Teller of Fate
Second Movement: The Last Templar
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
The Templar’s first stop was Quisicosa, not a world at all, but a strip of terraformed metal twenty-seven million square miles in extent.
It existed in a stellar nebula composed of almost exactly the right elements for life and whose mean temperature was sixty-eight degrees.
The oxygen was rich enough to give the Templar a slight buzz within moments of his arrival.
The colony living there were called the Iolar.
They were diminutive, shorter even than he, and had huge wings of stretched hide, like the wings of a bat. Their skin was a luminescent gold, their eyes entirely black.
The Templar decided to be discreet and so arrived by Portal.
As the beige vortex winked out, he stepped onto a platform twenty-five feet above one of the least usual landscapes he’d seen in his long life.
A plain was what he’d been anticipating. A few hills, perhaps, but nothing fancy.
The ground before him curved back on itself and pushed out in the middle distance into something very much resembling a tunnel.
All around and above and below, it was much the same thing: ripples, curves, spiraling towers. It was as if what was once briefly square and flat had been pulled out of shape and molded at the whim of a lunatic.
He had no direct view of the nebula, though diffuse red-amber light from it seemed everywhere. Turf and trees, both bluish in the glow, covered every surface at almost every angle.
The low gravity might have explained the trees’ appearance, for their branches were wispy, twisted things forming lace-like shapes that flowed as if tossed about by chaotic winds.
Other than the Portal station, there was no evidence of construction anywhere, nor any sign of the inhabitants.
A few minutes looking around did nothing to help him decide which direction to take.
The Templar climbed down a rope ladder, picked a direction at random, and started walking.
So low was the pull of the ground that he felt as buoyant as a helium-filled balloon and caught himself wanting to travel in leaps, rather than plodding steps.
It was a slightly surreal experience, even for him, to walk toward a spot where the land turned vertical and then upside-down and to carry on walking it. It was as if the entire landscape changed its orientation as he walked. It was he whose rotation was changing, but it proved impossible to sense that.
A downward slope was weirder to walk, if that was possible.
At first, he tried to keep to a direction, but the topsy-turvy landscape made that impossible. After less than an hour, he was completely disoriented.
The whole of this world was one big funhouse mirror, and the Templar was walking its surface.
He considered sending out his augmented senses to find the citizens of this place and decided against it. Even if it worked, by no means a sure thing here, it could be sensed by those hostile to him and he didn’t want the locals, who had a reputation for skittishness, alarmed.
Two hours passed with no sign of the natives, and he realized he was enjoying himself. It was surely a combination of the lower gravity, higher oxygen, and springiness of the turf.
Nameless was almost disappointed when he finally found the Iolar.
The Templar was surprised by a clear view of the nebular sky. Almost directly ahead, as he approached a village, was an edge of the warped plane of Quisicosa. Through a lozenge shaped gap, he saw pale orange gas cushioning several bright blue stars, close enough to show their shape. The light was intense yet kind, streaming in from the horizontal and silhouetting the village, giving the structures warm haloes.
Those buildings turned out to be simple one or two room huts on stilts. The only distinguishing features were wide platforms abutting the entrances.
The people were a match for their surroundings. The children were shorter than the adults, but the difference was small enough that the Templar had trouble telling them apart. Add to that the fact that all of them were equally friendly and curious, and he was mostly at sea.
They spoke a fluttering, cooing kind of language that sounded quite pleasant. He assimilated it in under a minute.
They knew nothing of his origins and didn’t ask. He was welcomed with jokes and laughter and literally pulled into the center of the village.
Here, at least, he saw Iolar flying. Several were descending from the land overhead.
A communal fire pit centered the open space, and it was here that three golden skinned natives landed.
They were taller than him. This, he later learned, was a sign of great age. They were the only ones he saw that day who wore any type of clothing.
Strips of what looked to be black dyed leather circled their waists and crossed their bodies from left hip to right shoulder.
As they moved to greet him, others of the tribe began laying a fire.
“I am Aviador,” said the one closest to him, the only woman. She held out a hand.
The Templar decided she was inviting a simple handshake. He reciprocated. “I am Nameless.” He wondered how that would translate.
Aviador, the leader, raised one pencil-thin eyebrow, but otherwise showed no reaction. “What brings you to our Quisicosa?”
The Templar had little time; he was blunt. “I’m looking for the Teller, Fatalidad.”
“You have need of his services?”
“And more. It’s quite important.”
Aviador turned to her companions. A whispered conversation followed. After it ended, “We must send a message to him. He is far from here. Would you be willing to wait?”
“How long before I can see him?”
“He must agree to that,” Aviador seemed anxious about something, though with those liquid black eyes, it was hard to tell. “I will be most of a day before our messenger can get there and back with his response.”
The Templar considered his reply. He could get to the Teller directly, easily enough. He needed the goodwill of these people, though.
He couldn’t wrest the Syrat from Fatalidad, so he’d have to bargain. He’d be much more likely to succeed if he didn’t commit any sins against the courtesies of these people. “I shall be delighted to wait among these fine folk.”
Several of the villagers looked at him and smiled broadly.
A feast was cooking a few minutes later.
* * *
The Templar greatly enjoyed his full day with the Iolar. They treated him as semi-divine, an honour he had been quite used to earlier in his life.
Never had it been bestowed where knowledge of his nature was absent, though.
They weren’t exactly deferential. Their attitude was more playful. They were genuinely interested in interacting—all right, playing—with him, and seemed not to consider that he might harm them. Consequently, the Templar found himself responding with genuine affection.
He realized he felt a sense of home that he hadn’t since his own young adulthood an eternity ago.
* * *
Nameless didn’t expect anything like a normal day-night cycle here and was mildly surprised to find there was. The whole plane of Quisicosa rotated, it appeared. After playing several physically vigorous games with the younger Iolar, the light began to dim.
Looking out, he saw that just one of the young blue stars was still visible at the extreme left of the opening. That seemed to be the signal for supper as two of his new friends took him by the arms and pulled him toward the communal fire, chatting and giggling all the while.
He ended up sitting on the ground with one of his new friends, a young woman named Phaedo, snuggled up next to him.
It didn’t take long for him to realize that more than merely playfulness informed her behavior. This presented him with a minor dilemma. Without knowing more about the culture of the Iolar, acceptance or refusal could cause problems. The Templar had kept his thoughts out of the minds of his hosts as a courtesy, but he needed to know more to decide what he should do. Delicately, he passed over the surface of the group mind of the community.
Mildy surprised he was to find that who—or better what—he was was known to the Iolar.
Also, it seemed he was free to decide without prejudice, though there was a hint that this was more than merely a carnal offering. Something was hoped for by this proposed union. He let himself probe a little deeper into Phaedo’s mind. She was a few years into what constituted adulthood among the Iolar and had had sexual partners before. Her interest was genuine, but she too hoped for something from this that would benefit her people.
They hoped for a child from this union. They knew what this would mean.
The Templar knew he had one living descendant out there. He pondered what another would mean. His daughter might need help with the tasks she would almost certainly have to take on after he was gone.
Large wet black eyes, in that shimmering golden face smiled at him, as she caressed his bicep with delicate fingers.
He made his decision.
The Iolar had set aside a hut for his stay. As the rotation of their world further dimmed the starlight, the Templar left the gathering and headed for it. Phaedo stood as he did, arms still entangled with his bicep. She let go just as he reached the foot of the ladder climbing up to it, flitting up to the platform with a single flap of her wings.
She looked down at him and grinned. “Slowpoke.”
Smiling back, he climbed the rungs. The young Iola didn’t move. As his head popped up at the top of the ladder he was greeted with a good view of her vulva. As he couldn’t actually get onto the platform until she got out of his way, he just stayed there, enjoying the view. He looked up into her eyes just as her smile became a giggle. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, not at all.” Another flap of her wings and her thighs were resting on his shoulders, legs crossed behind his neck. She pulled him in. The dizzying smell of her sex enveloped him. He took the hint and laid his lips against hers.
She cooed and made sounds like the trill of a bird as he worked her sex with his tongue and lips. A cry like a siren, only softer signaled her climax. Relaxing her grip on his head, she lay back and sighed. “Not bad, friend Nameless.” After a moment, she sat up and, with a flap of her wings, launched herself backward into the dwelling, landing in a sitting position on a ridiculously fluffy-looking bed. She crooked a finger at him.
Smiling, Nameless followed her.
“My turn.” She had his britches off in a hurry and his rapidly engorging member between her lips not much later. He let her work her magic, reveling in sensations he had not experienced as himself in a long time.
She looked up at him after a while. Pulling his cock out of her mouth with an audible pop, she asked, “Can you make this a little bigger?”
Nameless laughed. A ridiculous request it would have been to anyone else, but one he could manage. “Of course.” His manhood, glistening with her spit, began slowly lengthening and widening.
Phaedo’s sweet lips, darker than her skin, turned upward and her black eyes widened even further as she watched. Her tongue, long, red, and forked, fluttered along the length of him.
“Say when.”
“Okay, long enough. Can you make it a little fatter?” A moment later. “Okay, stop. Lay back, lover mine.” Another flap of her wings and she smoothly sheathed his member, sighing contentedly.
Nameless made some minor adjustments to the shape of his dick and the sensations became exquisite. His lover didn’t seem to notice.
Squatting over him, she slowly pistoned up and down on him, pinching her dark brown nipples and flicking her tongue quite rapidly. The latter he realized was intended to be arousing for him. He did find it so. Her expression began to change as another orgasm approached. She arched her back, resting both hands on his chest. Head thrown back, she began singing that siren song again. Looking down at him again, she began panting, eyes wet with her desire.
Nameless sensed his own end and, reaching out to her, pulled Phaedo’s body against him, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.
The young Iola’s wings began fluttering as her cries increased in volume.
Now he came to it, Nameless had to decide if he really wanted to fulfill the Iolars’ desire. It wasn’t a difficult choice to make. Releasing himself, he shot a child into the Phaedo’s womb just as, for the second time, she came.
Damp and panting, she folded her wings along her back. They took up surprisingly little room. When Nameless’s hands returned to her waist, he noted that they seemed quite flexible. Not bone, then. She slid off to the side and lay an arm and a leg across him. Those massive liquid black eyes looked at his. “Thank you.” Then she snuggled against him.
They were both asleep in minutes.
* * *
When Aviador returned to the village with news that Fatalidad had agreed to see him, the Templar found he was reluctant to leave.
Pulling himself together, he bade the villagers farewell. There were smiles and kisses; hugs and tears—some of them his!
When he promised to come back and visit, he was surprised to realize that he meant it. He would try to return one day.
Phaedo gave him a deep, lingering kiss and promised to raise their children well.
Not wanting to delay him more than necessary, three of the Iolar carried the Templar on a kind of wheelless chariot.
It was triangular and had low sides and a cushioned floor. Three stout poles supported it and allowed the Iolar to carry him.
Aviador took the lead, telling him it would be almost nine hours until they arrived. They left without delay.
The first hour of the flight was a breathtaking experience. The vistas were unlike anything he’d seen.
In his experience never had there been a world that treated gravity so cavalierly. The higher the air chariot went, the lighter the gravity. Though they remained at some height that kept at least a semblance of up and down; the ground to his left or right or, occasionally, above him appeared much too close. The villages he spotted were mostly vertical or even upside down from his perspective.
The hollows and trumpet shapes of the land upset his balance considerably; not even weightlessness did that.
It was also hauntingly beautiful, like a fever dream. Despite his firm desire to remain alert for the whole trip, the Templar felt himself tiring. The smooth motion of his flight eventually soothed him into a deep sleep.
— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, August 2026
© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved
