His name was Glonthek gel Glonthek, guild liaison. He represented three mid-level guilds: the Amber Foundation, the Weaponeers, and the Farmer's Alliance, working within the legal system of the High Federation and the Law of InterGuild when problems arose between his clients and the planes they involved themselves with. Whenever there was collateral damage, whenever one of them up and got killed, whenever they up and killed someone else, he was there to smooth over ruffled feathers. Negotiate reparations. Settle scores. Without a liaison, most new guilds tended to flounder and drown in a flood of lawsuits. You needed a lawyer, if you wanted to survive. InterGuild had long ago moved the business of working with the multiverse into the realm of law and order.
And part of Glonthek's duties as guild liaison was attending the speeches of the Prime Voice. Olendris Valm was a multifarious being. He was a general. He was guildmaster. He was chairman of the Reclamationist Party, which held the majority within parliament. He was also Prime Voice, elected leader of the entirety of the High Federation and its holdings both within the Silver Eye Galaxy and out in the multiverse. When he spoke, there was no choice but to listen.
And Glonthek was running late to one of his speeches. He waited in the old transport ship that he had hired to bring him to Four Hands Clasped in Unity, the ship rumbling beneath his webbed feet, a single slender finger tapping his knee. Glonthek was a Theeridian, a species somewhere between an insect and an amphibian, and his scales were starting to slick as he secreted a sort of slime, a sign of his anxiety. Bug-like eyes kept darting to the window, towards the floating metropolis that was Four Hands Clasped in Unity, a series of high towers awash in the orange cloud seas of planet Everlasting Truth. The gas giant was the capital of the High Federation, and Four Hands Clasped in Unity was its palace. A city completely dedicated to the governance of the Federation, it was where parliament met, it was where the majority of the galaxy's politicians lived with their families. For thousands of years, laws had been debated, in the great pyramid that dominated the city's skyline.
The transport ship landed near the pyramid. Glonthek paid his usual fare, before running out the door in a panic. A few papers slipped from his briefcase, and he fumbled after them, before picking up his pace once more.
He made it, just in time. Through the front entrance of the pyramid, dodging past statues of the Alu'eer, the Founders of the Federation. Up a few staircases. Flashed his ID to the security guard at the front office. Made his way up a few more stairs. By now, he could hear applause through the walls of the pyramid, through the speakers that had been set up in the side rooms and offices. Olendris Valm's voice, deep as the world and just as measured, began to come through. It got louder as Glonthek made it to the observation deck. He recognized a few others he worked with. Rastonbury, a lawyer from the Marlish Empire, gave him a nod as the Theeridian sat down next to him.
“I miss much?” Glonthek asked.
“Just the opening vows,” Rastonbury said, and he nodded. The observation deck was located near the top of the Tower of Discourse. A vast, cylindrical room, representatives from each region of the Silver Eye sat in their assigned places, consoles in front of them to vote, to amplify their voices, to request recognition. In the center of the room, on a pillar of pale, near see through khuzelinite, was Olendris Valm himself. He was tall, with a long neck and gray skin that stretched, almost strained, over a skull-like head. His eyes were large and globular, and the stars seemed to pool within them. He was wearing his customary white robes, manta-ray like wings folded over them, the symbol of the High Federation, four interlocking hands, adorning his stomach.
He was raising his arms up, as though in supplication, as he spoke.
“My friends,” he said, “My Federation. I come to you on this most auspicious day, this anniversary, of the founding of InterGuild.”
Another round of applause. Polite. A bit strained, for the nobility, the politicians, of the Silver Eye did not cast a favorable gaze on the multiverse.
“It comes at an unprecedented time” Valm said, “Under our hand, we have worked to maintain stability within our Silver Eye. We work, to make a world where our children do not wake up fearful of the future. Where they do not dream of our old enemies.”
He smiled, and it was a false thing. Everyone in the cylinder knew it. Knew that Valm was a consummate politician, that everything about him was a facade. And yet he kept winning his elections.
He knew whose palms needed to be greased.
“With this anniversary, I come to you as your Prime Voice, to remind you of our place here. Why we come to these tired halls, every month of every year. That we will not win this peace through thought alone. No. It has been action that has guided our steps, and it will be action that allows us to reclaim our past glories. We must be as our forefathers were, even if we must remove the corrupt and the profane.”
The crowd stirred at that.
Rastonbury gave a sideways glance to Glonthek, who grimaced. Valm's speeches had taken on a new edge, as of late. A more hardline view of the multiverse.
Then, perhaps that had always been there.
***
“Suniti, it's time.”
She awoke. Meloche stood over her bed, a mass of tree sap, both dried and running. It covered his form, though even in the darkness of night Suniti could see the barest outline of his true body within the mountains of syrup. Or, perhaps, she had just grown used to his presence, and could pick out his features even when there was not enough light to see him.
“They're all waiting for you,” Meloche said, and his voice was a garbled whisper, “Everyone. The Council. The Workers. The Warriors.”
“Give me a moment,” Suniti said. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, “What... What time is it?”
“Three in the morning,” Meloche said, “A blessed time, in many metahuman kingdoms. It is when children are born. It is when metahumans awaken.”
Awaken. And all at once the anxiety, the excitement, that had been plaguing Suniti throughout the night came back to her. She took a breath. Found her lips and mouth suddenly dry.
“It's time, then,” she said.
“Yes,” Meloche said, “We should hurry.”
“Give me a moment.”
“Of course,” Meloche said, “Get dressed. I'll be waiting outside.”
The philosopher moved outside. Gave Suniti her space. She put on her sari. Her mother's, truthfully, though neither of them had ever worn it before. Her mother had bought it after years of saving money, in preparation for her daughter's wedding day. It was the mother's duty to provide her daughter clothes for marriage, and she had spared no expense. It was a beautiful thing, blue like the sea, glittering with small pearls and embroidered in swirling, fractal designs.
It was Suniti's first time wearing it. She wished her mother would have been able to see her. But her mother was gone now.
Killed by Federation soldiers.
She hadn't even realized she was metahuman until their scanners told her, a mark of the beast on her forehead, and she was beaten in the street. The crowd had done nothing.
Suniti breathed in. Out. Meloche had told her of a metahuman's grief. That her loss was everyone's loss. That the heart at the end of one's life should be full of holes and scars. That she would accept her mother's death. In time.
But she cried angry tears in her wedding sari, and the only one to behold her was the night.
She composed herself. Made her prayer to God, bowing deep on the ground, her forehead touching the wooden floor. Meloche had told her to be careful with this, for not all in New Ludaya understood her devotion. Religion, to them, was the weapon the High Federation used to justify themselves. To justify their atrocities. They spoke of God's judgment.
They never spoke of His shame.
She emerged from her small house into the night. Nodded to Meloche. The philosopher would have smiled, if he could have.
“Come,” he said, “They are waiting.”
***
“On this most auspicious of days, we must remind ourselves: What is the Law of InterGuild?” Valm said, “Why must we bind ourselves to these agreements, these pacts of... 'fair play?' It is because the nature of nation, of peace and order, is compromise.”
He lowered his hands now. Gripped the stand in front of him.
“The role of guilds is to maintain order in the multiverse. To give people a venue to air their grievances, in a way that protects the whole. We would not want the multiverse to be a place of barbarians. The savagery of the other realms must be held in check. That is what guilds are for. That is the Law of InterGuild. It establishes rules. It adds legal precedent. It makes the multiverse a peaceful place to live. One can even thrive out there, if they are willing, and able, to adhere to civil society.”
“Bastard,” Rastonbury said under his breath.
A few others in the observation deck were nodding with him as well. Glonthek was something of a minority here with the other liaisons. Most of them came from the multiverse themselves. A few were businessmen, like Rastonbury, opportunists who saw a lucrative career negotiating with guildfolk, if they could stomach life on a gas giant. Others, he knew, were activists. People who navigated the system to better the lives of their families and communities back home. One of the liaisons, an orc by the name of Moresh, was rising from his seat.
“Don't have time for this,” he growled, “I'm not going to hear any more shit from that bastard's mouth.”
He left the observation deck. A few of his compatriots went with him.
Glonthek's mouth was a thin line.
He wasn't liking what Valm was saying, either.
But still, he stayed.
***
Joseph, Rosemary, and Mallory returned home by airship. It was a ship familiar to Rosemary, the Guttersnipe, part of Doge Rithmound's fleet, a small caravel captained by a gnome by the name of Orvisan. They had arranged for transport outside of the guild, since the Amber Foundation's two ships, the Dreamer's Lament and the Titania Amber, were both being used on other jobs. Joseph stood out on the deck, looking over a railing at the city below. Scuttleway was the host city to the Amber Foundation. Located on Londoa, the Broken World, it sat on the inner portions of a shattered planet. The landscape curved upwards on the horizon, and the sky above had more than clouds. The other side of Londoa could be seen, with its cities and green lands and its sea of artificial light. Were it not for the Inner Sun, there would be very little light here, too.
Scuttleway itself was below. A sandstone city surrounded by a vast plain on either side, a ravine that cut all the way to the other side of the world at its center, Scuttleway was a mercantile city-state, ruled by a Doge and a grouping of noble houses.
The wind was cool as the ship landed at the docks. Spring was nearing its end, bringing an onset of summer. Gone were the winter winds of change, of debate, of attempted coups, and although people still swore they smelled blood on the streets, most of Scuttleway was moving on from the election that had rocked the city a few months prior.
They wanted to return to their trade deals and their underground crab farms. Joseph didn't blame them. He still ached from the scars he had earned during that final night.
The Guttersnipe landed. They stepped out onto the pier, saying their goodbyes to Captain Orvisan. The three of them walked across the city, past the market stalls, the Friendbucks that had been set up on Prime, down through the slums and towards the guildhall. Castle Belenus stood on the edge of the city, apart from the rest of the Great Orange Crab. The castle itself was orange, darker in shade than the rest of the city, its stained glass windows hued apricot, as though one had tried to color the entire castle after its namesake guild. Seven spires dominated the castle's frame, four at each point, two flanking the tallest at the center. They ended in coned roofs, and the tallest held a lightning rod that Joseph occasionally climbed up to on rainy days.
“Home, sweet home,” Joseph murmured to himself, almost half sarcastically. Mallory scoffed.
Rosemary, as they approached the entrance, peeled off from them. She ran towards one of the towers and began to climb. She was, out of the entire guild, perhaps the most adept at this, and she squirreled her way up towards one of the tower windows like it was nothing, pushing it open and going inside.
“I'll make the report to Wakeling,” Mallory said, “Let her know we're home.”
She nodded at Joseph. Regarded him, cooly, for a moment, as though he were going to object in some way. But Joseph shrugged.
The two of them, while not having bad blood, nonetheless did not always get along. Joseph's fault, truly. He had hurt one of their guildmates before. And Mallory was not one who forgave easily.
“Right,” the metahuman said, “See you.”
“Aye.”
They walked inside, into the Great Hall, a wide-open space for the guild to meet up for jobs, or talk, or even spar (though Becenti insisted most groups who did this move outside into the garden.) The center of the hall was taken up by a circular, indoor garden, the middle of which was host to a massive glass sword that extended up several stories. Glass Slipper, the blade of Titania Amber, the guild's founder. It shimmered and refracted the orange light that poured in through the window. A welcome sight, as Joseph walked in-
Only for someone to place a bag over his head immediately.
Joseph immediately began to thrash, cursing and spluttering. He felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. He threw them off, attempted to spin to punch at them, felt that person grab him around the waist and lift him into the air. He kicked at their stomach. Felt a sick satisfaction as he heard them gasp.
“What the hell, Joe!” he heard Broon's voice. The half-orc still hadn't let go of him, and it was a testament to his strength that he only needed his one sole arm to keep Joseph held fast, “Stop!”
The sound of his voice made Joseph stop kicking. But he continued to squirm.
“Broon, come on!” he said, “What gives?”
“S-Surprise,” Broon said, “Lazuli, help me with him.”
He heard Lazuli, the android, move over to grab his legs.
“Laz,” Joseph said, his voice muffled through the bag, “If you so much as touch me, you're dead meat.”
“I'm not made of meat,” Lazuli pointed out.
Joseph paused. The frank assertion made him stop struggling completely.
“Just... put me down, man,” he said.
“Very well,” Broon said. He let Joseph down. Put a hand on his shoulder again, “Sorry to go through the whole roughhousing piece, but Rosemary insisted.”
“Rosemary?” Joseph said, “The hell's she doing?”
“Just walk,” Lazuli said, “Come on.”
He felt Broon gently push him forward. Joseph complied.
“And don't even think of using your soul to look where we're going,” Broon warned, “Rosemary said that it was a surprise. You wouldn't want to upset her, aye?”
Joseph muttered something between a curse and a threat, but he nonetheless allowed himself to be guided by Lazuli and Broon through the great hall. Up the stairs. Into one of the side rooms.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Alright,” Broon said, “I'm lifting off the bag.”
There were other people in here. He could hear hushed whispers, the sounds of someone shushing the others.
Broon removed the bag from Joseph's head. The lights flickered on. And all at once the people in the room shouted out “Surprise!” save for Elenry, who took notice of Joseph's sloppily redone bandages and the bruises on his face, and her shout became something akin to a banshee's howl. She moved from her place at the hastily set up table to rush to Joseph's side, almost blocking his view of the room. His guildmates were there. Phineas and Rosemary, Archenround arm in arm with Mekke, Guerico was running along the lengths of the back wall, Vicenorn was standing in his new, updated frame, giving Joseph a shy wave. Even Heyma and G-Wiz were there, hanging out near the back. The Dullahan had probably dragged the Electron into the whole shebang.
“Joseph Zheng, what have you done to yourself?” Elenry snapped, “Why, you must have broken all the bones in your body!”
“Only the important ones,” Joseph said, and he grimaced as she grabbed both sides of his head, twisting him this way and that to look over his bruises, “It's fine, El, really, it's-”
“It is not fine!” Elenry said, “Becenti told me it was a stealth job! You were keeping a low profile! You-”
“Ah, lay off him, El,” a voice said behind them. Both of them turned to see Nash Rhyde emerging from the corner, a sardonic smile on their face. Joseph's face lit up.
“Nash!” he said, “Didn't know you were in town.”
“I was nearby. Rosemary called me up,” Nash laughed, “El, let him go. You're going to hurt him.”
“I...” Elenry blushed. She let go of the metahuman, “Very well. Hello, my dear.”
“Hi, baby,” Nash said to the doctor, before they drew forward and clasped arms with Joseph, “Good to see you're still in most of one piece.”
“Same with you,” Joseph said, “What the hell is this, Nash?”
“Rosemary's idea,” Broon said, moving out of the way and into the room, “She said it was your birthday, right? A few weeks ago?”
“That wasn't-” Joseph reddened, and he looked over at Rosemary. She was red, too, but was beaming with a vicious pride, “I mean-”
“Come on, Joe, you're only twenty-two for a little while,” Nash laughed, “Enjoy yourself.”
“Yeah...”
Joseph looked at the room. They had set up a makeshift table, upon which was a blocky white cake bought from the bakery which had 'Happy Birtday Joe, then underneath that, Welcome Home' written on its surface in blue frosting. They were laughing. They had come out for him like this.
Despite it all, he found tears brimming in his eyes.
“There's cake,” Broon said, “Rosemary bought it from the local bakery.”
“That'll be good.”
“I think G-Wiz got you a mixtape of some sort,” Broon said, “You'd want to talk to her.”
“I will.”
“Everything alright, Joe?” Broon said.
He looked down. The metahuman was wiping his face. He smiled, and it was devoid of its usual anger.
“Yeah, Broon,” he said, “I'm good.”
***
The way to the Site of Awakening was lit by metahumans. By glowing orbs of light. By living flames, metahumans who could set themselves ablaze, assisted or not, without feeling the heat of the fire. They danced and jumped through the trees, guiding Suniti and Meloche through the woods, lurid forms of heat mirages, dream-like in their movements, graceful as the swans back on her home plane. The moon was full tonight, and Suniti could hear the howls of a few metahumans who transformed with the moon, into wolves and lions and crocodiles, brays and barks and screeches in the distance that beckoned her forward.
As they got closer, they saw, high above, metahumans who could fly. On angelic wings, on demonic ones, too. Using levitation. Or one who pulled the leaves around herself into a makeshift boat that floated through the air. Thunderhead had transformed into a helicopter, and his churning could be heard even from far below.
Music, now. Drifting with the wind. Flutes. Shouts and hums. Very few metahumans of New Ludaya had been able to bring in instruments from their homes, as most of them were refugees in some shape or form. So it was a pulled-together orchestra, accompanied by those who could produce music using their own metahuman abilities.
The path went from the dirt and roots of the forest to a graveled path. It had been made by Pauldros the Stonemaker, one of the Council. There he stood now, waiting for them, torch in hand. Dark-skinned, larger than even Meloche, flecks of granite embedded in his skin. His smile was warm, and it felt strange that a gaggle of children was not around him, strange that he did not have a book in hand, and was reading out his stories to them. No, Pauldros the Stonemaker stood alone tonight, the vanguard for every latent metahuman who would walk this path to the cavern and the Imagination held there.
And he walked. Meloche and Suniti followed. Down the gravel path. Out of the forest, up one of the mountains that ranged across New Ludaya. Towards the Cave of Awakening. It was flanked by two Warriors. Rainbowfish and the Shadow of the Giant. Rainbowfish flashed his customary smile. The Shadow of the Giant, short and thin and far too pale, simply stared at her with eyes that seemed too large for his face.
“I must leave you here,” Meloche said, and Suniti turned to him, “I'll be in the gallery, watching.”
She smiled at him.
“Thank you, Meloche,” she said, “For everything.”
“You act like this is goodbye,” the philosopher said.
“Have you not said it yourself?” Suniti said, “That to awaken is to cast off the old self. Part of me dies tonight, Meloche. Part of me is born. I will forever be a changed thing.”
“Indeed,” Meloche said, and he was lost in thought for a moment, before saying, “Then I will see you when we dream again.”
A quaint saying. He said it often. As his creed, as his promise. The reassertion of hope.
Without another word, Suniti walked into the cavern. She walked alone.
***
The crowd gave its applause. Olendris Valm let it wear itself out, let it die down before he slammed a thin-fingered fist onto the table.
“We will create an era of peace!” he roared, “We will make the Silver Eye a safe place to be! As it once was, thousands of years ago, before corruption and terrorists and pirates turned this place into a hellhole! I promise you, on this anniversary of order, that we will make it safe to walk through our cities again, to fly in our skies, to look at our children at night and feel pride! Pride in the Silver Eye! Pride in the High Federation!”
And the crowd started up again.
“That was a quick turn,” Rhunea commented.
She, Kathen, and Old Scar were the only two organic members of Pagan Chorus who had chosen to attend Valm's speech. The rest of the guild was on duty, though Kate knew that Truthspeaker, Valm's personal AI, was listening in.
As was Merry Curiosity, his own little digital assistant. She was scanning his surface thoughts now, and seemed bored out of her skull. She was never one for these sorts of speeches.
The three of them sat in an observation lounge directly across from the guild liaisons. Far across the cylinder, they watched as the more fiery parts of Valm's speech was driving a few of them off. A man in a pinstripe suit and fedora was getting up, shaking hands with a Theeridian before taking his leave. An air elemental followed after him, the wind whipping around the room as they left.
“Multiverse freaks,” Old Scar muttered, “They don't get it. They never will.”
Kathen looked at his weapons instructor. Old Scar was sharpening one of his combat knives as he watched the speech. A shorter man, true to his name painted with scars both ceremonial and combat-made, he had never been kind to those who dissented with the High Federation. He wore his Pagan Chorus symbol with pride, a man of the multiverse who had become native to the Silver Eye.
“They're just angry at Valm's words, Old Scar,” Rhunea said. She was combing Kathen's long, wild hair, and she cast her doe head to look at him, “You know how he can get.”
“They don't know how good they have it, you mean,” Old Scar said, “Without InterGuild, you know what would happen. You get the Manticore. You get the war. I'd like to think that shook the outlanders up, made them realize how important we are to the multiverse.”
He glowered. Kathen's brow furrowed as the old veteran returned the knife to its place, and leaned back with folded arms.
“But they didn't, did they?” he said, “Right, Kate?”
Kathen was quiet. Old Scar turned to look up at him from his seat.
“Come on, kid, what do you see in 'em?” he said, “You remember what happened at InterGuild. That Mutt should have just given you the book in the first place.”
“His name,” Kathen said, “Was Joseph Zheng.”
He leered down at him, challenged his mentor's glare. After a moment, Old Scar turned back in his seat, shaking his head.
“Should just glass 'em all,” he muttered, “Save us all the trouble.”
***
“'Sup, Joe,” G-Wiz said.
“'Sup, G,” Joseph said, “Hey, Heyma.”
He had approached her as the party commenced, and as the rest of their guildmates were busy cutting into the cake, passing out slices and laughing at one another, at the way Broon got some frosting on his tusks that Ezel had to help him wipe off with a napkin. Someone threw Lazuli out of the room, to raucous applause. G-Wiz and Heyma still stuck to the corner. The Dullahan tapped G-Wiz on the shoulder.
“You promised, you'd give it to him,” she said.
The Electron rolled her eyes.
“Do you want cake?” Joseph asked, “There's some there. I don't know if you eat, Heyma?”
“I don't,” Heyma said, “But thanks for the offer, Joe.”
“For sure,” Joseph said.
Rosemary was calling him. He was turning around.
Heyma tapped G-Wiz again.
“Come on, G,” she said.
“Alright, fuck it. Fine,” G-Wiz said, “Joe. Wait.”
Joseph stopped. G-Wiz shot out a hand, holding out a tape. She gave it to Joseph, who looked at it. The mixtape was blue in color, with 'Best of Nujabes' written in G-Wiz's smearing script. He smiled.
“Hell yeah,” he said.
“It's from throughout his career,” G-Wiz said, “I also put in some other shit that I think you'd like, too.”
She scratched her arm.
“Happy birthday, Joe.”
He smiled.
“Thanks, G-Wiz.”
And she smirked at him.
“Hey, Joe!” Broon was calling, “Got a sec?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He waved to G-Wiz, who flipped him off. The metahuman walked over to Broon, who was waiting near the entrance. Waiting at the door was another one of their guildmates, Nasir. An older man with a graying beard and haunted eyes, he was leaning a bit nervously against the doorframe, trying to put on a relaxed air. Joseph didn't really speak to him too often, but Rosemary had told him he came from a plane that had recently fallen to an undead apocalypse. So Joseph tried to keep an open mind with him.
“Joseph,” Nasir said.
“You can call me Joe,” the metahuman said.
“Right. Joe. Right,” Nasir scratched his beard, “Heya, Broon.”
“What's up, Nasir?” the half-orc said.
“Not much, just noticed a few of you were throwing a party, is all, and...”
He rubbed his hands on his pants. Looked this way and that. Then he leveled a gaze at Joseph.
“I’ll be honest. I’m not here for myself. India, he saw there was a party. And he… wanted cake. I’m not much for it, myself, but you know how the kid gets, and…”
He faltered. Joseph moved past him, looked out the door. Indeed, sitting by the wall was the hulking form of Iandi. A brute of a man, bald and always in power armor to support his experimented body. He looked over at Joseph, his face breaking into a wide smile.
“Joe!” he said.
“Hey, man,” Joseph said.
“I don't think he'll fit in the room,” Nasir said, “But I reckon, he’ll be fine eating out here.”
“For sure,” Joseph said, and he turned to Broon, “Get him a slice. Nasir too.”
Iandi's grin widened. Nasir scratched behind his head, looking away again.
“Ah, thanks, Joe,” he said, “Means the world to him.”
They cut the cake. Handed it to Iandi, who stuffed it in his mouth with a single, gargantuan hand. Nasir was at his side, patting his elbow.
“There we go, kid,” he said, “Chew slow. Slower. Come on, don’t go choking. Slow yourself…”
Joseph smiled at the sight of Nasir and Iandi for a few moments, before noting something.
“Where's Becenti?” he asked.
“On a job,” Nash said, drawing up beside him. They produced a newspaper, “Made it on the news and everything.”
Joseph took a look at it. It was a newspaper clipping from Great Rana, the Solar World. Becenti was on the front page, smiling his grim smile. Orion was beside him, his sword drawn, fire and water whipping around his blade. Vespa was on the other side, a swarm of giant hornets acting with a single mind. The headlines read 'GUILD AMBER FOUNDATION SAVES POLITICIAN'S DAUGHTER, FACES OFF AGAINST GUILD POWERHOUSES OF THE CELL.'
“Looks like he's been busy,” Joseph said, looking up at Nash, “He'll be back soon?”
“I think he talked to Wakeling last night,” the Far Traveler said, “He’s on his way back.”
They pounded Joseph on the back.
“Come on,” they said, “Let's get back to the party, eh?”
“Eh,” Joseph said, and he rejoined the festivities.
***
The Cave of Awakening was a vast cavern that had been carved by Pauldros the Stonemaker. It was a circular, multi-leveled room, with rows upon rows of seats for the people of New Ludaya to sit down and watch Suniti as she walked inside. She recognized a few faces, but for the most part the audience tonight was a menagerie of the strange. Metahumans with feathers. Metahumans with scales. Others with long necks, some with fire in their eyes, others made out of water, one had the head of a whale, the other had the legs of an ant, and she positioned herself in such a way that her children, twins with the heads of a sun and moon, could watch between her spindled limbs.
Above, sitting in a box so they could see Suniti directly, were the seats of the Council. Seven all told, and Pauldros the Stonemaker had already sat himself down at the rightmost seat, next to Lord Freak, the shark-toothed scientist who smiled a bit too hungrily for Suniti's comfort. Beside him was Nomatrius Dorucanthos, one of New Ludaya's primary investors. And next to him was…
Luminary. The nation’s Founder. She was wearing white tonight, with a crown of laurels formed from light adorning her head, her white hair cascading down either side of her weathered face. She was frowning as Suniti entered the cave.
All of the light in the room came from her. Her and her power.
The leftmost of the Council rose from her seat. Memoire, her skin a patchwork of swirling memories, letters and words and random hieroglyphics, the unspoken thought made physical. The room went silent.
And she began to speak.
“We all walk this path,” she said, and her frail voice boomed, echoed through the Cave.
“This path, we must walk,” came the reply. It came from the crowd. From the lower floors, the Workers, those whose metahuman gifts were not combat focused, or those like Suniti who had yet to awaken the metagene. From the upper levels, the Warriors, those who would defend New Ludaya when the time came.
“This path, we must see,” Memoire said.
“This path, the path to the myriad,” the crowd replied.
“Here we have a Child of Imagination who has yet to awaken,” Memoire said, and her purple eyes slid down to look at Suniti, “The tide turns. The multiverse sighs. Will you rouse from your sleep? Will you take your next step, and become that which you always were?”
Suniti swallowed. She stepped into the middle of the cavern. All eyes looked at her.
“I will,” she said, and though her voice was a bare whisper the entire cave caught her answer. Meloche talked to a metahuman beside him. Pauldros the Stonemaker's smile widened. Luminary looked...
Unimpressed.
Memoire nodded, and she gestured. Pauldros the Stonemaker rested a hand on the railing, and the earth rumbled as he used his metahuman power. The earth in front of Suniti pulled itself away, and something rose from the depths of stone. A circular gate. A ring, eight feet in diameter. Within was a swirling cascade of colors, the rainbow force that was Imagination.
Memoire continued to speak as Suniti approached the gate. Stared hard into it, as she had been told before the ceremony.
“I name you,” Memoire said, “As I named you in ancient times. I reveal you, as I revealed your ancestors. Arise, World-Maker, Explorer, Enemy of Stagnation.
Arise, Metahuman.”
And all at once the world was shaking. All at once the energy suffused Suniti, every cell in her body shook and broke. Something that sounded like an explosion echoed in Suniti's mind and then disappeared.
And she was rising. Her skin had taken on an orange color, swirling fractals that moved up and down the length of her body. The air was shimmering around her. People were pointing. Gasping as she floated upwards. As though gravity had lost all of its mastery upon her.
She blacked out for a moment. Felt herself fall, gently, back down.
…
…
“Oh, my.”
The voice was old. Cracked, like a vase had been broken and then sealed back together. Suniti – or, no, the fractal being she had become, though now the fractals were gone but she could still feel them under her skin, ready to break free, looked up to see the face of Luminary. The Founder of New Ludaya was kneeling next to her, brought out a pale hand and lifted up Suniti-who-was-not-Suniti's chin.
“You are beautiful,” Luminary said, “What magnificence. You will go far. Your power, it is a blessing. For all of us. May you pull down the Federation's greatest ships, and win for us a homeland.”
She helped Suniti-who-was-not-Suniti to her unsteady feet. Raised her arms into the air like a prophet.
“Our sister, she has awoken!” Luminary roared, and her voice broke, “She is metahuman!”
“METAHUMAN!” the crowd repeated.
They cheered. They screamed. They cried tears of joy. They came down at once, to lift Suniti-who-was-not-Suniti into the air. And she cried with them. Mourned with happiness. Born anew.
***
The festivities would go on late into the night, but Luminary retired from them early. Went to her own rooms, located above the Cave of Awakening, carved by Pauldros the Stonemaker into a series of halls that ended with her bedroom, the end of a cave which had once opened out to the outside world, though now it was covered in glass. It overlooked the land that was New Ludaya. The forest beyond the mountains were lit up with lights, and even from here she could hear the sounds of laughter and music.
She smiled. A year's worth of effort. More metahumans coming in every week from the Traveling Point on the mountain. They would have their homeland yet.
And from there?
(The smile became grim and vicious.)
She sat down at a seat by the wall-sized window. Manipulated the light in the room to bring her a cup of tea and a small stack of letters from her desk. The work of nation was never done, and she chose to sacrifice the rest of her night to taming paperwork that was starting to become overwhelming. She flipped through a few letters, mostly complaints from the Worker class, tossing them into a small pile that was destined to be burned by Eldipus, who gained strength the more paper they burned.
She stopped at a large package, upon which was written in marker 'Look! An old friend.'
A package from one of her contacts in the multiverse. She opened it up. Unfolded the newspaper. Read the headline, 'GUILD AMBER FOUNDATION SAVES POLITICIAN'S DAUGHTER, FACES OFF AGAINST GUILD POWERHOUSES OF THE CELL.'
And she saw his face. Old, like hers. Weathered by time and by pain.
But still his.
“Oh, Shimmer,” she said, and her voice caught, “My precious Shimmer. My little brother.”
Tears brimmed. She wiped them away.
Meloche had told her a bit about him, when she had gotten time to speak with the philosopher. A few others had seen him at Death Valley, on Prime. But to hear about him and to see his face on a page were two different things.
“You have to see this place, Shimmer,” she said, “It's a nation. Like we promised we would make.”
She looked out the window. Smiled.
Yes. He would have joined a guild. He had often talked about them with a sort of pride. Siblings in arms, the guildfolk often were.
Amber Foundation. The guild he had joined. She would need to track them down. Find out where their guildhall was.
Invite her Shimmer to join them, and see what had been built.