H - 114: Off We Go (Patreon)

Kaln stepped into a room so peculiar it was disorienting.

It was rectangular and not large, just sizable enough that it didn’t feel cramped with the two of them present. They had apparently arrived through one of the narrow walls. The floor, ceiling, and parts of the longer walls appeared to be made of metal, though it was a pale, glossy metal unlike anything Kaln had seen before, almost as if the whole chamber were cast of seamless platinum. Large windows took up most of the space of those side walls, though, revealing that to each side were identical chambers, and more beyond those, apparently marching away into infinity in both directions.

Directly opposite them was a black panel in the center of the narrow wall, flanked by two vertical glass columns filled with some luminous, slowly percolating purple substance.

Shadrach stepped to one side, folded his arms, and made an annoyed face, beginning to tap one foot.

Before Kaln could say anything, light flickered between the columns and a figure appeared hovering in the air in front of the black panel. It was a man seemingly formed of purple light, bald and dressed in attire so tight it almost looked painted onto him.

“Greetings,” said the purple man, his voice echoing and processed in a manner unlike anything Kaln had ever heard. It didn’t make him hard to understand, but it was keenly unnatural to the ear.

“Hello,” he replied. “My name is—”

“This is a recorded message, activated by your arrival,” the purple figure continued. “No one is present to attend you. No one will respond to any action on your part. Please listen carefully, as this message will not repeat.”

Kaln shot an annoyed look at Shadrach, who smirked.

“As a courtesy, a psionic effect is active in this quarantine facility to enable universal language comprehension. This should cause no significant brain damage in the majority of humanlike species.”

“Wait, what?” Kaln burst out. The recording carried on talking over him.

“You have been diverted into this quarantine facility because you attempted to access the home dimension of the Infinite Order from an interdicted reality. The Exploratory Committee of the Infinite Order has determined that your local universe cluster contains nothing of material or intellectual value, but produces persistent low-grade hazards due to the uniquely accessible nature of its ascension process. As such, any entities originating from or passing through your reality are denied access to this one. The dimensional gate behind you will enable your return to any non-interdicted reality. The controls should be comprehensible to any entity natively capable of dimensional travel. If not, that is unfortunate, but not deemed significant. Within this quarantine facility, filtered water, nutrition pellets, toilet facilities, and humane euthanasia will be provided upon request. The system will respond to no other communications. Any attempt to damage this facility or depart it into this universe will result in the immediate activation of decisive countermeasures.

“Thank you for your interest in the domain of the Infinite Order. Please do not return. Your presence is not desired.”

As abruptly as it had arrived, the glowing projection snapped to a single point of light and vanished.

Kaln was left staring at the black panel where it had been. “Wow.”

“Right?” Shadrach agreed, already turned around and doing something with the controls of the gate behind them.

“Wow,” Kaln repeated.

“Told you.”

“That was the most condescending thing I have ever heard. And I used to be a public servant! A public-facing public servant!”

“And now you know why my master nicknamed this place the Insulting Atrium.”

“Honestly, when you said that my first thought was it must be the place where you’d trained.”

“Funny stuff, Zelekhir.”

“What was that bit about…hazards and ascension?”

“Gods, Kaln. This is a civilization who looked upon the gods of our world, deemed them a trifling nuisance, and built this little box to stick them in if they ever got tresspassy. And on that note, there needs to be an absolute maximum of zero godling shenanigans in here. I do not want to find out what ‘decisive countermeasures’ means, and neither do you.”

“I’m not going to start trying to wreck the place, Shadrach. Why the hells would I? Even if I hadn’t plainly heard that warning just now.”

“Long, bitter experience has taught me never to assume that any person won’t just up and spontaneously do the stupidest thing possible in a given situation. Anyway, the overwhelming sophistication of this culture is also what makes it a universal shortcut: the technology of this gate is capable of getting into literally anywhere, in any dimension, past any possible defenses. And that is why this entire thing needs to remain a secret, most especially from any powerful dragon archmages you might know who could definitely find a way in here if she knew such a thing existed. Never mind the consequences of any portal mage being able to bust into anywhere on our world—what I don’t want is for enough traffic to come tromping through here that this civilization gets tired of our bullshit and decides to take more proactive measures to ensure peace and quiet from our universe.”

“How…many people know about this?” Kaln asked warily.

Shadrach shrugged, still focused on the glowing panel as his fingers danced across it, tapping glowing patterns that shifted in response to whatever he was doing. “Few. Possibly only me and now you; my master found it by accident, and she’s gone. Neither she nor I have ever found reference to it in any text, or seen anyone else in here, but both of us avoided using it except in an emergency, so…no telling. But the fewer, the better.”

“I guess you’re right about that.” Kaln paced slowly from one wall to the other, peering through the windows. “What do you suppose all these other chambers are?” The other rooms were identical to this one; he only knew he wasn’t looking at mirrors because he and Shadrach weren’t reflected in them.

“My master reckoned they were either quarantine chambers for other interdicted universes, or other planets in ours, and I don’t have a better theory. I’ve never seen anybody in any of ‘em, either, so there’s no real way to tell. Doesn’t really matter, because again, we will not be coming back here unless there’s some crashingly urgent reason.”

Kaln folded his arms and leaned against one wall, studying him with a faint smile. “Hm. And what did Emeralaphine bribe you with, that constituted a crashingly urgent reason?”

Shadrach shot him a sneer over his shoulder, then turned back around and made a few more movements with his fingers, then touched one glowing icon in the corner of the panel.

The gateway in front of him came to life, the white metal gates over it parting to reveal a swirling vortex of glittering energy.

“And here we are. One portal into the divine domain of Anessima the Shepherd. Who, I will remind you, is not going to be happy to see us in the realm she uses as a place of rest for her honored dead and is gonna throw our asses right back out into some dingy alley in Boisverd. I want to be clearly on the record; I am meticulously setting up a truly definitive ‘I told you so’ and I want there to be no lingering ambiguity when I pull the trigger on it.”

“Oh, buck up,” Kaln said cheerfully, straightening up and stepping forward. “Sure, I might get immediately tossed back out, but I’ve got the world’s best portal mage on my side! I’m sure you’ll come up with something, since until Emeralaphine says otherwise, you’re still on the clock. Off we go!”

He clapped Shadrach on the shoulder and stepped into the portal.

***

“Okay,” Percy said stiffly, raising her fingertips to touch the earpieces of her glasses as if holding them in place helped her focus. “Okay, someone please explain to me what the big deal is with self-conjuration?”

“We don’t have time for that!” Vadarashi roared, slamming her tail against the floor. “Kaln is out there right now! That crazy bitch probably conjured him out, and gods only know what she’s doing to—”

She broke off as Vanimax stepped forward, leaning out to press his forehead against her cheek. Vadaralshi twisted away, looking incredulously at him, but he spoke before she could voice a rebuke.

“Kaln would tell us to be very certain of what we’re doing before taking any action, Ralshi, especially with his life on the line. Percy is the only one who knows that mage in any meaningful capacity. Her understanding what’s happening is a necessary first step to getting him back.”

Vadaralshi bared her teeth in displeasure, but didn’t seem to have a rebuttal to that.

“Excuse me,” said Riocco, stepping forward and raising one hand, “but am I correctly interpreting from context that, ah, Kaln is the godling we were warned about?”

“Aye, that’s him,” said Gunhild. “That’s the name she gave him, anyway. Stuck in my mind, with that apparently being a common Rhiva name. ‘slike a god named Fred.”

“Okay,” Riocco said, nodding. “Then I think he should be okay, for now. Lady Cora talked about having a trap prepared for a godling, and something in the possession of the royal family of Boisverd that would be able to contain one. She wasn’t sure it would contain him for long, which was why the urgency—we were supposed to rush out here and free the dragons and ghosts from his control before he got out.”

“It’s downright comedic how badly she misunderstood what’s happening out here,” Greg added. Riocco made a silencing gesture at him before continuing.

“It seemed like Lady Cora was taking it as a given that godlings aren’t easy to kill, and didn’t even want to try,” they explained, gazing earnestly up at Vadaralshi. “So…yeah. I believe he’s okay, for now.”

“If he’s in the custody of my family, he will be,” Percy agreed, nodding emphatically. “Valefolk are careful even in vengefulness, and my mother is well-practiced at controlling her reactions to do what’s necessary. She’ll want to learn from him before doing anything—and you all know how giving Kaln a chance to talk gives him an advantage. Mother will also not mistreat him, as a matter of principle.”

“All right,” Vadaralshi said, still lashing her tail in agitation, but clearly mollified at least somewhat. “Okay. Then… Fine, you’re right. No dallying, but we have time to exchange information and plan.”

“Right, so, conjuration,” said Pheneraxa, twisting her neck to directly address Percy, who was still sitting in her upraised claw. “The field of magic we call teleportation is a much more difficult and energy-intensive process of linking together two points in spacetime and transporting objects across them without altering the objects in question. It was developed because the much more efficient process of conjuration accidentally revealed that there’s a qualitative difference between living and non-living matter. Conjuration works by dissolving matter at the sub-atomic level into pure information, moving that, and reconstituting it. You can conjure organic materials and they come out un-altered, but conjuring living things causes widespread damage at the cellular level, and…as of my most recent reading, no one has yet figured out specifically why. The process is intensely painful, but the damage itself is relatively minor and provided the subject is given time to fully recuperate without repeating the process, they should suffer no long-term harm. But… If they are not, the cumulative damage becomes catastrophic.”

“How so?” Percy asked quietly.

Pheneraxa bared a lot of predatory teeth in a grimace, causing visible nervousness from the throng of humans below, but Percy just gazed at her expectantly.

“Most physical tissues can withstand it, but the body’s more delicate systems… Well, repeatedly conjured people become dependent on healing and stamina potions to keep their endocrine and lymphatic systems functioning at all, and to maintain some semblance of hormonal balance and enable them to digest food with their symbiotic microbiome basically wiped out. Worse, it plays absolute hell with neurotransmitters, causing…insanity.”

“I would like to think I’m following the gist,” Gunhild said pointedly, “but with all due respect, madame, can we put this in smaller words for those of us who don’t sit about reading medical textbooks?”

“The causing insanity part is what’s relevant here,” Lilith rasped.

“And she did this to Kaln?” Zhiiji snarled, her tail bristling up to thrice its normal dimensions.

“The Master said he sensed the approaching presence of a large dragon,” said the Commander, “and then the direct attention of a deity, before he vanished. Assuming this is what was used on him, it was only once. He should still be all right, or at least recoverable. Godlings are also far more resilient than mortals.”

“Another dragon?” Percy exclaimed in alarm.

“There’s nothing like that anywhere in the vicinity of Dragonvale,” Pheneraxa hastened to assure her. “Strange dragons are the first thing Mother’s wards are alerted to. We would be hearing alarms if there were an unknown dragon on this continent so much as thinking too hard about approaching this lair. Our enemies know Kaln’s divine aspect is dragon-related; whichever god enabled this was probably mimicking that in order to slip through the wards and connect to him.”

“Okay,” Percy said, rubbing her temples again. “All right, you made it sound like Cora conjuring herself was even more alarming than her doing it to Kaln. Was that just…because of her willingness to harm herself, or is there something more?”

“Something much worse, I’m afraid,” Pheneraxa said grimly. “Conjurers who physically conjure themselves become…addicted. Doing it activates a compulsion to do it again that becomes increasingly difficult to resist.”

“What? Why?” Percy demanded.

“The reason isn’t known, Percy. The leading theory is because normal conjuration uses the self as a spatial reference point—” She caught herself, mouth hanging open for a second, then grimaced and pressed on. “Well, we really don’t have time for theory. The point is, addiction. After the first instance of a conjurer conjuring themselves, they can often resist the compulsion for a long time. Years, even decades. Possibly even never giving in; we can’t know because any conjurer who’s done this will conceal it, or they’ll be stripped of every position they hold, kicked out of any organization they’re part of, and possibly assassinated. But the compulsion grows exponentially with each use; once they’ve given in a second time, it starts the downward spiral. Potion dependency, and insanity.”

“Cora, why?” Percy whispered.

Pheneraxa heaved a sigh. “In every known case, it was an act of desperation. The conjurer was trapped in some mortal peril and had no other way to survive. Do you know if anything like that happened to her?”

“Not that I know of, but… You said it can take years, after the first incident? I know Cora was briefly an adventurer when she was younger. All right, how do we fix her?”

“Percy,” Pheneraxa said, wincing. “There’s…that’s not an option. We don’t even understand the mechanism that’s at work in the brain, causing this; neurotransmitter disruption isn’t sufficient to explain the addiction. Conjuration sickness has been amply observed, but it has never been studied. It…can’t be. The afflicted conceal it until they can’t anymore, and then… Well. Imagine a rabid dog that can fling boulders like a trebuchet, or dump a lake into a city walls. Every conjurer who’s gotten to that state has made it impossible to keep them alive.”

Percy drew in a long, hissing breath through her teeth, pressing a hand over her eyes so roughly that it tilted her glasses askew. “Oh, Cora.”

The glum silence which ensued was brief.

“I think,” Gunhild said slowly, “what we just saw was Lady Cora crossing that horizon into ‘too late.’ I’ve not known her long, but the whole time she’s been…twitchy, but stable. I just took her for a squirrely noble, not… Well. That was something different.”

“It was,” Percy agreed quietly. “I have never seen her like that. I’ve known Cora for years. She’s not…that wasn’t her.”

“I have witnessed a psychotic break in person before,” Lilith said, her expression distant and haunted. “I…recognize it.”

Riocco gently reached over to rub her back.

“Captain Tirial, is there anything you can add to this?” asked the Commander.

The Mage-Captain he had summon previously flashed over to him again, saluting but already making a regretful expression. “Sorry, sir, but it seems magic has advanced a lot since our day. It’s news to me that you can can conjure a living thing without turning it into soup. There are barbarian countries which use it as a method of execution. Well, there were.”

“Insanity is…vague,” Percy said, turning back to Pheneraxa. “What, specifically, has gone wrong with her mind?”

“Paranoia, delusions, and hallucinations,” Pheneraxa explained. “So…from our standpoint, the worst possible form of insanity. Her skills and intellectual faculties are all intact, and she will use them to do something completely irrational. The only good news is that conjuration sickness also causes chronic insomnia. Nothing makes a person slow and sloppy like sleep deprivation. Unless someone has put her into a magical sleep recently, her casting strength will be at a fraction of what it should be.”

Riocco coughed. “Ah…our guildmaster did that. She was at the Herons’ headquarters, basically coming unglued, and…he granted her a night’s sleep.”

“Oh, perfect,” Vadaralshi said in disgust.

“She’s going to attack Boisverd,” Greg said suddenly.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him.

“You all heard that parting shot,” the bard said. “Whatever it takes, any means necessary. She’s got a case of tunnel vision about taking out the dragons and their godling friend. As soon as her Highness explains the situation to her family, all of that gets shut down, and I don’t think Lady Cora is able to accept peace as an option anymore. So she’ll…create a crisis, something to force the Crown to react before they have time to negotiate or think. A Vale noble in possession of her full faculties would carefully engineer something to make it look like the dragons’ fault, but in the state she’s in… I wouldn’t be shocked if she just starts dropping boulders on the market district or something.”

“I…have to go home,” Percy said, ashen-faced.

“Percy, I’m not trying to be an asshole, here,” said Vadaralshi, “but wasn’t your entire problem at home that nobody listens to you or takes you seriously? It’s going to be an uphill battle at the best of times, making your family understand, never mind if they’re in the middle of some brand new crisis.”

“We can have you in Boisverd within half an hour,” said Vanimax, stepping forward. “We…well, I owe you the help, Percy. I think we all know I’m no better than you at articulating my positions well, but if there’s one thing three dragons can do, it’s make damned sure whoever you speak to listens and obeys. All we have to do is stand behind you and loom.”

“You’re right that you owe her,” Vadaralshi added, “but this is also what we need to do. Percy’s family probably have Kaln, and we need to get him out of there. She’s our only chance of doing it peacefully. Kaln’s gonna crack all our heads together if we just attack Boisverd, even if it’s to save him.”

“I’m feeling increasingly guilty that we were complicit in getting this guy locked up,” Greg muttered.

“Your Highness!” Riocco called, stepping forward. They sank down to a kneeling position, the other two Lone Wolves following suit moments later. “I swear to you, we came here with the best of intentions, believing we were acting to aid you, our kingdom, and the world. I beg you grant us the opportunity to redeem our mistake by aiding you now. Whatever form that aid may take, my blades are yours.”

All three dragons peered skeptically down at them, then turned in unison to look expectantly at Percy.

“You said you were with the Verdi Herons?” she said, then nodded. “That’s one of the better adventurer guilds in the country—and probably the most aboveboard and honorable. If we don’t know what disaster we’ll be flying into, I think it would be a mistake to turn down their help.”

“I should hope it goes without saying that I’m coming with,” Zhiiji added.

“Aye, we’ve mistakes to redeem, as well,” Gunhild added, bracing her musket across her shoulder and grinning. “Say the word, your Highness.”

Now everyone turned to glare at the bandits.

The Commander cleared his throat. “The Master has not issued general orders concerning the treatment of prisoners, but in my assessment, the Hegemony’s regulations on the subject would meet with his approval, and that of the two thirds of his consorts who would care.”

“Sounds good to me, Commander,” said Vadaralshi. “Take ‘em away.”

“Hang on, now,” Gunhild protested, now scowling. The bandits behind her began fingering weapons.

“Aside from the fact that adventurers in good standing are a different matter from miscellaneous criminals,” Vadaralshi growled, “just how many damned people do you think the three of us can carry? You lot will be staying here under guard until we get back here with our parents to decide what to do with you.”

“We came here to help,” Gunhild insisted, baring teeth and barely restraining herself from aiming her gun at someone.

“I am sure Dragonlord Kaln will take that into consideration when rendering judgment,” the Commander said coldly. “Now, you will be disarmed and escorted to holding facilities.”

Rafaela snarled and whipped out her runed rapier, flowing into a combat stance. “You can have my blade when you take it from my cold, dead—”

She broke off as ghosts flashed into position all around her, materializing with spears extended such that their blades formed a perfect ring around her neck, rendering her unable to so much as move without risking decapitation.

“We prefer to avoid that outcome,” said the Commander without sympathy, “but if you are determined to insist upon it, I suppose you are capable of forcing our hand. Your personal effects will be carefully cataloged, properly stored, and returned to you upon your release. I gather you Valefolk expect to be abused by any authority you encounter, but in this place, under the Dragonlord’s auspices, the flame of civilization still burns. Prisoners will be treated with appropriate respect. Captain Tirial.”

“Sir?”

“I am leaving you in command in Dragonvale. The old Timekeeper structures out back are probably the only place we can detain this many prisoners.”

“Yes, sir,” she said crisply. “It shouldn’t be difficult to whip them into suitable shape. My concern is that getting them there will mean taking them through Lady Emeralaphine’s library.”

“Indeed. Move them in small groups under double guard, and ensure their sticky fingers are kept firmly to themselves. Once they are secured, sweep their camps in the valley; round up any stragglers and commandeer their supplies so we have something to feed them. We’ll not have prisoners deprived or mistreated. The Master’s last words to me,” he added, turning to face the dragons, “were ‘protect my family.’ If you are going to retrieve him, I am coming with you. Most of the Legion will be needed here to secure our home, but I can spare two squads to come with us. And we don’t need to take space on your backs.”

“Then we’ve got a plan,” Vadaralshi stated, stepping over beside the Lone Wolves and lowering herself fully to the floor. “Everybody mount up and hold on. We’ve got family to save.”

***

A/N: I don't usually do this, but some folks have been speculating about it and there are no plans to delve into this further in-story, at least for a long time, so I'll drop a bit of behind-the-scenes lore.

The Infinite Order were, among their innumerable flaws, damn dirty liars. Hoardworld was of enormous intellectual value to them, both in working out how to reproduce the ascension process, and instrumental in creating what they called mithril by studying Timekeeper materials.

But once they had what they wanted and locked off the hazardous dimension, there was absolutely no chance of them ever admitting that.