1 Dawn
Maphikeleli had a morning ritual when he was at home. In the morning, he would come out of his hut, get the long spear, and perform slow, deliberate moves, a parade, refined over decades. For himself, as the sun did not care, and there were no souls around to watch him.
To dance with the rising sun was to feel perfection, at least for a time. Each move a symbol of a specific skill granted to him, no matter how high he had raised it, or how useful it was in practice.
Then, the morning dance would be over, and he would take his breakfast, since even dead, he had to eat something. At least, the food stock did not spoil, like it would in the living world. From time to time, he would go and hunt specific beasts or harvest some of the wild fields in distant parts, always to return.
And, for a short while, he would be at peace, as if he was still alive, and reflect on his past life.
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The ship was creaking and groaning, but Maphikeleli was used to it by now. No, what was interesting, after weeks at sea, was the growing shore and the huge city he was seeing. That, he knew, meant the end of the trip that had brought him so far from home.
The chieftain hadn’t hidden why he’d been chosen. When the Good Fathers of the Irish had asked for promising youths, he had been one of the few who had already shown interest in their ways and learned the mysterious arts of the letters. For a young and impressionable Zulu, the ways of preserving stories, to be recalled without memory, was a wonder. Of course, the new king, Cetshwayo kaMpande, had been agitating for over a year against the encroaching interlopers, fearing their interference and support on his rivals, but not every village was ready for war.
So, when the missionaries asked for good youths, he’d been sent along with them. They promised his chieftain that he would be taught in a “seminary”, initiated in the deep mysteries of their Lord, which he had only glimpsed so far. He had undergone the ceremonies of the waters, of course, and started to learn more of the Lord, but they said he would know the ceremonies fully once back in their land.
And the bay marked the next step in the journey. The Good Father, whose name was Callum Morgan, was also up on the deck and looked cheerful.
“My sons, this is Dublin.”
The four young Zulus looked eagerly toward the growing port that was their destination.
Maphikeleli had thought the port of D’Urban strange. His people did not do long water travels, and the way such a port was organized was alien to his culture. But the “Dublin” was beyond his imaginings. There were dozens of ships all around, some with huge sails, some with smoking stacks belching smoke like the one that had brought them. And hundreds of people around the quays, working on the port.
“We will report to the bishopric first. And, barring problems, we will travel to Maynooth tomorrow and settle you there,” Morgan announced his charges.
“You will not be there to teach us?” Velabahleke asked.
“Ah no. The teachers at the college are much more versed in theology than I am. They are the best Ireland can offer. I will accompany you, though. And, if the vocation is true, I hope to be there to bring you to your old land, where you will become the shepherds, not of beasts, but of men.”
All four of the Zulus acquiesced. Their fascination with the teaching of the “English” or "Irish", and the sacred text of their “Bible” had brought them there – even if some of them had to be sent away by their chieftains. To learn more of the mysteries of the white men, and to be able to teach them in turn.
Many of the men – and quite a few women too, if Maphikeleli was to judge through the heavy clothing they all wore – turned as the group walked the streets.
It was a strange sensation, he had to acknowledge. Back home, the Good Father and the merchantmen of the British were curiosities. Odd in gait, face, and skin. But here, only the four of them were black. Everyone looked different. And he realized, for them, he was the white man, come from afar.
Well, not entirely. After all, he was invited there.
Still, they gawped, and he was sure they had never seen people like him before.
“This is one of the main streets across Dublin,” Morgan told his charges.
The large avenue suddenly opened upon a plaza, dominated by one of the most impressive stone buildings they’d seen so far. Stone towers, and many scaffoldings. Maphikeleli gawped, like his three fellow countrymen.
“And that is Christchurch. The greatest Cathedral of the city. The bishopric isn’t far away, but we should first offer a prayer in thanks to our successful passage,” the Good Father added.
They were making their way across the plaza toward the entrance when a shout came from the side and they turned to see what was causing the commotion.
Liquid light appeared in the middle of the plaza, spreading slowly mid-air in two arcs. It reminded Maphikeleli of the burning logs of a fire, only without any flame. The liquid logs bent, making an arc in both directions, and phantom words, readable like the books of the Good Fathers, but making little sense, appeared above.
Transit: Earth 393 – Mocassen
Integrity: 23%
Building…
Stability: 0%
The flowing light bent until it flowed back together, as the two halves joined while the plaza pavement groaned, raising itself until the branches stopped at the sides. Maphikeleli could now recognize a large and immense circle, wide, and taller than four men. The distorted ground now made a slight ramp on both sides of the circle.
He had turned toward Father Morgan to ask if such a thing was often made among the English when his kinsman Velabahleke gasped audibly. He switched back his gaze to the circular marvel and gasped as well, as the burning circle was darkened quickly, details emerging with ornate heads, goats, lions, eagles, and more.
The circular structure stopped refining itself and settled, emitting small faint pinging sounds. Curious, he approached the circle, his move emboldening some of the British around. Many more, somehow fearful of the event, stayed at the edges of the plaza.
From close, the structure was even more ornate. This, Maphikeleli now knew, was not the work of the Irish, but of transcendent power. He had not entirely believed the stories of the powers of the Lord, but now, he knew it for a truth. No ancestor would bring such marvel.
Sparks of light appeared in the center of the circle, brief silent stars. Then more appeared, a cold light, suddenly racing from the middle to the edges. And more. Maphikeleli looked up to the top, where the half-unseen words had changed slightly.
Transit: Earth 393 – Mocassen
Integrity: 100%
Initializing
Stability: 100%
“Run,” Morgan gasped, before turning and abandoning Maphikeleli.
The Zulu nearly scoffed. Who would run from this? The Good Father had told him many stories of the Lord, of his future coming back, and the Gates that stood at the entrance to his Realm where the spirits would go. Maybe this was it? Maybe he was there, blessed by fate, to see the Second Coming, despite not being initiated into the mysteries?
Velabahleke was running toward him, looking deeply afraid, but unwilling to let him stay there alone. Maphikeleli raised his hand to reassure him when the light behind him intensified suddenly. He started to turn, and suddenly, his entire world became light, and darkness at the same time as a giant hand seized him.
Transit: Earth 393 - Mocassen
Incompatibility. NULL Profession. Transit reversal not available currently. Adjusting…
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2 Morning
Preparing to leave home was another powerful ritual. While he could use the spirit Puppets he’d found across the years, he did not store his gear there. It was a strong reminder that spiritual life was unlike mortal life. So, each piece of his hunting gear was placed on a mannequin he’d built himself, a piece of near-unbreakable sticks that held all of it. He'd use a puppet on the field, but not at home.
Maphikeleli’s fifth home was a strong place, in a fleeting spirit world. He’d made it next to one of the Gates that separated the various spirit areas, which made it so that the local spirits avoided it. He had dug out and brought another great Spirit Stone to shield his home further, and facilitate his coming back.
Even then, he had to come home regularly. If he went away, parts of the house would slowly evaporate, like dreams in the spirit world.
Today, he would go up again, in the upper reaches of the tenth grade. There were lairs he had not finished yet. Each a challenge he knew he had to face. On his own.
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Maphikeleli was in pain, that he knew. Pain, unlike anything he’d experienced. Even the worst in his life, after he stole some yams on a dare, and had stumbled upon a root, letting the irate farmer catch him and soundly beat him on all of his limbs. He had carried the scars of that for his entire life.
But the pain was going, receding and leaving no hurt, save for fleeting sensations. The memories of pain as if he had been torn and boiled, and drowned, and all things that devoured him.
This, he remembered, was what the Good Fathers told him was the punishment for sinners, those who displeased the Lord in the Heavens. But he’d been also told it lasted forever, that those who had deserved it would be burned in the eternal torment.
He slowly opened his eyes and turned on his back, feeling the hard, unyielding surface under him.
Above him was an expanse of blue, unmarred by anything else. The blue of the best days, back in his homeland. He half rose, expecting more pain, but none came.
Maphikeleli took stock of his surroundings. He was sitting on a vast expanse of white stone, veined in black and green. He’d seen similar stones back home, but they were small pebbles in streams. Here, the stone was immense and cut in a single piece. He passed his hand over the surface, marveling at the perfect plane, without the slightest irregularity.
Finally, he rose and turned, looking at the regularly spaced pillars, joined on their tops by more of the smooth white stone. The only part that marred the regularity was an arch, where instead of the stone plinth, a half-circle delimited a door-looking area.
He walked to the exit door and looked beyond the marble circle. The circular stone plaza sat atop a small hillock. All around him was a vast plain of tall grasses, and, for a few instants, he was seized by nostalgia. He could see himself back home.
But of course, it was no home. The plains were as flat as they could be, there was no wind blowing across the grasses. And now that he paid attention, there were no sounds. No animals calling out each other, no birds passing in that endless blue, no antelope grazing out. Just the plaza dominating the empty grass plain.
Maphikeleli had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was the light pulsing in the great circle in Dublin, as the apotheosis was coming. Then, the realization struck him.
He’d felt the pain, that immense, indescribable pain, the pain Callum Morgan attributed to Hell, the place of punishment. And surrounding him was the smooth perfection he said was awaiting the worthy when they joined his Lord in his Heaven.
But the Lord wasn’t there, and the pain of Hell had been fleeting. He’d been shown both afterlives but hadn’t gone there. Father Callum had spoken of this, of the people whose deeds were not enough to either ensure their place in Heaven or warranted the eternal punishment.
This, Maphikeleli now knew, was the Afterlife where the spirits went to decide their ultimate fate. This was the place called Purgatory.
He felt real, though. Not fully a spirit. And he wore his clothes, given by the Father when they started on this journey. And he even found his trusty knife, sheathed in leather and hidden in the largest pocket of his trousers.
Curious, he passed the edge of the knife across his fingertip. The sharp implement left a shallow cut, but even then, there was very little blood. Within instants, the blood stopped, and when he wiped it out, he found no trace of the cut beyond a thin line, which vanished as he watched. He looked on the marble, trying to find the blood splatter, but… ah, there it was. And just like his finger’s cut had vanished, the blood was simply evaporating like a tiny puddle left under the sun. In a few moments, nothing marred the white stone.
This finished convincing Maphikeleli of his status. This looked like the flesh and blood he remembered, but he was no longer of mere flesh and blood. He was a spirit, in the realm of the dead.
There was little guidance for him. The lessons of Father Callum were sparse on the subject of his Lord’s Purgatory. Merely that people would stay there until whatever prevented them from moving to Heaven ended. People could offer prayers to help, but who would pray for him?
Assuming that there were any left. He had thought this was the Second Coming, and Father Callum said that it would herald the End of Days, and everyone would be judged by his Lord. Was Velabahleke in a place like this? Was Mkhumbuleni in his own Purgatory? Father Callum was surely called to his Lord’s Heaven, but his people… Just in case, he offered a prayer to his comrades, a prayer to his brothers and his parents. Even to the old chief. If the dead could pray like the living, anything might help.
Then he set out, walking out of the plaza, descending toward the grass plains. He had to prove himself worthy of entrance to the Heavens, but how?
He’d learned quickly that there were other things in the Purgatory. A small version of a hyena had tried to bite him an hour after he’d left the marble plaza. Even when threatened by his trusty knife, the creature had kept trying to maim him, until he’d ended its life.
That’s how he’d learned about the half-unseen descriptors. He’d been notified of it being a “level 2 prowling scavenger”, seen the effect of his knife fight, and learned of his own descriptor after getting “damage”.
Maphikeleli
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Health: 43/183
Mind: 162/162
Endurance: 181/196
Aether: 181/181
Effective level: 1
Level 1 Shieldbearer
Experience: 253/909
Strength: 18
Dexterity: 17
Agility: 17
Constitution: 18
Stamina: 19
Wisdom: 18
Focus: 17
Presence: 18
Fortitude: 16
Intelligence: 18
Defense: 2
10% Leveling speed
Milestones: Adjustment II
And, to confirm that his enemy was a spirit beast rather than an ordinary scavenger, it had decomposed and vanished in mere moments after the end of the fight, leaving him food and an odd pair of gloves seemingly made of hyena skin and metal ringlets. The gloves fit him perfectly, as he would have expected.
Now, weeks later, he was no longer looking like a dark version of the Irishmen. His European clothes were replaced by the half-leather, half-metal gear that he kept finding after each fight. He’d obtained a small shorter version of an Iklwa spear, which was much more practical for fighting than his short knife, and a more comfortable shield that wouldn’t have been out of place in the ranks of the Impis. In short, he looked like a true Zulu warrior should be, an unimaginable feat for the awkward, clumsy youth he’d been in life. This clashed a bit with the idea that he had to find admittance of the Heavens as a warrior, but he’d realized that his deeds would have to be weighted by the Lord based on his people’s virtues. So, a warrior he would become. But not a raider of people, a protector against the beasts. Even if he had no one to protect against the prowling beasts, he would prove himself that way.
The small circle of metal and light he saw from afar was almost familiar somehow. After weeks of slow, careful travel, this was the first thing that felt unnatural, after the plaza where he entered the afterlife.
Now that he was closer, he realized why the circle was familiar. He was looking at the same type of circle filled with light that had opened in Dublin in front of that great temple when he died.
Maybe Maphikeleli was at the end of the trial. Maybe he had misinterpreted the meaning of Purgatory, and it had been a symbolic journey through the beginning of the afterlife. He had earned a Milestone in Shieldbearer, for sure, but he didn’t feel like he’d been judged.
Well, he would move on and see what the afterlife had for him. He walked up the small ramp and entered the light.
Tier 1: Misskeltuk
Required: 1 Wonkerdom lair completed
Lair completion: 0/1
He found himself facing back the edge of the forest he’d been following when he had spotted the circle. And he could remember perfectly the descriptor that had sprung unasked when he’d tried to enter the light.
It turned out that he’d been right. It wasn’t the end of a journey. It merely marked the beginning of the trial. But now, he knew what was expected.
He had a lair – whatever was in it – to complete.
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3 Noon
The great beast was there. Every hundred days, based on the descriptor time, he came back to this low tier. Each time, he had slowly increased his proficiency and tactics. Most of the great beasts were near impossible. But this upper tier-six one, the first one he’d ever found, he knew well. This was the first zone he stopped trying to complete when he realized this was an entirely different challenge that awaited him there, one of mastery rather than completion.
The Watcher, Khretogo
Level 813 Legend
Health: 892,054
Mind: 72,659
Stamina: 991,473
Aether: 14273
Strength: 1626
Dexterity: 1626
Agility: 2439
Constitution: 4065
Stamina: 4878
Wisdom: 813
Focus: 4878
Presence: 1626
Fortitude: 813
Intelligence: 407
Skills: Precise Gaze, Sun Gaze, Condemn, Battlefield Presence, Numerous Pride (active), Sharp Claws, Precise Claws, Swipe, Thicken Skin, Flex, Switch Weather, Interrupting Roar, Pride’s Range, Side Flurry, Flip Places, Gauge Enemy, Impact, Notice Attack, Close Ranks, Solid Defense, Turn the Tables, Batter
Although spectacular for a time, the rewards of the one-eyed beast paled in utility compared to what he’d get from a strong tier-ten enemy. But the beast had never, in… two decades? Three?… yielded the heavy armor coif that the mannequin at home missed. Even with the variation of effect and Potential, all the treasures that came from the chest fell in three different unique looks that he’d collected over time.
And the legend’s chest under the Watcher’s front paws promised him a weapon and jewelry in addition to its core. No chance of that last item.
But Maphikeleli was patience itself now. He had eternity if necessary. Or at least until he mastered the last tier of Purgatory.
He hoisted his spear and started jogging toward the towering six-limbed leonine figure with his central eye. As he crossed the intangible boundary the thirty-six smaller cubs laying around their patriarch rose as one and scrambled to rush the incoming Zulu.
The spirits did not care, and there was no one to listen, but Maphikeleli’s cry of “Usuthu!!!” resonated across the bare rock of Kheretogo’s lair as the air surrounding the Zulu started to burn with his Burning Aura and the heated Wrapping Winds started to whirl around him to funnel the small beasts on his spear point and his Horizontal Slash.
Khretogo started to rise in answer, and the distance between the two ancient enemies shrank.
----------------------------------------
Maphikeleli fell on his back, exhaling in relief. A quick check on his descriptor told him he was all right. 41 health left. It didn’t matter if he lost 1 or 100. All it changed was how long it took.
But he’d underestimated the level 8 “elite dancing furry”. He was pretty sure this was some form of Tikoloshe. Short, hairy, and hard to see? He was pretty sure he’d missed some of his hits by misjudging where the creature was, in the dim recesses of the muddy trenches.
The “Old Pit”, as the map descriptor said, fit the bill for a lair. And while the creatures at first were not too hard, despite being veterans and lounging in groups of two or three, that new kind of creature had surprised him. It had almost as much health as he did, despite having nearly a fourth of his level. And it struck hard.
But he knew he had to fight because for once, he’d spotted something different. The “furry” was dancing over a large wooden box, akin to the chests he’d seen used by rich chiefs at home to store precious jewelry and ornaments.
Once he’d finally opened it, after letting health flow up, he found himself with a coif in his hands. It was wider than the one he’d obtained on his fourth creature and without metal. But it was still impressive because it promised much more.
Fur Capello
Head
Quality
Requires: Level 1
Provides: 2 defence rating, STR+1, +28 hp
His basic hat had the same defense, despite the metal, but if he understood right… Maphikeleli’s eyes bulged as he saw the difference appear on the descriptor. His health maximum had increased by a significant amount and his Strength was similarly improved.
That was his reward for meeting the lair’s challenge. The coif didn’t look very Zulu-like, but it was undeniably much better than what he’d started with.
He put his old coif in the side bag the last hyena to give him something had “held”, then turned to the opening in the mud walls at the rear of the room.
Maphikeleli fell on his knees and sobbed in relief. The monstrous guardian of the lair had finally abandoned his pursuit.
He’d been overconfident, he realized now. He’d run into the room, expecting another variation of the same furries he’d fought across the mud corridors. But the level 5 elder that had faced him was not one of the elites he’d fought previously. And the first slaps of the hairy hand had registered painfully. Despite the boost of the two items he’d found previously, he had only a few moments to decide.
What would happen if he failed? Would he disappear, like all spirits? But the Good Father insisted his soul was immortal. Would he be returned to the beginning of the Purgatory, stripped of all he had accomplished? Or worse, judged a failure and consigned to Hell finally?
Would he rather be judged a Fool for fighting a creature that so obviously dominated him – he’d already lost a third of his health, and had barely dented it – or a Coward for running away. Would either of those weigh on his soul’s destiny?
He’d ran. And the Furry Acrobat had finally turned back, leaving him alone with his health barely above zero.
For a moment, Maphikeleli did not dare to look at the fullness of the descriptor. He’d gained Milestones in Shieldbearer, representing the work he’d put in being a defender against the spirit beasts. But now, he was afraid to see and find he’d gained a Cowardice Milestone. Or maybe a Careless one for rushing and failing.
But no. Once he’d mustered his courage and checked, nothing was amiss. No penalty, nothing, but the recovering health and endurance he’d spent facing the guardian.
Maphikeleli decided this was a precious lesson.
Do not overreach. Do not succumb to Pride and Greed, as the Good Father Callum would say. Do not Lust after treasures if you are not worthy of them.
He finally rose back on his feet, and, this time, turned toward the exit.
He had much to do. Other treasure, presumably, to find. More levels. More Milestones, maybe.
He’d figure it out. That was the point of Purgatory.
To figure out a way out of your sins, since they were what prevented him from entering Heaven according to the Scriptures.
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4 Dusk
The swirling rainbow light left Maphikeleli at the Stone, next to home. He lowered his spear to the ground but froze before its end could rest on the packed ground surrounding the hut.
There were four shapes next to the hut, and they all turned toward him simultaneously. He brought his spear up immediately. Nothing in the zone should be a threat anyway, but nothing ever came near home. The Gate area was never a place where any of the spirits congregated.
That the four looked vaguely like men did not stop him. There had been many places where man-shaped spirits walked, but he knew those were enemies like any other.
What stopped him was that the descriptor did not look like a spirit’s, lacking many details the skill should have yielded, nor did its level fit the zone's spirits at all.
Santosh Sarkar
Health: 1,988,290/1,988,290
Mind: 1,275,267/1,275,267
Endurance: 1,534,511/1,523,511
Aether: 996,118/996,118
Effective level: 4188
Level 62 Impassable Light Bastion
Now that the moment was passing, he could recognize the signs on the attire the man and the other wore. And they exuded a Presence that none of the spirits of the zones ever had, save for some of the strongest of guardians.
He always thought the Purgatory was his, and his alone, until the end. But those were not spirits of the place, but spirits of men. For the first time in unknown years, he stood in the presence of others.
His time between Afterlives had ended.
Once everyone had lowered their weapons, a gabble had followed. Maphikeleli had tried his native Zulu and the dimly half-remembered English, but even accounting for his lack of practice in the tongues of men, none of the four had understood him.
Nor, to be honest, had he understood them. They had started with an odd, tonal language devoid of the clicks and inflections of his Zulu language, then the man had tried another, very different. And each of the three had also tried some different language, even the two women.
For there were two women among the four. It had taken him a few moments to realize it, but once they spoke, their pitch was unmistakably female.
After a while, the man Sarkar, who, Maphikeleli thought, was acting as the leader of the group, finally grew exasperated and gestured to one female cloth-clad to take his place
Zarlashta Lehri
Health: 1,487,222/1,487,222
Mind: 1,335,344/1,335,344
Endurance: 1,009,168/1,009,168
Aether: 2,200,662/2,200,662
Effective level: 3994
Level 75 Prepared Connected Spellwright
The gloves she wore vanished and she pointed out the fireplace in front of the hut, saying “Kesseki”.
Maphikeleli wondered about what she was doing before she repeated, more slowly, her gesture, and he realized she was pointing out each large stone he’d used to build his fire while repeating the same word.
At that point, he realized she was trying to teach him the language of the spirits, and he wasted no time picking a stone and repeating “Kesseki”. Her smile confirmed his intuition, and she shifted to another object and word, and the lesson began in earnest.
Dusk came fast, and while he was picking and remembering words at a pace that was surprising to him, he was no closer to fully understanding his guests. After trading the word “Shàn”, he brought out some of his goat-like stores to roast on the firepit, while they added some odd root-like items, whose descriptor told him were “Uncovered Roots”. Despite the mundane designation, the so-called uncovered roots were sweet and very tasty, reminding him a bit of some roots from his homeland.
While they were sharing a meal, the Lehri woman was relentless and kept adding to his vocabulary. Night, stars, anything, and everything was an opportunity to learn a word. And as the rest of the group pulled out some bedding, and settled around the dying campfire, she kept on, piling words.
The night went on, as the two of them worked slowly their way across an entire vocabulary new to Maphikeleli. For the first time in many years, the Tired indication came and went, half unnoticed, as the Zulu learned the basis of a new language, and re-learned being around people.
Morning came, and Maphikeleli was just confident enough to have the words for the question that had been around his mind for the entire day.
“Who you people?”
Half of the answer was still incomprehensible, but she shook her head and raised her wrist. He did not understand her, and she mimed grasping her hand with the other, so he tried to clasp her offered hand. She moved away, demonstrating that he was to hold the wrist, not the hand. He did so, and the descriptor he’d seen expanded vastly.
He could see more, and what he half-expected. Not just a level and Profession, but multiple layers, the Milestones she’d earned, her full potentials, and more. Although what she had was very different from his list, he fully understood that, essentially, she was showing him that she was the same as he was.
And equally obviously, she’d seen him as he was, as she gasped. He could not guess what exactly she was looking at, assuming she was seeing the same type of descriptor he had been accessing. But obviously, something had surprised her – horrified her? Disgusted her? No, not disgust, probably not, but some emotion – and her yell brought up the group’s leader, the Impassable Light Bastion.
The two of them traded quick exchanges, and the man looked at him askance, obviously bothered by something. He offered his wrist, and Maphikeleli offered his own, checking the man’s list of accomplishments. Although he was not familiar with many of those, just like the Spellwright, he was in familiar territory. But, very obviously, something was off.
“You alone all time?”
“Yes. There no other…” he hesitated, not having any word for spirits like them.
A round of vocabulary later, he had his answers.
“No one survives alone. Place is not for alone. Always two, three, six. You were many in one.”
“All spirit achievements?”
“Need the strength of three spirits to conquer lair,” the group leader explained slowly. “You took the strength of all of them by yourself.”
“That why you have less level?”
“We share our strengths and shield our weaknesses. You couldn’t have weakness. And picked much burden and levels to do so.”
After more elaborations, and finding words for many more abstract concepts, they finally said what he had half expected once he’d seen those gathered at home.
“Now come with us. It is time to get you to home.”
“Where? Paradise?”
“No. Just home. The place where all Lords gather. People like you.”
Santosh Sarkar wants your help?
Yes
No
Despite their slightly lower levels, they were strong. Maybe stronger than Maphikeleli was. Having fewer Professions, but better, higher Milestones made all the difference.
You have completed Gonissa Four Elemental Lords lair.
You have completed Gonissa Crawling Loop lair.
You have completed Gonissa Tree Puzzle lair.
…
He followed them from lair to lair, as they ripped their way and opened up access to the special hidden zone he had not known even existed. Sometimes, he held some of the enemies at bay, proving to them and himself that he wasn’t simply a lost spirit, even if he knew better now. He could have done most of those lairs himself, there in tier nine, but they made it faster. Together.
“You are tier ten as a maximum, but you’ve crammed an entire team’s worth of skills and levels. You can skip entirely tier eleven and twelve with your Potentials. Maybe most of tier thirteen. That’s good since you are entering the death zone,” Sarkar said as he commented on that.
“If I had died during Profession Adjustment… then what?”
“There would be no trace of you remaining. No one would have ever known you had existed. Once your hut was smoothed out by the Labyrinth, the only hint that someone had once been around would be your Recall Stone placed at the Gate rather than the Plaza.”
He’d been warned, but the description did not make justice to the zone, as he crossed the last Gate and saw three facets of ground above him, and the sun so close.
“Welcome to Panomekon,” Sarkar said, echoed by all three others.
“Welcome to Panomekon, Maphikeleli,” Lehri said. “Welcome to the house of the High Lords.”
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5 New Dawn
Maphikeleli watched as the weird little man brought out a large book.
“This is a copy of your seminary’s records from Earth-801.”
“The seminary the priest was bringing us to?”
“Yes. I’ve sent for information on your original place, but I have better contacts on Gamma. That Earth-801 Divergence opened in 1879, nearly a decade after yours. So the seminary journal only reflects the True History in-between.”
He slowly opened the book and noticed a signet inserted.
“I looked it up,” the librarian merely said.
He turned to the page, and saw his old name, along with some others he’d almost forgotten. And he froze.
“We… died?”
“Typhus spread around the seminary area, and into it. It still happened often at the time in True History. All four of you Zulu seminarians caught it and died, just two months after being admitted to the college.”
Maphikeleli read slowly the commentaries.
“So. It is ‘sad’ that such ‘promising youths’ were sent to the Lord ‘so early’,” he read in an emotionless voice.
“You have been spared that fate, though,” the librarian offered.
“What about my… true world? Did any of the others make it?”
“Every Divergence is true. But, if you want to, you can go there and check for yourself. The Library will provide a path list from the alpha trunk. Of course, by now it will be nearly 1990 in the calendar year there, and it does not resemble much of what you once knew. They are all dead of old age anyway.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Earth-393 is listed as having opened twelve decades ago in Alpha. That’s… how long you spent in the Labyrinth solo. Until Sarkar’s team found your hut.”
Maphikeleli stayed silent for a while, contemplating his next question.
“Is Zululand around?”
The man sighed, which prompted an interrogative look from the Zulu.
“Probably not, even with a Divergence. The Europeans were aggressive all over the world during the last centuries of True History. And without the help of a Great Gate, your contemporaries’ fate would pretty much be the same. Or maybe even worse.”
“No Zulu Professionals, then?”
“All known Gates that opened in Africa were among the great kingdoms of the center and north of the Continent, never south. And usually in the middle Divergence period. Oh, there are probably some. Recruited by the Boers or the English and admitted to the Labyrinth back in Europe. Not much, but some. But you, you are unique.”
“How so?”
“I doubt that, in all of True History, there was ever another Zulu in position to witness a Great Gate opening and the Divergence happening.”
The librarian made a little respectful bow.
“There are many of my kingdom from all ages around, but in all of the possible sheaves, you might be the only Zulu High Lord of the entire Labyrinth.”
The Zulu contemplated the idea. And the librarian gasped as the Gauge Enemy descriptor shifted. He knew that kind of thing happened for some cultures, even if he never had seen it.
“Maphikeleli was a man from Earth. Maphikeleli was the man in the Labyrinth. Here, I am all that is Zulu… I am High Lord Mhambi Meshindi.”