The Semaphore

“Less than a thousand years ago, humanity covered the earth,” Hummel began after instructing Alef to bring them coffee and cinnamon cookies, which Pontis, despite having not eaten in days, had no appetite for. “In every nook and cranny of every continent, humanity thrived. There were tens of billions of people. Cities spanning thousands of miles. No square inch untouched. The world was crowded, and getting more crowded, and it showed no signs of slowing.

“Then Malory appeared. I do not know what version they are teaching in Lowood Den these days, so you will hear mine. He appeared in the city now known as Osseon, though back then it went by a different name. He raised a palace out in the city, ten miles high—so high in fact that it affected the earth’s orbit, slightly but measurably—in moments and with nothing but the will of his mind. This act alone caused millions of deaths, and it was just the beginning.

“Malory was an aberration. No one had ever seen anything like him before, because there never had been anything like him before. Humanity’s reaction was… manic. Some accused the world’s governments of staging a catastrophe as an excuse to enforce a new set of laws. Others refused outright to believe that Malory even existed.

“But most perceived him as a god, come to deliver judgment. Billions of people from all over the world traveled to Malory’s palace to bear witness. They crowded into his throne room to worship or to lay offerings or to sacrifice themselves in reverence. The city became a reception ground for his devotees. The streets teemed with them, violence often erupting spontaneously in his name.

“Malory, for his part, did nothing to dissuade this reaction. In fact, he did nothing at all. He spent the first month of his tenure in total silence, sitting on his throne and staring straight ahead. Without instruction, those inclined to worship imposed their own aspirations on his will. The violence worsened, the city devolving into an orgy of bloodshed, which spread beyond its borders. The world’s governments, sensing a diminishment of their own authority, banded together to rid the world of this threat, who had upending the status quo without uttering a single word. They instigated a short-lived offensive, now known as The Great Try, launching their most powerful weapons at the palace and at Malory himself. They leveled the city surrounding the palace, and killed many millions more. But the palace was unscathed, and Malory still did not rise from his throne.

“In retaliation, Malory decimated the world’s population. He did this without lifting a finger. In a single minute, two billion people died. Not by instant, painless means. They died in gruesome ways: their bodies turned inside out; their bones replaced with burning logs; their heads crushed into spheres no larger than coins; other ways I dare not even describe. For those who survived the Decimation, their fate was not much better. For a period of a hundred days after, Malory had rendered it so that no single person was able to communicate with any other. He confused every individual into their own language, which could not be learned or taught. Chaos ensued—even more than there was already. And when those hundred days were over… that’s when the music started.

“You’re certainly familiar with this period, which remains well taught to this day. It is known now as the Plangent Age. It lasted a decade, a decade of relentless, ear-shattering music that played from everywhere—projected from the very atoms of the earth, day and night, with no escape. During this time, what was left of the world’s government, and of society in general, crumbled. Those who had been incredulous of Malory’s power were no longer. Those who had refused to acknowledge his existence were forced to acknowledge it.

“It was also during this time that a particular group, already devoted to Malory and believing him to be a god, fell further entrenched in their fanaticism. They became acolytes, pledging themselves to him in service of his will. In return, it is said that Malory bestowed on them some awareness of the source of his power. They used it to proselytize his divinity across the planet. They called this bestowment Hemmick, the Blood of the Boy God.

“But there were others, others who maintained, despite the state of the world and the undeniable reach of Malory’s reign, that he was not a god. That he was not infallible. That there were ways to stop him through empirical means. They studied him, from afar of course, seeking clues to his nature. They managed to construct a room—a simple room no larger than this one—into which the music could not penetrate. This was both a minor step and a profound one. It was proof that with the right methods, even Malory’s reach could be ablated. From that first step, they began to work on the construction of a machine. This machine was conceptualized as a weapon that would withstand Malory’s seemingly inexhaustible might, a weapon that could be wielded to rid the world of Malory and restore it to some semblance of decency. It took years, but their efforts were not in vain, and in the autumn of the tenth year of the Plangent Age, construction of the weapon was complete; the greatest technological achievement in human history.

“The Semaphore.”

Hummel’s spectacles flashed green as they settled on Pontis.

“The rest I’m sure you have heard. The weapon’s operators demanded that Malory release humanity from his sadistic grip. Malory refused, and the War was fought north of Osseon, in the Chavanuck Mountains. More billions of people died from the fighting, killed in the waves and walls of fire that sprung from their combat. The War lasted only three days, but resulted in more deaths than the previous ten years combined. Still, the Semaphore and its operators were ultimately victorious, and on the final day Malory returned to his palace, sat down in his throne, and closed his eyes. The music stopped, the gruesome deaths stopped. The world was hobbled and traumatized, but it was free again. The people were allowed to rebuild by their own accord.

“Soon after, the Semaphore disappeared. No one knew what happened to it or its operators. Some believed that they had left earth altogether, exploiting the magnificent power of the Semaphore machine to explore the cosmos. Others speculated that, their work finished, its operators retired the weapon and retreated into anonymity, wishing not to incur worship from the people as Malory had. Though this of course would fail: The Agaatists, for example, believe the Semaphore went to, well, Agaata, paradise, and awaits them there.

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“There were also rumors that something unfortunate had befallen the Semaphore and its operators, that while they had defeated Malory and restored order, there were other forces at play, for whom the War continued. Quieter battles fought on quieter fronts, in one of which the Semaphore fell. All we know is that for hundreds of years Malory has slept, the world has been more or less at peace, and the Semaphore has not been seen…” Hummel looked at Pontis gravely. “Until now.”

‘I knew it,’ Varia said in Pontis's ear. ‘I knew it but I didn’t want to say it until I was sure.’

Pontis looked down at the green coat. At this moment it appeared merely a piece of fabric. He thought back to his fight with the eyeless man, the immense power the coat had exerted, the green lightning assailing the white tower, the ability to transport from one spot to another in an instant…

“Very little was recorded about the Semaphore’s technology,” Hummel continued. “Given that it was constructed in secret. However there are points that anyone interested enough to do the research knows more or less for certain. The Semaphore requires two primary operators in order to function: A somatic operator and a cerebral operator. The somatic operator need only don the weapon, as you have, Pontis. But the cerebral operator must upload her consciousness into the weapon’s frame, which requires a severance from the body…”

The coat rippled softly.

“This is what you two have discovered—albeit by accident. A remarkable accident. A profoundly important moment. More important than you or I realize. The return of the Semaphore. And not a moment too soon.”

“Why do you say that?” asked the voice from the coat. “What is going on all of a sudden—with the girl, with Arborvale and Lowood Den, with the man in the long mask? What is about to happen?”

Hummel looked down. “I can only speculate,” he said. “But I think that the man in the long mask is most likely the Hemmick practitioner we discussed last week, the one who placed the invocation on the girl. It would appear also that he came into possession of the Semaphore at some point in the past, likely by disposing—somehow—of its operators. Were it not for your bravery, your curiosity—your luck—it would have remained in his possession forever, and his plan would have unfolded without obstacle.”

“But what’s his plan?” asked the coat. “What changed now, after four hundred years, that he came out of hiding, that we’re all suddenly in danger?”

“I do not know if anything has changed,” Hummel said. “I think it has simply taken him this long to get where he is. If what I suspect is true, the work he’s been doing is slow and fraught with danger.”

“What work?” the coat asked, frustrated. “Can you please be more specific?”

Hummel drummed his knurled fingers on his lap. “There are two major historical blindspots: How exactly the War on the Mountain was won, and Malory’s origins. I have heard a hypothesis, proposed by someone who claimed to have firsthand knowledge of the topic. It draws a connection between these two questions. I always assumed it was merely another wild theory, no truer than any of the countless others. But then I saw the word carved into the poor girl’s chest, accompanied by the Hemmick invocation.”

Hummel’s eyes darkened.

“Malory went by many names, some of which you’ve heard. The Boy God. Blisstaker. Sul. The Demiurge. But there is another. A scarcely used name, one that never really caught on. The Warden of Nonk’non.”

#

“You said you’d never heard the word before,” said Varia’s voice and another from the coat. “Why did you lie to us?”

Hummel cleared his throat. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not think there was anything to be done, and I made the regrettable decision to attempt to spare you from what I assumed would be useless fear. That was wrong. I should have told you what I knew—though if I had, perhaps you would merely have slinked back to Lowood Den to spend what little time remained with your families, instead of going forth and making the pivotal discovery you have.”

“What is it?” the coat implored. “What is Nonk’non?”

“The only book I have ever read on the topic is very vague,” Hummel said. “A place, perhaps? An idea? It goes only into cursory detail. However it does explain that whatever it is, it gave Malory his power. And in exchange, Malory served it as his master. To what end is unclear. Perhaps merely to create suffering and death. Perhaps something else. Regardless, Nonk’non was never present to the people during Malory’s reign. To them it seemed that Malory was the beginning and the end of their nightmare. But the operators of the Semaphore learned of Nonk’non’s existence, somehow, and understood that to stop Malory, they had to stop his master.”

“So what did they do?”

Hummel nodded slowly. “For that answer, I would encourage you to ask someone who knows better than I do.”

“Who?”

“The author of the book. A historian who lives in Osseon. Her name is Hobbes Nicole Penate, and she witnessed the War on the Mountain with her own eyes.”

Pontis frowned and the coat riffled. “How is that possible?” it asked. “She’s hundreds of years old? Is she also a Hemmick practitioner like the man in the long mask?”

“It is best if you see for yourself.”

“What do we say to her?”

“I suspect,” said Hummel. “That when you arrive and she sees what you have found, she will be the one doing most of the talking.”

“Do you have the book?” the coat asked. “The one she wrote? Can we see it?”

Hummel lowered his eyes. “I did,” he said. “Though I am ashamed to say that the book has been… disposed of. See, after you left last week I reread it. At the time I believed our outlook was bleak. So bleak that in a fit of proof-induced anguish, I had Alef incinerate it.”

A moment unfurled.

“Then we’ll go to Osseon,” the coat said. “And speak to Hobbes Nicole Penate.”

“Yes,” said Hummel. “And I suggest you do so with some haste. Whatever is unfolding is well underway, and the faster you can act, the better our chances. In the meantime, your sister will be safe here, recovering.”

We need to go back to Lowood Den first, thought Pontis. To make sure everyone’s okay.

‘Yes,’ said Varia in his ear. ‘And then maybe we should think about tracking down Mondagreen and the girl. This woman in Osseon might be interested in seeing her. I think he said he was taking her to the coast. To a town called Tecca.’

Hummel eyed Pontis and the coat intently. “Are you two communicating right now?” he asked.

Pontis looked at him, embarrassed, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” Hummel stroked the nub of his chin. “Should we be lucky enough to meet again, I would be very much interested in speaking with you—both of you—about your experience. The Semaphore has not been directly studied in any academic capacity. Any testimony I could collect would be quite an addition to the literature. And I would credit you both as co-authors, of course.”

Pontis and Varia shared a silent moment. Then Pontis shrugged.

“Excellent,” said Hummel, nodding sagely with a cinnamon cookie raised to his wrinkled lips. “Excellent.”