16

Names

"Changeling," Oydd stated confidently.

"That thing was a changeling?" Cricket asked skeptically. "Aren't changelings blue?"

"That may be the stupidest thing you've said so far. Of course they can be blue, but they can change." Oydd set the scalpel down. "Changelings copy the genetic material of other races. If they spend time around lizards, they grow scales, or in this case... a tail. If they eat eels, they grow gills. This changeling consumed enough spiderweb to alter his entire composition."

Cricket hovered over the squiggling bit of changeling skin on the autopsy table.

"Actually, I was hoping to get some changeling blood for my experiment." The rudra gestured toward Skunk. "The troll blood you brought me reanimated the central cavity, where the heart resides, but now the goblin body is rejecting the lizardman and ratling limbs. I think changeling blood might help to... unify the disparate parts."

"Why is it squirming?"

"Likely a trait the changeling gained from a troll. Which makes me think the two will mix well. Of course, this changeling is on a level I've never seen before. I assume he received some additional power from Bale."

Cricket poked at the piece of changeling skin and Oydd swatted his hand away.

The rudra continued, "Licephus has assigned me an urgent mission."

"Oh?"

"The night you ran into these two, a group attacked Agena's group as well. They were strong. If it weren't for the ettin, Ghajan, I believe he would have been overrun. Though they were nothing compared to Shisu."

"Shisu?" Cricket asked, remembering the name from his communion with the Left Hand.

"The child you encountered. A human. The druid was able to identify her race, and Lord Licephus confirmed it. We believe she is the leader of the cult."

"That little girl? What makes you think she's important."

"Because she had sacrificed her eyes. That signifies something among worshippers of the Betrayer. Even if she was not the most powerful before that sacrifice, it stands to reason she has gained favor. Which means more power. I assume Bale grows in power as well."

"Isn't Serinyes more powerful?"

"For now..." Oydd stated, ominously.

"What about the changeling?"

"What about him?"

"He was tough too. He was as tall as me, which is odd for a changeling."

"He was seven feet tall, by the druid's estimation. You are barely six and a half if I count your antennae."

"Why wouldn't you count my antennae?" Cricket asked, hurt.

Oydd ignored the question. "My orders are to visit the Oracle. Do you know what an oracle is?"

"Yes, of course," Cricket answered unconvincingly.

"An oracle is a seer."

"Like Bones?"

"No, not like Bones." The ratling sometimes placed bones and teeth in a gourd then threw them on the ground in an attempt to tell the future. "Because the oracle is actually successful at divination. I wanted you to join me for protection."

"Don't you have your zombies?"

"I hate to admit it, but I would feel safer if you came. It is not a long trip, but we have been targeted a lot recently, and these roads are known to be frequented by highwaymen."

"When do we leave?"

"Tonight, when the dhampiri sleep. But I need to head to the underground market first to pick up an item I ordered."

*****

At night, a cold wind blew in from the surface, bringing a fog. The glowing mushrooms that illuminated the immense cavern appeared as hazy lights, like will o' wisps in the distance.

Oydd pulled the hood of his robe over his head as he led Cricket and the zombies down several back alleys and into the slums of the fourth sect. Though historically allies, there was always a danger in straying from your home turf, and Cricket watched each shadow that passed with suspicion.

Eventually Oydd descended a stairwell, and the group found themselves in a bustling, but relatively hushed undercity bazaar. Robed figures whispered and traded in the shadows. Ubo slaves—the short but sturdy cyclopes—guarded tables and tents of peculiar merchandise, and ratlings scurried in the corners, avoiding the untrusting glances of the traders.

A malnourished rudra, squatting near the entrance, grabbed Cricket's arm with a bony hand as he passed. He smiled with a rotten beak through filthy tentacles and shook a thorny, black briar staff as he spoke with a cackle. "Trades! Making trades! I'll make it so you no longer see the color blue in exchange for your firstborn son!"

"That sounds like two bad things," Cricket replied.

The old rudra's tentacles drooped limply in disappointment. "You like the color blue? How about yellow?" He watched the two walk away a little too intently, with a mischievous smile.

Oydd pulled the insect away from the peddler's grip. "Don't talk to anyone!"

Cricket looked back and the old rudra shouted after him, "If they're both bad, then it's an even trade!"

"Scab, Wax, come on!" Cricket called after the zombies. Both were distracted by a were-panther butcher, covered in blood and sorting raw lizard meat. He chopped a tail off with his cleaver, and the undead goblins inched closer, hungrily.

When Oydd saw their interest he spoke, Come, and the two instantly turned to follow without a backward glance.

A were-panther woman, a hunter by her appearance, attempted to sell a baby swamp dragon in a wire cage. Since he wasn't supposed to talk to anyone, Cricket ran through potential names for the squat beast in his head.

The rudra passed several weapon racks and an apothecary before turning down another alley and approaching a sizable ubo in copper platemail, standing nearly four and a half feet tall, so that Oydd barely looked down on him.

The rudra stared the ubo in his one, unblinking eye. "I am here to see Fander."

The ubo waddled aside, allowing the four to pass through a tiny doorway that led to a dingy, candle-lit shop. A dull, orange light flickered from the wooden shelves and Cricket covered his eyes with one arm to avoid being blinded.

An eccentric, brown insectoid, shorter than his guard, greeted Oydd, shaking the rudra's one hand with four of his own, then the insect climbed atop his own counter and grinned, rubbing his smaller hands together as he cleaned his feelers with his upper hands.

"I have it for you... somewhere!" Fander fawned, then chittered excitedly, running in circles on the countertop. He looked under a few papers, and then under his counter. Whatever he was looking for, he did not find, and appeared visibly flustered. Fander opened an empty wire cage to look inside, then panicked.

"It's on your arm." Oydd pointed at a simple black bracer that the insectoid wore, adorned with two yellow stones.

"Ja, ja... yes!" Fander tapped a finger to his temple laughing at himself. "You have my payment? Five hundred silver. No less!"

"I have this." Oydd produced a large flask with a pittance of troll's blood splashing about in the bottom.

"Hey, that was a present..." Cricket said mostly to himself.

"What this is? We didn't agree on this!" The insect spoke quickly and anxiously.

"It is more valuable than silver."

"What it is?" Fander repeated.

"Troll's blood."

Fander grabbed the container and held it up to the candlelight. Cricket saw a milky white film over the bug's eyes.

"A trick?" Fander asked.

"You know where to find me," Oydd stated flatly.

The shopkeeper considered this then clung the bottle to his chest and waved the customers away. "Get out... Get out!"

Oydd extended his hand, and the shopkeeper paused for a moment, before comprehending the gesture. He pulled the bracer from his wrist and slapped it into the rudra's hand.

"Kree! It will work once or twice. Once guaranteed!"

"Maybe twice? That's not encouraging."

"Only count on once. Now happily get out!" Fander said with a smile. Oydd slipped the bracer onto his wrist and led his group from the shop back to the alley.

Cricket rubbed his eyes and clicked his tongue in annoyance as he adjusted again to the darkness.

"I'm surprised how sensitive your eyes are. How do you cook over a fire?"

"I'm surprised how sensitive your hearing is. Anyway, you're not supposed to look directly at a fire," Cricket cautioned, as if this were an established fact.

Oydd grunted. "Your screech hits just the right frequency, or—"

"What does it do?" Cricket interrupted. "The bracelet."

"Bracer," Oydd corrected. "And it deflects projectiles, like arrows."

"Oh. Only once?"

"I think he meant once or twice at a time. The enchantment should recharge over time. I'll test back at my lab later. Regardless, it's better than nothing. I don't expect to take too many arrows."

Oydd walked silently for a while, then added. "I've felt oddly vulnerable since I lost Kaser and Gad. If nothing else, this may give me peace of mind on the battlefield, which is essential for spellcasting."

"You can't cast when you're frazzled?"

"Frazzled?" Oydd scoffed at the word choice. "We have a long way to go tonight. I'm going to spend a bit of energy to speed up the goblins, but it may leave me tired."

"I've got you covered." The chipper bug drew his sickles and practiced spinning the blades around in different patterns. He spun one in a circle to the side while he weaved the second in a figure eight. "This is good practice, trying to get each hand to do something different. It's harder than it looks."

"It doesn't look hard," Oydd replied without looking.

"Where are we headed?"

"Lake Orat."

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Cricket gulped. "I can't swim."

"You can't possibly be afraid of water. You float. I saw it."

"It's not that. Orat has some massive eels. If I fall in, I'll just be floating there helpless."

"Don't fall in," Oydd responded, and then after a moment added, "I thought you liked eels. You wanted a pet eel."

"I like to eat eels. And yes, a little one would make an awesome pet. But the big ones will just see me as a meal. Maybe their ideal meal."

"I won't let anything happen to you," the rudra said sardonically. But the sarcasm went over Cricket's head, and he smiled, clearly touched.

After a few hours of travel, the insectoid grew sleepy and began to stumble along the trails at a slower pace than the zombies. When they reached the underground lake, the ferry was nowhere in sight, and Cricket plopped down in the dirt, sitting cross-legged.

Oydd lit a lantern hanging on a post by the water, then pulled some food from his pouch. He shared a strip of dried eel with the insect and some hard yak cheese, then took some rotten meat from a second pouch and tossed it to the goblins.

The zombies salivated but ate slowly. When they finished the meat, they licked the earth, scraping the last bits of festering juice into their mouths.

At last the ferry appeared over the black, placid water, piloted by a three-armed insectoid. He held an iron oar with all three arms, rowing briskly on one side, gliding a bit, then rowing once on the other.

When the small skiff skidded ashore, Oydd snuffed the lantern then pulled out a single silver coin and pressed it into the ferryman's hand. The ferryman stuffed the coin into a gap in his carapace, the same one Cricket used to conceal his daggers, and signaled for the four passengers to board.

He pushed off of the shore with his oar and silently began the trip back across the lake.

"If he still had all four arms," Cricket whispered, "he could use two oars, and he wouldn't have to switch sides."

Oydd sighed.

The shore slowly disappeared from view, and for a while Cricket saw only smooth black water in every direction.

After some time, they neared a small island, with several dwellings nestled between two cliffs like a small town, though the insect saw no inhabitants.

Close to shore, the water began to churn with a mass of writhing eels so thick it seemed the vessel glided upon tentacles. Most of the eels were no larger than the insect's arm, but now and then a head large enough to swallow a ratling broke the surface or a slimy, snakelike tail struck the side of the skiff, jostling the boat.

The ferryman paid them no heed, and rowed on undeterred, often pushing off from the mass of eels when his oar could not find water.

At last, they slid ashore, and Cricket jumped onto the black sand first, followed by a calm rudra and the emotionless zombies.

The insectoid ferryman stood wordlessly, stoically by the boat as Oydd walked up the path through a red-painted arch and then proceeded to the first and smallest of three pagodas.

The rudra entered and knelt on a weaved reed mat then placed his staff along his lap. Cricket copied the rudra, kneeling on the mat, and placed his hands awkwardly on his hips.

We will report.

Cricket felt the words enter his mind, and looked over at the rudra, a bit panicked. Oydd kept his eyes forward.

After an agonizing wait, two tentacled creatures resembling the Left Hand entered the pagoda from the far side. One walked tall on its tentacles, almost like a mimic copying a goblin. The other floated above the ground. Both appeared slightly smaller than the Left Hand, and varied in shades of grey, but Cricket assumed they were of the same race.

The floating creature hovered above Oydd and began to extend a slim proboscis toward his head, but the rudra said, I can speak, to all in the room. The creature hesitated, then withdrew its proboscis.

What is sought?

Oydd answered, Only knowledge.

The tentacled creature on the ground circled around Cricket, as if staring at him, though it had no eyes, and the insect shivered.

You may pass.

The creatures moved to the sides of the far exit, and Oydd grabbed his staff, rose, and proceeded along the path toward the second, larger pagoda where he knelt on another mat. A voice entered Cricket's mind before he joined the rudra.

Weapons are not allowed. Place them in the receptacles.

Cricket looked around the room and saw small baskets weaved from the same greyish reed. Oydd placed his thin, metal staff across the top of one of the baskets.

Cricket tossed his sickles inside another, along with his whole pack, and started to leave, then rushed back and pulled out his concealed daggers, adding them to the bin.

The rudra left the pagoda and continued up the path. Two intricately carved doors blocked the entrance to the final, much larger, structure. This one appeared more like a dwelling with a flat roof, though also painted red.

Oydd stood before the doors. Again the wait felt agonizing to Cricket. It was only a few minutes, but something about not knowing how long the wait would be made the insect antsy.

Slowly, the doors opened outward, pushed by an unseen force, and the same voice entered Cricket's mind.

The rudra may enter.

Cricket grumbled and stroked his feelers impatiently.

The doors closed behind Oydd, and Cricket found himself alone. He looked around awkwardly, not sure if he was permitted to sit. He stood motionless for a bit, until his restlessness became torture, and then he decided to take a seat, for better or for worse.

The insect drooped down into the black sand with a loud sigh and began to click his tongue and pick at his mandibles.

He looked around in his boredom and eventually plopped onto his back, with his knees in the air and his arms out wide.

The sound of the doors opening again woke him from his daydream and Cricket quickly sat up and pretended he'd been kneeling.

Oydd exited the chamber alone, looking morose, and walked past the insect. "Come."

However, before Cricket could stand, a voice entered his head again.

The one known as Cricket may enter.

Cricket looked to Oydd, as if asking permission, and the rudra simply gestured his indifference with a wave of his hand.

Cricket rose and entered the structure. The doors closed behind him, sealing him in a small antechamber as a second set of inner doors began to open.

Cricket stepped lightly into the inner chamber and looked around. In the center of the room he saw a column of black tentacles, resembling a stalactite that dripped from the ceiling and barely caressed the floor with twisting, thrumming tendrils. Long, thin, pale stalks of various sizes protruded from the mass, each with a single glossy orb at the end. The tentacles stretched along the ceiling and down the outer walls, encroaching on the surroundings like the brambles in the swamp.

As he watched, one of the glassy orbs drifted away from the main column. The stalk attaching it snapped with a quiet slurp, and then the orb began to hover further away. Cricket noticed several similar orbs levitating about the room, like dozens of emancipated eyes.

A new, much deeper and somehow older voice entered his mind.

It is good to see you again.

Cricket spoke out loud, "I haven't met you before."

Ah... the creature spoke, almost dismayed.

I know your past, present, and future. You may ask one question.

Cricket's eyes widened.

Or I can tell you what I believe you most need to know.

Cricket had several questions he really wanted to ask, but Oydd's voice scolded him in the back of his mind, "Why would you ask a random question, when you could gain the information you most need?"

Cricket groaned at the annoying, imaginary rudra.

What do you choose?

"I guess the knowledge that will help me the most? I shouldn't pass on that."

Immediately a vision seized the insect's mind. He stood in a new location, filled with an orange, sulfurous smoke—a haze that spread for miles and miles. Though he could not see through it, he knew that it extended above him without end as well. There was no ceiling, no rock walls, and he had the sudden fear of falling upward into the void.

Through the haze he saw a glowing orb in the sky, but in the vision the bright light did not blind him.

Oydd stood in the smoke, and before the rudra stood a demon. He could barely make out its silhouette, but 'demon' was the best word he knew to describe it. The demon possessed four arms, like cricket, and a dull black shell similar to his own, but waved a thin, wiry tail in the smoke, and two twisted horns adorned its head, rather than antennae. It raised a menacing, clawed hand and beckoned the rudra closer.

Six black orbs floated in the air around the demon, circling him and staring off through time—into the past and from the past, and into the future, and staring back from the future. He could not explain it, but somehow the orbs connected it to... everything.

Black beasts prowled about the perimeter of the smoke, watching but keeping their distance. He thought they looked something between a lizard and a panther and a rat. Perhaps something from the surface he was unfamiliar with.

Then he snapped back to the present... or the past. The present felt like the past, but the two felt mixed up in his head and he did think for a second that he had met the oracle before.

The deep, ancient voice entered his mind again.

Do not fight the Prophet. If you raise a weapon against him, you will only hurt yourself.

Cricket remembered the imposing figure of the black-shelled demon—the one the oracle called "the Prophet." He felt the image branded onto his mind.

When he stumbled from the chamber, he saw Oydd staring off into nothing, and now understood the look on the rudra's face. Seeing into the future was disorienting. But suddenly being cut off from an almost infinite source of knowledge was nearly maddening. However, that memory began to slip away, which made it more tolerable. There were things he wanted to remember—to hold on to—but even that desire began to slip away like a dream.

"Did you find something of value?" Oydd asked.

Cricket shook his head. "No..."

*****

"Those eyes," Cricket said, as they returned to the far shore of Lake Orat and meandered along the empty paths back toward the Warrens, "on his stalks. That's how he sees."

Oydd closed his eyes and considered this, as if intoxicated from a vision of his own. "How do you know they were eyes?" he asked in wonder.

Cricket thought feverishly long before answering. "Because they were looking at me."

Oydd, in a similar state, barely registered the delay.

On the otherwise empty trail ahead, Cricket saw the old, emaciated rudra from the marketplace. He sat hunched over on a rock with his knees nearly touching his tentacles. Cricket found his presence odd, but thought little of it.

If Oydd felt uneasy by the other rudra's presence, he gave no indication, and the two nearly passed right by until the peddler spoke.

"Zephyrendum."

Oydd paused and turned. "How do you know my name?"

"It means carried off by the wind."

"Yes..." Oydd replied slowly.

"It's not Rudric," the peddler cackled.

"It is not."

He turned to the insect. "Cricket."

Cricket stared dumbly, his mind still dazed from his vision. "I never told you my name."

"I collect names," the old rudra teased.

He and Cricket began to rise from the ground. The insect realized, too late, that they had been unusually unalert—his instincts dulled. The man must have followed them here from the marketplace, which was itself alarming.

Realizing the danger, Oydd sicced the undead goblins on the old rudra. But he pointed a finger at them reproachfully.

"Uh, uh, uh... no..." He laughed then spoke their names. "Scab. Wax."

The zombies froze in their tracks.

Oydd suddenly tensed. "We're being robbed!" he shouted to Cricket, unsure if the insect were equally disoriented.

"Oh..." Cricket still struggled to focus as he dreamily rolled onto his side in the air.

"He's a warlock. He's made a pact with the fey!" Oydd warned, then yelled and released a pulse from his mind. Though Cricket couldn't see it, he had grown familiar enough with the rudra's mental prowess to sense a force billow from his companion. And he sensed it wash harmlessly over the peddler.

Cricket watched helplessly as the older rudra released a similar pulse that seemed to sting Oydd, and then a wave moved back and forth between them, unseen, until Oydd finally relented.

"You're not stronger than him?" Cricket cried.

"Normally I would be…” Oydd answered after a delay, “but..."

The peddler had trouble controlling the zombies. They fell on all fours and ambled about before he pulled them in line and then the undead goblins looked upon Oydd and Cricket with an eager hunger.

Cricket squealed and struggled, flailing his arms helplessly in the air. He reached for a shuriken, but the warlock spoke his name again, and Cricket felt all four arms lock up against his sides.

The peddler grabbed Cricket's bag and dumped the contents out on the ground. He picked through the meager possessions, noticing first the single, bright blue shuriken, which he held up to his squinting eye.

"You can have everything but that," the insect bargained.

Seeing the warlock ignore his offer, Cricket inhaled deeply, preparing a screech.

This finally got Oydd to snap to attention. "Oh, no! Don't! At this range it could kill me."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Oydd glared at his own hungry creations as they twitched and jerked, stumbling awkwardly toward him, their mouths wide open. He could smell the rotten meat on their breath.

"Yes, I think I do." The rudra smiled caustically. However, he seemed to struggle inwardly for a moment, then spoke firmly and authoritatively. "I invoke the ancient rite of backsies."

"Oh," Cricket said soberly, looking confused for just a moment. "I... release you from your oath?"

Instantly his words dispelled the warlock's magic from the unnamed zombies. The goblins turned on the peddler, who screamed and pointed. "Scab... wax... I command you."

Once back under Oydd's control, the zombies moved much more swiftly, tackling the scrawny warlock, sinking their teeth into his cartilaginous bones, tearing him limb from limb. A dying breath escaped his blood-filled mouth and Cricket dropped roughly back to the ground.

Oydd drifted down gently as a feather while the insect tested the use of his arms.

"Can..." Cricket wavered. "Can I name them again? I feel a little bit cheated."

Oydd sighed in relief. "Wait, cheated? How do you figure?"

"I could have screeched and knocked him out cold, but you made me do it your way, and you basically stole a promise from me."

"With your permission."

"But I feel used." Cricket wiped the dirt from his shins and started again down the trail.

Oydd groaned, "Fine. I think I'm in a good mood. You can give them new names."

Cricket beamed, "I name them Wax and Scab!"