The Definition of Insanity

Ch. 1 - Ysha fights her way to Fates' Doorway

Ysha is walking across a bridge towards the bustling downtown district of the small city she is hiding in when the eerie call to the realm of the Sisters Three trickles into her awareness. Her early evening stroll for a few items was a habit born of the need to maintain her constantly declining human form. She had her choice of stores, and had decided on the one with a lovely display of lights reflecting on the one of the city’s three rivers in the mile it took to walk there. She was glad, because it was likely the last time she’d see the prettiness of Downtown Allegheny City at night, with mortal eyes or otherwise. In the few seconds it takes her to register the sudden sensation of pins pricking down her arms and an inaudible screech-like sensation clawing its way through her eardrums, Ysha whispers a goodbye to the place that sheltered her for the last 50 years.

The invitation to the realm of the Fates was a once in a human lifetime call that wouldn’t come again for another hundred years. Ysha was definitely straying out of her lane as a Guardian by worrying about it, but she’d heard the whispers about a “servant” of the Fates, gleefully shared by an enemy who knew “the war that wasn’t” was already mostly lost. Most humans didn’t even know about the archetypal energies holding sway over the physical plane, and since Ysha had failed to heed the last call in time, there was no way to see how bad things were while she was still down on the ground, stuck in mortal form.

She weaved through the people on the bridge's walkway, rushing as much as she was able to in her weary old shell. Ysha remembered her reasons and justifications the last time she heard the call to The Arche; she was too worried about protecting her identity and whereabouts from the Fates’ diverse band of nasty scouts. Now there was less to protect and even less Guardians to do the protecting. Ysha couldn’t even be sure how many of them were truly left, only that she was the last anchor. It paralyzed her last time, the knowledge of what would happen if she was eliminated.

At the end of the bridge, she began to run, shedding any notion of hiding or blending in. People moved, but they also stared at the elderly woman speeding through the crowd, fanny pack thumping and her cane barely missing faces and heads as she raced by. When she slowed for a moment to press the walking aid into the hands of a true elder carefully tip-toeing his way forward, Ysha could hear a boy’s voice from a crowd of teenagers cheering her on with an excited “go grandma, go!” She smiled as she took off again, and focused her meager powers on the faint signal coming from Fates’ Loom.

Despite her age - both her mortal form and her long existence as a Guardian - Ysha still had a few trickles of her abilities left, saved up for this very moment. Unable to risk darting across a busy main street in the crowded, beat up section of town, Ysha stopped to assess her options. The Fates influence looked much like a bug problem in a shared human dwelling; it spread easily to other people, but the core infestation usually sprouted from one or more residences with the right habits an conditions for the creatures to thrive in. It was worse for their closest neighbors, and easier to nip in the bud for those with less proximity.

It was late and the human with Fates’ Door in their mind was probably headed home for the day. The signal, a faint wave of energy that pulsed every so often, was coming from one person and she had to find them, fast. Ysha could feel the pulse coming from the “money” part of the city where the buildings were made of glass and everybody wore suits to work. She crossed the main sector and started making her way through the alleys and cuts that serviced delivery trucks, adjusting her course to the direction of the signal and ignoring the sporadic calls of “hey miss” and “you ok?” from the few working people she passed by.

As she raced across a narrow street with her eyes set on the alley covering the last block before Crant Street, the elegant and constantly renovated sector of Downtown Pottsbridge, Ysha froze as she heard a low rumbling gargle that sounded like gravel given a voice.

“Ysha the Anchor, the baby Ange, last of the Fallen Mother's Guardians. They said you'd be foolish enough to come.”

The rumble turned into a sinister, demonic sounding chuckle that broke the daze of her locked muscles and ushered Ysha into a crouch as she grabbed the hair pins holding her silver locs in place. She looked around, trying to see through the shadows and steam that filled the alley as she stubbornly ignored the increasingly stabby sensation pricking her flesh and the still-aching screech echoing through her head. Human hearts were hardy, but hers was old and working overtime. She never hated the pounding of her pulse or the slick sweat secreted by her skin more in her long life than at this moment. Ysha blinked the moisture out of her eyes and tried to slow her breathing against the panic rising with every second of lost time. She didn’t know what creature the Sisters Three had sent to deter claimants: she couldn’t afford to let her only foreseeable doorway into The Arche die by bringing a monster fight straight to the human holding it, and she truly didn’t have enough juice to go back into hiding regardless of the outcome.

A massive, heavy clawed hand swiped Ysha’s hair into an iron grip that pulled her straight up off the ground. Burning pain blossomed at the crown of her head, setting her skull on fire as tears streamed out the corners of her eyes and mixed with her sweat. Ysha cried out but held onto her pins as she yanked herself away with enough force to rip the strands from her scalp. She twisted in the air, pushing her stiff limbs to their limit, and landed on her feet with her eyes looking up to see which of the khimaira had been sent to stop her from going through the Doorway.

Blood ran down her scalp from a cut that Ysha couldn’t feel, staining her hair and dripping down her temple to join with the sweat and tears. Hating the sheer moistness of the human condition, Ysha squinted against the sting and glimpsed a marbled taupe torso connected to powerful, muscled legs and a scaled tale that was looped around the metal rail of a fire escape five feet above where she’d been standing. It was man-sized in height, but considerably wider in the body with webbed wings flaring above a heavily jawed face and bulging shiny white eyes. A gargoyle then; and an old one by the look of it, which meant Ysha could throw everything she had at it and not make a dent. She had to incapacitate it immediately. In its own element, while she was severely pressed for time.

“Turn around Guardian.” The gargoyle’s growl rumbled through her again as it continued while slowly weaving closer to her. “Go back to your stinky ape hole and hide. The Sister’s Three have no desire to destroy one of the last beings of her kind.” The creature didn’t blink at all and Ysha was somewhat entranced. The milky orbs were huge compared to the jaw, and since the gargoyle didn’t blink, Ysha was convinced they bulged in tune with its words. It sealed the deal for her course of action.

Yea, I’m going for the eyes. As tempted as she was to try and surprise it, Ysha knew that the Fates’ creatures weren’t actually corporeal unless they had to be. Like when it tried to yank her up by her hair. Crap. She’d have to let the creature grab her again.

“As happy as I am to see one of the colonizers’ many spiritual guard dogs, I’m confused about your presence here. Why are you detaining me? All claimants are allowed an attempt at answering the invitation to The Arche.”

The gargoyle’s grin vanished as he snarled and dropped to the ground, rising to stand to his full height.

“How dare you!” His voice bellowed, making Ysha wince as she gripped a pin in each hand. “I stood guard over this city in its infancy. When the heathen spirits that created you thought to stand against the civilizing might of God’s chosen, I was there to cut them down and carve out a space that lasted and thrived while they withered.”

Despite the very real, very present danger the gargoyle presented, Ysha felt a thread of rage kindle along with her fear. Much as she hated to hear about the final eras of her creators’ destruction, she knew that the gargoyle had to come for her if she had a chance. Attacking him first would only get her killed, so she cringed again for good measure and tried to shrink her body away from the gargoyle, as if she was beginning to lose her nerve.

It proved to be a good move when the creature took a step towards her and continued his speech. “From the first wave conquerors, to the last that held the fort that would become the ordered locus you see before you, I. Was. Here!”

Sensing the building drama, Ysha made herself flinch at each of the last few words the gargoyle screamed at her. He took the bait, lunging with the last word, mouth wide open to display curved fangs as long as her pinky finger. Ysha dropped down while hurling both arms straight up and into the gargoyle’s jaw. The howl of pain that erupted from the creature stopped just as quickly when its momentum drove it into the wall Ysha was cowering against. The exhausted guardian scrambled out of the way and spared a moment to make sure the gargoyle was really down. She didn’t need any threats at her back, nor to draw attention to the mind that held her Doorway before she got a chance to use it.

Ysha could see the wounds on its jaw leaking dust, and she envied the distinct contrast of dryness with the patches of wet and sticky blood that had collected on various parts of her body and clothes. She saw that the big creepy eyes were still open, but with the addition of a bruised clouding that made them even worse somehow. Ysha sighed as she pulled a scarf from her fanny pack and gently tied it over her hair to cover the blood. This incarnation of mortal life came with kinky, curly hair that she was going to sorely miss when she was gone; the Arche held no need for material things such as pretty scarves. She quickly moved out of the alley onto another main road located on the opposite end of where she’d come into the downtown district, and scanned the people on the street. Some were alone, talking on phones or standing at bus stops along each block while others were grouped in small bunches. Using just a drop of her power allowed Ysha to see the connections between people as gossamer threads that linked them to each other through energy, interaction and effort. She lightly scraped the surface of their minds one by one, starting from one intersection and making her way down the long street. One block, then two and then another and Ysha could feel the pulse getting stronger as her own powers dwindled even more. Ysha made it to one of the few parking lots on the street and eyed everyone there. A group of jovial, not yet quite middle-aged folks with jackets in hand and loosened collars caught her attention. Ysha wasn’t entirely sure her target was one of them but she was confident the Doorway would be in a group, and not alone. The Fates’ powers relied on the participation of the others, so their marks tended to be people who liked and needed other people around. Nothing else caught her eye so she plowed ahead with her decision.

Ysha slowed down, hunched her body over and mentally sank herself back into the role of an elderly woman out for a walk. She kept her sights set on them and tuned her powers as she crossed the last intersecting side street over to the parking lot. Two women and three men, ranging from late 20’s to late 30’s, carrying briefcases and laughing loudly as they wrap up their conversation and begin to break away from each other. Time was running out.

Ysha focused on the connections between the group and quickly discarded two of them; an auburn haired white woman and a baby faced southeast Asian man whose connections were silky looking diaphanous threads that floated and waved - perfectly normal in other words. Ysha also canceled out a third one, the other woman in the group. She looked very regular with chin length brunette hair and a nice navy blue pantsuit that looked good against her pale complexion, but her connections were nonexistent. Like not there at all. The Fates warped threads, diverting the energy and emotional power humans held to themselves, but they didn’t consume them like some other beings. Ysha shuddered, sparing a second to consider what was underneath the surface of the woman’s mild and unassuming expression. Ysha looked at the last two people left, a tall, curly haired fellow and an equally tall tan gentleman who was as solid as his companion was thin. His suit was flattering and his grin persisted the entire time the Guardian had eyes on the group.

One of these men was the bug, and one was its egg - she just had to figure out which was which. Both of their threads were the hard, encased connections that signified the Fates’ tampering with mortal lives. Ysha zeroed in on the big guy with the nice suit first, he was the oldest and his clothes were the nicest. His threads were noticeably stiff, but they had a little give. His most affected threads were closest to his heart and his groin, which meant the Fates had definitely snagged him through a personal relationship of some sort.

As two of the group broke off, Ysha’s panic reared up again. Both her targets were still there, but she could see that the younger male was the most likely to head out next. He was mentioning getting home to his game and his whiskey after dealing with “orphan shenanigans.” Ysha scanned his threads. They had significantly less give than the other human, and the hard, clacking threads weren’t anywhere near his heart nor groin. However the Fates’ had ensnared his destiny, it wasn’t through his love or sex life, and they weren’t being moderate in their consumption.

Ysha decided to go with the older man, hoping her instincts were right about how the Fates would treat a human powerful enough to be a Doorway. They value such humans, because they are an entry for Fates’ influence on the physical plane just as much as those humans are an entry into Fates’ domain. Ysha started to move toward them, hoping nobody noticed her as she angled her direction to meet the guy head-on. She was confident her powerless, elderly appearance would balance out the strangeness of her walking around with blood on her. Pottsbridge had a large population of older people and it wasn’t uncommon to see the different ways aging resulted in chaos.

Ysha waited behind a car as the young man left, leaving only the threadless woman and her target. It occurred to Ysha that the woman’s presence might not be coincidental at the exact same moment the two started walking together, as if they were going to the same car. Ysha’s heart did that flip-flop thing that seemed to travel straight to her stomach and she sighed deeply. Just as with the gargoyle, there was no fighting whatever being was wearing that skin and unlike the gargoyle, finding out what it was would not up her chances. She had to stick with the harmless old woman approach, and believe she had enough physical power to create the thrust needed to launch herself at the Doorway before the threadless could do anything about it. She bent down to untie her shoes before walking the last few feet over to them.

“Excuse me,” she called out weakly. She kept her head down, as if paying extra attention to the carefulness of her steps, but her ears were wide open. She heard them stop, but called out again as if she wasn’t sure they’d heard her. “Excuse me young man. Could you please help me?”

The man’s smile faded a bit as he looked at her and Ysha was glad it was dark enough to make the blotches of blood she could see on her shirt less obvious. “What can I do for you ma’am?” His tone was business-like but he kept the polite smile on.

“Can you tie my shoe?” Ysha didn’t have to work hard to sound and look exhausted, and she laid the plea as thick as she could. “I lost my cane earlier and if I try to bend over, I’ll fall! It’s getting dark and I could move faster if I wasn’t so worried about falling....” Ysha’s voice wobbled as her words trailed off.

The man sighed and looked over at his companion. The threadless hadn’t moved and was simply staring in boredom at the exchange. She narrowed her eyes at his look and pointed to her heels before shaking her head. He took another irritated huff of breath and laid his suitcase on the hood of his car before bending down. Ysha gave humanity a silent apology for complaining about any aspect of the mortal experience . Their weird focus on the gender binary meant even a threadless was subject to certain norms and expectations. As he grasped her shoelaces, Ysha balanced herself and prepared. This was it. Right when he tightened the bow, Ysha said “excuse me” again, very softly. As he looked up, Ysha propelled her upper body down at a sharp angle with all her strength, at the same time releasing her hold on the physical body she’d had for so long. Her head rammed into his and Ysha launched her essence into his mind, looking for his memories. She heard the roar of pain from the man and the screech of rage from the threadless before it all faded. She was in the Door.