Lucca was shaken awake from a bout of turbulence. His head still ached from the revelry the night before. Realization set in that he had never slept on a ship before, not since getting off the Gallowei as an infant. He had ridden in the pilgrimage vessels a dozen times, and had even flown one twice. Most of them were outfitted with saddle seats and standing room, designed to move as many people as possible. This one was comfortable, with the cabin featuring three rows of actual seats. The cabin also was decorated with a paisley aesthetic, in contrast to the drab and chrome he was accustomed to. It all seemed like too much ado for a flight that would just contain him and his sister.
Unya was on an important diplomatic trip, though. Lucca had to remember, as of yesterday he and his sister were considered adults, and the church had been waiting desperately for that moment to put her skills to use. He supposed all of this finery demonstrated just how valuable Unya really was. He looked to her, and saw her pen dancing helplessly above her open notebook. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all, and she was practically buzzing with excitement. Lucca felt embarrassed for having fallen asleep. It was a twenty hour flight, but he came on it specifically to spend what might be his last day with his sister. He had so much he wanted to say to her, and he had frittered most of his time away. He didn’t know where to start, so he peeked over her shoulder at her notebook. It was filled with leads she had gleaned from the missives she had shared with Father Djoln over the previous weeks. It featured such wisdom as “Bog – East of town – Possessed?” and “Defilers???!”.
“Just tell me. You can always tell me,” Unya pierced the silence.
“Tell you what?” Lucca asked.
“I appreciate you coming with me, but something is on your mind. In an hour I’ll be gone. If you have something you want to talk about, we should get started.”
Lucca lingered. She was right, of course, but he had just awakened. He gathered his thoughts for a few seconds before speaking.
“What were you humming?” Lucca asked.
“Nothing yet, I’m still working on it,” Unya responded, “I hope to title it The Riddle of the Winds, but it might be too peaceful for that.” She waited a moment, then put her pen down and continued, “But that’s not what you wanted to say.”
“I’m scared, Unya,” Lucca said.
“I’ll be fine,” Unya responded, “I’ll be with Djoln and his procession.”
“No, Unya, I’m scared for me.” Lucca confided. Unya was slow to respond, so Lucca continued. “I know that’s not fair. I know you’re the one going to the backwoods town to explore disappearances. I know you’re the one being heroic, but…” He hesitated. “But you’re right for this job. I still haven’t found the job that I’m right for, and I’m afraid that without your guidance…”
Unya finally picked up the strands of the conversation. “Lucca,” she offered, “you’re the bravest person I know. You got us to Astire when we were orphaned in Tellain. The Father Deacon has chosen you to be his personal staffbearer. You have perhaps the most noble job in the church. You have always done what needed to be done.”
“I would have stopped at nothing to get you off the streets,” Lucca reached for Unya’s hand, “I would have handled myself as a beggar.”
“We can send missives every day.”
“Yeah but…” Lucca chuckled in frustration, “I won’t.”
“I will message you. Maybe not every day, but weekly at least,” Unya started. “Lucca, you are brave, you are strong, and you are smart. You will always be my brother. Keep yourself safe. No matter where you go, no matter how lost you get, I will find you.”
“Thank you.” The pair shared an embrace. Then Lucca gestured out the window at the moonscape before them. It was a wasteland, dotted with the occasional spot of green, and punctuated by the famous Mt. Kujo. “It sure is desolate down there, isn’t it?”
Unya looked out the window. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” Lucca asked, “You mean the mountain?”
“All of it,” Unya responded. “The badlands outside of Astire were desolate. The foothills in Tellain were desolate. Those were lands that tried to be lush and failed. This is something different. This is fallow. Lurelat supports life when and how it chooses. And when people come and try to tame it, they disappear. I think I would be doing the same if I were a moon.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not a moon,” Lucca said.
“Not yet,” Unya smiled.
With the mood softened, the two shared banter and some pastries as the shuttle descended upon the little mining town of Docide. Lucca gawked at the shape of the city. It featured two large glass domes with dozens of structures inside each of them. Between the domes and sprawling to the south were shacks and wagons, slums for people who couldn’t afford the property in the domes and the oxygen it provided. It was there, nestled among the shacks, where Lucca could spot the unmistakable shape of Djoln’s monastery. He had seen sketches of it before, and it was exactly as he had imagined.
“Wow, this looks…” Lucca searched for a word. “Poor.”
Unya shrugged, “We’ve had worse.”
“Indeed.” Lucca agreed, as he used his feet to pull forward a box he had been hiding under his seat, “I had half a mind to offer you my pistol. To make sure you’d be able to keep yourself safe.”
“Lucca!” she whispered incredulously.
“What?” he responded. “I’m allowed to have it. You’d be allowed to have it. You wouldn’t need to use it, I hope you never would.”
“Well I’m glad you didn’t,” she retorted. “You should never carry a gun that you don’t plan to fire. You shouldn’t even speak of it. Really, name one story where they talk about a gun and don’t shoot it,” she challenged.
“You’re right.” Lucca used his toes to slide the box back under his seat. “I knew you would say that. So I didn’t bother. I just want what’s best for you.”
“I know, thank you.” The pair shared an embrace. “I’ll message you every day to tell you about how I haven’t needed it.”
“Nothing would make me happier.”
—————————————————————————————————————-
When Unya stepped off the shuttle onto the tarmac she was struck by the chill. Part of her requisition was a thick cloak, but with the comfort of the vessel, she had forgotten to don it. She quickly remedied that, but even the act of bending down to reach into her bag brought her short of breath. Lurelat did not want her here. She concealed her struggles as she bade farewell to her brother and pilot. She was nary a few blocks from the monastery, and she was ready to begin this adventure.
Everything about this place felt alien. Her steps felt springy, but the ground crunched beneath her feet at a whisper. The wooden buildings here were lit with electric lighting, but no hum made it to her ears. Cold light shone through a few windows, but most buildings were dark. Some had no windows at all, and more than one featured cracked or shattered panels. There was nobody on the streets. The streets weren’t even streets, not really. There was no cobblestone nor asphalt once she stepped off the tarmac. There was only dirt, accompanied by the occasional pebble, adorned with wagon tracks.
The frigidity of the empty air tore at her face, and she pulled her cloak tight around her to protect the air that her body had warmed. She walked at a steady pace, lest her exertion bring back exhaustion. At least her bag was light. She could see the spires of the monastery standing tall among the bowery, and after several minutes, she found herself at its large wooden door. She didn’t recognize the wood. The doors in Astire were all oak, but this was something else. It was dark, gnarly, and had a wide grain.
She pushed open the door, and stepped into the warmly lit foreroom. Peace rushed over her as a thicker, wetter air filled the room. Straight ahead of her she could see the worship room, and it was full of potted vines like a garden.
“Unya?” Djoln’s voice called down a flight of stone stairs, “Come in. And close that!”
Unya closed the door behind her, and set up the stairs to find her deacon. The stairs settled into a wooden hallway attached to four rooms on one side with a huge window of thick glass on the other. The first door was open and the warm flicker of firelight spilled into the hall. Unya approached, and saw a marvelous library. It was small, but absolutely packed. Seven bookshelves lined three of the walls, and a stone fireplace sequestered by a glass panel occupied the fourth. The center of the room featured two desks, one which Djoln was sitting at with a scroll open before him, and the other stacked with books.
Unya knew Djoln was old. He had looked old when he had left, but the last few years had not been easy on him. His salt and pepper hair was now all white, and it was thin and unkempt. Thin and unkempt described much of Djoln, actually. His robes were immaculate, but they fell loosely on a body that did not fill them anymore. He grabbed his staff and leaned on it heavily as he rose to greet her. He labored to fight the little gravity there was.
“Unya, my girl, welcome.” Djoln greeted excitedly. “I meant to come to receive you at the port, but I…” he gestured at the book open before him, “found something I just could not put down.”
“Of course,” Unya hugged the old man. “Just yesterday I was at the library trying to requisition a few journals, and Mira turned me away.”
“Did she?” Djoln asked, “She denied such a reasonable request, and on your birthday?”
“She did!” Unya continued, “How did you know it was my birthday?”
“That’s what we were waiting for, wasn’t it?” Djoln answered, “Father Alric said that you couldn’t depart on this mission until you were 16, and you made it happen damn near to the day.”
“That’s right!” Unya agreed, “And I would have come yesterday, but Lucca insisted on throwing us a party. Anyway, Mira insisted that you would have plenty of journals for me, and that I had no need to bring any. So I brought just one.”
“Well yes, I’m sure I have nearly everything that you’ll need. Your room is just the third one down that hall. We’ve had a handful of clothing donations that you might like, but I’ll arrange to get you an allowance in that regard.”
“Thank you,” Unya nodded, “What did you find that was so exciting?” She asked, gesturing to the book.
“It’s called The Skyfall Chronicles,” Djoln answered, “and it’s… well there is quite a bit to it, but it’s about the Ro’ca’gai from before the dampening.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Unya responded.
“Right, right,” Djoln waved her off. “But that’s the translation. This one is written in the native script, so it’s… true. I’m interpreting it into Prominence.”
“But then it’s just another translation.”
“Sure, but I’ll translate it correctly,” Djoln insisted.
“Well, great,” Unya said. “I’m going to put my things away.”
“Two things, before you go,” Djoln interrupted. “None of the windows open, don’t try. There are only two doors, the front one you came in, and then a hatch to the cellar. Close the doors quickly behind you. I’ve cultivated the worship room nicely, and I’m hoping you’ll help me tend to it every day. It makes the space much more palatable.”
“I’m happy to help,” Unya said. She stepped back into the hallway, before her curiosity piqued and she went back into the library. “Where does the smoke go, if the whole monastery is sealed?” she asked, gesturing to the fireplace.
“Ah, sharp girl,” Djoln responded. “There is a billowroom. You get to it at the end of the hallway. We need to empty it out every few days. I can show you after dinner.”
“Lovely. And when do we, you know…” Unya stammered, “strike out into the wastes?”
“I’m hoping that there is no ‘striking out’,” Djoln responded. “I’ve taught my congregation much, and I feel like it is helping them enough. Several will be coming by tomorrow for worship, and they’ll tell you how much better they feel.”
“I see…” Unya said. “Well, I’ll speak to them tomorrow. And perhaps I’ll also strike out into town and see how other locals are feeling. I came here for a reason, and I intend to see it through.”
“Ok, alright,” Djoln said dismissively, “I’m going to get back to my reading. I’ll put dinner together in a couple hours. Go get yourself settled in.”
Unya took down the hall and opened the door to her room. It was much larger than the dorm in Astire, but it was barren. Her room contained a bed and a dresser, but no lamp. She quickly unpacked her things, and set up the stand for her lyre, before the setting sun’s light would fail to fill her room. She had a south facing window, looking out of town. She could see the barren wastes sprawling out before her, illuminated in glorious orange and purple by the sun as it set behind the majestic snow-capped peak of Mt. Kujo. This strange new world looked so inviting. Unya couldn’t simply wait around for dinner and then try to sleep. She had a mission.
She opened the chest Djoln had set up for her, and pawed through the donations. Most of it was pretty ragged, and none of it was beautiful. This was fine, though. If this was what the people of Docide wore, she wanted to look like one of them. She wanted to be one of them. She found something blue and silky, added a golden sash from a tattered robe, and assembled her new look. She considered bathing before striking out, but thought better of it. Djoln was unkept, this town was unkept, she would appear unkept. She put on her new outfit, strapped her lyre to her back, and walked back into Djoln’s office.
She leaned against the frame of the open door, and called out “I’m going out”.
Djoln looked up from the book, and seemed surprised by her new look. “And where are you going?”
Unya looked over her shoulder, out the large glass window that stood opposite the hall. She gestured vaguely. “Out…?”
Djoln sighed deeply, then set down his pen. “There is a library, but they don’t know a damned thing there. I would suggest a garage, or a bar.”
“Great!” Unya nodded, then turned and tried to depart, but she stopped when Djoln continued.
“You should take my staff.” Djoln said.
“Why is everyone trying to offer me weapons today?” Unya asked.
“A staff is a useful tool. It will keep you from laboring too much in the thin air. Also, in a pinch…” he made a whapping gesture like he was swinging a bat, and made a quiet popping sound. “You know, Unya, you are so…” he struggled with the word.
“Young?” She finished defiantly.
“Beautiful.” He surprised her. “I am afraid that you have not yet learned how men can be.”
“I worked as an apprentice of the Bowl under Father Yisin. In Tellain.” Unya confided.
A hint of rage flickered in Djoln’s eyes. “Oh.” he continued gently, “Did he ever…”
“Not to me,” she shook her head.
The two stood quietly together for a moment. Djoln broke the silence.
“Walking just a few blocks can be exhausting in the thin atmosphere. If you want it, my walking stick is by the front door.” He and Unya shared a knowing nod. “I know you have known some bad people, but believe it or not Docide can offer worse.”
Unya descended the stairs, took Djoln’s staff from its peg, and eased open the dark-grained door. A blade of cold cut across her face; she shut it at once, wrapped herself fully in the thick cloak, and tried again. An oxygen mask with a small tank sat by the jamb. She slipped the straps over her head, nestling the tank into her hood where its weight sat steady, then stepped out into Docide.
Silence struck her. There were no birds, no chittering insects, not even the faint hum of a light, only the ring in her ears and the slow, metered sound of her own breath in the mask. A lone woman clattered past, hauling a cart heaped with metal scraps. Unya raised a hand; the woman mirrored the gesture, then ducked her head and quickened away.
Unya turned in place and scanned the horizons, hoping something would draw her. The domes lay to the northwest, that was interesting, but down south, far away, a smear of smoke climbed a pale sky. Whatever that building was, it lay far out of town, across the wastes. She started toward the edge of town to get a better look. She could try to requisition a vehicle later, if this lead went anywhere. Between the staff and the extra oxygen, walking was manageable, even pleasant in its rhythm.
Block by block, habitation thinned. Windows spidered or hung open in jagged mouths. Walls slumped. Through gaps she glimpsed nests of trash and bundled sleeping bags. Since the scrap-hauler, she had seen no one.
A wash of dim light finally spilled from a storefront ahead. Through the window she made out tight rows of shelving. A weary neon script in the window sputtered: Hannegan’s. Invitation enough.
Inside, the front room of a house had been repurposed into a trove of oddments. Shelves held paintings, vases, carvings, and small statues. In the center, a couch drowned under furs and mismatched pillows, more altar than seat. Unya drifted along the walls, fingers hovering above relics, until a low box caught her eye. She lifted the lid to find a small wardrobe’s worth of castoffs. It had everything, spandex, denim, and silk, all jammed haphazardly into the box.
She had brought no coin. Still, Djoln had promised an allowance. She let the lid rest in her palm and kept looking. The room felt warmer already.
“Would ya take off the mask?” a voice behind her in the room startled Unya, “It scares the livestock.”
Unya turned and found a tall skinny woman dressed in black jeans and a sweater. She was holding a clipboard, and had a knapsack hanging from her side.
“Hi, I’m Unya,” she said, taking off her mask.
“Are you now?” the woman responded, “What can I find for you?”
“I’m new in town. I’m with the monastery just north of here. Are you Hannegan?”
“Depends who’s asking,” she quipped.
“I… I already gave you my name,” Unya said.
“So are you a nun?” the woman asked.
“No, not a nun,” Unya said, “I’m a lyrist, and a magi. I’ve come to investigate the riddle of the winds.”
“The Riddle of the Winds?” the woman repeated with a cocked eye. “Well that’s a hauntingly beautiful name.”
“Yes, that is my mission,” Unya repeated. “What do you call it?”
“The Murders,” she responded tersely. “Yeah, ok. I’m Hannegan. How can I help?”
“Well…” Unya started, she really didn’t have any sort of plan yet, “You can start by telling me what you know.”
“I’m not really a story woman,” Hannegan replied. “More of a stuff girl, you know?”
Unya nodded, “I have… No idea what you mean, actually.”
“Well usually someone doesn’t walk in and ask ‘do you know something’ to me, instead they ask me stuff like, ‘do you have a book on this subject’, you know?”
“Ok,” Unya just kept nodding, “do you have a book on it?”
Hannegan stuffed both of her hands in her front pockets and shook her head, “I don’t. It’s so recent, you know? Nobody has written the book yet.”
“How recent?” Unya prodded. “What’s the earliest disappearance you have heard about?”
“It’s not like that, exactly.” Hannegan tugged on her dark brown hair. “We always heard about the sandstorms. And the defilers. And the wastes being dangerous and all. But just, like, four years ago, people started disappearing from in town.”
“Who?” Unya asked.
“I don’t know. In Docide you don’t really ask peoples’ names, or give your own. As a courtesy.”
“How do you know people went missing, then?” Unya prompted.
“Oh. There’d be a windstorm. Then there would be abandoned vehicles on their way home from the foundry down south, or the mines up north. Sometimes you’d even get people disappearing from in town on the west side,” Hannegan revealed. “People would be crying about it at the Talpat Public House.”
“A bar?” Unya perked up. “So they would have heard stories?”
“Oh, yeah!” Hannegan said. “Ask for Eldry. He is definitely a story guy.”
“Thanks. Where is it?”
“North of here, still on this road.”
“Thank you, Hannegan. It has been nice to meet you.” Unya started heading toward the door, then hesitated. “I was looking at some of the clothes in that box. If they’re still around in a couple weeks, I’d like to buy some.”
“What’s that harp made out of?” Hannegan inquired.
“Oak. From Cenetal.” Unya responded.
“I’ll trade you for it,” Hannegan said.
“Absolutely not,” Unya refused.
“Nuts. How about a song, then?” Hannegan negotiated. “I can’t kick you out of here without a proper pair of pants.”
“I would like that very much,” Unya agreed. “What would you like to hear?”
“A classic! A classic I’ve never heard before!” Hannegan offered excitedly. “Wait, no! Something nobody has ever heard before.”
“I have something I’ve been working on. It’s not done yet, I call it the… uh… Lurelat Eventide”
“Yes. Please. Perfect!” Hannegan said.
Unya pulled her lyre out from behind her, sat on the arm of the couch, and flexed her fingers. The song wasn’t done, of course, but Hannegan probably wouldn’t know the difference. She didn’t quite know what she would do for the bridge, but she could improvise her way through that. She closed her eyes, and began to strum.
The song began in melancholic minor, marking the delicate emptiness of the moonscape. It accelerated as Lurelat became angry by the invading force. Unya knew it would change key to major for the bridge, as the city and the oases found their equilibrium, and it would wrap up nice, slow and peaceful again. As she played the first twenty bars, she pondered what she would try for this live performance.
She didn’t get that far though. Shortly after she began to accelerate, Hannegan started squealing. Unya stopped playing and opened her eyes, and was surprised to see a white ball of light bouncing around the room. It was like the Listeners in Astire, but small and fast. It was a white bean pinging from frame to frame, a moth made of resonance. Where it struck, dust hung in the air, and it had thrown Hannegan into hysterics. She was clapping and jumping and looking all around the room. When Unya stopped playing, the apparition quickly faded.
Hannegan looked at Unya with a wide-eyed grin. “Girl, you have earned those jeans. Let me help you pick something out.”
“What was that?” Unya asked.
“That was an Archoria Sprite,” Hannegan responded.
“Say more words,” Unya prodded.
“I have this stone from Mt. Kujo. Its what the druid’s call an Eidolon, but that just means it’s alive. It liked your song so much it decided to listen!” Hannegan explained.
“Can I see the stone?” Unya asked.
“You can do more than see it,” Hannegan scurried quickly to a box on a shelf and produced a strange spherical object that looked like pristine marble. She handed it to Unya
“I trained briefly as a cleric of the Bowl. I used my singing to manifest spirits. That’s what got them to move me to the Lyre, which I fell in love with.” The stone glowed with a gentle yellow energy as she spoke.
“You really are a magi,” said Hannegan. “Most people who walk around bragging about their magical prowess don’t really have it.”
“Are there other mages in Docide?” Unya returned the orb to Hannegan.
“No, just charlatans and surveyors,” Hannegan responded. “Except, you know, the druids.”
“Where are they? How do I get in touch with them?” Unya followed up.
“They are usually in the oases out west. You don’t get in touch with them, though. They get in touch with you. If they’re interested. Which they’re not,” she said.
“You’ve been really helpful, Hannegan. Ok, Eidolons, Druids, and Talpat Public House,” Unya counted these points out on her fingers, “that’s a good start.”
“And jeans!” Hannegan added.
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