“But it’s just that I fell in love with a war / Nobody told me it ended”
Sybil would not be far behind. And yes, Madelyn did have a head start, but they—she? Perhaps this was not the best time to worry over such things—had the unique disadvantage of still not really knowing what they were doing. Magic was a complete anomaly; for all they knew, Sybil could be upon them in moments, forcing them to stop before they even had the chance. And why were they even doing this? With each thundering step Madelyn took, some primal part of her brain screamed to stop; whether their brain would land on fight, or flight, Madelyn had yet to determine. And yes, they were running, but they also repeatedly insisted to themself they were running toward the danger, rather than away from any and all responsibility over the situation to begin with.
Though honestly, the situation was hardly a fair or good one, and running from it seemed pretty damn reasonable; there was just way too much at stake. Madelyn wanted Sybil, but couldn’t have her. Madelyn also wanted Sybil to be happy, but Sybil’s happiness had turned out to be a pretty tall order. And perhaps most of all Madelyn wanted to not die at the hands of some evil spirit. They did, at least, have a plan, an idea of how to win, gleaned from some odd passage or other within Sybil’s book; it may have even been a good plan. They were still scared, though.
Still, in many ways, Madelyn needed this for themself. They needed to be useful. Where this intractable bravery had come from, Madelyn wasn’t certain; perhaps it came with the magic that flowed through them, turning them into the capable fighter it needed them to be, giving them all the courage they needed to conquer the fear which weighed them down at the core. More than anything, though, it was exciting; for some stupid reason, Madelyn wanted to see what would happen if, for once, they took charge of their own life instead of allowing themself to be strung along. Like watching a horror movie, the hardest part of the jump-scare is the stillness before the scream.
For better or worse, Madelyn craved momentum. Undeniably, no small part of them was doing this for Sybil, but Sybil had asked them not to, even though some part of her clearly wanted them to. And this way, things could finally end. They could both move on with their lives. Sybil would get her finger, get her lover; the agony of grinding together the great tectonic plates that were their feelings, waiting for something to slip and bring catastrophe, would cease at last. Besides, it was a good plan.
For no other reason than that their body decided it was the point to stop, Madelyn slowed, then halted. Among the din of woodland insects crying and nocturnal creatures stirring, they stood, their short, gasping breaths slotting neatly into the sounds of night around them. If they weren’t careful, they could be forgotten in these woods. Sitting themself down in the soft soil, and crossing their legs, Madelyn fetched a wrinkled, torn scrap of paper, upon which the words they needed to recite to invoke the wight were scrawled, Theoretically, there would be no need for any sort of magical ability; the wight would do the heavy lifting itself. That didn’t stop Madelyn from wondering if they were about to make an utter fool of themself. They held the paper before their eyes, squinting as the dying light of sunset faded evermore around them. Taking a moment to breath, Madelyn went over the plan one more time, and said the words.
Tried to say the words, anyway. They did their best to make their lips form the correct syllables, their vocal chords ring; air escaped their lips, but no sound left. Everything was silent. Madelyn was falling through darkness, completely motionless, plummeting with blistering stillness into nothing. To say they stopped would imply they had ever started, but at some point, Madelyn was where they needed to be. Making some attempt to peer through the choking blackness around them, Madelyn squinted and cocked their head every-which-way, standing upon nothing so as to get a better angle to see nothing with. And then there was something. A room, etched in flickering, shimmering echoes of light which seemed almost blinding in this place. In the middle of said room, stood a figure. The wight, presumably.
It was tall, and slender, but there was no clear delineation of where it was and wasn’t, just a vague shape cloaked in more vague shapes. Its head, the most clearly defined part of it, appeared to be some kind of bird skull, if birds had three beaks arranged horizontally, that was. Also, way too many eyes. These were, of course, empty sockets meant to contain eyes which weren’t there, but that didn’t stop them from blinking. Its empty gaze fixed upon Madelyn, and with a dry, throaty noise which sounded almost akin to a coo, the creature began to speak. “So another human seeks my counsel. How delightful, welcome. I’d offer my name, but it’s very long and requires liberal use of all three of my mouths. Besides, in my experience humans neither can pronounce it, nor care to. So let’s skip the pleasantries, Madelyn, why don’t you tell me what you want?” Its voice was, more accurately, an amalgamation of three voices which often spoke over one another, or echoed one another, sometimes simultaneously. It was androgynous, for most part, but could stray in one direction or the other from time to time.
“My request is simple, all I want is one of your fingers.” Madelyn still heard no sound from their own throat, but felt the words leave their lips.
“Just one single solitary finger? You don’t want to take all of me for parts? The essence of my eyes, the condensed shadows I cloak myself in, the little dying trickle of energy that my being would give off following my demise, all of these might make you richer than you could imagine in your human world.” As though gently shoving an errant vine blocking a forest path, they gently pushed their way into Madelyn’s head, peering inside with theatrical curiosity.
“Hmm, you’re not lying. How strange, how dull.” A hint of venom frayed at the edges of the word dull, echoing from each mouth and sounding all the more menacing each time. “Honestly, such a simple request, I’m almost tempted to just give you what you seek and send you on your way. But my time, and yours, is valuable; we wouldn’t want to waste all the effort you put into contacting me by cutting our visit short.” There was no air to disturb in the space Madelyn found themself in, but the sound of ‘cut,’ spoken simultaneously and tersely by all three voices, seemed to somehow find form and slice through Madelyn.
They took a step back as the voices continued, “Besides, if word got out that I was willing to just give away fingers to any odd soul who found their way in here, why, I’d never see the end of it. So let’s get to the fun part.” A silvery hand with long, emaciated fingers that extended into talon-like claws appeared, then another. The hands floated in the darkness like that for several moments, before, as casually as slicing open a package, the left hand flicked toward the right, severing its index finger. The right disappeared, leaving the left clutching the severed finger in the darkness. The wight closed its hand upon the finger, then extended it toward Madelyn and opened again, leaving the finger balanced neatly in its palm. “Go ahead, take it, as a sign of good will.” They plucked it from its hand. Surprisingly, it felt the same as a particularly bony human finger. The mouths tittered in something akin to scratchy, dry laughter. “There, that was easy enough, now you have what you want, and as you know, if you want to leave, you have to give me something I want. So go ahead, why don’t you start? Offer me a deal, propose a game, whatever you like.”
“I already know what you want, so let’s skip the back and forth. If I lose, no matter what I offer, you’ll find a way to make it all of me. So that’s what I’m offering.” Making themself say that was hard, but somehow, Madelyn felt confident. The idea of a lifetime of servitude to some evil spirit was frightening, yes, but they were hardly a stranger to that prospect. Was it really that much scarier than the crushing reality of being ground down by the gears of an increasingly hyper-capitalist, uncaring society, dead-set on destroying itself, its planet, and everyone forced to participate in it just in time for them to be unable to retire, all for the benefit of a few hyper-rich assholes? Well, yeah, it was, but Madelyn was no stranger to facing existential dread. Besides, they’d fought a fucking dinosaur and almost won. Their plan was brilliant, and they were going to make this thing fucking eat its smug-ass attitude.
“Hah.” It was more a statement than an actual outburst of laughter. “I like you, Madelyn. Boring request aside, you’re head and shoulders above those over-inquisitive warlocks, stuffy wizards, and pious crusaders. And you seem capable. Now, I could lock you away in my realm, make you serve me, feed off your life force until the day you die. But it doesn’t have to be that way, you know. What if instead, you just worked for me? Out there. No need to become my thrall or anything—I have more of those than I know what to do with anyway, I’m quite fat and happy, if you couldn’t tell. I do, however, have such a long list of things I want. Artifacts, books, even foods I’d like to try. Take the finger, keep your freedom, go out in the world and do my bidding, for a time. Why, as an added little bonus, I’ll throw in your Sybil.” Laughter rang from all sides, Madelyn stepped, only to find themself standing closer to it than ever.
The voices were surrounding them now, “”What do you say, Madelyn?” it asked from behind, “she could be all yours,” another to their left, then from the figure before them, “you love her, don’t you?” Encircling Madelyn, all three began to speak in unison once more. “But someone else stands in the way; it doesn’t have to be like that, Madelyn. I can make it so she has eyes for you, and you alone. All you need to do is serve me.” For a moment, just a single, solitary moment, Madelyn thought about it. Thought about being with her. What Sybil must taste like, how it would feel to wake up next to her every morning after a long night of passion. It brought comfort, and the strength to give their answer.
“Fuck off, ghost. Do you really think I’m that naive? This is trickster villain 101 shit. No, we’re doing this my way.” To say Madelyn had made the creature angry would be akin to saying ‘The sun is warm,’ or, ‘Having breakfast with your inlaws after learning far too late just how thin the walls are is awkward,’ which is to say, it was a woeful understatement. There wasn’t really a ground, or a ceiling, or a set of walls to shake, but something certainly shook; perhaps it was Madelyn themself. The idea that nothingness can have a feeling, and that said feeling can be somehow sharp, or coarse, or scalding, wasn’t one Madelyn had really conceived of until that moment. It wasn’t pleasant.
“Know this, mortal, if it were permissible, I would tear you apart, piece by piece, then feed the still conscious, still feeling pulp that remained of you to my thralls. But that will have to wait until you lose. So think hard about what deal you’re going to offer, me, human. It may well be the last choice you ever make.” The oppressive atmosphere around them only intensified as its many empty sockets fixed upon Madelyn. They wanted Madelyn to tremble, to be afraid, and it worked. It had been working. But it was also playing into Madelyn’s hands. Anger brought rashness, recklessness, and that could be used to their advantage.
“The test will be one of historical knowledge.” They did their best to keep their voice smooth, low, in control. For its part, the wight seemed absolutely delighted. Its laughter boomed from all sides.
“Knowledge? What hubris is this? I have existed for a thousand of your lifetimes, I have spent more time than you have spent alive studying the goings on in your pathetic world. I have enslaved and stolen the knowledge of countless scholars. What hope could you possibly have in defeating me?” This was it, the master stroke; Madelyn had seen time and time again in the accounts they’d read, that the greatest key to besting a wight was to play into its inflated sense of self-worth. Now they needed only ease it a little further.
“In that case, you won’t mind me setting the terms and choosing the topic?” Their lips upturned in a mirthful smirk. If their adversary noticed, it paid the expression no mind.
“No, human. But do pick something interesting.”
“Very well, we will be discussing the history of planet Earth. Whomever knows more about it, wins.”
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I *love* the tricking the trickster trope, and this is very well executed. nice job
Omg I absolutely love this
Haha, she walked in to that one
Huh. Didn't the wight already read Madelyn's memory? That would mean he knows at least as much as she does about everything she knows about. ?
Hmm, so is it if she loses the game she has to serve the wright or was serving the wright the payment for the finger and now she must win the game to leave? If she wins and doesnt have to serve the monster that would be great