The Tower of Cilifus 2
He counted the seconds under his breath.
Time should be right.
His belongings went over his shoulder; his clothes tightened around his body. He checked each and every single one of his pockets, making sure he had enough supplies for the road, and twice as many for beyond; his spear, of course, was firmer under his fingers than the grip of his own nails.
In the silence of night he slowly pushed his door open. Shitty, decade old hinges shrieked, announcing his departure to all who cared to hear. He winced, but since he heard no further reaction, he proceeded as planned.
As a hare his defining feature was his hearing, not his sight, but the Tormenta came through tonight. Its lights illuminated the path ahead just enough muscle memory and a pinch of care saved him from the many tripping hazards.
Instead, most of his focus was on the sentries. Their torches were few and far in between, easy to slip by if he didn't start a ruckus. Honestly, he didn't have much reason to believe they would bother with him in case he did get caught, he had left in the middle of the night on other errands before and been fine, but beyond the general risk of suspicion, if word got out to Édipos that Francies had left and he started wondering...
Better make sure that didn't happen. He avoided the farms, gave Anton's cottage the wildest berth possible, until he reached the road that crossed the river west and took a turn parallel to the village. North led to Lateno proper, and south? Eventually, the Tower of Cilifus, but before that he hadn't the slightest clue.
At the very last leg of his escape, a noise made him jump. Examining his surroundings, he realized that in his wariness he had stepped right in front of the local chapel of the Church of Apodon without noticing.
They called themselves the World's Church, but that promised universal welcome was the furthest thing from his mind when he saw the tiny building's state. Moss and fungus ridden bare bricks led to a roof full of scum and cracked tiles, some which he recognized as his own work from back when he was a shit-headed kid. The door, faint incandescent light pouring from holes so big you could run a knife through without touching the wood, was so flimsy it might fall over if he breathed too hard. A small tower, if you could call it that, rose from its back, its bell stolen a decade ago and never replaced.
The only proper part of that disgrace was the symbol of the church nailed above the entrance, the large ringworm coiled in a spiral, cast from iron and worn featureless by rust and weather. Even the priest, who was probably the source of the sound, was father to a thousand homilies by morning and a rambunctious drunkard by night, his only positive quality the free stocks of fruit wine and rum he received from Lateno and occasionally shared with the tavern.
People there didn't care much about that New Faith stuff the roads brought, but the rain had taken away the old faith too, and left a stale cube maybe a handful of folks frequented, if that anymore.
"Mom would cry if she saw this, old man," he lamented to himself.
Someone reacted inside; muffled clattering, shattering glass, then a low string of curses reached his ears, but he shrugged. Let that waste of space hear him, who would care?
Francies faced south and continued.
It was morning by the time he risked eating another red leaf, swallowing with a sip of grog. He wasn't that tired, honestly, but this far from home every bit of attention counted. As a hunter, it wouldn't be the first time a good looking day left him stuck waiting out the rain, or cornered in some ditch by ambushing creatures.
Or, on the rare occasion, when he saw that characteristic brass glint of a Dweller, and the nerves didn't let him return for the next couple hours.
Thinking about it, he had never been this far down the road. When game was scarce, the hunters came together and chased wide, but they stuck to the woods east and north mostly, towards the Paca Bogs, leaving this direction a mystery he should have much sooner unraveled.
A bad habit of his. He didn't have any business with the world outside, so he let information come to him rather than seek it out. He knew he had family in Lateno, which he never met, and his mom never insisted he did, but past that what he knew came from the idle gossip of passing travelers and zealots.
But even that little saved his life, he had to admit. It's how he knew to prepare when he first heard the distant rumble, waking up to the Invitation hugging his eyes, and how he learned the call only grew stronger until he took pilgrimage to the Tower.
Speaking of, It was right there. A line bisecting the horizon, rising above the crooked canopy of the forest until it vanished into the clouds of the Tormenta, always present so long as you knew where to look, even from the furthest reaches of the continent. It was supposed to be comforting for proper Guests.
But he wasn't one yet, and right now he still knew it as the greatest enemy to Apodon, the abomination that blocked all decent folk from their beloved Pure Ones, fashioners of the world and creators of all that was good, a test of faith for these pitiful moribunds who forsook their divine parents pursuing greed, or a punishment for their sins, or whatever.
He licked his lips. What a stupid idea, listening to the impulse and letting himself go seeking that same rumbling darkness that stretched across his sleeping mind everyday.
But it called, so he walked. The road narrowed, the woods thickened, the sound of the wind distorted to a sorrowful whistle, but damned be his instincts, he kept walking.
His plan was to reach another village before nightfall. Was that realistic? He didn't know, but worst came to worst he knew how to take care of himself, what was safe to eat, where it was safest to rest, what was so badly corrupted by the Tormenta he shouldn't think about approaching.
He would be fine.
The sentiment carried him all the way to his first bifurcation, no landmarks in sight to show where the comfort of civilization might lie. He spent a few minutes going back and forth, searching for signs to no avail.
What was a man supposed to do here?
Well, maybe that was the answer. if he didn't know, then did it matter?
Around thirty bounds or so the way his right, he spotted a small sagging tree. It was heavy with fruits ranging from green to orange to red, some the size of his thumb nail, others bloated to bursting at the width of a fist.
A Cerora tree. They used to be common, supposedly, but now most were twisted like this, or far worse. From the looks of it, most of the berries were still edible though, so long as he avoided the swollen, the off-colors, or those writhing with parasites.
He feasted, relieved himself nearby, then considered how lucky it was to find one of these nowadays. It was a good omen, wasn't it?
So he picked that direction. So he kept chanting inside his head.
He would be fine.
He would be fine.
Late afternoon, the sky shone eye-searing yellow, heavy rain on the horizon. He opened his bag and donned a cloak.
Maybe he wouldn't be fine.
Signs of civilization, there had been plenty. Rotten, abandoned civilization. Empty homes pried open by the great trunks of nature, entire small villages taken back by moss and grass, tools and cages and carts consumed by a shrubbery's worth of towering mushroom caps and multicolored slime molds.
Slivers of the sky could be seen through the knotting, serpentine embrace of branches across both sides of the road. Openings promised crossroads long gone, terrain once flattened by movement now lumpy with roots, clamped so narrow even a hare his size couldn't squeeze through.
He was tired, hungry, and his calves throbbed from the couple times he was chased by this cackling, unseen beast from beyond the trees. If there were any good sides to the rain, is that he would soon have to rest one way or the other, so why not take the opportunity to nap, maybe sleep?
...Who was he kidding? Sleep here, so much closer to his destination, somewhere unknown? Sighing, he cleaned a spot on the ground with the butt of his spear and sat down, forcing himself to think, actually think his options through.
He didn't have a tent since a few months ago, left behind while he fled in the middle of the night then never found again. Still, he needed shelter, but where? The trees were his best option. Looking around, he was on a particularly corrupted part of the forest, old woods decades under the rain having merged limb to limb, so it shouldn't be too hard to find decent cover.
Except, who knew what could or couldn't climb these days? Anything could be nesting nearby. He had a couple bad run ins before, in similar circumstances even, where he intruded upon occupied dens and didn't notice until it was almost too late. But at least he could kill an animal, if he came face to face with a Dweller...
Or a Dweller would come face to face with him. His ears twitched. Suddenly, he heard something from the edges of his perception. Creaking, rolling, thumping, the crunching of stone and wood, humming? Either way, large, and closing in fast.
He scrambled towards the trees, climbing over roots and choked bushes to get out of view, but he had severely underestimated their distance, and by the time he had solid wood at his back any hare worth their salt would have caught on to his presence. The giant came to dragging stop right behind where he hid.
He took a deep breath, risking a peek. The first thing to catch his eye was a monstrosity of steel, shaped like some headless beetle with long, dainty legs that could never have bore the bulk of such a creature. It was bound to an immense wagon of steel and wood by rods that disappeared beneath its elytra.
Riding above the wagon, not coach, but above with their legs dangling over the rider's seat, was a person, face pale as chalk, gaping empty sockets staring straight through him.
Fear pushed him into hiding again. He let go of his bag, gripping his boar-spear with both hands, heart hammering in his throat. Footsteps dropped onto the dirt and he stilled, but didn't dare attack just yet, not when he didn't have the smallest idea of what he was dealing with.
They stopped three or so meters away from him. He could reach them with a good leap. Yet, he waited, breath bated for their next move, but they were a statue. So immovable, he couldn't even hear the beating of their heart.
"Heeeey, why did we stop?!" A high voice, tone afflicted by what sounded like deliberate, crafted snobbery, screamed. "Are we there yet? This place does not look like Cilifus!"
"Juuuuust a moment!" The stranger behind him sang back. "I found another companion for our travels!"
Francies licked his lips moist. Careful of the distance, he revealed himself, making sure to keep his weapon in between them at all times, but without ever pointing his blade. The stranger didn't react to the weapon, didn't for a second look away from his eyes.
It was a relief to see the ghostly pallor wasn't their actual face, but a white porcelain mask, hints of green and beige almost completely weathered off, the rest of their head and neck obscured by a black cloth. Below that, a black double breasted vest over a shining white long sleeved shirt, neither stained with the smallest speck of dirt or mud. And this smell wafting from them, was that perfume? Floral incense? It was pleasant, sweet and faint, but also familiar...
Shaking his head, the second thing Francies did was search for clues on what type of folk they were. Specifically, he searched for signs of a fox tail and maybe ears hidden under their cloth, but thankfully he found none. There were dark rumors about what foxes did to lonely hares they caught on the road.
But then what were they? As if to answer, or further muddle the question, they bowed deep from the waist, a solemn fist resting at their chest. No silhouette of long ears pressed tight, no extended limbs, skin completely covered from head to heavy booted toes.
"Dear Guest-to-Be, my warmest greetings, as well as sincerest apology for my tardiness!" they said, voice high and cheery. "I would have come much sooner had I notice your presence earlier. However, I must ask, why venture so far from listening ears and aiding hands by your lonesome?"
"... Afternoon. I've to be honest here pal, you caught me a bit off guard," Francies said. "Who exactly are you again?"
"Oh, of course, so uncouth!" The stranger straightened his back, only to bow again. "Please, call me Handres. I am but a humble servant to the Deliverance Guild of Cilifus, founded by the noble Heavenly Piercer Akol, the Land Eel, and since responsible for guarding the lives of Initiates from the harmful political interests of our town's many enemies!"
Now that sounded like a bunch of shit. At least he knew the term Heavenly Piercer, they were supposed to be very important people in Cilifus, though not widely discussed, but what was that talk about a town? And thinking back, another concern. "Did you just say you knew I was down this way?"
Handres nodded. "Since a couple of kilometers only, but yes. And at such a perfect time! I was on my merry way to deliver a new batch of Initiates to their inevitable fates, and we just happen to have enough space, and supplies, for at least one more person!"
Now wasn't that an auspicious offer, and right when he had little choice on the matter too. As if to mock his luck, thunder clapped above them, the Tormenta pleased with this farce. He wouldn't risk the rain out of a gut feeling, would he? He had to know better! He should go ahead and seal his destiny!
"Of course, I would not dare force you to join us, that is far beyond my duties and my rights! But the Arteries of Levelas lead only to its Heart, and in between here and there sleep things the uninitiated ought to not think about, let alone face," they said.
"How did you know I was here? Is it some Invitation magic or—"
"Ahn ahn ahn!" Handres wagged a finger. "Sorry! Law of the Tower. I'm sure you don't know what that means yet, so let me give you the quickest overview: Means you have a looooot to learn if you want to survive your new life, and the sooner you get there the better off you'll be! Now, I know you Long Ears are quite nimble on those big feet of yours, but did you see the speeds our Guild's babies can move?"
"Oh I saw alright," Francies took a step back. "Forgive me for saying this pal, but you lay it a bit too thick for comfort."
Handres giggled, shrugging. "Sorry! But all I do is for the sake of your lot, lost on a journey they never knew they would partake! Allow me to say: this a public service courtesy of the Town of Cilifus, requiring no fees or payment of any sort from its passengers. All I'm going to ask you is to be reasonably cordial to your fellows until we reach our destination, otherwise sleep, banter, eat, and play to your fulfillment! Sounds agreeable?"
Too much, even. Under the perfume that deal stunk something mighty. What guarantee did he have it wouldn't foul the moment he said yes?
But while he knew little about the Tower's Guests, he knew it wouldn't take much for one to force consent out of him, so the option of rejecting them entirely that had to mean something. Hopefully.
He relaxed the grip on his spear a smidge. It probably wouldn't matter much if it came to a fight anyways. "Y'know, if I didn't think my chances were already in the gutter, I'd just have turned and ran."
Handres bowed again, so deep his spine nearly paralleled his legs. "As would be your right! Worry not about the dangers however, I swear on the confidence of the Land Eel that if your life comes under threat, I will lay mine in front!"
Still, Francies hesitated when picking up his bag. Wind whistled through the woods, chilling him to the bone and pocking his skin with goosebumps. Glancing over his shoulder, he searched the sockets of Handres mask for any hint of a glint, but there was only darkness there, unblinking, following his movements with crushing intensity.
One eye on the headless beetle, another on Handres, Francies trudged to the wagon's back.
Sat on the two benches lining both walls towards the back, surrounded by miscellaneous baggage from sacks to crates to fancier, bigger luggage were five people in total. Three of them were hares like him, ears as high and alert: a couple to the right, one dark skinned with black hair under a heavy coat and head wrappings holding a spade like a sword, a petite thing snug limp to their side, dressed just as heavily but failing to hide the sickness rashes crawling over their neck and pale face. Opposite them, combed brown hair and a well built body in a fancy suit full of stripes, a kind of pattern he had never seen before in green and red, glaring down at him.
"Did we halt for some Far Kingdom hare?" His voice was loud. That had to be the one who asked why they stopped before. "Tch! We could have been attacked by Dwellers any—Ouch?!"
Francies did a double take. Separate from the fancy hare by a leather bag, stretching themselves to kick him right in the shin, was who for a second he swore was an actual child. Couldn't be, despite being sized like one, and so thoroughly wrapped in random overlapping layers of clothing it left doubts.
"Shut de' fuck up already! Ah' can't sleep with yer' whiny fuckin' yaps!" They said, so shrill it hurt.
The fancy hare's glare intensified, but never turned their way, shifting between Francies and the floor.
Finally, at the far back, watching the scene unfold in impassive silence, was a man so large he was taller sat than Francies stood counting the ears, and about twice as wide. A mountain of muscle, skin rough and dark grey, a dead giveaway for the aptly named Stone Skins. He also had the most gorgeous, voluptuous mustache he had ever seen, which made it hard not to stare.
"Now everyone, I don't want to leave anyone behind for the floods, but I'm allowed to!" Handres sang, approaching. "Now, go in, dearest..."
"Call me Francies. That didn't look very cordial to me," he said.
"Nonsense! Conflict is mere dialogue in our lands. Disrespect would have gone a whole lot farther. Now go in! We do need to get moving."
Francies climbed aboard, to no interest of his future peers. The moment he crossed the threshold inside, a strange sense of tranquility hit him, the temperature rising to a comfortable warmth, the light increasing until he could see everything as clear as day. He looked back, hoping to ask Handres what in the Churn just happened, but they were gone. It wasn't long until he heard the headless beetle drag itself forwards, not waiting for him to sit. Still, with the road rocking underneath them all, he felt firm on his feet and none of the customary nausea.
Nothing to it, he supposed. Already to the scalp in the muck, he decided some politeness wouldn't kill. "Afternoon, fellas. Hope I didn't intrude too much?"
The fancy and black haired hares brimmed with hostility. The sickly hare and the bundle of clothes didn't react at all. The only person to return his greeting was the Stone Skin gentleman on the back, with a straight look and a bob of the chin that might have been a nod.
Such an inviting bunch. Then again, he always knew this was going to be a long, and not in the least pleasant, trip, at least this was better than braving nature all the way there. Less so his specialty, but not half as deadly.
He made himself comfortable. Better enjoy while he could.