Chapter 47. The Vision.

  Sid held the boots, turning them over. They had good weight and durability. The fur inside was soft. Cured correctly. Those scales or shards acting as speed hooks—remarkable tailoring.

  “How about these?” Sid asked, hoping they could be within bargain. Knowing it was to far a reach for his trading tongue.

  “You like those?” She asked the ruddy cloth she cut. Scissors sang a satisfying tune. It was a quick song with short snip-snips and the long gliding tear of blade against mended leather.

  Sid had a desperate smile. Scarlett pinched needles between her lips, while fingers worked nimbly.

  “Fit a pair from on that table, you may take them as well. Just, watch your dog." She said between needles.

  He's not a dog, Sid thought. That was hardly the point though, Sid was getting trousers and boots. He wondered what the seamstress would be having him do in return.

  Shuffling through rows of boots, Sid found a pair that had six straps. The speed hooks were a soft mute yellow scale. Only these scales had a calm velvet touch. Him nor I could tell you what it was. Squid tongue—maybe. Jellyfish talon—possible. Really though who cares it's just part of a boot.

  Sid overlooked the boots. Feeling that scale—was it floral? He could hardly think with that ruckus. What was that whirling. Rushing. Mad whooshing of air. Sounding and feeling as if a wicked whirlwind was blowing at his shoulders. Sid turned around. Surprised to see only Scarlett. She held a sharp tooth biting a single thread. Standing before Sid, she held the trousers for his taking.

  Ruddy in color like a wet clay. Far heavier then any linen or wool trouser he had wore before. Holding them out for better observation. He looked at the size and length.

  “Something wrong? Put them on.” She demanded.

  Slipping a leg through, then another. He fit them. Again he was surprised—not just surprised but mind blown. She had taken no measurements. Simply said come in. What do you need? Bam. Try these on. All in just moments. He had hardly found the boots he liked.

  “You find some boots there I see.” Observant eyes seen the striders in his hands.

  “Only pair in this size.”

  “Peculiar, isn't it?” She mumbled under her breath, surveying Skeeter, and Fenrir who admired her shop.

  Sid fit into the boots, they fit wonderfully. He wiggled his toes and took an easy knee. They were marvelously tailored. If this was the Scarlett Abram was talking of—well she definitely was living up to the tale. Not only were the trousers and boots comfortable and perfect fitting they just—they just made him feel better? There was a energy or buff stitched into the threads—was Scarlett magic? Could she enchant her threads?

  Sid wanted to ask, Scarlett however spoke first.

  “I've been having very odd dreams lately. One in peculiar stands out now though. I dreamt of a terrible bear.”

  Sid had only heard this word but only a few times. A word that Abram spoke. Only when he spoke of such things, he called it Bear-King—was this the same thing?

  “This bear.” She continued. “It only have half its vision. The bear though still found its way. Wandering. Before it had visited my shop, asking for aid.”

  Walking along she approached a small work desk. Opening one of the drawers. Sid only seen the end of what looked like fine twine. Some sort of reflective fiber.

  “I think that bear might have been you.” She said after a moments time.

  “That couldn’t of been me.” Sid started. “I don’t even know what a bear is. I only just learned of vampires and widowmakers the moon before.”

  Scarlett didn’t seem to care. It was beside the point. It didn’t stop the fact of everything else happening.

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  “When I woke though. I instantly started this.” Frail hollow hands freckled with the smallest of porous scars—presumably from years of sewing—held out an eyepatch.

  It was a very polished chainmail, appearing to be more black then a reflective silver. A few fitting loops on one end. The other a sturdy clasp to conjoin. The patch itself was silky soft. One side had been centered with a small bile yellow gem, maybe the size of a pumpkin seed. Such an ugly yellow stone—such a hypnotizing taunting gem.

  Sid held an eye with that stone. Looking right back up at him from his hand.

  “Put it on. That pit you got is nasty, folks don’t want look at that.” The short woman in flowers demand. It was a bit firm, maybe even rude, but it was true.

  Sid looked at her, then back into his hands. He wrapped his head with the chain. Joining the clasp together. He fit the eyepatch. Lifting his head, he looked around, searching for any remark about his new facial accessory—did it look okay?

  “Everything looks to fit nicely. Yes?” She questioned rhetorically. She knew it was all perfect.

  It did, and everything was very comfortable too. Although, Sid was suddenly yanked from that sensation of comfort. The lovely feeling of perfect new trousers and snug boots—all ripped away from him.

  Instead he could feel a pulling from behind the patch. Yes, a soft pulling. A gentle nudging and tugging. It then got sharp. Poking with small pinches. Causing him to flinch. Sid rubbed the stone in the eyepatch like he was rubbing dirt from his eye—the stone glimmered as if a rock could blink. Sid could suddenly see again, kind of—from the gem in that eyepatch if that wasn’t clear.

  However, he was no longer looking at the small old needle master. He no longer looked to be standing in her fantastic shop of threads, and silks.

  Nope. Instead Sid seen a tunneling wall of skulls—not the fancy white ones either. No, these were fresh. All still rotting with skin. All crawling with insects. All staring back hollowly.

  Such a gruesome damp shaft. A chilling hallway of empty black eyes. This was a place of evil. A place where vile rot is born. It was a place where the hope of prayer goes to dissolve. It was sorrowing.

  He didn't know this place. He didn’t know the arm leading the torch. Having no control like if in a bad dream. He could only watch. So, he did. He watched for what felt like such a long, long time. Watching centipede after centipede, crawl from hollow eye to hollow eye.

  He watched until the dug out opened up into a large chamber. Torch still in hand. Now reached down. Touching a thin path of oil, sending a roar. Pulsing green took off racing quickly around the chamber walls. The marvelous glowing flames spiraled, up, up, and up around the ceiling in a wide corkscrewing fashion.

  Then again, on the opposite wall. That torch touched what looked like oil. This flame, an exquisite bright black fire. It looked glossy and wet. It too sped across the chamber just ever so slightly above the pulsing green.

  Walking to the center of that entrancing vortex. He could only observe the ground with each step. Sid witness a large star carved into the floor. Just fingers deep. Five points only barely outside of such a trapping circle. Outside of such a ring, each point wore an out right crescent moon. Around it all was but another circle. The pattern burn with small crystals of salt—or some sort of white jagged mineral.

  The glowing that marked the floor was slowly fading. Being extinguished and stained with a lucent, somehow muddy tar. Depressing, and yet captivating. It grow with a glassy froth. It popped foamed and bubbled. Releasing an aroma tangy with temptation, but rancid of trepidation.

  Sid tried to investigate the substance as best he could. He was getting closer to the stuff. He was even reaching for it. In a blink, he was brought back. Looking around. Sid was standing within the shop.

  He looked at Scarlett who was also watching him closely. Fenrir was shaking wildly. In his maw was a shirt. Swimming in the threads was that kook—Skeeter. The old man held on for dear life while the pup thrashed. Swinging the poor old man around. Banging him into racks. Slamming him against the tables, and upside the wall.

  “Hey!” Scarlett called out. “Control your dog.” A sore thumb hitched over her shoulder.

  “Who are you?” Sid asked the old woman.

  “I'm Scarlett, can't you read?”

  “This patch, what did you do to it?” His fingers felt the stone over.

  Scarlett overlooked Sid with spiking curiosity. "What did they show you?" A porous finger pointed at her left eye. Watching while Sid wrestle for the shirt entrapping Skeeter.

  “I don't know, a dark passage, or dungeon maybe. The walls. The wall were made of bone. There was also a fire. It was burning a oil of some sort. The floor engraved with a tainted marking. There was stuff, it was filling the floor." Sid explained in trance. Not sure why he just told everything to Scarlett like he did—perhaps it was her face, she just had a face that said ‘tell me all your secrets my young sweet. They’re safe with me.’

  He did too. Tried his damned best to explain his vision. All while freeing Skeeter from the shirt and shadow.

  Fenrir pout, huffing as he sit at Sid’s side. Studying the kooky man. Fenrir didn’t care for Skeeter. Something about those flakes. Those two different eyes. The vibration he produced—Fenrir did not like him one bit. Fenrir barked.

  “I don't know what it was.” Sid said again.

  It was true. He didn't know what it was—but he hated it. The glassy foam was taunting his mind. Tempted by the wet flames his mind began to spin. Only thinking about how to find this tunnel of terror, coveting that alluring tarish residue. He ached for this foam, sizzling with hissing execration. Then there was the enthralling aroma bringing everything together. Sid had never smelled anything so bewitching before.

  Sid had to find this tunnel of gloom. The one leading to that glorious gutter. The one fueled by the woefulness, and self pity from the thieving cries derived from regretful souls. He needed to destroy the dugout. He needed to bury the pit.