215. The City Behind the Veils

  For all its wonder, grandeur, and weirdness, Twicereign was empty. It didn’t look that way at first glance, but reality soon set in as the Upheavers explored the city streets.

  “It’s the Infirmary’s lobby all over again,” Renna described the phenomenon aptly.

  Indeed, the streets were crowded… but only with the umber shades of long-dead souls. Uncannily lifelike yet utterly devoid of life. Even now, Serac managed to be startled every time she rounded corners or ducked under arches to be met by Mrigas and Tiryagas ‘going about their day’.

  “The city might be dead,” Oriole commented in a rare show of introspection, “but its memories are alive. Look!”

  The tabbycat pointed to an obsidian building mid-construction. Shades of workers brought the scene to vivid life. Mrigas hammered away at steel beams, Tiryagas painted walls and fences, and a gaggle of both debated each other over an unfurled blueprint. Serac was especially tickled by the Mrigas’ hard hats, designed to fit around their antlers.

  “I take Oriole’s point,” Renna chimed in. “There might be no soul alive to tell us what happened to this city and the rest of the Realm… but perhaps we can yet piece together the truth from these shades.”

  “Look, I love some environmental storytelling as much as the next adventurer,” Zacko invoked yet another obscure Manesferanism, “but am I the only one who was hoping for more… action? The occasional [Exalted Feat] is nice and all, but we need a steadier source of Karma if we wanna make the Benchmark sometime this Kalpa. Do you think we could, I dunno, provoke these shadow things to fight us?”

  As if to test his theory, Zacko greeted the nearest construction worker with a couple of right jabs. The NINEFOLD fist simply went through the shade, achieving nothing more than to momentarily distort the umber image.

  “Oi, quit it!” Serac and Oriole yelled in unison. Zacko put his hands up in apology—about as sincere a gesture as you could expect from the Manusya.

  His rudeness notwithstanding, Zacko had again hit upon a sore spot. Such was the lot of Wayfarers that their progress was measured first and foremost by combat. They could explore every inch of Twicereign, learn a Kalpa’s worth of history, and perhaps even dig up the Realm Immortal’s hiding place. But until they could find more things to smite, they were destined to be very knowledgeable ‘Anchored souls’ and nothing more.

  Was Gladiolus’s the only real Path for a Night-sider? Murdering, trespassing, breach-baiting. Awful stuff, but you can’t argue with the results. But Serac knew results weren’t everything, and she was determined to do it her way to the bitter end. Thankfully, she had friends to help with just that.

  “Ori,” she presently called over to the tabbycat, having noticed an irregularity. “You’ve been sniffing up a storm since we stepped into the city. You okay? It’s not allergies, is it?”

  Oriole gave the air one more sniff for good measure, then met Serac with a thoughtful gaze.

  “Well, that’s just the thing. I’ve been trying to ‘follow my nose’, but this whole place is scentless. I guess that’s what happens when a city’s been deserted for the Keeper knows how long. The roads, the buildings, the city walls—nothing. And none of these ancestors are any help either, the Gloam keep their souls.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, for me, it’s a big problem. I know we’ve still got [15 hours] or so, but I still need to reaffirm my [Oath] somehow. Everything here is so newfangled and strange, I’m at a loss as to—”

  The tabbycat abruptly straightened out of his slouch. His pupils dilated as he raised his pink nose to the sky and sniff-sniff-sniffed some more. He then stilled completely, furry face frozen in intense concentration.

  “Ori, what—”

  That was when Renna too adopted a probing gesture of her own. The frog woman dropped her hood, which was Serac’s cue to really pay attention to her horns.

  She soon felt it. So subtle she would’ve never noticed on her own. A signal distinctly out of touch with the rest of the long-undisturbed city. Renna must have read it more clearly, whereas Oriole would’ve finally picked up a scent to follow.

  “What is it, Ori?”

  “I… have no idea. It’s not anything I recognize. The closest thing I can think of is…”

  He trailed off, face managing to pale a shade despite his ginger fur. Serac raised an eyebrow in her best imitation of Zacko, then turned it onto Renna. The pink frog shook her head.

  “I’m no further along than Oriole,” she hedged. She then furrowed her wide brow before adding, “I almost want to say the signal reminds me of you—as nonsensical as that is.”

  “Of me?” Serac parroted, appropriately nonplussed. “You mean there’s another Rakshasa here?”

  “… That’s not quite right. It’s less what you are and more what you’ve done. Or maybe it’s where you’ve been.”

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  That sent a chill down Serac’s spine. Where I’ve been? But that can only mean one thing, can’t it? Murder, trespass, breach.

  “Are we sure it’s not that thing that’s been following us?” Zacko, he of no spidey-sense of his own, tried his best to contribute. “You know, ever since a few Nights ago?”

  Serac liked where Zacko’s head was at. The possible existence of a sloppy Night-side stalker was a much more benign alternative to taking Renna’s analysis to its natural conclusion. That’s gotta be it. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to make me—

  “It’s not,” Renna and Oriole rejected the possibility in unison. The Yaksha took it upon herself to elaborate, “The ripples don’t match. What we felt the other Night was a single entity, whereas this… gives off multiple distinct signatures.”

  “Besides,” Oriole added, “this other scent you speak of was downwind of us, which made it all the more troublesome to sniff out. Well, I know exactly where my nose is pointing now, and it’s that way.”

  The tabbycat raised a gauntleted hand and gestured directly ahead. Up the slope and toward the hilltop’s purple mist. Well, if nothing else, the Upheavers didn’t need a change of direction to chase their latest phantom.

  The party forged ahead, up the slope and past the busy yet lifeless streets of Twicereign. Despite the lack of Aberrant interference, the city’s maze-like layout presented its own obstacle.

  “I wouldn’t even call it a maze,” Zacko joked good-naturedly, fully back to his usual demeanor. “That implies a rule or pattern to follow. This is like a thousand Twicereigners had a thousand ideas of how to build their city, and they decided to use all of them.”

  “How did these people live like this?” Serac wondered aloud, peering over a bridge at two cul-de-sacs joined by a single stub of a road. The ‘street’ didn’t even connect to the rest of the city, yet it was home to the happy shades of several Mriga and Tiryaga families. “They must’ve had to stop every few steps to ask their neighbors for directions.”

  “And maybe that was the point.”

  This from Oriole, peering at the same view but with a broad smile. The tears on his fur had long since dried, but his hazel eyes yet shone with an ardent glimmer. Seeing this, Serac couldn’t help but smile right along, even as something ached deep in her chest. Is this what it’s like? The ‘Hanging Fruit’ I’ve been reaching for?

  The city was large on top of maze-like. The Upheavers spent a good few hours collectively following a tabbycat’s nose. By the time they reached the steepest portion of the hill, [Tidewatch] indicated early evening in a 24-hour cycle. Though perhaps due to the higher altitude, the sky’s pervasive Gloam changed little, even as the sun shifted on the far side of the veils.

  Here, the whimsy that characterized much of the city made way for the gravitas of ceremony. The roads straightened and widened. The walls narrowed on both sides. And the buildings too flattened and merged into a single, city-spanning gate. Two enormous statues—one Mriga, the other Tiryaga—bracketed the gate and stared down at the visitors at their feet.

  “If that”—Zacko with one of his knowing grins—“isn’t telegraphing another Rite of Passage, I’m not my mama’s son.”

  Sure enough, the seam in the middle was lined on one side by a rectangular imprint. The ‘keycard slot’ for presenting a replica of the Mirroring Lotus.

  “Renna, read anything?” Serac asked.

  The frog woman shook her head. “I lost the signal some time ago. Something beyond this gate must be putting up interference.”

  “Ori?”

  The tabbycat sniffed several times while wearing a slight frown. “Same here. Lost the scent. But I know we’re on the right track! We’ve got to follow it.”

  “Calm down, Brain Cell, no one’s taking away your toy just yet.”

  “Besides, there’s nowhere else to go but up, right? Full steam ahead, I’d say.”

  The Upheavers knew the drill. This time, Renna volunteered (demanded) to try her [Mark of the Oathward] as the keycard. The gate rumbled to life, which proved again to be something of a feint. Instead of splitting apart at the seams, the obsidian slabs ‘transformed’ into a second tunnel in as many gates.

  “There’s that beeping again,” Serac noted with an involuntary shudder.

  “But the tunnel is much wider than the last,” Renna added an observation of her own. “If I were to read anything into it, I’d say this is a path meant to be trod as a group. Or at least as a pair.”

  The party hurried into the passage in pairs, loath to test the beeping tunnel’s patience. In addition to ‘wider’, the path was also steeper and much longer. Indeed, it was quite possibly the lengthiest uninterrupted road in the entire city—long enough even for Serac to acclimate to the constant, evenly spaced beeps.

  More time passed with only [Tidewatch] to keep track. The road eventually widened yet again, as it fed into a large bulb of a room. And as soon as the last Upheaver (Serac again) stepped out of the footpath, the tunnel bzzzt’d shut behind her.

  Almost by instinct, Serac spun around to study the solid-again obsidian. No sign of the erstwhile tunnel anywhere, save for a faint seam between the slabs. This time, even the ‘keycard slot’ was absent… which could only mean one thing.

  “It’s a one-way street,” Serac announced for the group’s benefit. “Not very whimsical of whoever built this part of the city, but I guess you need to mean business to venture this far uphill. Welp, nothing’s changed. Nowhere for us to go but up!”

  “Yeah, about that,” Zacko called from a slight ways ahead. “Don’t think the path is as straightforward as you’d hope, Princess.”

  Serac turned to take in the rest of the room, though it was impossible to see all of it. Half of it was a smooth, featureless obsidian dome, while the other half was completely shrouded by the Gloaming mists.

  Again?? How many of these do we have to get through?

  But as Serac looked more carefully, she realized the mist-free half of the room wasn’t as featureless as she’d initially assumed. In its center, just barely on the visible side of the threshold, rose a single slab. It stood at about a Mriga’s waist level, only as wide as a Tiryaga’s slouched back. Its surface bore two rectangular imprints. One looked identical to the ones the Upheavers had already interacted with. The other was almost identical, save for its color. Lighter, warmer, ‘younger’. Raw umber.

  “There it is,” Oriole murmured with audible awe, perhaps moved again by the dream of a memory. “To borrow Zacko’s parlance… now we know why we had to bring two different visas.”

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