Vainglory 1.6 - The Road to Tarnish

Hey all! It's Saturday - no VoT or CD scheduled for the day, so how about a few more Vainglory chapters? :)

6 – The Road to Tarnish

As they progressed, moving ever further toward the rising sun but now angling to the south, meandering between hills and skirting streams and outcroppings, the foliage grew greener and denser. By midday, the trees they passed were tall and wide enough to lean against, no longer saplings. “So, the fire burns through every hundred years or so?” Ward contemplated the little copse they walked through, wondering how old the trees were.

“That’s what I remember from the text I read. Well, I can’t remember if it said century or centuries.”

“If you were stuck on Earth for most of your life, where’d you get texts about these worlds?” Ward gestured around, indicating the planet they walked upon and also the ones above their heads.

“Earth may be low on anima, but it has been visited by plenty of beings from other places. Some humans have made their way through portals and back, bringing with them knowledge. Some of my earlier hosts had extensive libraries.”

“And they wouldn’t give you enough soul anima to open a gateway? I’d think they’d want to visit other places with more magic.”

“Well, I might have exaggerated my role in the opening of that portal. Lafferty did most of the work.” She shrugged and looked up at him from beneath furrowed brows, almost like she was afraid Ward would rebuke her. He passed her admission off as no big deal, maintaining a pleasant expression, waiting for her to continue. “In any case, Christina wasn’t exactly rich in soul anima. I told you about her earlier devil, the one who just about drained her dry, right?”

“Only off-hand.”

“It’s a long story, but back to your question—opening a gateway to another world isn’t something done lightly. Yes, it takes soul anima, but the spell I used also requires sacrifice. Your friends paid most of the toll.”

“My friends?”

“The cultists you killed.” Her voice had a note of humor, so Ward didn’t bother arguing; she was teasing, probably trying to save face for needing a weasel like Lafferty to help her open the portal. When she changed the subject, he snorted, unsurprised. “You’re a funny kind of cop, Ward. I’ve been on Earth a long time and known quite a few police officers in my day. I don’t remember any of them walking around with a pocket full of bullets.”

“Eh, it’s just a lazy habit. I refused to carry my semi-automatic, which pissed off my old lieutenant. He used to make me carry around speed loaders for my revolver; I think he thought the inconvenience would push me into carrying the department-issued Glock—got me these little clips to fasten them to my belt and everything. When he retired, I just started carrying extra bullets in my pocket, so I didn’t have to have those dorky things on my belt.”

“Speed loaders?”

“They’re like these little rings you put bullets in, then you can drop them into your cylinder all at once . . .”

“Sorry I asked.”

“Oh, am I boring you?” Ward chuckled.

“Is it a fashion thing?”

“Huh?”

“Not wanting to carry the ‘dorky’ speed loaders on your belt.”

“No! Well, honestly, they just got in the way of everything. I’d catch ‘em on the steering wheel or seatbelt. They’d get hung up on my raincoat. And, well, I told you, I’m lazy. It’s just easier to throw a handful of rounds in my pocket.”

“I don’t think you’re lazy. A lazy man wouldn’t have followed Laferty into that basement and then into the old, abandoned structure where he was going to kill Christina.”

“All right. I’m lazy about some things.”

“Listen, Ward.” Grace stopped and turned to face him fully. “I know you have a certain attitude, a certain way of doing things, but you need to be on your toes in this world. You’re a small fish in a very, very big pond now, and you don’t have the law on your side anymore. You can’t expect people to listen to your authority, so be prepared for violence at any moment.”

“You mean like I handled those ‘cultists?’ Or how about those scavs? You were ready to throw in the towel and basically told me it was game over. Don’t worry about me taking shit seriously, all right?”

Grace frowned and nodded. “Don’t get mad, old guy. I’m just saying this is real, this isn’t a fantasy, and I don’t want to be without a host for the next century, so try to keep alive.”

“Come on.” Ward gestured for her to turn around and keep walking. She stared at him for another minute, then turned and started up the grassy slope. “Quit calling me old, too!”

“Does a little teasing bother you so much?”

“It’s just dumb ‘cause you’re a hell of a lot older than I am, and I wasn’t even really old when we met. Shit, I still had decades before I could claim my pension without any penalties.”

“Consider it a term of endearment, meant as a commentary on your general vibe and not your actual age.”

“You’re saying I act old?”

“You have a certain air about you, probably a result of being an authority figure for too long. Come on, lighten up!” She stopped at the top of the rise and exclaimed, “This ought to put a spring in your step!”

“What?” Ward trudged up behind her, and, looking over her pale blond head, he saw what she meant. Idyllic pastureland stretched before them in an enormous, verdant valley that spanned the horizon from one distant purple mountain range to another. Straight ahead, past dozens of patchwork farms, circular white stone walls rose into the sky, surrounding dense clusters of tall, narrow buildings with colorful gables and glass windows that twinkled in the afternoon light. Not far away, down the slope upon which they stood, a road wended through the valley, running north to south. Vehicles of all types crowded the busy thoroughfare, from ox-driven carts to brass, clockwork affairs that gushed steam into the blue sky.

The road was cobbled from red and brown bricks and had extensive culverts and high berms leading up to it. It looked like it could easily support four lanes of traffic. “Quite a construction.” For some reason, Ward had it in his mind that they were in some kind of medieval world; though the scavs had carried firearms, they’d seemed clunky and low-tech. Even their lantern had been wind-up. That road, though, spoke of heavy labor or construction equipment.

“It’s probably lasted through a few fire cycles. The text I read spoke of empires solely concerned with building constructions that would do so.”

“Yeah, but, like, what’s the tech level here? You said those scavs could be from off-world, so I didn’t think about it much, but are we going to see gas-powered vehicles? What’s the deal with the steam truck down there? If that kind of thing is available, why are so many of those folks using animals to haul their stuff?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I know things work differently in places with lots of anima, electronics especially. Take a look at your phone. I think we’ve been here long enough for it to be affected . . .”

“What the hell?” Ward interrupted, already looking at the little phone screen. He’d feared the battery would die, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he saw nothing but static and multi-colored flickers of light, almost like he’d dropped it and badly cracked the screen.

“Yeah, that’s what a traveler recorded in his journal. Most electronics don’t last long in anima-rich environments.”

“Well, damn.” Ward sighed, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “I thought I’d at least be able to look at photos or listen to music. I mean, assuming I found a way to charge it.” He gestured to the road down the hill. “Come on.”

“I should . . . maybe,” she paused, looked over her shoulder at Ward, her red eyes less obviously alight with flames in the bright daylight. “Well, I wonder if I should hide as I did with that stranger.”

“You think people down there can see you?”

“I don’t know. I think it takes some specific talent and a certain amount of anima, but should we risk it?”

“Grace, I don’t know! How common are your . . . people?”

“Not very. Just as on Earth, most cultures have written horrible fairy tales demonizing us.”

“Demonizing? A devil?”

“I already told you! That’s a name we’ve chosen for ourselves! It’s not accurate, at least not how humans have used the word!”

“Well, then, what are you called?”

“Ugh!” Grace stepped toward him, balling her fists, and Ward held up his hands, ready to defend himself from another physical outburst. She stopped short, though, staring at him with narrowed, angular eyebrows, gritting her teeth. “We might accept the name, but that doesn’t mean we all like it!”

“Look,” Ward lifted his hands, palms out, “I didn’t name you folks. I think I’ve been pretty open-minded about you and the . . . things you do. Now, how about we play it by ear, huh? Go ahead and hide for now, and let me kind of feel things out down there. Can’t you, like, talk in my head or something?”

“Maybe someday, but not yet. We’re too newly bonded.”

“Bonded? Is that a polite way to say you’re possessing me?” Ward chuckled and started walking. He was the kind of guy who handled things as they came and didn’t like to sit around worrying. Grace was either a delusion or a real devil that he could see and speak to, and either way, he had to keep living. Maybe some psychiatrist would tell him to ignore her, that if she was a delusion, she’d only get worse the more attention he gave her, but he didn’t care. He liked to vent to the department shrinks, but he never really let them tell him how to live his life.

“Bonded, jerk! If I were possessing you, I could take control!” Ward turned to look at her, but she was gone, and he assumed she was “hiding” inside him. He continued over the grassy fields toward the high berm leading up to the road and laboriously climbed up. The gravel was a bit loose, but the soil was hard-packed beneath, and he managed to get up to the cobblestones without falling. One of the big, brass and lacquered-wood wagons was chugging toward him, billowing steam from a stack atop the driver’s compartment, so he slowed to watch it pass.

The vehicle reminded him a lot of an old flatbed truck, something you might see on a farm forty or fifty years ago or, he supposed, even nowadays, if the farm was poor enough. It was stacked high with baled green hay, and the smell as it rumbled past was fresh and rich, which made Ward pause to really appreciate the vivid colors and scents on the wind. It was a damn sight different from Seattle in late Fall, and that, combined with his overall sense of wellness and vitality, made it impossible not to smile as he stood there, watching the steam wagon rumble ahead of him toward the distant city. He started walking again, observing the people he passed or who passed him in their vehicles or on their mounts.

He was surprised that almost everyone looked pretty much human to him. Hadn’t Grace acted like humans were some backward, low anima people and that he’d be struggling to compete with more advanced species? Were these people not precisely human but human-like? They certainly varied more in size and coloration than the people of Earth. Plenty of folks had light and dark skin and everything in between, but some had hair and eye colors that would have turned heads back on Earth. He saw people whose hair was bright green, blue, red, yellow, purple, and pretty much every other hue of the rainbow.

He figured the hair could be dyed; maybe bright hair was all the rage in this part of the universe, but still, that didn’t explain the bright eyes that would have looked rather strange on Earth—yellow, orange, silver, and a dozen other colors that would require some fancy contact lenses to replicate back home. Then there were the little people, folks Ward thought were children at first but soon realized were just tiny people standing no more than a yard high. Similarly, he saw people who were nearly as broad as they were tall, maybe five feet tall, but with shoulders that would have given him a run for his money, and Ward wasn’t a small man, standing at six feet and an inch.

The diversity didn’t end with all the unusual human-like people. Ward saw something like a humanoid praying mantis driving a steam-powered, clockwork horse. He saw more of the jackal-like people like Lizzie and the other scavs he’d encountered, and he saw some odd, blue people with thick-looking, smooth skin and a single eye beneath their brows. He didn’t know how friendly the various people on Cinder were, so Ward avoided eye contact and kept to himself on the side of the road, making steady progress toward the big city gates.

One thing he watched out for was more people with glowing eyes like Huseem, but he didn’t notice any. A few folks might have had a gleam in their eyes like Grace said he did, but he couldn’t be sure, especially in the bright sunlight. When he reached the gates, he found he had to wait in a queue as some city officials inspected the people and vehicles seeking entry. He was standing behind a young woman with golden hair, wearing baggy brown clothes that almost looked to be made from burlap sacks. She wore sandals, carried a long walking stick, and seemed irritated by the wait.

“Hells and hounds! I have an appointment! What’s the hold-up?”

“Mayor’s trying to raise funds is my guess. He’s got his boys out here examining every wagon, making sure to tax every blade of grass and sprig of clover.” Ward turned toward the new voice to see a tall, narrow-faced man. He finished his statement by gathering a huge wad of phlegm from his throat and spitting it onto the cobbles.

Looking past Ward to the man, the woman said, “I’m sick of this mayor! We need an election.”

“Oh, don’t worry. He’ll stop the inspections a month before the next election, and all the sheep will forget why they were irritated. Mark my words; he’ll repair the potholes and hand out candied corn to the kids in the square, too.”

Ward snorted and nodded. “Sounds like politics as usual.”

The woman smiled at him, exposing nice, white teeth with a couple of notable gaps. He wondered about the story behind those missing teeth. A fight? Decay? Somehow, he doubted the latter. “Just what I was about to say.” She glanced him up and down, noticing his pack and the sack full of guns and bullets hanging from his left hand. “What you in town for?”

“Just seeing the sights. I’ve been traveling.”

“Oh? Any place I might know?”

“Well, heard of Earth?”

She frowned and pressed her thumb against the dimple on her chin. “Can’t say I have. Far?”

“Oh yeah. Very.” Ward figured he should change the subject, so he asked, “You like that city?” He jerked his chin toward the gates. “Tarnish, right?”

“It’s fair enough. Most of the roads are good, and the catacombs draw enough tourists to keep the restaurants and inns in business, so that’s good for the rest of us. I’m on my way to work; my aunt runs an inn.”

“What’s the deal with the catacombs?”

“One of the challenges! Surely you’ve heard of them?” The tall man interjected, leaning close as he spoke, dousing Ward with breath that smelled something like cabbage.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of the challenges, but I don’t know anything much about them. What are the catacombs like?”

“I’ve never spoken to any victor, but sure, I can share some rumors with you.” As she spoke, her lips moved oddly, and watching her, Ward realized she was poking her tongue through one of the gaps in her teeth.

“What about people who don’t win?”

“Well, people who don’t complete the challenge never come out.” She shrugged.

“Move the line!” a short, very broad woman shouted from behind the tall, narrow-faced man. The woman speaking to Ward frowned but turned and moved up the road, closing the gap between her and the cart ahead.

“Anyway, rumors are vague—puzzles, mazes, that kind of thing. Some people claim the place changes magically every time people go in. It only opens once a month. Sometimes only a few people go in, but I watched more than a hundred go in a few months back.”

“Do people work together?”

“Sometimes, but they say the catacombs have a way of splitting people up.”

The tall man leaned forward, edging up beside Ward. “I was there too. I also heard a couple of the keepers talking in a bar the other night; only something like a dozen of those hundred have come out.”

“Yeah, that’s the rumor. Something less than fifteen percent of challengers become victors.”

“Could be worse, I guess.” Ward knew Grace wanted him to go in there, and it was a little daunting to think of those odds, but he’d never considered himself average in his entire life. If someone asked him if he were in the top fifteen percent of cops, he’d have answered yes. Of course, this wasn’t a cop challenge, but still, the odds didn’t shake him much.

“You think so?” The woman looked him up and down again as though sizing him up. “I guess you do have a bit of a shine to your eyes, don’t you?”

“Does he?” the tall man asked, peering around Ward’s shoulder. “Oh, I guess so! I hadn’t noticed in the sunlight. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir! Are you a challenger, then?”

“Well, I . . .”

“I’m Fayella,” the woman said, narrowing her eyes angrily at cabbage-breath. “Do you have lodging lined up?” It seemed the tall man got the hint because he harrumphed and took a few steps back, striking up a conversation with the broad-shouldered woman behind him.

“No, nothing lined up. I’m new around here.”

“Oh, right. Well, as I said, my family runs an inn near the center of town. I could lead you there and make sure you get a good rate.”

“Yeah?” Ward found the woman pleasant enough, but he also thought it was interesting how the two strangers’ tone had altered so quickly when they’d seen he had a bit of anima, causing his eyes to “shine.” Was the ability to gather anima that uncommon? He also had the small problem of not having any money. He didn’t even know what these people used for money. Thinking about it, he realized he might actually have some; he hadn’t been through all the pockets, pouches, tins, and folded-up swatches of cloth in the scav pack.

“Sure. It’d be nice to have someone interesting to talk to in the common room for a change.” She turned, frowned at the long line, and added, “Besides, I’m never going to make my appointment. It’ll be dinner time before we’re through the gate.”

Ward thought about the offer as he looked over the heads of the people in line, past the wagons and other vehicles to the looming, whitewashed city walls. He didn’t know anyone in this place, save the woman supposedly living in his head. Grace didn’t seem keen on showing herself around others, and the city sure didn’t look like it harbored a lot of private areas. He might need a room in an inn just to speak with her. Again, he thought about money, wondering if he had any and, if so, how much. He let his gaze drift back down to Fayella’s pretty brown eyes and said, “Yeah, that’d be nice. Maybe we could stop off at a pawn shop along the way?”