by Gareth Lewis
I'm best off starting with the most apparently lucid. That unfortunately seems to be Dragth, god of sermonizing. Officially, he claims grapes and wines as his domain. Having tasted the results of his water to wine trick, his powers are as wilted as his appearance. Not that his neighbours seem particularly spry, either.
With a long black beard, and clothes retaining a hint of colour, he perches on an upturned crate, happily extolling the virtues of his miracles to any and all passers-by. The crate's probably part-payment from one of the bars for whom he does his trick. He turns his booming oratory on me as I approach, stuttering in surprise as I stop in front of him.
A hint of recognition flickers after a moment. 'Art thou not Xerven's friend?'
I nod. 'You heard about him?'
'Heard what? What trouble hath the old fool wrought upon himself this time?'
'He's dead.'
'Dead?' The wide smile dips. 'Thou art certain?' Death isn't common among gods. It happens, and a few have just vanished, but most of the street's residents have been here centuries.
'Yes.'
Sighing deeply, Dragth doesn't seem shocked.
'You're not surprised,' I say.
'Unfortunately not. He had been socializing with an angel.' There's a faint disgust to his tone as he speaks.
Suddenly I'm wondering whether the encounter with Arden was an accident. But he's not the only angel in the city. 'Which angel?'
Dragth shrugged. 'They are all of an appearance to mine eyes.'
Gods tend to avoid angels, unless they're desperate. A god needs belief to survive. His own faith in himself is enough to maintain his existence, but he needs a hit from someone else now and again. While an angel has no inherent faith of its own, it is faith, and can bolster a god's belief in himself. It won't last, and the down can be dangerous, even fatal if it diminishes the god's belief to the point where he no longer believes in himself. So only desperate gods associate with angels. Those who've grown so addicted to belief, or those who've had enough and want to end their immortality.
Had Xerven reached that point? He'd always been melancholy, but I never thought he'd go out that way. It would make sense of the lack of marks on the body. He'd have willed himself to death. But if he had, someone would know. I didn't sense that among Arden's secrets, but angels are tricky to read. They know too much about my kind. Also, I avoided looking at it as much as possible.
Damn. This means I'm going to have to question some angels, doesn't it.
*
The Pin's Head club is where angels congregate. I've heard it's one of the city’s cleaner establishments, kept in that condition by refusing entry to non-angels. I suppose I'll have to use my charm, since I'm currently low on funds. While I’ll admit charming my way in is unlikely, charming someone useful out may be possible. Okay, persuading maybe a more appropriate term.
The doormen glare at me as I turn onto the quiet street, but their faces don't really allow much range of expression beyond a glare. Both well over a foot taller than me, their wide frames probably weigh three times mine, and their scarred red skin and vicious horns make them imposing. The nearest nods in recognition.
Kthlx has worked the door here a long time, and been a useful source of information. Not the type of information I need at the moment, though.
'Rax,' he growls.
'Hey Kthlx. How're things.'
'Same as ever. Heard you'd gotten out?'
'I had,' I say.
'She always brings us back, though.'
'Looks that way.'
He glances at his associate, then nods at him to give us some distance. With a glare at me, he saunters a short way off.
'What're you after?' says Kthlx.
'Is Elureth around?'
'Think so.'
'Any chance he'd come out for a chat?'
Kthlx considers it a moment. We've helped each other out enough for him to risk the disapproval, so he lumbers inside. He's been around long enough that they trust him.
He reappears a minute later, holding the door for Elureth. The opposite of Arden, Elureth is fastidiously clean, with a white suit, and lustrous feathers which almost gleam.
Its gaze fixes mine with a combination of disinterest and irritation, letting me know it only emerged to see I leave without bothering patrons. I can't help feeling uncomfortable, as I know it knows my people's secret.
Despite the stories, reading secrets isn't easy. The fewer people who know a secret, the harder it is to read. But the gift comes with a drawback. The need to read secrets. We're not compelled to read everyone's secrets, but while someone has a secret we can't read, we can do nothing to harm them. Most angels know this, so keep a private secret in the back of their mind, leaving us virtually helpless against them.
'What is it you want?' Its voice has a lyrical quality, almost mesmerising.
'You know Xerven?'
'The lost god?' Even its disdain sounds poetic.
'He's dead. Word is he was associating with an angel before his demise. Any idea who?'
Its eyes show little interest in Xerven's passing, as I'd expect. The knowledge of the company he kept arouses a hint of distaste. Most angels who've adjusted to the city view associating with gods as callous sadism. While Elureth might be stuck-up, it isn't necessarily bad as angels go. And while it may disapprove of such things, it knows pretty much everyone in the angel community. Even the lost ones.
'There are a few who are... fractured enough to engage in such dalliances. I wouldn't know with whom they spend their time. They're free to do as they please.'
'Would Arden be among them?'
Its eyes surrender the answer before its lips have the chance. Bluffing isn't in an angel's repertoire. 'He lost his way far too quickly.'
'Arden could have been involved with Xerven?'
'It's possible. The rumours say he's been involved with worse types.'
'Such as?'
It fixes me in a stare, but wouldn't have mentioned the rumours if it didn't intend saying more. It wants me to do something about Arden. Exactly what, I don't know. Untangling the motives of angels takes too much work, and rarely makes sense at the end of it.
'He's supposed to have been seen with a succubus of late,' says Elureth
That's not good. That's really not good. And suddenly I'm not sure the down I hit after encountering Arden was as natural as I'd assumed.
'You know where I can find Arden?'
*
Locating the succubus, Prien, isn't hard. She'd spread word she's looking for a knowhound. There's only one hotel in the city anyway, since visitors are rare. The pass-stone she's wearing is hard to come by. If I'd had the time I might've tried to find one before returning, so I could leave when I wanted. But my retreat lacked a link to the type of place they can be acquired.
She looks much the same as any other succubus, which is to say gorgeous if you look at her with your eyes. My abilities don't allow me that delusion, so her illusion barely covers her true demonic appearance.
Needless to say, she isn't exactly happy to see me. Considering how wide a berth the other knowhounds are giving her, she has little choice. It just means she'll have to pay a fairer price than she might've hoped.
'My sister is missing.' She doesn't even try to fake emotion, no doubt expecting me to see through such secrets. That should let us cut to the truth of the matter. 'Can you locate her?'
'Possibly. Why do you want to know where she is?'
She shrugs. 'Pardemien missed a gathering. That was unlike her. She wouldn't do so unless she was in trouble, or dead. As senior member of our group, she has certain objects associated with that position. Should she have encountered unfortunate circumstances, I'd like these objects returned.'
'What objects?'
'A pair of gemstones. One black, one dark green.' She doesn't say they curse anyone other than a succubus who owns them. Maybe she's hoping I'll miss seeing that secret and try and keep them, so she can take them from my corpse
without having to pay. Sorry sister, it won't be that easy.
She tells me what she knows, which isn't much. She doesn't know her sister's reason for visiting Nexi, and doesn't mention angels. Luckily I wasn't looking for information as much as payment to follow the trail I'm already on. Since Arden diminished my belief that I can discover what happened to Xerven, getting paid should offer a suitable substitute. I'm fairly certain her sister's dead, anyway.
Angels and succubi don't get on. Succubi feed on dreams, which are too close to beliefs for angels to take lightly. There are tales of captive angels used to increase the beliefs of a succubus' victim, making the meal that much tastier. Those are the common ones. But there are other stories, ones you'd only know if you spent your life dealing in secret knowledge.
The process of devouring dreams may only be partly physical, but the parts of their bodies which allow it can be harvested if you know how, the integrity of the abilities maintained by switching to a new host. The succubus doesn't survive the process, but the new host can absorb dreams, and associated life energies. There's an obscure story, barely more than a fable, of an angel who acquired such a thing. It stole the bad dreams of bad people, in hopes of making them good, or something like that. But its presence heightened the dreams to be so delicious that it soon ended up draining them dry. And after the bad people had been dealt with, it couldn't escape the hunger. The story ended, as most do, in blood.
Why Arden would want something like that, I'm not sure. Maybe it's so addled that even it doesn't know. I have no idea how far gone it is, or whether it can be reasoned with. While I'm sure it drained my belief at the House, possibly with whatever it had in its hidden hand, it didn't take enough to be suspicious. That means it has some control. For now.
*
Arden knows my weakness. I have to assume that. While I didn't bother reading it at the Swifted House, I have to assume it's got a secret held back, ready for me. I need an edge.
Sorcarflien's premises, he doesn't like calling it a shop, is situated in an affluent neighbourhood. It requires larger bribes to the gangs, but they're more polite than those in less refined districts.
It's certainly more comfortable than the squat he had when we fought the meme wars together in Thruxis. I plundered the fundamentalists' secrets, while he manipulated the facts I found to produce reformist propaganda. We got out when we saw it escalating, weeks before the entire world got hit with a passivity meme that left them all drooling vegetables.
Then Carf found faith. And monetized it. Now he provides designer beliefs.
Losing your faith? Afraid your god's about to smite you for your faithlessness? Or just want to try willing your viewpoint upon the world? He can provide a belief carefully tailored to your needs, guaranteed to remain vibrant and unshakable for at least a year.
He even has a shop assistant to meet me, or maybe a butler. She shows me into the business room at the front of the house, and retreats to fetch him.
Richly decorated, the room doesn't look lived in. More of a display room, for showing off to customers. Make them feel secure that the person they're inviting to fiddle in their head isn't some back street meme-ripper.
'Someone actually escapes this cesspit, they don't usually come back voluntarily.' Carf looks old. Comfortable, and well-fed, but old. A smile crosses his mask of professionalism and he takes my hand in a firm grip. Releasing it, he waves me to a chair, collapsing into the other.
'How's business?' I ask.
'Good enough. Mainly by appointment these days. Drop-in trade isn't common. You could have told Keeli who you were, would have saved me rushing to get smartened up.'
'What, I'm not worth smartening up for?'
'Either you're visiting an old friend, in which case no, or you're looking to buy, in which case no, because you know I'm reliable. Which is it?'
'I can't do both?'
'Buying then. So what are you doing back here?'
'Xerven's dead.'
He stares at me a while. 'Damn. Sorry. How'd it happen?'
'Not entirely sure. Think he had his belief swifted.'
'Damn. So what're you looking for?'
'A rasa-meme.'
He snorts. 'Oh come on. Really? You come to an artist for something you could buy from any meme-ripper?'
'I want one I can rely on.'
'Fine,' Carf sighs and shakes his head. 'Even with the friends discount that'll be a faerie in amber.'
A rasa-meme, or blank belief, is one you fill yourself, specifying it when needed. It won't last near as long as a specifically designed one, but for my purposes I need something flexible as a shield against whatever Arden tries. If it tries making me believe I should kill myself, the rasa-meme counters. Not sure if the meme can be used offensively, when Arden tries draining my belief. Guess I'll find out.
*
The street's too quiet, as though Arden's already stolen the life from it. More likely it's just my nerves, and lack of motivation. I'm starting to think I can discover what happened, but I still have to focus on the money for now.
The door whines, the stairs creak, and I give up any hope of stealth. While not the worst part of town, it's not where you'd expect to find an angel. They usually help each other out, so for Arden to be here implies it wants nothing to do with them. No point wondering why, when I can open the door.
It waits, seated on a decrepit armchair as though on a throne, as though the stuffing isn't leaking over the balding carpet. Its left hand grasps the chair's arm, as the right strokes the intestines entwining its chest; part of the succubus.
A quick glance at the secrets hovering around him finds one which looks about the right size for the succubus. It yields to my probing. Her body's in a room down the hall, and should still be in possession of her valuables. Best to find that out while I still have my interest in getting paid, not that it's diminishing yet.
A flicker of movement to the side catches my eye. A softly spinning series of intertwined rings. A ghostly mechanism four foot high, with no apparent mass. It doesn't seem immediately dangerous, but that means little.
I meet Arden's amused gaze, and see plenty of secrets swirling around, most known to few and therefore difficult to unravel. Many I could probably deduce, making them easier to penetrate. At the back I sense the tightly held one. Probably of little importance, but almost impossible to guess. Protection. It can't be far enough gone to think I wouldn't be prepared for that though, so it's obviously not done with me.
'What happened to Xerven?' I ask.
A manic smile flickers across its lips. 'He gave his life for the cause.'
'Don't remember Xerven as the sacrificing type.'
'Maybe he found something worth believing in.'
I say nothing. It wants something, so won't stay quiet.
'What would you say if I told you we could escape this city?' it asks.
'I'd say you were exactly as addled as you look.'
'Then maybe you're not that interested. You did come back of your own volition, after all.'
'I came back to find out what happened to Xerven.'
The smile departs. It's thinking things I don't want it thinking. Playing along may be wise for the moment.
'Escape isn't really an option for your kind,' I say.
The smile returns. 'You're only saying that because none of us ever have.'
Not exactly true. I know of at least one who reverted to a faith elemental and found he was no longer bound here. But as I said, I don't particularly like angels, so I've never been inclined to sell them that knowledge. Not that the reversion was easy, anyway.
'What makes you so sure you can get out? And why would Xerven help you?'
'You misunderstand. I'm not talking about me escaping. I mean everyone. The entire city can be free.' It seems serious.
'How?'
'Do you know what that is?' it gestures at the ethereal mechanism.
'The ghost of modern art?'
'It's a faith engine.'
And with those two words the room suddenly feels smaller. The city feels too small. I glance at the apparition, and it suddenly seems all too solid, all too real. I don't know I ever believed they existed. Or maybe I didn’t want to believe.
With enough faith they can do anything. Create anything. Or create everything, according to some stories. But doing so requires care, the slightest misstep on even a simple task resulting in the destruction of an entire dimension. And Arden doesn't strike me as the careful type.
They shouldn't exist though, even if they once did. They were banned. Removed from existence. I don't know how Arden got one, but this is not good.
And I've little doubt now that this is one. Or that it can do as Arden claims. That's probably the angel's influence, fanning the belief. It doesn't stop me thinking it hasn't yet been used, and that means Arden still needs something. It needs people to believe in the engine. Belief Arden can siphon off with the succubus innards, and send into the engine. Does that mean Arden's connected to the engine?
A peek at Arden's secrets says yes, and confirms it doesn't know which belief the succubus innards target, just that they prey on the most powerful, which should be what it's pumping the belief juice into.
But while Arden encourages my belief in the engine, I also believe it can't exist. I believe it as fervently as I can, then stuff that belief into the rase-meme and activate it. The certainty overwhelms me. Then it begins to seep away, faster than it should. Arden's taken the bait, draining the wrong belief. Now I need to distract it.
'This is what happened to Xerven?' I say.
'He realized I was right. That there is a way out. So he gave of himself.'
'You want me to believe he sacrificed himself.'
He shrugs. 'Believe or don't believe. It won't affect the truth.' It's not trying to convince me. It knows it'd need to manipulate my belief in its words, and its focus is on making me believe in the engine.
'How many others have there been?' I see some of the faces in its secrets, but need to keep it distracted.
'A few caring souls have...' Arden frowns, turning to the faith engine. It realises something's wrong. Too late. The engine's taken my belief in its impossibility. While believing everyone free of Nexi may take a bit of faith, affecting the engine itself is easier, as it feeds on the stored energy, energy I don't believe should be able to be stored in such a way.