Entoverse

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“In the visions of Hyperia that I glimpsed only briefly, I sometimes saw devices of wondrous complexity,” Thrax said. “Devices created by the beings who inhabit that realm, and yet able to move as bewildering cooperations of parts of their own accord; impossibly coordinated motions of parts that moved parts that moved parts, and all of them dancing in unison to unfold some hidden plan. Are the Hyperians thus able to divest themselves of the burden of having to project their thoughts, Master? Can they enchant matter itself with the capacity of thought, such that it serves their wishes unbidden?” He looked at Shingen-Hu, who was sitting next to him on the rocks by the dusty track. But the Master was lost in his own dejection and seemed not to hear. Thrax took in his wan, sunken features and disheveled appearance, his hair unkempt and robes turning to rags. “They build devices that see and speak across vast distances; others that voyage to worlds beyond the sky. Where does this place exist, Master? Is it a space that encloses all space? Or a dream that we manufacture in our minds?” He looked again. But Shingen-Hu sat staring dully down at the grassy slopes below the track and showed no reaction.

Shingen-Hu had been overcome by a morose deadness of mind and spirit ever since the attack by servants of Nieru’s enemies at the ceremony on the sacred mount, when Thrax’s chance to emerge had been thwarted. Convinced that his god had abandoned him or been overwhelmed by a more powerful celestial rival, the Master had sunk into a depressive lethargy and lost faith in his arts. His school for adepts was no more. Soldiers, encouraged by priests bearing the green-crescent emblem of Vandros, the underworld god, had come to complete its destruction. Its members had dispersed and fled, and Shingen-Hu lived from village to village on the fringes of the wilderness, reduced to the life of a fugitive mendicant. Thrax, perhaps through basic loyalty, or possibly in hope that the Master’s condition would improve, or maybe simply because he had nowhere else to go, had stayed with him.

Although the day was barely into its second half, twilight cloaked the hillside above them. The sun remained a feeble, emaciated remnant of its former self, its faltering light supplemented by a few dim stars which now remained visible through the eternal night that had descended. Thrax and Shingen-Hu had eaten nothing for two days apart from a few mountain berries and water plants found by a spring. Thrax thought wistfully of the cakes and roasts that his aunt Yonel used to prepare at Dalgren’s house, in days that seemed so long ago. Almost like another world… Thrax shook himself back to the present and forced thoughts of other worlds from his mind.

A movement in the grass just across the track caught his eye. He looked and saw that it was a brown-striped skredgen, up on its hind legs beneath a bush, its nose twitching and its large eyes fixed on them unblinkingly. A picture came into his head of a simmering stew, maybe with pummeled kirta shoots and wild-herb flavoring.

“Master,” he whispered, drawing closer to Shingen-Hu carefully. A Master could paralyze an animal with thought while an assistant dispatched it with a rock or cudgel. “Over there across the path, below the bush. Do you see it? We could eat our fill this evening.” He waited. “Food… A thick stew of skredgen, seasoned with var.” Shingen-Hu’s eyes flickered. He turned his head. “There,” Thrax murmured. “Do you see? You can still do it, Master. Your powers have not deserted you.”

Shingen-Hu licked his lips hungrily and stared. The skredgen watched them, motionless. The Master’s arm rose shakily, and a finger of his bony hand pointed from the folds of tattered sleeve. The finger jabbed commandingly. The skredgen yawned and rose to its feet; then turned its back and walked away, swishing its tail contemptuously.

“Alms… alms for the holy who have fallen upon evil times,” Thrax called, brandishing his bowl in the square of the village they came to at the bottom of the track.

“Everyone’s fallen on evil times these days. Where have you two been?” a woman asked scornfully as she passed.

One of a group of laborers who were idling outside a tavern called out, “‘Oly men, are yer? Let’s see somethin’ ‘oly, then.”

“That’s what all the beggars who come through here tell us,” another said. “Take us all for fools out here, they do.”

“We’ve seen enough city thieves before. Away with the pair ‘o ye,” a third told them.

“We’re not thieves. We’re genuine,” Thrax insisted defiantly. “This is a Master. He has remained here, that countless others may arise.”

“‘Im? A Master? That walkin’ bag o’ rags? Looks more ter me like the only currents ‘e’d know anythin’ abaht are the ones ‘e pours dahn ‘is throat.” The others laughed derisively.

“Here’s my staff,” the second who had spoken said, holding it up. “A good, solid wooden one. Show us the passing-through of a hand. A junior adept can do that. It should be easy enough to do in his sleep for a-” He looked slyly from side to side, inviting the others to share the joke. “-Master.” They sniggered obligingly.

“You can do it,” Thrax murmured imploringly to Shingen-Hu. “Your powers haven’t deserted you.” But Shingen-Hu just stood and stared at the staff glassily.

They were chased from the village by a jeering mob who pelted them with rocks and garbage, while hounds barked at their heels. Nieru hung very dim in the sky that night. Probably, Thrax thought, because the god was ashamed.

In the city of Orenash at the temple of Vandros, the high priest Ethendor had a vision. A spirit from Hyperia appeared to him and spoke in his mind, telling of great events that would soon come to pass. Filled with wonder at the things he learned, Ethendor hurried to inform the king.

“Our actions to placate Vandros were inspired. We have been tested and found not to be wanting. We shall be saved.”

“Tested? How have we been tested?” the king asked.

“By the gods who look down from Hyperia. We were set the task of sending them disciples, and we have measured well. Hence we have been chosen to be the prime servants to the gods when the Great Awakening comes.”

“The Great Awakening, at last! Tell me, what was revealed?”

Ethendor’s voice trembled portentously. “Soon now, the days will return and the stars will shine again. The heavens will radiate their splendor as never before. Then shall the people of Waroth be called and arise to the sky in great multitudes. Hyperia itself shall be opened to them. Thus it has been revealed to me by the lord of all gods.”

The king marveled at the high priest’s words. “Truly it was spoken? These plagues shall be lifted from us and the world restored?”

“A mighty war has been fought among the gods. The power that lights the sky was stolen and extinguished, but now it has been reclaimed. The pretenders who desecrated the banner of Nieru have been vanquished by the true bearers of Vandros’s green.”

“And now, many are to arise?”

“The time has come for the last of the unclean and the profane who have defiled Hyperia to be exterminated. The faithful from Waroth shall be the wrath and the instrument. Thou, O King, will be their leader, and I, the prophet who will inspire them.”

“We are to see Hyperia?” The king was dumbfounded. Ethendor was exuberant. “We are to rule Hyperia!”