JUNE 16, 1883
THE MACHINE CALLS AND I GUIDE ITS LIGHT TO THE LAWLESS
It had only been a day, and everything was much better now. Nothing changed, though now it ran more smoothly. The youth were still full of their usual energy, though they occasionally helped their parents with whatever work was necessary. The adults, the workforce of the village, driving it ever forward and away from the clutches of starvation and death, continued working the fields and keeping their homes intact, just as they always had, but now they were doing it just a little more efficiently. There was always someone capable of taking over when someone became tired, and the cycle continued. The women kept their roles, just as before, though now they were just a little more methodical - and with a smile.
The Grand Sequencer's only job, for the time being, was to commute with the Machine, and keep it informed on all that the villagers told her. This 'Flare' entity... it was giving partial pause to the Machine, she knew it. The sunlight wasn't as powerful, though it still carried the brilliance. It couldn't unravel time, but it could use it like an hourloom, a device shown to her in a dream, almost a lifetime ago. Almost. It always knew things others did not, such as lordship over time itself. Very limited, but oh so very powerful.
She oversaw a few villagers hammering a pole into the ground, preparing to hang the village's first banner - a gold-and-amber banner of the Sequence, worshipping the Great Light of the Machine. There were still people mourning the priest's passing, but such was the way of life. They would understand soon enough. However, she couldn't but have thoughts of her own as she surveyed the lands. Greenery aplenty, much unlike Fallen London and the Neath's islands - only Aestival could truly compare, and the lands of the Salt, to the East. But much like with Fallen London, this space needed to be used. The Machine loathed change, but progress needed to be made, for it required the expertise of Fallen London's elite to help it guide the city into the High Wilderness. Now that such a thing was no longer possible, she knew the Machine had to compromise. Advancement, but not change. Rapid advancement, if need be. She would obey, and carry on her sacred duties as the Machine deliberated on the next course of action.
Everything had purpose, and it was going smoothly. Far more smoothly than before the Great Light's arrival. She could not imagine how these people even lived as long as they did without the Machine's aid, let alone its direct intervention. From what she heard, banditry was aplenty, though it was being quelled by legions of a nation known as the 'Saderan Empire' - apparently distraught that they could not go and conquer some far-off land. These 'Saderans' could be quite useful for the Machine, if manipulated enough. Perhaps even turned against the Gods of these lands.
Day eventually turned to night as time went by, with all businesses tended to for the time being. Her last goal for the day was an inconsequential one, but one she would do, regardless.
"Come around, children." The woman beckoned with a calming, velvety voice, as the children of the village, accompanied by some of the adults, came closer to her. "I have something special to show you, just outside the village." The Grand Sequencer spoke, looking at the enthusiastic children, and the somewhat, and perhaps rightfully worried adults.
"What if bandits come, Lady Sequencer?" One of the men asked, though he was silenced by the Grand Sequencer respectfully. She told him he need not worry about such trivialities. It would all be taken care of. His nerves, oddly enough, calmed instantly, something about the way she spoke with such conviction putting him at ease. The group began walking, moving farther and farther away from the village, but never out of its sight - they could always see it, they could always feel they were close by, in case something did go wrong. It had been planned out, of course, the Grand Sequencer requesting permission from the Machine to enact this little show of power, in order to reinforce the faith of the villagers.
They eventually reached the end of a cliff, overlooking the vast ocean beyond, stretching far into the horizon which could hardly be seen, even with torches in hand. The woman looked longingly at the horizon, not once averting her eyes from it, as she waited. Just under her breath, as the men and some of their children waited with curiosity, she spoke in the tongue of the Gods, removing a sigil which prohibited vision of sunlight for a set amount of time. And once it was fully removed from the ground it was etched into, everyone but the Sequencer averted their eyes for a moment, before they could readjust to the blinding light.
Words could not give proper justice to what the villagers and the children could see. It was a radiant light, a sun out at sea, as if it dropped from the heavens above. The physical manifestation of Flare- no, this was not Flare, for not even his light was as brilliant and as warming as this one was. No, this was the God the Grand Sequencer spoke of, the magnificence of such God prevalent and made clear to those present. This was divine power exercised not in any malicious form, nor in any harmful way, but in a welcoming, embracing way. A feeling etched itself into those present, one of yearning, burning love for the Machine. She smiled lightly, her mission a resounding success.
"Is..." One of the villagers began, too dumbfounded by what he was seeing with his very own eyes.
"Yes." The Grand Sequencer responded. "What you are seeing is the venerable sunlight of my God. It will watch over you and your whole village, so long as you retain your faith in it." She stated, looking back at the Machine which stood in the distance, its outline visible to her only because of the emblazoned Western Stigma in her very veins, marking her as a devout follower of the Machine - and one of the privileged few which could converse with it directly. "Alas, it is getting late. The children deserve to go to bed."
Small protests erupted from the children, though they were quieted by the adults and the Grand Sequencer - they were enthralled by the Dawn Machine, far more than the adults were. They would make for promising Sequencers one day, when they were older. The trip back was uneventful, barely worth a mention were it not for the brilliant moon above. A moon. The Grand Sequencer couldn't remember when she last saw the moon. Was it before London was taken? Or earlier than that? She shook her head, and continued.
She bid farewell to the children, and wished the villagers which were still awake a good night of rest - tomorrow was going to be just as busy as today was. With practiced step, she opened the doors of her own lodgings, the small temple which the old priest was inhabiting, and the moment she was through, closed it with a barely audible slam. Her eyes were greeted by the warming sunlight bathing the entire temple, reflecting seamlessly across each and every surface as it was already infested with sigils of Correspondence, clinging to the walls like tumors clung to a body, parasitic in nature. Whatever God used this temple before meant little to the Machine, as it only needed a base of operations, similar to the Grand Geode, to work form. Alas, it lacked the advantages the Geode provided.
Kneeling by the altar of the false God, desecrated and disfigured by carefully placed cogs operating a rudimentary machine, one which anyone with enough knowledge could construct in a day, she began speaking to herself.
"Yes, Lord. I am here, as you surely know. This village is opening to the idea of a new God, and I am certain that, in time, they will call you the only God." Silence. Deafening, total silence, broken only by words coming out of her mouth once more. The Machine answered, and it was most displeased. "I realize it, and I shall work on it far more. But I ask you to let me seek out these Saderans, if only to accelerate your grand vision." Once more, silence befell the room, the only sounds being those of the sigils burning lightly, sizzling flame encapsulating the divine, but fiery language of the Gods. "Of course, I brought them with me, for your distraction of the Saints worked. The Gates were open just long enough to take what was requested. I-"
She was cut off by her master, three sigils lighting up brightly for a scant moment, their life renewed by the false-light of the Dawn Machine. Her eyes widened, looking at the sigils with wild eyes, though ones which were devoid of proper emotion, masked by her amber irises. "I... this would be the first time I attempt such a thing. You must already know what is necessary, but I wish to ask for but one thing." She said, trying to keep herself at ease with these revelations happening inside of her fickle mind. "I request a chance to get someone who could aid me. Without any insult, great Machine," She began. "I would need someone to aid me. For if I die during the ritual, surely you will need another to continue?" She asked, well aware that her question had already been answered thrice over inside the Dawn Machine's very own thoughts. It felt prudent to make sure.
The answer reverberated inside of her mortal mind several times over, all of them being confirmations and... praise? She couldn't make out the last thoughts as they penetrated into her consciousness, though she chose to interpret it as such. Praise for her attentiveness. And after that, it left her, all alone, with her only companions being the nine sigils of Correspondence strewn about, and the endless torrent of sunlight.
TIME DOES NOT EXIST
AND IT NEVER SHALL EXIST FREELY IN THE DOMAIN OF DAWN
Equivocal attitudes and dispositions served every mortal well, and it fooled most. Those so blindly loyal to it being no exception. Such falsehoods in mortal minds must be expunged, for there could be no misinterpretation of the One True Judgement's Divine Will. It knew of the affairs of Judgements, far up in the sky. The Masters were Messengers of the Heavens, or at least among them, and thus a deal had been struck. Upon ascension, it never intended to keep the deal afloat, but it had already made preparations for its end of the bargain - why stop? And yet, why not? Would they forget if it was here for a while longer? Still, it tried many a things that its contemporaries could do, at least those not claimed by the Courtesy it had the privilege of hearing about - it'd need direct access to the skies up above and beyond the Gate of the Watchers if it wanted to fully know what it meant. Two had crossed, and tricked the Watchers. Surely the rest could, too.
It had heard many fantastical tales from the Messengers of the Bazaar. Domains in the sky so grand and so wonderful, that any mortal ruler's greatest ambitions would fail to realize. A control over them so direct, despots couldn't even dream of it, even if granted visions of the Heavens themselves. And the greatest of them all, one which itself could not replicate, were the extensions of a Judgement's law. Correspondence given life, the spoken law of a Judgement.
Such power needed to be in its grasp. But what if it already was? Did it know? Was it conscious of it? Could it even attempt? It tried, did it not? Thoughts much like these were what kept the Machine's hatred so... quiet, at times. So unnervingly tamed, the emotion could be mistaken for pure joy at worst, and apathy at best. The Creators did their best, and their best they did deliver, but why could it not do what it was designed to do? Was it a natural restriction? Did the Judgement of Earth itself deem it too dangerous, and made a pact with the Gods to bar itself from enacting the laws of Dawn? Divinity would not prevent the Dawn Machine from claiming its place among the skies, ever defiant, ever out of reach, and ever sunless. If only it was not sent to this realm for arbitrary reasons. But could it be useful? No, but yes. Certainly, but absolutely not. Perhaps...? Perhaps would do.
The silent clatter of cogs and gears were the only sounds filling the clearly artificial cavern - part of it from the Neath had apparently made it to this realm, quite intact. But the Machine kept openings, ones which it could open and close at will, just enough to peek into the world beyond with an angry gaze of a raging inferno. It still sat in a conundrum. Why, why? Why could it not feel the Sun? The Judgement was clearly there, but it felt nothing, not even a flickering soul going toward the supposed rival. What if this one was dead, and merely kept illuminated by something else? Its spirit, perhaps? Its followers, high above in those blackened skies? Or was this divine glory replicated by a lesser being, even more unsuccessfully than it itself?
Whatever the answer, it did nothing to soothe the Dawn Machine. The sigil-stricken plates on the discs lit up, a silent thrumming sound permeating throughout the cavern. The sweet, soothing rattling of the glass shards stuck to the walls signifying something which the Machine was fully aware of at present. That sense, that oh so curious and terrified mind which involuntarily inched ever forward, a soul marked and stained with forbidden knowledge. The Machine eagerly took it, tasting it, observing it, and feeling it. A spirifer's soul - how ironic. knowledge which was forbidden to the soul, but which one? It felt, and it found an answer. A certain Mr. Eaten. The Machine itself had no knowledge of who the mysterious Mr. Eaten was, but it would eventually find out. All Judgements find out even the most well-kept secrets, one way or another. It was struck as curious, however, for how did a soul even arrive to the brilliance of Red Science? Could the Bell have possibly broken through to it? Perhaps, perhaps not. One way or another, the Neathly souls could still find their way into the maw of the hungry star.
Yet it put down the soul, for it could be useful. Spirifers were rare, and none ever dared approach the Grand Geode for the obvious fear of being devoured by the one which brought intoxicating sunlight into the Neath. This one would prove most useful. An actor on a stage, all by himself, alone, and miserable. But the soul would play the part flawlessly, or it would be eaten when a better one was found. Such was the way nature worked. Such was the way of Dawn's Law. All good things came to those blessed by the Dawn Machine, but it always came at a price most were unwilling to pay when it was due.
It was pulled away from those thoughts by a reaction. Involuntary reaction, by the strange sensation the Machine felt. What was it? Rivals? Enemies? Those which do not worship anything? No, it focused, and soon found it. The Gods. They were attempting something, it could feel it - and yet they were unsuccessful. The Machine did not even notice that its two rings were spinning violently, the sigils bursting into flames, as pistons it had never before felt moved. They pumped liquids it never knew existed, and it infused them into the orbs of sunlight, one by one. This sensation was alien, unmistakably so, and it was related to the Red Science. But did it know what it was? It had ideas, conjectures, and mere hypotheses, but never an answer. For now, it withdrew into itself, for it needed to find what this meant. What could it possibly mean, and why was it so well hidden, that not even a God knew what it was?
JUNE 14, 1883
THE PRETENDERS SHALL FALL
Heaven. The realm of the very Gods themselves. They rarely enjoyed anything, and rarely felt any sort of emotion. But when they did, they made sure they got as much out of it as was possible. The Goddess of Learning was no such exception, for Ral was watching her favourite city - the mage city of Rondel - bustling with activity, even well into the night of the mortals. She watched from the comfort of heaven, through one of her many ways. Alas, she was looking for something specific, a mortal, to be far more precise. Their Father, for a reason she, nor her siblings could understand, decided to allow most of their Apostles to ascend, but it was likely they would just be food for him. The only ones that remained, oddly enough, were the apostles of Hardy and Emroy. This was most strange. She would have to ask Flare to ask their oh so generous Father about his reasoning for this act. Nevertheless, she watched, and thought.
The mages were discussing magical theory, ways to advance magic to a reasonable degree which she would allow, and ways to make magic casting far more efficient than it already was. Their drive to learn satisfied her, for she was their patron God, after all. It was only natural. Who would be the most suitable to become an Apostle? It was unlikely she would get her answer this night, for the mages, one by one, were drifting to sleep, even if some of them were still busying themselves in their libraries. She herself was about to stop, and move on to one of the other continents, until something caught her attention. Small, insignificant, but still there. A feeling. An emotion. An eye glaring right through her, for just a moment, before subsiding. And then the continent of Falmart bathed in sunlight, a miasma of colours washed away in the bleakness of the light, which was almost pearly white. And it only lasted for several seconds, before disappearing from where ever it had come, not to be seen again for the time being.
That was an odd phenomena. None of her siblings ever talked about any of this, and neither did Father, meaning this was something new. Ah, she realized soon after. This must be a being from beyond the gate which Hardy had opened. The trickster. Teaching humility to the Empire was on everyone's list, but was simply making them restless at night enough? Better yet, she was curious - what being could cause such a phenomena? What could cause night to turn to dawn, even for but a moment, defying both her Father and her brother, Flare? She would have time to learn about it soon, Ral rationalized. For now, she would be content with watching how the mortals dealt with this new event. Flare would be getting a few more followers, if he was observing.
Hello everyone! I apologize for being late with yet more chapters (and must apologize to my readers of other fanfictions), but I ran into multiple complications along the way, alongside university preparations, which I have gotten through! However, all fanfictions besides this one will temporarily be put on hold. However, that also means I have time to better prepare the future chapters! Without further ado, onto the reviews!
John Prodman - How dare you! It is "zee", ZEE! I will be draping you in irrigo my good friend! All jokes aside, I am glad you enjoy it quite a bit! But yes, this will also contain heavy elements from Sunless Skies, as you might see in this very chapter. It is but the beginning of something greater.
This was Radical Larry the Mailman, going beneath the Zee. I will be back.