Below the Heavens [Trad Epic High Fantasy]

Can we trust our fellow humans to put others first? An interesting question.

We ran experiments to test this. Put two people with a claim of strong friendship into a hole with no escape. They are then told that only one person may leave alive. If one volunteers to die, the other is free to go. In such a case, the experiment ends immediately.

To test the supposed existence of altruism, we need to introduce interpersonal friction. Decisions aren't made immediately, and we give them time to think. Limit the rations, limit the water, but do not limit the interactions, and you can foment resentment. Frustrations breed hostility, and hostility leads to enmity.

Allow them to talk, to stew. Resentment grows from frustration, hostility follows, and finally enmity. Given time, they fight. Given more, one kills the other. For food, for water, or just to relieve frustration and boredom.

After all, in their minds only one can leave alive. We take great care to intervene and stop the experiment when we've ascertained the commitment to kill, but sometimes our interference is late. The lives are not wasted as the procured record goes beyond commitment into confirmed action.

To predict survivability, we scored the participants based on how willing they were to kill their friend to save themselves. In all cases, the ones who were more willing to abandon the friendship faster demonstrated a higher likelihood of survivability.

From this we can learn a fundamental law of interaction: To protect yourself, you must view others as current enemies or those who could be enemies when their loyalties stray.

There was one exception. A pair of friends, loyal to a fault, both volunteered at the same time to be the one to die. We told them only one could live and they refused, choosing to stay in the pit. The experiment continued due to our curiosity over what would happen.

They shared everything equally. When the weaker of the two fell ill due to malnutrition, the stronger one committed to not eat unless we provided more. We refused. The weaker one, unwilling to be the cause of his friend's decline, killed himself by biting down on his tongue while the other slept to free them from the pit.

Upon waking, the remaining one wept in grief. He refused to leave the pit and starved himself as he mourned over his friend's body. In the end, he died as well, wasting away from malnutrition.

While this is clearly an anomalous result, there is a lesson here as well: You should never love another too much, for that love can cause you to waste away.

More experiments may need to be conducted to ascertain if human selflessness is reliable. Until then, weaponizing alchemy is required to protect ourselves if the Empire ever turns its gaze on us.

The Prince has already destroyed Techoria.

— Excerpt from Journal of Experiments, published this Spring's Blessings in Zaem on the 1425th year of the Sun.

Oasis, Lower Tiers

The day had been long and Anya's only desire was to get home and wash off the day's sweat with a sand bath. However, now she was standing in line with thousands of other tired Oasians, shuffling ahead on feet exhausted by a day spent working in the fields. On top of her aches, her scalp itched, for she had not found the time to shave her hair recently and the stubble was growing out. Annoyance grew alongside a handful of other emotions she was too fatigued to name. All were negative with the exception of hope; that this long day was done and she could soon rest.

For some reason, hope only ever appeared when times were tough. Anya always wondered why that was.

"What's taking so long?" murmured her friend Fynn. Tall and thin despite doing the work filled with brawny men, Fynn was sticking his cleanshaven head over the others to peek ahead. The line had refused to move forward for some time now, and Fynn was not the only one muttering under their breath. "The Oven is baking."

The Oven referred to the fields. Giant panes of transparent glass covered the fields, intended to allow the rows of plants to get access to Sunlight while still retaining precipitation and moisture. Greenhouses were the proper name, but Anya did not think them hospitable.

Debates still raged in the taverns over whether the Oven was overall beneficial to the ones who worked in it. House Thryssa proclaimed the fields to be the best place to work if one wanted to save on water. Others believed that while the insulated fields did mean the workers were shielded from the drying winds of the Sand, the glass panes also magnified the heat within, causing excessive sweating.

Crucial to the debates were the redistribution of water. The glass panes doubled as moisture catchers. House Thryssa laid claim to the water by stating the runoff was their own excess from watering the fields. Anya suspected some amount of that water was collected from the sweat of their fieldworkers, but the Thryssas owned all by-products of their work, and so that was that.

The Oven indeed.

"No clue. I don't remember any warnings recently." Anya leaned to the side, trying to see down the line of fieldworkers. However, her line of sight was blocked by all the others who were also trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was holding them up. She jumped in vain, glimpsing nothing but the rows of shaved heads.

Why were they waiting? It never took this long to get through the checkpoints. The job of being a healer stationed at Oasis' checkpoints was highly sought after because nothing ever happened. And yet they soon found out why as the whispers traversed slowly down the line. New checks, more rigorous. What? Why? The Plague had disappeared alongside DuskWing. It was just something the history books always mentioned, but almost no one alive had ever seen themselves.

The line moved slowly, with people murmuring all about. Has DuskWing returned? No, that didn't seem possible. Were they checking for something else? Did someone steal from the Great Houses?

A new whisper rippled through the lines. A reservoir had been raided. Anya shivered despite the heat. It sounded impossible, but who would bother making something like that up for the sake of gossip? The stories of the last raid three decades ago still made the rounds, thanks to WellWardyn and Fontayneer. No one wanted to end up like Luyi, least of all Anya.

The institutions had given the man a mocking Title. Luyi the Lazy. Lazy was the man who did not want to work for his own water, who tried to steal from those who did. Anya was anything but lazy.

The lines moved slowly, but they moved. Anya shuffled forward steps at a time, feeling the strain in her knees from bending down and over moonmelon plants all day. The bottom of her feet throbbed with a dull ache. She was thirsty, but hadn't brought a waterskin because there was no reason to suspect the line would take this long.

And the people around her stank. Anya was certain she did. But House Thryssa had taken the showers out last year because it was cutting into their profits, even when the runoff was being used to water the fields. Anya rubbed a knuckle into her itchy scalp, conscious of the odor from her pits. She just wanted to get clean and cook a good meal before sinking into bed.

There was something about being miserable that seemed to slow the passage of time. Perhaps it was inherent to suffering. Anya wondered if the Gods had designed Creation this way, where the good times seemed brief and the bad times seemed long. Or, as she looked up through the glass panes at where the Upper and Middle Tiers lived, the good times were for the select few who worked hard to be born into the right circumstances. Some thought the Gods reused souls for each birth, and gave it better circumstances based on your sufferings and good deeds in the previous life. And that was why the Upper Tiers lived well, for they said they had contributed most in a past incarnation.

The idea seemed poorly designed to Anya. She could not fathom why Gods would only reward you in the next life and not the current one. It also did not help to think that her present life of rationing droplets and portioning out food to make rent was due to having chosen poorly in her last iteration. She could certainly say that her present circumstances did not give her many chances to do a good deed the way the Upper Tiers proudly proclaimed their charity donations. Why would the Gods design this? Those who had already succeeded were given a life that made it even easier to succeed forevermore? It made no sense to Anya, but she was no God.

After what felt like enough suffering to secure at least a Middle Tier existence for her next incarnation, Anya made it close to the checkpoint gate. Spear wielders stood at attention, scanning the lines for signs of problems as people waited their turn to be seen by a healer.

Then it was Anya's turn.

They brought her inside the tent, where she was greeted by a woman dressed as a healer, and two spear wielders. Anya hesitated. The healer noticed, and gave her a friendly but tired smile of her own.

"They are merely here to ask a few questions. The Stewards are looking for someone." The healer stepped forward, peering at Anya's eyes as she grabbed for a wrist. Anya allowed it, seeing as at least this part had not changed. Anya noted the woman's eyes were a bright jade green. "No signs of infection, though you'll want to drink more water, miss," said the healer, wrinkling her eyebrows. "Your blood moves slow. Are you getting at least twenty cups a day? I know women on average only need sixteen cups, but field hands tend to forget how much they sweat."

Anya nodded without saying anything. Her daily wages were thirty cups. Better than minimum, proclaimed House Thryssa. The comparison never made sense to Anya either, for minimum wage was for children who only needed ten cups of water a day. But they thought she could afford to have two-thirds of her daily toil in the Oven spent on her body alone. Anya had come to learn her body could function on eighteen cups. She had made it work for a few months now.

"Now, any sense of lethargy or any other imminent problems?" prodded the healer. "Beyond the expected migraine you no doubt have for being under-hydrated?"

And now that the healer mentioned it, Anya could feel the dull throb in her head. Or was that from working all day in the Oven?

But she shook her head. "No," said Anya, before adding, "I just want to get home and rest. It's been a long day."

The healer shrugged. "I hear you, but these people want to ask you questions first."

Anya turned to them with resignation. "Well, get on with it."

The first soldier walked forward. He had a stout chest under thick neck muscles, and callused hands. "We'll make it quick. My partner here," he indicated the other spearman, who was taller with a shaved head, and expressionless. "Will simply use the Sight to ascertain you are telling us the truth. If you aren't who we're looking for, you're free to leave."

Anya did not even glance at the other one, heaving a sigh. "Ask away."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Have you attempted to steal from a bank lately?"

"What?" Anya felt alarmed. The whispers were true? A reservoir had been raided? "No."

"Have you been near a reservoir lately?"

"I don't even know where those are," she answered.

"Do you know a spear wielder by the name Aliyah?"

Anya paused. She glanced at the other Spear. His eyes glowed green.

The words came slowly. "Yes, I do."

The two spearmen gave each other a look. The stout one stood up, brushing his pants. "Please wait here," he told Anya. "Someone else would like to question you."

He left the tent, and Anya waited nervously. Aliyah. They were looking for Aliyah. What have you done, Aliyah? Anya knew the answer. A bank. Of all things, why a bank? Had she forgotten Luyi's story? Why would someone accepted into the ranks need to steal anyhow, given their steady salaries?

The healer walked up, holding out a damp towel for Anya.

"Thank you," said Anya as she accepted it gratefully, bringing it close to her face so she could give it a quick sniff. Clean. Thank the Gods, Anya thought as she gave the healer another nod of thanks before wiping at her body. There was scarcely any moisture in the cloth, but it would be better than nothing. Her nose was probably plugged up from her own stench.

Then the spearman returned. He was followed by a tall woman with puffed up black hair, flanked by two more; a spearman and a shieldbearer. The woman held a handkerchief to her nose, but peered at Anya and put it away as she walked forward, smiling widely with pearl-white teeth.

"I take it you are the one who knows Aliyah!" the woman said cheerfully. "We're looking for information on – oh, what's wrong?"

Anya had taken a reflexive step backwards. "I'm currently quite dirty," she said carefully. Whoever this woman was, something about her said Upper Tier. Anya did not want to chance any accusations of dirtying their clothes. "Are you a member of House Thryssa?"

The woman's face seemed like she had bitten into something sour, then she laughed. "Oh. Oh my, House Thryssa? No, no, no! And don't worry about it, we're the ones at fault for delaying your time to go home and change. Oh, I have yet to introduce myself," she held out her hand to Anya. "I am Jyori, Steward of the Middle Tiers."

Anya was too stunned to take the hand. Steward Jyori seemed unperturbed, reaching forward to grab Anya's hand for a quick handshake. A Steward? Moreover, Steward of the Middle Tiers?

Then reality took over as trepidation washed over her fatigue. "Steward Jyori. My Gods, I'm so sorry. I've never seen you, so I couldn't possibly recognize you." She pulled her hand out of the Steward's, taking a few steps back and bowing down before dropping onto her knees. "I –"

"You've done nothing wrong," the Steward interjected quickly, "nothing at all! I said we need to apologize for introducing such an unexpected problem in everyone's day, but we just happen to be looking for someone."

"Is this for Steward Ryu?" Anya asked, daring to look up. Was it a mistake to even be speaking to this Steward? It made little sense why the Steward of the Middle Tiers would be here in the Lower Tiers, much less conducting checkpoint questioning. What was going on? The previous Steward of the Lower Tiers was said to have personal enmity with Steward Jyori in the years before he resigned. Was Steward Jyori already making a brazen display of overstepping authority into another Steward's jurisdiction? Anya certainly did not want to get involved in a power struggle of Stewards.

Steward Jyori seemed to wave away the inquiry. "Wrong question. Not for her, but as she cannot seem to commit the personnel to the cause, I volunteered. I suppose if you're wary about anything… shall we say, untowards, there is none as I am here to conduct inquiries under Steward Ryu's authority. In short: she's aware I'm here, she knows what I'm doing, and she's sanctioning my activities. Now, enough questions from you, for I have a question of my own." A chair had been brought for the Steward; the only chair in the room. She sat down on it, crossing her legs. "When was the last time you spoke to Aliyah?"

Anya felt her grip tighten on the washcloth. Something had changed, but it took her a moment to understand what. The Steward had started off friendly but now her expression was more business-like, and her tone had shifted in a way that raised the hairs on the back of Anya's neck. She felt two pairs of glowing eyes on her now, from either side of her.

"Um," thought Anya, trying to remember. I'm not the one they want, right? "It was right before Winter's Sorrow, I think."

"Had Autumn's Colors ended yet?"

"I think so," she admitted, then added hastily, "I'm sorry, it's just been a long time."

"Not to worry, I completely understand," said the Steward. Jyori gave her a reassuring smile, but Anya saw it did not extend to the Steward's eyes. "When I say 'don't worry' I really mean, don't worry! All that is needed to satisfy me is the truth. As much as you can remember. Nothing more, nothing less."

Anya nodded slowly.

"Now, what did you discuss then?" Steward Jyori asked.

What did we talk about? Anya thought aloud, "I… think she had just passed the physical for joining the SpearMarshal's ranks. She had visited me with her twin, Ayden. Older twin," she clarified, "the brother. The two of them passed together, and we were celebrating the occasion with some friends. Yes, Troy, Tyson, and Yelena."

The Steward seemed deep in thought before she asked, "Did any of them mention a water heist?"

"No, not at all," said Anya hurriedly. She glanced at the two spearmen with their Sight, then shifted uncomfortably before adding, "I would have reported it if they did. Stealing water is taboo."

Silence. Then, "Steward Ryu is so very fortunate to have ardent defenders of the law in her Tier," Steward Jyori said with a smile. "All I have in mine are those who try to skimp on their taxes. 'Taxation is theft,'" she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, then returned to her natural tone. "No thought about what it means to be using public utilities that everyone else's taxes pay for. Now, I think there's nothing else I need to ask you, and thank you for your cooperation. I hope that you report to the authorities if Aliyah ever makes contact with you, can you do that?" She didn't wait for Anya to respond, raising a hand to state, "Someone get this young woman a twenty, as my thanks for her time."

"Oh! I am grateful," Anya accepted the banknote from the shieldman with both hands. "Um, is that all?"

The Steward was already standing up to exit the tent, and did not look back. The spear wielder and shield bearer followed her, and the remaining soldiers present were bowing to the Steward. Anya followed suit.

Only after the Steward was gone did the soldiers address her. "Yes, that will be all. Thank you for your time." He nodded to the other soldier, who held open the tent flap for Anya.

Anya folded the twenty and slipped it into her pocket before leaving.

"Next!" shouted the soldier.

Oasis, UnderCity Labyrinth

Oasis was originally built atop a plateau in the Endless Sands. Legends say the Lord himself chose the location, for the plateau stood as a natural fortress to provide refuge in the harsh, inhospitable landscape. The high elevation and solid rock provided both safety from roaming monsters and access to the original oasis, from which the City took its name.

As generations passed, the settlement expanded. The people of Oasis began hewing rock and stone out of the plateau as they mined downwards, carving into the solid foundation as they made space to house a growing population. Over time, that space became known as the Lower Tiers, now home for close to two million residents.

The UnderCity. That's what some call it now. A sprawling, subterranean, labyrinthine network of chambers and corridors, lit by luminescent crystals crafted by alchemists and what meager Sunlight they managed to direct into the depths with well-angled mirrors. Some still call it the Labyrinth, but that was more because of tradition and cultural memory than any lingering respect for Flangyl the Prodigy. People still argued if his prodigious status meant there was an additional layer of genius to his confusing trend of applying tautology to the art of naming things, but Anya's only thought on the matter was that it was silly for the average person to attempt understanding a Prodigy's thinking.

The lightstone crystals were supposed to work, but the ones in her sector barely functioned. The maintenance crew had proclaimed that times were tough. There wasn't enough water to pay the alchemists to renew the crystals. Funny that, considering the richer Districts were always brightly lit when all of the Lower Tiers paid taxes for the same public utilities.

Now that it was Sundown, Anya navigated through the gloomy winding stone alleys, half relying on her memory. Faded crystals dotted the walls. She treated the faint glimmers as stars in the night. She'd recently begun to imagine the crystals forming their own constellations in the dark. The mental exercise provided scant but adequate amusement for a tired mind as she walked back from work each day.

Anya was certain there was a new blister on her left heel by the time she navigated to the structure she called home. That darned shoemaker had promised her that he'd added better cushion linings. She was resolved to go find him again on her next day off, but that was a problem for tomorrow's Anya. Current Anya merely wanted to get clean, eat some light supper and collapse into her bed. Ah, she thought as she remembered. The bed. Yesterday's Anya had determined today's Anya would be better suited for changing the bedding. Drat.

The thought vanished the moment she saw her door. Tyson had rejigged the handle for her such that it wouldn't depress all the way unless one specifically pulled it horizontal, and now it drooped towards the ground. Someone had tried my door. Or, they were already inside.

A person living alone always requires caution. Anya readied her bone knife in a hand as she reached for the door, finding it unlocked. It was unlikely for her to have forgotten to lock the door in the morning. Was someone inside? I should probably get help. But if she banged on the neighbor's door, wouldn't that alert the thief?

Something inside her room crashed down, and Anya jumped. It sounded like pottery, which could only mean it was one of her jars. Thieves! They're probably drinking it now!

Anya burst into her room before she could second guess herself, looking to catch the water thief in the midst of drinking and get the jump on them. She was just in time, barely seeing the burglar with a cup to their face in her unlit room.

I worked hard for that! An angry yowl tore out of her throat as she charged the thief, knife stabbing forward with what strength she could muster. But the sound of the door and her anger had alerted the burglar, who turned around and knocked away Anya's wrist, bringing the jar down onto her shoulder. The light blow caused her arm to freeze up as she dropped her knife, but Anya did not care as she swung wildly with her other arm. Her poorly aimed attack caught the thief in the side of their head with her forearm, not enough to injure them seriously, but it still caused them to stagger.

Anya dove forward, catching the criminal in the midriff. The two of them crashed into the ground. Two more jars of her precious water crashed into each other, and at least one of them cracked. There was no time to think as she brought both hands together and slammed the clenched fists down onto her foe, only to have a strong hand catch the blow in a firm grip.

"Cough that up!" The muscles in her arms strained. The toils of the day had long begun extracting their toll, but Anya's fury pushed her to continue. She tore her hands free from the intruder's grip and struck downwards with separate fists this time, perhaps hoping the dimness in her room would obscure her attacks. That water had been hard earned, and now her plans for moving to a better sector were going to be ruined and she would need to spend the rest of the night trying to salvage what water she could, then tomorrow straining the spilled water for impurities just to make it drinkable again, and that was certainly only going to happen if this Gods-damned thief just –

"Anya!"

– worked hard for their own water instead of being immoral enough to steal into another's home – Anya couldn't fight well, but Ayden's lessons had been short and simple: Unless your foe is well-trained, ferociousness often won the battle. Or so that was how it was supposed to be, but this person's arm was blocking each punch and her hands were beginning to hurt. Fine then, Ayden's last suggestion… Anya reached down to bite at the arm. When all else fails, bite them when they least expect it. Preferably somewhere soft.

"Gah, Anya! It's me!"

The familiar voice melted through Anya's anger, enough for her to slacken her jaw. "Aliyah?" she whispered, rearing backwards. She blinked in the darkness, looking down as she recognized the face. "Wait, Aliyah?"

"Yes," her friend whispered from underneath her, nursing her arm. "I'm sorry, but I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Anya got up to her feet then stumbled backwards into the wall and collapsed down on her bottom. The rush of anger had abandoned her, and now all she had left was her exhaustion from earlier. No, more than earlier. Anya didn't even want to bother cleaning up before sleeping, but the situation in front of her…

"Aliyah. What in the Gods' names–" So many questions. Where have you been all this time? Did you really try to steal from a reservoir? But what came out was a different question as she looked around. "Where's… where's Ayden?" The two were near inseparable.

Aliyah didn't seem to want to respond immediately. Then she took a stuttered breath and scrunched up her face for a dry sob before answering, "He's dead, Anya. They're all dead."