Chapter 57 – Teller of Fate

Teller of Fate

Sixth Movement: The Fate of Stars

Chapter Fifty-Seven

* * *

“Wait, wait wait…thothe are multivertheth?” Darmorel asked, gesturing at the spheres sailing calmly overhead.

“Right. Well, they’re actually multi-Aions. Each Aion holds a multiverse.”

Darm was bored. Asking Quol about something technical was a good way to kill time. She knew more than she let on, but acting like she didn’t kicked in Quol’s ‘professor mode’ and frustrated her friend just enough to make the conversation lively.

After a moment of staring at the sphere’s, “Tho, we’re in one of thothe?”

Quol sighed a lot more theatrically than the moment called for. “No. Glyph is outside of all that.”

“No. I meant, where we usually are.”

“Oh. Then, yes.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the mages could tell you,” gesturing at the mages citadel on the far corner of the city.

“You’re a mage.”

“I’m not a specialist in the spheres. They are.”

“Oh. Tho, couldn’t we just fly to our thphere and get back that way?”

Quol gave her the are-you-that-stupid look. “Through Nonspace. Really.”

“Well, using a thpell to protect uth obviouthly.”

“Sure. So, we fly to our sphere—assuming we could even find it—and rip it open. That’s your plan. Then what? How do we find out which Aion is ours is ours and then which universe, Hmm?”

“Well, there hath to be a way to find that out.”

“And are you forgetting what happened the last time someone opened one of those spheres?”

“Why? What happened?”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

“No.” Perfectly innocent expression.

“Well, I’ll give you a hint. We’re currently here to try to end the disaster caused by that one other time.”

“Huh?” Holding back her smile was becoming harder for Darmorel.

“The bleeding White God?!”

“Oh, the Templar thingy! Oh, I knew about that. I thought you meant another incident. You really should try to be clearer about thethe thingth.”

A brief expression of homicidal rage and Quol turned her back on her friend.

‘Well, that killed some time,’  Darmorel thought. Not enough, though. “Tho, what do you think of thothe humanth, the Airkharts?”

“Impressed. Considering what they went through, to even be alive, much less here and ready to fight is evidence of great strength of will.”

“Pluth, they’re really good looking.”

Quolamin turned a sour expression on her friend. “Are you ever not thinking with your cooch?”

Darm placed a finger on her chin and looked up, thoughtfully. “Well, thometimeth I think about thwag. Theriously though, are you telling me Jane doethn’t make an imprethion?”

Quol blinked and looked away. “Well, she is attractive”

‘Aha,’ Darm thought. ‘Someone has damp undergarments.’  “When thith ith over, you should definitely make a move.”

“I have a girlfriend, remember.”

“I remember you telling me you’re not exclusive.” Darm, not exclusively into dick herself, had tried to bed Quol once. She might have succeeded, had her friend been just a bit more drunk. That was when she found out that the pair were open.

“Yeah, but Shorbrea is here with me now.”

“Tho?”

“It would be rude.”

“Excuses, excuses. Life is short, you know.”

Quol did not respond.

“There’th John to consider, too. And don’t give me that no dick for me, thankth, bit. You’ve been with men before. And the Airkhartth are identical twins. Shagging him would practically be the same as shagging her.”

Before Quol could respond, they both saw the silver horses.

“What the hell?” Quol.

“What thphere do they come from?”

“They’d better not be from any of them.”

“Why?”

“The whole White God thing!”

“Oh, right. Tho, where did they come from?”

“It might have something to do with the Mir, though I don’t see—” Then the whole Spire jerked sideways so fast it cost them both their footing.

— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, August 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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