Not Too Hot To Trot

[il'Jhain Saythrou]

“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.

[il'Jhain Saythrou]

“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.