Tears of the Gods, Part Six - The Broken Cage

As you may have inferred from the post title, this is part six of this story. Chapters one through five can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot. Short installment this time due to vacations, etc. Enjoy!

***

Previously in "Tears of the Gods"

"Die then, beast." Gormin thrust the point of his sword into the margr’s abdomen, killing it.

Yimoul-Za closed his eye as the last of the glittering, hair-like shards winked out of existence. He sighed.

"I'm Lameth and I'm currently heading for the City of Bridges. Actually, I have no real destination—I'm just looking for some adventure. You said something about Fallside; what are you up to? I just came from there..."

Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.

Gormin's face was a gathering storm. "Understand? I understand you're a dissembling sack of drit, jerking us around like puppets on a string..."

"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."

***

Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

Kiraz

Kiraz looked up at the Arechive's tower and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Six stories, yet we have seen so little of the inside of it, she mused. The day was hot and windless—the Arechive's two massive horizontal wind turbines were unmoving. Even the great Wind Spire, visible beyond the Arechive, stood still as well.

The group pressed through the crowd, making their way towards the Arechive. Although the platform the Arechive shared with several other buildings was not as crowded as the Hub or the Palatial platform, it was certainly crowded enough to be uncomfortable to Kiraz. And although it was technically not as hot today as during their journey to Fallside, the lack of wind and the fact that the city was mostly metal made the City of Bridges a truly miserable place to be in Fre.

The group talked as they approached their "home" in the Arechive.

Yimoul-Za was in favor of attending Isla's party. "Perhaps I could arrange for some fine scents and even some blooms," he said. He turned his enormous eye toward Gormin. "When is this wane of the 22 of Fre that the Lady mentioned?"

"22 Fre is nine days from now." Gormin mopped his hairless head with a rag. "I wonder how widely known it is that the palace is alive? Hundreds of people live and work there, and Kresich didn't exactly make a secret of the palace needing to eat."

Before anyone could answer, Lameth cleared his throat and came to a stop. The rest of the group stopped also. He took a deep breath. "My friends, even though we have just met, with regret I must leave you and return home. I... have received a message." He tapped the side of his forehead, as if to indicate just what kind of message. "As you know, I and my kind have the powers of thism—of mind-speaking. We are a close family. A son has been born to one of my kin and, by custom, I must return in person so that I may communicate with the new little one in thism in the future. I go east; the journey will take many weeks, so I must leave now. Farewell friends; perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, may your cyphers never malfunction."

Gormin looked between the Arechive tower and Lameth. "Now?"

Lameth inclined his head in something between a nod and a bow.

Yimoul-Za bowed. "Ah, it is a joyous thing when a new sapling arrives. It has been an honour to meet you and may our paths cross again."

Kiraz gave Lameth a hug. "It was good to meet you. You will be missed but I do wish you the best, and congratulations on the new family member."

Tempus, still holding the herbal poultice to his swollen face, bowed also. "May the young one grow up in time to be as wise and true as you, my friend," he intoned.

Syrus and Gormin looked around awkwardly.

Lameth thanked them, then stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.

What remained of the group entered the tower.

The entrance hall was circular, like every room of every building Kiraz had yet seen in the City, aside from the octagonal arena. She wondered idly if circle-based designs were merely the preferred architectural style, or if all the buildings (like the platforms themselves) were relics of the prior worlds. The entry hall's floor was a colorful enamel mosaic of the Order of Truth's four-eyed symbol, identical to the floor of the lounge in their mercenary quarters.

An arm-less and faceless servitor waited by the door. Kiraz wondered if the Arechive had enough power to run their many machines and wonders despite the wind turbines being at rest.

Gormin poked the servitor in the chest to get its attention. "Get Bellias," he said. "He'll want to know his daughter is alive, and he may have some ideas as to how to get her out of the Palace. Tell him that strange numenera is not my area of expertise; my area of expertise is sticking pointy things in people."

As Gormin spoke, the tiny light-projector in the center of the servitor's otherwise featureless face lit up. A holographic face flickered into existence a finger-width or so in front of the servitor's head. This particular servitor projected a female face.

"I speak in the Truth," the servitor's artificial voice enunciated. "If you wish to convey messages to the Frater then speak, recite, communicate. It will be conveyed to the Frater. I speak in the Truth."

Gormin nodded. Looking self-conscious for a moment, he took a deep breath and bellowed directly into the servitor's face, "Bellias! We saw your daughter in the Coral Palace! She's held in some kind of stasis, underwater! Guarded by tentacled fish with stinging poison! Since your kind are the supposed experts in numenera, perhaps you have an idea how to get her out!"

After a moment, Bellias' voice spoke from the air. "In the Truth, there is no need to shout such, Gormin. Now, consider. Whatever is used to hold my daughter in stasis must be somewhere inside the Coral Palace, and there is every likelihood that its effect can be reversed. Tentacled fish with stinging poison are not native to these waters; they may have come from somewhere near the Rayskel Cays, if they are the species I am thinking of. If so, then they are salt water creatures, and the tank is likely open to the sea from below, to give them a supply of water—although something must prevent their escape. If released, the fish will escape back into the ocean and my daughter can be rescued and unfrozen. There is a grand ball being held at the palace for the Night of the Burning Moon—I will see to arrangements to get you invited."

"Frater Bellias speaks in the Truth," the servitor added. Its holographic face vanished.

Gormin shouted into the servitor's face again. "Bellias! Lady Isla already invited us! Do you have suitable costumes for this party? And have you given consideration to moving Neymich out of the City? He could hole up at that farmstead where that family was murdered!"

No answer from the air or the servitor.

Tempus ventured a comment. "We may wish to consider investigating the Palace from underwater to see if we can free the fish. To that end, I have certain cyphers that may help." He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a pill. "This pill gives the swallower skill in swimming and treading water. It lasts 28 hours or so." He put it away and pulled out a piece of twisted coral about a handspan long. "This is a water weapon; it shoots a bolt of energy, like Toorkman's weapon, but it has only one charge, and it only works underwater."

Gormin frowned. "Exploring underneath the palace will be tricky. Swimming in the ocean so far from the coast is dangerous under the best of circumstances. Too bad our fine flippered friend Ooro is no longer a part of our mercenary band." 

He tapped his chin. "A small boat might work better for us non-amphibians. Hopefully, the unsupported column of water will be obvious from a distance underneath the platform, as will whatever is drawing up the water—I presume an anti-gravity artifact of some kind. Perhaps destroying it will drain the tank. And speaking of our mercenary band, we should name our mercenary band something respectable-sounding in case people ask about us at the party. We can just say, oh I'm with the Shiny Champions. That sounds a lot better than, oh I'm with the group of ruffians kidnapped and enslaved by the Order of Truth. I am open to suggestions on a name."

Tempus smirked. "We seem to be dancing to the tune of an invisible jester. How about the Dancing Jesters?"

Syrus smiled shyly. "Silent but Deadly."

Kiraz rolled her eyes.

Gormin laughed but shook his head. "The name must be one that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies! Or at least not make them laugh."

Yimoul-Za tilted his eye sideways. "The Company of the Broken Cage? Since that is how we began, or at least some of us."

Gormin looked thoughtful for a while. "Hm. The Broken Cage Company sounds good to me. I like it."

Kiraz shrugged.

Gormin gestured vaguely. "Think it over. Meanwhile, I need to pick up some stuff from the Hub while there's still daylight. Also, I want to talk to the aneen-seller. Maybe he supplies the aneen the Palace eats, or knows who does. That might lead to an alternate means of getting into the Palace. He also has a private dock and a small boat he might be willing to rent out. I'll be back before night." He turned and left.

But Kiraz and the rest of the group, having nothing better to do, decided to follow.

***

Gormin

Something was wrong. 

It was not even wane, but the aneen-seller was neither out in front of his shop hawking his wares to passersby, nor inside behind the counter. He could be in the back, behind the curtain, tending to his livestock, but the bell on the door should have summoned him, and Gormin could hear the aneen and brehm back there bellowing, very unsettled. He frowned. There was something else amiss as well, something tugging at his subconscious, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He glanced back at the others in the dimness. Filjar's Best Beasts had no installed artificial lighting, only a series of smallish circular windows set near the ceiling. These, along with a narrow transom over the door, let the sun's light into the wedge-shaped room, but the building was more than tall enough to accommodate aneen (which were twice the height of a tall man), so the small windows just below the faraway ceiling did little to relieve the gloom at ground level.

A strangled, possibly human sob came from the back. Gormin didn't wait to see if the others had heard it—he pulled up his hood and quietly stepped behind the curtain, hoping to not draw the notice of whoever or whatever was up to no good back there.

Filjar's shop was round, like most of the buildings in the City, but instead of round rooms, Best Beasts was divided into five broad wedges and one narrow passageway that all opened onto a small circular nexus about twelve paces across. The front office was one wedge; the other four were animal pens with aneen and brehm, now in a full panic.

On the straw-covered floor of the central nexus was a dead aneen, its chest and belly burst open messily. Blood seeped into the straw around it. Standing over the fallen aneen were three eyeless, bipedal reptiles with leathery beaks, about waist-high, emitting a low-pitched moan in close harmony, just at the edge of hearing. Did they emerge from the aneen? Some kind of parasite? Gormin slowly reached for his weapon, hoping not to alert them. The creatures were red, but it was hard to say in the darkness how much of the red was their skin and how much was aneen gore.

Filjar was to his left, on his knees, moaning with his head clutched in his miniscule hands, echoing the creatures' sound. All three of the beaked creatures faced Filjar.

The creatures' droning moan spoke to Gormin's mind of loss and regret. He realized vaguely that he had been hearing it below the level of conscious awareness since entering the shop.

The creatures, perhaps drawn by the rustle of the curtain, swiveled their heads to face Gormin.

Too late, he understood that their droning was an attack.

***

Date: 2nd Ator in the 366th Year of the Founding

Bii had been left behind.

The grownups were all running. Rawhide tents, whole herds of shiul, heavy tools, anything that couldn't be easily carried was left where it lay as everyone scrambled to escape the funny grey cloud. Gormin could hear his mother frantically calling his name, and he knew he should be with the others underground, but Bii had been left behind. Besides, the cloud was far away. And besides that, it was just a cloud.

The wind started to pick up as he ran through the suddenly empty clan encampment.

He found Bii the Xi-drake in the family tent. According to his parents, Bii had been white once (though Gormin could not remember Bii ever having been white), a floppy winged creature made from bleached rawhide. It was now more of a filthy, worn-out grey. Gormin held up Bii's elongated head so that he could look directly into its mismatched pebble eyes (one rust-orange and roughly triangular, one reddish-orange and more-or-less round).

"There you are. Where have you been?" asked Gormin sternly. If the toy had anything to say for itself, it was pre-empted by the tent-wall's sudden hard flap from a heavy gust of wind. "Time to go. Mom will be mad." He left the tent. All the tents were flapping hard now, straining to break free of the stakes that anchored them to the ground, as if they wanted to escape the cloud too.

The funny cloud wasn't far away any more.

Moments ago, the cloud had been nearly as far away as the horizon. Now, somehow, it was nearly on top of him, preceded by a howling wind threatening to carry the tents away and nearly knocking Gormin off his feet. Much closer now, he could see the cloud appeared to be made of some shimmering dark metal streaked with rust here and there, roiling and writhing like agitated water as it raced forward.

He ran, dragging Bii by his long neck. He didn't get far.

He clutched the toy xi-drake to his chest as the wind slammed into him, lifting him into the air. Pinpricks of pain as countless tiny metal flecks pierced his skin. He wanted to scream, but the flecks were in his mouth, his throat, his lungs. He tried to shut his eyes, but they were in his eyelids, his eyes, his ears, his brain.

A cacophony of countless voices. "What is this? What is this? What have we here? What shall we do with it? What is it? What shall it be?" The voices did not speak Truth—nor any spoken language—yet they filled Gormin's brain in the moment before he was shredded by the Wind.

***

Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

"What is this? What shall it be?" muttered Gormin under his breath. He shook his head, trying to clear the vivid flashback.

He was disoriented. But the sight of the gaping, tooth-filled, trifurcated maws of two of the red creatures less than an arm-length away helped him re-focus on his present predicament.

He was holding his shield but didn't remember having drawn it. He swung the shield back and forth and scrambled ungracefully away, fending off the creatures as they lunged at his legs. They can attack my mind, but at least I have a reach advantage. The creatures keened in frustration.

He drew his sword and glanced around, trying to re-orient. The others were here. Battle was joined. He must have only been out a few seconds, but Tempus was already down. Yimoul-Za screamed as creature bit into his woody leg below the knee. 

Filjar was now behind him, still lost in some memory, whimpering. "I did not mean to kill them... they were always taunting me..."

Two more of the blood-soaked creatures crawled over an aneen's stall door. They ran for Syrus, who also seemed to be dazed by the creatures' sonic attack.

Gormin had his own problems to worry about. He bashed one of the creatures hard in the side of the head with the edge of his shield, sending it sprawling. It shrieked indignantly. Hopefully its head is a vital area. He tried to follow up with his sword, but the other creature snapped its jaws at his sword-hand, spoiling his coup de grace and narrowly missing making a snack of Gormin's fingers. Gormin returned to a guard stance.

He heard Syrus yelp in pain and risked another glance. A creature was biting him in the ankle. Syrus was lashing out with his whip in one hand and had something else—a cypher?—in the other.

Kiraz had her crossbow out. She loosed a quarrel that pierced Yimoul-Za's creature through the brain—assuming it keeps its brain in its head—but pinned it firmly to Yimoul-Za's leg. One down at least, thought Gormin.

Syrus slapped the cypher in his left hand onto his right bicep. He instantly became a blur of motion, seemingly everywhere at once as the air resounded with dozens of whip-cracks in the space of only a second or two. 

He stopped. All but one of the creatures lay dead or dying.

Gormin, distracted by the display, had taken his eyes off his own foe for too long. The last remaining creature leapt at him and clamped its jaw around his forearm, on his shield side. His bracer absorbed most of the force of the bite, but who can guess what kind of diseases or parasites were in its mouth? He tried to shake it off.

A crossbow quarrel from Kiraz whizzed by, narrowly missing him and the creature.

Gormin cursed and smashed the little monster on the top of its head with the pommel of his sword. It let go and let out a ululating screech that made him grit his teeth.

A shimmering Onslaught slammed into the creature, knocking it down. Tempus had regained his feet.

The creature, injured—perhaps mortally so—belatedly tried a desperate retreat, crawling backward as it mewled and whined like some mutant hell-baby.

Syrus flicked his whip underhand, wrapping its neck tight, silencing it.

*** 

Filjar was very grateful for the save. He pulled out a box of junk from under the counter. "I can't pay you, but you may be interested in some of these. Not everyone pays me in shins." He slid the box forward.

Tempus, somewhat battered but still in one piece, eyed the box of bits and bobs. He picked out some white spongy-looking thing, examining it closely.

Gormin said, "You have a little dock and boat underneath the shop, yes? We would be interested in borrowing it from time to time. We won't damage it."

"Yes, yes..." Filjar wrung his abnormally tiny hands. "Again, I cannot thank you enough..." He returned to going through the box of possible cyphers with Tempus.

Gormin stood in the door of the shop, looking out at the crowd from the shadows. A muscular monk with a particularly ornate brass automaton companion hurried past. He paid them no heed.

Raiding the Palace during the Burning Moon Festival would be brazen, possibly suicidal. Gormin smiled grimly. It will be fun.

To be continued...

Numenera Character Generator

For the last couple of weeks I have been working on an online Numenera character generator. Though it is still a bit buggy, I think it's ready for primetime...

Troy's Numenera Character Generator

There are other Numenera character generators out there already (two free ones that I know of, PrimeJunta's and DarkLiquid's), and it will not offend me at all if people prefer those to this one. More choices are good, yes? The reason I felt the need to add to the pile was that I wanted a character generator with all of the extra options from all the official supplements. So far as I know, this is currently the only free online generator with everything from both CO1 and CO2.

My character generator doesn't look pretty, I admit. The intent is to give you enough to pencil in a real character sheet yourself, calculating numerical values and separating trained skills from actual special abilities (which tend to be mingled together in official sources but are supposed to be listed separately on a character sheet). All fluff text is removed also-- it's all well and good for the official books to spend a sentence or two explaining why "naive" characters get training in perception, but it's not necessary to write all that out on your naive nano's character sheet. (And the Fan Use Policy says to not reproduce any descriptive text in projects like this anyway.)

In case it's not clear how to use the generator, just select whatever sounds cool from the three drop-down boxes (I suggest hideous glint who gazes into the abyss), then click "click me", then click some +'s, and lastly click two Type abilities. (Or three, if you are a glaive who stands like a bastion). Currently it doesn't let you "undo" anything; just have to click "click me" and start over if you added points to the wrong pool. I know it's not as user-friendly as perhaps it could be, but I know how to use it, and that's the important thing. ;)

Obviously, this is a fan project, not an official MCG thing. And so I present you with the obligatory disclaimer (to be read aloud in a fast-talking radio ad disclaimer voice): Numenera and its logo are trademarks of Monte Cook Games, LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. All Monte Cook Games characters and character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are trademarks of Monte Cook Games, LLC. Content derived from Monte Cook Games publications is © 2013-2017 Monte Cook Games, LLC. Read more legal stuffs here...

La pereo kiu venis al Sarnat [Esperanto]

NOTE: This post is in Esperanto. If you can't understand it, that might be why. Ĉu vi parolas ĝin!?

Jen mia malbona traduko de la bona anglalingva novelo “The Doom That Came to Sarnath”, verkite de usona aŭtoro H.P. Lovecraft en la 1920-aj jaroj. Ĉio ĉi iam aperis en kvar partoj ĉe mia Tumblr-blogo, kiun mi ne plu prilaboras.

La pereo kiu venis al Sarnat
(“The Doom That Came to Sarnath”)
de H.P. Lovecraft
tradukite de Troy Jones III

Troviĝas en la lando Mnar vasta kvieta lago, kiun nutras neniu rivero, kaj el kiu neniu rivero fluas. Antaŭ dek mil jaroj staris ĉe ĝia bordo la potenca urbo Sarnat, sed Sarnat staras ne plu.

Oni diras, ke en la forgesitaj jaroj, kiam la mondo estis juna, antaŭ ol la homoj de Sarnat iam venis al la lando Mnar, alia urbo staris apud la lago: la griza ŝtona urbo Ib, kiu estis tiel malnova kiel la lago mem, kaj en kiu loĝis popolo ne plaĉa al la okulo. Tre strangaj kaj malbelaj estis tiuj estaĵoj; ja same estas la plejmulto de estaĵoj de mondo ankoraŭ rudimenta kaj krude formata. Estas skribite sur la brikaj cilindroj de Kadateron, ke la estaĵoj de Ib havis koloron tiel verdan kiel la lago kaj la nebuloj, kiuj ŝvebas super ĝi; ke ili havis ŝvelantajn okulojn, grasajn paŭtantajn lipojn, kaj kuriozajn orelojn, kaj estis sen voĉoj. Estas ankaŭ skribite, ke ili venis malsupren de la luno iun nokton en verda nebulo; ili kaj la vasta kvieta lago kaj griza ŝtona urbo Ib. Ĉu tio estas vero, ĉu mito, ĉiukaze estas certe, ke ili kultis marverdan ŝtonan idolon ĉizitan laŭ la bildo de Bokrug, la grandega akvo-lacerto, antaŭ kiu ili dancis abomeninde, kiam la luno ŝveliĝis. Kaj estas skribite sur la papirusoj de Ilarnek, ke ili iun tagon eltrovis fajron, kaj poste ekbruligis flamojn dum multaj ceremoniaj okazoj. Sed malmulte estas skribite pri tiuj estaĵoj, ĉar ili vivis en tre antikvaj epokoj, sed la homaro estas juna, sciante ankoraŭ malmulte pri tre antikvaj vivintoj.

Post multaj eonoj homoj venis al la lando Mnar: malhela paŝtista gento kun siaj lanplenaj ŝafaroj, kiu konstruis la urbojn Traa, Ilarnek, kaj Kadateron laŭ la sinua rivero Aj. Kaj kelkaj triboj, pli fortikaj ol la ceteraj, puŝis plu al la bordo de la lago kaj konstruis Sarnaton ĉe loko, kie valoraj metaloj troviĝis en la tero. Ne malproksime de la griza urbo Ib masonis la migrintaj triboj la unuajn ŝtonojn de Sarnat, kaj pri la estaĵoj de Ib ili ege miris. Sed kun sia mirado enmiksiĝis malamo, ĉar ili kredis, ke ne indas, ke estaĵoj kun tia aspekto tretu en la mondo de homoj krepuske. Nek ŝatis ili la strangajn skulptaĵojn reliefajn sur la grizaj monolitoj de Ib, ĉar tiuj skulptaĵoj estis teruraj pro ega antikveco. Kial la skulptaĵoj kaj la estaĵoj restadis tiel malfrue en la mondo, eĉ ĝis la alveno de la homaro, oni ne povas diri; krom se temas pri, ke la lando Mnar estas tre kvieta kaj for de la plejmulto de aliaj landoj, kaj vekitaj kaj sonĝantaj.

Ju pli da la estaĵoj la homoj vidis, des pli la malamo kreskis, kaj des pli ĉar ili trovis la estaĵojn malfortaj, kaj tiel molaj kiel ĵeleo al la trafo de ŝtonoj kaj sagoj. Sekve iun tagon la junaj batalistoj, la ŝtonĵetilistoj kaj la lancistoj kaj la pafarkistoj, marŝis kontraŭ Ib kaj mortigis ĉiom da la loĝantoj tie, poste ŝovante la kuriozajn kadavrojn en la lagon per longaj lancoj, ĉar ili ne volis tuŝi ilin. Kaj ĉar ili ne ŝatis la grizajn skulptitajn monolitojn de Ib, ili ĵetis ĉi tiujn ankaŭ en la lagon, mirante pri la egeco de la laboro, kiu iam alportis la ŝtonegojn el for, kaj ilin oni devus alporti, ĉar troviĝas nenia ŝtonego simila al ili en la lando Mnar, nek en la landoj apudaj.

Tiel de la tre antikva urbo Ib nenion oni ŝparis, krom la marverdan idolon ĉizitan laŭ la bildo de Bokrug, la akvo-lacerto. Ĉi tion la junaj batalintoj alportis reen kun si kiel simbolon de konkero super la malnovaj dioj kaj estaĵoj de Ib, kaj kiel signon de regado en Mnar. Sed la sekvan nokton, post kiam la verda idolo estis starigita en la templo, io terura okazis: strangajn lumojn oni vidis super la lago, kaj matene la loĝantaro trovis, ke la idolo mankis kaj la ĉefpastro Taran-Iŝ kuŝis senvive, kvazaŭ pro ia timego abomena. Kaj antaŭ ol li mortis, Taran-Iŝ skizis sur la altaro krizolita per krudaj malglataj strekoj la piktogramon PEREO.

Post Taran-Iŝ servis multaj ĉefpastroj en Sarnat, sed neniam oni trovis la marverdan ŝtonan idolon. Kaj multaj jarcentoj venis kaj pasis, dum kiuj Sarnat prosperis treege, kaj sekve nur pastroj kaj maljunulinoj rememoris tion, kion Taran-Iŝ skizis sur la altaro krizolita. Inter Sarnat kaj la urbo Ilarnek aperis karavanvojo, kaj la valorajn metalojn el la tero oni interŝanĝis kontraŭ aliaj metaloj kaj raraj ŝtofoj kaj juveloj kaj libroj kaj iloj por metiistoj kaj ĉiuj luksaĵoj, kiujn konis la gento, kiu loĝis laŭ la sinua rivero Aj kaj pretere. Do Sarnat fariĝis potenca kaj klera kaj belega, kaj sendis konkerantajn armeojn por subigi la najbarajn urbojn. Kaj post iom da tempo sidis sur trono en Sarnat la reĝoj super la tuto de la lando Mnar kaj multaj landoj apudaj.

La revo de la mondo kaj la fiero de la homaro estis Sarnat la imponega. El polurita dezert-minita marmoro estis ĝiaj muroj, alte tri cent ulnojn kaj larĝe sepdek kvin, por ke ĉaroj povu preterpasi unu la alian, dum viroj stiris ilin laŭ la pinto. Plene kvin cent stadiojn longis la muroj, malfermite nur flanke de la lago, kie verda ŝtona digo fortenis la ondojn, kiuj mistere leviĝis unu fojon jare je la festo de la detruo de Ib. En Sarnat kuris kvindek stratoj de la lago ĝis la portaloj de la karavanoj, kaj kvindek pli interkrucis ilin. Per onikso oni ilin pavimis, escepte de kie la ĉevaloj kaj kameloj kaj elefantoj tretis, kie ili estis pavimitaj per granito. Kaj la urbportaloj de Sarnat estis tiel multaj kiel la finoj de la stratoj flanke de la tero, ĉiu portalo el bronzo, kaj flankita de figuroj de leonoj kaj elefantoj ĉizitaj el ia ŝtono ne plu konata inter homoj. La domojn de Sarnat oni konstruis el glazuritaj brikoj kaj kalcedono, kaj ĉiu havis propran ĉirkaŭmuritan ĝardenon kaj kristalan lageton. Per eksterordinaraj artoj oni ilin konstruis, ĉar neniu urbo alia havis tiajn domojn; kaj vojaĝantoj de Traa kaj Ilarnek kaj Kadateron miris pri la brilantaj kupoloj, kiuj ilin tegmentis.

Sed eĉ pli mirindaj estis la palacoj kaj la temploj, kaj la ĝardenoj faritaj de Zokkar la iama reĝo. En Sarnat estis multaj palacoj, el kiuj la plej malgrandaj estis pli grandiozaj ol iu ajn en Traa aŭ Ilarnek aŭ Kadateron. Tiel altaj estis ili, ke interne oni foje povis fantazii sin sub nur la ĉielo; sed kiam lumigate per torĉoj trempitaj en la oleo de Doter, iliaj muroj montris vastajn pentraĵojn pri reĝoj kaj armeoj, de grandiozeco kaj inspira kaj stuporiga al la rigardanto. Multegaj estis la kolonoj de la palacoj, ĉiuj el kolorigita marmoro, kaj ĉizitaj en desegnojn de transpasanta belego. Kaj en la plejmulto de la palacoj la plankoj estis mozaikoj el berilo kaj lazurŝtono kaj ruĝonikso kaj grenato kaj aliaj ŝatataj materialoj, tiel desegnitaj, ke la rigardanto povis fantazii sin promenanta sur bedoj de la plej raraj floroj. Kaj similaj estis la fontanoj, kiuj ŝprucis parfumitajn akvojn el ĉarmaj ajutoj aranĝitaj per lerta arto. Transpasanta ĉion alian estis la palaco de la reĝoj de Mnar kaj de la landoj apudaj. Sur paro da oraj kaŭrantaj leonoj staris la trono, multajn ŝtupojn super la brila planko. Kaj ĝi estis farita el unu peco de eburo, kvankam neniu homo nun vivas, kiu scias, kie tiel vastan eburpecon oni povis trovi. En tiu palaco estis ankaŭ multaj galerioj, kaj multaj amfiteatroj, kie leonoj kaj viroj kaj elefantoj batalis laŭ la plezuro de la reĝoj. Fojfoje la amfiteatrojn oni inundis per akvo transportita el la lago per potencaj akveduktoj, kaj tiam oni dramigis ekscitantajn marbatalojn, aŭ okazigis gladiatorajn batalojn inter naĝantoj kaj mortigaj akvobestoj.

Altegaj kaj imponaj estis la dek sep turformaj temploj de Sarnat, formite el hela multekolora ŝtono nekonata aliloke. Entute mil ulnojn alte staris la plej granda el ili, en kiu la ĉefpastroj loĝis en lukso apenaŭ malpli grandioza ol tio de la reĝoj. Teretaĝe troviĝis haloj tiel vastaj kaj grandiozaj kiel tiuj de la palacoj; tie kunvenis homamasoj por kultado al Zo-Kalar kaj Tamaŝ kaj Lobon, la precipaj dioj de Sarnat, kies incensplenaj sanktejoj ŝajnis kvazaŭ la tronoj de monarĥoj. Ne similaj al la ikonoj de aliaj dioj estis tiuj de Zo-Kalar kaj Tamaŝ kaj Lobon; tiel fidelaj al la vivo estis ili, ke oni ĵurus, ke la graciaj barbaj dioj mem sidis sur la eburaj tronoj. Kaj senfinajn brilajn zirkonajn ŝtupojn supre troviĝis la turoĉambro, en kiu la ĉefpastroj elrigardis super la urbo kaj la ebenaĵoj kaj la lago dumtage; kaj rigardis la enigman lunon kaj aŭgurajn stelojn kaj planedojn kaj iliajn speguliĝojn en la lago dumnokte. Ĉi tie ĉefpastroj faris la tre sanktan kaj antikvan riton malbene al Bokrug, la akvo-lacerto, kaj ĉi tie restis la altaro el krizolito, kiu portis la PEREO-skizaĵon de Taran-Iŝ.

Mirindaj ankaŭ estis la ĝardenoj plantitaj de Zokkar la iama reĝo. En la centro de Sarnat ili kuŝis, kovrante grandan areon kaj ĉirkaŭite de alta muro. Kaj ili estis sub tegmento de grandioza kupolo vitra, tra kiu brilis la suno kaj luno kaj planedoj, kiam la ĉielo estis klara, kaj de kiu pendis brilegaj miniaturoj de la suno kaj luno kaj steloj kaj planedoj, kiam la ĉielo estis nuba. Somere la ĝardenojn oni malvarmetigis per freŝaj bonodoraj brizoj lerte blovetigitaj de ventumiloj, kaj vintre ili estis varmigitaj per kaŝitaj fajroj, por ke en tiuj ĝardenoj ĉiam printempu. Kuris malgrandaj riveretoj super helaj ŝtonetoj, disigante gazonojn verdajn kaj ĝardenojn kun multaj koloroj, krucite de multego da pontoj. Multaj estis la akvofaloj laŭ la riveretoj, kaj multaj estis la nimfeo-plenaj lagetoj, en kiujn ili larĝiĝis. Sur la riveretoj kaj lagetoj naĝis blankajn cignojn, dum la muziko de raraj birdoj pepis akorde al la melodio de la akvo. En belaranĝitajn terasojn leviĝis la verdaj bordoj, ornamitajn jen kaj jen per laŭboj de vinberujoj kaj dolĉaj floroj, kaj per seĝoj kaj benkoj el marmoro kaj porfiro. Kaj troviĝis multaj malgrandaj sanktejoj kaj templetoj, kie oni povis ripozi aŭ preĝi al malgrandaj dioj.

Ĉiun jaron oni festis en Sarnat la datrevenon de la detruo de Ib, dum kiu vinoj, kantoj, dancado kaj ĉia gajeco abundis. Grandajn honorojn oni tiutempe prezentis omaĝe al la ombroj de tiuj, kiuj ekstermis la strangajn antikvajn estaĵojn; kaj la memorojn pri tiuj estaĵoj kaj pri iliaj malnovaj dioj mokis dancistoj kaj liutistoj kronitaj per rozoj de la ĝardenoj de Zokkar. Kaj la reĝoj dume elrigardis super la lago kaj malbenis la ostojn de la mortintoj, kiuj kuŝis sub ĝi.

La ĉefpastroj komence ne ŝatis ĉi tiun festotagon, ĉar oni transdonis al ili kuriozajn rakontojn pri la malaperinta marverda idolo, kaj pri Taran-Iŝ, kiu mortis pro timo kaj lasis averton. Kaj oni diris, ke de la alta temploturo fojfoje videblis lumoj sub la akvo de la lago. Sed tiom da jaroj pasis sen katastrofo, ke eĉ la pastroj ridis kaj malbenis kaj partoprenis en la orgioj de la festenantoj. Ĉu ne ili mem, en sia alta turo, ja ofte faris la tre antikvan kaj sekretan riton malbene al Bokrug, la akvo-lacerto? Kaj mil jaroj da riĉaĵoj kaj ĝojo venis kaj pasis en Sarnat, la revo de la mondo kaj fiero de la homaro.

Belega preter penso estis la festo de la mila jaro datrevene de la detruo de Ib. Dum jardeko oni paroladis pri ĝi en la lando Mnar, kaj kiam ĝi alproksimiĝis, venis al Sarnat, sur ĉevaloj kaj kameloj kaj elefantoj, homoj el Traa, Ilarnek, kaj Kadateron, kaj el ĉiu urbo de Mnar kaj la landoj pretere. Antaŭ la marmoraj muroj je la celebrata nokto estis starigitaj la pavilionoj de princoj kaj la tendoj de vojaĝantoj. En sia bankedo-halo kuŝis Nargis-Hej, la reĝo, ebria per antikva vino de la keloj de konkerita Pnat, ĉirkaŭigite de festenantaj nobeloj kaj hastantaj sklavoj. Oni manĝis multajn kuriozajn delikataĵojn dum la festeno: pavojn de la foraj montetoj de Implan, kalkanojn de kameloj de la dezerto Bnazic, nuksojn kaj spicojn de la boskoj de Cujdatri, kaj perlojn de ondo-lavita Mtal solvitajn en la vinagro de Traa. Da saŭcoj estis netaksebla nombro, preparitaj de la plej subtilaj kuiristoj en la tuto de Mnar, kaj konvenigitaj al la palato de ĉiu festenanto. Sed la plej dezirataj el ĉiuj la manĝaĵoj estis la fiŝegoj de la lago, ĉiu de vasta grandeco, servite sur oraj pladoj kun enmuntitaj rubenoj kaj diamantoj.

Dum la reĝo kaj liaj nobeloj festenis en la palaco, kaj rigardis sian finfinan kulminan pladon sur oraj teleregoj, aliuloj festenis aliloke. En la turo de la granda templo la pastroj diboĉis, kaj en pavilionoj ekster la urbaj muroj la princoj de najbaraj landoj festis gaje. Kaj estis la ĉefpastro Gnaj-Ka, kiu unue ekvidis la ombrojn, kiuj venis malsupren de la ŝvelanta luno en la lagon, kaj la damnindaj verdaj nebuloj, kiuj leviĝis de la lago por tuŝi la lunon kaj vuali en minaca haladzo la turojn kaj la kupolojn de pereonta Sarnat. Poste tiuj en la turoj kaj ekster la muroj vidis strangajn lumojn sur la akvo, kaj vidis, ke la griza roko Akurjon, kiu kutime staris alte super la lago proksime al la marbordo, estis preskaŭ mergita. Kaj timo kreskis subkonscie sed tamen rapide, tiel ke la princoj de Ilarnek kaj de malproksima Rokol faldis kaj pakis siajn tendojn kaj pavilionojn kaj ekiris al la rivero Aj, kvankam ili apenaŭ sciis la kialon por sia foriro.

Tiam, proksime al la horo de noktomezo, ĉiuj la bronzaj portaloj de Sarnat krevis malfermen kaj elverŝis panikantajn homamasojn, kiuj malheligis la ebenaĵon, kaj tion vidante la vizitantaj princoj kaj vojaĝantoj forfuĝis pro timo. Ĉar sur la vizaĝoj de la homamaso estis skribite frenezego naskita de hororo ne elportebla, kaj sur iliaj langoj estis vortoj tiel teruraj, ke neniu aŭskultanto paŭzis por pruvo. Viroj, kies okuloj estis sovaĝaj pro timo, kriis laŭtvoĉe pri la vido en la reĝa bankedo-halo, kie tra la fenestroj estis videblaj ne plu la formoj de Nargis-Hej kaj liaj nobeloj kaj sklavoj, sed hordo de ne-priskribeblaj verdaj senvoĉaj estaĵoj kun ŝvelantaj okuloj, grasaj lipoj, kaj kuriozaj oreloj: estaĵoj kiuj dancis abomeninde, portante en siaj ungegoj orajn pladojn kun enmuntitaj rubenoj kaj diamantoj kaj enhavantajn strangajn flamojn. Kaj la princoj kaj vojaĝantoj, dum ili fuĝis de la kondamnita urbo Sarnat sur ĉevaloj kaj kameloj kaj elefantoj, rigardis reen la nebulo-naskantan lagon kaj vidis, ke la griza roko Akurjon estis tute mergita.

Tra la lando Mnar kaj la landoj apudaj disvastiĝis la rakontoj de tiuj, kiuj fuĝis de Sarnat, kaj karavanoj serĉis tiun kondamnitan urbon kaj ĝiajn valorajn metalojn ne plu. Pasis longa tempo, antaŭ ol iuj vojaĝantoj ajn iris tien, kaj eĉ tiam nur la kuraĝaj kaj aventuremaj junaj viroj el malproksima Falona: kuraĝaj kaj aventuremaj junaj viroj kun flavaj haroj kaj bluaj okuloj, kiuj ne estas parencoj al la viroj de Mnar. Ĉi tiuj viroj fakte iris al la lago por vidi Sarnaton; sed kvankam ili trovis la vastan kvietan lagon mem, kaj la grizan rokon Akurjon kiu staris alte super ĝi proksime al la marbordo, ili ne vidis la revon de la mondo kaj fieron de la homaro. Kie iam altiĝis muroj je tri cent ulnoj kaj turoj eĉ pli altaj, nun etendis nur la marĉa marbordo, kaj kie iam loĝis kvindek milionoj da homoj, nun rampas nur aĉaj akvo-lacertoj. Eĉ ne la minoj de valorinda metalo restas. PEREO venis al Sarnat.

Sed duone enfositan inter la junkoj ili ekvidis kuriozan verdan idolon, treege antikvan ikonon ĉizitan laŭ la bildo de Bokrug, la granda akvo-lacerto. Tiu idolo, starigite en sanktejo en la ĉeftemplo ĉe Ilarnek, estis poste kultita sub la ŝvelanta luno tra la lando Mnar.

Tears of the Gods, Part Five - Father Knows Best

This is part five of this story, adapted from an on-going play-by-forum session of Numenera. If you haven't already, you'll want to start with part one (and from there, parts 2, 3, and 4, of course) before you read this installment. Enjoy!

For important disclaimers and whatnot please see the Tears of the Gods table of contents page.

***

Previously in "Tears of the Gods"

The man in the other cage was emaciated and covered in horrible rope-like burns. He struggled to sit up. "I was taken, like you, from a tavern near to the entrance pier. Did you perhaps accept the offer of a free drink?"

Through a window high above the arena, two pairs of amber eyes watched the fight unfold. "They are doing well. They can fight. They have esoteries. They could be the right ones."

Yimoul-Za popped open the small case and looked inside. "Look," he said as he handed the case to Krystogh. "Quite something." The case contained a set of cosmetics, facepaints, lippy, sparklepowder, and such.

Frater Bellias turned his amber eyes to his oval tablet as he 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..."

The Krai leader paused and look back and forth between Gormin and the aneen. "Beast food? Beast nei food, nei cultural. Vol food. Nei vol food?"

Pytha smiled at Lameth and hissed menacingly. "But nothing we can’t handle. We could have been such friends." She lashed out with both arms, blindingly fast.

Neymich's eyelids fluttered. He struggled to speak. "Tell Aliser. Tell Bellias," he wheezed. "Loarn was right. The Tears are real, they exist. Loarn knew..."

***

Date: 12th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

Tempus

Toorkmeyn's artifact was certainly a strange one, a vaguely rectangular nest of cables, tubes, and glowy bits—not all of them connected—with a makeshift handle at one end and a focus crystal at the other. Tempus turned it over in his hand again, holding it up to the light. The thing had no entry in The Chronicles, but there were many similar devices therein. It had probably come off of something larger before being jury-rigged into its present configuration. He put the weapon down and made some notes in his journal.

He closed his journal and handed the weapon back to Lameth. "It should have a few charges left," he reported. "Be careful with it."

Lameth thanked him.

An awkward silence settled while the group—including Neymich—waited to hear what the Order had in store for them next.

Yimoul-Za paced the floor of the Archive lounge restlessly, glancing up now and again at the empty speaking platform in the centre of the room. The light in his large eye was shifting rapidly. "I must be at the Coral Palace soon. And some of you will join me?"

Gormin nodded. "The authorities at the Coral Palace will want to know about Fallside. I will go with you once Venerance Aliser or Frater Bellias debriefs us."

Tempus gazed out the windows at the City of Bridges and let his mind wander. When I get a moment, I should examine some of this world's maps and calendars, he mused. At least I may figure out if I'm in the past or future—or an alternate present—not that that information would be of any immediate use.

Aliser's voice, speaking from the air, broke his reverie. "Neymich! I would speak with you now. You have been in possession of information that would have helped the Arechive. Now our enemies have it."

Neymich stood and shuffled arthritically toward the the centre of the room, up the spiral stairs to the circular platform, and into the column that led to Aliser's office. After some time, Frater Bellias emerged from the column, consulting his oval tablet.

Bellias stepped forward to the rail of the speaking platform and looked down at the group. "Iadace, welcome back to the Arechive. Sadly, in the Truth, neither of your companions has returned."

He noticed Lameth then, still holding Toorkmeyn's weapon. "You, I don’t know." He turned to Gormin. "Has he been tested? You know our standards here in the Arechive. In the Truth, we can only take the best to serve us."

"He has been tested in battle, which is the only test that matters. We might not have saved Neymich without him." Gormin folded his arms. "What is this information Venerance Aliser is talking about? Would this be concerning the Tears of the Gods, which you said were a children's fable?"

Bellias sighed and gestured vaguely. "Let us sit and talk. Something of concern has occurred." He made his way down the platform's spiral stairs to the lounge. Tempus thought he looked tired.

Lameth stood and bowed as Bellias approached. "Iadace, Frater Bellias. I am Lameth, a wandering soul seeking fame and glory. My companions have already told me a little about you—only the best, of course."

Bellias barely glanced his way. "Normally, I would be interested in talking with you. In the Truth, I have more pressing matters." He looked out the window and gathered himself.

"You may not know this, but King Laird is king only in name. He has no real interest in ruling the country; he is a seafarer and spends much of his time at sea on one of his many ships. The real power behind the throne is wielded by his younger brother Shallin through his daughters and the Rakoth. The Rakoth have spies everywhere, paid informers and small numenera devices such as this."

Bellias produced an orange and black scarab-like device. "Do not worry; this one is not working. These can record conversations and images and project them into the Datasphere. It was by chance that an aspirant was in the library and overheard this broadcast..."

He touched a stud on his tablet and Frater Neymich’s voice filled the room. "Tell Aliser. Tell Bellias. Loarn was right. The Tears are real; they exist. Loarn knew and he left the journal in the shrine of the Winged God."

"Now the aspirant has gone missing; she went out into the city on an errand and has not returned. I think she is in the hands of the Rakoth."

Bellias' normally thin face looked especially drawn. He took a deep breath. "I would like you to enter the Coral Palace and rescue her."

Yimoul-Za nodded his huge eyestalk enthusiastically. "Yes, we were heading there anyway. How shall we identify her? Will she want to come quietly?"

Bellias did not answer immediately, but sat on one of the lounge's low couches and closed his eyes.

"Her name is Lissia," Bellias said at last, eyes still closed. "She resembles me. She is my daughter."

Gormin let out a bark of harsh laughter. "A suicide mission, eh? Fun times." He looked round at the others. None shared his amusement.

His smile vanished and he continued, slightly more sympathetically. "We will go and do what we can, but we are not an army. Besieging the Coral Palace is beyond our capabilities. Sneaking her out may be possible, but it will be incredibly difficult if they have taken even rudimentary precautions. But we can go and case out the place and see what we can do."

Gormin sighed and shook his head. "You should prepare yourself for the possibility that a negotiated solution may be the only way to free her, however. If Loarn and the Tears of the Gods are what they are interested in, do we have permission to offer what knowledge you have about those things in exchange for Lissia's freedom? You say the Tears are a fable and Loarn a disgrace, so I would not think keeping that information secret would be of any interest to you anyway. While we are on the subject, what is the Shrine of the Winged God? And... this may be a sensitive question... does Venerance Aliser know you are sending us on this mission? He seems like the type to try official channels first."

Bellias said nothing.

Tempus rose and offered Bellias a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I can certainly appreciate your pain—I have lost my wife and my village. But for a mission of such importance, why come to us? Surely the Order has better armed and trained agents to carry out this mission? We are a rather... haphazardly collected bunch, with no real motivation to see this through. What incentive is there for putting ourselves in such extraordinary danger?"

Frater Bellias rose.

"The Order does not have standing armies, unlike the kingdoms. We rely on recruited mercenaries and soldiers—especially here in Ghan, where we are not popular or welcome. We always test our recruits—we have to, to ensure that they are reliable for our purpose."

He stepped forward and leaned heavily against the window.

"Loarn was obsessed with the Tears of the Gods; we mounted two expeditions in search of them. He bankrupted the Arechive to finance his third and final one, the one from which he did not return. The Venerence ordered his name to be stricken from the records."

He turned and thrust the scarab forward at Tempus.

"Now, it appears that Loarn was right and that Neymich knew this. The Tears are said to be a source of great wealth—of knowledge and of power. Power beyond anything known. Yet you," turning toward Gormin, "would willingly hand this over to our enemies!"

He touched the button to replay Neymich’s voice again. "Tell Aliser; tell Bellias. Loarn was right. The Tears are real; they exist. Loarn knew and he left the journal in the shrine of the Winged God."

"This is why my daughter is in the hands of the Rakoth. You have seen what they are capable of." He scanned the group and raised his voice. "Which one of you betrayed her?"

Gormin glanced sidelong at Yimoul-Za for a moment, then shook his head at Bellias. "Why do you think we betrayed you? If we were working for the Rakoth, we would have handed Neymich over to them instead of you. Think now. You said yourself those scarabs are everywhere. I saw one at the aneen-dealer's stall when I was buying old Fregg. Maybe it was him.

"Let me ask you this. If Rakoth guardsmen showed up at the front door and demanded Neymich be handed over, what would you do? Send us out to fight them?" Gormin snorted derisively. "Like I say, we are no army. A few bandits are one thing, but the entire constabulary and militia of a major capital city are quite another. You say Laird's nieces are your enemies, but they are the rightful rulers of this kingdom, and like it or not, they run this town. We have to play by their rules. If I were you, I would send Neymich away, out of the City, before one of their spies tell them we walked him in here in broad daylight. If Neymich knows where the Tears are and they know where Neymich is, their next move seems pretty obvious. But feel free to take my advice or ignore it, as you wish."

Gormin gestured dismissively. "As for the Tears, it is no concern of mine who dreams of wealth and power beyond imagining, nor who goes bankrupt chasing said dreams, nor who is the enemy of who. Even if the stories are true, these Tears are likely as dangerous to their discoverer as to anyone else. Why has Loarn not returned? Either he was wrong again, or he was right but the Tears were too dangerous for him. And yes, we all saw what the Rakoth did to Syrus, but we have also seen what you are capable of."

He pointed at Bellias. "That guy in the cage next to us under the arena—he was an Aeon Priest too, was he not? His speech patterns were very similar to yours, and he had the same odd burn-mark. Where is he now? Dead? Is that how you take care of your own?"

Gormin shook his head. "This is what we will do. Some of us will go to the Coral Palace and see what we can find out. If an opportunity presents itself to help Lissia without undue risk to ourselves we will take it. Otherwise, we will come back and tell you what we've learned. We don't really even owe you that much, but I am feeling generous today."

Tempus nodded as Gormin spoke, concluding that even if Bellias were telling them the truth, he must either be incredibly naive or driven to irrationality by the loss of his daughter. No hired agent would willingly surrender the Tears of the Gods if they laid hands on it—not if they are as powerful as claimed.

But Tempus kept his silence.

Yimoul-Za tilted his eye sideways. "I understand your daughter is precious, but could you not grow other seedlings? Not every sapling will grow to be a tree."

Bellias shook his head and strode away in the direction of the library. He spoke as he walked.

"The Tears are real. Those were the words Frater Neymich spoke to you in Fallside. You all saw what happened to him; Sinys and her trademark are well-known in the Steadfast. Who do you think trained her? Do you want the Rakoth to obtain the Tears?"

The library door whisked open. Bellias stood in the threshold and turned back.

"The man in the cage. Would you like to meet him?" He stepped fully into the library and the door whispered shut.

The group exchanged puzzled looks.

Some time later, the library door opened again and another man emerged from it. He also wore the orange and black robes of an Aeon Priest, but he looked old, stooped, emaciated. His arms were covered in thick rope-like burns and he spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"I was taken, like you, from a tavern near to the entrance pier. Did you perhaps accept the offer of a free drink?"

The newcomer straightened up and spoke with Bellias' voice. "Now do you understand?"

In the stunned silence, Tempus studied the reactions of the others. Bellias has revealed some sort of deception, he realized.

Gormin's face was a gathering storm. "Understand? I understand you're a dissembling sack of drit, jerking us around like puppets on a string. That's..." He stopped and seemed to get a hold of himself. "That's not necessarily a deal-breaker—I have worked with many such in my time, and I'm no angel myself. We already suspected things were not as they seemed anyway. Still... your behaviour raises more questions than it answers even now."

He took a deep breath. "But the most important question we need an answer to is, what is it you really expect us to do? I have already said we will go to the Coral Palace and have a look—as many of us as are willing—but I'm given to understand it's a large building housing hundreds of people, and I doubt they're just going to let us wander around unsupervised looking for your daughter. We don't even know for sure she's there and not in the city's mutant quarter, tenderly embraced in the three arms of her secret paramour. Or dead in an alley. Or working for the Rakoth. You believe she's captive in the Palace, but that's supposition, and by the way, this is all also assuming that you are playing straight with us, which if you are would be a first. Frankly, there's a lot we don't know. So I'm not yet ready to commit to anything more than, we'll have a look and see what we can do. A wise general knows the value of scouting and spying before committing to a plan of battle. Not that I'm a general, or even wise, but you get the idea. Which reminds me, if you have a floorplan of the Coral Palace in that library, it might be helpful."

He rubbed the hairless back of his head. "But I have to say... both of our previous two missions were based on lies and deceptions from the so-called Order of Truth from the very beginning. So, tell me: is this one also? Is Lissia even a real person, or is this another elaborate test? Are we going to come back from the Coral Palace and see Toorkmeyn standing on the platform over there smiling down beneficently at us in an orange robe and miter, congratulating us on passing another test?"

Bellias shook his head angrily. "Why do you say being asked to carry a message to Fallside was based on a lie? That is what you were asked to do, that is what you did. I had no idea that Toorkmeyn would be there, or that something had attacked the town."

He stomped back towards the upper lounge.

"You are supposed to be adventurers, seekers of excitement and fortune. You have skills and abilities. Use them. Or, is that one of your lies? You have twenty-eight hours to decide if you want to keep working for the Order."

The platform's central column's door silently slid open to admit Bellias.

Gormin frowned after him as he disappeared. "Not one for answering questions, is he? And so sensitive. He'll get over it though. Perhaps the library has the information we need, if he hasn't yet cut off our access to it."

He turned and left for the library.

Syrus spoke up. "I will do. Nothing better. Would like things prior. Help us. Electro-whip from arena. Would be nice."

Kiraz nodded. "I agree. I do not know if we will be successful in getting her out of the Coral Palace, if she is indeed there. But the least we can do is try to see what we can find out."

Tempus sighed.

***

Date: 13th Fre, in the 401st Year of the Founding

Gormin

The slowly spinning turbines of the Wind Spire loomed high to the right as the group pressed its way through the bustling marketplace of the Hub.

A familiar voice hailed Gormin—the aneen-seller.

"Ho friend, how is your aneen? Can I interest you in several brehm that I have just acquired at a good price?"

Gormin ignored him. He noted absently that many of the hawkers and vendors were selling decorations for the upcoming Festival of the Burning Moon. Hopefully I'll still be in town for that—might be fun.

The Coral Palace sprawled over most of a platform in the northwest of the city. Gormin noted with approval that the bridges and piers leading to it all had drawbridge sections that could be dropped or raised to isolate the palace. One can never be too careful.

On a balcony above the palace's heavy main doors stood two guards in ornate armour. The armour had a layer of overlapping metal plates, like fish scales, and their helmets were crested with fish-like fins. The guards carried polearms topped with large, sharpened metal rings. More decorative than functional, but probably functional enough, Gormin decided.

One of the guards called out. "State your business at the Coral Palace."

Yimoul-Za stepped forward and bowed awkwardly. "I am here to meet with Lady Isla. Please inform her that the golthiar has returned."

An odd look passed between the two guards. Gormin frowned. The one that had spoken thumped the floor of the balcony twice with the butt of his polearm. The massive metal doors swung smoothly and silently open. "Wait in the Reception Room," he called down to them.

The group entered. The lobby was a circular hall, with three passages leading away in three directions, not counting the door they'd come in. Two rows of statues, monuments, and odd relics mounted on plinths formed a central aisle in the room; paintings and tapestries lined the coral-encrusted walls. Gormin did not recognize any of the heroes depicted in the hall. As they moved into the lobby, two more ornately armoured guards with polearms flanking a shorter man dressed in a dark, formal robe emerged from a side passage.

The short man greeted them cordially. "Welcome to the Coral Palace, honoured guests, home of the Royal House of Vanlith. The Lady Isla will see you in the Reception room. Please, come this way. I am Kresich and I have the honour to be the majordomo."

Kresich the honoured majordomo chattered as he led the way through the west door and into softly lit chamber with low tables and expensive-looking sofas. There was another closed door to the west—at least Gormin thought it was the west—opposite from where they'd come in.

Gormin cast his gaze about suspiciously. This already doesn't match the floorplan in the library.

"...and be seated," Kresich was saying. "I will arrange for refreshments to be served. The Royal trading fleet travels the world; we have many exotic foods, beverages, and sweetmeats to offer. Do you have a particular preference?"

Gormin ignored him and looked up. On the ceiling was more coral and four vaguely star-shaped objects, each about an arm-length in diameter. They looked to be made of the same material as the coral. Defense mechanism?

Kiraz answered the majordomo. "If you have any krinek, that would be nice."

Syrus mumbled something or other. Tempus, not bothering to conceal his curiosity for the sake of politeness, stepped away to examine the coral more closely.

Kresich inclined his head. "We have both seared and pounded krinek. Would you like the traditional side of raw laak tails with it?"

"Yes, please," Kiraz replied.

He bowed and disappeared through the east door.

Shortly afterwards, the west door opened and a brightly smiling girl strode into the room, attended by two more guards. She had on a long, peach-colored dress held up by a coppery brooch at the right shoulder. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Yimoul-Za.

"Oh, you've come back! And you've brought some friends as well." She clapped her hands together as she surveyed the group. "I'm so pleased. Let's sit and talk. I'm Lady Isla and I look after this place. Now, tell me about yourselves; I want to hear all about the sorts of weird things you've seen."

She sat, and waved the group to sit as well. Her voice was high-pitched, child-like. Gormin gritted his teeth. He sat. Isla had a musky, not-particularly-pleasant fragrance. Perfume? The customs and fashions of the nobility are strange indeed, he thought, but said nothing.

"Greetings, Lady Isla," said Yimoul-Za. "Again we meet. I am a golthiar in possession of the light of the sun. I seek to return to the sun to revive it."

Yimoul-Za narrated their adventures then: the arena, the chronal feeders, the sudden appearance of Tempus, the Krai. Isla hung on his every word, gasping at the dangers they'd faced and beaming and clapping at their triumphs.

The krinek and laak tails arrived while Yimoul-Za was speaking. Gormin picked up a raw laak tail and dipped it into the fragrant bowl of pounded krinek. He sucked the juicy reptilian meat off the bone. "Nothing like freshly pounded krinek," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"Such lovely stories and fascinating things," Isla remarked. "I love hearing about strange things. I like collecting them, although I don’t have very many." She pouted playfully.

Yimoul-Za continued his story. When he got to the part about Fallside, Gormin put in, "We don't know if word has already reached you about the destruction of Fallside, but we thought it was important for you to know. We didn't want to cause a general panic among the masses though, so we have not publicly announced the news ourselves."

She frowned. "Fallside? I've never heard of it. Was it important?"

She looked back at Yimoul-Za and giggled. She reached out her left hand tentatively before withdrawing it shyly. "Can I touch you?"

Gormin made a valiant effort not to roll his eyes. He glanced over at the guards; they still stood stoically at the door, not visibly reacting to Isla's lack of royal decorum. He returned his attention to Yimoul-Za and Isla.

"Of course, my lady!" said Yimoul-Za. "In fact, why don't you try this? It will invigorate you." He tore out a piece of the Flame of the Klang and handed it to her.

"It's safe to eat, m'lady," mumbled Gormin. He dipped another laak tail in the pounded krinek. "What manner of strange things do you collect?"

Isla clapped her hands delightedly. "Why, I’ve got lots of things. I keep some on display; come, I’ll show you!"

She led the group through the west door; the guards followed.

The next room was another, even larger, circular chamber with multiple exits. As with every other room he'd seen of the palace, growths of weeping coral covered most of the walls.

Around the chamber were niches and alcoves carved out of the coral, each containing various oddities. The centre of the chamber was dominated by a floor to ceiling column of water, perhaps ten paces across, lit green-blue from an invisible source. The water had no obvious means of support. Inside it, seaweeds grew and half a dozen pale fish trailing long, ropy tentacles darted about. On a plinth in the water stood a statue of a nude female human, painted true-to-life, its back to the group.

Isla showed off some of the items on display.

Dangling from a brass chain descending from the ceiling was what appeared to be the severed fist of a reptilian humanoid. As the group approached, the hand whirled around and extended a finger to point at Isla.

"It points at whomever's closest," Isla explained. She pulled Yimoul-Za forward, and the hand pointed at him. Gormin noted that the hand had six fingers.

She showed off a three-sided pyramid of reflective metal, open on one side. The pyramid contained a purple sphere within it; but the sphere was much bigger than the pyramid. It hurt Gormin's brain to stare at it.

"Bigger on the inside," Isla said, as if that explained anything.

She picked up an orange and black scarab-like device and turned to Yimoul-Za. "I gave you one of these. Have you lost it? You can have this one if you like. I like giving gifts to my friends."

Yimoul-Za politely declined it.

Isla moved towards a spherical clear tank containing nothing but water. She giggled and clapped her hands. "I love this one. My sister gave it to me, last Safe Haven. It's an invisible fish. I keep looking, but I haven't seen it yet."

Gormin gently tapped the clear tank to see if it caused any reaction in the water. Nothing. "Are you close to your sisters, m'lady?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a more productive direction.

Isla beamed at Gormin. "My sisters love me, and I love them!" She spread her hands, taking in the room. "They've given me all of this to play with, and they give me new toys constantly."

She paused, frowning. "Daddy is different. He spends all his time with Uncle Laird, telling him what to do. He is the Royal Advisor after all."

She showed them one more oddity, a cubic black metal frame, inside of which was a fist-sized, multicolored sparkling ball, also of black metal. Isla extracted the ball and showed it to them. The ball dripped colorful sparks as it moved. She threw it on the floor; it bounced several times in random, unexpected directions, leaving a trail of short-lived color.

The ball vanished from sight.

"Don't worry; it will be back," promised Isla. She bit her lip.

After a few moments, the sparkling ball re-appeared in the box-shaped frame. Isla smiled.

"It always does that. If, one day, it didn’t come back, I think I would cry. But the ball is my friend!"

She turned to Yimoul-Za. "Now, what can you show me?"

"Well, I don't know that I have anything as marvelous," said Yimoul-Za. He withdrew the makeup case from a pocket in his robe and showed it to Isla.

"Ooh, I like this. Can I have it? I can use it for the party. I like dressing up for parties."

Gormin tuned out her enthusiastic burbling and wandered away. He saw Tempus sketching and taking notes in his journal about the various oddities in the room.

A discreet cough from the direction of the north door. A page boy in embroidered livery stood there. "My Lady. Your father wishes to speak with you in the garden."

Isla's face fell. "Oh. I was having so much fun with my new friends. Bye bye. Don’t forget to come to the party. Be here by Wane on the 22nd of Fre!" Burning Moon, Gormin knew. She left through the north door with the page. The two guards remained in the collection room. Gormin wondered what their protocol was. Must Isla have an escort at all times within the palace? Do all the guards go about in pairs?

After the guards had gone, Tempus discreetly motioned Gormin over. He nodded toward the statue within the column of water. "Notice anything?"

Gormin took a closer look. The underwater statue was quite realistic-looking: a thin, young woman with hands demurely covering her nakedness, blue eyes wide with trepidation. Her long, light brown hair streamed out to one side as if in a strong wind. Her hair did not move with the sloshing of the water, but neither was it frozen rigidly in place. Rather, it waved in slow motion. An interesting effect, but surely Tempus is not calling attention to that.

He found the overall aesthetic more unsettling than arousing. There was something about her long, thin face, too. Why does she look familiar? Is she a famous hero? He racked his brain.

He saw it then. "Bellias' daughter," he muttered. Well, that was easier than expected. He looked round. The guards were on the opposite side of the water from them, out of sight.

Tempus nodded. "I'm going to try some Hedge Magic. Stand back."

Gormin took a step away from Tempus. Tempus flicked his fingers at the column of water.

One of the fish jerked around, turning its eyeless face toward Tempus. It lashed out an impossibly long tentacle at him catching him full in the face. He hissed in pain and dropped to one knee.

Kiraz and Syrus hurried over to help Tempus. Gormin stepped further to the side and sneaked a peek at the guards. They hadn't seen the commotion. He noticed Lameth also, staring off into space, distracted.

"Lameth!" he whispered. He didn't seem to hear. Gormin approached Lameth—unhurriedly, so as not to draw undue attention—and gave him a discreet nudge of the elbow. Lameth looked at him. Gormin tapped his forehead and then pointed at the faux statue.

Lameth nodded. He looked toward Lissia, took a deep breath, and frowned in concentration.

The ropy fish suddenly became agitated, darting around the tank, evidently seeking the source of the invisible disturbance.

"She is not dead," whispered Lameth after a few seconds, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."

The fish settled down. Gormin glanced at Tempus. His face was swelling up as he grimaced with the effort to not cry out. Kiraz and Syrus were putting together some kind of herbal poultice for him from a kit one of them had.

He turned back to Lameth. "Elsewhere? Not just unconscious?" He frowned. "In another body? Implanted in a numenera device? Astrally travelling? I've heard of such, but it's not my area of expertise."

Lameth shook his head slowly. "I don’t know. It's like time, for her, is moving very slowly."

Yimoul-Za joined their conspiratorial whispering. "I wonder if I could fake some kind of racial misunderstanding and break the tank."

Gormin surreptitiously scratched the side of his face, blocking the guards' view of his mouth, just in case they could read lips. "Just breaking the tank could be very dangerous, I think. Tempus looks like he's having a rough time with that poisoned sting, and those fish may be able to lash out at us even out of the water. What we need is to see if it's even possible for solid objects to pass into the tank the same way that tentacle passed out of it. If so, then we need to go find a detonation cypher—maybe from Bellias—and come back, set off the cypher in the tank, kill the fish, and pull Lissia out. This would probably need to wait until the party so that we would have cover to sneak out. If we do it now, the guards will just swarm us. But Lissia seems to be in stasis so she can wait."

Gormin picked up the sparkling ball—Isla's "friend"—and eyed it contemplatively. "What we could do, is experiment—see if it is possible to put things in the tank." He bounced the ball on the floor, trying to get a sense of how it would rebound. Deciding that the ball's bounce was in fact unpredictable, he stepped back around the tank, out of sight of the guards, backed up to what he hoped was out of tentacle range, and tossed the ball underhand at the column of water. The ball trailed bright blue, orange, and pink sparks as it arced toward the column.

It stopped at the water/air interface, hung in the air for a second, and sunk slowly to the floor. After a moment it vanished and re-appeared in its box.

"Hm." While Gormin was contemplating what to do next, Kresich re-appeared.

 "My apologies. It is time for the palace to eat, and so you must leave." He bowed and gestured toward the door they'd entered.

Gormin took a crack at courtliness. "Please convey our sincerest regrets to the Lady Isla that we were not able to stay longer—indeed the gods themselves could not shed tears equal to our sorrow though chased by the Great Hunter—but that we would happily accept her gracious invitation to attend the upcoming party. We are also great admirers of the Ladies Janira and Jamira and eagerly look forward to meeting them as well."

He watched the majordomo carefully to see if he would react to the Tears of the Gods being hinted at, but he merely nodded courteously, evidently well-accustomed to guests' eccentric blandishments.

As Gormin passed by, he noticed that Kresich had the same musky odour that Isla had had.

The group passed out of Kresich's sight into the Reception Room. From somewhere deep in the palace came the sound of at least three aneen bellowing.

Lameth whispered, "I am hesitant to use my mind-speech; things in here seem to react strangely to the use of esoteries. However, I am picking up the sensation of hunger."

Gormin shrugged. "Well, Kresich did say it was meal-time."

"That's not actually what he said."

He stopped and stared at Lameth. The rest of the group stopped as well.

Syrus piped up. "It's t- time for eat the palace—for palace to eat. Palace?" He looked around.

Gormin looked around also. Viscous, pale fluid leaked from the coral encrusting the wall. The bellowing aneen sounded increasingly distressed, panicked.

"The palace?" repeated Gormin. "So, not a figure of speech? Nei cultural, crito?" He smiled faintly at his joke, but resumed moving toward the palace exit, with a quickness. The group followed.

To be continued...

Tears of the Gods, Part Four - Demons of the Deep

This is part four of this story, adapted from an on-going play-by-forum session of Numenera. If you haven't already, you'll want to start with part one before you read this installment. If you've read the rest of the story already but it's been a while, no worries—there's a brief recap montage thingy at the start of this installment. Enjoy!

For important disclaimers and whatnot please see the Tears of the Gods table of contents page.

***

Previously in "Tears of the Gods"

From another cage a voice grated bitterly, "Perform? Yes, perform. You are here to fight and die for the pleasure of the crowd of citizens. How do you think the King maintains order? He gives the crowds what the crowds want: a slice-and-dice orgy of blood."

The elevator’s doors swung open upon a sumptuously furnished sitting room, softly lit by a glowing globe hanging from the high ceiling.

Frater Bellias gazed out the windows at the storm. "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."

The grey-cloaked woman side-stepped to cut Syrus off. She snarled in a low voice, "Next time we meet, pray to your Amber Pope that you remember. Meanwhile, remember this!"

The communicator was swiftly turning to black crud that flaked and crumbled away between Yimoul-Za's fingers. For a brief instant the item had touched Ooro’s mind.

Liem's eyes turned to the road east. "When I reached Jaston, I started hearing whispers that Toorkmeyn and his foul band of outlaws had been seen in the area."

"The finger was cut with a sharp instrument, probably a knife," Kiraz continued. "Done within the last 28 hours or so, I think."

***

Date: 9th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

Yimoul-Za

Yimoul-Za turned his enormous single eye toward the gloriously blazing sun. "How well you remind us of your might. May the saplings and all plant-forms thrive under your strength."

He heard Gormin scoff behind him. He ignored it and continued down the path. He whispered to the gnarled staff in his hand. "Ah, Seed-Brother, who knew we would ever get this far from home? But we have so much further to go."

By mid-morning though, even Yimoul-Za was struggling under the sun's might. A light breeze blew in from the sea far below them, but it did little to relieve the smothering heat.

As they trudged forward along the cliff's edge, Yimoul-Za gradually became aware of a barely perceptible singing sound coming from somewhere ahead, like thousands of voices whispering a faint song, a melody without words. He realized he was gently swaying to the strange music. How long has it been playing?

"Very strange. Are you hearing this?" Yimoul-Za asked the others. "I've heard of sea-plants that emanate music-like tones, but never anything like this."

They crested a short rise and the source of the otherworldly music became visible. Not far ahead, on the edge of the cliff and blocking the narrow path, lay a clump of shining spheres of various sizes, none much larger than Yimoul-Za's giant eye. They shimmered, transparent and iridescent, not unlike soap bubbles. As the breeze caressed them, a shivering pattern of colors rippled across their surface and they emitted another round of the strange, unearthly singing. The rippling colors and sounds were hauntingly, achingly beautiful, evoking in Yimoul-Za cherished memories of his forest home, when the air was cleaner, the sky was cleaner, and life was cleaner.

Gormin growled aggressively. "Great. If it isn't one thing, it's another." He glanced behind him, then drew his sword and advanced on the bubbles. "Not enough these stupid things gotta block our path—they gotta make an infernal racket too."

Sunlight streamed from Yimoul-Za's eye as he began a Scan esotery. "Light of the sun, reveal what is hidden." But the light of his Scan revealed nothing—the bubbles did not exist. Yet he could see and hear their exquisite beauty quite plainly. He began to think he could sit and listen to it forever. Indeed, had he not? When had he ever not heard this music? He became dimly aware of Gormin and Syrus shouting something. He wished they would shut up.

A rock struck the bubbles.

With a sigh like a million tiny shards of glass breaking, the entire clump shattered and vanished into the air. Yimoul-Za closed his eye as the last of the glittering, hair-like shards winked out of existence. He sighed. A thing of great beauty has gone from the world.

After a few moments, Tempus broke the silence. "It was necessary."

There was no more breeze. The group pressed on under the Fre sun's radiance.

***

Gormin

Gormin was not happy about heading away from the coast. But the cliff road was washed out ahead—nothing for it but to backtrack and take a side-trail to the southeast.

After some time, the trail crossed a stream, now reduced to a muddy trickle under the Fre sun's oppression. Iron Wind blast it all, thought Gormin. Cold water would've been nice. Beyond the stream, sullen gallen grazed here and there amid cultivated pastures, apparently unattended. Ahead in the distance, Gormin could make out a round cottage with a pointed thatch roof, with a cluster of smaller outbuildings around it. A heavy trail of smoke rose from one of the smaller buildings.

The heat was taking its toll on him. Even the effort of speaking was almost not worth the bother. "Strange they need a fire going. Maybe it's a blacksmithy. Suppose we could ask for directions to Fallside. But probably too early to stop here for the night. Not even wane yet." Gormin gritted his teeth. I sound like Syrus now.

As if on cue, Syrus spoke up. "F- fire seems odd... approach?"

Gormin squinted through the sweat dripping from his hairless eyebrows. The smoke was dark and heavy—too heavy. He scanned the farm buildings and fields. Aside from the gallen, he saw no signs of movement. "Yeah, you're right. That's no hearth fire. Let's check it out. If we're lucky, it's abhuman bandits burning down some crofter's outhouse and he'll pay us to fight them off." He attempted a grin, but the heat and those infernal bubbles had put him in a sour mood.

Kiraz nodded. "We should definitely investigate. The worst thing that could happen is that we don't need to help anyone."

There are far worse possibilities than that, Gormin thought, but he was tired of talking.

Approaching the house, it became clear that foul play was afoot. The door had been kicked open and one of the windows broken. The smoke from the burning outbuilding drifted over the group; it smelled of burning wood and charred meat. They set the smokehouse on fire. Barbarians.

Sprawled before the broken door were four bodies: a man, a woman and two female children, all dead. The woman and children had their throats cut from ear to ear; the man's head was bludgeoned in and his shirt ripped open.

On all four, the ring finger of the left hand was missing—severed.

Yimoul-Za examined the children. "Ah... such cruelty. Is the finger that has been removed the same one as at the rest shelter? Who did this?" He looked round. "Do you think their attackers are nearby? It would be wise to avoid them. I do not think it would be worth seeking... what is that word? Revenge. No. We should leave and continue our journey."

Kiraz pushed aside the man's ruined shirt with the point of her verred, exposing a thin tracery of thread-like burns on his skin. "What would cause these?"

Gormin stepped forward and peered at the web-like pattern of burns. A white-hot spider dancing a jig on him, maybe? Gormin looked behind them, searching for enemies. The gallen in the fields did not seem particularly frightened, just listless in the heat. Whoever or whatever did this is almost certainly long gone.

But the burns reminded him of something. "Those burns look similar to the rope-like burns Frater Bellias had on his hand. And the prisoner in the other cage underneath the arena had the same condition, more advanced. Perhaps it isn't really a burn, but a disease, and if it's a disease, it might still be catchable from these bodies or from their possessions inside. And this family may have been killed by their lord or other lawful authority to stop its spread. Either way, I'm not inclined to stick around lest we meet the same fate. It shouldn't be hard to find our way back to the coast and then to Fallside. Let's go."

Gormin turned to go, but the others lingered, still looking at the corpses. He sighed and turned back.

"There is nothing further to be gained here, and we risk much by staying. This world is full of wonders and terrors beyond the ken of humans. If we stop to investigate every anomaly until it's explained to the satisfaction of our curiosity, we will never finish this mission. We do want to continue the mission, yes? I am open to suggestions if someone wants to do something different, but fooling around with possibly diseased corpses is not something I am inclined to do. I'm no hero, and even if I were, these unfortunates are beyond my help now. Let's get out of here."

No more eloquent speeches today, he vowed. He turned and stalked off to the northeast.

***

Lameth

Lameth woke suddenly. Must have dozed off. He was still seated at the octagonal table.

He could sense a group of people approaching the travellers' rest; that must have been what woke him. He touched the side of his forehead and reached out to the group telepathically.

This is my rest... If you come in peace you can enter and refresh yourselves also, but if you come with foul intentions, stay away. I'm not looking for a fight, but if you leave me no choice I will take at least one or two with me.

Lameth stood and moved to the octagonal window. The approaching group was dimly visible below in the dying light of ebb—five of them, armed, plus an aneen. He bit his lip. It was five to one, but he did have a trick up his sleeve—a paralysis-ray cypher in the form of a contact lens in his left eye. It had only one shot, but it might help to even the odds a bit if it came to a fight—just take out the most powerful-looking one.

A thought came back via the telepathic link. We come to rest for the evening and do not wish to fight. With what we have seen today, we are being cautious.

Lameth released his breath and replied. Ok, feel free to enter and rest. There's plenty of food and water up here. I hope you don't mind if you and your companions rest in a different corner of the tower at night? Well, maybe if we get to know each other we could travel together... Where are you heading? And how big is your group?

We are five in number and are headed for Fallside.

Lameth sensed his interlocutor was a human woman. He could feel no dishonesty on her part. Why in the Ninth World would someone be interested in going to that town? What kind of business do you have there?

Why we travel to Fallside is better explained in-person. It is a long story.

Come inside, then.

The strangers shuffled into Lameth's tower.

A strange, tree-like being introduced itself as Yimoul-Za. It carried a gnarled wooden staff in its hand and wore a homespun robe to which a metallic orange-and-black scarab clung. "And how did you arrive here?" the tree-creature asked.

Lameth spoke with his natural voice. "I'm Lameth and I'm currently heading for the City of Bridges. Actually, I have no real destination—I'm just looking for some adventure. You said something about Fallside; what are you up to? I just came from there... A strange town and even stranger people."

The ugliest man Lameth had ever seen answered his question.

"We are heading to Fallside to deliver a message on behalf of the Aeon Priests. If you're looking for adventure, you can come along. We could use a telepath, as many of the people connected to this mission have been acting suspiciously from the start. As for you, wandering around out here alone may not be safe—we just came from a farmstead where the family was massacred by persons unknown. The killers' tracks led to somewhere in this general vicinity. After we deliver the message, we plan to return to the City immediately, so if you accompany us, it should only be a day or two diversion. I'm Gormin, by the way. I would crack a joke to break the ice, but I am far too tired."

Gormin's voice was nearly as rough as his face. Lameth wondered what was wrong with him, but it seemed impertinent to ask, so he didn't.

Introductions were made all round, and the group of five retired to the room opposite Lameth's.

Lameth returned to the window and looked out into the night. He could sense the four minds in the next room and the one below keeping watch—the time-traveller, Tempus. Dimly, he could also sense the aneen in the first-floor stable, but animal minds were much more difficult for him to get a read on. Lameth leaned his forehead against the octagonal stronglass pane; he found it hard to sleep around strangers due to their unfamiliar psyches.

Around midnight, the sky was lit by flashes of lightning as a storm rolled in from the sea. After some time, it passed on further inland, leaving the air noticeably cooler.

Lameth decided the strange group was trustworthy. A telepath's instincts were rarely wrong.

***

Date: 10th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

At about midday, the town of Fallside came into view, perched on the cliff-edge and stretching a little ways inland.

A vaguely oval-shaped metal building bristling with hatches, pipes, tubes, and chutes dominated the village from its precarious seat at the very edge of the cliff—the factory. Streams of smoke rose from chimneys of various sizes and shapes on its flat roof. From the side of the building, a spillway extended westwards and downwards to the ocean. Green and red sludge dribbled down the spillway toward the water, mixing together as it went. Lameth frowned. Was that right? Had that been happening before? Clustered around the factory were little round houses with thatch roofs. Aside from a handful of neutral grey buildings, the homes to the north were painted red; the ones to the south, green. No one seemed to be walking around outside.

Lameth could sense Gormin's puzzlement before he spoke. "They dump the sludge in the ocean? How strange. Is the sludge a byproduct of whatever it is they really produce?"

Lameth shook his head, forgetting to use his natural voice. Something is wrong. Yesterday, this place was a hive of activity, with red and green workers changing shifts every few hours.

They reached the outskirts of the town. A strong stench of rotting fish filled the air. The smell hadn't been there yesterday.

"Look." That was Kiraz. Lameth looked: blobs and smears of transparent slime were everywhere, and the ground was crisscrossed by deep grooves. Look like drag marks. The group spread out and advanced cautiously into the village.

There were bodies.

Some lay behind walls, some in the alleyways between the buildings, some wedged in doorways. Most appeared to be trying to brace themselves in place. All were missing their heads, which seemed to have been pulled or sucked off.

"The people of Fallside have clearly lost their minds," said Tempus. "The curious thing is that they seem to have lost them physically, not metaphorically, and with a great deal of force. We should try and locate Neymich and deliver the message. And withdraw quickly before we lose our minds too."

Kiraz and Syrus nodded agreement. "Yes, m- message delivery," said Syrus. He smiled sardonically. "We n- need to keep about us our heads." 

Gormin sniffed. "Perhaps one of the factions massacred the other. Such is the nature of factions. If so, it's their business, not ours. Lameth, do you know where Frater Neymich resides? Probably wears an orange robe and is remarkably useless."

Lameth turned a bit to the left and gestured. "Up behind there is where he lives, or by the looks of things... maybe lived?"

Lameth drew his dagger and led the way. Far above, a great geyser of steam shot from one of the factory's chimneys.

Lameth sensed others ahead. The group rounded the corner of Neymich's neighbor's house. By Neymich's front door were three people. One sat on the ground eating a smoked gallen drumstick; two leaned against the wall: a lanky, bearded male and a green-skinned female. They were talking casually and smiling.

Yimoul-Za strode directly up to the strangers, eye-stalk raised high and offering the hand of greeting.

The green woman caught sight of Yimoul-Za and stepped away from the wall. She was lithe and athletic, with tightly braided hair, but had no obvious armor or weapon. "A golthiar!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful. I love your kind: you get driven to do a quest and leave plenty of rich pickings in your wake. But there is nothing for you here. We were here first. Sorry." She gestured mock-apologetically. Lameth noted that she was missing her left ring finger.

"Pytha." The seated man gestured with his half-eaten drumstick at the rest of the group. "There are others." He had a shaven head with a metal stud the size of a fist protruding from the centre of his forehead. Gallen juice dripped down his chin. He also was missing the ring finger on his left hand.

"Iadace!" said Yimoul-Za. "We are not concerned with who was here first. We are here to deliver a message to Frater Neymich, and then we will head back. Is he here? When we're gone you can continue with... whatever it is you're doing."

Pytha eyed Yimoul-Za up and down, eyes glowing. Lameth could feel the greed rolling off her psyche like a wave.

"A message, you say? Would that be concerning the Tears of the Gods? If it is, we would be very interested. Hand it over, and then you can... head back."

The two men chuckled.

Kiraz stepped forward. "Nay, we need to deliver the message to Frater Neymich. We do not wish any arguments." She dropped a hand to the verred at her hip.

Lameth stepped between the group and the three strangers, hoping to deescalate. "Please don't even try, Pytha, we don't want bloodshed here. Why cross weapons over a simple message? We should try to find out what happened to this village. Besides that, you are outnumb-"

He broke off as he realized that the strangers were not actually outnumbered. He sensed more psyches in the house, more behind the group, and more... above? He turned. On the factory roof. He silently cursed himself; the terrible smell and the strangeness of the situation had distracted him.

"The priest... is busy at the moment," purred Pytha. Now face-to-face, Lameth could see she had yellow eyes with vertical slits. Her skin was scaled like a reptile's.

The man with the stud spat out a piece of bone. He laughed and rose to his feet.

"However," Pytha continued languidly, "if you want to talk, we can talk. Perhaps just you and I? Somewhere quiet? After all, we're just passing through and are in no particular hurry. What do you say, big boy?"

He didn't need his psychic abilities to tell him that would not be a good idea. He forced a smile to his face.  "We... don't need to go anywhere to talk privately."

An agonized shriek came from inside the house.

The bearded man grinned at the studded gallen-eater. "Pay up, Besc. I said the old fool wouldn’t keep his mouth shut." The bearded man had greasy reddish hair and a long beard that forked into three loose braids. He also was missing his ring finger.

Another shriek cut through the air.

Gormin wordlessly charged into the house, sword and shield suddenly in hand.

His reaction seemed to have taken them all by surprise. "Toorkmeyn!" Pytha shouted. "Couldn’t stop him getting in! There are others!" She smiled at Lameth and hissed menacingly. "But nothing we can’t handle. We could have been such friends."

She lashed out with both arms at Lameth, blindingly fast. But Lameth sensed it coming and twisted out of the way.

A bolt of sunlight struck the wall behind Pytha.

Besc cast aside his gallen meat. "I've got this." His metal stud sparked and crackled—purple lightning leapt out from it at someone behind Lameth. He heard Yimoul-Za cry out.

No time to worry about that now. He circled around Pytha, seeking an opening. Suddenly Syrus' whip snaked out, wrapping itself around Pytha's neck—Syrus yanked hard, pulling her off balance. From nowhere, Kiraz darted forward and sank her verred in Pytha's kidney.

And just like that, Pytha was down.

Besc didn't take it well. "Pytha! No!" Besc jerked his upper body forward, ejecting the stud from his head. The metal sphere bounced at Kiraz' feet.

It exploded in a blaze of bluish-purple force.

Lameth reeled, trying to blink away the spots before his eyes.

Crossbow bolts rained down, coming from the direction of the factory. One lodged itself in the roof of Neymich's house. Another struck the ground near Lameth's feet.

Disoriented and ears ringing, Lameth ran unsteadily into the house. Gormin was facing off alone against three more attackers. Tied to a bench was an unconscious older man in a torn orange robe—that has to be Neymich.

One of the attackers was a woman in a black tunic and leggings with more than half her face disfigured into a huge blistered mass of raw flesh. A few stringy strands of black hair clung to her scalp. She had a bleeding gash over her right eye that Gormin must have put there.

The second attacker was a helmeted middle-aged man in brigandine armor, holding a poleaxe defensively across his chest. He was using his whole body to shield the third attacker from Gormin.

From behind his human shield, the third attacker was extending a wickedly complex numenera device forward, trying to get a good angle on Gormin. He mashed an awkwardly positioned thumb-button on its makeshift-looking handle. A bright purple beam lanced out from the device, but either he had poor aim or Gormin had good defensive instincts—it missed.

That must be Toorkmeyn. Lameth remembered his paralysis cypher. With a thought, he activated it. Toorkmeyn was instantly surrounded by a shimmering field of ruby-red energy, muscles locked. He fell awkwardly at the ugly woman's feet, the complex device slipping from his involuntarily clenched fist.

The woman spoke. "Calaval’s eyes! I haven’t been paid yet. You," jerking her chin at Gormin, "are as fierce as a cragworm. I like that. Still, time to go."

She dropped to one knee and snatched another, smaller device from Toorkmeyn's belt. Before Lameth could react, she was gone, vanished.

The remaining bandit raised his voice. "Besc! Ysin! Toorkmeyn is down and the bitch has gone. I will do my sworn duty!" He then addressed Gormin and Lameth more formally. "I am Psolir; my family have served House Mantir for generations. I am sworn to defend Toorkmeyn of House Mantir to the death, and I shall discharge my duty."

Psolir jabbed his poleaxe at Gormin, which he deflected with his shield.

"Noble words for a common bandit." Gormin circled left, trying to force Psolir to turn his back to Lameth.

"Noble words indeed, and meant."

Lameth heard a shout from outside. "Ten out here! Needful help!" Syrus.

Gormin shouted back. "Stand fast! Almost done in here!"

Lameth sensed the exact moment of Gormin's strike. He lunged in low with his dagger as Gormin slashed high. Psolir hesitated between blocking the two strikes a moment too long and blocked neither. Lameth's dagger entered his side just as Gormin's backsword cut his throat. His lifeless body sprawled atop Toorkmeyn.

***

Gormin

Gormin went through the last of the dead bandits' pockets. It was slim pickings. The cowards had broken and run when their leader went down, despite still having a numbers advantage—most of them had escaped. Every escaped bandit was a bandit with shins still in his pockets, curse them all. At least Besc didn't get away. The latter lay face down in the dust, a crossbow quarrel still sticking up from the back of his neck.

Gormin returned to the house. Toorkmeyn was sitting upright now on the house's dirt floor, though still tightly tied up. He was wearing fancy nobleman finery, but stolen used clothes were difficult to find buyers for so Gormin hadn't bothered to strip him naked. His nine rings—one for each finger, less the missing left ring finger—were a different story.

Tempus and Yimoul-Za were still tending to Neymich on the bench. He groaned.

Gormin stepped closer and looked over Tempus' shoulder. He saw again the web-like pattern of burns on Neymich's bare chest, angry red. Not a disease. Gormin had seen the woman in black causing it with a spider-like numenera device as a means of torture. A white-hot spider dancing a jig wasn't too far off the mark after all.

Neymich's eyelids fluttered. He struggled to speak. "Tell Aliser. Tell Bellias," he wheezed. "Loarn was right. The Tears are real, they exist. Loarn knew and he left the journal in the Shrine of the Winged God."

All this to find out something written in graffiti underneath the Arechive all this time anyway. But Gormin kept his peace for once.

"Hold on a minute," said Tempus. "We have to deliver this to you..." He pressed the grey message tube into Neymich's hand.

Gormin heard a metallic whirring and turned. Yimoul-Za's orange scarab had come to life and risen into the air. It flew out the front door.

"Now where might you be going?" asked Yimoul-Za. "Off to mate with others of your type?" He followed it outside.

"Well, this is interesting," remarked Toorkmeyn. "Being bound is somewhat ignoble. Please release me; you have my word as a nobleman that I will not attempt to escape. Also, you should have not killed poor Psolir. He was only doing his sworn duty to my House Mantir."

Gormin snorted. "You really must be of royal blood if you think you can massacre a whole village and not have to face any consequences. Usually only the highest of high-born are that disconnected from reality. Also, you should pay your minions better. This is pathetic," he complained, thrusting a fistful of looted shins before Toorkmeyn's face.

Toorkmeyn shook his head. "You think I did all this? I kill with a sword. I came here looking to wrest the secret of the Tears of the Gods from the Aeon Priest. When we got here the villagers were mostly missing besides a few dead bodies. You can’t blame the lads for helping themselves. The priest was a babbling wreck, muttering about the 'demons from the depths'. He wouldn’t cooperate, so..." He shrugged. "Sinys was having a little chat with him. Then you arrived."

Gormin frowned. "If the Aeon Priest corroborates your story, maybe you will avoid being hanged for war crimes. What about the farmer family a day or so to the southwest of here? Did gibbering horrors from the depths cut their throats and give the man a burn like Sinys' spider? Or were you interrogating random homesteaders about the Tears of the Gods?"

Toorkmeyn smiled. "What’s a war crime? It sounds interesting."

"A funny-man, eh? Perhaps if you keep us amused we'll let you walk back to the City instead of dragging you by the ankles the whole way." Gormin turned away.

Neymich coughed weakly. The message tube slipped from his fingers. "In the Truth... break the seal and read it to me."

Tempus popped open the seal tube. Inside was a rolled-up scrap of leathery scrip. Tempus read aloud: "If this seal is broken, do not trust these men." He checked to see if anything was on the back, then showed the scrip to Neymich. "That's all. So this is just another test. What do we do next? And more importantly, what attacked all the people here? We don't have time to waste..."

Gormin chuckled darkly. "Apparently Venerance Aliser is a funny-man also. Would not have thought it to look at him."

But Neymich had drifted back to sleep.

***

Syrus

The sun was setting. Neymich sat on a stool in the house's back room, directing Syrus and Tempus as they packed his books and parchments, preparing for the return trip. Neymich, now without a parish, would be returning to the Arechive for debriefing and reassignment. Syrus did most of the packing work; Tempus was unsubtly reading anything of Neymich's that piqued his curiosity.

Though Neymich was not a young man, and still seemed weak from Sinys' ministrations, a few hours of sleep seemed to have done him some good.

He started to relay what happened. "It was last night, at shift change," he said softly. "I was preparing to go to bed when screaming broke out north of the factory. Many ran to see what was happening; I and some others were slower. That slowness made us the lucky ones. On the cliff edge, slithering up from the sea, was a long, dome-shaped head, glistening like... wet leather." He shuddered.

"The Reds and the Greens crowded forward to get a better look, remaining separate from each other even then. From an orifice on top of the creature came a..." He searched for the words. "A... shimmering... bubble that burst into thousands and thousands of hair-like... cilia, engulfing the two crowds. They stuck to people's heads and pulled them in until the victims formed a tight-packed ball. The... ball... of people... rolled over and bounced down the cliff into the sea. I saw another bubble float into the air... the crowd broke and ran... only to find another demon waiting on the south side of the factory."

Neymich hung his head. "In the Truth, I hid; there was nothing I could do. At morning I ventured out; there were strange noises sounding in the factory. If the machines are not tended constantly they will explode due to the pressure, I'm told. At some point I was struck from behind and must have fallen. I would prefer not to remember what followed. In the Truth, I thank you for saving me."

Syrus patted his shoulder awkwardly but said nothing. He resumed packing.

***

Toorkmeyn and Gormin fell to arguing on the road back to the travellers' rest.

"All I wanted was their fingers," explained Toorkmeyn, oh-so-reasonably. He was walking behind the aneen, his bound wrists joined to its saddle by a length of synthrope, just long enough that the aneen wouldn't step on him. "Is it my fault they were unwilling to part with them?"

Gormin was walking beside him, unwilling to let him out of sight. "I am not arguing with the likes of you. Save your warped rationalizations for the judge."

Toorkmeyn twisted awkwardly to address Syrus, who had rear-guard duty as usual. "Your leader calls me warped and a killer who must face justice. But back there I saw the body of my companion Besc, shot in the back. Will the honourable person who did that face justice with me?"

Syrus wondered if someone had told. It didn't matter. "Slowed down, trying for leg. Missed leg. Served justice."

"Your leader spoke to me thus, and I quote, 'Usually only the highest of high-born are that disconnected from reality.' And yet, you have appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner. Where is your leader’s justice now? He spoke of a war crime; since when is war a crime? I am apparently guilty of such a thing, yet you are not, even though Besc was clearly running away when you killed him."

"B-Besc killed try m-me... I slow him down. Missed." Syrus was getting frustrated.  He glanced toward Gormin. "Gormin not speak for me, I... I am my own. Not worried."

A few moments passed in awkward silence. Then Gormin spoke up again. "You claim you don't know what a war crime is, and indeed see nothing wrong with murdering innocents simply out of a desire to disfigure them, yet somehow you object to shooting a known criminal in the back? Yes, warped and disconnected from reality is right."

Gormin spat. "That disgusting slob—Besc, was it?—was a dishonourable coward and a murderer of innocents, like you. Does it matter that his just fate came at the point of a crossbow bolt instead of a hangman's noose? We have a saying in Draolis: honour is for the honourable. All of you forfeited your lives when you murdered that family that meant you no harm, and attacked the Aeon Priest who had done nothing to you. None of you are worthy of honourable treatment as captured soldiers, only punishment as criminals. My only regret is that we didn't kill the rest of your worthless band of brigands—unfortunately, their remarkable cowardice in the face of a foe they outnumbered more than two-to-one was so great that most of them got away. But such is the way of criminals. The only reason you yourself are still alive is that we may yet get a reward or ransom out of you. Although if you keep it up with the self-pitying bellyaching, we may present you to the authorities in the City minus your tongue. Or minus your head.

"You say we are not authorized to be judge, jury, and executioner, but we are," Gormin continued. "We are agents of the Order of Truth, lawfully protecting our people. You attacked us, remember—Frater Neymich is one of ours. The Order has the right to defend itself against common thugs and robbers. There isn't a judge in all of Ghan that would find in your favor against us, so what difference would it make arguing your case in front of a judge? Your snake-woman and gluttonous nano and the rest of your inept highwaymen would be found guilty and hanged; they'd be just as dead at the end of the day."

Gormin shook his head. "If you were in Ancuan, perhaps being a member of the royal family might get you personally off the hook, but that isn't likely to count for much here. But who knows? Maybe King Laird and his nieces will appreciate you murdering and robbing their peasants for no reason and let you go." He snorted. "Actually, realistically, your best hope is that they will ransom you back to your family in Ancuan. Not because that would be just, but because Ancuan is rich. Better hope your family hasn't disowned you due to your blackguard ways. In any event, that is their call, not ours, so arguing with us isn't likely to get you anywhere but dead so soon after you tried to kill us."

That seemed to shut Toorkmeyn up for the moment. Syrus held his peace as well.

As ebb was giving way to night, the group reached the crest from which they had first caught sight of Fallside. Syrus looked back. Where the factory had stood, streaks of dark gunk could be seen leaking down the cliff. Too many boiler and reactor explosions in the factory had destabilized its cliff-side perch—the ledge had finally collapsed and the whole structure had slid into the sea. 

Syrus sighed. Not much further to the traveller's shelter. He turned away.

To be continued...