12 Miles Below

Book 7. Chapter 25: To'Orda the less wise

“I swear on all that is gold, if you’re going to make me work for the fucking meal you gave your word on doing already, I’m biting my knife right here, right now.” Drakonis said, arms flat against his chest.

This was a genuine threat to everything To’Orda had worked for, and the Feather found himself immediately worried for his future peace. His rock did not share that sentiment.

“The stones on this human.” It huffed. “Unbelievable. Give any of them an inch and they run off with the entire ruler.”

“Ruler’s part of the deal, you swore on it.” The Deathless said with a kind of manic grin that only the absolute bold could possibly sport.

“We weren’t talking about getting you as a minion, damn narcissistic demi-twerp.” The rock clarified. “Your little flock of animals following around you all the time. That’s who. We get them to do the food stuff for us. They’re animals like you right? They eat the same thing too.”

If To’Orda didn’t have lessers to delegate to because of To’Avalis’s convoluted schemes, then he’d find other minions in the most unlikely of places.

Drakonis raised an eyebrow at all that. “You want to get the Odin to help do the work for you?” He walked over to a rock and leaned against it, as if getting comfortable for the show. “Not a bad idea. So, what are you going to give them if they help you out?”

“Nnnn…” He hadn’t considered that. The lessers would simply follow orders when he gave them. He would follow orders when To’Sefit gave them. This was all getting needlessly convoluted.

He waved his rock, poking the image generator to start talking. “And what do the birds want? Quit playing coy with us pal, we know you.”

Drakonis held his hand out and showed two fingers. “Two things on their mind. Machines, and the infestation. That’s as much as I know about the birds. Offer them protection from both, and they’ll help you out.”

“Nnnn… I won’t kill them.” To’Orda said. Easy trade. He didn’t know anything about an infestation, so that was a moot point.

“Not good enough. Try something more solid, like you won’t let machines in this strata kill them.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to con us into something?” The rock immediately said.

Drakonis lifted both hands up, as if surrendering. “I can’t con you into anything, I’m your captive remember?”

“You keep your trap shut then.” The rock hissed, “I’ll do the negotiating with the birds myself.”

The human shrugged. “Say what you want, what people need, they need. And the Odin need protection from machines above all. You’d be a fool to ignore that easy trade.”

To’Orda could feel his instincts warning him of manipulation, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where. But at least the human had gone quiet now. The Feather turned his head to the bird following the pair. That one he’d heard trying to talk to the Deathless a few times in an odd language. A few words were passing through, but not enough for a real discussion.

“So, how are you going to speak to them?” Drakonis asked, unbidden. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve been trying for the past half-day now. Not the easiest thing.”

“Yeah, but you’re a dumb human with meat for brains, food-obsessed, overly proud glutton.” The rock shot out. “We’re machines, way more refined. Watch.”

To’Orda had their entire language already ripped straight from the Icon, including the graphical images. No way to display those images out there unfortunately, and grabbing the monitor screens from the outpost would be a pain. Tough, but there were backups to this. He swapped to the old human language. Then crammed it all into his image generator, and spooled up the program once again.

All checks reported green. He lifted the little rock up, in the direction of the bird. It handled the rest. “Oi. Flying unnamed chatter box up there, we got work for you. Yeah, you. Don’t think we don’t know about you.”

The bird squawked in surprise, hopped a few times, and looked down between his captive Deathless and himself.

“You speak in the old tongue? Have you been able to speak it all this time? Who are you?” The bird immediately asked.

Oh, bugger. Questions.

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

To’Orda considered his grave mistake in expecting anything to actually work in his favor. But he had been asked questions, so he had to answer. “Yes. Just now.” He answered the first two, his pet rock happily doing the interpreting for him, giving a dramatic flair to it all. And then To’Orda realized the last one required him to give his name. He sighed again, dredging up the effort to give the long rambling words. “I am To’Orda. The one of resolve dyed ash.”

The rock translated all that for him, but it hesitated on the last one. “Uhh, we got a little problem with the name here boss. It doesn’t make sense, you see?”

“Nnn?”

To’Orda realized that at the same time his rock had. The meaning of that title was meaningless in the non-standard language. None of the words he said had their letters match up with his actual name. The best his language module had translated had been ‘Hinn einráði asklitr’ which would be H, E, A.

He was To’Orda. Not HEA. And even the translation itself was all over the place in meaning.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Bugger.

Names were part of the core identity. He wouldn’t be able to fully tell the bird who he was. The logical inconsistency was straining his head.

An edge case that hadn’t been accounted for. All humans currently surviving in the world spoke the same language, with dialect and oddities separating the cultures. But the root was the same from the old human empire. Something Tsyua guided over time to increase cooperation between humans.

He wracked his mind for a solution. Being known as HEA instead of his actual given name felt wrong, but he couldn’t tell how to move forward from there.

So he did what he always did when difficult topics needed to be considered. He asked someone else.

“Oi. Human.” The rock said, “The boss here needs some advice.”

“Oh, now you want my help all of a sudden?” Drakonis immediately shot back. “What’s in it for me this time?”

To’Orda sighed, rolling his head. He was starting to understand why all his brothers and sisters were so obsessed with chasing down random specific humans and murdering them. “What’s in it for you? How about we don’t murder your friends here in a fit of rage?” The rock said, sending To’Orda a quick reassuring image. Let the rock handle it for him.

“That would be a bit of a workout, considering they can fly.” Drakonis said, and To’Orda agreed. The threat was empty there. “But sure, I reckon I can help out with a bit of wordplay. Deal.”

He felt happy at that. The human could have called his bluff but hadn’t. Free win.

“Great, done. Translation wise, it’s all peachy. We got their language working. Just getting our name right is going wrong here.”

“Why? It’s just To’Orda. No translation needed.” Drakonis said.

“Not that simple. See, the name stands for who we are. Very important to all Feathers.”

Drakonis looked up, humming and mulling it all over. “To’Orda stands for The One… something something, resolve died away? Sorry, not great remembering long rambling titles. Comes with having meat for brains.”

To’Orda felt mildly annoyed at that, but certainly nowhere near the feeling of… an entire race not being able to understand who he was.

“Vindictive too I see.” The rock scoffed, glossing over the small insult.

“Me? Vindictive? Don’t know where you got such an idea.” The Deathless said.

“Sarcasm suits you oh so well. The full name is The one of resolve dyed ash, numbnuts. Resolve died away is a little close to the mark, but Mother was probably making wordplay when she changed his name, from his past name as To’Ori. The one of resolve ignited.”

“Winterscar and Lionheart both told me Feathers were dramatic. Isn’t this a little over the top though? It’s just names isn’t it?”

“No you dumb twerp.” The rock said with extreme patience. “It’s his name damn you. Feathers are tied to their names, it’s the root, the centerpoint where their default identity starts expanding from. It’s like your heart not beating inside you anymore.”

The human hummed, “Not seeing where you need my help in all this. Or a problem in the first place.”

To’Orda felt his head growing fuzzy. The logic seemed so obvious but explaining it to this human felt impossible. No images, no text, nothing he could weave together in any order would explain this deep truth.

“You don’t get it. Names are what make Feathers Feathers.” The rock said, coming to the aid and giving it an attempt. “Not having his name be understood is like… being told not to breathe because it’s polite. Or I dunno, something to do with staying alive.”

The Deathless closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, To’Orda’s instincts warned him there was something afoot. The human had a plan of some kind.

“So if your name was ‘friend’ then you’d be friendly with people?” Drakonis asked.

“I dunno, we never got named that.” The rock said, stonewalling the question.

Drakonis shrugged. “How about you swap languages around until something makes more sense?”

To’Orda considered. The only other language the birds used were with iconography and a few random words. The canine-like animals out in the forest behind the human were even worse. He had no means of speaking to them as of right now, and that meant no means to tell them his name either.

It felt deeply irritating. Something he had been blissfully unaware of before, but now that he knew about it, he couldn’t unsee it. A defect in his golden shield, tarnished forever.

The giant sat down into the floor with a heavy thud, letting his weight crush through a few rocks and compress the dirt under him. There, he contemplated options, and came up with a possible direction.

“Oh, please. Boss, please-please-please, do it. I’m begging you here.” The pet rock began, instantly aware of the plan.

To the image generator, it would be glorious.

“Nnn…” Was all To’Orda said before he lifted up his palm so that his little rock was brought up to eyesight. Nanoswarms flew from cracks in his skin, flowing into the small speaker holes, modifying the intervals with projectors and all the tech required.

A moment later, an animated rock with large white eyes, and two squiggly black lines for arms appeared superimposed in the air, projected from the tiny rock. Flexing the two doodled arms and basking in its own glory. “I’M FREEEEEE.” The rock crowded out, the image projected ahead jumping up and down in sheer joy of being able to once more use images anywhere, anytime.

Then, it instantly paused, eyes slowly turning to glare down at their captive. “Suck it you paranoid rat bastard, can’t slap away my image attachments now!”

Drakonis simply stared back. “That’s the images you were sending me the whole time? Fucking doodles?”

“Yer damn right I was. Who’s feeling stupid now?” The rock said, doodled eyebrows furrowing down in anger above the cartoonishly huge eyes.

“Plan.” To’Orda reminded the rock, giving it a quick shake before it could start bickering with the captive.

“Oh, Right. Sorry boss, lost myself there for a sec.” The rock projected out a doodled hand tapping the nogging, and then cracked its virtual stick-figured knuckles before wiggling tiny black lines where his fingers should have been, as if casting up magic. “One bird translator, commin’ right up.”

The projected image switched out immediately. Back to the sleek vectored image To’Orda had used to communicate with the birds living at the Icon. Along with the strange hat and cigar.

Then it began to smoothly talk things over with the bird that had been following behind them all.

The bird, named Kres as To’Orda learned, was triple as impressed by this recent development than when the rock had started asking questions in old norse. Conversation was far more rapid and better understood. Concepts clicked into place without issue.

Except.

They didn’t even have letters in the same way humans did. How would a wingflap correlate to a T? Or an O? “Nnnnn… it’s even worse.” To’Orda said, one hand grabbing his head, as if it would help smooth out the irritation building up behind him.

“What did your other Feathers tell you about all this?” Drakonis asked, watching as the Feather was going through a small meltdown.

“Nnnn… haven’t asked.”

“Shame. Would be interesting to see more about Feather psychology here.” Drakonis said, half to himself before snapping his gaze back at To’Orda. “So, why come to me first for help instead of them?”

“Don’t flatter yourself pal. It’s only irritating right now and you were the easiest person to ask.” The rock said. “There’s still enough in common to work with this here, just… uh, not enough.”

That was a lie when it came to the quadrupeds. And if the Icon’s records were correct, only a tiny percentage of the birds even bothered to learn old norse. His name was already disjointed there as it was. But there were zero records of the quadrupeds even understanding anything.

Finding no answer, he went with Drakonis’s suggestion and opened his chat channels. Perhaps he might find some kind of solution there.