Settling in did not take the drift much time and Finley was the first – and only – one to run off to check on the Windriders, who he said had made themselves home and were comfortably lounging about and having a late lunch.
Finley also informed the drift that they were invited to join the Windriders at their convenience which the Serendipity wasn’t opposed to, despite not having a member in the other drift that they were head over heels for.
They decided to take their lunch over to the Windriders’ as well, showing up a quarter hour after Finley had returned.
And so the afternoon merged into evening, the sands of time rushing past in conversation and humor – the officials being the brunt of many of the jokes that were made.
The conversation then shifted to more pleasant memories, those of Kinamel and the past assignments of the Windriders.
Callie could see their drift morphing into one like theirs over the years, with so much shared context and history.
On the other hand, there was a feeling of loss that hit her, of knowing that she could have had such camaraderie with her drift right off the bat had they allowed fourteen members in a drift.
The Windriders numbered fourteen as well – the further reduction of the upper limit being implemented only a couple years back – and Callie could not help but draw that parallel between the Windriders and the drift that could have been.
This rumination along with constant, intermittent munching made her metaphorically fade into the background as the others talked and made their plans for tomorrow.
Callie only snapped out of it when she heard her name being taken.
Her right hand – holding a half eaten cookie – froze midway to her mouth as her head jerked up.
“What?” she said cluelessly, turning in the direction she had heard the voice from to zero in on Gwenyth, who had a small smile on her face.
“I was saying that you and I would be going to attend a séance tomorrow and would rejoin the group later.”
Callie was a little confused but Gwenyth’s facial expression and tone told her that she should just go along with it for the moment.
“Oh… sure.” she said, attempting a tone of ennui.
She then slipped into quietness again, uninterrupted until the drifts decided to have a look around the seventh and eighth levels, forcing poor Callie into a state of activity.
Callie fell into step with Gwenyth as they left the room.
“What was that about?” she muttered to her friend.
“I need to talk to a spirit.”
“Why drag me with you?
And what spirit?”
“I need company, alright?
It’s an alien city, and spirit channeling is not exactly a solo activity.
And the spirit’s my… someone I knew.
That’s all I can say.”
Callie did not press and let Gwenyth fall into conversation with Pelina – who was walking a bit ahead of them.
She noticed Goumes a couple metres to their side and joined him.
He smiled at her approach and tilted his head up as if to ask What’s up?.
Callie shrugged a little in reply and exhaled with puffed cheeks.
He smiled a little and nodded.
They walked in silence for a couple minutes before she spoke.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I… am going to try and see if there’s any close family of mine in the spiritual plane.
Hopefully a psychic will be able to detect them if they are there.”
“Are your relatives dead?”
“My parents definitely are.
I had it checked.
They did not have any data pertaining to their relatives, however.
So might as well try this now that I’m here.”
Callie could only nod but a bubbling stream of thoughts threatened to pull her away from the conversation.
She would not say it to his face but she thought it to be pointless to try and contact people who had given their child away and had for all intents and purposes washed their hands of their offspring.
There was no shared history, no care and affection bestowed selflessly, no ties whatsoever.
Why even burden oneself with that knowledge?
But Goumes – a liaison himself – was versed in the reading of body language and easily surmised her thoughts – or a general overview thereof.
“I gather you don’t approve.
You strike me as one of those who wouldn’t inquire after one’s family even after the completion of their mandatory service.”
Callie shrugged.
“Knowing would weigh me down.
There is as much chance of me finding comfort and love with any stranger out there.
More so even, considering they would not have given me away when I was a baby.”
“That kinship would not be there.”
“Blood of the covenant.” she said simply.
“Is that not what drifts are?
Is that not their purpose?”
“A chosen family, yes.
But one could also choose to be or not to be with their real family.
But you’re not opening yourself up to the possibility only.”
“They closed that possibility as best as they could from their side.
And so it is a Pandora’s box for me.
I am not up to that task.”
Goumes could only nod.
Even he could not combat the heaviness and melancholy of her emotions.
That knowledge was both saddening and pride-inducing.
The lower levels of the fortress consisted of a limited variety of species, the majority being humans and the rest primarily composed of humanoids as well.
The fortress was designed to be a self-sufficient city within the city.
It had its own shops, storehouses, energy and water supply lines, entertainment areas among other things.
While she had not seen the outside city, she still felt that it was impressed upon an outsider – like herself – in as elegant and grotesque a manner as could be materialised – short of directly saying it to their faces – that life within the fortress was not akin to life outside it and was much superior to it.
This distinction did not end once one was within the fortress, no.
The further classism between lower, middle and upper levels was as apparent, if not more.
Even in the lower levels – which had been deemed by the officials to be their place -, Callie felt more alien here than she had ever before.
The passersby spoke Lamentian, though their accent was intended to make their dialogue as indistinguishable from the language as it was to her.
She could barely make out intermittent snippets of conversation.
Drawn out and clipped pronunciations, gestures she had not seen any being make, complicated sounds with use of the tongue and lips seemed to be the norm.
How they decided the mix of these contraptions while communicating was something far beyond Callie’s feeble comprehension.
Even in their fashions, the people seemed to have taken a sharp departure from what Callie was used to.
They wore elaborate, adorned dresses with seemingly every possible accessory imaginable.
There were not two inches of plain uncovered, unmodified skin.
Tattoos, dyes and piercings were seen as more valued distinguishers as they required a higher level of commitment.
But to Callie, the values of her simple upbringing could not comprehend this toying with one’s own body.
All in all, it seemed to her that segregation and marginalisation had ruined the charm of what could have been an idyllic government settlement.
Once again the human hunger for distinction and elevation compared to its peers had become the cause of a flawed institution.
Maybe she had not seen enough of other species to see such flaws in them, or maybe she was more sensitive to the shortcomings of her own people.
This impression seemed to have impacted Callie most – if at all it did impact the others: she did not notice – because despite sources of discomfort, the drifts continued strolling about the arcade.
Since Callie could not bring herself to observe and listen to the people outside of her group, her head tilted up to remove any human from her sight and instead she admired the architecture.
Pristine white and tan coloured arches seamlessly transitioned into their supporting pillars and it was hard for her to tell where the former ended and the latter began.
A glass barrel-vaulted roof connected all arches in a manner that did allow minimal obstruction to the view of the sky.
It was high enough to feel grand and luxurious, low enough to feel intimate and looming.
To her eyes, it was as if the roof were a see-through veil and the tiniest gaps in between the clouds were twinkling pearls right behind – waiting to be plucked.
Callie may have even tried to reach out – and made a fool of herself – if it were not for that the sub-group she had sub-consciously attached herself with – Goumes, Oswin and Coslac – had diverted into a shop that particularly caught their eye and without conscious effort – she followed them inside.
As the dreamy sky was shoved aside by a ceiling fixed with lights that were all too very bright – blinding, even.
Callie was slow to avert her gaze and as a result had an ache persisting behind her eyes for a few seconds before it faded away.
Distracted and momentarily finding solace by gazing at the sombre carpet beneath her feet – her eyes eventually found it in themselves to observe their surroundings.
“You don’t need to call us sir.” Oswin was saying.
“And we’re just browsing.
What all do you have?” Her acquaintances were a few feet ahead of her and in front of them was the lone keeper of the store, a tall light-haired woman of… thirty, Callie wanted to say.
Certainly not a day older.
Paintings, trinkets, handicrafts – all local too!”
Callie approached the keeper.
“Do you have any magical items – amulets, gemstones, whatnot.”
The woman almost seemed offended by the question.
“We don’t carry any magical items.
This -” Callie imagined she was referring to the fortress; “is a safe place from any magic, spirits or anything else that could put us in peril.”
“Of course.” said Coslac placatingly with the slightest hint of mockery.
“My friend is new here, she did not know.”
Callie fought the urge to make a face at him, though she was sure a few muscles betrayed her.
Callie walked past the group down the hall where it was more roomy and some of the larger art pieces were kept.
They were all similar in the sense that they focussed on Jalakide – more specifically the place the fortress held.
These myriad of art pieces conveyed a fair bit of Jalakide’s history.
One painting – with a curving, brilliant golden frame – showed the fortress in isolation with no settlement of any sort around it.
While Callie had hazarded a guess as to the fortress’ overall appearance, she hadn’t imagined it to be as looming – almost villainous – as it looked in the painting there.
The blue and green lights were clearly visible in the eventime setting of the painting.
But the colours that were immensely comforting to Callie somehow seemed eerie in their depiction there.
There was no warmth in the settlement she saw.
That coldness and horror seemed to seep out omnidirectionally like an unseen shadow withering and bringing decay to all decrepit creatures that dared approach it.
The tapestry Callie was drawn to next – not so far from the one first image observed and the largest piece in the room – was a brighter specimen, almost as if it were made in stark contrast to its compatriot.
It was noon and Wairo almost seemed to return to its youthful yellowness.
The blues and greens were almost the same shade (Callie checked) but somehow these were the colours that provided her the comfort that she expected upon seeing the hues.
There were small settlements around the fortress now, meek and almost submissive to the grandness of Old Jalakide.
Six grey haired men and women – tall and powerful, almost regal in their appearance with ostentation elevated from what Callie had seen around her – stood in front of smaller creatures of many varieties.
Some had their hands outstretched, some held gifts that had been bestowed and some were even bowing towards these men and women.
A detailed sculpture further on was the next piece that caught Callie’s eye.
It was a model of the city, sealed in a glass box on a table.
The height of the table it rested on was low enough to allow Callie to take in every detail.
Callie walked around the table little by little, trying to take in every nook and cranny, every building.
The views of the buildings changed when she changed the direction from which she beheld.
These were not static structures built as insignificant devotees to the centerpiece.
They were living and breathing, brought to charm and beauty by having their existence acknowledged.
She was joined by Coslac, then – to remedy her lack of social participation.
Maybe he felt guilty for paying all his attention to his driftfellows.
“Is this the city?” He questioned not to elicit an answer, but by way of starting conversation.
Callie herself was feeling a capacity for interaction and she responded cheerfully.
“Wonderful, isn’t it?”
Coslac nodded and instead of taking his time observing as she had, he instantly centered his gaze on the tower – the only building tall and big enough to not fit the confines of what would have been a symmetrical cuboidal prison.
Instead the glass jutted out in an unseemly protrusion in the center of the model.
Callie couldn’t help but suspect that this feeling was not only felt of her own volition – but was also an engineered consequence of perusal.
Coslac seemed perfectly easy in his study of Old Jalakide, forgetting his original purpose in making his way there.
Callie left him and the others – who were engaged in passionate conversation with the keeper.
She imagined it was that first stage of infatuation that makes one shut down altogether or reveal too much of themselves to the object of their desire.
It was not long before she found one of her driftfellows – Venedir, eating some steamed dumplings at the entrance of one of the stores.
He was unmindful that he was blocking half of the pathway, concentrating on applying as much sauce as he could to every morsel he ate.
Sweat forming in small beads on his temple became visible to her as she came closer.
He only became mindful of her presence then, turning to her with his face so stuffed that Callie could not help but laugh softly.
“They won’t grow little feet and run away, you know?”
He nodded a little and chewed quickly, inhaling deeply after swallowing.
“They’re just so good, you have to try!”
And so Callie did and while she did not end up scarfing her plate down, she felt particularly pleased and resolved to offer again her patronage to the establishment sometime soon.
* * *
68th day of the 10230th year since the passing of Kriene
The day after their arrival in Jalakide, Callie found herself awoken from warm and sweet dreams by a shrill ringing sound, setting her heart racing with the disturbing quality of it.
“What the fuck?” she muttered to herself – the image of the exhilarating adventure she was undertaking with Crowe in the desert fast fading in the distraction one is so susceptible to upon being woken, naturally or otherwise -, looking at her bedside clock for the time – which also was the source of that awful noise.
The time showed that it was the striking of the seventh hour.
What horrible striking.
By the time Callie figured out how to shut the damn thing, Gwenyth and Sylviane were awake too, looking as disoriented as she felt.
“Rise and shine, ladies.” she said in a half-mutter, gingerly testing her voice for the first time in the new day as she let her head fall back against the pillow.
While she was still tired, its discordance with the activity she had been compelled to do made sleep elusive enough for her to sit up, especially when she recalled the episode from the day before.
When she reminded her driftfellows of this, they too were stirred out of their lull state.
Having performed her duty to this success, Callie went to the door that led to the balcony.
She opened the door partially but shifted behind it as she felt in that moment that she wanted to sniff her nightshirt to decide whether it could be worn again that night.
The answer was to her desire, though she felt sure it could not be worn without washing on the day after.
She opened the balcony door fully and felt the chill the unassuming and yellowed glass had been keeping back.
She shivered and stepped out on the dewy surface, closing the door behind her quickly after.
Her dry hands – which scraped against the fabric as she rubbed her shoulder – were moistened as they rested on the railing after she had acclimatised enough.
Her head tilted up from the dim blue-green of the plaza the building faced.
It was a dismal sight above her.
Black clouds seemed to envelope Old Jalakide in the darkest night of her life.
There was no activity on the streets, not a hint of people bustling about in their homes.
It made Callie feel terribly alone and she could not decide whether it was a respite or an imposition.
Callie was brushing the back of her hand against the railing, its parchedness not addressed fully when Sylviane joined her and self-consciously, Callie’s hand resumed a conventional resting position, using the other to rub the droplets in.
“Sleep well?” she asked in a tone of forced easiness.
Sylviane tried to mirror that casualness in the form of a shrug.
“I don’t know.
I don’t remember clearly… but I think I had bad dreams.” she said and with those last words, that pretense of ease stripped away from Sylviane in an instant and a bit of bitterness coloured her voice as she continued.
“It’s this place.
It’s not meant to be lived in.
It is for the dying and dead.” she said resolutely.
“It’s as if a goldfish were to decide to live in a bathroom sink in the middle of Plemos.” she muttered and trailed off.
Callie stayed silent.
She could not protest her statements – even though the place they came from was not a healthy one.
They were characterised by an unyielding truth however obscure it had been made through the efforts of their people.
Callie could not ask Sylviane whether she was at peace, because evidently she was not – and to ask would be a shallow and disrespectful act.
This silence discomfited Sylviane, who seemed to feel that she had said too much and now wanted to say more still to undo what she had said – not its content but its feeling and intonation.
“It is a comfort that if I am to be in this… place (the word she wanted to use was clearly of a more condemning nature) that I am with you all.” It was sappy but Callie did not mind, especially when the intention was considered.
“I feel that I would be ill at ease here if I were alone.
It’s so alien.
I hope the new city is less so.” she ventured to finish bridging the gap between them – successfully so.
Sylviane nodded a little and was silent for a minute before she started, quite timidly.
“Do you think..” Her voice found strength then.
“that I could join you and Gwenyth on your tour of the city?” This proposal was more than welcome and she did not think Gwenyth would take up issue on this matter.
They headed inside a few minutes later – when Gwenyth called to them that the bathroom was all freed up.
Callie let Sylviane go first while she read a couple chapters of the novel she was currently enamored with.
It was the tale of a woman named Alandrea Kerivnolin on her journey of the Becoming. Get faster updates on g.com.
It had never been brought into significant public discourse nor deemed to be a classic writing piece.
But in Callie’s heart it held its ground as one of her favourite novels.
She particularly liked the period it was written and set in – many thousand years ago when things were simpler.
There was no faring, no unified government, living was more simple and the complexities of philosophies and thoughts were more obscure – and so being with oneself and others made altogether harder and easier simultaneously.
Callie liked to lose herself in this world and she found herself increasingly drawn to the comforts of the distant past the more she came close to modernity, this proximity having accelerated since the past four weeks or so.
And so she had very eagerly started reading this particular novel for what was the fourth time in nine years.
The chapters she read then stayed in her mind, pulling her from reality as she floated through the routine of self-care and making herself ready for the day ahead.
That part of the story was one of the tranquil moments of the story.
Alandrea was fresh into the parts of her adolescence where everything had blossomed and become brighter for her.
She was taken with the neighbour’s lad – Jadin, a lanky friendly sort of person, though prone to sickness when the weather changed.
Callie could almost feel in the hotness of her shower the warmth of Wairo – made more intimate in the heights of the mountain Alandrea’s village lay on.
It was the summer of Alandrea’s life, an extended interlude between phases of neuroticism: of her childhood and latter half of adolescence.
A couple hours later – when they had started from their room towards the underground rail – Callie was still in that world.
“Do you think we’re in the summer of our lives?” she asked her companions as they walked down a cobblestone street.
Even though they had been silent for the past minute or so, it did not soften the abruptness of the question.
“Not me.” said Gwenyth quietly but firmly.
“I don’t think I can ever be so happy as I once was.”
Sylviane looked a little surprised at the answer.
“Why so?”
“Many reasons.” was all Gwenyth said and turned to Sylviane.
“Do you feel you can create the unadulterated happiness of past years?”
Sylviane shrugged.
“Maybe not.
But the stability of informed rational happiness has its charms.
But I myself feel that this is no summer.
I have no lofty notions of our condition.
I may venture so far as to say the faring is the beginning of our ruin.”
“Why choose the faring then?” Gwenyth responded – not brusquely, but not kindly either.
Sylviane was quiet for a moment and then shrugged.
“Assimilation would have brought ruin too.
The entirety of life is a prolonged act of entropy and decay.
Even before we are fully formed this ruin begins.
But we are not of sound enough mind to perceive it.”
Sylviane’s words reminded Callie not of her own childhood – which was lost to the far recesses of her mind and needed more targeted thoughts to be recalled – but of Alandrea’s.
The girl had ruined her voice during her mother’s prolonged illness, giving up its enchanting power through constant strain it was put under, used as a tool to comfort her parents.
It was hard to be optimistic but her friends were too gloomy, almost to the point of causing her fear – and Callie had to force a smile.
“Surely it’s not so hopeless.
And a lot of it is in the mind.
One suffers more when one is taken hold by the belief that one is suffering.
It doesn’t deserve more than the basic acknowledgement and rational heed.
It shouldn’t get to take root.
Especially not in radiant, good people like you.
It would be particularly sad if that were to happen.” But Callie knew her appreciation of them could not change their perspective of their pain and suffering.
And it was the curse of any relationship to see those uncontrollable things take hold of the recipient of one’s cares and affections and sway them as a weather vane in a storm.
Callie could not voice this for the fear of saying too much.
That feeling within her was an extremity of sorts too, mayhaps.
She did not know the two of them so well – though she did know Gwenyth considerably more – so as to be sure the volatilities of her emotions – and the accompanying expressiveness that should have been – could be taken in stride.
Her helplessness was betrayed by the crestfallen expression that her face had morphed into and it stayed etched long enough that it was observed and noted by her friends in between their bouts of self-pity.
They wrapped an arm around her shoulder, first Gwenyth, then Sylviane – and each respectively said in their own way that the shadow over their heads was passing.
But Callie grew more sure that the overarching blight was the island itself and it must be taken leave of with haste.
It was the kind of idea that takes hold of one’s essence upon its very conception.
And so it took of Callie, making heart thud so that each beat was felt by her and the slightest bit of slouching in her seat in the train made her feel as if she wasn’t getting enough air, even though the air-conditioning and ventilation was first-rate.
The oppressiveness crescendoed and it seemed that Callie’s heart was ready to burst out of her chest by the time they reached the penultimate station and she stood up – a young boy quickly slipping into her seat within a fraction of a second-, gripping the pillar-like rod next to her for support.
She forced herself to take deep breaths, taking in the combined odour of the people that crowded her.
It was a pleasant surprise that the aggregate of those smells was like no particular smell at all.
There was a gradual easing within her as she stepped out of the train and some bit of excitement even made itself known to her.
She was getting to explore a new city – one not many drifts would ever visit in their lifetimes.
After the strangeness of Old Jalakide, Callie had not built up the newer parts of the city to be altogether very magnificent.
All she hoped for was some good food… maybe a couple of magical items – souvenirs of their time in the city.
With this sliver of desire, she fell in with the group as they made their way out of the underground.
As they made their way up from the level just below the ground, Callie could see the space ahead of the landing (which could only be the exit into open air) bathed with a kind of light that she could have taken for Wairo’s if she were not so keenly conscious of his absence.
But the brilliance and resulting allure of it was too great and Callie would have run the stairs up two or three at a time if there were not so many people.
Elation brought her into physical activity just as the latter had the power to induce the former.
Her anticipation did not turn out to be baseless as she stepped out into the vivid vibrance of what was a shopping street.
Her eyes took some time to adjust to the sudden influx of light.
Everything seemed to lay on the spectrum from red to yellow.
The street lights had the quality of turning every shade of paint akin to their hue.
Crimson leaves blew along the ground excitedly but with restraint, as if their parent branch had given them permission to go out and have fun, but not too much.
The leaves never seem to rise till one’s calves and had their own world close to the ground where they intermingled and made beautiful patterns, occasionally breaking off hither to chase after some fancy.
As her eyes glanced up, they missed the middle section altogether and focused upon the rustling plants and trees.
Parents and siblings and relatives waving happily – their enthusiasm mirroring the explorer’s.
They lined the streets so densely that it seemed there was no darkness in New Jalakide.
A shuffling around in their group brought her now shining eyes to search for her driftfellows.
Gwenyth was already moving towards her and Sylviane… Oh.
She’s right behind me.
Callie noticed, jumping slightly as her voice shot past her right ear.
“So, where are we going?” Callie kept her eyes on Gwenyth, the intended target of the question raised.
“Well, let’s stroll about – get the lay of the land.
I’ll scout psychic services, ask about.
Once we find one, it’s really a matter of five or ten minutes.
I’ll be in and right out.”
“Don’t we get to join your séance?” asked Sylviane without much thought.
Gwenyth shook her head a little.
“I need to do one by myself.
Others I am more than willing to do with you all.
Do you know anyone dead you’d want to contact?” Callie and Sylviane shook their heads.
“Well, then we’ll just rejoin the others in whatever shenanigans they are like to get up to.”
“So why did you even want company for this?” asked Sylviane.
Gwenyth smiled a little.
“To protect me, of course.
If there ever was a place filled to the brim with shady characters, it is this one.”
Sylviane grinned and punched her arm.
“My services are non-gratis.”
“Callie – my good friend – isn’t charging me anything.”
“I never said so.” Callie said and turned to Sylviane, smiling widely.
“Shall we unionize?
What say you?”