1

Henriet Nataskalam was exhausted.  Her eyelids were like adamantine chainmail, however, she did not allow herself the luxury of even a doze.  Talaraesae was dead, her throat a pincushion.  Mayor Allegron was also dead.  Most of his brains had to be collected in a jar.  The bodies lay in the courtyard of the Bluearms barracks several hundred feet below her in the gloom.  Henriet leaned against a meticulously carved railing on the parapet outside her apartments.  The silk curtains tickled her bare feet as they billowed in the comfortable breeze. 

Far in the distance, a fire flared up.  She quickly jotted a message on a Whisper Paper and sent it on its way.  Henriet had been spending the entire night standing here and sending out orders.  For every looter or arsonist tonight, there seemed to be half a Bluearm ready to fight it.  For the first time in her Jerusalem career, even counting the war, Henriet felt overwhelmed.

Footsteps in the hallway outside her room.  They were faint, especially from out here, but she heard them just fine.  She slipped on her paw-shaped gauntlets as a knock came at the door.  She leaned inside the room and said "Enter."

Through the scrolled wooden portal drifted a dandy young lad whom Henriet had hired as her clerk.  He was a genius with numbers and organization and she paid him handsomely.  From what she'd heard from the rest of her staff, Leguars could afford no less.  His attire, even at three AM, gave away his expensive tastes.  "Leguars.  What news?"

"News you'd rather have after a good sleep, I'm sure, Kommendant."

She flinched at the title.  She'd held it before.  With the death of Talaraesae, she supposed it was hers again.  It just hadn't occurred to her.  "Perhaps you'd best let me decide when the time for sleep and when the time for hearing news shall be, my young clerk."

"As the Kommendant wishes.  Commanders in the field bring word of unrest throughout the city.  The Defenders aid us, but they are dealing with a problem of their own, though they are keeping the details of whatever it is close to their chests.  Assassinations of the Mayor's staff continues.  We've lost a lot of good men defending them.  It seems that the Mayor's former number one, Vizzini, has left the city.  Or, rather, he's left the spotlight or has been kidnapped.  He's no where to be found.  I saw him last heading North, past the Gunslinger encampment."

"Damn.  This city needs leadership."

"I've seen Matthalas several times. He came to look at the body a few times.  I don't know if you saw him, but he brought Forwaith about an hour ago."

"How does he hold up?"

"Ma'am, I don't know.  I'm pretty good at reading people.    I... I really think something snapped inside him.  I don't know if Matthalas saw it or not, but I most certainly did."

"When he saw the body, he stopped breathing for several seconds, pupils dilated, gritted his teeth behind pursed lips?"

"Yes, then..."

"Then his tension relaxed, exhaled, and his stare became vacant and lost."

"Exactly.  It was as if there was no soul there, nothing at all."

"That is because his soul died when she died, Leguars."

"She was strong, Kommendant.  Surely Lord Jupiter shall..."

"What other news do you bring me this morning?"

"The Gunslingers, Madam.  They stand with us in defense of the city.  It is only a matter of time before their leader requests a meeting with you."

"Where the hell were they five months ago?  Three months ago?  I want nothing to do with them.  Let them come and take their worthless land.  Let them fight in defense of our people.  But let them not step upon the threshold of my academy."  Henriet felt her lips curl into a snarl and thought about how ugly she must look now with deep shadows cast across her face in a scowl, skin orange under the light of Jupiter.  "The Gunslingers shall receive no quarter in Bluearms barracks."

"Understood ma'am," and without missing a beat, he continued his report, "It is estimated that the city's population is just over two hundred fifty thousand.  Over two thousand left last week.  Three thousand left tonight after the great stone creature was destroyed."

"That is unsettling.  Where are they headed?"

"The poor, who can't afford teleporation or an ocean voyage make their way north to Ur and Brittannia or east to Torkash.  Others are scattering throughout the globe."

"How many in New Golgotha?"

"The Golden Elves tell us that there is only room for fifty thousand there at the moment, and they have forty.  There are plans, they say, to build more levels to their buildings.  They tell me, and as far as I know, they have turned no one away."

"None?"

"No, but there have  been twenty executions and fifty-nine exiles since it's been there.  The law there is absolute and can be tough."

Henriet grunted.  She didn't voice this to the young man, but she approved.  If the rule of law had been stronger at the beginning of the Holy War, Henriet surmised, the war would not have happened in the first place.  She caught her breath.  Of course.  

"Send an envoy to the Gunslingers.  Let them know we're willing to talk."

The young clerk started.  "Ma'am?"

"I think I understand something now.  Just go.  I want to meet them."

"Right away, Kommendant."

2

I can't live without her, he thought.  I don't know what to do.  He held the lock of her hair he'd pilfered from her corpse.  He ran it through his fingers, feeling its softness.  Remembering how it felt with his hands buried in it, grasping the back of her head as they made love.  He winced.  The memory was a shot in the gut with a .44 slug.  All the memories were.  

No, he demanded, no!  This is emo bullshit! (The ancient slurs came easily to Forwaith.)  He gritted his teeth.  He must not give into the pain of the loss.  Life would become easier in time.  Soon he would forget her.  He would forget how she moved like a falcon and how she smelled like flowers blooming in a desert oasis brimming with nectar.  How she spoke with quiet authority but was guarded in private.  

He would not forget.  He couldn't.  The image of her, all three, four, five, ten dimensions of her was burned in his mind for now and all of eternity.  

How the mighty had fallen, thought he.  All the power in the multiverse couldn't bring him down.  Today, he learned that all it really ever would have taken his enemies to destroy him was a single charismatic and beautiful woman.

Forwaith felt the cool breeze rolling in from the east roll in and then die.  The quiet of the night in the city below emptied him - taken what little was left of him.  The new city sprawling below had taken more, and its people, his children yet more.  But none of it compared to what part of him his beloved Talaraesae had taken with her to oblivion.  That's what he was certain awaited him.  That's what gave him pause.  Throughout all his adventures and all his travels, he hadn't seen evidence to the contrary.  He'd seen empty buildings and vacant countries on other worlds where the spirits of the dead once inhabited.  No longer.  He'd searched in vain for the answer, but had found none.

His mind whirled with thoughts of her and of his life without her.  The empty hole where she should have been was almost a physical thing for him.  Perhaps, he reasoned, he'd given enough.  Perhaps he'd lived long enough.  A hundred lifetimes of men he'd spent with her and watched her age into her late summer years.  She'd only gotten more beautiful, she'd been an auburn evening to him where everything washes out to warmness and joy.

He leapt from the windowsill and hovered in the air on strong, feathered wings.  He climbed and climbed and climbed so he felt he could nearly reach out and touch Luna,  He scanned the area below and found the place where she'd died, where no magic could make him change his mind at the last moment. 

Forwaith drew out the two scimitars his beloved had commissioned for him.  She was so practical.  She'd told him that the double scimitar was a ridiculous weapon and that he'd been denying himself a great many maneuvers by confining the blades to one haft.  When he'd protested, she'd taken the thing from him and showed him several forms, explaining as if he were a green cadet!  Laughing, he'd nodded and acquiesced.  Yes, of course she was right... the mother of his children.  All was good.  It had been a good life and she had made it good.  She had made him complete and he wanted to die with the scent of her musk and her perfume still fresh on his tunic from their last embrace.

With as much power as he could tap from the rippling thews of his arms and shoulders, he swung both scimitars around his back and through his own wings.  They dropped off, spurting blood in free-fall.  Forwaith, inexplicably, hung where he was for a brief moment before he, too began to fall.  He didn't scream.  He didn't faint.  He didn't scramble for purchase that wasn't there.  He didn't cast a spell.  He tucked himself into a crouch, then extended into a diving stance.  Like a rocket, he streaked for the earth.  Tears of joy streaked his face with the wind.

Forwaith felt the anti-magic zone envelop him and he knew there was no turning back now.  There was no spell in the universe that could save his life and he was okay with that.  That was something that he could accept.  In his last moments, Forwaith closed his eyes.  He'd always thought he would die with his eyes open, facing his enemies.  But now he understood what it was people in these situations were doing when they closed their eyes.  He imagined her.  They were standing on a bluff overlooking the churning sea.  The lightly clouded sky was pink and orange and cream and the spray was gentle, refreshing.  She laughed at something witty he'd said.  She was unguarded, happy.  He winked at her and grabbed her in a mighty embrace.  They kissed deeply. 

"What happened?"

"What happened to what, beloved?"

"Your beautiful wings," she was not upset.  Her tone was concern.

"Ah," said he  "did you like them?  I learned, after a while, that they were not worth the pain and suffering they caused me.  Or, at least, they were no longer of value to me.  Besides, the time for people like me is over.  It's a new era, beloved, and I don't belong in it."

"Well," she said, "I suppose there are parts of you that are more important than wings."

He saw a mischievous grin played across his face reflected in her deep eyes, "Educate me."

3

They could not hide from her.  It was adorable, sort of, how some of them thought they could.  This one, however, this one knew better. Maybe he thought he could fight his way out of it.  

"Ereshkigal," he nodded.  The massive man stood on the bottom step of a massive ziggurat the Torkashians were building for him.

"Hello, Simon," she said, and winked, "It took... gumption for you to come to Earth today.  It is unexpected."

"Don't see the point in sitting alone on an empty world.  Powerful lonesome up there."

"I do apologize for that," she said without sarcasm.

"Where did you send them?"

"I'm sorry about this, Simon.  I really am.  Everything is changing and I'm afraid that there are some things which must change yet.  You are one of those things."

He scowled at her, likely for dodging the question.  He was truly unafraid of her and for some reason that made it harder.  With the others, there had been some sport in chasing them down.  Her wolf persona had gotten a workout she hadn't had in some years.  Today, she stood quietly, regretting her decision just a little.

"So much pain has come because of us," he said, "It was something we'd tried to avoid, but it happened anyways."

Ereshkigal smiled.  She liked his simple but intelligent mind and how it communicated his thoughts in a direct manner.  "Yes.  Suffering has been a hallmark of these millennia,  It has to end."

"Suffering won't end."

"No, it will not.  But ideology has been an excuse for it.  People don't need an excuse."

"So why bother?"

"That is not an attitude I was expecting from you."

"I have come to expect others to have such an attitude even though I do not subscribe to it myself."

"Good point, Simon.  Hey, is there anyplace we can go?  For food?"

"At this hour?  There's a felafel place that opens at dawn a few blocks from here. Great Poha."

"Let's go there.  Its been ages since I've had a proper breakfast."

"Very well.  I didn't know that Death ate Poha."

"Death eats what she pleases," she said and tipped a wink to the huge man.  He was handsome in his own right.  His cut body would make the most jaded woman squirm.  Everything about him spoke of strength.  His clothes were carefully tailored to allow full range of motion and his hair was cropped short.  A humungous great-sword was slung across his back in an ancient leather scabbard.  He had simple, handsome facial features.  If she were not androgynous, Ereshkigal thought, she might have made a play for him.  

The streets of Torkash twisted and wound up and down hills on the tip of the great peninsula.  From the top of the stone street, they could see the ports spider-legging out into the sea where tall ships waited to unload and load cargo and passengers.  All of the buildings clinging to the steep hills were stark white, glistening with golden minarets.  Banners and flags in a multitude of vibrant colors and designs waved in the buttered morning light.  Each flag depicted a different family.  Some of these families would also be getting a visit from her today.

"It is beautiful here.  Rarely do I get time to just stop and enjoy the world as it is.  Take real human form," she said wistfully.

"Real human form?"

"Oh yes.  Prick me, do I not bleed?" she giggled.  

He shifted uncomfortably.

"Fear not.  You still can't really harm me.  Cleave me in twain and I shall still be back to take you."

He grunted and relaxed.  

She smelled her breakfast before they saw the restaurant.  It was full of flavor and spice.  Shortly, he stopped before a little place standing on a particularly steep hill.  He squeezed himself through the doorway and Death followed.  They settled themselves at a table by the front window.  The "H" in "Hajal's Falafel" cast a shadow on the man's face.  The hostess brought them a pitcher of lemon/prune juice and two steel pint mugs with ice chips in them.  He ordered for the both of them and Ereshkigal smiled at his wisdom.

"How long have you lived, Simon?"

"Well, I was born in 2013.  You do the math."

"That's quite a span."

"Yep,” a pause, "What, you trying to tell me it ain't no bad thing to take me because I had a long life?  I dunno, I guess."

"I think it's a valid point."

"I guess.  What if I had more to do? More to accomplish?"

"Oh, I don't know, Simon.  I think maybe someone else will do it.  Everybody thinks they have unfinished business.  They do have unfinished business.  Nobody leaves this life done with everything they wanted to do.  Some leave contented that they'd done enough, of course.  That pleases me.  But no one did it all.  And you can't put yourself above them, can you Simon?"

"I s'pose I can't," the way he said it made it seem as if the thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I wanted to let you live at first.  You and Helena.  It seemed poetic that the great Jupiter and Luna stay and rebuild the pantheon.  I rarely do things just because they're poetic, though.  If I'd taken just some of you, then that would make me a murderer and that's something I'm not, dear Simon.  Can you understand that?"

He was looking at her incredulously.

"Maybe not.  What I'm saying is that this... experiment which began as an act of desperation must end now and forever."

"Leaving you alone?"

"Well."

"The people might begin to wonder if you destroyed us in order to gain power yourself."

She laughed.  "Power.  Even to you it is such an important concept.  It is one I barely understand to this day.  The best I can gather about it is the need others have and the fact that this need causes suffering and that even those who suffer crave it in one form or another.  I have no prospects for power.  In fact, once you have passed, I will no longer be needed as I am now. I shall be giving up my power."

"What?"

"You are the last.  Of course, I let Kyuumu leave with what he came to our world with, but made him give up what he'd gained while he was here.  The gate to Arcadia is shut for now.  The Earth needs time to heal."

"But you don't mean to die?"

"I cannot.  I am part of it.  But there are some things I have borrowed which I must return."

"What did you borrow?  And who did..."

"Stop and think, Simon.  I'm no god nor am I God.  I am a force of nature which cannot live or die.  I just am."

"Then the power granted to your worshipers?"

"Power, yes, they had some.  And it came from a bit I stole from The Dark long ago.  A bit of God he'd stolen to begin with.  It wasn't fair that he'd taken it either.  It was meant for someone else, but The Dark had killed him before he'd found his Shard."

"So your followers, their abilities do not truly come from you."

"No.  Ah! Coffee!"

The young hostess served them sweet ice coffee which Ereshkigal gulped down greedily then used her arm to wipe her mouth.  "Delicious."

"Ain't too bad here.  They keep ice in the basement year round so you get good refreshing drinks. And icecream in the summer.  It's usually a lot busier than this even this early."

"Well, I wanted some privacy.  Don't look at me like that.  I didn't kill anyone just so we could have our little talk.  What do you take me for?  A monster?"

He sipped his coffee. 

"I'll take your silence as agreement.  But yes.  I'll be giving up that power as you call it to the people of Earth and they will do with it as they wish."

"Why didn't you just kill us all to begin with?"

"Oh, very good question.  With Ishtar on the loose and actually several other of my contemporaries (whom she later slaughtered), I couldn't dare meddle in the affairs of mortals such as yourself.  It leaves you open to attack, vulnerable.  I couldn't afford to be destroyed; it takes too long to re-form myself and it gets messy when people can't die even for a few months.  What's worse, she could have captured me and stolen the power I'd gotten from The Dark."

"You aren't very patient."

She sighed.  "Yes, I could have done it slowly.  Struck from the shadows.  But, you see, things are moving quickly down here.  When Ishtar awoke, it caught me by surprise.  That doesn't happen to me very often.  I couldn't let her gather all the power of the mortal deities.  If she'd done that without challenge from me, she would have brought such suffering, Simon.  You cannot imagine it because you did not know her.  She was capable of such exquisite evil that words, at least in the common tongue of men, cannot hope to describe.  She is foul sensuality and darkness, rotten and beautiful.  For her to have gathered all the Divine Power of God... it would have been a pan-omniverse crime I could never have lived down."

Their food arrived and Ereshkigal's young female form began to scarf up the food with vigor.  Jupiter ate methodically.  He was staring out the window at the dawn, a billion points of light glistening on the rippling ocean.

"Of course, I'll still be here.  Watching.  This is absholootly delifush.  Mmm.  What ish thish shtuff?  It'sh really shpishy.  Mmm.  Ebryshing hash shuch plabor..."

"Oh no..." the young waitress said as she approached with their drink refills. The sadness in her voice tugged at her words.  Ereshkigal looked up and saw Simon had shrunk a good two feet and couldn't have been more than a hundred and thirty pounds.  A pair of thick spectacles hung loosely from one ear. He wore denim pants and a tee-shirt with the word "Weezer" silk screened on the front of it.  His sword clattered to the ground, the strap no longer hanging where it once was. He was still.

Ereshkigal stood and crossed over to the young man, grabbing him by the chin.  He still had the same eyes.  Icy gray pools of strength.  But now, dead. Vacant. Nobody home.  She bent down and kissed him deeply, taking in a long breath of spicy air as she did.  For the first time in over ten thousand years, Ereshkigal's eyes moistened and a pair of tears rolled down her pale, clean face. Then, she exhaled into his mouth. The breath filled him.

The boy coughed.  Again. She drew away. He said, "What the hell, dude?  Where am I?  Did you just kiss me?"  

"I sure did, sailor," she tried to remain calm but her voice broke,  "Welcome to the life you should have had.  Enjoy it while it lasts."

"Pardon?  Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry it's not then.  It has to be now, but you'll do just fine.  And I'll be seeing you all too soon, you can count on it."

"Where are you going? Who's badass sword is that?"

Ereshkigal smiled through her tears.

4

Vizzini, Marshall, Matthalas, and Henriet stood on the parapet of the Mayoral Building in David's Quarter.  A massive throng of people filled the streets, roofs, and windows of the surrounding buildings.  The structure directly across the street from the Mayoral Building had fallen during The City's death throes and people packed that empty lot as well.   On this Indian Summer morning, the sun was just a glow in the hazy sky.  It smelled like rain.

Henriet stepped forward.  "People of the city of Jerusalem, we have reached a critical juncture.  Our trusted leaders died last night."

A wave of mutters and a few cries washed over the crowd.  Most had heard the news, but it hadn't yet been officially confirmed. 

"We can't let the assassination of Mayor Allegron and Kommendant Talaraesae destroy all we have suffered for:  a final peace.  The rule of law must be observed and enforced.  We can no longer allow chaos to harm us and our loved ones,"

Some mutterings of dissent were drowned by the waves of agreement.

"We, those left behind, have discussed the matter since the dark hours of the morning.  Both Morphail and Talaraesae had a dream for the future, both different.  We do not want to create two societies so close to one another.  That would create an environment that would, in time, only lead to more strife and pain.  At the same time, we do not want to destroy the legacies of the city's most trusted leaders.  Let me say this; they are dead and we are not.  We cannot concern ourselves with the dreams and the wishes of the dead.

"Let it be know from this day forward, the laws of this city shall be enforced.  They shall be absolute.  However, the freedom for individuals to live their lives as they see fit barring the doing of harm to others shall be the ultimate law of the land.  We shall rise up as a new Empire of the People where you control your own futures and nobody commands it for you!"

Cheers rose up through the broken city.

"This new Empire shall put personal individual freedom and security above all other considerations.  Infrastructure may crumble.  Trade may grow cold.  Crops may shrivel and die.  But without Liberty and Justice, we are nothing!"  Screams of approval roared throughout the district. She stepped back in line with her contemporaries.

Reporters dashed through the crowd taking statements.  Pages darted to and fro, taking the message to the city's printing presses.

Vizzini stepped forward and projected a thought into the minds of the onlookers, "Details of the power-sharing agreement shall be discussed throughout the day and likely the week.  The major newspapers will be made aware of the agreement once it is drafted and signed.  Thank you."

As the crowd began to disperse, Matthalas turned to Vizzini, "Did you say something to them?"

Vizzini scowled.

5

Concordance of Law and Agreement of Power-Sharing Drafted and Signed, on this day, March 18th in the year 5608

For the everlasting Liberty of the Empire of the People from the southern border of the nation of Ur and all lands east of the Carved Range and all lands including and north of the Sercen Savannah, and three miles out from the shore of said lands into the sea, as of this day, these laws and rights shall not be infringed upon under fear of Justice of the People.

Article 1:  Citizens have the right to free practice of their trade insofar that it does not impede unfairly on the life or liberty of another Citizen, property, or visitor.

Article 2:  Citizens have the right to privately conduct business and pleasure activities insofar that it does not impede unfairly on the life or liberty of another Citizen, property, or visitor.

Article 3:  The Empire of the People shall not infringe upon a Citizen's right to property.  Deeds shall be granted by an Office of Land Management which shall fairly grant property use to individuals and groups with the means and ambition to develop it.  Lands may be designated as protected zones in order to maintain an infrastructure for agriculture insofar that it does not impede unfairly on the life or liberty of another Citizen.

Article 4:  Citizens shall have the right to defend themselves against other Citizens, visitors, attackers, Bluearms, Gunslingers, or Defenders with any weapon that others might attack them with.

Article 5:  Citizens shall have the right and have the solemn duty to speak the truth whenever and wherever they can.  Amendment 1:  Satire shall henceforth be designated as "truth" insofar that it does not impede unfairly on the real truth.

Article 6:  The Office of Bluearms shall be established to protect the law and the property of the Empire of the People against threats both internal and external.  Taxes may be levied for the armament, training, and boarding of these forces.

Article 7:  The Defenders shall be established to protect the rights of the People.  The Defenders shall have holdings which fund their activities but taxes may be levied for the boarding of these forces.  

Article 8:  Taxes shall be levied for infrastructure improvements insofar as these improvements have a definable impact on the well-being of the Citizens which they cannot provide for themselves insofar that the taxes levied do not overly burden the Citizens or the Empire's trading partners.

6

Lyndiskel plugged the last capacitor into the last teleporter. Three years of work was finally coming to a head and she was conflicted. She was exhausted, yet jumping-out-of-her-socks excited. Never had she been contracted into such a massive project. She felt like, today, she could finally breathe easy. She smiled and suddenly, out of the corner of her eye...

“Kalus! What the... what are you doing?”

The young man stopped what he was doing, his arc spanner less than an inch from his own capacitor's terminals. “Plugging... in... a capacit...”

“No, you freaking moron, you're destroying millions of gold worth in machinery and architecture is what you're doing! Do you know what would happen if, of nine hundred and eighty seven teleporting machines working in tandem, just one of them failed? Please please, this is not a rhetorical question, kiddo.”

“Urm... I would destroy millions... of gold worth...”

“...in machinery and architecture, that's right! What the hell were you thinking?”

“There's a vein standing out of your forehead boss.”

“If I were still a fox, I would eat your face!”

“Yes boss.”

“Remember when I was standing in the lecture hall, Kalus, about three years ago?”

“Yes b...”

“Shut the frick up! Now, remember me explaining pretty much the most basic thing you can hope to do in the field. Plugging in a freaking battery?”

“Might I say, boss that you're doing very well with controlling your cursing.”

“I will end you.”

“I'm sorry?”

As Lyndiskel was about to (figuratively) rip out the young man's humors and feed them to the (figurative) sewer rats, a voice calmly drawled from behind her. “Is there a problem here, foreman?”

“Shit,” she turned around and put on a wide smile, “Hey, your majesty. Majesties. Whatever. Everything is going smoothly.”

Queen Chan Juan stood with one hand on a hip and a sleeping baby on the other, an amused look on her face. Beside her stood Lady Hork, her belly swollen with child. Again. Behind them stood Ishikawa Kyuzo with five other Quenecian Royal Guard, two of them in the new glistening, white-enameled powered armor the Gnomes had built. Lyn had been interested in the armor at first until she found out that it was magical in nature and she'd all but ignored its presence ever since.

“Well,” said the Queen, “I hope so. Everything we have and everything we are depends on you, Lyndiskel. I hope you and your team are up to the task.”

It was all she could do not to scowl and tell the woman that she'd get a lot more done if she'd stop lecturing her about how important this was. “We are ready ma'am. I shall require another three hours added onto the time table due to,” she inadvertently cast a glance at the brainless twerp beside her.  “uh, the need for us to double-check something before we start up.”

“This is your first delay, Lyn. Are you slipping?” she smiled.

“I do hope you're joking, Your Highness.”

“What was that my dear?”

“No, not slipping... Your Highness.”

“Keep up the exceptional work. If further delays are necessary, keep in mind that the Quenecian citizens waiting for us on the destination island have over three weeks of supplies. This needs to be perfect. Time is not a factor.”

She was aware of the contingency plan. Lyn wanted to stab her thumbs into her eyeballs. “Ma'am...”

“Yes, we'll leave you to it. Besides, Hork should be off her feet,” she smiled but Hork didn't look amused.

“I'm fine.”

“Fiddlesticks. Let's go.” The group made their way back towards the middle of the city. Quenecias was laid out in a Pentagonal shape with five spokes radiating from a center point. There were hills in the middle, but out here on the south side, they could see across wide expanses of lawn crisscrossed with unused roads. Quenecias had long ago demolished the buildings that had been there after the city had been taken over by the forces of Svervnux. Today, beautiful green lawns awaited new construction, though a good portion of it had been taken over by the airstrip. Lyn's own ornithopter was the only vehicle still standing on the tarmac.

She watched the group walk away until they were nearly at the wall of buildings and out of earshot before Lyn reached back with her red rag and cracked Kalus with it. “Thanks for telling me she was there. You're helping me check every single one of these to make sure they're put in right. Let's hope none of these units are ruined.”

“We have like twenty extras.”

“Don't make me really hit you.”

“Why do you wear that stupid-looking fake tail?”

“Ugh. Your queen allows you way too many freedoms. Give me that spanner before you hurt yourself.”

Five hours later, after dozens of tests, checks, double-checks, and re-double-checks, Lyndiskel finally stood behind her master control panel and connected the teleporter array to the main power generator she'd built on the outskirts of the city. When she flipped the second switch, activating the generator, she heard it hum to life a mile away.

Her communication device crackled to life, “Lights are green on the generator, Lyn.”

She leaned into her microphone and touched the reply button, “Great, Jed. Remember. Don't go near the parts that say 'radioactive'. They are bad for you, especially if you're overly fond of your lymphatic system or your reproductive future.”

“You're weird, boss.”

“Not as weird as you yokels...”

“What, boss?”

“Good job, Jed. Keep up the good work.”

“Sure, boss,” after a moment, “Hey, why is Kalus tied to a tree with an extension cord?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“He's got a rag in his mouth.”

“It's for his own good so he doesn't get himself hurt. In the face. With a wrench.”

“Understood, boss.”

Lyn switched to full broadcast and leaned into the microphone, “Alright, folks. Game faces. Let's do this. Region four, monitor power flow. Region five, get the hell away from that generator. Jed, let me know when you're five by five.”

Lyn's hands shook the entire time he was radio silent. Moments (months) later, “Alright, boss. We're at safe distance.”

Soon after that, “This is Region four. We're at one hundred percent power flow.”

“Good. Teleporter monitors, visually confirm and report when your capacitor is at 110 percent.” Her board lit up over the course of the next minute as hundreds of little lights changed from yellow to green. “We have full confirmation,” she said when her board was green. “From here on out, kids, every mistake we make kills someone and I lose a hundred thousand gold bonus.  If you cause an accident, and you don't die, I will kill you myself.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“Uh, good job, everyone. You're doing great work. We can do this. Lyndiskel out.” Even to her that seemed insincere. She didn't let it bother her; she was too busy managing a multi-million gold-piece operation. There was no time for baby-sitting.

“Preparing to engage teleport cycle. Remember, everyone, your teleporters need to penetrate to a depth of six hundred and thirty five feet above sea level. Monitor your output. If your capacitor drains, pull more power from the main flow, but only if you drop below twenty-five percent. This is gonna be touchy work, people. We need full penetration before I can give the final order to the machine. I don't need to tell you how important that is.”

She took a deep breath. Throughout the city at this very moment, spindle-shaped machines on piston- and spring-filled tripods thrummed with power. Outside the city, Lyn's reactor gurgled and squealed. The reactor was designed to live hard and die fast and they were extremely limited in their remaining time. Lyn bided her time, though. She waited first one minute, then two. The reactor cycled up to a roar which rolled out from the city walls and across the countryside. For miles, birds took flight in fear and small animals dove into their burrows. What few people had refused to leave their homes slammed their doors and shutters.

The moment she heard the generator's roar, she threw the final switch which she had painted red. The point of no return. The generator screamed. The windows of buildings closest to it blew in with a shower of sparkling shards. No one heard the crash. All around her, the city began to fade. Buildings and cobbled streets lost their cohesion, but Lyn saw that she, too was becoming translucent. The board was static, till solid. She'd protected the teleporters and the other machinery from the energy they were using to move the city. Lyn pulled a pair of metal gloves out of her waistband and jammed her hands into them. Her deft hands flew across the board, turning knobs and pushing buttons. One of the teleporter lights switched from green to yellow and then to red.

Lyn reached for her microphone. “Region three hundred fifty seven. What the holy fuck are you people doing over there?”

“Our” static “are red, b” static “ust be a com wire” static “still a g” static.

“Repeat that threefiftyseven. Repeat that. Still a go?”

“Boss, st” static.

Lyndiskel and the entire city of Quenecias disappeared. All that was left on the riverbank were docks, a sputtering nuclear power generator, and a giant, pentagon-shaped hole filled with dying machinery. A few holes where sewer lines once pumped soiled water away and the lonely train tracks from Fozlebelden and Dragonkeep were all that remained of any evidence that there was once a city there.

7

Lander Risken had been awake for a good two years and he was still a bit cranky. Beneath him stood a massive effort of construction clinging to the side of an island deep within the Himla Reef. It was a rough pentagon in shape and seemed to be built of simple, red bricks. It was a complex foundation with a huge retaining wall, almost a mile across from point to side. It was plumb, so the wall was taller near the shoreline, to a height of one hundred and seven feet. The inside of the wall was filled almost completely with material dredged up from the sea floor three miles away. That dredging effort was the only passage that could allow ships into the new Bay of Quenecias. Already, the foundations for battlements stood rooted into the bedrock there. More of his handiwork.

He could also make out, from his vantage point, the entire Quenecian navy floating nearby and also the hundreds of thousands of people watching from the surrounding islands. Campfires curled lazily into the sky. A multitude of white tents dotted all of the islands as far as he could reliably see.

As he waited for the city to arrive, he couldn't help but ruminate over the events that had led to this day. When Chan Juan woke him up and asked him to help her move the city, he'd told her that she was insane. But as she talked to him and showed him the evidence her scientists had produced regarding the future of their fair city, he became convinced that it was really the best, if not the only course of action they could take.

He remembered they'd been in his study, sipping coffee and eating scones. A young Nebushiresan serving girl stood ready with the steaming pot and the tray. He smiled and winked at her.  He noticed Chan Juan roll her eyes and grin a little. “Lander, this is very serious.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “According to these projections, this very spot will be under fifteen feet of solid ice in five hundred years... maybe less.”

“Yeah. It's pretty bad.”

“I'll say. And this was caused by that Illithid ship we found back in '01?”

“That's what we think. Apparently, all the volcanoes created by the fissure are putting tons and tons of chemicals in the atmosphere which is why the sky sometimes has a yellowish color to it.”

“Shouldn't that make it warmer?”

“You'd think so, but apparently it has to do with the kinds of chemicals at work here. Sulfer di-somethingorother.”

“Right. I see.”

“Fozlebelden researchers do have some good news, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“They say the eruptions will end in just under a century. Don't ask me how or why. You'll have to ask them.”

“So that's good?”

“Yes. As it stands right now, if this continued, the Earth would be a complete ball of ice within 2000 years. All the way to the equator.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So, we're banking on the Gnomes being right about this.”

“We have no other choice.”

“Well, then. When do we start moving Quenecias to an island paradise?”

He was actually very happy to be part of something again. In his spare time, he learned all he could about what had happened to the gods and the resurgence of Primordial Power. He'd chuckled when he'd heard about that. He'd unlocked those secrets ages ago. His official duties, however, had been to prepare a “nest” for Quenecias to be brought to.

It was very nice, actually. Some of his best work. You really wouldn't know to look at it. It seemed like just a simple retaining wall in a simple geometric shape. It was far more than that. Even the most miniscule measurement had been painstakingly recorded: every sewer pipe, every road, and every outer wall. He had crafted a strong network of chambers and corridor's for an enormous coal-fired desalinization and waste water treatment plant. The smokestacks for these features curled around the mountain at the center of the island and rose up on the far side of it. These stacks did double duty as roads up the mountain at least until the end where they angled up sharply and rose into the sky.

The southern tip of the city jutted out into the sea and, built within the very foundations of the city was a covered seaport.  Several hundred ships, including much of the navy, could fit within the confines of this seaport. Lyndiskel, the inventor, had organized the construction of freight lifts to bring cargo to the city's surface from the port below. An infrastructure for city-wide electricity had also been laid, though that would not be implemented for some time.

Finally, and his absolutely most favorite, constructs were the coral bridges. The seas surrounding the new location were thick with coral reefs, representing thousands of years of growth. Many of the islands that had been designated for rural development were separated by the main island by some very shallow seas, yet were still impassible by foot or cart. Chan Juan was very interested in minimizing the impact they made on the surrounding ecosystem, so he had accelerated the growth of all the coral between the four most important islands , then had manipulated their growth so that their surface was relatively smooth. Today, pink- and cream-colored coral bridges stretched from island to island at high tide level and, after a few more strengthening treatments, were designed to be there for thousands of years to come.

Of course, this was only the beginning. It seemed that, with the coming of the ice, the sea level would also drop. He was already devising ways to seal off the bay during low tides thus preserving not only their ability to do trade by sea, but also preserving the reefs which would soon become their primary source of food.

By and by, the machine Lyndiskel had erected in the center of the new foundation sang into life. She'd described it as a beacon for the smaller devices on the other side of the world to home in on. Several aching minutes later, a shimmer phased into view within the foundation. The shimmer slowly took the shape of the city, in exactly the spot it was supposed to be. Lander hovered closer to the city, watching for trouble. Suddenly, there was a squeal and a pop as a single teleportation unit failed. Lander heard the screams of their operators for only a few seconds as their molecules were ripped from their bodies one by one at the speed of light. He tried saving them, taking them out of time, but it was too late.

With a few groans and thuds, the city shifted into its new nest. A small handful of buildings collapsed as the ground beneath them shifted and caved in. After that, silence.

It was done, but a gaping hole stood like a broken tooth where the teleporter had failed. Almost a full city block was gone. Lyndiskel was screaming into her microphone, but Lander knew it was for naught. The two young Quenecian engineers were dead.

“Damn,” he muttered. He quickly filled the empty area with earth and covered it with cobblestones. It was a quick and dirty fix, but at least, when the people came home, there wouldn't be such an obvious proof of their failure. He made a note to tell Lyn later that she needed to have someone shut off the valves to that section of the city's sewer system.

“Damn,” he said to himself, “Well, it's done, anyways. It's done and they're all safe. Now I need a nap.”

8

Weylund was cold and hungry and that was becoming a recurring theme for the past fifteen years. He wandered the city's empty streets every day in search of a fat and jolly inkeeper or a kindly restaurant owner willing to give him warm table scraps which had made him so big and healthy in the past. Today he was gaunt, and would have starved to death long, long ago if he'd had any qualms about eating rats or seagulls.

He didn't feel sorrow, though. He knew that he'd saved the people of the city from pain, suffering, and death. He'd toiled his entire life in pursuit of that goal and he'd succeeded. He wished, in the back corner of his heart, that destiny wouldn't treat its heroes so shabbily.

The once-great city was empty. The only signs of civilization were the periodic caravans on the East road heading towards Talaraesae's New Golgotha, the capital city of the new Empire of the Peoplee. In the streets below, the buildings were slowly starting to decay. The walls of the city were completely overrun by vines and they were advancing into the city. The gates mainly slept, but they allowed entry to nearly anyone these days. All the docks were abandoned. Kelp waved to and fro in the gentle current between the piers.

The only thing moving on the streets were the undead. Some of them shuffled. Others skittered. Some floated. Weylund refused to be fearful of them and had fought and destroyed many of them in the early years. Now he simply avoided them to the best of his ability. Someone, he surmised, may as well live here.

Weylund had considered going to one of the new villages outside the city gates, but rural living was just not something he thought he could ever get used to. He'd also considered moving to New Golgotha. He'd tried it for a time, but they didn't take kindly to strays there. It was a very clean and very strict place which felt completely alien to him. For all of that, Weylund just spent his days wandering the old city watching it crumble slowly before his eyes.

To add icing to the cake, he'd developed a cough, a nasty, rasping cough which never went away. He often hacked up gigantic phlegm balls which he, of course, promptly ate. As the days of 5623 waned and became colder, Weylund began to develop a fever. What he didn't know was that he had pneumonia which was becoming a respiratory infection both from the cold, damp air, but also from sleeping in moldy buildings. He was in a daze, sometimes seeing or smelling things that were not there. He didn't know what was real and what was hallucination. What he did know was pain and restlessness.

Late one day, as the sun was falling once again behind the waves down and to the west and a cold wind was squalling through the streets and alleys, Weylund was picking around old Scopusberg. The vines had made their way this far and had already covered the entire district. Cobblestone streets and concrete buildings cracked and crumbled under their insidious destructive force. Weylund was hoping for a squirrel. He was awfully tired of rats. When he turned a corner into an alley he knew would lead him to a small park, he saw a pair of eyes in the shadows. It smelled like a canine. Male.

In wolf speak, he said. “Who are you?” or the best he could manage to say without getting close to the other animal and displaying body language.

The other creature stepped forward into what remained of the gray twilight, wincing. The creature was a powerfully big, black wolf. The black fur had a shock of white on its chest where something red stood out, though he couldn't make it out with his old eyes. The beasts blood-red tongue lolled out and dripped with the blood of its last kill. It was a strong creature by the smell of it and reminded him of someone he'd met before. It took some time for his fever-addled mind to come up with the memory.

“Oh,” he said, “so you've come for me.”

“Yes.”

“Finally. I've been waiting.”

“I know you have.”

“You are dark.”

“I am.”

“I'm afraid.”

“Don't be.”

The other wolf came to him and just as Weylund realized, by smell, that this wolf was indeed someone he remembered, but not... the other wolf lunged at him and sank his fangs deep into Weylund's throat. He felt his life throb and pulsate into the other creature. He tried in vain to scramble out from under the creature's mighty vice-like jaws. He tried twisting and kicking. All of it in vain. He tried changing forms but he was so very weak.

After what seemed like an eternity, the other wolf dropped him to the pavement with an unceremonious thwap. “So,” said he, this time in perfect common, “do you accept my gift this time?”

Weylund choked and gasped. He wanted to say no. He truly wanted to have the strength to deny this abomination the pleasure of having Weylund of Jerusalem under his sway. With a cough, Weylund turned his head towards his attacker. “Please don't. Ask me. I want it so bad.”

The black wolf grinned wide, a terrible sight to be sure. His yellow teeth were stained pink with Weylund's own blood. Was he even a wolf? He kind of smelled like one. “You would have been dead by morning, Weylund. I've been watching you get sicker and sicker. And I have the cure. All you have to do is ask for it.”

“I am no one's lap dog.”

“Puh-lease,” Weylund noticed his attacker wasn't a wolf after all. It was a young boy. Or at least, it passed as one. As usual, Matthew wore a smart black suit with a red handkerchief in the pocket and a white shirt under the jacket. What he'd taken for a bloody tongue was his red tie. “I don't want any slaves, Weylund. This city is a necropolis now and it needs a master. You should be that master.”

“No. I made the Balthizaad statue, that should be enough.”

“That's sweet, I must admit, Weylund. Very amusing. However, we need someone who can move quickly. Someone who can make the undead here listen. I want you to be the master of the Jerusalem Necropolis, Weylund. I want you to be great again, powerful, respected, loved, feared.”

“How can you promise this?”

“Because, Weylund, I found this,” Mathew held out a key. Not just any key, it was the key to the city and it was whole. There was no sign that it had ever been broken, but instead of a simple clover-shape at the holding end, it was a skull. What's more, he could feel its song even while another held it. It was the same song as before, but only slow and mournful. “I think it wanted me to find it to give to you. You see? There is life here and it needs someone to take care of it.”

Weylund groaned, “No. Please,” the will to deny him was difficult to summon.

“Take the Gift, Weylund. Become the Master of the Necropolis. I am far too selfish a being to take up that mantle. You, however. You are the perfect canine for the job,” he grinned his terrible grin.

As Weylund felt the last vestiges of his life slipping away, he took one last breath and said, “Do it.”

9

Vizzini looked across the classroom and was very pleased at this year's enrollment. There were over fifty students in the classroom, many of them Children of Tal, but at least sixty percent were Humans or Halflings. He smiled as he felt their thoughts wash over him. Some were nervous of their first year at university. Others were confident. Some were already bored. Vizzini hoped he could turn them around, but it was always tough to listen to an old man lecture about anything. One of the young women looked at him and projected a very inappropriate thought which he deflected with ease. It was tough not to act on such things, especially at his age, but Vizzini was a professional and one does not associate romantically with students.

“Welcome,” he said, “to Primordial Energy Theory 1. I am your instructor, Vizzini and I will be with you for the next three months. I am sure that you all want to impress me as much as possible. I am the Dean of Non-Magical Non-Mundane Knowledge after all and you do want to impress me, I give you my word on that.” There were some genuine laughs an a few polite chuckles at his small joke. The young girl's thoughts were getting downright embarrassing, so he erected a thought shield against her and she was blissfully silent.

He continued, “In Primordial Energy Theory 1 you will learn about how this power has come to affect our lives and what those events mean to you today. You will also learn where that power comes from and how to tap into it. In the last two weeks of the class, we'll discuss Primordial Power Conservancy and why it's important that we use this resource whenever possible. Please see your syllabus for more details. Now, I know that many of you have some questions you'd like to ask me. Some I will not answer because they are too vague and will come up in the class and other questions you have are just plain stupid and you're better off if I don't let you ask them. Others are controversial, but I've never been one to concern myself with controversy. The world is an open book to me. Anyways, these controversial subjects often come up during lectures and getting them out of the way on the first day of class when no one ever gets anything done anyways is generally best policy. Let's start with Philp Days's question. Go on, Philp.”

The kid stood up. He was an olive-skinned human with short, neatly-cropped black hair and well-tailored clothes. “How... how did you know we had questions for you and... how did you know I wanted to ask that?” He seemed rather nervous.

“Not to worry, Philp. I am a 10th grade Telepath. I feel thoughts without even trying. I have to block the thoughts of people in order to have some peace and quiet,” he shot a quick glance at the naughty young woman in the first row who was turning pink with embarrassment. “Layne. Your question.”

A girl in the back stood up. Her demeanor was far more stand-offish than the last student. She had her fists planted firmly on her hips. “Yeah. Didn't you help destroy the gods? Isn't that how we got all this power in the first place? Isn't that wrong?”

“Ah, morality. The question of morality always comes up. Some people think that we are feasting on the power of other dead beings. This isn't entirely true. For years after the last Holy War, I worked with the Primordial Ascension Society (now defunct, of course) to delve into the secrets of Primordial Power. Well, we called it Primordial Energy back then, but, of course, this was a misnomer because energy is but one of the forms Primordial Power can take. When the gods died, one by one, their own specific power was given to the people of Earth. All of you have this power within you (except you, Harold 9516, sorry).

“What we found was that there was yet another layer to Primordial Power. This layer is what Ereshkigal, Ishtar, and the waking embodiment of Jerusalem were born out of. This raw power, unshaped by the will of gods, is the pure stuff of creation and it's everywhere and in everything. Every single thing in the universe. You see, Primordial Power has always been there, dear Layne. It's always been there and we're just using it to better our lives.

“Waith. Go.”

“Thanks, teach,” the young man said, “Is Lander Riskin gonna be a guest speaker this semester?”

“I trust you've been talking to the upper-classmen. Yes. Lander has agreed to speak again. There will be a lecture series near the end of the class and he will explain to you how he came upon the use of Primordial Power by himself with no help from the Primordial Ascension Society or anyone else for that matter. And your follow-up question?”

“Yeah. I hear other people have tried to use the Power as he does and they die in, like, their 20s. Why? Is Primordial Power dangerous?

“Dealing with raw Primordial Power will eat away at your body. Mr. Riskin has four things going for him. First, he is a master of matter; he can build or fix anything, including his own body. That usually can give you a couple extra years. He is also a Golden Halfling; they are naturally predisposed to tapping these forces. Lander was also once dominated by a powerful magic item which still haunts him to this day. Artifacts have a way of extending your lifespan, for good or for ill. Lastly, Mr.Risken spends most of his time in stasis, which he can place himself under whenever he wants. In reality, Lander is only about thirty years old, five years shy of the natural lifespan of a Golden Halfling tapping so deep into the Primordial energies. If he were Human, he'd be dead already. Lander says he expects to live forty-five years at most. As far as it being safe? As long as you don't over-do it you should be fine. Don't try to hold too much Power at a time.

A Child of Tal with white skin and whispy, white hair stood up suddenly and asked his question without being prompted, “Aren't you promoting the use of Primordial Power to ensure that another god doesn't appear in the future? Aren't you encouraging people to tap the Primordial Power of the world around them so that there isn't enough to bring about a powerful entity?”

“Young man, you must wait your turn before asking a question.”

His body turned gray and his eyes glowed with electric light. His voice was like rolling thunder, but at a conversational volume, “You never had the intention of letting me ask it.”

“Because it opens up a path that I don't want to go down on the first bloody day of class. Understand that I could have easily erased the question from your mind had I wanted to. I'm not afraid of answering the question, it's just complicated. The short answer, and I hope its enough for you, is yes. We encourage the use of Primordial Power in part r to keep the Power itself from manifesting as a being.”

“But don't you think that's somehow wrong? Shouldn't we let nature take its course? The gods were powerful and from what my Gram says, they protected us when our times of need were dire.”

“Morality morality, you young people are far too concerned about morality. Deities have caused heartache and suffering for thousands of years. They were too powerful, especially since any Deity who would arise now would be the only one alive. The Primordial Ascension Society worked long and hard to find out why these beings are born and from whence they come. The answer is terrifying and amazing. They come from you. Yes. You and me and your cat and everyone else in the world, verily, everyone in the universe. Our dreams and our fears and our hate and our love and our imagination and lust, all of these things stir up Primordial Power and cause it to pool up and take form. We learned, dear class, that we are all gods. Every last one of us was born with the ability to harness Primordial Power but we've just been doing it on accident for the past million years.

“I have good news. Today, we begin to teach you how to do it on purpose.”