Chapter 19: The Montage (part 2)

  Beyond the brick suburbs and their grid of streetlights, the weirdly thin highways are a viper’s tangle, making symmetrical flowers and Celtic knots as they mount up in a chaos of stacked overpasses. Eric can’t help but wonder why. These roads are empty of all but scattered wrecks and debris. They lie dusty and barren beneath a heavy sky.

  He’s not really surprised when he finds the futuristic motorcycle. “I’ve never even rode a motorcycle,” he tells Frisby, the prodigal angel. “Ridden? Rode?” He sets it upright, brushes off the dust. It’s heavy, but not as heavy as it looks. It’s sleek. The wheels are extra wide. Eric will not be surprised, not one fucking bit surprised, if it trails streaks of light behind it when he rides it. And he is going to ride it. Of course he is. Because it is god damn cool, and it has obviously been left here for him to find, just the way that everything is here on his moon. He amuses himself for a moment with thoughts of Eranex, his supposed antagonist, sneakily placing a handful of future-bikes near his home base for him to find. Maybe she’s getting impatient for him to explore further afield on his moon.

  It has not been lost on Eric that he is swiftly becoming the only one of the heroes who cannot fly or otherwise move quickly over great distances. So he’ll take the bike.

  “Learn to ride it too,” he mutters as he inspects its complex dashboard. Frisby Wiser swoops and chirps in excitement, but he did the same thing when Eric made a sandwich that morning, so it doesn’t mean much. Also, Eric is getting a little sick of sandwiches. Maybe one of Heidi’s monsters can cook.

  After a minute, Eric has located what he believes to be the ignition switch. Most of the dials and features remain a mystery. “If I were Kate,” he tells Frisby, “I’d just say ‘fuck it’ and hop on and crank the gas and then probably just drive right the fuck off the edge.” He was an easy forty feet up in the air at his present location.

  “The smart thing to do,” he says after another minute of fruitless investigation, “is to walk this thing back home and figure it out from there. No, wait.” He has a better idea, because he’s just noticed a tiny logo embossed into the lower left corner of the dash. ARKO.

  He pulls out his phone to text Isaac and ask for some help from his probably-evil supercomputer. He notices that he received a text a few minutes ago from one of the cut-rate gods. It’s from RO, whoever that is, and it says,

  RO: What hath become of Lady Rains, hero?

  Eric is just bored and aimless enough at the moment to indulge in an amusing waste of time, so he replies.

  EW: fuck if i know

  EW: i guess my dragon ate her or some shit

  EW: the big one not this little guy

  RO: It seems she rests not in death. Yet I cannot locate her.

  Lady Rains not dead? Good to know.

  EW: which one are you again?

  RO: Which what, human?

  EW: theres ten gods right but i cant keep em straight cause i don’t really give a shit

  RO: Thou speakest to the Frozen God.

  RO: And there are eight, not ten.

  EW: youre shitting me right?

  EW: thought for sure there were ten

  RO: There were indeed.

  RO: But no longer.

  EW: damn what happened

  RO: Death and abandonment, human. Know ye of these things?

  EW: well shit i dont remember any of the others saying anything about that

  RO: The others may hesitate to speak of these things, but I most assuredly am not. I will not forget. I will not forgive.

  EW: huh

  EW: well thats good i guess

  EW: you dickheads mightve got us if you had all ten

  RO: Do not believe I have ceased the attempt, human.

  RO: I am patient.

  EW: thanks for the heads up

  EW: ill just be around i guess

  EW: hangin out on my moon

  EW: hey since youre a god or whatever maybe you can give me some tips on what the fuck im supposed to do here

  EW: cause right now im just kind of wandering around

  RO: My advice: desist.

  RO: The moon quests are nonsense.

  EW: ha ha got that fuckin right

  EW: some kind of preset bullshit story just for me right?

  RO: The moons are tailored to the hero, with intent, with design.

  RO: Designed, I suspect, by a fool.

  EW: we are on the same fuckin page then i guess

  EW: but i guess theres some reward for doing whatever the fuck im supposed to do right?

  RO: Thou shalt become Champion, indeed.

  RO For what little that is worth.

  EW: might as well then right?

  EW: since i got nothing better to do

  RO: Dost thou not?

  RO: Proceed, then, for I care not.

  RO: Though shalt cross the path of Justice in time, soon or late, and all thy wit and might avail not, Champion or no.

  EW: hot damn i cant wait

  EW: guess ill see you then

  This distraction out of the way, Eric proceeds to get in touch with ARKO via Isaac. ARKO downloads a five-hundred-page manual for the LZR-17 onto Eric’s phone.

  “Fuckin come on, man,” he says, “I’m not reading that shit, hit me with the abridged version you Windows 95-lookin piece of junk. I know you can do it.”

  And ARKO does do it, via some ridiculous archaic interface that Eric can only assume is the actual fucking Windows 95 because Isaac’s supercomputer has unfortunately inherited his creator’s sense of humor.

  Some time and several altercations later, Eric gets the abridged version. Shortly after, he starts the bike and carefully, cautiously, drives back to the church.

  *

  KC: hey Liz!

  KC: guess what?

  EE: What?

  KC: this girl is new dress!

  EE: A new dress?

  KC: Elmer made it for me!

  KC: It’s made of SKY

  KC: :D

  EE: I would like to see it.

  KC: You should come over!

  EE: How?

  KC: I dunno

  KC: but once you’re here then we can make a door!

  KC: you sing!

  KC: I play!

  KC: we rock!

  KC: or maybe I should go to you so we don’t have to deal with those darn storm worms!

  EE: Are you getting it figured out, Kate? What you need to do?

  KC: I think so

  KC: Elmer’s been helping me figure out the ‘sky’ stuff

  KC: there’s so much he can do!

  KC: but he’s really bad at explaining it lol

  KC: it’s about the snowglobes

  KC: what about you?

  EE: Sisyphus is a mess. Lady Chimes is no longer antagonistic thanks to the tiger god’s change of heart, but the murder of the king and the attempted coup have thrown everything into chaos. On top of that, the Dark World still believes the Garden Moon is now theirs. They’ve established a base on the far side of the Mountain.

  KC: isn’t he funny?

  KC: the Thunder God, I mean

  KC: Rasmus

  EE: It is thanks to him that these daimon now refer to me as “the one that likes cats.”

  KC: :D

  KC: they already know you so well!

  KC: well I like that cat Rasmus

  KC: he is a cool cat ;)

  EE: He is a character.

  EE: They all are.

  KC: do you mean literally?

  EE: Maybe.

  KC: I don’t think so, Liz

  KC: I’ve been talking to Zayana a lot and I think she’s just as real as us

  KC: I think it might be that way for everyone here, like even Jacob Hollow where there’s more than one of him (and Zayana totally had a crush on him), and even Elmer and Amelia who are all goofy and ridiculous

  KC: I know Isaac thinks they’re not real in the way we are, but I think he’s wrong!

  EE: It does not matter, I suppose.

  EE: Whether or not any given person is ‘truly real’ is no doubt a matter of perspective, and I am becoming increasingly doubtful of whether such questions have any relevance whatsoever.

  KC: well said!

  EE: Isaac’s belief in God has imbued him with a sense of scalable reality that I am not convinced is valid.

  KC: ok enough of that!

  KC: I messaged to tell you about the dress (which is AWESOME and SO PRETTY), but also the Theians are having this festival!

  KC: and part of it is they apologize to each other for any bad things they’ve done or said, even maybe unintentionally

  KC: so I’m sorry, Liz!

  EE: I forgive you.

  KC: whew!

  KC: okay, I’ve got to do the others now

  KC: and then we’ll make a door!

  EE: Of course.

  EE: I just remembered that we can meet at the Citadel and then proceed to your moon or mine.

  KC: we’ll do that, then!

  EE: You said there is a festival on your moon?

  KC: I did!

  KC: and don’t worry, there is lots of food ;)

  EE: I did not ask about food.

  KC: you were thinking it!

  KC: and someday, Liz...

  KC: ...someday soon...

  EE: ?

  KC: ...we will all six of us meet together, and play music together!

  KC: and do you know who our vocalist is going to be?

  EE: I cannot imagine.

  KC: I know, right?

  KC: I’ve been THINKING and THINKING

  KC: could it be Mormo?

  KC: Arkie?

  EE: Lord Fool, perhaps?

  KC: pfft!

  KC: maybe the Ladies

  EE: Ha ha!

  KC: well you keep thinking about it, okay Liz?

  KC: I’m sure you’ll find SOMEONE who can sing for us!

  KC: ;)

  EE: I will give it some thought.

  KC: excellent!

  KC: ttfn!

  Later, the Empyrean churned like a shower of sparks on unseen waters, and the Bright World sang a song of light, and two doors appeared.

  *

  The Lockbreaker hated paperwork. He would have gladly delegated the task to others. Ferrigo was quite as capable with a quill as with a knife. Oivos was a poet, and the very thought of Samantha filling out these forms and checking the orders deeply amused him. But the paperwork had to be done, and things that had to be done had to be done correctly. And though it was tedious, prosaic work, there was a certain satisfaction to be gained from a stack of completed paperwork neatly arranged at the corner of his desk. Forms approved, signatures granted, records kept, numbers arrayed in precise and perfect columns. It was the oil in the machine, the tiny cogs and gears that kept everything tight, responsive, flawless. His organization, Xeon, was like that: a complex mechanism in which no part was superfluous nor any piece active in isolation.

  Like a lock.

  He hummed while he worked, and his voice caused the silver inkwell to vibrate atop the mahogany desk at the lower registers, and he thought of the paperwork as a battle—all the parts must be seen and understood. A game, to be carefully analyzed before playing. A puzzle, which he would solve on the first attempt, without guesswork or error. Or, of course, a lock.

  On this day, thoughts distracted him from his work. Thoughts of Lords and Ladies, of Heroes and Gods. Lady Shadows, his close professional associate, had vanished into the night. Not unusual. But she had gone to kill a hero, at the behest of a god. Most unusual. It seemed to the Lockbreaker like a cog out of place, a tumbler jammed, an apparatus gone wrong. It made him wonder. In particular, he wondered if the hero she had gone to kill happened to be the Hero of Light. Did she intend to separate him? To trap him apart into shadows as she had done to the Lockbreaker for the sake of his Voice? The Lockbreaker much doubted, if this was the case, that this would prove effective on the Hero of Light.

  With perfect timing, the Lockbreaker placed the final page atop the stack at the moment that Ferrigo knocked on the door. He knew it was Ferrigo because one of his shadows lurked out in the hall, seeing but unseen. Immaculate Ferrigo had missed a spot of blood on the back of his collar.

  He had knocked but once, a simple, strong rap, and he had said nothing. The Lockbreaker appreciated that about him. Ferrigo understood.

  Leocanto Lockbreaker wiped the quill and set it beside the inkwell while one of his shadows opened the door. Ferrigo entered, his beady crab eyes scanning the room. The Lockbreaker knew that Ferrigo wondered, though he had not asked, why Leocanto had moved his office into the room that the Hero of Light had painted. The murals did not suit the Lockbreaker’s normal tastes.

  “Lady Hearts,” said Ferrigo. “She has arrived.”

  “Excellent,” said the Lockbreaker. “Do show her in.” His shadow in the hall watched her glide along the carpet, which had been cleaned of all the rubble from when her sister, Lady Chains, had paid Xeon a visit the week before. Lady Hearts paused to observe the shadow, then continued through the open door.

  She was the smallest of the Ladies, no more than five feet in height, and the wings folded about her were gauzy, pale fabric. Her wings could be variously interpreted as bandages, a wedding veil, or a funereal shroud. Whichever it was, the hem was stained red with blood. As with her sisters, her face remained obscure, and her true form beneath the wings remained a mystery. She peered out from a dark aperture in her hunched form.

  “Welcome,” said the Lockbreaker from a standing position behind his desk. He would have offered her a seat, but the Ladies could not sit. They were quite comfortable standing indefinitely. Like birds. Like himself.

  “I bring dire news,” she rasped, her voice a high, hoarse death rattle. “Of the Hero of Light.”

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  “News indeed,” replied the Lockbreaker. He had heard nothing. One of his shadows closed the door behind Lady Hearts. He was expecting another guest, but that one eschewed doors as a rule. Ferrigo assumed a post in the corner. A shadow offered him a drink, which he accepted, plucking the glass out of the air and holding it while the shadow poured from a decanter.

  “He has a problem,” said Lady Hearts. “The Bleeding God has a solution.”

  The Hero of Light has a problem? With what, the Lockbreaker wondered. The Lockbreaker had not been afraid, not in a long time, before meeting that hero. How fortunate for him that the hero had turned out to be a simple, innocent child. Here was a surprise of nearly equal measure: himself working with Lady Hearts.

  She began to explain the problem, and the solution, but she had not got far before the Lockbreaker’s shadow posted in the hall sensed another presence approaching, this one far more unpredictable. It came dancing along the wall, a living painting sharing the two-dimensional space of the shadow. It tumbled toward the shadow, shook its hand, tipped its hat, and slid into the room from the ceiling. The gangly figure dropped in a sprawl of elongated limbs onto the shadow of the lamp, which crashed to the floor.

  Lord Fool peeled himself off of the wall, doing what the Lockbreaker’s shadows could not by re-entering the world of three dimensions. His efforts sent him flailing across the floor, all a-jingle and a-clatter with his ornaments and knick-knacks, scattering bright trinkets across the room. Lady Hearts and the Lockbreaker watched without comment as he raised himself off the carpet in a handstand while one foot seized his purple stovepipe hat from where it had fallen and the other adjusted a laughing mask that had come near to falling off. Lord Fool was altogether too large for this room, but fortunately he was collapsible.

  Lord Fool wishes to announce, to inform—yea, even to issue proclamation!—that he has arrived, should there be any of those present unable to perceive this fact for themselves (a thing which he holds in most sincere and earnest doubt)! He doffs his hat, offering to the notable personage of the Lockbreaker the most insincere of apologies for that lamp over there, the most disingenuous of thanks for his hospitality, and a mirthful remark of regret regarding the undesired aperture which his millinery masterpiece, rather tall as it is, has just created in the ceiling.

  “Lord Fool,” said the Lockbreaker. “Welcome.” He had to be careful here. Lord Fool might do anything.

  Ah, how pleasing it is to the unusually large ears of Lord Fool to hear once more the sweet strains of the voice of the Lockbreaker, whose every utterance is honey-drenched thunder! Nor any voice in all the world its equal. And what is this? Lady Hearts, declares the King of Fools! It has been too long, and yet all at once, not long enough. What need has a fool of a heart? For it avails him not! Nor eyes, as you can see, if indeed you can! And he laughs, as a fool rightfully ought, at the

  “Lord Fool,” said Lady Hearts, interrupting him. “What of the other Lords?” Right to business. Most of the Ladies were like that. They had proper jobs to do, after all. In both ways—concision and gainful employment—they were unlike the Lords. Or at the very least, unlike Lord Fool.

  Lord Fool lays a knowing finger against the mustard-stained brim of his painted stovepipe. Of the other Lords? Ha! He knows of all but one, as may be expected. Lord Friend smokes and drinks with Arcadelt, who does neither, as they sit watch over the Citadel. Lord Fair has perished at the inky hands of a scrivener in Dyaz. Lord Fierce even now lays low the might of the Dark World at Chiasm, its mines yet unravished by evil. Lord Foe, in grappling with the Guardian of Hyperion, has cast them both into a pit most black and bottomless. And as for Lord Found…well…Lord Fool shrugs expressively.

  “Will Lord Fierce be returning soon to Skywater?” asked the Lockbreaker.

  Oh, indeed, replies Lord Fool with a long grin not entirely devoid of mischief—and trepidation. Lord Fierce comes soon, and most wroth is he.

  The Lockbreaker could not say whether it was the words of Lord Fool, but the room suddenly seemed uncomfortably chill. One of his shadows on the wall hid theatrically behind the shadow of a chair, while another tugged at its collar in a show of unease. Ferrigo, in the corner, fidgeted, adjusted his gloves, his cufflinks. His fingers made odd boneless motions. Lady Hearts and Lord Fool could not read them, even if they noticed.

  Prepare evacuation? said the nervous fingers of Ferrigo.

  One of the Lockbreaker’s shadows, out of sight of Lord and Lady, replied: yes. Rendezvous #2.

  Lord Fierce, wroth? No one had ever heard of such a thing. What might he do? Only Lord Fool appeared to enjoy the idea, and he only halfway.

  “My sisters Fires, Rains, and Shadows have not contacted us,” rasped Lady Hearts.

  “With Spirits dead, that leaves six,” the Lockbreaker mused. Lady Hearts flinched as though struck when he mentioned the death of Lady Spirits.

  She spoke again. “Perhaps each of the remaining six…should follow a hero, for their protection.” Lady Hearts cared much about the safety of the Heroes, as she had from the beginning.

  Lord Fool giggles, aghast at such a suggestion. What, and the Ladies abandon their duties at Skywater? Why, already crime is at an all-time low with the absence of Lady Shadows! (It has not been lost upon Lord Fool, nor would he wish it lost upon those in hearing of him, the irony—at least, he thinks that’s what it probably is.)

  “They abandoned their duties already,” said Lady Hearts. For the first time, passion crept into her voice. She, like Lord Fierce, had never been known to become angry. The bloodstains at the hem of her wings seeped upward. The Lockbreaker resisted the temptation to back away. He knew very well what Lady Shadows could do, and he had seen firsthand the power of Ladies Chains, Fire, Chimes. But Hearts? He knew not. He would guess her power subtle, but had never been a gambling shadow.

  “More relevant,” he added, “is whether the Heroes would accept such aid, and whether they ought. The gods have proven fickle. Suppose they suffer yet another change of heart?” Lord Fool raised a long, bony foot to point at the Lockbreaker in approval of that point. He had not yet descended from his handstand.

  Ferrigo spoke up from the corner, causing both Lady Hearts and Lord Fool to wheel about as though having forgotten he was present. (Forgetting about Ferrigo? A risky business, even for Lord and Lady.) “The Heroes should learn to rely on their own strength,” Ferrigo suggested. “And on their own chosen allies. And on each other.”

  He had spoken bravely enough, but he tugged his gloves under the gazes of the others. “Heard someone say that once,” he added, as if in defense.

  Lord Fool laughs uproariously, and the walls tremble at the sound.

  “What say your informants, Lockbreaker?” Lady Hearts asked.

  “The Dark World is mobilizing, quickly. Great things are afoot there. It is possible that one or more of the gods are yet working directly with the Dark Ruler.”

  Lord Fool puts forth a suggestion: that he go forth unto the Color Moon and seek out the wolf, should it yet live.

  “And if you meet Lord Foe?” asked Lady Hearts. “No pit, however black or bottomless, shall long contain him.”

  Never fear! replies Lord Fool with a sweeping bow and a flourish of his hat which ventilates a nearby wall. Lord Fool would assure the Lady and the good Lockbreaker that he is quite capable of switching sides, should the need ever arise! Or even, quite possibly, if it does not.

  And now he departs, stretching wide the crusty brim of his metallic hat and slithering in, until only the arm holding the hat remains. And this arm seizes the brim of the hat and drags it into itself until it is gone, is far away to the Color Moon.

  The Lockbreaker stared at where Lord Fool had been but a moment before. He hadn’t known the fool could do that. But then, unpredictability was Lord Fool’s forte.

  “A question, sir,” said Ferrigo from the corner. “How can you justify involving the embodiment of chaos in your plans?” A valid question. Ferrigo knew well enough how the Lockbreaker valued precision.

  He replied, “It is essential to Lord Fool’s character that his actions cannot be predicted. Even now, there is only a relatively slim chance that he will go and do what he just said. Is it not so, Lady Hearts?”

  Her gauzy wings hunched further, in what might have been either a nod or a shrug, or something else entirely. “It is,” she said.

  This didn’t answer Ferrigo’s question. “Then…” he prompted.

  “Therefore, the gods are unable to scheme around him, to manipulate him, to predict him. We are dealing with gods, you may recall. His involvement is like a smokescreen, Ferrigo, that levels the playing field by introducing unforeseeable chaos on both sides. As well,” he added after a pause, “I am sure you noticed we did not tell him about the Hero of Light.”

  Ferrigo nodded, satisfied.

  The Lockbreaker turned back to Lady Hearts. “You said your…benefactor has a plan?”

  Lady Hearts’ wings shuffled. The Lockbreaker noticed that the redness at the hem of her wings, quite possibly actual blood, was staining his carpet. Oh, well. “Do you sing, Lockbreaker?” she asked.

  The Lockbreaker sighed. Of course. Every Lady always asked. They always wanted to know. They always wanted to sing with him. Always entranced, fascinated, at having found such a voice as could match their own. “Not with you,” he said firmly. “Or any Lady.” Even Lady Shadows.

  It was Hearts’ turn to sigh. “Light,” she said after a moment. “To aid the Hero. We need light. Much.”

  Light. Leocanto Lockbreaker turned, and all his shadows turned with him, to look at the far wall. There, the very Hero they were discussing had painted a mural in stunning detail. It showed Maugrim, the great wolf of Hyperion, killing Niri. Niri had shown great promise. The Lockbreaker had spoken to her himself, more than once. He had foreseen her someday reaching the level of Ferrigo or Samantha. Dead, now. Turned to light.

  “I know how to get light,” he said. “Leave it to me.”

  Lady Hearts responded with silence, which suited the Lockbreaker fine. She wouldn’t approve of his methods. Perhaps she didn’t ask for fear of being told. She turned to leave. “Days,” she said. “Perhaps a week.” That was how long they had.

  “No time for subtlety,” he murmured. That didn’t bother the Lockbreaker. It was a well-known saying of his, after all: “Why pick a lock when you can break it?”

  *

  ZA: So you are the astronomer.

  IM: Well I wouldn’t go that far

  IM: I just like looking at the stars

  ZA: I saw you die.

  IM: What a way to start a conversation!

  ZA: Kaitlyn Carter told me about you, and later I watched you die. I had no idea.

  IM: Funny how things work out, huh?

  ZA: Oh, yes. Amusing.

  IM: Was that Alien Sarcasm?

  ZA: Daimon, please. Not “alien.”

  ZA: And yes, it was.

  IM: So Jacob, the other Jacob back on Earth, is dead now?

  ZA: Yes. Abraham Black killed him. He was with another human. Dwayne Hartman.

  IM: Wait, he was with Dwayne?!

  IM: Is he okay?

  ZA: The book ended after Jacob Hollow died, so I do not know.

  IM: Hmm.

  ZA: ...

  IM: So, I heard it’s a big deal to you guys, you daimon, that we all have two names?

  ZA: Yes. I suppose it is only a superficial cultural difference. Yet among our kind, possession of a second name is significant. A second name is earned through great deeds.

  IM: Well down here it seems like you gods have a ton of names

  IM: Hey ARKO, names for the Purple God. Go.

  ARKO: Mirror God, Starwatcher, Blind Archer, Wise Weaver, Nine Strings

  IM: See?

  ZA: I haven’t even heard of half of those.

  ZA: I am not a god. None of us are.

  ZA: Except for Rasmus; he is perhaps partly a god.

  ZA: The gods existed. We are only their echoes.

  IM: And you’re all connected to animals, right?

  ZA: Correct. To preempt your question, mine is a spider.

  IM: Aha! And therefore the ‘weaver!’

  IM: And the irony of having eight eyes but being blind

  IM: Sorry about that, by the way

  IM: Getting blinded must be rough for a stargazer

  IM: I know it would suck for me

  ZA: I have become used to it.

  ZA: Although I don’t know where you got the idea that I have eight eyes.

  IM: Kate said you had crystals on your face, like extra eyes?

  ZA: Ah. Yes, that is true.

  ZA: I can yet perceive my surroundings, to some extent, through my arda.

  IM: Arda?

  IM: What’s that?

  ZA: Crystals which grow on our bodies. Through them we can collect and utilize energy.

  ZA: Our arda is identical to the crystals that make up the stars of the Narrative.

  ZA: And the Bright World.

  IM: Magic crystals give powers, got it

  IM: I mean, obviously

  IM: What are your powers? What can the “Mirror God” do?

  ZA: Mine are unique. I can influence and alter others’ energy.

  IM: Meta powers

  IM: Support class

  IM: Awesome!

  IM: And you’re a princess?

  ZA: I was. The title is meaningless without a kingdom.

  ZA: Why so many questions?

  IM: You’re like the only one of these ‘gods’ to just give me simple, straight answers

  IM: And I want to know!

  IM: You daimon sound so cool!

  ZA: I can assure you, none of us feel ‘cool’ at the moment.

  ZA: Myself especially.

  IM: Oh, right

  IM: You liked Jacob, huh?

  ZA: We are not going to speak of that.

  IM: Fine, fine!

  IM: Tell me about...

  IM: Whatever you want!

  IM: What are you the princess of?

  ZA: I was a princess of the Kingdom of Meszria.

  IM: Is that a country?

  ZA: Yes. Many of us are from there. We all share High Meszrian as a common language.

  IM: Ooh, what does that look like?

  ZA: I am speaking it now.

  IM: Looks like English to me. That’s my language.

  ZA: This place does that. It enables communication.

  ZA: I have now switched to the tongue of the Angala.

  ZA: Now I am not speaking audibly at all.

  ZA: See? It does not matter.

  IM: Wow, that’s interesting.

  IM: Oh, how old are you?

  ZA: I do not know how to give an answer that would be meaningful to you.

  ZA: I am thirteen years by the reckoning of Infernus, but who can say what that means on your world?

  IM: Well...are you an adult? For a daimon?

  ZA: Yes. Just.

  ZA: And what of you?

  IM: I’m 15 years, Earth time

  IM: not quite an adult yet, I guess

  ZA: You do not know?

  IM: Well it’s up for interpretation a little

  ZA: Ah, of course. I should have thought. You would measure adulthood in terms of sexual maturity.

  ZA: Like foliots or dragons.

  IM: It’s a little more complicated than that

  IM: Legally none of us are considered ‘adults’ until we’re 18

  IM: Except Heidi, maybe?

  IM: No idea what kind of jurisdiction she’s under

  ZA: Do your stars have anything to do with it?

  IM: uh...no?

  IM: Hey, what are your stars like? On your world?

  ZA: Well. They were stars.

  IM: Awesome.

  ZA: Yes. They were awesome.

  IM: Do you miss them?

  ZA: Of course I do.

  IM: Yeah, me too. I mean, I’m not blind, but I miss seeing stars that don’t move around. Like, *actual* stars that are actually mind-boggling distances away

  IM: This whole stars-are-crystals thing in the Narrative is cool and all, but I think I like Classic Space?

  ZA: The awe of the vast nothing. The wonder of seeing pinpricks of ancient light from something distant and great beyond comprehension.

  IM: Yes!

  IM: We had constellations, and a galactic plane.

  ZA: As did we. I miss them.

  ZA: The constellations were like steadfast guides. Friends, even.

  IM: Did you have stories to go with them?

  ZA: Of course.

  IM: We should trade star stories.

  ZA: Perhaps later.

  IM: So...what now?

  ZA: I am on your side. I wish that you humans succeed in opening the door. To do this, you must work together.

  IM: Of course! We’re gonna do that for sure

  ZA: You must replenish the stars in the Empyrean. They are beginning to fall.

  IM: I noticed

  IM: What happens if they all fall?

  ZA: The Abrupt will leak in.

  IM: What’s that?

  ZA: The darkness behind the stars. Derxis also called it the Obscure.

  IM: And that’s bad

  ZA: Tremendously. Though I have not seen it for myself.

  IM: Where do we get new stars?

  ZA: The Bright World. But do not go there. Never go to the Bright World except as a last resort.

  ZA: You can replenish the stars by making doors and art on your platforms.

  IM: What’s the big deal with the Bright World?

  ZA: It acts as a moderator.

  IM: Liz told me you said we can get wishes from it?

  ZA: Only if absolutely necessary. Wishes allow you to change something in the Narrative.

  IM: Like a GM point

  ZA: I do not know what that is.

  IM: That’s fine, I think I get it.

  IM: The Bright World is like an automated GM, making sure the story stays on track? But things have already gone off the rails, right? Because YOU guys showed up. And the Ladies turned against us, and you summoned that fleet to destroy my moon, and Anzu said that’s not ‘supposed’ to happen!

  ZA: I am not sure about the Ladies. We had no Ladies, only the Lords.

  IM: What?

  ZA: We had ten Lords in our Narrative. Including, it seems, the six inhabiting your own.

  ZA: We never did find Lord Found.

  IM: Wait

  IM: Hang on

  IM: *your* Narrative?

  ZA: Yes.

  ZA: Of course.

  IM: You gods had your own Narrative?

  ZA: How often must I repeat that we are not truly gods?

  ZA: My moon was the Crescent Moon; I was the Hero of Arda.

  IM: So what happens when we open the door?

  ZA: I do not know.

  IM: oh

  IM: Oh I think I get why you wanted to kill us

  IM: you wanted to hijack our story and use our door

  ZA: I am not at all sure it would have worked, in any case. There are eight of us, after all, to your six.

  IM: hmm

  IM: I need to think about this.

  IM: So where are you now? Still in your Narrative?

  ZA: We are in a library. Thus, your books.

  IM: What?

  ZA: In the broader sense, we are in a world of doors. Thanks to my chance meeting with Kaitlyn Carter months ago, we are simply calling it the Museum.