Mazama

The town was dark and the streets filled to bursting as Llao made their way to Mazama’s house. It was the end of an era, statues fell around them, the course of rivers diverted, the enforcers of the previous regime slowly beaten to the point of death with a refreshed and ritualistic relish. Llao avoided it all, covering their left arm to hide the tattoo which proclaimed their everlasting loyalty to the state of affairs burning around them. No one checked them to closely, after all, Llao wasn’t exactly a well-known factor and the mobs were satisfied with what they had, for now.

Llao made it through the crowds to the base of Mazama’s street, which rose into the sky above them as the land did, but stopped, blocked by the burn that now flowed down through the cobbles towards their feet. They looked for Mazama’s home, hoping that it was still standing, still waiting, holding itself back from the chaos which filled the worlds above and below it. And they saw it, almost hidden behind the pile that was the burn’s source, and it looked safe, free and clean, it’s single window reflecting the burning around it.

Llao stepped into the flow and felt it lapping at their boots, staining them with a fresh crimson hue. Making their way up the hill was tough going, the burn’s pull stronger than it first appeared and each step almost caused them to topple backward down the slope. But eventually, Llao made it to the source, reaching out to grasp for one of the many limbs that sprouted from the pile in front of them.

Moving from limb-to-limb Llao made their way around the pile and out of the flood they’d just travelled through, finding themselves right on Mazama’s doorstep. They took a deep breath and knocked rat-rat-rat on the door, Llao thought the sound seemed appropriate, and waited, feeling the warmth on their toes ebbing down into the stone steps below.

There was a noise behind the door and Llao’s mouth twitched before they could regain control, they’d have to punish themselves later for that mistake. They put their eye up against the peephole to see a curved blue semi-circle looking back before a faint gasp filtered its way through the wood and it disappeared, replaced with the retreating form of Mazama.

Lao’s mouth twitched again.

Now the door’s splinters littered the entryway in front of them and their hand reached out for the running form of Mazama as it made for the stairs in front of them. Mazama. Their hand reached their goal and slammed Mazama against the floor, blood leaked into the carpet, blood Mazama’s blood fountaining like magma become lava Mazama’s-

“FUCK YOU, YOU GOAT.”

Llao’s voice was hoarse, panting a little under the stress, as a hand reached up from the bloody mess on the ground and cupped their jaw with four fingers, the thumb pushing its way between Llao’s lips and into their mouth.

Llao’s stopped everything, they remembered Mazama, and did nothing as they were led up the stairs and towards the single window, obeyed the voice as it told them to climb feet first through the single window and lay their head on the single windowsill, leaving their legs to dangle above the pile in the street below. The hand on Llao’s jaw twisted them round until they were facing Mazama’s bloody, dangling eye and watched as a smile blossomed freely across their remaining face.

“You’ll not fight here, anymore.”

The window came down clean and Llao’s body fell away onto the pile below. As their body struck it Mazama heard keys jangling and the faint howl of dogs. They stood calm for a moment, studying the head at their feet, before pulling out their loose eye to take a brown replacement from Llao’s severed head.

Mazama’s bleeding stopped then and they walked back down the stairs and out into the street, ready to watch the plants as they took root in the pile before them. It was nice to see the world fresh again, and to found a new island there, even as the worlds above and below burned.