As we rose, I was able to see the sun. It was just setting, creating an interesting tableau of reds and purples, but then it fell beneath the horizon and night quickly descended. I was worried about falling off of the stairs, but the cold stone beneath my feet changed. It felt soft and I could hear the crunching of leaves. I felt along the ground and realized it was grass.
We were outside. No more stairs, no more fractals.
The stars lit up like a Christmas tree and I could see the Milky Way. It was beautiful. I looked at Tulip. She was standing next to a large tree, still wearing the red dress from the House of Fortune. As she looked up at the night sky, I felt something, an ache.
And then chains wrapped around her hands and waist and she was pulled up against one of the tall branches of the tree.
"Tulip!" I shouted and then I saw the writer was in a similar position, two chains attached to his hands and one to his feet.
Only I was free.
"We're in the Grove of Fetters," the writer said. "The House of Fortitude. You have to make a decision now. You have to make a choice."
"What choice?" I asked.
Smoke began to pour from the ground. "The Brute is coming," the writer said. "I can't get to my notebook. I can't stop him. But you can free us."
"How?" I asked.
"The chains are made from his body," the writer said. The smoke was forming into what looked like a wolf, its body wrapped in chains. "It cannot chain you, however, so it wants to kill you. You can free us with a touch, but you can only free one of us. You cannot take us both."
The wolf looked huge and angry. The chains around it were cracked and broken and even though I knew it was made of smoke, it looked real enough to kill. It opened its jaws and let out a howl.
"Fenris," the writer said. "Make your choice, Norman. It's up to you."
My choice? The writer or Tulip. The man who could lead me to the Wall or the woman that I...what? Liked? How could I like anyone? How could anyone like me? I was a delusional paranoid. The ORACLE freed me from that life, though. I owe her.
Do I? Did she free me from the life or put me in it? Was it her fault that the Ivory Woman targeted me?
No, no time, I need to make a choice. The writer or the woman. The woman or the writer.
Or both.
They were lined up. They were both chained, but they were in a straight line. I didn't stop to think about what I was doing, I just ran. I ran and I took hold of Tulip and her chains evaporated and then pushed forward right into the writer. His chains evaporated, too, and we fell into one big heap.
"Great job," the writer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You just forgot one thing."
Fenris loomed over his, his jaws so big he could swallow the moon. He was going to eat us, swallow us whole, and we would be digested in his smoke stomach for the rest of eternity.
And then he stopped. "You are one lucky duck," the writer said. "With my hands free, I can write." And he was writing, scribbling in his notebook. "Looks like Fenris now has a burning desire to mark his territory." The wolf turned around and went away to urinate somewhere else.
"Well, that was bracing," Tulip said. "Where to now?"
"Now," the writer said, "we try to find Forgiveness."
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