Eight Era, cycle 1720 – cycle of the incontinent cow, season of Unkh, day 81
When Joha woke, he was completely devoid of thought and feeling, like he was waking from the deepest, most complete sleep he’d ever experienced. He used his elbows to sit up and felt stiffness in his right shoulder. He brought his left arm up and rubbed at the stiffness; to his palm, it felt like the wax run off from a dribbling candle. He looked down, and, for a long moment, observed at the pitted and scarred patch on his shoulder without comprehending. Then the memories of the attack returned, and he screamed, falling off the bed and desperately looking around for the monster.
There was a commotion at the door, and Kaysar burst through, followed by Yanto, Dedik and Nasredin.
‘What is it? Are you being attacked again?’ Kaysar asked, holding out his sword and scanning the room.
Joha wiped his lips with the back of his arm and shook his head. ‘No, no; I-I-I woke up with my arm trapped under my body. It was twisted, and the pain jolted me from my sleep,’ Joha babbled, desperately thinking of an excuse.
Kaysar nodded and sheathed his sword; he looked slightly pale and sweaty, as, presumably, he’d been worried about Joha. He was there to guard the others, after all.
Dedik gestured to Joha, and Wira – who was outside – called to Joha, ‘He wishes to check your arm.’
‘No! No, that won’t be necessary,’ Joha replied, stepping around Dedik and picking up his clothes from a nearby chair.
‘The healer wanted to check on you; if it’s causing you such discomfort, then it would be best we wait,’ Nasredin recommended.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Joha growled.
Wira looked at Kaysar for instruction.
‘He’s big enough to make that call,’ Kaysar said. He took a cup of water from the bowl in a corner of the room and downed it before drinking two more cupfuls.
Nasredin seemed unsure for a moment and then nodded.
They all left the hut with Wira babbling that they needed to check that Joha was okay, and the more Wira fussed, the more Joha’s face turned to thunder.
‘Will you be performing again tonight?’ Nasredin asked Tariq.
Tariq shook his head. ‘After missing the attack yesterday, I think it will be for the best if we stick together for the next couple of days.’
Nasredin shrugged. ‘It’s not like you could have helped.’
‘Hey, I could have… you know, done something,’ Tariq responded, then he shrugged when ideas failed him.
When they had reached the strandbeest and lined up to climb the ladder to it, Joha hung back and herded Nasredin to the back of the queue; Tariq followed, interested.
‘What are they doing letting those things free in their streets? If one stumbles across a group of civilians it would wipe them out!’ Joha hissed.
Nasredin replied, ‘They use them to defend against fiend incursions, so perhaps it is one of those “better the devil you know” situations.’
‘That makes zero sense; that thing was strong, and I hardly hurt it. What beast could be worse than that?’
‘But these creatures are predictable; they are strong, but slow and stupid, and easily escaped – if you hadn’t had tried to fight. Most people would have run away.’
‘There are guards to protect people, not mindless beasts!’
Nasredin nodded. ‘This is true, and that is what disturbs me the most. Where are the guards?’
‘You’re right! They’ve got blasphemous creatures moving throughout their territory, yet we’ve yet to see a guard. It is unnatural!’
‘It’s a practical solution to a vast issue. The deserts aren’t tame; well, most lands aren’t tame, but most lands are at least liveable, whereas the desert without beasts is still inhospitable. Many rulers clear paths around their roads to protect travellers from monster attacks. But deserts, like mountains and bog lands, don’t have such an easy solution. You can’t sweep the desert away from the road, mostly because the roads are just more desert. As these undead don’t need water or food, they can just be left to wander and keep the level of fiends down.’
‘You can’t fight monsters with more monsters!’ Joha cried.
‘If you put more monsters around areas prone to attacks, and tell the people to be vigilant, you’ll save people.’
‘You’re just sprouting the necromancer’s propaganda,’ grumbled Joha.
Tariq interjected, ‘If everyone was a necromancer and had an undead escort, we’d all be safe.’
‘Not everyone has the time, ability or inclination to become a necromancer,’ Joha declared.
‘You want to stop undead attacks by creating more undead?’ Nasredin asked, one eyebrow rising into his hairline.
‘I’m saying that if the right people were armed with them, then it’d stop the wrong kind,’ Tariq replied.
‘Wouldn’t it make more sense, or at least reassure the general public more, if you just stopped the wrong kind raising the dead?’ Nasredin enquired.
‘Or putting a stop to the practice all together,’ Joha suggested, raising his hands.
‘Well, it isn’t our place to change their culture; I’m just saying that, from a certain viewpoint, it makes sense,’ Tariq replied, holding his arms out.
‘Speaking as someone who was attacked, I don’t think they should be allowed! Part of our purpose here is to ascertain the threat of the undead and the necromancers, and whether they are going to use them as an army to attack us. From what I’ve seen, the necromancers are a menace, and the zombies are uncontrolled.’
‘Interesting. Whose responsibility is it? That of the Sultan for legalising it, the necromancer who made them or the village where it happens? Something that’s not yet in the report, but I will add it, is whether it is a possible idea to add them to our own defence.’
‘Seriously? These aren’t sentient creatures; the necromancer owns them, and so he’s responsible,’ Joha maintained. He wouldn’t say anything to anyone, but he was mortified and he wanted someone to pay for his embarrassment. He’d screamed, he’d fainted, and he’d been scarred mentally and physically by the encounter. His mortification was focused into rage, and he wanted to find someone to vent his embarrassment, fear and fury on.
They climbed the ladder; whilst doing so, Joha was airing threats, and Tariq and Nasredin offered counterarguments and – to Joha’s growing ire – excuses for the practice.
As they took seats around the strandbeest, Joha was still hissing to Nasredin, and Tariq had found an isolated spot to pull instruments from his bag and scatter them around his feet. The bag produced an amazing amount of items for its small size; it was clearly enchanted in some form.
‘You play?’ Wira asked Tariq, pointing to the collection of instruments.
‘I dabble,’ Tariq said with a roguish grin.
‘Ah. Why so many?’ Wira asked.
‘I’m a bard – well, one in training. Once I hit level 25, you know, I’ll take the profession of bard. A bard can turn the tide of combat; here, let me demonstrate,’ Tariq explained. He picked up what looked like a multi-stringed bow, thought for a moment and then started playing.
The cords moved through the air like a sultan moving through a harem; the air moved to caress it, but left it unhindered in its progress. The sounds were like the softest silk that graced any harem, and the melody massaged the mind and soothed the psyche. Except those of Joha, who was in a mood to be deliberately surly.
Buff added: phlegmatic melody
You have heard music to soothe a savage beast, so all mental fatigue and debuffs have been removed, and you will be immune for the duration of the song.
When Tariq stopped playing, he shrugged. ‘When I get better, the effect from such things will last after the song ends, but it’s kind of useless until then.’
‘You are very gifted,’ Wira concluded, nodding.
‘My thanks; you all know about good music, of course, as you have Awar.’
Wira nodded. ‘Well, yes, she is very popular. It is difficult to get to see her; she has many followers.’
‘I slept in an amphitheatre to make sure I got to see her perform. You could have filled the place three times with all the people who turned up.’
‘Who controls the things that roam the lands?’ Joha asked suddenly.
‘Controls? Well, it depends,’ Wira explained, nodding. ‘We have many necromancers; you are due to meet one, but, from what little I know, they do not communicate between each other. I heard we have three.’
‘There’s no difference whom we meet; they all practise an abomination,’ Joha stated.
‘What do you know about it, Kaysar? You’ve been around a bit,’ Tariq queried.
Kaysar’s eyes had been a million miles away; he came back with start, and his confused eyes focused on Tariq as he mentally replayed the last moments.
He elaborated, ‘There are many forms of undead. Draugr are made by embalming the dead with a mystic fluid, and, typically, they are bound to a place to defend it. There is the practice of reviving the dead husk and nothing else as a puppet; generally, the more the brain has decomposed, the more uncontrollable the creation or the fewer orders it understands – I am no expert. Even a relatively healthy brain is not the same as one in a living person, so you cannot just animate a brain and expect the person to return. It is a high-level spell, but it is not one commonly used because of the requirements for a healthy brain. There are spells to raise corpses and more spells can be used to force the dead into actions, but something must be around to control them, such as a necromancer, a hollowed one, a greater ghoul or some such. What was I saying? Those that are simplistic and will continue to fight long after the enemy has been subdued are not uncommon. Ah, there are spells to take over the mind and force the body into action even after the brain has died. There are spirits that are incorporeal remnants of whatever has been cursed: um, a man, a beast, or – ahem – even inanimate things, if the spell is strong enough. However, even these are simply recordings of the dead, and they are not the same as the living person. I think that makes sense. Why are you all looking at me?’
Kaysar had realised everyone was looking at him, and he stopped and looked around.
‘You know much,’ Wira said, impressed.
‘I once looked into it, before I understood that the dead are gone for good. Now, I use other means,’ confirmed Kaysar.
‘Well, there might be a different kind of zombie, but I still want to find whoever made these,’ Joha said, but his anger from the previous night waned somewhat and changed to embarrassment. He had been quick tempered the last few months; he knew this and wanted to change.
‘I don’t know who made these, actually, but we are to visit the closest practitioner,’ Wira stated.
‘That’s a start; where is he?’ Joha asked hotly; he refused to be sidetracked.
‘He’s in Araq; it is a pleasant place, which we were due to visit after the peace talks or do you wish to visit him first?’ Wira enquired.
‘Yes, absolutely; we’re here to discuss the necromancy problem, so it’s only fitting we speak to one of them,’ Joha responded sitting up straighter.
Wira smiled. ‘Actually, we can be there tomorrow; it is a little out of the way, but only half a day or so.’
‘Shouldn’t we head straight to… that place… Iqbar?’ Tariq asked.
‘Well, no, we want you to see our lands and get a good impression of us, actually. We don’t mind if you are late to any area; we are a slow people,’ Wira said nodding.
‘Excellent; to Abbab it is,’ Joha said.
‘Araq,’ Wira corrected.
‘And there,’ Joha added.
‘What exactly do you think it will do?’ Tariq asked with a sigh.
‘We are emissaries from a distant land,’ responded Joha.
‘We’re neighbours,’ Tariq countered.
Joha scowled. ‘And part of what we are here to do is find out more about our neighbours, including their practice of disturbing the dead with their unholy practices.’
Nasredin coughed.
‘What?’ Joha asked.
‘They are right beside us,’ Nasredin reminded, nodding at Wira, Yanto and Dedik.
‘Actually, they don’t speak your language,’ Wira proclaimed with a laugh.
‘Do you not find Joha’s words… insulting?’ Tariq questioned.
‘Well, no; I don’t like this practice either,’ Wira said. ‘But it has saved many lives. Before the hidup mati, we lost many people to attacks – perhaps 500 a year – and it stretched our arms to protect each city. The second born were to join the village guards to help bolster the numbers. Now our armies can protect our borders, and our children are free to take which roles they please. I would not make this rule if I were sultan; I am pleased I am not making these decisions.’
‘Some decisions are difficult, and the hard decisions can often be the better,’ Nasredin agreed, nodding.
‘You can’t agree with this practice, surely?’ Joha said.
‘I am not sure, but since the… shall we say, prevalence of quasi-controlled monsters? The incursion of foreign armies and the attacks of wild fiends are decreasing. Even including the attacks from the zombies, the numbers are still decreasing. Would you not want our own casualties to be reduced? It is not a perfect solution, yet if it saves lives, is it acceptable?’
‘You can’t combat monsters with monsters, least of all because of the experience points that are being wasted. Unless the zombies are taking the experience points, which means there might be level 30 or higher-level ones in the desert! And what will you do with these creatures when you decide to expand again? We’ll have an army of monsters attacking us, and they won’t care about who are combatants and who are civilians,’ Joha declared punching a fist into a palm.
‘I like this; I always have been nervous about this idea of creatures free in our lands. Also the words “collateral damage” in our tongue have come to mean evil things – we do not wish to follow you in this practice,’ Wira said.
‘Then it’s settled; we all learn something,’ Tariq confirmed.
‘I don’t think Joha wishes to learn,’ Nasredin muttered.
‘We shall leave Dedik at the next village; he does not wishes to get closer to them,’ Wira said after talking to the other guides.
‘He will leave us?’ Nasredin asked.
‘Well, no, he will rejoin us in Iqbar where our dignitaries await you,’ declared Wira.
‘I’m not surprised; this guy could be the new Maxwell,’ Joha said.
‘Whoa!’ Tariq said holding up his hand.
‘You really had to go there?’ Nasredin enquired, shaking his head.
‘What?’ Joha responded adamantly.
‘Godwin’s law in action; 3 hours,’ Tariq stated.
‘What?’ Joha asked.
‘Godwin’s law: the probability that any argument that goes on for long enough means that someone will bring up the excoriation or compare them to Maxwell,’ Tariq explained.
‘What? We’re talking about abusing dead bodies with puppetry, and that’s prime Maxwell doctrine.’
‘Maxwell killed millions of people in his quest for a supposed “perfect magicka”; whoever’s using the spell here is looking to protect millions. That’s not quite the same.’ Tariq replied condescendingly.
‘Someone who’s ready to abuse the dead isn’t far from doing so to the living; we have a duty to stop this person before they become the next Maxwell.’
‘Seriously, that’s not comparable,’ Tariq said, shaking his head. ‘Millions died, man; have some respect.’
‘I do, by trying to stop this person.’
‘Alright, fine; if you feel like that. But stop comparing it to the excoriation and the dissolution of an entire culture; there are no Night Trains or genocide, so let’s just keep things in perspective, right?’
‘I’m just saying that we’ll find out when we get to… wherever it is.’
*
Joha staggered out of the hut and swayed a little as he tried to remember the way to the privy. He took a few tottering steps, remembered the attack of the previous night and sobered a little before deciding to simply piss against the building, close to the entrance. He yawned and stretched as he relieved himself, and then, once he’d stretched, he looked around cautiously.
‘There’s nobody here,’ came a voice, sharp and loud.
Joha jumped and spun around. ‘Tariq, I nearly pissed myself!’ Joha shouted as Tariq doubled over with laughter.
*
The next day their strandbeest lumbered into a shallow dale; the sand dunes had been giving way slowly to sun-baked stone, and, as the strandbeest lumbered to a stop, they found themselves in a green field with a narrow, meandering stream splitting the grass land from the desert.
‘What happened to the desert?’ Tariq asked.
‘Well, we’ve crossed it, actually. The desert runs further south, but this is the eastern boundary,’ confirmed Wira.
‘I never knew the desert was so narrow at its northern edge; it just keeps reminding me of how little we know about your lands. How well do you know this area, Kaysar?’ Nasredin questioned.
‘I was garrisoned to the south; the desert ends in an impassable chasm. We lost a scout team as we tried to make a bridge – it was a rope bridge with pillars,’ explained Kaysar.
‘A suspension bridge?’ queried Nasredin.
‘That’s it,’ Kaysar agreed.
‘So, you don’t know the north?’ Joha asked, annoyed; why was this man with them if he didn’t know the terrain?
‘Which north?’ Kaysar enquired; his eyes were red rimmed, and Joha wondered if he was allergic to the desert sand. Of late, Kaysar had been acting almost like he’d had a cold.
‘This north – the northern Kadambas territory. Do you know it?’ Joha probed.
‘No, I would have given my right arm for a cartographer. There’s good money in cartography: ten silver a month for every twenty levels, and a gold sign up bonus for anyone of level 40 or higher,’ replied Kaysar.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
There was a collective appreciative murmur. As sons of people of import, they were all looking to enter the military as at least a captain, and captains only earned two silvers a month, whereas a cartographer could sign in for the minimum recruitment of five years and come out a rich man.
‘You should have been a map-maker, Tariq, not a musician,’ Joha said.
‘Bards make a fair coin, Joha, although not from the army. Which gold coin, anyway?’ pondered Tariq.
‘A bee,’ Kaysar said, and the rest nodded. The bee stamp wasn’t the heaviest gold coin, but it was a fair weight and a reliable brand. You didn’t find many underweight bees.
Tariq took out a sitar and strummed a few beats, adjusting the tone of the strings.
‘They say he’s a troubled boy, and maybe they’re right. But I’ve got honour, and, well, at least it’s mine. I pay my own fair dues; I’ll look you in the eye. They don’t believe; they say I have her mesmerised.’ Tariq sang.
‘You play some of the most miserable songs,’ Joha complained.
‘We should have brought cards,’ Nasredin said.
‘Only the troops play cards; the officers aren’t meant to,’ Joha replied.
‘Ah, the temple Trilth Gagglio, which you call the Spiralled Garden, is on the horizon, see?’ Wira said pointing.
It was just a distant mark at that moment, which they could see nestling amongst some low hanging clouds – these were stratus clouds, but some dark-looking nimbostratus were closing in.
‘We should reach there by noon,’ Wira told them.
They had boarded the strandbeest early in the day, and Yanto had built a small fire in a pit inlaid with stone to protect the wooden beams. The fire crackled and popped as various vegetables were placed over grates, and, once Yanto was happy with them, he placed them on a plate, mixed some dry herbs and spices, and sprinkled them over the vegetables before handing them out.
‘Yay, more spiced veg. I haven’t been so regular since childhood,’ Joha muttered.
Yanto then cooked some flat, bready item, which Joha found to be the most pleasing part of the meal, but he still moaned as it was handed to him. He was in a bad mood and didn’t want to be placated.
‘My old man used to call this “rabbit food”; he said, “You fart and you’re hungry again”,’ Tariq declared, licking his fingers. ‘I actually really like it.’
As the strandbeest walked, the Spiralled Garden came ever more into focus. It was a nine-tier structure; the top two were shrouded in clouds, but what they could see were seven tiers, with each one smaller than the previous as they ascended. Something like purple ivy was winding up the pillars holding the floors apart, and a flower made of numerous small florets was interspersed in the ivy. Trees with large, flat leaves hid the inside of the floors. What little that could be seen of the building itself showed intricate carvings on the dark wood.
‘Is the temple our destination?’ Nasredin asked.
‘Well, yes. We will climb it to the top and then descend into the catacombs,’ Wira explained.
‘Why are we climbing it if we’re going into the crypts?’ Joha questioned.
‘You can only get access to the chambers from the top floor, actually,’ Wira said.
‘How curious; how is that?’ Nasredin asked.
‘Well, you will see. But you need the blessing of the top priest to enter,’ confirmed Wira.
‘Another ritual?’ Joha enquired.
‘Of course!’ Wira said beaming. He stood and walked over to a large chest built into the floorboards, from which he pulled out thin linen cloth.
‘We dress in these; they are ceremonial, so the crest of the gods are embroidered,’ Wira elaborated, moving over to Tariq and starting to measure him against the cloths.
When he’d finished, Tariq had a green toga with white symbols embroidered on it, an orange sash and something that was a cross between a bandana and a turban.
‘I recognise some of these symbols: there’s Ohm, here’s an ondine, and this one I think is Garuda.’ Tariq said admiring the green linen toga.
‘Please, attach your weapons over the clothes,’ Wira instructed.
‘You want us to go armed?’ Tariq asked, surprised.
‘We are practical, and these lands are dangerous; many of the pilgrims and priests like to see those who are capable. The gods send us these trials and reward us with experience points, so to go armed is perhaps to show appreciation, yes?’ explained Wira.
‘I’ve never heard that before; I like it.’ Tariq said laughing.
Once they were all suitably attired, they descended the ladder carefully, with their togas getting trapped under their feet occasionally as they climbed down.
‘Please,’ Wira said, showing them up a verdant path; there were few trees, which meant that they were forced to suffer the full force of the sun. The shady position on the strandbeest and the movement of the coolish breeze had hidden just how hot it was. As they walked at a sedate pace up the steep incline, their clothes became damp quickly, and Joha felt his eyes sting from salty sweat.
In front of the temple were two statues of vicious-looking creatures painted in white and orange, but their skin was left the grey colour of the stone. The figures were obviously female, as one had large, sagging breasts; one foot standing on a skull; four large, curled teeth or tusks coming out of her upper and lower jaw; and both hands clawing at the sky. The other figure had smaller, perkier breasts; long, straight hair; a young face; and long, curling nails on her fingers and secreted toenails.
‘Who are they?’ Nasredin asked.
Wira obliged with an explanation, ‘Well, the elder is Rangda, the queen of the evil ghosts, and the younger is one of her daughters. Rangda is known for having terrible saliva. It renders the inflicted highly impressionable and incredibly addictive. She takes those she vanquishes back with her to her realm in the hells, and uses the men to complete her objectives. When the effects start to wear off, you see, some of the men will go insane from what they have done. Those unfortunate enough not to go insane will be unable to fight the craving from the drug in the saliva and will return to her, crawling on their bellies over flaming coals, rusted nails and caustic liquids – anything she demands of them – as long as they can have but yet one more chance to ride the high of her saliva. The few truly unfortunate ones who are far enough away from her to start to recover from the substance remember all that they have done and tend to take their lives. Worse is the woman who is Rangda’s daughter. She is a hermaphrodite and impregnates women, who give birth to monstrosities such as hydras, chimeras, minotaurs and more.’
‘Don’t tell a minotaur that; they are proud of their heritage and won’t thank you for spreading such rumours.’
They climbed the stone steps to be greeted with two more painted statues; these two were lionesque, with vicious snarls curling their lips. One had the head and body of a lion, with elephant tusks, a large comb on its head, two pairs of overlapping wings, an intricate patina over its body, and a large single eye with three pupils in its face. The second statue had the head of a lion, with curved incisors protruding from the corners of its mouth, and a slim, fitted tortoise shell over its body, with six legs protruding. From the back of the shell came the tail of a scorpion.
‘They are a hatsadiling and a tarasque, who defend against the legions of daemons,’ Wira stated proudly.
‘You need them too; that younger one of the last two we saw sounds like a right bitch,’ Tariq said.
‘Are they real?’ Joha asked. ‘They look a bit… well, fanciful.’
‘Well, we think they are,’ Wira replied, nodding, ‘but I’ve never met anyone who claims to have seen one.’
‘That makes me think they might be real,’ Kaysar declared. ‘I’ve got any number of people claiming to see the bogeyman, a halfling or a platypus, and yet if they are so common, why are they not more widely seen?’
‘Well, the questingbeast is rarely seen, and then there’s the warped,’ Nasredin offered.
‘They’re not comparable,’ Kaysar said.
They had reached the bottom floor of the temple, which was full of the scent of water and fresh growth; the soft splash of running water was a constant sound, announcing the presence of a hidden water feature. A few people were spread out in the spacious entrance room, protected from the sun by a wall of foliage and shrubbery.
‘Welcome to Trilth Ggagglio; we shall first pray. Please join us if you wish,’ Wira suggested, taking them to a separate room with incense burning, small offerings of leaves shaped into decorative patterns, simple foods and anything else people thought that the gods might like.
‘Which ritual is this?’ Tariq asked.
‘Well, this is the ritual of space; we give thanks for having the freedom to move and explore,’ Wira explained. ‘If you wish to join in, please take a seat on a cushion.’
Joha rolled his eyes as Tariq walked forwards; of course he’d be interested in this heretical ritual, but Kaysar and Nasredin also stepped forwards towards the room Wira had indicated was the location of the ritual.
‘Captain, why are you going in?’ Joha asked.
Kaysar stood to attention before catching himself. ‘Young Joha,’ Kaysar responded, smoothing his robes, ‘you sounded like your father. What was it you asked?’
‘You’re attending their ceremony?’ reiterated Joha.
‘Yes,’ Kaysar said before clearing his throat. ‘If I’ve learned anything from my time in the military, it’s to take any opportunity you can to eat, sleep, sit down or shit. This is at least one of these, and I might even get half an hour of another in if I can find a comfortable wall to lean against.’
They sat in in front of a simple offering of flowers, and elegantly styled banana and coconut leaves, with a stick of burning incense. After cleaning their hands in the smoke of the incense, they sat through a simple ceremony where their faces were splashed with water, they drank a cup of not-too-hot tea from a clay cup, and a priest chanted. Joha fidgeted throughout the entire thing, grudgingly accepting a simple triple-entwined bracelet. The priest chanted the last few words and a message appeared in Joha’s mind’s eye.
Blessing: gift of space
You have completed the ceremony of space. For the next 2 hours, you have a 50% increase in speed- and reflex-related stats.
For the next 5 hours, you have a 50% increase in the regeneration of stamina, magicka and health.
For the next 12 hours, you have a 15% increase in experience.
Joha scowled; these stupid tea rituals should not be rewarded like this! Only blessings to the one God for His grace and bounty should be rewarded!
‘Now we ascend; this way, please,’ Wira said, showing them to the first of eight sets of stairs.
The stairs were flanked on one side by a man with the legs of some sort of farm animal; a podgy stomach; a boyish face; short, study horns; and a set of pan pipes. On the other side of the stairs was a statue of another creature with farm-animal legs; a stomach rippling with muscles; thick arms holding something Joha couldn’t begin to guess at; an angry, snarling face; and curved horns with serrated edges.
‘This is Pan in his two manifestations: the boy who’s fond of pranks, and the raging demigod from whom we get the words “pandemonium” and “panic”,’ Wira elucidated, and he laughed. ‘I often get the boy Pan confused with the god Dionysus, and then I remember which one is here and I can recollect the difference.’
The stairs spiralled around the edge of the temple; they began the climb and took a long time to ascend. The gap between floors must have been massive to fit in such a long staircase.
The next floor was focused on water features; roots cluttered the floor and walls, and some hung straight down from the roof, like banyan roots.
‘Will we have another ceremony?’ Joha asked as he wanted more buffs.
‘Well, there are,’ Wira replied nodding. ‘Actually, there is a ceremony on each floor; however, we don’t need to do this one. It doesn’t offer any more effects; it is for the devout, to offer closer insight and greater inner calm.’
The statues before the third set of steps were of strange creatures that looked like little more than heads of flowers. It didn’t help that one of them was painted like the artist had been on acid. The other one was painted far more tamely, and was taller and thinner; it didn’t have the broad petals of the first.
‘This is a deva,’ Wira said, placing a hand on the more expansive of the statues, ‘and this is a nymph attached to a lilac tree.’
The third floor was much simpler, going back to the more basic design of the first floor, with the plant life clinging to the edges and the floor being a simple stone surface.
‘This is Mimir, and the blade Excalibur,’ Wira stated as they approached the fourth set of steps.
Mimir was a figure dressed in a tattered and flowing robe that was painted in what looked like pitch. The hood of the robe seemed caught in a great gale and was billowing out behind Mimir, but most of Mimir’s face was obscured by long, tangled hair and a beard.
The sword was almost plain looking; it was off-white, though perhaps a touch of yellow was blended into the white, and the hilt was a polished wood with perhaps what was a leather strap around the handle. The accompany floor was similar to the previous one, except it had a wooden floor instead of stone.
The fifth set of stairs were flanked by statues of two woman. One was dressed in padded armour around the shoulders and chest, with tall boots painted to look like metal; the fact it was a woman was revealed in the overly feminine features of the statues. The other was a woman in simple clothes and holding a long spear; by her look, she was caught in the midst of battle.
‘These are Hau Mulan and Yennenga,’ Wira said showing off the two statues.
They continued to ascend, and when they finally reached the top, the view was a 360° uninterrupted vista of the surrounding area, with fields of sand interspersed gradually with more and more vegetation until a field of grass spread away to the horizon. No sign of artificial structures could be seen from the temple.
‘Don’t you have any villages around here?’ Joha asked.
‘Well, no; we keep these lands for the temple. It is felt it is easier to commune with the gods if the priests are alone,’ Wira clarified, then thought about it and shrugged. ‘I am not sure about this practice, but it does help the view.’
‘That sun is ungodly!’ Tariq exclaimed, shading his eyes with a hand.
‘We’ve been spoiled by the shade of the strandbeest,’ Nasredin agreed.
Joha found it difficult to sit through the ceremony on that floor; beads of sweat were dripping into his eyes, and the sun scorched him, like he was sitting next to a bonfire. The hot tea near the end of the ceremony only made Joha sweat more heavily.
Blessing: gift of space
You have completed the ceremony of space. For the next 2 hours, you have a 50% increase in your speed- and reflex-related attributes.
For the next 5 hours, you have a 50% increase in the regeneration of stamina, magicka and health.
For the next 12 hours, you have a 15% increase in experience.
You have completed the Spiralled Garden’s rituals; 10% increase to all faith points earned for the next 6 hours.
‘We should go to find an area boss,’ Tariq suggested, smiling.
‘I think it’s a chimera; I did a bit of research before we left. There isn’t much information about it,’ Nasredin said.
‘What’s a chimera?’ Tariq asked.
‘It’s the genus of a creature; chimeras are creatures made from two or more animals melded together. For instance, the statues guarding the entrance to this temple.’
‘That sounds simple enough; splice a few beasts together, and you will still be vulnerable to any spells or poisons made to kill any of the individual beasts,’ Tariq stated.
Nasredin shook his head. ‘The chimera is not a natural creature; the melding together of two or more beasts is only done with magicka, and, as such, they are not simple beasts any more, so I am not sure they share the same weaknesses. I’m not sure it’s worth it for 15% more experience points.’
‘I guess that’s true, when you put it like that,’ capitulated Tariq.
‘Please,’ Wira said as he stood before a wrought-iron gate, gesturing, ‘we’re heading down.’
The path down was set on an alternate spiral to the ascent, so that the floors of the descent were placed between the floors of the ascent, and therefore the two sets of pilgrims would not cross paths. The decoration of the descending floors was similar to the ascending, with two statues guarding each set of stairs, and vines, branches and leaves sheltering the floors from the sun. At the bottom floor, the room was lit with candles, and various scents from the scented candles and incense mixed pleasantly, so that the floor was full of twisting and rolling smoke.
Wira spoke to a priest; their language sounded fast and poorly articulated to Joha, like a language made of soft syllables. The priest nodded a few times before gesturing and showing them through a few twisting corridors and then to a simple door.
‘Please, we need to go down,’ Wira requested, opening the door and revealing a gentle slope.
‘You keep him trapped under a temple?’ Joha asked sceptically.
‘Well, not trapped, but he says he works best away from the sun.’
‘Of course; it’s an unnatural act,’ Joha said scathingly.
The path was wide and angled downwards constantly, and the lights from the torches on the walls seemed to continue endlessly, yet, before long, they reached a wide room with tables arranged a few feet apart and crisp, white sheets covering what were presumably cadavers.
‘Are these prisoners of war?’ Joha probed, ready to be offended.
‘Well, no. You have the option to give your body to the temple after death; anyone finding their way here is a volunteer. However, the necromancer prefers people who suffered dismembered limbs over those who suffered large, open wounds. He says that, if they are to protect, they should be capable of being effective.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ Joha muttered darkly. ‘What’s to stop him from using this unnatural army to take over the country?’
‘Well, the strength of the creature is dependent on the strength of the spell. Nothing higher than a level 5 is allowed to leave the temple. Also, no creatures capable of independent thought or planning are allowed, so that the creatures will be mindless and easy to take out. If the necromancers should leave their locations, we will know and the guardians of the locations will intervene; such as the Malboro, which guards here. The Sultan allows this, but he does not trust them.’
In the well-lit room that they had reached, a greying man was moving between cadavers. It wasn’t just that his hair was grey, but his skin was greying, and his clothes were coated in a fine, grey dust. It was like each summoning was costing him a sliver of his own life force.
Wira called a greeting in the traders’ tongue, to Joha’s surprised.
‘Why are you using that guttural language?’ Joha asked.
‘This is Sylvain; he does not speak my tongue, so this is the best language to communicate in. I can translate for you,’ offered Wira.
‘That’s fine; we all get taught it,’ Tariq replied in the common tongue.
‘Welcome, greetings and salutations,’ Sylvain said without looking at the newcomers.
There was the sound of heavy stone on heavy stone, and a wall slid apart to reveal a decaying creature like a giant cockroach, which scurried in and vomited a corpse onto the floor before scurrying out.
Still without looking up, Sylvain pulled a heavy bell, like a cattle bell, from his pocket and rang it sharply. A different wall slid open and a humanoid creature, equally as dead as the cockroach-like thing came out, carrying a table, and it placed the corpse on the table.
‘This is a freak show!’ Joha cried in his own language, disgusted.
‘This man is from the seventh western regiment – the melee corps. I thought they were stationed overseas?’ Kaysar said in the common tongue.
‘My collectors don’t venture into water,’ Sylvain responded.
‘Interesting,’ Kaysar replied.
Quest update: information gathering
The seventh western regiment (whatever that is) isn’t overseas as previously thought, but is somewhere on home soil – according to Sylvain, the Sultan’s necromancer. This information could be useful for the Spymaster, perhaps they have been given misinformation by accident or perhaps one of theirs has turned.
Bring this information back to the Spymaster to find out more.
‘Have you come about my work? If so, you have come at a precipitous time – a dawning moment in the epoch of our age, and the crest of a new era. The epitaph of the ninth era of the “cycle of the infinite horizon – the war on death”,’ Sylvain said, swallowing down saliva as he spoke.
‘He talks like that a lot,’ Wira said smiling.
‘Ah, but this time is the time,’ confirmed Sylvain.
‘The time of what? Are you creating a super army for your empire?’ Joha asked hotly.
Sylvain swallowed, his mouth seemingly salivating at his thoughts. ‘Up until now, the animus was always missing. The animations have been little more than flesh golems, and the draugr little more than guard dogs. The revenants were never alive, as although the voodoo priestesses summon a resilient creature, you must wrestle with the will of a manis and risk being obliterated. I’ve seen viruses and bacteria create a walking wretch, but nothing close to what I aim for. The closest is keeping the spirit trapped inside, but actually bringing one back? No, never. The mediums and psychics summon those too afraid to pass over, but what I am after is one who is gone, not some mindless automaton or foreign spirit, but one of ours returned. And why stick to a flesh-and-blood body doomed to rot and decay? We can make ourselves bodies of bronze and iron.’
‘We ran into one of your creations; it attacked me in the middle of a residential area, in the middle of the night,’ Joha spat. ‘Is that where these bodies come from, people not as fortunate as me?’
‘No, these are from all over the Sultan’s lands. Those mindless, simple things you fought are hardly worth the time and resources it takes to summon them. However, they are good for boosting up a level or two, which, in turn, is bringing me ever closer to the true goal,’ Sylvain elaborated.
‘Useless resources? You’re talking about people so callously! This grand plan of yours is at the cost of how many lives?’ Joha replied, disgusted.
‘Just the husks; there’s nothing left, so no lives are lost,’ Sylvain said confused. ‘It’s a simple task to intercept the spirts before they reach the void; for example, with a spell to trap the soul to fill a gem or recharge a magicka item. I aim to pull people back from the void, the place of nothingness. To retrieve a sentient mind! These cadavers are little more than empty shells currently, don’t you see? To raise one of these in its current state is next to useless. They’re stupid, clumsy, mindless things, which are little more than fodder for adventurers and dilettantes. If I can bring back the animus, they won’t care what happened to the husk. And you say army? What of it? I will bring back a race of them if that’s what it takes to perfect my research.’
‘Sylvain is rather passionate about his work,’ Wira confessed, rather needlessly.
‘And the misery and suffering inflicted?’ Joha enquired, continuing his argument with Sylvain.
‘Nobody is suffering; these corpses were appropriated from completely unconnected deaths, so why shouldn’t I use them? I will not allow misguided and outmoded sentimentality to dictate my research and stop me from being with my Jasmine. One day, we will all look at death as abhorrent, and an unnatural and inhumane consequence of base cultures; they will consider it a moral imperative to save every sapient creature from oblivion. It will be anathema to them,’ Sylvain ranted.
‘Instead of obsessing over death, maybe you should think about living a good life?’ Joha retorted.
‘Good point. What made you decide to become a necromancer?’ Tariq asked to forestall Joha’s continued argument.
‘It was a pure fluke of fortune. I was in an adventuring team; we were in one cistern or another, as it was what we specialised in. Flooded areas or places using unknown hydrodynamics was our speciality. Well, I stumbled across a tome; I had just enough stats to learn one magicka school, and I decided to use the tome. It was low-level summoning, and I quickly grew disillusioned with the spell. The monsters would die quickly and wouldn’t even be a particularly good distraction, but I had the taste for magicka and so I bought a book of fire spells. Anyway, at one point, someone – I can’t remember who – thought it would be a good idea to use my summoning spell to set off traps. It worked. I’d summon them and send them off, and resummon them until all the traps were spent; it got my level right up. Then I lost my darling Jasmine, and ever since then I’ve turned my focus to recalling lost ones, not just settling for any random spirit,’ Sylvain said morosely, looking into the dead eyes of a cadaver.
‘That’s really creepy,’ Kaysar declared.
‘It’s romantic,’ Tariq replied, but it didn’t sound like even he believed it.
‘Not the way he’s looking at that corpse,’ Kaysar asserted.
‘That still leaves the monstrosities left to cause havoc for the general populous!’ Joha stated, slamming his fist into his palm.
Sylvain waved his hand. ‘A price for a price. I needed somewhere to work, somewhere with fresh corpses, and the Sultan needs an army that requires no sustenance. It is demeaning, but at least I have my work. Years of research all focused on one final goal. I will be with my Jasmine once more.’
‘I could kill you, and then you’d be together,’ Joha said bluntly.
‘I believe that, once you die, you become one with a universal constant; your energy synergises with all other energy in the primordial… well, energy. Consciousness and singleness is left behind to become one with everything. But I want more! I don’t just want to lose everything I am or everything my Jasmine was. I want us to be together forever, but as individuals, not as this single universal constant. So I will pull her back, return the essence that made her up from the collective. This has never been done; all returns have been before the spirit reached that event horizon. But I will be the first!’
‘The dead are dead; this is a fool’s errand,’ Kaysar stated, surprising his group with his blunt words.
‘All our accomplishments, our knowledge, our deeds and our efforts, they all end when we end. What a waste! Why should it? What if it didn’t have to? Why shouldn’t I be with my beloved?’ whined Sylvain.
‘To what end? Maybe your time together was too short, but to force her into an automaton until the sun burns out? Who wants to live forever?’ Nasredin quizzed.
‘I do! Death is a waste! What is the point in an endless oblivion? Why would I want to die? All experience and all emotions are here. I will never be able to hold my beloved again, to have her whisper to me or to see her smile. I don’t want to be without her, even in death. And I don’t have to,’ Sylvain raved.
‘It would be boring to live forever,’ Nasredin said.
‘Boring? Boring is living without her!’ Sylvain exclaimed, gesticulating wildly.
‘I don’t think there’s anything to gain being here, Joha; I think we should just leave him to his grief,’ Tariq concluded.