To Juels teammates' credit, they didnt forget about their duty amidst the fun and bought a set of proper desert clothes for every team member thick, layered, woollen cloak, jacket, and trousers to keep both daily heat and nightly cold at bay. Bala went through several dlars asking people everything about the desert and its aren, which meant much more than just sand in the local tongue. Aren is sand, glass, and monolith, Kuldaganians said, but only Wanderers still remember how to tame the third monolith aspect. That was an interesting but not very useful piece of information. The useful one was about maskaks. Bala told Irin everything about those creatures and stressed the importance of spotting and killing them in time so they wouldnt tell their bandit masters about the approaching caravan. Irin took Balas warning very seriously and promised to be on alert. He even visited a local smithy and bought himself an extra hundred of arrows for the journey. Jet-black, with striped feathers and barbed arrowheads, they looked deadly.
That night, filled with shopping, asking around, looking around, and enjoying the exotic city, turned out to be so exhausting that the boys fell asleep in their rented room just where their exhaustion had caught up with each of them: at the table, on the floor, among the backpacks Orion was snoring by the door where he had collapsed after stumbling over the doorstep. He had overestimated his stamina a bit while tasting local alcohol.
That was how Juel found his team after a rowdy night. For a while, the mighty Faizul just stood there, at a loss what to do, then looked at the lukewarm sky, sighed, and curled up in the nearest bed like a big, heavy cat. He knew he could trust his inner clock to wake him up in time. And he needed a nap after a sleepless night too.
Bala, the most responsible one of the lot, woke up even earlier than Juel and made a hurry-up breakfast for the team and a simple sobering potion for Orion.
Refreshed but still sleepy, the Lifekeepers paid for the room and headed to the gates to catch up with their caravan.
The merchant the caravan belonged to, an elderly woman, frowned as she saw the young warriors. That they were young, she knew (Juel had told her that), what she didnt expect, though, was a gaggle of kids. She gave Juel a grim, reproachful look. He replied with ardent praise and swore that each of his teammates would be worth at least three bandits in a battle and that having a master archer in the caravan might even save them a battle altogether. That was the longest speech Juels teammates had ever heard from him. Their leader could be eloquent when he wanted! Finally, the old merchant nodded in approval. Lifekeepers did have a good reputation, even young ones, after all.
My name is Ramayana Arnika-Vadro, she introduced herself to the younger boys. You are welcome to join my caravan. May our journey be an easy one.
Patience. Patience. Patience. This is the very first lesson a Lifekeeper must learn and they all do. Even Jarmin, a six-year-old, had learned his lesson of patience years ago, so he endured the hardships of the desert journey stoically, without even a pip, even though they were nearly killing him. His teammates and the merchants did everything they could to ease the little boys suffering. Ramayana allowed Jarmin to sit on one of her dunewalkers instead of walking the sands himself. Juel, Orion, Bala, and Lainuver shared their water with him. The younger Lifekeepers Kosta, Pai, Milian, and Oasis (Irin just didnt care) wanted to share theirs as well but Juel forbade that. Those four were still too young, so depriving them of water would be a sure way to turn four capable warriors into helpless children. Jarmins troubles aside, the journey was going well, probably thanks to Irin who kept watching for maskak scouts as he had promised and shot them all at sight.
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.
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.