Iyetra
Book
01 : Sleeping God
Joshua Meadows
Copyright © 2010 Joshua Meadows
Smashwords Edition
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Thank you to all my friends who lent me their opinions, proofreading and editing skills so that I could finish this book on time
Thanks to Lisa for
convincing me to do it
and Adam for supporting me while I did
PROLOGUE : DAWNING
At the dawn of things, in the eon known as the Whole, Iyetra was a complete, harmonious world and its inhabitants lived with the blessings of the gods, watched over under the authority of the Advent. Blessed by those gods with abilities above man, they attended to the affairs of their people with kindness and responsibility.
But there were those who resented the Advent and railed against being governed by a minority with powers they lacked, becoming jealous and spiteful. They waged war against harmony, abandoned the blessings of the gods and locked themselves within their Imperium of Man. Turning away from the æther, they rebuilt themselves and became like machines. When they emerged from their self-imposed hiding centuries later, they sought to conquer and to convert.
In the end, the gods grew sad at this rebuke and abandoned Iyetra. With no guardians, the Imperium found a way to force their malevolent agenda upon everyone and brought about the Shattering, flinging shards of our once perfect world throughout space and throughout the æther. Within the last gasps of a dying people, the gods heard the voices of their faithful and took pity, fashioning a way for life to continue in this harsh, warped environment.
But they did not forgive, and the corrupted Chaos stands as a relic to the hubris of man and the depravity he can sink to at his darkest moments. The dæmons of the Chaos are poisoned and twisted, incapable of redemption and under the sway of evil gods.
They must always remind us of what we could have become.
- introduction to The Dawn of Things, compiled by Grandmaster Asher; provided by the Avener Library Arcanum, Triyard
01 : SHADOW
On the outskirts of Koton; date.1035/0418, Triyard Unified Time
Tela was roused by the sudden klaxon overhead, snapping her attention back to the present. She peered out through the viewport of the smooth, egg-shaped craft with a yawn, staring through the churning dark void that was pressing itself in against the ship. From the front of the vessel a stewardess appeared in the aisle, walking along the rows to politely remind the small assortment of passengers to collect their things and prepare to disembark; it was an early flight, and few people in Triyard had need of a direct trip to a city so far out as Koton, so most of the plush seats around her remained empty and unused. She arched her back to pop muscles made stiff from sitting in one position for so long, then pushed what little she'd brought in the way of baggage into a neat pile in front of her.
Her assistant yawned in the next seat, waving demurely as he saw her arranging her things. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said sheepishly, wiping away the sleep in his eyes. "Do you need any help with that?" He brushed shaggy brown hair out of his face, although the action didn't help make him seem less dishevelled.
Tela shook her head. "No thank you, Brannon," she replied. The aide had tagged along at her father's insistence despite the fact that she found him entirely useless. It was a concession she was forced to accept after talking her father down from sending her along with a procession of bodyguards — she wasn't of the opinion that showing up for a diplomatic visit armed to the teeth would inspire the best opinion amongst the individuals she was attempting to court favour with. Even still, she found Brannon mostly useless; he was good for carrying things, but he was too lazy and dim to do much else. If he had a bit more guile she would suspect he was there simply to keep tabs on her at her parents' behest. He was barely into adulthood himself, just a few cycles younger than she was, and their similar ages made her feel uncomfortable tasking him with anything.
Though she had little political aspirations of her own, in Triyard she was the daughter of a high-ranking Senator and had certain responsibilities expected of her as a result. Adding to that lineage, she was also Advent, one of the rare subset of humanity gifted with an affinity towards magic — individuals that to the Consortium were soldiers, advisors and leaders, tasked with the burden of keeping their magic-dependant society functioning properly.
Realising Brannon was still staring at her expectantly, she forced a smile and waved him away. "You can help me once we're stationary, if you really want."
That seemed to satisfy the young man and he nodded, settling back into his seat to nap off the last leg of the trip before they docked, leaving her alone with her own thoughts as she reflected on her "mission." It made little difference that she'd only left the Avener months ago as a journeyman — she was no longer aspirant, which was all that mattered in the eyes of the proles: people with no ability to manipulate or utilise the æther.
She eyed the evidence of her own abilities, resting on the empty seat opposite her: a dark mahogany staff almost as tall as she was, mostly unadorned save for the claw carved at one end grasping a small green stone. The lack of decoration was indicative of her low rank compared to other Advent, but she stared at the weapon with a protective expression. She recalled her own ceremony, remembering how she had felt upon receiving her staff from the Matriarch herself. The Advent's inscrutable leader personally provided all graduates tools of their own, granting them permission to enter the ranks of practicing spellweavers. Although upon reflection she thought the feeling was a bit immature, being in the presence of the powerful sovereign filled her with a need to impress the woman.
As her first political task, her father had dispatched her to Koton to negotiate an agreement with the ruling Magisterium; although the city was distant from the rest of the Consortium, it represented a confluence of power to the other floaters within its Sphere. Because of that, the alliance had been eyeing it for a time — their previous overtures had been rebuked by the Magisterium, as relations between the two groups had still been chilly ever since the end of the Estfyn Gate Conflict ten cycles back. A handful of floaters near enough to Koton to give them concern had suddenly been destroyed, worrying the Magisterium that Koton would be ill-prepared to ward off a force powerful enough to breach and eliminate a floater if they were assaulted as well.
Some of the more devoted Magisters had balked at the idea of bringing in Advent for protection, but the more pragmatic ones realised the city simply stood no chance if it was attacked — they had learned that lesson from their brush with the extranatural during their experience with Estfyn. In exchange for some help from the Consortium, Koton was open to cooperating with the alliance to improve its standing with other frontier Spheres.
That was the plan, at least. In practice she wasn't convinced it would be as easy as that, especially with some within the Magisterium still holding a hostile view towards the Advent on principle. Their relationship had been tenuous and fragile ever since the war; thankfully there had never been a return to previous hostilities, but they weren't friendly either. The Magisterium had originally been an offshoot of the same group of people who went on to found the Imperium — although they didn't share the former's paranoia of magic, they had significant mistrust towards the Advent, considering it inappropriate that the majority should be governed by a rare faction with unusual abilities. It was also common for those abilities to be attributed to dæmons or evil gods and over time the mistrust had become outright bigotry and propaganda.
She gave a weary sigh and returned her attention to the window, looking out for the city emerging from the dark, anarchic mist of the Chaos around them. The reality bubble around the ark did a respectable job of dissipating most of the madness, but from time to time she could still see glimpses of distant, distressing shapes in the fog like hellish nightmares made manifest. One such shape flew close enough to the dirigible to become visible through the mist, suddenly recognisable as a hellbeast despite being a featureless black blob heartbeats before.
She gasped as it appeared within her view and floated past their ship in momentary disinterest. The creature was as big as a house, leathery skin cracked and blistered like dry mud. This particular creature was like a massive snake, stretched out and tubular; two long arms were stretched backwards as it moved, each one possessing fingers ending in curved scythe-like nails. It flew by them using massive wings as propulsion, only a few hundred metres from their craft. Turning its reptilian head in the direction of the dirigible, the behemoth roared in challenge despite the fact that all sound was blocked by the ship's thick insulation. Its eye sockets were vacant aside from deep green flame burning within them. Even though she knew they were completely protected, sitting in a slightly different physical dimension while inside the ship's shielding, seeing a dæmon so close curdled her blood. After a moment without response, the creature snorted and turned away, continuing its lazy migration through the Chaos away from them. She let her breath out in a quiet sigh of relief; despite how close it was, none of her fellow passengers gave any indication of noticing the dæmon, however.
After a few more minutes of travel Koton's tangle of tall spires and skeletal structures resolved itself out of nowhere a few kilometres ahead of them, accompanied by a slight electrical charge passing over her skin as their craft passed through the outer boundary of Koton's space. She admitted feeling mildly impressed with the foreign architecture of the city, as it was certainly unlike anything she had seen back in Triyard; the buildings of the city reached upward from the surface of the floater as if they were trying to grasp the Chaos, a sea of slender digits covering every square metre of the rock with habitation as the city itself scrabbled at the twisted madness surrounding it. At this distance, their ark had just slipped inside Koton's distortion field; else the city itself would still be invisible to them.
The floater quickly filled her view through the porthole as the ship silently pivoted around and angled itself towards the city's dock. Rapidly, Koton was all she could see from horizon to horizon as they sped through nonspace, crossing the city's second inner shield in a matter of moments. This time the ark shuddered turbulently as normal physics reapplied themselves to the vehicle and turned the egg-ship into a more conventional aerocraft. The light coming through the window dimmed to the general purple haze she was familiar with as a result of the artificial weather that developed inside these reality bubbles. Koton, like other floaters its size, was in perpetual twilight.
She rechecked her bags in the brief time it took their ship to park, the klaxon switching to a low pulse to signal that it was safe to leave their seats. She grabbed her things, protectively clutching her staff to her body, and headed off towards the exit with Brannon close behind. A smiling attendant working for the commercial liner waved at them as she passed the ship's control centre — she peeked at the banks of electronics being administered to by uniformed men; the technological aspects of the ships always unnerved her, feeling far too similar to the sort of mechanical transformation the Imperium had subjected themselves to. Still, magic alone wasn't as efficient at traversing the Chaos and the ships were a ubiquitous tool.
Stepping out and down the departure ramp, she queued up with the other passengers waiting on the large field of concrete serving as a parking ground for the ships. Each one was a massive vehicle shaped like an egg with no wings or outer engine to speak of. It was Tech — as opposed to kraftwork — which as a rule the Advent discouraged the use of, but the Magisterium refused to allow nexusgates on their floaters. It was a policy decision endemic of most of their fears over magic: nexusgates were powerful modes of transport through the Chaos, but with that power came the legitimate risk of a malfunction tearing open a hole inside a floater's protective barrier.
Nexusgates were capable of bridging vast distances in a heartbeat, instantly transporting travellers from one floater to another without the long transit time that the egg-ships necessitated. They were preferred within the Consortium, but they were not without danger — using any magic thinned the veil between spatial reality and the Chaos, but typically it wasn't enough to allow a dæmon to pass through. When a nexusgate was used, this threat was increased due to the massive arcane energy used by the kraftwork tool as it functioned; still, it was rare for an irregularity to last long enough to be useful to those in the Chaos, but it had happened in the past.
As such, Triyard permitted a limited number of flights between itself and other floaters lacking more instantaneous methods of travel. The ship's chassis was smooth and off-white, dotted with rows of windows. At full capacity one could ferry a few hundred people along with the crew and all assorted luggage. Outside of nexusgates, the dirigibles were the easiest way to move through the Chaos.
People were gathered on the opposite side of the ship she'd just exited, belongings in hand as they waited for permission to board it on its return to Triyard. Most of them were dressed like her, in plain clothing, meaning that they were not citizens of the Magisterium but from the free-states. A warm breeze brushed against her skin, refreshing after being stuffed into the cabin of the craft for so long.
In the arrivals area of the port a delegate from the Magisterium met her, bowing his head respectfully. She knew that she was disgustingly late, intending to arrive in Koton first thing that morning, but processing delays in Triyard had kept her in the capital city until her paperwork had been properly handled; she was slightly bemused that even diplomats and politicians were at the mercy of governmental bureaucracy.
"Welcome to Koton, Ambassador Niala," the delegate said to her politely as he ushered her through the security cordon. He was an older man slightly beneath her height, resembling something like a frog; she had little difficulty picturing him collecting insects in his personal time. "My name is Penat, I was sent here to bring you to the Magisterium once you had arrived." He was dressed in the same uniformed brown frock that all men wore here, scalp shaved close to his pale skin.
"Thank you for meeting me," she replied, banishing the mocking thoughts about his appearance from her mind. "I have to ask your forgiveness for my tardiness, I was held up in Triyard. Will there be much time for me to change once we arrive at my lodgings?" she asked.
He hesitated a moment, then tilted his head, "My apologies, Ambassador, but I was instructed to bring you straight to the Magisterium once you arrived. We won't have time to stop at your hotel along the way." He looked at her outfit and for a split second she thought something resembling derision crossed his features at the unorthodox garb she wore — while they didn't force visitors to adopt their own customs, it was clear he didn't approve of how she was dressed; women here were stuffed into long gowns like burlap sacks, faces veiled to obscure their features. "Obviously, I will make arrangements before we arrive to appropriate a place for you to change in privacy, before the ceremony begins."
She nodded with an inward sigh of resignation, knowing she had no choice in the matter. Negotiations between herself and the Magisterium would begin first thing the following day, but as a gesture of goodwill she had been invited to attend an infrequent but celebrated event for the floaters: the transference ceremony where one Archon stepped down to be replaced with their successor. It was a day of festivities and excitement, although the population as a whole wouldn't be permitted to attend the actual ceremony itself. As such, the Magisterium's invitation to her was a great honour, and it was her obligation as emissary to attend. They wouldn't delay the event, however, and would be gravely insulted if she failed to show up on time.
With a loud rumble behind her, she heard the docking clamps creak as they released the blimp once it had finished loading passengers and fuel. The craft detached itself from the mooring and gently floated away from the dock, surprisingly graceful for a massive white egg. In short moments it was ascending through the inner boundary, into the mist, and she quickly lost sight of it as it began to disassociate into the Chaos.
The port had been built on the edge of Koton, while the Magisterium's complex resided in the city's centre. From end to end, Koton occupied a chunk of rock about a hundred kilometres across; given its impressive population, that rock was crammed full of people — they'd long ago run out of space across the floater, so they began filling it vertically as well, erecting tall towers of stone and metal that twinkled against the dim, uniformly dour sky. The city's architecture was in contrast to the blasé appearance of the citizens, each of them dressed in the same brown uniform and filed into polite lines wherever they went. The delegate led her through the port's long hallways, speeding her through checkpoints with his credentials. As they walked he proudly rattled off platitudes about the city's founding and history; although she made an effort to pay attention, it didn't take long for boredom to set in and she was thankful when they finally reached the periphery of the harbour and the delegate led her to their transport.
They boarded a small, private carrier — one of the few passenger aircraft permitted to travel within city limits, looking something like a long box with a gyroscope of metal attached to its underside, orbiting a glowing chunk of warpstone as crackling slices of energy passed between each ring — and sped away towards the Magisterium complex. Koton used magic, of course; outside of the Imperium, no human society could function completely without it. But they viewed it, and its creations, as necessarily sinful tools that needed to be tightly controlled, lest continued exposure to the Chaos twist its practitioners into dæmons of frightening evil. As a foreign diplomat, she had certain latitude, but she wouldn't be receiving any of the usual deferential treatment that she'd grown accustomed to back in Triyard. Here, the proles saw her as a utensil at best or a conduit of devastation at worst. Individuals granted authority to practice were known as priests, and there were only ever a handful of them in service at any time.
"How long will the flight take?" she asked, cutting off the delegate mid-speech as he produced encyclopaedic trivia about the particular section of the city they were presently flying over.
He bowed his head again. "It will be inside one bell; the liners are the fastest craft we have available on Koton," he said apologetically. "We can't provide anything more instantaneous, but we will still reach the complex with enough time for you to prepare."
She smiled politely. "The carrier is perfectly fine," she said. Penat nodded and, perhaps sensing her disinterest in the history lessons, announced that he was retiring to a separate area of the craft to prepare for their arrival, leaving her alone with her assistant. She was lulled into calm by the gentle purr of the liner's kraftwork motors, nodding off for a brief nap until the delegate tapped her on the shoulder after they arrived.
"If it pleases you," he whispered as she smoothed her mussed hair down, "I've called ahead and had a chamber prepared for you to freshen up within before the ceremony starts. You have about a bell and a half. I've left directions with your staff —" he said, glancing at Brannon, "but you will be met by the Magisterium's Chief Secretary at the front gate. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"
She smiled and stood to her feet. "No, you've been most gracious, thank you. I'm sure I can handle things from now on." He bowed respectfully and departed, leaving her alone with Brannon and her bags once again.
The small liner had landed in a lot just in front of the grandiose entrance to the Magisterium complex. There were a number of floaters scattered about Known Space who had ceded authority to the religious establishment of the Magisterium, turning it into a respectable body of power. Their nerve centre was located on a floater called Providence, nearer to the central Spheres, but they gave their other vassals a certain degree of autonomy provided the other floaters operated within the framework of their established laws. Policing of those laws, as well as dealing with serious violations of them, were handled by their own Holy Guard, but for the most part the central authority rarely interfered with the activity of another city.
The square just outside the capitol building was packed with citizens eagerly gathered for the transference rite, leaving the atmosphere celebratory and excited despite the fact that they were all wearing the same dour brown uniform. Under the Magisterium, Archons were supreme rulers and protectors, even though their literal political role was largely symbolic; they served an essential function but had no real clout of their own. It was just as well, as their responsibilities were far too demanding to leave them as adequate politicians at the same time. For that, the Magisterium filled that role. They selected their Archons through conscription — once chosen, an individual could not turn the appointment down. It was something that she personally bristled at, but those who lived under this form of governance would consider such a refusal to be the ultimate disgrace.
She had heard a smattering of comments during her briefings that a growing number of people felt the Magisterium had made a poor choice, selecting someone who was both remarkably young and incredibly immature for the position. Rumour had it that the Archon-elect had turned his new job down and had been subsequently "relocated" in preparation for the rite by the Magisters as a result. It didn't make a difference if he was unwilling, she thought cynically to herself; the Magisterium would simply drug him and put him in place anyway — filling in as an Archon only necessitated having a body, but not necessarily a consciously participating one.
Koton's administration complex was imposing and Romanesque in the way she'd always associated with the Magisterial faction. Ornate columns of stone carved with flourishes and decorative accents surrounded the squared building, framing it like prison bars. It was constructed of concrete and marble, sand-blasted to smooth whiteness and dotted with openings in the front facade for windows. She guessed it was too expensive to fit them with actual glass, noting that most were shaded over with heavy cloth. Brannon trailed behind her, jaw slack in awe as he looked up at the massive structure.
It was thankfully just a quick walk from the parking area to the building and they crossed the distance in moments. She began climbing the high staircase out front with dignified poise, consciously aware of the many sets of eyes watching every step she took. At the top, a pair of well-armoured guards brandishing long halberds stood before the front entrance. The vocal crowd behind her disappeared out of sight over the horizon of the massive staircase. Neither guard looked her in the eye as she approached, and nor did they make any effort to step out of her way.
After a moment she cleared her throat pointedly and looked at the taller one. "Pardon me; I am Ambassador Niala, from Triyard. I am here for the transference rite."
The guard, a youth who barely seemed old enough for the position, shook his head curtly. "Weapons aren't allowed within the government complex, ma'am." When this was met with a blank stare of confusion, he gestured with irritation at the staff she held.
Now it was Tela's turn to shake her head, clutching her staff closer to her person as if it was a child. "I'm Advent, the Magisters understand this —"
The other guard stepped in front of her, puffing his chest out aggressively. "D'they not teach you glitter-rats anything over in Treeyard or what? He told you to ditch the staff." He jabbed her hard in her left shoulder blade to punctuate the order.
She blinked in confusion at his hostility and the pejorative he used for Advent, taking a step back in outrage. "What did you —!" she started to say, only to be cut off when the same guard grabbed for her staff in his fat calloused hand. She gasped in stunned shock — a layperson touching an Advent's catalyst was akin to a stranger groping her breast — then screeched from the affront. "How dare you!" she yelled, as ripples of crackling energy began to slither around the body of the weapon and her eyes took on an electric, golden hue. The temperature of the surrounding area dropped noticeably by several degrees, and the guard paused slightly in his assault, looking worried.
"Enough!" a voice commanded over the noise of the rapidly escalating confrontation. It hit her in the face like a projectile, snapping her out of her outrage in an instant. "Unhand the woman," the stranger repeated, with both guards looking at one another as if realising the scope of trouble they'd found themselves in. The rudest one released her staff, taking a step back as his face reddened.
A tall, older man dressed in fine robes stepped through the opened front door of the complex, face stern. She realised immediately that he was stationed high within the Magisterium to avoid the same uniform as everyone else, but his position wasn't immediately apparent beyond that. A group of attendants, each dressed in plain servant-wear, followed him close behind. "Ambassador Niala, my apologies for arriving late. I had hoped to be here before your carrier landed in order to explain your presence to our guards." He looked at both the boys with an indecipherable expression. "It seems I arrived just in time."
Tela's knuckles were white from gripping her weapon and she slowly willed herself back to calm. It was a struggle to leash the energy she'd instinctively pulled on moments earlier — that was an aspect of discipline she was still working on, and it took several deep breaths before she was able to anchor it back within her staff. The first guard looked at the man who'd just arrived. "Chief Secretary, we were told no one could come in armed —"
"Boys, don't they prepare you for anything in that ill-advised training academy the Magisters insist on utilising? She's an Advent; that's not a weapon, it's a limb. How would you appreciate someone telling you to leave your leg outside before you report for guard duty? And here you were accosting a diplomat to do exactly that." They blanched considerably, looking at her as they realised the gravity of their behaviour. "You're both fortunate I arrived when I did; I've seen first-hand what the Advent are capable of when threatened. As you physically harassed her first, she would be completely within her rights to react however she felt was necessary." He punctuated this last point in particular, watching their faces as it sunk in.
Finally, the second guard dropped his eyes to his boots and mumbled, "My apologies, ma'am, my behaviour was unbecoming for one of t'Magisterial guards."
"It certainly was," the Chief Secretary said. He turned to her. "Well, Ambassador, what would you like me to do with them? Their behaviour was certainly criminal."
She took another deep breath and considered, weighing the gratification of punishing them with the probable expectation that she rise above how they had behaved. After a moment she shrugged slightly, saying softly, "I accept his apology. I don't think further discipline is necessary."
"Very gracious of you, ma'am," the newcomer said and then turned to the soldiers. "But, both of you can return home for the rest of the day, without pay." He held his hand up when they began to protest, cutting them off. "Have Mic and Enyar relieve you on your way out, and be thankful the Ambassador hasn't asked me to file an official report. Now go, before I change my mind." They both did so, quietly grumbling as they returned through the high archway of the complex's entrance.
He turned to her, bowing apologetically. "I do have to emphasise my contrition over those two. They're good men, but some have accepted the mandates of the Apology faster than others." He was referring to a proclamation by the Magisterium that had officially ended the Estfyn Gate Conflict. Many under Magisterial authority had viewed Advents as little more than witchdoctors, accusing them of practicing the sort of dark arts that had brought about the Shattering in the first place — ignoring the fact that it had been the Imperium who was responsible for that destruction, they treated the Advent with prejudice and demanded that the Consortium destroy the Avener and ban magic. Although the war had been over for cycles, not everyone had let go of the bigotry of the past.
She shook her head. "It's all right," she said, heart still pounding from the altercation. "No harm was done."
The man nodded, holding his hand out to her. "Well then, let me greet you properly. My name is Tamyer Hestone, I am the Chief Secretary for the Magisterium; I was asked to meet you here and make sure you were well handled in time for the ceremony." His voice was kind and warm, welcome after how she'd been treated moments before. "Irrespective of the previous... trouble, did you have any issues getting here?"
She brushed her hands against her pants, shaking her head again. "No, thank you for asking. Your deputy met me at the port and was most helpful during the trip over."
Tamyer laughed, leading her along through the grand front entrance. "Penat didn't bore you to death with his history lessons, did he? He tends to assume all visitors share his interest in the trivial minutiae of Koton — those of us born here don't even care as much as he does!" He grinned at her as if sharing a private joke just between them and she smiled back, finding herself warming up to the affable stranger quickly.
Tamyer directed them into the austere greeting hall — she exclaimed in surprise at the majesty of it, looking at high ceilings covered in complicated calligraphy and beautiful imagery over every inch of their surfaces; the mural depicted (and exaggerated) historical events, replete with paintings of famous Archons of the past battling terrifying dæmons. The hall itself was filled with people milling about sipping various beverages, each wearing more upscale versions of the uniform she was familiar with while still looking appropriately modest. The people gathered here represented another tier of the floater's hierarchy: they were considered important enough to not be kept outside with the other proles, but not important enough to be present for the actual ceremony.
Her guide led them around the bulk of the crowd, pushing through the packed swarm of bodies with the sort of expertise one only picks up through practice. "I've appropriated a dressing room for you to change in, since I know your travel delay pushed you off schedule." He brought her to the far end of the chamber and stopped before a plain door along the wall; opening it up and gesturing her through, his own aides taking up position to either side of it on the outside. She promptly left her assistant with them, and then followed behind Tamyer as he continued down a long corridor with open rooms on either side.
Stopping before one that looked identical to all the others, he handed her a key and bowed his head. "You still have some time, so don't feel rushed. I will be back to collect you at the sixthbell."
"Thank you," she replied, taking the key from him; with that he bowed low and headed back out the way they'd come, closing the door on the way out.
She locked it, dropping her baggage off beside the door, then looked around. The room was functional, if sparse, and she quickly rummaged through her suitcase for something more appropriate to the event. Making use of the room's simple bath system — a conjured heatstone had been warming up a basin of water in advance of her arrival, which she drained into the larger tub and scented with flower petals — she washed up and committed herself to the task of unravelling how to put on her clothing. She didn't consider herself a particularly gaudy dresser, hating the ornate robes expected of the Advent, but the complicated gown provided by the Magisterium was a mystery to her. Spending the majority of the fifthbell deciphering the strange and unintuitive clasps and buttons that held it together, she eventually worked out how to take apart and reassemble the brown outfit until it looked similar to how she'd seen the women look on her way through the port earlier.
Examining her appearance in the mirror she felt somewhat appalled with herself for compromising in such a sexist way, but understood that being from Triyard wouldn't exempt her from this particular social convention — she was lucky enough that they'd permitted her to keep her staff on hand. The cloth itself was heavy and stiff and she had to adjust to the strange imbalance of it when she walked, but she didn't anticipate a high likelihood of running around while keeping it on. If she'd showed up for the transference ceremony wearing her private clothing, she would likely jeopardise the entire diplomatic effort and inspire the never-ending wrath of her father.
She'd just finished preparing herself when sixthbell was announced courtesy of a glowing timesphere set on the room's wooden dresser, giving off a low chime of warning when the time struck. No sooner had it gone off than she heard a polite knock at the door. It was synchronised enough that she wondered if the visitor had been waiting around patiently for a few minutes.
"Ambassador Niala?" asked Tamyer's familiar voice. "It's the Chief Secretary again. I'm here to take you to the Archon's Hall if you're ready."
"Yes, just give me a moment," she replied, packing the last of her belongings into her suitcase again. She left her bags beside the door, knowing as soon as she left a maid would be around to collect them and ship them over to her actual hotel before she was finished with the evening. Quickly pulling the heavy veil over her face, she opened the door.
Tamyer gave a slight gasp of surprise as she appeared, no doubt caught off guard at her adoption of their ceremonial garb for women. "Ah, I was hoping they wouldn't put you into that ghastly box. It's unbecoming for someone as beautiful as you," he said with a grin, leaving her face flushed to an extent that she was happy to have a veil covering it. She clutched her staff for comfort, digging the lower end of it into the cobbled-stone floor.
"Thank you," she murmured shyly. "I feel like a monster from a child's tale in this."
He laughed heartily, then pointed in the opposite direction of where they'd originally walked. It was a short distance to the section of the complex where the ceremony would take place — something she was thankful for, as even just a few minutes in her dress shoes had her feet complaining loudly, despite the enjoyable conversation she shared with Tamyer.
The Archon's Hall was blocked by a large, heavily fortified door surrounded by more armoured guards — unlike the ones she had seen out front, these men were wearing reflective golden armour and holding polearms in their gloved hands. Any concerns she had of a repeat of the earlier incident were relieved when Tamyer put a hand on her shoulder and flashed the men his identification papers.
The nearest guard grunted. "Proceed, Chief Secretary." It took two of them on either side of the massive door to pry it open far enough for her and Tamyer to walk inside. On the other end of it, a simple white hallway sloped down steeply and they walked for a surprising length of time before reaching its exit. In front of them stood another door, though this one was made of metal and interfaced with various unmistakable components of Tech — she fought the urge to recoil, knowing what it was. Before this strange obstruction another golden man stood waiting, face betraying no expression as they approached.
The Chief Secretary turned to her. "I have to leave you here, I'm afraid, Ambassador. I don't possess high enough rank to pass the Holy Gate; few do who aren't Magisters, so this is a considerable honour for you. I hope it is just the start of a beneficial foundation between Koton and Triyard."
She chose to not express her disappointment and nervousness with being left alone and attempted a curtsey as best as she could in the heavy gown. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Chief Secretary Hestone."
He grinned, returning the bow, then went back in the direction they had come before. The gold-clad guard put his hand over a red panel set into the door, where a handle would normally be, and the metal portal irised open. With a nod from him, she stepped across the threshold, hearing the door close behind her.
In this new room, the lighting was dim and it took her a moment to realise that a number of the individuals already present had turned to examine her quizzically. Glancing about quickly, she realised that she was the only woman there — all the other brown figures were unmistakably men, shaved heads and homogenous uniforms worn proudly. A few of them were whispering to one another, looking at her pointedly.
"Ambassador Niala, yes?" called a voice across the chamber, belonging to an individual towering over the heads of the other men there. His earthen-coloured robe had a number of badges and tassels sewn into it, signifying some manner of rank that she wasn't familiar with. He strode towards her with calm deliberation and the others were deferential to him, parting from in front as he walked up to meet her.
Tela nodded slightly, then realised most of her subtle gestures would be masked underneath the veiled garment. She cleared her throat and said, "Yes, I apologise for how late I am."
He waved the comment away and held out his hand in welcome. "No matter, we haven't begun yet. I am the Senior Magistrate, but feel welcome to call me Donyvan." He glanced about the chamber with a nonchalant shrug and the other attendees took it as a cue to return to their own conversations.
She shook his hand, her gloved fingers slipping around his in the complicated gesture of respectful greeting she had been trained to execute during her briefings before her visit. She felt slightly absurd shaking his hand as an equal when she was bundled up with layers of cloth to hide her features, but if he thought anything of the disparity he was quiet. Donyvan Miama was the true centre of power in Koton; while the Archon might technically hold that position, it was the Senior Magistrate who actually utilised it.
He looked down to speak to her, his considerable height making him into something of a skyscraper. "Did you have any difficulty finding your way?" he asked her in a murmur, the din from everyone else quietly speaking drowning out most of their conversation.
She thought back briefly to the altercation with the guards on the front steps of the building, but thought better of mentioning it. "No, my delays were unfortunately on the part of Triyard. Your Chief Secretary was most gracious and helpful."
He nodded in distraction, clearly only partly paying attention to her. "Lovely, I'll be sure to let him know." Another small group of men filtered in through the metal door she'd used earlier and he mentally counted them off, lips moving slightly as he calculated. "We're waiting for just a few more stragglers, but they don't have much time — we have to start at seventhbell." She guessed he was waiting for someone specifically, but he didn't betray any details of whom that may be.
She looked around, examining her current location while the Senior Magistrate made a mental list of missing company. The chamber they were gathered in was mostly featureless save for a circular dais several metres across, which the men standing nearest to it seemed to be making a conscious effort to avoid. The dais was in the centre of the room, painted over with a number of faded glyphs that she immediately recognised as warding magic.
Most of the symbols were attached to extremely powerful spells — although she understood why, she was mildly surprised that even the Magisterium used Advent magic to protect their Archons. She wasn't sure if it was just her imagination, but the glyphs appeared to shimmer slightly on the surface of the dais, flickering a shade or two brighter for just a moment before returning normal once she focused her attention on them.
Tela knew that they were about a floor underground, more or less situated in the centre of Koton. Even though the dais looked like simple rock, she knew it was actually kraftwork — the fabric of its matter was imbued with heavy magic, as no mortal structure could contain the violent energies stored under it. It was known as the Archon's Grace, and beneath it the current reigning ruler "slumbered," his physical body drained to fuel his vital role in protecting the floater.
Sadly, that was the responsibility of the Archons — the guardian shield, the twin barriers she had passed through in the egg ship as she approached Koton earlier, was powerful magic that ran off of the life-force of specially attenuated individuals, using their bodies and spirits as batteries to generate a shelter against the lethal energies of the Chaos. Without the sacrifice of the Archons, civilisation would have failed after the Shattering as the outside maelstrom closed in and twisted the human survivors. It was a role of great honour, but it was not without cost. Even though an Archon only served for a relatively small number of cycles, a term drained the individual tremendously, accelerating ageing and disease once they were released, leaving them as little more than a discarded husk of their former self afterward. It was no surprise that many of them took their own lives after being discharged, unable to reconcile the difficulty of their torment.
Aside from the dais, there wasn't much else to speak of within the chamber. Light resonated from high glowspheres set above them on the ceiling, but there wasn't even furniture in the room — the assembled men stood around in groups talking to one another, some of the older ones shifting back and forth on their feet in discomfort. As a sacred place, lesser staff weren't permitted past the Gate, and she overheard at least one grouchy Magistrate complaining about the lack of refreshments.
Suddenly, a chime sounded around them, calling the Senior Magistrate's attention. "Ah, blast it then," she heard him mutter, assuming it had something to do with whichever people hadn't yet arrived. He turned and strode over swiftly to the large door, pressing a button next to a speaker. "Please seal the Gate, we're going to begin."
"Very well, your eminence," came a tinny, crackled reply through the voicebox, presumably belonging to the gold-clad guard she had encountered before.
With that he turned around to face them. "If I can get your attention," he called out, not that he didn't have it already — the moment the timesphere went off, everyone in the room began watching him expectantly, waiting for the event to finally begin. "As you all know, today is the scheduled transference rite to instil the next Archon into his role as guardian of our floater." He looked off to one end of the room and Tela followed his gaze, noticing a door she'd missed before. As if on cue, it opened and two new golden-mailed soldiers appeared wheeling out a young man in front of them. She tried to stifle her visceral reaction at his appearance, but a number of other Magistrates gasped and grumbled audibly.
Obviously, the rumours she had heard in Triyard regarding the unwillingness of the replacement Archon were true: the individual, a boy who barely looked old enough to be out of adolescence, sat in the wheelchair with his head slumped forward. He lifted it with considerable effort, eyes lidded and bloodshot as a result of whatever substances they had pumped him with to force compliance. She wondered how long he'd been kept that way, though she had heard that the Holy Guard had only recently seized and relocated the boy away from his family. His dark brown hair was matted and stuck to his forehead from sweat, and his brown robe was discoloured with his own filth. It was hardly fitting treatment for someone who was going to spend the next five cycles undergoing prolonged sacrifice.
"Aenstara's grace," someone swore. "He's covered in his own shit, Miama."
The Senior Magistrate cleared his throat, pursing his lips at the reaction from his compatriots. "Gentlemen," he said firmly, making no reference to her presence there, "while I share your reaction to his appearance, I must stress that the child is completely unharmed. His cooperation came at a cost, as the boy fell under the influence of subversive elements of our society shortly after his nomination was leaked to the public. We had no choice but to bring him under our protection, and sedate him for his own safety — he tried to take his own life twice, and I don't think I need to underscore the gravity of what that would have meant for Koton if he had been successful." The child made a strange sound and she looked at him, realising he was focusing his attention on the Magistrate with a poisonous glare. If Donyvan noticed he gave no indication of it, snapping his fingers at the guards until they wheeled the boy onto the dais. "If you would all be so kind as to step onto the platform and form a circle, we can begin the ceremony."
With begrudging acceptance the other men did as they were asked. Tela started off towards the platform, but the Senior Magistrate reached out and grasped her shoulder. "Actually, Ambassador," he said, looking down at her and making eye contact for the first time since she'd arrived, "I would be honoured if you would accompany me personally."
His tone of voice was polite, but she felt an involuntary shudder of unease down her spine. Still, refusing his request was not possible. "Of — of course," she replied, dropping her gaze under the attention of the powerful man. Everyone else shuffled over to the stage and took their places, forming a ring around the outside circumference of the dais. The two guards positioned the Archon-to-be in the very centre of the ring, though the youth gave little indication of noticing.
Several Magisters stared down at the flickering symbols painted onto the stone under their feet. "Do they look brighter now than they did when we came in?" she heard someone whisper to the individual next to him.
Donyvan nodded to her and gave a slight push, leading her up onto the platform. He moved two men out of the way to take position in the circle facing the metal door of the "entrance," then motioned for Tela to stand beside him. As she stepped onto the stone she gave a gasp of surprise: rising up from the rock itself she felt a flood of ancient magic coursing up through her feet from the wards. It was ancient stuff, part of a ritual that was easily as old as Koton itself. Her legs started to give out and she almost fainted, saved from collapsing to the floor by the strong grip of Donyvan.
"So, it is true then," he murmured, "you are Advent." She pulled herself to her feet, using her staff as support, and cast an embarrassed glance about the room. "Shall I have something fetched for you?" he asked.
She shook her head and waved the offer away, swallowing hard as the foreign magic released its grip on her. "No, I'm all right. I was just caught off-guard, although I should have realised there would be a reaction."
He grunted indecipherably, waiting for her to pull herself together before continuing. "I know this is slightly unorthodox," he said, loud enough for his words to carry to everyone else, "but in the spirit of cooperation I felt it's only appropriate to have you standing in a place of honour beside me."
She simply nodded, still uneasy after her brush with the strong energy underneath the room. At this, Donyvan clapped his hands to attract the attention of everyone else in the hall. "Now then, gentlemen: we are gathered here at this moment to perform the sacred duty bestowed upon us as stewards of fair Koton. Today, as we did five cycles ago and five cycles before that, we will empower an individual —" he glanced disdainfully at the child in the centre of the platform, " —with the authority of our God to protect our people." From within his fine robes he produced a small crystal sphere, its surface reflecting the overhead lighting with scattering pinpoints of blue colour. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, lips moving in a silent prayer.
Never having participated in such a ceremony before, Tela was unsure of what she should do. She glanced at the other men present — unfortunately they seemed just as lost as she was.
Donyvan gave the crystal sphere a squeeze and looked up, though this time when he spoke his voice seemed as if it was coming from far away. His eyes were flushed with bluish energy, pupils dilated significantly. "Graceful Aenstara, arbiter of creation, flood your supplicant disciple with your power so that we may breach the wards below and ensure the safety of Koton for another cycle." She drew back from him apprehensively, skin tingling from the unmistakeable triggering of magic; it made sense, on reflection: the Archon's Grace had been warded by a spellweaver to protect the prone Archon from any threats — whether originating from the Chaos or something more domestic. Something similarly powerful would need to be employed in order to counteract that shielding, but she was puzzled at what the Magisterium had in their arsenal that would perform that function. Her robe's hem brushed against the ground, reacting to an ethereal breeze whipping about the room.
Moving suddenly, the Senior Magistrate threw the sphere in his wizened hands against the dais, shattering it upon contact with the wards. The glyphs flared brightly with blue fire, quickly lighting up with an intensity strong enough to hurt her eyes if she looked at them for longer than a second. Then, just as quickly, the fire subsided and they nearly vanished, dimming close to invisibility as the dais gave a shudder and began descending, taking them down as if in a lift. From her connection to the æther she knew the spell hadn't been broken, simply placated for the time being; presumably whatever tool Donyvan had used was a token to unlock the wards long enough for the ritual to progress, snapping back into power as soon as the next Archon had been installed.
They descended quickly as the platform migrated far below the rest of the administration complex, surrounded by a column of stone painted with the same inert runes that were on the Archon's Grace. The elevator was silent, giving off no sound even as it grated against the rock around them. Moving on a hunch, she bent down as gracefully as her outfit would allow and fingered a fragment of the broken sphere that had landed near her. As she had surmised, there was no resonance of magic woven within its fabric; whatever the Senior Magistrate had done came from some well of power within his being, not something called forth from an external source — given the Magisterium's preoccupation with magic, a senior official having latent skill with spellweaving would likely be a controversy.
She leaned over to Donyvan as the other Magisters were occupied with conversation, impressed with the display they'd just witnessed. "I presume the theatrics were your cover?" she whispered wryly. "I admit I was curious to see how an Advent ward could be counteracted with anything other than magic."
Donyvan regarded her for a moment, a small smile spreading across his thin lips. "You're more perceptive than one would estimate, Ambassador."
"I'm not sure what you would base such an estimation on, your eminence, stuffed as I am inside this beekeeper's outfit," she replied levelly.
He gave a hearty chuckle. "That's the best description I've heard for those ghastly things," he replied. If he had any further interest in talking it was cut short as the dais came to a rest at the bottom of the shaft. She looked up through the tunnel, but the end of it was lost in darkness high above.
The room they found themselves in now was vastly different from where they had been before; it was also much older, the air itself tasting stale and chilly. There was only way to progress: through an open hallway lit every half-metre with glowing lightspheres. "This way, please," Donyvan said to the group, stepping off the platform and striding quickly away. There was little ornamentation to the area they walked through — the walls were stone, barren of decoration or artwork in contrast to the part of the complex above them. As Donyvan directed them deeper into the tunnel she felt increasing pressure behind her temples from the strength of the power that was about to confront them. Although she had never seen an Archon's throne before, she had a good idea of what they were going to find at the end of that stretching corridor.
The group stepped through a final doorway and Tela found herself at the front of a massive, poorly-lit hall stretching about ten metres in each direction. In the centre of it, cocooned within a mess of metal, wiring and stone was the Archon's throne — and, suffocated somewhere inside of that, she presumed there would be the Archon himself. The throne was a fusion of Tech as well as kraftmatter; she pressed her eyes closed, massaging her forehead again as her power centres resonated with the energy being generated by the device. Snaking away from the ebony carapace were a number of thick cables plugging into banks at the far end of the auditorium, each of them painted with more shimmering charter runes. The amalgamation of magic and technology was giving her a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach: being confronted first-hand with corporeal violations of her belief structures was affecting her on a clear physical level.
Accompanying the electrical tinge in the air was a deep hum from the machinery all around them, giving the room a gentle vibration that she felt up through the soles of her uncomfortable shoes. Several of the lightspheres had shattered, releasing sticky green ooze where they had burst and contributing to the overall appearance of disuse that she felt inside the throne room.
Donyvan paused briefly, looking from side to side as if he expected to find something waiting for them inside the dusty chamber. He snapped his fingers at the two guards, pointing to a spot near the carapace. They wheeled the young boy over dutifully, standing to either side of his wheelchair as they waited for their next orders. The Senior Magistrate tugged on a chain around his neck, producing a long, golden key from inside his shirt. The tool was richly decorated, covered with jewels and complicated etchings over its ornate surface. He knelt down in front of the throne, finding a matching lock along the base of the machine, and slid the key into the opening.
For a moment there was silence, and she realised she was holding her breath in anticipation. With a barely-audible click, the carapace fractured neatly down its front, splitting into two halves. These pieces slowly opened, revealing a withered corpse of something hardly recognisable as human; its twisted body was prone on the black seat beneath it, flesh petrified through whatever process the Archon's throne leeched the life-force from its user.
Not everyone was capable of interfacing with a throne successfully; in the ancient past, with no way to discern who was compatible, the process was carried out through trial and error of a barbaric degree as rulers went through scores of humans to find one or two who had the appropriate physical makeup to power the seats without burning up in a matter of minutes. Through the fledgling scholarly pursuit of genetics their modern society was able to run tests on the greater population, isolating the rare handful born every generation who could use the devices.
In Triyard, and most floaters within the Consortium, the responsibility was voluntary for those nominated, but such liberties had their cost: for obvious reasons, few people were willing to sacrifice themselves. There had been a number of crises for Triyard when it looked as if a suitable replacement wouldn't be ready before the existing Archon passed away; in some respects, she understood why the Magisterium simply elected to conscript their candidate instead of deliberating over the repercussions of choice.
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