Chapter 71 “Gathering In The Gutter”
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The moment Duncan hoisted the sun amulet for all to see, a profound silence blanketed the gathering, as tangible as the beat of a heart in a still room. His voice sliced through the quiet, his words delicate whispers suspended in the air, “I am one of us.”
Eyes widened in surprise, and a silent exchange of glances rippled through the dozen onlookers. The silence broke only when a lanky man, seemingly the group’s leader, whispered urgently, “Put it away quickly! We might have church spies among us!”
Could this small amulet truly wield such power among these devout sun worshippers?
Duncan found a fleeting amusement in the idea, though his face remained as inscrutable as ever, shrouded in enigma. As he carefully hid the amulet, he retorted, “If there are church spies, your conspicuous gathering is a far easier target than my amulet.”
As his words echoed into the stillness, a grizzled-bearded man blurted out, “No we won’t. Our assembly will at most draw the guardians to accuse us of disturbing the peace-”
“Silence!” The leader’s sharp command cut the man’s prattle short. Turning back to Duncan, he said, “Given the city’s current insecurity, we must be cautious. You may approach, but move slowly.”
Duncan sauntered casually toward the group, the leader scrutinizing him intently. After what felt like an eternity, the lanky man whispered, “Do you live in this city as a believer?”
After a brief contemplation, Duncan nodded, “Yes.”
The body he now inhabited had been a city resident, making him one as well. Honesty seemed the best policy regarding such blatant facts.
Duncan’s agenda was straightforward: infiltrate the heretic group under the guise of shared belief, extract information if feasible, remain low-key if not, and, if caught, have his pet dove Ai morph and carry them to safety.
Unaware of the hazardous thoughts brewing in Duncan’s mind, the group leader continued, “I heard the Storm Church attacked…”
“The gathering in the sewers a few days ago. A sun ritual went awry, and we suffered a severe loss,” Duncan admitted without remorse, observing the sun worshippers’ reactions. Tension visibly eased, except for the wary leader. “I escaped with three others, but we got separated. I found you all by the Sun’s guidance.”
The tall man grunted, his attention shifting to Duncan’s shoulder as he asked, “What’s this?”
“My pet,” Duncan replied nonchalantly, “Just an ordinary dove.”
Seizing the moment, Ai punctuated his statement with a loud coo.
“That dove certainly is vocal…” The lanky man’s defenses seemed to lower, perhaps convinced that a true devotee wouldn’t tote a bird around. He nodded approvingly, then instructed, “Follow me, it’s not safe to talk out here.”
Relief washed over Duncan. His initial tactic to blend in with the heretics seemed successful. He fell in line with the cultists, delving deeper into the labyrinthine alleys.
The serpentine pathway was darker and more intricate than Duncan had imagined, leading to the city’s neglected heart. Guided by the heretics, they navigated a convoluted network of steam-emitting pipes and foul-smelling sewage paths, eventually reaching a cluster of ramshackle buildings, revealing the city’s unsightly underbelly to Duncan.
He had thought life with Nina in the city’s poorest sector was the epitome of hardship. But now, these squalid depths made their dated shop seem like a sanctuary.
Most dilapidated houses lining the path appeared abandoned for ages. Yet, from a few shadows, Duncan felt the gaze of weary, desolate eyes watching. Homeless individuals seeking refuge in this forgotten part of the city regarded the intruding visitors with apathy.
But these melancholic stares quickly retreated—the imposing heretics instilled enough fear.
“This is Pland, the most flourishing city-state on the Boundless Sea,” murmured the man in black who initially drew Duncan’s attention. His words seemed as much for himself as for Duncan, “It’s the same story everywhere—Lansa, Cold Harbor, even the Elves’ so-called ‘haven of peace and justice,’ Wind Harbor… They all claim their ‘Sun’ brings light and order to all. But how much sunlight reaches these grimy gutters?”
Duncan remained silent, lifting his gaze. Overhead, a tangled web of steam and fuel pipes twisted from the city’s upper levels and industrial district. Massive valves and pressure mechanisms perched atop rundown buildings like monstrous parasites. Sunlight filtered through the pipes’ gaps, casting an unhealthy pallor onto the sewage-laden ground, reeking with a repellent odor.
This was the city’s detritus, primarily condensed steam escaping nearby pipes, mingled with industrial chemicals seeping from factories, accumulating daily in the lower districts.
Even though Duncan hadn’t spent much time in the city, he could deduce how such an “urban sore” had formed.
Duncan glanced at the disgruntled man in black, his expression impassive.
Whether seduced by the Sun’s allure or driven by harsh realities, the heretics’ emergence had its justifications—but did it matter?
These heretics, believing they were forced into these gutters, still ended up in the city’s lower parts, capturing and sacrificing the penniless homeless. None of the disheveled individuals in that cave came from the upper city’s privileged citizens.
As an “outsider” yet to fully understand this world, Duncan felt no urge to judge this city-state. However, as a former sacrificial victim, he had little sympathy for these heretics.
Without a word, he arrived at the heretics’ headquarters.
The base was hidden underground, within a disused factory.
Like nocturnal creatures, the cultists always found the ideal sanctuary. Or perhaps the prosperous steam city, with its forgotten nooks, bred such deeds.
Bypassing a semi-collapsed factory wall, they opened an iron gate leading underground. Duncan, hoping to explore the factory’s workings, was instead led down a sloping staircase into the cultists’ lair.
The expansive underground space, likely a former warehouse or machinery room, was emptied, leaving only remnants of a pipeline system and non-functional gas lamps. Recognizing the hazards of darkness, the cultists illuminated the room with whale oil lamps. Their flickering light revealed a surprisingly large cultist congregation.
Despite the church’s brutal attack on their ritual site, how could so many sun worshippers still gather? Were these cultists proliferating like mushrooms in the dark, thriving in these squalid conditions? Duncan surveyed the basement, puzzled by the shadowy figures. The cultists returned his gaze, their eyes a mix of curiosity and caution.
The tall, gaunt man reappeared, followed by muscular underlings surrounding Duncan. Raising an eyebrow, Duncan quipped, “Another search upon entry? I wasn’t aware of that rule.”
“If you were a church spy, a pat-down wouldn’t help,” the lean man replied, extracting a frayed fabric strip from his pocket, “This is a more stringent verification method. Just a safeguard. We’ve lost many brethren for various reasons over the years.” He extended the strip to Duncan. “Hold it, and recite with me.”
Examining the grimy cloth, Duncan noted it seemed torn from an old garment, marked with dark splotches resembling dried blood. An unconventional verification tool, he pondered, noting that despite their questionable skills, these professional outcasts had refined their anti-infiltration measures.
Accepting the cloth, Duncan listened as the gaunt man began a low chant: “In the name of the day, may the radiance of the lord shine upon…”
The phrases were familiar—another cultist had intoned similar words to him, the one who gave him the amulet.
Unnoticed, Duncan subtly raised a finger, letting a wisp of green flame seep into the fabric. Maintaining his impassive expression, he echoed the lanky man’s chant.
The strip remained lifeless in his hand, showing no reaction.
After a tense silence, the gaunt man nodded, reclaiming the strip with a slight smile, “Welcome back to the Lord’s glory, brother.”
how clever, I like it ?
Duncan is getting the hang of things.
“whale oil”?
AMOGUS