Authors: Robert
This world is more different from your own than you realize, but you were not the only member of your people I had the opportunity to bring; I chose you, Wind Master, for a reason.
I will try to give you help and advice when I can – but most of the time, your judgment will be more than sufficient. Try not to second-guess yourself. I hope that you will recognize my advice when you see it but can’t include any codes here; you have many enemies and some of them will find this message. I know you. I trust you.
Walk with the Creator.
S
He sat still for a minute after finishing, then fed the letter into the industrial shroud, reducing it to strands of wood pulp. “Sprecking Tarus,” he muttered.
***
Wednesday, October 26, 3481.
Time: Late evening.
Location: Crater in wilderness, claimed by Overarchy. South of Worldsedge.
Gorti had been dispatched to the fallen star as soon as the sun set. He would have gone earlier if allowed, but the priests had been in a contrary mood. After all, the star was one of the Sunlord’s children, and Gorti was, as the Reaver, inherently corrupt. They had been inclined to deny him permission entirely, until one of the scroll-bearers pointed out that the stars shone brightest at night. If the stars worked in the darkness to bring their Father’s will, they would understand that his was similar work. This line of argument had been sufficient for them to send him once he had been ritually purified.
He arrived there in the darkest hours of the night. A ring of torches had been erected around the crater, with at least three dozen guards patrolling. Gorti flicked his tongue at the sight, satisfied that security was up to his standards. He spread his arms, hands empty, and walked into the torchlight.
The guard immediately leveled his spear and barked out the traditional challenge. “Stop. Who walks in the darkness?”
“One who serves and fears the light,” he responded, bowing his head.
The guard spoke as he waved his torch, signaling for backup. “This is holy ground, Reaver.”
“May the Sunlord’s glory spread.” Gorti offered his hands to the other soldiers, who bound them and pulled him, firmly but respectfully, into the camp.
They brought him to the command tent and ceremoniously stripped him of his weapons, then allowed him to enter. The officer on duty glanced his way and sagged with relief as Gorti performed the proper gestures of obeisance.
“Gorti – Reaver – datikta, but is it good to see you.” He waved vaguely. “The priests are all asleep. Let’s get those stupid ropes off.”
“There is trouble, sir?” As much as he wanted to be freed, Gorti tried to ignore the breach in protocol. It wouldn’t be long before it was no longer necessary.
The officer nodded. “We weren’t here first. There are tracks.” He hesitated, as if contemplating going further.
“How many sets of tracks?”
“Two.”
“Species?”
“Human or taerlae.”
“Where from, and where to?”
“That, I have only part of an answer. One set of tracks approaches the star from the south. Two sets leave. The new set is deep, as if someone is carrying a massive load.”
Gorti’s mind buzzed. “Why were they here? Did they harm it?”
The officer grunted. “I don’t know. I can tell you that it glows in my vision. That it whispers to me, and that the shock of hitting the ground did not mar its skin. But you felt it, didn’t you? As it fell?”
The Reaver nodded. “It sang to…us. To all our people, but not to the slave races.”
“And now it just whispers. The first scout on the scene felt it cry out, only to be cut off. In the excitement of finding it, the tracks leading away were not pursued right away. I believe they stole something. One of them was so stealthy as to not leave tracks on the way there; whatever was stolen must be very heavy, to encumber him so. Yet, he moved swiftly, even with a great weight.”
“Drotak and Droluch?” Gorti’s heart quickened at the thought of his nemeses. He’d never caught up to the demons, though he had spent his entire tenure trying.
“Could be.”
“Show me the trail.”
***
Thursday, October 27, 3481.
Time: Middle of night.
Location: Wilderness, claimed by Overarchy. South of Worldsedge.
Mycah woke to Derek's hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and scanned for signs of alarm before moving. “All quiet?” She whispered.
The strange man nodded. “Nothing moving within a few kilometers. No orcs. How do you feel?”
She sat up and stretched. The muscles of her right arm spasmed, then stilled. “Ugh. What was that?”
“May I?” She nodded, and Derek leaned in, a half-mask covering the top of his face, with a lens covering his empty eye socket. “Looks like some calibration’s going on. Did that hurt?”
“Not really. It was just weird.” She flexed her arm again. It felt normal this time. She waited for Derek to look away and poked herself lightly in the right eye. The poke hurt a little, but the eye was still there.
“You’re a bit of an unusual case,” he said. “Ever since the first generation of this model was proven bug-free, nearly everyone with this hardware was born with it. I've never seen it interface with an adult before.”
“Really. Cyborgization—cyborgness—whatever the status of being a cyborg is, it’s hereditary?”
“Cybernetics are. At least, nanotech cybernetics can be, and these are. A mother passes them down to her children. You should probably do some range of motion stuff. Stretches.”
“Huh.” She sat up. She felt…good. Surprisingly well-rested, if a bit hungry.
As if he were reading her thoughts, Derek spoke. “Hungry?”
“Yeah.” She reached for her backpack. She still hadn’t had time to do a proper inventory; the pack had been pushed into her arms moments before the transit.
“Me too. It’s expected—I’m regenerating tissue, you’re low on nanites; our bodies need more. Here.” He handed her a palm-sized rectangular bar.
She watched as he pulled another off his belt and peeled the skin off of it, then did the same to hers. It was dark brown, and smelled faintly sweet. Derek had already bitten into his with gusto. She shrugged and did the same.
She choked and nearly dropped the bar as she realized what it was.
“What’s wrong?” Derek was clearly confused. “Are you okay?”
“This…” she coughed. “This is
chocolate
.”
“About forty percent pure. The rest is fortified imitation – I understand that really pure chocolate isn’t nutritious – but it mimics the taste well.” He smiled warmly. “So you have chocolate here too?”
“Yes.” She’d had it once before. She didn’t want to think about that night. “It’s hard to get.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He sighed. “Everyone should have some chocolate from time to time.”
Her vision wandered. He had a dozen or more bars on his belt. “Are those all chocolate?”
“Most of them.” By weight, that much chocolate was enough to barter for few horses. Maybe a carriage. Of course, it was moot this far from home, but he was carrying – and casually eating – a small fortune.
She chuckled. “Careful about sharing that with taerlae.”
“Why?”
“I hear it does funny things to them. They get a bit embarrassed about it, but they usually have a good time. It’s kind of like getting drunk.”
“Oh.”
She considered the rest of the bar. The taste was bringing up unpleasant memories, but she
was
hungry. And it was chocolate; the food of the ancients—of which she now had first-hand proof. She tried to savor the rest of the bar.
Derek broke the silence. “May I have one of your hairs?”
She almost asked what he wanted it for, but considering that he had just given her his own eye, it seemed a harmless request. “Sure.” She plucked one and offered it over.
He looked like he had been about to provide a long-winded explanation, and visibly deflated at her acquiescence. She almost giggled.
How long had it been since she’d done that? What was happening to her? She’d only known this man for a few hours; she couldn’t comprehend him, yet she trusted him. What kind of freak was this man, who not only could but
would
willingly remove his own eye and give it to someone without demanding anything in return?
Or was there a catch coming? If there was, she didn’t see it. Whatever magic he possessed was powerful enough that he could probably do whatever he wanted with her. She could trust him to use it wisely, or she could kill him. So far, her instinct had been to trust him. She’d even put him on watch while she slept.
She didn’t understand him, but some small part of her felt an urge to protect him. Which meant that she’d better not let him or anyone else know or horrible things would happen to him, just as always. If he never knew, maybe she could keep him safe.
She shook her head. “You’d better get some sleep.”
***
Thursday, October 27, 3481.
Time: Early morning.
Location: Wilderness, claimed by Overarchy.
Between Worldsedge and Ruins of Redmere.
James rubbed his bracelet. He didn’t have anything to say yet, and the familiar motion helped him think. Across the table, Kharrix was polishing his tusks with a small cloth, similarly lost in thought.
The human sighed. “This is going to be tricky.”
Kharrix grunted in affirmation and lit a few more candles. James started to sweat lightly as the temperature in the tent passed what he considered comfortable, but he remained silent. They were both on edge, but his friend found the heat more soothing than James found it irritating.
Both of them would have preferred to use daylight for their planning, but they could not afford the chance of interruption. Between them sat a very meticulously rendered topographical map of the territories that they were currently in. Anything that would betray the location of something they wanted to keep hidden was represented by a figurine; a single kick to the table would dump everything to the ground, protecting their secrets.
Not that they believed that interruption was likely. Over eight years of guerilla warfare, they had pushed the Overarchy almost entirely out of the lowlands.
The fallen star – represented by an old silver coin – was the focus of the night. They already had it roughly located on their map because every member of the gnokla race had reported the same thing: as it fell, it had called to them. It had to be an artifact, and James' meager knowledge far outstripped that of his fellows.
He shook his head and grinned. “Best laid plans...” There were a dozen or more operations already active. The star was just one more complication, and it had landed deep inside enemy territory.
James reached out and moved a pair of blue figures towards the coin. “They've probably sent troops from Raashran to investigate. They'll be there in force, by mid-morning if they’re not there already.”
Kharrix reached out and slid a few more markers. “They will also go from Gansala. It fell between the cities.”
James bit his lip. “It lit up half the continent. Probably every city north of the site is on alert. They’re probably boiling over right now.”
“It sounds like opportunity.”
“No shit. They're vulnerable all over the place, but they're going to converge on that star like a pack of rohqui on an injured cat.”
The orc clucked. “What we do about it?”
“I think we probably should do nothing. If it's just a hunk of rock, we can leave it, good riddance. Let them have it. They'll probably make an altar or something.
“If it's not just a rock...there are legends back home of what ancient humans did before the Sundering. My ancestors could fly. They say that if you go far enough south, you can see the stars that man put in the sky. They're not just there to be pretty. They're tools, but nobody knows what they were for anymore.”
Kharrix flicked his tongue. “These man-stars...I may have seen them. They sit in the same spot all year? They move only if you head north or south?”
“I don't know. Doesn't matter.”
“Would it still work?”
James laughed. “That’d be the day. Nothing from that age works anymore.”
“It called as it fell. It may be different.”
“It also
fell
. It stopped calling out suddenly, right? Some parts of it might’ve been working, but they broke when they hit the ground.”
“And if they did not?”
“Well, this is just a guess, but I don't think it was easy for the ancients to put it way up in the sky. If they put it there, it was because it had to be up there to do what it was supposed to. Down here, it’s probably worthless.”