Fighting bull, but your god didn't give you horns? Go to the nearest temple of Veindor the Merciful.

We'll help you. And punish your god.

The inscription on Talia Murr an Kamian's garment

The portal cabin's curved door moved silently to the side, letting a whole family of moon slugs that had been hiding from birds behind its rosy glass fall at Irson's feet. The sweet scent of fresh grass, clean laundry and mollusks boiled in cream permeated the moist air. Not a soul in sight. To his left a detailed map of the Nalarite District stood out accommodatingly. Behind it dark buildings on high stilts were sprinkled chaotically along the width of the canal, their spacious terraces connected by dozens of light wooden bridges. An alley curved outward directly in front of the cabin. A grey two-story building stretched on its right side, its oval-shaped windows and doors framed with gaping fish jaws, lending credence to the portal point's[1] name – "Tooth Alley." Various sea creatures' long teeth gleamed with silver varnish, while the angular rooms of the second floor – apparently the childrens' – featured slightly shorter, brightly colored fangs of turquoise, ocher and cerulean.

The road was paved with porous yellow stone, the tiles coming off in places to reveal shreds of moss that looked like sheaves of gnarled birds' feet. Irson noticed with interest the faint citrus smell emanating from it. He bent down and carefully tore off a rough stem, twirled it between his fingers... and nearly fell off the path, which suddenly started shaking with a thunderous vibration, the tiles jumping and falling back down with a squish. Grabbing onto a nearby streetlamp pole, the Tanae was forced to withdraw into a ditch lined with shells. "My nose is my enemy!" he said to himself with a grimace, curiously sniffing the moss. The path continued to quake.

"Master snake!" someone called to him. "Don't worry, he's not coming."

"Who?" Irson asked, glancing around in search of the speaker.

"Gshrut. You know, gshrut – pockmarked, with three rows of teeth." The stranger bent over the terrace railing that girded the second floor of the nearest raised house. "It's symbiotic with chicken moss. The moss is good – everyone wants to feast on it, so it avoids getting eaten by hook or by crook. It's naturally found in long caves with only one entrance. As soon as someone wanders in for a bite, it starts the shaking. It calls on its friend – gshrut doesn't react to anything but vibrations. Its friend comes forth from its den, blocks the entrance to the cave and devours the would-be moss eaters. Except who's going to let a gshrut into the city? But ours is some grade A moss – even the tiles jump when it starts to shake."

"Thanks for the lecture," Irson smiled at the eternal Alaean passion for telling visitors about local sights and curiosities (it seemed every knocked-over flowerpot and mousehole had been added to the list of Briaellar's such sights).

The road stopped trembling and the Tanae was able to approach the loquacious stranger. She was most likely a member of House an Aeliatan[1]. Her ears pressed against her head called to mind triangular patches of black velvet against the smooth silk surface of her orange hair, typical of these dreamer-cats. A little chain was threaded through their ends from her earrings, then wound around the casual bun on the back of her head. There was something adolescent about her thin, angular figure, with its sharp elbows and protruding collarbones... or elvish. Another typical trait of this race.

"Oh, sorry, I'm looking for Talia an Kamian," said Irson, coming back to reality.

It's all right!" she answered. "I can help, but it'll cost you a couple hundred."

"Why so expensive? Did you plan on carrying me to her in your arms?" Irson inquired, matching her tone.

Uh-huh," she nodded. "For fifty, I'll carry you right to the Morgue. And for one fifty, you can buy yourself new eyes there. They're having a sale. For a single, the discount is doubled."

"Talia?" the Tanae ventured, narrowing his lids.

"In the flesh!" the saucy, big-eared girl nodded, pleased with herself. "Come on up! No one will ever recognize me. I'm a half-breed, and made-up to boot. Nice to meet ya," she extended her hand in a very human manner, a hand which was gloved with some sort of defensive spell.

"The pleasure's all mine. Please excuse my being late..."

"No big deal. I work here." She pointed off to the right somewhere.

Irson followed with his gaze. Dingy round lanterns like protruding crabs' eyes growing from the columns and railings were barely enough to illuminate the glue-smeared panel in the partition between two windows and the mosaic pieces scattered about it: two puffed-up predatory fish "grinning" at each other, baring whole fans of hooked teeth.

"Funny, aren't they? It's like they're each holding a porcupine in their maw," Talia smiled softly.

"I guess. You're putting them up in this light?"

"It's tough, but yeah. There are over a hundred different colors here. But that's the point. I make money on mouse paté, and I'm training my eyes at the same time. I've been neglecting them lately. Soon I'll no longer be able to tell 'cat's nose' from 'burnt brick' and 'cockroach,'" the young Alae complained. "Have a seat – there, on the ottoman."

The 'ottoman' was actually a low glass tray filled with bouncy bluish balls. Smaller on one side and larger on the other, they looked like caviar: a translucent, rolled-up baby fish could be seen inside each little sphere, with a long tail and mother-of-pearl buttons for eyes. The entire structure seemed incredibly delicate to Irson.

"Sit down, don't worry," Talia said, patting the bubbles when she noticed his hesitation. "Even Strunos lounged on them once, I've barely managed to drive him off. It's a massaging device: you lay down and the baby fish rub on you. Makes you wanna purr like crazy!"

Irson cautiously sat down on the 'ottoman;' the bubbles beneath him softly gave way. Talia made herself comfortable opposite him on an overturned box made of mosaic tiles.

"Shada told me you've gotten yourself mixed up in some trouble with Veindor's priests, and you want me to share with you how to get out unscathed, am I right?"

"Not exactly. Some days ago I was contacted by an old friend of my father's – of my late father's. He told me that my dad was nothing short of a victim of a collusion between Tialianna and Veindor. That, supposedly, they made him get old and die, although his soul wasn't mortal."

Talia leaned forward. "What for?"

"To get my mother to return to Tiana's service." Irson avoided eye contact. He felt uncomfortable even repeating this poppycock out loud. "She's now a very high-ranking priestess. One of the Nae's inner circle, you could say."

"A fantastic tale! But I take it you don't buy it?"

No, of course not. I so don't buy it that I sent the tale's preacher on his merry way before I could get him to cough up anything about his... organization."

"And now you're tortured with curiosity and kicking yourself for being hasty?" Talia raised the end of her tail inquisitively.

"Inhuman curiosity. So I thought, maybe someone else got a similar invitation and managed to hold their tongue? I asked Shada and she said that you too have been... called to wage war against Veindor?"

"Something like that. It all seemed pretty decent at first: at breakfast I received a very serious visitor. A funny little man with narrow eyes, a small beard twisted like a pig's tail... We chatted about the weather, the going rates for second-hand clothes and Anlimorean courtesans, and then he subtly steered the conversation toward what kind of mayhem Veindor and his 'guardeths'[3] are up to in other worlds. As in, one lady in Anlimor whispered this in his ear – I can picture the whole thing," the cat rolled her eyes. "I like gabbing on about such topics, but I never have anyone to talk to! And then all of a sudden my own thoughts were being poured into my ears, except in different words! At first I even thought it was his clever way of trying to hit on me."

"Yeah, and that's exactly why he'd brought up the Anlimorean dames," Irson quipped.

Talia stared at him with genuine astonishment.

"Believe it or not, many think the two aren't mutually exclusive – just the opposite! He could have meantsomething like, I was in Anlimor and now I know a ton of boudoir secrets. Wouldn't you like to try?" she wriggled her brows suggestively with a kind of sad shamelessless. "I'm a daughter of Aella, and mom's been goofing off for eight hundred years now, making herself into a brainless springtime cat. I grew this incredibly cumbersome chest... I get asked, 'Is it true that Mr. so-and-so is sleeping with Ms. so-and-so' more often than I get asked how to get to the library! And I'm a professional guide to Briaellar!" She slammed her hand down on the adjacent box in frustration, sending mosaic pieces flying in all directions. "But anyway, that's neither here nor there. So yeah, he prated on about the importance of reform in our 'ministry of Death,' and I listened carefully until he mentioned that it wouldn't be a bad idea to be rid of Veindor altogether. Pure and simple. I positively gasped. I asked him, 'Isn't that a bit much?' He wasn't fazed in the least. He said that the Infinite had been existing just fine before the Nae appeared, including the Merciful, and he'll do just fine when they're gone. When this one's gone, anyway."

"He said that?"

"Yep. We were sitting at Silver Square then, right down the street from Veindor's temple. I'm not overly sensitive in general, but at that moment I felt really uncomfortable. The hair on my tail stood up! It's a strange feeling..."

"He cornered you? You couldn't raise an objection?"

"No. He argued effectively, but none of his arguments were indisputable," Talia muttered in a changed tone. "It wasn't that his words rang true... just that they were remarkably strong. There was something cold, powerful, destructive in them. I suddenly felt like a scared little kitten. I wanted to run to Inon – our local high priest to Veindor – as fast as my paws would take me, and complain about this guy! It's stupid, but that's what happened."

"What did you do?" asked Irson, holding his breath with anticipation.

"I voiced my agreement when prompted and promised to think about it. He said he'd find me again after a while."

"Good for you, o daughter of lovely Aella!" Irson exclaimed with relief.

The Alae burst out laughing and stretched her shoulders, ridding herself of the tension.

"That's me all right!"

"Talia, I don't know if it's all right to ask this question... Shada said that Veindor's priests have got an axe to grind against you. What exactly did you do to them?"

"Irson Trimm! You're always running to the Abyss; haven't you heard anything about that?" the Alae was openly distressed.

"No."

"Then let me give you the lowdown. The whole thing started six years ago. I used to pass my time in the Abyss working as a guide and more – consulting various merchants. In my free time I wrote for the newspaper, The Red Abyss. We had such a great team there – an Alae who was allergic to cat fur, an Eale dame obsessed with hunting, and a valley-dweller cat who deemed himself a toad. Good times..."

Judging by the way she talks, the good times haven't stopped, Irson thought to himself. It's like she's still back in that editing room.

Talia was staring dreamily off into the distance. Following her gaze, Irson saw a large house ringed with wide open galleries on every other floor. The flats' owners had tacked on a balcony each, enclosing their patch of common square footage with a flowery gate in front, to the sides and even overhead. That made the building look comically like a storage rack laden with bird cages. A paranoid bird-catcher's rack, with spiky, at times paned, enchanted cages, so that Nae forbid anyone stuck a nasty finger into their abode. A typical sight for the Abyss.

And?" Irson urged her to continue.

"And then once we printed... Well, I'm just going to let you read it." She dug around in a powdery lime bag and handed the Tanae a scroll. "The article's called, 'Surprising Facts on Just Rebirth.'"[4]

Irson started to read through, casting dubious glances at Talia from time to time.

"'Selling souls like potatoes' – nice! I didn't expect such radical views, Miss an Kamian!" He bowed mockingly at the Alae, returning the scroll. "What happened next?"

"Next was a huge scandal," she said, flashing her teeth. "And then another article. And a mega-scandal. As a result they shut the R.A. down, and I – I went back to Briaellar to hide under my mother's skirts. Fortunately for me, besides my mother, a high-ranking priest stood up for me – Inon. Now he's on the streets, so I won't mention his well-known family name. I didn't think it would cause such a ruckus. I didn't really even say anything no one's ever heard before."

"But you said it loudly. Publicly."

"Our Merciful's priest had to break a real sweat to... calm the masses. Although, I think many are still not calm. But that was all just for starters," Talia leaned in toward Irson and whispered conspiratorially. "Things really got rolling when those dolts took it in their heads to kick Inon out, claiming that I had brainwashed him and he'd become unfit for his profession. As if I had it in me!" the Alae exclaimed. "The Counsel of Briaellar had long been wanting to get rid of the then high priest to the Merciful. He was such a vile, stuffed-shirt old wretch, I didn't even have to make much of a fuss for them to invite In to take his place. Ever since then the local Silver Temple has been a hotbed of heresy! Or a life-giving source of renewal – see it as you wish," she winked at the Tanae naughtily.

"For example?"

"Weeeeell, they especially love our amendments to the 'Animated Objects Act.' Veindor's priests literally go into hysterics at the mere sight of such things, regardless of what they may be: a sword with an enemy's soul trapped inside, or a cookbook containing your dear old granny's soul who had gladly accepted taking up residence there. To them it is all sacrilege – a defilement of the natural order of things – to be done away with without delay. Preferably, along with the object's owner," Talia said, crinkling her brow expressively. "In and I convinced the Council of Briaellar not to lump everyone together. Better to conduct investigations, get to the bottom of how a soul may have ended up in, say, a shoe horn. Maybe it was one of those who becomes ecstatic at the sight of women's legs. Or shoes. What if some well-wisher gave him the opportunity to enjoy proximity to the object of his fetish – eternally. He's melting with pleasure, and the ladies getting lavished with complements in some shoe store are too! Who's the worse off for it?" She asked, frowning combatively, and Irson hiccupped in suppressing a burst of laughter. "Of course, it's different when a soul's been forced into a stool or lured there by trickery or bribery. Or kept against its will even after it realized that there are better ways to spend eternity..."

"Somehow I doubt anyone has 'leg lover' written on his soul."

"No doubt. But you know, Tanae scientists have identified a group of creatures – let's call them 'gazers' – who find the most incredible sweetness in passively taking something in. What exactly is or isn't carved in their souls, no one knows, but... the general trend is clear. Living life is not nearly as interesting for them as observing someone else's. As a result their own bodies eventually become a hindrance – while you still have a regular body or at least the ability to talk, you'll constantly be bothered, drawn in to general conversations, forced to take part in something, conform to some societal norms... That is, distract you from brazen, unapologetic spying. In that case, isn't it better to just be rid of this insufferable chunk of meat? But I digress. The Council of Briaellar heeded my and In's appeal, and soon the immigration and citizenship service had a new division of exactly four employees regulating 'animated objects' through paperwork and certificates."

"I'll be! For free?" Irson squinted.

"For a very modest salary. But you were on the right track. When the priests nosed out that money was involved as well, they went berserk. You can't even begin to imagine all that was levied our way... One time their whole temple was crammed with creatures – praying to the Merciful for our immediate Assumption."

"And?"

And nothing," the an Kamian shook her head cheerfully. "They huffed and puffed and settled down. Veindor refused to hear their prayers even once. Judging from everything, he probably doesn't care about Inon and me. Otherwise one of his ghost dragons would have paid us a visit and... And we would have shut up for good! So, there you have it. And our amendments got spread out over a couple different codes – Anlimor and Lar'ert'emori. I heard your Serpent's Eye is considering ratifying them as well."

"Strange, I haven't heard anything about that. Not in the Abyss or the Eye, or even back in the Den."

"We're just so very modest," Talia said with downcast eyes.

"I can see that."

"Our amendments are no 'Ellis' Note,' of course, but I really think we did something that needed to be done."

Talia said all this with the same playful smile on her lips, but Irson felt that she was behind her cause with all her heart – a cause so unusual for an an Kamian (or anyone!).

"Well, now that we've both confessed to one another, perhaps we can think of what to do next?" Talia smiled invitingly.

"You mean...?"

"I've been so dreadfully bored lately! Therefore, my highness isn't averse to lending a helpful paw to you! What do we, with our influential mommas, have to think about?" she sang, glancing at Irson from the corners of her eyes.

"Mine doesn't wear skirts," he answered gloomily.

"But mine has suuuper wide ones. Ten of us would fit in them! I don't want to try to find my way out!"

Are you testing me?" the Tanae chuckled.

"Testing?" Talia retorted with feigned puzzlement.

"If I might suddenly bulge my eyes from indignation and act all high and mighty. As in, I'm not like that at all! What do you mean, my rod is a foot too long? How dare you say such a thing to me, a Lindorg mage? Hide under skirts... I'll burn you to ashes on the spot!"

"Fine, fine, I confess. But everybody knows that in Lindorg they wring the students' brains like clean laundry. And stamp out any sense of humor until there's none left at all. So I just – "

"... wanted to test me, to see how fragile my ego is," Irson sighed. "No, Talia, I am still me."

"Well, if that's the case, I've got to warn you about something. When you speak with Inon, no jokes about his abilities, competence, character or the like. Unfortunately, he runs the gamut when it comes to Elidanite hang-ups about defending one's honor and all that."

"Do you think we should tell him what's going on?" asked Irson, somewhat thrown by her unexpected candor. It seemed Talia was more interested in complaining than warning him.

"Yes, definitely, Irson! You're a very powerful mage and all that, but... Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I'm kind of worried for my soul. It would be nice to have someone nearby who can take care of it."

"Maybe you're right," replied the Tanae, pursing his lips pensively.

"He's not far from here. Speaking at a certain less-than-reasonable gathering," she sputtered and touched her claw to her temple, apparently sending Irson a telepathic message. "How about stretching our legs a bit?"

Irson nodded and they went down once again to the yellow tiles of Tooth Alley.

"We've got two choices: wait for the conspirators to come to you, or try to lure them out somehow," Irson reasoned. "I like the second one better. I bet you'll just have to shed a tear or two under some bush somewhere over the Merciful's followers' latest nasty tricks..."

"Cry? Me? I see your friendship with Her Excellency Aniallu the Miserable hasn't been in vain!" Talia said with a playful grimace. "What do we do once we draw them out?"

"We'll listen to what they have to say. Maybe they'll invite you somewhere or offer you a part in their scheme. I don't know. It'd be nice to learn something about them first."

"For sure..."

While waiting for the priest, the Tanae and the Alae strolled along a row of flimsy-looking skeletal trees. Their branches bore clusters of puny, ugly green-grey flowers, like shreds of sea foam. Irson could have sworn that an hour ago there were absolutely no trees here. He stuck out his hand. His fingers went right through the shabby bark unobstructed.

"The Seamstress knows what's going on here," Talia sighed. "It's a mess. But it's understandable. There used to be a portal under that bridge over there that led to Bluetooth Street in the Abyss. That's where the name 'Tooth Alley' came from, by the way. It was later on that local architects got inspired by it and gave every hole in the wall a set of false teeth."

Talia paused by one of the windows. On the other side of the thick glass, curled up by the window pane, was a small Nalarite girl. Silver hair hovered around her head, swirling in the bedroom's warm water. An air bubble had somehow formed under her nightshirt, and the wide hem billowed behind the girl's back like the umbrella-body of a jellyfish. The girl held a live fish dressed in doll clothes in each of her thin little sea-green hands. Steel scales juxtaposed silk ribbons; her flattened flippers' needles stuck out in all directions through lace ruffles. A smile spread over Irson's face. Talia for some reason only pursed her lips in exasperation and pulled him by the hand. "Let's go."

Irson didn't have time to ask his guide what about this heartwarming scene had upset her so, as the Alae put a finger to her temple once again, listening to the priest Inon's answer. Apparently she found this answer exceedingly distasteful.

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[1] Portal Point – a publicly-used portal, part of the Briaellar Public Portal Network (BPPN). Independent use of spatial magic is prohibited in most of Briaellar's neighborhoods, making the BPPN cabins scattered throughout the city very popular among its inhabitants.

[2] House an Aeliatan – one of the Great Houses of Briaellar, whose members specialize in working with dreams, fantasies, visions, illusions, etc. They are called upon by those who want to either rid themselves of nightmares, obtrusive ideas, bad habits or persistent feelings, or wish to dream about something very particular, relive an event, or simply interpret a dream or vision.

[3] Guardians of Death – Veindor's warrior priests. Human, predominantly Elidanite, they are called to oppose various offenses to his establishment. They destroy all who get in the way of "the circulation of souls in the Infinite": undead, necromancers, demons, lesser gods. They free imprisoned souls. In Enhiarg, "Guardians of Death" is oftentimes unapologetically shortened to "Guardeths," but never to their face.

[4] This article is available in Appendix 1.

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Illustration by DagazSpy.