A Collection of Other Voices in the Living City—Part 2

Last time, I reminded you of the irl origins of Azza-Jono, the Living City, then reintroduced all the storylines so far, and lastly set you up with a collection of various voices dispersed throughout the City.

So here rounding out that collection is part two …

Homecoming

The verdant hills spilled out from ancient trees, and Azaelt took a deep breath. The river ran softly in the distance, and the sweet succor of roasting pig wafted like melodies on the wind.

A kind of trance came over Azaelt upon entering Asha, this place of birth and rear, the hearth and the chicken runs, the dancing and the flutes. It was like waking up without having gone to sleep, each step a breath more into the momentous morning, nothing special but all there was.

Smiles and hands reached out to Azaelt. Some eyes went to the auric sword hilt humming softly in its scabbard under the Shield of Juno slung over back. Others to the rippling scar along the neck. Others still to the wolfon running alongside, speaking all manner of gruffs and whines.

Azaelt reached the baserri, gentled the door open with rough hands, nails chipped and one altogether gone.

Mother Magga beamed and flew from her knitting seat, arms wide and mouth moving in continuous chatter of happy surprise. Mother Gossna smiled knowingly from her place, wise eyes saying hello while hands worked stone against steel.

"Welcome home, my sweet child!" Magga said.

Azaelt smiled.

Magga's eyes went to the door, where the wolfon wait. "What's the jaws that have followed you home, child?"

"This is Tyffion, Mother."

Magga's eyes narrowed, one much more than the other. "Get from here, foul beast! Let the wind curse your name!"

Tyffion sat content, tongue flopping, breath flowing, eyes casual from side to side.

Gossna said, "You train him, then?"

"Her, Dama. Yes. Like you taught me."

Magga craned to Gossna. "Your hand is in this soup, then."

Gossna smiled. "Relax, Mama. The stories ain true. This'n is ready for the floor. Ain it so, Azal?"

Azaelt nodded. "Yes, Mother. She's true and find. Saved my life more than I have digits left."

Magga's face wrenched, and she snatched Azaelt's hands, poured over them in haste, crying and kissing them. "What have they done to my baby's hands?"

Azaelt's eyes met Gossna's. Both sets looked down.

Azaelt said, "I done worse, Momma."

Magga cupped Azaelt's face, searched it with frenetic eyes. "Well all that's done now, nectar. You're home with your Mommas where you should be."

"Yes, Mother."

"Fetch some water now. Let Dama and me talk a draught. You'll have your supper when you've returned."

Azaelt smiled and looked at Tyffion, then back to Magga.

She shook her head and laughed. "And your wartdog, too, yes, goddess give."

Azaelt smiled, then went to the door, pet Tyffion's head, and gave gesture to follow.

"Azal," Gossna said.

"Yes, Dama?"

"It's good to see your hair again."

Azaelt felt a spring inside, the pride of a child from a parent. A smile showed broken teeth and torn lips healed in new lines. Then joyous feet ran fast, to the river.

x7102

When we reached the caves, we needed the gizmah to scan for lost parts. My crew weren’t enthusiastic. They wanted to hang around the ship and try to enhance the folder. But we agreed to look around.

We found those pancake people we’d studied from holos, and seen the bones of folk squeezed dry from them. These were different, though, docile and friendly. Richman was much more comfortable with them than the rest of us, allowing one to envelope them and carry us to the heart.

When Richman emerged, they were changed. Shining and happy, yes, with crystalline veins visible beneath the skin, eyes like gems. I knew it was no good, but Richman said they were new now. They were magic now.

Pieces of the broken railgun were lodged in the worked rock. Beneath are inscriptions in Jonoian that the gizmah translated as: “someone beside a rocky cliff loses.” I think it got it wrong, though. I’ve seen the marks before.

Richman pulled the shielding back. The heart was exposed, miles and miles of tubes and wires, roads and rivers, chambers and skies.

y7102

All but me and Goochlan are gem-eyed and crystal-veined now. They hum at odd intervals, and smile and laugh but don’t talk to each other, only to us, and only when necessary. I’ve seen holos like this, but I wasn’t ready for it. Not really.

Goochlan and I made love. We don’t really like each other or the practice, but it somehow made us feel a bit like they are. Rubbish, I know it. But it made us feel real again.

Azoio has no boundaries I can discern. The veins are endless and the cell walls are permeable, one after another. I don't recall how we ever got here, and I’m starting to forget why. I read {x7102} and it’s like another mind wrote it. A distant relative. An old friend. Not me. Goddess, maybe it wasn’t me …

z7102

The change has brought us together, in this time beyond times. The small island as epicenter, the crystal tower as mindpulse. A definition high in the making.

Underground from where we came we went to the sea, to the water. We found the Albatross, we found the sunken city, we found the pulsing heart.

Inside I became Moonpie, and Goochlan became Crackers. Me and my team took out the doctors and scientists, save for one, the main one, the germ that has to live, it seems. Crackers is changed, gone blue and gold, black on top. But we're all right. Liberated.

We follow Rio up the ziptide, to the surface, to the epicenter.

Giyven will pay for what he did to us.

A Dream

I'm in some sort of a purgatory, a place that is not necessarily heaven or hell, but folks worry about going to both and just disappear, sometimes carried away by vicious beasts. I'm staying in a ruined mall, in an area that is enclosed, like a terrace. There's an atrium that closes on three sides and opens to the terrace but whenever I enter the atrium, it starts to play dance music, so I have to avoid it or it draws beasts. I have my baby with me, though I'm not sure if it's my first or second. I've learned that the beasts detect mostly by sight and when you teleport in, that's when you're most vulnerable. So if I stay somewhat quiet on the terrace, they can't see me because I've constructed lightweight barriers.

The biggest hazard is new folks cos they don't know anything yet. They make all kinds of noise and move around too much and most get taken right away. I see friends and family come and gone, fictional characters, too, and eventually a core group of us forms.

My friend Rachel, she's one of our best warriors. She and one other person gets sick, and I'm having to clean loads of fluid out of her ears. We're beset by a warrior tribe of some kind, and we strike an accord with them in part because Rachel is going to marry their prince. He seems like a real asshole at first, but after we spend some time with him, I can see that he is quite nice and that he is as eager for the violence to stop as we are, though he must appease his tribe. This could require a duel, and since both of our best warriors are sick, that leaves me and one other person as eligible. The other person doesn't say anything. I say that I will fight him but not to the death, only for show, and even then it might not be satisfying because my style of fighting is dishonorable. He says he will fight me and teaches me how we can end the fight using a sort of kneel, a hand signal, and an utterance. I have to get it just right, though, or it will be offensive, and even still, the elders may call for my death. I feel like I can take him, but I don't want it to come to that. So I start to feel like we're in a bad situation.

But the duel never happens. We carry on with our existence, including going to see movies and working out and things like that. After a time, we seem to become so acclimated to the place as to not even see the beasts anymore. It's like being in another city in another country, but not another world. I do miss my home and think about how I could go back there, but I stay where I am, for now.

Magus Will Headline With Sensual Offering After Seven Years Away

by Trapper Sennt

Magus chilled loy-key style with Mane Heizer for a convo on @tuefresh this Tuesday to talk about her latest release, Sensual, and to reveal why she was away from music for seven years.

“Well my sets are usually about eleven songs, so that’s how many are on the record. It shows where we’re gonna go, you know. Like, how we’re gonna get there. It’s a sort of map, really. So we don't get lost. It's an explanation of what's to come.”

Magus is the headliner at the Revels Music Festival at Flagg's Island next week in Azza.

As for why she’s been out of the spotlight, she said, “I’m honest in my writing. If I have nothing new to say, why say anything? And while music is my passion, I’m still a person. I do normal things, like garden, and hang out with friends and family. I paint and sculpt. I thought maybe, too, it was time for something else. Like, I dunno, maybe I'd be a therapist or a neuroscientist or something. But here I am again. This is what I'm meant for.”

READ MORE

Listen to the first new Magus track in seven years, 'Sensual'.

Rosebud

Rio saw Mars coming. She thought about running, then fighting, picked talking.

"Hey there."

Mars didn't smile. "Hello. Mariah sends her regards."

Rio knew what that meant. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing." He pulled a small red flower from his jacket. "This is it."

"Really? She's giving me back for this?"

He nodded, handed her the flower.

She took it, pocketed it. "Shit, now I know it must be bad."

"It's not bad. Just go see Viri."

"Viri Kuykendall?"

Mars nodded.

"Why?"

"She came to the Jill yesterday. Looking for you."

"For me?"

He nodded.

Rio thought it over. Maybe it was a mistake. Either way, it'd be easier to sort with Viri Kuykendall than Mariah's fucking pitbull.

"Okay," she said. "Sure. I'll go see her. I mean, do I need an appointment or something?"

"Fuck if I know." He handed over a card. "She's at the Epi. Room 7250."

The card was heavy in her hand, like glass. She turned it over, then again. "Azza or Jono?"

"Azza."

"North Shore or Downtown?"

"She's downtown."

"And this squares me with Mariah?"

"I gave you the rosebud, didn't I?"

Rio nodded. "All right. That it?"

Mars pulled two slips of paper, rough edged and stiff. "These."

"Tickets?"

"To the Revels. Mariah has a skybox. Those are VIP."

Rio rolled her eyes behind sunglasses, smiled. "That's sweet. Tell her thanks for me."

"Tell her yourself at the Revels tomorrow."

"Right. Of course."

Rio watched Mars leave. She thought about running, then fighting, picked walking to the jitney.

My sweet boy

We should have never gone there. That doctor is a demon, and she has infected us. Poisoned our family. I know our faces were not pretty, but we were okay. I should not have been lured in. It was my job to protect us, to keep you safe. Instead I brought you right to her. I will live with that for however long I breathe.

I'm going to try to make it right. Stay away from the Revels tonight. Be good to your mother and your brothers. And know I love you, son. Always.

Love,

Dad

Communication as requested.

Date: 31 March

Time: 12:56

From: designate 'Jellyroll'

To: dispatch 'Shangri-La'

Subject: skyhook

Message: Cookie and milks have gone soggy. Put them in a container to not leak all over the fridge. Mom's coming home tonight, as scheduled. The Beav will be with her. Old Man Janaon will be stopping by to pick up his hearing aid. Made sure it's the right one this time. The bulletin board has been replaced. Fresh cork. There are mostly clear pins, but one purple and one blue. All out of red this time. Dad's bed is made for the party. Fresh sheets and a mint on the pillow.

Homily Somnambuly

In the recesses of sewage bubbles pituitary bile, a sludge made somewhat crystalline. It hangs life in the balance as each part shuts down in a predictable chain, a delectable delight of death, releasing what's been held for so long, too long.

The pimps of the Northside trade their riverwares with the Southender culinists, pussy for a hot sundae, cock for a painted egg, sweet ass for seas grass.

The monks of Shallot House hum and moan, locked in koan for the coming drone. Bombs of consciousness unleashed, like subnuclear fusion, a Christening of a cosmic ship coming to dock, destroying the port and saturating the land with spilled golden fruits. It is the reservation and the strife.

Up the Crystal Spire, she looks and sips, shaking her head at the cacophony in the streets. Revels, they say. Rebirth, they say. God took it up the ass and spit on us, that's what she says. She says God's a bitch who eats her own children, that's what she says. Let them be down there, the rats in the maze, swimming in their own juices, some lusty haze of memories and physical routines, lost in arms and legs and genitals, the writhing hump of apes sick in the brains, soggy in the hearts. Those sick fucks. That what she says.

Incantations of the alleyways soar like lion's roar through the streets, among the bases of the buildings and tillings of the fields, outland. There's a serenity on this level, in these notes. Motes of vis rolling over and over, time turned like soil and evolution grinding in counterrevolution. There's a knowing, a gnosis of what's happening here and there. Aeons of archons reaching and preaching, dropping hints like skittles along a path, green grass in a desert tassel. Sweet lips for hungry drymouth, and moist fingers for sore holes. There's a dignity in the death of it, in the kind succor of immemorial hearts and hands, the perennial nursing of a causeway, the jubilant joking of a jetty. Each way wise apes have made was a kindness for the next ape. More of this, surely, would have meant health. More of this surely would have spelled salvation.

The motorcade exploded. That was the end, allegedly, of the Giyvens. Nathan and Marcella. To be sure, Nikki had walked into the flames, surrounded by an egg of frost, and put one in each of their brains. Nathan's head was already gone, so she cut out his heart, shot it, and cooked the remains down to ash, put those in a gold and silver urn. Marcella, she left, thinking she was just another in a line of consorts. Thinking wrongly, it would turn out. But as we've come to know, Nikki wasn't used to thinking errors, so it's understandable.

There was time enough, too, to ensure that everything on her body was clean. That Nikki smelled and looked nice. She would try with Jess. This was her chance, at the Revels. Her chance to make a life here, in the city, as it dies, and not retreat to the island once more, not to return to the salty waters and be reborn yet again. Someone else could have that, she thought. Someone else gets a go at it. I'm so very tired. I just want to live once more to die.

And Rio led the sailors to the Revels, spiritforms in meat and metal and stone, ready to rip dogheads and clash with crabstomachs, but only to find a union, a glorious triumphant trumpeting of passengers from the 32C back to the 32B, eating and kissing and singing and touching and smoking and dancing, a song made empyrean from wise apes and other souls so ensconced in wise ape bodies. To grouse with this would be profane. To reject this, imbecilic. No more eggs could be in one place. No hive could hum more than this. The reason and the reckoning had come, though, as it often does, in form unanticipated. A glorious revelation of perspiration, gyration, and inculcation of the fleshy mind, made real through pardons of smoke and patrons of energy, the doggods and the Crabby Mum, the God of the sky and stars, her light shining through two ape orbs, her wind rushing over ape chords, vibrating and singing, strumming steel and flowing from electric mouths, pouring clemency like wine, offering restitution for the primal sins of mud and tooth and claw, a chance not for evermore but forever more, the light and day of knowing and being at once, in an aura of golden light and purple twilights, hands and hearts, joining like they were writ. Making the best of it. Making love and war with life in a simple twist, a dance that healed the savagery and pain, that made our inherent greatness known.

The dams burst and the river flows out to the sea in wider streams, seeps over the dreams of sleeping minds, waking them underwater, a birth into crystalline consciousness, the epicenter of the well, of the spring, of life eternal.

Azzajahna, mesophito sumpai. Omeno. Omeno. Kommenai, attein.

AJ 0011