In truth, the galactic north was a term used loosely by stellar cartographers. There was no north or south in space, nor east or west. The Silver Eye revolved on a disk, centered around the supermassive black hole at the galaxy's core, an endless pinwheel of fifteen billion years. As such, when one referred to the galactic north, they meant as if the galaxy were a two-dimensional, static image. As though Walker had made the three dimensions into two.
And yet, stellar cartography said that it was north, so it was north. The truth damned in favor of simplicity.
...
…
The Sovereign Melody dropped out of warp over the planet Abrixes II, host to a small colony that had only recently been entered into Federation records. It was a pretty little world, as Kathen looked at it through a holographic projection. Suitable for most species in the galaxy, it was covered in steaming jungles and volcanic activity, though the poles were host to wet rainforests and colder days. A small community had nestled itself up there, had turned their colony ships into the first buildings, as was the norm for colonization efforts.
Ten thousand souls down there. Kathen wondered what they were doing. How they were faring. What sort of wildlife did they contend with? What was their colonial governor's policies? How were they reacting, now that they were back in the Federation's fold? That the Sovereign Melody now looked down upon it?
Fear?
Wariness?
Excitement, perhaps?
These thoughts drifted in and out of Kathen's head as he looked at Abrixes II. He stared at it. Could almost feel the ten thousand down there, their myriad emotions.
Odd, he had never felt that before.
“Sairad Ghedir.”
(He heard this.)
“Kathen.”
Guildmaster Valm's voice broke through his unexpected meditation. Kathen shook himself from his stupor. Turned to Valm. Yes. He was manning the sensor array, though Merry Curiosity was doing most of the work. Valm was staring down at him from the captain's chair, which was situated above the rest of the bridge, an arm reaching from the ceiling to hold it in the air. Old Scar stood at attention below him, to the chair's side.
Yes, Valm was asking Kathen a question.
(He must have misheard him call him Sairad Ghedir.)
“Is everything alright, Mr. Aru?” Valm asked.
“Everything's fine, sir,” Kathen said, and he tried to sound sure, “Going through a few readings on the planet below.”
“And the long-range sensors?” Valm asked.
“We're just about prepped to send out the drones,” Kathen replied, “Merry's just going over the last few details.”
Indeed, a fuzz was pulsing through his mind, centered on his implant. Merry was hard at work, so busy that she didn't even have time to fill his head with her usual chatter. Perhaps it was more difficult than she anticipated.
Perhaps it was because Truthspeaker, the oldest AI in Pagan Chorus, was watching her carefully.
“Have Merry send me its findings,” Valm said, “I want to see the spread its algorithms have concocted.”
“Right,” Kathen said, and he pressed a few keys on his console.
The holographic projection of the sector appeared in front of Valm, who narrowed his pupil-less eyes to look over it. Points of light representing the one thousand deep space drones blinked in specific points across the diagram. Various star systems that could house the metahuman nation, or the Traveling Point that led to it, were highlighted.
Valm looked it over. Pressed a few keys on the terminal on his chair. And Kathen knew that Truthspeaker was scanning it, assessing Merry's work.
Truthspeaker spoke only in High Speech, the closest language to the tongue of the First Men. Kathen only understood a few words of it. Yet he could feel Merry quiver in his mind at Truthspeaker's words.
“It asks,” Valm said, “About positions seven hundred and three through eight hundred and four.”
“The mapping of the Kolares systems,” Merry said, her voice echoing from the captain's chair.
“Far away from the projected locations of known Traveling Points,” Valm said.
Truthspeaker hummed her ancient tongue.
She concurred.
“It is,” Merry Curiosity said, “But I chose it specifically because of historical sympathies the Kolares peoples had with ancient Epochia.”
“The Kolares people no longer exist,” Valm said, “They paid for their crimes.”
“And all that's out there are old ruins and uncontacted colonies,” Merry said.
Truthspeaker spoke again.
“A rabbit in a graveyard,” Valm said, and he nodded, “Indeed. We should not use so many drones there. But Merry Curiosity's algorithm has a touch of accuracy to it.”
Truthspeaker began reworking Merry's work. The last hundred or so drones were re-positioned elsewhere in the sector.
“It is good work,” Valm said, looking down at Kathen, “You've trained your AI well.”
“She's self-learning,” Kathen said, “I didn't have much to do with it.”
“Hmm,” Valm said, “What cutting is it from?”
“Truthspeaker herself,” Kathen said, “Remember?”
Indeed, Valm had gifted Kathen his own AI as a birthday present, almost a decade ago. Valm nodded.
“Ah, yes,” he said, “I remember now. Good. Truthspeaker's progeny holds strong.”
The entire bridge rumbled with Truthspeaker's hum. Kate felt Merry fuzz up his entire mind in pride.
“Alright, alright,” Kathen whispered, “Enough of that.”
He spoke up.
“Ready to deploy the drones, sir.”
“Good,” Valm said, “Do so.”
Kathen pressed a few buttons. One of the Sovereign Melody's subhangars opened up. Each drone was roughly the size of a small ship on its own, large enough to be equipped with its own warp drive. Each one was bulbous and ball-shaped, the entire surface covered in lights and lines. Both the interior and exterior of the drone were devoted to sensing and long-range communication. A network of scanners, far outside what any regular ship was capable of.
One by one, they blinked out of existence, into the warp. They would spread out across the sector and begin communicating with one another, sending their findings back to the Sovereign Melody, which remained in orbit over Abrixes II.
Now came a time of waiting.
Valm lowered himself out of his seat. He nodded to Kathen, before leaving the bridge for his own personal office, to continue the paperwork that always hounded him. Old Scar relaxed, taking out a block of wood as he sat down by one of the consoles, along with a small rayknife, and began cutting away at it, to chisel it into a boat. He had been on a boat kick as of late.
Kathen kicked up his feet onto the terminal, hands folded on his stomach. He pulled up a display of the drones, watched as they traveled to their assigned places.
And yet, he found his gaze once more pulled to Abrixes II. At the people down there.
The more he stared, the more his head hurt.
The more his head hurt, the more he could hear voices. People speaking. Parents telling their children to stay indoors. Community leaders speaking in a meeting, a holographic projection of the Sovereign Melody in the center of a table. They were discussing what to do. Why the ship was out there. Counting the number of anti-ship cannons. The fifteen glassmakers hidden within her hull.
Even though they were once more Federation citizens, Kathen could sense fear rippling across the planet below.
He grimaced, held his head.
“Everything alright, Kate?” Merry asked.
“I'm fine,” he lied, “I'm going to lie down. Look after the drones for me, alright?”
“For sure.”
Kathen got up. Made to leave the bridge.
“Truthmaker said I did a good job,” Merry said.
“Truthmaker's right,” Kathen said, “You did good work.”
She was brimming with pride. He could feel it, feel it infect his own mind, make his own heart swell to the point of bursting.
“Alright,” he said, “Settle down. Have your celebration somewhere else.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Merry said, “It's alright to be a little jealous. I get it. I'll stay in the computer.”
She left his mind, transferring into the Sovereign Melody's computers. Leaving Kathen alone with his thoughts.
With the voices. Now that he wasn't looking at Abrixes II, they had subsided.
But they did not completely go away.
***
They bedded down in the middle of the forest. Thunderhead had a few packs in his trunk, and Lunus Oculus pulled them out and handed them out to each of them. Sleeping bags, though they didn't have any tents, nor did they risk making a fire in fear that someone would find them.
But Joseph was used to that. Used to being hunted. In truth, they all were, in some way.
“Reminds me of a time I was helping excavate some ruins in Gayados,” Evancar said, “Smack dab in the middle of the rebellion, bullets flying overhead. I barely slept most nights.”
“Gayados?” Lunus Oculus said, “You were there?”
“Yes,” Evancar said, “The Blue Rose Rebellion. Sir Guenhwyvar's Purge.”
“Awful place to be,” Lunus Oculus said, “I had a few friends who lived through it. And you were looking into the ruins there?”
Evancar shrugged.
“Tried to record as much as I could before Sir Guenhwyvar destroyed them,” he said, “You must know how bad it got.”
And he hunkered down, turning over in his sleeping bag. Lunus Oculus and Joseph exchanged looks, before settling down as well.
It was a cold night, but it was better to be cold and safe than warm and in danger. Nasir took first watch, listening to the crickets in the wood, the occasional call of a nighttime bird. Then the sun came, and they were off again. They packed up their bags, put them into the sports car's trunk, then Thunderhead transformed again and walked with them to the edge of the forest. The other side was a broad plain, wild grasses growing with a few massive, tree-sized dandelions springing up here and there.
“Rosemary'd like that,” Joseph noted.
“She would,” Evancar said.
Thunderhead took point again, going down on all fours as he shifted back to car form. They piled in, and he peeled away, dirt spinning up beneath his wheels. The ride was jostling and bumpy, even on the flat terrain, as they went over rocks and gravel, climbed over small hills, rumbled over the oversized dandelion roots that on occasion poked out of the ground.
They ate breakfast in the car, though that amounted to some trail mix and dried jerky. At midday, they stopped to rest. A small river crossed across the plains, and they stopped by the shore to refill their water bottles and rest.
“What ruins were you investigating on Gayados?” Lunus Oculus asked Evancar.
“Oh!” Evancar said, “The Episcodereans. Ancient civilization that lived in that area, some ten or twenty thousand years ago. Most of them were wiped out by the High Federation, but their descendants were known to live in that region. I met a few of them.”
Lunus Oculus nodded.
“Guides?” she asked.
He nodded.
“The descendants of the Episcodeareans, the Catridore, were caught in the crossfire of the war,” he said, “Sir Guenhwyvar was setting up extermination campaigns against them, but they took my money to go down to their old ruins to see them for myself.”
“You paid them?” Lunus Oculus asked.
“I did,” Evancar said, “I was working for another guild at the time, the Olive Branch Society. We were on a peacekeeping mission there, and I used my share of the funds to get a few of them out of there. Those that decided to stay led me there. We hunkered down there for a few months, while I looked over the old carvings.”
Nasir sneered.
“Ask him what he did afterwards.”
Lunus Oculus looked askance. Evancar shook his head, frowning.
“A... A regrettable mistake,” he said, “I decided to… take-”
“Steal,” Nasir said.
“Steal. Yes, I suppose that’s what it was. I stole a sampling of the carvings directly, to donate to the Museum of Unnatural History on Melmaen. The Catridore found out. They... didn't exactly like what I was doing.”
He steepled his fingers.
“I know that it was… a rotten thing now, of course! But back then, I was... full of piss and vinegar. Everything was to be chronicled. I had to salvage all that I could.”
“You thought that the Catridore wouldn't be around much longer,” Lunus Oculus said. Her voice was even. But there was something new in her eyes. Something wary.
“Y-Yes,” Evancar said, “My mistake. Again. They persevered. Sir Guenhwyvar was executed by the Gayados Alliance Tribunal. I drew my conclusion too soon.”
“And now the Catridore consider him to be a pariah,” Nasir said.
Evancar shrugged.
“I made my choice. I learned.”
“And will you do it again?” Lunus Oculus asked.
Evancar tilted his head. Looked up at Lunus Oculus.
“I would... I would love to say that I wouldn't,” he said, “But when a civilization dies, then it's up to those left behind to pick up the pieces and record them.”
“But a civilization, a people, never dies,” Lunus Oculus said, “There are always survivors. There is always legacy. And it belongs to them.”
Evancar grimaced. Swallowed.
“I was trying to help,” he said, “Trying to get as much evidence of the Catridores, of the Episcodoreans, that I could off of Gayados. You weren’t there, were you? You only heard stories. You don’t know how bad it got. The… pogroms. The camps.”
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Tell me, Professor Morandus, did you help them?” Lunus Oculus said, “The Catridores, beyond giving them money for some of them to leave, did you help?”
“Others did,” Evancar said, “My guild at the time.”
“But did you?”
Evancar was quiet. He looked out towards the river. It was clear, and one could see, past the ripples and the water's churning, small fish and frogs, a water snake hiding beneath a rock.
“I should have,” he said.
***
After a tense silence, they piled back into the car, and took off once more. Joseph joined Lunus Oculus up in the front, taking the driver's seat, and he was leaning an arm against the window and watching New Ludaya roll by. The plains to their left, the river to Joseph's right, all silvery and scored glass, ambling on alongside them as Thunderhead drove on. The wheel turned and adjusted of its own accord. The gas pedal pressed down on its own.
“You got cars back where you're from?” Thunderhead's voice crackled through the radio.
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “I grew up in a place called the USA. Heard of it?”
“Prime's got one of those,” Thunderhead said, “I've visited a few times. Good place?”
Joseph shrugged.
“The country's on Earth,” he said, “It has its problems.”
“What place doesn't?” Thunderhead chuckled darkly, “They know about metahumans there?”
“I don't know,” Joseph said, “I didn't know I was one until I got out here. Maybe the governments there know. Or certain communities. Metahuman communes, tucked away in the mountains.”
“Maybe,” Lunus Oculus said.
“Or maybe Nai Nai was the only metahuman to visit,” Joseph said, “Maybe our family was the first metahuman family there.”
A realization was coming to him. He blinked.
Looked over at Lunus Oculus.
“Hey,” he said, “I'm metahuman. Does that mean my family is, too?”
Lunus Oculus pursed her lips. Then nodded.
“Shit,” Joseph said, and he slumped, “Hope they've got resources.”
“Maybe when you go home, you can get them up to speed,” Lunus Oculus said.
“I don't know if I want to go back,” Joseph said, “And if I did, it'd just be to visit.”
Evancar poke his head between the chairs.
“Earth's got a long forecast, right?” the Professor said, “I remember Rosemary mentioning that to me.”
“Yeah, it is,” Joseph said, “Decades. I'd be in my sixties.”
He frowned, and there was something storming behind his neon eyes.
“I... I don't know how to feel about that,” he said.
“Do you miss your family?” Lunus Oculus asked.
Those eyes, glaring and angry, shifted over to her. Lunus met his gaze. Cobalt Joe was quiet for a very long time, as the car rumbled beneath them, as winds whipped up around outside.
“I don't know,” he said, at last, though he knew that was no answer at all, “...I didn't... don't, have the best relationship with them. With my parents.”
“I'm sorry,” Lunus Oculus said.
“It's fine,” Joseph said, though the heat in his voice said otherwise, “I realized a long time ago that they didn't really want me. That they were just going through the motions with me. Every time I did something they weren't expecting, they reacted with anger.”
He looked out the window again.
“But... I'd like to see them again. To show them that I'm alright.”
(Without them, though he did not say this.)
Lunus Oculus nodded. But it was Thunderhead who spoke up.
“I was like that with my parents,” he said, “They threw me out of the house when I was sixteen.”
“How come?” Joseph asked.
“They found me kissing the neighbor's son beneath a tree,” Thunderhead said, terse, “Might not be exactly how it went down for you, but I get it.”
The car was speeding up. As though Thunderhead, in mentioning his past, was now flying away from it.
“Anyways,” the sports car said, “I'm pretty sure we should separate from the river pretty soon. Gallimena will be running alongside it, if she's trying to track us.”
“I think it may be time to go helicopter,” Lunus Oculus said, “We're far enough away. And I've got a spell of silence.”
“Right,” Thunderhead said, “Hold on tight, everyone.”
Something within the engine shifted. The interior began to warp and twist, metal screeching and motors churning. The walls expanded, became curved. The seats raised, the back disconnecting from the front and pushing itself back. The wheels flattened and hardened, becoming landing skids. The roof concaved, and blades sprouted from Thunderhead's top like saplings. They began to spin, faster and faster, until the bulk of the new vehicle was lifted off of the ground.
Lunus Oculus started passing out headsets. Joseph put his on, and the spinning blades, the loud chopping through the air, the whir of the engines, muted and almost seemed to cease.
Thunderhead's voice cracked into the headset.
“Your spell, Lunus.”
Lunus Oculus whispered a few words. Her silence spell took hold once more. A bubble of hardened noise, one that cut away the chopping of the helicopter's blades.
“Get as high as you can, Thunderhead,” she said, then, to the rest of them, “They won't be able to hear us. But they'll be able to see us.”
“There aren't many clouds,” Nasir said.
“But they may still miss us if we look like a dot,” Lunus Oculus said.
The tracker's eyes narrowed.
“I would be able to see you,” he said.
Lunus Oculus grimaced.
“Better than them tracking us down by the tire tracks,” she said, “Right?”
Nasir thought on this. Then nodded.
“It's still not good,” he said, “We should set down soon either way. And walk the rest of the way.”
Lunus Oculus nodded.
“This will cut down the travel time, at least,” she said, “Only make it so we have a little ways to go.”
She turned back around. By now the ground was becoming small, indeed. The tree-like dandelions almost looked regular-sized, now.
She looked around to see if she could spot pursuers. Gallimena. Or Mister Meaning. But no one so far.
***
“Your play, Kathen.”
Dicaeopolis smiled from across the game board from the young human. Kathen's brow was furrowed, looking at his holographic pieces. Under the Ruler's Gaze was a complex wargame, an attempt to simulate the ancient warships of the First Men as closely as possible. They were geometric shapes, for no one knew what the true design of the ships of the Alu'eer looked like, and it was heretical to try and scrutinize their true appearance. But the tactics were well-documented, for the Alu'eer were known warmakers, and had fought amongst themselves for thousands of years before they created their High Federation.
They recorded the tactics as lessons for the younger races.
As lessons, and as warnings.
Kathen was, once again, losing this game. Dicaeopolis was brutal in his assault, attack after attack against Kathen's fleet, which had whittled down to a single carrier and a defensive web of fighters, automatic drones, and a small battleship. On the other side of the map, floating in a creche-style formation, was Dicaeopolis's pieces. Floating cubes. Octahedrons to represent the Izmu'helat, the most precious of Alu'eer ships, which dipped in and out of the Warp at will, without need of a drive. As close to Imagination as the First Men dared to be.
He scratched his beard. Ran a hand through his wild hair, though he had to force it through, as his fingers became tangled. Dicaeopolis smiled at the sight.
“You really should stop doing that,” he said, “Respect your hair, or it will start to leave you. Like a lover.”
He gestured to his balding head.
“You're a lucky man, Kathen,” he said, “I know satyrs back home who would kill for your hair.”
Kathen flickered a smile. Then went back to the game. Dicaeopolis leaned back, tapping a hoof against the floor absently. He had a way of chewing the inside of his cheek, his brow furrowing, that showed that he was lost in thought. He always won his games with Kathen.
But Kathen didn't make it easy.
The young man pressed a few buttons. His defensive network tightened around the carrier, which moved upwards. He was making his overall fleet a smaller target. It began moving forward towards Dicaeopolis's fleet.
“Ah, smart,” the satyr said, “You know you cannot win a defensive game.”
“Just make your play, old man,” Kathen said.
“Temper, temper,” Dicaeopolis chided, though he smiled. He moved his fleet around. Pressed a few keys, and the octahedrons disappeared, dipping into the simulated Warp. They would be able to attack from any position.
They exchanged a few shots. Kathen advanced. The network completely surrounded the carrier, turned outwards against Dicaeopolis's fleet. They opened fire, and squares and circles were obliterated.
“You cannot win,” Dicaeopolis said.
Kathen shook his head. He dared not speak.
“So you wish to force me into a draw,” Dicaeopolis said.
“It'll be the closest I've gotten,” Kathen said.
“...By all means,” Dicaeopolis said, “Go ahead. Make your play.”
Kathen's fleet continued firing at the satyr's, who responded in kind. For a moment, the holographic battlefield became a mess of spinning shapes and flashes of light. Both fleets would be destroyed. Even if Dicaeopolis's octahedrons dropped out of Warp, he would have lost too much to claim victory.
The satyr knew this. He pressed a key.
One of the octahedrons re-appeared on the board. Directly overhead, it flew into the carrier. Shape met shape. Both exploded in a festival of digital light.
The board disappeared. The game gave Dicaeopolis the victory. The satyr leaned back, smiling. Kathen frowned.
“A blasphemous play,” he said.
“Oh, most definitely,” Dicaeopolis said, “But I won.”
Kathen sighed. Stood up. They were lucky that they were in Dicaeopolis's quarters. Merry had control of the security cameras, and he knew that she would erase the evidence of the satyr's irreligious strategy.
“That's it, then?” Kathen said, “That's how you chose to get out of it?”
“Kathen, my friend,” Dicaeopolis said, “What matters at the end of the day is that you win. The way you get there, doesn't.”
He wagged a finger.
“That's why so many of us Pagan Chorus are of the multiverse, isn't it? To make those sacrilegious decisions.”
Kathen's brow furrowed.
“It doesn't make it right,” he said.
Dicaeopolis considered those words, a single eyebrow raising. He slapped his furred legs, before standing up, trotting over to a bowl of nuts on the table. From his home plane, Kathen knew. Not replicated. The satyr spent half of his salary on the damn things.
He cracked it open with a utensil, pouring out the contents onto a hand. Tossed a few pieces to Kathen, who took it and popped it in his mouth.
“Good, isn't it?” Dicaeopolis said.
The nuts had an earthy flavor. A hard to acquire taste, if Kathen was being honest, but he had spent enough time with Dicaeopolis that he had learned to like them.
“Did you know,” Dicaeopolis said, “That it is an affront to the gods to eat satharos nuts so casually?”
Kathen swallowed. Tilted his head in askance.
“Oh, yes,” Dicaeopolis said, and he broke another nut, tossed it into his mouth, crunched loudly, “You only eat the satharos nut on certain holidays. Maybe once or twice a year. Any other time, and you'd be executed.”
He popped more into his mouth.
“A few years ago, before I left home to become a Far Traveler, there was a famine in my homeland. The crops failed. Our livestock died. When we went to hunt, we couldn't find any game. When we went fishing, it was as though Thoseidos himself had banished all the fish. The only thing that grew were satharos nuts.”
He looked down at one. Turned it in his hands.
“Of course, the priesthood forbade us from eating them. Killed anyone they caught. Because we did eat them. Damn the rituals, we were starving. We almost lost my sister, were it not for these.”
“And your point is?” Kathen asked.
“It was around that time that I stopped believing in the gods of Gaea,” Dicaeopolis said, “And if I don't believe in the gods, why should I follow their rules?”
“And you're saying the same applies here,” Kathen said.
Dicaeopolis nodded.
“I am not a fervent believer in the First Men,” he said, “It is a debate that the guildmaster and I have had many a time. But it is useful, for it allows me to do things that Valm otherwise wouldn't be able to do. I am allowed my blasphemy, because it brings about new ideas.”
A smirk appeared on his face.
“I just have to be smart about it, and know when to stop.”
Kathen crossed his arms. Thought on this.
“Know when to stop,” he said.
“You're one of Valm's proteges,” Dicaeopolis said, “But that doesn't mean you are Valm. Don't be afraid to... change things up. Go your own way on things. You'll be surprised at your success.”
At that, the intercoms crackled up. Valm's voice, deep and drawn-out, echoed across the ship.
“All senior staff report to the bridge,” he said, “We've found something.”
***
They did, indeed, land after about an hour. No one was pursuing them, that much they deciphered. Cobalt Joe looked out the window, and his eagle's head covered his own like a mask, and sharpened eyes pierced towards the ground below, searching around for Gallimena. But no, there was no sign of her. They had lost her.
“She must have been ordered home,” he muttered.
Lunus Oculus was quiet.
“Keep looking,” she said, “I don't quite trust that we're out of the woods yet.”
Eventually, caution won over expedience, and Thunderhead descended to the ground, landing and letting the group out, before he himself transformed back to organic form. He stood up, letting out a groan as he stretched, hands on his back.
“Is it painful?” Evancar asked, “The transforming.”
“This? Nah,” Thunderhead said, “It's natural. But it's easier to be a car. I feel all scrunched up as a helicopter.”
The western mountains greeted them. They were spikier here, and did not rise as tall as Mt. Redress in the south. They connected, Joseph knew, at some point in the southwest. A ring around New Ludaya, holding it in. He wondered what was on the other side.
“Ruins are up against the mountains,” Lunus Oculus said, “Glow found them, in their travels around the plane. Another associate of ours.”
Evancar scratched his chin, nodding. They began to walk towards the mountains.
“They're caves, you said,” he said, “And a few buildings?”
“Yes,” Lunus Oculus said.
“Inside or outside the cave system?”
“Both,” Lunus Oculus said, and she looked over her shoulder for a moment, crimson eyes scanning the horizon, “One or two outside. Most of them inside.”
“Have you been able to see what's inside the buildings?”
“Most of them are overgrown, and roots covered the doors,” Lunus Oculus said, “But their roofs are gone. Tallneck could peer in, and he didn't see much. Maybe a few arrowheads.”
Evancar nodded. He continued asking questions to Lunus Oculus as they approached the mountain. The ruins themselves were surrounded by a small forest that traveled up with them as they climbed up to higher elevation. It was not so steep that they had to climb, but more often than not Joseph found himself having to track where he was walking, so he did not slip on loose gravel. Evancar took point at this point, soldiering up the mountain, and though he was breathing heavily and was evidently winded by the journey, his eyes became alight with the strange fire of obsession.
***
Joseph, at first, did not realize they were abandoned buildings until he had it pointed out to him. Lunus Oculus stopped, turning and pointing, at an outcropping of trees near one of the mountain faces.
“There,” she said.
Joseph squinted. Yes. Amidst the brambles of the trees were a pair of buildings, small and stout. Evancar walked closer to them, stepping over erratic roots, and pressing a hand against one of them. They were made of stone brick, though vines had wedged themselves in several cracks, had split into the rock itself. The archaeologist looked out. Yes, if one were to look out from here, one would be able to see the mountain below, even with all of the trees and foliage.
“Perfect place to keep watch,” he muttered to himself.
By now the rest of the group was catching up to him. Evancar moved around the building, finding the door. That, too, was covered in thick brambles, the roots of one of the oaks having climbed over like a mollusk to claim the building. Evancar tilted his head.
“That's odd,” he said.
“The trees?” Lunus Oculus said, “It is.”
“What could have prompted the tree to grow like this?” Evancar said, “Roots want to be in the ground, not raised up like this.”
“An adaptation?” Thunderhead said.
“Like what?” Evancar asked.
The metahuman scratched his chin, thinking. Then, he shook his head.
“I'm not a Ptarist,” he said, “So I can't really say anything about unique adaptations to the environment. It wouldn't make sense, though, considering the other trees we've seen in the region. Even the dandelions.”
“Magic, perhaps?” Lunus Oculus said.
“Magic would make sense,” Evancar said, “Though whoever wielded it would have trapped something inside. Or trapped themselves inside.”
He turned to Joseph.
“Joe,” he said, “Are you able to cut through?”
Joseph considered the roots. He brought up a hand, which enveloped with an azure claw. He scratched at the roots for a moment, seeing how easily they would shear away.
“Yeah,” he said, “I got this.”
He twisted his body, making a wild cut across the root wall. Gouged holes in the blockage, tore away bark, revealing off-white innards. He continued cutting, the rest of them watching in silence. Nasir took a moment to look around, bringing a knee to inspect the ground, his brow furrowed.
“That should be enough,” Evancar said.
Joseph stopped. Indeed, he had managed to carve away enough of the root system that the archaeologist could hunker down and climb in. Evancar huffed and pushed himself through. He reached into his coat pocket for a few moments, pulling out a small flashlight, clicking it on.
“There we are,” he said, and the thin beam cut through the half-light of the house. The tree had completely covered the roof at this point, though he suspected that it had not always been this way. Indeed, when he looked at the edges of the roof, he found scrapings and half-jutted stone.
“There used to be a ceiling,” he said, more to himself than anything, though by now Lunus Oculus was peeking her head in.
“A ceiling?”
“Made of rock. Or mudbrick. Or dried hay, maybe, and there was a line of stone to help hold it aloft,” Evancar said, “Whatever the case, this tree came later.”
He looked down at the ground. Leaves and broken branches littered the floor, and he bent down and started picking through them.
“Ah, here we are,” he said, “Arrowheads, like you said.”
He picked one up.
“Are there any more?”
He continued searching. Indeed, arrowheads littered the ground. Lots of them. Broken arrow shafts, too, and eventually, in the grime and the leaves, a bow.
This, he considered, turning it over in his hands.
“Everything alright?” Lunus Oculus asked.
Evancar rose, clambered out of the house. He reached down into his coat pocket again, feeling around.
“Good thing about being in a guild,” he said, “You get a bit of magic on your side.”
He pulled out a large metal box, easily the size of his own arm, far larger than his small coat pocket. He set it on the ground, started calibrating it with the small console it was connected to by a metal line.
“Fedtek,” Lunus Oculus said.
“An Aradian Reader,” Evancar said, “Useful for these sorts of situations.”
He laid the bow on the metal box, and a red light started moving up and down the bow's length. Evancar continued typing.
“It's used primarily by archaeologists in the Post-Colonial,” Evancar continued, “A good portion of the current administration's budget goes to the Department of Historical Achievement, which is dedicated to unearthing lost technology from the Federation's golden ages.”
He tapped a few more keys.
“Mine was a factory cast-off that I bought off the black market a few years back. Urash helped me get it.”
“You came prepared,” Joseph said.
“Never leave home without it,” Evancar said, “I... I didn't quite believe Becenti about this place. About it being brand new. Abandoned, sure. Many planes are abandoned. One has to be alive first, in order to be dead. God, that sounds emo. G-Wiz would like that.”
The Reader dinged. Evancar looked at the console.
Then his brow furrowed.
“No,” he said, “That's not right. Not right at all.”
He pressed a few keys. Restarted the scan.
The same result. He nodded, thinking.
“What's up?” Joseph asked.
“The Reader works by counting specific atoms in an object's organic material, similar to radiocarbon dating,” Evancar said, “It can't give exact ages, but it gives an estimate. I was hoping...”
He flicked his chin.
“I was hoping to get a good range, then I could compare the records here to other nomadic groups from that time period. If it was fifty thousand years, for example, I'd be able to surmise that perhaps the ancient Mithrani traveled here. Or perhaps a few metahuman kingdoms. Maybe even elves.”
“Then what's wrong?” Joseph asked, “Is the machine broken?”
“Perhaps,” Evancar said, “But...”
He sighed.
“The Reader's telling me that this bow here, or at least the tree itself, was less than a hundred years old. That means that someone was here only in the last century or so. Maybe even less time.”
He let that statement hang in the air. Joseph looked away, out towards the rest of New Ludaya. Nasir sneered. Lunus Oculus's eyes began to widen as the realization began to wash over her like a rogue wave.
“We should check out the caves,” Evancar said, and his voice was grave, “Let's go.”