Sepulchrave II
Legend
The feys have names for all the trees in their area where they live. Nadholuridin is a beech-tree. I'm sure the local sprites would consider it very significant.
Other questions might be answered in this post. Er... indirectly. Maybe.
Much Talk and Little Action
The Sela and the Ahma sat beneath the beech-tree Nadholuridin deep within the Forest of Nizkur. Moonlight illuminated them both.
"Will you return?" Tramst asked. His question was simple and direct, and conveyed no sense of judgment.
"I don’t know," Eadric replied.
"If you had died, would you have allowed Nwm the Preceptor to recall you?" The Sela’s question cut to the quick of another concern which had been nagging the Paladin. He had no doubt that Nwm would have reincarnated both Ortwin and Shomei: an act which – according to Orthodoxy, at least – verged on necromancy of the most dubious kind.
"I don’t know," Eadric replied honestly. "I am tired of continually weighing the means against the ends, and guessing which is the greater good, or the lesser evil."
"Such is the weight of responsibility," Tramst smiled.
"Before the assault, Titivilus issued me a sending. What was its purpose?"
"Devils seldom have uncomplicated reasons for their actions," the Sela said cryptically.
"He offered to act as an arbiter – although for what dispute, I cannot guess."
Tramst said nothing.
Eadric considered for a moment, before asking a different question altogether. "I am curious as to your actions regarding the feys here. They seemed to regard you in a favourable light."
"I gave them honey-cake, and firewine, and a mechanical clock," Tramst explained. "I also asked their permission to visit you here."
"But that was not necessary. You are the Sela."
"It was, nonetheless, polite," Tramst replied.
"But had you said nothing, and merely appeared to me, they would never have known of your presence – or mine."
"That is likely," the Sela nodded.
Eadric scowled. There was a paradox there somewhere, and a lesson to be learned from it.
"May I ask a philosophical question?" The Paladin ventured.
The Sela’s eyes twinkled. "If you really must," he answered.
"Titivilus comprehends the dialectic which underpins the transmetaphysic of saizhan. Can he be said to possess insight? Or is compassion a necessary precursor to actualizing saizhan?"
"Your question is flawed, as it presupposes a difference between insight and compassion."
"They are identical?"
"I will answer that with the standard fourfold negation.*"
Eadric laughed loudly – a sound that he realized had passed his lips too infrequently of late.
"Something is amusing?" Tramst asked.
"Forgive me, Sela, but getting a straight answer from you is harder than pulling teeth from a horse."
"This has been pointed out to me," Tramst nodded.
Eadric was silent for a moment, before asking another question. "Was there a specific reason that you chose to meet me now?"
"Merely to inform you that your actions have had consequences which you did not foresee. You do not exist in a vacuum."
"Is that a warning?"
"In a manner of speaking." Tramst replied. "Have you determined yet the purpose of your visit to Afqithan?"
"Not entirely," Eadric confessed. "But without other positive options, it seemed the obvious thing to do. What consequences do you refer to, Sela?"
"The challenging of Graz’zt’s hegemony in the realm."
"I do not understand."
"Irknaan is dead, Eadric. And even before he died, he wavered. There will be much uncertainty as a new Queen asserts her dominion."
The Paladin looked astonished. "Did Mostin kill him?"
"No. Irknaan was slain by the demoness Soneillon, around two hours ago."
The void, Eadric immediately knew. "She was Graz’zt’s concubine. We had considered Throile as a possible target. And she is now Queen there?"
"No. Soneillon has no interest in Afqithan – other than as a stick with which to taunt Graz’zt. She has a great interest in you, however. She perceives you as a vehicle through which Graz’zt’s downfall may be accomplished."
Eadric shifted uncomfortably.
"If you were to ally yourself to her," Tramst continued, "then no doubt it could be accomplished."
"Are you recommending this course of action, Sela?" Eadric inquired uneasily.
"By no means," Tramst answered. "I am merely informing you of things as they are. You have condemned Graz’zt to death. You have vowed to release Nehael. You are dispensing Oronthon’s justice – my justice, if you will – as you have determined appropriate and necessary. You may have to confront this choice."
The Paladin clenched his jaw in frustration.
"Do you resent the lack of direction that I offer you, Eadric?" The Sela asked.
Eadric hesitated.
Tramst struck him soundly in the face. "You cannot offend me with what you feel, Ahma."
"I apologize," Eadric said, nodding. His lip bled freely.
After a period of silence, the Paladin spoke again. "The Queen of whom you spoke – is it Nhura, or one of Soneillon’s puppets?"
"I think that is not yet settled," Tramst responded. "There are several candidates. Nhura bears the title for the meantime." He stretched, and abruptly changed the topic. "You are not the only reason I am here, Eadric. Another is due to arrive in a few hours. Which leaves us time to make some corrections."
Eadric looked quizzical.
"Ahma, your meditation posture is terrible."
"Ahh," Eadric said.
**
Mostin sat wrapped in his robe of eyes by a small fire near Nwm’s glade in the warm sunlight. He sneezed.
By the time that Shomei and the Druid had wind walked to her mansion, and the Infernalist had consulted her books and teleported to the Alienist’s location, Mostin’s fly spell had long since expired. He had been floating in the water, disconsolate, and drained of magic to an extent that he hadn’t experienced in years.
"You should’ve asked the Marid to deposit you in a less inconvenient place," Ortwin observed whilst toasting a thick slice of bread.
"It was not the first thing on my mind," Mostin grumbled. "And I think you should put some clothes on. Your naked caprine form is less than agreeable to my current sensibilities. At least throw a cloak over yourself."
Ortwin’s hand suffered a brief spasm, and he dropped his toast into the fire.
"I have to get my gear back," the Satyr wailed.
"That could prove difficult," Nwm said dryly. "As without your gear, it will not be easy to retrieve your gear, so to speak."
"And my dowry," Ortwin whined.
"Our dowry," Iua sighed. "Mostin, we have Shupthul’s weapon – can you transform it into a scimitar?"
"I suppose so," the Alienist replied. "If we go back, we need to carefully consider our tactics, however. They were less than successful. I would guess that we are outmatched by two to one at least in spellpower. There isn’t even any opportunity to close and engage with them in combat. But we can do this – given the chance to prepare. I am thinking that the strategic use of antimagic may be the answer. In which case, no weapon which is dweomered would be useful – and a polymorphed weapon would be worse than useless."
"To willingly have my spellcasting stymied thus is a daunting prospect," Nwm said sceptically. "I’m hardly an expert combatant."
"I am talking of the skillful use of antimagic, not a wholesale or blanket application," Mostin chided. "And I think that you would be better off unhindered. I had much time to consider this during my sojourn in the Eastern Ocean – watching fish becomes rather tedious after a while. One of us – either Shomei or I – would effectively act as a mobile protection device. We would be vulnerable to physical assault – all wards would be nonfunctioning. But this is somehow preferable to multiple greater dispellings, horrid wiltings, destructions and power words. Nwm and the other mage would remain outside of the field – and warded to a truly absurd degree – bear in mind that whoever was acting as the antimagic focus would have plenty of protective spells to lavish on those outside of the field."
"We have yet to witness the Loquai in physical combat," Nwm pointed out. "How effective are they likely to be?"
"If they are like the sidhe in general, then probably very adept. Also, probably no match for Eadric, Ortwin or I," Iua grinned. "I like this plan, Mostin."
"I advocate a full assault," the Alienist announced. Buoyed by Iua’s support, he was beginning to get carried away. "We scry Irknaan’s castle, summon, bind and gate a veritable army of extraplanar help. We use the Mirror to access a point outside of the stronghold. I blow a hole in the wall with a great shout, send in the footsoldiers, and erect an antimagic field. We charge in, kill everything inside, and it’s all over with."
Ortwin turned to look at Nwm, and raised his eyebrows.
The Druid shrugged. "Why not? Hell, we’ve tried subtlety and guile. We’ve tried a magical confrontation. What’s left?"
**
It was mid morning. Tramst clicked his fingers and pointed at the sensor.
"I do not see it," Eadric sighed.
"It requires considerable practice. It is there, however."
Seconds later, there was a displacement of air, and a single figure arrived. Eadric’s mind suffered a cognitive dissonance as Shomei manifested. The Eye of Palamabron showed her true body – a youthful and fair-skinned woman – whereas his own eyesight revealed the figure that he was familiar with. As always, she bore her rod.
Suspiciously, the Infernalist looked at Tramst and readied a spell. "Who are you? Why did I not perceive you?" Shomei’s arcane sight began to scrutinize the Sela’s form.
Eadric was about to say something, but Tramst raised his hand in a gesture which said let her continue.
"You are Oronthon’s Proxy," Shomei said presently. Her head was spinning, and her heart was pounding hard within her chest. Her calm façade seemed stretched and shaky. She erected a mind blank almost instinctively.
"You are correct," Tramst smiled.
"Your form is disarmingly unprepossessing," Shomei continued, regaining her composure somewhat.
"Would you prefer my ahmasaljan**?" The Sela inquired.
"NO!" Shomei said unequivocally.
"You fear me."
"I mistrust what you represent," the Infernalist replied.
"I think you misunderstand what I represent," Tramst countered.
"I do not seek redemption, whether you dress it in dialectic clothes or no."
"I do not offer it," the Sela said easily. "You are an Infernalist. I attach no moral significance to your chosen path. I can help you perfect your technique. Hone your spirit. Discipline your Will."
"Your attempt at expediency does not move me."
"Shomei," Tramst smiled, "if I were to be truly expedient with you, do you think you would know it?"***
"I don’t know. Would you know it?" Shomei replied wrily.
"Saizho," the Sela said, bowing.
"You bastard," Shomei sighed, as reality shifted.
"Your contract with Zhorion is fulfilled," Tramst pointed out.
Shomei cocked her head. "I neither sought you out, nor have I received instruction."
"You have demonstrated the Truth to yourself. What else can I teach you?"
The Infernalist gaped. "That is absurd. Nothing is that easy."
Tramst smiled sadly. "Yes, Shomei. It is that easy. Have you already forgotten, although it was only seconds ago? It will elude you as you reach out to grasp it again. And therein lies the tragedy."
Shomei swallowed, and scowled.
Tramst reached down, and picked a buttercup from near the base of the beech-tree. He pressed it into the palm of her hand.
Her world shattered into a billion fragments and reformed in an instant.
"You are not what I expected," she said.
Eadric wondered why it was that, for him, the Sela had made things so difficult, but for Shomei – who consorted with the unholiest of creatures – he had freely offered bliss and a vision of the Absolute.
He experienced a moment of impossible irony.
**
Nufrut’s disembodied face squinted at Eadric and Mostin from inside her transparent adamantine prison. The Eye of Palamabron illuminated her.
"I require information regarding the demoness Soneillon," Eadric stated.
"Mendacity would be pointless," Mostin added smugly.
"What do you wish to know?" Nufrut sighed.
"Her power relative to the Prince of Azzagrat," Mostin began, "both personal, and with regard to their respective subjects and thralls. The disposition of her servants in Throile. Her modi operandorum. Her motivations – beyond merely irking her former consort. Possible weaknesses which may be exploited. And her ontological status, which is a matter of some interest to me personally – from a purely academic perspective."
"This may take some while," Nufrut grumbled.
"Be as swift as you may," Eadric said acidly.
"Power is a difficult thing to measure when one speaks of Abyssal dignitaries," Nufrut replied. "Absolutes are impossible to determine."
"Is she always this forthcoming?" Eadric asked Mostin, drily.
"Invariably," Mostin nodded.
"Perhaps we should make a translation to the vestibule of Oronthon’s Heaven," Eadric suggested. "The Archons might have an easier time of persuading her to talk."
Mostin shook his head. "That is a journey I would prefer not to undertake. I can easily open a gate to allow you access, however."
"That will not be necessary," Nufrut interrupted. "I will try to formulate answers which are meaningful to your limited mortal perspectives."
"That is all we require," Eadric smiled. "Proceed."
"Soneillon’s sorcerous power is, in some regards, greater than that of Graz’zt," Nufrut reluctantly admitted.
Mostin inhaled sharply. "I think that statement requires some explanation."
"She is touched by infinite nothingness," Nufrut snapped. The subject was one which evidently disturbed even her. "She is Demogorgon’s spawn. A scion of Cheshne. She has entered oblivion, and returned from it."
Eadric blanched. The name of the Ancient was anathema. A taboo which none violated.
"I am speaking figuratively, of course," Nufrut added. "The wellspring of her power has no bounds – it is limited only by her own capacity to understand it."
"That is impossible," Mostin grunted.
"As you wish," Nufrut replied.
"Do not patronize me, Nufrut. Certain laws are inviolable within the bounded cosmos."
"If so, then this is not one of them," Nufrut said caustically.
"She does not lie," Eadric sighed.
"And it is borne out by your suspicions regarding her partial nonexistence," Nufrut continued. "I assume that was the reason for your inquiry about her ontic status?"
Mostin nodded wrily.
"I am somewhat confused," Eadric admitted.
"Soneillon has been to the bottom of the Abyss, and returned," Mostin explained. "She has tasted unbeing."
"The Abyss has no bottom, Mostin."
"My point exactly," Mostin replied.
"Hmph!" Eadric turned his attention back to the Demoness. "Please continue, Nufrut."
"Soneillon maintains few servants of any power – most of her closest attendants are succubi, and a handful of these are favoured and have learned sorcery from her."
"Such as the other who assailed us?" Mostin asked.
"As I was secure within your portable hole, I cannot answer this question with certainty."
"Names," Mostin demanded.
"Adyell, Helitihai, Orychne, Chaya," Nufrut replied. "Others of less note. No doubt also others, who are wholly unknown."
"I was struck by a power word, stun and a violated sonic acid storm," Mostin explained. "Who might that be?"
"Probably none of those four," Nufrut smiled wickedly.
"You are most vexatious," Mostin said irritably. "Would you care to speculate who might have access to such spells?"
"Many of Soneillon’s former protegés have found positions in the courts of other demonic nobles. Many have also managed to keep their tutelage under her secret. It is hard to say."
"There was another demon who, like her, existed on the threshold on nonbeing. Who was that?"
"I do not know," Nufrut scowled. "There are others who have descended, and returned, but most of their names are not known to me."
"But some are," Mostin pointed out. "Be so kind as to share those you do know."
"I am loath to speak their names," Nufrut groaned.
"And I am anxious to hear them!" Mostin retorted. "And a brief description, if you please."
"Seven only are known to me."
"Speak!" The Alienist demanded.
So Nufrut spat their names out: Saduch and Tavael – shadow demons; Xanoriz – a glabrezu; Tiqa – a succubus, like Soneillon herself, but of less power than the Mistress of Throile; Iarathym – a babau; Arhuz – a nalfeshnee of tremendous power, who dwelt five hundred circles from Azzagrat in a palace of slime; and Carasch.
"Carasch?" Mostin inquired.
"A balor. Once. Perhaps a deva before that? Who can remember that far back anymore?" There was a hint of melancholy in her voice.
"Could it be him?" The Alienist asked nervously.
Nufrut laughed harshly. "You fool! Carasch, subordinate himself to any other? How little you know, Mostin. Graz’zt and all his minions would flee before him. Yea, Ahma, maybe even Enitharmon himself would think twice before challenging him. No, Mostin, it was not Carasch – or you would all be dead, and Afqithan itself might be no more."
Mostin sniffed. "I find it hard to believe that an entity of such power exists and I have never heard of him."
"You know nothing," Nufrut sneered. "And I know but little in comparison to others," she added wrily. "Soneillon herself is well versed in the nature and disposition of more exotic Abyssal denizens. Pazuzu knows more than any other…"
"Return to the topic at hand if you would," Eadric interjected. "We do not have time for your random musings, Nufrut, although no doubt they are interesting."
"Soneillon is a dreamer, and a seductress without peer," the Demoness continued. "Her schemes and motivations are as impenetrable as the darkness which surrounds her when she wills it – no, Mostin, I do not dissemble. She is most enigmatic."
"And weaknesses?" Eadric inquired.
"None that I know of," Nufrut answered. "But if she has marked you, Ahma, then your life is about to become very complicated."
Eadric sighed. As if it wasn’t already.
*i.e. insight and compassion are neither identical, nor different, nor both identical and different, nor neither identical nor different.
** ‘Spiritual essence,’ ‘indwelling spirit’ or ‘perfect body.’ Normally perceivable only through the divine version of true seeing or similar magic.
***I think I may have touched on this before, but it is quite normal for Ascended Masters – and by extension the Sela – to dispense wisdom according to the understanding of those who hear it. Less enlightened souls might misconstrue this as an economy of truth, or even outright lies.
It is important to clarify exactly what happened in the exchange between Tramst and Shomei, as it is easily misunderstood:
Saizho means ‘I see’ (not ‘you see’ which is saizha – and may be either present tense or imperative). Tramst is in no way ‘bestowing’ or ‘forcing’ a moment of insight or enlightenment upon Shomei.
Shomei’s question ‘Would you know it?’ (i.e. would the teacher know if he were being expedient) stimulates an insight in the Sela. According to Saizhan, ultimately there is no ‘you’ that knows, and there is no knowing – there is only direct, unmediated experience of the Truth. True expediency cannot be conscious or premeditated, it must arise spontaneously and instinctively.
It is typical of the Sela’s teaching style that he will gracefully acknowledge an insight provided by someone else – usually a student – also implying that he, himself still has much to learn in the process. This is, however, a spiritual lesson in itself – doubly so in the case of Shomei: the ‘Adversarial’ philosophy endorsed by Shomei (and Mostin, although in a different way) is based on infinite becoming and perpetual self-transcendence. By accepting an insight provided by Shomei, the Sela implicitly endorses the validity of the Infernalist’s philosophy and pays homage to her holiness and perfection, but at the same time asserts his own spiritual authority.
The paradox which results is a perfect expression of the dialectic of Saizhan: Shomei’s mind no longer has anything tangible upon which it can find purchase. Inevitably, she experiences Saizhan, but brought about by her own words, not by those of Tramst.
When Shomei realizes this, she says ‘You bastard.’ It would seem that Shomei has somehow maneuvered herself into a glimpse of the Truth. Thus, Tramst has been expedient, because he has been effective. Moreover, he has done so spontaneously, instinctively and without effort.
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