Letter Fourteen

Dear Sneffles,
And I was transported far above the world. The vast Cinderlands were no more than a bowl of sand within the confines of its mountain ranges. Who would have thought the world was so immense? I followed the rivers to the sea and then to Korvosa where I watched its citizens going about their daily routines: pickpockets following their marks, streetwalkers hustling their johns, citizens waiting in line for free bangers and mash. A couple of Hellknights were getting their boots blacked on Zhuangzi Square. The sky above me was dark and forbidding. The stars more numerous than I’ve ever seen, even in depths of the desert, shining with a ferocity that hurt my eyes. Most disturbingly they didn’t twinkle, as they do when gods talk amongst themselves.

My eye was drawn to a star that was steadily increasing it’s brightness until it outshone all others. I realized with a start that this could only mean that it was approaching me. I reached for my weapons but to my surprise was carrying nothing but my starknife, the symbol of Desna forged there glowing deep cobalt-blue. With no other choice I grasped it stoically awaiting my fate.

It was impossible to judge the star’s closeness to me. When it was about the size of a fly I saw that there was an object inside its light. By the time it was the size of a butterfly I knew, somehow, that what I was witnessing was the approach of holy Desna herself! She was coming to take me home. When she was the size of a rabbit I began having trouble easily perceiving the shape inside her halo of light, which squirmed and transmuted into many things—animals, faces, monsters, and things I have no name for. By the time she was Finarfin’s size my mind was eased somewhat by the orderly pattern governing the shapes within, like waves falling on a beach.

By the time she was the size of a little girl I saw, with shock, that it was Brianna, the child we'd saved from Blood Veil back in Korvosa. I was filled with awe. Then she grew as large as an ox, a small building, a city block, Old Korvosa, all Korvosa, and still she approached me! Multiply the many heads of Khalni Hydra a millionfold within a universe of soft healing light and it would be shadow compared to what I experienced. When she was the size of a mountain she passed through me—or I through her. Desna smiled upon me. A bolt of pure sexual electricity passed through me, leaving me as spent as a weekend lying in your arms. I know now that my struggle has purpose, however it ends. It’s not for me to decide my fate, it’s for the gods to use me. I’m just going along for the ride.

When I opened my eyes I was back in the room with my companions who were impatient to be on their way. They didn’t even bother to listen to my story, shrugging it off even as they bragged and bickered with one another. Finarfin and Szechuan are like big and little brothers now. Cute, I grant you, especially as Finarfin plays the part of older brother to a somewhat addled sibling.

Cautiously we poked our heads out of the portal but the monster’s pool was once again placid and its resident asleep. We tried looting the rest of the building, in a halfhearted way, but only managed to get caught in a nasty lingual trap that kept PJ and me enraptured for a long fucking time. I finally sussed it and came out of my trance in time to keep from peeing my pants. As I ran past my compatriots I sent them after PJ, warning them not to look at the symbols. Finarfin managed to get trapped anyway and the others had to hustle him out of there. I caught a quick nap before we left for our next destination, the village of Flameford.

I remember little of the journey, enraptured as I was by what had just happened to me. At night I would lie far from the campfire and stare into the heavenly vault searching for my Desna. In my dreams I flew through the heavens with her. Someday I will return to the Acropolis with you, my love, and together we’ll join her forever.

Finally, we began to see the mounds of animal bones that meant we were approaching a barbarian village. A bright light shone in the distance, a reflection of the sun off the sides of a tall mesa of razor-sharp slashrock. The evening sun wrapped the bluff in a towering chimney of flame, thus the name of the place.

We followed Eater and his boys up a long steep path and saw a sad collection of hovels huddled at the top. Its residents lined the track into their village, hooting in derision, and curious as to why we were there. They probably thought we had been captured trespassing by Eater and his pals who had brought us for their evening’s entertainment. One of their dogs tried grabbing hold of my leg and was surprised by a quick boot in the ass. After that their mongrels left me in peace, although Finarfin had to fart acid at a couple of them.

Eater took us to chief Ready-Klar who was disappointed to be told that we weren’t there to be sacrificed to whatever minor deity he holds dear but were, in fact, (almost) respected warriors on a mission that required their help. They were suspicious but reassured by Eater that we had passed the Barbarian test—all but one of us, anyway. My pals laughed as I turned beet-red with humiliation.

As dusk approached Ready-Klar declared a “Boys’ night out!” (his words), and all the men except for Eater’s crew left the encampment. The rest of the clan, mostly women and children, settled down from the day’s excitement and began preparing their evening meal. PJ went off to pray while Finarfin waylaid one of the local girls. I joined Trinia at the firepit where the yokels sat around swapping tales; the teenies chasing tail; and the kids playing in the dirt. We were all drinking some kind of fermented mares’ milk that wasn’t half bad if you didn’t mind picking the occasional hair from your teeth. I played catch with some of the kids until it was too dark to see their ball easily—an oblong bladder filled with air.

By this time Trinia had begun regaling the townies with stories from the heroic age. Sweetly, she would pause every so often to hurriedly fill in the translation for me, although I am starting to pick up their lingo. As I watched her act out the scenes of her narration, I began to consider that she may actually be a very pretty boy. Something about the way she swivels her hips when she’s excited. The barbarians seemed to think so, too, which made her all the more exotic and worldly to them—and me, to be honest about it.

“The Peacock Spirit held all of ancient Thassilon in its thrall,” she said, holding the women and children in a bit of a thrall herself. They sat open-mouthed while listening to her tale. Even the punks stopped fidgeting, drinking in her story, eager to learn. “The Peacock Spirit was neither god nor goddess, but both at once.”

“Like Elrick!” one of the older boys called. Trinia joined in the general merriment as Elrick glowered from his sewing circle. She smiled on him sadly, knowingly, beautifully. Finally, she continued, “The Peacock Spirit was worshiped by the practitioners of Rune magic . . .” Here she used a simple spell to scribe runes of fire through the air. The rubes gasped in awe. I considered taking advantage of the situation but knew with certainty that they would carry maybe a few dried biscuits and a bone or two—nothing worth stealing.

“. . . and served by an ascetic order of monks living in monasteries on the Storval Plateau—your home. You have probably seen the mounds that contain their ruins. In fact, this bluff you live on—didn’t you ever wonder why it’s the only one in this valley? Maybe you’re living atop the buried remains of a stone-giant enclave!”

That stirred them up. I began to wonder if she had overstepped her bounds but  soon every one settled down as she moved on to the story of Beau Marie and the Peacock Spirit.

“This happened well before the birth of the later deities: Desna, Rovagug, and so on," she began. "This land was a place of milk and honey. There were wells of butter and roasted meat trees everywhere. There was at peace throughout the land. In the city of Snorg—where only ghosts dwell today—lived a young and beautiful woman known to everyone as Beau Marie.

“Now everyone loved Marie, not just the men, she was the center of attention everywhere she roamed. Just to see her lightened your day. Many men bid for her hand but when she refused them—and she invariable did—they loved her anyway.

"Perhaps you know someone like this. They're not like you and me. Every day is a joy, everything an adventure. Most women know this feeling in their youth, but even as she aged Beau Marie remained youthful and eternal.

"One day, outside Snorg, Marie encountered a wraith in the forest. It sat forlornly by a mead stream but when when it saw Marie a crafty look entered its eyes."

I never found out what happened because at that moment shadowy, winged creatures were descending through the dark night sky. It wasn’t until stone-hued gargoyles began dropping their passengers—red-armored, insect-masked Red Mantis assassins—that we realized we were under attack.

With most of the warriors gone the women and children leaped to defend themselves but were no match for the trained killers and their rocky pets. Still, I saw the boys I had been playing feetball with flaying a gargoyle on an outcropping of razorstone, and a grandmother savagely coldcocking a Red Mantis who had skewered her babies.

With a hard glance I wished luck to Trinia, who was digging through her bag of tricks, then leapt to battle. Determined to make up for my recent failures I struck down the nearest Red Mantis and turned to help PJ. That’s when I was hit by a bolt from a blue-robed cocksucker across the way. He was dressed like a shabby frontiersman, although I caught the gleam of mithral armor through a tear in his shirt. I could barely see his eyes beneath the worn, floppy hat he wore but they were lit with feral madness (like Podge “the butcher” in one of his fugues). He was aiming his crossbow at me again—one of those repeating kinds—when he suddenly realized that Krojan was about to make him two feet shorter and planted his bolt into the bone thug’s hairy chest instead.

“Gotta hurt,” I whistled, suddenly realizing the red Mantis I’d knocked out had returned in his true form—an actual Giant Mantis! I wasn’t prepared for that so I quickly put a yurt between us, coming upon a ribald scene of gore. Gouts of blood gushed from a naked headless woman onto an equally unclothed Finarfin laying trapped beneath her, while some bozo stabbed at his head. I quickly put the kibosh on the spaz, almost falling off the cliff in the process. That’s when I spied the asshole who had shot me

I was dowsing towards him when I was overwhelmed with remorse and found myself fleeing from battle. I knew I had been ensorcelled but couldn’t resist the spell. I spent the rest of the fight cowering amongst a trio of dwellings with the feral cats and infants, listening while the screams and curses of the dying mocked me. One old grandmother stared at me with disgust. She waved a huge bone ladle while cursing me in guttural Sklar-Quah. Thankfully she was too infirm to brain me as she wished to do. I fell to my knees and prayed for release. Finally, the big Mantis went down (whispering “Thank you.” to his killer, PJ) and the crippling fear left me.

I wandered shamefaced back to the firepit with the infirm and the youngest children who immediately started wailing over their dead kin. It was a heart-rending sound. Krojun, by the way, really does eat what he kills—this time it was the bastard who shot me. I owe him for that. I have no idea how he survived a full-on shot to the chest. (Maybe he’s eaten an armadillo.) It turns out the guy was the fabled “Cinderlander” himself—the maniac serial-killer of the Sklar-Quah—Krojan will now be a made man and have many children by many women.

In the morning my partners said nothing as we split the loot, but neither did they meet my eyes. Shit.

Failure is a setback, not an end,
Cordobles

Next is Finarfin's Sixteenth Report