Harry on Oerth

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Four: Elementals and Dragons

Harry on Oerth

* * *

…another Oerth.

I didn’t have any idea what to expect of Oerth. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have some romantic notions about the ancestral home of my species. Every kid in history class learned of the raucous, bloody carryings on of their forebears through thousands of ‘civilized’ years on a single, increasingly crowded world. That world still had people on it, so the official histories went.

If they still acted as violently as the stories claimed, I had to wonder if that was still the case. Considering the tale Muggeridge told, I was hoping it wasn’t.

That sentiment was evident on the face of the crew, as those not actively working peered ahead, waiting for the mist to clear, wondering what the first sight of the planet would be.

The mist began to darken. ‘Not a hopeful sign,’  I thought. Darkness shrank, became more defined.

Something solid was in our way. A bell began to sound on the ship. I heard a change in the engines as the ship began to slow. Muggeridge was trying to avoid hitting whatever it was.

Too bad he didn’t get the notion sooner. The Conqueror emerged into the golden light of late afternoon just in time to slam into what turned out to be a bridge support.

I missed most of the subsequent noise and destruction as I hit the metal deck hard and lost consciousness.

I woke in my bunk with the remnants of a prize-winning headache. My hands went to my head, feeling a bandage. This was the second time I’d awoken thus. I groaned.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

I opened my eyes and saw Muggeridge standing by the door. “What happened?”

The captain smiled. “We’re here. And we’re going to be here for awhile.”

“The ship?”

A shrug. “It could have been a lot worse. The bow is crumpled, but there hasn’t been a breach.”

“You need to make repairs?”

“Definitely, but we can’t just now. We’re stuck fast to the bridge support.”

I could hear banging and the occasional revving of the ship’s engines. “How you going to get free?”

“We’re rigging a winch to the bridge now. We’re going to load as much into the stern as we can and try to lift her off the piling.”

“How long will that take?”

Another shrug.

“Do I need to hang around?”

A husky laugh. “No. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you left soon. The crew would be more at ease knowing they could leave as soon as we’re free.”

“Can you leave?”

“Thankfully, yes. We’re not entirely free of the mist. The way remains open. Are you sure you want to stay?”

“I have a job that needs doing here. I’m not looking forward to it, I’m the only one who can.”

“Why only you?”

“I’m the only one here who really knows what’s going on.” I had to do something. Fuck my romantic sense of duty.

“How will you get back yourself?”

My turn to shrug. “Figure I’ll find a way.”

“You’re a brave man, Tranker. Brave or crazy.”

“I’ve been called both, in my day.”

Muggeridge laughed.

* * *

Half an hour later, feeling better and equipped with a backpack containing some essentials, like food, smokes, and liquor, I debarked into a dinghy and was rowed to the shore of the urban river the Conqueror  had arrived on.

The climb to the street was less epic than I feared it would be, as I found a steep, greasy set of steps carved into the native rock a few yards away from the bridge.

I reached the street. The breeze was pleasant. Birdsong could be heard.

No sign of other inhabitants.

I turned back to the boat and shouted, “Has anyone seen any people?”

One of the crew replied, “Not a one!”

Looking back at the city, the buildings didn’t look abandoned. No sign of decay or the ravages of nature. Strange that.

Leaving the crew to their repairs, I set off in the direction of the tallest structures I could see.

Brush and small trees screened my immediate view. Coming through them, I found my way to the street blocked by a fence of glittering metal almost three yards high. I reached out to touch it without thinking and found myself flat on my back almost a dozen feet away.

The painful tingling and paralysis subsided after awhile.

Electrified.

Bugger.

The good news was that the rubbery weakness of my limbs argued that someone was around here somewhere.

The bad news, of course, was that whoever was here evidently wasn’t fond of visitors.

After an hour of walking, mostly along the backs of buildings, I finally found my way to an alley. Flat, rectangular cobbles mortared with moss led straight for a hundred yards to what turned out to be another alley.

I was able to tell about where the bridge was. Having no better notion of where to go, I headed that way. The nearer I got to the street that led to the bridge, the larger and more ornate the buildings became. They were also closer to each other. I navigated the alleys, frustrated regularly by dead ends and sharp turns that went away from the direction I wished to go.

I calmed myself by enjoying the day. Mellow light from a yellow sun, just a couple of hours from setting, warmed the colours of the ornate trees that graced narrow, fenced back yards. Wispy white clouds in a sky going from blue to violet drifted slowly by. The occasional bird flitted from tree to rooftop to fence.

I lit a smoke and hummed a tune.

Most alleys were the same as this one: narrow, paved with tiles, and backing a row of houses on each side. They were townhouses of a sort, though rather wider than the ones I was used to, four storeys of plain white stone topped with steep clay tile roofs. No windows on the back side, only large darkly stained doors. One side was mellowed by sunlight, the other in deep blue shade.

Oerth.

The home of humanity. I was walking on Oerth. I might never leave, might be dead in days or hours, but I had lived to see this place, to hear leaves rustle and birds sing in trees, to feel a breeze scented with blossoms.

My reverie ended in disappointment. When I finally came to structures that must front onto the street I was looking for, the buildings were still cheek-by-jowl and there was no direct way to get where I wanted to be.

Going back and trying to find a minor street that might get me to the major one held little appeal as the streets themselves must be laid out like the alleys—deliberately labyrinthine.

It looked like a break-in was in order. I had to admit I was a little apprehensive about the prospect of entering any of the buildings uninvited. Reason told me it was unlikely that any one building was occupied, but twenty years of sniffing around those on the wrong side of the law piped up and warned me that the odds rarely told the whole story.

As one looked pretty much like another, I picked the building closest to me. The yard backing the alley was protected by a six-foot-high wrought iron fence pierced by a gate. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked, though it was latched. Reaching through it to lift the mechanism and swinging it in presented no difficulty. I walked up to the door. This yard was mostly well-tended lawn, bordered by flowers, white, purple and pale pink. Again, I had to wonder where the people were.

If this city had been evacuated, it must have been quite recently. Either that, or something truly weird was going on. Weird or horrifically dangerous, I reminded myself, thinking of the Æthyr and the decimation of a Hermetist Armada.

It was only after I grabbed the brass handle that I remembered what had happened to me the last time I’d reached for something metal. It didn’t happen this time. Sighing with relief, I turned the knob.

The door opened. I pulled it slowly, noting the lack of a creak.

A dim hallway stretched in front of me. Cautiously, I entered.

The floorboards didn’t creak, either. The hall went straight toward the light coming from what I thought must be the front door. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I noted three doors leading off the high-ceilinged passage and two sets of wide steps (one up; one down). Unlit sconces, electric I thought, would have lit the barely noticeable carvings in the dark wood ceiling. They looked vaguely sinister to my eye, but I couldn’t say why.

I walked the length of the hall, looking for some way to turn the lights on. Near the front door was a panel with three switches. The middle caused the sconces to flicker to life.

I looked up to see the writhing of the damned.

I was wrong about the sconces. The light continued flickering in a way that implied a flame of some sort, though that begged the question of why the binary switches. Inconsistent illumination made the exquisitely detailed carvings seem to move.

No.

They were moving. I could see colour begin to seep into the bas-relief. Soon, I could also hear screams—and words.

I strained to make out what was being said, looking for mouths not shouting mindlessly to assist me. Several distinct sounding voices seemed to be trying to make themselves heard.

I caught part of something but wasn’t sure if it was a coherent utterance of one voice or the overlap of several that only seemed to make sense.

Something about ‘the first and the last’ and ‘the one to come.’ There was also a bit about the ‘gathering of the five’ and ‘the re-beginning.’ Overall, it seemed the voices were issuing warnings, warnings whose import I seriously wished I didn’t know. The Æthyr was certainly here.

I listened a little while longer without getting anything else of value. Playing a hunch, I turned the lights off.

Quiet descended on the scene. The ceiling was immobile wood again.

Thoughtfully, I exited the building.

Question: Was that an illusion?

Question: Was it a warning meant for me, or for anyone who might find it?

Question: Regardless, what was it warning against?

I recalled the info I’d gathered on Hyborea. Coming to Oerth might not have been one of my better ideas. The words of the Fyre Child came back to me. My bastard had certainly seemed cocky in their assessment of my chances.

One thing that the horror show had confirmed—I was in the right place. The Child had come through this city. That must mean they thought the Æthyr was here, in this city. A single chance was all I expected when I came here. Now, it seemed, I would have it.

A sobering thought, quickly followed by another—I needed a drink.

Question: Was there another player in this game? Maybe here?

Question: Was this person the one who had left that message?

It might have been something meant for a contingency long past, or one that had no relevance to what was happening now.

I didn’t believe that. This was the time and place that the issue would be decided.

A twitch of my hindbrain. Someone was watching me.

That changed things. Someone was running a game on me, watching to see what my reactions would be. Someone connected to Drago perhaps, though what that implied about my client’s reach was troubling.

Perhaps it was my unknown ally.

Question: would they anticipate that I would become aware of them?

Question: was my reaction to knowing my reactions were under scrutiny part of their plan?

Question: were they friend, foe, or disinterested in me except as an experiment of some sort?

Question: how was any of this connected to the insane plan of bringing the Pleroma and its rulers back?

According to myth, the Templars had been humans once. Part of the civilization later historians would call Atalanté. I knew the history of those islands, now gone. Well, I kind of knew. I mean, I still remembered most of what I heard between naps.

Superficially, there was support for the contention that the Templars had at least had some connection to Atalanté.

But those islands were gone.

That’s what I was taught, anyway.

I paused, cigarette to lips, lighter lit. ‘I’m going to have to look for Atalanté,’ I thought and added another note to the list before putting epad away.

And again, ‘Fuck!’

I wondered what the odds were I was in the archipelago already. Considering my run of luck lately, too long. Then I remembered that the Fyre Child had to be here and relaxed a little. I ignored the voice that told me all my speculations and conclusions could be so much swamp gas. I decided to proceed as if I were truly alone and that I could find and stop the Fyre Child myself.

I’d been avoiding one question since I first saw this place—where was I? Knowing the geography of a world I’d never expected to visit hadn’t been high as on my list of priorities in school as chasing pussy, something I almost regretted now.

Almost.

Most of what little I had learned about Oerth’s geography, I hadn’t retained. What I needed to find was a map of some kind, preferably with ‘you are here’ on it somewhere.

It was past sunset, now. The city was becoming quite hard to see, blue shadow edging closer to black by the minute. I’d seen nothing resembling streetlights. No lights were going on in windows, either.

I lit, sucked, held, exhaled a cloud of smoke.

I still wanted that drink, but I never drink while walking—I like to hide my alcoholism. To my left, the street dead ended in an ornate building that evidently held some symbolic purpose.

The other way, the street led under a stone arch then over the bridge. I had trouble seeing through that arch. I shrugged and headed that way.

The closer I got it, the more obscure the view through the arch became. At twelve feet, I couldn’t see past the opening at all.

The arch itself was of the same bright metal as the fence that had so disagreed with my nervous system. I finished my smoke and had another while I considered it. The whole thing was only twenty feet high, a dozen feet broad and about eight deep.

Close to, the space under the arch was a cloudy, shifting mix of pastel colours. It didn’t look like any Portal I’d ever seen. That didn’t mean it wasn’t one.

I reached gingerly toward it but chickened out before breaking the plane of the arch. My backpack yielded a couple of plastic utensils, one of which I’d gladly sacrifice.

The spork showed no effects from being thrust into the mist. It wasn’t damp or cold or gone to another dimension.

I decided to leave the arch alone. Maybe I’d meet someone who could tell me what it was all about.

And maybe I’d find a fortune in gold coins.

Shit.

I could go around the arch easily enough; the bridge was wide here at its beginning. I turned to look back, once I was past the arch. Same pastel mist. Why the hell was it even there?

Once on the bridge itself, I walked on the right side, hoping to get a glimpse of the Conqueror. There was no noise of the winching that had been going on a few hours previous. I could still see the fog that haloed the transition point to the Silvergrey Sea.

I leaned over the rail. The first support of the bridge was absent any stuck boats.

So.

I was on my own. For some reason—likely, my general distrust of humanity—I felt comforted by that.

Beyond the bridge, a couple of miles into the city was a hill with buildings on top of it.

One dominated. It looked like the images of Azhure’en I’d seen. Was it an old chapterhouse? Maybe even a current one? It might even be connected to the Mother Lodge itself. I wouldn’t put it past the Hermetists to have retained contact with Oerth and let it be rumoured that all contact had been severed.

That ornate structure needed to be my next destination.

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026

© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved