Camping next to the volcano, Aella slept restlessly. She desperately wanted to be on the plateau, setting great bonfires and competing against her fellow warriors. She usually held back during the competitions, either losing on purpose or just barely winning, and she only ever used one sword.
Mindful of her mother's warnings, she knew she would need to control her power once again. But there was something calling her this time, something demanding that she shine as brightly as the sun for all the Thearans to see. It felt to her like an inexorable pull, like being stuck ankle deep in a shifting sand dune as it pulled her down to a deep, dangerous desert pit. It ate at her mind, telling her that Kerberos could be beaten, that she deserved to lead the tribe, that she was the most powerful being in all of Pandeia.
Sick of laying still, she left her tent. She moved gently, but quickly. Erasmus kept sleeping. She walked up to the giant wall and walked next to it, away from the camp, with her hand trailing its smooth, powerful warmth. She always felt much more energetic this close to Sitharkos, but this time it was more than just energy. It felt different to her; ominous. She felt like something huge was on the horizon, hidden for now by the massive volcano.
She closed her eyes. She could feel something within the rock. The pull she was feeling... It almost sounded like a voice. It was quiet, whispering and raspy; but at the same time deep and unimaginably powerful. Her eyes flew open. She gasped, taking her hand off the wall, suddenly afraid for the sun to rise. She couldn't make out any words, but it was definitely a voice. Breathing heavy now, she turned and ran back to camp.
She was still sitting in front of the fire when Erasmus emerged from their tent just before dawn. She hadn't bothered trying to get back to sleep. He sat next to her and put his arm around her in silence. They stared at the fire together. Eventually, she shifted uncomfortably and turned to him.
"Something is going to happen soon, Erasmus," she said, "Something bad."
He looked into her eyes, frowning. "How do you know?"
"I -" she paused, suddenly afraid that he would think she was either trying to trick him or crazy. "I heard something. I touched Sitharkos last night, and it felt... different. Something is coming for us. Something dangerous."
Erasmus looked troubled. She couldn't tell if he believed her, or if he thought she was mad. He gently put his hand in hers, and kissed her.
"Unless Sithares itself attacks us, I think we will be fine," he said softly, "we are thousands strong, and Kerberos is the strongest leader in Thearan history."
He smirked. "And you are the most powerful warrior ever to live. I truly don't believe we're in any danger, my love."
She smiled, and returned another kiss when he gave it. But she wasn't so sure any of them were safe.
Dakesh
After what seemed like months of travel, they reached the base of the largest mountain Dakesh had ever seen. The Thearans called it the Heart of Sithares. It seemed to almost touch the sun itself, filling their vision completely when they stood next to it. Aella was happier than Dakesh had ever seen her.
"We're here!" She laughed, placing her hand on the endless wall of black rock. At Dakesh's look, she explained.
"This place is where fire magic is strongest. It feels like home."
Dakesh glanced up at the towering rock and back down at Aella. It did seem to have a strange energy to it. Erasmus walked over to them at the base of the mountain and told them they would be camping the night and climbing to the top at first light. Dakesh again turned his head to the top of the mountain.
He couldn’t see a way to climb up the sheer face, and when he asked Erasmus if they were really climbing it, his response left Dakesh even more bewildered than before; Sitharkos was a volcano, and the tribe was going to camp at the top, while it was active. Dakesh gaped at them. Aella and Erasmus laughed together, shaking their heads at him as though he was crazy.
"We're Thearans, Dakesh," said Erasmus, "We need not fear the flames of Sithares. Here is where we are most powerful, where Sithares' power lies. We celebrate the Fire Festival here once a year, and the fire within the mountain has never killed one of us. It's the fighting you have to worry about."
Dakesh made the connection himself. "There are competitions in the Festival." He said it as a statement; he already knew it was true.
"Yes," Erasmus said, "violent and brutal, to properly honour Sithares. There is a lot of open space at the top of the mountain, and we set up bonfires and fighting pits away from the volcano itself. We stay up there for two full weeks, and on the last day the sun aligns with the volcano and we pray to Sithares. Up until that last day, every day is spent fighting and burning fires."
He'd grown used to the Thearan lifestyle now, mostly, so it didn't surprise him. He nodded and they set to work putting up camp for the night, still talking about the Festival.
"We haven't always been so devout," Erasmus was saying, "and we only started celebrating the Fire Festival once Kerberos became our leader."
Dakesh frowned. "So the tribe didn't worship Sithares at all before then?"
"Most Thearans don't worship much anymore. Religion became less and less a part of Thearan culture. The ancient stories tell of direct contact between Sithares and its followers, but something like that hasn't happened for thousands of years, if it ever happened at all. Kerberos claims to have spoken to Sithares, but I've never seen it. We're a practical people, and if we can't see something, it might as well not exist. But Kerberos has a strong faith, and his power is undeniable. At first we prayed with him because he is a great leader, but after a while, we noticed our own power increase too. Even if it isn't Sithares, praying and following Kerberos seems to be strengthening our tribe."
They don't even think Sithares is real! Dakesh couldn't believe it. I've spoken to it myself!
But I don't speak to them.
Dakesh jumped, startled. He hadn't heard Sithares' voice in months, not since the night he was given the power of Fire Magic. Sithares only speaks to me, he wondered.
You and a select few others. You are chosen.
He grinned. Erasmus frowned at his expression, confused, and he realised he hadn't responded.
"Sithares is real," he said, his smile vanishing. "I have heard its voice, just has Kerberos has."
Erasmus looked at him for a moment, still frowning. "I don't doubt you, brother," he said quietly.
Atillus
Three days into the journey, Atillus firmly decided travel by boat wasn't for him. While uneventful, the days at sea were absolutely awful. His fellow passengers were just as interested in being alone as he was, thankfully. Cold meals were taken individually to each cabin and it seemed only a handful of the crew maintained any interest in talking and drinking together; although this they did with great enthusiasm. Atillus managed to keep his disguise in place whenever he needed to, and though it was exhausting, he found the constant practice was actually improving his ability to hold the spell for longer.
The other passengers on board were almost exclusively Omati; and by the look of them, most seemed to be escaped slaves. There was a Thearan warrior, whose dark skin and bright hair and eyes brought a sudden and cutting ache to Atillus' heart. Amares' death was still a fresh wound. One of the passengers was a Tarsi; Atillus had to study the small being's face intently to be sure it wasn't Karak, his mentor. He avoided the Tarsi for the rest of the journey.
Other than meals brought to his door, and a few too many offers to join the crew mates for drinks, Atillus spent all of his time alone; either violently ill or desperately trying not to be violently ill. The journey lasted 6 days.
Tarsium was a revelation for Atillus. He'd read about it, of course, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. The port where they landed was fairly unimpressive, but Atillus admired it for its stark and simple layout. It was a small port, barely even a village, on the southwest coast of the country. The buildings were all Tarsi architecture, and the entire port was built with function in mind,
at the expense of aesthetics. Docking, unloading, and herding passengers off the ship was all done incredibly efficiently by a team of Omati workers led by a small group of Tarsi, and Atillus was relieved by the careless anonymity with which he was treated. He made sure to keep his body language in line with his old man disguise, however; he remained uncomfortably aware that Tarsi could spot their own magic if they were looking for it.
He made his way into the small port settlement, found a transport, and requested passage to Carmerth. Carmerth was the trading district of Tarsium, where everything was for sale or trade. Most visitors headed straight for Azar, the largest district and home to the largest concentration of inns, taverns and residences in all of Pandeia. It was easy for outlaws and wanted beings to get lost in Azar, and while that certainly appealed to him, it was surely the first place people would start looking for him. Instead, he needed a place to obtain supplies and get rid of the valuable belongings taken from Omatus. The journey to Carmerth didn't take as long as he expected. The transport he took, some sort of large cart, wasn't tied to steeds as he originally assumed. Rather, it moved completely on its own, being driven by magic unfamiliar to Atillus. It was far more efficient than a steed-drawn carriage might have been, and glided along the smooth paved road with no apparent effort other than a low humming sound.
The landscape of Tarsium was beautiful, and a far cry from the dry, brutal deserts of Omas. It wasn't until seeing the low, rolling hills covered in lush green grass and vibrant trees of the Tarsi countryside that Atillus realised even the most fertile areas of the Omati farms were dry and unforgiving. He'd never seen as much green in his life, and the peaceful sounds of birdsong and insect calls almost lulled him to sleep without needing to pretend. They passed a few small rivers, and again he was struck by the beauty of the place. A few hours later he was entering Carmerth. He may have been able to maintain his disguise the entire trip, but instead he raised his hood to cover his face and feigned sleep. There were two travellers in the cart with him, with space for a fourth. They didn't bother him, merely conversed in low voices with each other for most of the journey. Once the gates of Carmerth were visible in the distance and the driver of the cart announced they'd be arriving soon, Atillus quickly drew the disguise spell runes onto his palm again without moving the rest of his body. Pretending to wake up, he feigned rubbing his face and eyes as he attached the disguise onto his face.
Carmerth was an incredible city. It was considered the hub of trading for all of Pandeia, and evidence of this was visible even seconds after arriving. Every other building was designed in a different architectural style and with building materials from every country. There were temporary stalls, permanent buildings, and street vendors lining every road. No building was like any other, and none fit the building next to it, but somehow this made for a mosaic that looked natural. Atillus was particularly taken with Shenza buildings. Black metal twisted and shaped into organic looking branches wrapped around deep brown wooden huts with circular windows and doors. He knew in Shanaken the buildings were constructed high up in the gigantic trees native to the country, and the wood of the trees was used without chopping it or damaging it in any way. He was sure Shenza architecture would look far more beautiful in the trees of Shanaken, but these ground based buildings still impressed him a great deal. He headed for a Shenza inn, and was slightly disappointed to find it staffed by a Tarsi and several Omati workers. He paid for a week, took the sleek black metal key to his room, and went out to find a place to sell his belongings.
On the third day in Carmerth, Atillus was found. A Shenza assassin snuck into his room in the middle of the night. She was utterly silent, and Atillus survived only because he was already awake. He was staring out the window at the stars, his eyes almost closed, when the assassin appeared from nowhere. Barely controlling his instinct to attack, he instead waited for her to enter the room properly. She slid down onto the floor with a liquid grace that spoke of lethal talent, and even straining to hear her didn't help Atillus pick up any sound of her movement. Under his thin blanket, Atillus' hand grew hot as he readied a small fireball. He stopped just short of actual flame though, as it would glow through the sheet and give away his awareness of the assassin. But in this state, the fireball could be generated within a second or two. He waited for her. She remained crouched on the floor just inside the window, staring at him. Her head cocked to the side slightly, and Atillus realised she was listening for his breathing. Her face suddenly snapped back to face him, and her hand flew forwards in a silent flash. Atillus moved as soon as she did, and whatever she threw thudded into the wooden bed frame where his head had been a bare second before.
As he rose, Atillus drew and launched the fireball at the woman's chest. She dived low, rolling and throwing two more projectiles as she came out of the roll. The fireball glanced off the bottom of the metal window frame and streaked out into the night sky. Atillus ducked underneath the two throwing knives, feeling one nick his shoulder and hearing the sharp thudding sound as it hit the wall behind him. Not seeing any larger weapons sheathed, Atillus decided to take the fight to his assassin. He excelled with almost every style of combat, and although unarmed close quarters fighting was not a style he particularly enjoyed, he could use it just as well as any other.
He made as if to run to his bed, and then quickly changed direction and launched himself at his attacker. She picked up his feint and instead of diving away, she leapt to meet him. Atillus felt a begrudging respect for the assassin; her adaptability and quick appraisal of combat situations was very rare. He got one hand around her throat and used the other to quickly sweep her body for weapons. A sheath in the small of her back held a long, thin dagger, and she quickly tried to stop his hand from taking it. Her other hand was mercilessly jabbing his kidney, over and over, and he started grunting in pain at each hit.
He slid her dagger from its sheath and buried it in her stomach. She gave a small gasp, but kept hitting him, and now used her second hand to hit him as well. She jabbed his neck, face, stomach and groin. He kept his grip on her throat and bore through the pain. She was nowhere near as strong as him and her strength was quickly failing. He thrust the dagger into her again and again, between her ribs and into her lungs, into her armpit and then once more into her stomach. She stopped hitting him, and her breath was now almost gone. He held her up, her feet dangling above the floor. She went totally limp, and he felt how light she was. An odd sadness came over him then, and he put her down gently, looking at her face properly for the first time. She was so young. He sighed, staring at her slight form as she lay dead. He stood like that for a few moments, grieving for both a talented warrior and a young life.
He was unsure why it hit him so hard; in life or death situations, remorse shouldn’t have been a factor. Or so he had believed. There was something about this young woman, however. Although he knew she came to kill him, she seemed... gentle. She didn't have a cruel face and although she was obviously adept at killing, it seemed purely business to Atillus. He couldn't properly articulate why that saddened him as it did, but he somehow knew if the assassin was personally furious at him, he wouldn't have felt bad for killing them. He sighed again, packed his things, and left the inn as silently as he could.
He sold all of his belongings in the three days before the attempt on his life, and had a new stash of gold as well as a proper sword and Thearan travelling clothes. He left for Azar that night, walking instead of relying on travel by cart. He had no idea how long the assassin was tracking him for, and thought it would be safer if he travelled on his own.
The countryside was even more beautiful when travelling through it on foot. Even though he knew he was being hunted and may be attacked again at any time, the journey through Tarsium left Atillus feeling at peace. He camped each night, hunted and ate by streams and beautiful old trees. He walked as far and as fast as he could each day, stopping only to eat and make waste. He'd read a lot about Tarsium, and remembered all of it. He knew the flor
a and fauna, what could be eaten and what would harm him. He'd also seen a map a long time ago, and although much could have changed since the map was drawn, the three major districts would be in the same place. He could picture the map in his mind with perfect clarity, as he could with everything he read. Starting from Carmerth, he was certain he could make his way to Azar.
There were small, sleepy villages scattered around the countryside. Atillus avoided them, but strayed close enough that he could admire the peaceful atmosphere. He wandered for over a month in the direction of Azar, and despite having much to brood on and darken his mind with, the days of walking were some of the best of his life. He hadn't felt so at peace since his training started in Omatus.
Eventually, he came upon Azar. There was a truly uncountable number of people living in Azar, and almost immediately Atillus felt himself get lost among the vast crowds. He thought it next to impossible for an assassin to find him here, and cursed himself for heading to Carmerth first.
He walked for hours, and still wasn't even close to the centre of the massive city. He walked randomly, making turns onto roads without thinking and without planning. He stopped for some food at a stall made of hides, where an elderly Shenza man sold fish roasted in large yellow leaves. Eventually, he came across an Omati inn he liked the look of. He paid for a week again, sure this time no one could have found him.
Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Page 16