“Yes please!” Cole blurted, imagining himself with Roth’s hulking muscles and huge black claws.
Alvani gave a cautious nod at Cole’s fervor. “Rage is perhaps the most dangerous school. The magic itself is but a tool, though its effect on its users can overwhelm if discipline is lacking. By tapping into their Rage, followers of the school are granted increased strength, agility, and reflexes, as well as heightened senses. As they gain mastery, the body covers itself with an indestructible material, protecting from any physical harm. The armor is called the shroud. It starts at the hands and feet, working its way over the rest of the body. It is rare, but when true mastery of Rage is achieved, even the eyes and internal organs become shrouded, granting the user complete immunity to any physical molestation. Mastery of one’s self-discipline must go hand in hand with Rage. More than one great Aenerian has fallen victim to their own blood-lust, causing irreparable harm to themselves and others. Take care to not lose yourself to it.”
“If I get out of hand I’m sure anyone here could handle me, no sweat,” Cole said, feeling very small next to Alvani. “So does everyone focus on just one of the schools or can a person get really good at all of them?”
“If you were to travel the expanse of the Dark Side, a great many tribes would tell you that their school is the right one. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find a city outside of The Sill that would allow other schools of magic within their walls. This line of thinking has produced some of the greatest and most talented Aenerians of our history, but their numbers are few and very far between. For example, a city devoted solely to the arts of Passion would be a beautiful place no doubt. However, they would stifle the talents of their citizens who were born with another disposition. Not to mention they would be at the mercy of anyone adept with Rage or some of the darker arts. Nor would they benefit from the technological and magical advances discovered by followers of Wisdom.”
Alvani pulled from her robes what appeared to be a fat jiggly seed, tore off the top with her teeth, and poured its clear contents into her mouth. She then offered the drink to Cole, who gratefully accepted. He was parched from sugary cream and the bread bowl. He hovered his nose over the opening and sniffed a fruity aroma. He tipped the seed back, sipping at first, then gulping. A slight burning succeeded the fruity taste, though not unpleasantly so. He quickly took another gulp, coughing.
“Careful,” Alvani chuckled. “The liquor is strong for one of your size. You might not be of sound mind for the rest of the lesson.”
Cole set the drink down as a pleasant, fuzzy pressure filled his head. He was relaxed and warm, but still very much interested. “Please, pretty lady, continue.”
“You flatter me, human. Very well.” She smiled, taking the drink from him. “Here at The Sill, we explore all schools of magic. All ways of life are not only tolerated, but embraced. Many cycles ago, Aeneria played host to its first and only war, which thanks to you, will resume this very hour.”
“I’m so sorry.” Shame flushed into Cole’s cheeks as he thought of all the people who would die on his account. “I had no idea about the barrier. Is there no way to repair it?”
“Do not be sorry.” Alvani placed a hand under Cole’s chin, lifting his head until he was looking at her again. “The barrier cannot be repaired because we do not know how it was erected in the first place. Even if we could, we would not. We have hidden under Oberon’s light for too long. With each passing cycle our power wanes as the Three’s waxes. This war must resume.”
“But why?” Cole asked. “If you were safe before, why would you want to start it back up?”
Alvani took another long pull from the seed, waiting a moment before answering. “The cause of this war, like most, was a difference of two rights. In this case it was a disagreement over creatures called soul flies. Soul flies are not insects as the name would suggest, but the souls of intelligent creatures from the local planets. Aeneria is fleeting and ethereal. It moves from one reality to another in a repeating cycle, half in and half out. Aeneria is not physically anywhere of course, that is why you humans have never seen it. It is insubstantial, just like the soul, which is exactly what is required to cross the aethers and Travel. When one enters a dream state, the conscious, subconscious, and soul meld together, dancing madly through the halls of the mind. In this state, the soul wanders. The soul is very real, though intangible and not bound by physical barriers. This allows the dreamer to Travel. On Aeneria the souls manifest as orbs of light, varying in color and size depending on the song of the dream. It is a marvelous sight to behold, and a profound experience to interact with a soul fly.” She paused, drinking from the seed again.
“Before the war we saw these orbs as nothing but a resource. They came regularly and the energies emitted by them were potent and easily harvested. There were those among us that saw fit to saturate the soul flies with darker magics, stimulating them until they yielded terrible dark energies. Once ripened they were fed upon, granting immense power to the one feasting. It was an unsavory act, though it went unchallenged because at the time even the wisest of us saw it nothing more than a relationship between predator and prey. We did not know the soul flies were sentient beings from the local planets. It was not until the first Traveling that we discovered what this feeding had wrought. When the Wisdom Walkers returned from their first journey, they recalled tales of ruined creatures whose souls were so mangled and wretched that they were beyond repair. These creatures became the worst of their kind; psychopaths, rapists, torturers, fanatics. They reveled in the pain of others. Wars, genocides, slavery, the most terrible things that intelligent creatures are capable of, all made possible because of us.”
Gale’s head came around. He gave a mournful chirp as he nudged Alvani’s cheek with his nose. A weak smile replaced her sadness and she continued, “Followers of Rage, Passion and Wisdom set themselves against those who abused the soul flies, inciting the war that continues this very day. We were outnumbered before, but now our fate is even more grim. Though the abusers could no longer feed on the soul flies, they have amassed a large population of Underkin from their local planet. Now they feast on the Underkin. Sadly, our strength has diminished since the banishing.”
Cole couldn’t imagine the giants around him losing a fight to anyone. “How have you been getting weaker? You all seem pretty tough to me. Did you think the barrier would protect you so you stopped training or something?”
Alvani gave a single shake of her head. “We have been learning and training every day since, though our education has been limited since we can no longer Travel. Our hearts and minds remain just as strong, but our magic has lost some of its potency. Our strength comes from Oberon, or to be more precise, the soul flies.”
“But I thought you said using the soul flies was wrong,” Cole said. “Or do you use them in a different way?”
“When the soul flies Travel in between their planet and Aeneria, they emit potent dust that trails off into open space. This dust collects on the surface of Oberon. There are still some remnants of it on the surface now. You can see it now. It is what gives Oberon its ever-changing hues.” Alvani pointed to a gap in the trees where Oberon peered through.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Cole searched the sky. Another question popped into his mind. “Does your moon not move across the sky? I swear I haven’t seen it move an inch. Ours orbits around Earth. Actually, every moon in our solar system orbits around a planet.”
“Oberon does not orbit, or rotate. It trails behind Aeneria, catching the dust from the soul flies. When the dust combines with the light from a star, the reflected light takes on certain magical properties. This light permeates everything on the dark side. The plants drink it in, then are eaten by herbivores, which are then eaten by carnivores, who then go back into the soil and insects when they die. Oberon’s light is a part of everything, and as it fades, we fade. The soul flies have not visited Aeneria for a long time, and Oberon has dimmed with e
ach passing cycle.” Alvani’s face drooped with sorrow.
“So we don’t stand a chance then?” Cole asked. “You’re telling me that you barely survived the last time and now you’re even weaker while The Three have grown stronger?”
Alvani waved a finger. “I would not count us out so soon. Though it is against the nature of many, we will adapt and unite. We must remain flexible and universal in our magics and in our minds, lest we fall to pieces as we did before. That is why here at The Sill we study and embrace all forms of magic. In the last war there were a few outcasts like us who could hold their own against The Three. We aim to pick up where they left off, this time with a few thousand capable souls.” Alvani took another pull from her seed, sighing as she cast her eyes towards the stars. “Evil tidings plague my dreams. It is possible that our time has simply come and gone, and we are holding on to the light of a setting sun.”
“How many other cities and tribes share your views on magic?” Cole asked.
“None. The Sill is unique,” Alvani replied.
“But that’s stupid!” Cole’s cheeks burned. “Why? They know what happened last time. They must know they won’t stand a chance if they limit themselves.”
Alvani shook her head. “There are few of us old enough to remember the battle at Oberon Temple. We are ancient, and tired. Some of us don’t have the energy for another war. We have tried to enlighten the younger generations, but you cannot force a tree to grow away from the sun. Our people fear change, and for them to embrace another way of magic is to teach a fish to walk on land. Perhaps with the barrier gone they will be a little more open-minded. Even now our envoys are traveling the whole of the Dark Side, spreading our knowledge and recruiting those who will join.”
The thought of facing armies of Corpulants and Domina gave Cole’s heart an anxious flutter. “Do you think anyone will join?”
“Every town and tribe will have its shunned and unwanted. They usually hide on the outskirts living off scraps. It doesn’t take much to convince them to join a life where they would be embraced instead of shirked. Our numbers are slow to grow, but they are growing.” Alvani took a deep breath and jumped to her feet with surprising speed. “Enough of this heavy talk, it wears on me. Let us see how Valen’s arm has fared.”
Cole pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he followed her. Was he drunk? The world took on a hazy glow, and he had trouble focusing his eyes in the shaded moonlight. They walked back to where the others still ministered to Valen, though to Cole it appeared as if there were twenty or more standing at the base of the evergreens. Even the orbs embedded in the trunks seemed to have multiplied.
“Forgive me, I knew not how the liquor would affect a human. I should not have offered it.” Alvani ran a lavender finger through Cole’s hair. For a second, his vision flashed white and his skin burned slick with sweat. He cooled immediately as the world came back into focus. His mind still felt pleasantly fuzzy, though not unbearably so.
Valen’s arm was much better. It no longer looked like a rotted and crushed stick at least. Valen appeared to be arguing with Lileth.
“This should be no great task for you. Come now Lileth, make an attempt,” Valen instructed, anger lacing his tone.
“I told you, I have not the skill.” Lileth’s eyes fell towards the ground at her feet. “Deekus or Eliza will have to finish you up.”
“They are already proficient in Passion.” Valen held out his arm to Lileth: “You need practice. Is this not why you are here? Why we are all here? Come, I am injured. Help me.”
Lileth affixed Valen with a steely glare. Cole hid slightly behind Alvani in case she brought that look down upon him. “Do I need to give you a child’s explanation? I told you, I can’t.”
Valen’s face shifted from polite concern to cold indifference. “Can’t is quite different from won’t. I would think a fellow Wisdom-follower would know this. Not once, but twice in a matter of hours you decided that you could heal a groveling Underkin. You are deciding now that you won’t lift a finger to help me, your friend. Is it in your nature to be so free with your Passion that you would give it to a complete stranger?”
Lileth’s face softened, though her eyes were on fire. She brought her hand to Valen’s mottled forearm. Her fingers did not glow with rosy light, however. Instead they darkened and elongated into gnarled claws. Lips curled in a snarl, she clenched her claws down on Valen’s arm, cutting through skin and muscle as if it were an overripe fruit. Valen’s face twisted in agony as his free hand shone a brilliant jade. The rest of the group stepped back a few paces, taking up defensive postures.
A gust of wind swirled, twirling debris around the two as the air around Valen’s glowing hand hummed with energy. The group backed up another few paces as Alvani strode forward. The wind died immediately as she placed a hand on a shoulder of. Both of them looked confused at first, then their faces slackened with a look of deep gratification, as if they were having a terrible itch scratched for them.
“If you two are finished, I would like to continue our lesson,” Alvani said, patting them both on the back.
They both nodded, faces dreamy.
“Beautiful.” She smiled, placing a finger on Valen’s freshly hewn arm. A single bead of pink light fell from her fingertip, landing inside one of the gushing wounds. Within a span of two seconds the wounds closed and the whole arm looked as if it had never seen so much as a bug bite.
Beaming, Alvani turned to face the group, clapping her hands together. “Now that you have all had a turn on young Valen’s arm, I think it’s time we tend to our three ancient friends here. Perhaps it is a good thing I cut Roth’s lesson short; had I not, there may not be anything left of these evergreens. Please, pair up and give them back what was taken. Storn, would you be so kind as to show our newest student this particular use of Passion?”
Grunting, Storn took Cole by the shoulder and guided him towards the farthest tree. “Let’s go new blood. Don’t worry, this part’s easy. The tree does most of the work,” Storn said, walking with the gait of a strutting horse. “You just need to touch the gratia stone like this-” Storn placed his hand over the glowing gem embedded in the trunk, “-and think happy thoughts about the tree. It helps if you imagine the tree as someone you care about. The gratia stone will draw the healing magic out of you and put it into the tree. Be careful you don’t hold on too long. It’ll take and take until you’re dead as dead.”
Storn closed his eyes, stroking the bark of the tree with his other hand. The gratia stone shone like the sun for a few seconds before Storn pulled his hand away. “They don’t need much.”
A pleasant aroma of pine trees filled the air as the tree swayed excitedly. Thin sprigs budded from the lower branches, sprouting bright green needles. Storn backed away from the tree, motioning for Cole to make his attempt.
Cole approached the trunk, realizing he was at a disadvantage already; he could not reach the gratia stone. Fortunately, Storn seemed to have noticed this already, as a moment later he appeared with the treetop Valen had torn off. “Where would you be without me, huh?” He tossed the thick mass of wood beneath the shining gem.
“Thanks.” Taking a step up, Cole was able to get his fingertips to touch the stone, which was surprisingly hot. He flinched at first, but not wanting to appear weak, held his fingers to the stone. It was hot, but not unbearably so. He looked up at the tree and tried to think happy thoughts, whatever that was supposed to mean. In his mind he complimented the tree’s girth and strong bark. Nothing. He tried to feel empathy for the damage the others had done to it. Nothing. He found himself more annoyed than empathetic and felt as if he were missing the point.
“Someone you care about,” Storn interrupted, jabbing Cole in the rib. “Imagine this person hurt, hurt real bad. Imagine you’re helping that person, and the tree will do the rest.”
Cole shut his eyes and brought his thoughts back to home. He thought of Nana Beth, but couldn’t imagine her getting hurt. She wa
s way too tough. His mind continued to wander. He felt the cold wetness of the puddle on the side of his body. No, he wouldn’t go there, he wasn’t ready.
He then tried to think about Ashley. One time she came into school wearing a sling from a skiing accident. This was a real memory, which was immediately replaced by real jealousy as he remembered all the attention she got from other boys in class. His mind wandered once more. The smell of chemicals and body odor made his stomach churn. No. Not that place, not that memory.
He forced his thoughts elsewhere, staying far away from home and his neighborhood. Perhaps a character from a movie? Cole focused on a war movie where a friend lay mortally wounded in the lap of his brother-in-arms. Brother. In his arms. His brother.
Joshy lay in his arms, body cold and limp. Cole peeled back his hood, the cloth a damp, dark crimson. There was so much blood, too much for such a small body. He barely recognized Joshy with the side of his head broken in, but the parts that were hardest to recognize were the uninjured parts. Joshy’s face was always full of life and laughter. He always had a smile, as if he felt something wonderful that no one else could see. That smile was gone now. His face was as limp and slack as the rest of his body. There was a moment, and infinitely minuscule moment where Cole felt as if he could still help his brother, as if he’d just fallen off his bike and hadn’t started crying yet.
“Cole! Dammit Cole let go of the stone! Master Alvani we need you over here now!” Storn cried.
Alvani ran down to the middle tree, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A look of shock and sorrow fell upon her face as she beheld Cole clutching the gratia stone with both hands. “Do not touch him.”
Hands inches from Cole’s middle, Storn backed away slowly. His eyes were not on Cole, but the tree. The tree was moving and swaying as if it were being battered by a heavy storm, branches whipping through the air. The tip of each needle blazed with dots of white light.
Saving The Dark Side: Book 1: The Devotion Page 22