Not On The Cards – Scene 5
For the previous scenes: Scene 1, Scene 2, Scene 3, Scene 4
Scene 5
“When do we leave?” he asked.
“Are you in a hurry now?” but she reached out her hand, palm upwards. “Let me see if I can sense what happened to the keys first, and if we find them I’ll take you to the congruence. Deal?” It was only a small lie, in the big scheme, but she had to do it.
He put his hand over hers and clasped.
All the air left her body. If he hadn’t grabbed her, Chiri would’ve fallen. Her mouth fell open and her stomach lurched into spasms. She looked down.
A dark chasm spread from their joined energies and spread out and up and down. The five paths of the congruence were what she wanted for this purpose. She focussed her sight to one line, followed a single path as it shone with goo and slime — a warning, but it was the path that would lead her to the upper plane. This path would take her to where she’d be able to see beyond the moment and into the past — or the future. To see many paths at the same time within the movement of all times on the joined planes.
The path led to the art deco building. Or at least the sense and vision of it when it was real in this plane. The shape at the front v-section, nose-first to the congruence, rose into stark relief. She’d never seen the full shape of it before. A gorgon was engraved onto the block-work. A bloody gorgon. Not Medusa; this one had wings on her head, wings with fangs. Chiri couldn’t remember which of the other two it was, but at least it was only one and not all three guarding the Way. It did highlight the risk of the wrong path, the consequences of the wrong choice.
No wonder it was always so difficult to find her way to the access points. A guardian. Why? Against what? Or who?
She shook her head. It wasn’t time to ask these things, to learn of the Way. It wasn’t what she sought.
The keys. Where were the keys? That was the thought she kept repeating as she led them through the time-scape and dimensions of the icosahedron, up into the folds of the world of latticed knots and shapes within the ether. It wasn’t an illusion, it was real, but not on the same plane as the one her feet stood upon in the carpark.
The world around them began to soften, glow in abstracts of pastel shades. Music hummed from below, shimmered in her bones until her body trembled.
She searched the lines of energy for the sense of the thief, the feel of holding things not owned, not belonging.
Nothing. No sense of a thief. No sense of a key.
Where else to look?
Chiri held out her other hand, turned it over to show the cards. One rose from the pack, but didn’t show the face, only the silver void of the back. It rose, slowly wafting upwards as if it drew a shape.
The pattern repeated. It was real. The silhouette of a young woman, a shadow rather than a ghost. A shadow of a different timeline; was it there to speak for the cards? It opened its mouth, but no sound came out. The blurred visage made it impossible to read meaning from the movement of lips and eyes.
Chiri stepped closer as the shape filled with semi-solid colours, swirled, and oozed into other hues and sensations. It reminded her of something, someone. Was it … could it be … Saffo? She took another step, almost slid off the pathway and into the void between.
The vision faded as she heard one wisp of sound. ‘Not.’
If she could’ve stretched closer, if she could just touch her essence, Chiri was sure she’d be able to hear the message. The shape faded, the reality drained until she could see bits of the Camberwell world through the outer layers of the slow triple revolution of the icosahedron. Chiri could see through the insubstantial mists of the woman-shape.
Her head crushed against her chest with the weight of it; Chiri fell to the ground. Was it Saffo? Her eyes followed the dissipation of the sense of it; she tried to see where it led, where the woman went, if it led anywhere, if it left a hint, a clue, any indication of where to go. Anything.
The grip on her hand changed; her skin went cold.
Chiri opened her eyes. Her hand was empty of his. He’d moved away. In the centre of his outstretched palm, red and sweaty, was a shape, black and deep, tattooed in a dark outline against his blotchy dark skin.
It was a curlicue-rounded end, in shapes that matched the mathematical patterns and static representation of the Way. The long handle led to a closed cage of bars, so similar to the geo-fractal portals within the dimensions. The end-bracket was held closed by an animal shape, one with a tail. A possum? The shape as a whole … it looked like … a key.
The key? He had it all the time?
“What is that?” she stepped closer to him, fisted his shirt with her free hand, lifted until a button popped and flew off. A few pings, then silence. She waited for two breaths, then punched him in the chest. Hard.
“What?” he gasped, as she let go. “Why did you do that?”
She put one hand in the pocket of her skirt, to hold the cards, and grabbed his hand, opened it. Glared at the bare skin.
“How did you do that?” she screamed. “Bring it back. What did you do with it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his head was tilted back and the voice was pitched high.
She looked up at him, but he wasn’t watching her. His sight was focussed on the representation of a doorway. Not one of Chiri’s making. Within the door was the shadow-shape of a possum. It was attached to the arm of a young woman in silhouette, who wasn’t a ghost but wasn’t real. Her glowing blue eyes didn’t seem to see them at all, and her mouth was moving but nothing aural made it into the world of Chiri and the Key-Holder.
“Is she …?” Chiri swallowed. “Is that my daughter?”
“I don’t know. The way is blocked. What blocks it? Why can’t I get past?” He shoved at the gelatinous air in an attempt to get closer. His right hand reached towards the possum — no, its tail, which held the ring of keys. There was no key tattoo in His palm now.
Did Chiri imagine it the first time? Was she mad?
He turned back to her, glared at her hand, at the cards she held firm. Why did she take them out? Did they have an answer for her?
“You need to get rid of them!” he snarled. “Now!”
Chiri stepped back, pulled the cards close to her chest.
“They block the Way. They stop me — us — getting through.” His eyes softened from black to brown. “Give them to me, and I’ll … I’ll deal with them.”
“I can’t,” Chiri took another step backward. “They lead me, advise me, offer comfort in the search for … home.”
“Rubbish,” he stepped closer, still with his hand out. “They block you. Give you false comfort. It is a barrier to passage from this place.” His free arm swung in a wide circle, encompassing the complete structure, of which they stood only upon a tiny section of the whole. There was no sign of the car-park now. They were wholly in the pathways of the perpetually-revolving time-helixes. “Give them to me and release yourself from your reliance on false comfort, from the lies and obfuscation they impart.”
Chiri shook her head. She closed the link to the shape with a snap of her fingers. Opened her senses to the carpark markets, now empty but for a few wandering souls.
He was gone. Not even the smell remained.
She was alone. But she still had the cards.
A single tear burned down her cheek.
Copyright Cage Dunn 2018 – Due for publication March 2018 (touch wood).
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Image from Pixabay
