"In art, his ideas had sprung from a simple point of view. For him schools did not exist, and only the temperament of the writer mattered, only the working of his brain interested him, regardless of the subject. Unfortunately, this verity of appreciation, worthy of Palisse, was scarcely applicable, for the simple reason that, even while desiring to be free of prejudices and passion, each person naturally goes to the works which most intimately correspond with his own temperament, and ends by relegating all others to the rear."
- Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against the Grain
GASTRONOMIE | Les Vérités de la Palisse : le bonbon et son histoire ➽ https://bit.ly/3Omet6i Quelle lapalissade régale Lapalisse, dans l’Allier ? Confiseur du village, Jean Sauvadet eut l’idée d’appeler ses nouveaux bonbons — créés en 1922 — et son magasin « Les Vérités de Lapalisse »
Falling Plane of Loss | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Sleeping World | The World of Gray | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Temple of Light | The Temple of Light | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Temple of Light
The temple was a bright flash, all of the lights that they’d posted reflected, growing, and spreading out into the Darkness of Dying Itself. There was no place for the writhing things to hide, no home for parasite, no puddles of shadows for those dark things with their long hair and their spiraling shells to call out to those who wandered. It was just bright, so bright that it sounded like it was humming.
Arnestie had a hand on the back of Casteval’s neck, leading him as well as checking on him. Even if xi spoke, Casteval wasn’t sure he’d hear xim. There was so much noise in that silence, that thrum, that he could feel it vibrating his bones.
Arnestie opened the door and the light was inside as well, weakened by the black glass but now so bright that the candles were unnecessary. There was a cloudy light, patches darker like clouds suspended ad trapped before the sun.
The sound didn’t follow them inside, which was good, for there was a different noise in there, an angry sound, disciplinary. Casteval hurried down through the lobby and over to the stairs, ignoring how his bruised throat sucked in air. Arnestie was right behind him, though xi did not share his concern. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the cause of the sound.
There was a man, berating Cursette and Palisse, spitting as he spoke, too frustrated to keep track of his saliva. It would have been a difficult task, as well, as he could not see his own spittle. He looked normal, for the most part, wearing the same uniform as the other two, though he could not wear a hat. He had no hair or scalp for the hat to rest on. His head had been split straight across, barely a noticeable incline form side to the other, right across the bridge of his nose. There was hardly any brain matter left and definitely no eyes, but he spoke and insulted as if they would have just held him back.
“The Casteval? Even if I were to believe you that he would come here, how would I ever believe he would stoop so low as to return the light to the Temple? That is the job of an errand boy, not a grand hero! You should have fetched me immediately! You should have followed protocol! No one gets second chances, no matter how many signatures you can gather!”
“That’s enough!” Casteval growled, his own tone surprising him. He pushed himself between the half-headless man and the women, even though they were protected by a thick wall of glass and a wide marble counter. Palisse’s eyes were red and puffy and Cursette’s eyes were down at her feet, which padded soundlessly against the floor. He knew that he was no match, he gave no relief in his physical protection, but he didn’t want to see any more of this man’s yelling, nor the hurt in their features for what sounded like a mistake. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They did everything wrong!” the man spat. He collected himself though, hands taking the lapels of his jacket and straightening them. He calmed himself down somewhat and he looked like he was trying to read Casteval, but he had no eyes to do that with. “So, you are the Casteval that they were speaking of?”
Arnestie’s hand was on his shoulder. Even though he didn’t know xim very well, he felt stronger to have someone at his side.
“Not the Casteval. A Casteval. I’m just a normal man.”
“A normal man who fought back the darkness just because it was asked of him? A normal man who left the stage he was placed in to find answers? A normal man who wears the sword of a hero and drags the armor of a monster? No, you are not just a normal man, not after everything you have done. Not with what you will continue to do.”
“Fine, a not so normal man, I’m still not THE Casteval, like everyone thinks. And yes, I saw the file, I know what I am. That doesn’t change anything, not who I am, not who I know I am, deep within.”
The man smiled at that and gave the bow of an overly generous and highly trained butler, catching the spilled ooze and patting it back into what was left of his head. “I am Geinif, the head of this company, for the moment. It would behoove us, I think to continue this conversation I private. I doubt our audience is enjoying the show.”
Casteval looked over at Cursette and Palisse, who both had their eyes cast down, Palisse on her romance novel, still closed on her lap and Cursette looking almost anywhere other than at the two of them. He looked up at Armestie, who just placed a large hand on Casteval’s shoulder and nodded.
“Fine, whatever. Let’s just be quick about this.”
The smile on Geinif’s face twisted. There was something sinister in it, in all that his remaining head implied.
White patent leather heels clicked against the white marble. He was walking down a hall and Casteval followed, hearing murmuring from other offices, doors open just a crack so those within could take a peak and who must have been an old hero. Casteval did his best to ignore it, to just follow Geinif as far as they were willing to go.
The office in question was the last one of all and when Geinif opened the door to it it was surprisingly small, even though there were shelves set into the wall, each one of them with the top half of a humanoid head. They all looked like they would fit in the same place on Geinif’s face, as if to complete his feathers.
Les gens du coin reconnaîtront sans doute le lieu!
Le mot palisse vient du verbe palisser, qui signifie “Fixer les branches et les rameaux d’un arbre fruitier, d’un arbrisseau, contre un mur, un treillage ou tout autre support, de manière à leur donner une direction parfaitement droite” (Source CNRTL )
Et c”est exactement là qu’il y avait une superbe verger que j’avais pris en photo, et qui a…
Falling Plane of Loss | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Sleeping World | The World of Gray | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Temple of Light | The Temple of Light
“Why?” was what came out, a sharp whisper. “What did I do wrong?”
Palisse turned back to the book, reading it out as if it were a dictionary definition, no emotion. “Multiple accounts of assault, battery, and murder, betrayal, theft, vigilantism, destruction of property, destruction of love, punishment without authority, torture, and spreading hopelessness.” she looked up at him, “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head again, no. No, he hadn’t done that. He hadn’t done any of that. He had to sit down. He had to do something. Nothing about this made any sense. Nothing had made sense in a long time but this was somehow much much worse. He started to pace. Cursette rushed off and he tried to reach out for her, say something, make himself seem like less of a threat. He didn’t even know how to use the sword at his side, he couldn’t have done any of that.
Cursette returned, soon enough, with a chair, heavy wood with red seats. She set it behind him and he fell into it, trying to breathe, feeling his lungs in his throat. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything. He buried his face in his hands, barely even feeling Cursette’s hand on his back.
“You’ve got the wrong Casteval,” he finally spurted out. “I never… that’s not me.”
A bit more air came into his lungs then. “No, no, I was born in 1985! That’s a different Casteval. Perhaps I wasn’t registered! Maybe I’m not dead at all!”
“Tell me about your home.”
He told them, he told them everything that he remembered, though there were spots missing, ones that were so important, but he was sure he’d given away in that pit. He had a full life, a childhood, parents. People in Hell didn’t have that. He was alive.
“That describes the Sleeping World perfectly,” Palisse sat back down in her own chair. “I’m sorry. Sometimes, most times, people build their own histories so that they can accept where they are, even as they force the truth of that somewhere else. You’re name, your age, your crimes, they are all yours, and all the Hero, Casteval’s, as well. I have to ask, and I’m sorry for it, but are you him?”
His sorrow, his confusion, were all shoved aside then. “No, I am not that Casteval! I am my own man!” he was so tired of having to say that, having to explain that no, he actually was himself. He didn’t know why it was so hard for everyone to understand. He was not that Casteval!
Palisse wrote a note down, “I see. I also have to ask, what are you planning to do now?”
Casteval didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He bowed his head. He felt like he was going to be sick. He wanted to give in, to give up, but where would that leave him? The only place he had to go back to was, apparently, Hell, and he wanted to keep denying that, wanted to stay away from it. If he went back, all that would be left for him was the same thing he’d been living through for the past six hundred years that he’d somehow only felt were three decades. Erimot was there, as was Ranvert, but they didn’t need to be, they were innocents. Erimot was, at least, and he’d dragged them into that place.
“I don’t have a choice. I have to get the Casteval, bring him back,” he explained, “Everyone thinks that I’m him, wants me to be him, but I’m not.”
He could feel their eyes on him. They must have thought he was mad. “The Dragon. It told me that I could be the Casteval, could slay it and take his place, or I could get him back, make him take his own place. I’ve been traveling, trying to do that. I don’t have a choice. If I can prove that I’m not him, I don’t have to suffer for his crimes, right?”
Cursette shrugged. Palisse didn’t respond.
“I’ve already got the sword. I just need the armor and the blood. I was told that the armor was here, in the Darkness. I don’t know where to start looking though. That’s why I came to the Temple, to see if anyone here had any ideas.”
“And the vessel,” Cursette added. Casteval stared at her. “It’s all fine and good if you have the rest, but you need something Casteval shaped, in order to get the other parts to work, right? If you’re not going to use those things yourself, you’re going to need some kind of vessel.”
The first thing that came to mind was Erimot. He wouldn’t though, he’d never use Erimot for something like that.
“I’ll worry about that later, I suppose,” Casteval lowered his head once more. “I just, I need to get through this. I need to figure it out.”
Cursette’s hand was on his head instead then, patting him, fingers soft through his hair. “I don’t know where the armor is. I don’t think any of us do.”
Palisse had been silent for a while, lost in thought, but then she squeaked, drawing both Casteval and Cursette’s attention to her. “Um, I know it’s a long shot, but perhaps you could do good things? To offset all the bad? I know that Casteval was a hero because he did a lot of good, but he went about it in evil ways. Maybe, if you could do good out of good acts, you could set up an audience with the higher ups, see if you could get re-registered.”
Casteval stared at her and, this time it wasn’t out of horror but out of an urge to go through the glass and hug her. He hadn’t thought of that, of course he hadn’t, all this was still so new to him, even though it apparently wasn’t. He could do something good, he’d been doing good things already, there was a possibility.
“And how would I go about doing that?” he asked.
Palisse gave an expression which, if her mouth had been the right shape, could have been a smile, “You leave that up to me. I could start a petition. I was always good at those. Remember when I got us that drinking fountain?”
Cursette nodded, her pride apparent.
“I’ve got that part taken care of. You just be good.”
“I already thought I was,” he admitted, smiling awkwardly, just half of his face. He could feel hope growing within him. He didn’t want to let it grow too large though, not yet. “How should I start?”
Palisse put a finger to her lip, which was a disturbing enough sight as the folds in her skin parted.
Cursette was also in deep thought. “Do favors for people? We could use a way to get people here, to the Temple, so they don’t get lost out in the DODI.”
“I would try to make it up to the people who the original Casteval wronged, those that haven’t made their way back to life yet,” Palisse continued. “The Dragon wants you to slay it, so that one might be difficult, but the others, you might be able to reach them.”
Casteval nodded. “I noticed a lot of bones outside. I don’t know if your idea that the Real World is dead is true, or if those things in the shadows are just eating them before they get here. They almost had me, but then a shadow I knew warned me in time.”
“Bones?” Palisse asked, “Oh dear, that’s no good. That’s no good at all! Why didn’t you mention something sooner?”
“I was a bit busy,” Casteval explained.
“You could make it safe!” Cursette bounced on her feet, “We don’t have a lot of lights in here anymore, as you could probably see, but you could go out there, return lighting to the place, and keep the darkness away in paths! Let people get here.”
If he were to say he was fine with that, it would have been a lie. He wasn’t too afraid of the shadows out there, but there was still that inkling fear, and the shadows had been getting more clever as he’d been trying to get into the Temple. They were only bound to get more bold.
“I. I’m not sure if that would be-
“We’ll pay you!” Palisse chimed in, interrupting Casteval. “I didn’t even think of how this would help us, but yes, Cursette is right, we need light out there, at least for a while. We’ll send someone out there with you, and you need to run around looking at everything anyway, right? To find that armor? So you could just plant the lights around while you search! We can do some digging around, see what we can find on a vessel, while you’re out there, too!”
He smiled. That small hope in his chest was starting to get brighter. Even though these two were dead and had confirmed his own failures, they were being extremely kind, more so than to deserve being cursed with the signs of their deaths. He stood up then, extending a hand to Cursette. It wasn’t something that he normally would have done, but he had new allies and he didn’t want to lose them, and all of their points had been good ones.
“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll go fight the darkness.”
Palisse clapped and Cursette shook his hand vigorously.
The World of Gray | The Sleeping World | The World of Gray | The World of Gray| The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Sleeping World | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Falling Plane of Loss | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Tower of Purity | The Sleeping World | The World of Gray | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Darkness of Dying Itself | The Temple of Light
He knocked.
There was nothing, of course, and he pulled up his feet, remembering how the shadows had tried to get around his feet earlier, hold him in place. Now though, there was far too much light for such things.
The banister above him creaked and he looked up at it, seeing how it inched down the side of the building. He didn't know how long it had been up there but he had to assume it had been a while. There was a sound though, a dull sob, coming from the shadows behind it. One of them had gone through the obstacles, followed the shadows that made a nest, and hidden where it was safe. And now it wanted to destroy the light that Casteval held, destroying him in the meantime.
He took a step back, eyeing the banister wearily. He wouldn't die now. He didn’t know what would happen if he died. He was already dead so that would have been awkward, to say the least, though it would have sent him somewhere. He didn’t know if there was a land of the dead dead, the double dead. He didn’t even know if there was a word for it.
He went towards the banister, his bottle held high. It may have been too late, the movement could have been enough to start an avalanche, but he heard a surprised and terrified squawk and saw something travel around to the other side, trying not to be touched by the lavender. What he saw of it wasn’t much, but he was certain there was a snail shell and long ragged hair.
His attention was pulled away by the door opening, just a little bit, as someone, a very small someone, looked out.
“H-hello? Is there. Is there anyone out here?” the voice was young.
Casteval hurried back over to the door, to the child holding it open, and her eyes went wide at the sight of him.
“You brought a light!” she smiled up at him, “Oh, how wonderful. I haven’t seen something like that in a long time!”
He smiled back at her, squatting to be at her level. It was obvious that she hadn’t seen it in a long time, he could tell by her squinting eyes and her shaking hand, raised to ward it away. She didn’t fear it though, and she was pink and fleshy, very human, in all regards. She had no reason to fear him.
“Yes, I was looking for something. I was wondering if you could help me?” he asked.
The girl nodded and held the door open for him further, revealing herself and the dim interior of the building. The girl couldn’t have been more than eight years old, though she looked older than that, both in her standing and in her demeanor. She was wearing a uniform, which should have been all white, but had scorch marks and wax dribbled onto it, even the small hat, something like what nurses once wore, was stained.
“I’m Cursette,” she introduced, “and this is the Temple of Light! Or, it was. It’s not very well lit now, as you can see.”
She was completely bald under that cap, and very very pale. There was a lot of darkness around her eyes that couldn’t be accounted for by the bad lighting. She looked sick, terribly so.
“I’m Casteval. Thank you for opening your door for me.”
She closed it behind him as well, and there was a softened crashing sound outside, as the banister finally landed. Cursette didn’t seem bothered by it though and she clasped her hands before her, leading the way deeper into the temple.
“A pleasure,” she said, “it has been a while since we have had anyone knew in the temple. We will have to get you registered before assigning you a starting point. You do understand what’s going on, yes?”
They were walking down a red carpet, a deep straight line through the dark floor, which was all deeply veined marble, black and gray. There were candlesticks everywhere, lining the path, but some had been knocked over, the candles broken or burned away entirely. Only one or two had any flame left to them and they sputtered with the threat to fail at any moment.
“Yes, I do. I don’t think I’ve accepted it yet, but I’ve died. I don’t need to be directed to a specific starting point though. From what I’ve heard, I’ve been here quite a while.”
She looked up at him then, her blue eyes widening, more used to the light he’d brought. “You’re not Casteval, right? He’s been dead a long time.”
“Not that Casteval, no,” Casteval explained.
“Then why come here?” she started him up a staircase, which didn’t seem to be a good choice for those who were recently dead. He had to assume that some of them wouldn’t have been able to walk well in the first place but these stairs were giving him trouble and he was supposedly in decent shape. Cursette was having no trouble at all though. “You were assigned, you were supposed to go through the stages in the correct order for you, then go back tot the real world or go nowhere. That’s the way of things.”
He sighed and told her, how he’d just started to arrive in the World of Gray, how he was exploring the different stages, but that he wasn’t trying to be reborn or anything. She kept a soft smile on her lips and nodded at all the right moments, but she didn’t know everything. He didn’t tell her where he’d started, nor what his end goal was. He didn’t know if it was right for these places, the people he’d met, to return Casteval to life. He just knew that Casteval was wanted and he didn’t want to take his place.
Cursette led him to a counter, in which he balked and took a step back. While it was like a bank, with marble counters and clear glass to create a barrier between the dead and those working in the temple, it was what was on the other side that made him go cold. Cursette must have expected it as she put a hand on his hip and pushed him forward.
“Here, they should have the answers that you need,” she explained. He didn't want their answers. He didn’t want to be involved with them at all. He’d already had to deal with things like this. He wanted to run.
On the other side of the counter was a woman in a similar uniform to Cursette’s, though she was an adult. Her mouth was a straight line, a razor cut, and she had a thick ribbon tied around her head to keep her jaw from falling open or off, he couldn’t tell. Her throat and wrists had also been sliced into, the wounds puffy and open, more so than the actual wounds should have done. She looked like one of those things from the Tower.
“Palisse!” Cursette called out and the woman dropped the book that she had been reading and looked over at them, mouth falling open either from gravity or shock it was hard to tell. Casteval could tell that he was staring, that he was being rude, but he was shaking as well, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You’re here!” Palisse’s voice was rough and quiet, and she sounded like she was trying to scream through her ruined vocal chords. She could hardly move her lips to speak. “Someone is actually here! Oh, for a moment there I thought the whole world was dead and we were all out of a job.”
Cursette crossed her arms, her brows drawn. She knew there was something going on with Casteval, that he was reacting far more than he should have.
“Staring is rude, you know,” she corrected, “and you said you’ve been around. You shouldn’t be so surprised.”
Casteval shook his head. He felt frozen. Even with the dark energy wrapping around his hand, he couldn't feel brave. Fear made his voice quiet, his movements jerky and unnatural. “You’re not. You’re. You’re not going to try and steal my memories, are you?” He couldn't get that woman’s face out of his mind, as they tore her memories out of her, as they had planned to do to him, as they’d almost done to Erimot.”
“What?” Palisse asked.
“You went to the Tower of Purity?” Cursette realized, “You shouldn’t have gone there! Not when you’re this individual!” she changed the subject visibly, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly. “No, no one’s going to do anything like that here. We just figure out where you need to go. The reason they looked like that, the reason we look like that, is because we weren’t able to get over our deaths. Most people, when they get into the DODI, they get to go back to the bodies they were used to. We were too close to our own mortality, we had time to get used to the idea of dying. It makes it really hard for us to move on from being dead though, so we don’t move on.”
“Everything’s going to be alright,” Palisse continued. “We aren’t going to hurt you and we don’t hold it against you for being able to go to the next stage. We tend to get jobs, to help others get where they need to go or help them cleanse themselves of their past lives. A few of us get over our deaths eventually, but it’s very difficult to do and, well, some of us like it. Like helping, anyway.”
Casteval breathed, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Palisse. It had been too close in the Tower. He’d almost lost Erimot. He didn’t want to go through anything like that again.
They had been smart, to have Cursette introduce people to the Temple. She was a child, for one, which put people at ease, and she wasn’t horrific to look at. Casteval was a fool to have not realized it before, that she had most likely died of cancer, all of the signs obvious on her. Everyone else he’d met had been so drastically changed though, by the area, by the memories of them, by so much outside of their own lives.
