The Paradox Web (Chapter One)

The damp air of Alandier Street soaked into my bones and moistened my clothes as I crossed the junction into colder territory. I blew warmth onto my hands, rubbing the exposed digits together and regretted—not for the first time—that I had been cheap and passed up the bloody expensive but oh-so warm pair of leather gloves I had spotted in the market a week or so ago. Just thinking about the soft, hand-stitched leather and its soft cotton inner lining sliding over my fingers was enough to nearly drive me mad with want and make the chill all the more noticeable. I shook off the desire to run back to my ‘house’—if it even qualified as a house anymore—yanked up the already soggy hood on the back of my shirt and shoved my icy fists in the equally wet pockets of my baggy black cargo pants, trudging forward through the ever-present puddles of the Rayns District. No matter how many times I came to this half of Geminus, I always found myself recoiling from the drastic change in weather. A man could be standing right on the border between the Drys and the Rayns, with one foot on either side, and feel the side that is dismal and drenched, while the other is temperate and light. Needless to say, I preferred the Drys.1

As I turned left towards the designated location, a scowl befitting my mood sets itself upon my face when the sky opened up, releasing the light beginning to what would probably be torrents of gushing rain. I picked up the pace, going from a sluggish tromp to a brisk walk. Murky water splashed up over the sides of my dark, scuffed combat boots and attempted to waterlog me even further, though at that point, it was impossible. I felt as if I had just dove into the ocean, fully clothed, and had myself half convinced that there was a black rain cloud following my where ever I walked, which probably wasn’t as unlikely as it sounds. I hated the cold, hated the feeling of walking through water. Mostly I just hated Ryan Todd, my supposed best friend, for choosing this godforsaken location out of all the other possible choices. He liked to push buttons, and when it came to me, he certainly knew which ones to press. In my simmering anger, I kicked an unfortunate cardboard box that was near.2

A black cat raced out of the box, hissing and yowling. I blinked. “Sorry,” I said and crouched down and tugged a resentful hand out of its pocket, gesturing. After a moment or two of glaring, the cat plodded over soundlessly, most likely thinking I had food somewhere. “No food today, boy.” The cat sent a sharp glare my way. “Girl. Sorry.” I muttered again and made a move to stand up. The animal stopped me in my tracks, giving me a look. I sighed. Bending over, I scooped up the cat in my arms. “I suppose if I just walked away, I’d have bad luck anyways…” as I walked again, my hands screamed their chilled objection. The cat was as pathetically wet and cold looking as I felt. My pace sped up once more when—as predicted—the rain began to fall with more gusto than before, creating heavy sheets instead of large drops. A ‘meow’ of protest drove me to move even faster and cover the animal with my head as best as I could. Just before the downpour reached what was often called ‘zero visibility’ I saw a green glow in the distance and heaved a sigh of relief, making sure to mentally thank whichever deity people turned to for weather control these days.3

The lights outside of our meeting place had a greenish tint, like all the other lights in the lower districts. Energy was thought to be too important to waste on commoners and our ilk, so a few years back we started using pyroflies. The shine was dim and sick looking compared to pure energy, but it did the job. People even started raising pyroflies to provide as many people with as much light as they needed for a fraction of what a single bulb or sphere would cost. It was actually impressive what desperation would drive people to discover, but it wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things. When I made my way to the glow, I yanked open the thick cellar doors and tromped down the stairs, letting them slam closed behind me and knowing I was most likely leaving a river in my wake. The staircase was made of stone, as most things would ideally be in a place where rain is the constant, vicious companion to any type of wood. Candles lit up the walls in odd spaces, guiding the way down, but those were more for the others than for me. Light filled the stairway as I opened the door at the end.4

About six others were already there, all lounging about on the assorted furniture. Iesha looked up first, smiling briefly and then frowning. “You’re soaked.” Then she eyed the cat in my arms. “And you brought a friend I see,” her eyes shone yellow in the bright light of the one and only sphere we’d ever owned.5

“Don’t eat the cat.” I told her simply, watching out of the corner of my eye as she made a disgusted face.6

“I have standards, you know.” She said with a huff, crossing her arms—or rather, the overly long sleeves of her jacket—across her chest. I shrugged.7

“I’m sure you do, Iesha. I’ve just yet to see them.” Her frown turned into a scowl. I pulled back my hood and resisted the bone-deep urge to shake the water off, reaching for a towel instead. Her eyes trailed from the cat to my head.8

“You’re going to catch a cold if you leave that wet hat on, Boruc.” I gave her a bored look.9

“Tact. Get some.” I tugged the cap lower on my head. “And it’s dry.” On the couch, she rolled over onto her back, stretching unnaturally.10

“You’re going to have to let us see them again sometime, Boruc.” She sing-songed. I ignored her and took a seat in an armchair. Trin, one of the others who had been sitting quietly during the exchange, gave Iesha a disapproving face.11

“Like you’re one to talk? Always walking around in over sized clothes like you’ve got nothing to wear but hand-me-downs from a boulder.” Iesha gave her no mind, too busy moving her body in impossible directions. Malora smiled at me from across the room.12

“Merry meet, Boruc,” she said in the old custom. I waved her off, my mood soiled by the rain and Iesha’s half-hearted attempts. She quieted, and a silence reigned. Jon looked about to say something when the cellar door slammed once again. Stomping footsteps were accompanied by an even louder slam. The second door opened and a familiar voice yelled.13

“Damn! Raining cats and dogs out there—pardon the pun, Boruc.” Ryan Todd peeked his head out from around the corner, grinning like the idiot we’ve always known him as. He snatched a towel and started rubbing his head furiously, then sighed in contentment and draped it over his shoulders like I had. Flopping down in the chair on my other side, the stupid smile didn’t leave his face. “So, how many are we missing?”14

Everyone looked around the room briefly, checking the few faces that were there and registering the absent ones. This time it was Vin who spoke, sounding more like an animalistic growl than an actual voice. “Malora, Iesha, Jon, Trin, Boruc, Anton, You, and myself are all here. We’re missing Andreas, Lill, Dexter, and Bill.”15

Ryan snorted. “Bill… You mean Kaylee, right? Why she insists on calling herself that I’ll never know.” Others murmured in a quiet defense of ‘Bill’ while I just sank lower in my chair, trying to find a place on it that wasn’t cold. The movement caught his attention, and he turned to smile at me. “So, how are you, my feline friend?”16

“Cold,” I told him gruffly. “And damn wet. Why can’t we ever meet someplace pleasant? A volcano perhaps? A desert? Hell?” he laughed, and a few of the girls stifled giggles.17

“Don’t get your whiskers in a twist, Boruc.” Ryan reached over to tweak the side of my face—an affectionate, almost grandfatherly gesture, even though at twenty, he was only one year older than me. Most times I didn’t mind, but after a miserable walk in the rain, I was feeling like anything but a pacifist. I swatted his hand away. A wounded look passed over his light brown eyes—one that bore some resemblance to that of a dog when you take away its favorite toy. As quickly as the expression appeared, however, it was gone just as fast. He shrugged in a nonchalant manner before beginning again. “But you didn’t see any guards did you?”18

I thought back to the alleys and streets. “Not a one.” His face lit up once more.19

“And that, dear boy, is why we don’t have meetings in Hell. Far too popular these days.” My mind made the connection but my face remained blasé. This time, it me who shrugged. Ryan started to sigh, and then stopped. “Cat?” a knee-jerk response; I looked up, having been used to that name for years. He was looking not at me, however, but at the sodden feline I’d picked up from the formerly intact box. She stared back at him; her hair reaching towards the ceiling like someone had been pulling it. Before he could say a word, she let out a long, venomous hiss and scampered over to me, jumping onto my lap. Daggers gleamed from her eyes and I felt her claws poke through my pants. Giving the animal a cautious eye, Ryan returned his attention to me. “You got a pet?”20

“A stray,” I scratched behind her ears and in front of her tail, watching amusedly as she almost immediately calmed down and started to purr, rolling around on my legs. Ryan chuckled.21

“If only you were as easy to handle as your friend. He or she?”22

“Female.”23

“She got a name?” I paused for a moment, now rubbing under her chin.24

“Lamia.” She cocked a bright emerald eye open when I said her name, and happiness rolled off her emaciated body in waves. Easy to please, as well as handle. Ryan reached over and gave me a few pats on the head, in something akin to wonder. I jerked away from the feeling and his mouth quirked in—jealousy? Entertainment? He was always too hard and too easy to read at the same time. It didn’t matter at the moment though. My mood went on a downward spiral the instant he touched the crown of my skull, and even Lamia could tell. Her purring stopped and both eyes opened and narrowed, the pupils becoming distinctly reminiscent of a pair of black daggers. I continued my service—now lightly grazing the base of her neck with the nail of my index finger—but only half-heartedly. I couldn’t bear people making contact with anything from the neck up. Actually, it was probably any contact at all that would send me over the edge. Every bump of an elbow was a prying eye, digging into my mind and divulging my secrets. A knock of shoes was a hammer. A wisp of fabric was a hand.25

I sunk further down in the worn armchair and Lamia climbed up to my stomach in adjustment. Ryan shook his head. “You’re the only one of us who actually looks right. I don’t see what you have against it.” My scowl deepened frighteningly.26

“Nothing about this is right, Ryan, so shut your trap about things you don’t know.” We drowned in the pause. Malora suddenly leaned forward, ginger hair swaying and jade green eyes sparkling with a type of concern that seemed to be in regards to the silence.27

"Um..." she was cut off by the slamming of the above door once again. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs angrily until the melodrama was cut short by a loud yell and the sound of something tumbling over and rolling along the steps. The tension broke and tentative grins were shared all around. Malora even ventured a giggle.28

"It's not funny!" the second door collided violently with the wall, emphasizing rage. Lill tromped into the room, soaked and rubbing her rear-end--which was most likely feeling very unloved after taking most of the damage in her little fall. When we failed to reply and Malora's giggle steered us all towards full-on laughter, she shouted again. "Shut up! Stop laughing at me!"29

It was Ryan who calmed down first. "Relax, Lill," he said and did his best to smother the smile worming its way across his face; after failing immensely, he settled for covering it with a hand. "We weren't laughing at you, just your uncanny ability to take a flight each time the tension needs a bit of chopping."