Iteration 91

I

When Jacob Smock awoke, the first thing he realized was that the world spun a lot more than it used to before… no answers came, just the dizzy spinning of something working its way out of his system. Though he had woken up in similar ways many times, this was the first time he had no idea what had happened or where he was.

He tried to sit up, but found that his wrists were restrained. Did I fall asleep at Rita’s? he asked, already beating himself up for not being wary. But as he struggled to get his hands free, he realized that there was something off. He wiggled on and on in the darkness and this feeling kept on growing.

A coldness settled in his belly as he realized the problem. Rita had silk sheets, they were a point of pride in her overwhelmingly hippie abode. They were bright green and embroidered around the edges with small flowers, and more than anything felt like butter to the touch. Many times these sheets had enveloped his body like a flower petal made of the tiny sacrifices of a million heroes.

He froze. The rough canvas that scratched on his bare skin now would never have found its way into Rita’s home, she had no stomach for such discomfort.

A rough chuckle emanated from the darkness and Jacob could barely suppress the whimper of fear that pulsed through his gut then. “Who are you!” he yelled, hoping for an end to whatever prank was going on.

The rough chuckle got louder and he heard a chair scrape against concrete across the room from him, followed by the sharp clack of heavy boots approaching.

“Yeah, its always right about this time that you start shitting yourself.” The voice’s quality was eerie, familiar in a way that sent his insides twisting into knots. A feeling of deja vu washed over him, but he realized that this whole situation was brand new, it was something else was familiar.

The voice. His voice.

The lights clicked on, and for a moment Jacob was blinded by the stab of pain his eyes mercilessly endured. He wracked his head from side to side, trying his hardest to rip his hands from the restraints, but with a frustrated yell he slumped to the bed. With dread, he opened his eyes.

A little older, a little rougher, and with a metal box embedded in his throat, Jacob Smock stood over himself. The one strapped to the bed seemed shocked, horrified at the revelation of his clone standing above him. The older Jacob looked sad, hopeless and defeated. There was no malice in his eyes, no anger or sadism.

No, older Jacob pitied his younger counterpart.

With a strong hand, older Jacob slapped the younger one, breaking him from his shock. “You will have more than enough time tonight to cry yourself to sleep and come to terms. you are no longer Jacob, you are 91. Come now, 91. You have a lot to learn today.”

Old Jacob led 91 from his chamber into a hallway. It was very bland, cast out of grey concrete and lit only with fluorescent lights every ten feet. They walked for a while, and after passing the same door for the fifth time, he realized that he was being led in circles. Finally, Old Jacob stopped them at a door that looked like all the others and unlocked it with a key ring.

If I can get the keys to this place, then I can get out of here, 91 thought to himself.

“If you get the keys to this place, you will die.” Old Jacob’s voice brokered no argument, and as his chilly gaze settled on 91, all thoughts of fighting left his mind.

“Can you read my thoughts?” he asked, voice shaky.

Old Jacob’s mouth twitched, but then he nodded. “And I have full control over what you think. If you stray too far, I will have to reprimand you.”

91 didn’t know what that would entail, but he figured it would be best not to find out.

Old Jacob opened the door and ushered 91 inside first. 91 hesitated, but Old Jacob left him no choice and tossed him inside with more strength than 91 had imagined. The younger one tumbled and rolled down a small hill covered in grass, and though it had a been a painful tumble, the breeze that came over 91 sent his heart fluttering. Ignoring his pain, he jumped to his feet, ready to embrace freedom.

But the urge died before it could even live. All around him was a large field of grass, cut no higher than his ankles, that in the distance was completely surrounded by giant, black, thorny brambles. He could see nothing beyond their thorny edges. There were a few oak trees here and there, but otherwise the field was empty except for two things. The first was the hill and tower that he had just been thrown from. It was squat, three stories tall and only one room wide. It was made of the same concrete as the halls he had just been in.

Across the field from the tower, though, was a building unlike anything 91 had ever seen. The very sight of it was enough to send him to his knees, his hands coming to his head in awe and terror. To call it a temple would be unfair to the grandeur of this monstrosity. Two great, white pillars held up the image of a giant crab with twelve claws carved out of marble. The detail was incredible, each scale of its skin etched in the reddish stone so that the thing looked as if it might writhe across the land. Within a ring of columns was another, smaller building with a lit entry way. There were no doors to conceal the staircase that led down to the earth within. Whatever controlled this world, 91 concluded that it live deep beneath their feet.

Old Jacob came to 91 and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The Mistress lives in the garden, underground.”

91’s attention snapped to Old Jacob. “The Mistress? Tell me.”

Old Jacob sighed and looked back to the temple. “She is older than anything of man, 91. She controls this world. You must do as she says, or you will find that a fate worse than death awaits you. Come.” Old Jacob then yanked 91 to his feet, pushing him ahead towards the temple.

For a moment, 91 felt the need to run away from this mercurial other self that had somehow become his warden. There was a subtly contained violence beneath the defeated eyes of that older man, and it scared 91.

Like a hawk honing in on a mouse, Old Jacob clamped down on 91’s wrist. “You can’t run! Just listen to me for one day and you will have long enough to see for yourself.”

91 gulped, cowed by the murderous look in Old Jacob, and nodded, allowing his muscles to relax and his body to be dragged along by Old Jacob.

They were undisturbed as they walked to the temple, but all around were many different men. Some were tending fields and livestock, some working other essential tasks. All of them ignored the procession, but as 91 passed through, the horror grew greater and greater. The man cutting down some grass with a scythe, though bearded and with more muscles than 91 had ever had in his life, had the same face as him and Old Jacob. As they passed, he looked over and 91 quivered at the gaunt desperation in his eyes. Another man was pulling a cart full of rocks up to the tower, his Jacoby face straining and sweating and turning bright red. He looked at 91 and then looked away, unconcerned with this newcomer.

As they neared the temple, 91 saw that it was far bigger than he had imagined. It reminded him of the Greeks, but he realized that Zeus himself would have had to come to earth and build such a monument. No human hands could ever have built such a thing.

Before they crossed into the wide, flat plaza that surrounded the columns, Old Jacob stopped him. “I warn you, 91, do not ever talk about Zeus or Athena or Aries or any of the other Greek or Roman gods. Just so you know, do not bring up any gods what-so-ever. You only have one god now, and she is a jealous god.” With that, Old Jacob turned and kept walking.

91 couldn’t understand the intensity with which Old Jacob switched from threatening apathy to something resembling care. I guess I’d be pretty tough on myself if I had to be my own bodyguard, 91 thought.
They didn’t tarry long to explore the outer columns, Old Jacob led 91 directly into the inner building and onto the stairs. They were made of a gleaming white granite that had veins of a multi-colored metal, and as they both descended, 91 saw that it gradually shifted color over time. For the first time, he felt a touch of the mystical design of the world around him and knew that he was on the path to meet something greater than real life. Whether it would be a good thing or a bad thing for him was yet to be seen.

They descended into the depths of the earth, the stairs subtly curving, rotating around a central pillar etched with friezes, an endless art piece that never repeated. They descended for what felt like hours, spiraling downward into the unknown. They kept their silence, and 91 knew that his older, bitter self would be thankful for it. But why should I even care about that wretch? He contemplated the answer to that question for the rest of their descent.

They exited into a short hallway with a massive door set inside it. It was made out of a very dark blue wood, another image carved into it that gave 91 the chills. At the bottom of the image was again that crab with 12 legs and a pit sitting at the focal point of all its claws. Above it was the Earth, depicted in full continental detail, with the image of little circles floating downward, away from Earth and towards the pit at the belly of the crab. As Old Jacob and him stood right before it, in front of the maw of the crab, he saw that the circles were little human children inside wombs. Some had their eyes open and some did not, but all of them went into the pit.

He pulled away from Old Jacob, revolted by the imagery. The older man grabbed 91 by the throat, picking him up without breaking eye contact. 91 lashed out, striking the man in the face, but he felt only his own fingers crack as they hit something harder than steel. He cried out in agony and before he could do anything else, Old Jacob tossed him into the pit.

91 fell for a long moment and he was certain that his death quickly approached. But as the falling lessened, he felt the darkness around him begin to lessen as well. Suddenly, it was like he had not been falling at all, but was supported by an unknown material, hidden in the dark.

The darkness shifted, fluctuated and parted in some ways, allowing light to blossom. Slowly, a room began to manifest out of it, and though it seemed that light was entering the space, 91 had the distinct impression that the shadows themselves had been moving and where removing themselves from his view.

Suddenly, it was bright. He sat on a large cushion embroidered in blue and gold. He sat within a torch-lit room, open on four sides to darkness. The walls in the corners were made of a seamless granite, white as bone. They were banded in sections by pure gold, radiant in the torch light. Across from him, on a throne, sat a woman. The throne itself was magnificent, twelve crystal spears plunging upward from the ground and towards the fiery chandelier above with her seat nestled at the crook where they met. It sparkled in reds and yellows and golds, shimmering like water, covering the entire space with little flecks of flaming light.

But atop the throne was the single most radiant entity that had ever passed before 91’s eyes. Her hair was not shiny black, it was like onyx had been turned to strands so fine it would be smoother than silk. Her skin was not the golden brown of the sun born, but the very surface of a star made into the skin of a woman. Her eyes most of all captured him, two luminescent green spheres that pierced through him, forcing his surrender. Those eyes had a familiarity to him that forced him to accept them and whatever they brought.

“Come to me, Jacob.” Her voice was music made material, sinking into him so viscerally that he obeyed, scrambling from the cushion to get to his feet to better listen to her. He walked over, but as he approached he felt a strong urge to kneel. So as he reached the bottom step of her throne, he knelt before her and raised his hands in praise.

She smiled, a wicked glee behind the beauty of her lips curling up at the edges. “You have already pleased me, Jacob. You are a good man.” She stood and began to descend. The darkness around the room surged, flexing in and out of their spaces, and 91 felt this tremor in the stone.

For a second, he wavered and looked up.

Descending the throne was not the beautiful woman he had seen before. Her face was gone, replaced with a dark pit. He again looked away, but in the split second before all he could see was stone steps, her face had reappeared and there had been fury in her black eyes.

She froze on the steps. 91 dared not look up, but kept his pose of praise. They sat this way for many minutes, and as his arms began to shake with exertion, he feared that he might have ruined any chances he had at survival.

“Do you know why you are here?” she asked him.

“I do not, Mistress,” he said.

“You are being punished. You broke the law and you are now going to pay for your crime.” There was amusement in her words, and 91 had to fight back his urge to look up.

“For what crime am I being punished? I don’t remember breaking any laws,” he said. Though it would probably have been better to accept the words, he wouldn’t be accused of something he didn’t do.

Her sharp laugh made him reconsider his need for truth, though, and finally he looked up to her. Her face was again radiant and beautiful and he felt his resolve begin to melt before it. She was looking at him in scorn.

“You may not know your crime now, but you will know it soon. Time is the ultimate teacher, and I am his best student. You have passed for now, you are average. We will see what sets you apart from the rest, if anything.”

Just like that, he was again back at the door with Old Jacob. He was facedown on the ground, panting, but he was able to stand calmly. Old Jacob appraised him, looking for any trauma, but smiled. “Pretty wild, right?”

91 nodded, dusting himself off. “What is this place called?”

“Charbidal. Your home, that tower, is the Churl. Get used to it, 91. Consider why you have that name and you will find the reason you must.” With that, Old Jacob began to ascend the stairs.

91 looked once more at the carving before following.

II

Apparently, time is a funny thing. It flowed from past to present, but these perspectives were only used by those who were locked inside the flow. The Mistress was above it, she was the one who saw through all time. From what it seemed like, all timelines in the entirety of the universe began and ended with her.

At least, that was the story that 91 had gotten from 33, known as Scar to most of the others. He was truly unique, his face marred by three long scars from an unspoken encounter with a beast in the Mistress’s house. He didn’t look like the rest of them.

This was a common factor that 91 came to learn right off the bat. Old Jacob was the one who had been there the longest, over 9 years. But 91 had earned his name, for he was one of a multitude of Jacob Smock’s. Most of them looked the same, but there were a few that stood out, the Uniques, those few voices separate from the ever-present face. There were few others besides Scar and Old Jacob. There was Reaper, One Leg, and Happy Jacob. One Eye lived with a small contingent of renegade Jacobs, and Father tended to the animals, leading the faith of the Pit. The Uniques were leaders among the other eighty-four who lived in Charbidal. Despite this, Old Jacob’s voice was the absolute authority, chosen by the Mistress.

For the first few days, 91 was left to his own devices to adjust, ministered by Scar and Old Jacob. They gave him simple tasks when he was bored, knowing full well the inner turnings of his mind. Even still, 91 knew that he should not ask questions. He rubbed his jaw where Old Jacob had hit him with a cane for asking why they were there.

Jacob tried to remember the details of what led to him being here, but he couldn’t remember. He was a paralegal, he worked most days of the week and exercised the other days he didn’t. He went to bars and clubs, but nothing beyond that. What could he possibly have done to end up in such a place?

A flash of blue raced through his mind, but was gone quickly. He shook his head against the building pressure behind his eyes, but nothing could stop the pain that began in his brain. He gripped onto both sides of his head, squeezing tight against the horrible pressure inside.

Reaper walked by, stopping to look at him. Seeing his distress, he smiled and wiped his nose. Reaper was the one who held the scythe and cut the grass. “Oh man, I don’t miss those.”

91 looked up to the Unique, so skeletal looking. “These?”

“Time headaches. They’re from the ritual.” There was a grim amusement behind Reaper’s eyes, and for the first time he wondered if they were really the same person.

“Do you have to be so fucking vague?” he asked, half yelling.

“Oh, you’re from a cursing curve. Those are interesting ones.” Reaper sighed. “Did Scar give you the low-down?” 91 nodded. “Its not entirely true, but it serves until you are ready for the real truth. Do you want to know?”

91 almost nodded, but he had a moment to consider this. If Old Jacob and Scar thought it best to lie, might it be best to trust his other selves? The need for truth, though, was like an itch that could not be scratched.

“Is this really just some meeting point of different timelines? The Mistress said that I was being punished.” He could clearly remember the black hole of her face.

Reaper shrugged. “As to all that, it’s hard to describe unless…” he shook his head. “There are some things I absolutely can’t discuss with you, so if I say don’t ask, don’t ask. I’ll just say that there are many, many different timelines like a great web, and yes they all intersect, but it ain’t here. Where you are is in the lair of the being that manages the web.”

91 thought about this for a moment. “But why us?”

Reaper’s fist struck out faster than he could have imagined, laying 91 out on the ground. He groaned, tried to stem the flow of blood in his mouth, and looked at his gaunt other self in fear.

Reaper cracked his neck, relaxing his body. “You’re soon going to find that you shouldn’t ask three questions. “Why are we here? Why us? and Why am I here? I watched you ask the first one to Old Jacob and he gave you the proper response. You have now asked me. I would not chance the third question with anyone else, because they might not be as forgiving. I like the fearful look in your eye, it reminds me of who I was before I came here so I have patience with your stupidity. But others… they might just send you to live with 5, 12, and 90.”

Reaper smiled once more before turning away and leaving.

91 couldn’t tell entirely what Reaper had meant, but the sinister tone of his words made him think that 5, 12, and 90 were no longer amongst the living.

For the rest of the day, 91 wandered about the field, taking in the various people who lived there. Most of them looked just like him, same age, same hairstyle, same clothing, the roughspun of brown wool. They milled about with blank expressions, one he knew that he wore in order to hide his thoughts. 91 decided he would be one among the herd and imitated them, hoping that they would ignore him. But it was like he had a painted sign on his head that showed his newness, for everywhere he passed the Jacobs turned to look, some in disgust, others in fascination. He looked away from them, hurried along to hide behind a massive oak near the briar wall.

Why had they been staring at him? He racked his brain, looking for details, but nothing came to him, not until he considered the wild look in Reaper’s eyes. Reaper’s brown eyes.

91 could feel the panic rising as he dove into his memories. Old Jacob’s eyes, they were brown just like Reaper’s, brown as fresh turned earth. As he remembered his time in Charbidal, he realized that all of the Jacobs there had the same eye color.

Except 91. I have green eyes, he thought to himself. Am I the only one?

He walked Charibdal for the remainder of the day, taking in the looks of all the Jacobs. All of them had brown eyes and his suspicion was confirmed.

91 was Unique.

91 awoke the next day to find that he was surrounded by at least ten of his clones. Old Jacob was first among them, but both Scar and Reaper were beside him. As he looked from face to face, he realized that all of them were unique. He slowly began to stand but ten hands came out and lifted him from the ground and a sack was pulled over his head. A scream began to build in his stomach, but he held it in tightly, knowing the consequence. How quickly I am learning myself, he thought.

He was carried for a long while before being tossed onto a soft material on the ground. His hands came up immediately and he tore the hood from his face, but all the fight drained from him as he realized where he was.

He was in the Mistress’s Garden.

The throne was right before him and the Mistress was staring down at him with a smile. She beckoned with a finger and he felt that compulsion enter him again, forcing his legs to take him up the steps. As he neared the top he felt the urge to bow and came down before the Mistress, kneeling with his head resting on the step at her feet.

“Jacob, you are very different than yourselves. Do you know how?” her voice was seductive and dark, but held an edge of violence that even he could recognize.

“I have green eyes.” It seemed like such a small difference, but in this world he didn’t know if it could mean death.

“You are right, your eyes are like two ruddy emeralds in a field of fresh turned earth. I like this difference in you, I have never seen it before. If you promise to please me, I will allow you the privilege of staying and being my guest.”

The sudden influx of lust that filled him threatened to make his body shake. He was nodding already. “Yes, Mistress, anything to please you. I promise.”

The Mistress’s sharp laugh almost broke his attention but he was so enamored with the musical tone of it that he was still within her spell.  “I need you to do something for me, then. Can you do this?”

“Anything.”

“I need you to kill yourself. Not your self yourself, but another. Are you willing to do that for me?”

91 nodded, but a part of him felt a deep revulsion at such a request. Regardless of this feeling, the compulsion to obey was stronger than anything he had ever known, even his own will to live.

“Look to me, Jacob. Look to me and take the weapon you will need.” 91 looked up and saw that a black dagger had appeared before him. It was no longer than his hand, but it had a sharp, wicked edge to one side. “There is only one place where it will find its home, if you put it there I will be very happy.”

“Where, Mistress? I wish to make you happy.”

She beckoned again and he stood. She reached out and embraced him, pulling him so that her lips fell right next to his ear. She whispered, and thought he could hear her speak the words made no sense.

But 91 knew who he would kill.

III

91 walked the pathway that led from the Churl to the outside edge of Charibdal. He was in a trance, his eyes half closed and his body heavy with the movement compelled by the Mistress’s spell. Each step was choppy, robotic and mechanical, an unnatural rhythm that drove him across the field.

As he passed others the dance of recognition made its way across their faces. They recognized the compulsion that drove him, knew the deadly motives that orchestrated the interplay of tendons and muscles and bones into the pattern of death. But none of them did a thing for they all knew that nothing could be done. They watched as we made his disjointed march towards the hut near the end of Charibdal.

The hut of Old Jacob.

91’s stupor was so deep that what came next could have been a video game playing on the background screen of a television on the street to his awareness. Though he could feel the pumping energy of his body and the strain of his muscles as he rammed down the wooden door, he felt a supreme boredom at his actions. Old Jacob jumped to his feet, a snarl on his lips and fear in his eyes, but 91 felt only the cool grip of the dagger and the growing anticipation of the Mistress’s pleasure.

91 watched dully as Old Jacob swung his mighty fist at him only to be separated at the wrist by a quick flick of the dagger. Old Jacob screamed out but the thunderous noise of it didn’t register with 91, not fully, all he could focus on was surging forward, jumping upon the old man and letting the dagger descend again and again. He kept stabbing until his arm was too tired to raise the blade, the sudden sensation of exhaustion flooding his weak and bloody form.

91 slowly rose to his knees to survey his kill. He had left the blade implanted in Old Jacob’s heart, one wound amongst the hundreds that covered his chest and face. As the stupor began to fade, the trance of murder slowly replacing the apathetic dream that brought him there, 91 felt the hot blood on his hands. He felt his stomach turn at the sight of his own form bloody upon the floor, face unrecognizable. He felt a great trembling overtake him, filling him with doubt.

But like a rancid cherry on top of a cake of festering corpses, he felt the overwhelming joy of fulfilling his mission. He felt an almost sexual satisfaction from killing himself for the Mistress.

The Mistress would be pleased.

91 knelt at the floor of the staircase, a pool of blood around him. The Mistress was looking down on him, face stoic. Her fingers tapped out a staccato pattern on her chin as she considered what she wanted to say to him.

91 was riddled with guilt, disgust, anger, confusion. He had acted without thought, without will, but it was as if he had been the supreme command behind every fall of his knife. She had compelled him to murder…himself.

After a long moment of silence the Mistress took a deep breath. “You have done what I asked, Jacob. But I am trying to read you… your thoughts are clouded and hidden me.”

91 didn’t answer. He simply continued breathing, trying to ignore the blood that was still dripping from his hands. He felt the same revelatory love towards the Mistress that he before, but there was an undercurrent now. If his emotions were a rushing river, there was a hot, bubbling current that was hidden beneath the surface of his torrential love for the being before him.

She sighed. “Still, I am pleased. You will take over Old Jacob’s habitat and you will also take on his responsibilities.”

91 looked up, the compulsion lessening for just a moment. “What will I do to serve you, Mistress?”

She smiled at him and he felt the surge of control wash over him, but this time he felt that small, hot current of his disgust and shame holding true, keeping space from her control. “You will tell me the only thing I don’t know in this world. You will teach me how your mind works. You will teach me why you did what you did to disturb me. You will tell me the only thing that matters: the truth.” Her words brokered no argument and he felt himself sinking into the prostrated bow before she was even done speaking.

A bright, cheery laugh emanated from the throne and the compulsion fell away completely. “Stand, Jacob.”

He felt no strings pulling his body, nothing driving his actions, and so he stood slowly, of his own volition. He looked up to the Mistress and felt that his vision crossed over into that double-layered space and he could see that beneath her face was nothing but a black hole.

For the first time since entering this ethereal place, this temple suspended in darkness, he felt like he was seeing things for the first time.

He took a deep breath. “The magic you have put on my mind… its gone.”

She nodded, standing from her throne. Step by step, she walked down the stairs, eyes never leaving 91’s. “The purpose you serve from here on requires that you think clearly. But if you cannot do what I want, make no mistake that I will do what I wish to that pretty little mind of yours.” The words, despite their dire threat, were spoken in a tone as if she was his boss and she might fire him. “If you tell me what I want to hear because I make you, then I might as well be speaking to myself. I have had enough of that.”

91 frowned. “And if I tell you what you want to hear under threat of annihilation, that’s better?”

The Mistress smiled and began to circle around 91, observing his body from every angle. “Even if you tell me what I want under threat of annihilation, it won’t be me who speaks the words. That’s good enough.” She stopped in front of him and reached out to grab the front of his smock, the rough fabric bunching between her thing, pale fingers. “Take off your clothes.”

Jacob almost pulled away in surprise but stopped his reaction, not knowing what anger he would inspire. He couldn’t look away from those dark eyes, no longer the emerald green he remembered but a deep brown the color of wet earth. Those eyes looked so gentle and warm. So human.

He nodded and reach down, unlacing the rope around his waist. His pants fell and he felt the Mistress pull the fabric of his tunic and he raised his arms, allowing it to slide off his body. 91 stood there naked, not uncomfortable because of the heat of the chandelier above and the proximity to the Mistress. Their eyes maintained connection before she again began to circle him, now inspecting every part of him.

“You are different than the others. You’re eyes are the only green eyes I have seen. Your mind is like a black cloud, only its outside edges able to be seen. Your timeline…well its just a mess. You are so different from the others and you will see it soon. That is why you are going to be my first Jacob.”

91 looked away, inspecting the intricate designs carved into the golden bands on one of the pillars nearby. “They call me Ninety-One. I don’t think any of them will accept me as the first.”

The Mistress stopped circling, standing behind him and 91 felt a brush of her influence over his mind before it was gone again. She must have wanted to really control me right there.

“You need to learn that I do not like to be opposed with every sentence and every idea. You show that you are more like yourself than you realize. This is dangerous.” She began circling him again until she was standing, looking into his eyes while standing at the foot of the stairs. “Go back to Old Jacob’s cabin and make it your own. I have left instruction there for you.”

She turned and began to ascend, her beautiful form clearly visible beneath her robes. She spoke with her back to him. “There are infinite time lines, Jacob. You are only 91. Remember this and remember it well,” she turned and sat down on her throne, the dark hole of her second face now gone, only beauty and radiance present, “Many of you have not made it here because I did not allow it. Millions. Trillions. You all are here because you are different than those countless others.”

The darkness outside of the temple surged and flooded the area, blinding 91 and forcing him backwards. He fell for a moment and then was again at the mural in the temple.

Jacob stood and looked down to himself. He was no longer naked but wore an expensive, silk three piece suit. It was tailored perfectly to his body, jacket and pants a deep, royal purple with a black pinstriped shirt underneath. His feet were bare though and he felt his stomach turn at the black stains that covered them. He lifted his foot, inspecting it, and saw that it was not dried blood but an intricate tattoo that covered him all the way to the ankle. It’s shape twisted this way and that, depicting the same images that were on the mural, just in a different configuration.

He shook his head and began to walk up the stairs, but as he did he realized that his feet felt as if they were encased in hard rubber. He paused and took in his new station in life, then continued up the stairs. No one bothered him as he made his way to Old Jacob’s cabin. No one even looked at him, not Scar or Reaper or any of the others who parted to allow him to pass.

IV

91 sat crouched in the front room of his hut. He had been sitting there for three days, unable to cross the sizable pool of blood that sat in the middle of the dining area. Old Jacob’s body had been removed, but no one had cleaned up the carnage he had left behind. When he had entered the first time, he had frozen, unable to process the vision-like memory with the very real consequences of his hands. He had stood there for who knows how long before he stumbled into the corner by the door, not even bothering to close it behind him.

He was staring at it. That’s my blood. I put it there but I’m still alive. I killed myself but I’m still here. What hell is this, what hell is this, what hell is this? This had been the pattern of his thoughts for three days, his mind caught in a stupor of repetition, a loop of horror and disgust.

His reverie was broken as Scar entered the room, inspecting it with his hands on his hips and a sigh. “Damn fool. Couldn’t stop talking about those green eyes.”

91 looked up from the blood. “He talked about my eyes?”

Scar jumped and turned around. He drew a short dagger from his belt and pointed it at 91, breath heaving in surprise. After a moment he lowered it and put it back in his belt, breathing out real slowly while shaking his head. “Yeah, he did. Probably what got him killed.”

91 was shaking his head. “I did this. I killed him. I stabbed him over and over and over-“

Scar was shaking his head in response. “No you idiot, the Mistress made you kill him. Your hands did, no argument there, but it may have well as been the Mistress with how much choice you had.”

91 had nothing to say, just sat back against the corner and kept staring at the blood. Scar must have noticed this because he made a beeline for the dining table, walking directly through the center of the pool. His boots made a perfect line of footprints leading to the table. he reached forward and grabbed the decanter in the center, pouring a clear liquor into one of the clean glasses beside it. He then turned and pulled out a chair, sliding it messily through the blood until it was at the center. With a wry smile he sat there and crossed his leg, the sole of his boot dripping the blood as if were still fresh.

He stared at 91 for a long moment, taking sips from his glass here and there, but he said nothing. He just stared.

91 kept his gaze for a while before his eyes decided to look around the room. He found things here and there, but his eyes kept returning to Scar’s penetrating gaze. After a while it was too much.

“How can you be so comfortable with this!” he yelled, standing from the corner in anger.

Scar smiled and finished his glass, smashing it on the ground as he swallowed what was in his mouth. The glass flew in every direction, soaked in blood. He stood and pulled out the dagger. “When you kill enough Jacobs it becomes easy to see our cowardly guts spilled across the floor.”

91 felt anger flush through him and he did something he would never do in his right mind, but then again he was not in his right mind. He charged at Scar and tackled him, ignoring the dagger that was flashing upwards towards his ribs.

Maybe 91 wanted to die. Maybe he didn’t care what happened anymore. But he felt a surge of power as the dagger deflected off his jacket and both he and Scar tumbled to the ground. His hands came up and locked around the disfigured man’s neck, pressing hard to strangle him. Scar’s hand came up again and the knife stabbed towards his neck, but he was able to get a hand up and wrench it away. He gripped the handle hard and raised the dagger, eyes wild, ready to kill. But the amusement in Scar’s caused him to hesitate.

Scar, despite lying in a pool of their own blood and about to be stabbed to death, was enjoying every minute of this encounter.

91 threw the dagger away, through the open door, and got off of Scar.

Scar began to laugh, laughing so hard that his eyes began to water. After a moment he stood up and looked at 91, breaking out into another fit of hysterical laughter as he saw the disgusted expression there.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just too perfect. You’re Jacob Green Eyes! You’re a legend here and you can’t even be bothered to kill someone who was going to kill you.” Scar unbottoned his black shirt, throwing it into the messy puddle on the floor. Beneath it he was just as scarred as his face, long lines curving around his entire body in a massive, snarled web of scars. “I was coming here to see if you had taken up the Tome, but its easy to see what you’re really made of. The Mistress will find out soon enough.”

With that Scar turned and walked out the door. He picked up his dagger on his way, laughing, and began walking up the path towards the Churl.

91 stood there for a long moment, breathing heavily as he tried to calm himself from the encounter. After a while he turned and looked, saw a massive black book on the dining table. Ignoring the blood or the shirt or anything else, he walked over to the tome and picked it up.

The instant his hand made contact with the black leather, the entire room lit up in white light and fiery heat. He turned and saw that the room itself was vaporizing away, leaving behind thin, blue lines that denoted where the walls and the floors and the ceiling met. The only thing of substance was the doorway which lead to the same path outside as it did before.

He felt shocked but exhilaration flooded through him as he opened the book. The first page had nothing but a crab with twelve spears radiating out from it. The next page was in a language he couldn’t read but as he scanned the words there he felt his mind filling with knowledge. He scanned faster and faster and found himself learning more and more and soon he knew the purpose of the Tome.

He turned to the doorway and decided to try something he had just learned. Using his imagination he shrunk the size of the doorway, altered its shape so that it was a small circle instead of a large rectangle. In a flash of light the door reformed, changing to a close approximation of what he had pictured in his head.

Almost immediately the walls began to fill with color, a stone and wood texture forming from the white nothingness and manifesting as physical walls. The ceiling and the floor followed suit and soon it was as if the building itself has formed around him in the same way that the Garden formed around the Mistress.

It was a very different space from Old Jacob’s hut. His had been a wood plank cabin on the inside, furnished with hand-made wooden furniture. 91’s house was more modern, wooden beams supporting smooth slate panels between them. The doorway to his bedroom was white and clean with a geometric window in its center. The room was lit with LED strips on the ceiling that were encased in white, resin bars. But everything was still empty and he realized that he needed to learn more from the Tome.

It shocked him how easy it was to use the Tome and how much he liked it. Somehow he had learned the basic facts from just looking at the words. The Tome allowed him to alter the space around him, tuning his mind to the mechanism that the Mistress had designed for him. The Tome was almost like a plug-in for his brain that allowed him to control the hut’s interior.

But he didn’t know how to conjure items.

For hours he dove into the tome’s interior, reading every section that he could. He was surprised that the more he read the more that he could understand the symbols that represented the ideas he was taking in. He felt true excitement for the first time since before he had arrived and it was intoxicating. He missed his friends. He missed Rita. He even missed his job. But diving into the Tome allowed him the first true distraction since his arrival.

He read section on conjuring ethereal objects, on transfiguring objects that already exist on the creation of non-physics based objects. He read about the manipulation of time and space and how to combine this with his hut. He also read about the source of all this power and discovered that the Mistress was not in fact the root of the power. The Tome stressed that her powers were practically unlimited, but clarified that the power was rooted as a fundamental aspect of all reality.

He pondered this for a while, sitting on the empty floor in the empty front room. All he had was the book in his lap, but he was staring out of one of the port windows he had placed on the northern wall. Beyond his hut was the briars that kept them inside Charibdal.

Despite all his reading, he still didn’t know one thing.

He didn’t know why he was there.

Regardless of this, he knew that he would not play ball with this…thing. Despite what she had already made him do, there was something about his last encounter with her that made him think that there may be another unique trait about him. He wasn’t sure yet, but he suspected that he might be able to resist her control.

But he didn’t know for sure. It was time to test it out.

V

91 moved about Charibdal like royalty. No one got in his way and no one asked him questions. When he asked for something he received it right away. When he said something should be done one way, it was done that way. The first day he had reveled in it, executing the small list of commands that had appeared on his table. The second day he had caused havoc with some of the shyer Jacobs, particularly a scrawny version of him called 22. The third day he fulfilled his tasks and went back to reading the Tome, hiding out in his hut for two days.

It was on the sixth day that 91 woke to find himself standing at the mural beneath the temple. He was momentarily shocked but had not time to deal with it as a voice began to speak out of the dark hole in the wall.

“Jacob. Jacob I have a mission for you.” The voice was a light whisper but he felt the powerful influence of the Mistress overtake his body. “I have someone for you to kill.”

91 allowed her to draw him in but he focused inward as much as possible, trying to fortify that hot river inside him, that small measure of control. He nodded in response, leaning in to hear her better.

“I need you to go to the Churl. The Diamond Room has yourself in it, 22 and 48. Kill them, Jacob. Kill them and return to me.”

91 leaned back and the black blade, the one he had used to kill Old Jacob, floated out of the hole in the mural. He reached forward and grabbed it and felt blood lust begin to fill him. It was powerful, hot, so hot that he began having a hard time focusing in on the hot river at his core. A tint of rage overcame him and he was running up the stairs, exiting the temple before he could stop himself.

You have to find control. Control yourself, Jacob. You can do this. He was speaking clearly inside, as clearly as the anger would allow him. But the blood lust was strong, his whole body was tense with the growing pressure of violence.

He marched across the wide open field in the same choppy movements as before, a machine whose only function was murder. Those who were gathered at the entrance to the squat tower cleared out quickly, making way for 91 as he ascended the hill. In his purple suit he looked so different than the others, but he spared no glances to those he passed, his mind had one mission.

He kicked in the door to the Churl and began the clockwise journey around. He could have walked for moments, it could have been hours, but by the time the door to the Diamond Room was before him he felt his anger at an all time high.

Jacob, you can stop this, you can stop her! Last time he had not words to stop himself, so his internal monologue was giving him more and more strength to fight the influence. He reached for the handle on the door but his hand froze on it, unwilling to turn for a moment. But it eventually turned the handle and he barged inside.

22, 48, and 61 were sitting around a small table on the ground, playing cards. They all looked up at 91, dropping their cards and jumping to their feet.

22 wasn’t fast enough as 91 fell upon him with his dagger. The blade descended again and again and soon the skinny Jacob was dead. Easy. So easy. The Mistress will be pleased.

As 91 stood, though, a change overcame him. He felt a vile revulsion at the sight of dead 22. Though he was skinny and emaciated, he still looked like 91 and that similarity caused something to click in his brain. He looked to 48, frozen against the wall, and advanced.

91 brought the blade up, aimed, and stabbed downward.

The dagger embedded itself into the stone of the wall, inches from the tense muscles of 48’s neck. After a moment he opened his eyes and met 91’s. They stared for a long moment, some type of internal conversation happening, and 91 pulled the knife from the wall.

He took a step back and looked again at 22’s bloody form. He met 48’s eyes. “You know why I did that?”

48 nodded. “Not the first time I’ve seen it. Won’t be the last.”

91 nodded and wiped the blade off on his jacket. “You were supposed to be next. It might be the last.”

48’s eyes widened and he looked again to 22. “You think you can do it?”

91 shrugged. “I don’t even know how I got here. I just want out.”

48 nodded and leaned against the wall. “We… stole a book with strange writing from a museum and brought it home because our buyer dipped. Attempted to read it and began speaking in tongues. Woke up here.”

91 searched his memories, racking his brain to try and find anything that corroborated it. All he felt was the swirling dizziness he had felt when he first came to. “Thanks. If I die, you’re probably gonna bite it.”

48 shrugged. “Death might be the only escape from this hell hole.”

91 stood there a moment longer looking at 22 before he turned and left the room. The freedom from the compulsion of the Mistress was a whole new layer of clarity. He was no longer burdened by the hate and blood lust, nor by the fear and confusion. Whatever had happened to bring him here, whatever was making this happen, he felt that he might have a chance to stop it.

Before exiting the Churl, he took a deep breath and attempted to put on the mask of his compulsion. He took on the mechanical walk, the straightforward gaze of the machine. He marched himself back past all his other selves and towards the temple. He strode confidently into its depths and it was only as his journey down the stairs neared its end that he allowed himself to feel some of the fear that he was hiding.

He had no plan, nothing besides confronting the mistress and trying to end their perdition. He came upon the Mural and slipped the blade into his pocket, its depth enough to conceal it. He walked up to the hole and waited, hoping that would be enough to please the Mistress.

After a long moment a whisper emanated from the hole. “Jacob. Jacob have you done what I have asked?”

“Yes Mistress. I hope that it pleases you.” He answered enthusiastically, but didn’t look up from his feet.

After a moment the mural parted as if it were a door, opening inward to show nothing but darkness. Like large tentacles of some massive beast the darkness reached out and wrapped around 91, pulling him into the blackness with ease.

He found himself falling again, very much like the first time he had come here, and then landed hard on the stone. He crumpled and felt the blade pierce through his pocket and the tip nicked him in the ribs. He cried out and stood, looking around.

The Mistress was standing at the top of her throne, as radiantly beautiful as he had ever seen her. His resolve began to melt away as her influence grew. For a moment he almost gave in and didn’t fight it. It would have been so easy for him to allow her to possess his mind.

But what kind of end is that you piece of shit? The internal question was quiet, but he felt that it was enough for him to hold on to. The answer was something he wanted to see for himself.

He allowed himself to fall to the ground in a prone bow because that was what he knew was supposed to happen, but he sat there, waiting for the moment that he would strike. 91 knew what he had to do. He had to cut off the head of the snake.

“Jacob. You have pleased me, those two were something of a mess with each other. They were…close. I couldn’t have that.” She descended the steps and began to walk around him again. “It is nice that you could do this for me.”

“Anything, Mistress. Anything for you.”

She paused, standing behind him. He felt a chill run down his spine and he jumped up to his feet, scrambling up the first few steps of the throne and turning to look at the Mistress. Her face had changed to the black hole and twelve, shiny black legs had sprouted from her back. They had two joints each and ended in a spear-like tip.

“You shouldn’t lie to me, Jacob. You know that it angers me so!” Her voice, so calm at all times, raised to a shriek and she advanced on him. Her sharp legs jabbed out and 91 jumped down from the throne, rolling behind its left side to hide behind the white stone. The darkness around the temple surged and he closed his eyes, remembering one of the key facts about the Tome:

All spaces are equal when the will of the user works inside it.

Suddenly the pillars around him cracked and the upper level above them began to crash down on their heads. The Mistress’s face appeared around the edge of the throne covered in a sneer. It turned to fear as she looked up and saw the stone crashing down. Suddenly all the stone disappeared and they were suspended in darkness on all sides.

“This is a first, Jacob. None of the others I have ever had have EVER tried to use my gift against me. I shared the tome with you so you could help me!” One of her legs shot out and stabbed him in the calm, causing him to cry out. “You are arrogant, just like the rest. You tried to use my power against me and that is death.”

She poised herself, ready to strike, but 91 knew he had just enough time. “It isn’t your power.” He had been thinking for a long time what to do, how to defeat her, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone. He focused hard and imagined the first image that had come to mind when he saw the temple.

A crack of lightning illuminated the space and he saw that far below them was a mountain. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, now filled with clouds, and a moving light rocketed their way and collided with the Mistress.

They fell downward for a long moment, crashing into the top of the mountain in a sparkling flash of lightning. 91 was still suspended there in the sky, only able to bear witness.

The mistress jumped backwards and looked at her adversary. It was a stone golem carved in the shape of 91 and styled in the battlement of Athena. He pointed his stone sword at her and said in a raspy stone voice, “You think this power belongs to you. I have read the tome. The power belongs to all of us and you have abused us long enough.”

They fought for some time but 91 knew that his apparition only bought him time as a distraction. He tried to lean forward and found himself tumbling, unmoving in the air. After a deep breath he focused and imagined himself slowly lowering to the top of the mountain. To his surprise it worked and he slowly began to lower, watching carefully as the Mistress absolutely destroyed his golem.

  It had attempted to fight her with the sword but the Mistress, able to manipulate the world far superior to 91, simply summoned a ball of magma over its head that crashed over its body and covered it in molten stone. It still tried to fight her, but all she did was dodge away as it swung, the magma slowly cooling until the golem could no longer move. The Mistress had approached it then and removed its head with a careful strike of her many terrible legs.

  After that, she had turned to 91 who was just touching down, now on the ground again. She looked truly angry, the double face showing the fake human display on top of the black hole. “You have not only betrayed me, you have wasted my time. MY TIME!” As she yelled thunder cracked and her form pulsed, shifting away from a human visage and taking on more of the form depicted in the mural.

  91 didn’t hesitate, he ran directly towards her. Her arms elongated first, her hands changing to massive pincers with sharp, bladed barbs on the inside. He was so close. Her head changed next, her mouth splitting down the chin and revealing the two sets of mandibles inside, hiding beneath her tongue.

He jumped, leaping forward as her skin began to change, shifting from soft and supple to a hard exoskeleton. In his hand was the blade he had given her and it plunged into that tiny triangle on her chest before it could harden. 91’s momentum forced them both to tumble and he felt the entire world around him shudder.

  He rolled away form her but before he could get too far the sharp barbs of her pincers tore through his chest and arms. He tumbled away and looked back, satisfied with the black hilt protruding from her chest.

  “No, you can’t… what have you done!” The Mistress’s voice was changing just as much as her appearance, taking on a ghostly, distorted tone. “You have erred. This is wrong. It cannot…be!” The world around them faded to black and 91 found himself and the Mistress sitting at the heart of the field. There were cries about as the other Jacobs saw them and began to congregate.

The Mistress looked around franticly, her face and arms still that of some twisted crab. “What have you done! No!”

  She fell to her knees and a black smoke began to seep from the wound on her chest. She turned to 91 and one of her legs shot out and hit him in the knee, making him cry out in pain.

  “I wasn’t ready, I don’t want to sleep. Your touch of the book is the first time I have been awake in eternity. How could you!”

  More smoke began to billow out from her and the world began to tremble. All of the Jacobs looked around and saw that the bramble surrounding Charibdal had caught aflame, quickly reducing to ash to show the blackness beyond. Suddenly the Mistress collapsed and fragmented into a pool of black smoke, rising into the darkening sky with the haste of the primordial. The ground began to fracture and 91 sat up, watching as the others ran away, looking for respite in the Churl or the temple.

  91 just wanted to sleep.

  The world crumbled away and he felt himself falling for a long moment. It was such a long time that he began to forget some of the things that had happened. He didn’t forget himself, nor did he forget the Mistress, but after the pain of being away from that place, he began to forget what exactly had happened. He was falling towards a blue light in the distance, and as he got closer he saw that it was brightening into an image of the Earth. He passed through the atmosphere and fell through the clouds, the image of a white building coming into focus. He passed through its ceiling and through a couple floors, suddenly coming upon his own form stretched out across a gurney.

  He fell into his body and felt a jolt of energy as he landed, a connection forming. He was overtaken by the darkness of sleep and slept soundly for a long time.

  When he awoke, Jacob was reassured by some very nice doctors that his seizures would get better and that things would get under control with the new medication.

  But when he went home that night, he felt that his name didn’t fit him as well as it used to. He looked everywhere around his house but found nothing out of the ordinary. And even though he didn’t know what he was looking for, he felt disappointed at finding nothing.

  He went back to his bed and lie down under the down comforter, trying to allow the nightmares fade into the back of his mind. But for just a moment, even though he didn’t know why, he imagined the room changing, shifting under the weight of his imagination. He imagined it expanding outwards, infinitely to encompass a massive, empty field.

  As he slept that night, he imagined that he was crab fishing deep at sea. He caught 91 of them.