Pale 16.4: "Left In the Dust" bonus content ("100 Years Lost, Excerpts") (continued)
Resuming where we left off with Hazel's Bizarre Adventure jumps us from year 39 to year 60. She didn't walk toward the Paige of Suns' spaceship thing in the end, so her meeting with him wasn't necessarily the midpoint of any journey. Anyway, twenty-one years later...
It was not a very encouraging thing, to set off on my way through this place I had heard so much about. The dismissive little brat who claimed to come from a whole family of people who explored these nonsense places had mentioned it, I could well recall, and not fondly, and I had been warned by the backwards woman that this was where the Wolf made his lair.
I had to admit to some confusion over the fact that so many had referred to my husband as a Wolf, and I knew well that he pursued me, but he supposedly lurked here as well. I harbored concerns that this promised a chance meeting with him, and I had little idea what to expect.
Oh, interesting. If I'm reading this correctly, Hazel met up with some Finders (though they may have still been called Chaos Magi at this time, the name change is supposed to have been fairly recent and it may have even been Hazel's very return that led to it). They either wouldn't, couldn't, or weren't asked to un-Lose her, but they did tell her a bit about the Wolf and direct her to its main nexus. If she goes there, will she meet the manifestation of her husband that it took on, or does it stay in a more impersonal, archetypal form while within its home space? If the latter, it might not be quite as hostile toward her as usual, since it won't be in the form that was created in reaction to her.
If the husband-monster isn't actually the Wolf of the Lost Paths at all, but rather the real man following her here from realspace and revealing a secret nonhuman nature, then this will be where she finds out.
My good companions were so patient with me, following behind and keeping their voices quiet. The steady thuds of the man in the cage's movement were not so quiet, but I could hardly fault the poor soul that. If a man could heave his knee-high, square cage about quietly, bringing it onto its side, then onto its roof, then another side, over and over, he did try.
The jungle child, even, held back her words. I had to wonder if she was intimidated, but I could not ask, for she had not learned to speak, even with my nightly lessons.
Girls' smocks, frocks, church dresses and nightclothes were scattered everywhere, shifting underfoot with every step, or wrapped around tree trunks. Tatters of cloth and stray ribbons flew from every branch. Most were bloodstained, or soiled by dirt or other filth, and there was no sign of the owners.
So very oppressive was the atmosphere that I had difficulty drawing a full breath into my lungs.
Oof. We'll see how long these ones last. If I was write earlier about Husbandwolf specializing in separating her from her companions as a manifestation of her grief over losing her daughter, then...hopefully the Wolf will not be in that form in its own lair, or they're probably all fucked.
…
Editor's Note: Indeed, sixty years into her journey, Hazel does reach the Forest Ribbon Trail. But she does not enter it as most do and comes in from the sides, partway down the trail.
Efforts have been made to find the 'dismissive little brat' she refers to but did not write on in earlier installments, with no luck. It is this editor's experience that many families will publicly deny any relationship to such a child, but privately claim to be the family that child was from, who had the opportunity to come across Hazel on the Paths.
…
The Wolf is particularly attached to the Forest Ribbon Trail, out of all the other Paths. Hmm. I'd gotten the impression it was a more universal entity (or category of entities) that had to be dealt with in some form on any Path.
If it normally only prowls the Forest Ribbon Trail, then that makes it more likely that her husband is actually her husband and the wolfishness is coincidental.
Heh, figured as much regarding the identity of the dismissive little brat. Everyone wants to take credit, no one wants to answer questions. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a little hint connecting this character to a mage clan introduced in "Pact" or something, as a bonus for longtime readers. If so, I unfortunately wouldn't recognize it, as I only made it a few chapters into Pact.
We did not have to travel very long at all before we found the path. It snapped this way and that like the ribbons tied to the branches did, but when I set my foot down, it did hold steady, and became as any path I had walked back on Earth. The bushes did rustle, as if the Wolf himself was moving through them, and I heard a wealth of scared noises and crying sounds, all in the voices of little girls, on either side of the path.
I feel like Hazel's dialect is getting more old-timey as this goes on. Might be a consequence of the ethereal changing her, or the psychological toll of it all making her develop some weird quirks. Might just be the author not quite nailing the consistency.
To a mother, there was no more terrible sound than that, and I did truly consider myself a mother still, even if I had walked these paths for six years for every year I had been a mother to my child.
The FRT taking on these particular characteristics for her as she gets near the Wolf's lair suggests that it is in fact her "husand," and that its acting on the personal demons I surmised.
Granted, the worst case scenario is that the husbandmonster ISN'T the Wolf, but the Wolf is going to act on those same issues, meaning a monster AND a souped-up copycat of that monster designed to target her emotional wounds specifically both attacking her at once. Like I said, worst-case scenario.
I touched the jungle child's head as she passed, and she did not snarl nor snap as she usually might. The man in the cage joined us, as did the sweating Belly Jelly Man and the stilt legged foal.
"Dear friends, you do not have to come with me. This is a terrible place, and I must think it's possible to retreat to another, safer path than this. I would not think any less of you, and my heart might in fact rest easier if I were to know you were somewhere safe."
My companions did clamor to assure me they would stay by my side, which brought me nearly to the point of open tears. The stilt legged foal leaned down to nuzzle at me and snort hot air into my hair, and even the jungle child clung to me.
"Alright, but you must let me protect you. I've collected little bits of magic here and there, and if the terrible Wolf is who I fear he is, then I suspect he'll want me over any of you."
"But Hazel!" the man in the cage protested. "What sort of men would we be if we made you stand in front of us?"
"You are not all men, you silly creature," I told him. "One of you is a man, yes, but you're trapped in a cage that is much too small for you."
"But I have grown strong, tumbling everywhere I go inside my little cage."
"That you have, but strength matters little if you are not prepared to use it. No."
"Then I- I shall-!" the Belly Jelly Man quavered in voice, as he wobbled in body.
"You, sir, quiver and tremble in fear in times we're completely safe, and I would not ask you to face something truly fearsome."
So the cage guy used to be human, but the others didn't. Or at least, cage guy is still mostly human, and the others might have a few bits of Lost humans stuck to them. I think?
I made a point of pausing. I set my hand on the jungle child's head and she did snap at me this time. My protections did slow time enough that I could remove my hands from the way in time "One of you is neither adult nor male, which I dare say are important things to be possessed of if one wishes to qualify to be called a man, and the last of you is a very silly young horse who can barely walk, with legs longer than I am tall."
I think he was using "men" in the original, non-gendered sense, Hazel.
The stilt legged foal breathed into my hair yet again, in answer.
"I must lead the way, and if you should tell me different, I will not budge from where I stand. I have lost too many companions along the way."
It did take some doing, and I had to stand my ground, arms folded, chin raised, before my companions did eventually accede. Truly, I do not think any of them wished to put themselves into danger's way.
We walked down the path, taunted by that terrible, heart-wrenching sound of girls crying out in pain, sobbing from fear, or calling out for help.
The ribbons became more bloodstained as we progressed, and when we came upon the clearing, I must say the red ribbons had been warning enough that I wasn't at all surprised to find the Wolf there.
A fire burned, and a single short pace away, a stump had been shorn at the top, and laid with a young girl's bloodstained smock as a tablecloth. At one end of the stump, toe of his left boot nearly in the fire, was my Wolf of a Husband. He leaned to his right, arm resting on the stump, as he partook of the raw meat laid there. Sitting across that same stump was a young girl wearing perhaps the only intact dress we'd seen yet, with no staining or spoiling.
It struck me that she was of a size that every dress we'd seen could fit her, not that she would wish to wear it.
My Wolf of a husband looked up at me, but he did not rise, give chase, or cease eating.
Well, on one hand, the husband IS just a manifestation the Wolf, rather than being something weirder.
On the other hand, meeting it here hasn't caught it off guard in a resting state that doesn't care about her.
Still, it's not immediately leaping to the attack, so its behavior here might be somewhat less psycho-reactive even if its appearance isn't.
"Who is this child?" I asked him.
"Does it matter?" he asked, with the tone of a man who could leap up to strike at me any moment. Even now, sixty years after the fact, I hated that a part of me cringed at that.
"Hello, Hazel," the child said, her tone bright. She showed no fear or worry when it came to my husband.
"Hello," I told her. "Might I have your name?"
"You could if I had one to give. Had you started at the beginning, I could be by your side, you could name me, and then you could sacrifice me."
"I beg your pardon, but I do not think I could sacrifice a child."
Ah, she's the "little animal" that you can turn into a familiar or sacrifice or whatever. Hazel already has the kitty, though. Or wait, no, you're supposed to bring that with you from realspace. Not sure who or what this kid is, then.
"You came in partway. This is meant to be a moment of respite, to have you let your guard down. After a first, terrible confrontation with the Wolf, you would venture this far, past difficult challenges and around certain rules, and then you would meet the Wolf a second time, for the respite," the child instructed me, brightly. "You could ask him things and come to know him better, and then when it came time for the final meeting, it would be worse for you would feel sorry for him for having known him."
"I don't wish to know him better and I was married to him for ten years, or some version of him."
"Yes."
"I do not think I could feel sorry for him."
"You could," the child told me. "A few specific words from him would provide a seed for that sympathy to grow, and by the time of a third meeting, it would not only spark a thought where you could feel sorry for him, but you would want him to devour you."
This kind of thing in fantasy stories always frustrates me a little. The freezing up and having to come to terms with the demon taking on the appearance of the character's traumatic backstory person...even when the character knows it's not really them.
Granted, it may be justified in this case, since I'm not sure if Hazel actually knows that this is just the Path-Guardian entity using her husband's memory against her and not the man himself. I feel like she must at least strongly suspect that at this point, though, and depending on how much that Finder kid told her she may indeed actually know it.
In which case, whatever disarming words or sob stories the Wolf gives her, it should be fairly simple for her to go "you're not actually him, nothing you've said here applies to you."
This is something I appreciated about the einsam sequence in Frieren. Fern didn't really know better, so the illusion was fairly effective on her. Frieren did know better, so she was just dazed by involuntary emotional associations for a moment before going "lol nice try."
I'm not sure which of those two's situations Hazel's level of knowledge puts her closer to, so this might not be a bad example. I'm just saying that I've seen a LOT of stories where this situation happens, and characters act like Fern when it seems like they should be acting like Frieren. I'm talking about "should" in the "what the character seems like they'd realistically do going off of how they've been written so far" sense, not "should" in the "Versus Debate Competence" sense.
...
As a side note, this was one thing I actually did appreciate about the otherwise awful Fate/Zero climax. Kiritsugu didn't beat the trap by taking a moral stance about the needs of the many and the needs of the few. He beat the trap by Turing Testing the illusions and then treating them as such when they failed it.
Which I think most people would indeed have the presence of mind to do in that situation, but that a lot of fantasy protagonists weirdly don't. I get that the author is trying to illustrate character growth in these scenes, but it comes at the cost of making your hero artificially gullible.
...
"I cannot imagine that."
"You're right, Hazel," my Wolf of a husband told me, around bites of raw meat. The faint crying and shouts in the background went quiet when he spoke, breaking off into choked and muffled whimpers.
I had not known him to ever say those words.
Mouth full, he explained "What the child describes is the way things were meant to be, but it was spoiled. Nobody makes it this far, and those like you who stumble in here can't reach the third part without having passed through the first."
"The Child?" I asked.
"Even the finest ribbons can become tangled," The Child replied, voice gay and cheerful. I had no idea if the tangled ribbons she spoke of meant herself or if they meant what my Wolf of a husband had said, about the ways through.
I might have asked, but my Wolf of a husband stood, and I took a step to stand between him and my companions.
"Go, Hazel," he told me. "I'll kill this child and then I'll come hunt you."
"No," I told him. I put a hand out to reach for The Child, bidding her to come to me, so I might protect her.
She did not come to me.
"Run," my Wolf of a husband told me. "I shouldn't even need to chase you at this point. All you do now is run. You aren't looking for a way to bring Minnie back. You aren't exploring. If you were, you'd go somewhere that matters, as scary as it could be. Keep running, keep wandering aimlessly, and I won't even need to get my hands on you to destroy you."
"Why won't you just stop?"
"Why won't you?" he asked. "Let yourself die at my hands."
"We're meant to survive," I told him. "To try, to strive, to make a mark on this world."
"We're also meant to suffer and die. It's my job to speed that along for you."
I shook my head at him, defiant, even if I couldn't find words I was sure were truth.
"I don't need to chase you at this point. You've become a coward. But I will chase you all the same. I will lift you up and cast you down onto the rocks of these strange places and I will render you something broken, and then I will find the worst torments for you that these little realms can conjure up, and I will throw what remains of you into the midst of that."
"How did you become this?"
Ehhhhh.
Well, like I said, Hazel might not have quite realized what this thing actually is yet, so blaming her isn't neccessarily fair. It's still frustrating though, because we know that she's not actually talking to someone for whom these are meaningful questions.
"I have always been this, and this has always been us. There has always been a Wolf waiting on the paths. You want to bring Minnie back?"
"Yes?"
"But you run instead. You explore, you tell yourself you're helping others, but it's all a form of running. I will do all the things I said to you, Hazel, breaking you and casting you into torment. And then when I am done, I will find Minnie in the realms of Death and drag her out from there."
My hand clutched at my collar. "If I gave up, would you leave her in peace?"
"No."
"What would dissuade you?"
"Nothing. You should have run when I first told you. Then you wouldn't have heard me say these words."
He bent down to the stump with the serving of raw meat piled haphazardly on it, picked up a knife.
Hey Hazel, how about "If you want to torment Minnie's soul, and you really do have the power to recover it for that purpose, why have you been waiting all these decades?"
I guess there's a chance he might answer with some plausible-sounding magibabble about how he needs to go through Hazel to get to Minnie for some contrived reason, which she wouldn't have the knowledge to refute. I would have still appreciated the attempt, though.
I whistled, tearing at the scarf I wore at my neck at the same time. I hurled myself at him, moving as fast as the wind, and the torn scarf unfolded, reaching wide.
In vain. He struck the Child with the blunt end of the knife, in the same place he had struck Minnie. I caught her before she hit the ground, and pulled her away from him.
It was the stilt legged foal who intervened, putting a leg in my way, forcing me to stop so I wouldn't crash into it and break that thin limb. The Jungle Child grabbed at me as well, and with my forward movement now thoroughly arrested, I allowed myself to be dragged away. The first step was reluctant and unwilling, the second compliant, the third willful.
I let my Wolf of a husband sit himself down to resume his meal, baffled and alarmed that the Child had died so. Whatever did that mean? It seemed to me that she belonged in the same company as the Wolf, the Page of Suns, and the Queen of Ends.
…
Editor's Note: Here we close this section. Hazel has inadvertently stumbled onto her own list of Architects. The Architect theory suggests that certain prominent Others act as pillars of the Paths and may be the originators of it, but each theorist maintains their own lists and Hazel seems to do the same. While the theory has been debunked, we do know there are certain Others who take on a certain prominence and tend to revolve around Finders. The Wolf, the Page of Suns, Jacques, and the Queen of Ends, among others.
Hazel neatly identifies several, but seems rather certain the Child is one, and changes to start capitalizing it partway through the conversation. It sets Hazel's list apart from others, but it should be noted the idea of the Child's inclusion on the list is somewhat rare, for after all, the Child is typically dead early into most Finder careers and they don't see the Child return. Hazel's hypothesis came after the Architect Theory had been largely dismissed by the Finder community, and the diehard adherents of the theory have other structures they have fixated on.
Arguments can be made about the Child being counted among the key Paths fixtures. Many of these arguments can be found in Architects.
…
Oh, did she actually see her husband murdering Minnie? The early entries made his guilt of that particular crime seem ambiguous, but if Hazel actually saw him do it then never mind.
Anyway, it seems to me like the Child is just part of the Wolf. An extension, or an accessory.
We flash forward to year 93 now. Nearing the end of Hazel's century in limbo. Her musings about the Child at the end there suggests that she might finally be starting to accept that there's no bringing her daughter back and she might as well stop hiding from that fact, but it evidently takes her many more years to actually get back home.
My newest and perhaps last collection of traveling companions joined me on the way up the path. Birds took flight from hidden places with every step I took, and each carried traces of the same scraps of magic I had carried away with me after visiting these little realms. Birds shed tears and feathers, and each tear that touched earth became a circle of protection that lasted only a few moments. Feathers passed through my companions and I yet would cut my enemies like a sword's edge. I had not eaten, but anyone who felt my ill will would feel the hunger I should, not I.
Which was all to say I had taken every preparation as I ventured into the unknown.
Well, at least she's been grinding plenty of XP in these last 93 years.
The construction hung low in the sky and it lowered slowly as we walked. We made no haste but we didn't dally either. The grating roar as it scraped up against the sky grew louder as we drew nearer. I kept my hands in my pockets to keep protections secure, not only against the noise, but against my traveling companions.
The Page of Suns and Jacques walked on either side of me. The Page of Suns appeared much as he had on our first meeting, but he had dressed up a touch, His waistcoat portraying stars swirling in a way I'd never known stars to do, dense toward the center.
Jacques, by contrast, appeared as he ever did, long hair in a ponytail, a homespun shirt and suspenders, his feet bare. He was less talkative than he usually was.
She's found Midpoint Spaceship again, and this time is choosing to approach it. I think that mention in the last editor's note was our first mention of "Jacques," so I don't know who he is or what his role is. Just that he's another Paths god.
Behind me was the Finder. She wore my appearance, but with starker colors, her skin faintly tinted in azure hues, faintly see-through. But she had all the rewards from traveling I did. She appeared to be my ally, this time around, and the very fact that her every step also bid birds to take flight and also produced tears and feathers, well, I dare say that was a fine thing.
Huh. Wonder why the Finder is using Hazel's appearance. Some kind of tactic they've planned out for the final encounter with the Wolf, maybe?
I assume the Finder is getting something out of this cooperation as well. Probably first dibs on Hazel's century worth of notes that were eventually turned into this very in-universe document.
And of course, the Queen of Ends was out there, off to the side of the road we walked down. She waded through this place, head and shoulders visible aboveground, her narrow and tall crown scraping the sky and parting clouds. Hills and mountains cracked as she walked against them.
"I do recall you once telling me that this place is a midpoint in a journey."
"It is," the Page of Suns told me.
"Does that then mean that I have another ninety-three years walking the paths, to finish that journey?"
"It does not."
That's good.
"Are you about to pontificate on the difference between time and distance once again, Page?"
"No. In this instance, by either measure, I believe you've left the midpoint behind you."
That's also good.
"But this place is the middle?"
"Yes."
"I'll keep that in mind," I told him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction if satisfaction was his aim. And I did keep it in mind, truly.
"We cannot follow you in," the Queen of Ends told me, as she continued to march forward, landscape shattering against her collarbone and neck. Boulders larger than I rolled across my way, but I was protected.
"Is this goodbye then?" I asked, in utter dismay. This hadn't been told to me before now.
"It isn't, not necessarily," Jacques assured me. "Provided you survive."
"Will you travel beyond, and meet me once I'm through?" I asked. "I do think we have so much more to do and talk about."
"There is no through," Jacques told me.
I felt some alarm at that. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You'll see," he answered, being evasive in a different manner than his usual.
Yeah I don't think we want these things tromping around in realspace.
I guess Hazel likes Jacques better than the rest of the pantheon. I feel like she's a little hard on Sun guy, but I get that his paternalistic demeanour might be more annoying in person than it is to read about.
Our walk down the road saw that roaring construction dip lower and lower. It met the stone path, and that path ceased to be stone. Water rippled and crashed past us in a sudden and disorienting wave.
Just now realized that I'm picturing this looking a lot like the temple-ship from Angel's Egg, heh.
The Finder behind me touched my back and kept me walking forward on the path that was now shallow water. There was nothing beneath the water, but I could walk in the water because it was shallow, and if I had fallen through, then it couldn't have been shallow water.
The cube had ceased rotating and had settled into the ground. The path stretched forward to one face of it, and on that face was a cast iron door. My feet now splashed with every step, the birds still taking flight, some settling on the water's surface to float there.
The Page of Suns, the Queen of Ends, the Finder, and Jacques all stopped roughly a hundred paces from the door. I walked the final length alone, feeling not a little like a convict walking to the gallows.
I'm starting to think that this "Finder" might not be a wizard after all. They seem more like one of the gods themselves.
The door was heavy and I had to press myself against it with all my strength to push the door open. It forced me to squeeze past, stumbling into the room, allowing the door to close itself behind me.
The room was as white as bone, and Jacques had been right. There was no way through. There was only a vague bulge standing out from the the wall opposite me, that stirred with a dull roar in the same way this construction had.
…
Editor's Note: Hazel is the first and only practitioner we know of to enter these non-Path spaces. The entrance is the exit, there is no continuity. We don't know much more because she's scant with her notes and explaining her reasoning, especially later.
…
"Hello?" I asked, and my voice did echo in the room as if I were at the bottom of a well.
I wanted to tell myself this was a 'sitting still' place. I did just that, remaining where I was, my back to the door, watching and waiting, taking in every detail. The room was too empty to have a means of tracking time, and I knew too well that if there was no such means, then time would do things as it saw fit. Most importantly, I saw nothing that ticked steadily as if it was seeking a destination, no rope that burned nor any markings across the sky that followed the moon. I knew I had time, or more specifically, a freedom from its constraints.
Yet waiting did not amount to much at all. The corners of the room were crisp, and the walls tidy and even, except for that bulge across from me, resembling a rug thrown over something large, but it hung off the wall. It sat ajar, not holding any particular shape.
I stepped away from the door, a short experimental step, and birds did take flight. They scattered, doing a circuit around the room, shedding tears and feathers. Bird and feather were swallowed up by the white walls. Leaving us alone.
She can just make shield-birds spawn from the ground she walks on, I guess.
The bulge in the wall tore, and a figure peeled away from it, a blur in a vaguely human shape. A man's shape.
That man moved unevenly, as if he barely understood the mechanics of walking. He reached out, and he bid a pedestal to rise from the ground, stopping at about the level of the heart.
There, he set a fish, tied to a rock with a rope, and he released it. It sank, swimming to no avail, but it did not drop to a lower position in the air.
A pillar appeared in another corner of the room. The man made of hazy shadow remained where he was.
"Sir," I addressed him. "Do you speak?"
He did not move or speak.
I reached into my coat, for the emergency pocket. I withdrew the broken bread, peeled back more of the paper, and tore off a chunk, before extending the broken end toward him.
He did not partake. Oh, how my heart bounded with fear and alarm. Even my Wolf of a husband had been compelled to take of the bread and talk with me until we'd finished it. I was so used to keeping an enemy at bay, I could not think at all!
I was fortunate he was not aggressive. His head turned to watch me as I explored the room.
I didn't know enough to know what I was meant to do.
"Make another?" I asked.
He did not move.
I walked over, then gestured, ready to leap back in a moment if he reached for me or attacked.
He raised a second pillar. There, he set another fish, chained to the pillar. With a touch, he dissolved the fish into tiny bubbles. Those bubbles rose up, sank, then rose up from the pedestal, chained.
One swelled in size, the bubble popping, and as it did, it crowded the others away. They faded.
The blur of a man did not wait. He walked another few paces, then created a third pillar. A fish chained to the pillar struggled, flailed, and then to my abject horror, a pointed bone pried its way from chin, chest, and stomach, standing away from the fish's body at an angle, gobbets of flesh and some guts stringing between the bone and the open wound. It swam about, as much as the chain would allow.
Another. On the fourth pillar, he set a fish with a bone jutting from its lower body bent head down until bone pierced chin, roof of mouth, and brain. The pillar shuddered, and then dissolved. Chunks floated into the air, keeping to a rough column shape, but now stretching to ceiling.
I realized what the shadow man was about, and set to work answering his riddle.
…
Editor's Note: Perhaps the most maddening of the entries, Hazel describes what she does but does not unravel the riddle for us. My grandfather's remarks here were a tirade against Hazel, in the earliest editions, and I do sympathize with him, but I don't see the need to delve into such things. We'll sum up what we can here.
…
On my first pedestal, I placed figurines that I had carved, chronicling my various companions, so I might have them with me. I did not place all of them, but I placed some, and set them in proper order. With the magic granted to me for finishing the Settling Stir, I altered the shadows for added effect.
…
Editor's Note: The consensus seems to be that Hazel has illustrated important connections, mirroring the rope tying the fish down. If we're talking in a distilled language of the Paths, then connections tie one down, as important as they are, and Finders who are reckless with the Paths they run and the boons they accumulate may have trouble holding onto connections. She picks out friends and uses shadow, presumably, to paint the ties.
…
I hurried over to the next pedestal, excited now, and I did notice the man was no longer shadowy, but vague in shape, a man but neuter, noseless, eyeless. The birds that materialized to scatter out of my way did not seem to bother him at all.
At this second pillar, parallel to the pillar where the fish dissolved into bubbles, I pulled my hand mirror out of my bag. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and inserted a key to lock it in place. I moved on, pained that I had to leave it behind, even for a short time.
…
Editor's Note: Because Hazel carries a wealth of items at this point, and because she has no less than five hand mirrors, I feel it important to note that she is almost assuredly referring to her Fated Mirror. It was a powerful item she picked up on year 74, day 116, that she then had to work to disable the curse. The mirror lets her view her past self, future self, and her current self as others see her. She has used it several times to great effect, viewing her future to know she'll be dead, then averting that future.
The reason for the Finder Community consensus on the Fated Mirror being what she uses here is that she refers to no other mirror as hers, nor does she carry any other mirror in her bag. A boon Hazel bears lets her carry any number of things with no difficulty, but some items disappear forever. She cherishes the Fated Mirror because it allows her to view herself back when she was a mother to Minnie, and sometimes catches Minnie in the frame.
Consensus is split here, but this editor and his colleagues primarily believe this pillar illustrates individuality and Self. The reflection makes sense.
The heartbreaking info about the magic mirror notwithstanding, I'm lost. I don't know what this entity is (assuming its not just the Wolf slowly phasing in) or what this ritual with the fish is all about. The placement of the items definitely evokes the stuff from the earlier lore about the Forest Ribbon Trail, but it doesn't correlate exactly.
No idea at all about the mutilated fish. Metaphor for her companions? Her fraying sense of self? For what the Wolf plans to do to her?
Upon the third pillar, I spill my blood from a wound on my hand, and then leave the Wriggling Knife atop the pillar. Knife and blood, to represent the duality. The fish with the protruding bone sat opposite it. I was certain that was right.
Now the man was bereft of clothing, but he had the necessary details.
…
Editor's Note: Sacrifice in both senses of the word. Those who have walked the Forest Ribbon Trail know this well. Hazel however has only crossed it, but it is good she knows what to convey.
…
Upon the fourth, I placed this very book, which I would reclaim later, of course. But at the time I was prepared to be forced to leave it behind, and I viewed it as possibly worth the sacrifice. I would miss it dearly but I would be so glad all the same. A match to the fish with the bone piercing its skull.
…
Editor's Note: This one remains harder to interpret than the others. We believe she considered the book and the logs of her travels a representation of Paths.
…
We finished our last pillars at the same time. The riddle deciphered, I took off my coat and shook it with care, so I would not unleash errant magic. I did not want magic, I only wished for dust.
Oh, how different our displays were. For me, it was a thin layer of dust. What I feared and suspected most, of course, was to disappear. That I would leave and leave nothing. What other end could there be?
His, on the other hand, oh, what a nasty sight it was. Fish were gathered in a cage, and that cage was writ in boiling blackness that resembled diseased flesh. They were choked out from within, and they killed themselves trying to swim through the gaps. The wicked construction of the cage shredded them.
The man, now dressed in a fashion similar to mine, walked over to my pedestal.
"You may call me Pisces," he told me.
"Hazel."
"Would that an ending could be this easy."
"Yes," I answered him, being very careful with my words. "I suppose if I had to choose, I'd take mine."
Something in that room changed, and I felt it respond to me.
…
Editor's Note: The test is passed, knowledge of practice is sufficient. It appears to be a summary of all she has learned as a Finder. An exam for her, like those given to those students of higher education that she envied so much.
…
Yeah I've still got nothing.
Nice touch with her trial being a parody of an academic test, though, on account of that old desire/resentment of hers.
Umbrella in hand, I walked to the entrance, and then across the middle of the room, I drew a wavy line, carving a furrow into the surface. I stopped when I was between our second pillars, and I drew the Child up as a sculpture, with will alone.
At the third I drew the Wolf. At the fourth I drew the Page of Suns. At the fifth, the Queen of Ends. I thought it a fine set. Each of us with our images at one side of the room, the Paths between us.
I do not know if Pisces thought it a fine thing too, or if he was frightened of what he had made. The pillar he had wrought with the twisted cage was swelling, and I was reluctant to extend my will to it. Perhaps he thought it both.
In any event, that heavy door opened of its own avail, or of Pisces's avail. He offered me an arm, and I knew now that I could trust him. I collected my things, and then I walked with him like I had once walked with my husband, before he had revealed the Wolf within. I put my arms both wrapped around his one, and laid my head against his shoulder.
My companions were not waiting for me on my emergence.
…
Editor's Note: We have not been able to locate Pisces with our best efforts, with one obvious explanation covered in a later entry. But death on the Paths is not always an end, and we do not know if he is a construction of the room. Not enough information is provided to convey why Hazel was willing to extend that trust. If this were the last entry, we might surmise Hazel was bespelled, but their relationship continues with no dangerous event for years.
This marks the beginning of the end. Hazel's entries become even more scattered and sporadic, shy on description, to the extent we suspect she is deliberately omitting the clearer explanations. She spends five years in the company of Pisces and does not devote much time to her diary.
…
I guess Paris and their ancestors don't know what to make of this whole part either, then.
Anyway, that was a midpoint in some way, but not in terms of time (only seven years after this point, whether that's subjective or real time). Or necessarily distance, as meaningful as that even is in the ethereal. Maybe in terms of character development?
Anyway, the next quoted entry is from five years later, in year 98.
I had intuited the layout of these realms enough to know we were close to the top end of the figure eight we were tracing. We had had our turn at visting the realms I was more familiar with, but I had not had anything especially wonderful or inspiring to show him. The closest might have been our visit with old companions I had left behind, which included the dull professor, the belly jelly man, and the marzipan ape, who I had bewildered by thanking for the two instances of help he had given me, which confused him so, for he only recalled the one.
I guess at least most of her companions survived their Wolf encounters, even if some of them might have lost some memories when they respawned or whatever it is Lost do instead of dying for real.
We moved on so that Pisces might have his turn.
Pisces was not one to hint or hold things over my head, but I had known he was anticipating what was coming next from his demeanor. I knew him too well for him to hide it.
What I found was his group of fellow explorers of these realms, working hard at another sort of construction. Pisces explained it to me as a means of accessing the mechanisms of the universe itself, and I saw them work, adjusting the finer rules of time, physics, and spirit. The full construction and project were hundreds of years from being completed, but I knew full well that time was a trickster force. I had not aged a day while in these realms.
Huhhhhh.
Pisces is another human? A Finder? Was the whole ritual with the fish a trial for him just as it was for her?
That doesn't feel right, but I'm not sure how else to explain this part except maybe as a final trick/trap/decoy of the Wolf's.
…
Editor's Note: My father once remarked he would have given up his firstborn for details on these constructions, to me, his firstborn. I agree and I do not fault him for it. A valuable experience, reduced down to a few lines of text, bereft of description. She makes more mention in future entries, with scattered details, but little enthusiasm and clarity.
…
Tohsaka Tokiomi approves.
These words are hard to write, so I will be brief. Pisces seemed bothered and bade me to stay where I was. I did politely oblige, for he had listened to orders he must have thought of as nonsense, and it was my obligation to do him the same kindness— not that I thought of his request as nonsense.
He did not spend much time at this business. His good nature was quieted when he came back to me, and he told me that we would have to return quickly. I obliged. We had meandered and taken our time in doing a loop through the locations I knew best, returned to the room where we had met, and then ventured into areas exclusive to him and his fellows with the same leisure. There was no such thing now. We moved with haste, we took every shortcut, we ignored all natives and creatures we encountered.
I do think Pisces wished to ferry me back to that room. But we were walking down a garden path when he was no longer with me. I kept up my pace, though things were certainly harder, hurrying now, to return to the room.
I slowed my pace as I came within sight of the room, on that path where stone turned to water. The blighted cage that he had constructed for the pillar had swelled, and it had turned that space inside out, twisting everything as it did so.
Oh, how I did wail, once I realized what had happened. Pisces lost, yes, but all the rest too.
My grief surpassed my grief for dear Minnie, and it was not nearly enough.
Eh?
Yeah, I'm thinking that this might actually be her final battle with the Wolf. Everyone and everything she's come to love and take comfort in over the last century, all vanishing at once. And there was the mention of how she took Pisces' hand and walked with him like a new husband, or like her old one before she knew what he was really like. And "everyone I love vanishing" is Hazel's Wolf's entire thing, just never so much at once before.
Yeah, that feels right.
So, "Pisces" was the Wolf doing a long-con emotional attack as its final attempt at breaking her. The fact that she still made it back to Earth indicates that it did not succeed, though it mut have come close.
Maybe this is what the Paige of Suns meant about the midpoint. The amount of pain and loss she experiences in the final seven years are equal to that of the first ninety-three.
Poor woman.
…
and explanations few.
It is said a Finder will disconnect from our world as they pick up enough boons and practices, or surround themselves with Lost and Lost things, but little sense can be made of Hazel's actions late in her quest. We shall endeavor to keep trying, and it is likely our approach will be a steady progress of unraveling what she did early on, to see if we can find the thread to pull that unravels the knot. Another possibility is that some brave soul will stumble onto the right answer in the right moment. Several Finders have seen the construction but were unable to reach it. What might happen if someone were to access it, or to find this fabled place where they might have access to the levers and cogs of reality?
In conversations with colleagues in recent years, I've asked what might happen that could shake the world as Hazel did, that would not be merely retracing her footsteps? Invariably the response from my peers points to the growing power of the corporate Finder group, but I do find myself wondering what might come of things…
No final entry about her making it back home and passing on her notes?
Disappointing.
Kind of a phone-in of an ending, honestly. The IRL author's note for this interlude suggests that Wildbow didn't mean for this to be anywhere near as long as it ended up getting, so maybe he just felt compelled to stop himself and wrap it up at a certain point.
Anyway, the last little bit gets back to the Pale trio and Miss, who have the book in their possession and were reading it.
Miss stood off to one side, a low branch hiding her face, allowing the two girls to handle the discussion. She kept the paper close, absorbing the contents.
Lucy looked Miss's way. Trying to decide what to ask for, how to approach this discussion. Lis did as well, but for other reasons. Lis was aware of enough, especially plans like this, to have a sense of what Miss would be doing.
If there was a chance, it would require the support of the same individuals who despoiled her dream in the first place.
How badly did she want this?
She thought of being bound, and not the tidy, sleeping kind of bondage by Seal. Of countless Others in similar circumstance. Of what the practice had become, and the fact it was on a trajectory with no sign of slowing or stopping. Just the opposite.
Standing where she did, she was the only one who saw the little boy with black skin and golden hair, wearing a cape patterned with stars.
She hadn't realized she'd made a decision until the Page of Suns had come to mark it.
Not enough context for me to say anything about this ending bit, of course. But Aris Katsaris knew that when he comissioned this, so I doubt he expected me to say much about it.
Abrupt and anticlimactic ending aside, "100 Years Lost" pleasantly surprised me. I think this is some of the best Wildbow material I've read, if not outright the best.
This is going to seem like a really backhanded compliment, but the epistolary format does a very good job at cutting out the prose issues I have with Pale's main text. Cutting out the scene-setting and descriptions to just focus on the actions, in this format, lets the author communicate what's important and leave the stuff he's not as good at to the imagination without it hurting the piece. The cost here is that the in-universe writers' voices need to be distinct and characterful, and here I think Wildbow does...well enough, at the very least? Paris' clinical (and also backhandedly political) interjections do a lot to provide contrast for Hazel. The latter could have used a bit more refinement to get the voice more consistent, but it was still good enough to tie it all together and sell Hazel as a character who's easy to follow.
What struck me the most about this whole story is, actually, the degree to which it illustrates what "patriarchy" really means. In its pre-suffragette, not-yet-watered-down-by-a-century-and-change-of-activism form. And, really, while the degree and nature of it vary from culture to culture, millennium to millennium, there's an honest to god argument to be made that - in a weird way - patriarchy was the first and oldest form of colonialism, and it's one that almost every society in history practiced to some extent. Hazel running away from her master, him being able to go to the police over her but not the reverse, his unilateral ownership of her reproductive resources (creepy way to put it, I know, but there's no NON-creepy way to put it), the alienation from land and property that she herself was born on and into...it all just slots so neatly into indigenous experiences. Ditto the progressive and reactionary politics regarding them both during the time following the era "100 Years Lost" is set in.
In full historical context, it might actually be less accurate to say "patriarchy treats women like colonial serfs" than it is to say "colonialism treats indigenous people like women."
I don't know if capturing this was the author's intent when writing. Frankly though, if this was something the story just stumbled into then that just makes it go even harder. It means that the parallels to, eg, escaped slave narratives are there purely because of art imitating life rather than art imitating art.
I don't have as much to say on the worldbuilding front as I've had with the early Pale extras. The "100 Years" account clearly assumes a LOT of prior knowledge from the reader, and the stuff I've read up until now only provides me with some of it. How elegantly the metaphysics of the Paths and weird spaces between them extend from the setting's basic rules of magic, what all the ritual symbolism from the stuff with Pisces could have been doing, etc, I'm not really able to have an opinion about. I do like the aesthetics, though. It might be derivative of turn-of-the-century fantasy works, but it used them very effectively, giving the whimsy a hard edge AND an important point simultaneously without compromising its fundamental vibe.
Really, just the simple decision to make it the story of a mother mourning her child instead of the usual child mourning their parent(s) helps keep it fresh.
I do wish the ending didn't just peter out though. It really felt like the author running out of time and/or patience, rather than the story building up to and telling a natural ending. I'd really like to see this expanded into a full-length novella.
