8. The Road Ahead

> “The Universe chose the Aeseri to lead all species, and the Ascension was the means by which the message was delivered. In elevating us to godhood we assumed the obligation of steering the mortal plane, the sole immortals amongst the ancient ones.” - Aeseri history text

Sekardi told Athena everything she knew about how the D’varsha travelled to the astral plane, and how they found themselves to be in the Wastelands. She knew little of the details, but she did know that not only were they able to travel here, they were also able to return.

“So there’s definitely a way back to the mortal plane?” Athena asked, “Even without the power of followers.”

“For the D’varsha, yes. For us? I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it. The Elthenians have also mastered the crossing, although they’re just as secretive of their methods.”

“Elthenians are here as well?” Athena asked, “Why do we not know about that in the Citadel?”

“Perhaps no Aeseri outside of the Wasteland knows. Or perhaps some know and keep it a secret. Perhaps the rest of us just don’t want to know. It’s not like we Aeseri put a lot of time into finding out about the world that used to be our home.”

She had a point. The idea that other ancient species had crossed to the astral plane challenged the very idea that the Aeseri were the chosen ones, the gods amongst all species. Their doctrine was built on the idea that they and they alone had ascended, and they and they alone had the power to shape the mortal universe.

“Are the D’varsha or Elthenians immortal? Do they have followers? Do they have power when they return?”

Sekardi shook her head.

“I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think so. They live a long time, longer here than in the mortal plane. I’ve seen them age, slowly over decades, but they definitely age. I don’t know whether that’s because they come and go between the dimensions or if it would stop if they were close to the Citadel, or perhaps we really are just different.”

Athena clung to that thought. She had fought her whole life believing it was her duty to create life, to steer the course of the universe, and to shape the lives of mortal races. The idea that D’varsha or Elthenians could do the same was close to blasphemy.

“Why haven’t you tried to return?” Athena asked her, “Isn’t anything better than spending eternity here in the Wastelands?”

“It’s only eternity if you manage to stay alive,” Sekardi reminded her chillingly, “But, yes, I have thought of it. But in case you haven’t noticed, the Aeseri aren’t exactly the master race out here.” She indicated Aguel at the head of the caravan. “We don’t have much strength without our powers. The Engella are physically stronger. The D’varsha and Elthenians have technological knowledge they’ve brought with them. We’re useful because we don’t die easily, but we’re more dependent on the other species than they are on us. We can’t exactly go to the D’varsha and demand they show us how it all works.”

Athena fought to suppress rising anger. How could any other species fail to heed a request by an Aeseri? Relations with the D’varsha, Elthenians, and the other ancient ones had never been good, grudges born long before the Ascension held for millenia and passed down through countless generations, but if the Aeseri asked for something any other species would have to grant the request. Either that or to admit their powerlessness when what they’d refused was taken from them by irresistible force.

“They won’t refuse me,” Athena said quietly. Sekardi shot her a glance.

“Be careful. Aguel is a fair leader, but if he thinks you’re harming relations with the D’varsha, or anyone else we rely on trade with, you could find yourself in the Market.”

“The Market?”

“Where we sell our cargo, after the D’varsha have taken their toll, of course, and after we’ve traded a few other goods with them.”

“What do you sell?”

“All kinds of things. Seeds-”

“Seeds? From where?” As far as Athena knew there was nothing growing anywhere in the Wastelands.

“The forest, far east. Bought and sold at various markets and trading posts from one caravan to the next. They take centuries to make the journey, but what else are we going to do with the time? Then there’s minerals, raw materials for D’varshan machines and weapons, animal hides. Sometimes other things.” Sekardi stared at Athena for a few seconds while she considered how to phrase her next sentence. “We Aeseri fetch a good price at the Market.”

“What?” Athena snapped.

“People are a commodity here. As I told you: the Aeseri are not strong, we don’t have powers, and we’re not even fast.” She looked into the middle distance. “I’m told we make good house servants.”

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Athena’s cheeks burned. Slaves! She was talking about Aeseri becoming slaves!

“And Aguel is party to this?”

“When he has to be. When he comes across someone that’s going to be a problem for the caravan.” Sekardi paused. “It’s not all bad, you know. You get protection. It’s better than walking the Wasteland alone, trying to survive by yourself. You’ve seen the Wichts at night, and there are worse Engella than Aguel out there hunting for freshly exiled Aeseri.”

“Worse things than being a slave to an Elthenian or a D’varsha or an Engella?” Athena asked scathingly. “And I thought the idea of death was bad.”

“Death isn’t always a choice we can make. Why do you think we avoid the Citadel? It’s not because of the Aeseri within its walls, it’s because of the Horde that surround it.” Sekardi looked thoughtful for a second. “Some say the worst thing an Aeseri can do out here is meet the Engella that was sworn to serve them.”

They both fell silent for a few seconds.

“I’ve heard that rumour too. Even when I was still inside the Walls,” Athena said, “I don’t understand it. How can they serve so loyally while we have power, yet as soon as we are exiled our centuries of shared experiences are forgotten?”

“They’re not forgotten. That’s the problem. The Engella remember much more than we do. Every choice we make, every time we choose one life over another, every time we condemn hundreds to die to save the lives of thousands. Or sometimes vice-versa. They might not always understand why, and we don’t always explain our actions.”

“Why should we? We’re the gods. They just serve.”

“We’re the gods until, one day, we aren’t. And the Engella? Their wings are cut and they’re cast out into the Wastelands. Punished for the failings of their masters.” Sekardi shook her head. “Not all Engella carry resentment, but certainly none will thank you for being their master for the past millennia. No, few Aeseri wish to encounter their Engella bodyguard in the Wasteland. Good rarely comes of it.”

Athena stared into the darkness of the canyon, lost in thought. Would Gael resent her if she met him again? She had treated him well, or so she thought, and she had always made what she thought to be the best decision for those that worshipped her. Perhaps, with hindsight, some of her choices would have been different, but her intentions had always been good. She had never thought she needed to provide an explanation for them, but in hindsight there was often a fine line between a tough decision and a cruel one, a line drawn only by the reason the decision was made.

Still, he had fought alongside her in battles, often against other Aeseri and Engella, and he was one of the fiercest of warriors she had ever known. If there was a chance he did resent her, she did not want to meet him.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why they did it?” Sekardi asked her, “Why the Engella served us for all that time?”

“I presumed they believed in our purpose.”

“Do you really think so? All of them, for so long? Not a single dissenter?”

“The universe rewarded them with immortality while they were by our side, so I don’t think they did so badly out of it.”

“Yet you said you would rather die than become a servant.”

“Yes… but I’m… we’re Aeseri. They are Engella. We were born to our position. They were born to theirs.”

Sekardi paused and looked ahead for a second.

“I’ve heard differently. I’ve heard the Engella could have ascended. They could have been the gods. But something stopped them… something they knew, and something that the D’varsha might also know… something so dangerous that they had to act as protectors rather than rulers.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But from what I’ve heard it has something to do with the Tower at the centre of the Citadel. Did you know the D’varsha claim to have built it all? Both the Tower and the Walls.”

“Yes, but I don’t believe them.”

“I’m starting to. And I think they know what’s inside.”

“That’s impossible. Nobody knows what’s inside.”

“Not even us, who are gods?” Sekardi asked with an arched eyebrow and a mischievous smile.

“Not even the most powerful of the gods,” Athena replied quietly. I should know, she thought: I was one of them.

Sekardi fell silent and stared ahead as Athena contemplated all she had just learned. Or rather, all that she had just been told, because she wasn’t sure how much she believed. It wasn’t realistic to think that the D’varsha had constructed the Tower or the Walls, or that they knew what was at the heart of the Citadel. Nobody knew, and she knew for a fact that even Lucathar did not know, although he seemed to be bent on trying to find out.

Athena joined Sekardi in staring down the narrow ravine through which the caravan travelled. The narrow strip of sky high above the cliffs was a dark shade of grey and the canyon was gloomy in deep shadow. The mountain seemed to rise in front of them ever higher and Athena’s anxiety rose as the road on which they were travelling seemed to come to an end at a sheer wall ahead of them. If they had taken a wrong turn then Athena hadn’t noticed one, but she did not like the idea of reversing their course this late in the day.

“Shouldn’t we make a defensive position before dark?” she asked Sekardi.

“No need. We’re at Kaz’um now.”

Athena peered at the darkness ahead of them. It really was the end of the canyon; a sheer rock face blocking their way.

Then a thin slither of light appeared, vertical, from the ground, and as it widened Athena discerned two giant, stone doors, as if part of the mountain itself was opening to allow them passage. It was the way the D’varsha worked, she remembered, to dig and sculpt rather than cut blocks and build. Their builders excavated their homes rather than constructed them.

“Kaz’um is inside the mountain?” she asked Sekardi.

“Safe from Orques, Wichts or anything else,” Sekardi replied, “And remember: try to forget whoever you were before you came to the Wastelands, and don’t draw attention to yourself.”

The D’varsha, short, stocky and armoured, standing atop the fortifications just inside the portal reinforced the warning in the message.

But no, Athena thought, I was the Goddess of War on countless planets, and I am not going to forget who I was, and I am not going to forget what I fought for.

For the first time since entering the Wastelands she had a path to the Universe’s salvation: to find out how the D’varsha came to be here, and to return to the mortal world.