A thousand voices lifted.

“Anuk! Anuk!” A thousand feet stomped. “Anuk! Anuk!” Gilli von Meerbacht looked down at his belly. He should probably have taken better care of himself, he thought. He smacked it and then rubbed his shoulder. The pain from the outhouse incident still lingered. The gate opened in front of him, without human interaction, and he walked into the corridor.

“I wonder how that works,” he thought, pondering mechanical thoughts. 

“Anuk! Anuk!”

The cold dark stone stung his bare feet and the chilly wind tickled his bare belly. He emerged into the arena and looked at the crowd. Thousands of Vorgen were eagerly awaiting the match. From the far end, Anuk emerged from another corridor, and the crowd cheered. The arena was quite simple—a low wall separated the spectators from the athletes, and two pillars with weights stood at either side. Heavy sand and grit covered the floor, and a ring showed the starting area. They met each other at the centre. Anuk grabbed Gilli’s shoulders and bowed his head until it reached Gilli’s chest. Gilly replied, awkwardly bowing his head and patting Anuk’s shoulders. The young Vorgen laughed at Gilly and stepped back into his fighting stance. Gilli was not one to follow procedure or stand on social protocol, but he knew it was important to these people. Tradition was what made you one of them. He tried bowing to the crowd a few times, but he knew he must have made a spectacle of himself. Thereafter, he turned to Anuk and put his hand on his knee—his preferred fighting stance. The arena grew quiet. A set of weights was dropped from one of the pillars. The crowd watched. Anuk closed his eyes. The weights crashed to the ground.

The arena erupted and Anuk struck first, stepping forward, extending his front leg, sliding an arm beneath Gilli’s shoulder and twisted, flinging the big man headfirst into the sand.

Gilli in turn, while revolving around Anuk, dropped his arm, grabbing Anuk by the waist. As he landed he rolled and pulled Anuk over him, using his momentum to take him upright. He then swung around, striking with a backhand but Anuk ducked to his left, his palm striking Gilli in the ribs.

“Okay, perhaps not taking care of myself has its advantages,” he thought, feeling the impact but no pain. Gilli kicked like a donkey and the crowd laughed. Anuk smiled, then jumped up onto Gilli’s shoulders in an attempt to fling him across the Arena. Gilli was nudged forward, then he grabbed Anuk by the hips and slammed him down on the heavy grit sand. Half the crowd grew silent, the others went wild with both disapproval and astonishment. 

Anuk coughed but then flipped back onto his feet and kicked Gilli in the face. He turned and kicked him in the face again, again, and again. He then charged at Gilli, slamming one hand into his solar plexus, the other on Gilli’s spine, and jumped, causing both of them to land in the sand. 

The crowd roared.

Gilli was winded. He struggled to get his breath back. Anuk locked a leg around Gilli’s right arm, pinned his left arm, and stood on his hip. Gilli knew what was next. Anuk lifted his right hand, balled it in a fist and started pounding Gilli’s face.

“My nose, my beautiful nose,” lamented Gilli’s thoughts. “Why would he strike my beautiful nose?”

Gilli grew angry.

The crowd cheered as Anuk pummeled Gilli. They laughed and teased when they saw Gilli crying. They grew quiet when he roared and lifted Anuk up out of his pinned position. They were silent when he bear-hugged Anuk, and they clapped and roared when Anuk passed out. 

A few seconds later the second set of weights crashed to the ground.

Gilli had won the match.

***

“Hold still you big baby,” said Glen as he checked Gilli’s nose. Across from them on a hammock, suspended from the stone walls sat Anuk, Ricard and Cadman.

“Oi!” barked Cadman. “Pe’ha’s yo’ shoul’ ha’ ta’e’ i’ easy o’ em?”

“Aye, me ma had produced a beautiful little nose, and now, it’s all crooked and skew,” Gilli’s heavy Scottish accent sounded. He flinched as Glen touched his nose.

“Big man. Must hit hard,” said Anuk.

Ricard sat, staring at the Vorgen’s face, completely fascinated.

“If I may Anuk, may I enquire as to the nature of your painted face? It’s unlike the others I have grown accustomed to,” asked Ricard. The Vorgen moved uneasily, glanced around the room and answered,

“Telling strangers frowned upon. Big man now brother. I will tell.”

“The one on your forehead and the hooked ones on your cheek, what do they mean?” asked the spectacled scholar.

Anuk pointed to the one on his forehead.

“Man of prophecy,”—then at his cheek—“man of change.” He looked down at his hands. “Vorgen very religious, champion is man of prophecy, Anuk don’t agree, Anuk live in real world.”

“Ouch! Ye clumsy doctor!” exclaimed Gilli as the doctor shifted his nose back into place.

“There,” sighed Glen. “As good as new, but, you could hardly notice the break,”—he picked up a matted lock of hair—“considering your disinclination towards soap and water,”—he tugged at Gilli’s beard—“and your fear of a cutthroat.”

“Och, it makes me one of them.” Gilli pointed at Anuk, whose face contorted.

“Vorgen, clean, wash twice a day,” said the man.

Ricard Bleuamar glanced at Gilli and Glen, then looked at Anuk.

“What does the prophecy say?”

“New come, Maw fall, Champion arrive, betrayers slavery,” Anuk replied.

“I see, well, it is very interesting.” He fixed his spectacles and wrote in his notebook.

“Aye! Well, what interests me is the next challenge. Anook, what are we going to do?” Gilli said.

“Run around mountain, meet Mother Grand, get mark,” replied Anuk. “Come!”

***

Gilli made his way out to the Arena. The structure had lifted up, forming an archway, framing the Mountain to the West. At the centre, the Mother Grand stood waiting alongside Vos, the Chief. The old woman stood upright but her face had seen many years and her grey hair trailed behind her as she walked. She circled Gilli a few times, then looked straight at his shoulder—the one that had the injury from the outhouse incident. There was no way she could know anything of it, there was no mark at all.

She stepped closer quickly and grasped it, inspecting it—her face not changing in the slightest. She looked up, down and across the area, then pressed her thumb right into the epicentre of his pain.

Gilli groaned.

She stepped back as if she had touched some forbidden object. She looked at Vos and spoke in Vorgen. He replied as if surprised, then stepped forward and inspected the area himself, saying,

“Run around the mountain. Return, we mark you, Vorgen New brother.”

“Aye, thank you,” answered Gilli and started walking towards the gateway. Six young Vorgen men flanked him and started jogging.

When he left the gate, a rifle sounded and he knew he had to run. The seven of them broke into a stride that was slightly uncomfortable to the big man, but he managed it nonetheless.

“Now,” he thought, “for my secret weapon!”

From that moment on, there weren’t many things that Gilli could remember of the run. He slipped into a fantasy of the mind. His inventions and his ideas took flight in his mind’s eye and he recalled the strange time when he had arrived at Adelwreth.

***

Gilli never stole anything, he just borrowed it, changed it, and used it for a while. He would eventually give it back, along with something useful to make up for time spent without it. This had gotten him into a lot of trouble when he was a child.

When he was nine, he invented an automatic water dispenser that incorporated a foot pedal that released a brake on a pulley system. This in turn released a counterweight, spinning a wheel connected to a pump, which pumped the water. The counterweight could then be reset manually or automatically through wind power. Much better than the old hand pump. The problem was that the town was without water for a few days and men had to climb the water tower to get it, as Gilli had borrowed all the pipes for his project. Men had to ride to the city to get parts, as there weren’t any other left.

“Ooh, this is a nice little river,” he thought as the seven of them ran past a creek.

At twelve he made a directional lantern. Its design was a long slender tube. The back housed the oil and the wick. The glass was covered with a metal shutter and beneath it, perpendicular to it was a revolving cylinder that housed matches. The function was that when you pressed down on a lever, the shutter would open, ignite a match by turning the cylinder and produce light in a steady path in front of you. There was no need to hold a lantern up to the side anymore. The problem, however, was that it had to be kept the right way up and stored vertically. As he discovered, the results for not adhering to this was oil leaking all over the place and possibly a rather dangerous fire hazard.

“How did it get dark so quickly?” he thought as the seven of them trudged on. The two Vorgen in front spoke to one another in their native language, glancing back at him, chuckling. He looked at them, then noticed his right eye was seeing only blackness. He came back to reality for a second. He felt the pain in his legs, the rumblings in his belly, and a wet leafy texture against his face. He swatted at it and dislodged the small branch from his hair. He must have run straight through a bush, it seemed. 

“Not the matter,” he thought and retreated back into his thoughts.

When he had arrived on the Whis, a ship headed for Adelwreth, with a summons from a Mr Thule promising endorsements for his projects, he had been busy with another project. He had theorised that it was possible to communicate over long distances. He was inspired one day when he lay on the railway tracks, hearing the monstrous engine roar kilometres away. 

His first attempts incorporated a large brass funnel, a glass disk, a spring, a needle, and a piece of the railway. He later heard that a certain train passing his hometown had been derailed not long after. He would have returned the track. He had thought the employment in Adelwreth would only be a few weeks. It turned out, however, that this was not the case. 

In more recent times, he had bought a home and he somewhat enjoyed living in the city. There were different challenges almost weekly. Oh, there were some mistakes here and there, setting a fire that could have burnt down the city, creating a butchering machine that almost destroyed the factory, but in the end, all was well. He had made new friends. Ricard Bleuamar—the librarian, had shown the most interest in his inventions. He had helped him think of the safety features, and plan ahead for experiments. He had kept Gilli from causing harm, but supported him in his extraordinary projects.

Glen Podark had mended his wounds, supplied him with liquor and taken him out to the Lütz tavern on a weekly basis. There they would sometimes run into Harold the Flashman. Glen would often shake his head in disbelief when Gilli unveiled a new idea, but even he had lit a spark for invention in Gilli.

A snake hissed and Gilli jumped over it.

“Careful!” said the Vorgen to the left. “Snake bite, you die, mountain never finish.”

“Close call,” thought Gilli, and pondered on.

Glen had this habit of—when arriving at the Thule Estate—jumping into the water feature to get sober, then plonking down on a chair so hard that it would break. Mr Thule must have bought a dozen or more chairs before Gilli made a spring-loaded chair specially for Glen. The water feature swim was a good idea though. Gilli often smelled of sweat and stink, but a jump into fish-filled water could mask those smells for a while. There was no time for washing when you had to invent things. There was no time for washing when you had to drink.

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon.

“Hah! Almost done,” he thought. His legs were aching and his belly was trembling, begging him for a scrap of food. He gazed at the landscape and the six Vorgen running with him. They looked tired. Exhausted. To him, it had felt like less than a few minutes. His mind had detached from his body, another reason why washing was a strange thing. The mind was the important thing, one which had to be washed with alcohol every day.

It was winter, that much was certain. The sun came up further North and the wind blew cold against his bare chest and belly. Icicles formed on his beard and it seemed as if he were blowing out plumes of smoke. 

He marvelled at the city as they came closer—he hadn’t seen it when they entered. Cadman had driven them here from Adelwreth. Gilli had sat with his back to the front, engaged in his communication device’s design. Now he saw that these seemingly primitive people had a complex city. The walls opened up in front of them, arching over them as they entered. Some strange mechanics were used here.

“That must have been a couple of tons,” he thought.

They ran into the arena where the Mother Grand and Vos were waiting. Vos seemed happy. The Mother Grand’s face was unchanged. 

The six escorts slumped down, stretched and rubbed their aching muscles. Gilli just stood with his hands on his hips, breathing slightly harder than normal.

“Now, become brother,” said Vos, looking at Gilli and gesturing to the old woman. She stepped forward, whipped out a handful of blue flowers, and approached Gilli.

“Aye, uh, ma’am. Can you maybe put that mark here on the arm?” he asked as politely as he could, then flinched. “Me ma made such a beautiful face.”

She stopped, then grabbed his shoulder and flicked the thornlike flowers, according to a pattern, into his skin. It burned at first, but then it soothed the skin and the pain beneath. That silly outhouse incident. When the sensation passed, he opened his eyes and looked at it. There was a dot and seven spikes in blue on his skin.

“Aye, uh, what does that mean?” he asked Vos. The mother grand whispered something to Vos, then chuckled. Her face now shone with pride and love. Vos took Gilli by the shoulders, bowed his head and touched his chest. Gilli responded awkwardly, as always. The Mother Grand did the same.

***

“So did it work?” asked Glen as the carriage shook.

“Eeeeh… well the pain is gone,” replied Gilli, “but the shame is not.”

“I thought the pain was a small price to pay, to be honest, although I am happy Anuk told you about the Mother Grand and this ritual of theirs,” said Ricard. “Did you tell him what happened at the outhouse?” Ricard and Glen started laughing.

“Och! The shame, the shame.” Gilli sat back. “Noh, I only told him about a pain I had that wouldn’t go away and that there was nothing wrong with my shoulder, according to Glen.”

“So you became a Vorgen to heal a phantom pain,” laughed Glen. “Well, you are luckier than most, blowing yourself up like that.”

“Aye! Have you been down there?” he asked Glen. Glen swallowed.

“Not yet, I hope I’m never there.”

“It is a horrible place,” replied Bleuamar. “In some ways worse than, well, there,” he sighed and then continued. “Did they tell you what the marking means, by any chance?”

“Well,” Gilli stretched and opened his shirt to reveal the blue mark.

“Vos said it means Many Lives.”

Ricard and Glen looked at each other, shocked.

“How did they know?” asked Ricard.

“Aye! I didn’t tell anyone, I promise!” replied Gilli.

***

The carriage rolled and shook into the closing night. Wolves howled in the distance and Gilli’s snores kept most things away, and everyone awake.