The Quicksand Singularity ArQive: Array.init:0

A0T5.1 The Vampyre Syrenn (Part 1)

"I would imagine so," Wander commented, gesturing toward the filthy woman, soaked in all manner of unpleasant bodily fluids.

It truly did seem as though she had been dragged directly out of a New Rio ArtiUterus. The thought of what manner of activities she had engaged in to find herself in such a state causing even he a great deal of discomfort.

"Yes..." Hal cringed, all but confirming his suspicions. "Moving swiftly onward. When Sjöbäl was coming up, the best and brightest Sonorians were pushing the boundaries with interdisciplinary orgies in what they called 'orchestral works'. She not only wrote the library on Siren Symphonics, but rewrote and refined practically every other Sirenic ritual in the Archives of the Arcaeanum."

"Ensemble works," Wander reacted, rubbing his chin, "with other disciplines? That sounds exceedingly dangerous."

"It is," Hal agreed, "which is why the field is only open to the most adept mages in the Arcaeanum. Centuries of practise are required to qualify as part of an ensemble. Conductors just are. I'm sure you can appreciate."

Conductor and concertmaster, he knew the practise well from developing similar techniques in his own field. In fact, the nomenclature came from Wanderthought Ensembles, though the praxis, he imagined, was quite dissimilar. Sonorians had, after all, gotten their name through the direct antithesis of the fundamental tenets of Wanderthoughts. They were witches whose power came from the depths of feeling. Where Wanderthoughts used equanimity, focus, and tranquillity to ply their crafts, Sonorians gained their power from the frenetic, the exciting, the adrenaline rush of danger, the infernos of passion. They sang and danced, made love and cut their wrists to bleed the beauty of human experience into wonderful works of magic.

They were reckless, Sonorians, but measured. Something seemed uniquely foolhardy about this, though. A symphony of sirens making a daisy chain of delight to suspend nature's laws in altogether riskier and more unpredictable ways came to him as uncharacteristically audacious, even for of witches and warlocks notorious for their audacity.

"Why pursue this magic?" Wander eventually asked.

"Its potency," Hal answered, "that and telling Sonorians not to twine their sexuality with their particular set of talents is like telling an infant not to put things in their mouth. Better to set boundaries, standards, and practises. Had we not, they would have simply run sturmfrei and literally fucked up the galaxy."

"I see."

"Don't even get me started," Hal grumbled, pinching her brow between her thumb and forefinger. "The Farzen Incident has been a persistent thorn in my ass. Even Overseer wouldn't take custody of that damned vibrator!"

"That...sounds inconvenient," Wander responded, though not entirely sure what was being referenced.

"You have no idea," Hal retorted.

By her tone, Wander realised exactly what she meant.

"Sjöbäl's story is one I need disentangled," Hal elaborated, "and for more reasons than one. The Weathermaster won't speak about it. Not to me at least. She has, evidently, confided some portion of it to Ravenheart, and Ravenheart forbade anyone but you to extricate this particular knot."

"This Ravenheart...how is it she commands the likes of you?"

"She doesn't," Hal said, "I simply followed my gut."

"And what did your gut tell you?"

"That Øsjam Sjöbäl—"

"Venus," Wander corrected, the name coming to him out of nowhere.

"What?" Hal reacted.

"Venus Sjoebal," Wander repeated.

"That name just come to you?" Hal asked.

"Yes," Wander answered.

"Venus it is," Hal accepted, "anyway, my gut told me that Venus Sjoebal is more important than any of us realise."

"Then Aisling's arrival is imminent," Wander determined, "a Weathermaster, a King Magos, an Untested Transcendant, a Wanderthought, and a shackled goddess walk into an interrogation room..."

"What?" Hal reacted.

"A wild tempest is a dangerous thing to bring into matters of this nature," Wander mused. "But...necessity's compulsion sets in motion decisions that are nothing if not the cascading of the thinnest thread."

Halcyon sighed exasperatedly, muttering something indistinctly under her breath. She knew what was coming.

Scratching his chin, Wander assessed the three stood about the interrogation room. Then the words came to him, from nowhere, and they demanded voice.

"A tired and disillusioned misanthrope brought into a mess with no outcome possible but the deepening of his loathing for the company of others," he said, compulsively, "what manner of serendipity has she foreseen? And the dutiful one, broken down and exhausted, crushed by weight of guilt and shame, where is your happy ending in the unravelling of this knot? And you, there, turmoil incarnate, consumed with rage and pain but with none now remaining to whom a dispensation of wrath is long overdue, where is your catharsis? Hmmm...Echoes of Ecstasy, I recall you well. That blasted tome I can never forget."

"Should I have the Arcaeanum bring you a copy?" Hal asked.

"No, no," Wander refused.

"Aisling's visions never were clear to anyone but her anyhow," Hal commented.

"Indeed," Wander agreed, "and reviewing her writings would provide no insight, regardless of if the present echo could be identified or not. Speaking of identifying, I am wise to the fact that you could have assessed this particular threat, Hal. That power is within you thus making this confluence a curious construction of arbitrary un-necessities."

"You know why I bind that power," Hal defended.

"I do," Wander agreed. "Why intercede?"

"What?" Hal reacted.

"Ravenheart saw the truth lain bare," Wander explained, "and you saw her temper flare. Why step between them?"

"Perceptive as ever," Hal affirmed. "Morbid curiosity. That and my gut told me Venus has at least some redeeming value."

"Interesting," Wander mused.

That Venus had some redeeming value was self-evident. Had she not, there would have been no need of him here. Gathering enough evidence to convince the courts and thus condemn her for what could only have been purge-worthy violations of the laws that bound them all, transcendent and acolyte alike, was trivial. Just the state of her before him told Wander enough of what had happened to convince him of that. What Halcyon was looking for was the reason for mercy. In searching for it, a wealth of serendipitous revelations would flow.

Wander did not attempt to suppress his growing elation. He grinned, ear to ear. Another joyful mystery, around whom had been brought so many individuals hurting from the inside out. He would take their pain and make lilies and lullabies of it. That was his purpose, after all.

"Would you like to begin?" Hal asked.

"No," Wander assessed, sensing there was more to be observed in silence.

"Alright," Hal said, "take as much time as you need."

"Thank you," Wander responded. "I will."

Silence fell over the room, save for the activities of the technicians at their terminals. In this, Wander watched the four figures across the window. Their every motion and unspoken word a tell, each tell telling stories far more valuable than any words spilling from their mouths could offer.

Speech, after all, was imprecise. Within the arbitrary bounds of language, mankind's greatest invention lay everywhere. In the silence between moments, Wander unravelled their stories each, with ease unmatched. And when he entered the room, there would be no place for any of the four to hide the truth from him. For he was Kvôrrìm—Wander—First of His Caste, Master of Minds, the Wandering Thought.