Godmaker, Book 1 - Kashmira Qeel (EverythingNarrative) (2024)

Chapter 1: The Ancient Heavenly Connection to the Starry Dynamo

Chapter Text

Tackle is a noun. It’s one of those names nonbinary people pick,because if you’re going to cross the established gender norms, why stickto so-called gender-neutral names when you can just do what the Germansdo and capitalize a noun. Brick and Arson were unfortunately taken.

Tackle is not a legal name and it is a losing battle to get itrecognized as such. It’s also moot. One of many symbolic gestures ofdefiance to spend time on in a life of activism that has so far includedseveral instances of taking a truncheon to the face while the camerasroll and having journalist frame it as the good cops beating the badpeople up.

Tackle is allegedly a person. Their social media bio reads they/thembut at work they go by he/him because in the face of economic collapse,impending climate wars, mass death in the global south, planet Earthrapidly becoming uninhabitable, a lost future for a lost generation…Well, being comfortable with masculinity is a coping mechanism.

Weltschmerz, the Germans call it. World pain.

Herzschmerz too: divorce, poverty looming around the corner,university dropout guilt, constant expectations of a successful career,a job developing software of dubiously ethical nature, six differentkinds of pharmaceutical solutions to societal situations. Heartpain.

Sometimes there’s drinking. Sometimes there’s too much drinking. Toooften. Whether it’s better or worse than other options is debatable. Atleast there’s no cigarettes.

Sometimes there’s loneliness that eats at your sanity, while you sitin a tiny sh*tty apartment.

There’s video games, and farming internet points, and looking throughfurniture catalogues online, wondering if a new coffee table is going tomake a difference.

There’s dating apps and how the quickest way to get anyone you meeton there to run away is to be open about one’s non-standard gender andsexuality. There’s mediocre casual sex with and as one of the alienatedqueers who go to bars looking for a fix.

There’s the two or three friends who live close enough for hangingout in-between obligations to the capitalist machine, and while you’recooking each other dinners and making light-hearted conversation, itfeels like the world is not so bad, and you can forget your worries. Andthen when you walk home in the dark of night, the jovial mood is leftbehind.

Used to be they dreamt of getting married and having a family withtwo-point-five kids. Turns out the statistics about the mentally illbeing more likely to be victims of abuse is true. Turns out being bigand strong means nothing if your abuser can hurt you with words alone.Then they left and is now in a nominally better place and can reallyenjoy the slow spectacle of the ongoing apocalypse.

They get to see their kids once every two weeks. The lawyers usedtheir stint in the suicide ward against them.

Tackle is one of many. A drop in the ocean of human misery.Statistically average. Born near the middle, which is to say rightbefore the end of the world. The Doomsday Argument is epistemologicallywrong, but descriptively right.

At the end of the day, when social obligations fall away, we allshrug off our constructed humanity in favor of the animal underneath. Ananimal with a shaved head, deep set dark eyes, a missing finger joint, apowerful frame built for athleticism more than androgyny. A co*cktail ofmedications coursing through the bloodstream, to be replenished atregular intervals.

Sleep is a reprieve from pain. It is easy to imagine death as justanother deep slumber. But in truth it isn’t even unconsciousness. Theclosest humans come to death on a regular basis, is the deepest generalanesthesia, and the rare case of anoxic hypothermic coma.

This is a lucid dream.

They rise from the mud on a tidal plain. Shallow water reaches noteven to their ankles, and the smell of salt is on every breath. In theclear, endless water, the sky above reflects with perfect clarity.

Overhead the stars are impossibly bright and clear, the night skylooks illuminated like ultra-long-exposure shots from extraterrestrialtelescopes.

There’s the band of dust that is the Milky way, and…

Over to one side is another galaxy. Andromeda. It is six times biggerthan the moon in the sky Tackle knows. Here it takes up a sixteenth ofthe entire sky.

In lucid dreams, one is aware that one is dreaming, in the same sensethat one is not aware, in the murk of dream logic.

Here, there is an extra level of awareness. As if one has perfectrecall of all events past and future, every fact ever known. And yet itis not overwhelming.

Thomas Aquinas argued that the heavenly intellect is not discursive,that there is nothing in between the antecedent and the conclusion. Alldeducible truth is known. Alan Turing defined this relation formally asan first-order oracle, and posited an infinite vertical hierarchy ofsuch modes of reason.

A block and tackle is the application of the simple machine of thepulley to create mechanical advantage, by having successive pulleys actas a chain of levers of the second class. Archimedes pulled a ship outof the harbor of Syracuse using his own strength to pull an impracticallength of rope.

Tackle looks around at what is between heaven and the earth and sea,and finds three things: that they are alone, that they are not alone,and that those two are not mutually contradictory.

“Welcome to the Primordial Tide Pools of the Soul, Tackle.”

The other person is an amalgamate of a long life lived. At a glancetheir entire history is available for recollection. There’s a name, butthe name isn’t an identity, and in this space, it does not matter. Theother one is unlike Tackle; they are not peers.

Tackle doesn’t ask ‘why am I here?’ or something to thatend, because that much is obvious.

“You must choose your path.”

“You’re stating the obvious.”

Remaining here is tantalizing, what with infinite understanding, butit would mean eternal stillness. A mind which is not discursive is acontradiction in terms. It is a crystal of perfectly reasoned arguments.Motionless. All life is by definition in motion.

There’s choices to make, because some mad god up the infinitehierarchy created the rules and now we have no choice but to followthem. The knowledge of this fact is like a bare-faced insult.

The mathematics of the choice is simple. There’s three coins inTackle’s hand, heavy and gold. A kingly investment, but unwieldy fordaily transactions.

“You can’t eat gold.”

Two gold coins split into five of electrum.

Looking to the sky, it is plain to see that to enter this profoundlyand thankfully un-Christian heaven rich, is flatly impossible.

The gold coin buys a vault of infinite material wealth.

“And yet, you buy a golden treasure.”

Tackle looks at the other. An indistinctness. A lesser. “I know whatI am doing.”

“Apologies.”

And having spent the gold, that is actually enough. That is all thatis needed. The rest is for insurance, with one left over forfrivolity.

For insurance, one coin buys the power of creation. Another recordsof knowledge that pales in comparison to true clarity, but that is allthat’s on offer. A third buys away the veil between the keen mind andthe keen senses. A fourth buys the true immortality that comes fromredundancy.

The last, Tackle flips over, and spends on the pleasure of ultimatefreedom.

Having thus become bereft of camels, they make to step through theeye of the needle the other is holding.

“Before you go, please have my tongue. If we both make it, we mightwant to talk.”

Tackle accepts it and now has three-and-a-half.

There’s a discontinuity.

For a moment, it is almost pleasant. Like waking from a dream withoutopening one’s eyes, savoring the remnants of sleep leaving the body andmind.

Two things are wrong.

First, the Eigengrau of the inside of Tackle’s eyelids hasthe texture of churning infinite machinery that is distinctly terrifyingto behold. Hans Reudi Giger had the good fortune to conceptualize hismotifs Stilleben.

Second, opening their eyes does not take away the darkness. Indeed itbrings a sudden intake of breath which fills their mouth with dirt. Sandfalls in their eyes, blinding them. Panic takes hold faster thanconscious realization.

Buried alive.

A mad, senseless struggle tears against a web of thin roots and onehand breaks out. Then with strength born of instinct, Tackle emergesinto open air.

Sputtering, coughing, heaving, gasping for breath, spitting, wipingdirt away from eyes with dirty hands.

At least it wasn’t six feet under.

They calm down, some. Stand up. The animal human goes away, in part.There’s a notion in the back of his mind that something profoundhappened just subjective moments ago. A lingering sense of understandingthen entire universe at a glance.

“All right, what the f*ck,” Tackle says out loud to nobody inparticular.

It is early evening. The roots that impeded his struggle to thesurface was some kind of wild grass, that covers the land like aoff-golden waving sea. An orange sun hangs overhead.

The stiff breeze is clean and crisp. Whatever process birthed Tacklein the black earth of course hasn’t concerned itself with decency.

Dirt clings to their bare skin. Chernozem. Fertile soil, butin a very arid climate.

“I have so many questions,” Tackle mutters, looking around.

The grass in the immediate area has been grazed upon, and trampled.There’s evidence of firepits: circles of charred grass. No trace ofash.

In the middle distance a singular tent breaks the monotonoushorizon.

Man-made structures implies people. The air temperature impliesclothing customs. And this is where that remaining profound claritygives up its last erg.

Material wealth is no object.

Tackle closes their eyes and beholds the Eigenmaschine.Infinite production, infinite power, infinite transformation, and theyare the interface between this clockwork universe and the physicalworld.

It is terrifying, and they quickly open their eyes again. Lookingabout, the question presents itself: the physical world, though itappears to be, where in the world is this place?

The quickest way to know would be stellar navigation. From the curveof the sun’s motion over the sky, just by eye over the minute or so theyhave been standing here, Tackle can guess at the angle at zenith, whichgives a latitude comfortably in the subtropics, making this grasslandsubtropical steppe.

Estimating longitude is a bit trickier, and barring the use of aradio telescope, the sky will not yield its constellations for stellarnavigation while the sun is still up. That’s the price we pay for havingan atmosphere that protects us from the sun’s deadly rays.

There’s a tent. Tackle isn’t going to intrude in the nude.

Braving the churning machines, they pull just a sliver of it overinto external reality.

It comes through, as if holes in reality opens partially to allowonly the necessary equipment to poke through.

To call it a machine is to give undue credit to the ur-concept ofindustrialization, the conversion of heat into work through basethermodynamics and mechanical engineering. With a broad enough scope ofdefinition, near everything falls under it. Electronics is machinery.Flesh is machinery. Things which have no word in English, and whichnever will, is machinery.

The reason why it is so terrifying is that there is no limit to it,and if Tackle fails to contain it, the world will be consumed and turnedinto other things. A genie in a bottle. There could hardly be a more aptmetaphor for technology.

There’s no deafening noise, nor eerie silence, and Tackle looks uponthe process with fascination. Spinnerets provides the pure white silkwhich is spun into thread and woven on a loom that warps space tointerlace weft and warp. Disembodied hands with too many insect-legfingers cut and seam.

A gust of dry air from a nozzle just outside three-dimensional spacecleans the worst of the grit off, and a myriad of soft brushes combtheir skin clean of dust better than a shower could.

The Eigenmaschine takes less than a minute to present Tacklewith a set of clothes: pants made from naturally elastic silk, trouserstied with a sash, long-sleeved tee, and lace sandals. All brilliantlywhite, all perfectly tailored.

Taking the pants and lifting one foot to step into them, the brushesclean off the dirty sole of their foot.

Having never tied lace sandals is no impediment, and Tackle ties themcomfortably and effectively without even stopping to wonder how.

Then they head for the tent.

Hanahana wakes unexpectedly, but not suddenly. Consciousness returnsslowly, almost reluctantly to her body as is often the case thesedays.

In dreamwalking she forgets she is old, feeble, and in pain.

But she hadn’t expected waking up. Not this time.

The bitter of polkweed lingers on her tongue even overpowering thetaste of regurgitated bile. The numbness in her gums at least concealsthe pain of the tooth worms, She took far too much this time, quite onpurpose.

She opens her eyes to see the same canvas overhead as always. Thetent is warm, and something smells pleasant.

Did they come back for her? Fools.

Struggling some, she props herself up on elbows, and looks about,finding first that she is not lying in bedding s full of her own filthas so often happens with polkweed over-indulgence, and indeed she is noteven lying in her own beddings.

White, fine fabric, soft beyond belief.

Something tugs at her elbow, and she finds a patch on her skin, fromwhich runs a translucent string up to a clear sack full of liquid,suspended on a staff of metal.

“What—”

“Oh, you’re awake.”

She looks to the source of the voice, and sees a bald man in whiteclothes, sitting cross legged by her firepit.

Only the brazier with her fire elemental isn’t there. Instead thereis some contraption providing an eerie blue flame that barely gives offlight. There’s a wide, shallow cooking vessel on top of it, with meatsizzling in its own fat.

The light comes from a similar, smaller burner, atop which sits aglowing net of gossamer.

The man is handsome, but sickly pale which does not go with his whiteclothes. He is tending to the meat with a metal tool.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Alive,” Hanahana says. “Despite my best efforts.”

“Are you in pain?”

“I’m old.”

He frowns, and removes the meats, putting them on a metal plate. Thenhe tears a flatbread up and throws the pieces into the meat fat, soakingit up.

Hanahana watches intently, growing aware of her thirst andhunger.

Wordlessly he gets up and heads over to her, kneeling down by her bedand serving the plate of meat and greasy bread — a better meal than shehas had in ten days.

Then he takes a metal cup, and pours her a cup of clean water. Sherolls over on her belly to free her hands for eating.

She drinks greedily, washing away the death breath and slaking herparched and burning throat. He fills her cup again, and she drinks moreslowly this time.

He lets her eat in silence. The meat is tender and the bread isfresh, which is a boon to her lack of teeth. While she does, gettinggrease stains and crumbs in the fine white bedding, he tends to theclear sack of fluid up above her, adding something to it.

“What is that?”

“You were near dead from thirst. This puts water directly into yourblood through a hollow needle entering your vein.” He points to herelbow, where she has noticed a peculiar tugging sensation when shemoves. “I’m adding some medicine which should take care of yourpain.”

It’s already working, whatever it is, and Hanahana licks herplate.

He returns to his seat at the other side of the fire pit, backtowards the tent opening, and puts more meat on the pan. Fresh, rawmeat.

“You do not seem disturbed by my presence,” he says.

“I’ve learnt not to spurn the kindness of strangers.”

He looks at her for a spell, as if to gauge her trustworthiness.

“Yestereve, I woke up buried in the soil a few paces away form yourtent. Do you know anything about that?”

Hanahana lets herself down, smiling satisfied. She’s done it. That’sthe only possible explanation. She has made a god.

“I brought you here,” she says. “From the other side of theEverywhen.”

“And where is ‘here?’ if I may ask?”

“Why, it’s… the world. The Earth.”

He looks at her as if she has made a joke in poor taste. “I assureyou, it is not. The sky is different. I distinctly recall thatThe Milky Leaf wasn’t there, only The Milky Pillar.Which means, if this is indeed The Earth, somehow three scoregreat score-great score-great score years has passed.”

Hanahana blinks. That’s not even a real number, much less an amountof years. That has to be longer than the entire world has existed. Thereincarnationists would probably agree it’s about the life-age of theuniverse.

“This morning I sent a… spear into the sky, and it saw thehorizon. This isn’t the world. It is just under twenty times aslarge in circumference. Just over fifteen score times as much area.”

Hanahana laughs.

“You’re talking nonsense. About the heavens being different?And a great score-great score-great score years is longer than thecosmos has existed, I’m sure? And the size of the world? Theworld is infinite. And flat.”

The man before her doesn’t find it funny, but she knows life is tooshort not to laugh at what one finds funny.

“I should have known,” he says. “You live in a tent. I bet you cannoteven read. Of course you won’t have the answers I seek.”

He flips the meat strips over.

“I need to find a big city, I think. To get some answers. There mightbe star-watchers or historians or natural philosophers who can tell mewhat is going on.”

“Or sorcerers,” Hanahana suggests. “Or warlocks. Or other seers —though I doubt you’ll find anyone as good as me.”

He looks at her. Then he rubs his eyes. “I should have known. Ofcourse. This is a fantastic world, like in the tales. And I’m theordinary idiot thrown into it all.”

Hanahana laughs again. “Ordinary? You’re a god.”

“What does that mean? Gods can mean lots of things.”

Hanahana smiles. “A god is a being summoned by a seer, from the otherside of the Everywhen — though I think great sorcery or a powerfulOther can do it too. They are people, mostly — I think —possessed of great irresistible power.”

“Why did you summon me?”

“I’m dying.”

“I saved you.”

“That just makes me dying slower. I have a disease in my bones. I seeit in my future.”

“You can see the future?”

“I’m a seer. Do birds fly?”

“I don’t know. Do they?”

Hanahana laughs again. The man smiles. He’s quick. And handsome.

“I summoned you because it is dangerous and I had nothing tolose and everything to prove. I summoned you because… I likedyou. You were just as miserable as I was. And you were very kind,despite your pain, and very clever. Dull men are the worst.”

He takes the meat off the pan and adds another flatbread, this onewhole, to soak up the fat.

“I’m not a man.”

“You’re a god, yes. That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“No I mean, my gender. I am not a man, by choice. Despite what itlooks like.”

This is something she missed in her selection. “Are you woman-soul?Or third-soul?”

“The latter, if I take your meaning right. I’m not uncomfortable withbeing presumed to be a man, I just… I’m not a man.”

“Ah. Well, thank you for telling me that. I haven’t even asked yourname.” She struggles up to sit, pulling the blanket around her formodesty. Then she bows her head. “I am Hanahana, daughter of Annanna,daughter of Penna, daughter of Ananu. I am— was the seer of theEmeru tribe. Now I am a frail old woman who can’t ride, left behind todie in my tent because my idiot son and chieftain couldn’t bear thethought of leaving me with nothing.”

“That seems… callous.”

“We are required to travel, by the edict of the Empress.”

The god ponders.

“I’m… Tah-kal. Takall. In my own tongue it means a ropepulley. I’d tell you my family name, but until I know where orwhen I am, that’d be moot.”

“It’s an honor,” Hanahana says. “I… apologize for my rudeness, if Ihave offended. You are a god, after all, and I haven’t been giving youdue respect.”

He seems surprised by this.

“You don’t owe me reverence or worship.”

“But I do. You saved me from death — well, the more immediate sort —and you cleaned, fed, and medicated me. That’s a great kindness.”

“It’s nothing…” He looks aside, almost bashful.

“Might I ask, Takall, what is your power as a god?”

He shrugs. “I make things.”

“What kinds of… things?”

“I don’t think there’s a limit. I made the gas burner here,” hegestures to the device making the fire. “And the sand-poured iron panhere. My clothes, your bedding. I used the flour in your jar there tomake the bread, and found the… hereditary essence of your cattle in theteeth on your skull,” he nods towards the ritual skull. It is missing atooth. “From that I grew its flesh, for cooking.”

Hanahana doesn’t understand half of that, but it was some damn goodmeat.

He eats, and she lets him, unbothered.

“What is the Primordial Tidepools of the Soul?”

“The outer edge of the Everywhen. Beyond it lies the Far Plane. Youcan go there to look in the waters, at things in the Far Plane, but youcan’t touch. If you do, you die. Or if you’re very very lucky,you can pull a god out.”

“Which is what you did.”

“I must have. I don’t recall that I did.”

“Neither do I.”

He eats and looks pensively into the blue flames. Hanahana lies downagain, content to let the man ponder. She is tired, and decides to takea mid-day nap.

She is shaken awake gently, by Takall.

“It is late afternoon,” they say.

Hanahana blinks a bit, and rubs her eyes. “You’re different.”

Takall nods. “I’ve changed my appearance to better reflect mymood.”

No less handsome, but their features are quite softer, and their paleskin has tanned. They return to the other side of the gas burner — whichhas been fitted with another woven cage that glows pleasantly, adding tothe light of the first.

“I have a problem.”

“Pray tell?”

“I need answers that you don’t have.”

“You’ve said.”

“I think my best bet is to seek out a big city and find somescholars.”

Hanahana frowns. “The biggest city in the region is the Red City.I’ve never been there myself, but Emeru is a tribal protectorate underthe rule of The Red Empress. The Red City is her city.”

“And who is she?”

“A goddess.”

“Ah.”

“She might know the answers you seek, too.”

Takall shakes their head. “I doubt she will be inclined to chat withme.”

“What? How come?”

“If gods are as powerful as I think, I cannot imagine they haverelationships amounting to more than an uneasy truce. I… I’m a potentialupset to whatever delicate power-balance exists in the region. Removingme would be prudent.”

Hanahana raises her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a verysophisticated view.”

They shrug. “It’s basic realpolitik.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“But that’s only one of my problems.The other problem is you.”

Hanahana sighs. This is it, then. Perhaps she should ask if theywould kill her as a mercy, rather than leave her to starve.

“I cannot in good conscience leave you to die. I would like yourpermission to attempt to cure you of your disease.”

“Wh— what?”

They almost startle. “What, did you think I was going to leave youhere?”

Hanahana isn’t often moved to tears, but for some reason this naïve,kind idiot has her wiping her eye. “Thank you,” she says.

“Don’t thank me yet. It’s going to be a learning experience for me.It might not work.”

“… I have faith in you… I haven’t had faith in anything for a whilenow.”

Takall frowns. “But even if I cure you; you said your tribe left youbehind?”

She nods. “I’m too old and frail. I can’t ride anymore. We’re cattleherds; if we can’t show up with the cattle, the Empress’ cattlemongerswill be angry with us. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I might be able to return you to your people, but it seemsI might be stuck with you…”

And now the tears come. It was too good to be true. “Please, I don’twish to be a burden. Please don’t leave me out here to die—”

Takall almost recoils in horror. “Good riddance, none of that, thankyou! I meant if your tribe won’t take you, that I would bringyou along to the city!”

“Really?”

“Although if you prefer return to your people, I might, if youpermit, attempt to restore your strength and youth.”

Hanahana’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“It’s an even bigger ‘if’ than curing your disease. It might killyou.”

She struggles up to sit on her knees, and prostrates herself. “Mygod, Takall, I… If you truly wish to, I shall not gainsay any attemptyou make to cure this old flesh of disease and age itself.”

“Don’t do that.”

Hanahana looks up.

“Don’t bow down before me.”

“Oh.”

She sits. “If you fail and I die, will you learn from it?” sheasks.

Takall nods. “Probably.”

“If you succeed, I… I am going along with you to the Red City. Mytribe has already given me up for dead, and I have already trained mysuccessor. You need a guide, and while I am ignorant, perhaps I am lessignorant that you. And in any case, I am a seer. If you will have it, Iwould like to give you my loyalty.”

“Why?”

She looks at Takall. “I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.I summoned you on a whim, but it seems fate had me choose better than Ithought I did. You’re very different from what I thought a god wouldbe.”

Chapter 2: Naked and Trembling before the Machinery of Night

Chapter Text

She is too feeble to stand, so Takall lifts her with strong arms,carrying her outside in the noonday sun.

“Set me down; I can sit unaided.”

They do, and Hanahana gets to sit among the grasses, wrapped in thewhite silk.

“I’m going to do something. Don’t be alarmed.”

“Why should I be?”

“Because it looks scary.”

“What is the nature of your divine power, if I may ask?”

Takall smiles. “You may always ask. I make things. I’m not sure howto be more specific than that, I don’t know quite all of it myself.Yet.”

“It’s an honor to witness it.”

“As I said, don’t be alarmed.”

Standing back, Takall takes a moment to steady themselves, eyesclosed.

Then reality stops making sense. Out of cracks in the air, frombetween blades of grass, from Takall’s very shadow… spinning toothedwheels interlocking, grasping hands with knives for fingers, eyes onstalks, heat waves and mirage pools.

Hanahana yelps and tries to crawl away, only to fall over.

Prehensile tails reach out from underneath the ground and worm underher, gently lifting her up. She closes her eyes and mutters a prayer toher ancestors. Nightmares, she can handle, but this is not one she canwake from.

Nothing happens.

“Sorry. I should have prepared you better. I’m learning this as Igo.”

She opens one eye, and sees Takall by her side. They take her hand,caressing her with a gentle thumb.

Looking around, she sees that she is still held by the long tailsfrom underground, but they hold her with comfort — a better bed than anyshe has slept in. Soft like being held by a lover’s hands.

All the threatening devices and limbs and strange happenings, all theimpossible geometries, all of it is waiting. Holding back, as if afraidto approach before she is comfortable with their presence.

A pair of great big devices, two half of a ring, descends towardsher.

“What’s that?”

“It can look inside your body to see what is wrong. Don’t worry, itdoesn’t feel like anything at all. Lie still.”

The half-rings join together above her head, and moves downwards. Asthe full ring reaches her head, the tails move out of the way, coming inthrough the other side of the ring to keep her supported withoutimpeding the ring.

She feels nothing. The ring makes a rapid clicking noise as it movesdown to her toes.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You have… crawdad-disease.”

Hanahana blinks. “I don’t eat crawdads. Not since I was a little. Inever liked them.”

Takall shakes their head. “It is not to do with crawdads. It is adisease where one’s flesh itself grows malignant. The malignant fleshtakes a shape like the claws and legs of crawdads.”

“Oh.”

“You are correct, the problem is in your bones.”

“Of course, I’m correct. I foresaw my death.”

Takall looks at her, drumming two fingers on their lips.“Interesting. I’ll need to learn the details of this ‘seer’ business ata later date. One question.”

“Yes?”

“How many seers can potentially summon a god?”

“Not many. Only those of very great acumen.”

“And how many do?”

“Even less. It takes a special kind of hubris or desperation.”

“And you mentioned it was dangerous to do so, how many succeed?”

“Vanishingly few. Most die trying.”

They nod. “Gods are rare.”

“I can think of five, including you.”

“The Empress, makes two. Who’s the other three?”

“Legends hear tell of a trickster who travels the land and wears manyfaces. There’s a wealth of stories of him, and he is always out tochange things. Whether for better or worse depends on the story.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Once I had the misfortune of running into one on a dreamwalk. Iprostrated myself, begging for mercy. He said he had better things tospend his time on than killing passersby and bid me a good night. He isthe Black Hand.”

“Ominous.”

“There’s one out west. I can feel its shadow.”

“Very ominous.”

“Also supposedly there’s one out in the ocean beyond the Red City,but I don’t know anything about that.”

“How many people in your tribe?”

Hanahana is caught off guard by this question, but answers anyway:“Five families. I guess about four score. I don’t really think about itin numbers.”

Takall arcs an eyebrow. “Score. Two tens. Hm.”

The things that Takall takes note of is baffling, in an amusingway.

“How many people in the Red City?”

“Many.”

“A great score of great scores?”

“I can scarcely imagine how many people that is. It is a big city,that is what I know. The biggest, perhaps.”

Takall nods. “Where is it?”

“Out east, on the coast.”

“Okay. East is where the sun rises?”

Hanahana laughs. “Yes, yes it is.”

“Good. I’m sorry I’m asking this, but…”

“But what?”

Takall looks at her.“I’m not sure if this will go well. I’m going tocure you of your disease, and attempt to restore you to youth. Are youabsolutely sure I should go ahead? I can just cure you of disease, and Iguess we can treat your problems as they arise, that would be a lotsafer—”

“Yes. Go ahead. I understand the risks. Now better than before,” shegestures to the machinery.

Takall takes a step backwards. Then a little stinger on the end of aninsect leg pokes her in the arm.

“Please count backwards from a score for me.”

“Score, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen—”

A gentle collection of electrodes probe Hanahana’s skin, indicatingat she is indeed unconscious.

Takall — when did they start referring to themselves in phoneticspelling? Puzzling — give the go-ahead. Machinery springs to life andeven more enters reality from their inner cabinet of horrors.

It all expands to the size of a mid-sized factory building, evenconstructing a roof of sorts out of projected force.

Her unconscious form is levitated off the tentacle rests and samplesare taken, further scans are made with progressively larger devices. Hergenome, transcriptome, proteome, lipidome, metabolome, and microbiomeare measured to completeness, and her vitals are closely maintained.

Takall isn’t uneducated in these matters. Nobody with apathologically curious mind and an internet connection in the secondthird of the twenty-first century is. What’s outstanding about it, isthat the machines unfolding have apertures and manipulators that passthrough flesh like water, leaving ripples but no structural disturbanceof tissue.

Everything this machine does is possible in reality, whatever‘reality’ means. The only fantastic part of it is how it isn’titself of reality, and how mind-bogglingly enormous it must be,wherever it resides.

They didn’t sleep all night. Mostly because the prospect of closingtheir eyes and beholding the eigenmaschine for however manyminutes or hours it would take to fall asleep was not an invitingprospect.

The sky is different. The Andromeda galaxy is about a billion yearsaway from colliding with the Milky way. The constellations don’t match,as far as Takall recalls, and if three and a half billion years havereally passed, that means the impermanence of stars will have alteredthe sky.

So it might not even be the Milky Way. But how many other galacticcollisions could there be? That big one in the sky does seem to beoriented right.

It was a long night, with lots of time to think.

About whether this is in fact real. But as always radical solipsismyields no usable conclusions, just paranoia. The twin defaultassumptions are sanity and realism.

And if it is real, what’s become of Earth? And the Takall that was?What’s become of their kids, their friends, their extended family?

Another line of maddening inquiry.

They spent some of the night consulting the knowns and unknowns. Forone, it seems that they have gained comprehensive knowledge of everyfact derivable from first principle. As the adage goes, there’s only twosciences: physics and stamp-collecting.

In addition to the physics, Takall has somehow acquired Hanahana’slanguage. It shares basically no linguistic characteristics withEnglish, German, or Swedish. Or what little French they vaguelyremember.

Languages are stamps. As are genetics. The ‘cattle’ skull thatprovided a tooth for DNA extraction was… dinosauric. But once the DNAwas rendered, all genetically derivable properties of its being werelaid bare.

Hanahana is hom*o Sapiens, the genuine article, which isevident from genetic similarity to the only other example on hand:Takall themself.

It may be billions of years in the future, and yet humanity isapparently unchanged.

The machine, satisfied with the analysis of Hanahana, beginssynthesizing, culturing, and otherwise fabricating flesh and humors.Thoracic organs, blood vessels, muscle, bone, hemolymph, cerebrospinalfluid.

Takall looks on as Hanahana is cut apart, piece by piece, replacedpiecemeal like the Ship of Theseus.

Only the brain cannot so easily be replaced, and so is subjected to amyriad little feelers phasic through grey matter like it wasn’t there.They sift out scar tissue and plaque, repair damage and soak thedelicate organ from cortex to medulla in stem cells andtelomere-extending retroviruses.

This divine power, a factory capable of producing anything fromnothing, is terrifying. Most of all because there seems to be no upperlimit to its power, not that Takall could find introspectively. There isno pain threshold, no limit to break.

It is the other way around: the eigenmaschine requiresTakall to limit it. Like a mad wish-granting genie. It behaves itself,sure. It stops when asked. But getting it to do anything usefulrequires attention and careful thought.

Getting it to restore Hanahana to youth was not easy, but at least ithas fairly well-defined parameters. Age is a function of accumulatedtissue damage and imperfection. Personality is a function of accumulatedinformation gestalt in the brain, available for conscious processing andrecall. Undo one, retain the other.

Hanahana weighed… some number of kilograms. Takall doesn’t rememberthe definition of the SI units, so they can’t say exactly. Using ahalf-remembered numeric value for the Planck constant, the error marginson their back-of-the-envelope derived kilogram is far too many percentin either direction.

Defining an exact system of units is stamp collecting.

About two percent of her is left. Compared to her weight before theprocedure, and her weight now, ninety-eight parts in a hundred have beenthrown away.

Electric eyelashes unfold a region of compressed spacetime, andHanahana inside is treated to two days stay in a recovery ward, easedinto an chemical coma. It takes an hour, for some definition of anhour.

Hanahana comes to her senses, feeling off in a profoundsense.

She’s lying down. Probably. Down is difficult to pin-point.

Rolling her head to one side, she notices she’s lying in a bed. Overin the middle distance, she spots Takall rummaging through a pile ofsomething.

She sits up with relative ease, dizzy, and swings her legs over theside of the bed.

Then quite suddenly her stomach objects, and she hurls a stream ofbile and some kind of soup onto the ground.

Absently she reaches for the blanket to wipe her mouth with.

The ground around has been disturbed, dug up in places.

There’s some kind of grey floor, laid on top of the grass below thebed.

“Hey. How do you feel?”

Hanahana looks up at them.

Her lips feel wrong as she speaks. “Like I’m not entirelymyself.”

“That’s true in more ways than you think, here let me just—”

Something sweeps away the puddle of sick, and places down a mirror.Hanahana recalls the little polished sheet of bronze she gave to herson’s wife as a wedding gift. This is like a crystal clear river stoodon its side.

This is not only not yellow, but far morereflective, and as tall she is.

There, in the mirror stands someone who could well have been hersister some two score summers ago. She’s bald, and not just on herhead.

“Who— who is that?”

“Oh no.”

“Is that me? But I look— that looks nothing like me.”

She looks at Takall. “What did you do to me?”

“I don’t entirely know. Look, I tried to restore your appearance, butI don’t know exactly what you looked like in your youth, so I tried towork backwards. Is it very far off? I— I can change some things, if itbothers you.”

She looks back at the mirror.

Takall sighs, and she is startled out of her reverie. “Have Ioffended?”

“No— just, first your tent, now this…” They gesture towards thepile.

It’s her tent. Picked up and thrown away with force.

“What—”

“It must have been in the way when I worked on you, it was… moved.Some things are broken. Jars and stuff. The skull. I’m sorry.”

Rummaging through her tent seems to ground her some. Takall looks ather, while she goes through her things. She gets dressed in her ownclothes — cleaned yesterday when Takall found her as an unconsciousgeriatric lying in a haze of hallucinogens and a puddle of piss.

A simple dress. A shawl. A belt. Sandals. It fits on account of notreally being tailored to her figure. She has no hair to tie — it has yetto grow beyond a fuzz.

She’s showing signs of ataxia, occasionally. Spasms. Tics, perhaps.It’s getting better with practice. Maybe. The brain is plastic; even ifsome of the connections got scrambled, she’ll likely adapt.

There shouldn’t be any neurological damage, but there may beside-effects from the anti-senescence treatment.

Cleaning up is something to do. She’s not angry. Accidents happen.Takall offered to help, but this is her tent. Her things.

The skull has fractured in the bone frill. All her jars have cracked,but they were empty anyway. Most of her baskets are fraying, having beensquished enough to break the weave in places.

Her talismans are all intact. She fashions a necklace from a strap ofleather — cursing her twitchy hands — and ties it around her neck withas many trinkets as will fit on a string. All the rest she ties in acloth and fastens it to her belt.

She stands, supporting herself on her staff — that hasn’t changed —and steps back.

“Hm?”

“I’m done. We can leave the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

She looks at Takall. She can see on her left eye again. “You are thegod of making things. Is a tent outside your abilities?”

“What about the brazier and the skull?”

“If you wish.”

She looks at her hand. It is not quite her hand. Unsettling.

Takall takes her by her shoulder. “Hey.”

She looks up at them. They have a large cylindrical satchel on theirhip. “What?”

“You were staring at your hand for a long time. I called yourname.”

Hanahana nods. It’s like she’s dreamwalking while awake, but goingnowhere in particular.

“Look, there may be something I can do.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I’m glad you didn’t just say ‘haven’t you done enough?’ or somethingto that end.”

“What can you do?”

“I can give you a gift that will allow you to recover morequickly.”

Hanahana nods. “I’ll take it.”

“Again, it isn’t just that. Do you know the brain is the seat of theself?”

“The eyes that see connect to the brain. Not the heart, not theliver.” It’s a bit of wisdom her teacher gave her.

Takall holds out a hand, and machinery unfolds around them. A longspike comes to a rest hovering over their hand. There, from its pointunfolds a blue webbing, like the creation of a mad spider, in the shapeof a brain.

“This is a neural lace. It’ll go inside your brain.”

“What does it do?”

“Your brain is having trouble adjusting to your new body. It’ll letyou invoke conscious control over the parts of your brain you cannotnormally control. It’ll keep your twitches in check… Later we might beable to speak to one another through it.”

She looks at it. “Is it alive?”

Takall looks at it for a while. “Almost.”

“Can you make it alive?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Is your machines alive?”

Takall doesn’t have an answer, it seems.

“I trust you, Takall. What I’ve seen of your intentions, they aregood. I’d trust that thing,” she gestures to the lace, “if I knew it wasmore you than your machine.”

They nod. “I understand. I can do that.”

“Then do.”

The blue webbing vanishes. The spike moves towards her, and twostrong hands immobilize her head. “Will it hurt?” She recalls how muchpeople screamed when they performed trepanning ceremonies in heryouth.

“No.But I imagine it looks scary.”

The tip doesn’t make contact with her forehead. She just feels thecold of it as it flows past her bone.

She doesn’t feel anything. Then the tool retracts, and vanishesbehind Takall.

“Is it done?”

“Yes.”

“You said we might be able speak through it? Do you have one aswell?”

“Yes.”

Hanahana looks at them. They look tired.

“When I first saw you, you were pale and manly. Now you’re tan andneither man nor woman. Why did you change yourself?”

Takall shrugs. “To see if I could. It’s skin deep, so to speak.”

“But you’re still human.”

Takall nods. “Mostly.”

“And now you’re afraid of changing yourself because it went wrongwith me?”

They shake their head. “I’m afraid, because what I want to do willkind of kill me.”

Chapter 3: Divine Intervention

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand.”

“The quickest way to obtain what I want is to create a new body fromscratch. Then dispose of this one.”

Hanahana looks at them. “If you’re afraid, why not just do it moreslowly in a way that you don’t have to ‘dispose’ of anything?”

Takall shrugs. “We need to get going.”

“Yes, I agree, but can we return to the part where you wanted todie?”

Takall looks directly at her. “It’s not death. It would be death if Iceased existing. I won’t. And I realize that, by reason, but I am stillafraid.”

Hanahana shakes her head. “Forget that madness, please. Make us somesteeds, or something. Let’s ride after my tribe.”

Takall nods.

“How old are you, Takall?”

“I thought you said you selected me, somehow?”

“I didn’t look for men— people of any particular age.”

“Score and ten.”

“I’m more than twice that. I’ve had my fair share of scary thoughts,so take this wisdom from me: there’s very few things that are trulyscary which are worth doing.”

Takall looks at her. There’s something about them, like a woundedanimal.

She pats them on the shoulder. “I’ve been miserable for a lot longerthan you.”

They look into her eyes for a long moment.

“How does a steed look?”

“They are about as tall as a person. Uh… Four legs and fur. Big hornsthat curl.”

Takall looks away from Hanahana’s gaze. “Wait; cloven hooves? Eatsgrass, chews cud?”

“Yeah.”

A goat. They ride goats, and ranch dinosaurs. What.

Without genes to work from, Takall designs something that outwardlylooks like a horse-sized goat, but inwardly very much isn’t. There’s amyriad of little decision to make.

For one, getting the look and movement right is troublesome. Humansrecognize animals by their movement patterns — that’s how adachshund and a retriever are obviously more similar to oneanother than to a wolf or a cat, despite the different proportions andfur.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Let me see if I can just—” [Can you hear me?]

“Yes. I can hear you in my mind,” Hanahana says.

Takall reaches out and projects an image into her mind, a benignartificial hallucination. A picture of the goat they are going tomake.

And even as it renders in her mind through her lace, her ownconception of the goat-steeds becomes legible to Takall. Her idea of itmoving, of its mannerisms. From there the eigenmaschine worksbackwards to a likely configuration of musculature and skeleton.

And then it springs to work, creating a skeletal frame of somethingthat isn’t bone, connected with something that isn’t ligament, andstrung with something that isn’t tendon, to clusters of something thatisn’t muscle fibers. In lieu of a stomach it has a fuel tank full ofhydrocarbon fuels. Its hide isn’t leather. Its fur is probably notkeratin.

Hanahana looks on in morbid fascination.

The two goat-things look a them, heads turned to the side to see withprey-animal eyes.

“Are they tame?” Hanahana asks.

“I should hope so, their minds are derived from my own.”

“Like my lace.”

“Yes. And my lace as well.”

She takes a step forward, supported by her staff, and the beasts comeup to her. “They smell wrong.” Pungently so. Hard to describe exactlywhat they smell of.

“Not much to do about that.”

More machinery unfolds and fit both of the steeds with saddles, onemore elaborately cushioned than the other.

“That’s for you,” Takall says. “Your body is unaccustomed tostrenuous activity. Please, as much as you can, try to notice if itstarts hurting.”

“Why of course.”

Takall wordlessly offers to help her mount, but she just hands offher staff.

“What’s this?” she asks, lifting a half-moon shaped loop ofmetal.

“It’s for your feet. To mount, and to sit easily. To fight whilemounted, too.”

She tries in the obvious manner, and indeed it is a lot easier thanjumping onto the back of the animal. If only she’d had this a few yearsago, she might have ridden more in her old age.

“Wait.”

She looks down, and Takall hands her a straw hat, woven from thegrass around them, scythed off. They hand it up to her. It ties underthe chin with white silk.

Takall mounts the other animal taking the reins in hand, and looks toher. “Where to?”

She looks at the horizon. “This way.”

Inar’s attention is drawn away from watching Masa ride. There’s acommotion back in the main camp.

“Inar!” One of Zidanta’s girls comes running. “Come quick!”

“Masa!” Inar barks to the boy. “Take her back to the posts.”

“Yes dad!”

Inar takes off at a jog back towards the tents. Even from a distancehe spots the crowd of people to the west.

“Inar! Visitors!” someone calls out, and the crowd parts.

Two riders on black goats. One of them is a light-skinned man — or?Difficult to say — dressed in whites. The other is a dark-haired womanin plainswalker garb.

“Hail and well met,” Inar says. “I am the chief of the Emeru.”

The woman dismounts and takes her staff from the saddle. There’ssomething eerily familiar about her, and when she speaks, his confusionbecomes total.

“Hello, son.”

She looks exactly like he recalls his mother from when he was little.She sounds like it too. Inar can’t believe his eyes. “What strangenessis this.”

The woman smiles slyly. “Don’t you recognize your own mother?”

“But you’re—”

“Young again? I did it, boy. The greatest deed of any seer:I summoned a god.” She nods towards the man — woman? — in thesaddle.

Inar rubs his beard.

“Goodness, you still doubt, my clever boy.” She strides forward, andhe backs away slightly even as she hooks an arm around him, pulling himinto a hug. “I’m very happy to see you again.”

And then Inar hugs his mother, holding her close. Saying goodbyescore days ago was harder than it should have been. And it should havebeen hard to begin with.

The nearly tearful reunion passes, and Inar pulls back, but not witha smile on his face. He looks up at the stranger, who waves back with asmile. They look tired.

He turns. “Zidanta, Mazzatasalla — someone send for Tatkapu andArala. My tent.”

“Hati is dying,” his wife Palanaswe says, coming up to him. “Iexamined him this morning. Arala isn’t coming.”

The white-clad man? Woman? dismounts and comes up to her. “How is hesick?”

“His body is all stiff and he grinds his teeth.”

“High fever?”

She nods.

“Take me to him right away. I can help.”

“Wait—” Inar says, but Hanahana squeezes his shoulder.

“They’re a healer. They can save Hati,” Hanahana says.

Inar looks at Palanaswe. “Well?”

She hesitates. “Fine.”

“Nini!” he calls out.

Hati’s cousin comes running.

“Take the god to Hati.”

Nini leads the god away. People start following.

“Everyone!” Inar bellows. “There’s better things to do than gawk! IfI see anyone hanging around Arala’s tent, I will be sorelydisappointed!”

The crowd disperses, leaving the other family heads and his wife.

“Palanaswe, good to see you again,” Hanahana says.

“You wicked old crone,” his wife bites back. “This will bring ustrouble. Why couldn’t you just die?”

“Always the pessimist. I thought you’d be happy your mother inlaw—”

“Enough, you two.”

“So, what do we do now?” Mazzatasalla looks in the direction ofArala’s tent.

“We convene in my tent. Is someone fetching Tatkapu?”

“I’ll see to it,” Zidanta says and heads off in the otherdirection.

Then there’s a scream.

The young woman leads Takall to a mid-sized tent decorated in ochrereds. She leads them inside, and there is an air of death in there.

There’s a brazier in the center of the room, no fuel.

A woman about Takall’s age sits by one of the beds, where a man laysnude. She’s sponging water from a bowl, trying to get him to drink.

She looks up. “Nini, who’s this?”

“I—” Nini says. “Hanahana came back—”

“I’m here to help.”

Takall approaches to a respectful distance.

“Who are you, that you can?”

She’s curt.

“My name is Takall. I’m a… god. Of medicine. And other things. Thisis Hati?”

“I’m Arala. He’s my husband.”

“He cut himself?”

She nods. “In the hand, with his knife. It was deep, but I rinsed itwith boiled water and boiled down cattle urine.”

There’s bandages on his hand. “Do you boil the bandages too?”

She nods.

Takall makes note of the surprisingly effective wound care.Concentrated urine is not ideal as an antiseptic, but better thannothing. “What was he doing before he cut himself?”

“Cleaning hooves.”

“That’ll do it. May I examine him?”

Arala moves over.

He’s feverish, to be sure. A hand on his forehead confirms. Highfever, but not dangerous. Barely conscious, jaw muscles tense.Unwrapping the bandage on his hand reveals an angry red inflamedwound.

“The wise woman says he’ll die.”

“She’s likely right,” Takall says. “But I can cure him. With my helpyour husband will live.”

“Please,” she says quietly.

“This may look scary, but I promise you, no harm will come to him.Please stand back.”

Arala comes running and Inar rushes past her, Zidanta on his heels.He bursts into the tent, ax in hand.

There, on the bed, is Hati, and by his side sits the god, holdingHati’s hand up.

Around them, filling half the tent is a collection of objects thatInar can’t understand. Moving things. Spinning things. Glowing things.Limbs. Eyes. See-through jars. Something of it, a long tongue, isreaching down to Hati’s hand, and sticking something sharp into thewound. Something else is stabbing him in the neck.

The god rises to their feet. “Please, this looks frighteningbut—”

Inar is already striding forward, and raises his ax to cut down thisdemon.

The demon moves.

A strong hand grasps his wrist, and another the ax handle, wrestingit from his grip and throwing it aside.

Zidanta comes to his aid and swings at the demon, but they dodgenimbly, grabbing hold of Zidanta’s ax as well, and disarming him,too.

“Please! I want no violence.”

“Inar!”

He jumps, at the sound of his mother’s stern voice.

“Have you gone mad?”

Palanaswe comes in after her, and beholds the horrific scene. “Bothof you, out!”

Hanahana calls Arala back into the tent.

Long moments pass.

“What was that?” Zidanta asks.

Inar can only shake his head.

Eventually, his wife emerges, two axes in hand. She hands themback.

“So?”

“Takall is a medic far beyond me. The strange things they bring forthis what makes medicines, and even new flesh to fill grave wounds. Theysay Hati is sick because of a disease that comes from the dirt, whichgot into his wound from his knife.”

“There was something going into his neck, stabbing him.”

She nods. “It’s quite harmless, just a small puncture, like askink-bite, but instead of venom, it puts the medicine into hisblood.”

“How is Hati?” Zidanta asks, holstering his ax.

“His fever is coming down. His body is relaxing again. Takall says hewill make a full recovery within two or three days.”

They sit around the brazier. Hanahana and her god sits nearest thedoor, as is proper of guests.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” the god says. “I amTakall. Hanahana summoned me two days ago. Thank you for yourhospitality.”

“I am Inar, chief of the Emeru, son of Hanahana.” He bows his head,and to his surprise, Takall mirrors.

“This here is Zidanta, son of Zidanni.”

Zidanta bows his head, and gets a bow in return.

“This is Mazzatasalla, daughter of Malawashina.”

Mazzatasalla does likewise.

“And this is elder Tatkapu.”

Again, the respectful little nod. Tatkapu finds it amusing, but hidesit; still Inar can tell from the old man he is not treating thissituation with the gravity it demands.

“Hati is the head of his family, he’d be here if he was well.”

“I understand.”

“I want to apologize. It was profoundly foolish of me and Zidanta toassault a god.”

“You meant well. I understand completely and I bear no grudge. Yourcourage is admirable.”

“That’s very good to hear,” Zidanta says, tactless idiot that heis.

Takall looks at him and smiles. “I am very strong. It would be rudeof me to inflict harm when I can avoid it.”

“With respect, the matter at hand: what have you visited our tribefor?” Inar asks.

Takall frowns. “I seek answers. This world is new to me, and I knowlittle of it. Only what I have seen of it so far. I’m traveling to learnmore, my destination is the Red City where I hope to speak to their wisefolk. On the way, to finding my answers, I hope to help as many peopleas I can.”

Inar nods solemnly. “And my mother?”

“I summoned this hapless enby,” she says. “I feel obligated to beTakall’s priestess. We have already said our goodbyes, so I will followTakall on their journey.”

Inar looks at her. “Forgive my directness, mother, are you looking tomarry again?

“I ought to whoop you for that, son.”

Takall meanwhile looks flustered. “What?”

“Takall, it is with respect that I say this, but my mother has been alecherous woman since my father died. She has been most fond of lookingat younger men.”

Takall looks at Hanahana, who only glares at him.

“Has she now?” Takall looks back to Inar. “I will be sure to be on myguard around her, then. Pray tell, I saw you have tools of iron but noironworks. With whom do you trade?”

“The caravans from the Red City. We trade them cattle for what wemight need. Tools, for instance.”

“Aha. Might we stay a day or two before we leave?”

“We have no spare tents, but I’m sure we can lodge you withsomeone.”

Takall pats their satchel bag. “I have one of my own.”

“Great Takall,” Tatkapu says. “Forgive an old man for worrying, butyou look unwell.”

Takall looks at him and smiles. “I’m just tired.”

Hanahana looks on as Takall sets up the lodge poles like they weretaught from childhood, and drapes a canvas of thick grey fabric — ratherthan skins — over them. Inside they lay down a floor of wood boards overthe grass, finishing with the strange burners, and the beds they slepton under the open sky yestereve.

Well, Hanahana slept. Takall did not. And now evening is fallingagain.

Everything comes out of the satchel bag in almost comical fashion,and the children are captivated by it.

Inside, Takall has taken out a lidded basket, and the cooking pan.Flatbread and meats.

“Go find us some varied foods, if you can.”

“Are you angry with me?” Hanahana asks.

They look up. “No.You said ‘dull men are boring,’ I took that tomean you chose me for personal reasons. You were dying, and not sureyou’d succeed.”

“But you don’t feel the same towards me.”

“I’m… not looking for romance at the moment. I confess I am out of myelement in this new world. There are too many things to learn, too manythings to do for me to relax enough to consider such recreation asromance. I am also homesick, I suppose. I had kids. Friends — not many —and a lover or two. I miss them.”

“For what it’s worth I know what it is like to lose a child.”

They watch the metal pan heat up, and lay strips of meat down tosizzle. “Seeing you reunited with your family is…” They shake theirhead.

“I can imagine, yes.”

They rub their eyes without closing them. Blinking as if to clearaway a disturbance. There’s pronounced dark circles around their eyes,visible on the light skin.

“You haven’t slept in two nights.”

“I can’t bear to close my eyes. When I do I see… the same things Ibring forth. My machine.”

She takes a seat to Takall’s left. “It is scary to behold, sure, butI’ve grown accustomed to it. A bit, at least.”

“Palanaswe didn’t seem bothered.”

“She’s not right in the head, that woman. Listen— I know it’s crass,but lovemaking aids in sleeping. We would both get something—”

“No.Go fetch some food.”

Hanahana gets up and heads out to borrow tubers, nuts, and driedfruits.

They eat in silence, and Hanahana has the distinct impression thatshe has genuinely offended.

Darkness falls. Takall sits cross-legged staring into the fire,silent.

“You should at least lie down.”

“There’s work to do.”

“You won’t get any work done if you work yourself to death. Get somerest. Please.”

Come morning, Takall’s bed is undisturbed.

Getting dressed and heading out, Hanahana finds them with the goats.They’re feeding the beasts something strange.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Takall looks in her direction. “We’re treating the goats. They haveworms.”

There’s baskets of little nuggets. The goats are eager for thetreats. The four goatmasters, young and strong men, are feeding the ramsand does two treats, and the kids a single each.

“What are these?”

“Medicine wrapped in a sweet paste to make it palatable to theanimals.”

“Did you rest at all?”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep?”

“No.”

Hanahana whacks them over the head with a flat hand.

“Please don’t hit me. I know I’m supposed to rest, I know it’s badfor me, I just can’t.”

There’s no retaliation, barely even a flinch.

But again there is that distinct notion she has offended.“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t. It is not okay that I hit you like a petulant child —you’re a god. I forget myself.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive. You care about me, I appreciateit.”

She looks on for a while, as the goats are spoiled with treats, thengoes to find breakfast.

Inar comes out to find Takall there, with several baskets.

When Tatkapu pointed it out yesterday, Inar realized what was so offabout the god’s appearance and now they look even worse.

“What’s this?”

Takall gestures for him to look.

Inar does. He opens one to see perhaps a score of metal things.Hatchet heads. Another basket has full-size timber axe heads. Adzes,knife blades, arrow heads, whetstones, files, fishing hooks, needles,nails.

Ten score heads of cattle’s worth of tools.

“This is…” Inar says. “I’ve hardly the words.”

“You will have more use of this than coin. So I at least guess.”

“Why, we cannot possibly accept this. It is far too great agift.”

Takall looks at him.

“I don’t think you understand.”

This isn’t the answer Inar expected. He expected insistence, and thegood-natured back-and-forth of gift giving. “What?”

“This is a fortune to you. For me it is as small a gesture as sayingkind words instead of rude ones. I can give you this, it costs menothing, therefore I do so. Whatever you say, I am not leaving withthese baskets.”

Hanahana comes over to them, walking unaided by her staff.

“You!” she says to Takall. She hands them a bowl. “Eat.”

This seems to distract Takall, who takes out a pair of sticks andstarts eating with them in a peculiar manner. They look to Inar. “Isyour wife around?”

His mother answers for him. “Palanaswe is meditating. You’re going toeat, and sit down and wait for her.”

She leads the god away, and he looks after them. Whatever he expectedmeeting a god would be like, this is not that.

Chapter 4: If You Meet God on the Road

Chapter Text

She returns from her morning meditation, to the bustle of the camp.The grey tent is an eyesore among the brown ones.

“Palanaswe!”

She winces, as that harpy Hanahana comes jogging to her.

“What, mother-in-law?”

“Takall has something they wish to give you.”

“And what are you, running errands?”

“They made me promise to get this to you before finally agreeing togo to sleep.”

Palanaswe blinks. Hanahana looks genuinely worried. “What’s theirproblem?”

She shakes her head in response.

“Where is the gift?”

Hanahana heads inside, and Palanaswe follows.

The gift, as it turns out, is basket after basket, impossibly drawnfrom the satchel at Hanahana’s hip.

Bandages of fine silk, spools of thread for sewing wounds, jars ofointments, jars of good soap, jars of medicine.

“Takall gave out tools earlier. You can go to Mazzatasalla and secureyourself a nice set of shears, a new knife, a set of needles.”

“Oh.”

“The ointment is for cleaning wounds. It is better than boiled downpiss, use sparingly, prefer to use the soap. They commend our practiceof boiling tools, bandages, and threads.”

“Good to hear that god of yours agree with common sense.”

“Look… I’m sorry. I know apologies can’t make up for all the enmitybetween us, but I’m going away now. I’d like to part on better terms,just a bit.”

“I seem to recall you spent about a decade of my life disparaging myabilities as a seer for falling short of your own.”

“Yes, I did. And I do also realize that my expectations of you werebeyond unreasonable. You’re a better medic that I ever was.”

It is strangely affirming to hear that. Palanaswe just nods, hopingfor further contrition from her mother-in-law.

Hanahana sits down. “Let me walk you through the medicines…”

Lace-induced sleep was the answer, rather than a co*cktail of knockoutdrugs. It is easy to forget to solve problems the smart way on threedays of no sleep.

There’s been no nightmares full of dark satanic mills, or if therewas, they didn’t wake, and don’t recall.

Pondering how long they’ve slept for, gets an answer from the lacetoo: it is before sunrise. Half a day and almost all the night.

Over to the other side, Hanahana is lying, fast asleep.

The lace really helped with her neurological problems, and through itthey were able to construct an accurate image of how she once looked. Abit of cosmetic surgery took her body dysmorphia away entirely.

“So what about you?” Takall mutters to themself.

This cannot go on, Hanahana was right.

There is uncertainty, there is grief, there is past traumas, all ofwhich they haven’t been processing for years on end. All of which needsprocessing, before recovery and growth can truly occur. Using this…divine power for altruism is some kind of penance for the sin of havingbeen born.

If only everyone else is better off, then that is reason enough toexist despite the pain.

Getting out of bed on silent steps, they exit into the cool pre-dawnair, and walk into the open steppe under the starlight of two galaxiesrapidly fading from view in the oncoming daylight.

Hanahana wakes up at dawn, as she is wont to.

Takall is not there, in the other bed. She gets up, throwing on herdress, and is set to go look for the fool of a god and convince them toeat breakfast.

She gets out of the tent onto the dew-wet grass, and looks about campto see a few other early risers going about the day’s duties or justeating outside.

Taking a path around and through camp, she regrets not wearing hersandals. Her feet are soft like a babe’s.

No sign of Takall.

One of the black goats is missing.

She returns to the tent to sit down on a stool outside it, and think.It doesn’t take her long before she remembers the gift she carries inher head. The neural lace.

Poking it, it springs to life like an eager-to-please bound spirit,availing her of the abilities she wields through it.

[Takall?]

[Oh. Hello Hanahana.]

She breathes a sigh of relief.

[You must have thought I had slipped away in the night. Iapologize.]

[Where are you?]

[Out. I needed space. I’ll be back quite soon.]

Thus relieved, she heads inside to cook breakfast.

Takall arrives by the time the meat has gone cold, and the flatbreadsoggy.

They look more different still. Taller than any person Hanahana hasever met, and with an imposing mannerism to their movements.

Gone is the white clothes of silk, replaced by a one-piece garment,covering chest and legs, formfitting, and grey like metal. Their armsand feet are bare, and their scalp is still shaven. Belts and straps ofleather are slung across their chest, and on both hips, and from thosehang many pouches and pockets.

Larger than life.

Hanahana notices that she’s staring. But she doesn’t stop.

Takall just smiles and takes a seat. Still dumbfounded, and trying tomake sense of what she just witnessed, Hanahana serves Takall food.

“So. What’s with the whole…” Hanahana gestures.

“I slept well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You were right.”

“Of course. About what?”

“I can’t keep working like this. I forgot who and what I was, focusedon justifying my own happiness by helping others.”

Hanahana nods. “We all deserve to be happy.”

“No.We need to be happy. Like we need to eat and drink andsleep. Without happiness, we falter and waste away.”

“Well said.”

Takall takes a deep breath, and their smile falls away. “I’m going togo. Today. There’s not a whole lot I can do for you Emeru, not withoutstaying a lot longer. And I really can’t. I need those answers.”

“I understand.”

“I still have your brazier, and this tent can be yours, as areplacement for the one I destroyed.”

“What?”

“This is your people. Your family. You should stay with them.”

Hanahana looks away. That stings. “If that is your command.”

“Hm? What do you mean ‘my command,’ is it not what you want?”

She looks up. “I would really rather come with you.”

“Really?”

“I summoned you into this world. I feel responsible for you. And Ialready said my goodbyes to my people — I thought we discussedthis.”

“We did, I must have just…”

Hanahana smiles. “Truth be told I was like an old hound. Lashing out.Biting without reason. I was miserable, and I took it out on friends andfamily. Before I became like that, I wasn’t exactly pleasantcompany.”

“So you’re saying everyone here hates you? I’m pretty sure that isdemonstrably untrue.”

“They don’t hate me. I’m just not anybody’s favourite.”

Takall gets up, flatbread-wrapped meat in hand. They pick up theearthenware cup of water, and downs it in one draught. “Let’s pack upand be on our way, then.”

“I was really hoping we could hold a feast in your honor,” Inar says.“I thought by two days you meant you’d be off on the morn after, not themorn thereof.

The whole tribe, more or less, have come together to see themoff.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Takall replies. They look atlot better, having allegedly had a good night’s sleep. They have alsogrown quite a bit in height, which is probably normal for gods. “I’mvery grateful for the hospitality of the Emeru tribe.”

“We’re the ones who should thank you for your generous gifts.”

Takall regards him. “There is one way you might be able to dosomething for me in return.”

Part of him wants to expect the worst, that this is the horrificprice for all the good fortune that fell into his people’s lap.

They reach into a pocket and draw out a blue orb. Inar approaches toreceive it. It is as large as two clenched fists, smooth and round. Abig blue stone.

“Keep this safe for me.”

“What is it?”

“Me. Should destruction befall me, I shall return to life from thisartifact. Conversely, should calamity befall your tribe, from thisartifact, I shall awaken to aid you.”

“I shall see to it that we erect a shrine for this magnificent gift,”Inar says.

“Fare thee well, Inar, people of the Emeru. With luck, my travelswill lead me back to you one day. I shall look forward to it.”

The two goats ride off into the late morning, with a powerfultrot.

“Look,” Palanaswe says by his side, pointing to the blue stone.“There’s a pattern like a brain inside it.”

It’s a risk. The patrols rove out further each year. There’s more andmore of their ilk hanging from the gallows at the crossroads.

Closer to the coast means better hauls, but more chance of gettingcaught. Straying further inland is safer, but it might mean starving.And starving robbers tend to turn on their leader.

Marok knows that well. He’s the biggest and strongest of the lot, andprobably also the cleverest, but there’s one of him, and eleven of them.Even Glasha might turn on him, she’s only with him because of the money,really.

That’s what he passes the time thinking about, lying in wait with achunk of grassy dirt tied to his hat.

Kerzrada spotted a pair of goat riders wearing fancy clothes. Hegrips his spear. This is the part he hates the most, lying in wait.

Someone sneezes.

His tongue finds a bit of food in between his left canines, and hescrapes it out with a claw.

Down the road, the hoof falls come into earshot. From where he liesin wait, he spots the two black beasts, and the red clothes of the frontone.

Nobody gets impatient, thankfully.

They come within the ambush zone and Marok whistles.

As one, all of them rise out of the tall grasses on either side ofthe road, spears in hand.

It’s two humans. Marok isn’t so sure on human genders, but they bothseem like womenfolk.

The front one is wearing a big red hat and a red coat. The saddles oftheir goats look new and ornate, and they have big heavy saddlebags. Theback rider is tall and strong, and carries a lot of small bags, soprobably a servant, meaning the hat woman is rich enough to affordthat.

“What can we help you gentlefolk with,” she says.

Plainswalker tongue. Marok knows that, but doesn’t speak it so well.“We want your money, not your life. Give us what you have, and some foodand water if you can spare. And one of your goats.”

The two riders look at one another.

“How about we’ll give you what you need?” the hat woman asks. “Trustme, you have chosen poorly in who to accost on the road, but I don’twant this to escalate to violence.”

A few of the other guys, those who can follow the conversation,laugh, and the rest of his merry band of idiots follow suit.

“You’re funny,” Marok says. “For that I’ll let you live.”

“Do you like being footpads? Is this the life you desire? Fighting,taking things by force, running from the law? If you could haveanything is this what you would choose?”

“You’re not going to talk your way out of this.”

“We’d like to hire you. To escort us to the Red City, or if you arewanted men, just as far as you can go without getting caught.”

This gets a laugh out of Marok.

“I’m prepared to pay you handsomely. We have good food and drink toshare, silver to pay you. If any of you are sick or otherwise sufferailments, my servant is a skilled medic and we have medicines. We haveweapons and tools, clothes…”

Marok’s smile falls away. “We’ll take all of it, then. Atspearpoint.”

“Fine. Pay the man.”

The servant reaches into a pocket, and draws out an oblong of yellowmetal.

Gold?

Casually they toss the thing at Marok’s feet and the substantialchunk of metal dents the dirt road.

It’s a half-cubit long, and as wide as his hand. He reaches down topick it up and can barely get a grip on it.

There’s a bustle, and he looks up to see that the servant hasdismounted.

He stands, and readies his spear. This human is taller than him,somehow.

“You are going to let us pass, or we will pay you more.”

“What?”

The servant pulls another gold bar out, and throws it toGlasha. There definitely isn’t room for it in the pocket it camefrom.

“Tell me,” the hat woman says. “Where are you going to spend thatgold? Do you think walking into town with your own body weight in goldis going to do you any favors? You seem like a clever man.”

Another gold bar comes out.

Thunk. It lands in the dirt.

“Gold is a curse. You cannot eat it. Having too much of it will getyou killed. And yet everybody covets it.”

“There’s something strange going on here,” Marok says out loud to theothers.

“So what, they’re talking fancy. They’ve got gold! I say we killthem!” Kalan says.

“No.”

“What the f*ck, Marok?” Glasha says.

“These two are magic folk. Or something. There’s something off—”

Kalan the spectacular idiot, takes a step towards the hat woman. Hergoat turns to look directly at him and snorts a gout of flame from itsnostrils. He recoils as if the flame had touched him.

“I don’t understand what you said to your men, but you are wise,sir,” the woman says. “I’m a travelling… mage. I promise you this: Idon’t want this to escalate to violence. And I really could use twelvemen with spears to ward off any other gangs of footpads.”

Marok looks at her.

“Or if you let us pass, we’ll leave you with a small pouch of silver,each, and you can forget you ever ran into us.”

Takall looks over at Hanahana, playing the part of the richeccentric. She seems to be enjoying it.

[You did quite well.]

[It was you who told me what to say.]

[The words are only half, the act is the other half. And theimprovised bits were better than what I gave you.]

The little gang of footpads is standing some distance away. Theirleader is talking to the others in hushed tones. There’s some back andforth with two of the other members.

[He’s clever, that man.]

Hanahana nods. She needs to learn to not gesture while speakingthrough her lace.

[So, he’s an orman, right?]

[Yes. I forget you’ve never seen one.]

Indeed Takall hasn’t.

There’s different species, because of course there is. At least itisn’t elves and orcs.

Four of the twelve are dinosaur-like in appearance. Long dextroustails for balance to compensate for stooping posture and digitigradefeet. Their shoulders and heads are feathered in browns and oranges,accentuating skin tones in dark grey over light brown. By the looks ofit, better climbers than endurance runners.

Saurmans.

Ormans seem to be larger than humans on average, and havebristle-like hair. The leader of the band has a meaty upper lip andcheeks, the other one doesn’t and is of slighter build — a form ofsexual dimorphism? — and a short, heavy tail, standing onSemi-plantigrade feet.

The remaining six are humans, two men and four women. Mostlylate-teens to early-twenties, tanned like Hanahana except one who isnearly black-skinned. The concept of human racial features seems to haveno hold here: the Emeru have kinky hair texture and epicanthicfolds.

Their clothes are fabric in various shades of brown, with numerouspatches.

Eventually the discussion ends, and the leader approaches oncemore.

“Lady Sorceresses,” she says. “I am Marok. I am sorry for trying torob you. We’re just trying to make ends meet the only way we know how.I’ve talked with my men, and we can’t accept the offer of being yourmercenaries. We’ll take the gift of silver, if that’s on offerstill.”

“It is,” Hanahana says. “Though it won’t be in coins you’ve seenbefore, I think.”

Takall reaches into a pouch, and from within its spatially distortedconfines, the machine hands off a heavy fabric pouch full of smallerpouches of official-looking silver coins.

Marok catches it with ease, despite the weight.

“Give the man a keg of wine and some bread too.”

Those come out of the larger space within the saddle bag. It’s a bitof a puzzle getting the machinery to fit into the confines of the —well, there’s no mincing words, they’re bags of holding. A keg of falsewood, full of sweetened diluted alcohol, and a wrapped stack ofyam-flour flatbread.

“Thank you, thank you, this is most generous.”

He waves over two of his guys to accept the keg and the bread.

The group of footpads leave into the tall grass, probably to returnto their camp away from the road, leaving behind the thirteenth of theirnumber.

Hanahana and Takall both become aware of the person, standing in themiddle of the road, before them.

They clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Very nice. Very interesting.”

Two things happen very fast. First, Takall’s lace-augmented brainrealizes that something is terribly wrong. Second, their handplunges into the utility bag across their chest and a hefty handgunlands in their palm, which is drawn and pointed at the interloper.

It’s a man. Human. Long blond curls, handsome face crowned by ramhorns, tanned skin full of white tattoos; his trousers are red, and hisfeet are hoves.

“Oh, there’s no need for violence and threats, Tackle.”

[What is he saying?]

Takall realizes he’s speaking English. They set their laceto translate for Hanahana. His accent is peculiar.

“Who are you?”

“Nathaniel Powell. I’m a god.”

“Of what?”

“We aren’t god of anything, boy. As for what I do…I change things.”

Takall retracts the pistol to high ready. “You’re the trickster.”

He takes a bow. “The very same: actor, gentleman. And youare a spanner in the works. An upset to the balance. And for that, youhave my interest.”

Takall holsters the gun. Bullets probably don’t bite this one anyway.Then, in a mad gambit, they decide to step forth, and offer ahandshake.

Nathaniel giggles, and they shake. “Aren’t you interesting?”

“It’s good to meet someone from Earth, I suppose. You are from Earth,right?”

“Ah, I see. You’re fishing. I’ve been on this world for three or fourlifetimes. I don’t miss Earth anymore.”

Takall nods. “Where are you from? Your accent— I can’t place it.”

“Why, The Queen’s Own England.”

Two and two come together, and Takall is starting to think the answermight be four. “Which Queen?”

This gets a laugh out of Nathaniel. “Victoria. The second. Why everdo you ask.”

“So you’re born sometime in the early-to-mid nineteenth century.”

Nathaniel’s smile falls. “I’m— why yes, but—”

“I was born in nineteen ninety-nine. I grew up in the new millennium.Queen Victoria took the throne two hundred years ago, for me. If youwalk us for a while, I can tell you what I recall from history, and whatbecame of the world. Also I like the homage to A Midsummer Night’sDream.” They gesture.

A smile spreads on his face once more. “No, alas I must decline.Thank you for the invitation, but I must be off. It was quite arevelation that you come from a different time entirely. I look forwardto hearing of your exploits.”

He holds out his hand, and Takall goes to shake it, but instead hepulls away, putting his thumb to his nose while wiggling his fingers andsticking out his tongue.

Then he becomes a beam of light, and vanishes out to the horizon.

Takall looks after him, left hanging.

“Let’s hope we don’t run into anyone less pleasant,” Hanahananotes.

Chapter 5: Peculiar Travel Suggestions Should be Taken as Dancing Lessons

Chapter Text

The journey out to the coast is less eventful than the run-in withfootpads and a trickster god would make it seem. There is a lot of timespent looking at goat horns.

A lot of time for Hanahana to tell the stories of her people. Of thecreation of the world, of how her people lived before the Empire came tothe steppes, of the spirits and the dream realms.

They ride on the dirt trails the cattle and trade caravans use.

Through Grasslands with the occasional patch of forest, whereHanahana’s forebearers cut the trees back, to make space for grazingbeasts to roam. Past mesas and through dried-out river beds.

The cattle is some kind of dinosaur as tall as a human over theshoulders, with piebald coloration, though according to Hanahana’s oralhistory, the wild ones were black, and the Empire brought ranching tothe Emeru and their sister tribes, and seemingly not all thatvoluntarily.

Out to the far west, there’s still tribes that only hunt, andsometimes skirmish with the ranchers.

The rainy season begins.

Their goats tirelessly carry them through the downpour as the roadsmuddy. Takall notes the poor drainage on the trail: though the empiredoubtlessly has good roads, they do not reach out here.

A vast planet like this has correspondingly vast weather systems, butTakall would need to launch a swarm of satellites to get the fullpicture.

They camp under tarps extended on poles driven into the earth,sleeping in hammocks, and sitting on boards tied to the poles asfloor.

The runoff begins filling the dried out streams.

For the most part they avoid small settlements, but after six days inthe saddle, they reach a bigger town, and Takall understands why all thetownships are built on hills in this land. The Emeru seek out the highersteppe to the north in the wet season.

This close to the Red City, however close that may be — perhaps stillvery far, the steppelands are farmed, with fields of grains. Grains thatno doubt serve to leverage taxes on the farmers through all thecentralized processing needed to turn grains into food. No maize ortubers in sight.

Outside town, in the dimness of day, a circle of standing stones isvisible, which is absurd since the nearest quarry is likely miles andmiles away.

“I know what those are,” Hanahana says.

“Hm?”

“My husband was coastal folk. He came with the caravans, and fell inlove with me.”

“How romantic.”

“That stone circle is a path to the Red City. The Empress’s servantstransport caravans back through magic, so they only need to travelout.”

Takall spurs their goat, and they take off towards the city.

Elzok vaz Harek looks out at the daytime rain. He’s been stuck herefor three days, with nothing to really do. Ninthfort is supposedly anice mid-sized town, where a man like him could find someentertainment.

But the rain runs through the reinforced gutters in small rivers.Going anywhere, even to a different tavern than the on attached to theinn he’s staying at, would entail getting wet to the hem of hisbreeches.

And getting dry again is a whole different story. His plumage hatesthe humidity too: his feathers are warping, no matter how much he preensand combs. At least he knows the books are dry, what with all the ricethey’re packed with.

So he sits there on the verandah, looking into the rain, drinking thesour ale they serve, waiting for the late afternoon when he can get tothe Red City. His patience has run out after two days of water.

He sees the two figures before he hears them. Riding goats, as mostpeople do in these parts. Terrible creatures that like to headbuttpeople on their rears, and kick if you walk too close behind them.Dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle.

The riders are interesting. A tall one and a short one with a bighat. Humans.

They ride past, down the street to the money changer. Then a littlelater they come back, and lead their animals over to the posts on theother side of the handrails.

They talk among themselves. Plainswalker tongue? They don’t look likeplainswalkers.

“Hail and well met!” he tries. His plainswalker tongue is a littlerusty.

“Hail and well met,” the hatted one replies.

They step onto the porch. Unlike many other of his race, he knowswell to judge humans, and even tell them apart by their faces alone.Both of them are women, and not related.

“Am I correct this is a lodging for travelers?” The water runs inrivulets off her hat and coat, not soaking into the fabrics in a verypeculiar manner.

“They serve hot meals too. And ale that tastes bad.” He raises hiscup.

The tall one takes out a towel to get the worst off her arms and baldhead. “When is the departure for the Red City?”

“Later this afternoon. If that is your destination, there is no needfor a room. Let’s hope the rain ceases.”

The tall one disappears inside, the hat woman sits down besidehim.

“You look like a traveler.”

“I am.”

“What do you travel to the Red City for?”

“Delivering some books. You?”

“Going to see some scholars.”

Elzok nods. “Very good. Perhaps we will meet again, then. I work withscholars. My name is Elzok.”

“Hanahana.”

The big one appears again, offering Hanahana a bowl of stew.

“Your servant is quite tall for a human.”

“I was fed well as a child.”

“Takall, this is Elzok.”

“Charmed. I am not her servant. We are travel companions.”

“What do you travel for, then, Takall?”

“Truth.”

An odd answer. “So, scholars, same as Madam Hanahana?”

“Essentially.”

Though Takall is unfamiliar with Saurman haptic communication, it iseasy to Elzok is pleased to have some interesting conversation partners,and is amazed that neither of them are literate. He is a proper scholar,so they can tell from his manner of speech, and his earnestcuriosity.

He is also fond of their ‘wine’ which is literally just sugar, water,and alcohol. But then the ale is undrinkably sour.

The town bell rings.

“Ah, that’s us. Time for us to head to the stone circle. Let me getmy things.” He gets up and heads into the inn.

Takall unties the goats in the meantime.

A short while later he returns with a heavy pack wrapped in waxclothtarp to ward against the rain. He puts it on his back and throws hisheavy cloak over it.

“Follow me if you please.”

He heads into the rain, barefoot. Takall leads both the goats alongand it isn’t a long walk on the slick cobbles. A substantial number ofestablishments along the way are probably either inns, taverns or both,judging from the iconographic signs.

The literacy rate is probably much less than half; probably due tothe logographic script.

At the stone circle, great big standing stones delimit a space fitfor hundreds — great scores — of travelers, to match the amount ofhospitality establishments down the town streets.

It is by no means crowded. Apart from the three of them, there isonly a caravan of several wagons drawn by beasts of burden which looklike they belong to some clade of common ancestors to dinosaurs andmammals both.

The spoked wooden wheels are extra wide, perhaps to deal with themud?

“Now, the priestesses will come about and ask for donations to thelocal temple. It is considered poor form not to donate. Some say it’sbad luck.”

A procession of white-cloaked saurman women come through the rain,one of them banging on a little gong. They chant a verse, and then oneof them goes around to the caravan, holding a cauldron.

There’s a few audible ‘clinks’ of coins hitting metal.

Takall reaches into a pouch and a handful of silver coins are laid intheir hand. The neat thing about commodity money is that debasem*nt is afar worse crime than counterfeiting. The mint in their pocket producesbetter coin than what the money changer used to fleece them out of a fewounces of silver.

They pass Hanahana a handful of coins.

The saurman priestess comes over to the three of them, and Elzokthrows in a few coins, and says a few kind-sounding words. The priestessanswers with a bow.

Hanahana and Takall both dump in a substantial amount of coin, to hersurprise. She says something that is probably an expression ofgratitude. Her white cloak has red hems.

“How generous.”

“We’re quite wealthy,” Hanahana explains. “What happens now?”

The four priestesses convene at the center of the stone circle, andbegin a chant.

Elzok looks to the sky.

Takall feels an awful presence. It resolves itself into an invisiblepoint on the horizon and they look towards it seeing a dark figureapproach. It carves a void through the falling rain as it crosses thebreadth of the sky in three heartbeats.

It is an effort of will not to run.

A kaleidoscopic fractal which spans twice the diameter of the stonecircle from tip to tip, wings and eyes and eyes on wings and wings oneyes.

Feathers made of cadmium-red, mercury-scarlet, and lithium-crimsonfire. Pupils glowing blue like nuclear reactors and white likelightning.

It touches down on carbon-carbon black legs clawed with polishedsteel.

There is not a doubt in Takall’s mind that this thing, whatever itis, can vaporize everyone present with a single exhalation of itsdestructive breath. The only thing keeping them from cowering is theknowledge that they left an extra life with the Emeru.

[ F E A R — N O T ]

The booming cacophony of several voices is broadcast directly intotheir mind, and their neural lace jumps to life, erecting defensesagainst non-consensual telepathy.

A smile spreads on Takall’s lips. It’s a genuine, eyes-on-wheelswreathed-in-fire abomination straight out of the old testament. They puta hand on Hanahana’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze to calm her down.“It’s an angel.”

“Yes. Magnificent creatures. Harbingers of the will of The Empress,”Elzok says.

Power builds in the air, and the hairs on Takall’s neck stand on end.It builds and builds and builds…

Then the angel does something.

There’s a discontinuity.

The entire vista changes around them in-between eye blinks: the rainysky is replaced by a different, less rainy sky.

Takall and Hanahana both take a look around them. The stone circlesits on a hilltop, surrounded by farmland. In the distance, past smalltownships, another hilltop with a stone circle can be seen.

The land itself slopes, towards the ocean, visible on the horizon,between two great mountains.

A river runs between the two mountains, to the sea, and one theshallow foothill slopes of the lesser of the two peaks, lies a walledcity in several tiers, with the lowest urban sprawl running up bothsides of the river. There’s some defensive fortifications, but notcomprehensive earthworks or a full wall.

At once, the angel leaps into the sky and flies off at hypersonicvelocities without a sonic boom.

“Well, ladies. The city awaits. I prefer to go overland, but theriver passage is quicker. If your goats are not boat shy.”

He begins walking in the light drizzle. On the other side of thecircle, the caravan sets into motion.

The priestesses didn’t come along.

They mount up and ride down the hill to the roads, overtaking Elzokwho waves at them as they pass.

This late in the day, there isn’t a lot of traffic on the roads. Theroads are better, though. Gravel surface, with drainage ditches on bothsides.

“Hold on.”

“Hm?”

Takall drops out of the saddle, and draws a sledgehammer out of apocket too small for the tool. They level on hard strike at the roadsurface, denting it some. The seismic feedback tattles about the roadbed.

“What are you doing.”

“It’s as I thought. There’s cobblestones under this.”

“And why is that significant?”

Takall looks at her. For the days they’ve spent in the saddletogether, her amusem*nt at their outwardly strange behavior has turnedto genuine interest.

“Because it is no cheaper to lay cobbles and cover them with gravel,than to just lay the cobbles. But in truth, the cobbles are superfluous.Loose stones, so long as they vary in size and shape, will packthemselves under a layer of gravel, and support a road just as well asthe cobbles.”

“And it’s less work to just shovel in some loose stones?”

“Exactly. Less work means more road.”

It grows late as they reach the sprawl of the Red City.

Hanahana dreads it a little, because it means this journey is over,and things are about to change. For a travel companion, Takall makes abetter one than most people she has met.

They listen well and with engagement, and shows an earnest interestin the history of her tribe and her land, as she was taught what shehasn’t witnessed herself by her mentor before her.

And when she grows tired of talking, they have interesting things totell as well. About life on the other side of the Everywhen, how therewere people much like the Emeru tribe there, once.

She has found that asking a question, about why some thing or otherin the world is the way it is, often gets her a thoughtful answer, muchdistinct from what she learned as a girl. No gods or spirits causing thethings in nature exists in Takall’s philosophy.

When the wet season began, she asked why it rains.

It is in the sky as it is on the ground, Takall told her.

Rain comes because the sun makes the ocean warm, and the air becomeshumid from the heat. The warm air rises into the sky, like the updraftover a fire.

There it drifts over land and cools. When cool, the air can no longerhold moisture as well, and like one’s warm breath on a cold day, itbecomes fog.

This fog then becomes dew, but since there is no grass, it formsdewdrops around motes of dust instead. And then the drops fall as rain,and the rain gathers into rivers and flows into the ocean once more.

The cycle of water. Clouds are fog banks in the sky, and rain isdewdrops.

She then asked why there was a wet season, and Takall admittedignorance but promised her an answer later.

It is a memory to treasure. Perhaps part of her future doctrine as apriestess. The Empress has her writ, and although Hanahana can’t write,she is a trained wisewoman.

Takall steers them towards a building, with a symbol and a lanternhung above the door. Another inn. She still boggles that some people arefine living in one place all their lives.

There’s an overhang for animals, where they tie the goats.

Inside they come to a table and behind it stands a daiman, short andsand-furred in green and brown. She says something neither of themunderstand. Hanahana recognizes the word ‘buy’ from the trade caravanpidgin.

[That’s a daiman?]

[Yes. A woman, if I know it right.]

Takall puts a stack of silver coins on the counter. They point tothemselves and Hanahana, and mimes resting their head, and then onefinger.

Two people, one night.

She nods, and topples the stack of coins, counting out the priceowed, and handing Takall back the rest — a little less than half.Putting the coins away in her pocket, she grabs an oil lamp, and headsto the steps behind the counter.

The walls are colored in browns and reds, and the door to the room israw wood. Oil lamps hang evenly spaced, but it is still very dark.

Up on the next floor, she shows them a room.

Inside the room is a table with two chairs, a chest in one corner anda lidded chamberpot in the other. Shutters over the window, and thedoors to an alcove in one wall.

On the table is a triple wick oil lamp, which the little furryreceptionist lights with her handheld lamp. There’s a washbasin and abig ceramic pitcher, which she grabs and heads past them, down the hall.She’s only a little over half Takall’s height.

Hanahana looks after her, with curiosity, and shortly after returnswith it full of water. She brushes her hands off in her apron, and looksat the two of them.

Takall takes this opportunity to take a bow, hands together, anexpression of gratitude which she mirrors. Then they take out anothersilver coin and hands to her, as a tip. The woman bows again and headsout.

“Close the door and bar it.”

Hanahana takes a moment to figure out how the barricade works. Thenthey toss her a security wedge. “This goes under it, turn the handleuntil it lifts from the floor.”

“What’s all this for?”

“We don’t want unbidden visitors in the night.”

Hanahana looks at them, puzzlement in her face. “What would happen ifwe did?”

“They might take our stuff, and maybe try to hurt is.”

“People do that?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

“If your kids were starving, would you do violence to a stranger tosecure them a meal?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, which Takall takes as a good sign.Hanahana is a walking reminder that smart and well-read are twodifferent things.

With a wave of their hand, they cast a spell which extinguishes theoil lamp and replaces the flames with hovering motes of light providingtwice the illumination.

Magic is surprisingly simple, and the first major divergencebetween this world and what Takall recalls of Earth. Genuine newphysics, a form of energy governed by its own set of fieldequations.

Every living thing has a parasitic entity attached which siphons offa fraction of a percent of the metabolic energy, in plants it takes afraction of the incoming sunlight, in animals it leeches body heat. Lessthan a percent, total. These entities follow all life’s reproductivegenealogies, like a shadow cast by the tree of life. ‘Souls’ or ‘auras’if one wants to be poetic.

Mastering magic means turning the parasite into a symbiote: insapient beings it shapes itself to the brain, feeding off the entropicprocesses of computation within. By making the one-way flow of energy atwo-way one, the aura can transfer information to the brain, and availits accumulated energy to the mage. For instance to extinguish fire bytransferring away its heat, and to produce light.

Those are the only spells Takall has discovered — or perhaps created— so far. Almost like little computer programs of thought that prompttheir aura to produce light, and either ignite or extinguish fire.

All magic derives from these principles. Hanahana has been giving afew lessons in dreamwalking, which connects one’s aura to the ambientmedium of magic that pervades reality, putting one in contact with allother minds. Carl Jung would be delighted.

The magic braziers the Emeru use for fuel-less fire contain an entitycomposed entirely of aura, which is proto-sentient. A spirit. Itconsumes fuel if offered, without producing flames, only ash, andstoring the energy. It also feeds off ambient magical energy. On commandit releases its energy as fire.

They throw open the shutters for some fresh air, and thepitter-patter sound of rain outside, then the doors to the alcove. Thebedding is straw and there’s some bed-coverings of canvas and a heavywoolen blanket.

“She misunderstood me,” Takall concludes. “This is a couple’ssuite.”

“I promise I won’t let my hands wander in the night.”

They look at her. It’s been a point of contention for Takall for sometime now.

“I’ve been thinking, and I think that I would rather be yourpriestess and friend. I think that’s what you need right now. Not alover.”

Hanahana says nothing for a long beat. “Thank you. Those are somevery kind words. I would be delighted to have you as a friend, andhonored to be your priestess.” She smiles back, warmly.

They look at the lamp. “One thing I wonder, though. Why don’t thesepeople use fire spirits for illumination?”

“Good question, I might try to dream about it tonight, see what I canfind out.”

“In the mean time, I don’t think we should do anything that drawsattention.”

“But you are going to, right? Like you said?”

“Yes. We’re not going to be deceptive about who we are. That’s thefirst step to establishing trust.”

Chapter 6: What an Ugly City Every City Is

Chapter Text

Hanahana sits vigil in their little dream, while Takall sleeps bothin the waking world and here. They tried sleeping unmonitored, anddreamt of the machine.

She saw then, what it truly is like. An infinite grinding andwhirring and pumping and buzzing. Not only horrifying but completelyrestless.

So they dream of dreamless sleep, aided by their neural lace.

The alcove is cozy enough with a soft thick bedroll over the strawand silk sheets. It is not quite long enough for Takall’s full height,but nobody sleeps entirely stretched out anyway.

The two of them have slept in the same tent for many nights, this isjust a little closer. Indeed it would almost feel unsettling to sleepwithout her god close by.

Then there’s a presence in the space with her.

“Impressive. I thought I had hidden myself from all sense.”

She looks to the speaker and the face, though she has only seen itonce, is familiar. A completely black-skinned figure, dressed in fineclothes. “Black Hand.”

“I’ve known the Emeru had good seers, but you’re quite thetalent.”

“Please, I—”

“Wake your god. I wish to speak to them.”

Hanahana obligingly reaches over and shakes Takall. This entity couldkill her with a thought, she knows that in her bones.

Takall stirs, and rises in the dream.

“It’s quite rude to disturb sleeping people,” they say. “Who are youand what do you want?”

“I am Black Hand. A mutual acquaintance of ours let me know where youwere going, and insinuated we might have something to offer oneanother.”

“Nathaniel.”

“Indeed.”

The tension is nearly unbearable, as Hanahana is caught in it.There’s a grinding noise at the edge of perception.

“Offer one another. Something for something. What do you tradein?”

“Chiefly information.”

“Then let me ask two things of you.”

Black Hand gestures with a black hand.

“I would like an up-to-date list of gods active in the region —meaning those I could conceivably run into within a year’s travel or so— a description of who they are as people, their known powers andabilities, and what kind of political power they hold.”

“Ah, a who’s-who.”

“The other thing I want is, I want to know if there’s a system to theabilities of gods, and what exactly happens in the Primordial Tide Poolsof the Soul.”

Black Hand remains silent for a while.

There’s a clicking noise now.

“Very well. I can give you both of those things, and since they areboth things you would likely find out, I cannot in good faith charge youanything exorbitant. You’re just trying to skip ahead.”

“That’s accurate.”

“For the who’s-who, I should like to know who you are as aperson, the extent of your powers and abilities, and since yourpolitical influence is negligible, I shall make the concession that Imyself will not appear in this guide.”

“I agree to those terms.”

“For the second thing, I am afraid I can offer little better thanspeculation, well-reasoned as though it may be. I shall avail you on myresearch notes. In return for that… I should like a cartful of finelycrafted jewelry of noble metals inlaid with fine gems.”

There’s a movement on the edge of Hanahana’s vision that she can’tquite see what is, and which disappears when she looks at it.

“Really? Material wealth?”

“I happen to know you can provide it with ease. I have expensesmeasurable in coin, believe it or not. All I ask for is a bit of…artistic flair.”

“Sure. That’s the easiest thing in the world for me. How do I get itto you?”

“My people will be in touch. You will receive what you are owed upondelivery of the goods. Now —” he gestures and a book of pages bound withstring appears in his hand “— what is your true power?”

The grinding and clicking rises to a crescendo. The dream spacebegins fraying at the seams.

“I am the only thing standing between the world and an infinitemachine that can consume it.”

The dream falls away and there is only dark satanic mills.

Takall wakes with a shout, and Hanahana is on them in a moment.

“Hey-hey-hey! It’s okay! It’s okay!”

Hanahana holds on to her god; they heave ragged breaths, slick withcold sweat.

“I hate it.”

“I know.”

They stay like that for a while, in the dark. She caresses Takall’sbald head, much like she once soothed her own children.

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.”

Takall conjures a mote of light, and reaches to the foot-end of thebed, where a small pocket lies.

From it, they retrieve the string-bound papers.

It is written in German. On the front is penned in neat Gothichand:

Als Dankeschön für deinen kleinen Trick habe ich dieses Buch fürdich übersetzt

“Is something wrong?”

“No.Just— of the three languages I can read, he chose to provide itin the one I am least proficient. Out of spite.”

“How do you even know he’s trustworthy?”

“Because his being an information broker is based on his reputationas a reliable source of information. If word gets out he cheatedsomeone, or, say, deliberately provided written information in alanguage the buyer couldn’t read, then nobody would want to deal withhim. In the long run only honesty pays off.”

Her lace informs her it is still the middle of the night. “You shouldput that aside and get some more sleep.”

“I’m thinking we should do away with the goats.”

“Do away? Kill them?”

Takall stares at her.

“I built them. I am going to reverse the process. If I triedto kill them, there’s an even chance they would catchfire and possibly explode.”

“Oh. Well, I’m fine going on foot.”

Getting used to hard leather footwear took a few days, and somesurgical help. Walking on cobbles once was enough to convinceher why city folk don’t go barefoot.

Hanahana looks up and down the street. There’s some light mooningtraffic.

Takall leads the goats along towards the city, and they happen upon anarrow alley.

Down it, far enough that a passersby would have to lookdirectly down the alley to see them, Takall takes off theirbackpack and opens it sideways somehow.

The opening is big enough for the first goat to step intothe bag, ducking its head and eventually disappearing wholesale inside.Then the second one go the same way.

It looks unnerving enough when Takall pulls full sized lodgepoles outof what amounts to a mid-sized saddle bag, but this is just obscene.

They continue on foot.

Before long, they reach the fortifications, where a set of bafflewalls allow passage into the deeper city. A checkpoint is set up, withuniformed officers collecting payments. Tariffs, perhaps.

One of them approach Takall and Hanahana, holding ledger book.

Slick grey skin, a broad face and wide-set eyes with prominent secondeyelids, slit nostrils and a broad mouth with fleshy lips and littlevestigial growths along the jaw and brow ridge. Completely hairless,cubby fingertips with no nails and wide shoes, and a slight hunch totheir posture.

[Salaman, man. You can tell by the frills.]

“Good morning to you two,” he says.

He is not speaking the wester plains tongue. Takall’s neural lacequarantines the telepathic contact surface with suitable prejudice.

On the edge of his ledger book sits something that superficiallyresembles a small red bird, but upon closer inspection has only one blueeye. A miniature angel.

Zazzuwa spots the odd pair by the checkpoint. Neither of them knowsto bribe the tariff officers, and they get held up and harassed for afew minutes until it clicks. Most newcomers are like that.

They pass through the gates, and Zazzuwa overhears theirconversation. Then he realizes why the short woman looks familiar. Hetakes off his hat as he approaches.

“Pardon, pardon, hail and well met, I couldn’t help but overhear youhonored ladies converse in the tongue of the western plains.”

The shorter one in the big hat is definitely a plainswalker.

“Hail and well met,” the tall one says. “What can we do for you?”

“Ah, I was just delighted to hear my mother tongue. It is not often Iget to speak it. You seem to me to be newcomers, am I correct?”

“You are.”

“Might I offer my services as a guide? I know the city well.”

The man before them is unkempt, to say the least. His kinky hair andbeard are cropped somewhat unevenly, and his jacket is scuffed andstained. One of his hands is missing, and in its place he carries ahook. There’s a sheath and hilt visible on his stomach, a knife tuckedunder his waistband.

[I think he’s trustworthy.]

Takall glances at Hanahana.

[Why?]

[I’m an excellent judge of character.]

“We could use a guide. I am Takall, this is Hanahana, daughter ofAnnanna, of the Emeru tribe.”

“I am Zazzuwa, son of Sehuzzi, of the Ura tribe.”

“First order of business, I need to obtain one of those small angelsthat translate. What is your advance fee?”

Zazzuwa pauses. “Why, I don’t have one—”

Takall throws him a silver piece. He catches it awkwardly. Alefty?

“Allow me to lead you to a temple.”

Zazzuwa sets off, and they fall in step behind him. He puts his hatback on as the intermittent drips become light rain.

[f*ck.]

[What?]

[Back a lifetime ago, the Ura and Emeru met up for a while. Theirwisewoman took ill, and I had to take over as midwife when a woman gavebirth.]

[What, you think Zazzuwa is that kid you helpeddeliver?]

[His age is right, and I vaguely recall his name and fathername.I don’t know if he was ever told of me, though. It was a very easybirth.]

[We’re not here to hide. If he asks, we’ll tell him thetruth.]

They walk along the streets, and the bustle of traffic picks up asthey go. Hanahana is only slightly less astonished as she imaginesTakall might be, given that she has foreseen many of these things in thedistant dreams given off by the sheer concentration of people out hereby the coast.

The stench is a bit much. She never imagined a city would smell somuch like sh*t — the streets have gutters down the center where poop andrainwater flow together to the sea.

There is the foot traffic, in which every race of man is represented.Orman, daiman, salaman, saurman, human.

There’s humans of both the seafarers black of skin and blue of eye,and coastal folk with their smooth hair. There’s ormans from thepink-red to green-brown and with every color of mane, there’s daimans inall combinations of white, grey, black, and brown striping.

And that’s to say nothing of the clothes. Even as the light rainspour down and people hide under cloaks and big hats and littletent-canvases strung up on sticks, their cloaks are of every color.Hanahana’s red hat and coat fits right in.

There’s wheeled carts drawn by every manner of draft anima — and afew drawn by hand. There’s wagons painted in bright colors, there’sbooths trading strange and pretty things, and cooking foods that lookdelicious. Takall cooks passable food, to be sure, but nothing likethis. It would probably smell delicious too if she could get used to thepervasive odor of poo.

And the houses! Never has Hanahana seen so many or so great houses ofstone and timber. Three floors! Four floors! Painted in whites and reds,with little poles on top belching smoke. At street level many of themhave people working or trading.

But the thing that stands out is that the saurmans are the ones withthe most colorful clothes, the most colorful carts, and the biggestbooths trading the most wondrous things. They are the ones tellingothers what to do.

[This is incredible!]

[Yeah.]

[You don’t seem impressed?]

[It’s… charming, to be sure.]

Zazzuwa steers them up a street and towards a completely whitebuilding, with a terrifyingly tall tower at the top. On the peak of theroof sits an angel twice the size of a steed, looking down on thestreet.

Indeed, looking skywards, Hanahana sees figures gliding overhead onoccasion.

“What’s that?” Takall says, stopping and pointing.

Over across the street, there’s a commotion. A hand-drawn cart hasstopped. The orman woman pulling it is colorfully dressed, and the cartis laden with many fine things.

She’s surrounded by six insectoid creatures, standing to abouthip-height, quadrupedal and upright not unlike praying mantises, withnear black carapaces. They are wearing a mish-mash of fabric strips, andchittering to one another.

It’s a bizarre scene. The insect creatures begin pelting the womanwith bits of metal. In defence she yells and draws a cane from the cart,swiping at her assailants. She kicks at one, and it dodges by taking offon rapid wingbeats, like a startled bird. The others are trying to getat the contents of her cart.

Down the street, four armed saurmans in red uniforms come running. Acrossbow twangs and one of the insect creatures falls over with a boltin its thorax. This causes the other five to immediately take offrunning.

She thanks the soldiers, one of them helps her with the cart, anotherpicks up the wounded insect and stabs it with a knife, killing it.

[That’s bugfolk.]

[Are they thinking beings?]

[I don’t know much about them.]

Zazzuwa points. “Those little bits of metal they threw? The poorcritters think it’s money. Mostly they get by stealing.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t worry. Come the turn of the season, most of them will haveperished and we’ll have peace until next breeding season. Until then,the city guards occasionally has to step in against those peskymales.”

“The females are different?”

“Oh, the females are supposedly just as stupid. The unsexed ones arequite amicable — oh, there’s one now.” Zazzuwa points down the streetwhere an insectile being as tall as a human comes trotting. This one isclad in proper clothing tailored to their form, and carrying a largepack on their back.

They slow to approach the soldiers politely, and Takall spots alittle bird-sized angel on their forehead. A brief conversation ensues,and the soldier hands over the dead drone, for a fee.

“That one will seek out the family that lost that male, and cajolecompensation from them for failing to kill it.”

“Kill it?”

“City ordinance. Breeding is all they’re good for.”

Sapient eusocial insects. Incredible.

Inside the temple is just as incredible as outside it. Perhaps moreso. The space inside is vast. The ceilings are so high onecould set up the greatest tent Hanahana ever saw, and the lodgepoleswouldn’t reach more than two thirds to the vaults above.

An up there, branches of dead trees hang suspended on string, andamong the branches sit scores and scores of the little angels.

Zazzuwa leads them through the space, across the floors which arelaid in polished stone slabs that fit so closely together she can barelysee the dividing lines.

“What can the Empress’ devoted do for you three?”

The priestess is a saurman woman in the white robes they saw in thestone circle. Her skin is pale brown, and her head-feathers are a darkershade. She has her own little translator angle.

“These ladies would like to be blessed with the grace of the Empress’all-speak.”

“That gift is free to all who are devout. How much will yougive?”

Hanahana looks to Takall, who reaches into a pocket and presents athumb-wide stack of silver coins.

“I’m afraid that is insufficient devotion.”

“All right,” Takall says, and pulls out a bar of gold the size of afinger. “I don’t carry gold in coils. Will this do?”

The priestess takes it, and it disappears into a pocket of her robes.“Ah, that is more than sufficient. And you?” She looks at Hanahana.

“Isn’t that gold enough for the both of us?”

“I’m afraid all who receive the goddess’ favor must be devout forthemselves. One cannot have faith in another’s stead.”

Takall respond by blatantly handing Hanahana a stick of gold, whichHanahana hands to the priestess.

“Thank you for this devotion.”

Takall then hands Zazzuwa one as well. “You get one too. On us.”

“Wh—” Zazzuwa is about to protest, but Takall reaches out for hiswrist and places the gold in his hand.

Confused, he hands it to the priestess.

“Very well. I shall get the contracts and put your generous donationsin the temple chest.”

They wait while she heads to the back.

“I must say I don’t hold this empress in very high esteem, if this ishow her institutions are run,” Takall mutters.

“My lady, I must implore you not to blaspheme the Empress in her owntemple,” Zazzuwa mutters back. “Say, how rich are youreally?”

“Enough.”

“I had initially taken you, Lady Takall, to be Hanahana’s servant,but I am beginning to suspect it is not so.”

“Correct.”

The priestess returns with a board, a few scrolls under one arm, anda red quill in hand.

“Here we are. You just need to put your mark on these, and theEmpress’ grace will be with you.”

She presents the scroll to Takall first, having probably intuitedmuch the same as Zazzuwa.

“I am not literate.”

“Ah, this is a contract of the Empress’ own Word. It is legible tothe mind of anyone whom it concerns, and its signatories will know byinspection if it has been broken.”

Takall picks the document up, and their lace once more erectscontingency defences against the mental intrusion, just in case it isn’tquite benign.

For a year and a day, an angel of the first syllable will be atyour call to bestow the gift of omniglossia. Your affairs will be yourown, and by the promise of the Goddess, she will not eavesdrop.

“How do I acquiesce to this?”

“Simply use this quill to mark on the line.”

Takall takes the quill and inspects it. Brilliantly red, and the vaneseems to billow as if it isn’t quite physical. “Does this come from anangel?”

“Yes.”

“Would it work if I signed using a quill not from anangel?”

“No.The whole contract is written using an angel quill. That is howit is of such power.”

Takall signs, and hands off the board, two remaining contracts, andquill to Hanahana. “How can I acquire a quill like this for myself?”

“They are for sale. How many do you want?”

“Depends on how long they last.”

A little set of clawed feet land gingerly on Takall’s bareshoulder.

Chapter 7: With Great Wealth Comes Great Charity

Chapter Text

“My lady, I— this angel, you paid for it, it is far too much I—”Zazzuwa stammers as they leave the temple.

Takall turns to him. “Zazzuwa, I will understand your gratitudebetter if you say ‘thank you’ and accept good fortune when it befallsyou.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I need to see a money changer now. Someone who can avail me of everycoin in use.”

“That would be the Banker’s Guild square. It’s up hill.”

“Lead the way.”

Hanahana sees it. Confusion turning to acceptance. He doesn’t knowthe truth, yet, and he is most certainly starting to wonder when theother foot will drop.

She knows, because that is what she thought.

She wonders if he will devote himself once he realizes that Takall’sgenerosity is true, good, and unlimited. And the greatest thanks one cangive for it is to help spread it.

It didn’t start that way, but now, it is becoming more and more clearthat this is what she needs to do. And if Takall has figured out herchange of motives, they haven’t said.

They head uphill, past one of the walls. A twenty feet highfortification, wide enough to walk three columns of men across the top.It is built from large stones, expertly fitted, and the whole structureemanates power. Magic inlaid in the masonry.

Beyond it, the buildings are more decorated, and the pedestrians lookmore affluent, but are by no means anything other than rich commoners.This is just the wealthy part of town. Uptown.

There’s money changers in every town square, of course. Everymarketplace has buyers and sellers, who need coin exchanged.

But apparently there’s also the marketplace where everything that isbought and sold is coin. And that is where Zazzuwa has led them.

There’s over three times as many uniformed guards here as anywhereelse Takall has seen. There’s carts laden with chests no doubt full ofcoin. Every booth has a strongbox and a set of fine scales. There’simpromptu auctions.

Along the sides of the square, in the workshops at ground level,minters swing sledgehammers at dies on anvils, minting coins one byone.

This is a location of power, and not of the magical variety.

“That there at the end is the guild hall. Whatever you cannot findout here, if it was ever minted, you can find in there.”

By that logic, and by simple inspection, Takall heads for one of themoney changers, whose booth is quite close to the guild hall end of thenarrow square.

A saurman, dressed in dark colors, with a bright blue cloak hung on ahook under the awning that keeps her ledger book dry.

“Hello.”

“Good day. What can I do for you?”

“I am a collector of coinage. I would like to inspect a selection ofwhat is in circulation, and purchase what falls in my fancy.”

She looks back at Takall for a spell. “That is a strangerequest.”

“Do you take payment in raw gold?”

“If it is in barres of reasonable size and you will permit me tograde it, sure.”

More money than Zazzuwa has ever held at once changes hands. Themoney changer is especially pleased with the quality of the gold Takalluses to pay her.

Something strange is going on, and Zazzuwa is conflicted about it.There is a very high likelihood someone has seen them. He has cutcontact with his old circles, paid his debts and begged to be leftalone, but occasionally he’ll see someone over his shoulder, followinghim when he does what honest work he can these days.

“Where to now, ladies?”

Hanahana and Takall exchange glances. “How about lunch? Zazzuwa, youknow your way around the city. We are not looking to dine finely, whatis good food that regular working people eat?”

“Oh. Well, for that we should head down to the street food vendorsdown on the bridge market. Though with the weather, they might beclosing down for the day, in which case I know a few good taverns.”

Zazzuwa seems skittish as they head down, trying to hid his glancesinto alleys, and looking back at the two of them frequently, perhaps tosee behind. She recalls the words Takall prompted her to say: gold is acurse.

[Have you noticed he seems scared of something?]

[No.But now that you say it.]

[Should we be worried?]

[No.Just prepared. I’ll protect you.]

Hanahana smiles. It is immensely reassuring when a literal god saysthat.

“Are we being followed?” Takall says quietly.

Zazzuwa almost jumps. “Maybe. I apologize. You should run.”

“We shall do no such thing. They are no doubt after out gold, orwhat?”

“Aye.”

“Do you know these people?”

“I might.”

The downside is that most of the time, Hanahana feels prettypowerless. Like an onlooker. But one might suppose that is right andgood. Her duties are mostly to help Takall sleep.

“Were you perhaps involved with unsavory types in the past?”

Zazzuwa doesn’t reply.

“Where would they ambush us?”

“Well—”

“Lead us there.”

“But—”

“We both know how to defend ourselves.”

[I don’t.]

[Your lace does, if necessary. It likely won’t be.]

“And act normal, and when we reach the place, tell us it’s ashortcut.”

“There’s a— uh, a shortcut right through this alley.”

It is a narrow path, only wide enough for two people to walk side byside. There’s little pestilent critters skittering around in the rainwet refuse in the corners.

This is it. Takall’s neural lace prepares for action, easing theminto a state of relaxed preparedness.

Hanahana takes their hand.

And then three men step into view at the other end of the alley,silhouetted by the light of the overcast day. Two human, one orman. Aquick glance behind confirms there’s two more blocking the other end ofthe alley.

“Zazzuwa, my man!”

They are all dressed in practical clothes, like Zazzuwa they are allcarrying knives in their belts, and all of them are carrying canes.

“Good job bringing us these big spenders! We’ve had the boys trailingyou for a while. Angels? And then the money market? Woof!”

Takall wonders idly how one gets away with being a street thug and analbino at the same time: the man is so pale his skin is white, and hiseyes are red.

“I told you I didn’t want to do this anymore. Pawpaw gave mepermission to leave, and I paid my debts in full.”

“And yet…” The man gestures broadly to the three ofthem.

“The tall one told me to lead them into an ambush. I haven’t thefaintest idea why.”

That gives him pause. “Well, that is no matter. Now we have them. AndI have your Captain, old boy. So you are going to help us rob these twoidiots blind.”

Takall puts a hand on Zazzuwa’s shoulder. “They have a hostage?” theyask, quietly.

He nods.

“I promise you I will do what is in my power save him.”

The lady Takall steps in front of Zazzuwa.

“I’ll be willing to pay you five score talents to leave Zazzuwa andhis Captain alone.”

Zazzuwa’s eyes go wide.

Choem laughs. “First of all, you should learn to lie better. Second,whatever you’re offering is what you’re willing to part with —” he drawshis knife “— and I’m after what you aren’t.”

Takall reaches into the pouch on their hip, and draws out a fabricbag about a hands breath wide, and lobs it directly at Choem’s chest. Hecatches it with his off hand and nearly drops it.

He sheathes his knife, and takes a peek inside.

“Damn, you went and proved me wrong there, lady.”

“If that is insufficient, I have more,” Takall says, patting thepouch.

“Karuk, relieve the rich lady of her money purse.”

The orman steps forth, so dark skinned it seems like him and theleader are a a matching set.

Takall unclasps the large buckled bag from their hip and hands it tothe man. It is heavy. He takes a few steps back before opening it.

“Well?”

“It’s empty, boss.”

“What?!”

“It felt heavy, but there’s nothing in it.”

“It’s obviously a false bottom, give me that!”

Takall can’t help but smile.

He looks inside, and beholds what they put there by design: aseemingly empty bag. He reaches down into it, scratching at the bottom,and trips the trap.

Choem’s hand and then arm, is forcefully pulled into the bag. Heyelps in surprise, and Zazzuwa is no less startled.

“What’s the matter?” Takall asks. “Can’t find the money?”

“Karuk! Get this f*cking thing off my arm!”

Karuk grabs hold of the bag with both hands, and Iam grabs Choemunder his arms. They pull with all their might and Choem grunts in pain.Then the bag lets go and all three men stumble apart, Karukfalling at Takall’s feet.

“I think you have some of mine.”

She plucks the bag from Karuk’s hand without him resisting.

“What the f*ck are you trying to pull?!” Choem yells, scrabbling tohis feet.

“I’m not trying to pull anything. I gave you five score gold talents,and you abused my generosity.”

That gets him moving. He lunges straight for her, knife in hand, andthen something happens very quickly. Zazzuwa barely manages to catch howshe disarms Choem of his knife, and then she proceeds to lift him cleanoff his feet and pin him to the wall by his collar.

“Boss!”

“You are going to call off your men, and then you are coming with usto verify that Zazzuwa’s Captain is hale and unharmed, and then I willpay you another five score gold talents for your kindservices.”

She puts the curved point of Choem’s knife against his cheek.

“Do we have a deal?”

He nods. “Everyone, get the f*ck away. Karuk, grab the money.”

Alibek stares at the man sitting on the chest the foot end of hisbed. Once, he might had wished to kill the man, now… He almost wisheswhatever trouble Zazzuwa is in will result in them coming to throw himout the window.

“Quit staring.”

Alibek doesn’t.

There’s a knock on the door, and the man goes to open.

“Boss?”

“Out.”

The man leaves, and in comes Zazzuwa, who breathes a sigh of relief.Two other people enter after him, and Alibek doesn’t care.

“Alibek, Ladies Takall and Hanahana. Ladies, this is Alibek — Al,good news.”

“What?”

“These here ladies are crazy rich, and they want to hire mefor some long-term work at really good pay.”

“Wonderful.”

“What’s wrong with him?” the tall one asks.

“Ah, he broke his back. He cannot walk.”

Alibek looks away.

“Hanahana, close the door and the shutters.”

She does as asked, and Takall conjures a mote of light to illuminatethe room.

“What’s this?” Zazzuwa asks.

“There is something I need to tell you in confidence.”

Takall shrugs off their backpack and takes a seat on the foot end ofAlibek’s bed.

“I haven’t been up front with you, Zazzuwa. That is not to say I havelied, and if you had asked, I would have told you truthfully.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I am not human as though I seem.I am a god.”

Hanahana sees Zazzuwa’s resignation. This, he perhaps thinks, is theother shoe dropping.

“Please, we don’t want any trouble. Please get out.”

Takall remains. “Without reproach, may I ask you why you wish for meto leave?”

“I mean no offence, we just don’t want any trouble.”

“I can make Alibek walk again. I can give you a new arm.”

Zazzuwa hesitates.

“I realize you might have heard charlatans promise such. I assure youI am no charlatan. And I assure you I mean no trouble or harm. I hope myconduct today has shown you that I prefer much to act with charity andkindness.”

Alibek looks at Zazzuwa.

“Let’s look at it logically. You can either distrust me, or trust me.I can either mean you well, or mean you harm.”

They hold up one hand and counts out on their fingers.

“If you trust me and I mean well, all will be well. If you trust meand I mean harm, you will come to harm. If however you suspect me and Imean well, you will learn to trust me and then all well be well, andconversely if you suspect me and I mean harm, your suspicions will cometrue and you will come to harm.”

“Uh—”

“Do you follow?”

“Yes?”

“So as you see, your suspicion has nothing to do with theoutcome.”

“You’re saying that as if we don’t have a choice but to accept yourhelp,” Alibek says.

“If you truly wish for me to leave. I will. And you willnever see me again.”

There is a long moment of quiet.

Alibek speaks up. “Let her try.”

“But Al—”

“I walk again, or she kills us. Either works for me.”

“I’m sure you have questions,” Hanahana says.

Takall, the goddess, has hung a curtain, separating their littlestudio apartment in two. From the other side of it comes various quietnoises. Zazzuwa has too many questions to pick one.

“Who are you?”

“I am Hanahana, former wise woman and seer of the Emeru tribe. Takallis the god I summoned.”

“What is she the god of?”

“They, not she. Takall is third-souled. Gods aren’t reallyof something. Takall makes things. Fixes them. That includespeople.”

“Why the curtain?”

“Because when Takall works their power, it looks horrific and tendsto scare people. We’d rather not have you yell and scream.”

“Oh, I’ve seen my fair share of horrors.”

Zazzuwa looks away from the curtain, at Hanahana, who herself islooking aside. “Takall wants me to ask you something. When they revealedtheir true nature to you, you seemed genuinely terrified. Why?”

“Gods are bad news.”

“How so?”

“For the common folk, when the beings of power — gods, spirits,demons, faerie — take arms, it means the calamity. A soldier cares notif he steps on a snail.”

“Ah. That is as Takall suspected. This is a general sentiment?”

“I’ve never heard anyone but followers of one god or another speakpleasantly about gods.”

“And the Empress?”

Zazzuwa shrugs. “She’s like the rest, but I think a lot of citydwellers think of her with a sense of pride — our goddess might be amonster, but she’s the biggest, worst monster around.”

“I would say that Takall is different, but then I am willingly theirpriestess.”

“Do you know how long it will take?”

Then the curtain is grabbed from the other side, and pulled aside.Alibek lies in white sheets on his belly, asleep.

“The operation was a success. I also suspect that he is afflicted bya kind of persistent and severe melancholy, for which I have given him amedication that should improve his mood. The only thing I cannot heal atthe moment is how his legs have wasted away.”

“You said you were a surgeon, yet I see no wound?”

“My tools can reach under the flesh without breaking the skin.”

Zazzuwa doesn’t understand what that means.

“As for your arm, might I take a look?”

Hanahana looks on as Takall inspects the stump of Zazzuwa’s arm, bothby eye and touch, but also with a small ring — a ‘scanner’ — to see theinsides of the limb. They also inspect his hale right hand.

“This is very nicely healed. As was Alibek’s injury.”

“The priestesses can heal wounds. It’s promised to every wounded manof the service — we were mariners-at-arms. He was Captain, I was hisLieutenant.”

“Captain of a ship?”

“No, the mariners-at-arms are soldiers, not sailors.”

“Ah. How did you get wounded?”

“Skirmish. Only half veteran’s pension for cowardice. Not nearlyenough to live.”

Takall reaches for their backpack, and from within its confinesretrieves a hand. It is obviously artifice, with joints more like a finedoll Hanahana once saw a caravan merchant’s child play with. The colorof it matches Zazzuwa’s skin quite nicely. The lower arm it is attachedto is hollow.

“This might be somewhat uncomfortable. It shouldn’t last longer thana few heartbeats.”

Holding on to Zazzuwa’s elbow, they shove the artificial hand overthe stump. Immediately Zazzuwa grunts with pain. His right hand goes tograsp his left arm, but he makes no attempt to take off the device.

“Endure it, soldier.”

He relaxes marginally. “What was that?”

“It needed to find out how to be your hand.”

Zazzuwa looks at the artificial hand, and flexes its fingers.

“How does it feel?”

“Tingles a little.”

Takall takes out a needle and pokes his new hand, causing a littletwitch from Zazzuwa. “Seems like everything is in order. It comes offwhen you press the segment on middle of the wrist; make sure to keep thestump underneath clean and dry, and take it off at night while yousleep.”

“I shall heed that advice, and thank you La— I mean—”

“Just Takall.”

Hanahana’s stomach growls, reminding her that they never got tolunch.

Zazzuwa looks at her. “Ah, I am a terrible host, I’m afraid. I’ve nofood in the cupboards.”

“We’re the ones who got you into this mess, Zazzuwa. Allow me to cookyou dinner.”

“I shan’t say no to that.”

Takall begins setting up their burner and cooking tools, the dough,dried meat and fruits, and nuts that they’ve been eating for the lastmany days.

“Another question: is there a vacancy in this building? We need aplace to stay.”

Heading downstairs to the ground floor, Takall knocks on the door tothe landlady’s quarters.

A saurman woman greets them at the door, with patchy plumage, and onemiked-over eye.

“I should like to rent a pad in this building.”

She looks the two of them up and down.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recall that I have any vacancies. I’ve suchbad memory of late.”

Takall hands over a fat gold coin. “Perhaps this will jog yourmemory?”

“Ah, I just recalled we recently had an eviction. One moment.”

She disappears inside her apartment and emerges with a key. “Secondfloor, second door on the right.”

Following her instructions, Takall and Hanahana head back up thestairs to one floor below Alibek and Zazzuwa’s chambers.

The one-room apartment they find there is disgusting, with layers ofsoot around the stove, dust on every surface, stains on the panels, moldon the walls, refuse in the corners, and rotten straw left in the beds.Takall cleans that up in short order, and starts furnishing the roommore pleasantly.

“Are you sure they will be all right those two?”

“I can hope.”

Chapter 8: Whomsoever Saves But One Man

Chapter Text

Yesterday afternoon, the town square was a bustle, and half thethings were sold out already. Quite a few good ingredients there to addto Takall’s growing catalogue of foodstuffs-on-demand.

This morning, they arrive as the merchants are setting up theirbooths and laying out their wares. The humidity is bearable in themorning cool, and the drizzle is light.

It is not as if the goods for sale are any cheaper, more varied, orfresher than those found in a supermarket back on Earth, but every warefor sale is sold by someone who cares about what they are selling. And agood nine out of ten is unlike anything Takall ever saw on Earth.

Nuts and grains and flour from the mills, dried and pickled and evenfresh fruits, tubers, vinegars, fermented sauces, oils, and mostimportantly: spices.

Next on the list is a visit to the meat market for some of the cutsthat were sold out yesterday, and the fish market for their fresh — ifnot living — stock.

Takall make the rounds to all the merchants they visited yesterdayand had sold out yesterday.

“I remember you,” a heavy-set orman woman says as Takall approachesher booth. “Freshly laid, just this morning.”

Eggs, packed in straw. “Ah, what fine eggs. I’ll take a score.”

They hand over a basket, and the woman lines it with straw and packsin the requested amount.

“Truth be told, I am from a distant land. What manner of creaturelaid these? Birds? Hadrosaurs?”

“Why, glems, of course.”

“Glems?”

“Feathered four-legged little things?”

Takall is at a loss, but the genetics in these eggs will likely shedsome light.

Hanahana wakes to the smell of something delicious, and the light ofa rainy morning through the open shutters.

Takall is cooking breakfast in the makeshift kitchen. Yesterday theylamented the lack of running water and indoor plumbing, and whenHanahana asked what those were, she got the description of one of themost convenient things imaginable.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Did I ever. I woke up early and went to the markets.”

“What are you cooking?”

Takall turns a flatbread over onto a dish, the pours a liquid batterinto the shallow pan.

“Pancakes.”

“You’re really pleased with yourself, huh?”

Zazzuwa looks up from the little brass mirror, shears in hand.Learning to trim with his off hand was a struggle, and it never gotquite even. Today marks the first day his beard looks proper, withouthim having had to save up to visit the barber.

Alibek sits there, on the edge of the bed, two hands on a cane.

“Says you, sitting on your arse.”

Alibek makes a rude gesture at him, and they laugh.

“But in all seriousness, I can barely stand.”

“The priestesses can likely undo that.”

“It’ll cost a pretty sum.”

“What, and you think our new benefactor can’t spare it?”

Alibek looks aside. “You might be content to work for her, but…”

“Them.”

“Hm?”

“Takall is not a woman.”

“She has tit*. She’s a woman.”

“Whatever. And yeah. I know.”

“I’m going to go get my commission back.”

“And your wife.”

Alibek nods.

“And I’ll come with you.”

“I know you will.”

Alibek and Zazzuwa walk in front, Alibek on crutches.

Takall and Hanahana trail behind.

[Hey.]

[What?]

[Look at them.]

[I am.]

[These two men have hope today, because of you.]

Takall looks at her. Despite what they’ve told Hanahana aboutgestures during telepathy.

[You should be proud, and happy. Don’t you dare say it’s nothing.Where ever you go, you change lives, my god. Take happiness fromit.]

“You really should.”

One of the many functions of the neural lace they both have, is toreplace the acute stress response with something more useful: relaxedand clear-headed preparedness. So Takall has taught her.

Beside them walks someone who is obviously Nathaniel, the Trickster:a saurman in gaudy purple.

Hanahana ponders why this is obvious, and how he managed to eavesdropon their unspoken conversation.

“I think you shouldn’t butt in on people’s private telepathicconversations.” There’s venom in Takall’s voice.

Nathaniel holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Pardon,pardon. At least the gun doesn’t come out this time.”

“I have a feeling bullets don’t bite you.”

“You feel correctly.”

“I’m going to assume you are somehow ensuring this conversation isn’toverheard.”

“Oh, I was never even here, ask anyone.”

Takall looks about to confirm that they are indeed not being noticed.Hanahana feels the subtle, dreamlike magic of it in her bones.

“So… is this it?”

“Is what which?”

“You’re just going to go around town helping out, and if anyone asksyou drop the fact that you’re a god?”

“It has worked so far.”

“I can tell you by experience that it won’t last. And also it isboring. Go introduce yourself to the Empress.”

“I will. Right after I help these two. I have an obligation.”

“She’s big on obligations, that Empress.”

“Yes, I know. I bought a dossier on people from Black Hand.”

“Oh. That asshole. Barely a real god, that one.”

“Nathaniel—”

“—Tackle.”

The trickster looks unbearably smug.

“You are interfering an awful lot for someone who likes to throw diceand see where they fall. I can tell you from experience that it won’tbuy you any favors. Also it is boring. Go meddle with someone else.”

“Ah.” Nathaniel snickers. “Oh, oh I get it. Tricky you.” Then hebecomes a flock of birds.

The feeling of being unnoticed goes away.

[How are you twices as witty as me, but half the age?]

[I’ve heard more stories.]

[How?]

[Because stories can be written down in books and those can becopied and distributed and you can read them without the storytellerhaving to be there to tell them to you. And I have readmany.]

[That’s kind of unfair.]

[One day soon, there will be books for you to read, and I will bebusy. Then you can catch up.]

The temple Alibek and Zazzuwa lead them to is even more opulent thanthe one in which Takall bought the three of them translator angels. Andit was a purchase, even though it was couched in different words.Hanahana might not be versed in city manners, but she knows well how tosay one and mean other.

From the outside, it stood out in the street with its sheer bulk andheight, inside the vaulted ceilings are so high overhead that severaladjacent buildings could fit inside. There’s no angles under the ceilinghere.

There is a bustle of people. Mostly around the booths along one sideof the room, where lines of people looking — Hanahana isn’t sure how todescribe it, dirty, sick, desperate, and devoid of hope perhaps — arewaiting. The priestesses hand out pittances of coin to the waitinghands.

Those sitting in the pews are called up to several desks, and pay outvarious sums.

[Money changers in the temples…]

[What? There’s no money changers here.]

[Never mind.]

Alibek and Zazzuwa take seats, and Takall and Hanahana sit besidethem.

“What are we waiting for?”

“To be called up to make our case for why Alibek should be healed,”Zazzuwa says.

“I’m assuming that involves a generous donation?”

“We don’t want to ask of you anything you won’t give, lady Takall,”Alibek says.

Takall takes out a hefty fabric pouch and hands it to Alibek. “Thisshould cover it.”

Eventually a priestess waves them up.

“What can the Empress’ devoted do for you four?”

“I would like to be restored to my old strength that I may walkunaided.”

“That gift is free to all who are devout. How much will yougive?”

Alibek hands over the pouch, and the Priestess looks within it. “Thisis a very generous donation. Please, proceed to the eastern wing withthe Empress’ blessing.”

An acolyte — in Hanahana’s estimation younger than the priestesstaking donations and in nay case less ornately uniformed — shows theway.

Alibek walks in front, followed by Zazzuwa in a way that seemsingrained in them. Through a small gate to the side of the temple hall,they enter into a hallway with white-painted walls, lit by glowing orbsthat has the distinct tang of sorcery to them. There’s two overtly armedand armored saurman guards standing immediately on the other side of thegate.

Down the hall, a door is open. Inside is a small room with a bed anda chair. On the chair sits a saurman priestess, who looks old and tired.Her skin is deep brown and her feathers are black, clashing with thewhite and red robes.

Alibek bows his head to her. “Priestess, I am a devout man. I haveserved the Empress in the mariners-at-arms. My legs are weak and feeble,and I pray they are restored.”

“Sit.” She gestures to the bed.

He does, and she rises. She puts her hands on Alibek’s knees, andthere’s a positively blinding flash of light.

Alibek hisses in pain.

“You good, Al?”

“I’m fine, Zazu.”

He takes a moment to breathe hard and then hops off the table,handing the crutches off to Takall who stows them in a bag.

Hanahana notices the priestess taking note of that littleimpossibility.

“We can find our own way out,” Alibek says to the acolyte waiting bythe door, and they leave the way they came.

[I think she saw you.]

[Good. We’re not trying to hide.]

“Well, the day is still ahead. Zazu, let’s head to the Marshal’soffice and apply for recommission.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Alibek turns to Takall and Hanahana. “Thank you, lady Takall, foryour generosity. It will not be forgotten.”

With that comment Takall and Hanahana are left behind on the bustlingstreet in front of the great temple. A light rain begins falling.

“Why do I feel like it already has?”

“It makes no difference. As you said, the world is a better place forthose two having been helped. Lunch?”

It’s not been very long since breakfast, and Hanahana has eatenbetter in the last days than ever before in her life. If this goes onfor ever, she won’t mind one bit. “Yes please.”

They head home late that evening, after a day of wandering the citynow without a guide, paying for trinkets and strange foods and alcohol,visiting tailors and jewellers for inspiration, and Takall letting pursestring cutting thieves have what they can take.

Both of them are tipsy. Hanahana’s hat hangs on her back by thechinstrap, and the rain is wetting her black curls.

“Why do you always wear that drab grey thing? It’s very flattering onyour figure, but still… And what is it even?”

“Armor. It’s quite pleasant, actually. Self-cleaning, breathable.Makes me feel protected and safe.”

Hanahana snickers. Takall likes how she finds their ‘strange ways’funny. “Why doesn’t it cover your arms?”

Takall flexes for show.

Hanahana laughs.

“Shouldn’t I wear some armor too?”

“You’re safer if you’re defenseless.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because that makes you a prisoner and/or hostage, not a threat to bedealt with. And I promise I’ll protect you, or save you from captivityif need be.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet.”

They reach the little decrepit apartment building, and dusk hasthoroughly fallen.

Hanahana stops, looking down the street. Takall freezes.

[What is it?]

[Something is wrong.]

Out of the dimness comes a figure, resolving itself into Zazzuwa.He’s unsteady on his feet, clearly drunk.

“Zazzuwa?” Takall asks.

He looks up. “Ah. Lady Hanahana. Takall.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just had too much to drink.”

[There’s more to it.]

“Where’s Alibek?”

Zazzuwa looks away.

Neither coffee nor real tea seems to exist in this world, so Takallbrews him a cup of herbal infusion for comfort. The three of them sit incomfortable chairs in the small one-room apartment.

“What happened?”

“He told me to get lost.”

Takall has nothing to say to this.

Hanahana speaks up. “After you left us, you went to the marshal’soffice?”

He nods. “We were going to be granted recommission, though withdemotion in exchange for a proper oath of loyalty and a demotion. We’dgo back to being Lieutenants and Adjutant, like in the old days.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“Since we were raw recruits. I left the Ura, went with the merchantcaravans. Wanted to see the world, but didn’t have any money and didn’twant to steal so I asked a constable what to do and he told me to joinup.”

He takes a sip of his cup.

“We became very good friends. He was always ambitious, strong willed,but he needed someone like me to watch his back. I learned to read andwrite from him, and we climbed the ranks together.”

Takall nods. “You were promoted to officers?”

“Yes. When he had just been promoted to Lieutenant, Alibek met Saya.She was the daughter to a well-off lady in the upper tiers, withouttaste for the sons of petty nobility. He started changing because ofher. Grew more focused on promotions and valor in battle, his officer’spay went to their household. They had kids…”

He takes a deep breath.

“I met her many times. I know their kids. But I never liked her.Never liked the way she spoke to Alibek. I knew it was what he wanted,so I said nothing, I only wished he would come to see her the way I sawher. How she twisted her words.”

“Oh no,” mutters Takall.

“He grew less happy over the years. Then half a year ago, there was askirmish with some pirates from down south. Things got bad, so we ran.He got wounded, and I saved him but lost my sword hand. We were deemedcowards. Saya divorced him on the spot.”

“Then what happened today?” asks Hanahana.

Zazzuwa shakes his head. “We went to tell Saya the good news. She hasremarried. Alibek didn’t… he didn’t take it well.”

“He told you to get lost.”

“I went to drink to calm my nerves. I— I fear— he said itoccasionally that if this was his life now he’d rather be dead.”

Takall stands.

“What’s going on?”

“We need to find him. Are you sober enough to join us?”

Hanahana daydreams to follow the sympathetic connections, Takalltracks by scent, and Zazzuwa knows the city and Alibek well enough tonarrow the search.

It is the small hours of the morning by the light of Takall’s sorcerythat their search comes to an end.

The tide is low, and the fortified harbor walls stand three storeystall above the bare riprap below.

There, among the stones, lies a dead man, his body broken by thefall.

“sh*t.”

They wrap him up in a sheet, and Takall carries him in their arms.Zazzuwa says nothing. The strange elixir the goddess gave him banishedhis tiredness, but that only makes it worse.

You’re a god. Isn’t there something you can do? He hadasked. The response echoes in his head. That is beyond mypower.

He’s lost soldiers before but not like this. Not his captain. Not hisAlibek.

The sun is beginning to rise when they make it up to Lady Saya’smansion beyond the first wall.

Zazzuwa knocks on the gates to the estate.

One of the servants opens the viewing hatch.

“Fetch the lady of the house,” Takall commands. “Alibek is dead.”

They wait for a long while in the courtyard before a servant fetchesthem. The narrow gardens inside the walled compound are neat, and thebuilding is lavishly decorated in painted murals.

Inside the hall of the mansion. A woman stands in the center, finelydressed in blues. Takall reckons her for the lady of the house. To herside stands a younger man, dressed in a red uniform, with a sword at hisside.

“I am Takall. This is my associate Hanahana. Zazzuwa you know.”

“I am lady Saya, this is my husband Yerik.”

Takall gingerly sets down the corpse on the finely tiled floor.

“Alibek is dead.”

“So I see. How did he die?”

“He dashed himself on the harbour stones laid bare in the lowtide.”

Saya scoffs. “A coward to the end.”

Takall seethes with rage. All evening and night, a pigeon hole hasbeen forming in their mind, and now a pigeon is looking to fill it.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead. He is the father of your children. Havesome respect.”

“And who are you to say such things to me in my own home?”

“I healed him of his injury, in the hopes that he would return to alife of happiness. Instead it seems your callous words drove him to hisdeath.”

Saya looks to her husband. “Yerik, show this Takall not to speak illof a lady in her own house.”

“Yes dear.”

He draws his sword and strides forward.

It may be that he only intends to threaten Takall at swordpoint, thatis in their estimation the most likely outcome.

None-the-less, when he goes to level his blade at them, Takall lashesout with a kick at his wrist so swift even the fastest human reactiontimes would be insufficient to avoid it.

The sword clatters across the floor and Yerik holds his wrist,cursing in pain. It isn’t broken, but it will be sore and bruised fordays.

“I am unfamiliar with your customs, but where I come from it is abreach of hospitality to threaten one’s guests unless they refuse toleave. Hold Alibek’s funeral. If not for yourself, then for hischildren. And Zazzuwa. I shall be most displeased if I find that heisn’t invited.”

Saya says nothing. Then they turn and leave, and Hanahana and Zazzuwafollow.

Chapter 9: We Mourn and then We Move On

Chapter Text

There’s a knock on the door.

Zazzuwa grunts. He’s not fond of when his lunch gets interrupted, andespecially not when it’s a nice sunny day and he gets to eat with theshutters open.

He gets out of his seat, and goes to unbar the door, opening it toreveal Lady Hanahana. She’s not wearing that red coat, or the hat. Justshirt sleeves, trousers, and boots. She’s quite handsome, but being aman of good manners, he keeps that to himself.

“Zazzuwa.”

“Hanahana. What might I help you with?”

Takall gave him some ‘spending money’ and told him to ‘take his time’and so part of him had perhaps hoped to get some peace and quiet.

“Might I come in?”

He gestures. She enters and takes a seat by the table. Zazzuwareturns to his lunch — grilled meats, greens and bread brought from astreet vendor — and resumes eating. If she has a problem with it, shedoesn’t say.

“How are you holding up?”

He doesn’t answer.

“How was the funeral, then?”

“Adequate.”

“I understand if you wish to blame Takall for this.”

He shakes his head. “I blame Saya. I think I always have. She… tookAlibek from me. Back then. And now.”

“How do you feel?”

“My best friend is dead.” Zazzuwa pauses. “I have no idea what I amgoing to do now.”

“I’m glad to see you’re taking care of yourself.”

“One does not stop just because ones comrades fall. I— I’m verygrateful for the money.”

Hanahana nods.

“Is there a reason why you visit other than inquiring as to mywell-being?”

She nods again.

“Say your peace.”

“Takall is… taking it hard. Alibek’s death.”

Zazzuwa pauses. “Why?”

“Something to do with an oath to do no harm, which they believe theyhave violated.” She shifts in her seat, leaning closer. “Takall is…young.”

“Aren’t you both?”

Hanahana looks out the window. “Your father was Sehuzzi. Was yourmother named Mala?”

“Yes?”

“When I was score and seven summers, the Ura and the Emeru traveledtogether for a moon. Your wisewoman took ill with fever and I helpedwhere I could. Your mother went into labor then, and I pulled you fromher loins and laid you by her breast.”

“But— that would make you—”

“Three score and eleven, yes. Takall’s power restored me to youth,but under this sprightly exterior I have wisdom to rival anyone. So whenI say Takall is young, I mean it. You are nigh old enough to be theirfather.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?”

“At one point you were willing to work for us, were you not?”

“You pay very well.”

“You don’t know what to do now that Alibek is dead. Would you like tocome with us? Takall could use your guidance. As they do mine”

Zazzuwa snorts. A goddess, needing his guidance? The thought isabsurd.

The tide is high. The riprap on the bottom of the harbor is wellcovered by water, and the waves are lapping at the harbor walls. There’srainclouds on the horizon but for now it is clear. Brownwater vesselssail in and out of the mouth of the river, on white sails, to dock up inthe river district. This natural harbor has piers too, for the bluewaterships with draught too deep for the river.

“Takall.”

Takall turns to see Zazzuwa approach the parapet beside them.

“Hello, Zazzuwa.”

He rests his hands — one bionic — on the stone, looking over it. Hedoesn’t say anything.

“This is where he fell.”

“I know.”

“If you’re asking why I come here, I—”

“I’m not. I’m not stupid.”

“Well… I am. I barely knew him.”

Takall can feel that Zazzuwa looks over at them.

“And yet you mourn him. There is no shame in mourning the dead, eventhe ones you don’t know yourself. That’s why there’s memorials to thefallen.”

They look over and meet Zazazuwa’s gentle gaze. “I’m sorry yourfriend is dead.”

“So am I.”

“And I apologize. It was my failure to consider the—”

“Oh shut up.”

Takall startles some.

“People die. Unless you pushed him off this parapet, his death was nomore your failure than it was my own. Or Saya’s. Alibek was…” He sighs.“Al was a very sick man. And not just for him not having the use of hislegs. All you did was give him the courage and means to decide if hislife was truly worth living.”

“Some would consider that a failure if he chose that it wasn’t.Listen, I appreciate the sentiment, but I know a fair bit about how themind responds to horrors and great tragedies — and the medicine I gavehim. I should have foreseen it. And if I had, Alibek could still bealive.”

Zazzuwa looks out to sea.

“Once a young orman soldier was injured by… it doesn’t matter how. Itwas an accident and it happened because I failed to yell for everyone toclear the deck. He broke his thighbone and later died. You know whathappened afterwards?”

“You changed the procedures?”

He looks back at them, with a raised eyebrow. “Yes. We learned fromit. Put a man to the task of keeping the deck clear whenever it wasneeded.”

“So if I take your meaning right, you’re saying I should mourn, moveone, and then learn from it.”

“That’s the only thing there is to do.”

They stand there, looking over the harbor. Ships pass in and out, agentle wind filling their sails.

“I talked to Hanahana. In truth she put me up to talking to you.”

“Sounds like her.”

“She said you are very young and is in need of wisdom.”

Takall scoffs. “I guess compared to you two, yeah.”

“I… We’ve both had some time to think, it seems. You’ve been stewingin this failure nonsense. For me, Alibek was my life for twenty years.And now I have nothing. I don’t know what to do next, but if you willhave me, I’m quite sure I’ve had worse people for employers. I think Icould be of use.”

Takall looks at him. Quietly they ask: “Were you in love withAlibek?”

“No.” A nervous laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I was… Assumed to be male when I was born. Raised as a boy. I’veloved men. You don’t have to hide who you really are with me.”

Zazzuwa slumps. “He didn’t think of me in the same way. I— I hadother lovers. Women, mostly. It’s illegal to—” He trails off.

“I thought it might be.”

They stand back up to their full height.

“Let’s get back and discuss terms.”

Hanahana has to contain her smile when she sees the two of themreturn, with Takall in a visibly better mood. Without even being asked,Hanahana sets the table with cups and a pitcher of good beer from thecold box — one of Takall’s little wondrous devices, a cabinet that iscold on the inside.

Zazzuwa takes the chair towards the door as is proper for aguest.

“The question is, Master Zazzuwa, what you want out of this. If youwant to simply have gainful work, I will pay you well for your skills —as you know, money is no object for me.”

Zazzuwa reaches for the pitcher with his right hand, and the cup withhis left. He almost pointedly takes a swig, holding the cup with hisbionic hand, then taps his knuckles against the table. “I think we’repast that.”

“Beyond that, I will require more of you.”

“Such as?”

“Faith. I’ll need you to trust me, and give your consent.”

Zazzuwa looks at his hand. “I’ve seen what you can do, Takall. I’veseen your generosity. I’ve seen you devastated over the death of a manwhose life you only touched for a single day. I trust yourintentions.”

“I have need of someone to guard Hanahana when I cannot. I have needof someone who knows how to de-escalate conflicts, one able to use forcewhen necessary, and one who can exercise good judgment in that regard.As a former officer, I hope that is not beyond you.”

“I’ve not held a sword with this hand you gave me, yet, but I cannotimagine I’m near as fast as I once was. Hanahana explained to me thatyou restored her to youth. Ever since I’ve been thinking that if onecould take what I know now, put it in the body I had a score yearsago…”

“And that is where the consent comes in. As a condition of yourservice to me, I will restore you to youth, vigor, and haleness of body.This process will be unpleasant but not outright painful.”

“Then that’s not even a question. Let’s do it.”

Takall stands. “We need more space than this room allows.”

“I think I know where we might—”

“You misunderstand my meaning. That means the first order of businessis to expand the room. What you are about to see is my truepower. It will frighten you, but please try not to run away.”

Calling upon the eigenmaschine, Takall converts the entireroom into an extra-dimensionally extended space. A room-sized bag ofholding. It involves laying complex imbuements into every wall, bothphysical engravings and purely magical ones, and then overlaying them ina webbing of cables carrying exotic energies and tubes carrying exoticmatter.

Space bends and stretches obligingly.

Having finished that, Takall turns back to look at Hanahana andZazzuwa, standing by the wall with the door. He is clinging to her arm,wide eyed. Intimidated but not frightened. Much.

“Do you still want to proceed?”

He looks at Hanahana.

“Y— yes. Yes, I do. I stand by my decision. But… will it take verylong?”

“A day at most. You will be asleep for most of it. Afterwards youwill be woken up and we will decide on some adjustments, then you willsleep again, and when you wake you should be ready.”

Letting go of Hanahana’s arm, he steps forward, tentatively.

“Please undress.”

His hands shake as he unbuckles his belt and unties his shirt. Hisboots are loose, and he toes them off. His body has its fair share ofscars, and indications of malnutrition.

“Do you want to keep the tattoos?”

“f*ck ’em. Doesn’t matter”

Takall calls up tentacular appendages forming a cradle for him to sitin. “I’m going to give you some medicine that will make you sleepnow.”

Hanahana reaches the ground floor, and bursts into the open air andthe light rain. She stops by the gutter, hunching over, and feels hergorge rise. A few times it feels like she might spew, but then itpasses.

The image of the body being disassembled linger in her mind, as ifburned into her eyes. The abstract horror of Takall’s machine is onething, this is something else entirely. It took him apart, like abutchered animal.

Did they do that to her?

[Are you okay?]

[No.]

She stands there, looking at her hands.

[How much of me is left?]

[About one part in two score and ten. Basically just your brain,and most of the important parts of your soul with it. And I cleanedthose pretty thorougly.]

She looks around, suddenly aware that her eyes have beenreplaced.

[Am I even a real person? Or did you just make me?]

There’s silence in her mind for a long while.

[If you truly doubt me, we can travel back out to find yourtribe. I’m sure there we can prove to your satisfaction that you are infact a real person. If less is sufficient, I am open to having a longerconversation face-to-face while Zazzuwa recovers.]

Hanahana takes a deep breath. And another. The rain wets her hair andshirt.

She laughs. Of course. Always eager to go out of their way tohelp

[It’s okay. I’m okay now.]

[Your wellbeing is important to me.]

[Thank you.]

Zazzuwa comes to, but it doesn’t feel like he’s quite there. The roomis gently spinning and it feels more like he’s floating than lying down.Under him, the sheets feel as though they are tickling him, but not in alaughter-inducing way.

“Welcome back to the waking world.”

He turns his head to look at Takall.

“How did I do?”

“You did just fine. The procedure was a success. But it was just thefirst part of the process. When you have recovered some, you may noticeseveral things wrong.”

“But I thought—”

“As I said, this was just the first part. The next two parts willsolve the remaining problems. For now, you are young again.”

Zazzuwa lies back. “I think I need a few moments.”

Takall remains there, just sitting in his peripheral vision. It isdifficult to say how long time passes, but eventually at least hismalaise does.

He struggles up to sit, and indeed, his limbs are not quite obeyinghim. Like he has forgotten how to move with confidence. Sliding off thebed to stand, he nearly looses his balance and supports himself on thebed.

The room is a lot smaller than he remembers it. Perhaps it shrunkagain.

“This next part might alarm you some. You know how mirrors work,right?”

Zazzuwa scoffs. “I’m an officer. I used one every day to shave.”

Takall pulls a sheet away, revealing a full length mirror, thenangles it so Zazzuwa can see a reflection. It’s… someone vaguelyhim-shaped. Like a bad drawing. Or a distant relative.

“It is wrong, I know. Please stay with me.”

“I— I assume you are going to correct that?”

“Yes. But first you need another procedure. One that will correctyour clumsiness, and give you several advantages. I need your consentfor this.”

“You have it. What is it?”

“Are you familiar with how the brain is the seat of the self?”

Apart from the baldness, Zazzuwa is quite pleased with the outcome.The clothes Takall has provided are flatteringly tailored to hisphysique. And what a physique. All his kinks and pains are gone, and heis more stout than he ever was in his youth.

“These underclothes feel a little strange on my skin. Do you haveanything else?”

“That might be because you have no hair yet.”

“Oh.”

“And no, I do not have anything else. They are fashioned from a kindof fabric armor which will turn away knives and other, worsethings.”

He runs a hand over the grey fabric.

“Then I think I shall keep them.”

Hanahana favors red, broad-brimmed hats, and flowing coats ordresses, because she can.

But even availed of the limitless wardrobe of Takall’s conjurations,Zazzuwa has chosen browns and blacks, a narrow-brimmed hat, and a morepractical length of coat. Drab and practical.

The clouds above can’t quite decide whether to rain. Zazzuwa’s ornatecane strikes the paving stones at a rhythm irregular to his gait, whichirritates her some.

“You’ve been young again for a while, if I understand. Got anytips?”

Hanahana looks at him. “First of all, Takall isn’t looking forromance.”

Zazzuwa sputters some in surprise at her non-sequitur.“What?”

“I summoned Takall, in part because I took them for a handsome youngman. We traveled together for a while, and I developed some… shall wesay desires for them.”

Zazzuwa snickers. “Oh no.”

“They very gently rebuffed my advances, and I’ve come to realize theyneed me more as a friend, an ally, and a mentor than a lover.”

“I must say, the more I get to know them I feel a fondness for themin the same manner I used to for the fresh cadets and recruits.”

“Hold on to that.”

He nods sagely.

“That said, I need to get laid.”

Hanahana laughs at his facial expression.

“That is very forward of you to share.”

“You’re a very polished man, Zazzuwa.”

“Are you baiting for me to call you wise, Hanahana?”

“How quick witted of you. No, I am paying you a compliment. And youmay take the other thing as a warning: you’re young again. That includesthe sex drive. You can turn it off through the lace, but that is onlythe physical urgency; nothing can really tame the yearning of theheart.”

“Ah.”

He turns them up a street heading towards the upper district beyondthe wall.

[Another useful thing it can do is speakingmind-to-mind.]

“How—”

[In this manner.]

It is a trick which took some time to uncover. In mental speech,words need not be words.

[Like this?]

[Quick witted once more.]

[It feels strange.]

[Now I can be as forward as I like, without anyoneeavesdropping.]

[Why do I get the feeling that is not a good thing?]

Hanahana grins.

[Zazzuwa, you are a strapping young man once more, yet every bitas mature as your true age. I’m sure you’ll come to feel your urges. Areyou at all interested in women?]

Zazzuwa remains silent.

[Sorry, perhaps I was too forward.]

[No, no. Yes. I am fond of women’s form. And men’s. And I dounderstand what you are proposing. I am flattered, really.]

[Oh thank the stars.]

[However, I— I would like some time to… find myself.]

[Takall told me — in a breach of confidence I’m sure — that youwere in love with Alibek. One-sidedly.]

[Yes.]

[I understand. And I do not wish to be a rebound for you. Say,shall we explore if we make good friends first, and then see if we bothdesire to take the measure of each other’s passions? I reckon we are notgoing to find many with shared life expereince. And if we don’t, thenwe’ll be friends, and one can never have too many of those.]

[That is a deal I can agree to, yes.]

Chapter 10: Multitudes At Large

Chapter Text

The tavern Zazzuwa has found for them is one attached to a luxury inn— a hotel — which houses wealthy merchants and foreigndignitaries who do not wish to seek boarding in the townhouse of someonerich and influential.

And Hanahana has made for pleasant conversation so far — sharingstories from their people. Himself, he does not have many such to share,as he left with the caravans as a young man.

“You seem to be getting along, I’m quite happy that is the case.”

Hanahana and Zazzuwa both look up from their pre-dinner wine andfinger-foods.

“What’s with the new look?”

Takall is wearing a coat of sturdy silver-grey fabric, cropped abovethe hip, with almost over-sized sleeves. Gone is most of the bags, savefor one on each thigh, and a small one on the belt.

Demonstrating rather than explaining, they reach into their sleevewith the opposite hand and draw out a gold coin.

“It suits you.”

Takall takes the empty seat, reaches for the carafe of wine, and thespare cup.

“We need to decide what to do next.”

Zazzuwa looks between the two others. “We? Isn’t that up toyou, La— Esteemed Takall?”

Takall smiles. “I appreciate your effort not to ascribe me womanhood.And no it isn’t up to me: a commander does well to listen to theiradvisors.”

“I suppose I can agree with that.”

“We could go knock on her front door at this point.

Takall looks to Hanahana. “Should she turn hostile, I am not surewe’re ready.”

“How long do you suppose you need?”

“We, Zazzuwa.”

“Right.”

“Long enough to get you up to speed. I need to teach you to use theweapons I am familiar with, and sharpen your skills in general.Hanahana, you should be dreamwalking to discover more about the natureof this city. I shall need time to make some preparations for my own. Aweek.”

“So what are we going to do in the mean time, when we aren’t doingthat, this is what you’re asking.” Hanahana swirls her wine.“Public things, that is.”

“Yes.”

“You could always donate money.”

It turns out not to be that easy, as Takall finds out the next day,approaching a promising first candidate for a large donation:an orphanage.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but we are barred form accepting donations fromany source other than the Church of the Empress.”

Takall pauses, swallowing their ire. Note to self, havedisestablishmentarianist legislation enacted at earliestconvenience.

“Interesting. I was not aware. Is this a common arrangement fororganizations like orphanages and almshouses?”

The madam of the orphanage is a very pale saurman. The halls theywalked through to get to her office, and the sleeping quarters of thekids, have seen better days. They are all out. Most of the orphans areout trying to earn money to chip in on the financial situation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for your time, madam. I am very sorry to hear you mustrefuse my help.”

“As am I, it is very generous of you to offer.”

“Say, what if I accidentally left some dry foodstuffs behind here — Iam so awfully forgetful sometimes — and you were completely unable tolocate me and return them. Would you be barred from using those to feedthe children? Perhaps also if I know someone who has some hand-me-downclothes, and some scraps of fabric?”

The madam considers this.

Hanahana wakes up, gently guided back to the waking world by herneural lace.

She stretches. Now is time for her a light lunch, then a brisk walk,followed by meditation.

Mentally she goes over the conclusions from her dive, seedingmemories into her lace for perfect recall.

[How goes?]

[No dice. The church has a stranglehold on charity it wouldseem.]

Over in the other bed, Zazzuwa is lying — not asleep but in some kindof deep trance. She sends him a ping, requesting that he take a break.She heads over to the kitchen, puts the apron over her nightgown. With apan on the stove, and a ball of cold dough from the cold box, she beginspreparing lunch.

“Ugh. I don’t think I’m going to get used to this.”

She turns halfway to see Zazzuwa sitting up in his pajamas. “What isthe matter?”

He shakes his head. “I know our generous benefactor calls ittraining, but I think it is more apt to call it torture.”

Hanahana giggles. “How so?”

He gets out of bed and she hears him fill the washbasin and wash hisface.

“How much do you know about fighting?”

“Next to none.”

“When you train as recruits, you get drilled in how to run, how toshoot a bow and a crossbow, how to fight with sabre and tomahawk… But itis not the same as battle, not by a long shot. That’s why it isimportant to bloody the fresh troops. It shows the officers who has thewill to turn practice and drill into bloodshed on the field ofbattle.”

“Macabre.”

He wipes his face, and comes over to the kitchen, fetching thepitcher of beer, and wordlessly offers her a cup.

“It is. But, even veterans of many battles, all they have is moretraining. You cannot hone your skill of battle, except through battle,and there isn’t enough battle — not to mention that every battle carriesthe risk of death.”

“That makes good sense.” She flips the first flatbread onto a plate.“Could you get me the leftovers from yesterday?”

He grabs the box from the cold box and hands it over.

“So, to circle back to my point. Takall’s so-called training is…battle. This ‘lace’ we have in our heads can make you dream—”

“— Yes, it’s very useful.”

“To you, perhaps, seer. But I am made to dream of bloodshed and realbattle, and while I do, I forget it is a dream.”

“Huh. And what happens when you loose?”

“It starts over with a different battle.”

“And when you win?”

“The same.”

“Ah… Does it work?”

“I’m rusty. I died more than I won. Time will tell.”

She throws the leftover stir fry from yesterday in the pan with agenerous dollop of fine oil, and the little air-cleaning device kicksinto activity, humming away and removing the worst of the fumes.

“You’ve had a few days now; how do you feel?”

He’s quiet for a long while.

“At some point, the time will come to mourn. Then I will mourn.”

“Take care not to lose yourself in this new purpose of divineservitude.”

“Hm?”

“I see it in Takall, this tendency to push ones feelings down andpower through, distracting oneself with work and wonder.”

“Yeah. That I am familiar with. Alibek and I had many good friends asrecruits. Many of them didn’t see more than a few years of service, someone a season or two. We both learned that work and drink are notadequate replacements for taking the time to mourn.”

She splits the hot stir-fry between the flatbreads.

“I should like to hear the city ordinance regarding institutions likeorphanages receiving charitable payment from the church.”

Zhada looks up at the asker, am unusually tall human dressed infabrics that almost appear metallic.

“Pardon?”

“I was made to understand you, madam, are a legal scholar?”

“True.”

“Can you help me?” They place a hand on her desk, beside her lefthand and surreptitiously moves it to reveal a gold talent. That is alot of money for a simple bribe.

“Why of course,” Zhada says. “Allow me to show you the text rightaway.”

“I am afraid I do not read the Red City’s script.”

She looks at him — the bald ones are usually men, right? — and merelysmiles. A foreigner, of course. “An angel of the first symbol can allowyou to.”

The man points to the listening angel on his shoulder. “I have one.It only translates speech.”

Zhada reaches inside her robe, and draws out her binoculartranslation angel. “That’s an angel of the first syllable. Imean one of these.”

The very largest and most opulent temple lies beyond the first wall —not beyond the second wall, where Takall knows they aren’t even allowedto enter without a letter of introduction. On a finely paved squaredrained by gutters overlaid with spaced stones as a kind of grating,lies a proper cathedral.

Inside is relatively quiet for its size, people coming and going tobe sure, but today might not be a day of worship — Takall is still hazyon the system of dates used here. The seven day week for all its four orfive thousand history on Earth, has been forgotten in the three and ahalf billion years in between.

The donations are collected in a cauldron by a saurman priestess inred-hemmed whites, near the entrance.

“Hello, I would like to make a large donation. With whomshould I talk to facilitate this?”

“Ah, let me just —” she waves over an acolyte. “Take this gentlemanto the high priestess.”

The acolyte is similarly saurman but a young girl by the looks of it.She timidly leads Takall to the side of the main hall, and from there toan office in the gallery. She knocks twice.

A voice says “yes?” from inside.

The acolyte opens the door ajar. “There is someone here to make alarge donation.”

“Send them in.”

She opens, and Takall heads into a well-furnished office. Shelveswith scrolls and books to be sure, but ledgers taking up at least aquarter of the shelf space. The desk is massive and ornate.

Behind it sits a saurman woman, perhaps middle aged, in somethingwhite that isn’t a robe — Takall isn’t sure how to describe the clothingoptions for alien body plans. Yet.

“Good day, ma’am. I am High Priestess Mnema.”

“Takall.”

“How large a donation?”

“Vigenty talents.”

With Zazzuwa, Takall has finally had the chance to learn theintricacies of the prevailing vigesimal system. A great score, or greaskis four hundred, twenty squared. Score greask is vigenty, eightthousand.

It gets her attention.

“That is — why that is an incredibly generous donation. Whatis it that you seek?”

“I wish for this donation to be distributed through the church toseveral causes. Almshouses, orphanages, sanatoriums for the apostate,asylums for the mentally unwell, support for military veterans.”

In all its corruption and double-speak, it is particularlydistasteful that the church labels those without the means to donate‘apostate.’ Takall doesn’t show that.

“Why, that is an unusual request. The church finances are not ingeneral something we alter at the request of the devout.”

“If this is done, I would see fit to donate even larger sums. I haveabout three icose talents of wealth I am looking to invest incharity.”

Score vigenty is an icose, a hundred and sixty thousand. A talentbuys

Her feathers rise.

“I want to make it clear that I am going to inquire with orphanagesand the like, to hear if their church support has increased. If it doesnot, I will cease donating and help them through other means.”

“It is prohibited to accept charity from any source other than thechurch.”

“I’m familiar with the city ordinance. It refers to gifts ofmoney alone. My money can buy food, clothes, medicine, and paycraftsmen.”

As is right and proper, the city ordinances are available to thepublic — nominally, there was an entry fee. The binocular translationangel rests on their collar, a little thing composed of two wings withan eye on each, which when worn like a pair of glasses allows one toread and comprehend any script.

The High Priestess to her credit, only smiles pleasantly. “But ofcourse. I shall see what can be done. Please come again tomorrow.”

“I am glad to hear that. I trust the church is better than myself atdistributing charity according to need.”

She nods.

“Okay, then. Show me.”

Zazzuwa looks about for a moment in the ‘virtual space’ as Takallcalls it. It is a building of wood in an unfamiliar style, with softmats of what appears to be woven straw covering the floor.

“Show you what exactly.”

“What you’ve learned.”

“But— I have learned from you? You already knowwhat I have learned.”

“Actually I don’t. I gave your lace permission to tap into anautonomous computational subsystem network for the simulations andscenarios.”

Zazzuwa has barely an inkling of what that means.

“I don’t know what you’ve learned, because I was not the one whotrained you. I barely know how to fight myself.”

“You disarmed Choem and Yerik faster than the blink of an eye.”

Takall nods. “I’m fast and strong. I know where to hit people so ithurts. That is not the same thing as knowing how to fight. I’m quitesure you can defeat me.”

Zazzuwa doesn’t fall into a combat stance. His lace puts him in theby-now familiar state of relaxed preparedness. He closes thedistance.

Takall takes a step back into a lower stance.

As he steps into their range, they respond with a kick to his shin,which he dodges and uses the off-balance momentum to lunge forward,bringing his arms up, ready for the counter.

The counter is a powerful punch to his open flank and he parries itpartially with an elbow, absorbing the blow for an opening topalm-strike their jaw. And then with another step in he has control oftheir center line.

Takall immediately darts back, and Zazzuwa sweeps their leg, sendingthem stumbling.

“Holy sh*t.”

“What is the matter?”

“I— I don’t think I need to see any more. You’re terrifying.”

“Really? I’ve only been at this for three days.”

Takall gives him a brief applause. “Very good. Make sure to fightopponents from all races, even non-terrestrial ones. And I think youshould step up weapon training with repeating firearms.”

“I should— am I to understand I am in control of what kinds ofscenarios I choose?”

“Well, yes. I mean, I can guide you, but Hanahana is probably better.She’s the most knowledgable about neural lace use.”

“Not you?”

“I made them. She has learnt everything sheknows.”

“Ah.”

[They’re on to us.]

Takall doesn’t react, but over the link gives Hanahana the distinctimpression of raising an eyebrow with interest.

[Given enough time, people will connect the dots from yourexorbitant charitable donations and frequent yet subtle demonstrationsof divine power. Indeed Black Hand may already have sold the fact of ourexistence to the highest bidder.]

[I am aware of that possibility.]

They walk the streets together. It is a rare and beautiful sunny day.Both of them are beginning to get a feel for navigating at least theneighborhood around the little

[This is not the city of the Red Empress, Chani vaz Ar.]

[Explain?]

[I mean, it is called by that name, but it is not that in pointof fact. She has not been seen in public for at least half a vicennium.The church take their direction from the top of the hierarcy ofpriestesses, who supposedly talk to the Empress, but I cannot find anymemories that they do.]

[A religion of charlatans worshipping a dead goddess.]

[She’s not dead. She’s there, in her ziggurat home at theinnermost distict.]

[And Black Hand would be wrong about her being alive. Her giftsto her followers would perhaps falter as well if she died?]

[The purifying light, maybe. The contracts also maybe. Hard totell. The angels would likely just leave.]

[Let’s hope she is willing to talk. According to Black Hand’sguide, she is not patient or posessed of much compassion.]

“This is eerie and unnerving,” Hanahana says.

Their little apartment has once again been expanded unnaturally, andseveral assemblies have spent the last few hours assembling… bodies.

Tall, strong, androgynous.

Stitched together by insect legs, tentacles, and great metallicskeletal limbs, parts — organs and bones and long strands of sinew —drawn from vast baths of liquid.

As horrific as it was to watch Zazzuwa be made young, this issomething else.

The first one gets swept in tan skin and clad in the armored unitardand jacket, and then is lowered onto the platform. Their eyes open, andthey descend the stairs with graceful springy steps.

Takall looks upon themself. “Hello, Two.”

The other Takall snickers. “No.You can be Two, and thenI’ll be Three.”

Two’s neutral expression turns into a frown. “Yeah. It’s better thatway. One— let’s hope One—”

“Don’t,” says Three, somber.

“Yeah.”

“Me and Four are going to skip town —” Three jabs a thumb at the nextTakall stepping off their platform “— You, Five and the rest, take careof each other.”

The one just named Four comes up. “And take care of Hana andZazu.”

“Always.”

Hanahana and Zazzuwa exchange glances. She feels a sudden rush ofelation.

The Takalls Three and Four look at one another, then they both as onereach into their jackets and draw out two different wigs. Three’sclothes change to light brown, while Four’s become dull dark grey.Lastly their skin tones begin to drift apart even as they walk past theoriginal Takall — the one named Two.

“This is going to get confusing really fast,” Zazzuwa mutters.

Down the line, two more come to completion — perhaps to be named Fiveand Six? — and the two first fabricators begin work on Takalls that byextension would be Seven and Eight.

“You two good?” Takall calls out to them.

“Get going you idiot!”

Takall nods.

“Let’s go.”

The trek up from the river district to the first wall is one theyhave taken many times. Through the upper district is at least one Takallis familiar with.

“You know,” Hanahana says. “Referring to someone by an ekename is asign of affection and intimacy.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why Four used them. You are my friends.”

“That is not what Hanahana means.”

Takall looks at Zazzuwa walking beside them.

“She means it is often reserved for very close friends, lovers,spouses, and one’s own children. It took us both by surprise — thoughI’m sure we both understand if you don’t see it the same way, not beingof the plainswalkers.”

Takall considers this in silence as they walk.

The second wall, none of the three of them have been through.

By the gate lies a guardhouse on either side, and the men guarding itare all saurman clad in red brigandine on torso and tail, with helm andplate armor on legs and arms painted the same. Paladins.

“Halt.”

They do.

“What business do you have in the high district?”

“We wish to proceed to the sanctum district and see the Empress,”Takall says. “And we will not be turned away.”

There is no laughter. A few of the paladins standing further backdraw swords that billow like solid fire, almost like the feathers ofangels — because on second thought that is exactly what they are.

“Alas, this cannot be allowed.”

The paladin rests his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“How much?”

“Pardon?”

“How many talents do I need to pay to be allowed to pass?”

“Admission to the high district is not for sale.”

Takall steps forward, and the paladin turns side on, ready to drawhis sword. They take a small pouch from their belt, opens it, and turnsit upside down. Ground here is reasonably flat, so the stream of goldtalents falling on the cobbles between Takall and the paladin don’t rollaway.

He takes a step back.

The stream of gold coins doesn’t stop. A substantial pile beginsforming, heavy coins clattering on heavy coins.

“What sorcery is this?”

“It is no sorcery. I am just that wealthy. How much? A vigentytalents? An icose?”

A more senior paladin steps forward, wearing a half-cape in white —perhaps a superior officer.

“Madam. Bribery is illegal.”

Takall looks at him, dark face under the red visor. “Are you thecaptain of these men?”

“Sergeant.”

“Sergeant, then. With due respect, bribery is common, sir.Do not insult me by appealing to law which is only followed to theletter, not in spirit. I am not of this city, and were it my wish, Iwould not be here. I need to see the Empress.”

“Hm. You will be brought before the high council. They will decide ifyou will be allowed to see the Empress.”

Chapter 11: All Authority Derives from Fear

Chapter Text

The paladins fall in, surrounding them, and they are escorted throughthe gates to the high district. Beyond, the buildings are even moredecorated, and the passersby are accompanied by servants and retinues.The distasteful splendor of ill-gotten wealth.

[This is certainly progress.]

[I am suddenly doubting the sanity of this plan of yours. Nooffense.]

[Oh live a little, Zazu.]

[I am, and I would prefer to stay that way.]

The sergeant gestures. From over to the side of the gate on theinside of the wall, a parked coach rolls forward, drawn by a pair ofgoats. The coachman is another red-armored paladin saurman.

Four paladins take the imperial seats of the coach. Three mount up ongoats to serve as outriders. One opens the coach door.

Takall looks at the vehicle. There are no windows, and padding on allwalls.

“What’s this for?”

“We are taking you to the High Council.”

“I think not. I think we shall walk instead.”

“Madam, this is not a request. It is an order.”

“And it is an order I am not going to obey. I do not recognize yourauthority. If you want myself and my companions inside that coach, youare free to strike us down where we stand and pile our corpses up insidethis windowless cabin of yours.”

The sergeant rolls his eyes. “Seize them!”

“Lay hands on us and it will be the last time any of you havehands!” Takall says with some volume, aside to the paladinsapproaching.

They stop, looking to their sergeant.

The tension is palpable.

Takall clears their throat. “If on the other hand, you were to orderus to walk to the High Council, escorted by yourself and yourcompetent men, we would be more than happy to oblige. It is not secretwhere the High Council lies, is it?”

Another moment of tension.

“Stow the coach! Dismount!”

The smell of faeces is still there. It is masked in perfumes, whichmust be magical, because the sheer quantity of perfume needed wouldimply chemical industry.

It is a comparatively short walk. Each successive walled district issmaller than the previous. The streets are paved with smooth slabs ofstone, and all carriages on the streets are coaches drawn by a varietyof beasts of burden. Goats, duck-billed dinosaurs, synapsidproto-mammals, even one memorable instance of a gigantic insect.

In the river district, the streets were a mishmash of species andtheir ethnicities. In the upper district as well, but it did not escapeTakall that those of means were more often than not saurman. Here, thespeciesism is in full force: there is hardly a single non-saurman. Eventhe servants are all saurman.

There are a lot of what Takall assumes are church officials — malepaladins in red with white accents, and female priestesses in white withred accents. That is the other thing Takall has noticed: the powerimbalance of genders seems to favor women.

It took some time to puzzle out, but the conclusion is obvious: womenare seen as sensible, caring, responsible, and thus suited to holdingpower, especially in presiding over a household. Furthermore in paganfashion, the act of birth has some kind of sacred connotation.

In contrast, men are seen as strong, potentially dangerous, andinherently violent and unstable, thus valuable only in their capacity todo labor and be heroic.

Bunk. A dark mirror of what was the norm on Earth — but not the tritedirect inversion so many authors struggled with.

Three people escorted by a dozen paladins draw stares. It is probablynot often that these people have something as unexpected as humansintrude upon their perfect worlds.

Soon they arrive at the courthouse, if it can be described as that.It resembles more another cathedral. The entrance is guarded by paladinsin more ornate livery, and a few angels sit the facade likegargoyles.

Through the gates, reveals an interior much like the cathedral in theupper district. Up in the rafters sit angels the size of draft animalsand larger, staring down at them, and instead of an altar there is araised bench seating eleven, with only three seats occupied.

Throughout the room, groups of nobles mill about, discussing mattersof government no doubt, accompanied by scribes with rickety movablelecterns, and servants carrying trays of refreshments.

The sergeant rushes ahead to find a man in paladin social regalia,and converses briefly with him.

Takall stands straight as he approaches.

“I am Holy Captain Behir. What might be the issue, madam?” heasks.

“Well met, Captain. I need to see the empress. Also your Sergeantmight have informed you that I attempted to bribe one of his men andresisted arrest.”

“He did.”

“I was also made to understand that the High Council would hear myplea to have an audience with the Empress?”

“They will hear the case of you attempting to bribe a holy paladinand impede holy justice. Word is being sent to the office ofproceedings. I should think you will be heard sometime before two scoredays from today.”

“Is there any way to expedite this?”

“No.And given the severity of your crime, you will be required tospend this wait in arrest. Do you understand these terms?”

Takall nods, looking about. “Is there any crimes which would requirethe High Council to assemble to hear my case today?”

Captain Behir looks at them for a long beat with an unreadableexpression.

“Or alternatively, who might I be able to bribe — sorry, I mean ofcourse give a generous donation to — in order for them torelinquish their appointment slot today?” Casually, they reach intotheir belt pouch and draw out a handful of gold talents, letting themfall through their fingers onto the stone floor with a metallicclatter.

“Madam, what you are suggesting is not only illegal, butblasphemous.”

Takall folds their hands behind their back and takes two stepsforward — the paladins of their escort put hands on their sword hilts asone — and bends down to the Captain’s eye level.

“Captain,” they say in a confidential tone. “I am going to appearbefore the High Council today. It is up to you todecide how much mayhem is going to take place before people start takingme seriously.”

He sneers. “Put this woman in irons.”

A paladin approaches with a set of manacles, and Takall holds outtheir wrists obediently. The heavy bracelets of iron slot over theirwrists, and a simple rotating latch on the underside locks them,operated by a triangular key.

The paladin steps away, and Takall lowers their hands to obscure fromview an actuator emerging from their sleeve and unlatching thecuffs.

With casual ease, the cuffs come off, and go into Takall’s ‘innerpocket’ which is just the subspace that is the entire lining of thegarment.

“Now, are we done with this whole charade?”

The Captain steps back. “Swords!”

Twelve angel-feather blades come out, and are pointed at them. Thecommotion is drawing attention, some make to file out of the room,others look on with amused fascination.

“I don’t want this to escalate to violence. Go fetch your superior,Captain. My business is far above your pay grade.”

He scowls and turns to leave.

[I must admit I am beginning to agree with Zazzuwa. Are you surethis is safe?]

[Only so long as we do not flinch in the face of authority. Thesepeople are no doubt so used to their mere status’ ability to intimidatethat they have forgotten what it looks like when an agitator disregardsit entirely.]

[And why would they not just cut us down?]

[In the case of the sergeant, he could rightfully not know ifwe’re powerful enough to kill him and his men before they could kill us.He chose the safety of his men — quite commendably so.]

[Yes, and here and now?]

[We are making a nuisance of ourselves in a manner that demandsthe highest form of justice in order to justify their own worldview.Cutting us down would mean the only retort to an agitator’s arguments isviolence, and I suspect these people pride themselves on being theso-called reasonable sort. Also I suspect it would be frowned upon tostart a fight in these high halls.]

Takall bends down to pick up three gold coins and starts jugglingthem.

[They’re going to kill us, I still think.]

It is a while before someone arrives with yet higherauthority, and yet less armor. A woman, this time, yet in paladincolors.

“And what might be your rank?”

Takall rolls a talent across their knuckles.

“Holy General. Who are you?”

“Ah, someone who has authority to make decisions. I am Takall. Thisis my bodyguard Zazzuwa, and my advisor Hanahana. As for mybusiness—”

“I know your business.”

“As for my business — it is rude to interrupt, General — Ineed to see the Empress. I’ve been made to understand before that, Imust see the High Council. I count eleven seats, but only threeConsuls.” They gesture to the bench.

The General looks around at the twelve paladins, still with weaponsdrawn.

“By my authority as General, your little adventure hereby ends.” Shemakes a gesture, and a pair of angels the size of coach carriages dropfrom the ceiling.

“General, dear General. Use your eyes, I beseech thee.” Takall holdsup two gold coins in front of their eyes. “I am standing in a cathedralof the Red Empress, under the eyes of her angels, surrounded by yourcapable paladins at swordpoint. And yet, I am not at allintimidated.”

The General has an unreadable expression, but at least doesn’t orderthe angels to attack.

“Either, I am mad — a possibility I cannot discount out of hand, mind— or I know something you don’t.” They flip the gold coin over,catching it in the air and slapping it on the back of their other hand.“Are you willing to gamble on it being the former? The sergeant I metearlier had the good sense to think of his men. Do you?”

Moving their hand away, the gold talent shows its obverse: seveninterlocked circles.

“You have asked me who I am. Know that since arriving in your faircity, I have answered every question I’ve been asked truthfully. I amtelling you now, that there are questions I have not been asked. Thoseare the questions you should ask, or if you haven’t thecourage, pass me along to whichever of your superiors do.

The General, to her credit, turns away, and as she passes theCaptain, gives an order. He gestures, and the twelve paladinssurrounding the three of them draw away.

They are replaced by ten other angels of the same size. Scores ofCherenkov-blue eyes stare them down, and the flame-like feathers nearlyforms a wall.

“By request of the General, for your own safety, please clear theroom!”

Takall turns to Hanahana and Zazzuwa.

[Now we are getting somewhere.]

“Shall we take tea while we wait?”

The High Council assembles with all haste and Vicepopess Zirrire isno exception.

She arrives in the light drizzle, by one of the fast cabriolets.Coach might entail greater comfort, but this is urgent. As vicepopess isthe moderator of the high council.

By the back gates of the council hall, the paladins stoop in herhonor as she passes, as is proper. Nominally the office of vicepopess isthe next-most devout after the popesses, but in actuality she holdsoffice because she is a political powerhouse.

Basra falls in step next to her. “Vicepopess.”

“Holy General. Brief me: why did the archpriestess call ahaste-assembly?”

“There’s an agitator who demands to see the Empress.”

Zirrire knows not to make assumptions. “Explain.”

“They are unfazed by threats of force. I called on angelic wrath, andthey cautioned me not to gamble, implying that her fearlessness wasgrounded in fact.”

She considers this as they walk on quick strides.

“Only a madwoman would make such a bluff — at some point we’d ask herto demonstrate and execute her when she fails to impress.”

“She admitted she might be a madwoman, as well. As they werepeacefully inclined, I decided not to risk making a scene in theHall.”

“Then it is clear. She is powerful enough to think she stands achance. Perhaps an archsorceress with delusions of grandeur.”

They head up the stairs to the balcony level, and enter the main hallbehind the bench, raised several cubits above the hall floor. GeneralBasra heads to stand behind the Holy Marshal, and Zirrire takes thecenter seat.

Then she looks down onto the otherwise empty floor, and there,surrounded by a dozen dominion-class angels, sits three humans on thefloor, partaking in refreshments.

Along the walls, paladins stand at the ready, and down to the sideare the nine scribes. Apart from the obvious strangeness, everything isas it should be.

She takes the gavel and strikes the soundplate. “As vicepopess, Icall the council to order.”

The tallest of the humans rises to her feet smoothly.“Finally.”

Zirrire is already beginning to dislike them.

“Council is in session,” she says. “You will show respect or becharged with contempt.”

The human approaches the bench, stopping just off center on themosaic sigil, breaking the symmetry of the hall, quite likely onpurpose. Her accomplices follow. They all bow deeply. “Of course, Iapologize with all due reverence.”

Zirrire gestures, and one of the scribes approaches with thecontract.

“This is a contract of truthfulness. By signing it you swear an oathof truthfulness. Perjury is high contempt.”

The human takes a reading angel from their shoulder and reads thesingle-page document.

“One question: is this objective truth as according to fact, or thetruth as I am best able to convey it according to my knowledge?”

It is not that Zirrire doesn’t know the answer, but still she looksto the Archpriestess to her left, the sitting expert on suchmatters.

“The latter,” Thusne replies.

The contract is signed, and the scribe heads up the steps to thefore-podium and hands it over to Zirrire.

“For the record, state your name and title.”

“I am Takall. I have been given no title that I know.”

“Why are you here?”

“I wish to be granted an audience with the Empress as soon aspossible. In the interest of expediency I have committed several minorcrimes, but nobody has been hurt as a result — that I know, at least,excepting a few bruised egos.”

They look aside at the Marshall, probably at Basra behind her.

“Very well. It is my understanding that among those crimes have beenseveral defiances of authority and holy justice, as well as impliedthreats of violence.”

“Correct.”

“Be advised, Takall of no title, that the precedent of this sort ofsituation is that the agitator be put to death.”

“I might have guessed. However, there is an extenuatingcirc*mstance.”

“Which is?”

Takall once more looks to the Marshall, to Basra.

“I told the Holy General, that since arriving in your fair city, Ihave answered truthfully every question I have been asked. I cautionedher that she wasn’t asking the right questions.”

Zirrire looks the Holy Marshal.

Akthis clears her throat. “You have made threats of implied violence.That begs the question of what your ability to cause violence is. Whatis the nature of your power?”

Takall smiles. “I am very powerful.”

“What manner of power do you hold?”

“The divine kind. I am a god.”

This causes a quite appropriate response, in Takall’s estimation. Thewhite-clad woman to the right of the moderator gestures, and there is arush of wind behind them. Turning to see, an angel has materializedwithin the cathedral hall, as large as can possibly fit between thecolumns. All eyes focused on Takall.

The sheer pressure of its presence is easily felt.

[Stay calm. Don’t flinch.]

They nod, for show, turning back to the council.

“Thank you for taking me seriously.”

Zirrire is shaken, but doesn’t show it. Archpriestess Thusne andMarshall Akthis are superficially calm. The advisors, scribes, and eightsecular council members are less so. Conversation erupts, and a few arebolting for the door.

She strikes the gavel three times, hard. “Order!”

This begets silence.

“The council is still in session! Until such a time as the accusedacts in contempt, we shall remain stalwart! And when they act incontempt, we are under the protection of the Empress!”

“Rest assured, I mean no harm.”

Zirrire looks to the contract. She glances to Akthis, who has glancedat it as well. She nods back to her. In the Marshall’s seasonedestimation, a threat but not cause for alarm.

“Please explain yourself, your reason for being in the city, and yourintentions towards the Empress.”

The god nods. “I am Takall. I was summoned into this world some scoredays ago, by my priestess Hanahana. She is the former seer and wisewomanof the Emeru tribe. We traveled over the plains to get to the city. Herewe met Zazzuwa, originally of the Ura tribe, who agreed to follow me, asmy warrior.”

The god hesitates. “I want to point out that the Emeru and Ura tribesare under my protection. I will be displeased if they are put to harmfor associating with me.”

“Is that a threat?” Akthis asks.

“No.I’m just requesting honorable conduct from you; I shall hold youto no agreement on the matter, it is but a humble plea.”

“Very well.”

“Permission to interject,” the Chancellor of Esoterica asks.

“Granted,” Zirrire says.

“The act of summoning a god is punishable by death.”

The god looks at the Chancellor. Then, not even acknowledging thestatement, she looks back at the Marshall.

“I have come to the city in the hopes of finding answers. As to whatthis world is, how I got here, and where I might be able to apply mypower best.”

“And what is this power?”

“I make things.”

There is a moment of silence while they wait for the god to continue.When it becomes apparent they have given their full answer, Akthiscontinues.

“What kinds of things?”

“Good things. Food. Medicine. Furnishings. Houses. Tools. Bags thatare larger on the inside. Beasts of burden that do not tire. Coins.”

“Permission to interject,” the Mastress of the Mint says.

Zirrire gestures for her to continue.

“Counterfeiting is a high crime.”

The god looks to her. “I have read the law. Counterfeiting is a crimesecondary to debasem*nt. The coin I strike is finer than theminted coins I have received as payment for raw gold by guild certifiedmoney changers. My talents are fine pure gold, and my quills and doshesare eighteen-and-half score-parts silver cut with pure copper. Indeedseveral coins that have come into my possession have been both debasedand clipped.”

“Preposterous—” Zirrire clears her throat. Chesugta hesitates. “Irest.”

“You make things,” Akthis repeats. “Do you makeweapons?”

“What are weapons but tools for ending life? To answer your question:I have, once. I met the Trickster known as Nathaniel in the road. I madea firearm and pointed it at him — though in retrospect I don’t think Icould have harmed him with it. Since then I have only made simple knivesof good steel and a few things that could be used as blunt strikingtools.”

“What are your intentions towards the Empress?”

“I wish to talk to her. I wish to talk to another god who is of theworld — not a carefree trickster or a shadowy broker of secrets. Someonewho cares about the state of things, who is invested.”

“What will you do if the Empress decides to meet you withbelligerence?”

The god remains silent for a moment. “I think I shall make whatdefense of my person is necessary in order to flee. The Empress is morepowerful than I am, by far.”

The Marshall leans forward. Zirrire knows this gesture from the oldwoman — she has a question that will reveal this imposter for what theyare.

“Is there some circ*mstance that would make you meet her withbelligerence? What could she say to you, or do which would lead you toinitiate battle? What would cause you to attempt to overthrow her rule?To harm or kill her?”

Zirrire smiles and looks aside to the archpriestess who is smiling aswell.

The god remains silent, looking to the side.

The silence drags out.

“The Holy Marshal asked you a question, Takall.”

They look back up at her, with some menace in their eye. “Thequestion deserves a proper answer. Do not disturb my thinking.”

Zirrire frowns. She looks to the Marshall, whose expression isunreadable. The old officer’s tail, hidden from the floor by the bench,sings back and forth languidly.

Finally, the god speaks.

“If the Empress reveals herself to be far more callous than I fear.If she decides to attack me without regards for collateral damage. Ifshe cares not for the deaths of the innocent in such a clash… Then Ishall fight her. Kill her if I must, though I should prefer to subdue. Ishall fight to protect the people of her own city, though they are notmy people to protect. And I shall likely lose, but still I must fight,and I will. To the death if need be.”

The silence rings out.

“Show me the contract,” the Marshall says.

Zirrire hands it to her.

She passes it back.

The Archpriestess reaches for it.

She leans over to one of her advisors. “Send for the Prophetess.”

Chapter 12: The Empress May Judge You

Chapter Text

Takall is more than willing to wait. The council adjourns, and afierce, hushed discussion begins up on the bench.

[Was that it?]

[It would seem so, yes.]

[So you didn’t get us killed.]

[Oh ye of little faith, Zazu.]

[I have plenty of faith, that doens’t mean I think youinfallible.]

The ‘Prophetess’ is an elderly saurman woman, with deep wrinkles andpatchy greying plumage. She’s dressed in simple whites, and approachesTakall with neither deference or fear.

“You’re the god who wishes to see the Empress.”

It is not a question.

“You are here to take me to her.”

Also not a question.

“Come along.”

Takall rises, and Zazzuwa and Hanahana fall in behind, as they followthe Prophetess out of the council hall, through the main gates.

As she passes, the paladins and priestesses bow deeply.

“You’re not bringing a retinue of paladins to escort me?”

She turns her head to look back at Takall. “No.”

“Might I ask why?”

“Because I have faith in my god. And I was once Holy Marshal. Thecouncil has deemed you trustworthy, under contractual oath. This meanseither you are trustworthy, or you are powerful enough that there isnothing the Empress can do to stop you.”

“Oh.”

The sky is clear, for the moment, and the old woman walks quickerthan one might expect from someone her age.

Traffic stops as they pass through the finely paved streets,noblewomen and servants, priestesses and paladins, all alike stopping tostare at four strangers following the Prophetess.

They reach a main street of sorts and turn up the inclined street. Atthe end of it is the third wall, and beyond it up the hill, lies whatTakall assumes to be the Empress’ ziggurat. The gate is shut.

As they approach, the paladins guarding it begin the procedure ofopening the heavy doors without even being asked. Massive, of stolidwood and metal bands, they swing open. No elaborate ornamentation — thisgate is at its core, a utilitarian thing.

Beyond the third wall, is quiet. Low buildings without any particulardecorations. In the city below, avenues are nonexistent, even within theupper districts. Here, every road is lined with trees. It’s by no meansa big district, and lying on the incline of the mountain lends theground a noticeable incline.

The air is pleasantly free from stink.

It quite fittingly reminds Takall of the Vatican City, not thatthey’ve ever been.

The Ziggurat lies at the center of it all, of course. It’s gates areapparently solid iron, and the stone walls slope inwards. It isenormous, but smaller than the cathedrals below.

[Two calling everyone, I’ve made it to the Ziggurat. I’m about tomeet the Empress.]

[Say hi from the rest of us.]

“Here we are.”

“Thank you, Prophetess.”

“Call me Phystis.”

“I will if we meet again. I am Takall.”

“Good luck, Takall.”

Then she leaves them alone.

[So what do we do now?]

Takall takes a step forward to the gate, and puts a hand on it.Testing, they push against it, and it slides open. Heavy to be sure, butsmooth on the hinges and perfectly balanced. With a steady, gentle push,the doors open for the three of them.

The hallway into the interior of the ziggurat is longer than it hasany right to be. Deeper at a glance than the entire structure.

[Something weird is going on.]

[You don’t say. I think I know a little bit of what thosefootpads and robbers felt, now.]

Takall turns to them.

[I’m going to go in now.]

[Why are you saying that as if you intend to do soalone?]

[Because I am.]

[I’ve sworn to be your bodyguard — there might be dangers inthere.]

[And if there are, I need you to be by Hana’s side, rather thanmine.]

[Tal, we are in this with you; you know that, right? Don’t go inthere out of some misplaced sense of heroism.]

Takall looks over their shoulder, at the deep hallway.

[My confidence in my ability to ensure your safety is at an endhere. This is not mortals channeling a fraction of the power of a god.This is a god who lets mortals play with fractions of herpowers.]

Takall pugs a hand on both of their shoulders.

[She cannot kill me. Not while Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, andEight are alive. But she can kill you. And I-who-is-also-a-we can’t bearto lose you.]

Hanahana puts a hand on theirs.

“Take care, Two.”

Zazzuwa puts a hand on their shoulder.

“Get out alive.”

Chani has seen through the eyes of her angels — as she so rarelybothers to — this upstart newcomer. It is a feat of some merit to havefinagled without bloodshed the delegate rulers of the city into grantingthis audience with her.

But it will be the same as every other time something like this hashappened. It ends in wailing and gnashing of teeth.

“House,” she says. “Let them through to the throne hall.”

The gate closes. Darkness. A dull red glow from the two angels ontheir shoulders.

“Light.”

Illuminated by a magelight, Takall continues down the nearfeatureless hallway.

It comes almost abruptly, and Takall isn’t sure what’s at play here,but it isn’t just bigger-on-the-inside tech. Or magic. The end of thehallway: another set of gates. Utilitarian like the main gates, like thesmooth grey stone of the hallway.

Takall puts hands on it and shoves. They slide open noiselessly,slowly.

Inside is a throne room. Takall’s pre-conscious mind draws in theperipheral information — columns, walls, floor, ceiling — while theirconsciousness is occupied by the rooms sole other occupant.

As the center sits a gigantic throne, atop a podium one stephigh.

On the throne sits a being. It is obvious that it is anangel from the flame-red feathers and the single blue eye. But unlikethose Takall has seen, this one is saurmanoid.

Two scaly-dark legs ending in great solid clawed toes, hook-clawedhands resting on the armrests, and the back of the throne seems cut toallow the massive tail to curl around the back of the throne and infront. The angelic fire-red plumage covers the body as if for modesty,and frames the face, which is dominated by elongated jaws with viciousexposed teeth, and nearly skeletal as if slate skin stretched overbone.

It might not be the Empress, but Takall is going to assumeit is.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

They approach the podium. The step is just a bit too high forcomfort. It has to be no accident that it is not a high podium with manysteps, no this is a statement of a difference in kind rather than degreebetween the Empress and those standing below.

Takall takes a step up — a statement of peerage — then three forward,and a bow.

This conversation will take a delicate touch.

“First, let me offer you an apology. I have trespassed in your citywithout announcing myself, traveled incognito among its people, andabused the hospitality of your domain.”

The monster gestures.

“Second, I am Takall. I apologize for not introducing myself rightaway, but I thought it was most prudent to address my transgressions indescending order of—”

“Enough contrition, state your business.”

The voice is a woman’s, overlaid a deep rumble.

“Mind if I sit?”

Another gesture.

Takall reach into one of their pouches, and draws out a foldingcamping chair, unfolds it, and takes a seat, crossing legs and restingfolded hands on knee.

“I want to make it clear, that I am in no way looking to disrespectyour rule. If you wish me gone from your lands, I shall oblige with duehaste and never return. That said, I hope you will wish for me to stay —it’s a fair city. I’ve taken a liking to it.”

The Empress says nothing for a while.

“I’m tempted, but I shall indulge you for a while longer.”

Takall nods. “Full disclosure, I have traded information with BlackHand. He describes you as having grown old and disillusioned with theworld, and being capable of disproportionate cruelty and violencedespite your disposition towards reason.”

No answer or retort.

“I have questions I hope you can answer. In return, I shall answerany questions you may have. I hope your powers include the ability totell truth from falsehood.”

“I was waiting for you to lie to me so I might’ve and excuse tostrike you down. Ask. For every answer I give, I shall ask aquestion.”

“Agreeable. Here is my question: are you a tyrant?”

“What answer do you expect? I take it you find tyranny unpalatable,”the Empress rumbles. “In that case, I can merely answer in what mannerwill cause you to act in the way I wish.”

“I’m aware. I expect the truth.”

“I am old. I am alive. I have done things to ensure both which havecrossed your morality, both out of necessity, but also not.”

“Hm.”

The angel-saurman tilts her head. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to ascertain if I am a tyrant?”

“Because I’ve seen the city. I’ve seen how saurmans, how women occupyany and every position of power, while humans, daimans, ormans, andsalamans, while men are relegated to lower positions. And not for anymeritorious difference.”

A pause for drama.

“I’ve seen the wealthy, the landed gentry, the titled nobility. I’veseen the almshouses and the ghettos. I’ve seen the common folk who areone bad break away from destitution.”

Takall leans back for emphasis.

“If I dig, it will not be long before I uncover the rot, so Ibelieve. And when I do, I fear I shall find that this city is built oncorruption, suffering, prejudice, and corpses. I should like to knowwhether you acted to make it so, or by indifferent inaction allowed itto become so.”

“Because in the former case, I would be your enemy.”

“Yes.”

The empress laughs, a horrible beastly sound. “Oh, I’ve seen yourkind before, young Takall. You think you can come and fix the world,topple tyrants and everything will be good. The sad truth is that thosewho care for justice will always have to divide their time betweenjustice and defense, while someone who cares not—”

“Don’t preach power politics to me, I am not a newborn babe. I havefought tyrannical regimes in my mortal life in the Far Plane. I havetaken beatings from law men, and studied the arts of rousing the publicto rise against the state.”

“And you think you can do that here.”

“No.”

The Empress tilts her head.

“I intend to travel until I find someone who is willing to give mefree reign to lift their people out of poverty and ignorance. Then Iwill build an army wielding weapons the world has never heard of, andtake by force any nation who would rather their peoples languish ininequality and injustice. If none shall have me I will go into thedesert and build my own nation there.”

“Interesting. What makes you think you can accomplish this?”

“As a god I know things. The secrets of natural philosophy andgeometry. How to create life from base matter, and affect the soul asone pleases. To me the very living flesh is but as a ship, and I, but asa humble shipwright. One cannot build a better world with might alone,and revolutions fail on this: with sword in hand it is so very easy toslay the emperor and take her crown.”

“And so you intend to spread great knowledge, in the hopes themortals will somehow help themselves.”

“Is it so different from what you do? I’ve learnt you defend thecity, that your church lease out your miracles and angels, but that youhaven’t been seen in public for a score years.”

“I shan’t count this as a question for me to answer, but I shall notethat you are not very good at this game of questions. I owe you twoanswers now.”

Takall drums their fingers on their hand.

“Do you wish prosperity, safety, and good health for yourpeople?”

“Yes.”

“Then why have you not intervened? The city is sick, yourchurch does not allow orphanages to take donations other donationsthan church aid. Your priestesses are selling angles.”

The Empress is quiet for a long time.

“I shall have to swear you to secrecy.”

Takall now takes a turn to be quiet. The Empress before them has asecret they wish not to divulge. If the most important part of a secretis that it exists in the first place, then it is a matter of going overthe known facts and deducing.

It’s a gamble. “I shall swear to keep this secret you wish me to keepuntil such a time as you free me from it, or we become enemies.”

She nods. “Acceptable.

Takall leans forward. “Empress, are you unwell?”

She is quiet for a while. Then she begins chuckling, a deep choppingrumble. The she rises in a flash, and a huge clawed hand closes aroundTakall’s throat, lifting them off the ground.

Held aloft, high above the floor, Takall hangs, one hand on themassive fingers, the other holding a high caliber handgun, aimeddirectly at her eye.

“Who is your source?! From whom did you learn this?! I should haveknown this was just like all the rest! I know not how youmanaged to lie to my face, but I shall torture it out of you ifneed be!”

Now it is Takall’s turn to chuckle. The gun disappears into theirsleeve. “Let’s make a deal: set me down and I shall answer you.”

“Why should I trust that you won’t somehow lie to me?!”

The angel’s breath smells like ozone.

“It is not within my powers. What is within my powers is that I amnumber Two. Three and Four left the city hours ago and are likely milesaway — and I know not where they went. Five, Six, Seven, and so on, aredown in the city, waiting for my safe return. Kill me at your own peril.Torture me for all I care, I can make myself feel no pain.”

The throne hall expands. The ceilings rise, and the walls recede. Andwhen it seems they can go no further, they do still.

In the vast, dark, open space, two beings materialize out of thinair, and Takall recognizes them as the same type of angel thattransported them to the city.

The Empress drops Takall, and they land hard, forefeet on the edge ofthe podium. Despite their strength and flexibility, the bite of anover-stressed ankle makes itself known. They tumble over backwards,turning off the pain with their lace.

“So. Talk!”

“The most important part of any secret is that a secret exists in thefirst place. Knowing that a secret is kept is often enough to deducewhat is kept secret.”

The Empress says nothing.

“You have lamented your age. The form you wear, I suspect it is notyour true form — or am I wrong? — and lastly, I know what kinds ofthings an Empress wishes to keep secret. The knowledge of a ruler’shealth in peril signals the perfect time to strike against her.”

They rise to their feet, brushing off and rubbing their neck. “I askif you are unwell because I care. Even about tyrants.Especially if they are not in fact tyrants. Or to a lesser extent ifthey are willing abdicate gracefully in defeat.”

Takall meets the icy-blue luminous glare of that single eye, standingbeneath the podium. “There’s an oath of medicine where I came frombefore I was a god. It is an oath of non-maleficence andconfidentiality. I should like to think I follow it, but—”

“But what?”

“I have failed to live up to it once already. I healed a man of anillness, but failed to account for how he would use his newfoundstrength to take his own life. An outcome I should have foreseen andtaken steps to avoid.”

The Empress remains silent. Then speaks:

“You have sworn to uphold this secrecy.”

“I have not sworn because I have had no teacher to swear before. ButI shall uphold the spirit of the oath still. I am a multitude, but ifyou wish I shall keep your secret even from my… siblings, though thatmight limit my ability to help you. I shall keep it from my priestessand my paladin as well.”

“And you will do no harm?”

“To the best of my ability.”

The two archangels vanish.

Chani looks at this fledgeling god.

And she hopes.

And she recognizes that she hopes. It is a dangerous emotion, one shethought she got rid of many years ago.

“Can—” The angle’s voice can’t quite convey the emotion of her voice,masking it in rumbles. “Can you—”

She stops. This is not a tale. The world is cruel. Bad things happento good people, and vice versa. This cannot be anything other than atrick.

But what if it isn’t.

“What is your ability? To heal, I mean.”

“I have not yet found its limits. It depends on what one would call adisease.”

Part of her wishes this idiot would shut up. But that small insistentchildlike thing inside her wants them to keep talking.

“The woman who summoned me to this world, who is now my priestess,she was at the end of her life when I came to her. Old, frail, with asickness in her bones. Now she is young again. The warrior I have in myservice, he had no left hand when I met him. The man I failed to save,had I gotten to his corpse earlier I might have been able to reversedeath itself.”

“Nobody can bring back the dead.”

“I can, but only the very recent dead. Between the time the heartstops pumping and the brain decays beyond repair, I can bring them back.I do not say this out of hubris.”

Chani turns away. It hurts.

There’s a footfall, then more. A hand touches her thigh, like a childwould.

“Empress. Please. Let me help you.”

The saurmanoid angel falls to its knees, then lowers onto its hands.Opening its dreadful maw and unhinging its jaw, it retches, like a catthrowing up a hairball.

Takall darts around to see.

From the gullet, a saurman woman comes. Slimy and nude, like a freshbirth. Red feathers adorn her crown and shoulders, and her skin is apatchwork of pale and dark. She wipes her eyes free of slime with slimyhands.

The angel vanishes, leaving her in a puddle on the floor.

Her tail is docked to perhaps a third of its length in a grislycauterization scar, and without it to balance, she rises unsteady on herfeet. She is smaller than average, and sickly of build. A long trail ofrawness runs up her one leg, as if the skin has been flayed away andnever regrown. One shoulder bears a deep pit, gouged through muscle andsinew, visibly limiting her movement. One of her eye sockets is scarredcompletely over.

The first thing Takall does is to draw a towel and a robe from theirpouch.

She takes the offered towel and dries off what she can with only onegood arm. Takall helps her with the robe.

“Are you in pain?”

“Less so today than other days,” she says, and Takall recognizes thevoice as what was overlaid with rumbles when the angel spoke. “But thatcan wait. Come with me.”

Chapter 13: But Her Sins Outnumber Your Own

Chapter Text

“House, lead me to the residence.”

A door appears in the back wall of the throne room, and the Empresssets off towards it. She walks with a limp.

Takall conjures a cane, offering it to her.

“Empress?”

She looks, sees the offered walking implement, and accepts it.

“What do I call you?”

She limps along a few steps, supporting her weight on the cane asbest as she can with her good arm, but alas her limp is on the same sideas her bad shoulder. “Chani. Vaz Ar, if you wish.”

The door opens to a lounge or dining hall of some description, withcolorful wallpaper, magical light fixtures, and several doors finelymade, heavy doors.

“Remind me later to ask you how your house works.”

“Sit.”

She points to one of the chairs, and Takall is quick to obey.

“My servants might come through. They are both blind, deaf, and mute.The will know you as a guest by your smell. I will be right back.”

Takall watches as she heads over to a door, opens it, and disappearsinside the room.

And then they are alone.

[Okay, so far things are going well.]

They look around. There is a distinct feeling of being aguest here. As if the house is reminding Takall they are not apermanent resident.

[Hello?]

A tiny note of alarm starts to make itself known.

[Five? Six? Hana? Zazu?]

No answer.

“f*ck.”

A door opens and Takall nearly jumps. Through it comes an orman man,dressed in quite unremarkable clothes, clearly tailored for comfortrather than looks. He is wearing a cap that covers both his eyes andears, and as he steps into the room, he stops for a moment sniffing theair.

Blind, deaf, mute. Takall clears their throat, and he doesn’treact.

With confidence, and only a hand held out partially in front of himhe reaches and puts a hand on the table.

Experimentally, Takall knocks on the tabletop. The man stops. Heknocks on the tabletop in response.

Then he proceeds onwards, to another door, and disappears.

With nothing else to do, Takall extrudes a little block of whiteepoxy resin and a dozen little insect legs dart out of their sleeve,with silent die grinders and monomolecular scalpels.

When there’s nothing better to do, make good art. Seems as good atime as any to take up sculpture.

“Sergeant!”

Esu hears the booming voice through the open door to the guardhouseand a chill runs down his spine. He grabs his helmet and gets up fromthe desk. “Not again,” he mutters to himself.

Stepping out into the open air, he sees that very same asshole. Thetall human sorcerer with the silver clothes, and no hair.

“Ah! Good. You’re still on duty.”

“What do you want.”

“Sergeant, forgive my earlier rudeness. I am Takall.”

They take a deep bow.

“I know only your rank, but not your name.”

“Call me Esu.”

“Very well, Esu. Do not be alarmed: remember, you escorted me to thehigh council. They have heard my case, and I am currently in an audiencewith the Empress herself.”

Esu nods. This one is clearly insane.

“You might think I am insane, now, but rest assured, I actually havethe ability to exist in multiple places at once. Owing to the fact thatI am a god. Sorry for not disclosing earlier.”

His men all react with due caution, stepping back, hands on theirhilts.

Esu doesn’t. There’s not much one can do as a mortal against a god.His grandfather learned that the deadly way.

“Rest assured, I mean no harm. As I said, I have been heard by thecouncil and they have judged me trustworthy. You can send a messenger toconfirm.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to find me Holy Captain Behir.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

“Holy Captain Behir, sir. Sergeant Esu is here escorting a god by thename Takall.”

Behir has never gotten out of his chair so fast.

The door opens.

“This better be important, Captain,” the Holy Marshall says.

“It is, ma’am. I need General Basra. It’s about the god fromearlier.”

Basra looks to Akthis.

“I better come along. Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

“General, Marshall,” the god greets.

“How went your audience with the Empress, madam Takall?” Akthisasks.

“I don’t know. It is still in session. Before you ask, one of mymany abilities as a god is to be in multiple places at once.And I am neither madam nor sir, my name will do — no title.”

“Ah. Then what is this matter about?”

“Earlier today, after I entered the Ziggurat, I sent my twocompanions away, down to our domicile in the river district. En-routethey were arrested by paladins and taken into custody. I assume for somecrime related to what that ponce said about summoning gods being acrime.”

“The Chancellor of Esoterica.”

“Her, yes. I want to inform you, Marshal, that if my two companionsare not released from custody post haste I shall be very cross.At the very least those responsible for making that decision need to bedisciplined: I’m sure you appreciate how civil I am being, but were I aless sensible sort of god, this might be exactly the thing that woulddrive me to belligerence.”

Akthis turns to her. “Basra, please see to it that this is remediedimmediately. Takall, if you will follow the General. I shall investigatewho gave the order.”

The secretary opens the door. “Holy Marshal, how may I assist?”

“I need to see Chancellor Selex, please. Immediately.”

Chani returns, and Takall stands, paint brushes and little jars ofpaint get swept off the table by sticky little feelers and disappearinto their sleeve.

“She’ll see you now.”

Takall nods, and picks the bust off the table. “I made you this whileI waited.”

It is crude. Not in execution, but in that it has no artistic merit,and Takall knows it. They have beheld Chani’s face from every angle, andso it is no matter to see it in their mind’s lace-enhanced eye. Evenwielding the tools of the machine directly, as extensions of their ownlimbs, getting the likeness right was trivially easy.

The colors similarly easy, as the machine supplied paints that werejust right to make the light reflect in a lifelike manner.

It seems more and more that the cost of being a god, for them, is theability to find joy in the act of creating art. Any flourish,flair, or whimsy can be completed with no real work.

At least appreciating the aesthetics of their creations is stillpossible, or things would be really bleak.

Chani takes the bust, and looks it over. “This is fine work. Thankyou.”

And then, of course, there’s the act of giving of gifts.

Takall heads to the door, and Chani lags behind for a moment, thenleaves the bust on the table.

Through the door is a bedroom, wall-papered with gentle pastels, andwith a great window taking up much of one wall, overlooking the baybelow from an impossible vantage point much higher up on the mountain.The space is dominated by the grand bed carved from fine wood and laidwith silk beddings, in turn dominating the single occupant.

An elderly saurman lady. Her skin is bleached white by the pigmentbreakdown that afflict most saurmans in senescence; it hangs in heavywrinkles as if about to slough off her bones. Her shoulder are bony andthe plumage on them is picked bare save for whispy down.

She sits up against a pillow leaning on the headboard, to oneside.

But her eyes are sharp, and she watches Takall attentively.

“Good afternoon, young god.”

“Good afternoon. My name is Takall.”

“Takall,” she says as if tasting the word. “I am Esiph. I am Chani’swife.”

Takall bows. Of course. This is what bothers Chani so. They can onlyguess at how many years these two have spent together. “Might Isit?”

Esiph pats the bed. Her movements are slow, but not pained. The bedis quite soft, and seems to emanate warmth.

“I can already guess what Chani has brought me here to do.”

“She is always looking out for me.”

Takall nods. “I must think she loves you very much.”

“And I love her as well, which is why I must decline whatever helpshe has enlisted you to give.”

“Phi-phi—” Chani says.

“I have told you, Ni-ni, it’s time to let go.”

Takall looks back at Chani.

“Phi-phi, you know it will destroy me.”

“You’ve had me for a hundred years. Enough is enough. I am tired, letme rest.”

“Madam Esiph.”

She looks at Takall.

“Before you make this decision, may I suggest you converse with mypriestess?”

“What for?”

“When I met her she was three score-eleven summers old and slowlydying from a disease in her bones.”

“So you cured her? My Chani can do so as well.”

Takall shakes their head. “I made her young again. I think you shouldspeak to her, so you know what treatment you are declining.”

Esiph considers this for a long moment. “All right.”

“Now if you will excuse me, I will confer with your wife aboutbringing my priestess here.

She gives a wave of assent.

Takall stands, and heads out of the room.

Chani closes the door after them.

Outside, in the lounge again, Takall turns to face Chani. “Have youbeen keeping her alive against her will?”

Chani meets their gaze. “What will you do if I have?”

“Nothing. On one hand, I disagree with denying her theself-determination to die, on the other hand, I think death should notbe readily embraced. She seems comfortable and sane, if bored.”

“I shall bring your priestess here, by your leave.”

“I have not been able to contact her telepathically. I don’t knowwhere she is.”

Chani closes her eyes. “She is in paladinary custody. In theRootbroken Gaol.”

Takall tenses. “That’s—”

“You’re there, in the prison, accompanied by some Holy General. She’sarguing with the warden.”

“Oh. I might caution against just dropping in with an angel andsweeping her up. I haven’t been in contact with my other selveseither.”

[Open the door.]

Five almost startles.

“I am telling you, the Holy Marshall is currently giving theChancellor an earful. This god here —” she points toTakall “— is being extremely courteous, all things considered.Were she not I would suspect she’d do something highlyunpleasant to get you to comply.”

The warden is unfazed. “I do not negotiate under threat.”

Meanwhile Takall heads to the door to the office, and opens it.

“Hey Five.”

“Hey Two. How did it go?”

Two steps in, and to the side. An angel that by no rights should beable to fit in the hallway, enters the office.

The warden nearly falls off his chair.

“Told you,” General Basra says.

“It’s going quite well. I need Hana and Zazu. Wanna come along?”

“Love to.”

The irons have chafed her wrists raw. Zazzuwa cautioned her againstasking for them to be adjusted.

She’s not afraid. Neither is Zazzuwa over in the next cell.

That’s one beautiful little side-effect of having faith.

Then there’s a footfall on the other side of the iron bars, and shelooks up to see Takall holding their hand towards the lock on the celldoor, and a click sounding. They push the door open.

[Did they hurt you?]

[Five?]

[Two, actually. Chani and I-who-is-We have need of you.]

The messenger angel returns, with four passengers.

“Ah, it is quite bizarre to actually see two of you at once.”

Takall nods. “This is Five. You can address any of us as Takall.”

“We are not quite separate, but not quite one and the same.” Theother Takall bows deeply. “Pleasure to meet you, Empress.”

Chani nods. “Pleasure is mine as well.”

She stands as tall as she can, resting on the very nice cane theygifted her.

“This is Hanahana, my priestess and summoness, and Zazzuwa, my swornwarrior.”

“Your Imperial Majesty.” “It is an honor.” The two humans bow andcurtsies respectively.

“This is she?” Chani asks, gesturing to the girl. She really doesseem quite young and sprightly.

“Your majesty?”

“Yes. This is Hanahana, daughter of Annanna. Three score-elevensummers of age.”

Chani approaches her, and the girl is understandably cautious, as sheshould be.

“How do you feel?”

She casts a brief glance to her god.

“Quite fine, your majesty. Very well. Better than I recall feeling inmy prime.”

“Was it painful?”

“No.I was asleep for the whole treatment, but it was disorienting towake up — Takall had gotten my appearance wrong in a few small ways,which caused me some distress but was easily remedied afterwards.”

Chani nods.

“I had some doubts about whether I was even a real person, or if Ihad been created from nothing, but they allayed my doubts. I recallmeeting my tribe after being made young, and Takall offered to take methere again on the spot.”

She turns to one of the Takalls. “Did you? Create her fromnothing?”

“No.”

“They speak truth.”

Chani looks to the man. “And you?”

“Similar treatment, your majesty. I’m two score-four. Formermariner-at-arms. Officer. I lost my arm in the line of duty,” he holdsup his left, and undoes his sleeve, hiking it up.

There is no trace of the injury.

“Very well. Madam Hanahana, I would like for you to talk some senseinto my wife.”

“With respect, Your Majesty, in the interest of expedience, Takallhas already explained matters to me, just now.”

Chani looks to the Takalls. “Via telepathy, I assume.”

“Correctly so.”

“Good. This way.”

Hanahana and the Empress disappear into the master bedroom, leavingZazzuwa with the two Takalls.

He turns and looks at them, and sees an oddly intimate moment. Theyare standing side by side, heads tilted towards one another, gentlytouching, eyes closed. Like a gesture of affection between twins.

[Thank you for the save.]

There’s a moment before they reply.

[Think nothing of it, Zazu.]

[What was that thing you did, just now?]

[Bringing each other up to date on what has beenhappening.]

[Sounds useful.]

He looks back towards the door.

There’s a hand on his shoulder.

[What happens if Hanahana fails to convince—]

The door opens, and the Empress comes out.

“How fares it?”

“They’re talking.”

“Do you think she will assent?”

The Empress doesn’t reply. She takes a seat by the end of the longtable. An small omen-class angel leaps from her head plumage, and dartsout of the room. “Sit.”

“What now?” Takall asks. One of them. Zazzuwa isn’t sure which and itunnerves him a little.

“I am a host and I shall observe hospitality.”

“Thank you graciously, Your Majesty.”

She waves a hand. “Takall… if you are as trustworthy and as capableas you seem, I should like for you to be my personal physician. Youmight achieve great renown in this position among our peerage.”

There’s a long pause from Takall.

“You are a woman of means and power—”

“State your price.”

The Takall speaking shakes their head. The other one puts a hand ontheir arm.

“What I mean is: a physician helps those in need, regardless ofcompensation. You and your wife are in need of my help, but once I havehelped you, I must seek out those in need elsewhere.”

“I see. You must think me selfish for—”

“Not at all. See, were you to offer to assist me in helping theneedy, to such an extent that I would accomplish greater charity abroadby remaining where I was readily available to provide my services toyou, I would.”

The Empress nods.

“You have not sworn this oath of medicine you mentioned.”

“I have not. I do not entirely recall its wording, but I can recallits spirit and write something equivalent.”

“Do so. Then swear by it — not to me, but to yourself. And the deadman, if you so wish, I care not.”

Then the Empress turns her eye on Zazzuwa and he feels the hair onthe nape of his neck stand on end.

“Master Zazzuwa, you are of my city?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. I immigrated with merchant caravans when I wasa young boy and joined the mariners-at-arms.”

“How fares my city in my absence?”

“Forgive me, but should the Majesty not ask someone morequalified?”

“No.I find that every woman and man has a different truth, and I amnot sure if the truth of my advisors have not drifted away from reality.Tell me your truth.”

Zazzuwa rubs his stubbly chin. “There’s a saying: what happens to amatron’s abandoned house?”

“Pray tell?”

“The spinks and the wints and the spiders move in.”

Chapter 14: Hypocritic Oath

Chapter Text

The food is brought in by the two orman house servants, brothers bythe look of it. Both of them wear caps covering eyes and ears, and theyset the table with a stack of bowls, a tray of cups, and a jar ofspoons, before bringing in a pot of stew and a pitcher of wine.

Takall watches keenly as one of them approaches Chani, and the two ofthem have a brief conversation in tactile sign language.

They leave without a bow — why would they?

“Please, help yourselves,” Chani says. “My servants are not good withpresenting foods in a dish, so I forego such amenities in my house.”

Two stands and reaches over to serve the stew to Zazzuwa, then Chani,and then two bowls for themselves.

“Chani, if I may, why choose those two as your servants?” Fiveasks.

“Because my house needs little work to begin with, and they cannotlet slip what they have seen and heard in my house if they can doneither.”

“Did you blind and deafen them so?”

Chani looks at Five. “I did not. It is an inborn deformity. Were itnot for my help they might have died young — in my house they live incomfort and safety. Does this satisfy your morals?”

“It does,” Five says, looking on as Two clears the tray of cups.“Shall I bring your wife a meal?”

“She doesn’t eat much.”

Two sets the tray with two bowls of stew and two cups of wine, thenheads to the bedroom.

“Takall, in case my wife assents to treatment, I should like for youto swear this oath of medicine you mentioned.”

Five conjures a napkin to wipe their lips — the stew is simple, butpleasant and filling.

“Your divine powers pertain to oaths, do they not?”

Chani nods.

“Will you be able to hold me to this oath beyond appealing to myhonor and ethics?”

“If I choose to.”

“Then I must’ve your word that you will not.”

“Why?”

“Because time is short, the work is long, opportunity is fleeting,experimentation is perilous, and judgment is difficult. I cannot attemptto heal the people and the land, much less its ruler, if I am bound bymore constraints than I already am. I would rather you strike me down ifI offend, than you bind me to my word in a strange fashion.”

Chani considers this for a long moment. “Very well.”

Two returns from the bedroom, gingerly closing the door.

“Very well. Allow we a few moments to gather my thoughts andformulate the oath, then. Might I contact the rest of me? There issomething blocking my connection to the rest of my self.”

“House, allow our guests to use their telepathy.”

Hanahana has had opportunity to eat while Esiph spoke. Esiph hashardly touched her serving, sitting on the little table Takall conjuredfor her. She is swirling her wine in the cup, but not drinking.

“I’ll go tell them, then.”

“Yes, and thank you, miss Hanahana. I will not say you have given mehope, but at least there would be no harm in trying this.”

Hanahana bows her head. “Nothing to lose, everything to gain.”

“Just as you said, yes.”

Hanahana stands, and heads out, empty bowl and cup in hand.

Out in the dining hall, all eyes turn to her.

“Well?” Chani asks.

“She consents to let Takall treat her.” She takes a seat next toZazzuwa.

Chani looks to the two Takall’s seated on her right. “Well?”

They both rise, turning to face Chani.

“On behalf of all of me, all of us, all of Takall, these two speakfor the whole.”

“We will work for the benefit of the sick with all methods warranted,mindful not to overtreat, and mindful not to succumb to therapeuticnihilism. As prevention is preferable to cure, we will seek preventionwhenever possible.”

“Considerations beyond the medically relevant shall have no heed inhow we treat the sick. Not species, not race, not gender, not creed, notfaith, and so on. Prejudice and hate are aberrations to society. In thiswe must keep the confidence of our patients, to allow them safety toexpress their problems with consideration only for their health.”

“There is art to medicine as well as science, and all treatment comesfrom compassion. Warmth and sympathy are as important as surgery andmedication. As we are able to save lives, so we are also able to takethem, and must face this responsibility with awareness of our ownfallibility.”

“To the best of our judgment, we will respect the hard won wisdom ofthose in whose world of expertise we shall intrude with divineenlightenment. It is an unfair gift, and we aim to share it. We shallendeavor to admit ignorance and freely seek council when necessary.”

“We shall be aware that sickness is not an ailment in isolation, butconcerns a person. Their sickness affects and is affected by the worldthey live in, and we must address those problems as well. To this end,the whole of all peoples and the land they live in are concerns of ours,and we must protect and address issues within these spheres as well, tobest treat the sick.”

“So we have decided, freely, unanimously, and of our ownintegrity.”

Chani has been watching Takall keenly with her one eye for the wholespiel.

“I see why you would not want me to hold you to this oath. And forthat, I accept it in the spirit it has been given.”

“Good. I have drawn up a treatment plan. The most immediate actionwill be to examine Esiph in detail, for me to ascertain what treatmentshe needs, then obtain her informed consent.”

“You have my leave.”

One of them — Five — breaks away, and heads around the table, over toHanahana. [A word?]

Hanahana and Zazzuwa both rise, and join Five a few steps away fromthe table.

[Esiph is my patient. Whatever she told you in confidence, myconfidence extends to cover it.]

Chani looks back at the Takall before her, who has now taken a seatagain.

“I must warn you, Chani. My power is… unpleasant to behold.”

Chani is unamused. “So?”

“Even for myself it took some time to bear looking upon it. I havebeen told by others that it looks frightening enough to drive one toflight or violence.”

“I’ve seen worse, I can almost guarantee.”

“Additionally, when I treated Zazzuwa, Hanahana beheld my methods andit frightened her deeply. I might need to subject your wife to similarextreme forms of surgery, which may appear to you as if I am bodilydestroying her.”

Chani frowns.

“The reason I am saying this is that if you intervene with violencewhen I do so, it may end up harming Esiph. To allay your worries andhorror, I would like to explain to you a few factual truths which formthe cornerstone of the most likely course of treatment I shall take withEsiph.”

“Very well. I am listening.”

“You should know that the brain and to some extent the attached partof the soul, is the seat of the self. Everything else in the body existsin some sense only to sustain the brain and soul. Death is then when thebrain is destroyed.”

“I see you are speaking what you believe is the truth to me. That isnot a condemnation, but I confess I have not given this topic overmuchthought.”

Takall nods. “It is a facet philosophy which is very rarely relevant.In most situations, a person is synonymous with their body. But seeingas I hold the power to almost arbitrarily modify both, it is relevant tomy work.”

“Very well. Continue.”

[Six?]

Seven turns to look at them.

Six looks up at the sky. The clouds are dark, but no rain is fallingfrom them.

Seven puts a hand on their shoulder.

[There’s something wrong with the sky.]

[You don’t say.]

Four identical people walking through the streets at dusk, escortedby an angel inhabiting a suit of magical armor, is something that drawsattention.

But it also makes for easy passage to the high district.

Eight spots the long-suffering sergeant still on duty at thegate.

[Is it really wise for all of us to go there? If she decides tokill us, it’s only Three and Four.]

[And they’ll be fine. They’re a day’s ride away anyway.]

[What if they get compromised? Respawning from the eggs is goingto lose us vital memories.]

[Ten, Twelve, Thirteen and I will pack up and go into hiding ifthat helps any.]

[Oh, I didn’t realize you guys were done cooking.]

[Says you four, stewing in over-thinking juice.]

[Fair. Six, shut up, we’re all worried.]

[I know. I’m you.]

[Good luck.]

Chani sits back up on the narrow bed, and Takall assists her withgetting her robe back on. “I don’t understand why you insisted I ask fora private room.”

The Takall attending to her has helpfully branded themselves with twodots on the forehead. They sit on a stool with some kind of wheelsunderneath the legs.

“Because it is not for my followers or your wife to know what happensin here unless you decide to tell them.”

“I have no secrets.”

“That is your business. You mentioned you were in pain.”

She nods.

“Can you describe it?”

“It is easier to list the ways in which I am not in pain.”

Takall nods. “Do you take any medicines for it? Drink spirits?”

“Only when it is too much to bear. It clouds the mind.”

“Can I have a sample for analysis?”

“House, bring me my medicine cabinet.”

The wall opens to the familiar stock of medications. “Second shelf,the brown bottle.”

She looks on as Takall puts that little angel of hers on as a pair ofglasses to read the label.

“Isn’t it inconvenient?”

They look at her. “Hm?”

“I could give you the gift of understanding every language, innately.Without using my angels.”

They shake their head. “I prefer to learn the natural way if needbe.”

“The offer stands.”

“I appreciate it.” They uncork the bottle, and a narrow appendagedarts from their sleeve into the bottle. “Hm. This is quite potent, butnot very pure.”

Chani looks on as they gingerly puts it back and scoots over toher.

“Might I draw a sample of your blood?”

“What for?”

“It will allow me to learn much more about what ails you.”

“Blood can be used for potent magics against its owner.”

“It can also be used to know which potent medicine isapplicable.”

She holds out her hand.

Takall takes it and pulls up the sleeve of her robe. “This is goingto sting a little.”

Something darts out of their sleeve, and a sharp needle-tip buriesinto her skin. She gets a good look at it this time as it sits there,tapping her blood: strange and vaguely looks living. Then it withdrawsand she wills a flicker of light into the wound, healing itinstantly.

“Ah. I was about to offer you a small bandage for the bleeding.”

“Shouldn’t you be tending to Esiph with all of your power?”

“Currently it is not a question of power, but a question ofinformation. I have five minds working on it, and besides she will behappy to hear I am not letting you suffer while treating her.”

“What does my blood tell you?”

“You are in… passable health.”

“Correct.”

“You have scars on your chest and stomach. Were any of those deep?And have you been poisoned, perhaps?”

“Yes.”

Takall nods. “I can see from your blood that some of your organs areweakened. But again, you have no illnesses. Just injuries.”

“So how do you propose to treat what ails me?”

“I’m going to conjure a machine now. It is a device which can lookinside the body from outside, without piercing the skin or causing anydiscomfort. With it I should like to look more closely at your injuries.I’ll need a little more space for it, though.”

“House, expand this room.”

The walls recede.

Takall nods and turns away. It is only from their extensiveassurances, that Chani doesn’t jump as things begin unfolding themselvesimpossibly, from between the floor boards, out of thin air, and theshadows in the corners of the room.

Things that look like muscular limbs hold in place a heavy ring manytimes larger than a millstone, and a stretcher with insectile legsstands before the hole in it.

“If you will…”

She hops off the bed and out of the corner of her eye sees Takallreach for her as staggers a bit. So full of concern, this one.

The bed on the machine helpfully bends down for her, and she liesdown on her back, knees bent and feet on the smooth, soft bedding.

“Try to lie still.”

Then the many-legged creature she is lying on rises up, and gingerlymoves her through the hole in the ring, which itself begins giving off adeep hum.

Eventually the whole of her has been ferried through the ring, andTakall scoots over to her.

“What does this machine tell you?”

“I’m going to fit you with an artificial tail that will aid yourbalance and posture, and take some stress off your back. I can also makea brace for shoulder which will take some weight off the damagedmuscle.”

“Do so.”

“What concerns me is your leg injury, that it isn’t healing. We mightneed to remove the tissue affected by this curse you mention, in orderto allow it to heal. How much, I know not. For now I would like to sealit with a membrane that numbs the skin underneath.”

“What if you cannot remove the curse?”

“Then we might need to make you a new leg.”

“Like your paladin.”

“Exactly. Same goes for your shoulder.”

“Hm.”

“Also, I have some better medicine for the pain. One that addles themind much less.”

The door opens and Esiph turns to see her wife enter, lookingmarkedly better than usual. Smiling out of contentment,even.

“Phi-phi.”

“Ni-ni.”

Chani looks over to the four identical people, now being joined by afifth. The young god.

“What are they doing?”

“Conferring. I think. Or if they are, they don’t speak aloud. Whatdid she do for you?”

“They, not she. Takall is neither woman nor man.”

“Ah, how dramatic and fitting.”

Chani casts back the collar of her robe, and Esiph sees something notunlike a pauldron of armor on her shoulder, but painted to her skincolor. Then she lifts her tail — tail — and the hem of the robehikes up to show something that might come from a life-sized woodenmarionette. Lastly, she puts forward her beautiful leg, where a kind offabric covers the flayed wound.

“Oh goodness, what are those, do they help?”

“They are just devices, they come off again. But yes, they help. It’sgood to walk forthrightly again. What about you?”

“Well, they examined me very thoroughly, used this big ring to lookinside of me. I don’t think they like what they found.”

Chani looks over at them, and as she does, the one with the five dotson the forehead comes over.

“So. There are some good news and some bad news. The good news is, wecan probably help you, Madam Esiph. The bad news is before we can dothat we will have to learn more about your condition. And for that weshall need your help, Chani.”

“What can I do?”

“We need to see how your healing affects aging tissue over time. Wehave seen how your followers wield the same kind of healing light youdo; do you know of any other saurmans who has used it to extend theirlives?”

Chani nods. “Many of my priestesses use it to forestall old agesome.”

“Then we shall need to examine them. Additionally, it would behelpful if you would help conduct an experiment: we provide you withsome tissues, you use your healing powers, and then we study them.”

Chani looks back at her. “That sounds good, doesn’t it, dear?”

“Indeed.”

Outside the room, the Five leads Chani back to the examinationroom.

“What now?”

Takall takes a deep breath. They had not expected to so soon beconfronted with the ethical dilemma of whether to immediately deliverpreliminary bad news to a patient, or wait until a second opinion can behad.

Esiph is… Barely there. Barely even alive. Her vitals are slowed to acrawl, and her every tissue is scrubbed clean of waste. Her tendons,sinews, and ligaments have all been whittled down to single strandsdenser than any connective tissue ought to be. Her bones are calciumshells with barely any marrow. Her organs are, for lack of a betterterm, smooth and her central nervous system is like the gnarledroots of an old tree.

Her blood volume is so low, Takall took a sample of it by phasing aneedle through the skin, rather than cause a wound. There was barely anyurine and stool to sample, which revealed entire swathes of metabolicintermediaries missing, and her microbiome to be nearly extinct.

The only positive might be that she is relatively free of genomedamage, but countering that, her telomeres are basically non-existentand her cell-division rate is statistically indistinguishable from zero.On top of that her soul is vital enough, but virtually disconnected fromher body, only tethered to the brain.

“Is this about Esiph?”

Takall nods.

“Tell me. Now.”

“I understand why she might want to die. The only thing keeping heralive is you divine intervention. Even if she is in no discomfort — themind knows when the body is in distress.”

From somewhere, Chani draws an angel feather blade. “Youswore—”

“Put the dagger away you irascible fool! Threats of violence can’tchange facts.”

Chani visibly bristles at the insult.

“I just want you to temper your expectations. This might not work. Itmight be that this is my limit. I’m not admitting defeat, just thepossibility of it. And at any rate, it will take more than a fewdays.”

Chani deflates some. “Is there… anything I can do to help?”

Takall nods. “I’ll give you the worst case scenario. With Hanahana, Iwas able to restore her brain to youth with medicines, a gentle cleaningprocess, and then allowing the living organ to revitalize itself. Ifthat is not possible with Esiph, I shall need to transfer her mind to anew brain. This is possible, but much harder and more timeconsuming.”

“And?”

“With Hanahana, only her brain comes from her old body, everythingelse of it is my creation. With Esiph, her entire body would be mycreation. It will still be Esiph, but all of her will have come fromme.”

“So? I don’t care, so long as my Esiph gets to live on.”

Takall nods. “Good. I am going to send out my other selves to examineyour priestesshood, to see if I can make sense of what you’ve done toyour wife. I’ll need angel escorts to vouch for them.”

“Done.”

“Next, the experiment.”

“Yes?”

“I cannot be the one to conduct it.”

Chani glares. “Why?”

“The most direct and sure way to understand Esiph’s condition, is tostudy the ongoing effects of extended healing on a living brain.”

“You would need a volunteer.”

Takall shakes their head. “There is a way more reprehensible still,and more fruitful. Creating a living brain from scratch.”

Chani is thankfully quick on the uptake. “The brain is the seat ofthe self,” she quotes.

“Indeed. We would be creating a person. One devoid of childhoodmemories, bereft of senses, and existing in a nether-state betweenconsciousness and unconsciousness. We would use them without theirconsent, and likely destroy them afterwards.”

“An acceptable sacrifice.”

“To you, perhaps, but in doing so I would forswear myself. I would becreating, harming, and then killing a person, against their will. Thatis not the actions of a physician, that is the actions of a torturer andmurderer.”

“There is an obvious loophole, I assume, or you wouldn’t be tellingme this.”

Takall nods, with distaste. “I can supply you with machinery thatwill perform the steps of experiment.”

Chani nods.

“I must ask you to swear not to use this machinery to do so, while Ileave to go examine your priestesses.”

“You would have me be forsworn in your stead. I see the dilemma, ifyou so readily break this oath of yours, you will be more likely to doso in the future when the stakes are higher. By making me swear not todo this horrible thing, you are exchanging a sacrifice of your abilityto trust yourself, for a sacrifice of your ability to trustme.”

Takall nods.

“The question is whether it counts as breaking an oath to knowinglycreate a scenario that circumvents it. I find it at once reassuring andunnerving that you so readily grasp so much deep wisdom despite youryoung age.”

“I shall choose not to take that as a compliment.”

Chani nods.

“House, build a room big enough for Takall’s machine.”

Chapter 15: And Then it was Night and Then it was Day

Chapter Text

[I still don’t like this weather.]

[What now?]

[Six is fixating on the weather.]

[It’s supposed to be the rainy season — shouldn’t it beraining?!]

[Fine. Six, send some up some weather baloons or something. Getsome hard data.]

Two rubs their eyes, then follows the angel though the doorway and upthe newly swept stairs. The building is nothing dissimilar from thosedown in the river district, though perhaps more sturdily built.

They’re led to the door by the angel, which knocks on the door.

A long moment goes by before the door is answered.

“Oh, it’s you. The young god.”

“Indeed, I am sorry for the late hour, Prophetess, but I am here onthe command of the Empress.”

“Again, please call me Phystis. What can I do for her?”

“How old are you?”

“Four score and sixteen summers.”

“You seem quite healthy for your age.”

“That is the gift of the Empress, yes.”

“As I suspected. I have just recently sworn an oath of medicine, andcome into the Empress’s employ as her personal physician. In that role,I would like to examine you, to determine how this gift of the Empressworks in more base medical terms.”

“Is that the Empress’s will?”

“Indeed.”

“Then I consent.”

Chani takes a deep breath.

Then she grabs hold of the heavy chain, and cuts the links apart witha featherblade.

Opening the cabinet, its doors made of metal mesh, she looks at thebig red button, kept under a clear cover locked in place by a visiblekeyhole. Under it sits a sign, which in Takall’s native writingsreads:

Activating this machine will create a saurman being in a state ofunfathomable agony, for the purposes of medical experimentation, thendestroy it. Doing so is torture and murder.

She grabs hold of the cover and rips it off, pushing the button.

Through her divine senses, she feels the promise she made, thegossamer edges of it, rip apart. She feels the ugly, oily circumventionof Takall’s supposed resolution to non-maleficence.

In the tank of clear fluid, itself surrounded by a truly enormousscanning ring, something living starts growing, forming before her eyesfrom a nodule of flesh.

It grows into something gnarled and brain-like. A flurry of metallicinsect legs emerge from the walls of the tank, running over the organfaster than the eye can see, phasing through tissue.

An oddly horrifying display.

On the glass, an outline of a hand appears, prompting her. Shechannels her light into it, willing all injuries this brain might havesustained, to vanish. As she does, a little array of lights come on,lighting first a long run of yellows, then green motes, and as she keepschanneling her light, the last part of them turn red.

Relenting on her will, the lights go back down to green, then fall toyellow, and it occurs to her to try and keep it green.

She looks at the brain. Occasionally needles emerge from behindbubbles, and poke bleeding holes in the cortex.

For Esiph.

It is pitch black night.

Takall stands atop one of the guard towers looking down at the hightide below the dock walls, aided by a set of infrared goggles.

High up above, three helium-filled weather balloons rise into thesky, each carrying a whole weather station’s worth of measuringdevices.

Below those, a swarm of autonomous quad-rotor helicopters andfixed-wing drones spread out to take more local measurements over theentire city.

It would be ideal to send a rocket up through the massive thunderheadwaiting above, but such larger-scale construction would have to be doneout in the open and might cause a panic.

Data trickles in.

Whatever is going on, is nowhere near natural. According to allweather models the eigenmaschine can dream up, that thunderheadformed too fast, and should be disgorging violent rain, lightingstrikes. At least the storm surge is consistent.

Takall recalls the dossier they bought from Black Hand. Thankfullythe text-translating angels makes short work of German, and perfectrecall does the rest. In their mind’s eye they page through it.

There’s a handful of gods out there with weather control powers.

And none of them are good news.

They leap off the guard tower, landing perfectly two storeys down onthe dry street in a graceful roll and take off running.

Zazzuwa stirs awake at the sound, and sits up in the darkness, knifeon the bedside table already in his hand. Squinting in the darkness herecognizes Takall.

“What’s—” Hanahana stirs beside him. “Oh. Takall. Hi.”

“Sorry I woke you up,” Takall says quietly. “And pardon me forintruding — I should have… I’ll take the other apartment. The others aregoing to want a place to sleep too.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” Hanahana says.

“That you’re having sex? I knew it might happen sooner or later. I’m—happy for you.”

Zazzuwa puts the knife down. “Takall, what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

They turn about and head back out the door.

Hanahana puts a hand on his shoulder.

“That was a lie. Even I could tell.”

“I’ll talk to them in the morning.” She tugs a bit on him, lyingdown.

Part of him wants to get up and get dressed and follow that damn kidand get some answers.

But the rest of him really just wants to slip back under the warmcovers and fall asleep again. He drapes an arm over her, and she takeshis hand and puts it on her breast.

Her neck smells pleasantly like sweat, and her short curls are softagainst his cheek.

“A dosh for whats on your mind?”

“I’m a very lucky man, and I’m very grateful to our patron deity forthis new life, and… you.”

She turns over, halfway. “Oh, you sap.” A gentle hand on his neckdraws him into a kiss.

And then another. And another. He rolls over, putting a knee betweenhers.

“Really? You’re insatiable.”

“Young men often are.”

She pulls him in for another kiss.

It’s shortly before dawn, and Chani feels the tiredness in all herusual pains.

The brain inside the tank has turned into something that looks likewood, rather than flesh. A mortal channeling her power would long sincehave burned up. It’s not often she gets to exercise her personal powerin this fashion.

She heads back through the dining hall to the master bedroom to findEsiph not in bed, but lying inside some kind of glass sarcophagus.

“She’s quite safe.”

Chani looks over in the corner where Takall is sitting — seven dotson the forehead.

They yawn.

“I came back, to make sure you weren’t… you know. But I couldn’t finda door to the room where I set up the machine. So I went to check onEsiph instead.”

“What is this?!”

“She’s held in stasis. Inside the box, time passes differently.Slower. The opposite effect of what the brain in the tank was subjectedto.”

“Why?”

“To delay while I figure out how to help her. She’s taken about twobreaths since I put her in there around midnight.”

Chani puts a hand on the glass. “Her eyes are open.”

“If you stay there until about dawn she’ll see you for a fewheartbeats.”

“Why is it—” there’s something strange about how Esiph looks thatChani can’t quite articulate.

“It is not a true image. If we could see inside, it would bedarkness, and the light from this room would burn her skin. What shesees of the outside is not a true image either. The coffin is actuallymade of metal.”

“Oh.”

Takall stands. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go get some rest.Remember to take your prosthetics off before you sleep.”

Then they stop. “Oh.”

“What?”

They turn to her. “I’ve just discovered that the weather outside isvery likely the act of some god. Most likely with ill intent.”

“Until such a time as an attack falls on my city, I shall give themthe benefit of the doubt. Good night, Takall.”

“Yeah. I’m going to send one of me who has actually slept todismantle the machine.”

“House, allow Takall access to their machine.”

“Thank you. Good night, Chani.”

Dawn comes overcast and chilly.

Zazzuwa wakes her when he rises, early as usual, to do hisablutions.

The slow pitter-patter of rain begins, heralding the release of allthis tension in the air.

Hanahana stays under the covers, where his smell remains. If shecould, she’d stay here all day. It’s… been a while. Though infatuationmay be tempered by wisdom, it is easily kindled by the passion of youththey both feel once more.

But she’s a gaggle of gods to herd.

While he gets dressed with all his under-clothes armor, knives andthese ‘fire-arms’ Takall has made, Hanahana gets clean, puts on a robe,and makes a bit of breakfast.

While making the flatbread, he comes up behind her to kiss the napeof her neck — his beard tickles. “Let me finish this, get dressed.”

She does. Undergarments, underclothes armor, socks, garters, shirt,petticoat, waistband, pockets, skirt, waistcoat, coat, boots, andhat.

Fresh flatbread, dried fruit, and milk.

Outside the door, Takall is waiting.

[Zazzuwa, I’m going to set you up as my liaison to the HolyPaladins. I think it’ll unnerve people less to interact with anintermediary than myself directly.]

[Very well.]

[Takall, I need to talk to thee-that-is-also-a-you.]

Takall looks at her. [What about?]

[It is a sitting-down conversation. Preferably with Two, but Iwant all of you to listen in.]

[Two’s up on the top floor.]

One the door next to theirs opens and a daiman man exits. “Oh!Hello!”

“Tatsuda, hows the wife?”

“Oh, very much better, the medicine you gave us helped, just as yousaid, and I used the rent money to stock our pantry.”

“I’m happy to hear, have a good day.”

“And to you as well.” He ambles past the three of them and heads downthe stairs.

[What was that about?]

[I bought out the building from that nasty landlady a few daysago. I’ve paid the tenants back their rent, and helped them out — moneyto hire craftsmen, medicines, that sort.]

[And you didn’t tell us?]

[It wasn’t pertinent.]

There’s a distant sound, a change in the ambient noise.

Zazzuwa looks up.

[That’s the rain…]

There’s a rumble.

[And the thunder.]

Takall turns and heads down the stairs, and Zazzuwa follows. Hanahanagoes in the opposite direction, up the stairs.

It is a strange scene to behold. An unnaturally expanded apartment,with beds for six people, two of them occupied. A kitchen whereidentical triplets, identically dressed, are eating breakfast.

“Takall?” Hanahana asks.

They’ve moved the dots to the breast of their suits, instead of theforehead.

“Five told me,” Takall says.

Eight and Nine wave at her.

“It’s confusing with you. All of you.”

Two nods. “I understand.” They gesture to the empty chair by thedining table.

Hanahana takes a seat. “Tal, you came home late last night, and Icould tell there was something that bothered you.”

All three of them look away in some form or another. Eight and Ninelook into their plates, Two looks aside.

They chuckle, mirthlessly. “I guess— it’s like walking in on yourparents screwing. You know? It’s just awkward.”

Hanahana nods. “So it doesn’t have anything to do with what I said toyou when we visited my tribe?”

Takall doesn’t answer.

She sighs. “Look, Zazzuwa and I — we’re just having sex for the funof it. I’m still your priestess, and you are my god. If you want—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to make demands of you, Hana. Not likethat.”

“I am attracted to you. You know that right? You won’t haveto demand anything.”

Takall looks away in disgust. “The power imbalance is too great.We’re not peers. You are in some ways my senior and mentor, and in otherways I am your… well, literal god.”

Hanahana leans back. In her mind, those two cancel out nicely.

“Then what’s wrong.”

“I was just tired.”

“That was a lie then, and it’s a lie now.”

Takall takes a deep breath and sighs.

“I’m pleased to see you’re actually getting some rest, rather thanletting your lace cleanse your brain of waste and rejuvenate you.”

“What? How did you know—”

“I asked. My lace told me. It’s a fragment of you,remember?”

Takall nods, and pointedly looks away again.

“You’re easy to read, you know that?”

“Some would say that’s a good thing.”

“It is. What did you do, with your lace?”

Another sigh.

“I curbed my fear. Yesterday when I led you and Zazu up to the highdistrict? That confidence wasn’t natural. I would have been terrified —both for myself, irrational as that would have been — and for you.”

“You said you had confidence in your ability to protect me andZazu.”

“I did. And rationally I know I quite probably could have, but myconfidence was artifice.”

Hanahana ponders how to respond to that, and she can see how Takallsquirms while she chooses her words. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Please don’t just forgive me. I put your life in danger.”

“I’m not. I’m just appreciating your candor.”

Eight and Nine finish eating and both rise. Nine runs a hand overTwo’s shoulders as they pass.

Hanahana looks after the pair, leaving. “There’s something I’ve beenpondering. How do you relate to your other selves?”

“We’re one.”

“I know. But you are the one I summoned in the steppe, andyou are the one who decided to multiply yourself.”

“We… They all share those memories.”

Hanahana nods. She waits for Takall to continue, but they don’t.

“You and Zazzuwa…”

“Yes?”

“I’m happy for you. If love blossoms, it does so with myblessing.”

“As I said, so far we’re just screwing because it’s fun.”

Takall nods. They look out, at the dark overcast skies disgorgingtorrential rain. A flash lights up the whole sky and three heartbeatslater the thunder comes rolling

“It’s really coming down, huh?”

Then Takall perks up and rises out of their seat.

“What now?”

[Thanks for the talk, there’s been a development.]

[What?]

[We need to go to the Empress’ house.]

Faintly through the drumming of rain, the city bells startringing.

[Takall, what is going on?!]

[A building down by the river has collapsed.]

Takall arrives at the sanctum district. All of them.

In the skies above, from the mountain to the south, the first dronesare rising into the airspace above the city, hexa-rotor craft, undermagical invisibility and sound dampening. Eyes in the sky, courtesy thedouble-digit crew.

The paladins stationed by the gate stand there in the torrentialrain.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

All four of them stop — visibility is incredibly poor in the visualspectrum. “We’re Takall, god and personal physician of the Empress.”

The captain straightens and salutes as Takall passes him. Four of themen move to open the gate.

“Get your men out of the rain.”

“We’re sworn to the protection of the Empress.”

“The Empress will protect herself. She needs you in fighting shapeonce this unnatural weather subsides, not cold and wet.”

Chapter 16: And the Waters Fell Upon the Earth

Chapter Text

Hanahana never gets used to this angelic teleportation thing.

The room they arrive is some kind of canopy room, dominated by acurving window taking up three walls, floor to ceiling. A greatrectangular table takes up the center of the floor space.

Two immediately goes to her side. “Chani.”

“Takall. Thank you.”

Chani stands centrally in front of the window, looking out — into therain and darkness.

There’s another flutter of angel feathers as Zazzuwa and Five arrive,drenched. The two goat-sized angels stand back in the corners of theroom.

Five strides forward to stand at the Empress’ other side, whileZazzuwa comes to her, water running off his clothes without soaking intothe fabric. She takes his cold hand.

[I’ve never seen them like this. So focused. Anxious.]

[I’ve seen something like it in officers, before. In Alibek. Inmyself. Let’s hope it is the same.]

[Takall is not an officer.]

[Therein the uncertainty.]

She squeezes his hand.

Chani looks out into the dimness. Her vision through it is clearenough despite it, and more of her angels are rising into the air by theminute.

“There’s been a building collapse in the river district.”

“I’m aware. This is the rain you warned of.”

“It is.”

“There’s only a handful of gods with power over the weather.”

“I’m sure you have your suspicions as to whom.”

She nods.

“For now, I’m inclined to assume this is an act of malice. Thedownpour is going to cause flooding of the streets within the hour.Infrastructure damage is going to claim lives, and disease yet morelives.”

“And the river?”

“Apart from the storm surge, it doesn’t seem like the rain extends upinto the watershed.”

“Good.”

“It may have been the running water that undermined the riverescarpment, it might not be the first building collapse we’re going tosee. But to my mind it happened too fast. There may be other forces atplay.”

“How did you see it?”

“I’ve sent a swarm of unseen watchers into the air.”

“I was wondering what those were, did you set up a stronghold on thesouthern peak?”

“I did.”

She looks aside at them.

“You’re allowed.”

“The four others have arrived.”

“House, let them in.”

Behind her she hears the gate open, briefly letting in the noise ofthe storm. There’s no wind, just water. Four sets of footfalls comethrough, the gate closes,

“You realize of course you have a hostage, right?” She looks at theFifth to her side. “So long as my Esiph lies in that sarcophagus…”

“I promise you, she will come to no harm.”

“I will hold you to your word.”

She feels the gossamer line tying itself to the two of them. Turning,she sees the other Takalls assembling something on the table, frompanels they pull from their thigh bags and inside their jackets.

Within seconds it becomes clear: it is a map of her city. And one notdrawn on parchment, but built up in bas-relief, and paintedappropriately. The water in the river seems to flow, and the water inthe bay to have waves. She reaches out to touch it, finding it quitesolid and warm to the touch, like heated glass.

“The collapsed building is here,” The Ninth one reaches over with apointing stick and the miniature building crumbles. “It would seem asinkhole due to rapid erosion — I’m investigating thepossibilities.”

The Second one continues: “At the same time, the water is beginningto flood the streets. It will be difficult to get aid to those trappedin the rubble in time — they might drown.” Several streets in the modelgain a layer of water like the river. ”

The Sixth Takall speaks up. “The rainfall is localized to the city,so we shan’t fear the river flooding. At least not more than usual.”

Chani nods. “You are very capable of presenting the situation.”

“The rain needs addressing.”

Chani looks to the Eighth one, who is now speaking.

“I’ve my own list of potential enemies causing it, but it has thepotential to cause greater destruction than a few buildingcollapses.”

“I know who it is. Bollash.”

“The conchfolk god? According to Black Hand, you and he have analliance of sorts.”

“We see eye to eye in leaving one another be. His mastery over theweather would be devastating to my empire, but I’m owed favors fromsomeone who could turn the circle sea into a lake and then Imight be inclined to boil it.”

“Perhaps now is the time to send him a reminder of this fact? If yourangels can reach him underwater.”

Chani shakes her head. “They can. But Bollash fancies himself aprophet. He very much already knows exactly how far he can go before Idecide to kill him, and in recompense for troubling me, he has neverbeen anything but generous.”

“You’re assuming he has his reasons.”

“I’m assuming the reason is the upset to the balance:you.”

All of them look up, even Seven and Nine who are keeping up with thedrone swarm are shaken from their reveries.

[Nobody panic.]

“That is why you mentioned the hostage.”

“It is.”

“You think Bollash might want you to deliver me to him.”

Chani shakes her head. “Either he realizes you are multitudes andwon’t demand that, or he doesn’t, and we’ve the option of deliveringone of you. In both cases, I do think it is unlikely. He hasnever been so brazen or direct.”

“Fair.”

“We should act on what we have in front of us.”

“I concur.”

“The local authorities are already helping out with the collapsedbuildings, but we need priestesses and paladins on site to heal theinjured.”

“They are already on their way, I sent messengers before youcame.”

“We need to evacuate the river-side before the streets themselvesstart being torn up, or else we might be dealing with many morecollapsed buildings and deaths. We need soldiers to build levees todirect the flow of water onto the strongest streets.”

Chani raises her head-feathers in surprise. “That’s drastic, are yousure that’s wise given the inclement weather?”

Just then there’s a flash from outside.

The Sixth one, standing by the window points. “Lightning strike. Thatwas in the upper district — there’s a fire.”

The Ninth reaches over and sets the corresponding tiny buildingalight.

“The rain will put it out.”

“It will not. The downpour has lessened around the fire.”

Chani bristles. Bollash is going too far now, if he thinks he can mixfire and water. “sh*t. Well, my citizens know how to put out fires, andthe rainwater will be plentiful for quenching the flames.”

“Back to the river,” the Fifth one says. “Myself and Zazzuwa will gothere — I suggest we keep my multitudes secret. We’ll do an overview ofwhich buildings are most likely to be undermined, and which streets areweakest to the flow of water, then advise the paladins and city watchfrom the field.”

“You might as well direct the effort, I’ll have the angel take you tothe Holy General Basra — whom you’ve met already — she’ll decorateyou.”

They bow.

Zazzuwa gives Hanahana’s hand a final squeeze.

[I fear something will happen to you.]

[Have faith.]

[I have. But still. Takall’s power is not unlimited.]

He reaches out and pulls her into a soft kiss. Then he turns to whereFive is waiting for him by the angel.

Two looks at Chani. “You have ways of sending messages faster than… Isuppose you people use riders, do you not?”

“Yes. My angels can serve as messengers. It’s a kind you haven’tseen.”

“How do you know—”

Chani looks at them. “They’re my angels.”

Of course. Two kicks themself mentally. “Might I suggest you bringsome of your assistant executive staff into this space? I will maintainthis model true to the city by hand, they will be able to relayintelligence to their superiors and field operatives.”

Chani nods. “It will have to happen without me present. I cannot beseen injured, and I prefer not wearing my angel when dealing with acrisis — it distracts me. House, prepare a situation room.”

A door opens in the far side, and Seven heads through it.

Basra is already on her feet when that goddess and her lone paladinarrive directly in her office by angel. She doesn’t startle, but Etraecertainly does.

“Oh. Takall, and Zazzuwa, was it? What a pleasure. I was just aboutto send my Sergeant General here up to the Sanctum, per a request fromthe empress.”

“I come from there just now, I need you to deputize myself andZazzuwa as captains, per orders from the Empress. We will then head tothe river district to assist in evacuations.”

“Very well.”

She turns to Etrae, and nods. The other woman’s two captains bow andone holds the door for her.

Then Basra strides around her desk to a chest, taking out the key andopening it by the secret keyhole under the false hinge. She picks twobadges out and tosses one to the goddess and one to the hereticpaladin.

“By the power vested in me by our Empress, I hereby deputize you astemporary Holy Captains.”

Zazzuwa, the paladin, at least has the courtesy to bow. “Thank youGeneral.”

Takall turns to the angel they arrived by.

“Wait.”

They look over their shoulder.

“Is the Empress well?”

“Pardon?”

She sighs. “Never mind.”

Takall pauses. “I’m serving as her personal physician. I am not atliberty to give details, but I can reveal she is in possession of hersenses, and neither ill nor injured.”

She nods. “Good.”

“Are you worried about your empress?”

Basra looks to Zazzuwa. “Yes.”

He nods. “I know what that’s like. I worry about this one, too.” YourEmpress is in good hands.”

Then there’s a flutter of angel feathers and she’s alone.

She grabs her featherblade and straps it to her belt, then heads outthe door. A messenger angel lands on her shoulder. It is going to be along day.

It’s a deluge.

They land in rainwater to their ankles, flowing briskly. Currents arelapping at the walls of the buildings lining the street. The overflowinggutter is like a small river. The angel’s feathers sizzle when raindropsfall on it.

[So what do we do?]

Takall sets out for the riverside at the end of the street.

[Just down here is the collapse.]

They turn the corner to see the section of the river embankmenthaving slid into the coursing waters below. The atmosphericunder-pressure has raised the water level, but it’s not running rapid asit would during a regular flood.

The collapsed building has thankfully not fallen into the water, buthas done almost the opposite. Several dozen men are picking through theruins, dozens more are piling up sandbags to divert water away from thecollapse.

Takall reaches inside their jacket and draws out a tracker, handingthe rod-shaped device to Zazzuwa.

[What’s this?]

[A device that can locate survivors.]

In their mind, the eigenmaschine supplies them with aninstruction manual, which they transmit to him.

[Ah. And you?]

[I’m going to take some measurements while Nine does somespotting.]

“Hmm.”

Chani turns to the Sixth one.

“What?”

“The more steeply inclined streets in the upper district. I worrythere is quick enough flow there to damage the road surface there aswell, not just in the river district. We may need to shepherd the flowthere as well.”

“Well, you already have the executives in the next room, don’tyou?”

“I will inform them, but I cannot be certain without attending inperson, and Five is not yet finished by the embankments.”

Chani is beginning to understand how Takall is operating. The Sixthis worrying about the weather, the Eighth is attending to the model ofthe city, the Ninth it would seem is the one seeing through the eyes oftheir flying watchers.

The Second one is just standing there, face contorted. She looks pastthem to the girl.

“Seer. Hanahana.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“What do you reckon of this?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“Well, I—” she looks at the Second Takall by her side “— I’m just ashamaness, my reckoning is in the dreamworld and in stories. There’smany stories of great floods and storms but I think they are notrelevant.”

“Very well.”

Two looks at her.

“Bollash is a god of dreams, is he not? That is Black Hand’sevaluation.”

“Prophecies, dreams, weather, yes. He also has power over greatmonsters that live deep in the ocean.”

“Hanahana just suggested to me that she try using her skills as adreamer to gather intelligence.”

Chani looks to the shamaness. “Hanahana, daughter of Annanna. I urgethee caution. Bollash is very powerful. And his reach in dreamsis far.”

Hanahana looks to her god. They nod.

She turns and walks to the wall, pulling her skirts aside with lackof practice, and sits that way tailless humans can.

“What do you do?”

The Second one looks at her.

“The others have all had things to say or do.”

“I’m thinking. Ahead.”

“Share.”

They come over to stand beside her.

The Eighth one sets another building on fire; the flames have spreadin the upper district.

“Why is he doing this?”

“I’m asking myself that as well, what’s your analysis?”

“If he’s a prophet as you say — I’ve little concept about whatprophecy is or how it works. I know Hanahana foresaw her own death,but…”

“I’ve never found a satisfactory answer myself.”

“If he’s trying to accomplish something, I fail to see what he’sdoing beyond the obvious. He wants to stir up trouble and see how Ireact.”

Chani nods. “And he’s willing to inconvenience me to do so.”

“I’d say killing the citizens is a lot more than inconvenience.”

“Let me worry about the retribution.”

“And, I’m worrying what he’s going to do if all I’m doing isdirecting the search and rescue effort.”

That is what she’s worried about as well. Bollash has tricks hiddenin the crannies of his shell.

There’s another collapse of the river embankment, but it doesn’t takea building with it. There’s two more lighting strikes setting ablazebuildings in the river district on the far side of the river.

“Lieutenant!”

The orman looks up.

Takall waves him over.

“I need your men to sandbag the upper end here, the pavement is weakon this entire street.”

He salutes, and jogs over to bark orders.

Guardsmen and paladins carry sandbags, goat-drawn carriages bring inmore.

[How’s the evacuation going?]

[Don’t you already know?]

[I’m asking your opinion, Zazu.]

[The current is strong, the kids, the elderly, the infirm, theycan’t leave. We can’t move them far, just to the buildings one streetaway from the river.]

[That will have to do.]

Noon. Though it doesn’t look it.

It’s quiet, apart from the rain, and the occasional thunder.

Nine watches from the air, their attention split into hundreds offacets, processed into a vague sense of the situation.

The fires have almost been put out.

Chani has taken to looking down at the city, seeing the scene throughher angels, or whatever it is she does.

Two is standing beside her, mentally tallying up the damages,estimating rates of pneumonia, food shortages.

“Most of the people in the riverside buildings have been moved, butthey can’t move far with the water flow.”

She nods.

Six wishes they had more weather balloons, or perhaps a satellite.For now, ground bound instruments and Nine’s data will do.

“It’s not showing any signs of stopping. We’re going to have problemsby nightfall.”

Chani and Two over by the window turns. “The river is beginning torise. The storm surge is impeding the outflow.”

Five steps out of the angel’s wings, and onto the river districtstreets. The water reaches up to the shins now.

Zazzuwa down the end of the street spots them and waves. He’s talkingwith some city guards.

“What news?”

“It’s slow going, Takall. Those higher ups Seven is briefing arehelping coordinate the evacuation efforts on the other side of theriver.”

“I might go there to help in person. The next step will be to sandbagaround the collapsed sections, in case the river rises any more.”

“Madam,” one of the guardsmen ask.

Takall turns to him. Human. Young. He tips his straw hat.

“Does the Holy Marshall know who’s doing this? This rain — it’sunnatural.”

“The Empress and I agree it’s the ocean god Bollash.”

“The Empress? You spoke to her? Who are you?”

Someone slaps him in the back of the head.

“I am a deputized Holy Captain. That is all you need to know,gentlemen. We have a disaster to avert, and citizens to help. For now,find somewhere to get yourselves out of the rain and your feet out ofthe water. I know it has been an exhausting morning—”

The sky lights up.

Then the thunder comes.

And then the message from Nine reaches Five’s mind.

[That was our tenement.]

And then Five is running.

Chapter 17: Whomsoever Kills But One Man

Chapter Text

The gable has been hit, a big solid brick wall to conduct into theground. Timbers, bricks, mortar, shale roofing, all of itexploded.
Fires burn vigorously and the rain is receding from the area, turninginto just a trickle.

Takall barges through the front door of the left stairwell, and runsup, hammering on the doors as they go.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!”

Reaching the loft apartment — tiny single room accommodation — theykick the door in, shattering the bar on the other side.

The roof has caved in, and the floor has fallen into the apartmentbelow. The fire is spreading.

With a wave of their hand, and a spell, the flames recede some, andthen a drone climbs out of their hip bag. Four legs, a nozzle and atank. It steadies itself, and stars spraying fire extinguishingfoam.

The tenants are a pair of daiman sisters, Agano and Ono.

Agano is lying against the wall, next to the door. Her apron issoaking through with blood. A shard of timber.

Takall’s mind spins up like a dynamo. Abdominal wound. Grave. By theamount of blood, less than one minute old injury. Foreign body limitingthe bleeding. Wound likely contaminated. Perforated stomach and bowel,likely to lead to sepsis.

“Takall,” she says, weakly. “You have to help Ono.”

She points.

Ono is lying at the other end of the room. Face down.

Takall returns their attention to Agano’s stomach wound. A can ofantiseptic wound sealant drops into their palm, and with one quickmotion they pull the stake and jams the nozzle in instead.

She screams. The quick-setting mass of rubbery gel solidifies.

“Stay here.”

With two quick strides, they come to Ono’s side. Practiced hands takeher pulse.

None.

Flipping her over, they rip her blouse open, and from one sleevebrings out a bundle of narrow tentacles. They phase through flesh,interfacing directly with the heart muscle, and re-starts her heartrhythm.

She’s still not breathing. A tube springs from their hip bag, andintubates the diminutive woman, the Takall picks her up and slides herinside the extra-dimensional space.

The fire is burning faster than the drone can put it out.

Peering past the flames down through the collapsed section of floor,there’s another casualty. A section of brickwork has fallen on his head.There’s a pool of blood spreading and a splatter of brain matter.Nothing to be done.

Curse you Bollash.

Zazzuwa comes running, followed by a squad of guards laggingbehind.

He comes upon a scene of woe, all of the tenants huddling under theirwax cloaks in the coursing water on the street, children crying.

Takall is nowhere to be found. There’s a splash, as something heavyhits the street. A box-shaped machine with a rope connected to it,running all the way up to the collapsed roof. The machine starts hummingloudly, gurgling.

The door bursts open, and Takall emerges, carrying a daiman woman.“Zazu! I need these people evacuated to wherever there’s room. I needpriestesses, there’s a few casualties.”

An orman woman comes running up to Takall. “Graun! Did you findhim?!” she yells.

Zazzuwa doesn’t hear the reply, but the woman begins wailing inanguish.

Down the street, a team of white-cloaked priestesses and anothergroup of guards and paladins round the corner, wading through thewater.

The sergeant of the squad following Zazzuwa waves at them.

Takall comes over. “What happened?”

“Lightning strike. There’s a fire on the roof. I’m fighting it, butit* not behaving naturally.”

He looks up, to where the flames are belching smoke into thecloudy-dark sky, and a spray of droplets are raining down.

The doors to the other two stair wells open, and the tenants beginemerging.

Dhyme wades through the water over to the tall one holding a daimanwoman. “Is she injured?”

“Stomach wound.”

That is grave. She nods to the guard by her side, who takes thecasualty off her rescuer.

The tall human hands her a bottle. “I’ve sealed the wound with a kindof wax. Pour this elixir on it to dissolve the seal, then heal herimmediately.”

Then they reach into their hip bag, and pulls out another entireinjured daiman, this one with a tube down her throat, and a bundle ofstrands going into her chest.

“This one has sustained internal injuries. I’m keeping her alive withmagic, but she cannot breathe on her own, and her heart isn’t beatingright.”

Dhyme turns. “Sanemie! Phistra! Come help me!”

“He’s trying to make it personal.”

Chani looks at the Second one.

“The lightning struck your house.”

“My tenement. One of my tenants is dead. The building will likelyburn down — the fire isn’t behaving naturally.”

“Send for sorcerers to contain the flames with magic. I’ll compensateyou for your losses; the church will re-house them.”

They snort.

“What?”

“It’s not about money, Chani. I don’t charge them rent. I knew theman. His wife used their rent money I gave them back to buy their kidsnew shoes.”

Takall sighs and turns away from the table and the model.

Chani looks around at the other ones. Their neutral expressions offocusing on a task at hand have turned more somber.

“They’re your followers.”

“Maybe. And I don’t have very many.”

At least the rain is less here.

The sorcerers come, clad in dark cloaks reminiscent to Five of theChancellor of Esoterica, a memory that Two witnessed. There’s a smallmoment of vertigo associated with remembering the experiences of someoneelse — well, a different version on one self. Hopefully that goes awaywith experience.

There’s dozens of them. Likely not much they can do against theflooding.

“Are you the owner of this building?”

The leader of them is a human woman, skin almost as dark as hercloak, bald.

“I am. The fire does not easily extinguish. I’ve tried both water anda spell I know.”

“You shouldn’t practice sorcery without a guild license.”

“Is hedge sorcery illegal?”

“No, but it is dangerous, and the guild can’t protect you.”

A squad of four mages file into the stairwell.

“We have this well in hand.”

Takall turns and jogs away, into the rain, and down the street towhere Zazzuwa took the tenants — the guardsmen found a house withroom.

Turning the corner they spot Zazzuwa giving an order to a squad ofguards, who run off. He turns to see Takall.

Time stops.

Something emerges from the air, as if empty nothing was water, and acreature rose from its depths.

Ten or maybe fourteen sinuous tentacle limbs with clawed digits.Elongated trunk body. Bilateral symmetry. Bio-luminescent skin. Foureyes with squiggly pupils. Nudibranch, velvet worm, octopus. It towersover Zazzuwa.

Takall yells something, pointing.

Zazzuwa turns halfway before the thing grabs his entire head in oneseven-fingered hand and brings its weapon down.

A sharp rock.

There’s a gun in their hand, three shots ring out but the monster’sbody fades into the air.

Zazzuwa’s headless body falls into the water, and the hand holdinghis head remains until it too vanishes.

All of them react as one, wordlessly, and the war room fills to thebrim with machinery in an instant.

One of her angels appears, depositing the Fifth one, who rips one oftheir hip bags open to disgorge the boy paladin.

Decapitated.

Chani looks to the shamaness, and thanks happenstance that the girlis not awake or she might have screamed at the sight of her loverdead.

The head is picked up by a myriad of tentacles, and tubes and feelersjam themselves into the neck of the head, and down the neck of thebody.

“What happened?”

The second one turns to her, and hands her a piece of parchment. Shelooks at it, finding a lifelike painting of the dead man being attackedby a—

“Do you recognize this?”

“No.Wormfolk cannot survive at surface depths, much less on land.They get malaise above about score fathoms.”

Chani looks over at the dead man, to see something she hadn’t evenconsidered — the dread manifestations of Takall’s power is in theprocess of reattaching the man’s head.

“He’s not dead?”

“I managed to save him,” the Fifth one says.

“Is there anything I can do?”

All of the Takalls in the room look at her.

The difference is harrowing.

One moment a competent, level-headed leader-figure content to keepher informed of their view of the situation, voicing concerns andgenerally being an extremely component collaborator.

The next, they are barely speaking a word.

They asked for a separate room. Chani gave it to them, and theyspirited away the wounded man to work on him away from her eyes. Theywill call on her, they said, when her powers are needed.

They asked for more space. Chani gave it to them. Now they arefilling it with equipment. The table model of the city has been… eaten,for lack of a better term, and replaced with something that doesn’t needmanual intervention.

She looks at it.

“There’s been another attack,” the Eighth one says. A spot in themodel lights up. “A patrol of city guards were cut down.”

“I didn’t see that,” Chani says.

“We did.”

A window appears, showing the attack. The wormfolk appearing fromthin air, cutting down the men with what looks like flint daggers, andthen vanishing, but not before looking up directly at her vantagepoint.

“It seems aware of our flying watchers. It stands to reason it isaware of your angels as well. It is baiting me. A promise that it willcontinue killing until I do something.”

Chani looks towards the window and commands virtually all her angelsinto the air, surveying every street. “Are you sure?”

“It fits the facts.”

Through her angel’s eyes she sees two more lightning strikes, andanother section of the river escarpment collapse, taking a building withit this time, sending most of it into the river.

“Stop that.”

Chani looks back at Takall.

“What?”

“Send your angels away.”

“Because of those attacks? I do not negotiate with—”

The Eighth one takes a step towards her. “If any more people aregoing to die, I would rather it doesn’t happen because we have otherthings in mind than the lives of the innocent.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone.”

“Esiph.”

Chani’s anger flares up. The strands of the promise tighten aroundher fingers and Takall’s neck.

“Break your oath and you die.”

Takall snorts. “Don’t be stupid, I won’t hurt her. I’ll justleave.”

The unspoken words echo in her mind: and then she dies.

“Do as I ask.”

Zazzuwa wakes up and feels a terrifying sense of repetition.

There’s a black-skinned hand on his collar bone, and he looks to itsowner. The Empress. Clad in red brigandine.

“How do you feel?”

His hand goes to his neck. A spectre of pain lingers there.

“I— Your Majesty? What happened?”

“Your head was cut off. Your god saved you.”

He sits, and the sheet slides off his belly.

“Pants?”

She gestures to a chair. There’s a suit lying there, of a type hedoesn’t recognize but his lace immediately familiarizes him with.

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

She rises, and heads to the other room, framed by a set of wings onher back. A living angel. It looks at him with blue pupils.

Zazzuwa rises and heads to the mirror. There’s a grisly scar acrosshis neck.

Hanahana is stirred awake by a hand on her shoulder. She looks up tosee the Empress.

“Your Majesty?”

She holds out a hand, and pulls Hanahana to her feet.

Looking around, the room is very unlike what it was when she wentdreamwalking. It is larger and full of machinery in motion, Takall’spower.

In one corner Five is sitting, face buried in their hands.

Eight and Nine is setting up some kind of massive array of windowsthat look out onto the rain-doused city from various locations.

Two is being enveloped in a suit of armor in that same silvery greyas the underclothes armor they all wear, but with hard panels overlaid.Six holds out a larger, thicker jacket for Two to put on.

[Takall?]

Six looks over at her.

[It’s personal. Did you get anything?]

[No.Sorry. Bollash is deliberately obscuring events.]

[Don’t apologize.]

“I would really appreciate if you didn’t have private conversationsby telepathy.”

The Second and Sixth both look her way, then return to making battlepreparations.

Hanahana puts an hand on her arm, and she’s almost about to reprimandher.

“Don’t bother them. Just Tell me what’s going on.”

Chani turns and pulls the girl aside.

“There’s a wormfolk down there, most probably a god.”

They hand the small painting over to her.

“Most probably doing Bollash’s bidding. This assassin has killedseveral people, always in full view of your god’s flying watchers, butaway from the eyes of my angels.”

The girl looks back at all the Takalls. The door out to the othersituation room opens, and the Seventh one returns, heading straight forthe two of them.

“We’ve advised your men to continue the relief effort until furthernotice. We doubt there is any use in hiding from this enemy.”

Chani just nods. The Seventh turns about and goes to assist theothers.

“Your god’s demeanor changed in an instant. They threatened me. Iworry they are about to do something rash.”

Hanahana nods. She looks back at the painting. “Is— Is that Zazzuwa?Is he—”

The door to the adjacent room opens, and the girl turns to see herZazzuwa step out, clad in their god’s armor.

Predictably, she runs directly to him. They hug. Kiss.

Then the young man heads over the Fifth Takall, wallowing in miseryin the corner. He pulls them to their feet, and receives a long hug.

Chani draws a deep breath and thinks of Esiph.

Then the armor-clad Second one comes over to her. Their helmet has noeye slits, just a polished rounded expanse of grey.

“We apologize for our conduct earlier. We appreciate yourcooperation. We will see that this matter will be dealt with.”

Chani bares her teeth. “Whatever you need, say, and perhaps I canprovide.”

They bow. The audacity.

Two turns and heads for the door.

[This is it.]

Six and Seven both pat their shoulder as they pass.

Eight and Nine gives a thumbs up from the screen array.

Two stops and looks over at Five, holding Zazu and Hana close withboth arms.

Hanahana looks up.

[Don’t die.]

[I-who-is-we are immortal.]

Then they open the heavy door and head through the vestibule, and outthrough the gate.

A freshly-built aerial transport descends in the small yard beforethe ziggurat, accompanied by two heavy combat drones. The thrust oftheir engines whips the rain about.

Two hops onto the cargo ramp of the hovering aircraft, and grabs holdof an overhead strap.

Then the unmanned craft blasts off.

Chapter 18: Cut God to See if He Bleeds

Chapter Text

There are no flat roofs in the Red City. There is nowhere level toland with a good vantage point, so Takall steps off the transport ontothe ride of a shingled roof, slick with rain.

The unarmed drones patrolling the skies are being supplemented byunmanned gunships, and Two doesn’t care how they work. That’s Ten’sjob.

[Contanct. Three streets south. It is toying with somePaladins.]

Takall takes off running, drawing a rifle from inside their jacket.As they reach the edge of the roof, a pair of vectoring nozzles emergefrom within their collar, and with a mighty leap, they power on thejetpack.

Aided by something as mundane as jet propulsion muffled by asilencing spell, the gap is easy to cross. Then it’s another sprint downthe ridge of the next building, pushed along by the jets in longbouncing strides. They bound over the next street like it wasnothing.

It is far from a slow mode of transport, and much lower profile thanthe aerial transport. A smile comes to Takall’s face as they run.

Then suddenly it’s the end of the third block and Takall peers downon the street twilit in the overcast afternoon.

A squad of red-clad rain-soaked paladins are standing back-to-back ingroups of three, feather-blades drawn.

Out of the darkness of an alley comes a lightning bolt. Takall’svisor blocks out the blinding light and deafening boom as a trio ofpaladins are sent sprawling dead or injured.

One of the paladins retaliates with a silent beam of searing energy,giving off a Cherenkov-blue radiance, but hitting nothing.

Then the monster appears in their midst with a shockwave, blowing therain and paladins away.

Takall shoulders and fires a burst, hitting empty air and cobblesbehind. Taking a chance, they leap off the roof and make a controlleddescent among the dazed paladins. A hand from inside their sleevere-loads the weapon.

“Who’s in charge here?!”

“Who the hell are you?!”

The speaker is a saurman woman with a soiled half-cape that mighthave been white at some point.

Takall strides to her and offers a hand. She takes it and is swiftlypulled to her feet.

“Holy Sergeant, get your men out of here. This adversary is a god, itis using you as bait to draw me out.”

“And you are?”

“The Empress’ physician. Now go!”

She turns. “Every one! Retreat! Leave the dead! Move North!”

The men get to their feet, some of them needing support from theircomrades. They make what haste they can down the street, weapons at theready.

Takall turns to the empty air. “All right you asshole! Here Iam!”

[Duck.]

They do. Something goes overhead. A single shot pistol flies fromsleeve to palm. Aiming using the image transmitted into their mind, theyshoot.

Empty air.

Takall stands.

Then there’s another lightning bolt. It comes directly from behind,and dissipates into the ground harmlessly through the conductive layerof their suit. Except it doesn’t end. Within fractions of a secondthermal alerts go off. Takall is already spinning with the jet thrustersto bring the rifle to bear.

It cuts off. Several auto cannon shots impact the alley it came from,shattering brick.

[We got you covered.]

A gunship hangs in the sky. Takall looks to it, and the invisiblecraft is highlighted in their visor interface.

Then, there, faintly in the distance, the monster appears in mid air,already spinning into a chop with its flint dagger. A single blow cutsthe gunship down, fuel tank rupturing and igniting in a spectacularfireball.

Takall runs. The faster they get to open ground the better.

[I need some help.]

They’ve carved out a gigantic hangar from the mountain itself, and init set up a production line, first for the surveillance drones, then thegunships. The transport was a one-off, although they did buildthree.

Caseless ammo fly into drum magazines, energetic fuels for impossiblyeffective fuel cells fill tanks. Frames of exotic alloys are rivetedtogether and clad in composite panelling. Simple design, utilitarianarmament, strength in numbers. They take off on plasma-electric jetengines, turning invisible by magic.

[I think we could do more.]

Ten turns to Thirteen. Eleven and Twelve monitor the productionlines, but listen in.

[We need to create the option of going on the offensive. Takingthe fight to Bollash.]

[While I agree, I don’t like the chances any conventionalsubmarine has against literal sea monsters. We’d need something exoticand that takes time.]

[Now you’re just over-complicating.]

Ten looks over at Eleven.

[And you have a better idea?]

[How about just carpet-bombing him with depth charges?]

[Teleportation.]

Now even Twelve looks up.

It is technically possible. They all know that. Theeigenmaschine provides.

[The energy required is too great, we wouldn’t be able to fieldenoug ordnance, we would need highly specific intel to—]

[We only need one bomb.]

[No.]

[I’m not saying we should use it. Just have it. M.A.D.]

[A handle on a door affords pulling, a plate affords pushing. Weare not putting W.M.D.s on the table. Categorically.]

Thirteen looks to Eleven and Twelve. [Who here wants to ask Two?Or maybe Five? There are already W.M.D.s in play here! Weather controland armies of angels, hell our autonomous drone swarm counts as one, youdon’t even have to squint!]

Ten sighs.

[f*ck. All right. Let’s do it.]

The eigenmaschine provides. A terrible ellipsoid containingdual world-ending spheres of forbidden metal and secret fractions ofwater. One of dread might used as key to unleash the unfathomabledestruction of the other. The heart of a star, but not confined to thesafe distance of the heavens.

The ultimate force of annihilation, a union of base chemistry, arcanenuclear physics, and high magic. Unlike the crude devices used on Earth,this one is clean. Its unholy inescapable toxin burned up inthe reaction, ensured by one half of the magics inlaid in the device.The other half serving to enhance the explosive yield.

No missile will carry it to its intended target, no. This devastationwill be delivered by teleportation.

[There’s no putting the lid back on this one.]

Even the perfect physique has limits. Oxygen uptake, depletion ofglucose stores in muscle and liver, lactic acid buildup. All factorstheir lace tracks in exacting detail, estimating precisely how longuntil they become unable to fight due to depletion and damage.

They are not afraid, their lace sees to that. Fear is an impediment.Adrenaline is a hindrance. Mental blocks against overexertion areuseless. Pain is irrelevant. The mind controls the body until the bodybreaks.

It appears directly in front, already in motion, this time with aspear of driftwood. The thruster on Takall’s right shoulder disgorges abellow of super-heated air, propelling them out of the way of thepoint.

In a desperate gambit, a blade protrudes from their sleeve, but oneof the monster’s many arms intercepts Takall’s trust, and a flint daggercomes down.

Takall catches the tentacle by the wrist, but it is no standstill.Their adversary has several more arms and weapons.

The driftwood spear is brought to bear, and two synthetic andgrotesquely muscled arms emerge from within Takall’s jacket to catch itby the point. Mere contact burns the teflon skin and the kevlar fleshaway to the carbon fiber bones, but it holds.

Another flint dagger, this time from below, and Takall kicks it,their boot extruding a raised heel which grabs around the limb like aclaw.

Four alien eyes look Takall in the face, and if they were to guess itwould be a look of malice.

Twisting, they vector one of the nuzzles of their jetpack into itsface, and a blast of scalding exhaust gas blows into empty air.

Takall stumbles.

Just as they gain their balance, something impacts the back of theirknee and takes their leg clean off in a spray of blood.

The pain would be debilitating, but it is replaced by a quiet andfactual warning about the traumatic amputation. Their wound is dousedimmediately with foam congealing into a rubbery sealant.

The projectile embeds itself in a wall across the street, and adisembodied hands retrieves the thrown flint dagger.

An arm from within their jacket picks up the leg, and another fits apowered blade spring prosthetic to the stump. A second later Takall isrunning again.

[We have some upgrades for you.]

[About f*cking time.]

“Put our angels on Two. They need a moment to recover.”

Chani doesn’t ask stupid questions. “Will this mean more attacks onmy city?”

The Seventh Takall doesn’t answer.

Three angels the size of small houses descend around Takall. Theywaste no time pulling out the severed shin, and reattaching it — not bysome crude sutures, but by remodelling the injured tissue directly.Circulation and neural connection is restored, and the armor panelsmended.

Two wiggles their toes.

[Do you, Two, consent to this mind alteration?]

[Do you even need ot ask?]

A brief synchronization happens in an eyeblink, and their mind mesheswith an artificial pseudo-mind optimized for tactical assessment andtrained it on all the available tactical data.

[Hang on, this next part might be a littledisorienting.]

Takall sees their own toes, the three angels around them, and therain falling on the top of their helmet, all at once. Omnidirectionalvision.

Several hundred apertures and manipulators emerge from their jacketand embeds themselves within their suit of armor,

[That’s a foothold. We’ll render upgrades as you go.]

The three angels vanish into puffs of red down and blue sparks.

Two takes off running for the edge of town once more. The tacticalassistant applauds this course of action.

By the end of the street becomes apparent they aren’t getting shortof breath. A split second of vitals monitoring shows heart steadyslowing, and blood sugar and oxygen saturation remaining steady.

A moment’s conscious query reveals the answer: direct glucoseinjection, oxygenation, and de-carbonization of the blood on a capillarylevel. The hard limits on human physical exertion removed in aninstant.

They see the monster appear in an alley, in cover from the gunshipescort. The teleportation ability is fast, but Takall is faster,reacting with far beyond their usual super-human speed.

There’s a gun in their hand and a bullet in flight before theiradversary can even release their stone dagger. Aiming the gun isn’t aconscious process, it isn’t even automatic. I happens coincident withTakall recognizing the threat.

Shooting doesn’t even break their stride. They inspect the pistol intheir hand: little more than a long tapering barrel, with the gripprotected almost like the basket hilt of a fencer’s foil. No trigger, nosights.

The technical packet unfurls in their mind in an instant, and a smilecomes to their face. It is like a fire-arms designer’s fever dream,throwing away the rulebook entire. And the gun, when empty — there’s noway to reload it, by design.

[No magic?]

[Our adversary is presumed to be a powerful sorcerer.]

In their minds eye they track their movement through the city. At therate which the monster attacks, perhaps two or three more engagementsbefore heavier ordinance can be used without endangering civilians.

And then it appears once more, directly behind Takall, a hundredstrides up the street.

A jet-assisted pirouette brings the gun to bear, and a three-roundburst of fire comes from the muzzle, so fast each bullet barely leavethe barrel before the next accelerates. The recoil and muzzle flash isbeastly.

The monster has a hand raised, and the three projectiles hit somekind of invisible barrier, stopping dead in the air, fiercelyspinning.

Two dozen large-caliber bullets come in from the gunship dronesoverhead, to the same effect.

It stands there, staring at Takall, next to a building.

And then in a split second, aided by Tactical, they realize why.

It’s a threat.

[Oh sh*t.]

The monster reaches out and puts a hand on the building — a threestorey apartment complex. Claws dig into the corner timber, and withbarely any exertion rips the support out of the brickwork.

Takall cringes, as the building comes dangerously close to adangerous collapse.

The monster vanishes. The still-spinning bullets fall into theshallow water covering the street.

“It’s holding the citizens hostage.”

Chani stands by the massive array of ‘screens’ showing the citythrough Takall’s army of flying watchers.

“I can see that.”

In the miniature rendition, she follows the Second one as they jog upthe street. The monster leaps up from below and she barely perceives howfast Takall brings their weapons to bear. Bright flashes, lightning fasttrading of blows, then they both vanish.

“Where did they go?”

The Eighth one points to a screen. There’s a vertigo-inducing momentas the watcher she is seeing through somehow makes a tiny speck in thesky large enough to see.

A person tumbling through the sky.

“Shall I—”

Then Takall rights themself and takes off flying with webbing formingunder arms and between legs.

They sit huddled in the corner. Five against the wall, Hanahana andZazzuwa on either side, holding their hands.

They hold onto his hand like he might slip through their fingers.

There’s a battle going on, and Zazzuwa isn’t worried about thefighting. He’s worried about what will happen afterwards.

[I can’t stop seeing that thing holding your head.]

[I’m fine, you saved me.]

Takall shakes their head.

[I put you both in danger. I did it yesterday. I did it again today.]

[I was here all along, safe.]

[Hana, you dreamwalked despite our enemy being a master ofdreams, I should have stopped you. I’ve no right to jeopardize the twoof you, sworn to me or not — I don’t even like the idea of it.]

[So, what, you’re going to tell us to leave for our own safetyand we’re just supposed to accept that?]

[Tal, we don’t stick around because we think it’s fun.]

A squeeze.

[You need us, more than we need you. We’re here to help you staysane. The last thing the world needs is an unfettered Takall, mad withgrief and loneliness.]

Another squeeze.

[You are so nice to me, I don’t deserve—]

[Hush. We both owe you life debts, plural. Be selfish, for oncein your life.]

[Also, I’m willing to bet my next wage payment that you canfigure out some kind of way to make this whole dying business but atrifle of an inconvenience.]

That gets him a little snicker.

It’s a fight on the back foot. Takall, limited by collateral damage,the monster empowered by the threat of it.

What’s more worrying is that it throws lightning, but hasn’t usedmuch other magic, except for the occasional bullet ward. With the amountof magical power required to cast a continuous bolt of lightning, itcould be tearing Takall limb from limb.

Instead it keeps at it with implausibly sharp flint daggers, and aspear that burns what it touches, occasionally mixing it up with agrapple that throws Takall somewhere new and interesting, often high inthe sky.

The tactical assistant can’t make heads and tails of any pattern inthe attacks, apart from the regularity: five to ten heartbeats betweenthem.

If it’s a battle of attrition this thing is trying at, the sheerdamage to the city this deluge is causing will eventually overtake whatconcerns mission control might have about collateral damage. And in anycase, Takall isn’t limited by biology. Eventually this monster will gettired. Maybe.

[Is this thing even slowing down?]

[Analysis in progress, keep at it.]

They take off running. Not that there’s any chance of outrunning ateleporter, but just on the off chance this monster decides to laytraps. Better to stay moving.

[I’m going to try something. It can talk, right? Can Chanitransalate?]

There’s a pause. Then the sparrow-sized angel appears on Takall’sshoulder.

Their handguns disappear into their sleeves, and they stop.

“Come out! I want to talk!”

There’s no sound but the rain.

Then there’s a presence. Takall turns to it, and there, at an almostpolite distance, is the wormfolk.

“Who are you?”

On their shoulder, the little sparrow angel morphs into an elongatedbody, growing to the size of a ferret with eyes all over. The eyes flashblue in a rhythmic display.

The wormfolk flashes a display of bioluminescence in response.

Takall gets the notion of an untranslatable name.

[Chani says it could be pronounced as Ngumu.]

“Ngumu. I am Takall.”

“I know who you are.”

“What are you trying to accomplish?”

“I will make you suffer, and then I will kill you.”

“And you’re going to hide behind the citizens, keep them hostageagainst me?”

“All land-dwellers are evil. And you are the most evil of themall.”

“You do realize every moment you fight me, is another moment I get tolearn how you fight and create better weapons against you, right?”

“You presume I’ve been trying to kill you so far. You know not myfull power.”

“And I’ve been limiting myself so as to not harm the innocent allaround is.”

“This is not a war you can win, Takall. The oceans will rise upagainst you.”

“I like my chances.”

The monster expresses some kind of nonverbal amusem*nt. The angelloosely translates it as a laugh.

“How about we take this outside the city and stop holding back? Orare you too much of a coward?”

“I am not so foolish as to fall for your taunts.”

“Fine. I’m just going to leave then.”

Takall turns and starts walking.

“What, are you giving up?”

“Yes.”

Ngumu appears in front of them.

“I will destroy this city if you do.”

“And that is a matter between you and the Red Empress. I hear it iswithin her power to dam the circle sea and boil it dry, if she sodecides.”

Takall steps within Ngumu’s reach.

“Me and you, outside the city; take your chances with the Empress; oryou can slink back under the waves from whence you came. Yourchoice.”

Ngumu turns and gestures. A pillar of light rises into the sky fromjust outside the city, up the river.

“I’ll be waiting for you there. You have as long as it takes toget there to come to terms with your inevitable demise.”

Ngumu vanishes noiselessly.

Chapter 19: Rule of Three

Chapter Text

“So, what now?”

Seven raises an eyebrow looking at Chani.

“You have secured a site of battle away from my city.”

“And a few minutes of reprieve. Sorry for threatening to make thisNgumu your problem.” “It’s what I would have done. Are you confident youcan win this?”

Takall shakes their head. “Confident? No.Even with heavier weapons,I am not confident Two can stand up to whatever Ngumu has been holdingback on.”

They look to Six, who is sitting on a chair, back to the screens,corresponding with the double-digits up on the mountain, designingmagical defenses. A wholly novel problem.

“Tell me about the problem. I find there’s few things that helps findsolutions as discussing them.”

“There’s nothing this Ngumu has done so far that I cannot explain.Except how it does it.”

“Elaborate.”

“I mean, the sorcery is just simple spells, apart from how much powerit can put behind the spells, and those flint daggers and the spear issomething I could recreate in a day with a bit of trial and error.”

They shrug. “The teleportation, while elaborate, is fundamentallypossible with sophisticated enough machines and spellwork.”

“So you’re saying the only godlike power is—” She stops and turnsturns. “House, let the guest in.”

A door forms and opens. In steps a salaman in a rain-wet cloak. Hetakes a moment to look around, then bows deeply. “Your Majesty.”

“Black Hand. You’ve saved me the effort of sending for you.”

“Ah, I heard this young Takall here was with you. And since I heardyou were under attack I came to deliver something I owe in person.”

He looks to Takall.

“I haven’t paid you yet.”

“I will exact full payment when you are not under attack. A show ofgood will.”

Takall walks up to him, and he hands over a heavy sheath of waxedleather. Opening it, Takall finds notes bundled with string.

“Your research.”

“Yes.”

“Takall? We have a battle to plan.”

Seven turns and tosses the documents to Six. The reading angel dartsto them, and they begin skimming.

“Black Hand, I am going to call in a favor you owe, and owe you onein return.”

“Yes?”

“One of Takall’s… bodies, is in the field, about to engage with apowerful sorcerer. Can you mitigate their disadvantage?”

He heads over to the broad windows and stands there for a moment,looking down.

“That I can do, yes. Though bear in mind that alone will not win youthe battle. In return I should like to peruse your collection of beastsand we can haggle over what is owed.”

“Very well.”

Then he turns, and as he passes, he pats Seven on the arm with anink-black hand. Tall for a salaman, and standing taller than Chani, heonly reaches two thirds of Takall’s height.

He exits into the rainstorm and vanishes into a puff of smoke. Thedoor vanishes, swallowed by the wall.

“As I was saying, if this adversary’s only godlike power is that theyare godly capable in the sorcerous arts.”

“As far as I have observed, yes. Ngumu might be holding out onsomething.”

“So if they are only using sorcerous arts, this means we can counterthem with sorcerous arts means as well.”

She nods towards where Black Hand just left. “And if so, that’s yoursorcery problem taken care of. Black Hand is one of the greatestsorcerers in the world, by his own admission, and he doesn’t brag.”

“Thank you.”

“As for the problem of its freedom of movement, you may notice BlackHand went outside before vanishing.”

“That was not out of politesse, I assume.”

“I have certain beings under my command which can place injunctionson such movement outside the bounds of everyday confines. I’m preparedto use them to aid you.”

“That is very generous of you.”

“No it isn’t. If this hooligan gets to run rampant through my citywith impunity, my enemies will know it a sign of weakness.”

She looks Seven directly in the eye.

“You better kill this one. It’ll look bad for both of us if youdon’t.”

Takall nods, then turns towards the screens once more.

Chani studies their expression. “There’s something else.”

They look at her.

“There’s something else you’re not telling me, a problem you’rehaving.”

“I it is one I don’t think you can help me with.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Takall draws another screen from within their jacket.

“See here.”

She looks upon the screen. It shows a still image, like anotherpainting of impossible detail. In it Takall, the Second one, is frozenmid air, about to fend off Ngumu, appearing from a disturbance in theair.

“It was captured by one of the smaller watchers, the ones with noweapons.”

Only then does Chani notice that the image is living, but moving veryslowly. Takall’s pistol flashes three times, and Ngumu isn’t where thebullets fly.

“Now, watch this.”

The image splits in two. One is the street with the battle. The otheris a watcher. She recognizes it as coming upon the same street; she haswatched her city from the air for many years. If Takall’s watchers werevisible, she’d see it there.

“That second one is one is armed with a powerful cannon. Watch whathappens just as it gets a line of vision.”

Ngumu twists away from Takall and throws a ball of plasma skyward,which the second watcher is struck just as it sees Takall and Ngumucomes into view.

“There’s numerous other examples, but none as illustrative: Ngumureacts before there’s a sign of danger, attacks always when andwhere it is most inconvenient, and despite its small repertoire ofattack patterns seems impervious to being predicted. I somehow doubt itis running off to roll dice in between.”

Chani nods. “It sees the future.”

“Yes, although I cannot say how far or how accurately. I suspect notvery far, based on my conversation with it earlier. Got anything againstthat? Or have you ever seen or heard of something like it?”

“I can’t say I have.”

Takall shakes their head.

The Sixth one comes over to join them. “There’s something interestinghere; imemdiately relevant. Blackhand identifies a rough descriptivesystem of six kinds of… He calls them ‘overt divine manifestations’ andascribes them to various gods, as well as whether the exhibit‘empowering faith’ or an ‘abstractly embodied ideal.’ He describes you,Chani, as having the overt manifestation of servitors — your angels —and that you exhibit both empowering faith and abstractly embodiedideal.”

Chani nods. “And?”

“He then notes that several gods have ‘indirect divinemanifestations,’ which he defines as mortal abilities, taken to a divineextreme. He lists as examples, and I quote: great sorcerous might,craftsmanship of magical artifacts, freedom from the limitations ofmortal travel, enhancements of the senses, and knowledge of impossiblesubjects.”

“Sorcery, teleportation, magic weapons… prescience.”

The two look at one another. Six nods, packs the manuscript away inthe leather, then turns to the screens.

“What?”

“Going on the hypothesis that Ngumu is not actually exercising somekind of god-ability that breaks all the rules, remember how I said Icould explain everything it was doing?”

“You can explain how it sees the future.”

Takall nods. “All of the matter and motion in the world obeys certaingeometric rules, with enough knowledge of the world, all can bepredicted. It is however flatly impossible to obtain this knowledge orperform the sheer quantity of arithmetic necessary, but ifgiven the knowledge and an appropriately powerful abacus bydivine fiat…”

Chani has several philosophical objections, but stays them. “And youknow how to counter that?”

“Maybe. Go ready the injunction against teleportation, and be readyto employ it when I give the signal.”

Two walks through the rain at a brisk pace.

Data packets come regularly from the others, containing weaponsystems and defenses, improvements to their kit, and updates to thetactical assistant in their lace.

But notably nothing about the sorcery Ngumu threatened to possess.Just a report that Back Hand has gotten involved.

There’s a puff of smoke up ahead, and a Salaman appears.

“Hello Takall.”

“Black Hand.”

He joins up, effortlessly matching pace with Takall’s longstrides.

“I’ve been paid to help you with a sorcery-related problem.”

“Just what I need.”

He reaches inside his cloak and draws out a palm sized medallion.“This is a ward against various forms of hexes, and potently so. Itwon’t protect you from everything, but your opponent it would seem hasno appreciation for the finer arts.”

He tosses it. Takall catches it. “Much appreciated.”

“There’s nothing much I can do against physical spellcraft, though Isuspect you are more than capable of defending yourself againstsomething as mundane as fire, lightning, shockwaves, and the like.”

“Depends on the magnitude of it, but yes.”

He takes out a smooth dowel of metal, a wand of sorts. “This is asingle-use device. Snap it, and it will disrupt most magical effects inthe area and it will impede sorcerers in drawing on their auraticenergies. It will destroy the amulet and your adversary’s magicalweapons, as well as any you might have for your own, so only use it as alast resort.”

Takall accepts it. “A bomb.”

“Succinctly put. That’s all I have for you.”

“Really?”

“Those two items are powerful magic. Would you rather I try to teachyou magical defense in the time it takes you to walk out to the arena ofyour impending battle?”

“No.”

“Though, I could be persuaded to give you a third boon.”

“What’s it going to cost me?”

“You’re a new client, this one is pro-bono.”

They gesture to the pillar of light. “That thing you’re fighting isprobably lying in wait, laying all sorts of traps for you.”

“That’s what happens when you let your opponent beats you to thefield of a pitched battle. Can you do something about it?”

“Consider it done.”

“After this is over, how do I find you if I am in a buying mood?”

He smiles, in salamans a flaring of the nostrils and pursed lips.“Seeing as you are about to enter into deadly combat, I shall send ameans of reaching me with my retainers when they comne to collect thosejewels you owe me.”

Then he vanishes in a puff of smoke, leaving Takall to trudge throughthe rain.

The many eyes of her third Archangel, perched atop the southern peaktracks the tiny figure emerging from the city on the northern bank ofthe river.

Chani returns from her trip into the bowels of house, caverns in themountain below.

“It is done and ready.”

The Seventh bows their head to her.

“Are you?”

“No, but what I have will have to do.”

“And Black Hand? Is he of any help?”

“Some, I hope.”

She turns to the windows, looking at the rain. Outside, her angelsreturn to the air above her city.

“Any advice?”

She looks aside to Takall, who is looking away from the screens.

“You must have done this before, fought with enemy gods.”

“The unlucky souls that crossed me, I destroyed as quickly aspossible. I didn’t in the moment spare much thought to how big thesmoking crater would be afterwards. My advice is: don’t hold back. Ifyou see the opportunity to strike the ending blow, do so withouthesitation. I know it is not much.”

The final rifle design is as minimalist as it is deadly: sixintimidating muzzles at the business end, stock and grip at theother.

Under the lining of their jacket sit half a dozen of them, along withstranger weapons, countermeasures, and defensive implements.

The jetpack on their back has been upgraded, exchanging potentiallyweaponizeable hot exhaust gas for twice the performance andresponsiveness.

A glob of epoxy has fixed the talisman to their breastplate, and somepreliminary examination of the magic bomb indicates it is going to playhell with at least a few of their biological enhancements and shut offaccess to the inside of the jacket.

In the skies above, the gunship drones are switching from inertmunitions to more exotic ones, and a new class of gunship is coming downfrom the mountain, armed with even worse things.

The light emanates from an overgrown area of riverbank, as if the airitself is glowing.

Ngumu appears, illuminated, and Takall’s translator angel leaps fromtheir shoulder.

“You sent someone to hinder me.”

“Not very honorable to booby-trap the chosen field of battle, isit?”

“Do not speak to me of honor; you know nothing ofhonor.”

“No, but I know that you would rather risk facing me on even footingthan face the anger of Bollash.”

“Your time for making peace with death has passed. Now is yourtime for dying.”

Three flint daggers and a spear of driftwood.

[Initiating experiment with mixed strategies.]

Ngumu vanishes, and a burst of autocannon fire blows the dirt intothe air.

Lightning bolts fly into the sky from several places in the vicinity,taking out the close air support.

Then it appears directly behind Takall, unleashing a shockwave.Countermeasures in their suit kick on, systems functioning in directviolation of half of Newton’s laws and in return preventing their organsfrom being liquefied.

Legs tucked, on four vectoring nozzles, Takall spins dizzyinglymid-air and sweeps the rifle.

Ngumu vanishes, but no shots are fired. Which means the gun didn’tonce aim at a valid target.

[Engaging stochastic firing protocol.]

It’s barely a second before Ngumu appears again, this time throwing aplasma ball directly at Takall, from behind.

A metal shield on a strong synthetic arm springs forth from insidetheir jacket, even as they dodge. The ball lightning impacts the shield,instantly heating it to red hot and blowing Takall backwards into acontrolled tumble and landing.

There it appears again, grabbing hold of the shield and cutting thesynthetic arm with a well placed swipe of a flint dagger.

Autocannon fire whizzes through empty space.

[Drawing randomness from atmospheric noise.]

There’s a pronounced pause in the action, then. Five heartbeats, ten,fifteen.

Then the attack comes, a lunge from below. Takall’s sense of timeslows and rockets upwards. A flashbang drops from within their jacket,directly into Ngumu’s face, but a deft clawed hand catches and vanishesit away, to explode high in the sky.

Hands reach out. Bringing the rifle to bear, the six barrels disgorgetheir collective ammunition stores as fast as electronically possible,adding their recoil to the upwards thrust.

Ngumu is still somehow gaining on them, flowing in and out ofexistence. The salvo of gunship fire hangs in the air, stopped by thebullet ward.

Another handful of flashbangs drop and are torn apart by invisibleforce before they can detonate.

A swipe with a flint dagger takes the muzzle end off the rifle. Ahand closes around Takall’s foot. Handguns leap from their sleeves, andboth are batted aside.

Ngumu’s spear pierces Takall in the groin, and diagnostic warningsimmediately flood their conscious awareness.

But the incendiary effect fails to materialize.

Two strong synthetic arms reach out of their jacket and grab hold ofthe weapon.

Then Ngumu vanishes, leaving the spear, just as a line of plasmatizedfire instantly appear in its stead.

“Rail gun artillery beats bullet ward! Take that you asshole!”

Chani startles some at the sudden exclamation.

The amulet on their breastplate turns dull red with heat. Raindropsstriking it sizzle.

Takall pulls the sharp piece of wood from where its tip has wedgedinside their hip. It would be an ugly wound if it wasn’t for their suitimmediately beginning reconstructive surgery.

The spear goes inside their jacket, and the eigenmaschinewithin takes appropriate precautions in analyzing and then disassemblingthe weapon.

And then the waiting for the next attack, rifle in hand. Again alonger pause, but the more time their suit gets to reconstruct thewound, the better.

But when it finally comes it is entirely different, and effective. Asingle of Ngumu’s seven-fingered hands manifests itself directly underTakall’s chin, holding a flint dagger.

Even with their superior reaction speed, they are too slow to preventit from neatly cutting the protective talisman off and catching it witha single claw before vanishing.

That might be a problem.

“I got your little protective stone.”

Ngumu is nowhere to be found. What the angel is interpreting is amystery.

“I got your spear.”

[Chaotic generative response tactics from sensoryentropy.]

Then the attack comes. Ngumu emerges directly behind Takall, comingin for a grapple. Rather than trying to aim with the rifle, they bringout a handgun and fires awkwardly behind themself.

Ngumu vanishes. This time leaving behind a mist of copper-greenblood.

Chapter 20: Destroy All Creatures, They Can't Be Regenerated

Chapter Text

“Confirmed hit. We’ve got something.”

The Seventh one turns to Chani and nods.

Deep below them, her angel wipes a fiery feather through the copperwire circle inlaid in the floor. Before the invisible force inside canescape, her angel blocks the hole with a wing.

She feels the bound spirit’s impatience.

Takall waits out the heartbeats until Ngumu appears again, and oncemore it is one of the longer pauses. Even longer than when Tacticalstarted using atmospheric noise.

This time it goes for the kill, a single hand appearing dagger inhand and already in motion aimed directly at Takall’s neck. With atwisting dodge Takall accepts a gouge in their helmet in exchange forthe opportunity to angle their rifle just right.

An almost solid column of armor piercing bullets strike theknife-blade, and whatever reinforcing imbuements it has are overwhelmed.The weapon shatters, and there’s another few droplets of cobalt-bluishblood.

In the intervening stillness, the only sound is the rain.

Takall gets the last use of their jacket, producing the weaponsneeded for the next and final clash, then shrugs it off. It is going tobe useless in a moment anyway.

Seven holds out a hand, ready to give the signal.

This time, it is different.

Ngumu appears, and Takall immediately sees there is somethingdifferent. Or rather, Tactical is already moving to dodge before Takallconsciously realize what they’re even seeing. Thrusters at full power,left leg kicking off against the rain-wet dirt, twisting.

A spell.

A beam of destruction.

A fraction of a heartbeat after it hits, telemetry confirms it is acharged particle beam not unlike what’s inside a particle accelerator.Except powerful enough to blow a hole in a mountain.

Or it would be a fraction of a heartbeat, if Takall had a heart.Initial diagnostics confirm that their left arm and shoulder is gone.Their ribcage has been blown open, taking with it left lung, heart, anda segment of spine.

They don’t feel it. They don’t go into neurogenic shock. It is barelyeven an inconvenience. The suit picks up the slack of the missing spine,the wound seals with foam. Reconstruction can wait. With energy beingreplenished at a cellular level, it’s not like blood is a necessity forsurvival.

Takall’s booby-traps trigger. Flashbangs go off, littering thebattlefield in searingly bright shards of burning metal, gas grenadesblanket the area in noxious fumes, and compact sonic weapons unleashesan ear splitting cacophony of sirens.

Ngumu’s skin turns into a mirror, and it starts moving towardsTakall, weapons in hand.

Then the falling raindrops explode into a dense mist, instantlyenclosing the two of them in a circular wall of fog.

Warnings go off in Takall’s head that certain life-support systemsare operating at below optimum.

Ngumu stops. Two additional limbs sprout from Ngumu’s body, one ofwhich bleeds blue from a gunshot wound; both are swiftly covered by themirror barrier. But now it starts running in earnest towards Takall, tokill.

A small explosive charge snaps the wand bomb in half, lying hidden inthe folds of the discarded jacket.

More alarms go off, informing Takall that they are about to gocomatose in brief moments.

Ngumu flinches, dropping the flint daggers which crumble to sand andthe protective talisman they stole which is melting. The mirror-sheen oftheir skin vanishes and they immediately recoil from the onslaught oflight, sound, and chemicals.

But by then it is over.

The eigenmaschine unfolds. Gigantic grasping claws emergefrom the mist wall itself, capturing Ngumu, as powerless as any smallsea creature against the might of a diver with a fishing spear.

The restraints ready a lethal electrical charge, and Takall relentsfor a moment on the tactical obfuscation.

Ngumu’s struggles cease immediately.

Yet more machinery appears as if from nowhere, taking just longenough to form to be impractical in a fight. The restrained Ngumu issurrounded by a stone circle of phased array antennas facing inwards,and a canopy of spindly branches of shiny chrome.

The fog wall vanishes as quickly as it formed, but within theenclosed space of the prison, no magic can be cast, and no teleportationcan be conducted.

And only now, Takall allows the eigenmaschine to tend totheir injury, directly intervening to mend the lethal wound, exciseirradiated flesh, and mend genetic damage from the devastating attack.It takes an amount of time that is hard to quantify, but through it all,Takall remains standing.

The little angel hops up on a piece of equipment.

“I shall not lower myself to beg for my life. Kill me. Tortureme. It will change nothing.”

Takall remains silent while an artificial heart and lung isinstalled, spinal cord replaced by electronics, carbon fiber ribs andscapula woven with spider silk tendon and nano-hydraulic muscle, clad insilicone skin, and finally swept in fresh armor.

They clear their throat.

“Shut up.”

Chani watches the conclusion of the battle through the eyes of herarchangel.

“Well done.”

“Thank you.”

“Now kill that idiot.”

“No.”

She reaches out and grabs the Seventh one by the arm. “You will do asI say. Now is not the time to adhere to any sort of interpretation ofyour oath of medicine.”

Takall looks at her. “I am no longer acting in defense of myself orothers, Ngumu has been neutralized — lethal force will not be necessary.If you wish to pass judgment on Ngumu and slay them by your own hand,they are quite defenseless.”

Chani remains silent for a moment. “Go on.”

Takall tilts their head.

“You have something in mind, I can tell. So: go on.”

The you god stands there for a moment looking at the screens,drumming two fingers on their lips.

“There are other ways of ensuring that a malevolent actor can neverdo harm ever again. Ways in which we could utilize Ngumu’sabilities.”

“I’ve never successfully bound a god.”

“No need to bind the god when you can bind the flesh underneath thedivine.”

Takall calmly walks into the containment array, and up to Ngumu, nowthoroughly restrained.

“I’ll spare you the details, but I am not going to kill you.”

Ngumu wisely says nothing.

A needle draws a sample of its cobalt-blue blood, and a scanning ringsubjects it to a full body scan, mapping out the central nervous system.With a casual gesture Takall brings forth the lace injection spike. Yetmore restraints appear and thoroughly immobilize Ngumu’s head.

“What are you—”

“Don’t worry. It looks scary but it is quite painless.”

The spike phases through flesh, and in their minds eye Takall seesthe blue strands spread through the wormfolk’s central nervous system.It takes a few minutes to settle and complete.

Then Takall dismisses all the equipment holding Ngumu prisoner,disables the Tactical Assistant, and takes off their helmet. A real armof flesh will have to wait.

“What did you do to me?!”

Looking at Ngumu, Takall sees them in visible distress, curling theirlimbs, looking to and fro.

However their future sight works, they no doubt see the consequencesTakall can impose on them at the speed of thought. Paralysis,unconsciousness, the worst tortures imaginable, instant death, rewritingtheir entire personality.

A small collection of manipulators tend to Ngumu’s wounds, bandagingthe superficial cuts on their hand, and filling the bullet hole withwound sealant.

“We are going to the Empress now.”

And as if called, a mid-sized angel appears.

The rain still pours.

[This is unethical.]

[It’s pragmatic.]

[If you look at it from a ‘do no harm’ perspective, we’veprevented Ngumu from coming to harm — getting executed.]

[Nonconsensually implanting a mind-controlling cybernetic inanother sapient is arguably worse.]

[And the mind-control is ‘hey don’t kill people.’ That stillbeats a bullet.]

[Look, it’s not going to be a permanent enslavement. Ngumu willhave the right to earn their own lace back.]

[Agreed.]

The announcement of victory hasn’t lightened the mood in the room.Five has conjured some chairs for the three of them to sit in for morecomfort, and some food.

And then Zazzuwa gets the first in-person look at hiswould-be-killer. He rubs his neck where the pale scar sits.

Two arrives back in the room with the rest of them, dripping wet, andnot all of it water. Their captive, the wormfolk, wears no manacles. Hecan only guess at how terrifying it must be if one’s lace is one’senemy.

“Ngumu,” the Empress greets the creature.

Ngumu scampers back against a wall.

“You are alive by my good will, and the assurance of Takall that youare controllable. I think I needn’t tell you what will happenotherwise.”

Five lets go of Hanahana’s and Zazzuwa’s hands and gets up, heads upto Two and heedless of the armor and grime, hugs them. Seven comes overas well, for a handshake.

“Impossible! What is this?”

“Me,” Takall says. “You were outmatched the moment you challenged me.We fought you with only one body to obscure this fact.”

The wormfolk curls up into a ball of flexible limbs, seeminglyclawing at itself in horror. Zazzuwa doesn’t pity it at all.

“I would like to discuss the situation at hand, Chani can you ceasetranslating our words to the prisoner?”

The other Takalls are tended to their wounded sibling. Chaniconsiders offering to help before responding.

“It already only hears what I want it to.”

The change in demeanor from all of them is palpable. Gone is the curtresolve, the ruthless focus on their enemy. It’s as if the whole battlenever took place, and they are back to the more relaxed task ofmitigating disaster.

“The rain isn’t letting up, and the city infrastructure is going totake more widespread damage as evening progresses and night falls. Iwill redouble my efforts to protect the citizenry, but we need toestablish communications with Bollash.”

Then a chuckle comes from the corner.

“There’s no need to send me your angels, dear Chani.”

She spins to see the shaman girl, Hanahana, smiling and lookingdirectly at her, and then Takall.

“I must say it is quite a spectacle you create, young Takall. What aregrettable outcome that Ngumu couldn’t prevail.”

And just as quickly as it went away, Takall’s tense demeanor returnstenfold. Every single one of them in the room turn their undividedattention on their shaman.

Chani puts a hand on the Seventh one, and takes a step forward.

“Bollash, I must caution you that it is extremely inadvisable whatyou are doing.”

“I’m not speaking to you, little Empress.”

“Ngumu never stood a chance,” the Second one says, the warrior.

“Ngumu was never meant to defeat you. You were meant to killthem.”

“Master?”

Bollash as Hanahana looks over at the wormfolk. They cower under theglare.

The Fifth one steps forward. “Why did you send them after me?”

“Why indeed. Because I need you to commit deicide. Chani knows thisas well, but it is foretold that an all-consuming evil will cover theworld, and its divine equal will rise in opposition. This equal willlead a nation, kill a god, act in many places at once—”

Chani takes a step towards the Fifth one. “Don’t listen to him. Thisprophecy is bunk. There’s two dozen candidates for it on this side ofthe sea alone. I’m one.”

“Rude. The re-telling of the prophecy in words — even as you commandthem, Chani — is lackluster. I have dreamt it. Many others,too. Even that imbecile Ngumu has an inkling of it. Even this worthlessshamaness I’m using has felt the prophesied evil.”

“You’ve made your point, give me back my priestess.”

“No.”

Again, Chani steps forward. “What do you want, Bollash, and why doyou deserve our patience?”

“I want you, Takall, to kill a god. You are in the room with two whoboth deserve it. Ngumu has killed hundreds of the land dwellers you socare about, and put real effort into killing both you and this boyhere.” Hanahana under Bollash’s control nods to Zazzuwa.

“And if that does not appeal to you, the very Empress you standbeside has done far worse and over many more years. You are both farfaster and far more resilient than her. Choose, or I wash this city into the ocean, and kill this feeble woman I am speaking through.”

Chani glances aside to the Second, Fifth, and Seventh Takall nowstanding together.

“Give me back my priestess. Last warning.”

“No.”

The Seventh one nods. “Okay.”

Then the three of them turn to look out the window. Chani does aswell, just in time to behold something she doesn’t understand.

“Blackhand!”

Ten brings their cupped hands down.

[I don’t think shouting into the storm is going to—]

“Good evening Takall. There’s really no need to shout.”

All four of them turn to see the salaman god stand in the mouth ofthe hangar.

“We’d like to buy some information.”

Eleven waves him over to the map table. Black Hand heeds, and takes alook.

“This is a very fine map.”

The map is of the coastal stretch of ocean outside the Red City. Thecoastline curves neatly with a gargantuan radius, and is dotted withstrange mountains. Where this circular irregularity ends, the coastbends away north and south, but great reefs stretch into the water,following the contour, and a few mountainous isles jut out of the openocean further out on that same line.

It is the remains of an impact crater. Probably a true planet-killer,except this world is about the mass of Jupiter and hundreds of timeslarger than Earth.

“Thank you.”

Eleven points at the sea. “According to that dossier you sold me,Bollash lives out here. I’d like to know where he is right now. It onlyhas to be precise to within about —” they conjure a compass and marksout a circle “— this much error. And we would like to know how deep downhe is as well, to about the same variance in depth.”

Bollash considers this. “Cartography of this quality is incrediblyvaluable.”

“I can supply you with maps of anywhere I can send my flying machinesto survey the land. Shall we say, three such documents to be supplied innegotiable detail and land area covered?”

“Three is far too little. I want an atlas of the Red Empire, to thislevel of accuracy but more detailed and in smaller ratio of scalebetween the territory and the map’s depiction.

Eleven nods.

[That could come back to bite us later.]

[So what.]

“Deal.”

Black Hand gestures to the compass Eleven is holding, and they handit over.

He marks an area north of the crater center with the graphite nib.“This is his lair, which lies at a depth of roughly greask fathoms.Since he is working his power over weather, he will be nearer the center— another mark — probably closer to the surfaces I am notomniscient.”

Eleven rolls up the map. “Thank you.” Then hands it to Black Hand.“On the house, as a sample.”

“What—” Hanahana says, and falls sideways into Zazzuwa’s arms.

“Hana?”

The ocean rises into the sky.

That’s the only way Chani can describe it.

“What is this? What did you do?”

“I killed Bollash.”

She turns to Takall, who has come up beside her. There’s not a hintof mirth on their face.

“How?”

“I built a bomb and teleported it into the water near hislocation.”

The water is only now beginning to fall down.

“You built a bomb. Are you saying a base weapon did this? It is notyour divinity?”

“Constructing it was, but yes. Like all the weapons I have fielded sofar—”

“No! What did you do?!”

They both turn, and Ngumu glows with what Chani interprets asinarticulate rage.

The wormfolk lunges for one of the Takalls, but collapses into a pileon the floor, unmoving but still glowing — not dead, just paralyzed.

The Second one crouches down beside them, and produces a long knife.“I killed Bollash,” they repeat.

“You killed everyone!”

“Explain!”

“You killed everyone!”

There’s no explanation coming, as Chani reads Ngumu breaking down,flashing patterns of light that mean nothing except to communicatedistress.

“Takall, Bollash was one of the very few Emperors of the sea,” Chanisays careful.

Everyone in the room looks to her.

“He, like I, presided over a city, one of the larger ones in thesea.”

“How many people?”

“I don’t—”

There’s a frenzy in Takall’s eyes as they step up to her. “I don’tcare about exact numbers! If you can’t get me an estimate, tell me how Ican reach Black Hand!”

“Maybe vigenty.”

And just as quickly as the frenzy came, it goes away.

All of them react. The Seventh turns away and rests their hands onthe table. The Fifth and Second still standing together turn away, eyesdowncast. The array of screens by the Eighth and Ninth turn dark. Overby the wall, the Sixth one slides down the wall to sit on the floor.

“f*ck.”

There is a long pause.

“Takall? I think Hanahana needs help.”

The rain is already diminishing, and the sun about to set.

“I wish the light now had been there when it happened.”

Black Hand looks to the at Nathaniel in the shape of a wormfolk,deep-red skin, holding multiple palettes and brushes in manyseven-fingered hands. He glances at the painting taking shape on theeasel.

“You’ve quite captured the moment despite the dimness.”

“It’s for sale if you’d like.”

“So. You got your upset to the balance.”

“And now you can profit off the war.”

“You are an incorrigible sower of discord, Nathaniel Powell.”

“Get my last name out of your mouth, war profiteer.”

Black Hand vanishes in a puff of smoke.