POA ch018 — Ellis Whispers

Ah. Right. Okay. Back to it, then. 

Henry dreams of the Wilds. 

No, not quite, actually. These aren’t the Wilds, but this is a part of the Bright that bears a remarkable resemblance. The worlds that I’ve seen, after all, are not actually so different from each other most of the time. And, in Henry’s mind, the little forest that embraces the lake beside his family’s ramshackle summer cabin is deep and dark and full of monsters, just like the Wilds. In this dream, he is running through the trees.

But even as we watch, the dream shifts. Now, this, this is the Wilds. I’m a little sad, actually. I know you wanted to know more about Henry, and dreams are one place he can’t hide from us. Ah, well. My thoughts seem to be infecting his dreams more and more. It’s concerning. Something Ap—

Something I’ve been warned about.

But in this case it’s unavoidable. The Wilds were my last assignment, after all. One of the first times you functioned exceptionally well. I thought I’d finally worked out all your kinks. Apparently not. A naive notion, in retrospect.

The Wilds were deep and dark and full of monsters, just as they are now in Henry’s dreams. Endless forests filled with trees that watched and listened a little too carefully for my liking. The people that moved between the trees, however— They were special. They had something we wanted.

In Henry’s dream, he wanders through the Wilds, weaving between the trees. At first, they’re sparse. In the distance, Henry can see a tantalizing flash of sparkling glow, hovering just at head-height. A lantern, he thinks.

He is wrong. I was wrong.

He moves towards it.

Behind him, the trees begin to close in.

Henry treads carefully, his feet offering the slightest crunch on the brush below. The Wildlings have learned to make no noise. They adapted to be of shadow and void in order to survive here, always changing their form. Never staying in one place for too long.

I hated the Wilds. It terrified me.

Henry’s world, the Bright, doesn’t terrify me. Despite the compatibility issues (and your own glitches), my inherent fascination with the Bright has made this assignment a little easier.

Henry continues through the Wilds in his dream. In the silence, even the slightest sound of movement catches his attention. He senses beings all around him, standing absolutely still. He feels them breathing down his neck, watching him, their presence crawling over his skin. Wherever he turns his gaze, the forest is still. 

But, of course, what he feels is not the presence of people.

Henry swallows and re-fixes his gaze on the tantalizing ball of light. He feels their breathing right behind him, now. Exhales raising gooseflesh on the back of his neck. He tries to ignore the sensation. 

He walks forward another few paces.

The presence behind him advances, too.

Henry stops.

The presence stops.

Henry whips around suddenly, trying to catch whatever they are in the act.

“Hey!” He shouts.

But there’s nothing there.

Nothing but the trees, and Henry deep within them.

The forest of the Wilds tightens its grip on him, now. The trees press in closer still. Henry moves more quickly, trying to outrun their suffocating trunks. They stare at him from eyes knotted into their bark and brush his shoulders with branches spindly like spiders’ legs.

Gasping, Henry weaves his way through increasingly tight gaps between their trunks. The bark scrapes across his skin, the sharp little branches whip against his cheeks. They draw blood where the tree-flesh bites and cuts. The space between trees grows tighter and tighter until Henry has to exhale his breath and suck in his chest in order to get through. Each time he squeezes, he fears that the space will close still tighter, trapping him there. He wedges himself between two trees. He shoves his shoulder between them, and then draws his stomach and lungs in. It’s too tight, his mind screams at him, and he can feel each rib against the ridges of the tree trunks. That tantalizing ball of light is only feet away, seducing him with its warmth. With a grunt of pain, Henry seizes a branch to pull himself through. He wraps his hand around the wood. Beneath his palm, something round and slimy and warm flicks open beneath his hand, and tastes him.

Henry cries out. If he can only reach that ball of light — he feels this mission strongly, in that mysterious way of dreams — then he will succeed. It whispers to him, singing a delicate susurrus, like the light of an anglerfish.

The trees press in further, trapping his lungs—

He’s nearly there, he can feel the warmth, he can hear the wisps of voices—

The Wilds entomb him—

Henry reaches, grasps—

—and then he sits up in bed, panting.

Henry heaves in a few breaths, feeling his lungs expand freely. He drinks in the warm spring air drifting in through his window. He is not entombed within the Wilds. He is in his bed, in his room. Cardboard has been patched across the smashed window, and the remnants of glass from the Scout’s attack have been cleared from the floor.

Henry rubs his eyes.

“Nara?” He asks tiredly.

.

.

.

“Yes,” I say to him, after a few moments. “I’m here.”

“What was that?”

“Just a dream.”

Henry considers.

“Felt like more than a dream,” he says. “Dunno where I would’ve come up with that.”

I was warned not to share too much, but there’s little harm in talking about this, right?

“You’re right,” I say. “It was… it was a memory. My memory.”

My voice must sound tired and strung out. Sensing this, Henry drags himself into full wakefulness.

“Some memory,” Henry murmurs. “Terrifying.”

“It was,” I reply truthfully. I keep my voice light, though the depth of the terror in those memories bleeds through in each trembling vowel. There’s a reason I don’t think about it.

“Sorry, sorry,” Henry apologizes. “We can… we can change the subject. Don’t want to open up old wounds.”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” I reply, though I am touched by the consideration. “But there’s nothing much to say. I survived it. We survived it. My— my world. There’s not much more to tell.”

Henry yawns. “Alright. I’d like to hear about it, if you’re up for it, but it can wait. Sounds like we’re both tired.”

As Henry curls back up in the bed, his thoughts solidify into words, too tired to vocalize. Not all of us have that luxury. 

You’re back, Henry thinks, with what sounds like disappointment — and, perhaps, a little bit of intrigue. Been a while.

“How long, for you?”

Two weeks, Henry replies. Started to think you were gone for good.

A burst of endless, impossible fatigue, fatigue so intense it is painful, overtakes my senses— but it’s from my own memories, not Henry’s.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say. “My job’s not done yet.”

No, I was— I mis— I’m glad to know you’re alright. Even if I’d prefer you not be, um, here, y’know?

That stings. Just a little. Even though it makes perfect sense.

No, I mean—! A flurry of half-formed thoughts tinged with the saltiness of awkwardness.

I’d be down to have you here, like, physically. Just not a fan of sharing my brain with you, much less with a machine.

“Of course,” I reply smoothly. “That’s understandable.”

Two weeks, though? Does time work differently for you?

“In a manner of speaking. But, for our purposes, no.”

Cryptic as always, Nara. Henry thinks, but there’s fondness in his tone that makes me smile.

‘Nara.’ I’d almost forgotten about my— my nickname (you would never let me forget).

As I consider it, however, you begin to spit and sputter, your cogs whirring.

Nara? Are you talking about— what was it called, the machine you made?

You hiss and shake, your cooling fans roaring. On your readout, strange words appear, and you churn out a series of… names? Ellis Pollux Janus Collective Mellon COG— You say, and then a non-verbal sound that rushes out of your speakers like wind through a cave.

What is going on?! Henry thinks wildly, as though I could possibly know.

You made them! Henry chastises.

—Chiral Sinistral, you continue.

The sequence begins to repeat.

Ellis, you say, again, and then that same sound, like a chorus of whispers. Chiral, you say, and then COG, and then Pollux.

What is happening?

“What the fuck is happening?” Henry echoes, aloud.

Ellis, you say, and then you wheeze out that sound once more.

You repeat these two sounds, over and over again, and the readout cannot quite capture them. It prints out Ellis, and then tries to render the strange susurrus in print, but it can’t capture it. Finally, it simply prints out, Whispers.

Then you are silent, the readout returns to normal, and all is well.

I am stunned.

“Can you hear that?” I ask Henry.

I heard something weird, Henry said, like, those whispers and that voice again? And the word ‘Ellis’? What is that?

“I think… I think they were picking a name?”

Oh! Henry thinks with delight. Wait, that’s cool! Two, though?

“Yeah,” I say, “they can be… indecisive.”

Trust me, I know, Henry thinks ruefully. So, which do they want to be called?

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know?” I reply. I’m still reeling from your choosing your own name, wanting your own identity, in a way.

You aren’t supposed to want that.

“I guess you can pick, if you’d like,” I say to Henry.

They can have both, He thinks. That’s pretty standard, you know. First name and a last name. The second part, that— Henry imagines a whooshing sort of sound, like the flitting of a breeze whispering through a dark and gloomy cave, or like the hiss of your drivers as you churn through a new section of code.

Nara, you’re kinda a poet. Henry interrupts his own thoughts to think at me. Anyway, I thought we could translate that bit into a more… pronounceable word. Like, Wisps? Or…

“Whispers?” I suggest.

Ooh, Ellis Whispers would be a rad name, Henry thinks. Hey, speaking of, I’m assuming you don’t have a last name, Nara?

“Wh— oh, um, I mean, not really? We don’t use them. It would get too confusing. But… in the old days, everyone had a family name, and some of us still know ours.”

Do you know yours?

“No.”

Oh. I’m sorry.

“No, it’s— it’s fine.”

For the first time in two weeks, I find myself beginning to relax.

But that cannot happen. I can’t let myself go. Not again.

Nara, are you…. Is everything okay?

“Yes!” I insist. “Sorry. It’s— been a— two weeks. The, um, the Hive Mind— I mean, Ellis, I guess, needed some updates. Routine stuff.”

Right.

Henry shifts, hesitant to close his eyes and return to sleep.

Henry checks the time on his phone. 2:46 AM.

So, um, do you… you talk to them when you’re narrating, but can they, um, reply, or…?

“They shouldn’t be able to,” I sulk. “That’s something I’ve been trying to sort out. Sometimes, though, on my little read-out, the system messages become sort of corrupted. Sometimes it’s what looks like whole conversations. They, um, seem rather fond of you, though.”

Henry snorts. Oh, so they’re making my life hell out of fondness. Yeah, right.

“It’s their nature, I suppose.”

Henry’s thoughts are slowing, nearing slumber. He thinks of one more question before he drifts off.

Where do you go when I sleep? Or… at other times? Because you’re not here all the time.

“It, um, goes back to the time thing,” I explain. I’ve always been conscious of every word, but now… I need to be scrupulously careful.

Henry smirks.

The time thing? He prompts.

“Right, so, um… imagine it like this,” I say. “Imagine everyone is a string, okay? And I’m looking at your string, through my— it doesn’t matter. So, I can crunch up my perception of your string, or stretch it out. For the purposes of narration, of course. If I were there with you, I would experience time like you do.”

“Like string theory!” Henry bursts out, aloud.

“Yes, like that,” I say, “like what Naomi explained the other day. Or the other week, I guess.”

I’d like to hear more about that, Henry thinks. But not now, I’m tired.

Henry flops back down onto his bed.

“Goodnight, Nara.”

“Goodnight, Henry.”