by Kim Wedlock
Aria giggled softly in her sleep, somehow dragging the image of the sundered village to the surface of his memory, and he reminded himself then that resigning himself to failure was not an option. Saving the people of Turunda - and beyond, it seemed - was a smothering thought. But at the very least, he could do it for her.
Garon stared out across the sands beneath the star-littered sky, his eyes glued towards the south and straining against the darkness to make out anything lurking within it. His skin prickled, hair stood on end, but absorbed in such fretful thoughts, he was hardly aware of the surrounding chill.
His ear twitched at the soft footsteps approaching from behind. Petra. It would be no one else; he needn't turn to confirm it. His eyes remained locked on the blackness beyond.
"Here," she said softly as she came to a stop beside him, and he saw without taking the time to look that she offered him a blanket.
"Thank you," he replied, taking it and sweeping it over his shoulders. He felt immediately warmer, but his comfort didn't last long as he felt the intensity of her eyes drilling into him.
"What is it?" She asked, her soft voice tinted with caution as her gaze shifted away to follow his off into the night.
But he shook his head, his own wary frown deepening. "Nothing..."
She looked back to him gravely and prepared to inform him that she wasn't as stupid as he seemed to think, but the way his eyes had narrowed, edged with an apprehension which was unsettlingly uncharacteristic, stopped her before she could begin.
His shoulders tightened beneath the welcome blanket. "I just have a bad feeling..."
Chapter 36
The country was in chaos; every authoritative body already had their work cut out for them trying to maintain the peace, but when a city full of people felt the same sudden and boiling outrage towards a single, smaller collective, the situation required an exasperatingly delicate hand. Everyone seemed to feed off of one another; every tavern, market, every public area was charged with enmity and mistrust, and Vastal save any mage that should be spotted nearby, as that delicate hand only just managed to hold back the masses. There was strength in numbers, and that apparently meant that even the common folk could stand against magic if there were enough of them. Jeers filled the air around any preserver or scholarly mage who passed through the streets, their heads bowed in stealth despite their screamingly obvious cloaks, and while no one had yet attempted any physical assault, only the martial mages seemed to invoke any kind of restraint from the verbal attacks.
But while the Hall of the White Hammer was busy trying to prevent a civilian revolt for the citizens' own sakes, and the guards were patrolling the streets in greater numbers to keep an eye on both sides - though they were sorely ill-equipped to do anything should a mage decide to respond - the Arana were now spreading their own numbers even thinner by keeping a close watch on the Order itself in a bid to uncover their plans.
It was preposterous that the country should have to be protected from itself, and yet, despite the war raging around them, it seemed as if the Order had caused greater damage and unrest than Skilan had.
But that didn't mean that the matter of the war was any simpler.
They still had no idea how Skilan was foiling their plans. Their spies assured them that they hadn't been compromised, and Salus and Teagan had both been inclined to believe them, but the evidence suggested otherwise and it was too late to uproot and replace them. The operatives had no choice but to turn their attention towards discovering who was watching them, stage an incident to discredit them and reclaim the trust of Skilan's superiors for their own as quickly as possible. Until then, no word they received regarding Skilan's plans and movements could be truly trusted.
As for Doana, the Arana had managed to track down and eradicate one of their infiltration units and were finally closing in on a second, but it was decidedly unlikely that there had been only three to begin with. They'd proven themselves intelligent, leaving no possibility that they'd reveal their full numbers so easily - in fact, the only thing their initial occupations proved for certain was that there were at least three groups, and the rest, like the remaining known platoons, were adept at concealment. There hadn't been a trace of them.
It had been a long and painstaking effort to weed out the first group, and the second were following by the same means, but the more time that passed the more wide-spread they could become, and moving in such small numbers meant that they could cover great distances quicker than a larger, more conspicuous force. And just as they'd somehow been able to identify the Arana's grass roots in each of the three settlements, never mind eliminate them, they were surely quite prepared for such a pursuit.
Despite that, however, the Arana had taken out one group and were hot on the heels of the second. They were getting results. Though, as for uncovering how they'd come by their intel, they'd not had much luck.
All of this had to be balanced with the usual tasks and observations to make sure nothing else could slip by them - a job made more difficult by yet another distraction - and so it had fallen to Teagan to man the office that night and read over the incoming reports before filing them away with more logic than Salus ever seemed to. He'd tried to introduce more organisation in the past, but Salus had assured him that everything had its place. Fortunately he knew well how his mind worked, so it didn't take him long to find himself at home in the chaos.
He also filtered through the outstanding orders and commands and began assigning whoever was available and most suited for each, from merely adding to the observational tasks of watchers to dispatching hunters and assassins to remove troublesome individuals or manipulate a situation.
Truly, this job was more monotonous than it was taxing. Even when he moved on to the orders responding to tribal activity and the conflicts of non-humans that seemed to be moving closer to settled regions, he barely reacted beyond a weary sigh. He simply continued to filter out the appropriate operatives without giving the matters any thought. After all, it wasn't his place to analyse orders. His was to advise, not to second-guess and certainly not to alter them, even if some might think them perhaps unnecessarily aggressive. Salus was Keliceran, and the keliceran certainly knew better than himself. Teagan may have been his second, but only Salus saw every single report and balanced every single detail in every decision he made.
He disregarded his meagre ponderings. These tasks weren't strenuous, either; a mixture of phidipans and phaeacians would do - which was just as well, because most portian operatives were out taking care of higher and delicate priorities already.
Teagan was unaware of the slight and doubtful frown that marred his face as he set aside his choices.
Satisfied that those matters were checked off of the list, he dutifully moved on to the next just as a knock came at the door.
His frown became dubious. He knew that pattern, the pressure, the quick, sharp strikes from two second knuckles.
His usual mask of indifference slipped easily into place as he rose to his feet and called to enter, and Malson shortly stepped inside with a question nestled amongst the lines of frustration on his face. His sharp eyes flicked about briefly, but Teagan's position behind the desk was enough to answer it. "Portian," he said quickly, looking back to him as the younger man calmly and respectfully bowed his head, though he was too impatient to acknowledge the gesture, "it's been three days. Have you identified any of the offending mages yet?"
"Nothing yet."
"Well are you close?"
"Yes." In truth, he hadn't a clue, but no other answer would have been acceptable.
The old man, lively despite his frail appearance, sighed gruffly as the fire in his eyes swelled. "The people are in an uproar, on the verge of riots - the Order can protect themselves and their building, but people are going to get hurt if anyone steps over the line." He stared firmly at the keliceran's favoured. "I'm sure I don't need to stress this point."
"No, my Lord, you certainly don't."
"Then
where is Salus?" His eyes narrowed as Teagan hesitated, though his void expression revealed no true cause for suspicion. "Never mind," he said with a softer though no less impatient tone. "Just make certain that this remains a priority. We can't be at war with our own people, especially not now."
"Rest assured that we are taking care of it."
Malson's eyes narrowed again, the hint of unwarranted scepticism returning under Teagan's unreadable countenance. He didn't voice it. "Good. Then I expect to see results very soon." He turned and strode away, vanishing back into the hallway. "And it had better be reliable."
Teagan's jaw tightened as he moved around to close the door behind him. Of all possible times for the Crown's liaison to turn up. Salus's absence, even in an unplanned visit, would not reflect well upon him or the Arana. People didn't trust what they couldn't see, and if Salus wasn't where he 'should' have been, Malson was sure to think that he wasn't doing anything useful or necessary with his time. Of course, due to the very nature of the matter, Teagan couldn't defend his superior by correcting the ill-founded assumption and neither could he go off and fetch him. 'No interruptions', Salus had demanded before vanishing down into the cells. It had been Teagan's own suggestion to indulge the mage in the hope that they might uncover the Order's intentions, but given how things were suddenly unfolding, he found himself hoping dearly that something good would come of it, anything, and fast.
Denek released a weary sigh as he shook his head in futility, while Salus stared back silently in growing frustration and more than a little mistrust, though he worked to hide that last detail. They stood together in the mage's cell - which had been begrudgingly upgraded to one with a narrow slit for a window - as he preferred to keep him down in the cellar even during such meetings, despite the fact that no one was completely sure if the dampening spells placed over his holding were having any effect against his abilities. But beyond the danger of his magic, he also had no desire to allow him any further into the Arana's house, as neither could anyone guess what his true intentions were, nor how deep they might run.
But at that moment, Salus's concerns weren't so broad. He was finding it difficult restraining himself in the mage's presence, and if his brusque attitude continued, he was either going to turn around and storm off, or find out just how far into his face he could push his nose with his fist.
"It's astounding that you've been able to function as a human being at all," the dark haired mage mumbled to himself, giving Salus a clearer idea of just which choice he'd be likely to make, then raised his head and turned his striking eyes back upon him. Their thoughtfulness stalled Salus's tightening fists. "You've been suppressing your magic for a very long time," he stated matter-of-factly, as if he knew so well, "and if you were once anything like those you surround yourself with," his eyes shifted briefly onto the unaffected guards outside, "then it would have happened while you suppressed your emotions. You would never have even known it was there."
'Isn't that convenient?' He thought to himself, then turned his cynicism to better use. "Why did no mage ever sense it?" He asked instead, being careful not to sound too suspicious, nor too surprised. "Mages usually sense these things, that's how people find out they have magic, isn't it?"
"I suppose you were just that good at suppressing it." Salus found himself unconvinced by the ease with which he'd said it. "And," Denek added, glancing about his cell and then out through the narrow 'window', "because I doubt you were ever near enough for any to have a chance to sense it while it was masked so well." His sharp eyes flicked back to him. "But now that magic is growing and clawing its way to the surface, and it's too strong for you to keep shoving it back down."
"But what difference does that make? If I don't know how to wield it then it can't cause a problem."
Denek raised a slender finger and an unpleasant smile curved his lips. "That is where you are wrong."
He felt his blood suddenly run cold, and everyone within earshot stiffened.
"Your magic is too strong, my dear Keliceran, and it could most certainly manifest itself. There is a reason that those with weak magic are not trained: because their magic is too weak to be trained. There's little to go wrong with people like that. Yours, however, should have been trained, but the...workings of this organisation denied it, intentionally or not." The brief curl of his lip faded, and his eyes, which Salus noticed bore a constant but subtle slyness, brightened in amazement. "It's just as well that you've done such a remarkable job of suppressing it for so long."
"Why?" He asked carefully, now trying to restrain an added note of alarm all while chiding himself for believing him so easily when it could just as likely be a trick. "What could happen?"
His pale eyes hardened, and Salus knew immediately that, disregarding everything else he had said, his following words were the unembellished truth. "It could consume you and obliterate every one and every thing within a two-day radius."
He blanched while Denek sighed and shook his head with inappropriate lightness. "This isn't working," he declared wearily, for far from the first time. "You need to let yourself grasp the magic."
"Yes, you've said that before, but how?"
"By not pushing it down."
His brow flattened. "You've said that before, too." He fought to rein in his cynicism, but after well over an hour of such vague and useless suggestions, he was only growing more and more certain that the mage was leading him on.
And yet...
Despite the words themselves, he could see that there was some kind of logic to their intent, and though he didn't really understand it, some small, remote part of him certainly seemed to. There was a a deep, primal shadow of his being that lurched forward at his every attempt to 'grasp the magic' and urged him on in some archaic tongue. And as cryptic as it all was, it only encouraged his pursuit.
"I suppose you've been doing it for so long you probably don't know how to stop," Denek continued thoughtfully. "Your emotions seem erratic enough that you're probably still pushing them down, albeit unknowingly, and really quite haphazardly..." His eyes narrowed curiously. "Whatever happened to break your control?"
"That," Salus began in a steely tone, "is not relevant."
Pale blue eyes stared at him for another long moment. "No, I suppose it isn't." He then straightened and returned his attention to the matter at hand. "I have an idea. Do you have any relaxation techniques--no, no, sorry, of course you don't."
Salus didn't appreciate the surety with which he corrected himself, and hated all the more that he was once again unable to prove his instant assumptions wrong.
"All right, try this: sit down on the floor and cross your legs."
Salus frowned as the mage did so himself, but he soon followed, for what could the mage do to him while sitting that he couldn't while standing?
"Straighten your back, but don't over-arch it, and rest your hands in your lap. Release your elbows down under your shoulders, and your shoulders down your back."
"...What?"
"Just do it." His voice had taken on a curiously dreamlike softness as he followed his own instructions. "Now close your eyes and relax your face."
He did so, despite his misgivings about losing sight of the man, but there were guards outside and his reactions weren't so dulled by that damned office that he'd miss any call of alarm.
"...I said relax your face."
"I have."
"You're scowling. Relax your face."
He forced the tightness he discovered across his brow and the knot in his chin to release, and his face suddenly felt quite heavy.
He heard Denek sigh. "That will have to do. Now drop your feet into the ground beneath you and let the crown of your head float."
"What?"
"Relax your face."
"This is hopeless!"
"No," Denek replied still quite softly, "but it is the hardest step - for you, at least. Grasp this and the rest will come far more easily."
Salus cast him another immensely sceptica
l look, but that primal hunger deep within him roared out once more, louder, and again he heeded it, unable to resist its power. He did his best to regain his position following the repeated instructions, and struggled just as much the second time.
"Now breathe deeply into your diaphragm, but don't force it. Let it happen naturally."
He took a single, slow inhalation, his stomach rising with the movement and falling as he released it. He inhaled again, feeling the stretch of his abdomen once more, then exhaled to contract it. Then inhaled again, and exhaled again.
"You're forcing it."
"I'm not forcing it," he said through his teeth, focusing on the length and depth of his next inhale and the subsequent extension of his stomach.
"You're thinking about it - that's not letting it happen naturally. Just try to relax, then you'll be able to release whatever lock you've got your magic sealed beneath. It's already weakened; it won't take much to reach it, you just have to find it."
Salus took another deep breath and tried to block out the irritating mage, but, mercifully, he fell silent, and in the absence of that arrogant voice he found his breath more easily. His body grew lighter with every inhalation and he shortly settled into the pattern, taking notice of each breath without paying any too much attention. But despite the calm that had begun to settle upon him, he soon began to feel a curious tremor creeping up beneath his ribs, one that invoked a sense of apprehension, an excitement mixed with panic and a longing desperation that stalled his mind as it sought a means to locate what supposedly dwelled within him.
But he wasn't about to let himself stumble over it. His mind was the clearest and most determined he had ever consciously known it, and the voice, the presence that lurked deep within him, was coming to life in response. And it felt stronger, almost irrepressible. Hypnotic.
'Let yourself grasp it.'
He handed the lead over to the primal instinct.
Immediately his hunt surged forwards, and he was dragged along with it like a carriage by a maddened horse, and hope lurched in his heart with the sudden momentum. His consciousness hurtled through a foggy haze, one permeated by a distant familiarity which he couldn't place. But he gave it no thought, allowing himself to be guided by whatever part of him knew this place best, and he moved steadily deeper and deeper into the haze. Flashes began shooting by, non-images he thought for a moment that he recognised, but before he could get any kind of grasp on them, they were gone. They were sparse at first and easily forgotten once they were behind him, but they gradually began to multiply, whizzing by faster and more frequently, and every one of them drew closer than the last. There were soon so many that he began to catch snatches of comprehension; the first seemed to be something akin to amusement, the next he thought to be mild fascination. They were strange, curious sensations, but though he knew without a doubt that they belonged to him, there was something interlaced within them that made them unwelcome. Something dark and forbidden urged him to turn away as quickly as he could, but the moment his attention mercifully shifted, he was assaulted by more. A trickle of panic began to run through his spine as the sensations turned darker in nature, when loneliness, fret and fear began to leak into the subconscious landscape and quickly swell to dominate it.