ACT 2
CHAPTER 7: PART 1 OF 2
HONEY CAKES AND DAWDLING
Polimathras reached over to close the porthole window, muting the relentless chimes and windpipes. It was truly impossible for a ship at sea to be quiet enough to fear The Silence descending on them, but sailors everywhere are superstitious to a fault. He tried again to focus on the Memory Crystal they had stolen from the Library at Londinium, his hand swaying gently as the water beneath the boat swelled.
Pog was getting impatient by the time Polimathras had finished engraving the Memory Crystal with his impressions of the Fate Lines, seen so long ago now. Pog’s anxiety and frustration was becoming difficult to filter out. Hyperfixation on whatever tasks they were assigned was common to all Tranquils, it was what made them so useful. They would ignore anything and everything except whatever they had fixated on, and wish for nothing more than to be allowed to do their job.
Pog had resisted many aspects of the Tranquillity ritual, but had become deeply dependent on the Relic he curated. It had filled every corner of his hyperactive mind, and otherwise empty life, for fifteen years. He was beginning to suffer serious withdrawals. The richness of the memories, from before the Tranquillity ritual, had been a good distraction. However, they were quickly becoming stale. They had come to a compromise; taking turns to operate their shared body.
The Relic had made it clear that the earliest stages of the calamity he had seen in the Fate Lines must occur at the Empire’s northernmost reaches, bordering the Gothii tribes. Much of that region was only ash and devastation following the war but Votterdam, ancestral home of House Morgan, remained relatively untouched. House Morgan was famous, even in the Holy City, for their martial skill and spiritual discipline.
Their presence on the battlefield was undoubtedly what had spared this region from the wrathful hands of the barbarians. Polimathras knew The Order had an operative in House Morgan, high in the ranks of the Intelligence Cohort. They had suffered together through the harsh training program that The Order inflicted on all new agents. A lot could have happened in the years since they had seen each other but, if he was still alive, he was their best hope of inserting themselves into the events as they unfold.
The Church would pick up their trail soon. Escaping Londinium had forced Polimathras to use abilities that were known to be unique to him, providing free intelligence to the enemy. Everywhere they went, they found Church agents already swarming like angry hornets. The communication Relics made it impossible to go far, or fast, enough to escape their wrath.
The loss of Pog had sent the entire institution into a frenzy. It had taken a long time to train a sufficiently powerful mind to operate that Relic, and it was a secret they could only trust to a Tranquil. It could take them months, or years to find a suitable replacement and learn of the cataclysmic event the Fate Lines had predicted. For once, the Order had a distinct advantage; a head start. Not for the first time, Polimathras wondered how the Order had known to wake him just before the Church discovered the event.
As soon as they had escaped the Holy City, they had made for one of the Order’s hidden resource caches, supplying them with gold, food, and gear. They had then plotted a route to Votterdam, hoping to reach the region while there was still time to influence the outcome of the impending disaster. They had been forced to take complicated detours and lay false trails to avoid being cornered by Church agents and assassins but, six months later, they finally approached their destination.
Polimathras put the crystal away and stood up, holding the bed frame as another swell rolled under the boat. Opening the cabin door inundated them with a flood of sights and sounds. Wind chimes and hollow metal tubes of all sizes decorated the boat, ostensibly to keep The Silence at bay. The sailors had arranged them by their pitch and tenor around the boat, exposing them to less or more of the ocean winds. The imposed order transformed what would be a mad cacophony into a rhythm and melody that seemed only to accentuate the organic nature of the sound, like giving voice to the wind itself. The sailors leapt from masts and handrails, hauling on ropes and wrangling sails as they prepared for port. They sang as they worked, always in resonating baritones to compliment the ringing pipes and chimes. Their loose fitting cottons were dyed in bright hues of yellow, purple, sky blue, and pink, as was typical of sailor’s fashion. Vibrant dyes harvested from the shells of great mussels and clams were reserved for the nobility on land, but out at sea the sailors helped themselves before selling the rest.
Pog’s mood lifted at the colours and sounds, still finding childlike joy in the richness of sensation that had been denied to him for as long as he could remember. Votterdam was visible on the horizon now. Various styles of sail could be seen on the ships moored at the docks, marking this as a border city that needed to accommodate various cultures and languages from the local barbarians. They earned a few sideways glances from the sailors as Polimathras took them to the bow to watch the city approach. Pog and he had been taking turns, day by day, operating their body. Alternating between a chatty old man who laughs at the wind and a broody thoughtful scholar only aggravated the rumours and speculation about the mysterious passenger. That was a problem they had faced from the start, but one with a solution of sorts.
Polimathras had infected the entire crew with Psychic Poison the moment they boarded. A stealthy drip-feed of Mana laced with the antidote prevented any symptoms arising. As soon as the flow stopped the sailors would quickly lose large portions of their memory. Groups of people suffering from mass amnesia left its own kind of trail, but it did prevent anyone they travelled with from reporting directly to Church agents.
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The sights and sounds of the city were fast approaching as the ship glided into dock. Pog’s excitement reached fever pitch when the smell of fresh baked honey cakes managed to cut through the stench of rotting fish.
“I want to buy some honey cakes! Can I have another turn? Polimathas?’ Came Pog’s thoughts.
‘No, Pog, as you know perfectly well. This was part of our deal, we take turns each day, except for the day we arrive in Votterdam. I have very important business to deal with and have no time for honey cakes and dawdling.’
‘Pshh, important business my creaky knees. Admit it, you just like making secret hand signals and acting sneaky. That’s why you keep those memories about the Order hidden isn't it? So you can keep pretending.’
Polimathras didn’t respond, instead scanning the Auras on the dock for possible signs of Church agents. He was glad to see his alter ego recover from the servility inflicted on him by the Tranquillity ritual, but any joy was tempered by the knowledge that time was running out. They coexisted now only because Polimathras maintained a position of easy superiority, doling out concessions cautiously. There was no room for two healthy human minds within one body. Pog’s ascendance into his true strength would doom them both to madness. The Fate Lines had indicated that their destination held a powerful Relic, hopefully that could satisfy Pog for now and buy some more time.
The captain came up on the deck, an enormously fat merchant with many brightly coloured sashes wound over a white robe.
“Winds at ya back then.” He said as a farewell, then waved at them impatiently to descend the plank. Polimathras made straight for the House Morgan compound, stopping only to buy a honey cake. He smiled at Pog’s joy as they wound through the cobbled streets. The buildings here were made of thick hard wood. The inhabitants routinely rubbed them with oil, protecting the wood from the sea breeze and making it strong and dense over the centuries.
Each new generation felt obliged to add to the already extensive decorative carvings, describing the family's history or important events. The oldest buildings had barely an inch that wasn't covered in scrolling pictographs, depicting anything from decapitating an enemy to the purchasing of a horse. Various styles of bells, chimes, and magic charms for warding off The Silence adorned every doorway. Polimathras found his eyes drawn to the carvings as Pog’s fascination temporarily asserted control over their body, another sign of time running short.
Warm glowing light, laughter, and the smell of rich mead emanated from a tavern they passed. A heavy wooden placard above the door read ‘The Widows Bosom’. Pog pleaded wordlessly, knowing his yearning would be felt by Polimathras.
“Not now Pog, we have something important to do.”
Soon the smooth stone of Relic structures began to intermingle with the wooden buildings they passed, letting them know they were approaching the affluent heart of the city. The streets grew wider, but the space became crowded with the stalls and tents of street-side merchants. Each was draped with brightly coloured cloth and shining embroidery, competing to catch the eye of passing wealthy nobles. Bells and ornate windchimes were ubiquitous, but many merchants also had their own musicians nearby, or even played an instrument themselves while trying to lure in clientele. A silent stall was a bad omen nobody wanted to be associated with.
Soon the stone homes of the very wealthy had completely crowded out the wooden houses. A large Relic in the centre of an open square became visible as they rounded a corner. People of all sorts; porters for the Nobles, kitchen maids and carpenters, even unshod barbarians waited with empty buckets and pales.
A Relic Priest was making his way ceremoniously to the centre of the square. The Priest began an ostentatious and completely unnecessary ritual of chants and dancing while the crowd looked on in awe. Polimathras attempted to mask the disdain in his Aura as they passed. Soon the priest would activate the Relic with a key word and a little Mana, which would then produce water that it had been harvesting from the air and stored in a chamber underground.
Just beyond the square, a massive wall and gate stood before a great compound of Relic buildings. Long banners of blue and white hung from the wall, displaying a stylised falcon with talons extended, the sigil of house Morgan. Two guards and a warrior dressed in combat robes stood at attention. The warrior’s Aura looked like a sphere of crystal, solid and pure. Polimathras kept walking as if he was only passing through, but his eyes shot around for a way to mark his presence.
A building opposite the gate had strings hanging from the door frame that held a variety of bells, chimes and charms to ward off The Silence. One such charm was the image of a human palm held up in a warding gesture, a common fetish designed to prevent evil entering a house. Walking close to the wall he spun the hand upside down on his way past, looping the string so it would stay that way. Anyone could notice this inverted symbol, but only those trained to recognise its meaning would understand his message. The guards eyed him curiously, but none seemed to have noticed his sleight of hand.
‘That’s what we came here to do?’ Said Pog as they turned back the way they had come. Polimathras didn't reply, but Pog continued to grumble and complain in their shared mind as they began looking over various trinket seller stalls until they found another hand charm almost exactly like the one Polimathras had inverted. Pog was becoming positively snarky by the time they reached the ‘Widows Bosom’ again. Polimathras hung the hand upside down amongst the other charms adorning the doorway, and walked in. Warm mead, a comfortable seat in the corner, and a talented bard playing a lute did a lot to improve Pog’s mood.
"Shadows dance, in the fading light.
Voiceless screams and stolen whispers,
Bells gone still in the heart of night
Nay’ even the dead remain as listeners
Gone gone gone.”