The Fall Of The Tribes

by Philip Read

  “My crown chakra is fully opened. I can’t do anything with it as of yet, its not one of my talents. But I am able to sense psychic or spiritual communication much easier than someone without a developed or open crown chakra.”

  Asriel explains further. Giving me something to think about as we climb.

  “What language does it speak?” I suddenly ask, extremely curious. With my ability with languages from the blessing from that cult, maybe I could learn it.

  Asriel’s giggling discourages me though. He wouldn’t laugh if it was that simple.

  “Sorry, I forget how little you know about the world sometimes.”

  He says switching to Sandersonian, which is only when he makes the switch that I realise we’ve been conversing in Japanese this entire time. The language of the Hito people, one of the most complicated human languages on Gaia according to Asriel.

  “Mental communication can use words but it mostly doesn’t. Its almost like directly passing a concept or feeling from one mind to another.” He says, already seeing that he has lost me. Whenever he climbs he uses his spacial awareness skill to scout the immediate area around us.

  If he focuses on a small area, like about 100m radius, he can get more details. Like the confused scrunching of my face even without turning around.

  “When you’re hungry your mind doesn’t tell you in a language with words that you’re hungry correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “How does your body then let you know?”

  “I just know.”

  “Then imagine if you could take that knowledge of hunger and convey it to me mind to mind. I will just know what you mean because the feeling of hunger isn’t ambiguous. Hunger is universal. Makes sense?”

  I nod, moving through a difficult spot which he seemed to just shimmy over as he did that thing where he gets an after imagine of himself following after his every move. Definitely cheating.

  “That is the Universal language. The language of the mind that most psions, psychics, mystics, some Awakened Beasts, all Ancient Beasts and definitely all Ancestral Beasts can use.”

  Yea interesting information. I definitely have to be more diligent in developing my chakra pools. Chakra is just too useful and can do almost anything if you just learn how to unleash it though it’s still not as powerful pound for pound as mana. But for me Awakening is far off still. In another 30 years maybe, I hope sooner…

  *

  The rest of the climb is conducted mostly in silence. The air thin up here but the ether richer. Which is probably why the most dangerous beasts like the peaks so much.

  By the time we reach the spot the griffin has in store the Brave Blossoms have joined us. 15 elite vampires of the Hito Vampire Clan charged with escorting us to the Tundra and securing the agreement I have initiated for myself and my people.

  For 200kg’s of celestial ore I managed to jump the many decade long queue when it comes to having a soul sword forging. Getting a zanpakutō for myself, Mira and Saya when she’s old enough. Then secondary spiritual weapons forged for another 50kgs of ore. Scalable weapons that can only be used by the person that binds them with their spiritual energy effectively for as long as he lives. Invaluable items that get more powerful and resilient as the power and resilience of the wielder increases.

  But zanpakutō‘s are on another level all together. A power unto themselves, and very difficult to forge.

  Something that can only be done with the help of practitioners of soul magic and master samurai sword smiths. A concept that originated from the Hito people in their struggle again creatures that could not be killed using magic or martial strength. Creatures that damaged the souls of their victims and could only be combatted using soul magic. That is until the concept of a sword forged from the soul of it’s wielder was introduced. Through desperation a people quickly going extinct in their struggle against the Reapers of Souls found a way.

  A way that many could use for everyone has a soul, though only a few are chosen by Soul Magic. The first soul-sword, the zanpakutō. Was made purely of soul, ether and spirit. Said to be a sword so powerful it could slay a god.

  Cutting down creatures that were thought to be immortal for millennia. Teaching them to fear. But it was too late for the Hito who were forced to abandon their ancestral lands in the Underworld, forced to retreat and to find a new place in the Surface world.

  There, they dedicated themselves to the blade, kenjutsu, the art of the sword. And for the best zanjutsu, the art of the soul-sword. There they vowed to keep the Rapers at bay from the rest of humanity and one day reclaim their former home. An entire people dedicated to a way of life that encourages discipline, honour, sacrifice and martial might.

  That first zanpakutō became the example every other sword they made since tried to emulate. Perfecting the art of forging razor sharp blades that bend but never shatter. The katana’s that we know today.

  *

  “What’s with the escort?” Keiji asks indicating the Griffin’s who’s numbers have been increasing.

  “They were leading us here for our jump.” Asriel says before pulling out the 17 kites from his storage ring.

  The thing still amazes me when things are pulled seemingly out of thin air. And the kites are big, they have to be big enough to carry a man.

  “You ready?” Keiji asks everyone. He being in charge during this mission apparently.

  “Let me lead this time.” Asriel says stepping forward after harnessing himself in.

  “Why?” Kenzo Suzuki asks.

  He usually leads the jumps and all the other kites follow his down to the next mountain by-passing hours of travel and days of climbing by flying a few hours through the air. I’ve learnt to enjoy the jumps, even climbing is sort of peaceful, allowing me to meditate on my body while doing it.

  “The Griffins will escort us through the wind updrifts. We’ll get more altitude if we follow them and travel further. They say we could skip an entire mountain and save ourselves another day of travel.” Asriel says looking at all of them.

  Kenzo shrugs when Keiji looks to him for his opinion. “Either way way it will be interesting.” Is all the vampire says.

  With a nod from Keiji Asriel goes to the edge first and jumps. We follow suit one after the other. High above the clouds jumping of a mountain and we can’t even see the ground.

  As I jump my stomach does a little flip. It feels like jumping of the edge of the world and for a second I drop like a rock. Then I soar!

  Chapter 7

  “Not all magical beasts are Awakened but all Awakened beasts become magical.”

  Except from: The Book of Tears.

  By: Unknown Philosopher

  Written by: Atticus the Bold

  * * *

  Joseph

  Orders from the Inner Circle have come down and we are to kill all the cultists that didn’t take our offer. Gruesome work but apparently necessary, or so I’m told by the loud mouth Scarpa walking besides me.

  “We are almost there now, it shouldn’t be too much further.” Diniè says trying to appease the loud mouth old man before he voices another complaint.

  Questico and Skhar are nowhere to be seen. The two liking each other’s company more than anyone else’s and being very good at scouting.

  They couldn’t be more dissimilar in appearance by their personalities mesh perfectly. These mountains are dangerous and through the trip we’ve already had to face magic resistance trolls, slaughter a few dozen groups of ragged orcs, deal with a nest of giant snakes and skirt around a few places claimed by creatures too powerful to fight, even for us. One of which was a territory full of humans but under the protection of an Ancestral beast.

  How they managed to get it to let them stay was a debate the others had amongst themselves for over a day.

  “I swear Assad sent us here on a wild goose chase just to fuck with us.” Scarpa says hefting his huge glaive as though playing with a small stick.

  The thing is 2m long, one meter a
beautiful black shaft made of a wood I am yet to identify, the blade takes up the other meter. Made of celestial steel and curved with runes that glow blue when he uses it to fight or kill. One of only two people in the entire Circle with a spiritual weapon.

  The man is a brute and a thug, big, strong and likes to cause pain and torture slaves and his opponents. A true sadist that is only a part of the Circle by virtue of the weapon he wields.

  Sure he is a strong fighter, an Awakened Lord even. But the Circle is all about sorcery, every single 49 of us are sorcerers in some form or another.

  But all Scarpa has is a weapon with a sentient spirit inhabiting it. A weapon rumours claim he inherited from his mother but from the way the brute treats women I doubt he ever had a mother. I look at our party as we trudge up the cold steep mountain.

  There are six soul marked slaves, compelled by the marks to obedience and secrecy. The tall shifty apologetic Diniè who is our guide from Assad’s spy network, the only one who knows this continent. Then the three other sorcerers Scarpa, Skhar and Questico.

  People who should understand me. People I thought I would find true camaraderie with for the first time in my life. No such luck, at least not with most of them.

  The Circle is filled with psychopathic, power hungry megalomaniacs. I should have known that any person that actively seeks to control and commune’s with spirits is dangerous and insane.

  But I’m stuck with them now, 7 years I’ve been with these people and I still don’t know their goal. Besides knowledge, secret power and the dedicated study of sorcery our goals are vague and our missions varied.

  At least we do still study sorcery and share some knowledge amongst each other. But the human sacrifices, the mutilations, the little assignments we do for some of the spirits have been leaving a bad taste in my mouth for years now.

  “I bet you the other groups are already done with their assignments and fucking whores and killing peasants.” He grumbles spinning that huge weapon around his shoulders and arms like a hoola hoop.

  I don’t respond, not that he expects me to since I am an initiate of silence of the Order. Expected by the circle to infiltrate the Order and do gods knows what else. But so far I like living in Tiba much more than I like these lunatics of the Circle, the irony of life.

  I also have a gease on my soul though, all 25 of us in the outer circle do. And if we ever betray the circle in anyway, the gease compels us to kill ourselves while willing our souls away to some spirit to do with as it pleases. I’ve been tempted a few times but the knowledge that those creatures I’d have pissed off by blabbing could somehow keep my soul even after death has be utterly and completely loyal.

  This trip has been a treat for me though. I’m only 27 and had never left Pangaea before nor ever travelled by water and I thoroughly enjoyed it. This continent is the best part though, the slavery here is mild at best. I only saw a couple of dead bodies on the streets of that city we visited and none of the slaves are malnourished children with bloated stomachs exposed molested nether regions.

  The infrastructure and magic is surprisingly well developed for such a small remote continent. A continent I had never even heard of before being pulled out of Tiba for this assignment. At approximately 38 million square km’s it’s big enough to support a substantial population, but small enough that it isn’t a threat to the powers in the world.

  But seeing it on an ancient map in the great library at Tiba I understood how it has gone mostly ignored by the rest of the world. It’s southern neighbours are the mermen isles said to be shark, kraken and mermen infested waters, deadly to all creatures but especially to humans, the favourite prey of the mermen. Both for the challenge and sport human prey provides and because most of them consider us mortal enemies for some past wrong or some such.

  To the southeast it’s closest neighbour is the Undine continent. A paradise for beasts, nature spirits, dryads, nymphs, druids, snakes and birds. A rainforest of undetermined depths no man ever returns from who ventures without invitation. And to the west the wide open ocean, Panthalassa, practically no man’s land where no rules apply and everything goes.

  And it’s northern neighbour the Archaic Arctic. An actual arctic so cold that the air is liquid vapour and new elements can be observed in gas form that have never been observed anywhere else in the world.

  Then this little rock sits nicely isolated with mild weather and beautiful mountains. We had to get passage from the Undine, something they are newly known to do. That being the safest access point to this little Sandaria.

  Isolation has had it’s disadvantages though. Though these people’s society seems less war thorn and numb to the suffering of others its magical combat advancement has been very slow. The cities are unwarded, the tools mundane without enchantments. Most of the master magicians or more scholars than warlocks. Their level of magical technology so far behind the rest of the world it’s none existent.

  I look up as the call signal from Skhar comes in. Scarpa giggles excitedly and I know we’ve arrived, we have found the monastery of the cults.

  *

  I’m leaning against an outcrop of rock as the assault continues checking for detection, those running off or trying to survive the night. The first sound I hear in five minutes is the roar Scarpa makes as he takes a life. The first of the trip and the happiest his been in a while.

  I move in, my arm lighting up in orange and gold hues in stripe and slash shaped designs. I voosh it forward and an energy whip slices someone in two then changing hue as the doomed shape now deflects bombardment from multiple sources. These priests aren’t weak or afraid to be militant, they protect spirits and their hosts.

  We rush in, my power changing shape and characteristics from disk to energy bolt to laser beam. Taking out everything alive around me limited only by the scope of my imagination, my Images. The spirit is me, I am the spirit, possessed. The reason the others look down on me, or disregard me, or pity me. But also the reason I qualify to me among them.

  They control spirits for their own power, their own amusement, they never allow spirits to control them. And this one almost had me, but eventually opting to be part of me instead after a protracted struggle for my body. Taking us both in an unwanted union that made us a new being. Me, with some memories and traits of both, but being neither.

  Questico with his sigils is a daemon. Drawing in the air as though on a canvas, powering his symbols simultaneously. Water, ice, shades and lightning spewing out. Each in it’s own direction driven by his mana. Even as he makes adjustments to each symbol, changing the element of attack.

  And Scarpa a blur as he cuts through everything, even pillars and walls. Using his glaive to parry even magical attacks of bolts of lighting. Nothing getting passed him in his eagerness to kill. Almost seeming possessed himself as his eyes glow and a dark blue malevolent miasma seems to steam out of him.

  Skhar I don’t even see. That’s how good he is at whatever it is he does. Even the dead bodies reveal themselves when he’s done with the killing, helping him keep incognito by their conspicuous absence during battle. Some try to flee as we cut into them, hemming then in with summoned spirit avatars that take the forms of mythical creatures.

  Hand gestures and mental commands unleashing my power. Its use taking its toll on my mind and body. A slight membrane always protecting me from mechanical damage and force. Knowing that some of these people will have been Awakened.

  Fiery arrows start shooting at my shield and deflecting off, increasing the tall it takes to maintain it’s energy. Secret doors flying open and coming off hinges as no one who survived today would care about such things anymore. There is an explosion of blood as one of the spirit avatars claws into the magic bow user, clearing the way.

  We slaughtered them as we are meant to, as we are sent to do. Doing the bidding of our master, the unnamed man in the number one position. Though a few in the Inner Circle are unnamed, known only by title or deed. The Black Widow, eater of men just a lik
ely example, none are as mysterious as the master.

  Blood splatters everywhere but even that is held at bay by my shields. Keeping me clean of the gore and I also use them to mitigate the smell.

  By the time an hour has gone by we are more than halfway through the extermination. Not taking account of affiliated and unaffiliated cults. Some probably’ve never even heard of us before. We kill them all, going above and beyond our mandate.

  By the second hour one of the spirit avatars comes with a report of flying warriors. We’ve got an incoming mysterious force, and they are moving fast. Too fast not to be reinforcements, we set up a barricade and let the priests still surviving scurry away. We’ll deal with them later.

  *

  Sachihiro

  Flying is one of the best things I’ve ever done. The views, the air in my face, the feeling of release and freedom. Nothing can touch me here. At least that’s how it feels for a while.

  The Griffins are true to their word and lead us through air currents or whatever they are called. All I’m sure off is it’s exhilarating. Usually when we glide we go mostly horizontal but slowly lower and lower pulled to the ground until we land on a mountain face and climb high enough to reach the next mountain in a single jump.

  But this route we take occasionally takes us up higher, higher even than some of the mountains until we break through the second barrier of clouds. Clouds so much higher up than rain clouds that they are rarely visible from the ground. The mystic clouds, said to be the domain of creatures that rule the skies, creatures like dragons and writhes.

  By the time we get low again we’ve transverses more than half the distance to the Tundra and if I remember my landmarks correctly, we are close to the monastery of the hidden cults.