As you may have inferred from the post title, this is part six of this story. Chapters one through five can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot. Short installment this time due to vacations, etc. Enjoy!
***
Previously in "Tears of the Gods"
"Die then, beast." Gormin thrust the point of his sword into the margr’s abdomen, killing it.
YimouZha closed his eye as the last of the glittering, hair-like shards winked out of existence. He sighed.
"I'm Lameth and I'm currently heading for the City of Bridges. Actually, I have no real destination—I'm just looking for some adventure. You said something about Fallside; what are you up to? I just came from there..."
Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.
Gormin's face was a gathering storm. "Understand? I understand you're a dissembling sack of drit, jerking us around like puppets on a string..."
"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."
***
Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
Kiraz
Kiraz looked up at the Arechive's tower and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Six stories, yet we have seen so little of the inside of it, she mused. The day was hot and windless—the Arechive's two massive horizontal wind turbines were unmoving. Even the great Wind Spire, visible beyond the Arechive, stood still as well.
The group pressed through the crowd, making their way towards the Arechive. Although the platform the Arechive shared with several other buildings was not as crowded as the Hub or the Palatial platform, it was certainly crowded enough to be uncomfortable to Kiraz. And although it was technically not as hot today as during their journey to Fallside, the lack of wind and the fact that the city was mostly metal made the City of Bridges a truly miserable place to be in Fre.
The group talked as they approached their "home" in the Arechive.
YimouZha was in favor of attending Isla's party. "Perhaps I could arrange for some fine scents and even some blooms," he said. He turned his enormous eye toward Gormin. "When is this wane of the 22 of Fre that the Lady mentioned?"
"22 Fre is nine days from now." Gormin mopped his hairless head with a rag. "I wonder how widely known it is that the palace is alive? Hundreds of people live and work there, and Kresich didn't exactly make a secret of the palace needing to eat."
Before anyone could answer, Lameth cleared his throat and came to a stop. The rest of the group stopped also. He took a deep breath. "My friends, even though we have just met, with regret I must leave you and return home. I... have received a message." He tapped the side of his forehead, as if to indicate just what kind of message. "As you know, I and my kind have the powers of thism—of mind-speaking. We are a close family. A son has been born to one of my kin and, by custom, I must return in person so that I may communicate with the new little one in thism in the future. I go east; the journey will take many weeks, so I must leave now. Farewell friends; perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, may your cyphers never malfunction."
Gormin looked between the Arechive tower and Lameth. "Now?"
Lameth inclined his head in something between a nod and a bow.
YimouZha bowed. "Ah, it is a joyous thing when a new sapling arrives. It has been an honour to meet you and may our paths cross again."
Kiraz gave Lameth a hug. "It was good to meet you. You will be missed but I do wish you the best, and congratulations on the new family member."
Tempus, still holding the herbal poultice to his swollen face, bowed also. "May the young one grow up in time to be as wise and true as you, my friend," he intoned.
Syrus and Gormin looked around awkwardly.
Lameth thanked them, then stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.
What remained of the group entered the tower.
The entrance hall was circular, like every room of every building Kiraz had yet seen in the City, aside from the octagonal arena. She wondered idly if circle-based designs were merely the preferred architectural style, or if all the buildings (like the platforms themselves) were relics of the prior worlds. The entry hall's floor was a colorful enamel mosaic of the Order of Truth's four-eyed symbol, identical to the floor of the lounge in their mercenary quarters.
An arm-less and faceless servitor waited by the door. Kiraz wondered if the Arechive had enough power to run their many machines and wonders despite the wind turbines being at rest.
Gormin poked the servitor in the chest to get its attention. "Get Bellias," he said. "He'll want to know his daughter is alive, and he may have some ideas as to how to get her out of the Palace. Tell him that strange numenera is not my area of expertise; my area of expertise is sticking pointy things in people."
As Gormin spoke, the tiny light-projector in the center of the servitor's otherwise featureless face lit up. A holographic face flickered into existence a finger-width or so in front of the servitor's head. This particular servitor projected a female face.
"I speak in the Truth," the servitor's artificial voice enunciated. "If you wish to convey messages to the Frater then speak, recite, communicate. It will be conveyed to the Frater. I speak in the Truth."
Gormin nodded. Looking self-conscious for a moment, he took a deep breath and bellowed directly into the servitor's face, "Bellias! We saw your daughter in the Coral Palace! She's held in some kind of stasis, underwater! Guarded by tentacled fish with stinging poison! Since your kind are the supposed experts in numenera, perhaps you have an idea how to get her out!"
After a moment, Bellias' voice spoke from the air. "In the Truth, there is no need to shout such, Gormin. Now, consider. Whatever is used to hold my daughter in stasis must be somewhere inside the Coral Palace, and there is every likelihood that its effect can be reversed. Tentacled fish with stinging poison are not native to these waters; they may have come from somewhere near the Rayskel Cays, if they are the species I am thinking of. If so, then they are salt water creatures, and the tank is likely open to the sea from below, to give them a supply of water—although something must prevent their escape. If released, the fish will escape back into the ocean and my daughter can be rescued and unfrozen. There is a grand ball being held at the palace for the Night of the Burning Moon—I will see to arrangements to get you invited."
"Frater Bellias speaks in the Truth," the servitor added. Its holographic face vanished.
Gormin shouted into the servitor's face again. "Bellias! Lady Isla already invited us! Do you have suitable costumes for this party? And have you given consideration to moving Neymich out of the City? He could hole up at that farmstead where that family was murdered!"
No answer from the air or the servitor.
Tempus ventured a comment. "We may wish to consider investigating the Palace from underwater to see if we can free the fish. To that end, I have certain cyphers that may help." He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a pill. "This pill gives the swallower skill in swimming and treading water. It lasts 28 hours or so." He put it away and pulled out a piece of twisted coral about a handspan long. "This is a water weapon; it shoots a bolt of energy, like Toorkman's weapon, but it has only one charge, and it only works underwater."
Gormin frowned. "Exploring underneath the palace will be tricky. Swimming in the ocean so far from the coast is dangerous under the best of circumstances. Too bad our fine flippered friend Ooro is no longer a part of our mercenary band."
He tapped his chin. "A small boat might work better for us non-amphibians. Hopefully, the unsupported column of water will be obvious from a distance underneath the platform, as will whatever is drawing up the water—I presume an anti-gravity artifact of some kind. Perhaps destroying it will drain the tank. And speaking of our mercenary band, we should name our mercenary band something respectable-sounding in case people ask about us at the party. We can just say, oh I'm with the Shiny Champions. That sounds a lot better than, oh I'm with the group of ruffians kidnapped and enslaved by the Order of Truth. I am open to suggestions on a name."
Tempus smirked. "We seem to be dancing to the tune of an invisible jester. How about the Dancing Jesters?"
Syrus smiled shyly. "Silent but Deadly."
Kiraz rolled her eyes.
Gormin laughed but shook his head. "The name must be one that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies! Or at least not make them laugh."
YimouZha tilted his eye sideways. "The Company of the Broken Cage? Since that is how we began, or at least some of us."
Gormin looked thoughtful for a while. "Hm. The Broken Cage Company sounds good to me. I like it."
Kiraz shrugged.
Gormin gestured vaguely. "Think it over. Meanwhile, I need to pick up some stuff from the Hub while there's still daylight. Also, I want to talk to the aneen-seller. Maybe he supplies the aneen the Palace eats, or knows who does. That might lead to an alternate means of getting into the Palace. He also has a private dock and a small boat he might be willing to rent out. I'll be back before night." He turned and left.
But Kiraz and the rest of the group, having nothing better to do, decided to follow.
***
Gormin
Something was wrong.
It was not even wane, but the aneen-seller was neither out in front of his shop hawking his wares to passersby, nor inside behind the counter. He could be in the back, behind the curtain, tending to his livestock, but the bell on the door should have summoned him, and Gormin could hear the aneen and brehm back there bellowing, very unsettled. He frowned. There was something else amiss as well, something tugging at his subconscious, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He glanced back at the others in the dimness. Filjar's Best Beasts had no installed artificial lighting, only a series of smallish circular windows set near the ceiling. These, along with a narrow transom over the door, let the sun's light into the wedge-shaped room, but the building was more than tall enough to accommodate aneen (which were twice the height of a tall man), so the small windows just below the faraway ceiling did little to relieve the gloom at ground level.
A strangled, possibly human sob came from the back. Gormin didn't wait to see if the others had heard it—he pulled up his hood and quietly stepped behind the curtain, hoping to not draw the notice of whoever or whatever was up to no good back there.
Filjar's shop was round, like most of the buildings in the City, but instead of round rooms, Best Beasts was divided into five broad wedges and one narrow passageway that all opened onto a small circular nexus about twelve paces across. The front office was one wedge; the other four were animal pens with aneen and brehm, now in a full panic.
On the straw-covered floor of the central nexus was a dead aneen, its chest and belly burst open messily. Blood seeped into the straw around it. Standing over the fallen aneen were three eyeless, bipedal reptiles with leathery beaks, about waist-high, emitting a low-pitched moan in close harmony, just at the edge of hearing. Did they emerge from the aneen? Some kind of parasite? Gormin slowly reached for his weapon, hoping not to alert them. The creatures were red, but it was hard to say in the darkness how much of the red was their skin and how much was aneen gore.
Filjar was to his left, on his knees, moaning with his head clutched in his miniscule hands, echoing the creatures' sound. All three of the beaked creatures faced Filjar.
The creatures' droning moan spoke to Gormin's mind of loss and regret. He realized vaguely that he had been hearing it below the level of conscious awareness since entering the shop.
The creatures, perhaps drawn by the rustle of the curtain, swiveled their heads to face Gormin.
Too late, he understood that their droning was an attack.
***
Date: 2nd Ator in the 366th Year of the Founding
Bii had been left behind.
The grownups were all running. Rawhide tents, whole herds of shiul, heavy tools, anything that couldn't be easily carried was left where it lay as everyone scrambled to escape the funny grey cloud. Gormin could hear his mother frantically calling his name, and he knew he should be with the others underground, but Bii had been left behind. Besides, the cloud was far away. And besides that, it was just a cloud.
The wind started to pick up as he ran through the suddenly empty clan encampment.
He found Bii the Xi-drake in the family tent. According to his parents, Bii had been white once (though Gormin could not remember Bii ever having been white), a floppy winged creature made from bleached rawhide. It was now more of a filthy, worn-out grey. Gormin held up Bii's elongated head so that he could look directly into its mismatched pebble eyes (one rust-orange and roughly triangular, one reddish-orange and more-or-less round).
"There you are. Where have you been?" asked Gormin sternly. If the toy had anything to say for itself, it was pre-empted by the tent-wall's sudden hard flap from a heavy gust of wind. "Time to go. Mom will be mad." He left the tent. All the tents were flapping hard now, straining to break free of the stakes that anchored them to the ground, as if they wanted to escape the cloud too.
The funny cloud wasn't far away any more.
Moments ago, the cloud had been nearly as far away as the horizon. Now, somehow, it was nearly on top of him, preceded by a howling wind threatening to carry the tents away and nearly knocking Gormin off his feet. Much closer now, he could see the cloud appeared to be made of some shimmering dark metal streaked with rust here and there, roiling and writhing like agitated water as it raced forward.
He ran, dragging Bii by his long neck. He didn't get far.
He clutched the toy xi-drake to his chest as the wind slammed into him, lifting him into the air. Pinpricks of pain as countless tiny metal flecks pierced his skin. He wanted to scream, but the flecks were in his mouth, his throat, his lungs. He tried to shut his eyes, but they were in his eyelids, his eyes, his ears, his brain.
A cacophony of countless voices. "What is this? What is this? What have we here? What shall we do with it? What is it? What shall it be?" The voices did not speak Truth—nor any spoken language—yet they filled Gormin's brain in the moment before he was shredded by the Wind.
***
Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
"What is this? What shall it be?" muttered Gormin under his breath. He shook his head, trying to clear the vivid flashback.
He was disoriented. But the sight of the gaping, tooth-filled, trifurcated maws of two of the red creatures less than an arm-length away helped him re-focus on his present predicament.
He was holding his shield but didn't remember having drawn it. He swung the shield back and forth and scrambled ungracefully away, fending off the creatures as they lunged at his legs. They can attack my mind, but at least I have a reach advantage. The creatures keened in frustration.
He drew his sword and glanced around, trying to re-orient. The others were here. Battle was joined. He must have only been out a few seconds, but Tempus was already down. YimouZha screamed as creature bit into his woody leg below the knee.
Filjar was now behind him, still lost in some memory, whimpering. "I did not mean to kill them... they were always taunting me..."
Two more of the blood-soaked creatures crawled over an aneen's stall door. They ran for Syrus, who also seemed to be dazed by the creatures' sonic attack.
Gormin had his own problems to worry about. He bashed one of the creatures hard in the side of the head with the edge of his shield, sending it sprawling. It shrieked indignantly. Hopefully its head is a vital area. He tried to follow up with his sword, but the other creature snapped its jaws at his sword-hand, spoiling his coup de grace and narrowly missing making a snack of Gormin's fingers. Gormin returned to a guard stance.
He heard Syrus yelp in pain and risked another glance. A creature was biting him in the ankle. Syrus was lashing out with his whip in one hand and had something else—a cypher?—in the other.
Kiraz had her crossbow out. She loosed a quarrel that pierced YimouZha's creature through the brain—assuming it keeps its brain in its head—but pinned it firmly to YimouZha's leg. One down at least, thought Gormin.
Syrus slapped the cypher in his left hand onto his right bicep. He instantly became a blur of motion, seemingly everywhere at once as the air resounded with dozens of whip-cracks in the space of only a second or two.
He stopped. All but one of the creatures lay dead or dying.
Gormin, distracted by the display, had taken his eyes off his own foe for too long. The last remaining creature leapt at him and clamped its jaw around his forearm, on his shield side. His bracer absorbed most of the force of the bite, but who can guess what kind of diseases or parasites were in its mouth? He tried to shake it off.
A crossbow quarrel from Kiraz whizzed by, narrowly missing him and the creature.
Gormin cursed and smashed the little monster on the top of its head with the pommel of his sword. It let go and let out a ululating screech that made him grit his teeth.
A shimmering Onslaught slammed into the creature, knocking it down. Tempus had regained his feet.
The creature, injured—perhaps mortally so—belatedly tried a desperate retreat, crawling backward as it mewled and whined like some mutant hell-baby.
Syrus flicked his whip underhand, wrapping its neck tight, silencing it.
***
Filjar was very grateful for the save. He pulled out a box of junk from under the counter. "I can't pay you, but you may be interested in some of these. Not everyone pays me in shins." He slid the box forward.
Tempus, somewhat battered but still in one piece, eyed the box of bits and bobs. He picked out some white spongy-looking thing, examining it closely.
Gormin said, "You have a little dock and boat underneath the shop, yes? We would be interested in borrowing it from time to time. We won't damage it."
"Yes, yes..." Filjar wrung his abnormally tiny hands. "Again, I cannot thank you enough..." He returned to going through the box of possible cyphers with Tempus.
Gormin stood in the door of the shop, looking out at the crowd from the shadows. A muscular monk with a particularly ornate brass automaton companion hurried past. He paid them no heed.
Raiding the Palace during the Burning Moon Festival would be brazen, possibly suicidal. Gormin smiled grimly. It will be fun.
To be continued...
***
Previously in "Tears of the Gods"
"Die then, beast." Gormin thrust the point of his sword into the margr’s abdomen, killing it.
YimouZha closed his eye as the last of the glittering, hair-like shards winked out of existence. He sighed.
"I'm Lameth and I'm currently heading for the City of Bridges. Actually, I have no real destination—I'm just looking for some adventure. You said something about Fallside; what are you up to? I just came from there..."
Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.
Gormin's face was a gathering storm. "Understand? I understand you're a dissembling sack of drit, jerking us around like puppets on a string..."
"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."
***
Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
Kiraz
Kiraz looked up at the Arechive's tower and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Six stories, yet we have seen so little of the inside of it, she mused. The day was hot and windless—the Arechive's two massive horizontal wind turbines were unmoving. Even the great Wind Spire, visible beyond the Arechive, stood still as well.
The group pressed through the crowd, making their way towards the Arechive. Although the platform the Arechive shared with several other buildings was not as crowded as the Hub or the Palatial platform, it was certainly crowded enough to be uncomfortable to Kiraz. And although it was technically not as hot today as during their journey to Fallside, the lack of wind and the fact that the city was mostly metal made the City of Bridges a truly miserable place to be in Fre.
The group talked as they approached their "home" in the Arechive.
YimouZha was in favor of attending Isla's party. "Perhaps I could arrange for some fine scents and even some blooms," he said. He turned his enormous eye toward Gormin. "When is this wane of the 22 of Fre that the Lady mentioned?"
"22 Fre is nine days from now." Gormin mopped his hairless head with a rag. "I wonder how widely known it is that the palace is alive? Hundreds of people live and work there, and Kresich didn't exactly make a secret of the palace needing to eat."
Before anyone could answer, Lameth cleared his throat and came to a stop. The rest of the group stopped also. He took a deep breath. "My friends, even though we have just met, with regret I must leave you and return home. I... have received a message." He tapped the side of his forehead, as if to indicate just what kind of message. "As you know, I and my kind have the powers of thism—of mind-speaking. We are a close family. A son has been born to one of my kin and, by custom, I must return in person so that I may communicate with the new little one in thism in the future. I go east; the journey will take many weeks, so I must leave now. Farewell friends; perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, may your cyphers never malfunction."
Gormin looked between the Arechive tower and Lameth. "Now?"
Lameth inclined his head in something between a nod and a bow.
YimouZha bowed. "Ah, it is a joyous thing when a new sapling arrives. It has been an honour to meet you and may our paths cross again."
Kiraz gave Lameth a hug. "It was good to meet you. You will be missed but I do wish you the best, and congratulations on the new family member."
Tempus, still holding the herbal poultice to his swollen face, bowed also. "May the young one grow up in time to be as wise and true as you, my friend," he intoned.
Syrus and Gormin looked around awkwardly.
Lameth thanked them, then stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.
What remained of the group entered the tower.
The entrance hall was circular, like every room of every building Kiraz had yet seen in the City, aside from the octagonal arena. She wondered idly if circle-based designs were merely the preferred architectural style, or if all the buildings (like the platforms themselves) were relics of the prior worlds. The entry hall's floor was a colorful enamel mosaic of the Order of Truth's four-eyed symbol, identical to the floor of the lounge in their mercenary quarters.
An arm-less and faceless servitor waited by the door. Kiraz wondered if the Arechive had enough power to run their many machines and wonders despite the wind turbines being at rest.
Gormin poked the servitor in the chest to get its attention. "Get Bellias," he said. "He'll want to know his daughter is alive, and he may have some ideas as to how to get her out of the Palace. Tell him that strange numenera is not my area of expertise; my area of expertise is sticking pointy things in people."
As Gormin spoke, the tiny light-projector in the center of the servitor's otherwise featureless face lit up. A holographic face flickered into existence a finger-width or so in front of the servitor's head. This particular servitor projected a female face.
"I speak in the Truth," the servitor's artificial voice enunciated. "If you wish to convey messages to the Frater then speak, recite, communicate. It will be conveyed to the Frater. I speak in the Truth."
Gormin nodded. Looking self-conscious for a moment, he took a deep breath and bellowed directly into the servitor's face, "Bellias! We saw your daughter in the Coral Palace! She's held in some kind of stasis, underwater! Guarded by tentacled fish with stinging poison! Since your kind are the supposed experts in numenera, perhaps you have an idea how to get her out!"
After a moment, Bellias' voice spoke from the air. "In the Truth, there is no need to shout such, Gormin. Now, consider. Whatever is used to hold my daughter in stasis must be somewhere inside the Coral Palace, and there is every likelihood that its effect can be reversed. Tentacled fish with stinging poison are not native to these waters; they may have come from somewhere near the Rayskel Cays, if they are the species I am thinking of. If so, then they are salt water creatures, and the tank is likely open to the sea from below, to give them a supply of water—although something must prevent their escape. If released, the fish will escape back into the ocean and my daughter can be rescued and unfrozen. There is a grand ball being held at the palace for the Night of the Burning Moon—I will see to arrangements to get you invited."
"Frater Bellias speaks in the Truth," the servitor added. Its holographic face vanished.
Gormin shouted into the servitor's face again. "Bellias! Lady Isla already invited us! Do you have suitable costumes for this party? And have you given consideration to moving Neymich out of the City? He could hole up at that farmstead where that family was murdered!"
No answer from the air or the servitor.
Tempus ventured a comment. "We may wish to consider investigating the Palace from underwater to see if we can free the fish. To that end, I have certain cyphers that may help." He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a pill. "This pill gives the swallower skill in swimming and treading water. It lasts 28 hours or so." He put it away and pulled out a piece of twisted coral about a handspan long. "This is a water weapon; it shoots a bolt of energy, like Toorkman's weapon, but it has only one charge, and it only works underwater."
Gormin frowned. "Exploring underneath the palace will be tricky. Swimming in the ocean so far from the coast is dangerous under the best of circumstances. Too bad our fine flippered friend Ooro is no longer a part of our mercenary band."
He tapped his chin. "A small boat might work better for us non-amphibians. Hopefully, the unsupported column of water will be obvious from a distance underneath the platform, as will whatever is drawing up the water—I presume an anti-gravity artifact of some kind. Perhaps destroying it will drain the tank. And speaking of our mercenary band, we should name our mercenary band something respectable-sounding in case people ask about us at the party. We can just say, oh I'm with the Shiny Champions. That sounds a lot better than, oh I'm with the group of ruffians kidnapped and enslaved by the Order of Truth. I am open to suggestions on a name."
Tempus smirked. "We seem to be dancing to the tune of an invisible jester. How about the Dancing Jesters?"
Syrus smiled shyly. "Silent but Deadly."
Kiraz rolled her eyes.
Gormin laughed but shook his head. "The name must be one that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies! Or at least not make them laugh."
YimouZha tilted his eye sideways. "The Company of the Broken Cage? Since that is how we began, or at least some of us."
Gormin looked thoughtful for a while. "Hm. The Broken Cage Company sounds good to me. I like it."
Kiraz shrugged.
Gormin gestured vaguely. "Think it over. Meanwhile, I need to pick up some stuff from the Hub while there's still daylight. Also, I want to talk to the aneen-seller. Maybe he supplies the aneen the Palace eats, or knows who does. That might lead to an alternate means of getting into the Palace. He also has a private dock and a small boat he might be willing to rent out. I'll be back before night." He turned and left.
But Kiraz and the rest of the group, having nothing better to do, decided to follow.
***
Gormin
Something was wrong.
It was not even wane, but the aneen-seller was neither out in front of his shop hawking his wares to passersby, nor inside behind the counter. He could be in the back, behind the curtain, tending to his livestock, but the bell on the door should have summoned him, and Gormin could hear the aneen and brehm back there bellowing, very unsettled. He frowned. There was something else amiss as well, something tugging at his subconscious, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He glanced back at the others in the dimness. Filjar's Best Beasts had no installed artificial lighting, only a series of smallish circular windows set near the ceiling. These, along with a narrow transom over the door, let the sun's light into the wedge-shaped room, but the building was more than tall enough to accommodate aneen (which were twice the height of a tall man), so the small windows just below the faraway ceiling did little to relieve the gloom at ground level.
A strangled, possibly human sob came from the back. Gormin didn't wait to see if the others had heard it—he pulled up his hood and quietly stepped behind the curtain, hoping to not draw the notice of whoever or whatever was up to no good back there.
Filjar's shop was round, like most of the buildings in the City, but instead of round rooms, Best Beasts was divided into five broad wedges and one narrow passageway that all opened onto a small circular nexus about twelve paces across. The front office was one wedge; the other four were animal pens with aneen and brehm, now in a full panic.
On the straw-covered floor of the central nexus was a dead aneen, its chest and belly burst open messily. Blood seeped into the straw around it. Standing over the fallen aneen were three eyeless, bipedal reptiles with leathery beaks, about waist-high, emitting a low-pitched moan in close harmony, just at the edge of hearing. Did they emerge from the aneen? Some kind of parasite? Gormin slowly reached for his weapon, hoping not to alert them. The creatures were red, but it was hard to say in the darkness how much of the red was their skin and how much was aneen gore.
Filjar was to his left, on his knees, moaning with his head clutched in his miniscule hands, echoing the creatures' sound. All three of the beaked creatures faced Filjar.
The creatures' droning moan spoke to Gormin's mind of loss and regret. He realized vaguely that he had been hearing it below the level of conscious awareness since entering the shop.
The creatures, perhaps drawn by the rustle of the curtain, swiveled their heads to face Gormin.
Too late, he understood that their droning was an attack.
***
Date: 2nd Ator in the 366th Year of the Founding
Bii had been left behind.
The grownups were all running. Rawhide tents, whole herds of shiul, heavy tools, anything that couldn't be easily carried was left where it lay as everyone scrambled to escape the funny grey cloud. Gormin could hear his mother frantically calling his name, and he knew he should be with the others underground, but Bii had been left behind. Besides, the cloud was far away. And besides that, it was just a cloud.
The wind started to pick up as he ran through the suddenly empty clan encampment.
He found Bii the Xi-drake in the family tent. According to his parents, Bii had been white once (though Gormin could not remember Bii ever having been white), a floppy winged creature made from bleached rawhide. It was now more of a filthy, worn-out grey. Gormin held up Bii's elongated head so that he could look directly into its mismatched pebble eyes (one rust-orange and roughly triangular, one reddish-orange and more-or-less round).
"There you are. Where have you been?" asked Gormin sternly. If the toy had anything to say for itself, it was pre-empted by the tent-wall's sudden hard flap from a heavy gust of wind. "Time to go. Mom will be mad." He left the tent. All the tents were flapping hard now, straining to break free of the stakes that anchored them to the ground, as if they wanted to escape the cloud too.
The funny cloud wasn't far away any more.
Moments ago, the cloud had been nearly as far away as the horizon. Now, somehow, it was nearly on top of him, preceded by a howling wind threatening to carry the tents away and nearly knocking Gormin off his feet. Much closer now, he could see the cloud appeared to be made of some shimmering dark metal streaked with rust here and there, roiling and writhing like agitated water as it raced forward.
He ran, dragging Bii by his long neck. He didn't get far.
He clutched the toy xi-drake to his chest as the wind slammed into him, lifting him into the air. Pinpricks of pain as countless tiny metal flecks pierced his skin. He wanted to scream, but the flecks were in his mouth, his throat, his lungs. He tried to shut his eyes, but they were in his eyelids, his eyes, his ears, his brain.
A cacophony of countless voices. "What is this? What is this? What have we here? What shall we do with it? What is it? What shall it be?" The voices did not speak Truth—nor any spoken language—yet they filled Gormin's brain in the moment before he was shredded by the Wind.
***
Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
"What is this? What shall it be?" muttered Gormin under his breath. He shook his head, trying to clear the vivid flashback.
He was disoriented. But the sight of the gaping, tooth-filled, trifurcated maws of two of the red creatures less than an arm-length away helped him re-focus on his present predicament.
He was holding his shield but didn't remember having drawn it. He swung the shield back and forth and scrambled ungracefully away, fending off the creatures as they lunged at his legs. They can attack my mind, but at least I have a reach advantage. The creatures keened in frustration.
He drew his sword and glanced around, trying to re-orient. The others were here. Battle was joined. He must have only been out a few seconds, but Tempus was already down. YimouZha screamed as creature bit into his woody leg below the knee.
Filjar was now behind him, still lost in some memory, whimpering. "I did not mean to kill them... they were always taunting me..."
Two more of the blood-soaked creatures crawled over an aneen's stall door. They ran for Syrus, who also seemed to be dazed by the creatures' sonic attack.
Gormin had his own problems to worry about. He bashed one of the creatures hard in the side of the head with the edge of his shield, sending it sprawling. It shrieked indignantly. Hopefully its head is a vital area. He tried to follow up with his sword, but the other creature snapped its jaws at his sword-hand, spoiling his coup de grace and narrowly missing making a snack of Gormin's fingers. Gormin returned to a guard stance.
He heard Syrus yelp in pain and risked another glance. A creature was biting him in the ankle. Syrus was lashing out with his whip in one hand and had something else—a cypher?—in the other.
Kiraz had her crossbow out. She loosed a quarrel that pierced YimouZha's creature through the brain—assuming it keeps its brain in its head—but pinned it firmly to YimouZha's leg. One down at least, thought Gormin.
Syrus slapped the cypher in his left hand onto his right bicep. He instantly became a blur of motion, seemingly everywhere at once as the air resounded with dozens of whip-cracks in the space of only a second or two.
He stopped. All but one of the creatures lay dead or dying.
Gormin, distracted by the display, had taken his eyes off his own foe for too long. The last remaining creature leapt at him and clamped its jaw around his forearm, on his shield side. His bracer absorbed most of the force of the bite, but who can guess what kind of diseases or parasites were in its mouth? He tried to shake it off.
A crossbow quarrel from Kiraz whizzed by, narrowly missing him and the creature.
Gormin cursed and smashed the little monster on the top of its head with the pommel of his sword. It let go and let out a ululating screech that made him grit his teeth.
A shimmering Onslaught slammed into the creature, knocking it down. Tempus had regained his feet.
The creature, injured—perhaps mortally so—belatedly tried a desperate retreat, crawling backward as it mewled and whined like some mutant hell-baby.
Syrus flicked his whip underhand, wrapping its neck tight, silencing it.
***
Filjar was very grateful for the save. He pulled out a box of junk from under the counter. "I can't pay you, but you may be interested in some of these. Not everyone pays me in shins." He slid the box forward.
Tempus, somewhat battered but still in one piece, eyed the box of bits and bobs. He picked out some white spongy-looking thing, examining it closely.
Gormin said, "You have a little dock and boat underneath the shop, yes? We would be interested in borrowing it from time to time. We won't damage it."
"Yes, yes..." Filjar wrung his abnormally tiny hands. "Again, I cannot thank you enough..." He returned to going through the box of possible cyphers with Tempus.
Gormin stood in the door of the shop, looking out at the crowd from the shadows. A muscular monk with a particularly ornate brass automaton companion hurried past. He paid them no heed.
Raiding the Palace during the Burning Moon Festival would be brazen, possibly suicidal. Gormin smiled grimly. It will be fun.
To be continued...
