[2006/10] Dance of the Dead

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/?page_id=489

Ardry staggered into the study, bent under the weight of a bulging pack. He set the pack down on a desk already overflowing with notes and papers, and the pack settled with an audible series of clanks.

At the other end of the room, the renowned sage Aliester the Loquacious peered at his nephew over the steaming rim of an alchemical crucible. His eyes drifted to Ardry's pack.

"Great Geraine's ghost, Ardry! Are those stag antlers poking out of your pack? I haven't seen a stag in Dereth in all the years I've been here. In fact, the lack of ruminant ungulates in Derethian fauna is the subject of a treatise I have been working on..."

Ardry held up a hand to stop him before he could go on any longer about another of his favorite esoteric subjects. "Not a real stag, Uncle. Just some clever heraldry on a new helmet, you see..." He opened the pack and lifted out a beautiful silver helm, fashioned in the shape of a stag's head.

"Ahhh, I recognize that now. Yes, the famous Stag of Bellenesse. Did you know, among all of the great houses of Viamont, the heraldic animals are actually a hold-over from the days when the savage Viamontian tribes worshipped totem animals, and thought to draw their strength from their tribal animal? There was one tribe called the Tullio, who controlled a fort at the center of a river network and took the trout as their symbol. Suffice it to say that the choice of a, ahem, well, floppy food item led to a disastrous..."

Ardry interrupted his uncle again. "I'm sorry, Uncle, but I haven't really got time for another lecture. I've brought these here for your analysis, as I was asked. But I must get going soon. I just have to gather a few supplies and head right back out, because there are reports of some of those strange creatures from last year's Festivus season re-appearing, and in more towns than just the one we had last year."

Ardry started rummaging through his desk's drawers, picking up and inspecting everything he found. He quickly tossed a few of the objects into another pack, much less full than the one he'd dropped on top of the desk.

"Do tell? I shall be most curious to read your report about these latest occult disturbances."

"Some day, Uncle, I'd like you to put your mind to work trying to figure out why such strange things happen every year at this time. Is there some compelling reason for spirits or the undead to feel particularly restless in the fall?" Ardry tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice. It didn't really matter – his uncle Aliester was famously oblivious of irony or sarcasm if there was any chance he'd get to talk about some interesting research topic.

"Well, as to that, Ardry, I have put together some preliminary observations in the hopes of formulating a thesis for evaluation with the other sages. You see, I think it has something to do with the onset of the coming winter, and a reminder of the turn of the seasons, what some tribes of the Falatacot called the Wheel of All Things and the Milantans on Ispar commemorate with a Festival of the Dead, in fact, particularly disturbs the sensibilities of creatures so tragically and irrevocably frozen in necromantic stasis..."

As he built rhetorical momentum on this topic, Aliester started absent-mindedly toying with the very objects Ardry was trying to sort through. Ardry tried to tolerate the disruption, but his frustration got the better of him when he looked for an item a second time, discovered it was missing, and realized one maddening moment later that his uncle was playing idly with it.

"Uncle!" In desperation for some way to distract the meddlesome sage and shoo him away, he looked around the room, and saw the crucible on his uncle's desk. "What have you been working on?"

"Ahhh, I am glad you asked, Ardry!" The easily distracted sage shuffled excitedly back to his desk and started picking over the items there. "It turns out that some of the more powerful alchemical preparations we have been trying to perfect for some time were actually deceptively simple. The solution, hah, no pun intended, was right under our noses the whole time. You'd have thought that initial research would have led us to look at it, but I suppose it is easy to overlook the simplest and humblest ingredients..."

Aliester stopped and looked around. It looked like he was alone in the room.

"Ardry? Did you go to the bathroom, my boy?" There was no answer. The drawers of the desk were closed again. The second pack was gone. Ardry had evidently gotten everything he needed from his desk and left the room before he could finish detailing his alchemical experiments. "Ah, well. I'll prepare a full report for him when he returns. He'll enjoy that, I'm sure."

He looked down at the stag helm and the pack full of other items that Ardry had dropped off. "Well, I may as well take a look at all the wonderful things he's brought me. I do love this time of year."

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/?page_id=492

In the warm, smoky confines of the Shining Shield tavern of Hebian-To, two men shared a plate of pickled eggs and a pot of green tea at a second-floor table. They were masked, much like the revelers who filled the tavern's first floor, but their masks were simple strips of black cloth that covered the upper halves of their faces, not the elaborate and garish monster masks favored at this time of year.

The larger of the two men sipped thoughtfully at his tea as his green eyes flicked over the crowd, wary for danger even now, in the middle of one of the most festive occasions celebrated in Dereth. His companion, smaller and younger, was more openly vigilant, to the point of appearing restless. He seemed particularly intent on staring at the door of the tavern and inspecting every person who came in or out.

"Calm yourself, Adso," the older man said. "Anyone casing this tavern would pick up on your nervousness immediately." He picked up a pickled egg from the plate and popped it into his mouth, chewing precisely and thoroughly without any evidence of actual enjoyment on his thin lips.

"I'm only nervous about Sabithra's foray into the crowd, Master," Adso responded. He seemed on the verge of getting up out of his chair. A simple gesture of Master's left hand seemed to center him and keep him from getting up, but he remained agitated. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It's almost midnight, Adso. A very wise man once told me that all things are possible after midnight. Keep that in mind."

Adso sat back, thought that one over for a moment, and looked at his Master with a confused and vaguely irritated expression that was easy to see even past his mask. "With all due respect, Master, what is that supposed to mean?"

The Master smiled enigmatically and said only, "You'll see."

The words had just left his lips when there was a high-pitched whistling and crackling noise outside. The patrons of the tavern rushed outside. Through the open door, Adso saw flickering purple light. People were cheering and dancing. Over the mysterious noise and the cheering, Adso thought he could hear people shouting, "Happy Anniversary!"

"What is going on out there?"

"You haven't been here long enough to have seen one of these for yourself, Adso, but maybe your duties have also kept you too isolated from the rest of your fellows here on Dereth. They are celebrating another milestone in our people's tenuous foothold on this world."

"Are they celebrating the defeat of Grael? The truce in the war with Varicci?"

"All of that, and more. They are celebrating what it means to be a Derethian, alive in a world that is certainly intent on devouring them. It will do you some good to learn more about your fellows. I feel like perhaps I pulled you too soon from your fellow new arrivals, before you got a chance to experience the things which give us all a common bond here. Ah, but Sabithra has returned."

Adso whirled. Sabithra, masked like they were, stood behind their table at a rigid posture of attention. In his agitation, he had not noticed her coming in, nor noticed her progress as she snuck up behind them. Apparently their Master had, which was why, Adso reminded himself, he was the Master still.

"Did you get what I asked you to get, Sabithra?" Master asked calmly.

"I did, Master. The attendant didn't want to give me three. She said I would have to wait to get more than one. But I&" she paused, before smiling proudly. "I stole two more."

"Well done, Sabithra. Give one to me, one to Elder Brother Adso, and keep one for yourself." He got up, left some pyreals on the table, and gestured to his two apprentices.

Adso inspected the slip of paper that Sabithra gave him. It was marked with a stylized N and C. He didn't get to read the inscription on it, because his companions were moving briskly down the stairs and he had to catch up.

Master led them through the celebrating crowd. There were fireworks shooting into the sky, coming from the bronze statue of Ben Ten near the center of town. Adso gaped unprofessionally at the sight, allowing himself to be pulled along in his Master's wake until they stood before a smiling Aluvian woman in extravagant white robes.

At Master's direction, they turned over their scraps of paper to the woman. Adso was still too confused by the noise and the show in the sky to pay much attention to what was going on, and was only dimly aware of her instructions to "hold on to your socks" – but the wrenching tug of portalspace brought him back to himself.

After a few moments, he, Master, and Sabithra stood in a darkened corridor in a place that Adso did not recognize. There was the faint sound of some frenetic, pulsing music, unlike anything he had ever heard before.

"What is that noise?" Adso asked.

"Nostalgia," their Master said, with a strangely wistful tone in his voice.

[Ziv]

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