Bubbles Of Creation: Connected Realms, #3

Book Three of Connected Realms

Bubbles of Creation

Copyright 2025 Dan Melson.  All Rights Reserved.

To Sarah Hoyt,

For help above and beyond

Chapter One

The tower shivered beneath our feet, swaying half a pace to and fro, as the ground underneath bucked and shook.  Fixtures and furniture creaked; most of my major equipment was stable, but lighter items such as tools rattled in their holders. 

Husband, did’s’t thee feel that? Petra asked.

I would have had to be dead not to.

Thee seems unnaturally calm!

I’ve never observed panic to improve a situation, milady.  I note it occurred at the moment I expected the scourging to begin.  Treemount shivered with an impact to Ygg.  I should probably investigate our customs posts.

What could have caused it?

Any number of things.  The coincidence in timing may indicate something to do with Aescalon or the exit from Aescalon, but it’s profitless to speculate at this point.  Observation first, then hypothesis, then tests.  Would you like to gather some data?

It seems thy homunculi are likely more suited to the task.

As you wish, milady.  I shall endeavor to keep you informed of my whereabouts and the progress of the investigation.

Thou dost not have my permission to vanish for days, milord!

"I shall endeavor to return before evening, my love.  I doubt any examination a half day delayed shall become impossible immediately thereafter, but remember my divine curse does reinforce my own ultsi bent of curiosity."

Thy divine curse may find itself banished from my bedchamber should it tarry overlong.

That was an empty threat if ever there was one, but better to turn it aside.  Milady is perfectly capable of finding me anywhere on Ygg.

Milady hath two children to care for, husband, and does not wish their father to be gone overlong.  That was her divine curse, devotion to motherhood, or rather, family, as she was as devoted to me as she was to them.  She wanted to be mothering her children constantly; only the demands of ultsi children kept her from demanding we produce more immediately.  Catharin was twelve by Migurd reckoning, Ansharos nine.  Anyone else would have been driven insane with their antics; milady wife gloried in them.  It was what she had remade herself for.  All divinities required a divine curse; Petra had actually chosen that one.

Milady’s husband does not wish to be gone any longer than she wishes him to be gone, but duty may require more.

See to it that he doth not linger overlong, lest he find himself replaced.

That was more jest than anything else; we’d bound ourselves together for better or worse, and neither one of us was capable of breaking that bond.  Nor did either one of us want to.  The sooner I am gone, the sooner I shall return!

Then get ye gone!  She actually smiled.  Neither I nor anyone else keepeth thee imprisoned!

Only my heart, lady.  With that, I took myself to the gate at the top of Ygg in a single moment.

What I found was a landscape of devastation.

Ygg’s bark in the vicinity of the gate to Aescalon looked like it had been hit by flood.  No, that wasn’t right.  It looked like it had been blasted by a titan’s firehose. The ground itself had been blasted away, the bark beneath it rent by the force of the blast from the gate.  The smaller trees clinging to Ygg in front of the gate had been uprooted, most of them lay on their side.  Bushes and lesser vegetation in the path of the blast had been smashed.  The curtain wall I’d had built about the entrance to the First Bore had toppled, the massive blocks overturned like children’s blocks.  The cottages for the customs guards had also fallen – I hadn’t envisioned having to withstand a blow of that nature when I’d had them built.

Lieutenant Givran and two other guards were trying to help a fourth member of their detail – Idolfe – trapped beneath a block.  Evidently he was still alive, and in considerable pain.  Moving towards them, I lifted the block he was trapped under with matris, let it fall a couple paces away.

If anything, Idolfe’s cries increased in volume.  His legs had been smashed by the block.  Givran saw me approach, drew his dagger, and I stopped him with a gesture.

But he’s smashed too bad!  He’ll bleed to death anyway!

No, he won’t, I told Givran, already blocking the outflow of blood, healing the man with necris.  I also blocked Idolfe’s pain, and sent him unconscious.  There was no reason he had to experience any more of that.  I’m here while there’s life in his body, and there’s nothing else demanding my immediate attention.  Idolfe will live, he will walk again, he’ll even be well enough to stand duty in a few days when I’m done.

Thank you, my lord!  A still-youngish woman I didn’t know – evidently Idolfe’s wife – kneeling next to him said.  The customs posts on Ygg were family postings now – it meant I got a better quality of customs guard.

I continued healing Idolfe, You and he are welcome, goodwife.  Givran, I’ll get workmen up here to begin repairing the damage soon as I can, but it’s possible there’s a blockage in the path between here and Treemount.  Meanwhile make yourselves as comfortable as you can.  If necessary, I’ll bring more food myself, and the usual water protocol applies.  I don’t know if there will be the usual traffic when the scourging abates, but I am unaware of any reason there can’t be.  Normal tolls apply.  Warn the incoming traffic that there may be blockages, but we’ll be working on getting them cleared.  Send one of your other men to check that the Bore is clear – don’t allow anyone entry until you know it is.  There’s no reason they can’t wait here a day or two if need be.

Yes, sir!  Did you see the party waiting up by the Gate?  It wasn’t unusual for departing merchants to be camping here above the First Bore, waiting for the scourging to abate.  For that matter, there might be others lower down on the tree. 

I ignored the question for the time being.  I had noticed them, but the damage here had been more pressing than soothing panicky merchants.  If your man can get to the post at the Second Bore, have him discuss the situation with Sergeant Ulmstad.  We don’t want a cart stuck in any of the bores blocking the workmen.  The small, hand-wheeled carts that were in use because there were no useful beasts of burden could be backed up, but it was awkward and time consuming.  Finding – or creating – such a beast was a much-delayed project of mine, but there were only so many hours in the day, even for me.  I’d probably have to create a new splinter dedicated to that project – but creating a durable splinter was itself a not inconsiderable project.

Understood, my lord.  Keep the carts out of the way of the workmen.  Anything else?

Find Idolfe a place where he can rest.  I’ve repaired his body now, but he’ll need rest and food to be up for duty.  He can walk, but I want him to rest for three days and have heavy meals including extra meat for seven.  He isn’t to do any work more strenuous than eating or dressing himself during those three days.  After three days, he should be able to return to duty, but nothing involving heavy extended labor until after the next scourging.

As you wish, sir.  The rest of us will get to work recovering what we can.  Once he’s back, we’ll put him on toll duty.  Toll duty itself was light enough; the heavy work was in maintenance and daily living.

To his wife, Goodwife, I want you to see to it your husband has a bath and clean clothes today, however difficult it may be.  I understand your home is destroyed, but get the dirt off him and dress him as cleanly as you can.  Try not to disturb such wounds as remain; open wounds are one way diseases enter the body.  I’d been teaching about personal hygiene for ten years now, but it was an uphill battle against cultural inertia.  Fortunately for Idolfe, the customs guards and my personal fief were the epicenter of my efforts, and milady wife supported them wholeheartedly even if our children still protested on occasion.  Better soap had become one of the staples of our household, and I’d expect the post here to have a sufficient supply.

Yes, milord.

Good.  Now I’ll go see to the merchant camp.

This time I walked.  The River of Heaven still poured out of the Gate, its flow slowly diminishing.  By the fourth day after the scourging, it would be down to a rivulet, but there would be a slowly draining pond here above the First Bore, and small amounts of water kept flowing from still higher on the tree – Ygg rose another hundred or paces or so in height over the course of another thousand paces or so of twisting branches and leaves.  Even if there was no rain, there was generally a trickle of water from higher up, formed by condensation.  Today, the Gate was between two layers of clouds, with a decent stream from the higher reaches of Ygg joining the creek pouring out of the Gate.

There were four merchants and two carts in the party.  Or should I say four merchants and two carts remaining, as the first words out of the lead merchant’s mouth were Jarl Alexan!  How do you intend to compensate their families for the men who fell?

I have no intention of doing so.  The Jarldom of Ygg didn’t make them fall off.  Yours or theirs was the profit; yours or theirs must be the risk.  Unless you have a contract from one of my factors for delivery?  Unlikely; I’d have heard if there’d been a delivery of useful beasts of burden or any of the other things I had them searching for.  Thus far, they’d been completely without luck in their scouting, and I no longer held much hope of that changing.

I have no such contract, he admitted.

Then, as I said, both risk and reward are yours or theirs.  The markets of Treemount were gaining fame as a place to make a profit.  Low tolls, a growing population of wizards who had products to sell, and commerce from the rest of Migurd.  Thus far they were boutique markets, but profitable.  Mass production of any sort was still at least a generation away.

He retreated, grumbling.  He hadn’t expected compensation; it was just a gambit he’d tried to see if it worked.  How many did you lose? I called after him.  He ignored me, so I looked at the soil of the tree.  It appeared at least two carts had skidded down the side of Ygg here, most likely falling all the way to the plains about Treemount.  I hoped they hadn’t destroyed anything important when they hit.  I wasn’t certain about human casualties; I only saw one human-sized trail down but others could have been on their carts when the blow struck.  I could have pulled up a replay via spak but I had more pressing business at the moment.  I teleported down to the post at the Second Bore, to speak with Sergeant Ulmstad.

Evidently the shaking had been less violent here.  A couple blocks had fallen off the wall in front of Second Bore, but it was largely intact; a quick look with perception showed no hidden fractures.  All but one of the cottages were largely intact.  Sergeant Ulmstead was an older man by the standards of Migurd; he and his wife had six living children varying from a daughter of marriageable age down to a boy toddler so inclined to wander off to the point where they’d finally taken advice to keep him tethered.  There were four or five younger children of the other guards present as well.

Ulmstead and two of the other three guards were beginning repairs to the damaged cottage.  Unfortunately, perception told me they were wasting their time, Ulmstead, that cottage has a crack running ten spans across the back wall!  I’ll have to have it replaced.  Figure out how to house Tirgave and his family in the meantime.

He turned, Sorry, milord, I didn’t see you there.

You were trying to do work you thought needed to be done.  It’s not your fault the whole thing needs to be rebuilt.  I’ll add it to the list of things I’ll hire workmen for.  Lieutenant Givran’s post at the First Bore is mostly demolished.  He’s sending a man through the Bore; if he’s not here by mid-morning, assume the way is blocked.  If it is, instruct the merchants they may camp here or return to Treemount, but they are not to enter the First Bore until it’s known to be cleared.  I don’t want them stuck and blocking workmen.  That applies to the Second Bore as well; you can wait for Lieutenant Givran’s man but I want you to send a man down to Sergeant Wulfhane to carry word on whether Second Bore is passable, and also to bear news about the First.

Should I send the man now?

If you want to have news of the Second Bore now, you may, but I still want you to send someone to Wolfhane when you know about First Bore.  I want to know by the end of the day if all the Bores are passable, and the way I want the news is passing it down the tree.  Ulmstead was not the brightest of my guards, but he was steady and conscientious. 

As you command sir.

I didn’t see any merchants on this level.  Do you know of any encamped here?

I think there’s likely some up on the High Meadow, sir.  They climbed past almost at sunset.

Ask Givran’s man when he arrives; pass that information down to Wulfhane as well.

As you command, sir.

I repeated my instructions at the final three bores; the only difference was the Final Bore was close enough to Treemount that the men posted there lived in the city or in what was still known as Kiltig’s Tower even though he’d been dead a dozen years.

Then, immediate duty performed, I took myself to Aescalon itself to investigate what caused the damage.

******

It seemed similar to the aftermath of previous scourgings I’d seen.  Visibility was barely more than arm’s reach at the surface; the mists of Aescalon were at their peak in the aftermath of a scourging.  It was the hot muggy mist of a steam bath; both water and power, in the form of panultan, packed into the air as tightly as possible.  Both would precipitate out in the coming hours, the mists in the form of water, which would carry the panultan with it out into all the Connected Realms, infusing them with the power of Aescalon.  Aescalon may have been the beating heart of all creation – thirteen years on I still didn’t have all the answers I sought on that score.

Perception was a better tool than sight at the moment.  I knew what I’d see if visibility permitted – a blasted landscape, purged both by fire and water every seven days.  Nothing lived in Aescalon.  I thought I finally understood how the air remained breathable, but Aescalon itself was lifeless, a cavern roughly ten leagues across, with dimensionality acting in lieu of gravity to hold travelers to the roughly spherical surface.  The solid surface was pure igneous material, and gemstones birthed in fire and pressure glittered everywhere.  Hills and gullies marked the landscape, as fire was followed by flood every scourging.  Pools and lakes and streams and rivers glowed with the power for which Aescalon was a conduit, flowing out to the Connected Realms at 165 visible gates, pits like dimples on a ball.  There were nearly countless lesser gates visible only to those with some mastery of power; little pocket universes ranging from the size of a room to astronomical in scope.  Petra and I shared mastery of one such – that was what made us Eternals.

The mist did not make it easy to look for the cause of what came out of Migurd’s gate.  I was aware that I was probably looking for something that caused every gate to belch forth with amplified force, but visibility of less than a pace wasn’t helpful.  Even my perception was only good out to sixty paces or so normally.  I could deform it at some minor cost or greatly expand it by with enough energy, but such solutions were inelegant.  As an ultsi by habit, I disliked expending large amounts of energy unnecessarily – ultsi never knew when they might need the energy they’d just used.  The Fifteen Families might have no idea I was alive, but I was under a death sentence.  Every bit of energy I could hold might not be enough if one of them found me.

My current mission, however, was observation.  The  stream at Aescalon’s exit to Migurd was flowing freely. That much was easy to establish.  The lesser realm Petra and I shared had experienced a shockwave – I could tell by wave patterns in the mud – but no apparent ongoing issues.  There wasn’t a lot to damage in such a space; we’d barely gotten grasses started.  The other lesser bubbles I sampled in the vicinity showed evidence of equivalent disturbance, but nothing ongoing.  However, the next closest major exits were each over a league distant, and even if I checked every single one of them, that would ignore issues with the source of Aescalon’s energy at the center of the cavern.  The thick fog was damned inconvenient for my mission of the moment, but that was the way of Aescalon in the aftermath of a scourging.  Sometimes the facts of the universe are hostile.  I’d find an alternative.

I looked hard at the ground to see if I could figure out which direction the shockwave came from.  Unfortunately, the exposed parts were all hard-packed and baked from the scourgings – the next thing to rock.  Even the watercourses weren’t much softer – and they were lower in elevation and therefore sheltered.  Which left spak as the obvious alternative.  I even knew exactly what time the shockwave had hit – all I had to do was look back to see it happen.  Most spak had sharp limits imposed by power requirements, but simple observation of the recent past didn’t require much power.

I went back a couple minutes before, and watched events unfold.  Everything seemed fine until the moment the scourging had begun.  The visibility went from essentially unlimited in the moments before the scourging to barely arms’ length when dimensionality dropped, and the wave of energy from the center of the cavern hit.  First it manifested as heat, then as water a few seconds after, but both were secondary effects – fallout from pure energy so intense that you could visibly see panultan blanket the cavern like a sudden explosion of snow for a few seconds before it transformed into a less primal form of energy.  All of that was normal enough for a scourging. I’d observed it with spak on sixties of past occasions, and experienced it directly twice.

What was not normal was the way the ground of Aescalon twisted and bucked in the playback, followed a few seconds later by an atmospheric blast.   The cavern experienced waves of fire, compression, and flood with every scourging, but the ground surrounding the cavern did not.  As far as I’d been able to discover, the rock surrounding the cavern was solid and infinite.  The surface might be subjected to the scourgings; it could erode from wind or flood, and it could bake from the heat, but below a few handspans’ depth it might as well have been primal rock, perfectly formed in a piece.  I’d never found any deep flaws in that rock.  The scourgings were violent, but they were above the surface.

The direction of the disturbance was the entry to Siluria – home of the diligar, at least here in the Connected Worlds.  Humans hadn’t begun here; I saw no reason to believe the diligar had, either.  The big crustacean-like race were the closest thing to cavalry the Connected Worlds had at the moment.  Six-legged, massing about five times as much as a human, with four manipulative appendages in their ‘top’ or ‘forward’ segment, they could outrun and overpower most humans on an individual basis.  Why they hadn’t conquered every one of the worlds connecting to Aescalon was something I didn’t know, but there had to be a reason.  Biological and economic reality were even harder to change than physics or chemistry.  But I had to prioritize my tasks, and there was too much that appeared to be more important.  Maybe in a hundred years or so, I’d be able to devote some time to finding it – providing whatever was at work here hadn’t just killed them all.

The main exits from Aescalon were all in the form of depressions, something like a ‘dimple’ a couple hundred paces wide, leading to transition zones at their low points.  Each of the 165 exits usable by the non-talented led to a different world, ‘instances’ in the lexicon of my homeland – independent three dimensional universes embedded in the eleven dimensional structure of reality.  Exploring them was another project that had to wait for now, let alone exploring the less-developed instances that only the talented could perceive.

The ‘dimple’ holding the exit to Siluria had been blasted from the bottom as well as Scourged from above, what loose soil there had been scoured down to bare rock as far as the dimple’s ‘ridgeline’ or, more properly, its military crest, the point where you could look unobstructed by terrain to the bottom.  The lake at the bottom appeared to be higher, and draining more slowly than was generally the case.  Any diligar looking to transit Aescalon would have to wait longer than they expected for the way to be clear.  Migurd’s transition zone was already passable to those willing to get wet, but from the looks of things, Siluria would have to wait another hour or so. 

The streams filling that lake, flowing into the dimple from the surrounding area, didn’t appear to be any larger than normal, so the first hypothesis was something was blocking the drain, or at least constricting it.  I had been here before; the general warlike nature of the diligar and the hostility of the Sons of Klikitit towards me in particular had been reason enough to scout the terrain. I walked down to the slowly receding shoreline and extended my perception.

The entry to the transition zone was smaller.  I’d observed most of the 165 main transition zones; they were consistently the