Beruflich Dokumente
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Prologue
The Chorus speaks:
Come with me to the clockwork cosmos, where natural laws are defaced by the workings of magic and
by the machinations of gods and godlings. A sphere no farther across than in our own world would fit
within the orbit of Mercury that fleetest of planets. Within this place 14 recalcitrant deities were sent to
learn lessons on how to reign over a universe, and outgrow their selfish lusts. In seven suns were
placed seven gods, and in seven spheres placed seven goddesses, with the ferryman of death to watch
over them.
In this time knights still cling to their lance, and go on quests for their fair ladies ensconced in
their towers, but it is a passing age. Instead, younger orders vie for supremacy: new kings, new houses
of merchant power, and new men, armed with firearms. Magery of all kinds is loosed on the world:
with alchemists mixing subtle compounds, sorcerers and thaumaturges altering the course of events,
summoners calling dark and bright spirits, witches using craft to hone the outcomes. Swords are still
crossed, but pistols and hackbuts blare in battle, cresting smoke and flash to hurl their shot that rends
the flesh.
In this cosmos souls struggle to be born, whether in the smallest living thing, or born in great
mortal bodies: dragons, monsters, men, and animals. They strive to give themselves a place in the after
life that will weigh upon the fate of the worlds. They count spiritual coin as much as they do the chips
of metal that are currency in the breathing world. All is woven with the fights of little godlings, who
grow fat on worship of their followers, and give small tokens to those that hold their little faith.
Each sphere dances on a complex weave, around the seven suns, and each season is made by
which sun holds the attention of a sphere, and casts his influence to make night and day. At times, at
times, at times, a conjunction allows a god and goddess to incarnate, and there engage in orgy of their
divine desires. From these unions come the moons that circle round the spheres.
The spheres are close, and by powerful alchemy, ships may sail the ether winds, amongst the
creatures that live between them, navigating the swirls and shoals, but only in short leaps, and at very
narrow times.
In this cosmos the gods and goddesses chatter, endlessly flirting and hoping to arrange their
favored unions at favored times, they have learned little in the epoch that they have spent in this prison.
The story set at the end of these happy pagan times, when many godlings race to serve their
many mortal partners, when there is, as yet, a complex balance that no one god or goddess can betray.
Darkness has come and gone many times, but only in clashes over the margins of the power. It has been
several generations since any cataclysmic war or plague has marred the sunny times of planting,
bearing, and reaping, though ambition's thirst is often slaked in blood.
Come with me to the clockwork cosmos, where natural philosophy, rather than natural science,
is the basic truth, and stumbling forward are the mortal lives, towards a future as yet unwritten.
The Rhyme of Seven
The Cosmos is a prison,
And sons and sisters locked within,
Locked by outer god,
for commission of sin,
both ordinary and odd.
Once a year around the fixed stars spin,
Part I
i
A tower on the surface Eowilonwey, amidst the fir forests of the north, and surrounded by the Sea of
Nod. It is locked in an eternal and magical night.
On the surface of Eowilonwey, outside, which faces the Seven Suns and all the stars, there is a
tower that is under eternal night, where the Suns themselves are at most orbs, but the distant sky is
always clear. It is, of course, magic of an eldritch kind, that keeps the blaring haze away, and scatters
almost all the clouds. On the other six worlds, there is no place quite like it, and in it lives an astrologer
who has seen more time than any other mortal man, having cheated death at cards thrice upon a time.
The tower spire rises 50 meters from the ground as black granite, with a spiraling stair around its
outside, and windows that are either too bright to look at, or darker than the darkest night. At the top a
platform lies, with a railing round. From outside it is hard to tell what is atop it, but everyone knows
that it is the most fiendishly complex orrery ever made, rumored to have a sympathetic element of
every Sun, every World, and even all the moons that circle them.
Whether none of the Seven Suns can be seen, or all together at once, it is possible to watch, and
observe even the faintest object. And so, though bent with many years, and with a beard that hangs
round and round his shoulders, and drags on the tail of his threadbare robes, the keen-eyed tan skinned
astrologer is always there found, tinkering with the orrery, which shows the seven worlds looping
around the seven suns, in their whirring progression from station to station in the celestial dance or
almost as often staring into the telescope, and scribbling notes with a fine hand on the velvet creamy
vellum imported from Aliorntha, the green and ripe sphere from which the softest feathers, leathers,
and women come.
There were an array of instruments: the orrery, a very large telescope, several smaller ones, a
mechanical clock that tracked the hours, a water-clock that was combined with a fountain, a cage with
a mechanical bird, and several other smaller devices of various descriptions. The result is that the air
softly clicked, hummed, and spun with the singing of gears, bearings, the ticking of ratchets, the
flowing of water, and the variety of bells from each of the instruments. The floor is a curious pattern of
tiles, called knot tiles, which never quite seem to repeat, but have a strange cadence and order to them,
highlighted by the bright ceramic glaze colors of blues and oranges. Glints of light reflected from the
moons and on to the floor shine here and there, creating small five pointed bits of scintillation in the
eternal darkness. The tiles are worn, because long in the past he had many visitors.
But the astrologer is long past caring of the comings and goings of people, and their throngs, or
even of his machines save the one he is using, instead he cares only to stare beyond the stars, into what
lies beyond, and listens to the ether chatter of the gods imprisoned in the seven suns, and the goddesses
imprisoned in the seven worlds, and the mewlings of the moons as they grow from birth to
adolescence. He listens as the sons within the suns maneuver and flirt to attract the sisters in the
spheres, beckoning, enticing, hoping to join with them at the proper conjunction, and, perhaps, there to
conceive a deitic soul that could be come a moon.
He listens and then in an instant startles, because Korana has gone silent. She of al-lat, of
almond eyes and almond skin. She, the sphere he was born within, on Arafar, the continent that splays
like an octagonal star, in the city of Bahir. The city whose eight gates and eight minarets are famed,
which sits upon the gate between the outer skin of Korana, and the inner lands were most people live,
and thus is one of the great trading ports between the worlds. He knows and loves her ether voice more
than any other, and has another memory that is not his, but was left with him.
She falls silent, and his brow furrows. This has never happened, not in his memory, nor in any
book he has read that he trusts, nor in the mention of any spirit, dragon, or deity he has heard. He
swings the telescope to see her, though she is not far away. He notices nothing amiss, except, perhaps,
it is hard to focus. The clarity is not there. But this is common enough, it could be anything, from
turbulent nymphs of the air, to more malign influences in the aether between them. But he is concerned,
and realizes that he needs more wisdom than is in his charts.
He sobs a moment, feeling cut off from his place of birth, and more distant than in all the years
since he was within Korana, truly alone. His eye tremors, but his body is too decrepit for tears. Korana
is the last spirit in all the worlds that he cared for, save for one human friend he has left.
He ponders, knowing that none of the seven sons care to speak to him, as he flouts their
radiance by taking over the tower raised on this peculiar spot, and the six daughters do not deign to
notice anyone that the sons will not speak to. So he listens to their chatter and waits. He knows they
must know, if she is truly silent. Perhaps that is it, he thinks, it is just some eddy in the ether that carries
her words away. But then, as he listens, he notices that she is not called to, nor is their any hanging
question or solicitation that implies her presence. No invitation, no plotting for the next conjunction, no
recounting of some time by a son when he and she were incarnate, and enjoyed the physical caress of
sexual and spiritual union. No wry joke, or witty aside on the other dancers, or the dance.
She is silent not only to his ears, but erased from the conversation. His face grows black, and his
white beard twitches like a tail. He needs more knowledge, and walks to the rail leaning out and
looking. He thinks, perhaps, that a comet is blocking all her influence. This he knows is possible, at
least in theory: a truly malign comet could do this, though it never has before.
But such a comet would be a blazon banner, striking a streak across the sky that would make
mortals quake. He sees no such thing. What he does realize is that his eyes have failed to focus, and
that, in fact, he can see ribbons of darkness around Korana, that look like clouds, but are beyond the
ayres of the world he stands on, Eowilonwey, also called Eo for brevity's sake.
And so he thinks, and realizes that it is time to consult with more than mortal sources. Would,
he thinks, that he were a summoner, but such is forbidden to any who watch the stars, because the
influence could suck the summoner down, or the summoned up. And, if nothing else, he is a creature of
order. So he walks to his desk, covered with scrolls and the tools of his trade: fine astrolabes, several
clocks in various states of assembly, compasses, rulers, acids, inks, annealing bowls, and picks up a
large ring, upon that are so many keys that it is impossible to guess how many. Some are gold and
jeweled, others are tiny, many are rusted or tarnished. One small key shines with many colors, and it is
this one that he picks.
From there he walks to a gilt cage, where within is a small mechanical sparrow, made of silver
and lapis lazuli, with feathers of the finest wrought precious metals of many kinds, and meticulous
craftsmanship to form each soft feather in its plumage. Once is was polished, but now has dulled with
years, looking all the more valuable for its age. It sits with one leg down, as if roosting. He winds in
carefully, and then whispers a message into its ear, that turns the thousand clever gears within, and
stores his breath inside a tiny sphere of curious metal. He opens a small door between the wings, shifts
the gears about, and tosses the bird into the air. It opens its wings, and takes flight of its own, flapping
off into the distance. His old dear friend, a summoner of some renown, will hear it sing his message in
his ear, however far he may be. Since it is common for that friend to be wandering the great wood that
covers much of this sphere, searching for rare woods that, when burned, will produce the proper smoke
to call spirits from the vasty deep, he hopes that it will not be long. But who knows? Sometimes the
summoner, means sometimes the summoned, and the bird would have to hover until his return from
which ever dark lamented place he abides in.
In this place, where Lilith the moon by some fiendish mirror magic is always mirrored in five
places through the sky, days are not counted as in other places. Instead, he trusts the orrery, and a small
homunculus who turns a small hour-glass over and over again. He turns to it, and tells it to begin
counting from this moment until the sparrow's return. It doffs its tiny velvet cap, and mumbles numbers
under its breath.
He then sets down and begins writing several letters, some to people who are important, and
others who merely think they are. This is news, and while there are others who listen to the ether as
well, they are few, and some are not always generous with what they hear. He sets down the account of
what he knows so far, and with a pantograph making copies, he is soon ready to send these off. But he
has only one mechanical bird, and not being a summoner, has few spirits at his service the hourglass
homunculus was a gift, you see he then walks down to the base of the tower. His doorman, one of his
only servants, is snoring away, as usual it might be said, and has to be roused. He takes out two small
silver coins, and instructs his doorman to make haste to where these can be distributed. The town is two
day's ride away, and it is urgent. Or, thinks the astrologer, as urgent as the affairs of mortals can be
when speaking of the seven sons and seven sisters.
He slowly makes his way back to his observatory, and sits to rest, the flourish of activity has
made him tired. He awakens from his slumber sometime later, and begins writing a letter.
To Myself
I have become forgetful of little things of late, and you must be even more so, so I am sending me this
letter from myself, in hopes that if I have forgotten anything, this letter will serve as sufficient reminder.
On the back I copy out the celestial positions from the orrery, and the counting of my clock, so that you
will know how long it has been since this letter was written. Of the event that precipitates it, there can
be no doubt at all: Korana has gone silent. I hope it is some unique and perfidious part of the
complexities of The Dance between The Dancers. I hope it is some malicious influence, or a comet that
is black as night and which I cannot see. I hope that it is some event that, even if it is without
precedent, is a temporary interloping in the progression of the spheres. But I fear it is not. As our little
universe is a hollow sphere, within that the Seven Suns and Seven Spheres are made to imprison the
Seven Sons and Seven Sisters, it cannot help but be true that malicious and malign events, even on this
scale, are created and intended as a punishment. The great hierophants of the outer gods speak of the
endless evil that is possible, and of the torments that reign beyond the skin of the skin, where the dead
cling to it, fearing what will happen should they be sucked into the vastness of the outer space. Since
they seem to speak from some communication with the outer that I have never quite understood, but
can sense when they perform it, you, meaning me, must trust me when I say that this is a grave
situation.
Let me then summary the actions that I have taken. I have sent Sparrow to the Summoner, so
that he might call forth those with more knowledge than mortals are allowed to remember. I have
written a letter expressing the gravest urgency of the situation, and warning all of the hazard to
navigation. I am going to set down a trace of the orrery, so that what happens after this will have
indelible record. I am writing this letter to you. I have made a careful search for comets, of which I
have found none, but will make another. After this, I will ring the tower bell, and it will attract those
who are supposed to hear it. Also the homunculus is on a count from this time, so please do not give
another instruction, as he is easily confused.
Miraculous Korana that gave birth to us is silent, and it is incumbent that you, meaning me,
make all efforts. My head is weary, and I will sleep again after ringing the bell. It is impossible for me
to believe that I have taken all necessary steps, so concentrate carefully and rouse what is left of our,
meaning my, brain, to the tasks that will further effectuate what is needed.
Jehanjir Al-Akbar, Astrologer
After this he then slowly walked down a small spiral stair through a hole in the floor, and there
inside a room of seven windows, that can only be seen out of, not into, there is a vast inverted half
sphere, made of bluish porcelain, and a large hammer with that to strike it. It has been a very long time
since he could lift the hammer, and so he carefully made a set of gears that would allow him to loose
the power in a spring, a spring wound by a waterwheel that catches the occasional rain, and stores the
trickling of it. It is rare for him to ring the bell more than once in an ordinary lifetime, and so, this is
enough. He has many times thought to improve the mechanism, but a windmill's constant moving
would distract him, and as well the spirits of the air, and it is a very long way to the stream itself, as it is
behind the rocks, and through the small wood nearby. It would be a great deal of work to erect a second
waterwheel, and he had only dallies with plans for it. Too many other things to do with his time, and
his limited energy. Ah, to be old again, he thought. Perhaps two hundred would be perfect. But that was
a long time ago.
He gently looses the lever, wrapped in polished leather, and warm to his touch, he can feel the
small homunculi scatter from it, used, as they are, to sitting and resting, so rarely is it used. There is an
observable, though barely observable, darkening of the air, and a flickering of the lantern, as they rush
either away from the gears, or about their appointed tasks of turning the coil of the spring into
movement. The hammer, wrapped in silk, strikes the bell, and there is not a sound. Not a sound, but a
sense, that something has happened. Something wondrous and dreadful all at once. At the same time
there is trepidation that shakes the bowels, and a moment of elan. He draws breath, stands up straight,
and then straighter, for it is the property of this bell, to give vigor to those the sound is meant for, in
proportion to the danger. He is not merely aged, nor even old, he feels young again. The sensation is so
striking that he cannot believe. it.
And so, he walks back upstairs, takes out a mirror, polished of platinum and looks into it.
Staring back is firm and full flesh, though a bit lined with cares. He is not the ancient astrologer any
more, but a man of perhaps, fifty years of age, with only the slightest of gray at his temples, and a short
smartly clipped, and still mostly black salt and pepper beard. His cheeks are not hollowed out, though
he is still markedly thin. He looks down and sees hands that are still subtle and strong, not claws of
arthritis that they were moments before.
This effect sweeps across him, and his mind is shaking in terror, even as his body feels a health
and youth that is long forgotten past forgetting. His muscles are tense, but inside he rattles, and shakes,
and he runs to the privy because his insides cannot contain his last meal. He does not know which end
will rebel first, and spends several minutes vomiting out from his mouth, and then feeling as if his
intestines are ready to drop out of his body and down into the abyss. He is about to call for his valet,
but realizes that while he is spattered with the consequences of his illness, he is also easily hale enough
to clean up his own mess, and thus forgo both the humiliation, and the requirement of explaining what
has happened.
Thus he deftly steals his way up to the day bed that is on the roof observatory, made of scarlet
velvet and embroidered with gold thread in floral designs, and takes out his spare set of clothes that is
laid there, and doffs the hose, undertunic, robe, and sandals. He looks at himself in the mirror, and then
takes a turban that normally rests on a hook beside his desk. It has been a long time since he could wear
it, even the linen would be too heavy, let alone the ruby set in the center of the forehead, whose pin is
made of almost unbreakable metal, a sliver of the mattock of a titan. He nestles it smartly on his head,
and stares at himself in the mirror.
Truly, he thinks, we are utterly doomed. Never has the bell given such youth. He knows that it
will only last as long as the emergency, but he is certain that this is a portent that he is destined to die
young. The bell has peeled away centuries, he thinks, that means destiny has taken away whatever
years I have left. It is a pity that part of his deal with death, was that he would never again cast his own
horoscope. But then, he mused, perhaps it is better to meet ones end unknowing, the way a virgin never
knows what awaits her in the marriage bed. Or a groom the morning after.
Or a mortal, enthused by the spirit of a son, does not know what it will mean to watch as his
body couples with a mortal woman who is similarly possessed by a sister's spirit, and what violent
upheavals in spirit and flesh are possible when sun and sphere truly align. That night is burned upon his
brain, and the energy it gave him sustains him still.
He sets about his work with haste, fixing the myriad problems that have accumulated with the
orrery, and his telescopes, and every other piece of equipment. He knows he will need all of them. He
then waits and looks out in every direction, hoping to see some trace of coming aid. He swings a small
refractor around, and spies across the horizon, which is blocked in many places by stands of firs, but
that also looks out over the sea that surrounds his island. It is open water now, because not long before
Eowilonwey was dancing with Eorl, the big, bright, yellow sun of High Summer. Thus, right now,
while she is taking a chaste and formal turn with Tir, the sphere is still warm with the near embrace that
she and Eorl shared. It was a bumpy ride, but the glow was still upon the world.
Just then a meteorite glowed and continued to fall, and he knew almost after the first instant this
was meant for him. The bolt grew brighter and closer, and finally floated to a stop. He might have been
terrified, except there was a deep and mortal calm upon him, all fear having been wrenched out of his
gut. Then it hovered, and in the blue-white glow, he could see a figure like a man, only 3 meters tall,
wearing a light white robe, and extending white feathered wings. Around his waist a simple belt that
seemed made merely of rope, but was, on second inspection, wound of polished stones, which none the
less retained a flexibility. He could see the ripples in marble, and the flecks of mica in the feldspar.
And the spirits face was stern and noble, the spirits flesh was like a dark opal, with eyes like
quicksilver, seeming to flow. There was fire that sparked from his wings, and he held a trumpet. And it
spoke unto him.
Fear not. I am sent unto thee by one who loves you.
It is a little late for fearing not dread angel. Who has sent you? I know of no one who loves
me.
She asks not to be named but it is she who told me to come to you, as the only mortal man who
might aid her in her hour of need.
I was born on Korana, do you have word of what events have unfolded there?
I can only tell you that it is dire, she knew not else.
Jehanjir nodded.
Is this all?
No, I have more, from another source, one whose name is not known to you, or to most in this,
the prison of the Seven and Seven.
An outer god?
If you will.
Then pour forth what you have, so that your knowledge might become my wisdom.
It is so: this is an event that marks a turning in the tide.
What have mortal men to do with this? We are beneath ants to even the spirits of power and
excellence here. My lords and you lord, are much beyond even the mightiest.
And so it is, and thus I come and speak to thee.
Why not the dragons of the aether, whose wings are miles long?
They would be sense as soon as they fluttered breath of wing.
Why not the djinn of many faces, whose reach can stretch from sphere to her moons and turn
them?
There weighty steps would creak should they even move.
Why not the daemons of the abyss, who belch and then consume whole comets?
Their stench would poison the aether.
So the great spirits who I have not named, would they also be as this?
The wyrms and all the others would be to evident in their presence or their absence.
Why not homunculi? Are there no nymphs or maenads, triads, or satyrs? What of the million
unborn souls whose task it is to run the cosmos?
They have no freewill, and can only fleck the flecks of foam from the ocean of time. They
cannot wish away what is willed.
And of lesser incarnate beings? Would they not be more perfect spies?
Only the middle races will do, those who are less, are too little, but those who are even a shade
more, are too much. Though, of course, humans are not alone in this, it is they who straddle the perfect
balance.
But what could I do, or even an army, or all the fleets in all the spheres do?
You are commanded thus: voyage to Korana, and make report of what you find there.
But you just came from hence, surely your perfect senses know more than I could know.
Even now Korana is descending into a shroud of darkened ether, that would drive an angel
mad to stare at it.
And how could I voyage there?
You rang the bell, it sluiced me here to speak to you, and it also calls the aid of others who will
be your companions in this geas.
And not you?
No, I am fading, my time of times is done, and I, as spirit unborn, will vanish as the dew.
You gave your existence for this?
For my lady, and for the sister that she serves, I do so gladly and with a bright heart, hoping,
perhaps, that I will return to the slumber and be allowed to be born in mortal case.
It is rare that your kind is this allowed?
Rare, but not so rare as gold, nor as common as silver is to you.
Is there nothing more?
The angel pulled forth a bone casing for a scroll, and handed it to Jehanjir.
This will aid you, but do not open it on any sphere, but only beyond the orbit of any moon.
I thank you and take these your gifts. I wish you well in all your hopes.
With this the glowing orb vanished, leaving only Jehanjir under the sky.
He waited for his eyes to readjust to the darkness, and then set down the sum of the
conversation. He was half way through, when he chanced to look up from his writing. He could hear a
faint whirring sound, and he realized it was the Sparrow, wending its way through the sky towards him.
He checked with the homunculus, it has been 1/360 of a sidereal year exactly, since he sent it out. He
mentally calculated, that this meant it could have covered half the outer globe. He watched as it came
gliding to a stop, and alit on the top of its wicker cage. Its wings stopped, and it stood there for a
moment. But then it exploded, with springs and gears and all the workings scattering in all directions,
and only then was there a man sitting on the stool where the now crushed cage once sat.
He was extremely tall, though not gigantic, and just barely slender rather than lanky, and wore
his 60 years lightly. He was dressed, not in robes, but in pantaloons and a leather jerkin, a fine rapier
hanging from a belt. A broad-brimmed hat much of his chiseled features, and this was intentional, as
with many of his art, he had sacrificed an eye for a sight into the spirit realm, and disguised this
disformity. In his hand was a globe, and from his belt hung the tools of his trade, either naked or in
pouches. He blinked, and then looked at the hale figure before him. It was hard to tell his origin among
the worlds: his face looked like an amalgam of many times and places, and was slightly, though
noticeably, asymmetrical, with long hollowness that made many people feel they had just looked at a
cut of meat rather than a steak. His skin could have been tanned, or merely the color of coffee with
cream by nature, it was impossible to say whether he lived outdoors or indoors, since he had a
roughness about him, but it was not a coarse worn sensation.
I see the spirit of Jehanjir, but not the body? I did not know you had access to such a glamour.
No illusion, but real. The porcelain bell was rung, and this is the result. I am transformed to a
younger man. Summoner, meet me as I was when the worlds were younger, when there were two fewer
moons, and many fewer fallen souls. What I would like to know, is how you got here.
The slender man stood up, and looked around, and then examined Jehanjir. His own hair was
stringy, and one could tell from careful observation that he was almost bald, but allowed what remained
to grow to his shoulders falling in rather stringy waves.
That was simple, though at some cost to the bird. I wound it with one hand, and set the gears,
but with the other I imprisoned myself in a small shell, and when I was sucked in, the bird was free to
fly. I had already whispered the counter spell to the bird, and so, it arrived before you, and delivered an
almost soundless message: me, in a bottle, as it were.
Ingenious. Fiendishly so, old friend.
They embraced, but as they pulled back the Summoner spoke:
In my work, it is unhealthy to compare oneself to fiends. They hear well, but listen poorly.
Fair enough then, may any fiend listening take it as a compliment to their legendary acumen,
and not your comparing yourself to them.
There was a rumble from the ground, obviously, a fiend had been listening, and the entire tower
trembled.
How could the bell have done this?
It is the great bell made on the sphere of Tianxian, in the great castle of Baojing. A whole city
of bones were ground to make it.
How could a thing built of such slaughter be good?
You do not know the tale? I thought I had told you.
No, you did not.
The city was slaughtered, but their souls still bound to their bodies. By giving their bones in
sacrifice, the departed gained great spiritual wealth for their afterlife, rather than underneath as
imprisoned ghouls. By sacrificing, and giving the greater necromancer Jain-Lo Wang the power to
defeat the evil, they went on. The bell rings with the might of a city of the dead. It is a greater artifact
than any I have.
I say again, I am merely clever, it is you who are ingenious.
This tower, and this bell, are not of my workmanship.
But it is you who have the means to control them.
Perhaps I have a turn or two that bends things to my will.
A turn or two. So, the bell cares nothing for me, I am as aged as ever, and feeling it in my
bones. I, unlike you, have never been enthused, and if I were, I doubt I would have had your courage to
then bet death on a single turn of the cards. What am I here for?
I need you to summon some spirit from the ether who might be able to tell us more of Korans
falling silent. We need to mount an expedition and report on what we find.
We? I am not to leave this sphere without permission from Eowilonwey herself, and she's not
speaking to me.
I mean we in the broader sense.
You mean, 'we, not you.' Oh for the nuances of an older tongue.
We can use the Elder, my friend, if you have improved your use of it since last we met.
A turn or two with some older spirits has done me some good. He winked and smiled.
His friend gently slipped to a language that was before languages, and they conversed in that
high speech that was used to lay the course of the cosmos. It is a slow and ponderous tongue, exact
beyond exact, and it took them the better part of a day to decide how best to proceed. Jehanjir would
cast a horoscope, and select from those who he had cast at their birth, while the summoner would call
forth an ether nymph he knew, and ask for a boon of knowledge. In return for what, he did not say, but
nymphs have voracious appetites, and of many kinds.
After some time of casting, Jehanjir grumbled.
I thought I would be going on this expedition, however, it is clear I am not.
How do you know?
Because I am able to cast the course of part of it, which means that I am not involved in the
voyage.
Perhaps you are to remain here.
me on the ship, so that we can escape from this world without detection.
And then break you out?
You are not going.
I knew that. I could not elude the notice of a dragon thrice sleeping and deeply drunk, however
sated on his mate he might be. I must remain here.
And you are right, master summoner, I must go.
Yes. This is your quest, for which you were born too soon.
It is good to be young again. Perhaps it would be a pity to waste it on being old.
They set back to tasks, and waited for the coming of the applicants for the quest.
ii
They gathered on the observatory, Jehanjir taking turns showing each arrival one by one, the
haze around Korana, and extending outward around her like spiral scarves in a twirling dance. At her
crowns were barely visible the silvery blue and green beads of her aurora, shrouded, as they were, by
the black. Indeed, the strands were blacker than black. Since Korana was known for her soft beige
glow, and the sparkling sands and bright blue sees, any who knew her at all were startled. In another
corner the Summoner was explaining that even the powerful spirits of the space deep, were trembling
in terror at what this could mean.
There were a scattering of people of different professions, though hardly representative.
There were first a mass of merchants and captains, clustered around the astrologer, trying hard
to look as if they understood his explanations. They were in pantaloons, boots, light jerkins, or light
armor. They were all brutally clean, or rank of many days of voyaging. Sleekly shaven, or with scurry
beards.
The second cluster were priests and priestesses, of deities both minor and local up to a
representative of the grand hierophants. They were in long robes, sometimes cinched close around
chest or waist, but often left flowing. It was clear that they had a wide variety of circumstances. Some
were emaciated from fasting and poverty, others were replete with rolls of copious fat, and given to
shining ornaments.
The third cluster were of diverse costumes, but clearly all were of foreign missions of various
worlds, including, it might be added, one whose home city was on Korana. He was not of any particular
high rank, but was the best that could be found. The missions and heralds were either in the uniform of
office, or, in many cases, merely their native costume. Some clearly had had more time to groom than
others, and were decked with signs of office.
The fourth cluster were clearly those of arms, mostly hackbut and swordsmen, and swords
women, to a few captains on horse, and one massive man who towered above all others, with a barrel
sized maul on his shoulder. It seemed to be made of almost solid stone. All were in shape, and they
varied from young to old according to their experience. While many had individual adornments of great
price, all were as practically dressed as could be imagined, with breastplates, or chain, or leather boiled
in wax, or other forms of self-protection. Many had full metal helms that ran across their back, and
several clearly were habitues of heavy plate when fighting in close pike ranks.
The last cluster, and smallest, were seven mages. Not all of the magicks were represented, and
almost all were older men. The local university did not permit women to teach, and most were from
there. Jehanjir was expecting a later arrival who would help balance the lot. Mages were all in
traditional black academic robes, and most were wearing the mortarboard and tassel of academic life.
The clusters broke down at times but almost always reformed.
After an hour of chatter and milling around, one man, a heavy-set man, replete with the
prosperity of this world and the poverty of the next, stood up on the day bed and banged his gavel into
a gong his servant below him held. He was in rich and lustrous brown silks and velvets from head to
toe, with high boots that cuffed half way up his legs. Rich rope braids of office were on both shoulders,
as he was both Lord High Mayor, and Admiral of the Fleet. His name was Bartine, Lord High Mayor
Admiral Bartine dun Aberwon. He affected an oiled beard and mustache, in a style he liked to imagine
was as sophisticated as those on Korana, where men were known to take great care in their appearance.
Instead, it looked as if it were carved of something and screwed to his lip.
Greetings all, greetings all! We have come here and the kind and generous invitation of the
Master Astrologer, Jehanjir al-Akbar, and I first must thank him for his munificence and bounty.
There was a general coughing, and some shuffling. The mayor had expected more of a response.
But he plunged forward.
I do not understand all of the nature of their woeful tidings, but it is clear that this is a
disastrous event, even as it is, marked by no comet to underline the portenticity of the event.
This got little attention.
Let me remind all that trade is the life blood of worlds, and I do not see a man or woman here
dress only in homespun and local leather. We are all involved in anything that might disrupt trade.
There was some nodding about this from the contingent of merchant captains. There were board
looks from some, but not many, because one thing all these professions had in common was regular
dosing in turgidity.
As I understand our illustrious hosts, it falls to us to mount an expedition, and report back with
whatever knowledge we can glean.
Will there be a reward? Who is backing this? This from one of the merchants.
Another cried out. Better to form a joint stock company and send grab all the ships that can
make it. The markup will be truly remarkable. Miraculous. At this there was some general nodding.
What say you, astrologer?
This is the fate of worlds, and you think to make one last run for profit?
And why not? According to your own numbers Korana will have to head out, we can jump,
catch, have days to pack up with whatever can be gotten cash, or paid to escape, and be back out. I
think if it is as bad as you say, then many would be willing to pay handsomely. We'd be in position in a
bit over a week, and so could equip quite a squadron.
The astrologer, used to centuries of decrepitude was shocked at the force of his own voice.
I will not have my home turned into the trading floor of Al-huran, or Wood Street. You can do
this if you wish, but you will have no help from me.
At this point, the Mayor, who despite his fumbling exterior, was no fool, broke in.
Jehanjir, no one is turning this into a trading floor. But how can we, a poor world, bear the cost
of this alone? And a profit will give all an encouragement to get out. From time out of mind, merchants
have been spies for others, making and taking a profit, but doing good for god and goddess. Why not
now? Your expedition would be a naked one. A ruse, a pretense at least, of other motives, would
certainly go far to deflect any unwelcome attentions. You admit they are there yourself. And what
better lie than the truth.
Jehanjir stopped, the honey tongue was beckoning to him.
The mayor continued: Why not hide one ship among several? Where is the best place to hide a
key? The mayor pointed at the astrologer's own key.
At this Jehanjir chuckled.
You almost had me, your gracious lord mayor. I was leaning into your words. Truly I must
confess, I had underestimated your abilities. But the key was wrong. The best place to hide a key, is to
have it in your head alone. Go in peace, anyone who wishes to take this expedition for trade and profit,
but stay those who would seek the excellence of a quest to save the goddess Korana.
There was mumbling and more than half the crowd marched out. The huge warrior looked back
and forth, trying to decide, but finally he gave a low but sheepish bow, and trailed out behind the
others. The mayor left lest, with several bows and abject apologies.
Of those who were left, religious figures and mages were now far more represented. Not one
warrior remained, and only a few captains. Finally one man, with a rounded face and stern features, a
bit weathered, but still not by any means old, looked up, he'd been cleaning his nails wit the point of a
dirk, and seemed oblivious to the carry on. He slipped his dirk back in his boot.
I am the man to take this expedition out. T'is good riddance to the mob, because most have
done little but leap from a world, and wait to be swept up by the next, plying only such ether wind as
they need for stability or correction. That is not what is needed. The admiral, who you under-estimated,
you under-estimate again. He's among a small and select group that have commanded squadrons in
battle. Bartine has lost the three battles he has led, but he has been in them, and could pilot a cast of a
dozen to Korana, even on these evil tides. However, he's the only one they have.
I don't recognize you. It was a lithe and tiny woman with features that marked her as from
Tianxian. She was dressed in nearly sheer silks of bright reds, scarlets, yellows, oranges and whites,
that layer upon layer gave only the suggestion of her tiny body. But it was a rather heavy suggestion of
how they clung to her breasts, and slithered around her hips. She was almost the shortest person there,
but her gravity and utterly unlined serenity of mien gave her a height in the eyes of those who looked
upon her.
I'm Captain Niccolo. No last name, given or asked for.
Well Captain Niccolo, I have heard many boasts from many men. How are we to measure your
instrument while it is so keenly sheathed.
There was some nodding among the four Captains left, and one or two stifled giggles, but then
the astrologer looked over at his table and glanced among the horoscopes that remained. He nodded,
but said nothing.
One of the other captains looked at him.
Come now, tell us what you see. I am all for glory beyond glory and undying honor, but not if I
am not the right man.
Oh I think you are the right man, but not for this. We will need to raise the defenses here, and
the Admiral seems to be tilted towards the offense. He picked up a sheet of aged parchment and held it
between to fingers. I see leadership here, and in abundance, the trines are powerful, in it, but not for
the voyage. Would you Captain Blackmore, become the Admiral here? That is how I wold vote.
The captain, hugely broad-shouldered and barrel chested, with a shock of black hair on his head
and black curly hair on his chest, smirked. I imagine that the other captains would have something to
say about that.
Oh I imagine they will not be so proud so soon. Will you do it? I will write to some key
people, and you will have summoned to your disposal, here he cast a sidelong glance at the
Summoner, aid of an indispensable nature.
The Summoner smiled. Ah its been ages since I've had a chance to relax in the backwaters of
human court intrigue. Come with me Captain Blackmore, I think we have plans to lay. With this he
placed a friendly arm around the soon to be Admiral's shoulder, and began walking to a corner of the
observatory, where he unrolled a map and began making pointed gestures too and fro.
I would suggest that you, my honorable captains, are best suited for the plans that are being
made over there, Niccolo is the man for this season.
It seems you are in command here, Astrologer.
It was I who saw and see the danger, and I do not believe that others do. And you are.
A princess of the Empire, daughter of the holder of the Mandate of Heaven, and sorceress of
the Forbidden Palace. Call me your highness.
The astrologer made an elaborate bow, but did not kowtow as was the custom in the Empire of
the Jade Throne from which she came. She raised an eyebrow, but accepted that this was as much
protocol as she was going to receive. She knew that he, coming from Korana, knew equally elaborate
forms of personal debasement before leaders, but he seemed to have forgotten them.
Princess the mandate of heaven is not upon any of us. And I would wish you give your name.
He pointed to where Korana should have been showing brightly in the sky, but instead was a barely
visible black blotch.
Very well then, you may refer to me as Highness Si-yeona. So you declare that it is on you?
Thank you Princess Si-yeona, Do you pretend to read the heavens better than I?
She stopped, thinking carefully.
I am here because I was asked, not commanded.
And it is I who select who to bestow my knowledge on. I choose Niccolo, but of the rest of the
crew, I will leave that to others, though I would offer advice if asked.
And what would be your advice?
That two of the members I would advise are not here.
Oh really?
Just at this moment a clamor broke out from far below, and everyone went to the rail to look
down. What became evident from a glance downward, was that the Mayor and others had not gone
very far, and had clustered together at the foot of the tower. The astrologer swung a small telescope
downward, and observed the goings on, while others merely watched. After viewing quickly, Jehanjir
began walking down the spiral stair, to deal with what appeared to be a disturbance
iii
Once there, the arrivals from the top saw the following sight, arrayed in a circle were the
warriors and captains, in the center, the Mayor was acting as a martial, and the huge man with the maul
was squaring off against a much slighter man armed only with a rapier and a hatchet that hung from his
belt. He wore heavy manchette type gloves on both of his hands, an indication that he often used two
weapons.
The larger man was in a tunic with a V cut that went down to his belt, he swung his huge
maul easily around his head and then positioned himself, legs spread apart, holding the maul cocked
back. Clearly he had a simple plan: crush the ant on the first blow, before he could even be touched.
The man with the rapier however simply stood, rapier pointed down, not even taking any of the
fighting stances, he let the point scratch the dirt on the ground a bit, and now and again kicked at a
clump of grass with the toe of his left boot.
The Mayor looked at both holding a broadsword out between them.
Are thee gentles ready for this Pas d'armes?
Aye. The voice of the large man was echoingly resonant.
I have a question for my esteemed opponent first.
What?
Will you reconsider this as a touch duel?
I shall grind your bones little man.
I will give you a chance to reconsider, it would be a waste.
You will not pass me.
The smaller man sighed and frowned. He spent several seconds observing his adversary, and
then struck up a stance, feet pointed forward, somewhat spread, and the left planted just behind the
toes, and the right foot firmly on the ground in front. He leveled the rapier at the eyes of the giant man,
and twirled it round in his fingers, until the cross-piece was parallel with the ground. It had a solid cup
to the hilt and a sweeping hand guard that came down from it, there was an oval counterweight, with a
smallish counter point at the end. It wasn't clear whether this was sharp enough to stab, but it looked
sharp enough to serve as a bludgeon. His clothes were hardly of high fashion, but his cap sported a
feather, and his squarish jaw was closely shaven.
It is a flying serpent.
The Summoner scratched under his ear. Someone wishes to send us a message. I doubt it
friendly.
Albrecht noted: Friendlier than a note attached to a dagger, I feign.
Niccolo twisted his mouth about, and added. But not by much.
Why don't we either prepare to meet an unfriendly visit, or wait and listen? Morwethe's plain
voice seemed both high and low-pitched at once.
But it was to the Princess to ask the question of protocol: Is it a herald?'
After a moment, the astrologer squinted and asked the Summoner to take a look. The
Summoner, more conversant with the intricacies of creature lore, nodded. The Princess has saved us
worry and trouble. That is a herald of a dragon lord, I would have to refer to find which one, though I
imagine we will be told long before I could even find the exact volume to reference.
The princess allowed herself only the softest of glowing smiles of triumph.
The spinning motion of the serpent grew more distinct, and it combined the slithering of its
body like a snake through dense grass, and the movement of its wings, which seemed to go all the way
around the twisting and turning of its elongated torso, and well as a fluttering and shifting movement of
its feathered feet, 6 of them, that seemed to be to stabilize it in its flight.
At last it grew large and visible, and hovered just beyond sword reach of the observatory,
hovering in air, its wings beating so fast that they had become a blur and hummed in the air. Its
slithering motion was reduced to a vestigial wavering in place. Its four eyes under golden lids focused
on different figures at different times, its crocodilian mouth alternately grimaced and grinned as it
yapped syllables to which it was clearly not adapted.
Icomewithamessageforthelordfrommylord.
The astrologer stepped forward. Greetings friend herald. We welcome you in parlay, but would
ask who your Lord is, by name.
HeislordofetherwananddragondukeoftheeastoutercompassbynameoneErehwyreve.
The Summoner softly spoke as an aside: Ah, he is from Erehwyreve, a lesser Duke, or greater
Earl, among the Dragons. His realm is near the fixed sky and stars, to the celestial east. There are 8
such in that circle.
He hisses so, remarked the priestess, and looks as if he would rather be eating us.
Captain Niccolo, his hands diplomatically raised and away from weapons, gave a laconic
rejoinder: Aye.
The astrologer walked over to the balcony.
And what message bring you from your dread lord, herald? Deliver it so that we may consider
an answer.
NoanswerwillbelistenedToforThisistheMessage.
The herald paused and then started again.
AbandonallhopeofanexpeditiontoKORanafortheaffairstherearenoneOFyourlPUnyBUSiness.
The end of this rose to a screeching wail that made both the Princess and the Summoner cover their
ears in pain.
The astrologer, unaffected, bowed, and started to raise his hand to dismiss the serpent, when, at
that moment, a hammer, the size that most men would use to split logs, sailed through the air, hitting
the herald on the head, and bouncing off. The herald wavered for a moment turned in all directions, and
then lunged for the astrologer.
TreacheryandyouwillpayforitwithyourMortTALexisTANCEagedfooloffools.
However, even as he did so, the Albrecht stepped in the way. Despite the wyrms fearsome
hissing, his two forward fangs were only the length of small daggers, and not that much fatter. Albrecht
had a rapier and main-gauche at the ready, parrying in cross the strike, and then ducking down and
turning over resulting in the herald flying by and hitting the telescope, which clanged and spun about
gesture with his right hand holding up one finger and spiraling it upwards. Jehanjir nodded. You sent
him back?
Not from the physical world, dragon's summon their heralds, it would take too long for them to
fly.
Albrecht and Si-yeona took the initiative to run down the spiral, and found Morwethe at the
bottom straightening out Higar's twisted form. The giant was barely breathing and blood was pouring
from his mouth. She then stood up, took out a mistletoe arrow, and loaded a bow. She aimed it at
Higar's eye. He lolled over and looked blankly at him, almost welcoming what seemed to be the coup
de grace. She let the arrow fly, and it pierced his eye. However, the next moment was utterly
unexpected. The arrow shattered like it was a glass vessel, and water spattered everywhere. Higar's
body convulsed, but the blood stopped, and his limbs seemed to align as if they were being pulled back
into shape. His flattened chest rose and fell regularly, and he was screaming in pain. But both eyes were
open, and seemingly working. He slowly curled up into a ball, and was sobbing in pain, but there was
not even a bruise left on his body.
There was a disembodied voice in the air, it was raspy but a tenor with a kind of melodiousness
in its vowels.
He's your responsibility now.
I thought we could leave him behind.
Then he would be dead. It is not a loose end that a dragon would leave.
So we have to take him with us?
Well of course, Morwethe, and anyway, you need him to plead your case with the dragon.
I didn't know one could.
Trust me, dear, plead is a very good world to keep in mind when dealing with dragons.
But it wasn't our fault.
The old law, is done to the herald, done by the lord. The astrologer is lawful liege here, and
he's responsible for what happened.
So we have to take the giant with us, and at some point will have to have the dragon not to take
this out on us?
You will have to be more persuasive than that, but yes.
Morwethe stared in the air, and frowned.
This is already a disaster.
No, but it isn't beginning under an auspicious sign. However, we need this. You need this. This
expedition will make us renowned and gather worshippers to us.
Are you sure.
Oh, I am remarkably sure that there will be ample chance to heal all manner of grave injuries.
Morwethe frowned.
Is this your command?
I would rather make it a very strong suggestion based on our mutual interests.
Morwethe curtseyed low, know that this was the best deal she would get. She then sank to her
knees and began praying.
The princess and the swordsman watched all of this silently, still stunned at the magnitude of
the regeneration and restorative power that they had witnessed.
Finally Albrecht found his tongue.
Who was that?
That was the voice of my God, of course. Through me he healed Higar.
Higar for his part was still rocking in place nursing the intense agony of having been nearly
ground to a flour like consistently, and then almost killed back to life.
And he's going to come with us?
The princess interjected. The dragon will kill him if we leave him here, it is an affront that no
lord could accept.
There was a quiet nodding. At this point Jehanjir, the Summoner, and the others behind them
arrived from the top. They gaped at how Higar seemed to be almost undented by the shock and the fall,
but then the Summoner nodded. That is powerful force your god puts forth.
He is, from time to time, very generous, but there is enormous cost.
And in this case that cost is?
We have to take Higar with us.
Niccolo rolled his eyes skyward. As if I didn't have enough weight to account for. Well, if that
is the freight we need to collect the fare, so be it. He shrugged his shoulders.
Above the silent stars turned, and glowed, and the myriad reflections of Lilith stared on them.
Then, in the distance, there was a shooting column of fire from where the lighthouse stood. For
a moment there was a bright puff of fire that rolled upwards with folds of black, that then became a
grinding orange glow that rose and fell. They beam of the lighthouse did not return as expected.
Niccolo pounded his fist on the railing. Those barbarians! They toppled the lighthouse.
Morwethe and Jehanjir halted their animated conversation about the new mechanism fire arms
that the astrologer had acquired to improve upon, and she seemed to be at least somewhat
knowledgeable on the topic of combustible powders.
The others sat and stared.
It was to the priestess to ask the obvious question: How bad is that?
It is very bad, returned Niccolo, because without the lighthouse and boats there, it is a very
long way back to Astronoma, where the ships are. We would be days behind them, And there is a good
launch that we will miss. The next one is not as good.
The Summoner stroked his chin. I have, I think, a solution. Though I would need help from our
esteemed Astrologer, and some aid in sorcery, and your alchemical skill Captain, assuming you do your
own work in that line.
I do.
And you are a shipwright?
I am.
Then draft out a ship for us. She will be made of ash, because I saw a stand of ash, with masts
of fir.
And then what, it would take weeks and many workman we do not have.
Do not fear for workers. Though men will be beyond my ability to provide.
Interlogue
Eight Solar Houses
Eight the houses that rule the ecliptic plane,
eight the greater that are given names.
Four the cardinals, four for the medes,
The leopard is south, strong from the kill,
the falcon is north, crying and shrill,
the elephant west leading to night,
the heifer is east bringing the bright.
Tween leopard and heifer is the hunting dog,
Twixt cattle and falcon, rises the swan.
Treading between the paca and raptor,
is the hare who scurries to avoid talons and capture,
Medial last comes the running ram.
Maw tooth horn,
wing claw ear,
tusk, horn, tooth
round they ran.
South north south
Round and round,
since worlds began.
Part II
i
As the outside measured time, it was a day later. They stood in a strangely oval shaped clearing
in the vast fir forrest, a green wall surrounding them, with boughs close together and crinkled with
needles.
One full-time the stars had risen and set above the tower, and Captain Niccolo had labored on
plans. Albrecht had volunteered to help, and it was rapidly clear that the rapier was not the only thing
with a point that he used well. His freehand lines were almost perfect, his curves voluptuous. It soon
became clear that Niccolo was better off doing the rough sketch, and allowing Albrecht to turn out fine
ink finished drawings. The ship was small, it would be cramped, but Niccolo put three enormous masts
at right angles, and a small folding mast below that would be deployed after they had leapt off the
surface of the sphere. He had the astrologer make an extremely detailed model of it, down to the
smallest detail. He called forth small clever homunculi to speed the work. Some would actually cut and
carve and etch, but others would form themselves into tools so precise that no human hand could use
them.
During the working, Albrecht set himself up on a drawing table several floors down in the
tower, and rapidly around him a pile of finished vellum scrolls formed. He stayed concentrated on his
work, but was amazed that the pen never seemed to clog, the ink never smeared, and the tip never
scratched. Usually, when he worked this quickly there were difficulties, that he overcame by having a
meticulous care. With each scroll that he tossed salt upon to dry, he gave a furrowed examination that
ended in a look of qualified approval. There was something in the air about him, a scent of some
unnamed flower, that he grew aware of as he took deep breaths in while he paused between sections,
however, when ever he looked around, he could not see anyone.
Morwethe noticed that the princess was hard to find, and was seen only in entering and leaving
the observatory. Higar followed her comings and goings carefully, causing Morwethe to remark to him:
You would snap that one like a twig. Higar frowned, clearly caught out in lusts that he had thought
hidden. Privately Morwethe noted that the Captain, as well, seemed to have a very fine eye for the
princess and her comings and goings.
But now they were assembled on the clearing. The Summoner had them walk off the plans, and
in the center he drew one of his circles, this one inscribed by an almost square that rotated slightly with
each repetition to produce a 17 pointed figure. He gestured for the astrologer to join him in the center
and then for the others to move away.
Jehanjir turned to him, standing in the center of the still in active figure, as the Summoner wrote
in fine grains a very detailed series of instructions. He looked at the plans at each step, which were
quite ornate, with decorative scrolls, and ribbed flourishes, each with a specific purpose, but each
crafted with an eye to beauty. It was not Niccolo's hand that had turned banal masts into pillars, or
ordinary fixtures into sculptures.
I don't understand how this is going to work old friend.
You are the great Astrologer of our age.
Surely, you know I do not care for such boasts by now.
This is no boast, it is the hope that I place everything upon.
For argument, say I am. How does this help.
You know, and have mastered the art of attraction.
Surely, but for heavenly bodies.
Let me go on then. For a heavenly body, even were it to be dissolved, you could use your skill
to draw it together.
Well so long as I have an orrery for it, and it is not too large. I could invoke a comet, though I
never would.
Well what if I give you a star?
A star? But that's a departed soul.
Well it will be soon.
I could assemble a star that had faded or been tarnished. I was called upon to do that once, a
soul was fading into the beyond. But I still do not understand how that will help us.
Good. Listen carefully, because we do not have long. I am going to depart now, only not quite.
For a time, my soul will reside in that model you hold in your hand. You will, from this circle, summon
it into full form, my servants will carve the wood and make the metal, and in some cases even become
it.
But that would mean...
I will be imprisoned in the ship for a time. Burn the ship, promise me, and I will be free then.
Must it truly be the end?
Tis only a change. I have enough riches for the afterlife, and think, I will be the vessel that will
carry you on this quest.
I am not sure that will accrue to your benefit.
Perhaps, perhaps not. But it won't hurt. Like your bell, I will give my life for this ship.
You didn't know the story.
That's because I have never cast anything except with living forms. This will be new for me, an
experiment that reaches out beyond what I have so far done in life. What better way to depart, than by
doing something new.
So you imprison and depart, and when that happens, I draw the full size ship around this
model.
Yes.
But it will almost instantly leap. It will have no attraction to this sphere.
Hmmm. A flaw in my plan.
Call Niccolo.
The Summoner gestured to the Captain, but waved him to stop before the crossing the circle's
outer edge.
We have a problem.
If it were only one, I would feel much better.
We are going to cast a spell that will build your ship, but according to Jehanjir, it will leap.
How long does that take.
A few moments, but not long.
Could you get everyone on?
We have no supplies here. Can you summon some bearers?
We can send Higar, because I can't summon now without ruining the circle, and I need
everything I have left for, ummm, summoning the ship, as it were.
Niccolo nodded.
You aren't going to come through this, are you?
Is it that obvious?
Mariners can see death on a man's face, much more often than not.
Then it is on mine, without a doubt.
You are a braver man than I, summoner.
No, I am a rich man going to an eternal feast. But your compliment is touching.
I will tell the others, give us some time. Higar is bound now, and knows better than to break a
blood bond to the priestess.
He would die, wouldn't he? Well, not immediately. He would probably be allowed to linger to
contemplate his sins first.
sails, that were half transparent, and had on them the markings of Lilith as each were a map of that
moon. Behind was a tail, like the feathers of a bird, before which was Niccolo at the wheel. Below,
Jehanjir was already in the hold, which now encased him. His friend had faded entirely in the light.
Then, there was only the natural illumination, which meant the hold was almost black. The astrologer,
having spent his life in darkness, walked among the masts and bulkheads without needing to look, and
walked up the stairs into the open deck.
Niccolo was furiously mixing phosphoric acid, camphor, mercury, and magnesium together,
along with several other more specific compounds. He used these to light two giant lanterns that were
aft of the vessel: these would turn the ether into air and that they could breath.
The ship rocked back and forth, and then it floated free of the ground, pulling over the trees.
Niccolo had time only to light the lanterns, before taking the wheel. The entire ship seemed ready to
turn over, and he fought the wheel to keep the port sail from smashing into the edges of the trees. But
then their velocity increased and the trees began to fall away, and the blue of the sea grew larger. They
could see the astrologer's tower, clearly a league away from where they launched. It was slowly sinking
into the ground, covered by the sphere's skin, entombed not merely in the dirt, or the rock below, but in
the very material of Eowilonwey, safe until their return, if they ever did.
The princess looked and pointed at the descending tower. What is going on?
Jehanjir smiled, and said. I have a key.
The air of the sphere whipped by them.
ii
The moment of a ship leaving a sphere is dramatic: the grip that had bound it is made null, and
it jumps upward, the ground seems to fall away, and rapidly the clutter of details that defines an
ordinary life on the ground, merge and fuse into a vast tapestry, and then to a tableaux.
Everyone below, we are going to hit the shock soon! Niccolo's voice was hard to hear above
the roaring din of the air rushing way that filled the space around them. It blew across the front of the
ship, and he turned the wheel half a circle. The rush hit the lanterns, which then blazed with an
unearthly brilliance. The ground was now indistinct, and seemed like a cloud above them, rather than
rushing away as it had done at first. They were in a kind of blue sky twilight, where the sun above them
was losing its prominence, but the stars were only partially visible.
Then, just as suddenly as a clap of thunder, the blue of sky evaporated, and they were back in
night, buffeted by unearthly winds. The ship buckled and bolted, like a stallion being broken. The
priestess had to hold her breath to prevent from vomiting. The astrologer turned his eyes upward and
grabbed the nearby mast for dear life, it had been a very long time since he had ventured into space.
The princess clung to the swordsman, who used his legs to wrap around a bulkhead and hold them both
in place.
The turbulence continued with yaws around the axis of the ship coming between heavy dips.
Niccolo's hands were not, however, gripping the wheel white, instead, each turn lead to a light
response, and the occasional hard pull if the ship bucked him.
You need a name little craft, though I suspect you have one that I do not know. His hand
caressed the knobs as he turned the wheel, and gripped as he pulled back on it. Before him was a white
rippling of the bow shock of Eo, which now was a huge orb, but no longer a plate that covered the
entire horizon to horizon. He stared down at her, sparkling with long planes of green and moderate
stretches of brackish blue. There were whirls of clouds, and crackling crowns of green at the poles, that
encompassed around a swirling white of the polar gyres. The pattern of the land and see left water and
land almost exactly equal, and from here it could be seen that all of the land was one giant maze,
sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner, but, on this side, all connected. But he rapidly looked away out
into space, searching for the fold in the ether that they could ride. The huge rolling aurora of the bow
shock rolled towards them, as if ready to snuff them out. He waited, and then seeming at the last
instant, turned the ship hard along the shock.
Below everyone else waited. Higar, who had never left Eo before, shat his pants and sheepishly
wept as the pissed emptied unbidden from his bladder. The priestess pet his thin thatch of light brown
hair, and cooed It is alright, you are still gravely wounded. Both, however, knew that this had nothing
to do with his injuries. He wept, murmuring over and over again I don't want to die and be lost in the
abyss.
She pet him again, and cooed.
Higar wept again: My god has deserted me, I've never been so alone before.
Have trust.
They did devotionals together, and after some time, a small smile appeared on Higar's face, and
he felt touched again.
The swordsman sheltered the princess, but said nothing. His insides were clenched as steel. He
had voyaged before, and knew that the captain was doing something radical, perhaps to evade pursuit.
Then the ether wind filled the topsail, and then the wing sails. Niccolo pulled the lever, and a
vast gear turned, pulling down the under-mast, whose sail unfurled. Half sized mechanical figures,
shaped like men, then moved in a clockwork pattern, going about the tasks of opening the sails, and
then rotating back away in their niches. The ship stabilized, shaking wobbles turning to gently shifting
bobs, that gradually tamped down to an even motion. They were running along the bow shock, and
Niccolo skillfully dipped in to the curls that flew off of it, accelerating with each, and then out again
before the next curl could slow them. The books balanced, each tug on the string of the shock slowed
the greater world a trifle, but Eo was pulled along in her orbit by a crackling attraction that was vastly
more potent than any mortal power.
They were free of the grip of the sphere, even though she still almost filled the sky. However,
slowly, majestically, she was shrinking as she left them behind.
iii
Higar stayed in the hold, and Morwethe cleaned up the mess, and they picked around looking
for some kind of dry detergent, but could find nothing, Higar stunk, and wanted to stay down in the
hold, but the princess scowled.
He has to go up on deck, rather than foul the air below. She lit a lantern, and everyone below
gasped, because until now they had been in darkness, with the scrolls and twirls of the hold looming
like half living figures, fading quickly off into murk. Now with the lantern lit, they were greeted by a
riot of color. The general shape conformed to the outer hull, but there were architectural spandrels that
created the sense of an oval. The floor, rather than being laid in planks was a series of curved boards
along the long axis of the oval, ending in an eye shaped stone that was perhaps twice as tall as a man,
made of a light blue-veined rock. Where this came from, even the astrologer did not know. But in the
very center of this was a block of clear quartz, within which was set an even smaller round block of
amber, and it held what seemed to be a tiny model of the whole ship.
In the back an oval jutted out from the aft bulkhead, and in it was set a round door with a large
locking wheel in the center. It had one hinge on the left hand side as the observer faced it, that is, to the
starboard side of the vessel. Above the beam had a curved dome on it, and on this was laid out the
seven suns in a celestial compass, and it was clear that this rotated to point correctly, it too was blue,
with golden stars. Albrecht smirked a bit, he was particularly proud of adding this touch.
The sides were in inlaid ash, the gray of that wood held with bands of very thin steel and
copper, wrapped several times with fine iron wire. On each was a small lantern, fueled by a small
reserve of oil, that is, if they had any. These formed joins that were set with an oval of wood, that was
studded with wooden pegs to each incoming timber. Through out were fine lines and touches of gold,
silver, platinum. Though the amount of metal was small, it gave a ductility to the hull.
Even the astrologer was impressed at the final product. There was silent appreciation, until
finally the Albrecht's sharp voice broke it.
We need a name for our ship, do we not?
They all nodded, but no one dared suggest one.
We also have to do something about Higar. This was the princess, regarding the huge
shambling mound of man with something like pity.
He was duly herded up on deck. Finally the princess went to Captain Niccolo, who was still
carefully navigating the bowshock, and pointed at Higar.
Niccolo just laughed, and gestured for Higar to come close to him. The giant shambled over,
and stood in front of the Captain, glum and still stinking.
Niccolo waved for him to follow and went all the way aft, right to the two giant lanterns, and
picked up a length of hemp, with a hook on the end. He twirled his finger, and Higar turned around
obediently. With a single gesture, he looped the rope around Higar, and kicked him off the back of the
vessel. There was a loud wail as the rope uncoiled outwards and the giant seemed like he was falling.
His arms flailed and his legs kicked as he screamed. Then the rope jerked taut.
The wailing stopped as the giant realized he was not drowning or the equivalent, and finally he
even began to smile and giggle, the peels of laughter only being heard in belches over the sound,
finally, Niccolo and Albrecht hauled the rope back in, with Higar wagging back and forth until finally
his feet hit the deck, which then held him fast.
It was amazing! The giant grinned. It was clear that he, and his clothes, had been thoroughly
cleansed.
The stream behind us, is a powerful spray. Tis better than bathing in any water on any sphere.
Higar laughed. You should have told me.
Most will not jump if they are told.
Albrecht had not seen this before, though he had heard tales. The astrologer nodded, and merely
murmured Of course. How interesting.
The women were both frowning. This seemed like a very hazardous way to become clean,
however, both were longing to be scrubbed of the sweat and stench of fear and exertion. More so for
the men to be so scrubbed.
Finally Morwethe spoke up. When will it be safe to do this?
It is safe itself now, I feign, except that we do not know if there is any pursuit.
Albrecht frowned and looked at the slowly shrinking orb of Eo.
So we just have to wait until Korana picks us up? Or is there more to this?
The astrologer and I will have to look at all of the possibilities, and then reason our way
through them. My hope is that either we can ride the bowshock farther and faster than any vessel
Bartine has available to him.
Albrecht nodded, but at this moment there was a rumbling sound that sloshed over them,
leaving behind a condensed trail of cloud-like condensation. It rolled over prow and across the aft,
shaking everything loose behind it, but hitting nothing.
Duck! Tis cannon fire! Niccolo's voice was a sharp command, but everyone except Albrecht
did not need prompting. The astrologer pulled out his small spyglass, the only telescope he had left to
him and looked in the direction of its movement.
I see a small vessel, I do not know astrogation well enough to identify it exactly, but it is a
single sail set like our own.
It must have launched before us. Niccolo cut the wheel hard, expecting another shot close to
the first. Indeed the second shot tore through, and was well to their port side.
Albrecht looked in the direction of the shots, but could not see where they came from.
It would seem to me they are wasting ammunition. Whoever Bartine is, he seems remarkably
profligate.
From the wheel, the Captain turned them again, and the entire vessel skipped up and over the
wake of the cannon shots.
Bartine's strategy is always to seem stupid and spendthrift, but, in fact, to be very deliberate
and directed. Whether with words or ammunition. He has several ships, we have one. All he needs to
do is keep us from being able to ride the bowshock, and it will give him a tremendous advantage. If one
ship is left behind, it is a small loss.
At this point Higar came shambling up, and looked at everyone.
Is there something we can do?
Niccolo took a deep breath.
I would imagine that depends on whether we want to try and risk being hit and riding the
shock, or come to grips with our attacker.
Higar looked.
Bartine is a bad man, his eyes and his mouth are always saying different things. If he is on that
ship, I would want a chance to crush him.
Then why did you follow him.
You weren't going to take me.
Jehanjir nodded. Logical, and certainly true.
Taking two hard strides forward, Albrecht looked and squinted, and still could not see anything.
I would prefer not to play dice with death this early in the voyage. But if I must, I want a chance to
throw them. Make that two for close quarters.
We should ask the ladies.
You have not told us what you would fain to do, skipper.
I would take my piloting over his marksmanship, but I will not vote except to break a tie.
While there was a scowl wrapping his features, the swordsman nodded. More than fair,
skipper. He grabbed a rail for balance as the ship swirled on its axis, almost stopping for a moment
before sliding up the inside of a curl of the bowshock, the wings on the sides twisted in opposite
directions, and the ship rode upwards, tilting until it circled the tube of crests all the way around.
It was Higar who observed: Strange to think that my head and my feet get reversed like that.
Niccolo merely smiled wanly. It is a strong magick that binds us to the deck. The Summoner's
craft was truly astonishing. At least, I am astonished at how well she takes directions.
Morwethe slowly walked to the cluster and waited for an explanation. The astrologer whispered
and pointed for several seconds, and then she nodded.
I would rather we not fight. Let me go ask her highness.
Where is she?
She's string the hammocks and putting what meager supplies we have in order, and, I think,
cataloging them.
We could use a quarter-mistress.
Morwethe walked down into the hold, and returned only a few minutes later. Several cannon
shots had streaked through like comets, but none were particularly threatening. But each was having its
intended effect: Niccolo had to frequently steer away from the best crests. She merely had to look at
Niccolo to communicate that her highness also preferred to avoid the hazards of combat.
He's a sharp one, whoever Bartine has.
Albrecht arched an eyebrow. Why, what is he doing?
The shots are not intended to hit us, but are in the best bow-waves. Which, since he has ridden
them, he has some good idea of where they were. If we ride fast enough to catch him, then we risk
taking fire. Otherwise, he maintains his distance, and we are slowed. Astrologer, it is to you. If you
vote for blood, then it is 3-2. If you vote for sailing, it is 3-3 and I break the tie. If you abstain, then it is
The face of the captain pulled back, doubling hoping that this was not necessary, since the cure
seemed to be almost as painful as the wound.
I would prefer you out-of-the-way.
Well then, I should go back to the lanterns, and prepare to feed them a bit of this and that to
encourage the ether to fill our sails. She smiled brightly and wandered back.
There was a furrowed glance from the captain.
You aren't the only alchemist on board. It pays to have a calling between times being called.
With some measure of confidence she went back to the lanterns, were the ether born wind blew with a
peculiarly throaty wine, and, despite the heat from the lanterns, made a bone chilling cold near them.
Presently they burned a flickering red and yellow. Tell me, my captain, when we need more force.
I will, sir.
The muscles of his face pulled back again. No end to surprises of this crew.
With a call, he snapped the wheel, and the whole ship twisted around three times, and seemed to
tumble entirely off of course. They skittered across the miles that separated this stream of the
bowshock from the next, picking up speed with each filament of disturbed ether. It was a long hour, and
everyone, except Niccolo, had deep pits in their stomach from nausea by the time the reached the other
wall of this greater gyre. At that moment, they shot straight and true, and the Captain called for all of
the sails to be opened. There was a rapid and majestic flowering and each layer of sail grew another.
The ship with no name was not, yet, quite underway.
Morwethe and Jehanjir stared backwards over the crest of Eo's orb, staring at one particular
point. Their eyes strained, it was so hard to tell. His hands fiddled with combinations and he spun the
base several times, and the astrologer fretted that perhaps this strand would not take them far enough.
Even the skipper of this ship looked back over and over again. There was a palpable sense of
expectation. Higar however, did not look, but instead found his footing, and wedged himself against the
ridge that was the back of the wheel platform. His lips were moving in a continuous movement of
prayer, he was murmuring both chants and specific entreaties. His arms wrapped the leather straps
around the hammer several times more. He planted his feet and rowed back.
And it was just time: a small bright silver bump appeared beyond Eo's edge at that moment, it
was Lilith, a single slender shaft hit the center of the staysail afore, then several dots like fingers
appeared, as if the light of the moon was reaching through the teeth of a saw. Those looking back saw a
series of gemlike glows form at the edges of Lilith, which was rapidly growing to a crescent like a cat's
eye. It was brighter than Eo, which was half shadowed in night. Lilith should not have been so bright,
however, there it was.
Albrecht looked over his shoulder and puzzled until he realized that the light they were seeing
on Lilith was twice reflected from the seas of Eo below, the bluish cast to it was signature. But to be
like this Lilith would have to have been polished almost to the fineness of a mirror. He had not spent
much time on the surface of Eo, instead preferring the bustling cities on the inner surface. He had
always thought of the inside as the fruit, and the outer surface as the rind. However the last few hours
had shaken his confidence the massive power that had been displayed told him that the dalliances and
duels that he had lived his life flitting through were truly picayune compared to the deep politics of the
heavens.
The shafts of light from Lilith grew more numerous and closer together, until the circles of their
landing on the sails formed freckles of bright, each a miniature map of the orb. Then with a hold every
sail glowed catching the influence from Lilith. The ship jolted forward and there was a screeching in
everyone's ears. The acceleration was shocking, as everyone held on for dear life. The lines strained,
Higar froze like a rock, that shook in an earthquake, Niccolo was almost holding on to the wheel.
Through all of this Morwethe simply cast small grains into the lanterns, which grew whiter, then bluer,
and finally pale violet.
Through all of this one could read the giant like a gauge: he compressed farther and father, until
he was almost flattened like a dwarf. His murmurs became shouts, the words fell away until there was
only one repeated yell of Hold. Hold. Hold.
Deep below the princess looked up, and stared, as if she could see through the hull.
Rainbow, that's who you were, Summoner, a rainbow.
iv
Not all plans are successful, however a select few, reflected Niccolo, were too successful, and
so this one had been. They had taken off like a shot, racing past the ship that had been assigned to pin
them back, and had then coursed towards the main fleet, and now found themselves in the midst of a
tangle of ships, which were sprawled out irregularly around them. Of course, the admiral was no fool,
when he saw a multi-colored winged vessel under four masts careening past his fleet at full sail, he
prepared chain and grapple shot, and had every ship blast away.
While it was near impossible for anyone to fire a considered shot, and several slashed through
their own fleet, enough tore through sails and masts of their vessel to form a growing tangle of spars
and chains, ropes and hooks. Boarders took knives in their teeth and began swinging across. However
the cannon fire stopped, clearly someone had decided that this vessel was too important as a prize to
smash to bits.
Albrecht tried walking on the mast, and then crawling, finally reaching a leather strap that went
down to the hammer that Higar still gripped, chanting his one word over and over again. With a quick
grab, there was nothing more to it than to ride along the leather, and put feet up to use the massive torso
of the giant to break the slide. Higar shook his head and startled as if waking from a dream. Albrecht
waved around, showing that they were surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned.
Higar stood up with a creak, and then jumped fore to grab his maul. Albrecht pulled his rapier,
and several smaller assorted throwing dirks, along with a main-gauche. He was back on the left mast
just as the first sallies were upon it swinging and swaggering down the spire at him. He had to sweat
and climb upwards. Viewed from the deck it seemed as if a slow and clumsy man was about to be
overwhelmed by an elite guard, so smooth the dropping boarders were.
However, one by one the fell victim to knives. Each throw seemed painful, as Albrecht arched
his back and twisted his torso to unloose a small cross-shaped stiletto. Somehow as Albrecht closed,
the attackers seemed to lose their footing or their grip, easy swings missed their mark, and then became
ghastly failures. Each face a mask of horror as its wearer flew into brisk space, convulsed as he hit the
pure ether and coughed up blood, lungs and guts. Foot by foot the leather clad defender crawled
upwards, knocking off their grip those that still held on, stabbing others in the hands, and finally
shafting the few left as they fell down into his rapier, almost comically spinning off into space once
skewered.
On the starboard side the scene was a more direct carnage, as Higar's maul simply spattered and
crushed. However, at the same time the hooks and spars were tearing apart the sails. Within minutes the
vessel was no longer under sail but was a scribble of lines and shredded canvas.
At this point a small group of helmeted men gathered on the side of one nearby vessel. They
were armed with tridents, and their great helms had mesh masks, they wore plates that covered much
above their waists, and had additional protection along the front of their legs. These were members of a
feared company of freebooters, found on the worst pirate vessels, and the most brutal and rapacious
looting expeditions. They were called the Dragon's Company, and it was said they would take their
sworn enemies to be fed to waiting wyrms, their souls to be tormented for a thousand years before
being allowed to depart, or so the stories went.
They pushed off and slung tridents to stick in the side of the brutalized small ship. Behind each
was a wrapped wire that the freebooters slid down, swinging around and around in a remorseless and
relentless descent.
One reached the aft, and began hacking at the lanterns. However, he neglected the chubby robed
priestess who unlatched one of the wheellock hackbuts on the rack that in earlier hours she had
carefully loaded. With an easy air, she placed the stock against her shoulder and fired at point-blank
range. A huge hole gaped in the attacker's mask and blood spattered in every direction, as the helmet
tore away and slowly tumbled, along with the remains of a head, into the distance. She gingerly pulled
one hackbut after another off the rack and with a practiced ease, drew a bead down the trident. She
blasted each off, taking two or even three attackers with each charge, as the first would tumble
backwards into his comrades. A great haze of sulphur and consumed charcoal grew around her and
then flooded down along the deck, covering everyone up to knee height in green. Phlogiston began to
foul the air. It was left to the old astrologer to have the presence of mind to take out his small wire
clippers and begin snapping the bonds.
However, the waves were relentless. On port Albrecht was being forced backwards as the
attackers finally realized not to use any flourishes, but instead grip hard and lunge fast. On starboard
Higar had been ripped by two hackbut balls, and looked as if he were unravelling on the spot, with
blood starting to seep from earlier wounds. A small boat filled with boarders had latched on to the jibe
and began throwing grappling lines over the front.
Through all of this the princess had watched. She was disappointed in Albrecht's fighting, she
had expected something as fine as his drawings, something as noble as his face, instead of a tortured
beast straining. At every moment her heart had sunk, as she was sure that he was doomed. And yet with
each escape there was only time for one breath of relief before he was beset again. However, she could
do nothing effective to aid in the mele. She carried no sharp weapons, nor did she use firearms, large
or small. Even packing the powder seemed beyond her strength. Her arms were truly royally delicate
and thin, her wrists refined.
However she was not with resource, in her hands sat a finely wrought tetrahedral stand, within
which a jade ball hung from a wire. On closer inspection, it could be seen that the surface of the ball
was carved a celestial dragon, not the winged clawed ether beast, but one of the creatures that
according to what she had been taught bound this cosmos together. It was tracing a figure as it moved
along its course. She concentrated.
A summoner would have been calling dragons by name, forcing, or cajoling them to his or her
will, bending their minds, or yanking their substance from nether realms intertwined with theirs. Her
magic was not of this kind. Instead, she knew that wyrms and dragons often feasted on the ether near
the bowshock of ships or spheres, far enough from the sister's reach, and obscured from the son's gaze
to avoid being knocked away, and yet close enough to allow the waves of energy sluice over them,
there to gather bits of substance with which they could, over time, cast a scale of the essence of either
sphere or sun, as their purpose was.
She could not aid the captain in his desperate saber hacking, the astrologer in his cutting,
Albrecht in his fencing, Morwethe in her shooting, or Higar in his smashing. But she was not inactive.
She noted the swings of the pendulum and then fished out from her belt a piece of metal that was
shaped like a U. with a handle. On it was a small number incised in red markings. She dodged the
fire, walked down into the hold, and stood over the center of the oval, where the small model of the
ship was embedded. She tapped the metal to the amber, and then set it down directly on the center of
the amber. There was first a moderate hum, it then grew to an overwhelming vibration, that was heard
and felt throughout the ship, and outwards into the ether.
What she had done was sent forth an etheral din, maddening the wyrms and dragons that hunted
in the bowshock, until they were like sharks where there was blood in the water. Even as another wave
of boarders readied a new onslaught, and a flag was run up from the admiral's ship, the black flag that
said no quarter given or asked for, even as Albrecht was knocked by a chunk of wood dropped on him,
even as Higar was knelt in pain under another shock, even as a new round of tridents slammed aft,
finding Morwethe without another hackbut, there came over all a gigantic buzzing sound. It did not
grow gradually, but turned in steps from a sound like a thousand beehives to a massive grinding and
then like the roar of a giant river cataract, or the conflagration of a city aflame, engulfed all else.
One by one the attacking fleet's sailors and commanders turned and look. They could not cut the
lines fast enough to escape and bear off. Even so, one of the pickets was dashed as a tail sliced through
its hull as if it were butter left to stand on a sullen hot day. There were four, they grabbed and snatched
bodies sucking the forms into a liquid slush and allowing them to pour down elongated throats. The
movements of these wyrms were not fast, they could not help but be like the twisting of ropes on the
water: looping and lashing, but taking minutes do to so. These were not even the calculating and
conniving dragon lords, who lived brief bright lives of power, but the equivalent of serpents in space,
roving appetites that might subsist for a millennia or more in only a half awareness of their possible
power. Their maws were lined with teeth, they had only two eyes, and behind their claws and bat like
wings trailed long streamers that ended in a brutal stinger as large a harpoon head. There sides blazed
with circles of red cold light, and the edges of their wings glowed yellow, converting the ether into ayre
for their use and consumption.
The other ships were scattering, leaving a nearly wrecked small craft in their midst, with a few
boarders making last desperate charges: anything was better than to be swallowed by a wyrm and
become a scale for however long it lasted, often beyond the life of the dragon itself. Higar grabbed a
chunk of mast and skewered five men, before a wyrm's claw passed by and sprayed the others in every
direction, as water flies from a dog.
This same wyrm, at least 10 times as long as the small craft slashed with its tale, but instead of
the expected cleaving of its target, the timbers held, there was a singing from the blue heart and the hull
held. However, the result was almost as ominous for the crew: they were knocked far from the
bowshock, and were somersaulting end over end off the ecliptic where all the known spheres, moons,
and other moving bodies abided.
The held on for dear life, and all were bumped and bruised by the tumbling of the vessel.
However at one moment, Albrecht's grip loosened and he slid several times across the deck, until, it
seemed, some miraculous stroke of fortune wedged him against a mast. Blood was seeping from
several of his wounds, and he seemed like a doll made of corn silk: almost without bones, and held
together by slender bindings.
v
Higar has made a remarkable recovery, it seemed almost certain that he was going to depart.
Well, my good Captain, he was still under the protection of a healing god.
The two elder statesmen of the crew, Astrologer and Captain were standing over the
unconscious figure of Higar, limbs splayed out, but very much whole. His wounds, both fresh and new,
had closed over, and he looked like a child asleep on a bed, his face completely peaceful. The same
could not be said for either of the two men watching him. The astrologer gazed outwards in every
direction, looking for some hope. The captain unrolled a chart and glanced between the two wounded
crew members, and a column of precise figures. He listened Jehanjir murmured calculations, and then
stopped. I do not know of any body whose influence we can use.
With this both fell silent and looked over at Morwethe who was preparing her healing arrow.
There was a looming tension, as no one else could bear to look. She planted the arrow on Albrecht's
chest, and lifted it only enough to let it fly. There was a loud crack and an explosion of smoke,
however, instead of Albrecht returning to normal, Morwethe was knocked backwards, and her bow was
broken in two. There were rapid swirls and eddies in the smoke that seemed to be wrapped around an
almost human shape, which was, itself, more visible in outline than in substance. From the center of
this miniature maelstrom, came a grating tenor voice.
But by the terms of their imprisonment, I believe Sarukosian was the first to write this based
on mis measurements of ether flow, that the suns and the spheres do not receive the direct benefits.
How did he know it was imposed?
There are statements to this in several of the old codexes, and hints in the epics.
So even if they are worshipped, they get no power?
No direct power, but they can, shall we say, influence others.
I am not clear, the intricacies of metaphysics are something I left to others, the practicality was
my interest.
Others attain spiritual power: godlings, mortals, spirits. Within their reach, this infuses all
material things. The sphere, and all within it, are physical things.
So the sisters control the sphere, which soaks up the strength.
Essentially, that is correct,
And thus when a powerful being with a great deal of spiritual energy leaves a sphere, it is a
loss for the sister.
Essentially so.
But why our summoner in particular?
One thing I found out rather late is that he had a rather important preter-life, he was some high
spirit, married to an etheral fiend. I have not had time to look up the duties that his preter-life had, but
they were significant. What I do know is that in this life, he was often involved in finding ways to
allow the unquiet dead to depart for some more final afterlife.
And you think Eo had some problem with this?
His life was allowing souls to depart, all of them were still connected to him, even if slightly.
So she wanted his afterlife within her, and through him, to all of the others.
She wanted him alive within her as long as possible, because once he departs she might be able
to hinder the ferryman, but not thwart that dread spirit in his appointed task.
So the Summoner hit upon the plan of binding himself to this ship.
That is my belief, yes. Originally I mistook this for my not being on it. However, that is merely
because I discounted the influence of a star.
Which star?
This one, the one we are standing on, the star in waiting that is the Summoner's soul when it
reaches the fixed sphere.
Will it be bright?
Not notably so, but it is right here with us, and for the time being, it is not fixed.
Is this unusual, to have an unfixed star?
Not in such a way, but usually fixed stars depart rapidly, flashing in the sky. Often in showers
when the grip of the sister weakens.
Ah yes, I remember this, we call them falling stars, but in many cases they are fleeing stars.
Yes.
So what is unusual is that his influence is rogue for so long.
Though hardly unprecedented. I should have seen it, it is something that occurs, well at least
once every decade or so.
I think you can be forgiven your trespasses.
This is not a circumstance where the foibles of an aging mind are an excuse.
No.
Which returns us to our problem: until we can return to the vortices of the influence that are
the engine of motion, we are in very grave circumstances.
We have a rogue star, is there any way to parlay that into some advantage?
Jehanjir turned aside and motioned over his shoulder with one hand for the Captain to follow
him. He went to the fore, where he had mounted a telescope, and turned it outwards.
Our being a rogue star, or on one, is more a disadvantage than you suspect.
His hand turned the telescope outwards and pointed it carefully. He waited while Niccolo
looked through it. What the captain saw was a long whip like body of a dragon, not a large one, but
large enough, slithering through space on bat like wings.
They are waiting for us to die, so that they might consumer the summoner's soul. A rogue star
is quite a catch.
They?
I count seven.
Even one is enough, and two a surplus.
At this moment both men were startled, because the princess had stolen up upon them, certainly
noiselessly, and seemingly invisibly as well.
Excuse me fine captain and great astrologer, I overheard your conversation and deliberations,
and had some thoughts that I would like to offer for your consideration.
He tone was extremely formal, and there was an elongation of many of the vowels that gave this
impression a double weight.
As you may know, doubling the O very distinctly, our beloved giant says he is a teamster.
We could, I fain, yoke one of your beasts to the ship, and have it take us hither, at least as far as the
ether again. Perhaps farther.
Yoke? The giant is strong, but not so strong as this.
His maul is a godling incarnate, and will not be broken by any force a mortal will master
against it. Even such a mortal as a dragon of the ether.
And his strength? No man can overcome a dragon's strength, at least none since epic times.
This too I know. She allowed a certain offense to creep into her voice, but only just.
But the strength is to be harnessed to the ship, our good giant Higar need only guide, not
enchain, the creature.
The captain was about to make a hot retort, but Jehanjir clenched a hand on his shoulder tightly,
feigning weakness.
Niccolo took a deep breath and relaxed, and modulated his voice.
And your plan for luring it here and accepting our bonds?
Perhaps you have noticed that I have some minor attainments in beckoning to mortal souls,
and amplifying the powers of persuasion over them.
Her words were met with a stony face, and stony silence, but after a moment the Captain made
a deep frown.
It seems madness to me, but then this entire venture is madness. Let us lay plans to make it
affected.
The astrologer could feel the influence peeling off the princess' skin, and the sorcery almost
soaked the air around her. He was not, however, sure, whether she had used it to weaken their wills. It
was, disturbing, to think that this young leaf of a woman might well be holding their leashes. But he
could think of nought else, and so acceded to the working through a plan to ensnare a dragon. He also
spent some time collecting bits of the dragon glow that clung here and there about the ship. Perhaps he
would get a chance to examine it more closely, later. Or put it to use, though he did not think there
would be nearly enough to move the ship.
vi
A thrumming sound rattled from fore to aft of the small vessel, it was the hammering of all of
the mechanical men in the watch-works parts. Niccolo and Jehanjir had taken them off of their tracks,
used for trimming the sails and running the masts, and put them to work pounding a single massive
metal spar that would be used to anchor the dragon to the ship. Even with Higar's massive strength, it
had taken painful hours to slide the spar through the center of the ship, and fasten it to as many anchor
points as possible. Meanwhile Morwethe had been brewing a poison whose purpose was to intoxicate
the giant worm, rendering it more susceptible to sorcerous persuasion. The last part of the desperate
plan fell to Princess Chang herself, she fashioned a cunning misdirection spell, a more powerful
version of the ones she used almost all of the time to move without being noticed, and another that
would unravel the worm's will and senses. But it was still a desperate gamble, because the only way to
administer the poison effectively was either to have it breath in the intoxicant, or drop it as a fluid into
one of the dragon's eyes.
Jehanjir spent many hours marking down each of the dragons, and selected the one he knew to
be the best target: young, weak, vain, and lazy in his habits. But even so, a single false move, or even
mere bad luck, would be the end of all of them. There were several times when each of the tiny crew
questioned the plan, but then, each would look up, and see how they were drifting farther and farther
into the void, and sense, if not observe, the swirling figures that were waiting to feast on them.
None the less, the work grew less grim. Niccolo whistled, Albrecht recited poems, Higar would
stop and do a more than passable jig. The princess turned out to have a sweet, if soft, singing voice, and
they traded songs through out the hours.
After some conspiring between them, Morwethe and the princess sang a duet on a ballad that
Morwethe had learned on Eo:
When I was a child and still at the nursing
my mother would tell me the debt that I owe,
give all a fair counting, a penny, a farthing,
and fair will your fortune where ever it blows.
Where, ever, it, blows.
When I was a youth and I saw a fair maiden,
she asked for blessing for blessing she showed,
she asked for a blessing, and gave an accounting,
By farthings to penury that I came to know
Came, to, know.
When I was a young man, and ripe for adventure
I went to the camps where circle the crows.
To give a fair country, a penny, a farthing,
To follow a banner and this way I go.
This, way, I, go.
When I was hot blood, I raped and I plundered.
the horseman did plow the furrow I sowed.
A faire of destruction, of all kinds for having,
Through ditches of flesh, there ran blood flows.
Ran. Blood. Flows.
When I was a soldier, and seeking my fortune,
A man came before me, with secrets below.
body, had the very tip in a kind of hook that suggested a twitch. One paw was drawn back, as if to
strike, and it had a sharp sense of self-possession it its face.
There, he said as he held her, that will be a good cat for a ship.
From above there was a call from Jehanjir. It is time, our target dragon has begun to slither
towards us.
Princess Chang called back: Only a dragon's appetites, will truly over come a dragon. He is
afraid that he will be left out of the feasting.
You know this?
Of course I know this, he is as open as a book to me.
On deck, it was already clear that the dragon was eeling towards them, the sparkle of light off
his scales poking bursts of light against the black void, the slithering of his flight wrapped and coiled as
if he moved around unseen eddies or shoals in the void. Where his head was could be seen, both
because the large armored plates of his head reflected sunlight like polished mirrors, and there was a
slowly growing red ember where his open maw gaped. It was a slow, ineluctable, progress towards
them, lengthening slightly with each curl and turn.
Dragons can't seem do anything directly. Noted Niccolo. At least we have more than fair
warning of the coming collision.
This one has not taken the plunge.
Niccolo nodded.
Morwethe looked out, and then asked. For those of us who do not enjoy such wide
acquaintance of these, she paused for sarcastic effect, fabulous beings, what are you talking about?
The astrologer spoke: As I understand it, the life of an etheral dragon is of two kinds. One is to
be a dragon lord, duke, or some other such. This involves flying out to the fixed sphere, gathering up its
essence, and becoming almost all-seeing and endowed with the forces of ether. The other is to
consuming souls, turning them into scales, and then, once a suitable battle dress is formed, bathing in
some source of power, preferably a sun. There to become almost invulnerable to attack. The lords live
only a brief time, and so do most of the others, because they tear each other to pieces. Only some few
become great, and nearly immortal, terrors in space. They fear nothing but comets, and the leviathan.
The leviathan?
The creature that roams the dark of space, which is larger and greater. It is said to be able to
consume flocks of dragons as a bass fish opens its mouth to swallow a swarm of flies.
The watched the twisting movement of their foe, and went to the places assigned: Niccolo at the
wheel, the astrologer at the lever that would spring out the spar, Higar half way to fore, holding his
maul wrapped in the chains that would be the tethers of the dragon. Morwethe near the midships, with
one cannon loaded and mounted on a turing wheel.
And afore, Princes Chang and Albrecht. His task was to deliver the flask of poison, and then
haul her close to its face, there to work her magicks on him, so that he might accept the bit for some
small time. He had two pistols set, a rapier, and a main-gauche of clever design that was meant to inject
poison. He had won it from a duelist who had surreptitiously employed it to win great stakes, his
technique was to parry en forte, that is near the strong edge of his main blade and then using a draw cut
of the poison dagger. It was capable of delivering a more concentrated dose through the point. They
had exchanged words, a challenge was issued, a circle gathered round them. The duelist did indeed
deliver a fell cut, but it seemed to have no effect on Albrecht, who promptly countered with a gauche
mandible from the wrist across that took off the tip of the duelist's nose, who promptly cried for mercy
kneeling on the ground. Albrecht had decided the greater mercy was to rid the seven spheres of him,
and plunged the rapier into his back for a coup de grace.
Since then he had not used the weapon in any bout, fair or foul, but had carried it in reserve for
the most exigent emergency..
He lowered his face and set his eyes forward, determination cast on his face like metal, and
walked to the spar. He gripped with his gloved hands, wrapping his legs around the shaft, and planting
them on two loops where the chains were strung through. And he waited for the moment when the spar
would lunge forward, and he would use the momentum to catch the dragon by surprise. It was a
delicate operation, because, of course, he could not get too close to Higar and his maul, so after dosing
the dragon, it was imperative for him to get away quickly.
The dragon had moved directly in front of the ship and was advancing in whorls, like a streamer
behind a spring dancer, its incredible length trailing behind it. From this vantage it was clear how
young this one was, with only a few scales patched here and there, and a thinness of chest and limb, it
was far thinner than the ship, and indeed not much rounder in girth than a mast of the ship. Its eyes
glowed with hunger, though not with a bright intellect. It screeched in the ether, the wire like whiskers
that sprouted from its head, wings, and legs waving like blood-red banners. Its body was a pale green,
save where iridescent scales shimmered in the light. The closer it came, the less fear Albrecht felt, and
the more a steely set filled his body. His gut had been roiled by gas and churning, but now, he felt like a
wineskin filled with direst purpose.
Then he heard a bell, and that was the signal that the spar was to be launched, it jolted forward
and shot outwards as a lance before a rider, into the center of the helices of the dragon's flight, an
invitation for the monster to coil around and around it. its loops went over him, like ribs of some vast
theatre, and he could see the barb of its tail perhaps three ship lengths beyond the end of the spar. He
waited until he felt the clamping shut of the gears, and then turned and ran back down the spar itself,
cursing that already the visualization that he had in mind was ruined. He reminded himself of a lesson
from his father, that in both art and war, never allow yourself to form to firm a picture, but search,
instead, with probing hands, for the grain of scene or situation.
Instead, he dragon was directly in front of the sorceress, as she held aloft the tuning fork, which
had attracted it, in this case, too well. Her arms were aloft half way in mid-spell, and Niccolo saw the
dragon snap out its tongue and slurp her within. A rattle of anguish rolled through is body, and he
clambered aboard the claw the dragon had used as counterpose for the strike, stabbing with his rapier
into a vulnerable chunk of flesh.
The beast turned and lunged straight for him, head screaming down faster than a falcon on a
terrified rabbit. Albrecht turned his main-gauche over to his right hand, abandoning the rapier entirely,
and easily slid aside from its muzzle to deliver a piercing thrust into its lower right eye. He could see
Chang, tossed about in the grip of its tongue. She was not struggling in the least, but instead
methodically trying to place the tuning fork on one of the dragon's fangs, so that its resonance would be
increased by the very target of the spell. Her face was not impassive, but it was hard to tell what
emotions it displayed in the shifting and lashing.
Get away! She hissed at Albrecht. The maul! The maul is all.
Albrecht held there for a moment, paralyzed between desire to launch himself into the fray, and
a small voice of sense realizing that putting the bit in was the whole purpose of their gamble. The frame
of his vision was swung about by the turn and writhing of the wounded serpent, but he thought he
perceived Higar, maul at the ready, nearby. Decision came to him and he leapt for the spar, grabbed a
chain on the way by, feeling his shoulder nearly dislocated from its socket, and his guts nearly
wrenched from his body, he twirled around and around the spar, nearly tangled by the chain. He hauled
himself on to it and began running down the deck, taking himself past Higar with all the velocity he
could muster. He could not see, but could sense, the giant trembling as his deity wavered. Behind him
the dragon coiled its neck in several revolutions chasing him. Albrecht's footing failed on some slick
patch and he found himself sliding until he slammed into the step near the aft part of the ship. He had
only a moment to turn over and see the princess engulfed down its gullet, and Higar slam home the
maul crosswise.
The dragon bucked backwards, snapping its neck like a long braided whip, trying to pull loose
from the bit and the chains. Higar, however, was having none of this, and he looped the chains around
and around, at last securing them to the mast and snapping shut the giant iron lock that had been nailed
in place to secure the harness of chain. The giant found his footing and pulled the lashing taut, bucking
back the dragon's head and gaining command over its movements. The more the dragon tried to coil,
the more the chains wrapped themselves around its neck, biting in and strangling it. Unfortunately the
bulge that represented the princess was already sliding down into its belly, disappearing out of sight.
The captain began turning the wheel to tighten the chains and Morwethe fired a cannon-shot to
force the bound creature to fly forward, away from the ship. The roars from the dragon were hideous,
and rapidly shifted from having the sense of an intelligent being ensnared down to bestial cries of
shock and pain. But tear forward it did, and the entire rig, dragon, harness, and ship, was snapped
forward as it flew.
The sailed past the other twirling dragons, who snapped and lunged at the ship as it careened
through, but to no effect. A few warning shots made them hold their place, hovering in anger and
frustration.
They had escaped, but not unscathed. On the deck Albrecht sobbed, and curled into a ball of
pain, knees jammed into his chest. There he stayed for two sidereal days. Later when a bluish scale left
the other side of the dragon's digestion, the size of an old jousting shield, they laid in next to him as he
slept. He awoke, breathing in, and sat up.
It was Morwethe who sat vigil next to him, stroking his head and trying to calm him.
She lives. Were his first words.
Morwethe said nothing, but seemed to fight back a tear of pity.
She lives.
The sound of his voice attracted notice, and Jehanjir spoke softly to Niccolo.
Do not tell him that most who are imprisoned so, if indeed they do escape, are driven mad. If
she is alive now, it is as if she were pressed between two great stones, crushing her very existence.
Being consumed is almost a mercy after this.
Niccolo nodded, looked at Albrecht, and decided that the most humane words to say, were no
words at all.
Much later Morwethe had tried to speak to him, but all he would say were the same words as
before: She lives.
Interlogue
When we speak of the art of alchemy, we must divide it into physical and spiritual realms,
which require the transmutation and combination of either material quantities or spiritual quantities. We
must also divide it into intrinsic, and extrinsic processes. Intrinsic alchemy, of which the previous
chapter was devoted, is the utilization of the inner properties either of matter, or spirits. To engage in
extrinsic alchemy, it is necessary to use the influences of the suns and spheres against the background
of fixed stars. There are 8 greater houses, each representing one of the 8 classes of matter or spirit, and
there will be, from any sphere, 7 suns and 6 spheres, each in a house. Each sphere or sun will rule one
of the 13 processes of alchemy (for matter this would be Calcination, Solution, Dissolution,
Sublimation, Separation, Fermentation, Conjunction, Exaltation, Putrefaction, Multiplication,
Congelation, Combustion, and Projection), and so we can declare that each of the 13 processes will
have most affect on the class which is ruled by the house the proper body is in.
Thus if the body that rules purgation is in the Leopard, which is the element of fire, those
materials or spirits of fire, can be properly subject to purgation. Thus, on each sphere there will be a
unique combination of classes on which extrinsic alchemy may be performed. Since each soul is born,
the element of the individual at birth, is the extrinsic alchemy that is performed on that soul. In this way
the astrologer casts, by ascertaining the great extrinsic alchemy performed on the soul, at the moment
of its joining with the material...
and so it was for many centuries, that each alchemist attempted to gather the essence of each
process for each class, which made for 104 essences, or elements. Since many of these have never been
found or observed in any way, it was destined to failure, or at least success that has still eluded all
efforts of all reputable alchemists. The dream was to have, of course, the philosopher's stone, and the
universal aqua, which could be used to produce the correct essence for all, and so the great alchemists
proceeded in their search. However, for the practical alchemists two great discoveries have led to the
proliferation of the art. The first was the discovery that for most purposes, the four cardinal types could,
indeed produce the 4 mediant types, and vice versa. This reduced the needed elements to 52. The
second, of course, is that thaumaturgical influence could be used to create a flow of essence for any one
of these 52. Hence, the production of the modern arcana, with four suits to match the four element
types being used as bases, and the 13 processes. While not sufficient for all purposes, it allows the
production of ordinary reactions anywhere in amounts sufficient for daily use. Gone are the centuries
long accumulations of specific steps, to be combined only at specific times, save for those greater and
more complex magicks that are far beyond what may be written in exoteric tomes...
Codex Magnus Al-Kims
Part III
i
For two days they had torn through space, pulled by their draconian steed, at a pace that was
very deliberate for one of these beasts, but which was far faster and truer than humans could usually
manage. Several times both the ship's master and the astrologer suspected that they had gone straighter
than straight, or along a celestial equivalent of a faerie path that took them miles with every stride.
Higar had been awake nearly every minute, subsisting on draughts brewed by the captain, tough he was
haggard and looked a thin ruin of his former self. Morwethe, between rounds of tending to wounds, had
spent every waking minute on her knees doing devotionals: sitting up, touching one hand to her
forehead, bending to the deck, sitting up, touching her other hand to her forehead, and then bending
again. Her lips were a constant wave of motion.
Below Albrecht was stretch out on a blanket and spent his hours sleeping and drawing, he had
had four ribs smashed, and several punctures in his belly, and if they had been on some more fertile
sphere, he would long have been taken by infectious influences. Here, however, where spontaneous
generation was more tightly bound by some enchantment that none could quite understand, he seemed
to be able to hold on to his life. He covered a single sheet of vellum with a lovingly rendered portrait of
the princess standing at her full height, half turned looking backwards towards something that locked
her gaze in both fascination and slight disgust. He would look into the scale that imprisoned her soul,
and then back down to his rendering of her incarnation.
It hung before them as if they stood upon the surface of a sphere, and not the deck of a ship:
Korana was shrouded in smudges of mist that hung around it like a shroud. The surface was clearly a
dull gray, and it was difficult to demarcate the land from the waters. Near by, bright as a shining ruby,
was its companion moon Kohepta, nearly as large as Korana now.
Niccolo shook his head.
This is wrong. Kohepta has always been large, but this is larger than I remember her. She has
grown, and far more quickly than anything in my experience or reading.
Instead of confirmation, Jehanjir was busy measuring. Tis an illusion, from Korana's darkness,
and the companions brightness.
This drew an appreciative whistle. At least all is not madness.
All is not madness, nor is all lost.
We are, at least, here far before our rival fleet. Though I have oft looked in our wake, and seen
tremors in the ether that indicate that we are pursued still by the flying pestilence of wyrms.
Undoubtedly, we are a pearl of great price.
Do you think the swordsman broken? I mean in more than body.
Young men and young women are bodies whose interactions are farther from me than the
dallying of the spheres, and far less orderly. I have forgotten whatever I knew of it, which was little
enough then.
She could never marry him, and I cannot believe he has not had his share of wenching in his
travails. It makes no sense to me, save with bewitchment as an explaining force.
Not all bewitchings are of the magical sort, Captain Niccolo.
To this the mariner nodded.
He senses something, he keeps saying she is alive.
In this he is correct, she has not departed.
But of what use is that? Better she had.
The turns of kismet are even more complex than those of love. I do not know why he chose to
stay with us, and I do not know why she chose not to depart when she had her chance?
Choose?
It was in both their horoscopes: a visitation from the ferryman, within that day more or less. If
their souls are not in flight to that other realm, it is because something within them willed the hither
rather than thither.
They are both made of very stern stuff, that I must give them both. Even though I have half a
mind to take Albrecht to task.
We have some hours before we will reach the bow shock of Korana, thought we might wish to
make a full swing around, and examine Kohepta first. It has always been a strange moon: none record
her birth, and there has never been a solution to that conjunction could have led to her conception, and
by which sun. The seven suns and seven sisters have never spoken of it, though that is not so strange,
the do not speak of Lilith either, and her birth is well recorded and considered.
We still have to dispose of our steed.
Easy enough done, loose it and it will tear outwards, until its addled wits are healed.
Would you not slay it.
I still do not understand how we tamed it, and less how we would actually end its life. Dragon
skulls are very hard, and I doubt even Higar and his maul, alone, would do the trick. Dragon slaying is
almost as dangerous to have done, as to do.
Aye, that it is, infamy upon the wing is oft the reward.
So I advise we leave the affairs of dragons to dragons.
And what of the scale?
We should keep it safe, and perhaps find some solution, or let the swordsman mourn her
passing, for such it in all... He halted in his course.
Rawrwa.
It was said by a cat as it wound its way around the astrologer's legs. It was white and orange: a
white belly, and two large patches of orange above. Jehanjir recognized it, from the drawing in
Albrecht's hand that was next to where he had made his bed. The old man bent down, and looked into
its eyes, one was green, the other blue.
And where did you come from, my kitty cat?
The cat looked up, stared as if giving the astrologer due and serious consideration, and then
wound its way around his leg again, before running off and down the stairs to the lower deck.There
were general stares, because it was inconceivable that a cat could have hidden from them for this long,
though perhaps possible. Higar looked Perhaps it is the princess' cat? She was the one doing all the
counting.
Perhaps. Or more personally.
It was at this point that Higar, Niccolo, and Jehanjir went down into the hold. They found the
cat sitting on a drawing, straight up. Albrecht absently pet the cat's head a few times, and there was
loud purring that rose and fell like the drawing of breath. The swordsman however, remained slouched
out, and continued to draw, his beard was growing into a blonde stubble, and he had an unmistakable
odor of wine about him.
This was finally too much to bear for the beleaguered mariner.
Where have you been hiding the cat all this time, and who gave you permission to take it
aboard.
Albrecht looked up serenely, his long blonde hair, framing his long face and frighteningly blue
eyes. I never hid the cat. She came to me just now, though perhaps, he stared off to the left, some of
the squeaking I heard was her chasing mice. But no, I did not hide the cat. She came, he gestured to
the drawing, from that, I think.
What kind of a fool do you think I am!?
An old fool.
Niccolo was entirely unused to such insubordination from someone who was either crew or
ships complement, and had his rapier out.
Stand and make account of yourself, you lying bastard. The gust of anger had passed, and
allowed itself to hang from his hands. Albrecht turned the cat around and showed everyone.
See? That means boy. He dropped the cat who returned to the corner, this time to curl up on
the heap of a blanket.
That isn't an impediment.
Second, it is not her scent.
What do you mean, Albrecht? This question came from the astrologer, whose eyebrow piqued
in interest.
With a sigh, the swordsman walked over to the dragon scale, and carried it over to the three
men. Smell this, if you will.
Jehanjir shook his head.
My nose is too many times broken. Came the excuse from Higar. And I should go and watch
the dragon anyway. He trudged back up.
Send down Morwethe.
And indeed moments later she gingerly descended, her ample hips flouncing as she took careful
steps down.
Smell this, please, lady priestess.
Morwethe bent closely, and took an deep inhalation.
Lilacs.
Now smell the cat please, good priestess.
She bent down and coaxed the cat to her with gestures and blinks. It was somewhat dubious at
first, but came to her. She picked it up and allowed it to clamber over her shoulders. The cat, smelled of
cat, with a strong dose of mouse.
It smells like a cat.
I will tell you the sorceress has an air about her. Her soul is still in the scale.
So the cat just, appeared? The captain was still dubious.
Where do you think the mice came from?
Jehanjir again raised an eyebrow. You drew mice in the plans?
A bit later, but on the same sheets. And the flies.
Flies can be spontaneous.
Only if there is meat for them.
True, and we have none about. This theory intrigues me. You say that there is a magic that
summons things into being?
Why do you think I drew the princess?
It seems a very vain hope.
Better than no hope. Now may I ask, good gentles all, that we return to our work.
Does that include you, draughtsman?
I suppose it should. With that, he went over and hung the scale and his drawing of the
princess next to each other, and set himself to cleaning up and organizing. It was clear he was still quite
injured, and his range of motion was limited, but he found ways of moving around it. The cat,
meanwhile, would follow around first one person, and then another, watching them work, before
wandering off to sleep. Occasionally the cat would be no where to be found, until it would arrive with a
mouse, often a live mouse.
Once he dropped it at the feet of Morwethe, who startled when she looked down, and then
picked the mouse up by the tail and did an elaborate bow. Why thank you Don Gato, for this
marvelous gift. The mouse wrestled, but clearly was not long for this world. So she walked over to
Niccolo dropped the mouse with half a shiver, and said Kill it!
This elicited a chuckle, and the mouse was rapidly dispatched. You could have done it your
self, I think.
A wink came back, with a reply. Perhaps but it would hinder the devotional energy, and I pray
that we will have the full force of my God's favor soon upon us.
At this, Niccolo nodded, but noted that she did not return to where she was, but stood close to
him, and then seated herself, taking to mending some of her vestments with a needle and thread.
It would not be wise to be too engaged in that, we will have to change course soon.
Always time to take care of the little details, Captain.
That there is, that there always is. With this he nudged the wheel slightly and called to Higar
at the reins. Before them were sheets of dark and swirling mist, that seemed to spiral off of Korana. The
turning of its orb was perceptible now, and she was the size of a fist held at arms length. The cold light
of the winter sun reflected off the oceans and ice, and was swallowed by the lands.
Afore stood a cold and lonely figure, who had aged, again, in the last few days. His shoulders
had taken on a certain slouch. He was weary, and lined eyelids drooped from fatigue. The bell's magic
would not carry him forever, he had to reach Korana, and enter, to discern what fate had befallen the
inhabitants. The loss of both the Summoner, and Princess Chang was a sore defeat, in that they both
had powers of perception through their magicks that he longed to have the aid of here, before landing.
He, of course, used what tools he had with him, but these read in a confused and clotted way. Perhaps
the others would find the same, but it would be hope, even in the labyrinth.
He took slow breaths as he examined the growing orb, but, as yet, saw nothing. He went below
to sleep a while before the next important shifting of course that would be required. His head was
heavy with an ache, there was a howling inside his mind that had been pressing upon him, as if the roar
of the ether was welling up from within him. He drifted and looked at the ceiling, with its ornate
depiction of the seven suns, he was unsure whether he was awake, or dreaming, as he thought he saw
the spheres move in their orbits. He turned to look over for the drafting table, where he had been
working on a way to control the dragon by a mechanical yoke, so that the wheel, rather than Higar's
brute strength, could be used to make most maneuvers. There would be limits, of course, but it would
be an improvement. He could barely force that last word through his mind, and he lolled his head from
side to side to sweep in the scene past his vision.
Then he thought he saw the floral decorations begin to sway and move, slowly, as if stirred by a
wind. They seemed to be greener, and the columns more like the trunks of palm trees. He stirred his
head and looked outwards, and the sides of the hull seemed to be merging into vegetation, and he could
look out beyond on to rolling dunes of sand. He turned towards the center of the ship, and instead of
the setting of the model, he saw a small cool oasis pool, its water greenish with algae. He crawled the
few feet over to it, and looked down. He thought he could see the summoner, far below, laid as if for
burial or cremation, his hands crossed over his chest.
He resisted touching the water, feeling that either it would disrupt the dream, or risk some
enchantment to be loosed upon himself. He looked as carefully as he could in the dim light, some of
which seemed to be coming from green and blue points in the water. It was difficult to tell the source,
but then one moved as if alive, twisting like a fish. In the inner oceans of many worlds, the ocean
between the outer and inner surfaces, there were such creatures, that made their own light. They would
be churned up from time to time, with enormous sharp jaws that would snap at anything. Many would
explode from within soon after, or turn themselves inside out. From his vantage, he thought he could
see several swimming in circles around the bottom, their tails lashing like whips. Occasionally they
seemed to pass above or below the figure that was lying in repose. It was at this point that he could tell
he had been staring down for some time.
After this he roused himself and looked around, weighing in his mind the benefit of calling out,
or waiting, lest his cries be heard by unintended listeners. He also tried to wake himself, as if this were
a dream, but there was no effect. He felt neither steady and conscious, nor floating and enshrouded in
reverie. So he moved carefully out to the edge of the oasis, which had now completely transformed the
ship, and looked outwards over the sands, he could distantly see the tips of some large stone edifices,
but did not know how far they were, but they had to be enormously tall to stand over the dunes. He
searched the area, and found nothing. This convinced him that he was almost certainly dreaming.
There was a rustle of leaves, and he startled and turned. He noted that one small cluster of broad
leafed flowers was not moving the same way as the other plants, but, instead, in a different pattern,
with a slight jiggle that made the light reflect off of droplets of water, also different, because the other
plants were dry. His heart started to beat faster, and fear pulsed through his body. He took a ginger step
forward, and then moved to the side hiding behind the trunk of a palm. There he waited, listening,
straining to listen, reaching his senses outward. But he could not hear anything but the rustle of leaves,
and the occasional dollop of a fish breaking the surface of the oasis pool. During this time he stared at
each leave, and noted that their movements came in very precise increments, as if driven by gears and
ratchets rather than growing organically. He looked up in the night sky, too see if he could divine where
he was, and there too, the stars seemed to turn like small gears, rather than twinkling by ordinary light.
Finally he looked around the edge of the trunk and saw.
What he saw was a figure of a woman, clad in a single long white dress that had no seems, and
hugged the hills and valleys of her shape body, with rises and falls that were both prominent and
smooth, rich and yet resilient. Her face was broad and she had a broad nose, with dark creamy skin,
that made his eyes ache just to look at it. He startled in recognition, that she looked like Morwethe,
only as the priestess might have been younger: full of face, full of lips, full of figure, but firm and toned
in all of her parts.
A full fertile radiance pressed upon his face, and coursed through the capillaries of his body.
The flush rippled over his face like a fast cloud over the sun, leaving behind beads of sweat. He
focused on her eyes, and with a practiced movement, he bowed. It allowed him to gather his thoughts,
but they scrambled away from him as soon as he stood straight up again. It was impossible not to want
to simply embrace her, smile and fall into her body. It is a dream, came his sense, and so he dreamt it.
When he awoke it was with a startle, he looked left and then right. He was covered with a
blanket, and near by he could see Morwethe from behind as she was doing devotions, but she stopped
as soon as he looked at her round body. She turned around on her knees and smiled at him. Petting his
forehead.
You were ill and needed some healing. There was a tinge or edge of coyness to her voice.
What was it?
Nothing that could not easily be cured. She stood up, brushed herself off, and looked at him.
With your permission captain, I have other duties to attend to as well.
He simply nodded, looked down at his physique, and tried to feel his body. He was relaxed, but
realized he needed a drag behind the ship to scour off an acrid scent that loomed around him. He strode
up the stairs, and was about to gather a lashing so to scour himself, when he heard a churning of gears
and an exchange of cries from the astrologer and Higar. He looked down and saw that Jehanjir was on
his back legs out from under the port mast mounts. He was helping out commands, and Higar was
replying with adjustments.
A few moments later, Jehanjir pulled out and looked up.
Captain! I though you would still be asleep.
Niccolo's brow furrowed.
We are rigging up the yoke you designed.
Niccolo's brow furrowed.
The old man put down a pair of pliers and rolled to his feet, walked over to the table where
designs were, and pointed to the bow and cantilever design in Niccolo's sketch hand.
Ah. I had forgotten I had done that. He paused, and realized he had been thinking of it, for
some reason, just before he went to sleep.
Hrum. I was thinking of some improvements of the design, but this will still be oft better than
how it is now. He looked upwards at the bloated orb of Korana, half veiled by the black filaments of
darkness. She weighed over them oppressively, taking up nearly a fifth of the sky. Kohepta was just
forming a crescent beyond her, and he knew that he wanted to swing half way around, and try entry
then. It would not be long.
Astrologer, did you have time to work the angles for our landing? I left...
I have indeed, they were quite simple, though I have some concerns.
What kind of concerns.
We have not had any time to observe these strange strangling clouds of black, and I fear that
this must have more than some small influence on how we are to approach.
The captain looked up, pondered, and thought.
So you would advise?
Could we approach the plan of some of them, so that we might see how they and the ship
interact?
This elicited a sharp breath of tension.
That depends on how long you feel we can keep hold on our serpentine steed.
That too is a risk, I must confess.
Caught between the tendrils that are strangling a world, and the whip that can crush our lives, I
know.
I am hoping to counsel some prudence.
There are times when prudence becomes imprudence, perhaps we can work a course, that
should we need to loose the dragon, there is still some hope of spiraling in, rather than leaving us to
careen from perigee to apogee.
The astrologer nodded.
It might be possible to have a conic section that would do so.
If we skim the bowshock on each close pass, it would give us the chance of using what is left
of our sail to retard our motion.
The frown from Jehanjir was hard enough to almost reach a scowl, but his eyes brightened at
the challenge.
Let me see if I can use some divination to locate the ethercline more exactly than by eye.
Niccolo nodded. I will do so as well, so that we can compare our figures for greater
exactitude.
You seem to do a little of everything, good Captain.
I have a grain of sand from every beach on the spheres, but an ocean of none of them.
A shrug came as the reply.
I know you must often feel overshadowed, but none other would have been capable of holding
this journey in the palm of his hand.
The great skill of a captain, is to employ skills greater than himself. It is a lesson I stive to
employ, though often falling short of the humility required.
You do as well as any man could.
That is very kind of you, placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, but utterly untrue. I
have come to doubt my selection over others that were there. What was it you saw in the horoscope that
made you so certain of your choice?
Oh that's simple captain, of all of them, yours was the one that clashed the least with the
others.
A shadow then.
A gear that fit all the others best.
Such I suppose is my place in the cosmos.
Better the gear in the clock, than the worm in the apple. Your fate is easier than the princess, or
the summoner's already.
Or our dragon, who must be consigned to some ages of torment in the mind for what we have
done to him.
Indeed.
Pray let me retire to this task you have in mind.
The captain nodded, and walked forward to Higar, there to find the state of the giant's mind and
health.
He looked up again, and shivered at the mottled face of Korana, wondering what foul force was
at work there, and how they would escape to convey word of it. He returned to a rolling gait and
strolled fore again.
However, before he was all the way there, he heard a vast bellow of anguish and then the sound
of a fist pounding against a bulk head.
No. No. No. No. No.
With this he turned and saw that Morwethe was already clambering down the steps. Carry on
Higar, I think we should stay topside.
The giant nodded. The last thing many men see, is the first time it was seen.
Wise man, giant.
I am smarter than I act, Captain.
With this Niccolo went to the steps and knelt down, pulling out a pistol and holding it at the
ready.
He saw a figure walking, though not walking. His mind clashed: on one hand, it moved like one
of the mechanical figures that were built to haul the sails and so on. But it was taller, and it was not
walking on any track, but, instead, up the stairs. Gradually light hit its face, which was a pretty, but
clearly artificial, rendering of the face of Princess Chang, a smile on her face, with articulated eyes, but
the rest as if cast in enamel or molded of porcelain. She was dressed in the garb of a harlequin, with
checkered black and white on one side, and white and red diamonds on the other. On her feet were
shows of pink silk and satin. On her back, she wore the dragon scale like a shield might be strapped
over a traveling gendarme's pack. She reached the top of the stairs, turned precisely half a circle,
turned, and gave an exacting curtsey to the Captain.
Chasing after her below was Albrecht, his face twisted in anguish and horror, with even the
sound squeezed out so that his lips were like a hole in his face, from which only a rasping cough came.
Behind him was Morwethe, a hand on his shoulder in an ineffectual gesture of condolence.
He pulled his face together and marched upwards, the whizzing whirr of mechanical parts from
the moving doll attracted the attention of Jehanjir, who turned away from his telescope and his
pendulum to stare at the commotion. He puzzled his head and furrowed his brow, trying to decide if
there was, in fact, something amiss. It was only on second glance that his face lit up, but with a
disgusted amazement that resulted in the pulling back of the muscles of his jaw and the raising of his
eyebrows.
This might be worse than it looks. Higar's voice made the understatement almost comical.
Albrecht was nearly crying. Worse that it looks? His face was visibly reddened and his cheeks
puffed.
You were playing with magicks you didn't understand, swordsman, Niccolo shot back, and
this is the sad result.
From below Morwethe interjected, That seems to harsh. She sacrificed herself to save all of us.
And even without this we would be faced with the quandary of what to do.
Sometimes it is better that souls depart. Snapped Niccolo.
With a glare, Albrecht shot back, And how many times have you had to choose?
A few, swordsman, a few.
So you aren't one to talk. Nor is our astrologer friend who turned cards with the ferryman,
before there were cards that is.
You think that anything we know here is not brought forward from the before? And, I played
with death, not the ferryman, a terrible and important difference.
That will be some time, I have decided to abide with thee for a while, since I feel your...
Interrupting his statement there was a loud series of thumps on the starboard side of the hull,
and almost instantly there was a complete change in the outline in the smoke from arrogantly crosslegged sitting to prostrate on the ground before Morwethe.
Hide me. They are coming! This followed by several sobs that were most unbecoming
anyone, let alone a deitic creature with aspirations to greatness.
Morwethe looked and puzzled at this turn of events, but managed to ask: Who, who are
coming?
There is a purge of all the middle godlings, or at least many of them. And I am sure they come
for me.
They who? Inserted Niccolo, who had ducked his head above.
The muscaedes. The etheral flies. They unravel the preter-living and deitic at the will of the
Gods and Goddesses. Usually there is no agreement, so only the most egregious of violations are
punished.
What happens if they catch you?
The legend among us is that you unravel into other preter-born souls. But other say you
become woven into physical matter, and there are tormented by the swarms of daemons, spirits, and
homunculi. However, it is too terrible a fate to contemplate.
Niccolo's face was impassive.
Flies, even etheral ones, do not bump on the side of the hull.
I've seen them descend on two others as myself, competitors, we were soliciting worship in a
dream, when a black haze descended on the others, and tore them to pieces.
And you fled.
Yes!
It was Niccolo's turn to sigh. What is another divine enemy more or less. As Captain, I grant
you safety of this ship, such as it is.
There was a pause.
I would appreciate a grovel, it isn't every day a mortal gets a god grovel.
The figure in the smoke slavishly complied, Morwethe looked down and simply shook her
head.
Albrecht quizzically turned and looked. So what were the bumps?
Higar pounding a board back into place.
It was 6 hours later that they were at the top of the arc that the astrologer had calculated as the
appropriate moment to attempt to swoop down, and close to one of the spiraling planes of darkness.
During that time there had been increasingly frenzied preparations, as various springs, gears, and other
workings had to be reset or replaced. With every bump and twist of the increasingly turbulent ether, it
seemed as if one part or another of their overly rigged mechanisms strained and ground together to a
halt. Niccolo was seemingly everywhere, oiling, adjusting, loosening.
During this time the princess came upon the cat playing with a mouse, batting it back and forth,
she pulled it away, and found it to be the most mauled creature imaginable: missing all its legs, one ear,
one eye, and most of its tail. She tiled her head, and carried it away by the tail, going to the side of the
ship, and tossing it out into the void. The cat followed her each step of the way, and sat watching as she
hurled it at surprising velocity to be consumed by the dark. It was barely able to manage a squeak.
With every hour the orb of Korana grew, until finally it had become the sky and hung over
them. Gradually the ship had turned over a quarter turn, so that it seemed as if the sphere was to their
right and above them, a vast weight, bearing down. Below was what seemed to be a black land,
gradually growing in detail, filled with its own geography of valleys and rills, brutal chasms and sheer
cliffs. The mechanical princess looked down fixing her gaze at one point, following it, and then shifting
to another just in front of the ship. Behind her was Albrecht, who watched her carefully, and stood
close, but was afraid to touch her. He then bowed and went to his station. He looked back over his
shoulder, but she had vanished to someplace else. He was concerned, but did not have time to wonder.
Higar of course was manning the reigns themselves, while Niccolo was at the wheel. Morwethe
was tending the lanterns, while Jehanjir was watching closely the contraption that they had rigged to
balance the forces on the two masts that stayed the straps to the dragon. None knew how much longer
the dragon's own dazzle would last, leaving him tractable to the commands of the bit, but so far, it
seemed as if they still worked. But with each pull and turn, Niccolo's chest muscles flinched, half
expecting the beast to turn on them and attack.
The rise and fall below them of the dark lands seemed to rush towards and away from them, as
if any moment it would charge and overwhelm them. To stare down was to be overcome by a dizzying
vertigo. Niccolo slowed their progress as the course had planned, giving Jehanjir the chance to examine
the terrain more closely. The ship shimmied from side to side, burning off momentum, throwing off
small clouds of daemons and homunculi, that went wailing down into the abyssal shadow lands below.
From a distance it seemed to be a barren country, however, as they grew closer, the shapes
seemed to congeal into flora and fauna of bizarre and grotesque shapes, monsters with massive jaws
slithered close to the ground, while gargantuan insects crawled and flew. The vegetation was similarly
afflicted with a bloated elephantine character, with massive boughs atop tiny trunks, and vast leaves in
misshapen asymmetries. Some seemed to have animal parts, feet, arms, jaws, lips that grew where
flowers might have been, enormous pairs of buttocks. Over the ground oozed black fogs or volcanic
fumes.
They seemed to crawl and loop over each other, consuming one another and then excreting out
an even more deformed version of the creature moments later. Unhinged maws would bite into the
sides of plants, and gulp down the insides, leaving behind a desiccated husk behind. Then, abruptly the
withered tendrils would wrap themselves around an unfortunate beast, and suck it dry until its skin or
carapace clung to its bones or structure, leaving it to wander off in search of moisture of its own.
As they grew closer they began to hear the trumpets and howls that produced a terrible din, a
roaring cacophony of misery, shrieks of agony, yowls of pain, brief cries of triumph. Jehanjir and
Niccolo turned to each other, both realized that these were not purely bestial cries, but had behind them
a conviction that produced a shiver sympathy in the nerves, that wince one soul feels, at the terror and
torment of another.
Seen enough, sage?
Not enough, and far too much. Enough to know that it is a peril we would not survive.
I want to take the course that would land us.
It took only a nod from the astrologer to have Niccolo yelping out to the others.
Prepare to descend to Korana's air.
With this the he spun the wheel hard, and the cantilever began to strain under the torsion as
gears ticked and then held under ratchet. The twisting crept up the straps, turn by turn, tightening
around the dragon's neck. Each revolution added only a small amount to the pressure, but gradually it
began to chaff and wriggle. The dragon, in response, continued to spin faster and faster, sending twists
down the bounds that held him, tightening them beyond taut. Below the delicate gearing that ran
through the central spring of the yoke began tightening as well, its spindly ratchets clawing into the
teeth of the gear, as the spring absorbed more and more of the energy. The coils of the spring pressed in
against each other, and began squeezing, then they started to jostle, clearly becoming unstable.
The mechanical doll that held the princesses soul observed this, and seemed to stand utterly
still. Then slowly from a start she took two steps forward, and removed her own left hand. Beneath this
was a large rectangular peg with a staying knob, she pressed this directly into a gear key that ran off the
main spring, and pushed it down into place. It began bleeding off the winding of the mainspring, there
being a rapid nasal whinging of the gears, first in her arm, then in her shoulder, then in her chest, as
each of her won smaller springs in turn absorbed the energy. She seemed to grow stiffer and straighter
as the mechanisms within her tightened and pulled taut. She went from standing to scrunched in a fetal
position, the other arm being pressed against the beam of the ship's hull to wedge herself in place.
Above the dragon continued to twirl, generating more and more force with each turn, until
finally it began turning against the tightening, making it peel to the left with enough etheral lift to pull
not only its own body, but the ship behind it as well. The vessel, itself, began dragging behind it,
veering towards Korana's sphere, which did not yet feel down to the voyagers, but instead appeared
above them, a slice of shining distant curve between two slabs of the black lands. They began to ascend
up towards it, and the walls of the two reaches began to grow up beside them, enclosing them as if they
were in a dark chasm, with the only hope above them. They could see the haze of the true atmosphere
along the limb of the sphere and the turbulence of the ether like a white veil between them and the
sphere. While the churning white was a threatening gashing foam, it was the most hopeful thin in
Niccolo's eyes, because it meant, at least in some way, that the engine of the ether was still working
here.
Beneath the princess could feel herself unwinding, as the dragon's counter turns slowly reduced
the force on the mainspring, and on each of hers as well. The free motion returned to her limbs, and she
finally could lift the bleed gear away, and restore the claw-like appendage to its proper place at the end
of her wrist. Of course, she could show no emotion through all of this, her face being painted into an
artificial smile.
The black walls clasped in around them like hands, and the astrologer walked up beside him,
watching a pendulum swing too and fro. When the sphere had them, it would begin to tilt towards it.
This is an unusual approach.
I want the gap before my eyes, before we are truly committed to running it.
Have you ever done something like this?
From time to time there are shards of crystal or foams of surf in the ether, and it is necessary to
weave between them. It is, I hope, something like this.
Jehanjir nodded and returned to his post as they grew deeper into the black. The sides revealed
themselves has having knotted fluted eddies, like globular trees pressed together, or the pipes of an
organ fit for a toad to play. Or perhaps a thousand arms reaching up to encompass them. Niccolo
looked towards the sphere, and he began to suspect that the gap between the black lands was
narrowing. He looked back and could then see how thin black arms were reaching out between the two,
and closing the gap, he looked in front, and saw the same steadily growing web of joins. He thought for
a moment to hazard it, drive them through the gap and hope to fly through, but he reasoned that if there
were filaments that he could see from here, then there might be even more gossamer ones that would
shred them.
With reluctance he spun the wheel and turned the vessel back upwards, hoping that their escape
was not closed up. He spun the wheel deliberately, turn by turn binding the lashes, forcing the dragon
to turn over and leading the ship on a corkscrew turn. Four times he rolled the ship over, until the
dragon pulled them like a sleigh up, out and back towards the dome of the fixed stars.
ii
The Dragon must die.
A huff came from Jehanjir, the Captain was more blunt.
Let me read the first page from the first codex on dragon slaying. 'Don't!' It is also on half the
other pages. We have nothing that could slay it before it shredded us all. Higar could pound its skull,
you could stab all four eyes and Morwethe lay in with our cannon after I dosed with the most vicious
poison that the law of mariners is death for uttering it. And what would we have? A blind drunk dragon
and it was obvious that black sails with red stars were approaching.
I see two, Captain.
My eyes are no sharper. Though I cannot discern under what colors they fly.
I do not see any ensign at all... Wait... One is running up a flag of a trading house. Perhaps you
know which one.
A golden crescent says they are from Korana herself. I cannot see the sign though. There is a
sword, below, it is a war ensign.
Do they mean to fight?
We will have to wait to see if they run up the black flag for battle.
Do we?
I will not do so, unless forced. But we should turn towards them.
I hope they are peaceful.
I doubt it.
Of what sort are these?
They are of an old design, three masts, top, port, starboard, with triangular rigged sails.
Niccolo swiveled his spyglass. I count two fore, and three aft cannons, plus two either side. And I see
men on deck, they look as if they are moving about.
We will see what their intent is.
Soon enough I grant, soon enough.
Albrecht looked with naked eyes, and proclaimed, No want of courage, I doubt they see a
vessel hauled by a dragon every day.
Albrecht could you run up a white flag? Niccolo's voice was even and dead, but it was still a
command. Albrecht, however, dutifully complied without comment. It flowed majestically behind
them, as tall as a man and twice as long as it was high, strung to the lantern line, and rapidly became a
clear white clarion announcing that their stated intentions, at least, were peaceful.
Some minutes later, in response, the other vessels raised the red flag, which was a demand for
boarding.
Niccolo snapped his spyglass shut. So it seems they want to board us. Hmmm? Well, we will
see about that.
He called back over his shoulder. Albrecht, be a lad and haul up the red ensign. If they want to
board, they are going to have to do it by force.
While complying with this, the swordsman noted. Again, no lack of spine in them.
This is, however, starting to verge on suspicious. Niccolo's voice was firm. I can't think of
anyone who would challenge us in that way without powerful and fell magicks. This makes no sense.
Korana shrouded in dark lands filled with hideous monstrous beasts, no short of fell magicks
about.
Which would imply, Albrecht, that we should close, because this may be our first chance to
find some piece of solid truth into the matter of Korana.
I have never been one to shy away from confrontation.
So I observe.
It seems they are still closing.
So will we. And so he did, leaning the wheel into the approaching ships.
The spray of breaking ether hit the faces of those who were looking forward, the edge of the
dragon's wings grew glowing purple and orange the serpentine kind could convert ether without
creating a great deal of heat at the same time Higar hung easily off a rope, Morwethe checked the
rack of hackbuts, Albrecht bandoliered his blades, and a clean scent flowed across the boat.
The stench of waiting was passing, the miasma of fear that had brought sickness of the hear to
them ending, and their fortune rested on a trial by fire.
Remember the dragon must die, Niccolo.
preparing another turn. He pulled himself up to a seated position, ran backwards on the rail itself, his
boots lightly touching on tip toes. He grabbed one of the parachutes and jumped, leaving the ship, and
any remaining occupants, to their fate. The dragon lashed at the vessel several times, but feeling the
pull of the gyre, began pulling with its vast wingbeat upwards, gradually in aching arcs trying to draw
himself upwards. Niccolo was falling and had to attend to waiting for the moment to handle the
parachute. The ship itself was pulled into the center of the gyre and vanished from Niccolo's view.
And from below it seemed a bolt flew from the gyre at its seems, streaking from far northern
pulse towards the surface skin of Korana. Brutal bright it burned, brutal bright it fell, and then upon the
surface did it strike, raising such a storm of dust and grit as to blow over all that was near it. It seemed
as if monsoon wins had come again, and brushed with fury through the gullies of the wadi, through the
alleys of the cities, through the caves in rocky cliffs, through the valleys gilt with wilting wheat. But as
quickly as it came, the storm was silenced, and there was nothing more.
Interlogue
Every carte player knows that there are three natures of games. There are those games of court, which
revel in their complexity and difficulty, so that only those who have endless leisure and presence
among the nobility may master all their many intricacies. These games are played for great stakes with
myriad variations. There are those games of table, whose rules are simpler, but whose diverse manners
of winning are an invitation to scheming. Then there are those games of hand, whose rules are rude and
simple, upon which stakes change hands rapidly...
Show is a game of the table, and as such it places a premium on quick throws of cards. The
rules of Show are simple, and it is played in a deck with court cards, though sometimes it is played
without court cards and is called the game of Fields, or the game of Peasants.
Players cut for the deal. The player sitting to the right of the dealer plays first, and is the caller
for that hand.
A single card, call the trump, is placed on the table, and then each player is dealt three cards.
The players will form their hands out of the three cards they have, plus the card on the table. A
variation called Ferry is to have two upturned cards, which each player may use one of. In this
variation there is no-trump suit unless both cards be of the same suit. In some places both players are
allowed to discard one card and draw before the call, but this has little impact on the play.
Then the player whose turn it is to call, says push, win, stop, or show.
If the player says push, then each player discards one card, and a new card is dealt to
each, then it is the next player to the right in a circle's turn to call. Any points from previous
calls are added to their score.
If the player says win the other players call bow to concede, at which point all may
discard one card, and draw one card, and the caller calls again. Usually in play when a
player calls bow the card is dealt before them, which they may pick up once they have
discarded. If they do not discard, then that card is out of play until a new deal. The caller
may continue to call win as many times as they like in a row. However, if the caller
discards, his discard becomes the new trump card.
If the caller says stop, then they credit their score all of the wins they have called, and a
new deal is made. In most places, to call stop having no won hands, is counted one against
the caller. It is occasionally seen that the next caller may decide whether a new deal is made,
but usually it is required. Gamblers favor going round the table as this is called.
If the caller says show then players must show their cards, and the winner wins one point,
while the losers lose one point. The winner keeps points won from previous calls of win,
but does not keep any in the event of their loss. A new deal is made and there is a new
caller.
If one of the other players says show to a win, then each player has two points at risk,
winning or losing two as their placement allows. If the caller wins, they may continue to
call, but if they lose, then a new deal is made and there is a new caller.
In games for stakes for each point, a player other than the caller may sleep, and put all
their cards face down on the table until the next new deal. They need not pay any more until
the new deal, but may lose the whole game if the caller goes to 7. Whether it is permissible
to sleep after a show varies from place to place.
In many places the second player may say double, which places the onus of decision back
on the caller, only with the stakes doubled, that is four won or lost, plus doubling of the
points from the call. A call of double will often end a game forthwith.
Because it is a game of the table, it is common that all players may only look at their cards
in three slow counts, which is often emphasized by all players knocking on the table in
rhythm. At which point the player must put their cards face down on the table, and a slow
count of three is made again, and if the player has not played, they are assumed to stop if
the caller, or conceded if any other player.
A player whose score is below zero must pay one additional point each time they are the caller,
which they will get back if they win the hand in addition to their other winnings, but will lose if they
push. This is the called the usury.
The play is won by reaching 7 points, or lost by reaching a debt of seven points.
To determine who has won, first the player must have a hand. A hand is either a set, that is cards
of the same rank, or a blaze, that is cards of the same suit, or a run, that is cards that are in order.
The score is the point value of the cards that are part of the hand, minus the cards that are not
part of the hand. The trump is not counted, if not part of the hand.
The value of a card is 1 for a card that is odd,
2 for a card that is even,
3 for a card that is of the court.
If the score is tied, then a blaze of trump wins over other blazes,
a run with more trump in it wins over other runs,
but a set with trump in it loses to other sets. This is called a catastrophe, a comet, or an
assassin.
A royale is when a run is also a blaze, in which case it beats any hand of equal or fewer cards,
even if the points of the other hand are greater. Between royales, the highest top card wins, with trump
winning over not trump. Thus a royale court, is all court cards of the same suit, and so must also be in
trumps.
Of course, a hand is counted as its highest score, though in many variations, if the upturned card
is a black queen, the hand is calamity, and the lowest complete hand is scored. So, to place pictures
to words, imagine a player has a queen, and a 6 and a 7. If playing calamity, then instead of scoring this
as 6 less 3, or 3, for the pair of queens, then it is scored as 3 less 3, or 0, for the run.
In most lands, a player who is dealt or obtains a royale court, lays the cards on the table and
says crown, for they have won the crown.
In many lands, a player with a hand of four may lay the cards on the table, and say claim. The
other players must then draw and discard for a royale in three tries, regardless of score. This is done in
the coffee and smoking houses, but seldom elsewhere. It is often called chaos, or anarchy.
In most places where it is played, it is also played for stakes, and either there is a stake placed at
the beginning, or there is a cost for each point between the player's final total, and the winner's 7.
Another variation is for the caller to be able to call carnage. In this all players discard one
card until a hand is formed on the table, and draw one card if they discarded. If this hand loses against
the caller's hand then the caller's debt is erased, then the player with the highest score is set to 0. If it
wins or is tied, that player has lost and must place all remaining stake on the table.
A another variation is that the first win called counts for 1, the second for 2, and the third will
be a for four, the last for 8, which will be a show for the game. In this variation the caller may not draw
or discard.
If they are still tied after this, all players lose one point, but the caller keeps all previous points
from calls.
The games of cartes on the seven spheres described Hans Fruhling
Part IV
i
The life boat seemed to have flight for only a moment, before making its way downwards,
Higar manned the shoot, as Morwethe remained almost fixed in her seat, strapped in with ropes, lips
moving with devotionals, and stroking the cat with her hands. Then as the speed seemed to become
unbearable, Higar pulled the cord, and they were nearly slammed into their seats by the deceleration.
But once this wrenching pain was ended, they settled into a soft and slow descent, skimming over some
soft surface, bouncing several times, and coming to rest. Higar pressed a hand to the door and pushed it
open, reasoning that he would feel water pressure, and there was nothing else that would truly be more
dangerous than sitting still. He popped his head through, and just had time to see a streaking meteor far
away.
I think the ship is falling to Korana, I hope everyone else was away.
Morwethe stroked the cat, and felt something amiss, she searched for a pulse and found none,
the feline had gone to sleep and expired.
Of course, she whispered, death had come for the mice and the cat, who were souls that
were supposed to die. Poor kitty, I hope you earned more of a respite than you had in human life.
She picked up the smaller supply pack and took the cat. She did a devotional with the animal on
the ground, and lit off a few drams of putrefaction elixir, in moments the cat was reduced to bones,
which then turned to dust. Whatever spirit had incarnated in it, was now free. At least you were for
once in this life, loved, poor thing.
Higar stood with the larger pack on his back. He was straighter than he had been before. He
looked around in every direction, but could not see any of the others.
It seems we are both separated from our godlings.
Can you dowse for the maul.
It will call to me if my god wills it, but I think that it is now my place to serve his ends with
mine own hands instead.
Morwethe nodded. She was somewhat relieved to be away from her master, who often seemed
as much a burden as an aid. Perhaps this was intended, but it did not dull her annoyance at him.
Which way?
She thought.
We are supposed to meet at the city of Dis, but I do not have any idea what direction that is.
Can you see any signs of inhabitation?
No, I cannot, but I am sure it will come to us.
They surveyed in ever direction, and saw nothing but a fine black obsidian sand, then, in the
distance, what appeared to be a great rolling wall of black seemed to be approaching them. They hid in
the boat, sealed it shut, and waited, The boat was rolled over twice while they were in it, and there was
some minutes of rolling howling outside, then a sound like the sprinkling of spray from the surf on the
ocean. After this, it was silent for a while. Higar pushed the door, and some black sand poured in, but
not very much. They worked their way out, and found a layer of fine new powder around them, and the
wall of black retreating away.
That must have come from the ship. We should head that way.
Morwethe nodded, thinking this wise, and they began trundling their way along the freshly
fallen black sand. It gave way gently beneath their feet, half softening the step, half sucking them in.
Morwethe's sandals quickly acquired a fine grit, but her soles were calloused from many years of
wandering. Higar, for his part, was wearing the hard marching boots that he had had made a few weeks
before. They were broken in, but not at all soft in the soles yet, the perfect state for a long march. He
slowed himself down to match Morwethe's more leisurely pace.
You know, it seems strange to me that the two people who are most devout have ended up
the silk of the parachute to make somewhat of a shelter. Higar snored. In his dreams he dreamt of
carnal desires fulfilled, but remembered none of it when he opened his eyes.
It was dusk before dawn when he peeled his eyes and saw a gray slice of sky between the
edging dark that encompassed the horizon, and the wisps of the gyre that rose up towards near zenith.
He looked both ways, and found Morwethe already fixing to break camp. I'm glad you slept
well. She didn't even look back at him.
That was an alchemist's trick, wasn't it.
You needed the sleep.
But we were in a hurry.
We are in a hurry, and now, she corrected him. we might be able to hurry.
I was still walking more quickly than you.
Only because I was letting you. But now you should be able to out-stride me in earnestness.
Higar bounced up, and it was clear that he was looser than she had ever seen him, without the
weight of the maul, he seemed, if not exactly agile, then limber and moving more like a man than like a
tree uprooted.
She pointed at a spot left of the gyre. I see a spire there, a minaret, that seems to be a place of
inhabitation.
Is it wise to go, or avoid?
This I do not know.
In the end, the white spire drew them towards it, because it was virtually the only landmark in
what seemed to be endless rolling black dunes.
It occurs to me Higar, that this black sand must be from above.
So?
It is just odd, there is a great deal of it.
So?
I don't know, it is just odd.
There are many odd things.
By noon, they found themselves almost half way from their starting point to the spire, at the
tops of several of the dunes, they thought they could see a stone wall, high, but only one fifth as high as
the minaret. It too, was devoid of the black dust. This too, Morwethe noted as odd.
Should we stay outside, and approach by dawn? I think that best.
Morwethe nodded. It is senseless to antagonize the residents. We are far from their gates now,
but perhaps they have already spied us.
I have seen no people.
True, I have not seen any movement of people, and that, for a town in the middle of a trackless
waste, is quite strange.
Who keeps the dust away?
I think the answer to that will answer many mysteries.
They approached, but even as the shadows lengthened, they made camp again behind a dune,
and waited the night. From time to time Higar felt disturbed by visions out of the corner of his eyes,
and it seemed that if he caught Morwethe in this way, he saw, not the heavy round woman he was
familiar with, but someone taller, more beautiful, more statuesque and impressive, with more toned
muscles and sharper features. Her, but more impressive in every way. Of course, when he looked at her,
she was as before. The other shapes plagued the corners of his vision still, but they would fade as well.
During that time Morwethe prepared powder for the hackbut she had managed to take with her,
and greased several shots to be ready to load. Then, after both had done devotionals, they swapped off
sleeping.
It was near midnight, and the hunting dog was chasing up to its highest point, when Higar, on
watch, became twitchy, he could feel a movement in the sand that was not the wind, but it did not feel
like footsteps either. It was not hooves from horses, nor boots of men, nor feet of running children in
the night. He felt that it must then be some fell creature, because it felt like a rolling sensation. It was
not anything on feet or paws, he was sure. He hesitated, worried that he might have fallen to sleep was
dreaming. He felt paralyzed as if it were a dream, and that worried him as well.
Then Kohepta rose, it was only visible as a slit through two bands of black, but it was enough to
flash off of something metallic. Higar moved and rolled, and just in time, because a sweeping heavy
blade, of what kind he could not quite tell, slashed where his belly had been. He was now wide awake
and bellowing warning.
He could still not see his opponent, whatever had swung at him was now gone. Morwethe had
rolled to standing, and grabbed the hackbut, her hand was on a small spring winding it up. The spring
would turn a wheel, and the wheel would cast sparks that would light the powder. She spun around in
the darkness, but could not see anything. She reached around to her belt and dropped flash powder
behind her, which created a short bright flash of light, followed by some rolling smoke. It illuminated
at least one attacker.
That attacker was resting on coils, and extended up by 6 feet, as a serpent. its head was five
cobra heads fused into a fan, with fangs from each. Higar looked over his shoulder to catch it in the
fading light, he warned There is another, with some kind of blade.
It was difficult to get much more than an impression from the fading light, but that did not
matter, the huge serpent struck, blindly, fangs flying. Morwethe however had time to set and fire with
the hackbut's stock against her shoulder, there was another flash, though this of far less light, and a
deep cling of smoke. The shot hit home and the monstrous cobra landed with a thump virtually at their
feet. Higar, back to back with Morwethe had time to stomp down with booted foot again and again,
holding his hammer out before him. Morwethe used the butt of the firearm as a club.
The giant serpent writhed about, but it was clear that grasping and strangling was not in its
repertoire, There was a confused lashing about, as their eyes were now night blind again, and continual
ramming and bashing. Finally the thrashing about grew less, and Higar felt safe to bend down, and
wrench the beast just below the heads. It twitched, but slowly expired, the thumping of its tail growing
less and more infrequent. They were both gasping for breath and looking outwards. Morwethe very
slowly began reloading by feel, it took much longer, but she finally rammed home the greased ball, and
was ready to fire again. Both could sense motion just outside of their vision and they moved slowly
sideways so as not to be exactly where the previous creature had fallen.
Much later they saw something slithering away rapidly in the darkness, in the general direction
of the city. They moved away some distance, and waited back to back for hours until grey twilight crept
upon them, and they felt secure to return to the scene of the combat.
They found the corpse of the serpent, and around its neck a necklace that was of a human skull,
though shrunken to a fraction of its previous size.
Aqua regia, or some other caustic water would do this.
While dead, or alive.
Dead for simple alchemy, though I know of thaumaturgical magicks to do it while alive.
Know, or know of?
Know of, such a thing would be forbidden me by my god, even should I have had an
inclination to learn it.
Inclination?
Desire. Want.
Ah.
They did more searching around, and found at least three trails. Morwethe took the time to take
some samples of the creature, should they have magical use, though very carefully, for fear of some
subtle poison in the blood. She also retrieved the ball, but set it separate, for the same reason.
The necklace makes it plain that these are part of an army of death.
Perhaps, but perhaps not. Death is always in service to a god, and I think the lords of death and
carnage are set in service of some greater godling, who, in turn serves the ends of a god, rough-hewn
though they may be.
War of Gods is loose upon us?
Bitter drink, but so.
In the dawn the trekked towards the white stone city, this there third day on Korana.
They came upon it, and its gates were open. There was not one moving thing there. The black
shards of the shadowlands created darkness more thorough than the darkest storm when the frail blue
light of the winter sun passed through them. The other suns were visible, of course, but whether by day
or night, their light was only a faction of what it would be if the sphere they resided upon were locked
in the embrace of that sun.
The city was laid out in a tight circle, and it was small, there were no buildings outside of its
walls, and there were four gates. Each quarter was a maze of narrow streets, with a slope into the
middle where sewage was supposed to run off. But there was no tell-tale trail of brown or black in the
center, only swirls of black dust picked swept up by little dust devils in the corners. The eaves of the
buildings overhung the side streets, creating deep grotto like darknesses at the ends. By noon they had
walked the tangled streets, and found many bodies, but none were rotting in smell.
Moving towards the center the roads merged in with each other, making them into wider
avenues, with arched gates that created an inner city, perhaps half a mile across, in the center of which
was a circular pavement around a temple. They looked to each side, and into some of the buildings
were the doorways gaped open. They often saw people as if frozen in daily activity, but no motion at
all. They found serpent holes along the sides of the roads, but saw no large serpents.
In the center circle, around the minaret, there was a sizable domed temple, covered with
designs, but the designs had been defaced, and recently, as if stripped away by sand. There were
spatters of blood on this area, and Morwethe would bend to examine them. Higar noted that there were
sword and axe marks on some of the walls, along with scraps of armor and chunks of reeds that might
have been makeshift shield or armor material. They found the occasional horseshoe nail, and other
small bits that showed that there had been a very recent battle.
Since they sweep everything up, this was earlier today or yesterday, I think.
Well, Higar, I think you are right.
The sooner we can leave this place, the better. It is hard to say when a turtle will snap.
Morwethe looked at the doomed building, which was at least 40 meters across, and 30 meters
high, with a single circular window at the apex of the dome, and a ring around its base. The dome itself
was green, and made, she thought, on the outside of copper, though she could not tell if this were laid
over stone.
This was a temple to one of Korana's favorite goddess but it has been taken over and
reconsecrated.
Is it safe here?
By day I think, so. The godling who now rules this town, is active by night.
Then I would wish to put distance between us and this place 'ere nightfall comes.
Morwethe nodded. We needed to look.
We have. Now let us flee.
You seem anxious.
I prefer my flesh attached to my bones.
Morwethe nodded. It will take some great ritual to cleanse this place.
Strange that there are no flies.
Yes, no flies.
They walked for two days more, until the came to the lip of a fresh crater, it was not tall, but it
was sharp in its features, they began to climb it, though with some difficulty, as the black sand seemed
to slip and tremble under their steps, and fight them as they tried to move.
At last, they crested the lip, and looked down into it.
ii
Niccolo abandoned ship, alone. He knew that there was nothing he could do, and to stand and
die on deck was not his desire, or worse, to be dismembered and drift in pieces to the shadowlands.
Part of him castigated his doing so, but it had been the plan for him to jump if it came to that. To get
word out required someone to do it, and he was the only pilot. The discussion on this point had gone
round in circles, but finally, if anyone was going to take the leap into the void, it would have to be him.
Still as he drifted downwards, swinging back and forth like a pendulum under the octagonal canopy of
silk, it felt as if he had spent a chunk of his spiritual wealth to do what he just did, and he owed the
gods that looked over his soul some great geste or deeds as payment for their forbearance.
For hours he drifted down, his muscles straining by the straps, and then burning. He thought he
saw black brackish water, and tried to steer a course. While hanging there he came to the realization
that the courage he had been displaying, while a magnification of his usual ferociousness, had been
augmented in some way by Morwethe's god and his fuming smoke. Now fear roiled up and down his
intestine, and he reflected on what madness this plan had been. But no matter, it was done.
With each tick tock swing down, he felt gentle winds carry him, and rapidly the details of the
land below grew more discernible to his eye. Everything was black, but there were shades of black, and
highlights of sparkling white. There were rolls where the frail sun streaked, and those that were abyssal
from the blocking shadowlands. He tried to memorize a map of what was below, seeing at least a few
signs of human inhabitation, including a bone white city far to his east, a sea that he remembered fed
into the great cataract that fell into the center of Korana, and what seemed to be a black circle with
roads running into it, whose details never resolved in to his vision.
Finally he landed easily, not far from what seemed to be some kind of pool or pond, or oasis. He
recalled the dream that Morwethe had sent, or inspired, in him, and wondered if it were touched by
foreknowledge of what was here. He decided to hold the thought, but not let it overtake his
expectations, since who knew which order dreams and waking came in.
Once on the ground he crouched, but did not let himself rest for long. His legs were like jelly,
but he forced himself to methodically fold up the parachute, and then hide behind a large outcropping
of rock that was not far from where he had landed, Fortune had been kind in depositing him on some
particularly soft sand, but not too kind, as he found himself half stuck in it, and in places nearly
slogging through it. He remembered tails of travelers sucked into sands, or creatures that waited in
ambush in the desert. However, first to find a place sheltered from the sun, where he could catch some
rest before dark, when the dangers would be many times multiplied.
For the rest of the day, he slept, and was awoken by a rumbling, he had only just enough time to
unfold the silk twice and cover himself, before the black sand covered him, and its weight piled up over
head. It piled on and on, and then even as he felt the wind and sand pass by, he felt more pour from the
top of the rock on to him, and he realized he was sinking into the sand beneath. He wedged himself
with one boot, and the weight of the obsidian powder weighed down on him. He pulled out a dirk, and
rammed it into the soft rock behind him, giving him an arm and a leg, and grasped with his other hand
on a bit of outcropping. He probed down with one leg, stretching it out, and finally it hit what seemed a
small ledge in the rock.
This allowed him some stability, but he knew he did not have much air. The memory in his
mind was that the rock itself was black as coal, and therefore, likely to be recent. This was, as he now
reflected, a mistake. However, he was stable, and now slowly inched himself up through the sand,
using the leverage of the rock. After some struggles, he managed to turn himself around, and began
working his way up more quickly. Rigging had taught him all there was to know about grasping,
levering, and pulling, even under the weight of the sand. At last he broke through, his breath hot from
being held, but not yet suffocating. The winter's air was bracing and dry, but a cleansing dry after the
fetid build up of moisture.
He breathed the clean air, and scoured the horizon. Still retreating in the distance was a vast
wave of black sand, born on some kind of wave. That, he could feel, had to be from the impact of the
ship, so there, he knew, he must go. He took his bearings, took the navigation quadrant from his belt,
took measurements, and mentally counted the time. He would make fast movement for half the day,
and then slower movement in the night, then, he would sleep the dog watch, where it was safest.
Then off over the sand at a run he went, he was heedless to being seen, deciding that time, and
not stealth, was best, because anything of any importance would be focused on the ship, and not on
some small man tracking his way through the northern black desert. It was not the surest concept, he
knew, but his guilt was behind him, and is fear in front of him, and this lent what seemed to be wings to
his feet.
Into the twilight he went, feeling the cold bands of dark grow in length until the wrapped all
around him. The blackness was almost total, even though the sun was not far from the horizon. He
could hear moving water, and it had to be close. His feet told him that he was moving from loose sand
to more solid soil, even though it still seemed very black. He wondered if the soil of Korana was
becoming like the shadowlands, but he could hear the buzzing of insects, the splashing of fish, the
rustle of reeds, and all of the other normal sounds of life near water. He retreated some distance away,
not wanting to be too closed to the animals that live in the water, or the hunters that come in the night.
Once again, opting of expediency over inconspicuousness, he lit a fire, and used dried reeds and
grasses to keep it going. The smoke trailed off of it, and reached high up into the night sky, he allowed
himself to cat nap in the light of the fire, waking to fuel it periodically. However, at midnight he threw
a last batch, and assembled his belongings, leaving the fire burning in his wake, in at least an attempt to
create a distraction from his movement. He saw figures and shapes at the edge of his view, but they all
moved like animals, and they all had stayed well away from the fire. He wished for a torch, but
reflected that would be foolhardy, not efficient.
He hewed close to the water's edge, and over time it became clear that a cliff was rising up to
his right, and the water level was descending, the beach was perhaps a hundred paces or so long, before
rising up to stoney layered red rock. He noted this, because it was the first outcropping or surface detail
that was both natural, and not blackened. In the distance along the water's edge, he saw a small skiff, or
other kind of sailboat moored on the beach. It looked to be a craft for no more than two or three men,
perhaps it was a fishing vessel, or was used in small trade. its sails hung in a kind of strange limp
fashion, and he wondered what kind of sailor would leave the rigging in such a state, unless it were
either urgent to come to shore to do something, or perhaps running a very short errand before returning
to the water. The planks of the hull were weathered, and the little boat had seen both better days, and
many of them. It was in a gaff rig: a small triangular sail fore, and a large trapezoid sail aft.
In another few minutes of pacing towards it, however, he began to have a different sense of the
scene, with the ship rocking back and forth, making it seem, to his eye, that something had to be
terrible wrong. A skipper might leave the sails up if in a hurry, but he would not have left the boat so
easily to drift off into the water. He was coming around a great slow curve in the beach, and gradually
the full side of the boat came into view: and any illusion of a peaceful sea pastorale scene, was
shattered. There on the peak halyard of the gaff rig, was a man hung by a length of thick rope, and the
boat was swinging back and forth, because the body was still swinging back and forth.
He walked closer and could see more. It was clear the man had been hung for some time, as the
face was somewhat mottled, and the tongue was hanging out. He was dressed in the long beige robes
common of men on Korana, a style that they called a bisht it was of a soft wool that hung in loose
folds over his plain tunic that they often called the tawb, though little different from tunics in any
land, other than the bleached whiteness. On his feet were a set of light shoes, these were a dull brown.
Nothing bespoke of anything but hardy common stock, without any particular adornment. His feet
pointed down slightly.
Poor bastard.
He heard a gurgling noise come from the man's mouth, and there was motion. This was out-ofplace, the man should clearly have been dead. In fact, reason dictated that he was dead, and was thus of
the unquiet dead.
There was another gurgling noise, and Niccolo realized he had been gaping. Niccolo decided
that the least one man of the sea could do for another, was cut him down off the mast and give him
some send off to the void. Even if that meant killing him a second time. The second death was no
worse than the first.
However, he halted just after climbing on board. At this point, the hanging corpse spoke: Don't
cut me down.
Niccolo looked up.
And why not man? Do you want to hang there?
If you do I will kill you!
And why's that?
The dead hate the living, It tiled its eyes down upon him in a glare, hate them. I would not
be able to help myself.
How did you end up dead then, I had assumed that you had been hung.
Oh no, I was killed and kept a corpse, I hung myself after I had killed a woman and ate her, her
bones are back in far cave.
So you hung yourself.
Yes.
So you don't wish to be among the unquiet dead, or in a body.
Oh no, of course not. It was some doing to hang myself, since if it had been obvious I would
never have been allowed to do it.
Who has power over you, Death?
Oh no. Death is the invader, it is a dark spirit of this world that raises an army of the undead
against him.
And do you not want to defend your sphere, your home, the goddess that gives you life?
She is mad, mad I tell you, she raises a shroud over us, and blots out the light of any sun and
all the stars. She is mad, and none I know see why.
Is there anything I can do for you?
Have me exorcised if you have the wit or the power.
I don't have such powerful rights. I can chase away a haunting or so, but not send it beyond.
I warn you, all that fall now remain here, at best haunting the sphere, at worst, like me, they
will. KILL THE LIVING. With that shout the corpse, with an inhuman disregard for its neck, twisted
its head full around and dropped down, slipping out of the knot.
It dropped to the deck, but it was also clear that rot had begun to eat away at the body, as it
stumbled badly as it lunged at him. It was not difficult to cut off the head on the first pass and duck
side. The boat swayed, and the headless corpse, guided by some unerring force, began swinging its
arms at him. The first swing was so powerful that it knocked Niccolo's heavy battle sword away,
making him draw a rapier. This was less effective, and even as Niccolo pierced the corpse over and
over again, this did little to the bodily integrity, the corpses arms swung wildly but hit hard. Niccolo
rolled across the deck and brought his feet under him. He braced his right leg on the inside of the hull,
waited for impact, and slid the rapier home. However this was not the point of the attack, he then threw
the corpse overboard, sliding it off the rapier. Then after sheathing the steel, he picked up a fishing spar,
and smashed the corpse to pieces with a series of blows that took several minutes to deliver. On the
deck the head continued to roll around, gurgling all the while. Niccolo turned his attention to that, and
battered it to pieces.
Once this was done, he found a sack, and speared remains for some time, finally filling the sack
with limbs and guts. Grisly work, but he tied a rock around the shroud, and made ready to dump it in
the water. Niccolo had made devotions to many godlings over the years, for many touch on the life of a
sailor, but this time he knelt and clasped his hands, praying to the Ferryman to come. He felt a
wrenching in the air, but then nothing. He shook his head, wondering what the cause of this sensation
was.
He then went and found the gnawed bones of the woman, and buried them on land, again
praying to the bearer of souls, and again, he felt a wrenching in the fabric of the air, and then nothing.
With this, he cleaned up the rigging on the skiff, and even though the day was late, he decided
that it was safer on the water than close to land, polling a bit out, he dumped the sack in deep enough
water, and then got under sail. He examined the ship closely, and found strange fresh markings on it, he
carefully scratched these out, and set fresh wards down. He was far from an accomplished mage, but
here and there, some protective binding or wording was useful to have. He had not seen these before,
and being a merchant trader, meant he had seen most of the common, and no small selection of the
uncommon.
From there, however, he set his mind to working his way out of the bay and towards his new
destination. The wind was light, and he had to tack hard into it, but the magic of sail was that even a
slow wind is faster than a hard run, and far less taxing. He began making his way out of the bay, with
the cliff line growing shorter in his view, but spreading out longer as he began to appreciate that it was
a large crescent, and, he reflected, quite likely the wall of a crater.
He slept aboard water, but did not use the net to haul up fish. Even fish have souls, and he did
not want so many separated from their bodies under such odd circumstances. He had never thought to
closely about what happened to such spirits, and he assumed that most of them, at most times, merely
clung to where they had lived. But now, the idea of eating made him sick. Instead he scooped up jetsam
of seaweed, and rummaged around to find vinegar to put it in. He chewed on this, and drank the water
from the skin.
Before the dawn he awoke, munch a few marinated leaves, and used his quadrant to check the
positions of the stars and spheres. It was difficult with the bands of darkness, but no worse than many a
stormy day on many a world.
Soon he was at sail again, however, and began tacking towards where his reckoning told him
that the ship, or what remained of it, had crashed. He remained becalmed for a time in the afternoon,
and allowed himself to nap while waiting for winds. Out beyond land he could sense how the shrouds
of the shadowlands were, indeed visibly growing and filing in the gaps. If it continued, in some weeks
or months perhaps, the sky would be blotted out by black, and this would be an inner skin, but without
one with either access to an outer sun, or the inner manifestation of the goddess of the sphere, which
appeared as a sun to those inside of her.
Strangely, or not, the weather was otherwise faire, with the white rising gyre seeming no more
than a slender cloud that snaked down from the sky far away, and certainly not threatening, and few
other clouds that ran across from horizon to horizon rather quickly. He slept again, moored in four
fathoms of water, this time more soundly.
On the morning of the next day, he saw another circular bay cut out of this small sea, but one
that was freshly cut. It had two great arms that circled out into the water, leaving a wide gate like
entrance into it, he spent hours tacking towards it, as the winds remained against him, but handling
such a small sail was not hard, and even was relaxing. He entered through the narrows between the two
crab like arms, which ran like a sharp curved ridged spin of black sand. Already the wind was eroding
them down.
He was through the narrows, and looked straight at the center of the crater.
iii
Jehanjir turned to Morwethe's god, realizing at that moment he never had actually gotten a name
to address him by. The godling saw his concern and simply waved him off, becoming a column of
smoke and falling through the floor. It seemed, as usual godlings looked out after themselves first. He
looked over to the mechanical princess and Albrecht, huddled at the center of the ship, and knew that
they were in the hands of the summoner's magic, and if anything would work for them, that would.
Thus, knowing as he did that both the boat was away and the captain had parachuted off, it was time to
save himself. Fortunately he had had tie to complete a device that he had found sketches of in an older
notebook in his possession, on an idle month, in his infirm days, he had made a better one. His
modifications were based on sketches of the seeds of trees, most specifically of maple trees. HE
wandered to the back escape hatch, and pulled a lever that slowly cranked out a plank. He hauled the
device slowly into place and waited for a roll of the ship to make it easier to drop out. What was there
was folded up, but it had two wings, like the seed pods of a maple, and a seat. He crawled out on to the
plank, said a minor prayer for that bit of celerity he might need, hoping himself to be far enough away
from Albrecht's influence, but not counting on it. He mounted the seat sideways, and sure enough, the
ship rolled and he was tossed down and aside.
It took some cranking to make the wings unfurl, and then unfold. They were shaped like seed
wings, and he had painted on the edge of each wing and on the bottom of the seat, the precious dragon
glow he had earlier collected. The wings began to spin, converting ether to ayre, and rather smoothly,
he began to drift downwards quite slowly, spinning slowly on the seat as the excess motion from the
wings was pushed down to the chair. He remembered to kick out the two small wings on the foot rest,
which would stabilize the whole apparatus, and keep him from swinging too hard. It occurred to him
that some kind of control would be desirable, but this itself might be quite useful, since the parachutes
would only really work in the ayres of a sphere, where as this might well save men even in high ether.
It would need work.
But the trip down was not unpleasant, he saw the dragon wing its way off, he saw the ship
sucked into the gyre. His eyes were now sharp again, and he could see the boat with its large chute, and
the smaller chute of the captain. There were no creatures here of the high air, but he noted a fine black
dust settling down. He speculated that this must be the action of the ayre of Korana against the shadow
shards, but did not have the ability to collect any samples to back the speculation.
You old fool.
He realized he had a small microscope in his gear, he fished it out and took one of the specs of
the black dust. It was very slow work to focus on it, what with the swaying back and forth of the craft,
but it was not impossible once he got used to a certain level of nausea.He saw the spec and was
surprised by what he saw, it was not dust at all, but a small black crystal like an animalcule from the
sea, and 'twas not truly black, but, in fact, glowing black. Black as a color, as if it were any other color.
He watched it, and watched it one by one duplicate its crystal structure. He also saw pressing on it the
ghostly outlines of preter-born spirits, trying to push their way in and incarnate.
This then, was the answer to the shadowlands, they were living reefs, and someone had used
some clever alchemy to convert ether into food for these living things. Now he understood why death
not being able to operate there was so essential to the functioning of the black reef, these small things
attracted hoards of preter-born spirits, why the mass above must be more life than existed in all the rest
of the sphere of the cosmos, all the way out to the edge, and was growing rapidly. It was sucking the
ether as well, hence the ease of their travel here on dragon wing.
Yes, yes, it make sense now.
He had some months before received a freshly printed copy of a microscopist's text on
observing both spontaneous generation, and on the incarnation of a small preter-born soul. And, of
course, he had spent a week duplicating the work, even though he worked so very slowly. It took, he
recalled figuring, a day for him to do an hour's worth of work of a healthy man. He saw a single
animalcule about to divide, and the spirit slip in completing the division, and he had seen a clearly dead
animalcule breath back to life when a spirit was able to stretch out within it. In both cases the trick had
been a preparation that either encouraged dividing, or dying, and a method of using a hair stretched
between two small screws to divide one creature from the rest. Here since the spec was dry, there
seemed to be no need.
He shook his head from the concentration, looked upwards, and thought that the black was not
merely a place, but like a tumor that eats out a man in his waning years, swelling up until some small
organ has bloated to be larger than all the others combined. Now he understood the panic of the gods
and godlings, because this was truly some arcane operation that threatened the balance. He was also
sorely doubtful that the sons or sisters had come to understand this themselves, wanton and lazy as they
were. But who? But what? He decided to put away the microscope, and take the time to survey the land
below, since this would be of use, and would be impossible to do later. But a thought gnawed at him
that there was the germ of a solution here.
He looked below to see that the pole was different from his maps, he took out a scrap of
parchment and made a quick sketch. Most of all he took note that there were several impact craters
around the edge of Korana's great polar sea. Was their source, as well, the shadowlands? This would
imply much larger pieces of them falling downwards, but those larger pieces would create a particular
kind of impact, since they would be falling slowly, and mainly through ayres all the way. No, these
came from farther away, having had time to build speed among the ether, and then only lately towards
the end of their journey be slowed on approach.
This implied that perhaps the shadowlands were not merely a creation, but in some sense a
defense. But what would attack so? He had seen no comets of such size as to cause these craters, he
counted four large ones and 3 smaller ones. He made some rapid notes in charcoal, and then carefully
folded the map and put it deep inside his robes.
The rest of the ride down he used his spyglass, both to look up and note the underside of the
shadow lands, which seemed almost ribbed, as if there was some kind of weave or structure. He noted
the similarity to the ribs of a serpent or serpentine monster. He looked down, saw a city that was white
amidst the black, and wondered how it stayed so, if this black powder fell, it should coat everything not
moving, and thus he should be able to tell how the wind was scrubbing it off. So much to observe.
From far above he saw the impact of the ship, and he expected a shockwave, but when it came,
there was a distinct hesitation before the second wave appeared, by many minutes. This was odd, and
he assumed that therefore something else had caused the second explosion, He was fearful than any
living thing could survive such a horrible pair of events, but was equally fascinated watching the great
wall of black sand spread outwards in all directions, thinning as it went.
He still had some ways to fall, and made several sketches of the gyre as he went, and slowly
worked such control as he had over the gyro to bring him towards the new crater that had been formed.
He watched as the sea filed in part of it, creating a figure that looked like a giant crab from above, with
blue resting between two slender outstretched claws.
Finally he did land, near the ridge of the crater. As he was coming to the ground here realized a
paradox: that folding the wings would make him fall, but waiting might well make him collapse.
However, in this case he had an out: by unloosing the rotary gear the bottom began to spin as fast as the
top, and when the tip of the apparatus reached the sand, it augured itself in some ways before stopping.
He stepped off the gyro, which tiled over on to the sand, still glowing slightly from the tiny remains of
the dragon glow. It had been scrubbed off, and he noted this, it meant that dragons must secrete their
glow from glands or some other workings of their body, in order to maintain it. Much to think about
there too.
He looked towards the center of the crater, and was briefly astonished by what he saw there.
iv
To give a fair maiden, a penny, a farthing... Albrecht whispered this out has he lashed the two
of them to eyelets. They were on the oval center design of the ship, which Albrecht knew had one last
trick in it, namely, two doors that would slide up over it, and close. It was their last hope, and little hope
at that, that the two rockets that he had bound to the side with sharp blows of a hammer wrapping crude
metal straps in place, would be able to slow the enough at the very end, to prevent their deaths.
There were many ways to die, and obviously this one of them. Perhaps the Ferryman had not
been doing him a favor by giving him a choice, it might have been better just to gasp out a dying breath
after the fight with Bartine's ships, and go out like a hero, then to be a corpse. He had already stuffed as
much padding and bedding as he could. He looked over at the princess' mechanical doppelganger, with
the scale on her back, and concluded that she was probably going to continue to be trapped within it,
suffering whatever torment that actually was, for some time to come. Again, perhaps it would have
been better to have been destroyed by the dragon.
He shook his head, so far to have they fallen, so far to fall. He tried to imagine what it was like
to be a princess at a small court, pressed between great enemies, and why she would leave that life to
go out in the wider world.
His own life had been from genteel ordinary bustle in a tradesman family, he was quick with his
hands, as was his father before. His father was an alchemist, and part-time clock maker, but had come
into some money by running the mint for the town of Woof van der Gelt, stamping coins and printing
notes of credit. This was a more active job than one might think, because there were constant
counterfeiters, and these often required more material persuasion. His father had died of a dagger to the
belly from one of them in a fight in a darkened alley.
They were not comfortable from then on, but it turned out that his father's miserly ways, which
had been hated by everyone, most of all by the woman of the household, his father's second wife. But
when it was found that he had left behind an income of 100 guilders for life, and two other houses
which were fully rented, she was less angry. But gradually she found it necessary to cut all other
expenses, save for her own finery, and Albrecht, being a clever lad, sold himself for apprenticeship,
before she had a chance to do so.
But it was almost certainly over now. He chuckled at the contrast between his mind reflecting
on the ending of his life, and his fingers nimbly tying leather bands, and pulling straps to continue it.
There was a jolt as he pulled the lever that snapped up the doors, which were of a dull steel,
with four quartz portholes, at each of the cardinal points, and four smaller ones at the mediant points.
When he had tested them, he noticed the fine scalloping work that was beaten in upon them. The
Summoner's workers had beaten this out with ten thousand tiny hammers, creating ridges that ran along
the length of it. The Summoner had been most insistent on this aspect. The outside front had been
painted with some of the last dust of the dragon glow, which was meant to slow them down early so
that they would not decelerate wildly in the ayres, and burn up into fiery dust, and the light of this
created a shifting luminescent cast to the fore of the oval capsule. There was just room for him to squat
in the middle, and he used what leverage he had to push the padding to the back. The princess roughly
patted him on the head, whether to comfort him or merely make some sign recognizing his efforts, was
impossible to determine.
He wedged them both in, and what every fragile fantasies he had harbored at any moment
before the task of the present was to survive this. He had never been before a creature of duty, nor had a
sense of compelling sacrifice as his lot. Responsibility, honor, integrity, all of these words had meaning
and gravity in his mind, but being a cog in a vast machine, spun by coils of orders and commands, were
foreign to him. Now, however, the cargo of the Summoner's spell, and the charge which was the lady
from the Jade Throne, took on a compelling weight in his mind, and massed themselves like a miasma
over his thoughts, his mien grew dark, and he could feel the breath of age on his face for the first time,
but a series of machines, cleverly interlinked, however, still separate. Her soul still resided in the scale,
however she could project it using the residual sorcery she had into the doll. At first, she did not think
of the doll as herself, but as a carriage, a horse to ride. She could see that others had an equivocal
relationship with the figure. Their arguments had droned on, and frankly, that it was difficult to hear
through the doll was not as much of a burden.
The fall through the dragon's maw had been terrifying she stared down it facing what was
surely a doom worse than even being killed. There were old manuscripts which reported that even if
reincarnated or re-embodied after the experience, the victims had been quite insane, babbling only
about the weight and the pain before lapsing into incoherence raving and screaming. There had been a
commentary on Jun Xiu-Jan's oracular script that had noted that it seemed that the process of being
transformed was, itself, the most harrowing aspect of the experience. Thus as she stared down, she had
two parts to the plan, the first was to with her left hand toss a dose of a poison that brought madness
and dementia, it was made of a combination of peculiar earths that were found in the high mountains in
the West on TianXin. With her right hand, she stabbed her wrist with a venom extracted from spiders,
which brought a sleep that was close to death. And so it was, that she only felt the first rings of the
monster's gullet enfold around her, a hot, slippery, wet sensation that locked around her in rings, before
the venom robbed her of wakefulness.
She did not come to consciousness until much later, as was intended. What she felt was as if she
had her face pressed against a pain, and her body cramped, but behind her was a viscous liquid, or
foam. She felt as if she were drowning, however, there was no need to breath. As a result, there was an
incessant panic, a continual horror, but no actual danger. Over the hours she managed to lock this
sensation. It was worse, but not infinitely worse, than the hours spent in tremendous humidity wearing
layers and layers of rigid clothes. She would have to sit as endless entreaties were made to the
monarch, or his duly appointed representative, her face utterly impassive, except at particular moments,
when she was required to smile, or frown, or gesture, or stand, or bow, or engage in other short ritual
action. Then at the hours she and all the other ladies in attendance would have to stand, do a twirling
dance and then return to place. This was almost a relief as cool breeze that whisked through under the
layers of skirts.
So she did now, forcing a sense of breathing in and out, until she felt as if she were breathing
the liquid, and it became, if not natural, at least reflexive and automatic. The itch that it produced faded
with the hours.
Then she recalled the moment where the pane had been placed against something, and if she
pressed her face against that pane as hard as she could, she could see, as if underwater, gears and
levers. And if she pressed her hands against it as hard as she could, she could trace her finger along the
line of the gear, and make it move. For hours she explored the limits of her sensation. She found how to
pull, torque and twist. Then a great revelation, if she pressed her head against what felt like the roof of
her world, she could move her vision upwards, until she finally found a pair of mirrors that fit across
her vision like eyes, and she could see. From there she learned to reach her hands around the pain, and
found that, in consequence, the arms of the mechanical doll could move, and she could use her legs to
pump the feet.
It was all very much like manipulating part of a festival dragon puppet, with poles at the hands,
and stilts on the feet, and eyes that opened and closed from weights of their own. It was uncomfortable
only for some time.
In this way she had been able to walk her window on the physical world about, and act on the
physical world. Repeatedly despair overtook her, as it took no astute deduction or brilliant induction to
grasp that her comrades outside were falling farther and farther into danger, and had neither the time,
nor inclination to reverse her state. But that was not going to stop her from contributing to the common
effort assiduously.
Now in this shell, see saw that her companion had collapsed from the pain and noise. Poor
thing, she hoped that he had not become too attached to her, but it was likely he had. She considered
that if this went on she would have to procure an acceptable substitute. Princesses married as their
father's or brothers required, once, or more often many times. It was clear that he had some sort of
mixture of erotic enchantment and personal affection for her, which, she acknowledged to herself, she
had cultivated because it was useful, but which was no going to be problematic, if and when she were
returned to a workable mortal body.
The shell continued to descend, but instead of being wholly sucked into the cyclone, as had
been her expectation, she watched as the metal glowed, but left off no heat. It was clear that some kind
alchemical reaction was occurring, but it was utterly and completely beyond her knowledge as to its
source or intent. However, all that came before this moment was prologue to the Summoner's plan, and
all else would be in the shadow of this, its denouement.
The brightness grew, and she could feel that the mirrors and lenses of the dolls eyes were
melting under the weight of the light, there was one last flash, where she saw a chromatic spectrum of
bursting light, and then abruptly, all she could see was her faced pressed to the pane of the scale again.
Obviously, the mechanical body was no longer in existence, but what was there she could not see,
except torrents of light.
Then, almost as abruptly all was black, and all that was on the other side of her prison window,
was darkness. However, this did not last long, as she saw the ground rapidly fall away from her, she
guessed that the scale had fallen on it, and it was an obsidian black sand. Then the scene ran together,
everything a blur, with white, brightness, and blackness alternating in an irregular pattern. She grew
dizzy and sick, and the return to blackness was almost a relief.
After this, it remained black for some time, and no amount of shifting or angling gave her any
better a view of the outside, nor was she able to draw neither a sound, nor any other sense, from it.
v
For days, he had waited. For days the tides of fortune of the voyagers had ebbed and flowed,
their moods had waxed and waned, their strength risen and fallen. There hopes undulated as their
moods crested at adulation, and crashed into desperation. Through this he waited.
He watched as dire circumstances washed over them.
He waited, moving his will as little as he could, save here and there when the tiniest motion
might provide the telling difference of life and death.
He had escaped Eo's notice, and entered Korana's influence without raising a ripple of
suspicion.
Now, it was the throw of the dice, with the ethers of space turning rapidly to the ayres of a
breathing world, it was time. He, of course, could not utter a spell, but that was not the design, the spell
would be sung with the lungs of a Goddess behind them, as the pursed lips of her own gyre blew over
the flute that was the heart of the ship itself. The echos of the old knowledge where there encoded.
Round and round, since worlds began.
Round and round the capsule turned, the heat bleeding up and out and into the magick itself, the
force of the descent, becoming the force of the spell.
And so when impact occurred, it was like an egg thrown on a feather bed, the air and land gave
way and peeled away beneath them rolling away like a small wave. But then the force of the binding
broke, and the greater wave exploded outwards, consuming all in its path.
It was a touch of the spinning fury of the orbits of the spheres, the turning vortex of the
influence of the suns, the spinning of the planets, the whirring of gears, the pumping of storms, that
force that remained just out of reach of even the most cunning device, the most subtle alchemy. The
shifting of the seasons under all the suns together, the movement of birth to death. All of these, round
and round, where as humans could only cut a line, however cleverly, however ornate the path, from a
beginning through a middle to an end. Where as the cosmos moved in the circles of a grand dance.
Round and round.
Round and round. Round and round, since worlds began.
vi
What the observers saw when in the center of crater was a spire of black sand that struck
upwards from the ground, rising nearly as high as the walls of the crater, and smoothly curving in a
concave arc to a top. On that top was their ship, only not the battered and bedraggled shape that they
had last seen, but, instead, shining and pristine.
Gradually the travelers arrived at the base of this spire, and found there a rope ladder of braided
hemp, which led upward to the vessel. It waggled in the breeze, swaying from side to side in segments.
The climb was not arduous, because the bottom was weighted down with lead plumbs of great mass
that had sunk into the sand. Once over the top, they found upper deck spotlessly clean and in order.
All of this was amazing enough, but understandable, after a fashion, given the origin of the craft
in the first place. However, as amazing was who was there, dressed in blue silk, embroidered with
circular key designs, was the princess, and wearing a scarlet velvet robe, with a black velvet threecornered soft hat in the muffin style that drooped a quarter of the way over his head, was the
Summoner, his face even more pointed than before.
Greetings! He was jocular and jovial. He almost seemed as if he were the spirit of the East,
ready to bestow gifts from a gnome's bag. His smile was so broad, it barely fit on his face.
Jehanjir looked at him, and then simply embraced him.
You will have to tell all, old friend, this was almost a treachery.
You know Eo and her spies, if I had breathed a word of it, it would have been the collapse of
all our hopes.
You know that Albrecht guessed.
Of course he would, he's very clever, and studied under some who were even more clever still.
But cunning alone is not enough. He sleeps below badly wounded. Once everyone has gathered, I will
tell all of the story that I know, and some that I guess, and a bit that I fear. Then each must do so in
turn, because we are the blind men around an elephant.
And you, I think, have what part?
That remains to be seen.
When at last Morwethe and Higar arrived, though her godling was nowhere to be seen, they had
all arrived, they were seated in a semi-circle on pillows covered with silk embroidered with fantastic
birds out of varied epic poems, mostly of green, though some of red and sea blue backgrounds, with
gold and silver threads. The Summoner cleared his throat and pointed to each in turn, who told their
tale better or worse depending on talents for oration. He prompted with many questions, and then
thought for some time. Then he gathered them again, and spoke in a formal but animated high voice, as
if giving a lecture at university.
It seems auspicious to begin from before the beginning. In our cosmos there are seven sons and
seven sisters, seven suns, and seven spheres, plus the moons which are their daughters. For half an eon,
they have twined and danced, met and mated, and schemed. No one could upset the order, and even all
acting in concert had only specific powers. Since they could not receive worship directly, their power
was limited to that which they could draw from their own physical manifestations. Hence little was
done, and less was accomplished, though from time to time all seven sisters or all seven suns, could
deny their favors on the others, and occasionally some egregious transgression or heinous act on the
part of a godling would yield a disproportionate response.
However, there is another true God, that is one who can draw power from the fabric of the
cosmos itself, he is the gatherer of souls, who taketh them to distant and diverse places on their
departure from mortal life. The ferryman is known to all, and is not among the imprisoned. He has a
cult, and draws power from its worship. As this is, he is a very god, and mightier than any of the 14.
While the others are interested only in their attractions and slights, in their fancies and fantasies, he
guides the cosmos forward, because it is the souls who are elevated to choice and sentience who are his
cult, and thus his power.
At this point Higar spoke, So why does he not rule. It did not come out sounding like a
question.
It is not his purpose, and while he is stronger than any one, he is not stronger than all in
combination.
So it was, there were the 14, and the Ferryman to watch over them. Souls passed through the
world, and so the shape of it grew. But as the souls grew in stature, so too did the godlings they
worshipped, and these godlings, while adrift from the fabric of the cosmos and deaf to the music of the
spheres, were more than capable of oft challenging the rule of the 14, at least in places, and at times.
This has led to struggles between godlings, and such spirits as they could command, and true gods and
goddesses. Each time the rebellions have been put down, though often with some enormous cost to the
mortals who were unfortunate enough to be collateral damage. The last of these was not that long ago
as such things are reckoned, there was a great pestilence that swept the worlds, and it was part of that
war.
At first, when Korana went silent it was the belief that this was a rebellion, and the shrouds we
see were the architecture of some godlings and spirits in alliance, attempting to seal Korana's physical
influence, and cut her off from the other Gods and Goddess' in preparation for attack. So the 13 others
decided to isolate the spheres in the orbit of Isir, the sun of winter, regardless of the cost to the mortals
on and in the seven spheres
This much, I think, was explained before our departure. But there was a problem, and that is
that Eo wished to hold both Jehanjir, and most especially myself, in her grasp. It was only partially
clear to me why this was when all of this began, but now I think I can tell the tale.
As Albrecht surmised, Korana lives, and lives still. There is no rebellion against her in this
sphere. As I was told before leaving, the Ferryman is denied this sphere, but it is not by some aggregate
of spirits, but by Korana herself. Jehanjir analyzed the substance of the shadowlands, and found them a
great reef of living creatures. Death cannot visit it, as he told you in person. That is how the reef grows:
minor spirits incarnate as the crystal diatoms of it, and grow as a reef, trapped there in a life in death.
Greater spirits incarnate as the denizens of its dark ecology. But death does not hold there, and so it is a
region of torment.
Albrecht had been in thought, So if we could stand there, and summon death to it, the whole
evil edifice would tumble and topple.
And provided you have no concern for the lives of all below it, that would be a simple
solution, which we could effect in an instant. Assuming of course, Death turns not on you first. May I
go on?
The swordsman nodded.
So the shadowlands are of Korana's intent, if not specifically her doing. I do not know all well
enough, but I think some devilish process of alchemy is involved, and of such who could effect it, there
are few. The shadowlands shroud Korana, and thus she is more and more immune from other
influences. But this is only the start of her plan. It is plain she is gathering spirits and godlings to her
banner, and uses the growing physical sustenance she has as a cudgel to control them.
Jehanjir nodded, Such a fool I was not to see it, of course.
So were we all. But she was not alone. Eo too wishes the same trick, if only in more subtle
form. Hence her, binding affection may we call it? For you and I.
That's one phrase.
Eo, seeing the growth of Korana, hurled debris at her, threatening to start a war. She also
informed the Ferryman of some of what she knew, though not all of it. And through his auspices, were
we all dispatched to this place on this mission. She also has convinced the other 13 to call out the flies,
and purge those godlings that will not rally to their banner. Thus Death himself, along with War,
Famine, and Pestilence, have been sent hither to wage conflict against Korana and her forces. Their
camp, as Morwethe and Higar found, is the white city, whose writing is in the language of the spirits.
So that is before the beginning magus, but not the beginning. The princess was direct and
matter of fact in this enunciation of what she saw as obvious truth.
Yes, it is before the beginning. Of the beginning, it has been told in pieces and lived by all of
you. Now let me supply the ending. Of course the ship was, as two of you guessed, a prison for my
essence and body, which would be summoned back to this world by the appropriate means, namely the
music of the sphere as it fell from a great height. I was reborn in side of it, and found the dragon scale
which imprisoned Princess Si-yeona, and the swordsman, who was near upon death, or more accurately
would have been dead if death could have caught us. So I sealed him in a magic circle and prepared for
the impact, which was sharp, but no so sharp as to injure me, half in this world as I was. Once here, the
energies released were enough for me to complete the transference from out of the everywhere, and
into the here.
Once this accomplished, I reconstituted the ship herself, by summoning her true shape.
Where was this from?
Oh, in the mind of Albrecht, he had as perfect a vision as any. It was not difficult, given how
he was raptured in a dream, to call it forth from there.
Dreams are a place? Asked Higar.
Yes, dreamland is a place, and while it is a constantly shifting archipelago, all dreams are
contained within it, and border each other's inlets and estuaries.
Oh. So you can summon things from dreams?
Some of them. May I go on?
Higar nodded.
So it took some searching, but I found the scale. It was no difficult matter to pour the princess
out of it, and then provide her with some covering.
She was naked? Higar intervened again.
The princess stiffened only slightly and the Summoner made pretense to ignore the question.
Higar grinned broadly.
After this, we tended a bit to Albrecht's wounds, and the princess cast a soft ward around us. It
was then a matter of waiting.
Niccolo spoke next: We have a long delayed council of war to hold, and take inventory of our
resources, and catalog of our foes. What say you, is our objective now to merely find a way to depart
on this vessel, remade as it is, and inform the Ferryman of these affairs? Or is there more that we
should spy upon?
We have more intelligence to acquire I am afraid. noted Morwethe, and I have a task here in
any event.
Which is?
My God is lost here, I cannot sense him, and I know he has not been called to another sphere.
Why is that.
I am his only human communicant. He has no other worshippers than myself who could call
him off a hostile sphere.
A pitiful poor godling! came Higar's cry.
His enthusiasms have been misplaced, she volleyed back, and need to be better directed.
Niccolo stared around and asked the assembly, gazing each in the eye, Are there any other
personal missions that we need to know of?
So if I dismiss you, what of it then. You cannot take me before my appointed time.
Ah but I could haunt you, and have the odor of death on you, and everything you touch. I
could have food rot in your mouth, and all that is near to you come to its most painful demise. Then
when your hour does come, I could assure that most vile and agonizing ends are visited upon you in
order, until you will beg for my final caress. There are fates worse than death, and they will be waiting
for you.
The princess gave a short, serene, nod, as if she were allowing a musician to play on.
I propose a game, then. Win, and I go, lose, and you accept that the burden of replacing this
soul short is your own burden.
I think, nay.
Jehanjir spoke up. Would it help to raise the stakes?
Death turned and glowered at Jehanjir.
My predecessor warned me that you cheated him.
One must always cheat death, but it is also true, that Death cheats all mortals of days, hours,
and minutes. I merely was more skilled at that time and place than the soul that held your office at that
time. I must ask what became of him?
You do not have the words for the torment he endures.
I imagine you would be happy to teach me. But still, my offer stands. The throw would be for
double the stakes. Win and the old error is erased, and the new one rectified before it could possibly be
of great import.
Death looked back and forth.
Choose your doom, but it is she, he pointed at Si-yeona, who plays.
She wasted not a moment in saying I accept.
It was found in old manuscripts that all princess' of her realm studied, writing from the hand of
sages who played with death for some stake or other, not always for life. From a commentary she
remembered the advice that one should never play a game of words or wit with death, for he can
always find one who is dying to steal the words from. A game of strategy is possible, but dangerous, in
that while death is no great strategist, he knows every trick and cunning trap, and is relentless in
exploiting any small advantage to his own ends, grinding all opposition to dust. Thus, advised the
commentator, unless one is an expert at some particular game, it is best to play a game of chance, even
though Death is lucky, and often brings misfortune to the other. Another commentator noted that Death
would never be truly fair.
She looked. Cards. There is a game that gamblers play, called 'Show,' I am sure you know it.
In its many forms, we would have to agree to the exact rules first.
That would be agreeable to me. I choose the version played on the port of BuYang, in the
establishment known as the Monkey Puzzle.
And how would you have made such an acquaintance as that?
To recruit sailors for our fleet, we are best by wars, and no hovel or hole to humble to do a fair
turn for a fair country. She didn't mention that in playing for terms in the navy, she used her sorcery to
confuse and bewilder her opponents.
I warn you little one, your incantations and vibrations will have no effect on me, and might
even rebound to affect you.
I need no spell. In fact, I would propose we lay a circle down, and play with in it.
I accept. One game, to 7, and nothing more. But not on this vessel.
Done, good lord Death.
One by one the clambered down, and found a place on the black sand. Both Death and the
Sorceress drew a circle and placed a bar across it. As they did so, it seemed that men and creatures
began to gather from out of the air. Some became solid after swirling of sand, others seem to crawl up
out of it. Some had the bodies of men, and the heads of beasts, others were man on top, and serpentine
below. They began gurgling a horrible tumult as the cards were produced from Niccolo's robes and the
wax seal cut.
Each shuffled, Death with one hand cutting and splicing together, the Princess with two hands,
which were nimble but clearly not professional. Niccolo frowned, all good carte players he knew were
either very good, or very bad with the shuffle. Albrecht was just behind and to the right, and raised an
eyebrow, but decided that it must have first been from alchemy, he did not know that the first decks of
cards were printed on TianXin a very long time before. At least, the first packs known among mortals
of this cosmos. Higar was intently looking at the faces of the players, but neither betrayed any inner
thoughts.
They cut for the deal, the princess scored a 5, but Death a 6, and chose to call first.
The princess tapped the cards together, and three times shuffled them, She then let death cut the
deck, which became the trump, a Jack of Swords, on guard with an elaborate battle sword. Death's mob
hooted and howled. On huge flightless bird with a large face rolled its tongue out and began the clap.
One. Two. Three.
The princess was a practiced enough player to put her cartes face down and make her call.
Bow.
Death stared at a Jack, a three, and a four. Good enough to win, but not quite enough to demand
to show. The hand scored 3, 6 for the pair against the table, minus 3 for the cards he held. The princess
had a clutter of cards, none of any use, though two were of the same suit. This scored 2, 3 for the blaze,
minus one.
Death tossed the four, and picked up a 9. This improved his hand to 4. The princess tossed an
off card, but picked up another of no more use.
Death had one point waiting.
Win.
Again the clamor started.
One. Two. Three.
Bow.
She took precisely the same amount of time as before.
Both drew. Death picked up a 7 of diamonds, which did nothing for his hand. He stared, and set
the cards down.
Stop.
Whether it was fortune or not, the Princess had drawn the missing third heart, and with a blaze
4,6,7 had a score of 5, which is a relatively strong hand. But Death had stopped, and lead two to null.
She passed the pack to her opponent, who shuffled three times, and let her cut for trump, it was
the Queen of Swords, and in the rules of the Monkey Puzzle, Calamity. This meant that if a hand
could be scored two ways, it was scored for the least, rather than the most points.
The princess stared at three hearts: the queen, the 9 and the 6. This scored 6 as a blaze, but
because of calamity, 6 for the queens, minus 3 for the 6 and 9 meant 3. In Death's hand were two 8's of
the black suits, and a 6 of clubs. This scored as 2 either way.
Win.
Show. Death knew he was weak, but also knew that there were not many cards under
calamity that could improve his hand. Best to end her calling and take what pain there was. Si-yeona
turned her cards up, and the result was as expected. Death lost 2, the Princess gained 2. And now it was
2 to null the other way. But with Death calling. He smiled a cold smile and watched the cut of the
cards, it was a 7 of trumps. He drew a breath in, and let the divine forces flow through him. He would
have his win.
He looked at the cards, and even onlookers could tell he recoiled at them. He had a pair of
sevens, but also an ace of spades and a 6 of hearts. No matter how he scored it, it came out negative. He
decided to simply call Stop.
claws, and its body feathered. Its head was like a lion and dragon mixed together with a fur main and
lion's snout, but four eyes and scales about them like a wyrm. Its tail had round balls with spikes on it,
and they lashed back and forth, striking some of his minions, who lapped up each other's blood.
In a single motion he boarded it the moment it landed, and then he rode it up and led his army in
the direction from which Higar and Morwethe had come. The hoard raised black dust behind them, and
were soon obscured as they ran and clattered away.
In the aftermath of this exodus, the group stared from one to another. Finally Higar broke it,
with a half serious, half-jest:
Perhaps we should have compromised, and given him the princess, the astrologer, and the
mouse.
Albrecht chuckled. Yes, those are the sort of compromises that many seem to make in the face
of death.
I still do not understand why he did not show and cut his losses.
Because they wanted him to lose, Albrecht called back over his shoulder, so they could
replace him. He looked at the princess and bowed low. You are a great lady, and it is unimaginable
that we should be so fortunate as to be graced with your presence, your highness.
She smiled slightly, and tilted her head. Realizing that, while the attention might or might not be
wanted, she had to do something.
I could not have done it without you. He was cheating, we could all feel it.
Yes my lady, he was calling on the Gods and Goddess, and you were calling on me. And I,
now as always, will be there, against which so every foes you set me against.
Give me a lock of your hair to remember you by.
Albrecht took out a small dirk and cut a lock of his hair, without hesitation. This was a more
brazen and foolish act than usual, because in the hands of an adept of sorcery, such things give great
fuel to a spell.
Niccolo looked up at the restored vessel.
She's a yar ship, will she take the cataract?
The Summoner looked quizzically at him.
Didn't you see what just happened, man? Great spheres! The old cards are thrown up in the air,
and we have a world to win. He jerked his thumb at the ship. When the Gods are at war, the mortals
have no sides. So let's have at it. Korana is the closest one to bleed some sense into.
End of Book I
To Be Continued in The Dogs of War.