The Silver Sphinx

 

“'Course, any fool can act without thought. Many do. But they act not only without thought, but also without knowledge. They move themselves external to the ways of the multiverse.

Know yourself and your place in the multiverse, and you will see yourself moving as one with the planes, without thinking."

Factol Rhys

 

 

Third Void Day of Savorus, 126 HR

After the more than unpleasant conversation with Garush, Morânia had said goodbye to the others and set off for the Great Gymnasium. The afternoon was drawing to a close and soon the Last Light would fall. The harsh words that had been exchanged between her husband and the group still hung over the bal'aasi's mind like a dark veil. But nevertheless she tried to purposely appreciate the last moments of this day with its by Sigil standards unusually friendly weather. It helped that she came across a patch of prismatic rain on her way to her faction headquarters. This weather phenomenon, which only occurred during the month of Savorus, was not really rain in the form of water droplets, but rather a kind of curtain, consisting of streaks in every imaginable color. It was a bit like hundreds of rainbows falling over the City of Doors. When traversing such a prismatic rain curtain, all senses became keener. The individual colors also carried a wide variety of smells: sometimes there was the scent of strawberries or fresh bread, another time one could perceive the odor of leather or salt water, but sometimes it also smelled like rotting leaves or old bones. Sometimes one could even taste these smells. In addition, the individual colors carried different tones with them: birdsong, the clanging of a hammer on an anvil, the sound of pan pipes, the murmur of water ... Morânia was lucky enough to be touched by the scent of tulips and the taste of blueberry pancakes, while all around her she could hear the soft rustling of leaves in a gentle wind. She smiled quietly and stood still in front of the gate of the Great Gymnasium until this pleasant wave of prismatic rain had passed.

When she entered the headquarters of her faction, the Transcendent Order, she was immediately enveloped by the familiar smell of blooming jasmine, massage oils and freshly brewed mocha from the café near the entrance. The murmuring voices of the visitors reached her ears, interspersed with the happy screams of children chasing each other through the warm water pool, squealing with laughter, and from further back the calls of Ciphers, practicing their skills in unarmed combat near the portico. Morânia went to the women's locker room and changed her everyday clothes – boots, trousers, shirt and a fitted frock coat – for a loose tunic made of light fabric, which was perfect for a little relaxation after this turbulent afternoon. As a factotum, she had her own locker in the changing rooms and a small apartment on the upper floor of the faction headquarters. She began her evening routine with a warm foot bath and then went to the vaporarium, where the pleasantly spicy scent of blue honey thyme filled the warm, humid air. The mephits, who always kept these rooms at the perfect temperature and full of steam, did outstanding work and were among the most experienced – and reliable – in the planes. A young gnome woman was using a large wooden spoon to share out an exfoliant made from the best crystals of the Plane of Salt, mixed with rich Arborean herbal oil.

After the steam bath, Morânia rested on one of the loungers in the main hall and let her gaze wander around the Gymnasium. With a smile, she watched a caramel-furred faun and a blue-green scaled mermaid. She stretched out on one of the heated stone platforms near the warm water pool and drank a glass of hot tea while the satyr massaged her back with a coconut fiber glove. From the unusual couple, Morânia's gaze wandered on to the swimming pool, lingering briefly over a sturdily built half-orc and then dwelled on a small family, the mother probably a fey-blooded half-elf, the father a water genasi. One of the girls had inherited the mother's bright purple hair, but the father's light blue skin and webbed fingers. The other child showed no signs of being plane-touched at all, appearing to be a common quarter-elven girl. But she was only about eight years old, and so either the fae or the water heritage might still break through in adolescence. Or both, as with the older sister of the child. Morânia thoughtfully watched the carefree activities of the family, but her gaze dwelled mainly on the older daughter. People with more than one plane-touched heritage were rare and considered interesting and exotic even in a place like Sigil. As bal'aasi, she had often had this experience. But she also knew better than most about the dark side of this heritage: the inability to conceive children. There might be exceptions, maybe, somewhere, but in general, the statement seemed to be true that more than three bloodlines prevented further reproduction. The Guvners or other scholars would likely have put it that way. The girl with the violet hair and blue skin would thus share the fate that saddened Morânia on some days. Of course, she could adopt a child. But she would never have one of her own ...

“Ah, there you are,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Morânia looked up to see Raralia - not surprising, as they had agreed on meeting at the café for a meal and two or three sauna sessions. Her older sister had recently made it from successful courtesan to a hetaira in the House of Thirteen Orchids. Hetairae had a long tradition in the City of Doors. If one ventured into the upper districts of Sigil, the Clerk's Ward and the Lady's Ward, one would find brothels of superior quality and price, in contrast to the other wards. Some were run by the Sensates, but by no means all. However, another form of prostitution was much more common here: the courtesan business. Courtesans – males were often referred to as k agema - were very expensive, but well-groomed, educated and well informed about Sigil's culture and politics. They chose their own clients, lived in beautiful houses, earned good money and were well respected in Sigil's society. The highest level of courtesans were the hetairae. Hetairae were wealthy, educated and socially accepted and had significantly fewer clients than a courtesan, usually only a handful of very influential and wealthy men or women. Hetairae were extremely knowledgeable in art, culture, philosophy and politics. Their fees were very high and their services included sexual favors, but the focus was the sophisticated socializing in the most distinguished circles of Sigil. In some cases, there was even no sexual aspect at all. To become a hetaira, a courtesan had to undergo a very demanding training, and only few courtesans became hetairae. There were only a few hetaira houses in Sigil, but they were said to sometimes exert great influence on the events behind the political curtain. As the name suggested, the House of Thirteen Orchids had thirteen members, all of whom bore the title of an orchid: the Orchid of Fire, the Orchid of Sun, the Orchid of Air ... Becoming a hetaira was by no means a matter of course, and although this kind of occupation had never crossed Morânia's mind, she was nevertheless happy for her sister, who had achieved this ambitious goal. In keeping with her new position, Raralia wore a delicate, elaborately embroidered tunic made of black fabric. It reached almost to the floor and was not transparent, but thin enough that the alu's sensual curves were vaguely perceptible with every movement. Morânia smiled to herself. Of course, perfectly fitting for the Orchid of Night. She stood up and embraced her sister in greeting.

Although they had repeatedly gone their separate ways for extended periods of time in recent years, Raralia immediately sensed that something was on her mind. “What's wrong?” she asked. ”Has something unpleasant happened?”

“Oh, nothing wild.” Morânia waved it off. ”Naghûl and I had a little argument. But it will blow over.”

Raralia looked at her inquiringly. “But nothing grave, right?”

“I ... don't think so. I hope not.”

It was more difficult than she had thought to appear somewhat unconcerned, and of course her sister noticed it immediately. She put her arm around her shoulder. “Don't worry, he will calm down. You know him.”

Morânia smiled gratefully and nodded. Yes, indeed, they both knew him. Ever since they had met him in the Hive many decades ago, when he had been a rather desperate near-clueless and not the life-loving, sensuous Sensate he was now. And while Morânia had considered Naghûl a friend for a long time, Raralia had been quite open to a dalliance with the attractive tiefling. The bal'aasi had not thought much of it; her sister was, after all, the daughter of an alu fiend and a cambion. That she herself would be the one to marry Naghûl one day had not occurred to her in her wildest dreams. And yet that was how it had turned out. The love affair between Raralia and Naghûl had not lasted too long, but it had developed into a close friendship. Together with the githzerai Zerf, the dwarf Tagnar, the lillend Aryséra and her mentor, the half-deva Astaldur, they had then traveled the planes for many years. The thought of Astaldur gave Morânia a painful twinge. He had been placed at her side when she had been a young paladin, still inexperienced in the service of the Morninglord. He had always guided her through all the intricacies of life, spiritually her mentor, in more worldly matters a loyal comrade-in-arms at her side. But about a year ago, he had fallen on the Prime, fighting a balor on the island of Terra Equilibrium. Although she had learned to live with the loss, Morânia was still far from having overcome it. Raralia seemed to sense what was on her mind. As different as they were – alu fiend, sorceress and hetaira the one, bal'aasi, paladin and factotum of the Ciphers the other - they were still very close. They had been almost inseparable in their childhood. And after each had gone her own way for a while in their youth, their paths had crossed soon again as young women. It was only in the last few years that they had spent more time apart again, when Raralia had begun working as a courtesan in Sigil and Morânia had been on the prime world of Toril for a while. But that had not affected their close bond any more than the fact that their attitudes and worldviews often diverged greatly.

So her older sister now took her arm and pulled her in the direction of the nearest sauna to take her mind off things. Morânia was only too happy to let herself be led into the dry heat, feeling her muscles loosen and relax as she rested on one of the wooden benches next to her sister. After a while, an attractive aasimar came in to pour water over the heated rocks. Raralia asked him, partly in jest and partly suggestive, if he hadn't heard that not only the sauna guests but also the attendants had to be unclothed that evening. He laughed and said that he hadn't yet heard about this order, although he visibly blushed a little at the laughter of the sauna guests and Raralia's scrutinizing gaze. After the sauna and a refreshing walk in the garden of the Great Gymnasium, the two sisters visited one of the small restaurants at the back of the faction headquarters, located between the massage rooms and the dance practice hall. Raralia ordered grilled pumpkin stuffed with pine nuts and strawberry lemonade, while Morânia chose several skewers of fresh pigeon hearts and a glass of hare blood with a pinch of bone meal. When they ate together, the choice of dishes they ordered often caused smiles or amazement. Although Raralia was half fiend and Morânia a quarter angel, the bal'aasi always chose the dish that would have been more likely attributed to the alu, and vice versa.

When the meal was served and they had satisfied their initial appetite, Raralia looked at her sister inquiringly. “So, what have you been up to lately?” she asked, as if casually. But Raralia undoubtedly had some inkling that something was going on with Morânia that she couldn't or wouldn't talk about.

The bal'aasi put down the skewer she had just eaten the last pigeon heart from. “Oh, I was in Elysium.” She tried to give her voice a noncommittal, harmless tone.

Of course, Raralia was not so easily fobbed off and frowned. “But ... not just a family visit, was it?”

“No.” Morânia sighed and decided to tell at least part of the truth. She didn't feel right about keeping her older sister in the dark about such a big and important matter anyway. ”It was because of the bebilith. The incident, you know.”

The fact that a bebilith had invaded a faction's headquarters, caused quite a bit of destruction and carried off one of the faction members through a portal had been, of course, reported in SIGIS, in the Tempus, the Lady's Eye and in every other Sigilian newspaper.

Raralia nodded. “Yes, of course. By the Lady, that was an ugly affair. Did you travel there to look for the man who was taken? The one named ...?”

“Jalkim.” Morânia sighed. “I looked for him, yes. And I found him, too. Unfortunately, he was already dead and there was nothing that could be done for him.”

At least she hadn't lied, even if she had left out the greater part of the events. Had to leave it out. How she wished at this moment that she could share this incredible story with her sister. But Raralia seemed to sense - and understand - that she couldn't tell her more. She probably thought it was a faction-specific matter and was therefore satisfied with Morânia's answer.

“And what about Naghûl?” she changed the subject. ”I mean, why did you have an argument? Wait ... it wasn't because of the Blue Jay thing, was it? Now that I think about it, it's been a while since he talked to me about a new performance.”

Morânia had to laugh. “Well, I still think that the Blue Jay thing is a crazy idea. But no, that wasn't it. It was more of a ... faction-specific difference.”

Raralia raised her eyebrows. ”Between a Sensate and a Cipher?”

“Even that is said to happen from time to time,” Morânia replied with a smirk. ”But enough about me. Tell me about the House of Thirteen Orchids. Who is your first client?”

Her older sister leaned back, crossed her legs and sipped her strawberry lemonade before answering. “Prince Eliza of Thebestys.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable.

“The son of the pharaoh?” Morânia nodded in awe. ”Congratulations, that's remarkable. I see you're not starting out small.”

Raralia smiled. “Would anything else suit me?”

“Not at all,” the bal'aasi replied with a laugh.

She asked her sister a few more questions about the prince as they prepared for the next sauna session. After that, they talked about faction politics, their old plane-traveling days and the new play by the poet Ismene of Polykeptolon. Morânia realized how the relaxation, the distraction and the company of her sister helped her to gain a little distance from the turbulent last few days. When Raralia said goodbye around anti peak, she put her clothes back on and decided to take a rickshaw to the Festhall. Perhaps Naghûl had returned to his quarters there in the meantime and they could talk about everything.

 

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The faun and the mermaid are from another of my stories which I wrote for a game a few years ago.

The description of Morânia's visit to the Great Gymnasium is based on one of my own sauna visits. The remark to the attendant was also made – but not by me! ;-)