laughed as I tidied up around my area, dumping the mess I'd made on my plate.

Emmit came up, displaying his usual friendly smile. "How'd it go? You figure out the hot brick?"

"Yeah, these guys helped me figure it out. The food is great here, even if the set-up is a little weird." I stood up, and we walked out together.

"You'll get used to it, no doubt," he said. "We've got..." he frowned, concentrating for a moment, "thirteen minutes to get to class. Plenty of time."

I shook my head. "It still amazes me how you do that."

He grinned. "You'd better pick up on it -- I won't be around to wake you up every day, you know."

"Sorry, mom."

We were both laughing as we rounded the corner, and were so distracted that we nearly collided with three other guys who were walking past.

"Watch it!" said one, a beefy looking white guy with buzzed blonde hair. He wasn't wearing a shirt -- and wore no necklace.

"Sorry, Derrik," said Emmit, and grabbed me by the elbow, beginning to march us around them.

"What's the hurry?" I asked under my breath.

"Hey, hey, hold up!" exclaimed Derrik.

Emmit sighed, and let go of my elbow. We turned, and the three of them walked up to us, Derrik in the middle. To his left was a tall, lean, bored-looking black guy, and to his right was a short, nerdy looking man with glasses, red hair, and freckles. He was slightly older than the other two, maybe in his thirties, while the other two looked to be in their mid twenties.

I couldn't see necklaces on the other two either, though they were wearing shirts. There was a small pin on the upper right hand corner of their shirts, a circular thing with an image of a featureless tower connecting the top and the bottom.

"What do you want?" asked Emmit, his arms crossed over his chest. He tapped his foot impatiently.

"Nothin' man, just wanted to check in with your new friend here. You Tristan?" he asked.

"So I'm told," I replied.

"Cool, man. I'm Derrik," he said with a wide smile, and extended a hand. I shook it -- the name was familiar. "This is Colin," he said, jerking a thumb to the smaller, nerdy looking guy, "and Kelechi," he pointed to the other. Colin nodded at me, while Kelechi just looked around, a bored expression on his face.

"Good to meet you guys." Suddenly, I remembered where I'd heard his name before. "Hey, you were the guy who was supposed to give me the tour here, right?"

His wide smile faltered, and for a moment a dark expression crossed over his face. He brightened up quickly, though, saying: "Oh, yeah, sorry about that man. Had a date that night with a fine-ass chick. Couldn't miss it. Looks like you turned out alright, though. Well, minus getting beat up by Jet. Let's see the scar! I heard people talking about it last night."

Looks like it hadn't only been Jade and the people around me that had seen when I'd revealed it.

"He only turned out okay because of me, you know," said Emmit. "You would have been in a great deal more trouble if I hadn't been there."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Thanks," he said, waving a hand dismissively. Emmit's face reddened. "They didn't even give me any work to do," added Derrik, "Just a slap on the wrist. And, well, shit, we're going to class too. We'll walk with you."

We all headed toward the classrooms, past the Lounge. Emmit stared at the floor while he walked, and kept his hands in his pockets. Almost immediately, Derrik had placed himself between the two of us, and slung an arm around my shoulder.

"Now, Tristan, let me tell you something," he began. I felt awkward being under his arm, but didn't want to offend him. I wasn't trying to make enemies on my first real day, even if he reminded me a little too much of the idiots back at my high school.

"This place, it's crazy. It's nuts. Especially once you take this thing off," he tapped the chain around my neck. I flinched when he touched it, and he laughed. "Hey, don't worry man. Thing weighs a million pounds to anyone who isn't you. Nobody'll take it off you, and it won't fall off if you hang upside down. I'm just saying, in Caer'Aton, it's anyone's game."

"We're all here to train, whether we like it or not, and the only way to train is on each other. Pays to have friends, so you don't get messed with all the time, if you catch my drift."

I thought I understood what he was saying. "What, so people band together here once they get Set? Are there a bunch of different groups?" I asked, trying to piece together the dots.

He beamed at me and clapped me on the back enthusiastically. "Exactly! Hey, Colin, we might have another bright guy to add to our legions of dumbshits." Colin chuckled. Derrik leaned toward me conspiratorially, "Most of the people here don't know their ass from the ground. No brains, no ambition," he said in a very low voice. "That guy you're buddying up with?" he said, nodding toward Emmit who still had his gaze fixed on the ground.

"He's a nobody. Total loser. Been here four months, and he still doesn't have his Chi. When do you think he'll get Set? We've got bets placed on it, and even the lowest one doesn't have him getting Set before two years."

We made it past the Lounge and were coming up on the massive doors which led to the classrooms. They were flung open, and the grooves in the wood cast off a small aura of light around the doors.

Derrik leaned away from me, and clapped me on the shoulder again. "I'm just saying, it's nice to have friends, but this place isn't about friendship. It's about power. And you, my friend, need someone powerful on your side. Think about it," he said, and without giving me a chance to respond, walked through the doors ahead of me.

Emmit paused before the doors, watching him go. He shook his head. "I don't say this often about people," he said, "But I really, really dislike that man."

"I can see why. He gave me bad vibes. What's his deal?"

Emmit looked at the ground. "He is one of the more powerful members of Tower, a Set clan. He is very talented at manipulating others, both with and without the Art. He makes you think you're one of his friends." Emmit finished his sentence bitterly, and I got the sense that there was some history between the two of them.

"Did he do that to you?" I asked.

He nodded. "There are three groups of people big enough to be called clans, roughly fifteen in each clan have Set. They all want as many members as possible, so they get you on their side before you get Set. That way, you're guaranteed friends to work with and a degree of safety outside your house. Plus, say someone is attempting to control you. One of your clanmates that doesn't have Set can still run up to them and disrupt their concentration."

"Derrik got me pretty early on after I demonstrated talent at remembering time. All of a sudden, I had friends, and I wasn't as worried about being in a new place, about things back home..." he trailed off, looking up at the doors. Rivulets of different colors streamed against the deep brown of the surface, the soft light giving to the entrance a promising, hopeful feel to it. Even in the way the doors towered above us -- this was by far the tallest hallway in Moleh -- there was an aura of protection to them. A sense of ancient power.

Emmit shrugged. "When I didn't get my Chi fast enough for their liking, they dumped me. I saw then how shallow their friendship was, and was glad to be rid of it."

"What a bunch of jerks," I pronounced, "They don't know what they're talking about."

He smiled faintly. "Neither do you, really, but I appreciate the sentiment. You do what you have to do to get by in this place, it seems. It makes sense that people would band together for protection once they get Set. Life becomes a constant war zone," He shrugged, "But even so, the rivalries that spring up get out of hand sometimes. Tower is usually the one responsible for instigating things, but Talon and Stone do their fair share of provoking. I'm sure you'll get a taste of it soon enough."

"Pretty bland names for a clan, don't you think?" I asked. "What about Blood Eagle, or The Fluffy Bunny Death Squad?"

He laughed. "Well, they're based off the insignias, and since the insignias are made of Clay, which is exhausting to collect, they are designed simply. Without the insignias pinned to your shirt, you wouldn't be able to recognize whose side others were on."

"Ah, I think I'm starting to get it," I said. "If you've got one on, not only will people from your clan not fuck with you, other people from other clans might think twice if they see a bunch of your friends around."




Tristan's Tale Pt. 04



"More or less," he replied. We walked through the doors into a long, wide hallway. "It leads to a lot of multi-person engagements. You have to synchronize your attempt to manipulate the other person, wear down their mental defenses in tandem with another. You join their attack, you meld your Arts together, it's all very complicated, I've heard. In the end, it makes for good practice, I imagine."

"Well, shit," I exclaimed, "Let's get Set together and make our own Clan. Forget these other people, I bet we could take them," I said. So maybe I was starting to get a little excited at the prospect of having some awesome inter-clan rivalry fighting. It didn't feel much like me, but somehow, I found myself looking forward to the prospect of conflict. Maybe there's something hardwired in people about wanting to fight - I wouldn't put that past evolution.

He laughed. "There's the spirit. I'm sure you'll do very well here." He ruffled his brown hair shyly. "As for myself, I don't know if I'll be taking my necklace off anytime soon. I'm not much good at shaping Clay, and I don't even have my Chi yet. I don't think the added distraction would do me much good. But," he added hastily, "forget about that. Pass me your schedule, I'll show you where your first class is."

I took the crumpled paper out of my pocket and passed it to him. He glanced at it, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Wow," he said, passing it back to me, "They loaded you up with a full schedule on your first day. That's unheard of."

"Full schedule?" I asked. That didn't sound good.

"Seven classes a day. Usually they build you up to it, but, I suppose nothing has been going normally with you, has it?" he said, smiling.

We came to a part in the hallway where it divided into three identical corridors. Other people filed past us into them. One corridor, it seemed, had a lot less traffic than the other two.

"Classrooms are organized by type. Mind, Body, and Spirit. The thing is," he continued, "Each hallway looks the same, so-"

"Don't tell me," I groaned, "They change, and I'm supposed to figure out which one is which on a daily basis."

He beamed at me. "Hey, you're good. But how good: can you tell which one is which?"

"How do I do that?" I asked, eying the corridors. Always with the tests, here...

"It's pretty simple, and becomes second nature after a few days," said Emmit. "Just cast your awareness out. Not your regular awareness, but the one you used to manipulate people back home, or to get a fix on the wall of Clay. Each hallway has a certain feel to it."

I focused on the corridors in front of me, and tried to get a fix on them. Nothing came up.

"They're just hallways," I said, frustrated.

"Yes and no. Try opening up," he suggested. "As you'll no doubt learn, It's one of the fundamental methods of connecting to anything. You have to let it come to you."

Right - I thought back to when I'd emptied my mind outside Jet's room, or how I'd had to have space open in my mind to be able to have it filled with anyone's Being. I tried to think back to my first trip back, to the times when I'd used the Art to get laid. I was surprised to find that I had a hard time remembering what had happened. Names and faces of back home eluded my memory, and it didn't really bother me. I had a nagging sense that it should have, but that didn't bother me either.

"You're going to be late at this rate," said Emmit. "Which isn't so big a deal: your first class is a Body class with Kiara. But I've got Mind class with Jet, and he'll have my hide if I'm late. I don't want to give it away, but we've only got three minutes." Though he was in a hurry, somehow Emmit never portrayed any sort of irritation or excess emotion. It wasn't that he was completely collected - I couldn't quite put my finger on it. LIke it just didn't seem important to him to react overmuch.

Come on, Tristan, open up, open up. I took in the corridors, letting go of my thoughts as best I could.

And then where before there had been no difference between the three, suddenly I felt them, and the difference could not have been more obvious. It's hard to really convey what sort of feeling it is. It's not like a tingle, or a sensation of pressure. More like, if you walked into an empty room that had a single table in it, the feel of the room would be different than if you walked into an identical one with no table.

In that way, the leftmost hallway resonated with a sense of cognition in me, and I felt the openness of it, the logic, the deductive and processive capabilities that all signified the useage of the mind. The rightmost one, by contrast, was much more grounded, and quiet by contrast. The presence was stronger, and moved less.

The feeling I had about the one in the middle was more elusive - I couldn't get a handle on it as clearly. Ethereal, I got the impression that it didn't necessarily have any sort of form, but that somehow, it existed nonetheless. Not the corridor itself, but what it was representing. It both was and wasn't something else at the same time. Concentrating on it too hard made my brain hurt.

"That one's Body," I said, pointing to the right.

"There you have it. Good luck! The classroom you're looking for is on the right, it'll have a ribbon around the doorknob. Kiara's more gentle than Jet in that way, she doesn't have the same affinity for all the tests."

"Thanks, Emmit. I'll see you later."

He nodded, and walked at a brisk pace down the Mind hallway. I was tempted to investigate the Spirit corridor, but there would be time for that later, so I fell into the stream of students walking down the rightmost corridor.

Just a few paces down the hallway, I got my first taste of Set students practicing the Art.

An older, balding man in a black bathrobe was staring at a younger man who was spread eagle against the wall, as if frozen there.

I looked on curiously, slowing my pace, trying to get an idea of what was happening. Nothing seemed to be happening, though: the older guy just stood there, concentrating, while the man against the wall didn't move. What struck me most about the engagement was that the young man didn't portray any anger, or resistance of any form. He appeared to be against the wall entirely of his own volition.

It made sense, of course. When I'd made someone do something with the Art, they had done so as if from their perspective, like the action had come from themselves. Otherwise, there wasn't much point. Unless you wanted to keep them aware...Hadn't I done that? I shook my head, clearing away my thoughts.

The two stayed frozen there for a moment, until a passerby, who recognized the guy against the wall, tapped the old man's shoulder.

"One minute," he said, and then moved on down the hall. After a moment, the old man relaxed, and the young guy came off the wall. He looked at the old man, then at himself.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Again?"

The old man chuckled. "You've got to keep your guard up, Alex. I could see how distracted you were from all the way down the hall."

"Thanks for the reminder," replied Alex, and they shook hands and walked away like it was nothing.

I was struck by the informality of the process. Hell, Alex had even thanked him for being pinned up against the wall! That was a big difference from what I'd expected. Back home, shit, people would have been furious if they'd known they'd been controlled. I liked this attitude a lot better, and hoped it was true for everyone, and wasn't just an isolated case.

I came up to the door with a ribbon on it. As I opened it and stepped through, a bell rang.

I froze, thinking at first that it had something to do with the door. But, no, the bell rang

several more times. It was eight o'clock.

"Right on time!" said a woman's voice.

I took in the classroom - it wasn't at all what I'd assumed when I'd heard I would be going to class. There were no desks: the floor was empty save for a series of mats which were spaced in an even grid across the floor, with some space in the front. All sorts of people stood over the mats, which all appeared to be occupied.

The source of the voice was a dazzling woman standing at the front with her arms clasped behind her back. What first impressed upon me was her attire: a single span of scarlet cloth, falling from around her neck and then splayed wide across her chest, crossing over itself at her hips and twirling down her legs. Flashes of her rich, creamy brown skin peeked through the gaps in the fabric like two lovers blowing kisses across a crowded room.

The way she held her arms behind her back pushed her chest forward, accentuating her generously revealing cleavage. She was smiling at me, a warm, comforting smile that eased the tension I felt about being nearly late, and surrounded by strangers that were looking at me. A few whispers rippled through the students, and I heard my name here and there.

"Alrighty everyone," she said cheerily, "You know what to do. Get warmed up, keep your awareness on your body. I'll be back in a few. Tristan, would you mind meeting me in my office?" she asked, spinning on a heel and gliding across the floor to the opposite corner of the room. The fabric was folded over itself at her butt, but even so I could see it was well formed, and swayed seductively as she walked. More infuriating was the fact that in the places where only a single layer of cloth covered her body, it was just thin enough to get a glimpse of the skin below. It gave to her ass a painfully teasing frame.

I followed her, self-conscious about being stared at by everyone. I kept my head high, and tried to keep my cool. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other students get arranged on their mats. Some laid on the ground, others got into various positions which appeared vaguely like the Yoga I'd seen some people do back home, though I couldn't remember where I'd seen it.

She pushed a part of the wall and it swung open easily. A door that was fitted seamlessly with the rest of the wall. She walked inside and held it open for me, beaming as I passed by.

"Hey," I said weakly. For one, she was cute as all hell, with deep brown hair, a ski slope nose, and warm, inviting eyes.

But there was something else to her - a clear presence that I'd also felt about Jet. These two Odieh practically radiated power, an outward projection of a confidence in their relationship to the world, a certainty about their knowledge of themselves that was at once intimidating and awesome to feel. Sort of like watching a master at work - the skill with which a master chef wields a blade, for instance. Just seeing it makes one feel vicariously amazing, and so it was with the mere way in which the Odieh held themselves in the world.

God damn.

"Hey Tristan," she said, letting the door close behind us. We weren't in an office at all - this room was as bare as the last, but much smaller, save for a cushioned table in the middle. I rested against it, and she walked toward me, her head at about my solar plexus, but somehow I got the impression that she was much taller than me. "You can call me Kiara," she said, extending a hand. I shook it.

She took my hand and flipped it palm up, pressing into it with her other hand, feeling every groove and surface of it. "Oh, honey," she said with a smile, "Do yourself a favor and loosen up. Nothing to be scared of."

I hadn't realized it, but I was tense as all hell. "Sorry, this is all a little new for me, as you can probably imagine. I'm still getting my bearings," I said.

"Believe me, I sympathize. I remember being so lost when I first came here, I showed up to my first class a half hour late. Dante did not take kindly to that," she said, laughing and shaking her head.

"Dante was your first teacher?" I asked. I was a little surprised - I'd assumed, for some reason, that all the Odieh had come in at the same time. It made sense that that wasn't the case. There had probably been many Odieh over the years, since Shae had apparently been alive for thousands of years, if I was to believe Jet.

"Yup! Him and Italo were the only Odieh when I first showed up. I'm the newest. But there's plenty of time for stories some other time. Let's get you actually situated. I hear your first days here have been... tumultuous, to say the least."

"That's one way to say it," I said. She laughed, and squeezed my hand earnestly.

"Well, I promise that I'll be nice, and I won't chop you in half. Why don't you take your clothes off, and lie down on the table."

It was a massage table, I realized, noting the hole at one end for the head to rest. My first reaction to being asked to strip in front of Kiara was to be embarrassed, but, perhaps because I didn't want to show weakness and I wanted to get with the whole honesty program, I complied quickly, shucking my clothes and leaving them in a pile on the ground. Kiara smiled at my enthusiasm, putting a finger to her lips pensively as I got on the table and laid down on my stomach.

"So, what's going on right now?" I asked.

"Well, long story short, you were put on a ridiculous recovery track. The medicine they gave you and the amount of sheer willpower dumped into your body was enough to bring King Tut back from the dead. I'm sorry to say, though, that you haven't adjusted back to being fully functional. You may feel like it, of course, and that's owing to the fine work of the medical guys and gals. That," she said, "and the fact that Jet was pouring all his will into your survival for about two weeks."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "He just breezed past me at breakfast today. I have a hard time believing that."

"Oh, he acts tough, but he's a big softie," she said dismissively. "Not to mention that life as an Odieh keeps you busy, especially with all the work he's taken on. I imagine he's got a lot of catch-up."

"Anyway, I just wanted to do some body work on you to ease your transition back to the real world. Some of the stuff you're going to be doing in your classes is really tough on your body, and if parts of it still aren't on board with being alive... well, you get the idea."

I heard her squirt something into her hands behind me, and then, after a moment, her hands pressed into my back.

I was taken aback by the heat - just shy of being branded, her hands pushed into the muscles next to my spine. I tensed in response.

"Hey, it's okay, honey, it won't burn you. Ease into it."

Her fingers worked magic into the muscles, and with some willpower I accepted the heat. It diffused into my body, following trails inside of me which I hadn't known existed. The pressure from her movements sent waves of warmth into me, and my tension slowly dissipated, as if persuaded to dissolution by the tune of her touch.

Her hands worked my shoulders, moving up to my neck, down to my lower back, floating over and then pressing into my obliques.

"This is so surreal," I mumbled as her hands roved over the back of my body.

"You're welcome," she said cheerfully.

"I'm still waiting for the catch, you know."

"Catch?" She asked, overly innocent. She let out a mischievous giggle as she brought her hands down to my legs, rubbing the tension out of my ligaments, relaxing parts of me I hadn't even know existed, much less known were tense.

I knew it. "I'm just saying, nothing here has ever been exactly what it seems. There's always something going on. The doors don't exist, my orientation almost kills me, I have to watch the empty boats which fed a room full of people float by before I can eat... A no-strings-attached massage by a member of the senior staff doesn't fit." It was hard getting the words out, but I'd managed to do it. So I was trying to look tough in front of the Odieh that had mastered seduction. Sue me.

"Well I was going to give you a few minutes before telling you, but if you're so keen to work, I do have a teeny-tiny assignment for you while we get your body up and running."

I needed to learn when to keep my mouth shut. "Alright, hit me."

"It's pretty simple. All you have to do is feel your body."

I put my attention on the sense I had of my body. "Mmm..." I moaned as her burning hands pressed into my calves and rocked them back and forth. "Well, I'm feeling it. I think."

"Aw, babe, I don't just mean, "be aware that you have a body". No, really, feel it. Feel what it is. For instance," she asked, moving her hand, "What am I touching right now?"

She was pressing into my side, where my scar streaked angrily across my skin. I flinched - the skin there was more sensitive, and the heat shocked me a little.

"You're touching my scar."

"Okay, sure. But what is that?"

That stopped my thinking. What was it? It was my scar, what more was there to say? "I don't understand what you mean. Skin?"

"Consider," she said, hopping onto the table and sitting on the back of my thighs, putting more pressure onto my back with one hand, rubbing deeper and getting at tensions further beneath the surface, "That you only really have an idea of a scar there. If you're not looking at it, that is." Her other hand stayed at my scar and brushed the semicircle it made out of my side. It burned, but I gritted my teeth and didn't say anything.

I thought about it for a second - it was true. What I felt about it and what I knew was there were two different things entirely. "I guess all I really have is a feeling of your fingers in my side - agh!" I exclaimed as she slapped my side.

"Yup!" She said, cheerful. "Now, your job is to get what's really going on there. What is that feeling? What's actually happening for you?"

Her massage went on for a long time. All the while, I kept my attention on the feelings I had, solely on the physical sensations.

It was more challenging than I imagined it would be. Even figuring out what was physical and what was something I'd added on - she touched my shoulder, for instance, and I figured that, in my experience, I'd felt a burning sensation in my shoulder.

But - what was burning? And for that matter, what was "shoulder"? When it came down to it, I didn't actually have shoulders. Sure, I had an area on me that I would call my shoulder. But that actual distinction didn't exist for me independent of my mind.

I chuckled inwardly when it hit me: Kiara literally gave mind-blowing massages.

"You know," I mumbled at some point in the reverie of relief and sensation that was her touch, "I don't actually have a body. Not in the - ooph - way I usually think of it."

"There's a thought," she said, and to my disappointment, her hands left me. I stayed naked and prone on the table, soaking in the feeling of having been thoroughly scrubbed down, inside and out. I felt expansive, like I had inside of me a never ending steamlike energy and it was venting out of my pores.

Kiara walked over to the door and poked her head out.

"Okay everyone, move on to your partner exercises. Lauren, your knee is collapsing, by the way. And would somebody mind waking up Jackson? Thank you!"

I craned my neck up and saw her walking back toward me. How on earth did the cloth stay wrapped around her? In some places it was looser than in others, and finished around her ankle, the end hanging in the air. It was as if it barely touched her skin, that at any moment, with the slightest breath, it could be blown away, falling down to the ground to reveal the slender curvature of her body.

Experimentally, I took hold of the feeling of energy venting out of me, the state of release, like I was being poured out of myself, and directed it toward Kiara's approaching body.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Coming closer, she looked at me hesitantly.

"That was on purpose, wasn't it?" she asked.

"You felt that?" I asked, incredulous. She nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I just feel like I'm a big ball of air right now. It's amazing. I just, vented toward you. Focused it somehow."