Ch. 2.15 | The Eldritch
PoV: Sanya
Sanya had vision and the ability to think, again.
The first thing she thought with this regained privilege was that something was very wrong.
She lingered in an empty space of darkness and nothingness. She stood upon nothing at all, and yet did not fall into eternity. No light source emitted from anywhere, and yet she knew that she could and did see. Not that there was much to look at. There was just endless black for ever and ever.
She should not be here.
Her [Spatial Sense] made her aware of Esmat. They were here too. Yet, she turned her head, and could not see them.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through her torso, bright and hot and barely tolerable.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach, dropping her staff into her [Pocket Repository]. She fell to her knees, then tipped over to the side and rested on an arm.
Her whole body ached and throbbed. Sanya groaned out in suffering as her torso continued to torment her.
There was no air in which to breathe or utter noises, yet she could anyway.
“Es . . . mat,” Sanya weakly called out into the dark. Maybe they could help her. Maybe she would feel better knowing that someone was near her.
Esmat did not respond. Could they not hear her? . . . They were . . . there . . . Where was there? Her [Spatial Sense] knew something was near her, what where? . . .
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Sanya looked up. Was Esmat trapped somewhere, maybe they needed help breaking out? . . . Oh, what?
The very nothingness of this peculiar space cracked like glass. Not shattered, merely cracking out like a spider's web, due to the repeated impacts against it.
As the thumping continued, the nothingness held.
Beyond it, Sanya could make out a vague impression of something incomprehensible. Shapes and not-shapes, long and thin, twisting and endless. Just like being in this space, the thing beyond was not something she should have witnessed.
Pain laced through her head like getting stabbed by a white-hot sword fresh from the furnace, except there were a couple dozen of them and the furnace was the sun and her flesh was made from paper and—
Sanya’s stomach increased its agony, as if something was desperate to leave her body. Her soul, probably—she could hardly bear this pain. She needed to escape. She needed respite. If she held this pain any longer she would snap under the weight, pass out, and maybe never get up again.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Sanya turned her gaze. Another piece of this nothingness plane cracked. Beyond it, a second lifeform that remained outside of reason. So, two of them existed, trying to crack through the invisible barrier and cross an unseen threshold . . . to get where? Here? Where was this place? Why was this place?
Then, completely unexpected, Sanya screeched in a voice that was not her own. Her stomach lurched and quivered.
Something screeched back. The noise broke her brain. She should not have heard either. They were not of this world. They were not of her mind. Her weak little brain was never meant to witness any of this. She could only hold on because the screeching had come from some far off piece of her. Something she should not have. Something . . . invasive?
The screeching—an otherworldly chorus of communication—stopped.
The pain in her existence receded, becoming a dull throb she could push towards the back of her awareness.
Sanya panted for breath, ragged and desperate.
The nothingness around her spilled out into light, into cold and heat. Into real materials and structure.
Familiar ground was beneath her again. She could feel the dirt and grass. She could look up and see the red haze of the sky. A dark, three-story manor of long and ancient indulgence loomed beside Sanya. The world beyond the high hill revealed rolling landscapes, naked forests, and the empty city.
The last thing she saw before she passed out was Mai running towards her. Sanya thought that Mai had called out her name. The speech slipped from Sanya's mind.
Sanya smiled, then everything went dark.
☆ ☆ ☆
Sanya regained consciousness to the sound of yelling. Lania was screaming at Joia Calinichia.
“As I said,” Calinichia tried, calm despite Lania's aggression. “In that form . . . primal . . . senses muddle . . . lonely and wanted a child . . . happened . . . instinct. I'm sorry.”
Sanya could not parse all the words. Each one came out sharp against her ears, and she had the urge to cover them or tear them out completely.
Whatever words came out of Lania's mouth ran into Sanya's head and blended together.
Sanya opened her eyes into a rather dim room. She lay across a sofa of some sort, all cushioned and luxurious. It felt like one of those couches that was entirely cushion and cloth and not just pillows on a massive block of stone.
Her head pounded.
Lania was still stabbing Calinichia with words—ones with a high chance of being at least a little reasonable. She had been turned against her will. Calinichia returned words, and Nadiyya spoke as well.
Sanya only heard the voices—their different resonances and pitches. The words took too much effort to parse. She could count on her ears bleeding if she listened to this torture any longer.
Her stomach churned and groaned. She felt so drained, from head to toe. Sanya tasted bile and acid.
Sanya quickly turned onto her side and emptied her stomach against the floor.
Someone cried out and ran towards Sanya’s side. M-mai . . .
The room was dimly lit, only a couple candles danced. Sanya saw the shapes of her friends.
The world flickered with darkness, deeper and stronger than the moving shadows of the candles. Pressure built in Sanya's head until it wanted to explode.
Sanya blacked out again.
☆ ☆ ☆
Sanya woke up again to her [Primordial Crust] shattering. Her body ached and throbbed with pains, as if she had been tossed against a stone wall. Her lower torso and beyond felt numb, like all blood flow to those places had stopped hours ago.
Panic raced through her when it came into thought that her protection spell broke. Was she under attack? Her heart beat and her breath quickened. She felt the start of sweat on her neck . . . or maybe she was already sweating. Ugh, she felt like she had the world's worst ailment.
Sanya focused on her senses and found herself holding her staff high, with both hands. When had she grabbed her staff? . . . She didn't remember that at all. She had dropped it back into her Repository back in that in-between space.
Sanya opened her eyes to take in whatever was happening—quickly, so she could react.
Okay, maybe she did not have to react to anything? . . .
Mai said Sanya's name . . . or so she thought? Mai was standing over Sanya, with both of her hands wrapped around Sanya's staff too, including her maimed one. Her grip looked tight and strained. Why?
What? Why did they both hold Sanya's staff up?
Sanya's face contorted in confusion, but also pain and exhaustion. She realized how intense she held the staff, and loosened her grip.
“Sanya?” Mai asked again. “Are you back?”
Sanya heard the words. She blinked, then opened her mouth to speak.
She forgot the words. What was she supposed to reply with? How would she convey her thoughts? What were her thoughts? What were the sounds she needed to make? How would she make those sounds?
Sanya shook her head. She knew she was definitely not “back,” not fully there yet.
“But you opened your eyes, and you communicated.” Mai frowned. “Can I trust you to put the staff down and stop hitting yourself?”
Sanya's expression dropped into guilt and surprise. Was that what she had been doing—hitting herself? What? She had gotten over that . . . mostly.
Sanya dropped her arms. Mai took the staff and set it on some table beside the sofa, which Sanya still lay on.
Even the weak candle light scorched Sanya's eyes.
Sanya took a quick reprieve and closed her eyes, to save her from the harsh light.
The reprieve became a little bit longer than expected as Sanya drifted off.
☆ ☆ ☆
Sanya groaned, pushing herself up into a sitting position, slowly. She was still on that sofa. Her back pressed against the cushioned back of the couch, sinking into the plush. Sanya brought her hands to her forehead and rubbed it. She opened her eyes.
A blanket had been tossed on top of her to maintain her modesty and hide the shredded robes. She wrapped it around her back and overlapping at her front to keep it on her.
The candle light felt much easier on the eyes now, if a little too dim. Everyone else was still in the room. Esmat was asleep but upright, on their own couch across a low table from Sanya. Zahira was sitting cuddled up against Esmat. The table had saucers with cups of tea on them, as well as a kettle.
Calinichia stood off to the side of the lounge-like room with her arms crossed. Mai jumped off from a lonesome seat and bounded up to Sanya. She sat onto the couch with a bounce, shaking Sanya slightly.
Lania and Nadiyya sat on the floor—a fluffy carpet underneath them, off to the side and in between the mirrored sofas. Nadiyya's bird was there too, playfully stepping around the two in a circle. Lania was crying.
An old chandelier hung from the ceiling, forlorn of lighting. Both entryways and doorways cut through the walls of the room and led to places deeper into the manor. Time-worn paintings hung on the walls made of columns of wood and some sort of white stuff that constituted the majority of the wall. Various wooden desks and tables sat around the room. The light in the room came from dishes holding candles, which sat on these desks.
Sanya would never get used to seeing so much wood in one place.
Sanya did not feel the familiar weight of her witch hat on top of her head. It was sitting on the edge of her sofa. Her staff was on the floor between the couch and the table.
“Sanya!” Mai exclaimed, poking Sanya's cheek with the pointer finger of her good hand. “Are you . . . feeling better?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yay!” Mai wrapped a hand around Sanya and pulled her closer.
Sanya's body screamed and protested, but she let the half-hug and the pain happen. She winced though, and Mai caught on.
She pulled her arm back and left Sanya alone. “Sorry.”
Sanya looked towards the floor. Whatever had left her stomach had since been cleaned up. “How long have I been out?”
“The earlier times, you weren't out for more than minutes. The last one, you were out soundly for like thirty. I was really worried.”
“Thanks.”
“D-do you want to talk about it?” Mai asked. “Or, like, what was all that? . . .”
“I . . . I have no clue. First there was the [Organic Displacement] and . . .” Sanya trailed off early. Memories of the event flashed through her mind. She paled, body shaking, and gulped.
“Hey . . . Hey! It's alright. I'm sorry for—” Mai put a hand on Sanya's shoulder.
“It's fine. We should probably talk and make sense of this . . .” Talking about the whole ordeal sounded much easier than asking for what Sanya wanted. “Can we . . . can we hug?” Sanya turned to be in a better cuddling position, arms outstretched.
Mai grinned and jumped onto that opportunity.
Sanya winced again at the impact and rough hug. “Can you be gentler?”
“You're made of frail stuff, huh?”
“Mmm . . .” Sanya didn't exactly feel like disputing that right now. She closed her eyes and melted—metaphorically—in Mai's arms.
They embraced like that for a minute, or two, or even three. Sanya lost track of time and an obligation to speak of the past events, instead feeling all nice and warm. Despite the traveling and all the tension of the day so far, Mai still smelled decent. The plants and soapy goodness of a nice bath and a perfume that smelled faintly of bread. Or maybe she smelled like bread just because she ate so much of it. Her scent made Sanya want to bite down on Mai and nibble her—not that she was a vampire, that was Lania.
Zahira gasped. “Esmat!”
Esmat groaned, which was about as much speech as Sanya had heard from then recently. Sanya opened an eye and snuck a glance their way, they shook with freight and the lingering thoughts of the events thirty minutes prior. Esmat would need a yummy hug too. Although, those two seemed more restrained for physical contact than even Sanya to Mai.
Zahira immediately grabbed a cup off the table and brought it up to Esmat. “Thirsty?”
Esmat nodded, and took the cup and drank from it, lightly.
Lania was still crying.
“Lania,” Sanya said. “Are you okay?”
She sniffed. “No!”
“Do you want to talk about it? . . .”
Lania shook her head.
“She already did,” Calinichia jumped in. “She made her thoughts very clear.”
“She's immortal now,” Mai clarified. “That's a big thing she's upset about. Nadiyya isn't. We aren't. She's going to have hundreds of years ahead of us.”
“Oh,” Sanya said.
“Yeah . . .”
“Calinichia.”
“Yes?”
“Sincerely,” Sanya said. “I hope Heliux drops you into Hell.”
Calinichia sighed, she stepped up to the table and poured tea into her cup. “We're already there.”
Sanya snorted. “Yeah, sure.”
“Look,” Calinichia sipped her tea. “I am sorry. As I said earlier, it was all instinct and impulse. I had little control over my actions. They just happened.”
“Can you turn Nadiyya into a vampire if she wants, or the rest of us? How did you turn Lania?”
Calinichia nodded, pacing. “There is the question. A vampire can only turn another every hundred years.”
“Oh.”
“So we get another vampire to turn Nadiyya?” Mai suggested.
“Perhaps. Good luck convincing them.”
“That implies—hiss—that I want to be turned,” Nadiyya said.
“Nadiyya!” Lania cried.
It was interesting how quickly Lania and Nadiyya became tied up with one another. The two of them were not unlike Sanya and Mai. Sanya was Lania, and Mai was Nadiyya. Although, Sanya was sure that if she was a vampire, Mai would agree to become one in a heartbeat to share their immortality together. Why was Nadiyya so unsure? Is that what her words had implied? Or was she just playing a bit of Diuskel’s advocate or something?
A silence consumed the room. Calinicha and Esmat nursed their tea. No one knew where to continue from there. The words were set, the options and preferences set onto the table.
“Vampire history lesson, or let our little reality splicers recount their tale, first?” Calinichia asked.
“‘Reality splicers?’” Mai echoed.
“There are four of what you call Spatial mages in this room, yes?”
Mai nodded.
“Two of you were innate, and just so happened to land on a peculiar twenty-percent chance average.”
“What do you mean?”
Calinichia laughed. “Maybe a magical lecture is in hand . . .”
“We indeed know much less than we should.”
“Mmm. A hundred and seventy years of apocalypse would do that,” Calinichia took a long, dramatic sip from her tea.
“The ones named Sanya and Esmat are both our saviors and yet bring forth our end.”
“What? Can you stop being dramatic and get on with it?” Zahira asked.
“Of course,” Calinichia smiled. “Those two are among twenty percent of innate Spatial mages that have a parasite latched onto them.”
“Okay? . . .” Mai said.
“An eldritch parasite that can open portals and weaken the barriers between worlds. Congratulations Esmat and Sanya, unless we kill you, you will herald world-ending horrors.”