by Damien Lake
How could any mage, no matter his strength, so much as touch a seven-line knot without being destroyed? Why would an ancient mage go to whatever horrendous efforts it took to redirect the forest lines and form a knot that he could never use?
Colbey had said his ancestors had stayed in order to protect the power left behind from being misused by the stupid, greedy, thoughtless mages in the larger world. They had created the strongest seals they could toward that end. But could any person capable of creating such perfect seals have been unaware that it did not matter? The knot could have been left as it was without consequence. No mage could have siphoned off so much as a single energy shred.
He must be missing something. Marik wracked his brain for the answer. What simple fact was he missing? What about the scene before him did he misunderstand?
The soft thupping of Dietrik’s dagger passing from palm to palm soothed him, even if it irritated the scout. Colbey’s mouth was tight as his ears twitched, listening hard for the people he thought he had heard earlier. No one moved for minutes.
At last Marik thought he might understand. A memory of Tollaf unwound across his recollection. One of the old fool’s lessons from the first winter of Marik’s apprenticeship. He had been explaining the differences between the various magical talents. In the end they had briefly discussed…schools of magic. That was where Marik had first heard of the Winds of the Summer Sun. Hadn’t Tollaf also mentioned that the schools created reservoirs of power over time? Large power reserves they could tap when they attempted the fantastically difficult spells that altered weather patterns?
Marik cursed himself. Why had he not pressed the dried-up old stick on that? He should have questioned the bearded goat on how such reservoirs were made, how they stored power, and especially on what they looked like.
Because he believed he now knew what one looked like. No mage in his right mind would create a knot so powerful he could hardly look at it. Yet if these seven lines were fueling an etheric reservoir instead…
That depended on a single factor. A reservoir must, he knew, be filled with tame energy. In that way, any mage could draw from it at a moment’s notice. The energy flowing through these lines must have the wildness forced from it when it entered the reservoir, until the power it contained was as calm as the pool’s waters above.
Yes. An etheric reservoir with the staggering power of seven forest lines. Immense power that was transmuted, enabling anyone with mage talent to tap it at will. If they could reach the power.
Colbey’s ancestors must have lacked the ability to alter a line’s course. Thus, they were unable to sever the lines and make the reservoir wither away. Their only option had been to seal it. Energy from the lines could still enter, but nothing could escape. Not a perfect solution since they had lacked the wherewithal to block both the inward and outward flows in one fell swoop, though enough to solve the immediate crisis.
Marik felt proud of his clever reasoning until the ramifications of that struck him. For hundreds of years, seven lines had continuously fed energy into the reservoir. Were it water, it would have long since overflowed. Except etheric energy had no such physical restrictions. Energy could continue to build in a restricted space, gaining in density without an equal mass increase. The power would become increasingly concentrated. A single drop would fill Marik’s energy reserves to the brim, where it usually required vast stretches of the mass diffusion to do so.
And…it must have reached that point centuries ago. The seal-sphere hovering under the pool was the size of the entire village square. How much energy must be inside it? He could not comprehend the magnitude of it.
Could the reservoir actually contain every last shred of energy it had received since the seal’s formation? Marik studied it closely. At last, he noticed the slight differences in the etheric mists surrounding the square. As before, it moved slowly from an unseen wind. Always in a direction away from the glowing sphere. Closer scrutiny revealed a fine miasma of purple mist emanating from the sealed reservoir.
Which meant…the power it contained was so incredible that it actually shed life energy. He followed the flows, seeing the Euvea trees for what they truly were for the first time. Sponges. The trees bled off excess life energy through their auras, as they should. This bleed-off became the free-floating mists of the mass diffusion, which eventually settled down into concentrated form in the lines. Lines flowed off to wherever they did, in this case the reservoir, which in turn shed a portion of that energy back into the air.
And the Euvea trees must be absorbing a good deal of the mass diffusion. Easily as much as they bled-off, or else the thicker mists would have continued to spread into the outer forest and beyond. No wonder the trees were so colossal! They re-absorbed the energy they lost through their auras. The excess energy would provide the necessary strength to transcend the limits of ordinary, mortal trees. It elevated a species of tree that was already gargantuan into towering, boundless giants that burned with a fiercer aura than ever.
It was an endless cycle.
A new truth occurred to Marik. Energy could pass through the seal, if only in vastly reduced mist form. The thicker mass diffusion must also permeate the other seals around the Rovasii. No wonder many of the seals had grown increasingly dangerous since they were first created. Extra power was flooding the environment. Undoubtedly it would eventually strengthen whatever distorted magics were contained within. And, his flash of insight continued, this must surely also explain the longevity of those same distortions. They fed on the super-concentrated etheric mists to maintain their twisted existences.
The village’s ancestors had tried to seal the problem away. Instead, they had created an alchemist’s keg of black powder. Sooner or later it would explode when the distortions reached a critical saturation point.
Too, Marik could see why Xenos would move the very heavens to attain the reservoir. Perhaps he could do as the ancient mage had and redirect lines to form his own private power supply. But it would not be a depthless sea formed by centuries of patient feeding. Destroying a village, inciting a war across oceans…they seemed like reasonable steps now, with the goal finally known.
How far would he be able to spread his mad religion with power so indomitable at its core?
Colbey heard a noise and stood up fast. His head smashed into Marik’s chin. “I almost bit my tongue off!”
“You will give us away, mage!”
“Then kindly inform us instead of expecting blind obedience,” Dietrik muttered. “I do not see where you became our leading officer.”
“The minute I saved your skins,” Colbey hissed back. “This is my home, my territory. If you jeopardize my defense of it, I will cut you loose without hesitation.”
“Hey, it’s all right,” Marik placated. “But tell us what you saw.”
Colbey graced them only with the corner of his eye. “I have heard movement through the water. They are below. You stay here, mage, and do nothing! I will go and see what faces us.”
The scout pulled thin gloves from his pack. They were studded with tiny steel spikes. He left the pack behind and, rather than climb down the trunk to the pool, he ascended into the higher reaches too fast to be believed.
“I do not like standing still alone,” Dietrik said a moment later. “Mate, we are in over our heads. The territory is unknown, the enemy superior, the timing wrong and the position terrible!”
“There is too much at stake to run away, Dietrik.”
“If this is so bloody important, then we should have gone to the nearest town. You said that there are dozens along the forest.”
“What good would that have done?”
“We could have found a mirror for you to contact Raymond’s royal enclave. This Celerity woman is no fool, and with the knowledge of a court’s library at her disposal, she could have put a stick in Xenos’ jaw. Her and her fellow mages together.”
Marik paused, the idea new. “That might have been a good idea,” he agreed. “E
xcept I don’t have any catalyst to target the scrye. Though I might have managed to figure something. They could have started making preparations, anyway. They couldn’t have moved fast enough to stop Xenos from reaching this village.”
“Perhaps not, but as it stands, there are the two of us alone against the likes of them.”
“And Colbey.”
“We can’t rely too heavily on him.” Dietrik switched to spinning his dagger around one finger by the curving guard until it resembled a rotating wagon wheel. “Broken pots are never fully mended. Do not allow his lighter demeanor to make you think he is fixed and whole.”
“I know. But I can also feel what he’s gone through. I doubt he would allow himself to fall as low as he did before. He would cut his own throat first.”
“All the same, if we trust too much in—”
Marik’s hand flew to cover Dietrik’s lips. The gesture had been unnecessary. Dietrik had heard them as well. Splashing. From the ground.
They hunched low to reduce their target profile. Together they crept to the edge, stopping before the large doors to what must have been a town hall.
Two men waded through the pool. They had abandoned their black armor in favor of swimming if the water grew too deep. Their foreign words were an unintelligible murmur.
Water came up to their chests and they moved with as much arm flailing as underwater steps. They quickly found the place where the ground sank away. Up to their chins, they called loudly through the quiet trees. Answering calls were returned until a larger group came from the north, rather than the east as the waders had.
The new arrivals were spared a drenching since dock-like decks had been constructed. Ghostly images of lantern-lit festivals with people dancing until dawn flashed across Marik’s vision. For an instant he could have sworn he actually saw them.
Four soldiers still clad in their armor rounded a large root, following a walkway to the larger, square deck set at the pool’s side. A moment behind them strode Xenos with Mendell at his side. The four prisoner women had been stripped of their clothing and were being chided along by two white-robes. Three Taurs followed, quelling any thought the women might have had to make an escape.
Marik waited for the rest. Xenos stood at the deck’s edge to survey the setting before issuing quick orders. Two of the dry soldiers started removing their heavy armor. Apparently they were to join their fellows in the pool. The remaining two walked to separate edges before leaping onto the nearest root. They began following the roots across the water, jumping to the next nearest, ranging afield to act as guards for the waders.
It must only be them! All that remains of the large Arronath force that entered the Rovasii are ten men, three Taurs and four shivering prisoners. The fight between Xenos and father must have been legendary…
Marik ruthlessly shoved the thought down. If they survived this encounter with the harvester, he would insist on returning to that clearing on their way out. Perhaps his father had fallen in that fight. He would only accept that when he found Rail’s body.
The original two waders sloshed through the pool until they stood at Xenos’ feet. Chains leading to collars around each woman’s neck were separated and distributed among the unarmored soldiers. They offered no gentility to their prisoners. Hard yanks pulled the women into the water. Each man led his enslaved victim to the artesian well.
It was at the moment when the women fell into the pool that Marik first noticed. With their hands clutching at the air, rather than covering their bodies with ashamed modesty, their nude forms were exposed.
He could see that each woman’s belly was swollen with an unborn child.
It could be no coincidence that all four were so. A cold touch caressed his spine. What evil did Xenos have it in mind to commit? What made these pregnant women so critical to his plan that he had protected them above his soldiers during a battle that cost him most of his men?
Marik studied the women with his magesight. They seemed somehow brighter. Or was that his imagination? The result of searching for a difference that might or might not exist? Their auras looked stronger than the soldiers pulling them along like cattle.
Of course. How damned obvious. Two lives in one. They must generate far more life energy than any normal person could.
His hand clenched. Fingernails dug into his palm. That damned monster! Nothing was taboo to him. He glared at where he knew Xenos waited.
And was unable to find the harvester. Where had he gone so quickly? He could not have escaped during the few moment’s Marik’s attention had been diverted!
Dietrik thumped him atop the head at his started exclamation. Marik glared back before re-studying the scene at their feet. He found Xenos standing exactly where he had been before.
Marik nearly exclaimed anew. What was going on? Curious, he invoked his magesight. Xenos vanished. Utterly.
There was no explanation for this. Every living thing, from plants to people, generated an aura. How could it be that Xenos emitted no life energy at all? Unless…no energy bled-off from him. Then he would be completely invisible from the etheric. He would leave no trace whatsoever on a plane composed of naught but raw energy.
Except that could hardly be true. Rocks were black voids in that other plane. As were buildings and water. If he generated no aura, there should be a Xenos-shaped void in the etheric where he blocked the mass diffusion from forming.
He must have every last ounce of life energy inside him under tight control. All he allowed to escape was exactly enough to match the surrounding diffusion. Naturally he would be loath to sacrifice power he had gained to the etheric plane. Or at least any beyond what was necessary. Marik remembered Dietrik’s warning while they fled the campsite alarms. Dietrik had seen Xenos plainly with his eyes whereas Marik, using his magesight, had seen nothing at all.
A shout arose from directly beneath them. Dietrik pushed down hard on Marik, falling atop him until both men were flat. Marik heard the arrow whistling by.
The gods damned bow had survived long enough to plague them once again. Marik quickly located an armored figure atop a root raising a second arrow. Xenos must have instructed them to search the trees for enemies as well as the ground.
“Back,” Dietrik husked. Marik offered no argument. They separated from each other and sprinted back along the walkway encircling the town hall.
Except, they both realized after mere yards, they could find no escape this way. They had shimmied down Colbey’s line a good thirty feet from a higher branch to reach this level. The walkway ended in a pirate’s plank, a sheer drop to doom with no means to reach the branch they had arrived from.
“Around the other way then.” Dietrik dashed back. Marik ran after, leaping the second arrow that would have skewered his knees.
Ten feet further from where they had knelt they stopped. The deck was shattered as if a ten-ton boulder had dropped through it. Leaping the gap would require athletic ability beyond what any man was capable of.
“A copping dead end!” Marik swore violently. “What was Colbey thinking!”
“Bait, I expect.” Dietrik hammered on the doors. Marik could see it would be useless. A small window was set nearby, and through it was visible a gigantic table leaning propped against the door’s opposite side.
“I can’t believe—”
A saw-blade orb sheered through the wall between them. The furious buzzing drowned his words. Both dropped to a crouch, arms over their eyes while a fog of sawdust exploded around them.
Marik glanced furiously between his forearms. He could feel his immanent death. What possible escape could they find? A dive into the shallow waters from this height would be suicide.
“I expected that our paths would eventually cross,” called the amused voice of the monstrous life harvester. “Indeed, I would have been disappointed otherwise. Our first meeting clearly demonstrated the benevolence of god. I had but to wait.”
Xenos stood at the festival platform’s edge, hands resting eas
y, folded over his chest. Marik stood and faced him boldly. He refused to die cowering before the likes of such filth. “I wouldn’t say your heathen god had anything to do with it,” he shouted back. “But I understand it’s only natural that a madman would think so!”
Mendell advanced to the water’s edge in a fit of righteous anger. Xenos ignored him to continue in his pleasant tone. “I found your escape suggestive. Your presence is valid confirmation. God wishes witnesses. God wishes the next generation of converts to begin on this glorious day, where His awesome presence is revealed anew to man. And what better servant is there than a former enemy who abandons his misguided ways after beholding the glory of god?”
Dietrik stood beside him. They looked briefly at each other, reading the other’s thoughts easily after their long years of friendship. Together they looked down their noses at Xenos and said, as one, “You’re out of your barking tree!”
Xenos found humor in that. He laughed heartily. Still laughing, he raised a hand. Six saw-blade orbs formed around his palm. “It is the simplest choice any living creature has to make. You may choose to die so your life force contributes to the Day of Glory. Or you may choose to descend and stand at my side, and witness the riverbed of world history alter in its course with this long awaited resurrection. Which shall it be, leader of the king’s army?”
Chapter 25
Colbey watched from the tallest reaches of the Euvea. He kept his hearing tweaked, using the Guardian’s technique for enhancing individual senses. The technique overcame the distance where he crouched off center from the central pool, enabling him to barely hear the words exchanged.
What would the mage do? Refuse to bow and die like a man? Or hope to find opportunity for a sneak attack if he could close with the murderer? Either course offered benefits.
At last, a decision was reached. Following directions from Xenos, the two mercenaries dangled from the shattered boards until they grabbed hold of the old suspension walkway that hung limply against the trunk. It had once been the main path leading to the council hall. During the attack an outlander mage had destroyed the anchoring point for the bridge in order to send dozens of Guardians plummeting. Colbey had read the battle’s progressions in the ruins during the search for survivors.