The Marian Gate, Ruins of Iddin-Mar, Old Omestris
[written by Lovejoy, shylarah & CollectorOfMyst]
"O-Of course, Your Reverence! We will have this place spick and span by the time you return!" Mikhail said, a bit too loudly. To cap off his proclamation, the hairy man offered a hearty salute, Veena joining him, but by the time the two soldiers had lifted their hands to their heads the two inquisitors were already making their way down the corridor leading to the lift.
"You two are hopeless," Semenov said with a smirk, before stepping into a light jog to catch up with Ziotea and Oren.
As the three of them walked through the large tunnel that connected the bunker to the lift, Semenov eyed Oren curiously. "S-so, this isn't your first time in Omestris, is it?" he asked, his voice cracking a bit. "Did you visit Sydon-Mar then? That's the only other habitable ruin besides this one. It's on the northern side of the Scar."
He rubbed his hands together vigorously, breathing into them. Despite the warming suit, he appeared to be freezing.
"I've always wanted to visit it. But my orders place me here, in the former capital. Don't get me wrong, Iddin-Mar is a wonder, but..."
The young soldier's gabbering grew quiet as they entered the lift. He seemed to be growing more and more nervous. Taking a deep breath, Semenov punched a button into the lift's control panel and the elevator's engines and machinery laboriously came to life. It certainly wasn't the smooth whirring of ether and machinery that accompanied the activation of Rodion's creations, but a disconcerting clanking. The two inquisitors stared at the lift mechanism with a dubious look, when something crackled and sparks flew from it. The lift then began to descend.
Semenov gave them an apologetic look before falling silent yet again.
As the lift descended, the grating on the door allowed them to see the cavern walls. The lift only had a small ether lamp in it, thus it was difficult to make out what was on them, but from time to time, they could glimpse what appeared to be Omestrian runes carved into the rock.
"Mother Ziotea. Father Oren," Semenov called out suddenly.
"I... I know you're probably aware of this but, I'm not here as a guide. The Church sent me to uh, keep an eye on you-- you two being Omestrian and all."
Semenov stopped there, his nervous eyes darting between the two inquisitors. "They do this for every Omestrian inquisitor who chooses to return here. They always send someone with them, usually it's... someone like me. Someone... inconsequential. They figure, if you kill me and flee, they wouldn't be losing anyone special. The only thing that would tip them off is me not reporting in."
The lift touched the ground. The doors opened, and beyond, all they could see was an eminence of white light. Iddin-Mar, and all of its majesty, lay beyond this tunnel.
"I know this place is hollowed. And it's my duty to follow you and make sure you aren't doing anything... weird," the soldier said before offering them a nervous grin. "But... I figured this place doesn't need another Varyan walking around and desecrating its halls. What if you two go one way? And I... got lost somewhere?"
***
And the snow outside will melt to water, Ziotea retorted in the privacy of her own mind. She briefly amused herself by trying to guess how much they might actually clean before either losing interest or running out of time.
It was odd that the child -- she really couldn't think of him as anything but a child; even Ragnar seemed older -- should have any interest in the Omestrian ruins at all. And he was increasingly uneasy, to the point where he was bothering her. She wondered what it was he wasn't saying, if it was something about the frozen carcass below them that bothered him, or increasing concern for his own safety.
The lift was a old and poorly maintained machine. After spending so much time with Rodion she could tell as much at a glance. It seemed to be working, but just in case she adjusted her grip on her spear and reached for the glow of her ether, bringing it to the tingling hum that meant she would be able to cast with the slightest thought. If the cables supporting them should break, or something malfunction, she would keep them from dying in the fall.
Abruptly Semenov spoke, explaining in a rush why he was there. "We had gathered as much, private," she informed him, her tone flat. She didn't look at him, instead glancing over at Oren. "Though it would seem they're lumping me in with you. Not that I don't understand why." Ziotea lifted her hand to tug gently at a lock of her hair. The lift reached the bottom with a rattle and shuddered to a stop, and she stepped out into the tunnel behind.
The boy's next words were not what she expected at all. She considered just walking off and letting him do as he pleased, but instead she stopped. "Hallowed? Private Semenov...even if it wasn't strange to show such respect to a gutted corpse, I'd hardly call being here desecration." She turned enough to look from him to Oren and back again. "I have never set foot in Omestris before. Nor would I be here now, had I not been invited. You were not so scared on the train here." Her amber eyes narrowed at the private. "What exactly is it you're not telling me? What makes Iddin-Mar different from Sydon-Mar -- or are you really so frightened that we intend to kill you and go rogue?" Her delivery came close to an insult, and reading a little into her words yielded the implication that if Semenov's fear was of them, he was as good as saying the pair were apostates. It was a dangerous accusation to make, and not one most Inquisitors would take lightly. Ziotea used that to her advantage -- if it was simply the location, it would be far easier to admit as much and explain so as to assure her no insult was intended.
***
Private Semenov seemed caught off-guard by Ziotea's reaction. He took a step back, and raised his hands in surrender.
"I'm not hiding anything! The truth is, I grew up in the slums. I was alone for most of my childhood. The only people who ever offered me help were Omestrians. Most of them didn't make it. Before they were taken, they used to tell me about this place, about how they longed to return here to find... something. They didn't know what. So, when I was conscripted a year ago I fought hard to make sure the Church put me here, where I can help your people without arousing too much suspicion. You two are actually the first Omestrians who've come to these ruins since I've been stationed here."
He then turned to Oren, who was watching them silently.
"Father Oren. I... It's better if I just show you."
Semenov dug into the folds of his warming suit and fished out the necklace he wore around his neck. Attached to the chain was a small pendant, a tiny carving of two stars eclipsing one another, one gold, one black.
"This is Mother Indira Al Sayed's divine emblem. For those who secretly fight for the freedom and restoration of the Omestrian people, she is our great hope. I know you're one of her pupils and that you must be here for a reason, maybe some... great quest or something? Whatever it is, I just want you to know that I'm here to help in any way I can! Whether it be assisting you in exploring the ruins or just-- I don't know, turning a blind eye to your activities."
The boy was now shaking, whether from the conviction of his words or from the cold, even he didn't know. One thing was for certain though, the lad was putting himself in great danger in order to stand for his beliefs. In the back of his mind, Semenov knew that these two Inquisitors, whether they were Omestrian or not, could easily report him for his dereliction of duty, but he didn't care. If there was a small chance that they were in fact in these ruins to uncover some secret Omestrian mystery, he needed to help them. He had to repay his debt...
***
Oren remained silent for most of Seminov's first revelation. But when the boy pulled out the chain, he physically had to fight the urge to hit him upside the head.
"Put. That. Away." he said quietly. Despite the softness of his voice, there was a danger behind it. Truly, you would never know who was watching. And while he had no strong feelings in either direction to the boy's cause, and they appeared isolated, even here, all but an idiot should know that his revealing it here was no guarantee.
"I am not here for any 'quest'. Like you said yourself, I'm a student of Mother Indira. But I am nothing more. We're here just to see the ruins before we leave for the eastern continent - that is all."
Oren paused for just a moment, before making up his mind. Speaking less forcefully, now, he told Seminov, "Perhaps you should remain here, in any case. I doubt we need your assistance for this."
***
She couldn't keep her lip from curling when she saw Mother Indara's emblem around the boy's neck, and her eyes glittered in anger. The instructor was not someone Ziotea liked at all. It was a good thing Father Oren spoke before she could, or she would have said something truly cutting. She turned away, again, leaning on her spear at the other Inquisitor rebuked Semenov. Then the two visitors started off down the tunnel, leaving the private behind.
"He is an idiot. He and the rest of the idiots in that stupid cult are going to get themselves killed -- and their 'great hope' won't even care," she ground out past a clenched jaw, her footfalls striking harder than strictly necessary. "I know she's your instructor, but that woman is nobody's hero. Expecting her to lead a revolution is sheer folly."
***
Oren cast a glance towards Ziotea, the anger ebbing out of him as soon as it had come. "I don't believe that that is their purpose in choosing Mother Indira as their idol. Despite not wanting to do so, she represents what many Omestrians have lost - hope. Expecting people to recognise her as anything less is equal folly." He sighed.
He glanced around, and already he could see the countless pieces of Varyan influence on this land - marring what once was. He could feel that hollow melancholy beginning to form, knowing he should mourn for this desecration of this beauty and yet... nothing.
"Have you any thoughts to say before we move further in, Ziotea?" Oren asked.
***
Iddin-Mar Ruins, Old Omestris
All they heard from Private Semenov was a quiet "As you command," behind them. They left the boy alone in the cavern before continuing through the tunnel.
When the two inquisitors reached the other side, they found themselves at the edge of a massive earthen valley, with strange red and orange-leafed trees dotting the landscape. There was a strange, almost serene starkness to it all-- as if the earth beneath their feet, the clarity of the land around them, had been born of some other world. Unlike Varya, where there existed a sense of unlife and stillness over everything, this heartland of Omestris felt alive. The wind seemed a breath of fresh air as it rustled the trees, the smell of pine filled their nostrils, and the rushing of water could be heard coming from up ahead.
Strangely, there was no snow falling on Iddin-Mar, thus rich, grainy soil crunched beneath their boots. when they stared up at the sky, they could glimpse the snow falling, but much to their befuddlement, the snow didn't seem reach the earth. Still, despite the strange, unnatural ceasing of winter in this place, they were still cold. That lone fact was the only constant this dreamlike place shared with the rest of the world.
Up ahead, there roared a massive river, coursing strong through the valley. A vast stone bridge stood over the water. From where they stood, they saw that it connected them further inland, where the ruins themselves were located. The bridge was a beautiful work of art, its stonework inlaid with runes and what Oren could read as verses of poetry. Underneath it, the water flowed blue and vibrant. On the grand arch of the bridge, they spotted two statues-- one representing Omestris, who had been depicted in his traditional visage, that of a beautiful androgynous-looking individual, smiling merrily. The other statue had been destroyed, leaving only a part of its base visible. Ziotea and Oren could see that the statue was different from Omestris however. Was it another depiction of the Tainted Lord, they wondered? Or some other Remnant? It would be odd, considering there has been no evidence throughout history of Remnants co-existing.
When they made their way past the bridge, the two inquisitors found themselves walking through a cityscape of ruined buildings, temples, and crumbling plazas. To their surprise, they came across a patch of the rare plant known as gantleaf covering the feet of a giant statue of what appeared to be a naked woman.
***
Well, of course Mother Indira was seen as hope -- because people were idiots, and because they hadn't actually met her. Ziotea didn't bother discussing it further. There was no point, even as there was no point in hope.
The ruins were subtly different from Magnagrad, even different from the snowy landscape they'd travelled through on the way here. The snowfields of Varya were bare, frozen bones scraped clean by the cut of the icy wind. Here things grew -- trees, even a few hardy flowers. She could smell something, a warm, rough odor she didn't recognize, and the unfamiliar churn of a fast-moving river filled her ears as it echoed off the stone. Ziotea found that she felt uneasy here, as if she walked on ground that might give way beneath her at any moment. It was beautiful, but in an eerie, almost frightening way. The snow did not fall far past the lip of the sunken valley, leaving the ground gritty and dark. There was nothing she could see that would account for the phenomenon, and the sight of clear ground was disturbing. The wide, swift river was a rarity. She'd never heard of one that didn't have a crust of ice thick enough to walk on across the top, and she initially wondered how people crossed such a thing.
The solution was obvious once she saw it. The bridge seemed to fly from one shore to the other, as if it had no need of the supports holding it up. The part of her mind that looked at things with an eye for their form and how to put them onto canvas stirred hungrily, noting the sweeping arches, the detail of the carvings, the contrast between the blue of the river and the fire-tones of the trees.
The statues -- statue, really, as only one still stood -- were interesting. It was a classical representation of the dead god, smooth-faced and smiling. The other seemed like it had been something else, though what Ziotea could not begin to guess. It was all lovely, but it was like looking at a painting of a stranger. She did not know this place, did not know these lands nor the people who had inhabited them, and she found that she understood a little of what the young private had said. Outsiders did not belong.
"...And I too am an outsider here."
She didn't mean to say it aloud, the words addressed to whatever spectre of the Omestrian people might still linger centuries after. It was a soft observation but distinct, and if Oren was near he'd hear it. Whatever had once been it was long gone, and she could not find enough of a connection even to feel the loss. She had been correct: despite her appearance, she was not Omestrian. Not in the ways that mattered for something like this.
***
Oren drew ahead of his companion, took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. His ears strained for the slightest sound. He made a few shaky, unseeing, steps forwards. He was trying to will himself into feeling something, anything. But all he heard was the rushing water, and the biting wind. He felt nothing. Why did he feel nothing?
His thoughts changed… what would his ancestors say if they knew he was serving the very Lord who had brought them down? Would they hate him? Or would they praise his luck, thanking Omestris for what little hope they had? He… he didn’t know. He had been raised by the Seminary. The few memories he had of his birth family were misted over, to the point where he only saw basic shapes. The only clear memory he had before his time at the Red Seminary was the great, imposing dome of Sydon-Mar. A colossal stone, half-buried in the earth and snow, and enigma to all but those ancient Omestrians…
He opened his eyes, and found himself looking to the image of Omestris. He didn’t recall facing it… perhaps he had turned himself around and not realised it. He met the false stone eyes of the Tainted God.
‘Why do you look at me with that friendly face?’ he questioned in his mind.
‘Am I not your enemy, Omestris? Am I not indentured in servitude to the very god that killed you?’No longer able to stand Their gaze, Oren turned his face aside. He saw the trees, and the river, and his mind wondered at how they were here… but his heart fell short. And as his eyes met the sight of the nude statue – and once again, he quickly looked away - they fell to the ground. A familiar-looking plant was growing around her feet. Was that…?
His stomach dropped the moment he recognised it. Gantleaf… his gantleaf. He had made sure to take a hit earlier this morning, and felt sharper for it, but… well, he couldn’t help but yearn for it. It had medicinal properties after all. He could take some – tell Mother Ziotea it was for the healer, Mother Astraea. She wouldn't question it, wouldn't need to ask after it. He could just give the healer a small amount, too. He looked around, towards her, mouth opening to speak, and-
"...And I too am an outsider here."
His moment of madness faded away. The thought was clearly a private one, so he shouldn’t comment on it. …Yet, she was correct. She was an outsider - as was he. Both of them, here in Iddin-Mar, at the window, looking in at what could never be had. He would never know what it meant to be Omestrian. Not properly. Mother Indira had done what she could, but…
Oren’s eyes stopped wandering, and he felt that one mantra rise up inside him. He had said it to himself countless times, to keep him staggering towards whatever fate awaited him. And that message was one of the things he had wanted to say to Ziotea since he had met her, and discovered her thoughts on Varya and the gods, and of the world itself. So he said it, just quietly enough that it would carry clearly to his companion’s ears.
"Deep within you, there is a flame. Never allow it to go out."
The Mother made a sharp motion, turning towards him slightly before her off-hand balled up into a fist. He met her eyes, unflinching, but once again, his gaze drifted away, to nowhere in particular. That was enough of that.
***
The words of the man she travelled with jolted Ziotea out of her thoughts. It took a moment longer for her to register them properly.
Deep within you, there is a flame. Never allow it to go out.As if she needed reminding.
Her free hand curled into a fist, the metal of her gauntlet clinking softly. She turned to look at Father Oren, her bright eyes hard, her lip curling in a sneer. "I was born painted with flames," she snarled. "Maybe you see this idea of a fire inside as a gift, but let me correct you on this matter. Fire is dangerous -- a curse." She remembered the forbidden information Rodion had turned up in the depths of the library, writings that confirmed what she'd always known. "It is as hungry as Lord Varya and as dangerous as the demons in the Lanostran Black Glacier, and it would destroy everything that Lord Varya would merely subjugate."
The small woman laughed, but the sound was far from joyous. She was angry, and she didn't entirely understand why. "As if mine would ever go out. As if I could put it out if I tried. No, whatever Omestrian heritage my father gave me left far too great a mark for that. Not just a brand, but a warning: this one brings destruction." She remembered the sight of countless people, all chanting the same word. Fire was heresy, but she could never rid herself of it. She couldn't find it in herself to wish to. "And yet, despite having that forbidden power, the Omestrians fell just like all the rest." She stretched out a hand to land a flat-palmed strike on the base of the statue, a deceptively gentle blow but with the force of her ether and her rage behind it. Cracks spidered out from her hand and the woman's statue tilted slowly to the side, until gravity's insistence sent it toppling to the ground. It landed on its side with a dull THUD that vibrated through the soles of their boots and stirred the gravel around them. Despite falling, the statue itself remained in one piece. Angry as she was, Ziotea lacked the heart to deliberately destroy a work of art.
"This land is dead, and its history is dead, and in the end, that's what fire is. Death."
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