Seletoth.
***
Fionn emerged from the ruin of Seletoth’s cave. He did not pay any mind to how he walked, or even if he did walk, for a thousand-thousand thoughts and memories roared through his mind in the void where Sir Bearach’s soul once lay. There, instead, was a deep well of wisdom and knowledge, of understanding and truth, the thoughts and dreams and histories of every man, woman, and child that had ever lived.
The Tapestry of Fate
Fionn glided through the rubble in his new form; a body made of golden light, resembling the one Fionn wore in life, but without the arm of Sir Bearach. The crumbling cave mouth overlooked a smouldering settlement, once occupied by the Sons of Seletoth. Without realising He was doing it, Fionn gazed into the deep well of his soul.
The people of this village lived here for hundreds of years, and Fionn could see every one of their minds and memories all at once. He tried to sift through them one by one at first, but the lives and the deaths and the thoughts and the dreams of everyone who had ever been, inside and outside of this village, all across Alabach, came to Him faster and faster and faster and faster and faster and faster and faster for those in the village had once welcomed newcomers there as long as they came at the behest of Seletoth, but other times strangers came, and they had to be fought off, just like the five strangers who had come today, trekking through the snow, clad in arms and armour noticed first by Thomás who called on his brothers to rain down bolts upon them but there was one, a Simian, who fought and fought and fought without mercy and although the Tapestry of Fate did not depict a Simian bringing so much death to these peaks, Fionn could see the anguish that Simian had in his heart, and the pain and the pain and the pain and the pain that had come forth upon seeing the death of the one he had loved, whose death only made him realise that she had felt the same, and within that pain was the regret of not being able to share that love, and knowing that they could have run away together, back to Penance, away from this war, away from Fionn, to live out their days together in peace and in love but instead he was here, dead, beneath rubble, his armour broken and cracked by the force of a hundred bolts and arrows from the Sons of Seletoth but there! beneath the rubble too were two Humans that Fionn had once known to be named Padraig Tuathil and Aislinn Carríga both of whom saw the horde invade their city and slay all who they loved both of whom travelled far from their homeland, spurred on only by the honour and duty they held for those who no longer lived, but there were so many, oh so many, lives lost since then, and one by one by one their memories bore down upon Fionn, children running through street and merchants setting up stalls and engineers overseeing plans and sailors loitering by the docks and students studying in their rooms and—
Fionn tore his mind away from the Tapestry, bringing his focus back to where he was. Aislinn and Padraig were alive beneath the rubble, though barely. He raised a hand and moved the crumbling rocks aside, exposing the two broken bodies to the air. Although he was no healer in his past life, now Fionn had complete control over every school of magic and mended their bones with ease. He closed their wounds, took their pain away, and gave them the strength to open their eyes.
Padraig opened his first and cowered back in fright. This roused Aislinn too, who stared up at Fionn with awe usually preserved for coming face to face with a god.
“Be not afraid,” said Fionn, unaware whether he was speaking out loud or if his thoughts were merging with theirs. “Seletoth is dead, and I have claimed His power.”
Neither Human responded. Fionn noticed Padraig clutching Aislinn’s hand. Finding this curious, Fionn found himself glancing back at the Tapestry to see if these two did indeed have feelings for one another, and, indeed they did, for they had grown close over this journey, and as Padraig wrote into his journal during their stay in Rosca Umhír, Aislinn came into his room and they talked about the lives they had left behind, and those they had loved before, and the grief Padraig had kept buried for Aideen of Barrow’s Way, a commoner he had been seeing in secret, but after all that happened, he wondered why he felt the need to lie about their relationship but that night he told Aislinn that it was because of his stature, and his corruption with the smugglers of the Black Sail and that he just wanted to keep her safe from them but deep down Padraig knew the truth was that he was ashamed, ashamed of falling for someone born so low, of the bastard child growing in her womb, but when the horde came, this shame was made trivial in comparison to the regret he felt for sending her away to the Cathedral of St. Lorcan with the other smallfolk, protected from the horde, but only for a time before Morrígan had turned the Pyromancers of the City Guard against the city itself and burned the Cathedral to the ground, and as those inside called to their god and their king to come and save them, Aideen only called for the one she loved, but no gods or kings or lovers heard them when the burning ceiling collapsed, but when love turns to grief, and grief burns itself out, it can leave room for love to grow once more, and here, it had, and perhaps this world would not allow it to flourish, so they must find a new one, “Go,” said Fionn, struggling to speak as the knowledge and history of the world surged through his mind, his voice was different, this he knew from their reactions, and perhaps his form was different, perhaps they did not recognise him, but he continued, hoping they would listen, “The Grey Plague has ravaged this land, and you will not live long here,” this they seemed to understand, as Padraig looked to Aislinn, and both nodded, “But there is land, far to the south,” said Fionn, as the Tapestry conjured the image of the lands, wide grassy plains with tall, lonely trees dotted throughout, sheltering herds of strange animals that roamed through it, and from the reaction both Humans gave, it seemed both could see this too, so Fionn continued, “It may take many moons to make this journey, for you will travel through harsh landscapes and over frozen seas, but it is one more journey you must make,” and then the Tapestry conjured forth another image, which all three saw, of people roaming this new land, people who bore a resemblance to Simians, but appeared to be more animalistic, intelligent yet savage, primal, but with potential, these creatures were capable of using tools, but did not know how to make fire or farm, “Find them,” said Fionn, “Find them and let them be your purpose.”
Padraig stood now, and said something to Fionn, but the Tapestry had taken Fionn’s full attention away from them. After all that had happened with Seletoth, Fionn had forgotten the intention of this journey. Morrígan needed to be stopped, and Fionn could see now where she was.
He turned away from the two Humans and their many questions, and left them alone, atop Mount Selyth, and took to the skies. He flew northwards.
Chapter 22:
Our New World
Slowly, Argyll wheeled himself through the crowds at the Tower of Sin. Many leapt aside upon seeing him, others giving him strange looks. Some looks he had grown familiar with long ago. Other looks seemed directed at his chair, which he now propelled forward himself using the raised rim of the wheels that rose over his seat. Parallel to the great staircases of the great tower were ramps for moving cargo, which Argyll took to with little effort.
On the top floor, crowds queued before three airships, docked along the open rooftop of Sin. Snow fell gently over the city now, landing upon roofs already laden with a layer of white. The gangway to Thunder was raised, its deck crowded with eager Simians.
A separate crowd of Humans stood aside, some red-robed Churchguards among them. They looked on towards three Humans, who spoke to each other in frantic, panic whispers. One saw Argyll and beckoned him over. On recognising this Human as the priest from the congregation of Sons the previous night, Argyll went to him.
“Argyll,” said the Human. “We have finished loading the ships with the focus-crystals of the Church. Where is Brother Ruairí? Where you with him?”
“Brother Ruairí has fallen,” said Argyll. He had intended to feign grief at this, but found his voice naturally cracked upon saying the name.
The fool read a book that made him want to kill me. Why should I grieve him?
But still, he found himself dwelling on memories of times their interests aligned, and the feelings that came with them. And with a well-practiced feat of emotional acrobatics, Argyll pushed them deep down, until they were no more.
“We were set upon by guards still loyal to the Church on our way out,” he said, the lie coming to him easily. “Ruairí bravely fought them off but paid dearly for it.”
“May Seletoth watch over his soul,” said the priest. “His final Seeing has blessed us with the wisdom of the Lord. Thanks to Brother Ruairí’s fate, we now know what we must do.”
“No,” said Argyll. He raised his voice at this, seeing the rest of the Sons were watching him. “As Ruairí died, he entrusted me with this.”
He took the tome out from his pocket and held it up high. This was met with many gasps from the crowd.
“The Truth. Written by King Móráin the First.”
“It cannot be!” cried the priest, eyes wide with wonder. “So many of us have seen but a glimpse of the Truth. With this, we can see the world as He intended.”
“And you shall. If you agree to come with us across the Eternal Sea.”
This was met with concerned mutters that bubbled within the crowd. On seeing this, Argyll pressed on.
“Ruairí said that the Lord said you must stay here, but to what end, only Ruairí knew. His knowledge is lost now with his death. But if you come with us, you will have all the knowledge you desire.”
As the crowd considered this, the priest turned to confer with the other two he had been speaking to. These, Argyll presumed, were priests too. After a time, the first turned to the crowd, and spoke. “If the Truth is crossing the Eternal Sea, than I shall join it too. You are all free to make up your own mind on this matter.”
On seeing the others consider this, Argyll moved away, seeing is job as being done.
As long as they make their mind up, independent of any vision any fool had, I’ll consider it a victory.
He moved towards a gangway leading up to The Dreadnought. Many Simians who had come carrying too much luggage were turned away at the threshold, given the choice of either abandoning their belongings or staying in Penance with them. Argyll boarded with nothing more than the shirt on his back, for if a lack of his own belongings meant there was room for just one more person to embark, then that was a sacrifice he was happy to make.
The crowd cheered as next to them, Thunder’s engines rumbled, and the ship took flight. Argyll’s heart soared with it.
He boarded The Dreadnought, and the crowd in the dock stepped aside to give him space, but no one spoke to him. This didn’t bother Argyll, until he thought about those closest to him before. Farris, Garth, Nicole, Ruairí… now all dead. Was it that he truly had no one left?
This was a thought he let linger longer than he would have allowed before. Other people aboard laughed and joked with one another, sharing stories and speculating about the life that waited ahead of them. Instead, Argyll looked over the side of the ship, out across the city of Penance, towards the huge hull of Thunder that sailed silently over the high spires of the Steamworks.
The crowd cheered again as the engines beneath their feet came alive. The Dreadnought rose into the air and slowly turned to face its bow westwards. Some passengers started making their way inside the ship’s massive gondola, but most stayed outside to take in this unique view of their city. The last view of their city.
But Argyll’s eyes remained locked on Thunder, which would spearhead the journey west.
From somewhere beneath them, a bolt of fire burst forth, shooting towards Thunder with deadly precision. It struck the ship. The back side of its hull burst alight. A huge plume of red flame rose upwards, sending the nose of the ship pointing upwards.
