Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
“Well,” hazards Mara, “first you need to know which God to serve.” She sounds doubtful.
“Ilsensine.”
Silence.
“The mind flayer God,” says Velendo.
“Uhhh. . .” says Malachite.
“Do you have a God of goodness and light?” asks Mara hopefully.
“He is the God of Knowledge.”
“Ah.”
“What about a God of Morality?” asks Malachite.
“We have none.”
“Right, then.”
“Maybe he can lead a campaign to change the way the mind flayers live,” says Eve thoughtfully. “Maybe he can just serve the idea of God, and of morality, instead of following a particular faith.” The paladins both give her a disbelieving look.
“May we take, learn, sup from your knowledge of your God?”
“What does that mean?” Malachite sounds suspicious.
“We wish to know what you know. We will not cause pain.”
“He wishes to read your mind,” whispers Eve. “‘Sup’ is a bad word to use.”
“Will it have any permanent affect on him?” asks Velendo.
“Yes.”
“No,” says Malachite flatly. “Part of compassion is recognizing the fact that other’s thoughts are sacrosanct.”
“We asked.” It sounds petulant.
“You did. And that was the right thing to do. You were right to ask, but that doesn’t mean that you will be given a ‘yes’.”
Mara looks unhappy. “I don’t know if there’s any information I know that you might use against me or my people. I can’t take that risk. But I would like you to understand how I see the world and how I think. Could you do that without. . .” She flutters her hand in the air next to her head.
“Are there any books on gods it could read, maybe?” asks Eve. As soon as she says it, she realizes that leisurely reading is probably not the preferred information gathering method of a creature used to swallowing entire intelligences.
“We could take, but something tells us that it would be wrong.” The way it says the word ‘take’ has a certain finality about it.
“You are correct,” says Malachite.
The elder brain sounds baffled. “There never was a ‘wrong’ before. This feels like weakness.”
“In some cases it is weakness. In many more cases it is strength.”
Mara nods. “For me, doing what’s right instead of what’s wrong is a part of my strength. To give in to evil weakens you.”
Velendo leans over to whisper to Malachite and Mara. “We may not have an opportunity like this again.”
“You’re right,” whispers Malachite back.
“Should we help it?” Velendo asks. “This would be an unprecedented conversion if it works. Think what it could mean to church doctrine. Think what it could do to other mind flayers.”
Malachite still looks suspicious. “What do you think it actually wants?”
“It’s asking for knowledge of the gods.”
“And?” His tone is cautious. Velendo raises his voice slightly.
“And if I have some assurance that it will not permanently cripple me, I can think of no god whose lessons I would rather this being learn than my own.”
“Yes,” sighs Malachite.
“The God of Protection,” muses Agar. “We could do worse.”
“It may be the right choice. Aeos is, and I mean no offense,” Velendo says in a diplomatic tone, “in some ways more complex, I think.”
“I agree,” says Malachite.
“Calphas is a straightforward deity.”
“I agree,” Malachite says again, wishing that Velendo would get to the point.
“Simpler might be better here.”
Eve frowns. “If I put myself in the middle of this process, I may be able to help protect your psyche.”
“At the risk of breaking you in the process,” says Velendo. “The other danger is that all the information will be framed through your own perceptions before it reaches the elder brain. That may skew it a little.”
“I don’t have your. . your faith.” She sounds worried.
“Do you feel that protecting the innocent from hostile aggressors is the right thing to do?”
Eve looks at him as if that’s a trick question. “I don’t know. It sounds right.”
“Then you are on the path. Perhaps you will even go a little farther along it yourself for being in this transfer.” Velendo tries to make himself sound wise and all-knowing. He has mixed success.
“I’ll give it a try,” says Eve.
“I warn you now,” says Galthia. “No matter what happens, my people may come here and destroy it.”
Velendo sucks in air. “If this thing changes its ways, what will you report back?”
“I don’t know,” says the githzerai. “I will report back to my master what has happened.”
“That’s all anyone can ask for.” Velendo turns to Rondeth and the elder brain. “Your brain is fantastically powerful. I will take it on some faith that it is also capable of great subtlety and finesse. You will need to look without taking. If that makes sense to you?”
“We understand. The simplest thing, of course, would be to subsume your knowledge into our own and leave nothing but a husk behind.” It pauses. “But that would be. . .” It carefully pronounces the word as if dipping a toe in the cold water of an unknown ocean. “Wrong?”
“Wrong,” agrees the others.
“You feel that, inside you?” asks Mara. “You know then.” She sounds serene.
“We know that, so we will not do this.” It sounds slightly disappointed.
“Your people and minions who may try to stop us. Are they here?” Velendo glances around nervously, but Stone Bear and the others would have given warning if anything unusual had been spotted.
“They have entered the far end of the city. They are currently preparing themselves. They do not yet know what they are up against.”
“How long will it take to affect this transfer? I don’t wish to be attacked while we are helpless.”
“Some minutes.”
“All right. We should do it soon, then, while they are still preparing.” Velendo sucks in a large breath of the polluted air. “They are still beings of duplicity.”
“We are used to referring to your type as cattle or flesh-puppets. Is there a better term?”
The group looks around at one another, not sure whether to laugh or be appalled. “‘People’ will do.”
“People.” It turns its attention to Eve. “Do you wish to act as an insulator?”
Quietly, softly. “Yes.”
“Let’s do it,” says Velendo.
Malachite intervenes. “I feel it is fair to warn that if either of them are harmed. . .” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “No good will come of it.”
“This I would expect.”
“Thank you.” The paladin sounds humble, and suddenly a non-noise rises in the echoing stillness of T’Pocl.
It is the boiling roil of a great torrent. It is the beginning of an avalanche. It is the transfer of knowledge. Both Velendo and Eve begin to shake.
Not tall enough to reach the pew. The funeral of lost sailors, and his father blessing the fleet on a blustery day. All the years sitting in the chapel and looking out over the sea, listening to his father, playing with rocks and small sticks behind the pews as he hears the sermons without actually believing them, learning them himself despite his best efforts. . .
The taking of the vows. The knowledge, deep inside, that he wasn’t worthy to do so. The knowledge that life would be quiet, and dull, and safe. The omen of change. The coming of the pirates, and the smell of the minotaurs from the Isle of War. The cursing of a God who abandoned him, when deep inside he knew that it was the other way around. The escape, and the ants, and the blossoming of his faith once again as he met the people who would become the Defenders of Daybreak.
The alcoholic haze of denial. Endless battles and sorties, arguments with Cadrienne and Claris, the assumption of his rightful responsibility. The smell of giant blood in his nostrils as the Angel of Calphas declared that he was to be his lord’s proxy in a trial to come. What that meant to him then, and what it came to mean.
The images pour past.
Learning the scriptures long after he already should have known them. Meeting Calphasian priests from other sects who championed retribution, and his lessons on the dubious wisdom of that course. The face of Sarah, watching him leave. The faces of everyone who believed that he was saintly, when he knew he was all too fallible. Facing the secrets of creation in a long-dead desert, thwarting Teliez as he faced an implacable foe and the imminent arrival of Elder’s kin. It all came back.
Growing the church of Calphas from a little-worshipped sect to a major religion, as was foretold in the scriptures he had now finally read. The creation of another monstrous cleric in the shadow of the al’quith. Reaching out to those who rejected him, protecting those who needed protection, turning none away. Trial after trial, fight after fight, keeping the truth of Calphas close to his heart on cold nights. The lessons of the Wallbuilder, the wall of faith that sustains those not strong enough to sustain themselves. The knowledge of other Gods as well, of Sigil and the endless multiverse, of dead Gods and Gods not yet born.
Velendo remembers it all, and the elder brain drinks it in and tries to understand.
Eve tries to translate as the information flows through her. The issue of faith itself, what faith means, what it means for loyalty and sacrifice, and for protection, and the relationships between the Gods, and what to ask and what not to ask. . . Eve is inundated, and she only picks up fragments as all of Velendo’s long life is drawn through her and funneled by the keenness of her own mind. A corner of Eve’s brain recognizes that if she weren’t serving as a buffer, it’s quite possible that the purity and insistence of the elder brain’s “request” could drive Velendo mad. She has the right kind of mental discipline in order to focus and channel the information, though, partially because she’s not intimately involved in the subject matter. It doesn’t mean anything to her. Yet. She comprehends as much as she can, and shepherds everything as she keeps Velendo’s mind safe from permanent harm.
At long last, the demand for information ceases.
“Are you all right?”
Velendo gasps. He hugs his shield as if trying to avoid drowning. He can’t remember any of the religious teachings he’s had over the years; they swim tantalizingly out of reach from his conscious mind. He tries to recall a formal prayer, any at all, but it’s akin to poking an open wound. It hurts too much to continue.
“How do you feel?” asks Mara. She seems to be addressing the elder brain more than Velendo, who already has several people clustered around him.
“That was. . . more than we expected. There are things that we did not imagine. Things inside as well as out.” Its mental voice was filled with wonder.
Eve takes three faltering steps over to make sure Velendo is all right, confirms that he is, and faints. Her head thuds off the hardened ectoplasm of T’Pocl’s floor with a dull thud. Priggle scuttles over to check her and cradles her head until she regains consciousness a moment later.
“One moment. Yes. One moment.” The brain’s attention is diverted by a psychic query that none of the Defenders can hear. The elder brain then refocuses on the group in front of its closed dome. “May we have your permission to reintegrate defenses?”
“What does that mean?” asks Mara.
“That means that we will buy us time before we are attacked.” The mental voice is phlegmatic.
The Defenders exchange a worried look. “Okay,” says Mara.
“In for a copper. . .” says Agar. “Let’s see this through.”
“Yes,” whispers Velendo. Up around the ceiling, glistening ropes of slime begin to sparkle. Solid thought coalesces and spreads. The air begins to hum with psionic energy.
“You have. . . taught us. We reiterate, we wish to take this vow. But we are not yet ready. We still have things to learn.” It pauses. “What is our next step?”
Malachite’s voice is low and wintry. “You will need to contact someone other than us. It will be difficult, however. You and your thralls are not ordinarily welcome.”
“How so? Is something wrong?”
Galthia starts to answer, but the enormity of the question catches him completely off guard and he lapses into silence instead. Malachite steps in to answer in his stead. “You know, your thralls are not ordinarily welcome for a reason.”
“You know everything about,” Velendo gropes momentarily for the name of his God, “Calphas, now.”
“More than just Calphas. You know more than you think you do.”
“Then you know that if you are defending the innocent against the aggressor, he hears you.”
“This is true.”
“In my faith, you can take a vow any time. And grow with it. After growth, you may reach greater levels of understanding,” he shakily gets to his feet, “ like these two have.” He indicates Malachite and Mara as he sways.
“We will go and do this. We will go and. . . pray. Not prey.” One of Rondeth’s thin arms indicates his own wasted body. “Your. . . friend will reintegrate over the next day. The seeds are in place. Keep him watered. We believe we have. . .”
On the far side of the cavern, they see the strands of something dribbling down from the ceiling. It’s too far away to know for sure what activated the cavern’s defenses, but everyone has a fairly good idea.
“We have caused enough concern that they will delay for some minutes. If you wish to leave, the defenses will still be inoperative and you may exit. If you wish to fight, we will strengthen you if we can.”
Velendo glances in the direction of the distant mind flayers. “Do you see hope that you can pass on your understanding? Could you convert them?”
“They have a fragment of our old self, the portion which was kept safe when the undead first attacked. It is driving them. It manifests in a bubble around them.”
“Can we destroy the fragment?” asks Agar.
“We. . . hope you can.”
“If we can destroy the fragment without destroying them, then you can convert them?” asks Velendo.
“We can quickly convert them by force. Is conversion by force appropriate?”
Agar sighs. “Unfortunately not.”
“Then it might take some time. They will be resistant.”
“I don’t believe they’re going to give us much time,” says Malachite.
“New ones can be grown. First, I must synthesize this information.”
“That will take some time,” says Velendo. “Can you protect yourself from them if we leave?”
“Our mass is hidden. They should not be able to find it.”
“They may be able to find it, then.”
“Then we will defend ourselves.”
Velendo shakes his head. “Although we could stand and fight and possibly wipe them all out, I would prefer if you could teach them what you’ve now learned.”
“Do you have a name?” asks Malachite suddenly.
“No. We simply are. Are names important?”
“Wait. Are there other ones like you in other cities?”
“There are. Mental patterns distinguish us.”
“Does your mental pattern have a verbal equivalent?”
“No. you may give us one.”
“I can make up one,” says Eve cautiously. “I just did this for myself. How about that thing that Cruciel showed me. The morning. That new thing with the light.” She gestures towards Mara and Luminor.
Mara looked puzzled. “Dawn?”
Eve nodded eagerly. “Yes! There’s no word for it in undercommon, of course.”
“Interesting.”
Velendo looked nonplussed. “It’s an appropriate metaphor, at least.”
“Dawn. We like how it reverberates. It will do until we change it. Perhaps we will. . . become. . . it.” With a pop, something twists in Eve’s head. “If you require us, contact that.”
“I believe that’s clear enough.” She sounds awed. “Thank you.”
“It will amplify. We should be able to hear you. May. . . we contact you?”
Eve nods. “Yes. I’ve never done that. Nobody’s. . . ever wanted to contact me before.”
“We will go. You may take them or not as you choose. We. . . may be in your debt. Or perhaps we are victimized by you.”
“No,” whispers Eve. “Malachite would never victimize anyone.”
“Eve. . .”
Velendo bites his lip. “You’ll learn the answer to that question as you synthesize what you just learned.”
“Yes. More than we ever thought.” Rondeth’s eyes roll back in his head as he collapses to the ground. Galthia runs to get him.
“It occurs to me that we may have to stay and fight,” says Velendo, “because we can’t leave with Rondeth in that condition. We can’t windwalk with him.”
“Nor can we take Ceann’s gift to go to the surface,” says Malachite.
“We could gate out,” suggests Agar.
“I feel some responsibility to help Dawn,” says Mara, “now that we have set him on the proper path.”
“It’s not as if we gave him a false gift,” says Malachite, “or an evil thing that deceived him. We didn’t set him on a false path.”
Velendo raises his voice. “We did a good thing, but now it’s going to put him in danger. If he’s about to be attacked by his own people. . .”
Galthia gives a sharp gesture of negation. “That’s his own choice. You did not set him on any path. You opened the door.” He sounds bitter.
“It doesn’t matter,” says Velendo, “because now he is a being that may need our protection.”
“All I’m saying is that you should not feel responsible or obligated.”
“I don’t think it’s the wrong thing to protect him,” argues Malachite, “I just think we aren’t obligated to protect him just because we taught him what morality is.”
Velendo nods. “I agree. I don’t think obligation comes into it.”
Galthia looks towards the other end of the cavern, and there’s a fierce glint in his eyes. “Then let's go say hello to some mind flayers.”
To be continued. . .
“Ilsensine.”
Silence.
“The mind flayer God,” says Velendo.
“Uhhh. . .” says Malachite.
“Do you have a God of goodness and light?” asks Mara hopefully.
“He is the God of Knowledge.”
“Ah.”
“What about a God of Morality?” asks Malachite.
“We have none.”
“Right, then.”
“Maybe he can lead a campaign to change the way the mind flayers live,” says Eve thoughtfully. “Maybe he can just serve the idea of God, and of morality, instead of following a particular faith.” The paladins both give her a disbelieving look.
“May we take, learn, sup from your knowledge of your God?”
“What does that mean?” Malachite sounds suspicious.
“We wish to know what you know. We will not cause pain.”
“He wishes to read your mind,” whispers Eve. “‘Sup’ is a bad word to use.”
“Will it have any permanent affect on him?” asks Velendo.
“Yes.”
“No,” says Malachite flatly. “Part of compassion is recognizing the fact that other’s thoughts are sacrosanct.”
“We asked.” It sounds petulant.
“You did. And that was the right thing to do. You were right to ask, but that doesn’t mean that you will be given a ‘yes’.”
Mara looks unhappy. “I don’t know if there’s any information I know that you might use against me or my people. I can’t take that risk. But I would like you to understand how I see the world and how I think. Could you do that without. . .” She flutters her hand in the air next to her head.
“Are there any books on gods it could read, maybe?” asks Eve. As soon as she says it, she realizes that leisurely reading is probably not the preferred information gathering method of a creature used to swallowing entire intelligences.
“We could take, but something tells us that it would be wrong.” The way it says the word ‘take’ has a certain finality about it.
“You are correct,” says Malachite.
The elder brain sounds baffled. “There never was a ‘wrong’ before. This feels like weakness.”
“In some cases it is weakness. In many more cases it is strength.”
Mara nods. “For me, doing what’s right instead of what’s wrong is a part of my strength. To give in to evil weakens you.”
Velendo leans over to whisper to Malachite and Mara. “We may not have an opportunity like this again.”
“You’re right,” whispers Malachite back.
“Should we help it?” Velendo asks. “This would be an unprecedented conversion if it works. Think what it could mean to church doctrine. Think what it could do to other mind flayers.”
Malachite still looks suspicious. “What do you think it actually wants?”
“It’s asking for knowledge of the gods.”
“And?” His tone is cautious. Velendo raises his voice slightly.
“And if I have some assurance that it will not permanently cripple me, I can think of no god whose lessons I would rather this being learn than my own.”
“Yes,” sighs Malachite.
“The God of Protection,” muses Agar. “We could do worse.”
“It may be the right choice. Aeos is, and I mean no offense,” Velendo says in a diplomatic tone, “in some ways more complex, I think.”
“I agree,” says Malachite.
“Calphas is a straightforward deity.”
“I agree,” Malachite says again, wishing that Velendo would get to the point.
“Simpler might be better here.”
Eve frowns. “If I put myself in the middle of this process, I may be able to help protect your psyche.”
“At the risk of breaking you in the process,” says Velendo. “The other danger is that all the information will be framed through your own perceptions before it reaches the elder brain. That may skew it a little.”
“I don’t have your. . your faith.” She sounds worried.
“Do you feel that protecting the innocent from hostile aggressors is the right thing to do?”
Eve looks at him as if that’s a trick question. “I don’t know. It sounds right.”
“Then you are on the path. Perhaps you will even go a little farther along it yourself for being in this transfer.” Velendo tries to make himself sound wise and all-knowing. He has mixed success.
“I’ll give it a try,” says Eve.
“I warn you now,” says Galthia. “No matter what happens, my people may come here and destroy it.”
Velendo sucks in air. “If this thing changes its ways, what will you report back?”
“I don’t know,” says the githzerai. “I will report back to my master what has happened.”
“That’s all anyone can ask for.” Velendo turns to Rondeth and the elder brain. “Your brain is fantastically powerful. I will take it on some faith that it is also capable of great subtlety and finesse. You will need to look without taking. If that makes sense to you?”
“We understand. The simplest thing, of course, would be to subsume your knowledge into our own and leave nothing but a husk behind.” It pauses. “But that would be. . .” It carefully pronounces the word as if dipping a toe in the cold water of an unknown ocean. “Wrong?”
“Wrong,” agrees the others.
“You feel that, inside you?” asks Mara. “You know then.” She sounds serene.
“We know that, so we will not do this.” It sounds slightly disappointed.
“Your people and minions who may try to stop us. Are they here?” Velendo glances around nervously, but Stone Bear and the others would have given warning if anything unusual had been spotted.
“They have entered the far end of the city. They are currently preparing themselves. They do not yet know what they are up against.”
“How long will it take to affect this transfer? I don’t wish to be attacked while we are helpless.”
“Some minutes.”
“All right. We should do it soon, then, while they are still preparing.” Velendo sucks in a large breath of the polluted air. “They are still beings of duplicity.”
“We are used to referring to your type as cattle or flesh-puppets. Is there a better term?”
The group looks around at one another, not sure whether to laugh or be appalled. “‘People’ will do.”
“People.” It turns its attention to Eve. “Do you wish to act as an insulator?”
Quietly, softly. “Yes.”
“Let’s do it,” says Velendo.
Malachite intervenes. “I feel it is fair to warn that if either of them are harmed. . .” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “No good will come of it.”
“This I would expect.”
“Thank you.” The paladin sounds humble, and suddenly a non-noise rises in the echoing stillness of T’Pocl.
It is the boiling roil of a great torrent. It is the beginning of an avalanche. It is the transfer of knowledge. Both Velendo and Eve begin to shake.
Not tall enough to reach the pew. The funeral of lost sailors, and his father blessing the fleet on a blustery day. All the years sitting in the chapel and looking out over the sea, listening to his father, playing with rocks and small sticks behind the pews as he hears the sermons without actually believing them, learning them himself despite his best efforts. . .
The taking of the vows. The knowledge, deep inside, that he wasn’t worthy to do so. The knowledge that life would be quiet, and dull, and safe. The omen of change. The coming of the pirates, and the smell of the minotaurs from the Isle of War. The cursing of a God who abandoned him, when deep inside he knew that it was the other way around. The escape, and the ants, and the blossoming of his faith once again as he met the people who would become the Defenders of Daybreak.
The alcoholic haze of denial. Endless battles and sorties, arguments with Cadrienne and Claris, the assumption of his rightful responsibility. The smell of giant blood in his nostrils as the Angel of Calphas declared that he was to be his lord’s proxy in a trial to come. What that meant to him then, and what it came to mean.
The images pour past.
Learning the scriptures long after he already should have known them. Meeting Calphasian priests from other sects who championed retribution, and his lessons on the dubious wisdom of that course. The face of Sarah, watching him leave. The faces of everyone who believed that he was saintly, when he knew he was all too fallible. Facing the secrets of creation in a long-dead desert, thwarting Teliez as he faced an implacable foe and the imminent arrival of Elder’s kin. It all came back.
Growing the church of Calphas from a little-worshipped sect to a major religion, as was foretold in the scriptures he had now finally read. The creation of another monstrous cleric in the shadow of the al’quith. Reaching out to those who rejected him, protecting those who needed protection, turning none away. Trial after trial, fight after fight, keeping the truth of Calphas close to his heart on cold nights. The lessons of the Wallbuilder, the wall of faith that sustains those not strong enough to sustain themselves. The knowledge of other Gods as well, of Sigil and the endless multiverse, of dead Gods and Gods not yet born.
Velendo remembers it all, and the elder brain drinks it in and tries to understand.
Eve tries to translate as the information flows through her. The issue of faith itself, what faith means, what it means for loyalty and sacrifice, and for protection, and the relationships between the Gods, and what to ask and what not to ask. . . Eve is inundated, and she only picks up fragments as all of Velendo’s long life is drawn through her and funneled by the keenness of her own mind. A corner of Eve’s brain recognizes that if she weren’t serving as a buffer, it’s quite possible that the purity and insistence of the elder brain’s “request” could drive Velendo mad. She has the right kind of mental discipline in order to focus and channel the information, though, partially because she’s not intimately involved in the subject matter. It doesn’t mean anything to her. Yet. She comprehends as much as she can, and shepherds everything as she keeps Velendo’s mind safe from permanent harm.
At long last, the demand for information ceases.
“Are you all right?”
Velendo gasps. He hugs his shield as if trying to avoid drowning. He can’t remember any of the religious teachings he’s had over the years; they swim tantalizingly out of reach from his conscious mind. He tries to recall a formal prayer, any at all, but it’s akin to poking an open wound. It hurts too much to continue.
“How do you feel?” asks Mara. She seems to be addressing the elder brain more than Velendo, who already has several people clustered around him.
“That was. . . more than we expected. There are things that we did not imagine. Things inside as well as out.” Its mental voice was filled with wonder.
Eve takes three faltering steps over to make sure Velendo is all right, confirms that he is, and faints. Her head thuds off the hardened ectoplasm of T’Pocl’s floor with a dull thud. Priggle scuttles over to check her and cradles her head until she regains consciousness a moment later.
“One moment. Yes. One moment.” The brain’s attention is diverted by a psychic query that none of the Defenders can hear. The elder brain then refocuses on the group in front of its closed dome. “May we have your permission to reintegrate defenses?”
“What does that mean?” asks Mara.
“That means that we will buy us time before we are attacked.” The mental voice is phlegmatic.
The Defenders exchange a worried look. “Okay,” says Mara.
“In for a copper. . .” says Agar. “Let’s see this through.”
“Yes,” whispers Velendo. Up around the ceiling, glistening ropes of slime begin to sparkle. Solid thought coalesces and spreads. The air begins to hum with psionic energy.
“You have. . . taught us. We reiterate, we wish to take this vow. But we are not yet ready. We still have things to learn.” It pauses. “What is our next step?”
Malachite’s voice is low and wintry. “You will need to contact someone other than us. It will be difficult, however. You and your thralls are not ordinarily welcome.”
“How so? Is something wrong?”
Galthia starts to answer, but the enormity of the question catches him completely off guard and he lapses into silence instead. Malachite steps in to answer in his stead. “You know, your thralls are not ordinarily welcome for a reason.”
“You know everything about,” Velendo gropes momentarily for the name of his God, “Calphas, now.”
“More than just Calphas. You know more than you think you do.”
“Then you know that if you are defending the innocent against the aggressor, he hears you.”
“This is true.”
“In my faith, you can take a vow any time. And grow with it. After growth, you may reach greater levels of understanding,” he shakily gets to his feet, “ like these two have.” He indicates Malachite and Mara as he sways.
“We will go and do this. We will go and. . . pray. Not prey.” One of Rondeth’s thin arms indicates his own wasted body. “Your. . . friend will reintegrate over the next day. The seeds are in place. Keep him watered. We believe we have. . .”
On the far side of the cavern, they see the strands of something dribbling down from the ceiling. It’s too far away to know for sure what activated the cavern’s defenses, but everyone has a fairly good idea.
“We have caused enough concern that they will delay for some minutes. If you wish to leave, the defenses will still be inoperative and you may exit. If you wish to fight, we will strengthen you if we can.”
Velendo glances in the direction of the distant mind flayers. “Do you see hope that you can pass on your understanding? Could you convert them?”
“They have a fragment of our old self, the portion which was kept safe when the undead first attacked. It is driving them. It manifests in a bubble around them.”
“Can we destroy the fragment?” asks Agar.
“We. . . hope you can.”
“If we can destroy the fragment without destroying them, then you can convert them?” asks Velendo.
“We can quickly convert them by force. Is conversion by force appropriate?”
Agar sighs. “Unfortunately not.”
“Then it might take some time. They will be resistant.”
“I don’t believe they’re going to give us much time,” says Malachite.
“New ones can be grown. First, I must synthesize this information.”
“That will take some time,” says Velendo. “Can you protect yourself from them if we leave?”
“Our mass is hidden. They should not be able to find it.”
“They may be able to find it, then.”
“Then we will defend ourselves.”
Velendo shakes his head. “Although we could stand and fight and possibly wipe them all out, I would prefer if you could teach them what you’ve now learned.”
“Do you have a name?” asks Malachite suddenly.
“No. We simply are. Are names important?”
“Wait. Are there other ones like you in other cities?”
“There are. Mental patterns distinguish us.”
“Does your mental pattern have a verbal equivalent?”
“No. you may give us one.”
“I can make up one,” says Eve cautiously. “I just did this for myself. How about that thing that Cruciel showed me. The morning. That new thing with the light.” She gestures towards Mara and Luminor.
Mara looked puzzled. “Dawn?”
Eve nodded eagerly. “Yes! There’s no word for it in undercommon, of course.”
“Interesting.”
Velendo looked nonplussed. “It’s an appropriate metaphor, at least.”
“Dawn. We like how it reverberates. It will do until we change it. Perhaps we will. . . become. . . it.” With a pop, something twists in Eve’s head. “If you require us, contact that.”
“I believe that’s clear enough.” She sounds awed. “Thank you.”
“It will amplify. We should be able to hear you. May. . . we contact you?”
Eve nods. “Yes. I’ve never done that. Nobody’s. . . ever wanted to contact me before.”
“We will go. You may take them or not as you choose. We. . . may be in your debt. Or perhaps we are victimized by you.”
“No,” whispers Eve. “Malachite would never victimize anyone.”
“Eve. . .”
Velendo bites his lip. “You’ll learn the answer to that question as you synthesize what you just learned.”
“Yes. More than we ever thought.” Rondeth’s eyes roll back in his head as he collapses to the ground. Galthia runs to get him.
“It occurs to me that we may have to stay and fight,” says Velendo, “because we can’t leave with Rondeth in that condition. We can’t windwalk with him.”
“Nor can we take Ceann’s gift to go to the surface,” says Malachite.
“We could gate out,” suggests Agar.
“I feel some responsibility to help Dawn,” says Mara, “now that we have set him on the proper path.”
“It’s not as if we gave him a false gift,” says Malachite, “or an evil thing that deceived him. We didn’t set him on a false path.”
Velendo raises his voice. “We did a good thing, but now it’s going to put him in danger. If he’s about to be attacked by his own people. . .”
Galthia gives a sharp gesture of negation. “That’s his own choice. You did not set him on any path. You opened the door.” He sounds bitter.
“It doesn’t matter,” says Velendo, “because now he is a being that may need our protection.”
“All I’m saying is that you should not feel responsible or obligated.”
“I don’t think it’s the wrong thing to protect him,” argues Malachite, “I just think we aren’t obligated to protect him just because we taught him what morality is.”
Velendo nods. “I agree. I don’t think obligation comes into it.”
Galthia looks towards the other end of the cavern, and there’s a fierce glint in his eyes. “Then let's go say hello to some mind flayers.”
To be continued. . .
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