“Doesn’t explain how you’ve been here for fifteen hundred years!”
“It explains everything.”
She just looked at him, the same smugness she used to find so irritating now a happy thing for her to see. “Please elaborate.”
“It had been nearly a week since you vanished. Whatever planetary, solar, or galactic alignment allowed the portals to form, things weren’t lining up right anymore. But I saw you land in the tree, and I jumped. The portal couldn’t send me to the same place at the same time, but it sent me to the same place in a different time.” He paused to take another drink of his coffee. “I landed a few years after Arthur died, and the Kingdoms of New Breton had fallen to civil war looking for the Sword, so someone could claim his crown.”
“Wow.” She could only stare while that information sank in. “So…Moghren really is the one from the legends?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “and our distant ancestor. Be careful around the old witch. She isn’t evil, but her motivations aren’t always necessarily good , either. She made bargains, the same as we did. She’s the one who planted the tree, as well.”
“I don’t remember making any deals…”
“You traded your modesty for power. I’m guessing there’s a catch, too.”
“What? You mean the stuff the other version of me talked about when I got my class?” Morgan’s thoughts spun as she tried to remember. She hadn’t seen it as a bargain at the time, but it certainly was one now that she actually considered it. “The catch is, I can’t ignore ‘soul crime’, and I think I’m starting to figure out what that means…”
“Yes.” Max grinned. “As much as I hate to see you roped into it, at least that’s a worthy cause to be bound to. Just be very careful about any such agreements you might make in the future.”
“The woman with the bow, Terisa. I could feel the gem shatter, and hear the soul inside screaming. I have to find a way to help!” Morgan’s runes flared on her skin, the magic responding to her emotions even in the dream.
“Calm down,” her father said. “I’ve been stuck here for…” He sat back, concentration lining his forehead. “I’m actually not sure. As The Titan, I wander, clearing disturbances from the Ley Lines in service to the Tree. I sleep for decades or more until something comes up; that was part of my bargain, so I could stick around long enough to be sure I’d be here when you arrived.”
“It would have to be at least fifteen hundred years, if Moghren told the truth about when the ‘Titan’ arrived. I’m pissed she didn’t tell me about you , though, if she apparently knows you.”
“She never lies, but she doesn’t always tell the whole truth, and you should never trust her. But my point is, I’ve lived long enough to see and learn many things, and there are options available to help the soul trapped in the gem.”
“So what are we waiting for?” It was as if knowing there were ways to help triggered some instinct in her own soul, the urge to help a victim of something the System itself considered the only sin.
“I said wait ,” her father almost snapped, the stern warning in his voice an all-too familiar signal that he had important things to say. “You aren’t the only one who made bargains, and if you want to make sure I don’t eat your newfound friends, you need to listen before we rejoin the waking world. Communication is difficult for me out there.”
“Oh.” Properly chagrined, she waited for him to continue.
“The gem is shattered, and as we speak, the Huntress is trying to bully the necromancer into binding her sister’s soul. She has the best intentions, but if he does that, more than just the spirit in the gem will be passing through the veil. If The Titan rages, you and I will be the only survivors.” He delivered the statement as a matter of fact, voice flat and without inflection. “The Titan exists as a corrective contingency. If lines are crossed, and I can sense it, I restore the natural order in the most old-fashioned way.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “Eep! You mean—”
“I kill and eat everything that offends the balance. Not always in that order.”
“Oh,” she said again, quiet for a moment. “So the story Terisa told, when those kids said you ‘ate the bad men’…”
“Truth.”
She could feel her food trying to come back up when he made the admission with no hesitation, but regained her composure after drinking from her glass.
“So how do we help the poor soul in the gem?”
Max paused once again, waiting politely as the waitress refilled his coffee and Morgan’s juice. Only after another few sips did he continue. “First, you’ll have to get Terisa to calm down. If it weren’t for the love of her sister that she’s trying to make the necromancer do this, I’d have already eaten her. You might have to kick her ass real good, beat some sense into her.”
“After that?”
“Then we need the necromancer to do what his kind are supposed to do. Prepare a path for the soul to pass on peacefully. Not all Soul Magic is bad; far from it. You can’t beat a good necromancer when it comes to settling spirits and wraiths. It’s only the bad ones who are a problem.”
“Is passing on the only way we can help Terisa’s sister?”
Max shook his head, holding up a finger in admonishment. “No, but the option must be presented. We can offer her a choice. But only the Soul itself can make that choice. If she chooses to pass into the after, that choice will be respected!” His fist slammed into the table with the last words, a sharp, thudding impact adding power to the declaration.
Morgan nodded in understanding. “I can get behind that. So what’s the other option we offer?”
“Well, the Huntress keeps cradling the pieces of a bow along with the bag holding the shards of the gem. Her sister must have somehow been trapped in the Soul Gem, and at some point that was used as the core of a weapon.”
“I think I can see how that would work,” Morgan agreed. “I’m not very familiar with Soul Magic, but I do know some of my Skills like [Mana Link] use it, and some of my runes.”
He nodded, finishing off his coffee. “Well, seems to me if the soul in the gem was the core of a weapon before…” He reached into his jacket, drawing his sidearm and setting it on the table, fingers trailing over its frame. “This was my father’s before me, and his father’s before him. I can’t use it out there, and neither can you. But with the necromancer’s help…and your talent with crystal…” He looked up from the gun, meeting his daughter’s eyes.
“I think I see where you’re going with this,” Morgan replied with a sudden grin.
“Then it’s about time to wake up, I think, before the woman manages to twist that poor fella’s arm until he does something truly stupid.”
She smiled. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“I’m glad we got to visit,” he said, suddenly somber once more. “We won’t be able to do this again, unless you intend to make a habit of exhausting yourself and nearly dying.” He stood, flipping a few bills onto the table to pay for the meal.
“I sorta got the feeling it was gonna be like that,” she replied, standing up and turning toward the door. “I’m more surprised you haven’t yelled at me for being naked.”
He stopped, halfway to the door, and glanced over his shoulder. “You were born that way.” He shrugged. “You seem more than capable of slapping down anyone stupid enough to get handsy, so that’s your business. For now, though, we’re out of time.”
He strode through the door and vanished, with Morgan following close behind.
* * *
Morgan Mackenzie woke up feeling more refreshed and rested than she had since arriving in the Wildlands. The benefits of talking to someone and just letting it all out were not to be understated, even in a dream. She wasn’t given much time to savor the feeling, as tense, angry shouting soon intruded on her thoughts. She sat up and looked around, pushing herself up from a bed of vines and moss. Lulu hopped up her arm to resume her rightful place on Morgan’s shoulder with a
contented purble. The Titan rose to his feet behind her with a low rumble, and she grinned up at her father before hopping down to the ground and approaching the extremely distraught Terisa. The Huntress was struggling, restrained by the half-Ursaran, Foz. Her husband, if I remember right, Morgan thought as she approached.
“I know it’s forbidden!” the woman yelled at an uncomfortable looking Biggles, straining against Foz’s iron grip. The Necromancer had backed away from Terisa, who seemed on the edge of violence as she continued, “I said I would pay the price!”
“It doesn’t work that way!” Biggles responded, a disturbed Wuffle on his shoulder. The pale green scrubby didn’t seem to know why its friend was upset, but it could tell something had the Necromancer agitated. It noisily puffled its disapproval from its perch. “It would still be my magic, and I would suffer the consequences, too. I do not bind souls!”
Terisa seemed to sag in Foz’s arms. “Then—” she choked out, clutching the leather bag with the shards, where Morgan could still sense a soul in the throes of agony. “Then let me take her place, like she took mine…”
Biggles shook his head, a pained expression on his face. “All that would accomplish would be your death. She’d wear your body like a cheap suit, and she’d still be suffering.”
Morgan cleared her throat loudly, stepping between the two and interrupting their disagreement. “My dad has a solution, I think.”
“No. Binding,” The Titan said in his low bass, staring down at the squabbling pair.
“Yeah, we get that,” Morgan replied to the giant, waving her hand up at him before turning back to Terisa. “So, like he said, no binding, or everyone dies. And the odds are pretty even as to whether he eats you or I burn you first. That’s not negotiable.”
“That’s also not a solution!” Terisa snapped.
“It’s not just a question of if it should be done,” Biggles said. “Even if I were willing, we’re not in my workshop; I don’t have what I’d need. That’s a problem, for more reasons than you realize! If we don’t cleanse the spirits of the fallen, we’ll have wraiths or geists within three days from the Shackled who died.”
“What?” Morgan asked, her instincts flaring with the new revelation.
The Necromancer slowly waved his hand toward the bodies stacked against one wall of the fort, something the survivors must have done while Morgan was out. “The scrubbies and your um, father, devoured most of them,” he said. His face paled and he shuddered at the memory. “But they seemed drawn to the ones who were already corrupt in spirit. Nessara and these others were merely victims, Nessara especially. Damaged souls have trouble crossing the veil.”
The Titan rumbled his displeasure, but confirmed Biggles’ statements.
“Sad thing. Hurt souls. Suffer.”
“Exactly. I need to prepare a cleansing circle,” the man said, looking up at The Titan. “But when I send the others to the after, Althenea will be drawn with them without an anchor. I don’t have the tools to make one.”
“Hence my father’s offer,” Morgan said as the giant raised one oversized hand to his side. “I can help with the magic, and he’s got an anchor I think might be suitable. We need you to give her soul a choice , though.”
Terisa had finally calmed down and stepped away from Foz, who’d warily released her. “What do you mean, a choice?”
“She has to be free to pass on, or stay,” answered the [Skyclad Sorceress]. “That part isn’t negotiable. No binding.”
The Huntress seemed on the verge of protest, but Dana, who’d been standing nearby, pulled her aside with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “A choice is better than most get,” the armored Engineer said, voice soft with compassion. “She’s suffering; all of us can feel it, not just the mages.”
“I remember you.” The Titan had turned to observe Terisa, lowering his bulk to speak more directly to her. “Badger’s pupil.”
“Yes,” the woman replied. “Kamaga tried to stop the others from attacking you my first trip out here.”
“They chose. Their fate.” Even through his inhuman tone, the lack of remorse was clear.
“Yes, they did. Thank you for not chasing the rest of us down.”
His hand pushed into his side, crystals crunching along with bark and bone. It pulled away holding a chunk of obsidian larger than Morgan’s head.
“A gift. For Huntress. And Sister.”
Morgan felt her father work magic then, familiar in tone to her own, but not as volatile as her Fire or as wild as her Earth. It was merely an expression of The Titan’s will, overlaid on reality. The black and grey crystals that made up his armor reshaped themselves, separating and flowing back into his hand as easily as water. As the last shards retracted and he pulled his hand away, Morgan saw the familiar shape of his Colt pistol reveal itself. As it left the range of The Titan’s own aura, Biggles staggered back, as did everyone else, save herself and Terisa. The weapon pulsed with a threatening aura and a naked lethality, declaring its killing intent to all and sundry. Dana and Kojeg were the first to recover, both struck dumb at the sight.
“Death,” croaked Biggles, nearly cowering before it. “H-how many lives has that weapon taken?” His voice quivered in awe and barely restrained fear.
“It was his grandfather’s service weapon, then his father’s, and then his,” said Morgan. “It would have gone to one of my brothers if he hadn’t come to Anfealt.”
“I don’t understand how this helps,” Terisa muttered with a dejected expression. “I don’t even know what that is; all my Skills revolve around my bow.”
“Then learn more,” Dana replied easily. “I can teach you the basics, and you’d be surprised how quickly you pick it up. If not, you can still carry her with you, and use another bow.”
“If. Soul. Chooses.”
“Don’t forget that part,” Morgan continued. “Althenea has to choose for herself.”
Terisa reached out, taking the pistol in both hands, then bowing to The Titan. “I accept. If Biggles can manage it, I’ll abide by Althenea’s choice.”
“Morgan. Can help.”
“Yep!” Morgan put her hands on her hips, grinning at Biggles. “What do you need to make this happen, Mister Necromancer?”
Biggles seemed much more relaxed now that the prospect of bindings had been removed from the discussion. “For something like this, we’ll need at least two seven-pointed circles. I’d prefer three, but we don’t have—”
He stopped mid-sentence as Morgan’s magic flared, and with an almost casual expression of magic, a circle of dirt and stone nearly thirty paces across flattened itself in an instant. Purple flames licked along her arms, heating the surface as she compressed the material as densely as she could without [Spell Surge].
“So, three circles?” Indigo sparks leapt from her hands, jumping to the flattened earth that was now as smooth as glass. She waited, looking to the Necromancer for direction.
He shook his head wonderingly, clearing the shock from his mind. “Most would need hours of meditation to inscribe a single circle, and special tools to prepare the ground. It’s been a long time since I worked with a sorcerer of any sort.”
She grinned back at him. “It has its advantages. So, three equal circles? You need ‘em powered off ambient Mana, a permanent investiture that fades, or what?”
“Not equal size. One large circle,” he said, pointing to the middle of the flattened area. “Seven points for anchoring the array, and since we aren’t binding anything, it just needs to hold magic, not direct it.”
“So the big one is for the shards and the soul?”
“Yes.” The Necromancer nodded. “Then one smaller circle, but no anchoring links. I’ll inscribe the three runes that will allow her to pass through the veil if she chooses that path.”
Terisa waited almost reverently as Morgan and Biggles went about their work. The Sorceress noticed the other Worldwalker, Dana, watching as well. The helmet of her suit had reconfigured into a thin visor, a
nd the woman seemed to be trying to understand and quantify what was happening. Morgan didn’t mind, simply happy to be putting her magic to use for something she hoped would actually be helpful to someone, and not just destruction. It was even more satisfying to her than building her stone house campsites, although she would probably never give up that particular hobby.
As she worked, she watched the Necromancer fish a pouch out of his robes. He poured a strange grey powder into his hand and chanted in a language Morgan couldn’t understand, the words somehow blurring together into a continuous stream as he worked a strange magic. Sidling over to him, she inscribed a smaller circle near where he stood, barely touching the central one. He shook the powder out of his hand, which drifted down to cling, as if magnetized, to the lines she’d inscribed.
This must be Death Magic , she realized. It felt similar to Life Magic, but even though it didn’t assail her senses like the collars’ binding magics, it was by no means a comfortable sensation: it felt like a denial, a negation. Maybe it’s not evil, but it’ll never be my thing , she mused.
Biggles finished his spell while she watched, his necromantic skills empowering the smaller circle. Above the enchantment, a roughly spherical area of space seemed to darken and thin, gently rippling in the air. Even with her [Mana Sight], her eyes wanted to slide away from it.
“The veil is softened here. If she chooses, the soul can pass into the after without pain or regret,” said Biggles. His tone was quiet, almost reverent, as if to speak loudly would disrespect the event. He turned to Terisa, eyes soft. “There is no binding here,” he continued. “I’ve merely opened the door. It’s her choice whether to step through.”
Morgan had finished anchoring the seven equidistant stabilizing runes around the larger circle. The enchantment was already holding ambient magic, and a faint glow of soft, pink light seemed to fill the space above. “What do we need for the other circle?”
Biggles walked around the perimeter of the large circle until he stood across from the—Doorway I think is the only word for it —through the veil. “Here we need a one-way barrier to hold something in. Not a binding, but a temporary containment, long enough for the larger anchoring circle to take effect.”
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