The sun was high in the sky by the time Ahken reached the gate to the Upper District, and the market that had formed around it thronged with people. Adults and children alike bartered with the merchants, mingled and chatted with one another, and carried off goods either legitimately gotten or otherwise.
Ahken smiled when he saw it. The life and energy of the market could always cheer him. Even the nervous twisting of his stomach calmed.
He was acutely aware of the letter in his pocket. He had brought it along less because he needed it – he knew the words by heart now – but because it seemed to him to be the only tangible proof he had that he was still sane.
Here, at the eleventh hour, his mind filled with doubts and fears. What if it was just a prank, or worse, a trap? Whose word did he have that it wasn't? The letter itself, and the testimony of an impling? Who could say that the impling wasn't far away from here, laughing to itself at the stupid human it had tricked into leaving it alone?
And yet…
Ahken swallowed. He didn't know how long his family could keep going on like it did. Someday, his contacts and patrons were going to dry up, and he wouldn't be able to rely on them anymore. Hell, he didn't know if he could rely on them now. He would blame himself forever if he didn't at least try.
He scanned the crowd again. Most of the activity was around the stalls near the gate itself, but many people flocked into and out of more permanent stores and buildings. One of these buildings was what Ahken was looking for.
The temple was once grand, perhaps, but now it was a dirty and run down place surrounded by ruins that may once have been wings of the temple proper. It had been Zarosian, of course, but Ahken wondered if it was not ancient enough to have been dedicated to the ancient beast-god Loarnab before that.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the crowd.
All at once, the world seemed to change. Ahken felt himself relaxing. This was his element, at least for the time being. Here, he could imagine that the demon guards that stood perpetually on the wall overlooking the market couldn't see him, although he suspected that they saw more than they let on.
He brushed aside numerous people as they thronged around him. He recognized some of them, but he only knew a few of them and had spoken to even less. He tended to restrict his interactions to his family and people with the money to hire him for something. Now, he noticed them all in acute detail. He felt like his senses were going into overdrive, and a tight ball of nervousness that had not been present before formed in his stomach.
What if this is a trap? a tiny voice inside of him asked again.
Who would go to all this trouble just to trap me? he asked back.
The voice went silent, but he could still feel its presence inside of him, eating slowly at his confidence.
The gate loomed over him as he pushed further into the crowd. It was sealed with a formidable and very visible magical lock, forged in the strange red metal of the Mahjarrat's homeland, but Ahken was certain that the gate was guarded with more powerful charms besides. Human and demon guards stalked the wall, a wall that extended as far as the eye could see before it vanished behind itself. Beyond it was the Upper District, a realm that might as well have been on the moon as far as Ahken was concerned.
Distracted, Ahken felt someone collide with him.
"Watch it," the man snarled as he shoved past Ahken. Ahken swiveled to look at him as he stalked away. The man looked as if he were from the Upper District, dressed in purple and finery. The people at the market subconsciously parted around him, as though sensing his aristocracy, although some cast glares at his back once he passed. He was obviously of high birth.
He sure acts like it, Ahken thought, frustrated.
Out of habit, Ahken reached into his pocket to check if he had been stolen from, and found an additional weight resting there.
It was a scroll, tightly bound and only as large as Ahken's hand. He glanced around him and carefully removed the string. The paper snapped open quickly; it had not been bound long ago. As he gazed at it, words written in a tight, neat hand stared back at him.
The Common Tongue was a language that Ahken was familiar with. He did not learn it at home -even if Ahken had time to learn a new language for fun, his family had spoken Infernal for generations and, like most others, considered Common to be the language of the ignorant. Some of the jobs he did, however, required a more-than basic understanding of Common, and Ahken had not been too proud to learn.
ONCE AT THE CHURCH, KNOCK THRICE AND AGAIN
YOUR CONTRIBUTION IS APPRECIATED, BROTHER
Not for the first time, Ahken wondered if he was in over his head.
…
Ahken had been to the temple a few times before, but never inside of it. The interior had been a blank slate in his mind every other time he'd seen it, on some job or another; he supposed he vaguely assumed there must have been an altar of some sort, at the least.
Now, though, his mind raced. He still had no idea from whom the letter was from, or what they stood for, or why they chose him. The hysterical part of his mind came up with the idea that he might be walking in as a ritualistic cannibal offering to some long-forgotten god, and the rest of Ahken could not fully quash it.
The door was incredibly old, he reflected as he reached to knock. It was made of stone, and made a hollow sound when he rapped on it one, two, three times. He paused, and knocked again, repeating the pattern. He stepped back and began to wait.
After almost a minute of standing at the door, Ahken began to feel stupid. His mind had come up with a thousand scenarios for what he would encounter here, most gruesome, some exciting, and some simply ending in an elaborate prank, but never once had he considered that nothing was going to happen. What if whoever had sent the letter had moved? Were they doing something illegal, and the authorities had already caught up to them?
Another minute passed, and Ahken was considering moving on, disappointment heavy in his gut, when the door edged open, and a pale, thin-looking face appeared in the gap.
"The door is open, you know," it said in Common as the rest of its body pushed the door further.
"That doesn't sound very smart," Ahken replied in the same language before he could stop himself.
The face grinned a grin that didn't reach its eyes. "You'd be surprised," it said. "People don't care much about an open door. Come in."
The face vanished into the darkness, and Ahken, with only a moment of misgiving, followed it.
Once inside, the door closed behind him, enveloping him in total darkness.
"Are you still there?" Ahken asked hesitantly.
He heard a sigh, and a torch suddenly sputtered into flame, and Ahken got his first whole look at the man.
He was tall, taller than Ahken, and pale, as though he had spent most of his life indoors. He was clad in a green robe, and would have looked like a priest had the robe not been worn and downright ratty in places.
"Greetings," he said, holding his hand out. Ahken took it carefully. "I suppose you are here because of the letter?"
"Yes," Ahken replied.
The man nodded, as though considering this information. "Recite it to me," he said finally.
"Sorry?"
The man grinned slightly. "Word for word."
Ahken felt the words rushing back to him, having stored them in his mind after dozens of readings, and he did so.
The man nodded again, this time in approval. "Hm," he said. "Good. Very good. A few words missing, but I suppose that can be overlooked."
"OK," Ahken said. "Now that I've proved myself, can you tell me what exactly is going on here?"
"Oh, you've far from proved yourself," the man said. "You have proven that you are who you say you are, at least, so I suppose I can give you an explanation."
Ahken already disliked the man. He seemed almost serpentine, both in appearance and in language, and always talked as though he was telling you something important and you were too dumb to understand. He also used "suppose" one too many times for Ahken's liking.
"I am the Librarian, first of all," the man said, beginning to lead them both down the surprisingly preserved halls of the temple. "And before you ask, that is all the name you will getting." He glanced behind him. "Don't feel too badly. There's only one other person living who knows my real name."
"That makes me feel better," Ahken said.
The Librarian just smirked and turned back to the halls. "Secondly, you will get more information once we arrive, but for now, just know that we are no… terrorist group, and nor do we mean any harm to those who do not deserve it, whatever you may have heard."
Ahken felt a chill pass through him. The Librarian seemed to sense it, but he didn't stop, and neither did Ahken. "This is just preemptive," he said. "But I sense that these words are no surprise to you."
However much Ahken wanted to deny it, he knew it was true. He had known ever since he'd received the letter, even before he had talked to the impling; this place was dangerous.
They reached a wide open room ringed with torches. The Librarian hung his up on the wall with its siblings and stepped into the room. He turned back to Ahken. "If you want to back out of this, now is the time," he said. "Past this point, I am afraid that we cannot allow you to leave."
Ahken swallowed. The words sent a jolt of fear through him, but he remembered his mother and Aherran and suppressed it. Whatever happens, he reminded himself, I have to try.
"OK," he said, and stepped into the room.
The Librarian smiled again, and turned to face the wall. "Now then," he said. "What do you know of magic?"
…
A few minutes later, the Librarian had finished tracing an elaborate series of symbols into the dirt floor that stretched all throughout the room. Ahken felt the "sacrifice to an ancient god" theory gaining ground in his mind.
The Librarian turned to him. "Don't worry," he said. "No harm will come to you here."
"Sorry, but, I'll believe that when I walk out of here," Ahken said.
The Librarian laughed, and for the first time it sounded genuine. "Smart," he said approvingly.
He crossed to the center of the room, careful not to step on any of the lines he had drawn. "Sit down," he told Ahken.
Ahken did so, and the Librarian followed suit, sitting cross-legged directly across from Ahken. "Hold my hands," he said.
Ahken took his outstretched hands awkwardly. They felt cold, and soft, not a callous on them. "Now," the Librarian said. "Close your eyes."
The world vanished into darkness.
The Librarian's voice came from the darkness. "You are familiar with the principles of teleportation?"
"I don't think so," Ahken replied.
There was a sigh. "Person is one place, then he is in another?" he asked.
Ahken frowned. "Yes, I know that."
"Good. That is what we will be doing. Prepare yourself."
The Librarian began to speak softly in a language Ahken had never heard before. The words went too quickly for him to hear. After he finished, the Librarian tightened his grip on Ahken's hands.
The world began to shift. Ahken had never teleported before, but he had heard stories. They had always claimed that when you teleported, your head grew light and you felt like you were flying.
This was different. It was like Ahken's innards were being squashed into a narrow tube. He was afraid to open his eyes in case he had suddenly gained a few extra feet in height. Around him, the air began to move, and wind swirled as though a storm was gathering.
All of a sudden, the sensation ceased, and Ahken heard the Librarian's voice. "Alright, open your eyes."
He did so, and looked around.
The worn interior of the temple had vanished, replaced with a long, narrow passageway. The Librarian stood up, seemingly unfazed by what had just happened.
He opened his hand, and a stream of dust trickled out. "Runes," he explained. "They dissolve when you use them."
Amidst the fear, Ahken felt a twinge of disappointment. He had never seen a rune before – they never found their way into the Lower District – but he had heard that they were powerful artifacts, giving anyone the power to conjure fire with their hand, or lay charms on objects.
The Librarian started towards the doorway, and Ahken followed, keeping his arms at his side. The floor of the passageway was covered in straw, and the walls were composed of cobbles. It seemed, Ahken thought, like a farmhouse.
The Librarian opened the door at the end of the passage, and all thoughts of farmhouses were dispelled.
Beyond the door, any pretense of rusticity had been dropped. The floors were solid metal, and it clanged when the Librarian stepped onto it. It was like – Ahken frowned. He had no word for what it was like.
He followed the Librarian into the room, if it could be called that. The ceiling was domed and lay far above Ahken's head. His view of it was criss-crossed by several metal bridges, and all around him was the hum of machinery as gears turned, seemingly of their own accord.
And what's more, there were people there. Hundreds of them, men and women alike, were bustling around like bees around a hive. Several were obviously busy, but others lounged in corners and talked to each other.
"Impressive?" the Librarian asked.
"It's like a city," Ahken said, too awed to be annoyed by the other man's smug tone.
"Hm," the Librarian replied. "Something like that. It's a factory. A very big one. I believe it was used in the days when Zaros and then Azzanadra ruled this city, to produce materiel for war. Nothing like it exists now, of course," he sighed.
They started into the factory, as the Librarian called it. People nodded respectfully at the Librarian as he passed, and several moved out of his way in the same way the people at the market had when the man who had given him the scroll passed by.
"By the way," Ahken said, "who was the man in the market? The one who -"
"One of us," the Librarian said. "Aman Caran is his name. He's from the Upper District, although he supports our cause fervently."
"That's the other thing," Ahken said. "Who is 'us'? What is our cause?"
"All of that will be explained soon enough," the Librarian said.
The left the main area and entered a new passageway, with a new door made of metal at the end of it. The Librarian hesitated at the end of it.
"What you will learn here," he began, "will change everything for you, whether you know it or not. I hope you are ready." He stared down at Ahken and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door.
It was a small office, which Ahken found somewhat anticlimactic. Behind the desk sat a woman with blond hair neatly done up, writing on a clean piece of paper far removed from the ancient paper the letter had been written on. She looked to be in her thirties, although Ahken suspected that her hairstyle made her look older than she was.
She looked up at them. "Ah, hello, Librarian," she said, nodding to Ahken. "This is the new one?"
"Yes, ma'am," the Librarian said.
Ma'am? Ahken thought.
"Thank you," she said to him. "You may go." The Librarian nodded, and did as he was told, closing the door behind him.
The woman returned her attention to the papers, writing quickly but neatly in the Common Tongue. Ahken couldn't make out the words.
She looked up again. "Well?" she said, sounding irritated. "Sit down."
Ahken did so. She continued to write. After a few more minutes, she held the paper up and put it aside, seemingly pleased.
She leaned forward. "Ahken Clarel, yes?"
Ahken started. "Uh, yeah. And you are…?"
The woman smiled slightly. "My name is Oren. Do you know why you're here?"
No family name. "Not a clue," Ahken admitted. "I got a letter – I suppose you wrote it, or the Librarian – and, now I'm here, I guess," he finished weakly.
"Mm."
"Can you tell me what this place is, at least? Or where? And who are you?"
"I can't tell you where, and I'll tell you who I am shortly enough." She looked at him askance. "I can tell you what it is, although I suspect the Librarian may have already. He can't resist sharing what he knows with whoever will listen."
"He said it was a factory," Ahken said. "A factory for war."
"Close. It's a factory, certainly, or at least it was once. It is much older than that, however. Perhaps older than Zaros' presence on Gielinor, even."
Ahken thought back to what little he knew of history. What was older than Zaros? There were people here before he arrived. But what use did they have for a factory?
"Now," she said, "It houses our movement. While we could not do what we do in the city, this place provides a refuge."
She paused. Ahken waited. "And what do you do here?" he asked finally.
She looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to flash. "Perhaps it would be better if I showed you."
…
They strode through the factory, Oren walking quickly, Ahken stumbling along behind. She walked, he thought, like she was about to burst into a sprint at any moment. He wondered that it didn't exhaust her.
As he passed through the area he had first come in, he took another glance at the people around him. Many he didn't recognize. Senntisten was a large city, after all. However, some he did. Many of those he had only seen at the market as a passing face, but some he knew by name. The ones he did know nodded at him as he walked by, but nobody greeted him.
They reached another door. This time, Oren produced a key from a chain around her neck, and unlocked it. "This is the only way through the door," she explained. "It is magically warded from any other means of entry. Not to mention the four inches of steel," she added, mouth quirking upward slightly.
Another passageway lay behind the door. Ahken began to wonder what this place must look like from the outside.
Or even what the outside looks like, he thought ruefully.
When they reached the door at the end of the passageway, Oren did not hesitate like the Librarian did. She opened the door to reveal a vast room filled with light.
Ahken stepped inside and squinted slightly. The light was provided not by torches, but by orbs festooned about the walls like ornaments. They gave off a much bright light.
"Dwarven lights," Oren said. "I have no idea who got them here, but it must have been before the dwarves disappeared. And they're still burning." A bit of awe had leaked into her voice as she said this last part.
When Ahken's vision adjusted, he saw what they were there for.
In the middle of the room, covering almost its entirety, were rows upon rows of weapons. Battlestaffs, swords and shields of varying kinds of metal, suits of armor. Ahken had never seen anything like it.
"Wow," was all he could say.
"Indeed," Oren said, seeming pleased despite herself at his reaction. "Do you have an idea now?"
Ahken surveyed the weapons and thought. "An army," he said lowly.
"Yes, but that's not the full answer." She sounded like a teacher.
He thought of the people inside. The people he recognized; all of them were at least as down on their luck as he was, most more so.
Aman Caran is his name. He's from the Upper District, although he supports our cause fervently.
"Revolution," he whispered, turning to Oren, who met his gaze evenly. "You want to overthrow the Upper District."
Welcome back! I hope the length of this one makes up for the time it took to get it written. (Sorry about that, by the way. Writer's block sucks.)
Anyway, the plot thickens! Revolution! Class struggle! Cultural Marxism, whatever that is! Fingers crossed that I'll have the next chapter out soon, although I should know by now not to say things like that. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful day!