“As a whole, those of Godswood are mistrustful of outsiders, and with good reason, given their experience with the last crusade by Wholism.”

  “Do you have a map of the city anywhere, perchance?” Hexadecimal asked the person behind the desk.

  “Of course we do. Lots of pilgrims want to see the great Fish.”

  “It’s still a bit surreal to think you have codfish all the way down here.”

  “Oh, we don’t. Ask the fishermen.”

  “The… fishermen. I’m sure I’ll find out. Any areas I should avoid? Not every city is the safest.”

  “Oh, no, just don’t invoke the wrong ‘Virtue’ in the Amonite neighborhood. They’ll duel over anything. But you wouldn’t do that, if you’re an Okey pilgrim,” they laughed.

  Hexadecimal decided it was not her place as an outsider to argue the difference between Dualists and Amonites as a whole, but filed the vague animosity away as something to note in her chronicles. Map in hand, she strode out the doors of the hostel, and set out in a random direction. The map was for when she got lost, not to avoid getting lost. However, she was rather intent upon finding the spots where fishermen might be found, so she headed generally down stairs and walkways. Shortly, she found herself on walkways with the buildings above her, hanging down, windows going off into the distance. Despite being suspended rather than built up, the buildings had the appearance of thick columns, as though they held up buildings many storeys tall, and the roofs of many of them were walkways down to where people sat fishing. She could see fishing lines come down into the flat surface of the primordial ooze. She stood with fascinated awe at this, the foundation of Creation, and the fact people were fishing in it.

  She called to a nearby fisherman, “Ahoy there! Catch anything?”

  He hollered back, “Oh, no, there’s nothing to catch! But that doesn’t matter if you love to fish!”

  Such a curious people, the Oozekennen. He was unmistakably Oozekennen, dressed in his brown and yellow robe and his head close shaved, perhaps a few days’ growth on it. Hexadecimal looked down over the edge of the walkway. She suspected that if she laid down, she could dip her fingers in the waters. She also suspected that would be a Bad Idea, from what she’d been told of the effects of the waters. With a huff, she set herself on her way up, stopping to admire a fountain portraying a figure rising out of the ooze. Along the way, she chatted with the generally friendly or quiet people she passed. In particular, she spoke to a ponytailed woman on the subject of the renunciation of self.

  “Well, to say I understand it would be egotistical in the extreme. But I know that our leaders, especially the Great Ken, are beyond such matters as self interest, and so I trust their leadership, hers in particular. I saved for years to move to the city, because I wanted the most selfless, dependable leader.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if Dread’s always dependable, but she is reliably selfless in her passage of laws.” So Dread is a leader. She would be a little erratic, if she’s wandering as far up as the necropolis. But that’s an interesting idea, leadership by those beyond their selves.

  “What does renunciation of self have to do with the primordial ooze, though?”

  “Well, it’s impossible to survive if you’re too attached to your self. You have to be in a state of great clarity and oneness with everything, and still have the presence to walk into the waters if you want to remember to walk out of the waters.”

  “So it’s a theocracy, revolving around ritual purity, like the Amonites.”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t say that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Hope is self-interested, but we Oozekennen are a practical bunch based in what is demonstrably effective in terms of leadership, and measuring the success of our leaders by the repeatable effects of the primordial ooze.”

  There was also a public bath, which Hexadecimal considered patronizing given how many days she had been traveling. After a few moments of prevarication she decided for it and went inside.

  The way in was an archway without a door, and inside there were numerous different signs telling the various kinds of baths. Curiously, one was labeled “baptismal,” though it was currently empty. Perhaps she was translating it wrong. Perhaps the Oozekennen had some kind of baptismal practice she didn’t know about. She’d have to find an authority to talk to about the faith at some point.

  Aside from that, there were the general baths and a “lap pool,” which when she peered in was a long, narrow pool of somewhat deeper water. Curiosity sated for the nonce, she headed into the general baths and left her clothes on one of the shelves. The water was almost shockingly cold, once more making her wonder as to the nature of Orth’s volcanism. Scrubbing herself with a cloth from a bin, she shed the dust of travel and felt for the first time in some while gloriously clean. One God bless the Oozekennen who made popular and necessary a public bath.

  Clean, dressed in her leathers, and ready for another experience, Hexadecimal set out towards the Great Temple, seeking to explore the Amonite district—she was reasonably sure the person at the desk had said district, singular—and so heading upwards.

  The difference was striking. Where Okey—the slang she’d picked up for Oozekennen—architecture featured arches, smaller windows, and thick pillars, Amonite buildings were simply hewn from the stone, empty spaces with walls as function and privacy dictated. Glass walls prevailed in the wealthier area immediately surrounding the Temple, but even beyond that point functional, open spaces predominated. She also got a better look at the attire of the Amonites. They wore what looked like wool, dyed or naturally black, in a simple buttoned shirt, trousers or a skirt, and a surprising variety of hats. Almost all of them wore a spiral of some kind on a cord around their neck. People were a little less willing to talk to her there, reflecting the bias she’d been warned of against nephilim. However, she got in a few good questions. Her good questions didn’t always get good answers, but she asked them.

  One of the more satisfying answers she got was in response to the question, “What does it mean, to argue for the One God?”

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  The woman answering gave her a sly look, and smiled as she answered, “Well, it’s a love-hate relationship. They hate each other, but they love the Lord. There have been entire marriages built upon the idea.”

  “Marriages… built upon mutual hate?” The idea was perplexing to Hexadecimal, but then again she knew straight couples who seemed to thrive in an environment of mutual animosity, producing children obedient, biddable, and devout. When your home environment was a mess, you turned hard to the One God and order.

  “You’re Okey, clearly, or you’d know about this. It’s not… hate was the wrong word. They live in competition to know the One God better, in the name of God. It honors Her to honor each other, and so some of the tenderest, kindest relationships are built upon it. Why, are you looking for a good argument? I was rereading Scripture recently and, well, I came across a passage nobody seems to talk about much.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t actually know all that much Scripture. Besides, would you want a dynamic like that with a nephilim?”

  The woman waved her question off with a, “Oh, it’s not your fault you were born what you are. You’re not evil, you could even become an Amonite if I inspired you to study the Scriptures. What a win for the Lord that would be!” I thought Hope said it wasn’t for outsiders. Or did she say it wasn’t for everyone? This is good information to have. I’ve already changed faiths once, I’d hate to be accused of having a wandering faith, but options are good.

  “I… thank you, but no. But I will be sure to look for you if I become interested in such a relationship.” She wasn’t interested, but at least she knew more than she had before.

  It was around then that her stomach rumbled. She followed her nose, and found herself at a small hole in the wall stand offering a thick stew with chunks of something in it. When she inquired, she found out that it was a stew of mushrooms and fungi, in a broth cooked down from bone marrow. So they did have herbivores down in the Deeps. Meat was expensive, she learned, because of the acreage required to pasture the animals in the cramped confines of the Deeps. Speaking of expensive, she should avoid eating out too much, her funds being limited. She asked more questions, learning that the main drivers of flavor in the stew were a ferment of meat scraps, salt, and the aforementioned marrow, stewed on the bone to wring every bit of flavor and nutrition from it. Finally, with the help of her map, she found out where mushrooms were grown in the Cavern of Dread, getting a roll of the eyes until she corrected herself to “the Fish.” So that was another point of contention between Amonites and Oozekennen.

  The mushroom farms were consigned to their own district, one with a particularly pungent smell from the rot and waste which fed the mushrooms. The nearest field was fenced in by what she suspected was another kind of mushroom, a vast plain of brown dotted by the white spots of button mushrooms. She continued down the path she was on, curious as to just how vast a variety of fungi were grown inside the city itself. There were bright red and orange mushrooms, then purple, and she wondered if the white stems were edible aside from the caps’ obvious utility for dye-making. If recollection served, and it generally did, some mushrooms were deathly poisonous, and so she would not be sampling one to find out how it tasted.

  It was also where one found the local herbivores, those imminently bound for the slaughter. They were, Hexadecimal supposed, cute in a pale, mindless sort of way. They almost resembled sheep, but they were larger and bulkier, with a thinner coat of wool.

  “You looking to buy, or are you just a tourist?” A man asked her as she leaned on the fence watching the animals. He was dressed in vibrant purple and green robes, and had a gray beard.

  She started, she hadn’t heard him approach. “Ah, just a tourist. They’re interesting, farms and farm animals. You can learn a lot from how a society treats its farmers.”

  “Making a study? For who?” She couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was hostile, curious, or just making conversation.

  Hexadecimal laughed. “I have yet to be believed, but for a noble on the surface of Orth.”

  The man’s expression turned thunderous, “A dragon, eh?” Right. The dragon myth.

  She shook her head. “No. Dragons don’t run everything, up there.”

  “No wonder nobody believes you, it’s unbelievable. Everyone knows we’re waiting for the Messiah.”

  “Are you Amonite? I would have guessed Okey—Oozekennen,” he waved off her correction, “from your garb.”

  “No, I’m an Amonite priest. There are those who might take offense at the misconception. I wear the purple of a priest, and then green from long tradition that my bloodline tends the sacrificial animals. Once, long ago, these animals ate something green, rather than white or brown.”

  “My apologies, then, Teacher.” He waved her off again. It seemed a popular gesture for when someone was being too serious.

  “I’m not much prone to taking offense. Not a Duelist. Just thought I’d warn you before you go around suggesting that sort of thing. Bright colors are usually Okey, but purple is the priesthood. Just like they get first pick of the meat after the priests make the sin offerings.”

  “Sin offerings?”

  “Scripture is very clear—you really aren’t just a curious Okey? I thought even they knew about this, it’s part of the system our forebears dreamed up.” He shrugged. “Offerings are to be made in penance for sin, of sheep,” he indicated the large herbivores Hexadecimal had been considering, “and doves,” he swept his arm upwards and she realized there were bats all over the rough ceiling of the farm. “Who happen to both keep down the bugs and provide excellent fertilizer. It’s a closed cycle. Bugs eat human waste, doves eat bugs, mushrooms eat doves and their excrement, and then we eat the mushrooms.”

  “Why are the Oozekennen called the Okey? Is it just shorter? They don’t seem to mind it.”

  “You’re asking an Amonite priest that kind of question?”

  “Generally the ranking social group dictates who is called what.”

  “Boy have you got things backwards! The Okey run things down here, they were here first and claim primacy by virtue of that. Every concession we have was hard-won. But to answer your question, they’re called that because it’s shorter. And to remind people that, difficulties aside, they’re generally okay folk. They believe in living and letting live, and there are considerably fewer difficulties between them and us than there could be.”

  Hexadecimal thanked the man for his answers and headed back to the pilgrims’ quarters she had rented, wanting to write down the things she had observed and discussed. As she progressed downwards, she heard a low moaning. A chorus of low moans, accompanied by higher-pitched warbling. Curiosity ever her master, she tried to figure out where it was coming from and head towards it.

  What she found, ultimately, was a procession following—Dread! Setting a sedate pace of a step perhaps every few grains of a sandglass, she was leading them somewhere. Behind her, in bright red robes, was the woman warbling, and behind her a cluster of six, seven, eight in more muted robes moaning and wailing. The crowds of Okey parted for them, making their passage easy, and some even joined in the wailing as they passed.

  Dread looked much as Hexa had remembered her, a veritable skeleton dripping the black ooze of the waters below the Orth. Ultimately, Dread came to a staircase near the center of the city, by Hexa’s reckoning. It spiraled down, though it didn’t seem to Hexa like there was that much more “down” to go. She descended, and Hexa pushed through the crowds to try and reach her, but was stopped by the moaning people in muted red robes and shaved heads.

  “You must not follow the Great Ken into the waters. It would be your unmaking.”

  “She’s going into the waters? But I wanted to speak with her… do you know how long she’ll be?”

  Her only reply was a shrug. With a sigh, she settled down on the cold cavern floor and prepared to wait. Dread was elusive thus far, but it seemed she knew at least one point to which she would return.