‘I’ve Gathered You Here Today…’

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Seven: What Is and Should Never Be

‘I’ve Gathered You Here Today…’

* * *

It was a comfortable room; I had to admit.

The temple city of Azhure’en had a frosty beauty to it, but ‘comfy’ was not a vibe I’d felt until now.

The room was mostly blue, natch, but had accents of rich brown—the wall panelling, deep red—carpeting, taupe—large comfortable chairs and accent tables, and silver—lighting and accents on the fan vaulted ceiling itself; gave the place a sense of humanity. Even the scale of the room was relatively quotidian. Green fire in a stone depression centered the room.

It had been three days since I’d woken up on hands and knees in the Evanescents. Since then, I had slept, dined, and had exchanged my rags for Hermetist garb in grey, minus the ridiculous hat of course. My fedora was unrecoverable, and it was with considerable sorrow that I had consigned it to the flames. I felt naked without it but muddled through.

My hosts had excellent taste in liquor and even had passable cigarettes.

The traumas of the last few weeks were rapidly healing in the atmosphere of this place.

Gathered with me were Abram—the temporary leader of this Order I had been shocked to learn, The Kokkinos, the Albedo, Drago, the Chief Archivist—a woman named Kryanni, and the Hermetist Rayne, in full uniform.

Abram had told me that the members of the Meraculus Mercurius had been expelled from the Order and subsequently punished. How, he wouldn’t say, but I could guess. Rayne had been the only exception in consideration of the suffering she had endured because of her involuntary participation in the Rite of Manifestation. I was told her contrition was sincere and self-flagellatingly extreme.

A good meal had been had, and favourite evening cocktails were in hand. Several of the number were indulging in various smokables. Seated next to me was my daughter—I was still knocked back on my heels by that—who had named herself Toiliúil[1], which she told me meant ‘wilful.’ I despaired of ever learning to pronounce it and I had taken to calling her ‘Toi,’ which tickled her greatly for some reason.

For the first time in our acquaintance she was clothed, I was relieved to see. She wore the same grey togs that I did, but they looked a lot better on her. As I sat sipping excellent cognac—Abram’s assessment—she rested a hand on my leg. Simple affection, nothing more. I got a little misty which I covered up quite well with, “I usually charge for such familiarity, young lady.”

Without missing a beat, “How much?” Her answering grin made me all gooey inside. Fucking hell! What was wrong with me?

I returned the smile and placed my hand on hers. I had the satisfaction of seeing her blush, but she neither removed her hand nor her gaze from mine.

Abram, seated to my immediate right, saved me. “The floor is yours, my friend.”

We’d agreed that the full story of this clusterfuck needed to be recounted informally, for the peace of mind of all concerned. The Order, whose job it was to record all things, already had a preliminary account. I was looking forward their surprise as I supplemented that info with my own discoveries.

I stood, but not before taking a swig of cognac and lighting a cigarette.

I pulled out my epad. Where to begin?

Most of those assembled knew some of what had happened, Abram being the most in the know. Some, like the Senior Archivist, I assumed knew next to nothing. What an idiot I was.

So.

At the beginning, then.

“Rather than relating events as we experienced them, it will be more helpful if I start at the beginning. The being called Poseidon was in their beginning, a type of Fæ called a feral. It is believed that this feral had a disability of sorts. They could not mentally communicate with other Fæ. This is wrong.”

Some surprise on the faces of the Hermetists assembled.

“Long ago, they were crippled by the being called the Wanderer in the Wastes, who subsequently taught them a way to restore their lost sense by proxy. This way was the Rite of Manifestation, which linked the new Templars with them. The reason the Wanderer did this—”

Abram reached up and put a restraining hand on my arm. When I looked down at where he sat, he gave the slightest shake of his head.

Softly, “Those who do not know, have a right to, Abram. I think you know why.”

A reluctant nod.

I continued, “The Wanderer in the Wastes created the Templars for a single purpose, the destruction of Færie. For the most part they succeeded.”

Not a twitch of an eye from the assembled. They all knew. Toiliúil hadn’t known and I was not supposed to, yet they were not at all surprised that I did. I guess my reputation as a talented snoop had spread. I wouldn’t learn until years later that my conclusion regarding who had destroyed Færie was wrong.

“But I digress. After the end of the Pleroma, Poseidon went silent until the events just passed. It’s presence in the Silvergrey Sea for all the time between then and now is confirmed by our own experience. I’m referring to the dimming and brightening of the Sea and the air above it that corresponded to the Sea God’s presence and brief absence from the Sea itself.”

A smile and a satisfied nod from the Archivist. So, new to at least one Hermetist.

“The reason for this prolonged silence was a bit of a puzzle to me, but I believe I have it figured. They were sulking.”

Broad smiles and actual laughter from the Kokkinos.

“I know that sounds flip, but it is the most likely reason. Consider that they were formally rejected by the Templars in favour of their White God and subsequently robbed of their senses again when the former severed their link with them. As to why they became active again now, I think the answer to that is obvious. A Great Soul decided it was time to end the threat of the Sea God. To do this, this soul initiated the events that lead to the most recent performance of the Manifestation.”

Actual shock from all except Drago who gave me a pussycat smile. I had impressed him.

“His first step was incarnation with the aid of the Meraculus Mercurius and their subsequent ‘murder’ of him. This happened almost three hundred years earlier than it was supposed to because the Watr Element was to be some other Great Soul and he who became Drago jumped the queue.”

Drago’s smile became a grin, and he nodded his head to me in affirmation. That was the most emotion I had ever seen from the man.

“He then targeted yours truly to serve as a vehicle for the Æthyr and to arrange for my unexpected parenthood.”

Toiliúil grabbed by hand and pressed the back of it to her face. Looking down I saw a smile and tears.

It was a struggled to continue. “That reminds me. Why me, Drago?”

“I needed someone with a strong enough ego to survive the brutal assault that embodying the Æthyr would cause. You were one of a dozen candidates I found during my time in the Sea. You weren’t my first choice, but you were the closest to me when I woke up in the Sea as Drago.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” I was still angry about the whole thing, but understood why it had to be done. “With one passive Elements incarnated, the other soon followed.”

Rayne lowered her head and put her face in her hands. She sat like that for some time. I understood her pain.

“The Aer Elders and the Æthyr manifested with a little help from the Erthe Woman.”

“The ten Fæ chosen for the Rebirthing were taken from the Elven Dark. The mortal vessels were Atlanteans, though how that was accomplished I haven’t been able to determine.”

“It was Poseidon’s doing. I, or the Erthe Woman rather, had intended to use Miu from the remains of their Empire beyond the borders of the Thirty Aions,” Rayne.

“The Miu had an Empire?”

“Indeed, they did.” Kryanni. “It was smaller than the Pleroma, but quite as powerful in its way. The Miu in the Thirty Aions are all descended from refugees who fled here in the early days of the Shining Empire.”

To the Chief Archivist, “I’d love to talk to you about that, later.” She nodded, smiling.

Back to the story, “Anyway. The Manifestation requires the ‘volunteers’ be mortals with specific characteristics. I assume the Miu fit that bill,” a nod from Rayne. “Being thrown into the Elven Dark meant there was no time to fetch them. Poseidon stepped in and solved that problem, as I have just learned. The explosion of the mountain of Primal Matter merely delayed things for some time. That extra time may well have helped a certain Element get his pieces lined up, though I’m not certain he had a hand in that disaster—?”

Drago put his thumb and forefinger close together and winked. Bastard.

I couldn’t help smiling back. “But I strongly suspect he did manage to direct the Erthe Woman into the Elven Dark, though I cannot imagine how.”

Here, he spoke up. “She was headed there herself to fetch the Fæ. I was hoping to delay her until after I had done what needed to be done. I have a great understanding of NOTHING. Manipulating it is hard, but doable. Once Abram and I were enveloped in the NOTHING on Oerth, I sensed the Erthe Woman’s presence. It was possible then to make sure she stayed there a little longer than we did.”

Turning to the former Erthe Woman, “You must have known that taking Fæ from the Elven Dark would be a risk. Every living thing in it is dangerously insane.”

Rayne shrugged. “Needs must. The Manifestation would have—should have—completely changed their natures.”

“I think we owe the fact that it didn’t to Drago.” Turing to my former client. “You did something before the Rite; something that convinced them to agree to cooperate with your plan.”

A nod.

“Next, the Meraculus Mercurius. I’m all but convinced they had no active part to play in this. They were merely handy when the Watr Man incarnated. Everything that happened to them subsequently was a result of their activities on the Evanescents being revealed to the Order when the archipelago was chosen as the site for the Manifestation.”

No sign of disagreement from the group.

“I ended up in the Mittelmarche on my way back here.” I briefly outlined my journey, to many an exclamation from the group. “When I finally got to Glyph, the Pixie Archivist Onyx pointed out that the Manifestation required that the ones chosen to house the Elements be perfect for their respective hosts. Apart from yours truly, I had initially no doubt that was true. It was Onyx who pointed out there seemed something wrong with Drago.”

Here, the Hyborean raised an eyebrow, which would have been virtually a shout from him until very recently.

I responded, “The other incarnated Elements were perfect soldiers under the Sea God’s command. You came to me to solve your ‘murder’. Quite unusual. I asked Onyx what would happen if one of the Elements were flawed. He couldn’t tell me, only that the Rite would be almost sure to fail. I already suspected that you had initiated the plan to bring the Manifestation about, so your deviation from what was needed for the Watr Element was not easy to reconcile. The only explanation that fit the facts was that you wanted the Rite to happen, but intended that it conclude differently than it would have without some intervention.”

Another nod.

“I believe that your goal was to prevent any future attempt to recreate the Templars and the Pleroma. It may seem odd that initiating the most recent attempt could further that goal, but I believe I understand what you were trying to do. Put simply, it was to heal Poseidon of the injury done to him by the Wanderer. The surprising end of the Manifestation was an act of healing.”

‘Gobsmacked’ perfectly described the expressions I saw. All except Abram, who had an ‘aha!’ look. He glanced over at Drago who again nodded and smiled. I hadn’t been privy to what had happened during their adventure in the Elven Dark, but I then determined to rectify my ignorance.

“Just some loose end to tie up. Drago, when did you have your self melded to the Hyborean?”

For the first time in my acquaintance with the man, I had the pleasure of seeing genuine shock on his face. He didn’t bother asking how I knew. “Just after my first meeting with you.”

“How did you manage that? It would take some high class magick to accomplish and I doubt a Hermetist helped you.”

“A whore at the Red Palazzo aided me.”

“Pull the other one.”

“Dævara,” Abram.

“What? The elf? She’s a mage?”

“Not exactly,” Abram again. “She’s a Tellers of Fate.”

“That little witch.” I was impressed. I’d been a client of hers a few times but had never guessed she possessed a Syrat. Most of my life, I’d longed to see a deck and meet a real Teller. It turns out I had met one several times. They’d been forbidden on my homeworld, as had all magick. That only added to the appeal, the romance of it all. “I’ll have to ask for a peek, next time I visit.”

“You won’t be able to, old friend. Dævara has left Noir, according to Madame Arlington for good.”

“Damn.” I hid another wave of sadness beneath my armour of cynicism. That elven whore had been one of my few real friends. “She was a great fuck, too,” under my breath.

Toi heard. She gave me the strangest look. Were it on anyone else’s face, I would have called it jealousy.

“Any details I haven’t covered?”

From Rayne, “What happened to the Elements after?”

“The Erthe Element, being gone from you…?” A nod. “It doubtless returned to the Evanescents. The dragons are all back here, the ones who survived, anyway. Watr would be in the Silvergrey Sea—”

“I’m still here,” Drago.

“I thought the part of you that was Watr would leave.”

He shook his head. “The bonding was complete. Man, Great Soul, and Element are all fused into one.”

Damn! Dævara was good.

“And before you ask,” taking my hand again, Toi chimed in, “Fyre is here with me as well. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. I’m only a couple of weeks old, remember.” When she smiled up at me, that feeling of fatherly pride again blossomed in my battered breast. I had no idea what to do with it.

“That just leaves the Azoth—” swipe, swipe”—or the Æthyr—” swipe”— or the NOTHING, or—” swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe— “Nope, I guess that all. Any other names for this I’ve left out?”

“Too many to list off,” Abram, lopsided grin in place. “We know what you mean. Carry on.”

“It was on Oerth. I have no idea where it went.”

“Very likely it is back into the Stone,” Abram.

“Which is here?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of.”

Abram returned my querying look with eyes like locked treasure vaults.

I was getting a headache. “If the NOTHING is gone, does that mean Oerth is safe to visit again? Is the connection to the Silvergrey Sea still there?”

Abram, “Yes and yes. A crew of Hermetists has already passed to Oerth by now.”

Good to know. I was pleased that something so good as the reconnection to the homeworld had come out of all this. “Any other questions?”

“The Keeper of the Archives for the Pixie tribes,” the Kokkinos said. “We found his body after it was all over. How was he involved in this?”

A sudden stab in my heart. “He found and rescued the Fyre Child. He did get to the Evanescent okay. Didn’t he?” I turned to Toi, who nodded. “If he was around for the Rite, he must have been killed by the fight between Poseidon and the Templars. We must get word to his family. He has a niece, Jewel. She lives in the Mittelmarche.”

Kryanni, “I know where they are. I’ll see to it word is sent to her family. Where is the body?”

Abram, “It was badly mangled. We cremated it.”

“They won’t appreciate that,” she shrugged. “At least I can bring his ashes.”

“I’ll see that you get them,” Abram.

“If there are no other questions?” No one had any. I sighed. “Okay, I’m done.”

I was so done.

I wanted nothing more in life at that moment than to stroll the streets of home again. Well, maybe one thing. I took my daughter’s hand and smiled at her.

---

[1] Til-oo’ -il

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, October 2026

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