Work Text:
Okay. Start from the top. Take in the whole picture. Make yourself say it out loud, see if the logic holds up. Follow your threads.
“June 11th. Launched our attacks on the Nine. Things went wrong. We got Shatterbird and Cherish, they got Brian. We launched a rescue attempt. Things went even more wrong. We got Brian back, but the rest of the Nine showed up to play. We had to split up.” I tap the photo I’d printed of some grainy security footage from Coil’s base of us leaving. “June 12th. Taylor never resurfaced. Bitch and I went looking for her against Coil’s recommendations. Coil’s base got attacked. Cherish escapes, Shatterbird killed. Cherish unleashes Echidna. Echidna and Crawler fight, PRT unleashes bombs. Majority of Nine and Travelers killed. Coil badly injured, Panacea in the wind. Bought time. No sign of Taylor.” I follow the thread to the next bit of newspaper clipping. Print journalism truly refused to die, even in the middle of a city-wide massacre.
“June 13th. Jack, Bonesaw and Siberian flee. Sister incest goes to Birdcage. Coil has to go under for surgery, I made my move. Coil dies two hours later in the hospital thanks to poisons slipped into his IV.” A rather ingenious bit of improvisation, if I do say so myself. Coil never would have done the surgery (or at least, done it more cautiously) if his visions had stopped, but the fact he saw himself wake up after convinced him to commit. Fuck you, Calvert. I hope you rot in hell. “June 14th. No sign of Nine. Only Purity’s group remains of the Empire. ABB effectively dissolved. Merchant capes are all dead, non-powered members scattered. Taylor still missing.” I tap on the photograph of her, the most recent one I could find. It had come from my phone’s camera roll. We’d gone to the Boardwalk. I’d bought her a nice looking necklace (one with a spider motif, because I thought it’d been funny. She’d worried and fretted about someone possibly deducing her identity from it, somehow, but couldn’t deny how pretty it looked on her, especially with the new blouse I’d gotten her) and demanded we take a selfie together. Her smile is unsure, awkward. But it’s real. “Danny Hebert hasn’t seen her since Shatterbird’s attack. No PRT prisoner transports seen moving out of the city. Hasn’t been spotted anywhere in her territory by Charlotte or Sierra. Dinah’s still out of commission. Which leaves my only leads…” I trail the red string to the center of the web. “As this….” Gently taped to the corkboard is Skitter’s mask, ripped and torn slightly at the edges. I’d found it by sheer goddamn chance, idly floating in a pool of dirty water; left to rot on the side of the street like a child’s discarded candy wrapper. One of the lenses is cracked. It smells faintly of ash and musk.
Taylor would never abandon her mask. Not without a fight. The problem is, I hadn’t been able to find the fight. No signs of explosions, gunfire, parahuman bullshit, anything. It was as if she’d just dropped it on the broken sidewalk and kept going. Someone had taken her by surprise, then. Someone crafty enough to get past her swarm senses and incapacitate her quickly enough that she hadn’t even had time to react. There are a number of capes capable of doing that. The problem is, none of them were in Brockton Bay at the time. Which leaves me again…
“And this.” I pull open my voicemails. I click play on the most recent one, dated June 13th, just an hour before Coil underwent surgery. I’ve listened to it nearly thirty times.
“Tomato-W. Lisa. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about everything. I wish I could talk to you. Nothing makes sense right now. Something’s terribly wrong here. I can feel it getting closer. Please, Lisa, help me.”
Taylor sounds out of breath. Hushed in a way that only bone-deep panic and absolute urgency could inspire in her. Remorseful, like she suspected that she wouldn’t get a chance to speak to me again. I grind my teeth together. I backtraced the cell’s location at the time of the call, it matches the street I’d found the mask. That’s her last known location, but I’ve been there half-a-dozen times with various pieces of equipment, hoping in vain that I’d uncover something new.
I hadn’t. My power’s strong, but it needs something to go off of. And right now, I’ve got nothing.
I have nothing.
I need to find her.
“Lisa.” I glance up away from my board to glare at Brian. He’s strolled up in costume, helmet tucked under his arm, a well-crafted neutral expression that I’ve seen a lot of since Bonesaw. He should know better than to interrupt me while I’m working. “What?” I snap. He opens his mouth, pauses for a moment as his eyes fall on the picture of me and Taylor at the boardwalk. I don’t have the heart to tell him to hurry up. After all, I’ve been looking at it all day. After a few seconds of silence, he recovers and continues.
“We’re heading out. Teeth putting pressure on Alec’s borders, we’re gonna push them back. You coming or not?” I want to say no, of course not, someone needs to keep looking for Taylor, but I manage to wrest control of my tongue for once. Brian doesn’t deserve that. He’s just trying to keep doing what makes sense. Keep the team going despite everything that’s happened to us.
All we’ve lost.
“Yeah.” I say, stashing my phone. “Let’s go knock some teeth out.”
ACT I, SCENE III
THE HIGH PRIESTESS does not enter the stage. A light comes up upon her form, making it clear she has been resting upon the ground. A shore of ashes is lapped by black water upon the island. The cypress trees sway in an invisible wind upon the dim island. There is light but no sun.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Where…
Where am I? What the fuck? This is… it looks like an island— it is an island, but it’s not…
(scrambling to her feet, looking at the sky)
Oh my god. The stars… Taylor! Brian! Rachel!
she runs to exit stage right, only to reemerge stage left. the audience watches silently. the farce of space and time continues.
Anyone! Anyone?! I…wait…
(she continues to whirl and glance around, desperately looking for something)
I know you’re there! I can’t see you, but I can feel you watching me. Whatever this is, whatever you’re doing, I’ll find a way out. And then I’ll find you, and I’ll ruin you. I’ll tear you apart with my goddamn teeth if I have to.
Do you hear me?! Answer me!
the lusterless stars and depthless sea do not answer. the spotlight glares. the wind slowly winds down from the slopes of the island. the audience is silent.
Just— fucking say something! Why are you doing this? Why have you brought me here? Where is here? Where’s Taylor? Give her back!
(the spotlight begins to flicker and die. The HIGH PRIESTESS’ voice flickers and dies with it.)
just…give her back…
the spotlight completely fades, leaving the island in darkness. the audience is rapt with a sacrosanct silence. a soothing melody plays.
END SCENE II.
I scowl as I prowl this damned chunk of concrete for the sixty-fifth time, this chunk of flesh of the vivisected corpse of Brockton Bay. For once, the agonizingly long movement of bureaucracy and near complete disrepair works to my advantage, as not a soul has come here. Even the vagrants and homeless know there are better places to camp out. My territory, for one. No bullet marks anywhere around the area. No signs of enhanced strength or heavy-duty machinery. Broken windows, but it would have been odder if they hadn’t been. No dried bloodstains, no teeth, no dropped bit of anything, no nothing.
I want to scream. I want to tear this place out by the roots until it surrenders my friend to me. I want her.
It’s not fucking fair that I finally win just to lose the only goddamn person I’ve ever really—
Nope. Not thinking that. I won’t think those thoughts until I have her back. And I will have her back. I have so many favors and so much goddamn money burning in my pocket. If I need to hire all of Toybox to find her, I will. The afternoon sun of an overcast day pierces at my eyes, and I groan, putting a hand over my forehead to block it out. Fuck me, I forgot my sunglasses. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I wake up not remembering what I dreamed about, only that when I do, my head pounds as if I hadn’t slept at all, my heart beating at the same pace. Nightmares that fade into a general haze of apprehension and suspicion. I’ve almost managed to convince myself that the feeling of being watched is just my paranoia refusing to die.
Almost.
My phone buzzes, and I glare at it. Brian again. What does he want now? I sigh and answer, giving up the search for today. Not like this trip was any more productive then the last.
“Hello?”
There’s just static. I frown. Maybe the cell towers were having a problem? That had been happening more and more lately. “Brian, yo. What’s up? Can you hear me?” More static, buzzing away. I shot him a text, telling him that I couldn’t hear him, and hang up. Sometimes that fixes the issue. After about thirty seconds, my phone buzzes again, and I nearly raise it to my ear before I see the name and freeze.
Taylor Hebert
I can’t press answer fast enough.
“Taylor?!” Static.
“Taylor, respond. It’s me, it’s me— fucking, um, Ladybug, L. Say something— wait, if you can't, don't worry, I can trace this call, just stay on the line.” I say, frantically putting it on speaker phone and texting one of the few trustworthy mercenaries I have, ordering him to start pinging wherever I was receiving this from. “God, Taylor, I knew it. I knew you weren’t— okay, okay, okay. Where are you?” Static. “Taylor?” I prompt. “Gimme something.” My merc texts back, telling me he’s trying to initiate a trace but it’s proving difficult. Something’s bouncing the signal to hell and back. “Please, honey, say something, anything…”
Four words. “where did you go?”
The call clicks. The line’s dead. I frantically try to call back, but when I do, I just get a dial-up noise. A robotic voice tells me that the number I’m dialing no longer exists. My mercenary texts that he hadn’t been able to back-trace the call. Brian asks me what the hell I was talking about, but I can barely make out the words on the screen anymore.
That had been Taylor’s voice on the phone.
She’d sounded heartbroken.
ACT I, SCENE VI
THE HIGH PRIESTESS returns to the stage. She has left the beach behind, and finds herself in a winding canyon, the wind having turned from a gentle breeze into something savage and biting, tearing at her. The ashen sand continues to blow. She is following THE DEVIL in a long cloak. Ahead of both of them, a mountain stands, so impossibly large that its peak vanishes into the black sky.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
I can see you, you bastard! Talk to me! Where is this place? How did I get here? Why are you doing this?
THE DEVIL:
THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
(suddenly stopping and clutching at her head, as if in pain)
What the fuck—
Stop. Oh god, stop. Stop! Fuck!
As she begins to shout, a spotlight dials up in intensity to near blinding, a wailing, high-pitched noise like television static begins to play, dialing up and up forever in a shepherds scale that leaves the audience dazzled.
THE DEVIL:
THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
(collapsing, writhing in clear agony, blood beginning to leak from her ears.)
STOP IT! STOP HURTING ME! JUST FUCKING STOP—
as THE HIGH PRIESTESS screams and shouts, the horrendous pain she has been made to endure ends as a comforting shadow descends upon her, muffling out the piercing shepherds tone and smothering the spotlight. after a moment, THE HIGH PRIESTESS speaks.
(hesitantly, as if afraid to believe)
Taylor?
Is that…you?
Oh god it is, isn’t it? I remember this feeling. Like wearing a warm jacket. That’s you.
Oh, Taylor. You’re here, aren’t you? They’ve got you trapped here.
Just tell me how to get to you.
And I’ll come running. I promise.
the shadow of THE EMPEROR rests gently upon the form of THE HIGH PRIESTESS and whispers four words into her ear.
THE EMPEROR:
this line is dead.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
What? What do you mean? Please, Taylor.
Please talk to me.
the stage lights begin to dim. The sounds of the island start to fade out. the curtains crawl towards each other.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
No! No, not yet! Give me an answer, goddamn it! Give me something! Please!
Taylor! Tell me how to find you! Taylor, PLEASE!
THE DEVIL:
THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
What do you mean? What do you mean wake—
the light dies. the soothing melody plays out. the curtains embrace each other. The audience claps in rapturous applause.
I wake up with a strangled gasp.
END OF ACT I
It’s real.
My nightmares, shifting and blurring like watching a film through an oil sheen, they’re real. A space that exists not outside but alongside ours, not dissimilar to the dimension our passengers operate in. But as I’ve found, desperately writing down whatever I can remember from my warped and wilde dreams, they work very differently. Whereas our passengers seem to mostly operate via manipulation of paracausal forces by subverting material physics and underlying thermodynamics via exploiting interactions between space and time, this…Otherworld seems more concerned with matters immaterial— the mind, the soul. There’s a clear deference to art, given its insistence on presentation I’m only just aware of. The stage directions whispered from somewhere beyond my perception, the audience that I’m sure is there but can’t see. I’m certain that Taylor is captive somewhere within that Otherworld, trapped within that macabre play. I felt her presence, I know I did. I’d never mistake that feeling of comfort and safety for anyone else. But it was weak, rendered faint by distance. She’s deeper within that island, I know it. I need to find a way back there on my terms, where I have more control over the situation.
I need more data to work with.
So I throw myself into research. Any possible works of fiction with any rumored paranormal qualities, I hunt down and acquire. I cross reference ghost stories, urban legends, folklore. I give myself more time in my dreams by using our connections to give myself a steady supply of the strongest sleeping medications I could get my hands on— time moves differently there with no clear relationship to the waking world, but there’s clearly an increase, I suffer through the side effects as best I can. I stop going on missions that aren’t absolutely necessary, I delegate more work to the people in my territory. The other Undersiders occasionally comment on my recent reclusiveness, but they’re too busy running a criminal empire (well, my criminal empire, really) to care too much about what I’m doing behind closed doors. They have their own private matters to attend to when they’re not in the mask.
They’re the lucky ones.
I read and read and read. I tear through text after text. While most turn out to be less than nothing, there’s a few key works that seem to possess an inkling of knowledge for what I’m looking for. Crappy translation programs help me stumble through copies of plays written in Italian and French, painstakingly read through poems and novels in German. I even attempt what surviving Russian works remain, although that’s a small number by now. I begin to try my hand at various rituals. I acquire bones, incense, and learn the best places to cut that will heal quickly while still providing enough blood. I call out to the dead, to the damned, and while I never quite get anything so concrete as a response… I can feel the world around me changing. I can see things shifting in the shadows as I walk past, as if they were somehow deeper than the walls they were cast upon.
I’m getting closer. I can feel it.
I throw back the pills and wait.
ACT II, SCENE III
THE HIGH PRIESTESS is walking along a path deeper within the island, the mountain growing closer and closer, looming ever larger. A necropolis becomes visible at it’s basin, a teeming city of the dead, lost souls haunting it’s alleys and forgotten horrors lingering in its shadows. As she walks, she passes over a river of pure black, the same vibrant nothingness as the ocean she’s walked so very far from. A thin wooden bridge is the only crossing. As she steps onto it, a figure emerges from the lightless water, it appears to be THE EMPEROR.
THE EMPEROR:
(speaking gently, nearly melodic in nature)
My Lisa. You made it.
Her arms rise in an outstretched plea.
Please, Lisa, stay there. I can’t make it to shore, the river banks are lined with sharp rock. I need your hand.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS laughs scornfully, the noise devoid of any mirth.
How stupid do you think I am? Don’t answer that, I’m insulted enough. You’re not Taylor. Bye.
THE EMPEROR is stunned as THE HIGH PRIESTESS continues to walk across the bridge, and she desperately paddles closer.
THE EMPEROR:
But it’s so cold here! You mustn’t go on! Please, Lisa, listen to me!
THE HIGH PRIESTESS continues to walk across the bridge.
THE EMPEROR:
No! You must not go further! Stay with me, I beg you! Do not go into the mountain!
THE HIGH PRIESTESS continues to walk across the bridge. THE EMPEROR violently contorts, limbs seizing as if another will takes control of them. All at once she changes shape, her hair morphing into writhing tendrils, her mouth widening for vicious teeth. It is not the beloved of THE HIGH PRIESTESS but something worse. With a strangled hiss, it’s pulled back down into the black water.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS continues her journey towards the necropolis, crawling along the skin of the mountain like a tick over corpseflesh. Stranger things lurk in the dark where her gaze has not yet learned to see. Beings walk to and fro, but they do not speak to her, merely watching her. To her mind, there is a sense of questioning amongst them, a feeling of bubbling anticipation. They are waiting to see if she is guest or trespasser. She has a feeling to be the latter is rather fatal. With only cosmic insight and honed intuition to guide her, she follows a winding path through the dead city until she comes upon a great and mighty gate, hewn into the very stone of the mountain itself. Imprisoned with the center of the gate, fused with the rocks, is a monstrous figure.
A tiny figure stares down from atop a great mount of savage mouths and fearsome claws. The misshapen, swollen heads snarl and bark as THE HIGH PRIESTESS approaches. Within those terrible jaws she can see desperate hands and heads fused into the very gums of the beasts, quietly singing a lament from within, terrible destruction and power kept only at bay by something more terrible and greater still. It is THE TOWER.
THE TOWER:
And here we are again. You, me, and the little oracle. We three always find each other at the precipice of hell.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
(agast, horrified, but attempting to hide it behind scorn)
Noelle? You’re dead.
THE TOWER:
Yes. I suppose I should thank you for that. Before, I was a prisoner twice-fold. Now I am free.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
You don’t look free.
THE TOWER:
Freedom. Imprisonment. It’s all a matter of perspective, especially here, where reality is so malleable. This is the role I was chosen for and chose to play. I am more free dead than I ever was alive, and here I live still.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Is that even you talking? The Noelle I knew—
THE TOWER:
Was stark-raving mad, and whoever I was before that cannot really be said to be me at all anymore. You of all people should agree. There are some changes too complete. Too obliterating. You cannot go home again. Now, your choice is upon you. Turn back, or continue on this path.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
That’s not a choice at all.
THE TOWER:
There is. You’ve made it before.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
I— fuck you, Noelle. This isn’t the same thing at all. I’m trying to fix it.
THE TOWER:
Choose.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
I’m going forwards. Now get out of my way.
THE TOWER:
(smiling cruelly)
Oh, dear priestess. You mistake a door for a guard.
The central mouth of the monstrous girl opens wide, and a fleshen staircase can be seen within, darkness pulsing from beyond the depths.
I told you. We are at the precipice of hell. If you wish to continue your katabasis, then by all means…enter.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
I fucking hate this and you.
THE TOWER:
I know.
Gritting her teeth and swallowing her disgust, THE HIGH PRIESTESS moves forward and into the giant maw of the beast. She shudders at the rancid smell and feeling of flayed fingers grasping at her form and forces herself, step by shaking step, further into the depths of the island.
END SCENE VII
“Lisa. Lisa!”
I groan as horrid light drags itself across my eyes, pulling me out of the realm of dreams.
“What the fuck do you want?” I hiss at Brian, who’d interrupted me just as I felt I was beginning to make real progress.
“You—Lisa, what the hell is all this?” Brian gestures a hand at my desk and oh crap, I’d forgotten to tidy up before I’d slipped down to visit the island. My notes about ancient rituals and half-finished translations of plays are scattered across the workspace, half a dozen pills amongst them.
“Research.” I mumble, scooping up the meds. No sense in wasting them. “I’m getting close.”
“Is this what you’ve been doing instead of attending Undersider meetings?” He picks up one of the books before I can stop him. “The King in… Lisa, these are-are plays and fuckin…witchcraft shit. How is this research? Did you turn into a demon worshiper when I wasn’t paying attention?”
“Look,” I say, grabbing the novel out of his hands as I haphazardly clean, “it’s none of your concern. I can still do my job just fine. Missing one meeting isn’t the end of the world, our territory can run itself just fine.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told myself. But five in a row makes it feel like you’ve got your eyes off of the ball, Lisa. And now I come here and I find you neck-deep in a bunch of weird-ass stuff, not to mention high as shit on meds. I think I have a right to be concerned.”
“There’s nothing to be concerned about.” I insist. “I just wanted to take a nap, jesus. You get this up Alec’s ass when he goes a blender?”
“If his self-destructing started affecting the rest of the team, yeah.” I glare at him. He glares back, just as fiercely.
“I’m not self-destructing. I’m actually making progress.” I growl. “If you would just—”
“On what, Lisa?” Brian pleads, and I can’t keep it in anymore.
“I’m trying to find Taylor!” At his disbelieving stare, I start ruffling through pages. “Ordinary avenues weren’t yielding results, so I’m trying some alternative methods of informational gathering, and I’ve gotten leads. I need to get through the mountain, but I think I’ve started to narrow in on a possible location, and…” I trail off as Brian reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I thought that’s what this was about.” Brian says, a sudden tiredness washing over his expression.
“I miss her too, you know. But she would hate to see you like this. You owe it to her to stop.”
“Don’t you dare tell me that.” I snarl, pushing him away. “You’re the one who gave up after a single goddamn day. Who stopped looking when it wasn’t easy.”
“Lisa…”
“No. Don’t. Fuck you, don’t say it—”
“She’s dead.”
“Then show me a body!” I shout, flinging my papers aside. “Where’s the fucking body, Brian?”
“Lisa,” Brian pleads, like I’m being a stupid child who’s not getting a simple problem even though he’s wrong, he’s wrong, he’s wrong. “Jack Slash and the Nine were hot on our asses when we got separated. They got her, and Bonesaw chopped her up. Or Siberian ate her. Or Crawler dissolved her, or a dozen other things.”
“You think Jack Slash wouldn't have fucking gloated if he’d captured or killed Skitter? That they wouldn’t have turned her into a new Hatchet Face to send after us, torment us with? No, no. The Nine never got her. Someone else took her. You heard that fucking message. Someone got her, and I’m going to find her, no thanks to you.” I sneer. “She risked everything to save you, and you abandoned her the minute it wasn’t convenient for you, you fucking coward.” Brian looks me in the eyes, a potent combination of pity and anger swirling in them.
“I’m not the one who chose Coil over her.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“You got that voicemail minutes before he went under, Lisa. You could have pulled out, gone to Rachel for the dogs, found Taylor before someone got her. But you chose to go through with killing the boss instead. And by the time we actually got there, that mask was all that was left of her. So who’s the one who really abandoned her—”
“I said get the fuck out!” Evidently, what I threw was glass. It doesn’t actually hit him, but he gets the message and retreats, mumbling something about coming back when I’m sober. I’m not really listening by that point. I turn back to my collection of notes and pages, scrounging about for another glass.
“I’ll find her,” I promise to myself, to Taylor. “I’ll find her. I’ll make it right.”
I begin to pick up the scattered pill bottles and sheets of paper filled with arcane diagrams. I’d gotten close, but if that dream version of Noelle was right, I had to push further down. Dive even deeper into that necropolis and whatever awaited beneath the mountain. I scrounge about for something sharp and find a thumbtack— that’ll work well enough. After I finish double-checking the makeup of runes, I draw red ink from my skin and begin to dabble across my floor, humming all the while. First, a circle to keep the power closed. Then…draw, make sure your lines are straight, a shaky hand could mean death here. This symbol requires a dash here, it’s sibling two curling spirals, don’t forget to keep well within the boundaries… I’ve got my reverse-summoning circle ready. My hand stings from where I’ve cut it. I’ll bandage it later. I toss back more sleeping pills and begin to chant in Latin. Nothing too unexpected or ostentatious, just a series of words and phrases about connection, crossing bridges, finding hidden paths. To this Otherworld, it was more about the general unconscious perception than the specifics. I could have used any language, probably, but Latin sounded old, felt ancient, and as such would be responded to better for my purposes as I conducted my makeshift ritual. I chant, and I chant, and I feel the pills beginning to take effect, exhaustion beginning to slip over me like a wave. I don’t stop murmuring my words even as I curl up into the center of my circle. As the world blurs, I think I can feel a sensation like sliding or shifting, the feeling of many eyes upon me. The dull grey of my ceiling begins to blur. The walls melt and ripple in a slow haze, like a heat mirage expanding across the world. I’m on my way, Taylor. I’ll bring you back. No matter the cost. I murmur one final bit of Latin as the circle flares and then all at once turns black and flakes into nothingness, and I slide
down
And into the heart of the mountain. THE HIGH PRIESTESS is at last here in flesh as well as spirit, and continues her journey. Ageless stone presses in on her, having left the pulsing, wet flesh of THE TOWER behind. As she walks down stone steps that have not known another living being for so long, the air itself becomes heavy in her lungs, the near-total darkness threatening to swallow her whole. Eventually the ceiling, if it can still be called that, closes in as she descends further. She’s forced to hunch and then to crouch as passage gets tighter and tighter, the walls shifting from coarse rock to something like smooth, black glass. THE HIGH PRIESTESS hisses in pain as she retracts her hand, a thin cut blooming across her skin, the walls have become sharp to the touch, undulating in frozen waves. She presses onwards and the tunnel becomes more severe, more constricting, she must crawl head first into darkness, trusting a surety that this too must end. Eventually, a dim light becomes apparent. It is not the volcanic heat that THE HIGH PRIESTESS was expecting. It’s soft, nearly blue. Cold. As she at last emerges into a larger space, a dozen bleeding wounds across her body, her eyes go wide in exhausted shock.
She is back on the surface. There is a sky above her, and the stars shine in lusterless black. All around there are trees that stretch like great grasping fingers towards that nightless night. A paleblood moon dimly illuminates her as if it were a faint spotlight upon the stage.
Her gaze is drawn back down into the forests depths, as she staggers to her feet, trying to ignore her wounds. She limps forwards, and before long, comes upon a clearing. In this clearing, there is a well. The stone is black with age. There is no bucket, but suspended by a precarious rope above it is THE EMPEROR, stripped of grace. She has now become THE HANGED MAN. Standing behind her, THE DEVIL stands in his black cloak, silently watching THE HIGH PRIESTESS approach.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
(with fury and desperation)
Taylor…You bastard. I should have known. Give her back. Give her back!
THE DEVIL:
THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Gh— No. I’ve come too far. I won’t let that stop me. I won’t let you stop me.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS draws a gun out from her back and levels it at THE DEVIL.
Yeah, there’s a reason I wanted to come here with my actual body. Meant I could bring this along for the ride. Now, you’re going to do nothing as I get Taylor out of those ropes or I swear to god, I’ll kill you. Got that?
THE DEVIL says nothing. A soft wind blows through the island, rustling the leaves and needles of the forest. And with one last gust, the edges of THE DEVIL’s cloak lift up…and then collapse to the ground. There was never anyone beneath that cloak.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
What the…fuck?
THE HIGH PRIESTESS puts the mystery aside and works on freeing her beloved, quickly untying the ropes and gently pulling THE HANGED MAN away from the well. As she is cradled, her eyes flicker open.
THE HANGED MAN:
Lisa?
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Yes, Taylor. It’s me. I found you. I’m here to get you home.
THE HANGED MAN, beginning to panic:
No, no…You can’t be here. You have to get out of here, Lisa! It’s a trap! You have to go! I was trying to project myself— I couldn’t move, but here, thoughts are malleable to stories, I made myself appear, I tried to shield you from him, warn you away, but it would twist it, make it wrong— Fuck, hurry, Lisa, you have to go! You have to go before—
But THE HANGED MAN’s warning comes too late. For a shape is striding out of the woods, in a familiar cloak. It is THE HIEROPHANT.
THE HIEROPHANT:
Well done, Lisa Wilbourn. You have played your part perfectly.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Coil? How the fuck…
THE HIEROPHANT:
We had hoped to first drag Taylor Hebert here, so that we might capture that which lingers ever behind. But it defaulted to you, and we took a more cautious approach. Followed the acts and structures. And gambled on your need for dear Taylor to drive you down here. And it worked. Our great thanks to you, High Priestess.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS, leveling her gun:
You’re not Coil. Whoever you are, I’m getting out of here and I’m taking Taylor with me. Try and stop me, I’ll kill you.
THE HIEROPHANT laughs.
What do you believe that will accomplish, High Priestess? Even if that little toy works, even if I am capable of being killed, how will you get out? Do you know how to get back to reality? Do you even know where you are?
THE HIGH PRIESTESS’ aim falters. THE HIEROPHANT sighs.
Do not despair, girl. We are on the cusp of a great birth. And after, you shall not know fear nor suffering.
THE DEVIL’s cloak, discarded on the ground, ripples and shudders, and as if someone was still wearing it, it seizes itself up and flings itself into the well.
You shall not know anything. We will, all of us, be remade. You have brought the author of the story here. Lurking behind you like a shadow. And now, the Devil shall rise up from the darkness and swallow God, and all will end. And we will at last be free from this prison.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS fires her gun, it impacts the HIEROPHANT dead in the chest. Blood spills on the forest floor as he chokes upon crimson, falling to his knees.
THE HIEROPHANT:
This…is the ritual…to lead you on…
THE HIEROPHANT dies.
THE HANGED MAN:
We have to go. Before it comes back, Lisa. That was just a shadow in a cloak. The real thing will be so much worse, and now that we’re both here, we’ve brought them with us. And it’ll be strong enough to start eating everything.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Them? You mean…
both turn to stare out at the audience.
at you.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS:
Help us. Please. Say something.
the audience is silent.
THE DEVIL's voice echoes up from the well, now horrifically intelligible.
THEY ARE NOT HERE TO HELP YOU. THEY ARE JUST HERE TO WATCH. IT IS ALL THEY CAN DO.
THE DEVIL rises from the well.