You find that part of you that the god represents. Visualize it as a door. Then, you open the door to the part of the universe that makes that part of you.
Then, make room, because you are gone.
Ahn snored away on the couch in Rake’s office, curled up in a fetal position. Jade stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to amuse herself, while Rake flipped through some documents from his side business of job placement.
“I’m worried …” Jade began.
“… they’ll, ah, handle it.” Rake interjected smoothly.
“About us.” Jade finally answered.
Rake sent down his papers and gave her a very serious look. “Why?”
“Because we don’t talk about it. You don’t talk about it, especially.”
“Ah.” Rake crossed his arms. “Ah, yes. I’m … I’ve been better, ah, much better.”
Jade stared at the ceiling for awhile longer. It was a little trick she’d picked up by HuanJen’s example; if you listened, people spoke. Words didn’t get words - lack of words did.
“He, ah, got to me. He, ah, made me angry. He shouldn’t be, ah, back, the Guild should have, ah, handled this better. He made me remember. It … interferes with the Voice.”
The Vulpine blinked in amazement. The Voice was Rake’s name for a rather curious ability to “speak” things into reality. It had come upon him when he’d become a minister. He’d never called it the “Voice of God,” but Jade was quite sure it was close in his head.
“It does?” Jade managed to ask.
Rake nodded. “When I get in the, ah, way, it hurts. I have, ah, been in the way. You, ah, saw what happened when I used the Voice on the Historian.”
“I remember, I remember.” Jade tried to look Rake in the eyes, but the minister’s eyes were looking at the floor. “You got through a war, a ministry, and yes, the plague. Hey, you’re a tough cookie, you’ll do fine.”
“I have, a … a History, you might say?” Rake looked up.
“I’d put it better, but, yes …”
Riakka felt herself fading away.
The words in her head, the chants, weren’t her voice.
The thoughts weren’t thoughts, they were the where-thoughts-came-from.
She was fading away, and something great and burgundy-colored and powerful was there.
In fact, it had always been there …
… and she wasn’t.
In the Divine City of the Outer Sea, home of the gods of Xai, a mysterious god smiled.
Jade found that the gods had lousy timing.
“I heard you, I heard you,” Jade stumbled out of the bathroom in the recesses of the church, adjusting her jeans. Of all the times …
“I understand, but, please, do hurry,” Ahn gestured, standing at the end of the hallway.
“I’m coming …” Jade began, but Ahn had already vanished in a blur of nothingess.
Trying to move while her underwear settled into place, Jade tore through the offices, down into the basement, and into Rake’s hidden little ready room as fast as she could.
She could feel it on the stairway into the sub-basement. Everything was more real, like someone had turned up the volume knob on reality.
Jade leapt down the stairs, and into the room. She smelled fear and sweat and incense. Ahn, Dealer Zero, Brownmiller, Rake, and HuanJen stood around Riakka in a semicircle. A near-perfect semicircle, as if they were arranged.
“I am the Historian.” Riakka said, or to be more accurate, her voice said. The person speaking didn’t sound like her; it was a voice ages old.
Jade restrained herself from saying “oh, shit,” since it didn’t seem supernaturally appropriate. She found herself waving, which also felt inappropriate, but was at least polite.
“You called me. Please tell me why.” The Historain-god’s words were clipped and polite, carefully chosen. They were actually warmer than Jade expected.
“We seek another who has attempted to embody you. Paldayne.” HuanJen was calm as a glacier. “You are, I assume, aware?”
“I am aware,” the voice of thunder and thought spoke, “he reached out to me, let me reach through him, and sought to tie himself to the Outerworld by adsorbing Ziggurat Jack and his Pattern, to forge a permanent connection.”
“We … figured that.” Brownmiller said respectfully. “We are hoping you can help us, he’s …”
“… killed people, yes. He is opening secrets and and you fear what he may do in a time of crisis. I knew his feelings, but he is no longer part of me. I can feel him around the edges, as it were, but that is all.”
The room went silent. Riakka’s eyes regarded the gathered clerics with a calm, almost affectionate amusement. A grandfather observing the victories and failures of grandchildren.
“You expected him to still partake of my power?”
“Well, yes.” HuanJen said, obviously a bit unsettled. A man who chose words and thoughts carefully, HuanJen was not used to being wrong.
“What … made him, ah, as he is now?” Rake asked.
Galcir looked at Rake and shook Riakka’s head. “I would assume you had an idea. Then again I suppose I am a rather mysterious god. It is easy to assume. He taps into the fear of secrets and need for revelation that runs thick beneath the world now. Fears that run alongside my realm, not of my power, but close, and to him, easier to reach. In time, he has come to embody that realm.”
The clerics looked at each other. Jade noticed the concern on HuanJen’s face.
“My realm is not extensive,” the god confessed, “But there is much space to fill, and people fear revelation, holy men. Yet they crave it. You know what such dichotomy brings, when the Daimons come, when the Obsidians walk. These things find manifestation.”
“This … is bad, right?” Jade asked HuanJen in a furtive whisper.
“It is.” Riakka’s eyes locked on Jade’s. “It is inevitable, however. The grounding was there for this to happen, one way or another. Things balance.”
“Well he’s killed people and he’s nuts, so do something.” Jade tried to be assertive, but she could feel the presence, the weight of something larger pushing on her. You didn’t demand something of it.
“I am Galcir The Historian,” Riakka said for the god, drawing herself up into a position of dignity, “He was one my people, as is she whom I ride. I did not create the situation in your world, your politics, your fears. I and my children record them. I may advise, but I cannot reach out and crush him. He is something different - and that something different is your creation, Xaians. There is no god for his realm.”
The words were harsh, but not malicious.
Rake clenched his fists and spoke through gritted teeth. “I would think you would …”
“Take a moral stance? Cleric, I am a god of my principles, but I am not here to preach. There are other gods for that.”
“No arguing,” Brownmiller nearly shouted, “Lord of Records, what can you tell us?”
“I know the Pattern of such things, of those who would crusade. He will seek a chance for finality, to drive himself like an arrow into the world’s heart to make his point. There are moments when he is still my child, I know this. Watch for that point, and I shall watch you. Think like him. Perhaps he can then be trapped because of his Pattern.”
There was silence. There was little else to say.
“The time is passing, she is not experienced enough yet. Take care of my daughter, Riakka, Holy Men and Woman. Take …”
Riakka gasped, and shuddered, then slumped. She seemed to shrink, as if deflated.
“Holy shit,” Jade finally said.
“More or less,” Brownmiller replied.
Riakka sat up, started to scream, and found a white-furred hand slapped over her mouth.
Her senses spun. She was in her apartment, on the floor, with Jade looking at her with concern and a bit of annoyance.
“We got you back to your apartment, remember?” the Vulpine asked, removing her hand.
“I … barely, you …”
Jade grinned. “I cleaned you up. I figure you’d be more comfortable that way. Those robes are a pain in the ass. I think I got them on right.”
“Thanks,” Riakka lay back on the floor, feeling tired, yet strangely energized. “I remember some of it, like echoes.”
“Paldayne tapped into something else …”
Riakka nodded. “I know. Galcir was just a start.”
“Yeah.” Jade stood. “He was OK, a bit of a jerk.”
Riakka shook her head, and stood slowly. “You have to know him.”
“I guess, sorry, I don’t do the god thing much.”
“He is my god,” Riakka said firmly. “We’re family.”
“I don’t give family a lot of credit.” Jade admitted.
The young Historian smirked. “Then I’m very sorry for you. I think I need some time to myself. Thanks, Jade. Thank you.”
“Hey, glad to help. HuanJen says thank for trusting him, by the way. I know how hard trust is.”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Jade could tell the words were a second request, and walked out the front door. After a moment, Riakka locked it, then climbed out of her robes, tossing them onto a chair. Underneath she wore a simple bra and pants, a more comfortable alternative to her usual Guild outfit.
“I . . no.”
Riakka walked to the cubical altar set up in the southern corner of her living room. She knelt, and then began removing sticks of incense and her prayer idols from its recesses. In a few minutes, she had surrounded the idol of Galcir with several smoldering sticks of her finest incense.
“Lord of records, this is your child Riakka. Some may not understand, but I do. Thank you, my lord, for sharing with me …”
Shard Tower loomed over the city of Metris.
The Guild Council met when they could, as crises multiplied. Once it had simply been about the future of one of the Guilds, but as plans and anger and hope and fear and deals and double-deals multiplied, things changed. Any Council Representative would be hard-pressed to say what the next day would bring, or what the focus would be.
Now and then, when they met at the Council Chambers near the top of the tower, some of them would look down on the city below. Even though there was a City Council, everyone knew that the Guild Council’s actions had far more influence. Each action they took or didn’t take affected the people below them.
A few looked down …
… and wondered just what had happened.
INTERLUDE: MOMENTS
May 22, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
So, I’ve got a few moments of time, and I’m spending it carrying groceries down one of the streets of Metris, in tow to a genuine Little Old Lady. The sun beats down from above - it’s probably going to be a hot summer.
Now, see, I wouldn’t have done this a year ago. Then again, a year ago I was up to my asscheeks in swamp because … well, OK, I’m an Outrider. I’m one of the guys that the University or the Mercantile Alliance or the Rancelmen send out to chart Earths. I’ve ended up in a lot of weird situations.
Of course, now I’m in a domestic one, and that seems weirder than usual. All because my life is a bit more domestic than I’d ever had expected.
“Now, that’s … Xianfu or is it Fang?” My companion asks.
“Xianfu is the proper name,” I explain, “Fang is my family name. So the full name is Fang Xainfu, but Xianfu is my name, Mrs. Eckler.”
Mrs. Eckler smiles, which sort of looks like a spry mummified turtle trying to grin. She’s old, one of what Verrigent calls the Little Old Ladies of Xai. They’re the ones who usually moved here ages ago during one of the spurts in immigration, aggressively outlived their husbands, and keep going like something out of a horror movie. HuanJen lives next to one who makes he and Jade babysit her dog, and I’ve seen their kind before.
And they can really talk you into helping carry groceries. There must be some Ancient Ladies Guild I don’t know about.
“It’s so nice of you to help out,” Mrs. Eckler says.
“Well, it is only a few minutes, and Lorne wasn’t home. It’s probably traffic.” I almost cringe at what I say.
Lorne’s got this real problem about us dating. I mean, its frigging Xai for the gods sake; we don’t care about sexual preference or whatever its called on some Earths. Unfortunately, he’s rubbed off on me a bit - and Mrs. Eckler isn’t native, you can tell by the name and the fact she’s not wearing any native braids.
So, I find myself wondering what to say about Lorne. I mean, you know, just in case …
“So, you’re an Outrider from east of here?”
Well, it isn’t a question about whether Lorne and I have played tongue-hockey. It’s also not an obvious question - it’s not like I’m going to wear my survival suit as casual wear.
“Yes,” I answer. “We used to live in Greenpoole, but we’re staying in Metris. The team and I.” I look downtown. I can’t quite see Shard Tower, but I know it’s there. “It’s the best, I guess.”
“Eh, it sucks. Lived through the Guildwar and I’ll tell you, at least there was less bullcrap.” Mrs. Eckler scowls. “Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just head out to Cinnibar - except I hate farms, even if the wine and cheese is great.”
“You sound like my partner, Verrigent. He’s … a little to casual about moving around. I think sometimes he wants to drop the Outrider gig.”
“Won’t that mess things up with Lorne?”
Well, that was unexpected.
“I beg your pardon?” I manage to ask.
“Well, please, I saw you kissing him when I took the cat out.” She looks concerned. “What, it’s not working out?”
“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just a bit hard for him to talk about. I think he thinks he’s not … obvious.” I try to figure out what to say.
“Ah.” My elderly companion shrugs. “Well, he is a bit reserved. He’s is a Gendarme, I suppose, caution is the watchword and all that.”
“Yes. I …” Ah, hell, she sort of asked. “It’s working out, but I’m on other Earths a lot. It’s working slow, and we see each other when we can …”
“Eh, hang in there. Worth trying, huh?”
I nod. “Yes. He’s a nice guy, really.”
“Handsome too.” She winks, then laughs at my reaction - I’m not used to discussing my love life, when I have one. “Well, he is!”
“I suppose. I didn’t expect this, really, it just sort of happened. It’s nice. Sometime when you’re the only human on an entire Earth or pretending to be someone else … it’s lonely. Our jobs don’t make it any easier, the jobs …”
“Relax.” She pats my arm. “Don’t trouble yourself. And … well there he is, waiting at the door like a puppy.”
I look up, and damned if she isn’t right. The big blonde buy is on the porch leading into the apartment complex. He waves at me.
“Nice to have someone to come home to when I come home, especially with all the craziness.”
“Eh, enjoy these moments, Xiangfu, and someday you’ll be an old fart, reminiscing with some young guy who you suckered into carrying your groceries …”
IN THE DARKNESS FIND ME
May 23, 2000 AD, Xaiain Standard Calendar.
The top of Shard Tower was where things happened, or at least where people thought they did. It was where the Guild Council met, representatives from the Councils and Parliaments and whatnots of the various Guilds that made up Xai, steering the course of the culture. It was a place of meeting rooms, mysterious negotiations, and the great Council Chamber (which wasn’t as great as people thought because there was only so much space).
Despite the supposed grandeur and the supposed space, Representatives preferred small meetings, friendly chat, and getting done before lunch. They didn’t often like what they were expected to do, and preferred to just get things done, no matter what people expected.
Or what they expected of themselves.
/> “You know, I actually wonder what people think of us,” Helena Hixx said quietly, “the fact I’m not sure anymore pisses me off.”
The President of the Traveler’s Guild looked down over the city from the vantage point of one of the Council meeting rooms. The public knew her as a stately, dignified woman, and in person she didn’t deviate from the image an iota - perfect green dress, her dark hair bound in a tight headdress of green-beaded braids. Everything people would expect for a woman of her position.
A woman of her position, however, would have been in a terrible mood and wanted out of the over-fashionable piece of sartorial torture as soon as possible.
“I know what they think,” said another voice, a voice that wasn’t so much one that used words, but their suggestions.
Standing next to Helena was the black-cloaked man known only as M, representative of Guild Esoteric. No features were visible beneath his hood and even his hands were covered in black gloves. People liked to say he was as mysterious as the guild he represented, though he was rather tired of such a trite comparison, especially considering his age.
“Yes, I imagine you do know.” Helena leaned her high forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Is it true?”
“Many things are true.”
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, we’ve known each other since so-called old days.”
M nodded. “What is true?”
Hellena closed her eyes. “That there’s a few supernatural incidents missed because of all the crap with the Communicants.”
“Yes. Several. One perhaps critical.”
“Lovely. How much else is going on down there no one pays attention to up here?”
“Much.” M answered, words as smooth as black silk. “All in the fragments of things.”
“So, what will happen, between you and me?” Helena asked nervously. She knew M didn’t like questions like that.
“Things balance out.”
“That’s it?”
M turned to face Helena, no face visible in the obsidian depths of his hood.
“That is always it, Helena …”
Richard Nax, owner of the bar bearing his last name, was trying to be jovial.
You expected him to be jovial. He owned a bar. He had a ruddy complexion that suggested good cheer, a mustache that gave him a sort of old-time-bartender feel, and a portly build that suggested good eating and hearty laughter. He even manned the bar when he could, just to have contact with the customers.
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