I saw images of a tribe formed around that time the old clergy called 'interregnum', who wore on their heads a set of wings made of bone. Records show they could not have lived long, but somehow did, finding ways of making insulating robes and sustaining themselves on nutrient rich foods not commonly consumed by others. The dominant administrators of the Bibliotheca were of my kindred, so they tended to hide away those records of humanity behaving in a bestial manner, including those of this tribe devouring the flesh of tyflochs, making robes of their skin, and mocking them by wearing as the hats the wing bones of their young.

"His name is Janus" I announced to my new guide. Tythus looked at me, confused. The poor boy had likely never even learned to read.

I was troubled, for many reasons, the least of all being the Judicator's strange deformity. I'd seen two headed snakes, and even fish, and once I saw a troglodyte with a third arm dangling bonelessly from its waist. Janus's 'adaptation' promised to be a singular example, one I didn't look forward to witnessing. But there were other things that were winding me up.

Tythus had scored a can of cold kidney beans and was devouring them. I watched him eat, feeling my own stomach groan a little for the pleasure of being filled, even though I'd grown to appreciate not needing to eat. I wondered, though, how long I could last, assuming my body could not go eternally without some sustenance. I considered the possibility of starving myself to death over however long a time it took, and wondered if I would have the staying power to do so. If nothing else, such an attempt would test my conviction.

I don't mean to depress you. Sometimes I wonder if the Dolomites put this urge to die into me. It would make a certain kind of sense. Poor Eris, having spent her one chance at matrimony on a mass produced device with a brief design life.

After Tythus finished his beans, we found him a latrine, then continued walking through the bazaar. The dilapidated stalls with mildewed awnings made me miss the agora at Thieves' Gate. I looked out for any excitable antagarthan girls, or ennui with preposterous hats, but only saw stone faced humans ambling along like hollows. Only an occasional tarrasquin broke the uniformity of species, and they were all paid muscle. I kept seeing flashes of Tomorrow Gives Her Hope and Tall Mountains Call, and Eoouiieaoooaueoae and Aououaouaoeiaoeua. A painting of a man with winged feet and a serpentine rod reminded me of Abdiel, and I felt lonely. So many people I would never see again. Oscar who died for me, Dolores who lived for me, but died for herself, and Kendra who depended on me. Eris.

Tythus had the amusing habit of pressing people with uncomfortable questions when they stared at us too closely. He insisted I wear my shroud, as that my likeness with their Lord would cause a scene. "We don't want any delays," he said. He said that, but we seemed to be taking a very roundabout path to this Judicator. "You'll see him soon enough," Tythus repeated every time I asked questions about the Judicator.

"Does he rule over Red Side?"

"He's above Red Side."

"So he rules over it?"

"He's in his own place. Inside Nexus."

Nexus. The name was plain enough, as was the Judicator's choice of locales. "So people have no choice but to encounter him."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"You can try to avoid it. But it's better not to make him wait."

"Do I need anything to present to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does it help to bring something to impress him?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, what should I bring?"

"You'll do fine. He'll be happy to have you in his territory."

I had nothing to say after that. It would have done no good to tell Tythus I was uneasy, or why; that I'd grown very tired of people trying to capture me and use me for their private research. Tythus may have seen me tighten my fingers around my spear, because he tried to console me. I promised him I would not do anything rash or poorly planned, whenever we eventually met this malformed megathere. I will say this, that for once I found myself ascending towards a goal, rather than plummeting downwards. For so long I'd sought to rise, dragging the world behind me, not knowing that I depended so desperately on the world to prop me up. Each time I found myself descending into depths or into another tube of nameless liquid I felt as if I were brought to life to endlessly reenact the Fall. But this time, upward felt sick.

Tythus spoke in a way that told me he spent most of his time alone, prattling on while he led me through one dingy alley after another, occasionally passing through a shabbily stalled plaza. He had at least led me to where a population dwelled. Dwelled, I say, rather than 'lived'. There were bins lined with mold where huge pipes periodically dumped a kind of doughy bread-like substance. People would gather around them and fight over the food when it poured into the bins. One had a trio of tarrasquin men guarding it while a robed woman dolled it out first to the very old, then to the very young, then to the infirm and frail. I stopped to watch despite my guide's petulant whinging, and while I admired the woman for having acquired muscle to help her maintain order, the restrained anger in the eyes of those who served themselves after she had left irked me a great deal. If the guards were not there, these people would doubtless devolve into frenzied animals, as we saw at many of the other feeding troughs. Saddest to me were those where no one gathered. There the food had piled high over the bins, and what vermin had not finished was putrefied, a seedbed for weird new growths I'd rather not have seen.

Tythus seemed to sense I was growing impatient, as one day he suddenly chose a direct route to a a looming doorway|||||\\\\¶¶¶¶ like the one I passed through last night

into a cold room. One light that followed me, and the very coffin I keep waking up inside, a sure way to send me into a murderous panic. Then someone scolds me later it was so strange, looking at my own embryo. I'm still frustrated with Garret. There would be no free Eurasia if not for the Afro Turks. Yunus was a warrior poet in the most ancient sense. For one man to lead such a small army to such a large victory... Even if their martial prowess fails to manifest in their future stock, they've earned their resurrection. I'll have to do something to thank Kendra for backing me up with Garret. I'll sneak some new bugs into her terrarium on her next shift. Heh, Temuera sent her flowers. A big ole bouquet too. I saw her wetas munching on them later. I dunno. I guess I can't be too hard on Garrett. Or Till. No one alive is prepared for this, and every last one of us is afraid. Frankly, I'm terrified. And watching my own genes mitose isn't helping. Are you... Did you survive somehow? You're so quiet, but I feel you're there, keeping my mind stable while you have the strength. Thank you.

Janus was no natural megathere, but a mosaic of their forgotten heroes' remains. Two arms, long and simian, held twin tipped spears by equidistant Sunburst helves. Two arms, natively mounted, were folded over fragmented pectorals. Two arms, half grown and frail, clutched a headless doll against a stretched navel.

Before he spoke, his binary fused hips shifted forward, and like a spoiling bull he stamped a foot; he having four. His face was old, but by no means tired, and a warning grin disturbed me. "Our Lord's will becomes me," said a voice behind, "and when he speaks," but the face I saw then finished, "he speaks through me."