Chapter 48 – Teller of Fate

Teller of Fate

Fifth Movement: The Power Under Glyph

Chapter Forty-Eight

* * *

All of John Airkhart’s attention was on the cloud of blue limned fire that hid the other party. Erahn stopped her downward climb and turned to Jane, who only nodded.

They resumed their descent, moving toward Jane’s brother as fast as they could, not bothering with stealth. Erahn wondered who the others were and if they knew about John or if their appearance was coincidental.

The benches had very shallow backs, though they were high enough to make descending an exercise in concentration. As they continued climbing down, Erahn could see Jane’s brother more clearly. He was naked.

Having an advantage in length of stride, she soon outdistanced her companion, taking three or four rows at a time.

The attack spell was running out. The party could now be seen in swatches through thinning blue fire.

Still facing away from her, Erahn saw John’s back twist at the waist and his right arm, fingers curled, go back and up. The Custodian read from the open Book. The sounds of the words tripping from his mouth made Erahndira’s fur bristle.

She took one last extended leap and kicked out. Both feet landed squarely on John’s unprotected lower back, claws biting into his flesh.

John pitched forward. He was prevented from flying into the stands only by her grip on him.

Screaming, he was driven to the floor of the stage, the Incunabulum flying from his hand. The cat woman landed on her back as well. Sheathing her claws, she leapt to her feet, she sat on him just as Jane came up.

The former John’s sister landed awkwardly on the stage but managed to avoid falling.

She grabbed the Incunabulum, turning her head to close it before picking it up.

Breathing heavily, she strode over to where Erahn had her twin pinned to the stage. She was moving stiffly and sweating a bit too much. The run appeared to have aggravated her ribs.

She bent over John. “What’s going on, John? What—?” Jane recoiled and stepped back so quickly she almost stumbled. To Erahn, “Don’t let him move!”

“What! Jane, what’s wrong?”

“That’s not John.”

Erahn could only think of one answer, “The Thief?”

Jane was shaking her head. “No, I…I don’t know who or what that is.”

Erahndira took another look at John. He was smiling, but something in his eyes…

The anxiety was gone from them. There was a calm certainty. No gloating: just an ‘it is done’ kind of look. “Girl, I think we’re in trouble, ya.”

Jane returned her worried look and nodded.

“Any idea what he was doin’ with that Book?”

“I didn’t recognize the words he spoke. I think it was from part of the Incunabulum I’ve never studied closely. Nor had John.”

Voices from above reminded Erahn of the other party.

She looked over and saw that they had escaped the spell unscathed. There were five of them: two human fighters, male and female; another woman without armour but with a staff and a necklace of daggers; a short, wide, and bearded fighter with an evil-looking club-like weapon—a dwarf, Erahn thought he must be, and a stunningly beautiful creature carrying a short, glittering red staff. 

‘She must be a Fæ,’ Erahn thought. She’d heard stories from her childhood about them, but no one she knew had ever seen one.

Only a few inches taller than the dwarf, she was dressed in black, dull leather that snugged to her form and carrying only the metal staff. The steel net that snugly bound her hair couldn’t conceal its deep red colour or its golden highlights.

The Fæ’s skin was a soft white colour and pastel blue tinged. It sparkled in the light as if she were dusted with silver.

Everything seemed to fade into the background around her. As the party got closer, Erahndira saw that the Fæ’s eyes were the bright red of polished rubies.

“No, no, no, no, no…,” whispered Jane over and over. She also was staring at the elf.

Erahn looked over. Her lover’s brow dipped toward her nose. Her cheeks hollowed. Something about the Fæ had her lover deeply troubled. Her face relaxed almost at once as she rose to greet the party now descending toward them.

The tall human fighter with tied back hair, halted at the second row of seats. The others stopped further back. He raised an opened hand in greeting. “I am Bradwold, the Above-the-Hipbone Disemboweller. My crew and I are here investigating thefts from the city above.”

Jane and Erahn exchanged glances at the name but managed to avoid cracking smiles, In Erahn’s case only just.

Jane spoke. “I am Jane of Clan Airkhart, one of the Custodians of the Incunabulum.” She held up the Book. “We—” she laid a hand on the Erahn’s shoulder briefly—“are, or were, in pursuit of the Thief who stole it.”

The reaction of Bradwold’s party to this news was shocking to Erahn. The female fighter dropped the sword she had gripped loosely in one hand and said, “No!” in a voice mostly hoarse. Her face lost all expression as she stared at Jane.

Bradwold looked from Jane to the figure on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open. “His name is John. He’s your twin brother, isn’t he?”

“How did you know that?” Jane asked.

The other woman, the one with the boring looking staff, began looking around the room, eyes narrowed. She mouthed a spell bathed that the whole space in blue light. Sparking pink lightning flickered all around, hunting for something. A buzzing noise coming from somewhere above caused all to look for the source.

In the dim distance of the very top row, a fuzzy edged sphere of darkness refused the blue light right of entry. A male voice, a melodious tenor, echoed through the amphitheatre, “You may release the spell. You’ve found me.”

The spellcaster ended her glamour. The air cleared.

Nothing replaced the patch of blackness for a time. Then a fog issued from the stone wall behind where the sphere was. It obscured a large area and then began to coalesce, spinning into a cylindrical shape. It became denser and filled out. Eventually, the shape became dense, opaque, and suddenly someone was standing there.

It was in shadow, details unclear, then began to descend the rows of seats, looking more poised than Erahn remembered feeling as she had come down.

It was a ‘he.’

Short he was, about the same height as the Fæ, who had kept her peace thus far. She held the mysterious figure intently in sight though, staffed gripped in both hands.

The figure was dressed simply in loose white shirt and snug black trousers tucked into simple black boots.

He looked odd to Erahndira’s eyes. He had pale skin and wavy, black hair that stopped just above his collar. His eyes were entirely black.

His face was shaped more like hers than any of the others’. His forehead, though tall and broad, sloped back slightly. The nose was slender and lay along a prominent upper jaw. She had never seen any of the primates native to Jane and John’s world, or she might have used the word ‘simian’ to describe his features. They were much more refined, however.

She realized the new stranger was quite beautiful.

Everyone was silent and still in the presence of this person. Even John, who had been fidgeting though not really struggling, had stopped moving.

The look on his face, as he stared at the figure was black. Whatever was in him hated the newcomer.

When he came close to the party, the Fæ broke the silence. Her voice, like the rest of her, was enchanting, with an accent Erahn couldn’t place. “Greetings, father.”

The look on the male human fighter’s face was comic. His jaw dropped so far, she thought it might hit his throat. His knees and elbows bent and, as he turned to her, he looked to be in danger of falling over.

The Fæ touched him and the words he wanted to say died in his throat. He straightened, looking like he’d been poleaxed.

“Dævara,” the man said. “Not quite the setting for our transaction I had envisioned. But then, so many things have not gone according to plan.”

He turned to the rest of them. “Most of you are here now, because of events set in motion by me or—” here he looked at John—“others.”

“You stole this!” Jane seemed unintimidated by the figure. ‘Of course,’ Erahndira thought, ‘this is the Thief.’

He turned to Jane. His brow wrinkled; his wide mouth turned down. Hands at his sides, palms turned out, he said, “You’re as perceptive as I’d expect someone raised so close to the Incunabulum would be. You are correct. I am the being who possessed you and took the Book from your protection. I’m afraid I’ve much worse crimes on my soul. I inadvertently helped set in motion events that may doom Glyph and more of Reality than you can fathom. That Book I need. It was the only thing a Teller would take in trade.”

Bradwold turned to the Fæ, “For what?” His voice was hoarse with the emotion.

She did not answer. There was something in the look she and Bradwold shared. He was deeply pained, and she was responsible.

Brad turned to the newcomer, “What is your game, ah…what are you called, stranger?” He was respectful in his tone, but still emotional.

“He has no name,” Dævara said.

Brad raised an eyebrow.

The nameless person addressed everyone, “I was born and raised to adulthood without a name, after the manner of my people. I am a Magus of the Golden Temple.”

“The Templars disappeared a thousand centuries ago,” Brad said.

“Died,” corrected the Templar. “All but two: my sister and I.”

“Where is she?”

The Templar ignored the question. “I’m trying to put right a wrong committed against you and your ancestors a long time ago. After all this time, I finally have a chance to do that. I need help.” He turned to address everyone in the huge space. “I need help from all of you. I fear the time to act is growing short.”

“What’s your plan?” asked Brad.

“It was to exile an ancient foe, but circumstances have moved beyond that. Events are focused on Glyph, now. Whatever’s going to happen, it’s going to happen here.”

“What is going to happen?”

“That I intend to find out. Right now.” The Templar walked over to Erahn. “Please stand,” he said. Erahn looked over to Jane, who nodded. She stood and moved over to her lover, gently putting an arm around her waist.

The Templar regarded the still supine figure that looked so like Jane’s brother. “Get up.”

He didn’t shout. His voice didn’t take on a menacing tone. Erahn couldn’t think of any way it was different from any other statement the Templar had made so far, but she was overwhelmed by the urge to obey him, even though she wasn’t being addressed.

John just lay there. A chilling smile crossed his features.

The Templar just stared. Some communication was going on, Erahndira felt sure. After a few moments during which the tension in the room rose to the screaming point, John climbed to his feet.

Erahn’s claws had left neat punctures in the flesh of his back. Only one was still noticeably oozing blood. The others had already begun to scab over. She was glad she couldn’t see John’s eyes anymore.

“The masque is over, don’t you think?” the Templar said.

John collapsed.

Jane lurched forward, trying to cushion his fall, she managed an arm around his back, which slipped as he continued dropping. The effort drew a groan from her as she overbalanced. Both ended up on the floor.

His head was cradled on her upper legs. Erahn crouched, putting an arm around her friend. “Are you alright, ya?”

Jane nodded, grimacing. Something had to be done about her ribs soon.

When the Miu looked up, there was a figure standing where John had been, covered by a robe and cowl seemingly stitched together from grey rags which fluttered as if in a breeze, though the air was quite still. The figure was impressively tall, almost a giant.

Erahn could just make out that its face was concealed by layers of gauze. One hand, gripping the opposite shoulder was wrapped in narrow bandages.

“What are you after?”

“The Spire, what else?” The voice sounded as if it was coming from a long way away; there was a distinct echo to it.

“Your master cannot have it. It is held in trust for the future.”

“He will have it, and soon.”

“You cannot take it to him, and it will not move. There is nothing to kill.”

“There is the city to kill. As for moving it, that has already been arranged. My hound is headed here now.”

“Hound?”

The robed figure laughed and was gone.

There was no puff of smoke or clap of thunder. It was just gone. The echo of its laughter remained for a moment, sounding like tumbling, rolling, grinding, grating. Several of the others started and looked around.

The fading echo lingered longer than it should have.

Brad recovered first. “So, what did that tell you?” he asked.

“That death is headed here. We need to get back to the city.” He turned to Jane. “I’ll need the Incunabulum now.” He held out his hand. His voice was that same impossible to ignore command.

Jane hesitated frowning, before passing the Book over to Erahndira and nodding. Erahn stood and walked over to the Templar.

As he accepted it, he turned to Jane and her unconscious brother. “Do not be dismayed. You were the Book’s Custodians only. It is needed now by its rightful possessors. The stewardship of your family has been exemplary, but it is ended.”

Jane nodded, her back untensed. Whatever he had meant, it seemed to comfort her. She was still frowning at the Templar, though.

“Also, I must apologize for what I did to you both. Our friend, the Wanderer in the Wastes—” he indicated the cowled figure, now gone—“has had a distressingly bothersome effect on me of late, at times robbing me of my memory and even my will. That too will be ended soon.”

Jane’s frown did not lessen when she heard this explanation. “I hope you don’t expect me to just smile and forgive you. You made me try to kill my own brother.”

Erahn felt tension rise again in her lover. She saw all the others in the room frozen in place, looks of shock and dismay on each one.

The Templar’s face remained calm, as did his voice. “Of course not. I violated you in the most intimate way. Never mind that I had no hand in the decision, the blame rests on me. I would never have attempted to find the Incunabulum had the stakes in this game not been so high. There will not be time for me to make amends for my transgression, but I hope you can at least put aside your grievance to help me try to save the Thirty Aions. I will need your strength.”

By the feel of her, Jane was a bit more relaxed, but her expression said she was still struggling with this. “What strength do you, of all people, think I have that could make a difference?”

The Templar’s face was kind. “Jane of Clan Airkhart, you have more strength than you suspect. I do not know if it was your training or merely a native ability, but you managed to counter the Wanderer’s crippling effect on my memories and my will. Whether or not it was deliberate, you made all the difference. If not for you, the day would already be lost.”

Here Erahn’s lover smiled. “I was pissed off at being taken like an errant puppy and shoved into cage in the back of my own mind, that’s all. I fought with everything I had to get free.”

“Ignoring the panic and terror of a situation so alien required incredible discipline. It was your training. You are a rare one, Jane Airkhart. You may yet be the difference for all of us in this fight.”

Leaving Jane blushing at the praise, the Templar turned to the elf, Dævara. Handing her staff to Bradwold, she descended the two rows of benches until she was on the stage with him. They were exactly the same height.

Solemnly, the Templar handed her the Incunabulum. Just as solemnly, she produced an indigo silk bag. By its shape, it held a small oblong object. She handed it to him. They bowed to one another.

The others in the Fæ’s party seemed shocked by the exchange.

The Templar said, “I must make certain preparations before this can be used.” She nodded.

They embraced then, in a chaste yet affectionate manner.

It might have ended there, but the Templar paused as Dævara was turning away. “Wait a moment.” He stood with his eyes closed then as Dævara stopped, half-turned away, and looked at him. “You have—” he opened his eyes—“something on your person; small, a device of some sort.”

“Yes, that I have.”

“May I see it?”

The Fæ reached into her collar and pulled out a steel chain. At the end of it was a small oval thing made of gold and gems. It sparkled. She unclipped it and handed it to the Templar.

He did something odd and quite startling with it. Placing it on his left-hand palm, the Templar closed his right hand over it. Bright light flickered from between his fingers.

Slowly, he pulled his hands apart.

Thousands of tiny particles, pieces of the device, floated outward. When he had his hands about three feet apart, a spherical cloud of glittery parts hung in the air. He made a quick, complicated motion with the fingers of one hand and the cloud got bigger, the pieces of the device itself also expanding in size.

Everyone stared at the scene. It was like watching a talented stage performer.

The Templar moved the cloud around and from side to side, once expanding a part of it and even stepping into it.

“This is twinned to another.” He said at one point. It wasn’t a question.

“I have it,” Bradwold said.

The Templar turned from his study. “Of course, of course. May I borrow it, sir?” It was only a request, not one of his commands.

Bradwold hesitated only a moment before stepping onto the stage. He reached into his leather pants and came out with another identical device.

As he handed it to Dævara, she gave him the strangest look. Her mouth scrunched up into a little pruny shape, one eye closed and the other widened and glared up at him.

She only held it for a second, but it drew a broad grin from the tall man. She returned a tiny smile of her own.

The Templar did something with his hands and the cloud retracted until it was its original three-foot sphere.

Keeping the pieces in view, the Templar held out his hand.

Dævara placed the other device in it. In a moment, there were two clouds of pieces hovering in the air.

“Any reathon why you’re thpending time on this?”

“Yes,” the Templar replied. “Dævara, where did these come from?”

It was Bradwold who answered. “I had them made.”

“Someone in Glyph made these?”

“Yes. He was a Miu, like her” Bradwold pointed at Erahn.

The Templar glanced at Erahndira, still with her arm around Jane. “There are other Miu in Glyph?”

“Until today, I’ve only ever seen the one.”

“Why shouldn’t there be?” asked Jane.

“The Miu are barred from Glyph,” it was the spell-caster with the dagger necklace who answered. “The Garda have rejected every one of them who’s tried to enter for centuries, at least that’s the tale.” She turned a stare to Erahndira. “Your presence…Erahn, was it?”

The cat woman nodded.

“Your presence is most surprising. Were you” —she indicated Jane and Erahndira—“scanned by the Garda when you arrived?”

“Oh!” from Jane. “I never thought. We should have been, but no, we were not. Why are Miu not allowed in the city?” Jane was trembling beneath Erahn’s hand.

“The Garda do not communicate. No one knows.”

The Templar said, “I might hazard a guess. The Miu have an unusual relationship to space and time. Glyph exists only because of powerful and delicate engineering that an unscrupulous Miu might be able to circumvent. Yet this device-maker was allowed entrance. To Erahn, he said, “So were you.” To the room at large, “I should very much like to meet this craftsman.”

“Why? What’s so special about those things?” the spellcaster again.

“The Miu who made them has a fair understanding of the technology of the Portals.”

“I thought that was lost,” Bradwold said.

The Templar shook his head. “The Hermetists mastered it long ago. I thought these must have been something they crafted. Hmmm.” The Templar looked from one sphere to the other. “These are for communication only. Anything up to tactile information can be transmitted in real time, even between Aions. I wonder…”

Holding his hands out, one in the direction of each floating collection, the Templar began twitching his fingers in a complicated dance. Rapidly, in pairs, tiny bits of machinery began lighting up and then going out again.

“Father…?” began Dævara. But the Templar had stopped, collapsed the spheres, and handed the devices back to the Fæ and her partner before she could phrase her thoughts. “What did you do to them?”

He smiled. “I tuned them up a bit.” She accepted that, though Bradwold looked like he’d have liked to ask more.

“We need to go,” the Templar said. “Something is happening up top; I can feel it.”

 “There’th thomething being thkipped over here,” the human female fighter said. “You—” pointing at the Templar—“and you two—” John and Jane—“are creationth of fiction.” 

She looked right at Jane, “I created you for a game we—” she made a circling motion with her hand—“play every week. He—” pointing to the supine John, who still hadn’t moved—“is hith creation—” pointing at Bradwold—“and you—” stabbing an indicting finger at the newcomer—“I created,” the spell caster said.

Jane said, “I’m quite real, I assure you. Born not made by whatever magick seems to be operating here. And, while we’re on the subject, I’m afraid it gets weirder. Dævara, you are a fictional character in a novel written three hundred years ago on my world. You—” pointing to the Templar—“feature in that same work.”

“Who wrote this book?” the Fæ asked.

“His name was Jagged. Why? Did you know him?”

“No, though I feel I should do.” She was frowning.

“How is any of this possible?” The dwarf’s voice was a subterranean rumble. Had Erahn ever heard such a voice in the dark, it would have terrified her.

The Templar answered. “There are infinite Aions, each infinite in size. The Pleroma is only the remnants of one nation. All of us are creations of others and almost certainly creators ourselves.”

“What’re the odds of creators and creations meeting, then?” Dævara asked.

He shrugged. “It may be coincidence or the work of the Wanderer of the Wastes. It might even be Fate. Things are focusing here and now. Plans and paths have been building for many thousands of years. The next few days may see the end of many things and the beginnings of wonders.”

* * *

Elian had spoken almost nothing during the exchanges and revelations of the last hour. Whenever Dæv had glanced his way, he wore a thunderous expression and wouldn’t meet her eye. As they made their way back to the surface, Father leading, she got close to the dwarf and asked, “You knew who he was, didn’t you? That thing in John, I mean.”

Elian kept walking. He answered in an undertone that still rumbled, “Yes. The colonists must have, too. To know the Crawling Chaos has come for your people twice must have been more than they could take.”

“Crawling Chaos? Is that what you call him?”

Elian nodded.

“What do you mean, ‘twice?’”

“He came in the days before their home world was destroyed. Ever the Wanderer in the Wastes was the herald of the Dark Star, his master. When the Crawling Chaos comes, worlds die.”

“He can’t make worlds die afore their time, he can’t.”

“So they say but you heard him. Death is coming for us, and I don’t think the Templar can stop it.”

— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, August 2026

© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved