Chapter Eleven: Unseen Threads

Image by Gemini

They partook of the Barbarians’ hospitality for one more drink, but it was already full dark and there was still work to be done. The air was crisp with winter’s approach and no longer hummed with the raw tension of impending battle. Instead, a quiet resolve settled over Catwright. He’d seen versions of power on this day that were beyond his understanding and capability. It was a challenge to overcome, and a level of skill to aspire to and surpass.

He stood with Beornen, exchanging final courtesies. The towering man, his face flushed with drink, clapped Cat on the shoulder. “The road ahead is long, young Isubane. Walk it with open eyes and a ready blade.”

“And you, Beornen. May your tankard be ever full.” Cat offered a genuine smile, a rare sight these days. “I will be back for more lessons if you will have me.”

“Yes, yes! I must see you dance the elemental forms like Garath has said. It would entertain us greatly to see such a display!”

As they departed, leaving the robust laughter and clinking tankards of the encampment behind, Cat’s companions fell into their usual formation. Chatwick talked quietly with Beldere, learning the intricacies of mastering his own mind. Seleger walked with a newfound caution, his eyes scanning the tree line, lost in his own contemplative world.

We have one more stop to make, Cat mentally projected to his three friends.

Beldere looked over, his brow furrowing. No, this is exactly the type of trouble you need to stay away from! The priest had scanned Cat’s surface thoughts.

And yet trouble seems to be finding me. I’m not going to hurt anyone; I just want to talk. I need information, and where better to get it?

And the temple of Uloamana happens to be between us and the citadel, Seleger added. He could not read thoughts, but he was not stupid. Chatwick looked excited but stayed mentally silent, since he was still suppressed by Beldere.

That’s the name! I couldn’t remember anything other than it was some obscure nature god, Cat thought.

Obscure? Uloamana is to the Ssythe what Neador is to us. They share many of the same tenets.

Oh good, so relatively friendly then?

No! Not at all, Beldere countered. Most Ssythe still hate us. They respect Neador but see him as young and weak, and humans as parasites.

Would you rather I went to a temple of Isulas or Isuna?

Don’t be an ass, Catwright. Do you really think the druid council or the lord of Osenvale would condone a temple to one of the snake lords?

Yes, yes I do.

That brought Beldere up short, and an intense mental—and sometimes verbal, for the sake of Chatwick—debate ensued. All three of the others believed the druids would let sacrificial religions into Mecre if the practice was limited to livestock and they thought it would maintain peace. The boys had all stopped in the road at this point for long enough that the four facet leaders had approached.

“Something you boys would like to share?” Sergeant Lovine asked with a pointed look at Catwright.

“Yes, we’re going to make a quick stop on the way home for some information gathering and religious enlightenment,” Cat stated simply. Beldere put his head in his hands. Seleger smiled, looking a little sick. Chatwick giggled.

“The Ssythe temple?” Lovine’s voice was tight, a rare edge to his usual calm. He too was not an idiot and knew what lay along their path southward. “My lord, that is… unwise. Their deities are not like Neador. They are primal. Their priests are known for violence when roused, and they guard their sacred sites with a ferocity that makes even the barbarians seem tame.”

Cat’s gaze fixed on the path ahead and he began to walk. “Beornen spoke of Old Ones—beings that even he, with his power, fears. He told me to seek knowledge. These Ssythe priests, they commune with ancient things. If anyone knows more about this ‘Unseen’ creature, it’s them.”

“But the risk, my lord,” Lovine pressed, stepping to walk beside him. The other facet leaders looked tense, like they wanted to speak, but they respectfully let Lovine take the lead. “Their gods demand strange rites. Their priests are not known for hospitality to outsiders, especially humans. And do you really want more attention from their gods?”

“I understand the risks,” Cat said, his voice hardening. “But I prefer not to be the one reacting. I need a better idea of what we’re up against.” He met Beldere’s gaze, a flicker of the old defiance now sharpened by a new, grim determination. “I need answers, Sergeant. And I will get them.”

Beldere sighed, a sound of resignation. “Shamans of Uloamana are not known for violence, and they are not necessarily friendly or beholden to any of the other more warlike Ssythe factions.”

Lovine looked between Beldere and Catwright. “Very well.” He nodded towards Beldere. “We abide by Neador’s will, Priest.” He turned abruptly and shouted, “Get me a runner!”

The four boys continued walking as Sergeant Lovine conducted his soldierly duty of informing the Duke that his charges were going to do something dangerous. The runner streaked by them on the way to the citadel as the temple of Uloamana came into sight.

The Ssythe temple was not a grand edifice of carved stone or polished wood. It was a place swallowed by a small forest in the style of Neador, except this vegetation was more tropical and dense. Gnarled trees grew in unnatural spirals, their branches interwoven to form a living, shadowed canopy. Strange, luminous fungi pulsed softly on the moss-covered ground, casting an eerie emerald glow. The air here was thick and humid, heavy with the scent of damp earth, decay, and something else—a musky, reptilian odor that prickled the back of Cat’s throat.

“You must understand that I am almost completely helpless here,” Beldere said. “This is a place of power. Even a devotee of mediocre faith could likely suppress us all.”

“I understand and accept the risks,” Cat shrugged. “You can wait outside the aura if you are worried.” Beldere just gave him a look that carried the divine weight of unsaid expletives.

They found the priest in a clearing dominated by a colossal, petrified tree, its bark like ancient scales. It must have been delivered to the city on a massive barge. After another look, Cat realized it was actually some kind of dwelling, a door cunningly concealed in the crevices of the bark. The shaman was immense, even for a Ssythe. Cat assumed it was male since the females rarely left their communities, but he wouldn’t know how to tell if asked. Its crocodilian head was ancient and scarred, the hide a mosaic of deep greens and browns. Its eyes, golden and slit-pupiled, held depths that seemed to stretch back to the world’s genesis. He sat cross-legged—a posture that looked profoundly uncomfortable for his anatomy—surrounded by crude bone and feather totems.

As they approached, Beldere stepped forward, his hand raised in a gesture of peace, murmuring words in a language Cat didn’t recognize—a low, guttural cadence that seemed to vibrate with the very earth. The Ssythe priest merely watched, massive jaws unmoving, incapable of human speech.

Then, a shimmer of Velamdolc mana gathered around the priest’s head, a soft, purplish glow. It flowed outwards, not just to Beldere but to Catwright and his companions, forming a direct mental link. It was less intrusive than Beldere’s, more like a projected thought, but the voice that echoed in Cat’s mind was ancient, dry as sun-baked stone, decidedly male, and utterly devoid of warmth.

“You come seeking answers, little human. You believe yourself important. You believe the gods remember your name, your struggles.”

Cat felt a prickle of annoyance. “I seek understanding of my enemies, of the one called the Unseen.”

The mental voice offered something akin to a dry chuckle. “The Unseen is like a hungry whelp. It consumes sentients for power, not caring for consequences. Like many others, they are merely what they are. And the gods… they do not care. They do not remember. Your plight, your precious ‘war,’ is but a fleeting ripple in the vastness of their slumber, or their endless games.”

A cold wave washed over Catwright. The indifference in the priest’s mental voice was absolute, chilling. “Why seek me in particular if not for the actions of my grandfather?”

“Your actions, yes, godslayer. Yet it is not the snake gods who want your soul. Your problems, young one, are caused by mortals. By their greed, their fear, their petty schemes for power. The Unseen seeks ascension through a ritual, yes, but it is mortal ambition that has paved its way, mortal hands that have gathered its components, mortal minds that have been twisted to serve its hunger. You took something that does not belong to you—a spark of chaos, hunger, and vengeance. Unknowingly, perhaps unwillingly, but you have it and they want it. Your path, your suffering, is your own.”

Cat was vaguely aware of Beldere tensing up next to him, but his skin was still crawling from the way the priest had emphasized “your actions.”

“I’m confused about what I supposedly took. A spark?” As he said it, Beldere tensed again, and anxiety bled through their connection.

“Ah, I see that he has not told you. That is between you and your priest then.” There was an edge of disappointment from the Ssythe and resignation from Beldere. Cat just gave Beldere a look. It could wait.

“Why are you helping us?” It occurred to Catwright that the ancient lizard priest had no reason to do so.

“My patron takes pity on the ignorant, even humans. Also, it gives reason to ask a favor of the godslayer.”

“A favor?” Cat felt a sinking sensation.

“Kill that snake, Trellix, for me.”

“Trellix?” Cat felt like the name was familiar.

“The mutant who is brokering between the Ssythe and the Gavanti for your tainted soul. His end would benefit us both.”

The Velamdolc shimmer faded, and the Ssythe priest closed his golden eyes, dismissing them. The message was brutal in its simplicity, a stark contrast to the comforting tenets of Neador. Cat felt a surge of frustration, then a flicker of doubt. Chaos, hunger, vengeance? What was that about?

The return journey to the citadel was quiet, the Ssythe priest’s words echoing in Cat’s mind. He wanted to question Beldere about what the priest was withholding, but it just didn’t seem important compared to the other events of the day. He arrived to find a summons awaiting him. Duke Jemelyn, Natalia, Dain, and Lord Kastin awaited him in the Duke’s private study, the air thick with unspoken tension.

“Catwright,” Duke Jemelyn began, his voice unsurprisingly stern, “we have received disturbing reports. Reports of your… unauthorized visit to a Ssythe temple.”

Cat frowned. It was certainly not the reprimand he was expecting. What about the hundreds of dead mercenaries? He decided to play whatever game this was for the moment. “I need permission to visit a temple?”

Lord Kastin, in an obvious attempt at reason, steepled his fingers. “The Ssythe are not to be trifled with, young Isubane. Their ways are obscure, and their gods are often malevolent. Such a visit could be seen as an affront, a provocation. It could invite unwanted attention.”

“Unwanted attention?” Cat looked at Seleger for support.

Seleger shrugged in Cat’s direction as if in apology. He replied in a whisper that carried through the room. “He’s a politician; being vague is a job requirement.”

Cat ignored Lord Kastin’s tight expression and tried to elicit some clarification. He was, however, even less adept at subtlety than Seleger. “We were responsible for killing over three hundred people, but you want to talk about some old priest?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Dain, ever pragmatic, tried to entice calm. He moved his hands in a downward motion and used a gentle voice. Cat couldn’t help but think it was the same voice one would use on a temperamental child. “We understand the mercenary attack was… unfortunate. But that particular risk was accounted for, Catwright. We can deal with mercenaries. This Ssythe priest, however, is a different matter entirely.”

Natalia was less restrained. “What did he tell you? Did he curse you? Did you make any pacts?”

Cat felt a surge of frustration. They were missing the point entirely. He took a deep breath to focus; the authority figures in the room were assuming he hadn’t thought things through. He responded to Dain first. “Lord Sulwood, the mercenary attack is a symptom of a larger problem.” He looked at Natalia and tried to soften his voice, channeling his inner Seleger. He could be courtly if he had to. “Lady Sulwood, I’m quite sure a non-human probationary priest of a deity outside of the Mecran pantheon would not be careless enough to attempt anything untoward while a priest of Neador was present, especially while a full quad of soldiers were formed up right outside of his temple.”

Cat’s attempt to mollify his wife seemed to spur Dain to more diplomacy. “Perhaps you are overestimating the influence. You seem to be suggesting that the mercenaries were in league with your enemies, when they were just trying to collect on a contract.”

“I am saying,” Cat took another deliberate breath to maintain his calm, “that my enemies, through arcane or divine power, directly manipulated a mercenary group into attacking me, knowing that it would likely cause casualties on both sides.”

Duke Jemelyn was not convinced. “Our priests or magi surely would have noticed such power being gathered.” He looked to Natalia.

“It would take a nearly divine power to affect so many at once, and they would already need to have at least some inclination toward the action they committed,” she advised.

“The effect is very subtle,” Beldere said. “I believe the victims are isolated one by one, or in small groups, and influenced by Trellix or his subordinates who seem to have mentalist abilities, which are technically neither divine nor arcane.”

Cat felt the subtle shift as Beldere made his comment, and the quartet arrayed against the boys finally started paying more attention. The conversation went a bit more smoothly after that, and Cat sat back and let Seleger and Beldere do most of the talking. Plans were forming in his head. There were things that needed to get done quickly, and things he could not ask his military escort to do.