Chapter 5: Through One's Fingers
Dr. Sharp was frantically tearing at the blond man’s clothes to reveal his wounds. Warden examined the amount of blood that painted the floor. It was simply too much for the man to still be alive.
“Get that bag, on the ground, over there.” She sobbed as she found the puncture wound. A shard of glass lodged in the man’s neck, pouring a river of blood that covered the woman’s hands, soiling her cream-colored shirt and soaking her skirt.
Even though he had little hope that the man would survive, Warden still grabbed the bag and opened it, dumping the contents over the floor near Dr. Sharp. She began grabbing at little glass bottles, throwing some away and bringing others closer. She seemed oddly calm. Warden peaked at her inkwell, the sigils pulsing. The Terror was still muted, but her mental state was weak. However, a slash stopped her mental state from falling any more, it was stamped with the sigil of Focus. She was a doctor, performing a medical task, her training was preventing her from becoming hysterical.
“His spirit is still attached; she could very well save him.” Loomia spoke. Warden didn’t turn; he didn’t want to give away the fact that he could hear something. To Dr. Sharp, there was no one else in the room. If she had the primal essence of sight, she might see a soft hazy visage of Loomia, but nothing wholly tangible. She would mostly dismiss the image as a trick of the light or even a ghost. This whole situation—save for the naked man and Warden himself—was an invisible force tormenting her day.
“Hold his head here, steady, don’t move.” Dr. Sharp was firm in her instruction. As she guided Wardens hold onto the blond man, every motion pouring more blood. Loomia sat just behind Warden, strengthening his steadiness through their connection.
Dr. Sharp punctured the blond man with some type of syringe and then reached for rolls of gauze. She took a deep breath, the Focus sigil spawning another branch, almost overtaking the Terror on her own. Her hands became stable, and she began to carefully but firmly wrap the shard of glass with the gauze, then moved to wrap it around the blond man’s neck, and then around the shard again. The pouring of blood slowed, but the man was pale, his lips fading their pink tone.
“The telephone on the wall is broken. The law office next door has one. I uh—I need to call Dr. Harris at the hospital. We might need to do the surgery here. I have all the tools. I just can’t do it by myself.” She sobbed but sucked it in, wiping the tears that had begun their fall on her cheeks, streaking her face with the man’s blood. “You can’t move… don’t move.”
“You don’t have a choice, it’s not dead.” Loomia spoke through the Fabric, enough that Dr. Sharp could hear her. The woman turned wildly to find the source of the seemingly disembodied voice but could see nothing.
A crash boomed against the wall in the office as the form of a blackened creature lifted from the remains of flesh and blood. It didn’t resemble the naked man any longer, its body a mix of dead organs and black ooze holding it together. Its entire upper half snapped in a great maw that had many rows of teeth made of bits of shattered bones. It gargled a noisy squall and lumbered out of the pile of debris.
“You have to hold him.” Warden hurried to Dr. Sharp. She went to protest, but Warden cut her off before gently dumping the limp man into her arms.
“You will have to banish him yourself.” Loomia stated.
“What? Why? We’ve always done that together. I’ve never done it alone.” Warden said in confusion.
“That is fully of the Material, it is out of my reach, I cannot touch him. The burden will have to be yours.” She reinforced their connection with all twenty threads. “I’ll guide you through it, once we start you cannot stop until it is done. No matter what happens Warden, do not stop.”
Warden stood up and slammed his staff against the floor. The threads that touched his back burst through, out from his chest and spreading rapidly through the air latching onto the snarled creature. The push and pull of power hit Warden hard, sucking the breath from his lungs, the creature’s pulse attempted to overpower the threadbearer. He wrestled for control, trailing the edge of losing it for moment before Loomia balanced and invigorated him.
The threads began to glow, each string thrumming with power that glided down the strands like dew drops on spider webs. The creature fought the threadbearer like a cornered animal. Writhing guttural squawks turned to heightened shrills of pain and torture as the creature was touched by the primal essence of purification. Warden felt he had the upper hand, power pulsing through him from Loomia. It was a rush of energy through his veins, an energy he normally shared, but he bore the weight of this alone this time. It felt as though lightning was coursing through him, his fingers and toes went numb, he felt light and disembodied.
A lurch ran through Warden as he slipped on his hold of the power. He thought he had messed up the connection. He prodded at it, feeling for all twenty threads. Loomia’s push faltered and five threads snapped away. Then he heard Dr. Sharp’s scream. In the corner of his sensory essence, he felt several hellhounds tickle his periphery and then he felt the spirit of the blond man ripped from the doctor’s grasp and pulled into the Fabric.
There was nothing there, not that Edwina could see, but her grasp was fighting a faint glow of sharp demonic teeth as they ripped at Finn’s legs. The world was all wrong, a canvas of reality smeared by some malevolent painter, taking all that had form and disgracing it. Edwina didn’t know what she was fighting, but she fought it with all her might.
The man standing over her was fighting too, she could feel it. He looked like an angel as the glow from his chest spread forward into the air towards the creature that had come from the body of Adam O’Hare. His long coat bellowed behind him like a cape in the wind, and his shirt fluttered wildly of chiffon fabrics. His hat had long flown off his dark textured hair, and his eyes glared brightly towards the entity.
Edwina felt her inkwell itch and bubble, she looked down at the black sigils, her Strength sigil was waning. The once rich black lines fading as she began to give out to whatever had Finn in its grasp. She couldn’t anchor him here any longer, so she wrapped her legs around him and held on. As he was ripped away, she was determined to go with him.
Edwina’s ears popped and a dizzy sensation coursed through her head making it throb with a painful headache. She clutched tightly to Finn’s body as they got drug into an atmosphere that felt like it was underwater, but she could still breathe. She clamped her eyes shut; her hands clenched around the fabric of Finn’s clothing. Her skin scraped against the rough ground as the creatures pulled both of them into the Fabric.
Air forced itself from Edwina’s lungs as she was yanked backwards. Her ribs crushed and bruised from the impact. Tulle had wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. She clenched her legs tighter around Finn and dug in her hands. The dog before her yelped and fell back.
For the first time Edwina could see the world she was in full. It was like a haze of her own home. Glittering sheets floated in large strips of indigo lights. It reminded her of descriptions of the great lights that hung in the air in the far North. The ground was a rough black basalt, jagged versions of the buildings jutted out from the ground at odd angles, making an elaborate landscape around her. There was a strange familiarity, like two photo negatives layered atop one another. With a glance Edwina was able to orient herself, she had been pulled down the alley behind her morgue, but she had been unimpeded by the walls between where she was, and where she was drug too.
Looking over her shoulder Edwina could see the semblance of a feminine figure. Her form, tall and lean like a ballet dancer. The lithe body fitted with a tulle dress that bubbled behind her in a full bustle and trailed along the ground in a lace train that seemed to move throughout the ground. A streamer of tulle reached from the figure’s arm and wrapped Edwina around her waist. More of the black dogs enclosed upon Edwina and others stalked along the walls at the end of the alley, in pack formation. The surreal dream roiled her mind, the weight of the Terror that had rooted peaked through whatever that man had done to suppress it.
Edwina kicked forward at one of the dogs as it went to bite at Finn’s bloodied leg. Her kitten heel hit the dog’s neck, and it barely reacted before it clamped onto her shoe. She slipped her foot out of the trapped heel and the dog spat it on the ground with a snarl. Edwina felt herself lurch once more as another dog had grappled Finn’s other leg and pulled. Lace born from the ground snarled the dog’s leg and started traveling up to its neck. Edwina looked back at the figurine woman, one of her hands outstretched towards Edwina, swiping the air, seemingly commanding the tulle Fabric.
The onslaught didn’t cease. Edwina buried her face and covered Finn’s head with her body as the dogs nipped and pulled at her clothes and skin. Lace bloomed from the hard ground like dandelions refusing to die in the snow. The lace grappled the dogs and sunk them into the ground, but another would take its place, climbing over the writhing body of the last. The rotting maggot ridden fur and sharp teeth seemed endless as they toppled over themselves to rip at the pair, drooling and snarling with hunger.
“I’m sorry Dr. Sharp.” The beautiful voice ripple through Edwina and prickled her skin with its melodic tone. It rang in her mind, all around her, echoing off the walls of a concert theater.
Tulle crawled down Edwina’s arms, spawning more fabric that connected in the intricate lace pattern that mirrored the lithe women’s dress. Edwina’s skin began to buzz, subtle vibrations that surged through her. She lost grip on Finn’s clothes, her fingers now digging into her own palms. The moment of disbelief spawned the Terror through her as her legs and arms phased through the limp form of Finn’s body and left it behind.
“No, no, no!” Edwina cried as her limbs swam through vacant air. She tried to scrape her fingers along the ground, kicking her feet for purchase, but to no avail, the lithe ballerina had pulled her back. Gasping cries and desperate pleas made Edwina’s voice go hoarse.
“Hush.” The word from the lithe woman was like a command, silencing Edwina. Tulle filled Edwina’s mouth and wrapped around her. In a drunk-like haze Edwina felt her wakefulness flee her and the world went unfocused. She drifted away, not knowing where.
The struggle tempted Warden to look behind him. He couldn’t, Loomia commanded him to not stop, no matter what. He trusted her. She brought him out of the darkness her hazy magic lifting the veil that kept him blind. He felt the weak spirit of the blond man disappear, but Edwina’s spirit returned closer. The strange senses swirling around him like dye flowing through water. The creature wretched control again and Warden felt like his eardrum burst, ringing clattering around in his head and the pressure pushing on him.
Warden knew Loomia abandoned the blond man, leaving him out for the hellhounds to devour in their hunger to save her own skin. Bait thrown carelessly for the starved to feed on, ripping the essences from his body. She didn’t care; she never cared. He was the one who fought in the Material, to banish demons back into the Shadow Weave, she would feign inability and put him at risk. Cruel selfish thing she was. She would use Edwina too, force her into—
These are not my thoughts.
A moment of clarity flushed Warden’s skin. The chorus of hate rang through his ears and rattled his mind as the demon gained the upper hand. Warden prodded at his chiffon, tugging the power to aid him to lift the hatred from his body by making it weightless. The relief washed over him and he breathed out advancing forward into the creature. Loomia rejoined the five missing threads, the rush of her support flowed through his veins and ran out along the banishing strings. The world twisted with the Fabric coming to life as it swallowed the offending creature, leaving nothing left but a black stain in the quiet morgue.
Fatigue filtered through Warden’s body, dripping into every facet of his consciousness in the way that water trills down sculpted waterfalls. His ears rang with the thrum of the active Fabric realm. Warden faltered and the lassitude took him over as Loomia cut the strings to her puppet. A tulle cocooned Dr. Sharp fell harshly into the Material and the tear laced over with Loomia’s power.
Warden squinted to see if he could watch her take care of the hounds, but his vision into the Fabric failed him. He pushed up his sleeve, the chiffon Fabric essence drifting back into the cotton shirt he was wearing before. He scoffed, the sigils on his forearm were fading, his power reserves were nearly empty. He had the intense urge to close his eyes and sleep. He forced them open and counted the cracks in the wall.
A pinch from Warden’s inkwell caused his fingers to twitch. Like fighting a lead weight, he lifted his arm to look, coils of his connection to Loomia faded in and out. He inhaled and let go of the fear that Loomia wouldn’t make it. The thoughts didn’t do him any good, so he discarded them. He had to remind himself that the prophet wasn’t weak, she was just limited to the Fabric.
The first time he ever trained in her domain where her lace could cover the walls and fully unfurl from her, he had met the promise she had given him when they first bonded. The promise that she would make him powerful.
She pulled that blundering drunk out of the gutter, covered in the wastes of human indecency, and promised him that he would become more powerful than the demons that hung off of him like parasites. The demons that haunted him with the faces of his failures. She had fitted him the chiffon shirt, the Fabric encasing him like that of armor. The prophet taught him how to lift away the things that weighed him down. To draw forward the power of the Fabric essence to make him weightless and let go of the Material life that chained him.
The tulle that bound Dr. Sharp softened its hold and Loomia’s influence on the Material faded. Claw marks and jagged bites from the hounds marred her body. Warden was hesitant to touch her, lest she wake from whatever dream Loomia had shoved her into. He would just have to wait. He hated waiting. So, he went back to counting the cracks in the wall.