This is part seven of this story. Chapters one through six can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot. I know it's been a while since there's been an update, but the game is still ongoing. Enjoy!
***
Previously in "Tears of the Gods"
A voice from the air spoke. "Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive, the library of things that are. Relax, for in the Truth, you are safe here."
The woman in grey blocked Syrus' retreat and snarled at him in a menacing low voice. "Next time we meet, pray to your Amber Pope that you remember. Meanwhile, remember this!" She opened her left hand.
Sinys hissed, "Calaval’s eyes! I haven’t been paid yet. You," jerking her chin at Gormin, "are as fierce as a cragworm. I like that. Still, time to go." She dropped to one knee and snatched a device from Toorkmeyn's belt. Before Lameth could react, she was gone, vanished.
"It was last night, at shift change," Frater Neymich said softly. "I was preparing to go to bed when screaming broke out north of the factory. Many ran to see what was happening; I and some others were slower. That slowness made us the lucky ones. On the cliff edge, slithering up from the sea, was a long, dome-shaped head, glistening like... wet leather." He shuddered.
Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.
Yimoul-Za narrated their adventures to Lady Isla: the arena, the chronal feeders, the sudden appearance of Tempus, the Krai. Isla hung on his every word, gasping at the dangers they'd faced and beaming and clapping at their triumphs.
"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."
***
Date: 22nd Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
Kiraz
A seemingly endless stream of guests filled the Coral Palace ballroom, attended by an army of servants overseen by Kresich the majordomo, the whole scene kept in order by palace guards with their gleaming scale-armor and peculiar disc-tipped polearms. Music from a seven-piece ensemble at the other end of the hall and multi-colored light from the glittering, rotating numenera-touched chandeliers wafted over the party.
Kiraz was not one for parties. She followed Gormin, who was pressing his way through the crowd toward the tank room where they'd seen Lissia being held. She frowned; Gormin looked positively ridiculous with his black-and-orange embroidered jacket and the enormous white ruff collar that served only to accentuate his ugliness by framing his head.
An automaton that appeared to be made of countless tiny brass gears caught her eye as she passed. The automaton was conversing with Lady Isla. Isla was being her usual vacuous self, asking if she could touch the automaton. Kiraz rolled her eyes.
Gormin pressed on. Kiraz followed.
They reached the tank room. It was less crowded than the ballroom, though a number of guests mingled here as well, singles and couples, making small talk and peering at Isla's collection of oddities and the "statue" in the tank. The tentacle-fish still swam lazily in the tank's column of water. Guards stood by the doors and liveried servants circulated, carrying trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Kiraz half heard a conversation between two men.
"But what am I to do?" said the one, a man wearing the simple, homespun clothes of a shopkeeper. "A year ago I was the premier supplier of Elegant Hydnelm in the city. Then the accursed Gaians called down a blight on the fungus fields and I am ruined."
The other man laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. "My friend. This is your chance now, to join me at midnight. When the Goddess burns, then so shall I. Be with me; the Goddess will welcome you."
There was something in the second man's tone of voice that raised the hairs on the back of Kiraz' neck, but just then Gormin nudged her and directed her attention ahead. One of the twins who ruled the City—Jamira or Janira, Kiraz didn't know which—was whispering to a woman whose face was a ruined, reddish mass of blisters and scar tissue.
"Sinys," Gormin murmured. "She was at Fallside. The torturer."
Sinys looked at them sharply as if she had heard Gormin from across the room. She smiled—not a pleasant sight—and began to make her way toward them.
Gormin covered his mouth as if scratching his nose. "Trouble. At least we know Lissia is still here."
Sinys was dressed far less outlandishly than most of the other party-goers, with practical black leggings instead of a fancy ball-gown, although she did have on a short jacket with shiny decorative spikes as an apparent halfhearted nod to formality. She came up to them and addressed Gormin. "Well, hello again. We were never properly introduced last time we met." She turned to Kiraz. "And I don't think I've met you. Nice dress by the way; not something I'd wear, but dresses don't suit me."
Kiraz nodded awkwardly to Sinys. "Thank you," she mumbled. She reflexively reached for where her verred would normally be on her hip, before remembering that weapons were not allowed at the party.
Sinys turned back to Gormin. "Did you kill Toorkmeyn?"
Gormin crossed his arms. "Toorkmeyn was still alive, last I saw. That was more than a week ago, though. Don't know what the Arechive has planned for him. Had any luck tracking down the Tears of the Gods?"
Sinys' face cracked in a lopsided grin. "So, he's in the Arechive, is he? I was never interested in looking for the Tears myself; Toorkmeyn hired me to go with him to Fallside in case the priest proved to be stubborn. I still haven't been paid for that job. No matter. We still haven't been properly introduced. I am Sinys, a member of the Guild of Torturers based in Rarmon."
She offered a hand to Gormin, which he accepted. On her wrist was a slivery bracelet wrought in the shape of a spider. It matches Gormin's description of the torture device, Kiraz realized.
"Gormin, of the Broken Cage Company, currently in the employ of the Order of Truth," said Gormin, not-so-subtly emphasizing the word "currently".
"Toorkmeyn may still be in the Arechive. I don't know," he continued. "Supposedly the Arechive is bankrupt, so I assume they will ransom him back to his family in Ancuan soon, if they haven't already. But he himself is broke—not to mention mad at you for leaving him behind—and his former band of bandits are nearly all dead. I wouldn't hold my breath on being paid any time soon." He crossed his arms.
"I recommended to our contact at the Arechive that they remove Toorkmeyn and the old priest both to somewhere safer. Whether they followed through on that is anyone's guess. They are irritatingly secretive."
He shrugged. "What about you? I'm told you were trained by Lady Jamira. Are you working for her currently, or are you between gigs? Lady Jamira has... ahem, shown an interest in the Tears of the Gods also, so to speak. Personally, I don't know what all the fuss is about."
Sinys tapped her lip thoughtfully, then glanced again at Kiraz. "You, I haven't met. Were you at Fallside? Are you and he a...?"
"I was at Fallside. And no, Gormin and I are not a thing," replied Kiraz.
Sinys turned back to Gormin and smiled slyly. "Toorkmeyn hired me under a standard Guild contract. They, and I, will get our money. It is not wise to cross the Guild. But let's not talk so much business." She deftly snagged two drinks from a passing waiter. "Let's go somewhere quieter—into the garden perhaps?"
Gormin took one of the offered drinks. "Of course. Lead the way." Sinys smirked and led Gormin away.
"Enjoy yourselves," Kiraz said to their departing backs, too quietly for them to hear.
***
Tempus
A gleaming metallic sphere of black and gold, surrounded by flickering fields of force, hovered before Tempus, slightly above eye level. It "carried" a selection of drinks around it in mid-air by way of an effector field. It extended a tall, narrow glass of some bright blue steaming liquid in apparent offering.
"Grettingss," the sphere's artificial voice. "Or ess you spek, Iadace. I, Ixobis-Lar, here for watch and re-cord. Spek you?"
Curious. Tempus ignored the proffered drink as he studied the black and gold sphere, trying to ascertain its origin and purpose. He called upon his innate abilities to Scan it. The air around the sphere shimmered like a heatwave. It was a level 2 artificially intelligent construct. How interesting.
Tempus caught a whiff of a strong salty smell as a large drip of clear fluid landed on his shoulder.
"Re-cord spek?" the sphere continued. "What you and what your sphere? I, Ixobis-Lar, here for watch and re-cord this world."
Tempus cleared his throat and replied, "Iadace, what is the purpose of your watching and recording? What will the records be used for?"
Ixobis-Lar turned lazily on its horizontal axis before answering, its effector fields ensuring that the drinks were not spilt. "Izm. Are groups, many groups, people, so many, all want come here. See, look, visit, enjoy, stay. Need know what is here and how to speak. Ixobis-Lar sees and learns, for return and teach groups who want come." Its speech capability seemed to be improving even as it spoke. Probably listening to other nearby party-goers and matching their speech patterns, Tempus surmised.
"Tell me more about these people and groups. Extraterrestrials? Ultraterrestrials?"
Ixobis-Lar wobbled in the air ever so slightly. "Izm. Groups, many groups, want come here and maybe stay for good. Ixobis-Lar, that is I, here for see if stay is right for them. See if any problem for staying. Understanding? You know where many groups can stay?" Ixobis-Lar withdrew the steaming blue drink and offered a fizzing amber-colored one.
Just then, a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. "The moon has risen!" someone announced.
Tempus ignored both the crowd and the drink. "I'm interested in meeting the groups who have already come over. You see, I'm a scholar of the numenera and they may have brought interesting items with them whence they came."
It responded with a whirring, throbbing hum, audible over the commotion of the crowd. "No groups here yet, I can show you... brochure... for attract." Ixobis-Lar emitted a bright purple effector field that engulfed Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from this earthly dimension, taking him with it.
***
Syrus
Syrus was wedged into a corner of the ballroom, wondering why he'd come. He was speaking with (more accurately, being spoken at by) a loud, rotund man in richly jeweled, embroidered robes of amber and ochre, their impressive effect spoiled somewhat by the dark streaks of wine stains down the front. Syrus was weirdly reminded of the dark streaks that were all the Fallside factory left behind after sliding into the deep.
"Jaxom of Wyrfall," proclaimed the large nobleman. Syrus was pretty sure he'd already introduced himself. Jaxom waved an empty glass at the other party-goers. "Here to party but this seems a bit dead. Eh, what do you say? Let's paint the town red, or whatever. You an ale man? You look like an ale man. Hey, you," he called to one of his servants, snapping his sausage-like fingers. "Get me and my friend here a flagon of the finest ale they have to offer."
Syrus did his best to not seem awkward as he slapped Jaxom on the back in a sign of acceptance of his offer. "My friend, yes. A-a-a- ale. Ale it is."
"Oof!" Jaxom jerked forward. "Eh, what's this? You always so familiar with nobles where you come from? I am Lord Jaxom of ...of Wyrfall."
He leaned in conspiratorially to Syrus. "And I know who you are. Heard you were involved in a bit of bother at Filjar's Fine Beasts a few days ago. Filjar's been going on and on about it to everyone. Anyone know who sold him the infected aneen, hm?"
"Lord of Wirefail? B-bit of bother? If you call it that. Not much one of. No, d-don't know," Syrus stammered.
Just then, a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. "The moon has risen!" someone announced. Guests started streaming to the exits to see it. A flash of bright purple light caught the corner of Syrus' eye.
Lord Jaxom roared with laughter above the crowd. "Good! Good, eh? Calaval's eyes, what's wrong with you? You speak like a thuman. Is that you: a human thuman?" He howled with drunken laughter at his own joke and slapped Syrus on the back. "Have another drink—cures everything."
One of his servants laughed too and Lord Jaxom glared at her. She fell silent. "Servants, eh?" he said to Syrus. "Need a good whipping to keep them in line. What do you say, eh?"
Syrus nodded and laughed with Lord Jaxom, then focused on his speaking, addressed him slowly and deliberately: "I.. speak... poorly... but observe... wisely. and fight... heroically..."
Lord Jaxom belched. "Another ale, eh? Drink cures everything, I always say, my heroic friend. Another for me then, eh? And perhaps another after that. And food!" He gestured to a male servant. "You! Go get us some food, and make sure it’s the best."
He leaned in to Syrus again. "Lord Jaxom of Wyrfall am I. What's your name, friend? I know your heroism but not your story. Do you raise aneen? How many head do you hold, eh?"
Before Syrus could reply, the servant who'd laughed earlier returned with drinks. She was a skinny girl of perhaps fourteen years with a great poof of curly dark hair. Jaxom squinted at her. "Don’t recognise you, hm. Are you one of mine?"
"Yes, my lord", the girl answered. "I've been your servant all my life."
Syrus cleared his throat. "I am Syrus. Barister. Syrus Barister of Ledon. I... I am a Broken Cage. In a Broken Cage". He winced as the words don't come out quite right. "Not aneen," he added and quickly took another drink.
Syrus became aware of a strong smell of salt and rotting seaweed filling the air. He looked around.
Jaxom roared with laughter at Syrus. "Not aneen!" He drank deep from a mug of something pink and fizzy. He gagged but forced it down. "Calaval's eyes," he wheezed. "How many head of aneen you hold, eh?" He coughed and gestured vaguely at the young servant girl. "Don’t remember her. A comely wench eh? What do you say?" He broke off into another fit of coughing.
The servant girl looked at her feet and said nothing.
The salty smell became much more intense. The coral walls and ceiling were leaking a viscous, clear fluid. A dollop of the stuff landed on Jaxom's back. He didn't seem to notice.
Several thin filaments whipped out from the walls at the party-goers, quick as an eye-blink. Two of them, a middle-aged man and woman, screamed and fell to the floor, badly injured. The filaments snapped back into the walls.
The guests in the immediate vicinity of the attack moved back in shock, knocking over chairs and bumping into other people. Drunken recriminations and arguments began to break out—the beginnings of a panic.
Syrus turned back to Lord Jaxom. "Must go. My friend," he said and gave him an awkward farewell punch on the shoulder. He circled around the outside of the gathering and arguing guests. His hand dropped to the backup whip he wore disguised a belt as he scanned the room looking for the other members of the Broken Cage.
He'd lost track of most of the others, but he spotted Yimoul-Za in an apparent altercation with a heavily-tattooed, likely inebriated man.
Syrus started to move towards Yimoul-Za, but then caught sight of a group with Lady Isla retreating from the hall. A woman, obviously noble, locked eyes with him for an instant. He stopped, dead in his tracks. Those eyes. From where? He remembered. The Gray Cloak. The alley. Lady Janira. He shuddered. Where is Gormin? Tempus? Kiraz? They need to know. He watched a moment as Isla and her sister moved away, then turned and hurried toward Yimoul-Za.
The tattooed man punched Yimoul-Za in the eye, knocking him down.
Yimoul-Za yowled. "I am a guest of the Coral Palace and the only hope for the survival of the sun!" he protested.
The man made ready to kick Yimoul-Za.
Syrus stepped between them. "Must. Get. Through. Me."
Another man who appeared to be made of tiny brass gears—party costume or actual automaton, Syrus couldn't tell—joined the fray as well, facing off against the drunk man.
The drunk man didn't seem impressed. "Pah! In Qi we fight like real men." He broke a tall glass on the edge of a table, making a makeshift (but very sharp) weapon which he brandished at Syrus. "Two of you and a weed, eh? I like those odds."
Syrus feinted, luring the tattooed man to commit to a defensive swipe with the glass, which Syrus easily avoided. He punched the man in the face, splitting his lip.
The brass automaton lifted a hand and cast an Onslaught into the man. His Onslaught had the appearance of countless razor-sharp tiny discs. An automaton nano? Now I've seen everything, Syrus thought.
The man went down, but there was no time to revel in the quick victory. Syrus, Yimoul-Za, the automaton, and the now-prone drunk man were suddenly surrounded by scowling armored guards. "Not fight time," said Syrus. He spread his arms wide in a placating gesture. "P- p- protecting friend. Nothing more."
***
Gormin
Gormin, naked, looked up to see the moon riding high in the sky, approaching midnight. He stood on a small private balcony with Sinys. The air was still hot—the Burning Moon living up to its name. Sinys, now mostly dressed, stood by the parapet, looking out to sea.
"Something's wrong," she said. She drew in her breath sharply and pointed out to sea. "What's that?"
Gormin looked. Out to sea to the west, about a mile off-shore, rose a huge swell in the ocean, like a vast, stationary wave. The sounds of revelry from the city seemed to have died away. Gormin heard dull—but loud—sounds like blunt glass bubbles bursting. Screams from below.
Gormin snorted. Always something. He leaned over the parapet and looked down. Hideous fish-like humanoids crawled up the side of the Palace, impossibly fast, bone spears clenched in their flabby lips. Gormin backed away from the rail. Figuring he had a few seconds before they arrived, he stepped into his boots. Don't care about this ridiculous costume, but good boots are hard to find.
Six of the fish-men came over the rail. Gormin noted that the tips of their spears were smeared with some kind of mucus-like gunk that glistened in the moonlight, presumably poison.
Sinys glanced his way. "Are you armed?" she asked, pulling an impossibly long blade from a sheath hidden in her left thigh. With a flick of the wrist, the blade expanded into a verred, a broad, two-bladed sword.
"Neat trick. And, of course." Gormin pulled a knife from his boot and grinned fiercely. "Now this is my kind of party!"
Sinys leapt forward, feinted with her blade, and fired a blinding-white spark esotery into one of the creatures' eyes. The creature went down, making no sound but spewing out gouts of grey-green mucus. The other two creatures stabbed at her with their spears; both missed.
Gormin rushed the creatures, knife in hand. With his left arm he swept two spearpoints aside, but a third grazed his shoulder, drawing a little blood. He felt the poison's dizzying effect immediately.
His counterattack was swift and deadly; lunging forward, he thrust his knife fully into the creature's throat. It made no sound as it fell lifeless, leaking grey mucus.
Movement out to sea below caught Gormin's eye for an instant. A low, humped shape arose from the depths. Neymich's 'wet leather' head? Could be. But Gormin didn't have time to study the shape in detail.
Sinys slew another of the fish-creatures with her white-spark esotery, but one of the remaining ones sank its poisoned spear into her stomach.
Gormin quickly looked away from the expression of horror on her face. He bum-rushed the creature whose spear was immobilized in Sinys' stomach and shoved it over the balcony rail. "Don't worry," he called over his shoulder by way of encouragement. "Stomach wounds are usually not immediately fatal!"
"I know that. I've used them many times. This mucus is doing something though—not sure what as yet."
Gormin nodded. Odd, psychedelic hallucinations we creeping into the edges of his vision. Have to focus.
The two remaining creatures tried to fend off Gormin as he continued to press them, but quarters were too cramped for them to easily bring their spears to bear. He stabbed one of them in the side and must have hit something vital. It spurted a gob of grey-green mucus and went down. The remaining creature threw down its spear and retreated over the rail of the parapet. Wants to find a softer target, Gormin guessed.
Gormin looked down. Near the Palace's front door a familiar bright burst of sunlight caught his eye—Yimoul-Za's Onslaught, he recognized. He turned back.
Sinys was on the ground with the spear still lodged in her gut. "Gormin..." she moaned.
Gormin gripped the spear. "Normally pulling something like this out without a healer's supervision would be bad, but that poison worries me. Lucky for you, you like new experiences of pain." He pulled out the spear. Sinys screamed.
He turned and looked over the rail, seeking his friends. They were fighting more of the fish-creatures below. Gormin hurled the bloody spear at their foes. Missed.
Off in the distance, a large, wriggling globe rolled off the edge of the Hub platform. Gormin squinted at it. It was a ball of captured people, just as Frater Neymich had described.
From the top of the "leather head", another bubble, empty, formed and undulated up into the air. Gormin looked around. There was yet another empty bubble, much closer, shimmering and drifting their way.
"Trouble," said Gormin. "This is the same thing that happened to Fallside. You see that bubble floating in our direction?" Gormin gestured. "It collects people and drags them down into the sea. I don't know what happens to the people dragged away, but painful death seems like a safe assumption. Most of the population of Fallside was carried off by those bubbles to an unknown fate. Frater Neymich was spared only because he happened to be inside when the things attacked. Going back inside might be wise."
Sinys crawled to the door and pushed it open. "Pain I don't mind. Dying of it; that's something different. Gormin, I don't kill my assigns; I'm not an murderer. A dead person can't tell you anything more. A living person, after a time, will want to, and that's what I encourage them to do." She paused as if spent.
The shimmering bubble seemed to have caught sight of them. It drifted over the edge of the parapet, very close now.
Gormin stepped inside and dragged Sinys after him.
The bubble exploded with a muffled, glassy sound. Countless cilia stretched out rapidly in all directions.
Gormin pushed the door to. The frustrated cilia made surprisingly heavy blows against the door. But the door would not close fully. One of the cilia had made it through and tangled itself in the little tuft of stringy hair Sinys still had. It stiffened and started to contract, pulling on her head.
Sinys reached out to Gormin in a panic. "Gormin! Help me! Please."
"Hold still, this will probably hurt!" Gormin braced his hip against the door to keep it from opening further and roughly cut through her hair with the knife.
The cilia slipped out with just a handful of severed hair.
The door closed fully. Gormin bolted it.
***
Tempus
Extraplanar ribbons (for lack of a better term) wrapped themselves around Tempus' mind.
A vision: Tempus ran for his life through an urban jungle full of hidden dangers and astonishing technological wonders, hunted by merciless killers. A not-voice "spoke" (for lack of a better term).
The Price of Freedom: can you survive seven days? Huge prizes to be won. Warning: This is a Class One hazardous experience. Death waiver must be affixed.
Tempus watched/experienced the vision for a while, interested more in the high-tech cityscape than the feats of daring adventure. The entire urban landscape was numenera, as far as the eye could see. How fascinating. How long he watched the vision he wasn't sure—he had the sense time moved differently in this dimension anyway. The vision changed: Tempus stalked through a forest carrying an exotic weapon vaguely similar to Toorkmeyn's device, hunting something.
Hunt Primitives: guaranteed kills and you keep trophies! 40 SVU/day, full board.
Tempus wondered what SVU were. Perhaps Ixobis-Lar knows, he thought. He caught a glimpse of his prey in the vision: short, horned abhumans. He recognised the creatures—margr, from the Ninth World.
Continuing to watch/experience the hunt vision, he realized that the forest could very well be the Westwood, an impenetrable wilderness not far from his own home village, though it was hard to say—forests all looked the same to Tempus.
Still, the thought of home gave him an idea. He attempted to address the vision-ribbons with a not-voice of his own. He summoned a mental image of his lost village and his missing wife and "spoke" the words: I want to go here. What is the price?
The ribbon pulsated (for lack of a better term) for an unknown length of time. Destination not listed as package, a not-voice "spoke" at last.
A slight "pop" (for lack of a better term). Ixobis-Lar appeared. Or perhaps had always been there?
"This is new destination? This your sphere? Need to know what here and how to speak. Ixobis-Lar sees and learns, for return and teaching groups who want visit."
Ixobis-Lar extended a purple effector field, again engulfing Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from the vision-ribbon dimension, taking him with it.
To be continued...
***
Previously in "Tears of the Gods"
A voice from the air spoke. "Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive, the library of things that are. Relax, for in the Truth, you are safe here."
The woman in grey blocked Syrus' retreat and snarled at him in a menacing low voice. "Next time we meet, pray to your Amber Pope that you remember. Meanwhile, remember this!" She opened her left hand.
Sinys hissed, "Calaval’s eyes! I haven’t been paid yet. You," jerking her chin at Gormin, "are as fierce as a cragworm. I like that. Still, time to go." She dropped to one knee and snatched a device from Toorkmeyn's belt. Before Lameth could react, she was gone, vanished.
"It was last night, at shift change," Frater Neymich said softly. "I was preparing to go to bed when screaming broke out north of the factory. Many ran to see what was happening; I and some others were slower. That slowness made us the lucky ones. On the cliff edge, slithering up from the sea, was a long, dome-shaped head, glistening like... wet leather." He shuddered.
Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.
Yimoul-Za narrated their adventures to Lady Isla: the arena, the chronal feeders, the sudden appearance of Tempus, the Krai. Isla hung on his every word, gasping at the dangers they'd faced and beaming and clapping at their triumphs.
"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."
***
Date: 22nd Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
Kiraz
A seemingly endless stream of guests filled the Coral Palace ballroom, attended by an army of servants overseen by Kresich the majordomo, the whole scene kept in order by palace guards with their gleaming scale-armor and peculiar disc-tipped polearms. Music from a seven-piece ensemble at the other end of the hall and multi-colored light from the glittering, rotating numenera-touched chandeliers wafted over the party.
Kiraz was not one for parties. She followed Gormin, who was pressing his way through the crowd toward the tank room where they'd seen Lissia being held. She frowned; Gormin looked positively ridiculous with his black-and-orange embroidered jacket and the enormous white ruff collar that served only to accentuate his ugliness by framing his head.
An automaton that appeared to be made of countless tiny brass gears caught her eye as she passed. The automaton was conversing with Lady Isla. Isla was being her usual vacuous self, asking if she could touch the automaton. Kiraz rolled her eyes.
Gormin pressed on. Kiraz followed.
They reached the tank room. It was less crowded than the ballroom, though a number of guests mingled here as well, singles and couples, making small talk and peering at Isla's collection of oddities and the "statue" in the tank. The tentacle-fish still swam lazily in the tank's column of water. Guards stood by the doors and liveried servants circulated, carrying trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Kiraz half heard a conversation between two men.
"But what am I to do?" said the one, a man wearing the simple, homespun clothes of a shopkeeper. "A year ago I was the premier supplier of Elegant Hydnelm in the city. Then the accursed Gaians called down a blight on the fungus fields and I am ruined."
The other man laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. "My friend. This is your chance now, to join me at midnight. When the Goddess burns, then so shall I. Be with me; the Goddess will welcome you."
There was something in the second man's tone of voice that raised the hairs on the back of Kiraz' neck, but just then Gormin nudged her and directed her attention ahead. One of the twins who ruled the City—Jamira or Janira, Kiraz didn't know which—was whispering to a woman whose face was a ruined, reddish mass of blisters and scar tissue.
"Sinys," Gormin murmured. "She was at Fallside. The torturer."
Sinys looked at them sharply as if she had heard Gormin from across the room. She smiled—not a pleasant sight—and began to make her way toward them.
Gormin covered his mouth as if scratching his nose. "Trouble. At least we know Lissia is still here."
Sinys was dressed far less outlandishly than most of the other party-goers, with practical black leggings instead of a fancy ball-gown, although she did have on a short jacket with shiny decorative spikes as an apparent halfhearted nod to formality. She came up to them and addressed Gormin. "Well, hello again. We were never properly introduced last time we met." She turned to Kiraz. "And I don't think I've met you. Nice dress by the way; not something I'd wear, but dresses don't suit me."
Kiraz nodded awkwardly to Sinys. "Thank you," she mumbled. She reflexively reached for where her verred would normally be on her hip, before remembering that weapons were not allowed at the party.
Sinys turned back to Gormin. "Did you kill Toorkmeyn?"
Gormin crossed his arms. "Toorkmeyn was still alive, last I saw. That was more than a week ago, though. Don't know what the Arechive has planned for him. Had any luck tracking down the Tears of the Gods?"
Sinys' face cracked in a lopsided grin. "So, he's in the Arechive, is he? I was never interested in looking for the Tears myself; Toorkmeyn hired me to go with him to Fallside in case the priest proved to be stubborn. I still haven't been paid for that job. No matter. We still haven't been properly introduced. I am Sinys, a member of the Guild of Torturers based in Rarmon."
She offered a hand to Gormin, which he accepted. On her wrist was a slivery bracelet wrought in the shape of a spider. It matches Gormin's description of the torture device, Kiraz realized.
"Gormin, of the Broken Cage Company, currently in the employ of the Order of Truth," said Gormin, not-so-subtly emphasizing the word "currently".
"Toorkmeyn may still be in the Arechive. I don't know," he continued. "Supposedly the Arechive is bankrupt, so I assume they will ransom him back to his family in Ancuan soon, if they haven't already. But he himself is broke—not to mention mad at you for leaving him behind—and his former band of bandits are nearly all dead. I wouldn't hold my breath on being paid any time soon." He crossed his arms.
"I recommended to our contact at the Arechive that they remove Toorkmeyn and the old priest both to somewhere safer. Whether they followed through on that is anyone's guess. They are irritatingly secretive."
He shrugged. "What about you? I'm told you were trained by Lady Jamira. Are you working for her currently, or are you between gigs? Lady Jamira has... ahem, shown an interest in the Tears of the Gods also, so to speak. Personally, I don't know what all the fuss is about."
Sinys tapped her lip thoughtfully, then glanced again at Kiraz. "You, I haven't met. Were you at Fallside? Are you and he a...?"
"I was at Fallside. And no, Gormin and I are not a thing," replied Kiraz.
Sinys turned back to Gormin and smiled slyly. "Toorkmeyn hired me under a standard Guild contract. They, and I, will get our money. It is not wise to cross the Guild. But let's not talk so much business." She deftly snagged two drinks from a passing waiter. "Let's go somewhere quieter—into the garden perhaps?"
Gormin took one of the offered drinks. "Of course. Lead the way." Sinys smirked and led Gormin away.
"Enjoy yourselves," Kiraz said to their departing backs, too quietly for them to hear.
***
Tempus
A gleaming metallic sphere of black and gold, surrounded by flickering fields of force, hovered before Tempus, slightly above eye level. It "carried" a selection of drinks around it in mid-air by way of an effector field. It extended a tall, narrow glass of some bright blue steaming liquid in apparent offering.
"Grettingss," the sphere's artificial voice. "Or ess you spek, Iadace. I, Ixobis-Lar, here for watch and re-cord. Spek you?"
Curious. Tempus ignored the proffered drink as he studied the black and gold sphere, trying to ascertain its origin and purpose. He called upon his innate abilities to Scan it. The air around the sphere shimmered like a heatwave. It was a level 2 artificially intelligent construct. How interesting.
Tempus caught a whiff of a strong salty smell as a large drip of clear fluid landed on his shoulder.
"Re-cord spek?" the sphere continued. "What you and what your sphere? I, Ixobis-Lar, here for watch and re-cord this world."
Tempus cleared his throat and replied, "Iadace, what is the purpose of your watching and recording? What will the records be used for?"
Ixobis-Lar turned lazily on its horizontal axis before answering, its effector fields ensuring that the drinks were not spilt. "Izm. Are groups, many groups, people, so many, all want come here. See, look, visit, enjoy, stay. Need know what is here and how to speak. Ixobis-Lar sees and learns, for return and teach groups who want come." Its speech capability seemed to be improving even as it spoke. Probably listening to other nearby party-goers and matching their speech patterns, Tempus surmised.
"Tell me more about these people and groups. Extraterrestrials? Ultraterrestrials?"
Ixobis-Lar wobbled in the air ever so slightly. "Izm. Groups, many groups, want come here and maybe stay for good. Ixobis-Lar, that is I, here for see if stay is right for them. See if any problem for staying. Understanding? You know where many groups can stay?" Ixobis-Lar withdrew the steaming blue drink and offered a fizzing amber-colored one.
Just then, a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. "The moon has risen!" someone announced.
Tempus ignored both the crowd and the drink. "I'm interested in meeting the groups who have already come over. You see, I'm a scholar of the numenera and they may have brought interesting items with them whence they came."
It responded with a whirring, throbbing hum, audible over the commotion of the crowd. "No groups here yet, I can show you... brochure... for attract." Ixobis-Lar emitted a bright purple effector field that engulfed Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from this earthly dimension, taking him with it.
***
Syrus
Syrus was wedged into a corner of the ballroom, wondering why he'd come. He was speaking with (more accurately, being spoken at by) a loud, rotund man in richly jeweled, embroidered robes of amber and ochre, their impressive effect spoiled somewhat by the dark streaks of wine stains down the front. Syrus was weirdly reminded of the dark streaks that were all the Fallside factory left behind after sliding into the deep.
"Jaxom of Wyrfall," proclaimed the large nobleman. Syrus was pretty sure he'd already introduced himself. Jaxom waved an empty glass at the other party-goers. "Here to party but this seems a bit dead. Eh, what do you say? Let's paint the town red, or whatever. You an ale man? You look like an ale man. Hey, you," he called to one of his servants, snapping his sausage-like fingers. "Get me and my friend here a flagon of the finest ale they have to offer."
Syrus did his best to not seem awkward as he slapped Jaxom on the back in a sign of acceptance of his offer. "My friend, yes. A-a-a- ale. Ale it is."
"Oof!" Jaxom jerked forward. "Eh, what's this? You always so familiar with nobles where you come from? I am Lord Jaxom of ...of Wyrfall."
He leaned in conspiratorially to Syrus. "And I know who you are. Heard you were involved in a bit of bother at Filjar's Fine Beasts a few days ago. Filjar's been going on and on about it to everyone. Anyone know who sold him the infected aneen, hm?"
"Lord of Wirefail? B-bit of bother? If you call it that. Not much one of. No, d-don't know," Syrus stammered.
Just then, a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. "The moon has risen!" someone announced. Guests started streaming to the exits to see it. A flash of bright purple light caught the corner of Syrus' eye.
Lord Jaxom roared with laughter above the crowd. "Good! Good, eh? Calaval's eyes, what's wrong with you? You speak like a thuman. Is that you: a human thuman?" He howled with drunken laughter at his own joke and slapped Syrus on the back. "Have another drink—cures everything."
One of his servants laughed too and Lord Jaxom glared at her. She fell silent. "Servants, eh?" he said to Syrus. "Need a good whipping to keep them in line. What do you say, eh?"
Syrus nodded and laughed with Lord Jaxom, then focused on his speaking, addressed him slowly and deliberately: "I.. speak... poorly... but observe... wisely. and fight... heroically..."
Lord Jaxom belched. "Another ale, eh? Drink cures everything, I always say, my heroic friend. Another for me then, eh? And perhaps another after that. And food!" He gestured to a male servant. "You! Go get us some food, and make sure it’s the best."
He leaned in to Syrus again. "Lord Jaxom of Wyrfall am I. What's your name, friend? I know your heroism but not your story. Do you raise aneen? How many head do you hold, eh?"
Before Syrus could reply, the servant who'd laughed earlier returned with drinks. She was a skinny girl of perhaps fourteen years with a great poof of curly dark hair. Jaxom squinted at her. "Don’t recognise you, hm. Are you one of mine?"
"Yes, my lord", the girl answered. "I've been your servant all my life."
Syrus cleared his throat. "I am Syrus. Barister. Syrus Barister of Ledon. I... I am a Broken Cage. In a Broken Cage". He winced as the words don't come out quite right. "Not aneen," he added and quickly took another drink.
Syrus became aware of a strong smell of salt and rotting seaweed filling the air. He looked around.
Jaxom roared with laughter at Syrus. "Not aneen!" He drank deep from a mug of something pink and fizzy. He gagged but forced it down. "Calaval's eyes," he wheezed. "How many head of aneen you hold, eh?" He coughed and gestured vaguely at the young servant girl. "Don’t remember her. A comely wench eh? What do you say?" He broke off into another fit of coughing.
The servant girl looked at her feet and said nothing.
The salty smell became much more intense. The coral walls and ceiling were leaking a viscous, clear fluid. A dollop of the stuff landed on Jaxom's back. He didn't seem to notice.
Several thin filaments whipped out from the walls at the party-goers, quick as an eye-blink. Two of them, a middle-aged man and woman, screamed and fell to the floor, badly injured. The filaments snapped back into the walls.
The guests in the immediate vicinity of the attack moved back in shock, knocking over chairs and bumping into other people. Drunken recriminations and arguments began to break out—the beginnings of a panic.
Syrus turned back to Lord Jaxom. "Must go. My friend," he said and gave him an awkward farewell punch on the shoulder. He circled around the outside of the gathering and arguing guests. His hand dropped to the backup whip he wore disguised a belt as he scanned the room looking for the other members of the Broken Cage.
He'd lost track of most of the others, but he spotted Yimoul-Za in an apparent altercation with a heavily-tattooed, likely inebriated man.
Syrus started to move towards Yimoul-Za, but then caught sight of a group with Lady Isla retreating from the hall. A woman, obviously noble, locked eyes with him for an instant. He stopped, dead in his tracks. Those eyes. From where? He remembered. The Gray Cloak. The alley. Lady Janira. He shuddered. Where is Gormin? Tempus? Kiraz? They need to know. He watched a moment as Isla and her sister moved away, then turned and hurried toward Yimoul-Za.
The tattooed man punched Yimoul-Za in the eye, knocking him down.
Yimoul-Za yowled. "I am a guest of the Coral Palace and the only hope for the survival of the sun!" he protested.
The man made ready to kick Yimoul-Za.
Syrus stepped between them. "Must. Get. Through. Me."
Another man who appeared to be made of tiny brass gears—party costume or actual automaton, Syrus couldn't tell—joined the fray as well, facing off against the drunk man.
The drunk man didn't seem impressed. "Pah! In Qi we fight like real men." He broke a tall glass on the edge of a table, making a makeshift (but very sharp) weapon which he brandished at Syrus. "Two of you and a weed, eh? I like those odds."
Syrus feinted, luring the tattooed man to commit to a defensive swipe with the glass, which Syrus easily avoided. He punched the man in the face, splitting his lip.
The brass automaton lifted a hand and cast an Onslaught into the man. His Onslaught had the appearance of countless razor-sharp tiny discs. An automaton nano? Now I've seen everything, Syrus thought.
The man went down, but there was no time to revel in the quick victory. Syrus, Yimoul-Za, the automaton, and the now-prone drunk man were suddenly surrounded by scowling armored guards. "Not fight time," said Syrus. He spread his arms wide in a placating gesture. "P- p- protecting friend. Nothing more."
***
Gormin
Gormin, naked, looked up to see the moon riding high in the sky, approaching midnight. He stood on a small private balcony with Sinys. The air was still hot—the Burning Moon living up to its name. Sinys, now mostly dressed, stood by the parapet, looking out to sea.
"Something's wrong," she said. She drew in her breath sharply and pointed out to sea. "What's that?"
Gormin looked. Out to sea to the west, about a mile off-shore, rose a huge swell in the ocean, like a vast, stationary wave. The sounds of revelry from the city seemed to have died away. Gormin heard dull—but loud—sounds like blunt glass bubbles bursting. Screams from below.
Gormin snorted. Always something. He leaned over the parapet and looked down. Hideous fish-like humanoids crawled up the side of the Palace, impossibly fast, bone spears clenched in their flabby lips. Gormin backed away from the rail. Figuring he had a few seconds before they arrived, he stepped into his boots. Don't care about this ridiculous costume, but good boots are hard to find.
Six of the fish-men came over the rail. Gormin noted that the tips of their spears were smeared with some kind of mucus-like gunk that glistened in the moonlight, presumably poison.
Sinys glanced his way. "Are you armed?" she asked, pulling an impossibly long blade from a sheath hidden in her left thigh. With a flick of the wrist, the blade expanded into a verred, a broad, two-bladed sword.
"Neat trick. And, of course." Gormin pulled a knife from his boot and grinned fiercely. "Now this is my kind of party!"
Sinys leapt forward, feinted with her blade, and fired a blinding-white spark esotery into one of the creatures' eyes. The creature went down, making no sound but spewing out gouts of grey-green mucus. The other two creatures stabbed at her with their spears; both missed.
Gormin rushed the creatures, knife in hand. With his left arm he swept two spearpoints aside, but a third grazed his shoulder, drawing a little blood. He felt the poison's dizzying effect immediately.
His counterattack was swift and deadly; lunging forward, he thrust his knife fully into the creature's throat. It made no sound as it fell lifeless, leaking grey mucus.
Movement out to sea below caught Gormin's eye for an instant. A low, humped shape arose from the depths. Neymich's 'wet leather' head? Could be. But Gormin didn't have time to study the shape in detail.
Sinys slew another of the fish-creatures with her white-spark esotery, but one of the remaining ones sank its poisoned spear into her stomach.
Gormin quickly looked away from the expression of horror on her face. He bum-rushed the creature whose spear was immobilized in Sinys' stomach and shoved it over the balcony rail. "Don't worry," he called over his shoulder by way of encouragement. "Stomach wounds are usually not immediately fatal!"
"I know that. I've used them many times. This mucus is doing something though—not sure what as yet."
Gormin nodded. Odd, psychedelic hallucinations we creeping into the edges of his vision. Have to focus.
The two remaining creatures tried to fend off Gormin as he continued to press them, but quarters were too cramped for them to easily bring their spears to bear. He stabbed one of them in the side and must have hit something vital. It spurted a gob of grey-green mucus and went down. The remaining creature threw down its spear and retreated over the rail of the parapet. Wants to find a softer target, Gormin guessed.
Gormin looked down. Near the Palace's front door a familiar bright burst of sunlight caught his eye—Yimoul-Za's Onslaught, he recognized. He turned back.
Sinys was on the ground with the spear still lodged in her gut. "Gormin..." she moaned.
Gormin gripped the spear. "Normally pulling something like this out without a healer's supervision would be bad, but that poison worries me. Lucky for you, you like new experiences of pain." He pulled out the spear. Sinys screamed.
He turned and looked over the rail, seeking his friends. They were fighting more of the fish-creatures below. Gormin hurled the bloody spear at their foes. Missed.
Off in the distance, a large, wriggling globe rolled off the edge of the Hub platform. Gormin squinted at it. It was a ball of captured people, just as Frater Neymich had described.
From the top of the "leather head", another bubble, empty, formed and undulated up into the air. Gormin looked around. There was yet another empty bubble, much closer, shimmering and drifting their way.
"Trouble," said Gormin. "This is the same thing that happened to Fallside. You see that bubble floating in our direction?" Gormin gestured. "It collects people and drags them down into the sea. I don't know what happens to the people dragged away, but painful death seems like a safe assumption. Most of the population of Fallside was carried off by those bubbles to an unknown fate. Frater Neymich was spared only because he happened to be inside when the things attacked. Going back inside might be wise."
Sinys crawled to the door and pushed it open. "Pain I don't mind. Dying of it; that's something different. Gormin, I don't kill my assigns; I'm not an murderer. A dead person can't tell you anything more. A living person, after a time, will want to, and that's what I encourage them to do." She paused as if spent.
The shimmering bubble seemed to have caught sight of them. It drifted over the edge of the parapet, very close now.
Gormin stepped inside and dragged Sinys after him.
The bubble exploded with a muffled, glassy sound. Countless cilia stretched out rapidly in all directions.
Gormin pushed the door to. The frustrated cilia made surprisingly heavy blows against the door. But the door would not close fully. One of the cilia had made it through and tangled itself in the little tuft of stringy hair Sinys still had. It stiffened and started to contract, pulling on her head.
Sinys reached out to Gormin in a panic. "Gormin! Help me! Please."
"Hold still, this will probably hurt!" Gormin braced his hip against the door to keep it from opening further and roughly cut through her hair with the knife.
The cilia slipped out with just a handful of severed hair.
The door closed fully. Gormin bolted it.
***
Tempus
Extraplanar ribbons (for lack of a better term) wrapped themselves around Tempus' mind.
A vision: Tempus ran for his life through an urban jungle full of hidden dangers and astonishing technological wonders, hunted by merciless killers. A not-voice "spoke" (for lack of a better term).
The Price of Freedom: can you survive seven days? Huge prizes to be won. Warning: This is a Class One hazardous experience. Death waiver must be affixed.
Tempus watched/experienced the vision for a while, interested more in the high-tech cityscape than the feats of daring adventure. The entire urban landscape was numenera, as far as the eye could see. How fascinating. How long he watched the vision he wasn't sure—he had the sense time moved differently in this dimension anyway. The vision changed: Tempus stalked through a forest carrying an exotic weapon vaguely similar to Toorkmeyn's device, hunting something.
Hunt Primitives: guaranteed kills and you keep trophies! 40 SVU/day, full board.
Tempus wondered what SVU were. Perhaps Ixobis-Lar knows, he thought. He caught a glimpse of his prey in the vision: short, horned abhumans. He recognised the creatures—margr, from the Ninth World.
Continuing to watch/experience the hunt vision, he realized that the forest could very well be the Westwood, an impenetrable wilderness not far from his own home village, though it was hard to say—forests all looked the same to Tempus.
Still, the thought of home gave him an idea. He attempted to address the vision-ribbons with a not-voice of his own. He summoned a mental image of his lost village and his missing wife and "spoke" the words: I want to go here. What is the price?
The ribbon pulsated (for lack of a better term) for an unknown length of time. Destination not listed as package, a not-voice "spoke" at last.
A slight "pop" (for lack of a better term). Ixobis-Lar appeared. Or perhaps had always been there?
"This is new destination? This your sphere? Need to know what here and how to speak. Ixobis-Lar sees and learns, for return and teaching groups who want visit."
Ixobis-Lar extended a purple effector field, again engulfing Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from the vision-ribbon dimension, taking him with it.
To be continued...
