Note: this is Part Two of a play-by-forum session of Numenera. You may want to read Part One first. Also, though this isn't necessary to enjoy the story, you can read the raw material for this post, the Tears in-character thread #2. I find I really enjoy turning these sessions into stories, and I hope you enjoy reading them just as much. For important disclaimers and whatnot please see the Tears of the Gods table of contents page.
***
Gormin
The small room—what had the servitor called it? The elevator?—bore Gormin and his new "friends" away from the maze of pipes and the raging bellowheart, back to the Arechive and presumed safety.
The elevator’s doors swung open upon a sumptuously furnished sitting room, softly lit by a glowing globe hanging from the high ceiling. The useless automaton servitor Gormin had tried to argue with before going back into the pipes to rescue the group was nowhere to be seen.
A voice spoke from the air.
"Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive, the library of things that are. Relax, for in the Truth, you are safe here."
The group entered the room warily, no one responding to the voice. Though Gormin had already been to the Arechive and heard the disembodied voice before, he still found it unsettling. Some kind of numenera, he guessed, relaying a human voice spoken by someone in another room. The alternative didn’t bear contemplating.
The voice from the air spoke again.
"You need to rest. It is night and you have had a busy day. We shall talk more in the morning."
A circular door on their left slid open, seemingly of its own accord, revealing a curved corridor with several other circular doors.
"My friends. My true, true friends," Ooro murmured sleepily. He slumped to the floor of the room, seemingly instantly asleep.
Gormin blinked. There’s a strange one. The rest of the party looked at each other, and then left the slumbering Ooro to cautiously explore the corridor. Gormin led the way.
The other doors slid open in turn to reveal bedrooms, each with a bed, a chair, a desk and a closet. This so-called Arechive certainly seems to have no shortage of numenera, even using them to power magic doors. Gormin pressed his lips together disapprovingly. They invite disaster, keeping so many mysterious gizmos in close proximity to each other.
One room had no bed, just a large pail of drit and a vessel full of water with a spigot. Yimoul-Za's large single eye lit up at the sight of the drit.
"Our hosts do know how to take care of us." He carefully planted his staff in the drit. "You first, Seed Brother. You always did enjoy meditating underneath the world. Remember how we reached out to the roots that drive into the earth, and to the stem and leaves that reach for the sun?"
The group explored the hall fully. There were more than enough bedrooms to allow everyone their own private room. Behind the door at the end of the corridor was a bathroom with washing and sanitary facilities. From near-death to near-unimaginable luxury, Gormin mused. Very suspicious. Even the chamber-pots appeared to be numenera-powered. Madness.
Having no obvious alternate course of action, the group divvied up the bedrooms and everyone retired for the night.
Gormin, unsettled by the presence of so much numenera and still keyed up by the recent excitement in the pipes, searched his own room restlessly, looking for signs of previous residents or anything else that might be interesting. There wasn’t much to find. The closet had hanging space and drawers, but were empty. The room itself was so clean, Gormin wondered if it had ever been slept in before—though surely it had.
But answers would have to wait until the morrow. Though the bed was much softer than what Gormin was accustomed to, he had no trouble going to sleep.
***
Date: 2nd Fre, in the 401st Year of the Founding
Gormin woke refreshed to the sound of driving rain hammering against the circular window of his bedroom. How much of yesterday was a dream, and how much was real? he wondered. Only one way to find out. Gormin rose and dressed. After some thought, he decided to wear his armor and sword as well to whatever meeting or briefing his captors had planned. Though there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, the people of the Arechive had not yet shown themselves worthy of trust, to his mind. The round door of his bedroom slid open at his approach. Well, that much was real, at least.
He encountered Yimoul-Za in the corridor. "Greetings! I hope you have had a peaceful night. I sense there is a plan and a reason for us being here," said the tree-like creature. Gormin grunted noncommittally.
On tables in the main room was laid out a breakfast, a vast selection of foodstuffs from across the Steadfast and the Beyond. Gormin only recognized about half of the spread. The tables had not been there the previous night. Servitors must have set all this up during the night. Gormin walked slowly among the tables. Trying to intimidate us by way of conspicuous consumption.
Ooro was still sprawled in the middle of the floor, apparently not having moved from where he had collapsed. Gormin could see he was still breathing. Not dead, just dead to the world.
"Fermented yellow squirrel!" cried a delighted Yimoul-Za. "I never thought I'd taste its like again! Its unique flavour comes from the nuts and berries that it consumes!"
Yimoul-Za loaded a plate with the uncooked and decomposing squirrel, along with some gossamer-thin noodles drenched in a mulchy-smelling sauce. "And harvested right after the summer gathering season too! I remember an Elder who used to soak in the rotting remains of these things…"
Gormin tuned out Yimoul-Za’s enthusiastic culinary monologue as he loaded up his own plate, mostly fruits and a couple of small pastries. Nothing too heavy or rich—never know when you might have to fight or run for your life.
Ooro stirred. He pushed himself from the floor and staggered over to a table, where he sat down to eat some kind of dark-shelled decapod with sauce from a spray-bottle. He chewed for a moment, before looking up sharply. "Why are all of you in my dining room?"
Gormin grunted amusedly at what he assumed was Ooro's joke. He glanced at Yimoul-Za. The latter seemed to be rubbing bits of rotten squirrel onto his staff. Gormin decided not to ask.
Gormin ate standing up, carrying his plate to one of the room's windows, where he leaned against the wall and looked out at the rainy morning as he nibbled. "Quite a change from waking up in a cage yesterday, eh?" he remarked to no one in particular. "I wonder what our captors have in store for us. This luxurious treatment today after what happened yesterday makes me very wary. Hard to refuse a good Draolic pastry though."
There were four doors leading out of the main room. Opposite from the elevator was an open door, through which Gormin could see yet another round room, this one huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a mosaic floor, and a high raised platform in the centre. Opposite from the corridor with the bedrooms was a closed door. Curiosity getting the better of him, Gormin decided to test the closed door. We shall see how much our captors will try to limit us poking around.
Somewhat to his surprise, the closed door slid open at his approach. The room beyond was a truncated cone laid on its side.
A large synth panel on the short wall of the cone displayed images, and a pedestal with what appeared to be controls rose from the floor in the centre of the room. The walls were translucent black synth; just below the surface appeared to be grey brain matter dotted with a myriad of blinking pin-point lights.
By the pedestal was another servitor, a metal-and-synth humanoid construct. This servitor had no arms, and its ovoid head had no features other than the four-lobed eye symbol of the Truth where its face would be.
"Hrmm," grumbled Gormin as he approached the servitor. "Hopefully you won't prove as useless as your comrade in arms from yesterday, er, so to speak." He gestured at the controls. "What is that and how do we use it?"
The servitor's eye symbol began to glow and a projection of a human-ish face appeared a few inches in front of the ovoid. A gentle voice spoke; the movements of the head subtly matched up with the voice.
"I speak in the Truth of the Truth. The device is a knowledge repository, a repository of the Truth. I can instruct, assist in the learning of its operation to you. I speak in the Truth."
Truth, truth, truth, thought Gormin. Blah, blah, blah. "What kind of knowledge? Skills? Book knowledge? No matter... Show me how to use it." He popped one last piece of rodinza melon in his mouth, put aside the plate, and stepped to the control pedestal.
The servitor stepped forward. "I speak in the Truth of the Truth. Place your limb extremities thus and thus; will your projection forwards and enhance your thoughts of the Truth that is all of now. I speak in the Truth."
It did not take Gormin long to get the hang of the repository. The system was a fairly basic three-dimensional index of files. On activation a cube would appear in front of the user, rotating on one vertex; keying a question into the various surfaces of the cube would cause information to flash up on the various synth display screens. Presumably the whole thing was powered by the giant brain partially visible through the room's dark walls.
Recalling the black panel with the odd writing in the pipe maze, Gormin decided to research the Great Hunter and the Tears of the Gods.
He found several references in the Arechive pertaining to the Great Hunter...
He found only one reference to the Tears...
Just as Gormin closed the file about the Tears, another, hidden, file sprung up—this one written by Loarn.
"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. The Tears exist! Some of the very old maps show them. The Arechive is wrong and I will seek the Tears alone, to prove them wrong –Loarn."
The screens went blank.
The servitor spoke up. "I speak in the Truth of the Truth. There is no further Truth; Truth must be added. I speak in the Truth."
Gormin growled at the servitor. "Am I not allowed to research further? Who was Loarn?"
"You ask about Loarn?" The voice came from the air again. "Loarn is no longer spoken of in the Arechive. He was an Aeon Priest who fell from grace; he was not true to his calling and sought only his own greed. He was obsessed with finding the Tears of the Gods, a set of islands said to be wept by the Gods themselves. A fool's quest—it was proven long ago that the legend referred to the shape of the Rayskel Cays. He nearly bankrupted the Arechive; he was last seen sailing into the west. He has never returned."
The voice continued. "Now it is time for us to meet in person. Please join the others in the north chamber and equip yourself."
Gormin grunted noncommittally and made his way toward the room with the platform, in no particular hurry. On the way he grabbed a cup of fresh-squeezed frumenth juice to wash down breakfast. Yimoul-Za, Ooro, and Syrus were already there in the north room. No sign of Kiraz or Krystogh.
The north room was an enormous dome. Broad floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the entire arc of the north room's north wall, looking out over the City of Bridges. Driving rain spattered against the glass. Through the blur of the wet windows, ships could be seen rocking at their moorings. In the centre of the room Gormin saw a spiral staircase leading to a circular metal platform about twenty feet above the floor. A thick column ascended from the centre of that platform, up another twenty feet or so into the ceiling of the chamber. There were loungers and low tables set up before the windows. The tables were piled with items and equipment. Some of it was gear Gormin had had before his most recent arrest.
"Was wondering what happened to this junk." He gathered up his belongings: his trusty shield (a synth disc about a forearm-length across with a center grip and a domed steel boss—it was the only thing he prized more highly than even his sword), his battered explorer's backpack filled with various pieces of survival gear, a small crystal cypher he'd been saving for a rainy day—raining now isn't it?—and a small but wickedly-sharp knife with a hollow hilt, convenient for hiding a dose of poison. He checked the hilt and found the poison was still there.
Ooro was talking to Yimoul-Za. "Yimoul-Za, it would be appear that you have fought off your infection," said he. "I can only hope that our burgeoning friendship will not be affected by my cowardly..."
Ooro trailed off. His beak dropped open.
"My copy of Sir Arthour's Treatise on the Numenera!" Ooro cried. He became a blur as he rushed toward the tattered volume resting on one of the tables. "My sisters scrimped for years to purchase this for me!"
He hugged the book to his chest. Perhaps at the memory of his sisters, Ooro's face darkened. Then he spied something else belonging to him. Ooro sped across the room and seized a large pyramid-shaped cypher.
"My work! My prided work!" Ooro held the cypher up and danced in a sliding motion across the floor. The clear synth pyramid caught the light of the room, reflecting and refracting it in impossible ways, ways that appeared to cause the light to make right angles before hitting their surroundings.
Gormin caught sight of some shins and gems piled neatly on another table. He eyed them greedily. "One of you must be rich, or else this is a down payment for whatever suicide mission our captors have planned for us," he speculated aloud, gesturing toward the money.
At that moment, the whole room started to ripple and blur, as if parts of time and space were moving at opposite angles to other, more static parts.
Ooro was stuffing the pyramid in his crimson satchel. "Calaval's teeth!" he exclaimed at the sudden anomaly.
Three hideous, segmented purple creatures rippled into the room then, seemingly from thin air. They looked like the gargantuan larvae of some crystalline insect, with serrated crushing mandibles. The fabric of space seemed to ripple around them.
Though Gormin had never seen such creatures before, he immediately assumed them to be hostile and attacked without hesitation. He still happened to be holding the round shield he had just picked up and swung it at the closest, catching it full in the "face". The creature chittered and recoiled. It was then engulfed in a blaze of yellow light as bright as the sun—Yimoul-Za's Onslaught, Gormin recognized.
Gormin drew his sword. Before he could follow up on the creature he'd injured though, Syrus' whip snaked out in a blinding flash, cracking against its crystalline hide. The creature rippled out. Gormin breathed an impolite oath. Retreating to its home dimension? One can only hope.
His respite didn't last long. He swung his shield around just in time to fend off one of the other creatures as it tried to bite him. The edge of his shield caught it in the left eye cluster, splitting open an eye that oozed grey pus.
The third creature sunk its mandibles into Ooro, who keened in pain.
"Leave him alone, you... larvae!" Yimoul-Za shouted as he sent a beam of sunfire flying towards the crystalline monster attacking Ooro.
Gormin grinned fiercely, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline and followed up on his own creature, circling around it, seeking to strike at an angle it wouldn't be able to see because of its blinded eye. A carefully aimed sword thrust sliced up into an "armour" joint in the creature’s neck, angling into its head. A gout of grey-green fluid gushed out, but the thrust had failed to kill it.
Gormin's circling had put the others behind him. "Thank you, friend Yimoul-Za," he heard Ooro call out. "Perhaps the larva will enjoy this?" The sound of another Onslaught.
Gormin heard Syrus' whip crack again, but had no time to spare a glance back. The enraged and injured monster was lunging at him with mandibles open wide.
Gormin sensed trouble behind him and instinctively ducked out of the way as Syrus flew past, flung as easily as a rag-doll by the other creature. Syrus tumbled directly into the path of Gormin's foe, which promptly sunk in its mandibles.
"Me help," squawked an injured Syrus.
Yimoul-Za and Ooro fired off Onslaughts nearly simultaneously, this time trying to save Syrus. "Perish, foul beings. Go back to the null-time you came from!" cried Yimoul-Za.
The nanos' esoteric magic engulfed the creature in an intense blaze of blinding white-hot light. Gormin caught a whiff of a strong acidic odour; suddenly the creature burst asunder, spattering the group with sticky purple ichor...
And leaving behind the prone body of a dark-haired man wearing a blue tunic and a voluminous red cape. Well, that was unexpected. Gormin remained in his combat stance—head low and shield forward, ready to protect himself from any further trouble this mysterious newcomer might offer.
The remaining purple creature, perhaps deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, rippled out of existence, back to wherever it came from.
The stranger in the red cape picked himself up off the floor.
***
Tempus
Tempus strode toward the frozen lightning across the featureless grey plain, his voluminous red cape streaming behind him.
Suddenly the grey surface around him rippled and shook, sending him sprawling. The "sky" cleared; he looked up to see an enormous, distorted view of a hideous grey face, covered in large boil-like growths, repeated four times around the dome of the sky.
The hideous faces' mouths split into equally hideous grins and seemed to lunge toward him. The ground shuddered and rents began to open in it, from which gushed gouts of grey-green pus.
The hideous face pulled back for a moment, then suddenly rushed forward again. Tempus noted that the large central image was full-face-on; the other four images were the same face from slightly different angles.
The face in the sky whirled away, now visible only in two of the smaller images. In the center of the dome, the ugly face was suddenly replaced by a handsome face with curly blond hair; the new face was twisted in pain.
If all else fails, Onslaught! Tempus stretched forth his hand toward the apex of the dome. Reality blurred and time slowed for an instant, then the energy bolt, somewhat resembling a fast-moving heat-shimmer, streaked upward toward the enormous face. It struck, the dome blurred and darkened, the ground bucked, and Tempus lost his footing.
Suddenly, the very air around him became an intense blaze of blinding white-hot light...
***
"Welcome to Ninth World, strange one. You keep interesting company." Tempus turned to face the one who'd said that. It was a skeane, an intelligent feathered amphibian. As if as an afterthought, the skeane added, "Additionally, it is important to note that I am in an interesting amount of pain..."
He doubled over and groaned. After a moment, the skeane seemed to recover himself and straightened up.
"Much better," he said, continuing to address Tempus. "Now, human who dwells in larva skin, tell us why you attacked our party, or we will allow Gormin to practice his terrible craft on you."
With a wink, it stage-whispered to one of the others. "No offense intended, friend Gormin. I simply conjecture that a threat involving you will cause more fear than a threat involving a meter-tall flipperman."
Tempus blinked in confusion.
The one Tempus presumed to be Gormin scoffed but said nothing. Tempus recognized him as the ugly face in the dome. He looked down at the purple ichor and bits of crystal scattered about the floor. Chronal feeder, he realized. The temporal locus must have been inside it somehow. The dome was its multifaceted eye. Fascinating.
Tempus addressed the skeane. "I assure you that I have no ill intentions towards your party nor did I initiate any attacks. As a gesture of goodwill, I can attempt to patch your wounds with whatever healing ability I have."
A wooden creature with a vine-like neck ending in a large single eye approached and examined him closely for a moment. "So this was inside the larvae? Interesting... And whereabouts might you have come from? Did these beings that have trapped us here decide to test you also?" asked the creature.
Tempus turned to the creature and smiled, "Ah, a golthiar! My village used to have dealings with some of your kind! Well, that was before they... disappeared. I'm afraid I have become somewhat 'unstuck' in time and reality. I found myself in an empty dimensional plane trapped within a dome. When I attacked the dome and destroyed it, I found myself here. I have no idea what else happened here or why these creatures were attacking you."
As Tempus looked over the first living creatures he had seen in quite a while, he sensed the effects of time on them acutely. The bark on the golthiar sloughing off like dead skin, wrinkles developing on the faces and skin of the humans, cells dying and falling off all of them. This chronal vision was acquired when he'd entered the portal in the Compart, and he'd ever after been reminded constantly of the mortality of his fellow living beings and the effects of time on them.
He'd found this rather bleak premonition would often have an unnerving effect on people when he explained it to them, and he preferred to avoid the topic with casual acquaintances. He avoided the topic now.
Tempus continued, asking gently, "Was that what happened to all of you? You were trapped and tested on? I suppose I could view my experience in the dome similarly."
"Everyone seems to have had an interesting time," said an amused female voice. Tempus turned. The speaker was a tall, attractive human female leaning against an open circular door frame, holding a plate of rodinza melon slices. She had dark, wavy hair with a single white streak. Tempus wondered if the effect was natural or artificial.
"I seem to have overslept," she announced. "I'm Kiraz; I don't believe we've been introduced."
"Indeed, introductions are overdue, now that we have a second to spare. I am Tempus," intoned Tempus with his powerful baritone voice. "Master of time!" He favored Kiraz with a gallant flourish and bow. Kiraz merely raised an eyebrow.
The skeane spoke up again. "So... we're just going to trust a man that came out of an insect hide merely because the man says he is trustworthy?" he said and held up his hands in what was probably supposed to be a threatening manner.
"Because that's my plan!" He extended both hands in the skeane greeting to Tempus. "Swimming through life without trusting others is like walking."
He opened his beak wide and looked around as though expecting the others to laugh, then seemed to realize his error.
"Er, a thousand apologies. It appears that particular skeane saying doesn't translate well in the Truth. Regardless, Tempus, I am Ooro of the City of Rust. Iadace."
Ooro surveyed the wreckage of the surrounding room. "We must never be caught floundering again. Stupid flounders. I advise that we arm ourselves with the wisdom of the past. Cyphers, cyphers, and more cyphers are the key to victory. That and being fleet of fin," he added with a smile.
"Flying is not my thing," someone else mumbled. Tempus recognized the speaker as the handsome face from the dome. "Welcome, uhh.... Master of Time? I am a master of the um... Whip." He started to turn away, then suddenly looked back, "S- Syrus, my name is... Syrus".
Syrus, Master of the Whip, turned and started sorting through some piles of equipment spilled from overturned tables. Tempus noted that Syrus appeared to be injured also.
Gormin cleared his throat as he wiped the feeder gore off his sword. "As our fine flippered friend mentioned, I'm Gormin. And as you can see, my specialty is being the most beautiful." He let out a bark of raspy laughter at his own joke. Gormin's voice was almost as unpleasant as his face; Tempus wondered what was wrong with him. "Our captor said he or they would meet us in person here. I presume that's not you. I wonder if that was them." He gestured vaguely at the remains of the exploded chronal feeder.
"Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive," came a voice from above. "Relax and take time; you are safe here."
Tempus looked up. The speaker was a very thin, middle-aged male human, wearing the orange and black colours of an Aeon Priest and an orange skullcap. He stood twenty feet above, on a platform at the top of a spiral stair in the centre of the room. His hands rested on the platform's waist-high rail.
The priest belatedly noticed the aftermath of the battle with the chronal feeders. He tsked. "By the Truth, you are certainly belligerent. Admirable survival traits in the Beyond; but remember, not everything can be solved by fighting."
Tempus heard Gormin snort derisively at that.
The priest smiled. "I am Frater Bellias and I am here to help, guide, and brief you for the coming task."
The golthiar spoke up. "Well, first I must compliment you on the excellent breakfast and rest provided. Would you happen to have more of that fermented squirrel?" he asked. "I am Yimoul-Za, golthiar and blessed of the Sun," he continued without waiting for a response. "I am willing to listen to your task, but you said all will be answered here. So, may I ask, will this task bring me nearer to finding a skyship that will bring me to the Sun?"
"He knows who we are, I'm sure," grumbled Gormin. He gestured dismissively toward the man on the platform. "All this, the margr yesterday, and all this today is all him. His twisted little test." He turned away muttering and stalked toward the tables of equipment.
"He may be responsible for the margr and us being here, but he may not know what our names are. I am Kiraz. What is it that you want of us?" asked Kiraz guardedly.
"Iadace Kiraz, Iadace Yimoul-Za." Frater Bellias paused to peer at Yimoul-Za. "I have never seen your like before, even in my studies. I would welcome the chance to study you more."
Bellias then pressed his lips together irritably and looked over to Gormin. "A test? A twisted test? Yes, friend, the arena was a test of your abilities, for how else are we to judge if you possess the right skills to carry out your mission for us? But today," he said, gesturing at the ichor on the floor and walls, "this was not of our making and was not planned for."
Bellias seemed to notice Tempus then. He frowned and looked as if to say something, but hesitated.
"Let us move into the lounge area where we can talk more."
The priest stepped back from the platform's rail and began to descend the spiral stairs. Tempus looked around the room. The room was circular, with huge windows spanning about a quarter of the wall. A heavy rain made it hard to discern much of the world outside, but it appeared to Tempus that they were looking down at a seaport from a high vantage point. By the windows were several comfortable-looking sofas and low tables, some of them overturned in the recent fighting. That seemed to be the lounge area to which Bellias was now headed. The floor was a multicolored enamel mosaic of the Order of the Truth's four-lobed symbol.
Frater Bellias reached a lounger and sat down. He gestured for the others to join him.
Tempus moved to the lounge area. Up close he could see that Bellias had amber-coloured eyes. Interesting. Tempus took a closer look at gear piled and scattered about and his eyes lit up as he spied a number of powerful cyphers interspersed with the other items. "By the corpus of Kronos!" he breathed. "What a find! These cyphers... I must review them immediately." From his backpack he extracted his leather-bound book on numenera, The Chronicles, and began examining and cataloguing the cyphers.
One of the cyphers was an innocuous-looking metal wristband with small controls set into the surface. It did not seem to have an entry in The Chronicles. Tempus poked at it gingerly, and the device sprang to life with a low-pitched hum. A shifting pattern of rapidly blinking lights appeared on its small screen, randomly moving, more or less counterclockwise. Tempus suddenly had the vague premonition that the wristband was aware of its surroundings... and searching. He suppressed that ominous thought. Probably nothing. He continued looking through the other cyphers as Frater Bellias continued to speak. The wristband continued to hum.
Tempus discovered among the cyphers an electric buzzer and a water weapon. No one else seemed eager to claim these items so he picked them up and pocketed them.
"Morning, everybody," drawled a new voice from behind him. Tempus turned. A lanky youth with a mop of dirty blond hair was standing in the doorway. "Did I miss anything?" He was eating a piece of frumenth roll.
The wristband's electronic hum quickly rose in pitch and volume to a deafening screech. Suddenly it projected a glowing sphere of green light that enveloped the newcomer, whose eyes widened in sudden fear. Before he could react further, the sphere retracted to a pinpoint of light in the screen of the wristband. Then the wristband itself seemed to fold inward, vanishing into a pinpoint of green light that hung in the air for a moment before it, too, disappeared.
The youth with the dirty blond hair was gone.
Tempus grimaced. "Must be something wrong with the frumenth rolls. I wouldn't eat them if I were you. Er, does anyone know who that was... by the way?"
From a pocket in his robe Frater Bellias pulled out a flat, oval-shaped numenera device and a metal stylus. He made a quick note on the device and put it away.
"The numenera is not to be trifled with lightly," he chided with a shake of his head. "A sad, sad loss. That device would have warranted much further study."
He looked out the window at the summer storm and sighed. "Come, sit. There is much to discuss."
Yimoul-Za sat, fidgeting. Tempus noticed the light in its eye shifting colors. Though he did not know golthiar light-language, he could see plainly that the golthiar was distressed.
"I prefer to stand," said Gormin. He also doesn't sound too happy, thought Tempus. "Mission, eh? Well, I just have two questions about any mission: Will there be killing involved? And will there be payment involved? If not the former, then I will have to charge extra for the latter. And if not the latter then no deal. And, er, did you just... send Krystogh to another dimension in that wristband?"
Frater Bellias seemed shocked at Gormin’s suggestion about the disappearance of Krystogh. "In the Truth, no. It was a sad waste; that piece of numenera could have been very valuable."
He stared out of the windows. "Your questions are not what I expected. Killing? How can I answer that in the Truth? I am not telling you to kill anyone or anything that is not necessary. The plan has been worked out so that nothing can go wrong."
Frater Bellias gestured towards the tables. "Payment, you ask for. Have we not provided far more that was delivered to us from the Bridge Tavern? Is acting in the service of and receiving the blessing of the Amber Pope not sufficient recompense?"
Before anyone could respond to that, he held up his right hand. Tempus noted a deep, rope-like burn across the back of it. Frater Bellias locked eyes with Tempus and hastily hid the injured hand behind his back.
"You are to journey into the north of the Steadfast; it has all been planned out for you. Nothing major can go wrong. Such trifles as you find upon the way are yours to keep, as payment. However, in the Truth, your duty to the Truth is to record, report, and preserve all understanding for the Arechive. Now, your mission is thus…" Bellias paused to collect his thoughts.
Yimoul-Za broke in. "Serve the Arechive? But will that help my goal so I can find my destiny of revitalising the sun? What is knowledge without life and survival? Is there no answer for what I seek? What purpose does knowledge serve by itself?" he demanded.
His woody fingers moved over the knotted belt on his robe, absentmindedly touching a particular spot. The spot shone forth like a miniature sun. "If there is to be a new age for truth and knowledge, we must ensure that the world continues, yes?" he concluded more calmly. He dismissed the illumination and the light faded from the knot on his belt.
Tempus nodded, empathizing with the golthiar. "Fear not, Yimoul-Za. I too have my own needs and goals. I need to find my wife Ora and the rest of my village. And I am sure along the way we will find someone who can help you find a way to revitalize the sun. For knowledge builds on itself, and knowledge useful to the Amber Pope may find a way to be useful to you and me."
Frater Bellias frowned at the interruption. "I am not aware of any problems concerning the sun and certainly they will not affect the plan." He paused again, trying to gauge Yimoul-Za’s reaction and obviously failing. He pulled the device from his pocket and made another note. He leaned forward, his face earnest. "In the Truth, Yimoul-Za, once the mission is completed according to the plan, then I will help you investigate."
He leaned back and addressed the group. "Now, as you are all aware, there is a looming threat on the northern borders of the Steadfast, from the abominations called the Gaians. You may have heard that the Gaians fight differently to normal humans. The Truth is, their armies are made up of twisted, misshapen creatures: Steadfast prisoners taken in raids and stretched and warped in agony to make up their foul army."
Bellias shuddered and made the sign of the Order with his hand. He continued, "Recently, in Navarene, a construct appeared in the centre of a large village. Be warned; this image may make you uneasy."
He keyed a control on his note-taking device and it projected a rotating image in the centre of the lounge area: a large multi-faced object of what might be red synth, its sharp curved surfaces shot with pulsing black lines.
Gormin's face twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Now that's more like it. You want us to kill some hippies and their gibbering horrors and take their stuff? Why didn't you just say so? Plan sounds great so far. Proceed." He turned his back and and proceeded himself to rummage through what was left of the items.
Turning to Bellias, Tempus asked, "I noticed the rope-like burn across the back of your hand. If you do not mind my asking, how did you come to be injured? And these Gaians sound formidable. Surely you would not send us against them unprepared. Will you be able to provide support in the form of armor, weapons, and cyphers?"
Bellias hastily hid his hand again. "It is nothing—something of no import." He seemed perturbed as he spoke. "You have armour, weapons and cyphers already; also the plan has been worked out perfectly for you to follow. This is what you will do…"
"No. They are not ready."
The voice came from the raised platform. Tempus looked up. The speaker was a tall, dark-skinned man wearing orange and silver robes with the embroidered symbol of the Order displayed prominently. He wore also a domed silver headdress. Standing next to him was a gleaming golden automaton, its smooth ovoid head totally featureless save for the Order's eye-symbol, approximately where a nose would normally be.
Bellias stood and bowed. "Venerence Aliser."
Yimoul-Za groaned. "So when will we be ready?" Unimpressed by the signifiers of human authority, thought Tempus.
Tempus decided to take Bellias' lead and bowed respectfully to Aliser, remaining silent for now. He seems very familiar. His lowered head hid his frown as he tried furiously to recall what he knew of this Venerence Aliser.
"An Episcope of the Aeon Priests!" blurted out Ooro. He bowed awkwardly toward Aliser. "I have dreams upon dreams of joining your number! What must I do to become one with the Order of Truth!?"
Venerence Aliser rested his hands on the rail of the platform. "To become a full member of the Order would take many years of training at the Durkhal—indeed, a lifetime's dedication. Are you prepared to give that?" he asked skeptically. "However, you can become an adherent of the Truth here in the Arechive. To do this you need to find and present to us a unique piece of numenera. Your status as to your acceptance into the Order will be debated by the Circulus."
Without hesitation, Ooro pulled out the pyramid-shaped cypher from his bag and placed it on the floor before him. Tempus recognized the device as a mystery box—an incredibly powerful cypher that was at least as dangerous to the user as to the user's foes.
"I wish to start the path to adherence to the Truth," said Ooro, pressing himself to the floor obsequiously. "And, as such, I give my all in service of the Order. Will this box suffice? If not, I will go with my podmates in hopes of uncovering a device such as will meet the needs of the Order."
Venerence Aliser gazed down upon Ooro with that look of supercilious paternal beneficence that was peculiar to senior religious leaders. "A skeane," he breathed. "One such as you would be a great asset to my Arechive. However, you must be accepted by the Circulus. In the Truth, the pyramid will do nicely."
Without any obvious cue from Aliser, the faceless golden servitor descended the stairs and picked up the mystery box. As it did so, the Episcope put his hands behind his back and addressed the group again.
"I do not think you are ready for the mission into Navarene," he repeated. "I require a further test of your passion, your drive, and your loyalties to the Truth. Frater Bellias! Have the messengers to Fallside left yet?"
"Venerence, no," replied Frater Bellias.
"Good. Recall them. These," said Aliser, spreading his hands face-up to take in the group, "will take their place."
Bellias bowed. "In the Truth, your Venerence. It will be done for the Truth." He clicked off the projection of the red construct.
The lights in Yimoul-Za's eye flickered and glared. "Well, what does this new task require!?"
Frater Bellias answered. "This is a change to the plan that I shall have to factor in. However, Venerence Aliser wishes it so."
He consulted the device, then spoke in measured tones. "Three days journey to the east is a village on the coast called Fallside. One of our Order, Frater Neymich, has made his home there. You are to carry a sealed message to him; deliver it and then return here. You have twenty-eight hours to make your preparations to leave. The message will be given to you on your departure."
Gormin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You need six people to deliver a message? What's the catch?"
Venerence Aliser responded. "There are those—members of the Convergence or the Jagged Dream—who would seek to steal our secrets. The message is in the form of a sealed cylinder that you must carry to Frater Neymich. Frater Bellias will supply further details."
Yimoul-Za tapped his staff impatiently against the floor. "Strange folk, eh, Seed Brother?"
Tempus fingered his cape nervously and decided to speak up, "I recall that the people in Fallside fall into red and green factions, but my meagre knowledge ends there. Do you know the significance and differences between the two factions? Which faction does Frater Neymich belong to? And can we borrow appropriate clothing if needed? And can we please buy additional supplies such as healing kits and climbing gear?"
Aliser seemed to notice Tempus for the first time. His white eyebrows rose slightly. "We have met before, I think, although you did not wear that face," he said.
Tempus politely inclined his head to Aliser. "Ah, I did not realize that I left such a deep impression that you would remember our last meeting. You too have changed since the last meeting—I take it that you found our discussion meaningful?"
Frater Bellias frowned in evident confusion. He looked from Tempus, to Aliser, and back again. When he realized the Episcope had nothing more to say, he answered Tempus. "Frater Neymich belongs to no faction; he is a member of the Order of the Truth. By clothing, I presume you mean red or green, to blend in?" He glanced up again at Venerence Aliser, who was peering thoughtfully at Ooro. "In the Truth, I assure you there is no need to employ such subterfuge. Fallside is the site of a large factory that processes black sludge into red and green sludge. The red faction processes the red sludge; the green faction processes the green sludge. I understand that there is limited social contact between the two factions; something that Frater Neymich was eager to study. "
He paused and looked out the rain-streaked windows again; the storm was showing no signs of abating. Tempus wondered what was so interesting out there that Bellias couldn't help repeatedly looking at it.
"You have twenty-eight hours to prepare," Bellias repeated. "There are many traders and grossiers in the city that sell supplies. Alas, the Arechive can provide no further funding—that brehm-brained Loarn bankrupted us in his fool’s quest."
"I was hoping for some more of that fermented squirrel, but so be it. Yes, let's prepare. I hope we will be keeping the rooms we had? That drit was great, truly," said Yimoul-Za. Then as if struck by a sudden thought, he asked, "What is the significance of the colour difference of the sludge? Is one food and the other fertilizer?"
Frater Bellias shrugged. "I do not know. I believe they do something with it, but I do not know what that is. Frater Neymich is the best person to advise you."
Gormin frowned at Tempus, then turned back to Aliser. "So we are free to go, then? Or is there anything else?"
"Make your preparations. You may leave when you are ready. Frater Bellias will give you the message cylinder when you are ready to depart." Venerence Aliser turned without waiting for a response. The golden servitor holding Ooro's mystery box turned as well. A door in the platform's central column slid open silently, revealing another spiral staircase, this one leading upwards. Bellias and Tempus bowed low again as Aliser and the servitor departed, the door sliding shut behind them.
Syrus was still going through the gear from the tables. Tempus noticed he was looking down the length of a verred, a double-edged sword that forked into two single-edged blades about halfway down its length. Very useful in the right hands, Tempus knew, though swords were not his area of expertise.
Kiraz walked leisurely up to Syrus. "I notice that you are proficient at using the whip. Is there any way that I could have that verred, as I am knowledgeable in its use?" she asked politely.
The blade slipped suddenly from Syrus' fingers. It clattered noisily on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up and hand it to Kiraz, "Here," he mumbled.
Turning back to Frater Bellias he bowed awkwardly and muttered, "Um... s- sorry."
Bellias just sighed, made another note on his device, and with one final look out the window, he too departed.
Kiraz put the verred in its scabbard and attached it to her belt. "Thank you." She favored Syrus with a smile, who of course blushed. An awkward silence descended.
Ooro broke the silence. "I suggest we go back to the meal table and discuss our plans. We should also discuss the disappearance of our podmate Krystogh and what must done to rescue him. Additionally, I must admit I am anxious to talk of the message our honorable patrons would have us deliver." Ooro looked around as if for eavesdroppers and stage-whispered, "Would it be dishonorable to attempt to pierce the message cylinder with a Scan esotery? I am more than passing curious..."
Gormin scoffed. "Can't believe I'm going along with this. We should buy an aneen and have it carry a large multi-person tent..."
Tempus tuned out Gormin and the others discussing the logistics of the trip. His curiosity was piqued by the red synth structure Bellias had shown them. He flipped through his precious Chronicles, searching for similar numenera that might give a clue as to its purpose and function.
After a while, he found that The Chronicles had a possible reference to it, but with no dates given.
"It is said that Vadras the Glint was stopping in a tavern in the town of Kularn, in Thaemor. A man sold the barkeep a strange device of red synth that hurt Vadras’ head to look upon it. That night, the patrons of the tavern fell to violence and tore each other to pieces. Vadras returned a year later; the town was a ruin, littered with bodies that had all died violently. Of the device there was no trace."
That was all. Tempus closed the book.
***
Yimoul-Za
Down by way of the elevator, out the metal double-doors onto a pier of the City of Bridges, and south to the Hub, the city's centre of commerce. The wind was still gusting hard, driving the rain almost horizontally, and the waves were breaking over the lower piers, rocking the boats at their moorings.
Though Yimoul-Za preferred the sun, the wind and rain did not bother him a bit. The others may prefer to patch up their wounds and wait for the storm to let up, but Yimoul-Za was impatient to get started.
The storm broke as Yimoul-Za made his way toward the Hub. At last, the blessed sun has come out from behind the clouds of grey! The clouds started to clear, driven by the strong onshore wind. The sun was hot, too; the rainwater was already turning to plumes of steam rising from every surface. The city came to life as more people started to venture outdoors.
Yimoul-Za was fascinated by the market, particularly the countless different kinds of plants for sale, although he stopped to examine nearly everything that was for sale, plant or not.
In the Hub's central plaza, he espied a striking woman made of flowstone striking a regal pose atop an ornate pedestal. A faint smile crossed the woman's stone lips, and her unmoving hooded cloak flared out behind her as if she were standing boldly in a strong wind. Unable to get the woman's attention, he asked a passer-by about her.
"The statue, strange friend, you mean?" said the passer-by. "That is Lady Janira, niece of the King and mayor of the City of Bridges."
"She doesn't get much work done in a stone state like that, does she? Or does she fleshturn when necessary?" Yimoul-Za asked the passer-by.
"Woodman, are you brehm-brained?" The passer-by shook his head. "That is called a statue. It is a representation—an icon, an image of our mayor. The real mayor is working hard in the Coral Palace."
Yimoul-Za realised his error. "She is woman of great importance? Of great knowledge? Is she learned in history and knowledge?" Yimoul-Za asked the passerby, occasionally turning his eye to the sun.
"Of great importance? She is mayor of the city and related to the King."
Yimoul-Za was unimpressed. "Er, yes, related to the King. But my question is, what knowledge does she have? Does being royalty impart great knowingness? Such as knowing how to find a skyship? Or maybe she might have one in her garden?" Yimoul-Za gestured towards the sky, his eyeball bobbing up and down enthusiastically, a little too close to the man for comfort.
The man backed away nervously. "Don’t get that close to me and don’t do that. In the Truth, get away from me; I don’t want to talk to you anymore."
Yimoul-Za heard an authoritative voice speak behind him. "Is everything all right here?"
He turned. Two swordstaff-carrying guards, wearing beastskin armour and tall metal helmets stood there. Their helmets were embossed with the three-bridge-and-tower symbol of the City.
Yimoul-Za greeted the guards cheerfully. "Iadace! This kind gentleman was telling me about Lady Janira. Inform me please, would the Lady know about skyships? Is she a woman of great knowing?" he burbled enthusiatically, the light in his eye glittering.
The two guards glanced at each other and smiled slightly; one spoke.
"Oh, yes, she knows about everything. Just go to the Coral Palace, knock and ask to speak to her. Say Krish and Paquet sent you. Take care and be seeing you."
The guards turned and resumed patrolling the Hub.
Yimoul-Za, surprised at his good luck, called out after them. "Thank you! Thank you! May you be encased in good drit!" He waved goodbye also in the general direction that the passer-by had disappeared to and made his way toward the Coral Palace.
***
Ooro
Unafraid of the market crowds, and feeling invigorated by the day's humidity, Ooro mingled, asking a number of passers-by if any skeane make their lodgings in town. This close to the sea, there are sure to be at least a handful of skeane nearby, he thought.
Though humans—and golthiar—were enjoyable podmates, Ooro was missing skeane camaraderie. He wanted to celebrate the first step on his journey to the Aeon Priesthood with his people.
Ooro had never been to the City of Bridges before, but like most people he'd heard some things about this place. He knew that although Ghan was a kingdom, ruled by King Laird from the Coral Palace, the people lived free and acknowledged the King only in name, having little use for government and aristocracy. Ghanic fleets ranged across the known world.
None of the vendors and grossiers Ooro dealt with seemed overly surprised to see his like; he assumed they had seen skeane before. Several of them confirmed that this was correct. In fact, he was told, a community of skeane lived in the water near to the industrial docks.
A skeane named Uinia greeted him as soon as he dived from the docks into the sea. She led the way to a tethered globe. Passing through a familiar set of membranes, he entered the habitat. Ah, the glorious richness of true skeane life!
Uinia showed him what they were up to, using waste from the industrial docks above to produce phlorrin.
"Can you believe that they eat fish and other piscines, yet throw the bones away?" Uinia asked incredulously.
Ooro remarked excitedly that it must be wonderful to live in a city of the free, not under the tyranny of the Scylines. The skeane burbled, beaks parted in the skeane show of amusement.
"Free? Friend Ooro, this is not a city of the free," said Uinia. "They live under the same tyranny as we do, only in their terms."
The sweet taste of home is like an old friend, thought Ooro, but Uinia's words are sour to the stomach. "The same tyranny? How so? I see false gods worshiped. None like the cursed four, of course, but that is to be expected in the Ninth World. Unless you speak of..." Ooro looked around surreptitiously and continued, "... other tyrannies? What troubles you, friend Uinia? Your struggles and my struggles are one."
Uinia paused a long time before answering. "This city is not as free as some would believe. The King rules in name only; the true power behind him is his podbrother and the podbrother’s podbrood. The people are kept in line by fear, their aggression relieved by the bloodsports in the arena every moon. Yet they neglect basic defences. This city is made of metal, sinking deep into the ocean. I have seen nests of mercurial wasps that are chewing into the towers and pillars. If it goes on, this city is doomed."
"Mercurial wasps? Fascinating." said Oroo. "You must tell me where. Do you have a map to their hives? Such creatures must be studied. And captured, of course," he added quickly. "They could seriously damage the city. Will any of you help me rid your adopted home of this scourge?"
Uinia visibly shuddered, and the other skeane suddenly were busy at various tasks.
"Podbrother, you do not capture or study mercurial wasps. If you find a nest, you surface it and destroy it. That is the way."
Uinia turned away, making it clear that the conversation was over.
***
Gormin
Filjar the diminutive aneen salesman was clearly a mutant. With his thick thighs, elongated legs and small, twisted arms, he looked more than a bit like the aneen he had just sold Gormin.
"On second thought," said Gormin, "I will go ahead and take the aneen with me now instead of coming back tomorrow. I'm sure the Arechive has a suitable stable. If they have space to keep broken hounds and bellowhearts, they will have space for one aneen."
Gormin watched the mutant to see if he would react to the casual mention of the Arechive.
Filjar gave him a thoughtful look. "Broken hounds and bellowhearts, say you? It is the first I have heard of the Arechive keeping such a menagerie. I have never seen a bellowheart in the city. What would they do with it?"
"Oh, aye. Broken hounds, a bellowheart, trained margr, and who knows what else? Rippy-fish! Can't forget those. For the arena, you know. If you were there in the crowd yesterday you may recognize me. I work for the Arechive now, apparently. Haha! Well, be seeing you, pleasure doing business." Gormin took the lead of his new pack aneen—a mostly hairless muscular biped more than twice his height—and turned toward the door.
The aneen-seller blinked. "The Arechive runs the arena? No, friend, you have that wrong. The arena was established on the instructions of the Lady Janira Vanlith, mayor of this city, to keep the citizens satisfied."
He glanced around and gestured at Gormin to come back. He did so. The salesmutant leaned in closer, his voice a conspiritorial whisper. "King Laird of the House of Vanlith is not interested in being King; he is a merchant and sailor at heart. He believes that his subjects are content and happy. In the Truth, this city is run by his brother Shallin, acting as King’s advisor, through his daughters. Twins, they are, identical to look at. One, Lady Janira, is mayor of the city; decrees are issued in her name, but they come from him. The other, Lady Jamira…" He visibly shuddered and glanced around again. "Jamira is head of the Rakoth, the secret police. They say she is skilled in ten thousand ways of causing pain."
The merchant fell silent as a large orange-and-black scarab crawled out from under the table.
Gormin laughed. "Pain, you say? This Lady Jamira sounds like my type. Finally some people around here who have some sense. Is she single?" He winked lewdly and laughed at the merchant's flabbergasted expression, then took his leave, aneen in tow.
The scarab spread its wings and whirred as it flew off across the Hub.
***
Yimoul-Za
The Coral Palace took up most of one giant platform in the northwest of the city, as far as possible from the bridge that led to the mainland. From a distance, it indeed looked to be made of a purple-pink coral. Surrounding the palace's platform were piers and docks with many ships moored.
Closer, he saw that the palace was in fact a series of co-joined metal buildings, large portions of which were covered by the coral. The "coral" had thousands of small pores and openings; from some of these seeped a pale, salty-smelling fluid. Yimoul-Za found it very fascinating.
The heavy main doors of the palace were surrounded by the weeping coral and closed. But at Yimoul-Za's approach, a set of stronglass doors on a balcony above slid open. A striking young woman emerged onto the balcony, flanked by four guards. The guards wore ornate scale armor and regalia, and had helmets and polearms; the woman wore a robe the exact color of Olinthian blue mushrooms at harvest time, and she had a crown of yellow ulex flowers in her auburn hair. She smiled at Yimoul-Za.
One of the guards spoke up. "State your business here, strange being."
"Iadace! I have come from the Arechive and I wish to speak to Lady Janira. I have been sent by the kind gentlemen Krish and Paquet! I hear she might have knowledge of reviving the sun!"
The woman giggled. With her left hand she withdrew a small object from a pouch on her belt.
Yimoul-Za decided the woman resembled the statue, perhaps not identical, but it was difficult to be certain. How do humans tell each other apart? he wondered.
"The Lady Janira is occupied at the moment. I am Lady Isla Vanlith, custodian of the Coral Palace of King Laird Vanlith, ruler of the Sea Kingdom of Ghan. I will convey your request to Lady Janira. Return here in two days. As a token, wear this on your lapel. The guards will recognise it and admit you."
She opened her left hand, revealing a large orange-and-black scarab-like numenera device. It spread its wings, rose into the air, and whirred down toward Yimoul-Za.
***
Syrus
Given the time to go into town and do a little shopping to prepare for the trip, Syrus saw the others go off on their own to explore and prepare. We should at least travel in pairs for the safety's sake, he thought. But when he looked for Kiraz to see if she would like to join him, she was nowhere to be found.
Alone, Syrus found his way to the Hub, a bustling marketplace, where goods and services of all kinds could be bought. He'd been here before with his father a few years ago. He remembered it was laid out similarly to the marketplace in Ledon, just bigger.
In the central plaza, across from the mayor's statue, he spied the community notice board at the base of a circular metal tower, where numerous messages and flyers were pinned. Most were written on "skrip", the leathery dried scales of the dossi. A few were on parchment, broken potsherds, or other media. He read a few of the messages.
"Deeko. Missed you in Qi. Meet in Charmonde at the Crosti on the first full moon in Tor. Mala."
"WANTED! A brace of live laak. 10 shins paid. See Bilibon the Physick in Lowport."
"Missed your chance? Looking for a good day out? The arena will open for business again 30th Pretor. Tickets 10 shins per person. Big money to be won!"
"Looking for adventure? Want to make a fortune? Sign on with Captain Imrie and sail for treasure on the ‘Rocinante’."
"Finest aneen steaks cooked to order using my special recipe. Come to Tallin’s in Highport."
"Got a weird thing and you don’t know what it is? I can help. For only 20 shins, I can identify anything. Mr Qiun, a most Truthful Aeon Priest."
"Adventurers! Top prices paid for strange junk that you have found. Find Me in the Hub on odd-numbered days."
Syrus wandered away from the bulletin board. Without prior planning with the group, he decided to purchase only things for himself—rations, a bedroll, regular travel stuff. He had only had a few shins and was not very good at negotiating.
As he was purchasing his gear, he flashed back momentarily but vividly to the day he saw his mother being dragged away. Starting to shake, he quickly paid for the gear and went to find the nearest tavern. He hadn't had a real flashback in a long time. Is the Truth-telling episode affecting my mind?
Syrus didn't want to socialize all that much, so he claimed an empty table in a not-very-reputable-looking establishment and ordered himself a drink... and then another... and maybe another... trying to drown the memory.
***
Tempus
Shadows lengthened as the day retreated. Tempus looked around. Is this the way back to the Arechive? It looked right, but he had a premonition that something was wrong.
Suddenly a striking woman in a grey cloak emerged from the shadows, blocking his way. She stepped in close before Tempus could react and spoke quickly and quietly to him. "You have just come out of the Arechive. Aliser has sent you on a mission. Don’t say anything; I know that I’m correct."
She opened her left hand to reveal red and green gems Tempus reckoned were worth at least 500 shins on the market.
"I would very much like to know what the conversation was about and the mission you have been sent on. There will be a further payment on completion. I can be found at the Venture Inn in Lowport; I will be there tomorrow night after ebb."
Tempus was, needless to say, suspicious of this mysterious woman and her hidden agenda, but was also curious and had no particular reason to love the Amber Pope. He pocketed the gems and whispered back, "Sounds intriguing. I would love to find out more about what you want to know, and meet you at Lowport, but I would like to involve and discuss with my associates first. By the way, do you have a name?"
A faint flicker of a smile played about her lips. "Yes," she answered. She moved back into the shadows and was gone.
***
Ooro
Mercurial wasps! Ooro didn't want to think hard about those nightmares. Aggressive. Angry. Voracious. Deadly. These are words an observer might use to describe a swarm of mercurial wasps, if their venom wasn’t already closing the observer's throat and paralyzing their vocal cords.
Alone again, Ooro considered heading back to the Arechive as he swam aimlessly beneath the city and its many platforms and bridges.
However, his time in the arena had left him feeling a little reckless, and he decided to search the nearby area for a nest of mercurial wasps to destroy. Perhaps eliminating a local scourge will aid my people, as well as the humans of the City, he thought. Might even be able to make use of the poison.
If the swarm is too dangerous, I can swim away and come back with my podmates from the Arechive. Assuming my podmates can swim.
It did not take him long to find a nest. He swam toward it cautiously. Perhaps I can use these rations as bait, he mused.
A sharp blow struck him in the back of the head. He turned to see Uinia and two other skeane. He recognized them as Oannes and Iolo.
"Foolskeane! What are you doing? Are you touched by Ny? You will bring down doom upon us all."
Uinia's eyes widened with fear. Ooro turned to see a swarm of at least a half-dozen foot-long mercurial wasps streaking towards them through the water, their hideous, insectile outlines shifting and phasing into and out of reality.
***
Tempus
Back in the Arechive's lounge area, Frater Bellias was clearly agitated. He'd been most disappointed to learn that only three of the group had returned: Tempus, Gormin, and Yimoul-Za.
"Another test failed. However, there is no time to recruit new people; you three must carry the message. Here is the message." He handed Tempus a sealed tube of grey synth, about a thumbwidth thick and a handspan long. Tempus noted that the rope-like burn on his hand had gone, vanished as if it had never existed.
"You will deliver that to Frater Neymich in Fallside, then return here with any answer. If you leave at sunrise, you should be there by sunset on the third day."
Tempus held up the synth tube, examining it closely. He asked Frater Bellias, "What form or medium is the message inscribed in? Hopefully it's not something contraband or dangerous. We are carrying some cyphers that may interact with numenera in unpredictable ways. And are we expecting any trouble from other parties?" he added. "I noticed that some... individuals... were watching us very closely when we left here today. I am not sure but that we might be waylaid or something. I mean, we wouldn't want to deliver the message late, would we?"
Tempus watched Bellias' reaction closely, keeping his own expression inscrutable.
But at that moment, Kiraz burst into the room. "I think Syrus is in trouble," she announced.
Frater Bellias sighed and made a note on his device.
***
Syrus
When Syrus awoke, he found himself in an alley with one of the barmaids standing over him. He vaguely remembered her from earlier in the evening; she seemed to be in a frantic mood now.
She whispered angrily, "I told you to quit drinking and being unruly. I told you they would toss you out of here." She reached into her pocket and handed him a flask, "Now drink this. It will help what ails you, and... be gone from here. Go, before they come back and do some real damage to you."
Syrus drank from the flask and struggled to his feet. "Th- thank... um... Thank..." She turned away. After pausing to make sure he had his balance, he glanced back toward her and he stumbled toward the mouth of the alley behind the tavern. Need to find the way back to the Arechive before the rest leave. Whatever was in the flask seemed to help, but he still felt in a fog.
At the mouth of the alley, a striking female wearing a hooded cloak emerged from the shadows and blocked his way.
"You have been sent on a mission by Aliser of the Arechive. I want to know what that mission is." She had slate-grey eyes, dead like a shark. She leaned in closer.
"I suggest you tell me now", she whispered. A faint but cruel smile twisted her lips. "Or, after a great deal of pain, I know you will tell me."
Syrus was dimly aware that she was holding a small object concealed in her left hand.
He clutched his forehead and stuttered, "I... I... H-have, but forgot.. Truthfully I... don't have much... forgot... don't r- remember much. Not after last night. I... know we, I mean, I am to travel to sludge city. I forget the name. My head hurts. I n- need to get back..." He attempted to step around her.
The woman cut him off and snarled in a low voice, "Next time we meet, pray to your Amber Pope that you remember. Meanwhile, remember this!"
She revealed the item in her left hand; a jolt of madness coursed through his brain as soon as he caught sight of it. The world went black.
To be continued...
***
Gormin
The small room—what had the servitor called it? The elevator?—bore Gormin and his new "friends" away from the maze of pipes and the raging bellowheart, back to the Arechive and presumed safety.
The elevator’s doors swung open upon a sumptuously furnished sitting room, softly lit by a glowing globe hanging from the high ceiling. The useless automaton servitor Gormin had tried to argue with before going back into the pipes to rescue the group was nowhere to be seen.
A voice spoke from the air.
"Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive, the library of things that are. Relax, for in the Truth, you are safe here."
The group entered the room warily, no one responding to the voice. Though Gormin had already been to the Arechive and heard the disembodied voice before, he still found it unsettling. Some kind of numenera, he guessed, relaying a human voice spoken by someone in another room. The alternative didn’t bear contemplating.
The voice from the air spoke again.
"You need to rest. It is night and you have had a busy day. We shall talk more in the morning."
A circular door on their left slid open, seemingly of its own accord, revealing a curved corridor with several other circular doors.
"My friends. My true, true friends," Ooro murmured sleepily. He slumped to the floor of the room, seemingly instantly asleep.
Gormin blinked. There’s a strange one. The rest of the party looked at each other, and then left the slumbering Ooro to cautiously explore the corridor. Gormin led the way.
The other doors slid open in turn to reveal bedrooms, each with a bed, a chair, a desk and a closet. This so-called Arechive certainly seems to have no shortage of numenera, even using them to power magic doors. Gormin pressed his lips together disapprovingly. They invite disaster, keeping so many mysterious gizmos in close proximity to each other.
One room had no bed, just a large pail of drit and a vessel full of water with a spigot. Yimoul-Za's large single eye lit up at the sight of the drit.
"Our hosts do know how to take care of us." He carefully planted his staff in the drit. "You first, Seed Brother. You always did enjoy meditating underneath the world. Remember how we reached out to the roots that drive into the earth, and to the stem and leaves that reach for the sun?"
The group explored the hall fully. There were more than enough bedrooms to allow everyone their own private room. Behind the door at the end of the corridor was a bathroom with washing and sanitary facilities. From near-death to near-unimaginable luxury, Gormin mused. Very suspicious. Even the chamber-pots appeared to be numenera-powered. Madness.
Having no obvious alternate course of action, the group divvied up the bedrooms and everyone retired for the night.
Gormin, unsettled by the presence of so much numenera and still keyed up by the recent excitement in the pipes, searched his own room restlessly, looking for signs of previous residents or anything else that might be interesting. There wasn’t much to find. The closet had hanging space and drawers, but were empty. The room itself was so clean, Gormin wondered if it had ever been slept in before—though surely it had.
But answers would have to wait until the morrow. Though the bed was much softer than what Gormin was accustomed to, he had no trouble going to sleep.
***
Date: 2nd Fre, in the 401st Year of the Founding
Gormin woke refreshed to the sound of driving rain hammering against the circular window of his bedroom. How much of yesterday was a dream, and how much was real? he wondered. Only one way to find out. Gormin rose and dressed. After some thought, he decided to wear his armor and sword as well to whatever meeting or briefing his captors had planned. Though there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, the people of the Arechive had not yet shown themselves worthy of trust, to his mind. The round door of his bedroom slid open at his approach. Well, that much was real, at least.
He encountered Yimoul-Za in the corridor. "Greetings! I hope you have had a peaceful night. I sense there is a plan and a reason for us being here," said the tree-like creature. Gormin grunted noncommittally.
On tables in the main room was laid out a breakfast, a vast selection of foodstuffs from across the Steadfast and the Beyond. Gormin only recognized about half of the spread. The tables had not been there the previous night. Servitors must have set all this up during the night. Gormin walked slowly among the tables. Trying to intimidate us by way of conspicuous consumption.
Ooro was still sprawled in the middle of the floor, apparently not having moved from where he had collapsed. Gormin could see he was still breathing. Not dead, just dead to the world.
"Fermented yellow squirrel!" cried a delighted Yimoul-Za. "I never thought I'd taste its like again! Its unique flavour comes from the nuts and berries that it consumes!"
Yimoul-Za loaded a plate with the uncooked and decomposing squirrel, along with some gossamer-thin noodles drenched in a mulchy-smelling sauce. "And harvested right after the summer gathering season too! I remember an Elder who used to soak in the rotting remains of these things…"
Gormin tuned out Yimoul-Za’s enthusiastic culinary monologue as he loaded up his own plate, mostly fruits and a couple of small pastries. Nothing too heavy or rich—never know when you might have to fight or run for your life.
Ooro stirred. He pushed himself from the floor and staggered over to a table, where he sat down to eat some kind of dark-shelled decapod with sauce from a spray-bottle. He chewed for a moment, before looking up sharply. "Why are all of you in my dining room?"
Gormin grunted amusedly at what he assumed was Ooro's joke. He glanced at Yimoul-Za. The latter seemed to be rubbing bits of rotten squirrel onto his staff. Gormin decided not to ask.
Gormin ate standing up, carrying his plate to one of the room's windows, where he leaned against the wall and looked out at the rainy morning as he nibbled. "Quite a change from waking up in a cage yesterday, eh?" he remarked to no one in particular. "I wonder what our captors have in store for us. This luxurious treatment today after what happened yesterday makes me very wary. Hard to refuse a good Draolic pastry though."
There were four doors leading out of the main room. Opposite from the elevator was an open door, through which Gormin could see yet another round room, this one huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a mosaic floor, and a high raised platform in the centre. Opposite from the corridor with the bedrooms was a closed door. Curiosity getting the better of him, Gormin decided to test the closed door. We shall see how much our captors will try to limit us poking around.
Somewhat to his surprise, the closed door slid open at his approach. The room beyond was a truncated cone laid on its side.
A large synth panel on the short wall of the cone displayed images, and a pedestal with what appeared to be controls rose from the floor in the centre of the room. The walls were translucent black synth; just below the surface appeared to be grey brain matter dotted with a myriad of blinking pin-point lights.
By the pedestal was another servitor, a metal-and-synth humanoid construct. This servitor had no arms, and its ovoid head had no features other than the four-lobed eye symbol of the Truth where its face would be.
"Hrmm," grumbled Gormin as he approached the servitor. "Hopefully you won't prove as useless as your comrade in arms from yesterday, er, so to speak." He gestured at the controls. "What is that and how do we use it?"
The servitor's eye symbol began to glow and a projection of a human-ish face appeared a few inches in front of the ovoid. A gentle voice spoke; the movements of the head subtly matched up with the voice.
"I speak in the Truth of the Truth. The device is a knowledge repository, a repository of the Truth. I can instruct, assist in the learning of its operation to you. I speak in the Truth."
Truth, truth, truth, thought Gormin. Blah, blah, blah. "What kind of knowledge? Skills? Book knowledge? No matter... Show me how to use it." He popped one last piece of rodinza melon in his mouth, put aside the plate, and stepped to the control pedestal.
The servitor stepped forward. "I speak in the Truth of the Truth. Place your limb extremities thus and thus; will your projection forwards and enhance your thoughts of the Truth that is all of now. I speak in the Truth."
It did not take Gormin long to get the hang of the repository. The system was a fairly basic three-dimensional index of files. On activation a cube would appear in front of the user, rotating on one vertex; keying a question into the various surfaces of the cube would cause information to flash up on the various synth display screens. Presumably the whole thing was powered by the giant brain partially visible through the room's dark walls.
Recalling the black panel with the odd writing in the pipe maze, Gormin decided to research the Great Hunter and the Tears of the Gods.
He found several references in the Arechive pertaining to the Great Hunter...
- A fragment of an ancient poem found in a buried vault: "They call me the hunter, 'cause that’s my name / Pretty little woman like you, is my only game"
- A data sliver brought back from the markets of Sagus Cliffs referenced the Bright Empire of the constellation Orion. It has been proven that no such constellation exists. Conclusion: the sliver was flawed.
- Tsallots the Hunter is known to roam the Westwood, the bane of the culova, the intelligent spider-like creatures native to that forest.
- The hontri, enormous birds of prey that swoop around the highest peaks of the Black Riage, are often referred to as "hunters". Persistant rumors tell of an enormous, hyper-intelligent, "greater" hontri, but such tales are likely legendary.
He found only one reference to the Tears...
- A legendary archipelago of islands, supposedly wept by the gods. General opinion is that the legend refers to the Rayskel Cays, recently discovered islands in the ocean far to the west of the Steadfast.
Just as Gormin closed the file about the Tears, another, hidden, file sprung up—this one written by Loarn.
"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. The Tears exist! Some of the very old maps show them. The Arechive is wrong and I will seek the Tears alone, to prove them wrong –Loarn."
The screens went blank.
The servitor spoke up. "I speak in the Truth of the Truth. There is no further Truth; Truth must be added. I speak in the Truth."
Gormin growled at the servitor. "Am I not allowed to research further? Who was Loarn?"
"You ask about Loarn?" The voice came from the air again. "Loarn is no longer spoken of in the Arechive. He was an Aeon Priest who fell from grace; he was not true to his calling and sought only his own greed. He was obsessed with finding the Tears of the Gods, a set of islands said to be wept by the Gods themselves. A fool's quest—it was proven long ago that the legend referred to the shape of the Rayskel Cays. He nearly bankrupted the Arechive; he was last seen sailing into the west. He has never returned."
The voice continued. "Now it is time for us to meet in person. Please join the others in the north chamber and equip yourself."
Gormin grunted noncommittally and made his way toward the room with the platform, in no particular hurry. On the way he grabbed a cup of fresh-squeezed frumenth juice to wash down breakfast. Yimoul-Za, Ooro, and Syrus were already there in the north room. No sign of Kiraz or Krystogh.
The north room was an enormous dome. Broad floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the entire arc of the north room's north wall, looking out over the City of Bridges. Driving rain spattered against the glass. Through the blur of the wet windows, ships could be seen rocking at their moorings. In the centre of the room Gormin saw a spiral staircase leading to a circular metal platform about twenty feet above the floor. A thick column ascended from the centre of that platform, up another twenty feet or so into the ceiling of the chamber. There were loungers and low tables set up before the windows. The tables were piled with items and equipment. Some of it was gear Gormin had had before his most recent arrest.
"Was wondering what happened to this junk." He gathered up his belongings: his trusty shield (a synth disc about a forearm-length across with a center grip and a domed steel boss—it was the only thing he prized more highly than even his sword), his battered explorer's backpack filled with various pieces of survival gear, a small crystal cypher he'd been saving for a rainy day—raining now isn't it?—and a small but wickedly-sharp knife with a hollow hilt, convenient for hiding a dose of poison. He checked the hilt and found the poison was still there.
Ooro was talking to Yimoul-Za. "Yimoul-Za, it would be appear that you have fought off your infection," said he. "I can only hope that our burgeoning friendship will not be affected by my cowardly..."
Ooro trailed off. His beak dropped open.
"My copy of Sir Arthour's Treatise on the Numenera!" Ooro cried. He became a blur as he rushed toward the tattered volume resting on one of the tables. "My sisters scrimped for years to purchase this for me!"
He hugged the book to his chest. Perhaps at the memory of his sisters, Ooro's face darkened. Then he spied something else belonging to him. Ooro sped across the room and seized a large pyramid-shaped cypher.
"My work! My prided work!" Ooro held the cypher up and danced in a sliding motion across the floor. The clear synth pyramid caught the light of the room, reflecting and refracting it in impossible ways, ways that appeared to cause the light to make right angles before hitting their surroundings.
Gormin caught sight of some shins and gems piled neatly on another table. He eyed them greedily. "One of you must be rich, or else this is a down payment for whatever suicide mission our captors have planned for us," he speculated aloud, gesturing toward the money.
At that moment, the whole room started to ripple and blur, as if parts of time and space were moving at opposite angles to other, more static parts.
Ooro was stuffing the pyramid in his crimson satchel. "Calaval's teeth!" he exclaimed at the sudden anomaly.
Three hideous, segmented purple creatures rippled into the room then, seemingly from thin air. They looked like the gargantuan larvae of some crystalline insect, with serrated crushing mandibles. The fabric of space seemed to ripple around them.
Though Gormin had never seen such creatures before, he immediately assumed them to be hostile and attacked without hesitation. He still happened to be holding the round shield he had just picked up and swung it at the closest, catching it full in the "face". The creature chittered and recoiled. It was then engulfed in a blaze of yellow light as bright as the sun—Yimoul-Za's Onslaught, Gormin recognized.
Gormin drew his sword. Before he could follow up on the creature he'd injured though, Syrus' whip snaked out in a blinding flash, cracking against its crystalline hide. The creature rippled out. Gormin breathed an impolite oath. Retreating to its home dimension? One can only hope.
His respite didn't last long. He swung his shield around just in time to fend off one of the other creatures as it tried to bite him. The edge of his shield caught it in the left eye cluster, splitting open an eye that oozed grey pus.
The third creature sunk its mandibles into Ooro, who keened in pain.
"Leave him alone, you... larvae!" Yimoul-Za shouted as he sent a beam of sunfire flying towards the crystalline monster attacking Ooro.
Gormin grinned fiercely, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline and followed up on his own creature, circling around it, seeking to strike at an angle it wouldn't be able to see because of its blinded eye. A carefully aimed sword thrust sliced up into an "armour" joint in the creature’s neck, angling into its head. A gout of grey-green fluid gushed out, but the thrust had failed to kill it.
Gormin's circling had put the others behind him. "Thank you, friend Yimoul-Za," he heard Ooro call out. "Perhaps the larva will enjoy this?" The sound of another Onslaught.
Gormin heard Syrus' whip crack again, but had no time to spare a glance back. The enraged and injured monster was lunging at him with mandibles open wide.
Gormin sensed trouble behind him and instinctively ducked out of the way as Syrus flew past, flung as easily as a rag-doll by the other creature. Syrus tumbled directly into the path of Gormin's foe, which promptly sunk in its mandibles.
"Me help," squawked an injured Syrus.
Yimoul-Za and Ooro fired off Onslaughts nearly simultaneously, this time trying to save Syrus. "Perish, foul beings. Go back to the null-time you came from!" cried Yimoul-Za.
The nanos' esoteric magic engulfed the creature in an intense blaze of blinding white-hot light. Gormin caught a whiff of a strong acidic odour; suddenly the creature burst asunder, spattering the group with sticky purple ichor...
And leaving behind the prone body of a dark-haired man wearing a blue tunic and a voluminous red cape. Well, that was unexpected. Gormin remained in his combat stance—head low and shield forward, ready to protect himself from any further trouble this mysterious newcomer might offer.
The remaining purple creature, perhaps deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, rippled out of existence, back to wherever it came from.
The stranger in the red cape picked himself up off the floor.
***
Tempus
Tempus strode toward the frozen lightning across the featureless grey plain, his voluminous red cape streaming behind him.
Suddenly the grey surface around him rippled and shook, sending him sprawling. The "sky" cleared; he looked up to see an enormous, distorted view of a hideous grey face, covered in large boil-like growths, repeated four times around the dome of the sky.
The hideous faces' mouths split into equally hideous grins and seemed to lunge toward him. The ground shuddered and rents began to open in it, from which gushed gouts of grey-green pus.
The hideous face pulled back for a moment, then suddenly rushed forward again. Tempus noted that the large central image was full-face-on; the other four images were the same face from slightly different angles.
The face in the sky whirled away, now visible only in two of the smaller images. In the center of the dome, the ugly face was suddenly replaced by a handsome face with curly blond hair; the new face was twisted in pain.
If all else fails, Onslaught! Tempus stretched forth his hand toward the apex of the dome. Reality blurred and time slowed for an instant, then the energy bolt, somewhat resembling a fast-moving heat-shimmer, streaked upward toward the enormous face. It struck, the dome blurred and darkened, the ground bucked, and Tempus lost his footing.
Suddenly, the very air around him became an intense blaze of blinding white-hot light...
***
"Welcome to Ninth World, strange one. You keep interesting company." Tempus turned to face the one who'd said that. It was a skeane, an intelligent feathered amphibian. As if as an afterthought, the skeane added, "Additionally, it is important to note that I am in an interesting amount of pain..."
He doubled over and groaned. After a moment, the skeane seemed to recover himself and straightened up.
"Much better," he said, continuing to address Tempus. "Now, human who dwells in larva skin, tell us why you attacked our party, or we will allow Gormin to practice his terrible craft on you."
With a wink, it stage-whispered to one of the others. "No offense intended, friend Gormin. I simply conjecture that a threat involving you will cause more fear than a threat involving a meter-tall flipperman."
Tempus blinked in confusion.
The one Tempus presumed to be Gormin scoffed but said nothing. Tempus recognized him as the ugly face in the dome. He looked down at the purple ichor and bits of crystal scattered about the floor. Chronal feeder, he realized. The temporal locus must have been inside it somehow. The dome was its multifaceted eye. Fascinating.
Tempus addressed the skeane. "I assure you that I have no ill intentions towards your party nor did I initiate any attacks. As a gesture of goodwill, I can attempt to patch your wounds with whatever healing ability I have."
A wooden creature with a vine-like neck ending in a large single eye approached and examined him closely for a moment. "So this was inside the larvae? Interesting... And whereabouts might you have come from? Did these beings that have trapped us here decide to test you also?" asked the creature.
Tempus turned to the creature and smiled, "Ah, a golthiar! My village used to have dealings with some of your kind! Well, that was before they... disappeared. I'm afraid I have become somewhat 'unstuck' in time and reality. I found myself in an empty dimensional plane trapped within a dome. When I attacked the dome and destroyed it, I found myself here. I have no idea what else happened here or why these creatures were attacking you."
As Tempus looked over the first living creatures he had seen in quite a while, he sensed the effects of time on them acutely. The bark on the golthiar sloughing off like dead skin, wrinkles developing on the faces and skin of the humans, cells dying and falling off all of them. This chronal vision was acquired when he'd entered the portal in the Compart, and he'd ever after been reminded constantly of the mortality of his fellow living beings and the effects of time on them.
He'd found this rather bleak premonition would often have an unnerving effect on people when he explained it to them, and he preferred to avoid the topic with casual acquaintances. He avoided the topic now.
Tempus continued, asking gently, "Was that what happened to all of you? You were trapped and tested on? I suppose I could view my experience in the dome similarly."
"Everyone seems to have had an interesting time," said an amused female voice. Tempus turned. The speaker was a tall, attractive human female leaning against an open circular door frame, holding a plate of rodinza melon slices. She had dark, wavy hair with a single white streak. Tempus wondered if the effect was natural or artificial.
"I seem to have overslept," she announced. "I'm Kiraz; I don't believe we've been introduced."
"Indeed, introductions are overdue, now that we have a second to spare. I am Tempus," intoned Tempus with his powerful baritone voice. "Master of time!" He favored Kiraz with a gallant flourish and bow. Kiraz merely raised an eyebrow.
The skeane spoke up again. "So... we're just going to trust a man that came out of an insect hide merely because the man says he is trustworthy?" he said and held up his hands in what was probably supposed to be a threatening manner.
"Because that's my plan!" He extended both hands in the skeane greeting to Tempus. "Swimming through life without trusting others is like walking."
He opened his beak wide and looked around as though expecting the others to laugh, then seemed to realize his error.
"Er, a thousand apologies. It appears that particular skeane saying doesn't translate well in the Truth. Regardless, Tempus, I am Ooro of the City of Rust. Iadace."
Ooro surveyed the wreckage of the surrounding room. "We must never be caught floundering again. Stupid flounders. I advise that we arm ourselves with the wisdom of the past. Cyphers, cyphers, and more cyphers are the key to victory. That and being fleet of fin," he added with a smile.
"Flying is not my thing," someone else mumbled. Tempus recognized the speaker as the handsome face from the dome. "Welcome, uhh.... Master of Time? I am a master of the um... Whip." He started to turn away, then suddenly looked back, "S- Syrus, my name is... Syrus".
Syrus, Master of the Whip, turned and started sorting through some piles of equipment spilled from overturned tables. Tempus noted that Syrus appeared to be injured also.
Gormin cleared his throat as he wiped the feeder gore off his sword. "As our fine flippered friend mentioned, I'm Gormin. And as you can see, my specialty is being the most beautiful." He let out a bark of raspy laughter at his own joke. Gormin's voice was almost as unpleasant as his face; Tempus wondered what was wrong with him. "Our captor said he or they would meet us in person here. I presume that's not you. I wonder if that was them." He gestured vaguely at the remains of the exploded chronal feeder.
"Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive," came a voice from above. "Relax and take time; you are safe here."
Tempus looked up. The speaker was a very thin, middle-aged male human, wearing the orange and black colours of an Aeon Priest and an orange skullcap. He stood twenty feet above, on a platform at the top of a spiral stair in the centre of the room. His hands rested on the platform's waist-high rail.
The priest belatedly noticed the aftermath of the battle with the chronal feeders. He tsked. "By the Truth, you are certainly belligerent. Admirable survival traits in the Beyond; but remember, not everything can be solved by fighting."
Tempus heard Gormin snort derisively at that.
The priest smiled. "I am Frater Bellias and I am here to help, guide, and brief you for the coming task."
The golthiar spoke up. "Well, first I must compliment you on the excellent breakfast and rest provided. Would you happen to have more of that fermented squirrel?" he asked. "I am Yimoul-Za, golthiar and blessed of the Sun," he continued without waiting for a response. "I am willing to listen to your task, but you said all will be answered here. So, may I ask, will this task bring me nearer to finding a skyship that will bring me to the Sun?"
"He knows who we are, I'm sure," grumbled Gormin. He gestured dismissively toward the man on the platform. "All this, the margr yesterday, and all this today is all him. His twisted little test." He turned away muttering and stalked toward the tables of equipment.
"He may be responsible for the margr and us being here, but he may not know what our names are. I am Kiraz. What is it that you want of us?" asked Kiraz guardedly.
"Iadace Kiraz, Iadace Yimoul-Za." Frater Bellias paused to peer at Yimoul-Za. "I have never seen your like before, even in my studies. I would welcome the chance to study you more."
Bellias then pressed his lips together irritably and looked over to Gormin. "A test? A twisted test? Yes, friend, the arena was a test of your abilities, for how else are we to judge if you possess the right skills to carry out your mission for us? But today," he said, gesturing at the ichor on the floor and walls, "this was not of our making and was not planned for."
Bellias seemed to notice Tempus then. He frowned and looked as if to say something, but hesitated.
"Let us move into the lounge area where we can talk more."
The priest stepped back from the platform's rail and began to descend the spiral stairs. Tempus looked around the room. The room was circular, with huge windows spanning about a quarter of the wall. A heavy rain made it hard to discern much of the world outside, but it appeared to Tempus that they were looking down at a seaport from a high vantage point. By the windows were several comfortable-looking sofas and low tables, some of them overturned in the recent fighting. That seemed to be the lounge area to which Bellias was now headed. The floor was a multicolored enamel mosaic of the Order of the Truth's four-lobed symbol.
Frater Bellias reached a lounger and sat down. He gestured for the others to join him.
Tempus moved to the lounge area. Up close he could see that Bellias had amber-coloured eyes. Interesting. Tempus took a closer look at gear piled and scattered about and his eyes lit up as he spied a number of powerful cyphers interspersed with the other items. "By the corpus of Kronos!" he breathed. "What a find! These cyphers... I must review them immediately." From his backpack he extracted his leather-bound book on numenera, The Chronicles, and began examining and cataloguing the cyphers.
One of the cyphers was an innocuous-looking metal wristband with small controls set into the surface. It did not seem to have an entry in The Chronicles. Tempus poked at it gingerly, and the device sprang to life with a low-pitched hum. A shifting pattern of rapidly blinking lights appeared on its small screen, randomly moving, more or less counterclockwise. Tempus suddenly had the vague premonition that the wristband was aware of its surroundings... and searching. He suppressed that ominous thought. Probably nothing. He continued looking through the other cyphers as Frater Bellias continued to speak. The wristband continued to hum.
Tempus discovered among the cyphers an electric buzzer and a water weapon. No one else seemed eager to claim these items so he picked them up and pocketed them.
"Morning, everybody," drawled a new voice from behind him. Tempus turned. A lanky youth with a mop of dirty blond hair was standing in the doorway. "Did I miss anything?" He was eating a piece of frumenth roll.
The wristband's electronic hum quickly rose in pitch and volume to a deafening screech. Suddenly it projected a glowing sphere of green light that enveloped the newcomer, whose eyes widened in sudden fear. Before he could react further, the sphere retracted to a pinpoint of light in the screen of the wristband. Then the wristband itself seemed to fold inward, vanishing into a pinpoint of green light that hung in the air for a moment before it, too, disappeared.
The youth with the dirty blond hair was gone.
Tempus grimaced. "Must be something wrong with the frumenth rolls. I wouldn't eat them if I were you. Er, does anyone know who that was... by the way?"
From a pocket in his robe Frater Bellias pulled out a flat, oval-shaped numenera device and a metal stylus. He made a quick note on the device and put it away.
"The numenera is not to be trifled with lightly," he chided with a shake of his head. "A sad, sad loss. That device would have warranted much further study."
He looked out the window at the summer storm and sighed. "Come, sit. There is much to discuss."
Yimoul-Za sat, fidgeting. Tempus noticed the light in its eye shifting colors. Though he did not know golthiar light-language, he could see plainly that the golthiar was distressed.
"I prefer to stand," said Gormin. He also doesn't sound too happy, thought Tempus. "Mission, eh? Well, I just have two questions about any mission: Will there be killing involved? And will there be payment involved? If not the former, then I will have to charge extra for the latter. And if not the latter then no deal. And, er, did you just... send Krystogh to another dimension in that wristband?"
Frater Bellias seemed shocked at Gormin’s suggestion about the disappearance of Krystogh. "In the Truth, no. It was a sad waste; that piece of numenera could have been very valuable."
He stared out of the windows. "Your questions are not what I expected. Killing? How can I answer that in the Truth? I am not telling you to kill anyone or anything that is not necessary. The plan has been worked out so that nothing can go wrong."
Frater Bellias gestured towards the tables. "Payment, you ask for. Have we not provided far more that was delivered to us from the Bridge Tavern? Is acting in the service of and receiving the blessing of the Amber Pope not sufficient recompense?"
Before anyone could respond to that, he held up his right hand. Tempus noted a deep, rope-like burn across the back of it. Frater Bellias locked eyes with Tempus and hastily hid the injured hand behind his back.
"You are to journey into the north of the Steadfast; it has all been planned out for you. Nothing major can go wrong. Such trifles as you find upon the way are yours to keep, as payment. However, in the Truth, your duty to the Truth is to record, report, and preserve all understanding for the Arechive. Now, your mission is thus…" Bellias paused to collect his thoughts.
Yimoul-Za broke in. "Serve the Arechive? But will that help my goal so I can find my destiny of revitalising the sun? What is knowledge without life and survival? Is there no answer for what I seek? What purpose does knowledge serve by itself?" he demanded.
His woody fingers moved over the knotted belt on his robe, absentmindedly touching a particular spot. The spot shone forth like a miniature sun. "If there is to be a new age for truth and knowledge, we must ensure that the world continues, yes?" he concluded more calmly. He dismissed the illumination and the light faded from the knot on his belt.
Tempus nodded, empathizing with the golthiar. "Fear not, Yimoul-Za. I too have my own needs and goals. I need to find my wife Ora and the rest of my village. And I am sure along the way we will find someone who can help you find a way to revitalize the sun. For knowledge builds on itself, and knowledge useful to the Amber Pope may find a way to be useful to you and me."
Frater Bellias frowned at the interruption. "I am not aware of any problems concerning the sun and certainly they will not affect the plan." He paused again, trying to gauge Yimoul-Za’s reaction and obviously failing. He pulled the device from his pocket and made another note. He leaned forward, his face earnest. "In the Truth, Yimoul-Za, once the mission is completed according to the plan, then I will help you investigate."
He leaned back and addressed the group. "Now, as you are all aware, there is a looming threat on the northern borders of the Steadfast, from the abominations called the Gaians. You may have heard that the Gaians fight differently to normal humans. The Truth is, their armies are made up of twisted, misshapen creatures: Steadfast prisoners taken in raids and stretched and warped in agony to make up their foul army."
Bellias shuddered and made the sign of the Order with his hand. He continued, "Recently, in Navarene, a construct appeared in the centre of a large village. Be warned; this image may make you uneasy."
He keyed a control on his note-taking device and it projected a rotating image in the centre of the lounge area: a large multi-faced object of what might be red synth, its sharp curved surfaces shot with pulsing black lines.
Gormin's face twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Now that's more like it. You want us to kill some hippies and their gibbering horrors and take their stuff? Why didn't you just say so? Plan sounds great so far. Proceed." He turned his back and and proceeded himself to rummage through what was left of the items.
Turning to Bellias, Tempus asked, "I noticed the rope-like burn across the back of your hand. If you do not mind my asking, how did you come to be injured? And these Gaians sound formidable. Surely you would not send us against them unprepared. Will you be able to provide support in the form of armor, weapons, and cyphers?"
Bellias hastily hid his hand again. "It is nothing—something of no import." He seemed perturbed as he spoke. "You have armour, weapons and cyphers already; also the plan has been worked out perfectly for you to follow. This is what you will do…"
"No. They are not ready."
The voice came from the raised platform. Tempus looked up. The speaker was a tall, dark-skinned man wearing orange and silver robes with the embroidered symbol of the Order displayed prominently. He wore also a domed silver headdress. Standing next to him was a gleaming golden automaton, its smooth ovoid head totally featureless save for the Order's eye-symbol, approximately where a nose would normally be.
Bellias stood and bowed. "Venerence Aliser."
Yimoul-Za groaned. "So when will we be ready?" Unimpressed by the signifiers of human authority, thought Tempus.
Tempus decided to take Bellias' lead and bowed respectfully to Aliser, remaining silent for now. He seems very familiar. His lowered head hid his frown as he tried furiously to recall what he knew of this Venerence Aliser.
"An Episcope of the Aeon Priests!" blurted out Ooro. He bowed awkwardly toward Aliser. "I have dreams upon dreams of joining your number! What must I do to become one with the Order of Truth!?"
Venerence Aliser rested his hands on the rail of the platform. "To become a full member of the Order would take many years of training at the Durkhal—indeed, a lifetime's dedication. Are you prepared to give that?" he asked skeptically. "However, you can become an adherent of the Truth here in the Arechive. To do this you need to find and present to us a unique piece of numenera. Your status as to your acceptance into the Order will be debated by the Circulus."
Without hesitation, Ooro pulled out the pyramid-shaped cypher from his bag and placed it on the floor before him. Tempus recognized the device as a mystery box—an incredibly powerful cypher that was at least as dangerous to the user as to the user's foes.
"I wish to start the path to adherence to the Truth," said Ooro, pressing himself to the floor obsequiously. "And, as such, I give my all in service of the Order. Will this box suffice? If not, I will go with my podmates in hopes of uncovering a device such as will meet the needs of the Order."
Venerence Aliser gazed down upon Ooro with that look of supercilious paternal beneficence that was peculiar to senior religious leaders. "A skeane," he breathed. "One such as you would be a great asset to my Arechive. However, you must be accepted by the Circulus. In the Truth, the pyramid will do nicely."
Without any obvious cue from Aliser, the faceless golden servitor descended the stairs and picked up the mystery box. As it did so, the Episcope put his hands behind his back and addressed the group again.
"I do not think you are ready for the mission into Navarene," he repeated. "I require a further test of your passion, your drive, and your loyalties to the Truth. Frater Bellias! Have the messengers to Fallside left yet?"
"Venerence, no," replied Frater Bellias.
"Good. Recall them. These," said Aliser, spreading his hands face-up to take in the group, "will take their place."
Bellias bowed. "In the Truth, your Venerence. It will be done for the Truth." He clicked off the projection of the red construct.
The lights in Yimoul-Za's eye flickered and glared. "Well, what does this new task require!?"
Frater Bellias answered. "This is a change to the plan that I shall have to factor in. However, Venerence Aliser wishes it so."
He consulted the device, then spoke in measured tones. "Three days journey to the east is a village on the coast called Fallside. One of our Order, Frater Neymich, has made his home there. You are to carry a sealed message to him; deliver it and then return here. You have twenty-eight hours to make your preparations to leave. The message will be given to you on your departure."
Gormin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You need six people to deliver a message? What's the catch?"
Venerence Aliser responded. "There are those—members of the Convergence or the Jagged Dream—who would seek to steal our secrets. The message is in the form of a sealed cylinder that you must carry to Frater Neymich. Frater Bellias will supply further details."
Yimoul-Za tapped his staff impatiently against the floor. "Strange folk, eh, Seed Brother?"
Tempus fingered his cape nervously and decided to speak up, "I recall that the people in Fallside fall into red and green factions, but my meagre knowledge ends there. Do you know the significance and differences between the two factions? Which faction does Frater Neymich belong to? And can we borrow appropriate clothing if needed? And can we please buy additional supplies such as healing kits and climbing gear?"
Aliser seemed to notice Tempus for the first time. His white eyebrows rose slightly. "We have met before, I think, although you did not wear that face," he said.
Tempus politely inclined his head to Aliser. "Ah, I did not realize that I left such a deep impression that you would remember our last meeting. You too have changed since the last meeting—I take it that you found our discussion meaningful?"
Frater Bellias frowned in evident confusion. He looked from Tempus, to Aliser, and back again. When he realized the Episcope had nothing more to say, he answered Tempus. "Frater Neymich belongs to no faction; he is a member of the Order of the Truth. By clothing, I presume you mean red or green, to blend in?" He glanced up again at Venerence Aliser, who was peering thoughtfully at Ooro. "In the Truth, I assure you there is no need to employ such subterfuge. Fallside is the site of a large factory that processes black sludge into red and green sludge. The red faction processes the red sludge; the green faction processes the green sludge. I understand that there is limited social contact between the two factions; something that Frater Neymich was eager to study. "
He paused and looked out the rain-streaked windows again; the storm was showing no signs of abating. Tempus wondered what was so interesting out there that Bellias couldn't help repeatedly looking at it.
"You have twenty-eight hours to prepare," Bellias repeated. "There are many traders and grossiers in the city that sell supplies. Alas, the Arechive can provide no further funding—that brehm-brained Loarn bankrupted us in his fool’s quest."
"I was hoping for some more of that fermented squirrel, but so be it. Yes, let's prepare. I hope we will be keeping the rooms we had? That drit was great, truly," said Yimoul-Za. Then as if struck by a sudden thought, he asked, "What is the significance of the colour difference of the sludge? Is one food and the other fertilizer?"
Frater Bellias shrugged. "I do not know. I believe they do something with it, but I do not know what that is. Frater Neymich is the best person to advise you."
Gormin frowned at Tempus, then turned back to Aliser. "So we are free to go, then? Or is there anything else?"
"Make your preparations. You may leave when you are ready. Frater Bellias will give you the message cylinder when you are ready to depart." Venerence Aliser turned without waiting for a response. The golden servitor holding Ooro's mystery box turned as well. A door in the platform's central column slid open silently, revealing another spiral staircase, this one leading upwards. Bellias and Tempus bowed low again as Aliser and the servitor departed, the door sliding shut behind them.
Syrus was still going through the gear from the tables. Tempus noticed he was looking down the length of a verred, a double-edged sword that forked into two single-edged blades about halfway down its length. Very useful in the right hands, Tempus knew, though swords were not his area of expertise.
Kiraz walked leisurely up to Syrus. "I notice that you are proficient at using the whip. Is there any way that I could have that verred, as I am knowledgeable in its use?" she asked politely.
The blade slipped suddenly from Syrus' fingers. It clattered noisily on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up and hand it to Kiraz, "Here," he mumbled.
Turning back to Frater Bellias he bowed awkwardly and muttered, "Um... s- sorry."
Bellias just sighed, made another note on his device, and with one final look out the window, he too departed.
Kiraz put the verred in its scabbard and attached it to her belt. "Thank you." She favored Syrus with a smile, who of course blushed. An awkward silence descended.
Ooro broke the silence. "I suggest we go back to the meal table and discuss our plans. We should also discuss the disappearance of our podmate Krystogh and what must done to rescue him. Additionally, I must admit I am anxious to talk of the message our honorable patrons would have us deliver." Ooro looked around as if for eavesdroppers and stage-whispered, "Would it be dishonorable to attempt to pierce the message cylinder with a Scan esotery? I am more than passing curious..."
Gormin scoffed. "Can't believe I'm going along with this. We should buy an aneen and have it carry a large multi-person tent..."
Tempus tuned out Gormin and the others discussing the logistics of the trip. His curiosity was piqued by the red synth structure Bellias had shown them. He flipped through his precious Chronicles, searching for similar numenera that might give a clue as to its purpose and function.
After a while, he found that The Chronicles had a possible reference to it, but with no dates given.
"It is said that Vadras the Glint was stopping in a tavern in the town of Kularn, in Thaemor. A man sold the barkeep a strange device of red synth that hurt Vadras’ head to look upon it. That night, the patrons of the tavern fell to violence and tore each other to pieces. Vadras returned a year later; the town was a ruin, littered with bodies that had all died violently. Of the device there was no trace."
That was all. Tempus closed the book.
***
Yimoul-Za
Down by way of the elevator, out the metal double-doors onto a pier of the City of Bridges, and south to the Hub, the city's centre of commerce. The wind was still gusting hard, driving the rain almost horizontally, and the waves were breaking over the lower piers, rocking the boats at their moorings.
Though Yimoul-Za preferred the sun, the wind and rain did not bother him a bit. The others may prefer to patch up their wounds and wait for the storm to let up, but Yimoul-Za was impatient to get started.
The storm broke as Yimoul-Za made his way toward the Hub. At last, the blessed sun has come out from behind the clouds of grey! The clouds started to clear, driven by the strong onshore wind. The sun was hot, too; the rainwater was already turning to plumes of steam rising from every surface. The city came to life as more people started to venture outdoors.
Yimoul-Za was fascinated by the market, particularly the countless different kinds of plants for sale, although he stopped to examine nearly everything that was for sale, plant or not.
In the Hub's central plaza, he espied a striking woman made of flowstone striking a regal pose atop an ornate pedestal. A faint smile crossed the woman's stone lips, and her unmoving hooded cloak flared out behind her as if she were standing boldly in a strong wind. Unable to get the woman's attention, he asked a passer-by about her.
"The statue, strange friend, you mean?" said the passer-by. "That is Lady Janira, niece of the King and mayor of the City of Bridges."
"She doesn't get much work done in a stone state like that, does she? Or does she fleshturn when necessary?" Yimoul-Za asked the passer-by.
"Woodman, are you brehm-brained?" The passer-by shook his head. "That is called a statue. It is a representation—an icon, an image of our mayor. The real mayor is working hard in the Coral Palace."
Yimoul-Za realised his error. "She is woman of great importance? Of great knowledge? Is she learned in history and knowledge?" Yimoul-Za asked the passerby, occasionally turning his eye to the sun.
"Of great importance? She is mayor of the city and related to the King."
Yimoul-Za was unimpressed. "Er, yes, related to the King. But my question is, what knowledge does she have? Does being royalty impart great knowingness? Such as knowing how to find a skyship? Or maybe she might have one in her garden?" Yimoul-Za gestured towards the sky, his eyeball bobbing up and down enthusiastically, a little too close to the man for comfort.
The man backed away nervously. "Don’t get that close to me and don’t do that. In the Truth, get away from me; I don’t want to talk to you anymore."
Yimoul-Za heard an authoritative voice speak behind him. "Is everything all right here?"
He turned. Two swordstaff-carrying guards, wearing beastskin armour and tall metal helmets stood there. Their helmets were embossed with the three-bridge-and-tower symbol of the City.
Yimoul-Za greeted the guards cheerfully. "Iadace! This kind gentleman was telling me about Lady Janira. Inform me please, would the Lady know about skyships? Is she a woman of great knowing?" he burbled enthusiatically, the light in his eye glittering.
The two guards glanced at each other and smiled slightly; one spoke.
"Oh, yes, she knows about everything. Just go to the Coral Palace, knock and ask to speak to her. Say Krish and Paquet sent you. Take care and be seeing you."
The guards turned and resumed patrolling the Hub.
Yimoul-Za, surprised at his good luck, called out after them. "Thank you! Thank you! May you be encased in good drit!" He waved goodbye also in the general direction that the passer-by had disappeared to and made his way toward the Coral Palace.
***
Ooro
Unafraid of the market crowds, and feeling invigorated by the day's humidity, Ooro mingled, asking a number of passers-by if any skeane make their lodgings in town. This close to the sea, there are sure to be at least a handful of skeane nearby, he thought.
Though humans—and golthiar—were enjoyable podmates, Ooro was missing skeane camaraderie. He wanted to celebrate the first step on his journey to the Aeon Priesthood with his people.
Ooro had never been to the City of Bridges before, but like most people he'd heard some things about this place. He knew that although Ghan was a kingdom, ruled by King Laird from the Coral Palace, the people lived free and acknowledged the King only in name, having little use for government and aristocracy. Ghanic fleets ranged across the known world.
None of the vendors and grossiers Ooro dealt with seemed overly surprised to see his like; he assumed they had seen skeane before. Several of them confirmed that this was correct. In fact, he was told, a community of skeane lived in the water near to the industrial docks.
A skeane named Uinia greeted him as soon as he dived from the docks into the sea. She led the way to a tethered globe. Passing through a familiar set of membranes, he entered the habitat. Ah, the glorious richness of true skeane life!
Uinia showed him what they were up to, using waste from the industrial docks above to produce phlorrin.
"Can you believe that they eat fish and other piscines, yet throw the bones away?" Uinia asked incredulously.
Ooro remarked excitedly that it must be wonderful to live in a city of the free, not under the tyranny of the Scylines. The skeane burbled, beaks parted in the skeane show of amusement.
"Free? Friend Ooro, this is not a city of the free," said Uinia. "They live under the same tyranny as we do, only in their terms."
The sweet taste of home is like an old friend, thought Ooro, but Uinia's words are sour to the stomach. "The same tyranny? How so? I see false gods worshiped. None like the cursed four, of course, but that is to be expected in the Ninth World. Unless you speak of..." Ooro looked around surreptitiously and continued, "... other tyrannies? What troubles you, friend Uinia? Your struggles and my struggles are one."
Uinia paused a long time before answering. "This city is not as free as some would believe. The King rules in name only; the true power behind him is his podbrother and the podbrother’s podbrood. The people are kept in line by fear, their aggression relieved by the bloodsports in the arena every moon. Yet they neglect basic defences. This city is made of metal, sinking deep into the ocean. I have seen nests of mercurial wasps that are chewing into the towers and pillars. If it goes on, this city is doomed."
"Mercurial wasps? Fascinating." said Oroo. "You must tell me where. Do you have a map to their hives? Such creatures must be studied. And captured, of course," he added quickly. "They could seriously damage the city. Will any of you help me rid your adopted home of this scourge?"
Uinia visibly shuddered, and the other skeane suddenly were busy at various tasks.
"Podbrother, you do not capture or study mercurial wasps. If you find a nest, you surface it and destroy it. That is the way."
Uinia turned away, making it clear that the conversation was over.
***
Gormin
Filjar the diminutive aneen salesman was clearly a mutant. With his thick thighs, elongated legs and small, twisted arms, he looked more than a bit like the aneen he had just sold Gormin.
"On second thought," said Gormin, "I will go ahead and take the aneen with me now instead of coming back tomorrow. I'm sure the Arechive has a suitable stable. If they have space to keep broken hounds and bellowhearts, they will have space for one aneen."
Gormin watched the mutant to see if he would react to the casual mention of the Arechive.
Filjar gave him a thoughtful look. "Broken hounds and bellowhearts, say you? It is the first I have heard of the Arechive keeping such a menagerie. I have never seen a bellowheart in the city. What would they do with it?"
"Oh, aye. Broken hounds, a bellowheart, trained margr, and who knows what else? Rippy-fish! Can't forget those. For the arena, you know. If you were there in the crowd yesterday you may recognize me. I work for the Arechive now, apparently. Haha! Well, be seeing you, pleasure doing business." Gormin took the lead of his new pack aneen—a mostly hairless muscular biped more than twice his height—and turned toward the door.
The aneen-seller blinked. "The Arechive runs the arena? No, friend, you have that wrong. The arena was established on the instructions of the Lady Janira Vanlith, mayor of this city, to keep the citizens satisfied."
He glanced around and gestured at Gormin to come back. He did so. The salesmutant leaned in closer, his voice a conspiritorial whisper. "King Laird of the House of Vanlith is not interested in being King; he is a merchant and sailor at heart. He believes that his subjects are content and happy. In the Truth, this city is run by his brother Shallin, acting as King’s advisor, through his daughters. Twins, they are, identical to look at. One, Lady Janira, is mayor of the city; decrees are issued in her name, but they come from him. The other, Lady Jamira…" He visibly shuddered and glanced around again. "Jamira is head of the Rakoth, the secret police. They say she is skilled in ten thousand ways of causing pain."
The merchant fell silent as a large orange-and-black scarab crawled out from under the table.
Gormin laughed. "Pain, you say? This Lady Jamira sounds like my type. Finally some people around here who have some sense. Is she single?" He winked lewdly and laughed at the merchant's flabbergasted expression, then took his leave, aneen in tow.
The scarab spread its wings and whirred as it flew off across the Hub.
***
Yimoul-Za
The Coral Palace took up most of one giant platform in the northwest of the city, as far as possible from the bridge that led to the mainland. From a distance, it indeed looked to be made of a purple-pink coral. Surrounding the palace's platform were piers and docks with many ships moored.
Closer, he saw that the palace was in fact a series of co-joined metal buildings, large portions of which were covered by the coral. The "coral" had thousands of small pores and openings; from some of these seeped a pale, salty-smelling fluid. Yimoul-Za found it very fascinating.
The heavy main doors of the palace were surrounded by the weeping coral and closed. But at Yimoul-Za's approach, a set of stronglass doors on a balcony above slid open. A striking young woman emerged onto the balcony, flanked by four guards. The guards wore ornate scale armor and regalia, and had helmets and polearms; the woman wore a robe the exact color of Olinthian blue mushrooms at harvest time, and she had a crown of yellow ulex flowers in her auburn hair. She smiled at Yimoul-Za.
One of the guards spoke up. "State your business here, strange being."
"Iadace! I have come from the Arechive and I wish to speak to Lady Janira. I have been sent by the kind gentlemen Krish and Paquet! I hear she might have knowledge of reviving the sun!"
The woman giggled. With her left hand she withdrew a small object from a pouch on her belt.
Yimoul-Za decided the woman resembled the statue, perhaps not identical, but it was difficult to be certain. How do humans tell each other apart? he wondered.
"The Lady Janira is occupied at the moment. I am Lady Isla Vanlith, custodian of the Coral Palace of King Laird Vanlith, ruler of the Sea Kingdom of Ghan. I will convey your request to Lady Janira. Return here in two days. As a token, wear this on your lapel. The guards will recognise it and admit you."
She opened her left hand, revealing a large orange-and-black scarab-like numenera device. It spread its wings, rose into the air, and whirred down toward Yimoul-Za.
***
Syrus
Given the time to go into town and do a little shopping to prepare for the trip, Syrus saw the others go off on their own to explore and prepare. We should at least travel in pairs for the safety's sake, he thought. But when he looked for Kiraz to see if she would like to join him, she was nowhere to be found.
Alone, Syrus found his way to the Hub, a bustling marketplace, where goods and services of all kinds could be bought. He'd been here before with his father a few years ago. He remembered it was laid out similarly to the marketplace in Ledon, just bigger.
In the central plaza, across from the mayor's statue, he spied the community notice board at the base of a circular metal tower, where numerous messages and flyers were pinned. Most were written on "skrip", the leathery dried scales of the dossi. A few were on parchment, broken potsherds, or other media. He read a few of the messages.
"Deeko. Missed you in Qi. Meet in Charmonde at the Crosti on the first full moon in Tor. Mala."
"WANTED! A brace of live laak. 10 shins paid. See Bilibon the Physick in Lowport."
"Missed your chance? Looking for a good day out? The arena will open for business again 30th Pretor. Tickets 10 shins per person. Big money to be won!"
"Looking for adventure? Want to make a fortune? Sign on with Captain Imrie and sail for treasure on the ‘Rocinante’."
"Finest aneen steaks cooked to order using my special recipe. Come to Tallin’s in Highport."
"Got a weird thing and you don’t know what it is? I can help. For only 20 shins, I can identify anything. Mr Qiun, a most Truthful Aeon Priest."
"Adventurers! Top prices paid for strange junk that you have found. Find Me in the Hub on odd-numbered days."
Syrus wandered away from the bulletin board. Without prior planning with the group, he decided to purchase only things for himself—rations, a bedroll, regular travel stuff. He had only had a few shins and was not very good at negotiating.
As he was purchasing his gear, he flashed back momentarily but vividly to the day he saw his mother being dragged away. Starting to shake, he quickly paid for the gear and went to find the nearest tavern. He hadn't had a real flashback in a long time. Is the Truth-telling episode affecting my mind?
Syrus didn't want to socialize all that much, so he claimed an empty table in a not-very-reputable-looking establishment and ordered himself a drink... and then another... and maybe another... trying to drown the memory.
***
Tempus
Shadows lengthened as the day retreated. Tempus looked around. Is this the way back to the Arechive? It looked right, but he had a premonition that something was wrong.
Suddenly a striking woman in a grey cloak emerged from the shadows, blocking his way. She stepped in close before Tempus could react and spoke quickly and quietly to him. "You have just come out of the Arechive. Aliser has sent you on a mission. Don’t say anything; I know that I’m correct."
She opened her left hand to reveal red and green gems Tempus reckoned were worth at least 500 shins on the market.
"I would very much like to know what the conversation was about and the mission you have been sent on. There will be a further payment on completion. I can be found at the Venture Inn in Lowport; I will be there tomorrow night after ebb."
Tempus was, needless to say, suspicious of this mysterious woman and her hidden agenda, but was also curious and had no particular reason to love the Amber Pope. He pocketed the gems and whispered back, "Sounds intriguing. I would love to find out more about what you want to know, and meet you at Lowport, but I would like to involve and discuss with my associates first. By the way, do you have a name?"
A faint flicker of a smile played about her lips. "Yes," she answered. She moved back into the shadows and was gone.
***
Ooro
Mercurial wasps! Ooro didn't want to think hard about those nightmares. Aggressive. Angry. Voracious. Deadly. These are words an observer might use to describe a swarm of mercurial wasps, if their venom wasn’t already closing the observer's throat and paralyzing their vocal cords.
Alone again, Ooro considered heading back to the Arechive as he swam aimlessly beneath the city and its many platforms and bridges.
However, his time in the arena had left him feeling a little reckless, and he decided to search the nearby area for a nest of mercurial wasps to destroy. Perhaps eliminating a local scourge will aid my people, as well as the humans of the City, he thought. Might even be able to make use of the poison.
If the swarm is too dangerous, I can swim away and come back with my podmates from the Arechive. Assuming my podmates can swim.
It did not take him long to find a nest. He swam toward it cautiously. Perhaps I can use these rations as bait, he mused.
A sharp blow struck him in the back of the head. He turned to see Uinia and two other skeane. He recognized them as Oannes and Iolo.
"Foolskeane! What are you doing? Are you touched by Ny? You will bring down doom upon us all."
Uinia's eyes widened with fear. Ooro turned to see a swarm of at least a half-dozen foot-long mercurial wasps streaking towards them through the water, their hideous, insectile outlines shifting and phasing into and out of reality.
***
Tempus
Back in the Arechive's lounge area, Frater Bellias was clearly agitated. He'd been most disappointed to learn that only three of the group had returned: Tempus, Gormin, and Yimoul-Za.
"Another test failed. However, there is no time to recruit new people; you three must carry the message. Here is the message." He handed Tempus a sealed tube of grey synth, about a thumbwidth thick and a handspan long. Tempus noted that the rope-like burn on his hand had gone, vanished as if it had never existed.
"You will deliver that to Frater Neymich in Fallside, then return here with any answer. If you leave at sunrise, you should be there by sunset on the third day."
Tempus held up the synth tube, examining it closely. He asked Frater Bellias, "What form or medium is the message inscribed in? Hopefully it's not something contraband or dangerous. We are carrying some cyphers that may interact with numenera in unpredictable ways. And are we expecting any trouble from other parties?" he added. "I noticed that some... individuals... were watching us very closely when we left here today. I am not sure but that we might be waylaid or something. I mean, we wouldn't want to deliver the message late, would we?"
Tempus watched Bellias' reaction closely, keeping his own expression inscrutable.
But at that moment, Kiraz burst into the room. "I think Syrus is in trouble," she announced.
Frater Bellias sighed and made a note on his device.
***
Syrus
When Syrus awoke, he found himself in an alley with one of the barmaids standing over him. He vaguely remembered her from earlier in the evening; she seemed to be in a frantic mood now.
She whispered angrily, "I told you to quit drinking and being unruly. I told you they would toss you out of here." She reached into her pocket and handed him a flask, "Now drink this. It will help what ails you, and... be gone from here. Go, before they come back and do some real damage to you."
Syrus drank from the flask and struggled to his feet. "Th- thank... um... Thank..." She turned away. After pausing to make sure he had his balance, he glanced back toward her and he stumbled toward the mouth of the alley behind the tavern. Need to find the way back to the Arechive before the rest leave. Whatever was in the flask seemed to help, but he still felt in a fog.
At the mouth of the alley, a striking female wearing a hooded cloak emerged from the shadows and blocked his way.
"You have been sent on a mission by Aliser of the Arechive. I want to know what that mission is." She had slate-grey eyes, dead like a shark. She leaned in closer.
"I suggest you tell me now", she whispered. A faint but cruel smile twisted her lips. "Or, after a great deal of pain, I know you will tell me."
Syrus was dimly aware that she was holding a small object concealed in her left hand.
He clutched his forehead and stuttered, "I... I... H-have, but forgot.. Truthfully I... don't have much... forgot... don't r- remember much. Not after last night. I... know we, I mean, I am to travel to sludge city. I forget the name. My head hurts. I n- need to get back..." He attempted to step around her.
The woman cut him off and snarled in a low voice, "Next time we meet, pray to your Amber Pope that you remember. Meanwhile, remember this!"
She revealed the item in her left hand; a jolt of madness coursed through his brain as soon as he caught sight of it. The world went black.
To be continued...
