Busy, so busy! Avan had a lot on his mind, but this was usual. He had been to see his counterpart Demun Adanred in the realm of Demman Dorinad, the Negative Realm, sometimes called the Realm That Is Not. Demun Adanred had little to say in the way of helping him; he had found warriors or hazeshapers, and those he had were unavailable; through unwillingness to cooperate, incapacitation or death. That was the way of that realm – the denizens excelled at hiding and those that could be found seldom proved willing to help. Not to mention that the way things worked in that place was... strange. Avan could not fully understand the goings-on there, even when he was translated into a compatible state when he ventured there. Demun had, no doubt figured out how to work his way around, but that place was, in a sense, the counterpart to Avan's homeland. Well, he wished they had found someone from there; they were often incredibly powerful, with unique skills. His observations were that rarity and power went hand in hand.
Now he was travelling a tunnel to Torren Maildun. Some of the dead may have been recovered from the Lethe, that plague of oblivion that hung over the memories of those whose souls had passed down the most ancient of paths. The most ancient path that souls still travelled, at any rate.
He opened the other end of the tunnel into the realm of the dead and allowed the tunnel to collapse behind him as he stepped through. He deliberately avoided focussing on where it would take him; he would be drawn to Marrow Tend like a donkey to a carrot. He stepped out into a large town square, surrounded on three sides by squat sandstone buildings with doorways which lacked hinged doors, instead with heavy, colourful blankets hung over them. The fourth side was a comprised entirely of a wide staircase which stretched up to a row of columns made from the same material as everything else.
The square was busy, people bustled along as they would in any market, for that is what it was; a bazaar. Yet is was a bizarre bazaar. All the stores were inside. Numerous peoples live in this land, not all of them having swept along the currents of death. Long ago, people had settled here, when Avan was younger, just after the Nul had split. Those had been interesting times. Unfortunate, but certainly not boring.
The dead could only feel pain or discomfort, or pleasure, or anything really, to a degree that correlated to how strongly the existed. The majority of those that escaped the Lethe managed to retain only a smattering of their former selves. Sure, some of it could sometimes be recovered, but generally that happened only in the rarest of cases. They floated around, lost spirits one and all. Those that retained more of themselves fared better, usually eking out an existence either as some ghastly revenant haunting an area or as some benevolent pseudo god, providing advice and the occasional blessing, pouring out some of whatever power they had managed to gather. The third type was what he was hoping Marrow Tend had found some of. They were the ones who remembered who they were, events, places, a few emotions. Those whose will was too strong to be devoured by the caustic nature of forgetfulness. Those for whom merely existing provided such an anchor to Garon's thoughts that they refused to be forgotten. Those who saw the pointlessness of allowing themselves to fade away. Those who walked in Daret Nul's own footsteps.
He could sense Marrow Tend. A split soul always pulled on itself, attempting to reassemble into its parts. He allowed that automatic urge to tug on his unconsciousness, and he wandered aimlessly. Within a few minutes he had found his other self. Avan had intended this, but Marrow did not expect it and turned with an expression on his face a mixture of concern and curiosity. Marrow spoke first.
“Garon is troubled.”
“Yes. Cennon has attacked again.”
“I have no-one to send.”
“I don't understand. No-one seems to. It's like Garon has all but given up. It's like we have all but given up.”
“I know, but I certainly haven't lost the will to fight.”
Wordlessly, they reached a consensus. The two stood in silence for a full hour. Two tall, gaunt people, one pale from dwelling in the gloomy realm of Sorrow, the other's skin burnished bronze from the continual sun. Each thinking exactly the same thoughts, a single soul in subliminal communication with itself, sharing experiences that had occurred over the ages since they had last needed to have this sort of deep communication. It took a lot of energy and was not without risk. They had to straddle the fine line between merging completely and sharing too little, and they were vulnerable in this state, unable to quickly react to their environment. To their good fortune, Marrow Tend had too much of a reputation for power for anyone here to attack him, even if what he was doing seemed even more odd than usual.
They came apart, both agreeing they had shared enough of their histories. Not everything could be shared this way and returns diminished over time.
“So, only Torion?”
Marrow nodded. “It has not been easy. The Lethe has been... vicious.”
“Will he come?”
“It's hard to say. Perhaps I can strike a deal.”
Avan smiled. “Yes, I think that would work.”
He needed a short rest.
“Do you mind if I rest here for a short while? Any old place will do.”
“That's fine. I'll find somewhere for you.”
“Thank you.” Later he would have to see about getting Rain and Hammer's help. Oh, and his priests, he had forgotten about them. Marrow would contact the other Nul.
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