Chapter 2: A Chariot Found (Part 1!)

The Oligarchy was a vast ocean contained in the pool of warmongering and standards. If one were a foreign visitor on an exploration of the state, it would give the atmosphere of drowning. Each person, freeman or citizen, had a network to grant respite at sea, islands if you would. Women had their grannies to support them in their upbringing. Soldiers coming from war had their clubs to spit their venomous anger. And rich families had a bounty of work to occupy their minds until the next harvest. But for the last couple years, harvest had become a curse word as the fields had been assaulted.

The Tripol, a people although diverse by each region, was often reduced into an offensive outfit by their adversaries. They had defined cheeks, black hair, and eyes that struck harder than a pit viper. Their war bands had taken to burn the rolling plains the Iozians took pride in. A grievous assault on their stomach would break their appetite and cause famines for years to come. This year is such a time, with only far off territories not being afflicted.

Few Oligarchs remained, only a couple hundred compared to the thousands of centuries past. Defenders, their title, and shieldbearing was their life. Each Oligarch had a general status, commanding as well as characterizing their subjects as lower levy. Every line of commanders would transmit their persona onto the land, healing it or condemning it to revelation.

The land Vega had walked upon was coming into a dim light, as the sun had risen. An air of sweetness had been released just as the leaves of the greenwood turned to a ripened brown. Each step she took had a mighty crunch on her idle travel. Far off echos of wildlife sneezing or groaning kept her eyes alive. Of course she never had a need to blink, nor rest her eyes. This cool steppe was a cold beer to her few senses, as she felt no danger, only joy when inhabiting this place. New openings and shapes helped her interest.

As each hour passed, the forests grew more into a reverberation and the sun turned the sky into a pitcher of orange juice. An expanse had cleared to a vast grassland, veiny chalk roots climbed atop the hundreds of rocks and cracks into the earth. Ponds had bouts of steam exit from their bodies and contained whatever small insect life that survived in hostile climate. A few winter moths made the husk of a tree its home along with a hill of baby centuries.

“Cute bug thing-things. Awesome ya are. Living in-in such a place. I thought this was the domain of men.” She stooped down to the crag and sat above the pond.

“Come here, little dudes.” Her ripply voice startled the nearby creatures, as they had held the belief she was an inanimate object. She had taken to tapping the water with her boots, a part of her that sustained dryness.

A reflection of her image met her. Her eyes were a crazy set of dice, like the look in the eye of the man addicted to gambling. He had sweat and wrinkles all over but his eyes were vibrant. It reminded her of one of the few lessons the Priest told she didn’t understand. How could chance-coin be bad when they produced so much liveliness? Rubbing the bandage she had for a nose, she savored the mist fading out of the pond.

It prompted her to take a bath. Surprising to the folk back in Cold Cavern, she had a daily ritual to cleanse herself from any parasites or maladies gorging themselves on her parts. Although they were one of the few villages that had a public bath, they resorted to forcing her to the nearby rivers since her hair would make it into a prickly mess.

She took off her clothes, and began to wade into the pond water. Again, she was a simple feminine shape. Her ribs were a bundle of planks wrapped in her standard black bandages with tufts of hay peering out.

She inspires the idea of a teenager, eagerly curious and obsessive of her niche interests. Cute, but in a manner that was embarrassing otherwise. This was a held belief of Vega that the village promoted.

Her hair softened into a mush, and she had begun to reassemble herself. She laid on the beach of the pond. Her form despite being made out of perishable materials had appeared to be well preserved, not even rotting. But Vega didn’t know this, never knowing of smells and fat sagging.

“Huh? What-what was that?” She heard it. A weakness took her and she bolted her thorax upward.

“Who-who is here? Who are you?” pleading to the voice, in a fit of mania and intrigue. The desert around her gave no response as she tried to listen. All that could be heard was the whip-like strikes of the wind, driving rocks from cliffs and the tender hum of the nearby centuries.

Vega was sensitive to rhythm, the tempo of the tempest. Whether it be the typhoons that struck the town or the soft breeze, she had an uncanny awareness of the environment around. She was sensitive to the attitudes to herself, able to detect the sentiments that set her apart from other persons. Even if no words were spoken or heads were turned, she could tell eyes and lips were on her.

Especially to the sounds of music. In the temple, chants encased the lumber of its long chambers. Statements like ‘Glory be to Recor’ or ‘Curse the Ghost’ occurred repeatedly. In those uninteresting moments, Vega’s gaze was out to the tree line, hearing the bristling leaves rub and quake. How she wished to create earthy sounds. This call, however, wasn’t alluring or compassionate. Command was the word Vega thought up.

“Stopping won’t help-help. Best to move.” The slopping sound of her hair begged to differ.

“Maybe a minute-minute wouldn't hurt-hurt.” Clouds began to pass and the sun had colored the sky a worn out blue. The celestial bodies swirled around one another like a sickness. It was eerie to travelers that pass by these parts. An array of omens and histories arose from their chattering teeth.

Nature roared against any neophyte wanderer. To steel oneself against the mysteries and other worldly monsters man dreams up, they drank from their flasks and proclaimed the might of their god and his unwavering spirits. In a battle of the damned, one must hope his allies are divine. Vega had no such helping hands, be from the poisoned earth or the harmonious space. She didn’t have a complex to defend. No enemies. No friends.

“Lonely. To-to be here alone.”. Her grin didn’t end. One of the centuries came into her vision.

“Wonderful dude. What is it like-like to be ya.” Her cheek rested on the pebbles and her eyes followed the creatures. A single century was comparable to an armored log. This was a young one, roughly the size of a feline. Fifty spikes were legs on each side, joints bent its many knees. Twin sickles were its jaws, thin as paper and strong as a felled tree. When they are fully grown they can actually fell trees.

“Smart pet. Must pet.” Pressing her hand onto the head of the small bug. It recoiled, but it identified the gesture to be inoffensive. Grazing, it felt comfortable. It chirped in a sign of treaty.

“Where are your-your parents?” A question drilled into one of the dozen responses during her training as a guard, presented to anyone except children. In her case she did to everyone that was alone, creating some upset elderly. A language barrier presided over them. But almost in response the century returned to its pack, carrying a small tadpole. Vega finished putting her parts back together excluding her hat. In her left hand she held it to her chest. Not out of any manner of respect. It was a habit that was always there.

“Maybe ya don’t understand me. I’m not a human. A ghost. I think.” The Priest introduced the word to Vega. The word she believed to know herself with.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I’m not like ya. I am appeared. Ya are made.” The century turned back to tall hay thing and beckoned it to a direction. Ranting on to her audience, her neck craned downward.

“What is your favorite color. Mine is pink, the same color as blood-blood.” Further they climbed over the hillsides and the centuries brought with them small gifts. Splinters of rock and snacky bugs. The rear one had bobbed it head up and down. Vega took it as an agreement.

“That's the right answer. Real smart. I’m not so smart.” A cave was bored into a wall. An adult century was dragging a heap of dead animal into it. She could see its exhaustion and hear it heaving.

“Mom.” Vega’s thoughts on families were only brief. Existence of relationships between blood she knew, but not of the interpersonal expectations or roles. But all she could know of such webs of human interaction was that they were meaningful to the village, not ghosts.

“If ya smart, she must be very smart.” The centuries had started to form up a line to their matriarch. Dropping their tribute into the bowl dug into the ground. Normally this brood would have someone defending it, Vega knew. Claw marks scarred into the mother’s thick plating. She was missing a few eyes and was in a state of being a widow. Vega could tell this in an instant.

“Ya got good kin. They brought me to help ya.” A goat’s corpse drained of its fluids. The three eyes of the trunk sized insect positioned on the living hay lady. She didn’t call her brood back for her incisors could cleave her in half. Nothing to fear, would’ve been the thoughts the mighty beast believed.

“Well-well don’t worry missus. Ya got the best girl killer this side of the Oligarchy.” Raising her pickaxe, along with her the ends of her grimace, the air went silent.

CRUNCH! SKATCH! RIP! POUR!

A gore worse than a murder, a crime distant from law, and a scarecrow splattered hat to boot in it all. A good description is that a storm harried the animal and made it formless aside from the vague symbols of the hoofs. To refer to it as a former goat is an insult. Its skull and ribs were splinters, its fur a pink paste, and its organs were punctured into a thorny bush.

Victim is the thought Vega very much valued. Picking up the bloodied pieces, she began to hand off to the centuries, unshaken by the execution. The remaining carcass she pulled in front of the mother as she rested her weary feet.

“There we are-are. A dinner worth dining on.” Vega understood the value of food was paramount that it would be eaten. Best way to do that was to make it marketable. And by making it easier to consume, she knew that her work was completed.

The damned body bubbled an agreement. A feast was made, the centuries with bugs as appetizers and goat paste as dessert, and Vega sat beside the big clan. She analyzed the structure around her. Not too ancient, it had an engraving of a man drilling his hands in what looked like a blob.

She tried to lay back but something jutted into her. A rusted knob lay in the ground. Brushing her greased palm on the surface around revealed a cellar door. A twist and a hail of dust escaped the prison. Derelict and haunted with fumes, the centuries swung away. Vega had a quick jump into the stairs and stumbled. Slamming and kissing the plank floor, she lifted her face to meet the room.

A pale light walked in with Vega, shining on the pottery fragments. Shelfs and discs littered and ravaged the space, but its beauty was saved by a composed sound Vega heard. A long pot at the corner conquered by a spreading vine. And from the ceiling a droplet of dew met the pot’s maw, gently over flowing water on the floor, with moss accompanying it. In a trance she hopped to the noise.

Pitter Patter.

Unraveling her bindle, smoothly pulling out her crayons and parchment, she found it. A fountain in you. A familiar youth. The voice didn’t speak. It didn’t need to. For it spoke in the universal language of song. Hypnotizing, her appearance became vacant. Hairs became less fringe, limbs simmered, and her face seemed to lack air. Prayer was a routine with her, but this was far more personal. It was an obsession. Whatever religious ceremony that existed was forgotten, and what she manifested was raw.

Pure. Unfiltered or unmanipulated. Fingers become numb, sight fixed into a gaze, and all other chatter evaporates aside the particles of water. Words released onto the papers. Doodles became ravings. And the subject communicated wasn’t understood on the page, but to the listener. No, to the one who lived it. The pain from inside returned. Fear drowned out her smile. A knowing of the sound drove her in a moment of madness. The voice came to her in a climax of choking, twisting. A pinning in her soul.

Kaliber.

A gust of wind curled across the landscape, and Vega emerged along with it. Her grin angled to the herd of centuries, cuddling underneath their mother. Vega too clung to the beast and it whistled in surprise.

“Ya haven’t spoken to me. That's a change.” Vega rubbed her shoulder on one of its plates. The day was turning to evening and the clouds journeyed past the horizon. What emerged was a delicate peace. Something that was a captive of her soul. A milk drop was faintly seen. Half a perfect crescent, the other a burning flame of white.

“The moon.” Vega saw the two parts, one surviving face opposed to rotting dust. Her grin turned into a smirk.

“Have you ever seen the moon rise over the wastes? How it beams across the salt covered docks, when it glows on the tiles of roofs? When it meets the holes in the caverns, a mazeway of white pillars travels through its insides. Bouncing off the undiscovered gem stones in its bowels, casting colors that blend and blur. Diamonds, squares, corners and overlapping shapes galore. A sweetness releases in those deep holes.” Vega’s eyes were perfect, exactly looking that of a human’s, rather than an imitation. Her voice didn’t quiver, it was clear and precise.

“That barren wilderness, a wasteland, is so full of life. A ringing sound emits from the crystal spires and they dance with each other harder than anyone could in the village. They grip and jump and twirl and hustle and bustle. Catacombs become dance halls, each stone a partner. A caveful of alluring lights.” Her eyes showed the caves in its brilliance, projecting the memory through them.

“Fantastical pigments become frequent and common as the gems toss the moon’s power to the uneven walls and more tempos and motifs echo in its bountiful distance. An improvised concert of matter. Sparks and stars shoot and leap across the pillars. Flares go out, rainbows are sprayed, and something happens. I feel a faintness in my chest.” Her hands clung to her shirt, tucking hard enough to make tears. She couldn’t identify the feeling.

“Not something given to me but happening to me. A thump, bump, shake. Quivers and shivers thunder through my whole body. A pathetic thing compared to the villagers outside. I have no nerves to be nervous, no system to disable. I am but a humble servant to their glory. There, I am something else. An outsider. A girl with no ability to understand. An oddity to be observed and taught. But here I was, in an ephemeral tremor within my soul.” Her speech paused, as her eyes closed for the first time in her existence.

“They thought I couldn’t know them, to know briefness. In the union of divine and mortal, sky and planet, it’s possible that I was found. I found a fountain in you. A familiar youth was made. Whenever I’m around it, I feel so wonderful. And I try to be myself. But I can’t help it. I’m so selfish.” Her voice softened, like that of a child being lectured by their parents. It was regretful.

“I couldn’t help but pursue an entry. To bypass my ghastly parts and marry this quality. I took a step, then a step closer. I couldn’t achieve my dreams and desires. To be, matched. Reflected. I broke out into a race to the conflicting and overwhelming dance. I leap out to this brilliance and I felt it. I had savored the air. I smelt the powder. I felt fire.” She let go of her shirt, and placed her hands on her lap. She smiled, then she returned to neutral.

“Perfect. But just as it came, it vanished. I was left alone in a puddle of my own ego.” Vega’s eyes gazed at the wandering white moon.

“Yet. A broken unreachable shape had granted me an audience with it. To see it. Why would it reveal itself to me? It wanted no aid of mine. And those that don’t need help don’t care. They would become a name forgotten, a hand unreached. I don’t know if I will live it again. I am so desperate to know such wonders again. To be enough so it rests firmly forever. But without company, I am a lonely body.” Her head fell, as she pressed her knees to her face.

“Without use… I am a failure. I want… someone.” The projecting eyes faltered, and her soul returned.

“Have ya ever seen the moon rise over the wastes? I only wish-wish I could give something as wonderful as that to ya.” Vega stroked the culture of beings into a comfortable rest. The sky went dark and her possession seemingly ended and her gaze drifted back to the gravel road.

As she went to leave she took one last look at the building. A domain of man, ruined into the hideout of a family. She didn’t think of the pot of water nor the moon at that moment. She thought of only the warmth the family shared and the companionship they had granted her. Having the coziness that tender. The voice’s echo rolled across the starry sky. It caught her attention.

“See ya, little dudes.” Bloodied and her soul in nature, she strutted to the eastern horizon.