Not Too Hot To Trot

[il'Jhain Saythrou]

Irrakam, the Present Day.

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…”

[il'Jhain Saythrou]

“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.

[il'Jhain Saythrou]

“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.