Amdirlain’s PoV - Culerzic
Torm remained silent until the stairs descended another fifty metres from the corridor. “How much further are you looking to descend?”
“If I didn’t mess up the conversion, the plan’s cross-section showed the tallest chamber on the top floor being forty metres.”
“Going to carve out the full base they designed for all of them?”
“Why not? Gives me something to do while my Mana recovers and I think over the information you’ve gathered,” replied Amdirlain and claimed another section into Inventory. “Do you also think I should hide away for the century?”
“I think a century focused on training your skills could be good for you,” suggested Torm. “Compare your combat capabilities with Liranë. You only had one Tier 7, and only her better skills kept you from overpowering her. But from what you’ve learnt about transformation sites, there may be demons with far more Tier 5 Prestige classes and better skills.”
“You all have a point, but I’m sure I’ll go crazy just hiding out. I’ve always needed to be doing something,” admitted Amdirlain. “Have you ever been Planar Locked?”
“Twice.”
“Well, at least I’ve not exceeded your count,” teased Amdirlain, and Torm’s snort drew her attention from the stone she’d been disintegrating.
“Yet,” cautioned Torm. “Both of mine were in the first five hundred years of being a Celestial, and I wasn’t in a dangerous location while Planar Locked.”
“Oops.”
“Indeed. Are you going to carve out all the chambers this way?”
“I’ll cut the border of each out and disintegrate the rock in the middle rather than chop it up this way,” explained Amdirlain. “You’re not just going to hang around here, are you? I mean, you’ve obligations to fulfil with the other celestials.”
Torm nodded understandingly. “I do indeed, but I’ll be here frequently. Though given all the bags of abyssal currency you donated, we can now operate for some time. We must limit what we handle at once to avoid risking the entire operation.”
“Flashing too much coinage isn’t keeping a low profile,” acknowledged Amdirlain.
“Exactly, and the reason handling the market isn’t my job.”
“That’s even better. I could just tag along to help harvest while avoiding contact with the other celestials since you want them out of the loop,” suggested Amdirlain. “Sounds like you’re hiding me from disapproving parents.”
“You implying you’re a girlfriend from the wrong side of the tracks?”
“I need Sarah’s movie list,” muttered Amdirlain before her voice returned to normal. “Can I take field trips to help the gathering, please oh mighty one?”
With a sigh that sounded like it came from the bottom of his boots, Torm shook his head glumly. “Having a beautiful Alu-Demon accompany me while gathering isn’t keeping a low profile.”
Amdirlain reached out, tugged Torm’s earlobe, and promptly vanished, but the elaborate earpiece that held fast to him only elicited a sigh. A decorative metal spike ran up along the curve of his ear, and insect-like limbs protruded from it to clamp onto his flesh. “I don’t need to be out in the open.”
The metallic words vibrating along his ear drew a nod. “We can work something out if you really need to get out into the foul abyssal air and endure the appalling scenery.”
An Abyssal Stone Hag appeared next to Torm, clad in black robes that looked frayed with age. Despite the craggy texture of her grey skin, the mischievous smile was pure Amdirlain.
“Pass,” retorted Torm.
“What, don’t want to take an old lady for a walk, youngster?” cackled Amdirlain.
“Hags appearing in unexpected places are a sure sign that some scheme is afoot,” chided Torm. Amdirlain shifted back to her wingless Alu-Demon form with its long sable locks and ivory skin.
“Most Alu-Demons can’t change their form,” warned Torm.
Unbothered, Amdirlain simply shrugged. “I’m a Wizard, obviously. Now let me get back to work.”
Amdirlain’s staircase finished after a hundred-metre descent and levelled off into a large domed chamber. Ten stone arches ran up along the chamber's walls, spaced five metres apart, and merged at the peak like a strange rib cage. Though she wasn’t sure if they’d provide additional support, they at least broke up the sterile appearance of the meeting hall. The dome’s peak was almost forty metres overhead, and Amdirlain was considering carving out artwork to lessen the bleak appearance when Isa came skipping down the stairs alone.
“Got your own Hall for singing practice, but it will echo up those stairs,” observed Isa.
“I’ll hang a set of doors shortly and put concealments in the passages to block sound travelling and disturbing guests,” replied Amdirlain. Curious at Ilya’s absence, she glanced meaningfully beyond Isa.
“She trusts you to keep me safe. The groves have helped, but her claustrophobia still kicks her arse. Do you want to keep carving, or shall we have a lesson since you have a lovely hall?” asked Isa. “We could go through the basics as Roher did with me.”
With no urgency to complete the hideout, Amdirlain shrugged reluctantly, recognising the trap procrastination offered. “Why not? How many hours a day do you and Roher practice?”
“I get a couple of hours a day with him at present,” replied Isa. “It was a lot more when I first arrived.”
“Then you went and caused some distractions, didn’t you?” teased Amdirlain.
“Too right,” laughed Isa. “Now I get more time with Ilya—what a relief.”
Amdirlain couldn’t resist giving Isa a pert smile at her gleeful tone. “It's likely just as well regeneration takes care of tongue fatigue.”
“I know. Singing takes so much out of me; I’d hate not to be at my peak for Ilya. Being a Planetar is fun, and I don’t even need the ring she commissioned to shapeshift anymore.”
“TMI,” sighed Amdirlain, and Isa burst out laughing.
When Amdirlain gave a deep sad sigh, Isa clapped sharply. “Right, let's get started, my little Padawan. I’ve some memories of Orhêthurin teaching one of my past lives—talk about brutal, so time for some payback.”
“You mentioned that,” reminded Amdirlain. “Guess you won’t need anyone to sing for you.”
“Fragments, which Roher says can happen even before the rite. I’d still recover more with it; maybe you or Gail can help me later,” countered Isa.
Quickly cutting the beginning of a planned passage, Amdirlain extracted two stone chairs from the mass she’d stored and set them on the floor. “Dealer’s choice Torm. Stick around, listen to boring vocal lessons, or head off to take care of whatever you need to do?”
“I’m curious.”
Isa plopped down casually on a seat and motioned for Amdirlain to get started.
Though she’d set concealments in place while excavating, Amdirlain added another layer and set up the stone doors before she began.
When she finished a demonstration of regular singing, Isa looked like Amdirlain had grown a second head. “What’s your singing at?”
“Presently, it's Adept 41,” answered Amdirlain.
“Okay, that’s not what I was expecting to hear. I remember you singing along to your stereo. You had a pleasant voice but strictly amateur; now, you could be a lead singer.”
“Depends on your standard,” countered Amdirlain, and Isa rolled her eyes.
“What’s your True Song at, and what effects can you create?”
“Adept 15. So far only some mimicking of telekinetic techniques, both physical and energy effects,” answered Amdirlain. Laying out some chunks of stone, Amdirlain lifted them with Far Hand before progressing through the techniques she’d replicated.
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“Have you gained the composition skill?”
“True Song Composition is at Beginner 5,” replied Amdirlain quickly. “Or did you mean something else?”
Her question just had Isa look at her owlishly. “No, that’s the Skill I meant. I didn’t even know it was a thing until Roher taught me. When did you gain it?”
“Would you believe listening to music while talking to Roher and Laleither?” asked Amdirlain. “I’d been trying to understand aspects of True Song for a while, and some pieces from old memories clicked into place.”
“Maybe I should stop avoiding them. Though some I’ve not been able to avoid rising to the surface, most I’ve distracted myself from and the memories subsided,” admitted Isa. “I will admit the whole idea scares me; having someone’s life experiences cram themselves into my skull.”
“Your Soul’s life lessons are readily accessible; click the link to download now,” quipped Amdirlain. “How do you find them?”
“That’s just it—they vary so much I never know how emotional the memories will be,” Isa replied. “Sometimes they hold such strong singular emotions, and other times it's like all the colours had washed away. Those faded memories aren’t too bad, but the one where the Anar city fell was the first, and it carried so much rage and sorrow. How about you?”
“For me, it's like I’m living the moment, but that could just be how I’m recovering them. Individuals with Immortal Spirit use the Ki technique to recover lessons learnt in past lives. Since our memories are still sitting in our Souls, they come back in high definition,” replied Amdirlain.
“All of them?” gasped Isa and winced when Amdirlain nodded. “I think I’ll take my method. I don’t want the high-definition version of being incinerated by a Dragon.”
Remembering one of Ebusuku’s Maze briefings, Amdirlain raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Ebusuku conveyed a report from Echo that said you were furious with the Lómë.”
“I was furious with them, but I remembered more of why they left now. The Anar society was like a tree that had become rotten within: their rulers, court, and customs; by the time Mori became Queen, it was too late to change them. She’d barely been at it a few millennia before the end,” answered Isa. “The Lómë trusted precisely one among the Anar, and when they thought she died, they left.”
“How old was Mori at the end? Was it the same lifetime as when you were my great-granddaughter?” asked Amdirlain.
“I had at least a half dozen lives before I came into your circle of influence. Then we met, and I’m sure that last life ran for over a billion years because of your teachings. At least, I had the name Mori still when the city fell,” replied Isa and snorted. “A couple of billion years! That’s nothing, right?”
Amdirlain smirked at Isa’s disbelief. “Spring chicken.”
“Are you going to learn or run off and get in trouble?”
“Now why would you ask a question like that?”
Isa glanced at Torm. “Will you help us keep track of her? Maybe she needs a babysitter like Gail.”
“As long as I’m making progress, I’ll keep a low profile,” Amdirlain offered. “Though, do you think Moloch will notice if a few hundred thousand demons perish?”
“It depends if they were ones he was planning to profit from next,” noted Torm casually. “Do you think you can predict which ones to avoid?”
“Good point; if only I possessed something like Precognition. Oh wait, I do!” laughed Amdirlain and returned her attention to Isa. “Right, where do we start?”
Isa tapped her foot and jabbed a finger at Amdirlain. “With some practice. Now, if you’d demonstrate how you practiced in the Maze.”
“Each session was three hours,” cautioned Amdirlain.
“I’m not moving—Ilya is sparring.”
“Normal singing or True Song?”
“I’ve listened to you sing; now show me the Power!” exclaimed Isa.
With a snort of suppressed amusement, Amdirlain scattered head-sized rocks across the floor and shattered each with a single severing note. When she ran low on material, she extended the new passage further. Isa was faithful to her word and sat through Amdirlain’s practice session without shifting position.
For several beats, after Amdirlain halted, Isa said nothing but slowly blinked and finally breathed. “Holy cow.”
“It’s just rocks,” commented Amdirlain.
“No, I mean the single notes you’re using. How did you learn that?” Isa asked and pointed to a fist-sized rock among the rubble. “May I?”
“By my guest.”
Isa’s focus sharpened, and the rock burst apart under the note she sang. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget that note after listening to you drill it for three hours. Where did you learn it?”
An illusion of an apple tree appeared beside Amdirlain, and she plucked the closest fruit. “By listening to a tree’s stem sever from its fruit.”
“That’s all?” asked Isa,
“It took a long time to isolate the note. I only listened for it because of a memory where Orhêthurin told Mori about using single empowered notes,” Amdirlain replied, aware she was short-changing the situation's complexity.
“Power, plus intent,” murmured Isa and exchanged a hug with Amdirlain. “Thanks for sharing that, I’ve not heard Roher do anything like it. Since I have some things to think about, I will let you two have some alone time. I also need to return to the groves' purified region—this place's energy makes me want to bathe with acid.”
A quick song from Isa opened a Gate overlooking the cavern. Giving them a wave, she stepped through and let it close.
“I’ve been good. I don’t suppose you’d show me some sights?” asked Amdirlain, a new idea racing around in her mind.
“Not going to keep working on your hideout?”
“I want to collect music from different locations,” explained Amdirlain. “I’ve got an idea, but it will take a while to implement, maybe even longer than I’m trapped here. I’m not planning to fight anything, but I want to see and listen to the regions of the Plane.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Is that part of the tour fee?” teased Amdirlain.
Torm shrugged and beckoned her to share. “No, I was simply hoping you’d share your plan.”
“True Song can target points far out of sight. The Lómë purified parts of the Ternòx, and Celestials living on another Plane in the Abyss have done the same,” offered Amdirlain.
“You want to purify this Plane?” asked Torm, gaining an incredulous expression.
“Not all of it, but if I build something to cleanse a sizeable chunk, it might be interesting,” replied Amdirlain.
“Laleither seemed to indicate that the Anar weren’t good builders,” noted Torm and stopped at Amdirlain’s smile.
“Let’s just say there is a bit of truth in that and move along,” commented Amdirlain.
“What if we come across mortal slaves?” questioned Torm. “Ebusuku mentioned you couldn’t ignore the plight of the captives.”
Amdirlain winced and rubbed a hand across her stomach, remembering that ache that had hit her. “Yeah, she’d wanted me to rest and thought showing me that the task was endless would do the trick. Blame it on me being in a terrible place emotionally. If we see someone that needs help where it's too dangerous to do so, I can scry them out later. If we don’t help them in time, avenging them also works.”
“What made you push before?”
She chewed on her lip for a minute as she considered how to explain it. “I felt like an imposter, a fake, a fraud—however you wanted to put it. I had this Title, and zero belief that I’d earned it. Eivor pronounced her belief in me, and suddenly I was a goddess or pseudo-power. If I’d had an option to refuse at that time, it would have been no way, no how.”
Amdirlain exhaled and raked fingers through her hair. “You all wanted to let me know what you believed I should do, and I appreciate it came from a place of concern. But no, I can’t nod and go along. I can’t just agree that way. I will not let someone else set the goal posts and the rules. Orhêthurin made a mess of her life by following other people’s rules until it was too late to avoid a trap that eventually cost her life.”
“Following rules isn’t always a bad thing,” teased Torm.
“It is, in excess, just like this Plane attracts those who’ve taken desire too far. For Orhêthurin, the desire to be accountable, and avoid even the perception of power, was the poison that killed her. I didn’t want power, but I wanted to be safe. Guaranteed safety isn’t a thing, and in this realm, safety can be challenging to maintain.”
Torm paused, and Amdirlain listened to his calm inner music, enjoying his melody. “What rules will you follow to be safe?”
“If it is too dangerous for me, then it's too dangerous for you,” replied Amdirlain, smiling when Torm froze. “Isn’t so much fun when the shoe is on the other foot. But seriously, tell me you wouldn’t be in the Abyss if you hadn’t considered me being here a possibility.”
“If I get killed, I’ll end up back on Týr’s Plane,” argued Torm.
Even before he finished speaking, Amdirlain started to shake her head. “Death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you here. While you’re here, I’m guarding your back. I can’t imagine a Transformation Site would be good for your health. Do you think I wouldn’t be able to hear that sort of music nearby?”
“What about when I meet with the other celestials?”
“Please, do you think I can’t hide my presence from them? Erwarth can’t come here because she’d be a signal flare, so how strong are the others in your team?”
The wince Amdirlain’s suggestion drew didn’t surprise her, nor did the conviction in Torm’s voice. “I won’t deceive them.”
“Then don’t do it by going behind their backs,” countered Amdirlain. “Let them know you’ve got a strange ally working to free herself from the Abyss. If they opt not to trust you, it's their choice, not just because a judge was keeping another’s secret.”
“You mean far more to me than that, beloved,” declared Torm softly.
Amdirlain gave him a warm smile that drew forth a bashful grin. “First time you’ve said that directly. I liked hearing those words from you, especially since the risks you've taken for me show it even more clearly. I love you, and there are so many secrets I want to tell you, and I’ll do so once I’m no longer Planar Locked. I hate even having to put conditions on sharing them.”
Hopefully, that gives me enough time to figure out how to guard him against anyone listening to his music or mind.
“Even married couples don't have to tell each other everything. Are your Class names among the secrets, or can you share them?”
“They're hardly a secret, and it took points off her for that dig. That was such a classic Elf move—passive-aggressive bullshit. I'll tell you what I’m interested in, but not voice the question. The implication that I’m the naughty child for not sharing is so annoying,” huffed Amdirlain. “If she’d asked, I would have told her, but they would have meant nothing to her.”
“Why’s that?” asked Torm, giving a puzzled frown.
Amdirlain pursed her lips and almost held her tongue. “They’re unique to my situation, so they would have never heard of them before. If Orhêthurin had them, I’m sure she never shared them; she could keep a secret until it died of old age. I don’t know if you know High Elven? Ontãlin is one, and it roughly means ‘Singer of the forge’ and Ostimë, a term for ‘blending of sound’.”
“Blending of sound?” asked Torm, his voice rich with curiosity.
“It's a term for when combinations of letters get put together that requires the first letter to be pronounced differently,” explained Amdirlain. “The letter ‘m’ becomes pronounced as ‘mb’, ‘S’ becomes ‘St’, etc. Make sense?”
Her explanation earned a nod, and Torm asked. “And I assume the forge in the other refers to the Titan’s forge?”
“Yeah, Orhêthurin did lots of work with him,” admitted Amdirlain. “Right, I’m nearly out of words for now. What horrific sites do you have to share with me?”
“Are you sure you want to go out?” sighed Torm.
“Torm, I’m not a Dwarf,” objected Amdirlain. “I’ve been underground too much. This Plane feels awful above or below ground, so I’d prefer to at least see further for a little while. As a compromise, I’ll keep carving while my Mana Pool is recovering, and then you can take me worm hunting or something. You have until then to decide on a suitable disguise, or I’ll pick something.”
“Not worm hunting—I’ve had enough of wading across those flats lately,” argued Torm. “Give me a week. It’ll let me arrange a meeting time with the other celestials, and then we can explore. We can handle gathering together if they still want to work with me.”
“Alright, a week I can handle, and we can do something else besides worms,” cheered Amdirlain and cut out a fresh section of stone.
The regular cycling of Mana finally sated her Mana Pool a few hours later. The time it had taken had allowed Amdirlain to carve out nearly a third of the complex’s top level.
“Have you picked an activity yet?”
“I've sent a message to the cell's leader. We'll meet them in four days, which is sooner than I had expected for a non-emergency,” said Torm. “If they want to work with us, we'll go fruit picking in the Orchards of Hunger.”
Nodding her acceptance of the plan, Amdirlain motioned for him to continue. “What are the Orchards of Hunger?”
Torm snorted at her quick response and gave her a wry smile. “You mentioned them previously to me, but it seems you weren’t aware of the region’s name. The Orchards of Hunger contain the trees with the famine fruit.”
The name recalled the sight of the trees for Amdirlain, and she curled her lip at the memory. “The trees with fat boughs growing in what looks to be barren soil?”
“Exactly,” acknowledged Torm. "The Abyss buries the damned, and the tree's taproot goes down their throat, drinking from their Souls. New arrivals are the only time I’ve seen the trees move—they’re like a revolting version of a Treant. The tree sprouts almost instantly; its side roots seize the damned, pulling them close, before it starts to push them under. Even before they submerge, you can see their throat convulsing when the tap root drives in, their skin becoming parched and desiccated."
“Demons eat the fruit, don’t they?” asked Amdirlain and grimaced at Torm’s answering nod. “Well, I asked to get out to see the sites. Did you have a particular location in mind?”
“There are a few I’ve been to scattered across the flats,” replied Torm. “What form for you to use is the biggest question.”
“Well, you have a week to pick something,” responded Amdirlain. “But I'm not sure what else I could use considering the abyssal energy they’d expect to be present in a Demon.”