Not Too Hot To Trot

Attachment 185

Not Too Hot To Trot

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Irrakam, 700 years ago.

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In contrast to the ruination and stark reality of modern Fallieni living, if one were to step back through time one would arrive in hedonism incarnate. Cities rose above the desert resplendent, a thousand sunlit domes marking the pinnacle of civilisation. Water flowed freely through street and stand giving life to flora and fauna from across the world. It nestled on the island, drawn to the promise of change and prosperity.

“It was a mistake to come here.”

Mordelain, clad in a dour expression of regret looked out from under her hood at the city she had destroyed. Technology long since lost to time thrummed all around her, channelling the Tap into great portals that connected the city states in a heartbeat.

“Was it a mistake to learn from your hubris?”

Suresh rested a hand on Mordelain’s shoulder. Standing over her and wearing a bulwark of black cloth and plate mail, the merchant master took in the spectacle with eyes unclouded by the long march of years. Though the il’Jhain saw only downfall and calamity, he saw a spark of rebirth that could yet save their homeland.

“I feel like the only thing I learned is to run away. To leap to another world as each slowly burned.”

“But unlike all of history’s villains, you tried to stop what happened. It is not your fault your supposed betters would not heed your warning.”

Mordelain nodded meekly. She had reached out to the Council of Irrakam days before the joining, which sought to bind Althanas to the other worlds so that the web way of portals scattered across Fallien could be closed. Their energy, and their utility diverted to a new project to life the land from the sea. Having mastered time and space, the Fallien of old sought to master land and sea as well.

“I still hold that torch, and it burns.”

Suresh retrieved his hand and lifted his spear. He pointed north along the promenade that lead to the grandest of the domes to the north. He began to walk, affording Mordelain no chance to object or to countermand him.

“I did not ask you to bring me here to dwell in sorrow. It is time I showed you what hope looks like.”

Dreary and sombre, Mordelain followed with ambling pace. Though time had passed, the clothes they had allowed them to blend in as the afternoon turned to evening and crowds formed in the meeting places of Irrakam. Soon, they were surrounded by thousands in a barter war. Had they leapt back to the present, they would have found themselves in Irrakam’s bazaar, though much diminished and in the grip of the hottest and driest summer in a hundred years.

“I have searched this pastiche of history countless times. I have tried time and time again to change fate. Nothing ever comes of it.”

She had exhausted all possibilities of restoring Fallien. In three days, no matter what she did, the Cataclysm would scour Fallien in fire unlike any in the Nine Worlds.

“As I have said to you before, sober and floridly drunk, I am not asking you to change the past.” Suresh had explored Fallien of old for weeks whilst Mordelain had cavorted with merchant and master to rebuild the il’Jhain after the volcano erupted. He had used the portal to seek a resolution Mordelain had not yet considered. “I am asking you to use this vision to change the future.”

They walked through the teeming bazaar and wove through the spiderweb streets until they stood at the base of the great dome. Towering overhead, the structure was cladded in bronze plate so that in the midday sun it became a second sun. Thermal reservoirs drew the heat down beneath the earth and kept the stores dry and food healthy to survive the bitterly cold winter.

“This stood where the Outpost now stands. Once home to barley and maize grown in the Zaileya Greenhouses it becomes a home for the wayward souls scattered by the Cataclysm.” Suresh pointed to the dome’s peak with his spear.

“Agricultural advances meant Fallien was a master of export, not entirely dependent on the kindness of others to survive.” Mordelain bit her lip. “I helped design the smaller counterparts in the northern towns.” She had drawn on her youthful exuberance to foster ingenuity and greatness in her companions. “It was the first project I completed and my last.”

“You oft spoke of how it made you feel.” Suresh walked on, remaining in earshot of his charge. “To have subverted nature made the Fallieni akin to gods, or so the history books tell us.”

“Not gods, per say.” Mordelain flicked through the mental pages in her mind. “But certainly divine.”

“When this project was completed what did it mean for the people of Fallien?”

Mordelain struggled to remember but drew on the skeins of the past that lived and breathed around them to rekindle her memory.

“Many workers were set free of their contracts to pursue the arts and be with their families. Three years after it was completed, there was no street in Irrakam without a poet or dancer inciting crowds.” She had been amongst them and learnt much of her art from the first il’Jhain.

“That tale was corrupted by time, but it is still found in the origins of the Il’Jhain is it not?” Suresh stopped before the dome’s entrance and took in its size. “That those who now deliver and protect the roads helped pave them?”

“It’s a bastardisation of the truth, but yes.” Mordelain stopped at Suresh’s side. “What does this have to do with the stores?”

“How far down does it go?”

“Half a mile. Vents carry warm air across Irrakam to smaller depositories throughout the districts.” Mordelain looked east. “The vents churn out a fountain of sand over the city’s walls.” She remembered playing there as a child, the joy she felt being shot into the air and descending exhilarating. “I got a few bumps and bruises trying to fly.”

“Those holes are still in Irrakam’s walls. Few people notice them.” Suresh smirked.

“They blend in with the crumbling plaster and scorch marks from sun drake breath.” Mordelain tried to second guess her mentor.

“For a woman of seven centuries you have learnt little.” Suresh walked on, waving to the guards as he approached who signalled for the gates to open. “If the vents are still there, do you suppose the airways are also?”

Finally realising Suresh’s plan, Mordelain’s eyes widened. She took a moment to piece together fragments of the map of Irrakam and laid it over the Irrakam of old. There, clear as day, she saw how they could turn the tide of the Long Summer and save their home.

“Oh you clever bastard! Wait for me!” she cried, breaking into a sprint to slip through the doors as they started to close.

Inside the dome, the air was surprisingly fresh and cool. Mordelain had expected sweltering humidity but instead found an oasis lain before them. Though the convection brought heat inside, the dancing lights on the inner dome showed magic had channelled it through the space and into the vents and stores below. The vacuum created by the dome gave life to the vast and once empty space.

“The water from the condensation caused by the system must have pooled here over time.” Mordelain traced the shore of the oasis and smiled at the sight of animals on its shore. Less an oasis, more a lake, she walked towards it with lifted heart.

“In the future this oasis will become the priestess’s tower. Once a wellspring of life, it will instead become a beacon of hope through challenging times. But what lies beneath the oasis?” Suresh, older and more tired than his charge slumped against his spear when he caught up.

“If the bedrock were stable, it stands to reason the stores and vents could still exist beneath Irrakam. The possibilities that creates are staggering.”

“Our ancestors sought to lift Fallien up, to subvert nature and tame the seasons. They failed. But we may yet harness it to our advantage.”

“You already have a plan, don’t you?” Mordelain poked Suresh playfully.

“With the docks dry and the Long Summer cracking the earth we must be quick.” He took a long pause for dramatic effect. “We must dig out the cliffs and bring water into the vents.”

“Yes!” Mordelain jumped for joy. “Noria and reservoirs could bring water from the sea inland and the process of evaporation could clear the water of salt.”

“That salt could be used to preserve fish and the stores could be filled in a season.” Suresh was pleased she was enthusiastic. It would be she who did most of the work. “But I am getting old, Mordelain. I have only ideas left to give.” He pointed at her. “You are the one who will give them life.”

“Old? You? Do not be absurd. You’ve barely aged a day.”

Suresh sighed. “I wish that were true. What may seem like days to you, young il’Jhain, has been nearly four decades for Fallien.”

Mordelain pouted. It was true she had forgotten what time was, each year of her life ten to the people of Althanas. She had spent almost a century exploring the nine ruined worlds after the volcano erupted, desperate to find a way for Fallien to endure. She was irritated it had been under their noses all along.

“Time is the one thing I have too much of Suresh. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologise, child. I have made my peace with death. But just because I cannot break rocks and slay ant lions does not mean I am spent.” Suresh pointed to the dome overhead. “Can you see that?”

Mordelain craned her neck and peered through the gloom. At the centre of the dome was a device of glass and lightning fused into dizzying displays of power and motion. Mordelain had seen one before, several in fact, lain lifeless and spent across Fallien.

“I’d forgotten what they looked like.” She dropped her gaze back to her mentor. “They’re terraforming machines. They bend the laws of nature to create elements where there are none.”

Suresh smiled softly. Though the power of such devices was unseen in Althanas, he had studied Mordelain’s manuscripts long enough to have a basic understanding of what just one could do for Fallien. He had helped her scour the desert to find one, but their power was all but spent.

“We found one in Irrakam. With it, we brought rain back to the island. But that device was cracked, its matrix shattered when the Cataclysm sundered Fallien and set it adrift to sea. What do you think you could do with a working device?”

Mordelain wrinkled her nose. She had never considered the possibility that they would find a working one. Somewhere in the caverns of her mind, however, was the knowledge with which to use one.

“I could in theory replicate it.” Her inquisitive expression deepened. “It would take power the likes I have not seen and the purest of wyld glass to reflect the geometry required to stabilise the network…” She trailed off into her thoughts.

“So it is possible, then?” Suresh rummaged in the folds of his robes and produced a perfectly formed sphere of glass. Energy washed over them as he pressed it in his palm and brought it to life.

“Suresh…is that what I think it is?”

“Whilst you were crying yourself an ocean of regret, I searched this city from the tallest tower to the darkest dungeon to find a way of breaking nature’s law one last time.” He held the orb to Mordelain, and she watched it dance with pearl light. “Go on. Take it.”

Mordelain reached out and took it with trembling fingers. It was warm to the touch. She felt its weight, and then remembered when she had last held one.

“The day I joined the Artificer’s Conclave they gave me one. They called them Skeinslivers.”

“You told me long ago that your ability to traverse worlds had limitations. You found a way to break those laws. It is why we are here now, centuries in the past.” Suresh waved a hand over the length of his body. “That determination is why I am standing here, when once only the Tama claimed the right.”

“No end of trials and tribulations to do, I might add.” Mordelain smirked. “But these were the most treasured of our artefacts. After the Cataclysm most were shattered, their connection to the Void a death sentence for the orbs and their wielders.” Mordelain could only image the pain and suffering wrought upon their owners when the first wave of destruction had struck. “It would have shorn soul from body.”

“Nothing of import or power is without risk. But with every of these relics lost in our time we must find a way to pluck one from history.” Suresh sighed with relief. “I have waited a long time to tell you this.”

“I thank you for the truth. I did not think it possible, but if I can a way to steal this orb from now to then we can finally begin to rebuild the terraforming matrix.”

“It is possible, then?”

Mordelain shrugged. “I thought I had learnt all there was to know about walking between planes. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not.” She passed the orb back to her mentor. “Put it back where it belongs.”

“You do not need to use it?” Suresh hesitated, but pocketed the orb into the folds of his robes.

“Though we can interact with this preserved memory of time, we are not truly here: this is not the Fallien of old. Time-travel is too dangerous for me to use it as a battleground for my failings.” She pointed to the oasis. “I wanted this to last forever. Memories stored away in the last vestiges of the Tama’s legacy.”

“How do you travel to then properly?”

Mordelain shrugged. “We must be careful. The slightest misstep could rewrite the history of our home beyond recognition.” She started to calculate all the ways in which their plan could go awry. “We may lose Fallien for good.”

Suresh performed a traditional salute. “I pledge to not stray from our path. To restore Fallien only if possible.”

Mordelain chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I said we may. I have no intention of letting that happen.”

She drew on her power and wrapped them both in a whorl of energy. As they vanished from the past and fell through the void back to the future, the weight of her words played on her mind. As world after world appeared and vanished, Mordelain’s promise turned into an undeniable, all-consuming urge to right the wrongs of her people.

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The Zaileya Mountains, the Present Day.

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Mordelain and Suresh reformed on the shores of Fallien’s eastern coast. The Zaileya mountains to their backs, and the sea breeze on their faces they both felt renewed. To the north the broken spine of an ancient city rose over the horizon and flocks of gulls circled overhead. Though considered dead by those not from Fallien, Fallien still lived despite all it had endured.

“It’s gone.” Suresh rifled through his pockets.

“Like I said. That was a memory of the past. There are places across Fallien that allow me to travel into ‘echoes’ of time. Here, centuries ago, stood my father’s observatory. The first portal to Junkyo was constructed on this shore by the first Tama who arrived on Althanas. It is as good a place as any to build a bridge between then and now.”

“It was worth a try,” Suresh said deflated.

“True. But look.” Mordelain pointed to the northerly ruins. “One day those ruins will become cities once more. The tapestry of brown and grey replaced with glass domes and glistening skywalks.”

“A day long after I am gone.”

“If we only ever did things to further our own ends then nothing would be left of this world. We have a duty to ensure our children, and their children’s children can live free of poverty and the decay of the seasons.”

“All well and good for one who does not age.” Suresh found himself washed away by his own regrets, cursing himself for seeming so pious around Mordelain. Now he seemed petty.

“I do not live forever.” Mordelain chose her words more carefully when she saw what effect they were having. “I more than any of us know how much a single decision can echo through the ages. Do you want to be remembered as a hero, one who turned a graveyard into a garden?”

Suresh took a moment to consider, then nodded.

“Good. I cannot do this alone. Even if I have to lift a thousand tons of rock and dig tunnels and chambers with my bare hands it is your mind that will shape the future.”

“I’ve never seen you do any honest work.”

Mordelain scoffed. “Oh, you pout when it suits you, but you’re quick to sharpen your tongue.”

Laughing together with renewed hope, the duo walked away from the shore and made to clamber up the dunes to their camp. Overlooking the ocean, they had set up tents and covered their camels with a bright orange tarp to shield them from the prying eyes of harpies and worse.

“You should stay here for a few days and finish your sabbatical.” Mordelain packed up her books and possessions from the fireside and stuffed it into her holdall. “I will return to Fallien and pay a visit to the priestess. She won’t like what I have to say, but it must be said.”

Suresh chuckled. “Nothing you ever say to her makes her happy. Her heart is stowed away in the past like that Skeinsliver.”

“Some things must remain as they always have, Suresh. Though cities may rise, faith is what keeps the people safe at night. We must have her on our side so that people can see such change is for the better.” She strapped the holdall tight over her shoulders and conjured her staff from thin air.

“I would give her a piece of my mind if they’d let men within a mile of the tower.” The merchant dropped onto his cushions and adjusted himself into a comfortable position. As Mordelain readied to leave, he settled down to finish his book and pick absent-minded at the remains of their breakfast.

“I can bring rain back to these lands and make grass grow in a desert, Suresh.” She clicked her fingers and brought her horse to her side. She patted his mane and greeted him. “But equality is a fight man will have to wage for himself.”

Before the merchant could ply his tongue to a witty retort Mordelain and her horse dropped into the void. Alone with his thoughts, Suresh fell into bitter silence and returned to his tome On The Treatise of Wyverns.

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Irrakam, the Present Day.

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Mordelain walked the Midnight Bazaar whilst it was quiet. Rather than jump to the gates of the tower, she chose to walk across the city to allow her mind time to calm from the storm of ideas Suresh’s revelation had incited. With soft steps, she wove through the graveyard of empty stalls and admired the thousands of lanterns which hung from the roof to light the night-time purchasing that would start just after sundown. With the Long Summer in full swung it had become less busy, though still a sight to behold for visitors to the island.

“If I can just get the priestess to agree to one small incursion…” she mumbled to herself.

She turned a corner and came at last to the Black Gate; beyond lay the Conclave of Mothers, those deigned worthy to oversee the household of the priestess and her court. Here, once a week, merchants who had gained favours could bring their wares in hopes of their goods being used for prayer and prattles in the tower above.

“il’Jhain with a message!”

Her words reverberated through the empty streets. She made to shout again but the gate cracked open before she could.

“From which house?” a voice cried from within.

“The Freerunners. My name is Mordelain Saythrou.”

Mordelain’s ears twitched as hushed whispers ran rampant through the chamber beyond the gate. She heard movement, then a barking order, and then a woman appeared. She wore a simple white dress with a high neckline and muslin cowl.

“What brings you here, planes walker?”

“I come with news that will save us from this blasted Long Summer.”

Hesitation filled the gaps in the silence.

“It is for the priestess and the priestess alone.”

“You are known to us, but your deeds are not all in Fallien’s name. Come, but be watched with every step.” The acolyte gestured for Mordelain to approach.

Knowing better than to test their defences, Mordelain walked slowly towards the gate and set her kukri and staff free. The acolyte took them gingerly and disappeared behind the gate.

“You know the way from here.”

“I d-" Mordelain veered around the gate but found the chamber beyond empty. “How in the world did she do that?”

No footprints in the sawdust. No bolt holes. No gate near enough to run to. Mordelain raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“I’m not the only one it seems…”

Pressing onwards, the il’Jhain crossed the abandoned marketplace and entered a staircase that spiralled upwards. The crumbling stone of the bazaar turned to polished obsidian, brought to life by ever burning torches held aloft in silver etched braziers. She kept her senses honed on the turn ahead as she rose, uncertain as to wherever or not she would be welcomed after her last adventure in the tower.

“I’m sure she’ll see the funny side.”

But those days were a lifetime ago, and Mordelain had fought tooth and nail to prove herself an ally since. Her teaching in the Academy alone was enough to atone for a thousand sins, especially the young upstarts who had nobles for parents. They tested her in a way a thousand steps skyward never could. Before long, she fell into a wide corridor surprised that the journey had taken so little time. Ahead, a regal carpet lined the approach to a golden door in the distance. The armed acolytes lining the corridor were not customarily stationed here. Mordelain’s heart sank.

“Or maybe she won’t…”

“You may approach il’Jhain.”

Mordelain narrowed her eyes and scanned the sentries. Non had spoken, not moved so much as an inch.

“Come. The priestess awaits.”

Unsure, Mordelain approached gingerly. As she passed each duo her heart pounded. She could understand the need for caution but for so many guards to be at the heart of the tower suggested she was getting involved with something she would rather not.

“To whom am I speaking?”

Ahead, a woman in black appeared through the door as though it were mist. It reformed behind her, sealing away the priestess in a heartbeat. Mordelain stopped ten feet away and bowed instinctively.

“I am the Speaker. You know who, and what I am. You have come to these halls once before and then it was for ill gain. Why do you come this day?”

Hidden beneath a cowl, Mordelain could not see the woman’s face. She tried to remember what the Speaker was – whom she was. She cursed herself for filling her head with useless historical facts and recipes for date loaf.

“I came once as a huntress, for the good of this nation. Now, I come as an artificer, with a way to free of this Long Summer.” She took great care to remain neutral in stance and expression.

“A bold claim.” The Speaker pulled back her hood. “Look up, Mordelain of the Freerunners.”

Mordelain righted herself and looked at the familiar face. At first confusion, quick to give way to surprise.

“Priestess. It is an honour.”

Before her, the female matriarch of Fallien stood proud. Tattoos marked her as a Bedouin, her tribe long forgotten as the years of her rule passed. The question of the armed guard disappeared, replaced with why was the Priestess out of her cloister?

“I hope you have not come to try and kill me again.” The Priestess smiled warmly. “It was tiresome to replace the carpets from my doppler’s untimely demise.”

Mordelain frowned. “You know that I came to rid Fallien of the Harpies, I never intended to kill the real you.”

“One never knows a woman’s intent these days.” The Priestess waved her hands in concentric circles and pressed her palms together. The door melted away, black mist swirling into nothingness. “Come inside. We have much to discuss.”

Mordelain followed behind her queen softly stepping over the threshold into the most private and sacred place in Fallien. The door veiled a circular chamber that rose high to the top of the tower. Overhead, sentries stood on ledges and looked down on Mordelain like vultures. They too were silent and motionless, but the il’Jhain could feel their eyes boring into her.

“Forgive my asking, Priestess. Why the ruse?”

“Please, call me Amaya. Formalities are for men and those who think better than the peace I have assured for centuries.”

Amaya strolled to a low table and sat on a cushion. She folded her legs and removed her cowl proper. She wore simple leather armbands and a short dress of white muslin bound in place with spirals of silver. Whilst she waited for her guest to join her, she poured apple tea and set the table for two.

“I could not, Priestess.”

“You know more of Fallien’s history than any other. Once, this tower did not veil my identity in secrecy. The people of this scattered isle looked to my forebears as queen, but not so holy as to treat her so alien.”

“Those were different times.” Mordelain remembered Irrakam before the Tower was built. She remembered when there was a conclave of rulers, not just one. “Amaya…I will try.”

“Good. Now sit, drink, and tell me how you intend to free us of the hottest summer on record?” She proffered a hand to indicate Mordelain should sit.

“It would be my pleasure.” Mordelain sat, less elegantly than Amaya but with equal enthusiasm for the arranged spread. “Before I tell you, may I ask a question?”

“You already did,” Amaya smirked before she put a sweetened apple slice in her mouth.

“Yes I did,” Mordelain blushed. “Why so many guards at your door?”

Amaya chewed softly and contemplated her reply. Overhead, the changing of the guard marked passing of day into night and fresh sentries appeared and set torches into wall brackets. The cylindrical chamber turned into a dark night sky; flame born stars casting shadows on the polished walls. The tapestries and etchings that told the tale of Fallien’s priestesses came to life.

“You freed this court of it’s imposter. You slew the harpy queen and threw her unceremoniously from her tower. But her disciples still plot and scheme to end my rule. The Long Summer is a time of great danger and not just because of drought and destruction.” Amaya pointed skyward. “The glass dome atop this tower has cracked. I am not as safe here as I once was.”

Though dusk was settling into night, Mordelain could see the torchlight dancing on the stained-glass dome that once shone for leagues over the desert landscape. The heat had wilted and then cracked the dome, leaving gaps in the panels that a wayward harpy could slip through.

“Why not replace it?” The il’Jhain dropped her gaze back to the table and scooped up a pitta.

“The techniques to bend glass to the will of the sun are long lost to time. Whoever built this tower left no notes or instructions as to its repairs.” Amaya sighed. “Perhaps you do?”

“Forgive me, but my talents as an artificer rest solely within a narrow field. Perhaps, though, I may be able to help.”

“Only may?” Amaya’s expression changed to a playful teasing smile. “I cannot work with may.”

“There are people across this land who make homes in places where life cannot thrive. Despite all the odds they manage it. I can ask the Freerunners to put out a tender.”

“Discretely, of course. If word gets out that I am exposed the harpies will be the least of my worries.”

“You have my word, Amaya. I’ll look in the libraries of every world for an answer.”

Amaya’s ears twitched at mention of other worlds. As they filled their pitta with humous and salad she chose her words carefully.

“What is it like, to travel between worlds?”

Mordelain’s guard rose. “Oh, it is not as fantastical as people say. Dangerous adventures oft lead to timeless regrets.”

“So defensive. What secrets do they hold?”

Between mouthfuls and bites Mordelain trod carefully. “Only tales of hubris and a great cataclysm. You know my part to play in that.”

“I do. But you alone were not responsible for Fallien’s fall. Our people were tantalised by the Tama’s promises and we paid a great price for wanting more when we had paradise right here.”

Mordelain was grateful she had told Amaya her sorry tale. She had shown the Priestess Irrakam of old just as she had Suresh, though she had received far more thanks and praise from her female counterpart than the grouchy merchant. Still, all she could do was show images of yesterday, and nothing of the potential of tomorrow. At least, until now.

“Only the Great Library has secrets. Great sky whales once lived there, a world devoid of land and bountiful with clouds and storms. The cataclysm petrified the whales, leaving floating islands of bone and marrow. Survivors fled to those fortresses in the sky and carried with them whatever books they could save from their home worlds.”

Amaya’s eyes brightened. “Not just a library, then. A veritable trove of knowledge from a thousand lifetimes.”

“In a way. But it would take a Tama their entire life to read the books from one whale, never mind all six.”

“You said there were bountiful whales. What happened to the others?”

Mordelain counted in her head. “Many were too unstable after centuries adrift. The first survivors to go there destroyed them so that those strong enough to contain their treasure would not be knocked out of the sky.”

“I can’t imagine a world entirely of air. How do you know which way is up?”

“It’s best to stay on a whale and not look over any balconies…”

Amaya chuckled. “Quiet. Perhaps you will take me there one day?”

Hesitant, Mordelain tried to think of a reason to not. The world was long bereft of life, the only danger of travelling there the chaos of the void between. She bit her lip in contemplation.

“It was a request; you can say no.” Amaya put down her crust and leant back on an arm to sip her tea.

“When our task is complete, I will show you the library.” Mordelain hoped there were no storms. “But there is a price that must be paid for taking another through the void.”

“Gold, I take it?”

“Not quite. Something far more valuable. Exposure to the void connects you to all time and space. Sometimes what seems like a second between me leaving and returning can be days and it can take its toll on your mind.”

“You think me so feeble as to break under the heel of war?”

“I do not doubt your long life,” Mordelain narrowed her eyes, “however you achieve it will prepare you better than most. But I must tell you, it changes people.”

“You once told me that was why only the Tama were gifted with the ability to traverse the void.” Amaya’s playful expression faded. “What makes your people so special?”

Mordelain wished she knew the answer. It had always been the way of the universe. The Tama danced and the void danced back. Whenever other species had tried to circumvent divine mandate, they had brought ruin upon themselves. It was why the Tama had become so zealous in keeping the void for themselves.

“We do not age. We do not die. We have two minds.” She had told nobody else the last fact. When Amaya looked puzzled, Mordelain explained further. “When we walk our psyche goes into stasis of sorts. We retreat into ourselves and it is our other mind that fights the ravages of the void. It is a gestalt consciousness shared by all the Tama. Or at least, we once shared it.”

“So a hive mind of one?”

Mordelain shook her head. “No. I thought I was alone for centuries. The dark and cold of the void engulfing. But I can feel that others are still connected to me, though I have no idea how many or where they might be.”

“I can’t pretend to understand what you are saying, but it sounds like the Priestess. Her memories are shared between acolytes and passed down to each successor through a ritual older than the sun.”

Mordelain scoffed. “Wait. You’re not immortal?”

“What ever gave you that idea?”

“You have been High Priestess since the day I came to this world. Your face has not aged a day.”

“I am Amaya. The priestess you saved from the harpies was Anaya. But though we are different we are both Amaya and Anaya.”

“A succession of memories?” Mordelain had never considered it possible. Though she supposed it was not much different from when a young Tama received the call to bond with the crystal heart of their home world. Memories shared over lifetimes, until one day you became more than just yourself.

“Yes. Is that like your people?”

Mordelain nodded. “I had not considered it possible. But, on a smaller scale, this conclave prepares priestesses to take on the mantle of their predecessors. I didn’t think it was literal.”

“Does this bode well for me accompanying you?”

“Yes. I think it possible you will not succumb to madness.”

“Oh, I assure you, it’s far too late to stop that.”

In good humour, the two women finished their supper and drained their tea. They exchanged tall tales about their people and how each viewed the role of the women in their society. After all that had transpired across the nine worlds, Mordelain found it comforting that the spirit of her people, once gracious and kind had manifested without the hubris that came with such power.

“You came to tell me how to end this dreaded heat, though, not to tantalise me with voyages across the stars.”

“Ah, yes. When I showed you Irrakam of old do you remember the great dome that stood where your tower now stands?”

“Vaguely. Go on?”

“It was a hydroponic dome. It channelled water and hot air beneath the city to great stores of grain and rice paddies beneath the earth. Though the dome has long crumbled to dust we believe the air flow is still intact.”

“Believe, or know?”

“I need to find out. To do that I need your blessing to enter the catacombs beneath the tower.”

Amaya raised an eyebrow. “That is sacred ground.”

“I thought the tower was sacred ground yet here I’m sat.”

“Not only is it sacred, it is dangerous. The tunnels, or tunnels as I thought they were our home to creatures even the Harriers fear.”

“If the Harriers were half as brave as I they would have reclaimed them years ago.” Mordelain smirked.

“Even if you could kill a dozen mandible drakes, what purpose would old tunnels serve?”

“If we dig the tunnels and connect them to one another, because they are below sea level, we can channel sea water into the heart of our home. Wells could be refilled. Our animals could drink saltless water. We could use the salt condensed by the heat of the tunnels to preserve food for winter.”

Amaya listened carefully to Mordelain’s plan. “It seems feasible. That would only help Irrakam, though. There are hundreds of villages and tribes still out in the deserts on the brink of death. What of them?”

“Ah, yes. I was hoping you would ask. Long ago I found a terraforming device, still intact, and somehow still functional. I was able to activate it and restore some, if still sparse rainfall. I may be able to steal away something from the past to restore that device proper – it will be able to make rainfall whenever, and wherever in Fallien it is needed.”

“You said that word I don’t like again. ‘May.’”

“Hah, forgive me. But leave the matter of the Skeinsliver to me. If you can find adventurers willing to clear out the tunnels my companion Suresh has contracted workers to carry out the necessary construction to connect the tunnels to the docks.”

“You sound as though you already intended to carry out your plan. Why do you need my blessing?”

“I’m not asking for your blessing, Amaya. I am asking for your help. I know you are more powerful than history tells. If your forebears were truthful, you may be able to help me change the course of history.”

Amaya narrowed her gaze into a pensive inspection. “What have you heard?”

“Rumours speak of a Priestess who once dreamt of yesterday and tomorrow. She plucked the nightmares from our children’s hearts and buried them in the past. A dream weaver. A visionary.”

“How does that help, were it true?”

“If I understand your magic correctly, you can take something from a dream and make it real. You may be able to remove the Skeinsliver from a memory of Irrakam of Old without having to risk unbending time altogether.”

A long, awkward silence filled the chamber. As evening turned to night and cold descended, sentries arranged a tarpaulin halfway up the chamber and strapped it tight to protect their charge from the freezing night air. The Long Summer created Long Winters by night.

“I may have the power to do something like that. But you must tell no one. Ever.” Amaya’s approachable tone changed to one of command and respect.

Mordelain bowed in her seat. “You have my word, Priestess.”

“Let us tend to the matter of the tunnels first. I have not practised that non-existent magic for nigh a decade. I will need time to prepare the ritual and you will need time to create the most vivid and opportune memory for me to work with.” Amaya waved her hand to the door, signalling for Mordelain to leave.

“Thank you, Amaya. Together Fallien will endure.” She rose, bowed, and left quickly before she overstayed her welcome.