Legion

Staring over the expanse of Spiral City were the defiant eyes of Hidalgo Perforacielo, memorized in a thirty-eight meter statue atop Perforacielo Mountain. The statue was meant to capture the moment he became the first coatlmade. Moments prior he was set to be executed by the Teotl for his part in leading the slave revolts of the First Era. It was at that moment that the Primordial Coatl gave him, and all of his followers, their strength. Coatlmade historians passionately argue that Hidalgo’s transformation should have marked the beginning of the Second Era, rather than the opening of the Clover Path that brought the Fae to the world.

Hidalgo’s statue was visible from street level. Perforacielo was not a tall mountain, most could summit it in five or seven hours. The mountain was also the site for the royal palace, where the Cracked Throne waited for the new ruler. There was also the Grand Temple of Sahn, constructed with an elaborate tarp roof that could open and close with each sunrise and sunset. Closer to the summit was the Black Ballista, the massive weapon of war that fended off the Primordial Coatl during the War of Maker and Master.

All of these locations and more were connected by a single path that circled the mountain. According to the stories of the first settlers of the city, the Teotl, the path was not their making and it’s origins were hotly debated. It was where the capitol drew it’s name: The Spiral City.

Spiral City had stood for all five Eras, not even the Nettamodes could destroy it. With history came expansion, and now the city was so large that, when Legion and Maya arrived, it took them a full day to circle the walls to the proper gate for “transients.” Legion had picked up a hood that covered his horns, and kept his tail tucked down a pant leg. The only way to hide his red skin was to keep to the shade like a dwarf merchant. He received many suspicious glances as he and Maya worked their way through the crushing crowds. So far, they had encountered no bounty hunters.

Every few paces Legion would see the banner of some military he hadn’t before. The long procession he and Maya had witnessed only accounted for a fraction of the companies present to stake their claim on the Cracked Throne. Weapons were displayed brazenly and soldiers would take every opportunity to inconvenience those of another company. On each street were raised platforms where guards in mesa colored armor observed the crowds carefully. They were the Red Watchmen, the independent law enforcement of Spiral City who only went into duty for the period between the last ruler and the next. As far as Legion could tell, they were the sole reason the crowd wasn’t springing on him, or any other diablan, to collect the Order’s bounty.

It wasn’t just soldiers that had come for the Emperor’s Clash. Travelers from all over Athshin had come to view an event that might only occur once in their lives. On an empty expanse of wall someone had drawn a betting pool that people were clustered around offering bulging sacks of gold and silver. Where people gathered in number, so did merchants, eager to peddle weapons, armor, potions, and enchanted items. Each preached of the advantage it would give in the Clash.

Maya recommended that they seek the Dusted Quarter. That was the poor section of Spiral City that faced the farmlands and received the worst from dust storms. As they moved through the crowds she kept her hand on Legion’s shoulder so they wouldn’t be separated. Her eyes never focused on one spot for too long and her other hand kept twitching for her shortsword.

The Dusted Quarter was less crowded. Legion felt he could actually extend his arms and legs rather than keeping them in a tight box. No building in the Dusted Quarter extended past a single story. People milled in the shade of thatched stalls that occasionally doubled as outdoor bars and restaurants. Keeping with its name, the ground here was looser and every surface was coated in a thin layer of grit. It was easy to kick up dust clouds with even the lightest of steps.

A pair of hands seized Legion’s arm and pulled him away. He screamed for Maya. She was already reaching for her sword, but something made her pause. She looked confused and chased after Legion and his captor.

They did not travel far, only to the edge of they clearing they had been standing in. Legion was thrown into a large red tent where he landed on a well-loved cushion. Laughter surrounded him. Not cruel laughter like Melv had made back in Ramuf. This was carefree cackling. Legion sat up, still in panic that he was about to be killed or manacled. Instead, he was greeted with the grinning faces of maybe fifteen diablans. Each was much older than him and had faces like weathered rock. They were sharing mugs, pipes, and plates of thick flatbreads stacked high. Incense was thick in the air, as were other smells Legion couldn’t identify.

“Easy my brother,” came a voice thick with the accent of the dunes and born confidence, “you have nothing to fear from us. We saw you standing like a dumb cow in the street, ripe for unfriendly hands to stuff into a sack.”

The voice’s owner was a broad-chested diablan with horseshoe shaped horns and scarlet eyes made vibrant by the light filtered through the red tarp overhead. His thick goatee extended to his chest. In one hand was an ivory pipe, in the other was a beautiful blue-tinted diablan that giggled when he tickled her. His grin was all teeth, though several of those teeth were blackened or missing. He smelled of every vice one could imagine.

“I hope Jayjay wasn’t too rough with you.” He shook the woman at his side, causing her to giggle more.

Legion’s mouth hung open. This sensory overload was broken by Maya’s arrival. The moment she showed her face, every diablan in the tent seized whatever weapons they had, concealed or otherwise. Even Jayjay produced a machete that Legion wasn’t certain of how she had hid.

“She’s with me.” Legion meekly said. The diablans relaxed. Maya looked as confused as Legion, which was comforting. Now that he could look around the tent he noticed it was just one section of a connected series of tents and tarps that had likely once been the market for the Dusted Quarter.

“And what is she to you?” The lead diablan asked as he canvassed Maya’s every millimeter.

“Bodyguard,” Maya answered curtly, “and who are you?”

The diablan threw out his arms, spilling tobacco from his pipe as he did. “I am Engañar Orodia! King of Bandits from the eastern Dune Seas.”

“He’s also the King of Compromises!” Shouted one of the other diablans. “No pay too low or job too unsavory.”

Rather than be offended, Engañar smiled back and added his own addendum: “-or woman too ugly or sober!”

Maya’s brows immediately concaved. Legion was uncomfortable as well. “You’re here for the Emperor’s Clash?”

“I certainly am! I will be the next Emperor of Spiral City. Can’t you see me on the Cracked Throne, not a care in the world? I’ll get to look down on all those smug coatlecano as they sweat over their precious chair being stained with my diablan ass!”

At this, the entire tent, and a few beyond, erupted in cheers. Legion anxiously looked to Maya, who was still frowning at Engañar.

“Best of luck then…” Legion managed to say “I’ll be going now.”

Engañar grabbed his wrist, a dire expression crossing his face. “Slow down kid. You’re safe in here. We’ve plenty of room. Out there...that’s where the Order is.”

He and Jayjay spat at the name. “They’re out for our horns. Why do you think I’ve invited every diablan in the city into my protection? Safety in numbers. They can’t get all of us if we stay together.”

“He talks a some amount of sense.” Maya pondered. Legion shot her a baffled look.

“Some.” She stressed. “If you’re staying in Spiral City, then you should stay here. Never turn down free food and bedding. You might even ‘clear your head’ a bit.”

Legion felt more than his face grow hot when he heard Jayjay giggling.

“Fine,” he said to the floor, “but I want to see more of the city.”

Maya helped him up with a strong arm, agreeing with the idea.

Engañar wasn’t going to stop them a second time. He puffed his pipe and blew smoke into Legion’s face. “Your choice compadre. Just avoid the north side, cut palms all over that place.”

He made a motion of dragging a knife across his hand, then followed it by miming being hung.

The dusty air outside was preferable to the smoky tent. Maya inquired whether Legion had a place he wanted to go, or if he just wanted to be away from “the scumbag.” Legion said it was a touch of both. Other than finding his father’s killer, there was one place in Spiral City he always wanted to visit: The Pavilion of Scrolls.

The Pavilion was closer to the center of the city. Factoring in that they were traveling on foot and avoiding the crowds, it took them more than two hours to reach the library. The Pavilion was made of pueblo and painted with indigo dye. It contrasted the buildings around it by being circular with five tiers, each smaller than the last. This created the look of a layered cake topped with a crystal dome.

The Pavilion was a hold over from the Fourth Era, when Athshin scholars were desperate to accumulate any writings that had been preserved from the Era of Terror. Scholars of other nations heard of the plight and donated materials copied from their own libraries. The biggest donors were the Dwarves, who had kept their library vaults sealed and hidden from the Nettamodes throughout the Era of Terror. Keeping with the intent of its creation, the Pavilion of Scrolls was open to all so long as they made a monetary donation at the door. There was no set price, so even beggars could get in for only a few hoe coins. Legion paid five of his father's silver.

Past the threshold Legion had to pause and take in the wonder of the Pavilion. He had never seen so much literature in one place. Back home, his father’s library had been called “impressive”, but that was by Refuge’s standards. This place seemed to contain enough books for everyone in Spiral City.

Legion sought out the section on arcana on the third level. He recognized none of the books there. He grabbed any that seemed especially pristine or well produced. With his stack of of five books he found an isolated table and buried his head in the pages of The Demiurge Molecule: The Potential of Arcane Blood. Maya had taken a chapter book from the lower level titled His Secret Ingredient. Legion wasn’t certain what it was about, but the cover featured a shirtless man stirring a pot of curry while looking seductively at the reader. With every page she turned, Maya seemed more impressed by the contents.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

The voice made Legion jump. He didn’t know how long he had been reading, only that he had finished sampling the previous two books and had reached the third, The Mind’s Eye, by Drellfast Tree-Weaver. Maya was only a few pages away from the end of her novel. Her birthmark was tinted red from continual blushing.

“This is the least crowded table in the library. I’m just killing some time.” The stranger reiterated.

It was difficult to tell the age difference between him and Legion, but Legion guessed he skewed older. His hair was thick and shaggy, badly in need of a trim. The same went for the patchy stubble that ran the length of his jawline. He kept an alert expression, but his entire body sagged with lingering exhaustion.

“I know you…” Maya turned toward the stranger.

The stanger’s eyebrows shot up. Legion wondered if this was another Hidalgo situation.

“And I know you! You’re the mercenary that sings. From the phyrn raid back in Ramuf.”

“Sounds like me,” Maya made sure she hadn’t lost her place in her book. “Cole, right?”

“Yes!” The stranger’s eyes lit up the more of Maya he remembered. “And you are…”

His voice trailed off. He was frozen mid-gesture, worry setting in that he could not remember her name.

“Maya.” She responded bluntly, her eyes rolling for the ceiling.

Cole echoed her name as if it had been on the crest of his tongue. Legion laughed in spite of himself, his hood fell back revealing his horns. He quickly snatched it back to its original position. Cole held up his palms to show peace.

“You don’t have anything to fear from me. I’m not with the Order.”

“Not with the Order...anymore?” Suspicion was another expression that made Maya’s birthmark shift.

“I was never with the Order.” Cole stated firmly. Legion looked to his bodyguard for a sign of what to do. Maya shrugged and returned to her book. Legion offered Cole the chair beside him.

Cole looked over Legion’s choice of books. He asked the usual question of whether Legion was a mage or incarnate. When Legion answered the latter Cole’s eyes sparked with excitement. Diablan Incarnates were so rare they were thought extinct. Legion was unused to having his existence praised rather than suspected. Cole said he would be made a mage this winter. To become a mage you must be exposed to an arcane source. A font of pure arcana that will leave a lingering essence on the mage’s body. For would-be bards like Cole, this source would be the Song of Songs, a powerful arcane ballad that left any who listened to its entire three-hour duration thoroughly touched by the arcane.

Maya shut her book with a satisfied whistle. She cupped her mouth, elbows on the table, and drifted into a daydream. She regressed when she saw Cole staring. “Something on my nose?”

“You strike me as one hell of a woman” Cole stated dreamily.

Maya frowned and smiled at the same time. “How old are you? Don’t answer that, I’m still too old.”

“She’s saving herself for marriage.” Legion added. That made Cole wince. Maya snorted a laugh at Cole’s expense.

“I have an idea,” she pointed at Legion, “let him look at your wand. Bards are supposed to be good with dead languages.”

Cole was eager to get back in Maya’s good graces. Legion reluctantly clutched the wand in his pocket. It was irreplaceable, but Cole seemed harmless, and if he tried to make off with it then Maya could probably stop him. He passed the thick shaft to the bard, which Cole received gingerly. Cole turned the wand several times over. He ran his fingers over the symbols and brought it close to his eyes to squint at them.

“I have no idea what this wand says.” He said dramatically. Maya rolled her eyes again. Cole tapped the wand on his palm. “I can tell you this is Entropica. One of the languages of Muspilli. That’s far beyond I, or even most bards, are capable of.”

“Did you say Entropica?”

This was a new voice. A collection of shadows fell over them. Five tall monks in thick white cloaks had paused by their table. Their arms were concealed in long sleeves, and their faces hidden in the hoods. One of the monks, the one that had spoken, tossed aside their hood, revealing a face alien to Legion. Their skin was the texture and color of old parchment. It was tight in some places, such as the brow and broad nose, and oddly loose in others, such as the neck area. The ears were pointed like a Fae’s, but much wider and sharply angular, shaped more like a trapezoid than a teardrop. Both ears were studded with three sets of polished steel earrings. The actual shape of the face was a round oval with a firm chin. Stripes of black and white emitted radially from the cheeks. Whether that was natural or paint Legion did not know. Their hair was stiff, glossy like metal ribbons, tied in a sloping bun, and matched the monochrome color scheme.

“I am called Preta Difu Ling of the Baihushen from the monastery Dyair Nast.” Their voice was crisp and clear, despite their mouth moving very little. They bowed to Legion, then to Cole, and finally Maya. As they bowed, their hair shifted enough for Legion to deduce that it was actually a tightly constructed wig. Perhaps it really was made of metal.

“Baihushen. Is that a school, or a collective?” Legion was poor at concealing his confusion with the person’s appearance.

“They are one of the four Shen races.” Cole answered. His amazement with meeting Preta was obvious. “The Baihu, the patient ones. The Shen were thralls of the Nettamodes long before The Terror.”

“They stay far south. The Scorching Canyons.” Maya added. She wasn’t impressed with the Baihu monks, but still recognized they were a rare sight.

Preta nodded that the explanation was accurate. “We aim to keep ourselves far from Domhandan life. Still strangers to this realm. Your Council of Sovereigns allowed us the canyons as stead for our monasteries where we wait for the day that we may return to Shen Lǐngtǔ.”

“The wisdom givers,” Legion thought aloud. He did know the Baihu. There was a story of a diablan who sought them out for enlightened wisdom. He had always assumed that Baihu was a title, not a race, and certainly not one connected to the Nettamodes.

“Sometimes. Domhandans think us wise because of our Doctrine. It’s what separates us from the Zhuqueshen.”

“Ah the Doctrine.” Maya made a polishing motion out of Preta’s sight. “Can’t talk to a Baihu long without them bringing up ‘The Doctrine’.”

A new thought occurred to her, she looked to the four still robed Baihu. “Come to think of it, doesn’t the Doctrine dictate you travel alone outside the canyons?”

Preta looked to their companions, who wouldn’t meet their gaze. “It was...decided that the Edict of Solidarity be suspended during this current period. Though our monasteries are as far south as Athshin reaches, we are not blind to world events. There has been an observable uptick in danger for those who represent an uncommon race in the Confederacy.”

One of the monks produced a sheet of parchment to present for the table. Legion’s pulse quickened when he recognized the bounty poster for diablans. Preta’s ice-white eyes were set on Legion, gauging his reaction. “It was only an Era ago that such posters were made about all Shen. We crossed the Crystal Gate with our former masters, the Nettamodes. Even after the destruction of the four Pseudogods, there was suspicion about where the allegiance of the Shen truly lie.”

Preta returned the wanted poster to the monk it had come from. “There is concern that such suspicions will arise again. That is why my expedition has been expanded to a party of five.”

Their eyes perked up, the icy glaze vanished. “Back to the original topic. I can read Entropica. It's actually the core to my area of study, my reason for being in Spiral City.”

Legion looked to Maya and Cole. Maya shrugged, a wordless message meaning there was likely no harm in letting Preta see the wand. Cole was anxiously drumming his fingers on the table, fifty questions for the Baihu bursting to be let out. When he saw that Legion was waiting for his vote he displayed his palms and said: “He seems competent.”

Preta frowned. “He? Sorry, you are incorrect. We of the Shen don’t have...genitals.”

Cole and Legion tilted their heads in unison. Of all the sentences Preta could have said, that was among the most unexpected. Maya wasn’t perturbed, but she did suppress a smirk at the boys’ reaction.

Preta idly caressed their cheek. “If it helps, of the Domhandan culture I have observed, I have a stronger preference for the feminine aspects.”

Cole and Legion were still confused, but they gave their approval.

Legion passed the ebony wand to Preta, who examined it much like Cole had, albeit with a more professional approach. Legion noted the Baihu’s hands. Four fingers and naturally pointed nails. What little he could see of her arm continued the monochromatic stripes, but with the white on the left arm and black on the right.

“This is very old script. Most of the symbols I recognize, but not their arrangement. Entropica can be oddly poetic. A symbol’s meaning changes depending on its neighbors. I can definitively translate two of the symbols that are consistent with what I know. ‘Death’ and ‘End’. However, ‘Death’ is in the possessive, so the accurate translation would be ‘Death’s End’.”

“That’s eerie” Cole said with a wild grin. Legion did not think the name as intriguing. It sounded like the name of a cursed object from a legend of warlocks and witches. Preta returned the wand. Knowing its name, the wand felt heavier, seemed more sinister.

Preta folded her arms within her sleeves. “I have given you the service of my knowledge, may I ask the same from you?”

Legion and Cole looked at each other, neither sure which Preta was addressing.

Preta cleared her throat. “There is a rumor of a powerful necromancer in Spiral City, or at least within the territory. Do you know of them?”

Legion shook his head, as did Maya. Cole punched his palm and spoke immediately. “They’re a prosopon named Corban...so I’ve heard. A friend of mine, an Avenger, is coming to kill them.”

Preta rested her chin on her sleeved knuckle. “So there isn’t much time. We suspected they were a prosopon. Corban, you said? I shall seek them out.”

Maya was suspicious again. “Baihu don’t crusade. Why are you after a necromancer?”

“As I said: Entropy is my field of study and necromancy is an aspect of that. In Dyair Nast there is an artifact of powerful necrotic energy, something my forebears took upon themselves to hide from the world. My research is to find a way to diffuse it. A prosopon necromancer… it might be the perfect combination we need, if we can discern their location before the many who wish to smite them.”

“Best work faster,” Maya suggested, “between the Vulture Church, the Order, and the Lion’s Claw, a necromancer can’t avoid being smote for long.”

“The Lion’s Claw?” Cole stood. Hope and excitement mixed in his tone and expression. “They’re here in Spiral City?”

“One of their homes is.” Maya leaned away from the boy’s enthusiasm. “I owed their dwarf a favor once and pulled guard duty for his sister. Nice girl, made a delicious beef dish with a stupid dwarf name I can’t pronounce.”

One of the Baihu touched Preta’s shoulder. She understood. She bowed to the three at the table “I must be going. As you said, the prosopon’s life could end at any moment. Thank you for this conversation, generous strangers.”

Legion’s group thanked Preta in turn. Preta returned her hood to her head and vanished with her four escorts into the maze of shelves. Once they were out of sight, Legion returned to the wand in his hands. Death’s End. If that was all that could be translated, even by a supposed expert, then it would have to do. From now on, this wand would be known as Death’s End.