by T J Marquis
“But most people do not need the kind of help you did,” Rill said. “I would not like to meet the monster that did that to you.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Jon said. Rill chuckled.
“And there is a light in you that called to me,” Whisse breathed. She hovered close, studying him. “I was cleansing this stream that feeds the Red River.” She turned and indicated the shallow stream nearby, and Jon followed her gaze, managing to sit up a little more.
They were sitting on the rocky banks of the little stream, under a canopy of tall conifers.
Whisse looked back at Jon. “You fell from the sky into a muddy stretch downstream. I heard you splash down, and went to find you. Your veins were glowing with light.”
But not enough to take care of myself, Jon thought.
“You are a wizard?” Rill said, not quite a question.
“Yeah,” said Jon, “something like that.” He told them about the Nulian attack and his mission.
“Yes, the others have been whispering,” said Rill. “The green ones and beastmen ravage the land in their path, leaving wounds we won’t be able to heal for many years. Though our domain is the water, even my sister and I have heard the cries of the forest Katal.”
Whisse looked at her brother. “We must send him along his way, Rill.” She fixed Jon in her intense gaze. It almost made him uncomfortable, how close she was, but there was something calming about it as well, and she had the scent of clean, wet stone. “Will you give him a gift to help him?”
Rill seemed to consider it a moment, then nodded and stood.
“Rest,” he said to Jon. “I should return in a few hours.”
Jon felt the need to rise, to continue on his way. With every fight, time grew shorter. But he did not have the strength. His eyes closed to blink, and sleep took him instead.
Jon woke up with his head in Whisse’s lap. She ran her fingers through his hair as she hummed a song like flowing water. He watched and listened for long moments until she noticed him and smiled.
“It will not be much longer,” she said. “Rill knows the gift I desire for you, and the spring where he’ll find it is what feeds this stream.”
She looked up to the sky, resuming her song, then said, “More of us were wild in the old times. I think it’s been your people, and even the green ones, that intrigued us with civility.” She looked down at him again. “Did you know that my ancestors would have desired a baby from you?” she laughed as if this were a child’s innocent wish, then looked off to the stream. “I feel it too,” her voice was light, a bit wistful.
“But there was wrath,” she said it sadly, “until we began to understand how such things hurt your people.”
Whisse traced his hairline with a finger. “Still...” she trailed off.
Jon knew he should have some reaction to her forwardness, but he was weary from the poison, and her comfort and nurture were so soothing… He closed his eyes and drifted off again, and when he awoke, Whisse had gone, leaving his head on a pillow of leaves over pine needles. Rill was back, reclining against the trunk of a tree and watching the stream burble along. He was rolling a little blue gem across the tops of his fingers.
“Welcome back, wizard,” he said and came to help Jon sit up. “Whisse wanted me to tell you goodbye. Her spirit is a little… wilder than mine, and it’s hard for her to keep control.”
“Control what?” Jon asked, but he thought he knew. Rill didn’t answer.
The sarathi had laid Jon’s weapons aside, and Rill picked up the staff. He showed Jon the blue gem he held. It looked like a stone that might be set into one of Rae’s rings, but it was uncut and unpolished.
“It is dha,” he said, “meaning ‘flow’. It will amplify the healing powers of your staff.” Rill wedged the gem into a nook at the end of the staff, and it began to glow. “And it may provide you other protections as well. Be careful not to try and force its power - just let it flow, like water, lest the gem break.”
“Thank you,” Jon said, taking the staff. Immediately the enchanted wood’s latent healing power flowed into him, and his aches began to abate. Jon looked up, but the sky was mostly hidden by trees. “How much time left in the day?”
“Only a few hours,” Rill said. “You’ve been with us for a night and a day.”
“I need to go,” Jon said, standing up a little too fast.
“The dha should help sustain you,” Rill said, eyeing him, “but I’d advise you - if the demon that bit you returns, run this time.”
“He’s dead,” Jon said. But Krak had spoken of brothers. Would they be able to find him in the wilderness? He shook his head at himself uncertainly.
Jon took Rill’s hand and shook it, thanking him once again.
“Others will know that you have seen our kind, and may not hide from you,” Rill said. “Some will be willing to help, so look for us, wherever you go.”
“I will,” Jon said. He strapped on his punctured body armor, his weapons and pack, and launched himself up between the treetops to continue on his journey.
The fires of the decimated Nulian caravan still burned to the north. They must have spread to the brush beyond the path the supply train had beaten. Jon felt vaguely guilty for leaving such destruction behind, now that he knew there was a race of beings that would eventually have to come along and heal the damage.
Had Rae really thought that Bahabe might be sarathi? She didn’t have the same… quality as Rill and Whisse - there must be more to it.
Now he was airborne again, Jon found his bearings. The forest he’d left was actually a smallish patch nestled in between a collection of hills. Beyond was more of the gradually softening land that fell into the Nulian basin eastward. South, things looked to grow rocky and rough - good land to fly over, rather than having to walk or ride. The sun was well on its way down, and Jon wondered if he were yet far enough south to see Mount Iskeh chasing the edge of night.
Bolstered by Rae’s staff and the dha gem, he made good time before dark settled in.
He made camp hidden in a cutout left by a withering stream. There was a low overhang that would hide him from searching eyes, and he set the bloodlight as a barrier to entry. He wasn’t sure if sleep would come, considering he’d only been awake a handful of hours, but it did, though fitfully. Safety seemed a notion even more remote than before - what if the other necrosaurs came in the night, and managed to beat their way past the wall of bloodlight?
In his dreams he waded through doubts about this mission, but even mired in uneasy sleep, the unchanging essence of the vision he carried gave him hope that he was on the right path. Not much longer, and he would reach Heartspool.
The next morning seemed to be going well, as Jon began to veer slightly westward and away from the Red River. The land was scrubby and more arid the further he traveled from the Nulian basin. He was enjoying the reprieve from danger and pain and had begun to let himself believe that the enemy had lost track of him, when four small silhouettes appeared on the eastern horizon, flying directly toward him. It was the long necks that gave away their identities - Krak’s brothers. Jon had no desire to learn their names.
The cacophonic madness of their invasive thoughts mounted gradually as they pushed hard to catch him. He shuddered to think what it would be like to have to resist all of them at once, dumping their mental refuse into his mind to push him toward despair or madness. How fast could they fly? How fast could he? Perhaps Rae's staff would provide enough relief to allow him to sustain a higher speed.
Jon reached out to it, making himself the center of a circuit of power between the white light and the staff. The dha stone performed as promised, a bluish bubble of cool light blossoming out from the tip of the staff. Immediately he felt the tingle of refreshing energy throughout his body. The remnants of Krak’s bite itched as it began to heal. Beyond all this, the stone began to sing, a plaintive melody much like that which Whisse had been humming by the streamside. The slow, steady tones drowned out the dissonance
of the approaching necrosaurs. Jon grinned. Now for speed.
He dashed up to terminal velocity first, to test the healing staff’s effect on his response to increased g-force. This time, his vision did not grey, nor did his guts complain. He pushed harder, and the necrosaurs fell back out of sight swiftly. They couldn’t keep up. Good. But they wouldn’t give up either, he knew. He hoped the way ahead was clear.
Of course, he’d have to confront them at some point, or they might follow him all the way back to Centrifuge. He wanted to have the sword of his vision in hand when that happened.
The minutes and hours became a blur of frenzied flight. Intermittently he considered what the test of the enchanted lava might entail, and kept trying to tell himself it didn’t matter. He couldn’t plan for something that was so unknown. The hope that this was all meant to succeed was the best he could do. Still, the worry cropped up like tares among wheat.
Night approached, and Jon had a tough call to make. He needed rest, despite the constant influx of energy from the healing staff. If he misjudged his lead on the necrosaurs, however, they might catch him in his sleep, and there was no telling if the bloodlight would be able to restrain all four. If he forced himself to go on, exhaustion would eventually assert itself. Besides, he would be lit up like a comet - core of white light enveloped in a sheath of blue - so anything watching would find him more easily. Maybe he could sleep in shifts.
As dark fell he decided to hybridize his options.
He stopped in a region of jutting rocks and piles of boulders like the remains of an ancient mountain. It was good cover. He backed himself into a shallow cave in a short cliff face and closed off the entrance with bloodlight.
“It’s finally your time, buddy,” he said out loud, reaching into his pack to retrieve his cell phone. He powered it on. Even after all these weeks, it still held enough charge for what he needed. It was a testament to buying the right brand, he thought, amused at the incongruity of such considerations in these surroundings. He set an alarm for an hour hence, and lay back to sleep, hoping for the best.
The alarm’s call was supremely disorienting, but it worked, and no enemy had found him out yet. He kept up the pattern until daybreak, alternating a few hours’ flight with one of rest. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.
Jon maintained his lead over the necrosaurs throughout that day, even forcing himself to eat mid-flight. He saw neither hide nor fang of the pursuers, but he was certain they did follow. If any other traps had been set along his path, he was never aware of them - either the way really was clear, or he was moving too fast for anything to engage him.
Night encroached upon the land when Jon caught sight of the vast, dark surface of the volcano. Lava must have been gradually bubbling over the caldera’s rim for ages, flowing downslope to the arid land below and expanding the mountain’s igneous presence. Ridges and swirls of black rock created a pattern of randomness that would someday weather into a tamer landscape. The whole thing was so low and broad, it was easy to see why people had named it after the pool of the caldera, rather than calling it a mountain.
The contrast with the evening’s shadows revealed Heartspool’s glow, and at length Jon landed at the edge of the lava lake. He could feel its heat, and only now did he wonder to himself how he would harvest the stuff. Bare skin certainly wouldn’t do it this time.
His armor of light had stopped Malok’s sword, though its momentum had carried through. Jon thought his power great enough to resist the lava’s heat, and if the substance acted anything like the orb of tears floating at his shoulder, he would be able to contain it in a similar globule.
Jon sheathed his hand in light and knelt at the lake’s shore. The lava here was calmer than the far side of the lake, where it bubbled up against the sides of the caldera and splashed into the air. He reached in, fully expecting some strange test of his resolve. There was nothing. His hand broke the slightly crusty surface of the lava and a fresh flow lapped at his arm greedily. It was a deeper red than he had expected, hinting at the crimson of blood. The increase in temperature was noticeable, but not painful. Jon wrapped light around a portion of the lava and let it hover at his shoulder. Sealed off as it was, the lava did not begin to cool.
Musing, Jon thought he might know why the redsteel swords appeared to be less common, despite there apparently being no mental or spiritual test or ritual concerning its harvest. Perhaps there were some materials in this world that could withstand a dip into the enchanted lava, but he was willing to bet it could only be harvested via magic. Thus, anyone who had sufficient mastery over their powers was considered worthy by default. Or maybe he was just thinking about it too deeply.
Whatever the case, he finally had what he'd come for. It was almost surreal, and he hardly knew what to do next.
The decision was made for him, however, as the earth beneath him rumbled and the lake of lava began to surge within its confines, licking at the rim of the caldera. He had no idea if this was about to become an eruption, but he didn't want to find out the hard way. Jon took to the air and started northward. By now he'd memorized Rae's map, and he knew he need only angle slightly to the west to get back home. Likely the passage of the Nulian army would have created a trail of its own he could follow if necessary.
Jon hadn't flown far when the Heartspool's surface blew into the air in a huge concussive blast. Riding out the turbulence it caused, he looked back to see the massive wall of liquid fire going airborne. He added this to his theory concerning the rarity of redsteel. Anyone lacking the speed to escape or some other method of protection would be quickly consumed if the volcano erupted every time it was harvested.
When the mountain was out of sight, Jon landed, scanning the sky for pursuers. Seeing none, he sat amidst an open stretch of ground and pulled the orbs of hot blood and cold tears before him for inspection.
Jon's lessons from Dahm in sculpting the elements had been scarce and incomplete, but he'd practiced enough to begin to understand shaping such things to his will and imagination. The globules of red and blue proved quite malleable under their coating of light. Only Jon's skill as a sculptor was lacking. He managed to sketch out a hilt and crossguard using the tears, and it looked vaguely like what he'd seen in his vision. He pondered whether he was fashioning something after a pattern he’d been shown in the vision, or whether the vision had merely depicted a product of his future imagination. Freewill and predestination at a crossroads again.
Into the hilt he directed the flow of molten earth, looking all the redder in contrast with the blue water. He shaped it into a broad blade, allowing it to stretch long, and ran thumb and forefinger along each side of the blade as Dahm would have done, to sharpen it. He wasn't even sure if it needed to be sharp to cut mundane objects.
He felt like a child crafting a play sword out of clay, and his artistry was not far off that mark. But the weapon had heft as he curled his fingers around the newly fashioned hilt and released his telekinetic hold upon it, and he marveled at the bold energy of its presence. Jon directed white light into it as he had with his redsteel sword, and the tears and blood accepted it readily. Jon sensed the completion of a circuit much like that which he'd established with Rae's healing staff, and he grinned with pleasure.
This was how a wizard should be armed. This was a mage's blade.
Thinking of the way the bloodlight obeyed his instructions, he ordered the two elements of the blade to remember this sculpted state - he would refine it later - and then collapsed them into a single globe. He practiced drawing the blade back out several times and nodded to himself, confident it would work.
Reinvigorated by the forging of his new blade, Jon flew north for a few hours before daring to stop for rest. Time was short, but he had been pushing hard these last several days, and there were greater challenges ahead. He used his phone's dwindling battery to set his alarm, and slept and flew for a few more shifts until the night had grown deep. Then he found a wide-open space, with a commanding v
iew of every horizon, and he hunkered down to wait for the necrosaurs.
Finally, he did catch sight of the flying mountain, Iskeh cruising by not far in the distance, as if checking in on his progress.
He felt the mass of the old formation, the intense presence of its primal magic, and when its bright white beacon lit up as if just for him, he smiled widely. Let the monsters come.
Chapter 20
The Siege of Centrifuge
Dahm had walked the City’s ramparts for miles upon miles, considering the siege to come. The wall was more than formidable, a hundred feet high, with a long, slick talus to help frustrate any attempt at scaling it. It was hard to imagine how the builders of the fortifications had produced enough Enkannite steel to cover the City’s entire perimeter, but they had, and the result was impressive. There was no way the enemy would breach this wall.
Centrifuge had only four gates, one for each cardinal direction, and the gates, too, seemed impenetrable. Traffic flow in a more primitive city of the same size, and less sparsely populated, would have been hindered by the small number of gates, but clearly the ancient Enkannites had mastered the flight of small scale transportation - most people probably hadn’t been using surface roads to get about.
At regular intervals along the wall, the parapet gave way to broad platforms with the remains of ruined old cannons. They were larger than any Dahm had ever seen, and every one of them was twisted and burnt, damaged beyond repair. Some had been removed altogether.
As formidable as the ramparts were, the breadth of them was beyond what the Enkannites were prepared to defend, and that was where their challenge began.
The Nulians would approach from the south, making that gate the most likely initial target, but they were a vast horde, and any delay in reducing their number would allow them time to edge along the outer wall, forcing the defenders to spread themselves thin. If the Nulians controlled more than one gate, or against all odds managed to breach the wall, an Enkannite win would become much less plausible.