A Fist to the Dark-Blooded: A (Hopeful) Megacampaign AAR

[DiagorasCinna]

Before I get into this chapter, I have a quick personal note. I don't want to get into too much detail, but my mental health hasn't been too great recently and it's been getting harder to work on this, and it doesn't feel right when I do. Like I'm just putting words down without them meaning anything. Maybe I'm being too self-critical, I don't know. Now, I am not giving up on this, or at least I have no real plans to right now. As awful as I feel, abandoning a project would make me feel worse. But if you're interested in this story and think it's worth continuing, or can be improved somehow, that would definitely help me feel more motivated. And a big thank you to everyone who's commented already.

Chapter 21: Daybreak of the Idols

There was a legend told among the Gothar of Alba of Ragnarok, the great war at the end of time. Loki would lead an army of giants against the Aesir, until all the gods were dead, and the old world with it.

Before the time traveler arrived in Eire to set things right, he was familiar enough with the story, and to him a story was all it was. Ragnarok was a fairy tale to entertain children, far removed from the real end of the world. The celestial wolf Skoll would not devour the sun. Instead, its heat would become insufferable. The world would not be plunged into unending winter, but instead have “winter” reduced to nothing more than a memory. Most importantly, the gods would not destroy themselves. Fenrir did not devour Odin, nor did Jormungandr poison Thor. The Aesir were killed by the White Christ centuries before the world met its end.

Ragnarok was a lie in the old timeline, but in the new one created by the time traveler’s actions, it would prove slightly closer to the truth. There was a war--a series of them, in fact--and at their end, the gods would destroy themselves.

With every major pagan holy site under Alban control, Emperor Dunadach sought to reform the imperial faith into an organized religion, capable of properly competing with the God of Abraham. However, as a military man, the emperor understood little of the Aesir beyond prayers to Tyr. In addition, associating with scholars of other faiths made the priests reluctant to accept any attempts by the emperor to alter their church. The emperor’s attempts to change the gods would fail, until the goddess Hel changed him.

Following in his footsteps was Emperor Gofraid the Just, a member of a Scandinavian offshoot of the time traveler’s line, and son of a Finnish concubine. Despite his age, and unimpressive standing in the dynasty, there were many virtues to the new emperor that attracted the electors. He was unusually blessed in the arts of stewardship and diplomacy alike, always sought to rule justly, and acted with temperance and diligence in his daily life. Most important, however, was his piety. Gofraid was a zealot from the northern origin of the imperial faith. He loved the Aesir above all else, and it seemed they loved him just as much in kind. It made him an attractive choice to the priests among the electors, who never could have guessed that he would be the one to destroy the gods.

As he read The Plan, Gofraid was troubled to learn he was taking orders from an ancestor not nearly as devout as himself. In the hidden pages of his manifesto, the time traveler had given his successors countless warnings about the duplicitous nature of clergy. In the time he fled, wrote The Plan, the world would be beneath a theocracy, where a jealous God called for the blood of innocents and his servants were too happy to provide it. In time, this would pave the way for an even crueler state.

The time traveler’s own false conversion to the Aesir, the Plan revealed, was more in the name of pragmatism than faith. The Catholic Church that ruled Eire before his arrival would never conform to The Plan. It had its own leaders, its own hierarchy, with no hope of change. The Aesir, however, were unorganized. Malleable. A formless pile of clay ready to be sculpted into whatever shape was needed. If there was to be a faith at all, The Plan argued, it needed to represent values that the future would depend on.

A fleet of messengers traveled across every province of the empire, declaring that the Emperor had codified their faith, bringing about certain new rules expected of every follower of the Aesir. The first of these would prove the most controversial.

For centuries, the Aesir had bred a cult of warriors who spread their faith through conquest and pillaging. It was a successful strategy that had allowed their pantheon to survive well after so many others had fallen, but it was incompatible with the idea of “strength, but not cruelty.” In the present, there was a need for war, as Alba fought for the Ancestral Lands, but the hope was that afterwards they would never fight again. The sooner such a mindset could be cultivated, the better. Tyr was reborn as a god of “protection,” and Albans were encouraged to pray for the day when every ruler in the world was as wise as Odin, that war may never come.

The other new beliefs were created with similar visions of a better, fairer society. A new cult to Freyja was established, exalting the virtues of femininity. Women were now permitted into the priesthood, and even allowed to own and inherit property. Nobody would be seen as worse for the circumstances of their birth, nor would they be seen as better.

For all that had changed since the time traveler’s arrival, Alba was still a land of class: of nobles, priests, and commoners, with no hope of escaping one’s caste. Gofraid knew these divisions would not be erased anytime soon, but they could at least be relaxed. For centuries, tanistry had been used to make sure the next emperor was chosen not by birth, but who was most worthy of receiving The Plan. The empire’s priests would now encourage its worshippers to think similarly, to reward those who are noble by deed, not by blood. The slim chance of a commoner being elevated to nobility was a poor consolation to The Plan’s vision of neither class existing, but it was a step forward all the same.

Finally, there was the issue of the new church’s leadership: none. The pagans of Alba had fought for too long against Pope and Caliph alike to accept such a figure under a different name. The church already had its leader, ancient and incorruptible, and its name was The Plan.

While the followers of the White Christ and the Prophet trembled in fear of the heathens becoming more united, the reality proved far from it. Many other pagans, particularly in those where the Aesir were already revered before Alban rule, decried the reformation as heresy, an attempt to twist the gods into something they were not. Many secret ceremonies were conducted to the old true gods, especially Tyr, in defiance, though Gofraid paid it little mind. Publicly, the virtues of The Plan were being preached, and that was all that mattered.

The emperor was more concerned with events not in his own nation, but a land so distant most of his subjects had never heard of it. Through the rumor of passing traders, news would eventually reach Alba of a new empire in the distant east, formed by a Bengal king named Rajyapala Pala.

Gofraid knew the concerns this new empire raised were irrational. Bengal was thousands of miles away from even the furthest reaches of Alba. There couldn’t possibly be a conflict between the two, not in a hundred years. But there was still something troubling about another ruler rising to his own level. How was The Plan meant to create a better world if there were others in power who cared nothing about it? There were so many variables in play, so many things that could go wrong over the years. The logical part of the emperor’s mind tried to assure him everything was fine, while a more cynical voice told him a powerful king would rule over the Bengals forever.

One morning, Gofraid was greeted by the horrible light of the sun. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying his best to appreciate the warmth of the covers in his final minutes. Soon he would face another day of royal duties, of listening to the complaints of his subjects regarding the Reformation. What he wouldn’t give to never work again. A woman walked into the room, witnessing the emperor as he struggled to wake up.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. “You can tell the council that. And draw a bath too, would you?"

“I’m afraid I don’t serve you, Gofraid.” The woman removed her hood and revealed her face, dark blue along one side. The emperor’s face showed no emotion, but only because the panic within was impossible to convey.

“H...Hel,” he whispered hoarsely.

“And the man who thought he could change the gods.” Gofraid could feel his heart stop before the daughter of Loki began to smile.

“I don’t know what they say in Asgard, but I liked the new prayers you wrote for me. ‘Protector of the dead.’ It felt good, hearing something nice for a change. Whether it’ll hold is a question for the Norns, though.”

“So … so you’re not angry?”

“Of course not. I’m only here to do my job.” The goddess held out a hand to the emperor. “Come on. Out of bed. Let’s go for a walk outside.” The emperor stared at Hel’s hand in hesitation before grabbing it.

“It’s not too hot outside, is it?” Gofraid asked as she pulled him up.

“No, nor too cold. It’s the perfect temperature outside, and it always will be. Come, now. Let’s visit the family.”

 

[DiagorasCinna]

Chapter 22: An Ally and a Duel

With the passing of Emperor Gofraid, who established gender equality in the empire, it seemed only fitting that his successor would be a woman. Although Crinoch was not the first Empress of Alba, she was the first to face no controversy for her sex, save for a few orthodox zealots who refused to forsake the Aesir of old.

More controversial was her choice of husband, Emperor Polykarpos the Brave, a former noble from the Latin Empire and veteran of one of the Church’s many past Crusades against Alba. As his old subjects clamored for the blood of nobility, forcing him into the refuge of his enemy, the irony did not escape Polykarpos. In spite of it all, though, he managed to retain his pride. He was alive, he was in an imperial court, and he still had his faith, even in the midst of heathen lands.

The reformed Germanic faith preached “equality,” not just of gender, but of culture and faith. Though most of the Alban court was outraged by Crinoch’s Catholic husband, she sought to embody the virtues taught by her own religion. Even if he did not acknowledge the Aesir, Polykarpos was a gifted commander and valuable asset to the Alban military, and wedding a Latin noble would cement the legitimacy of the empress’s rule in Christian realms with no regard for Gofraid’s ideals of equality.

Polykarpos would return the acceptance of his wife and new home with the kindness and tolerance expected of a true follower of Jesus Christ.

The empress did her best to ignore her husband’s more zealous moments. He may have had no interest in the faith of The Plan, but many elsewhere in the world were eager to hear more of this strange new church, bringing an almost Abrahamic organization to the familiar gods of old.

The first convert outside of Alba was High Chief Nuyanza the Whiner, the leader of a distant northern tribe known only as “Suomenusko Mari.” Despite being formed in a religious revolt against a Slavic warlord who refused to recognize Ukko, Nuyanza was an ambitious man who knew that the potential benefits of embracing the Aesir far outweighed the controversy. Adopting Alba’s faith meant earning Alba’s loyalty, turning one minor tribe among many powerful neighbors into a state with the backing of a great empire.

When the Gothar of Alba arrived at the Mari capital of Galich Mersky, they expected little more than a miserable field of squalor in the snow, and were missing the urban comforts of Airgialla the minute their boat left port. What they saw was indeed smaller than Alba, but no less lively. Nearly the entire village was dancing for their foreign visitors, while a local band played songs the priests had never heard in their lives. At the center of the group was Nuyanza himself, welcoming the Gothar with open arms.

While there, the priests taught the Mari of the Aesir, of Odin and Thor, Loki and Ragnarok. But for all the time spent on the Eddas, just as much was given to The Plan. Very little was revealed, as it remained a closely guarded secret, and the Gothar themselves only knew so much. But for the first time, someone outside of Alba knew that the empire was following a lengthy code in hopes of a better future.

Nuyanza cared little about the revelation. All that mattered was that the empire would protect his people. As he offered his first sacrifice to the Aesir, and Suomenusko Mari became Germanic Mari, the high chief blessed his Alban visitors and prayed that Odin would ensure a lasting friendship between the two nations for years to come. This prayer was answered, as Crinoch would offer a military alliance not long after the conversion.

With this new alliance, for the first time Alba had another military obligation, in addition to its quest for the Ancestral Lands. This motivated Crinoch, like so many emperors before her, to join the Wolf Warriors in hopes of honing her fighting skills.

While not the only woman in the lodge, Crinoch was considerably older than her peers, and always felt more than a little out of place in the presence of her fellow warriors. With each visit, there was a voice of unbearable anxiety telling her that she didn’t belong and never would. She wasn’t fit to lead Alba in war, nor in peace. As the thoughts worsened, she wasn’t sure she was even worthy of living, of having a family. She needed to prove herself, which was what drove the empress to the most senior fighters in the guild.

“I want to be one of you,” she demanded, placing both hands on the table.

“You already are, my liege,” said the Hero of the Wolf Warriors, barely looking up from his dinner.

“No, not just a member. I want to be one of you.” The empress pointed at the group, now looking among each other with concern.

“We don’t usually let people at this table until after so many years…”

“Well, I’m the empress. Make an exception.” She crossed her arms, switching from the demeanor of a warrior to how she acted in court. Outside of the lodge, she was the most powerful one here, and she was used to subjects obeying her every command.

“There are only so many seats at the heroes’ table,” said Hoysaladevi, an Indian pilgrim who had traveled west to hear of the empire guided by divine wisdom. “Joining our ranks means replacing one of us.” She rose from her chair, revealing her full physique. As a woman of the same age as Crinoch, she was the fairest match of the lodge’s leaders, but was considerably larger. “Are you prepared to do that?”

The whole group had its eyes on the empress now. She could sense their judgment, each of them expecting her to back down. It’s what they hoped for, to keep things as they were, unquestioned. They’d love if she disappeared, said the doubts in her head, if they never heard from her again.

“I am,” she said, not even realizing the words had left her mouth. “Let’s fight. Just say when and where.”

The dueling grounds of the Wolf Warriors were normally the most raucous spot in all of Alba, filled with the sounds of battlecries and clashing swords every hour of every day. In this moment, though, they were deathly quiet, as two old women stared at each other, a crowd of silent spectators watching. Empress Crinoch had become the first member of the group to ever attempt to break rank, dueling one of the eldest members without proper invitation. Empress or not, Hoysaladevi saw this as an insult of the highest order. There were rules in place in their society, an elegant plan that could not be disrupted.

There was a fire burning in Crinoch’s chest. It was impossible for her to think straight. The voices in her head had degenerated to pure id. Run, they said, fight. No thoughts, just commands, actions. They were all doubting her ability, she didn’t belong here, she didn’t belong anywhere. She’d have to show them. She’d fight. She’d win. She’d rule them all, make them beg and plead repentance. The young woman who once took the crown had disappeared.

Hoysaladevi drew her sword. The empress did the same. The duelists ran towards each other and left their lives to the will of Odin. No one in the crowd dared cheer. They could only watch in horror at what came next.

It will remain a mystery whether Hoysaladevi intended to kill the empress, or merely defeat her. Traditionally, duels between Wolf Warriors were fought only to submission, but the leader was insulted enough that she may have well felt a departure was necessary. Whatever her intent, the result was the Empress of Alba lying on the ground, blood seeping from her head.

In her final moments, she saw a hand reaching out to her. She grabbed it to see a man with an eyepatch, looking down at her with the same stern kindness a parent reserves for their child.

“Come along, now. Valhalla awaits.”

 

[DiagorasCinna]

This might be the last chapter for a while. Things have been difficult.

Chapter 23: Madness

Empress Caitilin closed The Plan, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible phrases at its very end. It almost seemed like it was written in a different language, from a forgotten time. In the distance, she could hear the lively music of her coronation party from elsewhere in the palace. But the new empress had always felt more at ease with a book than in the company of others. The crown had scarcely had time to rest on her head before she ducked away from the festivities to experience the most mysterious book the empire had to offer.

Curious as The Plan was, though, it didn’t intrigue the empress as much as her crown. Her predecessor, Empress Crinoch, was by all accounts a patient, level-headed woman, slow to anger throughout her life. Yet somehow, with little provocation, she impulsively fought in a duel that would cost her her life. She wasn’t the first ruler of Alba to act strangely either. Caitilin could still well recall the exploits of Ceithernach the Mad, and the manic behavior of Emperor Lorcan. She feared that with the crown, she’d inherited a curse of madness.

Caitilin turned The Plan over in her hands, stroking both sides of its cover at once. It was the most obvious theory, with many emperors complaining of unease after reading. She felt nothing worse than confusion, however. There was certainly no harm in touching it, as she suspected a cursed item would (not that she knew from experience). The Plan’s contents may have been strange, but the book itself was just that: a regular book. If there was something physical pushing the emperors to madness, this wasn’t the source.
Was it the stress of royal duties, perhaps? Caitilin quickly dismissed the theory. No other kingdom seemed to suffer mad rulers as routinely, not even those in the Ancestral Lands who faced the constant threat of Alban invasion. It had to be something else.

The empress carried on with her new position as best as she could, hiding the questions that plagued her from the rest of the court. Notably, she presided over the conversion of Saxony to the faith of The Plan.

Like the Mari before him, the Saxon High Chief Buzan the Conqueror praised Alba at the ceremony, praying for a new era of friendship between the two nations. The converting Gothar were careful to never tell Buzan that Saxony was part of the Ancestral Lands, destined for conquest. The kind words from a man Alba would someday betray brought Caitilin to the verge of tears.

At night, she scoured the archives of the royal library, searching for any answer to the curse of madness. The Plan was cross-referenced with the Eddas, the Bible, the Quran, the Tripitaka, the Avesta, the works of Plato and Aristotle, and a myriad other texts, anything with a hope of revealing why The Plan’s keepers must suffer so.
“Come to bed, dear,” said Tadg, the empress’s husband, leaning against the door with a candle in his hand. “It’s past midnight.”
“In a minute, Tadg,” answered Caitilin without turning her head. “I think I’m on to something here. In the Book of Samuel, Uzzah touched the Ark of the Covenant and was struck dead by his god for it. The Plan says to stay out of Africa and the Middle East. The Ark’s probably somewhere around there, isn’t it? Do you think that’s why we’re told to stay away?”

“I think you should get to bed.” Tadg leaned against the desk, his body moving Pliny the Elder from where the empress had placed him.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Caitilin turned to the next page of The Plan. “Something must win,” read the commandment. She’d never seen that word before, and couldn’t find it anywhere else. What did it mean?

“Dear, come on, this isn’t healthy.” Tadg reached over his wife and closed The Plan shut. “Don’t you have enough to worry about without obsessing over … whatever this is?”

“I’ll have even more to worry about if I can’t find the source of the madness.” Caitilin opened The Plan, hurriedly flipping the pages to find where she was. “There’s a curse on this crown, and if I can’t find how to stop it, we’ll have a mad empress, and you’ll have an insane wife. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No…” Tadj scooted away from his hyperventilating wife. “No, I certainly wouldn’t. Well, I’ll be off to bed, then. I … hope that you’ll join me soon.” As he stepped out of the room, Caitilin said nothing, not even turning around to glance for a last look at her husband.

As the last remnants of the candle on her desk melted away, Caitilin shut The Plan and shambled through the halls of the castle in total darkness. When she reached her bedroom, Tadg was already fast asleep in bed, his body not moving at all. With a little difficulty wrestling the covers off of him, Caitilin quickly shifted off to sleep herself.

The morning was heralded by shrill, unbearable screams from the royal bedchamber. Guards hurried into the room to see the empress huddled in a corner, pointing at her husband’s corpse, still laying lifelessly in bed.

Caitilin replayed the last time she spoke with her husband again in her head, thought about how coldly she cast him aside forever. The memory was tainted, yet try as she might it would never go away. Every word of it repeated in her mind, again and again, each iteration more painful than the one before it, like digging deeper into a bloody wound.

The conversation caused just as much confusion as it did grief. As far as Caitilin could recall, Tadg seemed perfectly healthy that night. Maybe he was a little tired? It was late, after all … it didn’t matter. There was nothing to indicate he was about to die.

The royal coroner seemed to confirm this, after his examination of the body. Tadg had no sign of injury, nor illness. As far as anyone could tell, nothing had killed the consort. He simply died.

The loss of her husband took a heavy toll on the empress. Courtiers claimed to see her roaming the halls dressed in black, without a destination. Nobody ever saw her eating, even at meals, and yet she had gained weight. She rarely spoke, with most of her daily duties now left in the hands of her council.

To all who knew her, the grief seemed to have driven the empress over the edge, but the reality was even worse. It had pushed her just short of the edge, haunted by every demon of the mind but still lucid enough to know what was around her. As she feared, Caitilin had fallen into madness, and the fact that she realized it made it hurt all the more.

Day after day, the vicious cycle continued, the empress languishing deeper into the abyss. It was getting difficult to keep track of time, as each new day passed no different from those before. She still had the same job, the same terrible world waited outside her walls, and her beloved was still dead. What good was it to know the day when they were all the same?

Four months had passed in this miserable routine before the empress experienced change again, and not for the better. It began with Caitilin cornering one of her servants in the castle halls.

“How long has that been there?” she demanded, breathing heavily onto the courtier’s face.

“H … how long has what been there, my liege?” His eyes darted back and forth. It was difficult to look directly at the empress.

“The room! In the basement! I was down there, and I saw a door in the corner. It wasn’t there before, I know it! I know this whole castle!”

“Do … um … do you mean the mausoleum?” asked the servant, sinking closer to the floor in an effort to avoid the empress’s gaze. “I … I know that’s down there.”

“Mausoleum?” Caitilin backed away from the servant, who ran off as quickly as he could. “There’s no mausoleum here. There can’t be. If there was Tadg would’ve been buried there, and I know where Tadg is buried because I see his grave every…” She sunk her fingers into her forehead and took a deep breath. A sea of incoherent thoughts were traveling through her head too fast for her to even comprehend them. That room wasn’t there before. She was sure of it.

In the dead of night, when few potential witnesses traveled the halls, Caitilin snuck down to the basement. In one hand she held a lantern. The other rubbed a necklace of Mjolnir, a gift received from Tadg so long ago she could no longer remember the year. At her side was a sheathed dagger, that she was now seldom seen without. Enemies could be anywhere, after all.

In a neglected corner, so thick with dust it was difficult to breathe, the empress saw a modest wooden door. Letting go of the necklace--though just for a moment--she pried the door open, only to witness seemingly endless rows of stone coffins, each of them engraved with a name. Some of them seemed to belong to past emperors, or other nobles of the time traveler’s dynasty. Others belonged to old loyal friends of the family, or outsiders who had married into it.

The empress scanned the inscriptions, recalling each of the departed. Her predecessor, Empress Crinoch, was laid to rest here, as was Dunadach, and Lorcan. Then a more recent name caught her eye: “Tadg.” She grimaced. The loss was still so great that even reading his name was painful.

She traced her fingers along the letters, just to be sure they were there. Tadg wasn’t interred in a crypt. He was buried. She saw them lower him into the ground herself. This coffin shouldn’t exist, yet it did.

Another coffin, plated in gold, marked the name of the time traveler, where the dynasty began. Just as impossible. She knew as well as the rest of her dynasty that their founder was buried at the Hill of Teamhair, as befitting a High King of Eire.

There was another sarcophagus just below it, ancient, covered in cobwebs. Caitilin brushed the dust away and held the lantern to it before her heart stood still.

Caitilin ran out of the catacombs, moving as fast as her withered body could take her. It couldn’t have been real. Was this room real, even? It must all be some sick trick of her mind, another sign she was rotting away. She needed to collect herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, in and out, in and out.

When she opened them again, she was far from the castle basement. She was on a beach, gray and dismal, yet daylit. The waters were eerily calm and still, to the point that they nearly seemed made of glass. Off in the distance were several strangers, their bodies completely concealed by black cloaks.

“We were wondering when you’d arrive,” said a man in the group.

“...You were?” Caitilin put a hand to her temple. Her head was throbbing. “Me? ...Arrive to what?”

“To the ceremony,” said a hooded woman. “To pay our respects to the architects of this world.”

“What, you mean Odin?” Caitilin stared down at the sand, shielding her eyes away from the strangers. She wished they could see as little of her as she did of them. “That’s done at a shrine, not the beach.”

“Not your Odin, no,” corrected a third member. “The true architects.”

“Well … well I certainly hope you all enjoy yourselves with that.” The empress took a step back. “You can do what you will, but I want no part of it.”

“You wouldn’t be here if that weren’t true.” The leader of the group took a step forward, countering Caitilin’s own. “Isn’t that what began it all? Didn’t you want to know what makes the emperor go mad?”

“I … I did, yes. Once, I think...” Caitilin grabbed her late husband’s necklace, just to assure herself it was still there. “Do you know why?”

“The architects would.” The cultist placed his hands on the empress’s shoulders, then pointed her towards the placid sea. “Look to the water. Think about it. Think about all that lies beneath. The fish, the rocks, the cities.” Caitilin did as she was told. Her eyelids sunk. A strange calm took over her, until she felt as still as the waters themselves. She hadn’t known this feeling in years.

The acolytes gathered behind her, chanting hymns in a language the empress didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Latin, she didn’t think. Greek, maybe? As the same incomprehensible words repeated again and again, they soon lost any semblance of language at all. They had blurred into noise, music in the background of the silent sea.

The noise grew louder. Slowly, the waters began to rise, moving upwards while remaining still. The water was over the empress’s feet, then her waist, then her entire body. She was submerged in darkness, yet still she could breathe. There was no burning in her chest; she wasn’t even wet. The water, the beach, the worshippers were all gone. She was alone in a pitch black chamber, where she could barely see her own hands in front of her face.

“Who seeks an audience with me?” asked a voice, emanating from all directions. It was loud and terrible, each word seeming more like the guttural growl of a starving predator.

“I … I do, sir.” The words escaped her mouth without her even realizing it. “Empress Caitilin of Alba, Queen of Eire, Heiress to The Plan, Conqueror of the Ancestral Lands.”

“An insect with titles to distract from its fading days,” The voice hissed. It was quieter now, but no less venomous. “What makes you worthy of my time?”

“Something is wrong with the throne of Alba.” The empress clenched her fists, doing her best to stand firm in the darkness. “So many of those before me have gone mad. I … I think that I’ve gone mad, too. And Tadg…” She closed her eyes, darkness replacing darkness. It still hurt, just to think about him.

“...You’re from his line, aren’t you?” asked the architect with contempt.

“I … don’t know who you mean.” Caitilin’s voice grew a little stronger. “I’m from the imperial dynasty of Alba, founded by…”

“A madman, so obsessed with order and justice he’d break the laws of time for it. From him comes your family’s curse. You carry tainted blood, and follow tainted orders. Your dynasty corrupts the natural order, and is corrupted in kind.”

“I don’t understand any of this.” The empress clutched her stomach. The darkness was beginning to make her feel ill. “Are you saying The Plan is wrong?”

“‘Right’ and ‘wrong’ are words your kind use to pretend their acts have meaning. The cosmos will go on. I will go on. If The Plan is followed, the orbit of every planet in every star in every galaxy will continue in just the same manner as in the time your founder escaped.”

“Then what is it all for?” Caitilin looked around for any trace of the architect’s presence, but found nothing. It was getting colder. “Why am I doing all of this?”

“Do you really wish to know?” The voice was louder now. “Would you pay any price for this knowledge?”

“I already have.” The empress grabbed her necklace. “Tell me.”

“Very well.” Something extended from the darkness, a vague outline Caitilin could only barely notice. It was a hand, thin and wiry and just as black as its surroundings. It touched the empress’s forehead, and for an instant, she knew everything. She saw marching soldiers with weapons and armor unlike any she’d ever seen. She heard billions of screams, from women, children. She’d gone from too cold to feeling an unbearable heat, digging deeper into her skin until she wished she could tear it off. She experienced every second of a thousand years of history millions of times over, until she and the world and every human who had ever lived on it were one and the same. She felt the soul of her ancestor, lived through every day of the time traveler’s life, watching a future once full of promise slowly fall apart in front of her eyes.

She knew it all, and the architect collected its payment.