Weeds in a Mirror

[Morus]

There was something very strange about the air in Radasanth that night. It caught the attention of a curious nose like the whiff of a fire burning somewhere off in the distance, and brought to mind inimical images of either a well-tended hearth or a charred skeletal structure. With no breeze to stir it, the scent hung heavy, more pervasive with every step deeper down the dank alleyways. Despite it all, no one seemed to pay it much heed. The streets were alive with the cacophony of life. Merchants busied themselves packing up wares from vacant stalls, street performers juggled knives for cheering crowds, and the beggars sat where they always did to bray about in pointless, pitiable bickering. The most peculiar thing about the odor seemed to be how overlooked it was, as it seemed people were less bothered by it than the overcast sky above.

But one boy scorned the mundane that tediously trudged through their nightly routine. He scurried past guardsmen on their rounds, and further into the city’s heart he passed the sordid folk who kept their business to the shadows. Eyes stared out at him from every crack and hole in the wall, but he paid little heed to the silent watchers. He was fixated instead on the whirls of smoke that trailed off and forward from a pipe in his hands. Whenever the embers of the pipe would die down, he’d pull on it a few times to keep his mark clear and his head light. Ghostly wisps traced a path that darted the dim alley corners, leading him steadily onward through areas he could scarcely remember in the day.

The boy stopped as he saw a stack of crates near the rear entryway of a bar on the main street. Straining his eyes, he could just about make out the bloodstain where his head had met brick a week or so before. He checked behind his back and listened for the sound of footsteps, continuing on his journey a bit more aware and slightly worried at the prospect of meet that gang again. His pace quickened at the hovels and houses thinned out beneath the pedestrian bridge. The slums in this part of Radasanth had long been built up in the remains of an old riverbed, and just above stood less claustrophobic quarters, teeming with light and life.

The smoke from his pipe billowed straight into the air, and the boy muttered to himself in some senseless curse. He carefully stepped through the sordid mix of sodden earth and torn cobblestone before blindly feeling out one of the pillars of the bridge, and with a sigh and his pipe slipping through his teeth, started the tense upward climb he’d only ever managed to accomplish in the sunlight. This was a common way to explore the city without spending a needless hour on the street, and the prefered method of Radasanth’s less reputable citizens. Some thirty feet above, a narrow marketplace spanned the length of the bridge, connecting the law offices and apothecaries with more spacious homes, all without having to bother seeing the more seedy streets below.

By the time he’d reached the top, the boy could scarcely hear the din of crowds above the own pounding of his heart. He stood to stretch his throbbing arms and legs, taking a brief pause to breathe before setting out again with his ephemeral guide to lead the way. He ignored the glowers of the well-to-dos who guarded their pockets more tightly as he passed them by, until he found himself just outside a rather unassuming inn. Made of a patchwork of different colored gray stones, topped with a thatched roof complete with the picturesque chimney on top, he saw the fingers of smoke slip slowly beneath the gap in the door.

“Gods willing, here and no further,” the boy thought, weary from his nocturnal traversing. But he knew that no matter how tired he felt, there would be no sleep until he finally figured out what disturbance hovered in the city.

[Taische]

Midnight. The Witching Hour. It was a time when the wall between the worlds narrowed and sometimes collapsed. It was an hour of magic, of possibilities. It was a time that Taische was never supposed to see, because she usually fell asleep shortly after sunset and didn't wake until dawn.

On this night, however, she roused from her slumber by something that pulled at her senses. She felt a sense of urgency, and it almost felt like tingling fate. Something was very, very wrong, and if it wasn't set right, she was sure that something bad would happen. She wasn't sure what, exactly. The dark-skinned nine-year old wasn't a diviner, like her mother; she was an auger. That meant she read omens, and if something else was casting strong enough ripples to wake her up, she couldn't believe her mother wasn't already awake.

Maybe it was meant for me.

She shifted in the soft, cozy bed that came standard at this inn, shoving at the thick mane of black hair that had fallen over her face. Taodoine, the family's pet phoenix, lifted his head and crooned at her, preening her hair to soothe her back to sleep. He shifted one of his great wings to cover her better; even though it wasn't cold, the bird felt it was his duty to keep his little sister warm at night.

"Get off, Ta. I've gotta go pee." The child shoved her pet off of her, much to his grumbling exasperation, and crept out of her room. Of the two rooms in the suite, it was the smaller, cramming in a desk, a small armoire, and a bed. The other room was much bigger and fancier, according to her Uncle Storm's tastes. Her mother just went with what made him comfortable in town; after all, he was delicate and had to sleep in the dirt with them while they were on the road.

Taische listened when she entered the apartment's common area. The breathing from the adults' room was undisturbed and steady; whatever it was that had awakened her, it hadn't disturbed the redheaded clairvoyant. Quietly, she crept past the finely upholstered couch and chairs to get a drink. They'd almost had a suite with leather furniture instead, Taische remembered, but Karuka had objected. The child knew that cows were sacred in her grandfather's culture, but she didn't really understand the aversion to their meat and hides. They ate rabbit, pork, chicken, or anything they could catch out in the wilderness, but never beef. Ever. Maybe she'd understand someday.

Despite the quiet and chance to clear her head, Taische's hands gripped and twisted her loose dress. Something was wrong. She didn't know what, but if it wasn't set right, she had a really bad feeling. But there were no omens for her to see in the dark, and she wasn't getting the painful visions like she would if something were seriously and immediately wrong.

Weird. Maybe I just had a really bad dream. Might as well go to the privy anyway.

On a whim, the little girl grabbed an apple from the bowl on her way out the door and crept down the stairs to visit the ladies' privy. Instead, she saw an emaciated, ragged teenager standing just inside the well-appointed lobby. The smoke from his pipe curled up and around in odd ways, nothing like the erratic puffs from Storm's pipe when he smoked. Also unlike Storm's smoke, this boy's pipe spoke to her in its thin streams.

She held the apple to him, its red vivid even in the flickering lamp light. "The boundaries are breaking," she told him, though she knew she didn't have to. He knew. She knew he knew.

[Morus]

The lobby was bright and warm from a well-kept hearth in its center, though no one seemed to be around to tend it. There was an eerie quality to the stillness of it. What must have bustled with business during the day, when a rush of guests would hurriedly check in, stood in stark contrast as the hosts shifts changed and the patrons slept snugly in their beds. The boy hadn’t even considered it, but even one clerk at the desk was more than a match to shoo him back out the door into the crowded night, lively night. But his obsession had driven him across the city, on heavy limbs and with drowsy eyelids, to investigate the peculiarities in the night’s air. Nothing could dissuade his focus, until -

Her voice shattered his concentration more than the crackle of kindling. He swiveled in place to stare wide-eyed at a little girl who had snuck down the stairs on him. She was dark of hair and skin, with a pair of blue doe eyes that whispered of naivety and things unseen. Her frame was small, and certainly younger than the boy, but had a healthier complexion to it. She held an apple in her hand that seemed to gleam with all the light in the room, though maybe it was just a trick of his weary mind.

The boy felt his tongue freeze in place for a moment.

Does she know? Can she feel it? His mind raced with questions, and his heart quickened. It was hard to know if it was from the start she’d given him, or a new excitement of all his work and worries becoming more corporeal with her assurance.

“How long - “ was all he could say before the feeling took him. It started with a shot of pain that ran through the sides of his head, brief and not terribly intense. As it faded, the sound of rushing water was all the boy could hear, before his body felt more cumbersome that it had ever felt before. The strange sensation of lightheadedness, as if he’d risen too quickly, clouded his mind and closed his eyes an instant before he felt his body fall into a hole that had not been their before. His muscles tensed to brace himself for an impact that never came, and all at once his senses returned to him.

When he opened his eyes again, the lovely little lobby had gone the way of a distant memory, replaced by a cityscape that felt strangely familiar, yet wholly alien. Tall wooden towers reached so high, that the blackened sky above was only a distant visage. Colorful paper lamps in Akashimian style hung from countless strings and off of terraces that overlooked the street he was on. There were banners in red, gold, and green with some strange, runic lettering that the boy could not recall, plastered on doors and draped from windowsills. The smell of fried food wafted in the air, as well as the sizzle of the fryer. But no matter which direction the boy looked in, he could not place exactly where it was coming from. Despite a festive pretense, there was no another soul as far as he could see, save for that strange, intrusive girl.

He turned to her again, trying his best to remain composed in spite of his worry, but an odd emptiness in his hand caused him to become distracted again. His pipe had vanished, and though he frantically probed the sand-covered street with his toes, he could feel no trace of it. As he fell to his knees to search more thoroughly, the boy looked up at his only company.

“I’m Morus,” he half-muttered. “Remember that, in case I forget.”

[Taische]

The world felt fuzzy, like she was in a dream. But of course she wasn’t. She’d just been… just been… Yeah. This made sense. Of course it made sense. She was at the… where? At the festival, because she needed to help the apple find its family. Its little mouth twisted and wavered on its perfectly red face, and its eyes – black, like all its features, and looking very much like they’d been drawn in ink – wibbled and wavered, it was definitely about to cry. Because it was late, and the festival was empty. Of course neither people nor apples would be around after closing time.

“It’s okay Masih. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.” She gave the poor fruit a gentle pat and looked around. She’d never seen a place like this before, with its winding roads and delicate paper lanterns. Come to think of it… those lanterns were rather red and round, weren’t they?

“Masih, do apples become lanterns when they grow up?”

The voice that answered her was nowhere near apple-y enough, and didn’t belong to Masih. It belonged to Morus, who was worried he’d forget his name. Well, people forget their names all the time.

She’d seen him before, she thought, but he looked shorter. No, I’m different. I'm wearing the wrong clothes. And so she was. Her dark skin, black hair, and sky-blue eyes remained, but instead of a soft white night dress, she wore an elegant silk robe of gold silk that opened to allow some well-fitting black slacks to embellish their glory.

Distantly, she was annoyed. This was man’s clothing, and she was a girl.

“Morus. I’m Ta…” Did I forget my name? Oh no! No, wait. Thiiiink… “Tashka. Have you seen any other apples? This one’s lost and needs to find his mommy and daddy.”

Taische looked around, peering around at the empty streets and stands that seemed to blur when she wasn’t looking directly at them. Where would a family of apples go if they were missing their baby? Was there a constable or something?

KLANG. KLANG. KLUNK. KLANG.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere, ringing like a death gong. Deep chills ran up Taische’s spine, standing every hair on end. She didn’t even have to turn around to know what was behind her, but it was like her body wasn’t even in control of itself anymore, and she very slowly pivoted. It was a huge cast iron fryer, full of sizzling oil and malice. Dozens of apple cores swung from strings at its side, and it bubbled out one terrifying command.

"Come, little dumplings. You’ll be delicious...pie."

“Oh…” The girl’s breath froze and her knees shook. The little apple in her hands flat-out fainted at the grisly sight of so many mangled apple skeletons.

“Run.” She turned toward Morus, breaking into a sprint. “RUN!”