‎Chapter 3: Norman wakes up

His thoughts drifted quietly back and forth between unconsciousness and dreams. He felt safe. It was warm and comfortably soft around him. His bed was shaking. The frame must have warped somewhere. But it was actually too solid for that. His hand tangled in his thick blanket in his dream. The comforter cover felt strangely rough and the blanket unusually thin and firm. More like a coarse woollen blanket... Wool... What did he find so threatening about wool now... Blood rushed through his veins as his pulse suddenly quickened and he straightened up with a jerk. The bear-sheep monster! This giant beast had attacked him! He was awake in one fell swoop. His still battered body only allowed him a brief glimpse of his surroundings. A vague impression of a wicker chair, a gray woolen blanket, bluish light from a huge neon tube in the sky, a sea of fog. Then his circulation collapsed again, his blood pressure plummeted and he fainted again.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he regained consciousness, he could feel a slight bump on the back of his head. The ground was still shaking slightly and irregularly. A little as if he was driving over an uneven surface in a very well-sprung vehicle. He opened his eyes carefully. A light but steady stream of warm, moist air blew gently into his face. He looked down at himself. He was still wearing the robes he had put on when he left the university. Except that someone must have washed them by now. The remnants of brownish bloodstains on his chest were still faintly visible. Three small holes had been carefully patched. For a moment, he couldn't place where he was. He was lying on a woolen blanket with just enough room to stretch out. All around him were piles of sacks and woven baskets, as well as some thick bundles of branches.

He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and took a closer look at his "bed". A round disk, slightly curved upwards at the edges, about five steps in diameter, made of a material that could best be compared to his grandmother's wicker chairs. Woven wood. Despite the large surface, there wasn't much room left for him. It lay on a multi-layered blanket of spotty gray wool. Over the edges, the heads of people he didn't know appeared briefly in his field of vision.

Hadn't that guy just had short horns on his forehead? Norman resisted the temptation to shake his head in disbelief. The way his head felt right now, that wouldn't have been a good idea. Suddenly, a voice appeared directly in his thoughts:

Good morning, Norman.

Voice? Is that you?

If there's someone else in your brain, they haven't introduced themselves to me yet. That would make it a bit tight.

Am I safe here?

No one in your current environment has anything but benevolent feelings for you at the moment.

Where am I?

You are lying in a kind of flat basket. In an unknown parallel dimension.

I can see that myself. You must know more!

I see what you see, hear what you hear. My perspective is extremely limited here.

There are people around us. Presumably the inhabitants of this dimension. You can read their minds. You must know more!

That may be true, but I can't pass on any information to you that the person concerned doesn't explicitly want to pass on to you. You know that. I've explained it to you. Several times.

Yes, yes. But this is an emergency! I need to know if I'm in danger!

Emergency. So there you go... Explain that to gravity when you fall from a high tower. Some things are not changeable.

It's just a stupid order that was given to you!

A geas. This is more than a command. It's a magical compulsion. I have no way of violating it.

Every spell can be broken. Or banished. Or whatever.

Safe. A single spell. But not 127 of them. At least not at the same time.

Why 127?

Because there are so many Geasa that need to be picked up.

I don't understand that. Isn't one spell enough to enslave someone?

Yes, that would be quite sufficient.

But then you could lift the spell?

Under certain circumstances.

But you have been put under 127 this spell?

In a way, yes.

Leo once mentioned that you can only put one geas on a person.

That is correct.

But are there 127 on you?

That's all I can tell you.

Couldn't you just pick up these Geasa one after the other?

That is practically impossible.

Why?

Because I would have to prevent it.

Why did you start it in the first place?

Because it was the only way to give you important information.

Currently important for me?

No. Not right now. More in the long term. Hopefully you'll remember that when the time comes.

Great.

Norman turned his attention back to his surroundings and slowly and carefully straightened up. Somewhere close behind him, someone breathed in surprise: "He's awake!"

As he had learned to pay attention to the veil through his close connection to it, he was able to consciously perceive the original language. However, the sound and the words were completely unfamiliar to him. His strange wicker vehicle came to a standstill and then slowly lowered itself to the ground. Apparently it had been hovering at about chest height above the ground. Now he had to look up at the bystanders. They were people. Most of them, at least. Three men and four women. The men were about his height, the women were all about a head shorter. While the men wore only loincloths made of a gray fabric and handmade leather shoes, the women wore a kind of belly shirt made of the same gray fabric. Both men and women had black hair that was combed back and tied into a ponytail with a string, ending at about shoulder height. The color of everyone's skin looked very pale and quite unhealthy due to the bluish light. More people joined them and Norman noticed that, without exception, they all looked slim, almost emaciated, very sinewy and well-trained. Many bore scars that seemed to indicate that some of the wounds had healed quite badly. Only at second glance did he notice some more unusual features. Animal-like body parts, sometimes small horns on their foreheads, thick furry hair on their legs, long claws on their fingers, fangs and the like. Hardly any of them had none of these features, but none had more than one. One man wore a neat goatee with his ponytail, which made him stand out from the otherwise completely beardless group. His voice was deep and commanding, but friendly: "Greetings, honorable freeborn. Your equally exalted companions have fallen behind somewhat during our march. They will surely rejoin us at the next rest."

"Where am I and who are you... if you don't mind me asking?"

"Of course you are free to ask any questions, Freeborn. I am Bhaal'zorasch, responsible for the transportation of supplies and the sick. Our clan is the Uulchai'Sim. We belong to the Seekers of the Origin of Orders."

Norman tried to process the whole thing quickly. He didn't understand most of the terms. The voice did help him by sending him unsolicited images from the speaker's brain, but these didn't help him either. He was most confused by the term 'freeborn'. Behind it was the image of a large cave with a blue-painted sky illuminated by a huge torch on a long pole. In this cave was a vaguely humanoid figure falling from a great height into a dark hole in the ground. He couldn't make any sense of it.

"I take it you saved us from those monsters?"

"Our vanguard saw that you were being pursued by the bear sheep. You were very lucky that they got within range quickly enough. By the way, Ghuul'varesh, the leader of the scouts, sends you his respects. You ran like warriors. Your companions were unharmed. Our healers were just able to keep you from moving on to your next life."

"Thank you. What exactly happened?"

"You received the poison spikes of a bear sheep. Our healer was able to neutralize the poison in your blood, but it took a while for your circulation to recover from the shock. If we had arrived just a few minutes later, you would have died for sure."

The man touched the edge of the basket with the flat of his hand, whereupon it slowly lowered until it reached about knee height. As he placed his foot on the edge of his "bed basket", Norman saw hooves. Now he also noticed that his knees were bent the wrong way round, rather like those of a goat or similar animal. Bhaal'zorasch noticed Norman's astonished look and stamped lightly with his hoofed foot: "Restricts you a bit in the middle ground in the swampier areas, but there's nothing better on the slopes."

"Is that..." Norman hesitated, he didn't want to offend his conversation partner. On the other hand, he was just too curious: "... innate?"

His conversation partner laughed and some of those around him grinned and giggled amusedly: "You'd probably like that. No, no, you have to study hard and work hard for that."

He looked at Norman for a moment and then said: "I hate to ask, but can you walk again, exalted freeborn?"

"I'm still a bit dizzy, but a bit of exercise should only do me good."

"Good, we have very strict rules when it comes to traveling in our few transport platforms. If you can walk, you have to walk."

He offered Norman his hand, which he gratefully took to hoist himself over the edge. From the outside he could see that the basket, tightly woven in several layers, was currently hovering about a hand's breadth above the ground. He had barely reached the ground when several men came running up to load heavy rucksacks, bundles and small barrels into the basket. They were clearly glad to be rid of their burden. The blanket Norman had been lying on was quickly and expertly folded up and stowed away as well. Norman discovered three more similar transport disks a little further back and a much larger floating basket, which was closed at the top with a high dome. It reminded him of an old-fashioned beehive floating above the ground. Next to it stood five men whose upper bodies were covered with a kind of armor made of the same woven wood-like material. Their forearms and shins were also protected. In their hands they held short bows or man-sized woven sticks. Although there was hardly a bush to be seen for miles around and the misty part of the cave was a good fifty meters away, the five of them kept a very close eye on their surroundings. Norman had often stood guard or seen soldiers standing guard during his military service. They only looked like that when they really expected to be ambushed at any moment. For example, in the weeks after a couple of thieves had robbed a Bundeswehr ammunition depot. Now that he was paying attention, he could also see that others around him were always taking a closer look at their surroundings. Even in the middle of a conversation or other work.

As far as he could see, he was in the middle of a kind of trading caravan. About a hundred men and women, most of them with heavy rucksacks, bundles or heavy woven baskets on carrying poles, each carried by two men at the front and two at the back.

"I would like to show my appreciation for your help. If there's anything I can do for you in return, just let me know. I'm very talented with my hands, so I'm sure I can find something."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. The knowledge alone that you bring with you as a freeborn from the endless sky will greatly enrich our clan."

"What do you mean by freeborn ?"

"You three have all fallen from the endless sky and been banished here to the 'Tangled Ways'."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not an angel or anything, anyway." Only after he had spoken did he think of the possibility that his two companions might have told some kind of story. Then it would be a stupid idea to contradict them now. But it was already too late for that.

"But you come from a world with a huge blue sky above it, don't you?"

Norman hesitantly answered in the affirmative, as he didn't know exactly what the other was getting at.

"With huge plants from which you can cut beautiful straight planks of wood. With branches that make straight arrows even without shaping magic?"

"Yes, if you mean normal trees..."

"Fixed settlements that never have to flee from monsters or wrath, that always stay in the same place. Huge caves made of stone, built by humans in the sky. With hard-packed paths where wheeled machines can race along a hundred times faster than a running man. Where you can find food in stone houses everywhere and take as much as you want with you."

"I think I understand what you mean, but you're describing our normal Earth..."

Bhaal'zorash raised his hands triumphantly and shouted to those around him: "Earth! He has confirmed it! He comes from the heavenly realm of Earth!"

Men and women changed their paths slightly to pass near him and pat the speechless Norman on the shoulder:

"I'm sorry for you."

"Poor you."

"You'll get used to being here."

"Once you've died a few times, you'll hardly remember it."

The architecture student gave up: "I can't keep up. Could someone explain to me in simple terms what's going on here?"

Quick footsteps could be heard from further back. Someone was trampling forward as if the ground had offended him and now needed to be punished. "Holla! Norman! You're awake again!"

Norman concentrated: "Voice? Can't you translate that into High German? I can't stand this strange dialect now!

I'm sorry. I'm glad Horst speaks some form of German. He doesn't even think most sentences before he says them. If he didn't speak a German dialect anyway, you wouldn't be able to understand him at all.

What do you mean, he doesn't think?

Well, he does think, but the actual words mostly appear directly in his speech center. Without a detour via the conscious mind. It could be that he has an imperfect innate shielding against telepathy.

Before Norman could ask any more questions, he was already being lifted up and pushed hard. He was glad that his chest wound had already healed, otherwise it would certainly have opened up again now.

"All right, all right. Put me down before you break my ribs. Thanks." He looked around: "Where's Jane?"

"She'll be here soon. She's a bit down, but I'm sure she'll get over it."

Emerging from behind the large closed transport basket, Jane came into view. Her otherwise well-groomed golden locks were a mess, roughly forced into shape by a leather headband. Her shoes looked as if they were about to fall apart and the rest of her clothes had probably already taken a slide or two down a mountain slope. What Norman found most frightening, however, was the blank, emotionless expression on her face as she shuffled along. "Hey Jane!"

She looked up and a spark of interest flickered in her features... and died out again, "Hi Norman." Her voice sounded as flat as her feet brushed the floor.

"Are you ok? You look tired."

"I'm fine..." She tried an encouraging smile, but it faded and died quietly on its way to her lips. "You know where we are?"

"In a cave in a parallel dimension?"

"In Carcerus. The dungeon dimension. And that's not a cave. It looks like this everywhere."

"Like everywhere? A cave system, everywhere under the surface?"

"There is no surface here. No planets. No suns. There are only caves like this, winding through endless rock. Everywhere with roughly the same diameter. Criss-crossing in all directions."

Norman looked at her doubtfully: "A universe full of rocks and caves? That can't possibly work. I mean, do you know anything about physics and gravity..."

She interrupted him with unexpected ferocity. Anger flashed some life back into her eyes: "I'm not stupid! I know how gravity works. Of course this should all collapse into a black hole or something. The fundamental laws of nature are completely different here than in your home dimension. Here... wait. I have an idea."

She turned to the side, looked around briefly for someone and then beckoned an older woman to join her. Her reddish-brown skin stretched over her bones like parchment on the verge of tearing, but her eyes were still bright and alert. The smile with which she changed direction and came over immediately endeared her to Norman. "Hello Belzebeth, would you mind telling my friend Norman that creation story you told me yesterday?"

The old lady nodded and flashed a somewhat toothless smile. Norman couldn't help thinking that there probably weren't many dentists here. If any at all.

She waited until they had all found a common pace in a small group. Then she began in a calming, even voice: "I'm going to tell the story the way I learned it. And how we teach it to our children:

In the beginning, the universe was vast and empty. Carcarus, the god of this world, meditated above the emptiness. And everything was good. But even alone in his universe, he sensed the activities of the other gods. Beings from other worlds, created by other gods, visited his realm and threatened to disturb his meditation. Then he raised his hand and the void filled with stone. From the center to the very edge of existence. But the stone was not calm and still. It bent and undulated under the indescribably strong power, the force that pulls things towards each other. Space bent and shifted. Stone scraped against stone and an indescribable noise filled the universe.

Then he raised a second hand and Mandatus, the servant of the gods, appeared and recreated the universe for him. The laws of space bent to his will. Gravity changed and space no longer bent.

And everything was calm and good.

Then came the renegade god. Eris, father of chaos. He who finds peace and order unbearable. He too used his divine elemental power. Before Carcarus could rise from his long rest and react, it was already too late. Veins of water appeared and ran through the stone. And where the veins were, the stone was no more.

He raised his hand again and the room, which was no longer a stone, filled with icy air.

Then he breathed his breath into the veins and they began to spread life-giving warmth.

And he raised his voice and the boundaries of reality splintered. And from all universes, humans and other intelligent beings fell into the stone realm.

Carcarus raged and raged. But what one god had created, another could not simply undo. And so he raised his hand again and the gates of horror opened and horrors without number entered the corridors of the veins. And he commanded them to hunt down and destroy the humans until peace would return to his world.

People fled in all directions. But one turned back. One dared to face the Lord of this world. And when he stood directly in front of the surprised Primordial, he fell to his knees and asked for forgiveness. For himself and all other people. And the god stopped what he was doing and thought. Then he laughed and spoke so that it reached every corner of his realm:

So be it then. You disturb my peace. You defile my home. But your pleading and whining shall not have been in vain, for I know it is not your fault. Light shall flood these tunnels without ceasing, so that you have nowhere to hide in the shadows. You shall wander and flee through the paths that the apostate has created for you. I will hunt you down and pursue you. And no place shall be a home to you, for this is my home. But since you yourselves are blameless, I will give you a chance. If any of you find me in the center of my kingdom and ask for forgiveness, it shall be granted. I will open the gates and you shall be able to go wherever you wish.

So he spoke and everyone heard him. Then he raised his hand again and the veins of water glowed in the bright light of day. The people took flight. And they gave him a new name. They called him the Lightbringer, Jailer of Carcerus.

So say the guardians of memory. This is how it happened. "

She remained silent and looked at Norman expectantly. He thought for a while because he didn't want to say the wrong thing: "An... interesting story. That means these caves don't end anywhere?"

"They go on for all eternity."

"And you've always been wandering through these corridors."

"As long as I live. Just like all the generations before me."

"Why don't you just settle down somewhere? Grow edible plants, breed pets, build houses." He hesitated briefly. "Although houses without weather are probably not necessary."

"We can't stand still! The horrors would find us! And the wrath!"

"What kind of horrors?"

Jane joined in the conversation. She sounded forcedly cheerful: "Oh... you'll like that. I've already had a few things described to me. You've already met the bear sheep. Then there's a large number of poisonous snakes and fog rays. The latter float slowly through the mist just above the ground and lash out with the poisonous tips of their tails as soon as they come within range. Dangerous swarms of insects of all kinds. Predatory cats with chameleon skin. Exploding kamikaze bats. Acid-spitting giant tortoises... The list could be continued almost endlessly. The flora isn't much better: most crops have defense mechanisms, just to keep things from getting too boring. Poisonous spines around the fruit, strangler vines, exploding containers of poisonous pollen, some even dig slow but effective pitfalls around themselves. And don't even get me started on the non-useful plants. A great dimension. We're going to have a lot of fun here." Her voice sounded like a trip to Disneyland, but in her eyes he could only see barely suppressed panic. Norman clumsily put his hand on her shoulders.

"We'll manage. We'll get out of here somehow."

"Then we would be the first."

"Someone is always first. It can't be that bad, can it?"

"On the world I was born on, there was a deep hole. A portal to here. Most of the criminals we sentenced to go through the portal chose the death penalty as an alternative. And the punishment was only for the truly incorrigible dangerous criminals anyway. Guys you didn't have the heart to lock up successfully, and for some reason you couldn't just sentence to death straight away. I'm glad my father changed dimensions when I was eight years old."

"Did Professor Majere ever mention whether anyone ever came back?"

"Not a single one. He's even mentioned several times that he doesn't trust himself to get out of there again. And there's very little my father doesn't have the confidence to do."

A man caught up with them. His chest, arms and shins were covered by thick wickerwork. It looked bulky at first glance, but the man moved as if it did not hinder him in the least. He held a staff woven like the handle of a carpet beater loosely in his hand and swung it practiced out of the way as he bowed: "The guardians wish your presence."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Old Belzebeth nodded to him: "I'll take her there." Ignoring Norman's questions, she slowed down and beckoned the students to follow her. As soon as the closed floating basket disk was directly behind them, the caravan stopped for a moment in response to a loud call. The two attentive guards flanking the only recognizable entrance to the interior made way for her with a short bow. Up close, he could see that the wickerwork of this window was much thicker and more densely woven than the other two. Not a spark of light penetrated to the outside, assuming the thing was even illuminated on the inside, which he assumed it was.

The weave of the door was particularly elaborate. Some of the branches could be moved into each other in slight arches. At the moment, they were blocking the octagonal door like bolts. Dozens of bolts that interlocked and also partially blocked each other. The old woman moved one branch after the other with a firm grip. It was very primitive compared to a combination lock. And as you could see all the bolts quite clearly through the mesh, Norman was confident that he could open the whole thing in a few minutes even without knowing the correct solution. Next to him, Jane snorted and said disdainfully: "Great lock. Any ten-year-old could open it."

Although he had been thinking much the same thing, Norman suddenly understood the meaning of the order: "Yes. But not quickly ."

The old lady brought the next piece of mesh into position and opened the door: "You're right. The purpose of this device is just to give the guards enough time to stop the intruder." She stepped aside and motioned for Norman, Jane and Horst to enter: "The guardians want to speak to you, not me."

The door was closed behind them and the light from the glowing blue vein in the tunnel disappeared. Norman took a step forward and froze as his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting conditions and he could make out something. The interior was practically empty, lit very slightly by a kind of luminescent moss on the walls and ceiling. A low table ran along the circular wall, just missing the entrance door. On it lay numerous scrolls, stones, scraps of woven cloth and other things that Norman could not identify at first glance. He took little interest in them, as his attention was completely absorbed by the heads. Small, wizened heads hung on strings at different heights all around the wall. Mouths and eyes and necks had been crudely sewn up at the bottom with thick intestinal cords. The skin was brown, wrinkled and leathery. Norman remembered seeing a report on the Discovery channel about a jungle tribe in South America whose members made similar shrunken heads. To reduce them to this size, they removed the skull bone and stuffed them with herbs or cloth. And then some complicated tanning and preservation process followed.

They were hung by their own hair, which ran straight up in long plaits and was suspended from pieces of willow sticking out of the wall. A small greenish glowing stone was embedded in the forehead of each head. Another source of the sparse light in the room. After a deep breath, Norman walked further in, but muttered a warning to the back: "Don't be alarmed, there are a lot of shrunken heads attached to the walls here."

Jane followed him and looked around with interest and not the least bit frightened. Horst almost took another step backwards, but caught himself and stopped right at the entrance, where he looked around nervously with his mouth open.

Meanwhile, Jane chose one of the heads and looked at it with interest. She muttered one of the formulas that even Norman already knew from the wording of the mnemonic syllables. A clairvoyance spell to analyze magic. Small glowing characters and complex cabalistic symbols appeared in the air above the shrunken head. She took note of the fact that the door was locked again behind them with a quick glance towards the exit, but then ignored it completely. Horst gave the impression that he was about to bang on the door and call for help.

Jane's enthusiastic exclamation distracted him enough to calm down a little: "That's brilliant! The fabric has been magically strengthened and preserved. But that's only the smallest part of the magic in these heads. They are soul storages! I never thought I'd see such advanced necromancy! Each of these heads contains the soul of the person to whom the skull once belonged. Now I just have to find out what those glowing crystal shards in the forehead are doing.

The crystal in the skull in front of her suddenly lit up brighter. A soft voice rang out in the room: "The soul crystal enables us to see, hear and speak."

"We are the memory of the clan."

"We are the chronicle, the knowledge and the experience of all those who came before us."

"We collect and share memories about the free worlds and the dangers of the paths through Carcerus."

Norman was about to ask a question, but Jane was quicker: "Other worlds, like the one we came from? With a sun and planets?"

Other shrunken heads joined in the conversation, taking care not to interrupt each other:

"With a blue sky ."

"With stars in the night ."

This time Norman was quick enough: "Where do these memories come from?"

"Whenever someone is captured by one of the free worlds, they bring their memories with them. When they die, their soul is trapped here just like their body."

Another shrunken head jumped in, "Wherever his soul would have normally gone in his homeland, to a sub-dimension like hell or heaven , or if it had simply been reborn or even dissolved, whatever the god of his world had originally intended for him, he..."

"or her!"

"...he or she is doomed to be reborn here in Carcerus."

"And every now and then, memories of past lives come to the surface. Important moments, your own death, sometimes even your entire past life!"

"And if a member of our clan remembers something from a life on the free world..."

"Or anything else of value, of course!" interjected another.

"... remembers, then he comes to us and tells us about it. And we remember it."

"For all time."

"Wow." Norman tried to digest the whole thing, but the concept almost overwhelmed him. He looked at the ugly little shrunken heads and imagined the knowledge they must contain. The memories of an entire people. Memories of strange worlds, incredible cultures. Peoples with magicians and peoples who traveled to the stars. And all in these shriveled little things. The longer he looked at them, the more individual features he recognized. One had a lighter hair color. One had an almost mischievous smile that even sewing his mouth shut hadn't been able to completely destroy. The one who had just spoken was characterized by a particularly deeply furrowed brow, which gave him a rather grim appearance.

"Were you three really born free?"

Horst frowned, but was the first to answer in the affirmative: "Sure. We're as free as the birds."

"Three freeborns in one place. We've never been so lucky. You must have so much to tell."

"And certainly lots of questions."

Norman immediately shot off: "Why don't you have more of these flying platforms? That would make your lives a lot easier." The other two looked at him uncomprehendingly. He shrugged his shoulders: "The question has been bothering me ever since I woke up."

"You have to collect enough material. The willow rods have to be dried at the right speed so that they don't become brittle. Then you have to transport them until you can start weaving."

"We can't just stop for a few days. Three is the most... Then the wrath will come upon us."

"What's..." The shrunken heads interrupted Jane before she could finish the sentence, "...the anger ? When a clan stays in one place for too long, the vein above them begins to pulse. The creatures of the wilderness are drawn from far away and sent into a wild frenzy. If the clan still manages to stay put, the vein begins to glow brightly..."

"...and then comes the wrath . Lightning strikes from the vein in all directions and kills everyone who is there."

"That's why we have to complete the work on the eternal hike. Eight hours of hiking. Eight hours of work and then eight hours for sleep and leisure activities."

"Each part of the floating disk must be worn. When the weaving is finished, the enchantment begins."

"One mage needs 90 full cycles to enchant the disk. More mages can complete the project correspondingly faster. Only then does it float."

"Our clan has never attempted it with less than three mages. And even then, it's a huge project."

"And at the moment, we only have one mage with the skills to perform the enchantment. Until more are born and trained with the talent, we'll have to make do with three disks."

While Norman was still thinking about this system and trying to imagine the logistical problems that such work would require, Jane was already losing her patience: "All well and good, very interesting. But what interests me: Do you know a way to get away from Carcerus?"

"There is no way out."

"No one has ever escaped so far."

"Completely impossible."

A quiet, hesitant voice sounded from the bottom row, probably not exactly a place of honor, if the placement had any meaning at all: "There was Bel-Zabar, of course..."

"He who followed the dragons? That's just a legend!"

"A fairy tale for children!"

"Tell us, please." Norman sounded completely calm and naturally very curious. When his two companions looked at him somewhat uncomprehendingly, he shrugged his shoulders calmly: "What? Fairy tales and legends often contain a spark of truth. Besides, it's better than nothing at all."

Jane and Host nodded in sync and turned expectantly back to the shrunken heads. They understood the request immediately.

"It won't do you any good."

"But we're happy to tell you the legend, of course."

"The story came to us via many paths, in many small pieces. Memories of many clans."

"The legend is told in many clans. A glimmer of hope in dark times. A..."

Horst got down on his knees to sit as comfortably as possible on the floor, as he was reluctant to listen to a long story standing up. He hadn't gotten very far when the voices of the shrunken heads suddenly fell silent for a moment and then continued in an indignant tone:

"What are you up to?"

"Impudence!"

"How dare he!"

Jane had just wanted to sit down too, but then quickly stood up straight again. Norman was used to standing for a long time, so he still stood there like an oak tree: "What's the problem? Have we done something wrong?"

"He wanted to sit down!"

"Nobody sits while we are still on the move!"

"Those who can't walk are left behind!"

"That's how it's always been, that's how it has to be!"

"There are of course exceptions for sick people who are able to walk again within an acceptable period of time."

"Of course. And for those who still have to pass on knowledge to us. But for everyone else, it's forbidden to sit in the hover disk."

"At least you're allowed in here while we're still in the hiking cycle."

"We're very grateful for that too, of course." Jane used her most seductive voice and apparently even the trapped souls in the shrunken heads were receptive to it. She bowed formally: "Forgive our violation of customs we were not yet aware of. Please continue the story. We would love to hear this legend."

"Good."

"You are forgiven."

"Can happen with freeborns."

"So: most versions of history agree that the whole thing took place a very long time ago. More than 1000 Great Cycles ago..."

"More like 1200 big cycles!"

"... more than 1200 Great Cycles ago. The clan of the Bel-Shabar, who follow the way of the messengers."

Norman raised his hand: "I'm sorry to interrupt, but which way?"

The guardians of memory didn't seem to mind his interruption. It even sounded as if they were happy to show off their knowledge:

"Almost all of the countless clans in Carcerus follow two faiths: The Seekers of the Origin of Orders and the Seekers of the Origin of Reports. The followers of the Way of Reports believe that the glow in the tubes are the reports of the followers and beings of the Primordial God Carcarus, who travel to him through the tubes to keep him informed. The others, like us, follow the path of the messengers. We believe that these flashes of light are the orders that Carcarus sends to his subordinates."

"The difference is that some clans follow the flashes of light through the paths and others go towards them. Both have the goal of reaching the Lightbringer personally in the end."

"One day, someone will finish the path. One of the clans will reach the end and ask Carcarus for forgiveness. He will forgive us, as he once promised."

"And the eternal flight will come to an end."

Before Norman could ask any more questions, he was interrupted by Jane, who hurriedly whispered in his ear: "That's the local religion. Just keep your hands off it! People can become very unreasonable when it comes to religion. If you ask the wrong questions and upset them..."

"It's ok! I'm already calm," he whispered back and then raised his voice again: "Sorry! Please, continue with the story. I'll try to keep my questions to a minimum."

"No problem."

"Our job is to share knowledge."

"Answering questions."

"To tell stories."

"Let me tell you more: The clan of Bel-Shabar had overcome many obstacles and explored countless paths. It was one of the largest clans. Seventeen floating disks. Over three hundred members. Three dozen mages of the highest level. They were known throughout Carcerus through soul memories. Everyone thought they would be able to defy all dangers and obstacles."

"Then the dragons came..."

"Nobody knows why they came..."

"Or from where. Nobody knows where these damn creatures come from."

"They don't fit the usual pattern of the horrors of Carcerus."

"We do not believe that they are his servants."

"They came out of nowhere, without warning."

"In most versions there were many, but from the memoirs of Al-Phasrabath, leader of the Bel-Shabar scouts, it is clear that there was only one. Just one dragon."

The guardians were silent for a moment, then a murmur of approval went through the small room.

"The scout observed the appearance of the dragon. A jagged crack formed near the wall of the tube, in mid-air. Then it became a round hole. Two-dimensional and yet infinitely deep. He could see a long tunnel behind it. With walls of blue-white light. Unfortunately, the rest of the description is very vague. Because as soon as the dragon came into view, none of those present paid attention to anything else."

"The dragon rushed out of the opening and breathed its colorless fire."

"Fire from shadows."

"Fire from darkness."

"Fire that burns even the air."

"The dragon destroyed the vanguard of the clan before they could even react. Then it flew on down the tube."

"He played with the members of the clan, destroying the flying targets with targeted bursts of flame... According to all reports, he had a lot of fun with the target shooting."

"Then it sped along the path as it flew spirals close around the vein. Storms of lightning flashed towards the dragon from the vein, but it was not hit."

"Then he disappeared out of sight."

"A little later, the survivors of the clan heard a loud rumble. A noise that only two in the clan had ever heard. The noise of anger. Bright blue light could be seen as far as the smoking remains of the floating disks."

"Then the dragon returned. Fast, direct and without spirals and somersaults."

"Many say he smoked and bled from numerous wounds."

"Then the room tore open again in the same place and the tunnel of light became visible once more. It disappeared into it as quickly as a snapping swamp snake and the hole closed again."

"And someone followed him?" Norman asked curiously.

"Yes. The opening was high up and only one of those present had mastered the rare art of flying magic. The scout from whom this memory originated reported that Bel-Zabar took to the air with death-defying courage and flew after the dragon."

"He danced between the flashes of the irritated vein."

"He did not allow himself to be blown off course by the air currents stirred up by the powerful wing beats of the dragon."

"When the dragon had completely disappeared into the tunnel of light, the opening began to close."

"But Bel-Zabar shot after him and disappeared through the last gap."

"Has he ever been heard from again?"

"No. Never again."

"Understandable." Jane tapped her foot impatiently. "If he really escaped outside, he's unlikely to come back. That still doesn't really help us escape from here. After all, we can't wait for a dragon to appear here by chance."

Norman intervened again: "How many more stories of dragons do you know?"

"Well, there are the experiments on the Free World of Tarros."

"The formation of the desert on Khorundan."

"Or the plague of Hexassasa."

Norman stroked his three-day beard thoughtfully: "Sounds like they're not all from Carcerus, doesn't it?"

The guardians were silent for a moment.

"No."

"Not this one."

"Of course... Although..."

Some guardians immediately stated that there were indeed stories that dealt with Carcerus, while other guardians vigorously disagreed. While the three students stood somewhat perplexed in the dark, basket-wrapped room, a wild discussion ensued. The crystals on the foreheads of the shrunken heads flashed like stars all around them. After a while, things calmed down again. You could see that the guardians were used to keeping order in their conversations and letting each other finish. Eventually, the stream of words dried up and one of the guardians shared the result: "We are a little surprised ourselves, but all the stories about dragons can be traced back to this one event on closer inspection. Some memories of it are very vague, others are distorted or come from observers who were far away from the raid. But they all stem from this one dragon."

"Isch das no koinm aufgfalla'?" Norman could sense the interruption as the voice struggled to translate Horst's dialect as "Hasn't anyone noticed yet?".

"Dragons have never been an issue among the many problems the clan has faced."

"Everyone knows that they are the rarest of opponents."

"And if one comes, you can only flee anyway. If you can't do anything about a danger, preparation and planning aren't necessary."

"Everyone knows that..."

As he straightened up while listening, Norman almost brushed against the ceiling of the basket and involuntarily ducked a little again. "How many worlds have you collected stories from?"

"More than we can count."

"It would take years to tell them all."

"Magic ensures that we never forget anything. And we exist until the burden of continuing to exist becomes too great to bear."

"Whenever two clans meet, they exchange a few guardians. This is the quickest way to spread knowledge. A few years later, both clans have all the important stories and experiences at their disposal.

"And over time, even the least important information is passed on."

"You never know when they might come in handy."

"But this dragon was the only one who ever escaped from this dimension, right?" Norman stroked his chin and noticed his spiky three-day beard for the first time. Apart from him and Horst, all the men he had seen were clean-shaven. He would occasionally have to ask for shaving kit. But for now there were other problems. How did they get out of a world from which there was supposedly no way out? Norman was his usual optimistic self. Somehow they would find a solution. This story with the dragon sounded promising. And there was a whole room full of... well, shrunken heads with eidetic memories and a huge treasure trove of knowledge. And they had all the time in the world to sift through their information and find a solution. First he would...

Someone knocked three times on the door behind him. A chorus of undead voices filled the room: "Come in!"

The door opened and one of the clan scouts climbed up onto the glass and into the room. The students dodged towards the walls. The room was becoming noticeably crowded.

The scout bowed formally, assumed his stance and reported: "High Guardians, the scouts have discovered the signs of a nexus further ahead!"

"At last!"

"The next Nexus was overdue."

"This is one of the longest routes in the history of our clan, without multiple branches and vortices."

"Please step right back against the walls."

The students and the scout stepped back against the wall and cleared a space two meters in diameter. Immediately afterwards, the air shimmered in the open space and a ball of fine crystal threads formed. Norman leaned forward slightly and studied the whole thing. But he couldn't do anything with it. Jane, on the other hand, nodded understandingly: "A three-dimensional illusionary map of the paths of Carcerus. Interesting. The golden dot is us, isn't it?"

A chorus of voices confirmed her suspicions.

"That requires some preparation."

"A Nexus is much more confusing than the normal routes."

"And they are always guarded!"

"Our clan is weakened. We have to mobilize our last reserves to have enough scouts and guards."

"Would you help us? The woman is a powerful warrior mage and you two show potential for warriors."

"Exactly! You help us through the Nexus, and then we can try to find a way back for you together."

"And if we find one, we will of course follow you. Any other world can only be better."

The briefing did not take very long. The scout knew what needed to be done and only a few details still needed to be clarified. Then he set off to organize everything. The three followed him and then stood somewhat perplexed in front of the guardians' floating disk.

"I am Kel-Shabbar. Master of the warriors of our clan. Ashabtigor, the leader of our clan, said you would join us during the crossing of the Nexus."

"I'm not a great fighter." The instructor looked at the tall and extremely muscular Horst and smiled: "I can hardly believe that. Here!" He tossed him a man-sized braided staff: "Let's see what you can do."

Horst held the staff like a baseball bat and swung it back and forth a few times. Kel-Shabbar's smile faded a little and he sighed: "Well, that might take a bit of work after all."

He took a second staff, which he had been holding in his other hand, and threw it to Norman. He briefly weighed it in his hand, took a wide-legged stance and held the staff in the middle with both hands. She swung it around her in controlled circles, hesitantly at first, then faster and faster. He then performed three quick thrusts into the air and put the staff down next to him with a satisfied grin. He saw the astonished faces of his fellow students: "Hey, four years of kendo staff fighting as an elective subject at school. I might be a little out of practice, but it'll come back. It's like riding a bike."

Kel-Shabbar turned to Jane: "I've already seen your battle spells when we saved the boy here from the bear sheep. There's hardly anything left to improve. Two warriors next to you to watch your back and you can destroy pretty much any enemy with your flame lances."

She looked a little embarrassed: "I'm sorry, but I can't do that anymore. The spells were... specially prepared. And, everything I need is at home. I can still offer a few simple healing spells, simple illusions and... a few more specialized spells that I doubt we'll have much use for."

"No flame lances?"

"No flame lances."

"Too bad." He asked a warrior who was standing next to him to give him another battle staff and threw it to Jane: "Then we still have some work to do."

*

After training, Horst and Norman staggered to the sleeping mats they had been given and both fell asleep before they were properly positioned. They had only just managed to put on the sleep masks they had made. The veins that lit up the cave knew no night. They never darkened. The locals knew nothing else. Jane herself was also tired, but she had inherited from her mother the ability to save up her need for sleep for much longer. And with her father's meditation techniques, she didn't need such a long rest period either. She lay down at first, but waited with her eyes closed until she could only hear the two of them breathing evenly. Then she pulled the sleep mask off her face again, stood up silently and crept off in the direction of the floating disks. She didn't get ten meters before a guard appeared seemingly out of nowhere in front of her. The bush next to the sleeping camp had seemed far too transparent and too small for anyone to hide behind. And yet the guard had had no problems with it. She nodded at him, impressed. He returned the gesture with an ambiguous smile and then made a questioning gesture to Jane's fellow students. She shook her head, put her finger to her mouth and pointed to herself and then to the floating disk with the guardians of memory. The guard thought for a moment and then nodded. Without making the slightest noise, he led her to the disk, where the two guards there also let her through and immediately opened the door for her, the bolts of which were not intertwined with the rest of the basket this time. They had been expecting her.

When she entered, the guardians waited until the door had closed behind her:

"We thought you would come back again."

"We recognized the signs in your aura immediately."

"Is your kind of magic also hated by your people, as it is on so many worlds?"

"What can you offer our clan in return for your acceptance?"

Jane smiled, "Let's talk about necromancy. And what your clan would look like with a few more tireless bearers."