Flux Wanderrift's Arc

Chapter 6 of 18

Flux landed hard in a gray dimension of drifting dust. The rug stayed rolled under one arm. The flea-swarm sagged in their palm, its grin thin and tired. On Flux's shoulder, the three-eyed jester swayed. Its wicked mouth hung slack. All three eyes had gone dull. Flux needed the jester to sense the way to the council's fold. But the little companion was spent. "Point me," Flux said. "Which way to the fold?" The jester lifted one clawed hand. It turned left, then right, then dropped the hand. It swore in its sharp tongue, low and broken. Flux understood the chatter. Too many portals. Too much sensing. The jester could not tell one seam from another anymore. It had touched a hundred doors and now heard only noise. Flux knelt. "You've been leading me since the vault. I pushed you too far." The jester pressed its forehead to Flux's cheek. It felt cold. Flux's chest tightened. Without the jester's nose for portals, they were stuck in the dust with no way out. Then the swarm bit Flux's thumb. The sting became words. "I read patterns," it said. "Wool holds patterns too." Flux looked at the rolled rug. The council had woven the fold's map into its threads. A map was a pattern. And the swarm ate patterns for breakfast. "You can read the rug," Flux said. "Then guide the jester's eyes to the right seam." Flux unrolled the rug across the dust. The knots stared up, red and green and gold. The flea-swarm poured onto the wool. It crawled the woven lines, chamber by chamber, reading the route stitched into the threads. Flux held the jester up so it could watch the swarm move. "Follow it," Flux told the jester. "Don't sense all the doors. Sense the one the fleas point to." The swarm gathered at one corner of the rug. Its shifting face grinned wide, then aimed itself like an arrow at the empty dust. The jester lifted its head. It stared where the swarm pointed. One eye focused. Then a second. Then the third. The jester's slack mouth curled into its old wicked grin. It raised a claw and jabbed at a spot in the gray air. A seam split open there. It shimmered, narrow but steady. Beyond it Flux saw a hidden fold of space, folded like cloth, dotted with strange lights. The council's meeting place. The real one. "There," Flux breathed. "You found it." The jester chattered, proud and shaky. It could not have found the seam alone. But the swarm had read the rug and aimed the jester's tired eyes. Together they cut through the noise. Flux rolled the rug, tucked the swarm close, and lifted the jester to their shoulder. The portal to the council held open ahead. For the first time, Flux stood at the true door to the council itself. They stepped toward it.