The Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen (The Flying Tooth Garden Book 1)

by M Harold Page

  There was no rule preventing the Acolytes visiting the place during their meditation time, but few of them had the urge to do so. It was from here that the fog-wreathed Cortèges set off among the Many Realms, sometimes to bring back a corpse for internment in the Catacombs of Hesitation, other times to return with a weeping child.

  Torstag shuddered.

  Next to him, Ingar seemed to shrink into himself. “She’s not here,” he said.

  Torstag cut through the spiralling columns. He halted at the verge of the central “clearing”.

  There she was, making tea using a little charcoal-fired samovar. In the cold blue winter light, her face seemed as gaunt as that of any senior monk. Even so, she could perhaps have been about the same age as Torstag.

  “A g…girl,” stammered Ingar, practically squirming on the spot. “I really am feeling…tempted.”

  Torstag frowned. He’d just started to notice the older girls when the Grey Cortège took him, and she wasn’t pretty like them: sharp cheekbones, mouse brown hair carelessly tied back leaving her long neck bare to her open collar. The village girls had dimpled and giggled a lot. This one was grim and silent.

  “Tempted,” repeated Ingar, hopping from foot to foot.

  Torstag left the stone columns behind and limped closer. Some vague memory of castle etiquette prompted him to bow. “My lady.”

  The girl rose to her full height. She was as tall as Torstag, but her sheepskin kaftan wrapped a figure more slender than Ingar’s. Small eyes twinkled like riverstone beads. She returned the bow.

  “Tempted!” gasped Ingar, behind Torstag. “I have to…I must…” His footsteps receded into the forest of columns.

  The girl made a sweeping gesture at the paved ground and started to kneel.

  Torstag copied her, though clumsily; going down first on his injured leg then leaning on his bruised hands to adjust his position.

  “Welcome, my lord,” she said, as if he, not she, were the visitor.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said.

  The samovar hissed steam. The girl reached into a leather bag and brought out two bronze cups, elaborately enamelled with scenes of gryphons hunting lions. She wrapped a cloth around her long-fingered hand and poured.

  Torstag waited until she reached for her cup and sipped, then took his.

  The girl regarded him with dark eyes. “Cautious.”

  “Polite,” he said.

  The tea was black and well stewed—she must have prepared it earlier. It had a dry taste, and a bitter fragrance that suffused his senses.

  “To our quest,” said the girl.

  “Our quest?” said Torstag.

  “For the Jungle Tomb of the Ice Queen,” she said.

  “That’s…” began Torstag. He set his chin. “…making assumptions,” he finished.

  Her lips quirked just a little. “Your pardon my lord if I have skipped ahead in our story. I have dreamed of this moment.”

  Torstag groped for the right words.

  Unlock Warlord, Tea Drinking?

  And Torstag was seated on a rug amidst armoured men. Around him, fallen arrows sprouted from the mud like ripe wheat, carpeting the bodies of slain warriors and slaughtered horses, and a man with a missing eye and caked blood on his cheek offered him tea in a gilded skullcup…

  And he was back with the girl, feeling sick now from the pain in his ankle, and totally out of his depth. “I haven’t,” he said.

  She raised her gaze to scrutinise him.

  He flushed and closed his eyes to escape his embarrassment.

  Go away!

  Unlock Warlord, Tea Drinking, or Companion, Seduction of the Eyes.

  Some very…strange experiences jumbled across his mind’s eye, one or two of them…anatomically challenging. His cheeks burned.

  Damn you! Warlord, Tea Drinking if that will shut you up.

  But the Tempter did not shut up:

  You now have a 1/6 Grasp of the Feat Warlord, Tea Drinking. You have unlocked Warlord at Level 0.

  Using Feat Warlord, Tea Drinking 1/6. 3 out of 3 Potestas expended.

  Was there a note of triumph in the Tempter’s words? Surely he had just been tempted from his path, just as the monks had warned. His mind whirled. It was like rifling through the pages of a book and somehow understanding the words, but he knew now that this was a moment for formality, and all the while his hands and elbow throbbed dully and his ankle twinged as if a needle were being driven into it.

  Form 3. Performing Warlord at level 3.

  Torstag suddenly had a sense of how he would defend this place, how many archers to deploy and where, and how to drink tea with this mysterious girl.

  “I meant, O honoured lady,” he said, “that I have not had the pleasure of dreaming about this,” he said.

  “Of course not, my lord,” she said. “Not here.”

  Torstag wanted to blurt, Why? Instead he sipped his tea, set it down. “Some statements beg questions.”

  The girl went through the business of sipping her tea, then setting it down. “Sometimes it is best to make up one’s own mind.”

  “And yet,” said Torstag, sensing how this game worked, “without knowledge, wisdom is as a riderless horse.” He reached for his cup to indicate that he would listen.

  Her eyes twinkled.

  Form 3. Performance 3. You have hindrance Wounded.

  Result = 3 +2 (Feat) -2 (Hindrance) +1 (Luck) -4 (Gorvak Nomad Tea Ceremony) = 0

  Effect = 0 (Adequate)

  Tea Drinking advances to 2/6 Grasp.

  The girl leaned in over the little fire. “My lord, throughout almost my every incarnation, you have been my protector,” she said. “Thus my enemy is your enemy, my quest is your quest.”

  Torstag looked at his own reflection in the black liquid. A grey-bearded man stared back at him and then was gone. “The monks say that to listen to past incarnations is to risk becoming hollowed out.”

  “My soul is like an ancient fortress,” she said. “Previous owners have left behind tapestries and books, but I am not them.”

  “In my last life,” recited Torstag, “I had an epiphany and dedicated myself to the Grey Cortège, who brought my mortal remains here, then, when I was of age, fetched my new self to begin my Holy Service, in accordance with-”

  “Do you let dead people make your choices for you?”

  “Hang on,” he said. “You just said…”

  Unlock Scholar, Debate, or Companion, Banter?

  Enough!

  Unlock Companion, Banter, or Companion, Conjunction of the Butterflies?

  What?

  Lurid imagery tugged at his mind. He resolutely kept his eyes open. Enough was enough. This encounter had sent his Tempter berserk.

  Shut up! Shut up!

  “I am an Acolyte of the Grey Cortège,” he managed.

  “This is your choice, my lord?” she asked.

  “As it was mine before, my lady,” said Torstag. “I am my own man.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  A dog’s bark rang through the forest of stone columns. It was the hollow sound of an animal neither entirely alive nor properly dead. Somebody hollered, “This way!”

  Torstag’s heart lurched, but he did not rise. “I am my own man,” he repeated.

  She sighed. “When you are ready for freedom, visit your past selves in the Catacombs of Hesitation.”

  “Past self, singular,” corrected Torstag.

  She leaned over the fire and kissed his forehead.

  Contact with Paramour of Past Lives.

  “What…?”

  But she was gone—along with her fire, the cups, but not the taste of the tea.

  The dogs and shouting grew closer.

  His Tempter went silent. More than silent. It was as if it were inhaling so deeply as to leave a tangible absence.

  Torstag got up. A chill wind plucked at his robe. His ankle throbbed painfully. Wincing, he hobbled for the doubtful concealment of the forest of columns. What
was he going to say to the monks? The other side of the Untrodden Valley seemed further than ever.

  You have Hindrance Wounded.

  Then, louder:

  Surge.

  Lightning coruscated up his spine, bloomed in his skull.

  He stumbled.

  Time stopped.

  12 Advancement Points available.

  Advance Warlord, Tea Drinking 2/6?

  Wait!

  This all seemed vaguely familiar, like one of those dreams with old friends you don’t know.

  How does this work?

  You may advance any unlocked Feat, or unlock new Vocations and Feats.

  Vocations?

  Images jumbled across his mind—past selves yelling orders, gathering mushrooms, trading insults, cutting down foes, biting the heads off chickens…

  How many can I… “unlock”?

  You may have 4 Vocations, then an additional Vocation every 4th Level.

  Surge enables you to choose from other recently relevant Vocations, namely Warrior, Scout, Entertainer, Companion, Homesteader.

  Torstag chewed his lip. Apart from Warlord, those were all vocations that his Tempter had been pestering him with for months, years even.

  In the vision, his past self flipped back and forward between carving a bloody path with a sword as long as Ingar was tall, to climbing shear rock faces while leather-winged creatures flapped at his face.

  That.

  Time stopped.

  The fighting images called to him, but he remembered Ingar’s talk about climbing down from the Monastery. The only realistic escape was still over the edge. Now, however, he could perhaps survive the climb.

  Scout unlocked at Level 0. 1 Feat required to advance to Level 1.

  Select a Proficiency.

  The Tempter offered a choice of environments.

  As far as Torstag could tell, the Untrodden Valley was forested. He had, however, to get there first so…

  Proficiency, Mountains unlocked.

  You are Agile, so Scout feats start at 2 Grasp.

  Scout, Climb unlocked at 2/6 Grasp.

  12 Points of Advancement available.

  Put them in Climb!

  Scout, Climb 2/6 secured. 8 Points remaining.

  You have a 1st Scout Feat.

  Scout advances to Level 1. 3 Feats required to reach Level 2.

  Select a Proficiency.

  Forest, obviously.

  Select a 2nd Scout Feat to unlock?

  His Tempter brought up a vision of a massive shard of slate with a tree scratched onto the surface. Along the branches, little moving stick figures performed various outdoors actions.

  I just want to be able to make it to the floor of the Untrodden Valley.

  Climb +1 unlocked at 2/6 Grasp.

  Fine, now put what’s left into it.

  Climb +1 secured. 4 points remaining.

  Looking at the stick figures, he realised that he had the option to move very fast indeed for short climbs.

  Spider Climb unlocked at 2/6 Grasp.

  Spider Climb advanced to 5/6 Grasp. 0 Points remaining.

  Potestas reset and boosted.

  Vitality reset. Wound negated.

  It was as if somebody had driven a rusty nail into his injured ankle and then yanked it out. Then the pain was gone and time seemed to be restarting.

  You are: Torstag, Human Warlock, Youth, Agile, Empathic, Cautious, Marked.

  Potestas 6/3. Will 1.

  Vitality 3.    Toughness 1.

  Vocations:

  Cleric 1 (Learned): Meditation, Repel Shade 2/6.

  Warlord 0: Tea Drinking 3/6.

  Scout 1 (Mountains, Forest): Climb +1, Spider Climb 5/6.

  Various General Skills.

  Form 5.

  Ingar appeared from behind a column that should have been too slender to hide him. “Over here!”

  Torstag sprinted over then followed Ingar through the stone forest towards the outer edge.

  The columns ended and there was the narrow stone parapet and beyond that the long drop through the clouds to the floor of the Untrodden Valley.

  Torstag stared down at the sea of white fluff. The soles of his feet tingled. “Trapped!”

  “We were already trapped,” said Ingar.

  “So where do we go?” asked Torstag. “No…you can’t be serious.”

  “It only looks like a sheer cliff face,” said Ingar. “We can take it slowly. Your Form is five. I hope you took a Climbing feat?”

  “What?” Then Torstag remembered what he’d done. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You surged. I saw it.”

  “Um,” said Torstag.

  The hollow barking came closer.

  “Fuck,” said Ingar. “Okay. Have it your way.” He swung a leg over the parapet and started to climb down the outside.

  Torstag’s toes curled as if they could somehow grip the rock better. He leaned over the side. Ingar was on a ledge, a narrow one. Far below, cloud flowed down the Untrodden Valley like an overeager glacier.

  Ingar grinned up at him. “Come on in,” he said above the hiss of the wind. “The gazillion foot drop is lovely.”

  The hollow dog barked. Somebody ordered, “This way!”

  “Damn.” Limbs quivering Torstag clambered up to straddle the low parapet wall separating the Stone Grove from the abyss. He stretched his newly healed right foot and found a ledge. He swung his left out over the parapet wall to join it.

  Chapter 5: Gronchard the Flayer

  A long, shrill scream issued from the Arboretum.

  Gronchard the Flayer sat up in bed. “What time is it?”

  His attendant answered in measured tones, “An hour after dawn, Divinity.”

  The screaming continued.

  “Have they no consideration?”

  Gronchard huddled under the covers, pulled the pillow over his ears.

  The screaming abruptly stopped. The Flying Tooth Garden heaved like a ship on a light swell.

  Flying Tooth Garden fully sated. Ready to translocate. 4 of 4 translocations available.

  Gronchard gave in to his youthful humours, shoved back the silken coverlet and rolled out of bed.

  The balcony looked out over the rippling greenery of the Shrubbery.

  The Flying Tooth Garden was currently located several hundred feet over the main temple complex of the Plains of Hope, a featureless expanse of fields and dutifully fecund peasants, whose tribute kept the shrubs fed for months at a time. Above the artificial horizon of the disk’s edge, there was only blue sky. Today, anything seemed possible.

  “Angelica!” declared Gronchard. “I will find you this time!”

  But that was his youthful body speaking. His old soul knew that saying a thing did not make it so, even for a God. A knot formed in his stomach. A familiar headache settled in as his attendants garbed him in golden raiment and seated him in his litter.

  Four broad-shouldered eunuchs carried him through the streets of Paradise. The Seraphim chanted and clashed their finger cymbals. The laity sang hymns. The din made his head hurt worse, but it was only that; a din. His people were just going through the motions.

  Form 1. Performing Cynosure at level 5.

  That wouldn’t do.

  Using Charismatic Presence +3, cost 1 Potestas. 5 of 6 remaining.

  Result = 5 (Performance) +5 (Charismatic Presence) +1 (Luck) -2 (Average Will) = 9

  Effect = Enthusiastic Response.

  The chanting and singing took on a new vigour.

  Gronchard focussed himself.

  New Form 2. Cost 1 Potestas, 4 of 6 remaining.

  Now he was ready.

  Using Feed on Adulation, cost 1 Potestas. 3 of 6 remaining.

  Result = 5 (Performance) +1 (Luck) -5 (Challenge) = 1.

  Effect = 6 (Result) +5 (Hundreds) = 6.

  Potestas now 9 of 6.

  The headache faded. The world became more vivid. The litter passed through the gates of the Temple
of Vision. The noise of the crowd faded. Now Gronchard perceived every carving, every gem, as if examining it under a magnifying glass, but all at once.

  Saint Prescience waited before the bronzed doors of the Sanctuary. “Divinity!” The attendant priests prostrated themselves, but as befitted his status, the Saint merely bowed so deeply that his elderly Angel had to flap its leathery wings to maintain its shoulder perch. “Divinity, the fires are prepared. Visions of your beloved Sacred Angelica await!”

  Gronchard found he had no urge to get down from his litter. “I tire of the heartbreak.”

  Saint Prescience flapped his hands. “But Divinity,” he wheezed, “the omens are encouraging.”

  “They always are encouraging,” said Gronchard, “and yet I no longer see my Angelica.”

  “A low probability event, Divinity…” began Saint Prescience.

  “I know,” said Gronchard, then realised he did not. The worst part of being an Immortal was the memory of dead memories that had yet to return.

  “Go on, remind Me,” said Gronchard.

  The old man inhaled wetly. “A low probability event, Divinity, may be unlikely on any given day, but still virtually inevitable over the course of several days.”