12 Miles Below

The council was a simple advisory body composed of multiple influential heads of houses, from the different castes. The creme of the crop among all the castes, highly effective and methodical people who were chosen for their ability and results.

Out on the street a Retainer would always be given the most respect, with the other castes following down the hierarchy, all the way to the agrifarmers. That was the streets. The council was all business.

If an Agrifarmer head of house informs the council that their quotas are lower than expected for the quarter, there isn’t any sniveling or demands that they pull themselves together coming from the Retainers. It’s already assumed that the Agrifarmers have done everything in their power to rectify a lowered quota. The representative isn’t here to debate, they’re here to deliver facts so that the rest of the council can adjust and plan accordingly.

If a Reacher says the airspeeders are deemed unsafe and it’s their professional opinion that the fleet be grounded, the Retainer houses will bow before that judgement - since this is the engineer’s domain of expertise and no one else's.

Clan Lord Atius would keep largely hands off, acting more like a supervisor and making sure everyone got along. If anything, the clan was largely self-sufficient, a well maintained engine moving along with each gear serving the niche it needs to. His death shouldn’t have affected anything.

In theory.

As I quickly learned, theory doesn’t always survive against fact. Especially when humans were involved.

The council room was an uproar of panic once they heard the grim news. People who’d once taken very careful and organized turns to speak and pass information were now trying to yell over one another. Others were burying their heads in their arms, despair in their eyes. This was like a microcosm of what was happening outside the walls, where riots were being thrown. A bloodthirsty mob had risen up, looking for perpetrators to punish. Which naturally ended up being the Chosen, as the only outsiders of the clan. Despite centuries of tradition on welcoming pilgrims and outsiders into the clan, all that got washed away rather quickly. Half the guard forces were mobilized to protect the Chosen, while the other half couldn't be trusted not to side with the mobs.

The council at least were more level headed. Many had spent their entire life working to become a representative, so behaving with decorum was naturally something every single person was proficient in and simply expected. And without the clan lord’s presence, all that decorum was thrown out the airlock with no one to call order in the room.

I suppose as the military arm of the clan, and the only ones with any symbol of manifest power, it inevitably came to us to step in and calm the people down. We wore the metal boots around here after all, literally.

Ironreach stalked over to the center of the room, by the audience podium, and bellowed out. The relic armor turning his cry into something that overpowered every single voice.

Everyone froze in their seats, and stared at him. “That’s better.” He said, brushing his hands off as if he’d just finished digging into dirt. “The Shadowsong Prime is council head until Lord Atius returns. Y’all need to calm down and act the part. All this panic is getting us nowhere.”

“Don't you see, you deft fool? This is a coup by House Shadowsong!” One voice screamed off to the side. “There is no chance the clan lord could simply be assassinated, he's a Deathless! And now House Shadowsong is already taking over as if nothing happened! Are we going to just let this happen?!”

That started off another set of screams and cries all over the room as people fell back into debate and arguments. Ironreach turned to glance at us, shaking his head mournfully. “Gave it a try. They’re not the most cooperative bunch, you know, on account of the mass hysteria.”

“We need something drastic to snap the people back.” I said. "If we can get all their attention and hold it for a little bit, we might be able to calm them down."

Shadowsong shook his head. “No. Half the council believes I’ve somehow locked up lord Atius. The other half believes the clan lord will return any moment now, and are closing their minds off to the reality. Getting their attention isn’t what needs to be done, nor is calming them down. I need proof that my claims have weight. We need to target the root issues.”

“Any ideas?"

"None that I can think of, besides bringing his armor here. All recordings were encrypted and inaccessible, we're in the dark as to how he died."

"Don't think bringing the armor here is going to convince anyone other than you might be holding him locked up somewhere."

He grunted. "As is the nature of hysteria. Irritating."

"I think I might have an idea though. It'll be dramatic."

Shadowsong turned, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "Of course it would be. I suppose Winterscar dramatics would be... welcome here. Very well, tell me this idea of yours."

"Bring me a chicken, a live one."

He nodded, not even asking any questions, and turned to one of the knights behind him, giving a silent order. The knight gave a salute, and marched off out of the room. Meanwhile, I opened up comms and contacted Captain Sagrius.

The knight returned soon enough. The council hadn't gone anywhere in the time, not with all the shouting going around. They hardly even noticed the knight walking into the room, one hand holding a chicken’s box with the little demon clucking inside. At his side was a few Winterscar soldiers, all of them escorting one sealed box carried by my captain of the guards. A long and rectangular one, deep black. He set them down by our side and took a few steps back.

I unclasped the locks and creaked the box open. Inside, swathed in artificial silks, was the purple-white silver blade. When I lifted it out of the box, Shadowsong immediately understood where this was going. "Dramatic indeed." He said. "I believe that will work."

Most people that surrounded us in the raised seating were still bickering among one another. A few noticed the movements and kept an eye on us, wondering what the hell a chicken was doing in this room.

The chicken clucked at me from it’s cage, unaware of what was about to befall it. A soul strike was something that looked identical to a relic blade’s cut, when used on anything inanimate. It simply divided anything against the edge into two. But where an occult blade ended at the physical level, the soul cut was something that affected reality at a far deeper level. It could be felt across a distance.

And only when it cut into something living, with a soul.

I lifted the blade out, turning it on. The edge remained pale blue, despite the purple and silver colored theme to it. I felt the resonance deeper in the hilt, the feeling of being able to turn something on. A machine-themed blade it clearly was, but ultimately, the Occult within it was the same that humans used.

Knowing more about the Occult now, I could understand. In the same way that the soul fractal let my soul reach out and touch other fractals, this fractal must be able to reach out to me and touch. I only wasn’t aware it did that previously.

There wasn’t a conscious or anything alive within the sword. At least nothing I could sense. This fractal must be reaching out to everything with a soul within reach.

I turned to the knight holding the chicken coop, and gave him a nod. "Open it." He returned the gesture, and then unlocked the cage, letting the chicken loose.

It instantly bolted out of the cage for a moment before stopping, as if deciding what it was going to do next. It never got that chance.

The silver blade swept through the air with a flick of my wrist, neatly cutting right into the chicken’s throat and cleaving through. The instant it did, a wrenching pulse occurred. The occult surged through the room, expanding out. A feeling of dread, a extra sense that something had been ripped apart. Reality bent at the cutting point for a fraction of a moment before everything returned to normal. The pulse faded, and with it, the entire room fell silent.

“The clan lord was cut down by this blade.” Shadowsong said, stepping into the silence, voice low and even. “This blade was recovered embedded into his armor. We don't know how the Slavers obtained it, or where they dredged it from. The investigation into this continues. His Chenobi guard will verify, and all of you here know Chenobi do not serve any other master once they've given their vow. The question of if the clan lord is dead or not, is not up for debate. It is fact. We must continue regardless.”

An older woman, seated closer to the prime spoke out in the silence. “W-what do we do?”

“Your duty.” Shadowsong said. “I am the first blade of the clan lord. Military affairs fall under my command. It is also my duty to oversee the proper transfer of power among the council. One of you must be elected to take up the mantle of the clan lord, until Lord Atius returns to us. Pick wisely. There is no room for politics.”

He let the moment pass, as everyone in the room began to readjust, watching the dead chicken overturned in a puddle of blood. Realizing that the clan lord was truly gone, for months or even years, and won’t be there to help the clan against the upcoming raiders.

A man rose by the stands, “First blade, you were in charge of the investigation, correct? Do you have any leads on who was responsible for this?”

“I suspect the Chosen had a hand in play given the appearance of the blade, though no... evidence has as of yet been found. I have ordered knights to detain them all for now while we continue the search, and to keep the riots away from them on the unlikely chance they are innocent.”

“They have twenty three knights on an airspeeder returning from the freeze, directly to the clan. What do we tell them - that we jailed all their people while they were away?” He said, sitting back down. “We barely organized a defense against the slaver insurgents, twenty three knights is an army unlike any we've fought before.”

Shadowsong shook his head. “These are Undersider knights. My own knights could defeat them all without casualty, and all our knights are accounted for inside the clan for the first time in centuries. I have no fear of what the Chosen knights represent to us, from a military standpoint.”

“This still is a situation we have to resolve.” A woman to the side said. “The Chosen, as strange as they are, were promised hospitality under our word. You know this as well as I do, since you've already taken steps to keeping them safe. We can’t simply start a war with their knights when they rightfully attempt to follow through on their own duty to protect their people. Such a thing would be a stain on our honor and word of it will certainly bleed to the other clans.”

“We’re at war, Lady Dras! The time for morality is past!” A man yelled at her side.

She tutted. “The gods see all. It is now that they will be watching closely what we choose to do and how we act, when they judge the worth of our souls. Any fool can make wise decisions when things are going smoothly. It is the hard times that test our mettle.”

“The gods would understand the need for practicality over oaths!” A shout came out from the other side of the room, which was once again overspoken by others and the whole room fell back into chaos.

“Enough.” Shadowsong said, voice artificially booming, cutting through the assembly again. “The decision on dealing with the Chosen ultimately lies on whichever of you is elected to be the acting clan lord. For the moment, I will attempt to stall a need for decisions. When I return, there needs to be a clan lord. You know what you all must do. Get it done.”

He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving it to return into chaos. I followed behind, stowing the blade and carrying it away. “Is it a good idea to leave them like this without supervision?”

“They are not children.” He said. “I have informed them of the situation. They have all the relevant facts they need to reach decisions. My work is done, and I have no time to lose when there are other matters to attend to. The Chosen knights, that representative was correct that this could be a diplomatic problem.”

“You’ve got any idea on how we’re going to placate twenty three knights on an airspeeder barreling back to us? Ask them to politely take off their armor and sit in a cell?”

“No, but you will. We have their priest. It’s time we sat with the man and talked. This time, without the clan lord iron codes to halt us. If there is a solution to all this, it will involve that priest. Start there.”

“Wait, you’re leaving this to me?”

“I need to review whatever Lord Atius left behind, to see his complete plan against the coming raiders and any research he was still in process of. Time is now a critical resource I cannot afford to waste. I hold no love for the Chosen, so long as their knights are barred from entering the clan colony, I don’t care what the resolution is until we have a clan lord to take command and order differently. You are good with words, Winterscar, and don’t deny it. Get me a solution that won’t involve bloodshed if you can, or take a dozen knights and cut their lives short if you cannot. Bring whatever diplomats you trust, but see to it.”

Ah. Lovely.

Time to go talk to the head priest of a homicidal machine cult, who must currently be less than pleased with us all.

Next chapter - A friendly chat

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