Strange Carcosa

CHARLIE'S DREAMING: DAY 3

"I'm here," I croaked. I could see myself, prone, tied up like a fucked up catch. The faceless thing was making rounds. Hoss was crying, sniffing, wiping his face again and again. Somehow, seeing him weep felt like I'd intruded on something—privy to something sacred, not mine. What was he cryin' for, anyway...?

"Yoo-hoo," I grumbled, lighting a cig. "Naked fiddler. You got a name? I'm here, we're backwards, come on, this could be the only chance I get at Medford!"

I puffed on it, waiting—scowled.

Then I heard that high, clear chime again—and the fiddler was back, so pale to be almost nymph-like, sickly. She peered at my tied up body.

"Walk on, the mind does not need legs, Seeker. I was named a long time ago...by whom...? Is Naymu." Her eyes roamed, nowhere.

"Aight," I shrugged, pretending to understand that. "And how can I get to Medford? Through this—Consele?"

"Medford is in her barony, yes," Naymu hummed. Her white eyes refocused on me, pupils huge. "Her palace is near. Come."

We drifted out of the church. The moon was massive, bleeding red at the corners. Naymu took my hand and I jolted—then blinked, relaxing into her slender fingers. Above, the stars danced, felt close and yet far, pinpricking the shadows. Impossibly, like something out of a goddamn storybook, was a palace in the distance. It looked like it was made of glass and ice and abalone.

My mouth dropped open. Naymu led me closer, picking gracefully through the wilderness. I felt at peace.

"Who is this...Consele?" I blinked.

"The Baroness with the eyes of stars," Naymu smiled, gaze unfocused. "With a Court of pipers..."

"She a fiddler, too?" I puffed on my cig, brow arched.

"Many in her Court follow Nirga," Naymu smiled serenely. "But she...? She is a Rememberer."

"A wha—?" I arched my brow.

"Her eyes are backward too. A vision, a sight, no longer there. The Keeper knows." Her voice came as a dreamy sigh.

"...Right," I stared a moment, broke the silence at length. Naymu had stooped to examine a flower. She plucked it, extending it with a smile. It was a ghastbell, ghostly-white, twirling in her slender fingers.

"Uhh..." I eyed it sidelong. "You keep that."

"A star in your hair," Naymu fixed me with glazed eyes, the curve of her lips serene. "Come home, celestial child. Come home..."

My hackles raised. I took it, if only so she would stop staring at me, and put it in my hair. Naymu giggled and clapped her hands in delight, jarring in the silent wilderness. I smiled half-heartedly. Then I broke into a grin. She held my hand and I felt anesthetized. We drifted on, and the sound of pipers just came into awareness. So faint I wasn't sure if I was imagining it.

"Her music," Naymu cupped her ear, then covered her eyes. Smiled. "How beautiful the sight."

I stared, lighting a fresh cig. Then the palace was upon us, as if we'd stepped through a distortion. I gaped at the high, opalescent walls, the opulent door. It was ornamented to a sickening degree, old-timey. The Don had once showed me architectural sketches—and even the rare photograph—of buildings from the Old World. I smiled, and then I saw them—just a flicker, leaning against the wall.

"Isn't it beautiful," Naymu sighed, smiling, smiling. "The Dreaming..."

"Sure," I murmured, gazing at the Don's ghost. My own joined them, smirking, dressed impeccably. There was a white flower in my fedora. Red began to seep through it, and I jolted.