Love, Hate and the Mysterious Ocean Tower
C.E.J. Pacian
cover art Gay/queer protagonist multiple endings parser sacrifice sexual innuendo SpeedIF Jacket 4 tower Xyzzy Awards 2011
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The zeppelin lurches suddenly and I tumble forward, spilling my books on the deck. Peyton laughs sympathetically and holds out his hand.

"I know you're out of your element, Nicky," he says, as he helps me to my feet, "but try to go five minutes without falling over."

I feel myself blushing as I release his fingers. "I'm not used to air travel. I'll be better on the... ground."

His sensual lips broaden into a smile. "Not ground, perhaps, but sturdier purchase for sure."

I can see it ahead. Rising from the ocean. Just like Peyton, it's striking and tall and impossible.

Love, Hate and the Mysterious Ocean Tower
A weird romance by C.E.J. Pacian

[If this is your first visit to the tower, type ABOUT and press return.]

The great windows of the gondola offer a commanding view of the ruddy sun as it sets into the darkening sea. The only landmark in sight is the great Gothic tower the airship is tethered to: an incredible stack of columns, arches and buttresses stretching far down into the roiling waves.

A narrow gangway leads down to the top of the tower.

The captain watches over the bridge - at least, what parts of it he can see over his great, bushy beard. "The air is calm, sirs," he says. "We should be able to hold here 'til sunrise."

Peyton gazes out at the view, arms folded. "Thank you, captain. Trust that our mission is an important one, and your vessel shall soon return to the fight against the squidmen."
Inventory
I clutch a number of reference books to my chest.
Examine books
Just a few handy reference books: Morphology and Syntax in Modern Languages; Common Human Phonemes; Semiotics Across the Tree of Life; The Symbology of Squidmen, Cuttles and Other Aquatics; Ouroborous: Retro-Causality and Language. You know, the usual suspects.
About yourself
Oh, hello. So... I'm Nicholas St John: pan-human, inhuman and aquatic linguist. Slight of build, low on confidence and, well, generally too modest for my own good.
You look at Peyton
Dr Peyton Cross III: the notorious anthropologist, pursuer of the arcane, ambassador to the Ebu Gogo, biographer of Spring Heeled Jack, rumoured to be the bastard son of the Count of St. Germain. A tall, slender, upright and elegant gentleman. His long hair - white as ice, at odds with his ageless features - always covers his left eye.

He's wearing a tailored suit, white gloves, a scabbard and pink trainers.
You examine the trainers
I've never seen such shoes before. I can only presume that Peyton has been travelling in Africa.
You examine the scabbard
In the scabbard is a sabre.
You look at the sabre
On closer inspection, this is definitely a sabre.
You examine the suit
On closer inspection, this is definitely a tailored suit.
You look at Tower
One struggles to imagine how something like this was even built. Does it rest on the deep bed of the sea?
Describe the surroundings
The great windows of the gondola offer a commanding view of the ruddy sun as it sets into the darkening sea. The only landmark in sight is the great Gothic tower the airship is tethered to: an incredible stack of columns, arches and buttresses stretching far down into the roiling waves.

A narrow gangway leads down to the top of the tower.

The captain watches over the bridge - at least, what parts of it he can see over his great, bushy beard.

Peyton gazes out at the view, arms folded.
You go downwards
Peyton takes my hand and places it in the crook of his arm. "It wouldn't do to stumble on the gangway, Nicky," he says cheerfully.

I risk a glance over the side, at the turbulent waves beating against the distant base of the tower, and hang on to him tightly.

Grey and turbulent, the clouds above and ocean below stretch off towards the blood-red setting sun. We are atop a simple circle of mildewed stone, seemingly suspended in mid-air without guardrail or balustrade. A low dome stands at the circle's centre.

The HMS Pegasus has been tethered to several of the metal loops that protrude from the stone.

A number of airmen stand guard around the dome, rifles resting on their shoulders.

Peyton disengages from my arm and peers around the dome. "Fascinating. There must be some way to get inside."
You look at the dome
A weathered stone dome, stained with mould and guano. Bold characters are engraved around the dome's base.

"I don't recognise this language," Peyton says. "You're the linguist, Nicky. Can you read the engraving?"
You read the engraving
I walk once around the dome, taking in the strange script engraved around its base.

"Not aquatic," Peyton says.

"Not aquatic," I agree. "Related to Latin, perhaps. A dialect of Harpese or Sirench. I think it says..."

"How marvelous," Peyton says. "How singularly unhelpful."

"Hello," he adds, a moment later. "I think I've found the way in. A small metal door with a fiendish puzzle lock."
You examine the door
Rusted by exposure to the sea air.
You look at the lock
There are a large number of small moving parts.

"Yes, quite fiendish indeed," Peyton says. "And very intricate."

He draws back a foot and then kicks the door hard. The puzzle lock comes apart with a twang. "Too intricate to be fit for purpose, really. Let's head down when you're ready."
You examine the airmen
Burly and uncouth.
You go downward
Light lances into the darkness through arched windows, casting terrible shadows from inhuman statues. The floor of this age-ruined atrium lies far below and there is no obvious route down.

A rusted lever protrudes from the floor at the edge of the drop.

A handful of airmen accompany us into the tower, rifles at the ready, glancing around nervously.

Peyton stands suitably statuesque, given the surroundings.
You look at the lever
A large and sturdy mechanism, but the sea air has clearly been gnawing at the iron. It shouldn't be that hard to pull, although I suppose it might snap.

Peyton steps to the edge of the drop. As on the roof, there are no barriers or guardrails. "I can see light down there," he says. "I'm afraid we may have to conquer your fear of heights directly, Nicky."
You pull the lever
I grip the lever with both hands and pull. It hardly moves. I lean back, pulling with all my weight.

Peyton sees what I'm doing and exclaims, "Nicky, no!"

But it's too late. The lever suddenly gives, and clunks into a new position. A low thumping resounds from somewhere distant, followed by a rumbling that grows in volume.

"For all we know, you may have killed us all," Peyton says, touching my elbow affectionately. "I don't hold it against you, of course. I just want you to know the facts."

The rumbling gives way to a quieter, higher pitched sound. The rattling of chains, I think.
Wait
Time passes.

Unseen chains rattle in the darkness.

"Possibly a false alarm," Peyton says. "Although I wouldn't relax just yet."
You wait
Time passes.

The rattling grows louder, and a baroque cage rises up from below, swinging to a halt at the edge of the drop.

"Oh," Peyton says. "I suppose we can ride this down."
You look at the self
I'm Nicholas St John: pan-human, inhuman and aquatic linguist. Slight of build, low on confidence and, well, generally too modest for my own good.
Go downward
"You fellows stay here," Peyton tells the airmen.

"Sorry sir," the lead airman says, "but there's no telling what's down there. We'll provide an armed escort."

Peyton smiles with impossible charm, and places himself between the airman and the rest of us. "I'm sure you've seen terrible things," he says. "Your friends torn limb from limb by squidmen, perhaps, and coastal villages laid waste by their galvanic land ironclads. Or maybe you've seen the fungal terrors of the comet-spawn, or the molten warriors of Vesuvius. But I ask you to imagine-" he sweeps back his hair "-what I have seen with this eye."

For perhaps a second, the airman stares at Peyton uncomprehending. And then his eyes widen, his jaw hangs slack, and his legs begin to tremble. "Y-y-yes sir," he stammers, sweat standing out on his brow, "we'll stay here, whatever you say, sir!"

Peyton adjusts his hair and smiles gracefully. "Good man." He extends a hand towards the cage. "Shall we, Nicky?"

Gripping Peyton's hand tightly, I step gingerly into the cage. There's not much room in here, and we're forced close together. My heart races. Fear of heights, of course. The trip on the Pegasus did nothing to cure me.

The lead airman - still wide-eyed and sweating - nods and throws the lever. We begin to descend.

Peyton slips my arm into his. "You're not frightened, are you?"

(I could say yes or no.)
Yes
"Only of heights, the dark and squidmen."

Peyton grins. "You shouldn't be afraid of those things, Nicky. There's far worse out there."

"I can always trust you to put me at ease, Peyton."

He glances down at my hand in the crook of his arm. "You know, I put myself at ease by thinking of moments spent with you in carefree days. Punting on the Cam; summer picnics; when you taught me to waltz - and the rest."

His hair was raven black back then, not so many years ago.

"But the only defence we have against horror is to learn about it, don't you agree, Nicky?"
Yes
"Of course. It's difficult for the ignorant to do good, and easy for them to blunder into doing harm."

Peyton pats my hand. "You've always been a man after my own heart - supporting me when others told me that no good could come of my work. I don't know where I'd be without you."

I shrug, turning my face to hide my blushing cheeks.

We ride in silence for a while. Bright arches rise into view and the cage slows to a stop.

The setting sun glares through the wide, arched windows that look down on this circular floor, illuminating the complex engravings on the walls. A steep staircase spirals around the circumference, descending into shadow.

The baroque cage we rode down sits here, at the end of lengthy chains that dangle from pitch darkness.

Peyton waves a hand at the engravings. "Good thing I brought a linguist, don't you think?"
You examine the engravings
"They're simple pictographs, Peyton. You can probably interpret them as well as I can."

"I'm interested in your perspective."

I look from one stylised image to the next. "It's some sort of history. There was a beautiful woman, she fell in love with a man who lived under a hill or mountain, she stole his heart, the mountain spewed fire, but she was long gone. A rather jaded love story, I'd say."

"Perhaps. But valuing one person over all others... there can be something selfish about love, don't you agree?"

(I could say yes or no.)
Yes
"When you put it like that, I suppose so. Looking at all the bad things going on in the world, choosing one person over everyone else seems rather unfair. I suppose."

Peyton considers my response in thoughtful silence.
You describe your surroundings
The setting sun glares through the wide, arched windows that look down on this circular floor, illuminating the complex engravings on the walls. A steep staircase spirals around the circumference, descending into shadow.

The baroque cage we rode down sits here, at the end of lengthy chains that dangle from pitch darkness.

I hang on Peyton's arm.
Go downwards
This wide space is dark and filthy, fading daylight oozing in through slitted windows. A massive stone heart occupies the vaulted ceiling, looming over the raised throne below.

Collapsed upon the throne is the stiff, leathery corpse of a woman clad in faded rags and a tall, dust-caked head-dress. Unkempt, dessicated feathers dangle from her bony arms.

Before the throne is a low table or altar, upon which lies a cobwebbed ceremonial dagger.

Small objects crunch and snap beneath my feet and I realise with a gasp that the floor is littered with yellowed, crumbling bones.

Peyton keeps a wary eye on the bethroned corpse.
You examine the corpse
I approach the mummified corpse warily, reluctant to stray far from Peyton's side.

Before I realise what he's doing, Peyton has wrapped an arm around my waist and taken my chin in his hand.

I try to turn my face from his. "W-what are you-"

He silences me with his lips. With one last anxious glance at the taut skull-face of the mummy, I am lost in the kiss. My heart races. My heart pounds. My heart-

Not my heart. I open my eyes and break free of Peyton. The room has changed.
You look at your surroundings
This wide space glows with a warm and impossible light. A slowly beating heart of molten stone occupies the vaulted ceiling, looming over the raised throne below.

A regal woman reclines on the throne, her voluptuous figure draped in fine silk, a towering gold headdress affixed to her voluminous hair. Lustrous feathers sweep back from her bare arms.

Liquid iron belches up through cracks in the floor, assuming the vaguely human forms of molten warriors.

Before the throne is a low table or altar, upon which lies a gleaming ceremonial dagger.

Peyton faces the throne.
You look at the woman
Inhumanly beautiful. Something about her is very off. Not just the feathers - the proportions, the way she carries herself, her fiery eyes.

"Supplicants," the woman says. Her words seem to squirm in my ear, in no language I should be able to understand. "It has been a very long time."

"I know who you are," Peyton says. "You stole one of the Blood God's seventeen hearts, and much more besides."

"And I know who you are," the woman purrs. "A troublesome ant that does not know its place."

She turns her fire-bright eyes on me. "And I know who you are. The question is, do you?"

(I could say yes or no.)
No
"Maybe I don't. Does anyone really know who they are? Can a mind comprehend itself?"

"Trust me," the woman purrs. "Your role here is clear to me. I will entertain your supplication."

Peyton steps forward. "I know what's happening," he says. "The squidmen, the comet-spawn, Mount Vesuvius and the time-traveller army of the Africas. The Lunar Triplets and their seductive death cult. The Invisible Ripper and his bloody trail of assassinated heads of state. All these things right now? All of a sudden?"

He takes a deep breath. "We're on the brink of something terrible, some great cataclysm. And, yes, I know what it is. But I don't know how to stop it."

"Stopping it is quite beyond your feeble means," the woman says. "But I can tell you what would be required anyway. You know the price of my favour, of course. Does your companion?"

(I could say yes or no.)
No
"Really, Peyton is in charge here."

Her lips curve into a predatory smile. "He certainly is."

I notice that Peyton is avoiding my gaze. "The price," he says, letting his hand fall to the hilt of his sabre, "is the heart of the one I love most."

I feel faint. "Peyton! You can't mean-"

"To save the world," he says. "This is to save the world. Are you prepared to die for that? So that countless others can live?"

(I could say yes or no.)
No
"I don't want to die. Perhaps its selfish, but I don't want to die."

Peyton draws his sabre. "It is selfish. I'm selfish. I love you, and I don't want to kill you. Even to save the world."

The woman on the throne sighs. "Unfortunately, the heart needs blood."

The molten warriors close in around us, white hot spears raised.
You take the dagger
(First dropping the reference books.)

Taken.

Peyton drives his sabre into the heart of one of the molten warriors. Unexpectedly, it sprays out great gouts of blood before batting Peyton away. The wound in the molten metal reseals.
Attack woman
Attack the Usurper Bride with my dainty hands? Hardly.

As one of the molten warriors turns towards me, Peyton darts in front of it. "Run, Nicky!"
You attack the woman with the dagger
I try to enter the fray, but Peyton pushes me back. "Nicky, run!"

But there must be something I can do!

Peyton drives his sabre into the heart of one of the molten warriors. Unexpectedly, it sprays out great gouts of blood before batting Peyton away. The wound in the molten metal reseals.
You attack peyton
Attack Peyton with my dainty hands? Hardly.

Peyton parries a molten spear with a shower of sparks.
You attack Peyton with the dagger
I try to enter the fray, but Peyton pushes me back. "Nicky, run!"

But there must be something I can do!

As one of the molten warriors turns towards me, Peyton darts in front of it. "Run, Nicky!"
You examine the dagger
On closer inspection, this is definitely a ceremonial dagger.

Peyton drives his sabre into the heart of one of the molten warriors. Unexpectedly, it sprays out great gouts of blood before batting Peyton away. The wound in the molten metal reseals.
You throw the dagger at the woman
I have too weak a throwing arm.

Peyton parries a molten spear with a shower of sparks.
Attack heart
It's too far away.

Peyton drives his sabre into the heart of one of the molten warriors. Unexpectedly, it sprays out great gouts of blood before batting Peyton away. The wound in the molten metal reseals.
You look at the heart
Well, the pictographs did say that the woman stole someone's heart. Massive and sinister, it  throbs with thickly flowing magma. Pulsating blood vessels loop down to the floor.

Peyton parries a molten spear with a shower of sparks.
Attack vessels
Attack the blood vessels with my dainty hands? Hardly.

Peyton drives his sabre into the heart of one of the molten warriors. Unexpectedly, it sprays out great gouts of blood before batting Peyton away. The wound in the molten metal reseals.
Attack vessels with dagger
I slash at the blood vessels with the dagger. To my surprise, the blade passes easily through the molten stone and blood - red, human blood - begins to spray at high pressure from the wound, bowling me backwards.

The molten warriors seem to become cooler and more viscous, retreating from the swings of Peyton's now red hot blade.

The Usurper Bride of the Vesuvian Blood God curls her lip in contempt. "A low blow, and fruitless. You have made a new enemy from one who might have been your most powerful ally."

Peyton meets my eye. I'm not sure things will ever be the same between us again. "No, I almost lost my most valuable ally," he says. "And I have already made enemies more powerful than you."

With a final glare, the woman fades into the growing shadows. The throne room descends into darkness.

When we emerge from the tower, soaked in blood, the airmen greet us with wide eyes. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," Peyton says. "Perhaps elsewhere. Let's go."

I slip my arm in his, and we board the zeppelin.

In our stateroom we strip off our blood-dyed clothes and soak away the smell of smoke and ash. I let my fingers play through his long white hair, running up his cheek to the lashes of his left eye.

I don't know where we go from here. Peyton and I. But it's important that we're both still alive.

Maybe he'll save the world.

But, right now, I don't really care.
You run
You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.

Peyton parries a molten spear with a shower of sparks.
Go upwards
With a brief glance back, I run from the throne room.

The last I ever see of Peyton is surrounded by molten warriors, beating them back in vain with his sabre, while the Usurper Bride of the Vesuvian Blood God watches with a prurient smile.

For the rest of my life, I wonder if there was something I could have done.

And now, as the darkening skies herald the arrival of horror on a cosmic scale, and people cast about for someone who might have the first idea how to protect us, I know that our only hope, my only love, was lost.
Yes
"Just make it quick."

He draws his sabre. "Of course."

He presses the tip of the blade to my chest and draws me into his arms. "Close your eyes."

He kisses me. I taste tears. And then blood.