Two days ago
Jora stepped onto the gravelly path leading from the house to the main road and clutched the little cylindrical container to her chest in a trembling fist. Her initial destination, the gate in and out of the Quarry, was above her, and she eyed the cliff like it was her father come home from a bad shift in the mines.
He said it was gonna be fine, she thought, taking her first step toward the ramp. That I’d have no problem getting through. Everything’s in place. Jora hugged the cliff face, keeping to its shadow under the morning glare. Was she acting too strange? Some of the neighbors glanced at her and waved from their foam farms, but otherwise said nothing.
“Visionary guide my way,” she whispered to her failing inner resolve. “May his infallible sight light my path. May his inscrutable gaze protect my journey.” She made the gesture over her eyes and kept putting one foot in front of the other. “May your Tether’s words be true.”
She caught sight of Halari and the Storm Devil walking the streets side by side. Jora’s stomach twisted taking in the Enemy, so false and perfect. He’d clearly bewitched her childhood playmate somehow, perhaps through words or affections. The image of Halari in that fiend’s presence strengthened her sense of duty to the assignment the Tether had tasked her; her success would lead to the woman’s freedom.
Halfway up the entry ramp, Jora paused and took in her home. It looked so small at this height; how had she never climbed up here? She promised herself that once she was back home she’d join one of the outgoing crews and explore around a little more. If the Tether ever expected her to do more stuff like this, then it’d be best if she got to know the area better. Her heart thudded loudly with each step toward the gate.
The one on the right, the one on the right. Jora stopped at the metal gate, which wasn’t much more than a trio of metal bars barricading the ramp, and cleared her throat.
“Um, hello, excuse me,” she chirped nervously to the guard on the right. “Uh, I need to go outside.”
“Why?” the left guard asked. He looked incredibly bored as he pulled out his magni-pad which she’d been informed was their log. Jora almost choked on her breath. She wasn’t supposed to talk with left one!
“Uh-um, resupply d-duty,” Jora stammered, feeling a single drop of sweat bead on her brow. “Got some extra water for the patrols.” She patted the small duffel bag at her waist, which was absolutely packed with water bottles and certainly not canisters of ashbuds for a tribute.
“You’re early,” the left guard said, checking another magni-pad for the itinerary of the day. “Come back in thirty.”
“Oh give her a break, Diore,” the right guard said. “She’s clearly new.” He turned towards her and winked with his left eye so his partner wouldn’t see. “You know the checkpoint you’re going to?”
“Um, mmhmm.” Jora pointed towards the northeast. “Mile-and-a-half northeast. Purple flag.”
“On your way then,” the right guard said. He opened up the gate and Jora, holding her breath so as not to shake, walked through as easily as she did her own front door. She half-expected the lightning of the Tyrant to strike her down the second she crossed the threshold.
“T-Thank you,” she murmured. The black wastes weren’t nearly as intimidating as she’d been led to believe. It was really quiet and mostly empty, except for angry-looking rock formations that peeked out of the stone ground nearby. She made her way towards the indicated direction, then after a while double-backed once she was out of sight of the gate.
I really should’ve learned to drive one of those ATVs, Jora thought, panting. She plodded down the path that lead to the city for an hour, and by the time she reached the black flag with a purple stripe marking the city street she was to follow, her feet hurt and the duffel was getting heavy.
“There it is, finally,” Jora muttered. She spotted the yellow strip of cloth wrapped around some kind of ancient road marker shaped like an octagon.
“Uh, hello?!” she called into the empty streets, dropping the duffel onto the sidewalk and pulling out the small message canister. “Hello! Are you here?!”
A shadow fell over her from behind and Jora spun into a wall of yellow. She shrieked, backpedaling frantically to make distance and putting her arms up defensively.
How did it do that? Jora stared up at the massive, looming gildgrown in terror. She was told that their breathing was audible at a good distance, but this one was almost completely silent. It also didn’t match the descriptions she knew of. Over its standard rags, it wore a weird kind of golden armor that appeared both spongy and hard at the same time. It almost looked like biological carapace if not for the gaps and places where it pinched the rags. This gildgrown’s mask did not have a tank- which explained how it was able to sneak up on her- but it also had no facial features at all. It was a perfect circle, like a plate that she might eat dinner off of and just as wide, and seemingly made from the same material as its armor.
This weird gildgrown stared down at her and said nothing, so Jora figured it was best if she said something.
“Um, hello,” she said, proffering the little message cylinder to it. “Our prophet, the Tether, sends his apologies for the incident yesterday. Here’s the message he tried to get to you.”
The gildgrown grabbed the cylinder between too-long fingers, popped it open, then pulled out the little slip of gray paper and unrolled it.
Can it really see out of that thing? Jora wondered. After a few seconds, the gildgrown tore the sheet in half and dropped the remnants. Then, it stared at her again, eerily silent.
“Uh…um… is there s-something I can t-tell the Tether for y-you?” Jora asked. That bead of sweat returned, followed by more than a few friends that collected at her hairline. “Anyth-hing you want t-to tell him?”
The gildgrown’s mask remained silent and unmoving. Maybe this was its way of dismissing her? Jora bowed her head, then stepped past it so she could get home. All she wanted now was bowl of Thime’s stew and a good bath.
An armored, inescapable hand constricted around her bicep, stopping Jora with a jerk as her momentum was interrupted.
“Um, I-I’m sorry.” Jora tried not to panic or free herself. “If there’s something you wanna tell the Tether, I’m happy to—”
Fluttering wheezes suddenly arose from every alley around her, growing louder as they got closer. Ten normal gildgrown approached in pairs from in between buildings, behind broken doorways, and even from under small circular grates in the street itself. They surrounded her, closing in like a noose as the big one held her.
And in the hands of the closest pair was an odd-looking, long length of vine-like rope.
Jora panicked.
“No no no! Let me go!” She strained against the armored hand gripping her, but it was like the damn monster’s fingers were made of mine lift cables. There was no escape from this thing’s grip. “I’m sorry! I’ll tell him whatever you want just let me go! HEL—”
It clobbered her in the face with a thick, heavy fist and her vision blacked. When it faded back in, she was dangling from the thing’s gripping hand and staring at the ground. The world spun in her view, popping and swirling like it was being mixed in a bowl, then all went dark again and did not return.
Oh Visionary, where are you… Jora begged before going completely limp and falling into unconsciousness.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
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Groaning, Jora came to with a splitting headache that spread from just under her left temple, around her skull, and even somewhat near her jaw. She sat up from where she laid on a shaking, hard yet spongy floor that felt somewhat like a damp tam shell under her fingers. It smelled sickeningly sweet in a vile sort of way. Daylight shone above through a yellow tarp, casting her container in a golden, auburn hue.
Are weee… “Ughhh, Betrayer’s damnation…” Jora groaned, palming her temple to relieve some of the pain in her skull. Her thoughts came sluggishly, as if through boiled ashbud syrup. Her face hurt. Are we moving? She looked over to the farther end of the room and saw thick metal bars blocking its exit. It was the same at the other end; she was locked in entirely.
Jora meekly shambled up to the far end and grabbed at the bars, pulling them softly, then in a frenzy. They didn’t so much as creak in protest at the pressure, even when she kicked at it.
“HELP!!” she screamed. “SOMEBODY HELP!!” She punched at the tarp covering her prison and screamed until her voice went hoarse, but the shaking of movement didn’t stop. The tarp itself was oddly stretchy and damp in texture, and too smooth to be cloth.
Her captors kept moving through the night, only stopping once to peel the unnerving tarp aside and throw her two canteens of water along with some strange orb-like food item. They also gave her a small hammer tool. The edible had a shell like a tam, but furry, or… viny was more accurate. She smashed it open with the hammer tool to find inside was a mess of fleshy tangles colored a deep, vile yellow. Her stomach twisted seeing it, but it growled louder, so she snagged one ribbon and forced it down. It wasn’t actually too bad, but by no means was it some of Thime’s stew.
He’ll come to get me, Jora told herself, chewing reluctantly on the weird food before starting to scream for help again and banging on the bars. She used the hammer this time to bolster her ruckus, successfully getting some attention.
But from the wrong people.
Sometime before the glare rose in the sky, a wheezing, growling gildgrown ripped open the tarp and flung the door to her bars wide open.
“DLERANKA BIM!” it yelled, stepping into her cage.
“I’m sorry, wait please, I’m sorry, just let me go!” Jora begged, failing to back away fast enough. The gildgrown flung a heavy fist into her gut, knocking the wind full out of her. She crumpled to the spongy floor gasping futilely. The gildgrown yelled at her some more in its language and kicked at her with a ragged boot.
“HUBIT BIM!” It raised its foot to bring down on her face.
“Fahel’i’igi!” another gildgrown called from outside the cage. “Abim nak eduno.” It gestured at her with a yellow-clothed hand, then its own hooded head.
“Make no noise, empty-girl!” The angrier captor growled down at her, wheezing all the while. “Make no noise or I kick! I kick more!” It drove the toe of its boot into her stomach again and Jora curled in on herself. The gildgrown stormed off, slamming the gate behind it. Its cohort locked it back up, then started at her for a moment. It disappeared for a second, then reappeared with one of those orb fruits in its hand, which it rolled to her.
“Th-thank you,” Jora gasped, clutching at the fruit absently. Everything felt disordered; it hurt to breathe and her mind clouded with agony.
“You are probably going to die, empty-girl,” it gurgled at her. “I am not aware of the plans for you, but you are unlikely to leave us alive.”
“Why are you doing th-this?” Jora asked, coughing violently to catch her breath.
“The snake-devil killed a number of us,” it said, “and took one of our own. It is only fair.”
“They won’t know you took me,” Jora said, seeing an opportunity. “The people who sent me hate the Storm Devil and won’t say anything about my mission. I’m worth nothing to you.”
The gildgrown stared blankly at her for a few mortally heavy seconds.
“Again, I don’t know the plans for you,” it wheezed, “but if that’s true, your chances for survival have plummeted. Do not wish to hope.” It turned to walk away.
“Wait!” Jora panicked, thinking of something to keep it there so she wouldn’t be alone in the honeyed darkness again for a little while. Her mind raced for something to say. “How can you… how can you talk so much better than the other one?”
It didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then glanced at her over its shoulder. “My Giltspore has consumed more minds than his.” With that, it shambled off with a rustle of rags and wet, gurgling breaths.
That answer chilled Jora to the bone and crushed her appetite. She sat through the remainder of the morning wondering what it meant and staring at the viny fruit in her lap.
It took them two days to reach their end of their journey. Two more whole days that Jora didn’t see the daylight or set foot on the comforting surety that black stone provided. On the third morning of travel, the cart stopped. Jora sat at the back of her cell and clutched the pathetic, little fruit-cracking hammer in a shaking fist, ready to hit anything that came her way. Gildgrown voices sounded from the door of her cell, talking animatedly.
Who the fuck am I kidding? she asked herself. This little hammer can’t hurt a damn thing.
The tarp opened up to three gildgrown staring at her, taking in her pose with indiscernible reactions.
Until one unmistakably started laughing.
Jora brandished the hammer as menacingly as she could manage. The gildgrown in the center of the trio unlocked the cell and stepped inside, causing Jora to shrink back and wave the hammer wildly to ward it off.
“I am the only one who won’t hurt you, empty-girl,” it gurgled, holding its hand out palm upwards to take the hammer. It sounded like the same one that gave her the fruit, but it was hard to tell behind its mask. “Come quietly or they will force you.”
“I’m already gonna die, anyways, right?” Jora asked, lashing out with the hammer. The gildgrown caught her swing deftly by the wrist, then used its other hand to pry the hammer from her fingers and pocket it somewhere in the rags it wore.
“Now, come.” It pulled on her arm with unstoppable strength and drug her out of the cell. She kicked and screamed, but it only took a second to remove her from the cage.
They were in the middle of nowhere. Black stone spread around them set with the customary crags and ravines splitting the surface. A midnight-hued mountainside rose above them like a charred wall, casting a long shadow over them. The gildgrown pulled her towards a dark, gaping hole in the rocky face from which yellow vines reached out across the ground and webbed over the surrounding stone. Jora felt like she was being eaten as the trio guided to the entrance.
They passed the creatures pulling the prisoner cart on the way. Jora gawked at the sight of them. They were massive, bulky things. Even on all fours, she stood only to their shoulders. Their heads were oblong with horns sprouting from the top, and their eyes…She almost hurled realizing that they had no eyes. Instead, long, gold tendrils sprouted from where there should’ve been sockets and reached back towards their riders as the horrible equivalent of reigns.
“Hurry,” the gildgrown demanded, tugging her into the opening. The natural light of the morning abandoned her for auburn, unnatural illumination that came from glossy, organic bulbs growing in the thick vines covering the walls.
And the air was saturated with spores.
Jora held her breath for as long as she could, but after just a few seconds her body betrayed her and she inhaled deeply. Nothing happened.
“These spores will not hurt you,” the gildgrown gurgled. “We have not bred them for warfare. All they do is allow us to breathe freely.” It pulled off its mask, then looked at her with a bare face.
It barely looked human, all desiccated and ghastly pale with a bald head. Vines similar to the ones webbing the rock crawled up its face from the neck.
“Where are we?” Jora whimpered, fighting against its grip uselessly. Did all these freaks have unusual strength? “What is this place? I want to go home.”
“This is our Cluster,” it said with a feminine, tonal voice not at all like the voice behind its mask. “We gather here while we plan on how to deal with your… unclean people.”
The tunnel opened up into a vast cavern that rose up for multiple stories. That hard, spongy material replaced the stone floor and walls here, covering every centimeter of visible space. Jora saw dozens of gildgrown milling about multiple floors, carrying crates of supplies, polishing their powder guns and longer weapons that resembled crossbows.
In the middle of the ground floor, she saw the huge, armored gildgrown standing with a few others in a circle, pointing at something she couldn’t see on the ground.
Her captor pulled her all the way up eight floors, then pushed her into a small, carved out room with bars. It shut the gate behind her and locked it.
“You said you were gonna deal with my people?” Jora asked, orienting herself after all the travel and shock of the last few days. “What are you gonna do to them? Tell me, please!”
“It’s of no matter to you, empty-girl,” the gildgrown said.
“Tell me anyways!” Jora begged, moving up to the bars. “I have a brother! Tell me what you’re gonna do to him! I deserve to know!”
“The Vine-thorn will take him,” she muttered quickly, as if it wasn’t something to speak out loud. “Him and all the rest.”
“What does that mean?” Jora asked, but the gildgrown was already walking away. “What does that mean!!” She received no answer.
She’s wrong, Jora thought, backing away and dropping to the spongy floor. My brother’s coming. Thime always saved her. He saved her when she wandered near the edge of the Temple cliff as a child and when she almost ate a bad ashbud. He always protected her.
“He’s coming,” she whispered to her new prison cell. “He’ll be here soon.”