Chapter 1 – Outline

It was an unusual morning at prayer. The chants and hymns were the same – the lilting tones of the sisters dancing above the supporting rumble of the brothers – and the birdsong still completed the tune. Hidden behind the weaving of praise, however, was a discordant note. Several, in fact. Loud, spoken voices – the shouts of a city. Zenni didn’t count herself the best singer, but she knew that this time it wasn’t her fault, as the distant cacophony continued long after the singing ended. She knew exactly from whence came these sounds; she had, in fact, been waiting for them for months. No matter how she tried, Zenni couldn’t focus on Lael this morning, not while the roving capital was visiting the monastery.

The young priestess struggled to keep her face appropriately pious as the high priestess Midra finished the final cantor. Zenni liked to think that she wasn’t the only one having a hard time concentrating. She said a silent prayer for forgiveness in her head. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be faithful to her duties – prayer was a daily occurrence, and an important part of the priestly duties. Without a foundation in prayer, none of her other work would be possible. Still, she couldn’t help but feel antsy when she could be working and was sitting still instead. Must be my mother in me, she thought, her hand straying absently to the pendant at her throat, a gift from her mother before leaving for the monastery.

The final trill complete, Zenni rushed to the front of the chamber to get in line for obeisance. Of course, it didn’t really matter – she wouldn’t make it to the capital any faster, as she still had to wait for the rest of the sisters and brothers accompanying her – but at least it made her feel like she was doing something. Still, it was her final day in the monastery; the least she could do was spend one last morning before the altar. She almost felt a little guilty being so anxious to leave.

As she reached the front of the line, she gazed up at the massive sculpture hanging on the wall before her. Three women stood, eyes gazing at some faraway point – in the center, Lael, Daughter of Havath – to her right, Vedra, the Mother of Faith – and to her left, Elelwyn, the Blade of Havath. These were the considered the three most important figures of the faith, with Lael being the symbolic and literal center, supported by her two closest apostles. She bowed first to Lael, deep and solemn. She was the divine incarnate, and particularly revered by Zenni’s people, as Lael was born in her own homeland of Al-Gharib. To call her a ‘woman’ was not entirely accurate, as she was only twelve at the time of her departure to the celestial realms, but her soul was ancient, the firstborn of Havath.

Turning, she performed a lighter courtesy in Vedra’s direction, keeping her head bowed. Vedra was particularly revered in the monastery, as she was the first to write and deliver the words and life of Lael to the people of the world. As such, she was considered the first high priestess, and was the inspiration for many of the priests’ favourite hymns. Still, it was the final woman who earned Zenni’s undying respect.

This last woman was unquestionably the most beautiful. Like Vedra, she had the delicate features of a shrili, but in perfect symmetry. Her expression was one of purest confidence, and in her hands were carved twin daggers. Large, feathery wings extended from her back, framing the scene. Zenni had always admired the warrior apostle Elelwyn. Sure, Vedra instructed a world in the faith, and certainly Elelwyn’s reputation as a warrior was not one equated with the priesthood … but Elelwyn had given her life for Lael in a way so concrete so as to be understood by any and all. Zenni liked concrete. Elelwyn had died protecting Lael, and that, Zenni thought, was worth remembering. Though she was last in the ritual obeisance, both literally and symbolically, Zenni lingered over this last sign, bowing her head and placing her hands in the traditional position of prayer, considered the might of the priesthood. At last, she made the circular symbol of the faith over her heart, and returned to her chambers to prepare for her journey to the capital.

Within the hour, three teams of priests and priestesses had been assembled outside the monastery walls. High Priestess Midra was speaking, but Zenni was taking the opportunity to survey her mission field - she had heard it all before anyway in the briefing when she had been asked to take a permanent post in the roving capital. The monastery was situated on the highest point of the island of Idamo, and from her vantage point she could see the western coast, today dominated by an entirely atypical sight – a giant city sitting atop a metal base held aloft by spider-like legs. In her limited experience, she knew that all manner of buildings and people inhabited this great structure. In this morning light, all she saw were great spires of glimmering crystal and polished steel, some of the great cathedral of Lael, others of the University of the Empire, and in the center, the great palace of Emperor Runios Altlion and his wife, the Lady Ephanna of Elaria. This was Steelshift – the roving capital, crowning jewel of the people of Havath. It was a symbol of peace and prosperity, forged from the ashes of war. Each year it travelled across all nations, from Elaria all the way to Idamo, ending its time here before beginnings its journey again. This year, its end was her beginning.

The city itself was powered by a combination of mechanics and magic, and thus hissed and clanked in its own right; that said, as the city awoken, its inhabitants began to drown out the metallic clamor. I’m going to be one of them soon – a proper citizen of the Empire’s capital. Her thoughts drifted into daydreams, imagining her dormitory in the cathedral, visiting the palace in all its opulence. I’ll even get to see Mama and the family again. It’s been twelve years … I wonder if they’ll recognize me? The thought produced mixed feelings, and so she returned to imagining the capital. Official Ambassador of the Monastery of Idamo to the Empire. That was going to be her title. She still hadn’t a hold on why in Lael’s name she had been chosen, but she wasn’t about to question the boon.

“… so go, in the name of Holy Lael,” the high priestess concluded, “and perform your duties. Heal the sick, feed the hungry, praise Havath.”

Casting one last grin back at her home for the past twelve years, Zenni began the trek alongside her brothers and sisters to her new home.

~*~

Runios Altlion stared out at the island, watching the priests like so many ants scurrying over a mound at the distant monastery. The last bastion of his kingdom, the last place he wanted to be. He glanced over his shoulder, hand brushing over the hilt of a small dagger at his hip. Old habits. Vix was still sitting, preening in the corner of the sitting room, straight ebony locks hiding an ashen face. She looked up at him, a smirk on her lips.

“You needn’t worry, Runios – I’ll protect you.”

Her quiet, whispery voice left little room for expression, but Runios could detect the mockery in what little voice she used. His expression steeled, but she simply laughed softly and went back to combing her long hair. He turned back to the window, knowing that despite her jab at his pride, he needn’t worry with her at his back. Not because of any love shared, but because she valued her privacy, and anyone who saw her in this natural state would not be living to tell about it. She was not unused to eliminating puzzle pieces that didn’t fit her idea of the picture.

The priests had divided into three groups now, and began the walk toward his city. They still looked ant-like, small and squishable. He wished that were true up close. The monastery made him uncomfortable – it was another seat of power, a group of radicals who bowed only to him in part. Their decisions impacted his rule in Steelshift, and he didn’t like it.

“Did you find a cleric for us?”

Vix rose lazily from her chair, stretching and joining him at the window. The cool breeze intensified her scent, spicy and exotic. Naturally. It doesn’t get more exotic than a forgotten world. Her eyes were trained on something far away, as if she could see beyond the monastery, through their world and back to her own.

“Yes,” she finally replied, “she should be arriving with the others later this afternoon.”

“And can we trust her to follow the plan?”

“Of course – her ties to the monastery are weak. She will appease the people without compromising your authority … just as your dear Ephanna does.”

He snorted. If Vix had managed to find someone less useful than his wife, than she had truly outdone herself. Ephanna was little more than a reproductive mannequin, and she had yet to succeed at the former of these functions. Were the sheep not so enamored with her, she would have been replaced years ago. Vix was the only person he could count on in the court – his Dezzian muse, his dark queen.

“Have you heard any more about our little troublemakers?”

Vix’s smile faded momentarily, but quickly reappeared. She tossed her hair, her wings folding back into her body as she walked toward the door. The face that looked back over her shoulder was not the same one that had been by his side moments ago. It was an elven woman who looked back at him now, with Vix’s smile plastered on her face.

“I have no doubt they’ll make an appearance. I will monitor their progress, as usual.”

The transformed Vix left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Runios turned back to the window. Ignoring the monastery for the moment, he looked down on his people, the city he ruled. It was a beautiful place – a place he had spent his twenty year-reign shaping to his liking. He looked ruefully at the cathedral, and then with a deep sigh, he turned back to the door. She had better be right about the new cleric.

~*~

Zenni was still shaking with excitement by the time they reached the gates of Steelshift. The day was in full swing, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of people, crying and calling and swarming about the main market square. There were elves bartering with humans while Kelorian dwarves hawked precious jewels and furs from the North; musicians from her homeland beat out lively tunes on complex sets of drums and woodwind instruments, while dryad dancers swayed and gyrated to the rhythm, hats and bowls set out for change. The air was heavily scented with freshly baked breads, and other less familiar treats. Everything was colour, life, and sound … except for the parade of sick and dying Zenni noticed lined up in front of a huge, lavender tent marked with the symbol of Lael. One day of work, then the new life starts.

There was no real special skill to healing, apart from being a designated priest or priestess. That was the true beauty of Lael – you simply let Her flow through you, and She did all the work. It must have been her fortieth or fiftieth patient today, but she felt no less tired than when she arrived.

“Your name?” she asked as the coughing elf sat down on her treatment table.

“Zhao Tan,” he replied between hacking and spluttering. Zenni smiled sympathetically, placing her hands gently on his chest. This would go so much faster if I had a weaver … ah well, can’t be helped. Some members of the monastery, dryads, elves, and other such races could physically see the strands of the web, a potent source of magic that connected all the people, and pluck them into place when they had gone astray. As such, they were useful for diagnosis, pointing out where healers should focus. It’ll just take longer.

Her fingers gently traced patterns she knew lie under the skin, following vein rivers and muscle mountains, feeling for knots and irregularities. What she lacked in use of the web, she planned to make up for in knowledge and her own special skills. The man coughed again. Poor thing. She warmed her hands, placing them more firmly against the man’s chest and abdomen, spreading the heat to deeper muscles as she went. Under the current emperor, use of magic was less frowned upon than it had been in the past. Still, Zenni preferred to keep her abilities as veiled as possible. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

Heat transferred, she closed her eyes, her hands firmly planted on the man’s pectorals. The familiar thoughts filled her mind, prayers hundreds of years old, words in languages she couldn’t grasp. There was no flash of light, not even a soft glow – yet beneath her hands, she could feel the fabric of the man’s being untwisting, releasing the toxin or whatever ailment gripped him. That’s how it was with Lael – no pomp, no circumstance, simply wholeness. As the words faded in her mind, she opened her eyes. The man looked tired – they always did.

“Sickness robbed you of sleep,” she said quietly as she helped the man to his feet, “another sister will attend to you in the back.”

Seeing that he was unable to make it on his own, his eyelids already slipping down over tired eyes, she signalled for another sister to relieve her and walked him to the back of the monastery’s tent. The place was packed with sisters and brothers like herself with patients, some chanting as the healing thoughts entered their minds, others silently curing what ailed their patients. In Lael, it was the thought that counted – accompanying actions were vaguely defined at best, and according to some scholars, not even necessary. In any case, it felt a bit like being inside a beehive – the gentle hum of the holy sung softly to the beat of the ill. It was at once comforting, and slightly perturbing.

When they reached the back, Zenni pulled open a flap to reveal a building behind the tent, and an entrance before them. It was a barn-like structure, strange in the center of the city, but perfectly suited to their purposes. At the moment, it was filled with beds – a few sisters watching over the sleepers as they rested after healing. One of them bustled over to her, a dryad sister by the name of Sarreese she knew as a new addition to the monastery, silently taking Zhao Tan from her arms and laying him in a nearby bed. Sarresse immediately knelt at his side, her hands plucking and weaving invisible strings around his head, clearing his mind for sleep. Feeling the need for a break herself, Zenni padded silently to the far end of the huge room, opening the door to the tiny kitchen as quietly as she could. A little snack, then back to work …

~*~

“Why are we here again?”

Andy sighed, the cool wind ruffling her cloak and hood. It was a huge city – nothing compared to the metropolises of Xu or Charbi, of course, but big enough for anonymity to not be an issue. There were even humans, making it much easier for her to blend in. Still, when she was out of the Town, her cloak was an indispensable accessory, if not to disguise her identity, but to disguise her nerves.

“A doomsday prophecy, Cy. We’re here to literally stop the end of the worlds.”

Cy snorted, pulling his own hood back down over his face. He was one of the best runners, useful in security and stealth, but she’d be damned if he wasn’t the least enthusiastic.

“Right,” he said, voice dripping in sarcasm, “the Juggernaut’s kid’s supposed to be some bridge or some shit. Why isn’t she looking then, huh?”

“Nat. And yeah, Itanus said the first world. So here we are.”

Reverence wasn’t the Xuvian’s strong suit. It didn’t help that he was currently covered in white paste to hide his ink-black skin and was wearing green contacts to disguise his normally golden cat-eyes. He hated disguises, and when he hated something, he hated everything. He was especially irreverent when he was pissed off, and Andy took the opportunity to enjoy it; she couldn’t help her smile.

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why isn’t she out here instead?”

“Come on Cy, seriously? Not only would she probably shoot up the place if she thought she saw him, but you don’t think whoever took her kid might recognize her?”

They entered the market square amongst the throng. Throngs were good – no one to take a close look at Cy’s makeup job and get suspicious. Cy hung back a bit, letting her take the lead. One of the only ones to bother, usually. Not like I lead the team or anything. The place was packed with everything under this world’s sun, but Andy could pick out a few themes as they meandered. Bakery, definitely – amazing how bread smells the same everywhere. Jewelry, a classic at markets … the hell is that? Oh well, to each world their own. Ok, looks pretty standard, but … wait.

One tent, bigger than the rest, stood out. For one thing, it looked like it was made of heavier material than the others – it was more a proper tent than the light canopies covering the majority of market stalls. A symbol adorned its entrance, circular in shape, but not one Andy recognized. The tent was also distinguished by the long line of invalids lined up to get in. Bingo. She took Cy by the hand and led him toward the tent for a closer look.

“Sick people means healing means religious people means prophecies. Nice one, An.”

Her smile deepened. He means well. For all his wisecracking and sarcasm, Cy was still an excellent runner. All bark, this one. Of course, she knew that wasn’t entirely true – Cy’s bite was at least as bad as his bark, if not worse; anyone who had seen him in his morning weapons training knew that much. Thankfully he didn’t typically bite when she was around. Thumbs up for periodically-respected authority.

They circled around the back, looking for an alternate entrance. They weren’t sick and looked nothing like nuns, so Andy figured the main entrance wasn’t a reasonable option. The tent was large, but not unnavigable, and within a minute or so they were at the building covering the tent’s backdoor. Andy looked back, noticing the thinning of the crowd here. It was looking back into life from the dead – the alleyway was entirely deserted. Makes sense, I guess – what’s there back here that isn’t over there? Checking once more for any careless eyes, she ducked into the small space between tent and building, Cy following her cue. Within seconds, however, they had darted back to the outside, noticing the steady parade of people going back and forth between the tent and building.

“Too many,” Andy murmured, “we’ve gotta find another way in.”

Cy simply nodded, and the two made their way down the alley heading away from the market square. The building at the back of the target tent seemed noticeably older than the structures around it. While most of the city was built in metal, this place was made of wood. Old wood … old rotten wood. Andy made a quick check once more – no one, they were far enough out of the market square to be alone. 

Motioning for Cy to act as lookout, she bent down to the patch of rotted wood she had spotted. An old building like this one she imagined wouldn’t be heavily insulated. Ear to the wood, she listened; nothing. She waited a minute to be sure. Still nothing. Satisfied, she began to pick at the wooden planks. A few dirty fingernails later, she had managed to pry enough boards away to create a hole in the wall small enough for her to get through. Thank God the nails had rusted through – that could’ve been murder. She peeked through the new hole, but it was too dark to see anything.

“What do you think?” she whispered, “storage unit for the nuns?”

He shrugged. “Worth your life to check?”

“Seriously Cy, they’re nuns. What are they gonna do, make me say a hail Mary?”

Cy’s face screwed up into a puzzled expression. Damn it, Earth reference. She shook her head and sighed.

“Nevermind. I’m going in. You coming, or would you rather be an alley creep?”

She put a foot in, waited a moment, and then squeezed the rest of her lithe figure through the opening. Scowling, Cy followed suit.

Andy grabbed her friend’s hand, trusting the Xuvian’s cat-like eyes to pierce the darkness while her own adjusted to the lack of light.

“We’re clear.”

Relieved, Andy let go of Cy and began to feel around her surroundings. The walls may have been old wood, but the inside felt much more modern, as she detected both stone and metal on what felt like counters. Definitely counters. The air was mustier here, and she could hear the gentle swish of fabric on the other side of the far wall. Placing her right hand on the counter-top and her left on weak wooden wall, she slid further into the room until her fingers hit a knob. Cy shifted toward her, uncovering the entrance they had made and letting in some much-needed light. She grabbed hold of the knob and opened to reveal …

“Plates. Congrats An, you’ve found the kitchen.”

She stood, closing the small cupboard door behind her. Sure enough, with the little light from the hole in the wall, she could clearly see now that this place was a kitchen or food storage unit of some kind. Not to be deterred, she began checking the other cupboards.

“An, come on,” Cy hissed, “it’s a kitchen. They’re probably making last meals for the saps outside. Let’s just blow this joint, ok?”

Andy shook her head, continuing her now slightly fevered search.

“You don’t know religious types.” She shot back, “Reverend Blakely at the old Baptist place down the road kept bibles everywhere. Last time I was there, I was looking in the breadbox for a sandwich and came face to face with a leather-bound New Testament. Now help me look for books, scrolls, whatever.”

She needed to find it. For Nat. There just has to be something here. Before Cy had a chance to comply with her wishes, the door opened, and light flooded the room, leaving the two runners face to face with a young, shocked, coffee-toned priestess.

~*~

At first, Zenni didn’t quite know how to react to the two strangers. Her first thought was questioning why anyone would want to steal from a monastery kitchen. She had lived among the priests long enough to know that cooking wasn’t always a strong suit in a place that valued prayer heavily over flavour. There was a moment of silence and stillness as she contemplated this. Then, she noticed that the girl was staring at her hands. She had almost forgotten about the flames – it was so much more convenient than matches for the oil lamps. Suddenly, without so much as a word between them, the strange pair dashed out through a hole in the wall. Thoughtlessly, she dashed after them.

I really haven’t been doing enough thinking today.

~*~

“What did you say? A hail of Mary’s? Do those usually involve fire-wielding crazies on Earth?”

Andy didn’t have time for Cy’s wisecracks at the moment. The girl was on their heels, fire still wreathing her hands. She picked up the pace.

“So this world’s nuns are magic-users,” she huffed, “now we know.”

“This is precisely why I am against organized religion.”

They wound through streets, trying to shake their dogged tracker, but the priestess was both fast and persistent. Apparently their nuns are also Olympic athletes. Maybe it’s one of those crazy blood warrior cults. I guess even they need their kind deeds for the day. They hadn’t spent much time in the first world, and this city was like navigating old Europe: curves, twists, no street signs, and designed like a labyrinth. The air growing ever colder dried and burned in her throat as she ran. No use. It’s her turf; we’re not gonna lose this chick. Time for plan B.

“Hit the switch and head for the portal,” she called ahead.

Cy looked back, black streaks beginning to show where sweat washed away the white makeup.

“Are you nuts? Take this flaming psycho back to the Town? She’ll burn it down!”

“She knows this place better than we do – at least we’d be on home field.”

Cy ran in silence for a moment, swore quietly, then pressed a button on a golden ring he wore.

“Get my scythe, Pom, and bring the Juggernaut – we’re comin’ in hot!”

~*~

Zenni had never been so completely lost in her life. In all her visits to Steelshift, she had only ever seen the market squares and Lael’s cathedral – these back alleys could have been the center of Highborough for all she knew. Still, she kept up the pursuit. She couldn’t even really tell herself why she did, but her feet pounded the cobblestone beneath her anyway. They could have just asked if they were hungry – I’m a priestess, for Lael’s sake! They took a hard right into a narrower alley, and Zenni had to hook her arm onto a merchant’s store signpost to make the turn. It was closed for the market day, mercifully. She couldn’t imagine the headlines that would have come from it otherwise – “Crazed fire mage/priestess chases down homeless in Empire’s capital”. My first day on the job and I’m already headed for a scandal. Perfect, Zenni.

It seemed as though her childhood running through the deserts of Al-Gharib was finally paying off; she was gaining on the strangers. She smirked; she may have come from a nation of savages, but no one could outrun an Al-Gharibian. No one. The surge of pride sent her feet flying faster. She could almost reach the dark cloak of the girl when a blue light flooded her vision. The taller one was jumping in, hand outstretched for the girl. Zenni stumbled, giving the girl just the distance she needed to grab the other’s hand as he pulled her into the oval of light. Still, they were not quick enough, and taking a leap propelled by bursts of flame from her hands, Zenni jumped in after them, the portal closing behind her.

~*~

Vix emerged from behind one of the many merchant signposts, long fingers pulling a stray strand of black off her forehead. They had been fast, and she couldn’t risk using her wings in the city. Still, her labours had been entirely worth it. The priestess had followed them in. Vix looked into one of the empty shop windows, inspecting the now human face staring back at her. It wouldn’t do to have her courtly appearance in the streets, after all. Satisfied, she turned back the way she came, heading in the direction of the palace. Perhaps our little cleric can prove more useful than we thought.