The walls had appeared tiny, the evening before, but they just. Kept. Rising. To say nothing of the tubelike towers, whose shadow they now walked beneath, bright colors now visible. There was a faint colored haze in the air, blue at the moment, which smelled like lightning. They had passed through a reddish haze earlier that had smelled like freshly overturned earth.

Thomas rubbed his nose. It wasn't broken. Hell, he hadn't even lost a hit point. It felt like maybe it should have been broken, however. He looked over at Anne and Norris, who were walking as far from him as they possibly could, given their small party. He looked back forward, at the approaching city.

He'd already apologized; once last night, still drunk on Zatirias' flask, and again this morning. Norris had told him to just give Anne time, but then, Norris had been the one to punch him, he was pretty sure, and the man seemed just as angry. He couldn't quite remember exactly what he'd said, but he did remember intending to tell her off for not caring about the people that would be left behind.

Thomas let them be. They were going to do what they could, it wasn't fair of him to blame them for what they thought other people were going to do, and he'd been a jerk – but pestering them for forgiveness would just be another way of being a selfish asshole. Zatirias and Shallor had left with James. Thomas didn't blame them, he'd have left too, in their shoes. But it left him walking in awkward company.

“Hey, this color smells like leaves!” Okay, mostly awkward company. Madelaine didn't care. Thomas sniffed carefully; it did indeed smell like dry autumn leaves. He squinted, trying to make out what color the faint mist was; a shade of yellow, maybe? The entertainment lasted seconds, in a walk that still had an hour or two.

What he had initially taken to be the sound of moving water, a distant murmuring roar, slowly grew into focus as they walked; the roar of people reflected twofold by the immense wall, larger than even the tallest hill they had passed, which rose above their heads. His brain slowly started to process the sheer volume of people coming into and leaving the city, and his eyes drifted up again, to the network of towers far overhead. What was the population of Anchor? He'd never asked. He'd never actually stopped to think about what it would mean to have a city that didn't need farmland to feed.

There were more and more other people about, now; people generally kept their distance from one another, however, markedly different from how people behaved out in the wilderness. There, company was a welcome change from the endless monotony. Here, well, you'd end up spending all your time exchanging polite pleasantries; the scattered people walking to and from the gate ahead thickened into a crowd ahead, and their relentless trek brought them into it. Their group moved closer together without a word being said. And then they were being pressed together. It felt claustrophobic, enclosed by a press of anonymous faces – it felt more like being in a dungeon than the actual dungeon he had been in felt – and his gaze lifted up again,

Some of the walkways between towers were close enough to make out the tiny dots of people swarming across them, from here. Others were still barely-visible threads of color. Amidst the tiny moving dots were clumps of shadow and other colors, which he couldn't make out. His eyes unfocused a little bit, as he tried to take in the immensity of the … city didn't describe this. It was too immense, for one, and too … personal. Another word clicked into place. This was a hive.

The gates rose around them, open wide around a black maw that rose far above their heads. They no longer had a choice in going in; the buffeting of the crowd had gradually turned into a current, pushing their group along. Darkness engulfed them, and he could not see over the people around him, and the noise multiplied tenfold. He forced himself to keep breathing. He started to look around for his group, and only then realized a small hand was clasped in his. When had Madelaine taken his hand?

They kept moving. The darkness and noise persisted. And then light, again. How thick were those walls? The noise dropped away, and the steady stream of the crowd gave way to whorls and eddies; a tug on his hand, and looked over. Arias held Madelaine's other hand, and Norris held hers, and Anne's, who was on the other end of their little strand. The noise was incredible; they could have shouted in his ear and he wasn't sure he would have heard. However, Anne was moving somewhere, and gently pulling their group along. He looked up again, the only direction that wasn't just a wall of flesh and clothing and faces and noise. The sky was gone; there was nothing but a thicket, a forest, a canopy of towers and walkways, far overhead. He wondered what Arias saw; she stood tall enough to see over the people around them. Probably just an uneven floor of people's heads.

They were near a foot of one of the towers. It was, he was surprised to see, plain gray; there were several towers nearby, all made out of what looked like relatively ordinary masonry blocks. However, as their party moved, he spotted a faint blue mist rolling off of the nearest tower. Ah.

They kept moving, and the crowds finally began thinning enough that he could see the city. Could see people, he realized, as he noticed for the first time the sheer variety of people occupying this place; all human, but a crazed patchwork of humanity. A woman with light green skin walked by wearing a nearly spherical orange … dress? A thin tall man dressed in white robes conversed with someone half his height, hidden entirely in a thick blue cloak. That … that man was naked. He blinked, looking around, realizing that nudity, while no more represented than any other fashion here, was all around him.

The street level of the towers, if he didn't look up, looked … plain. Doors. Signs, both plain and embellished, advertising goods and services. The curve of the walls was really the only thing that stood out; they weren't huge, uniformly of a diameter that Thomas guessed at maybe fifty feet. It also didn't smell … like anything. Or rather, it smelled of everything, and he couldn't actually pick any one scent out, which was a strange experience, an olfactory equivalent of the steady roar that assaulted his ears.

The street itself was paved in the same plain gray stone, and poles rose at odd intervals, supporting large glowing spheres. The source of the light in this skyless place. Thomas looked at one of the spheres, and then around – and indeed, there were not any plants to be seen. It made him want to shiver, and he looked around more urgently, searching for any plants at all. Then his eyes fell on a man leaning against a tower while another man … knelt … in front of him … Thomas averted his eyes, even as he felt a stir of lust, the first in some time. No.

Anne guided them through what felt like an endless sea of towers. The number of people engaged in their own lives and activities fell away, and the noise subsided until it was merely incredibly loud – but there was never a single moment where he couldn't see a dozen people.

And then she opened a door, holding it open as their line stepped through. Thomas avoided her gaze as he walked inside, and she closed the door behind them. The door closed with a sudden silence that was more immense and sudden than had it been slammed; wasn't the only one who jumped in surprise. And then he looked around, eyes adjusting to the even-slightly-darker interior.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Oh, Anne.” A voice like paper rubbing together; a man sat behind a desk in the small room they occupied, his skin pale and thin, with wispy white hair rising chaotically over his head. He studed them with eyes that shone with an inner light – possibly literally – and smiled, setting down a quill, and rubbing ink off his hands onto an apron that had clearly been used for the purpose many times before. “Balier Mersin – mayor now, is he? A shame about Cavroc. His messenger said you might be coming. Come forward, now, let's get a look at all of you. And you must be Thomas?”

Thomas nodded as the gray eyes looked him up and down. He was pretty sure they were glowing, a little bit. “Yes, uh, sir?” The man, for his part, just nodded, and turned to Anne.

“Do you know when he appeared?”

“The seventeenth of Mystery, Sage Eslan.”

“Ah, interesting.” The old man carefully set the sheet he had been writing in to the side, then started flipping through others. Thomas looked around at their group while the man looked through his papers; Madelaine looked back, everybody else keeping their eyes on the … sage? Thomas shrugged at her, looking around the … office? Waiting area?

He didn't see any doors. Was there another entrance to the tower? It was a comfortable if cramped room, lit by two spheres giving off a gentle yellow-orange glow which reminded Thomas of firelight, and filled with books. Not on bookshelves, but rather stacked haphazardly, including all over what Thomas suspected might be the guest chairs, hiding other pieces of furniture recognizable only from the spindly legs sticking out of the bottom of stacks of books. The scratching of a quill drew Thomas' attention back away from trying to decipher the titles of one of the books; he found he couldn't quite read the title. Of any of the books. It looked … almost legible. Almost like he should be able to read it, if he just focused … he turned his gaze back to the sage, who was still writing, as Eslan resumed speaking.

“As best as we can determine, that puts Thomas as arriving with the second group, but we've only found one survivor from what we're calling the first group. Sage Belfry thinks that what we're calling the first group might be the seventh, or eighth, depending on whether a group with no people at all counts as a group, but there's really insufficient information at this time.” Sage Eslan looked up at the stone ceiling for a moment, then back down at Thomas. “Do you happen to remember how long it took for you to lose the majority of your memories of home, and what was the first thing to go?”

Thomas hesitated, looking at Norris, who made a gesture with his hand to continue. “Uh. Maybe two or three weeks? It really seemed to ramp up around then. And, uh, names of specific things went first.” The sage nodded, picked up the quill, and scratched on the paper again. The scratching sound made Thomas itch. After a moment, those gray eyes returned to Thomas.

“For your edification, young man, you're not crazy.” Thomas blinked. That … that was strangely reassuring. The sage looked to Anne. “Yours was not the first report, just the … loudest. We interviewed the survivor from the first group a month ago.” His attention returned to Thomas. “Around the time your memory loss accelerated, would be my guess, because that has been consistent. None of the next twelve groups -”

“Twelve!?” Anne broke in, then stopped, flushing red. “My apologies, Sage Eslan.”

“Anne, it is alright, I can guess at your concerns. I say guess, but your reports were very loud, and I've been calming panic on the subject for a week, now. No, we are not going to be unanchoring this plane, we have been monitoring the situation for some time. Although there will be a voluntary evacuation, which we'll get to in a moment. The problem is not here, and word from Pantheon is that they are discussing the situation and working on a resolution.” Anne breathed out, a slow exhalation of relief. Thomas averted his gaze, to look back at Eslan, shock coloring his thoughts as she embraced Norris, who had tears in his eyes.

“Now. None of the next twelve groups have had any information on their home whatsoever. I believe the pantheon intervened to keep any additional information from slipping out.” He cleared his throat, a dry sound that made Thomas wince internally. “I have reason to believe that the problem will shortly be sorted out, but our initial interview did yield some information.” His attention moved to another stack of papers, which he began sorting through quickly. “Ah yes. The population of the plane of Earth, hierarchy unknown, is believed to be somewhere between one and ten billion. A precise number could not be found.”

Thomas stared. That … sounded right.

“The plane is of unknown scale, but is of a peculiar spherical geometry, such that walking in any direction eventually results in arriving at the same place.” He picked up a piece of paper and formed a loop with it, showing it to the group. Anne and Norris separated, with confused looks of wonder.

“How is that possible?” Norris asked.

“The answer to that is unknown; perhaps some form of planar magic we have not yet seen, perhaps something else entirely. It is home to unique but ultimately primitive forms of magic; Jane, I should call her by her name, expected us to be impressed that they had the ability to fly.” The sage shrugged, and set the paper down. “Regardless, and apart from other noted pecularities of this new plane, including what we believe to be a large new variety of mutant wildlife, it is my opinion that the current situation is not of particular danger, and I judge it unlikely that any sages in Confluence will overrule my judgment on this matter. Even in the worst case, that the entire population arrives here, it's only an additional ten billion people.”

Thomas had been having trouble keeping up with the sage's explanation, but it had been with a measure of building relief – right up until he caught up with the last statement, when relief fell away into a void of gibbering confusion.

“Hey, mister sage man? How many people are there?” Eslan leaned over the desk, blinking at Madelaine in surprise.

“Oh dear, my apologies, I didn't see you there. I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that. There were forty seven planes anchored in Confluence last time I visited, however, so I think the local hierarchy might have two, maybe three hundred billion?” No, this was gibbering confusion, that previous thing had just been normal confusion.

“Oh. Is that a lot?”

“For one plane, certainly. We believe the real risk is from the mutant wildlife, possessed of qualities unknown to us, but thus far we have no evidence any such things as, say, 'tigers', have made any appearance. We got what information we could; Anne, I'll give you some notes on things to keep an eye out for. A beast that can remain unseen just be standing still would be unwelcome, much less these 'virus' monsters that Jane mentioned." He trailed off, looking very disturbed, then seemed to see them again, and shook himself. "Oh, yes, the voluntary evacuation.” The sage looked back to Anne. “It's going to be getting a little bit crowded here in the worst case. This plane wasn't scheduled for any kind of expansion for another decade, and it will take time to get the paperwork sorted. Additionally, the planned expansion was for a sea and a mountain range, so we'll need to process change requests, and you know how that is. We do have a new plane sched-”

“Wait wait wait” Thomas raised a hand, his brain refusing to process anything else, and starting to regurgitate the knowledge that had tried to assert itself. “Local hierarchy? Three hundred billion? Change requests? … no, no, no. Sorry, sorry, Sage Eslan, I just, I can't.” Eslan's initial expression of annoyance cleared almost immediately, and he nodded.

“Why don't you go to the shopping district, Thomas? Would you accompany him, granddaughter?” Thomas' brain broke again when Arias nodded her head and took his arm. Granddaughter? “Oh, and get some of those sour candies I like, please. The ones that come in the green paper bags.” Thomas heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and Arias caught a jingling bag over a shoulder without looking around.

Outside again, Thomas stumbled to the side, and slumped to the ground, back to the cold gray stones of the tower, the world spinning around him. Arias' hand landed on his shoulder, just resting there, while he lowered his gaze to the ground, trying to focus on breathing, an exercise which slowly and inexorably transformed into frantic and uncontrollable, and not entirely humorless, laughter.