The Infinite Road to Kataal (Chapter 1-2)

PDF:

IRTK - 1-2.pdf

Download PDF • 127KB

Chapter 1 - Blue Blossom Days

Pelos is a small town, if it can even be considered such. They are hardly bothered by the nearest Sovereign, the Collectors and Criers seem to only remember the town exists when they happen through it by accident on the way to and from more important places. But that also means that it is not a place for Adventurers.

No, Pelos is a place free from Chaos.

As such, it is a perfect place to start a new life.

I know nearly every face in Pelos, and by extension, every soul. It is the kind of town where every face lays bare the soul beneath it; a place devoid of deceit or even the need for such. Each smile that I catch walking from my farm, through town, and back again, is genuine—every wish of good tidings. Each smile but my own.

Nearly fifteen years have passed since my initial departure, and the town of my youth has changed little. My farm has been vacant all the while, crops well-tended to in my absence. My home still threatens to fall into the floor each day, creaking under my heavy steps, but otherwise it is wholly unmarred by the passage of time. Nearly fifteen years gone, now one since my return and not a single soul in Pelos has thought to ask me about my absence.

It’s not right.

That’s what most people would say, at least. It isn’t proper to ask after someone’s business. I spent fifteen years as an Adventurer, exploring the depths and reaches of Uteria, and not a single person in Pelos wants to hear a word about it.

Marten Alback from down the road has asked me if their tending of my land is to my liking. Imagine! I up and leave in the middle of the night seeking a life that is anything but the drab platitudes of my youth and they ask me if they have done a good enough job waiting on my return for fifteen years!

I laugh and shake my head as I stalk into town, pulling my cart full of all the earthy spuds and roots that grow well on my land, pressed up against the walls of the valley as it is. Perhaps it’s my own memory failing me, perhaps my brushes with Chaos were closer than I ever realized at the time, but I don’t remember people being quite so cagey in my youth. People had been polite back then, shy even, but now it’s as if there was an edict agreed upon by everyone to not speak of anything out of the ordinary. Or perhaps that’s just around me. Perhaps they know I went rouge. Perhaps they’re scared.

I reason through the many possibilities as I amble up the road, the wooden wheels of my cart crackling over the gravel, the heat of the long days breaking a sweat over my shoulders. I look up to the wedge of blue sky that’s visible between the massive, craggy slopes that keep watch over Pelos. Protection from without, protection from within. There is a singular road that runs through Pelos, unremarkable aside from the river that it follows. That ever-present torrent carrying the waters away to some distant sea down south. No one, not one person in the town has ever wondered about where that water is going, and why it is in such a rush to pass through Pelos. No one but me.

Sighing, I park my cart in front of the city square, such as it is. Pelos sports only three structures that rise above the standard two-stories of all the tenements: The Market, The Ediction, and The Citadel. The first is an open building, five levels of people hawking things they grew or made, though with such little immigration or emigration, the styles of clothes and art are beyond stagnant. The second is a stuffy building, the only thing built of stone, the stark white glowing in the midday sun. It serves as a reminder of the Sovreigns’ reach, even here in the sleepiest town I have ever known, people are still not entirely independent.

The last, an ominous, obsidian obelisk looms large over the towns, thrumming with Chaotic potential. It makes the back of my neck itch just looking at it; memories of that old familiar feeling bubbling up inside me.

“Jinn!” Miss Helar is the only one who has been consistently happy to see me since my return. The only one, in fact, that shows me any affectation at all. “I was just talking to Garin this morning about how much I need more potatoes! My stews just aren’t the same without the ones you bring us. Where have you been?”

I’ve neglected coming to market for some time, though I have little excuse. The simple truth of it is that I’ve been waiting, biding my time. Recovering. “Faina!” I paint on a smile and grasp her shoulders. “Harvest took longer than expected.” Truth, though only due to my laziness. “Here, have a few on me.” I pick up a number of the spuds and place them in the basket she carries. Her small frame is weighted down suddenly, the extra weight of a few vegetables bearing her whole body forward.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t just take these I—”

I stop her sputtering with a harsh look. Soft but insistent. “Please. It would be an offense if you don’t.”

Levying the worst threat anyone in Pelos could fathom, I avoid what could have been an entire afternoon’s worth of polite (and deeply annoying) bargaining back and forth.

At the back of the market lies a winch-drawn elevator for hauling carts such as mine up to higher levels. I pull myself and the cart up to the third floor where I set up my table and sit back. From where I sit, I take in the view of the small square, the two other buildings of note sitting side-by-side; one white as day, one black as night. They at once seem in competition and in complement, one unable to exist without the other. Or perhaps more accurately, unable to be appreciated alone. What is day without night? What is dark without light? How can we know true evil but for the presence of good? What is Sovreignty without Chaos?

I know the truth of it though. No matter how it may appear staring out at those two contrasting structures, there is good and evil in both Sovreignty and Chaos. I have seen them both, seen it all.

So distant are my thoughts as I sit my table and pawn my dirty vegetables off on anyone who will deign to take them that I don’t notice the oddities around me. I don’t notice the furtive glances from the other merchants cast about in my direction. I don’t notice the ominous pulsing coming from the city center. I focus on the smells of the old wood, amazed that the upper floors have never simply caved into one another. Each creaky step across the old planks leaves me weary, but the structure holds.

After pocketing enough coin from selling my vegetables (really I would given them away, but no one in Pelos would accept that), I wander around, making small conversation with all, accepting they will not speak to me about anything remotely interesting.

Eventually, on the fifth floor I come to the garden. Miss Shigo, now in nearly her second century of life, brightens as she sees me. “Jinn!” I tell her not to bother getting up but she waves me off, ambling out of her seat and lurching her skeletal frame at me with reckless abandon. “I heard you were back in town. But you haven’t come around to see me.”

“Apologies Miss Shigo. After so long away there’s been much to do around the farm. I’m just now getting settled again.” I should be ashamed lying to a sweet old woman, but such is among the least of my crimes. The thought hardly registers. She takes my words for gospel as all in Pelos do. “Tell you what. I’ll bake one of the potatoes pies you used to love, just like mother used to make. Do you remember those?”

“Of course I remember,” she snaps suddenly. “I’ve forgotten more meals than you’re ever likely to taste, Jinn Rialgo.” Then something in her sparks and softens. Her tone is somber as she continues. “That would be lovely. I have a bouquet of the blue blossoms your mother used to love. Come, come.”

She waves me over and I follow her, foraying into the foliage. The plants are unremarkable, though there are many of them. They are the same fruit trees, shrubs, and flowers that line all the farms in Pelos, but because Miss Shigo is the florist, people come to her for them. The blue lapis flowers that line the road through Pelos are beautiful, and the ones Miss Shigo hands to me then smell sweeter than honey. The scent floods my brain with memories that I thought long gone.

Or those perhaps I wish were long since forgotten.

Hiding the tears that threaten to form in my eyes, I thank Miss Shigo and depart quickly. I nearly forget my cart, so caught up am I in the memories of those first spring days. Blue-blossom days.

I hear Dian’s laugh echo as if we are still running through the fields. Thoughts of her bring back darker thoughts still, and by the time I reach the road back to my farm I am sprinting.

Legs pumping in a futile effort to outrun the past.

I don’t notice the crowd that gathers behind me in the square to watch me go. Nor do I notice when they all begin their slow march under the falling dusk. I do not notice I am surrounded until the first beam of my farm cracks from the flames.

Chapter 2 – Chaos

I have been awoken by the threat of death far more times than I can count. Truthfully, if I ever stopped to think about the common denominator in these scenarios or how far over the average that number was for me, I might employ a new approach to life. But self-reflection takes time and that is the one resource that has never properly been afforded to me.

My feet are on the floor before I am even fully awake. I know exactly where my travel supplies and my blade are, so I rush to them. Clothed and armed, I dance out of the way of a falling mass of burning logs, throwing myself shoulder first through the door. Thankfully, the sense of security I feel in Pelos (false though I now realize it is) may just save my life. Never needing to lock doors, the smoldering door gives way, latch and hinges all, as I tumble over myself out onto my field.

I know what I am looking at far before my eyes can catch up. I think I have known it since I returned though I was too slow, too stubborn to admit it. I have known all along. I simply wanted to find some peace.

Is that so much to ask?

But peace is not afforded to the wicked. And I of all people do not deserve it.

No, my life is ruled by Chaos. And if that is the way things must be, so be it.

I feel nothing as my blade sings through the flesh of the dozen or so people that have come to take my life. Nothing but light resistance. Unimbued, my blade and my arm are still lethal enough. Though the promise of power grows wild in me as I continue my uncontested butchery of those I once called neighbors.

They are not themselves, I remind myself. Not any longer.

Finally all that is left in sight are the smoldering torches of those that lit the fire and the growing blaze of the farm I once called home. The heat mixes with the tepid air of the night and sweat pools under my coat. I will need it though, I know I will. Of all the mistakes one can make in their life, one should never shun a perfectly good coat.

By the side of the burning farm, I find the bouquet Miss Shigo, (or the mimicry of her) gave me. I do not turn back to look at the faces of those that now lay silent across my land. My stomach cannot handle it. Ignorance is a privilege afforded to those that may choose it. It’s cowardice, I know, but I choose it each time.

Taking the blue blossoms from the growing ring of fire, I carry them over to where the three stones keep sentry over the farm. The small mound erected just over the crops where my family lies in eternal peace.

“Forgive me,” I plead as I take a single flower from the bouquet and place it over the first grave. “Father.” I place another over the next. “Mother.” Then finally I lay the remaining flowers over my sister’s grave. “Forgive me Dian.”

I came home in search of peace, but Chaos reigns eternal. There would be no peace in my life. And so I must admit that which I fear most.

My journey is not at its end. Not yet.

***

No others accost me as I saunter back into town, lit only by the blaze of my farm in the retreating distance. Though I know there are others, they remain behind their doors, perhaps lying in wait for the next sorry soul that thinks themselves worth of peace.

The Citadel stands black against the night, a void absolute in the lingering darkness. Again I know what it is I will find before I enter. The obsidian door slides open with no resistance as I press it, the cool draft from within beckoning me forward. Welcoming me.

“Just one year!” I shout into the nothingness. My voice rings up to the unknowable apex before echoing back down, mocking me. “I just wanted one damned year! But no. I can’t have that, can I? I can’t enjoy one fucking breath!”

Breath! Breath… breath…

I am shouting into the void. There will be no answer, no agreement, no admonition or absolution. There will be no peace, no order. Not while Chaos reigns supreme.

“If your plan is to piss me off then you’re making a big fucking mistake!” I shout again, though I doubt the god can hear me. Surely it has better things to do than to take a personal interest in me. Right?

The reality, the most likely scenario, is that I am but another fool caught in the tendrils of the Mad God. Seeking shelter amid the calm only to be capsized anew each time another bubble of misery rises to the surface of our world and pops beside me. Another Adventurer mired in a web they’re fool enough to get caught in and stubborn enough to struggle against despite knowing they are only entangling themselves further.

Still, it feels personal.

Angling toward the plinth I know is at the back of the chamber, though I can not see it, I march on, hands outstretched. Why this had not been the first thing I did upon returning, I couldn’t say. Laziness? Fear? Hope? Some combination of poor decisions, and decisions they were. There is little and less light that streams into the absolute black of a Citadel, but the faint purple glow that emanates from every pore shows me the way.

It’s a ring.

A small thing, likely it won’t even fit on my finger. All the better, I should not be testing Artifacts without dire need. The world thrums as I pick the small circle up; even though I expect it, the feeling still rattles my teeth and sends my brain for a few loops. Whispers erupt from everywhere and nowhere, they are swirling about me in the chamber, and they are in my head. Faces pass, those I know, those I have never known, some that may not even be real. I breathe through it all.

When the feeling subsides and the world is righted and quiet, I turn to leave. The pale light of the world beyond the Citadel feels wrong somehow, dull. The night has chilled considerably as I step into it and look around. All around me are smoldering ashes of the city I thought could be my home. I scan about once again, lamenting the life I hoped I could live before admonishing myself for holding hope at all. That is where the trouble always starts—with the expectation that things would be better. Just this once.

Sighing, I turn to the north, facing the long road ahead. Though the light of dawn is still far off, I can see the solitary figure stalking toward me. A lithe figure, tall and lanky by Elistan standards, as if artificially stretched. It slithers forward upon the road I mean to take, serpentine in its grace. My heart stills as my feet anchor in their place.

The figure approaches and my eyes narrow.

“It seems there are some things you can’t get away from, eh?”

My smile could have lit the day.

***

“You’re more than a little late,” I say as we enter the flat road of the ravine. Though I have not taken it in fifteen years, I know it well; long, dusty, and hypnotic. Our travels will be slow as they are aimless for a time, but at least they will be our travels, not just mine.

“Believe it or not, I am not the foremost expert on finding Sovereignty in the whims of Chaos.”

“You’re not?” I ask, peering over my shoulder one last time. “Then why have I kept you around all these years?”

“I’ve always wondered that myself.”

I sigh, taking my eyes from Pelos and the vermilion hue that begins to haunt its corpse. I truly thought my last failure would be the end of it. The end of my search for Kataal. But perhaps that is the point of being an Adventurer, it never truly ends. After all, they claim the road to the Land of the Undying is infinite. It would seem they are right, and I have only just begun.

Silas and I walk in silence for a time, allowing the sun to slowly turn the sky from shades of indigo to steel to cobalt. I can feel the heat of the day coming on quickly, begrudging my decision to leave in such a haste that I forgot water. The river that runs through Pelos diverges into another valley, now beyond our reach. But at least I have this cursed ring.

“Were you coming to rescue me?” I ask Silas when we take the first of our breaks. Light is just creeping over the high peaks above and crawling down into the ravine. He’s remembered his supplies at least, though there is hardly enough water to last us the day. We will have to stop every place we can find. That is well though, we do not as yet have a plan.

“Will it flatter you if I say yes?” He asks as he washes down a handful of copas nuts with a gulp from the waterskin.

“It will,” I admit, peering up at the gaping mouth of the peaks and trying to reason how long we will be toiling in the sun.

“Then of course not.”

I laugh and we start moving again. The road is dead, though not simply because of what happened at Pelos. I suspect with time a number of Adventurers will get wind of the Chasm that is now set to devour my hometown and cross our path, but it has never been a well-traveled road. Little travel means little reward for would-be marauders however, and that is fine with me.

“How did you find me?” I know it is silly to ask, Silas has a sense for these things, the turnings of the world, the musings of Chaos. He is never where I expect him to be, but always precisely where I need him. Occasionally I wonder if he is a figment of my mind, a delusion brought on by passing over the Brink. Did I really come back at all? No, I could not invent a friend so loyal, not in my wildest fantasies. I am wholly underserving and we both know it, though we will never say as much. Whatever Silas believes he gains from our friendship, I have long since given up on trying to disabuse him of his delusion.

“I have known where you are,” he answers simply. “A month ago I heard telling of odd happenings in a small town deeply entrenched in a southern valley. It was some Crier deep in his cups. Vague and easily discredited, I knew the rumor for what it was. I never felt like things were over. Truthfully, I expected you to favor death to retirement.”

“Me too,” I close my eyes and groan. “Though, Adventurers, Chaos, Kataal, it is all so… childish. I am simply wasting my life, am I not? Are we not?

Silas shrugs, keeping his pace, he takes two steps for every three of mine. “A life spent in pursuit of something admirable is not a life wasted. Plus, I have never found adults to be more the experts in satisfaction than children. Perhaps we could trade our joy for more responsibility, eh? Lead a droll life devoid of disorder?”

“I fear we have found one full of responsibility and disorder. When was the last time you can truly claim our Adventures were fun?”

“Wrenn and I quite enjoyed our time as pirates.” He smiles as he looks up at the sky, lost in the memory. Then he he strips his shirt, sweat already dripping from the garment. “I wouldn’t mind being able to jump the plank right about now. Though I do not miss the sounds we used to hear from your cabin.”

I roll my eyes. “I was fine until the storms came.”

“The crew thought you were dying.”

I laugh. “There were a good bunch. Too kind for piracy, I fear, but I hope they’ve retired to some far-off island in Ormosis by now.” Then I swallow and turn back to more serious matters. “Have you spoken to her?”

My friend’s good humor evaporates with a breeze that sluices the heat form the canyon for an instant. “Speaking to me is not high on her list of desires as of now.”

I nod. “Do you know where she is?”

“Not a clue.”

I let us lapse into another silence, the curves of the road wending one way and back again. If not for the passing of the sun, the day may have been playing on a loop. (Such a thing has happened before, an experience I am not eager to repeat anytime soon).

“How long did you walk to get to Pelos?” I ask as we are thust back into the shadow of the evening.

“I ran,” Silas answers.

I bark a laugh. “Of course you did.”

“Two days, though the next town is not much more than where you came from.”

“You didn’t happen across any streams, did you?”

He nods. “We will be upon it tomorrow not long after waking.”

I smack my lips audibly to announce my displeasure, but with nothing else to be done, we beat on, heads up, chests forward. Backs to the past.