Phoenix had finally reached the base of the Starry Place, and mercifully it appeared that nobody was nearby. He half stumbled, half ran past some of the final few huts, most of which still bore the same multi-coloured, round-ended plank designs as those that were higher up Mount Butt. Bleeding beneath old bandages and feeling like he was bleeding where soon new ones would be needed, Phoenix limped further, winding his way through the steep streets to find the village gate and get the hell out of dodge, to where he could concoct an amazing plan.

He needed to somehow get back to the Constellator to see what had happened. Everybody reacted differently to their first bonkerberry, and there was a chance that she had just passed out from the sheer energy. It wasn't super common, but it was far from unknown, either. But he needed to get back to have a look, and to show everyone that he wasn't lying (about this, anyway). Phoenix was just glad the Constellator hadn't started dissolving from the inside out, which was probably the worst reaction he had ever seen - and not just because it was a fat bloke who took a long, long time to dissolve. Hours.

Phoenix shivered from the memory, and kept limping.

A loud humming noise hummed away to his left, and he saw a large structure with no walls catching the cables and chairs that intersected the Constellator's hut at the peak of the hill. They were moving, now, with the cables winding through a giant, rusted wheel before being cast back up the hill, chairs and all. The whole thing looked to be supported by massive pylons the entire way up the slope, but nobody rode the chairs. Phoenix watched a particularly wretched-looking specimen swing precariously in a sneaky gust of wind before snapping off and falling to its doom below, and the doom of the hut it crashed through. He swore he'd never ride that thing. Never in a million years.

A voice shouted somewhere in a parallel street and Phoenix knew it was time to limp on. He heaved his tired body forwards, focusing his mind on his destination, trying to forget about the aches and sharp pains screaming at him from just about all over. He was weaponless save for one small knife that he usually kept stashed ... well, never mind where he stashed it, it was not currently convenient. The important thing was that his prized rifle was gone, not to mention the gemstones that were his grenades, the myriad little doodads and gizmos of violence that he kept in his pouches, and, rather depressingly, his new Waste Beast tooth knife, which he'd grown incredibly fond of. All of it gone.

But still, he pushed on, for the gate was drawing near. He could see the perimeter fence in the dim village light, and there was a distinctly white glow coming from somewhere just over the next row of buildings that surely must have been the main gate. Phoenix sucked in a breath and ducked into a tight alley between two fat huts, hoping to keep ahead, and not to mention out of sight, of the wild mob nipping at his heels. He inched along, wading through old food scraps, discarded clothing, and more than one dead crate-cat, before popping out the other side to...

...to see a giant angry mob of armed cultists no more than a few feet from him.

The mob, one giant scowl, collectively barred the Starry Place main gate, which was bathed in an almost blindingly white light emanating from obese floodlights anchored to the steep slope above the Mount Butt road. Those in the mob growled audibly and gripped spears, axes, wooden bats and even one beautifully carved wooden tewhatewha - an axe-like Old World cultural weapon that was old even to the Old World, and that nobody could pronounce the name of, but which didn't matter because it was still a tewhatewha.

"Oh," Phoenix said awkwardly, coming to a stumbling, gentle halt as the realisation of the situation passed slowly through his exhausted brain. "Err, hello."

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

And to the cliché cries of mobs chasing escapees the Waste over, the mass of star-speckled angry cultists lurched forwards towards Phoenix. The throng surged like a giant ooze monster, a creature known for its particularly deadly surging. The cultists at the front were the most enthusiastic, charging off at full sprint, weapons held high and waving around irresponsibly. Those in the back followed suit row after row as the message to charge reached the cheap seats, but they had the courtesy to keep their blades and other killing implements close to their bodies so as to not chop the heads off their forward counterparts, which was awful nice of them.

Phoenix let out a squeal and ducked back through the alley, dead crate-cats and old rubbish flying up all around him like a rotten bow wave. The mob hit the same alley just behind, fighting with itself to squeeze through the tight passage that could only fit one or two pairs of shoulders at a time. The sheer mass of bodies pressed tightly into itself, desperately pushing, shoving and swearing to be the first through the alley. Some at the back, smelling an opportunity to get ahead of their companions, splintered off from the ooze monster and ran to circle around the buildings instead, hoping to cut Phoenix off somewhere ahead.

The man in question ran, finding within himself a new pool of energy with which to panic. He was always amazed at the body's ability to find new reservoirs of adrenalin, but at the same time he was grumpy at his body for having hid it in the first place. If it had just released it all sooner, he might have beat the cultists to the damned gate and be out of this mad town. But alas, if wishes were fishes, he'd have fishes. He wouldn't know what to do with them, but he'd have them all the same.

He started towards a steep street named Bob's Knob - which he didn't remotely have the energy to laugh at - but already cultists from elsewhere in the town were pouring down it, throwing spears and howling into the night. Phoenix swore and turned, making for one of the other many roads that all connected near the gate. Everywhere, though, groups were armed, wild-eyed, and running in his direction.

And then he heard the hum. It felt quieter, now, submerged under all the screaming and shouting, but its constant, dull drone loitered just above the noise, waiting for someone to notice it. Chair after chair marched at a constant rate through the spinning disc atop the structure, before ploughing ahead up the slope to follow their companions. Another chair, tired of its old age and the constant monotony of going up and down a hill its entire life, collapsed with a loud snap and fell into the streets below.

Phoenix cursed again, but this time at himself for even thinking about thinking about the idea now being thought of in the recesses of his thoughts. His head swivelled up hill, but cultists met his gaze. He turned to face another street, but again met cultists. And each time there were too many for him to fight weaponless and exhausted. It made him angry, but out of pride more than anything else. He should be able to kill these assholes in his sleep, but here and now he was scared of just a few mad nobodies with tassled spears and stupid, flappy robes. Sweet baby Gachook, he thought, Sandra Bulletface would be rolling in her grave, if she had one.

Behind him, the mob roared. The first of its number were bursting out of the alley, and those who were smart enough to go around were circling in, delighted at the prospect of being in the front row - that's where all the stabby stuff happened, which was the best bit. Phoenix had to make a decision, and it had to be now.

His legs decided before his pride ever agreed, and pounding on the dirty Starry Place streets once again, they carried his indecisive body towards the humming. With spears and one tewhatewha close on his ass, Phoenix pounced past the spinning disc and the chairs that queued around it obediently, waiting for their turn to proceed. He aimed for one of the more intact-looking examples beginning its steady climb into the air, leaping up to grab a hold of it.

The chair was little more than a few metal bars with a cushion on top, but that was more than could be said for some of its counterparts. Phoenix's arm was almost ripped from its socket when he caught the bar, letting out an audible gasp of pain as the thing dragged his body upwards.

"Somebody grab him!"

"No, don't let him on thy lift!"

The voices came thick and loud beneath him, but they started to grow distant. Phoenix pulled himself slowly onto the chair as he was lifted into the air, taking the moment of safety to catch his breath and rest. The stickiness of sleep pestered his face, for he couldn't remember how many hours it had been since he had a decent rest, but he rubbed it away in defiance. Now was not the time.

The Starry Place slithered past far below his feet, some of the cultists who hadn't made it down the hill glancing up in horror as he sauntered upwards. The occasional spear whistled past for the sake of it, but nobody below was a skilled enough warrior to actually hit a moving target up in the air. So Phoenix continued largely unimpeded, relaxing back in a lumpy old chair that was precariously hanging on a rusting hook from a cable that must have been hundreds of years old.

It was a perfect plan.

How could it go wrong?

Then it went wrong.

Phoenix was near the top of the slope, fast-approaching the Constellator's mighty hut. But next to it, where the chairs were landing, a small group was gathered. He couldn't make out much in the bleak light, but there were distinctly pointy shapes jutting out from the silhouetted crowd, and Phoenix felt he could probably guess what those were.

He sighed loudly, wishing life could just be a little easier. That for once he could just get the girl without the effort, without all of this adventuring and fighting and just this general expending of energy.

Speaking of adventure and fighting and the expenditure of energy, the lift stopped.

Phoenix's chair got the message a second or so later, causing the entire thing to rock like a drowning boat. Phoenix's face paled to a sickly green at the motion. He clung tight to the metal bars and looked back over his shoulder to see what had happened. And lo, for there were many cultists clambering up the wires. They had little hand-held metal hooks of their own, each of which seemed to grip tight to the cable above. At some point they must have jumped on just after his chair, hanging on until someone figured out how to stop the stupid lift. Each climbed with an axe or other small bladed weapon clenched in their teeth, and though Phoenix felt holding an axe in your teeth was a horrible cliché of a thing to do, a clichéd axe could bloody you just as good as a respectable one.

Phoenix looked down, wondering if he could jump. The huts were pretty far below, but if he could aim himself for one of the sloped roofs, maybe the impact would be lessened. Hitting the ground would surely be less of a problem than being stabbed to death, right?

Or maybe it would just be slower and more painful.

He steeled himself and gritted his teeth, glancing once more over his shoulder just to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

Now or never, he thought. He tensed his muscles, imagining the angle of the drop and the acrobatics he'd need to perform so not to break his legs. His brain raced with mathematics he wasn't aware he could do, but just before he flung himself from the chair, it started moving again.

The entire thing lurched forwards with a spasmodic, shuddering jerk that made even it seem as surprised as he was. The cultists on the hooks close behind cursed loudly and some dropped their weapons, ceasing their climb in favour of clinging for dear life. Phoenix frowned with confusion, turning up hill to see what was happening.

And there was the Constellator, arms open wide, her face distressed, sweaty, and her eyes brimming with tears.

What the hell? Phoenix thought.

"Oh sweet Bringer of Dreams!" she cried, her voice cracking with emotion. Then her eyes turned to daggers and she stabbed the nearest guard, who visibly shrunk under the attack. "You! Get the Bringer of Dreams down from thine Lift of Chairs!"

"Uhh..." Phoenix said, or rather, Phoenix vocalised. He didn't really say anything, as such. But he made noises.

Soon he was at the top, sitting in stunned almost-silence as star-speckled guards swarmed up to his chair and helped him down from it, even stopping the lift so he could get off without doing an awkward little run. The Constellator was right in his face the moment he touched ground, smiling as though the very Stars themselves had come down from their Cloudy Wall and graced her with their presence. Or whatever.

"Oh Bringer of Dreams, the Stars!" she cried, tears breaking the dam and pouring openly from her face.

Phoenix grinned nervously. "Yeah, hah, the Stars, eh? Um, haha ... what?"

"The STARS!" she cried again, grasping him by the shoulders and shaking his body.

He tensed and tried to shrink away from her, spying the angry looks from other cultists nearby. She was touching him. Oh boy.

"I have spoken with thine Constellations," she wailed in his face, droplets of spittle, sweat and tears spattering on his skin. A little drool clung to the edge of her lips. "There were so many of them. I floated with them beyond the Cloudy Wall! We danced and laughed and talked. They were so beautiful, Bringer of Dreams, so soft of voice and firm of body. Their beautiful naked flesh touched me-"

The other cultists looked uncertain at this.

"-and their brilliant fingers stroked all over my body, all through it! I was naked, too! I have flown naked with the Stars! Don't you see? DON'T YOU SEE?"

Phoenix started to smile more genuinely, rallying from the shock of the moment to realise what was happening. The bonkerberries, they had worked! She had seen what she wanted to see, which was totally great and expected and in no way did Phoenix worry that she'd see horrible monsters and darkness and never leave her house again. Yes, it was all anticipated and carefully planned and not a spur of the moment decision.

Yes.

"I'm glad to see you awake, mighty Const- mighty leader of the Starry Place," Phoenix said, smugness creeping into his voice, still hoarse from exertion.

The Constellator peered straight through his eyes and into his mushy brain goo, where presumably his soul was hidden. Her eyes were unblinking, stained red around the edges. Her fingers were like little claws digging into his skin through his clothing, and it didn't seem the pressure was going to be released any time soon.

"You are the Bringer of Dreams, Bringer of Dreams! You are a hero to the Starry people! Where? Where can I get more of your wonderful magic?!" Her voice was manic, unable to control the pitch or volume with which it flowed out of her wet mouth.

Phoenix's smile widened to damn near a grin. Oh yeah, he thought, this was it. This shit was happening.

"I can get you more," he said, trying to keep his bubbling excitement contained.

She gripped tighter, pulling him close. But not in a sexy way. More in a scary way.

Phoenix thought about his purpose of being here, and decided that Bert wouldn't mind if he added a few more figurative cherries to the grotesque cake that was this negotiation. First he'd need his weapons, then some medical supplies. Then he reckoned he should find out about that lusty maid from earlier, and see if she knew how to use a fluffy machete. Then there was a little matter of food, drink, sleep - sweet mercy did he need some sleep - glorious riches and, of course, a massive, wild, spear-tipped army.

Oh yeah, this was gonna be good.

"Yes, I can definitely get more. But first..." he stated, in his most commanding, heroic voice. That is, a slightly deeper one than normal. "...you must listen to my irrefusable offer. And lady?"

The Constellator listened, breath held.

"I reckon you can't refuse it."

* * *

Drugs. I always knew they were the answer to everything. Wait, am I allowed to say that on Wattpad? I should probably balance that out.

Don't get caught doing drugs, kids! Wait, no, hang on- don't do drugs kids! Yeah, that sounds right.

What you can do instead is Vote for this chapter and comment if you have thoughts!

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