Amorlia: Age of Wonder

by Chris Wichtendahl

  Powers

  Kel rose from his bed and dressed. It had been another night without Kai, another night of sleeping alone, of dealing with the strange memories that flooded his mind. He flapped his wings to bring some feeling to them. It was hard finding a comfortable position in bed with great big wings on one's back and sometimes he'd lie on them, cutting off the blood flow. His wings. They were mixed up in the strange memories. For some reason, everyone acted like he'd just gotten his wings back, as though he'd lost them for a time. He didn't remember that, but sometimes, when he woke in the night, sweat cooling on his skin, he did remember it that way. He shook his head. He needed to see Kai. He opened the shutters and let the sun stream in through the window. He'd taken quarters on the top floor of the palace and from there he could see the whole of Vega City stretched out below him. He jumped out his window, a great flap of his blue wings taking him high into the air. He flew over the city for a while, looking for spots of trouble. In those first few days after the defeat of the Grey Strangers, the city was beset by looting, brigandry and other forms of lawlessness. He and Kai had spent their days bringing order back to the streets of Vega, aided by the newly formed Pacifica. They followed his lead for the most part, but watched him with growing wariness. Kel flew down along the side of the mountain, passing by the windows of the towering structures of the upper levels. Men and women turned from their jobs to point and stare and wave, while shoppers in the central marketplace paused to look up and cheer. He raced a few aircars through the steel canyons of the business district, diverting to the rambling tenements of Foothill just in time to save a falling skyrail car. Kai sat in the mouth of a cave, naked and unwashed, staring intently into the Chalice floating in front of her. Her once-mighty frame grew slight, until very little muscle remained. She had been thus for weeks, taking no rest or nourishment, save occasional sips from the Chalice. A robed woman entered the cave. "When you came to us seeking knowledge, it was not made clear you simply sought a quiet place to kill yourself." Sister Karma looked down from the depths of her hood, cloth- wrapped hands clasped loosely behind her back. Kai persisted in staring deep into the mystical goblet, seemingly oblivious to the woman standing there. This went on for a while. It went on like this every day. Karma or Kaatine or Tan would come round to check on her, speak to her, stand there and... nothi- "I'm not killing myself," Kai whispered. "Kai?" Sister Karma stepped backward, startled. "I'm not killing myself," Kai repeated. "I'm becoming." "Becoming?" Sister Karma was confused, which, after one hundred years of meditation on the very fabric of the universe, felt somewhat novel. "Becoming what?" she asked. "Shh!" Kai hissed, not looking away from the Chalice. "She's talking, and I want to hear this." "Who is talking?" "Anya." Sister Karma took another step back. "Anya?" "Shh!" Sister Karma shook her head, leaving the cave to join her Sisters at the altar in the old pool. They watched two figures descend the copse of climbing trees that grew up the cliff face and formed a secret ladder. Only those who knew the way through trunk, branch and root could descend that way, others had to trade fresh prey with the giant birds for passage. The Sisters waved and spoke in unison as Mandhe led a young man across the Valley floor. He was tall and thin, wearing tatters of an old laboratory coat over a threadbare suit in an outdated fashion. A silver crown sat around his brow, a gleaming closed eye at the center of his forehead. "Our Adept of the Eye, we presume," the Sisters said. Mandhe nodded, indicating the young man should step forward. "Name's Davin Anul," she explained, pulling her hat lower across her eyes. She always went out of her way to do it when she talked to the Sisters. "I found him in Zilltown's warrens of back alleys, using the Panopticrown to tell fortunes for coins." The Sisters chuckled, which sounded odd in unison. "We expect to find more noble uses for you to put it to," they said to Davin. "Would you object to spending time here in the Valley?" they asked. "Others have come to study their Totems, and receive guidance in their use." Davin nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. He was clearly very nervous. "I..." he stammered. "Relax," Sister Kaatine broke from the group, taking him by the hand. "Come," she said, "we've shelters built for you..." As Sister Kaatine led the young Adept away, Mandhe approached Sister Tan, holding up the holstered Mystic Gun. Its metal gleamed black in the slanted sunlight. "Excuse me, Sister," she said, "I thought you might take a look at this." She held out the Gun for inspection. Sister Tan did not take it. She indicated Mandhe should buckle it back around her waist. The nascent Gunfighter did so, her hand resting oddly on the handle. "I've no need to touch it to know that your Totem is cursed," Sister Tan said. "Cursed?" Mandhe was shocked. She'd been alarmed at the change in color, and the odd... side-effects of its use, but cursed? "How so?" she asked. "It would seem some last remnant of madness from your time merged with Emfex has infected the Mystic Gun," Sister Tan explained. There is circuitry within it now, Faery circuitry, that has brought this curse about." She peered from the shadows of her hood into the shadows of Mandhe's hat. "Have you noticed any... personal changes?" Mandhe nodded. "Aye. After I kill someone with it, I feel stronger." She made a fist for emphasis. "I mean, physically stronger, and smarter as well. I just become... better." "After you shoot someone with the Gun." It wasn't a question, but the tone in Sister Tan's voice demanded an answer. "No," Mandhe shook her head. "Only if I kill someone with it. And there's more." She bowed her head slightly. "I feel cold afterward," she shuddered, "inside." She looked up at the Sister, her hat back on her head, her eyes wide and staring. "I feel like I lose a bit of myself every time it happens." Sister Tan reached out a comforting hand, but Mandhe flinched away. The Sister nodded, folding her hands in the sleeves of her robe. "It would seem," she said slowly, "that you are somehow stealing the Spark of those you kill, taking their life energy into yourself and feeding on it." Her voice was kind, if sad. "This is no doubt very bad for your soul, which would explain the cold feeling you get from it, and your loss of self." She shrugged. "The answer is simple, of course. Just refrain from killing people." "I thought of that," Mandhe said, "but this Gun... it feels like it wants to kill. As though it exerts its own will over me. I get these rages now, that..." she shook her head and was silent. Then she looked up again, pleading, "Can you lift this curse?" "No," Sister Tan said softly. Clearing her throat, she said, "I know it can be lifted, but the means lie far from here. Go to the lands of your ancestors, Mandhe Pacha," she said, "you will lift your curse there." Mandhe nodded, hefting the pack across her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, turning to walk back to the climbing trees. "Mandhe?" Sister Tan's voice turned her around. "Aye?" "I'm afraid I must ask you not to return here," the Sister said, "until the curse is lifted." Her posture was one of regret as she spread her arms wide. "For the safety of the other Adepts." Mandhe just nodded, turned back around and continued on her way.

  ***

  Davin Anul sat on the floor of his hut, tucked away in the corner of the Valley of Mystery. His eyes were closed, but the eye in the center of his Crown was wide open. He murmured to himself, words tumbling out of his mouth almost nonsensically. "By long paths and short, they come," he muttered. "through fire, death and horror, they walk." His head snapped back, and drool ran out the corner of his mouth, along his jaw and down his neck. He screamed. "They come as one! And by its hand we shall fall!"

  A Conference of Adepts

  "No, she's long gone," Davin said to Kel as the two men walked the stone pathways of the Valley. "I haven't seen her since she left me here a few months ago. She won't be back this way any time soon." "And you know that," Kel asked, pointing at Davin's forehead, where the Eye of the Panopticrown would be if he were wearing it, "from..." Davin smiled and touched his head. "Yes," he asnwered, "I've seen a great deal through the Panopticrown. For example," he turned his smile toward the Champion, "I know that you did not come to ask about Mandhe. You lost your wings ten years ago, but have no memory of it happening. You remember everything else about the last decade, but in your memories you have your wings. Yet everyone around you remembers different
ly." Kel nodded. "And now I have them 'back', with no knowledge of how, or why my memories have changed." Davin Sat quietly a moment. "When you entered the River at the edge of Faery," he explained, "you entered the space between Worlds. It's what lies between the different planes of being in this universe, but also what lies between this and myriad alternate universes." "I'm sorry?" Kel said, confused. He'd been exposed to this theory in his classes at the University, but he'd never grasped it. He was no closer to doing so now. "Not yet," Davin muttered. "At any rate," he said, "when you entered there, you were apparently very close to death, both spiritual and physical. The time you spent within the Spark itself was when the actual merger happened." He looked at Kel. "That's what saved your life." "Merger?" Kel became more confused. The Sword of Vega shifted slightly against his hip. Sometimes he could swear it was laughing at him. Davin sighed. "Put simply," he explained, "you were merged with an alternate version of yourself, one who has led a life nearly parallel to yours, save he had his wings." Kel's eyes widened. "But... why? How?" Davin shrugged. "At this point, the Crown only shows me what. I'll have to work on seeing how and why." The Sword was laughing at Kel again. Kel gripped its hilt and opened his mouth to speak. At that moment, Sister Karma approached. "You'll have to excuse us, Champion," she said, "but Davin must meditate upon the Eye." Kel nodded. "Of course," he said. He bid his farewells to Davin, then turned to Sister Karma. "I'd like to-" "She sees no one," the Sister told him, "you know this." "Aye." Kel hung his head. "I just wish..." he looked up. "You told me I was preserving an Age of Wonder," he said accusingly. "You told my mother she ushered one in. But I've seen plenty of horror and darkness and pain in this Age, and now I found these Totems, these... weapons or symbols or whatever they are, will only bring more horror and darkness and pain." He grit his teeth. "It was supposed to get better." "No," Sister Karma said calmly, "you are supposed to make it better. You and the other Adepts." She walked off after Davin, saying over her shoulder, "Perhaps you'd better get to it."

  The Wandering Adept

  The common room of the inn was crowded that night. Along with the guests and the regulars were a troupe of actors on their way to Zilltown, who were attempting to barter a performance in exchange for the copious amounts of food and drink they'd consumed. In the corner, a trio of musicians played tunes lively enough to dance to for those that were interested, but quiet enough not to intrude on the conversations of those who weren't. Whores moved about the tables and barstools seeking customers and three different card games were in varying states of rowdiness. Somehow, through all this, the waitstaff delivered their trays to the appropriate tables and the bartenders managed to keep the drink orders straight. Mandhe sat at a corner table, her back to the wall, facing the door. She ate alone, as she usually did, and shooed away the third whore of the evening who mistook her solitude for loneliness. A young boy brought her order around and served it with a smile. "Here we are," he said cheerfully, "a bowl of stew, loaf of bread, mug of joltbean tea and a glass of water." He placed each item on the table, then eyed Mandhe's beverages, his eyebrow raised. "Nothing from the bar this evening?" he asked innocently. "I don't drink," Mandhe growled. Not since that one horrible night when she learned how drink affected her curse. Fortunately, by the time the killing lust overwhelmed her, she was too drunk to shoot straight. She spent a night in jail for shooting up the tavern, but no one had been hurt. She saw no reason to tempt fate. "Okay," the boy sat down across from her and pointed out Mandhe's clothes. "You a Gunfighter?" When Mandhe didn't answer, having turned her attention to her food, the boy continued. "My mum says the Gunfighters are all dead, that they died years ago. So how can you be a Gunfighter when they're all dead?" "I guess we're not all as dead as everyone thinks," Mandhe said irritably, tearing off a hunk of bread and dipping it in her stew. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" "No," the boy grinned. "You're my last table. So I figured I'd keep you company." "How wonderful for me," Mandhe muttered. She didn't want this kid here, with his smile and his chipper little voice. He was too much like she was, too much like she had been, before a mechanical spirit from the Otherworld ravaged her mind. She continued to eat her soup, intently ignoring the young boy. "So," he said, finally, not taking the hint, "what are you in town for? I saw you check in this afternoon, so I know you aren't just passing through." "Aren't you the clever lad," Mandhe grunted. She ate a few more spoonfuls of soup and washed them down with the last of her water. After wiping her mouth on the napkin, she settled back in her seat, eying the young boy. She reached out and lifted her mug, blowing steam off the surface before taking a sip. Through it all, the boy sat patiently. "If you must know," she said, "I'm here to speak to your sheriff. I understand you've been having a bit of monster trouble." "You're here to kill the monster?!" At the sound of the boy's excited shout, every other sound in the common room went quiet. Mandhe threw her meanest stare around the room and gradually noise returned. Mandhe turned her withering glare at the boy, who shrank back slightly. "Weren't you ever taught to mind your own business, boy?" her voice was a low growl. The boy cast his eyes down. "Sorry," he whispered. Mandhe's face softened and she sighed. "It's all right, kid," she said. "They'll all know sooner or later. I just wanted it to be later." He apologized again. Mandhe waved her hand. "Done is done, boy. I won't hold a grudge." She flashed him the briefest of smiles and he smiled back. She pushed her empty bowl and cup to him, taking another sip from her mug. "Take this on back to the kitchen now," she told him. She laid a handful of coppers on the table to cover the meal. The boy tucked them into a pocket on his apron. Then she tossed him a silver coin. "Here," she said, winking. "I appreciated the company. I'll let you know how it goes with the monster." She finished off her tea, placing the mug with the rest of the dirty dishes before walking toward the stairs. The boy just stared at the shiny silver coin. His tip was twice what the meal cost. He was about to thank her when the front door slammed open. "PACHA!!" Two men entered, the first bellowing to the room. Both were armed, their guns drawn. "Where are you, woman?!" the first one called out. "I know you're stayin'..." his eyes lit on Mandhe, who'd stopped at the bottom step of the staircase. "There you are!" He aimed his gun at her as she turned to face him, seemingly unarmed. "Let's not do this, M'Kendrik," she warned. "I let you walk away last time. You're making me regret that." "Oh, you're going to regret it, girl," M'Kendrik laughed. "That and a whole lot more!" The second man held his gun ready, scanning the crowd for any potential trouble-makers. M'Kendrik pulled the hammer back on his pistol, still ranting. "Gonna make you regret the day you ever crossed Lan M'Kendr-" A bullet made of Spark stopped his voice when it shattered his lower jaw on its way through his face. Lan M'Kendrik fell to the floor, a bloody mess atop his neck. The second man looked from the man he'd come in with to the woman who'd killed him and back. He noticed Mandhe's gun was pointed at him. Her finger twitched near the trigger and she grit her teeth, as though exerting every effort to keep from pulling it. "I don't want to kill you," she told the man through clenched teeth. "I've no argument with you, so why don't you keep it that way." She grunted, and seemed to tug at the black revolver. "Trust me, friend," she said, "you don't want to take a bullet from this gun." The other man apparently agreed, lowering his gun and running from the inn. Servants came into the room and began cleaning up the body. After struggling to force her gun back in its holster, Mandhe turned back to the stairs and continued up toward her room. She heard the normal sounds of the common room start up again behind her as she went. Meanwhile, the young boy held her silver coin to his chest briefly before slipping it into his pocket. Then he carried the pile of dishes back to the kitchen, a wide smile on his face.