SONG OF POWER

Chapter XXIII: Into the Dream

SONG OF POWER

CHAPTER XXIII:  INTO THE DREAM

“Tyroce?”  Jake asked of Donk.  The trio were breakfasting early in the morning after Donk had joined the Ethereal.  Though he’d only spoken one word, the alchemist’s timbre spoke volumes.  He was asking the question on everyone’s mind:  how do we save the dying Baronetessa of Cyen?  It was the start of the third day, and the group would need two days to run back to Alafin—they had to find the information they sought immediately if they hoped to return to Tyroce in time to save her.

“Lord Magus agreed to lend us his aid.  Tonight we will go to him again, and learn what we can.  For now…” Donk ladled some thick gruel into his mouth.  Jigger picked up the conversation.

“For now we enjoy this sawdust-flavored slop that we have before us, perhaps tour the city, and wait until the cult meets again after dark,” the jester said with derision.  Jake shared his cousin’s dissatisfaction.  The two gnomes fixed their unofficial leader with such a gaze that Donk quickly swallowed his food.  If I didn’t know any better I would swear they were twins, the ogre thought.  Donk did all that he could to remain outwardly calm, knowing poor judgement and rash actions would do little to save Tyroce.  Inwardly, though, Donk was a hair’s breadth from panic.

“Yes, we ‘enjoy’ this meal, and two more like it, and also see what Requiem has to offer.  It would serve our liege-lord well for us to understand our new allies.  Once the Ethereal is established in Cyen, relations with Schade will soon follow.”  That said, the ogre finished his bucket of slop (he used a bucket and ladle instead of a bowl and spoon due to his large size).  The herald of Cyen had a lot on his mind this morning, and the gnomes were grating on his nerves.

“Fine, you’re the boss,” Jake said, obviously nonplussed, and continued forcing down the tasteless gray paste that was a staple in the Schader diet.  The rest of the meal was consumed in silence, each person at the table lost in thought.

The trio of humanoids passed the day by strolling around Requiem, observing how the living residents of the city coexisted with the unliving.  It was a strange study in culture; though creating and keeping undead was viewed throughout the True World as one of the purest acts of evil a person could commit, the citizens of Schade did not seem the evil sort.  Intermingled with the living persons were the undead.  Zombies and skeletons preformed various tasks of unskilled labor  from assisting with construction to working as porters.  Teams of undead horses pulled wagons through the streets, and animated skeletons collected refuse from the gutters.  Meanwhile, housewives strolled along on their errands, purchasing baking goods and gossiping.  They seemed thoroughly ordinary, if a bit reserved, Donk concluded.  A larger quantity of men engaged in intellectual pursuits than Donk had seen in other realms; Requiem was populated with artists, philosophers, and performers of all types who were able to pursue their crafts with true focus thanks to the labor of those already passed on.  The menfolk of Requiem, and by extension all of Schade, seemed fortunate for their circumstances.

Evening finally approached, for which each of the three Cyenites were thankful.  Donk navigated his way back to where his new brethren, the Ethereal, held their secret meetings.  Though the Ethereal Cult was prevalent in Schade, cult membership was illegal in the True World, a law handed down from the deities themselves.

More cultists were present this night than during the ceremony that brought Donk into the fold.  The cultists welcomed him warmly, and spoke to him as if he had been a member since the beginning of time.  As before, Jigger and Jake remained at the periphery of the congregation, neither belonging nor feeling included.  Lord Magus approached Donk and placed a hand on the ogre’s shoulder; though Donk towered above the mummy, to all assembled it seemed Magus was the more imposing of the two.