Stablefield

Chapter Seven, Summer 2037

Night had fallen as fast as a mousetrap, coating the forest in twilight. Atlas’s face was pale, but calm as he lay with a steady breath asleep at Mariah’s feet. Langley couldn’t sit still for long with his newly-discovered capabilities and was experimenting with his flight. He had crashed twice now and skinned up his legs and shoes both times and had come to rest on the railing at the front of the porch. His hands were rested on either side of his seat and his legs were parallel to the spindles. He was amusing himself by blowing out large breaths to make it freeze midair; the darkness had chilled the area by another ten degrees.

Atlas had begun to shiver for a few seconds before his eyes cracked open just long enough to prove he was awake, and he pulled his blanket closer to his chin.

“When did it get dark?” He asked.

“About forty-five minutes ago,” Langley answered.

Atlas let out a heavy breath and shivered fiercely. “So I was asleep for a few hours?”

“Just about,” Mariah said.

Atlas sat up and pulled the blanket close to him. He tapped the wood underneath him a few times as he thought. Then he looked up at Mariah and nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you as well. Just by sitting here, I could sense some of the history of the house,” Mariah said.

Atlas nodded knowingly. “Lot of history to traveling mansions.”

“Is this mansion how you got here, Atlas?”

“No, I came via an infinity room.”

“What’s that?”

“You can read about it. I wrote a bit about it in my first journal; that was how I first got started with traveling through and between worlds. They’re rooms that move you about. You enter them and exit back out of them but are somewhere else altogether,” Atlas said.

Langley found himself believing every word and commented, “If you had said that to me even a week ago, I would have said you’re so full of shit, you make open-air sewers look sanitary.”

“You get a chance to fly around some more? You crashed a few times, hm?” Altas said to Langley who was sitting on the railing Atlas had his back to.

“Yeah,” Langley said, “it’s harder than you think.”

“I was able to reach Eve; the Stone Compass is docking in just a couple of days. We need Myles to meet with us before then, but all he knows is that we’re meeting in Stablefield. I wasn’t able to let them know we’re in this mansion outside of the city, so they’re probably going directly into the city.”

“Can’t we stop them before they do?”

“There are too many paths leading into the city and if they’re smart, which they must be if they were able to outwit a novis, they’ll try entering at night so they aren’t spotted which would be even harder for us,” Atlas said.

“How are we supposed to find them then? Wait for them in the city?”

Atlas shook his head again. “Even if we do, they’ll be hiding, as all smart fraisers do in Stablefield. The city has enough Cavaliers to make every part of it dangerous. There is one way to communicate and call prophets from far away.”

“How?” Mariah said.

“Smoke,” Atlas said. “If we make enough smoke from a fire that we are tending, a prophet can sense it, but only if the fire was created by someone they’re familiar with. If you and Langley helped create the fire and Myles was able from wherever he is, he’ll be led right to us.”

“The mansion has a fireplace, right?” Langley said. “Could we use wood from the porch since it’s so old?”

Atlas shook his head for the third time. “We need to make the fire in Stablefield; if we make it here, it will draw unwanted attention.”

“Stablefield is dangerous,” Mariah said. “At least, from what you’ve said.”

“It is dangerous, but only if you’re stupid,” Atlas answered. “I’ve spent enough time there to be familiar and know where to avoid. We need to have a fire burning at all times. There is just as good a chance Myles will come at night. And we’ll need to burn things that make real smoke.”

“Like leaves?” Langley said. Back in Winton around the campfires in the fall Myles, Pretty, and he would throw armfuls of freshly-fallen leaves into the flames to thicken the smoke and take turns running through it. Myles always let his marshmallows burn, Pretty was indifferent, but Langley’s marshmallow-burning was strategic: Keep the ‘mallow down about three inches from the red-hot coals; that was where the heat was which would evenly soften the marshmallow. Once it was browned, the shade of an autumn leaf, he’s squash it between two grahams and a couple of Hershey’s chocolate rectangles.

“Like leaves,” Atlas agreed. “But we’ll likely have to stick with regular wood since there aren’t many leaves around in the city.”

“When do we go?” Mariah said as Atlas rose, keeping his blanket on his shoulders.

“As soon as we can since it’s dark now. We can sleep once we have a fire going in Stablefield.”

Langley and Mariah followed Atlas inside to prepare for the journey.

With Atlas leading them, the three fraisers headed to the city through the woods. Langley noticed the trees were quiet; not a single cicada made a chirp in these woods. Probably because it’s cold, Langley thought.

Their steps were softened by the ground and the dead grass, each footstep making a short hiss. Langley paid enough attention to his footsteps to become bored with them and tried nudging his body into the air. First it was just short hops, but then he started launching himself ten feet into the air and quietly catching himself before he hit the ground.

Mariah could sense what he was doing behind her without turning around, like there were eyes looking around her head. The feeling was difficult to describe and it was easier to think: Langley is jumping up and down like a helium-filled kangaroo. The darkness was now less threatening since she could sense the activity around her with relative ease.

Atlas could hear Mariah’s thoughts wandering around behind him. Her fraise had developed smoothly with the psilocybin lubricant. There was more he wanted to tell her about the power she was just now unlocking, more that could help himself even, but he refrained.

Not yet; there’s enough to enjoy right now.

“Atlas,” Mariah said, “Why can’t I hear your thoughts?”

Almost like she read my mind anyway, he thought. “Another mental trick,” he said with a wave. She didn’t pry, thinking he would just say ‘quorux’ anyway.

They heard a large branch snap behind them and the prophets turned around to see Langley with two hands around a tree branch falling from fifty feet up like a tossed ball. As he neared the ground, Mariah gasped, covering her mouth, and watched Langely’s plight arc upward in a smooth swing like a tether-ball. The end of the branch followed him as the leafy tips swished to the ground. As Langley swooped himself to the ground, the branch bent slightly and then was pulled along.

“What are you doing?” Mariah asked.

Langley was now pulling the branch along with him as he walked toward the prophets. “Dickin’ around I guess.”

“Even in the dark?”

“That’s the best time for dickery.”

Atlas said, “I see you have a stick now.”

“Like Teddy Roosevelt,” Langley agreed.

“Are you planning on bringing it to Stablefield?”

“Nah.” The Bug tossed it and wiped his hands on his pants.

Atlas continued walking and the Astronomers followed like students on a museum tour.

Atlas stopped at the edge of the stumpy, sapling-inhabited field just before Stablefield, considering it like a minefield. Then he turned to Mariah and Langley. “We have to cross this. The best way to cross is to keep your eyes down and keep moving. Cavaliers keep a watch of the main gates, but there are too many other ways inside for them to keep track entirely; in our situation, the less attention the better.

“I’ll lead us to one entrance that the Cavs don’t watch; it’s the same one I used to leave this place with mirrors.”

“Nobody found that weird?” Langley said.

“You can’t see much at night, especially if the city lights are behind you. It makes it harder to see, honestly.”

“So you left at night?”

“Yes. Are we ready to move?”

Mariah and Langley didn’t want give a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.

Atlas sighed and nodded. “Me too.” He started into the field and they followed. After about twenty feet, it just seemed like a regular walk, though hurried. The city slowly rose before them like a boat rolling closer to the dock and the landlubbers not realizing how big it was until it was close enough to touch. The wooden city, with several of its buildings haphazardly cobbled together, appeared to have supporting legs sticking out the sides like a spider. Some of the crude wooden buildings had lights in the windows.

Atlas led them along the side of the city for a few dozen feet before he put his arm into an alley the breadth of a closet doorway between and vanished into its shadow. Mariah and Langley hurried to the entrance of the alley and looked inside. There was the back of Atlas’s green jacket, making its way through. The hesitant fraisers looked at each other and Langley gestured for her to go first.

Mariah accepted and the three made their way through. There was light at the end and once they stepped through, it was like stepping into a set from Mary Poppins. There were streetlamps with real flames burning. The street and foundation of most of the buildings was sloppy cobblestone and the rest of the buildings that rose above them were made of wood. Most of the buildings rose to three levels; Mariah and Langley couldn’t stop looking up and studying the woodwork which made the whole street narrow and dark. There were people walking by, giving quick glances to Mariah and Langley who were staring at the passersby. Many of the street-walkers were wearing skirts, jeans, jackets, and boots. Some wore gloves and hats.

People, Langley thought, Real people that I don’t know. The whole city was as close to something normal that he’d seen or considered in days. I thought this whole place would be weirder. I thought we’d never see a pair of jeans again.

Mariah asked, “Atlas, wouldn’t this part of the city be dark even in the daytime?”

“Yes, most of the city is like this. Some of the buildings that are used more have adapted, such as the buildings near the docks and in the center of the city.”

“How big is Stablefield?” Langley asked.

“Three or four miles across and we are on the edge of the city, about a mile from the Ledge.”

Atlas pressed on in the same slightly hurried run along the street.

Langley and Mariah followed, looking around both at their new surroundings and searching for whatever they were running from.

“Why are we going to fast?” Langley said.

“Safer to keep moving and not be in one place for too long.”

“And where are we going? I thought you said we were going to the third level of the city?”

“We are, but we need a staircase to get up there. That’s where we’re going.”

They passed dozens of establishments, some with signs, others darkened, some burned down or partially burned, some boarded up, and others alive with activity and noise. Mariah and Langley felt too exposed and Atlas sensed it. They reached a building which appeared to be crushed by the two above it and instead of entering it, Atlas led them into the alley beside it.

In the alley there was a hunched figure heaving and letting his stomach empty against the wall. First it made a gluuuugghhhghgh as it flew from his mouth and then a spapppshhhh as it cascaded down the stone wall, making it an even darker color in the darkness.

“Jeez,” Langley said as they passed him. The man had a hand on the wall and was burping short bursts before unloading another set of partially-digested whatever.

Mariah had pinched her nose and hurried by, following Atlas to a staircase built into the side of the building and walked up with a tep to each step. Langley’s own walking caused a new tep pattern and Mariah’s tepping pattern was the last to start. They tepped two-dozen times each and arrived on a walkway. Now the steps were quieter, but the Astronomers could tell they were still walking on wood.

“Is everything in this city made of wood?” Langley said.

“It’s easier if it is,” Atlas said. “Minders have less control for one. And it’s light and easy to repair.”

“My next questions is: Is it safe?”

“It’ll hold you easily.”

The playful words, ‘fuck you’, danced on the tip of Langley’s tongue.

“Heard that,” Atlas said, though Langley never spoke.

“Me too!” Mariah said, more pleased with herself than reprimanding.

“Fuck you both, politely,” Langley smiled.

They continued along the wooden path, the Astronomers letting their heads hang over the sides as they walked. On occasion there would be a supporting beam that they would have to rear their heads back so they wouldn’t bump into it as they passed, but the activity below allured them.

The adults were loud; the kids were quiet and scarce. Whenever Langley or Mariah were lucky enough to spot someone remotely their age, the kid was always on the move. The people were hanging out, sometimes on the walkways, on their own porches, and sometimes at storefronts. The night was too early for bedtime and some people seemed like they had just woken up.

“Stay close for me,” Atlas said, his eyes straight ahead.

Langley and Mariah looked past him as they caught up and saw two men, one sitting and one leaning against the wall with a strange-looking spear in his hand. Both had polished helmets, but only the standing one was wearing his.

Cavs, Atlas let the word stand out on the front of his mind enough for Mariah to catch it. She followed even closer and kept her eyes on them. The seated man had his elbows on his knees, the left hand hanging limp and his face resting in the other; he paid no attention to Atlas, Mariah, or Langley.

The standing Cav stayed leaning against his wall, lightly twisted his spear enough that the feather on the end fluttered, and let his eyes magnetize to the three passersby. He said nothing, though they came within a few feet of him.

Mariah could hear the standing cav’s thoughts: Mmmh.. Was the only word, the rest of it was a jumbled, echoing feeling that she couldn’t grasp.

Once they had tromped along the wooden walkway and were out of earshot, Mariah asked: “Why couldn’t I hear him?”

“Because he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular; he was eying you favorably.”

“Because we’re fraisers?” Mariah said.

“Because you’re a girl and you have features a boy doesn’t.”

“He was thinking about my prophesying? He could hear me?” Mariah said.

“He was a fucking pedophile.” Langley handed her the answer.

“More than likely,” Atlas agreed.

They continued walking until they reached no building in particular and walked into it. The inside was dark and the ceiling was low; it was the kind of room that made you want to whisper and tiptoe. The Astronomers stayed close to Atlas as he led them through the building and around a large hole in the floor to another staircase that led up to a different building altogether.

“What the fuck is this layout?” Langley said. “All of the buildings are just smashed together like… like they’re fucking.”

“Ugh,” Mariah said.

Atlas was smiling and Mariah could hear the laughter he was suppressing. You can hear me right now? Atlas thought loudly.

Mariah brought the word yeah to the front of her mind.

Good, Atlas thought back as he started climbing the staircase. Might need to use it at some point.

Once they had woven through this small part of the building, Atlas stopped an turned around, looking at Mariah. “Where’s the nearest fireplace? Put that prophesying to use,” he said.

Mariah stared back at him for a second and then lowered her gaze to nothing in particular as she focused, thinking. How?

Atlas’s thoughts spoke softly from him like they were some of her own thoughts: Start with the thread of what you want. You need to make a fire and you want to make it in a fireplace. What feelings are attached to a fireplace? And what is associated with a fireplace?

Mariah dove down that hole. Her family had a fireplace; every Christmas her dad would make a roaring fire to keep them warm since every Christmas, white or not, was still horribly cold. That fire took away any kind of chill for two city blocks. But sometimes there would be a small fire made at night after dinner and she and Robert….

Robert.

Atlas had heard the whispers of her mind and put a careful hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I’m never going to see him again,” she said and burst into tears.

Langley swallowed. He had no idea who she was talking about, but he now knew what it was like to know you would never see someone again. He thought back to his own mother and father and their horrific death in his kitchen. The Bug put a hand on Mariah’s free shoulder and she rolled into his chest and he gave her a big hug. He knew how to give a good hug from his mother: don’t let the arms touch on the receiver’s back and rock them gently, rubbing their back with the arm that was on top. And if it was someone you liked, you put your hand on the back of their head. Langley’s own hands stayed on Mariah’s back. He gave her one rub and felt her bra and decided to keep his hands still, focusing on the rocking. “You’re okay, you’re okay. I know how you feel.”

Mariah didn’t hear a word over her sobs, but eventually she eased out of the emotion and wiped her eyes. “Fireplace,” the Clairvoyant said and got back to thinking. Atlas stood by, waiting, until she wrinkled her brow, sniffed some remaining snot back, wiped her face once more and pointed to the other side of the dark room. “It’s right here.”

Atlas looked to where she was pointing and nodded. “Nice job.”

“There’s a fireplace somewhere back there?” Langley said.

“Yeah,” Mariah said, walking alongside Atlas as they approached the darkness. Atlas removed a something from his pack and switched it on. The flashlight showed a corpse of a fireplace with charred insides, charcoal and half-burned planks sitting halfway inside the stony mortar mess. It was made of rocks, but they protruded far enough to climb up them.

“Sheesh, this is something out of a horror movie,” Langley said.

“You’re quite safe,” Atlas said and handed him the flashlight. “Please hold this? And shine it into the fireplace while I start the fire?”

Atlas slowly gathered a few pieces of wood and pulled another something from his backpack. It was something he squeezed and caused sparks to fly off.

“What the hell is that?”

Mariah was now squatting, watching, but saying nothing.

“You like it?” Atlas said clicked it a few more times. “I stole it from a chemistry lab in a college and modified it so the sparks would fly off of it. Makes starting a fire much easier and isn’t too dangerous to carry.”

“Brilliant.”

In a few moments that old wood eased a new life made of fire into existence. Langley turned off the flashlight as the flames strobed the room in that hot light.

Atlas, Mariah, and Langley watched the flames grow for a few minutes until Atlas said: “Now we wait and hope for the best.”

“What about dreamscoping again?”

“Not as effective now, since the Stone Compass is supposed to dock tomorrow. We have to be ready and in the city so we can intercept the ones who are holding Coh.”

“Why is this fraiser so important?”

“Have you met a minder yet?” Atlas said.

Both Astronomers shook their heads.

“Well, they’re telekinetically gifted. They can move rocks with their minds. Most can swing around rocks the size of themselves, so several hundred pounds. Impressive, right? You can do a lot of damage with a power like that. You can also building and alter the landscape slowly over a period of time, yes?”

“We’ll take your word for it. We’re kind of new here,” Langley said.

Atlas said, “Coh could move this whole city with his mind if he wanted. He is the strongest minder that has ever existed and probably that will ever exist.”

“How the fuck did you get caught up with this kid?”

Atlas seemed to consider answering that legitimate question with a legitimate answer, but decided on saying: “Nah.”

Langley and Mariah exchanged a look of understanding. It’s a LONG whopper of a story.

Then Atlas said, “He’ll tell you when we save him. In the meantime, let’s gather a little more firewood and settle in.”

They go into different parts of the house and get a sizable stack of wood scraps and then sit down on a makeshift bench, Atlas on Langley’s left and Mariah on his right. The three sat quietly, letting the cracking fire do all of the conversing for almost ten minutes. Atlas’s shoulders didn’t slump as much as they had been before his long sleep the other day, but now Mariah’s shoulders were rolled forward, elbows on her knees like that cavalier they passed earlier. It was as if each experience that had happened recently was stacked like a twenty-pound weight and now she had accrued about seven of these weights. Langley appeared to have a few of those plates himself, with his hood tassels swinging absently under his chin and his hands hanging between his thighs as he stared at the fire.

As the wordlessness approached nine minutes, Langley asked: “What the fuck is the fraise? Where did it come from and why did Myles and Mariah get it while the rest of us didn’t?”

“Bottled wonder,” Atlas said. “That’s the best way I’ve been able to describe it in the fewest words possible. But from what I’ve seen, it’s a small organ attached to the heart and its removal is fatal to the fraiser. You can read more about it in here.” He put his hand in his backpack again and withdrew a small, leatherbound book. Atlas opened it at the bookmark and began flipping a few pages back. “I believe I wrote about it… right…,” flipping more pages, “Here.” He handed the book to Langley as one normally hands an open book to another. Langley accepted and Mariah leaned over to read with him. As Mariah touched the book, she could feel a weight, as potent as the air after a long rain. This book nearly had a soul of its own from the places it had been. There was no pinpointing the places, but even an inexperienced prophet like Mariah could tell just how far this book had gone.

The fraise, summed up, is bottled wonder. It is primarily sought after by humans and creatures who live off of the substance called fraiserbanes by the Order of the Void. The fraiserbanes often travel on their own and eat the children, frequently being able to Jump. The humans who seek the fraise ingest it themselves and achieve a psychedelic state which also generates stem cells and consequently reverses their aging temporarily; only cannibalism and blood-drinking of children can come close to the effects of the fraise when it comes to reversing age, and those two don’t hold a candle to the fraise. Only on a world with a solidified state lower than 30 will naturally begin to offer children the fraise and it usually persists from as early as 4 years old all the way until the late teens. If it persists into the twenties, it will increase in potency, though this is rare. From what I understand, it means the individual has continued keeping an open mind about what they know and continues to question everything around them, pursuing life with a blind, childlike wonder. Legacy Bond has nothing to do with the fraise, though I have noticed that those with a higher Legacy Bond have had more luck keeping their fraise active into their twenties.

The fraise grants four primary powers: telekinesis, insight, bodily control, and flight. Everyone is categorized into one or the other and I have been fortunate enough to grok this information. Roughly 45% of fraisers are hushes, bodily control. 30% are hangers, flight. 20% are minders, telekinesis. The remaining 5%, probably less, are prophets, insight. All of these powers stem from the individual’s personality, thinking, aptitude, empathy… everything that makes them unique ultimately leads them to what they are. The general population of fraisers, 75-80%, are gifted with muscle control or flight which are applicable in infinite ways. If you are a hush, you’re more empathetic, looking out for others, and are easily affected positively and negatively by others’ feedback. Hangers usually care less about what others say and stick to their own version of life, rather than another’s; they make their own way via bushwhacking the weeds of life.

The final 20%-ish are built of leaders and, for lack of a better phrase, ‘old souls’. They are familiar with life at a young age, difficult to please, and are usually the ones who continue setting the bar higher, though they usually don’t live long because the majority finds them intolerable.

“’Finds them intolerable’,” Mariah quoted, looking up at Atlas.

Atlas looked over. “I don’t know how, but I’ve made more enemies than I thought imaginable for a guy who is significantly non-confrontational. And those I know who are like me.”

“You seem to be shitting pretty heavily on hushes and hangers,” Langley said. “And there are some things in here that I’ve never heard about. You wrote this?”

“Once you finish that page, let me know and we can talk,” Atlas said.

“You’ll probably know when we’re done anyway.” Langley started to read again.

-finds them intolerable. The minders are about 20% or less of the remaining fraisers and are usually of the quieter types. The natural-born introverts who gather information from afar and think through an issue from several angles before approaching it head-on. They take no chances and despite their precautions, they don’t usually live long lives, but they are full lives. The prophets are a strange breed, but I’ve been able to note them by one of three things: never having a best friend, facelight level above 90, or a sense of initiative out-of-character for their upbringing.

“Holy shit, that’s you, Mariah,” Langley said. “When you took that vodka first out of all of us? But it makes me wonder about Myles now… he must have this facelight thing. Man, all of these things that I have never heard about. How much don’t we know about… anything?” The Bug directed that last question at Atlas.

Atlas said, “’Most of it’ is the closest I’ve come to answering that question, but I’ve started posing it as: What else can I know? I’ve found that that’s the question which takes you further.”

“Is this book just packed with shit we probably don’t know about?”

Atlas titled his head and made a face that seemed to say ‘yes’ and he said, “From what I know about you, you would have questions about almost all of the things I’ve written in there.”

“What’s a ‘Legacy Bond’?” Mariah asked.

“Picture it as a measurement of your impact on the world. On average, I believe most people have a legacy bond of 202. Since you have jumped between worlds, your legacy bonds have probably already jumped past 300.”

“Where does that number come from?” Langley said. “Why is it in the hundreds?”

“One person, even the lowliest ambitionless heroin addict, has a sturdy impact on the world. I’ve never seen someone with a score lower than 50.”

“How does someone know their number? How do you find that number?”

“It’s a series of questions you can ask and based off of the answer, you can receive a number from a certain race of intelligent creatures called the ‘glasse’. Or a searcher can just tell you with the aid of tuning forks. Those are the only two methods I know.”

“What’s a ‘searcher’?” Langley said.

“Quorux.”

“Fuck.”

The expletive tied off the conversation like a tourniquet.