16 (I) Composer

All demons carry the taint, and it is of this taint that more demons are born.

Once one is infected, it is not the body that succumbs, but the spirit.

The very being of a person turns against themselves and becomes something of an incubator for the demonic spawn.

To this regard, the researchers at the Prismatic Order have undergone many tests and experiments to discover whether the demons and vampires have close relations. Due to the nature and similarity of their breeding and bearing, it cannot be ruled out that vampires, too, count as a classification of demon, though there are major differences in biology and capability.

Should you encounter a demon, do your best to slay it, and if you cannot, ensure that your own demise is painless and pure. Your soul will be guarded by the Auroral Council, and you will be valorized for your bravery in the face of unfathomable sin.

Should you survive, however, it is essential that you inform your local authorities so that a member of the Prismatic Order may be dispatched.

You cannot risk infecting others with the taint. You must do your duty as a citizen of the Republic. Nation over self. Remember that, always.

-Demons: Dangers Posed and Proper Responses, essential Yellowstone Republic reading material for school children ages 12 and older

16 (I)

Composer

It took Shiv longer than he would have liked to figure out how the belt buckles on the demon worked. Apparently, it was pretty simple. You just slid the pointy end into the slot. That, he wasn’t used to. For most riders back on Blackedge—those who had aerial mounts or for the large dimensionals summoned for use in the Chevalier Corps—there was usually a more complicated process of hooking and chaining and binding oneself to the mount. There were even those who equipped their harness to their soul. Not so here.

The moment he and the Umbral all clicked their belts in, the beast took off, gliding through the air. Its flight was smooth, its ascent quick. Its wide body seemed very stable at the top, and as Shiv observed its form, he could see strange strands of hair-thin fibers flicking beneath it. That was curious.

He still didn’t know how he felt about riding on a supposed demon. But so far, it hadn’t attacked him or started turning other people into demons. Is the Republic just openly ignorant, or are they actually hiding these things from us?

Shiv remembered the high vampire, what he learned about the Necrotechs, what he thought he knew about the Abyss…

Looking around, he studied the Umbrals, checked the Weaveress, and gazed upon the grand city passing by beneath him. There were people everywhere on the bridges and streets. Flashing illusions danced through the air—making a common day here seem as intense as the Festival of the Eclipse back on Blackedge. What’s more was the magical infrastructure. There seemed to be translucent lanes in the air, and demons and dimensionals of all varieties floated about, sometimes carrying people within themselves. Shiv gaped when he saw a near-transparent spherical demon with two cute dot-like eyes and a series of wings that should have been too small to heft its load fluttering along one of the lines. Within its being were over fifty people, all seated on layered rows of protective cushions.

“You’ve never been to a great city, have you?” Uva asked.

“I—uh, no,” Shiv said, trying to keep himself composed. “It’s very large and impressive. Sorry about the architecture that I broke on the way down by the way.”

She let out a hum. “Yes. We—we pride ourselves on maintaining our sanctuary. The Composer gives much to us, and we try to earn her affection any way we can. Regardless, what happened earlier was a lapse in our security. It won’t happen again.”

Shiv grunted. “If it does, and I’m around, you can count on me to help out again.”

The Umbral Psychomancer shot him a brief look and smirked.

Another note danced through the air, shaking reality itself. Shiv turned and saw more threaded webs gliding alongside the demon. The webs did not move through those designated lanes; they simply went wherever they desired. Each web was aglow with a strange magical aura, and as they passed by, Shiv couldn’t help but feel the immense power they held within.

That’s a lot of mana, he thought to himself. He could feel his own Biomancy, but the thing about magic, as he was learning, was that you needed specific attunements for your mana field to sense others. Leveling different magic skills meant that, though one might have an extremely powerful field in Biomancy, they could possess only a paltry field in something like Psychomancy. He looked to Sister Uva and considered something: Valor did say that spending more time among Mind Mages could help you develop such a skill. He might need to test that if he got the chance in the future.

As they flew closer to the Symposium, Shiv studied the murals lining each of the great buildings. Many of them depicted Umbrals on their knees, weeping, while Weaveresses reached down to help them up. That was a common story between most of the depictions. Some others depicted the Umbrals and Weaveresses in combat. It was always the Weaveresses in the role of protector and guide, while the Umbrals stood in rows ahead of them against the enemy hordes.

He wanted to ask for more details about the relationship between the Umbrals and spiders, but to his surprise, they were already drawing close to the Composer’s home. The demon had provided the smoothest flight he’d ever been on—which wasn’t saying much, since it was also the first flight he’d ever been on. “You’re a pretty steady guy, aren’t you?” he muttered to the demon.

It let out a loud, low moo, and Shiv blinked.

“She agrees,” the Weaveress said.

“She can understand me?”

“Demons are creatures born of promises and contract,” she explained. “They are dimensionals that understand the meaning we speak—no matter what language.”

“So, does that mean it’s telepathic too?” Shiv said, feeling a little worried. “If everyone has a mind magic skill, then—”

“No, no,” the Weaveress placated him. “It… it is different. Intent is its own thing. Some dimensionals are so alien, or so simple in mind, that comprehension and mutual understanding are impossible. But what makes one a demon is specifically that they can understand meaning, and that they can be bound to us through ordained contracts. And the demon you talked about earlier…”

“The one from the Realm of Flies,” Shiv answered.

“The Dimension of Flies and Plague,” Uva corrected. “The one you speak of is a war form, something to be called upon only in times of severe conflict. If you summon it without blood to be shed and flesh to be contaminated, it will turn on you. It will be offended. The way they experience existence—the way their Path works—is different from ours. They are penalized and suffer from the poison that is peace.”

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Shiv tried to imagine that—suffering for not killing someone, or not fighting and slaughtering. It was hard. He enjoyed fighting, but even if he didn’t do it, it didn’t come as a penalty to him. It seemed that the System had different rules for many people, but then again, wasn’t that the nature of the Paths? Maybe just less severe than what it meant to be a demon.

They came to a stop on a platform leading into the Symposium. A similar prismatic crystal hovered atop that platform and created a crack in reality for the Demon’s departure. As each of them dismounted, Shiv muttered his thanks to the demon, and it let out a loud “moo” again. The Weaveress released a melodic laugh.

“What? What did they say?” Shiv asked.

“She said you were very polite and that, hopefully, the next surfacer is as polite as you,” the Weaveress replied.

“She really said that?” Shiv asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” she said. “Most Umbrals, they… uh, they are rather reserved.”

Shiv looked at the other Umbrals, and they eyed him, all of them hiding smirks. Uva especially. “I can see that,” Shiv managed.

As they ventured closer to the Composer, the song grew louder. He could almost hear someone singing in the distance—sweet and high notes pulling at his heartstrings. While they walked, the Umbrals and the Weaveresses took on solemn expressions and crossed their hands over one another. They walked with their heads bowed, and Shiv tried to mimic them. He wasn’t sure if he got everything exactly right, but since no one complained, he assumed he was doing fine.

A wall of dense, fibrous webs opened before them, flashing alight as a doorway appeared. Beyond that, a glistening path led deeper still, and another group of Umbrals and their Weaveresses walked out. Some were crying, some seemed elated. As they passed by, a few of them eyed Shiv, their faces turning from rapture to curiosity, but he passed them without a word, wondering what he was about to face.

The Composer—a god, Shiv thought to himself—or what supposedly was a god. He'd never even thought about a specific god before this. He knew the Yellowstone Republic had its own divinities. Supposedly each of the Auroral Council’s members was a living avatar of one of the Republic’s gods—Champions, in a word—but after a life of ostracization and the general scorn he experienced at the hands of Clerics and War Priests alike, he did his best to spurn the churches and the faiths as much as they spurned him.

Among the things he did was literally never learn the names or scriptures of any of these gods. Didn’t matter if he was going to offend the priests—they already hated him—so he simply didn’t waste his time with religion at all.

The Composer felt like a different story altogether. She was here, present in the lives of her people, and so far she didn’t seem all that malicious. And then his mind reeled as he saw something. Around him, the silken cocoon bore murals of its own—not even just murals, but weavings. Weavings of color. Weavings of a small spider maiden wandering through the darkness of the Abyss. Weavings of her helping the first Umbral she came upon, composing a lyre, playing songs, weeping over the fallen. So far, it seemed like she was a goddess of mercy—a savior to the Umbrals more than anything else.

Her song’s not half bad either, Shiv thought to himself. Then he focused on one specific mural. This one was different from all the others. It depicted the Composer at war. She stood upon a cliffside, her visage masked in a scowl of anger, facing dragons, vampires, and seemingly undead—er, Risen—alike. There was also another faction of strange creatures he couldn’t fully describe—their bodies alien, like broken pieces forming the vague visage of a humanoid. She played her lyre at them, and it seemed that lightning and calamity fell as she did.

Foreshadowing: The Composer rests her fingers on her great lyre. This instrument—the embodiment of her true feelings and her true soul—had been with her since the very start, since the first time she heard what she later learned to be music. By this point, her lyre had well over a thousand strings, each tuned to a specific note—some so subtle in vibration that the mortal ear cannot comprehend them.

But then there were strings that she simply never played during times of peace. Strings that compelled the world to react in certain ways. Strings so severe, so painful to hear, that they could make existence scream.

She stared at these strings as she sensed the approach of an old friend, an older enemy: Valor Thann was coming.

And so she prepared to make use of her entire lyre.

As the vision of Foreshadowing passed, Shiv felt Uva pulling slightly on his new shirt. She stared at him. “Yes, I know. It’s very pretty. Now, we need to go along before someone else takes our place in attendance. The Composer is very, very busy.”

He nodded and followed along. Foreshadowing had given him a lot of information he didn’t expect. It increasingly felt like a Diviner’s skill—and a very good Diviner’s skill at that. But still, to get a glimpse into what a goddess was doing, and what she felt toward Valor Thann… and that’s another thing Shiv thought to himself. Valor—everyone seems to know Valor. Everyone seems to respect him, but is also completely terrified of him.

Even a goddess had a plan to kill him, and he was sealed in a dagger. And then he recalled how Valor talked to him about Marikos. The dragon apparently had a grudge against Valor too. Shiv shot a look at the dagger, his eyes narrowing.

Just what did I bring here?

Well, he was going to get his answer soon. As another few doorways opened, Shiv found himself being led through a wide waiting lobby that seemed to circle the interior of the Symposium. This space was filled with very well-dressed Umbrals and even larger Weaveresses. The Weaveresses themselves wore regalia of gold and gems. Their heads were adorned with those focus crystals Shiv had seen mages bear, but these were ornately carved with twisting horns.

Immediately, he felt several fields slam into his mana field—immense Biomancy fields. Gods, they must be Master level at the least, he thought. It was like he was a small pond being engulfed by numerous seas. And his presence didn’t go unnoticed either; practically every head turned, sensing his entry. One would have guessed they all had some kind of high Awareness Skill. Shiv didn’t even have a Common Awareness skill, no matter how much he tried. Sometimes, it was just hard to develop a skill.

He looked around, trying to keep his expression respectful and remain indifferent to all the tension he was getting. Back on Blackedge, when he had this much attention, it meant he needed to run—because more than a few things were going to be thrown his way. Here, however, they just studied him with absolute curiosity.

Then, to his surprise, another individual emerged from the group, different from all the others. Mechanical limbs whirred and whistled as its spider-like body skittered to a halt right before Shiv and his Umbral escort. The Deathless felt his breath catch a little. The Weaveress hadn’t been lying about the automata being everywhere.

This one was practically a spitting image of the Composer, at least in general terms. Its lower body was all spider-like, with a tail that seemed like a wasp’s. Its upper body had the dimensions of a woman, but its face was blank. “We greet you, O Sisters and Honored Mother.” Its voice was soft and mechanical, like every automaton Shiv knew.

“We greet you, Speaker of the Exalted Mother,” the Umbrals replied as one, bowing low. Shiv mimicked their bow. The automaton then swiveled its head between the dagger containing Valor and Shiv himself.

“We heard there was a disturbance near Passage,” it said.

“There was,” the Weaveress accompanying Shiv’s group replied. “But we were fortunate.” She gestured toward Shiv. “The surfacer here, the outsider hero known as Shiv, was brave and decisive in protecting our sisters. More than that, he comes bearing auspicious things. The first is Valor Thann.” She held up the dagger, and a series of gasps went up in the room. “And the second is grim tidings. It seems that Vicar Sullain has resurfaced.”

At this, the silence consuming the lobby died, and voices broke out all around him:

“Sullain! Sullain, he’s back!”

“Will it be war again?”

“Sullain? Light take the Necrotechs for not doing what was necessary.”

Shiv looked around as he tried to keep himself still. His heart was pounding. Anxiety was crawling up inside him. He was fine with combat and talking to people, but this much attention from this many eyes felt… felt wrong. He needed to get out of here. He needed to—

“It’s okay. No one will hurt you here,” a voice sounded in his mind.

It was Uva, using her mind magic. Slowly, Shiv controlled his shaking hand and nodded his thanks, rooting himself in place despite how much he wanted to run.

“Quick, then—we must not waste any more time. This is of utmost importance,” the automaton speaker said, gesturing and leading them through a narrow walkway.

After a while, striding through darkness lit only by dim strips of nightglass, they came to a large, hexagonal platform carved from stone and nightglass alike, in the form of a strange web. It stuck out into a vast open space surrounded by flowing strings of silk, so large it once again made Shiv doubt if they were truly still underground. As they stepped on, Shiv directed his gaze to the horizon. There he saw the Composer—he saw how immense she was. The sculptures and representations failed to do her justice. She was even larger than Sir Marikos, much larger. Yet there was a greater magnificence to her, and a beauty that almost made him want to weep.

Her hair flowed in silken strands of moonlight-kissed colors. Her body was smooth like marble—human in dimension but lacking any of the detailed imperfections. It was as though she were a living statue. Her face was one of great beauty, resembling the Umbrals to some extent: large black eyes, pointed ears, sharp features. She played her harp close to her breast, and each string she plucked summoned ripples into existence. Ripples that created new strands of silk gliding through the world. The strands slithered past Shiv—past Shiv’s platform—and sank into the surrounding nest. Slowly, it began to make its way outside, with all the other threads he saw earlier, joining them in expanding the city.