"Is it broken?" Nom asked. He took another basket of bread from her and loaded it in the pull-cart.

"No," said Omuti, wagging her slinged arm forward and back slightly, "only dislocated, sprained, sliced, and stitched." Nom grimaced in sympathy, but Omuti smiled. "Not to worry, so much metal in Zulm, I taught them distillation. The prickly stone plants have sugar fruit. So, no infection," she wiggled her fingers, "and happy Omuti." Nom couldn't help but grin at her rediscovery of a standard Rabidi delight, as well as her ability to find some joy within a pit of misery. He continued transferring food to his cart.

"Listen, Omuti," Nom said softly, "Ahden and Dev have a plan to find Omega." He stopped transferring the food, and ruefully tapped the cart with his fist, then added, "And another man we met in the past, Dusti."

"Good, a plan to find Omega and Dusti."

"No, we already know where he—just nevermind him. We need you to find some ingredients for us: saltpeter, charcoal, and some rope or cord."

"Yes, I have seen all those things," Omuti informed him.

"Good. Our weapons would be nice, if you've seen those," Nom said, half joking.

"No I have not. Shall I make you some sticks and staves?"

"Oh, sure." Nom and the other kalabursi had finished packing the cart, but pretended to busily arrange the items so they could continue socializing.

"Speaking of saltpeter," said Omuti, "do not eat the meat."

"Is it not preserved?" Nom asked.

"It is. But the farm animals are" Omuti looked troubled, "—unwholesome."

Nom sighed. "I'm not surprised. Say, have you seen any children at the—"

Omuti's smile fell. "No. Go," she urged.

He looked over his shoulder to find Khargis and two soldiers striding toward him. Nom motioned to the other kalabursi, and began pulling the cart. The soldiers, however, came over and grabbed him. He protested for a few seconds until Khargis winded him with a punch under the sternum, and they dragged him away along the rim. His feet dragged and scraped until he regained his breath and was able to walk.

He finally managed to gasp, "What's this about?"

"Righteous suffering," growled Khargis in his low voice. "He wants to see you, kalabursi."

"In person," added a soldier. "He always sees you, of course."

"He sees all," agreed the other.

They walked past the area reserved for the seers. Goggled men and women loitered and wandered, the largest number of seers Nom had ever seen in one location, but no sign of Omega. As with the other seers of Zulm he'd seen, they all bore tattoos and brands, plus the intricately engraved goggles. A couple large stone buildings dominated the encampment, surrounded by smaller cabins and tents. Further back sat several reddish-black balls of goo in various sizes, and Nom became queasy as he recognized inert dragon's blood. He looked away, and turned his head about to continue searching for Omega, then was blindsided when Khargis slapped him in the face to admonish him. They kept going, turned at the edge of the barracks, and walked up between the two areas, away from the strip mine. Nom darted his eyes around with more discretion.

They reached an older multi-level stone block building, the mine settlement's headquarters if Nom recalled correctly, with sections more recently added on and still under construction. It had been painted in bright colors at one time, but they were mostly worn away into ugly patterns, and the new sections retained the dull colors of native stone. Further off in the settlement, smiths, masons, and other craftsmen busily worked in commercial buildings, most two stories with residences above.

They walked between lines of soldiers, up the steps of the headquarters, and through a lobby where plain-clothed men and women conducted fervent discussions like conspiring politicians. Nom shook his head in disgust; even the heinous business of slavery and death involved mundane deals and logistics. Finally Khargis pushed him through a pair of large retrofit doors into a huge chamber, and shoved him to the floor.

The room probably took up most of the old building. Walls had been torn down to expand into the surrounding rooms, and the ceiling had been punched through to the second floor. Additional windows were carved in the back wall to let in a lot of natural light, and huge columns had been installed to buttress the entire structure, making the overall architecture bombastic and hideous. The only redeeming quality was two rows of potted plants lined up with the shafts of sunlight from the windows.

In the darkness between the plants, where a desk had likely once sat, a stone throne had been erected on a dias, covered with rugs and pillows. A shadowy figure sat on the shadowy throne, and Nom froze, fearing the malice of the Mage. The figure propped it's bearded head up on an armrest as though in deep thought, or possibly bored. The man noticed Nom, and leaned forward with the creak of dry leather, into the sunlight. His long white hair was crowned with a wooden ring stained an exotic blue. He gazed at Nom with bloodshot eyes, the irises an unnatural pale yellow, pupils wide open and reflecting shifting unknown colors. Long ago, Nom had witnessed this man from afar, and was shocked to see him up close; this was Omnos, the Farseer, last ruler of Rabidi.

"My my, he was correct, you are Rabidian," Omnos said. He sat up straight, but still looked bored. "It's been ages since one of my subjects has kneeled before me. You may carry on with the obligatories."

Nom remained silent, and contemptuously stood up. Omnos gestured, and Nom's lower legs flew backward. He felt as though floating upright for a split second, then his knees slammed into the stone floor. He yelled out in pain and collapsed onto all fours.

"I suppose that will have to do," said Omnos.

"Why are you here?" Nom cried out.

"Funny, kalabursi, that was one of my questions. First, who are you?"

Nom tried to crawl backwards, but Khargis grabbed a spear from one of the soldiers, and bludgeoned Nom in the back. Nom collapsed, and hoped his kidney would still function after that blow. "Nōm!" he uttered, "I'm called Nōm."

"Yes," Omnos drew out the word and leaned forward with interest. "very good. Such an appellation suits somebody who is nobody. Death came for the court... when nobody sparked a sound. Is that why you are here?"

"What? That doesn't make any sense," said Nom.

Omnos kept talking over Nom's response, "Why Sire is not? Your clothes I see, the weapons and armor they stripped you of, even the ink under your skin is still a ghost around you. So tell me: why don't you exist? Death came from the north... Death blossomed under—"

Nom spoke forcefully, "Because you're mad, Omnos, a farseer that can't see his own two feet in front of him , paranoid about the demise of kingship over kingdom, both long since extinguished by your incompetence. I have no time for your riddles, and wish to leave."

Fury blew over Omnos' face like a storm, but dissipated just as quickly. He said with a disdainful wave, "We have no use for a nobody like you." The soldiers came over and hoisted Nom up, then Khargis clasped a shackle around his forearm and locked it. Omnos lazily commanded, "You'll at least wear this for the common good." He resumed leaning on his armrest and gazed through the ugly walls.

The soldiers dragged Nom out of the hall. The elites in the foyer paused their gossiping as watched as he was carried out of the building and thrown down the stairs. He careened and banged out of control, landing with a thud at the bottom. To Nom that seemed preferable to a crunch.

To his surprise, he was no longer guarded. In fact, Khargis left, and everyone on the street ignored him now, so he pushed himself up and rubbed some new bruises. He looked at the shackle around his wrist. It was steel, intricately engraved with glyphs, some more prominent and deep than others. He tried removing it, but could not open or slide it off. He sighed, then took advantage of his newfound anonymity and limped back toward the seer encampment. He wandered around looking for Omega, and no one seemed to care. Some goggled seers gave him strange looks, but otherwise left him alone. He went to the largest building where a number of people, seers and otherwise, entered and left. He tried to blend in with one group and went in.

It turned out to be a mess hall, abuzz with conversation, seers taking food from buffets, and eating at long tables. He was actually hungry, so he moved with the crowd toward the food, but when he grabbed for a bowl, someone grabbed his arm, pulled it back, and started berating him in a language he didn't understand. A heavily tattooed seer poked Nom in the chest, still angry and yelling, and pointed at the door. Before Nom could react, the seer tore off his goggles and gazed menacingly at Nom. A number of other seers in the room stood up and pulled off their goggles too, prompting Nom to back slowly toward the door, dragging the angry seer with him. Some seers looked on while others verbally disapproved of Nom's abuser, and some taunted the objectors. The shouting in the room grew, but the seer released Nom's wrist and went silent, looking quizzically between Nom's face and his new shackle.

Another seer stepped in front of Nom and grabbed his shoulders. "Someone's been looking for you," the man said, and whisked Nom out of the building. As they left, the seers in the cafeteria started to push each other, and a few came to blows.

Out on the street, the sounds of a brawl grew until the door closed. Nom brushed off the man's hands and demanded, "What in the Hollow just happened in there?"

The seer had swirling designs scarred into his face and glyphs branded on his arms, crisscrossing other terrible scars. He must have had serious arm injuries in the past, perhaps torture. Other than the skin decorations, he looked like—Nom had to do a double take—his facial features were like Omega's. "Some seers assume superiority," said the man. "Others don't, and even though we don't all get along, we have a pact not to use darklight to settle our disagreements." The man put a forefinger on his lips, pulled out a cloth and wrapped it around Nom's wrist shackle. He beckoned to follow, then, frustrated at Nom's stupefied look, grabbed his hand and pulled him down a side street.

They entered a small cabin. Amazingly, the first thing he saw inside was Omega's face. Her expression, as usual, was veiled by her goggles. Nom's joy diminished when he saw the engravings on her goggles, and her garb that mimicked all the other seers in Zulm.

Omega noticed his dismay. She reached out a pleading arm to him with her hand spread out, and hastily whispered, "No no no, it's not like that." The black burn around her wrist from Sojourner was visible, and further down her arm fresh brands and carvings matched the glyph engravings on her goggles. Nom grasped her hand gingerly, turned her arm over and pushed up the fabric of her sleeve to find more new scarring.

---

He tenderly touched a lock of her dark hair, then pulled the fabric back down, covering her for the last time. He felt too exhausted for tears for now, but Saqu couldn't stop crying. He handed her over to the Gatekeeper.

The Gate was on the rim, overlooking the Kibru River far below. Pits had been dug into the stone, and filled with wooden pyres. The ashes of the deceased could float to the sky, or land in the river and wash out to sea, or filter into the fertile fields of the Cradle, wherever nature decided they were needed the most. Many from around the empire embalmed their dead first, and traveled far to bring their loved ones here. In times of strife, citizens might have to wait a long time for a pyre to open up. The city had been under an extended period of strife, and Nom was grateful to Shanayn for pulling some strings on his behalf.

"The fabric is a nice choice," said Shanayn.

"It's the kite pattern I was working on," said Nom, starting to choke up again. "Maybe she'll fly to the stars."

"Adi daruni, so she will," said Shanayn.

"Adi daruni," said Nom.

The Gatekeeper asked, "Does she have a name?"

"Qarittu," Nom said.

The Gatekeeper placed her on the pyre and said, "May Simtu take Qarittu in, and the Firebird bring her back."

"Adi daruni," everyone replied, and the Gatekeeper lit the fire.

---

The burns looked painful, freshly cauterized, the carvings not completely scabbed over. "You poor girl," Nom said with concern, "what did they do to you?"

She took her hand back and pulled down her sleeve to cover the wounds. She removed her goggles and handed them to the other seer. He took them, they nodded at one another, and he left.

Nom gave her a puzzled look.

She spoke very softly, "They see what I see, through those. They'll know less through these." She gingerly touched her forearm. "I tried to fight, but I had no strength to stop them branding us. I couldn't—couldn't—" Nom reached out and squeezed her shoulders. She started sobbing and hugged him. "It hurt so much, Nōm."

"There, there." He patted her head, and pushed her to arm's length. "You survived, and that's important. We will get out of here. Dev, Ahden, and even Omuti, are ready to help you."

"I'm so glad they're ok. But I don't know what other danger these glyphs will bring, whether they can hear what you and I say, or control us, or kill us, or—"

"We'll figure it out and fight it. These markings are just mankind trying to harness an awful power, and we're already in the fight against that power. I doubt this bracelet they gave me can eavesdrop, but if it can, I have a few choice words that Omnos is welcome to hear."

She calmed down and wiped her face off, then asked, "What bracelet, and who is Omnos? They were chanting that on the big ship, right?"

He unwrapped his manacle. Before he could cover it again, she grabbed his arm and pushed his sleeve up, a look of surprise on her face. "Nōm, what happened? Where are your brandings?"

That nonsensical comment was concerning. Nom said, "Maybe we should get those goggles back on you, girl. I have the same old markings as ever, no brandings."

"But they branded you too. They made me watch, tried to make me submit voluntarily, you lying there unconscious. I could smell it, Nōm, the burning flesh."

"No, Oa, they were tricking you. See?" He pushed up both his sleeves, and pulled down his collar to show his unburned skin, and same tattoos as always. "You probably conflated it with your own trauma." He covered himself back up, and the glyph manacle. "They only gave me this lock of a trinket. Probably thought the branding would be too much and kill me. Maybe right, at that."

Omega looked very confused, then looked around. "I need a mirror."

"I'm not a revenant," Nom said.

"That's probably what a revenant would say," countered Omega as she searched around the room.

Nom searched his memory and said, "Actually, revenants don't really say anything, that I know of. But what of your seer friend? Do you trust him?"

Omega stopped her search and nodded.

"See, he wouldn't bring a revenant here. Besides, those big wards around this place are supposed to keep all that stuff away." He waved his hand dismissively at imagined danger. Nom jerked his head at the door. "Who is he anyway?"

"Niuraak. He's like us—me," she corrected, "branded forcibly. He was there, and helped with my injuries. I think he has a soft spot for me, since he thought I was from Iluquiek, like him."

"So, do we keep up that ruse?"

"No, it's fine. I told him my parents immigrated to Whithom. It's not uncommon. And Omnos?"

"Right," Nom said slowly. "Emperor of the Rabidian Empire."

"Uh..." Omega said.

"Right," Nom repeated. "Not much teeth in that title anymore, but he does have the wooden crown. He was emperor when I left, and also a farseer. He somehow made it here, and seems to be mining for iron, making steel, spreading glyphs around, and being his insane, cruel, yellow-eyed self of yore."

"You think he's the Mage," she said.

"Maybe, but there's some things that don't quite—"

"He's not," she said with flat conviction.

"But you hadn't even heard of him a moment ago."

"I saw the Mage, Nōm." She shuddered, and shrank her arms in close. "He did this to me. He was a horrible shadow, looming darkly in the room with us—you, me, the other seers—but not there at all. I saw him through the glyphs, like a burning coldness, sharp, calculating, waiting; not like a farseer at all. He could touch me, hurt me, through the other seers." She started panicking again. "He could do it now, or make me hurt you. You have to go!"

Nom was deeply disturbed by this, and tried to calm her, but she batted away his placating arms, and pushed him toward the door. "Niuraak!" she shouted. The door opened, and Omega pushed Nom out of the building and slammed the door behind him. He heard her sobbing on the other side. Niuraak looked at him calmly, as though this happened every day. Maybe it did.

Nom gave him an angry look, then leaned into the door. He said softly, but loud enough to be heard, "Omega, now that we found you, we can all leave."

"Then go!" came Omega's muted shout through the door.

"Omega," Nom pleaded, with no response.

"She can't go," said Niuraak.

"I thought anyone could walk out of here," said Nom, aggressively.

"Anyone but seers and soldiers. We reinforce the wards and power of Zulm. Everyone else is presumed to die in the desert, but we are punished if we try to leave. The wards keep the darklight out, and us in."

"Then help us," Nom said.

Niuraak looked at Nom with a blank expression, and shook his head. He pulled the cloth off Nom's manacle, pointed to the strip mine, and said, "Now go." Nom tried to stare the man down, then gave in with a sigh and walked to the pit.