Thar Shaddin

Cristobal's good cheer was significantly dampened by the sudden intrusion of the nearly-naked local. He was not entirely able to suppress a shudder. Blanca's explanation did little to help matters. "Mentally unwell? The creature looked positively diseased. How did he get those scars? Why was he not clothed? I've seen beggars in Qadis in better shape than that."

Of course, beggars in Qadis who plied their trade in areas frequented by noblemen were usually quite clever about providing for themself - while being even more successful at making it seem as if they weren't. But that was beyond the scope of the nobleman's experience. Instead, Cristobal felt entirely unnerved by the entire interaction.

As they continue towards the church he continued "What exactly is being done about it? Are there doctors to prevent the spread of possible disease?" His skin crawled just at the thought of ending up looking even half as deteriorated as the pitiful shambler had been.

“Our elders opened a small clinic to care for these individuals a while ago, staffed by volunteers and the village doctor’s apprentice. But aside from meeting their basic needs and giving them a place to stay, there isn’t much we can do. It’s a disease of the mind, nothing that we can treat with medicine. And as you just saw, some of them slip through the cracks.

“These people only started showing up recently, so this is still uncomfortable for all of us. The Mayor suspects that neighboring villages may be unloading their, well, crazy people on us, but there’s no way to prove it. It’s one of the reasons we’re so uptight about people showing up to Los Malecón unannounced.”

Blanca frowned, falling silent as they reached the church. What she’d just told Cristobal was the Mayor’s official explanation, but she wasn’t comfortable parroting something she knew was false. These people were suffering from mental illness, yes, but they weren’t strangers. All of them were villagers of varying importance, and they’d declined within a few days of one another. One day they were fine, but by the end of the week they were shambling, incoherent zombies. And the epidemic definitely wasn’t over.

Even if the Mayor didn’t want to admit it, this was a curse – and he knew it. Attendance wasn’t mandatory at church services now just because of their financial troubles.

She led Cristobal up the stairs and through the church’s double doors. The main chamber was shaped like a crescent; each side was filled with pews, and there was an altar at the back with a thick book on it. Behind the altar were three throne-like chairs, the central one nearly twice as large as the others. The room was a work of exquisite craftsmanship: Its stone walls were decorated with intricate carvings of people and scenes significant to the faith, and at the back, behind the altar and beneath the windows overlooking the shore, was a beautiful mural depicting various sea creatures. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the smell of incense filled the air.

“Here we are,” Blanca said, clasping her hands. “It’s strange not seeing anyone else here. During services it’s often so crowded that not everyone can get a seat.”

Having himself experienced the difficult hike to this misbegotten excuse of a town, Cristobal didn't believe a word of Blanca's explanation, especially as none of it explained the horrific scarring. He shuddered again. Changers preserve him from such a fate. The sooner he could find Ysobel and her child, and be gone from this place, the better. Still, he couldn't exactly call Blanca a liar, so he mmmmed in what he hoped was a satisfactory fashion and cast one last glance in the direction of the afflicted individual.

Frankly, arriving at the church felt like such a relief by comparison to that encounter that he momentarily forgot why he'd been so insistent on examining the place, and instead devoted himself to a closer examination of the carvings and mural. "It really is an impressive monument. These carvings, and this painting, are the artists local?"

“Isn’t it?” Blanca smiled. “Our church has been an ongoing project ever since Los Malecón was founded, designed entirely by our own artists and craftsmen. It’s the crown jewel of the city. Every generation adds something of their own.”

Ever since she was a little girl, she enjoyed being in the church. Something about all the singing and ceremony was soothing, even if she only understood about half of it. She also enjoyed having an opportunity to see all her friends and family, especially considering how busy their lives were nowadays. The food at the dinner party afterwards was easily the best part, though. Shame they didn’t have It as often anymore, but with all the financial troubles she understood why.

She walked halfway down the aisle. “It’s a little weird being here without everyone else,” she said, looking around. “Usually there’s so many people that not everyone can sit down. Well, there used to be. Attendance has been pretty disgraceful for a while now. Maybe the Mayor making it mandatory will help, but I have no idea how he expects to enforce it…”

As she rambled on, her voice grew quieter and quieter before disappearing altogether. Next the birds went silent, and then the ocean. Within moments all sound stopped. Blanca continued speaking as if nothing changed.

Once the sound left, something came to fill its absence: a presence, massive and incomprehensible, filling the room as if weaved into the air. It spoke softly, like a creature tying to mimic mortal speech: “They are deceivers.”

And it left, as quickly as it came.

Blanca’s voice abruptly returned, along with the rest of the sound: “…else you would like to go? Unless you’d like to admire the scenery.”

Cristobal had been listening to Blanca's vague natterings with equally vague interest, when the oppressive absence of sound gradually infringed upon his awareness.

He had never experienced silence, not in the way it settled over him in that moment like a funeral shroud. Such a complete and utter void of all nature's orchestral works was completely alien to the already wary nobleman. He turned, seeking signs of danger and simultaneously paths of escape, fearing the possibility of malign sorcery as only one born in the esoterica-loving province of Quijas could. What came, though not an attack, felt infinitely worse.

Cristobal could not put his finger on why, but whatever that all-encompassing presence had been, the nobleman was convinced it was in no way human. And yet he barely had a chance to make sense of the bone-chilling warning when suddenly the regular aural tapestry of Los Malecón re-asserted itself along with, equally unnervingly, Blanca's continued pleasantries. Had she heard nothing? Had that entirely disconcerting episode been for his benefit only?

He fancied that he must have gone visibly pale, for he suddenly felt sick to the stomach. And yet, whatever sorcery had facilitated its warning to him, it had told him nothing he was not already convinced of. Of course they were deceivers. It might as well have said, in its ethereal and horrific way, that they smelled of fish. He would just have to be a better deceiver than the locals, that was all.

"Ah, yes, yes, it has been a while since I've had a chance to just admire the ocean without being hounded by paperwork, and I fear my fatigue is once more betraying its presence. Let's get a breath of fresher air, shall we?" A spot upwind of the fishy smell with a view of the sea would be nice, a place where he could clear his head and try to make sense of what had just occurred. "Any ideas for a good spot? Do lead the way. Why don't you tell me about this god that has had generations of your artists so inspired while we stroll"

Blanca frowned, noticing Cristobal’s sudden pallid complexion. She knew taking him on a tour after such a long trip would be disastrous. Maybe a little break down by the shore would be good for him. But after that, they were going right back to the Mayor’s place. Having Liscaris grill her over their guest getting sick was the last thing she needed.

“There’s a wonderful little place with a great view of the ocean, it’s not too far off,” she said, smiling again. “And we’ll call it a day after that. “

She started toward the church doors, but stopped when Cristobal mentioned their God. Oh, dear. It was a fair question, and one the visitor wranglers had approved answers for, but she had no clue how to tackle that. There was so much history to wade through, so many mysteries that only the Order’s leadership understood. Dodging the question would be suspicious, but telling him too much would be far worse.

“Of course. I’m sure you must be curious,” she said after a pause, leading him outside and back down the path. “But I’m only a layperson, so I’m not the best person to ask. But I’ll do what I can to answer whatever questions you have.”

They passed the coastal residences, heading down a stone road on a grassy hill overlooking the shore. “This is a great place to get your exercise, by the way – though I’m sure you don’t want to be on your feet again any time soon,” she said, laughing. “Oh, I’m getting sidetracked already.”

She paused to gather her thoughts. “Our God’s name is Noitura. Generations ago, He sent a messenger into Corezo to find exceptional individuals worthy of receiving His wisdom. His messenger gathered these people over several years and together they founded Los Malecón.

“Noitura graced us with prosperity in exchange for our obedience and reverence, and His messenger established the Church to guide us. But as time went on, we took Noitura’s kindness for granted and started to ignore His teachings. Eventually we noticed the town was starting to decline, and things got worse and worse as the years passed. It was clear then that Noitura had abandoned us for our wickedness.

“That was ages ago. We’ve been struggling to atone for our negligence, but nothing’s getting better. It’s like there’s a curse hanging over us. The Church is trying to guide us back into Noitura’s grace, but He hasn’t forgiven us yet, as you can see.”

There had been a small part of Cristobal which had hoped that the explanation of the locals' faith would be nice and straightforward - some Changer cult, or something similarly comprehensible. It was not to be. He'd never even heard of 'Noitura', let alone gauge what kind of name that was. Despite his present confounded state, it occurred to the nobleman that a layperson might be the best sort to press for information. After all, it takes an expert on a subject to convincingly lie. "That's absolutely fascinating. What are the teachings?"

The nobleman sensed an objection in Blanca's body language before he'd finished speaking, and added "No, no, I understand you are a layperson, but so am I: therefore, please do continue. I think I'd like to enjoy this view for a while longer, you see." If he could just get some sense of their belief structure, Cristobal was convinced, he'd be in a much better position to re-frame his own presence in the town without making his true goals too obvious at the outset. And, frankly, he really did need the fresh air and some time off his feet.

Now that Blanca was explaining her religion to Cristobal, she found it difficult to put her beliefs into words. Everyone in Los Malecón shared the same faith, even if some were more observant than others, so she never had to articulate its tenets to anyone before. Renata and the elders quizzed her on theology during classes when she was little, but that was a whole different situation.

Well, not entirely, she supposed. This was also a kind of test, but now her grade depended on what she chose to leave out.

“Most of the teachings focus on basic courteous behavior,” she said. “Respect one another, care for the poor, and so on. Even some like that vagrant we ran into earlier deserves our love. In order to thrive, we need to care for everyone in the community, even those it’d be easier to ignore.”

Near the middle of the hill path, they reached a small overlook with stone benches and potted flowers. Blanca sat down and folded her hands on her lap. “This is the best place in town to watch the sea. I actually came here on my first date when I was a teenager. Until a huge storm chased me and my boyfriend of the time inside, that is.”

She laughed, then looked out at the sea. “There’s more to our faith, of course, but the greater mysteries are only revealed to those who prove themselves to the Church,” she said. Pausing briefly, she turned back to Cristobal. “It is said that Noitura will one day grant eternal life to His most loyal followers. Centuries ago, Noitura offered it freely to the people of a distant land, but they spat upon His kindness and forced Him into the sea. I can’t blame Him for being a little more cautious when dealing with people now, you know?”

From Cristobal's point of view, any god who could get tossed out on his ear wasn't much of a god at all. But he kept those thoughts to himself. No, this presented a different kind of quandary: a cult of seaside loons dreaming of immortality from some exiled deity seemed to be the last kind of place he'd have expected his hedonistic sister to end up in. At least he hadn't ended up in a pirate stronghold, which would have been more in line with his sister's tempestuous nature. Then again, at least pirates could be negotiated with from a point of mutual understanding. Damned if he could understand the people in Los Malecón.

Really, what kind of fishing town was this when even a maid would choose to dance around a topic as basic as religion with all the rigour of a Moruan? Were people trained to deceive through omission from the time they were children here? Changers help him, it seemed that if he were to get anything done effectively in this town, he was probably going to have to start lying through his teeth with all the wilful braggadocio of a Tamazghan merchant. He wasn't particularly looking forward to that. Maintaining a structure of lies required a lot of effort, preparation, and effort. And he was already fatigued.

He decided not to press on the religion side of things any more, lest it seemed he were fixated on the subject. "It all sounds quite commendable. You are right: it is quite a lovely view from here, no doubt about it. Good for clearing the head and lungs, I'd say. A shame that I can't just spend my time here enjoying it. Duty is a harsh taskmaster." Cristobal stretched and suppressed a yawn "Tell me, Blanca, because the lunch today was a somewhat strange affair - and I'd not want to step on any toes again tomorrow from misunderstanding the local customs: is señora Renata considered senior to the mayor in local matters? Who does Captain Venegas report to?"

“Is it that obvious?” Blanca laughed. “Our government is kind of weird and confusing, especially compared to the rest of Corezo. But you’re right: Lady Renata is senior to the Mayor. She’s the one who appointed his grandfather to the position, and it passed to him after his father’s death. The Mayor is still the one who does all of the governing, though. Lady Renata only intervenes if the Mayor acts against Church teaching, and that never happens, so she sticks to religious affairs.”

She looked up at the sky thoughtfully. “Captain Venegas is the go-between for the Mayor and Lady Renata, and is subordinate to both. The elders are subordinate to the Mayor in politics, but I think they outrank him in Church matters, at least sometimes? I’m sorry, I get confused on the details."

Blanca stood and stretched. “Well, I suppose we’d better get back to the manor. I’m sure the Mayor will have another big feast ready for dinner.”

Musing over Blanca's explanation, Cristobal supposed that could go a long way to explaining the Captain's sour attitude. Being caught as a middle-woman between a cult leader and a borish mayor sounded like a perfect recipe for hating one's career.

As much as the nobleman was enjoying the fresh air, the sooner they got back and ate, the sooner he could get a proper night's rest in a real bed. That, at least, was worth the hassle of potentially fending off more attempts to gauge his purpose before he was ready to lie about it.

Just the thought of that reminded him uncomfortably of his experience in the church. He shivered in spite of himself. "Yes, quite a good idea, let's head off."

Contrary to what Blanca anticipated, dinner was a small affair: the food was less plentiful and extravagant, and Cristobal and the Mayor were the only ones at the table, Renata and the elders having departed before Blanca and Cristobal returned. The Mayor mostly kept to himself, only asking an occasional question about the tour, and excused himself midway through the meal.

Once Cristobal finished, Blanca escorted him back to his room, wished him good night, and closed the door. Much later that night, after Cristobal had gone to bed, someone shook his shoulder and whispered to him: “We need to talk, señor.”

An elderly, simply dressed man was sitting in a chair at Cristobal’s bedside. “Please keep calm. I’m not some murderer or robber,” he said. “My name is Domingo, I’m this estate’s head chef. My conscience is heavy, and I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t speak my mind. I ask that you let me say my peace, and then we forget this ever happened.”

He looked down at his lap. “I… I need a few moments,” he said, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes. He started mumbling to himself: “Domingo, you are a faithful child of God. You’ve obeyed the Church and followed its teachings for over seventy years. God will not fault you for following your conscience. You are not betraying the Church by doing what you know is right.”

After a moment of silence, Domingo exhaled again, then raised his head and looked Cristobal in the eyes. “I know you’re here looking for someone. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. But you are the first noble – and that’s the only reason you’re alive.

Most of our visitors are monitored and recorded. But some… some we’re not supposed to see, and if we do, we’re to immediately forget them. They aren’t on the books. Sometimes it’s just one person, other times it’s whole families. They make sure there’s not anyone who might miss them. But sometimes, like now, they might have been unaware of a friend or relative. And when those people come looking for them…

What I’m saying, señor, is that being from the Quijas family has protected you so far, but it won’t much longer, especially if you start snooping around. If they order Lady Renata to sick a Visitor on you, you’re finished. I know you love whomever you’re looking for, I know you do, but you will die. I implore you to leave in the morning and never look back. Make up some story for the Mayor, say your goodbyes, and leave. Please.”

The dinner had been enlightening in its own right. Would lunch have also been so sparse if the mayor had been certain of señora Renata's absence? When the mayor excused himself halfway through the meal, Cristobal likewise ceased eating, claiming the impact of the large lunch had contributed to a lesser appetite in the evening. He was not above suspecting his hosts of poison, not yet. He spent some time before sleep pondering the task before him. Deceit was just another puzzle - a complex diagram of data woven on a foundation of false data - but the difficulty lay in how to set the foundation.

With no immediate plan of action presenting itself, Cristobal gave into his body's needs. Sleep should have been a blessing, but it was laden with unsettling dreams, and he was all too easily startled awake by Domingo. The elderly man's mumbling attempts to gather his thoughts gave Cristobal a chance to clear his mind of the nightmare's aftermath. But what he was told was a nightmare in and of itself.

There were too many questions he needed to ask. He started simply "But why? What is gained from killing me and bringing down the wrath of the Quijas on this place? Things are already dire enough. I am here as the last chance to prevent widespread bloodshed." He was overstating things, but Domingo was not to know that. The time to lie, it seemed, had come - and the old man had given him the inspiration he needed.

“Preventing more bloodshed...” Domingo repeated slowly. “Señor, I don't follow you. But I assure you, whatever motives you may have for staying here – they aren't worth the risk.”

Hesitating, he looked at the door nervously, then turned back to Cristobal. “I can't speak for what they're planning, but Lady Renata has surely told the Order of your presence. They likely want you to leave peacefully, maybe by misdirecting you elsewhere on a fool's errand. But if they judge you a threat, a Visitor will kill you, and they'll deny that you ever showed up to the Quijas and whomever else. It's happened before.

“This... This isn't a fight you can win. You can't charm or smooth talk your way through it. Please, please understand. If the Order sets a Visitor on you, there's no running or fighting back – it's the end. These aren't some higher thugs or goons. Lady Renata says they're witnesses to God's return, tasked with guarding the righteous and punishing the wicked. Only a few are allowed to see them and live, and even they don't speak of them. “

He leaned in and took Cristobal's hands in his own. “I know you don't trust me. You probably think I'm crazy. I failed to save the others before you, they wouldn't listen. But please, just this once, for your own sake, walk away. You have people who love you. You have your whole life ahead of you. Walk away.”

If nothing else, Cristobal was utterly convinced by the desperation the old man showed. It steeled his own nerves, rather than shake his resolve, and he began to weave together the strands of his story "Of course it is not something I can win on my own. You misunderstand why I've been sent here." Cristobal laughed, letting his worry for Ysabel colour his chuckle with a hint of despair "To the Quijas, I am expendable. They hope I will be killed here as an excuse to wipe this town off the map, do you understand? They know I am here, because I was sent. My only chance of surviving this is to succeed in my task. If I try to leave empty-handed, it is also my death."

The role was taking form, and Cristobal threw himself into it for, as far as he was concerned, his life likely depended on it "Surely you have heard rumours of what happens to those Quijans who fail in tasks of the utmost importance? A fatal alchemic powder, quietly slipped into their food or wine, and a swift death after." Cristobal sighed "But I will not leave. If I must die here, it will not be unavenged. My death will be the death of everyone in this town who cannot defend themselves from a soldier's arms or Quijan mystic's arts.

Cristobal removed one of his hands from Domingo's grasp, and placed it on his shoulder and locked his gaze with the old man's "Let me return your question to you: Do you have friends? Family? Ones you love or whom love you? Then help me achieve a peaceful resolution to my task. Tell me where the unrecorded, unreported, vanished ones go. If I can return the Quijan noblewoman, who came here with her child, back to Qadis then there will be no cause for the Ducal family to take punitive action against the town and their overall scheme will fall. I have been sent here to die for that purpose, but I would rather succeed in spiting them."