Silent Sphere

The Clockwork Cosmos

The Silent Sphere A Powderpunk Faerie Tale in Four Parts Book I of VI Seven Sons for Seven Sisters Stirling Newberry

Prologue The Chorus speaks: Come with me to the clockwork cosmos, where natural laws are defaced by the workings of magic and by the machinations of gods and godlings. A sphere no farther across than in our own world would fit within the orbit of Mercury that fleetest of planets. Within this place 14 recalcitrant deities were sent to learn lessons on how to reign over a universe, and outgrow their selfish lusts. In seven suns were placed seven gods, and in seven spheres placed seven goddesses, with the ferryman of death to watch over them. In this time knights still cling to their lance, and go on quests for their fair ladies ensconced in their towers, but it is a passing age. Instead, younger orders vie for supremacy: new kings, new houses of merchant power, and new men, armed with firearms. Magery of all kinds is loosed on the world: with alchemists mixing subtle compounds, sorcerers and thaumaturges altering the course of events, summoners calling dark and bright spirits, witches using craft to hone the outcomes. Swords are still crossed, but pistols and hackbuts blare in battle, cresting smoke and flash to hurl their shot that rends the flesh. In this cosmos souls struggle to be born, whether in the smallest living thing, or born in great mortal bodies: dragons, monsters, men, and animals. They strive to give themselves a place in the after life that will weigh upon the fate of the worlds. They count spiritual coin as much as they do the chips of metal that are currency in the breathing world. All is woven with the fights of little godlings, who grow fat on worship of their followers, and give small tokens to those that hold their little faith. Each sphere dances on a complex weave, around the seven suns, and each season is made by which sun holds the attention of a sphere, and casts his influence to make night and day. At times, at times, at times, a conjunction allows a god and goddess to incarnate, and there engage in orgy of their divine desires. From these unions come the moons that circle round the spheres. The spheres are close, and by powerful alchemy, ships may sail the ether winds, amongst the creatures that live between them, navigating the swirls and shoals, but only in short leaps, and at very narrow times. In this cosmos the gods and goddesses chatter, endlessly flirting and hoping to arrange their favored unions at favored times, they have learned little in the epoch that they have spent in this prison. The story set at the end of these happy pagan times, when many godlings race to serve their many mortal partners, when there is, as yet, a complex balance that no one god or goddess can betray. Darkness has come and gone many times, but only in clashes over the margins of the power. It has been several generations since any cataclysmic war or plague has marred the sunny times of planting, bearing, and reaping, though ambition's thirst is often slaked in blood. Come with me to the clockwork cosmos, where natural philosophy, rather than natural science, is the basic truth, and stumbling forward are the mortal lives, towards a future as yet unwritten. The Rhyme of Seven The Cosmos is a prison, And sons and sisters locked within, Locked by outer god, for commission of sin, both ordinary and odd. Once a year around the fixed stars spin,

all the Sons and Sisters locked within. The suns are fixed, the spheres do wander, the suns will watch, the spheres will pander.As will and Eorl the eldest is the high Summer Sun, Six weeks around his hot embrace, Six weeks to ripen in his fiery golden face. Tir is the soft Summer mane, who brings days of drizzle and gentle rain. Two weeks is his allotted tour, fourteen days, not one more. Kestral calls for harvest days, four weeks for the stalk and wheat to part ways. Then four weeks with Darith to spend, where cold begins, and journeys end. In spring Hiro first, Alaric next, Sometimes without winter to spirits vex. Four weeks with each is all you'll know, Until another orbit go. And in the distant is Isir, six weeks of ice to teach you fear. And round and round a sphere can go, because he's hard as every sister knows. The seven spheres with their moons in tow are easier to meet, and harder to know, their moods are different and sublime, changing with the season and with the time. Korana of the golden sands and silk oasis Has but the moon Kohepta to put through paces Technashirin of the fiendish born, home of greens and ripened corn. Eowilonwey and her Lilith child are home of cities soft and forests wild. Aliornthia a closer sister is, With four moons born of her skin, Matha of the towers, Inweih of the flowers, Kendra of the showers, and sweet Siona, who idles hours. Tianxian of heaven's mandate,

Two moons Ryka and Weiling are her fate. Then Hilono-a-oh of sultry seas, Has five moons about her knees, Hona, Tula, Ona, Heata, Dira, Islets still without yet friends. Finally terrible Midrash that you will learn, as the place of giant wars, and souls that burn. There three moons circle well: Hecate, Ithira, and one called Hell. The Cosmos is the shell, and we are locked within, but by dance the Gods will tell that they are the ones imprisoned.

Part I i A tower on the surface Eowilonwey, amidst the fir forests of the north, and surrounded by the Sea of Nod. It is locked in an eternal and magical night. On the surface of Eowilonwey, outside, which faces the Seven Suns and all the stars, there is a tower that is under eternal night, where the Suns themselves are at most orbs, but the distant sky is always clear. It is, of course, magic of an eldritch kind, that keeps the blaring haze away, and scatters almost all the clouds. On the other six worlds, there is no place quite like it, and in it lives an astrologer who has seen more time than any other mortal man, having cheated death at cards thrice upon a time. The tower spire rises 50 meters from the ground as black granite, with a spiraling stair around its outside, and windows that are either too bright to look at, or darker than the darkest night. At the top a platform lies, with a railing round. From outside it is hard to tell what is atop it, but everyone knows that it is the most fiendishly complex orrery ever made, rumored to have a sympathetic element of every Sun, every World, and even all the moons that circle them. Whether none of the Seven Suns can be seen, or all together at once, it is possible to watch, and observe even the faintest object. And so, though bent with many years, and with a beard that hangs round and round his shoulders, and drags on the tail of his threadbare robes, the keen-eyed tan skinned astrologer is always there found, tinkering with the orrery, which shows the seven worlds looping around the seven suns, in their whirring progression from station to station in the celestial dance – or almost as often staring into the telescope, and scribbling notes with a fine hand on the velvet creamy vellum imported from Aliorntha, the green and ripe sphere from which the softest feathers, leathers, and women come. There were an array of instruments: the orrery, a very large telescope, several smaller ones, a mechanical clock that tracked the hours, a water-clock that was combined with a fountain, a cage with a mechanical bird, and several other smaller devices of various descriptions. The result is that the air softly clicked, hummed, and spun with the singing of gears, bearings, the ticking of ratchets, the flowing of water, and the variety of bells from each of the instruments. The floor is a curious pattern of tiles, called knot tiles, which never quite seem to repeat, but have a strange cadence and order to them, highlighted by the bright ceramic glaze colors of blues and oranges. Glints of light reflected from the moons and on to the floor shine here and there, creating small five pointed bits of scintillation in the eternal darkness. The tiles are worn, because long in the past he had many visitors. But the astrologer is long past caring of the comings and goings of people, and their throngs, or even of his machines save the one he is using, instead he cares only to stare beyond the stars, into what lies beyond, and listens to the ether chatter of the gods imprisoned in the seven suns, and the goddesses imprisoned in the seven worlds, and the mewlings of the moons as they grow from birth to adolescence. He listens as the sons within the suns maneuver and flirt to attract the sisters in the spheres, beckoning, enticing, hoping to join with them at the proper conjunction, and, perhaps, there to conceive a deitic soul that could be come a moon. He listens and then in an instant startles, because Korana has gone silent. She of al-lat, of almond eyes and almond skin. She, the sphere he was born within, on Arafar, the continent that splays like an octagonal star, in the city of Bahir. The city whose eight gates and eight minarets are famed, which sits upon the gate between the outer skin of Korana, and the inner lands were most people live, and thus is one of the great trading ports between the worlds. He knows and loves her ether voice more than any other, and has another memory that is not his, but was left with him. She falls silent, and his brow furrows. This has never happened, not in his memory, nor in any book he has read that he trusts, nor in the mention of any spirit, dragon, or deity he has heard. He swings the telescope to see her, though she is not far away. He notices nothing amiss, except, perhaps, it is hard to focus. The clarity is not there. But this is common enough, it could be anything, from

turbulent nymphs of the air, to more malign influences in the aether between them. But he is concerned, and realizes that he needs more wisdom than is in his charts. He sobs a moment, feeling cut off from his place of birth, and more distant than in all the years since he was within Korana, truly alone. His eye tremors, but his body is too decrepit for tears. Korana is the last spirit in all the worlds that he cared for, save for one human friend he has left. He ponders, knowing that none of the seven sons care to speak to him, as he flouts their radiance by taking over the tower raised on this peculiar spot, and the six daughters do not deign to notice anyone that the sons will not speak to. So he listens to their chatter and waits. He knows they must know, if she is truly silent. Perhaps that is it, he thinks, it is just some eddy in the ether that carries her words away. But then, as he listens, he notices that she is not called to, nor is their any hanging question or solicitation that implies her presence. No invitation, no plotting for the next conjunction, no recounting of some time by a son when he and she were incarnate, and enjoyed the physical caress of sexual and spiritual union. No wry joke, or witty aside on the other dancers, or the dance. She is silent not only to his ears, but erased from the conversation. His face grows black, and his white beard twitches like a tail. He needs more knowledge, and walks to the rail leaning out and looking. He thinks, perhaps, that a comet is blocking all her influence. This he knows is possible, at least in theory: a truly malign comet could do this, though it never has before. But such a comet would be a blazon banner, striking a streak across the sky that would make mortals quake. He sees no such thing. What he does realize is that his eyes have failed to focus, and that, in fact, he can see ribbons of darkness around Korana, that look like clouds, but are beyond the ayres of the world he stands on, Eowilonwey, also called Eo for brevity's sake. And so he thinks, and realizes that it is time to consult with more than mortal sources. Would, he thinks, that he were a summoner, but such is forbidden to any who watch the stars, because the influence could suck the summoner down, or the summoned up. And, if nothing else, he is a creature of order. So he walks to his desk, covered with scrolls and the tools of his trade: fine astrolabes, several clocks in various states of assembly, compasses, rulers, acids, inks, annealing bowls, and picks up a large ring, upon that are so many keys that it is impossible to guess how many. Some are gold and jeweled, others are tiny, many are rusted or tarnished. One small key shines with many colors, and it is this one that he picks. From there he walks to a gilt cage, where within is a small mechanical sparrow, made of silver and lapis lazuli, with feathers of the finest wrought precious metals of many kinds, and meticulous craftsmanship to form each soft feather in its plumage. Once is was polished, but now has dulled with years, looking all the more valuable for its age. It sits with one leg down, as if roosting. He winds in carefully, and then whispers a message into its ear, that turns the thousand clever gears within, and stores his breath inside a tiny sphere of curious metal. He opens a small door between the wings, shifts the gears about, and tosses the bird into the air. It opens its wings, and takes flight of its own, flapping off into the distance. His old dear friend, a summoner of some renown, will hear it sing his message in his ear, however far he may be. Since it is common for that friend to be wandering the great wood that covers much of this sphere, searching for rare woods that, when burned, will produce the proper smoke to call spirits from the vasty deep, he hopes that it will not be long. But who knows? Sometimes the summoner, means sometimes the summoned, and the bird would have to hover until his return from which ever dark lamented place he abides in. In this place, where Lilith the moon by some fiendish mirror magic is always mirrored in five places through the sky, days are not counted as in other places. Instead, he trusts the orrery, and a small homunculus who turns a small hour-glass over and over again. He turns to it, and tells it to begin counting from this moment until the sparrow's return. It doffs its tiny velvet cap, and mumbles numbers under its breath. He then sets down and begins writing several letters, some to people who are important, and others who merely think they are. This is news, and while there are others who listen to the ether as

well, they are few, and some are not always generous with what they hear. He sets down the account of what he knows so far, and with a pantograph making copies, he is soon ready to send these off. But he has only one mechanical bird, and not being a summoner, has few spirits at his service – the hourglass homunculus was a gift, you see – he then walks down to the base of the tower. His doorman, one of his only servants, is snoring away, as usual it might be said, and has to be roused. He takes out two small silver coins, and instructs his doorman to make haste to where these can be distributed. The town is two day's ride away, and it is urgent. Or, thinks the astrologer, as urgent as the affairs of mortals can be when speaking of the seven sons and seven sisters. He slowly makes his way back to his observatory, and sits to rest, the flourish of activity has made him tired. He awakens from his slumber sometime later, and begins writing a letter. To Myself I have become forgetful of little things of late, and you must be even more so, so I am sending me this letter from myself, in hopes that if I have forgotten anything, this letter will serve as sufficient reminder. On the back I copy out the celestial positions from the orrery, and the counting of my clock, so that you will know how long it has been since this letter was written. Of the event that precipitates it, there can be no doubt at all: Korana has gone silent. I hope it is some unique and perfidious part of the complexities of The Dance between The Dancers. I hope it is some malicious influence, or a comet that is black as night and which I cannot see. I hope that it is some event that, even if it is without precedent, is a temporary interloping in the progression of the spheres. But I fear it is not. As our little universe is a hollow sphere, within that the Seven Suns and Seven Spheres are made to imprison the Seven Sons and Seven Sisters, it cannot help but be true that malicious and malign events, even on this scale, are created and intended as a punishment. The great hierophants of the outer gods speak of the endless evil that is possible, and of the torments that reign beyond the skin of the skin, where the dead cling to it, fearing what will happen should they be sucked into the vastness of the outer space. Since they seem to speak from some communication with the outer that I have never quite understood, but can sense when they perform it, you, meaning me, must trust me when I say that this is a grave situation. Let me then summary the actions that I have taken. I have sent Sparrow to the Summoner, so that he might call forth those with more knowledge than mortals are allowed to remember. I have written a letter expressing the gravest urgency of the situation, and warning all of the hazard to navigation. I am going to set down a trace of the orrery, so that what happens after this will have indelible record. I am writing this letter to you. I have made a careful search for comets, of which I have found none, but will make another. After this, I will ring the tower bell, and it will attract those who are supposed to hear it. Also the homunculus is on a count from this time, so please do not give another instruction, as he is easily confused. Miraculous Korana that gave birth to us is silent, and it is incumbent that you, meaning me, make all efforts. My head is weary, and I will sleep again after ringing the bell. It is impossible for me to believe that I have taken all necessary steps, so concentrate carefully and rouse what is left of our, meaning my, brain, to the tasks that will further effectuate what is needed. Jehanjir Al-Akbar, Astrologer After this he then slowly walked down a small spiral stair through a hole in the floor, and there inside a room of seven windows, that can only be seen out of, not into, there is a vast inverted half sphere, made of bluish porcelain, and a large hammer with that to strike it. It has been a very long time since he could lift the hammer, and so he carefully made a set of gears that would allow him to loose the power in a spring, a spring wound by a waterwheel that catches the occasional rain, and stores the

trickling of it. It is rare for him to ring the bell more than once in an ordinary lifetime, and so, this is enough. He has many times thought to improve the mechanism, but a windmill's constant moving would distract him, and as well the spirits of the air, and it is a very long way to the stream itself, as it is behind the rocks, and through the small wood nearby. It would be a great deal of work to erect a second waterwheel, and he had only dallies with plans for it. Too many other things to do with his time, and his limited energy. Ah, to be old again, he thought. Perhaps two hundred would be perfect. But that was a long time ago. He gently looses the lever, wrapped in polished leather, and warm to his touch, he can feel the small homunculi scatter from it, used, as they are, to sitting and resting, so rarely is it used. There is an observable, though barely observable, darkening of the air, and a flickering of the lantern, as they rush either away from the gears, or about their appointed tasks of turning the coil of the spring into movement. The hammer, wrapped in silk, strikes the bell, and there is not a sound. Not a sound, but a sense, that something has happened. Something wondrous and dreadful all at once. At the same time there is trepidation that shakes the bowels, and a moment of elan. He draws breath, stands up straight, and then straighter, for it is the property of this bell, to give vigor to those the sound is meant for, in proportion to the danger. He is not merely aged, nor even old, he feels young again. The sensation is so striking that he cannot believe. it. And so, he walks back upstairs, takes out a mirror, polished of platinum and looks into it. Staring back is firm and full flesh, though a bit lined with cares. He is not the ancient astrologer any more, but a man of perhaps, fifty years of age, with only the slightest of gray at his temples, and a short smartly clipped, and still mostly black salt and pepper beard. His cheeks are not hollowed out, though he is still markedly thin. He looks down and sees hands that are still subtle and strong, not claws of arthritis that they were moments before. This effect sweeps across him, and his mind is shaking in terror, even as his body feels a health and youth that is long forgotten past forgetting. His muscles are tense, but inside he rattles, and shakes, and he runs to the privy because his insides cannot contain his last meal. He does not know which end will rebel first, and spends several minutes vomiting out from his mouth, and then feeling as if his intestines are ready to drop out of his body and down into the abyss. He is about to call for his valet, but realizes that while he is spattered with the consequences of his illness, he is also easily hale enough to clean up his own mess, and thus forgo both the humiliation, and the requirement of explaining what has happened. Thus he deftly steals his way up to the day bed that is on the roof observatory, made of scarlet velvet and embroidered with gold thread in floral designs, and takes out his spare set of clothes that is laid there, and doffs the hose, undertunic, robe, and sandals. He looks at himself in the mirror, and then takes a turban that normally rests on a hook beside his desk. It has been a long time since he could wear it, even the linen would be too heavy, let alone the ruby set in the center of the forehead, whose pin is made of almost unbreakable metal, a sliver of the mattock of a titan. He nestles it smartly on his head, and stares at himself in the mirror. Truly, he thinks, we are utterly doomed. Never has the bell given such youth. He knows that it will only last as long as the emergency, but he is certain that this is a portent that he is destined to die young. The bell has peeled away centuries, he thinks, that means destiny has taken away whatever years I have left. It is a pity that part of his deal with death, was that he would never again cast his own horoscope. But then, he mused, perhaps it is better to meet ones end unknowing, the way a virgin never knows what awaits her in the marriage bed. Or a groom the morning after. Or a mortal, enthused by the spirit of a son, does not know what it will mean to watch as his body couples with a mortal woman who is similarly possessed by a sister's spirit, and what violent upheavals in spirit and flesh are possible when sun and sphere truly align. That night is burned upon his brain, and the energy it gave him sustains him still. He sets about his work with haste, fixing the myriad problems that have accumulated with the

orrery, and his telescopes, and every other piece of equipment. He knows he will need all of them. He then waits and looks out in every direction, hoping to see some trace of coming aid. He swings a small refractor around, and spies across the horizon, which is blocked in many places by stands of firs, but that also looks out over the sea that surrounds his island. It is open water now, because not long before Eowilonwey was dancing with Eorl, the big, bright, yellow sun of High Summer. Thus, right now, while she is taking a chaste and formal turn with Tir, the sphere is still warm with the near embrace that she and Eorl shared. It was a bumpy ride, but the glow was still upon the world. Just then a meteorite glowed and continued to fall, and he knew almost after the first instant this was meant for him. The bolt grew brighter and closer, and finally floated to a stop. He might have been terrified, except there was a deep and mortal calm upon him, all fear having been wrenched out of his gut. Then it hovered, and in the blue-white glow, he could see a figure like a man, only 3 meters tall, wearing a light white robe, and extending white feathered wings. Around his waist a simple belt that seemed made merely of rope, but was, on second inspection, wound of polished stones, which none the less retained a flexibility. He could see the ripples in marble, and the flecks of mica in the feldspar. And the spirits face was stern and noble, the spirits flesh was like a dark opal, with eyes like quicksilver, seeming to flow. There was fire that sparked from his wings, and he held a trumpet. And it spoke unto him. “Fear not. I am sent unto thee by one who loves you.” “It is a little late for fearing not dread angel. Who has sent you? I know of no one who loves me.” “She asks not to be named but it is she who told me to come to you, as the only mortal man who might aid her in her hour of need.” “I was born on Korana, do you have word of what events have unfolded there?” “I can only tell you that it is dire, she knew not else.” Jehanjir nodded. “Is this all?” “No, I have more, from another source, one whose name is not known to you, or to most in this, the prison of the Seven and Seven.” “An outer god?” “If you will.” “Then pour forth what you have, so that your knowledge might become my wisdom.” “It is so: this is an event that marks a turning in the tide.” “What have mortal men to do with this? We are beneath ants to even the spirits of power and excellence here. My lords and you lord, are much beyond even the mightiest.” “And so it is, and thus I come and speak to thee.” “Why not the dragons of the aether, whose wings are miles long?” “They would be sense as soon as they fluttered breath of wing.” “Why not the djinn of many faces, whose reach can stretch from sphere to her moons and turn them?” “There weighty steps would creak should they even move.” “Why not the daemons of the abyss, who belch and then consume whole comets?” “Their stench would poison the aether.” “So the great spirits who I have not named, would they also be as this?” “The wyrms and all the others would be to evident in their presence or their absence.” “Why not homunculi? Are there no nymphs or maenads, triads, or satyrs? What of the million unborn souls whose task it is to run the cosmos?” “They have no freewill, and can only fleck the flecks of foam from the ocean of time. They cannot wish away what is willed.” “And of lesser incarnate beings? Would they not be more perfect spies?”

“Only the middle races will do, those who are less, are too little, but those who are even a shade more, are too much. Though, of course, humans are not alone in this, it is they who straddle the perfect balance.” “But what could I do, or even an army, or all the fleets in all the spheres do?” “You are commanded thus: voyage to Korana, and make report of what you find there.” “But you just came from hence, surely your perfect senses know more than I could know.” “Even now Korana is descending into a shroud of darkened ether, that would drive an angel mad to stare at it.” “And how could I voyage there?” “You rang the bell, it sluiced me here to speak to you, and it also calls the aid of others who will be your companions in this geas.” “And not you?” “No, I am fading, my time of times is done, and I, as spirit unborn, will vanish as the dew.” “You gave your existence for this?” “For my lady, and for the sister that she serves, I do so gladly and with a bright heart, hoping, perhaps, that I will return to the slumber and be allowed to be born in mortal case.” “It is rare that your kind is this allowed?” “Rare, but not so rare as gold, nor as common as silver is to you.” “Is there nothing more?” The angel pulled forth a bone casing for a scroll, and handed it to Jehanjir. “This will aid you, but do not open it on any sphere, but only beyond the orbit of any moon.” “I thank you and take these your gifts. I wish you well in all your hopes.” With this the glowing orb vanished, leaving only Jehanjir under the sky. He waited for his eyes to readjust to the darkness, and then set down the sum of the conversation. He was half way through, when he chanced to look up from his writing. He could hear a faint whirring sound, and he realized it was the Sparrow, wending its way through the sky towards him. He checked with the homunculus, it has been 1/360 of a sidereal year exactly, since he sent it out. He mentally calculated, that this meant it could have covered half the outer globe. He watched as it came gliding to a stop, and alit on the top of its wicker cage. Its wings stopped, and it stood there for a moment. But then it exploded, with springs and gears and all the workings scattering in all directions, and only then was there a man sitting on the stool where the now crushed cage once sat. He was extremely tall, though not gigantic, and just barely slender rather than lanky, and wore his 60 years lightly. He was dressed, not in robes, but in pantaloons and a leather jerkin, a fine rapier hanging from a belt. A broad-brimmed hat much of his chiseled features, and this was intentional, as with many of his art, he had sacrificed an eye for a sight into the spirit realm, and disguised this disformity. In his hand was a globe, and from his belt hung the tools of his trade, either naked or in pouches. He blinked, and then looked at the hale figure before him. It was hard to tell his origin among the worlds: his face looked like an amalgam of many times and places, and was slightly, though noticeably, asymmetrical, with long hollowness that made many people feel they had just looked at a cut of meat rather than a steak. His skin could have been tanned, or merely the color of coffee with cream by nature, it was impossible to say whether he lived outdoors or indoors, since he had a roughness about him, but it was not a coarse worn sensation. “I see the spirit of Jehanjir, but not the body? I did not know you had access to such a glamour.” “No illusion, but real. The porcelain bell was rung, and this is the result. I am transformed to a younger man. Summoner, meet me as I was when the worlds were younger, when there were two fewer moons, and many fewer fallen souls. What I would like to know, is how you got here.” The slender man stood up, and looked around, and then examined Jehanjir. His own hair was stringy, and one could tell from careful observation that he was almost bald, but allowed what remained to grow to his shoulders falling in rather stringy waves.

“That was simple, though at some cost to the bird. I wound it with one hand, and set the gears, but with the other I imprisoned myself in a small shell, and when I was sucked in, the bird was free to fly. I had already whispered the counter spell to the bird, and so, it arrived before you, and delivered an almost soundless message: me, in a bottle, as it were.” “Ingenious. Fiendishly so, old friend.” They embraced, but as they pulled back the Summoner spoke: “In my work, it is unhealthy to compare oneself to fiends. They hear well, but listen poorly.” “Fair enough then, may any fiend listening take it as a compliment to their legendary acumen, and not your comparing yourself to them.” There was a rumble from the ground, obviously, a fiend had been listening, and the entire tower trembled. “How could the bell have done this?” “It is the great bell made on the sphere of Tianxian, in the great castle of Baojing. A whole city of bones were ground to make it.” “How could a thing built of such slaughter be good?” “You do not know the tale? I thought I had told you.” “No, you did not.” “The city was slaughtered, but their souls still bound to their bodies. By giving their bones in sacrifice, the departed gained great spiritual wealth for their afterlife, rather than underneath as imprisoned ghouls. By sacrificing, and giving the greater necromancer Jain-Lo Wang the power to defeat the evil, they went on. The bell rings with the might of a city of the dead. It is a greater artifact than any I have.” “I say again, I am merely clever, it is you who are ingenious.” “This tower, and this bell, are not of my workmanship.” “But it is you who have the means to control them.” “Perhaps I have a turn or two that bends things to my will.” “A turn or two. So, the bell cares nothing for me, I am as aged as ever, and feeling it in my bones. I, unlike you, have never been enthused, and if I were, I doubt I would have had your courage to then bet death on a single turn of the cards. What am I here for?” “I need you to summon some spirit from the ether who might be able to tell us more of Koran’s falling silent. We need to mount an expedition and report on what we find.” “We? I am not to leave this sphere without permission from Eowilonwey herself, and she's not speaking to me.” “I mean we in the broader sense.” “You mean, 'we, not you.' Oh for the nuances of an older tongue.” “We can use the Elder, my friend, if you have improved your use of it since last we met.” “A turn or two with some older spirits has done me some good.” He winked and smiled. His friend gently slipped to a language that was before languages, and they conversed in that high speech that was used to lay the course of the cosmos. It is a slow and ponderous tongue, exact beyond exact, and it took them the better part of a day to decide how best to proceed. Jehanjir would cast a horoscope, and select from those who he had cast at their birth, while the summoner would call forth an ether nymph he knew, and ask for a boon of knowledge. In return for what, he did not say, but nymphs have voracious appetites, and of many kinds. After some time of casting, Jehanjir grumbled. “I thought I would be going on this expedition, however, it is clear I am not.” “How do you know?” “Because I am able to cast the course of part of it, which means that I am not involved in the voyage.” “Perhaps you are to remain here.”

“So, it seems. And what of your efforts?” “I am ready any time, in contrast to most of my ilk, I carry all I need, and lithe gossamer skill substitutes for weight ingredients.” And by ilk he meant exactly that: summoners cease to use their name, and are called merely 'Summoner' ever after. Jehanjir nodded, and Summoner took out a small fine-grained powder, he traced off a lazy magic circle, that was none the less closer than others could make even with a compass, and inscribed in it a pentagram. The summoning pentangle thus formed he used the grains to write a series of complex characters around the outside, and then traced around this another circle. With a flourish he tossed out a spark – a wholly natural one from a bit of phosphorus – and the entire inscribed circle burst up into flames. For a moment, it seemed to vanish, but then, very slowly a greenish glow began to fade into appearance, it grew steadily, until it was as bright as a gas lantern. The glow pulsated from barely perceptible to bright at an irregular interval after that. Just as slowly a figure began to form in the center, it was like a man, but much taller and squashed in by the sides of the circle uncomfortably, much as if it had been poured into a tall glass. The face was grotesque on its own terms: much like a comedy mask filled out with flesh and given huge teeth, with a bulbous nose and large grimacing cheeks. At top the bald head were horns that were the color of ivory, as were the claws on the feet and hands. In fact, there were four hands, pressed against the sides of the circle. The body was immensely muscled, and the skin was a blood ochre red. Squashed against the circle was a pair of oversized testicles and a large penis that had a distinct hook at its fleshy end. Heat and moisture exuded off of the spirit, and a mist flowed off the circle as a result, forming itself into a cloud over the entire observatory, and filling the air with a thick fog that spilled out over the edges of the observatory. The spirit spoke, its bass voice resonant with scorn. “You, again.” “Until you get a life, I have certain, privileges, Zireal.” “Or you get an afterlife.” “I'm sure you'll be happy to arrange that, but, I think you know, at the moment my spiritual balance is quite positive, my life, consisting as it does, of making preter-life difficult for nasty, naughty, spirits like yourself.” It grimaced and bucked against the sides of the circle. “Must this be so uncomfortable?” “I think we both remember what you can do given even the smallest freedom of movement.” There was a deep tiger growl in response. “Make this quick.” “In a hurry, as usual, I see.” The Summoner sighed. Another growl. “Make this quick.” “Korana has gone silent. I am going to ask you how this has affected your tasks.” “Her sphere blocks the ether, and it is pulling all near it in. There have been no collisions as of yet of anything endowed with spirit, soul, or sentience, but it is a matter of time. The dragons hover in a ring around her, watching. But nothing that has gone in, has come out, and not one word has been breathed in the ether of it by any of the Sons, or Sisters. They avoid it, for the moment, as a topic.” “But surely they know.” “Their silence is profoundly deafening, and the terror oozes out across space. Yes, they know, and they know others know.” “Have you heard anything that they whisper?” “Those are blocked to me, but we all can feel they are happening.” “How so?” “I believe that they have agreed that Isir will take Korana around him, far out of the way of the

rest of the dance.” “No winter until this is over?” “The opposite, all the spheres will be strung like pearls, locked in frozen darkness, orbiting around Isir alone.” “Is this your belief? Or a rumor?” “It was done before, several times, but for different reasons.” “Why?” “A conflict, between the dragons and the Seven Sons. It was foolish, and many suffered for it. You should remember that, from your preter-life.” The Summoner gazed into the distance, as if pulling a memory from beyond the veil, for as such he was. He took a brief breath in. “That was when we righted the worlds.” “That was our task, yes. It had its virtues. Now, let me go, please.” “Since you ask so nicely.” “You had a name once, if you let me cast it you would remember so much more easily.” “Prefer the living Lethe, to the preter-living Styx.” The Summoner traced the lock, that would prevent any revenge for the summoning. It was not ornately phrase, but, instead, had a brute simplicity that came from raw power and excellence. He lit this on fire, it vanished in a sulfur laden burn, and with that came to glow. Then the characters began to spin around the original magic circle, gradually contracting until the carved the circle in half. The circle, once violated vanished, and with it, its occupant, but slowly, leaving behind a white shadow that none the less, seemed darker than all around it. Jehanjir had hidden his eyes, not wanting to absorb the forbidden, to him, knowledge, but, of course, heard all. “My friend, who or what is that? The Summoner smiled. “In preter-life, before I was born as I am, I was his wife as an ether fiend, We swept the orbits of the world of the debris that they trail behind.” “His wife? “Yes. There are reasons why souls give up such power and excellence of being effreet or djinn, or angel, or fiend, in order to be encased in mortal flesh. But listen to me Jehanjir. Listen well. I do not fear death. I have a tun of spiritual treasure, and many friends. When I go on I will pay the fare to the sphere of stars, and live well among others who share my art. You are forbidden knowledge of those who keep the gates, but they and I are old companions. You, however, have only the spiritual coin that you had on the day you played cards with death. It is a meagre handful, without even the single golden coin to take you from the sphere upon which you die. Either you will be dragged bellow, or wander as an unquiet undead. You need to go, however you go, you need this quest, for it will make your afterlife.” The astrologer sighed. “I wish I could, but my going would mean that the future would be unknown.” “Cast it without you, and ask yourself whether you could live with that result for all eternity, that you ran from the turn of an unfriendly card.” Jehanjir frowned, and returned to his casting. The Summoner called forth lesser winged spirits, and sent for the people who Jehanjir selected, there were far to many to go, and some way of winnowing would have to be found. Then, after some hours of this, Jehanjir stopped. “I am an old fool in a new bottle.” This declaration prompted the summoner to look up from a glass of wine that he had poured. “Hmmm?” “There is a point beyond that I cannot cast. Clearly, I think, you are meant to imprison me, place

me on the ship, so that we can escape from this world without detection.” “And then break you out?” “You are not going.” “I knew that. I could not elude the notice of a dragon thrice sleeping and deeply drunk, however sated on his mate he might be. I must remain here.” “And you are right, master summoner, I must go.” “Yes. This is your quest, for which you were born too soon.” “It is good to be young again. Perhaps it would be a pity to waste it on being old.” They set back to tasks, and waited for the coming of the applicants for the quest. ii They gathered on the observatory, Jehanjir taking turns showing each arrival one by one, the haze around Korana, and extending outward around her like spiral scarves in a twirling dance. At her crowns were barely visible the silvery blue and green beads of her aurora, shrouded, as they were, by the black. Indeed, the strands were blacker than black. Since Korana was known for her soft beige glow, and the sparkling sands and bright blue sees, any who knew her at all were startled. In another corner the Summoner was explaining that even the powerful spirits of the space deep, were trembling in terror at what this could mean. There were a scattering of people of different professions, though hardly representative. There were first a mass of merchants and captains, clustered around the astrologer, trying hard to look as if they understood his explanations. They were in pantaloons, boots, light jerkins, or light armor. They were all brutally clean, or rank of many days of voyaging. Sleekly shaven, or with scurry beards. The second cluster were priests and priestesses, of deities both minor and local up to a representative of the grand hierophants. They were in long robes, sometimes cinched close around chest or waist, but often left flowing. It was clear that they had a wide variety of circumstances. Some were emaciated from fasting and poverty, others were replete with rolls of copious fat, and given to shining ornaments. The third cluster were of diverse costumes, but clearly all were of foreign missions of various worlds, including, it might be added, one whose home city was on Korana. He was not of any particular high rank, but was the best that could be found. The missions and heralds were either in the uniform of office, or, in many cases, merely their native costume. Some clearly had had more time to groom than others, and were decked with signs of office. The fourth cluster were clearly those of arms, mostly hackbut and swordsmen, and swords women, to a few captains on horse, and one massive man who towered above all others, with a barrel sized maul on his shoulder. It seemed to be made of almost solid stone. All were in shape, and they varied from young to old according to their experience. While many had individual adornments of great price, all were as practically dressed as could be imagined, with breastplates, or chain, or leather boiled in wax, or other forms of self-protection. Many had full metal helms that ran across their back, and several clearly were habitues of heavy plate when fighting in close pike ranks. The last cluster, and smallest, were seven mages. Not all of the magicks were represented, and almost all were older men. The local university did not permit women to teach, and most were from there. Jehanjir was expecting a later arrival who would help balance the lot. Mages were all in traditional black academic robes, and most were wearing the mortarboard and tassel of academic life. The clusters broke down at times but almost always reformed. After an hour of chatter and milling around, one man, a heavy-set man, replete with the prosperity of this world and the poverty of the next, stood up on the day bed and banged his gavel into a gong his servant below him held. He was in rich and lustrous brown silks and velvets from head to

toe, with high boots that cuffed half way up his legs. Rich rope braids of office were on both shoulders, as he was both Lord High Mayor, and Admiral of the Fleet. His name was Bartine, Lord High Mayor Admiral Bartine dun Aberwon. He affected an oiled beard and mustache, in a style he liked to imagine was as sophisticated as those on Korana, where men were known to take great care in their appearance. Instead, it looked as if it were carved of something and screwed to his lip. “Greetings all, greetings all! We have come here and the kind and generous invitation of the Master Astrologer, Jehanjir al-Akbar, and I first must thank him for his munificence and bounty.” There was a general coughing, and some shuffling. The mayor had expected more of a response. But he plunged forward. “I do not understand all of the nature of their woeful tidings, but it is clear that this is a disastrous event, even as it is, marked by no comet to underline the portenticity of the event.” This got little attention. “Let me remind all that trade is the life blood of worlds, and I do not see a man or woman here dress only in homespun and local leather. We are all involved in anything that might disrupt trade.” There was some nodding about this from the contingent of merchant captains. There were board looks from some, but not many, because one thing all these professions had in common was regular dosing in turgidity. “As I understand our illustrious hosts, it falls to us to mount an expedition, and report back with whatever knowledge we can glean.” “Will there be a reward? Who is backing this?” This from one of the merchants. Another cried out. “Better to form a joint stock company and send grab all the ships that can make it. The markup will be truly remarkable. Miraculous.” At this there was some general nodding. “What say you, astrologer?” “This is the fate of worlds, and you think to make one last run for profit?” “And why not? According to your own numbers Korana will have to head out, we can jump, catch, have days to pack up with whatever can be gotten cash, or paid to escape, and be back out. I think if it is as bad as you say, then many would be willing to pay handsomely. We'd be in position in a bit over a week, and so could equip quite a squadron.” The astrologer, used to centuries of decrepitude was shocked at the force of his own voice. “I will not have my home turned into the trading floor of Al-huran, or Wood Street. You can do this if you wish, but you will have no help from me.” At this point, the Mayor, who despite his fumbling exterior, was no fool, broke in. “Jehanjir, no one is turning this into a trading floor. But how can we, a poor world, bear the cost of this alone? And a profit will give all an encouragement to get out. From time out of mind, merchants have been spies for others, making and taking a profit, but doing good for god and goddess. Why not now? Your expedition would be a naked one. A ruse, a pretense at least, of other motives, would certainly go far to deflect any unwelcome attentions. You admit they are there yourself. And what better lie than the truth.” Jehanjir stopped, the honey tongue was beckoning to him. The mayor continued: “Why not hide one ship among several? Where is the best place to hide a key?” The mayor pointed at the astrologer's own key. At this Jehanjir chuckled. “You almost had me, your gracious lord mayor. I was leaning into your words. Truly I must confess, I had underestimated your abilities. But the key was wrong. The best place to hide a key, is to have it in your head alone. Go in peace, anyone who wishes to take this expedition for trade and profit, but stay those who would seek the excellence of a quest to save the goddess Korana.” There was mumbling and more than half the crowd marched out. The huge warrior looked back and forth, trying to decide, but finally he gave a low but sheepish bow, and trailed out behind the others. The mayor left lest, with several bows and abject apologies.

Of those who were left, religious figures and mages were now far more represented. Not one warrior remained, and only a few captains. Finally one man, with a rounded face and stern features, a bit weathered, but still not by any means old, looked up, he'd been cleaning his nails wit the point of a dirk, and seemed oblivious to the carry on. He slipped his dirk back in his boot. “I am the man to take this expedition out. T'is good riddance to the mob, because most have done little but leap from a world, and wait to be swept up by the next, plying only such ether wind as they need for stability or correction. That is not what is needed. The admiral, who you under-estimated, you under-estimate again. He's among a small and select group that have commanded squadrons in battle. Bartine has lost the three battles he has led, but he has been in them, and could pilot a cast of a dozen to Korana, even on these evil tides. However, he's the only one they have.” “I don't recognize you.” It was a lithe and tiny woman with features that marked her as from Tianxian. She was dressed in nearly sheer silks of bright reds, scarlets, yellows, oranges and whites, that layer upon layer gave only the suggestion of her tiny body. But it was a rather heavy suggestion of how they clung to her breasts, and slithered around her hips. She was almost the shortest person there, but her gravity and utterly unlined serenity of mien gave her a height in the eyes of those who looked upon her. “I'm Captain Niccolo. No last name, given or asked for.” “Well Captain Niccolo, I have heard many boasts from many men. How are we to measure your instrument while it is so keenly sheathed.” There was some nodding among the four Captains left, and one or two stifled giggles, but then the astrologer looked over at his table and glanced among the horoscopes that remained. He nodded, but said nothing. One of the other captains looked at him. “Come now, tell us what you see. I am all for glory beyond glory and undying honor, but not if I am not the right man.” “Oh I think you are the right man, but not for this. We will need to raise the defenses here, and the Admiral seems to be tilted towards the offense.” He picked up a sheet of aged parchment and held it between to fingers. “I see leadership here, and in abundance, the trines are powerful, in it, but not for the voyage. Would you Captain Blackmore, become the Admiral here? That is how I wold vote.” The captain, hugely broad-shouldered and barrel chested, with a shock of black hair on his head and black curly hair on his chest, smirked. “I imagine that the other captains would have something to say about that.” “Oh I imagine they will not be so proud so soon. Will you do it? I will write to some key people, and you will have summoned to your disposal, ” here he cast a sidelong glance at the Summoner, “aid of an indispensable nature.” The Summoner smiled. “Ah its been ages since I've had a chance to relax in the backwaters of human court intrigue. Come with me Captain Blackmore, I think we have plans to lay.” With this he placed a friendly arm around the soon to be Admiral's shoulder, and began walking to a corner of the observatory, where he unrolled a map and began making pointed gestures too and fro. “I would suggest that you, my honorable captains, are best suited for the plans that are being made over there, Niccolo is the man for this season.” “It seems you are in command here, Astrologer.” “It was I who saw and see the danger, and I do not believe that others do. And you are.” “A princess of the Empire, daughter of the holder of the Mandate of Heaven, and sorceress of the Forbidden Palace. Call me your highness.” The astrologer made an elaborate bow, but did not kowtow as was the custom in the Empire of the Jade Throne from which she came. She raised an eyebrow, but accepted that this was as much protocol as she was going to receive. She knew that he, coming from Korana, knew equally elaborate forms of personal debasement before leaders, but he seemed to have forgotten them.

“Princess the mandate of heaven is not upon any of us. And I would wish you give your name.” He pointed to where Korana should have been showing brightly in the sky, but instead was a barely visible black blotch. “Very well then, you may refer to me as Highness Si-yeona. So you declare that it is on you?” “Thank you Princess Si-yeona, Do you pretend to read the heavens better than I?” She stopped, thinking carefully. “I am here because I was asked, not commanded.” “And it is I who select who to bestow my knowledge on. I choose Niccolo, but of the rest of the crew, I will leave that to others, though I would offer advice if asked.” “And what would be your advice?” “That two of the members I would advise are not here.” “Oh really?” Just at this moment a clamor broke out from far below, and everyone went to the rail to look down. What became evident from a glance downward, was that the Mayor and others had not gone very far, and had clustered together at the foot of the tower. The astrologer swung a small telescope downward, and observed the goings on, while others merely watched. After viewing quickly, Jehanjir began walking down the spiral stair, to deal with what appeared to be a disturbance iii Once there, the arrivals from the top saw the following sight, arrayed in a circle were the warriors and captains, in the center, the Mayor was acting as a martial, and the huge man with the maul was squaring off against a much slighter man armed only with a rapier and a hatchet that hung from his belt. He wore heavy manchette type gloves on both of his hands, an indication that he often used two weapons. The larger man was in a tunic with a “V” cut that went down to his belt, he swung his huge maul easily around his head and then positioned himself, legs spread apart, holding the maul cocked back. Clearly he had a simple plan: crush the ant on the first blow, before he could even be touched. The man with the rapier however simply stood, rapier pointed down, not even taking any of the fighting stances, he let the point scratch the dirt on the ground a bit, and now and again kicked at a clump of grass with the toe of his left boot. The Mayor looked at both holding a broadsword out between them. “Are thee gentles ready for this Pas d'armes?” “Aye.” The voice of the large man was echoingly resonant. “I have a question for my esteemed opponent first.” “What?” “Will you reconsider this as a touch duel?” “I shall grind your bones little man.” “I will give you a chance to reconsider, it would be a waste.” “You will not pass me.” The smaller man sighed and frowned. He spent several seconds observing his adversary, and then struck up a stance, feet pointed forward, somewhat spread, and the left planted just behind the toes, and the right foot firmly on the ground in front. He leveled the rapier at the eyes of the giant man, and twirled it round in his fingers, until the cross-piece was parallel with the ground. It had a solid cup to the hilt and a sweeping hand guard that came down from it, there was an oval counterweight, with a smallish counter point at the end. It wasn't clear whether this was sharp enough to stab, but it looked sharp enough to serve as a bludgeon. His clothes were hardly of high fashion, but his cap sported a feather, and his squarish jaw was closely shaven.

The mayor lifted his broadsword, and shouted “Begin!” The maul wielding giant shifted his weight from foot to foot, and began slowly circling. He tilted and moved his hammer, and his mouth was silently breathing some kind of prayer. Though not generally noticed, the princess made a short gesture with her own fingers, to detect if any forbidden magic was used. But, she concluded, it was a simple prayer for intercession, and therefore, she assumed, within the rules. The rapier wielder merely stood. And stood. And stood. The giant stopped. At which point the rapier wielder spoke up. “Tired Higar? That thing must weigh more than an ox.” “You will find out when I land it on you.” “Oh I doubt that, it must be getting heavy in your hands even now.” “I can hold this long enough to crush you.” “I think, nay. I see it is already wobbling in your hands.” Eyes turned to the giant, and, indeed, it seemed as if his hands were wavering. The shakes grew larger, and larger, and then the head dropped to the ground, leaving a large dig in the earth. He grabbed the handle of it, and desperately tried to pull it from the earth. He planted his feet to get a better grip. It was at this moment that the rapier armed man took a half skip where his back foot crossed in front, and then he lunged. It was without flourish, but at its end a small bloody scratch was incised on the giant's chest, and then, as quickly, he withdrew and took a defensive stance. From the crowd there were jeers. “Forbidden magicks!” ”Forfeit!” “And penalty of his goods!” The mayor held up us hand. “Hold!” “There was no magic your honor.” “I will be the judge of that.” The princess stepped forward. “Are you advanced in the arts of sorcery?” She spoke, not with an abrupt arrogance, but with a hanging rich question. There was a softness to her voice and face. “And who would you be?” the Mayor asked, but then, seeing the richness of her clothes, he concluded that she must be someone, and therefore added, “Lady.” “Princess Si-yeona Chang, of the Empire of the Jade Throne.” Again a softness of words, she did not add, though protocol entitled her, “you may kiss my ring.” “However, ” she went on, “more importantly I am somewhat touched with magickal gifts, and would be happy to trace a circle around this combat, that would show as color any magicks used by the participants. Is this acceptable?” The Mayor looked at both combatants. “Only so long as he removes the curse on my hammer.” “There is, good giant, no curse, on your hammer.” The Mayor bowed with all formality to the princess, and asked: “Can you ascertain this as truth?” “Of course, good marshall of the list.” With this, she pulled out a small round device. She pressed upon it, and up popped a pyramid made of gold wires, from which hung a pendulum, whose bob was a round smooth stone that looked like olivine marble. She let it pass back and forth, and then pointed it first at the Giant, whose armor pulled the course of the swaying pendulum towards it, and then she bent next to the hammer at her knees, and brushed up and down it. Finally she walked over to the swordsman, who gave a smooth and gallant bow. She examined up and down his costume and rapier, into his hat and feather.

“The lady seems to like to examine him closely.” “Maybe more closely.” She looked in the direction of the words, almost blushed, and then went back to examination. “As far as I can divine, Lord Mayor, there is no magic about the swordsman, and there is some about the leather of the giant. But there are no curses cast in either direction.” “I don't believe it.” She turned and looked at the giant, almost with almost a sorrowful look. Instead of blasting him, as the bated breath from the onlookers seemed to presage, she spoke in a sing-song softness. “I have examined it carefully, and would never lie about what I found.” “I think you favor my enemy.” “Is he really?” “He wanted to pass, and was blocked. It was agreed to have a pas d'armes to decide.” “Is that really the best thing? I mean is this your tower, good giant?” “It is not, but it is our way.” At this point the astrologer walked forward, and spoke, there was a deep powerful resonance on his voice, and he seemed to grow in height as he spoke, though this was entirely an illusion. “By right and grant and tenure longer than any of you have been alive, this tower is my tower, this land is my land, and I have high and low justice within it. I demand that you disperse, and if any are of a mind to come to my tower, let them by, without further hindering.” The flickering torchlight that cast strange highlights and shadows on each and every face, and there was silence. Finally one of the captain's said. “Alright, bets ride, and let's go.” The princess took a careful note of who this was, he seemed to be some kind of ringleader or organizer. The crowd moved on, walking down the road towards where out of direct site, there was a lighthouse and a small boatyard. The swordsman stepped back several paces, and the giant was easily able to pull his hammer out of the earth. The giant glared, but said nothing and turned and walked away, bringing up the rear of the assembly. Only one person was left, the swordsman. He bowed low to the princess, and then Jehanjir. “I think you, and you, and thee both. That was turning uglier. I am Albrecht, a painter and soldier, and I am in your debt.” He turned to the astrologer, “I was told you were organizing an expedition, and that there might be of some use for those who have some skill at arms.” “Well, ” began Jehanjir, “I did indeed send word for this, but am wondering why you came. I know nothing of your exploits. Nor have I cast your horoscope.” “I am far far far from the most renowned of swordsman, but as you may have seen, matters take a different turn when I am present, I know not why.” The Summoner, who had remained silent, took out a pair of ruby colored glasses and stared about. He took them off, polished them, and looked again. “I have a speculation, but I will have to investigate further good gentles. This is the man we want, however.” Captain Niccolo interjected. “He hardly seems the most skilled of swordsmen, I would rather someone with greater flair and finesse.” Albrecht raised an eyebrow. “Thank you Captain, for your kind vote of support.” He didn't smirk or betray any emotion in his face. The princess looked both ways. “I would have him.” The Summoner smirked, “Oh, and in how many ways?” Captain Niccolo stiffed a chuckle. “I meant, on our voyage.” “Oh. Just to be clear. Your highness.” She turned away from him, but did not betray any sense of pique.

The Summoner, looking uncomfortable, gestured upwards towards the observatory. “I think that Time and Tide are not our friends at this moment. I would suggest that all must be made ready for a launch of Captain Niccolo's vessel at the first possible moment.” He began ascending and one by one he was followed by the others. They reached the top a few minutes later. iv When they reached the top of the tower again, they were surprised to find a somewhat older woman, think in the middle with wide hips and breasts that were clearly large, but because she was wearing a baggy grey green tunic with pleats that only partially disguised the poor quality of the fabric, it was difficult to tell her exact proportions. On her grey haired head she wore a garland of holly and green oak leaves, which was studded with acorns and woven through with mistletoe. This contrasted sharply with her mahogany dark skin, but framed her button nose and round cheeks that gave her face a pleasantly chubby softness. In fact, what others noticed is that while her clothes were definitely out of fashion, and her gray hair made her seem old, he skin was lustrous and smooth, with a particular glow of health. She smiled awkwardly. “I am sorry for dropping in like this.” “How did you get here? Lady Priestess of ...” his voice trailed off. “Morwethe d'Arlaine, Priestess of, well, his name is hard to pronounce.” “Not going to get many worshippers with a tongue twisted name.” Observed the Summoner. “He goes by the name the master of healing.” “That might attract some attention, but healing is a very crowded niche.” “I was summoned.” “Ah.” The Summoner nodded. “I did do a quick summon for any gods or goddess that might be in the area. One of them must have sent her here.” “After a manner of speaking, he had an oak scoop me up and throw me.” “That must have been a hard landing.” “A bit, but he healed me.” There was a short puzzlement. Finally Niccolo broke the silence. “Mighty trust you place in your God, Morwethe. However a ship's surgeon is hard enough to find. Does your God reach into high space, we are not staying here, and have little use for deities that cling close to one or the other spheres.” She nodded. “My lord is anywhere that faith in him abides.” “Well then, I am sold on her, at least.” The captain bowed to the Priestess. “You are welcome on my ship, Lady Priestess of the unmentionable God.” Jehanjir cleared his throat. “I think we have the ship's complement, if I recall Captain Niccolo's preference for a smaller skiff. It would, I think behoove us all to set ourselves to finding a time to launch, and thence to prepare for what will be an extremely hazardous enterprise.” However, before they could retire, Niccolo's head jerked around and he fixed at what seemed to be a spot over the edge of the water. Almost before anyone else could move, Jehanjir swung a small telescope in that direction, and said “Yes, I see it.” Albrecht looked. “I see nothing, what is it?” But by this point there was something that looked like a fluttering of a gnat, only at a great distance. One by one the assembled company could focus their eyes on it, Jehanjir then made a pronouncement.

“It is a flying serpent.” The Summoner scratched under his ear. “Someone wishes to send us a message. I doubt it friendly.” Albrecht noted: “Friendlier than a note attached to a dagger, I feign.” Niccolo twisted his mouth about, and added. “But not by much.” “Why don't we either prepare to meet an unfriendly visit, or wait and listen?” Morwethe's plain voice seemed both high and low-pitched at once. But it was to the Princess to ask the question of protocol: “Is it a herald?' After a moment, the astrologer squinted and asked the Summoner to take a look. The Summoner, more conversant with the intricacies of creature lore, nodded. “The Princess has saved us worry and trouble. That is a herald of a dragon lord, I would have to refer to find which one, though I imagine we will be told long before I could even find the exact volume to reference.” The princess allowed herself only the softest of glowing smiles of triumph. The spinning motion of the serpent grew more distinct, and it combined the slithering of its body like a snake through dense grass, and the movement of its wings, which seemed to go all the way around the twisting and turning of its elongated torso, and well as a fluttering and shifting movement of its feathered feet, 6 of them, that seemed to be to stabilize it in its flight. At last it grew large and visible, and hovered just beyond sword reach of the observatory, hovering in air, its wings beating so fast that they had become a blur and hummed in the air. Its slithering motion was reduced to a vestigial wavering in place. Its four eyes under golden lids focused on different figures at different times, its crocodilian mouth alternately grimaced and grinned as it yapped syllables to which it was clearly not adapted. “Icomewithamessageforthelordfrommylord.” The astrologer stepped forward. “Greetings friend herald. We welcome you in parlay, but would ask who your Lord is, by name.” “HeislordofetherwananddragondukeoftheeastoutercompassbynameoneErehwyreve.” The Summoner softly spoke as an aside: “Ah, he is from Erehwyreve, a lesser Duke, or greater Earl, among the Dragons. His realm is near the fixed sky and stars, to the celestial east. There are 8 such in that circle.” “He hisses so, ” remarked the priestess, “and looks as if he would rather be eating us.” Captain Niccolo, his hands diplomatically raised and away from weapons, gave a laconic rejoinder: “Aye.” The astrologer walked over to the balcony. “And what message bring you from your dread lord, herald? Deliver it so that we may consider an answer.” “NoanswerwillbelistenedToforThisistheMessage.” The herald paused and then started again. “AbandonallhopeofanexpeditiontoKORanafortheaffairstherearenoneOFyourlPUnyBUSiness.” The end of this rose to a screeching wail that made both the Princess and the Summoner cover their ears in pain. The astrologer, unaffected, bowed, and started to raise his hand to dismiss the serpent, when, at that moment, a hammer, the size that most men would use to split logs, sailed through the air, hitting the herald on the head, and bouncing off. The herald wavered for a moment turned in all directions, and then lunged for the astrologer. “TreacheryandyouwillpayforitwithyourMortTALexisTANCEagedfooloffools.” However, even as he did so, the Albrecht stepped in the way. Despite the wyrms fearsome hissing, his two forward fangs were only the length of small daggers, and not that much fatter. Albrecht had a rapier and main-gauche at the ready, parrying in cross the strike, and then ducking down and turning over resulting in the herald flying by and hitting the telescope, which clanged and spun about

15 degrees. The astrologer winced. “Cease this! At once!” However, there was no end to the commotion, as the giant clambered up over the railing and attempted to bring his maul across and into the head of Captain Niccolo, who pushed Morwethe out-ofthe-way before ducking himself under the sweeping stroke. He drew a heavy single-edged ship's saber and balanced himself in a defensive posture, but it was clear from his face that he had no hope of defending or blocking such a massive weapon. The herald, for its part, coiled around the large telescope and then struck the way a poisonous serpent strikes, aiming for the leg of the astrologer, ignoring the swordsman entirely – who seemed to duck in a passata soto, dropping to the ground on one hand, and going below the strike. The herald flew in a slight arc, but found itself rudely halted by the sudden jutting of the short main-gauche behind its jaw, it rolled end over end and found itself entangles with the swordsman, its wings now visible as being more like an iridescent beetle, with complex gossamer veins and a flashing color in the shifting light. At least more this than either bird or bat, were badly bent and dented. The herald and Albrecht locked in a mortal wrestling match, with serpent trying to strangle the life out of Arvid by crushing his chest and squashing his abdomen, and Albrecht stabbing over and over again into the gap between scales he had created and gripping the serpent with his gloved right hand. The serpent kept trying to strike with the barb on its tail, and claw with its legs, but the barb would not land, and the legs turned out to be quite weak for combat. Near the desk, the giant kept taking powerful, but slow, swipes at Niccolo, who, for his part spent much of his time ducking under, jumping over and blocking with any large object to hand. He was able to slash now and again, but the saber was unable to do more than nick the leather armor the giant wore, which seemed to have more than ordinary resilience and strength, and was backed by some kind of wire mesh. The giant tried to double his hands together and bring them down in a crushing strike, but only managed to leave himself exposed. Niccolo however, could do little to exploit this, as his saber bounced almost harmlessly off the giant's metal collar, not once, but three times. The giant spun around, swiping with a double fisted blow again, and getting enough of Niccolo's shoulder send him spinning. The giant turned and lifted his hands to deal a massive blow to the princess, who was cooly standing in place, seemingly unphased by the coming onslaught. She dropped one hand to the right, revealing a metal sphere, somewhat larger than her fist, and in the other, a bit of phosphorus and flint. With a flourish, she snapped her fingers, creating a trail of flame that lit a small hole in the sphere. Instantly silver sparks began sputtering out of it, and she tossed it straight into the gut of the giant. There was a thundering pressure, an almost blinding flash, and the giant was launched backwards over the edge of the railing. This sound seemed to deafen the wyrm, and Albrecht used the opening to wrap his arm up and around piercing one of the herald's four eyes. The herald then began igniting like a pounder fuse, and disappeared in an orange flash of his own, leading to a cloud of dark choking smoke. Albrecht was not burned, but was covered with some kind of glutinous soot. As quickly as the brawl started, it was quiet, with only the remaining undamaged equipment spinning. The astrologer surveyed the damage, which was worse to the telescope, but otherwise minor to everything else, though one of his wood stands had been utterly smashed being used as a makeshift shield, and one chair was in splinters. Papers were scattered about, and several small wire instruments were tangled and crumpled. It could have been worse. There was also a layer of grey and black ash over everything. He realized that Morwethe was missing. “Where is the lady priestess?” Niccolo picked himself up and strained his injured shoulder, he pointed to footsteps across the soot that lead down to the spiral. “I think she must have run down after the giant.” The Summoner was, likewise missing. However, he crawled out from behind the desk, some ruined components in his hands. The astrologer gave a quizzical glance, and the Summoner made a

gesture with his right hand holding up one finger and spiraling it upwards. Jehanjir nodded. “You sent him back?” “Not from the physical world, dragon's summon their heralds, it would take too long for them to fly.” Albrecht and Si-yeona took the initiative to run down the spiral, and found Morwethe at the bottom straightening out Higar's twisted form. The giant was barely breathing and blood was pouring from his mouth. She then stood up, took out a mistletoe arrow, and loaded a bow. She aimed it at Higar's eye. He lolled over and looked blankly at him, almost welcoming what seemed to be the coup de grace. She let the arrow fly, and it pierced his eye. However, the next moment was utterly unexpected. The arrow shattered like it was a glass vessel, and water spattered everywhere. Higar's body convulsed, but the blood stopped, and his limbs seemed to align as if they were being pulled back into shape. His flattened chest rose and fell regularly, and he was screaming in pain. But both eyes were open, and seemingly working. He slowly curled up into a ball, and was sobbing in pain, but there was not even a bruise left on his body. There was a disembodied voice in the air, it was raspy but a tenor with a kind of melodiousness in its vowels. “He's your responsibility now.” “I thought we could leave him behind.” “Then he would be dead. It is not a loose end that a dragon would leave.” “So we have to take him with us?” “Well of course, Morwethe, and anyway, you need him to plead your case with the dragon.” “I didn't know one could.” “Trust me, dear, plead is a very good world to keep in mind when dealing with dragons.” “But it wasn't our fault.” “The old law, is done to the herald, done by the lord. The astrologer is lawful liege here, and he's responsible for what happened.” “So we have to take the giant with us, and at some point will have to have the dragon not to take this out on us?” “You will have to be more persuasive than that, but yes.” Morwethe stared in the air, and frowned. “This is already a disaster.” “No, but it isn't beginning under an auspicious sign. However, we need this. You need this. This expedition will make us renowned and gather worshippers to us.” “Are you sure.” “Oh, I am remarkably sure that there will be ample chance to heal all manner of grave injuries.” Morwethe frowned. “Is this your command?” “I would rather make it a very strong suggestion based on our mutual interests.” Morwethe curtseyed low, know that this was the best deal she would get. She then sank to her knees and began praying. The princess and the swordsman watched all of this silently, still stunned at the magnitude of the regeneration and restorative power that they had witnessed. Finally Albrecht found his tongue. “Who was that?” “That was the voice of my God, of course. Through me he healed Higar.” Higar for his part was still rocking in place nursing the intense agony of having been nearly ground to a flour like consistently, and then almost killed back to life. “And he's going to come with us?”

The princess interjected. “The dragon will kill him if we leave him here, it is an affront that no lord could accept.” There was a quiet nodding. At this point Jehanjir, the Summoner, and the others behind them arrived from the top. They gaped at how Higar seemed to be almost undented by the shock and the fall, but then the Summoner nodded. “That is powerful force your god puts forth.” “He is, from time to time, very generous, but there is enormous cost.” “And in this case that cost is?” “We have to take Higar with us.” Niccolo rolled his eyes skyward. “As if I didn't have enough weight to account for. Well, if that is the freight we need to collect the fare, so be it.” He shrugged his shoulders. Above the silent stars turned, and glowed, and the myriad reflections of Lilith stared on them. Then, in the distance, there was a shooting column of fire from where the lighthouse stood. For a moment there was a bright puff of fire that rolled upwards with folds of black, that then became a grinding orange glow that rose and fell. They beam of the lighthouse did not return as expected. Niccolo pounded his fist on the railing. “Those barbarians! They toppled the lighthouse.” Morwethe and Jehanjir halted their animated conversation about the new mechanism fire arms that the astrologer had acquired to improve upon, and she seemed to be at least somewhat knowledgeable on the topic of combustible powders. The others sat and stared. It was to the priestess to ask the obvious question: “How bad is that?” “It is very bad, ” returned Niccolo, “because without the lighthouse and boats there, it is a very long way back to Astronoma, where the ships are. We would be days behind them, And there is a good launch that we will miss. The next one is not as good.” The Summoner stroked his chin. “I have, I think, a solution. Though I would need help from our esteemed Astrologer, and some aid in sorcery, and your alchemical skill Captain, assuming you do your own work in that line. “I do.” “And you are a shipwright?” “I am.” “Then draft out a ship for us. She will be made of ash, because I saw a stand of ash, with masts of fir.” “And then what, it would take weeks and many workman we do not have.” “Do not fear for workers. Though men will be beyond my ability to provide.”

Interlogue Eight Solar Houses Eight the houses that rule the ecliptic plane, eight the greater that are given names. Four the cardinals, four for the medes, The leopard is south, strong from the kill, the falcon is north, crying and shrill, the elephant west leading to night, the heifer is east bringing the bright. Tween leopard and heifer is the hunting dog, Twixt cattle and falcon, rises the swan. Treading between the paca and raptor, is the hare who scurries to avoid talons and capture, Medial last comes the running ram. Maw tooth horn, wing claw ear, tusk, horn, tooth round they ran. South north south Round and round, since worlds began.

Part II i As the outside measured time, it was a day later. They stood in a strangely oval shaped clearing in the vast fir forrest, a green wall surrounding them, with boughs close together and crinkled with needles. One full-time the stars had risen and set above the tower, and Captain Niccolo had labored on plans. Albrecht had volunteered to help, and it was rapidly clear that the rapier was not the only thing with a point that he used well. His freehand lines were almost perfect, his curves voluptuous. It soon became clear that Niccolo was better off doing the rough sketch, and allowing Albrecht to turn out fine ink finished drawings. The ship was small, it would be cramped, but Niccolo put three enormous masts at right angles, and a small folding mast below that would be deployed after they had leapt off the surface of the sphere. He had the astrologer make an extremely detailed model of it, down to the smallest detail. He called forth small clever homunculi to speed the work. Some would actually cut and carve and etch, but others would form themselves into tools so precise that no human hand could use them.” During the working, Albrecht set himself up on a drawing table several floors down in the tower, and rapidly around him a pile of finished vellum scrolls formed. He stayed concentrated on his work, but was amazed that the pen never seemed to clog, the ink never smeared, and the tip never scratched. Usually, when he worked this quickly there were difficulties, that he overcame by having a meticulous care. With each scroll that he tossed salt upon to dry, he gave a furrowed examination that ended in a look of qualified approval. There was something in the air about him, a scent of some unnamed flower, that he grew aware of as he took deep breaths in while he paused between sections, however, when ever he looked around, he could not see anyone. Morwethe noticed that the princess was hard to find, and was seen only in entering and leaving the observatory. Higar followed her comings and goings carefully, causing Morwethe to remark to him: “You would snap that one like a twig.” Higar frowned, clearly caught out in lusts that he had thought hidden. Privately Morwethe noted that the Captain, as well, seemed to have a very fine eye for the princess and her comings and goings. But now they were assembled on the clearing. The Summoner had them walk off the plans, and in the center he drew one of his circles, this one inscribed by an almost square that rotated slightly with each repetition to produce a 17 pointed figure. He gestured for the astrologer to join him in the center and then for the others to move away. Jehanjir turned to him, standing in the center of the still in active figure, as the Summoner wrote in fine grains a very detailed series of instructions. He looked at the plans at each step, which were quite ornate, with decorative scrolls, and ribbed flourishes, each with a specific purpose, but each crafted with an eye to beauty. It was not Niccolo's hand that had turned banal masts into pillars, or ordinary fixtures into sculptures. “I don't understand how this is going to work old friend.” “You are the great Astrologer of our age.” “Surely, you know I do not care for such boasts by now.” “This is no boast, it is the hope that I place everything upon.” “For argument, say I am. How does this help.” “You know, and have mastered the art of attraction.” “Surely, but for heavenly bodies.” “Let me go on then. For a heavenly body, even were it to be dissolved, you could use your skill to draw it together.” “Well so long as I have an orrery for it, and it is not too large. I could invoke a comet, though I

never would.” “Well what if I give you a star?” “A star? But that's a departed soul.” “Well it will be soon.” “I could assemble a star that had faded or been tarnished. I was called upon to do that once, a soul was fading into the beyond. But I still do not understand how that will help us.” “Good. Listen carefully, because we do not have long. I am going to depart now, only not quite. For a time, my soul will reside in that model you hold in your hand. You will, from this circle, summon it into full form, my servants will carve the wood and make the metal, and in some cases even become it.” “But that would mean...” “I will be imprisoned in the ship for a time. Burn the ship, promise me, and I will be free then.” “Must it truly be the end?” “Tis only a change. I have enough riches for the afterlife, and think, I will be the vessel that will carry you on this quest.” “I am not sure that will accrue to your benefit.” “Perhaps, perhaps not. But it won't hurt. Like your bell, I will give my life for this ship.” “You didn't know the story.” “That's because I have never cast anything except with living forms. This will be new for me, an experiment that reaches out beyond what I have so far done in life. What better way to depart, than by doing something new.” “So you imprison and depart, and when that happens, I draw the full size ship around this model.” “Yes.” “But it will almost instantly leap. It will have no attraction to this sphere.” “Hmmm. A flaw in my plan.” “Call Niccolo.” The Summoner gestured to the Captain, but waved him to stop before the crossing the circle's outer edge. “We have a problem.” “If it were only one, I would feel much better.” “We are going to cast a spell that will build your ship, but according to Jehanjir, it will leap. How long does that take.” “A few moments, but not long.” “Could you get everyone on?” “We have no supplies here. Can you summon some bearers?” “We can send Higar, because I can't summon now without ruining the circle, and I need everything I have left for, ummm, summoning the ship, as it were.” Niccolo nodded. “You aren't going to come through this, are you?” “Is it that obvious?” “Mariners can see death on a man's face, much more often than not.” “Then it is on mine, without a doubt.” “You are a braver man than I, summoner.” “No, I am a rich man going to an eternal feast. But your compliment is touching.” “I will tell the others, give us some time. Higar is bound now, and knows better than to break a blood bond to the priestess.” “He would die, wouldn't he? Well, not immediately. He would probably be allowed to linger to contemplate his sins first.”

“In his case, the sin is breathing.” “He is not as bad as that, actually, he was following along. If he lives, he might even dig his way out of debt and debasement.” The Summoner said these words in the way a steward counts coins, without the smallest room for equivocation. Niccolo nodded. “I will be about our part.” Jehanjir nodded. “Probably better anyway that you not be about, I have a feeling it will be, hazardous, to be in the way.” He paused. “Oh wait. One more detail, if you could do something very important for me.” He fumbled with is large chain of keys and then slide out a small key that was cunningly hidden inside the ring itself, it was quite small, but had an enormous number of teeth on it. He tossed it beyond the circle, landing at Niccolo's feet. “Take this to the observatory, there is a keyhole in the center of the clock face. Place this in it, and turn it three times. Then pull it out, and bring it back.” Niccolo picked up the key, and then moved off taking large strides, and soon the others departed back towards the tower. Jehanjir and the Summoner faced each other, and then embraced, kissing lightly on each cheek. They stared at each other, still arms locked. Jehanjir let a tear outwards. “This is truly an end I would never have envisioned.” “It is as it must be.” With that the separated, and the Summoner pointed a single finger towards the sky. A strand of light appeared that pierced the heaven, and then, gradually, and far above, a pastel blue tinged with orange began to appear. Jehanjir marveled, because, of course, the darkness of the sky was a spirit that was bound over this place, and the summoner was going to use the force that bound it, to bind himself instead. The result was that the spirit of night, so long bound here, would be free. The speed of the transition accelerated, and soon it seemed as if the sky was pouring down through the shaft, a vast long thin cataract. And around it the sky appeared, with a wash of soft clouds, through which the light of the Hiro, the sun she was orbiting at that time poured. The night was broached away. It covered the two magicians like paint. With each moment the outline of the Summoner grew fainter, and his features less distinct. On the way back to the tower, the other soon to be voyagers turned back and looked, the cataract seemed far away, and they began to realize that this was a magic path, where each step they took was, in fact, much farther, and the clearing was a magic clearing, in a magic wood. Niccolo motioned for them to hurry, because, of course, the had only the length of the enchanting. Back in the clearing, a small hoard of tiny spirits spread out, they began sawing and cutting, some formed themselves into thin saws, others into tiny axes, while others would gather in gangs to use their transformed companion. Others hammered at rocks and rapidly forged all the small metal and stone fittings of the vessel. Thousands of tiny fires stroked thousands of very thin pillars of smoke that disappeared up into the air, tossed about by vagrant winds and vanishing into a haze that cast an even redder pall on everything. Lastly, the mirrors of Lilith faded, for they were the anchors of the spell, and she appeared, as a then crescent like a sail in the sky. Then, just as the whole of the celestial dome was bathed in a rich sunset, pieces of wood and ringlets flew in towards the center, assembling themselves in the pattern of the orrery of the ship, each piece floating in its proper location, until joining with others, small spirits pushing and forcing each into place, or using cunning hammers the size of fleas to create a snug fit. Finally the last chord of the dying light of sunset touched the far edge of the clearing, and Niccolo, Higar and the others ran to the almost assembled ship, trying to race the shaft of light, because that would be the auspicious moment to launch. Higar tossed everyone else in, one by one, and then found that Albrecht was there to offer a rope ladder, while Niccolo found himself on the wheel. She was long like a bird with three wings, with two eyes to the front. There were billowing

sails, that were half transparent, and had on them the markings of Lilith as each were a map of that moon. Behind was a tail, like the feathers of a bird, before which was Niccolo at the wheel. Below, Jehanjir was already in the hold, which now encased him. His friend had faded entirely in the light. Then, there was only the natural illumination, which meant the hold was almost black. The astrologer, having spent his life in darkness, walked among the masts and bulkheads without needing to look, and walked up the stairs into the open deck. Niccolo was furiously mixing phosphoric acid, camphor, mercury, and magnesium together, along with several other more specific compounds. He used these to light two giant lanterns that were aft of the vessel: these would turn the ether into air and that they could breath. The ship rocked back and forth, and then it floated free of the ground, pulling over the trees. Niccolo had time only to light the lanterns, before taking the wheel. The entire ship seemed ready to turn over, and he fought the wheel to keep the port sail from smashing into the edges of the trees. But then their velocity increased and the trees began to fall away, and the blue of the sea grew larger. They could see the astrologer's tower, clearly a league away from where they launched. It was slowly sinking into the ground, covered by the sphere's skin, entombed not merely in the dirt, or the rock below, but in the very material of Eowilonwey, safe until their return, if they ever did. The princess looked and pointed at the descending tower. “What is going on?” Jehanjir smiled, and said. “I have a key.” The air of the sphere whipped by them. ii The moment of a ship leaving a sphere is dramatic: the grip that had bound it is made null, and it jumps upward, the ground seems to fall away, and rapidly the clutter of details that defines an ordinary life on the ground, merge and fuse into a vast tapestry, and then to a tableaux. “Everyone below, we are going to hit the shock soon!” Niccolo's voice was hard to hear above the roaring din of the air rushing way that filled the space around them. It blew across the front of the ship, and he turned the wheel half a circle. The rush hit the lanterns, which then blazed with an unearthly brilliance. The ground was now indistinct, and seemed like a cloud above them, rather than rushing away as it had done at first. They were in a kind of blue sky twilight, where the sun above them was losing its prominence, but the stars were only partially visible. Then, just as suddenly as a clap of thunder, the blue of sky evaporated, and they were back in night, buffeted by unearthly winds. The ship buckled and bolted, like a stallion being broken. The priestess had to hold her breath to prevent from vomiting. The astrologer turned his eyes upward and grabbed the nearby mast for dear life, it had been a very long time since he had ventured into space. The princess clung to the swordsman, who used his legs to wrap around a bulkhead and hold them both in place. The turbulence continued with yaws around the axis of the ship coming between heavy dips. Niccolo's hands were not, however, gripping the wheel white, instead, each turn lead to a light response, and the occasional hard pull if the ship bucked him. “You need a name little craft, though I suspect you have one that I do not know.” His hand caressed the knobs as he turned the wheel, and gripped as he pulled back on it. Before him was a white rippling of the bow shock of Eo, which now was a huge orb, but no longer a plate that covered the entire horizon to horizon. He stared down at her, sparkling with long planes of green and moderate stretches of brackish blue. There were whirls of clouds, and crackling crowns of green at the poles, that encompassed around a swirling white of the polar gyres. The pattern of the land and see left water and land almost exactly equal, and from here it could be seen that all of the land was one giant maze, sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner, but, on this side, all connected. But he rapidly looked away out into space, searching for the fold in the ether that they could ride. The huge rolling aurora of the bow

shock rolled towards them, as if ready to snuff them out. He waited, and then seeming at the last instant, turned the ship hard along the shock. Below everyone else waited. Higar, who had never left Eo before, shat his pants and sheepishly wept as the pissed emptied unbidden from his bladder. The priestess pet his thin thatch of light brown hair, and cooed “It is alright, you are still gravely wounded.” Both, however, knew that this had nothing to do with his injuries. He wept, murmuring over and over again “I don't want to die and be lost in the abyss.” She pet him again, and cooed. Higar wept again: “My god has deserted me, I've never been so alone before.” “Have trust.” They did devotionals together, and after some time, a small smile appeared on Higar's face, and he felt touched again. The swordsman sheltered the princess, but said nothing. His insides were clenched as steel. He had voyaged before, and knew that the captain was doing something radical, perhaps to evade pursuit. Then the ether wind filled the topsail, and then the wing sails. Niccolo pulled the lever, and a vast gear turned, pulling down the under-mast, whose sail unfurled. Half sized mechanical figures, shaped like men, then moved in a clockwork pattern, going about the tasks of opening the sails, and then rotating back away in their niches. The ship stabilized, shaking wobbles turning to gently shifting bobs, that gradually tamped down to an even motion. They were running along the bow shock, and Niccolo skillfully dipped in to the curls that flew off of it, accelerating with each, and then out again before the next curl could slow them. The books balanced, each tug on the string of the shock slowed the greater world a trifle, but Eo was pulled along in her orbit by a crackling attraction that was vastly more potent than any mortal power. They were free of the grip of the sphere, even though she still almost filled the sky. However, slowly, majestically, she was shrinking as she left them behind. iii Higar stayed in the hold, and Morwethe cleaned up the mess, and they picked around looking for some kind of dry detergent, but could find nothing, Higar stunk, and wanted to stay down in the hold, but the princess scowled. “He has to go up on deck, rather than foul the air below. She lit a lantern, and everyone below gasped, because until now they had been in darkness, with the scrolls and twirls of the hold looming like half living figures, fading quickly off into murk. Now with the lantern lit, they were greeted by a riot of color. The general shape conformed to the outer hull, but there were architectural spandrels that created the sense of an oval. The floor, rather than being laid in planks was a series of curved boards along the long axis of the oval, ending in an eye shaped stone that was perhaps twice as tall as a man, made of a light blue-veined rock. Where this came from, even the astrologer did not know. But in the very center of this was a block of clear quartz, within which was set an even smaller round block of amber, and it held what seemed to be a tiny model of the whole ship. In the back an oval jutted out from the aft bulkhead, and in it was set a round door with a large locking wheel in the center. It had one hinge on the left hand side as the observer faced it, that is, to the starboard side of the vessel. Above the beam had a curved dome on it, and on this was laid out the seven suns in a celestial compass, and it was clear that this rotated to point correctly, it too was blue, with golden stars. Albrecht smirked a bit, he was particularly proud of adding this touch. The sides were in inlaid ash, the gray of that wood held with bands of very thin steel and copper, wrapped several times with fine iron wire. On each was a small lantern, fueled by a small reserve of oil, that is, if they had any. These formed joins that were set with an oval of wood, that was

studded with wooden pegs to each incoming timber. Through out were fine lines and touches of gold, silver, platinum. Though the amount of metal was small, it gave a ductility to the hull. Even the astrologer was impressed at the final product. There was silent appreciation, until finally the Albrecht's sharp voice broke it. “We need a name for our ship, do we not?” They all nodded, but no one dared suggest one. “We also have to do something about Higar.” This was the princess, regarding the huge shambling mound of man with something like pity. He was duly herded up on deck. Finally the princess went to Captain Niccolo, who was still carefully navigating the bowshock, and pointed at Higar. Niccolo just laughed, and gestured for Higar to come close to him. The giant shambled over, and stood in front of the Captain, glum and still stinking. Niccolo waved for him to follow and went all the way aft, right to the two giant lanterns, and picked up a length of hemp, with a hook on the end. He twirled his finger, and Higar turned around obediently. With a single gesture, he looped the rope around Higar, and kicked him off the back of the vessel. There was a loud wail as the rope uncoiled outwards and the giant seemed like he was falling. His arms flailed and his legs kicked as he screamed. Then the rope jerked taut. The wailing stopped as the giant realized he was not drowning or the equivalent, and finally he even began to smile and giggle, the peels of laughter only being heard in belches over the sound, finally, Niccolo and Albrecht hauled the rope back in, with Higar wagging back and forth until finally his feet hit the deck, which then held him fast. “It was amazing!” The giant grinned. It was clear that he, and his clothes, had been thoroughly cleansed. “The stream behind us, is a powerful spray. Tis better than bathing in any water on any sphere.” Higar laughed. “You should have told me.” “Most will not jump if they are told.” Albrecht had not seen this before, though he had heard tales. The astrologer nodded, and merely murmured “Of course. How interesting.” The women were both frowning. This seemed like a very hazardous way to become clean, however, both were longing to be scrubbed of the sweat and stench of fear and exertion. More so for the men to be so scrubbed. Finally Morwethe spoke up. “When will it be safe to do this?” “It is safe itself now, I feign, except that we do not know if there is any pursuit.” Albrecht frowned and looked at the slowly shrinking orb of Eo. “So we just have to wait until Korana picks us up? Or is there more to this?” “The astrologer and I will have to look at all of the possibilities, and then reason our way through them. My hope is that either we can ride the bowshock farther and faster than any vessel Bartine has available to him.” Albrecht nodded, but at this moment there was a rumbling sound that sloshed over them, leaving behind a condensed trail of cloud-like condensation. It rolled over prow and across the aft, shaking everything loose behind it, but hitting nothing. “Duck! Tis cannon fire!” Niccolo's voice was a sharp command, but everyone except Albrecht did not need prompting. The astrologer pulled out his small spyglass, the only telescope he had left to him and looked in the direction of its movement. “I see a small vessel, I do not know astrogation well enough to identify it exactly, but it is a single sail set like our own.” “It must have launched before us.” Niccolo cut the wheel hard, expecting another shot close to the first. Indeed the second shot tore through, and was well to their port side. Albrecht looked in the direction of the shots, but could not see where they came from.

“It would seem to me they are wasting ammunition. Whoever Bartine is, he seems remarkably profligate.” From the wheel, the Captain turned them again, and the entire vessel skipped up and over the wake of the cannon shots. “Bartine's strategy is always to seem stupid and spendthrift, but, in fact, to be very deliberate and directed. Whether with words or ammunition. He has several ships, we have one. All he needs to do is keep us from being able to ride the bowshock, and it will give him a tremendous advantage. If one ship is left behind, it is a small loss.” At this point Higar came shambling up, and looked at everyone. “Is there something we can do?” Niccolo took a deep breath. “I would imagine that depends on whether we want to try and risk being hit and riding the shock, or come to grips with our attacker.” Higar looked. “Bartine is a bad man, his eyes and his mouth are always saying different things. If he is on that ship, I would want a chance to crush him.” “Then why did you follow him.” “You weren't going to take me.” Jehanjir nodded. “Logical, and certainly true.” Taking two hard strides forward, Albrecht looked and squinted, and still could not see anything. “I would prefer not to play dice with death this early in the voyage. But if I must, I want a chance to throw them. Make that two for close quarters.” “We should ask the ladies.” “You have not told us what you would fain to do, skipper.” “I would take my piloting over his marksmanship, but I will not vote except to break a tie.” While there was a scowl wrapping his features, the swordsman nodded. “More than fair, skipper. He grabbed a rail for balance as the ship swirled on its axis, almost stopping for a moment before sliding up the inside of a curl of the bowshock, the wings on the sides twisted in opposite directions, and the ship rode upwards, tilting until it circled the tube of crests all the way around. It was Higar who observed: “Strange to think that my head and my feet get reversed like that.” Niccolo merely smiled wanly. “It is a strong magick that binds us to the deck. The Summoner's craft was truly astonishing. At least, I am astonished at how well she takes directions.” Morwethe slowly walked to the cluster and waited for an explanation. The astrologer whispered and pointed for several seconds, and then she nodded. “I would rather we not fight. Let me go ask her highness.” “Where is she?” “She's string the hammocks and putting what meager supplies we have in order, and, I think, cataloging them.” “We could use a quarter-mistress.” Morwethe walked down into the hold, and returned only a few minutes later. Several cannon shots had streaked through like comets, but none were particularly threatening. But each was having its intended effect: Niccolo had to frequently steer away from the best crests. She merely had to look at Niccolo to communicate that her highness also preferred to avoid the hazards of combat. “He's a sharp one, whoever Bartine has.” Albrecht arched an eyebrow. “Why, what is he doing?” “The shots are not intended to hit us, but are in the best bow-waves. Which, since he has ridden them, he has some good idea of where they were. If we ride fast enough to catch him, then we risk taking fire. Otherwise, he maintains his distance, and we are slowed. Astrologer, it is to you. If you vote for blood, then it is 3-2. If you vote for sailing, it is 3-3 and I break the tie. If you abstain, then it is

3-3 and I will take Captain's privilege. The astrologer snapped out his spyglass and looked. He lowered the spyglass until it rested in front of his chest, cradled softly in his hands. “I wished to open the innkeeper's private stock, rather than drink from the public casks. I remember casting his horoscope many years ago when he was born. There was a peculiar chain to it, one thing tied to another, without ever rounding off. I saw it then as his always having a plan behind every plan.” “What do you have in mind?” With a wave of his hands, the older man gestured to the sails. “The sails are attuned to Lilith. Right now she is occulted by Eo's disk from our perspective, however, if we slide to the other side of the bowshock, it will be...” he paused, slowly closed the spyglass, whose many rings folded to something quite small, and then took out of his pocket a sphere that he could just wrap his fingers around with both hands. In it was a tangle of gears and wires, spheres and springs. It took some time of staring to realize that the crystal, gold, silver and polished brass added up to an incredibly small orrery. He stared at it and adjusted it. He then stared at it some more. “... just visible on a line. If we unfurl to full sail, we should be able to rush past them. It is a different line than they are expecting.” Albrecht arched an eye, Higar frowned, and Morwethe blinked trying to see if she could divine any sense from the orrery, but its parts were too small and fine. “Do you trust that orrery, Astrologer?” “The greater orrery back in my tower has essences from 6 of the 7 suns, all of the spheres, and most of the moons. It is often able to show how a critical moment will turn, even before the spheres have moved themselves. This, is not so fine an instrument, but for this purpose I am certain.” He showed around the base, where there were graduated markings, which, when spun, allowed him to rapidly make calculations. The responses to this were mixed: Albrecht stared out into the void of space, Higar let his gaze move from face to face, trying to judge the reactions, Morwethe crumpled her mouth, and then exclaimed: “I like this.” With paper and small nub of charcoal in hand, Niccolo copied out a series of numbers and then wedged them in the wheel, before realizing that Albrecht had been thoughtful enough to add a small board and place to clip paper. Niccolo almost left the paper jammed in, but then realizing that Albrecht was standing there, he took and put the paper on the clip, and began turning the wheel over slowly. “I suggest people go below, there is a very harsh roll coming.” However, Jehanjir shook his head violently. “There is nowhere near enough sail out.” “The mechanism will not take these rolls at full sail.” Placing his fists together and closing his eyes, Higar looked down and uttered a small prayer. “Anything you can sail, I can hold.” There were short looks of surprise from Niccolo and Albrecht. Morwethe asked “Are you sure you feel up to it.” “A god in my hammer and hands, and my fists will hold.” He pointed to a leather badge that, while worn, clearly showed several horses rearing, which was the mark of a master teamster – though to what kind of horses, were left to the imaginations of the onlookers. He strode back, took out a small hammer and began gathering up the leathers of the furled sails. “Some one is going to have to loosen them for him.” His cheery voice seemed to indicate that Albrecht was volunteering, not commenting. Before there was even an assent he had his rapier and other accoutrements stashed in the weapons rack on the rail, and was climbing out along the port mast, preparing a series of slipknots. They were not expertly tied, more the way a landing would tie boots or a jerkin than a sailor would stay a sail, but the seemed to be enough for the purposes. “Lady priestess, you should go below.” “Someone may need the touch of my God.”

The face of the captain pulled back, doubling hoping that this was not necessary, since the cure seemed to be almost as painful as the wound. “I would prefer you out-of-the-way.” “Well then, I should go back to the lanterns, and prepare to feed them a bit of this and that to encourage the ether to fill our sails.” She smiled brightly and wandered back. There was a furrowed glance from the captain. “You aren't the only alchemist on board. It pays to have a calling between times being called.” With some measure of confidence she went back to the lanterns, were the ether born wind blew with a peculiarly throaty wine, and, despite the heat from the lanterns, made a bone chilling cold near them. Presently they burned a flickering red and yellow. “Tell me, my captain, when we need more force.” “I will, sir.” The muscles of his face pulled back again. No end to surprises of this crew. With a call, he snapped the wheel, and the whole ship twisted around three times, and seemed to tumble entirely off of course. They skittered across the miles that separated this stream of the bowshock from the next, picking up speed with each filament of disturbed ether. It was a long hour, and everyone, except Niccolo, had deep pits in their stomach from nausea by the time the reached the other wall of this greater gyre. At that moment, they shot straight and true, and the Captain called for all of the sails to be opened. There was a rapid and majestic flowering and each layer of sail grew another. The ship with no name was not, yet, quite underway. Morwethe and Jehanjir stared backwards over the crest of Eo's orb, staring at one particular point. Their eyes strained, it was so hard to tell. His hands fiddled with combinations and he spun the base several times, and the astrologer fretted that perhaps this strand would not take them far enough. Even the skipper of this ship looked back over and over again. There was a palpable sense of expectation. Higar however, did not look, but instead found his footing, and wedged himself against the ridge that was the back of the wheel platform. His lips were moving in a continuous movement of prayer, he was murmuring both chants and specific entreaties. His arms wrapped the leather straps around the hammer several times more. He planted his feet and rowed back. And it was just time: a small bright silver bump appeared beyond Eo's edge at that moment, it was Lilith, a single slender shaft hit the center of the staysail afore, then several dots like fingers appeared, as if the light of the moon was reaching through the teeth of a saw. Those looking back saw a series of gemlike glows form at the edges of Lilith, which was rapidly growing to a crescent like a cat's eye. It was brighter than Eo, which was half shadowed in night. Lilith should not have been so bright, however, there it was. Albrecht looked over his shoulder and puzzled until he realized that the light they were seeing on Lilith was twice reflected from the seas of Eo below, the bluish cast to it was signature. But to be like this Lilith would have to have been polished almost to the fineness of a mirror. He had not spent much time on the surface of Eo, instead preferring the bustling cities on the inner surface. He had always thought of the inside as the fruit, and the outer surface as the rind. However the last few hours had shaken his confidence – the massive power that had been displayed told him that the dalliances and duels that he had lived his life flitting through were truly picayune compared to the deep politics of the heavens. The shafts of light from Lilith grew more numerous and closer together, until the circles of their landing on the sails formed freckles of bright, each a miniature map of the orb. Then with a hold every sail glowed catching the influence from Lilith. The ship jolted forward and there was a screeching in everyone's ears. The acceleration was shocking, as everyone held on for dear life. The lines strained, Higar froze like a rock, that shook in an earthquake, Niccolo was almost holding on to the wheel. Through all of this Morwethe simply cast small grains into the lanterns, which grew whiter, then bluer, and finally pale violet. Through all of this one could read the giant like a gauge: he compressed farther and father, until

he was almost flattened like a dwarf. His murmurs became shouts, the words fell away until there was only one repeated yell of “Hold. Hold. Hold.” Deep below the princess looked up, and stared, as if she could see through the hull. “Rainbow, that's who you were, Summoner, a rainbow.” iv Not all plans are successful, however a select few, reflected Niccolo, were too successful, and so this one had been. They had taken off like a shot, racing past the ship that had been assigned to pin them back, and had then coursed towards the main fleet, and now found themselves in the midst of a tangle of ships, which were sprawled out irregularly around them. Of course, the admiral was no fool, when he saw a multi-colored winged vessel under four masts careening past his fleet at full sail, he prepared chain and grapple shot, and had every ship blast away. While it was near impossible for anyone to fire a considered shot, and several slashed through their own fleet, enough tore through sails and masts of their vessel to form a growing tangle of spars and chains, ropes and hooks. Boarders took knives in their teeth and began swinging across. However the cannon fire stopped, clearly someone had decided that this vessel was too important as a prize to smash to bits. Albrecht tried walking on the mast, and then crawling, finally reaching a leather strap that went down to the hammer that Higar still gripped, chanting his one word over and over again. With a quick grab, there was nothing more to it than to ride along the leather, and put feet up to use the massive torso of the giant to break the slide. Higar shook his head and startled as if waking from a dream. Albrecht waved around, showing that they were surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned. Higar stood up with a creak, and then jumped fore to grab his maul. Albrecht pulled his rapier, and several smaller assorted throwing dirks, along with a main-gauche. He was back on the left mast just as the first sallies were upon it swinging and swaggering down the spire at him. He had to sweat and climb upwards. Viewed from the deck it seemed as if a slow and clumsy man was about to be overwhelmed by an elite guard, so smooth the dropping boarders were. However, one by one the fell victim to knives. Each throw seemed painful, as Albrecht arched his back and twisted his torso to unloose a small cross-shaped stiletto. Somehow as Albrecht closed, the attackers seemed to lose their footing or their grip, easy swings missed their mark, and then became ghastly failures. Each face a mask of horror as its wearer flew into brisk space, convulsed as he hit the pure ether and coughed up blood, lungs and guts. Foot by foot the leather clad defender crawled upwards, knocking off their grip those that still held on, stabbing others in the hands, and finally shafting the few left as they fell down into his rapier, almost comically spinning off into space once skewered. On the starboard side the scene was a more direct carnage, as Higar's maul simply spattered and crushed. However, at the same time the hooks and spars were tearing apart the sails. Within minutes the vessel was no longer under sail but was a scribble of lines and shredded canvas. At this point a small group of helmeted men gathered on the side of one nearby vessel. They were armed with tridents, and their great helms had mesh masks, they wore plates that covered much above their waists, and had additional protection along the front of their legs. These were members of a feared company of freebooters, found on the worst pirate vessels, and the most brutal and rapacious looting expeditions. They were called the Dragon's Company, and it was said they would take their sworn enemies to be fed to waiting wyrms, their souls to be tormented for a thousand years before being allowed to depart, or so the stories went. They pushed off and slung tridents to stick in the side of the brutalized small ship. Behind each was a wrapped wire that the freebooters slid down, swinging around and around in a remorseless and

relentless descent. One reached the aft, and began hacking at the lanterns. However, he neglected the chubby robed priestess who unlatched one of the wheellock hackbuts on the rack that in earlier hours she had carefully loaded. With an easy air, she placed the stock against her shoulder and fired at point-blank range. A huge hole gaped in the attacker's mask and blood spattered in every direction, as the helmet tore away and slowly tumbled, along with the remains of a head, into the distance. She gingerly pulled one hackbut after another off the rack and with a practiced ease, drew a bead down the trident. She blasted each off, taking two or even three attackers with each charge, as the first would tumble backwards into his comrades. A great haze of sulphur and consumed charcoal grew around her and then flooded down along the deck, covering everyone up to knee height in green. Phlogiston began to foul the air. It was left to the old astrologer to have the presence of mind to take out his small wire clippers and begin snapping the bonds. However, the waves were relentless. On port Albrecht was being forced backwards as the attackers finally realized not to use any flourishes, but instead grip hard and lunge fast. On starboard Higar had been ripped by two hackbut balls, and looked as if he were unravelling on the spot, with blood starting to seep from earlier wounds. A small boat filled with boarders had latched on to the jibe and began throwing grappling lines over the front. Through all of this the princess had watched. She was disappointed in Albrecht's fighting, she had expected something as fine as his drawings, something as noble as his face, instead of a tortured beast straining. At every moment her heart had sunk, as she was sure that he was doomed. And yet with each escape there was only time for one breath of relief before he was beset again. However, she could do nothing effective to aid in the melée. She carried no sharp weapons, nor did she use firearms, large or small. Even packing the powder seemed beyond her strength. Her arms were truly royally delicate and thin, her wrists refined. However she was not with resource, in her hands sat a finely wrought tetrahedral stand, within which a jade ball hung from a wire. On closer inspection, it could be seen that the surface of the ball was carved a celestial dragon, not the winged clawed ether beast, but one of the creatures that according to what she had been taught bound this cosmos together. It was tracing a figure as it moved along its course. She concentrated. A summoner would have been calling dragons by name, forcing, or cajoling them to his or her will, bending their minds, or yanking their substance from nether realms intertwined with theirs. Her magic was not of this kind. Instead, she knew that wyrms and dragons often feasted on the ether near the bowshock of ships or spheres, far enough from the sister's reach, and obscured from the son's gaze to avoid being knocked away, and yet close enough to allow the waves of energy sluice over them, there to gather bits of substance with which they could, over time, cast a scale of the essence of either sphere or sun, as their purpose was. She could not aid the captain in his desperate saber hacking, the astrologer in his cutting, Albrecht in his fencing, Morwethe in her shooting, or Higar in his smashing. But she was not inactive. She noted the swings of the pendulum and then fished out from her belt a piece of metal that was shaped like a “U.” with a handle. On it was a small number incised in red markings. She dodged the fire, walked down into the hold, and stood over the center of the oval, where the small model of the ship was embedded. She tapped the metal to the amber, and then set it down directly on the center of the amber. There was first a moderate hum, it then grew to an overwhelming vibration, that was heard and felt throughout the ship, and outwards into the ether. What she had done was sent forth an etheral din, maddening the wyrms and dragons that hunted in the bowshock, until they were like sharks where there was blood in the water. Even as another wave of boarders readied a new onslaught, and a flag was run up from the admiral's ship, the black flag that said no quarter given or asked for, even as Albrecht was knocked by a chunk of wood dropped on him, even as Higar was knelt in pain under another shock, even as a new round of tridents slammed aft,

finding Morwethe without another hackbut, there came over all a gigantic buzzing sound. It did not grow gradually, but turned in steps from a sound like a thousand beehives to a massive grinding and then like the roar of a giant river cataract, or the conflagration of a city aflame, engulfed all else. One by one the attacking fleet's sailors and commanders turned and look. They could not cut the lines fast enough to escape and bear off. Even so, one of the pickets was dashed as a tail sliced through its hull as if it were butter left to stand on a sullen hot day. There were four, they grabbed and snatched bodies sucking the forms into a liquid slush and allowing them to pour down elongated throats. The movements of these wyrms were not fast, they could not help but be like the twisting of ropes on the water: looping and lashing, but taking minutes do to so. These were not even the calculating and conniving dragon lords, who lived brief bright lives of power, but the equivalent of serpents in space, roving appetites that might subsist for a millennia or more in only a half awareness of their possible power. Their maws were lined with teeth, they had only two eyes, and behind their claws and bat like wings trailed long streamers that ended in a brutal stinger as large a harpoon head. There sides blazed with circles of red cold light, and the edges of their wings glowed yellow, converting the ether into ayre for their use and consumption. The other ships were scattering, leaving a nearly wrecked small craft in their midst, with a few boarders making last desperate charges: anything was better than to be swallowed by a wyrm and become a scale for however long it lasted, often beyond the life of the dragon itself. Higar grabbed a chunk of mast and skewered five men, before a wyrm's claw passed by and sprayed the others in every direction, as water flies from a dog. This same wyrm, at least 10 times as long as the small craft slashed with its tale, but instead of the expected cleaving of its target, the timbers held, there was a singing from the blue heart and the hull held. However, the result was almost as ominous for the crew: they were knocked far from the bowshock, and were somersaulting end over end off the ecliptic where all the known spheres, moons, and other moving bodies abided. The held on for dear life, and all were bumped and bruised by the tumbling of the vessel. However at one moment, Albrecht's grip loosened and he slid several times across the deck, until, it seemed, some miraculous stroke of fortune wedged him against a mast. Blood was seeping from several of his wounds, and he seemed like a doll made of corn silk: almost without bones, and held together by slender bindings. v “Higar has made a remarkable recovery, it seemed almost certain that he was going to depart.” “Well, my good Captain, he was still under the protection of a healing god.” The two elder statesmen of the crew, Astrologer and Captain were standing over the unconscious figure of Higar, limbs splayed out, but very much whole. His wounds, both fresh and new, had closed over, and he looked like a child asleep on a bed, his face completely peaceful. The same could not be said for either of the two men watching him. The astrologer gazed outwards in every direction, looking for some hope. The captain unrolled a chart and glanced between the two wounded crew members, and a column of precise figures. He listened Jehanjir murmured calculations, and then stopped. “I do not know of any body whose influence we can use.” With this both fell silent and looked over at Morwethe who was preparing her healing arrow. There was a looming tension, as no one else could bear to look. She planted the arrow on Albrecht's chest, and lifted it only enough to let it fly. There was a loud crack and an explosion of smoke, however, instead of Albrecht returning to normal, Morwethe was knocked backwards, and her bow was broken in two. There were rapid swirls and eddies in the smoke that seemed to be wrapped around an almost human shape, which was, itself, more visible in outline than in substance. From the center of this miniature maelstrom, came a grating tenor voice.

“What did you think you were doing?” Morwethe blinked and stared directly into the shifting shape, as if she could see perfectly well the being there. She placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head and shot back. “You asked me to do great deeds of healing in your name, and this one, “she gestured at Albrecht, “is as near to taking a trip with the ferryman as any.” “Don't you know what he is?” “No? How would I? You haven't told me, and our summoner has departed.” “His soul was selected by an outer God, he's under the ban. The magicks of the inner gods, myself included, are worse than ineffectual against him.” With mock respect she said “Thank you, my lord, for your pearl of wisdom.” To other observers the outline seemed to grow more distinct, and there was what appeared to be a medium height very muscled human like shape, only with four arms, two of which were crossed over his chest, and the other two were holding what looked like a wound in his side. Bits of fire and soot danced about his head, though he wore a wreath of holly and oak. The facial expression was impossible to read, congealing and dissipating as it did, but it seemed to be a scowl. “So why didn't you warn me?” “I thought you would have noticed, it is blazingly obvious as seven suns in the same sky.” “To you, my God and master, but not to your more pitiful servants.” An arm reached out, and seized the broken bow from Morwethe's hands. “I am going to have to repair this.” Morwethe's faced strained and her chin muscles pulled taught for a moment in half panic, she then began casting about. “I need a mortar and pestle. Captain, captain, captain! I require a favor to borrow components for a healing salve.” She began running this and that way in bursts, looking for component stores. The astrologer rummaged about in his bag and came up with an herb box, mortar and pestle. Morwethe promptly bent over and began hurriedly mixing the somewhat stale herbs. It was clear she had somewhat less than adequate practice in this part of the alchemical art. Niccolo bent next to her and began sort and grinding for her, freeing her hands to apply a poultice that she formed out of a strip of her garment. She focused on each wound in turn, her forehead tight with fear and her cheeks crimped from the pressure to be expeditious. She pressed the wounds one by one, and it appeared that the bleeding had halted. Slowly the smoke and the figure within faded as this was occurring, though faintly one last warning came from it. “You will need to hold Higar together while I repair, and there is little devotional energy here, so after taking care of the invalid, I want to hear your sweet murmured prayers.” Morwethe had time to roll her eyes and then brutally press down on the gash in Albrecht's belly. She was on her knees already, and so she lost no time in starting her devotionals in hopes of pulling whatever scraps of spirit might be available. “Poor battered soul. How are you feeling?” These words were quiet, calm, and from a voice that the swordsman thought he knew, but could not quite place. He opened his eyes, sat up spryly and looked about. He could see his body lying below him, with Morwethe and Niccolo working on it. He could also see, running across the deck, a heavy broad red-figure, clad in ragged silk like a slave. The horns and four arms gave it away as a supernatural creature, but he did not know more than that. He scanned and found suspended in mid-air a pair of worn boots, this then caused hum to crane his neck backwards, until a man, sitting on a small skiff, came into view. He was wearing garments that were like a peasant: frayed pants, leggings, boots of a rude leather, a woolen cloak that was a rust brown, and a round hat. Not unlike, Albrecht noted, the Summoner's hat. “Don't worry, no one else can hear us, and we have all the time you need.”

“Need for what? And who are you?” “Well, you thought me like a summoner, and so I am, I am the summoner who gather's all to him in this cosmos, as small as it is.” “You're the ferryman.” With this Alberect noted that he had a heavy money pouch at his side, and was wearing rather different clothes: black riding leathers, with a velvet jacket, four-cornered hat, and slits on the sleeves that revealed a rich vermillion silk below. “For here, for you, I am.” “So it is my time to go?” “If you want. As with orbits, lives have moments where they may go one way or another. This is one such for you. Would you come?” Albrecht was about to ask where, and at what price, but he stopped. “I have more to do, don't I?” “If you feel so, but that is not the matter between you and I.” “What then, are my choices?” The ferryman dropped down on the deck, and stood only slightly taller than Albrecht. “Your first choice is to go back to life, and carry on until your next time.” “And I suppose you can't say what that is.” “No, I cannot. I can say that your wounds are quite grievous, and will never truly heal.” “What is the cause of that?” The ferryman looked about conspiratorially. “Confidentially, you are a bit of an oddity.” “Tell me more, if you would.” “There is a before, a preter-life, for souls. Most are insensate, like acorns on the floor of a wood doing their small tasks as spirits with rather little mind. From time to time a dietetic being will pick one, and attempt to have it incarnate.” “And others?” “Others have more important jobs, pushing and pulling the cosmos in its course. But they too can be incarnated.” “So how am I different?” “Well I am not permitted to go into too many details, but you were chosen by an outer God.” “Outer of what?” “Outer of this cosmos.” “There are many?” “That's not for me to say. Suffice that your soul was supposed to be born in a very powerful body.” “And instead I was given this one.” “Not all struggles go well, even for Gods.” “So what does this have to do with me now?” “You may have noticed in your life that others have a certain, ill fortune, shall I say, when they are about you.” Albrecht sighed. “And I am always under a cloud.” “No, the universe is merely fair to you, where as most make their way by enlisting the aid of minor godlings, or even larger ones. Like the priestess, for example.” “So?” “None of that applies to you. The magicks of gods, mostly, fall flat on you. It isn't absolute, and I would advise against gratuitous disrespect of deitic spirits.” “So I am going to go back and be wounded. What is my next choice?” “Your next is to become one of the unquiet undead, haunt the place of your death, or move as you would through the world. But I would advise against this.”

“And why is that?” “Without divine aid, the existence of such an afterlife is pressed on all sides, and you are likely to be eaten by a dragon.” “So my third choice is to ride with you.” “Well there are two versions of that, one to a place where souls congregate, the other back to the spirit that incarnated you. At which point you will have to answer for your choices.” “I've been warned many times not to pay you before the journey.” “You will not have to, there is no sister or son nearby to hinder you. The requirement for a coin of spiritual gold is not absolute, and I make exceptions.” “They hinder souls?” “Yes, they would rather you make your afterlife at play near them, in glades and grottos within them.” “This gains them?” “After a manner of speaking, but that touches on matters you would really rather not know of.” “Why is that? Isn't it always better to know than not know?” “It is, but it is not always better to know in the wrong order.” “I see.” He took a moment to glance around. He could see through the hold of the ship, and saw that the princess was the only person not attending to the deck. He could not quite make out what she was doing, however. “So four choices. Live, haunt, frolic, or settle accounts.” The swordsman looked around, because he could sense that scent of flowers again. “Well, I do not think I am done, so, ” this with a deep sigh, “I think it best you return me to whatever is left of my body for whatever is left of my time.” “You can do that any time.” With this the ferryman placed a hand to the tip of his brim, and in a smooth motion used his stick to vault back on to the skiff, and pushed off, slowly fading into the dark. It seemed to take a very long time, until finally he vanished. A fog rolled in, and Albrecht found himself falling backwards as if into a soft bed, and then slowly opening his physical eyes. There was an immediate and distinct difference, in that the back of his eyes hurt, and he could feel stabbing pains in several places. He reflected that this might not have been the most comfortable of choices. It took some effort to tilt his head one way and then another. His insides felt gashed out, and in the normal course of wounds in battle, his experience was that these were more than enough to be fatal. He then realized that they had been, but he had chosen to live. However, one constant remained: the essence of lilac hung in the air, but from whence it came, he knew not where. His head lolled to the side. “Thank you fair priestess and good captain.” He smiled for only a moment before he dropped into a dreamless sleep. “I think he will pull through, captain.” She stood up and began checking other wounds, ending with her own bruises, some of which seemed quite substantial. The captain looked around for the princess, and could not find her, until nearly running over her as he turned around. “My lord captain, shall we call a council of war to decide on our course of action?” She looked straight up, directly into his eyes with a direct earnestness, and waited for a reply. “Aye. We should and shall, but there is work to do on the vessel first, and some observations to make.” With a tilt of her head for acknowledgement, she turned quietly and went back down into the hold. There was a coldness to her movements, but not a single grumble escaped her lips. Jehanjir followed her progress out, merely raising a bushy white eyebrow. He too was clearly captivated by something in her movements, stirred by a firmity of flesh that he had not felt in centuries, but this is not what drove his concern. He went to the Captain's side and took out his miniature orrery

and stood closer to the taller man. “It makes me uneasy, to feel the growing conflict between the two of you. I would like to make peace if I can?” “Conflict? I do not feel any conflict, this is my ship, but I have, however, gone to every length to be accommodating to the views of others.” “She a high princess, and expects greater deference.” “She is fortunate that I have such an even disposition, she nearly brought catastrophe on us all by calling the wyrms. By rights she should be confined.” “From her perspective she saved us all. And on one in particular that she is fond of.” “Hmmm?” “Albrecht, specifically, she spends a great deal of time staring at the drawings he made.” “Well that is not my concern.” “The green star is a poor one to guide this ship by.” “Are you accusing me of...” “She has a strange attraction, and every man on this ship is under its influence. Imagine that I, or Morwethe or Higar or Albrecht defied your authority. It would seem to me, that the result would be definitely different.” The captain nodded. “You think she is charming us, using a spell?” “I doubt in any malicious way, or perhaps not even in any way enhanced by aid of magic, but she is a creature of a very inbred court, and has made her way here for reasons that we do not understand, but which certainly required enormous powers of persuasion. She is the political animal on this ship, and has us dancing even without overt planning.” “So you advise.” “Caution.” “Perhaps something more specific is in order, Jehanjir.” “She suggested a council of war, and you put her off. Perhaps that might be less than the best course, because now she is, with your blessing, free to do what she wishes.” The captain nodded. “'Tis true I am not a creature of marble floors, and gilded ceilings. Pomp and circumstance are not my strong point. Your advice does seem to have a great deal of merit.” “Astrology the science is how the court of the heavens enacts its dance. As with the seven suns and seven spheres, so with the mortals who spin round within their reach.” The captain smiled. “You have a bit of the poet, Jehanjir.” “A few volumes here and there, but rather dry in style, I never attained the touch of more contemporary tastes.” The captain decided not to speculate on which event of antiquity demarcated “contemporary” in his companion's estimation, and instead turned to the more looming topic that was on everyone's mind. “We must create some plan for escaping this section of the void. While we are not far from Eowilonwey, the influence here is weak, and the ether is almost stagnant. You can feel the reek of dead air coming off the lanterns.” “Becalmed is always a terror, and we have little enough supplies I know.” “This leaves aside how to make up the lost time against Bartine, and the lurking dragons, and our minor irridentia in accounts with Eo herself. What was it with the Summoner?” “As far as I am able to determine, Eo was determined not to let him leave. He had great spiritual energy stored, and she was bound to have it under her control.” “Is this so important?” “Well it is in the nature of things that God's receive worship.” “True.”

“But by the terms of their imprisonment, I believe Sarukosian was the first to write this based on mis measurements of ether flow, that the suns and the spheres do not receive the direct benefits.” “How did he know it was imposed?” “There are statements to this in several of the old codexes, and hints in the epics.” “So even if they are worshipped, they get no power?” “No direct power, but they can, shall we say, influence others.” “I am not clear, the intricacies of metaphysics are something I left to others, the practicality was my interest.” “Others attain spiritual power: godlings, mortals, spirits. Within their reach, this infuses all material things. The sphere, and all within it, are physical things.” “So the sisters control the sphere, which soaks up the strength.” “Essentially, that is correct, ” “And thus when a powerful being with a great deal of spiritual energy leaves a sphere, it is a loss for the sister.” “Essentially so.” “But why our summoner in particular?” “One thing I found out rather late is that he had a rather important preter-life, he was some high spirit, married to an etheral fiend. I have not had time to look up the duties that his preter-life had, but they were significant. What I do know is that in this life, he was often involved in finding ways to allow the unquiet dead to depart for some more final afterlife.” “And you think Eo had some problem with this?” “His life was allowing souls to depart, all of them were still connected to him, even if slightly.” “So she wanted his afterlife within her, and through him, to all of the others.” “She wanted him alive within her as long as possible, because once he departs she might be able to hinder the ferryman, but not thwart that dread spirit in his appointed task.” “So the Summoner hit upon the plan of binding himself to this ship.” “That is my belief, yes. Originally I mistook this for my not being on it. However, that is merely because I discounted the influence of a star.” “Which star?” “This one, the one we are standing on, the star in waiting that is the Summoner's soul when it reaches the fixed sphere.” “Will it be bright?” “Not notably so, but it is right here with us, and for the time being, it is not fixed.” “Is this unusual, to have an unfixed star?” “Not in such a way, but usually fixed stars depart rapidly, flashing in the sky. Often in showers when the grip of the sister weakens.” “Ah yes, I remember this, we call them falling stars, but in many cases they are fleeing stars.” “Yes.” “So what is unusual is that his influence is rogue for so long.” “Though hardly unprecedented. I should have seen it, it is something that occurs, well at least once every decade or so.” “I think you can be forgiven your trespasses.” “This is not a circumstance where the foibles of an aging mind are an excuse.” “No.” “Which returns us to our problem: until we can return to the vortices of the influence that are the engine of motion, we are in very grave circumstances.” “We have a rogue star, is there any way to parlay that into some advantage?” Jehanjir turned aside and motioned over his shoulder with one hand for the Captain to follow him. He went to the fore, where he had mounted a telescope, and turned it outwards.”

“Our being a rogue star, or on one, is more a disadvantage than you suspect.” His hand turned the telescope outwards and pointed it carefully. He waited while Niccolo looked through it. What the captain saw was a long whip like body of a dragon, not a large one, but large enough, slithering through space on bat like wings. “They are waiting for us to die, so that they might consumer the summoner's soul. A rogue star is quite a catch.” “They?” “I count seven.” “Even one is enough, and two a surplus.” At this moment both men were startled, because the princess had stolen up upon them, certainly noiselessly, and seemingly invisibly as well. “Excuse me fine captain and great astrologer, I overheard your conversation and deliberations, and had some thoughts that I would like to offer for your consideration.” He tone was extremely formal, and there was an elongation of many of the vowels that gave this impression a double weight. “As you may know, ” doubling the “O” very distinctly, “our beloved giant says he is a teamster. We could, I fain, yoke one of your beasts to the ship, and have it take us hither, at least as far as the ether again. Perhaps farther.” “Yoke? The giant is strong, but not so strong as this.” “His maul is a godling incarnate, and will not be broken by any force a mortal will master against it. Even such a mortal as a dragon of the ether.” “And his strength? No man can overcome a dragon's strength, at least none since epic times.” “This too I know.” She allowed a certain offense to creep into her voice, but only just. “But the strength is to be harnessed to the ship, our good giant Higar need only guide, not enchain, the creature.” The captain was about to make a hot retort, but Jehanjir clenched a hand on his shoulder tightly, feigning weakness. Niccolo took a deep breath and relaxed, and modulated his voice. “And your plan for luring it here and accepting our bonds?” “Perhaps you have noticed that I have some minor attainments in beckoning to mortal souls, and amplifying the powers of persuasion over them.” Her words were met with a stony face, and stony silence, but after a moment the Captain made a deep frown. “It seems madness to me, but then this entire venture is madness. Let us lay plans to make it affected.” The astrologer could feel the influence peeling off the princess' skin, and the sorcery almost soaked the air around her. He was not, however, sure, whether she had used it to weaken their wills. It was, disturbing, to think that this young leaf of a woman might well be holding their leashes. But he could think of nought else, and so acceded to the working through a plan to ensnare a dragon. He also spent some time collecting bits of the dragon glow that clung here and there about the ship. Perhaps he would get a chance to examine it more closely, later. Or put it to use, though he did not think there would be nearly enough to move the ship. vi A thrumming sound rattled from fore to aft of the small vessel, it was the hammering of all of the mechanical men in the watch-works parts. Niccolo and Jehanjir had taken them off of their tracks, used for trimming the sails and running the masts, and put them to work pounding a single massive metal spar that would be used to anchor the dragon to the ship. Even with Higar's massive strength, it

had taken painful hours to slide the spar through the center of the ship, and fasten it to as many anchor points as possible. Meanwhile Morwethe had been brewing a poison whose purpose was to intoxicate the giant worm, rendering it more susceptible to sorcerous persuasion. The last part of the desperate plan fell to Princess Chang herself, she fashioned a cunning misdirection spell, a more powerful version of the ones she used almost all of the time to move without being noticed, and another that would unravel the worm's will and senses. But it was still a desperate gamble, because the only way to administer the poison effectively was either to have it breath in the intoxicant, or drop it as a fluid into one of the dragon's eyes. Jehanjir spent many hours marking down each of the dragons, and selected the one he knew to be the best target: young, weak, vain, and lazy in his habits. But even so, a single false move, or even mere bad luck, would be the end of all of them. There were several times when each of the tiny crew questioned the plan, but then, each would look up, and see how they were drifting farther and farther into the void, and sense, if not observe, the swirling figures that were waiting to feast on them. None the less, the work grew less grim. Niccolo whistled, Albrecht recited poems, Higar would stop and do a more than passable jig. The princess turned out to have a sweet, if soft, singing voice, and they traded songs through out the hours. After some conspiring between them, Morwethe and the princess sang a duet on a ballad that Morwethe had learned on Eo: When I was a child and still at the nursing my mother would tell me the debt that I owe, give all a fair counting, a penny, a farthing, and fair will your fortune where ever it blows. Where, ever, it, blows. When I was a youth and I saw a fair maiden, she asked for blessing for blessing she showed, she asked for a blessing, and gave an accounting, By farthings to penury that I came to know Came, to, know. When I was a young man, and ripe for adventure I went to the camps where circle the crows. To give a fair country, a penny, a farthing, To follow a banner and this way I go. This, way, I, go. When I was hot blood, I raped and I plundered. the horseman did plow the furrow I sowed. A faire of destruction, of all kinds for having, Through ditches of flesh, there ran blood flows. Ran. Blood. Flows. When I was a soldier, and seeking my fortune, A man came before me, with secrets below.

To faerie beneath us we rushed for the taking, We left as high summer, but floundered in the snows. In, the, snows. In cavern aboding, we sat by our fire, but stumbled to chasm, a We entered to faerie, our lusts for the slaking, We gathered our armor, and soon came to blows. Came. To. Blows. The battle came in time, their rhythm beat our rhyme. And their in spirit climes, we found penance for our crimes, Penance for our crimes. beneath the skin of earth, they took the gift of our birth. So there our souls shall fly, when it is our hour for to die. For. To. Die. When I was a vet'ran and weary of warfare, I returned to the maiden, now taken her vows, She gave a fair hearing, her heart all abreaking, We married that morning her face all a glow. All. A. Glow. Now I lay dying my breath still like water, And you are all finery, with fancy new clothes, I give a fair warning, a penny, a farthing, Not half of a county is worth your own soul. Your, Own. Soul. So listen to wisdom, and turn from the slaughter, Avoid the fell spirits, and haunted burrows. To give a fair country, a penny, a farthing. Forgive more than trespass, lend more than you owe. To give a fair country, a penny, a farthing. Forgive more than trespass, lend more than you owe. It had to be admitted that Morwethe's voice, while not as high and pure, was deeply resonant and hypnotic. After this they pestered Jehanjir to improvise and while Jehanjir disclaimed the quality of

his poems, he rhapsodized as follows: The diver searches the inner oceans to sight the perfect pearl, while in heaven's fixed the scattered souls that ignite in perfect pearl. The painter stares at celestial beauty, and to paint her skin so white, he must mix rare alabasters to concoct a bright and perfect pearl. Jeweler in happenstance to create a ring for high and haughty knight works wire into a chain that binds his setting light, to perfect the pearl. The solemn priest intones that marriage is now vowed by rite, thus bans are printed, ancient and trite, in aligned and perfect pearl. Before to bed a virgin unwed, the youth's passion is in roaring flight so he descends, by whim and wend, because she incites a try at perfect pearl. The husband forsakes his wife, astrayed by glowing night, Sinking his lips in sensuous slaking his slight, upon the perfect pearl. His voice sings these words, rising and falling, elaborating syllables to phrases, and extending the richer words to whole stanzas of music. It took several minutes for all the references to be grasped by all the listeners, but they knew bawdy even on first hearing, the question was merely which references were being made and when. Niccolo explained to Morwethe as an aside that a “pearl” could be a verb, meaning to dive for pearls. He recounted a time sailing on a sea when they had come upon some young men who tied themselves to dolphins that would drag them down to the pearling beds, where they would have only a minute to search, before rising slowly back to the surface. But then the amusements ended, and they broke to perform another round of preparations. The lower mast was cranked in, the sails stripped and folded away, and every loose line or rattling bit was tied down or stowed away. The rainbow vessel had become as much a barge as a ship, waiting only the draft animal to pull it. There was a thumping as Niccolo, in unusually high spirits, whistled and wandered about, inspecting each join, lash, lock, and knot. Morwethe looked at him quizzically, and he simply said. “One way, or t'other, lady priestess, we shall depart soon.” Then, the waiting began again, as they knew the dragons still had closer to spiral in, like vultures over a dying beast. In another corner, Higar and the astrologer played dice, with Higar often making clever runs that thwarted Jehanjir's careful strategy. The game they played involved an element of bluffing, and at this the astrologer was a complete failure, it caused Higar to giggle after each time. Jehanjir, however, betrayed no emotion, but merely would look up momentarily, as if committing something to memory. At the aft of the hold, dimly glowing under the light of only two lanterns, Albrecht was lying in a hammock strung between two hooks, he was still gravely injured, though the salves seemed to help. He lolled his head to the side and looked down at the thin figure who was seated cross-legged on the deck below him, she was sorting through the sheets that held his drawings of the ship. “I do not see how studying those is going to help you.” “Art is a powerful kind of sorcery, it changes the mind and eyes, it is subtle in its working, but lasting in its effect.” She looked down on the page and puzzled over one bit. “What is that?” “It is a life-size fly.” She squinted and looked close.

“There's a mouse in another page.” Just then there was a scurrying figure across the aft of the deck, it shot across the open space quickly. “A mouse? I hate mice.” “Give me time and a page, and I will draw a cat. After a while, one of those will appear too.” “Why haven't any flies appeared?” “Because if you look there is also a spider. Since there was going to be spontaneous generation, I thought it best to give it some direction in my drawings.” She looked up at him and sighed. “You know, I was very disappointed in you at first.” “Why is that? I do not remember making any promises or professions to thee, your highness.” “You are so ordinary, it seems. And yet I look at you, and you have a pride, an arrogance, that surpasses all but the highest nobles.” “I am just a bravazzo, making my way through the worlds, as my talent enables me.” “I remember watching you fight, and I was certain that Higar was going to crush your bones and grinding you into the ground. He hefted his haul lightly from hand to hand as you would move a pen.” “I have become accustomed to seeing the flourishes others make turn to fiascos when directed against me, and so best to stand with no fear and prepare to meet the onslaught head on.” She stood up and rolled his tunic up a bit, examining the wound under the bandages. They were short on etheral water, so she was ginger with what she had to dab the edges and clean out the scab. She tilted her head back and forth, back and forth, pursing her lips as she looked. “Tis a bad wound, no one would demerit you for not being at the front of the fighting now.” “This is the throw for one and all. If we can do it, we are, at least, back in the race. If we cannot, we might well die here, one by one. I would not wish to join the ranks of tales of long days a drift, creeping madness and despair overcoming us as the void invades our souls, and hunger eats our bodies to rot.” Chang shivered. He looked at her, “It is better a clean death and departure, than what the dragons have in store for us: consumed, compressed to a scale that when they find a place for it in their coat, sucks the soul out and churns it into shining torment.” “You believe the stories?” “I know them to be true.” “Our dragons on Tianxian are not like this.” “The ones in space are monstrous beings, and we, their food and material.” Chang shivered again. Observing her discomfort he picked up a drawing and turned it over. “Here, we need a cat, or will need one.” “How can we get one.” “Can't you feel the summoner's power.” “I can feel it, it courses through the ship, and draws breaths in and out.” “Mice are not products of spontaneous generation, the flies, and spiders, yes. But the mice were summoned. I think, if I draw a truly felicitous feline, we will have ourselves, a cat.” “I draw a little.” He gently turned her around and placed his right hand over hers, inserting a piece of charcoal into it. He guided her hand on contours. “Circles are life. Circles are life.” He intoned as he went from skeleton, to filled out image of a bristling cat, half seated, half about to move, with a vaguely weasel like cast to its shape and features. Its eyes turned aside, as if looking at something intently, and its tail, while almost wrapped around its

body, had the very tip in a kind of hook that suggested a twitch. One paw was drawn back, as if to strike, and it had a sharp sense of self-possession it its face. “There, ” he said as he held her, “that will be a good cat for a ship.” From above there was a call from Jehanjir. “It is time, our target dragon has begun to slither towards us.” Princess Chang called back: “Only a dragon's appetites, will truly over come a dragon. He is afraid that he will be left out of the feasting.” “You know this?” “Of course I know this, he is as open as a book to me.” On deck, it was already clear that the dragon was eeling towards them, the sparkle of light off his scales poking bursts of light against the black void, the slithering of his flight wrapped and coiled as if he moved around unseen eddies or shoals in the void. Where his head was could be seen, both because the large armored plates of his head reflected sunlight like polished mirrors, and there was a slowly growing red ember where his open maw gaped. It was a slow, ineluctable, progress towards them, lengthening slightly with each curl and turn. “Dragons can't seem do anything directly.” Noted Niccolo. “At least we have more than fair warning of the coming collision.” “This one has not taken the plunge.” Niccolo nodded. Morwethe looked out, and then asked. “For those of us who do not enjoy such wide acquaintance of these, ” she paused for sarcastic effect, “fabulous beings, what are you talking about?” The astrologer spoke: “As I understand it, the life of an etheral dragon is of two kinds. One is to be a dragon lord, duke, or some other such. This involves flying out to the fixed sphere, gathering up its essence, and becoming almost all-seeing and endowed with the forces of ether. The other is to consuming souls, turning them into scales, and then, once a suitable battle dress is formed, bathing in some source of power, preferably a sun. There to become almost invulnerable to attack. The lords live only a brief time, and so do most of the others, because they tear each other to pieces. Only some few become great, and nearly immortal, terrors in space. They fear nothing but comets, and the leviathan.” “The leviathan?” “The creature that roams the dark of space, which is larger and greater. It is said to be able to consume flocks of dragons as a bass fish opens its mouth to swallow a swarm of flies.” The watched the twisting movement of their foe, and went to the places assigned: Niccolo at the wheel, the astrologer at the lever that would spring out the spar, Higar half way to fore, holding his maul wrapped in the chains that would be the tethers of the dragon. Morwethe near the midships, with one cannon loaded and mounted on a turing wheel. And afore, Princes Chang and Albrecht. His task was to deliver the flask of poison, and then haul her close to its face, there to work her magicks on him, so that he might accept the bit for some small time. He had two pistols set, a rapier, and a main-gauche of clever design that was meant to inject poison. He had won it from a duelist who had surreptitiously employed it to win great stakes, his technique was to parry en forte, that is near the strong edge of his main blade and then using a draw cut of the poison dagger. It was capable of delivering a more concentrated dose through the point. They had exchanged words, a challenge was issued, a circle gathered round them. The duelist did indeed deliver a fell cut, but it seemed to have no effect on Albrecht, who promptly countered with a gauche mandible from the wrist across that took off the tip of the duelist's nose, who promptly cried for mercy kneeling on the ground. Albrecht had decided the greater mercy was to rid the seven spheres of him, and plunged the rapier into his back for a coup de grace. Since then he had not used the weapon in any bout, fair or foul, but had carried it in reserve for the most exigent emergency..

He lowered his face and set his eyes forward, determination cast on his face like metal, and walked to the spar. He gripped with his gloved hands, wrapping his legs around the shaft, and planting them on two loops where the chains were strung through. And he waited for the moment when the spar would lunge forward, and he would use the momentum to catch the dragon by surprise. It was a delicate operation, because, of course, he could not get too close to Higar and his maul, so after dosing the dragon, it was imperative for him to get away quickly. The dragon had moved directly in front of the ship and was advancing in whorls, like a streamer behind a spring dancer, its incredible length trailing behind it. From this vantage it was clear how young this one was, with only a few scales patched here and there, and a thinness of chest and limb, it was far thinner than the ship, and indeed not much rounder in girth than a mast of the ship. Its eyes glowed with hunger, though not with a bright intellect. It screeched in the ether, the wire like whiskers that sprouted from its head, wings, and legs waving like blood-red banners. Its body was a pale green, save where iridescent scales shimmered in the light. The closer it came, the less fear Albrecht felt, and the more a steely set filled his body. His gut had been roiled by gas and churning, but now, he felt like a wineskin filled with direst purpose. Then he heard a bell, and that was the signal that the spar was to be launched, it jolted forward and shot outwards as a lance before a rider, into the center of the helices of the dragon's flight, an invitation for the monster to coil around and around it. its loops went over him, like ribs of some vast theatre, and he could see the barb of its tail perhaps three ship lengths beyond the end of the spar. He waited until he felt the clamping shut of the gears, and then turned and ran back down the spar itself, cursing that already the visualization that he had in mind was ruined. He reminded himself of a lesson from his father, that in both art and war, never allow yourself to form to firm a picture, but search, instead, with probing hands, for the grain of scene or situation. Instead, he dragon was directly in front of the sorceress, as she held aloft the tuning fork, which had attracted it, in this case, too well. Her arms were aloft half way in mid-spell, and Niccolo saw the dragon snap out its tongue and slurp her within. A rattle of anguish rolled through is body, and he clambered aboard the claw the dragon had used as counterpose for the strike, stabbing with his rapier into a vulnerable chunk of flesh. The beast turned and lunged straight for him, head screaming down faster than a falcon on a terrified rabbit. Albrecht turned his main-gauche over to his right hand, abandoning the rapier entirely, and easily slid aside from its muzzle to deliver a piercing thrust into its lower right eye. He could see Chang, tossed about in the grip of its tongue. She was not struggling in the least, but instead methodically trying to place the tuning fork on one of the dragon's fangs, so that its resonance would be increased by the very target of the spell. Her face was not impassive, but it was hard to tell what emotions it displayed in the shifting and lashing. “Get away!” She hissed at Albrecht. “The maul! The maul is all.” Albrecht held there for a moment, paralyzed between desire to launch himself into the fray, and a small voice of sense realizing that putting the bit in was the whole purpose of their gamble. The frame of his vision was swung about by the turn and writhing of the wounded serpent, but he thought he perceived Higar, maul at the ready, nearby. Decision came to him and he leapt for the spar, grabbed a chain on the way by, feeling his shoulder nearly dislocated from its socket, and his guts nearly wrenched from his body, he twirled around and around the spar, nearly tangled by the chain. He hauled himself on to it and began running down the deck, taking himself past Higar with all the velocity he could muster. He could not see, but could sense, the giant trembling as his deity wavered. Behind him the dragon coiled its neck in several revolutions chasing him. Albrecht's footing failed on some slick patch and he found himself sliding until he slammed into the step near the aft part of the ship. He had only a moment to turn over and see the princess engulfed down its gullet, and Higar slam home the maul crosswise. The dragon bucked backwards, snapping its neck like a long braided whip, trying to pull loose

from the bit and the chains. Higar, however, was having none of this, and he looped the chains around and around, at last securing them to the mast and snapping shut the giant iron lock that had been nailed in place to secure the harness of chain. The giant found his footing and pulled the lashing taut, bucking back the dragon's head and gaining command over its movements. The more the dragon tried to coil, the more the chains wrapped themselves around its neck, biting in and strangling it. Unfortunately the bulge that represented the princess was already sliding down into its belly, disappearing out of sight. The captain began turning the wheel to tighten the chains and Morwethe fired a cannon-shot to force the bound creature to fly forward, away from the ship. The roars from the dragon were hideous, and rapidly shifted from having the sense of an intelligent being ensnared down to bestial cries of shock and pain. But tear forward it did, and the entire rig, dragon, harness, and ship, was snapped forward as it flew. The sailed past the other twirling dragons, who snapped and lunged at the ship as it careened through, but to no effect. A few warning shots made them hold their place, hovering in anger and frustration. They had escaped, but not unscathed. On the deck Albrecht sobbed, and curled into a ball of pain, knees jammed into his chest. There he stayed for two sidereal days. Later when a bluish scale left the other side of the dragon's digestion, the size of an old jousting shield, they laid in next to him as he slept. He awoke, breathing in, and sat up. It was Morwethe who sat vigil next to him, stroking his head and trying to calm him. “She lives.” Were his first words. Morwethe said nothing, but seemed to fight back a tear of pity. “She lives.” The sound of his voice attracted notice, and Jehanjir spoke softly to Niccolo. “Do not tell him that most who are imprisoned so, if indeed they do escape, are driven mad. If she is alive now, it is as if she were pressed between two great stones, crushing her very existence. Being consumed is almost a mercy after this.” Niccolo nodded, looked at Albrecht, and decided that the most humane words to say, were no words at all. Much later Morwethe had tried to speak to him, but all he would say were the same words as before: “She lives.”

Interlogue When we speak of the art of alchemy, we must divide it into physical and spiritual realms, which require the transmutation and combination of either material quantities or spiritual quantities. We must also divide it into intrinsic, and extrinsic processes. Intrinsic alchemy, of which the previous chapter was devoted, is the utilization of the inner properties either of matter, or spirits. To engage in extrinsic alchemy, it is necessary to use the influences of the suns and spheres against the background of fixed stars. There are 8 greater houses, each representing one of the 8 classes of matter or spirit, and there will be, from any sphere, 7 suns and 6 spheres, each in a house. Each sphere or sun will rule one of the 13 processes of alchemy (for matter this would be Calcination, Solution, Dissolution, Sublimation, Separation, Fermentation, Conjunction, Exaltation, Putrefaction, Multiplication, Congelation, Combustion, and Projection), and so we can declare that each of the 13 processes will have most affect on the class which is ruled by the house the proper body is in. Thus if the body that rules purgation is in the Leopard, which is the element of fire, those materials or spirits of fire, can be properly subject to purgation. Thus, on each sphere there will be a unique combination of classes on which extrinsic alchemy may be performed. Since each soul is born, the element of the individual at birth, is the extrinsic alchemy that is performed on that soul. In this way the astrologer casts, by ascertaining the great extrinsic alchemy performed on the soul, at the moment of its joining with the material... … and so it was for many centuries, that each alchemist attempted to gather the essence of each process for each class, which made for 104 essences, or elements. Since many of these have never been found or observed in any way, it was destined to failure, or at least success that has still eluded all efforts of all reputable alchemists. The dream was to have, of course, the philosopher's stone, and the universal aqua, which could be used to produce the correct essence for all, and so the great alchemists proceeded in their search. However, for the practical alchemists two great discoveries have led to the proliferation of the art. The first was the discovery that for most purposes, the four cardinal types could, indeed produce the 4 mediant types, and vice versa. This reduced the needed elements to 52. The second, of course, is that thaumaturgical influence could be used to create a flow of essence for any one of these 52. Hence, the production of the modern arcana, with four suits to match the four element types being used as bases, and the 13 processes. While not sufficient for all purposes, it allows the production of ordinary reactions anywhere in amounts sufficient for daily use. Gone are the centuries long accumulations of specific steps, to be combined only at specific times, save for those greater and more complex magicks that are far beyond what may be written in exoteric tomes... Codex Magnus Al-Kim’s

Part III i For two days they had torn through space, pulled by their draconian steed, at a pace that was very deliberate for one of these beasts, but which was far faster and truer than humans could usually manage. Several times both the ship's master and the astrologer suspected that they had gone straighter than straight, or along a celestial equivalent of a faerie path that took them miles with every stride. Higar had been awake nearly every minute, subsisting on draughts brewed by the captain, tough he was haggard and looked a thin ruin of his former self. Morwethe, between rounds of tending to wounds, had spent every waking minute on her knees doing devotionals: sitting up, touching one hand to her forehead, bending to the deck, sitting up, touching her other hand to her forehead, and then bending again. Her lips were a constant wave of motion. Below Albrecht was stretch out on a blanket and spent his hours sleeping and drawing, he had had four ribs smashed, and several punctures in his belly, and if they had been on some more fertile sphere, he would long have been taken by infectious influences. Here, however, where spontaneous generation was more tightly bound by some enchantment that none could quite understand, he seemed to be able to hold on to his life. He covered a single sheet of vellum with a lovingly rendered portrait of the princess standing at her full height, half turned looking backwards towards something that locked her gaze in both fascination and slight disgust. He would look into the scale that imprisoned her soul, and then back down to his rendering of her incarnation. It hung before them as if they stood upon the surface of a sphere, and not the deck of a ship: Korana was shrouded in smudges of mist that hung around it like a shroud. The surface was clearly a dull gray, and it was difficult to demarcate the land from the waters. Near by, bright as a shining ruby, was its companion moon Kohepta, nearly as large as Korana now. Niccolo shook his head. “This is wrong. Kohepta has always been large, but this is larger than I remember her. She has grown, and far more quickly than anything in my experience or reading.” Instead of confirmation, Jehanjir was busy measuring. “Tis an illusion, from Korana's darkness, and the companions brightness.” This drew an appreciative whistle. “At least all is not madness.” ”All is not madness, nor is all lost.” “We are, at least, here far before our rival fleet. Though I have oft looked in our wake, and seen tremors in the ether that indicate that we are pursued still by the flying pestilence of wyrms.” “Undoubtedly, we are a pearl of great price.” “Do you think the swordsman broken? I mean in more than body.” “Young men and young women are bodies whose interactions are farther from me than the dallying of the spheres, and far less orderly. I have forgotten whatever I knew of it, which was little enough then.” “She could never marry him, and I cannot believe he has not had his share of wenching in his travails. It makes no sense to me, save with bewitchment as an explaining force.” “Not all bewitchings are of the magical sort, Captain Niccolo.” To this the mariner nodded. “He senses something, he keeps saying she is alive.” “In this he is correct, she has not departed.” “But of what use is that? Better she had.” “The turns of kismet are even more complex than those of love. I do not know why he chose to stay with us, and I do not know why she chose not to depart when she had her chance?” “Choose?” “It was in both their horoscopes: a visitation from the ferryman, within that day more or less. If

their souls are not in flight to that other realm, it is because something within them willed the hither rather than thither.” “They are both made of very stern stuff, that I must give them both. Even though I have half a mind to take Albrecht to task.” “We have some hours before we will reach the bow shock of Korana, thought we might wish to make a full swing around, and examine Kohepta first. It has always been a strange moon: none record her birth, and there has never been a solution to that conjunction could have led to her conception, and by which sun. The seven suns and seven sisters have never spoken of it, though that is not so strange, the do not speak of Lilith either, and her birth is well recorded and considered.” “We still have to dispose of our steed.” “Easy enough done, loose it and it will tear outwards, until its addled wits are healed.” “Would you not slay it.” “I still do not understand how we tamed it, and less how we would actually end its life. Dragon skulls are very hard, and I doubt even Higar and his maul, alone, would do the trick. Dragon slaying is almost as dangerous to have done, as to do.” “Aye, that it is, infamy upon the wing is oft the reward.” “So I advise we leave the affairs of dragons to dragons.” “And what of the scale?” “We should keep it safe, and perhaps find some solution, or let the swordsman mourn her passing, for such it in all...” He halted in his course. “Rawrwa.” It was said by a cat as it wound its way around the astrologer's legs. It was white and orange: a white belly, and two large patches of orange above. Jehanjir recognized it, from the drawing in Albrecht's hand that was next to where he had made his bed. The old man bent down, and looked into its eyes, one was green, the other blue. “And where did you come from, my kitty cat?” The cat looked up, stared as if giving the astrologer due and serious consideration, and then wound its way around his leg again, before running off and down the stairs to the lower deck.There were general stares, because it was inconceivable that a cat could have hidden from them for this long, though perhaps possible. Higar looked “Perhaps it is the princess' cat? She was the one doing all the counting.” “Perhaps. Or more personally.” It was at this point that Higar, Niccolo, and Jehanjir went down into the hold. They found the cat sitting on a drawing, straight up. Albrecht absently pet the cat's head a few times, and there was loud purring that rose and fell like the drawing of breath. The swordsman however, remained slouched out, and continued to draw, his beard was growing into a blonde stubble, and he had an unmistakable odor of wine about him. This was finally too much to bear for the beleaguered mariner. “Where have you been hiding the cat all this time, and who gave you permission to take it aboard.” Albrecht looked up serenely, his long blonde hair, framing his long face and frighteningly blue eyes. “I never hid the cat. She came to me just now, though perhaps, ” he stared off to the left, “some of the squeaking I heard was her chasing mice. But no, I did not hide the cat. She came, ” he gestured to the drawing, “from that, I think.” “What kind of a fool do you think I am!?” “An old fool.” Niccolo was entirely unused to such insubordination from someone who was either crew or ships complement, and had his rapier out. “Stand and make account of yourself, you lying bastard.” The gust of anger had passed, and

these words were a determined cold. There was an almost pitying look of half vacant resignation from the floor, while Jehanjir put a hand on Niccolo's shoulder and tried to slow him down, but it was too late, he covered the gap in two strides and was just outside of measure. His nominal opponent put the papers aside and sighed, rolling slowly up to his feet. At the first moment that could possibly be declared not entirely disreputable, the captain took a step and lunge, but found his rapier caught in a cross block between the forte of his opponent's rapier and main-gauche. “I did not hide the cat, captain.” “You are drunk, and lying.” “Well perhaps I am drunk, ” he twitched his face and blinked his eyes as he forced the pair in a circle, “but generally drunk men don't lie very well, and shouldn't even try. How do you know I am lying.” “You drew that cat. I saw the drawing.” “And so, you presume the drawing came after the cat?” They pressed close, and the captain spat at Albrecht. “Isn't that the way it usually is?” “Which came first, the ship, or the drawings of the ship?” “Touche, Niccolo.” This interjection from the astrologer was, however, ignored. “Do you deny this is your cat?” “I deny that I have ever known a cat to be owned by anyone, ever.” “Do you deny, that this, is your cat?” “It is not my cat.” “Then how did you draw it, was it the princesses cat.” There was some more jostling, but Niccolo's blade was firmly fixed and despite the strain on his muscles, Albrecht was not letting it go. Finally, in utter frustration, the broader man simply pushed him backwards into the bulkhead and took a two step lunge. However, this merely lead to the point of his sword being stuck in the wood. Albrecht ran his fingers up the sides of the blade looking at it, and then at the Captain. “Captain, I admit I am drunk, but if you do not gain some sense here, I really will be forced to run you through. For the last time, it is not my cat. I have not seen this cat before. It is not the princess' cat either to my knowledge.” “Please Captain, Niccolo, comrade in arms. Cease this. You can see he is in earnest.” Higar nodded. “The blonde man is too arrogant to lie.” A quick smirk rolled over Albrecht's thin lips. “Thank you, I think.” Niccolo shrugged and pulled the blade out of the wood slowly, and sheathed it. “So it isn't your cat? Your word of honor?” “Whatever that is worth, yes.” “And it isn't the princess' cat?” From behind him the astrologer broke in, “Perhaps it is the princess.” With that, the captain raised his eyebrows. “Tell me more.” “Her soul did not depart, and perhaps it has been incarnated as the cat. Such things, I think, are possible.” Higar broke in. “The Summoner's soul is still here, and it is a magic vessel.” Niccolo nodded. “My apologies, Albrecht, I think the strain has gotten to me.” “Tis not the princess.” “How do you know.” “First off, it is a boy, not a girl.” He took too steps over and scooped up the cat, which lazily

allowed itself to hang from his hands. Albrecht turned the cat around and showed everyone. “See? That means boy.” He dropped the cat who returned to the corner, this time to curl up on the heap of a blanket. “That isn't an impediment.” “Second, it is not her scent.” “What do you mean, Albrecht?” This question came from the astrologer, whose eyebrow piqued in interest. With a sigh, the swordsman walked over to the dragon scale, and carried it over to the three men. “Smell this, if you will.” Jehanjir shook his head. “My nose is too many times broken.” Came the excuse from Higar. “And I should go and watch the dragon anyway.” He trudged back up. “Send down Morwethe.” And indeed moments later she gingerly descended, her ample hips flouncing as she took careful steps down. “Smell this, please, lady priestess.” Morwethe bent closely, and took an deep inhalation. “Lilacs.” “Now smell the cat please, good priestess.” She bent down and coaxed the cat to her with gestures and blinks. It was somewhat dubious at first, but came to her. She picked it up and allowed it to clamber over her shoulders. The cat, smelled of cat, with a strong dose of mouse. “It smells like a cat.” “I will tell you the sorceress has an air about her. Her soul is still in the scale.” “So the cat just, appeared?” The captain was still dubious. “Where do you think the mice came from?” Jehanjir again raised an eyebrow. “You drew mice in the plans?” “A bit later, but on the same sheets. And the flies.” “Flies can be spontaneous.” “Only if there is meat for them.” “True, and we have none about. This theory intrigues me. You say that there is a magic that summons things into being?” “Why do you think I drew the princess?” “It seems a very vain hope.” “Better than no hope. Now may I ask, good gentles all, that we return to our work.” “Does that include you, draughtsman?” “I suppose it should.” With that, he went over and hung the scale and his drawing of the princess next to each other, and set himself to cleaning up and organizing. It was clear he was still quite injured, and his range of motion was limited, but he found ways of moving around it. The cat, meanwhile, would follow around first one person, and then another, watching them work, before wandering off to sleep. Occasionally the cat would be no where to be found, until it would arrive with a mouse, often a live mouse. Once he dropped it at the feet of Morwethe, who startled when she looked down, and then picked the mouse up by the tail and did an elaborate bow. “Why thank you Don Gato, for this marvelous gift.” The mouse wrestled, but clearly was not long for this world. So she walked over to Niccolo dropped the mouse with half a shiver, and said “Kill it!” This elicited a chuckle, and the mouse was rapidly dispatched. “You could have done it your self, I think.” A wink came back, with a reply. “Perhaps but it would hinder the devotional energy, and I pray

that we will have the full force of my God's favor soon upon us.” At this, Niccolo nodded, but noted that she did not return to where she was, but stood close to him, and then seated herself, taking to mending some of her vestments with a needle and thread. “It would not be wise to be too engaged in that, we will have to change course soon.” “Always time to take care of the little details, Captain.” “That there is, that there always is.” With this he nudged the wheel slightly and called to Higar at the reins. Before them were sheets of dark and swirling mist, that seemed to spiral off of Korana. The turning of its orb was perceptible now, and she was the size of a fist held at arms length. The cold light of the winter sun reflected off the oceans and ice, and was swallowed by the lands. Afore stood a cold and lonely figure, who had aged, again, in the last few days. His shoulders had taken on a certain slouch. He was weary, and lined eyelids drooped from fatigue. The bell's magic would not carry him forever, he had to reach Korana, and enter, to discern what fate had befallen the inhabitants. The loss of both the Summoner, and Princess Chang was a sore defeat, in that they both had powers of perception through their magicks that he longed to have the aid of here, before landing. He, of course, used what tools he had with him, but these read in a confused and clotted way. Perhaps the others would find the same, but it would be hope, even in the labyrinth. He took slow breaths as he examined the growing orb, but, as yet, saw nothing. He went below to sleep a while before the next important shifting of course that would be required. His head was heavy with an ache, there was a howling inside his mind that had been pressing upon him, as if the roar of the ether was welling up from within him. He drifted and looked at the ceiling, with its ornate depiction of the seven suns, he was unsure whether he was awake, or dreaming, as he thought he saw the spheres move in their orbits. He turned to look over for the drafting table, where he had been working on a way to control the dragon by a mechanical yoke, so that the wheel, rather than Higar's brute strength, could be used to make most maneuvers. There would be limits, of course, but it would be an improvement. He could barely force that last word through his mind, and he lolled his head from side to side to sweep in the scene past his vision. Then he thought he saw the floral decorations begin to sway and move, slowly, as if stirred by a wind. They seemed to be greener, and the columns more like the trunks of palm trees. He stirred his head and looked outwards, and the sides of the hull seemed to be merging into vegetation, and he could look out beyond on to rolling dunes of sand. He turned towards the center of the ship, and instead of the setting of the model, he saw a small cool oasis pool, its water greenish with algae. He crawled the few feet over to it, and looked down. He thought he could see the summoner, far below, laid as if for burial or cremation, his hands crossed over his chest. He resisted touching the water, feeling that either it would disrupt the dream, or risk some enchantment to be loosed upon himself. He looked as carefully as he could in the dim light, some of which seemed to be coming from green and blue points in the water. It was difficult to tell the source, but then one moved as if alive, twisting like a fish. In the inner oceans of many worlds, the ocean between the outer and inner surfaces, there were such creatures, that made their own light. They would be churned up from time to time, with enormous sharp jaws that would snap at anything. Many would explode from within soon after, or turn themselves inside out. From his vantage, he thought he could see several swimming in circles around the bottom, their tails lashing like whips. Occasionally they seemed to pass above or below the figure that was lying in repose. It was at this point that he could tell he had been staring down for some time. After this he roused himself and looked around, weighing in his mind the benefit of calling out, or waiting, lest his cries be heard by unintended listeners. He also tried to wake himself, as if this were a dream, but there was no effect. He felt neither steady and conscious, nor floating and enshrouded in reverie. So he moved carefully out to the edge of the oasis, which had now completely transformed the ship, and looked outwards over the sands, he could distantly see the tips of some large stone edifices, but did not know how far they were, but they had to be enormously tall to stand over the dunes. He

searched the area, and found nothing. This convinced him that he was almost certainly dreaming. There was a rustle of leaves, and he startled and turned. He noted that one small cluster of broad leafed flowers was not moving the same way as the other plants, but, instead, in a different pattern, with a slight jiggle that made the light reflect off of droplets of water, also different, because the other plants were dry. His heart started to beat faster, and fear pulsed through his body. He took a ginger step forward, and then moved to the side hiding behind the trunk of a palm. There he waited, listening, straining to listen, reaching his senses outward. But he could not hear anything but the rustle of leaves, and the occasional dollop of a fish breaking the surface of the oasis pool. During this time he stared at each leave, and noted that their movements came in very precise increments, as if driven by gears and ratchets rather than growing organically. He looked up in the night sky, too see if he could divine where he was, and there too, the stars seemed to turn like small gears, rather than twinkling by ordinary light. Finally he looked around the edge of the trunk and saw. What he saw was a figure of a woman, clad in a single long white dress that had no seems, and hugged the hills and valleys of her shape body, with rises and falls that were both prominent and smooth, rich and yet resilient. Her face was broad and she had a broad nose, with dark creamy skin, that made his eyes ache just to look at it. He startled in recognition, that she looked like Morwethe, only as the priestess might have been younger: full of face, full of lips, full of figure, but firm and toned in all of her parts. A full fertile radiance pressed upon his face, and coursed through the capillaries of his body. The flush rippled over his face like a fast cloud over the sun, leaving behind beads of sweat. He focused on her eyes, and with a practiced movement, he bowed. It allowed him to gather his thoughts, but they scrambled away from him as soon as he stood straight up again. It was impossible not to want to simply embrace her, smile and fall into her body. It is a dream, came his sense, and so he dreamt it. When he awoke it was with a startle, he looked left and then right. He was covered with a blanket, and near by he could see Morwethe from behind as she was doing devotions, but she stopped as soon as he looked at her round body. She turned around on her knees and smiled at him. Petting his forehead. “You were ill and needed some healing.” There was a tinge or edge of coyness to her voice. “What was it?” “Nothing that could not easily be cured.” She stood up, brushed herself off, and looked at him. “With your permission captain, I have other duties to attend to as well.” He simply nodded, looked down at his physique, and tried to feel his body. He was relaxed, but realized he needed a drag behind the ship to scour off an acrid scent that loomed around him. He strode up the stairs, and was about to gather a lashing so to scour himself, when he heard a churning of gears and an exchange of cries from the astrologer and Higar. He looked down and saw that Jehanjir was on his back legs out from under the port mast mounts. He was helping out commands, and Higar was replying with adjustments. A few moments later, Jehanjir pulled out and looked up. “Captain! I though you would still be asleep.” Niccolo's brow furrowed. “We are rigging up the yoke you designed.” Niccolo's brow furrowed. The old man put down a pair of pliers and rolled to his feet, walked over to the table where designs were, and pointed to the bow and cantilever design in Niccolo's sketch hand. “Ah. I had forgotten I had done that.” He paused, and realized he had been thinking of it, for some reason, just before he went to sleep. “Hrum. I was thinking of some improvements of the design, but this will still be oft better than how it is now. He looked upwards at the bloated orb of Korana, half veiled by the black filaments of darkness. She weighed over them oppressively, taking up nearly a fifth of the sky. Kohepta was just

forming a crescent beyond her, and he knew that he wanted to swing half way around, and try entry then. It would not be long. “Astrologer, did you have time to work the angles for our landing? I left...” “I have indeed, they were quite simple, though I have some concerns.” “What kind of concerns.” “We have not had any time to observe these strange strangling clouds of black, and I fear that this must have more than some small influence on how we are to approach.” The captain looked up, pondered, and thought. “So you would advise?” “Could we approach the plan of some of them, so that we might see how they and the ship interact?” This elicited a sharp breath of tension. “That depends on how long you feel we can keep hold on our serpentine steed.” “That too is a risk, I must confess.” “Caught between the tendrils that are strangling a world, and the whip that can crush our lives, I know.” “I am hoping to counsel some prudence.” “There are times when prudence becomes imprudence, perhaps we can work a course, that should we need to loose the dragon, there is still some hope of spiraling in, rather than leaving us to careen from perigee to apogee.” The astrologer nodded. “It might be possible to have a conic section that would do so.” “If we skim the bowshock on each close pass, it would give us the chance of using what is left of our sail to retard our motion.” The frown from Jehanjir was hard enough to almost reach a scowl, but his eyes brightened at the challenge. “Let me see if I can use some divination to locate the ethercline more exactly than by eye.” Niccolo nodded. “I will do so as well, so that we can compare our figures for greater exactitude.” “You seem to do a little of everything, good Captain.” “I have a grain of sand from every beach on the spheres, but an ocean of none of them.” A shrug came as the reply. “I know you must often feel overshadowed, but none other would have been capable of holding this journey in the palm of his hand.” “The great skill of a captain, is to employ skills greater than himself. It is a lesson I stive to employ, though often falling short of the humility required.” “You do as well as any man could.” “That is very kind of you, ” placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, “but utterly untrue. I have come to doubt my selection over others that were there. What was it you saw in the horoscope that made you so certain of your choice?” “Oh that's simple captain, of all of them, yours was the one that clashed the least with the others.” “A shadow then.” “A gear that fit all the others best.” “Such I suppose is my place in the cosmos.” “Better the gear in the clock, than the worm in the apple. Your fate is easier than the princess, or the summoner's already.” “Or our dragon, who must be consigned to some ages of torment in the mind for what we have done to him.”

“Indeed.” “Pray let me retire to this task you have in mind.” The captain nodded, and walked forward to Higar, there to find the state of the giant's mind and health. He looked up again, and shivered at the mottled face of Korana, wondering what foul force was at work there, and how they would escape to convey word of it. He returned to a rolling gait and strolled fore again. However, before he was all the way there, he heard a vast bellow of anguish and then the sound of a fist pounding against a bulk head. “No. No. No. No. No.” With this he turned and saw that Morwethe was already clambering down the steps. “Carry on Higar, I think we should stay topside.” The giant nodded. “The last thing many men see, is the first time it was seen.” “Wise man, giant.” “I am smarter than I act, Captain.” With this Niccolo went to the steps and knelt down, pulling out a pistol and holding it at the ready. He saw a figure walking, though not walking. His mind clashed: on one hand, it moved like one of the mechanical figures that were built to haul the sails and so on. But it was taller, and it was not walking on any track, but, instead, up the stairs. Gradually light hit its face, which was a pretty, but clearly artificial, rendering of the face of Princess Chang, a smile on her face, with articulated eyes, but the rest as if cast in enamel or molded of porcelain. She was dressed in the garb of a harlequin, with checkered black and white on one side, and white and red diamonds on the other. On her feet were shows of pink silk and satin. On her back, she wore the dragon scale like a shield might be strapped over a traveling gendarme's pack. She reached the top of the stairs, turned precisely half a circle, turned, and gave an exacting curtsey to the Captain. Chasing after her below was Albrecht, his face twisted in anguish and horror, with even the sound squeezed out so that his lips were like a hole in his face, from which only a rasping cough came. Behind him was Morwethe, a hand on his shoulder in an ineffectual gesture of condolence. He pulled his face together and marched upwards, the whizzing whirr of mechanical parts from the moving doll attracted the attention of Jehanjir, who turned away from his telescope and his pendulum to stare at the commotion. He puzzled his head and furrowed his brow, trying to decide if there was, in fact, something amiss. It was only on second glance that his face lit up, but with a disgusted amazement that resulted in the pulling back of the muscles of his jaw and the raising of his eyebrows. “This might be worse than it looks.” Higar's voice made the understatement almost comical. Albrecht was nearly crying. “Worse that it looks?” His face was visibly reddened and his cheeks puffed. “You were playing with magicks you didn't understand, swordsman, ” Niccolo shot back, “and this is the sad result.” From below Morwethe interjected, “That seems to harsh. She sacrificed herself to save all of us. And even without this we would be faced with the quandary of what to do.” “Sometimes it is better that souls depart.” Snapped Niccolo. With a glare, Albrecht shot back, “And how many times have you had to choose?” “A few, swordsman, a few.” “So you aren't one to talk. Nor is our astrologer friend who turned cards with the ferryman, before there were cards that is.” “You think that anything we know here is not brought forward from the before? And, I played with death, not the ferryman, a terrible and important difference.”

Higar spoke. “Is this helping anyone?” With this the mechanical princess placed her index finger under her chin and curtseyed to Higar. Niccolo shook his head. “No.” “I might suggest we examine Niccolo's drawings of your sketches captain, and your sketches as well.” Morwethe called up. “Then I appoint you a board of inquiry, ” with this Niccolo tossed down a key, “ That will give you access to all of my sketches and notes, they are in the case aft of the ship to the port side. Meanwhile Jehanjir must complete his calculations, and Higar and I will see through the preparations for whatever deviltry our good astrogator imagines for us.” Below Albrecht showed his meticulous and fine handed final ink versions of Niccolo's sketches. Beside both of them stood the mechanical princess, who put her hand down on one place. The hand had no articulation of the fingers or other joints beyond the wrist, meant as it was for adjusting a wire that balanced the twist of the sails. Without question, the marionette figure that was meant to do the roll was drawn from the princess, with the pointed heart shape of her face, and willowy proportions clearly in evidence. Here eyelids rose and fell with a counterweighted fluidity as she bobbed her face up to the swordsman's face. He could see the enrapturement of the gracile curves that were perfect echo of the twist in his original ink. “I put all of us in the final drawings, but they were, I swear, at least hinted at in the sketches.” Albrecht turned to both of them. “There, as the bow cantilever is Higar, there as the figurehead is Morwethe. There I am trimming the mainsail, there is Niccolo adjusting the tillers over the lanterns. But there are others, I even have Bartine – as the bilge pump, to be sure.” They searched through the sketches that Niccolo had made, and unrolled the section that corresponded. Niccolo's hand was broad, quick, and in pencil, he clearly was skilled, but no artist. They looked carefully for the figure, checking back several times. It was hard to tell, but it seemed as if the figure was, at least, the same general size and shape, feminine in its contours, though without exaggerated curves or florid voluptuousness. They looked more closely, and each began to feel that it was possible that even if Albrecht had modeled his figure too closely on the Princess from the Kingdom of the Jade Throne, that the suggestion was clearly present in Niccolo's pencil. Then, in each place that Albrecht had encased a portrait in mechanism, they searched the originals, and in each case, it was, at least arguable that Niccolo had had the same idea first: the locks of Albrecht, his own stern visage, the curves that Morwethe was lavished with. Each were, in embryo, there. Morwethe nodded at each point, gathered up the scrolls. “I will have a word with the Captain, because as I think we can all tell, this is a personal grudge between you and he.” “It still doesn't tell us what we need to do about Si-yeona.” Morwethe simply called back as she mounted the stairs. “What to do about the princess is a matter of magick, and troublesome, but what to do about Siyeona is going to be a matter of the heart, and I would say more troublesome still.” She walked smoothly across the deck and tapped Niccolo on the shoulder. “I would have a word with you, Captain.” “Aye, my lady.” “We have looked at the materials, and found clear sign that Albrecht's drawing of Si-yeona is not at fault, because we are all there, and in your originals.” Niccolo thought. “If it was so, it was not my intent.” “Mayhaps, mayhaps not. But that is not at the root of all of this.” “Speak your mind, priestess.” “The conflict between you and Albrecht is festering sore, plain to the eye, and is a danger. You are a better man than this.”

Niccolo merely set his jaw. “Is that your finding?” “That is my finding.” “I will take it to counsel, and thank you for your diligence.” He turned back to his tasks, and she simply stood there. “I am not that easy to dismiss.” Niccolo turned around and faced her again. He looked at her, suspicion in his eyes. But he sighed. “What am I to do? He's a cannon broken from its lashings, a shower ripped from its place on the calendar, a comet. I cannot be plainer: he toys with great forces, and leaves behind smoke and smoldering ruins. He is touchpaper in a powder store.” Morwethe listened to the edged rant patiently, her eyes soft and forgiving, finally his energy petered out into a numb anger. She took his hand into both of hers that she crossed in front of her chest. “Then you have to have better aim.” He sighed again. “I will try to do better.” “For me?” Her eyes probing? He slowly let the breath drain out of his lungs. “After, after the voyage, let us speak of this.” She smiled let his hand dropped and gave a saucy tilt of her hips as she wandered off. Niccolo was left to wonder what he was getting himself into. The cat wound itself around his feet and purred. He stooped down, absently gave it a pat, and wondered whose soul was that cat, or wether some soul had been born into it. In his bones, he could feel a kind of creeping dread, the way ivy chokes a tree, and wished he knew in whose sorcery they were were imprisoned. He continued to watch as she went down into the hold, remembering that not all bewitchments are magick. Meanwhile Morwethe continued to head downstairs into the hold, there she saw the mechanical princess and Albrecht doing some court dance in high style, he was patiently teaching her the steps, they would bob left, bob right, touch hands together and come around in a circle, left, and then right. She tilted her head back left and right, with each pass, but could not do more than clasp and unclasp the claws that the design gave her. Then Albrecht and Morwethe both startled and turned, the princess continued a full step before realizing that Albrecht had been distracted by something. That something was a sharp acrid scent that came on a deep green-gray smoke. They both surveyed to look. Albrecht called out “Smoke in the hold.” Then a booming deep voice, which both recognized as emanating from Morwethe's patron deity, towards the aft. “Bleat not! 'Tis I.” Morwethe turned and saw first the outline of the horned figure of her god in the middle of the ball of smoke. He was seated, and using two of his arms to smoke a nargileh, or waterpipe, which was producing the deep hashish smoke that was rolling along the deck. It was of a fragrant mixture that was called charas. It was mixed with wax and oil of honey to separate it, and thus there was a sweet tang to the smoke as well. Morwethe did a quick, almost perfunctorily quick, devotional greeting bow, but was then standing again, hands on her hips. “My Lord, of whom none are party to your government, bright fortune be upon all of us in your presence.” The sarcasm slathered so think that it was dripping from the ends of her phrases. For a moment features seemed to coalesce into a scowling face, and then a mirthful grimace as the echoes of a laugh came out. “You will be more respectful when I have the bow repaired.” “All urgent prayers are for your lordship's might hands to fashion it a new and better than before.”

“That will be some time, I have decided to abide with thee for a while, since I feel your...” Interrupting his statement there was a loud series of thumps on the starboard side of the hull, and almost instantly there was a complete change in the outline in the smoke from arrogantly crosslegged sitting to prostrate on the ground before Morwethe. “Hide me. They are coming!” This followed by several sobs that were most unbecoming anyone, let alone a deitic creature with aspirations to greatness. Morwethe looked and puzzled at this turn of events, but managed to ask: “Who, who are coming?” “There is a purge of all the middle godlings, or at least many of them. And I am sure they come for me.” “They who?” Inserted Niccolo, who had ducked his head above. “The muscaedes. The etheral flies. They unravel the preter-living and deitic at the will of the Gods and Goddesses. Usually there is no agreement, so only the most egregious of violations are punished.” “What happens if they catch you?” “The legend among us is that you unravel into other preter-born souls. But other say you become woven into physical matter, and there are tormented by the swarms of daemons, spirits, and homunculi. However, it is too terrible a fate to contemplate.” Niccolo's face was impassive. “Flies, even etheral ones, do not bump on the side of the hull.” “I've seen them descend on two others as myself, competitors, we were soliciting worship in a dream, when a black haze descended on the others, and tore them to pieces.” “And you fled.” “Yes!” It was Niccolo's turn to sigh. “What is another divine enemy more or less. As Captain, I grant you safety of this ship, such as it is.” There was a pause. “I would appreciate a grovel, it isn't every day a mortal gets a god grovel.” The figure in the smoke slavishly complied, Morwethe looked down and simply shook her head. Albrecht quizzically turned and looked. “So what were the bumps?” “Higar pounding a board back into place.” It was 6 hours later that they were at the top of the arc that the astrologer had calculated as the appropriate moment to attempt to swoop down, and close to one of the spiraling planes of darkness. During that time there had been increasingly frenzied preparations, as various springs, gears, and other workings had to be reset or replaced. With every bump and twist of the increasingly turbulent ether, it seemed as if one part or another of their overly rigged mechanisms strained and ground together to a halt. Niccolo was seemingly everywhere, oiling, adjusting, loosening. During this time the princess came upon the cat playing with a mouse, batting it back and forth, she pulled it away, and found it to be the most mauled creature imaginable: missing all its legs, one ear, one eye, and most of its tail. She tiled her head, and carried it away by the tail, going to the side of the ship, and tossing it out into the void. The cat followed her each step of the way, and sat watching as she hurled it at surprising velocity to be consumed by the dark. It was barely able to manage a squeak. With every hour the orb of Korana grew, until finally it had become the sky and hung over them. Gradually the ship had turned over a quarter turn, so that it seemed as if the sphere was to their right and above them, a vast weight, bearing down. Below was what seemed to be a black land, gradually growing in detail, filled with its own geography of valleys and rills, brutal chasms and sheer cliffs. The mechanical princess looked down fixing her gaze at one point, following it, and then shifting

to another just in front of the ship. Behind her was Albrecht, who watched her carefully, and stood close, but was afraid to touch her. He then bowed and went to his station. He looked back over his shoulder, but she had vanished to someplace else. He was concerned, but did not have time to wonder. Higar of course was manning the reigns themselves, while Niccolo was at the wheel. Morwethe was tending the lanterns, while Jehanjir was watching closely the contraption that they had rigged to balance the forces on the two masts that stayed the straps to the dragon. None knew how much longer the dragon's own dazzle would last, leaving him tractable to the commands of the bit, but so far, it seemed as if they still worked. But with each pull and turn, Niccolo's chest muscles flinched, half expecting the beast to turn on them and attack. The rise and fall below them of the dark lands seemed to rush towards and away from them, as if any moment it would charge and overwhelm them. To stare down was to be overcome by a dizzying vertigo. Niccolo slowed their progress as the course had planned, giving Jehanjir the chance to examine the terrain more closely. The ship shimmied from side to side, burning off momentum, throwing off small clouds of daemons and homunculi, that went wailing down into the abyssal shadow lands below. From a distance it seemed to be a barren country, however, as they grew closer, the shapes seemed to congeal into flora and fauna of bizarre and grotesque shapes, monsters with massive jaws slithered close to the ground, while gargantuan insects crawled and flew. The vegetation was similarly afflicted with a bloated elephantine character, with massive boughs atop tiny trunks, and vast leaves in misshapen asymmetries. Some seemed to have animal parts, feet, arms, jaws, lips that grew where flowers might have been, enormous pairs of buttocks. Over the ground oozed black fogs or volcanic fumes. They seemed to crawl and loop over each other, consuming one another and then excreting out an even more deformed version of the creature moments later. Unhinged maws would bite into the sides of plants, and gulp down the insides, leaving behind a desiccated husk behind. Then, abruptly the withered tendrils would wrap themselves around an unfortunate beast, and suck it dry until its skin or carapace clung to its bones or structure, leaving it to wander off in search of moisture of its own. As they grew closer they began to hear the trumpets and howls that produced a terrible din, a roaring cacophony of misery, shrieks of agony, yowls of pain, brief cries of triumph. Jehanjir and Niccolo turned to each other, both realized that these were not purely bestial cries, but had behind them a conviction that produced a shiver sympathy in the nerves, that wince one soul feels, at the terror and torment of another. “Seen enough, sage?” “Not enough, and far too much. Enough to know that it is a peril we would not survive.” “I want to take the course that would land us.” It took only a nod from the astrologer to have Niccolo yelping out to the others. “Prepare to descend to Korana's air.” With this the he spun the wheel hard, and the cantilever began to strain under the torsion as gears ticked and then held under ratchet. The twisting crept up the straps, turn by turn, tightening around the dragon's neck. Each revolution added only a small amount to the pressure, but gradually it began to chaff and wriggle. The dragon, in response, continued to spin faster and faster, sending twists down the bounds that held him, tightening them beyond taut. Below the delicate gearing that ran through the central spring of the yoke began tightening as well, its spindly ratchets clawing into the teeth of the gear, as the spring absorbed more and more of the energy. The coils of the spring pressed in against each other, and began squeezing, then they started to jostle, clearly becoming unstable. The mechanical doll that held the princesses soul observed this, and seemed to stand utterly still. Then slowly from a start she took two steps forward, and removed her own left hand. Beneath this was a large rectangular peg with a staying knob, she pressed this directly into a gear key that ran off the main spring, and pushed it down into place. It began bleeding off the winding of the mainspring, there being a rapid nasal whinging of the gears, first in her arm, then in her shoulder, then in her chest, as

each of her won smaller springs in turn absorbed the energy. She seemed to grow stiffer and straighter as the mechanisms within her tightened and pulled taut. She went from standing to scrunched in a fetal position, the other arm being pressed against the beam of the ship's hull to wedge herself in place. Above the dragon continued to twirl, generating more and more force with each turn, until finally it began turning against the tightening, making it peel to the left with enough etheral lift to pull not only its own body, but the ship behind it as well. The vessel, itself, began dragging behind it, veering towards Korana's sphere, which did not yet feel “down” to the voyagers, but instead appeared above them, a slice of shining distant curve between two slabs of the black lands. They began to ascend up towards it, and the walls of the two reaches began to grow up beside them, enclosing them as if they were in a dark chasm, with the only hope above them. They could see the haze of the true atmosphere along the limb of the sphere and the turbulence of the ether like a white veil between them and the sphere. While the churning white was a threatening gashing foam, it was the most hopeful thin in Niccolo's eyes, because it meant, at least in some way, that the engine of the ether was still working here. Beneath the princess could feel herself unwinding, as the dragon's counter turns slowly reduced the force on the mainspring, and on each of hers as well. The free motion returned to her limbs, and she finally could lift the bleed gear away, and restore the claw-like appendage to its proper place at the end of her wrist. Of course, she could show no emotion through all of this, her face being painted into an artificial smile. The black walls clasped in around them like hands, and the astrologer walked up beside him, watching a pendulum swing too and fro. When the sphere had them, it would begin to tilt towards it. “This is an unusual approach.” “I want the gap before my eyes, before we are truly committed to running it.” “Have you ever done something like this?” “From time to time there are shards of crystal or foams of surf in the ether, and it is necessary to weave between them. It is, I hope, something like this.” Jehanjir nodded and returned to his post as they grew deeper into the black. The sides revealed themselves has having knotted fluted eddies, like globular trees pressed together, or the pipes of an organ fit for a toad to play. Or perhaps a thousand arms reaching up to encompass them. Niccolo looked towards the sphere, and he began to suspect that the gap between the black lands was narrowing. He looked back and could then see how thin black arms were reaching out between the two, and closing the gap, he looked in front, and saw the same steadily growing web of joins. He thought for a moment to hazard it, drive them through the gap and hope to fly through, but he reasoned that if there were filaments that he could see from here, then there might be even more gossamer ones that would shred them. With reluctance he spun the wheel and turned the vessel back upwards, hoping that their escape was not closed up. He spun the wheel deliberately, turn by turn binding the lashes, forcing the dragon to turn over and leading the ship on a corkscrew turn. Four times he rolled the ship over, until the dragon pulled them like a sleigh up, out and back towards the dome of the fixed stars. ii “The Dragon must die.” A huff came from Jehanjir, the Captain was more blunt. “Let me read the first page from the first codex on dragon slaying. 'Don't!' It is also on half the other pages. We have nothing that could slay it before it shredded us all. Higar could pound its skull, you could stab all four eyes and Morwethe lay in with our cannon after I dosed with the most vicious poison that the law of mariners is death for uttering it. And what would we have? A blind drunk dragon

with a headache, and a very ill temper.” Albrecht bow'd his head and knelt one knee on the deck, he seemed to be skimming up some of the dust of space that had accumulated on the deck. He dusted his heavy gloved hands and stood up leaning heavily on one leg. He pointed at the shrouded shape of Korana with a single extended finger. “If it lives, crashing into that, will kill it.” He raised an eyebrow and delivered a hard stare at Niccolo. “Surely, and us with it.” “The dragon must die, and I will kill it.” “Alone?” “With the last finger attached to my hand if necessary.” “You are, mad.” The others watched the two figures, almost squared off, but neither had even made a motion to reach for their weapons. The captain hooked one leg up over the stays on one mast. “Let us hear him out.” The giant's interjection made heads turn, so silent had he been. “Tell me why, swordsman. Aside from your own personal reasons.” “It is the only way to break through the shroud. We tried the other way, and were only battered for our pains.” “The only way to safely land is to slip around the bowshock, match velocity and vector with the sphere, and set down once the ship is within her influence.” “And as we saw, good captain, even the best hand on the wheel cannot do this.” “So you would propose simple suicide? Losing my ship for what?” Morwethe interjected: “Better than the elaborate kind, if it came to that.” “No, I am proposing we open our eyes to the simple truth. It isn't your ship. It is the summoner's artifact. He made it, we merely aided in its creation. He made it.” “So?” “Who is the only one of who is of the slightest use in telling what the essence of circumstances is on Korana? Me? Her?” He pointed at Morwethe, “Him?” pointing out Higar. “You? Jehanjir is forbidden summoning. Only one of us. The Summoner.” “So?” “The ship was as it was, is as it is, to carry the Summoner to Korana. We have to burn it, so that he can be free.” “Nonsense.” The captain turned and smirked. “No, he's right. I am an old fool. Let me explain. Before any of you arrived my old comrade in magic arrived. He did so by a rather unusual means, so I recount it to you now.” He took a breath, and continued, “I sent for him a mechanical bird, launching it from my observatory, after carefully setting and winding it, with a breath for his ears alone. I tossed it in to the air and it flew out. So, I was surprised and overjoyed when it returned quickly, thinking that it had a message that he would arrive in person soon. Instead it hurtled on to the deck of the observatory, and shattered, or exploded, its delicate workings scattered in every direction. But before I could be either puzzled or angry for long, there was the Summoner!” He looked around to see if the implication was clear enough. “How?” Higar asked. “He had imprisoned his own self in the bird, and was carried thither by the bird.” “How did he unset the spell?” “He breathed into the bird the unmaking words, and when it arrived and sang them, so was he unfurled and back among the flesh.” “Like the ship.” Stated Morwethe. “Like the ship.” This the captain repeated as he looked out over the bow. “So I believe that he tested his plan with the bird first, imprison himself in this ship, and then

have us unleash him.” While Albrecht scuffed his boots and pretended to intensely examine the tips, Niccolo whistled. “But why not tell us?” “He did, he said to burn the ship when we were done.” “But no fire will light her, the binding of it is too strong. We saw that.” Jehanjir nodded: “The cleansing fire of piercing the bowshock will, I fain.” Morwethe nodded, they all turned and looked at the mechanical princess who simply tilted her head and then nodded in agreement. Niccolo “And what of us? Even if only one remains behind, that one isn't you. Are you asking Higar to depart for this plan?” “No, I think we have an invention available to us, that might change your perception of what can be done. I propose that we take the silk jibes, and fashion them into a clever device that will slow our descent, the inventor of which called it a 'parachute' in his drawings that I copied when I studied under one of his students in my youth.” “A parachute?” Albrecht nodded. “So, ” it was clear that Niccolo's mind was whirring, “we dive, pierce the shroud, use this 'parachute' on the back of the life boat to abandon ship, and leave the Summoner's plan to work itself? But someone will have to stay behind and I doubt you have the strength.” Higar stood taller. “If it is what it takes, I will, though, I would rather weren't.” There was a fast head shake from Albrecht. “I will stay behind. And so will the doll, she has to. Only the fire will burn the scale away, and give her a chance to be freed. Like the summoner, her soul is imprisoned.” “You are, again, playing with magics you don't understand.” “I don't need to understand them, just be used to them.” He snapped back. “It will be done.” There was a heavy finality to Jehanjir's voice. “Are you afflicted with his madness as well?” “I believe the Summoner knew that Eo is a jealous woman, and would never let him go. This was his plan.” “And the rest?” “I think it dubious, but I am sure that since the princess is caught up in the spell, it will at least let her depart in piece. The purpose is to pierce the veil, and reconstitute the Summoner. This, I imagine, was his plan all along.” The doll did a slow graceful bow and then bobbed up. She walked in a series of interlocking circles. Everyone watched, but could not ascertain what she was trying to communicate. She turned, let her head bob right and the left, and seemed to emit a breathless sigh. “So, agreed? She and I stay, we rig up the spar to spring the dragon. That way all I need to do is aim the ship at it.” “You are going to depart, I hope you are ready for it.” A grim-faced captain looked at him, with at least some respect. “Met the ferryman once, if it is my time, then so it is. But I think there are still cards to play.” “Which would those be?” “The ones that the Summoner has up his sleeve.” “And if he plays fair?” “There is a word for a summoner who deals fairly with his opponents.” Noted Jehanjir, “That word is lunch. Because he is almost always at a disadvantage in all other ways. I think our artist friend has guessed something important, though I am sure he places far more faith in it than he ought.” “Sail Ho!” Came the boom of Higar's voice. “To port two points.” Two spyglasses snapped out

and it was obvious that black sails with red stars were approaching. “I see two, Captain.” “My eyes are no sharper. Though I cannot discern under what colors they fly.” “I do not see any ensign at all... Wait... One is running up a flag of a trading house. Perhaps you know which one.” “A golden crescent says they are from Korana herself. I cannot see the sign though. There is a sword, below, it is a war ensign.” “Do they mean to fight?” “We will have to wait to see if they run up the black flag for battle.” “Do we?” “I will not do so, unless forced. But we should turn towards them.” “I hope they are peaceful.” “I doubt it.” “Of what sort are these?” “They are of an old design, three masts, top, port, starboard, with triangular rigged sails.” Niccolo swiveled his spyglass. “I count two fore, and three aft cannons, plus two either side. And I see men on deck, they look as if they are moving about.” “We will see what their intent is.” “Soon enough I grant, soon enough.” Albrecht looked with naked eyes, and proclaimed, “No want of courage, I doubt they see a vessel hauled by a dragon every day.” “Albrecht could you run up a white flag?” Niccolo's voice was even and dead, but it was still a command. Albrecht, however, dutifully complied without comment. It flowed majestically behind them, as tall as a man and twice as long as it was high, strung to the lantern line, and rapidly became a clear white clarion announcing that their stated intentions, at least, were peaceful. Some minutes later, in response, the other vessels raised the red flag, which was a demand for boarding. Niccolo snapped his spyglass shut. “So it seems they want to board us. Hmmm? Well, we will see about that.” He called back over his shoulder. “Albrecht, be a lad and haul up the red ensign. If they want to board, they are going to have to do it by force.” While complying with this, the swordsman noted. “Again, no lack of spine in them.” “This is, however, starting to verge on suspicious.” Niccolo's voice was firm. “I can't think of anyone who would challenge us in that way without powerful and fell magicks. This makes no sense.” “Korana shrouded in dark lands filled with hideous monstrous beasts, no short of fell magicks about.” “Which would imply, Albrecht, that we should close, because this may be our first chance to find some piece of solid truth into the matter of Korana.” “I have never been one to shy away from confrontation.” “So I observe.” “It seems they are still closing.” “So will we.” And so he did, leaning the wheel into the approaching ships. The spray of breaking ether hit the faces of those who were looking forward, the edge of the dragon's wings grew glowing purple and orange – the serpentine kind could convert ether without creating a great deal of heat at the same time – Higar hung easily off a rope, Morwethe checked the rack of hackbuts, Albrecht bandoliered his blades, and a clean scent flowed across the boat. The stench of waiting was passing, the miasma of fear that had brought sickness of the hear to them ending, and their fortune rested on a trial by fire. “Remember the dragon must die, Niccolo.”

“Maybe so, hotblood, but not quite yet.” Before their exchange could kindle, Jehanjir, looking through his own spyglass, called out. “They are raising a new ensign.” “What is it? Is it black?” Albrecht looked straight through unaided eyes, and lowered his voice. “No Captain, it is worse than that.” “Moments later all could see what Albrecht had seen: a black field, with a rose of white, its five petals interspersed with five golden thorns. Albrecht continued: “He flies the flag of Death himself.” Niccolo was scanning the decks, he saw assembled men in heavy plates of armor, domed helmets over their heads, and no visors. Above them on a pale white horse was another figure, a spear in one hand, from which flew a black pennant, again, with the white rose on it. Jehanjir frowned, “This is most unusual. Is there signs of death himself, or any of the unquiet dead among them?” “I am looking Astrologer, I am looking.” He kept scanning the deck, but saw nothing, yet, that would decide the question as to whether this was a ghost ship, or some other abomination. “As yet, no sign is made among them.” He held his foot cocked in the bottom of the wheel, keeping them on course, sailing slightly aside of the two vessels. “Can't you smell it, Captain?” “From this distance, I cannot. What do your senses tell you?” “The smell of roasting pork and hair, like the stench of people when thatched roofs are set afire, and cave in on those below. The hair burns first, then the skin singes. Then the fat catches fire, especially from the women, and a black acidic reek spills along the ground. Come back days later, and it mallows all. I smell that, Captain Niccolo. I smell that.” Niccolo shook his head. “I do not understand how, ” he then turned and looked at his own ship lanterns, and at the peculiar ridging of dark red that splashed across the edges of the dragon's wings. “As our learned Astrologer is fond of saying, of course, I am such a fool. The influence of death will be on the ether, and the dragon before us will, as it changes it to ayres, will leave the touch of the miasma upon it.” Morwethe went over to the smoky ball where her God was puffing away. “Isn't this where you are supposed to do something?” “What do you think I have been doing?” “Smoking.” “And a good bit so! I am permeating the ship with the smoke.” “You will have to explain this to me, your poor unfortunate and inadequate priestess.” There was a long fountain of exhalation from the vicinity of the end of the pipe of the hookah, and a pair of lips seemed to be outline by the turbulence in the smoke. “The cloud prevents the miasma of death from overcoming all of you. How many mortals do you think can face death directly, and not be left mewling and retching.” “You didn't seem to be taking well to facing your own demise not long ago.” “And am still not, but then, no God or Godling does, ” “One would think for greater courage from our divine masters.” “Courage is what we give you, so that you will do our bidding.” “So that's your plan, fog the ship?” “Death, I must remind you from our own liturgy, that you helped write by the way, is not a God, nor Godling, nor any deitic thing. But only a job, held by some preter-soul.” “And?” “The less he notices me, the better it is for all of us. If he is here on an appointed round, I cannot and shanny not stop him.”

“And what is it you do then, holding people back from death?” “I change the relative weights of their decision, making it more palatable to live.” “And what are you going to do now?” “Let's here the mouth of death out, shall we? Now be a devoted servant and be my eyes and ears on deck, I have several more cubes of resin to add.” With that, a long gyre congealed into an increasingly purple haze, as her god sucked in air, and mingled it with the spiritual resin. Above Higar began to rein in the beast, its wing beat slowing and the lit rim on its wings dulling to a barely perceptible violet black, until it seemed to simply float in place. Along the sides flags of red hailing, signaling that they were to accept boarding. Their small vessel matched red for red, signaling in return that they would not peacefully accept such an action. Across the port bow they could see the armored figures lined up, rigid, arms at their sides. Where there were open faces to the helmets, it was clear that the figure within was some kind of corpse. Some where bleached clean skeletal figures, but others were in every other stage of decay, from ghost fresh dead white, to puckered holes being eaten by maggots, to ghastly bloated horrors lain some unknown time in the grave. Above them all a figure of a tall man, his helmet open displaying a skull from which wisps of flame leapt out from time to time. A herald, his face still mainly intact on his left side, but mottled with back on the right placed a horn to his lips and blew, the call resonated above all and bright a stillness, where even the creaking of the ships seemed quelled. The horse that death rode upon, which was, itself, clearly dead, took two steps forward, and its rider spoke. “Hail, and accept boarding, you have one of mine.” Niccolo sauntered to the side rail and looked out over it. “I would have some words with you, master of the vessel. Why forth did you fly fake colors? It is a treason to the laws of spirits, gods, and men.“ “Are you going to give me mine or not, Captain?” “Well we can hardly stand against if you, should thee wish to take it. But I think that you have not yet speaks of something. So I ask again, why were thee flying under false colors?” “And who would you call to adjudicate such a thing.” “I might have someone in mind, if you really would that we bring this before someone. I know you spirit, we have brushed cloaks many times. I know you work the will of others, and have none of your own. So pray do not glower and threaten.” “I will come for you one day, Niccolo. Sooner than soon.” “I am sure you will, and sooner than soon enough. But if that day were today, and that hour this hour, you would not need two ships of fell spirits, and a ruse.” “I will come for you all soon, Captain.” “Indeed you shall, all of us in our time. But you have not answered my question, and I defy you, knowing that without obedience to the law, you have no power.” “You are not pleading your case well, Captain Niccolo.” “It is no case to plead. If you will, run up the black flag of battle, and storm the ship. But I say, you have not the competence, being not in the right.” There was not even nervous stirring from the other ship. Niccolo continued then, “So it is. Pray then, run down the boarding colors, and parlay with us if you will.” Niccolo leaned over the rail and set his legs wide apart for comfort, the feather in his hat bounced slightly in the air, and everyone on deck had turned to watch him. With a wave of an armored hand, Death had the boarding ensign lowered, and a white one right up. Albrecht didn't need an order to run up the white flag of truce as well. “So, ship's captain, what is it you would parlay upon?”

“First, I would ask which one is yours, if you may tell.” “I may not.” “Then I ask of that sphere, ” He pointed his arm at it with a defiance. “Is it yours, or no?” “It is not, though mine are at play there now.” “Good to know, ” murmured Albrecht under his breath. “But not on the shadowlands, are they?” “No.” “And hence your ruse, your writ does not hold in those tendrils.” “Yes.” “How very interesting.” “If you will. Is this what you cared to know?” “Is there anything else you can tell me?” “We could be here for the rest of your mortal hours if you like.” “Do you know what has happened on Korana?” “Yes, and no.” The astrologer came up behind Niccolo. “If I may?” The captain gestured with his hands as if to say “be my guest.” “Dread Death, I would have a word with thee?” “You are known to my office.” “So I am. I would have a word with thee.” “You may.” “Is the Goddess Korana still in control of her sphere.” “After a fashion.” “Were you to warn another of the events below, what would you say?” “That which was once whole is now asunder, that which was divided is multiplied.” The astrologer put his hand to his lips and thought. “Ask quickly, I have tasks to preform.” “Oh dark lord, I would have this last question of thee. Were it you sent in our place, where would you go?” “I am already there. Now be done.” Niccolo interjected: “Are we free to go?” “You are.” Death did not sigh, but it seemed so. Slowly the dragon's wing beat began to speed up, and the reins strained under his pull. Slowly behind them the death ships shrank in the distance. Down ran the ensign of death, and up again, the ensigns of before. Slowly the dragon's wings began to beat, growing in color and chromatic light as it strained on the lines and gradually set to motion. “We still have the problem of how to get down to the world below.” Noted Jehanjir “We also know that one of us will die, and not long after we enter below the shadowlands.” Added Albrecht. The were gathered on the aft deck near the wheel, feeling a slow spray of the ayre and the glow of the lanterns. Niccolo was standing with his back against the wheel, and on his left was the astrologer, who was staring down at Korana and the shifting shrouds of darkness that were set primarily around her middle, but reached upwards in a slow corkscrew that made several revolutions around her. Higar stood looking ever to where he had the reins holstered, looking quite fatigued from his on again, off again duty. Then there was a ball of smoke, in the center of which sat the sisha from which a void in the shape of a huge four armed man sat and smoked. Then, at the aft rail was Albrecht and not far from him the princess was standing and looking forward, her mechanical eyelids bobbing now and again. Morwethe stood against the starboard rail, bouncing her hips against it, almost mockingly far

from Niccolo. It was she who spoke next: “So death came why?” From the center of the smoke came an even though still deep and reverberating voice: “Someone's time was due, but we were still close to the shadowlands.” “And...” “And he was attempting to fix what was wrong. Remember, he is always working for someone.” “Who now?” Asked Higar. “I have no idea. I am not the God of Ledgers.” Morwethe giggled slightly, “So even death can be late.” “Aren't you going to stay here?” “The muscidae are not Death, my staying here will not help me.” There was a general silence. At this point the mechanical princess hung her head. “What is it?” The marionette sans strings began to pantomime, hands in front of her, and somewhat crouched. Finally she pointed on at the cat, which had just come up from below, with a mutilated mouse hanging from her mouth by what was left of its tail. Morwethe bent down and retrieved the mouse, noting its terrible condition. “This one should be dead.” At this point the princess pointed and twirled about quickly, as if to confirm. Then she enacted tossing something overboard. Albrecht grimaced. “The good princess tossed another mouse out, thinking it would be dead.” Higar began to reach for the mouse in Morwethe's hands, “I can crush this one.” “No!” Morwethe shot back, “that would be even worse. I propose we put whatever ones we find in a cage, and when we leave this deathless zone, they will expire. I am tender-hearted and would heal them, but have not the force.” She stared over at cloud where here god was. “I don't have a following among mice, and fixing them is seldom worth the effort.” Morwethe put her arms akimbo and stared back. “Come here my priestess, and take a puff on the pipe, then blow it over the mouse. It will sleep like death and feel naught more pain in its time among mortals. How is that?” She came over, drew a toke on the end of the hookah, and steadied herself. A wide grin came to her face and her eyes brightened and her whole frame relaxed. She blew on the mouse, which ceased to struggle or squeak. It took a moment for her to draw a breath. “My. Lord. Such a potent draught of smoke I have never had. We need a cage for the mouse, though.” Niccolo pointed to a pigeon cage that was normally supposed to be for messenger pigeons. Into this, the slumbering rodent was duly ensconced. Higar looked at it. “We might all want to be drawing on that pipe soon enough. “I have an idea, ” admitted Jehanjir, “but it is a bit dangerous.” There was a bit of shuffling about, as everyone waited. “I was intrigued by Albrecht's suicide idea, because he captures at least one important point in its embryo, that being that the Summoner's soul is locked in this vessel, and that we need some place to unleash it, and having no other way, it is not inconsequential to entertain notions that might effect his release. But this virtue, notwithstanding, the mechanics of what he argued for are vanishingly slight, even for one who has turned cards with death.” Everyone waited for him to draw breath, which he did, and continue, which it seemed for a moment he was not going to, but he took out a pair of spectacles and looked at some parchment on which were drawn an elaborate range of geometric arcs. He then launched himself into his next paragraph. “When following the orbits of ether and influence, and orbit is on a plane with the heavier body

at one focus of an ellipse.” Higar looked dubious, perhaps not understanding the words, Albrecht seemed to be holding his head above water, Niccolo was of course, bored with a recitation of basic astrogation. The cat seemed to be fascinated, and watched intently. “However, once bound in an atmosphere, the principles of fluids are invoked, and objects move in bands, steadied by the airs around them. We can see from the black lands, that they are moving as fluids, as if a shell is being built around Korana, a prison within a prison, so to say.” He paused, looked about, and hoped that he was not being too abstruse. “At one, or both, of the poles of each of the spheres, there is an entrance into the inner world. From this comes a vast gyre, that we see as the white caps and glowing crowns at the end. I propose that we in three elongated orbits bring ourselves to the vast Southern Gyre of Korana, which, I fain, is still intact, and has not yet been shrouded by the darklands.” Without pause, he launched into his middle argument. “I know that this will on the perigee of the orbit take us above the lands, and where death's writ holds, and that whomsoever he came for, will be taken from us, but this is true of any plan, and I would remark that none of us would enjoy the life of terror that would come from being set down on the fell country we saw before. It is also true that we will have lost any advantage in time to Bartine or any other pursuers by doing this. If this be an objection, I have an alternate plan that will take us by the shoals of the darkness, and cut us in. That would be even more dangerous.” “And from there, Astrologer?” “We ride the gyre down, and escape in the boat, using the parachute plan we have through of before. Only no one will have to stay behind, the ship will plummet down the gyre, and to the bright light of Korana's manifestation in the center of the sphere. There, to be sure, to be made incarnate again, if anything is capable of doing it.” “So you are saying this is better than leaping off the gyre and landing outside? I am dubious, Jehanjir.” Niccolo sketched quickly. “I think we can use the force of the gyre to land. Jehanjir nodded. “I could plot this plan, but do we take the longer or shorter course?” “Longer is worse. Our supplies are low, our pursuers are many, and our time is short.” There was general nodding, and Higar spoke. “Solid land again. Give me a place to plant my feet.” And so the preparations began to take them closer to the gyre, skimming what seemed from this distance to be the top edge of the shadowlands, and then to be captured in the gyre itself. While some few attempted such a course, in general it was an act of immense desperation to attempt it, even more so with the black shoals ready to tear them apart. However, necessity can often bring a leavened happiness as much as a grim determination, and so it was with this crew, there was whistling and singing, with Niccolo belting out virtually every bad ditty he knew, and laughing between each of them, both at his own poor voice, and at the compendium of doggrel that his brain was able to call forth. Morwethe giggle at many of them, Higar joined in on half of them, and Albrecht would good-naturedly grumble at the concert of cacophony. The cat would yowl, seemingly in better time and not nearly as off of tune as to be expected, and the princess would make movements as if she were laughing and clap together her hands that produced a metal clank. Then as they were ready to start the descent, Niccolo grew more sombre and sang one of the ballades of the sea, that almost all had heard: High summer by sun, by sun, by sun, High summer by sun, I sail away. A hold all a laden with goods for the trading, In high summer I thirst, I thirst to go.

All a lit, all alight, lanterns bright High Summer I go. High autumn by fog, by fog, by fog High autumn by fog, I set my course The ether burns, and twists and turns, It carries me hither by fights and force. All alit, all alight, lanterns bright, High Autumn by fights and force. Deep autumn by rain, by rain, by rain Deep autumn by rain, we buy and sell, Upon the sphere, we set to dwell, For finery we trade, and tales we tell. All alit, all alight, lanterns bright, Deep Autumn we buy and sell. Comes winter, by snows, by snows Comes winter by snows, we wait. Cold above, cold below, to crack the bones, And creak of the hull in ice enchained. All alit, all alight, lanterns bright, Comes winter we crack our bones. In flowering, by mist, by mist, by mist In flowering by mist, we take to sail, Racing the others, to win or fail, Waiting is gone, cries succeed song. All alit, all alight, lanterns bright, In flowering we take to sail. In spring by the by, our home is nigh In spring by the by, our home is nigh. Our loved ones do wait, to hear our fate, For some far to early, for others too late. All alit, all alight, lanterns bright, Wait for me, in high spring night. Wait for me, in high spring night. He gazed over the starboard bow, at the looming furrows and canyons of the black land that were rapidly approaching. The course this time was not to dive between them, but instead to skirt the top edge, turning as far north as was needed to avoid the mesh of growing shards that protruded out

from the edges of each band of blackness. Passing over the bands of black, soaking in the same vision as before, but instead relentlessly egging the dragon on to pull them faster and faster as they descended and spiraled north. Soon the ether wind was blowing with such force that all but Niccolo and Higar were below in the hold. While above Higar was strapped in his teamster's place, and Niccolo gripped the wheel and braced the back of his boats against the small wind stock. They passed over four bands of black, with winds from the equatorial bands pushing them into a slow downward spiral towards the pole, The last black band was like a vast beach peninsula, nearly flat, with an edge that was saw-toothed and jagged, but essentially flat. The light from the aurora began to cast flashing anti-shadows of light on the darkness, and upon it even at their speed, it was clear that long salamander like creatures wallowed on it, many had bright burning red markings, that looked as if they were writing more quickly than the monster they were attached to. The edges seemed to grow quickly towards them, and Niccolo kept having to list the ship over to the starboard side, yawing harder and harder. Beneath Morwethe was back against the starboard wall, petting the cat and doing devotionals. Meanwhile, the princess had crawled near the central gear, in case she had to try the same trick of relieving the pressure herself, Albrecht's hands were on a lever that would release the ratchet. They could feel the banging on the side of the hull as now and again a single crystal would grow from the dark quickly enough to slap the side of the ship. Above Higar was straining at the leashes, and they took a final turn away from the shadowlands, at the end were several of the salamanders, roaring and displaying their enormous crests, one took a leap off the end of the shard, but having no way to convert ether to ayres, sailed only for a moment, and then began to wriggle and plummet down launching gasps of fire in every direction. It grew smaller and smaller and finally faded against the obsidian shine of Korana's surface, now only miles below them. Ahead, like a white waterspout, the top of the looming gyre itself, which was now sucking them in, the leashes, in fact, grew slack, and the dragon simply started to coast. Then suddenly, it turned and opened its maw, its eyes once again possess of self. its tail whipped forward, slashing off the top mast that was ripped free and flew backwards. Niccolo let himself slide down the yawing deck, and avoided being tangled in the rigging. Higar stared, stupefied, but then had the presence to pull the leaches and reach for the maul, however, it did not quite reach him, and, instead began to fall downwards below them. Higar grew sick and felt a pain in his sides. Below Morwethe could feel a pain in her sides, and she dropped the cat on the deck and rushed upwards. She saw that her god was already blowing smoke into Higar's face, this was blunting the pain, but making Higar dizzy enough to rock from side to side. The cat padded its way softly to the deck behind Morwethe, and jumped up on Higar's shoulder, sinking his claws in. The sharp small pain righted the giant's senses, and he shook his head, tears in his eyes as he realized that his maul was plummeting down. He looked in ever direction and shielded Morwethe. “We've got to get to the boat.” He rasped. Morwethe nodded silently, and they scurried there, to wait for the others. Niccolo saw them and waved them on shaking his own head. He stepped from banister to banister on the port side of the rail, and reached the port swivel cannon, which he spun at the dragon and scraped the a flint along the side to light some match cord. The dragon flew upwards at the last moment and used his tail like a giant plow, splitting the joins along the center of the ship. The cannon fired, bouncing off its belly as it passed, and leaving a massive roar of soot. It was at this point that Higar used a single hand to simply knock the boat off the side, and close the lid. They had reached the edges of the gyre, and the boat was sucked into one of the wraithlike arms, flying away from the ship at ever greater speed. All the while the dragon began swinging around for another pass at them, tail flicking from side to side. Niccolo found himself slammed against the rail, and looking upwards as the dragon was

preparing another turn. He pulled himself up to a seated position, ran backwards on the rail itself, his boots lightly touching on tip toes. He grabbed one of the parachutes and jumped, leaving the ship, and any remaining occupants, to their fate. The dragon lashed at the vessel several times, but feeling the pull of the gyre, began pulling with its vast wingbeat upwards, gradually in aching arcs trying to draw himself upwards. Niccolo was falling and had to attend to waiting for the moment to handle the parachute. The ship itself was pulled into the center of the gyre and vanished from Niccolo's view. And from below it seemed a bolt flew from the gyre at its seems, streaking from far northern pulse towards the surface skin of Korana. Brutal bright it burned, brutal bright it fell, and then upon the surface did it strike, raising such a storm of dust and grit as to blow over all that was near it. It seemed as if monsoon wins had come again, and brushed with fury through the gullies of the wadi, through the alleys of the cities, through the caves in rocky cliffs, through the valleys gilt with wilting wheat. But as quickly as it came, the storm was silenced, and there was nothing more.

Interlogue Every carte player knows that there are three natures of games. There are those games of court, which revel in their complexity and difficulty, so that only those who have endless leisure and presence among the nobility may master all their many intricacies. These games are played for great stakes with myriad variations. There are those games of table, whose rules are simpler, but whose diverse manners of winning are an invitation to scheming. Then there are those games of hand, whose rules are rude and simple, upon which stakes change hands rapidly... Show is a game of the table, and as such it places a premium on quick throws of cards. The rules of Show are simple, and it is played in a deck with court cards, though sometimes it is played without court cards and is called the game of Fields, or the game of Peasants. Players cut for the deal. The player sitting to the right of the dealer plays first, and is the caller for that hand. A single card, call the trump, is placed on the table, and then each player is dealt three cards. The players will form their hands out of the three cards they have, plus the card on the table. A variation called “Ferry” is to have two upturned cards, which each player may use one of. In this variation there is no-trump suit unless both cards be of the same suit. In some places both players are allowed to discard one card and draw before the call, but this has little impact on the play. Then the player whose turn it is to call, says “push,” “win,” “stop,” or “show.”  If the player says “push”, then each player discards one card, and a new card is dealt to each, then it is the next player to the right in a circle's turn to call. Any points from previous calls are added to their score.  If the player says “win” the other players call “bow” to concede, at which point all may discard one card, and draw one card, and the caller calls again. Usually in play when a player calls “bow” the card is dealt before them, which they may pick up once they have discarded. If they do not discard, then that card is out of play until a new deal. The caller may continue to call win as many times as they like in a row. However, if the caller discards, his discard becomes the new trump card.  If the caller says “stop,” then they credit their score all of the wins they have called, and a new deal is made. In most places, to call stop having no won hands, is counted one against the caller. It is occasionally seen that the next caller may decide whether a new deal is made, but usually it is required. Gamblers favor going round the table as this is called.  If the caller says “show” then players must show their cards, and the winner wins one point, while the losers lose one point. The winner keeps points won from previous calls of “win,” but does not keep any in the event of their loss. A new deal is made and there is a new caller.  If one of the other players says show to a win, then each player has two points at risk, winning or losing two as their placement allows. If the caller wins, they may continue to call, but if they lose, then a new deal is made and there is a new caller.  In games for stakes for each point, a player other than the caller may “sleep,” and put all their cards face down on the table until the next new deal. They need not pay any more until the new deal, but may lose the whole game if the caller goes to 7. Whether it is permissible to “sleep” after a “show” varies from place to place.  In many places the second player may say “double,” which places the onus of decision back on the caller, only with the stakes doubled, that is four won or lost, plus doubling of the points from the call. A call of double will often end a game forthwith.  Because it is a game of the table, it is common that all players may only look at their cards

in three slow counts, which is often emphasized by all players knocking on the table in rhythm. At which point the player must put their cards face down on the table, and a slow count of three is made again, and if the player has not played, they are assumed to “stop” if the caller, or conceded if any other player. A player whose score is below zero must pay one additional point each time they are the caller, which they will get back if they win the hand in addition to their other winnings, but will lose if they “push.” This is the called “the usury.” The play is won by reaching 7 points, or lost by reaching a debt of seven points. To determine who has won, first the player must have a hand. A hand is either a set, that is cards of the same rank, or a blaze, that is cards of the same suit, or a run, that is cards that are in order. The score is the point value of the cards that are part of the hand, minus the cards that are not part of the hand. The trump is not counted, if not part of the hand.  The value of a card is 1 for a card that is odd,  2 for a card that is even,  3 for a card that is of the court. If the score is tied, then a blaze of trump wins over other blazes,  a run with more trump in it wins over other runs,  but a set with trump in it loses to other sets. This is called “a catastrophe,” “a comet,” or “an assassin.” A royale is when a run is also a blaze, in which case it beats any hand of equal or fewer cards, even if the points of the other hand are greater. Between royales, the highest top card wins, with trump winning over not trump. Thus a royale court, is all court cards of the same suit, and so must also be in trumps. Of course, a hand is counted as its highest score, though in many variations, if the upturned card is a black queen, the hand is “calamity,” and the lowest complete hand is scored. So, to place pictures to words, imagine a player has a queen, and a 6 and a 7. If playing calamity, then instead of scoring this as 6 less 3, or 3, for the pair of queens, then it is scored as 3 less 3, or 0, for the run. In most lands, a player who is dealt or obtains a royale court, lays the cards on the table and says “crown,” for they have won the crown. In many lands, a player with a hand of four may lay the cards on the table, and say “claim.” The other players must then draw and discard for a royale in three tries, regardless of score. This is done in the coffee and smoking houses, but seldom elsewhere. It is often called “chaos,” or “anarchy.” In most places where it is played, it is also played for stakes, and either there is a stake placed at the beginning, or there is a cost for each point between the player's final total, and the winner's 7. Another variation is for the caller to be able to call “carnage.” In this all players discard one card until a hand is formed on the table, and draw one card if they discarded. If this hand loses against the caller's hand then the caller's debt is erased, then the player with the highest score is set to 0. If it wins or is tied, that player has lost and must place all remaining stake on the table. A another variation is that the first win called counts for 1, the second for 2, and the third will be a for four, the last for 8, which will be a show for the game. In this variation the caller may not draw or discard. If they are still tied after this, all players lose one point, but the caller keeps all previous points from calls. “The games of cartes on the seven spheres described” Hans Fruhling

Part IV i The life boat seemed to have flight for only a moment, before making its way downwards, Higar manned the shoot, as Morwethe remained almost fixed in her seat, strapped in with ropes, lips moving with devotionals, and stroking the cat with her hands. Then as the speed seemed to become unbearable, Higar pulled the cord, and they were nearly slammed into their seats by the deceleration. But once this wrenching pain was ended, they settled into a soft and slow descent, skimming over some soft surface, bouncing several times, and coming to rest. Higar pressed a hand to the door and pushed it open, reasoning that he would feel water pressure, and there was nothing else that would truly be more dangerous than sitting still. He popped his head through, and just had time to see a streaking meteor far away. “I think the ship is falling to Korana, I hope everyone else was away.” Morwethe stroked the cat, and felt something amiss, she searched for a pulse and found none, the feline had gone to sleep and expired. “Of course, ” she whispered, “death had come for the mice and the cat, who were souls that were supposed to die. Poor kitty, I hope you earned more of a respite than you had in human life.” She picked up the smaller supply pack and took the cat. She did a devotional with the animal on the ground, and lit off a few drams of putrefaction elixir, in moments the cat was reduced to bones, which then turned to dust. Whatever spirit had incarnated in it, was now free. “At least you were for once in this life, loved, poor thing.” Higar stood with the larger pack on his back. He was straighter than he had been before. He looked around in every direction, but could not see any of the others. “It seems we are both separated from our godlings.” “Can you dowse for the maul.” “It will call to me if my god wills it, but I think that it is now my place to serve his ends with mine own hands instead.” Morwethe nodded. She was somewhat relieved to be away from her master, who often seemed as much a burden as an aid. Perhaps this was intended, but it did not dull her annoyance at him. “Which way?” She thought. “We are supposed to meet at the city of Dis, but I do not have any idea what direction that is. Can you see any signs of inhabitation?” “No, I cannot, but I am sure it will come to us.” They surveyed in ever direction, and saw nothing but a fine black obsidian sand, then, in the distance, what appeared to be a great rolling wall of black seemed to be approaching them. They hid in the boat, sealed it shut, and waited, The boat was rolled over twice while they were in it, and there was some minutes of rolling howling outside, then a sound like the sprinkling of spray from the surf on the ocean. After this, it was silent for a while. Higar pushed the door, and some black sand poured in, but not very much. They worked their way out, and found a layer of fine new powder around them, and the wall of black retreating away. “That must have come from the ship. We should head that way.” Morwethe nodded, thinking this wise, and they began trundling their way along the freshly fallen black sand. It gave way gently beneath their feet, half softening the step, half sucking them in. Morwethe's sandals quickly acquired a fine grit, but her soles were calloused from many years of wandering. Higar, for his part, was wearing the hard marching boots that he had had made a few weeks before. They were broken in, but not at all soft in the soles yet, the perfect state for a long march. He slowed himself down to match Morwethe's more leisurely pace. “You know, it seems strange to me that the two people who are most devout have ended up

together. Do you know why this might be?” “In my conversations with my god, it seems clear to me that there is something about the soul in the swordsman's body that is antithetical to deitic substance of this cosmos.” She frowned. “Albrecht's soul is not of this cosmos, and it affects all around it. I think that is perhaps the reason.” Higar nodded. “I do not like what happens around him, it has the feel of ill-fortune, and he is very brash.” “He and the captain seemed to collide in will oft enough, true.” “The captain is a brave soul, and hardy, I think it was ill-mannered of Albrecht to question him so.” “Jehanjir seems to value his thoughts.” “I think it is because Jehanjir's brain needs to be stirred now and again like old stew.” “He does seem to have more second and third thoughts than most, but then, he is almost unimaginably old for a mortal.” “How did that happen?” “The story is that he played cards with death, and won. But this was before humans knew of the arcana, so there is almost certainly some other story to be told there.” “Why would death allow that?” “Remember, death is a peterlife, he is a spirit not yet incarnated as a mortal.” “I do not follow.” “He has no will of his own, he is always working the will of another.” “Ah, so some god or godling wanted it. But why?” “That, I do not know, but I do have a guess.” “What is your guess, priestess?” “The seven gods, and seven goddesses, are obsessed with union with each other.” “What kind?” “Sexual. They enthuse humans during an orgiastic moment, during the right conjunctions.” “Truly.” “Truly.” “So what does this have to do with the astrologer?” “He is, it is known, one of the greatest to have ever been. I think that some goddess or god wanted him to live long enough to build the great orrery that is in his tower.” “Ah, so to be able to work out the great dance.” “And then to be able to scheme for the right moments.” “Don't the gods know these things?” “Not the ones I've encountered, no.” “So Jehanjir lives because he is useful to the Gods and Goddesses?” “That is my supposition – my guess.” “I think you guess well.” She gave a flirtatious smile, “why thank you.” The rolling dunes of black went on for quite sometime, and it became clear that they would have to bivouac someplace, but there were no good places to do so, nor was there much in the way of fuel for a fire. “I am not sure we should light a fire, even if we could.” “Of course we can, or at least, I can. However, you might be right that this is a night for a cold camp. But Higar, you have been awake almost all the time for many days, you must sleep.” “I would rather stay up and watch over you, these are dangerous play...” Morwethe had made a blowing like gesture with her lips and opened her palm, Higar feel fast a sleep, and remained so for a full day. She watched over the pair of them, seeing the cold winter sun rise, and set, marred by gleaming through the dark strands. The winds rolled over them, but she used

the silk of the parachute to make somewhat of a shelter. Higar snored. In his dreams he dreamt of carnal desires fulfilled, but remembered none of it when he opened his eyes. It was dusk before dawn when he peeled his eyes and saw a gray slice of sky between the edging dark that encompassed the horizon, and the wisps of the gyre that rose up towards near zenith. He looked both ways, and found Morwethe already fixing to break camp. “I'm glad you slept well.” She didn't even look back at him. “That was an alchemist's trick, wasn't it.” “You needed the sleep.” “But we were in a hurry.” “We are in a hurry, and now, ” she corrected him. “we might be able to hurry.” “I was still walking more quickly than you.” “Only because I was letting you. But now you should be able to out-stride me in earnestness.” Higar bounced up, and it was clear that he was looser than she had ever seen him, without the weight of the maul, he seemed, if not exactly agile, then limber and moving more like a man than like a tree uprooted. She pointed at a spot left of the gyre. “I see a spire there, a minaret, that seems to be a place of inhabitation. “Is it wise to go, or avoid?” “This I do not know.” In the end, the white spire drew them towards it, because it was virtually the only landmark in what seemed to be endless rolling black dunes. “It occurs to me Higar, that this black sand must be from above.” “So?” “It is just odd, there is a great deal of it.” “So?” “I don't know, it is just odd.” “There are many odd things.” By noon, they found themselves almost half way from their starting point to the spire, at the tops of several of the dunes, they thought they could see a stone wall, high, but only one fifth as high as the minaret. It too, was devoid of the black dust. This too, Morwethe noted as odd. “Should we stay outside, and approach by dawn? I think that best.” Morwethe nodded. “It is senseless to antagonize the residents. We are far from their gates now, but perhaps they have already spied us.” “I have seen no people.” “True, I have not seen any movement of people, and that, for a town in the middle of a trackless waste, is quite strange.” “Who keeps the dust away?” “I think the answer to that will answer many mysteries.” They approached, but even as the shadows lengthened, they made camp again behind a dune, and waited the night. From time to time Higar felt disturbed by visions out of the corner of his eyes, and it seemed that if he caught Morwethe in this way, he saw, not the heavy round woman he was familiar with, but someone taller, more beautiful, more statuesque and impressive, with more toned muscles and sharper features. Her, but more impressive in every way. Of course, when he looked at her, she was as before. The other shapes plagued the corners of his vision still, but they would fade as well. During that time Morwethe prepared powder for the hackbut she had managed to take with her, and greased several shots to be ready to load. Then, after both had done devotionals, they swapped off sleeping. It was near midnight, and the hunting dog was chasing up to its highest point, when Higar, on watch, became twitchy, he could feel a movement in the sand that was not the wind, but it did not feel

like footsteps either. It was not hooves from horses, nor boots of men, nor feet of running children in the night. He felt that it must then be some fell creature, because it felt like a rolling sensation. It was not anything on feet or paws, he was sure. He hesitated, worried that he might have fallen to sleep was dreaming. He felt paralyzed as if it were a dream, and that worried him as well. Then Kohepta rose, it was only visible as a slit through two bands of black, but it was enough to flash off of something metallic. Higar moved and rolled, and just in time, because a sweeping heavy blade, of what kind he could not quite tell, slashed where his belly had been. He was now wide awake and bellowing warning. He could still not see his opponent, whatever had swung at him was now gone. Morwethe had rolled to standing, and grabbed the hackbut, her hand was on a small spring winding it up. The spring would turn a wheel, and the wheel would cast sparks that would light the powder. She spun around in the darkness, but could not see anything. She reached around to her belt and dropped flash powder behind her, which created a short bright flash of light, followed by some rolling smoke. It illuminated at least one attacker. That attacker was resting on coils, and extended up by 6 feet, as a serpent. its head was five cobra heads fused into a fan, with fangs from each. Higar looked over his shoulder to catch it in the fading light, he warned “There is another, with some kind of blade.” It was difficult to get much more than an impression from the fading light, but that did not matter, the huge serpent struck, blindly, fangs flying. Morwethe however had time to set and fire with the hackbut's stock against her shoulder, there was another flash, though this of far less light, and a deep cling of smoke. The shot hit home and the monstrous cobra landed with a thump virtually at their feet. Higar, back to back with Morwethe had time to stomp down with booted foot again and again, holding his hammer out before him. Morwethe used the butt of the firearm as a club. The giant serpent writhed about, but it was clear that grasping and strangling was not in its repertoire, There was a confused lashing about, as their eyes were now night blind again, and continual ramming and bashing. Finally the thrashing about grew less, and Higar felt safe to bend down, and wrench the beast just below the heads. It twitched, but slowly expired, the thumping of its tail growing less and more infrequent. They were both gasping for breath and looking outwards. Morwethe very slowly began reloading by feel, it took much longer, but she finally rammed home the greased ball, and was ready to fire again. Both could sense motion just outside of their vision and they moved slowly sideways so as not to be exactly where the previous creature had fallen. Much later they saw something slithering away rapidly in the darkness, in the general direction of the city. They moved away some distance, and waited back to back for hours until grey twilight crept upon them, and they felt secure to return to the scene of the combat. They found the corpse of the serpent, and around its neck a necklace that was of a human skull, though shrunken to a fraction of its previous size. “Aqua regia, or some other caustic water would do this.” “While dead, or alive.” “Dead for simple alchemy, though I know of thaumaturgical magicks to do it while alive.” “Know, or know of?” “Know of, such a thing would be forbidden me by my god, even should I have had an inclination to learn it.” “Inclination?” “Desire. Want.” “Ah.” They did more searching around, and found at least three trails. Morwethe took the time to take some samples of the creature, should they have magical use, though very carefully, for fear of some subtle poison in the blood. She also retrieved the ball, but set it separate, for the same reason. “The necklace makes it plain that these are part of an army of death.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not. Death is always in service to a god, and I think the lords of death and carnage are set in service of some greater godling, who, in turn serves the ends of a god, rough-hewn though they may be.” “War of Gods is loose upon us?” “Bitter drink, but so.” In the dawn the trekked towards the white stone city, this there third day on Korana. They came upon it, and its gates were open. There was not one moving thing there. The black shards of the shadowlands created darkness more thorough than the darkest storm when the frail blue light of the winter sun passed through them. The other suns were visible, of course, but whether by day or night, their light was only a faction of what it would be if the sphere they resided upon were locked in the embrace of that sun. The city was laid out in a tight circle, and it was small, there were no buildings outside of its walls, and there were four gates. Each quarter was a maze of narrow streets, with a slope into the middle where sewage was supposed to run off. But there was no tell-tale trail of brown or black in the center, only swirls of black dust picked swept up by little dust devils in the corners. The eaves of the buildings overhung the side streets, creating deep grotto like darknesses at the ends. By noon they had walked the tangled streets, and found many bodies, but none were rotting in smell. Moving towards the center the roads merged in with each other, making them into wider avenues, with arched gates that created an inner city, perhaps half a mile across, in the center of which was a circular pavement around a temple. They looked to each side, and into some of the buildings were the doorways gaped open. They often saw people as if frozen in daily activity, but no motion at all. They found serpent holes along the sides of the roads, but saw no large serpents. In the center circle, around the minaret, there was a sizable domed temple, covered with designs, but the designs had been defaced, and recently, as if stripped away by sand. There were spatters of blood on this area, and Morwethe would bend to examine them. Higar noted that there were sword and axe marks on some of the walls, along with scraps of armor and chunks of reeds that might have been makeshift shield or armor material. They found the occasional horseshoe nail, and other small bits that showed that there had been a very recent battle. “Since they sweep everything up, this was earlier today or yesterday, I think.” “Well, Higar, I think you are right.” “The sooner we can leave this place, the better. It is hard to say when a turtle will snap.” Morwethe looked at the doomed building, which was at least 40 meters across, and 30 meters high, with a single circular window at the apex of the dome, and a ring around its base. The dome itself was green, and made, she thought, on the outside of copper, though she could not tell if this were laid over stone. “This was a temple to one of Korana's favorite goddess but it has been taken over and reconsecrated.” “Is it safe here?” “By day I think, so. The godling who now rules this town, is active by night.” “Then I would wish to put distance between us and this place 'ere nightfall comes.” Morwethe nodded. “We needed to look.” “We have. Now let us flee.” “You seem anxious.” “I prefer my flesh attached to my bones.” Morwethe nodded. “It will take some great ritual to cleanse this place.” “Strange that there are no flies.” “Yes, no flies.” They walked for two days more, until the came to the lip of a fresh crater, it was not tall, but it was sharp in its features, they began to climb it, though with some difficulty, as the black sand seemed

to slip and tremble under their steps, and fight them as they tried to move. At last, they crested the lip, and looked down into it. ii Niccolo abandoned ship, alone. He knew that there was nothing he could do, and to stand and die on deck was not his desire, or worse, to be dismembered and drift in pieces to the shadowlands. Part of him castigated his doing so, but it had been the plan for him to jump if it came to that. To get word out required someone to do it, and he was the only pilot. The discussion on this point had gone round in circles, but finally, if anyone was going to take the leap into the void, it would have to be him. Still as he drifted downwards, swinging back and forth like a pendulum under the octagonal canopy of silk, it felt as if he had spent a chunk of his spiritual wealth to do what he just did, and he owed the gods that looked over his soul some great geste or deeds as payment for their forbearance. For hours he drifted down, his muscles straining by the straps, and then burning. He thought he saw black brackish water, and tried to steer a course. While hanging there he came to the realization that the courage he had been displaying, while a magnification of his usual ferociousness, had been augmented in some way by Morwethe's god and his fuming smoke. Now fear roiled up and down his intestine, and he reflected on what madness this plan had been. But no matter, it was done. With each tick tock swing down, he felt gentle winds carry him, and rapidly the details of the land below grew more discernible to his eye. Everything was black, but there were shades of black, and highlights of sparkling white. There were rolls where the frail sun streaked, and those that were abyssal from the blocking shadowlands. He tried to memorize a map of what was below, seeing at least a few signs of human inhabitation, including a bone white city far to his east, a sea that he remembered fed into the great cataract that fell into the center of Korana, and what seemed to be a black circle with roads running into it, whose details never resolved in to his vision. Finally he landed easily, not far from what seemed to be some kind of pool or pond, or oasis. He recalled the dream that Morwethe had sent, or inspired, in him, and wondered if it were touched by foreknowledge of what was here. He decided to hold the thought, but not let it overtake his expectations, since who knew which order dreams and waking came in. Once on the ground he crouched, but did not let himself rest for long. His legs were like jelly, but he forced himself to methodically fold up the parachute, and then hide behind a large outcropping of rock that was not far from where he had landed, Fortune had been kind in depositing him on some particularly soft sand, but not too kind, as he found himself half stuck in it, and in places nearly slogging through it. He remembered tails of travelers sucked into sands, or creatures that waited in ambush in the desert. However, first to find a place sheltered from the sun, where he could catch some rest before dark, when the dangers would be many times multiplied. For the rest of the day, he slept, and was awoken by a rumbling, he had only just enough time to unfold the silk twice and cover himself, before the black sand covered him, and its weight piled up over head. It piled on and on, and then even as he felt the wind and sand pass by, he felt more pour from the top of the rock on to him, and he realized he was sinking into the sand beneath. He wedged himself with one boot, and the weight of the obsidian powder weighed down on him. He pulled out a dirk, and rammed it into the soft rock behind him, giving him an arm and a leg, and grasped with his other hand on a bit of outcropping. He probed down with one leg, stretching it out, and finally it hit what seemed a small ledge in the rock. This allowed him some stability, but he knew he did not have much air. The memory in his mind was that the rock itself was black as coal, and therefore, likely to be recent. This was, as he now reflected, a mistake. However, he was stable, and now slowly inched himself up through the sand, using the leverage of the rock. After some struggles, he managed to turn himself around, and began working his way up more quickly. Rigging had taught him all there was to know about grasping,

levering, and pulling, even under the weight of the sand. At last he broke through, his breath hot from being held, but not yet suffocating. The winter's air was bracing and dry, but a cleansing dry after the fetid build up of moisture. He breathed the clean air, and scoured the horizon. Still retreating in the distance was a vast wave of black sand, born on some kind of wave. That, he could feel, had to be from the impact of the ship, so there, he knew, he must go. He took his bearings, took the navigation quadrant from his belt, took measurements, and mentally counted the time. He would make fast movement for half the day, and then slower movement in the night, then, he would sleep the dog watch, where it was safest. Then off over the sand at a run he went, he was heedless to being seen, deciding that time, and not stealth, was best, because anything of any importance would be focused on the ship, and not on some small man tracking his way through the northern black desert. It was not the surest concept, he knew, but his guilt was behind him, and is fear in front of him, and this lent what seemed to be wings to his feet. Into the twilight he went, feeling the cold bands of dark grow in length until the wrapped all around him. The blackness was almost total, even though the sun was not far from the horizon. He could hear moving water, and it had to be close. His feet told him that he was moving from loose sand to more solid soil, even though it still seemed very black. He wondered if the soil of Korana was becoming like the shadowlands, but he could hear the buzzing of insects, the splashing of fish, the rustle of reeds, and all of the other normal sounds of life near water. He retreated some distance away, not wanting to be too closed to the animals that live in the water, or the hunters that come in the night. Once again, opting of expediency over inconspicuousness, he lit a fire, and used dried reeds and grasses to keep it going. The smoke trailed off of it, and reached high up into the night sky, he allowed himself to cat nap in the light of the fire, waking to fuel it periodically. However, at midnight he threw a last batch, and assembled his belongings, leaving the fire burning in his wake, in at least an attempt to create a distraction from his movement. He saw figures and shapes at the edge of his view, but they all moved like animals, and they all had stayed well away from the fire. He wished for a torch, but reflected that would be foolhardy, not efficient. He hewed close to the water's edge, and over time it became clear that a cliff was rising up to his right, and the water level was descending, the beach was perhaps a hundred paces or so long, before rising up to stoney layered red rock. He noted this, because it was the first outcropping or surface detail that was both natural, and not blackened. In the distance along the water's edge, he saw a small skiff, or other kind of sailboat moored on the beach. It looked to be a craft for no more than two or three men, perhaps it was a fishing vessel, or was used in small trade. its sails hung in a kind of strange limp fashion, and he wondered what kind of sailor would leave the rigging in such a state, unless it were either urgent to come to shore to do something, or perhaps running a very short errand before returning to the water. The planks of the hull were weathered, and the little boat had seen both better days, and many of them. It was in a gaff rig: a small triangular sail fore, and a large trapezoid sail aft. In another few minutes of pacing towards it, however, he began to have a different sense of the scene, with the ship rocking back and forth, making it seem, to his eye, that something had to be terrible wrong. A skipper might leave the sails up if in a hurry, but he would not have left the boat so easily to drift off into the water. He was coming around a great slow curve in the beach, and gradually the full side of the boat came into view: and any illusion of a peaceful sea pastorale scene, was shattered. There on the peak halyard of the gaff rig, was a man hung by a length of thick rope, and the boat was swinging back and forth, because the body was still swinging back and forth. He walked closer and could see more. It was clear the man had been hung for some time, as the face was somewhat mottled, and the tongue was hanging out. He was dressed in the long beige robes common of men on Korana, a style that they called a “bisht” – it was of a soft wool that hung in loose folds over his plain tunic that they often called the “tawb, ” though little different from tunics in any land, other than the bleached whiteness. On his feet were a set of light shoes, these were a dull brown.

Nothing bespoke of anything but hardy common stock, without any particular adornment. His feet pointed down slightly. “Poor bastard.” He heard a gurgling noise come from the man's mouth, and there was motion. This was out-ofplace, the man should clearly have been dead. In fact, reason dictated that he was dead, and was thus of the unquiet dead. There was another gurgling noise, and Niccolo realized he had been gaping. Niccolo decided that the least one man of the sea could do for another, was cut him down off the mast and give him some send off to the void. Even if that meant killing him a second time. The second death was no worse than the first. However, he halted just after climbing on board. At this point, the hanging corpse spoke: “Don't cut me down.” Niccolo looked up. “And why not man? Do you want to hang there?” “If you do I will kill you!” “And why's that?” “The dead hate the living, ” It tiled its eyes down upon him in a glare, “hate them. I would not be able to help myself.” “How did you end up dead then, I had assumed that you had been hung.” “Oh no, I was killed and kept a corpse, I hung myself after I had killed a woman and ate her, her bones are back in far cave.” “So you hung yourself.” “Yes.” “So you don't wish to be among the unquiet dead, or in a body.” “Oh no, of course not. It was some doing to hang myself, since if it had been obvious I would never have been allowed to do it.” “Who has power over you, Death?” “Oh no. Death is the invader, it is a dark spirit of this world that raises an army of the undead against him.” “And do you not want to defend your sphere, your home, the goddess that gives you life?” “She is mad, mad I tell you, she raises a shroud over us, and blots out the light of any sun and all the stars. She is mad, and none I know see why.” “Is there anything I can do for you?” “Have me exorcised if you have the wit or the power.” “I don't have such powerful rights. I can chase away a haunting or so, but not send it beyond.” “I warn you, all that fall now remain here, at best haunting the sphere, at worst, like me, they will. KILL THE LIVING.” With that shout the corpse, with an inhuman disregard for its neck, twisted its head full around and dropped down, slipping out of the knot. It dropped to the deck, but it was also clear that rot had begun to eat away at the body, as it stumbled badly as it lunged at him. It was not difficult to cut off the head on the first pass and duck side. The boat swayed, and the headless corpse, guided by some unerring force, began swinging its arms at him. The first swing was so powerful that it knocked Niccolo's heavy battle sword away, making him draw a rapier. This was less effective, and even as Niccolo pierced the corpse over and over again, this did little to the bodily integrity, the corpses arms swung wildly but hit hard. Niccolo rolled across the deck and brought his feet under him. He braced his right leg on the inside of the hull, waited for impact, and slid the rapier home. However this was not the point of the attack, he then threw the corpse overboard, sliding it off the rapier. Then after sheathing the steel, he picked up a fishing spar, and smashed the corpse to pieces with a series of blows that took several minutes to deliver. On the deck the head continued to roll around, gurgling all the while. Niccolo turned his attention to that, and

battered it to pieces. Once this was done, he found a sack, and speared remains for some time, finally filling the sack with limbs and guts. Grisly work, but he tied a rock around the shroud, and made ready to dump it in the water. Niccolo had made devotions to many godlings over the years, for many touch on the life of a sailor, but this time he knelt and clasped his hands, praying to the Ferryman to come. He felt a wrenching in the air, but then nothing. He shook his head, wondering what the cause of this sensation was. He then went and found the gnawed bones of the woman, and buried them on land, again praying to the bearer of souls, and again, he felt a wrenching in the fabric of the air, and then nothing. With this, he cleaned up the rigging on the skiff, and even though the day was late, he decided that it was safer on the water than close to land, polling a bit out, he dumped the sack in deep enough water, and then got under sail. He examined the ship closely, and found strange fresh markings on it, he carefully scratched these out, and set fresh wards down. He was far from an accomplished mage, but here and there, some protective binding or wording was useful to have. He had not seen these before, and being a merchant trader, meant he had seen most of the common, and no small selection of the uncommon. From there, however, he set his mind to working his way out of the bay and towards his new destination. The wind was light, and he had to tack hard into it, but the magic of sail was that even a slow wind is faster than a hard run, and far less taxing. He began making his way out of the bay, with the cliff line growing shorter in his view, but spreading out longer as he began to appreciate that it was a large crescent, and, he reflected, quite likely the wall of a crater. He slept aboard water, but did not use the net to haul up fish. Even fish have souls, and he did not want so many separated from their bodies under such odd circumstances. He had never thought to closely about what happened to such spirits, and he assumed that most of them, at most times, merely clung to where they had lived. But now, the idea of eating made him sick. Instead he scooped up jetsam of seaweed, and rummaged around to find vinegar to put it in. He chewed on this, and drank the water from the skin. Before the dawn he awoke, munch a few marinated leaves, and used his quadrant to check the positions of the stars and spheres. It was difficult with the bands of darkness, but no worse than many a stormy day on many a world. Soon he was at sail again, however, and began tacking towards where his reckoning told him that the ship, or what remained of it, had crashed. He remained becalmed for a time in the afternoon, and allowed himself to nap while waiting for winds. Out beyond land he could sense how the shrouds of the shadowlands were, indeed visibly growing and filing in the gaps. If it continued, in some weeks or months perhaps, the sky would be blotted out by black, and this would be an inner skin, but without one with either access to an outer sun, or the inner manifestation of the goddess of the sphere, which appeared as a sun to those inside of her. Strangely, or not, the weather was otherwise faire, with the white rising gyre seeming no more than a slender cloud that snaked down from the sky far away, and certainly not threatening, and few other clouds that ran across from horizon to horizon rather quickly. He slept again, moored in four fathoms of water, this time more soundly. On the morning of the next day, he saw another circular bay cut out of this small sea, but one that was freshly cut. It had two great arms that circled out into the water, leaving a wide gate like entrance into it, he spent hours tacking towards it, as the winds remained against him, but handling such a small sail was not hard, and even was relaxing. He entered through the narrows between the two crab like arms, which ran like a sharp curved ridged spin of black sand. Already the wind was eroding them down. He was through the narrows, and looked straight at the center of the crater.

iii Jehanjir turned to Morwethe's god, realizing at that moment he never had actually gotten a name to address him by. The godling saw his concern and simply waved him off, becoming a column of smoke and falling through the floor. It seemed, as usual godlings looked out after themselves first. He looked over to the mechanical princess and Albrecht, huddled at the center of the ship, and knew that they were in the hands of the summoner's magic, and if anything would work for them, that would. Thus, knowing as he did that both the boat was away and the captain had parachuted off, it was time to save himself. Fortunately he had had tie to complete a device that he had found sketches of in an older notebook in his possession, on an idle month, in his infirm days, he had made a better one. His modifications were based on sketches of the seeds of trees, most specifically of maple trees. HE wandered to the back escape hatch, and pulled a lever that slowly cranked out a plank. He hauled the device slowly into place and waited for a roll of the ship to make it easier to drop out. What was there was folded up, but it had two wings, like the seed pods of a maple, and a seat. He crawled out on to the plank, said a minor prayer for that bit of celerity he might need, hoping himself to be far enough away from Albrecht's influence, but not counting on it. He mounted the seat sideways, and sure enough, the ship rolled and he was tossed down and aside. It took some cranking to make the wings unfurl, and then unfold. They were shaped like seed wings, and he had painted on the edge of each wing and on the bottom of the seat, the precious dragon glow he had earlier collected. The wings began to spin, converting ether to ayre, and rather smoothly, he began to drift downwards quite slowly, spinning slowly on the seat as the excess motion from the wings was pushed down to the chair. He remembered to kick out the two small wings on the foot rest, which would stabilize the whole apparatus, and keep him from swinging too hard. It occurred to him that some kind of control would be desirable, but this itself might be quite useful, since the parachutes would only really work in the ayres of a sphere, where as this might well save men even in high ether. It would need work. But the trip down was not unpleasant, he saw the dragon wing its way off, he saw the ship sucked into the gyre. His eyes were now sharp again, and he could see the boat with its large chute, and the smaller chute of the captain. There were no creatures here of the high air, but he noted a fine black dust settling down. He speculated that this must be the action of the ayre of Korana against the shadow shards, but did not have the ability to collect any samples to back the speculation. “You old fool.” He realized he had a small microscope in his gear, he fished it out and took one of the specs of the black dust. It was very slow work to focus on it, what with the swaying back and forth of the craft, but it was not impossible once he got used to a certain level of nausea.He saw the spec and was surprised by what he saw, it was not dust at all, but a small black crystal like an animalcule from the sea, and 'twas not truly black, but, in fact, glowing black. Black as a color, as if it were any other color. He watched it, and watched it one by one duplicate its crystal structure. He also saw pressing on it the ghostly outlines of preter-born spirits, trying to push their way in and incarnate. This then, was the answer to the shadowlands, they were living reefs, and someone had used some clever alchemy to convert ether into food for these living things. Now he understood why death not being able to operate there was so essential to the functioning of the black reef, these small things attracted hoards of preter-born spirits, why the mass above must be more life than existed in all the rest of the sphere of the cosmos, all the way out to the edge, and was growing rapidly. It was sucking the ether as well, hence the ease of their travel here on dragon wing. “Yes, yes, it make sense now.” He had some months before received a freshly printed copy of a microscopist's text on observing both spontaneous generation, and on the incarnation of a small preter-born soul. And, of course, he had spent a week duplicating the work, even though he worked so very slowly. It took, he

recalled figuring, a day for him to do an hour's worth of work of a healthy man. He saw a single animalcule about to divide, and the spirit slip in completing the division, and he had seen a clearly dead animalcule breath back to life when a spirit was able to stretch out within it. In both cases the trick had been a preparation that either encouraged dividing, or dying, and a method of using a hair stretched between two small screws to divide one creature from the rest. Here since the spec was dry, there seemed to be no need. He shook his head from the concentration, looked upwards, and thought that the black was not merely a place, but like a tumor that eats out a man in his waning years, swelling up until some small organ has bloated to be larger than all the others combined. Now he understood the panic of the gods and godlings, because this was truly some arcane operation that threatened the balance. He was also sorely doubtful that the sons or sisters had come to understand this themselves, wanton and lazy as they were. But who? But what? He decided to put away the microscope, and take the time to survey the land below, since this would be of use, and would be impossible to do later. But a thought gnawed at him that there was the germ of a solution here. He looked below to see that the pole was different from his maps, he took out a scrap of parchment and made a quick sketch. Most of all he took note that there were several impact craters around the edge of Korana's great polar sea. Was their source, as well, the shadowlands? This would imply much larger pieces of them falling downwards, but those larger pieces would create a particular kind of impact, since they would be falling slowly, and mainly through ayres all the way. No, these came from farther away, having had time to build speed among the ether, and then only lately towards the end of their journey be slowed on approach. This implied that perhaps the shadowlands were not merely a creation, but in some sense a defense. But what would attack so? He had seen no comets of such size as to cause these craters, he counted four large ones and 3 smaller ones. He made some rapid notes in charcoal, and then carefully folded the map and put it deep inside his robes. The rest of the ride down he used his spyglass, both to look up and note the underside of the shadow lands, which seemed almost ribbed, as if there was some kind of weave or structure. He noted the similarity to the ribs of a serpent or serpentine monster. He looked down, saw a city that was white amidst the black, and wondered how it stayed so, if this black powder fell, it should coat everything not moving, and thus he should be able to tell how the wind was scrubbing it off. So much to observe. From far above he saw the impact of the ship, and he expected a shockwave, but when it came, there was a distinct hesitation before the second wave appeared, by many minutes. This was odd, and he assumed that therefore something else had caused the second explosion, He was fearful than any living thing could survive such a horrible pair of events, but was equally fascinated watching the great wall of black sand spread outwards in all directions, thinning as it went. He still had some ways to fall, and made several sketches of the gyre as he went, and slowly worked such control as he had over the gyro to bring him towards the new crater that had been formed. He watched as the sea filed in part of it, creating a figure that looked like a giant crab from above, with blue resting between two slender outstretched claws. Finally he did land, near the ridge of the crater. As he was coming to the ground here realized a paradox: that folding the wings would make him fall, but waiting might well make him collapse. However, in this case he had an out: by unloosing the rotary gear the bottom began to spin as fast as the top, and when the tip of the apparatus reached the sand, it augured itself in some ways before stopping. He stepped off the gyro, which tiled over on to the sand, still glowing slightly from the tiny remains of the dragon glow. It had been scrubbed off, and he noted this, it meant that dragons must secrete their glow from glands or some other workings of their body, in order to maintain it. Much to think about there too. He looked towards the center of the crater, and was briefly astonished by what he saw there.

iv “To give a fair maiden, a penny, a farthing...” Albrecht whispered this out has he lashed the two of them to eyelets. They were on the oval center design of the ship, which Albrecht knew had one last trick in it, namely, two doors that would slide up over it, and close. It was their last hope, and little hope at that, that the two rockets that he had bound to the side with sharp blows of a hammer wrapping crude metal straps in place, would be able to slow the enough at the very end, to prevent their deaths. There were many ways to die, and obviously this one of them. Perhaps the Ferryman had not been doing him a favor by giving him a choice, it might have been better just to gasp out a dying breath after the fight with Bartine's ships, and go out like a hero, then to be a corpse. He had already stuffed as much padding and bedding as he could. He looked over at the princess' mechanical doppelganger, with the scale on her back, and concluded that she was probably going to continue to be trapped within it, suffering whatever torment that actually was, for some time to come. Again, perhaps it would have been better to have been destroyed by the dragon. He shook his head, so far to have they fallen, so far to fall. He tried to imagine what it was like to be a princess at a small court, pressed between great enemies, and why she would leave that life to go out in the wider world. His own life had been from genteel ordinary bustle in a tradesman family, he was quick with his hands, as was his father before. His father was an alchemist, and part-time clock maker, but had come into some money by running the mint for the town of Woof van der Gelt, stamping coins and printing notes of credit. This was a more active job than one might think, because there were constant counterfeiters, and these often required more material persuasion. His father had died of a dagger to the belly from one of them in a fight in a darkened alley. They were not comfortable from then on, but it turned out that his father's miserly ways, which had been hated by everyone, most of all by the woman of the household, his father's second wife. But when it was found that he had left behind an income of 100 guilders for life, and two other houses which were fully rented, she was less angry. But gradually she found it necessary to cut all other expenses, save for her own finery, and Albrecht, being a clever lad, sold himself for apprenticeship, before she had a chance to do so. But it was almost certainly over now. He chuckled at the contrast between his mind reflecting on the ending of his life, and his fingers nimbly tying leather bands, and pulling straps to continue it. There was a jolt as he pulled the lever that snapped up the doors, which were of a dull steel, with four quartz portholes, at each of the cardinal points, and four smaller ones at the mediant points. When he had tested them, he noticed the fine scalloping work that was beaten in upon them. The Summoner's workers had beaten this out with ten thousand tiny hammers, creating ridges that ran along the length of it. The Summoner had been most insistent on this aspect. The outside front had been painted with some of the last dust of the dragon glow, which was meant to slow them down early so that they would not decelerate wildly in the ayres, and burn up into fiery dust, and the light of this created a shifting luminescent cast to the fore of the oval capsule. There was just room for him to squat in the middle, and he used what leverage he had to push the padding to the back. The princess roughly patted him on the head, whether to comfort him or merely make some sign recognizing his efforts, was impossible to determine. He wedged them both in, and what every fragile fantasies he had harbored at any moment before the task of the present was to survive this. He had never been before a creature of duty, nor had a sense of compelling sacrifice as his lot. Responsibility, honor, integrity, all of these words had meaning and gravity in his mind, but being a cog in a vast machine, spun by coils of orders and commands, were foreign to him. Now, however, the cargo of the Summoner's spell, and the charge which was the lady from the Jade Throne, took on a compelling weight in his mind, and massed themselves like a miasma over his thoughts, his mien grew dark, and he could feel the breath of age on his face for the first time,

a cast to his determination, which stilled the plasticity of his visage. There was a rude bump and the capsule shivered, and he knew that the outside of the vessel was beginning to fall apart, ripped asunder, by the lashing of the gyre, and the flogging of the ayres welling up from the sphere below. Soon they were tumbling free, with debris rocking loose about them, and skittering out of view behind them. Outside they could see the welling of the gyre, the closing of the shadowlands, and the broad expanses of a black polar desert, bound to an even darker polar ocean, beyond which was the white froth of the cataract that tumbled into the sphere herself. its highlights were illuminated by the glow of the Goddess' physical manifestation, her solar avatar within. “She lives.” He intoned. The mechanical princess brightened and looked. He pointed again. “Korana, she lives.” It was not blind optimism, he knew the unique shades of each of the seven spheres, he had drunk in all of them, immersed himself in the hallowed rays of each. He knew them the way he knew the personal scent of the back of a woman's neck, or the odor on the hands after riding by gripping a horse's main. He knew the whorish scent of Eo, the floral touch of Ali. He knew that Korana had the musk and weight of incense, and he could feel it now in the bridge of his nostrils, and burning in the hollow of his cheeks and the tips of his earlobes. He almost felt he could see a knowing wink from the cascade of droplets of light as they shimmered and refracted from the quadrant edge of the waterfall. Thus they gazed at the scene which few mortal humans are given to experience: the slow weaving of the gyre that was pulling them in, and the placid starscape with a planet below. Even with the growing masks of black, there was an ineffable peace within the composition of the scene. “It is at least a picturesque final voyage.” She nodded her head as the bucking decreased, and pet his find blonde hair again. They returned to staring out the portal, in a decision that if these were their last hours in flesh, they would allow their senses to encompass all that could flow in to them. Banding clouds from the gyre reached out for them, hurrying fog shrouded the portholes, and all grew obscure. Then in a single instant it felt as if a wire had taken hold of them and they were like a child's ball attached to a tether or dancing pole. Each orbit was tighter and more rapid than the one before, they could feel the heat warming the shell within. The mechanical princess shook her head. It was clear her estimation was pessimistic. Albrecht looked at her. “It isn't time for confessions yet. Watch.” He could not bring himself to stroke this mechanical mary ann, this simulacrum, but he could smile at her eyes. But even this turned into a smirk. “Watch.” The metal struts that ran as radials to the central orb began to glow, but not with heat. It was a cool blaze as they grew to almost blinding force. Even when Albrecht closed his eyes he could feel the pounding of the light on his eyes, they ached. The angular acceleration pressed him against the far wall. It crushed his breath and chest, it made blood run to his retinas and red-painted the inside of his darkened vision. A deep bass hum overwhelmed all he could hear, and all sensation was overwhelmed by the vibration. There was a deep grotto music as the ayres cut through the grooved outside of the capsule, the shapes cut into it sounding with the breath of Korana upon them. It was a music of a chorus of a thousand voices, ranging from high at the limits of human hearing, and down to where the ears no longer responded, but instead, a visceral perception encompassed. He felt his insides loosening, and the bleeding begin again, he threw up, a mixture of bile and blood, and he hit the deck coughing out his lungs, his head grew light, his sight grew strained. He lost consciousness. The princess had no consciousness to lose, her mechanical body felt the pressures, but this did little but set her axles a tilt, and put their spin off kilter. The body was not even a single spiritual body,

but a series of machines, cleverly interlinked, however, still separate. Her soul still resided in the scale, however she could project it using the residual sorcery she had into the doll. At first, she did not think of the doll as herself, but as a carriage, a horse to ride. She could see that others had an equivocal relationship with the figure. Their arguments had droned on, and frankly, that it was difficult to hear through the doll was not as much of a burden. The fall through the dragon's maw had been terrifying – she stared down it facing what was surely a doom worse than even being killed. There were old manuscripts which reported that even if reincarnated or re-embodied after the experience, the victims had been quite insane, babbling only about the weight and the pain before lapsing into incoherence raving and screaming. There had been a commentary on Jun Xiu-Jan's oracular script that had noted that it seemed that the process of being transformed was, itself, the most harrowing aspect of the experience. Thus as she stared down, she had two parts to the plan, the first was to with her left hand toss a dose of a poison that brought madness and dementia, it was made of a combination of peculiar earths that were found in the high mountains in the West on TianXin. With her right hand, she stabbed her wrist with a venom extracted from spiders, which brought a sleep that was close to death. And so it was, that she only felt the first rings of the monster's gullet enfold around her, a hot, slippery, wet sensation that locked around her in rings, before the venom robbed her of wakefulness. She did not come to consciousness until much later, as was intended. What she felt was as if she had her face pressed against a pain, and her body cramped, but behind her was a viscous liquid, or foam. She felt as if she were drowning, however, there was no need to breath. As a result, there was an incessant panic, a continual horror, but no actual danger. Over the hours she managed to lock this sensation. It was worse, but not infinitely worse, than the hours spent in tremendous humidity wearing layers and layers of rigid clothes. She would have to sit as endless entreaties were made to the monarch, or his duly appointed representative, her face utterly impassive, except at particular moments, when she was required to smile, or frown, or gesture, or stand, or bow, or engage in other short ritual action. Then at the hours she and all the other ladies in attendance would have to stand, do a twirling dance and then return to place. This was almost a relief as cool breeze that whisked through under the layers of skirts. So she did now, forcing a sense of breathing in and out, until she felt as if she were breathing the liquid, and it became, if not natural, at least reflexive and automatic. The itch that it produced faded with the hours. Then she recalled the moment where the pane had been placed against something, and if she pressed her face against that pane as hard as she could, she could see, as if underwater, gears and levers. And if she pressed her hands against it as hard as she could, she could trace her finger along the line of the gear, and make it move. For hours she explored the limits of her sensation. She found how to pull, torque and twist. Then a great revelation, if she pressed her head against what felt like the roof of her world, she could move her vision upwards, until she finally found a pair of mirrors that fit across her vision like eyes, and she could see. From there she learned to reach her hands around the pain, and found that, in consequence, the arms of the mechanical doll could move, and she could use her legs to pump the feet. It was all very much like manipulating part of a festival dragon puppet, with poles at the hands, and stilts on the feet, and eyes that opened and closed from weights of their own. It was uncomfortable only for some time. In this way she had been able to walk her window on the physical world about, and act on the physical world. Repeatedly despair overtook her, as it took no astute deduction or brilliant induction to grasp that her comrades outside were falling farther and farther into danger, and had neither the time, nor inclination to reverse her state. But that was not going to stop her from contributing to the common effort assiduously. Now in this shell, see saw that her companion had collapsed from the pain and noise. Poor

thing, she hoped that he had not become too attached to her, but it was likely he had. She considered that if this went on she would have to procure an acceptable substitute. Princesses married as their father's or brothers required, once, or more often many times. It was clear that he had some sort of mixture of erotic enchantment and personal affection for her, which, she acknowledged to herself, she had cultivated because it was useful, but which was no going to be problematic, if and when she were returned to a workable mortal body. The shell continued to descend, but instead of being wholly sucked into the cyclone, as had been her expectation, she watched as the metal glowed, but left off no heat. It was clear that some kind alchemical reaction was occurring, but it was utterly and completely beyond her knowledge as to its source or intent. However, all that came before this moment was prologue to the Summoner's plan, and all else would be in the shadow of this, its denouement. The brightness grew, and she could feel that the mirrors and lenses of the dolls eyes were melting under the weight of the light, there was one last flash, where she saw a chromatic spectrum of bursting light, and then abruptly, all she could see was her faced pressed to the pane of the scale again. Obviously, the mechanical body was no longer in existence, but what was there she could not see, except torrents of light. Then, almost as abruptly all was black, and all that was on the other side of her prison window, was darkness. However, this did not last long, as she saw the ground rapidly fall away from her, she guessed that the scale had fallen on it, and it was an obsidian black sand. Then the scene ran together, everything a blur, with white, brightness, and blackness alternating in an irregular pattern. She grew dizzy and sick, and the return to blackness was almost a relief. After this, it remained black for some time, and no amount of shifting or angling gave her any better a view of the outside, nor was she able to draw neither a sound, nor any other sense, from it. v For days, he had waited. For days the tides of fortune of the voyagers had ebbed and flowed, their moods had waxed and waned, their strength risen and fallen. There hopes undulated as their moods crested at adulation, and crashed into desperation. Through this he waited. He watched as dire circumstances washed over them. He waited, moving his will as little as he could, save here and there when the tiniest motion might provide the telling difference of life and death. He had escaped Eo's notice, and entered Korana's influence without raising a ripple of suspicion. Now, it was the throw of the dice, with the ethers of space turning rapidly to the ayres of a breathing world, it was time. He, of course, could not utter a spell, but that was not the design, the spell would be sung with the lungs of a Goddess behind them, as the pursed lips of her own gyre blew over the flute that was the heart of the ship itself. The echos of the old knowledge where there encoded. Round and round, since worlds began. Round and round the capsule turned, the heat bleeding up and out and into the magick itself, the force of the descent, becoming the force of the spell. And so when impact occurred, it was like an egg thrown on a feather bed, the air and land gave way and peeled away beneath them rolling away like a small wave. But then the force of the binding broke, and the greater wave exploded outwards, consuming all in its path. It was a touch of the spinning fury of the orbits of the spheres, the turning vortex of the influence of the suns, the spinning of the planets, the whirring of gears, the pumping of storms, that force that remained just out of reach of even the most cunning device, the most subtle alchemy. The shifting of the seasons under all the suns together, the movement of birth to death. All of these, round and round, where as humans could only cut a line, however cleverly, however ornate the path, from a

beginning through a middle to an end. Where as the cosmos moved in the circles of a grand dance. Round and round. Round and round. Round and round, since worlds began. vi What the observers saw when in the center of crater was a spire of black sand that struck upwards from the ground, rising nearly as high as the walls of the crater, and smoothly curving in a concave arc to a top. On that top was their ship, only not the battered and bedraggled shape that they had last seen, but, instead, shining and pristine. Gradually the travelers arrived at the base of this spire, and found there a rope ladder of braided hemp, which led upward to the vessel. It waggled in the breeze, swaying from side to side in segments. The climb was not arduous, because the bottom was weighted down with lead plumbs of great mass that had sunk into the sand. Once over the top, they found upper deck spotlessly clean and in order. All of this was amazing enough, but understandable, after a fashion, given the origin of the craft in the first place. However, as amazing was who was there, dressed in blue silk, embroidered with circular key designs, was the princess, and wearing a scarlet velvet robe, with a black velvet threecornered soft hat in the muffin style that drooped a quarter of the way over his head, was the Summoner, his face even more pointed than before. “Greetings!” He was jocular and jovial. He almost seemed as if he were the spirit of the East, ready to bestow gifts from a gnome's bag. His smile was so broad, it barely fit on his face. Jehanjir looked at him, and then simply embraced him. “You will have to tell all, old friend, this was almost a treachery.” “You know Eo and her spies, if I had breathed a word of it, it would have been the collapse of all our hopes.” “You know that Albrecht guessed.” “Of course he would, he's very clever, and studied under some who were even more clever still. But cunning alone is not enough. He sleeps below badly wounded. Once everyone has gathered, I will tell all of the story that I know, and some that I guess, and a bit that I fear. Then each must do so in turn, because we are the blind men around an elephant.” “And you, I think, have what part?” “That remains to be seen.” When at last Morwethe and Higar arrived, though her godling was nowhere to be seen, they had all arrived, they were seated in a semi-circle on pillows covered with silk embroidered with fantastic birds out of varied epic poems, mostly of green, though some of red and sea blue backgrounds, with gold and silver threads. The Summoner cleared his throat and pointed to each in turn, who told their tale better or worse depending on talents for oration. He prompted with many questions, and then thought for some time. Then he gathered them again, and spoke in a formal but animated high voice, as if giving a lecture at university. “It seems auspicious to begin from before the beginning. In our cosmos there are seven sons and seven sisters, seven suns, and seven spheres, plus the moons which are their daughters. For half an eon, they have twined and danced, met and mated, and schemed. No one could upset the order, and even all acting in concert had only specific powers. Since they could not receive worship directly, their power was limited to that which they could draw from their own physical manifestations. Hence little was done, and less was accomplished, though from time to time all seven sisters or all seven suns, could deny their favors on the others, and occasionally some egregious transgression or heinous act on the part of a godling would yield a disproportionate response.” “However, there is another true God, that is one who can draw power from the fabric of the

cosmos itself, he is the gatherer of souls, who taketh them to distant and diverse places on their departure from mortal life. The ferryman is known to all, and is not among the imprisoned. He has a cult, and draws power from its worship. As this is, he is a very god, and mightier than any of the 14. While the others are interested only in their attractions and slights, in their fancies and fantasies, he guides the cosmos forward, because it is the souls who are elevated to choice and sentience who are his cult, and thus his power.” At this point Higar spoke, “So why does he not rule.” It did not come out sounding like a question. “It is not his purpose, and while he is stronger than any one, he is not stronger than all in combination.” “So it was, there were the 14, and the Ferryman to watch over them. Souls passed through the world, and so the shape of it grew. But as the souls grew in stature, so too did the godlings they worshipped, and these godlings, while adrift from the fabric of the cosmos and deaf to the music of the spheres, were more than capable of oft challenging the rule of the 14, at least in places, and at times. This has led to struggles between godlings, and such spirits as they could command, and true gods and goddesses. Each time the rebellions have been put down, though often with some enormous cost to the mortals who were unfortunate enough to be collateral damage. The last of these was not that long ago as such things are reckoned, there was a great pestilence that swept the worlds, and it was part of that war.” “At first, when Korana went silent it was the belief that this was a rebellion, and the shrouds we see were the architecture of some godlings and spirits in alliance, attempting to seal Korana's physical influence, and cut her off from the other Gods and Goddess' in preparation for attack. So the 13 others decided to isolate the spheres in the orbit of Isir, the sun of winter, regardless of the cost to the mortals on and in the seven spheres” “This much, I think, was explained before our departure. But there was a problem, and that is that Eo wished to hold both Jehanjir, and most especially myself, in her grasp. It was only partially clear to me why this was when all of this began, but now I think I can tell the tale.” “As Albrecht surmised, Korana lives, and lives still. There is no rebellion against her in this sphere. As I was told before leaving, the Ferryman is denied this sphere, but it is not by some aggregate of spirits, but by Korana herself. Jehanjir analyzed the substance of the shadowlands, and found them a great reef of living creatures. Death cannot visit it, as he told you in person. That is how the reef grows: minor spirits incarnate as the crystal diatoms of it, and grow as a reef, trapped there in a life in death. Greater spirits incarnate as the denizens of its dark ecology. But death does not hold there, and so it is a region of torment.” Albrecht had been in thought, “So if we could stand there, and summon death to it, the whole evil edifice would tumble and topple.” “And provided you have no concern for the lives of all below it, that would be a simple solution, which we could effect in an instant. Assuming of course, Death turns not on you first. May I go on?” The swordsman nodded. “So the shadowlands are of Korana's intent, if not specifically her doing. I do not know all well enough, but I think some devilish process of alchemy is involved, and of such who could effect it, there are few. The shadowlands shroud Korana, and thus she is more and more immune from other influences. But this is only the start of her plan. It is plain she is gathering spirits and godlings to her banner, and uses the growing physical sustenance she has as a cudgel to control them.” Jehanjir nodded, “Such a fool I was not to see it, of course.” “So were we all. But she was not alone. Eo too wishes the same trick, if only in more subtle form. Hence her, binding affection may we call it? For you and I.” “That's one phrase.”

“Eo, seeing the growth of Korana, hurled debris at her, threatening to start a war. She also informed the Ferryman of some of what she knew, though not all of it. And through his auspices, were we all dispatched to this place on this mission. She also has convinced the other 13 to call out the flies, and purge those godlings that will not rally to their banner. Thus Death himself, along with War, Famine, and Pestilence, have been sent hither to wage conflict against Korana and her forces. Their camp, as Morwethe and Higar found, is the white city, whose writing is in the language of the spirits.” “So that is before the beginning magus, but not the beginning.” The princess was direct and matter of fact in this enunciation of what she saw as obvious truth. “Yes, it is before the beginning. Of the beginning, it has been told in pieces and lived by all of you. Now let me supply the ending. Of course the ship was, as two of you guessed, a prison for my essence and body, which would be summoned back to this world by the appropriate means, namely the music of the sphere as it fell from a great height. I was reborn in side of it, and found the dragon scale which imprisoned Princess Si-yeona, and the swordsman, who was near upon death, or more accurately would have been dead if death could have caught us. So I sealed him in a magic circle and prepared for the impact, which was sharp, but no so sharp as to injure me, half in this world as I was. Once here, the energies released were enough for me to complete the transference from out of the everywhere, and into the here.” “Once this accomplished, I reconstituted the ship herself, by summoning her true shape.” “Where was this from?” “Oh, in the mind of Albrecht, he had as perfect a vision as any. It was not difficult, given how he was raptured in a dream, to call it forth from there.” “Dreams are a place?” Asked Higar. “Yes, dreamland is a place, and while it is a constantly shifting archipelago, all dreams are contained within it, and border each other's inlets and estuaries.” “Oh. So you can summon things from dreams?” “Some of them. May I go on?” Higar nodded. “So it took some searching, but I found the scale. It was no difficult matter to pour the princess out of it, and then provide her with some covering.” “She was naked?” Higar intervened again. The princess stiffened only slightly and the Summoner made pretense to ignore the question. Higar grinned broadly. “After this, we tended a bit to Albrecht's wounds, and the princess cast a soft ward around us. It was then a matter of waiting.” Niccolo spoke next: “We have a long delayed council of war to hold, and take inventory of our resources, and catalog of our foes. What say you, is our objective now to merely find a way to depart on this vessel, remade as it is, and inform the Ferryman of these affairs? Or is there more that we should spy upon?” “We have more intelligence to acquire I am afraid.” noted Morwethe, “and I have a task here in any event.” “Which is?” “My God is lost here, I cannot sense him, and I know he has not been called to another sphere.” “Why is that.” “I am his only human communicant. He has no other worshippers than myself who could call him off a hostile sphere.” “A pitiful poor godling!” came Higar's cry. “His enthusiasms have been misplaced,” she volleyed back, “and need to be better directed.” Niccolo stared around and asked the assembly, gazing each in the eye, “Are there any other personal missions that we need to know of?”

“None here.” Albrecht was direct. “Not of mine.” Came the princess. “I have nothing occulted from common view.” Spoke Jehanjir. “To get out alive.” Spoke Higar. “We have to decide what is next, then.” A different voice, a hissing voice, a dark voice, hissed. “That is easy, so very easy. You must first answer to me.” They turned and saw him, coalescing from a foul smoke, a tall man in white plates of ornate armor. They knew his face, and his voice, from before. “I am Death, and I would have a word with you.” He pointed at the princess. “Have your word, Lord Death.” Her voice was neither haughty, nor humble, neither fearful, nor feigning courage. Instead it was if she were passing a condiment at a feast, without care, without worry. “There is a soul that should be mine, and it is you who put it out of reach.” “Would you be willing to explain?” “I am not.” “And what is it you want?” “A soul to replace the lost soul.” Jehanjir looked at Albrecht, and then at the Summoner, he reasoned that there must be some explanation between all of them, but could not quite place all of the pieces together. “Which soul?” “The one that was hiding in the mouse.” “Hiding in the mouse?” “Yes, which you secreted out to the shadowlands.” “I can't say I intended to secret anything of yours out.” “But none-the-less, you did.” Jehanjir poked the Summoner. The Summoner whispered back. “The ship is a portal, souls can incarnate there, because spontaneous generation is wrapped around it. The vegetive force is stronger there. Like a lens, if you will, or a fulcrum for it.” Jehanjir replied back “Just preter-born, or souls attempting to evade death?” The Summoner though t for a moment, “Both.” Morwethe remembered seeing the princess toss a mouse overboard into the void. And went over to the two sages, and they explained what they had concluded, she filled in with the story of the mouse. Finally Higar and Albrecht were brought in on the whole secret, but mean while, the Princess continued to talk with Death as if she were discussing bolts of fabric at the marketplace. “I do not think you have the might to strip my soul from my body.” “True.” “So If I say that I am sorry, and offer that as soon as the shrouds of Korana are broken, that you will have whatever souls you lack, and many more, so that therefore you may join us, would this be acceptable to you?” “It is not. The breaking of the shrouds is not in any way, nor in any shape, nor in any manner, nor in any form, within my province.” “I doubt that. So flagrant a violation of your office it is.” “True, however I have no means to bargain with the powers I serve on that basis. If it is broken, it is by their will, if it remains, it is by their will. I must still perform my office regardless of the resolution of other circumstances.” There was a particular hiss on that last syllable. The Summoner leaned over to Jehanjir. “I think someone wants us out of the way.” The astrologer whispered back. “Men are more oft killed by the balance than the sword.” The Summoner nodded, it was an old proverb.

“So if I dismiss you, what of it then. You cannot take me before my appointed time.” “Ah but I could haunt you, and have the odor of death on you, and everything you touch. I could have food rot in your mouth, and all that is near to you come to its most painful demise. Then when your hour does come, I could assure that most vile and agonizing ends are visited upon you in order, until you will beg for my final caress. There are fates worse than death, and they will be waiting for you.” The princess gave a short, serene, nod, as if she were allowing a musician to play on. “I propose a game, then. Win, and I go, lose, and you accept that the burden of replacing this soul short is your own burden.” “I think, nay.” Jehanjir spoke up. “Would it help to raise the stakes?” Death turned and glowered at Jehanjir. “My predecessor warned me that you cheated him.” “One must always cheat death, but it is also true, that Death cheats all mortals of days, hours, and minutes. I merely was more skilled at that time and place than the soul that held your office at that time. I must ask what became of him?” “You do not have the words for the torment he endures.” “I imagine you would be happy to teach me. But still, my offer stands. The throw would be for double the stakes. Win and the old error is erased, and the new one rectified before it could possibly be of great import.” Death looked back and forth. “Choose your doom, but it is she,” he pointed at Si-yeona, “who plays.” She wasted not a moment in saying “I accept.” It was found in old manuscripts that all princess' of her realm studied, writing from the hand of sages who played with death for some stake or other, not always for life. From a commentary she remembered the advice that one should never play a game of words or wit with death, for he can always find one who is dying to steal the words from. A game of strategy is possible, but dangerous, in that while death is no great strategist, he knows every trick and cunning trap, and is relentless in exploiting any small advantage to his own ends, grinding all opposition to dust. Thus, advised the commentator, unless one is an expert at some particular game, it is best to play a game of chance, even though Death is lucky, and often brings misfortune to the other. Another commentator noted that Death would never be truly fair. She looked. “Cards. There is a game that gamblers play, called 'Show,' I am sure you know it.” “In its many forms, we would have to agree to the exact rules first.” “That would be agreeable to me. I choose the version played on the port of BuYang, in the establishment known as the Monkey Puzzle.” “And how would you have made such an acquaintance as that?” “To recruit sailors for our fleet, we are best by wars, and no hovel or hole to humble to do a fair turn for a fair country.” She didn't mention that in playing for terms in the navy, she used her sorcery to confuse and bewilder her opponents. “I warn you little one, your incantations and vibrations will have no effect on me, and might even rebound to affect you.” “I need no spell. In fact, I would propose we lay a circle down, and play with in it.” “I accept. One game, to 7, and nothing more. But not on this vessel.” “Done, good lord Death.” One by one the clambered down, and found a place on the black sand. Both Death and the Sorceress drew a circle and placed a bar across it. As they did so, it seemed that men and creatures began to gather from out of the air. Some became solid after swirling of sand, others seem to crawl up out of it. Some had the bodies of men, and the heads of beasts, others were man on top, and serpentine

below. They began gurgling a horrible tumult as the cards were produced from Niccolo's robes and the wax seal cut. Each shuffled, Death with one hand cutting and splicing together, the Princess with two hands, which were nimble but clearly not professional. Niccolo frowned, all good carte players he knew were either very good, or very bad with the shuffle. Albrecht was just behind and to the right, and raised an eyebrow, but decided that it must have first been from alchemy, he did not know that the first decks of cards were printed on TianXin a very long time before. At least, the first packs known among mortals of this cosmos. Higar was intently looking at the faces of the players, but neither betrayed any inner thoughts. They cut for the deal, the princess scored a 5, but Death a 6, and chose to call first. The princess tapped the cards together, and three times shuffled them, She then let death cut the deck, which became the trump, a Jack of Swords, on guard with an elaborate battle sword. Death's mob hooted and howled. On huge flightless bird with a large face rolled its tongue out and began the clap. One. Two. Three. The princess was a practiced enough player to put her cartes face down and make her call. “Bow.” Death stared at a Jack, a three, and a four. Good enough to win, but not quite enough to demand to show. The hand scored 3, 6 for the pair against the table, minus 3 for the cards he held. The princess had a clutter of cards, none of any use, though two were of the same suit. This scored 2, 3 for the blaze, minus one. Death tossed the four, and picked up a 9. This improved his hand to 4. The princess tossed an off card, but picked up another of no more use. Death had one point waiting. “Win.” Again the clamor started. One. Two. Three. “Bow.” She took precisely the same amount of time as before. Both drew. Death picked up a 7 of diamonds, which did nothing for his hand. He stared, and set the cards down. “Stop.” Whether it was fortune or not, the Princess had drawn the missing third heart, and with a blaze 4,6,7 had a score of 5, which is a relatively strong hand. But Death had stopped, and lead two to null. She passed the pack to her opponent, who shuffled three times, and let her cut for trump, it was the Queen of Swords, and in the rules of the Monkey Puzzle, “Calamity.” This meant that if a hand could be scored two ways, it was scored for the least, rather than the most points. The princess stared at three hearts: the queen, the 9 and the 6. This scored 6 as a blaze, but because of calamity, 6 for the queens, minus 3 for the 6 and 9 meant 3. In Death's hand were two 8's of the black suits, and a 6 of clubs. This scored as 2 either way. “Win.” “Show.” Death knew he was weak, but also knew that there were not many cards under calamity that could improve his hand. Best to end her calling and take what pain there was. Si-yeona turned her cards up, and the result was as expected. Death lost 2, the Princess gained 2. And now it was 2 to null the other way. But with Death calling. He smiled a cold smile and watched the cut of the cards, it was a 7 of trumps. He drew a breath in, and let the divine forces flow through him. He would have his win. He looked at the cards, and even onlookers could tell he recoiled at them. He had a pair of sevens, but also an ace of spades and a 6 of hearts. No matter how he scored it, it came out negative. He decided to simply call “Stop.”

“Monkey puzzle rules, stop costs one without play.” “True.” “Debt of one.” She was relieved, her own hand scored only 2. Death's cut revealed an 8 of hearts as trump, and he looked at his cards. It was the same unpleasant circumstance: a pair on the table, but a useless ace. Amidst the row of pounding, the princess called “Win.” He snarled back “Bow.” He discarded the ace and caught a five of diamonds. Now he scored 2, better. “Win.” She called at the same moment in the drumming. “Bow.” She had caught a King of Spades, thus giving her a run worth six, and minus 2 for her two. Four, a relatively strong hand. She had a score of two waiting, this would bring her to 4, closer to victory and five points ahead. Death decided to go for a blaze, and caught a diamond Ace. This was powerful: 6. “Stop.” Death simply looked. Was she using some magick, or perhaps other device? The cut for trump showed a 4 of Swords. Death looked at his cards, a natural blaze for 7, an ace, a 10, and a 4, all of diamonds. The princesses hand was almost valueless, she waited. “Win.” One. Two. Three. Now the gathering men at arms were pounding pikes into the sand, and one minotaur fired off a hackbut into the air, letting a sulfurous air add itself to the mixture of acrid odor and excrement and blood. “Bow.” Death held, the princess drew, she had a blaze, but of low cards. The new card was a queen, off suit, which only made things worse. “Win.” One. Two. Three. There were trumpet screeches, another shot was fired, and the rattling of armor was heard. Now it seemed that at least a hundred retainers were behind the pale rider. “Bow.” Death was closing the gap, with a good show on the next hand, he would be even, however, even before she drew her card, he said “Stop.” Death 2, Si-yeona 3. Death again called out for divine aid. He knew that 10 of the Gods and Goddess were behind them, and so he visualized having 10s fall like rain. The new cards that the princess stared at were good, but not too good: with the King of Clubs as trump, she had the queen of clubs and the ten of that suit, for 7, minus two because she held the 6 of spades. 5. Good. “Win.” Death's cards held two tens, he knew this had promise, he bowed, and discarded at once again useless ace, believing that his benefactors had to have sent tens. The card was disaster for the princess: a jack of spades, reducing her hand to 5. But death had no succor, he picked up a small 3, and was still sitting on a weak hand. “Win.” A deep silence broke out. Death thought to demand to show, but waited, the ten would pay for all. “Bow.”

The princess was now at five, if she stopped. The next round of cards made no change for death, but the princess dropped the heavy jack, and found herself back with a hand worth five. “Win.” Death bowed almost immediately. She stood at 6. He would have to make her show on the next pass, because it was for the game. And so he did. He looked at her cards, and realized the 10 he had been drawing for, was in her hand all along. The final score then, 8 for her, 1 for him. It was a humiliating defeat for the fell spirit. The princess took up the cards and handed them to Niccolo, never taking her eyes off of Death. “It is too bad we didn't play for stakes, I would have seven souls of you.” But death sat dejected, his leg slid forward and he slouched. His followers grew almost as still as if they had been turned to stone, and many began crawling off, there was a hanging expectation in the air, like the doldrum before a storm. Gradually a buzzing noise was heard, it was from all directions. Flies began swirling around them, and those who were still living, or had flesh to bite, began swatting them away. They grew think like the fetid air of a poisoned swamp, the buzzing grew louder, and then grew more incessant and moving. There were still enough spaces to half way see that everything was running for cover, beast, corpse, or human. Many were jumping in the water. Only the princess sat calmly, not a single fly entering her half of the circle. She saw as the insects formed a mass and swarmed over Death, crawling, biting, taking off again. She thought she could see blood dripping from their legs and wings as they left. The figure grew thinner, and then fell over, like a tent without poles. Finally, after many minutes of watching them flow out of the remains of eye sockets and the spirit's mouth, the poured down into the ground and the took off in all directions. The air was noiseless, even breath was stilled. The camp brigade simply stared dumbly, not even a skeleton was left, only the hollowed out armor sat there with the skull of the old spirit lolling on the ground as the sole remaining scrap of his manifestation. However, the crackle of power was still in the air, and gradually at first, and then with an increasing pace, bones began to fill in, and then flesh, and then skin, and finally a face. Instead of a thin pale white mane, there was a ruddy full cheeked warrior, his beard filled in, and became thick and black. The astrologer whispered “A new death.” The Summoner merely smirked. Then the new holder of the grim office bent down, scooped up the skull and held it aloft. The followers stood up and cheered a broad “Huzzah!” There was a vast din again as the beat and shot and shouted. Death stiffly moved his arm in a gesture for silence. “My name is Death.” And he cackled, one eye blue, the other black. He bent back with gales of laughter, and then grew starkly composed again. He turned one eye towards the slender small figure of the sorceress. His voice was booming and deep, but with a high-pitched edge as he spoke in softer tones. “I shall slay thee, mine enemy.” “The game was fair.” “Indeed, perfectly fair. And so are you, fair beyond compare. And so shall your meat be sold in the fair, to whoever has coins for it. I will make you my riddled whore, cursed to be rotting and rutting for ages.” He stuck out a long tongue like a serpents and it rolled in the air. The Summoner drew back, no preter-born spirit was this, but a godling incarnated with the office of death. “You shall not find me so easy a mark as the last of the spirits of passing. I shall not depart at other's whim.” He turned to his company, and again held the skull aloft. His banner bearer, an eagle beaked creature with metal feather on his torso, and goat's haunches, raised the black flag with the white rose. “We fly! Return to the city, and prepare for battle!” The sound of the voice rolled over the sand, raising a wind before it that caused small dust devils to burst into existence and then fade. Spiraling down from above was a monster, it was on four legs, like a horse, but its feet were

claws, and its body feathered. Its head was like a lion and dragon mixed together with a fur main and lion's snout, but four eyes and scales about them like a wyrm. Its tail had round balls with spikes on it, and they lashed back and forth, striking some of his minions, who lapped up each other's blood. In a single motion he boarded it the moment it landed, and then he rode it up and led his army in the direction from which Higar and Morwethe had come. The hoard raised black dust behind them, and were soon obscured as they ran and clattered away. In the aftermath of this exodus, the group stared from one to another. Finally Higar broke it, with a half serious, half-jest: “Perhaps we should have compromised, and given him the princess, the astrologer, and the mouse.” Albrecht chuckled. “Yes, those are the sort of compromises that many seem to make in the face of death.” “I still do not understand why he did not show and cut his losses.” “Because they wanted him to lose,” Albrecht called back over his shoulder, “so they could replace him.” He looked at the princess and bowed low. “You are a great lady, and it is unimaginable that we should be so fortunate as to be graced with your presence, your highness.” She smiled slightly, and tilted her head. Realizing that, while the attention might or might not be wanted, she had to do something. “I could not have done it without you. He was cheating, we could all feel it.” “Yes my lady, he was calling on the Gods and Goddess, and you were calling on me. And I, now as always, will be there, against which so every foes you set me against.” “Give me a lock of your hair to remember you by.” Albrecht took out a small dirk and cut a lock of his hair, without hesitation. This was a more brazen and foolish act than usual, because in the hands of an adept of sorcery, such things give great fuel to a spell. Niccolo looked up at the restored vessel. “She's a yar ship, will she take the cataract?” The Summoner looked quizzically at him. “Didn't you see what just happened, man? Great spheres! The old cards are thrown up in the air, and we have a world to win.” He jerked his thumb at the ship. “When the Gods are at war, the mortals have no sides. So let's have at it. Korana is the closest one to bleed some sense into.” End of Book I To Be Continued in The Dogs of War.