Plans / In-Between Days
The four of them sat in Mikey’s Tin Can at the rear of the parade as the long day came to a close.f‡ Rhea took a long pull of her drink. “I have a spell that can get us there, but I’ve never been to the nightside before, or really outside of Indigo for that matter. They have different wardens on the nightside, with their own tolls for passing through. I don’t even know who the active warden is for Nightside Green.”‡
Ward raised his hand. “That’d be Demogan.”
“Who?” asked Winstead.
Ward waved his hands around vaguely. “He’s a, you know, a classical Pan-style fellow, right? Hooves, horns, nature, that sort of thing. We’ll need a sacrifice of something, someone… it’s not all that clear really what sort of thing it has to be, but I’m pretty sure it has to be living.”
"We’ll have to pass through Nightside Blue to get there,” Rhea reminded them.
“Is there a warden for that as well?” Winstead asked.
“Yes, Nimragul.” Marweg flipped through his notes. “Nightside Blue’s toll is a very different one. For Nimragul you must succumb to a dark desire, something repressed or unconscious. That’s partly why I’ve left that to the safaris.” He sighed. “Although I’d love to see dream creatures in their natural environment. There’s even a preserve that you can visit! And the flora and fauna of Nightside Green are said to be unforgettable, albeit a bit feral and volatile. Best to stick to trails there, I reckon; there are stories…”
“But you said the rotfire is native to Nightside Green. We’re going to have to get up close, aren’t we?” Winstead looked disconcerted.
“Yes, unfortunately. It’s going to be tricky to bring it back. The stuff’s a devil to control: you need a fuel source that grows back as fast as the rotfire burns to maintain an equilibrium while in transport.” He looked at Ward. “You could make something to handle that, I hope?”
Ward nodded uncertainly. “I think so. I’ll have to go over what I can do with the materials I’ve got.”
“And we’re sure this rotfire can destroy the hate cyst?” Winstead persisted.
Rhea nodded. “The difficulty will be in containing it so that it doesn’t spread all over Gatesmithe. But we’ll figure that out.” She finished her glass. “There’s a dreamery over in the Fade district that may be able to prepare us for meeting Nimragul.”
Winstead’s stomach twisted. She looked at Marweg. “Wasn’t the Fade the place with the Black Gardens, where the body was…” She trailed off.
Marweg nodded, looking a bit queasy himself.
“I could perform a pilgrimage,” Ward mused distractedly.
“A pilgrimage to what?” Rhea asked.
Ward’s eyes focused in front of him again. “Oh, the Cathedral of Illuminism has its HQ in Blue*, and I would love to visit it along the way. Our Great Leader resides there.”
“The guy in the portrait you have at the apartment?” Rhea, looking less than thrilled, tried to steer the conversation back. “We do have a task to get ready for first, and I for one have other things to sort out before we leave. Would a week be enough to get ready?”
Everyone looked around awkwardly for a moment, trying to tabulate their respective tasks. Rhea nodded. “A bit longer then. We’ll keep in touch, but I’m off for the night.” She looked back at the rest of the parade. “Poor Jeremiah. Safe travels to the Pale, friend.”
“Safe travels,” the others echoed, downing their own drinks. Then, one by one, they got up, bade Mikey a slightly tipsy farewell, and set off to prepare for the journey.
The next days‡ blurred together as Marweg flitted between libraries, menageries, and Ward’s place. Debates about transportation methods; the gift, usage, and exhaustion of a new aethyric magnifying glass†† from Ward; pages upon pages of material sifted through to find out how to maintain rotfire without self-destruction; concerns over how to pay the wardens’ tolls: he found that a leaf of calm took enough edge off of the anxiety for him to sleep.
The records at the Order Goetica library corroborated what Gertrude had told him about Asclepius. References to his personage were common until about a year ago, after which absolutely no trace of him could be found. And considering the parade contract doesn’t expire for another nine years, that’s a problem, he thought.
As he made rounds to Ward’s house and back that week, the debates over how to contain and transport rotfire safely weighed heavy on his mind. Ward’s workmanship was clever, but they initially disagreed over fuel options, torn between virulent soapweed, a species of small rodent called poggos that bred like mad, fast-growing židek vine, and Erythronium dens-canis (dogtooth violets, Ward insisted on calling them, the cad!). It was rumored that rotfire had once been successfully transported in a tumor, but Marweg felt that was an option best kept in reserve. They settled on židek as the fuel, and he left feeling cautiously optimistic about Ward’s container. Now, he thought, we need something to carry it.
No one knew where Aberinkula was from. He might as well have dropped out of thin air.f‡
It bothered Rhea as she weighed her decision. But the rewards! He’d walked all but one of the paths already! And he practically understood how the Spider’s Game worked, even though he’d never played. The diagrams from the cathedral floated through her mind, and she felt again the thrill of wonder that each corresponded to a legal play.
Where’s the harm? she mused. Really, I’m just connecting the dots in the knowledge he already has, and in exchange I get a ticket to the suns!
As she entered the Fade, orienting herself to her destination was easy. The Tower of Lost Sleep stood sentinel over the Black Gardens of the Fade, located nearly in the middle of the district. It only took a minute speaking with the Woken to find Aberinkula waiting at a table, enjoying a small cup of spiced hot chocolate.
Its eyes lit up as she entered. “Rhea! Welcome, welcome!” It got up and pulled a chair out for her, seating itself once she was comfortably settled. Rhea refused a cup of the Sleep stimulant on tap, so it procured another cup of chocolate before turning its full attention on her.
“Do we have any news?” it asked with a smile.
“We do indeed,” she said, returning the grin. “I will teach, if you are willing to teach me in return.”
“Splendid!” it said excitedly, rubbing its hands together.
For the next half an hour, Rhea coached it through the basics. They played a truncated version of a game to finish before Rhea managed to swerve the conversation back to her own desires.
“It is true, I did promise. And I will make good.” Aberinkula put away the board and walked Rhea through the words, gestures, and understanding of qualia to cast the spell. “I denote this one by the name Pathwalker,” it told her when they were done. “No matter what sun you find yourself on, you may use it to travel the suns via any path known to you. May it serve you well on your travels, friend.”
They said farewell, and Rhea worked her way toward the Dreamery in the Fade. She hardly noticed the walk, her mind a whirl of impatience and excitement.
Their journey couldn’t begin soon enough.
“That’ll be one hundred seventy crystal orbs.” The shopkeeper placed the talisman on top of the materials gathered on the counter and looked at Ward expectantly.f
Ward pulled out his pouch and began sorting through the change. “Teren, could we consider an exchange of services as partial payment? I’ve only got a hundred on hand. The project is a commission—I’ll be good for it.”
The zilat thought a moment, frowning slightly. Then he looked at the door and his eyes lit up. “Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to see to for a while. See that?” He pointed to the canary-feathered polyhedron over the door.
Ward nodded.
“It went haywire on me a week ago, and I’ve had to resort to other security measures since. If you could fix that thing, I’ll gladly call it quits at ninety.”
Ward nodded again. “All right, I think I can do that. I’ll need some specifications, though. Can I come back tomorrow?”*
Teren said that would be fine, clasped hands with Ward on the deal, and wished him good morning. Ward walked out with his arms full. The rig felt as good as built already. Cedric will be pleased,he thought, once I can finally reconfigure the projector’s linear chronometer. I’ll get my second degree for this. And then, a pilgrimage! His heart sang at the thought.
Halfway home, he remembered the tolls. Nimragul’s in particular needled him. The thought of power rose again from deep in his mind, control over the spirits he summoned. He could see himself now, his own creation wielding the forces of the afterlife to achieve anything he wanted! A towering force of spiritual energy empowering him, guarding him, enabling him. All his desires fulfilled, all his whims within reach, everything he could ever want, if only he built the tools to harness it …
Ward shuddered. He tried to escape the thought by walking briskly back to his apartment. Anything I want? I don’t even knowwhat I want, he thought forcefully to himself. Too much of a burden. It’s more comfortable helping others who already know what they want.
He fumbled the door open with a couple of fingers and rushed inside, juggling his armload of materials and barely making it to the table to set them down. He breathed a sigh of relief.
The relief was short-lived, as strange voices swiftly intruded. He looked accusingly at the transport container. No wonder that crystal was cheap—it sounds possessed.
Even though he’d shown it to Marweg already and proclaimed it functional, aspects of its construction still bothered him. At first glance it looked too fragile. Its delicate frame seemed barely able to hold its own weight, let alone anything inside. The cube was a woven silver filigree, the gaps sparkling with firefly lights and powdered glow worm, the latter held in stasis by a swirling purple-green aurora. He hoped the visibility into the inner parts would be sufficient to identify any early warning signs as they traveled back.
The bottle attachment at the power source had been capped with the borrowed crystal. Sealing it had required some jerry-rigging with filaments of extra metals from his supply cupboards. The device whined like a radio with a poor connection, the words not quite clear enough to be understood.
He filled it with a bunch of paraphernalia and picked it up. The structure held together, just as it had each time. He emptied it, lit some paper, and tossed it inside, pressing his hands against the side nearest the flame. The container walls stayed cool even while the flames lashed at him millimeters away, just as it had when he’d tested it with Marweg.
Satisfied with the functional tests, Ward went to get something to eat from the fridge. Behind him, the voices intensified, an urgency in their tone but the words still inscrutable. He turned around and paramedics shouted at him to move, sweeping past with a body on a stretcher.
Ward surveyed the scene. The hospital seemed crowded, the people haggard and frightened. He flagged down a passing nurse.
“What do you want? I don’t have lots of time,” she said.
“Do you need another hand? I’m an MD, I can help.”
The nurse nodded. “Absolutely, we need all the help we can get. Go talk to Paige, they’ll direct you.”
Paige sent him to the respiratory wing, and in no time Ward had donned full protective gear and was watching ICU patients on ventilators struggle to survive. He labored for hours that seemed like minutes, watched moments of dying breaths that seemed to take hours, wrote reports, broke news to loved ones, then did it all over again until everything was a blur. Grief, pain, resignation, and exhaustion surrounded him on every side. The virus didn’t spare anyone.
He sensed people as they left. It felt almost familiar, like he could reach out and touch them as they passed. The thought of being cut adrift to wander saddened him deeply. I don’t want that, he decided. If I don’t have a host, I at least want to be able to communicate with someone. Rhea is sensitive, I bet she’d be able to hear me.
The thoughts moved with purpose, and he felt a line snap taut in his soul. It brought a comfort he didn’t know he needed as he moved between the ravaged forms. Soon he was lost in his work; there was always another patient.
He’d finished two days of damage control before he realized that he didn’t have the faintest idea how he’d gotten there.¶
The environment at Mikey’s was subdued.f Winstead and Angela occupied a small corner table out of the way, and Mikey silently kept them supplied with their usuals.‡
“Foreclosure?” Winstead said in surprise.
Angela nodded. “No tenant, no payments. Sorting out a new owner is going to be difficult now. People talk, rumors spread. There’ll likely be bad press for a while.”
Winstead shuddered. “You don’t suppose there’ll be problems from the Pale? He wouldn’t stay, would he?”
“I don’t think so…” Angela mused. “He seemed like someone who wouldn’t want to create a fuss and bother for others if it could be avoided.”
After a long silence, Winstead risked the question. “Why did the two goons come to the wake?”
Angela took a long sip before speaking. “Intimidation tactic, I suppose. It’s working.”
“What if I led them off sun? We might be able to use them on the trip, and there’s a possibility they wouldn’t make it back.”
“Absolutely not!” Angela was adamant. “I can’t abide you taking risks above and beyond what is needed for your journey. We’ll make do and take care. I have additional means at my own disposal to ensure this is not repeated.”
They finished their pints in silence.
A shout made her look up, but Rhea dismissed it and went back to work on Somberg’s emotion leaf order.f She’d just finished a tricky detail when another shout burst through her concentration. And another.‡
“Oh, Marty, what is it now?” Rhea muttered. She got up and called, “Ward?” The only response was more shouting, so she walked into the hallway where the screaming match had hit full force.
Marty was screaming at a stranger in the hallway, shaking his fists to punctuate his displeasure. His target traded bellows but thankfully not blows, his height and the presence of Sister Morthag between them discouraging a physical altercation.
“Gentlemen, please, that’s enough!” Morthag cried, hopelessly trying to defuse the situation. She looked up and caught Rhea with a pleading glance.
Rhea walked up to Marty, ignoring the other man completely. “What is it? What’s the problem?”
“Ward isn’t even here! Just leave already!” he screamed at the stranger, still not looking away.
“Marty!” Rhea said sharply.
He half turned, keeping the stranger in line of sight, and pointed at the man’s face. “This asshole called the halfway house an abomination! He doesn’t get to talk to Sister Morthag that way!”
Rhea tried to pull his attention. “Marty, come on, Sister Morthag doesn’t want this kind of help. Don’t you see how upset she’s getting?”
“That’s his fault!”
“You’re not doing her any favors by acting up like this either.”
“Pardon me,” the stranger said to Rhea, taking a step closer, “Do you know where Ward is? I urgently need—”
Marty threw a fist like a pugilist. Rhea darted in front of it, one arm blocking Marty’s path to bloodying the man’s nose.
“I’ll help you in a moment. If you can go to the cafe on the opposite corner, I’ll meet you there. Please, just go,” she said, struggling to keep Marty’s hands down. “Enough, Marty!”
The fellow left, and Marty slowly let himself calm down.
“Thank you, Rhea,” said Sister Morthag. “I really appreciate that. He doesn’t like this place. I’m not sure why.”
“He didn’t ought to treat Sister Morthag like that,” Marty grumbled obstinately.
“Marty, it doesn’t solve anything for you to scream at someone for insulting her, either.” Rhea scolded. “You can’t just keep treating people like that, it’s not helpful for Sister Morthag at all. Do you want people to think badly of her because of how you treated them?”
“. . . no,” he mumbled.
“Then you need to apologize to her.”
Marty stared sullenly at the floor. “Sorry, Sister Morthag,” he mumbled again.
Rhea gave a short nod. “Remember that next time. Now I’m going to go find out what he wants with Ward.”
She crossed the street to the cafe to find the stranger drinking tea. She slid into the seat opposite him and ordered a coffee. “Sorry about that. Marty’s not a terribly subtle fellow. I’m Rhea, I’m Ward’s flatmate.”
He stood up and extended his hand. “Cedric, pleased to meet you. I’m Ward’s mentor with the Cathedral of Illuminism. And I’m sorry as well about the scene. But it is hard to be silent about such blasphemous activity in Satyrine.”
Rhea’s smile grew tight. “I suggest you keep the opinion of that to yourself for now. It’s not going to make any friends around here. Ward hasn’t had an issue with it.”
Cedric’s smile also grew a little tight as he sat back down. “Well, disagreements are natural, I suppose. But I needed to leave a message for Ward, a particularly urgent one. Do you know where he is?”
Rhea shrugged. “Not really. But I can take the message for him. What is it?”
Cedric thought for a moment, then said, “That should be okay. I’ll write it down, but you must swear to me that you will not read it. It is of the utmost importance that it be for Ward’s eyes only.”
Rhea swore not to read it and agreed to avert her eyes while he wrote. Cedric, satisfied, took out a pen and paper and composed his message. He folded the note carefully and handed it to her, saying, “The sooner he gets it, the better. And thank you.”
Rhea took the note. “You’re welcome. I’m sure it won’t be long before he turns up.”
“Let’s hope.” Cedric gulped the last of his tea and bid her farewell.
Rhea carried the coffee back to her room, past the subdued and sniffling Marty and still-chiding Sister Morthag, her disappointment palpable. Rhea laid the note on the table, her hand lingering upon it for a moment, then returned to her work. The emotion leaves won’t deliver themselves.
The diary was readable by now.f Winstead had struggled to keep the words before her as she tried to transcribe the volume over the last few days, but now the entries seemed easier to read. Occasionally she’d felt like she was automatically writing, going for a page and a half before being aware of it. Maybe that was the strength of the narrative. The images conjured by the journaled experiences were vivid, albeit ghastly.
The writer’s thoughts and claimed actions were a mess of depraved power fantasies against weak and unaware victims. It was a story of other people’s nightmares, of crimes plotted and carried out. It was a book she knew she should put aside or even destroy.
But it was also incomplete. Winstead desperately wanted to complete something great. The journal tempted her to think that if only she could channel the right energy, this narrative could be given closure. Years of studying literature gave her a clinical and critical lens on the work, and she felt she could do it justice. In the moments of deepest immersion, the thought flitted across her mind that the narrative might require action in order to completed.
She rinsed herself of any such notion thoroughly whenever she’d finished with the journal for the day, but the looming meeting with Nimragul on Nightside Blue weighed on her. The warden demanded a surrender to base and dark desires or lusts. The contents of the book certainly qualified. The other warden, Demogan, would want a sacrifice. Adding the right kind of entries to the journal could potentially satiate both.
Do I really want to continue the ravings of a sadist?
She looked at her writings, now several days’ worth, and reflected on the lack of direction she had felt before. It’s best not to judge it just yet. It’ll be an interim project, until inspiration strikes.
She picked up her pen and continued her transcription.
February 14th, 1934
Bad news from Doctor Halpner: they found a spot on my lung. Damn! Must give up the Balkan Sobranies. This puts everything in a new light. Hell, I can beat it. Found a pretty young thing from the Languages department at Miskatonic to help me with the folio. I've been keeping her late every night this week. She's coming around. Perhaps tonight? She's rather willful—the ketamine will work its magic, no doubt .*
Focusing on the accuracy of the words, Winstead didn’t notice the subtle changes in her hand as her cursive tightened into an imitation of the journal’s.
Zero’s was packed, but Kithri had come early and cordoned off a space for them to speak.f She’d also thought ahead and ordered five drinks, which immediately begged the question.‡
“Where is Ward?” Rhea asked. “I mean, wasn’t he the one who suggested we meet here today?”
“He told me he would see me here after showing me the container he was working on,” Marweg agreed.
Winstead leaned back in her chair. “Don’t you live in the same apartment or something?” she asked Rhea.
“We do. He hasn’t been in it. I thought maybe the Cathedral of Illuminism had tasked him with something unexpectedly, but it’s been three days: surely that would’ve been done by now—”
Kithri interrupted. “We are all concerned about his absence, but since the rest of us are here, we might as well trade updates.”
Marweg eagerly shared his knowledge about the rotfire, explaining the device Ward had created. Rhea verified that it hadn’t moved from its spot in the corner during Ward’s absence.
“All I require now is a mount to carry it. And I’m fairly sure I’ll have that shortly,” Marweg announced, self-satisfied. Then his smile faltered, and he grew more serious. “I also have some news about Asclepius. He was a Goetic known to Gertrude some time ago, but she provided me with proof that he was stripped of his name and stricken from the order in dire circumstances. That’s why he can no longer fulfill his contract with Iskander. There are also some indications that he is related to, or possibly became, the personage named Aberinkula.”
Rhea started. Marweg glanced at her. “Is the name known to you?” he asked.
Rhea nodded. “I met it at an old, abandoned cathedral a few weeks ago. It’s the one who showed me how we’re going to pathwalk to Nightside Green, which is going to take a lot of juice. Unless we can avoid some of the magical requirements of transport—” She turned to Kithri. “Are we getting an expense budget? This is on behalf of Satyrine, so Aug Fullan should help fund us.”
“Sunships are exorbitant in the highest degree, and the minister would likely dismiss the very idea of their use,” Kithri replied shortly. “I can ask about reimbursement, but I’ll need a list of what each of you has spent and expects to spend to achieve this.”
The three promised to provide her with receipts.
“But how long are we going to be?” Winstead asked. “We’re going to need time to deal with wardens, time to get the fuel, time for travel, time to get the rotfire, and time to transport the whole thing back here in one piece. That’s asking a lot…”
“By the way, Kithri, what happened with that fire? During the wake,” Rhea asked.
“Maybe my pen could write directions,” Winstead continued as though Rhea hadn’t spoken.
“Oh, that’s right!” said Marweg excitedly. “That ought to save plenty of time while we’re there.”
“Kithri? The fire?” Rhea prompted.
“Not everyone was willing to be evacuated, but everyone’s safe and the fire was suppressed. The Skytower’s structural integrity was unaffected, thankfully. I encountered some concerning surprises while trying to evacuate the building that I hope to follow up on before we leave. I was given an address in the Marquis Quarter to schedule an appointment.”
“Hey, that reminds me,” Winstead said, pulling out the blank business card. “See this? It’s Mort and Dickie’s business card. I was considering hiring them for travel protection.”
A chorus of voices jostled for supremacy as each tried to outdo the other in dismissing the notion more thoroughly. Winstead scowled but put the card away.
“Fine,” she said, “but we still need to figure out how we’re going to pay the tolls. I was hoping that those goons might serve for Demogan’s appetite. And we need to find Ward, and we need some idea of what we’re walking into. Has anyone looked up Nimragul in the dreamery? If not, I can go.”
“I’ll go with you there,” said Kithri.
“I’ll look for Ward. He can’t be gone for much longer.” Rhea sounded more hopeful than she felt.
“What about Asclepius or Aberinkula?” asked Marweg. “I suppose we might leave a message with the parade about the magecoins?”
Rhea frowned. “Not right away. I’ll do that if we must, but I want to talk to Angela and Mr. Whiskers first. They should have a say in what we do about that.”
“Very well,” said Marweg. “I’ll try to determine the extent of the tolls the wardens require as well as obtaining the mount for the container.”
“You know,” Rhea ventured, “the container seems usable in its current state… should Ward not return in time, we might just take it ourselves.”
Marweg shook his head emphatically. “I might know animals very well, but I don’t know a Maker’s workmanship. If we’re taking that contraption, we’re not going without the engineer.” Winstead and Kithri voiced agreement.
Rhea sighed. “All right, we'll make sure we find him first. Then we go. But I want to be going in the next few days. The sooner we’ve gone, the sooner we’ll be rid of this damn geas.”
The urge to go back to the old cathedral was too strong for Rhea to ignore. She’d already delivered the emotion leaf order to Somberg over in Strangeglass and had time to kill.f
“I thought you might want to know that I’ve heard a rumor that someone I’ve met could be this Asclepius fellow. Any advice on how to proceed?” she asked as she wound her way through the streets. Her hands wove a current of wind that carried her words between her and Mr. Whiskers.
“Cautiously, of course,” came the contemptuous reply. “Always consider someone to be dangerous until you’ve dulled their claws. More importantly, perhaps you could arrange for an introduction.”
"I know he’s out of town right now, but when he gets back, I'll see if he's willing to meet you,” Rhea replied. “Oh, and also, separately, I need to travel to Nightsides Green and Blue for this geas that got put on me, so I might be gone for a bit too.”
“You have no sense of priorities,” the cat replied peevishly and severed the connection.
“That pompous little…” Rhea huffed indignantly at the open road in front of her. “If he weren’t such a good weaver…” She rounded the last corner and strode into the cathedral like she owned the place.
It felt empty, bare as an abandoned home. The canvases had been stripped from the walls, and a semblance of tidiness had befallen the room. Furniture had been put back in proper order, if a bit messily, and scuff marks on the floor showed the nonchalance taken with the task.
Frowning at the blank walls accusingly, Rhea tried to extend her awareness into the room. She shut her eyes and breathed three deep consecutive breaths before opening up again with her magical senses attuned to the room.
A fractal series of colors flashed across her vision, blackness a deep gulf behind them. The colors melded into spheres, the spheres circled her body, and suddenly the words Kaleidoscopic Void, Unity of Suns burst through as understanding flooded her in a wave of history. She looked at the empty walls and wondered whether it was coincidence that this should be the place where she learned her second path.
The walls shook slightly in her vision as she watched. Then the floor shuddered. As the borders of the room faded further into the background, a dim light flared into a bipedal form. It slowly gained resolution and clarity until she realized it was herself, framed by a billowing cloak and midbattle with an enraged demonic figure. The landscape surrounding her burned dirty yellow with brimstone. Energies flashed and met with an explosion that never came, and as her eyes shut against the impact, the vision faded.‡
Rhea’s breath tried to catch up with her. Her body was taut as a bowstring, hair-trigger energy ready to fly off at a moment’s notice. At a remove, her mind noted that it didn’t seem to be the demon from the hate cyst and commented further that it seemed absurd to continue this emotional high off of something that hadn’t been present in the first place.
Her body wasn’t listening. The feeling waned as she looked through the rooms, but her nerves stayed on high alert. It wasn’t until she’d left the building that she finally breathed easy again.
“And you are convinced that their leaving Indigo is in the best interests of their task?” asked the minister.f‡
Kithri assured her that it was. Aug Fullan’s disapproval darkened her face, but she did not dispute Kithri’s assessment.
“Very well then. You told me you also had a request?”
“Yes, Minister. After due calculations and estimates, I formally request funding of eight hundred and fifty crystal orbs.”
Aug Fullan nearly snorted in derision. “Preposterous. I can provide a hundred and fifty up front, with another three hundred expensed.”
”Such stinginess might impair the viability of the expedition.”
“I would remind you that the Ministry places a high value upon parsimony,” Aug Fullan lectured, “as well as accepting the decisions of one’s superiors.”
“And while I hold the Ministry’s values highly, my first duty is to the Pristine Guard, and to the successful completion of any interventions,” Kithri countered, “advocating as needed for the persons and resources necessary. Could we compromise with seven hundred?”
“Five hundred.”
“Six hundred.”
“That would be acceptable. You may have two hundred fifty up front, and the remainder may be expensed afterwards, upon a successful return.”
Kithri bowed in acknowledgment and exited.
The Skytower’s Pristine Guard station bustled at a relaxed pace, a welcome change since the fire. Clerks dealing with the paper trail grumbled about their duties, jokes could be heard from the gossiping guards in back rooms, and the smell of tea filled the air. But Kithri noticed a sense of underlying unease as she walked up to the guard on desk duty.
“Lenie, I need to report to Virgil. Have you seen him? He hasn’t been responding to my calls.”
Lenie didn’t look at her right away. Her sixteen fingers drummed on the table.
“Lenie?” Kithri asked. “What’s wrong? Something up?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong with me. But Virgil.… He’s in the back, you’ll want to see him yourself.”
“What, is he all right? Did he get injured?”
Lenie just gestured behind her and turned her optics back to the papers in front of her. Kithri navigated to Virgil’s office, ducking past a couple guards in hushed conversation.
As she entered his office, she saw a box half full of keepsakes, oddments, and supplies. Virgil had just pulled another set of papers out of his desk drawer, but he stopped and turned his greying head toward her when she entered.
“Hey, boss,” Kithri said, trying to stay jovial, “you starting sabbatical early? What’s the rush?”
He grimaced, giving her a pained look. “In a way, I suppose. But it’s not the sabbatical I’d envisioned.”
Kithri’s unease deepened. “Then what is it? Why are you moving all your stuff?”
He finished putting the armful into the box. “Might as well just say it,” he muttered, then turned to face her fully. “I was fired. No warning. No explanation. No nothing. Gone. Years of loyal service, hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, and this is how they treat me.” He slammed his hands on the table. The conversations outside the office died down.
Kithri stood speechless. Virgil continued. “I’ve been given to the end of the day, and then everything has to be out. Anything of mine I don’t remove is forfeit.”
“Virgil, I’m so sorry,” Kithri finally said, tears welling up in her eyes. The unfairness of it all!
He shrugged, but she could see the pain beneath it. “Thanks, but it’s not your fault.” He tried to smile for her. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”
Kithri desperately wanted to believe that it wasn’t her fault. But when she turned away, she saw in her mind’s eye a shadow looming huge and menacing behind her.
Rhea came home and plopped down on her couch. Four days, nothing! Not a word, not a message, not a sign. Where had he gone?‡
The apartment had felt too empty these last days. She’d grown accustomed to knowing there was another body here when she left. It made it easier to come back to.
The celestial humanoid bust stared right through her from the corner of the room as it always did. She suspected it was more than decoration, but she’d never asked Ward about it. He dusted it, kept it neat, but otherwise left it as a strange decoration. He said it reminded him of his obligations.
Rhea frowned. Of course, he says the Cathedral of Illuminism isn’t a cult, but isn’t that what all cults say?She turned the statue over in her hands and smiled with hope as she read an address etched on the underside.
“If found, please return to 111 Grainna Lane, Lower Taverswood.”
As Rhea approached the address, she reflected that for a presumably evangelistic institution, their uninspiring location served better to dissuade than proselytize. The sad strip mall occupied an out-of-the-way stretch of real estate in the Lower Taverswood warehouse district. From the front it was an unassuming special-interest bookstore (The Final Volume) with no signage indicating affiliation with the Cathedral.
Inside, posters advertised impossibly happy people blithely dispensing banal fortunes. A bored-looking teenager behind the desk looked up from her book and swiveled her chair back to face the door. “Welcome to The Final Volume, can I help you?” she asked in a listless monotone.
Rhea nodded. “I’m looking for someone who works with the Cathedral of Illuminism. Is this the place?”
The girl nodded. “I’ll get him. Just a minute.” She put her book down and slouched off to a back room. A moment later she came back with an incongruously well-dressed man, said, “There she is,” and went back to her book.
“Thanks, Sylvie,” he said with an apologetic look at Rhea. “Don’t mind her, she’s really quite a nice young lady.”
“No, I’m not,” Sylvie said without looking up.
He rolled his eyes in amusement. “My name is Ceugant. What brings you to our little outpost?”
“I’m looking for Ward. He’s a member of your community, right?”
Ceugant nodded. “Yes, yes he is.” He gestured to the back. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Rhea accepted, and soon they were seated in two semi-comfortable chairs in a back room.
“So, you mentioned Ward. Have you spoken to him recently?” Ceugant asked.
Rhea shook her head. “No. He hasn’t been home in four days. I was hoping you might know what had become of him. I thought maybe you’d sent him off on some job or other.”
Ceugant shook his head. “Nothing I’m party to. That is distressing,” he said seriously. “We had a particular honor we wished to confer upon him.”
Rhea went poker-faced as she recalled the contents of the note, which she had of course peeked at. The church requests that Ward bear an epistle to the deacon at the Cathedral of Illuminism in Blue. “We expect to be traveling together soon. I hope that doesn’t pose an inconvenience?” she asked.
“On the contrary,” Ceugant said, “it is quite convenient. When do you expect to leave?”
“As soon as possible—likely as soon as he’s back. Not to be unkind, but I don’t know that we’ll have a lot of time for sightseeing or diversions en route. The travel is strictly utilitarian.”
Ceugant assured her that it shouldn’t be an undue inconvenience and asked her to remind Ward to make contact when he returned.
“As long as he makes himself present in good time, I’ll be sure to tell him.” Rhea thanked Ceugant and left, bearing more concerns and questions than she had come with.
“Does my collection meet your expectations?” asked Smick, smiling.f‡
Marweg stared at the creatures before him. The arcane rabbits sparked a bit as they chased each other around and through, sometimes literally, the bushes of their enclosure. A few aethyric glowbugs sparkled as they trudged along the edges of the walls. Turkey wasps shook their buzzing wattles in their nest. A bearded malkin dozed in a spreading tree, its quiet rumbling snore soothing to the ears.
“However, did you catch them?” he asked in wonder. “Especially the bear!” He pointed to the largest enclosure, where a large mass lay slumbering in contentment.
Smick laughed. “I got a tip about its habits. I didn’t go looking for it until the twenty-seventh year and managed to find it before hibernation began again.”
“Surely that would’ve taken a lot of trouble to bring home. What a specimen!” Marweg felt elated just to be so close to the bear. He couldn’t help imagining the pride of possessing such a prized piece.
“I had help,” Smick said modestly. “Sunpath Safaris are always a diverting source of potential acquisition. I highly recommend them, but you don’t find the rarer specimens through them so often. Früz has been a most valuable companion to me through it all, of course. We couldn’t have built our collections without each other. He comes with me to the Gold, I go with him to the Blue, and together we build the menageries of our dreams.” He chuckled. “In his case, literally.”
“Why do you say?” Marweg asked.
“Well as you know, Blue tends toward the intangible. Many specimens there either are dreams or exist because of them. It can lead to difficulty in containing and capturing them. Gold’s keep changing on you, but at least they tend to stay corporeal.”
“I can see the problems already.” Marweg smiled. “You know, I’ve been wanting to know a bit more about creatures in Blue, and Green as well. I’ve heard odd things about them, especially in the nightsides. What have you encountered?”
“So many things, so many things,” Smick replied. “Knowledge, wisdom, and dreams. So many dreams. Some of them are liquid, you know, just dream made form and flowing like water. But it’s not just dreams. Its concepts and ideas, or even their loss. And time, that’s another concept that’s bent there. You want to watch out if you see floating clocks. They say some of them are malicious, reversing and changing time on people with no warning. I knew one fellow, vislae from a few years back, he went hunting them while he was in his sixties. He came back a week later, empty-handed and in his forties. He said he’d stumbled onto a whole herd of the clocks.” Smick shook his head. “Bad quarry for the young, that’s for sure.”
Marweg nodded in sympathy. “What about Green? Do you know what sorts of things live there, or its nightside?”
Smick pursed his lips. “Not as much. That was never a Sun we visited often for collection. They say it’s wild, though, not like anything you’ve seen elsewhere. The struggle to survive takes on a whole new dimension, I’m told. Circle of life, you know? But there’s the beginning and the end of the circle.”
“Technically a circle doesn’t have a beginning or an end…”
“Metaphorically, I mean, of course. Birth and death, growth and decay. At first glance, nightside seems more at home with the death-and-decay bit. Even the plants seem designed to kill you. As well, the growth it gives rise to is not exactly delicate and picturesque. There’ve been some fascinating discussions on their nature at the Lattice Vitale, but there’s still a lot of controversy about whether nightside has more death and decay or less. Last month, Stibbons put forth that the presence of so much life spawned by death and decay meant that although the balance between growth and decay remained the same in both Green and Nightside Green, the quantity of growth and decay were nevertheless comparably larger in nightside because of the voracious habits of its denizens.”
Marweg sighed wistfully as a woosht flew past his gaze. “Ah, the Lattice Vitale. I would dearly love to attend a members' lecture… I don’t suppose you know how I might be able to join in more than the public shows?”
“You’d need the support of a current member,” Smick said with a knowing smile, “but you’d also need to bring forward an acquisition whose presence the Lattice Vitale deemed worthy of admission. I must warn you that the collections of the members are extensive, but they tend to be specific as well. A spot of creativity and luck could give you a seat.” He patted Marweg on the shoulder. “It really is a pity about the pushmi-pullyu. I don’t think I’ve ever met a member that’s caught one. I would’ve backed your admission in a heartbeat.”
They each grieved the lost catch in silence. The buzzings, hootings, and scurryings were a balm to Marweg’s feelings of loss. Marweg finally mustered his courage, and spoke.
“My menagerie is far more humble, but I would be grateful if you should visit sometime.”
“It would be my pleasure. I’ll let Früz know. Perhaps in a couple weeks, upon your return?”
Cheered, Marweg stood to depart. “I’ll alert Evanstree to begin preparations, and I’ll send you a proper invitation once I’m returned.”
Provided I don’t meet something untoward on our journey, he thought.‡
“Hey, the prodigal is back!” Rhea shouted. A small cheer rose from the other three.f
Ward walked up to the group almost sheepishly. “Sorry about going AWOL.”
“Glad you made it.” Rhea hugged him briefly and smiled. “I see you got the note. Did you bring your supplies?”
Ward indicated the pack on his back. “Most of them. You told me Marweg has the food covered?”
“He does. I don’t think he’s ever done this before—he made preparations for a trip to every sun and back. Kithri had to talk him down on some of the details so we wouldn’t need a convoy. I’ve never seen him so excited before. You’d think it was a vacation.”
“What did he pack?”
“Food enough for us five and Donkey for several days, clothes for all weather, lots of stuff. What about you?”
Ward shrugged. “A change of clothes, couple of games, a dagger, not much.”*
Rhea nodded. “Much the same for me. But I don’t think it’s ever right to travel without pen and paper.”
Ward looked down at his feet. “Look, I’m really sorry about being gone all that time…”
“It seems to happen to everyone at some point,” Winstead reassured him. “At least, so they tell me. And it did happen to me as well, so they’re probably telling the truth. Kithri and Marweg are going over supplies and such. You’re just in time, actually. We were about to leave.”
A noise somewhere between a grunt and an express-train whistle startled Ward. Next to Marweg stood a large brown-and-grey lizard, six feet long despite having no tail, with six legs whose knees all rose to a little past the height of its low back. It stood waist-high to Marweg as he tightened straps around its midsection. The snub head had large, flaring nostrils, and its small eyes gleamed black. It yawned, and Ward saw two rows of small sharp teeth split wide, then close with a snap.
“There we go, Donkey, that’s a good fellow,” Marweg said, pulling the last strap taut. He patted its low shoulder in approval.
Ward couldn’t take his eyes off the creature. “What is that thing, and why does it have my box on its back?”
Marweg wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “Donkey’s a hexacrix. The box is a bit much to carry ourselves, so I thought it best to have a pack animal on the trip.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, the box will be quite safe. It’s a very sturdy mover.”
“Are we quite safe?” Ward asked. He leaned toward Rhea as though he wanted to step behind her.
“Of course!” Marweg laughed. “I packed enough meat rations for the trip, and if we find anything fresh for it along the way, so much the better. As long as we don’t run out of food, it’ll be quite harmless.”
Kithri walked up to Ward. “Give me your backpack, please. I need to finish splitting up the supplies.”
“Sure.” He shook off the pack and handed it over. Kithri immediately went back to the piles and plopped it beside three other packs. “Day one, day two, day three,” she muttered to herself as she divided the load. “Packs are done.” Kithri put her hands on her knees and got up from her squat with a slight grimace of discomfort.
“Great!” Winstead moved to take hers, then paused. “Hang on, where’s yours?”
Kithri shook her head. “I’m not coming yet.”
“What?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“But—”
“I’ll have to catch up. Circumstances have changed with the Pristine Guard. Something is really wrong, and I need to follow the leads before leaving.” She held up a hand to forestall the objections already spilling from their mouths. “I’ll help you get to Nightside Blue and then meet up with you later. I can follow by another route.”
“What about Aug Fullan?” Rhea asked.
Kithri shook her head. “My first duty is to the guard. The minister will understand. I’ll see you in Nightside Green, if not before.”
Marweg coughed. “Not to be vulgar, but does this mean recompense will happen later?”
Kithri laughed. “No, I’ve got the initial payment here. This is the initial two hundred fifty crystal orbs.” She tossed a large pouch to Marweg. “Anything beyond that gets expensed to the minister’s office when you get back, up to three fifty.”
Ward shuffled his feet. “So, I guess this is goodbye then?”
“Until we meet again,” Kithri corrected him. “I won’t run off right away, I’ll stay until you go to Nightside Blue, but then you’re on your own until I catch up.”
The reluctance to leave stretched on and grew uncomfortable. Rhea shook her head to clear it. “Everyone ready to go, then?” she asked brusquely.
The others nodded.
Rhea took a short breath and started concentrating.¶ As she focused on the next step, the roads between suns opened themselves to her mind. Magical intent coalesced around spoken syllables of power, and her hands wove a delicate pattern of opening before her. As the magic grew stronger, the space before them grew slightly darker, the Satyrine landscape melting into a wash of cool colors, unfamiliar hills, and strange flickering heights beyond. The lapis sky warmed to nearly yellow closer to the sun, which shone on teal grass and grey stone.
As soon as she felt the opening clarify, she gave a quick order and the four of them walked through, Marweg coaxing Donkey along.¶ Rhea looked back to see Kithri wave a final farewell to them, and then the portal closed.
f Kallisdies, Saffron 13th
‡ Invisible Sun, Dangerous Elixir
‡ Red Sun, Misremembered Dream
* Ward fails to recognize that Blue and Nightside Blue are effectively distinct places. This is also somewhat new for everyone else as well, so the error is not corrected.
‡ Saffron 13-17th
†† Aethyric Magnifying Glass (Level 3, Pale, Depletion: 0-4)
f Triumdies, Saffron 14th
‡ Gold Sun, Doctor
f Saffron 16th-22nd
* And then we never followed up on this.
¶ Ward learns Spirit Link, names Rhea as the one who will be able to communicate with him once he’s dead, from any distance.
f Saffron 16th
‡ Grey Sun, Elusive Sleep
f Betraldies, Saffron 18th
‡ Indigo Sun, Alchemist
f Vraldan, Saffron 19th
* The entity in the journal is a serial rapist/murderer named Stuart Portman, akin to a Patrick Bateman sort. Every time you read or attempt to understand the journal it'll be a trial of wills to see who wrests control.
I can see this going a few ways. One is that you're about to deal with Nimragul; it's up to you whether it's as Winstead or as Stuart.
Demogan is seeking a sacrifice; Stuart, through Winstead, may try to get someone for his own purposes.
Alternatively, perhaps Stuart is the perfect sacrifice to give.
Dark desire: as of yet, I have not yet embarked upon finishing a great work. What if this mysterious, demon-laden diary is the work I could finish? Stuart wonders through me. Whether that work entails simply continuing the writing where Stuart left off, or embarking upon his work in a more visceral way, is . . . hazy, depending on how much control he has at any given point. Winstead has been suppressing this urge, but the confrontation with Nimragul draws things to the fore that she hasn't wanted to admit are truly there.
f Fjalldan, Saffron 20th
‡ Pale Sun, Misunderstood Beast
f Callumdies, Saffron 21st
‡ Untrustworthy Mirror
f Callumdies, Saffron 21st
‡ Silver Sun, Conspirator
‡ Invisible Sun, Inevitable Cataclysm
f Callumdies, Saffron 21st
‡ Blue Sun, Eternal Mountain
‡ Gold Sun, Tyrannical Clock. Associated with Marweg’s research.
f Callumdies, Saffron 21st
* Also a fine detail tool kit for when they get back.
¶ Kithri provides a Sorcery bene for Rhea to be able to bring everyone in one go.
¶ Marweg advances his forte, gaining Language of Plants