Persistence Of Memory

Chapter 4

Captain Sludge trudged past Swallow Hole Swamp toward the shack on its banks. This dwelling was unique in all of Subterranea. Whereas other Shadow Swine lived inside stony caves in his underground home, Crone alone dwelled among wood. The hut appeared small and dilapidated from the outside, but Captain Sludge had discovered long ago that this was an illusion.

Here untold rooms held oddly shaped cauldrons. From perfect ovals to warped and twisted metal to huge vessels of iron, each unique pot boiled a magical brew. Full of answers.

Most of Subterranea’s underground residents shied away from Crone. But not Captain Sludge. From the time he was a pupa wading through swampy waters, he’d watched her with fascination. He was constantly drawn to her power. Later, when he morphed into a nymph, he braved the swamp’s shore to seek answers from this wizened woman.

Of course, each reply came with a heavy price. The hardest one was his height. He would have been just as tall as any other Shadow Swine had she not given him the knowledge, molding his natural intelligence into genius. Or so he liked to believe.

Yes, he gave her a few inches of his height. And spiked his hair to look taller to underlings. But it was all worth it. She made him the most powerful Shadow Swine of them all. Save Lord Sickhert, of course.

He glanced back at Swallow Hole Swamp. There he’d crawled over pupae and nymph alike. Even before he’d bowed before Lord Sickhert on the banks of the River of Lies, he’d practiced dream draining on his peers.

Not that they liked it much. But he didn’t care.

“So, you have returned for more games,” Crone’s quavery voice noted from the rickety porch.

Sludge nodded at the wrinkled witch leaning against the dilapidated doorway. “Its powers have waned.”

The dwarfed woman gave him a snaggle-toothed grin and crossed her arms. “And of course, you need me to recharge it. Don’t you, Pupae?”

Sludge clenched his strong jaw. He would have slapped anyone else to the ground for such insolence. But Crone had helped him too many times for such treatment. Instead, he reached under his coat and pulled out a battle-axe, its steel blade shining in the lava light.

She raised her hairless eyebrows. “But what have you for me?

Sludge’s hand instinctively rose to the top of his head. The last thing he wanted was to give up more height.

Crone laughed. “Worry not Pupae. That is not the payment I had in mind.”

“What then, Witch?”

“Let us play a game.”

Sludge raised a hairless brow.

“A game of remembrance. Of cauldrons foretelling futures. And an ambitious young Shadow Swine.”

Even the mucous coating over his dark skin could not hide Sludge’s paling. His yellow eyes widened, and he glanced away.

“Of course, you need not play. And powers will wane. It is no claws off my fingers.”

“But their strength grows with each year.”

“Then come and play,” Crone said.

Pausing, Sludge caressed the glinting steel. Knights of Painted Light. Bah! He let her lead him inside.

Knights of Painted Light. Bah!At the end of a long hallway, Crone waved a knobby hand at the round door. It creaked open, revealing the fire pit and warped cauldron inside. The boiling brew popped and steamed as the little woman unhooked a wooden ladle from the wall.

Crone waddled on stunted legs toward a footstool and stepped up. She inserted the long ladle in the bubbling brew and stirred. Misty images of a fair-haired man appeared overhead. The man held a paintbrush in one hand and was facing a large canvas.

Holding the axe aloft, Sludge stepped closer. “Now?”

“No, Pupae. I said, play first.” She grasped the ladle tighter.

“I don’t understand.”

“Do not play dumb. It is beneath you. You know perfectly well the game. Speak. Who is this?” She pointed at the figure in the mist.

The image sharpened and Captain Sludge’s stomach dropped to his jackboots. He stumbled back. Crone crossed her arms and fixed him with an even stare.

“Well?”

He cleared his raspy throat. “It is the second of the Borax line.”

“And?”

“Father to the Deliverer.”

“Now we are getting somewhere. I showed you his image sixteen years ago. Remember?”

Sludge nodded.

“And do you recall what my cauldron foretold?”

“How could I not?”

“Then my suspicion is founded in fact,” she said.

“It is but conjecture. You have no proof.”

“Perhaps. Yet even as we speak, the Deliverer is beginning to suspect. And if he discovers the truth, you know the consequences.”

Captain Sludge swallowed hard. “Death for death. Yes. But there is no evidence linking me to…that.”

“No. But the true art reveals. So, beware.”

Captain Sludge clenched his jaw. I planned it so that no one would ever discover my secret. Even her. Holding up his battle-axe, he tried changing the subject. “Now, may I?”

I planned it so that no one would ever discover my secret. Even her. She pointed at a rickety chair. “Sit down, Pupae!”

Sludge plunked down and pressed both jackbooted feet into the floor. He shot her a quick glance. After many years he knew when not to push.

“I feel the vibrations of Surrealia.”

Sludge heaved a sigh. “I know. I know. You told me that earlier. Why do you think I sent a battalion there?”

“Which the Deliverers battled.”

“And were yanked away before victorious. Their sculpted wolves were newborn pups for my soldiers to crush.”

“Yet you lost many! Lord Sickhert is not pleased.”

“You didn’t—”

She cut him off. “Do you take me for a fool? You should know more than anyone the care I take.”

Sludge held up the axe. “Good, for if he knew this power.”

“Yes, he’d take it for himself. I know.”

“Now, may I?” Sludge asked.

“Let us begin,” she said.

The captain eased his hatchet toward the boiling brew as Crone raised a ladleful in her gnarled hands. Once his blade was directly under the wooden spoon, she tilted it slightly and the steaming potion dribbled over the metal. There was a hissing sound and the mist darkened.

The image of the painter faded while a surreal beach scene took its place. Three draping clocks melted over a dead tree, a cold block of stone, and a humanoid piece of driftwood.

“’Persistence of Memory’ huh? What are you trying to say, Crone?”

“It is not I but the cauldron that speaks.”

Sludge watched as the clocks swelled in the steam, their ticking growing ever louder. The cauldron’s brew bubbled and boiled. The ticking timepieces continued to stretch until they became surreal strings extending toward the horizon.

“If we are to be victorious, memory cannot persist,” Crone said.

The last few droplets of brew slid off the steely blade. Sludge tilted the axe and pocketed it inside his long cloak. “Amnesia is no easy task.”

“For most, perhaps. But others were not given the knowledge, were they Pupae? Nor used it in violation of all laws.”

With no choice, Captain Sludge nodded curtly. He would comply for now. Turning toward the door, he sneered. Your suspicions are groundless. I made sure of that long ago. Be careful, Crone, or your words will be your damnation.

. Your suspicions are groundless. I made sure of that long ago. Be careful, Crone, or your words will be your damnation.