“Gettin the feelin we’re headin smack dab into bad trouble,” Azariah says after nearly two days of monotonous travel. He comes to a dead halt in the middle of the tunnels and sniffs, rubbing his nose. “Not sure what’s ahead, but thought ya might wanna know my Skill’s going crazy.”
“Thanks. We’ll be careful, but I don’t think we have much of a choice but to push onward. Unless you think that’s a bad idea,” I say, suddenly feeling unsure. “If you say we retreat, then I’ll listen.”
Azariah takes a long puff on his pipe, exhaling smoke before he answers. “Opportunity and trouble are brothers, see?”
I nod sharply. “Onward it is.”
I stop using [Greater Heat Manipulation] to keep warm, and instead try to harvest mana and store as much energy as possible in my cores. If Azariah’s Skill is anything to go by, then we’re likely to need it before long. I gulp. What does he consider bad trouble, considering what we’ve gotten ourselves into so far?
“Mel, time?”
“It’s been forty-five and a half hours since we entered, Nuri,” Melina replies absently. She’s studying a marker high up on the side of the tunnel, and barely pays much attention to me. “I think these are numbers! They’re in a script I’m not familiar with, but I’ve seen enough repeats that I think I get a sense of one through nine, and the symbol for ten. Good thing it’s the same base we use. If I’m right, it’s been steadily counting down. This is five, for what it’s worth.”
“Good catch,” Rakesh says, sounding both impressed and miffed. “When did you plan to share that tidbit with me?”
“Not all research is in books, Rakesh,” Melina replies gently. “The world is full of marvels if you just open your eyes.”
Rakesh sniffs. “You make it sound like I’ve got my head stuck in the clouds, Melina. I’ve been advocating for more observational research for a while.”
Mikko nudges me, and I tune out the friendly bickering between the scholarly duo as he turns toward me with concern on his face. “Hey. You just asked for a time report twenty minutes ago. Getting anxious?”
“Yes,” I admit. “But I’m also curious about how much longer we’ll be here. If we’re almost to the halfway point, by Rakesh’s calculations, then where are the signs of civilization?”
“We’re in a giant man-made tunnel.”
“Yeah, but we still haven’t caught any indication of the supposed undersea kingdom. Shouldn’t we encounter their scouts, at least?”
Mikko rubs the back of his head. He glances around with a terrified expression. “Maybe they’re all dead. We’re about to intrude on a bunch of ghosts or something spooky.”
“Ghosts aren’t real,” I say dismissively, although I can’t help but shiver at the thought. What if we’re trespassing where we aren’t wanted? There’s a reason the portal was sealed.
Now that I know to watch for the distance markers in the tunnel, I can’t stop looking up at the top every few dozen strides. Compulsive behavior has always been my weakness. Once an idea worms its way into my head, I can never seem to get it out easily. I pick and worry at it, like a cat playing with a loose bit of string in a ball of yarn until the entire thing unravels. Traveling in the tunnels, time trickles slowly; each time I ask her for another update, Melina reports that only a few minutes have passed.
Yet eventually, about three quarters of an hour later, we reach a more elaborate symbol embedded in the wall. A short deliberation later, Melina and Rakesh agree that it stands for the number one, although it’s inlaid with mother of pearl, so it probably indicates something special. As soon as we approach the marker, my Domain buzzes and hisses, as though it’s running into interference.
I shout for everyone to halt. “Something’s up. That mile-marker is a cutoff. As soon as we step across that dividing line, we’ll walk into someone else’s Domain. Or, actually, it feels like a powerful mana barrier. Probably the underwater city head. What’s our play?”
Lionel shrugs. “You’re the boss.”
“You just don’t wanna vote,” Avelina says, rolling her eyes. “That way no one can call you out later if you make the wrong decision.”
“You wound me, O Mistress of Flames!” Lionel says, clutching at his heart and swooning.
“She’s not wrong, Lio. You do like making other people choose for you.” I’m about to tease him further when a dense group of bright mana signatures light up in my Domain.
“Incoming,” I hiss. I flatten myself to the side of the tunnel, and the team follows my lead. “Ava, douse the flames. We’ve got company, and they’re moving fast.”
Darkness swallows us alive.
Mikko shuffles forward, his hand on the tunnel wall to guide him, and plants himself in front of the team. He no longer has a shield since we left in such a rush—I’ll have to make him a new and improved one; one more item on my to-do list, I think—but he wields his hammer with both hands.
“Don’t fight unless we have to,” I whisper, reminding him that we’re looking for a quiet, safe passage. He nods in the dark, apparently trusting that I’ll pick up on it my Domain, but his resolute determination still comes through loud and clear.
With practice using my Domain, I’m picking up more mental resilience, which helps me run it longer and with more fine results. I’m getting better at feeling more sensations than just vague impressions of creatures and places, but emotions are still difficult for me to parse unless I know the person well. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to combine my Domain with the [Inquisitors]’ vaunted Viewing technique? That would be incredible. I could analyze everyone around me all at once.
“They’ll be here in seconds,” I whisper. “No sudden moves. Let’s stay hidden until we get a better idea of their intentions. If possible, let’s keep things friendly.”
Rhythmic footfalls drum out a quick tattoo up ahead—some sort of mount, although none I recognize. A dozen shapes emerge in my Domain, not bringing their own lights with them. That makes me wonder if they can see in the dark. They clatter to a halt just before they reach our group, spreading out into a semicircle to block off the tunnel.
“The seaway is shut! Return whence you came, dwellers of earth,” an odd voice booms.
“Stand down, Mikko,” I say, sighing as I realize that they have some way to track us. We were never concealed, for all my paranoia. We must have triggered some defensive mechanism when we approached, which is why they’re here in the first place.
I step out into the middle of the tunnel, my open hand held up in a universal declaration of peaceful intent. “Greetings, guardians of the seaways! May we illuminate ourselves?”
“You may,” the sonorous voice replies. “But keep your weapons sheathed. Violent action will be viewed as a declaration of war. Rest assured that we will not leave your docks intact this time if we are forced to sally forth.”
“We’re not from Loch LaMara. Or, rather, we’re not with them,” I’m quick to clarify. “We just happened to enter the tunnels there. We seek passage to Gilead.”
Avelina lights up the tunnel with her fire at that moment, circulating a dozen small balls of flame around both us and the newcomers. They spin in a mesmerizing cycle, clearly the result of high control and power, but without the blazing heat that might mark them as a threat or an attack. Nonetheless, I sense that her mana is primed in case they break the truce.
A warband is arrayed before us, menacing despite their small numbers. Wicked lances of carved bone, etched with runes I don’t recognize—yet they warp my vision if I stare at them too closely—are leveled at our group. Each of the mounted warriors bears a curved sword at his hip in addition to the lance, and an assortment of throwing daggers across the chest.
Their mounts are peculiar creatures, but thankfully they’re not lizards like the mounts back in Halmuth. Those things make me shudder just remembering the way their necks rotated all the way around, as though they had no bones. By contrast, these share the general shape of a horse, although they have no hoofs. Loose webbing between their legs seems to indicate that they’re equally at home swimming or running. They appear amphibious in nature, although I have no idea if they can breathe underwater.
I flinch back as my gaze rises. The people on their backs are just as hybridized. While their frames and speech are humanoid, their blue-green skin color, gilled necks, and webbing between their fingers and toes—none of them wear boots or shoes, I notice—show that they are a species well adapted to dwelling under the sea. I’ve never seen anything like these people, but suddenly Ned’s tall tales of undersea people seem more like reality than fiction.
“Gilead bars entry to our kind,” the leader intones in his low, rumbling tones. “We are not willing to open the gates just to deposit lost wanderers.”
I smile, hoping I seem friendly. Do they even interpret smiles the same way? For all I know, it’s a sign of aggression to them. “We’re happy to pay for passage elsewhere. Do you have boats, or some sort of undersea craft? As long as we reach the Gilead side of the inland sea, we don’t mind walking the rest of the way.”
“Not for charter,” the leader says, frowning at us. He lifts his lance, hissing a command to his compatriots in a language that I don’t recognize, and dismounts. “You don’t seem hostile, but I cannot risk an incident. If you will not return the way you came, then I’ll be forced to bring you before the council to determine our course of action.”
“That doesn’t seem like it would avoid an incident,” I point out as delicately as I can. “But I’m admittedly not a diplomatic expert.”
He smiles wryly, which answers my question about facial expressions. “Then you see how it’s in everyone’s best interests if you simply return to Loch LaMara. I bid you farewell.”
“Not likely to be in our best interests, unfortunately,” I reply, matching his wry tone.
His gaze sharpens. “You are in some kind of trouble?”
“They tried to send a press gang after us,” I admit, hoping that we can bond over shared grievances over poor treatment at the hands of the [Sailors] in the port city. “But we’re not lawbreakers, not really. We simply wanted passage to Gilead, but they wanted us to stay and work for free during the stormy season.”
“Work? What do you do?”
“We’re glassmakers. Except for the big guy. That’s my brother. He’s a [Blacksmith], and a good one at that,” I say. Almost as an afterthought, I gesture at Azariah and Orav. “This short fellow with the ever present smoke is our guide. The last one who’s not a glassmaker is this [Hunter] who traveled with us to help procure meat on our journey. I don’t think his tactics will work very well underwater.”
The spokesman for the guards in front of us returns to his team, conferring with them in urgent tones. I can’t follow the conversation, not even through my Domain, since they’re using a language I’ve never heard. It’s strangely unsettling to find myself on the outside; I’ve grown used to snooping thanks to my Domain, and it’s only gotten stronger after upgrading my glass cores. Learning a new language is out of the question right now, but it leaves me feeling off balance.
“Great. We’re gonna get arrested again,” Lionel moans from behind me. He pushes off from the wall and shuffles over to me. “Traveling with you is nothing but bad luck, Nuri.”
“Arrested again?” Orav asks, giving me an odd look out of the corner of his eye. “Stirring up all that trouble in Halmuth was normal for you?”
“Pretty much,” Avelina confirms.
Orav gulps. “Maybe I’ll join Azariah after all. I’m not cut out for a life of crime.”
After a few minutes of discussion, the undersea dweller approaches halfway between our two groups, beckoning for me to join him. In a show of goodwill, he even leaves his lance with his teammates.
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“Unless you are a clever spy, you have excellent luck, traveler. We happen to be in need of a [Glassworker] to repair some of our domes. If you are willing to help us, then perhaps we can help you in return. Know this, however: the way to Gilead is forever closed. We will not put ourselves at risk for your sake.”
“Bad luck, huh?” I quip at Lionel before turning and offering a shallow bow to the guard. “My name is Nuri. I am a Master [Glassworker], and three of my team are from my studio. We’d be happy to assist if we can. Depending on the nature of the damage and the required scope of the repair, however, it may not be easily done without a workshop. I will be very clear, however: we will work for an agreed upon period of time, and not a second longer. I’ve had quite enough of employers trying to keep me against my will.”
“Well met, Nuri. I am lead [Outrider] of Company One, defender of our people: the Yathawn. If your company is willing to join us, then we will escort you to Natan, the pearl of the inland sea.”
“Enough lollygaggin. Let’s get movin,” Azariah growls.
I groan, hoping our brusque guide isn’t going to cause any sort of international incident due to his lack of manners, but none of the Yawthan seem disgruntled. I present my most winning smile to the [Outrider]. “We’ll join you. Thanks for the kind offer. What’s your name, if I may ask?”
“I have not earned a permanent place among the Yawthan. You may call me [Outrider] One.”
“Oh. Sorry if I offended you.”
“Nuri, ya talk more than a [Diplomat],” Azariah grumbles as he stomps forward, crossing the mile marker and plunging through a thin film that marks the boundary of the city.
The rest of us follow with various degrees of confidence in our new hosts’ hospitality, but [Outrider] One doesn’t seem upset. I’m acutely aware of more than one guarded expression, or a hand straying toward a weapon, however. Not that I blame them; we’re all on guard after our experiences with the first three towns we’ve been to on our journey.
Compounding matters is entering a new nation, since Natan clearly stands apart from Densmore by virtue of its language and inhabitants. How, I haven’t a clue. Even Rakesh looks dumbfounded. If anyone should know about a sovereign state within Densmore, it’s him. Yet he seems as surprised as the rest of us.
I drop my Domain before I cross the threshold into the city. After Halmuth, I’m on high alert around mana barriers, nervous that I’ll cause another set of problems unintentionally. On instinct, I flinch as I enter the city boundaries, but nothing happens. This barrier feels like it’s several orders of magnitude sturdier than the one surrounding Halmuth, although I’m not sure how to measure that accurately. Maybe Rakesh might know.
I don’t know for certain that my emerging Domain would have much of an effect at all, now that I’ve felt it for myself. I still don’t want to take the risk. Better to save it, just in case.
[Outrider] One doesn’t offer us a ride. He seems content to let us walk the entire way to the city of Natan, which annoys me at first. Two short minutes later, however, I understand his choice when my Domain reveals an abrupt cutoff to the undersea pathway we’ve traveled along for the last two days. There’s not much to gain by riding.
We reach the end of the tunnel, a portal sealed in a similar manner to the one under the pier in Loch LaMara. [Outrider] One produces a disk from his pocket. It’s brimming with circuitry in my mana senses. He removes the bar from across the portal, taps the disk against the center of the enormous circular doorway, and backs up quickly to avoid the opening halves of the door.
The first thing I notice when the portal doors slide open an inch is the influx of a massive amount of energy. Mana rushes in like the tide, overwhelmingly dense. My eyes widen, and my hand goes to my knife before I get hold of myself. The energy signature is intense and wild, like nothing I’ve felt outside of a Greater Rift.
“Welcome to our humble nation,” [Outrider] One says, revealing a sharp-toothed grin as he gestures at an impossible sight. Endless rows of golden bubbles cover the sea bed, lit up by the strongest continual use of mana I’ve seen. It lights up the sea, visible to the naked eye.
Usually, that level of mana intensity happens in short pulses, like when a Skill activates. To sustain it indefinitely takes an absurd amount of energy throughput. There’s something odd about this place. My suspicion is that they have a Rift underneath the city, although it’s probably an Architected variety and not liable to spew monsters out into the populace.
For some reason, I’ve always imagined that the seabed is uniform and smooth, like the bottom of a basin filled with water. Nothing could be further from the truth. Rolling hills and an intricate maze of sharp, winding valleys form an incredibly complex vista. Domes of all sizes are clustered across the underwater metropolis, ranging from small domiciles to a vast semicircle of transparent glass that looks large enough to swallow up the entire SCA.
A terrible premonition fills me with mounting dread. I point at the main dome, which is so large that it appears to encompass over half of the city. “Uhh, [Outrider] One? That’s not the one that needs repairing, is it?”
He barks out a laugh, once again revealing his shark-like rows of sharp teeth. “Naturally not. We would need to hire a far larger crew for that endeavor, if we could convince enough surface-dwellers to travel under the seas. I expect no miracle from you. No, it is a cracked dome over our Leeward hydroponics facility that you must fix, among other things.”
“Hydro what now?” Azariah asks.
[Outrider] One’s fingers flutter, a gesture that a few of his colleagues copy. They all seem amused, but are polite enough not to make fun of Azariah to his face. “Growing fields. We need no earth to plant our produce, unlike you surface dwellers. Our plants grow directly in the water, which our [Growers] keep fresh and clean. Fish are good, but we enjoy variety in our diet. That’s a characteristic we share, yes?”
I nod, taking it all in. “Yeah. We’ll do our best to fix it. Do you have any glass stockpiled? If we have to create our own, it may delay the project.”
“The [Quartermaster] will see that you have what you need. I will take you to see him now. Make arrangements; then we go before the [Queen].”
“Royalty?” I squeak. “Can we at least bathe and dress ourselves properly? I left my nice suit behind; our departure was fairly abrupt. I’m not ready to meet a [Queen]!”
[Outrider] One chuckles again, but this time it feels distinctly less cheerful than before. His wide grin doesn’t change, however. “The [Quartermaster] will take care of everything. I suspect you’ll find it an enlightening experience.”
=+=
“We have three tons of glass on reserve, but I’ll need to see a requisition before I can remand it to your custody,” the [Quartermaster] says. Unlike [Outrider] One, he doesn’t seem familiar with the common tongue of Densmore; he’s speaking into an artifact held between us. It translates for us as we discuss.
“Understood,” I reply, smiling vaguely. I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from the artifact. All I want to do is take it apart and learn its secrets. Scalpel would be so proud. But it’s a remarkable design. The enchantments alone are fascinating, since I don’t really understand how it’s made, but what really amazes me is that it seems to handle new concepts and vocabulary on the fly. How does it figure out the meaning if the words aren’t preloaded?
His fingers flutter as he looks over at [Outrider] One. “Clothing for your audience will be no problem, however. I would not dare dream of dishonoring our [Queen] by allowing all of you surface-dwellers to appear before her as you are currently.”
“Thank you for your generosity,” I say, sketching a slight bow. I’m about to ask if there’s a specific title or honorific we should use to address the [Queen] when I catch a glimpse of what my friends have discovered to keep themselves occupied while I’m negotiating.
Lionel and Mikko are making faces at each other from across the room, snickering as the endless rows of mirrors distort their expressions into unrecognizable, grotesque masks. The mirrors stretch on before me, as far as the eyes can see, although I can’t discern the purpose of so many reflections stacked on top of each other. The curvature of the metal and glass makes for elongated or compressed body shapes, often simultaneously, the images overlapping and competing for attention, depending on where you look.
I’m about to motion for them to stop, horrified that they might offend our hosts, when I see [Outrider] One stick his fingers into the sides of his mouth and stretch out his lips in a ridiculous grin while his long, pale tongue flickers back and forth. He giggles alongside Rakesh, who has also joined the dubious festivities.
Tearing my gaze away from the ridiculous display, I smile politely at the [Quartermaster], hoping that he won’t hold my friend’s behavior against me. “May we borrow a small batch of glass for our audience? I want to show what we can offer to the city of Natan.”
“[Outrider] One? Will you cover costs?”
“Sure! Take it out of my allotment. I’ve got extra credits this month,” [Outrider] One says.
“Ah. Right. The business with the serpent,” the [Quartermaster] says. He bares his teeth and hisses. I’m not sure what that signifies, but he looks angrier than I’ve seen from the others. When he catches my quizzical expression, he explains.
“[Outrider] One is one of our foremost, ah, agitators. He’s skilled at detecting threats and leading them away from the city. He took a lance of fellow [Outriders] and led a beast on a merry chase. I’m told that he did not even need to feed any of the others to the serpent to pacify it. An endearing quality, if quaint.”
Feeding your friends to monsters is normal here? I catch myself at the last second, biting my tongue before I get myself in trouble. I glance over at Melina, who’s half-heartedly watching the reflections in the mirror, and she subtly raises an eyebrow. I’m glad at least one of my team gets the message to be on guard.
Of course, Azariah needs no such warning. He’s already glowering at the glass dome of the warehouse, arms crossed. He’s squinting out at the endless black seas, refusing to look in the mirrors no matter what; as soon as we walked into this warehouse, he recoiled from them as though they burned his eyes. He seems even more sour than usual, although he’s had the good sense to drag Orav along with him, making the young [Hunter] sit and stare at the cold depths.
I resolve to ask him later what his Skill is warning the [Smokeborn Pathfinder] about; this extreme level of irritation seems beyond his usual standoffish mood. Something in this room is definitely triggering his Skill. I just wish I could figure out what.
We get no further answers from the [Quartermaster]. He just hisses out a strange laugh, hands over a bundle of clothing to each of us without taking our measurements, and gives the requested glass to [Outrider] One.
Melina and I review the glass, ensuring that it’s up to par. To my relief, it seems like he’s ordered it from Gilead, bypassing their travel restrictions somehow. Maybe they have a supplier who works as an intermediary. Regardless of how they’ve done it, I’m happy to use quality glass for a project. Ideally, I’d want to find a way to layer tempered glass, like with the laminate models that Melina and I worked on back in Silaraon when we were experimenting with glass armor. I’m not sure how I’d scale it up to fit the dome, however. We’ll have to make do with what we have.
“Come! Baths await,” [Outrider] One declares. He jogs down a metallic corridor, taking a sharp right to veer into a larger hallway, and we follow as quickly as we can.
How he navigates the vast web of connections between the countless brass buildings, each capped with glass domes, is beyond me. I don’t see any signs or markings to guide us, but he runs about with confidence. Perhaps he’s memorized the map. Or perhaps the Yawthan have some alternate method of navigation beyond ours. I recall Ezio telling me a theory about birds orienting themselves by the world’s magnetic field when migrating, for example. It seems almost too fantastical to be true, but I trust the [Scholar].
Trotting to keep up, we follow our host through the hallways. I’m desperate for a chance to clean off. Drying from the swim through the sea is easy enough, but all the minerals stuck to us, crusting on our clothes and stinking. I can’t wait to be clean again.
=+=
“You offered passage without verification?”
“I did, your majesty,” [Outrider] One says from his prostrate position on the floor. How his voice is so clear while speaking into the engraved sea-green tiling is beyond me.
Truth be told, I’m envious of his view. One glance at the [Queen] tells me far more than I ever wanted to know about the cultural and biological peculiarities of the Yathawn, but I have a hard time looking away. Deep blue where the rest of the Yathawn are more cerulean or shades of green, the [Queen] is enormous, three or four times the size of the rest of the people we’ve met. She’s floating on a pool of glowing water, covering a clutch of dull-red egg sacs with what look like a profusion of tentacles rather than hands.
“We will require a demonstration.”
“I very much hope you weren’t lying about being glassmakers,” [Outrider] One whispers to me, still face-down. “Otherwise, she’ll eat us all.”
The sheer cheerfulness of his dire pronouncement is unsettling, but I’m starting to piece together something about Yathawn culture. While they are exacting and formal in their speech, it is not indicative of a lack of humor. In fact, their jokes tend to be goofy, far sillier than what I’m used to—other than Lionel—and death is a more prominent theme than anticipated. They don’t find it ghastly or gauche to talk about dying, just funny.
I step forward when summoned, producing the glass from the [Quartermaster]. At the command of the [Queen], I begin my demonstration, touching the glass and melting as quickly as I can with my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. Working in conjunction with Melina to levitate the hot glass, I make a show of shaping it into a dome-shaped barrier. We choose to keep my imbuing secret, for now, relying on Avelina’s [Strong as Stone] Skill instead, and anneal it quickly so that we can move on to the next stage: bouncing the result off the tiled floor to display its sturdiness.
Once we’ve shown her that the glass neither breaks nor scratches, she gestures, and an attendant scurries over, collecting the small dome for the [Queen] to review further.
“Sufficient,” the [Queen] pronounces at last.
Sufficient! I grumble. If that’s not the best glass she’s ever seen, I’ll eat my socks.
“Fix the cracks in the hydroponics facility, and we’ll honor the agreement made with our little [Outrider]. He has no authority to strike such a bargain, but we will overlook his impudence today. He has earned his reprieve, and will not be used as sea serpent bait for two more cycles of the moon. We’ll deliver you to the shores a few hours walk from Gilead.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” I say, bowing stiffly, although my mind is whirling. What does she mean, he’s earned a reprieve for two months? Why doesn’t he seem more torn up about it? They use their own people as bait?
The more I think it over, the more the details slot into place. Of all the people we’ve met so far, only the [Quartermaster] appears to show any signs of aging. The rest are young, in the prime of life. No children. No women. Warriors, workers, and the [Queen], presiding over her enormous clutch of eggs.
I shiver involuntarily. Aside from the [Queen], the Yawthan might look human other than the webbing and gills, but they’re not like the other people I’ve met. The only other time I can think of encountering a being that was as difficult for me to understand as the Yathawn was in the Greater Rift, when Tem struck an [Accord] with the control room technician. I still don’t know what oath he swore, or what it cost him to do it, but I’ll never forget the strange, alien sensation of seeing a sophont creature that’s utterly different.
“How many days will you require to fix the cracks? We will command our [Quartermaster] to prepare lodging and sustenance for the duration of your stay,” the [Queen] declares.
“Difficult to say until we see the extent of the damage. Likely three or four days, unless it happens to be a gigantic chamber. Then we might be looking at a week or two,” I say to be safe. My suspicion is that we can plug the cracks within a day or two, but I don’t want to run afoul of their hospitality if we overpromise.
Outsiders are probably easier to feed to sea serpents than the [Queen]’s own spawn, after all.