“In some cases it is a matter of climbing up a social ladder of introductions if you want to see someone, gradually establishing the social status necessary…”

  The next day, as Hexadecimal was copying over pamphlets of sayings, some of which she recognized, she was interrupted by the woman manning the desk that day. “You have an Amonite here to see you. Are you not an Oozekennen pilgrim?”

  “I never said I was. I’m a pilgrim of every faith, arguably. I’m here to learn anything and everything I can.”

  “Hmm. That sounds Oozekennen enough to me. Maybe don’t say that too loudly, though. It could rub people the wrong way. Anyway, go, you can finish this later.”

  With a stretch, Hexadecimal rose and walked to the lobby, wondering what this could be about. She hadn’t made any Amonite enemies that she knew of, but she hadn’t particularly made… well, no, she’d made friends, but she’d left them behind in Abyss. The man was dressed in gray wool, with a simple shawl, and asked how she preferred to be greeted, spreading his arms in offer of a hug. She took the offer, and got a firm, friendly hug. With a laugh she asked, “What is this about?”

  “The great Teacher Hope is hoping—” the repetition of words was less obvious in the archaic Draconic “—you would accept the offer of slightly more spacious quarters in the Amonite district.”

  “I was unaware I had earned the interest of the great Teacher. May I ask what this is about?”

  The man stiffened and scratched the back of his head. “All I was told was to make the offer. My apologies.”

  “Let me ask the people I’m staying with a question or two. If you don’t mind waiting?”

  “Not at all.”

  Hexadecimal rose and went back to the desk in the back of the hostel. “Would you very much take offense if I were to accept the offer of more spacious quarters?”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you are an Amonite. But no, I would not. Taking offense is not very much an Oozekennen thing. Forgive my eavesdropping, but you certainly are a rising star, you’ve made waves with the ‘Teacher’ and the Great Ken.”

  Hexadecimal colored, not having realized she was infamous for her talk with Dread. “I’m just here to learn about Gargold. I have no intentions of rising as a star or otherwise.” Hexadecimal wasn’t certain how she’d made waves, but couldn’t dispute the ascription.

  The woman shooed her out the door and she walked with the Amonite man to her new quarters in an actual inn. They were not decadent, but she had an entire room to herself. It was a cube with walls carved out of the stone; much to her relief none of the walls were glass, she liked a little more privacy than that. The bed was low and functional, but comfortable enough. Unlike the Oozekennen space, which had been decorated with paintings, the walls were plain stone. She had an end table, with a pitcher of water and a plate. Before leaving, the man indicated that meals were included, commonly stew as it allowed people to come and go in their own time. Hexadecimal thanked him and settled on the bed, finding herself just somewhat missing the tracts she had been copying for their edification and also the sense of purposeful use it had given her time. As things stood, she could sit around and wait, wondering what the purpose was of moving her… away from Dread. She waved away that unwelcome thought and began taking off her boots.

  The mystery was solved within a day, although a slow day it was. She spent a great deal of it staring at the ceiling. Hexadecimal was invited to a meeting with the great Teacher herself, in a nearby building. She presumed that being able to be quickly retrieved was the reason for her relocation, as the Teacher seemed a busy woman. Hexa caught herself breathing quickly, excited to see the beautiful and charismatic woman again.

  She looked much the same, hair still up, black eyeshadow and lipstick, black gloves, all wrapped in a white robe. While she evidently had some kind of status to be meeting the woman, she was not an equal, as she was seated for perhaps a sandglass before Hope made her appearance, door held for her, chair moved for her, and she settled silently into her seat and rested her elbows on the table.

  “Hexadecimal von Spirithome of Melancholy,” so they had looked into her. “I am, as you know, Hope of Peace.” There would be no mistaking the woman, with her distinctive garb and makeup, beautiful and fine features, and a subtle pull Hexa noticed only in proximity. She wondered what Hope could want with her. “The Amonite people are relative newcomers to Gargold. The Oozekennen have been here far longer, and they hold the political reins. I would like to see my people more represented in the political arena. The Oozekennen resist bids at this, maintaining that their equanimous Oozeken will do what is right for everyone. I don’t know about the Great Ken, in fact that is why I want to talk to you, but the lesser Kens and their Speakers are without a doubt self-interested.” Broad, sweeping condemnation. Difficult to argue with, as it would be a fallacy to attempt to disprove it with specific examples which Hexa nonetheless lacked. Given this, Hexa simply nodded diffidently.

  “You were seen, publicly, to be grasped by the Great Ken. I would hope you see that it is best for everyone that an agreement is reached between Amonite and Oozekennen, or between Oozekennen and Amonite—” a subtlety of phrasing, intentionally played upon, which reminded Hexa of her Charismatic preachers, “—before tensions boil to the surface.” A subtle threat, but unmistakable provided it was noticed. “As I said, the Great Ken is the only one of their Kens I know truly immerses herself in the waters of nothingness. I would consider it a personal favor if you convinced the Great Ken’s Speaker to allow her to meet with me, that we might have a tete-a-tete, or barring that have a conference.”

  Hexa squeaked, cleared her throat, and squeaked again, much to her frustration. With more wobble in her voice than she liked, she answered, “The Great Ken’s Speaker is very protective of her, I do not—with apologies, honored Teacher—I do not think you could get her alone in a room, and a Ken, a Speaker, and eight Embodiments make up a lot of table weight.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Hope quirked a corner of her mouth. “I am not intimidated by muttering acolytes. I would not be what I am if I were. But you’re still uncertain. You could sit at the table, if you like.”

  Hexa clapped her hands to her traitorous squeakhole and realized only after that this was probably no more dignified than letting out an excited “eep” at the prospect of seeing the resolution of an evidently ancient conflict between two faiths. Or, it occurred to her, the beginnings of a civil war. The Dualists had their nickname, the Embodiment bore clubs, but she wouldn’t care to see either side of the conflict suffer.

  She wondered who would prevail in a discussion of the legal system. She knew what Dread endured, and didn’t think she would simply cave. If she were that sort of person, she would have said Hexa could complete her just because she’d asked so eagerly. Not to mention her defiance of a bold and aggressive Speaker. While she seemed at times distant and foggy, she was singular in her sense of purpose. Not to mention, if Hexa understood what immersion in the primordial ooze did to one, Dread was a woman of singular will and discipline. That, or she was somehow different than human, but Hexa was not a theologian.

  But Hope was implacable, serenely confident. She had no doubt that Hope could hold her own against the table weight of Dread’s entourage, assuming she didn’t rustle up her own, such as the attendant ready to take her chair. Hope had risen to a position of primacy in a vastly spread out faith, successfully walking the razor’s edge between at least two factions within the faith. Without even a palace or a power center, only her small squad of guards, she traveled the length and breadth of Gargold and united the Amonites under her leadership, which they seemed to accept eagerly.

  But to be present—! Who would she like to see prevail? When a group gives up their power, they open themselves to influence by the groups acquiring power. The Amonite faith she understood, while Oozekennen were still somewhat perplexing to her.

  “I—” squeak, “—I could see about it. The Speaker won’t like it, but. I’ll see what I can do. Her name is Dread, by the way. The Great Ken. Dread of Peace.” Hope raised a single perfect eyebrow at that, seeing no doubt more clearly than Hexa the absurdity that the two shared a maternal line, or at least the name of one.

  “Thank you, Hexa. On behalf of my people, and if I dare presume, on behalf of the Oozekennen as well. Some sane governance will benefit both peoples.” Hexa leaned back in her chair, though she did not lean so far as to make it creak or shift. “So you are down here from the surface to…” she spread her hands, “Pray, tell, enlighten me as to your purpose in the Deeps, of which you are not a native.”

  Hexa straightened under the focus of those piercing eyes and managed a nearly monotone answer. “I am paid by my patron to explore unknown places and write about them, that she might enjoy the experiences of visiting them without leaving her title and trades in the hands of a subordinate. I have visited now all seven of the Sevens, as well as Godswood. My chronicles of my travels were well-received, thus the funding to go on this mission.” Hexa found herself retelling the story of her growing bored with retreading journeys others had undertaken, exploring the crypts of Repose, and finally finding her way to Gargold. Hope seemed to actually engage with her story, not merely feigning interest out of politeness, though she could simply be a very good actor.

  “So we should expect more surface dwellers to come, lured by your tales?” She didn’t generally think of it as “luring” people, but she supposed it was what she did.

  “Would that be a problem?” The people of the Sevens had not pillaged another land since the conquest by the people of the Fireplains of the land now known as Mind. And Mind had been largely returned to the keeping of its native people.

  “The Amonite people came, so our teachings tell us, to the Deeps in order to escape the shackles of dragonkind and be free from their meddling influence and overt bids for power. This is why we occupy the upper portion of the Deeps; we are the ones with the vested interest in keeping out dragons and dragons come from above.”

  “So far as I know, my patron does not serve draconic interests.” Hexa was still not sure what the story was with escaping the shackles of dragonkind. Dragons stayed out of politics, in her experience; they even stayed entirely out of Dominion because they had been forcibly evicted and never made a bid to return.

  “She might not even know she does. Dragons are masterfully deceitful creatures. They study the finer points of bad deals and false flattery, before they are unleashed upon the world.”

  Hexa couldn’t speak to that, her own life had not involved experiences with dragons. She supposed a journey along the Belt, at least as far as the Buckle, might be in order after she concluded her exploration of Gargold. The thought brought a pang to her chest, she wanted more time with both Dread and Hope, to say nothing of learning more about the culture of Gargold. She’d only visited two cities! She didn’t even know if Gargold spanned the Deeps of Orth in its entirety, or if there were entire kingdoms lost to legend and time. But it had, in its way, become a story about these two religious leaders—not that the Oozekennen identified as such. But the finer details of that were as yet lost on Hexa. What she knew was that personal narratives were so much more compelling than dry, dull travelogs.

  “A dragon of air might compel someone by imposing thoughts upon them which are against their nature and quickly buried under cognitive dissonance, almost impossible to unravel. Conversely, fire dragons can associate emotions with actions or objects, and it is a self-reinforcing behavior to seek it out, provided it is not too averse to the subject’s overt nature.” Hexa nodded, but had nothing to contribute. These were secrets of sorcery, from the sound of it, something she had never had the inclination to master. “Feel free to stop me if I bore you with tales of draconic intrigues.”

  Hexa shook her head vigorously, then nodded, then gave up and said, “Of course! But it’s cultural background I would consider essential and I have no objection to listening.”

  Hope went on about the various underhanded tactics employed by dragons, the hoarding of wealth bit by bit over lifespans far exceeding those of humans, the creation of nephilim—without offense to Hexa, who was clearly not a dragon nephilim. The whole while, Hexa paid rapt attention, preparing to scorch the tales into her journal as soon as she had the opportunity. She mentally thanked her mother for the hours spent learning rote memorization, as they had paid off in a way she would never approve of, but they had paid off.

  Eventually, Hope seemed to take note of the time, her attendant yawning, though Hope herself seemed indefatigable. She rose and bowed to Hexa, saying that the owner of the inn she was staying at knew how to find her. Hexa bowed in turn, slightly deeper for good measure, as a general sign of respect. This time she did not offer her hand for a handshake. Hope’s attendant held the door, and the two of them slipped out the door. Hexa sat for a few turns of the sandglass, ordering her thoughts, before heading out herself to begin recording the day’s events in her journal. She was nervous about her impending meeting with the Speaker, who would doubtless feel she was over imposing upon the Great Ken, but at the same time Hope had convinced her that it was the best course of action. If she could help to arrange for peace between two religious groups which, so far as she’d seen, had a simmering animosity between each other, she would do so; ideally without leaving any boot prints of her own on the history of the peoples. She was, after all, a chronicler, not a missionary.