Blayne Foster, Mystickal Detective in The Case of the Tides of Ego
This first story, which serves as a prelude of a sort, follows immediately after vox serpentis, the last story in Azza-Jono issue 7, “Memory’s Tricky.”
The Leaving Room
[Title by Mason Van Santana]
Nikki reached the top of the hill, pale green and gray with loose stones. She approached the little blue building, kicking rocks and mumbling about times from times ago. Her knuckles did the knocking.
The rusty door creaked, and Nikki walked in.
Blayne sat in lotus on the floor, facing the door in this time, facing away in that time.
Nikki sighed. “Hello, Blayners.”
His eyes came open, seas without end. “Hello, Nikki, is it?”
“You can call me whatever you want.” She snapped her fingers and a flame appeared, lit her cigarette.
“You say that every time.”
Nikki smoked. “So nothing’s changed.”
“Did my friend’s soul taste good?”
“We really gonna do this again? Haven’t we run this script enough?”
“Not in this time, we haven’t.”
Nikki ashed. “Fine. You play with fire you get burned.”
“He was a kid. An addict. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Yeah, well, I was a kid, too.”
“A thousand year old kid.”
“It wasn’t a thousand,” Nikki said. “And a kid’s a kid. I was eight again. I was asleep at the bottom of the ocean. I heard his call. How was I to know what would happen?”
“Your false god knew.”
“Look, Praxis knows what Praxis knows. That’s not for us to decide.”
“I respectfully disagree.”
“Yeah, you’re teeming with respect, you smug fuck.”
“He was my friend ...”
“No, he wasn’t. You thought you were friends, but he didn’t. He was your partner, then your competitor. That’s how he saw it. And you know what he really wanted?”
“What?”
“He wanted power. That was it. Power and power and more power. Why do you think the song reached me? And did you know we had the same father, across those oceans of time and the stars beyond our stars? Did you know that, Mister See Through Time?”
“I knew you think that, yes.”
Nikki drew a long pull of smoke, blew it out in plumes. “He’s okay, you know that, right?”
“No. I don’t know that.”
“He’s on the island.”
“How is that possible?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“I thought you knew everything, Nikki.”
“Yeah, well, not anymore. I fucked myself good and proper on that one.”
“Is that why you’ve come?”
“Yes.”
“You want to leave and you can’t. You don’t remember how.”
“Yes.”
Blayne smiled. “No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no?’”
“I mean no. You’re contained here. I’ve tried in at least three timelines to cage you and failed. And now, as the middle way teaches, I have found the road I sought by sitting. You have caged yourself.”
“Listen old man ...”
“I will. I’ll listen to anything you have to say. But you will not change my mind.”
“My mind isn’t so bad still, Blayne. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“Ah, there’s the beast. I knew it was in there somewhere.”
Nikki flicked her smoke at Blayne. It bounced off his forehead and landed on the ground in front of him continuing to burn.
“It’s been a while since I have smelled that smell. Thank you for reminding me,” he said.
Nikki twisted her face up. “I will rip you apart and take what I need, if it comes to that.”
“Do what you feel you must.”
Nikki flexed her hands, nails ready to rend. Then the nerves remembered. Nik couldn’t cut him.
“Some other time come back again?” Blayne asked.
“Fuck you. I’ll find a way, with you or without you.”
“What is it your so eager to get back to?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Oh. Her.”
“Yeah. Her.”
“In that case, my heart does ache for you, Nikki. Still, I cannot allow you to leave.”
“I heard you the first time, shithead.” Nikki lit another smoke. “I may be back later. You better hope not.”
Blayne's eyes closed. “I will be here. Be well, Nikki Hawk.”
Nikki flung the door open, breaking one of the ancient hinges, stomped on down the hill, back to the city.
And now, Blayne Foster, Mystickal Detective in the Case of …
The Tides of Ego
Blayne dreamed. And as he did, he walked as the self he knew best, the one immune to time, the one who speaks true, even when incorrect.
The fields were vast. Huge swaths of yellow underneath pink sky. A legion of skeletal forms stood still, almost invisible. He passed them without interaction.
The Crystal Spire was built around, like outcroppings and fused hulls, like boxes made of fleshy steel along the crystal base. It parted in a wet yawn, opening a hole, dark first, then a light shone.
Blayne stepped in.
The sound was like a gush, then another yawn.
Blayne stepped out.
The floors were luminescent, soft light, vaguely blue, vaguely white. Translucent and soft on his bare feet, like a touch from a well-washed hand that does not stick to flesh but feels like kin. Within and beneath it, pulsing veins and electric rails, tiny explosions of color sucked back in, but not all the way.
“Hello, Blayne,” a voice said.
Blayne looked along the line of the floor up to the farthest wall, totally clear like glass, a membrane fine and firm. A chair there, like a throne, ensconced in nerves and vessels, pulsing gently and sweetly. Atop it, the speaker, beautiful and lean, with flesh showing circuitry and patterns of human design.
“I thought you were there?” Blayne asked.
“I am. Here too.”
Blayne kept moving, each step more vivid, more in awareness, almost like being awake. “May I touch you?”
“Why, yes.”
He touched a hand. It felt real, real as his that did the touching. He could sense the vagaries of the flesh, its malleable nature. “You’re a shape changer.”
“Not like what you think, but yes. In a manner. After a fashion.”
“I know you, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Can you take a shape I will see better?”
“Certainly.”
The flesh went smoother, softer, and shaped so gradually that each shift of posture made the change imperceptible. Blayne saw it all through time, as his eyes were time streams their own. Yet still, even seeing, could not dictate the moment of change. “You seem perfect to me.”
“That is because, despite your great ability, you are still far from omnipotent, Blayne.”
“Alice?”
“They do look alike, don’t they? Twins and all.”
Blayne sighed. “Nikki.”
“Who did you expect?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Ali maybe.”
“I’d tell you I could act like her, but that wouldn’t be the same, would it?”
“No. And besides, you couldn’t. You always show through.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Blayne walked to the edge of the room, looked out the Crystal Spire, “So this is where you see it all, huh?”
“I see what I see. It isn’t much really.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“Disappointed?”
“Yes.”
“I like your honesty. I don’t get a lot of that. Or anything, for that matter.”
“Would you put some clothes on, please?”
“The modest monk,” Nikki said. “Wasn’t so bad when you thought I was Alice, huh?”
Blayne didn’t answer. His eyes traveled through the membrane and swiftly down over the fields, covered in immobile skeletons of bone and oil, through the thick dry grasses to the shoreline, where his toes sunk in the sand, the water washed his hems.
“This is my favorite place, too,” Nikki said. “I don’t know why. I hate sand and loathe the sun.”
“It’s tranquil,” Blayne said.
“Is it?” Nikki squinted at the sea. “All I see is death. One thing eating another.”
Blayne’s vision dove and saw a small light, peaceful and slumbering on the ocean floor. He wanted to go there, but could not reach it. Not enough air. So, he was back on the beach, looking in.
“Oh,” Nikki said. “Cute, aren’t I.”
“That’s you?”
“You know it is. Don’t act surprised.”
“I’m asleep, Nikki. I can’t choose my thoughts or actions.”
“Really? All this time and I didn’t know that. Must be horrible for you. I would say I can’t relate, but as you’re well aware, I can. It’s one day after another of being enslaved to a body that needs things, to a mind that can’t remember things well, to impulses that neither fulfill or make sense.”
“You wanted to know.”
“That is true. I certainly did. Brought it on myself, you could say.”
Blayne gestured at the child sleeping on the ocean floor. “So this is where it started for you?”
“Oh my no. This is somewhere in the middle. Would you like to see the beginning?”
“I suppose.”
The tide brought an enormous wave.
Blayne ran from it, fast as he could, but the undertow held him, sucked him in. He bounced around the sand and debris, then clawed his way to the firmer shore.
“Sorry,” Nikki said. “I can’t really help what happens to you.”
“Never mind. I’m okay.” He stood up, brushed off his robes. “Where are we?”
“Where I was born. In a sense. You’ll see it as you see it. I can’t really help that.”
“That’s fine.”
The woods stretched out and ate the scene. Green leaves and brown skin, thick and knotty. Sounds of insects and crawling things, hopping things. Birds. A path crawled from the ground cover, patted soft and clear.
“This way,” Nikki said.
They walked the path together to a house, large and blue, the door stained in blood. Nikki tried it. “Locked.” She waved her hand over it, and it clicked. “Unlocked.” She opened the door, and they walked the plush, peach carpet, took to the gray stairs, and wound the halls to the white door, partially closed. She pushed it open and went to a wooden dresser, pointed to a sheet of paper on it, said, “There I am.”
Blayne picked up the paper, looked at it. “Why can’t I read it?”
“You don’t speak Praxis’ language, I’m afraid.”
“That’s who wrote this?”
Nikki nodded.
“Praxis is not a god, you know.”
“Did I ever say otherwise?”
“Yes. You often refer to Praxis as The One True God.”
“Hmm. Interesting. I don’t recall.” Nikki shrugged. “Well, if you say so.”
“I do not.” Blayne gestured. “Look around. Does this look like where God lives?”
“I wonder how you would know.”
“I know because there is no God. There are gods, sure, but they are not human. Not like this.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out, then. I can’t really help you with that. But I can help you with this.” Nikki ran a hand over the paper.
He read it. “I remember now.”
“How nice for you.”
“You ate my friend.”
“No, I did not. Would you like to skip ahead to the source of your confusion around that?”
“No. Show it all to me.”
They walked out of the house and down the street to a vacant lot, covered in mud. Blayne’s feet caked quickly in it, and he slid around on its surface.
“I thought you had perfect balance?” Nikki asked.
“Apparently not here.”
She smiled. “Apparently not.”
The earth trembled and from it climbed a vaguely human shape, made of links of steel and bands of amorphous metal. The thing spoke, but not in words Blayne could understand.
“What’s it saying?”
“Something like, ‘Hello. I’m going to kill you.’ You know. The uszh.”
Blayne felt the rush of fear and scrambled to get away.
The metal seized him and pulled him into a hole where its head was.
He kicked at it, punched, slapped, and tumbled down through wires and lubricant, fell onto the sandstone floor, veins of gold pulsing within.
Nikki patted him on the head. “You okay?”
“I’m alive?”
“Are you?” she asked. “I wonder how you would know.”
Blayne pushed up to sitting, saw a young man on a cushion across from him, meditating.
“Who’s this?”
“Why don’t you ask.”
Blayne hesitated, then said, “Excuse me.”
The man opened his eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m Blayne.”
“Are you an assassin?”
“What? No. No, I’m a monk.”
“Of sorts,” Nikki said.
Blayne ignored her. “I have fallen here through time and dream. May I ask who you are?”
“I’m Vivian,” he said. “Youngest son of Damien. You are in my palace.”
“Really? Forgive me for intruding, then.”
Vivian blinked, smiled.
“You are under threat of assassination?”
“Always.”
“I would offer to help, but I’m afraid I’m more of a detective than a bodyguard.”
“And not a very good one,” Nikki added.
Blayne glared at her, but said nothing.
“Are you talking with a djinn?”
“What?”
“I can usually see them. But since you are from a dream time perhaps that is why I cannot see yours.”
Nikki laughed. “Adorable. I’m going to remember that one.”
“I’m not sure, Vivian, but I don’t think so.”
“An idea occurs,” Vivian said. “Perhaps you could move me to another time.”
“Um, okay. Yes, maybe I could. When would you like to go?”
“To the time of my grandfather, Julian. I have questions for him but no way to get there. He’s dead, you see. Murdered by assassins.”
“I understand. I will gladly try.”
Nikki smiled. “Aw. That’s sweet of you to try.”
Blayne folded his legs under him and let his eyes be wide, through time. In his periphery came the time of Julian, a time where the island was torn apart by war and machines. He let his vision focus on the current moment, and saw Vivian standing, badly wounded, leaning against a man with graying temples.
“Thank you,” Vivian said. “I’m here.”
“You’re in shock,” the man said. “I have to start now.”
Vivian nodded. “Yes, grandfather.”
Julian put Vivian on an operating table and readied his machines. They tore at his grandson’s clothes and flesh, substituting parts, clamping and sewing. Sawing.
Blayne looked away.
“Kind of grisly, isn’t it?” Nikki said in his ear.
“What does this have to do with you?” he asked.
“Keep watching.”
Blayne looked back and saw Vivian older, spliced with metal and glass, sitting on a rock, staring down at a cityscape.
“You’re not my brother,” a man said.
“Who is that?” Blayne asked.
“That’s Damien,” Nikki said. “Talking to Vivian. Vivian is trying to convince his father that he’s his brother. It’s this whole thing.”
“But he knows Vivian is his son?”
“No, he thinks he just some asshole trying to kill his family.” Nikki shrugged. “Which he kind of is.”
“I’m confused.”
“That seems a sensible reaction,” Nikki said. She motioned with her head toward a road, winding down toward the City. “Shall we?”
They walked down the street and as they did, the atmosphere changed. The air felt heavier and darker, more familiar.
Blayne looked around at the homes, then rushed to one. “This … I used to live here.”
“Huh. Really?” Nikki lit a smoke. “I didn’t know that. Or maybe I did. There’s a lot to remember these days.”
Blayne went to the door, reached for the handle.
“I wouldn’t,” Nikki said.
“Why not?”
“This is your dream, but my life. Think about who is inside. Think about who I am.”
The truth of that rang, and he backed away, slowly, with sorrow in his heart. “No, you’re right. Thank you for that.”
“I don’t hate you, Blayne. I know you think I do, but I don’t.”
“You killed my friend.”
Nikki rolled her eyes, smoked. “You’re obsessed with that. Don’t worry. We’re getting there.” She flicked her smoked on the lawn.
He put a boot on it, snuffed it out. “This is my yard, Nik.”
“Was, yeah. C’mon. I’m gettin’ tired.”
They walked down the street, turned a corner and were in the heart of the City, an alley dirty and ruined. A tall thin man lay there, needle in the arm, a woman passed out on his chest.
“I remember this,” Blayne said. “This is …” He looked at Nikki.
She smiled, held up a hand. “Yep. Grand, ain’t it?”
“You killed him.”
“No,” she said. “He killed himself. He was an idiot.”
Rage filled Blayne and his fist went to Nikki’s chest. It should have made contact but it stopped against it. Shame filled him, and he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me do that.”
She shrugged. “You can’t hurt me, so don’t worry about it.” She lit a smoke. “Not here, anyway. You’re dreaming, remember?”
He remembered. “Oh. Yes. That’s right.”
“I’m going to skip over a lot of this shit, okay? You lived it, after all. Let’s just go to the big finish.”
“No,” he said. “I want to see it all.”
Nikki blew smoke and they rounded another corner, to a garden gala, in a posh part of the City.
The man from the alley sipped expensive wine, made snarky remarks to a pale woman in an elegant gown.
“That is not going to end well,” Nikki said.
“When is this?” Blayne asked.
“You tell me, Mr. Eyes That See Through Time.”
“Seriously. When?”
“I dunno. A year or so before we met.”
“We?”
Nikki walked through the party, down the steps to the shore at the back of the estate.
A white tiger knelt there, eyes squinted in contentment.
Blayne darted at it, put a boot to its skull. The sole stopped where it met the tiger’s head. Again, without impact.
“That’s you!” he said.
“No, see that’s where you got confused. I’m not that fucking tiger spirit.” She walked over to the water, pointed. “See?”
He put his foot down, eyed the tiger for signs of movement, then walked next to Nikki, looked into the water. He saw the soft glow there, as he had before, the child asleep on the ocean floor.
“I … I do see you. Where you were before.”
“See.” Nikki smoked. “Dumbass.”
“Well, then how …”
“For a detective who is a monk who sees through time, you are slow as shit.”
Nikki walked over to the tiger, crouched down next to it, closed her eyes in contentment.
“Are you kidding?” Blayne asked.
She exhaled smoke. “Of course I am. Just watch.”
Blayne looked back toward the shore and saw himself approaching, younger, head shaved but bristling up. Alice was with him.
“This isn’t how it happened,” he said to Nikki.
She shrugged, smoked. “I can’t help you there.”
The tiger’s eyes snapped open and rushed for Blayne.
Blayne met the tiger and wrestled it into the water, end over end, out to the sea.
And then we have a two part coda or post-script …
Not the Isle You Know
Blayne washed ashore, breaths salty but even as the ocean. The sand packed under and around him, cradling his worn muscles, tumbled through eons of protean sea.
His eyes kissed the sunlight, but blushed at her touch. He saw what looked like the tops of her feet, buried in the sand, older as they would be, showing blue veins as they would be. Though he was familiar with chicanery of every stripe, he couldn’t help his arm that reached for them, couldn’t deny his fingertips to touch them. They felt so real, so convincing. Illusion was his purview, clear-seeing, too. A mind did not perceive that could fool him, a deception did not exist which could beguile him.
No.
They were real, her feet. Which meant she was real, too, alive on this shore, wherever and however far he’d been flung.
He wept.
A Revelation
Blayne followed, his feet moving by the will of his mind, each one stepping where hers had.
“Ali,” he said. “Ali, I’m tired. Can we stop for awhile? And I need to talk to you. How long have you been here?”
But Ali did not stop. She led them up the winding path, alongside the volcano, to a low cave midway, a smaller twin hill piled on the side.
In the cave, there was warmth and food. A fire. A pallet. A pot.
Blayne stumbled to the pot and dug the hot food out with his hands, burning them and his tongue. He didn’t care. He ate and ate. When his senses cleared and he saw his hands, he recalled his lapse of mind. He saw the loss of focus and discipline. His mind expanded like the sky, reaching out to the other minds there. The birds. The trees. The volcano. To Ali.
“You’re not her,” he said. “I see that now.”
“I am you,” Ali said. “The you that needs her.”
“I don’t want that.”
“No, but you need me.”
“This is not my first dance, tulpa. I do not indulge in such delusion.”
“Then look around, Master Blayne. Where are you? Who are you? And then tell me what you intend.”
Blayne let focus fill his mind by clearing away, creating absence. He was calm then, passive. One breath after another.
