Facets of the Nether

by William C. Tracy

  “Changes? What changes?” Majus Ayama squawked, but there was a knocking sound behind them and a yelp from Rey. The figure was still indistinct on the other side, one limb raised to tap on the crystal again.

  “The changes that accompany the Dissolution,” the Effature said. He turned to Sam, his hands ushering him to the crystal. “The sequence is coming back to me. The Nether wishes a connection made. Please, come forward.”

  Sam looked around. “What, just me?” Why him? He’d never even seen this place before a few months ago.

  The Effature nodded. “The diadem suggests you are the one. I believe you are connected, though I do not know why.”

  Shaking, Sam stepped to the wall, raising one hand. The figure on the other side mirrored his movement, their hands overlaying.

  The chime sounded one more time. A single, low, thrum, and all the colors of the Symphony bloomed around his hand, including a ring of gold and of silver.

  Sam gasped, and stepped back. His fingers had touched not the cool crystal of the wall, but something made of flesh.

  As he skipped away from the wall, a figure emerged. Their three, pointed, stalk-like legs clacked on the stone of the bridge. As Sam reached the rest of the group, everyone else took a collective step back.

  The figure was surrounded by a halo of silver, dissipating as they stepped from the wall. The colors of the Symphony—all the colors, Sam realized—flowed away from the being in a rainbow, washing outward and over the crystal from where the figure had emerged.

  His mind went to the Dome of the Assembly, nearly two months ago, when he created a portal so large a Drain fit through. The presence there had taken many of his memories, but not this one. The portal had been ringed with gold, the color associated with his new house. But there had been another color. Silver. Just like the halo around this creature.

  “You are the representative from Vaevicta?” the Effature asked into the silence.

  The creature—the person—tapped the ends of their legs, encased in pointed wooden shoes, in a rhythm on the stone. They were squat and gray, wearing a tunic of white shiny fabric, which covered the three legs from above the second joint. The body was low to the ground, and two of the legs emerged from the front of the torso, while the third came from the back. Their arms ended not in hands, but in three-fingered pincers. Sam caught sight of a third arm, barely visible around the back.

  As he watched the figure, the Nether offered identifiers to Sam on their—no, xyr—body movements.

  The head—which was round with a strange strip across the forehead instead of eyes—nodded, then waggled side to side. Underneath the head was a flat hard surface that must have been the person’s jaw. It unhinged strangely, in four sections that grated against each other. Sequences of color flashed across the band on xyr head. The Nether translated the combination of the two as language.

  “I am come at the urging of the Symphony and the insistence of my Effature. The synchronization bell has rung,” xy said. “The pathway has been opened by your prophet.” It sounded like a ritual speech. As when talking with a Lobhl, the words appeared in Sam’s head like a memory of someone who spoke moments before. The voice was low and gravely.

  “We welcome you to our facet of the Nether,” the Effature answered. “Though you have come at a trying time.”

  “Yes. There is a discord in the Grand Symphony. The Dissolution comes too soon. Can you not hear it?” Large flaps unfurled in three even sections around the head, waving as if they sensed something. The Nether translated this as a questioning tone. The flaps cradled what Sam had originally mistaken for part of the person’s head, but now he saw xy was wearing a flat hat, like a cross between a mortarboard and a wimple.

  Majus Ayama twitched her head side to side when no one spoke, then took a small step forward. “We have not heard the discord in the Grand Symphony, but then, our facet has been undergoing conflict, as the Effature says.”

  Xyr head flaps centered on the majus. “Yes. Friction in the physical universe reflects the discord in the Symphony. The Dissolution should still be many cycles away, yet it looms closer. It is why the Nether has moved our facets together. Do you sense this as well?” The figure lacked eyes. Maybe the large ear-like flaps served the same purpose. They shifted among the stunned group, focusing on each person individually.

  “The Dissolution, this is a child’s tale,” Majus Kheena said.

  “It is not,” the person said. The flaps fixed on the Sathssn.

  “How do you know this?” Sam was surprised to hear the question from his own lips. It had just popped out.

  The being at the Dome mentioned the Dissolution, and so did the Effature. I’ve heard that word too many times.

  “It is my business to know of the Dissolution,” came the reply. The Nether offered more details on body language and gender, though slower than before when Sam had met a new species. The ear-like flaps aimed toward him and he hunched under the notice. Xy must know he was the one who touched xyr claw through the wall. He didn’t want to be called out—to be different. He turned to Inas, clutching the bridge’s rail. Rey was standing behind him, looking worried. Sam turned back. He had to be strong.

  “How may we address you?” The Effature asked. “Do you have a name? A title?” One elegant hand fingered his diadem, as if he searched for more information.

  “I forget my manners,” the person said. “I am Prophet Wor Wobniar. My species is the Nostelrahn. Do you not have your own line of oracles? One must have been here to open the way.”

  “I have never heard of a true oracle,” Majus Cyrysi said. His head was cocked to one side, his eyes roaming over Wor Wobniar. Sam remembered that inquisitive stare all too well.

  “Would you like to come with us?” Majus Ayama asked. “We have rooms where you can be comfortable, and talk to various representatives. We have only recently met another new species, so negotiations about the Assembly are going on currently.”

  “We can take you to meet our Council of Maji,” Majus I’Fon offered.

  “I would instead speak with the one who opened my way to this facet. The tradition is for the prophets to meet first,” grated Wor Wobniar. Xyr mouth pieces slid against each other, lights in purples and oranges flashing on the strip above. The flaps whipped side to side, then centered on him. Xy knew. “They are here, in this group.” The legs made a tattoo on the bridge as they scuttled forward, faster than Sam would have thought possible. Their group collectively reared back as Wor Wobniar came closer.

  Majus Ayama’s gaze fell on Sam. He swallowed, feeling his heart speed, the familiar nausea rising, and he grabbed for Inas, who was frowning at Wor Wobniar. He looked up at Sam and a shaky smile slid across his face.

  “You can do this, Sam,” he said.

  Enos would have told me that. I need to be strong for Inas.

  Something about their exchange must have alerted Wor Wobniar, and all three of xyr head flaps centered on Sam.

  “You are the one then? Will you change the Symphony? Any small adjustment will do.”

  Sam froze. Everyone was looking at him. He had spent the last month hiding his gold aura from other maji. Now they would know he was different. His hand on Inas’ back gripped and Sam took it back before he grabbed a handful of Inas’ shirt. He stuffed it in his pocket instead, feeling the smooth lines of his pocketwatch, feeling the tick of time beneath his fingers.

  Majus Cyrysi had dubbed the changes he made as of the House of Matter. His breath came hard through his nose, but he forced himself to listen to the music. There was no going back. He closed his eyes.

  The rhythms of the Symphony described the people and objects around him. The wall itself was a monumental edifice, as resonant and mighty in song as in reality. It loomed over the rest of the melody, impossible to ignore, but separate and unchangeable; a monolith in the Symphony. The softer, gentler sections of music defined flesh and bone of those around him, the clothes that hung on them, and the air around them. His pocketwatch
was a steady low march, reflecting the steel and brass cogs. Beneath them all, trading chords with the wall where it intersected, was the stone of the bridge they stood on. Its chords were even simpler than the watch.

  That’s easy to change.

  Sam took a few notes from the core of his being, trying to ignore the glissandos and trills in the music as others moved and traded glances. He peeked down at one hand, saw it wreathed in a gold aura. There was an intake of breath from Majus Kheena that made his heart beat double-time.

  Sam placed the notes between two measures, bridging a gap in the ponderous music that defined the stone as a solid, gray material. The beat was like the casing of his pocketwatch, with only a slight difference in the key.

  He meant to change a small section, out of sight. However, as his notes incorporated into the music, they replicated with the beat, and a sheet of shining metal flowed from under his feet in all directions, surrounded by a golden glow.

  I can’t control it.

  He scrambled to take his notes back, but the change pulled more from him, leaving him breathless. Sam hunched in as the others stared. The stone of the bridge transformed, becoming shiny burnished steel like the watch. It climbed up the railings, effortlessly recreating the intricate marble accents into whorls and flowers made of pure steel.

  Despite the maji staring at him as if he was as strange and unknown as the Nostelrahn from the next facet, a tinge of pride stirred in his chest at the accomplishment.

  “This! This is what I am looking for!” Wor Wobniar’s head flaps centered on Sam and xy scuttled closer, legs echoing a drumbeat on the steel. “Not only a prophet, but at last, a new majus of the House of Matter. I have been searching for this occurrence in the Vloeinkaal for my entire life. Finally, I have found my new apprentice!”

  “Your apprentice?” Majus Cyrysi squawked. “He is to be my apprentice!”

  The House of Matter? Had Majus Cyrysi stumbled upon the actual name of his house, or had the Nether translated what Wor Wobniar said to a term they understood?

  The flaps waved, and moved to Majus Cyrysi. “He must come with me, to my facet of the Nether, if there is to be any hope of keeping the Dissolution from crashing down upon us like a tsunami before the correct time.”

  “Eyah, debate yer apprentice all yer want, but what the bloody hell did Sam do?” Rey said. Sam didn’t look at him, heat rising in his face.

  “I feel my apprentice, he has a point,” Majus Kheena put in. “Us, are we going to talk of what happened? Here, there is much at play, even disregarding a new facet of the Nether, which we will have to discuss thoroughly.”

  “Yes, is there now also a, hmm, new house of the maji?” Caroom asked. They shifted from one leg to the other with a creak of snapping wood.

  “I think I heard part of his change,” Majus I’Fon said, one finger at hir earhole.

  “You’re one for pronouncements, aren’t you?” Majus Ayama directed at Wor Wobniar. “Why would we let you take him?”

  “Ahem.” The Effature made a slight noise, and the others turned to him. He looked at the Nostelrahn. “Were you sent here by Vaevicta because of the chime, or to look for a new apprentice? These are very different objectives.”

  Wor Wobniar’s head flaps wavered in the air for a moment. After a pause, the Nether offered the translation as embarrassment. Then colors flashed across the strip on xyr head as xyr jaw grated together.

  “I admit, my vision of what must come coincided with the Effature’s call for a representative.” Xy extended all three arms. “Yet the chimes called for a meeting between the facets because of the coming Dissolution. They are indistinguishable. This is fundamental to the House of Matter reclaiming its station among the other Houses.” Wor Wobniar’s flaps skipped among the group. “We have met, yes? So that aspect has been concluded.”

  “No. There are many who would be interested in another facet of the Nether,” Majus I’Fon said. “And the Council of the Maji at the very least should be here to observe a practitioner of a new house.” Zie turned wide eyes on Sam. “Or rather, two houses.” Zie looked back to Wor Wobniar. “We saw the silver glow about you when you came through the wall. The House of Matter is not the only new Symphony we witnessed today.”

  They are arguing because of me.

  “I’m not sure what happened,” Sam said. He gestured vaguely at the shiny metal bridge. “I didn’t mean to do this. It got away from me.”

  Wor Wobniar’s head flaps centered on him again. “I can teach you,” xy grated, purple and green flashing in the strip across xyr forehead. Xy poked a claw in Majus Cyrysi’s direction. “He cannot. You must come with me. It is logical, anyway, for the prophets to pave a path between the two facets.”

  Sam shook his head before he registered what he was doing. Thoughts of Enos and Inas streamed through his head. Enos was still missing. They had to get her back from the Life Coalition. Instead, this person wanted him to go somewhere new and different.

  “Wor Wobniar had a silver glow, didn’t xy?” Rey said. “An’ Sam here glowed all gold-like. Those ain’t the same house.” He looked to the prophet. “Yer can’t teach one not of yer house. Yer don’t hear the same Symphony.”

  “The Sureri, hmm, has a point,” Majus Caroom rumbled.

  “This is to be true,” Majus Cyrysi said. “Are you also to be of the House of Matter, that you can be teaching him more fully?”

  Wor Wobniar hesitated, xyr head flaps wavering again before settling on Sam. “You are of the House of Matter. I have seen that much with certainty. Have I not already said my affiliation?” Xy was hedging.

  “You said you are a prophet, or an oracle,” Inas said. At Sam’s surprised look, he gave a small smile. A little of Inas’ affability was still in there. “I was listening.”

  “Yes, and what is an oracle or prophet but one who sees that which is to come, and which has passed?” Wor Wobniar said. Xyr tone was patient, or at least the Nether translated it that way, like a teacher speaking to a rather slow student. “I see the Vloeinkaal— the ebb and flow of events. You would call it the House of Time.”

  Majus Ayama and Majus Kheena began speaking over each other while Majus Cyrysi gestured at Sam, but what he said was lost in the noise. Beside him, Inas whistled a low tone. “Xy sees time?” He looked to Sam. “That would have been handy to have a few months ago.”

  Sam found Inas’ hand and squeezed. There was a deep pool of hurt in him, still full. Sam hadn’t talked with him about what had happened during his imprisonment by the Life Coalition. He tried to signal a promise they would talk soon.

  “Maji, please,” called the Effature, and the maji sorted themselves out.

  “Then there are two new houses here,” Majus I’Fon said. “The House of Matter and the House of Time. And you can hear both?” Zie stared directly at Wor Wobniar until the Nostelrahn shuffled on xyr tripod legs.

  “I perceive only the House of Time, not that of Matter. No one does, save this one. Another reason for him to come to my facet.”

  Sam inhaled deep, then let it go. Again, he was different. But this time, the feeling was freeing. He had finally showed what he could do. He was of the House of Matter. Hesitantly, he reached for the notes he’d placed in the bridge, trying to pull them back and reverse his change, but they slipped away. He grimaced. Could anyone teach him? The prophet at least knew what he was.

  “Then why should you be taking my apprentice?” Majus Cyrysi’s crest was straight up, as ferocious as Sam had ever seen him.

  “Because he is also of the House of Time.” Wor Wobniar stated, one claw held out toward Sam. “And I can teach him of that. Can you?”

  Sam stared back. He had two houses. The certainty of the statement settled into him.

  Wor Wobniar can show me what I am.

  “I…that is, I am to be certain I can…I mean…” Majus Cyrysi’s crest fell. Majus Ayama laid a hand on his arm, and Sam barely kept himself from going to the grumpy Kirian. He really was a terrible teac
her.

  A well of certainty was building in Sam. He looked to Inas, who he still needed near him, or he would have another panic attack. Inas would recover faster near him, too.

  There was silence for several seconds, as Sam struggled with what he knew had to happen.

  “But he can’t just go with you,” Majus Ayama said. “We’ve only just met you. We have no idea what’s happening in your facet, what species are there, what the social or political situation is. Why should we even trust you?”

  The Effature spoke, his hand on the diadem again, as if it spoke to him. “I have access to enough memories to know the next facet is peaceable, or was when I last had news of it. But that was long ago. Which means there must be a diplomatic channel created between our two cultures. If the Dissolution truly is the threat both I and Wor Wobniar suspect, then it would be beneficial for Sam to go through for a few days.”

  Majus Cyrysi gave an indignant harrumph—his crest was all over the place. It pained Sam to see his mentor so frazzled.

  The Effature continued. “If Sam can learn the method to pass through the wall as the prophet has, he can then bring a delegation back to us.”

  “All respect to this one who speaks for the Assembly, yet this one does not speak for the, hmm, Council, yes?” Caroom folded their arms with a snapping noise.

  The Effature acknowledged the point with a nod. “Yet Sam hears a part of the Symphony none of you can. Even the Council cannot teach a house not their own. Is this not correct?”

  Caroom rumbled, but said nothing.

  “Then since they are not here, perhaps this group may offer an opinion in their stead?”

  More silence, while the maji all looked at each other.

  “Maybe he could go with Wor Wobniar for a few days. See what this other facet is about, and if xy really can teach him. We might gain more allies,” Majus Ayama said. Sam’s mentor slumped, his crest falling flat.

  Sam tried again to grasp the notes of the bridge, but they wouldn’t budge. They had replicated too far, cementing with the original notes of the structure. He wouldn’t be able to get them back until he learned more. To learn more he would have to go with the prophet.