The steppes spraed out in front of them out to the blue horizon. They had hiked for three full days to get here from their camp down far below on the wild grass. With their world spread out in front of them like this they could see all and know all that could be seen. The hills rose beneath them, and mountains rose above, their grey peaks riding up against other mountains, further and higher, blocking the world outside from the world inside. To the left, the waving grass would stretch out until it gave way to sand washing past low hills, towering into mountains. To their right, the mountains encircled the moistening steppes until they grew into fertile plains, wet with rain from the sea. And in between was grass, endless grass, dotted with camps of herdsmen, spotted occasionally with trees, thick with tussock. It was their home.
The Seeking Protector turned to the Holy Queen and said, "The Cats of Belief are moving towards us."
She looked at him, then glanced out to the group he reffered to. "Not towards us, I think: they wouldn't move so directly. More likely the Running Wind or the - the ones with the white cattle, to the north."
He looked out again. The white spots nestled against the waving grey green grass, camouflaged and open, realigned in his mind. He turned his head and looked again, thinking it through once more.
"You're right, I suppose, but they're aways getting bolder: eblief does not feed the belly. If they're desperate..." he trailed off.
"Trust me," she said, grey eyes sparkling. "They're not desperate."
Deep inside the building, a furious bustle filled the rooms and corridors. Everyone was abuzz with whispers and activity. Something on the outside was trying to get in, and they had to stop it. It sounded like it was large animal of some kind, but all anyone knew was that it was attacking the building by slamming into it and making it shudder to the ground and to the roof.
Rosalie was looking around for a window at that moment. It seemed like all the windows had disappeared when... but nothing had actually happened, had it? not really, not until now. All the weirdness had never quite reached out and touched her before now, or anyone else. It had just been there, and she fervently wished it would go back. Or at least stop making her legs quiver and feel like jelly.
(How did she know it was strangeness, if it had been there all along? She didn't quite get that far in her wonderings, but that question sat at the back of her mind. Might have stayed theres too.)
She hadn't run into anyone else in awhile either. Then as she came around a corner, she collided with her best friend. Literally, they hit each other. Rosalie rubbed her forehead, which had taken much of the brunt of it. It ached like silly, but she was okay. Really. She didn't feel sore at all, somehow. Just the memory of it remained.
"Have you found anything yet? I don't know what... I can't find anything. I was looking for windows, I don't even know what the thing looks like," Rosalie said.
"A thing? Really? I would have thought it an earthquake, me," said her friend. "The floor is shaking."
Rosalie turned away in shame. How could she be so foolish! She left the web, she left the loom, she stole full way out of the room.
Through the hills, the silver river winds, boats carried down on its back. The silver light ofthe moon drains thec olour from the river, and the whole world seems silent. But on the ground it is not. Far from it.
Rusali ran between the houses, running away. Her legs ached, her lungs burned, but she couldn't stop.She had to go on. One more step. Another. In. The gentle scents of the hospital's herbs washed around her, bathing her in memories of peaceful times spent out in the meadows or the outskirts of the forest. Normally she could stop nowand relax. But today she had to keep moving. Shouts and screams rained outside, getting closer, and she dove under a table. Surely they wouldn't attack the hospital, she thought. But they did. The bandits came in, brandishing spears and axes, hacking at the very walls of the building. One of them spotted her. But she couldn't run. Her body was too heavy and too tired. She screamed. It was too late.
The storm-weakened walls of the hospital creaked and sighed, bludgeoned and battered. Slowly, so slowly, they caved inward, falling about the broken corpse of the single... inhabitant. It was far, far too late.
Rusali stood atop the hill and stared down at the ruins of the village. She had built almost all those buildings withhisown two hands, gathering materials and learning howto use them over years and years. And now, in a single year--less than that, a few seasons, maybe--it was all being destroyed. He looked away. Their faces were already burned into her memory, savage and bloodthirsty, but untouchable. The Shambling Empire: uniting the world in prosperity and technology, and destroying those who prefered to stand alone. Their face was the holy queen, promising love and healing and servitude; their hands were the minotaurs who sought tomake the whole world their tomb, all people their slaves. There is serenity in clockwork. But oh, not even their. Only one of those destroyers could hope for that -- and Rusali knew who it was. Everyone did. The demon heart, shadow who stalked the world. And once, a comrade.
"Yes, I know the floor is shaking. But not just... oh, forget about it," replied Rosalie. She looked around. "Seen any windows lately?"
"No," said her friend., "I have not. Sorry. A bit."
Rosalie sighed. "Bother. I'm looking for one. Actually, stairs would be fine. I could do with some stairs. What is going on, anyway?"
"I don't know. But it could be an earthquake. The earth is moving, after all. Rember that bit."
"Right. Come on, I have hardly seen anyone else. Will you come with me so this place feels less spooky?" asked Rosalie. her friend nodded. They started walking along the corridor.
There were two among those who destroyed the village who he once could have counted as allies. Not friends; she'd never known them himself. But comrades, allies, people who she could trust were on the same side -- not trying to destroy everything that he had worked for. It seemed bizarre now, but once... once upon a time. Before the world tried to rip itself apart, before they came... the others. The Empire. What colour is the shade of disbelief? Once they were without them. Believe or lack. Then they came, and they brought their love of war with them. They never realised that here, things were different, that here death was not a necessary part of life, that here destruction was so much more permanent. They came with bloodlust, and they came in such numbers that they could do anything to sate it.
Perhaps that was unfair. The Empire always claimed that when they came there were many crafters, builders and healers among them, and that those had been driven away in the Fog. Or the Blizzard. Or the Plague. There were many names for it, and no one seemed to know what had happened, or why. Whatever had happened, when it lifted animals had spread across the world, forests had grown up thickly, and the Shambling Maze drew first blood. They moved past their self-imposed boundaries, and began destroying. The people of the north gathered together to stop them, but there were too many Horrors, though many were gone. They went bravely, yet died like cowards.
For a long time there was only whiteness. White corridors, twisting at odd angles that were not quite 90 degrees, occasionally forking into seemingly identical lengths of more corridors, lit by dull white lights. Rusalie had the feeling that the building had been an awful lot smaller before all this started... whenver that was. At last, her friend started talking again.
"Nice walk, isn't it?" she said.
'There aren't any doors," said Rosalie.
"What?"
"I said, there aren't any doors. Just corridors and lights. I haven't seen a single painting, let alone a window, or some stairs, or even a door. This is supposed to be our office building! What kind of office building doesn't have doors?" siad Rosalie.
"Oh. I don't know. This one, I guess," said her friend.
Rozalie turned and stared at her friend for a long moment. "We work here. Do you remember that? And then it changed and started shaking."
"It's not shaking," said her friend. "Why did you say that? And of course I remember that I work here. I have done for... a long time. Years, in fact."
Rosalie stopped walking. It was, in fact, not shaking. She wondered when that had happened. But then she also wondered why she could only remember working here in the vague, oh yes I did that, I mean do that, sense, and why there were no doors, and no other people, and why her friend appeared to have forgotten their ealier words, and why her friend' memory of working here was also faded and vagued and, quite possibly, being made up as she went along. But of course that was really the same issue as, as, as what she'd been thinking of before, which was the same as the last one. Definitely.
I look out across the steppes. The grass pulses in the wind, wave upon wave of endless restlessness. And the sound too: tss! tss! Some days it's comforting. Other days it's terrifying. TOday was neither. I wasn't supposed to be here at all. My hair hung straight down from my head, heavy with oil and clay and whatever else they put in it to make rope. As soon as that girl walked in she went to me and said, 'Come with me. You belong to the Maze now. the mind is a terrible thing to waste."
I ran then. Stood up in the middle of everything, hair wet and heavy, and asked if I could... I didn't even manage to finish my sentence. I trailed off and startd walking towards the door, not running yet but trying to. As soon as I left I started running. Around thre building, then past the houses, then out. Out into the wild place, where the sharp grass is. Its hissing hides the strange, demented sound fo the regats' bones, shudderring past each other. Its a place where no one goes, .because the grass will cut through linen, skin, anything but thick leather, treated, or magic enhanced. For me it was the former, but if the girl was telling the truth, maybe it should have been the latter. Magic? me? It was biarre--but wouldn't it be bizarre for anyone? I lay down, face pressing into the dry ground. If you stay low enough you can move beneath the sharp leaf and just go on. I had to pull my hood across the top part of my face but beyond taht I was just stayting down, staying low, going onwadr. do you traverse mazes clockwise or counterclockwise?
The ground suddenly dipped, and I twisted awkwardly down. Sliding along my belly, face first, downwards. I hated it. But if I could get down far enough I wwould be nearly invisible;--to any normal observer anway. That girl, with amgic, well. Who knew? The nausea subsided , my stomach calming, as I flattenned out because the ground did. Here, I could sit up if Iwanted to and look aorund. I moved a little further for luck and safety, then I pulled my hood tighter to my face and lifted myself slightly. Notthat it mattered. Noting but waving grass. I sunk back down and wriggled beneath the grass, lying on my back and staring up at the equally boring sky.
she also wondered why she could only remember working here in the vague, oh yes I did that, I mean do that, sense, and why there were no doors, and no other people, and why her friend appeared to have forgotten their ealier words, and why her friend' memory of working here was also faded and vagued and, quite possibly, being made up as she went along. But of course that was really the same issue as, as, as what she'd been thinking of before, which was the same as the last one. Definitely.
'It was shaking before," said Rosalie, and she started walking again. 'Then it stopped. I don't remember when that happened. I didn't notice. You didn't notice. What did you do here anyway, as your work like?"
her friend, her good good friend started walking again too, caught up. "Oh, I was a... manager. Supervisor. I walked around and made sure that, you know, work was being done. That sort of stuff."
Another weird, vague answer that sounded like she was making it up as she went along. "So did you do a lot of work with making sure that the doors were hung right? I suppose you must have. Doors and windows. Sounds like your thing."
'Oh yes," said her friend. "All my department. Quite into capentry, making sure that that work got done."
Yes, making it up as she went along. But why? And did she realise she was doing it? Only one way to find out, really, Rosalie supposed.
Rala--Third child--lives in the Tsitse steppes. But when a southern aura reader claims she is a battle mage, and instantly pledged to the <Southern[Shambling? Maze?] Kingdom[empi]>, her life changes forever. Forced out by her own tribe, she journeys south through the mountains, to the <Southern Kingdom>. There she finds the world in turmoil, and she finds her life that way too. Her bizarre powers are deemed too strange and she gets shunted off again: this time, to the capital.
When the aura readers are decided, she's in for the shock of her life. Her powers are rarer than she could have imagined, and maybe--just maybe--powerful enough too. For they needed a battle mage, but if she can work out how to use her powers in time--and by herself--she can save them from what's coming. But only if she decides to. Or she could end the world and starve all humans.
"You didn't say anything about that before. By the way, did you notice that it started shaking again?"
It hadn't.
"Of course I did. I said lots of things before. I already told it was... shaking..." her friend trialed off and looked around. "We haven't passed any intersections lately, have we? There's just... corridors..."
"You seem to be making up your answers as you go along," said Rosalie, deciding to go as straight to the point as possible. "Your memory seems confused. And there hasn't been anything for a very long time. First windows and stairs, then doors, then people, after you. Or maybe doors disappeared later, I'm not sure. This is all really, really weird."
her friend stareted laughing hysterical laughter. "Really weird? Rosalie, this is far past that!
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. It's takes longer than soon to starve to death. Memory though, that's interesting."
"Interesting. Interesting!" her friend' laughter overtook her words, drowning them out for a time with bubbling cascades of empty sound. "We're going to die, but first we won't remember --that we lived!"
There was a world, mad and hilarious and falling apart under its own weight and the weight of all the mad and ridiculous things that were relying on it for support, grafted on at times and at other times made by cannabalising the world itself and turning it into something interesting, but not at all useful. And it had looked fine, until remarkably recently. And then that small world, careening through the not-actually-space (but think of it that way, as its easier to understand something that your mind can actually comprehend) between universes, or what passed for universes from the inside, collided with another. And, as was its way so far, it attached itself to that world, relying on it for support without really providing anything in support of it. It hit at one moment, and then as it collided it spread out, meshing itself with that universe across a tiny proportion of linear time. The things, those glorious and ridiculous and terrifying things, better and worse than any one mind could imagine, better and worse than any mortal, limited mind could possibly comprehend, spilled out of that world and found their way into the new.
It was really a tiny universe, but those specialised ones were always the most dangerous.
"Oh, shut up," said Rosalie, displaying a startling lack of knowledge on how to deal with a person in shock and hysteria, and also a sudden lack of patience.
"Maybe, maybe I could kill you. Ha! I could lie and you could die... first... ha!"
"Oh, there's no need for that. Really, none," Rosale backpedalled. "I'm sure there are ways of getting out of this without resorting to murder."
"What other sacrifice... is worthy of the bargain... for life itself?" panted her friend.
She could sacrifice her, say -- "Hey. Hey. Get a hold of yourself, her friend. Although thinking is fine. But sane thinking. Rational thinking, the kind that will lead to some way out of here." Roslie grabbed her friend by the upper arm.
"Sanity and rationality require... a mind... terrible thing to waste. What's a mind without memories?"
"Fascinating. But maybe you can do without a mind, but with a brain, hmm?"
"We're trapped," said her friend. 'Deliberately, I bet. Why?"
"To... I don't know." her friend was thinking, despite denying having a mind, and the utter change from her earlier demeanour was unsettling, to say the least, for Rosalie.
"Guess, guess, guess, guess. Guess why. Guess why I want to trap you here." The woman stared at Rsalie, dark hair falling in her face, mouth stretched wide behind the hair.
"Why... you... wanted to trap me here?" asked Rosalie, feeling rather justified in her earlier unease. "I thought you supervised capentry."
A tongue thrust its way past the lips and teeth of the mouth. "Thought wrong. Silly Rozalie."
"Why aren't there any doors? Did you do that"
"Silly Rzalie."
"Where do I get one? How do I unlock the doors?"
The woman giggled, her fingers twitching and jerking, then squeezing an imaginary something. Her best friend. Her best fiend. "Silly Rusalie."
"How!"
A little while after, On a street running past a pulsing lump of white plaster, Ruzalie walked. It looked like some kind of cheese to her. She walked on the opposite side of the street, torn between wanting to find out what it was and not wanting to get anywhere near it. Then se stopped. And stared at it.She was already there, after all. she was already in some kind of danger, if there was any kind of danger. And, well, why not? It wasn't like she would be losing that much if anything terrible happened. Not to her.
Two stepa away, and she worried about it again. she took another step, practically pushing her legs forward. It was mocing, wasn't it. ruz sighed. Yes, she would do this! Two more steps, and quickly she put her hand out to touch it. She was dreadfully disappointed. It just felt like plaster, like any orther building, wasn't that right? Even though it was so tall and so widde and so spread out, and moving...
she pulled her hand back and stepped back. For one moment she wavered, then she turned and ran down the street twoards the nearest exit. Her heart thudded and her breath disappeared. When had she ever done something like that? She should do that more often.
(Something is sick and cold it is cured and squideging very squidy in fact it evne looks dead just a wee bit as dead as a thing is a an insect of some sort? No! A bpiece of sacue I was thinking of of of)
(And now the story divulges for looking at it makes it cringe and looking ta it not makes it look and looking at the wonder around it, at the grandeur and the spirit of the people and the perosnns and the world arounfd me makes my heratrt grow more than any sickly sekf introspection ever could you know let me list osme of those grandeurs)
I dont know, youre looking for
there was a man and a man and a piece of bread and the first man said to
arrgh@!ARGH! What is it!???? Why is it dying,.l? ,NOMVmomiting., psvomiting revolting ,mk.sdjf; esmldc mnzcnavb lkfmovbcxkijcnmzMas hij ng ickcmansd alnbnothing lserft , Ik iakfmdofn[mtgf know whny Mnzcnavb gi8kIKWHY IS IT DYING I FEED IT AND IT
must be fedd...................................................................................