Hive Market

I realized I had come into a market area in the Hive. I was passing an old woman standing silently by the wall, staring off into the distance. She seemed to be unconcerned with the flow of traffic around her, and clutched a wooden pole from which dozens of small fish were dangling. I moved in front of her, catching her attention.

“ ‘Lo, sir, care to purchase some…” She squinted at me for a moment, trying to discern my identity. “Oh my! ‘Ere I was, thinkin’ ye one o’ me regular customers. Hrmm…” Her mouth pressed down into a tight-lipped frown, and she stared off over my shoulder.

I looked behind me, trying to see what she was staring at. I could see nothing of interest behind me. As I turned back to her, I caught her looking at me… she looked away quickly, resuming her staring off into the distance once more.

“What? Do I look familiar to you?”

“Goodness, no!” She paused for a moment. “Aye, ye do. I think… ye, or a man with yer very likeness, sir. T’was so long ago.”

“Tell me…”

“Well, sir, ye see… me sight’s not so good now, t'wasn’t back then, neither. But I thought I saw ye walkin’ past with a small group trailin’ along behind ye. It’s t'was so long ago, and ye walked by so quick-like. But I remember, now, the way ye held yer head up… there was a woman followin’ ya, tryin’ to stop ye. To get ye to turn around, speak to her… but ye pushed her away.”

“Beautiful woman, she was… looked so sad, so angry, all at once. She stood there for a moment, then followed along behind ye just the same, hustlin’ to catch up. There was at least two other gentlemen with ye, sir… the only one I remember too clearly, though, was tall, thin. Reeked of bub, he did; I smelled him from across the way. Looked like he hadn’t bathed in ages, too. He followed ye close, he did, an’ never said a word. Acted like the woman wasn’t even there, even when she bumped against him, tryin’ to stop ye. That’s all I remember, sir.”

Another incident from my past. I gave the woman a few coppers, walking on and straining vainly for any memory that would connect with this incident.

An area of the market ahead was filled with debris. A broad-shouldered woman was shuffling about amongst the huge beams lying on the street. She kicked at the beams with iron-shod boots; every once in a while, she bent down and wrenched a nail from one of the boards with her bare hands. She held each one up, appraising it, then dropped it into a leather sling bag. She straightened up, hearing my approach. She smiled politely, but from her stance and the way her hand rested close to the hilt of her weapon, I could tell she was ready for trouble. I noticed one of her eyes had a milky film over it.

“That’s close enough there, cutter… what do ye need from me?”

“Who are you?” She pulled three nails from her sling bag, tossing them spinning into the air and catching them in her palm.

“Iron Nalls, they call me.” She dropped them back into the bag with a muffled clink. “I sell ’em to a man, name a’ Hamrys, in the Lower Ward. Maker of coffins, he is.”

“Where’s the Lower Ward?”

“Eh… I used to know the way, I did, but the dabus have changed the streets ‘round again. Don’t know how to get there, now — I'll need to chart a new path — but I figure the dabus'll straighten things out eventually.” I had heard that term before, and wondered at it.

“Dabus?”

“Aye, dabus — the Lady’s servants.” She looked at me, puzzled. “Ye must be new to Sigil. They work all over the city, doin’ the Lady’s will. Always buildin’ an’rebuildin', they are, usin’ what’s fallen or torn down to make somethin’ new.”

“The wood come from here an’ there. Sometimes dabus drop the stuff off, an’ I go through it before another pack comes to fetch it away. Probably rubble from buildin’s or walls they’re puttin’ up or tearin’ down.”

Dabus — I realized I now had a name for the mysterious floating creatures I had seen performing work about the city. I noticed a stench about this time. The smell like a sewer was getting worse as I moved forward, rising above the usual miasma I had already associated with the Hive, and which I was learning to ignore.

A man was looking at me with a strange, bug-eyed stare. His eyes were huge… so huge they looked ready to pop out of his sockets and roll across the cobblestones. He nodded eagerly as I approached, bobbing his head like a bird… and as I neared him, I suddenly noticed the smell of urine and feces surrounded him. The man sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, then opened his mouth to reveal blackened, rotted gums.

“Stories-for-coin, sirrah?” His breath reeked; it smelled like this man had been keeping rotten meat stored inside his mouth. “Stories-for-coin?”

“Who are you?” The man snorted, thick with phlegm.

“Names, names… who you are, who you are…” His head did a slight twitch every time he repeated himself. “Names… dangerous, dangerous.” He glanced at the ground and stirred the dirt with his foot. “Knowing a name or bein’ stuck with one, both’s a mess of trouble.” He looked back up at me. “My name’s a given name, not one asked for. Reekwind.” Once again I became conscious of his reeking breath and the smell of urine and feces that surrounded him. “A given name, a given name.”

“An… appropriate name.”

“Not my true name, true name.” Reekwind mumbled on, his head twitching every time he said name. “A true name’s a dangerous thing, gives others power.” He stared at me with his huge eyes and wagged his finger. “Keep your name secret, keep it close, never let it out.”

“Names are like smells… things can track you with them.” Reekwind coughed, his eyes almost popping out of his skull as he did so. His cough seemed to loosen his bowels, for he broke wind loudly, as if to accentuate his point. “If someone knows a true name, it gives them power.” He licked his lips. “The power to hurt.”

“I don’t know my true name.” Reekwind’s eyes widened at this; seeing his eyeballs bulge even larger made me uneasy.

“Then you are blessed, blessed. Remain nameless, and you shall be as a spirit on the Planes, untraceable, untrackable, unseen, undiscovered.” He smacked his gums wetly. “A name chosen, a name given… it allows others to find you and hurt you.”

“Have you been hurt?” Reekwind gave a twitching nod, then scratched himself.

“Let my name slip once, once, only once, only once.” His eyes filmed over as if the memory was painful, then glanced at me uneasily. “Tell you the story I can, I will, but three coppers must I see.” His face split into a smile as he said the word coppers, and his reeking breath hit me like a hammer.

I passed him the jink. Reekwind got into a stance, looked left, looked right, then faced me. His face clenched, then with a grunt, he broke wind again. The smell nearly leveled me, but he took no notice.

“Cursed, I! Walked the wards in splendor…” He stood up stiffly, nose high in the air. He sauntered back and forth, nodding to invisible passers-by. Reekwind froze, his arms akimbo.

“Crossed paths with a crossed one. Had the looking of a pumpkin, his seeds, curses!” Reekwind then thrust his belly out so as to appear fat, slicked back his hair with his filthy palm so he looked almost bald, and began drumming his fingers on his ‘fat’ belly. He then walked about, circling the spot where his ‘stuffy, upper class persona’ used to be. “All-a-jumble with curses, this one was.” With a sneer and a careless gesture, Reekwind tossed an invisible curse at the ‘stuffy persona.’

“Knew my name, let it slip I had, I had, all it took, took it all!” He stiffened up again, inhaling deeply and resuming his ‘upper class’ persona. The persona suddenly crumpled, and Reekwind broke wind violently, then exhaled, filling the air with his foul, reeking breath. “Cursed with stenches, smells, excrement! Came here to tell tales, all good for, all good for now. Now Reekwind is the name, given name, given name…”

“The Hive, the Hive… a tale I can tell, a tale I can tell, I will, but three coppers must I see.” He smacked his gums together and snorted like a pig. Intrigued to hear another of his tales, I passed over more jink.

“Spireward, spireward…” He pointed to his left, at the charred alley in the distance. “An Alley of Dangerous Angles.” He bent his limbs in a twisted parody of one of the skeletal buildings. “Not always angled, not always burned and charred, once alive, no longer.”

“Flames, fire!” He flung his hands up in the air, then waved them to simulate flames. “The alley burned, great smoke, ash everywhere… in the end, only skeletons of buildings left, bones of dead buildings, bones of dead buildings. Angles… everywhere, angles.” He hunched forward, his voice a whisper. Again, the stench from his body hit me like a wave.

“Dangerous, now, bad men have set up their kip there, kip there.” He bowed, then broke wind in quick spurts, like a bugle blowing. “That is the tale of how a street becomes an Alley of Dangerous Angles.” He made a semi-circle over his heart.

“A man made it so. A beast made it so. A man whom even fiends admire. A sorcerer’s tale, filled with madness, sadness, burning, yearning…” He hissed, then cackled in a way that reminded me of a fire burning. “A dangerous tale, a dangerous tale.”

“A sorcerer there was, no simple hedge wizard this, but a mage of power.” Reekwind brought his hands together reverently, then smiled evilly. “He burned with the Art, and the Art burned him.”

“The name given him was Ignus, a name respected, then feared, then hated, then punished.” Reekwind gave a rattling wheeze, then clawed the air and hissed, apparently imitating ‘Ignus.’

“Taught by one of the last great magi Ignus was, and as an apprentice, Ignus learned much, much… and nothing at the same time.” Reekwind shook his head sadly. “In his heart, his coal-black heart, a fire blazed. It burned, it burned, and it hungered.” Reekwind clawed at his chest, as if pain. “As it hungered, Ignus hungered. It was his wish to see the Planes burn.”

“In the night…” Reekwind hunched down and began to slowly stalk in the direction of the alley, a mad grin on his face. “Ignus came to the Alley that was to be the Alley of Angles, and the fire in his eyes, the fire in his heart, both he let out.” Reekwind pointed at the Alley, then flung his arms in the air, silently screaming and laughing at the same time.

“Flesh ran like wax, people like candles, and Ignus laughed, laughed…” Reekwind crumpled to the ground, his body wracked with imagined pain. “An evil, an evil was done, and forgotten not, forgotten not.” He stood up, then hunched over, looked left, looked right, then started mumbling, as if secretly in a conference with someone. “Something was to be done, be done…” He stood up, stiffly, his face resolute.

“A punishment was decided, all the hedge wizards, midwives, rune-tellers, copper-pinching witches, all manner of magelings… they came, all, even those with the smallest trace of the Art, to punish Ignus. Separately, they were flies…” He made a buzzing noise between his rotten gums. “Together, dangerous, dangerous.” He hummed, then raised his hands…

“Caught Ignus, granted his wish…” He swirled his hands, as if casting a spell. “He wished to burn, they granted it, using his own desire to fuel the casting. They made his body a door to the Plane of Fire — they intended to kill him, kill him…”

“Failed, failed…” Reekwind broke wind again, as if to accentuate the failure of the wizards. “Ignus lived, Ignus lived, only slept, blanket of flames, flames, turned in his sleep as he burned, never happier, never happier…” He shut his eyes, wrapped his arms around himself and turned slowly. “Burning… ever-burning…” His eyes suddenly snapped open. “One day he will wake, and then, then the Planes shall burn!”

This Reekwind seemed to know much. Perhaps his knowledge extended to the one I sought.

“Can you tell me where I could find someone named Pharod?” As I thought would be the case, this elicited a demand for more copper to hear a story. I agreed.

“Once a man of respect, Pharod was, a man, a man of goals, and position. All became nothing, nothing, turned to air.” Reekwind squinted, then broke wind, filling the air with a gut-churning smell. “Turned to air… and stink.”

“A liar, a cheater, a man who twisted law, Pharod was.” He hunched over, as if writing at a desk. He ‘wrote’ for a moment, then suddenly stopped, afraid. “Then one day, he found that he had twisted himself!”

“Such a liar he had become, that when he died, he was to go to a horrible place…” Reekwind shook his head sadly, then hunched over again and looked wildly in all directions. “Pharod would not accept it, would not, would not! He had cheated others, he would cheat his fate, too!”

“He read, dug in books, and consulted seers…” Reekwind stalked back and forth, his hand over his eyes as if staring off into the distance. “…and they told him that only in trash could he find that which would let him cheat his fate.” Reekwind broke wind again, then gave a reeking cough. “Perhaps they lied…”

Reekwind stood up stiffly, then began to fling off imaginary clothes. With every piece of ‘clothing’ he threw away, he became more hunched.

“Pharod threw away his position, his goals, and took up a new title…” Reekwind stopped, then leered at me. He clawed at his rags, shaking them. “And became a King of Rags! He would rule the trash, have his subjects search it all, and find that which he needed.” He shook his head. “He looks even now, even now…”

“Uh… do you know where I could find him?” Reekwind shook his head.

“He lives amongst rags and trash. There, you will find him, find him…”

No real help then. I continued walking, leaving the market area.

I was curious about this Alley of Dangerous Angles Reekwind had mentioned. It was nearby, and we entered. There were numerous burnt shells of buildings, and two gangs, who charged us a toll to enter the area. In a ruined church I met a man who named himself Aola, who seemed eager to talk to me, immediately coming over to greet me as soon as I entered the building.

“Welcome to the cathedral of Aoskar. Have you come to worship Aoskar with me? You can be his second disciple.”

“Tell me more about Aoskar.” Aola’s voice took on a tone of adulation.

“Aoskar is the Keeper of Gateways. Within Aoskar lies the power of portals, doorways and opportunity. Sigil, also known as the City of Doors, used to be the home of Aoskar, until he was ‘cast’ out by that accursed Lady. Now there are few worshippers of Aoskar here because the Lady forbids it. That will soon change, however, as I help the people to see the greatness of Aoskar. She cannot stand against the will of the people!” Aoskar, huh? I didn’t see how it could hurt to have a deity on my side. Even if this priest’s god didn’t help me, he himself might be useful.

“I wish to become a disciple of Aoskar.”

“Wonderful! It’s been so long since the last person asked.” Aola made me perform a series of complex rituals and then said, “You are now a disciple of Aoskar; go now and spread the word to the denizens of Sigil, so that all may know the glory of Aoskar!” Belatedly, I grew worried.

“Why are there no other disciples of Aoskar?”

“Over the years I have had many disciples. Unfortunately, they have all disappeared. It’s quite frustrating, actually. As soon as they become initiates I never see them again. Lately, there has been a rumor going around that the Lady herself is the cause. Now no one comes by any more. You are the first soul I've seen stop by in a long while.”

Mazed

I left the ruined building, troubled. I took a step… and found myself elsewhere. I was alone. My surroundings were totally different. I was standing on stone, formed into concentric rings. There were gaps between the rings, although stone bridges connected the rings at irregular intervals. The rings themselves also had gaps in them.

When I looked down between the stones, all I saw was a gray nothingness. There were only a limited number of rings as well. Beyond the outer ring was more of the gray nothingness, as though the space I now occupied was somehow bounded. Arches were placed regularly along the next to outermost ring, each arch I soon learned contained a portal. However, the portals only transported me across the rings; none seemed to lead out.

As I was verifying this, I noticed a place that wasn’t bare rock, where rubbish was piled. I moved to investigate, and found someone before me had camped here. I found a curious object at the camp site.

It appeared to be some sort of journal. Sheets of dried human skin had been stretched across a framework of bone, and strangely enough, it appeared the sheets of skin had healed together at the seams, forming the spine of a makeshift book. It looked like the outer sheets of skin formed a cover for a series of other skin sheets locked inside the bone frame.

A series of symbols had been written in blood across the exterior of the sheets of skin, but I couldn’t make them out; they appeared to be some form of writing, but they seemed to be written upside down, right to left, and at odd angles that made my eyes hurt.

Despite the crudity of the writing, I had to admit the design of the bone frame was actually quite intricate; the bones had been carved so that they snapped neatly together. It looked like the bones could be unhooked from each other, allowing the book to be opened and read.

I unlocked the bone frame, which unfolded with a neat snap. I opened the book, and studied the pages… they were filled with the same strange series of symbols as were on the exterior cover, and they didn’t seem to make any sense.

Much as I tried, I couldn’t make sense of the symbols. I despaired, and decided to put the journal down. As I re-hooked the bone frame, I was suddenly struck with a strange thought — that the pages of the interior weren’t supposed to make any sense. I… whoever I was at the time… put the symbols there to deceive anyone looking to read the real contents, which were hidden somewhere else in the journal frame.

I examined the edge of the frame, and noticed that one of the bones had a hairline fracture around one of its ends; I put my hand over the edge and twisted off the top of the bone, revealing a hollow space. Inside the space was a small, rolled-up scrap of skin.

It was difficult to read, but I could make out most of it.

TRAPPed TraPped lady'S will be done DODge her gaze… too many I kill'd, too many strangle and kill and stop the breath in their throats… there’s a way out I know it then I'll give the BLADed one the laugh…

… one of the archez holds way Out, one of them does, one has the way out, can’t just keep going through them one at a time, maybe — maybe I should go through one, then walk back to the same portal without…

The entry trailed off into indecipherable scrawls. For some reason, I had a feeling that was the last entry… either the incarnation died in the maze or escaped somehow.

I found that if I entered the portal in one of the arches on the periphery, then went back to that same portal without entering any other, I was transported to an arch I could not reach before. The portal in that arch allowed me to leave, returning to the Hive at the spot where I left. I felt I now knew where Aola’s disciples had disappeared.

I briefly explained to Morte what had happened. We left the Alley of Dangerous Angles on its other side, not too far from the Mortuary if my reckoning was right. I continued exploring the Hive, heading towards a section I had not visited before.

I heard a howling up ahead. What strange animal was producing the sound? Then I saw it was actually a wild-eyed man, hunched over, snarling and giving low growls. It looked like he hadn’t trimmed his hair in years… it was so long it formed a veil over his eyes. He had a long, stringy moustache caked with grease and sweat, and the tips of the moustache drooped so much that they had become tangled in his ragged beard.

I greeted him. The man stopped in mid-snarl, and he reached up to part the curtain of hair that covered his eyes. As his withered hand pulled away his dirty locks, several strange, puce-colored bugs fell from his hair and scattered across the cobbles. Behind the cloak of hair, the man’s flesh was moon-pale and creased with wrinkles. His thick, bushy eyebrows formed a ‘V’ as he stared at me.

“Hand, my take th’ moon fly, toooo?” I had difficulty, but thought I could puzzle out his meaning.

“ ‘Take your hand and fly to the moon?’ Not today, my friend.”

The man frowned, but his eyebrows tilted upwards in a reverse ‘V,’ creating a bizarre expression. I had no idea how he accomplished the facial expression, but it made me uncomfortable watching the muscles beneath his face shift into the new pattern. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry, curious, both or neither.

“Singed kisssspeak a man, answersss pre-fur a wood woman heart.”

“ ‘A single kiss speaks a woman’s heart, but a man’s answer is what you would prefer?’ Very well, then, but know this: my answer is a question, and an answer from you is what I would prefer.” The man seemed mesmerized by my voice. With every word I spoke, a light flickered in his eyes.

“Barking Wilder Am-I, I-Am! A-Wanting, Asking-A, May-You, You-May?” I was starting to get a feel for his language.

“You may, and I will: Who… or what… are you?”

“Kay-osh!” He stuttered out the word, as if having difficulty getting his tongue around it. “Some say Xaositects, I say S-tect-I-soax. chaos-men. Men no. Nem no, men yes, three nose make a yes.” He hunched down on his knees and began to rock back and forth, singing in a child-like soprano. “Chaos-man, chaos-man, hop-a-long home, a faction-it-is, yet we-are-alone.” Not having anything to lose, I asked another question.

“I'm looking for a lost journal. Do you know where I might find one?” He frowned, squinted his eyes shut, then opened them back up. When he spoke again, his voice was level and straightforward… it was like a different, saner, person was speaking. The effect was eerie.

“More than one lost, more than one must you find. Each part of you had one, so more than one must you find.” He blinked and shook his head for a moment, as if surprised at himself, then chuckled uneasily. I asked if he could tell me where at least one of them was. He looked like he was about to object, then suddenly his left fist came up and smacked him in the temple. He howled in response, then suddenly stopped, blinking.

“One is in a cupboard in your guest room in the hall of the Sensates, and another is on the walls of a tomb sealed deep beneath the city where the stones weep. The others are…” Before he could finish, his right fist came up and smashed him in the face, causing him to yowl again. He blinked and shook his head for a moment, as if surprised at himself, then smiled uneasily.

That was his last moment of clarity. No matter how much I questioned him, I got no more answers. In fact, he didn’t even seem to remember what he had already told me about the journals.

Rather than spend the rest of the day in pointless conversation, I turned away. Morte commented on Barking Wilder.

“Well, that’s one tree with a snapped branch too many.” Morte rolled his eyes. “No sense in chatting with Xaositects, chief. They’re a barmy bunch.” I asked him to expand on the Xaositects.

“They’re a ‘faction’ who don’t have any rules… except don’t keep one thought in their head for too long. They’re sometimes called ‘Chaosmen.’ No need to explain why. They just seem to attract members like flies… well, members that are crazy or chaotic enough, I suppose. I don’t think they have any recruiters… though you really can’t say anything about them for sure.”