Cath

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“First and foremost, we need as many lightning mages as you can bring to bear quickly. Our ship needs a lot of energy in order to run properly.” Zey raised one finger on her right hand to illustrate.

“Secondly, we need our shuttle and spare parts back. It fell out when we crashed, somewhere over there.” She waved her hand towards the northern marshlands and the lake beyond. When it returned to her body it had two fingers upright.

“Thirdly, we need some of your clothing. Ours is liable to catch fire.”

A high-pitched whining sounded in Zey’s ears, making her grimace. Her unintentional gland use earlier was fucking with her recovery.

“Anything else?” She vaguely looked around at the assembled crewmembers. It seemed she was forgetting something.

“We could use some instruments.” The drummer chimed in, prompting some smatterings of laughter.

“Esteemed guests, first let me extend my gratitude for arranging this hearty feast.” Silbermine had gotten to his hooves from a kneeling position and extended both arms out at the long table. His knights made noises of agreement.

Nearby flags flapped in the wind.

“As agreed, I have taken the liberty of sending for tailors. Some of my scouts are surveying the marshes of Sudenúr as we speak to recover your possessions. I have also sent a rallying cry through Mythadia for Lightning mages to coalesce here and lend their services.”

That last claim was especially bold. Mythadia was not known for its organised procurement of magical ability.

“My castle, Keraknúr, is a gateway to Mythadia. I pray you visit my court as honoured guests. We can secure you more aid and perhaps even some land of your own?” What might have passed for the Nobleglen’s eyebrows in Human terms wiggled.

One of Esedel’s guards who had been with Kolvar just before came up to the Warden and whispered in her ear. Her eye’s narrowed and she looked for the Kriliteran.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“Right on. Strings, I will find for you.” The drummer flashed a smirk, then left the table again. She slinked over to the Glen musicians to ask about different instruments. She didn’t have a translator or anything sensible like that.

“Your talents know no bound, stranger. Do you know the Red Run to Rivenfrossst?” Esedel mentioned a song from the old empire, lamenting the firey destruction of the Myriad from the great city of Valor to the fortress of Rivenfrost.

Esedel promptly looked back at Kvarr. Her voice quietened somewhat

“What do you know of this cursed Iriad?”

---

“I see nothing I can use right now. Unless…maybe the intercom play outside the ship?” The vocalist asked. He tried playing around with one of the interfaces by the telescopic ramp door.

“Hello? Does this work?”

---

“When my weapon is raised, you’ll know about it.” Ezra muttered.

“How about these aliens stop wriggling and throwing up and shit first?” Darnell chimed in.

“It's ok, we’re playing nice. Aren’t we? We’re putting our weapons away and putting the past behind us.” Zey said firmly, eyeing up everyone in the group.

When Kareet mentioned slavery, the Captain glanced at the manacled S’tor. It wasn’t paying any attention - it was instead scanning the undergrowth and hills in the background. A distant sound rumbled over the crash site; it could’ve been rocks falling, or some large creature’s gravelly hunting call.

“Kercha-...Kolvar. We want to hear you out. Just not here. Come back to camp with us now; it's not safe here. You don’t like these S’tor people? Maybe Itxaro and Vigdis will let you lean on them instead. Perhaps the Castigator could help. How about that?” Zey was aware that she was using her patronising talking-to-drunks voice, but doubted the aliens would know that.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

The band of musicians who’d sought refuge on the Jotunheim had left most of their equipment at port in Stavanger. The drummer had only a backup set of telescopic sticks, the lead guitarist only had the acoustic piece he strummed idly in between gigs. The vocalist had a dinky mixing device which could piece together thousands of pre-recorded sounds from their past. None of this stopped them from trying to join in with the Glen musicians who were playing classical tunes to please Lord Silbermine.

The drummer was the woman of the group; pale with tattoos covering her arms and a dishevelled bob of black hair on her head. Like the rest of the band, she wore black clothing. By passenger standards, she appeared fearless. Moving in between curious aliens, she tested the multitude of objects littered around the feast site for their percussive qualities.

After a little while, she bumped into Shirik.

“Woah, nice flames…do you play? You look very…metal.”

She was of course referring to the aesthetic relating to a genre of music that had clung stubbornly to life in the Nordics.

The vocalist, a tall man with long mousy brown hair and a beard, ambled over to where Vigdis sat with Kareet.

“Sorry to interrupt, you have a radio? Can you ask Bridge if there is a way to amplify our instruments?”

---

"We are no ssstrangers to migration in these turbulent times. The nobility are divided on the issue. Some cling to the ways of Kolodon, others are embracing their nomadic roots. None of it will matter though if the balance of power is disssrupted as you say…I must speak with my Lord, then let us strike at the meat of the problem together. Are you sure the Castigator will stand in line?”

---

Ezra twitched his gun out from under Itxaro’s hand and scowled angrily at her under his helmet. That sort of thing got people’s limbs torn up.

“Don’t they look a little like the ones who guarded the lizard who could read minds? The decorations…” Zey responded quietly before turning her attention back to this new lifeform.

“Your people? Who are your people? S’tor embrace others with open arms.” The S’tor guards holding Kolvar laughed.

“We have no quarrel with you. Please, let's return to the safety of the clearing. Do you feel well enough?” Sh’Vetza glanced nervously around the bushes. His own guards just stared directly at the Thought mage.

“Who are you here with? Are there more of you? Who sent you?” Darnell asked, talking over Zey’s shoulder.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Zey’s boots crunched on debris and rocks through the clearing her ship had made on landing. Vegetation had already begun springing up from the ashes in places; vibrant green, red and purple growths in the dirt.

She eyed up the S’tor prisoner first - Sh’vetza was the name she’d heard for it. Their wrists were manacled pointing in opposite directions, forcing their arms to cross and making it very tricky to use their hands for anything. They were diminutive by the standards of the other lizard-esque people in the group, and wore simple clothing. A shapeless sackcloth gown underneath a tired grey tabard with black eyes stitched on it in various locations. They kept their eyes trained firmly on the ground in front of them. It was like they were trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Two of the other S’tor soldiers stuck close to this manacled person. They reminded Zey of those ancient Greek warriors with minimal body armour and round metal shields. She wondered if that was so they could travel easier on those horrible screeching monsters. The exception to their armour was the helmet, which appeared to be made from plate metal and covered their entire head.

The last two S’tor soldiers were heavily armoured in a similar way to Esedel, but with less embellishment. They carried a square shield and broad sword on their backs with ease. These bodyguards took the lead as they reached the edge of the clearing, using their massive heft to push through the heavy undergrowth.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of gagging and liquid splattering met Zey’s ears. Without eyes on the source, it was quite a disturbing set of noises.

“Let me go first, Captain.” Ezra stated plainly, pushing in front. His gun wasn’t up, just ready.

Darnell peered over Zey’s head, clutching the heavy beer mug ready to twat anything that moved suddenly.

After a few moments the S’tor broke through to where a stocky pink shape was crouched in his Kriliteran form, and the Humans joined them soon after.

Zey recoiled at Kolvar’s original form, unnerved by the bulging lumps and eyes of various sizes dotted around its squishy pink face.

“What are you? I’ve never seen your kind before.” One of Esedel’s guards asked with a gruff tone of voice, poking Kolvar’s prone with its boot.

“Please, help him up. He is surely unwell. Friend, are you the one who ran from the feast?” Sh’Vetza asked, more kindly. The guards grudgingly complied, bending down to try and haul Kolvar to his feet.

“Ugly fucker isn’t he?” Darnell whispered boozily into Zey’s ear from behind. The Captain swatted him away and moved forward slightly.

“Kerchak?”

---

“Aye, brother. The stream of desperates at our gates has become a torrent. The North lands are becoming more dangerous by the day. I hear more stories of demons that attack caravans at night…But that is besides the point.”

Esedel lowered her voice, though S’tor weren’t good at not being loud. A nearby observer like Shirik may still be able to eavesdrop if they concentrated.

“How do we address this chaotic cavalcade? Squabbling over a bunch of scrawny ‘Humans’ and a patch of forsaken hillside of no value to anyone… I say we let our new neighbours have it. This thing…” Esedel gestured vaguely towards the Jotunheim.

“...cannot house more than fifty, surely? They won’t need more space than has already been cleared. My Lord has mobilised enough engineers and materials to build a wall across the ridge. Can you do the same for your side? Then these Humans can feel safe in their own kerak and we can be sure both sides have equal access.”

---

“Get the reactors back online and we can do much more than make alu.” Danny smirked.

“Jo can plug straight into Tamerlane mills and mining modules all the way up to grade 5 if needed. Give me time and a 3D printer and I can jump start an industrial revolution in any shithole city on this rock.”

Varen laughed, stuffing the rest of the fish he’d been given while watching the Captain depart.

“What I'd give for a cold one right now. I reckon we have the parts for a home brew, no?”

Varen shrugged at Vigdis’ last question.

“Pretty shitty. I keep hearing them whining at Cap and XO. They’re going crazy inside, but some still don’t wanna come outside on account of the killer aliens. They don’t like the new work parties either. Have you sorted yours yet? Mine were fokken useless on first shift! Now Cap has got a gun sim set up indoors, its a recipe for disaster in my opinion.”

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Danny listened intently to Vigdis while hungrily demolishing the piece of delicious fish he’d been handed. He nodded and his eyes widened or narrowed as the story progressed. The engineer had been working pretty much solidly, so much of this was new to him.

“Sheesh, fairly basic stuff then eh?” He laughed.

“Trade is good, as long as I don’t have to trade my Havaianas for some potato sack foot coverings or some shit. I still need those for inside. What are we giving them in return? More pens?”

---

Esedel stared into Shirik for a few moments, her throat rattling curiously. Then she lifted her snout and laughed, spraying a couple of bits of fungi and fish across the table. The sound was like a burning log cabin falling apart, deep within the forest fire. The Warden slammed a gauntleted fist down on the wooden table, causing mugs and cutlery to jump.

“I like this one!” She pointed a giant clawed finger at Shirik, as if the super conspicuous burning tree was somehow invisible and needed signposting.

“You should recruit it for your retinue, Kvarr. They can reunite you with your family’s legacy, so you can finish burning it to dust.” Esedel grabbed a mug of beer - who knows whether it was hers - and chugged it back, draining the contents.

Zey came over and questioned General Kvarr about Kerchak’s whereabouts. Esedel didn’t turn around from her seat at the table, as she was still looking at Shirik, but she replied in turn.

“I’ll have my own Damage prize investigate. Sh’vetza!” The manacled S’tor Thought mage looked over at Esedel.

“Take my guards and yours to find the Life mage, please. See to it they are alright.”

It was a subtle cultural cue that most in Mythadia and the Ascendency were oblivious to, but influential S’tor occasionally sent their guards away on fabricated errands in new social situations. It was essentially to demonstrate ‘I’m a big enough deal to have people to send away’, ‘I’m the biggest and best in the room so I don’t need guards to be in charge’, and give the green light for an assassination attempt from anyone in their ‘court’ who wanted to seize whatever power they possessed. The S’tor used this to quietly take stock of loyalties and motivations for large groups of people they didn’t know well, but it came with risks. Occasionally there actually was a fight, so you either had to be reasonably confident you’d win, or bold enough to take on a more powerful adversary for personal gain.

The main person Esedel was monitoring in this particular situation was Kvarr; he was the one she’d need to do a deal with to keep these ‘Humans’ safe. However, there were a few other unknown variables present, the burning tree being one of them. Best to get any insurrection out of the way early on.

“Thanks. We’ll go too.” Zey replied. Kvarr’s assessment of Kerchak’s actions was concerning, to say the least. She felt it her duty to investigate. She got on comms with the Bridge.

“Mallory, it's Zey. The life mage who offered to heal our wounded is drunk. I’m heading over to assess the situation with Darnell and Ezra. Where are we up to on the cremation? This lunch is burning valuable daylight we could be using to search for the shuttle. Seems like some burning bodies could help wrap things up. Over.”

With that, Zey headed across the clearing with four S’tor guards (two of them Inquisitors), one Thought mage, Darnell & Ezra to try and find Kerchak. It seemed like the sort of mob that anyone could join if they were so inclined.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Zey sat quietly at the end of the table around which the majority of the Humans were congregating. She had one of the few regular seats. There weren’t enough crates or tree stumps for everyone to sit, so many attendees on both sides were either standing together or sitting on the ground to eat. Some of the passengers had brought MREs, which they picked at while staring wide-eyed at the baffling array of strange creatures nearby.

Zey stared at each attendee in turn as she nibbled at the food Dr Lambert had confirmed was safe. Glanding earlier had brought the whining in her ears back, and she’d begun to feel a headache. So she took this opportunity to gently gland some of the medical mix Feng had left her with, and think about their situation.

This might be their home now. Zey wasn’t an expert, but she could tell Dr Ibarra was putting a positive spin on her assessments of the jump drive’s condition. For now, they could focus their attention on making the Jo flight-worthy again, but eventually they’d need to confront the reality of their situation. They had very limited access to spare components, and only two people who had any idea how the drive worked. Moreover, none of the star charts made sense anymore - they were lost.

Zey didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, she had a responsibility and obligation to get everyone home safe. However, there was another sensation bubbling away in her core. A sense of excitement at what they had found - a whole new world they could claim as their home! One which hadn’t witnessed the ravages of ecological breakdown and nuclear war, at least as far as she knew. Zey would miss her parents, but as a dull ache one only noticed in the dead of night; they'd grown so distant before this accident anyway she'd felt no difference over the last week.

They could make this work. They had to.

Kolvar abruptly getting up jogged Zey back to reality. She realised she didn’t recognise the abomination now clattering unstably towards the bushes.

“What the fuck?” Zey stood up and turned around to extricate herself from the crowded table. She immediately bumped into Darnell and Ezra; the former was talking loudly to the latter.

“You two, come with me.”

Zey stormed round the table to General Kvarr, the one who had been closest to the thing before it left.

“What was that thing? Why did they leave?”

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Anselm listened to Mallory talk from her chair at the back of the bridge and smiled.

“It's a good speech, sir. ” She swung around in her chair, massaging her eye sockets with the palm of each hand.

“Why don’t we go and get some fresh air? Let Wodan handle things for a while. I could do with stretching my legs, and they could use some more manpower out there.” Anselm stretched her arms and stood up, glancing back to the exterior camera feeds. Their long haired Norwegian musicians had sidled up to the impromptu Mythadian bands with cups of mead in hand. She watched with amusement as they attempted to join in with percussion, tapping forks against their cups and slapping metal crates.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“Thanks. Still hurts like fok.” Varen replied, accepting the leaf from Vigdis with his free hand. His South African accent was weak after decades spent with the ESA in Europe, but resurfaced when he spoke in Afrikaans. Usually for slang or to say something really inappropriate.

Varen knelt down and gently leant his Benelli against a protruding rock.

“Doc says that I have a herniated disk which is pinching some nerve.”

He straightened up, took his boonie hat off then pulled off his mask and hooked it onto the bandolier of shotgun shells around his waist.

“The pain would go in a couple weeks if I didn't spend all day stuffed under the floor fixing fokken cabling.”

He shoved a wad of grilled fish into his mouth and chewed, eyes flicking around to take in the scene before them.

“No, but that sounds like ECOWAS every other month. I hope Cap knows not to trust any of these aliens, if our own species is anything to go on…do all these guys know each other?” He gestured vaguely towards the feast.

---

Esedel’s reptilian eyes narrowed at Shirik. A noise like one of the Humans’ Geiger counters rumbled in her throat.

“Ahh, I know. Do you have a penchant for Damage? We stopped a game in the camps some decades past; caught a rogue Thought mage who continues to serve me.”

Esedel swept an arm towards the manacled S’tor flanked by Inquisitors who stood some way behind her. They winced. The Warden looked back at Shirik.

“I thought I smelled burning then.”

Damage was a forbidden card game in Mythadia. Players are linked with a Thought mage that allows each to project emotions at the others. The object is to make other players under- or overestimate their chances of winning, to make reckless decisions or even induce them to commit suicide. Spectators can tune in to the players' inner turmoil and thoughts, activity which can be addictive and hazardous to sanity.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“Walking up the hill now. They left their mounts at the bottom of the hill. Mean looking motherfuckers. See?” Anselm put a feed from one of the Jotunheim’s remaining exterior cameras on Mallory’s screen. The left hand-side showed six large figures traipsing up the incline. The right hand side showed three tank-like quadrupeds fidgeting nervously on the edge of the swamp.

“They move quick. I’m not sure I can dial the cannon in for a second shot at the mounts quick enough if they charge.”

---

“...draw prey to the darkling plain, brother.” Esedel rasped, squeezing Kvarr’s shoulder and looking down at him with a razor-sharp smile before letting go.

Zey tore her gaze away from the Warden to an equally imposing, if very different-looking and acting, S’tor. The Deep Work she’d glanded had steadied her nerves considerably.

“Pleasure to meet you as well. My thanks to the Archmagister. We can certainly eat; we were going to go look for something that fell from the ship, but it can wait a little longer. I’ll have the crew bring out our passengers and we can make some introductions.” She didn’t deign it necessary to explain where the S’toric echo that translated everything she said was coming from.

Silbermine grasped General Kvarr’s hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. He felt much more confident, now that his greatest warrior had arrived.

“Never let it be said that House Silbermine came unprepared for a feast. I’ll have my bannerglen bring up beer, bread, and music!” Placing three fingers into his snout, the Glen noble produced a loud whistle with four distinct notes. Noise from the camp down the hill increased immediately.

Tyreese Darnell had been finding different ways to work out since the rec area was given over to living space. That morning he’d been furiously deepening trenches with a spade while listening to vigorous music. But now even he had noticed that others had appeared. He appeared around the side of the ship, his large bare torso glistening with sweat and the bottom of his mask fogged up.

“Captain, what's happening?”

Zey looked at him.

“We’re having lunch! Put a shirt on, for God’s sake. Zey to Bridge, you can stand down. They’re here to help negotiate peace, I think. Mallory, come on out here with the wounded and any civilians that want to stretch their legs. They’re going to have to face these aliens at some point. Balance of power may never be so balanced again.”

Esedel clapped Kvarr on the back as they moved towards the hastily arranged table and grilled food station. To S’tor it was just a friendly pat, but it probably would have knocked an unprepared Human flat on their face.

“Brother, you have lost weight. What do they feed you in the Ascendency? Soon you will be shorter and weaker than me!” While the Warden was taller than her male counterpart, she was still a little lighter.

Esedel clapped eyes on Nellara, who was close to Kvarr.

“Well met, Castigator. Do we owe the disciplined organisation of Tekeri soldiers to you?”

---

True to Silbermine’s word, the Glen did their best to provide a feast. Being herbivores, it did involve a lot of shrubbery and fungi, but the sweet and sticky cask beer more than sufficed at washing it down. The minor nobility that had answered Silbermine’s call for aid all scaled the hill to join the meal; they took off some armour and grouped together around their master to eat and drink. Soon they were laughing and slapping the table while recounting tales.

Zey sat down on a crate at the head of the table closest to the ship and nibbled on the piece of fish Shirik had given her in a leaf.

The wounded came out, as did a dozen of the more courageous passengers. Thankfully, there were just enough masks. Danny Varen came out on his break with a shotgun to watch protectively over them. His bald, masked head was covered by a camo boonie and his skinny, pale tattooed body was covered by a grey sleeveless vest emblazoned with “ESA” and blue cargo shorts. Dr Lambert came back out as well.

Darnell helped himself to a draught of beer then began helping others, watched curiously by the natives.

“Vigdis, Itxaro, beer?”

Esedel had a voracious appetite, devouring her food like someone may steal it from her at any moment. She glanced over at Shirik in between mouthfuls. As the administrator of one of Mythadia’s biggest refugee camps at the Northern Passage, she was desensitised to strange beings and fantastical mutations. But now, up close, she felt an unplaceable sense of familiarity.

“You. Have we met before? Your smell is…familiar.” Esedel blinked after trying to catch Shirik’s attention; her eyelids slid horizontally over her grey-blue eyeballs.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“As soon as possible, sir. Please advise.” Dr Lambert replied to Mallory as she clanked up the telescopic docking ramp back into the Jotunheim.

“Sir, we’re tracking multiple large foot mobiles.” Clara Anselm contacted Mallory from the Bridge.

“Captain has requested the rail gun be made ready.”

---

Esedel stalked up the hill, trailed on either side by her two guards. Behind traipsed one of the Thought mages from her Northern Passage bulwark. They were closely flanked by their handlers; their manacles clanked as they stumbled up the rocky incline.

The six S’tor were followed up the slope at a distance by some of the Glen vassals from the lower camp. Perhaps they had heard of the stories surrounding the Warden, and wished to see history being made for themselves. Or perhaps they just didn’t want to be left alone with the Zarseaks, who bayed and scratched at the earth as they watched their riders depart.

As she climbed, rasping breath escaping into the warm late morning air, Esedel studied the thing everyone had come to see. A large, flattened house made of metal, fallen from the sky carrying strangers who spoke in tongues. As soon as she heard the news, she knew she had to see for herself. The sight didn’t disappoint.

As they scaled the hill, avoiding the large fragments of wreckage around them, a crowd of people came into view on the ridge. They had been spotted. Esedel identified Silbermine first, some Glen and Tekeri soldiers next. Then she spotted some short, smooth-skinned creatures wearing peculiar masks - were these the unimpressive specimens what all the fuss was about? The smell of cooked fish pervaded her nostrils - her stomach contracted and her mouth filled with saliva.

Then she spotted Kvarr approaching with an armoured Castigator and a hooded Iriad. She smiled, revealing long rows of sharp teeth.

Esedel looked down on everyone in the assembled reception party when she finally reached the flat clearing. Without acknowledging anyone else, she strode over to Silbermine and knelt before him, both arms crossed across one knee. Even in this pose, her eyes were not much lower than his.

“My lord…”

Her voice crackled like a forest ablaze and caught in the wind. It sounded unlike anything else Zey had heard before, sending a shiver up her spine and wrinkles across her face.

“I have answered your call, and am yours to command.”

The Warden stood again. For a moment, Silbermine was speechless. Then he nodded and gestured to Zey who stood beside him.

“This is Zeynap, the leader of the esteemed Human clan. I hereby command you to keep them safe from all harm, as our honoured guests.”

Esedel stared at Silbermine until he started to shuffle awkwardly, then turned her whole body to stare down at Zey; goosebumps rippled along both the Captain’s arms.

“Zzsssseynap…well met.” She hissed, lizard tongue poking out of her snout as she leaned down closer. Two icy blue eyes bored holes straight into Zey. She was so shaken by this S’tor that she’d unconsciously begun glanding Deep Work again. Her hyper sensitive hearing picked up the reassuring click of the safety coming off Ezra’s rifle from behind her.

“P-pleased to meet you, erm…Warden.”

Esedel nodded like a cobra, mesmerised by the snake charmer’s instrument. She then rose to her full height and addressed everyone, looking at each person in turn.

“Greetings, I am Esedel, Eternal Warden of the Northern Passage of Keraknúr. We have travelled a long way, and are very hungry. We would eat with our friends from Mythadia and from The Ascendency.” Her gaze fell to Kvarr at the end.