Ivory stared at the Vermontians. Colossal monstrosities they were, towering hundreds of meters above the ground. Two of them stood side by side before a pitch-black pyramid before her. Those things looked like mechanical suits, metal arms, legs, a helm, and each was piloted by a human. After all, thou should not build a tool with the mind of men. Or so the church preaches.
Although the fa'n castWarer building that protean orb might require that knowledge more deeply than anyone. She stored the thought within, realizing once again the fact that she walked unalone through this path. Ahead were two giant Excubitors, guarding two dark-clothed deadEyes. Beyond them was a world of mist and steam and fog, allowing only the truly giant things to be fully seen.
Of course, this particular ability of the deadEyes was unknown to many. They could, on occasion, act as a barrier against the fog and steam. This was mainly used by the highest of brightCrowns. Not a custom or rule, just the way of things.
She was learning more of that now, the way of things. Like the fact that the seat guards were buried in tombs. Originally, such things were reserved only for the high family, but no. This was a funeral, and behind her were brightCrowns, Excubitors, men and women, even Aspirants and Gresendant Sisters. All of them were present for this ceremony. And of course, the iron caskets were floated with susoender rings, hovering off the ground.
The proper way of things. Her eyes remained locked ahead. No deviation was needed, no moment of weakness, none of that was wanted. She needed the strength, and they needed to see it in her.
She continued, throat singers, far back in the line, humming tunes into the air. Some hymn from the church. Something about the Almighty being the giver and taker of life. All mist sense, she thought. Men were the taker of life, not god, MEN!
Stupid.
Her feet were clad in a black heel, a rather painful thing to wear. Then there was the dress, unnatural, complicated with multiple sleeves, a side-buttoned coat, and other things. She wrestled the discomfort blooming in her mind. Why? Because it was the way of it.
Let's get this over with. She noted. Her mind ever more focused on the things ahead. That was the only way to survive in this land. In this world of men. She closed her eyes for a moment, risking the talks that may arise from this simple gesture.
And she had heard some of these 'talks', the rumors of the day the highHeir ran mad through the halls of the Looming. On the day, the daughter of Valor went to stone bastion and returned with a sickened Highness. Of course, the whole sick aspect of it all was still treated as uncertain. However, that was sure to break soon. Inevitably, the constant disappearance of the Highness of Valor would spark words within the hearts of men.
She could only sense the slow slittering of the leeches. The way the theocracy sent their spies, their aspirants, their gresendant sonitras, all in hopes of gleaming some information about the goings of the Great Clan. She could not allow it. Every day and second, she stood in terror of the fact that perhaps, in some wall, in some corner, was an eye, an ear listening to her words.
This was part of the reason she had yet to visit Argon. The other was the denial of it all. Call it the cliche attribute of some low-minded darkCrown, but she could not see the Storm of Valor reduced to some shriveling mess.
There were reports, of course, about the way his body rotted from the inside out. About the countless change-weavers employed to attempt holding back the rot. But they could not. Despite thousands of years of history, Casters were yet to crack that singular code.
What was the rot?
The throatSingers behind hummed up into a deeper tune--this one reverberating deep into her bones, almost sipping into whatever it was darkCrowns called the soul. She did not believe in that. She believed in the cognitive body, that one which I AM likely used to pulling at her.
And that was it. There was no god, no plan, no prophecy, just the dealings and goings of stupid old men. Her breath misted out, her form, like everyone else, still protected by the natural steam repellent field created by the deadEyes.
This should be a day of great mourning, at least, Nail had said as much. She hoped for Ivory to stand, to preach to praise the now dead seatGuards. But what point did that serve? They are dead. Wasn't as though they cared for meaningless pleasantries.
She stepped over a rock. I suppose that is the job of the highness.
Future Highness, she corrected.
Right now, she existed in a similar situation as Master Geld of the house of Odium, a highRegent. Although different from him, her rule had a far greater legitimacy. In any case, with the end of this burial, she would begin the trial of worth. The sole means to find truly capable beings to become her seatGuards.
Not whatever mistsense, those ones were. She sensed the hate brewing in her heart. A misplaced fury for these simple men. But it was either that or she blamed herself for it. Either that, or she cracked the body that was to become the future Highness.
That could not be allowed. So they would have to take it. Those guards would have to protect the mind of the highHeir. She lowered her gaze for a moment, heaving a far deeper breath than was allowed for someone like her.
The Highness must never show fatigue!
Nonetheless, Ivory was particularly surprised by the actions of her mother. Samara was bereft of this place. She was needed, yes, but it appeared other things required her. And Ivory was amazed by the way she...helped.
Countless hours, Mother Samara had spent in the Grand Hall, hammering down the heads of the rebellious nobles. Friends of the late No'el most likely. Or maybe, just maybe, they were the hands that had brought the Fermen to her home.
Yes, indeed, she had forgotten about that. She remembered it, remembered every moment of that day--from the dying Excubitors, to that one guard that had been killed before her. All that carnage, because of what?
She wanted to know. She wanted to catch the one who had done it. And rip their heads off. Her breath froze for a moment. Villainy, that was the only word she could use to describe this new change in her.
A change that came at the hands of one man.
The pyramid loomed ahead--walls of granular blackness that were deeply fogged from the base down. In there was supposedly the collective graves of all the dead seatGuards. She wondered if any of the ones there were more useful than the ones she carried.
She maintained composure, the deadEyes marching along to clear the path of mist ahead. And they were quick about it. Guarded by two rather high-quality Ecubitors. Those exuded a different presence than the normals.
Something about the different training and domestic.
Soon, she could see the floors of the Pyramids, the fog clearing to reveal vast, long lemose trees, nearly glowing on the two sides of the road. She knew those kinds of trees. Beautiful with tiny white shimmering petals. Some believed that each one was a soul from the Almighty.
All mistsense of course, but they were a sign of something; of death, of burials. In the Night Clan, they had great forests of it. Valor did it sparingly. Next, from the base of the Prymaid, a giant slit sprang up, revealing a pitch-black entrance. And then they were out. Men and women, dressed in side-buttoned robes, none of the usual markings of valoran styles.
None of the spiral patterns.
She continued, and they stood there, waiting for them. Caretakers of the Pyramids, they were. There were present in every one of the Pyramids, there to live and be burned after. To clean the walls and polish the caskets. As if that mattered.
But she could not voice those words, even if she were to become Highness. There were so very few things more powerful than the Highness. There was religion, the madness and greed of men, and finally...there was the culture. The ever-existing pattern that people drowned themselves in.
Attempt to break it, and they rebel? Attempt to change it, and they call you a tyrant!
They stopped a few meters before the imposing edifice, and from the back came Gresendant Sonitras. Outside, using darkCrowns to make lamp light, they sometimes functioned in some capacity for the dead. Today, they were the ones in control of the suspender rings.
And out they went, those women dressed in tight around the waist and baggy at the feet dresses, face covered by a veil, and of course, each and every one of them wore that Emerlt on their hands. Rather different, of course, from hers.
Theirs was longer, almost a sleeve that ended on the elbow and was rounded by a silver ring around said elbow. And on the palm, the back of it was a stone. She sensed that all these were purely aesthetic, as the Emerlt wasn't externally powered. In essence, it used the minuscule force within one's mind for whatever desired casting.
Wild casting, of course. In that sense, they were more versatile than Normal Casters.
Nonetheless, behind them came the floating black silk-covered bodies of the seatGuards. Seven in total, all wrapped in tight black, all hovering and following right behind the leading women.
They arrived before the pyramid and began a chant. "PRAISE BE TO THE MAKER. PRAISE BE TO THE ONE WHO DANCED THE UNIVERSE TO LIFE. PRAISE BE TO THE ALMIGHTY."
What a joke it was to praise god before the dead!