> ♪“Go climb up the bag, but be sure your grip is fast— For if you make a slip, boy, it might be your last! So check your harness, test your line, be sure the rigging’s sound— Remember it’s a long, a long, a long way to the ground!”♪ —The Airshipman’s Last Shanty
LONG DROP CITY
Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.03
“Mister Bellarn!” Jerl threw his arms wide and swaggered down the gangplank as if greeting an old and dear friend. “Or can I call you Arth?”
“I...forgive me Captain,” Bellarn stammered, completely off-balance as Jerl took his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “H-have, uh, have we met before?”
“In a manner of speaking. Now, Arth, that document there looks important. Let me guess: Impound notice?”
“Ah... well, uh. Yes. How did you—?”
“I thought so! I asked myself, you see, 'Jerl' I asked 'What possible reason could there be for an important man like Arthir Bellarn and his good chums to meet us on the dock?' and then the answer hit me! I daresay the delay in our landing was the time it took to send a fast rider up to Ajhazra for the Sharif’s seal, yes?”
“How could you poss—?”
Jerl grinned into Bellarn’s bewildered face. “And I imagine the release fee has been set at the maximum and constitutes a formality in our case? No problem, I understand entirely and will comply lawfully with the notice. We have no contraband to hide, Arth.”
“Would you kindly stop calling me-”
“Of course as a respected businessman, you’ll understand completely if I retain my own lawyer to ensure there’s no foul play, hmm? No planting of contraband that wasn’t there before, no attempt to frame us for a crime we didn’t commit?”
“I would never—!”
“Oh, please forgive me Arth, I didn’t mean to imply that you personally would be involved in such base chicanery, I would never insult an esteemed figure such as yourself! It’s just that, let’s be honest between two men of business, hey? This sort of thing really is highly irregular, but that’s neither here nor there! You’ll play your part, I’ll play mine, and we’ll all be friends when it shakes out in the end I’m sure! Here!” Jerl pressed a ten-silver banking note into Bellarn’s palm. “That’s for your trouble, because I’m sure Mister Civorage never pays what you’re worth.” The words were flowing like a torrent now, practically battering the old man. But money…Arth Bellarn understood money.
And he definitely understood bribes.
“I…” Bellarn hesitated as though expecting to be interrupted again, then cleared his throat and regained some poise. The note vanished into his inside jacket pocket. “...Yes, captain, I believe you are entitled to refuse search of the ship absent the presence of a neutral arbiter, under…” he glanced at Sterval.
“Article two, section four, clause seven of the standard freemerchant’s port contract,” the man, whom Jerl had taken for no more than a thug, rattled off smoothly.
“Thank you, Mister Sterval.” A tight and out-of-place smile flickered across Bellarn’s lips, like a fish flitting from cover to cover, afraid of being eaten. “And may I commend you on your intimate knowledge of the contract, captain? So few have bothered to study it properly,” he added.
“Many thanks to you,” Jerl tipped his head, making a careful note of what he’d just heard. Two four seven. He’d remember that, in case he had to come back this way again… “Anyway, I won't detain you Mister Bellarn, you're a busy man! Places to talk to, people to do, I'm sure. Come on mates, shore leave!”
He strolled away down the jetty, and whispered to Amir, Sinikka and Derghan as he went. They looked just as stunned and confused as Coven and Sterval, who parted to make way for them at a gesture from Bellarn.
“Jerl, how did you—?” Amir began.
“Later.”
“That was a huge bribe you just—” Derghan tried.
“Later,” Jerl insisted, and led the way toward the Chart and Charter. “Soon, I promise. But first: Amir?”
“Right. The Rats.” Amir looked around then gave an up-nod toward what Jerl had at first assumed to be a cloth bag somebody had left tucked between two crates. The bundle unfolded skinny legs and even skinnier arms and turned out to be a filthy, emaciated child of indeterminate gender, who stuck out their palm expectantly. Amir handed over two steel, whispered the message, and the urchin vanished through a gap that Jerl hadn’t even noticed.
“Are they always around like that?” Jerl asked aloud.
“What, you don’t know?” Amir retorted. “And here I thought you’d suddenly become omniscient.”
If you only knew, Jerl thought. Aloud, he chuckled. “Come on. We have an appointment with a mysterious note…”
He led the way, whistling a jaunty tune while the others fell in behind him exchanging long-suffering looks. He’d been right: this time wasn’t just different…
It was turning out to be fun.
----------------------------------------
Half an hour later, he was starting to feel bored, though. Last time, they’d had the impound notice to puzzle over and discuss. Without it, all they had was sitting and waiting, and even Jerl’s patience was beginning to wear thin.
Amir had settled into a quiet waiting game: he’d taken the seat next to the fire and was idly waving his long, manicured fingers back and forth through the flames, harmlessly channeling the heat into charging the magestone in his other hand. Like most mages, he was in the habit of keeping interesting and unusual stones rather than any old plain river pebble, and this one was a colorful chunk of bornite he’d claimed out of the Queen’s hold.
Sin was lounging upside-down in her chair with her beaded dreadlocks dangling to brush the floor, and was drumming her palms idly on her midriff. She was probably missing her guitar, Jerl guessed. He really should have reminded her to bring it: he’d last heard her play nearly a week ago, by his personal reckoning, and it would have been a pleasant way to wait. With so many lifetimes to draw on, she was quite a talented musician.
Derghan, of course, was the least patient. He’d nursed two ales, and was now nursing a third, and kept looking up and around as though trying to guess what Jerl could possibly be waiting for.
He wouldn’t have to wait long, now. Jerl had just seen an anticipated exchange of coin and paper happening over by the bar.
“Here we go…” he said. All three of them perked up immediately: Derghan drained his ale, Sin twisted around to sit upright, and Amir withdrew his hand from the fire.
“....What?” Derghan asked after a second.
“Wait for it,” Jerl raised a finger.
“Oh come on, we’ve been waiting for—”
“Waaait for it....”
“Jerl—” Derghan began, then shut up as a serving girl cleared their empty drinks off the table and replaced them, despite that none of them had ordered anything. As she set a new tankard down in front of Jerl, she slipped a scrap of paper under it.
“Message from a friend, read it then burn it,” she whispered
“Thanks honey,” Jerl replied*,* and tipped her a steel coin. She smiled, then was gone in a swish of skirts.
“What was that all about?” Sinikka demanded.
Jerl twitched his finger, indicating for her to scoot aside. “Make room.”
“Wha-?”
“Now how in the fuck did you know that would happen?” A new voice asked. Sin shifted over and a man in inexpensive but well-made clothing sat down next to her, across from Jerl.
“I have my ways,” Jerl replied. “Here. I already know what it says.”
The Street Rat frowned at him, but took the note and examined it.
“...Good forgery,” he said, at last. “Bloody good. How did you know?”
Jerl swigged his beer to conceal his nerves. So far, everything was proceeding as intended. But time, he knew better than anyone, was immensely fickle. The Word had granted him perspective, insight and power, but he’d given up nearly all of it for the sake of sanity. In place of complete knowledge he’d left…breadcrumbs. Trail markers in the form of deja vu and premonition.
He knew he’d done it…but he didn’t actually remember any of them right this second. This was as far as he’d allowed himself to retain. He was going to have to feel his way blind from here on out.
Though, there was one other ace up his sleeve. If all else failed…
“It’s a long story, and you won’t believe it without further proof,” he said aloud. “Which I’ll provide, when you have time.”
“...Alright, I’ll hold you to that.” The man leaned forward to frown at him. “So why are you tellin’ us about this?”
“Consider it a favor.”
“Hrrm. Smart man, getting the Rats to owe you,” their new friend said. He stood and pocketed the letter. “You can call me Whisker. I’ll need to take care of this. But I’ll want to hear that long story, after.”
“Of course. We’ll meet you at the warehouse, shall we?”
“Right.” Whisker nodded sharply, then was gone, moving so easily through the packed pub that the people may as well not have been there.
Jerl took a satisfied swig of his ale, then turned to his friends, whose expressions of impatient confusion had only deepened.
“Right! Now that’s dealt with, here's the story. Try to keep an open mind…” he began.
----------------------------------------
“So. Any questions?” He finished.
“You threw away a Word of Creation…” Amir shook his head disbelievingly.
“She kissed me, huh?” Derghan mused, then smiled sheepishly when Sin gave him a decidedly frosty look.
“Yes I did, and oh yes she did.” Jerl grinned unrepentantly when Sin turned her irritation toward him in turn. “What? You were dying. It was a beautiful farewell, really.”
She paused, then blinked and all the frost drained out of her attitude. “That’s why you were so glad to see us,” she realized. “You saw us all die.”
“Mm.” Jerl drank again. “It’s been a shit few days from my perspective…for what it’s worth, you died well. Damn heroically, all of you. And the lads, too.”
For a second, there was silence around the table. Amir in particular looked quite disturbed.
Derghan broke the silence. “Crownshit, that's about the strangest story I ever heard,” he grunted. “But I believe you. Pretty sure I never told you about me bein’ the Vargur chief.”
Sin nodded. “And I’m quite sure I’ve never told any of you about chal-an-chal,” she agreed. “True or not it’s still bloody' strange, nay?”
“What about you Amir?”
Amir nodded, his brow furrowed. “Impossible though it all sounds, I knew it was true the moment you mentioned Sevjin. But why come back here?”
“Hmm?” Jerl raised his eyebrows at him as he swigged his ale again.
“You could have gone back to Sky's Edge, steered Gebby away from buying the box, and we would have had our lives in peace and freedom,” Amir elaborated. “Why come back here, back in harm's way?”
“Because we wouldn’t have had our lives in peace and freedom. Because of Civorage. He needs putting a stop to.”
Sinikka tilted her head at him. “You've never been one for heroics before.”
“It's not heroics. It’s…I saw everything, Sin. All the possible futures I could have a hand in making. If I'd done what Amir suggested and steered us away from ever having the box in the first place, then five years from now the Worlds would be…fuck. They’d be a nightmare.”
He looked down into his drink. “If I'd done that, then tomorrow morning the box would have been delivered into Civorage's hand. Then two days from now, he'd open it. From that point on, he'd be unstoppable, able to speak himself backwards in time at a whim and choose which futures come to pass. The only futures where he doesn't claim every soul in the worlds as his slaves, including us, are those in which he never, ever gets his hands on the Word of Time. Never even has the faintest chance to. The ones which begin at the moment I threw the fuckin’ thing overboard.”
He looked at their sober expressions, knowing his own was even grimmer. “I know who sold Gebby the box, you see. It was Lady Haust herself. The Crowns saw how it all would turn out. Talvi came to meet me at the rift because she knew I'd be there. Haust sold the box to Gebby because the Crowns know the only good outcome started with that moment. Eärrach planted that boar pit in the Cronewood. I saw him do it.”
“And Old Man Summer?” asked Derghan.
“I…don’t remember.”
“You don’t?”
“I chose to forget a lot, it was the only way to stay sane. I didn’t even keep a fraction of the word’s powers.”
“But you did keep some,” Amir said.
“I kept enough. But a word of warning,” He leaned forward over the table, and they did the same, listening intently. “There are no guarantees here. All I’ve done is left…markers, for myself. Memories and flashes of a future where we're all alive, rich and happy. That’s what I’m aiming for, but don’t get it in your heads that you're invincible. All I’ve done is glimpse the future, from a distance: it’s still up to you to make your happy endings happen.”
“So, you're not all-powerful, then?” Derghan tutted when Jerl shook his head. “Pity. Woulda been nice to have an omnipotent being in my corner.”
“I’d much rather just be me, thanks Derg,” Jerl replied.
“Can’t argue with that, nay?” Sin agreed.
“Guess not.”
Jerl chuckled, then glanced up at the clock behind the bar and stood. “We should get topside. We’re expected.”
“I’d better not get shot this time,” Sin said, rising with him.
Jerl chuckled, drained the last of his ale, and beckoned for them all to follow him.
“Trust me,” he said. “This time, things are different.”
----------------------------------------
INTERLUDE: AULDENHEIGH
Capitol of the Garanhir Baronies, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Eärrach 09.05.15.06.01
Speaker Benet Orwin greeted his congregation as they entered, blessing each one with a warm smile and a handshake, making them feel welcome. Every passing week brought more new people in to hear the Truth.
Things were humble, still. Small circle meetings in the borrowed parlors of sympathetic nobles and merchants. But Orwin had been granted a glimpse of the Seer’s grand vision, and it was blinding. There would be grand architecture, built to draw the eye upwards. Soaring music, bolstered by booming acoustics. There would be colorful light. He’d seen it all, and felt the beauty of it break something inside him…
Even if, right now, it was a little…hazy.
Being away from the Seer had that effect on him. Things were so much clearer when he was in the Seer of the One’s presence. When he could look in Nils Civorage’s blue eyes and see the purpose burning there.
No matter. Sermons allowed him to taste that clarity again. And there was nothing quite like the warmth he felt as the circle took their seats and looked up to him, waiting for him to speak.
“My friends,” he smiled and spread his hands wide. “It’s so good to see you again. And so good to see new faces, also. It’s such a great privilege to be part of this growing community, and to feel the power of Oneness connecting us.”
He’d worked hard with the Seer to get his voice right. His natural voice was used to booming command across the deck of an airship, and that had left him with some gravel and spit in it. It was the gruff voice of a man who’d lived through much, and come away wiser. With a little work and coaching from the Seer, he’d softened some of that gravel and authority, and instead achieved a more fatherly tone.
“Today, I wanted to share a thought about purpose, and the future,” he said, and smiled at the way the returning kindred relaxed, their expressions softened and their eyes brightened. The newcomers blinked, caught off guard by his gentle tone.
Exerting some of the Blessing completed the effect. After Beacon Mine, when the Seer had revealed the Truth to Orwin and his fellow speakers, He had granted them a fragment of his own miracle powers. With the Blessing, Orwin’s voice could fascinate, compel and convince in ways that mere words alone could not. He could bring newcomers into the circle so easily, and further inspire the returning members.
All he had to do was focus, and let it flow.
“Each of us has a gift, something special we can contribute to our community. Now, you may sit there and not be able to think what yours is, but I can assure you, you have it. Some, like our generous host—” he made eye contact with Lord Gelthaber, who was seated anonymously toward the back of the room, and acknowledged him without drawing attention “—have been blessed with the wealth to support our growing circle.”
He turned his attention toward Lily Morander, a young widow who he knew to be struggling on an absolutely threadbare budget. “Those of you without such obvious means instead know how to mend clothes and make tight provisions go far.” He saw her nod thoughtfully, and turned his gaze outwards to the others. “Some of you have a talent for healing magic, or the gift of kind words and love, or poetry and music. Some of you may not yet know what your gift is. The important point is, you have one, whether you know it or not. Each of you…has a purpose.”
He rested the tips of his fingers lightly on the table in front of him and leaned forward. “Each of us has the power to give aid. We all know, life is not easy. We all face loss, and strife, and adversity. But we here know, we don’t have to face them alone. We can turn to our left and our right, to the others of our circle, and say: ‘You do not have to face the world alone: together there is nothing we cannot do.’ Let us meditate now, with those words as our mantra…”
This was the key to it all, of course. Foster loyalty, togetherness. Oneness, indeed. Unite them against the world. The shared mantra was one approach, and in time there would be music too.
And of course, there was the Blessing. He could almost reach out and weave these minds together like branches in a wreath. He could feel them, feel the walls between person and person fall away under the eroding pressure of the mantra, and the power of the Blessing.
At first the newcomers were discordant, rasping, clumsy. They had never done this before and didn’t know how to let go. They kept their walls up and dammed the flow, for a time. But Orwin knew how to cajole with words and charm, not only use the Blessing. A few words of encouragement, sitting with them, smiling, a disarming joke…and soon, the circle was unbroken. For a time, they were…
One.
But the Seer’s choice of a ring to represent their great effort was very deliberate. A ring had an empty center, a place untouched and unseen even when surrounded. And that was the speaker’s role. He got to see, and…adjust, where necessary. Remove the discordant elements.
One element in particular was very discordant, tonight. A suspicious newcomer, here to gather information rather than participate. Orwin gave her his special attention, made sure she was especially welcomed her into the fold until the discord faded and she too was lost in the Oneness.
Good.
The circle could be briefly united, here in this moment. But to remain united they needed more: they needed a shared cause. They needed to feel like it was them against something else.
They needed an enemy.
Which was why, as he allowed the wreath to detangle and the circle to become individuals again, as he smiled at their happy tears and amazed expressions, as he joked and sympathized with them as they came down from the high place they’d lifted each other to, he prepared his next words with care.
“Unfortunately…not everyone sees the good we’re trying to do. There are many who like our world in its current fractured state, who profit from division and isolation and loneliness. And let’s not forget, it was the Crowns themselves who made the worlds this way, when they could have chosen otherwise. No, my friends, the entrenched powers will not welcome us, or our message. They’ll paint us as ungrateful, or irritating, or irrational. Irrational! For embracing love and unity!”
He shook his head, projecting avuncular sorrow rather than anger. “It’s why I’m so pleased to see our numbers grow with every gathering of the circle, and see our new friends here today. I’m sure you’ve heard the slander, but you showed an open mind and came here anyway, to see for yourselves. I can’t thank you enough for that, or praise you enough.”
He stood in the middle of the circle and smiled at all of them. “Adversity is no easy thing to face. But if we support and uplift one another in our journey, we can overcome anything. Let us hold fast to each other and our faith, knowing we are all part of something greater than ourselves. And let us never forget that the One love and grace is always with us, to guide us and to shelter us through fear and darkness.”
Fervent nods and clasped hands signaled his success.
“We are blessed with purpose. Don’t discount that, brothers and sisters. Don’t discount what a miracle it is, in these broken worlds where so many, like the earthmotes they live upon, just drift and never really connect or know what they are for. We here are so very fortunate. Let us share that fortune. Until all are One.”
The group, even the newcomers, echoed that parting phrase: “Until all are One.” And thus, the service ended.
There was much conversation afterwards, people milling around, hugging, smiling, welcoming the newcomers who in turn were giving their stunned, delighted opinion on what they’d just experienced. Orwin didn’t keep himself apart for that at all. It was important to the creed and truth that a speaker not be aloof from his circle. But, all good things had to end in time, and the demands of life beckoned. By ones and twos, the circle bade their farewells until next time, and departed.
Orwin was the last to leave. He shook Lord Gelthaber’s hand, thanked him again for his hospitality, and struck out for his comfortable residence in the adjoining Ruckhaven district, paid for by the Seer’s generosity.
Auldenheigh was both a joy and a challenge. The city was ancient, founded by the elves thousands of years ago at the height of their empire. They’d known it as Vathelan, “The City of the Arts,” and though not a trace of the ancient elvish architecture remained, it still lived up to that name. Auldenheigh was home to millions, and capitol of the largest single civilization anywhere in the worlds. Here was where the message of Oneness needed to take root more than anywhere else. If they could succeed here—and they would—then the message would spread to all the worlds.
Orwin was therefore burdened and blessed with a great responsibility, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying the city. Having grown up in airship port towns on the edge, which were universally crowded, noisy and noisome, he’d come to Auldenheigh expecting more of the same. Instead, he’d found a grand old place with wide, well-lit boulevards lined by trees, and clean streets with covered sewers.
He paused to heed a town cryer: “Hear ye! Attention all! Eclipse will fall tonight at half past the eighteenth hour, to last for twenty-nine hours! Charge your lanterns well and shelter at home! Do not emerge until you hear the bells sound the all clear!”
There was something Orwin and the Circle could do, he realized. Once they had a place of their own, they could take in the homeless and the desperate, who might not have a safe shelter for eclipse. Auldenheigh provided light shelters, but the Church of the One could do more. Should do more.
He made a note to forward that thought to the Seer, and continued on his way. He needed to recharge his own lantern stones and get some food in before the eclipse came.
There was much to do.
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> “Don't pick a fight with a Rat. He’s never more than twenty feet from his friends.” —overheard outside the Lanyard Inn, Overhang
LONG DROP CITY
Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.03
“There you are.”
Jerl blinked, having very nearly jumped out of his hide. He could have sworn he’d glanced right at the doorway where the young man who addressed them was standing and seen nothing. But…there he was. Slight and waifish, but undeniably solid.
“Uh…yeah. Here we are,” he agreed, covering for a sudden and unwelcome feeling of being off-balance again. He was getting a powerful sense of deja vu, which only intensified as the Rat scoffed slightly and stepped into the light. He’d seen that face, somewhere…
“Well I don’t know where you got your information,” the Rat said, “but you shot true alright.”
“You got ‘em?”
“Sure did. And they’re an interesting bunch. Three of ‘em are genuine Street Rats, men I would have called solid up until half an hour ago.” A sharp scowl soured the young man’s features, briefly. “But the other two…”
He gestured toward the warehouse. “Come and wag tongues, eh? Name’s Mouse, by the way.”
“Jerl.”
“Pleasure, I guess.” Mouse stepped aside. “After you.”
The warehouse was much as Jerl remembered it. A sloppy lighting job that left deep and dangerous shadows in every corner, perfect cover for unseen riflemen. Though the riflemen in question were now kneeling in a row with their hands tied behind their backs and their heads bowed, their expressions hollow. The man with the salt-and-pepper beard whom Sin had slain last time was sitting with a more stoic expression, and the sun elf was nowhere to be seen. Whisker was rifling through the bearded man’s bag, and gave Jerl and his friends an up-nod as they entered.
“Got four of them,” he said. “The elf jumped down the shaft. There’ll be a heck of a mess to clean up down there.”
“Won’t the Outer Worlds guards come looking?” Derghan asked.
“Already taken care of. Anyway. You got anything to ask of these shitpiles?” Whisker asked. “Make it quick, they’ve a date with the edge.”
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“Well, that depends on whether it’s their fault or not,” Jerl said, and gestured to Amir, who gave him a confused frown then stepped forward to inspect the captives.
Mouse was leaning against the doorframe. “...Explain.”
“A hunch. Amir?”
Amir smoothed his jubba under his knees as he knelt, then took a magestone from the pouch on his left hip, and extended his palm toward the first of the kneeling men. A faint shimmer in the air surrounded his fingertips, and after a moment he frowned and tilted his head, then slowly went wide-eyed. “Lihyat al-Sayf—!”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, friend,” Whisker said.
“There’s a…a lingering magic about them. An enchantment.” Amir frowned and looked deeper into his test subject’s eyes. “Very curious.”
“I didn’t know people could be enchanted,” Mouse commented.
“Oh, of course we can. That’s how a healing spell works. But this is…very strange indeed. It’s like they’re, uh, linked somehow. Lashed together like Topsmen.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” the man he was studying growled. “You haven’t been part of the circle. You haven’t felt—”
Amir snapped his fingers. “That’s quite enough out of you,” he said, and suddenly the man’s mouth was moving but no sound came out. Amir looked up at Mouse and offered a cheeky smile. “See? Enchantment. But the peculiar thing about that is, the enchantment I just cast will last only so long as I maintain my concentration and a flow of energy from the magestone, and I don’t know of anyone who could keep up more than one at a time. These gentlemen appear to be permanently affected.”
He cast a look at the other two, who watched him warily, then over at salt-and-pepper-beard, whose expression was impassive. “It’s remarkable, truly remarkable.”
“What does it do, though?” Whisker Rat asked.
“I don’t know exactly. Enchantment of the mind is not a field I know much about,” Amir said. “I daresay very few do. Navigators use telepathic sending spells to communicate over great distances, but what’s been done to these gentlemen is…unknown to me.”
“Describe it.”
“Tricky.” Amir stood and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “As I said, it’s like they’re linked somehow. In their minds. There’s a thread of magic flowing through all these men, flowing in both directions, tethering them to each other and to others elsewhere, too. But…I doubt a layperson will appreciate just how incredible a feat of magic this It’s…entirely unlike anything I’ve encountered before. Stronger. Cleaner. More tightly woven than any enchantment I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s the work of a Word of Creation,” Jerl said, softly. When Whisker looked up at him with a darkly furrowed brow, he elaborate. “Ten years ago, when Nils Civorage took his expedition down to Beacon Mine and came back as the wealthiest man in all the worlds, he unearthed something the Crowns hid away when they made the worlds. The Words of Creation are real, and Civorage has spoken one of them: Mind.”
“How did you know—?” the seated man with the graying beard began, then clammed up. Whisker turned and stared at him for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he glanced up at Mouse, who shrugged, Amir, who made a thoughtful tilt of his head, and finally back to Jerl.
“Let’s suppose I believe that,” he said, carefully. “Are you saying these men aren’t in control of their own actions?”
“We’ve reached the limits of what I know,” Jerl confessed. “I’m still learning as I go. But…Amir?”
The navigator pursed his lips thoughtful as considered their prisoners, then nodded slowly. “This is mind magic, I can say that much for certain. I’ve never heard of a wizard who could dominate the will of another and compel him to act, but…who knows what a Word of Creation could achieve?”
“At the very least, they’re being influenced by an outside force, nay?” Sin observed.
“Absolutely.”
Jerl watched Whisker make a thoughtful chewing motion as he considered the prisoners again, and realized he wanted an excuse. The three riflemen were fellow Rats, presumably friends of his. He didn’t want to throw them from the edge any more than Jerl would have wanted to shove Marren overboard.
Mouse broke the silence. “Can it be undone?”
All eyes turned to Amir again, who froze. “I….have no idea. But if it is the work of a Word, it’s probably beyond my skill…or at least, beyond my skill to do safely…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t like to try. For all I know I could end up getting my own mind caught up in this weave that links them, or the shock of severing it might do terrible things to them.”
“Question.” Derghan raised his hand. “Mad thought, right? But you mentioned telepathy before. How do we know they’re not passin’ every word we’re sayin’ on to Civorage right now?”
The room fell silent. Jerl looked down at gray-beard, who was still silently watching the conversation with alert, watchful eyes.
“...Shit.” Whisker spat on the floor then gestured to Mouse. “Okay. Stay of execution. But lock ‘em somewhere quiet until we can figure out what to do. Nobody knows where they are until we know they’re not in this link, circle, weave thing too. And find out who this bastard is.” He kicked the sole of gray-beard’s boot. “Captain, let’s talk somewhere else.”
Mouse gave a sharp nod, and stood aside for them to leave. Jerl cast a last backward glance at gray-beard, then followed Whisker out into the street.
As it turned out, keeping up with him was easier said than done. The topside district’s population came out of their houses to conduct business in the cool immediately after darkfall, so the streets were crowded, yet Whisker flowed easily against the human tide, weaving effortlessly left and right to make progress while Jerl had to push and excuse-me for every step.
Fortunately, Whisker didn’t go far. A few buildings down the street he cut sideways between two houses, led them down a back alley and knocked on a door. Jerl noticed a hint of movement at a narrow window, then there was the sound of a sturdy deadbolt being pulled back, and the door opened. A woman with a tired, weatherbeaten face under her hijab beckoned them inside. Whisker spoke to her a few seconds in Alakbirian, then gestured to Amir.
“Could you…check her?” he asked. “For this link, I mean.”
“Of course.” Amir didn’t even bother with a magestone, this time: he waved his hand vaguely in the woman’s direction, watched her intently a moment, then nodded to Whisker. “Nothing.”
“Thank you. Come on.”
The woman led them down some steps into a dry cellar, retrieved a pry bar from the top of a cupboard, and used it to lever up a flagstone. Underneath was a ladder.
“So the warrens are real after all…” Jerl commented.
“Don’t get too excited,” Whisker warned, and slid down the ladder with a squeal of skin on steel. “It’s just a drain. But it’s private.”
Sure enough, the ladder bottomed out in a low-ceilinged drain that still smelled of damp though the walls and floor were bone dry. Alakbir was an infamously dry earthmote, but when it did rain, the weather had a bad habit of sticking around for days and dumping a lake’s worth of water all at once. Long Drop’s drainage system was a life-saving necessity, designed to make sure the people living in Topside weren’t swept away and those living in Underside and Caverntown didn’t drown. Not a safe place to be if the rain came, therefore…
But right now it was just empty, unused space occupied only by the rats and, presumably, the Rats. Whisker grunted, fished some chewing tobacco from a tin in his pocket, offered it around, shrugged when it was refused, and gestured for them to walk with him.
“I now have a serious fuckin’ problem,” he said.
“Who can you trust?”
“Exactly. And believe you me, trust was already in short supply in my life and line of work, right? But I have to trust somebody, and right now the list starts and ends with myself and Mouse. I would like to expand that list.”
“Given that you accept us vouching for Mouse, I assume you trust us a little…” Jerl surmised, indicating the secret drain they were in.
“You’re overestimating yourself. I trust Mouse ‘cuz he’s my son. If he’d been got, the bastards would’ve got to me too, a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
“But look at this from where I’m standing. A man I’ve never met comes along and somehow knows shit that’s going to happen before it happens, then tells me that Nils Civorage has spoken a Word of Creation, which up until ten minutes ago were just a bedtime story, and then a mage says that men I used to trust are actually magically linked to each other and might not be in control of their own minds and might be passing everything they hear on to somebody else.”
He paused and turned to look at Amir. “Bearing in mind, I’m no kind of a mage myself, so for all I know you’re pulling my rope. But, no offense, you four don’t exactly strike me as the biggest an’ brassiest con artists in all the worlds.”
“Welcome to what today has been like for the rest of us, nay?” Sin commented. “He only started knowing all this shit a couple hours ago. And I would have sworn up and down the Words were a human myth.”
“You sure he’s not tryin’ one on?” Whisker asked her.
“I’ve known Jerl since he was a boy. Something big happened to him, something none of us witnessed,” Sin looked Jerl in the eye. “I believe him, completely.”
“Hmm.” Whisker considered her for a moment, then looked back to Jerl. “...So what did happen?”
Jerl sighed. He felt entirely blind now, not knowing what came next. All he could do now was trust his instincts. And right now, his instincts were telling him that Whisker should know everything.
“Civorage found and spoke Mind,” he said. “I found and spoke Time.”
----------------------------------------
Whisker kept an apartment in a cistern toward the back of Caverntown, a statement that made it sound far less comfortable and impressive than was actually the case. The cistern was vaulted, its roof held up by elegantly curved stone pillars, and some modifications had been made to ensure the clear, clean water in the middle of the space never rose above knee height.
Whisker’s furniture was all around the edges on a well-built wooden platform, and spoke of a man rich in both coin and frugality: it was all sturdy, expensive and high-quality, but unostentatious. Furniture to hand down the family line. Rugs and tapestries muffled what would otherwise have been an echoing space, dividers broke it up into neat “rooms” and mirrors and magestones filled it with light.
Honestly, it was one of the nicest homes Jerl had ever set foot in. Whisker obviously valued books, as about half the furniture in the place was bookshelves, and rather than smelling damp, the air had the pleasant aroma of incense, dried herbs and coffee.
The coffee in question was brewed in hot sand over a large, circular hearth toward the back of the apartment, where they sat on cushions while Jerl told his story again. Whisker was from the Garanese province of Frudlend, to judge by his accent, dress, choice of decor and manner of speech, but apparently when it came to food and drink he’d embraced the Alakbiri lifestyle.
He listened sombrely, watching Amir, Sin and Derghan as Jerl recounted their deaths again, and scowling in deep thought as he listened to the accounts of the Cronewood ritual, and the battle of the Thundering Hall.
For Jerl…the words came, but he felt afloat above them, like his mouth was doing the talking without his mind. He was beginning to feel quite numb, really. And tired, too.
In the end, Whisker asked no questions. He simply scratched at his jaw, pointed the four toward a divided-off area in the corner where he kept guest beds, invited them to have the run of the place but asked them not to leave yet, then vanished citing some business he needed to take care of.
It was getting quite late. Sin turned in early, as did Amir. Jerl had drunk too much coffee to even try, yet, so despite his fatigue and absent anything better to do, he went to peruse Whisker’s library.
Derghan joined him. It was quite a collection of lore, actually. Jerl wondered how many Whisker had actually read. Somehow, he guessed Whisker was the sort of intense person who might just have read them all.
Derghan, on the other hand, wasn’t really one for books. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he broached the question which had obviously been his reason for staying close.
“...Are you alright?”
Jerl paused. “Fine.”
“Really.” Derghan sniffed skeptically and sat down. “You must be a tougher man than me then, ‘cuz if I just saw all my friends die then had to retell the story twice the next day, I’d be a bit of a fuckin’ mess.”
“Well, you’re alive on this time-path. That softens the blow.”
“Still bloody happened though, didn’t it? You still went through it.”
A hot and tight knot tried to form behind Jerl’s eyes and in his heart. With a deep breath and an effort of will, he dispersed it again, then turned and gave Derghan a grateful half-hug, one arm around his friend’s huge shoulders.
Derghan damn near broke his back in reply. “Yeah. Thought so,” he said.
“I am fine. I promise,” Jerl said, and let go. “But…shit. You’re right, it’s been a lot.”
“Sounds like it was alright at the end, there. With Talvi. You’ve kinda glossed over what you spoke about with her both times, but you met an actual Crown, skipper. The look on your face when you were talking about it says it musta been…”
Jerl sighed. “Yeah.”
He lost himself in memory for a few seconds, then sighed, feeling better for just thinking of his encounter with her. “It was a peaceful moment. And…profound. She’s ancient, Derghan. Even without the Word I could feel time on her, like, like…like she’d been in a fire and never got the smell out of her clothes. With the Word, I caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of how long she’s existed and…shades take me, I couldn’t stand it!”
Derghan had settled in a chair opposite him as he spoke, and shook his head with an air of mild awe. Now, as Jerl trailed off, it slowly turned into a mischievous grin. “Was she hot?”
Jerl choked back a shocked laugh. “Derg!”
“What?” Derghan grinned. “She’s legendary for her beauty! I mean, we say ‘Winter’s tits,’ right?”
“Still a bit bloody disrespectful, mate!” Jerl objected, reflecting that he was probably never going to use that particular line himself ever again.
“Sure.” Derghan’s grin was unrepentant. “But is she, though?”
Jerl couldn’t help but laugh. “In case you’re forgetting, I am the wrong man to ask.”
“Oh, bullshit, you can still judge even if it don’t get your britches twitchin’,” Derghan declared confidently.
Jerl made an affectionately insulting gesture at him in reply. They grinned at each other, then he considered the question. “For me…she was more like an aunt, you know? One you’ve never met before, but who your mother’s been writing to all your life so she knows you and loves you anyway.”
Derghan rested his jaw on the heel of his palm and frowned at him. “That’s weirdly specific.”
“It was a strong impression,” Jerl shrugged. “She said something to me, just before we parted ways: When I meet Bekhil, I’m to tell her she’s still loved no matter what. That’s the kind of impression she gives off.”
“...Who’s Bekhil?”
“No idea.”
“Huh. More mysteries, I guess.” Derghan stretched his shoulders and rolled his neck.
“Yeah. Anyway. That’s Talvi. Rather cold and distant, and of course she has to be, she’s been alive for…fuck, I can’t tell you. I don’t know the words.”
“Thousands of years, right?”
“Not even close. Millions isn’t close. Shit, billions of years may as well be a fraction of a second next to the length of time she’s existed. It’s…really fucking disturbing. I don’t know how she can tolerate being that old. And you’d think, someone who existed that long wouldn’t give a shit about tiny little eighty-odd-years-at-most humans, right?”
“I guess,” Derghan agreed.
Jerl shook her head. “Distant or not, she genuinely loves us. She gave me a kiss on the cheek when it was time to part ways, and…when I asked her about the Shades, it seemed to break her heart. I tell you, Derghan. The Crowns weren’t that important to me before, but now I’ve met Talvi…I dunno.”
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start worshippin’ ‘em?”
“No. Not worship. But I think I’m gonna stop taking them for granted. They deserve to be loved too, I think. At least, Talvi does.”
“You think we’ll meet the others?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. This thing with me and the Word, it’s their plan. Or…sort of.”
Derghan went digging in the pocket where he usually kept some jerky. “What’d’you mean ‘sort of?’”
“Well, that’s the bit I’m…not so fine about,” Jerl confessed. “See it’s not so much that the Crowns have a plan, it’s that they…Talvi said they used the word to look through time and find the best set of futures and it turns out…I’m it. According to her, all the best futures start with me speaking Time, stepping back to this morning, and throwing the word overboard.”
Derghan opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated as the fullness of that idea started to percolate. He shut his mouth again. Frowned. Rubbed the back of his head and popped some jerky in his mouth to chew thoughtfully.
“...Huh,” he said, eventually.
“Yeah.”
“And Talvi told you that?”
“Yup.”
“...Fuck of a thing to lay on a man, isn’t it?”
“Mhm.” Jerl lifted his eyebrows fervently and nodded. “Part of me hopes she was lying. The bigger part hopes it’s just, y’know. Coincidence. I don’t like the idea I’m better than anyone else in the worlds. I’d rather believe it’s just, y’know, I happened to be the one guy who’d be in the right place at the right time.”
“Oh, I can definitely promise you’re not better than everyone else,” Derghan flashed a grin.
“Heh! Thank you.”
“You’re not bad, though. One bit of your story I didn’t doubt for a second was the idea that me, Sin, Amir and all the lads would’a followed you all the way.”
“You’re merchants, though, not soldiers. The lads in particular are just signed up for a year, and then it’s, do they renew with me, do they jump ship for a captain who’s giving them a better offer, do they take a guild contract…?” Jerl shook his head and shrugged. “And y’know, I’m grateful to have you as a friend, and Amir. But neither of you signed up for taking on something like this.”
Derghan shrugged. “‘A Stórsteinner without a clan is a corpse looking for his grave.’”
“Huh?”
“They used to say that back where I’m from. When I signed on with you I thought maybe it’d be a couple of years then I’d find a nice lass in a port town somewhere, use my savings to settle down, build a future of some kind. Then…” he glanced toward the sleeping area, where Sin was sprawled gracelessly on her back and snoring softly. A fond smile crept up one side of his face, tinged with melancholy. “Then I guess I gave up on that idea. But everyone needs a future, Jerl.”
“So this is yours?”
Derghan nodded, evenly. “‘Wise men lay down wine they will never drink,’” he said.
“Oh, you’re full of quotes tonight.” Jerl shook his head, amused. “But…so long as you’re in this thing willingly.”
“Jerl, if I’m ever not, you’ll hear it from me direct. Fair?”
“More than.” Jerl stood and stretched until his spine crunched. “We should sleep.”
Derghan shook his head. “Think I’ll stay up a bit. I like Whisker already, get a nice impression off the guy. But let’s not forget what he is, aye? Rather keep my eyes open for now.”
“Suit yourself,” Jerl agreed. “I’m not worried.”
“Oh, I see. Seen the future, have you?”
“Not exactly. G’night, Derg.”
“Night.”
Jerl patted him on the shoulder, and retired to a bed that was a fair bit wider and softer than the one he slept in aboard the Queen. For a man who literally lived in a sewer, Whisker had it good.
And Mouse, too, if he was Whisker’s son. You had to squint hard to see the resemblance: Whisker was square-jawed, brick-built and hirsute, whereas Mouse was…not. In any regard. So much so that if it wasn’t for them both having the same blue eyes and unruly blond hair, Jerl would have wondered if it was an adoptive relationship, rather than blood.
Maybe it was. But that was none of his business, he supposed. He settled his head back, closed his eyes, and didn’t even need to try and sleep: it took him readily.
If only his dreams weren’t so restless…
----------------------------------------
INTERLUDE: AULDENHEIGH
Capitol of the Garanhir Baronies, Enerlend, Garanhir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Eärrach 09.05.15.06.02
“Shaken, you say?”
“Badly. She seemed to find the experience…persuasive.”
Ellaenie, duchess of Enerlend, scowled thoughtfully and looked out the window to think. Not that there was much point, it being an eclipse day. All she could see was the reflection of the very study she sat in, and beyond it the city lights as Auldenheigh sat out another long day of waiting for the shades to go away.
No doubt there’d be a report the day after tomorrow of how many had been taken. There were always one or two. Drunks and junkies mostly, too far gone to remember to light their lantern stones when they went to bed, sometimes a Sayfi who’d never learned proper light discipline.
Or, in one notable case two years previously, murder by deliberate negligence on the part of a servant, which had left Ellaenie an orphan and a duchess before her time. Fifteen had been far too young an age to take on the responsibility, but, well…here she was. Hopefully she was doing well.
Not everyone stayed indoors on eclipse days, though. As a duchess, she had spies and they seemed to treat eclipse as no worse than a light rain. Which was why her spymaster, Lord Gilber Drevin, was sitting on the couch opposite her, to deliver a briefing that Ellaenie hadn’t expected to receive until tomorrow.
“Miribel is one of your best, isn’t she?”
Drevin, tilted his head awkwardly and sipped his tea. “At this point, I think it may be that she was one of my best. She’s very changed, your grace. It’s subtle, but it makes the hair stand up on my neck. I don’t trust her any longer.”
Ellaenie nodded, grimly. She’d relied on Drevin’s instincts from the very first day, used them to bring her parents’ killer to justice. If he said Miribel was no longer reliable, then she wasn’t. But that in itself was deeply concerning.
“She only attended one circle meeting.”
“Indeed. But the experience she describes in her report is…” Drevin paused, and cleared his throat. “Despite her best efforts to use professional language, it’s clear she thought it was wonderful. Transformative, even. I think she’s been converted.”
“That quickly? That easily?”
“Read between the lines, your grace. Miribel is—was—one of my prodigies. She’s a knack for spy work, and would have been deep in my confidence and yours in the fullness of time. She’s not prone to flights of fancy, oh no. She’s a methodical, thorough, critical thinker.”
Ellaenie considered what that meant. “...Yet there’s no mention of any medicament use.”
“No, your grace. No seer’s mushroom, no vision sage, no song cactus, nothing. Nothing ingested or inhaled at all. It was an entirely sober occasion, and yet, Miribel’s report suggests she entered quite a profound trance.”
Ellaenie considered that. Her magical education had stalled somewhat these last couple of years, but she’d still studied the art quite a bit. “Magical influence, perhaps? Some kind of hypnosis or mesmerism?”
“That was my concern. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a letter to an old friend, over in Crae Vhannog. Somebody I know hasn’t been anywhere near these Oneists or their preaching, yet.”
“A fresh set of eyes,” Ellaenie nodded her understanding.
“More importantly, a mage of considerable learning and knowledge.”
“A Navigator?”
“Oh, no. No, staunchly independent…”
“I see,” Ellaenie smiled as a picture formed in her mind. “You mean they don’t tolerate the strictures of an organization for long.”
Drevin’s only reply was a tiny sideways tilt of the head and an equally microscopic twitch of one eyebrow. “If I may ask, your grace…?”
Ellaenie made a small gesture, inviting him to continue.
“Up until today, we have had no reason to believe these ‘Oneists’ were anything more than just a new faith. Rather a disrespectful one toward the Crowns, perhaps, but that is hardly a crime. As your spymaster it is of course my duty to be fully apprised of the goings-on in the city and Enerlend, but may I ask why you are so interested in them?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Ellaenie confessed. “I simply had the most profound sense of dread from the instant I first heard of them. I can’t explain it, but it was like an eclipse bell rang in my head. It was quite unnerving, really.”
Drevin made a small “hmm” noise, and finished his tea. “With your permission then, your grace, I will increase our surveillance. But I would prefer not to send any more of our people to the circle meetings, at least until my friend arrives.”
“As you see fit, Lord Drevin.” Ellaenie rose to her feet, and he followed her. “Thank you. Please, do be safe. You are more than welcome to use the guest rooms here rather than risk the eclipse.”
Drevin checked his pocket watch, then nodded. “I think I shall take you up on that, your grace. No sense in risking the dark when only two hours remain.”
Ellaeni favored him with a smile, accepted his bow, and watched him from the room.
A moment of solitude was a rare luxury in a duchess’ life. And, in Ellaeni’s experience, happened most often on eclipse days, so she couldn’t even enjoy a quiet stroll around the gardens. She was feeling sun-starved now, cooped up. Brightly lit though her palace might be, it was no substitute for fresh air and daylight.
Oh well. She turned her attention to the two game boards by her study window. One held the current state of play between herself and Duke Maksivar of Betlend, and she was using the other to plan her next move, see what developments may follow. She had a nasty feeling Maks was going to win again.
A glance at the game board, a few listless exploratory developments, and she realized her heart wasn’t really in it, today. These Oneists plagued her, left a horrible feeling creeping down her spine that she simply couldn’t ignore.
Perhaps the magical angle bore further study. Perhaps…she had an entirely unduchesslike moment of girlish excitement, then laughed at herself., Of course she’d want to investigate personally!
But…Magic!
How anybody could ever find it uninteresting was a mystery to Ellaeni. She’d set aside her arcane studies these last few years: between the investigation into her parents’ murders and having to dive into her new position and learn her duties, she’d reluctantly had to give up on the idea of attending the Orrery or the Thundering Hall for study. Now a puzzle arose possibly involving magic, and perhaps the arrival of a new expert she could learn from…
She had to remind herself to stride rather than trot eagerly through the palace halls. She hadn’t visited her workshop in…in…
Too long.
It was in the right sort of place for magical studies: Up in one of the fancy turrets her great-great grandfather, Duke Gorin, had installed for his own son’s magical education. And it was exactly as she’d left it. Oh, the servants had dusted and swept and kept it in good order, so the heavy iron-bound oak door swung aside with nary a whisper thanks to fresh oil. But when she grinned and finally allowed herself to bounce over to the desk, she found the book she’d been reading—Principles of the Immaterial, vol.1—had been closed to protect the pages from damp, dust and light, but had been thoughtfully bookmarked.
She opened it, and right away remembered the exact paragraph she’d last read even as her eyes flicked to it.
When discussing infusive evocation (more generally known as “enchantment”) one of the first key difficulties the novice will encounter is the liminality dilemma. That is, the question of what exactly constitutes an “object” or “thing” to be enchanted and how does one accurately distinguish one object from another for the purposes of infusing either?
While it is straightforward to consider a magestone as a singular object, the most commonly practiced field of magic in the worlds after evocation is rejuvemancy, or “healing.” When a rejuvemancer applies magic to “heal a wound,” is it the wound that is the object of their effort, or the patient’s entire body? Can a wound indeed be accurately conceptualized as an object at all? If it can, is it meaningfully separate from the body on which it has been inflicted? What of an internal organ, which cannot be removed without grievously wounding or killing the body, but which will yet remain a heart, or liver, as the case may be, after removal?
There are four answers to these questions: the semantic, the ontological, the epistemological, and the holistic. In this chapter we shall explore these four answers below, and show why they are all of utility to the practitioner.
“Oh, Crowns. Dryer than the paper it’s printed on…” Ellaenie shook her head, closed the book again, and looked around to take in the rest of the space.
Her magestone collection filled a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves behind the desk. Raw gemstones, because of course she’d been a young noble girl obsessed with wealth and status. When she reached out and touched the geode she remembered as being her favorite, she felt the tingle of power at her fingertips: still charged.
There was the small fireplace, present equally for heating the room and providing a source of energy she could tap and store. There was the large semicircular table laden with various practice objects…and another book, Practical Spells for the Beginner.
She opened it to a random page. Considered the magical annotation within in much the same way as if she’d just sat down at the piano (another skill she’d been forced to neglect these last couple of years) and opened a tricky concerto. Familiar. Readable, even. But nevertheless daunting.
She picked one of the lighter practice weights out of its rack, set it down, held out her hand and concentrated. No need for a magestone for this…
Energy, from within. The same energy that moved her limbs and kept her heart beating could be tapped, transformed by the will, and used to do other work, create localized exemptions in the workings of reality. For instance: the sun emitted a force known as gravity, which pushed everything away from it until an earthmote got in the way. The earthmotes themselves were exempted from gravity by a complicated standing magical field, which too was powered by the sun.
The point was… (she gritted her teeth) with the right…application of energy….
The weight rattled, then shot up off the tabletop. Ellaenie squeaked and stopped concentrating, ducked as it bounced off the ceiling, then giggled nervously as it bounced and rolled across the floor. Success! Far less controlled than she’d once been able to manage, but the mere act of doing restored her memory and confidence. She knew what she’d done wrong.
She reached out with a gesture, and this time she called the weight into the palm of her hand with a beckoning gesture and the merest flick of her will. Another gesture and it wove a complex spiral around her head and arm, then back safely into the rack on the bench.
Magic.
She sobered. She wasn’t here for her own amusement. She was here because somebody out there might be practicing a dark and dangerous kind of magic, and she needed to be armed against it.
She took a deep breath, grabbed a magestone, and returned to her practice. She had a lot of catching up to do…
----------------------------------------
> "Twenty days is a cycle: Twenty cycles is a year: Twenty years is an era: Twenty eras is an age. The date format is Age.Era.Year.Cycle.Day. Twenty ages (eight thousand years) would be an epoch. Although we are now almost halfway through the second epoch, the epoch is generally omitted from the dateline for brevity. The calendar was first invented by His Perfection the ascended Huzukei Emperor, and was accurately zeroed to the Day Of Creation through cross-reference with other historical calendars, including that of the ancient Ordfey. It has now become the standard calendar of the Yunei Empire, the Navigators’ Observatory and of airshipmen, but other nations and cultures among the worlds have been slow or reluctant to adopt it. The navigator’s almanac therefore includes translation tables for regional calendars." —Navigational Fundamentals, Hua Min-Pok
LONG DROP CITY
Alakbir Earthmote, the World-Sphere of Sayf 09.06.03.06.04
Jerl woke to the sounds of conversation and snoring.
The snores were Derghan’s, for certain. Flat on his back and rumbling softly, which made Jerl wonder just how long he’d stayed up after Jerl had gone to bed.
The conversation was Sin and Amir.
“—just makes me wonder how much else about the worlds I thought I knew for certain that’s turned out to be dead wrong, nay?”
“Understandable.” By the smell of it, Amir had brewed more of the coffee. “From an academic perspective, this is beyond fascinating, you understand. Not to mention controversial.”
“Why controversial?”
“About thirty years ago, a navigator by the name of Edwin Caefeler proposed a radical theory of magic. He was…rather too zealous in its defense. Said some undiplomatic things to the faculty.”
“Crowns forget me, a mage with the social grace of a sledgehammer? Who would have thought?”
Amir laughed. “Oh, he was worse than most…he proposed that the Words are not only real, but that they are the foundation on which magic is built. Apparently he spent a long time in conversation with The Shishah, who told him all about it.”
“...He based his opinion on the words of a Herald known for treating pranks, lies and mischief as his reason to exist.” Sin’s flat tone made her thoughts quite clear..
“Now you know why his theories were so widely rejected.”
Jerl sat up and stretched pleasantly. ”But what a prank it would be if The Shishah decided to tell the truth, knowing nobody would believe him…” he pointed out, as he stood to join them. “Morning!”
“Morning.” Sin indicated the hearth, where a plate with some pastries on it was staying warm. “Delivery came by while you were asleep. They’re pretty good! And there’s a hot bath waiting through those curtains over there. Whisker knows how to treat a guest right, nay?”
“No sign of the man himself yet?”
“None.” Sin lowered her voice. “You do trust him?”
“Not entirely.” Jerl sampled one of the pastries. It tasted deliciously of cinnamon and honey. “But, our list of allies has to start with somebody.”
“And if he were to rush in here right now with, say, twenty armed men and Nils Civorage?” Amir asked.
“Then I guess I’d be back to yesterday morning and in need of a new plan.”
“And we’d be dead,” Sin pointed out.
“That bothers you?”
“It’s…important.” Sin scratched at one of her scars. “Chal-an-chal.”
“...Are you asking if what you did in the Cronewood counts as a life for a life?”
“I didn’t do anything in the Cronewood. That was…a story of me. A version of me that now isn’t going to ever exist.” She paused, then scowled. “Shit. I think I just answered my own question, nay?”
“Might be,” Jerl shrugged. “The way I see it, it’s your oath, your ideal, whatever it is. You’re the one who decides if you’re satisfied or not.”
“I suppose I’m not. And it’s not like I…you know what? Never mind.” Sin sat back and shook her head. “It’s not important.”
“What is this whole chal-an-chal thing, anyway?” Amir asked. “A life for a life? Is it service to Jerl specifically, or more general, or—?”
His questions were interrupted by the door opening. Whisker, Mouse, and three more figures Jerl didn’t recognize entered, All five looked completely dead on their feet from lack of sleep. Whisker waved his companions over toward the beds, and slumped down at the table, alongside Mouse.
“Well. I’ve just had a fucker of a night,” he reported. “Hope you slept well, ‘cuz I bloody didn’t.”
“May I ask what you were, uh—?” Jerl began. Whisker shrugged.
“Investigating,” he said. “Talking to people. Following the details. Learning new ones. I’ve found out who our friend from the warehouse is. And you’re gonna laugh when I tell you.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense…” Amir said.
“Oh, I’m going to. Gonna savor this one. So first, a question. This magic Civorage has got woven around our friends. You’re certain it can’t be broken?” He looked Amir in the eye.
Amir shook his head. “Not by me. I shouldn’t like to even try.”
“By anybody?”
“It would be incredibly dangerous, and I can’t imagine any mortal mage would be foolhardy enough to attempt it. The Crowns themselves could break it, obviously. Probably the Heralds, too. But…”
“What about if we got you the Word?” Mouse asked.
There was a moment of confused silence, broken by Amir making a small choking noise. He cleared his throat and regathered himself. “That’s…an audacious suggestion.”
“Would it work?” Mouse insisted.
“Uh. I suppose. Probably. I imagine. Yes.”
“Good.” Whisker sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. A sleepless night, bad news and some considerable amount of stress had lent a few extra years to his face, Jerl thought.
“You’re not serious, are you?” Jerl asked. “You’re talking about taking it from Civorage?”
“I don’t think you really appreciate the magnitude of the problem you just peeled open and presented to me,” Whisker replied. He yawned, shook his head, then sat up straighter. “It’s not just those boys from the warehouse. It’s half the Street Rats at this point. Every last one of our gutter-rats who’ve ever gone to a Circle meeting so they could grab a bowl from the Oneists’ soup kitchen. The big rats like us, the ones who’d already made it in this business, we’re cynical buggers. Not much inclined to go sing and chant, never empty-bellied enough to need it. But all the little guys, the starving kids who’re just starting out? We got our own mage in, somebody I trust—”
“How do you know you can trust them?” Jerl asked.
“Well that’s my fuckin’ business, ain’t it?” Whisker growled. “Anyway. Our friend did the thing your navigator here did. And…the Rats are compromised. Right down to street level. And that is not gonna fuckin’ fly, not on my watch. Because if what you said and what my friend said is right, then whatever those Rats know, the Oneists know. And secrets are our business, you understand? If we can’t keep ‘em tightly barrelled up, they spoil like clams.”
He reached over and grabbed a breakfast pastry. “An’ what that means is, you came along at the perfect moment. If this had gone on much longer, the Rats would be completely in that fuckin’ cult’s pockets, and we’d like as not have been throat-cut sometime soon. So, it’s do or die time for the Street Rats. We either do somethin’ Crowns-damned crazy to try and wriggle out of this trap, or we go limp and let it snap on us.”
“And hey, if it saves all the worlds in the process…” Mouse added, wryly.
“How philanthropic of you,” Sin snarked. “But, save the world, save yourself, nay?”
“Pretty much!”
“So you’re going to try and steal Mind from Civorage,” Jerl repeated.
Whisker nodded around a mouthful of pastry. “Yup.”
“It’ll be his most prized possession.”
“Yup.”
“And it grants him the power to dominate the will of others at a glance.”
“Apparently.”
“...You’d better have a damn good plan.”
“Yeah, well.” Whisker brushed crumbs out of his beard and sat forward. A small, pleased smile creased the corners of his eyes for the first time in their conversation. “We’re not going into this totally unprepared. We know a few things you don’t.”
“For example?” Amir asked.
“Well, like I said. The identity of our bearded friend from the warehouse. And I reckon with his help, we’ll be able to crack Civorage’s manor right open.”
“Why?” Jerl asked. “Who is he?”
Whisker’s grin got even wider, and he picked up a second pastry.
“His name,” he said, “is Jac Deragian.”