The Puppet of the Omnigods

Isolating Mantle

‘I know I should not say this, but sometimes I wish for nothing more than to be able to see you and Antoniy with my own eyes.’

Konseliy smiled at this confession from Friedmund.

‘You’ve been on my side ever since I ascended the throne as a child, when I was hated by my every subject for what my mad father did to Svalen. I don’t even know what would have happened to me if not for you and Antoniy.’

‘What we’ve done was our mere duty, your grace,’ Konseliy said submissively.

‘Humble as ever,’ Friedmund smiled, knowing Konseliy wouldn’t see it. ‘Sometimes I can’t stand wearing it. Not only because of my sight and these terrible headaches, but also because of these strange thoughts that without it I will see something concealed from the others. As if I could use the full sight better than those who actually have it, even though they call me Friеdmund the Blind. Oh, this must sound so stupid…’

‘Not at all, your grace. But you must understand that we can’t allow you to take—’

‘Oh, spare me the tirade.’ The king dismissed Konseliy’s lecture with a wave of his hand. ‘I know you can’t let me do this. That’s why you included it in my oath. I WILL NEVER PART WITH MY ISOLATING MANTLE!’

And Friedmund never did. The Isolating Mantle was always on his shoulders, protecting him from all external auras and intrusions. It was made of Maeridian leather that suppressed every wave of information and light, and made his body look extremely blurred and much dimmer than the surrounding environment. He was like a ghost among the living, a particle of a dream in the real world. Everything he approached turned similarly blurry, for even the worst-quality Мaeridian leather could spread its translucent veil for many feet around, and his was one of the best.

His councilors took any chance to remind him what had happened to predecessors who had taken the Isolating Mantle off. Adalfarus the First had cast his off while standing at the bow of a ship. He was dragged down into the ocean by hideous sea monsters that had felt his waves of information. Ellanher the Bold threw his Isolating Mantle off when charging against the Meerilandish army – he was blinded by the sun and slain by the enemy’s sword. Even his own father Hieldibald the Mad had gone insane after a whole torrent of information had entered his unaccustomed mind when his mantle slipped off of his shoulders during his wedding (maliciously rumored to be due to his twelfth pint of beer).

After ascending to the throne, Friedmund had noticed many more inconveniences the mantle caused him. It was almost impossible to remember and distinguish the blurred faces of all the new people he had to meet, and what was even worse – to understand what they all meant to say. Friedmund hadn’t even known the mantle could cause such problems, until his adviser, Claudius, explained that every living creature emitted what he called the waves of information, which unlike conventional sound, conveyed pure ideas, helping mortals understand each other with much greater ease. Unfortunately for Friedmund, all such waves were blocked and scattered by his mantle, which made him the last person capable of understanding others.

‘We all have to sacrifice something, Friedmund,’ Konseliy said. ‘I had to sacrifice my personal life to run the Special League and protect you as a child. And then as a king. But believe me, Antoniy and I would wish nothing more than to see you without this blurring veil.’

Friedmund smiled at the sincerity of his councilor. At such moments, he wished Konseliy could see him.

‘It’s getting too late,’ Konseliy said after a while. ‘I am not as strong as I used to be. If you let me, your grace, I will wish you a good night and retreat to my chambers.’

Friedmund inclined his head, then gave his permission aloud. Konseliy bowed to Friedmund – something his other advisers neglected to do – and left the balcony of the throne tower.

Left alone, Friedmund exhaled slowly and cast his glance out to where the Great Abyss of Svalen sprawled amidst of the great Northern Desert. He couldn’t see it now in this gloom, but he could always feel the deep hollow that must have emerged long before the kingdom of Svalen was even founded. He often envisioned himself able to fly; springing from the balcony and soaring there with hot air in his face and dazzling light obscuring his sight. At the rim of the abyss, which stuck out from the middle of the hot velvet desert, he would hold his breath and plunge into the hole, shaking off the accumulated heat. He would dive deeper and deeper, his body sparkling with electricity and cold beads of water condensing on his skin, until contented and pacified, he would turn back to the castle. No one would ever see him or learn about his secret trip.

This was what he envisioned during the day. At night, his mental trips had quite a different tone. They were as dark and calm as tonight, a full moon shining brightly upon the starry sky. The sleepy citizens would be locked in their houses, unwilling to peer outside. Friedmund would stand on his balcony, magnetized by the moon, and then he would zip up into the air, spiraling quickly around the throne tower to get lost between the countless sharp-peaked spires and basalt rocks the old castle stood upon. The white lunar light would play gently on his young freckled face, peering out from behind the thick round towers at times. Ravens would scatter in panic, disturbed by the intrusion of a silly mortal who would roam absentmindedly between all the broad bridges, and galleries and towers of the sleeping castle.

A fierce gust of wind broke his thoughts, nearly ripping the Isolating Mantle from his shoulders. Terrified, Friedmund grabbed his arms and cast his blind gaze around, waiting for the wind to subside. But nature had other plans than allowing the Svalenish king to stay on the balcony and have his strange mental trips. Friedmund averted his gaze from the sky and retreated to the throne room, closing the heavy wooden doors behind him.

The hall was weakly illuminated by torches and parasite fairies. He thought of all the petitions, audiences, and pleas he had to listen to. Same as they always were, mundane and repetitive. His thoughts slid to the strange reports he had received from his councilors early this morning. One such report concerned the weeks-long heavy showers that were flooding some of the foothill villages near Hadis. It wasn’t the flood itself that had caused the problem, but a group of extremely low clouds that had caused it to rain unceasingly over the same area for almost a month. They never swayed under the wind, nor shrank in size even after a whole day of raining. They weren’t induced by convection and no wind had ever drawn them to Svalen. There was also that weird report from the south, Friedmund thought, rubbing his temple with a clenched fist. Some travelers claimed to have witnessed night falling in the middle of the day in the same woods. Two or three similar reports. Could this be some sort of local madness? An optical illusion, or maybe a bad joke? A vague, distant idea loomed in the corner of his consciousness. An unnatural night, falling over the wood. He managed to focus himself again. What could it be? There are some creatures that vaporize light, but none of them could plunge an entire forest into darkness. What else could it be then? Is it—

‘Mantle?!’ he cried out suddenly, feeling his heart thump madly in his chest. ‘What the…’

Once again, he felt a strange, distant idea twinkling on the outskirts of his mind, scattering his thoughts into disarray. This time he could see it more distinctly. The idea was an offer, or rather a plea, urging him to take his Isolating Mantle off and throw it as far as possible.

‘What does this all mean?!’ he said, spinning around as if expecting someone to give him an answer. In an instant, the idea became impossible to resist, and Friedmund’s trembling hands reached towards his mantle of their own accord. The mental attack… he thought in panic. How could it pierce through my Isolating Mantle and castle?! Is there a leak? Both through the isolating leather and the thick basalt walls? No, it’s not possible. It’s just not!’ His teeth gritted.

His last thoughts grew dimly distant, and a very strange vision popped up in his head. He was in a great, shallow sea, stuffed with millions of human and non-human creatures with no visible end to their bodies. The sea turned a cloudy viscous substance, the surface bombarded with fresh waves of information, falling from the sky akin to rain. Dense swirling jets of translucent haze were shooting in the air like geysers – similar to the waves of information that had once fallen from the sky and become outdated. Is this place a purgatory? Friedmund thought, disoriented. Some eerie warped reality… or what???

He didn’t like it. He could feel its aura pressing on him, pushing down the bottom of the shallow sea. He needed to get out of here. He needed to escape. Immediately. But there was nowhere to escape to. No shores and no islands. Friedmund was trapped. To his shock and disappointment, no other human seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to the abnormality of this place. They were wallowing idly in this eerie pool with waves of information piercing their brains and their bodies. They were almost merged into this hazy substance, an inseparable part of its chaotic whirl.

But Friedmund wasn’t. He was a disharmony to it. A degeneracy. Only now did he notice that the strange viscous substance was scattered all around him as if repelled by an invisible barrier. It took him a moment to figure out his Isolating Mantle stopped the waves of information from coming through. Yet there was still something in the area scattered by his cloth. Translucent and feeble – it was that intrusive idea to take off the mantle that had so unexpectedly materialized in his head. He knew it wasn’t part of this ocean. Nor did it fall from the sky. It was something else. Something from without. Or something of his own.

Mesmerized, Friedmund was suddenly pushed back into reality, dark and blurry. Gasping for breath, he pulled his precious Isolating Mantle off, folded it over, and laid it on the table in front of him. He knew nothing had changed, for the effect of the Maeridian leather could spread for many feet around. But unexpectedly, the intrusive idea was gone. His focus snapped back to the anomalous rain cloud and the artificial night. Even the desire to have his little mental trip was back. Everything was back. Except for that distant idea. As if he had never even felt it.

‘Gods… that was close,’ He exhaled slowly, leaning limp against the table. Warm sweat beaded down his forehead and tapped soundlessly against the table. His fingers were still shaking, but he was slowly taking control back. What sort of madness could that be? he thought, squinting suspiciously at the old, blurred piece of Maeridian leather. Pensive, he picked it up and twirled it in his fingers. It must be that sort of delusion that comes once in a lifetime. It comes out of nowhere or from some parallel universe. When you least expect it. It appears to vanish and never disturb you again.

‘Never… ever…’ he said as his entire body stiffened.

And then, for a reason Friedmund would never fathom, he threw his Isolating Mantle away.

An immense torrent of light dashed to his side, making his body look sharp and colorful for the first time in his life. His shirt turn bronze-brown, trousers grayish-black, and skin pale pink, soaking up colors from the dim light of the candle. His eyes wide open, Friedmund fidgeted slowly as a long black silhouette escaped from his feet, creeping further up to the top of the wall. A… shadow??? he thought perplexedly. He’d never seen one in his life before for in his ‘blurred world’: all shadows and colors would merge and dissolve into an endless gray. Confused, he glanced back at his hands and fingertips, realizing they were covered with curves and hollows as if carved by a tiny miraculous chisel. Is it only me who has these over my fingers or is it the same for all humans? he thought, feeling awkward and stupid.

He turned back to the candle to see his hands better, and his unaccustomed eyes were dazzled by a flash of white light. Squinting in pain, Friedmund swung around. For the first time in his life, he felt waves of information break into his unprotected consciousness. Dozens of unfamiliar sensations flashed into his head, prickling and tickling his nerves and his cells: happiness and anger, lust and fear, surprise and sickness. The feelings and emotions of the faraway people alternated so quickly his head felt as though it was splitting in two. His hands shook and breath hardened, sticking in his throat. Trembling, Friedmund leant against the table so as not to fall. He’d never felt so weak and exposed before, but at the same time he had no intention of giving up and running after his mantle. Not yet at least. He was far too intrigued by what his inner voice was telling him.

The cacophony of unfamiliar sensations had only slightly mitigated when new visions began to pop up in his head. They were only half shapes and colors in the beginning, stuck somewhere between a real form and amorphous bulk. Friedmund didn’t know whether this was a normal thing for a human without a Maeridian mantle to see. He wasn’t sure of anything at all anymore.

But then he saw something persistent. A distant glowing silhouette of their planet, shrouded in a cold, lifeless vacuum. It looked as though, at any second, it could tumble down into nothingness, get blown away by a sudden gust of wind or be crushed into pieces by a meteorite. For a split second Friedmund felt infinitely feeble and useless, like an earthworm whose entire life hung by a thread that could snap at any second. They were so exposed on this little planet, bombarded endlessly with the waves of information and light that pierced so easily through a thin layer of atmosphere, washing over mortals like rain. He could see the information waves were growing denser and stronger, turning into thousands of squirming tentacles, probing and prowling their planet, gathering somewhere in the north. Not somewhere in the north, he realized in terror. They are gathering here – in Svalen, right over my capital.

‘Gods…’ he moaned hoarsely. He gathered his last strength to call for help. ‘Guards!’

His cry made dozens of feet run, clink, and tramp, and soon the doors to the throne room burst open. His eldest adviser, Konseliy; Antoniy, the Defender of the Castle; his entire bodyguard, and half of the advisers stood there in the doorway with their mouths and eyes wide open as if they had just seen a ghost.

‘My King! Your mantle! Why did you take it off?’ they all screamed in terror and reproach, searching for the old Maeridian leather.

Friedmund felt a sudden rage boil inside him. How dare they speak to me as if I’m a child? Don’t they know who they are talking to? My father gave them their positions, or have they forgotten?

‘Shut up!’ he roared, slamming his fist against the table. ‘Bring the chief of the Special League to me. Now!’