We keep running until we reach bright grass again. This new grass is brighter than the grass before. A lighter colour. It seems incredibly fake though. And something about it is too much. Too shiny. The sky is a bright clear blue. Not clouded over as it had been before. But it seems fake as well. As if it is made of glass. The air is crisp and clean and smells vaguely like furniture polish.
My lungs burn from running. I feel exhausted.
"We're out of his domain," Katapa states through breathless pants. All four of us slow to a stop and catch our breath.
"Let's keep going," Anderei hasn't quite caught his breath yet but already his long legs are striding off.
"Good idea," Lilith says, following. I trot to keep up.
The fear that had coursed like lightning through my heart is now subsiding somewhat. The sense of power I had felt ever since we made the plan is getting stronger. We have seen and done more things than perhaps any person has done before, slave or free. We found power we didn't know we had.
But all of that doesn't lighten my grief. For I know my children are suffering. And I can't not suffer when they're suffering. I hope it's enough. I hope against hope that what we end up doing is enough.
"What is this new place?" I ask into the strange brightness around me.
"Well I'd say it's the domin of a new Fate." Katapa's voice carries a warm wonder to it and a latent fear.
"If the pattern's anything to go off of," Lilith adds. I see her looking all around. These lands are plain.
"Where should we go?" Anderei asks.
"Maybe towards anything that stands out?" Lilith's voice is pensive.
"Be careful though," I warn.
"Of course." Anderei scans the horizon. "What do you think could be here?"
"Well we defeated two Fates. There are two left to go." I state the obvious.
"Why does everything feel so fake here? Why is the Fateworld so weird?" Lilith needs to say something. I can tell that her confidence is wavering. We're being chased by two Fates. If we fail it's not just the masters after us. It's the gods of our world themselves. It's understandable that she's feeling fear.
"Don't worry Lilith." Katapa tries to soothe her, "this world is just a reflection of the Fates themselves. Fake and wrong."
"What would we do without your spirit, Katapa? Without all of your guys' spirits?" I smile at them. My lover. My siblings. The parents of my children. We forged our bonds under the harshest of circumstances. And we are bonded.
"We've got connections between us." Lilith's eyes are dark and stormy. "And those connections are worth something." The way she says /worth something/ makes me shiver.
"And we have connections to the rest of the slaves too. All the Earthpeople. We're interconnected." Anderei's voice has a sharpness to it, and a lightness, that I've never heard before.
"We're stronger than them." I look up towards the false sky as I say this.
"Eventually we will be." Katapa with her dark hair looks like a raven flying in the dusk.
"Keep looking," Anderei says, "there must be something somewhere."
We walk on and all around there seems to be nothing but grass. We wonder if we're headed in the right direction. If there are any Fates here. Or if maybe we've gotten a break from all the conflict.
But there's no break. Not really. When we know the Fates will still come after us the second they tire of their obsessive tasks. Our best bet is to find the next Fate and see how to outsmart them.
"Hey, there's something there," Katapa points. Off in the distance there is a giant wall of blue, just a single shade darker than the sky around us. It is barely noticeable, and I see why we haven't noticed it before.
"I wonder why this Fate wants to stay hidden from us," I ask.
"Well we'll see, won't we?" Lilith's voice carries unease.
We walk towards the blue wall, in one solid row with arms around each other's waists. We exchange quiet words of reassurance.
Finally we come upon the wall. And it seems like an illusion. Like a part of the too-bright sky. We walk along the edges, looking for some sort of door. But after walking and walking we find none.
"Will we have to break this wall too?" Anderei looks over at us.
"It's worth a shot," I reply. We try what we did last time. Focusing on our beauty. But it doesn't work this time, as the wall doesn't budge.
Katapa looks at the sky. Then she looks at me.
"This sky is so blue," she ponders, "but it's just that. Blue and big and bright and empty. You're much prettier than it. The sky in the real world was different. It carried something else." She closes her eyes and sits on the ground. She puts both of her hands at the very base of the wall. And she just sits there. After a while a bit of the wall bends away, like metal being wrought apart.
"What did you do?" I ask.
"I remembered the sky from home. And the people. And I focused on parting this false sky."
"I'll try." Lilith sits down close to Katapa and puts her hands right beside her's. After a while the wall moves more.
"What did you do?" I ask again.
"I focused on how much I miss the real grass back in the real world, and not this overly-bright fake thing. And on how much I miss my kids." Lilith's voice breaks at the end.
"I'll try," I say, as Anderei moves to sit down next to us.
I think about sunshine, about Mafalia's big, dark eyes. About Pavlin's secretive smile. About Andronicha's light, airy laugh. About Levi's small, flittering hands. I think about my grief. But also about all the precious moments we stole. About how my heart sang to see them smile. About how my spirit soared to hear their voices. I think about how deeply I wished that I could spend all day with them. How bright their souls are. How they light such a candle of Hope within me.
I think about moonlight. About Katapa's gentle, careful hands all over me. And about Lilith telling stories and stopping in the middle, leaving out the tragic ends. I think about Anderei secretly mocking the towerpeople behind their backs. About the way we all laughed.
I think about dawn. About how the world seems to glow with promise that is kept a secret from the masters. And I open my eyes and I see that where all four of our hands meet there is a tiny hole. It's small, barely big enough to squeeze through, and low down on the ground. But it will work.
Katapa goes first, being the smallest of all of us. She wriggles and writhes until she's halfway through. The rest of us push her the rest of the way. Then Lilith goes. Then me. Then Anderei. We pull him in with our arms.
Inside the room is like no other. It's like a dragon's hoard but instead of only gold and jewels there are all kinds of things strewn about all over the place. By some strange Fate magic everything is perfectly clean, though untidy.
There are plush carpets of all sorts of colours and patterns all over the floor. But not just on the floor, also on the furniture and walls and other places. There are large polished harps made of thick hard wood or various precious metals. There is ornately carved furniture made of the finest wood. There are silk and satin sheets and blankets of soft, light colours draped on things that are and aren't beds. There are soft, plush pillows everywhere.
There are grand pianos with dark covers and and lyres and violins snd violas and cellos. There are statues of figures doing all kinds of things, made of marble and granite and limestone and bronze and platinum and gold. There are expensive-looking coat hangers and clothing racks carved in ornate patterns. On them are large fine dresses of almost every colour, with gems and pearls and mirrors embroidered into them. There are fine suits with expensive cuff links. There are hat stands full of hats with feathers and pearls and nets and gems and all sorts of things.
There are ornately carved fountains that are in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Some flow with water and others flow with water that has shimmering dust mixed into it. There are vases all around as well, with all sorts of patterns, some very small and some many times bigger than I am. There are all sorts of animals and plants and people and patterns made out of diamond. And paintings line the walls and are scattered all about the place. There are necklaces and earrings and rings and anklets and bracelets. There are shoes and scarves and belts and boas. There are curtains that are thick, and ones that are impossibly sheer.
There are balls and bats and helmets. Toys and dolls and stuffies. There are books both thick and thin lying all over the place. There is China with all kinds of colours and patterns. Boxes made out of jade and amber and who knows what. Precious metals and jewels and pearls are scattered all around. There are spiralling staircases the lead nowhere. Pools large enough to swim in with boats floating on them. Ornate carriages that are attached to no horses.
And so many other things. Many of them I can't even name. Things are piled beside and on top of each other. Until it's all a dizzy mix.
The room stretches on seemingly infinitely on either side. And the ceiling stretches up until I can't see it anymore. We walk through the small haphazardous paths we stake out, alert as to what could be anywhere between the cracks.
"What kind of hoarder lives here?" Lilith's voice drips with disapproval.
"Someone who thinks their wealth will make up for their foolishness," Anderei replies.
Katapa smiles. We walk in silence for a while through the immense clutter. There's something pretty about it all. But something horrific as well.
Suddenly there is a buzzing in my ear. Like a bee or a wasp. But a sound that somehow carries a lot more danger. I whip my head around to see what is there. And, there is a little shiny golden insect, flying among the riches. I don't know why but the sight of it fills my heart with fear.
"Let's run!" I exclaim. All four of us break out into a sprint among the twisted dangerous not-paths in this labyrinth. We run until the buzzing is far behind us.
"What the hell was that?" Katapa asks.
"Whatever it was it couldn't have been good," Anderei replies.
"Let's hope there aren't any more," I say softly.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Lilith looks over my shoulder. I turn around. From that direction a swarm of insects are lazing about the things. They looked like nuggets of gold so I did not notice them before. Their sight fills me with fear.
All at once the insects come swarming up into the air. The four of us break out into a run. We go whichever direction we can find an opening. And I find myself separated from my companions. I duck and weave my way through the maze of material wealth. I nearly trip a number of times. Behind me the buzzing grows louder and louder, swarming in my heart and piercing into my brain. I run and run until finally I trip over something - I don't know what - and then the bugs are on me.
They dig their metal legs into my skin like claws and I writhe and scrape at them to get them off but I cannot. They stay latched onto me and it feels so wrong and I scream. Suddenly all at once they bite. And the bite burns and stings like nothing I have felt before. The stinging is all over my body and digs into my very essence, my very soul.
Suddenly I'm somewhere else. All I know is that the room is boiling hot. It hurts my head and makes me feel lethargic and heavy. But I can't rest. Rest means death. There is an overwhelming, terrifying sense of urgency that comes over me. Not unlike when I am working. My mind is screaming and I don't know why.
In front of me is a vat filled with something red. Something smelly and noxious. It makes me dizzy. But I fight against the dizziness. I can't afford not to. My feelings don't matter here. My hands move on their own. Fast and aching and expertly precise at what they do. They lift a heavy, light brown rug, barely noticing any of the details in it, and dip it into the boiling vat. Fear grips my heart at the thought of the dye splashing onto my vulnerable skin but I let the rug fall into the vat, knowing that I don't have the luxury of time to gently lower it in.
Drops of stinging hot dye splash onto my skin and I yell in pain. But I cannot tend to my wounds I have to keep going. The vat is so hot I want to lean away from it but instead I lean towards it. Using a large wooden ladle I swirl the rug around. My arms ache and burn. The edges of my vision start to blur a bit. But still I work on. After some time I use the ladle to dig the rug out. It is now a blood red. I let it drip for a few seconds before swinging it over to the table next to me. Again drops of hot dye burn my arms and my hands and my chest. But there's nothing I can do.
Another slave pulls the rug and takes it to I don't know where. On the table on the other side of me is another rug to dye. So I dye it. And I dye it. And I continue dying rugs until everything inside me wants to shut down.
Suddenly I'm transported to a different place. Two towermen and one woman are seated on plush sofas around a carpet in the middle. It is bright and dyed a million different shades of red, with gold, black, and brown patterns etched across it. I recognize it as the carpet I burned my skin to make. Something in my heart stops and a deep sadness overwhelms me. It feels as though my soul is being seeped out of me. I burned for that rug. And now they're using it to brighten up their sitting space as if nothing is wrong.
"I do have to say," the woman tells one of the men, "I absolutely adore your new carpet. You must tell me which shop you got it from."
"Oh just at the market Belimmia. You won't believe what a great deal it was."
"I love the colours." The other man remarks, "so bright and vibrant."
I feel my chest stinging so much. Stinging. Stinging...
I kick and claw and grope at the little gold insects with newfound hatred until they are all off me and I take off running again, winding my way through the maze of stuff. I feel weary in my soul. As if some fundamental part is gone from me. But I have no time to figure out what it is. I only feel the loss and I run. But behind me the buzzing gets louder and before I know it they are on me again, with their horrible venom and their biting and their stinging.
This time I am transported to a thankfully cooler room. But I am still dead-scared. I still have to work, work, work, work. I am in front of a loom. Weaving many many strands of a fine, cottony fabric together. My fingers ache. My mind goes numb. My head feels like it's bleeding. The work is so achingly repetitive. Again and again and again and again pull the threads through each other to make more fabric. Again and again and again for hours on end without break.
There is no artistry to this. Only drudgery. The fabric will be dyed later. For now it's just blue. And yet it requires the utmost concentration. I have to go faster than humanly imaginable. Twisting my aching fingers over and under each other. Or else the overseer will become angry. And I feel so much fear at his anger. He holds so much power over me. So I focus the entirety of my being into wire-sharp, barb-pointed focus towards the work in front of me.
I'm so tired. Deep in my very soul. But it doesn't matter. I have children back at home. Children who the Towerpeople will hurt, or even kill, if I do not do my work up to code. Make sure all the rows are neat and perfect and uniform and tightly woven together. The minutes bleed into hours bleed into an eternity. And still there is no rest. My neck strains and becomes sore from the tight way my fierce concentration is making me hold it.
The overseer walks up and down the rows. I shudder under him. All I want is for this day to be over. For my life to be over. But it isn't. I'm forced to suffer on.
And I have to keep working and working, cringing under the overseer's gaze. Time melts away at the edges of my vision as all that is in front of me is a loom and many threads. I cannot even allow myself even a moment of respite as the repetitive, mind-numbing, mind straining work goes on and on. It feels like an eternity. Over and under and over and under and over and under and over and under. Through my aching, overwhelming tiredness. For hours and hours.
Suddenly the world spins around me. I'm overwhelmed by dizziness and nausea. I dry heave, as I feel a burning, stinging sensation all over me. I want to scream, but I can't. I want to throw up, but I can't. I'm barely aware of what's happening around me.
Finally, when I'm a bit calmed down, I look up. I am kneeling in the ornate room of a towerwoman, who doesn't seem to notice me. She rummages through her wardrobe, pulling out dress after dress. She's making a big mess of the place. I suppose it doesn't matter since her personal slaves will pick all of it up later. I swallow down hard bitterness. She has piles of dresses. And these are just casual cotton dresses. Not the ones made of silk and satin and georgette and tulle that they wear whenever they have a chance to. They're dyed in intricate colours however.
I can see that she's mostly putting them into two groups. The slightly worn in ones are going to one pile and the new and smooth ones are going into another pile. I have no doubt that she's going to throw away the slightly worn out clothes. Towerpeople are so wasteful.
I walk over to the pile of new clothes. I pick up a piece with my hands, and inspect the blue fabric. I recognize the perfect, tight woven lines that I had destroyed myself weaving earlier. It feels as if my soul is being drained from my body.
I lie there, in overwhelming agony, stinging and bleeding and not even able to scream.
I look around and see that I am surrounded by piles of ornate, impressive things. It feels like something is digging into my soul. Suddenly I remember the insects. With the last of my strength I yank and pull them off me and start running again. The second they are off me I feel so much better. But still they chase me.
I run and run, ducking and weaving through the elaborate labyrinth of too many things for me to even name. But suddenly I come to a corner from which there is no way out. Mountains and piles of musical instruments, carpets, curtains, furniture, books, sports equipment, clothes, paintings, statues, bricks, jewels, and who knows what else tower above me. I am forced to stop as once again the metallic insects slam into me and latch onto me
I scream.
I'm standing in front of a large metal bucket filled with water. The water is dead cold. I pick up a bottle of white bleach and pour it into the water. I'm rushing. I'm always rushing. I'm anxious. I'm always anxious. I know that if I don't do my work fast and perfect then I will suffer, my loved ones will suffer. That's the way that it always is.
I take and armful of clothes, all shining white, and I dump them into the bucket. I grab a ladle and swirl them around. I have to mix them in good and well but I have to make sure the bleach doesn't spill ono my bare feet and barely-protected legs. Fear courses through me. And I can only feel the fear as I keep stirring.
Thanking the universe that none of the bleach spilled onto me, I rush to a second bucket a few steps away. I fill that bucket with bleach and then clothes and I stir like my life depends on it. Because it very much does.
And now it's time to take the clothes out. I take the ladle and fish out the vast swathes of cloth. I hold them in my hand and bits of bleach seeps through my thick clothes and onto my tender skin. I bite back a scream of agony and through tears I transfer the clothes to a bucket behind me. I wish I had time to wash myself but I don't.
Before transferring the clothes to the water, I need to wring them out with my hands, so that there is less bleach for the water to dilute. This is extreme agony, as the caustic liquid seeps through my gloves and buries itself into my skin, and the clothes droop over my arms, dripping pain onto them.
Through my thick, wet clothes and my agony I stir the clothes in the cool basin and allow them to soak. There are tears in my eyes. I'm thankful that I only have to bleach clothes once a month.
I wait until the clothes are ready to be put on the line outside. And I fish them out and dump them into the sopping wooden bucket. Drops slide down my wrist and I can feel them burning me. But I don't have time to look out for my safety. I have to keep working as fast as I possibly can.
Through my burning body and tearing eyes, my vision blurring, I hang the blindingly white clothes on the clothesline to dry. Drops of water drip down into the dust of the courtyard, no doubt poisoning the land.
I walk back to my hut to at at least change my clothes before continuing on with my workday. What I want more than just a change of clothes is a bath. But that's the one thing I can't have. Because I need to keep working.
But as I enter the threshold of what I'm expecting to be my hut I come into the large, expansive main room of a towerpeople church. The walls are carved ornately. The pews are made of polished wood. The windows are made of colourful glass. And under their dress coats the men wear shirts of the most blindingly white fabric I have seen.
Everything is so pristinely clean. Everything is so large and spacious and perfect. And I hate it. I hate it so much.
I run down the middle of the church aisle. But nobody can see me. I take the chalice of red wine that the priest is saying a blessing over and I spill it onto his bleached-white robes.
Suddenly I'm back at that strange horde. The insects draw back from me as if I am poisonous. I smile as I take my chance.
I climb the piles of stuff, pulling and tugging at and stepping on whatever I can on my quest to get away from those horrific insects. And I start gaining ground. But then I hear the wicked buzzing behind me again and I turn around and see that they are back on my trail. I start climbing faster. But I trip on a sharp piece of metal twisting out from the mountains of stuff. And I quickly catch myself but the insects are back on me.
This time I find myself with a throbbing headache and hot, feverish skin. The room around me is boiling hot. But it doesn't matter. I have to keep on working through this. No matter what I have to keep on working.
Tired and overheated.
I shovel coal into a fireplace. In this thick muggy humid air I can't even sweat as my exertion heats my body even more. Over the fire is a vat of hot glowing molten metal being purified.
I keep working and working at this deeply repetitive task as the huge fire burns and grows hotter and hotter. My throat burns with thirst but I know there is no time to get cool water and no time to go to the bathroom afterwards. So I feel the burn and I try my best to ignore it, though I fail.
I push my body farther and farther, faster and faster. Until I feel that I must be on the absolute brink of what I can bear. But still I keep going because there is no time to stop. Even if my mind and my body ache to.
I make sure not to get in the way of the other two people busily processing the gold in the vat. They have the more dangerous job. They have to stand over the vat making sure the fire doesn't burn their legs. They have to handle the hot molten metal and remove impurities. I wish I could help them. But I cannot. I don't have any power. I cannot even speak to them because we must all focus wholly and entirely on the tasks that we have in front of us.
Sweat drips down my brow and threatens to get into my eyes. I do not even have time to wipe hair away from my face.
Suddenly the world around me swims and I fall over. I can't tell if it's because of the heat or because I am about to be transported again. But when I finally open my eyes I see myself in front of a polished mirror. A pristine towerman ties a chain of fine lightly shimmering gold around his neck as he stands in front of it. It goes well with his golden, curling hair.
His room is cool. Well-ventilated. He has water whenever he wants and he doesn't even have to go get it himself. His slaves can go get it for him.
He slips on a ring with a light green jade stone at its centre. A ring made of bright glowing gold.
He gets to work all day at a plush desk in a cool room with slaves to fan him if he ever feels the slightest bit hot.
He slips on tiny studs of earrings.
I simply cannot take it anymore.
Anger burns and glows inside me hotter than any forge or fire.
I take one of his earrings in my hands and I yank it off. He yells in surprise and pain as blood trickles down his ear.
Suddenly I am transported back. The insects are once again retreating from me so I take this opportunity to retreat from them.
I scamper down the mounds and towards a path on the ground. I take a deep, panting breath when I finally reach it and bolt again through the narrow spaces that are left clear.
Soon the insects are on my trail again, and I can't shake them off. All at once they latch onto me and start biting with their terrible jaws, I claw at them with all my strength. But their grip on my soft flesh is too strong for me to break. I fight for consciousness but am eventually dragged under into the darkness.
This time when I awaken I am in a line of two other slaves. I have never seen them before but my body recognizes them. They feel very familiar to me. They feel very loved.
There is a teenaged girl. Her slightly tangled hair falls in black waves midway down her back and is tied by a ponytail. Her eyes are as dark as the rich, deep, smooth silt that's at the base of the river bed. Her eyes hold a slight bit of anger in them, the type of anger only slaves can identify.
There is a man in his late teens or early twenties. He has thick, curling hair piled on top of his head and eyes as dark as a raven's feathers. He has deep brown skin and a thin, long face. His eyes carry a deep, heavy grief.
In front of us a thick-bodied towerman in fine clothes strides back and forth. My body is telling me that this is my master. His clothes are fine and his expression is severe. He glares down at us in contempt as all towerpeople do to all slaves. My body is telling me to fear him. But still I look at him with a bit of defiance raging in my eyes. Defiance that is so well-hidden that he will never be able to see it and punish me for it.
"For the next week all of your food rations will be halved," he barks out at us. What the fuck? I shiver. What did we do to warrant this type of cruel punishment? That's going to be hell.
"Do not worry," he continues, his voice harsh and grating, "you are not being punished for anything you have done. The only reason your rations are being halved is because we simply do not have the money to pay for them this next week. We have to pay for this new painting that we have commissioned and therefore our budget is tight."
What the fuck? We're going hungry so they can pay for a goddamn painting. The towerpeople never fail to find new ways to show that they are knaves and bastards. I make sure to not let my hatred be shown on my face.
"And if anyone does complain about this," he continues, "they will have their rations halved for the next week as well." I can't believe this.
"Yes master," we all reply in a messy unison.
When he finally leaves I turn to the two other slaves.
"What are we going to do, Innona?" the teenaged girl asks.
"We will have to bear it. And we will have to make it through to the other side. It will be okay. It can't be worse than what they're already putting us through. Nothing can be." I guess I'm Innona.
"I fucking hate that bastard," the boy whispers.
"We all do," the girl replies.
"Comrades, don't worry," I whisper conspirationally, "We're going to overpower them someday, somehow."
The other slaves startle at this.
"How?" The boy asks with wide eyes.
Before I can reply I am yanked back into the Fateworld as the insects speed away from me. I curse at them but use this opportunity to make a run for it. I need to find my people.
I don't know how I will in this seemingly unending huge space.
I pass by another horde of gold nuggets and jewels. I hope that they aren't insects. But the buzzing that awakens in my ears tells me that they are. And they've smelled my blood. And they're after me.
I run fast but they fly faster and soon I'm brought to my knees doubled over in pain as I feel my very soul being ripped open.
All at once I find myself under the burning hot sun and the blue sky.
I look around. I'm dozens of feet in the air, on a rickety bamboo frame that is barely large enough to support me. It has no railings, just a narrow strip of bamboo for me to walk on. There is a cart full of bricks at my side, balanced precariously on the bamboo. And there is a box of paste within the cart, with a scraper placed inside of it.
Fear courses through me. If I fall it means sure death. I have no protection. But I have to keep working. As fast as I possibly can.
First I take the scraper and load it with paste. Then I run it over the layer of bricks already laid. Then I lift bricks from the cart and place them on top of the the paste. I have to make sure the bricks are aligned absolutely perfectly.
This is a job that takes up so much concentration. But still I have to exert concentration in making sure I don't lean or step even a little bit the wrong way. Because that would mean a fall, would mean death. My body, which is not my own body, tells me this. Just as it has told me many things throughout the hall of the strange Fate. I have to keep working through my fear as I know that if I stop working I will suffer as well.
After I'm done laying a few bricks I push the rickety cart on its uneven wheels over the uneven floor beneath me. This part makes my heart thud so hard in my chest. If I drop the cart the bricks might fall on a worker down below. And I will definitely be punished. I follow behind the cart, putting one almost-shaking foot in front of the other. And I bend down to continue working, my breath coming heavy.
The sun is hot and the weather is humid. It makes my head hurt and it makes me almost feel dizzy. But still I force myself to be steady. I am the only one looking out for my safety.
This goes on for hours and hours as the sun only gets hotter and the humidity makes it hard for me to sweat.
Suddenly my dizziness becomes too much. Fear screams through every part of my being. But before I can start falling, everything shifts and changes around me.
I find myself on a high veranda of a towering building. Towerpeople holding drinks in their hands talk and mingle at the edges. There is a wide railing made of fine light pink rock. And there is a cool breeze flowing through the evening air. The verandah overlooks a garden full of trees that has a wide lake at its base.
I look over the railing and see the dizzying height that we're at. But the towerpeople don't care. They mingle carelessly with a railing to protect them.
I can tell this is the building that I choked on my fear in order to build. Seeing its grandeur fills my heart with hatred and revulsion. And also with love. I can tell at this point that I'm living the lives of the many working slaves as they do their jobs throughout the lands. I know that one worker had to face such fear and danger day in and day out to build this. And the love I have for them transforms into hate towards these people that are enjoying the sweat off of that worker's back without a single thought in the world.
A young towerman leans over the railing of the verandah, trying to see something on the ground. I know that no-one can see me. I take this chance to grab his clothes and push him over.
Just as he starts to scream I am transported back to the Fateworld. The insects are off me now so I take off running. I try to make my winding way towards a wall, which might be a good decision or it might be a terrible decision. Because it might help me find Lilith or Anderei or Katapa. Or it might back me into a corner at the mercy of the insects.
These insects are more persistent than the other ones. Me committing murder isn't enough to get them permanently off of my trail. They are once again gaining ground behind me. Hearing their intolerable buzzing sends so much fear coursing through me that I trip upon a piece of polished, expensive wood and come tumbling to the floor.
Their bites carry so much pain that it paralyzes me. I cannot even scream as I am dug into and my blood comes seeping out, bright red.
I find myself once again on a rickety scaffolding much like the scaffolding from behofe. I gulp down my fear and decide not to look down. But it's no help. I already know how high I am in the air.
There is a bucket of water in front of me. Thank someone that it is a bucket of cold water. There is also a brush and a piece of cloth in my hands. I'm meant to be cleaning the statue. So, under the hot mid-afternoon sun, I do.
There are so many corners and dips and ridges and lines and crevices that I have to work my way into. There is dust and dirt and bird droppings. I have no protective equipment. And I am again the only one that is looking out for my safety. I have to do a lot more stooping, and bending, and walking. Each bit of motion sends fear coursing through me.
I can tell that the person whose body I'm in witnessed someone dying on such a scaffolding. My body carries the grief and dread.
After what seems like hours I'm finally done this section. But that means I have to climb down the thin bamboo ladder that has many broken steps and descends down.
I am not surprised at all though that when I step down, I find myself on the ground on a totally different day. The statue stretches up tall and shines pristine before me. There are children in the park eating sweets. Towerchildren wothout a care in the world. The sun is setting. And I push down all my anger and my hurt and my indignation and I take a moment to take in the sunrise as it burns across the sky.
When I look back towards the statue the park is empty and there are no people left in the cool twilight. There is however a small dog. It walks up to the statue and starts peeing on it. I laugh in mirth.
And that is enough to send the insects buzzing away from me. I thank something for this small reprieve and continue ducking and jumping and twisting and running, making my way towards a wall.
This time when they catch me again I am more prepared. I know what to do to ward them off. They expect me to shut up and work and they expect me to be quiet and suffer. They do not expect my defiance. But it's exactly my defiance that I will give them.
I look around to gage my surroundings. I am in the dim lighting of a black mine. It's hot and cloying and suffocating and the air is stale. In my hand is a pick and a hammer. And in my mind is the constant pressing anxiety that I have to work.
And so I strain my mind and my body past their limits, hitting the rock again and again and again in the aching, repetitive motion. My joints hurt and my mind is fatigued. But it doesn't matter. No-one cares. I am only here to work and work I will until I can't anymore and I'm left to die.
Every time I find a piece of a colourful shining gem I toss it into the cart and over and over I empty the ground as the cart fills. There are five more of us all working together on this section. Three women, one man, and one who is not either, or maybe both. We do not talk to each other. We do not have time to talk at all. But only to work like silent, mute ghosts.
My eyes go wide as around me the walls and ceiling of this hole in the earth quiver. Shit. There is going to be a cave in. I can tell that my body fears this a very great deal. I can tell that my body - the body of whoever's life I'm living right now - needs to get everyone to safety.
"Come on guys," I say, looking up at the equally startled workers, "we need to get out of here right now."
"But the cart?" One wide-eyed girl asks me.
"The cart is too heavy we have to get out now."
"Workers!" A booming voice echoes through the caverns, from a body I can't see. Probably an overseer yelling from outside the mine shaft. "Bring your carts of gems up to the surface! Anyone failing to bring their cart will be executed!"
"Well, fuck," the man beside me says.
And so we slowly push the cart up the shaft of the mine and we shudder as there are more and more quivers in the rock.
We are about halfway there when a loud, terrifying crack sounds above us. I don't even have time to think as the rocks crash above me. My bones crack and snap, the breath is knocked from my lungs, and everything inside me hurts consumingly.
Suddenly I am standing in soft, bright light. In front of me is a glass case holding shining, glittering gems embedded into jewelry. So this is what all those people died for. I break the glass and I steal as many rings as I can, secreting them inside my clothes.
And as I suspected, that was what it takes to get me back to the Fateworld.
My whole body is sore and stinging from all the times I've been bitten by insects. It's all I can do to keep myself running through the pain. This has to be the worst place we have been to yet.
"Nan!" I swerve my head to the side at the sound of Lilith's voice. Thank the universe I found her! She is running toward the place where our paths merge. We have to make sure we stay together from now on.
But she brings with her her own host of trailing insects and now there's two times the buzzing behind us.
At least this time when the insects latch onto our skin we are transported somewhere together. I smile at Lilith. She smiles back. This place doesn't seem to be too terrible.
It is cool, with light blue walls and large windows. There are rows and rows of clothing racks spread out before us.
"Hey! Hey girl! Focus or I'll tell your manager!" I look over towards the source of the voice and see two well-dressed towerwomen looking at me with hatred in their eyes. I hate them back. But I don't want to die.
"Sorry, mistress," I answer. Lilith looks at me, darkness flickering in her eyes for a second.
"Show us your selection of dresses in our size!" The one dressed in softly shining deep purple barks.
"Yes ma'am," Lilith replies meekly.
I go over to get the tape measure in order to take her measurements. Then I silently kneel in front of them. I work quietly, the two woman talking above me as if I'm not even there. I make sure to keep my head down as I mark down the numbers on a pad of paper. My body knows what these numbers are, even though my mind doesn't.
Lilith and I walk down the rows of clothes folded neatly and get at loads of fabrics of all colours. They're fancy fabrics. Georgette and taffeta and satin and whatnot. Not cotton. We make sure to keep our heads down as we present them to the towerpeople.
"Here's our selection, mistresses." Lilith's using her repressed voice. I hate the way it sounds on her.
"So show them to us!" one exclaims, exasperated. She is wearing a light peach translucent layered dress. It's very summery. I nod towards her.
We hold up dress after dress in submissive silence as they discus the merits and faults of each one. They act like we don't exist. But it doesn't matter. We have to keep standing here. We have to keep serving them.
They end up picking four dresses each. They hand us more cash than I've ever held in my lifetime. But instead of sneaking it into my pockets I dutifully put it away locked in the safe. I don't want to risk the wrath of whoever my masters are.
When they have finally left, Lilith and I remain standing in the store, chewing at the bad taste left in our mouths and digesting the heaviness left in our guts.
The walls start swirling and shifting around us and the next thing we know is that we are at a small gathering, towerpeople sitting and chatting and laughing while dressed in fine clothes. I tell Lilith of my plan to take their unattended wine glasses and dump them on their clothes. Her eyes light up like sparks coming to life and she smirks approvingly,
And so we get our petty revenge and ward off the bugs feeding from us, at least for a little bit.
We keep running. It feels less tiring now that I'm running with her. We look for our lovers, hearts thudding in our chests.
The bugs buzz and roar in a maddening cacophony and Lilith is there to dampen the fear. I hope I can find Kata and Anderei.
Eventually we run into Katapa and Anderei. But we all have to stumble to a stop so we don't run into each other. The bugs use that opportunity to slam into us, their frenzied bites digging into our flesh.
The sun is hot above us. It pulls sweat from our brows and our backs. Thirst distills in me like the dry winds of a desert.
We're standing in a bright field of orange flowers. We're pulling the delicate petals from them and placing them in baskets full of petals. Again and again and again and again. One flower then the next then the next then the next. It's achingly repetitive like everything else is yet it requires so much concentration. But what else is new?
I make sure to not let any of the petals get crushed underneath my fingers. As harsh as everything is around us, we have to be delicate. We cannot be harsh to the towerpeople's flowers any more than we can be harsh to them.
Around us waves of mosquitos rise from the ground. They fall upon us like raindrops. They sting and bite and bleed us dry. It's maddening. But we have to ignore it and keep working anyways. They easily pierce through the thin cotton clothing we have on and dry us out at a steady rate, just as the sun above us does.
There is no water. The masters don't want us to go to the bathroom too often instead of spending all our time working. They don't want us to spend even a second not working. We have to keep going through everything.
We have to bend down low in order to reach the flowers. The seconds bleed into minutes bleed into hours and our backs ache from bending over for so long. But we power past the hurt anyways. There is no time to process the pain, only to feel it. It's a dull, constant, grating ache.
The screaming ache in my mind is also grating.
The sun continues to beat down upon us and the work continues on. It arches through the sky but I can barely notice. I do notice in fleeting moments however that the large wicker baskets we are pulling along are becoming full. Hopefully this is a sign that the work will be over soon.
I suddenly feel feint. I look towards my comrades, before passing out.
When I come to I am standing in what looks to be some kind of studio. I look around for my friends, and let out a sigh of relief when I see them pushing themselves up off the floor like me. We look at each other and swiftly group together.
"I believe we're in the second phase now." Katapa looks around as she says this.
"Yeah," Lilith echoes.
There are little vials of different colours all over the wooden shelves, and white boards of canvass in a row on one shelf. There are wooden frames and long-legged stools scattered all over. The light bleeds in from the large windows taking up almost half of one wall. But there is a punkah on the ceiling and the floors are made of limestone.
"Okay. Where is this?" Anderei's voice is soft.
"I don't know," Lilith answers.
Just then the door slides open and a man with light curly hair comes in, trailed by a dark-eyed girl holding a tray of lemonade and pastries. The towerman sits on a stool and the girl puts the tray beside it on a desk. She puts a white canvas on the wooden frame and leaves. The man gets many coloured vials and a little brush. He paints on the board, with warm hues of orange. So this is how paintings are made.
"So are we going to do something to him?" Kata asks.
"Oh course," Lilith replies.
"But what?" I ask.
"Let's figure it out together." Anderei's eyes have the softest hint of sparkle in them.
"We could spill the paint," Katapa suggests mirthfully.
"We could break the vials, even," Lilith's face is alight with mischief.
"We could. We could pour the paint everywhere." I smile lightly. My grief is still there. Still just as strong as it ever was. But here with my friends, committing acts of mischief, there's brightness in here too.
"What if we spill the paint onto the canvass?" Anderei suggests. And it's the perfect plan. We each get a vial of paint and take position around the painter.
Lilith counts down. "Three. Two. One!"
He cries in alarm as the colours spill out onto the work he was doing so lovingly. If we were younger and less war torn we would laugh. But we aren't. So we don't.
We find ourselves back in the horde of stuff. We run together this time. One after the other. Winding our way through the narrow makeshift pathways in the clutter. We don't know what we're looking for but we're looking for something.
The insects are on us again and this time we expect them. We know how to fight them off. But we also know that we're getting weaker and weaker. We don't know how we'll get out of this. How we'll find strength.
I breathe sharply as I feel them stinging into my flesh.
This time I find myself at the base of a great forest, with Kata and Anderei and Lilith and countless other people who I don't know. My joints are aching and my back is sweating under the bright hot sun, in the muggy weather. I have a heavy metal axe in my hand, which I swing again and again and again into the thick bark of the towering tree in front of me.
It's such a beautiful tree. So majestic and so breathtaking. It must have taken hundreds, maybe even thousands of years to grow. But here I am cutting it down. Not that I have a choice. The towerpeople determine whether we have food to eat or a roof to sleep under. They control every aspect of our lives. If they want us to cut down the forest we will. We have to.
My head throbs as I push myself forwards and forwards and forwards and forwards. I have to keep alert for any falling trees. I have to run to get out of the way to make sure I'm not crushed under them. This body of mine knows people who were crushed under the heavy trunks. It knows the painful, gory deaths that they died.
I mourn the forest deep in my soul. I remember the stories of how a long time ago our people used to be wild people, living in forests like this.
Time goes on and on and my head swims and my weariness grows and eventually the tree above me sways down.
"Run!" I yell. And people scatter every which way. Fear grips my heart tight as I continue running away from the falling tree. After it hits the ground in a great and terrible crash, I move with some other slaves to bring the tree to the cart. We strain against its heaviness, muscles screaming.
And then it's time to fell another ancient being older than any of us.
After a while I find myself in what looks to be a furniture store. All the dark wooden surfaces of the many great pieces are polished until they glow. I turn to Katapa and Lilith and Anderei, who are around me.
Lilith's eyes are dark and burning with disdain. Anderei's are solem and hateful. Katapa's are wide and mournful.
"They cut down a forest to make these lifeless creatures," she says to us.
"Do you remember how many of our people would live in the greenwood before Prince Audra came with his accursed war?" My voice is hollow.
"Wait a minute," Lilith digs around inside her clothes until she finds a small paper box. She gets out a single little wooden match from it. "I was saving these for a moment when we would need them. This seems as good a time as any."
We smile darkly, all of us. We couldn't save the trees but we can save them from the desolation of being possessions of the towerpeople just as we are. We can save them from our fate.
Lilith strikes the match and sets it gently down on the surface of a great, carved coffee table. We stand as we watch the store slowly become engulfed in flames, leaving trails of life-giving ash in their wake.
This time the insects whiz away from us as if pushed by a great wind. I find it amazing, what we just did. But I cannot say this to my people. We don't have time to talk as again we take off running.
We run and we run and we run and we run. Past mountains and mountains of the finest things. Our lungs burn, our feet hurt, our legs are sore and our minds are terrified. Our throats fight to force breath down. I hope all this running ends soon.
I should've been careful what I wished for. The insects slam into us again and send us tumbling down in agony. It hurts so much. So, so much.
I find myself standing in front of a large machine made of metal. A printing press, my mind tells me. Anderei is with me but Lilith and Katapa are nowhere to be seen. But we cannot worry about them, though we definitely do. We have to work.
Anderei moves sheet after sheet after sheet to the paper section. He moves like a robot. Faster than humanly possible. Again and again and again and again. I feel bad for him. But we don't even have time to exchange words of sorrow. To speak. I pull down the lever with all my might and the pages get painted with a fresh layer of ink. I don't know what they say. I don't know how to read. But it doesn't concern me as I move my fingers through the metal rods of the machine, removing the papers. I have to force my mind to go faster, faster, faster. I have to make sure that none of the wet pages get smudged against my fingers or the machine as I hang them up to dry.
And then we begin again. And again and again and again. Moving like machines devoid of human emotion. And yet human emotion still burns and tears within us.
My body doesn't get so weary but my mind it definitely does. And it feels scraped raw into millions of tiny fragments. But I don't have time to rest or to even acknowledge my pain. I have to keep going on and on and on. Anderei and I working in perfect tandem.
Suddenly I find myself becoming engulfed by blackness and when the world is light again I am in the middle of a great library. The first thing I do is look for my people. Thankfully we are all here. The shelves are tall and they stretch out on either side of us.
"Where were you guys?" Katapa asks us.
"In a printing press factory," Anderei replies.
"We were too," Kata says, "we must've been in different ones."
"Do you want to burn it all down again?" Lilith asks us.
"I think we should save the matches for a bigger emergency," I caution.
"We could just rip out the pages," Katapa suggests.
"That sounds good," Lilith agrees.
"Should we do one page from each book?" I ask.
"We should do the last page of each book," Anderei suggests. And oh isn't that the perfect idea.
And so we find ourselves wrecking destruction in the library. It is a glorious sensation. To let out all of our rage and sorrow and hopelessness into mischief and destruction.
But like all good things it comes to an end. The flies back away from us, leaving us bleeding amongst piles of various objects. And before even taking a moment to recover from the pain we have to get up and start running.
We keep running until we come upon a mountain of stuff much larger than the mountains around us. It stretches up and up and up. Something inside me pulls me to follow it. And so I do. Katapa runs after me and Lilith and Anderei soon follow. The insects are trailing behind us the whole time.
At the top we find, placed haphazardly on the clutter, the most ostentatious throne I've ever seen. It's shining gold and silver and bronze with so many jewels studded into it. From all sides it's intricately carved, the carvings extending out in dancing patterns and shapes. On the throne, in lush red velvet, sits a lady with layers and layers and layers of silk dresses and so much jewelry that she looks horrifically ugly. Her eyes are harsh and her nose points up. A Fate.
We still at the sight of her. The insects still as well. She looks contemptuously at our bleeding, weary bodies. She opens her mouth. And she speaks.
"Who are you, to be shrugging off my bees time and time again?"
"We are the People of the Earth," Katapa speaks out, shoulders back.
"You are mere slaves. You were bought with a price and with your flesh and your blood and your essence we will gather untold riches."
"We are not tools for you to make material wealth out of," I say, following Katapa's lead.
"You are nothing more than machines. Nothing more than sources of beautiful, cherished things. You live to give to us and make for us and we live to bask in our wealth and our glory." Her voice rings out. Hard. Contemptuous. Commanding. Declarative. But we don't back down.
"Fuck you," Lilith spits out, eyes full of raging hatred. And the hatred extends out from her and fans the flames of hatred within me too.
"We are meant to love and be loved," Anderei declares firmly and wholeheartedly, "not to give the towerpeople or anyone else more riches than they could ever need."
"You speak so strongly against me now. But what will you say when my bees begin feasting on you?"
"We've fought off the bees time and time again," I reply, "and we can fight them off more."
"With the strength of solidarity anything is possible. And we are the only ones who have that strength," Katapa shouts out in front of me.
"You have fought off my bees, no?" She snarls.
"Yes!" Lilith speaks. I don't know where we are finding such courage from. But we are. And we are sharing our courage with each other so that it multiplies and amplifies."
"We'll see how long you can fight them off," she replies. She turns to the little gold insects, which had been hovering in mid air up until now.
"My bees!" She yells, "you fools! You had been feasting on the flesh and blood of these dirtpeople slaves! But you should have been feasting upon their souls instead! Feast! Feast! But feast upon the very essence of their spirits. And turn them into fine riches divine!"
My eyes go wide with shock as the insects once again fall upon us. But this time they dig so much deeper. They hurt so much more.
This corroding, corrupting agony that shoots through me I feel down in my very soul. In my very core. It's horrific. It's excruciating. It's unendurable. I scream and scream until my throat feels like it's bleeding. Until I cannot scream anymore. All around me my family does the same.
I look at the insects. They are excreting out droplets of gold and jewels that fall upon the mountain. I feel myself fading, fading, fading as more gold and jewels pile and pile upon the mountain. I feel myself dying.
I don't feel myself dying. I feel my soul dying. My very essence. The thing which I am which is deeper than my body. The insects burrow farther and farther in. And so I think for sure, this is the end. Not just of my life, but of my existence.
All that will be left of me is a pile of riches.
I am in agony. But not just for myself. For my friends and lover who are all going through the same pain. They don't deserve any of it. Their souls are beautiful, and kind, and life-giving and natural. They don't deserve to be reduced to a pile of riches. I hurt for them more than I hurt for myself.
I would hurt for our children, who will become orphans. But they are already orphans anyways. They have already lost us anyways. I already unendingly, inescapably hurt for them anyways.
We were dead a long time ago. We will be nonexistent now.
I look around. And everyone is in agony. But Anderei's eyes shine with hatred and love and cleverness. He had a plan.
Suddenly I don't feel pain anymore. I feel refreshed. I feel protected. I feel, not at peace, but the closest I have felt to peace in a long time. The bees keep digging into me. But they don't reach my soul. They can't find it.
I lie sprawled on the pile of wealth I had been writhing on. I look around. And Katapa and Lilith do the same.
In Anderei's hands is a small ball of blackness. Blacker than anything I have ever seen before. But natural and beautiful all the same. It reminds me of the still calmness of the night. It reminds me of the little ball of light Katapa wielded against the first Fate.
"You cannot get to our souls," Anderei speaks, voice soft, "because our souls are at the bottom of this deep well," he holds the darkness in his hands just a little bit up.
The bees pause for a second. And then they all go diving into the blackness. All the bees everywhere in the whole palace do this. Swarms and swarms disappearing into the tiny ball of darkness held in Anderei's hands. But they do not get to our souls. They do not reach them. We wait and we wait for the pain to start again but it doesn't.
"What sort of trickery is this!" The Fate demands, snarling at us.
"Our souls are far too deep for the bees to reach," Anderei replies, "they never will."
"We'll see about that! Bees! Faster! Come upon them!" She yells into the blackness.
We take this chance to run from her. We run and we run and this time there are no pesky insects chasing after us. We make our way towards a wall, together, hidden from the Fate by the towers of objects.
Once we reach a wall we all hold a hand up to it. We think of each other, of our children, of all the slave children who are, in fact, ours, and we think of the families we've left behind and the families we've found.
Slowly the wall wrends apart, forming a small hole that we all slip ourselves through. Outside the sky is a light gray and the grass is a fake green but here at least we can breathe. Away from the Fates and all their cruelty, though not far away.
We take to walking forwards. Always, always we must keep moving forwards through this.
"I know what you did," Lilith says, voice mischievously soaring.
"What did I do?" Anderei asks equally mischievously.
"The bees can only live in the material world. The material reality. Our souls are in the intangible realm, where the bees can never find them. You opened up a portal to the intangible realm, where our souls truly are. But the bees cannot go there, as it's far too deep for them. Every time they go farther the intangible realm gets even deeper. And our souls get even deeper. Obscured from them forever."
"How did they get to our souls before, then?" I ask.
"Because we thought our souls were in the material realm, the same as all these other material things," Katapa replies. "Because we thought this, it set up a link between our souls and the material realm that the bees were able to get through. When Anderei realized that our souls were in the intangible realm he broke that link. Now the only way the bees have of accessing us is though the portal. Which they can't reach."
"Great job, team," I congratulate.
We walk towards the horizon.
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