... and a tal sianae shall answer the call of your detestable actions, and you shall fall to the ground in fear, for she is the Punishing Claw of Alasais' wrath. And she shall free the body, gifted graciously by the Goddess, from your vile soul. And shall condemn your soul to eternal torment in Elaan – the abode of all-consuming, everburning light, where Her Merciful Eyes never look down from the skies.
From the sermon of a priest of the Rual Temple of Wrath
... To say that it is a difficult task to find a forest on the map of Naeria which one could traverse freely and without concern for one's safety, in which some nasty surprise of the local flavor isn't licking its proverbial chops in wait of an unsuspecting traveler, is to grossly understate the true order of things. To the east, in Aellenica's woods, the local sentient plants would gladly turn you into fertilizer or, if you're too poisonous for even them, at least try to take out your eye with a twig, trip you with a root, or breathe toxic dust in your face. In those parts, if you don't grow vegetation or form ears, you're not welcome. So, my friends, we're going camping to Aellenica's woods to rent the shell of some giant wandering carrot.
Shi Woods, on the other hand, exhibit such profound admiration for their visitors that every trick in the book is deployed to draw them in: enticing creatures with a magnificent berry field, the perfectly serene surface of a forest lake, or a mushroom meadow. Thus, bewitched by the heady spirit of nature, guests lose their way among the intricate webs of warm springs and channels, blooming with lilies and somaze, drowning up to the neck with wingtips, tulips and bluebells. They roam endlessly along the shores, carpeted with ledum and heather, and festooned with the fringed bows of irises, green needlebooks of sundews and ni-ni stars of deep garnet. And then, while bending to pick some bilberries, they inhale blissfully a chestful of spores of this land's master and guardian – dream moss... And succumb to eternal sleep in its damp embrace. To sum up: arm yourselves with a compass, waterproof footwear, and, above all, air-filtrating spells.
The situation isn't much better in the Enchanted Forest out west, which is so contaminated with magic waste from Lindorg that the local lakes, formerly known as the romantic-sounding "Starlakes," are now referred to as "Crawlers" due to their constant flowing from place to place, "dragging" with them the rivers from their "constellation" (which, incidentally, also flow in utterly unnatural ways.) Any part of the forest that gets flooded by such a lake instantly acquires rather unpleasant properties, depending on the exact nature of the magic that had polluted the water. Expect anything from red-hot seeds poured down your shirt, to branches entwining and torturing you to confess your childhood's greatest fears, to being pinned down by a root and having your back scrubbed with tinder fungus till your spine... Well, let's not get carried away. The point being, the one reliable solution to all such pleasantries is a local guide.
In and of itself, Al Emenayit is a rather peaceable forest; its "filling," on the other hand, leaves much to be desired: the Eale on the one hand, always fussing over the inviolability of their borders, and their neighbor elves driven mostly bananas from proximity to the former on the other. So, again, unless you've got a pocket medic, you are better off giving the loony bin a wide berth.
Niasaedalaan, also known as the Forest of Hands, will first deprive you of your sense of touch, then your sense of smell and the ability to distinguish colors, then your hearing, and, finally, your sight. But that's not the half of it, oh no. The worst part is that the Forest of Hands will easily drain you of all emotion and hunger for life... to the point where you, my dear fellow, won't give a flying fig that its slimy grey alum is gradually swallowing up your apathetic carcass underground.
As for the Rual Woods, they certainly aren't lagging far behind their peers. There they are on the map – a big fat green slug to the southwest, running alongside the Yellow Flowers Plain, ending at the prickly chain of Blackflame Mountains. It is no accident that the Enhiargeans have taken to calling it a "hotbed." If, one day, you're tending to your garden and suddenly stumble upon a curious creature that appears to be a mix between wolf, schamp and crab, with a stinger on its tail and venomous fur, the likelihood of this "wonder of nature" hailing from the Rual Woods is all but certain. Oh, and the reason for the creature's migration to your tomato patch probably has less to do with its sense of adventure, and more with its paralyzing fear of monsters far more dangerous than itself.
"So who shall we thank for such marvelous sights?" you may ask. "A Nae in a rotten mood? Some local animal deity, fed up with its subjects being made into fur hats? Or a company of Lindorg mages competing over which of them has got the most overactive imagination?" Well, you might be surprised to learn that the Rual fauna was a gift from Alasais' children – Rual's very own Alae.
What's that you say? "I bet they themselves give a wide berth to the place. That's just like those cats: make a mess, then take off and hole up in their Briaellar, leaving it for others to clean up!" Wrong. Rualites still live there to this day. At the very heart of this nightmarish thicket, in fact, tower the golden walls of their enormous city-state – city-monument, city-temple, city-cage – so strikingly unlikely any other Alaean city. It is a kingdom of symmetry – straight lines and simple, geometrically proper shapes. Here, fields and water bodies are perfectly round, like Alasais' Eyes; every shrub and tree is fashioned to the austere contours of pyramids, cylinders or cones, while their crowns – mutilated by scissors and bound with wire – form the same boring squares, circles and triangles. Nothing is free to grow as it pleases. Every last blade of grass is planned and accounted for. And many of these plans were made long, long ago.
In this guide you won't find a single article dedicated to Rual – after all, why bother writing about the local attractions if we're never going to get the chance to see them in person? The fact is that Rual is protected from the outside world by not only walls, but also a magic barrier of incredible power known as the Great Curtain, erected by King Agir the Liberator IX. Rather an extravagant method of liberation, wouldn't you say? And the perfect illustration of those eccentric Rual cats!
Hold up. Excuse me. Got carried away. Actually, this calls for even more histrionics and sanctimonious whining.
Enclosed in the Curtain, the ancient city leads a life full of ancient magics and mysteries, having renounced the rest of the world, and detesting it. It never sleeps. It knows no rest, for its denizens know no rest. From morning till night, driven by lust for power, beset with fear of losing their hard-won privileges, they toil by the sweat of their brow to earn the favor of the ferocious goddess Alasais, appease the lords of Rual, and inch their way upward through its Holy Hierarchy. It a ceaseless cycle of sermons read and rituals conducted, poisons tested and odes composed, spells concocted, secrets sniffed out, rumors planted, alliances made, slanderous reports filed, posts appointed, murals painted and treats invented for holy cats. In short, these fellas don't laze around! This is the true representation of Rual – Alasais' greatest temple, where every fourth building serves as her sanctuary, and every fourth citizen as her Cat Highness' priest.
And it's only the northwestern area of the city that's submerged in eternal silence. It has been many a century since anyone has brushed the layers of dust covering the altars, or admired the sculpted masterpieces of yesteryear. Nobody has been to pay respects to dead ancestors, or raise prayers to Alasais, begging permission to descend into the bowels of Rual – a giant labyrinth concealing the halls of the Sacred Scripts, its walls a repository of wisdom of the entire Alaean race; the dreary chapels and the opulent crypts in which, untouched by decay, rest bodies that had once hosted history's greatest Alae: high priests and prophets, saints and the immeasurable heroes of the feline people, and, most importantly, Rual's kings and queens.
Many of the city's elite had come down here willingly, having put their affairs in order and feeling worthy of ascending to Alasais' throne in Briaellar. Agir the Liberator IX was among them; before his death, the ruler bid his successor, Amialis II, to seal the entrance to these catacombs. No foot of any living creature had stepped onto the Ladder of One Thousand Steps since. Anyone foolish enough to transgress these holy bounds risks incurring Alasais' wrath and her priests' damnation.
That is what they say... But is it really true?
Talia Murr an Kamian, Mushroomer, Take Note (addendum to The "Four T's" Speaking Guide to Enhiarg)
Indeed, it would come as quite a shock to the "omniscient" priests and the current king of Rual, Kor II, brother of former Queen Amialis who had renounced the throne, to learn that one of the halls of the Forbidden Dungeon had become home to a slave of the heir to the throne. Moreover, this unlikely denizen lived not in fear but in comfort, relishing the peace and quiet of the ancient catacombs.
It was the month of Atnis, the very heart of summer. And while the sun raged on the surface, roasting mercilessly the shaved ears of Rual priests, Kad was quite enjoying the cool of the dungeon. Short and slightly chubby of late, the half-elf lounged on the floor of a colossal hall, leaning back against a twisted column. A breeze streamed pleasantly along the slab floor, having miraculously infiltrated so deep underground. Whenever the slave felt its cold embrace on his heated back, he made sure to raise praise to the great Alasais, by whose mercy he had been born in Rual, protected by the healing magic of her blessed children. And not out there, beyond the golden walls, where, as his great granny had told him, the gentlest draft could bring you down with a cold so bad you would die shortly thereafter, choking on your own blood.
Kad's shoulders – sharp and nearly black from the sun – twitched in disgust, whereafter he returned to contemplating the column across from him, covered completely with lettering and art. There were images of creatures of Alaean and non-Alaean descent, varying in size and detail – from basic contours to richly colored to traced with gold – arranged in tiers and connected via innumerable arcs, lines, arrows and brackets. Hundreds of roles, thousands of highly complex connections – perfectly mirroring real life. Though the column featured a tremendously simplified outline of the Rual society, its perfection was obvious even here. The slave felt genuine awe at the thought of how wisely life was arranged in this realm of triumphed Catness. Like a temple cat with flawlessly groomed fur, every individual hair in place. Rules of conduct for all of life's situations had been prescribed in specific detail as far back as the great antiquity, and the city's current residents didn't need to invent anything new. All their actions coincided with the sacrosanct body of laws recorded right from the goddess' mouth. Everything that was done and spoken in Rual were in accord with Her will. Like this column with the multitier painting, She was the immovable pillar of the Rual society. Worshipping Her was every Alae's greatest aspiration, the very purpose of their existence.
Master Anar had been reading (Alasais have mercy on him!) forbidden books and once told Kad that beyond the borders of Rual there were countries that were governed by rulers that were in no way connected to the dominant religion, sometimes even opposing it. This seemed to be completely nonsensical to the slave. How absurdly complicated and full of needless doubt and upheaval life must be under such peculiar order of government! How much time and energy wasted on endless squabbles! And really, what chance did a ruler who was detached from divine wisdom have of leading their people anywhere good? The very notion of it was ludicrous.
Then again, Kad had heard so many silly things about the lives of the non-Alae that perhaps that book didn't lie after all, and that beyond the blessed Curtain the world truly was submerged in the bowels of chaos, where no one knew their own place. Well, too bad for that world!
The slave closed his eyes and loudly inhaled the cool subterranean air.
Several feet from him towered a statue, draped by a tattered canvas. Perking up from the sculpture's head were the sharp points of Alaean ears. When working on this piece, Kad felt like the kind of transcendental bliss that couldn't be equaled, not even by the discovery that he had been gifted to the very heir to the throne. He had finished the job two days ago, but was in no rush to forget the way down to the dungeon.
And it wasn't his laziness that was the cause. Simply, in this place, dripping with the aroma of antiquity, its access forbidden to others, he could forget about his humble birth, if only for a few moments, and imagine himself to be one of the Alae – the ones whose images were looking down o him from the upper tiers of this column, connected by the blue threads of sanctity, of spiritual kinship to Alasais herself. And he would feel serenity and confidence swathe him like a warm priest robe...
"Kad, Kad... Who could have known that I would find you here? Someone so pious, so devout," an unctuous, sardonic voice suddenly sounded next to the slave's ear. "You always did love being a fly in the snare of Her tail. There's no need to fear, or prove anything to anyone, or make decisions. Or even think. You just cozy up in whatever spot she chooses to stick your comfy cocoon, and don't fuss too much... Lest she think that you're trying to break free and bite your head off!"
Kad swallowed a lump. He didn't feel any better from the realization that the Alae that had just caught him red-handed on the scene of the crime compared Alasais to a flytrap (a small ugly bird that always hid in the leafage, its tail of feathers – pale and smeared with sticky saliva – sticking outside like a net trap). Just the opposite. For a moment the slave felt weak in the knees with horror and indignation. How dare you liken Her Holy Hierarchy to such... foulness?! Insinuating that Alasais devours her loyal subjects! These thoughts flashed through the crannies of his consciousness.
If there was a cause for joy, it was that at least he understood whom he would need to beg for mercy. Kad forced himself to turn around, and threw up his head in a familiar motion. The hazy silhouette in the darkness was too tall for an Alae. He couldn't make out the stranger's face – the even light radiating from his eyes created the illusion of a phantasmal mask soaring in midair. Gradually it changed color to match the eyes: from caustic green to contemplative purple. And then to frightening blue.
Kad shrunk, pressing his shoulder blades into the column. He remembered how angry Master Anar could get (thankfully, it happened pretty rarely, but it still happened...). The slave began to mumble unintelligibly: that he got here inadvertently, after falling through some hole in the ground. Needless to say, it was all but an unfortunate accident, which nobody knew about or, heaven forbid, ordered...
But the heir to the Rual throne wasn't easy to fool – it hadn't escaped him that Kad's excuses were rather listless. Likewise strange was his total inability to penetrate the slave's mind – evidently, someone powerful had shielded his thoughts from outside influence. Anar was about to subject his witless property to some enhanced interrogation, but then his eyes fell on a greenish luminescence oozing from deep inside the hall.
With a silent step, he moved towards the light. It was streaming out of a high triangular aperture in the wall that led to an adjacent chamber. Anar halted and listened: all was quiet, without even the faintest noise betraying the presence of another soul. The Alae slipped into the hall, stealthy as a shadow.
Bright magical lights liberated from darkness one pair out of countless enormous columns, rows of them retreating into the distance. Littering the floor before them were sheets of paper covered in writing, obscure books bristling with bookmarks, scrolls bound with colorful ribbons, and glowing rocks arranged in several neat piles.
Anar kept moving. Column number three, four... Behind the fifth he discovered another isle of life: a light of pale gold, snuggled up next to an ancient stone pillar, casting a faint luminescence over a white puddle of milk, a discarded comb and a wicker tray wrapped in wrinkly foil, over which smoldered four sections of a pomegranate. A bit further off was a spread sleeping bag – fancy, made of black glossy fur.
The downy bed exuded a gentle, warm, entirely unfamiliar aroma. One whiff and, if only for a moment, Anar forgot where he was. It was like finding himself tucked away in a secluded alcove, padded with soft fabrics and filled with pillows, to which his fellow tribesfolk slipped away whenever they grew weary of the burdensome grandeur of their sleeping chambers and the sensation of danger that followed them on any open terrain. Anar himself, however, never shared that weakness: in his mind, "empty" and "open" by no means translated to "discomforting" or "fraught with danger."
On the contrary, free air was something he could never get enough of. Under the open sky his breathing was easier, his dreams deeper, and his thoughts more acute. Thus, to the horror of his bodyguards, the heir to the throne spent the bulk of his time on the rooftops, leaving his back open to any who might seek to move up a spot in the queue to the Rual throne. Were it up to him, he would be there now, lounging on the roof's warm surface, away from the city's noise and the priests' wailing, basking in the infinite blue of the sky, from where all creatures – whether Alae, humans or elves – looked no bigger than insects in the golden anthill that was Rual...
Anar shook off the reverie, snapping himself back to earth. Or rather, below it.
Crouching, he spied the sparkle of a bracelet nestled in the dark folds of the sleeping bag. Anar picked it up and studied it intently, seeking to ascertain the owner of the trinket. It couldn't have been his slave: the bracelet was small and delicate, intended to be worn on a slender, almost childlike wrist, and featured an engraving depicting exotic plants that the prince failed to recognize. What imagination for a jeweler! Anar chuckled to himself, bringing the adornment to his nose. It didn't smell like anything. Which led to a most repugnant conclusion – whoever wore the thing was undoubtedly an Alae.
Anar stroked the fur meditatively. The bag was large enough to fit even two Alae, if need be... Or one Alae and one half-elf. Could Kad be using the dungeon for secret rendezvous? Not with a slave – he could do that easily enough on the surface – but with a noble Alae lady? That would explain him being calm as a pet mouse! he mused, but discarded the theory at once. Only his mind – abnormal, according to his mother – could come up with such a blasphemous thought; no cat in their right senses would even dare to conceive the defilement of the holy shrine. Even his tail shook with disgust. And yet...
Anar looked around. To his right a wall stretched high, incised with lettering and disappearing in darkness. Ahead and to his left, almost no detail could be discerned, obscured by a veil of black. Just as he decided to go back and question the slave after all there came a harsh scratching sound from above, accompanied by what seemed like hissing.
The Alae hopped to the wall and threw up his head. He couldn't see anything at first, but eventually his eyes caught a tiny sparkle of green light. Anar watched it swell in size, as if drawing closer, when suddenly something heavy – and undoubtedly alive – fell right on top of him. With a hiss, the Alae hurled the creature away, instinctively slicing it with claws. Anar hadn't hoped to kill the stranger with the attack – the key was simply to leave a trace, to mark him so as to find him afterwards, for wounds made by Alaean claws never fully healed, but turned to scars that couldn't be concealed, neither by makeup nor magic. A pale blue field of magical armor flickered into being around Anar. With one hand he pulled his sword from behind his back, while the other's fingers started weaving an offensive spell. Started... and stopped.
What had fallen on him from the wall was an Alae, yes. It was also female. Her skin was cold as stone to the eye, which was why Anar hadn't been able to spot her right away. He froze steps away from the stranger, holding a mei[1] pause. This time his tel Alait told him nothing, as if he was looking not at a living cat but merely her illusory copy. And yet, the prince's shoulder, onto which the stranger had so rudely landed, ached in a very much non-illusory manner. And they say the Alae are aerial creatures with a cloud hidden in each paw as padding, the thought raced through Anar's mind. He would stake his tail that never in his life had he heard such an expression, but neither was the thought sent to him by this... clumsy dame.
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[1] One of the ways in which the famous Alaean intuition is manifested is a mei sense, which allows cats to quickly assess the skills and abilities of any creature, even a total stranger. And, by juxtaposing them with one's own... talents, to choose the right plan of action. For instance, by predicting an unfavorable outcome to a fight before it even began, one might try to avoid the conflict entirely or... mmm... to ascertain the best creature to assign the task of preparing cherry preserve.
The maneuver required time, albeit very little of it. That is why two Alae typically wait a bit before speaking – holding a mei pause.