Sewer Cycle

Her boots sank in the muck, squelching and releasing the odors trapped beneath the surface. It reminded her of a poorly baked cake; a thin dried crust with a gooey center. That thought made her even more nauseous. She should not have taken this job, she hated sewers.

Her mother’s voice came back to her. A pleading “Why wouldn’t you want to just settle down?” followed always by “Well in my day...” then came hours of lecturing. Weighing the options in her head, maybe the sewer jobs weren’t so bad. It’s was hours of muck either way.

Dad was different. He didn’t support her so much as he didn’t try and stand in her way. Which was peculiar because he was still a scowling, 20 foot tall statue in her mind. That scowl never seemed to budge, not even when he bought her the sword.

“Good luck.” was the whole of his response. She had worked for weeks to gather the courage to tell them she wanted to be an adventurer and that’s the best he could do. A statement, not a question; It really was the best he could do. The closest to love he dared tread.

Lost in her revelry, her boots met another strange resistance. A slithering sensation quickly followed by rats screeching brought her back to the present. Rat Catcher. Such a glamorous life. She stabbed with Dad’s sword. Some adventurer she had become. Some hero of the people.

She took a breath and bent down, sawing off a few tails to go in her pack. Enough of these and maybe she could buy some new boots. Ones she would certainly ruin again. How many times had she been down here? How long had she been scraping to get by like the rats she killed?

She weighed her pack. Best way she could figure to tell time. She had a few dozen tails. Maybe enough for today? Maybe a few more? As she did the math her eyes caught movement and waited on the shadow for her brain to catch up. With a jolt, she came back to the world again.

“Some reaction time.” she muttered to herself. “The stuff of legends. That’s me. The lone hero.” She took a few quiet steps forward, trying to get a good look around the corner where the shadow moved. “Lone...” she whispered with a frown. She sighed and waited at the edge.

Just around the bend was a small source of light. Couldn’t be a torch, too dangerous. But the glow cast a distinct shadow. A humanoid, sneaking towards the corner she was standing at. Whoever it was, they knew she was here. Weighing options, she decided on surprise.

Nothing then. It would be nothing. She knew it as soon as she saw her own face. Old now. An eye missing. Grey hair trimmed short. Lines of pain marked into every crease of her face. A bad mirror. An evil reflection. A boot on her back and then the cold floor. Dark. Nothing.

It was always like this. Every time they killed the young ones, the “rookies” stood and thought about it. Foolish mistake. She bent down and took the tails. A gross or so here. Her pack had thousands now. A magical bag full of rat tails. What a terrible use for such a thing.

She quickly looked through the rookie’s things. Armor, another mirror, some coins, some food. Nothing worth anything here. She stopped eating years, no, several decades ago. These young things didn’t realize the magic in this place. How it sustained, how it trapped.

Quickly she stood, silently she walked, focused on the breathing she heard. It took years of attuning but now she heard it as loud as a church bell. It called to her, deeper in. It wasn’t much further now. She wondered why the others couldn’t hear it. Why it sounded like mom.

She had never been this close before. She imagined a tunnel, a way out of this place, some manhole breathing with the life of the city above. The rats got in here somehow. She did too... somehow. She tried to think back to when and where but the years took that memory.

The breathing was all consuming. It was only minutes since her last kill. No, days? She felt it. A direct line from her to the source. It grew in intensity as she passed quickly by others. She saw herself many times. Saw her kill. Saw her get lost. Saw her cry. So long ago.

Then, light. She ran. Her body ached from the years but she ran. She didn’t see the knife. It ran through her skull and she stopped. She fought back, the years of struggling refusing to let her body die. She heard her voice then. “512” it said with aged sadness. She fell.

The knife cleaned easily, magic refusing blood. This copy had done well but struggled much. They were missing an eye and covered in scars. Younger by... a generation at least. She reached up and touched her own eyes. Old, but still there. She reached down for the tail pack.

She wondered at the corpse. At herself. Would this one have reacted in the same way she did? She... did? What was the difference between herself and herself? Luck probably, the best gift from dad. Knowledge too now. She knew what she was. Knew what they all were. She sighed.

Behind her laid the origin. The horrible thing that ruled, trapped them, and was trapped. She refused it at first. Guarded this door so that no others would have to know. But now... what was the point? They would always come. Would she always win? Maybe mom was right?

The domed room was massive. Dozens of doorways lined the walls. Some open, others collapsed. Each had thin red lines coming from them, leading to the center; where mom was. A massive red pile of writhing faces, her face. It moved like old jelly, breathing from 1,000 mouths

And behind the blob of faces stood dad. 20 feet tall, made of iron, wearing his scowl. She knew he was some “great man” many years ago, why else would they make him into a statue? Time had eaten details, destroyed the plaque at his feet. She knew the words time left for her.

Looking down at herself, she wondered how it would happen. Would she die? Could she? Her hand traced a line down her sides, past her knees, and onto her foot. She felt the thin red chord attached to her heel. Picked it up and followed it to the pile of mom.

Stopping a few steps before the mass of crimson faces, she breathed in synch with them. She touched the wide bars that encased mom and her hand sizzled. Old magic. The faces drew close, hungry. Opening the pack, she dumped the tails in. Thousands and thousands pouring out.

They were pulled into the sea of red skin, looking like black needles falling deep into murky water. After a moment, they were gone and mom seemed... content. She waited and thought about her life, all her lives. Her connecting felt tendril was short and heavy.

This was her. This was her purpose. This was her life. Rat catcher. A hero? Maybe. It wasn’t glamorous work but somebody had to do it. And if she was right, she had been doing it for... well it didn’t really matter how long. The city needed her, even if they didn’t know.

“But now,” she said to the red faces “I think it’s time I settled down. I’ve done a good job and I’ll keep doing it for a while longer I think. Well...” she hesitated over her own thoughts “not me, but, me you. Us?” She chuckled. “Still no good with words...”

She smiled up at Dad. “Thanks dad, I appreciate your faith in me.” He scowled, as he always would. “Love you too.” She said with a smile. Raising one hand she stepped into the mass, into herself. “Alright. Time to go home.”