Psychofauna

Burn Them

Previously: Deshawn's mother is put to trial. It's interrupted by a strange interlude from the jester, St Lenny. But then it is determined that both she and her son are witches.

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"Don't you worry, honey. We're gonna get out of this," his mom said from the other side of the wooden stake.

Deshawn didn't see how. The knots that the sheriff's henchmen had tied were pretty firm.

Deshawn glanced around. The sun was setting, so it was harder to make out his surroundings. But his surroundings were not subtle: They were enveloped by trees and sneering actors and attendees, all dressed in festival-wear. The queen was nowhere to be seen. (In this role-system, the queen was probably above stake-burnings.) But her jester was there. Or, whoever the guy was.

Deshawn remembered his name: St Lenny. Again, he was wearing different clothing. This time: a black leather cuirass with a bow and quiver strapped to his back. He leaned against the shoulder of the Sheriff, smiling broadly. It seemed that now the former jester was role-playing Guy of Gisborne, evil knight and lefthand man of the Sheriff of Nottingham. He squinted at Deshawn as if Deshawn were one of those optical illusions that you could only make out by staring the right way.

St Lenny walked forward to the makeshift platform where the stake was mounted. He looked up at Deshawn. He shifted his chin sideways. "Do I not know thee?"

Deshawn shook his head.

"What dost thou inside thy noggin, young lad?" he pointed. "All thy ceaseless sorting of things. Yes, I do sense it in thee. Dost this endeavor serve thee any purpose? Save for keeping thee aloof from our world?" he asked, gesturing outwards.

"Leave my son the fuck alone!" called Deshawn's mom.

"Shh, you." St Lenny snapped his hand together and Deshawn's mom went quiet. He peered back at Deshawn. "Hmm. Yes. I feel that in some manner I do know thee."

Deshawn tried to push back as St Lenny flooded into him. He erected dams, but Lenny simply cascaded under, over, and around them.

"I see.... Yea, thou hast been in pursuit of us, hast thou not? Yea, I suspect I hath noticed thy snooping spirit, thou seeker."

Oh crap. Deshawn suddenly realized who he was dealing with. St Lenny was the one that his Discord had been investigating for weeks. The one who'd been causing crazy psychic contagions across New York. He was the Instigator.

"That's right," St Lenny smirked, literally reading Deshawn's mind. He broke from ye olde English and spoke in a low tone, "You should know something, friend: You can't actually discover people like us without being discovered in return. Especially these days. So. Did you come here on purpose? You must have sensed that the Ren Faire is one of our favorite recruiting grounds, no? On some level? Ah, no – you had no idea! Ha!" He clapped. "That's rich. What a lovely coincidence."

Deshawn looked away, towards the tops of the trees.

"So unyielding! Just like your mom! And yet so unlike your mom. She loves her dogma, doesn't she? 'Grr! Don't tread on me!' Boring. But you, you're beyond dogma. You're beyond...everything! Or at least you'd like to be. It's beautiful, actually. I could see it all the way from the Queen's gallery. I have an eye for these things. I suspect it's why we were meant to meet. Did you like my speech? No, forget it, just tell me this: Am I right? About who you are? You're the Mapmaker. I know I'm right."

Deshawn squeezed his eyes closed.

"Hehe! Look at you! You're tied as tight as the knots on your wrists. Well, if you're the one I think you are, then you'll survive this. Probably. It might take some cracking of that egg you've built around yourself," St Lenny said, knocking with his fist on an imaginary shell, "And how glorious it would be to see it crack." St Lenny rubbed his hands together. "Well then. Good luck!"