Excerpt: Of Angels, Ships, and Ophanim (book 4) / Hollow Bastion (book 2.5)

When he had closed the door, Basidius frowned. Skael pressed a key into his palm.

“Lock it,” Skael instructed. “We can’t have them nosing about.”

Basidius’ eyes widened. “Lock Mycota and Sundew in?”

“There’s a water closet adjoining to his room,” Skael murmured. “It won’t hurt him.” He nodded. “It’s for the best, Basidius. You don’t want him hearing about your dream any more, do you? It might worry him further...and he might have night-mares of his own.”

“Strong-arming me again,” Basidius sighed. “And the worst of it is, I don’t believe you’re not telling me the truth.” He turned the key over in his palm. “But do I risk Mycota hating me?”

“He won’t hate you,” Skael assured. “He’ll never know you did it.”

Basidius sighed to himself, worked the key into the lock and turned it until the bolt clicked. “I do hope you’re right.” He strode to the banister and began to step down the stairs. Skael followed him.

“Don’t feel terribly bad about it,” Skael admonished. “It’s not as though he’s mad at you, or could have any reason to be. He’s tired, anyway. This excitement has had him worried, even more so than an Ornamental in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“But why? It’s not as though he’s the one dreaming of shapeless black clouds, or creatures with metal wings and eyes that shine the same orange as glow worms. I’ve been dreaming of a dark place...like a mine, or something similar,” he murmured as they descended the stairs. “And the Lord of Demons...he is ruled by a black rose....”

Skael nodded sagely. “Berggren will make sense of this. Whenever I had dreams, he would decipher them for me.”

“And you are certain he has come?” Basidius asked, worried.

“Yes, he is down-stairs. Agareus is here too...along with the Brobdinga you planted in his plot. I suspect he’s not thrilled with the idea, as he didn’t want Brobdinga in the first place...but he shouldn’t be too moody about it.”

Basidius tripped over a squealing pink-cap and stumbled down the stairs. Skael followed, lifting the squiggling little Brobding into his arms and setting him down on the floor.

“Now then,” Basidius said tersely, catching his breath, “what’s wrong?” He strode into the great room and seated himself on one of the traditional Brobdingnagian ‘chairs’ set around the table. In truth, they were naught more than heavy, woven pillows, which was how a Brobdingnagian household lived. Comfort was first on their minds.

In the midst of an undulating veil of opium vapors, Berggren smoked and swatted away the curls of floating grey to see Basidius. He smiled. “Well,” he said brightly, “you don’t look ill at all.”

“Illness is very subjective,” Basidius murmured. “We still live in a mediaeval society down here.”

“As does most of Gaea,” Berggren waved off serenely, in the unaffected way only the elderly and addled had. Basidius wondered if his forebrain functioned at all, or if ‘twas simply filling out his skull to appear pleasing.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Berggren pointed his pipe stem at Basidius. “You’re thinking I’ve gone daffy. Don’t concern yourself with a doddering old fool…just sit and listen to what I have to say, and then you can go back to being plagued by visions if you like.”

“Visions?” Basidius blinked. “Nonsense is what it is, Master Berggren. And I was certainly not thinking of you as a doddering old fool. I was merely wondering if you still used your forebrain, or if it was jellying in your old skull.”

“Pshw,” Berggren spat. “Don’t call me Master. You’re older than me by at least a thousand years. And besides, even if no one else thinks of you as a noble anymore, I remember the old Arboretus.”

“Muscarius? My father?” Basidius eagerly seated himself.

Agareus nodded, standing in the corner. “Do tell. Did he really die as they said, or did he simply leave his home behind for something he could hold in his hand and lose between his fingers if he looked away from it?” The last sentence was spoken acidly, as if he already knew the answer and blamed Basidius for Muscarius’ absence.

“Don’t feel terrible about it,” Basidius said, swallowing nervously. The spleenish stare of Agareus’ crimson eyes made him feel as though he were an insect pressed between two layers of glass. His stomach roiled on itself like a viscously slick earthworm.

“Why shouldn’t I? He either died without me knowing it, or he left and didn’t say good-by.” Agareus snorted. “You nobles are all alike. Duplicitous to the end.”

“Now, you know you don’t mean that,” Skael said gently. “Some of your children are nobles.”

“Children I didn’t want or need,” Agareus returned with a sneer. The Brobdinga in the room looked up at him and bleated over each other, running to him. They cuddled their little bodies into his legs, and he growled.

“Why the hell did you do this?” he demanded of Skael. “Why did you plant my spores?”

“I did it,” Basidius corrected. “And I did so because you needed stability. The others were starting to wonder about you.” He bowed his head.

“Children, please.” Berggren held up his hands. “Catala is making sun water tea and pastries. We will sit, eat and drink, and discuss. I want my time here to be productive, and I know you all do as well.”

Agareus wordlessly fumed, his eyes swiveling first to Basidius, narrowing, then swiveling back to Berggren. Skael moved quietly to him, shooing away the children. They ran off, giggling, and upset a moss-tree sitting at the edge of the room.

Agareus growled at the only Brobdinga left in the room. “Pick that up,” he demanded of the three of them. They looked at him confusedly.

“I said pick it up,” he bleated sharply on the amphora-flute. They gazed up at him with wetly glistening eyes.

“Don’t treat them like that,” Basidius murmured. “I’ll pick it up.”

“No. You stay right there.” Agareus strode over to the Brobdinga and sneered in their faces. “You—pick—the—moss-tree—up—now!”

Bleating discordantly, they set the moss-tree upright and swept the garden-soil back into the pot. They ran to Skael and hid their faces behind his shapely legs, wailing.

Skael frowned and knelt, drying their streaming faces. “You made them cry,” he said in a very small voice.

“What in the hells do I care?!” Agareus roared. They screamed and cried in Skael’s lap. “I can’t even think—I’m too angry to even deal with them right now!”

“Svartur wouldn’t have gotten so angry at children,” Skael said pitifully, shrinking away like a bluebell.

“Well, what the godsdamn do I care for him? I don’t even know who the hell you’re talking about!” Agareus shouted. “Screw Svartur with a spindle!” He stormed out of the room, and out the front door.

Berggren stared after him, then back to Skael.

“We will not think ill of you if you want to come back to Durian, though I cannot say the same for Brobdingnag,” he murmured. “But of course, you can’t leave these poor things to bear his wrath.”

“I won’t leave anyone here to bear his wrath,” Skael whispered miserably, his lip trembling. “I’m taking Mycota, and Basidius, and all the children with me.”

Catala padded into the room, carrying a tray of cups and a tea-pot. “What happened?” she asked curiously.

“Help me pack, Catala,” Skael murmured. “I am leaving Agareus to his own devices. If he wants to get angry, and shout at me, then I will not be here for him to shout at. Nor will his sons.”

Basidius opened his mouth and began, “I—”, then closed it. “Never mind,” he relegated. “Agareus certainly has changed.”

“I fear it may be my fault,” Berggren said solemnly. “I did not know Muscarius’ absence was a tender subject. I am sorry, Skael.”

Skael shook his head. “Better I know it now,” he managed to say, his voice breaking from tears. “If he is going to be angry with Basidius for doing a kind deed, or with me for defending him, then there are things he needs to sort out himself, with no help from me or Basidius. I fear that I may have made the wrong decision by leaving Valhöll...perhaps it would have been better if my ash had been fed to the Brobdinga.”

“Don’t say that,” Basidius murmured. “Agareus cares for you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have raised you from the dead. He obviously feels something for you...and for you to be married this long, even by Elven standards, is amazing. Brobdingnagians don’t marry, and they don’t take mates, for that matter.”

“If he cares, he’ll come for me,” Skael murmured. “Let’s go.”

Terre, long unnoticed, finally spoke up. “He told me he didn’t want Brobdinga. Now I know why. He doesn’t want to be like Muscarius, or his own father. I recognize those eyes and that long stature of his...I know his father.”

“Who is his father?” All assembled stared at him.

“The leader of the Holy Seven, Psilocybea Volvarius. Agareus was a servant born of a noble born of a servant. I have no idea why Psilocybea left the under-land. Probably the same reason Muscarius did.”

“Not the same reason,” Basidius said shamefully. “My father left because he couldn’t face me anymore. He couldn’t face what he’d done to Agareus, he couldn’t face what he’d made me...and so, he left. I wish he’d taken Agareus with him.”

“Maybe that would’ve been better,” Skael agreed. “I left the Einherjar for this? Fuck,” he swore uncharacteristically. “If he even cares for me...which I doubt. He probably just wanted to use me to topple over the hierarchy, or somesuch like that.”

“Likely.” Basidius bowed his head. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Using me,” Skael muttered, “me, the person who risked my life to bring his son into the world! I nearly died! And for what, so he could have his perfect world? Perfect world. Hah! No perfect world would ever have a man who abandoned his children.”

“At the risk of sounding like Nemesis’ advocate,” Terre said, “he did warn you both that he didn’t want Brobdinga. He has no problem with them when they’re not his. He doesn’t want to have to feed hungry little mouths with his ashes. He didn’t want to bring them into a hateful world.”

“But that’s just it,” Skael protested. “It’s not hateful anymore. All the Brobdingnagians, whether black, white, red or green, work in the fields. They all read in the Mycelium. None of them are discriminated against anymore.”

“At least not openly,” was Terre’s answer. “I’ve seen nobles secretly kill servant Brobdinga. I saw them pluck the white hyphae-fluff from the downy spreads. The white buttons are stomped before they even begin to move, and the rest are left to grow. And servants are doing the same thing. Agareus' sons are the only new nobles and servants that have been born here in over a thousand years.”

“So they hate each other,” Skael said morosely. “Agareus didn’t get his perfect world after all.” He said, “Catala, pour the tea. We’ll sit here, and drink, and when it’s done, we’ll pack and leave.”

Catala nodded. “And the Brobdinga?”

“Give them cups of sun water.” Skael nodded. “We’ll sit and drink, and wait. Maybe he’ll come back...but in either case, I’m leaving.”

-

“Mycota. Mycota, wake up.”

The half-Brobdingnagian sleepily opened his eyes. Around him, Terre, Basidius, Skael, Berggren, and Catala stood, each watching him with solemn eyes.

“Where...is Agareus?” he asked.

Berggren answered, “Gone. He had a falling-out with your mother. He won’t be coming back...and even if he does, we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Mycota blinked. “Leave my home?”

“I’m truly sorry it has to be this way,” Skael said, sighing. “We’ve packed your things.” He opened his arms, and Sundew sleepily meandered into them. “Come. Your father will come to his senses soon enough, but until he does we’re not going to be near him.”

“I’m not going to even ask what caused it,” Mycota said quietly. “I guess I have no choice but to come with you.”

“He said...said he didn’t want children,” Basidius murmured. “I’m not sure if that means you or not, but we don’t want him yelling at you for no reason either.”

Mycota nodded without a word and rose from the bed, lifting his blanket and wrapping it around himself.

Silently, they left the room, descended the stairs, and exited the dwelling, the Brobdinga trailing behind.

-

The long under-land lake, circling the arena on one side, glowed with glow worm eggs. Occasionally a fish would dart to the surface, nibble at one of the eggs and skitter underwater, deciding they were nothing decidedly tasty.

A flat, polished slate stone skipped through the midst of the glow worm eggs, a few of them dipping underwater to color the lake with eldritch, murky orange. The stone struck the other side of the lake’s beach and came to rest.

“Fucking Basidius,” Agareus muttered dejectedly. “Ruined my fucking life. I didn’t want Brobdinga to come into this terrible world and see a shadow of a man. I didn’t want them to ask me about nobles and why they were superior. I didn’t want the little white-caps to be enslaved by their siblings. And most of all,” he said, turning to the side, picking up an egg-shaped stone with spots in it that resembled an ocarina’s holes, “I never, never wanted to see a godsdamned ocarina ever again.” He hurled the stone into the water.

He blew steaming breath from his nostrils. “I’m never ever going to rise above this fucking status. I’m just like them. Just like those fucking nobles. I’m just like Muscarius. The godsdamned, fucking bastard! He left me alone in Hell! He could’ve taken me with him! But did he? No! He left me with his whiney toad-stool son, who couldn’t do a fucking thing for me out of the goodness of his heart, not even once.”

Muscarius, he thought with rage, wherever you are, I fucking hate you. I’d better not see you again...or I’ll slit your throat.

He rose to his feet. “Forget it,” he murmured. “I’ll go home and see Skael. I had no right to treat those children like that. They’re mine. Why was I such a bastard?”

“So I see you are out here as well,” a gravelly voice rattled behind him. He whirled around.

“Clitocybe,” he murmured. “You’re one of the Old Ones. What are you doing down here, out of your magnificent dwelling? Why would you talk to a servant?”

“You are no servant, Agareus. I gave you your nobility. Will you never be satisfied with what you have? Will you never welcome the hands of Fate to take control?” Clitocybe perched himself on the Brobdingnagian-made ledge overlooking the lake. His sloe-black eyes glittered.

“No,” Agareus said, scowling. “I don’t believe in Fate.” He seated himself beside Clitocybe and groaned. “I don’t believe in much of anything anymore...especially myself.”

Clitocybe nodded wisely. “I know your needs. You need to rise above the status of your equals...who were once your betters. You need to see respect in their eyes and not derision.” He smiled and patted Agareus’ hand with his gnarled, spotted one. “There are yet people who do respect you. The white drow, for just one to say. You have fathered a child with another species, something none of us knew we could do. You have already risen above them. You have taken a mate to your home, have married.”

“I just...,” Agareus looked at Clitocybe with mournful eyes, “I didn’t do what I promised. I promised Mycota he would never have to live in a world where he was treated badly.

“And yesterday, when I was leaving the Mycelium to head for home, I heard a few young nobles mistreating a servant. They were whipping him as he was tidying the shelves. He cried. He wept and begged them to stop...but they kept mistreating him, mocking him, telling him ‘You’ll never be like the white noble, he’s better than you, he’s stronger than you, if it weren’t for him you wouldn’t be tending the Mycelium....’ Godsdamn it, I am not better than anyone else! Especially not when they treat my fellow servants like glow worm offal!”

“You feel like you are still trapped in the mire,” Clitocybe murmured. “I understand how you feel. When I fathered Brobdinga, I had eight score of them, and....”

“And?”

“They were all servants,” Clitocybe said placidly. “They are the attendants to the Old Ones.”

“Did you teach them to read?”

“I wrote my own books for them. They are scribes, as you’ll recall...very intelligent.”

Agareus frowned. “But...how do I keep from going mad in this world? How do I raise my Brobdinga to be fair and just? How do I let them know that discrimination is never right?”

“You will do it,” Clitocybe assured, “because you are a Volvarius.”

“A Volvarius?” Agareus’ mouth dropped open. “One of Psilocybea Volvarius’ sons?”

“The only one,” Clitocybe murmured. “When Psilocybea fathered you, he could not keep you. But I promised him that you would be an Old One someday—you would be the first servant to rise to the highest status anyone could achieve.”

“How could you promise him that?” Agareus asked, confused.

“Because he is my son.” Clitocybe closed his eyes. “I fathered one who was neither a noble nor a servant, and taught him in secret. When he grew up, I took his spores to the Life Mycelium...but only one of them grew. We raised it in the guise of a noble’s Brobding, because he was not a noble, and therefore was not permitted to sire Brobdinga.

“I kept the Brobding in my plot. People congratulated me on my young one, but one noble knew it was not mine. Muscarius Arboretus knew it was Psilocybea’s, and told me I could not continue to raise it. I agreed, but asked who would raise it when it grew.”

“And...And Muscarius offered to raise it?”

“Yes. And when the Brobding was two hundred years old, he broke out of the plot, and Muscarius was the first thing he saw. Muscarius promised me he would always remember you were a Volvarius...and that you would always be cared for.”

“He broke his promise,” Agareus said with tears in his eyes. “He left me alone.”

“Not in vain,” Clitocybe insisted. “He wanted you to grow stronger, without being dependent on anyone. He wanted you to learn to love yourself as you are, to never listen to anyone that told you you were worthless. You are not worthless. You are a good person, Agareus, and soon everyone will see it.”

“But why come to me?” Agareus looked pitifully at Clitocybe.

“My time is growing late,” Clitocybe said with a grave sigh. “I am not a young man anymore...and I am not in condition to lead the Old Ones anymore.”

“You seem well to me.”

“I do—,” Clitocybe paused to cough deep and long, his breath rasping in his throat, “but that is all skin-deep. In truth, I do not want to lead the Old Ones anymore. I want to face a day where the nobles do not kill the servants before they draw a breath. And I know you want the same. Come with me, Agareus. I will prepare you to take my place.”

Agareus bowed his head. “You think I can do any better than you do? You’re the only one of the Old Ones who has never been questioned...and if I took your place, all they’d do is question me.”

Clitocybe smiled, a gentle, placid curl of his lips that stretched as far as it could on his wizened face. “People always question what they do not understand...that, or they fear it. You may not believe it, but many of the nobles fear you. They do not understand how a former servant could be so intelligent, as intelligent as a born noble, in shorter time than they learned. You are very fortunate, Agareus.”

“Fortunate,” Agareus murmured thoughtfully. “I just told my Brobdinga I didn’t want them, and made them scream and cry. I’m not a good person at all, Clitocybe.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss your nature,” Clitocybe pointed out. “The fact that you are regretful means you are indeed good-hearted. Go to your mate, and your children. Make peace. We will speak later.”

“He doesn’t want to see me. I yelled at him and made him feel terrible.” A tear meandered down Agareus’ cheek. “I hurt him, and I promised myself I never would.”

“Then make it right,” Clitocybe returned. “If you find him quickly enough, he will realize it was only a bad turn of circumstance.”

“I suppose.” Agareus rose to leave.

Clitocybe rose as well, and stood on the ledge to kiss Agareus’ cheeks. “Bless you, child,” he murmured. “Bless you and yours with all the fortune Terre can give you.”

“Thank you,” Agareus said, sighing. “I’ve got to find him.” He ran down the dusty path, leaving the ancient noble alone on the ledge.