http://i.imgur.com/Pqw5ixL.jpg

https://www.dropbox.com/s/bxh1dog7ywyddrr/WyNaughtandHerOwnGood.pdf

In which Wy gets a history lesson, and so do you.

Written and illustrated by James Craven (Dinmenel)

with art from Jenna Burjoski (Toesock)

Undercliff’s Itch LLC, 4E14

The land of Morrowind was once remarkable in having both a bleeding mountain and its own miniature moon, but just before Wy was born http://i.imgur.com/PmlTBOG.jpg. Now it is remarkable only for being very bruised. It coughed more than it bled, after the administration of the moon’s truth, and this unhealthy breath curled around the world, sealing it in snow and fog that lasted until Wy turned nine in the College of Winterhold. Then green sprang up between the cold-hammered cobblestones, having heard that the Red Winter was broken at last, and the last ship of Dunmer set sail from the College to search for friends and family in Morrowind.

Unlike the green and the winds, which were just vaguely nice, this leaving actually mattered. The city’s starry-browed king sent word from his Hoarfrosted Hall that there was to be a census of all in his holding, and so the charcoal monks of Julianos descended from their furnaces and went out among the people to administer truthful record of all that they found. And that is why a monk interrupted Wy’s history lessons with the other parent-free elf-spawn almost – but not quite – in time.

With a great BLIM BLAM, Urag’s ebon hammer came down upon Wy’s essay, making sure that she was wrong.

“I do not know what you have been reading, Wylandriah,” the orc growled, “but I assure you that Reman the First did not reign for 217 years.”

Our winter-withered transplant wilted in her seat, watching the red ink bleed across the page. “But – but he was immortal as long as –“ she began, but Urag interrupted her swiftly.

“Can anyone tell http://i.imgur.com/erqhwPZ.jpg what did last 217 years?” http://i.imgur.com/xfFuJv0.jpg. “Savos?” Urag invited.

“The entire Reman Dynasty, sir. Reman the First took the throne of Cyrodiil after the battle of Pale Pass and ruled for only 59 years. His sons took over after that.”

“That is correct,” Urag approved, but just then a knock sounded at the door and a monk stepped into the tiny tower classroom. A charcoal triangle smudged his forehead, and beefy arms bulged from his habit’s shorn sleeves.

“Children, form a line,” Urag commanded promptly, turning on his heel and striding to the front of the room. “The Rune-Writer will record you for the census now. Brother,” he greeted shortly.

The monk nodded stiffly. “Salutations, Librarian. Hello, children.”

There was something funny about him. http://i.imgur.com/DehdgfX.jpg, and the tattoos scribing his skin were blank black instead of the normal woad.

“The King has commanded a true record be made of all those living in and around Winterhold,” he explained as the class scraggled into a line. “Ordinarily we do not survey the juveniles, but as your parents are absent and the College does not seem to keep comprehensive records on the issue of its members, we must make exceptions. Still, I will truncate the inquiry.”

He unrolled a sheaf of pale paper and removed a sliver of charcoal from a case at his waist, then looked expectantly at the front of the line.

“Name?” he asked the plump Dunmer boy.

“Savos Aren, sir,” he said.

“Age?”

“Eight and a half.”

“Parents?”

“Andila and Iranu Aren, of House Telvanni, sir.”

“Occupations?”

“Researchers and teachers here at the College, sir.”

“And where are they now?”

Savos shifted his feet. “In Morrowind, sir, taking… care of my grandfather.”

“Very good; you may sit.” He scribbled off a flourish. “Next!”

One by one, he made record of the left-behind dark elves, slicing charcoal across the bright sheet. Wy peeked out from the back of the line, watching his hands. They seemed to svck soot straight from his charcoal, blackening ominously the more he wrote. He even paused halfway through to wipe them clean, but moments later they were blood-black again.

Wy was still staring at them, fascinated, when her turn came. Savos had to poke her to snap her transfixion.

“What is your name?” asked the monk severely, frowning.

“Um, my – oh, Wy- Wylandriah.”

“And what is your surname?”

“Er – well, it isn’t, is it?”

“Excuse me?”

“It is not, sir,” Wy repeated, more clearly, thinking he was rather deaf.

The monk shook his head. “Elves,” he muttered. “Very well, ‘Wylandriah Not’ it is. Age?”

“Nine, for a bit.”

“Parents?”

She shook her head, and Urag spoke up. “I look after her, Rune-Writer.”

The muscled monk raised an eyebrow, but then merely nodded and rolled up the paper. “That concludes this census, then,” he announced, peering blackly around at them. “Truth rule you.” And he left, copper-nailed boots ticking away.

“And you lot,” Urag grumbled, waving a hand at the class as he sank behind his desk. “Except you and you,” he amended, jabbing a cedar-grained fingernail at Wy and Savos.

“Is there something wrong, Mister Librarian?” Savos asked anxiously as the rest of the class drained from the room. “Did I make a mistake in my essay?”

“And what about me?” Wy inserted. “I haven’t done nonsense!”

The Orc shook his shaggy mane. “There are two of you,” he rumbled when the rest of the class had gone, “but only one problem. You both know things you shouldn’t. Savos, have you been using symbolic snares on the wildlife?”

The Dunmer blinked and began to answer, but Wy gasped. “Oooh, I’ve read about those! That’s where you trap some spirit in a bit of pattern or –“ She gasped again, this time because Savos had stepped hard on her toes.

Urag’s bushy eyebrows wriggled up his forehead. “Worse than I thought with you, it seems. As it always does. Savos?”

“Did Hafnar tell you that, sir?” the Dunmer asked earnestly. “I thought he overheard Bralsa and I talking, but I never said I had actually tried it. I really haven’t, sir.” The boy stared innocently into Urag’s eyes.

The librarian scoffed. “You shouldn’t even know about them.”

“Yes sir, it’s just… my grandmother sort of teaches me whatever she wants. I can’t help it.”

“Your grandmother is not here, unless I have been gravely misinformed.”

Savos shook his head. “Yes sir, she is dead. I have her teeth here, see?” He pulled a necklace of engraved teeth from under his robes. “She likes to look after me, whispering advice down the Hollow Hall. It’s a Dunmer thing.”

“Then in that case you are absolved,” Urag grunted, and favored the boy with a rare smile. “But do not attempt anything your teachers have not expressly allowed.”

Savos bobbed his head. “I’ll be sure to remember that, sir.”

“Good,” the librarian replied, then turned to Wy. “And you, wild girl?” http://i.imgur.com/TmKZeoR.jpg. “How do you know of the more fanciful interpretations of Reman Cyrodiil’s life and times, mm?”

“I… I read it in a book, of course.”

“You read it in a book you had to steal a key to open,” http://i.imgur.com/MfIMOof.jpg. A tiny key zoomed out of Wy’s wild hair, tugging her head down by its securing string.

“When I told you to read anything you wanted,” Urag said as he unfastened the knot, “it should have been clear that locked books at least require individual permission.”

Wy scowled, rubbing her head. “They don’t though. That’s just you saying it; I can say the opposite. Who could tell the difference?”

“Anyone,” Urag replied shortly. “Because you saying it does not make it true. What book did you find, by the way?”

“The… Remanada,” Wy answered shiftily.

“It had better have been. There are some things that little girls just shouldn’t read, for their own protection. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” sulked the said little girl. “I understand that you get to decide what’s right and true just because I’m too little to stop you.”

“Oh, out with your saucy tongue!” the Orc snorted suddenly, pushing Wy toward the door. “Savos, your homework is to teach this animal how to not be a snot. Go on, and I swear if I find you’ve stolen another key I’ll alter you a new nose. Go!”

The door clipped shut behind them, and Wy set off in a trounced flounce down the stairs, her echoing grumbles gruff as her Uncle’s.

“Blimey, you need parents,” marveled Savos as he followed.

Wy shoved him into a window well. “You shut up! I don’t need parents or anyone telling me what to do or not do!”

“Duh,” the boy answered, shoving her back. “You need them so you’ll learn how to manage grown-ups. Because you are so bad at it.”

“See, Wy, here’s how it is,” he went on, putting his arm through hers and ignoring her suspicious glances. “Grown-ups are twice as big, twice as strong, and twice as mean as us. The only thing they’re not is twice as smart, but they sure think they are. That’s the trick to keeping them in line: they think we’re all little idiots, so tell them what they want to hear and then do exactly what you want where they can’t see.”

“You – what?”

“It’s like symbol snares,” Savos went on. “You put them on things weaker than you to make them do or be what you want. Grown-ups try it on us all the time with their rules and facts and their good, bad, goodbadgoodbad. Get wrapped up in too many of their traps, and, well, you start thinking that’s who you are. Like being forced to wear a mask so long you forget it’s not really you. That’s what they want, of course. They want us to wear their rules by choice.”

“They do seem to think it’s their job to control us,” agreed Wy.

“Yeah, but like I said it’s not very smart to just rebel. They’re bigger than us. You’ve gotta look like you’re doing what they want, like their snares are part of you. You know how it goes, ‘Finish your scrib jelly, Savos, there are starving slaves downstairs who might eat your leftovers,’ and if you argue, well, ‘We are your parents and we have no need of your theory.’” But they’re ALL so crazy for feeding us that if you just eat the wording of their rules and spit out the meaning, they can’t even tell the difference.”

“I get it.” They stepped off the spiraling stairs and into an empty corridor lined with bubbling wells of light. “So… I guess your grandmother didn’t actually teach you all that?”

“’Course she did!” laughed Savos. “But not through the Hollow Hall! I nicked one of her notebooks from my parents before they left.”

“But you told Uncle that she whispered it to you!”

“Didn’t either! That’s just what you both wanted to hear. That’s the other thing: don’t lie unless you have to. A twisty truth is always stronger.”

Wy gasped, and grabbed his sleeve. “Then you – you said you hadn’t tried the spell, not that you hadn’t succeeded, didn’t you?! You did do it!”

“’Course,” the boy answered, and flashed a lacquered playing card from his pocket, upon which the image of a spider shifted eerily. “And Tedril and Dalam have got a viper and a chaurus larva. We’re gonna duel them in the basemant. Want to come watch?”

Wy hesitated. “We found J’Skar’s moon sugar stash,” he added slyly.

“Sweet mama Malacath,” she whispered, “show me the way!”

And the giggling criminals sauntered away

picking up on the feline beat

of rulers, ruling all things.

Any ancient library is bigger than its bounds, and like all librarians, Urag book-orc had to choose which books people should see. The rest stayed in the basemant, crated away in twin rooms of fact and fiction making up the Overflow Vault and Tome Approval Queue. Between these rooms was the Broomstick Confiscation Closet. Containing no books at all, it was built to cover a crack that split the College’s foundations twenty-three years prior. Only Urag remembered the closet, because its door had definite preferences and showed itself only to those with truly magnificent beards. The door did not care for the shallow facial hair of men; the door had good taste.

But, historically speaking, the mer of Morrowind are rather good at fooling that kind of thing.

“Why do we have confiscated broomsticks?” Wy wondered, standing outside the closed door with Savos. “And why are you wearing that?” http://i.imgur.com/USQMAp1.jpg

“Something about the old Mage’s Guild, I think,” he said. “They’re actually levitation staffs mostly. One of the covens down in the Rift took to disguising them as brooms when flying was banned. And – wait, hold on, how can you even see it?”

“Flying was banned? Why?”

“Because grown-ups love making rules and wild witches kept going hurly burly and egging people’s windows closed. Also falling off, but you didn’t answer my question.”

Wy shrugged. “The surprising uses of dust,” she explained. “Why is there a spell to hide it? And what kind is it?” She peered closely at the door, one eye shifting into perception of extra spectrums.

Savos rolled his eyes behind his mask. “I don’t know. Read it just vanished one day when the witches decided to take up wings instead.” A faint tapping echoed down the dark hallway, and the elf craned his neck in alarm.

“It recognizes beards is all,” Savos said, whirling around to listen. “That’s why we need the masks to see it. Except you, I guess. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” The little elf tilted her head absently, still staring at the door’s enchantment.

“That tapping. I bet it’s Hafnar. He caught us hanging around here the other day.”

“That snozzberry.”

“Yeah, so hurry up. If he finds us this place’ll be no good.” Savos yanked the door open and darted into the dark. Hafnar’s hollow-hoping shuffled nearer, and Savos grabbed her by the elbow. “But the spell-“ she yelped.

“Just get in here, you hairy little elf! I couldn’t care less about the spell!” And he yanked her inside.

Wy jabbed her sharp elbow into Savos’ pudge. “Get blitzed, you lipid-licking guar herder! I had a few minutes still.”

Savos shoved her back. “Shut up, you don’t even know. Now come on. Feel around for a staff to float in on, there are a bunch of holes in the floor.”

The two felt around in the dark until Wy caught one of the floating broomsticks. http://i.imgur.com/JIqdsIz.jpg. Other staffs bounced gently off them as they went, floating on unlawful airs.

http://i.imgur.com/sdMyCIV.jpg

The candles stood in the corners of the closet’s back end, blowing buttered beams out onto the rough floorboards and http://i.imgur.com/CdHPW8N.jpg. In the fourth corner was a fat black cat, rolling outward and yawning inward in a shape that was always cute. Staves stacked the shelves around three waiting Dunmer.

“What’s she doing here?” one asked as Wy and Savos got off their broom. “This place is safe, so why is she-“

“She’s ok,” Savos assured. “I helped her out. No parents, yeah? She needs someone to tell her how it is, for her own good.”

“Whatever,” the other elf replied. “Come on, let’s duel.” http://i.imgur.com/z7Bash4.jpg

“What’s this for?” Wy asked, watching the runes take shape between the candles and the cat. “I thought you were just going to let your animals out to fight.”

“That would be boring and therefore wrong,” Savos answered as he took a stack of cards from his pocket and set them on the floor. “We’ve got a whole game with rules and everything.”

The girl grinned. “Cool. Can you start now?”

“We still have to draw the board!”

“Oh, all right then.” Wy hopped up onto a shelf, kicking her feet and looking idly around at the shadows playing on the walls. But of course she had too many questions to keep in.

“So did people really stop flying just because someone encoded a law?” she said, watching the floating staffs.

“Obviously not everyone.”

“Well, but some. Why would anyone do that? I mean, it’s just some words somebody wrote down and decided ‘Hey, you, you’re all going to do this now.’”

The Dunmer laughed, shaking their ashy heads. “It’s not just that, Wy,” Savos told her. “It’s the same as the historians, right? Of course they’re probably completely wrong, but if you say that people are going to make you look stupid. Same with the law – if you break it, someone’s going to come to your house, steal your staff, and break you.” He shuffled the cards with a flourish. “They’re both just masked threats.”

“Huh. How’d you figure that out?”

He shrugged. “We’re Dunmer.”

“Was it the Hollow Hall, then? Is that a real thing?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not Dunmer.”

“So? I still want to know the truth. Do whispers happen at night, echoing down from the spirit world? Do they keep you company because your parents are –“

One of the other Dunmer brandished a tiny harpsichord hammer under her nose. “Truth is,” she said, “it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re not Dunmer. Now it’s time to duel.”

Savos and the other elf drew their first hands as Wy blinked back heat beams from her eye.

“My turn,” said his opponent. “You lost last time.” He slapped down a card and struck it three times with the harpsichord hammer to release the snare. And, riding the resounds, a dull grey snake slithered out of the card’s stylized symbols.

“Wicked,” whispered Wy. “Why do you hit it?”

“Do you see a mask here?” Savos said, waving one of his cards. “No? That’s because these snares are only enough to trap the things, not force-feed them identities. If I could do that they’d be mobile. Instead, they need a good sharp shock to forget they’re slaves. A smack on the head usually does it.” He laid the card, gave it a sharp bop, and http://i.imgur.com/ExpYJIv.jpg and levered a spider’s shiny, bulbous body out of the design.

“You n’wah,” the other boy said. “You can’t do that, I’m not even done with my turn.”

“I can if I discard the rest of my hand,” Savos said, and tossed away four cards.

“Whatever, that’s not even a rule! You just made that up!”

“So? I –“ But just then a quiet tapping echoed down to them from the closet’s long walls.

“Hafnar,” the plump Dunmer whispered. “He’s in the Queue, looking for hollow walls. We’ve gotta go.” They jumped up, hammering the animals back into their snares and scrambling together their decks.

“Why?” asked Wy. “He can’t get in, can he?”

“Hafnar might not know how to summon a mask,” Savos said as he grabbed a broomstick and pushed off, “but he sure can do an axe!”

Wy went pale, and leaped after him, grabbing for the staff – but smashed her nose against an invisible wall.

“Symbol snare!” Savos hissed, pointing at the floor. “Sorry! Don’t worry, it’ll break as soon as he gets in!”

“You scum!” Wy yelled, and snatched up the spider card, forgotten in his haste. The tapping marched closer, gleeful and quick.

“Keep it!” yelled the boy, and laughed into the dark.

Wy stuffed it into her sleeve with a grumble for packing. “’We found J’Skar’s moon sugar,’ ha! But they didn’t steal any, now did they? Nimrods.” But Hafnar’s chopping was splintering the thin cedar wall behind her, so Wy leaped onto the shelves, clambering to the very tippity top shelf shrouded in whirling, murderous shadows,

where a fifth ashen, elfen face

peered terror betwixt

http://i.imgur.com/smPdbgJ.jpg

“Budge your buns and your bunny,” Wy whispered, and shoved beside the girl without waiting. “There’s a Nord with an axe down there!” They huddled together, http://i.imgur.com/f5uwmRd.jpg, as said axe smashed clean through the wall and began beating up the bottom shelves.

“Who is that?” the girl-stranger asked, clutching her rabbit around its middle.

“Hafnar,” Wy answered. “He’s a goody Turdas with four shoes and an aedra bonnet. Who are you?”

The girl buried her dark face in bright fur. “Shade,” she shuddered. “Is he going to kill us?”

“Nah, he won’t find us,” Wy replied. “Humans always close their eyes when they look up.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Below, Hafnar stepped through the splintered wreckage and evaporated the symbol snare with his two-shoed big toe. It didn’t take him long to realize his criminals had skedaddled, and he sailed away on a rickety splint-staff that quaked under his weight.

“Whoo,” said Wy when the door’s opinionated echo reached their ears, “that was close. Can you believe that cakesniffer tried to frame me? And not even for moon-sugar thievery! Anyway, what are you doing here? Are you new? Why do you have a rabbit? Can I pet it?”

The other girl shrank back. “Quinn… doesn’t like strangers. He might bite you.”

Wy shrugged, and swung her feet off the shelf to kick the hem of her robes.

“What were those boys doing?” Shade asked timidly.

“Oh, playing soul-slavery games with some poor unfortunates. Savos tricked me here so he could pin it on me if they got caught. Him and his eight-side-eight truths.” She grimaced. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

Shade pulled one of Quinn’s ears over her eyes. “Hiding. I’m sort of… not supposed to be here. Except I got banished.”

“Where from?”

“… somewhere.”

“That’s okay. I don’t really know where I come from either. And I don’t have a guard rabbit, BUT –“ Wy said with a sly little grin as she pulled her silver old Urim owl from under her robes, “I do have an owl, and he’s very good at hunting things down. Like the truth, which has been very sneaky lately! So if you want, you can come with me.” She climbed down from the shadow stabbing ceiling, letting the other girl follow in timid, blinking bemusemant.

The pair slipped away out of Hafnar’s hole, into the dusty, crate-cluttered Queue and up through the rest of the castle College. Wy led her new friend to the northeast spire, where Knot was part of the roof garden, pretending to be a tibrol tree transplant from Morrowind.

“Does anyone wanna go fly into oblivion?” Wy sang, waltzing toward the tree. “Does anyone wanna go dance upon the truth?”

Feathered owl Urim hopped about in the branches, excited, and a buzz of bees escorted them into the honey-smeared cabin. Wy and Shade seated themselves at new wax command chairs, and the Urim streaked off, tugging the tree into the sky.

The girls climbed out into a crescent valley beneath an inky night sky. Droopy trees like dried blood fans hunched on the ragged slopes, dripping bubbles of inky ichor from their nine-fingered leaves. They floated away on the breeze, swirling together into a cloud of dust murmuring through the ravine. http://i.imgur.com/FDfNOXD.jpg

“Oh no,” Shade whimpered. “Not here again! Go back, go back!” But then the blood-black hands

of http://i.imgur.com/vTjnv08.jpg

cocooned them

in runes.

The monks were made of brass and cloned from clockwork like the Dwemer machine-men of old, but their faces were those of apes and covered by a flowing sheen of dark liquid. Bubbles of it dribbled off continually and floated away, joining the dust stream toward the fortress.

They joined it too; the machines whirred and clanked them down the road and into the castle.

“What is that stuff?” Wy whispered as they went.

“Memospores,” Shade moaned. “Icky scriptures. Ideas with the skins still on, from the infected trees. Oh no no no, this isn’t going to be good, please let it not be him.” But their captors kept on, carrying them to the very center of the fortress.

An ancient amphitheater floored the innermost tower, its levels lined with mechanical monks chanting wet runes, burping giant spores to spiral up, up, up and disappear in the blue glow of Nirn hanging heavy high above. Four metal prongs at the tower’s top directed the stream. http://i.imgur.com/NvvI8iY.jpg

In front of the anvil stood http://i.imgur.com/vWBckXv.jpg: part of some nearby TAL Operating System’s firewall for over-reaction to minor inconveniences, embodied as a little boy.

“I DECLARE YOU LATE AS CLUCKING DUCKS, SNOTRAGS,” he yelled, and his bad breath reached all the way to the door. The monks carried them down to him, Shade crying quietly, and set their rule-written cases around the anvil, each facing one side. A third captive filled the other side; a ragged elf in a golden owl mask, ratty beard spilling down over his rune-wrap, skin flaking and infected. Two tiny tubes inserted under his tongue gathered spore-syrup from the air. “NOW GET TO WORK, YOU LAZY, UNGRATEFUL SASS HATS.”

Shade cringed. “It is him.”

The third captive fluttered a look at them, revealing eyes splintered by bloody cracks. “H-hello again.”

“Not you,” Shade whimpered, eyes still clamped.

“I quite concur,” he nodded.

“Um,” Wy said, “I’m confused.”

“It’s Pale Pass,” the mer coughed. “We’re all confused. Too many - ideas in the air.”

“What! Pale Pass? But Nirn is up there!”

He hacked a laugh. “Call it the - Hollow Hall, then. The Whispering Slipstream. You’re still on the ragged edge of the moons, in the ruins of Reman’s rule.”

“His name is Erik,” Shade explained, voice high and taut. “He… built this. Not the tower, Reman built that, but the machine bits funneling the spores. And stole the monks from a human empire hidden behind space and between time: the Sideways Stair. Then he came.” She glared at the loud boy. “TIBEDETHA.”

“Why?”

She pointed up, and Wy saw that, high above, almost invisible against the glow of the planet, http://i.imgur.com/2pD3G5R.jpg

“That’s a jill and a sunbird,” Shade said shakily. “Ships of the Stair and ‘Strand. They came through and got caught in the spore stream, but the jill’s defense system activated before it shut down all the way. Him.”

“Oh, I see. So he wants us to free them.”

“CLUCKWITCH CRAY-CRAY. CLUCKWITCH GOOD-SLUG. WORK, AND YOU CAN MAKE. THIS IS THE FIRST SKIRMISH OF THE CANON WARS IF BIRD DIES. BIRD WILL CLUCK THAT PLANET CRAY. YOU COULD HELP MAKE IT. IF GOOD-SLUGS, MAKE. OR STAY IN YOUR CANS AND CLUCK.”

Wy shot an askance prism-peer at him before looking back around the anvil at Shade. “What is this place for, then?”

“I don’t quite understand how it works,” Shade whispered, “but – I think – I think the stuff from the trees wraps up the ideas the monks chant and sends them to Nirn to – um – to freeze history?”

“I DECLARE THAT IDEA STUPID AND CRAY,” the robot boy shouted. “FOR THE EXTENT OF THAT STUPID, MONKEYCLUCK MUST DO PENANCE BEFORE BECOME GOOD-SLUG.”

“W-what penance?” Shade stammered.

“CLUCKWITCH HAS CARDS,” TIBEDETHA bellowed. “MONKEYCLUCK MUST SEE FULL STUPID OF HER CRAY.”

“SO FOR HER OWN GOOD, MONKEYCLUCK

IS GONNA GET

TO PLAY IT.”

Her rune-wraps shed, http://i.imgur.com/s0foAxU.jpg, across from TIBEDETHA. The cards were laid and drawn, split from Savos’ spider by a glance from Wy’s prismatic eye and spun into substance by a thousand random memospores. The Dunmer’s hands shook only slightly, steadied on Quinn’s head.

“ME FIRST,” the boy said. “BECAUSE MONKEYCLUCK IS CRAY.” He laid a card labeled ‘Sheeple.’

“MONKEYCLUCK FORGOT HOW TO PLAY BECAUSE STUPID,” he decided. “SO I’LL EXPLAIN. I MAKE YOUR HISTORY WITH MY CARDS AND YOU DON’T MAKE MINE. THIS IS YOUR CLUCKCLAN, ALWAYS AFTER IDOLS AND ENTERTAINMENT.” He pointed to the card, as a large memospore floated over and burst on Shade’s arm, plastering it with a sticky black rune. “ONE RIGHT CARD, ONE RUNE. YOUR FATHER WAS A MINISTER AND YOUR MOTHER MILLED IGUANA BERRIES.” Two more cards; the Downtrodden Priest and the Busty Butcher, and two more runes popped on Shade’s shoulder. “YOUR MOVE.”

“Y-your orig-inal soul was a – a – farmer,” Shade managed, laying the Plow.

“WRONG. YOUR TURN FORFEIT, MONKEYCLUCK.”

“What, you can’t just do that!” Wy snapped. “She was just as right as you were!”

“RIGHT IS WHAT I CAN’T REFUSE, CRAY CLUCKWITCH. AND I CAN REFUSE A LOT. MY TURN.”

He drew, then played the Bad Wolf. “YOU CLUCKED WITH A CRIMINAL.” The Doomed Magistrate. “BUT PITY GOT YOU AND REMOVED FROM YOUR CLUCKCLAN.” He swept away his first two cards, and another spatter of spores sprayed Shade. “YOUR MOVE.”

“I play the context card Birthday Party,” Shade began, but TIBEDETHA interrupted.

“FORFEIT. CONTEXT STARTS ARE DUMBAD.”

Wy scoffed. “You just made that up! That’s not a rule!”

“NOW IT IS. NEW RULE: ONE RULE, ONE RUNE.” And two more spores wrote the new rules across the scared girl’s side.

“NOW ME.” The Ersatz Academic and the Age of Wonders. “YOU BECAME BARRISTER… WITH THE SIDEWAYS STAIR.”

Before long the girl was nearly as covered in rune-cocoon as before, TIBEDETHA’s plays spelling out her life with such force and conviction that she couldn’t even explain how wrong he was, and hers just bouncing off his rude ignorance. She only kept her arms free enough to keep playing by hiding them under her belly when the spores came a’splatterin’.

“Wy!” she whimpered finally, when she couldn’t even bend down for that. “Help me!”

“I’m trying to think of something!”

“Had you – noticed,” Erik slurred, “that there are words on that anvil?”

The girls blinked disgustedly. “Will they help?” Wy demanded. Erik only shrugged, head lolling back.

“How did he come up with this place, anyway?” muttered Wy, craning forward to peer at the dirty anvil.

http://i.imgur.com/E245BWF.jpg

“There is something here,” Wy said. “Hold on…”

“MY TURN,” interrupted TIBEDETHA. “NOW IT’S CRAY-CRAY MOON TIME, MONKEYCLUCK. WHEN YOU MET THESE TWO CRAY-RAGS YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW.” He laid three cards face down.

“I’ve got it!” Wy said. “It’s about Reman! ‘Then came the Men of Akavir to Tamriel in Quest of Dominion, wielding Hilled swords and endless Hunger. But the armies of REMAN CYRODIIL met them in every Quarter of the Middle World, and the Sage-Knights made Retreat unto a secret Space stolen from the Lord of the East.’ That’s it, that’s all on this side. Who’s next?”

“THEY’RE DIRTY CLUCKS,” TIBEDETHA yelled over them. “DIRTY AS DUCKS. BUT DON’T WORRY. WE’RE GOING TO GET THEM CLUCK CLUCK CLEAN.”

Erik blinked into focus. “I think… yes, here it is. Lemme – remember how to read.”

“Hurry!”

“FIRST UP, GOOD-SLUG SHROOMCLUCKER,” the boy said, flipping over the first card. “REAL NAME? COVERED BY INK.” The card showed a penitent priest in a black mantle, a lash in one hand and a rod in the other. “HE’S A BLIM BLAM BASHER MAN UNDERNEATH HIS SKIN, MASKED AND SMASHING WITH SHROOM-SAP. HIS HAMMER SUNDERED YOUR SOUL.”

The elf didn’t even hear him. “OK,” he said. “I’ve got it. Long – breath. ‘But the Sages had wronged the Middle Air in their sundering and stealing, and its Lord made call upon Historical alliances. And in the Pale Pass of their Retreat the Sages were trapped, for the Current-countenanced Kings of forgotten Seas rose up and sealed them in Trembling.’”

“NOW CLUCKWITCH,” the robot continued. “HER DOCS I’VE GOT BECAUSE HER PARENTS WALKED THE STAIR.” Wy froze. “WE REMOVED THEM FROM HISTORY FOR THE DUMBAD ‘STRAND. THEY WERE BORING REBELS, BUT THEIR HERITAGE DISTASTEFUL. BY CHOICE,” he went on, cruelly, “THEY LEFT THEIR DAUGHTER ALONE IN TIME, SPECIAL IN NO OTHER WAY. BUT LET’S SEE HOW THAT STANDS TODAY.”

He flipped over the second card. “LOOK, NO NAME. SCraqeD RIGHT OFF.” The card showed Wy, with her name scratched out and overwritten by the word ‘NOT’ in thick, crumbly charcoal.

“Shade!” Wy yelled, snapping out of her fascination with TIBEDETHA’S words. “Shade, what does the last side say?”

“AND YOU, MONKEYCLUCK,” TIBEDETHA said, grinning but watching Shade’s eyes warily. “THE GIRL WITH A TERRIBAD RABBIT. I CURED HALF OF YOU ONCE ALREADY. WHY? YOU DON’T EVEN REMEMBER THE ANVIL HE BROKE YOU ON. YOU DON’T EVEN REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE. BUT YOU RAN. YOU RAN TO THE CLUCKWITCH. WHY HER?”

He flipped the last card. Upon it was an image of an ape cuddling a bunny.

“TAKE YOUR MEDICINE. READ YOUR NAME.”

http://i.imgur.com/9GFKRTa.jpg

the monkeycluck’s truth:

“Samantha John.”

“NAME.”

“Samantha John,” the Imga boy repeated. “I remember!” He staggered backwards, pulling all the way out of the mask-cocoon that had covered him. It crumpled in on itself, pooling into shadow.

“AGE.”

“Ten years!”

“OCCUPATION.”

“Apprentice agent. I was here investigating the missing monks when I got caught by – by him!” He pointed at Erik. “I almost didn’t recognize him because of the mask.”

“I feel the same way,” the elf murmured.

“Samantha John!” Wy exclaimed, finally remembering how to work her tongue. “How did- what did- Shade?”

“SITUATION.”

“He… experimented on me,” the boy shuddered. “Tried to turn me into some kind of shadow servant, but he got it wrong and only managed to give me a demon shadow. Her.” He pointed at the crumpled remains of Shade. “The rabbit must have been his first victim. He’s some kind of rogue schemer – that spore stream is pointed straight at your College, Wy! No wonder it’s cracking.”

“MONKEYCLUCK CLUCKS FULL MONKEY AGAIN,” declared TIBEDETHA. “GOOD-SLUG. NOW NAB THE JERKS.” At his command the mechanical monks marched down from their bubbling lines, lifting up Erik… and Wy.

“What!” she squawked. “Me?!”

“YOU HAVE NULL-SUM SENTENCE IN TWELVE CONSTELLATIONS.”

Samantha John winced, but nodded. “I’m sorry, Wy, but it’s true,” he said. “The sector these monks were stolen from was left unprotected… because you killed its guiding Law.”

“Don’t worry - Wy,” Erik said, his head lolling. “Shade just figured out how to fulfill - one of her primary functions. See? She’s learned to feed.”

All eyes snapped back to the puddle of shadow. And, indeed, the deflated skin that had once been a Dunmer girl’s face devoured her encasing runes.

“Oh, no.” Samantha John gulped. “Bad day. You gave her an independent identity in the first game, when you joined us under the Dunmer history.”

“OOPS.”

http://i.imgur.com/Rq4T3QX.jpg The runes pressed out against her skin, swimming and swirling. Her face was that of a demon: slither tongued and mandible mouthed.

“I figured it out!” she laughed, looking to Wy and lifting Quinn. His shadow folded in, tarring his fur and rearing as wings. “It’s all on the anvil!”

“CLUCK CLUCK MONKEY MONKS.” They stepped toward the girl, raising blood-black hands to be marred with murder.

“Reman went alone then to the secret Space of the Eastern Lord and found the seventeen Akaviri Sage-Knights huddled in a Tiny fisherman’s hut,” Shade said as Quinn struck down the first monk with a smashing blow of his brow. “And they Spoke to Him of Times not come. Of their own defeat, but also of the Cyrodiil’s death and those who would Follow. Their words affixed Him in History.” http://i.imgur.com/qSb5BTd.jpg, shattering metal shells like a tiny, fluffy moon on a rampage. From the ruins of each monk rose a hissing shadow akin to Shade.

“But by the lens of His brow, Reman saw that behind their Manly Masks they consumed a Stream of symbols and spat them back as Snares, and so He ate their False histories and roared them Back full-force, sealing the Sages in anvils of their own Verbiage. Each one He Smote then with His blazing Countenance, releasing the Reality of seventeen Serpents from their Human husks.”

The metal skins of the monks lay broken around her, swathed in a legion of veiled, stabbing shadows freed by one winged rabbit.

“And the Serpents bent spine to Reman, swearing fealty forever, for His Royalty was Reached. But the fisherman’s hut lay Broken by His Voice and for this reason would the East be forbidden Him, alone of all the middle world, and its Lord mark His Doom. In its Space He built His own castle and laid this Anvil, to mark the forging of His Blades.”

The demon girl smiled at Wy. “See?” she said.

“FINALLY YOU DON’T VOMIT-PASTA!” TIBEDETHA roared.

“You’re so loud,” Shade said, picking up his last three cards. “And it’s my move, so can’t you shout in silence for a while?” She held up the first card, The Current Countenance, and a memospore popped on the robot’s face, coating it in black ick like the masks of the broken monks. It frothed at his mouth, wetting and wrapping his words.

“Listen to yourself for once.” She laid the Earhorn next, and the spore stream bubbling from TIBEDETHA’s sealed mouth whirled round on itself, locking him in a liberal coat of his own libel. Finally, she flicked her wrist and sent the Rabid Moon slicing into the shell, followed by the smashing BLIM BLAM of Quinn.

TIBEDETHA’s shell shattered with the dark effulgence of a roaring bat beast. The wind of its wings thoomed across the amphitheater, tearing free the shadows still tethered to their crushed mechanical monks.

“Ohhh, no,” Samantha John whimpered. “Bad day.”

But Shade only laughed happily. “There we go!” she said, cutting Wy free of her runes. “See? A shell of snares helps the medicine go down!”

“Why did you do that?” Wy asked, eyeing the flapping demon. “He wasn’t very nice, but you already had him trapped… you didn’t need to smash him.”

Shade blinked. “I did it for him, of course. Weren’t you listening? Didn’t you hear all the stuff he said? Would you leave him in that kind of straightjacket, all his own rudeness and cruelty?”

“But he was doing it for Samantha John,” the little elf protested. “He was trying to help him – Oh. I see.” She frowned at Shade. “You’re both the same. You both think you’re doing what’s best for people… but that’s just you sticking your own truth on them without asking. Like grown-ups. You don’t care about their good, you smash their good into your own. That’s why the monks had demons inside, isn’t it? Because historians aren’t any different either. They take facts and make them mean what they want, or what the king wants, and they hammer it into us even if they don’t realize they’re doing it. They’re all shadowy smashers and symbol svckers inside.”

Samantha John touched her arm. “That’s not how it is, Wy,” he said softly. “That’s just the way they see it.”

Wy smiled. “Samantha John, you know the Solace Creed! But people don’t just see… they talk, and they write. And that stuff makes us look at things differently without even realizing it. I get that… well, there’s not really a way around it. But I don’t have to think it’s good.”

“At least we’re open about it,” muttered Shade.

“True,” Wy agreed. “Except for him.” She pointed at Erik, blinking absently behind his golden mask. He started when he realized they had remembered him, eyes darting. “If you’re the one who started all of this,” she mused, marching toward him, “if you’re the one who tarred Quinn and split Shade off of Samantha John and got the jill-dragon’s defense system down here, why are you the only one wearing a mask?”

“It’s… for my health?” he coughed. “Delivers certain substances – I’ve always had a weakness for – ahem – fungal foibles. I’m an addictive personality!”

“Exactly,” said Wy, staring into his blood splintered eyes. “You’re not even a strong person. You snored through this whole thing. Why are you even here? How could someone like you come up with all this?” She raised her hands to stroke the owl’s shining feathers. “What are you hiding under there? Who are you?”

“N-no Wy, please, don’t, don’t I’m – I’m just an old mer with a job to do, the mask – it’s not for hiding, I swear it’s not oh please don’t –“But she did, ripping its spore-syrup feeding tubes right out of his tongue. He shuddered, slamming his head back – and then stood. http://i.imgur.com/8S6iRhs.jpg

“You don’t understand,” he growled, clutching her shoulder. “I’m not a good person, girl. I know I’m not a good person. I’ve – I’ve done things. Far worse than what I did to your friend. In me is a chosen darkness that scoured everything I loved, chosen because I have a job that must be accomplished for the good of everything. I wasn’t hiding from you. I was hiding from myself.” He gestured, and the mask in Wy’s hand unfolded into a spiked golden mace. “Now do you see?”

“Yeah, I get it,” she said. “Masks are just sneaky hammers, and so is truth. And even with this thing beating you up inside, you still couldn’t understand that you’re just pushing your ‘good’ on the world without asking.”

He scowled down at her, then swirled away. “A great horror waits beneath your school,” he called, jumping astride the bat beast that had been TIBEDETHA. “And I will avert it. The event is spore-sealed in history and already cracking from the strain, and now I have the servants I need to drain it of damage. But don’t worry,” he said. “you will be long gone when the time comes.”

“But now they need to feed!” he yelled, rearing around. “You left us quite a feast – a jill and a sunbird! Thank you.” The demons began to streak up to the floating, frozen ships, clicking their mandibles eagerly. “Keep that,” Erik added, nodding to the mace in her hands, transforming once more, this time into a tawny owl. “You’re right. I was only ruling in another way. His name is Thummim!” http://i.imgur.com/42xsnnz.jpg

“Goodbye, Wy!” Shade shouted, swooping by and smooching Wy on the cheek as she followed him off, tarred Quinn beside her. “I’ll see you somewhere else, I promise!”

And they were gone. Wy turned to the Imga cowering behind her. “Well. Sorry about all that,” she said. “Are you ok?”

“I think so?” he squeaked.

“So, um… do you need a flight back to the Stair? Knot is just outside.” She kicked her feet awkwardly.

The monkey boy shook his head and pulled a tiny dragon from his vest. “Nah. I’ve got a pocket jill for short trips. That’s how I got to Winterhold, before.”

“Ahh, wicked.” They blinked past each other. “Do you want to come back with me?” Wy asked. “You didn’t get to see much before. As Shade, I mean.”

“I – shouldn’t,” he replied. “No offense, but you are a criminal and I need to report – holy mackerel, they’re eating that jill! I really can’t wait!”

“Don’t jills do time jaunts?” Wy pointed out. “You could come see my tree, at least.”

He hesitated, but nodded finally, and the two small animals trudged up and out of Reman’s crumbling fortress to where Knot stood amidst the drooping trees and dripping memospores. The golden owl flew up into his branches as they approached, nuzzling next to its silver brother.

Wy leaned against Knot’s trunk, sighing thoughtfully. “Do you think TIBEDETHA was telling the truth, or making it?” she mused. “About my parents, I mean. Why would they choose to leave me behind?”

Samantha John rubbed his ear. “You won’t like to hear it,” he said, “but I think they did it for the same reason parents do anything for their children. For your own good.”

The little elf frowned. “Well, it’s only mine now,” she said. “Goodbye, Samantha John. I’ll see you in the Stair.” She hugged him swiftly and stepped into the tree before he could protest.

Knot cradled her in his waxy command chair and they flew away from the ragged, overlapping edge of the moons. Back in Winterhold, Wy climbed out into the northeast tower’s roof garden and found Savos and his Dunmer gang smoking hackle-lo against the wall.

“Wy!” he coughed when he saw her. “Where have you been! How did you get out! What’s that tree?!”

“Hello, Savos,” Wy smiled. http://i.imgur.com/6dHAvkK.jpg. “I’ve just been to the Hollow Hall. Your grandmother sent a message: you have three days to tell my Uncle the truth.” She winked, and sauntered off into the College to rewrite her essay on Reman, kingly as a cat. Behind her, Knot clunked a tibrol fruit onto Savos’ skull and the carved teeth strung around his neck began to shudder and moan. In the basemant, the Broomstick Confiscation Closet murmured with memospores,

and shadows nibbled in the breach beneath

waiting for the breaking

blow.