000 Delphi, Delphi's Prelude

[PDelphi]

The weather is hot, normal for the time of year, the worst period of the year, hotter than is comfortable for the harvesters. Birds are flitting and skirling, insects are calling and scraping, the crystal loisoy are spinning and singing, a high-flying cargo-wing thrums overhead, probably heading off to Sanjo, one of Kwaidan's larger islands.

Today the local farmers are working Delphi's farm. Yesterday it was Kama's; tomorrow, all being well, it will be Tod's. Tomorrow will be a day absolutely full of joy and laughter. It will be the first harvest on the young man's land, it was only nine months ago the local folk raised a home for him and his new wife. He's still regularly the butt of jokes, the usual result of being the man latest wed among them. Delphi has given his friends a break, let them flee into the shade to grab a drink from the service cart that is parked against the giant sequoia that fringe this field, finishing tying and packing the last stooks himself.

He is a small figure, smaller than those working with him today, slender, mostly tidy, dark where the sun has touched him, a slash of red across the forehead all that is visible of a shock of bright hair. Delphi finishes, grinning at the catcalls coming from the dorm for Tod who, ever clumsy, has sent his water flying again. He heaves, shifting the bundles into position too easily for his build. His peasant clothing, loose and light is hitched up, freeing the arms and feet to move, bare hands tough enough to ignore the rough bristles, bare feet heavily callused and unheeding of seedpods.

Straightening, taking a quick swig from the water bottle at his waist, tipping his wide-brimmed hat back to stretch and dash his arm across a forehead running with perspiration, he is the first, for the moment the only, to see the rider, flying in on a single wing, coming in low through the rows of giant trees, pushing, trying to gain every little metre of speed he can. He zooms by, holding out a small pouch that Delphi grabs as he passes, the militia-call on the wing pitched high from the speed, carrying, letting everyone know of the urgency.

Delphi opens the pouch, quickly scanning the note inside while handing it to Kama. He reads it, slowly, never the best at his letters, while the men, having heard the cry, mill around uncertainly, awaiting news of the emergency. Delphi is quiet, the contents of the note knowledge that prematurely darkens his brow.

Kama sighs, swiping his arm across his forehead again, taking a moment.

"It's those monsters that came through Khera pass two years ago. The ones that took Ryokun. And there's more of them. Greater numbers."

The men are silent, stunned, Kama also momentarily uncertain what to say. A small party, hoped to be an independent raiding party, had been enough to overwhelm the small village.

"It's, it's a full call-out. All the militia, all our gear. Those with family, say goodbye. One adult should stay on every farm and with children. Tod, don't forget your wife. I know she's new and all," the men grin, temporarily lightened by the lame joke, though a sad one because Bec isn't pregnant and will also have to fight if it comes down to that, "We meet at the temple in two hours."

Delphi stays at the back of the crowd, Baku spinning around him as the farmers ask Kama frightened, panicking questions, her call echoing the militia-call, layering in a faint fear until Delphi calms her, rubbing behind the small horns. He has more time than most of his neighbours, his place further from the temple than most but he needn't go home first of course. The crowd calms further, each man and woman finding some thought to lend strength.

After they leave, each courteously bidding him proper farewell even in their haste, Delphi looks around at his small, neat, well-tended farm, eyes lingering on the half-finished wind-traps he was building to the north. He takes his time leaving, packing the bare necessities of food, a little water, and, a little hesitantly, the blade that he used while travelling away from Kwaidan. A deep sigh, a last look, and he heads off down the seldom-travelled shaded path between the giant trees, sandals and hat swinging against his pack, rough-woven travelling robe quiet, the staff striking the ground every two or three steps.

[theseus]

A strong wind comes in, the wind traps hum with the sudden surge of energy. Then there is an odd damp smell, and lightning, like a thunder storm. The next moment , immediately in front of Delphi, there is huge plume of black smoke, that quickly dissipates itself in the air.

As the smoke departs, it reveals a handsome young man with black hair and brown eyes, wearing an odd black cape, red shirt, gold belt, and brown trousers. A gold ring sits on the middle finger of his right hand. His entrance would have been more impressive, if he didn’t falter a little at his sudden arrival. He looks around in wild-eyed confusion. He speaks a language not familiar in Kwaidan, but one Delphi still understands.

“I… I made it?” he asks, almost incredulously.

[PDelphi]

Delphi, eyebrows raised, still leans upon his stone staff, weight upon it as it passes his right shoulder, both hands comfortably wrapped around it, standing where he had paused as this strange manifestation began. He looks around, a small smile upon his face. The corridor of trees is quiet, the energy scaring most of the beasts in the vicinity into temporary quiescence. Even their usual spectacle of loisoy have faded into the background, only Baku still hovering, her song echoing scepticism and enquiry.

The smile widens. Ears seem to perk up, eyes scan the form before him, checking for less visible weapons, signs of threat or hostility, or batwings and scales.

"Mercifully my neighbours are too distant to be startled by your approach," the surprisingly composed farmer mutters.

Making a decision, he bows, the staff balanced on its end, enclosed by the circle his arms form as his hands clasp, right over left.

"My home is your home, my food is your food, my paths are your paths"
The formal welcome is spoken always in the archaic old tongue of Kwaidan. Ages of polish and custom have smoothed and perfected the phrase, now little more than a few welcoming sounds obvious in its intent to all but the most insensitive or alien of listeners. Delphi throws a slightly aggrieved look out of the corner of his eye as Baku mockingly copies his bow, which she never felt was sufficiently dignified, without perhaps considering the effect of what appears to most to be a pet duplicating his movements. His eyes, inevitably, soften as she also copies the welcome, a phrase even she would never express without full consequence.

A large Ghost Moth flits between the two men, drawing the eye for a moment, only to be snapped out of the air by a Gillen dove diving from its noisy, populated nest in the low branches a hundred metres above them. Delphi waits a moment longer.

"Where were you… aiming?"

[theseus]

The young man concentrates on Delphi’s greeting carefully, as if the language is new to him.

He looks quite bewildered by everything, the Moth, the Gillen, by Baku, and even by Delphi.

He recovers quickly and returns the bow, emulating Delphi exactly in his imperfection.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Although this isn’t the proper response to the greeting, he does manage to say it in the archaic old tongue of Kwaidan.

“I am Nathan of Alacia of the Fifteen Kingdoms,” he continues, still in the old tongue. “Sorcerer’s apprentice to the Wizard Neldo. I am hoping you are the target of my quest. Are you known by the name of Delphi?”

[PDelphi]

He pauses for a long time, searching the figure before him.

A raptor grabs the rising dove from the air, an untidy rake leaving half it's wings falling into the leaf litter beside the path, one falling through a cotoneaster and taking with it a rain of bright red berries. A dozen loisoy start marching back and forth over the path, each in their own space, each creature exactly a half-length behind the one before it, each at a different height to the one following. Nathan doesn't seem to react to the quick flick of the eyes that Delphi gives this display.

Delphi flashes a grin.

"Yes"

[theseus]

Nathan returns the grin, though his face quickly becomes more somber. “Neldo charged me to seek you out one day."

"Unfortunately, I now come to you in need of aid. Neldo has disappeared. I fear he has either been killed or abducted by enemies besieging my home shadow. I need your... talents... to find him.”

[PDelphi]

Delphi digests a moment, both the bad news and the persimmon he was eating just before Nathan appeared.

"Walk with me."

"I am awaited elsewhere."

Delphi resumes his slow inexorable pace assuming both Nathan and Baku will accompany him; or else catch up in her own good time.

They walk for some minutes in silence, Delphi quieting with a gesture an attempt by the young man to press his case. The heavy gold ring on Nathan's finger speaks in code as they walk through the dappled bands of light and dark, the bands of sunlight clearly outlined in the haze, the dust, the clouds of pollen and insect life. Life has already returned to normal, the background shriek of cicadas filling the hot air, a quiet almost sub-vocal counterpoint from Baku to the rhythmic sounds a celebration.

"I love Kwaidan. What I see, what I hear, what I smell and feel. It is home." Delphi muses, considering, as if balancing duties.

A gesture again to forestall comment from his fellow pedestrian. A half-nod and an answering trill.

"Do not misunderstand. I will help my old friend to the limits of my ability, but matters here will first be resolved.

"Little time will pass.

"Now tell me of Alacia, of the old ... wizard now. Tell me of why you seek me, what you have been told of my ... talents. What has already been seen. And what is it that besieges your home."

He reaches into a loose wraparound bag, rummaging for something.

"Orange?"

[theseus]

Nathan nods, accepts the orange, and starts peeling it.

“Alacia is a beautiful sea-faring kingdom, specialising in trade and culture. We have a proud history that lasts almost a thousand years. My mother was a diplomat who travelled a lot. When I was born, I was raised in the royal court along with the king’s daughters. When I turned eight years old, Neldo visited the court. He discovered I had a great deal of magical talent. He offered to take me in and instruct me in the mystical arts. The king agreed, wizards always being valuable. Neldo took me to incredible lands, where my training took place. He told me about the Courts of Chaos, stories of his travels, and of course, trained me in sorcery.”

Nathan takes a bite of the now peeled orange, savouring it as if it were a taste he had long gone without.

“Years passed for me, when only a few months had passed in Alacia. Shortly after our return to my homeland, we found it besieged by monsters, green scaled creatures, riding fire-breathing horses. Neldo and I joined the war effort. It was difficult. The creatures had sorcerers of their own. Gradually Alacia’s forces were forced to retreat. Three months from now, and they will probably be at the gates of the capital itself.”

“Neldo went off on a complex scouting mission, one from which he never returned. I strived to find him through my own magic, but failed. Then I remembered some of the stories he had told me of his travels. Of meeting you, and your ability to find things you desired through your dreams. He had once told me that I had the same potential, but for some reason it had not manifested in me the same as it had for you. I hoped your abilities would succeed where mine had failed.”

“Locating you was easy enough, but reaching you was difficult. I had to pump a huge amount of power through the spikard to reach you.” Here he indicates the ring upon his finger, “It’s as if this shadow is resistant to magic coming in from outside.”

[PDelphi]

Delphi looks sharply at Nathan as, during his narrative, he mentions green-scaled invaders. He then reaches up to scratch Baku behind one horn as she passes to forestall any cries of distress.

He continues walking, eyes fixed well beyond the horizon as the young man completes his telling.

"It is interesting synchronicity. Kwaidan is itself," his eyes curl upwards in momentary thought, "perhaps invaded."

Delphi's stone staff strikes the ground with a couple more steps. Once it flicks sideways, brushing off the path a small, slow-moving iridescently coloured beast with a segmented shell and clusters of furious tentacular legs.

"I am unfamiliar with this," seems to search his memory for a moment as if to double-check, "spikard? But I would hope it was difficult. I have done all I can to protect my home from those who might invade," pauses, and continues a little ruefully "and inevitably those who seek to enter without hostile intent, unknowing of the paths along which to tread. But it would seem I have not yet done enough."

"I will consider things. You may be able to say whether our beasts are related. They do not ride fell beasts, but instead fly. Should some relationship exist…" He allows the sentence to trail off and falls silent, obviously assuming Nathan can fill in the gaps.

Moments after Delphi's very well timed and dramatic pause, the three of them, Baku's less-bright fellows left behind during their soldier games, step into a clearing.

The clearing opens against the edge of the island and the island's sharp drop is clearly visible from where the pair of them stand. Over to the right, just above a veiling stand of trees and shrubbery is the observation vane of the main port, a delicately elegant covered deck for those men and women who spend their hours watching the approach and movement of wings through the port and act as one of the first lines against the rare eruptions from the riotous gas planet far below. Above that, currently folding down, are the spidery arms of the semaphore that allows them to communicate very simple messages with the nearer islands. To the left, similarly swathed in visual cover are some simple open dormitories, simple roofs that house the militia in times of danger and, fortunately most rarely, act as a simple triage point in cases of too many injuries and illnesses for the temple to cope.

Almost in front of them, in the centre of the cleared arc of the island's edge is the temple. From their vantage point, little more is visible than the high, central building arcing above the surrounding walls. The walls, unusually for Kwaidanae buildings, are decorated on the outside surface. They have been deeply carved, covered with complex images from history, images of farmers and flyers and explorers, notably none of war, enough of them three-dimensional and surrounded by space to make it clear the wall is meant more for privacy and demarcation than defence. The temple also is atypical. It is faced with a pale blue stone shot through with veins of opalescent effect, creating a vision almost impossible to gaze upon in the full sunlight. Vanes of clear crystal pass down the back of the building, falling almost as far as the island's base point, carrying shifting patterns of light up from the multi-coloured gases below, giving the building a faint, faint at least in full sunshine, auroral halo.

Delphi's eyes are darting everywhere, looking past the temple, reading the signals on distant posts, following the apparently random flights of myriad, small, very fast personal wings, his face twisting slightly in some concern.

He allows Nathan a little time, barely more than a moment in his concern, to stare at the temple and its frontage and gardens before hastily leading them towards the growing swarm of confused militia on the open ground between the temple and the dormitories.

"Kwaidan has no central absolute authority. If this is invasion, the early days will be marked by confusion."

[PDelphi]

Delphi pauses mere feet into the gardens and looks around. He glances at Nathan, clearly considering the existing chaos.

"No" decisively, if quietly and to himself.

"Wait here. " he somewhat peremptorily orders Nathan, indicating an apparently rough-hewn covered seat with a spectacular view of the temple, the gardens and beyond, adding a polite afterthought. The young man, the guest here sits, a little surprised to discover just how well polished and proportioned the seat is, and how very comfortable. Baku spins overhead, chasing her tail for a moment, then heads out across the clearing, leading Delphi towards the melee before arcing towards the island's edge to bask in the planet-light and join in a furiously complex and raucous diving game with her fellows.

"Oh, don't touch that." The tip of his staff swings across to indicate a low spreading shrub with dark, dark green leaves and markedly paler veining across the leaves and spiky stems that spreads across the rich soil around to the right of the seat and combats a pale, purple-berried climber for supremacy where they meet at the rear leg of the small structure.

Delphi continues alone across the garden, conscious of not stepping on the beds at any point and noting the presence of one or two more active and dangerous, or merely annoying plants; careful to avoid them. The route is further circuitous, swinging much closer to the temple than a direct route would dictate. Some distance from the bower, and still barely within shouting of the militia, Delphi pauses and kneels reverentially at the edge of a bed containing gnarled and ancient ground-cover. His actions are shielded from view both by a faint curvature of the land and a crescent stand of dragon-ear reeds in a gently-flowing, loisoy-tuned creek.

The plant, the texture of the bark almost that of fine stone, has at the tips of upward-reaching tendrils, themselves old, no longer the fine delicate seekers of a much younger plant, brilliant gem-like flowers of gradated red. Delphi gently cups the fingers of one hand around the most developed of the blooms, and whispers to the plant, calming both with his voice and touch the memory-bell as the blooms begin to pulsate in a frantic rhythm. The pulsing of colour in the crimson blossom quiets as Delphi speaks to the plant, speaking less in words than in calm and reassuring tones. The small man flinches faintly, a tiny movement not visible to any observer as he impales a finger upon the small circlet of thorns below a younger bloom, holding the digit against the ring of spikes for the count of ten heartbeats, slowed now by this moment of meditation and then stands, plucking the oldest bloom as he does so, smoothly tucking the heavy, partially crystalline display into his sash, resting it partly against his skin.

He starts to move from this sheltered spot, retracing his steps instead of leaping over the creek but turns, and stands a moment longer, eyes fixed upon the past revealing some distant pain. Bending again he whispers to the plant, "We both still remember", apparently in full confidence of the fauna understanding his words. He stands and turns, sucking on the still slightly oozing wounds on his finger.

Somehow invigorated, Delphi strides firmly and more directly towards the chaos of the arriving militia. Familiar faces are greeted with nods and the occasional deeper bow. Ears almost strain, trying to listen not just to the words flying around him but also the tenor, the tone in which the men are speaking. Hearing a panicked voice speaking to a group of young farmers, men and women perhaps newly married who have never dealt with militia business beyond small find and rescue groups, Delphi pauses, clumsily but effectively drawing the worst of the speakers out of the scrum, speaking so confidently and easily as he withdraws her that those left behind return to speaking of the harvest and the future. He shifts her to a different group under the guise of mutual interests, one led in conversation by Narani, an older, steadier farmer whom in previous years has stood as village matrior. He bows respectfully, most deeply so far, to this woman and moves on.

Delphi passes through the crowd, listening and, rarely, speaking to elders and those who claim to have heard and seen more. Finding little concrete beyond what he already read off the semaphore, he settles himself, almost consciously setting his feet and staff at the edge of the group, serene again and awaiting further news.

[theseus]

“Delphi, I have thought it over." Nathan says. Although there is no sign that Nathan has moved from where Delphi left him, Delphi can hear his disembodied voice. No one else nearby seems to notice.

"I think it likely that our problems are connected," Nathan continues. "I will help protect your shadow. Perhaps then, you will help me search for Neldo.”

[PDelphi]

A keen observer might notice the briefest flash of guilt cross the face of the otherwise still farmer.

Delphi, a little uncertainly, responds quietly, "Of course. Assistance is welcome, and were it not for this, I would already be on my old friend's path."


Over the next hour, as more militia trickle in from villages across and within the island, the more senior and respected start breaking the groups up, asking them to wait here and there, to sit and relax, to break bread together, to discuss that already known about this incursion. If nothing else, the elders recognise an excellent opportunity to build a stronger network amongst the populace.

There is almost a formality to the movements through and between groups. Knowledge is disseminated through individuals moving from group to group. Conclusions, new throughts and deductions seem to explode the group that reached that endpoint, each individual carrying the new thought to a new group. Movement is not fast, but it seems relatively constant. From Nathan's distant vantage point, one which the occasional passerby views somewhat quizzically, Delphi, although standing a little alone, seems an unconscious node all his own, not quite fitting into the structure of the society but sufficiently valued to be included on such terms as are possible.

Things have quieted. Fewer men and women are arriving now. Most of those already here are gathered in smaller groups that still occasionally explode, although much more seldom than earlier as the available information has mostly been digested.

Delphi picks his way, more directly, back to the seat in which he left his undoubtedly bored visitor. He leans more heavily upon his staff than Nathan has previously noted, seemingly exhausted.

"I thank you again Nathan." He bows, more deeply than before.

Straightening, he turns and inelegantly flops onto the wooden seat, almost hitting his head in his utter collapse.

"Some conclusions have been reached. We are a de-centralised," Delphi grins slightly at this word so very strange in this tongue, "people. Conclusions take time. Our nature is ... scattered, helpful but distant. The difficulty of reinforcement is both strength and weakness. This conflict is entirely new in nature. Should nothing further arrive before morning scouts will be sent. Ruk is close. I shall be one. I trust you do not fear heights."

[theseus]

“Heights?” Nathan asks. “I’ve been on the top battlements of Neldo’s tower before. It’s quite high, overlooking a cliff. I should be fine."

"But I have to warn you, if these things are anything like what I’ve encountered, this is a matter of urgency. We should investigate these attacks immediately!”

[PDelphi]

Delphi half turns his head, not bothering to lift it from where it rests against the carved back of the seat. He seems somewhat defeated.

"I am exhausted."

"The whole has debated, and decided. There is nothing to be done."

"Barring something further, the group will not move tonight."

He turns his head back to the front, pointedly pausing as his eyes sweep over the resolutely still semaphore.

[theseus]

Nathan sighs. “All right. You know this shadow far better than I do. But I don’t like it.”

“Whereabouts will I be sleeping?”