(4) The Tower of Cilifus 4
How did one know they were about to reach the Tower?
Maybe it was because they looked out the back of the wagon and saw green tipped grass by the side of the road, and spots of sparse leaves in branches that no longer constricted one another into deadly coils.
Maybe it was the creature they saw grazing by a nearby pasture, peaceful in its meal, the spitting image of a goat seen in the wooden relief of an old patron, ignoring the bulbous tumor at the back of its head.
Or maybe it was even the brief glimpse of a tiny Long Ear playing amidst decently healthy crops, their laughter a chime in the wind. He was not the only one who nearly threw himself out the back trying to get a closer look at that one.
These weren't things that existed anymore. He heard of them as stories when he was just a brat, from adults who only heard of most those from their parents. The last child in South Lateno had been born when he was twelve.
The first word that came to his mind was wondrous. Others, apparently, had more to say.
"It is sad to see all this grandeur, and imagine that it once belonged to us," Éliol said, with furtive glances to the two other hares who hadn't answered him once today, but did occasionally spared him attention. "From here to nigh the coasts north, to the edges of the southern plains, all territories of our Joas Union."
"I think I heard something like that," Francies said, "But never that name. Didn't it belong to Viela or some other kingdom?"
"Vela is not—!" He breathed in until his chest was twice the width, then released. "Viela is a pejorative, a completely nonsensical word based on mistaken etymology and, frankly, blasphemy. The proper name of this kingdom was Vela, yes, however we must acknowledge it as part of a larger picture, which was the Joas Union."
Francies raised an eyebrow at the fancy hare. He had been like this ever since that day with the hog, rude but chatty. At least they were on speaking terms now.
"You know of Joas, right?" Éliol asked, frowning.
"You mean, the most important hare ever born? Heard of him once or twice."
He rolled his eyes, but nodded. "The only Earthly Divine of the Long Ears Tribe, closest to the Pure Ones among us all, before or since! Can you imagine? In these meadows he was born, and in this meadows his ashes lay!"
"Sure thing, but ain't here Cilifus? The Tower, and maybe the Town, I'm not sure how that one fits yet."
"Now! But before the Tower rose, before the Tormenta cast its shadow, before those filthy vixens hobbled our nations, this was the capital of great Vela, heartmost of the Heart Kingdoms and guiding hand of the Far ones, Hosile!"
Francies didn't gag out loud, a small sacrifice in the name of peaceful coexistence. This was the clincher that he had got Éliol's measure well enough. A few hares like that lived in South Lateno, while others passed by, helping curb Dweller problem and testing the waters on how all those sad little villagers felt about the good kingdoms of old and their inevitable return to power.
Terms shifted with time and place, but these people remained the same. He might have a clue what a Far Kingdom was after all: those far away boonies where all the poorer hares used to go become soldiers and die.
"The crib of Joas! Crown jewel and not only of Vela. All kingdoms of the Union convened inside its palace and sat besides the divine hare's descendants, the Velan royal family! If only they were still here to see the despoiling of their toil..."
"I have heard many times the tragedy of Hosile's vanishing and the many attempts to retake it. Alas, I can't imagine any force in Apodon would be ready for the emergence of the Dwellers, least of all in their center of control." Garces said, shaking his head.
"Center of—Please!" Éliol's glare came so promptly it felt prepared. "The Union was more than ready to meet any force that came its way if it hadn't been betrayed and assailed from all sides. Wonder who was to blame for that!"
Garces shoulders tensed. "There are implications one should not throw lightly, little man, and I suggest you learn that blaming your covetous empire's downfall on anything but their own blindness is one of them."
Francies looked from Éliol's open hostility to Garces' somewhat befuddled brows. Was it worth the trouble asking what exactly they were talking about? History just wasn't his subject. The shirt cocoon were kicking their feet thought, soon to be moving on to tender flesh, so he decided on keeping quiet.
Before the two could bicker more, a shadow passed over them. They had just crossed under the arch of a colossal gate, thick crenelated walls rising almost ten meters high, so few figures walking its length it looked haunted rather than manned.
Cilifus. The journey felt long, and yet he wasn't remotely ready for its end.
After the fancy ride and mystical coach, Francies half expected to be taken on a carriage tour of the city, but the wagon made a swerve, slowing down, and soon they were passing under a smaller gate with shorter walls.
What he saw out the back he could only describe as a graveyard of wagons. Dozens, some still pristine, some covered in dirt, some badly damaged and missing parts, at least one savaged into nothing but the skeleton frame of a steel chassis with clinging hints of wood and cloth, organized in loose circles around a central courtyard.
Theirs stopped. Handres popped from up top, shoving his face inside. "We're here! My dear Guests-to-be, if you could please join me outside, we have a few more things to discuss before you are free."
Time had come, and the five passengers, the sick hare moaning on Vante's shoulder exempt, looked to one another with clear uncertainty. Who would go first?
They became four as the bundle of clothes snorted, pulled their hood further down over their face, and hopped to their feet. The sum total of their possessions were a previously camouflaged bindle, now slung over their shoulder as they strode out like they owned the place.
In that brief moment as they walked by him, Francies could swear he saw the glint of an eye, and held in a gasp. Fierce, cold, borderline predatory in a way so primal he felt it in his spine. Instinct told him he had been wise not catching that one's attention.
Next was Vante and their companion leaving slowly, carefully, with not a lick of the previous' swagger.
Not to be outdone, Éliol hopped up, pulling a trunk that looked twice his weigh empty by the handles, which failed to budge more than a pinkie's length. "That damned Tower won't wait for us! The sooner we are settled, the better!"
Francies scoffed. Not to say the snob was right, but dawdling wouldn't help his nerves any. He overtook him in a dash, spear in a fist and baggage sack dragging from the other, ready to—
There was a drumming inside his head, so far in the back he wasn't sure it was in his body at all. After weeks of bidding his time and days of enduring impatience it had become ambient, or better yet, sated. He was following the call, after all, late but surely.
The moment he crossed whatever magical barrier kept the insides of the wagon cozy, its drummer to that endless crescendo with a violence that tore straight through the drumhead, reverberating across every bone in his bone, every vein, every muscle.
In that incredible, grotesque moment, he truly felt the call, so keenly he could swear he sensed its desires. It wanted him to look so, so badly it was repugnant. No! Not look. Hear? Taste? No, no, there were no words for what it was begging, not that he knew, not that he would ever know, but then why tell? What did it help? What did it want?! It was almost screaming, howling, bursting—
His feet hit the ground wrong, and down he stumbled.
An arm caught him before his head could bounce off the cobblestone, but he still felt the impact. Elbow bruised, bun smarting, side of his tongue bitten, and the song of the Invitation returned as a loud, annoying drone. Amazing.
He glanced up, and saw the others had stopped to watch the scene. Frankly, he would have been less embarrassed if there was laughter. Instead, the ones already out turned back towards Handres, who had been waving their arm nonstop, like nothing of interest happened.
"Francesto, Francies, are you alright?" Garces crouched by his side. "That did not look like a graceful fall."
"Yup, and it sure wasn't." Francies accepted the helping hand back to his feet. "I'm the one who spent my life stepping around rough terrain and I'm the one who fell on my face. Explain that?"
"Are you feeling ill? I have heard of some unlucky few who do not take well to rides of any sort." he said.
"Countless are the ill that plagued Hosile since—Uuuuunphffff! T-the vanishing of its people, perhaps the ground here is simply—Hhhhhhmgh! U-uneven." Éliol said, somehow wrestling his monstrous luggage to the ground with himself, much to Francies' awe. He realized that thing actually had wheels. Tiny, pathetic wheels that didn't look capable of bringing it far, but who knew.
"Did neither of you notice the difference?" Francies asked, and at two nonplussed looks, felt insane. "You know? To the noise? The Call of the Tower?"
"What in the Churn are you talking about? You know what, tell me later, that Handres is desperate for our attention." Éliol left them with the hair-raising scratch of metal on stone.
Garces though stayed, crossing his arms with a grunt. "Forgive me if I misunderstood, but did you just say you hear the Call?"
"Don't you? It's the Call. Ain'ta proper sound, no, but kind of is, right? Like a thunderstorm at the back of your coconut, or a tremor."
"That... is not how I would describe it, no."
Francies moistened his lips. "Who knows with all this Tower stuff? Maybe it's different for everyone."
"Yes. Maybe so."
Meanwhile, Handres had not stopped waving.
The round courtyard looked wider from the ground. Life skulked in between the rotting wagons, drew cobwebs around their darkest nooks, nested under pried open benches. If Francies didn't hear whispered conversations between unseen observers, he would have mistaken it for abandoned.
The centerpiece this courtyard had been built around was a tall, wide, polished obelisk of milky blue stone. A work of art, Francies avoided looking at it directly. Not because of any direct property of the obelisk, but because he knew what he would see right behind it, far and yet so close, and he didn't want another trip this soon.
Much safer to look at was Handres with their faded mask, patting the monument like an old friend. "Welcome, welcome, dearest Guests-to-be, to the first day of your new lives, the true Heart of Levelas, beginning to its end and end to its beginning, the humble Town of Cilifus! Named after, oh, who am I kidding, you can see perfectly well."
Francies pointedly tried not to, instead watching the expressions of his fellow passengers. All around, grim faces paled at the sight of the Tower, exceptions being the walking rags, mysterious as always, and Éliol, openly bristling at their coach instead.
"Now, you may be ready, eager even, to dive into this opportunity head first, but there are some issues we must address before. Namely—"
"Ah' dun' car', can Ah' go?" the bundle said, in what had to be the longest sentence out of their mouth since they kicked Éliol's shin.
"... Namely, that at the moment you are not citizens of Cilifus yet."
Francies frowned, and almost missed the moment the bundles walked off. "Dun' car', goin' now."
Handres cupped both hands around the bottom of their mask and shouted. "Indeed! While being Guests do afford you certain rights within our walls, outsider Initiates are bound to certain requirements before they become citizens and are thus allowed to trade, purchase property, participate in— Can't believe it, she actually walked off! Goodness, such a troublesome person."
Divided between watching the weirdest of his fellow passengers act exactly as expected and glancing between the others to see if anyone smelled the foul in Handres words, he was surprised to find nobody looked too shocked. Did they know already?
"Where was I? Oh, yes!" Handres said. "As non-citizens, or semi-citizens as I much prefer, you aren't allowed to purchase housing, trade in certain establishments, or access public or most Guild services such as inns, taverns, bathhouses, outhouses, toilets... Am I forgetting something?"
"E-excuse me, I had heard Cilifus institutions put severe restrictions on the passage of visitors, but is this treatment not excessive?!" Éliol said, and for the first time Francies felt in step with him. "Toilets, bathhouses, lodging, are we not supposed to maintain our hygiene?!"
"Oh no! There is a Guild dedicated to the comfort and well-being of visitors, but those will not deal with Initiates." Handres said. "However! That is not to say we are leaving you to starve on the streets! It only means that you must follow certain norms established by our governing body, the Council of Lances.
"For a semi-citizen to become a full time citizen, they must first accomplish two tasks to prove their commitment to the Game: Gain at least Rank, and therefore a Role, then finish their first expedition into the First Floor of Cilifus. But hold on to your knickers, because you can't just dive right in, not anymore. You have to follow procedure and register at the Notary's Office downtown so you—!"
"Wait a second!" Those were the first words Francies ever heard out of Vante's mouth louder than a whisper, so rough they sounded like they had picked that shovel from inside their throat. "We've family here! Don't you people let citizen's family register for free?"
"Sorry, only direct children!" Handres said.
"B-but, uh, lookie here, we aren't exact in condition to go inside that thing, are we?" Vante pointed to their companion, held by the armpit and looking completely unaware other than following every motion with swimming eyes."I-I've heard you can get these Ranks things outside too, right? T-that would do, wouldn't it?"
"In part! But no, you need at least one expedition under your belt as well, to prove your commitment to the Game."
"W-what game is even worth doing that much?"
Francies had the same doubt. He didn't know anything about any game that didn't involve dice or running around with your friends, let alone one worth going inside the place all Dwellers were supposedly born from.
Through the blank mask, Francies still felt Handres staring at them like they had a dry nut for a brain. Vante stepped back, a bead of sweat descending the sliver of skin exposed by the collar of their coat. "Have you never read your own invitation? The Game of Heaven, of course, the whole reason it exists at all."
"This isn't what we agreed to," Vante said. "This isn't what you fucking told us."
"I did exactly as I promised." Handres said, voice low. "Past that, I can't help you."
There was a heavy tension in the air. From the way Vante gripped their spade, it would be flying any moment now. Instead, they withdrew, step by step leaving them behind, and this time Handres didn't say a word.
"S-so, that's all? You go for trip inside the Tower and we're good?" Francies asked.
"Oh, of course! Mostly!" Handres returned to their usual cheer. "Commitment is a very important trait for our citizens to have. Some would say the most important! Speaking of, look behind me, there is one more thing you have to commit to mind."
Francies wouldn't, not fully, but he risked a small peek. There were letters, cut big and blocky, in the obelisk's stone, though unfortunately not the preternaturally readable ones of his Invitation. He left the other passengers behind, searching for a better angle that wouldn't put his mind in peril.
Before he could find it, Handres came through. "All are welcome to Cilifus. All must recognize the Heavenly Piercers and their Council of Lances as the highest authority in Cilifus. The New Faith of Cilifus must be respected. All must contribute to the Game of Heaven. None may harm a Guest without due cause. None may steal rightful property from Guests of Cilifus. None, not even Guests, may breach or spread the secrecy of the Tower Mechanics.
"This is old-old. Go looking and you will find more recent, better worded, expanded versions, and those are the ones you should memorize proper! The Tower of Cilifus first emerged two years into the Tormenta's reign, and the first Invitations flew out four years later. I don't need to tell you what came after, right? Only the most horrific war since, the Invitation Wars, which many of your relatives must have suffered through, and whose dead you can still pick out of the grass if you frolic outside our walls."
Garces nodded, solemn, but didn't interrupt.
"Back then, there wasn't a Town of Cilifus. There was an empty capital turned battlefield, and even reaching the entrance of the Tower without being caught and executed by one of the groups vying for its power was a trial as big as surviving inside, where their Guest Parties hunted you down!
"What we had çwere a group of like minded individuals who fought from the depths of the abyss out for independence, who waged a losing battle against tenfold their numbers in Guests and near a thousandfold in Uninvited. They were the ones who picked the rubble clean with their own two hands and pieced it back together into a home where Guests would never become victim to Levelas' past again."
Instead, they had built a town that sent them marching straight back into the Churn.
Handres continued, voice choked by unseen tears. "They were the Heavenly Piercers then, now, and forever more! And these are the rules they first devised their society around. Incomplete, perhaps a little unexpected, but core nonetheless. We call them the Laws of the Tower, and if you are to follow anything or anyone in your time here, make sure it's them above all else. Your well being hinges on that!"
The lecture ended in resounding silence. Skittering in the grass, the squeals of webbed prey, a rising growl courtesy of a snobbish, glaring hare.
"Now, any questions? Make sure you ask them now, there aren't many good teachers left around these days," Handres said.
Francies raised a hand. "Where did you say that Notary thing is, again?"
After all, if he wanted to get this place's mark, he would have to see it for himself, rather than have it spat out in naked contradiction to his reality. His first impression is that Cilifus stank. City, Tower, servants too, all so suspicious it made him shiver.
Handres gave a mostly straightforward direction, though what they meant by "under the Upper Town," he would need to see.
"Thanks for the ride, by the way. Pretty sure you saved my hide." Francies had never been good at parting words, but he didn't want to turn around and leave in silence.
"It's my pleasure , dear Guest-to-be! Really, It's my reason to live." Handres shrugged. "But if you let me say one final thing..."
"More to commit to mind?" It was Francies intention to joke, but looking over his shoulder he paused, taken by the impenetrable darkness of Handres' eyes again
"Be careful." they said.
"I think we'll all be?"
"You in particular. Watch out for what you let show."
"By which you mean?"
Nothing, apparently. There was no answer, only the attention of a body he was now sure didn't breath without command.
Or, if he gave ears to a darker thought, a marionette that didn't sway even with the wind.
"Aight. I'll stay on my toes," he said, ignoring his sudden need to run as fast as he could so he could pretend he was calm.