[THE DAY MY DREAM DIED]

61 - Silence Resonates Soundly

— 61 —

Silence Resonates Soundly

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The land levels out again as they near The Dwelling, the terrain turning to rusty blue slate which splinters and sheds red dust. Spires protrude from the land at irregular angles, looking like the loose feathers of a raptor in its evening molt. She catches glimpses of the low city between the stone spires—the distant glimmers of life which flit in and out of sight granting her a moment's gratitude.

Lise considers waking, reluctant to bear the full weight of pain again lest she lose herself in the sweep of its silent and unrelenting scream. No, not yet. She stands from the cart and runs ahead of them. Scaling a spire—tireless, breathing freely—she gazes upon the city she spent near two years studying. It is uncanny, seeing it now. Not even three quadrants ago she was here and still it appears strange.

The Lise who arrived here two days past was the Lise who witnessed but one death. It was the Lise who had come to resent her mother and saw her father pitiful. The Lise who needed escape. The Lise who foolishly dreamt of mastering the undermind. The Lise who is reflected back painfully puerile.

As she looks down to the twin cities spreading out from The Dwelling on either side, all low buildings of orange and mustard clay and unpaved streets, she sees something which sets her bells tolling. Before the dome's broad, arching portal, dwellers congregate. They are gathered in a semi-circle, nine of them, maintaining a barricade which seals the main entrance to The Dwelling. As she watches, a new shift comes and takes the places of the three on the left. What are they doing?

Lise is distracted from them when the cart passes below her, appearing more to drift than roll across the terrain—its wheels only begin to turn when Lise observes they should be. She leaps from the spire, willing a lesser spire to meet her halfway down. And instead of leaping off again she visualizes the spire retracting into the land, and manifests it. She steadies herself, the halt of the ground hitting her heels more abrupt than she expected, and runs to catch up with the cart.

They are near enough now that stopping for rest would be a frustration rather than relief, but Lise decides she needs to ask ahead of them. She approaches Pelanea, whose form has already developed further since she last looked at her—the pale shapes comprising her form shrunken, allowing finer delineation of her features. Fingers, toes, and the first impressions of facial structure. She is so near dwelling now Lise might be able to induce it deliberately.

She steps up onto the cart and places a hand on Pelanea's yet hairless head, pressing her thoughts, Pelanea, it's me, Lise. I'm in the undermind right now. If you can hear me, wave. Her figure startles, glancing back at where Lise's body lay. Then, tentative, she waves. I'm going to go ahead of you and see what is happening in the city. Don't enter before my return. Do you understand? Still looking back at the cart, Pelanea nods.

Lise hops from the cart and races ahead. Fleet as she's ever felt, she runs her full stride—long legs propelling her until she reaches her top speed, and the effort falls away. Gliding, her toes touching down weightless, she crosses the distance in less time than it takes to lace her shoes. She doesn't let reality hurt her here. Not yet.

The dwellers see her coming, and two of the three whose shift just ended wave her over from where they took up chairs outside the registry. When she first came here they had to wait in line at the registry and go through inspection but now not a single person stands queued for entrance to The Dwelling.

'Good night!' She calls as she slows her approach, and they return her greeting less enthused. 'What's happening here?'

Neither man can meet her eyes and she feels their answer before it is spoken. A silent shockwave kicks them off the ground and Lise staggers, putting out her arms to steady herself.

'Fiends in The Dwelling...'

And she knows why they look the way they do. Of all the places she thought would ride out the ripples of the stone she cast, it was The Dwelling. In the same, it doesn't shock her. 'How–'

'We don't know.'

'It's not supposed to have happened.'

Lise looks toward the structure they manifest to stopper the opening, the color of a disturbed pond. 'Where are the rest? Is this all who made it out?' As she watches, what looks like a cast shadow skims past the barrier. Tracing up the inside of the sapphirine crystal panes it halts and appears to shift shape and drifts into the viscid dark deeper within.

One of the men follows her gaze, the other answers, 'Those who've made it out have taken refuge in Loh Corone. Most, anyway. A decent deal of the expatriates headed home or otherwise.'

'How long since the inception?'

'I don't know myself, but I heard the first fiends were spotted around a cycle before evacuation began, and it's been seven cycles past. What are you here for?'

Lise shakes her head. 'I'm not sure at this point. My companions and I had hoped... Well, we were seeking refuge and some otherwise. Is there anywhere we can go?'

The other is yet to turn back around, the same man answers her, 'I mean, I'm sure there's someplace in Loh Corone you can stay but I don't know of any specific. Crusty shit-hole, but you should be fine long as you don't do nothing dumb as. I think you sh–'

Still staring at the dome, the man starts tapping his friend on the arm, 'Oi yo! Look at this. You see that?'

Lise looks where he is pointing. Something approaches the arch from inside the enclosure; amorphous black spanning the entrance and thrice its height, a shade's hand presses flat on one triangular panel. A second hand joins it, spreading fingers stretching beyond human. Another hand smacks against the crystal. Another. The pane pops out of the structure and five scrawled hands slide smoothly out, six-fingered. Bending its long, many-knuckled arms the fiend pulls itself partway free. Haze obscures inky skin—billowing as though wind-blown.

Lise watches terror's seed spread and in a moment of prescience (if but a semblance) knows disaster's dawning. She runs toward it.