Clad in my finest clothes, my new purchase safely stowed in my satchel, I crossed from central Hightown into the slightly less-busy, even more-aloof areas in the south of the district, bordering Treetown. It was an unpleasant, dreary day of constant on-off showers and grey skies that extended even across Hightown’s usually picturesque horizons. Nonetheless it was the kind of weather that made me feel Mundian, called out to my soul. It wasn’t particularly cold, even with the north wind coming down from the mountains. For some reason it made me feel young again, like an actual kid kid. I was too young to get nostalgia, wasn’t I? Evidently not.
I hoped my new mask wouldn’t look too different to the old one, which was now being repaired for a minor fee. I’d opted for the closest copy I’d found available, but the curly horns at the temples were ever-so-slightly longer, sharper, more demonic than the cute little horns bedecking my first mask. The pattern of the copper and tin was slightly less appealing, giving the appearance of a brow furrowed in anger, and the smiling cheeks were less pronounced, more leering than gleeful. Still, it would have to do. Hopefully they’d have my original repaired in a few days. My back-up robe would be awhile, too – I’d have to fall back on the old grey one for now.
If I was attacked, I would use my shields. Not only because my face wasn’t known here – more because I’d finally managed to employ Zab’s gift to reliably hide my scar, the most obvious distinguishing mark someone might use to identify me… without making it look like my cheek had grown a huge fleshy balloon or making my scar flash on-and-off every three seconds. I’d even combed my hair into some semblance of normality, tucked back behind my ears.
Nonetheless, I’d have loved to have been wearing the new mask right now. I wanted my robe, my shields ready; I didn’t like going around in this ridiculously-overwrought get up. However, I had to look the part, as any random not-quite-lowborn youngster.
The Tower of Knowledge was more impressive from beneath; from above it melded into the sea of towers, barely standing out from the crowd, but from down here I could appreciate it was a feat of ambitious imagining come true. A single spire formed the centre of the building, about which other, lesser spires were clustered, joined to the central spire and to one another by broad, open-air walkways, rail-less stairs and bridges that spanned the gaps between the various structures at impressive heights. Some of the bridges up there I wouldn’t feel comfortable stepping out upon without my wings at my back. Even looking up at them made me feel a little green. Nonetheless, there were scholars up there, clothes and hair streaming in the chill wind as they walked those precarious-looking paths.
The Temple of Compassion was no less beautiful, if a little less impressive. A low structure, like many of the shrines, it was still huge, a veritable palace of silver walls and pillars down which flowed dozens of small waterfalls, joining to form a web of canal-moats that criss-crossed the grass on which the temple was built. Orchards… small, picturesque hills…
There was no crowd of bedraggled supplicants waiting outside this hallowed place of Wythyldwyn. No, instead there were more than a few magisters walking their patrol routes. Even in passing I had the opportunity to see a vagrant turned away by them, gently but forcefully being escorted away from the silvery gates that stood at the entrance from the street.
The place she’d named, Foltan’s, was a Myric establishment above an expensive-looking barber-shop. I ascended the narrow stair, awash in the scents of charcoaled meat, and approached the well-dressed waitress standing just inside the door. Despite their image, you could tell this was not your typical Hightown establishment.
By the time I was across the threshold all the lingering images from last night were washed away in the smoky aromas. My stomach complained loudly of its emptiness as I halted at the small desk.
“Uh – I’m meeting someone here?” I said. “I don’t know…” I peered past her as I spoke, searching for anyone that matched Netherhame’s frame –
Two women, out on the veranda overlooking the street, the shrines. Seated at the far side of their chosen table so as to face the door of the establishment. One of them, tall, well-built, had noticed me – and there was the light of recognition on her coarse-featured face.
The waitress showed me to their table. None of the other patrons were braving the bleak weather – we’d be sitting outside alone.
Netherhame was pallid, unattractive. I didn’t take great care of my hair, but hers made it look like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards by an army of goblins. Then dragged forwards through it just for good measure. Her tallness was obvious, even while seated. She wore a striped smock-top, trousers, and a long leather coat.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Shallowlie – it was just obvious it was her from her body language – was Netherhame’s antithesis. Smooth, pale-caramel skin, and big brown eyes; lustrous dark hair, a petite and appealing frame. Her dress was a creation of white layers with a floral pattern, and she wore a too-thin cardigan over her shoulders. If I had to guess, I’d have said she was Habburatian or Hezrenile.
Only in their attitude did the two twenty-something women seem similar: neither smiled, but wore closed, serious expressions on their faces.
Netherhame gestured to the empty seats opposite them. I ordered a hot berry drink before I removed my satchel and sat down, suddenly feeling a little nervous, like a criminal being invited to parley with a pair of watchmen.
“Last night,” I started, placing my bag between my feet, “I know it was foolish –“
“Don’t worry,” Netherhame said laconically, sitting back but still not looking very amused. “Whether you meant to or not, you drew out the lord. Like I said, it was T-Man’s big idea, not yours – not really.”
So Timesnatcher put me in the vampire’s path?
It just felt off, thinking of it that way.
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that how it all works, you think? Really?”
“Obviously.” She rolled her heavy-lidded hazel eyes. “We’re all pawns in their little game – don’t you get that?”
Shallowlie spoke for the first time in my presence, her voice small and squeaky, the accent foreign, exotic.
“Lie,” was all she said.
Netherhame reacted like she’d been slapped, leaning forwards suddenly, almost lunging. “Shut up, Min.”
Shallowlie shook her head. “We haf to trusty chudder, lie. I,” she looked at me imploringly, took a deep breath, and said, “aminnerveve.”
I looked back at her blankly.
Netherhame growled, gracing me with a churlish glare. “She said she is Minnerveve. Min, for short.”
“Oh – so – you’re –“
“Lyanne.”
“Ly… Okay, I get it.” I smiled. Name sounds like ‘lie’. Couldn’t make it more confusing if you tried. “I’m Kas. Kastyr.”
Netherhame – Ly – just nodded, then sat back. Shallowlie – Min – said nothing and didn’t move. The cold breeze stirred her hair and she blinked, but that was it.
This is awkward, I thought.
I put my elbows on the table, rubbed my arms. “So, Min – you disagree? You don’t think we’re just pawns?”
Min gave a wan little smile, and looked back at Ly.
“She thinks, like everyone else does, that she’s free,” Ly said, shrugging. “I’ve been around a bit longer. I’ve seen how these things play out. Before Timesnatcher there was Everseer – you’re old enough to remember her name, right? And then when I was growing up there was Blinkwind – listen, if you heard some of Leafcloak’s stories… We’re just like actors in a play to them, Kas. We’re the same lowborn scum we ever were, doing what we’re told by our noble betters –”
“Doan let her foo’ you,” Min said. “Iss jus’ her idea.”
“Sounds a bit bleak,” I agreed.
“Not at all!” Ly said. “It means you can run with it, you know?”
“No responsibility?” I asked, a bit sarcastically.
“No responsibility,” she repeated with a smugly grim expression, as though she’d completely misunderstood me. “It’s all foredained.”
Foreordained, I couldn’t help but mentally correct her.
“They can’t see everything,” I reminded her.
“Eksacly!” Min said, smiling a little.
“What was it like, with Killstop, last night?” Ly asked, a look of sudden shrewd cunning coming over her features, lending them a predatory aspect as she leaned forwards once again.
I remembered the way the new diviner had been festooned in wooden stakes beneath her robes.
They hadn’t come from nowhere.
Ly obviously took my change of expression as victory – a triumphant smirk twisted her face.
I moved my elbows off the table as a different waiter brought our drinks. Ly had ordered a frosty beer that wasn’t likely to get less frosty very quickly in this climate – the waiter looked at her like she was mad when she nodded to him, but placed the glass-blown pint-pot in front of her all the same. Min had quite sensibly ordered hot mead, and steam billowed off it into the breeze – she put her fingers around the cup gingerly.
My berry-juice was the perfect temperature to sip, so I sipped it eagerly, and before the waiter left Ly ordered ‘the tray’.
“You don’t mind sharing, do ya?” she asked me. “You don’t look like the type to shy away from getting your hands dirty.”
“You can tell I’m not one of them, right? I mean, do I look at all comfortable in these clothes?”
Ly chuckled. “You got a fancy way of talking, though, Kas.”
“I’ve spent the last three years with my nose in a book.”
“You’ve lived an interesting life!”
I disagreed with her sardonic intent, but I wasn’t about to start an argument. She probably couldn’t even read.
“I’m making up for it now, I think.” I shrugged, then sipped again at my warm juice. “So, tell me – what’s this proposal of yours?”
I looked out on the Temple of Compassion’s silver walls and the airy bridges of the Tower of Knowledge as I listened; I ate my meat and wiped my hands on the fancy cloths they brought us for just that purpose. All the while I tried to keep the shock from my face as Lyanne, Netherhame, quietly explained to me the true stakes at play, setting my mind whirling like the wind:
Zadhal.
* * *