The adventurers stood baffled underneath the suspended structure. “What you say cannot be, professor,” Bilal spoke in a low, aggressive tone. “Did not the writing on the arch say to follow the white road? Now, the road ends here, and if you cannot find Nogöth, one might begin to wonder what an old man’s life is worth.”
Bilal pushed the elderly scholar with a single finger; the Kabar’s strength was such that Elred fell backwards and remained sprawled on the ground a while, breathing strenuously. Yabo and Mantas were stepping forward to pick him up when he raised his arm to point into a crack in the floor of the domed chamber above. “There might be something in there,” the scholar said, dejectedly. “It won’t be Nogöth because there is no such place, and no amount of pushing will change that. It might be a piece of Kabar history. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll be able to bring some civilisation back to the Triatan Innayil.”
The antiquarian got up, shook the white dust from his tattered cloak, and began climbing one of the basalt columns rising obliquely into the suspended vestige. When he stumbled and nearly fell, Bilal tried to help him up but the old man did not let him. He slid back down instead, muttering insults in Oroglossia, and started up again, wrapping his arms and legs around the smooth, slippery stone and laboriously making his way up the column in a long series of jerking motions.
Yabo and Mantas followed in like fashion, though more gracefully; Bilal merely hoisted himself up through the narrow fissure wherein his companions had disappeared.
We approached nigh unto the crack and heard much of the conversation that ensued. Of course, there was much ado when they discovered the runed arch of the wizards’ weir: they argued for long as to whether or not to cross it. Due to their faith in us, Bilal and Yabo naturally concluded that this was none other than the gate to Nogöth. Elred warned them about the other weirs that the Kabari had made before the Cataclysm: he told of how most of the still active ones were thought to connect, not with another location above ground, but rather with the deep abyss. “Many who venture through these arcane archways never return.”
At last, it was decided that Bilal would go through and report back. When he failed to do so, Yabo swung herself into the charmed passage, calling on her goddess to take her – whether to Nogöth or to the Afterworld, she did not care. Mantas followed, understanding little of what had just transpired. Weeping, Elred considered returning alone and, deciding against it, wrote the last entry in the diary which he placed as a warning for future adventurers on the weir’s threshold. He then let himself fall backward into unknown dimensions.
. . .
We followed them then, through the arch in the suspended chamber, eager to reveal ourselves at last and welcome them into the Citadel of Lights. We did not understand why the weir’s magic pulled us across the void with many a wretched twist and jolt, translating us not into the Transferring Room of fair Nogöth but some yards east of it, several cubits above the snow-covered ground. We searched the wide, featureless expanse outlying our city as soon as we had gathered our wits; but by then the travellers had already been found by Oorim other than ourselves, and so the remainder of our account is a reconstitution.
We have heard it said that Elred, seeing the constellation Chesil in the midnight sky, guessed rightly that he had passed into the wintry side of the world. He despaired of the cold and lay in the snow where he had fallen, expecting to die. Fortunately, Bilal and Yabo crossed without interference into the center of the Transferring Room; as for Mantas, he had appeared not too far off the mark, and so the operators, alerted to the malfunction in the translocation process, immediately dispatched a patrol to locate Elred. The search party listened for the loud snap of warm air breaking out of the passage through space; they then carried the unconscious scholar to the warmest of the glittering caves.
The rest, Your Majesty knows well, though we consign it here for posterity. When he awoke, Elred was brought to the Transferring Room to be reunited with his companions. There we had arrayed, according to your Majesty’s orders, four alabaster basins full of steaming, scented water; two straight razors and a strop sprinkled with rouge; oils perfumed with hyssop and lavender; silver thuribles prepared with storax and pine gum; four perfectly tailored robes of thick, white cotton; a kettle full of ptisan of burdock, dandelion and sorrel; sweet dried prunes, spiced cereal meal, mashed tubers and strong berry wine. The visitors were dazzled by the glory of our halls even though it was not as they had hoped. They had dreamed of open courts in a city of gold where the elect were received in high pomp by resplendent spirits: creatures of white light, gleaming but proportioned like themselves. What a surprise it must have been for them to discover not a palace – for what use have beings of ectoplasm for square walls? – but natural caves of iridescent feldspar. We can only guess at what they thought of our likeness: to them we must surely have seemed minuscule, like sparks flitting in and out of view.
The men shaved; all washed in the basins, anointed themselves, donned the cotton robes and ate the meal. The visitors were then escorted by our children through the crystal corridors to Your Majesty’s High Chamber. Your Majesty must pardon their tardiness: the travellers were mesmerized by Your subjects’ colours and often the well-meaning guides led them to dead-ends, forgetting that creatures of flesh and bone cannot pass through translucent stone as we do.
As Your Majesty manifested His radiant countenance from the Sunstone of Biyin and Her Highness the Queen Mother alighted on the Moonstone of Makashava, we looked on from the back of the High Chamber, becoming invisible in the glorious light. You spoke solemnly, in the language of Oor, “Well met, daughter of Skaad, son of Aud, children of the Unknown God. Long you have been expected; it is well that you could pass unscathed through the Ordeal and come here to a good end. Speak now your requests and learn of our answer.”
. . .
The high councilors Admon, Yaraq and Tekelet translated each in turn: in Doon Ayday, Shaka and the vulgate Cant. Surprise mixed with awe in the visitors’ faces. Elred was the first to speak, feebly, and in the best Oor he could manage:
“Your Magnificences, we prostrate ourselves before you. Humbly I ask: if it is your wish, could you explain the meaning of our meeting? How was the cloth of our robes measured, how was the food apportioned, before we even arrived?”
“This I can tell you,” the Queen Mother replied in Cant, “this, and many other things beside. The Oorim have subtle bodies and, as such, certain of us move backward and forward through time – though they may only do so at great expense to their life-force. Before every Festival, our scouts from the future report back with news of the visitors to come – though the information is tentative, for the very act of observing pulls the threads of causality and changes the warp and weft of destiny. If we are not surprised at your coming, we are nevertheless impressed, especially with you, who remained unbelieving to the very last. As a reward for your bravery you shall have free access to our Great Library for the entire duration of your stay.”
There was a reverent silence which Yabo broke. She spoke eloquently in her native tongue; the High Councillor Admon translated, “I am Yabo, chief huntress of the Keenioun Pride. The Southern Sea and Al Ahemdat I have braved for the sake of my daughter and heir, Kokumo, whom the plague gods snatched away before her time. I come begging that you restore her to her tribe.”
Her Highness the Queen responded in Oor; Admon relayed her words in the tongue of the Pride, “It is with a mixture of sorrow and joy that we receive your request, daughter of Skaad, for it has already been granted. Before you arrived, certain of the most powerful of us went down into the Afterworld to plead with Paqadel for your child’s return. We regret that by the time we descended, Kokumo had already been reborn to your tribe in the person of Abeni, daughter of Jumoke; restoring her to you would steal her away from her new mother... No, do not despair! Rather hear and trust our judgment. You will find that you have not come in vain. Should you choose to return to your land and accept Abeni as your heir, we will send you away with three fine robes of Nogöth and as many carcanets wrought in rare gold for her dowry. Having two mothers, she will never want for wisdom, and will surely grow to become a great huntress.”
“The Queen Mother has spoken,” Your Majesty declared, “we will now hear the other requests, beginning with that of the mageborn son of Aud.”
High Councillor Yaraq translated. Mantas declared sternly, as though declaiming a speech long rehearsed, “It is my teachers’ wish that I come to master the Elements before I befriend the Four Noble Beasts we hold sacred, before I return to the crypt of our Jaltys and begin serving as Magus. Humbly I beseech the guidance of the Oorim, to enter into their pacts of Power.”
“This,” Yaraq translated Your Majesty’s answer, “this and more shall be granted, for Ovimelek and all of Nogöth favour the innocent. Only await our final judgement. Speak now, Triat Bilal, for though we do not like your request, we still wish to hear it.”
High Councillor Tekelet translated; Bilal, his Triat pride undeterred, pronounced his request.
“I have come on behalf of the House of Salb, to bring back from Nogöth some of the power of the Oorim, to benefit the commonwealth of the Triatan Innayil.”
In approximate Cant, Your Majesty replied derisively, “The Triatan Innayil, a commonwealth! Do not think that the Oorim are ignorant of the warring of the Houses. Still, you have come through the Pillars and the Elders of Oor have found valour amongst your mixed motivations. To pacify you there is therefore a reward as well as a punishment. Because of your warlike ways we have deemed you unworthy to remember the glory that is Nogöth, and so our light will burn out her image from your mind and you shall never find your way back to her again; but, as a reward for your courage, we shall inscribe in place of these memories what we have salvaged of the lore of Thinis, including the workings of the wizards’ weirs. It is the birthright of the Kabari, after all. Let the People of the Light pray that you make good use of it. For my part I shall hope it speeds the decline of the Machine Lords.”
. . .
Your Majesty arose then, a pillar of light, brilliant as the noonday sun. “Hear now the wisdom of Shahar, Queen Mother of the Oorim; the lore of the Elders of the People of Light, and of Ovimelek their King. It is our wish that you should understand the predicament you now find yourselves in due to your violation of the olden Rule of Three, and so we shall reveal to you the secrets of Thinis’ weir.”
“It was not our hands,” Your Majesty continued, “but those of Kabari which built the original wizards’ weirs before we even awoke. At the dawn of the present Age my people, so newly roused, were still scattered and confused, not used to dealing with the children of the Sadehim. Many good Oorim were magically coerced into a life of servitude; to escape this evil fate we sought to gather the People of Light into one place far from the influence of selfish sorcerers. By chance, certain of the most powerful of us met in Al Ahemdat and discovered the translocator. For beings of light such as ourselves, an approximate understanding of its working was not difficult to acquire; by trial and error we recalibrated Thinis’ weir to open above an island on the unpopulated side of the world. Nogöth was intended as a sanctuary, serving no purpose except that of Oor’s. Our rangers spread word of the location of the passage, pointing the way to Thinis by leaving inscriptions in our secret language.
Still Your Majesty related, “In time we found other, more isolated weirs: in cities sunken below the surfaces of Earth and Sea, at the ends of narrow tunnels or embedded in translucent ice. We had foreseen that when the sons and daughters of the Gods had recovered from the Cataclysm, they might decipher our signs and attempt to follow us. It is to avoid this that we made sure only those weirs which are located beyond the reach of mortals remained active. Only the passage at Thinis we had to leave open, for our understanding of weir-lore is still imperfect and the network of functioning weirs depends on this connection. We erased many of the signs leading to Thinis and, when this was found to be insufficient deterrence for the most dedicated adventurers, we added new inscriptions and circulated the rumours which eventually coalesced into the folk-lore institution of the Festival, including the Rule of Three.”
Her Highness the Queen took over the explanation, “Now, this is the predicament which my son spoke of earlier: the weirs we operate have been cut off from the original source of their power; presently their magic comes from the stones of Nogöth, which recharge themselves over time, but hardly enough to transport more than eighty kikkarim every year. This is not a problem for Oorim, who are virtually weightless; however this does limit the number of visitors we can receive or send back from our court. The translocation of Yabo and the giant Bilal depleted too much of our resources at once; the subsequent travel of Mantas and Elred caused even more significant strain on the connection. The opening shifted eastward and lost much of its stability as a result.”
“The feldspar deposits,” Her Highness Shahar continued, “are accumulating power even as we speak. In a matter of days we will have returned the opening to the Transferring Room and be ready to send away another forty kikkarim or so. This, I am afraid, shan’t be enough for all four of you, and so one among you will have to remain behind in Nogöth.”
“I see you still do not understand the full implications of this,” Her Highness spoke more sternly, glowing blue with regret. “There is not much food here, for we do not eat as you eat, and only prepare the repasts of our visitors out of courtesy. It is winter on the small island above and even if one were to catch what few hares hide in the nearby woods, there would not likely be enough sustenance to last the cold season. The one who remains behind shall have to give up his earthly life.”
At these words, a profound uneasiness came over the guests. Bilal seemed the most afraid; a denizen of the far south, he understood more than any of them the requirements for survival in the wintry waste and found himself poorly prepared to face such circumstances.
Your Majesty spoke, “Now, if it were only up to me, it is clear what we would do: at the earliest opportunity, we would use Nagih’s photon transducer to reroute the connection immediately, first to the the far havens of the Serpent People, then to the prairies of the Pride and finally to Kalad Tueeran, barring further access to the opening and leaving Triat Bilal stranded among us.”
“But the Oorim do not kill,” Her Highness interjected, “nor do we condemn to death. We shall therefore leave you to decide amongst yourselves while the stones recharge a while. There are still provisions for the four of you for a few days; our rangers will do their best to obtain more from the frozen land, and so whoever shall opt to stay has about a week to come forward. Only know this: we have already ruled that Mantas shall return, for he is but a child, though a Magus.”
. . .
Bilal rose at the crack of dawn, having slept but a few hours, and left his bedroll unfurled in the cave where we had bid him sleep. He put on all of his clothes, including the cotton robe, and asked to be led to the surface; we obliged. He quickly walked away in the snow, far beyond the reach of our watchmen.
Yabo awoke some hours later in the Transferring Room. We gave her ptisan and flat bread; she ate and drank as she ambled absent-mindedly through the corridors, lost in thought. The vitreous, subfulgent glory that is Nogöth no longer seemed to warrant her wonderment.
Elred did not want to rest after his audience with Your Majesty; he asked instead to be taken directly to the Library. Because he could not read selenite crystals as we do, we presented him with a device that Nagih made from various lenses and mirrors which projected the writing upon any flat surface. In this manner he consulted many of our historical records, but also works on grammar and books of poetry. He nodded off shortly before dawn and did not wake until noon, even sleeping through one of High Councilor Yaraq’s lectures to the young Mantas on matters arcane.
In the late afternoon Bilal returned, frostbitten and out of breath, with two dead groundhogs. He skinned both animals, taking good care not to damage the pelts, and supervised the cooking of their meat over the great phlogistone of the laboratory. Yabo, Mantas and Elred each arrived in turn, evidently attracted by the smell. All of them ate gleefully, all, that is, except Bilal. When Elred enquired about this, the Kabar addressed them sternly, “I do not touch this food because I will not be staying. Let the person who will remain here eat my share. I cannot sacrifice myself: my people need me. I have been sent on this mission in secret by my Masters, for they suspect that the Greater Lords will approve of our absorption by House Halnahas if we do not buy their protection. If I do not return soon, my home will be overrun, my House name obliterated, and my family reduced to serfdom. Do you understand? Can you forgive me?”
The others were speechless. Bilal continued, “I have placed snares near exposed roots in the nearby bush. If indeed there are hares on this island they will likely get caught. I will check tomorrow. Whoever decides to remain should make a cloak from the pelts and walk south as soon as it begins to thaw. The Oorim say this is a small island; there might be edible kelp along the shore and it should be easy enough to fish.”
After this, Bilal went to rest in his cave. Yabo continued her wandering. Mantas resumed his mystical training under stolid Councilor Yaraq. Elred returned to the Library where, tired of peering at the projections, he took to talking to our intellectuals about their work and other interests. He reminisced about his own life, recounting anecdotes of his travels and duties as the Chair of Antiquities. He remembered the old boys who were once his lovers, the scholars and the bohemians of long ago, most of them now dotards or dilettantes. He resented age for having made their love futile and unseemly. Our savants listened, rapt with interest though they understood little, having spent most of their lives sheltered by the safety of shining Nogöth.
On the second day Bilal’s snares caught nothing; on the third the Kabar brought back a half-starved rabbit from his morning excursion. Hunger made Bilal irritable; he quaffed his ptisan sullenly while braising what meagre morsels could be cut from the carcass on the phlogistone.
Mantas had been translated back to his native land while Bilal was out; Yabo and Elred had accompanied him to the Transferring Room. It was Councilor Yaraq who broke the tense silence by presenting the Jilvas child with a jewel carved from the stones of Biyin and Makashava as a parting gift, addressing him thusly: “This is the offering of Nogöth to the Magi-Priests of Aud – a gem unlike any other for your perlas which was lost. We hope it is found to be sufficient compensation. Your time amongst us was too short, Mantas Mageborn, but upon these stones are carved the symbols with which you have entered our pacts of Power: therefore wherever you go, Nogöth goes.” Elred and Yabo had then said their goodbyes; Mantas spoke to Elred a few minutes in Oroglossia and burst into tears. As no other Oroglossian speakers were present their words were not recorded.
After Mantas had walked through the passage into the night of his home forest, Elred and Yabo found Bilal in the laboratory. At first both ate eagerly of the meal which the Kabar had prepared, but soon Yabo found herself staring at Elred, paralyzed with shame.
“It is alright,” Elred said, trying to sound cheerful. “Both of you have a clan to return to; I have grown nephews and nieces who only write for the holidays. I understand the choice that must be made. You will go through the weir when it is recharged.”
Yabo buried her head in her pilous arms, sobbing without restraint; even Bilal seemed to lose his poise, not knowing whether to face Elred or to look away.
Elred continued, “What better place might I have chosen to die? My only regret is that I cannot send you away with notes for my colleagues. Oh, I am an old fool! What book could capture it, the glory of Nogöth? What word – except perhaps the Word of Light, a meaningless syllable until you have witnessed its power in the gross darkness of Al Ahemdat?”
. . .
A few silent days later – for everything had been said – Yabo crossed at night into the noon-sun warmth of her savannah. Before she left she had found Elred in the Great Library and given him her treasured flint knife. “She called Ibori,” she muttered, “true knife of the Keenioun people. She cut bad ghosts in Afterworld. Alaafia!”
Bilal was translated two days later; it was done in the night while he slept. High Councilor Chakamah the Mnemomancer placed her hand upon his head; when we hauled him through the weir the Kabar’s face still shone as though a fire raged behind the closed eyelids.
News came by way of our spies that Bilal arrived too late to save his House. Waking as though from a long dream in the Southern waste, the Kabar explorer climbed in secret the mooring lines of the flying city of the Triatan, finding there no Master of war who remembered him or his secret mission. In this manner he avoided serfdom, passing for a while as an inventor from Tìr-Mhòr. Gaining favour from the Greater Lords due to his knowledge, Bilal bought his family out of slavery and plotted the demise of House Halnahas. Late in life, he even started his own House; having forgotten all about his journey he could not have explained why he chose to name it “Elred.”
On the morning after Bilal had been sent away, Her Highness Shahar visited Elred in the Great Library where he slept. “Are you afraid?” she asked him.
“Yes, Highness,” Elred answered, “I am afraid. I am sorry to have violated the Rule of Three – though I am not sorry to have seen Nogöth, even though I die here – and I am afraid of oblivion, though having seen Nogöth I am almost ready to believe in Paradise.”
“You will not enter Paradise” Her Highness replied. “Not yet. You have passed the highest test: to you the Elders of the Oorim will bestow the supreme honour. The Mnemomancer will find the silent place in your mind: the Self which is beyond Thought and the senses, the ground of your Being. She will find it and fill it with light and you will become like one of us.”
. . .
This concludes the reports of scouts Shaviva and Nitzot, requested by the Chief Archivist Elred to be presented with gratitude to the King, on the occasion of the tercentennial anniversary of Sir Elred’s appointment to his office. Long live her Highness Shahar the Queen Mother! Long live King Ovimelek!
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