Life is a maze in which we take the wrong turn before we have learnt to walk.

[lord_icelus]

Some time, in a place that was and is the abbey, that is in this world and in Dream

She is coming.

I can feel her, that nasty bitch, like a tooth ache or a splinter. She nearly killed me, and I still suffer for it. Partly it was my own fault, for not remembering that silly service gods like her love to throw themselves on their own swords to look

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[hermia_sophia]

Crashing and pounding, a maelstrom rush of water pushes me forward. I have lost the thread, I have lost the sense of Power around me - all I can feel is water and choking and chaos and please, Lucien, be safe and please let all the others have followed me and -

- and then with a thump I am on solid ground.

Solid. Earth below me and air around me. The rush of water still roars on the other side of the gate, but I am out of it. With great gasping breaths I pull air in, dashing water from my face with shaking hands.

I have made it.

But where have I made it? Where am I? Where are they? Where is everyone else who leaped into the river with me?

The ground beneath me is stone, and not the stone of the cliff from which we leaped. Hard hewn stone. The walls, too. I am...inside a building?

I know these stones, I think - I know the feel of them on my knees. Even though they look darker and somehow angrier (can stones be angry?) I know the shape of the arched walls, the angle of the windows. It is the abbey. Oh, thanks be to all the gods, and to Damien, whose art made this gate. I am in the abbey.

But I am not safe. Somewhere in the distance I can hear screams - a woman, and getting closer. I start to struggle up, desperately trying to prepare for whatever might be rushing towards me.

[syl_thorn]

Th'waves open fer me like a lover, an' even th'shock'a cold water's a joy, like hands strokin' m'skin, sweet fingers'n m'hair. I open m'mouth wit'out thinkin' an' th'scent'a salt'n copper fill me, washin' th'blood from m'hair'in clothes, wipin' m'clean. M'lungs take th'water like't's pure mountain air, an' 'member hearin' Nanshe say 'at water'n th'dream world's mine. M'second heart thuds like a drum, an'm divin' deep, followin' th'cord.

'm ahead'a th'others, 'n by th'time th'current carries th'mermaid's scent t'me's too late. I member'er, razor teeth in honey-song, twinin'er tail 'round Jarmyn 'n hissin' silver lies. Now'ere's truth in'er purpose. I see'er catch someone, drag'em back (golden hair, even'n th'dark, th'Doc?), but whoever't's catches hold ovvem. They both fall, twined t'gether'n thrashin', inta black.

Ain't nothin' y'c'n do ferrim now, girl, jes' hope'e c'n keep'er occupied 'till th'rest're free now swim dammit swim

I break th'surface an' suddenly'm fallin', like th'sky'n ground changed places. After th'cool dark'a th'water th'air's a scaldin' blast, an' m'eyes 'r near blind, but I still know where I am. Th'plants've withered 'n th'heat, th'soil gone t'cracked dust, but I know where I am. There's where I collected mugwort 'fore Nanse-kam'n I went dreamin', there's th'patch'a garden where we talked. I made it.

But where're th'others?

Don't got much time t'wonder. Th'hot air's buildin', stirrin' th'dust, drivin't into m'eyes. Mebbe th'Doc got th'mermaid, but Icelus's ev'rywhere here. "Come on, then." I says, barin' m'teeth 'gainst th'dry wind. "Come on."

[hermia_sophia]

"We should wait for the others," I gasp, as I push to my feet, breathless and shaking. "Safety in numbers. And - and Lucien. He was fighting with that creature." Holding it back so that we could go ahead. Buying us time. Putting himself at risk...

I swallow hard, and try again. "It may be that we have been separated from the others again, because this place seems to want to break us all apart. But if we can help the others..."

The screaming is growing louder - and there are other voices, too. Too far away to hear yet, but growing closer. Please, let them be friends,I think, even as my finger runs over Helena's silver bracelet to prepare for another protection spell.

[glass_beddau]

There is a moment, stepping through the gate, when everything is green and still and alive under the darkening sky, and white heather dusts my fingers, and I see the dyn gwag passing the other way, far as sight and near as breath. And then the air of that summer ago is gone, though my hand's running with blood, and the nail's still clenched in my fingers.

See Syl and Hermia amid the blasted dust and dead stems, and guess that ought make Chester being here of some use. Not sure what I can do, but make myself come over regardless. The air is sour and scorched, and my eyes are itching.

[syl_thorn]

Barely noticed Hermia 'til she spoke. "We should wait for the others. Safety in numbers. And - and Lucien. He was fighting with that creature."

"We can't help th'Doc now." I says, flat. "Either'e made't out 'r'e didn't. Either way, 'e's outta our hands."

Someone moves 'n th'dust, standin' shakey, blinkin'er eyes like an owl caught out 'n th'sun. "Glass," I call, "y'okay?"

Look around'n take stock. Wind still feels rotten t'me, stinkin'f ash 'n dead plants. Ain't sure if'n we made't'ere b'fore Nanshe'r not, but either way worries me.

[hermia_sophia]

"We can't help th'Doc now." I says, flat. "Either'e made't out 'r'e didn't. Either way, 'e's outta our hands."

The bluntness feels like a slap, even though I know that she is right - and even though I know that she must be worried about him too., for she knew Lucien before any of us. Somehow I find myself forgetting that he came with the Carnival.

She is right, and yet I hope that she is wrong, that Lucien will come through the gate laughing, or...

I pull myself a little taller, and a little more together, even though the wrongness of the Abbey throbs in me - the deadness of it, the sense that it is being twisted, used against itself. "Yes. We have to keep going. We have to stop this. Keep others from being hurt."

Chester is….somewhere, I know, for I can sense him a little, and for that I am profoundly grateful. And - "Glass," I echo Syl's call, my own coming out in a sigh of relief. She, at least, is here. But there is blood on her - "Are you all right? Your hand…"

[chester_excolo]

I hate bein' wet. Really really hate it. But that's where our way outta here is. so I don;t make a fuss just try to stay calm n' not sink claws inta Glass. s'not her fault.

Consequently, I ain't really in a position ta help out when the mermaid shows up. S'all I c'n do to not make things harder for anyone. Am real glad though when she brings us through the gate.

I knew Hermia made it through, cause I could feel her. Am glad to see the witch with us, But I don't have any idea whether the lady of dreams made it outta the maze or not. an' that's a bit worryin'. I raise my good paw as Glass brings us over.

"Nice ta see ya again, ladies. What's the plan?"

[glass_beddau]

"Well enough, I think," I say. Mean, the blood's coming free enough I'd worry if things were as they ought be, but it's the hand I just cut up whil choking some feathered-up mockery of my husband and breaking open a charm that held back a god, so imagine it's going to be running for a bit. Not going to worry just yet, though it hurts. Shake it a little and there's a thin patter of dark drops hitting the ground.

Shrug a little and shift so Chester can settle a touch easier on my good arm and shoulder. "Nice ta see ya again, ladies. What's the plan?"

"Ought I take it we're the only ones as came through?"

[hermia_sophia]

Chester's head rises up above Glass's shoulder, and another rush of relief goes through me. I reach out to take him from Glass, even before I see Glass's face tighten as she shifts him on her shoulder.

"Ought I take it we're the only ones as came through?"

"I - I think so." I feel tears prick at my eyes. Why should it be different to say that to Glass than to Syl? And - no, I will not cry. I must not cry! "This place has a way of splitting us up. Or, the maker of this place does. So we will have to find the others at the end." I slip my hand into the sodden clinging pocket of my dress - the dragon's tooth is still there, and Helena's bracelet is always with me, but the rest of my supplies are either soaked through or lost.

So. It is us, and our power. That will have to do. "The plan is…find the thread. And find the others. And end this."

[syl_thorn]

Glass says she's okay, but I don't like th'way'er hand's bleedin. An' I wince when she shakes her hand, sendin' drops'a blood patt'rin' t'th'ground. Th'earth, dry'n cracked, soaks't up like a sponge, an' rusty-coloured shoots poke out where th'drops landed. "Glass, here," I says, drawin' a piece'a cloth outta m'bag. "Wrap yer hand. Y'don't want'is place gettin' hold'a too much'a yer blood." Blood's power, after all.

Chester, th'cat, seems t'have made't through's well. Still no sign'f anyone else, but 'm rather countin' us's lucky this many ovvus made't through. Glass asks if'n't's jes' us, an' Hermia near t'bursts inta tears.

"I - I think so. This place has a way of splitting us up. Or, the maker of this place does. So we will have to find the others at the end. The plan is…find the thread. And find the others. And end this."

I nod. "We best stick t'gether's best's poss'ble. More we get split up, easier we'll be t'pick off." Least th'wards're still holdin'. Still don't like th'look'a th'ground where Glass' blood fell, the way th'earth's stained red an'ose weird li'l stems're growin'. "Mebbe we c'n get inside th'Abbey, see if'n th'folk inside 're okay. They got more 'sperience wit' dreams'n we do."

[glass_beddau]

"This place has a way of splitting us up. Or, the maker of this place does. So we will have to find the others at the end." And Syl sets out sticking together, and I take the cloth from her, hold the nail between the smaller fingers of my good hand as I begin to wrap the wounds--

And my sight is dark and sour, and the air tastes not of resin and cloth and dust but of the green-rotten bloom of must and rot, and the dried earth of the garden stretches to sandy wastes, lone and level, the red bloom a thin accident. And how dare it, how dare it do this wrong again, and glad I am that Azrael is not here to be so wronged again but that is not enough, and I feel my teeth sharp in my mouth, edge on edge.

"Take this," to Hermia, not what I'd've thought but it's true, this the place where roots are set, and there's my blood on her from my half-wrapped hand as I pass the nail. "Kate gave it me, it's weight of iron and heart of Excolo. From the bell-jar." Look to Syl. "You're right; 'm sorry," for we should not move apart, I know, it's true, but I cannot care. Not now.

Pass her the loose end of the bandage, and I run.