Xala had never spent much time in underground societies. All he knew, before, were those who resided in the sewers. He knew how to evade them. He knew how to pull the wool over their eyes. He knew how to hide many things among their scattered masses. However, in Fae Town, in the Undercroft — the term for the vast network of sewers and catacombs — all things required more precision. These were people at the outskirts of society, sure, but they were not a destitute mob. They had their own institutions, their own politics, their own government. Such remained true in the Enclave.
Xala regretted that he could not extend his stay for much longer. He needed to get back to Colhern soon. Alas, he needed to figure out what was special about Alex Cons. Why was he chosen by Aldoron to descend? It took a long time for Alex to come out of the Wise Ones’ chamber. Xala and Vulcan remained in the shadows of that long hallway, watched as other acolytes passed by, offered nods of encouragement here and there, accepted blessings, partook in quick prayers, until Alex shuffled their way.
Xala rose to his feet, greeted the priest, and asked, “Are you well?”
Alex was dazed. His eyes were unfocused and his throat forgot how to swallow properly as it clutched itself oddly and constantly. His lips parted, he paused for a few seconds, and said hesitantly, “I believe so.”
“May I offer a comforting spell?”
“Huh? Uh,” Alex shrugged, too unfocused to properly decline or accept.
Xala glided his fingertips around one another and formed a web of smoky rose-pink threads. Once he formed a large enough mass of strands laced over one another, he blew on them, and watched them glide across the space before they scattered across Alex’s body.
Everywhere the threads touched caused a warm hearthfire sensation. The deep-seated feelings it invoked wracked across Alex’s face. He seemed appeased, pleased, and blissed in a blend of shifting expressions of comfort. As the feeling dimmed, his focus returned and he sucked in a heap of air. He placed all of his intent on the act of breathing. In through his nostrils, out through his mouth. He followed a rigid rhythm. Once all of his nerves were suitably settled he addressed Xala with a meek tone, “Thank you.”
“Of course. None should be subjected to such prolonged visions.”
“You knew what that was?”
“You left me alone in the archives. I had to do some research.”
Alex struggled out a laugh, shook his head, and said, “Mother Saja is an honorable woman. A powerful woman. I accept any and all gifts she decides to provide.”
Xala glanced around the dark hallway, reached over to pat Alex’s shoulder, and said, “Would you like some tea? I don’t know where you all serve your food, but I think that’s a good place to take you.”
“How chivalrous,” he patted his hand and shifted past him and Vulcan. “C’mon, whatever’s left of lunch should be good enough. Will you stay for dinner?”
“I’m afraid not, but I would love to join you all when I’m able.”
“We welcome any and all, so just pop in when you can.”
Through the prayer room, the main theatron, and into an opposite tapestry they went. The dining hall was a large square space full of rugs, mats, and pillows. One poor acolyte was on cleaning duty as she shuffled about and used a variety of aquamantics to clean stains and mending spells to keep the rugs in top condition. Small groups of acolytes peppered the space, their food delivered to them from large basins and barrels at the far end of the room. Xala could smell it as they neared. His nostrils, sadly, did not deceive as he laid eyes on pickled fish, drums of honey, barrels of mushrooms eaten as gleefully as apples, and a whole slew of dried meats and fruits.
Xala plucked out a few dried cranberries, Vulcan took nothing, and Alex filled a bowl with fish and jerky. Alex guided them toward an unoccupied corner and said, “You want to know what I saw, huh?”
Xala chuckled as they took their seats, “I’m naturally curious. I apologise for not hiding that well enough.”
“Truth is valuable. When everyone is truthful, at all times, it reveals their deepest selves.” Alex smirked. “However, when a man is caught in a lie of omission, and in the act of subtle, polite manipulation, his reaction is everything.”
“Does my reaction warrant enough trust to tell me about your visions?”
Alex rolled his eyes as he bit into a piece of dried pork, chewed it thoughtfully, swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and gruffly said, “Will what I say benefit you?”
“Of course. I just don’t know how.”
“You’re being mockingly honest.”
“I can tell you like it.”
“Careful.” Alex scowled, but the hint of humor lingered. He sighed, “I saw myself. I was behind my own head. I could see the back of my scalp,” he raised a hand to touch the back of his neck, but his fingers reached further upward, as if he was afraid to touch much higher, “When I looked forward, I was at the entrance to a gateway. It was just large enough to fit me. Inside, there was a world of,” he moved his lips around as he sought the word, “Monsters. Not like chimeras or manticores, more like the manifestations of mortal sins. I’ve seen many faces in my lifetime, many emotions, and the worst ones are very easy to pinpoint. In that world beyond, I saw faces of deep, resentful, dreadful hatred. A few of them saw me and tried to attack me. They could not go past the threshold. Around the gateway, I was in paradise. Endless plains of golden wheat. The sun was dipping past the horizon, but showed no signs of moving beneath it. It made the wheat so beautiful. So perfect. So freeing. I felt so, so alive. But, the me that I was looking down at was terrified. I tried to look around, but there were no enemies, no monsters, no anything. Just perfection, and the splotch that was that gateway. Before much more happened, I was back at the foot of the dais.”
“Does any of that mean anything to you? The fields sound like what I’ve heard about Alegwa.”
“I haven’t had much time to meditate on what I saw, but sure. That makes sense.”
Alex’s answer was guarded. It assembled a battlement around the truth of his thoughts. Xala smiled, nodded, and said, “I understand. Thank you.” He popped a dry cranberry in his mouth, chewed on it, and reached over to rest a hand on Alex’s knee, “Also, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for mentioning that man earlier. I did not know your history with him.”
Gratitude flashed across Alex’s face, a kind that was so genuine it could be childlike. “If we all froze at the sound of a name, how would the world go on? I was just surprised, not hurt. No doubt, you want to ask about that too? I’ll save you the long story. Aldoron came to me when I first joined and we immediately bonded. He saw something in me, perhaps in how much devotion I had, and took me to, as he said, ‘meet my fate.’ To him, my fate was to be kicked into a pit of pitch black. Thankfully, I did not fall in, unlike many before me.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“You’re getting to know me too well.”
“You’re predictable.”
“I am?!”
“Almost selectively so.”
Xala feigned surprise one last time before he sat up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and matched Alex’s knowing gaze. They saw each other clearly. “Did I at least amuse you in my performance?”
“You think I enjoy trying to solve puzzles?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. You came here to find preachers. You wanted us to be heralds of rebellion. What happens when the surface hears our heralding and decides to do something about it sooner than expected?”
“You have preached rebellion for a long time. They haven’t listened before. Why would they care now?”
“Because something has changed. I felt it. There’s been a shift in the entire world. Mishcharer has told me this, opened my eyes to it, and I have seen it happen. It was like a sudden pause in space-time. My eyes were open at the exact moment everyone else’s were closed. For a split instant, the world tilted on its axis, and nobody noticed. No one except me.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“On lunae, just three days ago.”
“My, a shame I missed it.” Too many things were lining up. That was the day he broke out of his prison. Did that shift cause his prison to break, or was he the reason? Was that latter conclusion a sign of immense narcissism? “Has Mishcharer given you a cause for it?”
“No. He simply opened my eyes at the right time. I wonder if anyone else felt it.”
He ate another cranberry and said, “I’ll keep my eyes open more often. I’ll let you know if I notice anything unusual.”
“Thanks, that really comforts me.” He rolled his eyes and lifted his mood, “If you do find Aldoron, tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being enough.”
Xala frowned. Those words, as soon as they were spoken, itched at the base of his brain stem. Those words wanted to invade his thoughts. Those words, that sentiment, that sense of regret was desperate to conquer his mind and fill it with impure, unjust begs for forgiveness. He knew the moment he let those kinds of words in, he would unravel. “No. I won’t tell him that. And if you tell him that, I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“What?”
Xala’s eyes widened. He glanced back up, weakly smiled, and said, “I have my own experience with men who thought themselves wise. They wanted me to be great. When I was simply good, it was not enough. The next time you see him, I advise you to seek justice, not forgiveness.”
“Justice has already been done. He is banished. He has no power.”
“He has power over you. Rectify that.”
Alex’s face scrunched up. Clearly, Xala struck a nerve. He wanted to shove a rebuttal in his face, but his lips were sealed. His bravado faded in exchange for sorrowful acceptance. “I don’t want to get revenge. But,” he relented, “I get what you’re saying.”
A loud silence held them in place.
Xala broke it, “What will you do now? I do not figure you are the type to preach in the streets.”
“I may not be a missionary, but I am a preacher. My place is in the temples and the places of worship. I will go where I am needed.”
Xala nodded, took Alex’s hand in his own, squeezed, and said, “Stay in such places. I think you should stay safe.” He rose from his mat, Vulcan immediately shot up, and nodded toward Alex, “Promise?”
“Do you promise to visit wherever I am?”
“You want me to?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to have a visitor.”
Xala chuckled, “Very well. Just keep it easy to find you.”
“Will do.”
On Xala’s and Vulcan’s way out of the temple, Xala caught the eye of that Gorgon woman. She stood on the opposite end of the theatron in the corner among a few other acolytes. Their gaze connected for a lingering moment before she broke it and focused on those around her. He took a slow breath. He would have time in the coming days to seek her out. He needed to remain on schedule.
As they reached the doors to the temple, the hair on the back of Xala’s neck lifted. Goosebumps slithered up and down his arms. The presence was back. He took slow, steadying breaths as he sensed that intangible beast. It combed through the stonework like butter, cleaved spiritual tears in it, as it loomed over him. He felt those many eyes stare at him, waiting for him to leave, suspended between keeping him inside or forcing him out.
Xala stepped over the threshold of the gilded door and all those watchful glares averted themselves.
The door closed behind Xala and Vulcan. He glanced up and down the catacombs and already saw a few stragglers outside. The homeless and destitute shifted uncomfortably amidst the bone walls. They paid Xala little attention and maintained focus on the door itself. He figured they were waiting for an invitation to enter.
As they walked among the stragglers, back toward the sewer network, Vulcan nudged Xala’s arm and whispered, “That priest is a fucking lunatic.”
“I thought he was nice, if not a bit misguided.”
“Yeah, because you’re not much different than him. Except, that guy’s genuinely hearing voices in his head. I know the type. He might be more polite and collected than others, but he’s got some serious problems.”
“Oh, Vulcan, please. Consider his behavior. Yes, he was polite and collected, and a bit off at times, but he was all there. Something is speaking to him. I’m just not sure what.”
“What about that thing in there with them all?”
“No, he knew what that was. He called it a vestige of older religions. He differentiates it from Mishcharer. Whatever is speaking to him, it’s powerful. The modern world feels different than the one I am from. So different. People as old as me have been adapting to the change over time. But, to me, the world feels so much more charged. As if any spell I cast will have more power behind it. And yet, spellcasting itself,” he conjured a few glowing symbols in his palm to idly observe them, “it is no different. The global flux of energy has not changed, as far as I can tell. I have not needed to change any of my original formulas.”
Vulcan was already, clearly, checked out and uninterested. He grumbled, “Mages,”
“It’s true! At first, when I came to Feltkan, and I saw all the latent magic within this megacity, I felt smaller than ever. The entire world has advanced magically and technologically without me. And yet, he felt a shift at the same time I was freed. I have no idea what that means, but I will not call him a fool. Too often, people who see what no one else does go insane not because of what they saw, but because they are denied belief at every turn.”
“So he’s on his way to being a lunatic? Great. That gives me a lot of reassurance.”
Xala sighed, threw up his hands, and said, “Fine, he’s on his way. Much better than already being at the destination.”
They walked a while longer before Vulcan said, “You sure you’re ready for tomorrow?”
“Yes. I think I know a way to convince the practitioners up North toward our cause.”
I've been thinking about creating a TikTok/Bluesky or whatever where I just post lore for Trymora. Would you guys be interested in that? It would include explanations of the magic system, the 54 sub-species (Lol it shocks me every time), the cultures and provinces of Trymora, and other miscellaneous stuff.
