by John Mangold
Rage exploded within her as she was forced back to reality. With renewed savagery, Delilah dug her heels down hard into the horse’s flanks, quickly discovering that she was not alone in her frustration. With a furious whinny, her mount began to buck wildly from side to side. When this failed to dislodge its abusive passenger, the horse raised high upon its hind legs, Delilah struggling to maintain her position by pulling hard on the leads. Her efforts were in vain. Two pulses and a loud thud later, Delilah was flat on her back in the middle of the trail, her mount trotting happily off into the wilds with her supplies secured tightly to its back.
As Delilah regained her feet, the world through her eyes turned to a scarlet red. She clenched her fists hard at her sides as her already poorly contained rage exploded within her. Dark words spilled from her lips in mutters, causing the soil around her to rumble and sputter as steam erupted through tiny fissures in the ground. Within a few pulses, the soil around her began to ebb and flow, the forest bed becoming a roiling lake of earth and mud. Gossamer streams of water vapor flowed up from the ground to Delilah’s clenched fists, absorbing into her exposed skin. The very air around her began to congeal, filling with uncontainable energy, needing but a spark to explode.
With the bellow of an arcane command, the land exploded upward into the sky, turning trees, rock, and soil into so much deadly shrapnel. As pulverized rubble succumbed once more to the natural world's physical laws, debris began to rain down from the now obscured sky. A pall of dust made of dirt and pulverized wood choked the air, blocking out all sunlight for a time. As the veil slowly began to give way to the prevailing winds, Delilah was once more revealed to the world around her. She crouched down on one knee in the center of a circle of absolute destruction, twelve full feet in diameter. Her wayward horse was nowhere to be seen, but his fate was no longer her primary concern.
Delilah’s arms felt like led, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she was sure it would burst. The air burned her lungs as she gasped for breath, as though she had been sprinting for hours. In fact, it was all she could do to simply maintain consciousness. But her sudden exhaustion registered only slightly on her awestruck mind. For a timeless moment, Delilah was content simply to rest, taking in the spectacle she had unleashed. She had unleashed. She had spent her whole life in the archives, perpetually reading spells yet never being able to cast a single one. Her abilities had been ever hemmed in by the infernal Null Effect dominating the compound. But now, she had done what she had always dreamed of, and it was more intoxicating than she could have possibly imagined.
In time, the air cleared, allowing the sun to reach her once more. With the faintly warming rays, Delilah felt the reality of the situation settle upon her. The elation of the destruction she had wrought quickly evaporated in the brilliant light of day. She was nowhere near her goal of the northern border crossing in Drufel, she had only the vaguest idea of which direction to head, and she was now without mount or supplies. The embers of rage began to burn once more within her grumbling stomach.
With quiet determination, Delilah began to regain her feet, picking up her wide-brimmed hat as she arose. Muttering more oaths to those responsible for her situation, adding her unruly horse to the list, Delilah straightened up to continue her trek north on foot. It was then that she heard a twig snap behind her. Delilah spun to confront the intruder, finding the clearing as empty as before, with one exception. Within the epicenter of destruction was an inexplicable patch of darkness defying the stream of light from above. Focusing on this ethereal form, Delilah could make out the subtle outlines of a comely woman, her green eyes sparkling with wicked delight as they stared straight back at Delilah.
5:
A Ravenous Oddity
Words filtered into Maluem’s mind from a world just outside her consciousness. At first, she could make no sense of them at all; a flow of never-ending gibberish screamed with intense urgency. Slowly, the torrent of yells began to fade, as though their sources had found a new target for their ramblings. Yet Maluem could not fight a sense that someone was far too close, someone who intended her great malice. She unconsciously sucked in her breath, wishing she could retreat to anywhere, anywhere but here.
A voice suddenly pierced the oppressive silence.
“Marcus! What are you doing?” The tone of this new voice held a scolding note, yet Maluem felt a strange relief at its sound. It was a feminine voice with a foreign accent that seemed to make every statement a question. Almost instinctually, Maluem decided she liked this speaker at once.
“I wasn’t doing nothing, was I?” A dull male voice answered with a similar accent. Its source seemed uncomfortably close to her now. “I was just making sure our new friend was breathing properly.”
Maluem knew she hated the source of this new voice. Every word it spoke seemed corrupt with half-truths and lies. She did not know why, but she knew its owner meant her ill.
“Oh, so you’re a Medic, are you now? Well then, I suppose you should be aware that your patient does not breathe out of that part of the anatomy. Or were you searching for other signs of life, perhaps?”
“I…was…I…”
“That’s enough out of you. I have no time to watch you hang yourself with your own clumsy words. Ticks are precious, so quit wasting them and tell me where you found this woman.”
“In the tall grass, a yard or two down the road. The silly skrite must have set the old kitchen ablaze with the grill-”
“I’ve warned you about using that word around me, haven't I?”
“What? Skrite? I didn’t mean nothing-”
“And now you use it again! Try it a third time, and you will be needing those newly minted medical skills to mend the lumps I plant on your head!”
“Awe, come on, Nia, I-”
“And he’s still talking! This patient needs the arts of a healer, not the attentions of a sledge-headed lout such as you. Go! Fight the fire, chase down her horse, do some good if you can manage it! Although it will be an immense surprise to me if you do.”
With those words, the uncomfortable presence slowly faded away to be replaced with a wonderfully calming aura. Maluem became aware of hands being laid upon her, yet she felt no aversion at their caress. As they slid across her forehead, Maluem could feel the incessant heat filling her entire being fade slightly. As her body cooled, her squirming mind began to settle. Her thoughts began to slow into a gentle rhythm as comfortable darkness flowed up around her. Her consciousness began to drift off into a deep sleep once more, but she was not afraid this time. Somehow, she knew she was in capable hands. Somehow, she knew she was safe.
***
Maluem soon found herself floating in inky blackness. Though she felt no fear, she was, in fact, quite disoriented by her new surroundings. Try as she might, she could find no details in the choking black that would betray up from down. She could not sense where her arms or legs were, or indeed if she had a body at all. The universe of darkness seemed all-encompassing and never-ending.
As she struggled in vain to gain some understanding of the world around her, Maluem became dimly aware of two pale, glowing objects some considerable distance from her. Whether by her will or an unseen hand, her vantage point pivoted, centering on the peculiar orbs. As best as she could understand, the objects looked like two small white spheres swimming in a perfect vacuum. But, with nothing nearby to judge their scale, it was impossible to determine their actual size or how far away they were.
With her attention settling on these two anomalies in the endless void, Maluem began to perceive that the devices were growing. In a few pulses, her suspicions were confirmed as their circumferences doubled, then tripled. Even with this growth, Maluem discerned no details on their surfaces that might help her identify them. Their smoothness only deepened her curiosity in the objects, which in turn seemed to spur the growth of the sphere even further.
Since her eyes were fixed upon these objects, another detail of her newfound world escaped her atte
ntion. Glancing in a direction that she guessed was down, she realized that she was, in fact, gliding over an amazingly smooth surface. Within it, strange, irregular forms of pale white sped by in the opposite direction of her travel. Their outlines seemed to be wildly distorted, almost as though they were deep underwater. As this realization struck her, the nature of the shapes became obvious. They were the bones of an untold number of skeletons blanketing the bottom of this immense, liquid mass.
Her eyes followed their tangled lines back up ahead toward the direction of her flight. It became apparent that she was approaching a single object, its twin being a reflection in the watery body below it. The sphere’s glow illuminated a small mound over which it hovered, an island of massed bones protruding through the water’s surface. On top of this rested an arcane casing which restrained the orb in its grip.
Drawing close, Maluem could make out intricate runes etched deep into the cage, holding the orb captive. She could not be sure of the marking’s translation, but the rune lines were similar to an ancient binding spell she had glimpsed in the forbidden vaults of the National Archives of Camilos. Whoever created this artifact would have to predate those ancient scripts. This had to have been crafted before the great cataclysm, in the time of Dorjakt. With this thought, her interest in the treasure increased a hundred-fold.
The orb was now so close that, had she command of her own arms, she could reach out and caress its vile beauty. Her eyes delved deep into the milky white surface of the orb’s mass. Within its depths, finely etched script spun on the axis of the perfectly formed sphere, shifting as they flowed. With their movements, Maluem began to detect a sentient spirit entrapped within, a malevolent mind yearning for freedom from its eternal captivity. She opened her mouth to speak, thinking that perhaps she could communicate with this entity in some fashion. She was wrong.
The spirit suddenly lashed out, snaring her in its icy grip with such speed there was no time for escape. Within a half pulse, she felt her soul being wrenched cruelly from the surrounding empty, dragging her towards the attacking device. She now saw the orb for what it was, a crouching predator set to devour the souls of unwary victims. It was then that Maluem understood pure terror. Though she could not tell if she even had a mouth, Maluem willed herself to scream in horror as she struggled to find a way to resist. There was nothing, only the orb looming larger and larger in her sight as she was dragged slowly within.
With wide eyes and gaping mouth, Maluem found herself sitting bolt upright on a rather odd, metal-framed bed. The room around her was quite large, filled with many cots like hers, each, in turn, holding a patient whose shocked eyes were locked upon her. Had she the mind to notice, she would have seen that they all wore loose-fitting blue robes, tied loosely in the back, each identical to the one she now wore. The chamber's high walls were covered with brightly colored paint, heavily worn and chipping in places. It was from these smooth surfaces that Maluem could hear the fading echoes of a scream that she now recognized as her own.
6:
A Minor Inquisition
As Maluem sat, trying to gain some understanding of where she was, she heard a familiar voice speak calmly from behind her. The soft words brought with them a warm sensation of safety and rest. She immediately associated the tone and accent with a name, Nia. In that same instant, Maluem knew this woman was a friend.
“Calm yourself, girl. It was just a dream. You are safe here.”
Maluem turned to look up into the eyes of the speaker. She was a pretty woman of medium build and height, with shoulder-length auburn hair. Her eyes were blue, holding a gentle light within them, though they also told of a soul that had seen much pain. She wore an odd white coat that hung down below her knees, with many silver devices dangling from its copious pockets. Underneath, she was garbed in an unusual blue outfit that consisted of both a blouse and pants. Had she seen her in Camilos, she would have looked sorely out of place, but here her appearance seemed well suited.
“You gave us all a bit of start with that yelp,” She continued when Maluem did not reply. “Are you feeling well?”
“Yes, I…, that is, I think I am,” Maluem stammered. “How-”
“Now, now, I am sure you will be having a great many questions,” she cut in with a soothing tone. As she spoke, Nia eased Maluem back to lay flat on her bedding. The touch, though relaxing, made Maluem slightly uncomfortable. “And we will have a fair bit of questions for you as well, but that can wait. For now, you need more rest-”
“Well now, I don’t know about that,” a booming male voice spoke out cheerfully from behind the young woman. “She looks well enough for a bit of talking to me, Nia. What say you, ma’am?”
For the first time, Maluem recognized that a tall figure loomed behind Nia. At first, she thought that this might be that unwelcome presence she had felt before, but his pattern of speech was all wrong. His voice sounded clear and sharp, as though it belonged to a man of confidence and control. Looking beyond Nia, she squinted against the light radiating from the large windows to make out his features. The new arrival was a tall, blond man with bright blue eyes and a well-groomed handlebar mustache. He wore a dark blue uniform, piped with bright yellow seems on the sleeves, and adorned with intricate silver buttons. A smart badge of a Lion’s head in profile decorated much of his left shoulder, and on his left breast sat an array of impressive ribbons, no doubt from many military awards. On his right side of his chest, etched on a simple silver plaque, was his rank and name, “Sergeant Mitchell.”
“Who are you?” Maluem managed after a pause.
Nia opened her mouth to speak, but the tall Sergeant beat her to the punch.
“Where are my manners? Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the nation of Enox. I am Sergeant Kym Mitchell, and this lovely lady is Doctor Nia Fyfe. Would it be a bother if we were to sit and chat with you for a while?”
Maluem simply shook her head as Nia pulled an odd device from one of her pockets. Placing one end of a flexible tube in her ear, Nia moved to put the other end, a silver device with a flat face, to Maluem’s chest. Maluem had no idea what purpose this gadget served, and she did not care to find out. As Nia’s hand neared, Maluem deftly pushed her arm aside at the sleeve, feigning as though she were about to be sick. The ruse seemed to work as both quickly took a step back. Looking down, Maluem finally took in her new attire. Her look of alarm must have been apparent to her visitors.
“Not to worry, I have secured your personal effects,” Sergeant Mitchell remarked, with a grin. “As best we can tell, they must have fallen free when your horse bolted. We were able to collect your items, but your mount was long gone by our arrival. Some of your items looked quite intricate in their making, and I did not think it appropriate to leave them stored under your cot. As such, they are safely held in my office, for now. You may reclaim them as soon as the good doctor declares you fit enough to leave.”
“Sergeant, is this all really necessary?” Nia interjected, looking more than a little perturbed. “Her wound is healing nicely, but she could do with a little more rest before you start grilling the poor girl.”
“Come, Nia, let’s not be so dramatic,” Sergeant Mitchell soothed as he pulled up a flimsy-looking metal chair to Maluem’s bedside, the legs scraping loudly on the smooth floor. “I hardly mean to throw the poor lass on the pikes. I just have a few questions for her before I go, it won’t take but a moment, I promise. Now, if you don’t mind me asking ma’am, what would your name be?”
“I am Maluem,” She replied, getting a little impatient with the pair of them.
“Maluem, is it? No surname to speak of?”
“No. Not one worth repeating at any rate. Listen, was there anyone brought in with me? A young man with brown hair-”
“Hmm, no last name, you say. Well, considering you had no form of identification on you, I guess we shall have to take you at your word on that. Do you remember anything before we found you? Do you remember how the fire got started?”
“Fire,” Maluem repeated, sitting up suddenly. “I have no memory of any fire-”
“Come now,” Kym pressed. “It was an enormous blaze! You were quite fortunate to escape unscathed. Surely, you must remember-”
“I tell you I have no idea what you are talking about, and furthermore, I do not care. I just want to know if there was a young man with me. He would answer to the name of Volo Jinn. Did you see him?”
“Calm down, Maluem. Please, lay back down.” Nia attempted to soothe while passing a very sour look to the Sergeant beside her. She reached out to ease Maluem back to a more relaxed position. However, Maluem flinched at the last moment, blocking Nia’s hand from touching her shoulder.
“We came upon you near an abandoned Lumberjack camp,” Nia continued after an uncomfortable pause. “It looked like one of the dilapidated structures had caught fire and set some of the old-growth alight with it. One of the soldiers found you lying in the brush nearby. I am sorry to say, we found no one else. Do you suppose he could have been trapped in the old kitchen, maybe after you escaped?”
“No, I could not have…the last I remember, I was in the inner chamber of that odd building, near the grill, and Volo was tending to my wound-”
“Well, that would make sense,” Sergeant Mitchell cut in. “We figured the fire was probably started by the old grill. As fickle as those rusted runes can be, they tend to get a bit out of control. You must have crawled free when the blaze started.”
“No, that could not be,” Maluem protested as she tried to rise once more. “Firstly, the runes were working fine. There was nothing around them to catch fire. Secondly, I could barely move. Volo… must have-”