CHAPTER 5
The Lost Sun Society
W hen she arrived at the door and plainly stated that she intended to join on the grounds of being a theurge, they made a great deal of fuss and played up the ritual of everything to an asinine degree. She was let in and led to a firing range, observed by a procession in ominous robes. The whole thing was officiated by a man in bright yellow robes with a heavy turban over his head, who spoke in pointlessly flowery language. In short, it felt like a crass and shallow attempt to capture the sense of the sublime that the Twin Churches legitimately exuded.
The target was a six-headed chimera whose features Krahe honestly didn’t bother discerning. It just looked like a mashup of various predatory beasts on a chunky body with a lizard-like tail and an insect-minotaur lower half, six bug legs and all. The target was its chest, and there, she aimed.
She gave them a standoff shot. With a pull of the trigger, the talisman struck her arm and burned up. Her previously formed forearm carapace was brought to life with the bursting of that weird blood-like fluid upon its detachment, and the missile sprinted across the fifteen-meter gap before stopping. Bright, gold-orange light poured out from its palm, at first a wide cone, only to narrow down and hone in on its target. A burst of light and sound and a bright scream caused four of the chimera’s heads to blast flame from their mouths. The arm simply turned to dust and tar, and the spirit animating it returned to her in an instant.
“Fourth-order… fourth-order… It’s fourth-order… A Chthonian Eel…” came murmurs from the crowd. It seemed that the Deathsmoke Blessing’s obfuscation either didn’t extend to her constructs, or there was no relation between Chthonian Eels and Chernobog.
At that moment, all the onlookers flipped up their hoods. Krahe's feeling that this was an initiation into a group of posers desperately LARPing as occultists only grew.
Most of them lacked any edge, exuding the aura of high-level enthusiasts and geeks. The Lost Sun Society decisively leaned on the side of a glorified clubhouse rather than a true occult society; that didn’t discredit it as a place for gathering intel, and it certainly made it easier for Krahe. She nonetheless disliked it, simply due to how hokey the occult facade felt in its discordance with what was truly behind the veil.
It felt like walking into a historical orthodox church, only to be met by stage lights and a plastic-faced prosperity preacher behind the pulpit.
“I, Zachariah Ahmadi, who carry the burden of speaker, shall now receive the members’ votes and render up my judgment as to whether or not Brunhilde Krahe shall be accepted into our midst.”
With one gesture, dozens of yellow talismans flew out from the sleeves of his robe, hovering before each member. Going by the reaction this got, it was new. It also immediately confirmed that the speaker was her contact. Murmurs of the Talisman Mistress abounded while a steady trickle of the papers was sent flying back to Zachariah. One by one, the members touched the papers and sent tiny wisps of thauma into them. They arrayed in a wall in front of him, then, once all were gathered, Zachariah crossed his hands. With a bombastic gesture of throwing his arms wide, he sent them into a swirling, indistinguishable mass, which, after a few moments, separated into two distinct groups. From Krahe’s perspective, the left-hand group was three-and-a-half to four times larger than the right-hand one.
“A more contentious vote than I had expected, but I understand why some of our esteemed members may hesitate to admit a late-stage Anathemist into our ranks. For this reason, I would like to make it clear that anathemism alone is not a disqualifying factor. It is the deleterious effects it often has on the practitioner’s ability to function within our Society without breaching its other rules.”
Another gesture, and the papers all retreated inside his sleeves.
“If anyone wishes to protest the results of this vote, this is your opportunity to do so.”
Unsurprisingly, given the vote results, someone did. A lanky Saurian with an appearance on the “humanoid dinosaur” side. It was a woman, going by the voice. By her robes, proximity to Zachariah, and the small wave of murmurs, she seemed to be a respected, higher-ranked member. She managed to pick out the objector’s first name as well: Sorayah.
“Regardless of whether or not she is a capable occultist, and regardless of whatever magical means she uses to animate her arm, the advanced stage of Ms. Brunhilde’s anathemic poisoning cannot be ignored. It is known that once the carbonization reaches an Anathemist’s face, she only has a short and painful few months to live. Many among our number have seen what lengths Anathemists go to in these final months, and though I loath to deny a desperate soul the hope which the Lost Sun Society may seem to offer, I must raise my most severe objection for the good of us all.”
While the lizard-woman talked, Krahe raised her hand, rolling her wrist and carrying out various hand exercises while explicitly not channeling an iota of magic, as a way to make it abundantly clear that she wasn’t suffering from any such deleterious effects. This garnered her a mix of venomous and envious glares.
“For the record, I do not suffer from any of the effects of acute or chronic anathema poisoning.”
“Surely, you cannot expect us to believe such claims at face value,” another individual cut in. Male. Pale, soft-voiced, and baby-faced. It was a fair point.
“Surely, in this society of the occult, individuals with abnormal constitutions are both known and present. The fact that the speaker uses the works of Talisman Mistress Yao Fu is proof enough.”
Another wave of murmurs came: “Yao Fu?… Is that her name?… How would she know?”
Zachariah’s expression changed at that, a brief moment of surprise flashing over his features while Sorayah’s face soured.
“I do not see how the Talisman Mistress, whatever her actual name is, plays into this. Are you just trying to distract from your own state?”
“What state? Perfect health?” Krahe laughed. She turned her attention to the Speaker, approaching him, pointedly ignoring Sorayah. “I wish to make it abundantly clear that I neither care for nor intend to participate in whatever clique politics Sorayah is so obviously concerned with. This, in itself, ought to placate her with the knowledge that I am too busy with matters of my own to attempt ousting her from whatever position she holds within this Society. There are only two reasons for me to join your Lost Sun Society: The first is advancement of my occultism, and though I’m sure that those of a higher rank in the Society have easier access to its resources, I would rather contend with the beasts of Jas’raba than power-playing snakes. As for the second… it is the search for a Tarnished Jade Flower .”
Tarnished Jade Flower was a phrase from one of Nozar’s contacts who had done business with Yao. It was, supposedly, the phrase she had given when asked how she might be contacted for further business. The man had used it as payment, and Nozar, in turn, demanded payment for it as well in the form of a second vial of Class 3 Pain Suppressant.
“You have made your point. As I have already mentioned, the practice of anathemism alone is not grounds for rejection, and besides carbodermatism, itself a comorbidity, you do not appear to exhibit any of the acute symptoms of late-stage anathema poisoning.”
Zachariah stumbled through a bramble of his own words for another twenty seconds, for whose entire span Sorayah stared daggers into Krahe while Krahe kept her gaze on Zachariah. At last, he said, “Henceforth, Brunhilde Krahe, thou may count thyself among the ranks of the Lost Sun Society. There yet remain some matters of ritual to deal with in private before you become a true member, and I shall contact you regarding them within the next two hours. For the time being, explore our facilities and library. I trust that you will find its contents second to none besides the greater agencies, the restricted sections of the Twin Churches’ Temple of Records, and perhaps some private collections.”
With that, he left, exiting by a door behind the chimera, while the others filed out of doors to the sides, doubtlessly to change out of those ridiculous robes. In the meanwhile, Krahe made her way to the common area upstairs.
The Society was legally an agency, but the contract board was minimal and in the corner, and the main public room couldn’t be more of a bougie coffeehouse if it tried. The bar, manned by a gynoid automaton with the sigil of the Society on its face, seemed to also serve as the place for taking out and handing in contracts. One-third of the common room’s considerable floor space, all the way on the other side from the bar, was dedicated to large tables with elaborate dioramas laid out in the center, as well as shelves and shelves of books and boxes. Idols, statuettes, and miniatures of various sizes completely took up a wall of displays.
Various members started filing in after a few minutes. Despite the tentatively friendly atmosphere, Krahe felt bile rise in her throat every time one of the other members accosted her about her use of anathemism, or, God forbid, Wandrei Faust. Sorayah was nowhere to be found.
Despite all her misgivings, it couldn’t be denied that the Society’s facilities were very, very nice. It was no surprise why it would be a desirable gathering place. The library, too, held an impressive collection, though she hadn’t explored the Temple of Records thoroughly enough to discern how the Society’s library compared to the restricted sections. There were certainly some books and scrolls that seemed like they belonged in the higher numbered sections. It was located on an upper floor, up a spiraling, narrow staircase, and the librarian made it abundantly clear that she was not allowed to take most of the books out of the building and some not even out of the library. That was perfectly reasonable.
While she was browsing, a member found her. He looked young, wearing what could be described as a lower-level version of Casus’ getup: foppish satin shirt, tight trousers, knee-high boots, a meticulous, oiled short hairstyle. It felt fake. He lacked the confident aura such a getup should dictate. Krahe had met many like him, young idiots who wanted to look like their favorite mercenary-celeb and got themselves killed. He had to be in his twenties at the latest, but the lack of age wasn’t the sign; Casus didn’t give off this same aura of innocent youth, and even Krahe herself was physically back in her twenties. No, it was the look in his eyes and the way he spoke. He introduced himself as Reuben. Krahe just let him rattle on and on about theurgy, only half-mindedly paying attention to what he said as she idly paged through one book after the next, including his theories of how he thought the Wandrei Faust worked, until he asked a question.
“And how’d you come by a Chthonian Eel? Please don’t say a normal spirit-calling ritual. Don’t say you were just lucky. Catching Deep Eidolon is something like a one in five thousand chance.”
“I can’t tell you how I did it,” she smiled. “There are methods other than spirit-calling rites.”
Disappointed, the young man sighed: “Alright, how about the theurgy at least? I know we’re not supposed to ask unless invited, but…”
“Have you read Secrets of the Atropal?”
“That sensationalist dreck?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
Krahe closed the book in her hand and stared straight at him.
“See, that’s how I know you haven’t even read more than a few pages. The sensationalist dreck ends after the foreword. I’m not trying to fool you; reading Secrets of the Atropal is what helped me get a grip on the fundamentals of theurgy. From there, look into Godbrush. If you can’t find it, try Manual of Talisman. The edition I read was from 4599.”
“I understand the Talisman Mistress is bringing them back into fashion, but I don’t see what would make them better than thaumshot.”
Sighing, she summoned a lemon Wandrei Faust talisman into her hand and held it up in his face. A look of taken-aback terror briefly took hold of his face before she could explain.
“Don’t worry, this one doesn’t work. It’s one of my first attempts at Wandrei Faust. It still looks near-perfect, right? But it’s a lemon. Now think, what’s harder? Just drawing and writing, or carving all these instructions inside a little ball of thaumstone? You don’t even get the safety net of just tossing a fuckup into an eraser solution so you can try again with the same paper, and one single fifteen-millimeter ball of thaumshot stock costs as much as fifty of these papers. Understand the appeal? The guilds so readily switched to thaumshot not just because of their real advantages, but also because the raised barrier to entry makes it that much less likely that the beginner occultist will be able to make his own instead of just buying them.”
That last part wasn’t even anything she had read or heard of; Krahe had simply deduced that it had to be the case based on her experience working with talisman paper. She quickly put it away and summoned one of the dregshot Reapers that Garvesh had given her.
“And look here. The outer layer with all the complex patterns isn’t dregstone. It’s the same thing as just wrapping a dregshot bullet in a talisman.”
“I… I see. Thank you for the pointers. And ah… look out for Sorayah. She has a grudge against Anathemists; her brother was one and met a grisly fate due to it.”
“Is that so? To what degree? What is the most severe manner in which she came after someone?”
“Well, uh, there was once a new member, not an Anathemist. The story goes he threatened Sorayah’s position, and then out of nowhere, he showed up anathema-charred head to toe and threw a huge tantrum right in the common room, then died. Rumor has it…”
“She irradiated and somehow had him kill himself. Interesting. Perhaps the true reason she hates Anathemists is their resistance to such tactics. A late-stage Anathemist can shrug off a dosage that would kill a normal person, after all, so whatever she did to that guy wouldn’t work on one.”
She noticed Reuben staring at her, aghast, as she thought aloud with her hand to her chin. There was something there; he wasn’t aghast because of the far-stretched theory. Did she coincidentally hit close to home? But how would he know? At that moment, Krahe realized. She recognized the rings on his hands and the coin-like earring dangling from his ear. He was one of the people who had stood right next to Sorayah.
“Ah, but it’s just a rumor, isn’t it,” she smiled, trying to diffuse the tension whilst leaning in closer as she continued to speak. “She probably pushed him out through some politicking, and he turned to anathemism thinking it would help him get one over on her, only to fall flat on his face and burn himself out. Either way, as I said earlier, I won’t make problems for Sorayah so long as she returns the favor.”
The motivation was to “sniff” him, in a manner of speaking. Intimately familiar with Isotope as she was, she found detecting it instinctive… and there it was. Faint, barely even present, but undeniably there, clinging to Reuben and tinging his cologne with an ephemeral acridity that wasn’t actually there.
Another member, a red-haired, tan, spunky girl of similar age to Reuben, barreled into the library, calling, “Is Ms. Brunhilde here? Hello?”
A moment later, she heard the librarian hissing at the girl to quiet down, but she had already taken the excuse and called back, “Yes, I’m here.”
As for Reuben, he saw the woman turn on her boot heel and walk off, but just as she passed him, she stopped for just a moment and whispered: “If Sorayah’s intent was to send a warning through you, let her know that I still don’t intend to play at politics. If she comes after me, I’ll gladly show her what real anathemism looks like.”
A chill ran down his spine as he glimpsed her eyes and bore witness to the cold flame of murder behind them. In an instant, the demon-woman flipped back into her casual demeanor, moving to meet the girl.
Reuben didn’t exhale until he heard the two of them leaving, Krahe’s voice echoing, “Call me Krahe, please. Brunhilde feels much too formal.”
???
As Krahe made her way back down, the girl who had come for her only affirmed what she had assumed to begin with. “Speaker Ahmadi wishes to meet with you, to finalize your membership.”
“I assumed as much,” Krahe said.
Wordlessly, the girl led her to the end of the hallway where the library stairway was located. She gently placed her hand on the door and a pulse of thauma went out from her.
“The Speaker will be with you shortly,” she said with a smile, and walked off.
It wasn’t even three minutes before the door opened in front of her, with Zachariah waving her into his office: “Come in, come in. Don’t mind the door. Take a seat.”
Krahe felt her fight-or-flight instinct flaring. It was just like the offices of so many self-proclaimed, all-too-wealthy “collectors.” Lacquered wood paneling, a lavish rug covering the whole damn floor, an eclectic variety of artifacts on display… on and on it went. There was a huge, corked, sealed-up bottle standing in the corner; inside it, a lush environment of plants, small lizards, and beetles.
The difference between Zachariah’s office and her closest point of reference was that this was fairly normal for someone of Zachariah’s position, rather than being a grotesque flex of power through money and connections. This didn’t even compare to the grandeur of Twin Churches facilities, yet they didn’t offend either, as that imagery hadn’t been sullied in her mind. Indeed, an office such as this was only second to a stereotypical corpocrat’s office in how hard it yanked on Krahe’s death-strings.
“Ms. Krahe?” Zachariah’s voice snapped her out of it. She had been staring at that terrarium while her mind wandered.
“Sorry. It just reminded me of something,” she said, taking a seat.
“We all wander off, sometimes. It is of no concern!” the Speaker beamed, pushing an ornamental jade box across the table towards her. “The Tarnished Jade Flower lies herein. Do you know what it is? More than a mere code-phrase, it’s…”
He slowly opened it for dramatic effect, though his enthusiasm undercut that.
It was an identity token, like from some Chinese period drama. The body was made of dark, polished granite, a braided red cord looped through a hole in the top. In its center was a lotus flower with tattered petals, rendered in mottled jade, mostly white, with gorgeous webs of black and green streaking through. Notably, in the box was also an inkstone and a bright vermilion inkstick, with two symbols that Krahe didn’t recognize but looked very much like Old Chinese. Since Cantonese had supplanted it as the dominant form of Chinese with Goujian II’s reconguista, she hadn’t ever needed to learn it.
“Are you aware of its use, or do you only know the code-phrase?”
“I’m afraid I was not made aware of the specifics, but I might guess as to how the Flower is used given the ink stick. A stamp of some kind, perhaps?”
“Right you are!” he beamed once more. Then, the levity drained from him as he took out the objects in turn, gravely explaining: “Anyone stamped using this flower, this specific ink stick, and this specific inkstone will ‘ become known’ to the Talisman Mistress. As she described it, a basic snapshot of your capabilities will be taken at the moment of stamping and sent directly to her. Then, for several days or until she removes the mark, your location will be known to her at all times. She made it very clear not to use the Flower unless one has good reason to contact her in the immediate future. Is that your case?”
“It certainly is.”
As quick as the snapping of a rubber band, he switched back to his cheerful self: “Excellent! We can get started then. Feel free to get comfortable, this ink takes an eon and a half to grind.”
A few minutes passed as Zachariah began the arduous and, indeed, time-consuming prep work. The only sound to fill the silence was the inkstick grinding against the inkstone.
“I’m curious. How does this work? The thing with the Flower. Not on the magical side, the personal one. Why did you take the code-phrase at face value? Did Yao herself order you to do so?”
“You have the right of it, yes. She chose me, and a small handful of others, as middlemen. A first layer of vetting, so to speak.”
Slowly, round and round, in steady motions, Zachariah ground away at the ink stick. With each revolution, the water on the flat portion of the inkstone turned to ink, the pigment coalescing into unnatural wisps of perfectly scarlet color, draining away into the reservoir at the other side of the inkstone, leaving only a tiny puddle of water. Time and again, this cycle repeated until no water was left and the reservoir was filled up to a particular line. Zachariah tipped the stone back so the ink would return to its flat portion and took out the Tarnished Jade Flower.
He pressed the hybrid badge/stamp into the stone, which fit together perfectly. Performing a series of signs with his free hand, he poured an impressive torrent of thauma into the stamp—wisps of golden light spiraling around his arm. Just from the aura it gave off, Krahe was certain that it was a greater feat of raw arcane power than she was capable of, and yet, it was contained.
When he raised it, all the ink was gone, and the stamp now shone with a bright red mirrored outline of its symbol.
“Now, Lady Yao did state that this ought to be placed upon as flat an area of skin as possible…”
“Must you apply it?”
“I’m not sure what you mean—”
Krahe unbuckled her pants. The sound of the buckle was clue enough.
“Ah. I see. No, my part is done. You need only hold it strongly to the right spot until the buzzing sensation passes. Shall I…”
“Turn around, yes.”
“Right.”
With that, Zachariah spun his chair around, awkwardly offering her the stamp behind his back. A few moments later, Krahe had it clamped tightly between her thighs.
“Buzzing sensation” was an understatement; it felt much like having a tattoo done all at once, perhaps due to the fact the stamp’s magic was trying very, very hard to pierce anti-scrying defenses that weren’t there.
“Er, is… Is everything alright? It has been twice as long as usual.”
“And yet it’s still going,” she remarked dryly.
It was another half-minute before, at last, it gave up, leaving a patch of irritated skin in whose midst Krahe could make out the flower sigil. She popped three tabryxa pills into her mouth. Nonetheless, it was done, and Krahe absolutely did feel an indefinable something exit the stamp when she removed it from her skin and put it back on the table.
“You may turn around now,” she said, buckling her trousers.
The Speaker, avoiding mention of the awkward sequence of events, took the stamp, wiped it down, and put it back in its case.
“Now, it is a matter of waiting,” he said. “I hope that you find whatever it is you are looking for. And ah… do not mind Sorayah. She and her circle are merely wary of new members.”
A lie by way of understatement if Krahe ever heard one, but she didn’t feel like confronting the old man after showing her serendipity, so she simply gave him a nod of acknowledgment and left.