A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

The Founding of Fort Stone

Chapter 11: The Founding of Fort Stone

The nature of the country was, as they thought, so good that cattle would not require house-feeding in winter, for there came no frost in winter, and little did the grass wither there.

—Saga of the Greenlanders

Though by no means well-rested, Grace and her companions manages to sleep awhile. For warmth, they bunched near the burning trashcan, and Bennu's egg. Falling pebbles put Fox on the outskirts of the group. She insisted she preferred it that way.

"You're free to stay." Dr. Bezoar followed after them. She popped the newspaper pages she had been holding above her head into her mouth. Somehow, the satyr chewed, grinned, and talked at the same time. "Everyone needs a vacation."

"Um, no thank you," said Grace. The Aniwye will probably come back. Still, she had no idea where to go.

Exploiting her opposite-facing eyes, Dr. Bezoar tried holding two conversations at once. To Grace, she responded "Well if you really want to fly, who am I to interfere with your nature? Keep the agate close to your heart. Or not. It's yours." The same time, she appraised Fox's stone cloud. "You know, kid, lithobolia's a rare talent."

"It's no 'talent.'" Fox made quotes with her fingers. "It's some kinda' curse."

"Don't be so sure." Dr. Bezoar reached into a pocket. "You think poltergeist phenomena appear every day? Not on this world. If you're ever interested in Interplanetary Geology, here's my card."

The paper square seemed to be stained with coffee, and one corner had been chewed. Fox stuck out her tongue, but pocketed it all the same before hauling Diana out of the puddle.

"We can't go back to the Croatoan Archives," decided Schrodinger. "No one's even there to check in the scroll."

The corvids kept away from the grimalkin, roosting on top of the bridge. "You really think we can trust this cat, Gracie?" asked Albumen. His voice strained.

"You know I can understand you, right?" Schrodinger's tail flicked. His glowing eyes fixed on the gold canister.

"Your accent's terrible, though." Jackanapes moved a bit further away.

"A different dialect." Schrodinger yawned, showing all his needle-sharp teeth. "I learned your tongue from the ibises of Egypt."

"Is anyone else annoyed to not understand all this 'caw caw cawing'?" asked Fox.

"Neither you nor Diana Hemlock are missing much," assured Schrodinger. "Anyway, the library's currently no use. Directly entering the Limbus Region brings the risk of reencountering the Aniwye. Luckily, there are other ways to traverse the Astral, some quite secret. I have a safe place in mind for us to regroup, with plenty of food. Anyone wishing to come along: shut your eyes as tight as you can. And think of lions."

"We're not imagining a dark box again?" asked Grace. She looked where the birds congregated, realizing how confused they must be. "Oh, right. You never traveled this way before. But I'm sure you can learn!"

"Should we think of mountain lions or African ones?" asked Diana.

Schrodinger shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Then, picture we're on a flat surface, like a map. Not so easy with this rubble, but pretending is one of the most useful skills you will ever cultivate. Just as grimalkins protect knowledge, lions, tigers, leopards, jaguars, panthers and other big cats guard the not-yet-known. They dwell by the far corners of the maps, and usually stay there. But, if you spot them, they see you. And you're done for."

"What happens?" Grace already knew she would not like the answer, but had to ask anyway.

"The guardians of the not-yet-known drag anyone who views them into the cold, empty spaces between stars. Those that return don't have a scratch on them, but have gone completely insane. Most don't come back at all."