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Paying the cost was bad enough. Paying and then waking up to eight new friends was definitely worse. Rich’s new friends weren’t used to seeing him jolt up with a blood-curdling scream after the cost. So he had to introduce himself at the point of their drawn weapons.
Now everyone was cool. Everyone was en route to Nasreddin.
“Why are we going to Nasreddin anyway?” Rich asked, looking at the horses surrounding their hava-chaises. “That on the way?”
“Not exactly,” Jason said. He led their triangle-shaped hava-chaise formation. Surrounding them at a distance of roughly ten yards on every side, the mounted aians formed a diamond. They traveled upstream from where they’d made camp.
“Then why are we going?” Rich asked. Having freshly paid the cost, Rich was thinking more like Melvin than ever before. The sooner they could cage the death creature, the sooner he could get these robes and the cost off his back.
He could still smell them, burning. Richard Bates had pumped him full of fear until the mage Razzleblad took over. Rich had no control of his own hands as Razzleblad used them to incinerate whole towns, men, women and children. While Rich screamed on the inside, Razzleblad laughed, a madman enchanted by a symphony of bodies crackling under fire and voices wailing.
Jason’s mouth curved up into a wry smile. “We’re going cause they like me.”
Rich looked at Melvin for a better answer. His face was a sullen, dark cloud. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of this detour either.
“It seems the markless wonder here is the one of prophecy,” Melvin said.
“Marks? What marks?” Rich asked.
“That’s the same thing I asked,” Jason said. “I had to dig into what I remembered about aian folklore for the answer. When an aian kid comes of age, one of the eleven aian gods will welcome the new adult into their house. That means giving them new animalistic abilities and the distinctive markings of that house. Look around for examples.”
Rich took a quiet survey of the surrounding formation. Scales and feathers and antennae and gills, it was a regular box of animal crackers on horseback.
“So why don’t you have any marks?” Rich asked.
“Cause they messed with my stats,” Jason said. “Sure, I would have gained some new talents, but choosing any one house would have reduced the primary stats that go into being an archer. Since choosing a house was always optional, I just never did.”
“Never did,” Melvin echoed. “Only his folklore never told him an aian without the marks is their equivalent of the Immaculate Conception.”
“The folklore might have mentioned it,” Jason said with a shrug. “But after awhile, all that backstory just gets in the way of gameplay.”
Rich could almost hear Melvin’s teeth grinding in frustration. He could relate. Who knew how long the aians would want to keep them in Nasreddin because Jason fit the description of their prophecy?
Melvin didn’t say another word. Rich didn’t feel much like talking either. They followed the horses, which were following an ever widening stream back to Nasreddin. Jason filled the silent gaps between horse clomps with the aian history he knew.
Aians used to use magic the same way as humans. But spell casting made them undisciplined and feral. It drove them mad. Out of the chaos, twelve heroes rose up and communed with the Onesource, cutting off access to it for aiankind. Now the twelve acted as intermediaries to the Onesource, gods who invited the rest of their people into their houses to share the benefits of intercession.
“Wait,” Rich said. “I thought you said one of the eleven houses gives you their mark. But you just said there are twelve gods. Where’s the twelfth house?”
“Dude, I don’t know,” Jason said. “The folklore I remember just says aian kids get adopted by one of the eleven when they come of age. Only eleven marks are playable. Maybe the twelfth mark makes you ridiculously overpowered so it wasn’t an option. I know the stats of the other eleven all suck in some way when it comes to my pedigree.”
“What if all this goes south on us?” Melvin asked.
“We are heading south, or at least south-west,” Jason said. “Totally the wrong direction.”
“No, I mean what if they get mad when they find out you’re a game construct,” Melvin said. “Instead of their chosen one, you’re a fluke, made to look this way based on Hierophane magic and the whim of a kid trying to max out his stats.”
“We tell them from the start it’s a simple misunderstanding,” Jason said. How mad could they possibly get?”
“Remember that wheelbarrow those mercenaries got dumped in at Triptoe?” Melvin asked. “Those guys just messed with the townspeople’s money. You’re messing with the belief system of an entire race.”
Jason looked at the galloping riders in front and beside them.
“Shit,” Jason said. “They’re going to kill us.”
“C’mon,” Rich said, “we’re on a noble quest on behalf of the Hierophane. How can they get mad about that, given the circumstances?”
“Dude, you were asleep for that part,” Jason said. “Aians aren’t particularly fond of the Hierophane right now. The game notes always talk about how tension between The Temple of Houses and Seat Esotera has been rising lately. How do you think the Temple’s going to react to finding a Hierophane-crafted Chosen One on aian turf?”
“Shit, they’re going to kill us,” Rich said.
“We gotta think of something,” Melvin said. “We can’t tell them the truth.”
A forest was coming into view. Beyond that, the peaks of a tiny mountain range loomed over the trees.
“We better think of it quick,” Jason said. “We’re getting close to Nasreddin.”
“Ok, how about we go soap opera on them?” Rich asked. “You know, we all fake amnesia. We just say we woke up in Fort Law. That’s where Jason got his arm cleaved by a weagr, we found the death monster, yada yada yada.”
“Amnesia would keep us from having to explain awkward past questions,” Jason said. “Like my childhood as an aian, or how our extremely diverse party came to be.”
“Think they’ll go for that?” Melvin asked.
“It’s better than trying to invent a whole life story on the spot,” Jason said. “Besides, I got my bone arm—that alone proves there’s something crazy out there.”
“And it gives us a reason for chasing the death creature besides getting back home,” Rich added. “We say it’s because the creature’s our only real lead to getting back our lost memories. We can throw in some stuff about having a feeling that killing it will restore the natural balance or fulfill our destiny. It’s gotta work.”
“That is good, Rich,” Jason said with a smile. “I almost feel sorry for us.”
Rich nodded, glad to have Jason’s approval on one of his ideas. Finalization of their alibi couldn’t have come at a better time. They crested a hill and the city of Nasreddin bloomed into full view.
The city looked ancient, weathered, timeless. The stone walls surrounding it were densely covered in ivy. The stream they had been following had widened into a river that coursed through one of the three openings in the wall.
Their aian escort steered them to another gateway, the biggest of the three. As they neared the gateway, a crowd of people came into view. Every aian in the throng was standing at the gate, looking at them and waiting.
“Enclave formation,” the scale-covered rider said in a quick military bark. The riders fell into a tight circle around Jason, Rich and Melvin. Rich was glad they had finished discussing their strategy, because now the horsemen were too close for conversation.
“Uh, Mors, is it normally this crowded?” Jason asked the scaly aian.
“No,” Mors said. He looked at the two riders with bug antennae. “My instructions were to send word ahead to the Fane, not the streets.”
“We did as instructed, Commander,” one of the bug headed riders said. “But news has a way of leaking through the hive.”
“From the hive to The Causeway, leaving us with a crowd I’d rather be beyond,” Mors said. “Move as quickly as possible. To the Fane, men.”
Rich didn’t get to see much of the city through the wall of giant horses. Beyond that was only the press of the crowd, a sea of faces that seemed to go on forever. Aians of the bug, cat, fish, squid, snake, and other persuasions Rich couldn’t quite name crowded around, trying to get a peak. Above them, more aians flittered on moth wings or soared by on bird wings. Some of the flying aians held kids, who looked down and pointed.
Some of the faces started changing. The people looking at them had eyes set far apart, like deer. They scowled with razor-thin lips.
Rich wondered what mark they had. Then a visual of some game artwork popped into his mind. These new faces weren’t aian. He was looking at nasrans.
“Nasrans live here too?” Rich asked Jason.
“Yeah,” Jason said looking with glee at the sea of faces. “Nasrans claim their race started here. It was originally their city. That’s why it’s called Nasreddin.”
“So why do the aians live here?” Rich asked. Not only live here, but from what he saw so far, it looked like they outnumbered the nasrans and ran the place.
“He asks why we live here,” Mors said with a scoff. He eyed the nasran onlookers like they were sewer rats. “Nasreddin is our holy city. This is where the Twelve ascended to godhood and saved our people.”
“Look,” Jason said, his eyes dancing more than usual as he pointed up. “The High Fane.”
Towers, parapets, spiraling stairs, it was all carved into the mountain itself. Protruding and receding along the natural face of the rock, the High Fane rested on many tiers. Next to it, the headwaters of the river fell over the mountain ridge as a grand waterfall into one pool after another as it wove its course down to the city. The High Fane flowed around the pools, using them as the centerpiece for many of its tiers.
Their escort dismounted at the gates of the Fane. A slew of young aian men waiting beside the gates took the reins of the horses and led them away. Three of those men reached for the hava-chaises instead of horses.
Rich didn’t want to relinquish his hava-chaise. Not having it kind of cemented the fact they weren’t going anywhere for awhile. But he followed Jason’s lead and stepped off the platform. The aians taking the hava-chaises made no attempt to use them; they simply carried them away and followed the horses.
The High Fane was incredible on the inside. Polished marble columns, granite walls and high ceilings were home to thriving vines of ivy. Water from the adjacent waterfall pool washed onto the stone floor in places, inviting soft green moss to spread along the rock. It felt as if the inside of the Fane was a living, breathing rock giant.
“No one goes green like the aians,” Rich commented.
“I’m a bit fuzzy, but I think this was originally built by the nasran,” Jason said, looking around in wonder.
Mors took them to a grand chamber, where twelve thrones had been carved into the face of the mountain. He dismissed his team and then addressed Jason.
“Please wait here while I inform the Elevated of your arrival.”
“You got it,” Jason replied.
After Mors disappeared behind one of the many doors in the chamber, Melvin leaned close to the others.
“Now’s a great time to run for it,” he whispered as if there were others within earshot.
“Nah,” Jason said. “We’re better off here. I wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous with a whole city hoping to get a peek at me. We’ve got no hava-chaises. They’ve got big horses. Plus some of them can fly. No worries, we got it.”
They were about to find out if they had it. Mors trailed behind three aians garbed in red and white robes with fine golden bordering. One had a mark of feathers, another had bug antenna, and the third had a pronounced horizontal ridge protruding from his forehead.
“It is as you said, Mors,” the one with feathers said, a broad smile on his face as he looked at Jason. He knelt. “One of prophecy, you are well received here in Nasreddin. I am Targhos, Elevated of Demir.”
“I’m Cephrin,” Jason said. “Um, you don’t need to kneel or anything.”
“Listen to the stranger, Targhos,” the one with the ridged forehead said. “We do not know with any certainty he is the one. The prophecy mentions nothing of an arm of bone.”
“Indur is right,” said the antennae’d aian. “For all we know the stranger is a corruption of Onus, sent here to deceive the righteous houses. Until we know for sure, we must maintain vigil.”
“That’s okay,” Jason said. “My companions and I were just passing through the High Veldt. The last thing I wanted was to declare myself the chosen one or anything. We can just take off, you know.”
“No,” the ridge-headed one said, “we don’t know. That is for us to decide. I am Indur, Elevated of Sen.” Indur gestured to the antenna-headed aian. “He is Taym, Elevated of Yol. And Targhos has already received you.”
“Your mannerism is foreign, Cephrin,” Taym said, “not like any of the dialects under the roofs of the eleven houses. Interesting.”
“We would like to speak to the three of you, separately and in turn,” Indur said. “Mors, show the mage and warrior woman to the guest quarters while we interview Cephrin.”
Just like that, with Mors’ hands on their backs, Rich and Melvin were led away from Jason. Now they had to stick to their story and hope it washed with the High Fane.
They reached Melvin’s room first. As Mors led Rich away to another room, Rich heard Melvin scream with frustration through the walls.
“Pink! I hate pink!”
Rich’s room was nice, for a prison. The bed looked soft. A picture window and patio way had been carved out of the rock in the back wall. Outside the window, the sun had descended behind the mountains, painting the sky the rich palette of early sunset. A waterfall spilled down into an unseen pool. Stone steps set into lush grass led the way down, discreetly hidden between some bushes.
He sat on the bed. The robed aians, the Elevated, seemed likely to hammer away at Jason with a million questions. Getting through all three of them would take hours, maybe even days. He had time to kill.
Rich pulled out the two books in his library pocket. He liked reading the Birleshik Arcana. The history of magic and the Hierophane were fascinating now that he was embedded in this world as a mage. The fact that Kaftar Friese had a theory involving prepayment for spells left him hopeful that maybe casting Kaftar’s spell to cage the creature wouldn’t be all that bad.
He opened his spellbook to the page Rew had transcribed in it. The page was a replica of a page in Kaftar Friese’s own spellbook. He was looking at the words of the first Hierophant. Still, he couldn’t understand a word of it.
One word caught his eye. Not the spell he needed, but near the bottom of the page, the word mushkul was scrawled. He had seen that before. He opened the Birleshik Arcana and scanned until he found it: a quote from Kaftar in the old words followed by a translation in contemporary language. It looked like mushkul meant “hardship”.
It was some kind of hardship spell. What kind of hardship? Not that it mattered since Rich wasn’t about to cast any unnecessary spells. Still, he’d like to know what it was he was casting on the death creature, but a cursory look at the Birleshik Arcana told him there just wasn’t enough old language in it to translate the spell.
The dying sunlight killed his research. Outside, lamps stylized like tulip bulbs came alight. Their light was similar to the glow of fireflies.
In the glow, he saw bodies burning.
He pushed the thought away. Paying the cost was hard. Reliving it would drive him crazy.
He looked at the nightstand beside the bed. An empty bowl sat upon it. An idea he couldn’t resist came to mind.
Rich filled the bowl with water. Then he cast his spell.
“I distinctly remember telling you a bowl of water was unnecessary,” Rew’s voice said behind him.
Rich turned. “I know. I just didn’t want to ruin the tradition,” he said with a smile.
Rew cracked a smile at that. She was in the veranda, the same one they had shared a breakfast in. The Hierophane gardens were gloomy, the paper lanterns not yet on.
“I would hardly venture to call one scry a tradition,” she said.
“Traditions gotta start somewhere,” Rich said. “Now, we’re at two.”
“So we are,” she said. She looked beyond him. “I see you’ve earned yourself a beautiful room at the High Fane. What did you do now; negotiate peace between aian and nasrankind?”
Rich held up his hands. “This time I’m innocent. Jason made some new friends. At least with the aians. The nasrans here didn’t seem too enthused with us.”
“Nasrans don’t seem too enthused with anyone of late,” Rew said, her face clouding into a grimace. “They attacked the Hierophane.”
Rich’s heart jumped. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m fine. It’s sweet you should ask. They destroyed a tower. Beyond that the only injury is to my pride and sense of calm.”
Rich was silent. He wanted to say something clever or something that would make her laugh but couldn’t grasp a single notion which would do that. The silence stretched.
“You know, in my world,” he said at last, “a lot of organizations have comment boxes, where people can drop suggestions for improvements. Maybe something like that for the Hierophane’ll help keep the violence down.”
Her brow furrowed in a look of complete puzzlement.
“Forget it,” Rich said. “I have a stupid sense of humor. I just wanted to take your mind off it is all. I should go.”
“Wait, Rich,” she said. “How long will you be in Nasreddin?”
“I’m not sure yet. We’re leaving as soon as we can... death creature to trap and all. But I figure we’ll be here for at least another day. Maybe two.”
“Great,” Rew said. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“The Hierophane has a delegation in Nasreddin,” Rew said. “There’s a standing portal to the city from here. Druze is busy hunting down the rogues that destroyed the tower and that leaves me to slowly go crazy. I need to do something besides wait for news. Would you like company?”
“Uh... yeah,” Rich stammered a bit before regaining his composure. “Yes, Rew, I’d love to see you.”
“Then it’s settled,” Rew said, smiling. “Tomorrow. Meet me at the Mage Delegation Tower. Would you like me to bring anything?”
Inexplicably, mushkul came to mind. “Yeah,” Rich said. “Do you have a book of the old words with current translations?”
Rew frowned. “Not many of the old texts have survived to today. But I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you,” Rich said. He stood still, waving goodbye as he willed the scry to break. It seemed to take forever. And he waved the whole time. Finally, Rew and the veranda disappeared.
“That was smooth,” Rich said sarcastically to himself.
Night had fully taken over at the High Fane. A sea of stars dominated the heavens and the glow of the firefly lamps gave a mystical sparkle to the falling water. The air was full of cricket calls.
Someone had come into his room, leaving dinner. But Rich was too stoked to eat right now. He decided to go out into the garden.
He navigated the steps and pushed aside foliage until he emerged in a clearing. The waterfall collected into a pool before spilling off to collect again a tier below. Flowers bloomed around the pool. Miles down, the lights of the city of Nasreddin stood stark and beautiful against the gloom.
Rich wasn’t alone in the garden clearing. A woman in a sundress sat beside the pool, washing her hands furiously in the water.
As Rich approached, the woman became familiar. It was Melvin. Why was Melvin wearing a sundress?
Rich saw Melvin wasn’t furiously washing his hands. He was dousing his steel bikini bottoms in the water, smacking them over and over again against the rocks.
“Come out, goddammit, come out!” Melvin swore. Rich couldn’t recall ever seeing Melvin so beside himself, so full of frustration.
Rich got closer, slowly, until he was right behind Melvin. After another round of dashing and scrubbing, Melvin exposed the steel bikini’s leather interior. A red stain stood prominent against the brown leather.
“Melvin?” Rich asked.
Melvin ignored him. He scrubbed at the leather as if removing the stain would erase what had happened.
“Melvin?” Rich grabbed his shoulder.
Melvin looked up at Rich, his eyes brimming with tears.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he said, “I just... I just need to get home.”
Rich held him. Melvin didn’t fight the embrace. He sobbed into Rich’s shoulder. Rich didn’t know if the tears were caused by a guy dealing with changes he had never imagined or a woman too overcome with emotion to keep them bottled up. It didn’t matter. Rich knew his friend needed him.
He would be there as a shoulder for Melvin to cry on, even if Melvin needed to cry all night.