Nine Ashen Hearts

Ole Vaile

Nine Ashen Hearts

Episode I – The Reasons

I am neither this nor that.

My chorus is the splashes of waves

in the rays of the sun at dawn.

My lullaby is the chillness of the night sky.

Yet even though the moon is painted with jagged scars,

while our memory hides in the voids between the stars,

we can still trust the earth and our feet

to bring us to places where we are destined to go.

“Volume 73: Of Things You Will Forget,

or the Various Nonsense that Boils in My Head”

– Grivetre the Two-Sided

* * * * * * * * *

The pillars of the world stand on stories that have sprouted in memory. Along them flow delicate thoughts, like light rivers that nourish the oceans. Their waves meet rocky shores and break, merging with wind-driven dust, then settle on the surface, burying the past beneath them.

Thus, one leaves behind loneliness, attempting to fill and capture the infinite, sacrificing oneself and becoming completely lost—only to return to the source once again.

Someone saw this on the edges of invisible boundaries, where the beginning trembled behind the veil of what once was, while the end was just as hidden and seemed beyond reach.

There, the echo softly whispered through the azure haze in the languid calm of motionless halls, lulling the walls woven from cold stone and weightless lines. A keen ear could have traced this whisper to the steps of a swift shadow, which disturbed the ancient velvety silence.

That moment could hold no memory, and among many other things, the shadow did not remember its name. It only tried to keep up with one seeker—the same one who was casting this shadow in a rampant search for something unknown. The haste of his steps was fueled by a drive akin to what could be called bravery. Or perhaps it was folly? Desire, need, mystery? The seeker, like his shadow, could not pinpoint exactly what it was; yet he was here, which meant the reason was hidden somewhere close.

A dance of white flames flickered in the distance of this darkened path and freely shared its pure light. However, the shadow had little desire to approach it and stretched out in the opposite direction. The impenetrable clarity of the flames begged to grab onto everything that touched them. That scared the shadow greatly, yet it dared not leave the seeker. As he advanced, the darkness around him began to change. With each new step, the ancient layers of dust and moss on the walls crumbled, the reflections of the light became clearer, and the secrets of architecture blossomed in spirals.

Folly! Without a trace of doubt, it was folly. How deftly it (together with the unknown in its embrace) guided the light steps of the seeker through the enveloping twilight. Strangely, it did not seem that he even tried to resist it. Earlier observations and experiences had taught the seeker that everyone is a fool at first—but will he remain a fool? Perhaps that was the real question. Without any false riddles or obscure illusions…

The surrounding walls captured within their stones some eye-catching patterns shaped out of fine metals, each of which told a history of events long lost in oblivion. They flashed and slipped out of the seeker's sight, while his attention was too slow to capture them. The symbols ran past him, turning into vague strokes, resembling a whirlwind of colors under an artistic brush. Images of bygone days remained behind the seeker in the echoes of his footsteps and intertwined with disappearing elaborations of shapes.

In that thick-as-wax moment, another question arose, but this time the truth rang within it: why was he so thirsty? The seeker's throat tightened with desire, and something glimmered in his chest. He knew the solution was near. Yes, a suitable remedy was in the brilliance of this round shape before him, but it was empty—not a sip, nor a drop within it. Where did the whim of these demanding shackles come from? Why were they demanding deliverance…

It didn't matter. The seeker did not stop—there was no way to stop. Like a ghost, another question revealed itself: will *he* stay at all? He heard in response some distant splashes of water. Despite all these unanswered questions, he was still here: he took a chance and crossed the threshold to conquer the revealed unknown. Moving through it, he saw how the hall began to lose its integrity. The moss-covered slabs beneath his feet softened and gave way, as if he were walking on quicksand.

The old stones of the walls followed the floor, only to fall under the influence of an unknown force. The images melted and dissipated from the radiant light in the distance, which beckoned the seeker with its purity with every step he took. Something was eluding him, but what? He couldn't remember and didn't know what it was like to remember.

Somewhere behind, the seeker heard a bird-like chirping. The columns twisted like melting candles and blocked the way but remained beyond the invisible limits of the seeker's gaze. The shadow behind him grew, approaching the glow, and did not slow down in front of the falling debris until an entire part of the wall collapsed, scattering its inaudible strokes on the only visible path. Something suddenly eclipsed that distant light, and the footsteps faded into silence.

Without guiding lights or sounds, all became empty. The restless seeker took a blind step, and that invisible, empty step meant the whole world to him. The second step followed the first, then a third, and the echo rushed to fill the void. The darkness began to shift and take on bizarre shapes. Within them, the work of forgotten masons emerged—carved from the gifts of the earth. The echo hinted at the direction, gently touching those tired old walls, reminding them of their existence and purpose, which outlined the seeker's only path.

When the alluring light emerged from the obscurity again, a fluttering silhouette appeared at the very end of the hall. The seeker hid behind one of the pieces of the fallen column and watched as the azure flame outlined a restless figure: she was thin and elegant, in a long, uneven dress that resembled a roughly carved imitation of silk. The figure was not alone and constantly kept her back to the seeker. She spoke in unfamiliar words in front of the fire, but her company preferred to stay in the dark.

The rustling of the dress ceased with her words when she stopped, but the more the seeker tried to examine her, the closer the figure appeared. Then she finally revealed her hooded head. She had no face, just a white bone and two gaping voids with quivering sparks instead of eyes. Suddenly, the flame went out, but the whiteness of her appearance—her high neck and bony arms—stayed imprinted like a ghost on a black canvas of darkness.

Invisible feet immediately brought the shadow to another place, but the ghostly shape in the roughest silks pursued the seeker—her gaze reappeared in the patterns on the walls and kindled a fire in the seeker's chest. He continued to stick to the shadows and did not stop until he noticed a delicate arch that seemed out of place here. The soft jade light surrounded the arch, along with tall leaves of pale grass on which a translucent beetle swayed. Perhaps this pleasant vision was what the seeker searched for?

All that remained was to enter the arch.

The passage led the seeker with his shadow through the empty heights into a special hall where azure ruled and the answers hid. Narrow passages slowed the steps of the shadow until it fell on rows of strange boxes. The seeker immediately wanted to check them all, but only one of the boxes was tied with black ribbons and seemed to be trembling, waiting to be opened…

The shadow stretched out into the shape of a knife. A chill ran through the seeker. The binding ribbons fell with a metallic clang, but the lid of the box did not give way, as if someone was holding it. The weight pulled the seeker down when *her* ghostly presence appeared very close to him. She was looking for him. She was waiting for him. Or so he thought…

Suddenly, like a snake, fear grabbed the seeker—she was much closer than he thought… The ghostly figure without a face pursued his shadow, and he could neither hide it nor separate himself, no matter how hard he tried. The blasted ghost was already behind the boxes that hid him; she knew he was here. Soon, she would catch up with him. Run! Away, back to the arch while there was still time!

The seeker searched no more. The fire of horror burned in his chest. The treasure's defenders were powerless to save him from the bony hand reaching out to him, and he, feeling only the shock in his head, could only witness its ghostly approach. The shadow of the seeker disappeared—it caught light, and he was so lost that he could not find himself… The lightness of his unseen movements felt like flying. Faster and higher, easier than running! There was only one direction—down. A fall, not a flight it was! A fall…

Cates?

* * * * * * * * *

Cates!

Now he remembered his name. Like a bell, it woke him up and returned him to a dark corner at the top of the tower. The sensations of prolonged falling, along with the noise in his ears, dissolved without a single trace. The softness of the satin pillows held his head with selfless care and banished the ghosts that left his chest on fire…

Cates took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The dream that started it all scattered into tiny fragments in his brain. The fleeting burning feeling turned into cold needles and then disappeared in the warmth of the leather jacket under which Cates slept. He always found safety within his dreams, but now they had become his torment.

The awakened one's gaze focused and revealed a partially lit chamber. Cobwebs fluttered in the corners, while wide pipes sprawled along the walls, leading to various kinds of rusty capacitors and filters. Their reddish patterns intertwined with noble patina in an attempt to replicate the shades of sunset clouds that crept through a series of thin windows. Aloe flowers blossomed on the windowsills under the care of a lone cactus. Above it all, almost touching the roof, was a large stained-glass window.

The wavy rays divided its round and cracked pattern into symmetrical parts. The lower half was slightly open, and a familiar silhouette of a woman in the rays of the departing sun nestled in its curve. She balanced by gently swinging her leg, and her focus was on the mechanical claws strapped to her wrists. Their sharpness reflected the darkening sky, with which her outfit was about to merge. She noticed that the sleeper was no longer asleep and stretched, clicking her claw. A cheerful whisper broke the silence of the twilight, reminding Cates that he still had ears:

"Cates? You sleep rather soundly for a shadow! Sweet dreams?"

She called him by name—that was a rare occurrence, like her uninvited evening visits. The parched throat of Cates rustled like sand under a desert wind in response:

"Vish. I almost didn't recognize you. Have you stopped being a shadow?"

The guest questioningly tilted her scarf-covered head. A scarlet thread quickly drew arrow-like patterns on it, moving onto the high collar that wrapped around her long neck. Cates rubbed his eyes.

"I mean, usually you had the decency to knock."

Vish tapped her claw against the unbroken parts of the glass, and a small smile appeared on her lips.

"Knock-knock? I really wanted to knock earlier, but my hand couldn't dare to pull you out of the world of dreams! As I see, you're not happy to see me."

"I didn't expect you at this hour…"

The attention of Cates sharpened with suspicion of something amiss. It was important to swallow the worry and not show it.

"Ah, I see! You want to say that you didn't dream about me? Another wish of mine shattered…"

"Don't fret, Vish. It's getting dark, and the unchained faceless will soon go to their dreamlands. For sure, someone will dream of you… How long have you been sitting up there?"

Vish brought the claw to her chin and muttered something under her breath, then breathed in… and out.

"One. Huh, only five hundred forty-one breaths after I climbed up here. Counting helps me keep my balance, you know. I haven't heard from you in quite a while. You're not writing, not picking up the contracts. I was suspecting that you're in hiding."

The dark corners of the room reminded Cates of the ghost that had followed him not too long ago. Hiding wouldn't save him from simple figments of the mind! If only numbers could help with such ghosts… However, he'd try counting if he ever met one of them again.

Vish stayed up on the window, her cyan eyes catching the awkwardness and a certain vulnerability in Cates as he lay in this strange and untidy bed made of a pile of pillows. His head was heavy from unrest, and he wanted to return to sleep, but he couldn't.

Only one option remained. Cates silently got up from under his jacket, found his boots, and walked over to the filter on the wall, from which purified moisture dripped into a large tray. In it, a spider dangled its legs and struggled in a futile attempt to get out of the water. It seemed like death could have been salvation for the spider, yet Cates wasn't sure. Still, when he was thinking about putting an end to the spider's misery, his hand simply reached for a fallen leaf from the windowsill and, with it, moved the spider onto the cactus.

Actually, Vish was the liar here—she was the one who hadn't written back all this time. Doubts made themselves known and tingled in the mind of Cates. Maybe it was not the night he had been preparing for. He needed to think everything over a couple more times, especially…

"Ca-a-a-tes? You're not in hiding, huh?"

This question pulled him out of his thoughts with an impulse.

"No, I'm not in hiding. What gave you that idea?"

He stretched, yawned, and returned to the tray to wash his face. The night was still far beyond the horizon, and something told him not to rush to conclusions.

"The links now are busy with other pressing matters, so they don't care about me now anyway. Likewise, I don't care about them…"

"You mean to say that you're not bound by a contract right now? Did something happen?"

"No, nothing yet. But this, as we know, is a matter of time…"

The cold water washed away the rust from his thoughts, and Cates looked out of the tower window down onto the city, where the fading flame of the sun's rays was turning to bleak orange. The roofs were shining in anticipation of the pale touch of the moon. It was the 973rd cycle after the Cataclysm, and the 14th day of the Fox was finding its end.

The sands that surrounded the city—unforgivingly coarse, full of ash and tears of the past—would rise with the arrival of the days of the Wolf, which would bring storms of caustic salt to devour the dying fire of the last refuge. Then the bones born from the earth would rot, and the wind would scatter their dust—so the old story went, and there was no end of it in sight. In the city, everyone was responsible for their own stories, while Cates served as an instrument for shaping them. Vish started swinging her leg over his head, looking around.

"Yep, your corner got a bit rustier, and the stained glass cracked—is it because of the storm or something? Anyways, it could use a little measure of patching up, that's your trade, or it was, at least… The next storm will come from the north; it'll be black, they say."

"The last cycle's frost caused the cracks, but I can't get my hands on some glass and paint while the links give out contracts to everyone who tries to look like a shadow."

"The needs of the links are growing, so it is not surprising that the unchained are trying out their flow for the sake of some extra drops."

"By doing that, they create instabilities and ruin their own histories, as if intentionally. Although everyone has their own problems. Just like you, Vish—your problems brought you here at this hour, didn't they? Got a troublesome contract?"

"Hm, you are definitely right about some things. But no, everything is fine with my contracts. In fact, I closed one recently for the Fires. And now, when I was walking on the roofs, I noticed your window!"

Of course, the Fires—Cates thought to himself—who else? It had been a little over a cycle since Vish got involved with the Fires. She had treated him differently then. Perhaps because she hadn't known him as well, or had imagined him differently?

"To me… Stop looking at me like that! The Fires take care of their shadows no less than the other links! Even despite their, um, oddities. Don't worry, I'm without a trace. As soon as I got the emeralds, I immediately left them."

She pulled out a quiln as proof—a scratched silver cylinder with a bright green glow on one side. Capsules like these held the means to power many of the devices that kept the city (along with the small pockets of life outside Sol) running. Each link was willing to fill such quilns with emerald drops in exchange for completing their side of the contracts. Information, infiltration, surveillance, substitution, sabotage—the lives of shadows were rarely boring. Anyone could become a shadow. Any shadow could become alight.

Vish didn't say a word about her contract's target—usually she found it curious to dissect every detail. Cates stared blankly at the quiln in her hand, trying to remember where he had left his own.

"Impressive. Then why are you here? There are cozier places where your dribs would be most welcome."

"Oh, don't be cross! The Fires won't even dare to peek in here, it's too high! And if they try to…"

"They won't, and you know that. They erase their stories the same way they burn through contracts and will soon forget about the need for taboos…"

"No need to blame all of the Fires for what has happened. They won't forget taboos; otherwise, everyone will forget. And then what will happen, can you imagine?"

Cates imagined and looked down at the city, over which the departing sun gleamed in a crimson sky. Several inquisitors had been staining the streets more often lately. They were looking for something—just like Cates. Everyone was looking for something here, and when they weren't, they waited. All that remained was to figure out what Vish was looking for. Cates thought that he'd fix the stained glass if he came back…

But he wouldn't come back if he didn't depart, and now he simply waited until Vish would reveal everything on her own. The most important thing was to pay attention and listen. She tightened the straps that held her claws and continued the interrogation.

"You didn't hear anything about the lord's arrival?"

"Is it because of him that the inquisitors are hanging around?"

"Sures. They and the other followers of the lord returned with him a week ago from… Mmm, I forgot from where. Their expedition was far, far from here, anyway. You've never been there? I mean, outside the circles?"

"I'm not one of the followers or a part of any other links, you know that. I couldn't care less about their affairs."

Vish had distracted him from thirst long enough with her interrogation. She continued to look for his involvements with the links, but she didn't dare to simply ask him. Was she worried about his answers? Did the truth scare her that much? Maybe she simply needed time. But where on earth had his flask gone…

Cates took a glove out of his pocket and put it on. Rugged fingers snapped against the heating rod, and a spark stirred the dried drops from the quiln on the end of it. A tiny flame appeared and shared itself with the candles in the corners of the room. The dim light revealed Vish: a corset of dark patterned fabric clasped her waist, beneath it a loose tunic with long sleeves in which she hid her wall-climbing claws. Tall boots with a riveted platform served the same purpose. She wrapped her arms around her knee and tilted her head.

"It's cozy in here. Safe. I can see now why you stayed here."

"Clever girl. You can climb down from there. I only need to find one thing…"

Strangely, the flask was nowhere to be seen. Cates searched the room and checked the pockets of a belt that was hanging on the wall, yet instead of the flask, he found his quiln. Its emerald glow, unlike Vish's quiln, was almost completely gone, and the pitiful crackling sound meant that it was nearly drained. Nevertheless, it would help quench his thirst.

"Cates! Is that why you switched to candles? Your quiln is almost gone! Do you want me to share a few drops with it?"

"No, it's got enough drops to cover my needs. Are you hungry? I had something tasty… somewhere. Relatively."

With a candle in hand, Cates approached a glass container with water in the middle of the room. Another container was inside it—closed and without water but with edible things. A piece of whale fat languished at the bottom along with a dozen pieces of shark (delicious) and a bunch of shrimp. Cold water in the dark did a good job of preserving food this way. Vish was not leaving the window's curve, as if she was very cautious. She watched as Cates scooped up water from the first container into a jug with a heating rod, and he said:

"There's some whale, even shark meat. Would you like some? Maybe shrimp? I can make a soup."

She shook her head with her tongue out. Cates wasn't too hungry either.

"Then just coffee?"

He prepared two cups, poured a handful of black powder and a pinch of dried herbs from small boxes on the shelves into the jug. The names of the spices did not find themselves in his anxious memory, but he remembered their taste, identified them by smell—he could never fail at identifying the smell, it was unmistakable. Shaking the jug, he touched the rod with its glow, and it turned red from the heat, boiling the water in the jug in ten seconds. Vish looked at it with little to no enthusiasm.

"Don't you have anything stronger? Don't bother, I'll manage without. I shouldn't have woken you up, now I feel guilty. Go back to bed, Cates. You look like you haven't slept in an eternity. Or maybe even two."

He didn't listen to her and finished brewing the coffee. The cool calm of the evening air mingled with the scent of sweet fire. Cates took a few sips, quenching his thirst with the strong taste of spicy tartness. Vish gulped.

"You're being too shady, Cates, your quiln wouldn't last until the Wolf. Still, answer me this: why don't you take contracts anymore?"

He understood now why she was so cautious—he was being shady indeed, but he could not reveal absolutely everything she wanted to know. He didn't need the contracts because he didn't need the drops. He hid the fact that he had broken one of the taboos.

"I had contracts when I was remembered."

"Ha, really? You and forgotten? Don't flatter yourself. You're not that great of a shadow yet."

"I'm just a shadow, like any other. In games of the links, we are the drops for exchanges and recharges. There should be another way instead."

Vish fought the urge to make a heavy sigh:

"I… You know, I also thought about that. But nothing ever happens the way you'd expect. What are you planning to do, if not the contracts?"

"No, without contracts there are no shadows. And I'm not against them, it's just… There's nothing to grab on to… I can't sleep, and when I do, I dream of danger, unstable ground, exposure. As if everything is turning against me. It's funny that even wanting to leave the shadows, I'm afraid to expose myself, and when I look back, I only see mistakes."

He tried to drown the excuses with the warmth of coffee. Vish eyed him warily.

"Do you know what your problem is?"

"I don't know."

"You see yourself as a problem. You are a shadow—just like me—only you like to build towers in your head and bang yourself against them endlessly. Believe me, contracts are not the worst thing you could do."