“So, go on,” Richard said, setting down another drink for his Vulpine customer.
Slate shrugged. “Ah, well, I don’t know much more. But Guild Esoteric released a statement. They’d been tracking a supernatural entity for awhile, but they’d kept it quiet because of all the other incidents. Another embarrassment for the Guild Council.”
“Oh, I imagine.” Richard rolled his eyes. “Being told you can’t be trusted because you’re too busy arguing over politics - and that whole Guild medical service merger went fine for them. Hmmm - I assume you heard about the Powersmiths?”
Slate nodded soberly. “Like I’d miss it. An accident ‘while preparing for possible emergencies.’ The people at Corona suspected they might resort to brownouts to try and kick the Guilds into ending the standoff. My guess is they accidentally triggered one while seeing if they could do it.”
“We got through it,” Richard commented thoughtfully.
“The City gets through everything despite itself. Hell, most people get over things despite themselves. Most people.”
“Not everyone?”
Slate scowled. “A friend’s … boyfriend’s … coworker … I think that’s it. Gave up, moved out. It’s causing some concern for my friend, worried his boyfriend’s work may change. Hell, I heard he just got a new long-term assignment. He’s not very happy.”
“Well, don’t take it personally, ” Richard suggested, giving his best friendly-bartender smile. In the back of his mind he quickly translated “boyfriend” to “Lorne.”
“I don’t want to. But … I’m hoping after last night people calm down. No more arguing, no more debates, no more stunts, and I’d like to see prices for food go down. I am hoping to get a house soon.” Slate ended up growling.
“You know … I think it will.” Ricahrd dropped his routine for a moment. “Event’s like last night, it makes you think.”
“It does indeed. Trust me …”
Jade had waited for an hour before she’d talked to HuanJen.
He’d spent the day trying to check on his Zone and talking to the Guild Esoteric members who were calling and in general trying to get things back to normal. Then, when he’d had a break, he’d gone into the study and closed the door.
She knew him, so she waited, counting the minutes, giving him long enough, and then she’d knocked, and opened the door to the bookshelf-lined room without waiting for an answer. As expected, she found him sitting at the desk, staring itno space thoughtfully.
“You’re mourning, aren’t you?” Jade asked.
“Yes.” HuanJen’s answer was as even and flat as a sheet of hammered silver.
Jade nodded, half understanding. However the other half of her was exceedingly curious.
“He’s gone. You, hey, you did a good thing. A hell of a thing.”
“We pursued him because we felt it would protect this place and the people we chose to help. He died in arrogance. That’s it.” HuanJen’s eyes opened slowly. “No more.”
Jade nodded. “Yeah, I guess, eh, Paldayne went nuts be he wanted to do something. Like I said, he could have been me.”
“Yes. Or anyone, really.”
The Vulpine mystic waited for a moment while HuanJen stared off into the future, then sighed.
“OK, you done mourning?”
“Yes. You?”
“I … well Riakka and I talked, yeah. Yeah. There but for the grace of God and stuff, or Tao. She’ll be OK, I think.”
“Indeed.” The Fang-Shih stood slowly. “I suspect she will be. It isn’t over, Jade, just this part.”
“Still cleanup.” Jade nodded. “Still figure out what the hell to do about the Communicants. The University wants Paldayne’s body and Byrd said no. We still have … Scribe.”
“Yes. Nothing ends, Jade. Nothing ever really ends …”
The top of Shard Tower was where things happened …
In the brightly-lit Council Chamber, the various Guild Representatives sat around the central podium, waiting for the emergency meeting to begin. They were busily talking among themselves, but no one was talking to each other. More Representatives were present than any time in recent memory, making it a crowded affair.
M sat next to Helena Hixx, both of them having elected to stay in back for the fireworks to come.
“It held,” M intoned as he sat down, his cloak making no sound.
“Yes,” Helena drew out the word thoughtfully, “This was … I shouldn’t ask, should I?”
“Things are handled.” The mysterious Esotericist’s unseen eyes were focused on the Guild Representatives rushing around. The world seemed to be pouring into M’s black hood.
“I hear the boy is in Esoteric’s hands,” Helena prodded carefully.
“And who else can be trusted?”
Helena scowled. “That seems a bit high and mighty for you,” her voice held a drop of acid.
M made a sweeping gesture. “Gendarmes for law, Esoteric for souls, Travelers’ for the worlds, and so on. Who else?”
“True.” Helena shook her head. “True. You are right too often, old friend.”
“We survived. A night without power and chaos of many kinds. We are still here.” M’s words were as steady as a mountain range.
Helena lay back in her chair. “True, we are all still here …”
“The question is what shall we do with it, my dear Helena …”
HOLY THINGS
June 7, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
“Helena?”
Helena Hix, President of the Travelers’ Guild, inheritor of traditions, survivor of the Guildwar, found herself face down on a table. This was not a position she was used to, especially when waking up.
“Crap!” Helena sat up, her beaded braids clattering like fingerbones. She’d fallen asleep after going to review some documents. Admittedly, she’d slept little lately, so she didn’t blame herself.
The smell of her own sweat (and it had been such a nice dress). The empty meeting room she’d gone into. Luther Turlow, President of the Prostitute’s Guild hovering over her. Papers on the table.
“You fell asleep,” Luther said politely, smiling nervously. He was not a small man, and his rather victorian suit and high-cropped dark hair made him look even taller. However, he kept giving the impression of being smaller than he was.
“Sorry.” Helena shuffled the papers together. “I didn’t sleep much, considering. Are the usual arguments over?”
“Oh, yes.” Luther sat on the edge of the table. “It was refreshing in a sad way, we barely mentioned the Communicants. We mentioned everything else, like the blackout, that problem in the warehouse district, food prices, Gendarmes with bollixed communications, and your friend M mentioned the boy …”
“His name is Derek,” Helena said with her eyes closed. “Fuck, if I’d known about him I’d never have let him go to the University after he’d ended up here.”
“Like you’d know what Paldayne was doing. We all respected him. We also figured the Communicants would take the plan to put them under the Council well. Or that the Farming Collectives didn’t like politics. Or … shall I go on?”
“Leave it to you to know how to fuck with my mind,” Helena griped in a friendly manner. She knew that Luther disliked crude terms - he’d done as much as he could in his presidency to ensure the Prostitute’s Guild was a true respectable public service.
“No need to be uncivil, Helena,” Luther said petuantly.
“Sorry, tired.” Helena stood carefully, papers in hand. “Derek, the Scribe, worries me the most. Well, the fact the Communicants aren’t even listening to their own people scares me too. But mainly, the Scribe.”
“Why? So Paldaye loaded his head with some secrets. It’ll be good for the people to be afraid, they’ll start being a bit more honest. We survived the politics, we survived that blackout.”
“Afraid, Luther, is what makes me worried. People do stupid things when afraid.” Helena stated. “I wish M were here, I wanted
to know what Guild Esoteric is up to.”
“What they always do,” Luther stated calmly, “take care of the holy things.”
“Whatever that is,” Helena smirked uncomfortably.
JUNE 9, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
GUILD ESOTERIC GUILD COUNCIL SUMMARY:
The Historian Incident Participants.
ANALYSIS OF TESTIMONS OF:
AHN
BALE, RIAKKA
BROWNMILLER, ROTAN:
HUAN-JEN:
MARCUS, DANIEL (“Dealer Zero”)
RAKE (Larkeens, Richard)
SHALESDAUGHTER, JADE:
TALBOT, BRIAN
The testimonies of all involved show little variance about the incident: namely that Dean Paldayne of the Historians utilized standard proceudres of being Ridden to adsorb the Obsidan-Type Cultural Haunt known as Ziggurat Jack, and use that to tap into power related to Galcir. Using this altered state he taped into several areas without defined dieties, specifically the fear-of-revelation (amplified due to the political situation), manifesting the common telepathic abilities of such experiences.
Paldayne, eventually calling himself The Historian, apparently wished to acquire incriminating and hidden information disruptive to the Guilds, eventually to use it to undermine the Guild political process. He was, to judge by all testimony, increasingly disgusted with politics and felt the Guild discussion to put the Communicants under Guild Council control would lead to increasing problems. Eventually he placed his findings in the keeping of his assistant, Derek Jacobi (the “Scribe”), who survived Paldayne’s suicide.
At least two murders are attributed to Paldayne/The Historian, likely to sate the Ziggurat Jack entity, whom the investigators believe eventually merged with his own personality. The composite entity apparently emboided the fears of revelations and secrets in society, replacing the fear represented by Ziggurat Jack.
The pursuit of the Historian was kept confidential by Cardinal Byrd (councilmember) to avoid panic. Reasons stated are; to avoid political panic, possibility fear would exacerbate Paldayne’s goals, and concern that some or a great deal of his actions were meant to generate chaos.
The death of The Historian, broadcast during the blackout, was a suicide by all accounts, likely an attempt to free the entity in the body while utilizing extant fear and parapsychological distress to ensure his continued existence. Paldayne eventually seemed to loose sight of his plans, and simply opted to keep causing disruptions.
By our best accounts, the investigators behaved within Guild parameters in their behaviors. No censures will be given, information regarding this will be placed in Guild records. Some of the investigators requrested as limited publicity as possible (Rake, HuanJen, Ahn), and the council agreed to take this approach.
Regarding the Scribe, the Council has not yet made a decision, and many possibilities are being evaluated. From his confession, we do not feel he can be held entirely liable due to his situation, but there is discussion that he be held somewhat responsible for The Historian’s actions.
Regarding Paldayne’s body, no decision has been made yet. The body is being kept under guard in the Guildhall.
Decisions on both these undecided matters need to be made posthaste. The Scribe is of particular concern due to social, civil, ethical, and spiritual implications. All members noted to recall the Guild Charter regarding the Guild’s place in society.
END REPORT
June 10, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
Derek Jacobi, known as the Scribe, was one of the most dangerous people in Metris.
He had arrived there over a year ago when accidentally stumbling across a Portal on his home Earth. Like many, he had been unable to return, to find his home out of an infinity of Earths.
He had been a member of the Historian’s Guild, noted for a near-perfect memory and a keen intellect. It was the only opportunity he’d really had.
His life, he was well aware, was over.
He was fifteen years old.
Derek didn’t look like a threat. He looked like a typical teenage boy; short brown hair, a few hidden pimples, and that peculiar gangly build that heralded an inevitable growth spurt. He wore simple jeans and a pocket-intensive shirt, the kind anyone on the planet would wear.
He didn’t live in an odd place - a rather comfortable apartment, the kind a well-off single person would live in, where bed and kitchen and living room merged into one efficient area.
He just couldn’t leave.
Guild Esoteric was watching him. The Guild of inner sight and external observation, keepers of souls.
There were different watchers day, different keepers or captors. He didn’t blame them of course, he knew he was dangerous. He just wished they’d talk to him, at least more than simple courtesy.
For instance, his current watcher was some guy named Kevin. Tall guy, thin, Xaian shaman in the rainbow clothes and all the talismans, and a big puff of blond hair. Barely older than him. Kevin just read or checked papers, and was polite, saying nothing.
Derek sat on the couch (which smelled old, preserved), watching television. More news, more shows from other Earths, occasional episodes of “Battle Cooks.” It was hideous boredom, and the books they gave him … Guild Esoteric’s tastes were rather odd and limited. At least they provided magazines and newspapers.
… he couldn’t stand it.
“Are you going to ask why?” Derek finally asked.
Kevin looked up and blinked. His eyes were red. Derek figured he had a lot to do outside of this job and probably didn’t want to do it. Then again, no one seemed very happy to guard him.
“What?”
“Why I did it.” Scribe leaned forward, obviously pained. “No one who watched me has asked.”
Kevin shifted around in his seat, obviously nervous. He wasn’t ready for these kinds of things - quite frankly he’d been doing more work with Guild Esoteric government and found it refreshing than his usual work. Being a Zone Cleric was just something he wasn’t sure about any more.
“Well … ” Kevin begain, then paused. “We don’t want to make this difficult on you.”
“No one even asked,” Scribe continued, “I … only told them a little. When the Guild hid me. I … what you don’t know can’t hurt you in this case.”
Kevin closed his eyes. “Yes. We’re not going to hurt you …”
“But you don’t know what to do with me. Most of those watching me sit outside. At least you came in.”
“Well, yes, just being civl …”
Scribe nodded. “I … you know, I don’t know?”
The young shaman leaned towards his companion. Something in Scribe’s eyes drew his own to the young man. The strange boy resonated with painful sincerity.
“Go on?” Kevin felt himself ask.
“I … you were born here, I can tell by the braids. I wasn’t, I came here by accident, I … the Historians got a hold of me and gave me all I had. Paldayne … he made sense at the time.”
Kevin nodded, thought, then nodded again. “You …”
“I’ll tell the when they take a testimony, when they ask more.” Scribe shrugged. “They asked me so much, but never really why. No one asked why. It … when you see what he knew, he … took me in, and it seemed … like maybe he’d shake things up.”
“That … you did,” Kevin acknowledged with a nod.
“They probably didn’t grill me because I told them everything. He never said I couldn’t tell people. I …”
“What were you thinking?”
Scribe nodded. “Yeah. I wish someone would ask because I’m not even sure I know. The Historians were all I had …”
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said.
“What are they going to do?”
Kevin shook his head, talismans rattling. “I don’t know. But we won’t hurt you or let anything hurt you. We don’t do things that way. Usually..”
“That’s not the greatest answer,” Scribe admitted.
“I … I’m not always good with answers. I’m sorry it happened.”
“So am I …”
June 11, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar
Jade woke up.
It was one of those annoying complete waking-ups, where you went from sleep to knowing it was going to take an hour to return to slumber. She hated that, though she was thankful for the rest she’d justhad. The last few days she hadn’t slept well.
HuanJen however, had provided an excellent solution last night …
Jade sat up and looked at her lover, who slept next to her in a position achievable mainly by double-jointed cats. He was still nude, body like light and harmony given form. He never felt he was handsome, and she’d admit face-wise he was on the money, but there was an elegant precision about him she found appealing.
And with his mind …
The Vulpine ran a furred hand along HuanJen’s cheek, touching his lips. He became quicksilver when he touched her, liquid electricity, seeping into every part of her. Making love was like a song - though, she had to admit, sometimes it was opera, sometimes ribald drinking ditty.
… and she wasn’t going to fall asleep. A look at the clock confired it was about 2 in the morning, but she felt like it was already seven or eight.
Jade slid out of bed, one piece of darkness moving in the night. She nearly knelt down on the floor to search for her robe, but HuanJen’s more organized habits had slowly rubbed off on her. She remembered her robe was folded on the dresser, and she quickly slipped into it.
As quietly as possible, Jade made her way to the balcony and opened the curtains. She ran her fingers along the glass, tracing the skyline of Metris.
It felt different.
It wasn’t just her, it honestly felt different. Like dust settled or snow that had finally fallen on the ground. It wasn’t just knowing The Historian was a pankcake, it was everything.
Jade pressed her furless palm against the glass. It was a warm summer night outside.
She could feel it. It was inside of her, in a way. Metris. Xai. Everything else.
It was better. Not perfect, not judging by her intuitions or the news or the word on the street. But better.
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