Avishraa Reloaded

An-uxhwi had heard Evrith and Shyriath speak of Barith's Gate, the only pass with any real amount of accessibility through this part of the mountains. What he had not heard them say, however, was that “gate” was not merely a metaphorical description, but a literal one.

Though he had little detailed knowledge of stonework, the brief glimpse of it he had gotten from a distance suggested that it, or at least its foundation, was very old; newer, if somewhat more haphazard, construction had taken place higher up, but it rested on massive, solid stones that had clearly been there for ages. It also entirely blocked travel through the pass except by going through the gate, where there was considerable traffic.

Shyriath had, with surprisingly little complaint, instead volunteered to take the book around, by going through the rock. It was bound to be time-consuming and tiresome, but also considerably less trouble than trying to go through the gate without being noticed. And so a mobile hollow began traveling through the mountainside, with Shyriath inside it, as well as someone else occasionally keeping him company.

An-uxhwi was fulfilling this function when Shyriath once again paused in exhaustion. But at least from here, through the slot that served as an airhole and an observation point, there was a certain amount to see, because they had a good view down into the settlement that existed within the fortress of which the gate was part. Here, too, ancient stone buildings had been repaired, and new ones crammed in. Caravans entered in from either side, giving the meager settlement - and its inn - what life it had.

Shyriath grunted at the side before gently sliding into a heap on the floor. “Busy little place,” he wheezed. “Gods, what I'd give to be in an inn with proper beds. And food. And possibly a drink. And also whose denizens wouldn't kill me on sight.”

“That is the general problem we're facing, isn't it?” An-uxhwi echoed to share in the lament. Privately, he noticed an amount of envy for Shyriath's talent - in the deep darkness of the hollow, his memories were bringing him back to those awful mines he had escaped from. Being able to simply suffuse through the rock would have been an awfully useful trait to have, even if it cost this much energy. With a pickaxe, their current endeavour would certainly have taken longer than the time he had left in his life to even come to the current point. “Do you want to rest for a while?” he asked, encouragingly. “I have no bed to offer, but I could certainly bring you some food and drink from the book world.” Or Shyriath could disappear into it and get his own, of course.

Shyriath fought to get his breath back. He couldn't say with certain knowledge that this was the most inefficient method of stealthy travel ever devised, but it had to be in the top twenty-five or so, surely. Some food sounded good, but-

“In a few minutes,” he murmured at last. “In fact… in fact, while we are undisturbed here, there was something I wished to ask you about.” He paused, his exhaustion mixed with what An-uxhwi was coming to recognize as a takma expression of one choosing their words. At last, he said, “I have gathered that… when Ynudh attacked you and injured your tail, you had some kind of… dream? Vision?”

The topic visibly surprised An-uxhwi, and he tilted his head to convey his reflection on it. “I suppose I did,” he ventured. “It was quite odd, altogether. More like a half-awake hallucination, with sleep paralysis and all. What did you want to know about it?” he asked, his tone carrying a curiosity of his own.

Shyriath stared into the darkness, working his jaw. He wasn't sure if there was a point to asking, since any answer he received would almost certainly fail not only to help, but even to make him feel the slightest bit better. But he supposed it would at least remove a source of suspense.

“Did you… did you get any sense of a… being? Something that drives Ynudh in his actions?” he asked, very quietly.

An-uxhwi tried to remember the dream. “Maybe?” he said. “It began in a quite abstract manner, like a fever dream. There was definitely a sense of something rather unseemly. Maybe a malevolent spirit. I'm less sure it represented anything other than the physical and psychological trauma of the situation, mind you. Although the forms from the dream that came after did refer to something called 'the hungry one'.” He shrugged a little helplessly.

Shyriath shut his eyes, and shivered. He whispered, “And Evrith said that, shortly before, Ynudh mentioned a Devourer…”

He trailed off. Eventually, he added, eyes still shut: “When Ynudh came upon you down in the valley, and Tikke brought me over to help… there was a point, just as Evrith came through as well, when I was in his mind, hoping to confuse him. But at the moment Evrith appeared-”

Shyriath stopped abruptly, and An-uxhwi could hear the quavering of his breath. At last, so faintly that he could barely be heard, he ccondluded, “-there was a voice.”

An-uxhwi had, of course, seen his fair share of oddities by now. It was therefore maybe not entirely surprising that he was not altogether alarmed by this, or particularly sceptical, but instead took the information in as he would a grim observation of an incoming storm. “From the way you speak of it, I assume it was not Ynudh's,” he observed.

“No. It was nothing like him. Nothing like… like anything…” Shyriath forced his eyes open. “Or at least like no inner voice I have ever heard. It sounded in the mind and the heart and the bones. And it directed Ynudh's attention to Evrith, saying: 'END IT.'” He stared into the darkness, shaking. Then he gave a brief, terrified laugh. “In other circumstances, I might feel pity for Ynudh. Though he didn't seem particularly reluctant to end lives, I don't think it would have mattered if he was. I rather strongly doubt he has a choice.”

“Hmm,” An-uxhwi said. For a moment, it seemed like that noncommital remark was all the Shyriath was getting out of his current companion. Then he said: “What do you suppose we should do about it?”

Shyriath looked up in astonishment. “Do? What do you think-”

He stopped, sighed, and then subsided a little. “…then again, perhaps not. Tell me: has Evrith explained much to you about the beliefs of the takmar? About… about the world, and gods, and things like that?”

“I don't believe so,” An-uxhwi shook his muzzle, but seemed unperturbed by Shyriath's astonishment. From an outside perspective, he was either not particularly likely to ascribe more than temporary madness to either of their experiences, or he thought the mortals had a larger say in the dabblings of deities than Shyriath's surprise indicated. Either way, it made a good opportunity for some education.

“No, I didn't think so,” he murmured. “But it is said that the first of all things to be made was Uvuun, the dweller in the cold dark depths, the god of oblivion - because in order for things to be, there must first be a state in which they are not yet and are no longer. And it is said that all else that was made afterwards was drawn forth from Him, against His will, and that He hungers for it, and that He draws all things back toward Him - and that in the End He will devour it all.

Shyriath hesitated briefly, and then added, “My father attempted to raise me in the faith which says these things. It… didn't work. Things happened in my early life to make me skeptical of the existence of our gods. And now, quite suddenly, I have what sounds to me like evidence for at least one of them, and at that the most terrifying of them all. It is a hard thing to… process. So what should we do?” He gave a brief, bitter laugh. “What does one do about death, except to live?”

He shook his head slightly. “I wondered why Evrith had so much trouble with the concept of Ynudh; now I suspect I know. She believe Uvuun is involved as well. And looking to life is… not her strong point.”