Chapter Five: A Path Forward

Over the next few days—or at least what he thought were days—Ashilis observed, learned, and explored. The Harum-Scarum turned out to be larger than he thought. It was vaguely circular, divided into four slices by walls, with a second circular room in the center that had the only path between slices. The central room was kept pitch black, and was where the morogrib was grown. Those few mushrooms that Ashilis had seen in the corner—what he had thought was the entire field—were just the stalks that had managed to grow outside of the room, in the comparatively bright light. 

Each of the four slices had its own large, bowl-shaped washbasins and copper cooking plates situated in the middle of the room. Every once in a while, a trap door would open in the ceiling and water would spill out, refilling the washbasins and cleaning the charred gunk off of the cooking plates. It also caused mild flooding. To rectify that, the Harum-Scarum's floors were slightly, almost imperceptibly sloped towards the outer ring of walls, and the individual cells that lined them. Those outer cells each had drains in them, which allowed the water to slowly trickle out. Zix forbid you were in one of those cells when the water came down. It didn't flood enough to put you in real danger of drowning, but it could be rotting difficult to get out while the water was draining, and that could take a while.

Ashilis had taken to calling the time between each flooding and draining of the Scarum a flood-cycle. He had been keeping track of them, since they were the only consistent method of timekeeping he could find. The prisoners, including Drym and Bellavie, tended to sleep for a while between each flood-cycle, but Ashilis found that to be overkill. He only felt the need to rest every two or three, and he thought that three cycles constituted a full day.

The slice that Ashilis was in was the one with the exit, or at least the door that the Vicarts hauled people through to get their memories drained. That was probably why it was the only slice not claimed by one of the Scarum's three gangs. If Ashilis faced the central dark room, the Orators were in the slice to his left, the Throttlers to his right, and the Patrol on the opposite side of the circle. All three groups regularly struck into Ashilis' slice to make use of the cooking plates. They often fought over the plates here. On that first day, Ashilis had pretended to be part of the Patrol, and had stolen from the Throttlers.

That seemed to be the primary commodity. There were a lot of prisoners that needed feeding, and while the dark room was easily able to provide enough morogrib for everyone, each mushroom took a while to cook, and there wasn't much room on the plates. Even if mushrooms were being cooked on every plate constantly, Ashilis wasn't certain that there would be enough time in a day to cook even one mushroom for each prisoner in the Scarum.

Eating the morogrib raw wasn't an option, either. Unless they were cooked until they lost their opalescence, eating morogrib caused awful hallucinations for several flood cycles. Eating more before the hallucinations went away did something worse. The people that Ashilis had seen do it just laid on the ground, totally limp. Their eyes would still move, but they couldn't seem to see or hear anything. They wouldn't move or react, even if shaken. That state took even longer to pass than the hallucinations. You would starve before you snapped out of it unless you had someone to feed you.

So, conflict. Using the cooking plates left you exposed, and was therefore best done with someone to protect you. You could never be sure that your partner wouldn't betray you, though. Ashilis had seen it happen at least once each flood cycle, often to those who had just had their memories eaten. He hadn't realized just how lucky he had been to have someone actually trustworthy on his side.

Drym had proven reliable in every aspect through these last flood cycles, from guarding Bellavie—the doors to the cells didn't actually lock, so they couldn't leave her unattended—to gathering food. He seemed to have a reputation that made people think twice before trying to steal from him. Or perhaps they just didn't want to mess with someone that stood a head taller than most, and with biceps as large as Ashilis' thighs.

He had asked Ashilis about "the plan" a few more times, and each time Ashilis had nothing to offer him. It wasn't entirely clear to Ashilis what his goal should be, much less how he would achieve it. Drym obviously expected Ashilis to do something, but he wouldn't say what.

You are the smart one. You tell me. 

Ashilis didn't feel smart. He had to piece things together through almost pure conjecture. He basically had three sources of information: what he can observe, the fragmentary or contradictory answers he can get out of the few who will speak to him, and his own occasional, faint pangs of recognition or emotion. Oftentimes, he would learn something new that forced him to throw out several ideas he was all but certain about. It was agonizing.

Only Bellavie gave him any solid information, a conclusion he only allowed himself to come to after double-checking everything she told him. So far, though, she had been honest, if frustratingly coy. She liked talking, and Ashilis could squeeze information out of her as long as he could keep her engaged in the conversation. She would clam up as soon as she realized that she was letting too much slip, and from then on would go back to trying to convince him to let her out. Ashilis was half convinced she was doing it on purpose.

I could tell you a lot more. I'll make good on that promise for a tour if you let me out. Honest!

He wanted to. The idea of knowing what was going on, what he was supposed to do and how he was supposed to do it, was so tempting. He was almost willing to risk betrayal if it meant he might be able to stop feeling like he was miles behind everyone else. It took effort to restrain himself, and only Drym's ardent warnings kept him in check.

Focus, Ashilis told himself. There had to be something he was missing. He ran through what he knew for what felt like the thousandth time. Prisoner. Memory draining. Morogrib. Flood cycles. Bellavie's powers. Three gangs.

He paused. The gangs. They've managed to carve out some semblance of power and order in the Scarum. Bellavie had mentioned that the Orators keep track of information by having multiple people memorize it. Did the Patrol and the Throttlers have similar methods? How much information was floating around the Scarum, locked behind territorial lines?

Ashilis found himself nodding as he leaned against the wall of the dark room, watching the post-flood rush for the cooking plates. This was a goal, albeit nebulous. Find out what the gangs know, consolidate as much information as possible, then decide how to act from there. The Orators were the most promising in this regard. The Patrol might be possible as well, but Ashilis didn't like his chances with the Throttlers. Drym hadn't been wrong when he said they still blamed him, though Ashilis still didn't know what it was that he had done. Regardless, he wasn't even allowed to enter their slice of the Scarum. 

There was an obvious time limit to all of this. He would lose some or all of his knowledge as soon as the Vicarts take him back again. Maybe he could have Drym memorize all the things he learned? That didn't seem wise. Ashilis liked the burly man, but he wasn't the best communicator. If he told Drym to remind him about the flood cycles, he was liable to say something like "Sometimes water falls." He'd have to find a way, but the point was moot until he actually had the information.

Ashilis kicked off the wall and ventured into the dark room. Navigating it was always a challenge, but there was no other way into the other slices. He crept along carefully, with hands up in front of his face and his feet testing each step before committing to it. Each mushroom had thick, cordlike roots that waved around in the darkness. They moved slowly, but were strong, and could easily trip you if you weren't careful.

Ashilis thought he would be able to push through them when he first made the walk, but the mushrooms put up a serious fight. They kept waving along their slow path, no matter how hard Ashilis pushed against them, until the root eventually snapped. To test a theory, he had found one that reached high into the room, then grabbed onto it and pulled his legs off the ground. The mushroom supported his weight easily for a moment, then the root broke and he fell. Ashilis was fascinated by it. The root was strong, but fragile. It would resist powerfully, then crumble.

But he couldn't be distracted right now, so he shuffled through the dark room, moving towards the light that he could see in the doorway to his left. It took much longer than he would have liked, and he bumped into a few people along the way, but he eventually stumbled into the Orator's territory. Just like the first time he had come here, Ashilis was struck by how much more organized the place was. There was still a general air of suspicion and fear, but no one stalked around the perimeter, and barely anyone glared at him. People just... went about their tasks.

Ashilis slowly walked around, just listening. Unlike his slice, there was a constant low hum of people speaking. Most of it was said in low tones or by people muttering to themselves, but it showed a willingness to talk to people that most others didn't seem to have. Hopefully he could get some answers here. The question was, how to go about asking?

For now, he wandered. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would catch one of the performances that Bellavie had mentioned. She said they were designed to entertain, but surely there would be elements of truth in there somewhere. Maybe he'd keep an ear out, but that was too uncertain to rely on. He kept wandering for a time, listening in on half-mumbled conversations and thinking up, then discarding ploys to get them to tell him something.

Eventually, he decided on the simplest approach. Ask them directly. Ashilis turned to the person nearest to him. The prisoner was a girl with dirty red hair and zig-zagging lines of copper running from her hairline, down through her eyes, and finally onto her neck, where they disappeared beneath her clothing. She was constantly squinting, as though the dim room were blindingly bright. She shied away from him, hugging her bundle of morogrib closer to her chest, but didn't immediately turn away.

"Excuse me," Ashilis said. "Would you mind answering a couple questions?"

The girl flinched. "Y-yes? I mean, no! Yes, you can ask, and no I don't mind," she stammered.

Ashilis held his hands up in what he hoped was a placating way. "I was just wondering how an outsider might be able to hear some of the Orator's histories."

"An outsider? I- well, I'm not sure. You could try joining... right?"

Ashilis grimaced, but quickly reversed the expression into a smile when he saw the girl flinch again. "I'm afraid that isn't an option for me right now."

"Oh. Oh no. You're from one of the other gangs, aren't you? I- I'm sorry, but I'm not supposed to be talking to you. I have to go." She scurried off.

"Wait!" Ashilis called, but she only tucked her head and moved faster. Too fast, it turned out, as she tripped over her chains and fell flat on the ground. The mushrooms she was carrying slipped from her arms as she fell, scattered in a semicircle in front of her. Ashilis winced, then shuffled over to her and knelt down. "Are you alright?"

Fortunately, the girl seemed more embarrassed than hurt. Her face had gone bright red and Ashilis thought he could actually see steam rising from her head. He assumed he had imagined it at first, but when she took his hand to climb to her feet, her skin was uncomfortably warm to the touch. Was she sick?

She yanked her hand back when she realized who had helped her. "I-I-I," she stammered.

"I'm not part of a gang," Ashilis said quickly. "I'm just not ready to commit to joining the Orators either. My name is Ashilis."

"Oh... I'm Mooni," the girl said, seeming much calmer than before, though her head continued to steam like a mushroom on a cooking plate. "Oh, I- I'm sorry for assuming. Um... what was your question before?"

"I'm interested in hearing your group's histories. Is there any way I might be able to listen in on a recitation without being a part of your group?" Ashilis asked, then crouched down to start gathering up the mushrooms Mooni had dropped. They were raw, so she must have been on her way to the plates. He handed them back to her quickly. The last thing he needed was to be accused of stealing.

"Well," she said, seeming more composed now that she wasn't in such a hurry to get away. The steam started petering out as well, which Ashilis found relieving. "You might be able to trade stories for one. The Voices are always looking for more inspiration." She looked up at Ashilis. "A fictional story would be nice. I'm behind on memorizing my portion of the histories as-is, and fiction is handled by-"

Ashilis gripped her by the shoulders, cutting her off. Startled, she dropped her mushrooms again. "You know part of it?" He asked. "Could you tell me, please?"

Mooni's eyes went wide, and a large cloud of steam puffed off of her head. "Oh, well, I mean, I'm not really good at the reciting part. Or the memorizing part. Or the doing tasks part. I'm sorry, but I think you should probably find someone else to... I mean, I'm even sure I'm allowed to say..." She kept mumbling like that, looking at anything but Ashilis.

He pulled his hands away, holding them up beside his head. "Sorry." He crouched down to gather up the mushrooms again. "Are you alright? That steam is..." Ashilis let the sentence hang. He was going to say concerning, but he wasn't sure if that would be insulting or not. His uncertainty, not even knowing what he was or wasn't supposed to worry about, was a big reason why he was so eager to hear these stories.

"I-I'm okay. It just... happens sometimes," Mooni mumbled, reaching up as if to adjust something on her face, though there was nothing there. "Um, listen, you seem nice, but I don't really..." She looked down at her feet.

Ashilis stifled a sigh. As frustrating as that was, it wasn't really Mooni's fault. "It's alright. Thank you for your advice, Mooni, and I'm sorry again." he tried to smile at her, but she didn't look up to see it. Ashilis held her morogrib out, and she accepted them, mumbling her thanks, then turned and shuffled away.

He watched her go. She had said that the steam was nothing to worry about, but Ashilis still wasn't sure if that meant it was actually normal or if she had just forgotten why something like that might happen, just like he had. Still, she didn't trip and fall again, or spontaneously combust, so he figured that, if it was a problem, it was a small enough one that he didn't have to worry too much about it.

So, Ashilis turned his attention to larger concerns. He could hear a recitation, but only by providing a story in return. Mooni had suggested a fictional story, so at least he could just make something up. Maybe he should ask around for other alternatives, but he doubted that he could get anything more substantial. It would have to be some kind of a trade to get a history out of the Orators.

Their gang was smaller than the other two, so they weren't desperate for food—even if Ashilis could supply roasted morogrib in a great enough supply to be worth it—and there wasn't any other physical commodity of value. There was nothing that he could think to trade, and it was unlikely that any of the Orators would tell them what they know without getting something in return. He didn't have any solid ideas yet, but this was at least a direction.

A path forward, no matter how difficult, was better than the confusion of the last few days.