Scale

Chapter Five:
Same

Tertiary

Dolan was so awed upon entering that he nearly dropped his baggage. The floor, built of the same white stone, had been rubbed to a mild gloss, reflecting the light burning in from the window openings. Smooth gouges had been made in the floor, cut clean by some immeasurably fine blade in geometric patterns across the lobby floor. Most amazingly, the designs were perfectly clean, lacking the ragged edges and distortion present elsewhere; the cuts were lined with rock so smooth and glossy it could have been mistaken for glass. White stone walls rose to a high ceiling engraved with a similar pattern. The room was empty but for a sprinkling of chairs and a wooden desk that was far less worn than it ought to be. Ceal waved from the top of a curved staircase leading up the wall to a balcony.

“Orumide has taken up residence downstairs. I say, he does keep the place nice, don’t you agree?” Dolan merely looked stunned, but was soon edged on by a nudge from Tand’s huge crate. He stared at the ceiling as he walked, nearly sending himself head over heels over a chair.

“This... we’re living here?”

“Yow. That boy really is one helluva lunatic, and it looks like his friends are in on it too.” Tand was equally awed by the etchings, a lucky step kicking aside rather than getting snared in the same chair Dolan barely missed. Ceal gave a wide wave from the top of the stairs, pointing them to one side of the balcony. As they reached the stairs, he ran ahead, white robe trailing, and pointed them up a narrower flight of stairs hewn from the stone wall itself, presumably by the same impossibly sharp blade responsible for the rest of the building. They followed him round and round as the stairs changed from stone to wood, a sandblasted, brittle sort that creaked a little under their weight. Another wooden panel, this one worn almost to nothing, led them into an expansive wooden-floored room. Compartmentalized by ceiling-hung curtains that were currently drawn back, Dolan thought it could have fit thrice their number comfortably. He was disappointed to see that the floor contained no artwork. Ri was setting down her light luggage next to a wooden-framed bed upon which was placed a bag of padding and a thin sheet. The room contained six of these, plus as many window-openings, one Ceal, and one overenthusiastically grinning host.

The last of these appeared to have been stretched to an inhuman height, pulled thin as a bone in the process. His gray robes floated about him feather-light, golden trim reflecting the sunlight into patches of illumination that caused Dolan to blink. Brown hair whose color reminded Dolan distinctly of wet sand pointed out from his head at random, framing identically colored eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. His robes were simple but for a black sash crossing his chest diagonally. This sash was affixed to a pole half again as tall as its owner, which was in turn attached to a rather massive hunk of steel, squareish and tapered to a wicked point that hung pointed slightly away from its owner’s feet.

Ceal was barely able to sling an arm around his lanky fellow Knight. “Sae, Orumide Declensand. Orumide, these kind sae are with me.” He introduced them individually, and Orumide bowed politely to each one. “He owns and operates your new place of residence, sae. If you need him, he’ll be in the basement.”

Orumide tilted his head to the side a bit, raised his hand, and waved. “Hey, so you guys are staying up here? Good deal. The room’s all yours, I’ll see ya later. Got work to do.” He brushed by Dolan and stepped out of the room, leaning forward to avoid catching his weapon on the doorframe.

“Don’t just stand there, sae, get unpacking! I do feel the urge to nap coming on.” He lifted Dolan’s box from his hands and shooed him down the stairs to get another. He took his time, eyes tracing the patterns on the floor and ceiling on both trips. When he got back, Ceal was collapsed on top of his bed and snoring soundly. Ri was tucking in the sheets on her bed, which was left without a single wrinkle.

Dolan managed a smirk a bit more biting than he would‘ve liked. “Oh come on, it doesn’t need to be perfect.” She turned around, looking slightly miffed, and Dolan laughed at her. Her look darkened, and Dolan recoiled. “Hey, hey, only kidding, of course,” he said sheepishly. “Hey, look,” he added hastily, “we’re almost on top of the water here.” He stepped to one of the window-openings and stuck his head out. The sunlight was fading, but a blinding white patch still reflected from the water, which was as smooth as glass. Ri shouldered him aside softly to get a better view, but he recoiled as if shot. I’ve never seen her do anything even kinda assertive.. I think this place has got to her already. He took a half-step back as she folded her arms and leaned them on the windowsill, leaning out over the water four stories below. She stretched out farther, then suddenly recoiled.

“Wind... it’s windy.” She leaned back out, and Dolan saw that her hair was indeed blowing in the air currents. “It was never really windy back home... I mean, there were gusts sometimes, but this...” She leaned a bit more, letting the wind catch her hair and toss it around. “This is incredible. And it’s cool... not freezing, not burning, just... nice.” She smiled, and the rare image instantly burned itself into Dolan’s memory in the split second before the sun burned out, leaving a dull orb that carried an ironically burnt-orange color. “Well, it’s gone now... but it was so pretty with the light.” She pushed herself lightly back into the room. “I think I’ll go to bed... with any luck, the light will be back when I wake up.” She turned back to her bed and pulled the curtain back, giving her a private room. “’night, Dolan.”

He smiled and fell back on his own bed, laughing quietly as he bounced on the stuffing, a far cry from the frame he had left behind. “Looks like life will be good now.” As he drifted off to sleep, a rogue negative thought crept into mind. Good? The same, you mean. More luxuries, more sights, it looks new, but on the inside, it’s the same, and you know it. The End still comes. He automatically shook it off in his hypnagogic state and quickly fell asleep.

Quaternary

He opened his eyes into the dimness. It was never dark; the sun almost always worked a bit. He rolled over and pulled the thin sheet over his body, folding his hands under his head as a pillow. His eyes closed, then opened. Not tired. Rolled onto his stomach. Side. No good, not tired. Didn’t feel right. Strange bed. Not home.

He rolled quietly out of bed with no more than the rustle of sheets. Fresh air. No, window’s got a panel covering it. He went for the door, pushed it open, it didn’t make as much noise as it should have. He padded down the stairs. Down, more down. Lobby. Here. He stepped out of the stairwell into the almost-pitch-black lobby. Door wasn’t perfect. There was a draft. The fresh air was nice. He looked down at the floor, up at the ceiling, looking at the design. He walked slowly toward the center of the pattern, staring at the ceiling, the concentric circles and figures and lines. His stare bored into the center of it, looking for the pattern behind it. He looked through it and the lines blurred. That’s it! It starts from there, from that center, and the line goes...

He stared unblinkingly into it, the drawing in the ceiling, and thought he saw it, the way the patterns radiated out, the way each figure seemed to move and slide. Dolan thought he knew a word for it once, but couldn’t remember it, for when a pattern repeated itself over and over, first tiny, then every time on a bigger scale...

Scale...

He killed the window. It choked for a second. Damn, he thought. Popup ads!

Jay kicked away from his desk, swivel chair rolling stubbornly across the carpet. Hate ‘em! Almost locked the damned thing up, too. He leaned back and watched the television. Generic comedies, nothing good. He turned it off and spun back to his computer. Well, back to work.
His fingers were dexterous, spinning revision after revision of the code, causing very slightly different looking pages to fly by. If I can’t at least get this one figured out, the rest of it’s useless. He yawned. Beautiful summer night outside, though, and it’s too late to be thinking about HTML anyway. The piercing sound of good-night messages being sent caused him to wince, the sudden noise almost a screech next to the quiet hum of the fan. He closed the rest of the windows and signed off. The tiny green light faded to black as he flipped the power off. He fell into bed, but couldn’t sleep. He lay on his side, staring at the pattern of the wood grain on the bedpost, wishing he could just drop off.

Scale...

Dolan shook his head. He couldn’t remember it, and he suddenly felt dead tired. He shuffled back up the stairs, leaning on the wall for support, his bare feet padding softly on the stone. He gently eased the door open, then wove through the curtains, stumbling, to find his bed. He nearly tripped over it, then fell upon it. It was an unfamiliar bed, yes, but when tired enough, they’re all the same. He was asleep instantly.

Heh... if you can't tell, the story is about to get rather... confusing. First one to figure it out gets a cookie! Also, welcome the entrance of one of my favorite characters, Orumide! Treat him nice, kiddies.
~CM