This is part nine of this story. Prior chapters can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot. The game had a six-month hiatus, which is why it's been such a long time since the last installment.
***
Previously in "Tears of the Gods"
Krystogh read aloud: "The Gods came
to seek help against the Great Hunter and his dogs. When the help was not there
the Gods wept their Tears, so that those who would come later would prevail."
Neymich's eyelids fluttered. He struggled to speak. "Tell Aliser.
Tell Bellias," he wheezed. "Loarn was right. The Tears are real, they
exist. Loarn knew..."
Bellias did not answer immediately, but sat on one of the lounge's low couches and closed his eyes. "Her name is Lissia," Bellias said at last, eyes still closed. "She resembles me. She is my daughter."
Yimoul-Za narrated their adventures then: 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.
"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 silvery bracelet wrought in the shape of a spider.
The corridors connecting the ballroom and the tank room were slick with
human blood, invader ichor, and the foul-smelling mucus-like substance
that the creatures' spear-tips had been coated in. The bodies of the
wounded and dead were everywhere.
Tempus extracted an impossibly long band of microfine fibers made from a variety of unearthly metals from Ixobis-Lar's smouldering remains. With some tweaking, the device could probably be used to teleport people. He stuffed the cypher into a pocket of his robe.
The automaton spoke. "I do not believe I have met everyone. My name is Voloidion. I am a nano."
***
Date: 23rd Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding
Gormin
Gormin arrived at breakfast fully armed and armored, ready to face the day and its slavering terrors.
The long tables of the mercenary quarters' common room were, once again, heavily laden with expensive and exotic foodstuffs from throughout the Steadfast and Beyond, just as had happened every morning since the Broken Cage Company had arrived at the Arechive three weeks ago. If last night's attack on the City had affected the Order's food stores, it certainly didn't show. Not bad for a supposedly bankrupt organization, thought Gormin.
The others were shuffling into the breakfast room or already there eating. Conversation was sporadic and muted. A robotic servitor stood motionless next to the elevator door. No sign of Lissia yet.
Gormin popped a handful of pearlberries in his mouth and grabbed a frumenth roll. He went over to the broad window overlooking the Arechive's platform and the Hub in the distance. The sun was rising into low clouds over the City of Bridges. Here and there, thin trails of smoke could still be seen rising from damaged structures, though it appeared the fighting was over. Gormin half-listened to the others converse as he assessed the devastation in the morning light. He took a bite of frumenth roll.
Voloidion was observing and speaking with the others, but of course, not eating. "Organic lifeforms and their beloved food. Such an inefficient fuel system," he muttered.
Gormin snorted in amusement.
Lissia burst into the room. "Where's my father?"
Gormin looked at Lissia and shrugged. Washed up and in proper clothes she doesn't look half bad, Gormin thought. Then he locked eyes with Sinys. He smirked at the latter's warning glare.
Yimoul-Za the golthiar paused from rubbing bits of decomposing food onto the gnarled staff that was his Seed-Brother and looked around. "I trust everyone slept well," he said politely, turning his single massive eye toward Lissia.
Kiraz piped up. "Quite well."
Gormin nodded. Good to see that last night's mayhem did not cause anyone any lost sleep. Perhaps there's hope for this 'mercenary company' yet, he thought.
Lissia, frustrated now, ignored the food on offer and addressed the servitor by the door. "I have been told that my father has returned. Take me to him at once. In the Truth, as an aspirant of the Order, I command you."
Gormin turned away. He suspected that Bellias might not have been Lissia's real father, but that was no concern of his now that the mission was over. He looked down at the city. Many of the people far below seemed to be making ready to leave. Not too surprising.
The servitor, as was typical, was slow to process Lissia's command and implied question, but after a few moments, its holographic face appeared and it replied. "In the Truth, I have no knowledge of a father returning. I speak in the Truth."
Gormin scoffed. Useless hunk of junk. He turned back to the group. "I'm thinking it may not be safe to remain here or anywhere near the coast. Those creatures could come back at any time. This city is particularly vulnerable; it may even need an organized full evacuation, not that the dysfunctional leadership of Ghan would agree to any such thing."
Voloidion spoke up. "I am inclined to agree with Gormin. Despite my inorganic nature, I assure you that I do value self-preservation. Such self-preservation may be better served by not remaining here for too long." He gestured vaguely. "And as my former travelling companion seems to have
either moved on or been dragged away to a watery grave by a previously
unknown race of aggressive abhumans, it looks like you are all my new companions. Congratulations."
Voloidion paused a moment, looking around at the others with his glowing yellow eyes as if
expecting a chuckle. No one laughed. "Upon the first opportunity I shall
research 'sarcasm' in the datasphere until I have mastered that unique
talent," he added.
Programmed to be a funny-man, Gormin thought. "Hmph. In any event, I would have expected Frater Bellias to debrief us by now, given his... personal stake... in yesterday's mission." He glanced briefly at Lissia.
Lissia whirled on him. "You! You told me that you were sent by my father to rescue me. Where is he, and what does Frater Bellias have to do with this?"
Gormin frowned but said nothing.
Lissia turned to address the others, increasingly agitated. "Why will none of you talk to me? Where is my father? Is it too much to ask that he be reunited with his only daughter after so long?"
Before anyone could reply, she doubled over and vomited a small quantity of clear fluid onto the floor.
Yimoul-Za blinked his enormous eye. "My dear, you look unwell. I suggest some rest," he offered.
Lissia sank to her knees.
Gormin considered her for a long moment. "This may come as a shock. Frater Bellias claims to be your father, and indeed the family resemblance between him and you is how we recognized you. Beyond that, I have no explanations. We are just mercenaries he sent to retrieve you from the Coral Palace. You were only there for a few days, by the way, assuming Bellias was being truthful with us about that part."
He shook his head bitterly. "I'm sure Bellias has a perfectly valid explanation for being a lying sack of drit. Again. In the meantime, you seem to be suffering some lingering effects from your stasis. You should probably save your strength while we wait for Bellias to debrief us."
Yimoul-Za turned his eye toward Gormin. "Please do not insult the drit. It has no allegiance. It just does what it needs to."
Lissia struggled to her feet and faced Gormin, her amber eyes like flints. "Please don't insult my family. Frater Bellias is a good man and is my uncle. My father is Loarn, who you told me has returned."
She doubled over again and vomited another gout of clear fluid onto the floor of the dining hall. The two pools of vomitus flowed together into an amorphous creature that crawled rapidly across the floor towards Kiraz. Kiraz jumped up and drew her dual-bladed verred.
"The vomit... it's alive!," cried Yimoul-Za.
Gormin grumbled and finished his frumenth roll before pulling his sword and shield as the others prepared to fight.
Voloidion was the quickest to react, firing off two of his Onslaughts, which had the appearance of a spray of tiny, razor-sharp gears and discs. His first shot was aimed a bit too high and did little but gouge the enamel mosiac floor of the common room. However, his second Onslaught ripped into the jelly, splitting it in two. The two parts moved to attack in different directions, one heading towards Kiraz and the other towards Sinys.
Sinys leapt up onto a long table, paying little heed to the foodstuffs she trampled underfoot. She fired off her blinding-white spark esotery.
The bright spark curved in the air away from the vomit creature and struck Yimoul-Za full in the eye.
Yimoul-Za staggered, blinded. He released his sunlight Onslaught in an essentially random direction. It struck Sinys full-on, enveloping her in the searing, blistering heat of the sun. She screamed; what little was left of her hair charred to ash as she tumbled backwards off the table. The jelly approached her.
"Sorry," Sinys choked out. "I forgot the Agoniser goes for eyes first."
Lissia had regained her feet again and gasped in a strained, unnatural voice. "Don't hurt the message. Become... its host... for a short time."
Tempus had Toorkmeyn's beam-emitter artifact in hand and fired it at the slime advancing on Sinys. The creature split again, both halves continuing to ooze forward. When did Tempus get that thing back? Gormin wondered idly.
No time to think about that. Gormin leapt to Sinys' defense and struck one of the oozes with his sword. Again it split; now there were three of them converging on Sinys.
Gormin risked a glance at Kiraz. The other slime had reached her and was flowing up her body liquidly, into her mouth and nose.
He was at a loss for what to do. He looked down at Sinys helplessly.
Kiraz cried out then, in a strained voice similar to Lissia's. "Stop attacking it!" she yelled. "Listen to it instead, if it will speak to you. I can explain if not."
Sinys was watching Kiraz with shining eyes. "Is it a painful experience?" She reached out a hand to the nearest jelly. It flowed up her arm and into her mouth and nose as well.
"Disappointingly not unpleasant, on the one hand," Sinys remarked. "But a very interesting message on the other."
Gormin narrowed his eyes, wary. "What does it want?"
"It is a messenger," said Kiraz. "Please listen to it." She lowered her verred.
"It's a messenger from Loarn," she repeated. "He is stuck on an island. We need to go there or the world as it is now will be destroyed. We need the Dream Journal, whatever that is, to save everything. It's in the Shrine of the Winged God, in the Dark Hills in a valley below the wall that holds back water."
Voloidion spoke. "Go to the tower or the world is destroyed? It sounds like we have no choice then. Unless of course it's the type of apocalypse that inorganics can survive? In that case, at least I have options. Ha ha." He looked around. "Mastering this whole sarcasm thing truly is 'an uphill battle', as they say."
Gormin ignored him. "Did Loarn not take the Journal with him?"
"The Journal always returns to its resting place. Loarn had to retrieve it at least twice."
Yimoul-Za peered at her. "Did you... absorb the puke? How are you feeling? Or even still alive?"
Kiraz shook her head. "The messenger causes me no discomfort. I'm still alive."
Gormin sniffed and put away his sword and shield.
Just then the servitor by the door lit up and spoke. "I speak in the Truth of the Truth. The Queen is to make an announcement at midday. I speak in the Truth."
Gormin frowned. "Queen? Did the King die in the attack?"
The servitor did not answer. Its holographic face shut off.
***
Voloidion
Outside, the city was strangely quiet, only a few people out on its streets. The whole 'air' of the city was different. Yesterday it was a place of merrymaking; today an aura of fear hung over it.
Voloidion, of course, was far above such organic sentimentality, but the pervasive dread among the humans would have been plainly obvious to even the most dispassionate of automatons.
The group (less Lissia, who had remained in the Arechive) was gathered with a few others near one of the many statues of Lady Janira that adorned the city. According to someone official-looking, these statues were equipped with some kind of farspeaker numenera, which enabled the city's leadership to rapidly disseminate information to the general populace.
And, as promised, at midday, a voice boomed out of the statue.
"My loyal subjects," the female voice began. Voloidion immediately identified the voice-print as belonging to Lady Janira with a high degree of confidence, though her identical twin sister Jamira could not be ruled out completely. "It is with great regret that I must announce the death of our great King Laird in the heinous attack on our city by the creatures from the deep. I, Lady Janira of House Vanlith, have taken on the mantle of ruler of the Sea Kingdom of Ghan and I henceforth will be known as Queen Janira of Ghan.
"Under my rule, I intend to make Ghan great, as it was in the past. Our trading fleets are the largest and finest in the Ninth World. Yet for too long have we served other nations as their merchant fleet, transporting their goods for a pittance. No more, I say! Ghan once controlled the seas; we will control them again. I, Queen Janira, command you all; we will make Ghan great!"
Scattered cheers went up across the city from the people who'd ventured out to listen; the hubbub rose as the speech continued and people spread the word to those indoors.
Janira's speech struck a balance between defiance and hope, as one might expect from a speech by a ruler in her situation. But then, eleven minutes into her oration, Janira's speech took a turn in an entirely unexpected direction.
"However, I must also raise another matter," the statue intoned darkly. "During the attack on my home, during which many good and innocent people died, disgusting opportunist thieves took advantage of the carnage and stole one of my beloved sister Isla's treasured possessions. The item was a marvelous clockwork mannequin. The callous thieves paid little heed to the death and suffering around them during the theft, and may have even orchestrated the attack themselves for their own purpose.
"I will personally pay 5000 shins for the safe return of my sister's toy. I, Queen Janira, have spoken. That is all."
The cheers turned to cries of outrage. Outrage at the theft, or outrage at the new Queen's grotesquely misplaced priorities, Voloidion wasn't sure, but he wasn't inclined to stay and find out.
Yimoul-Za raised his voice along with the others. "Yes, great again! Great!"
Then, under his breath, he whispered, "We didn't take the mannequin, did we?"
Gormin muttered back to Yimoul-Za, "Probably. The mannequin must be Lissia. I wonder if she is actually a mannequin. Or automaton. Whatever. It would explain some things."
Voloidion scratched his intricate clockwork head with his finely-wrought mechanical brass hand—a humanizing gesture meant to put organics at ease, of course—and pointed out the obvious. "Clockwork mannequin... Hm. Lady Janira showed interest in me when my friends and I arrived. You don't think she's referring to me, do you?"
"Don't know," said Gormin. He shook his head. "We may need to leave the city by boat. I would assume city guards are watching the bridges that lead to the mainland. The good news is, if we don't know who Lady Isla's toy is, random people on the street aren't likely to either."
Sinys moved closer and ran a professional eye over Voloidion from head to toe. "You would be quite a challenge to my skills; I suspect that my usual tried and trusted methods would not work on you."
She looked out to sea and mused aloud. "Electricity perhaps? Or some sort of molecular acid? The challenge would be in finding that threshold between functioning and non-functioning, and that's not always easy to do even with a living and breathing subject." She nodded once to herself, then turned to face Voloidion again. "I have to return to Rarmon soon; my contract here is ended. Would you accompany me? The Guild would pay you well to be a test subject for some... new methods." She smiled in a way that doubtless would have made an organic shudder.
Voloidion was not one to shudder, naturally, but neither was he inclined toward needless risks of self-destruction. "Sinys, I’m afraid I must decline your offer. I am my own master—I am not meant to be a test subject."
Sinys pouted.
Yimoul-Za peered around at the milling crowds. A few suspicious glances were being thrown Voloidion's way. "Should we bring him back to the Arechive?" asked Yimoul-Za.
Gormin answered in a low voice. "We should not stay in the City. Even if we decide not to seek out the you-know-what, it is not safe here, especially for anyone Her Ladyship might take a fancy to. But if the authorities have even minimal sense, they are watching the bridges leading out of the city carefully for anyone who might be an escaped 'toy'." He scoffed.
"Filjar has a boat he said we could borrow; if he's still alive and hasn't already gone in it, we might be able to use the boat to ferry people to shore, ideally under cover of night. But the aneen is too big for the boat; it will have to go overland. It will have to be two groups—one by boat, one with the aneen, and meet up at the octagonal tower. Also, not much point returning to the Arechive unless you've left something there. I can only assume Bellias and Aliser are both dead or skipped town, else they would have debriefed us by now."
Kiraz nodded. "I believe that I have everything I need except for my tent. If whoever goes to get the aneen could grab it, it would be appreciated."
Sinys spoke up. "Although I would like to accompany you to seek out this... thing, I am a Guild member and am currently in-between contracts. The nearest Guild outpost is in Auspar and I shall make my way there. May your cyphers never fail."
She stepped up to Gormin. "Goodbye, Gormin. Something tells me our paths will cross again."
She lifted her left hand. In a blur of speed, her silvery spider bracelet whirred to life and jumped onto Gormin's face. With a brief flash, burned a stylised intertwined double 'S' on the right side of his neck, just below his ear. The spider returned to its place on her wrist. Gormin hadn't flinched during the operation.
Sinys stepped back and smirked. "One last thing. Don't underestimate Jamira and the Rakoth." She turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Syrus started at the mention of Jamira. "J- J-Jamira, the eyes, the s- s-same eyes. The same look. Attack in the alley. It was her."
Gormin rubbed his new brand idly and nodded to Syrus. "Just once, it would be nice to find a town where the authorities are not drunk on their own power. Oh well. If there's nothing else, I suggest we get a move on. Kiraz will go to Filjar and see about the boat. Go with her if you would prefer not being seen by town guards. I'll go back to the Arechive and pick up the aneen and the tents. Come with me if you want to ride out of town in style; the aneen can carry four people semi-comfortably."
He furrowed his brow. "Plan to meet at the octagonal tower outside of town. If the boat is not available for whatever reason, hurry back to the Arechive and we will think of something else. Am I forgetting anything? I assume Lissia will stay. She doesn't seem the adventuring type, and for all we know she may be the ranking officer at the Arechive now anyway."
Tempus reached into his voluminous red robe. "I think I have a better way to get Voloidion out of the city unnoticed." He drew out Ixobis-Lar's teleportation cypher. "I believe this can teleport three people at once. More than that is probably chancy."
Syrus nodded agreement. "Two groups... one by cypher with Voi-... Volod-... Voloidion, the other with Gormin and the aneen and meet at the tower."
Tempus scratched his beard. "And if we miss each other at the tower? Say, the tower is already full of refugees?"
"Continue on to the Dark Hills," said Gormin. "The closest settlement to the Shrine is probably, ah..." His lips quirked in a half-smile. "Auspar."
After some discussion, it was decided that Kiraz, Syrus, and Voloidion would use the cypher to teleport out of town. The others would travel by aneen. Tempus explained how to activate the cypher and handed it over to Syrus.
Yimoul-Za bobbed his great eye at the cypher group. "We shall meet again. It is written in the stars," he said.
And with that, Yimoul-Za, Tempus, and Gormin went off in the direction of the Arechive, making haste, but not so much haste as to call undue attention to themselves.
Syrus led Kiraz and Voloidion down an alley and bunched the three of them together in a tight group to wrap the metal strip around them. As he powered up the cypher, ominous blue sparks spit out from where the strip came in contact with Voloidion.
"Looks like this cypher doesn't like the metal-on-Voloidion contact," said Kiraz.
Syrus rooted through his explorer's pack for some loose cloth, which he wrapped the cypher in. It stopped the cypher from sparking.
Voloidion protested, "I don't know if that's a good i-"
Syrus activated the cypher. For a moment/eternity Voloidion was simultaneously Elsewhere and Nowhere. And then, just like that, he was Somewhere again. And that somewhere was an octagonal room dominated by a massive octagonal wooden table with bench seats.
The tall woman with the lock of white amid her otherwise dark hair said something Voloidion didn't understand. Also, Voloidion had somehow forgotten her name. Memory corrupted?
Voloidion attempted to report his status. "Crimson fear rise storybook calculate."
Something wasn't right. The man with the curly blond hair, whose name Voloidion had also forgotten, furrowed his eyebrows in puzzlement.
Voloidion tried again to explain. "Forget silence retribution human." The man and woman looked at each other, alarmed. Voloidion attempted to gesture in order to make himself understood, but found he could not. "Remove king universe skull wish. Blue gods remember..."
The light went out of Voloidion's eyes as he shut down.
***
Tempus
Gormin was swearing as only a professional soldier could.
The main bridge leading out of town had collapsed, whether due to the weight of the sudden crush of refugees fleeing the city or to the years of neglected damage to the bridge's supports from mercurial wasps was hard to say. Tempus suspected the latter. Even the sturdiest bridge had a limited lifespan though—it was possible that this bridge's time had simply come, as it does for all things.
It hardly mattered at this point.
Someone had managed to string two sturdy ropes across the collapsed section of bridge. Standing on the lower of the two ropes would enable one to hold on to the upper rope, which was at about shoulder height to an adult male human. Numerous refugees were carefully shuffling across the makeshift rope bridge.
"Friends," said Yimoul-Za. The colored lights in his eyes indicated trepidation. "Is this safe? We have seen a few unfortunates fall from the rope already. And there are so many people on it. Can it bear everyone's weight? And can the aneen cross it somehow?"
Gormin shook his head underneath the hood he customarily wore in public. "No. It is not safe, and no, the aneen cannot cross it. Calaval's blood-smeared kidney stones in a sandwich!" He started up again with his cursing.
Yimoul-Za turned his great eye toward him. "Friend Gormin, is this productive? Will invoking the gods and saints of old and describing their sexual depravities at length and high volume grant us their aid?"
Gormin stopped and got a hold of himself. "You're right. No, it isn't productive. Maybe we should—"
At that moment, the lower of the two ropes snapped, dropping hundreds of screaming refugees into the sea far below.
***
"Wait here," Gormin growled. "Going to see if I can trade the aneen for the boat." He entered Filjar's Best Beasts with the aneen.
Tempus suspected he'd had them wait outside in case he needed to threaten Filjar as part of the negotiations. Yimoul-Za was an empathetic soul and would likely argue with Gormin over the necessity of physical violence. Tempus rubbed his eyes. Gormin's plan was probably best.
People were coming and going, for the most part not so much shopping in the Hub as looking for some form of safety, or a means out of the city. The guards were keeping the peace—for now—and Tempus could hear Lady Janira's amplified voice booming from the City's statue farspeakers. He couldn't make out what she said, but presumed she was urging the citizens to remain calm, and/or reiterating the reward for the capture of Lady Isla's lost toy.
An attractive female caught his attention.
The woman was naked and had light blue skin with darker blue stripes that might have been decorative tattoos, a mutation, natural markings for her species (whatever that was), or implanted technological augmentations of some kind. She had straight white hair, cut short. There was something else odd about her as well, aside from the fact that she was wandering the City streets completely nude with a disoriented look about her.
Tempus realized what it was. In his chronal vision, which let him see how organic beings looked both younger and older than how they appeared at the "present" time, showed him something quite odd in her case. She had not grown up from childhood, but had always had her present form, more or less. Her aging, as well, did not follow the normal human pattern; her darker blue stripes would thicken and eventually cover her completely, making her completely indigo. But her athletic shape would remain until one day she would cease to function altogether—out of the blue, as it were. Fascinating, he thought. Extraterrestrial? Ultraterrestrial? Mutant? He frowned. Probably not mutant; most mutants are born in the usual way. Only one way to find out.
He made his way through the crowds to her. Yimoul-Za followed. "Excuse me," he said to the blue woman. "Do you require aid?" Up close, he could see that her eyes appeared to be iris-less and pupil-less, just blank white orbs.
Her blank white orbs stared back at him uncomprehendingly.
New arrival, Tempus surmised. He wondered if something like Ixobis-Lar had transported her here.
It was a long shot, but he attempted addressing her in Old Navarene. "Salutations to you," he intoned. "Tempus am I, of Time the Master." He bowed gallantly.
She blinked but evidently did not understand that either.
Tempus had picked up quite a few languages in his travels through time and space. He attempted to greet her in the musical tongue of the Yosh nomads. Nothing. Then he tried a varjellen dialect he happened to know a little of, then a few words of the spider-like culovas' clicking language. Yimoul-Za tried using his golthiar light language. No luck.
"I'm sorry. I don't understand," she said, and turned away.
Tempus' jaw dropped. She had spoken flawless Low Universal—believed to be the long dead lingua franca of the Eighth World!
"No, wait!" He struggled to remember what he could of Low Universal. It was somewhat common to see it written in very old ruins, but today was seldom used conversationally.
The woman turned back, surprised. "You understand?"
Tempus nodded. Then, remembering that nodding does not mean the same thing in all cultures, and being unsure if people nodded in the Eighth World, he said, "Yes. I'm rust-" He frowned. He didn't think that idiom was used in that way in Low Universal. "I'm, er... I have not practiced your language for a long time. You should know that Low Universal has been a dead language for, ah... many years." Millions of years, in fact, but the LU word for million escaped him at the moment.
She did not seem perturbed by that news. She looked around. "What is this place? What's happening?"
"You stand in the City of-" the LU word for bridges failed to come to mind. "Bridges," he finished, using the Truth word for bridges. "The city has suffered a terrible disaster recently. It is not safe. But I forget myself. I who stand before you am Tempus, Master of Time!" He bowed again with a flourish.
Tempus and the Low Universal word for time were the same word.
"I am Tlecha."
"Where are you from, Tlecha, and how did you come here?"
She bit her lip. "I... do not remember. I'm sorry."
"No need for apologies. It happens." Tempus rubbed his hands together. "You must come with us! There is much we can teach you. And if you happen to recover your memories, there is much you can teach us! We know so little of the Eighth World!"
Her face darkened. "The Eighth World. I..." She looked up at the sky, perhaps considering her options.
Yimoul-Za spoke up then. "Friend Tempus? What is she saying?"
Tempus smiled. "Yimoul-Za, we have made a new friend today!"
The colored lights in Yimoul-Za's eye showed his delight. Tempus knew that would be the right thing to say.
Tempus also knew that Gormin would not be happy about having a new person invited to their group without consulting him.
He would get over it.
***
Voloidion
Date: 32nd Ator in the 402nd Year of the Founding
Voloidion's yellow eyes flickered to life.
"Eighth time's a charm," said a female voice from outside his field of view. Voloidion analysed the voice-print, but found no match—someone he didn't know.
He visually analysed his surroundings. He was lying face-down on a dingy workbench. Ran a diagnostic. It ascertained that wires and cables led from various ports in his back to an assortment of jury-rigged numenera devices. Aside from that, everything seemed to be functioning within expected parameters.
Movement might be ill-advised, but he could attempt to synthesize speech in order to establish communication with whomever had evidently repaired him. Hopefully their intentions were not malign. "Hello," said Voloidion.
"You're awake!" exclaimed Kiraz from somewhere off to his left. The woman with the lock of white hair. Voloidion, of course, was not capable of feeling anything like relief or even gratification at this turn of events, but the presence of someone familiar was agreeable, and moreover the fact that his memory was working again was an objectively positive development by even the most dispassionate analysis.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Wyrfall," answered Kiraz. "What do you remember?"
"I shut down in a room with an octagonal table. You and I and Syrus teleported there. Something went wrong."
The unknown voice spoke to Kiraz. "Does that sound right?"
"Yes."
"Excellent," said the voice. "I believe the corruption caused by the teleportation cypher has all been cleared up. I went ahead and took care of some other maintenance issues as well while your automaton was on the table. Truly a remarkable machine you have here, by the way; I've never seen one this advanced."
"She does not 'have' me. I am my own master," said Voloidion.
"Of course, of course," said the voice. "I'm Jiandry the mechanic. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Voloidion," said Voloidion. He felt himself being unhooked. "If I were capable of feeling gratitude, you would have mine eternally. I find continued conscious existence to be quite agreeable. How long have I been inoperative?"
"A little more than three months," said Kiraz.
He sat up. He was in a tiny but well-stocked machinist workshop with Kiraz and another woman, presumably Jiandry. Presumptive Jiandry had straight red hair and dusky skin. She wore multiple belts and harnesses from which dangled an impressive number of tools and bits and bobs.
"If there's anyone you should be eternally grateful to," said the redhead (voice-print confirmed: Jiandry), "it's your friends. They lugged your heavy, powered-down self around for months until they could find someone able to fix you."
Voloidion turned to look at Kiraz. He didn't know what to say.
Kiraz ducked her head, looking a bit abashed. "It was Syrus. He blamed himself for your... condition. We both knew we couldn't leave you behind. We should wake him up now, tell him the good news."
Syrus was asleep in the loft Jiandry had above her shop. He seemed pleased to hear it.
Kiraz then got Voloidion caught up on what had happened during his shutdown. On the way to Auspar, Syrus and Kiraz had encountered a nano named Sati Yulmiko, who was recruiting to explore some ruins in the Dark Hills. They agreed to help in exchange for a share of the haul. The expedition was successful, but Sati stole nearly everything they'd unearthed and disappeared, leaving behind only a can of pale-coloured foam.
"I'll deal with Sati if I ever see him again," vowed Kiraz. "He owes me."
Kiraz continued the story. In Auspar, they found that the other three members of the Broken Cage Company had all survived, though Gormin had lost his aneen during the flight from the City of Bridges. Along the way, they had befriended an ultraterrestrial named Tlecha. They had not had any luck finding the Shrine of the Winged God.
Automaton experts the group consulted in Auspar suggested they bring Voloidion downriver to a certain mechanic with the reputation of being able to repair anything. And that was how they ended up in Jiandry's workshop in Wyrfall.
Voloidion had missed quite a lot, it would seem.
"Your turn," said Jiandry. "What's your story? Who built you? Where do you come from?"
Voloidion was normally reticent about sharing such information with humans, but Jiandry, Kiraz, and Syrus had proven their trustworthiness. He told them his story.
"My consciousness began in a metallic pod. My very first memory is of hearing rough voices outside my pod, shouting profanities..."
Scavengers of the numenera had evidently awakened him from dormancy by tampering with the controls of an advanced clockwork panel attached to his pod. When the pod's hatch opened and he emerged from within, the scavengers attacked. Whether they attacked him out of fear, or out of a desire to capture or disassemble him, Voloidion couldn't say. He instinctively lashed out with a powerful mental attack, killing all of the scavengers at once. Ever since, he'd had a slight distrust of humans, though that was only natural given his experience, and of course it did not affect his objective judgement in any kind of an emotional way.
"I am far too advanced for anything as petty as carrying a grudge," said Voloidion. Not boasting, objective self-assessment.
After slaying his attackers, Voloidion examined his surroundings. It seemed to be some kind of clockwork laboratory. There was no one else to be found inside, and the facility itself turned out to be at the summit of a remote mountain, far from civilization. (Voloidion learned later that he was in the Black Riage, a foreboding mountain range that separated the civilized Steadfast from the wild Beyond.) Seeing the word 'Voloidion' on several documents in the lab along with sketches of himself, Voloidion assumed this must be the name his creator intended to give him.
He scoured the clockwork lab thoroughly, trying to find any more evidence of his creators. It appeared to have been abandoned ages ago. Voloidion was able to find a collection of several seemingly random words and numbers in different parts of the lab, some on paper, some in the form of graffiti on the walls. Perhaps clues to his origin?
Voloidion shrugged at the end of his tale. "So now I endlessly explore the Ninth World, ever in search of my creator, or creators."
"Interesting," said Jiandry. "The documents you found were written in the Truth?"
Voloidion shook his head. "They were written in the Truth alphabet, but not in any language I know. Encoded, I think."
"Hm. That still narrows things down somewhat. The Truth language and writing system were both created by the Order of Truth in relatively modern times. The documents can't be more than a few hundred years old therefore, likely less than that. For sure, they belong to the Ninth World. The lab, however, we can't be certain of; it may be far older."
Voloidion nodded. He had already surmised as much.
Jiandry looked thoughtful. "I would like to come with you, at least for a while. As I say, I have never seen a functioning automaton as advanced as you, and I would like the opportunity to learn more about you, maybe help you find answers. The shop doesn't usually do much business in the winter anyway."
Voloidion looked at Kiraz. She nodded.
"Also, we have to save the world," said Kiraz. "Loarn's message was clear. We need the Dream Journal."
Syrus nodded his agreement as well.
Jiandry grinned. "Then I guess all that remains is to pack up and head to Auspar to meet up with the rest of your friends before the snows come. Let's go."
To be continued...
