[written down by Johana Passerin]
PEven though they were tired, they continued touring the city’s sights and returned to the dormitory only at dawn, as the bustle of the city was dying down. As Klaes drew the window curtains, he had the impression he caught sight of a black bird. “Shard might be prowling around again,” he remarked.
“He craves the Elixir. What if we went to the roof and tried to lure him with it?” Loverd suggested.
“I wouldn’t risk that. We are being watched, and besides Shard, the Haulers are prowling around here too,” objected Klaes, who had just undressed and gotten into bed.
“I didn’t mean bringing it up there. Just speaking with him discreetly up top. Perhaps a tiny amount of the Elixir would help him remember,” Loverd clarified.
“Perhaps,” Klaes conceded doubtfully and put out the light.
Before falling asleep, Fox spent a little time meditating to induce lucid dreaming, aiming to enter the dream of the sad man for whom they had left a message on the tombstone. Then she curled into a ball in the corner behind Klaes’s bed, tucked her snout under her tail, and closed her eyes. We dream essentially all the time, only during the day dreaming is overshadowed by consciousness, it had said in a book Fox read a while ago. This time, the man’s dreaming was indeed overshadowed, as he was not sleeping, as would be proper for a decent Xalgonian during the day. Trying to enter his dream was akin to climbing a smooth rock wall—Fox kept slipping back. The sad survivor is awake, she realized after a moment. Perhaps he couldn’t sleep because he was grieving. Or holding vigil. Even so, she carried away some vague impressions from the dream state: she smelled the scent of the vial they had placed on the tombstone again, though it mingled with the fragrance of some perfume. In her mouth she tasted the sacrificial cookies containing blood. Over everything lay the heavy odor of sweat secreted by a person consumed by restlessness and doubt.
In the evening they woke up just as the sun was setting. To see it set directly behind the Horologium, they would have had to go up to the roof. Ultimately, they decided to have breakfast in the warmth of the room; the November evening was windy and cold. They discussed their plans.
“Fox, why don’t you actually want to go to the Amusement Park?” Klaes asked.
“Because we won’t learn what we need to know there. Perhaps the Amusement Park was fun originally, but it degenerated. Now one encounters orgies at most,” Fox answered.
“Why all of a sudden?” Klaes marveled.
“They wrote it in that article. You read it to me yourself,” Fox replied.
Klaes shrugged, when suddenly a strange, muffled sound came from his pocket. It sounded like cackling. Klaes fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the token stamped with the symbol of a crescent moon. It winked at him and glinted enticingly. Klaes stared at the token in astonishment for a moment. He recalled that it was not a ticket, but currency used in the Amusement Park to pay for attractions.
“Do you know what I dreamed tonight?” Fox said.
Klaes tucked the token back into his pocket. “What?” he asked absentmindedly. Fox told them about her unsuccessful attempt to enter the sad man’s dream. She described her sensory impressions to them.
“The scent of the tombstone vial! That gives me hope that Tazriel Itraniel Vedrax might have read it,” Loverd remarked upon hearing Fox’s tale.
“If he read it, we should mostly stay here so he can contact us,” Klaes said.
“At the same time, someone could check if a reply appeared on the tombstone, for example. I could go shopping and stop by there,” Loverd suggested.
So they split up: Klaes waited at home, Loverd set off into the city, and Fox went to the roof to idle about and look for Shard. And lo and behold—she found him there. She blinked at him and instinctively crouched, her whiskers bristling.
Shard took flight in alarm and perched on a small roof. “Yikes, it’s that monster that was hunting me!” he yelled hysterically.
“Hello,” Fox greeted. “I won’t hunt you anymore, I promise.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“If I wanted to catch you here, I’d probably fall off the roof. Eighth floor—that might not end well. I promise you a truce. On the contrary—I have a message for you: my people would like to speak with you. Only my people, not those green-cloaks.”
“Nononono!” Shard shrieked.
“And why not?” Fox prompted.
“They’re pursuing me! People, Mirk, everyone from land and sky!”
“My people will hide you. And maybe they’ll even give you something, hmh?!”
Shard’s eyes bulged. In the end, he allowed himself to be persuaded. Fox stepped away to the opposite end of the roof, and he flew into the stairwell and through the cracked-open door inside. Fox then ran downstairs and slammed the door shut behind them.
Klaes jumped in surprise. “Shard!”
“Yes! But careful, Klaes, those lurkers are snooping around a floor below. They want to trap the bird,” warned Fox, who remembered the scent of the Haulers well, which hit her nose now as she returned from the roof.
“Help!” the raven shrieked.
“Shh. Above all, don’t draw attention to yourself. Yesterday they asked about you and I had to promise them that if you showed up, I’d let them know. Naturally, I won’t do that. On the contrary, it would be better for you to sit by the window. If anything happens, you can fly away,” Klaes soothed him and prepared to open the window.
“Not by the window, no. Mirk is after me. Those lurkers are after me. I don’t know where to hide. I slept in the turret with the telescope.”
“The turret is a good spot. We can leave food for you there and meet there if anything happens,” Klaes said.
“The turret is not a good spot; it’s too exposed to everyone. Mirk is after me; he wants to get into the Horologium.”
“Yes, we saw that,” Klaes deduced and sighed. The poor creature isn’t all there. He pondered. “If I gave you a lick of the Elixir, would you remember something?” he floated.
“Yes! Yes! I’d remember! Sure! Give it to me!” Shard croaked so loudly that Fox, who was guarding the door, had to give a warning growl at him.
“I won’t give it to you right away. But perhaps…”
Shard broke into wailing and begging.
“Did you happen to fly past the Chapter?” Klaes interrupted him.
“No. Should I fly there? If I fly there, will you give me the Elixir then? I’ll remember everything you wish right away!”
“I’ll give you something to eat now, and you will fly to the Chapter and then tell me what you saw,” Klaes said.
“And the Elixir? Will you give me the Elixir?” Shard begged again.
“Only afterward,” Klaes brushed him off. He gave Shard the breakfast leftovers, and then Fox opened the door a crack and sniffed. The lurkers were somewhere in the building, but in the immediate vicinity the air was clear. She gestured to Shard, and he flew out.
When Loverd returned, they learned that the vial from the tombstone had disappeared, but there was no reply there. The night slipped by and nothing happened; the midnight hour drew near. Klaes offered to go to the cafeteria for lunch and combined it with a stop at the library. He borrowed several books, such as History of the Amusement Park, Illustrated History of Xalgon, Biographies of the City’s Heroes, and books on Oneiromancy for Fox.
After lunch, he settled into an armchair and immersed himself in reading. Only occasionally did he share some interesting finding out loud with the others: “The Amusement Park is a place where reality is dreamlike and dreams are reality. The fabric of Qurand is thin here and touches Urulóka, which is made of weave far softer than that from which Qurand is built. Does this mean it would be possible to reach the Non-world through the Amusement Park? Urulóka is, if I recall correctly, some theoretical alternate dimension or something, but our Yllerian science considers it mostly just folklore,” Klaes said. “And here it says that the Amusement Park was founded more than a thousand years ago, supposedly originating from the ruins of the Vezan Empire. It returns to the womb of Xalgon knowledge that belongs to it. In the Amusement Park, magic is not believed in; the Amusement Park is magic itself, and the power of mages is worthless there.”
Loverd, meanwhile, tried following Punar’s model to create a place hidden from sight. He was capable of creating a cone of silence, but now they needed somewhere to hide Shard. Up in the turret he was not safe from Mirk, and in their room he wasn’t safe from prowlers among the secret police. In the end, he constructed a sort of optical illusion using a candlestick. He tested its functionality on Fox.
Klaes went to check the turret and waited to see if Shard would show up. He stared into the dark. Perhaps it wasn’t so wise to just send him away like that, it occurred to him. He watched swirling snowflakes tinted by reflections of light from the high-rise buildings surrounding them. In the distance, a glow flickered around the Horologium, which looked even larger in the dark than in reality. Then at last he heard the rustle of wings—fortunately only one set. Shard descended onto the telescope.
“So I’m back, but I saw nothing. Only spies are everywhere; it’s not safe here.”
“You can hide with us; my friend created a hiding spot in the meantime where no one will see you.”
“And will I get the Elixir? Will you give?”
“Afterward, come with me.”
Shard reluctantly perched on Klaes’s forearm and allowed himself to be carried under his cloak into their apartment. They seated him on the back of the armchair behind the veil of the optical illusion. They fed him and ordered him to keep quiet at all costs.
They waited. Time dragged on. They were starting to give up hope when at last a knock sounded at the door. Loverd quickly checked that Shard was well concealed behind the veil of optical illusion and stepped to the door. Klaes nodded, and Loverd opened it. Behind the door stood a man in the dress uniform of the Xalgonian Knights—in a black doublet and trousers, with a black cloak draped over his shoulders. He was of medium build, wiry. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, and his beard was woven through with white strands here and there. His bright blue eyes contrasted with his dark hair and clothing. On the left side of his chest he wore the house emblem: Initiate of the Waning Moon, the one whose shadow bleeds, and a short sword at his side. He wore neither armor nor helmet. He greeted them with a slight bow.
“What can I do for you,” said Loverd, who also greeted the knight with a bow, though as an Undead he bowed somewhat lower than the knight did to him.
“My name is Tazriel Itraniel Vedrax. I wish to speak with Mr. Klaes Ravit, a scholar from Yller.”
“He is already expecting you,” Loverd replied and let the knight inside.
Klaes offered him an armchair, and once they sat down, Loverd erected a cone of silence around them.
“Please accept our modest refreshments. I apologize that we cannot offer you blood. We are dependent on food in the University cafeteria, and that is quite modest.”
Tazriel waved his hand indulgently and sat down.
“I see that you have accomplished deeds worthy of Xalgon’s admiration, so you must be resolute and brave. I appreciate your invitation,” Tazriel said politely, his gaze not missing the Xalgonian ring on Klaes’s hand. Klaes merely smiled and nodded like someone glad to receive well-deserved recognition. Tazriel continued: “I would like to thank you for showing respect and condolences. My father was a great man worthy of his deed, and he would still be alive if I were not so weak. That message of yours—you wrote it aiming to contact me personally. Why?”
“It seems we have mutual friends. There are certain people bound both to us and to you. These people, specifically one person, asked us for help. That is why we wrote the verses When tears turn to laughter and so forth on your father’s tombstone. We hope that you are the one who could help us meet with the messenger from the north held at the Chapter.”
Tazriel looked around cautiously. He saw the Yllerian, the undead, and then some furry animal staring impudently at him.
“I see you have news that reached only very few ears. How can I be certain I may speak without fear?”
“You can speak without fear; we are protected by a cone of silence,” Loverd said, spreading his arms.
“After all, we proved ourselves with the saying When tears turn to laughter. How else can we reassure you that you can trust us?”
Tazriel shrugged and pointed at Fox. Wild animals were not a common phenomenon in Xalgon.
“Good midnight to you,” Fox said politely to introduce herself. A confused expression appeared on Tazriel’s face.
“She is the one who composed those verses. She is educated and belongs with us. I vouch for her,” Klaes said to prevent misunderstanding. “Now let us return to our business.”
“What do you know about that messenger, and from whom?” Tazriel asked.
“I will be completely honest. Our mutual acquaintance told us he might be connected to Talantius, the creator of the Elixir, who was supposedly spotted in the north. Two other independent sources confirmed this for us. The Elixir is what this is all about. We earned our rings by delivering a sample of the Elixir to Xalgon—a cure against terrible illusions, enabling one to withstand the onslaught of the New Age. We carried it all the way from Maghon in the Free Land to here, in hopes that local scientists would produce a sufficient quantity of the substance for other cities as well. But it turned out that Xalgon University is stingy, and certain cities will not have access to the Elixir. That is why we are trying to reach that messenger, hoping he might know something about events in the north. And so we ask—do you know where that messenger is? Is he truly ill?”
Tazriel suppressed an astonished sigh and answered: “You have very accurate news. It is indeed a peculiar case, which is why it was entrusted to us, the Xalgonian Knights. The messenger is in quarantine and is ill. Meeting with them is very risky.”
“Yet you met with them and are healthy,” Klaes remarked.
“Contact with them is possible if certain conditions are met,” Tazriel replied.
“Did you interrogate them?” Klaes asked.
“I did not conduct the interrogation. But I have access to her. She is very strong, but she is ill.”
“To her? So it is a woman? What is the nature of her illness?” Klaes exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, it is a woman. And her illness? We know neither the name of the illness, its cause, nor a cure,” Tazriel replied.
“And how does the illness manifest?” Klaes wanted to know.
“At first glance, you’ll notice her eyes. They are—empty. But her mind is strong. She expressed a desire herself to meet with the one who sent you,” Tazriel said under his breath.
“Really!?” Klaes rejoiced. “With Lady Nazqawn?!”
“Yes, with Lady Nazqawn. But I fear no outsider can physically reach the strictly guarded dungeon in the Chapter. No one except us who are explicitly tasked with that duty. But they say there are other ways to enter into contact with a person’s mind.”
“Like communication through lucid dreams?” Fox chimed in.
Her almost human voice threw Tazriel off for a moment, but he composed himself. “Yes, that is what I had in mind. Your fox-dog has interesting knowledge.”
“Fox,” Fox snorted. “But whatever. Tell us how contact takes place between that lady and you. How do you protect yourselves from contagion? Did that colleague of yours who fell ill neglect something, or were your knowledge and measures against contagion not yet sufficient at the time?” she showered him with a volley of questions.
“Even before we discovered her illness is highly contagious, one of us who was in contact with her fell ill. Now we use effective means of protection—amulets and mantras. It is a complex process, so outside a narrow circle of vetted individuals, no one is allowed near her,” Tazriel answered.
Now Loverd took the floor: “Thank you, esteemed Tazriel. I would also like to clarify what your relationship is with our mutual acquaintance, whose name you yourself spoke a moment ago, with Lady Nazqawn.”
“Trust and assistance. It is a matter of honor,” Tazriel replied.
“Then surely you know Lady Nazqawn is watched by the city’s powerful as an enemy of the city,” Loverd said.
“Yes. That is why we restrict ourselves to passing messages. No personal meetings take place,” Tazriel said cautiously.
“Now, however, we are approaching a point of no return. Perhaps a personal meeting will come to pass after all. Would you be up for something like that?” Loverd said.
“That concerns me somewhat,” Tazriel admitted, growing attentive.
Then Loverd stood up and unveiled his disguise. The illusion of the undead vanished, revealing the fair skin and light hair of an Arkonian noble. Tazriel leaped up and drew his short sword with lightning speed. “What trickery is this?! What trap have you lured me into?!” he shouted.
Klaes slowly stood up and stepped between them. “Please, stay calm. The one present here is a kinsman of Lady Nazqawn. I know age-old hatred reigns between Xalgon and Valarkagant and seas of blood have been spilled on both sides, but please—stay calm now. Deceptive was only the appearance of my friend, which ensures our safety. What he did is, on the contrary, an expression of deepest trust on his part and proof that we truly act in the name of Lady Nazqawn. She is an influential diplomat, but she is also Queen of Arkagant.”
“It is my duty to turn you into one of those you pretend to be!” Tazriel hissed through his teeth, his sword’s blade still pointing at Loverd. The veins on his neck bulged.
“I too would have longed to kill you three months ago. But now we stand against doom, and only together can we resist it,” Loverd said calmly.
“I can attest to that. Many do not realize it yet, but no army can resist the New Age. Even the Xalgonian Knights would be no exception. Without the Elixir, you will fall. Maghon, Viasse, Iacana, Arkon have fallen—we saw it with our own eyes. The entire Free Land has fallen. I saw those monstrous ranks with my own eyes,” Klaes said.
“And how is it that you didn’t perish?” Tazriel asked doubtfully, though lowering his blade.
Instead of answering, Klaes unbuttoned his doublet. Various items lay in the inner pockets, among them a vial with the Elixir. “This is what we have left. A sample of the original Elixir that we received from Master Talantius for personal use. Whoever rubs the Elixir on their eyelids will see plain reality without the illusions that cloak certain aspects of it, which is why it is called the Elixir of True Sight. When they then behold the soldiers of the New Age, those ranks from the eternal battle, they will see warriors, not monsters. Without the Elixir, however, they go mad with fear.”
Tazriel took a step back and sheathed his blade. “You are fortunate that I mourn and linger in the memory of the blood of my blood, and so I will not spill yours.” It sounded like some ritual formula.
“I offer you the opportunity to try the Elixir, and see us as we truly are,” Klaes said.
Tazriel pondered. “Very well. I will submit to the test—or rather, test you.”
Klaes stepped up to him. He opened the vial and dripped the Elixir onto his finger. “If you allow…” Tazriel closed his eyes and felt the stranger’s finger on his eyelids. Instantly—even before he opened his eyes again—he felt a sense of sobering clarity. As though some veil that had hitherto shrouded reality had been lifted. He looked around. At first glance, nothing extraordinary had happened. Only the room was shabbier, the furniture more scuffed, and cold air seeped through the cracks in the windows. The strangers’ faces hadn’t changed. When he looked at the Arkonian, he simply saw a human with unusually pale skin and copper hair—for a moment, all his notions and prejudices about Arkonians seemed to vanish. He looked at Fox. She seemed larger to him, as if far more of something for which he had neither words nor experience were compressed into her small body. Then his eyes slid past his companions and caught sight of Shard. In fact, he saw the raven as if looking through a kaleidoscope—a raven dotted with a thousand eyes, something monstrously beautiful and terrifying. He stumbled. Klaes steadied him.
“Now you see reality without the veil. Do you believe me now about what the Elixir can do?”
“What did you say? What is all this supposed to mean?” Tazriel gasped. “And WHAT is that?” He stared in disbelief at the place where Shard was.
“Everything in its own time,” Klaes said calmly. “For now, I can assure you that being is friendly and under our protection. Try looking out the window at your city,” he invited Tazriel and gently accompanied him to the window.
Tazriel looked.
At first he saw nothing unusual; again reality was more mundane and shabby. Lights flickered, and the wind drove raindrops against the windows. But then he noticed fluttering figures, a demonic fluttering figure, and traffic that was normally hidden from his eyes. Loverd brought a mirror. Together they looked into it. Tazriel caught sight of himself and recoiled in fear. Around his head was a soft, pale halo. In Xalgon, only cursed and dark beings possess the accursed aura. Tazriel could bear the sight no longer. He sank to his knees and with mystical gravity recited a Vezan hymn of praise to his fallen ancestors. Nothing else occurred to him. Klaes knelt beside him.
“I apologize if that experience shook you,” he said softly.
“On the contrary. Your Elixir shows the truth. I knew it all along. The curse. I carry within me something that not even my father could avert,” Tazriel groaned.
“Then perhaps you trust us and will help us and Lady Nazqawn. We must get the Elixir to everyone who needs it,” Klaes said.
Tazriel nodded in silence.
