IGS #4, Chapter 26

Scorio

A firm rap on his door dragged Scorio from his dreams—something about chasing the Nightmare lady through the depths of the Chasm, calling her name, begging her to turn around—and he sat up with a gasp, momentarily disoriented, but glad to be torn from that dream.

Chest heaving, he looked about himself, dark vision revealing the confines of the minimalist room, and then the door rang again with impatient knocking.

“One moment,” he called, and rose to his feet. He felt disoriented, only partially present in the chamber, but there was no water in the basin, no clothing for him to change into, so the best he could do was rub his eyes, work his jaw, then step up and unlock the door.

Asha stood before him, jaw set, eyes narrowed. “I have been instructed by the Twilight Lady to request your presence. Jova and the others arrived during the night. Most of them are sleeping, but Jova will join you to watch Erich heal your friend.”

The way she phrased it made it clear she was delivering this message only because she had no choice.

“Great,” said Scorio. He glanced back into the room, but he was leaving nothing behind; as such, there was no need to do more than draw the door closed, and follow Asha as she strode rapidly back to the stairwell.

Good. His friends were arrived, and without adventure. Asha would surely have mentioned any losses, or more realistically, Jova herself would have awoken him the moment she’d arrived if she’d thought there need.

Now with Erich moving to heal Nyrix, everything was falling into place.

Scorio trailed after Asha, mind too sluggish to bother with asking questions, and nodded absently to a couple of Great Souls he didn’t recognize that bowed politely as he passed them.

Strange.

A few minutes later they were before the Twilight Lady’s door again, which stood open to reveal Lady Krula, Jova, and a stranger within.

Asha gave a prim, insincere smile as she gestured with forced formality for him to proceed, and he inclined his head back politely to her before doing just that.

“Scorio.” Jova looked exhausted, skin ashen, eyes rimmed with dark circles, but she stood as tall and with shoulders squared as ever. “Good morning.”

“Jova.” For a moment he felt wrong-footed. He was so glad to see her that his impulse was go up and give her a friendly hug, but then again, that felt completely wrong. So he settled for a nod.

“Pyre Lord Scorio, meet Dread Blaze Erich.” Lady Krula’s tone was dry, business-like, but amicable. “He’s just returned from his sojourn to the first waystation south, and believes he can be of help.”

Erich was a compact man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, with a shock of sandy brown hair that someone had cut artlessly so that it didn’t hang in his eyes. Square of jaw, smile forthright if perhaps a little grim, he inclined his head politely to Scorio “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Pyre Lord. Shall we get to it?”

Their little group moved over to where Nyrix lay frozen. He looked, unsurprisingly, exactly the same as before.

“I was told you can reverse what happened?” asked Scorio.

“I can. How long has it been?”

“Three days?” Scorio glanced at Jova for confirmation, and she nodded. “About three days now.”

“Very well. Not too bad.” Erich rubbed his hands on his hips. “Three days it is.”

“You age that amount, correct?” Scorio resisted the urge to apologize. “If so, you have our gratitude.”

“Why receive a gift it it’s not meant to be used?” Erich’s smile was tired. “And how many of us die of natural causes? Don’t worry. I’ve made my peace with the price I pay to help others. Three days isn’t bad.”

Scorio nodded. “Still. Thank you.”

Erich glanced at Lady Krula. “If you’re ready?”

She inclined her head graciously, and Nyrix seemed to come alive, chest rising and falling slightly.

But then Erich reached down to touch his temple, and Nyrix’s form abruptly blurred. He didn’t move, didn’t thrash, but his chest and throat became indistinct, and a rough, constant, whispering sound filled the air.

“Erich’s patients retract every breath, every heart beat,” said Lady Krula, tone appreciative. “They literally regress through every moment they’ve lived.”

“All memories are erased?” asked Jova.

“Yes,” said Erich, tone terse. “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I can use it in combat. But I need to maintain contact, and I’ve sworn to not regress anybody that doesn’t give me permission first. As long as they’re not trying to kill me or harm those I love.”

Scorio watched, fascinated, as Nyrix continued to reverse his breathing at a tremendously accelerated rate, and then abruptly his color returned and Erich snatched back his hand.

“There.” The square jawed man frowned down at Nyrix. “I managed to stop it only an hour or so before the wound was dealt. He’ll wake up disoriented. Won’t remember anything that happened from that point on.”

“Fantastic.” Scorio beamed at Erich. “You saved his life. Thank you.”

Erich gave a lopsided smile. “We all have our role to play in this war. If there’s nothing else?”

“You’ve earned your rest, and more,” said Lady Krula, tone kind. “Thank you, Erich.”

The stocky man bowed, but even as he did so Nyrix began stirring.

“I…” The young Dread Blaze sat up, hand going to the back of his head, eyelids fluttering. “What…?”

“You’re all right.” Scorio moved to stand squarely before him. “Nyrix? You with us?”

“I…” Then his eyes snapped open wide as he took in the chamber, the light, the fact that they were no longer underground. He jerked back, shocked. “What the—?”

“Hey,” Scorio laughed. “It’s all right. Easy there. You’re safe. I know. You were just in the cave. But you’ve lost a few days. You got hurt when we made our break for it. I carried you south to the Red Keep, where you were healed by having your personal time clock reversed to just before your injury.”

“Reversed?” Nyrix lowered his hand, face slack. “We escaped?”

“We escaped,” agreed Jova, tone wry. “Everybody’s fine. You’re fine. You just need to eat and catch up on everything’s that happened.”

“I…” Nyrix blinked, considered himself, the room, then stared at Lady Krula, eyes widening again.

“I am the Twilight Lady, mistress of the Red Keep. Be welcome, Nyrix. Scorio, Jova, I would speak with you now about your affairs and my own. Would it suit for Erich to take your friend to the others?”

Scorio exchanged a glance with Jova, who gave the slightest of shrugs.

“Sure,” he said. “Thanks. That all right with you, Nyrix?”

“Yeah.” The man seemed to be coming more and more into the present with each passing moment. “I… yeah, that would be fine. Thank you.”

“Come on, then,” said Erich, extending his hand. “I’ll get you squared away.”

Nyrix allowed the other man to haul him to his feet. “All right. Scorio. Jova.”

They nodded to him as he followed Erich out the door, then turned to follow Lady Krula back to her fireplace, where she lowered herself into an armchair and gestured for them to join her. Scorio did so, but Jova chose to remain standing, feet set soldier width apart, arms crossed behind her back. “You must know me from my past life.”

“I do. I’ve ruled here for a century. You made quite the stir when you returned to LastRock.” Lady Krula’s expression was sanguine. “I grieved when you died.”

“You did?” Jova’s skepticism was both obvious and flinty. “How strange. In my journals I saw no sign of your having come to my aid.”

“I could not. I am charged with maintaining Dominion over the Red Keep and Road.” The Twilight Lady’s tone remained mild. “But I did send what aid I could, and I think it fair to say my own intervention kept the Silverines from joining the Blood Ox’s forces.”

“I wondered about that,” said Scorio, sitting forward. “Why he brought Gold-ranked fiends and then recruited Bronze, but had no Silvers in his forces.”

“The Silverines and I… well. To say we understand each other might be overstating it. But I’ve been a constant presence for some time, and when I bid them resist the Blood Ox’s overtures, I think they listened. Not that they were eager to enslave themselves to his cause in the first place. No. They’re quite fixated on their own ascension to godhood.” She glanced back to Jova. “But you have my apologies. I wish I could have done more.”

Jova sniffed, but was sufficiently mollified to take a seat.

“Now then.” Lady Krula smiled cooly at Scorio. “Speaking of the Blood Ox, it seems we Great Souls owe you a debt of gratitude. Very impressive.”

The praise washed off him, leaving him unmoved. “Thanks.”

“No thanks are necessary. The Blood Ox was a bane that defied our collective might for a decade…” Lady Krula’s deep blue eyes narrowed as she peered more closely at Scorio, and then the corner of her lips quirked as if in pleasant surprise. “Wait. I sense Noumenon in your Heart. How…?”

“Noumenon?” Scorio blinked, mind momentarily blanking. Oh. Oh.

“Oh yes. And what a gorgeous Heart. I’ve never seen one so spherical, so free of flaws. And your body’s Gold tempered I see. My my, but you’re a remarkable man, Scorio. But all that is nothing compared to… yes. I can barely make it out, but the thinnest threads of Noumenon are interlaced through your Heart.” Her gaze had been focused on the middle distance as she stared right through him, but she abruptly focused on him once more. “May I ask how that came to be?”

Scorio hesitated, glanced at Jova—he’d never revealed this to even her—and bowed his head in apology. “It’s… well. Private. I’m sorry.”

“Private.” She didn’t seem offended. “Fascinating. Aezryna told me you survived a direct encounter with the Blood Ox that saw everyone else slain. She’s here, incidentally, though Charoth has pressed on. I’m sure she’ll want to speak with you. But. Were I into making wagers, I’d bet those traces of Noumenon… never mind.” Her smile returned. “You’ve asked for privacy, so I shall respect it. Still. What can you share of those fateful last days of the Blood Ox? There’s no disputing the central role you took in his downfall.”

Jova sat stiffly, her stare wooden as she listened to Scorio’s account. Of Plassus’ forces spearing deep into the Plain of Bones, the ambush, their desperate escape. How they’d chased the Gold-ranked fiends and done battle, only to force the Blood Ox out of hiding who’d destroyed them in turn.”

“Indeed,” said Lady Krula, turning to smile wanly at Jova. “You’re to be commended for your ambitious plan in uniting the fiends against the Ox. A pity it didn’t come to fruition.”

Jova’s lips thinned and she inclined her head a fraction of a fraction of an inch.

At the Twilight Lady’s encouragement, Scorio continued. How he’d survived the attack—Lady Krula raised a brow as he elided the details, but made no comment—and how he’d raced back to the Fury Spires with his companions.

“You reached the Fury Spires before the Blood Ox’s forces,” mused Lady Krula, tapping a long forefinger against her bony knee. “An impressive accomplishment by itself.”

“We had help. From Xandera Prime. And with her we were able to infiltrate the Fury Spires and take Bravurn by surprise.”

“The Iron Tyrant dead.” Was Lady Krula’s smile wistful? Nostalgic? Amused? “I never thought I’d see the day. I’ll not pretend I didn’t despise the man, but for many years he seemed a necessary evil. I’ve heard he was a traitor to our kind?”

“He was. We recovered texts that proved he was a member of a secret organization called the Herdsmen.” Scorio watched her closely. “Have you heard of them?”

“Heard of the Herdsmen?” Was her tone mildly mocking? “No.” Then she stopped and considered, gazing up and to the left. “Hmm. Herdsmen. No. I don’t think so.” She glanced back at him. “And they are?”

“Bastards, as far as I can tell. I’m on a quest to learn more about them. They’ve filled our world with lies. Manipulated us. I don’t know to what end. But I mean to find out.”

“Hence your coming here. But we get ahead of ourselves. May I ask how you defeated Bravurn? You were but a Dread Blaze at the time, were you not?”

Scorio completed the tale. He told it as factually as he could, and Lady Krula’s sober stare inspired him to even mention what had happened with Naomi at the moment of their victory.

Again, he realized, an aspect of his story that he’d not shared with Jova.

Who was listening intently, gazing at him so fixedly that he could almost feel the force of her stare.

Scorio focused on Lady Krula. “Have you seen, or heard anything about Naomi’s location?” His throat tightened as he struggled to remain calm. “You hear of everyone who takes the Red Road, right?”

“Or who enters one of my many waystations, yes. I have Dominion, though it is very, very circumscribed. But no. I’m sorry. I’ve not sensed your companion passing through.”

“I see.” He fought down the disappointment and relief. “Thanks.”

“Remarkable. Truly. You are a wonder, Scorio. With your Heart, your Gold-tempering, and your active role in so many of the recent crisis that have engulfed the upper layers of Hell. I salute your determination and ability to survive.”

Scorio shifted in his seat and avoided looking at Jova. “I’ve had good friends help me along the way.”

“Yet here you are. At my Red Keep. Searching, you said, for these Herdsmen. Do you suspect me to be one of their number?”

Jova snorted.

“I don’t know.” Scorio met her gaze. “Are you?”

The corner of her broad mouth curled up once more in amusement. “I’m not, but I wouldn’t blame you for doubting me. You must suspect everyone and everything after dealing with Praximar and Bravurn.”

“It’s hard not to,” agreed Scorio.

“It’s become basic prudence,” said Jova.

“I wish I could put your mind to rest. Alas. Words are often so inadequate. Perhaps I can assist you in your hunt. Is that why you’ve come here?”

Scorio nodded slowly. Something about her frank manner was disarming. Her power wasn’t meant to make her more likeable, but rather change memories, right? Still, it paid to be wary of his own favorable impression of her regardless. “I’ve a map that I believe correlates to, I don’t know, landmarks or points of interest across the Silver Unfathom and the Lustrous Maria. Perhaps you could take a look and let me know if it makes sense to you?”

She raised a brow. “I do love maps. Show me?”

Jova nodded her tacit agreement, so he warily drew the rosewood box from inside his robes. It was small, beautifully carved, and upon its lid was a tracery of inlaid golden lines over an old fashioned symbol of a compass.

Lady Krula was clearly amused by his reticence. “If you want, you can just hold it out for me to see.”

Feeling self-conscious but grateful for not being asked to hand it over, Scorio was about to do so when he caught himself. This was a Charnel Duchess. She had Dominion. If she wished, she could snuff out his Heart and destroy him with her ferula.

Pretending he had control over the situation was childish.

So, despite his misgivings, he simply held the box out to her.

She inclined her head in appreciation and took it. Her fingers were long, the knuckles pronounced, but she turned the box about with delicate precision, then ran her thumb over the golden lines.

“Fascinating. Fascinating!” And with a sudden burst of energy she rose from her armchair like a heron rising abruptly from a marsh to stride across the room. “Rather than waste your time with words, come and see.”

Scorio and Jova both hurried after her. Dared he hope? Lady Krula led them to the rear of the room and through an archway into what had to be her study. The walls were lined with heavy brown shelves on which books and scrolls and small pieces of art or mementoes were kept, and in the room’s center was a large square table on which a map was pinned down at each corner by a small pile of books, a steel skull, a glass vase from which a lightly glowing green fern emerged, and singular chunk of crystal whose depths held rainbow hues.

But the map.

It was clearly an original, the brushstrokes masterly, the canvas broad. The paint ranged from brown to silver to gold to crimson, and for a moment Scorio couldn’t connect what he was looking at to the Hell he knew.

“Here’s the Red Road,” said Lady Krula, tone brisk. “It runs from the edge of the Telurian Band here down through my many waystations to spill out into the Lustrous Maria down here. This is the Red Keep, square and centered. Now.”

She held up the rosewood box so that Scorio could take in its patterns even as he glanced at the map beyond it. “These lines and dots correlate magnificently with something I’ve studied for most of my tenure in the Unfathom. Here, and here, and here. Do you see?”

And she reached down to stab her finger at golden discs that were placed across the breadth of the map.

“Yes.” Scorio looked back and forth from the lid and its markings to the table. “It’s—those are the markings. What are they?”

“The Silverine Suns.” Lady Krula set the box down to cross her arms over her chest. “The unmoving fixtures of the Silver Unfathom and source of much mystery.”

“Oh.” Scorio took up the box and considered the golden trail. It ran from Sun to Sun. “That’s…”

“Going to complicate your life. Yes. For one, the Silverines are incredibly protective of their Suns. Naturally. Two, the landscape around them is treacherous. You have been warned, I assume, of how the Suns’ potency causes the very world around them to distort into various planes, so that you can’t be sure on which you’re traveling at any given moment?”

“Great,” said Jova. “So our target will shift from plane to plane as it travels?”

“Indeed.” Lady Krula frowned at the map. “Fascinating. Improbable. And yet such would suit a hidden group like your Herdsmen. How better to remain hidden than to pass through a fractured reality? The question, though, becomes how they’re able to do this without being killed and eaten by the Silverines.”

“I… I don’t know.” Scorio tried to wrap his mind around this new revelation.

Jova moved her finger across the large map and traced the lid’s path from an inch above the parchment. “The scale of the map. What’s the distance between these two Suns?”

“That’s a good hundred miles, though it crosses over some treacherous terrain. That area is covered by the Faulted Mirrors. It’s a region of titanic, slanted mirror-like slabs that rise from the silver sands. I speculate that the Suns somehow permanently infused this stretch with their disruptive effect. The unwary can find themselves swapping places with their reflections in the mirrors, and be trapped for years if not decades in alternate realms.”

“Not good,” said Scorio.

“No.” The corner of her lips crooked. “Not good. And this area here.” She pointed at another broad gap between another two Suns. “The Everfall Canyons. Fascinating locale. Riven, as you can imagine, by endless chasms, from whose depths stars of burning fire fall upward into the dark heavens. It’s the home to ancient Silverines whose line diverged from the main three groups some centuries ago, and who now slumber in the depths. Travel through there risks awakening them. They’re very dangerous, even for one of my station. If you attract their attention, they’ll pull you down under the sands. Those few who have been rescued remain catatonic for the rest of their lives. It’s become customary to kill rescued victims so as to return them swiftly to the cycle of rebirth.”

Scorio tongued the inside of his cheek. “But here, look. On the lid. Twice the trail dips into the Lustrous Maria.”

“Mmmhmm.” Lady Krula marked the locations on her map. “True. You could station yourself at these exits. But if this target of yours is as cunning and resourceful as I’m guessing, then I’d doubt they’d emerge into the Maria without some other form of protection. Those areas are no doubt just as perilous.”

Scorio nodded reluctantly. “Damn it. So… what? I need a Silverine guide to bring me to one of the Suns?”

“This trail.” Lady Krula tapped the lid of the box. “It’s a fixed path, I take it? Which your target wanders endlessly?”

“Right. That’s what we think.”

“Then your target could at any moment be at any point along the path. Which is almost a thousand miles long, wrapping as it does all the way around the Unfathom.” Lady Krula considered him. “You would need to follow the path quicker than your prey travels, and negotiate with every enclave that guards a Sun. And even then, you might travel straight through your prey if they happen to be on an alternate plane.”

Scorio exhaled and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re right.” Then he laughed bitterly. “Of course. They’ve been hidden from our kind for a millennium. Of course they’d be so protected.”

Jova was studying another portion of the map. “This area here. These are the Phosphor Veins?”

The area under her finger was inked with branching rivers.

“Correct,” said Lady Krula.

Jova’s finger traced south over some hundred miles’ of the Veins to a small blot. “And this? A lake?”

Lady Krula was watching her closely. “Indeed.”

Jova drew her hand back, but it was a simple matter to look west of the lake. Perhaps another hundred or so miles beyond lay a small chain of mountains amidst which was inked a black diamond.

“And this?” he asked, trying for an artless, curious tone. “This diamond?”

Lady Krula’s gaze grew heavy lidded. “A ruin. Sacred to the Silverines. We’re forbidden from venturing close. There are a few such littered around the Unfathom. Strange locales that are off-limits to our kind. Why do you ask?”

“Not a lot of markers on the map,” said Jova, tone dismissive. “Just curious.”

Scorio tried to gauge the distance. From the Red Keep to the diamond might have been a good four hundred miles, but it was hard to be sure. A Silverine Sun lay between them, however; they’d be forced to detour.

“Hmm.” Lady Krula tapped her lips. “Come with me.” She led them back into the front chamber and indicated the armchairs. “Await me there. I’m going to fetch those who can help us resolve this matter.” She turned to go, then looked back. “One of them is Dameon, whom I know you want dead. So let me ask you this: can you put your hatred for him aside if it means learning more about the Silverine Suns and how to approach your target?”

Scorio’s throat tightened as his breath caught. He sat slowly, leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, and studied his hands as he marshalled his thoughts. “Sure. Can’t promise I’ll believe anything he says, or that any help he gives will change what’s coming to him.”

“Agreed,” said Jova. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“As long as you obey my dictates and don’t engage in violence within my Domain, that’s fine. Wait here.”

And she departed to go deeper into her suite.

Scorio sat back and exchanged a look with Jova. She’d crossed her arms, her spine stiff, her full lips pursed. For a moment they simply stared at each other.

“You going to be able to restrain yourself?” she asked after a moment.

“Don’t know. You?”

“Yes. For now. But promise me you won’t kill him without my help. I’ve wasted two years listening to him, and…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words. “And worse. But I take responsibility for my actions. I was an idiot for trusting him. I’d appreciate the opportunity for some vengeance.”

“Sure,” said Scorio. The thought of facing Dameon and getting revenge was so overwhelming and pressing that he felt nauseated. With effort, he moved his thoughts to other matters. “How the hell was we supposed to find the Cube? Even if we use the rose compass to identify what direction it lies in, even if that theory works, will it just bring us to an empty location where the Cube’s traveling on another plane?”

“That’s if we can convince the Silverines to allow us that close to a Sun.” Jova frowned at the archway through which Lady Krula had disappeared. “And she sounded suspect when I asked about the Tomb’s location. I think she knows more. But obviously that’s where we’re going after this, right?” Her gaze cut back to him. “We’re not haring off around the entire Unfathom from Sun to Sun in pursuit of a target that might not even be on the same plane as we are.”

Scorio sank into the armchair and shook his head. “Yeah. I don’t know. Let’s see what Dameon has to say, I guess.”

“Fine.” Jova sat a little straighter. “As long as we remember he’s a golden tongued monster who cares only about his advancement.”

“Have no fears on that score.”

A short while later Lady Krula led two men into the room, their muted conversation cutting off as they caught sight of Scorio and Jova rising from their chairs.

Dameon.

Everything seemed to fall away, the walls, the sounds, and be replaced by the man’s handsome visage, the rushing roar in Scorio’s ears.

Dameon.

Tall, clad in sober gray, his blond hair cut close about the sides but combed back and to the side in a golden wave across the top. The beginnings of a blond beard shadowed his jaw, and he walked with his hands behind his back, peering out from under his brows thoughtfully at Scorio and Jova.

Dameon.

Scorio realized he was holding his breath. That his hands had clenched into fists, and his Heart Ignited seemingly of its own accord.

“I’m aware that this is difficult for you both.” Lady Krula had stopped before them, arms crossed once more. “But I’ve invited Dameon to join our meeting for reasons that’ll soon be made clear. In the meantime, let me introduce Pyre Lord Artur.”

Jova was practically giving off waves of heat as she glared, jaw clenched, at her former mentor. But Scorio tore his gaze away from Dameon’s impassive expression to glance briefly at the second man. Tousled caramel hair framed a rakish face, his dark brows matching his incredibly long mustache that hung down past his chin. His eyes were sunken, his face subtly asymmetrical, so that Scorio realized belatedly that the other man wasn’t squinting at him, but merely perpetually appeared to be that way.

“Pyre Lord Scorio,” said Artur, closing one eye as he studied him right back. “You must be sick and tired of hearing how impressed everyone is by your deeds.”

Scorio inclined his head but couldn’t resist turning back to Dameon. Who’d remained silent and still, hands still linked behind his back, chin lowered, expression pensive.

“Hello, Scorio. Jova.” His voice was quiet, without affect. “Thanks for not attacking me outright.”

“That’s still on the table,” said Jova. “And if not here, then somewhere very close, very soon.”

Scorio just stared at the man.

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Dameon’s smile was chagrined. “I won’t waste your time with apologies. What’s done is done, no matter how much I might regret it now. Boohoo for me, right? But we’re here to talk business.”

 “Correct,” said Lady Krula briskly. “Everyone, please be seated.”

Scorio slowly, ever so slowly, lowered himself into his armchair. Each moment he didn’t leap for Dameon’s throat felt like a betrayal. Each second the man just sat there felt like a personal offense.

Dameon pulled out a stool from behind some plants and half-sat on it, one foot resting on the floor, the other hiked up, his elbow on his raised knee, expression clear and calm and collected.

“Now. I’ll try to make this quick so as to keep the unpleasantness short. Your information, Scorio, which I haven’t shared with either of my two partners, dovetails precisely with my lifelong obsession. You could say you’re a gift from Hell, delivered right when I need you most.” Her smile was humorless. “Historically, I am always reborn into Hell in the company of my identical twin sister. Such was the case with my last rebirth in the year 777. My sister and I were and are and always shall be inseparable, or at least I thought so until we reached the Silver Unfathom a century ago.”

Scorio forced himself to focus on Lady Krula’s words, but Dameon’s presence was akin to a live fire at his side. At no point did he let his guard down.

“We had a custom, my sister and I, to swear a Heart Oath that we wouldn’t press deeper into Hell without the other. In the Unfathom, however, she became obsessed with the Silverine Suns. She was always something of a scholar, a fiendologist, amongst her many other gifts. She asked for time to study them, and I acceded. At first I traveled about the Unfathom with her, but I began a relationship with a new lover here at the Keep, and grew distracted.

“My sister became involved with somebody or something that at first enlivened her, and then caused her to behave, the last few times I saw her, with dread. I realized too late that something was wrong. The last time I saw her she told me that we’d only meet again when the Silverine Suns entered a certain constellation, and then vanished. I searched for her for decades, but to no avail.”

“How do you know she’s not dead?” asked Jova. “Maybe she’s waiting for you in the Archspire to be reborn?”

“We’re connected, my sister and I, by a mystical bond I don’t pretend to understand. In our journals, we record the fact that we’re both immediately aware if the other dies, and usually then take our own lives to rejoin them. I felt nothing of the kind. I’m positive she’s alive and imprisoned somewhere.”

“All right,” said Scorio. “So you’re trapped here by your oath until you find her?”

“Just so.  I turned my not inconsiderable intellect upon the enigma of the Silverine Suns, given that they had been her obsession, and over the following decades deduced that the constellation she spoke would only form when two of them went nova. Seeing as this was  entirely possible, I entered into a positive relationship with the Silverines, took over the Keep, and have attempted to hasten their goals. This has been easy. The Silverine Abstractions and Philosophers yearn for nothing more than to sacrifice themselves to their particular Sun, feeding it with their personal power. It’s their hope that by so doing they’ll cause the Sun to explode and spread enriched Silver mana across that portion of the Unfathom. All attendant Silverines will then drink so deeply of that wealth that they’ll all ascend to godhood.”

Scorio glanced to Artur and Dameon, both who were listening with sober seriousness, then back to Lady Krula. “All right. So what happened? A Sun went nova and your sister didn’t appear?”

“No Sun has ever gone nova. Not while I’ve been monitoring them. But perhaps, you could argue, it takes more than a century for that to happen; after all, the Silverines are content to continue sacrificing themselves to the Suns to achieve this goal. I took comfort in their faith and this idea until I met with Dameon a few months ago.”

Who coughed into his fist and raised both brows apologetically. “I was able to bring some insight into the situation. You recall how I have access to all the memories from my previous lives?”

Scorio didn’t trust himself to do more than nod.

“Well, I was part of the original group way back when that helped found the Red Keep and pin it in place. This would have been five centuries ago. It was a mighty undertaking, and I was a Crimson Earl at the time. I surveyed the Unfathom, and saw the Silverine Suns. They were much, much smaller then, the Silverines just one race of fiends amongst the many that lived here, but even then I noted that there was something different about them.”

“Sure,” said Scorio. “So what?”

Lady Krula leaned back in her armchair, and though her smile was lazy, almost languorous, her eyes gleamed with passion. “The constellation, the pattern of the Suns that Dameon witnessed five centuries ago is the same as the one we see today.”

It was Artur who spoke now, his voice low, almost hesitant. “We think—we suspect—that the Suns have never and will never explode. That it is a lie. That perhaps—we don’t know, but—perhaps they are not gods. They are something other, something even the Silverines don’t understand.”

“But I fear my sister will remain imprisoned for as long as they persist,” said Lady Krula, voice low and rich with intensity. “And if that’s so, I will only ever see her again if we find the means to destroy them and force the constellation until she is freed.”

(Please note: I'm going to address Krula not healing Nyrix herself in a future revision. As a Charnel Lady, she should be able to, but I need to tease out an element of her past that prevents her from doing so on strangers. Stay tuned!)