Hallek

The sun was going down over the city.

Angelar was the jewel of the empire, the capital, where Milkaamek the First Emperor had slain Dakkareg, the Great Calamity, and with the massive tyrannosaur's bones had carved out Milkaamek's Ax, a weapon powerful enough to forge an empire. A center of trade, politics, and culture that ranked among (and if you asked its residents, above) the other great cities of the world.

As always, the view of the city from Downwind was less than inspiring. The district lay outside the city walls, a cluster of adobe huts northwest of the city practically built into the palm forest itself. A few palm trees even grew between the huts along the edge. All that could be seen of the city was the wall, tall and forbidding even with its gates wide open. The wall was made of ancient gray stone, carved all over with reliefs of humans and dinosaurs and heroes, the pattern centered around the row of triceratops skulls that glared out at the rest of the world. The skulls were infused, strengthening the walls, helping them repel invaders—not that anyone had dared to invade the city for centuries. In the other direction from the hut you could see the palm forest around the Piles. And the Piles were why the district existed, why they were outside the city proper, and why they were called Downwind.

The manure had to go somewhere after all. There were thousands of dinosaurs in the city, from the largest of the Imperial Brachiosaurs to the smallest compy scrabbling in the gutters, and keeping animals of any kind comes with an obvious side effect. And that effect had been carefully placed where the winds coming from the eastern plains would make sure no one in the city could smell it...unless, of course, you happened to live in Downwind. You'd expect the place to collect the city's dregs but what it really collected was flotsam. Orphans without other prospects, travelers who'd run out of places to go, sixth and seventh sons of poor families who couldn't find other work. All of them could find a place in Downwind, provided they proved they were willing to work the piles and dig their weight.

Hallek had been a part of that flotsam. A street orphan who'd stumbled into Downwind when he was eleven years old and been handed a shovel. That had been six years ago. A memory came, old and ugly and unwanted, of huddling in an alleyway, curled into a ball around his prize as greedy claws tried to scratch it out of his hands.

He'd take Downwind, thanks. For all the place stank.

“Ready for your shift?” Old Mungo asked, catching up as they walked between the Piles. The ancient old man had the burnt chocolate skin of a Far Southerner, but he'd been in the city as long as anyone could remember. A bristling gray beard stuck out of his chin, the only hair on his head besides a pair of bushy eyebrows. Old Mungo wasn't a foreman, just a senior digger, so he wore the same leather kilt and shoulder strap as Hallek.

Hallek had the same soft caramel skin as most Angelarians, and years working the piles had made him lean and strong. He was even handsome, at least to anyone who wouldn't refuse to look at him because he was from Downwind. The current fashion for young men in the city was to wear their hair long, with metal ornaments, but Hallek kept his cut short. Long hair and piles of dung mix even worse than you'd think.

“More than,” Hallek said. “I'd much rather have guard duty than the Piles.”

“Think you're too good to shovel the piles?” Old Mungo teased.

“Aw not like that,” Hallek sighed. “You know I always dig my weight. I just like working with this better.” He indicated the sword hanging on the strap at his back. “I was starting to think you'd forgotten to put me on rotation.”

“Well funny thing is I did,” Old Mungo said. “Your friend reminded me.”

“Which friend?” Hallek asked. He'd complained to a few of the other Downwinders, but none of them would ever think of interfering in another diggers work.

“Never said his name,” Mungo said. “Metalworker I met in the market. Looked almost as old as me, if you can believe it. I think maybe he might have been a digger once. Asked me if I recognized him. But he reminded me you hadn't had the guard duty for a while. And you aregood with that sword.”

“No idea,” Hallek shook his head. “I'll thank him if I see him. I'm going into town after work tonight.”

“Focus on the job,” Old Mungo said. “Time enough for being young later. Take it from a man who's used it all up.”

They were laughing as the approached the stables where the minmi were kept. Minmi were among the smallest of the great armored dinosaurs. Six feet long with leather hides and small armor plates along their backs, with bodies built like small hills and shovel shaped heads. They honked at Hallek and Old Mungo in the affectionate manner of a beast of burden recognizing the humans that bring the feed and shovel out the pens. Hallek patted one softly on the head on his way to a rack against the wall.

Three horns carved from bone hung there, each carved with a single line of runes. Some of the runes were similar to what Shylldra had carved into her sacred skulls, but this had a feeling of normalcy. Of a well-used tool rather than a sacred artifact. Ordinary magic, everyday spells, the kind of thing Dalluth had been complaining about. Hallek went to hang the horn around his waist with a leather strip.

“Not tonight,” Old Mungo said. “You're on sweeper.”

“Then who's watcher?” Hallek asked.

“I am,” a reedy voice said from the stable entrance, and Verris stepped inside.

Verris kept his hair even shorter than Hallek did. Where Hallek was lean and athletic Verris was tight, almost skeletal, but the way his thin muscles clung to his limbs still hinted at strength. No one who'd spent their lives on the piles had a weak body. Black eyes stared at Hallek over Verris's hooked, beaklike nose when he reached out to take the horn. Hallek shrugged and handed it over.

Hallek remembered when Verris had first come to Downwind, about a year after Hallek had stumbled in. He'd been angry, even spiteful to the other children (like Hallek, for example) and bitter to the adults. To make matters worse he and Hallek had always been almost as good as each other. Verris faster in a race, Hallek stronger in a wrestling match. And as they got older the sword duels in both the playground and the practice yard became too close to call and stayed that way. This was mildly frustrating for Hallek and apparently infuriating for Verris. But while they despised each other in a way only a childhood hatred could cement Verris had always dug his weight and worked his pile, and in Downwind that was enough.

Even if Verris was impossible every time he got the slightest shred of authority. Like the Watcher's horn he was holding in his hands as if it were Milkamek's Axe and made him Emperor.

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“Well let's get going then,” Hallek said, pulling out his sword. The blade was unpolished, sharpened bone with a row of runes carved down the middle. In fact most of the tools around the barn were like that, even the leather harnesses hanging on the walls had scraps of carved bone clinging to them somewhere. Metal was fine for jewelry, maybe hinges. But why use it for anything else?

Only bone could hold a soul.

Shylldra

“Let us speak now of beginnings, and of the gods.

In the beginning all was cold and dark and silent, until Baulra came. He labored long and hard until he brought forth fire, his great creation. But the fire was wild, and consumed all it touched, so he gathered it to himself in a great ball.

But the ball still gave light and warmth, and that light fell upon the world, which had been a cold and empty ball of mud. And Baulra's family preferred it now to his fiery domain.

And so it was that upon the world one day walked Maia, wife of Baulra, and she brought with her their two children, Ikkek the rat and Iikwii the bird. The two were mischievous and played beyond Maia's sight where they came upon an egg, larger than the two of them together. The two fought and quarreled over the egg, each declaring it was theirs, pulling it back and forth between them in the way of children until it split, and two gods tumbled from the egg.

Their names were Huma and Saurus.

Maia found them, and scolded her children for their mischief, but took the two infant gods under her care. And they each grew large and strong, in their own way, and began to make things grow upon the world, to carve out seas and mountains. And Baulra and Maia were pleased. But Ikkek and Iikwii were jealous, because Huma and Saurus were so much stronger, and were the favored of Baulra. So Ikkek went to Huma, and Iikwii went to Saurus and they whispered lies in their ears until Huma and Saurus flew at each other in a blind and hateful rage.

The battle lasted one hundred years, so vicious that neither Maia's love nor Baulra's power could pull the two of them apart. And in their fury they tore each other to shreds, and those shreds scattered across the world.

From Huma's flesh grew mammals, the great sloths and mighty bears, the hunting tigers, the mischievous monkeys, and so on until at last Humans rose, in Huma's image.

From Saurus's flesh grew the dinosaurs, all from the mightiest predators to the tiniest scaled and feathered thing scampering through the shrubs.

And some of these scraps of flesh were stolen by Ikkek and Iikwii, who used them to try and copy what their fallen brothers had become, but their skills were imperfect. Ikkek made only lizards and reptiles, while Iikwii made only more birds like herself.

In rage and grief Baulra raised his hand to crush the world, to burn it to a cinder with the fire he had made, but Maia stopped him.

“These things that live now are our grandchildren,” she told him. “You will burn for them, as you have burned for the world, and I will care for them all, whether dinosaur or human, or bird or beast or lizard, because they are our family.”

And Baulra relented, staying his hand.

It also came to pass that during the struggle four fangs fell from Saurus' mouth, falling to the ground where...”

Shylldra woke up with a start. Somehow, now that she was awake, the reading from the Book of Origins faded into the background to a dull hum wafting into the room. She lay naked on a bed in a room of white marble and glittering gems. The ceiling was split into three sections, each with a mural dedicated to a different aspect of Maia. Shylldra collapsed back on the pillows and sighed with relief.

It's done. I'm in the temple.

Her staff leaned against the wall beside her head and she reached out to take it. The protoceretops skull affixed to the top was proof she was an acolyte now, but she was afraid the soul inside would reject her. Hate her. It had come in answer to her prayer, but she'd still killed it, with blood all over her hands and...

But she felt nothing from the staff but warmth and peace. She clutched it to her breasts and stared up at the ceiling.

The first mural depicted a herd of duck billed maiasaurs nesting near a river, carefully turning eggs with their snouts or feeding new hatchlings with reeds. Maiasaurs tended their young like no other creature in the world. And in their aspect, Maia was the Caregiver.

The next mural showed a herd of pinkish brown protoceretops standing in a circle around a nest, the shields on their necks raised. Even though they were among the smallest of the shield-necked dinosaurs they were sacred for their determination and self-sacrifice.And in their aspect, Maia was the Protector.

The third mural showed a very different scene.

Acrocanthosaurs raged across a plain, chasing some shadowy monstrousfigure. The huge predators lived in packs like twisted mockeries of the loving maiasaur herds. If their young were ever harmed the pack went wild, hounding the attacker for weeks or months or years until they were brought down and killed. And in their aspect, Maia was the Avenger.

Shylldra had never been comfortable with the Avenger. She preferred the protector, with the caregiver a close second. She'd come to Maia's temple looking for the warmth and protection she'd lost when her father died, however opulent her surroundings. She flinched at the thought of Maia's rage, the mother goddess soaked in blood.

You'll have to make peace with it eventually, she told herself, climbing out of bed. Sitting on a table, the only other furniture in the room, were the hooded blue robes of an Acolyte of Maia and a note.

Shylldra, congratulations. This night is yours, your duties begin tomorrow. Remember, the Avenger is next.

-High Mother Gaath

Shylldra's brow furrowed. Reading minds wasn't among the powers Maia granted her clergy, but they could see the future sometimes. She laughed at the thought she'd be important enough for Maia to send a vision and put on the robes. There was no mirror but the robe and staff in her hand felt right. She walked out into the halls of the temple, all marble and jewels and murals. And standing calmly at strategic points the guards, in their leather armor and face wraps, curved swords at their hips. Maia's Claws. Devotees of the Avenger.

Why is it everywhere all of a sudden? She grumbled to herself. Except of course it was always there, the temple devoted to all of Maia's aspects. It was just that now she'd thought of it she saw it every place she looked. She had planned to visit the temple maiasaurs, but something drew her towards the main doors out to the city. The sun hung low in the sky as she looked out across the Avenue of the Gods. There were temples to nearly every god worshiped anywhere in the world on that street. Many people and cultures favored descendant gods over the high pantheon of Baulra, Maia, and their direct children. Even the gods of evil had temples on that street, hidden in alleys and less openly frequented but also not harassed or banned by imperial law.

The only gods not officially represented were the Twisted Gods. Things of corruption and rot and destruction, it was the twisted gods who had destroyed the old world. Long ago the world had been one continent, with one great empire across it all. But in the rise of the Twisted Gods the world had shattered, the continent and empire both remembered as Lost Pangaea. Even Angelar had been built over its rubble.

I should be happy, she told herself. The souls in her staff told her the same, filling her with warmth to try and battle the gloomy thoughts. Why can't I get death and destruction out of my mind?

“A young acolyte should be happy,” a deep, warm voice cut into her thoughts. “You look like you're running away.”

Shylldra hadn't seen the woman on the temple steps before, but she couldn't think how. The woman was beautiful, tall and thick bodied in her simple dress that clung to her soft, motherly curves. Her children were gathered around her, wearing long pants and hooded coats. That wasn't uncommon for children in Angelar but somehow Shylldra couldn't quite get a look at their faces. And the woman, with her tan dark skin and curly black hair, she looked so familiar somehow.

“I'm sorry,” Shylldra said. “Do I...do I know you?”

“Don't you recognize me?” the woman smiled.

“Maybe?” Shylldra said. “I'm sorry, if we've met before...”

“Don't worry, I'm sure you won't forget me when it's important. Right now you need to run to, not away.”

“Run to what?” Shylldra asked.

“Whatever you're afraid of,” the woman shrugged. “You'd know that better than me.”

I'm so wound up because I know the next test I take will be the Avenger, Shylldra realized. Even if its years away there's no buffer anymore. Just time, counting down. I have to make my peace with violence. With death. And the best place to do that in Angelar...

The sunset silhouetted a structure in the distance, and Shylldra nodded towards it with purpose.

“Thank you,” Shylldra said.

“I'm here to help,” the woman smiled. “If I can.”

Shylldra walked off into the city, the woman's eyes on her back.