Temple of Melokon

The darkening sky fought against him, ignoring his concentrated will to summon a storm cloud above. Callan remembered the true glory days of his forsaken strength when he’d maintained a city-wide thunderhead with the same amount of thought it took to do basic mathematics.

He understood how peculiar he must look to any passerby Quarrymen with his head bowed, eyes closed, and one hand up as if reaching for something in the silvery atrocity, but if he could just…

Directly above him, a small speck of dark storm cloud materialized. Callan clenched his sparking, upraised fist and pushed on that speck with his will, demanding that it widen and cover the entire sky of the Quarry. It grew to the width of his podium, then tore itself apart. The remains whirled away in a light breeze, leeching a substantial portion of his own strength with them.

‘Oh how pitiful you’ve become.’ The skull whispered, chilled tone mocking his weakness. ‘Such little progress in all this time.’ It ascended from the depths of his mind like a heavy fog seeping out of the ground and even faded lightly into his vision.

Callan sagged and braced himself against the podium with both elbows and massaged at his pounding temples. His headache was hot as if his very brain was on fire.

“Be silent,” he muttered, not at all in the mood to argue with his deathly companion.

‘You can’t even summon a pathetic little rain cloud,” it continued. With Halari away in the city, it felt emboldened and took advantage of her absence. She wasn’t here to banish it back into forced submission, so it came at him full of icy rage. ‘Over a month of freedom and what do you have to show for it? No armor, no weapon, you can barely use the Talons without almost fainting. No wonder you couldn’t prote—”

“Shut up!” Callan pounded the podium with a fist, barely restraining himself from shattering the surface with the force of his blow.

“My lord, is all well?” a voice came from his right. Callan turned to see Norio standing beside him. The awkwardly proportioned man looked both sheepish and concerned, clearly confused by his outburst. “I can come back later, if it please you.”

“My apologies Trade Master,” Callan said, sighing deeply to relax. “My frustration was not with you. I have many things on my mind.”

“Quite understandable, O Great One,” Norio said with a light bow. “I too often find my own mind turning against me. ‘More, more, more,’ it says. And lately, ‘more silvers, more silvers, more.’ Those were quite the ingenious installment to the people if I do say so.”

“Took quite a while longer to integrate than I expected,” Callan said, “but they seemed to have figured out. You did good work setting prices for products.”

“Many thanks, my lord,” Norio said with another bow. “The Finance Sector is truly a beautiful bloom. I am excited to see what it becomes.”

“Just wait until I tell you about taxes,” Callan chuckled. “You’ll start foaming at the mouth. Now, what can I do for you, Trade Master?” Behind Norio, he spotted Captain Dalvo walking up. The soldier’s posture was perfectly martial, but the look on his face was saturated with a need for audience.

“I was hoping to discuss upcoming resource distribution for the jubilee next week,” Norio said. He removed a thin stack of papers from the satchel under his bulging waist and read something on the first one. “Now, assuming the generosity of the Scrag Fort, I think we can spare a few more gunpowder canisters for fireworks and not see a major hit to the militia's inventory.­ Also—”

“A moment, Trade Master.” Callan held up a finger to pause the man’s rambling. Norio was somebody with an endless supply of air when it came to speaking, especially about finances and resource management. “What are you talking about? The jubilee?”

Norio looked shocked, even putting a hand to his gut like Callan had wounded him. “Have you not been told of the Quarry’s Night of Burning Stars? It’s quite the affair, my lord.”

“Apparently I have not,” Callan said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Please inform me.”

“It’s a night of indulgence,” Norio began, becoming somewhat wistful. “A night of entertainment to recover from a year of hard labor. There are games to be won, once-a-year drinks to be shared, food stores to be broken out. It is the Quarry at its most pure and happy.”

“So it’s a party,” Callan clarified. “Norio, we’re at war and one of our citizens has gone missing. Perhaps it might be best to cancel this jubilee.”

Captain Dalvo, still waiting in line behind the trade master, made a noise as if he’d been punched in the gut and Callan flicked his eyes over to him. The shorter man instantly stiffened, realizing his mistake.

“Step forward, Captain,” Callan mused with a small smile. “Something to say on this matter?”

The officer moved up beside Norio and cleared his throat. “Great Flame, as your first officer, I can’t advise that. On a troop-level, it would be a huge blow to morale.”

“It would be devastating to all of the people, Great One,” Norio added. “You might even- and pardon my forwardness- lose so much of this wonderful progress you have made in the last few weeks.”

“Is it really that important?” Callan pressed, arching a brow at both men. Dalvo nodded energetically with wide eyes, then saluted for some reason, and Norio bellowed a laugh.

“My lord!” His chuckle came from deep in his distended belly. “The Night of Burning Stars is the single most important event every year. Even when the Quarry has nothing, we have the jubilee. For the next week or more after, you’ll see a refreshed vigor in the workers and soldiers.”

If they’re right, maybe this is what the people need, Callan thought, eyeing both of them. Dalvo was incapable of lying and the devious trade master looked mostly genuine; they also did know the people better than he did, at least for now.

“Very well,” he said, getting bright smiles from the unlikely duo. “Captain, do you have men to provide a skeleton crew for protection? We can forego patrols for that night, but we’ll still need a gate detail.”

“The militia’s gotten a few more recruits lately,” Dalvo said. “I can put some of the newer ones on the gate after it’s died down. I’ll take the first shift.”

“You argued for it only to not participate?” Callan asked. “Why?”

“It’s uh… kinda only fun if you have a dance partner, Great Flame.” Dalvo grimaced and flushed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I… uh… don’t usually have one.”

“Then find one,” Callan said. “I order you to attend the first two hours as recompense for your earlier interruption.” He grinned at the man to let him know he wasn’t actually in trouble, but Dalvo still shrunk back anyways, although more perhaps from nerves of following the order rather than fear of being disciplined.

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“As for resources.” He turned to Norio. “Be reasonable, but make me regret my earlier reticence. I want to see these people happier than I ever have.”

“Most thanks, O Great One!” Norio boomed. He bowed one more time in farewell, deep enough that Callan worried his protruding gut might burst, then turned and lunged off in his odd manner of walking.

“Did you have something else for me, Captain?” Callan asked.

“Yes sir, the men are ready for more formations,” Dalvo said. “We’ve pretty much perfected the ones you gave us, so I was hoping you had the time to meet with us five captains and teach us more to show our squads.”

“Tell the officers to gather in the command center in an hour,” Callan said. “There’s an advanced one I can show you.”

“Thank you, Great Flame.” The captain bowed and turned to walk away, but hesitated, lingering. Callan saw the militaristic mannerisms dissolve, then Dalvo the young man turned back around. “Can I ask you something, my lord? Personal advice.”

“By all means, Captain,” Callan said. “What’s going on?”

“I… how do I…?” Dalvo chewed on his words. “I’m… not really good at talking to girls. That’s why I was just gonna take the first shift so I didn’t stand around awkwardly at the jubilee, even though you were right about more approaching me lately. What do I… do?”

I thought as much. Callan chuckled lightly, then clapped the young man’s shoulder. “Your first step is to not salute at the ones who come up to you. And try actually saying words that don’t sound like you giving orders.”

“Heh-heh, yeah…” Dalvo chuckled nervously. “And maybe if I wear my uniform they’ll think I’m on guard duty .”

“Addendum to my order,” Callan said, raising a finger at the man, “you are not allowed to wear anything other than casual clothes during your attendance. You’re a good soldier, a great one even, but I want my men to enjoy life, even if I have to force them. Understood?”

Dalvo paled, but nodded lightly. “So my orders are to have a good time?”

“Yes, exactly,” Callan said. “And Dalvo, when it comes to asking for a dance partner, just be confident.”

“That… doesn’t really help, my lord,” Dalvo mumbled. “What does that even mean?”

Callan shrugged. “That’s just what I was told once upon a very long time ago. You’ll figure it out.”

“I sure hope so.” The officer looked terrified and entirely unconvinced. “Thank you, Great Flame. Command Center in an hour?”

“See you there, Captain.” Callan dismissed the man with a gesture and Dalvo drifted off with a blatantly nervous gait.

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A while after the sky went that smeared black it became at night, Callan closed the door to his office behind him and sunk into his desk chair. The stubborn-little dustbunny squeaked at him from its bed in the corner, so he grabbed a chunk of salted tam from a bowl nearby and tossed it perfectly to land in front of its twitching nose, then he relaxed back and checked the clock on his desk.

Later than I thought, he realized, reading the ‘16:45’ on its digital face. Midnight was in just over an hour. Shouldn’t Halari be back by now? Some worry prickled at the back of his mind, but he reminded himself that she was more than capable out there, and she’d probably just gone home right after returning so she could sleep.

Still…

And she did want that bowl… Callan rose and left his office quickly and made his way into town, dismissing the placating thoughts that told him he was just being overprotective. Her absence felt off, uncharacteristic of how long she usually spent out in the city.

His first stop was the gate guard at the top of the entry ramp.

“At ease, men,” Callan said to their salutes. “Has Outcrew Captain Halari checked back in?”

The guard checked his log, then frowned, sending a tremor through Callan that he didn’t let them see. “No, Great Flame. She logged out at eight forty-one, but she ain’t come back.”

“And you’ve been on shift the whole time?” Callan pressed.

“Yes m’lord, I pulled a double today,” he said. “I watched her go and she hasn’t driven back in. That big ol’ trawler of hers is hard to miss.”

“Yes it is,” Callan said tersely, mind already on his next destination. “Thank you, back to work.” He trotted back down the ramp and towards Halari’s house.

He knocked on the door, hoping that somebody inside was awake enough to answer, even if it was unpleasant, angry Telero. Thankfully, a sleepy Viria answered, yawning wide. Her blonde-blue hair was matted down on one side as if she’d just gotten out of bed.

“Callan?” She stared up at him with confused, heavy eyelids. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t suppose your sister is back from the ruins?” Callan asked, trying not to display his buzzing nerves. “She’s been gone for longer than normal in the city and the gate hasn’t checked her back in.”

“I thought she was with you,” Viria said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “She’s done overnights, but never in the city, at least, that’s what she told me.”

‘Uh oh, Callan,” the skull murmured, surging back into his awareness with a dark, blistering laugh. ‘It’s happening again.’

“Gather the scouts,” Callan ordered, “and meet me at the departure point. I think she might’ve gotten in trouble in the city. Hurry.”

“You got it,” Viria said, boots already halfway on. “We’ll be there in ten.”

“Good.” Callan left her there and ran back up to the gate, fear bubbling. Not again, not again, not again. “Men, attention!”

The gate guards snapped to salute.

“Lady Halari is missing,” he told them. “This is no fault of yours, but be prepared for any assailants or an ambush. I’m leading the scout team into the city. While we’re gone, if you see even a hint of yellow, reach Captain Dalvo and get a squad up here as fast as you can! Engage as needed.”

“Yes, Great Flame!” they shouted in unison.

Callan nodded at them, then passed them to reach the departure point. The hidden crates of checkpoint resources were undisturbed, so she hadn’t come back since they’d been restocked today, which usually happened near sunset.

I’ll turn that city inside out. The storm built in his chest, growing next to the fear. Vehicles rumbled closer to him and he turned, not at all surprised to see the Scout team driving to him at full speed. Viria was quick on the comms, it seemed.

“We’re all here,” she said, more focused than he’d ever seen her now that her family was at risk. “We’re good on charge and weapons.”

“Very good,” Callan said. “Scouts attention!”

The outgoing team snapped to their own version of the salute on their humming vehicles. Instead of a flat hand slashing upwards towards each heart, their hands made a circle with their fingers and placed it at their shoulder, like a mounted light; it was apparently some kind of inside joke, according to Halari.

‘You’re too slow,’ the skull hissed in his ear. ‘She’s already dead. Rotting in some street with your name on her tongue. And you! Weren’t! There!’

“Earlier today your captain went into the city,” Callan explained, “and she hasn’t come back. Did she give any of you indication where she might have gone?”

“Southern dark zone!” a voice called.

“And did you let her go alone?” Callan asked the group. Nobody responded, and an uneasy silence fell over the whole party.

“This isn’t a reprimand!” Callan said. “Your captain is missing and I need to know all of the relevant details.”

“Great Flame…” Viria’s mouth pinched together tightly. “She doesn’t usually let anybody tag along on her routes. We just kinda… stopped asking.”

“So, she went alone,” Callan affirmed. “When we get to the area, I want every building cleared, every street swept, and every—”

“Callan!” Viria gasped, looking at something over his shoulder towards the dark wastes that were shrouded by night. He spun, fists flickering with Melokon’s Fire in case some kind of beast had come to crash their gathering.

Instead, he saw Halari limping up. He’d been so focused on addressing the team that he hadn’t heard her trawler rumble towards them. But that didn’t matter at all; Halari looked as if she’d suffered through a nightmare.

By the Dragon what happened to her? Callan froze at the sight of her. Dried blood stuck to her face from a gash on her hairline while fresh scarlet rivulets dribbled from dozens of tiny puncture wounds on her left forearm. Her vest was missing and other garments were tattered, completely shredded in some sections. The only things that looked intact were her boots and her rifle.

“Hala!” Viria blasted past him and slammed into her sister with a hug. Callan rushed up behind the blonde, beyond concerned by Halari’s wounds. He took her arm and caught a roll of bandages thrown by one of the scouts, then wrapped the little pricks tightly. The tiny holes were set in close pairs and flowed in a swirl down and around her entire forearm.

“Is this all for me?” Halari asked, voice faint and exhausted.

“What happened?” Callan asked. “Where did you go?”

“Long story,” she sighed, pulling out of Viria’s hug and embracing Callan. She felt cold and startlingly more fragile than usual in his arms, as if whatever happened had weakened her very muscles and stolen her warmth. “Let’s just say the southern dark zone is off-limits.”