by Clayton Wood
Sabin stretches his arms to his sides, then walks forward through the forest, his boots crunching on the fallen twigs and leaves. He walks with a bad limp, a reminder of a particularly bad bout of his peculiar disease a year ago. He'd lost all use of his left leg then, and the pain – as if his entire leg had been immersed in boiling water – had been unbearable. If it had not been for the narcotic herbs his wife had administered to him, Sabin would have certainly found the courage to end his life then. The pain had eventually faded, but his leg had never fully recovered.
He limps along, and it isn't long before he finds himself coming up to a sheer cliff wall, and the mouth of a cave. The trees around the cave are without leaves, the shrubs nearly picked clean of theirs as well. Twelve feet high and ten feet wide, the mouth of the cave is shrouded in darkness, the bodies of small animals and birds strewn across its entrance. Most have been stripped bare of their flesh, leaving only bones behind.
The work of the Reapers.
Sabin enters the cave, a small runic device in the necklace he wears converting the deadly carbon dioxide filling the cavern to oxygen and carbon dust. He continues forward, traveling down the long, narrow tunnel as he has so many times in the past, until he comes to the end of it. He spots a narrow hole in the ground, and lowers himself through it, dropping down into the narrow vertical shaft below. The magical boots he wears slow his fall, and it is well that they do; the shaft is over a hundred feet deep, sandwiched between two sheer rock walls. He reaches the bottom, and drops to his belly, sliding under a narrow gap between the wall and the floor. He reaches the large cavern beyond, and rises to his feet. And though he's been here hundreds of times in the last three years, he can't help but smile.
Before him is a massive underground cavern, its floor, walls, and ceiling crawling with black, spindly Reaper vines. A large pond sits in the middle of the cavern, a ring of white crystals surrounding lining its perimeter. The roots of the Reaper vines are embedded in these crystals, and a layer of slimy organic material oozes from these roots, protecting and nurturing them. Beyond this are a veritable army of Reapers, the same small bugs he had back in his lab. They ignore him, well aware after years of daily visits that he poses no threat to them. Or more importantly, to their Queen.
He steps forward, up to the edge of the subterranean pond, staring down into it. A much larger Reaper, at least two feet long and possessed of six tentacles that floated lazily in the still water, sat at the bottom of the pond.
The Reaper Queen.
He stares down at the thing, smiling to himself. It itself has no eyes, no ears, but he knows very well that it is aware of him. That, in fact, it can see him, through the millions of Reapers crawling in this chamber. For, through the tiny crystals embedded in their brains, the Reapers send their thoughts and sensations back to their Queen. And through these crystals, the Queen has utter control over the simple minds of her brood.
What a revelation that knowledge had been!
Sabin stares down at the Queen for a moment longer, then turns his gaze upward, at the Reaper vines crawling up the rock walls to the small hole in the center of the domed ceiling above, through which a small stream cascades into a waterfall down to the pond below. Then he looks down, grabbing a small hunk of white crystal from the edge of the pond, staring at its glittering facets.
The Void mineral, found at last.
Another revelation, that. The same mineral he'd seen in Gunthar's prison cell, the one that had drained Sabin of his magic, the simple white crystal had proven to be the very substance he'd been searching for for years. To think that the answer to one of the most important questions in magic theory had been waiting here, in this cavern, all along. Waiting for him to find it.
Even after three years, it still gives him goosebumps.
He turns back to the bottom of the lake, watching as Reapers come to the edge of the pond, bits of leaves and animal tissue in their little mouths, probably brain tissue. They dive into the water, using their little legs to swim to the bottom, to the hollow ends of the Queen's tentacles. They feed their Queen, who extracts the Void mineral from the brain tissue and excretes it into the pond, saturating the water over time. The Void crystals form on the irregular rocky edges of the pond bottom, and at its shores, supplying the Reaper vines' roots. The Reaper vines, in turn, use the Void mineral to grow and power their incredible capacity to absorb and discharge magic. Where the Reaper vines grow, magic is drained from the surrounding environment...thus the unique magic-stealing property of the Barrens.
An ecosystem like no other on Doma.
Sabin turns to one of the Reaper vines, studying its smooth, black bark. Another amazing substance, the bark is the only material he knows of that is a complete insulator of magic. He'd fashioned the black cloak he wore from the substance, to limit the loss of magic from his flesh. Similarly, the Reapers chew on the bark and digest it, depositing the black insulating substance into the flesh around their heads. This, he knows from his experiments, is critical for their survival. Or rather, their immortality. For most of the Reapers in this cavern are no longer truly alive; they are undead, kept animate only by the tiny crystals embedded in their brains, and the extraordinary runes within. Without the insulation around these crystals, they would lose magic from the surrounding Reaper vines – whose appetite for magic is nearly insatiable – and they would quickly die.
He'd tested that theory, stripping the insulation from the Reapers in his lab, and watching as they slowly stopped moving. Streaming magic to them reanimated them instantly. Killing a Reaper that was still alive – and not yet undead – resulted in it entering the undead state, no longer needing food or water.
Fascinating.
Sabin grimaces as the pain in his left forearm flares up, rubbing it briskly with his right hand. It's no use, of course. He reaches into his pants pocket, retrieving a clump of leaves from it, and pops them into his mouth, chewing vigorously. The bitter taste of the narcotic within numbs his tongue, and he swallows, already starting to feel the pain in his forearm abating. He feels a wave of nausea, and ignores it, knowing that it will pass soon. A Reaper crawls onto his boot, then stops, seemingly to stare at him. Sabin stares back, his head swimming slightly as the narcotic kicks in.
Immortality.
He sighs, running a hand through his thinning hair. All white now, seemingly overnight. Though in his mind he is still a young man, his body tells him the truth. With every betrayal, it shows him that his time is running out.
He stares at the Reaper, then gently brushes it from his boot, turning away from the pond and its silent Queen.
That the Queen is sentient, even intelligent, is almost certain. While her brood is undead, she is alive, guiding her children with her wisdom, for the protection and betterment of the colony. There is no dissent, no possibility of civil war or strife. The Queen lives for her children, and her children obey the Queen.
If only humanity could be so wise...so unified and peaceful.
Sabin walks back the way he came, sliding under the gap between the floor and the wall above, then flying upward through the narrow shaft to the tunnel above. He limps back to the entrance of the cave, feeling the sunlight bathe his cool skin as he emerges from its shadows. He barely feels it, his mind too preoccupied to notice its gentle warmth.
Immortality, he muses.
The thought of it sends a shiver down his spine. The Reapers – even the undead ones – are mostly autonomous, he believes. The Queen can control them, but it would be far more efficient if she didn't need to do so constantly. No, they had to be autonomous. Which meant they were immortal, and possessed of their own minds.
He thinks back to his two thousand pages of notes on the tiny crystals that granted the Reapers their never-ending lives, and feels a burst of motivation strike him. If it is possible to grant immortality to a simple insect, then it might just be possible to do so for a human being. And perhaps even to allow two people to communicate their thoughts to each othe
r, to understand each other in a way never possible before. A society of men and women, able to know each other in this way, would be incapable of the atrocities of Nespo and Gunthar.
Sabin limps back into the woods toward his laboratory, walking faster now, feeling the weight of Time on his shoulders. There is so much work left to be done, and so little time left to do it. He can no longer afford to kill time. For it is slowly – but surely – killing him.
* * *
The muted shriek of the wind blowing past Petra's gravity shield assaulted Kalibar's ears as they flew through the air toward the Spine of Grimore, their feet only a few yards above the treetops of the Barren forest. The ever-present white mist hanging there swirled into the vacuum created by their passage, leaving a contrail behind them. Kalibar hung on to Petra's back, his arms around her shoulders, acutely aware of her body pressed against his. He shifted his weight, feeling growing discomfort at the sensation. It had been a long, long time since he'd been this close to a woman...and he'd never been this close to a woman like Petra.
The curse of men, he thought wryly, that I would think of such a thing at a time like this.
It wasn't long before they neared the bottom of the Spine, an almost vertical rock wall extending from the base of the mountain to the ledge they'd faced the Chosen on. Kalibar closed his eyes, trying to recall which side of the Spine Ariana had fallen from. The Chosen had been facing Mount Grimore's peak, and had been holding Ariana with its right hand...which meant that they should see the peak to their right, and fly to the leftmost end of the Spine.
“Over there,” Kalibar yelled, pointing to that very spot. Petra complied, flying above the treetops toward it. Kalibar scanned the wall of the Spine, searching the occasional rocky outcroppings for Ariana's body, but saw nothing. “Set us below the trees,” he ordered. They reached the sheer cliff wall, then descended through the swirling mist to the forest floor below. Kalibar disengaged from Petra then, turning in a slow circle, searching the forest floor and the tree branches above for any signs of Ariana's black uniform.
Nothing.
Kalibar caught Petra staring upward, and frowned at her.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“I’m keeping an eye out for Chosen,” she replied, lowering her gaze to look at him. “If we see one, we run.”
“Agreed.”
“We should look for broken branches on the ground,” Petra proposed. Kalibar nodded. It made sense; Ariana would have snapped off quite a few branches from the dense foliage above on her way down. They got to it, walking along the edge of the sheer rock wall of the Spine's base, keeping their eyes peeled. They walked silently for several minutes, until Petra stopped, turning her head to stare at Kalibar. He stopped as well, frowning at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“How did we end up at the bottom of the Spine before?” she asked. “I don't remember.”
“You attacked the Chosen,” Kalibar answered. “After you faked your own death.” He paused then. “You took your time, you know.”
“I would defend myself,” Petra replied a bit tersely, “...if I remembered anything.” Kalibar had to give her that.
“The Chosen knocked you out cold, then threw you at me. We fell off of the edge of the Spine.”
“What happened then?” she asked. Kalibar paused, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He turned away from her, continuing to scan the surroundings as he walked. He felt her hand on his shoulder. “Tell me,” she pressed. He sighed.
“I didn't have much magic left,” he admitted. “I...sensed magic coming from your necklace, and used it to slow our fall. But there wasn't enough magic in it.”
Petra blinked, putting a hand to her upper chest, clearly realizing that her necklace was no longer there.
“Where is it?” she asked, appearing alarmed.
“Probably somewhere near where we landed,” he answered. “I must have dropped it after being impaled.”
“You're being fresh,” Petra noted, glaring at him. Her glare wavered, however, and she nodded at him. “My grandfather would have been happy to know that his gift saved my life.”
“Indeed,” Kalibar murmured. Petra frowned then.
“I didn't get badly injured from the fall,” she realized, stopping suddenly and turning to face him. He stopped as well. “But you did.”
“Well, yes,” Kalibar replied, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again. Petra stared at him, then folded her arms under her breasts. Kalibar kept his eyes on hers only by virtue of his considerable will.
“How?” she pressed.
“I knew I didn't have enough magic to save both of us,” he admitted. “So at the last moment, I created a large gravity shield around you. It slowed your fall.”
Petra's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. She stared at him for a long, silent moment, then snapped her jaw shut with a click.
“You saved me,” she stated bluntly.
“I did.”
“Because you knew you could heal if I woke?” she pressed. Kalibar shrugged.
“To be honest, I'd forgotten about that,” he admitted sheepishly. Petra arched one eyebrow.
“So you sacrificed yourself to save me,” she repeated. Kalibar paused, then nodded.
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Why?”
“I don't know,” Kalibar admitted, rubbing the back of his head. It still felt strange to not feel any hair there. “I didn't have time to think it through. I just did it.”
“Yesterday you spared my life, trusting me not to kill you,” Petra stated, her tone strangely flat. “And today you saved my life at the expense of your own.”
Kalibar said nothing, but he felt his cheeks grow warm, a sensation that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He found himself unable to meet her gaze, and turned away, staring off at nothing in particular.
“You flirted with me last night,” she accused, putting her hands on her hips. Kalibar sighed.
“True,” he admitted. “Not well, I admit. It's been a...long time since I've...well...” He trailed off then, and Petra arched her eyebrow again.
“How long?” she asked.
“A long time,” Kalibar admitted. “Over thirty years.” Not counting what had happened at the Arena, of course. Kalibar grimaced, pushing the thought out of his mind.
Petra stared at him, her eyebrows rising.
“I was married once,” Kalibar explained, resuming his walk forward. Petra strode quickly to catch up. “My wife lost my son in labor, and she...blamed me. She killed herself, and that was that.”
“I'm sorry,” Petra murmured. Now it was her turn to look away, although it was impossible to tell if she was blushing. Kalibar sighed; it was peculiar that some wounds never fully healed. Even after decades, the memory still had a terrible power over him.
“It was a long time ago,” he muttered.
“And you haven't been with a woman since?” she asked, her tone incredulous. Kalibar cleared his throat.
“I kept myself busy,” he countered, more defensively than he would have liked. Petra smirked.
“You must have.”
“Focusing on my career,” Kalibar clarified with a wry smirk.
“Becoming a warrior?” she guessed. Kalibar nodded.
“That and...other things.”
“So you were like me,” she observed. “You lived alone, and devoted your life to learning magic.”
“For a long time, yes,” he agreed. Petra mulled this over, then glanced at him sidelong as they walked.
“Do you regret it?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Mine has been a lonely life.” He turned away from her. “I suppose I never realized that until I met Kyle and Ariana.” He felt Petra’s hand on his shoulder.
“I'm sorry.”
“Me too,” Kalibar replied.
“We'll find them,” Petra promised.
And then her head jerked up and to the left, and her eyes widened.
“
Run!” she cried.
She grabbed Kalibar's hands, turning around and draping them over her shoulders, then bolted up into the air, flying upward around the tree branches. Within seconds, they burst through the white mist bathing the treetops, accelerating into the blue sky. Petra shot high into the air, aiming toward the smaller mountain they'd come from – Mount Kress.
“What's wrong?” Kalibar shouted over the shrieking of the wind.
“Behind you!” Petra shouted back. Kalibar twisted around, peering over his shoulder. He saw dozens of black shapes flying through the air over the Spine of Grimore, toward the peak of the mountain beyond. At first he thought they were birds, but then he realized they were men in rippling black cloaks.
Chosen.
“I don't think they saw us,” Kalibar exclaimed. None of the Chosen seemed to be flying after them.
“We'll wait for them to pass,” Petra stated. “We'll circle back for Ariana later.”
“Agreed,” Kalibar replied. As eager as he was to find Ariana, he knew that facing so many Chosen was tantamount to suicide. He turned forward, relaxing against Petra, and allowed himself to be carried away.
I'll come for you, he promised silently.
And then he felt something slam into him from behind.
Kalibar heard Petra shout, felt himself tear away from her back. The world spun crazily around him, the wind shrieking as he tumbled through the air. He reached into his mind's eye instinctively, and found it utterly devoid of magic.
Panic seized him.
Suddenly he felt something slam into his back, felt arms wrapping around his torso. He looked down, seeing black-clad arms hugging him from behind.
Petra!
The spinning stopped, and then they were flying through the air above the treetops, weaving from side to side. Kalibar looked over his shoulder, spotting two cloaked figures flying after them, not a hundred feet away...and gaining fast.
Chosen, he realized. They'd been spotted after all!
He cursed under his breath, then gripped Petra's hand.
“Stream magic to me!” he shouted over the howling wind. He felt Petra flinch, then felt a vibration in his skull as magic poured into him.