Author's Note: I keep trying to fix the spacing but somehow it always ends up getting weird. I'm trying to figure out how to double space the document without it screwing up the rest of the spacing. Until I figure it out, I'm very sorry! I do hope you enjoy the chapter though! Please feel free to leave me a comment, review, or critique!

Chapter Three: Ithanor

The church of the Niscorites was unlike anything Clara had ever seen before. The entire building was carved out of what looked to be crystal, and it glittered under the two suns that burned in the sky. There was one tower that stood taller than the rest, and as it climbed higher in the sky the light split into a thousand colors. Clara was mystified by the technicolor display; how the light cascaded into the street and bathed it in reds and blues of all kinds, how the crystal towers standing beside it reflected the color throughout the city and electrified the sky.

"Tepitin crystals," the Doctor said softly when he noticed Clara's intense stare. "The whole planet is made of Tepitin. This city was carved into the planet, and I mean it was literally carved into the planet. Diamond planets are some of the most difficult to live on because well, think about how it would be living on a diamond." He smiled, reaching for Clara's hand as Artima lead them toward the enormous church. "So millions of millions of years ago, the Niscorites had an idea. Instead of living on Bahl, they decided to live in it. For millions of years they have been building down into the planet, carving their homes, their hospitals, their playgrounds, all into the Tepitin."
"It's like…the entire planet is one big sculpture." Clara breathed. The Doctor smiled, squeezing her hand.
"That's exactly what it's like. The Niscorites are absolutely brilliant artists in that sense, they know the perfect angles to carve out the planet."
"So that means that tower there, that was the original surface of Bahl?" Clara gestured up to the tallest of the crystal towers. The Doctor nodded, swinging their hands.
"That's right."
Clara coughed, bringing one hand to cover her mouth before she grinned.
"This planet is absolutely incredible!" Clara's smile only made the Doctor's wider and even small Artima smiled proudly.

"My granddad carved the church," Artima spoke with a soft voice, stopping just in front of the church. She stared up at it, her silver eyes searching it with an indescribable pride. "He designed it, too. My mother told me many stories about him. My granddad…I met him only once, when he was quite old and I was very young. I don't remember very much about him, but I know he was a great man."
"It must have taken him ages." Clara said, gently placing a kind hand on Artima's shoulder. The girl smiled, her grin swelling with pride in her family.
"Three thousand years, my mother says. She said he built it to be a beacon of light for our people. " Her smile fell, and her eyes flicked around them nervously. The Niscorites had begun to turn their clouded eyes toward them, and it was making Artima nervous.
"Perhaps," The Doctor said softly, taking Artima's hand to keep her calm. "We should get inside."

They had not taken two steps into the building before Clara and the Doctor were pressed against the wall, the sharp blade of Tepitin weapons pointed at their necks. The Doctor, bewildered at the sudden hostility of a usually benign race, opened and closed his mouth in confusion.
"Friends! Friends! We're friends!" He exclaimed, holding his hands up. The armed Niscorites were shouting at the Doctor and Clara so loudly that she could not understand them, and she looked to the Doctor for help.
"Doctor!" Clara had her back to the wall beside him, trying to edge away from the blade at her neck. "Doctor, tell them we're friendly! We're friends, friends!"
"What do you think I'm doing, asking them to tea?!" He looked at Clara with bewildered eyes.
"What are your names?!" One of the armed Niscorites shouted his blade dangerously close to Clara's neck.
"I'm the Doctor! The Doctor and Clara, Clara and the Doctor, we're friends!"
The Niscorites looked at the Doctor and Clara with their steely eyes, their blades still at their necks.
"Stop!" Artima cried out. "Stop stop, they are friends! The Doctor and Clara are friends; I brought them here to help! Put your weapons down!"
The Niscorites looked back at young Artima, then at the Doctor and Clara before they lowered their weapon.
"Yes ma'am." They saluted Artima before moving back to their places.

Clara coughed several times, rubbing at her neck just to get the feeling of the blade from her skin. When she looked up, she couldn't believe the commotion in the church. Hospital cots were laid out all over the floor, each one with Niscorites that looked as though they were near death. There were others in white, fluttering about between patients with water and medicine. The Doctor walked over to the sick slowly, taking out his sonic.
"Artima, what is wrong with them?" He asked, his brow furrowed as he knelt close to one of the Niscorites. Their breathing was heavily labored and they were sweating profusely, no doubt of a high fever.
"They're sick. There is a plague on Bahl. These are the infected." She murmured, placing one small hand on the chest of a Niscorite struggling to breathe. The Niscorite began to calm when she placed her hand on them, and Artima suddenly looked very sad. "These are the fated to be like those you see on the outside. With their blank eyes and soulless bodies…"
Artima trailed off, becoming very quiet. The Doctor carefully scanned the Niscorite closest to him, one hand placed on their shoulder for comfort.
"This is horrible…" Clara whispered, looking at the mass amount of Niscorites that were sick. "Look at them all. How did this happen?"
"It is our God's doing, Ithanor. A few weeks ago, people began falling ill, horribly, horribly ill. Fevers that would not break, aches we could not soothe, pain of the most incredible kind. Three days they suffer, enduring the most excruciating torture. And then…" Artima swallowed, rubbing the hand of the sick Niscorite. "Then their souls leave them. They are not dead, but they suffer a fate worse than death. They roam the streets with their soulless bodies, never to feel joy or laughter or love again."
Artima wiped tears from her eyes, standing up quickly. "It is a fate of the most unimaginable kind."
The Doctor looked up at Artima, his brow wrinkled as he tried to piece things together in his head. He was struggling, and Clara could see that in the way he licked his lips nervously and straightened his bow tie.
"Artima, you said this started a few weeks ago when Ithanor became angry? But why is Ithanor angry, what was different?" He said, his eyes locking onto hers.
Artima opened her mouth then closed it, struggling to answer the Doctor. She was interrupted when Clara coughed, the sound deep in her chest and struggled. Artima's eyes grew wide and she looked at Clara intensely. Clara struggled to catch her breath, coughing again and again until finally she sucked in a breath.
"That's how it starts." Artima whispered breathlessly "That's how they all begin."
"How they all begin? What do you mean how they all begin, Artima?" The Doctor asked, his eyes flicking to Clara and back to Artima. Artima looked up at the Doctor with sad, broken silver eyes.
"I'm sorry." She whispered sadly.
Clara looked concerned, her eyes darting between Artima and the Doctor.
"What do you mean how they all begin? How what begins? What are you talking about?"
No one answered Clara. The Doctor's expression did not change, but his eyes slowly began to darken.
"No." The Doctor spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes boring into Artima. Artima's gaze was sad, and she lowered her head.
"Doctor? Doctor please tell me what's going on, what does she mean?"
"I'm sorry." Artima repeated, looking up at Clara. "I'm so sorry."