As Hammer and Nails passed the smaller children up to those who were loading the wagons, the nearby builders climbed ladders and started fiddling with the gnomehomes’ thatched ceilings. They rolled each layer of thatch tightly into a bundle so that each could be carried by a single gnome.
Meanwhile, those without specialized tasks to complete jogged around helping wherever they could; wrapping food, coiling rope, rounding up children, and throwing everything into the wagons which were even now being hooked up to the other three badgers.
Gneil and the others had finally managed to get the ark on the back of the chariot—mostly thanks to Ris’kin, who’d nudged the bumbling worshipers aside and done it herself—and now my avatar was reaching over to pick up my gem. Her hands closed around it—
—and everything went black.
Seconds felt like eternities as I drowned in nothingness. I could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. Not even the panic that clouded the tiny part of my mind not already succumbing to the abyss.
Then light and sound enveloped me in an overwhelming rush. I was looking down on myself once more, nestling in the ark amid a bed of straw like the egg of a giant amethyst chicken. The acolytes lowered the lid; Gneil shook the reins, and Bruce began his descent toward the exit.
Okay, that was terrible. Let’s not do that again.
I’d known it was coming, but I still watched with growing dismay as one by one the tabs in my Augmentary went dark. I no longer had access to my construction options or my Creation screen, though I could still view my blueprint archive and would hopefully be able to continue using Insight. I could still view the golden map of my domain, but it was shrinking even as I watched, the edges dissolving as my Sphere began to contract.
I frowned when I noticed something else. “What’s going on with the gnomes’ colors?”
Instead of the familiar blues and greens, the dots on my map that represented individual gnomes were now a variety of different colors. Some were still green, but others were red, orange, yellow or purple, and some remained blue even though they were packing rather than praying. I knew there were much bigger things I should be worrying about right now, but this was jarring.
“Hmm.” Ket paused in her zooming about to peer at the new map. “Perhaps they represent vocations?”
“No, look—Doug and Grimes are both farmers, but one’s blue and the other’s yellow. And Twain is orange, but the other sawyers are green.”
“Huh.” Then she made a sound of disgust. “Ugh. Here’s your answers.”
She flitted away and Bekkit appeared to take her place.
“The colors on the map, you say? Yes, so, the Augmentary auto-assigns groups—‘moving buddies’, one might say—according to the strength of social ties between individuals and groups. Similarly, the leaders of those groups are chosen on the basis of their level of influence on the rest.”
Okay, that made sense. It at least explained why gnomes of all ages and vocations were leaping to obey those who didn’t usually hold positions of command. A stocky builder with gray in her hair nodded sharply and marched off to carry out whatever order Hoppit had just given her; the young slinger was already turning to issue more commands to the woodcutter waiting behind her.
If there was one upside to Coll’s forced entry, it was that the fresh pile of dirt and rocks provided a much more direct route to the surface—one that didn’t rely on the human warrior’s dubious directions. Coll’s hammer was surprisingly effective in compacting the loose earth into a ramp sturdy enough to bear the wagons, and the instant he was done I sent him away, loaded down with sacks and supplies like an especially dumb-looking mule.
The first cohort—the greens—were already heading for the new exit, handcarts in tow, led by none other than Longshank. The hunter hobbled on his new peg leg, still using Granny’s stick for support, but didn’t let it slow him down in the slightest, and the others were hurrying to keep up as they followed him up and out.
The second group were hot on their heels. This group was led by one of the nurses—an oddly short, hairless gnome whom Ket had named “Emrys.” I did a double take at the sight of him coaxing Binky up the ramp. The massive spider was yoked to a cart full of children, showing on my map as a cluster of yellow dots.
How did he get himself roped into that? I felt a tiny spark of joy amid the stress to see my denizens and my creations working in harmony.
Sadness soon replaced it as my other god-born started to discorporate. Each time the boundary of my shrinking Sphere passed through one of my creatures, it would dissipate into smoke without so much as a whimper.
“Focus, Corey.” Ket’s voice was gentle but firm. I pulled my attention away from my extinguishing creations and back to the exodus.
The rain was hammering down in earnest now, and the shattered ceiling offered no protection from the downpour that was already turning the ramp into a treacherous slide.
Longshank and the others who’d already made it up into the passage lowered ropes, so that even with their footing uncertain on the slippery terrain, the others would be able to ascend the slope and continue up toward the surface.
The badgers’ wide paws and long claws gave them purchase on the muddy ramp and let them scramble up it without too much of an issue, pulling their cargo safely up behind them.
The remaining handcarts and smaller wagons were more of an issue, but Ris’kin was doing everything she could to help. My avatar had taken up position at the ramp’s base, pushing carts from behind to give their drivers the impetus they needed to complete the ascent. In between carts, she was also picking up dropped items and tucking them more carefully back into the passing packs and wagons
