Chapter 6

Vrraet didn’t go to the plains on that day.

He had debated about it but ended up abandoning that idea when a headache hit him shortly after their conversation. With an overflow of trepidation, the two Iasgaireans decided that they would return to the Sanctuary before exhaustion claim them. The journey back had been uneventful, tiring and full of contemplative thoughts.

Magic is something that Vrraet believed himself to be intimately familiar with. Being the pioneer in using runes — symbols of power that forms a language unto its own, he could confidently state that he dealt with mystical properties daily. Yet, despite all his expertise in using magic, he found himself rather stumped as to how to approach the matter of spirits.

The Iasgaireans had no particular deity they would worship. Indeed, the idea of having some sort of superior entity watching over them would be incomprehensible to them. The closest analogy to such a thing would the Sgnirmah, which serves as both their spiritual leader and literal leader. With that, the concept of having something of power, perhaps even more so, than the Sgnirmah—

Concerning.

To say the least about it.

Vrraet wasn’t so conceited or blind to believe that there weren’t any other beings beyond their ken. Even in recovered scripts of the land striders, they understood that they had either encounters or hard faith in their own supernatural entities. Thus, there would be no reason why there couldn’t be ones that dwell in the deep.

No, what was concerning wasn’t they had encountered something, but rather that they had uncomfortably little information about it all. Should they inform the Sgnirmah? How should they approach the idea of this investigation?

Oddly enough, he had felt relieved, hopeful even, now that he knew there was a chance he himself wasn’t responsible for the missing Saighgairs. An entity of some sort,

Elst had suggested that they keep this revelation of theirs under wraps and Vrraet was inclined to agree with that sentiment. Maybe he didn’t want to return with empty hands, perhaps he wanted to have a chance to redeem himself or he could have been feeling some misguided sense of responsibility. He had reflected upon in for a long while but he still couldn’t narrow down what his exact motivation was other than a vague sense of reluctance. When they finally arrived back at the entrance of the Sanctuary, passing through the inspection and laden with scavenged goods, Elst and Vrraet mutually agreed to part ways with silence between matters.

Now, with the new knowledge in mind, he couldn’t help but see a resemblance of the Sign in every object. The Great-Shells with its swirling pattern burned itself in his mind even as he gazed upon it at a distance, the way the roots of seaweed splay apart as it entered the sands and the distribution of scales on a fish — he couldn’t help but start seeing it everywhere.

Distracted, he struggled to even make it back to his workshop, swimming through the corridors that seemed to curved more than ever, descending deeper and deeper into the ground before he eventually returned, more exhausted than he had ever been.

Then, he was alone.

His chamber was how he had left it.

No, in his hand was a shell, having apparently picked it up without even noticing. It glinted back at his incredulous stare innocuously, its swirls taunting him with its very presence.

Great, I’m going insane.

Tossing the offensive thing onto the workstation with derision, he slumped into his rest-net, now one size too small for him. He felt as if there wasn’t too much he could do other than to work on how to approach this, having only a few options that he could realistically agree with.

First of all, he will need to learn more about this thing, this being which bears some sort of name, an emblem. With all they know, this being could be a spirit, a living creature, another Sgnirmah or some other sufficiently magically advanced being. For whatever reason, he had encountered it, had an altercation with ultimately concluded in the entire Saighgair party being wiped out and his mysterious change of body, not to mention the strange tampering with the Iasgairean’s collective memory.

Part of Vrraet felt excited at the prospect of being one to explore this branch of magic. Yet, a mind-numbing terror kept reminding him that whatever it had encountered out there, it was…

He couldn’t find a word for it, but he couldn’t help but feel that ‘awe-inspiring’ would serve poorly as a description.

To understand this being, there were several options he could pursue. He could travel to the plains and seek it out directly — though that may result in a rather unsatisfactory result in him also being taken into oblivion. Another option was to ignore all of that and work on developing his magic to appease the Sgnirmah.

But no, I couldn’t hide this from her. Not even my memories are safe.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been moping there, staring the grey ceiling as knotted thoughts tumbled through his mind, each tugging in unpleasant directions. His work station was still covered in his previous diagrams, discarded in heaps as they failed to provide any useful insights. The entrance remained dark, yawning with flickers of light from beyond the corridor.

Eventually, he found himself standing back up, shuffling through the room and pushing through the water in the most difficult way possible. No matter how much thought he gave the matter, he still couldn’t think of a good way to handle this new revelation.

If the thing was not hostile and could be reasoned with, Vrraet had little to offer aside from numerous questions. What happened to the Saighgair? Why? What was its motive? Why had it changed my body? And then what?

If it was not hostile, perhaps it could be persuaded to release the Saighgairs? Perhaps it could even teach magic?

A being as powerful as it must be able to reveal some secrets.

But before that occurs, he must be able to appease it.

What would such a thing seek? Why would it take away the rest of the Saighgairs and leave me alive?

To be on speaking terms, he could only assume he must have something to give, something that could encourage it to not kill him on sight — which would be difficult to find. Would it be interested in magical items? Knowledge?

And if it were to be hostile?

That would be bad.

Extremely so.

They’ve lost many Saighgairs — all seasoned hunters and warriors, he would assume — and they had precious little to show for it. In such a battle, physical weapons would do little to deter it and nor would massive numbers make for an advantage. It had already shown to have an ability to remove things from memories, to prevent the lost Iasgaireans from returning.

That would either meant they were alive, or that they were permanently dead and neither bodes well.

And to harm such a being…

Vrraet’s tendrils curled in irritation again.

Elst would be the best bet once again. While Vrraet can be reasonably proud of his knowledge concerning runes, weapons and armour, he suddenly discovered that perhaps his skill with the more mystical side to be cruelly absent. Things such as ghosts, souls and other phenomena were beyond his understanding.

Elst.

Vrraet had an opinion that he did not want to think of that Bygail.

Then, there was someone at the entrance.

The glow of the Lystang vines was barely enough to illuminate the figure standing at the entrance but it was enough to catch his eye. It was a Bygail and for a moment, Vrraet thought that he had somehow summoned Elst with his thoughts alone. However, once the Iasgairean swam through, he was somehow simultaneously anxious, relieved and disappointed to see that it was not the maniacal researcher he and been thinking of.

The unfamiliar Bygail cleared its throat and greeted, “... Elder Vrraet.”

For a moment he found himself stunned as if not quite recognising his own name. Ever since he had returned, he hadn’t heard that title. Memories stirred unbidden as he stood there unmoving, too shocked to respond.

“Elder?” the Bygail asked uncertainly.

“Yes!” Vrraet snapped back to attention, “My apologies. I was... engrossed in work. How may I help you?”

“There is a… phenomena occurred at a birth site and you were requested to show for.”

“Can it wait?”

“I have been told that it is quite imperative,” the Bygail stated, “And it would be most beneficial if you were to…”

Vrraet froze for a moment as memories resurfaced.

“Was it about the one that was attacked?”

“Uh, no. That was another incident though we have little doubt it is related.”

He had almost forgotten! Granted, he was rather immersed with the prospective of testing out his new weapon and hadn’t been paying attention, but he did remember there was some kind of announcement about a birth site being attacked. He had thought it was tragic back then and now in hindsight, it could very well be connected to the mysterious entity that attacked him.

A chill crawled up his spine as he contemplated the idea that this… this Entity was already hunting them from even before their conflict on the plains. Being able to pass through the defences set up, being able to locate the birth sites… there would be precious little in the world that can achieve this.

This little diversion could be rather important.

Hm. “And which birth site was it?”

“This one apologizes for it knew little,” the Bygail bowed its head, “It would be better if Elder were to see it for himself.”

“Yes, I would agree so,” thus Vrraet answered, dusting himself off, “Lead the way.”

Following the Bygail, the two travelled through the meandering tunnels of the colony. Even with his many lifetimes worth of experience, Vrraet still found himself lost as they drew further and further away from the Bygail’s territory, passing by many alcoves where Bygails wove in and out about their business. It took the two some time before they made it through to the central chamber, which lies below the Sgnirmah’s residence.

With the decreased activity spurred on by the encroaching winter, there were fewer Iasgaireans present in the great hall that linked the various branches of the Sanctuary. Between the massive, ancient pillars that held up the roof, one could spy dozens of corridors that lead off to other areas; the archways were decorated with tasteful displays of colourful corals and glowing vines of various kinds. In the very centre of the hall, carved in a giant circular pattern was some ancient inscription of sorts, engraved with depictions of serpents, scenes of conquests and most notably, images of land striders.

Vrraet knew for a fact, for he was amongst the first of the Iasgaireans, that the Sanctuary was not built by their hands. It was present before his time and the race had simply made use of the sunken space before it inevitably falls to ruin due to lack of maintenance. For some time he had debated, researched and toyed with the idea of having some sort of predecessors and seeking out other structures that may have been left behind. However, time and time again, they once-fledgeling society found themselves occupied with efforts that spiralled away from the academic fields of history.

Perhaps after this is all over, I shall look into it, he thought to himself even though he knew fairly well that he had had similar reminders for the past hundreds of years. For now, however, he had to focus.

In the very centre of the circle was a figure that Vrraet was certain to be the person the Bygail had been leading to. It was apparent for it was a Stjernmah, the caretakers of the Sacred Vessels and the Sgnirmah’s personal assistant. Compared to the two other castes, the Stjernmah resembled an elongated Bygail, trading off the lower limbs for two pairs of powerful fins. Each Stjernmah were to take care of a section of a birth site and a select number of Sacred Vessels, and if that were not possible, they also serve to the queen’s direct link with other Iasgaireans.

This particular specimen spotted the duo with little trouble, seemingly having waited there for a short while. Dressed in the formal garbs — a rarity — of Stjernmah, the figure looked as if she was some travelling priests of a land strider. Vrraet didn’t remember seeing this particular Stjernmah before, or at least this current iteration of her, so she must have been taking care of her own vessels when his own debacle occurred. Seeing that the two had sufficiently seen each other, the Bygail that had been guiding the way quickly swam out of sight, leaving the two alone.

As Vrraet drew close, the Stjernmah greeted, “You must be Elder Vrraet.”

“That I am,” Vrraet replied, “What is it that you need of me…?”

“I am Stjernmah Cuain, the chief caretaker of the northern birth site,” Cuain quickly explained, haste clear in her voice, “I must ask you to follow me for there is a development at the birth site that may deeply concern you.”

Cuain.

Ah.

One wouldn’t see a Stjernmah for any random reason, one being that you died and have to be reborn in a Sacred Vessel, the other is that the Sgnirmah had business with you. And this particular Stjernmah was without exception one of the oldest Iasgaireans that Vrraet knew. Most particularly, Cuain predates even him, which he could honestly say to be a feat beyond most’s boasting.

By how long? Vrraet didn’t ask and now certainly wasn’t the time to do so.

Without looking back to see if the Saighgair was following, the Sthernmah had already turned around, seemingly having chosen a tunnel at random before swimming off, her long tail swooshing behind. Stunned for a second at the quick speech, Vrraet immediately made to follow.

“Was is it about?” he asked as he attempted to catch up.

“A rebirth is occurring, Vrraet.”

“I assume there is something special about it?”

“Quite so, especially considering that the Sacred Vessel belonged to one of the lost Saighgairs,” the Stjernmah had reached one of the tunnels entrances, standing directly below an archway. Turning her torso around, she asked, “How familiar are you with the charms on the birth site?”

“Not much — wait, there was a — ?!”

“Yes, and now do answer the question,” Cuain said, now reaching within her many pouches for something.

“Other than that aside for being reborn or a Stjernmah, it would be impossible for an Iasgairean to enter without explicit permission?”

I can. And so would Elst, probably.

“Quite so. Now, give me your hand.”

Vrraet obliged, asking, “Now what is it that you mean there was a rebirth from the lost Saighgair hunting party?”

“When your little mishap occurred, I had been in charge of many Sacred Vessels,” Cuain said, cupping a small, pointy object within her palm, “And to my surprise and confusion, I had suddenly found myself sitting to an entire set without knowing who they belonged to. Now, grit.”

“Grit?— Agh!”

In his own palm, directly in the centre of the now blooming wound was a sharp onyx stone, deeply embedded into the scaly flesh like some malign tooth.

Cuain stabbed him.

She stabbed me!

“You stabbed me,” he stated.

“That I did,” Cuain answered matter-of-factly, “Otherwise, you couldn’t enter.”

“Please do not tell me this is a Ward key.”

“It is a privilege to be allowed one.”

“...”

“Now follow and stop asking questions before we are there.”

Vrraet truly didn’t know what he expected but being impaled with a piece of enchanted rock wasn’t it.

Cradling the aching hand, he watched as the Stjernmah waved and did some complicated signs with her fingers. Staring, he could just barely see that Cuain had her own Ward key implanted in between the bones of her hands, though it seemed to be much less roughshod and hastily jammed as his. With a dearly painful sneaking suspicion, Vrraet could quite see that Cuain may be rather dissatisfied with his magic which, if he were to reason it out, he couldn’t quite refute her displeasure.

Though, I could really do without the pain.

Therefore, without saying a word, Vrraet sullenly watched on as the Stjernmah continued her ritual. For a moment, he considered casting his own brand of sight-magic with some errant handful of sand but had immediately decided against it. To look at other’s magic freely would be terribly rude, after all, especially if it were to be a Ward of all things.

Gradually, even if he couldn’t quite see it, he could feel something shift in the water, forming within the confines of the archways. The Stjernmah had had their version of magic that was exclusive to them, massive constructions of thaumaturgic structures that eludes even him, and if so the average Iasgairean would never even hear of such grandiose accomplishments. If it were to be compared to land strider’s brand of mythology, it wouldn’t be beyond claiming that these were the works of some spirits or gods.

Of course, being rather well versed in this subject, Vrraet could safely say that he knew better — and he so wished that he had free reign to these forms of magic. Having done whatever preparation she needed, Cuain gestured at the seemingly empty space before them. “Walk on and do not stop until you are clear,” she said as if she hadn’t just maimed him.

Clear?

He thought about asking her but the thought of doing so gave him an odd, mildly disgusted feeling.

Warily, he stalked forward, his tendrils tingling as he felt himself pass through whatever construct that Cuain had made. In response to the Ward, he could feel the onyx shard within his palm heating up, identifying him as a verified guest. One step at a time, he pushed through the viscous feeling water, heading deeper into the unlit corridors.

He swam until even the barest of light faded away, darkness surrounding him on all sides. He reached one arm out to the side and felt no walls, having seemingly vanished.

He didn’t stop there.

Then, as jarring as it was, he emerged. Light spilt into his eyes once again as if he had simply walked through a cloud of ink. With a jarring sensation, he suddenly realized that he was no longer within the Sanctuary. Above and around him was open water, the glimmering sky of the world above shining down with muted dullness. Surrounding him were smooth, stone walls leading upward like a tube, marked by various ledges that too were too precise and orderly to be born of nature. Vines, kelp and the like grew upon the soft sands that matted the bottom of the chute-like structure, intertwined with a number of fish and other creatures.

Birth site.

He hadn’t been in one for many, many years but he could scarcely forget such a thing. This one wasn’t his, but it quite definitely bears a resemblance.

He swirled around to look behind only to discover — nothing.

He hadn’t come through a tunnel. Only solid rock could be seen and the barest hint of an imprinted archway could be seen. Tapping on it revealed to be not merely an illusion but actual, real stone.

How? Did we just… skip through space?

A glimmer of hatred bloomed for but a split moment before he quenched it down. He had known — he knew for a fact that the Stjernmah had access to strange, powerful magic that if utilized correctly, can completely change the way Iasgaireans function. Just the potential of being able to move through so much space would be invaluable — perhaps even be a turning point that could have won the raids that the Saighgair led.

An Iasgairean, he reminded himself, does not feel anger against those that serve the colony.

If it is the Sgnirmah’s will, then it must be so.

As if summoned by his stormy thoughts, the Stjernmah materialized next to him: not with a pop but more of having simply appeared there. Vrraet chose not to remark on it as Cuain swam forward sluggishly, eyes wandering for a few seconds before eventually settling in some far-off spot.

Staring off at the cliffs, Cuain stated, “This is my grove, Vrraet, and the ones that once held forty-eight souls, Saighgairs. You now stand before their graves — the first ones in all of Iasgairean history.”

The Saighgair stayed silent on the matter.

Vrraet didn’t speak even though he wished he could just explain none of this was his fault. It hadn’t been him that caused this tragedy, no, it was that Entity. It was its actions that destroyed —

No, what was I thinking?

The other birth site was destroyed, didn’t it? Did they all forget about it?

But the Entity is also known to be able to change memories.

No, even if he didn’t cause these disappearances, he will pay his due respects to those that had been lost. Thus, he allowed himself a mournful moment — to those he could no longer remember.

Duty is an odd thing.

I knew you not but I… I will return you to us.

...

“Cuain,” Vrraet managed an even tone after a while, “You lead me here for a reason, so let us be done with it so that I may return with a solution on a later date.”

“... Indeed. The Sacred Vessel is up on ahead.”

With that, she swam off an upward.

Straightening his tendrils that had tied themselves into knots in his moment of silence, he gave chase to her. The Stjernmah led him upwards, passing through the grasping marine vegetations that brushed up against them. As the two ascended, Vrraet was granted a better image of the birth site. There were dozens of ledges carved into the sides of this chute, denting the smooth walls in odd intervals, spiralling upwards.

Upon the ledges themselves, he could see the tell-tale, clam-like structure of the Sacred Vessels, its dark exterior protecting the burgeoning life within. Iasgaireans do not ‘breed’ as most creatures do. Instead, their queen mother Sgnirmah gives lays the Sacred Vessel to which a single Iasgairean will be bound to, and when death claims their flesh they will be reborn again. As life forms within these shells, the Stjernmah will tend to them to ensure that the fallen can always revive — given time, a new body will always form. Considering that, all Iasgaireans except for the Sgnirmah would be siblings, a concept that still manages to confound him even to this date.

However, looking around, Vrraet noted that their numbers were few and some of the ledges were void of any dark shells.

“Where are the others?” he decided to ask.

“Moved away. I alone to these unbounded Vessels as my sisters received that which should have been my duty,” Cuain said grimly, gesturing at the numerous black shells that sat here and there.

The Stjernmah led him closer to one and without speaking a word, Vrraet already knew that the single Vessel, isolated from the rest, was special. It was far from his first time witnessing a rebirth and he knew that this one — this one holds a soul. Unlike the others, this one glimmered with potential. Even through the hard shell, he could sense the life within it, pulsing weakly as it grew to accommodate the Saighgair’s soul.

“I do not know the details of your predicament, but I trust that the return of a second witness must be important,” Cuain suggested, steering ever closer, “Perhaps, you understand my excitement as well?”

“How long? How long before he returns?” Vrraet choked out, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“Days. Less than seven but more than two,” reverently, Cuain pressed her head against the side of the shell, listening for something beyond his ears, “He hadn’t shown signs of returning until sunrise. I had thought it to be my imagination...”

Three, four days. Vrraet had little time left before a witness returns. Would it be spared from the memory-altering effect that had struck the Sanctuary? Would he remember anything at all from the plains on that fateful day?

And if so, what would it mean?

There is so much going on.

“Then we must wait,” Vrraet finally said, his mind swirling. Seeing that someone had survived rather than just hearing it from some Bygail was an entirely different experience. Was I in denial? He felt as if he hadn’t been processing the matter until this point — and with it, an entirely new deadline to follow.

“Not for too long,” Cuain shook her own tendrils, “As I said, several days.”

“Cuain, I appreciate your advance notice but as you say, I must return to my research. Without it, I will not be able to…”

“I understand.” the Stjernmah cut him off halfway through, “I will lead you back to the gates,”

“Thank you.”

“Vrraet,” Cuain said suddenly, lifting herself from the Vessel. There was this intensity within her voice that Vrraet did not particularly like, especially when directed towards him, “Before you leave, I must say this. I do not know what the Sgnirmah had tasked you with but I will remind you — I must, that if there is even the slightest chance, you will return the Saighgair — my Saighgair back to me, do you understand?”

Vrraet had little else to say. Even if it wasn’t because of a task, even if there were no duty binding him to his research and studies, wouldn’t honour, family calls him to do his best in recovering the lost Saighgair?

Duty.

“For what it is worth, I will do what I can,” Vrraet eventually answered, filled with a sense of resolution that he himself didn’t expect to able to muster.

“Promise me,” her hand shot out, gripping onto his own with a strength that belied the Stjernmah’s wiry frame, “I know there is something else out there, I know you are hiding something but I will not ask. Vrraet, I do not ask for much but you will promise me this.”

“.. I promise.”

“Good.”

The two remained there for a moment, arms locked within the lonely chute of stone. Gradually, as if deflating, Cuain let her grip loose. With that, Vrraet stepped away, suddenly all too aware of their rather uncomfortable proximity. His skin still tingled where hers had just touched, serving as a reminder of his hasty oath.

Vrraet considered apologizing but had thought against it. There will be no point, he reasoned. His grief and guilt should be plain to see, there is nothing else that words can convey.

No, the silence was damning enough.

“Go. I have taken enough of your time already,” Cuain said, “I will reopen the gate for you. Let us not waste time.”

“Please do.”

And with that and some application of magic, Vrraet was sent back with a head full of troubles. What can he do about the Entity? What could he offer, what could he do, if only to prevent it from tearing his colony apart? He had yet to find a satisfactory answer aside from some idea of where to start his search.

Which, do his dismay, would be Elst again.

Cuain, too, was left to her own thoughts, sitting still within the birth site that she had chosen to remain with. With Vrraet’s departure, she had little to do aside for taking care of the Vessels, ownerless or not. The doorway hung empty as memories of a better time clouded her.

She would not call herself faithful aside for her dedication to the Sgnirmah but she couldn’t help but hope, to the point of praying, that her charges can be safely returned. Even though she knew that the odds of their survival would be poor, even though she was no more than a caretaker, even if she could do little but quietly tend to their Vessels.

It was her duty as an Iasgairean.

But as she left for her daily routine of tidying the site, she had noticed something unusual. At where Vrraet once was, there was a divot in the sand below, something that most definitely wasn’t here before. She wasn’t quite sure what had captured her attention but now that she had noticed it, it was rather hard to miss.

“And what are you doing here?” she whispered, uncovering the small disk that had been covered in the sand. Gently, she picked it up with her spindly fingers, gazing into the curious item. It was a shell, a shell with a simple swirling pattern, fitting perfectly in the centre of her palm. However, where the mouth of the seashell should be, it had seemed to have broken off, shattered as if some great force had cracked the pearly white mollusc and leaving behind a web of shattered parts, barely hanging together.

By all accounts, such a thing would hardly be noticeable. However, something about it was just off in the slightest way that made it somehow interesting. In some way, it reminded her of her Sacred Vessels, marred and ruined, vacate of its former denizens and leaving behind a husk that could do little aside for decorations.

Yet, she found herself opening a pouch and slipping the seashell in.

I’m getting too sentimental.

And with that, she returned to her caring. Even though this site now hosts only to a single soul, she must do her best to keep it safe. The sun above had been dimming and dusk arrived, casting its orange glow across the seascape, lighting up the kelps and shoals up above in shades of vibrant orange hues, whilst leaving the darker recess of the site in shadows as night falls.

Quietly, slowly, time passes on again, for there is much on her mind as well. Some, perhaps, weren’t even hers.