Caravans rarely go straight to Border; they usually take a little detour to one of the smaller cities to have a rest, trade a bit, and refill their water supplies. There are two such cities on the way from Torgor to Border: Aren-Castell and Aldaren-Turin. Ramayana Arnika-Vadro preferred the latter. Juel and his team didnt care what she chose; water and rest were all they could think about then.
When Aldaren-Turin had come into view, everyone cheered, even Ramayanas most seasoned followers. But their joy was a bit different, tinged with their knowledge of the true hardships that awaited them beyond the Turin-Castell crossroads.
Aren-Castell means sand castle in Kuldaganian; Aldaren-Turin means battle turret which sounds much more serious. Soon, the Lifekeepers saw why. Every Kuldaganian city is surrounded by a wall but only Aldaren-Turins wall is made of a pure monolith, which is aren in its third, known only to Wanderers, aspect. Even more: that wall looks like a remnant of some other structure, gargantuan in its size, possibly an ancient fortress, broken at its foundation and carried away by some monstrous force. Rami and Otis, the first people of Aldaren-Turin, founded their city in the ruins of that structure and called its jagged outline a wall. Even defeated, the unnamed turin protects people still
Their turin sounds familiar to turris, mused Milian. How tall do you think that ancient thing had been? Orion?
Orion dozed off again; during the journey, he had learned to do that while walking and abused his new skill shamelessly. He jerked his head up as he heard Milians call and stared at Aldaren-Turins wall for a while, thinking. Slowly, a familiar smile dawned on his tired face. A moment later, he was already tugging at Jarmins cloak to wake him up. Lulled by the dunewalkers steady pace, the boy was sleeping tightly; he didnt look very happy at being awakened like that. But Orion asked, Hey, kid, want to hear a fairy-tale?, changing Jarmins mood in an instant. The little boy smiled, very carefully, of course, so his dry lips would not crack again.
With Milian and Jarmin both ready to listen now, Orion began his tale. He didnt approve of that pathos-filled tone most professional storytellers used, so his stories always had that flavour of sincere simplicity in them that his teammates liked. His speech flowing with a steady, graceful pace like a wide river, his tone, changing and dancing to give every event a flavour, every character a voice, his unfailing confidence nothing betrayed the fact that he was thinking up his stories on the go, picking them up everywhere, like a curious toddler picks up colourful pebbles and seashells from the ground.
Right now, the seashell, picked up by Orion and turned into the story was Milians question about the ancient structure that used to be on top of Aldaren-Turins wall.
It happened in a faraway world where people were a lot like us in that their knowledge grew way faster than their self-awareness did. Such disbalance never ends well.
Those people believed that their world was created by gods and that the gods lived in the sky. Eventually, somebody came up with an idea of reaching the sky so people themselves could become gods. The idea turned out to be so strong, captivating, and infectious that it outlived its creator and kept spawning various cults for centuries. The Cult of the Tower was the strongest of them all.
For years, the cultists placed one row of stone blocks above the other, lifting incredible weights with their machines and magic. Countless generations lived and died for the sake of the crazy dream. From birth to death, the cultists toiled at the enormous building site, having little time for anything else. Eventually, the unnecessary things like love, games, poems, and songs were forgotten. Only one song, the howling song that helped them keep the rhythm while working, survived in the end. Love and friendship didnt survive at all, replaced by the endless loyalty to the cult.
Day by day, the cursed tower grew, a black splinter in the skin of the earth.
Meanwhile, the gods watched from above, curious. They threw no lightning bolts and sent no curses upon humanity. Why would they? For a god, hurting a human being is like hurting a feeble-minded child; nothing to be proud of there. Breaking their tower? Sure, the gods could do that easily but why would they? Who in their right mind breaks a babys toy? Not gods. So they watched and they waited for little creatures down below to teach themselves a lesson.
Being born in such a world in such a time is one of the worst things that can happen to a poet. But zealot worlds would die if no poets were born in the most difficult times. So Milia, a little blue-eyed girl, was born in the Tower Cult.
While her peers were building toy towers from pebbles and meowed miserably trying to sing the howling song of the builders, Milia made up songs of her own. There were words in them, rhymes, and music. She could turn anything into a song or a poem: golden autumns, chilly dawns, starry sky all things she saw around her. The older Milia grew, the more powerful her songs became. And oh, the horror! some children left their pebble towers and howling exercises to listen to her sing.
People began talking, spreading rumours and fears around the girl. She is just a child and yet people wander from the true path because of her songs, only children for now but what will happen when she grows up? Then adult engineers and mages, workers and slaves will fall for her witchcraft and the Tower will fall. Then humanity will be doomed to crawl the earth forever and all hope of reaching the sky will be lost.
One early morning, three cult leaders Chief Engineer, Chief Mage, and Chief Priest held a council at the foot of the Black Tower. All three were old people, with families, with children and grandchildren of their own. Neither liked the idea of killing a child but they decided that it was necessary.
For the future of humanity! said the Mage and the Engineer.
And to save the souls from sin, quietly added the Priest.
But the sun that rose above the horizon, turned into fanatic flames in their eyes. They were flickering there like hot embers, for all the world to see including the gods in the sky.
Soon, the three leaders announced their decision to the crowd. No one was brave enough to stand up for Milia, the shackles of faith and habit were that heavy on people. The most open-minded of them only wept when they saw the guards lead the girl to the Tower. The others just stared in silence.
You will be led to the top of the Tower, said the Priest, so the holy sky would drive all the sin from your soul. Then you will be thrown down. This is the decision made in the light of the dawn before the gods themselves. Today, at midday, you will be put to death.
Milia lifted her eyes to the top of the skyscraping Tower. That moment, fear of death seized her and took her gift of speech away. People watched in horror at the miracle of their life, now destroyed; watched the poor child try to say something and fail to do so, the very child that had been singing so merrily for them just a few hours ago. Yet again, not a single person stepped out of the crowd to help the little girl.
In the midday, Milias long ascension to the Tower began. The way up would be difficult for an adult warrior, let alone a child. Sometimes, she had to walk the stairs, sometimes she had a chance to catch her breath when a part of the way could be covered in a mechanical elevator or a magical levitation device. A group of armed guards clad in white followed the condemned child everywhere.
In the midday, Milias long ascension to the Tower began. The way up would be difficult for an adult warrior, let alone a child. Sometimes, she had to walk the stairs, sometimes she had a chance to catch her breath when a part of the way could be covered in a mechanical elevator or a magical levitation device. A group of armed guards clad in white followed the condemned child everywhere.
By the end of the way, Milia was so exhausted that she became as white as chalk herself. Bitter cold reigned on the top of the Tower, ferocious winds howled there, and the air was so thin the girl could barely breathe.
When Milia reached the last storey, half-built, open to the elements, the first stars were already shining in the dark, velvety sky. There were so many of them! Above the lights of the city, there was nothing that could outshine even the smallest ones. There was a river, a whole river of stars!
The power of the beautiful sight took Milias breath away, she gasped, she felt the fear of death release its grasp on her throat, and, finally, she sang. She could make everything into a song, even the river of stars, the river of worlds in the sky where the gods dwelled.
Carried by the wind to the foot of the Tower, that song made people wake up. They no longer stared up in silence, waiting for Milia to fall; they stirred, they cried, they cursed the Tower and those who condemned the innocent child to death. Only the three Chiefs remained unmoved by the song.
What a horrible sorcery! they said. We were right to condemn the child. Just imagine what would have happened if the little witch had a chance to grow up!
Only the gloomy warriors clad in white didnt acknowledge the powerful song. All of them had been deaf from birth; that was why they were chosen to follow the girl. They threw Milia off the Tower, just like they were ordered to.
No one saw the childs body fall but everyone saw the fall of the Tower itself. In roar and thunder, torn apart by huge cracks, it crashed to the ground, centuries of endless toil and howling songs turned into rubble and dust in a single moment.
The city was spared by pure luck or the will of the gods, who knows. The only victims of the fall, by a strange coincidence, were the three Chiefs and the deaf guards. Blinded by freedom, inspired by hope, people searched and searched for Milias body, some even believed that she had survived the fall but no, the girl was never found.
Why did the Tower fall? Did the gods have a hand in it? Who knows.
Sometimes, heavy things just collapse under their own weight, Towers and cults alike.
As to the people awakened by Milias song and the Towers crash, they did learn their lesson. Technology, magic, and faith, when they are not balanced by other things, make unstable constructions and you need balance first of all to reach the sky where the gods dwell.
Unbalanced things always fall.
Jarmin fell asleep again, poor thing, said Milian. I dont think hes heard the ending.
Yeah, he probably hasn't Orion scratched his neck. That sunburn on his skin was itchy. Or maybe he was feeling unsure of what he wanted to say and the subconscious gesture just betrayed that. Whats important, is that you have. The tale was for you, Mil. Some thoughts are better told this way, you know.
Ah, I get it now, Milian nodded. Thats why you called her Milia, huh? And the tower its the Order, right? You think its going to fall.
Glad to know were on the same page, Orion nodded, his face unusually serious.
And the reason is? Milian looked him in the eye.
Fanaticism, was Orions answer. Our glorious leader is one step away from the point of no return. Well, at least I think so. But the problem is that I have no idea what to do about it.
Yeah me neither, sighed Milian.
They walked the rest of the way to Aldaren-Turin in silence.
Ramayanas caravan spent one day and one night in the city. Juels team took this time to rest and have fun. Aldaren-Turins market was nowhere as impressive as Torgors but the boys enjoyed it all the same. Some things they bought there were unique to the city and would surely make great mementoes in the future. Some books, written by the locals, were one of a kind. Handwritten and clumsily bound in cheap leather, they narrated stories only the author and a few of their friends had ever read. Taking these books on a journey into the big world seemed an interesting idea to Milian, and his friends quickly joined the fun, making the local unappreciated writers day.
Jarmin was a little child and children of his age are special to Kuldaganians: they are the only people allowed to swim in city fountains. It doesnt even matter whether they are freaks that broke the Ancestors purity taboo or foreigners that look even more alien. They are kids and childhood is holy. So Jarmin spent the day in Aldaren Turins fountain, his flaxen hair looking funny among the bald heads of the descendants of Rami and Otiz, neither of which had hair on their body, brows and eyelashes excluded.
Local dlars walls were thick enough to keep the rooms cool even in the fiercest heat of the day and warm even in the fiercest cold the night, so everyone enjoyed the best rest possible. Speaking of walls: only Aldaren-Turins city wall was made of monolith; all the walls inside were plain aren concrete. The descendants of Rami and Otiz were no different from other Kuldaganian citizens in that matter.
Monolith interested Pai greatly. He wouldnt shut up about the Wanderers magic that they used to manipulate the aspects of aren, the magic that worked in the unstable zone somehow without exploding. He tried to ask around, hoping to learn more, but had no luck. Definitely, a Kuldaganian city was no place to learn the Wanderers ways.
Pai found some consolation after the caravan had left Aldaren-Turin, though, for they now followed an ancient road paved with rune-inscribed stones enchanted to keep the sands away. Since they had stepped on that road, Pai did little but staring at those runes, absolutely fascinated by them.
For the rest of the team, the journey was as mirthless as before. Thankfully (most likely due to Irins constant vigil and excellent marksmanship) no bandits bothered the caravan. At some point, Ramayana Arnika-Vadro approached Irin and asked him to stay and work for her. He refused but did that so loudly and hastily that there were no doubts about how much he actually wanted to accept the offer.
When the lights of Border came into view, it was early evening with only a few stars in the sky. The collective light of the citys oil lanterns and firefly jars made it look like a gate to the dark unknown beyond. A gate to the No Mans Land.
Milian felt his heart sink at the sight. The image was more that it seemed. It felt like approaching a point of no return, an unseen border beyond which nothing would ever be the same. The boy could not explain the dread it was giving him and had no words to express the feeling; but the others must have felt something similar for they were all grim despite the comforts and curiosities the city could offer.
The team left the city the next morning on the backs of ten chargas that stepped so softly on the firm ground that replaced the shifty Kuldaganian sand beyond the border.
Chapter 9. Road to Tammar
Having killed a master, kill their apprentice as well, even if the apprentice is just a little child, for children grow, children learn, and children can hold a grudge. The child youve spared will become a warrior or a mage and come after you to avenge the master. Think of the future, always.