by Ivan Kal
“We?” Kyarra asked. “This is my city we are talking about.”
“You’ve never faced the Arashan before,” Vin told her.
“We’ll I am certain that they have never faced the Eternal Soul before,” Kyarra bit out.
“Stop it!” Ashara interjected. “Both of you.” She turned to Kyarra. “At best, we are two months away from Tourran by ship, unless you have an anchor stashed away somewhere that can lead us back to Tourran. The Lashian Empire, the Arashan, and even Tourran itself are not going anywhere. And it would be foolish to go without a plan. You need each other.”
They stared at each other in silence, and Ashara sighed. “Please, I know that you’ve both gone through much. But we need to work together.”
At that, they both nodded curtly. Ashara knew that that was the best she was going to get, so she changed the topic of the conversation. “I heard stories about mages having their own towers. I just never thought that it was actually true,” she said, then chided herself at the lame attempt at conversation.
Kyarra looked back at the stone tower. “It isn’t the practice on Amiras. The Mages Guild has a much broader presence there and mages are usually educated at the Academy and work together. Here mages are solitary; they protect their craft. So, they like to build their sanctums in isolated places, where they can work in peace. Usually they choose only one student to pass their knowledge to, and once they die, their sanctum passes over to their successor.”
Ashara turned to Vin, trying to engage him in the conversation as well. “I remember you saying something about the upper floor?”
“Yes, it is protected with wards. The ward on the entrance was weak, barely holding. The ones on the doors upstairs are more…sophisticated, and more powerful. I dare not try to take them down.”
“Well, at least we have someplace to sleep,” Ashara said. “Now, if we are all in agreement and capable of being civil to one another”—she glared at the two of them—“we should get to that village to get some supplies, and then the two of you can start working on breaking that block.”
“My Narssi is rusty,” Kyarra said, referring to the language of the Shattered Kingdom, and of the people living in the territories of the Free Cities—they were after all founded by people who fled after the shattering.
“Mine isn’t,” Ashara said.
“I guess that it is decided, then?” Kyarra asked reluctantly.
* * *
It took them the better part of a day to get to the village and then back. And their arrival had been quite an event—the village, as it turned out, rarely got any visitors. Their strange and ragged clothing probably didn’t help, along with only Ashara speaking. Thankfully the prospect of coin smoothed things over; they might not have used the same coins, but silver was still silver. They bought some food, a few canteens, clothes and blankets, and they even bought a small cart to carry it all in. By the time they’d left, they had everything they needed to survive.
After they got back, Vin set off to hunt them dinner, which left Kyarra and Ashara alone.
“How did you two meet?” Kyarra asked her.
“When Vin escaped the Arashan, he fell into the ocean just off the bow of the ship I was on. I jumped into the water and saved his life. After that, he saved my life from pirates that had been sent to kill me. We’ve been together ever since.”
Kyarra opened her mouth in surprise. “Why would someone send people to kill you?”
Ashara shifted uncomfortably. The only person up until now who she’d told her story to was Vin. She didn’t know yet if she could trust Kyarra that much. She did feel something for her, but the level of trust she had with Vin was different. In the end, she decided that after everything they had went through together, Kyarra deserved to know—so she told her everything.
Kyarra stood from her couch and came to sit next to Ashara, and she put her arms around her.
“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” Kyarra said.
“It’s in the past. I have a new family now.”
“Vin?” Kyarra asked.
“Yes,” Ashara answered. “And perhaps someone else,” she said, and reached for Kyarra, bringing their lips together. Then, after they leaned apart, Ashara put her head on Kyarra’s shoulder, and they stayed like that until they heard Vin coming back.
* * *
The next morning Ashara found Vin by the stream as he washed his face.
“Hey!” she called. He turned around and gave her a smile. “I wanted to thank you, Vin,” Ashara said once she came close enough.
“You know that there is no need for that.”
“I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t found us.”
“I will always come for you, Ashara. You are important to me,” he told her sincerely.
“And you are important to me,” Ashara said as she stepped up to him and took his face in her hands, looking up at it. “I’ve thought that I’ve had friends before. But I’ve been wrong. I have never had someone with whom I could talk about anything at all. Someone who knows me, who accepts me for everything that I am. Someone who would come for me even though it meant risking their own life. Who trusts me with all of their secrets. I want you to know that, Vin.”
“I do know,” he said with a kind smile on his face. He reached up and cupped her face, too. “I never had friends, people who I trusted. I had only rivals and enemies. And I am thankful for having met you.” One of his hands put a lock of her golden hair behind her ear and he chuckled. “You’ve been there for me in a time when I had been broken without even knowing it myself. You’ve been my golden light, and for that you will be my dearest friend for as long as I live.”
She smiled, and then the moment was over. They stepped back, both knowing that no matter happened, they would always be there for each other.
“So, what do you think about Kyarra?”
“She is intense. And there is something about her…” He shook his head. “She is clearly passionate, but has little control over her emotions.”
“She is the only one that can help you stop the Arashan.”
“I know,” Vin said gravely. “I hope that she is strong enough.”
“Me too,” Ashara said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
VIN
Vin and Kyarra walked behind the Tower, going to a private place in a clearing where he had decided to start the attempt to remove her block. He was confident that he could do it, but he still worried that her being a mage could make things difficult.
“Here we are,” he said and turned toward her.
“What now?” Kyarra asked.
He sat down on the ground with his legs crossed and indicated for her to do the same, motioning her close to him. She mimicked his position and they sat face to face, close enough to touch.
“Your body has channels which it uses to pull your anima from your body and into the world,” Vin started. “Those channels are now closed down. A barrier stands between you and your anima, and you can’t pull it out. What I am going to do is inject my ki into your body and then guide my ki to bore a hole through those blocks. It will not be an easy process, nor will it be a short one. The block is strong, and I am not as powerful as I once was. In order for this to work, you need to be relaxed, so I will teach you a breathing technique designed to open your channels.”
She looked at him skeptically, but nodded. Vin then showed her the breathing motions, and she mimicked him slowly. She managed it on the third attempt, and Vin raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had expected her to take a bit more time.
“I will need to touch you, to put my hands over your core,” Vin said.
“Core?”
“Your navel,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him but pulled her shirt up enough for him to put his hands on her, then closed her eyes. He gently leaned his palms against her warm skin and for a moment was distracted by the contrast of his pale hands and her dark skin, but quickly he put the tho
ught out of his mind and focused. He cycled his ki and purified a small portion of it, converting it from his affinity to a pure affinity. Then, once he had enough, he pushed his ki through his channels and into her body. Immediately he felt an increased awareness of her. He could feel her breath going in and out; could feel the turmoil of her emotions, her pain and grief; and there, just at the edge of his senses, he felt her soul. It was grand, and bright. The contact gave him a much more intimate look at her soul. He could almost hear it, and it sang a song of power and hope. Framing it was a melody that touched at the core of everything, a tone that spoke of something ancient and forgotten, and something broken. Her soul was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He had to make a conscious effort to look away, to close his senses and focus on her ki channels. He directed his ki through her channels, and found the blocks. Slowly he guided his ki against them and started to push. It was a taxing endeavor, as the block was in fact a spell. Vin did not know what it was, he couldn’t understand it—no spirit artist ever did. But they knew that, given enough pressure, it would break.
But in the meantime, the block somehow dissolved his ki. Not all of it, but just enough that he needed to supply his efforts with more ki constantly. And that he did. He kept pushing, going against the spell. Eventually he felt something crack, and he knew that he had made a dent. But it would still take more to take the block down. He kept his ki flowing, converting his ki into pure ki as fast as possible.
They remained unmoving there for a long time, and eventually Vin tired. He slowed, then stopped his ki and pulled it back. He felt Kyarra shudder as his ki left her, and he pulled his hands back, leaning away. Kyarra opened her eyes and met his.
“Why did you stop?” she asked tiredly.
“That is enough for today. Tomorrow we can continue.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he saw her realize just how tired they both were and then noticed that the day had turned into the night. “All right…” she agreed. “How long do you think that it will take?”
“Two more days at least,” Vin said.
She nodded and Vin stood, helping her up. She stumbled, but he caught her and held her close. Seeing as how she had difficulty walking, he took hold of her side and slowly helped her as they walked back. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and then spoke. “I didn’t thank you for bringing me to the tower,” she said tiredly.
“There is no need. I know what it is like to lose your home and everyone you have ever known,” Vin told her.
“You do, don’t you… You understand, then, why I want to get back as quickly as possible?”
“I do, but I also know the value in patience and calm reasoning. You will not help your people by being rash and by jumping before knowing what you are jumping into. You will not help them by dying.”
“I need to do something. I failed them.”
“You did fail them,” he said truthfully. “You did not have the strength to protect them. But as long as you are alive, you will have the chance to redeem yourself.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.
Vin stopped and made her look at him. “I know that feeling, and believe me when I tell you that there is only one thing you can do. Keep fighting, never surrender, and always look to strike… I failed my people as well. I was hailed as the strongest spirit artist that has ever lived, and for all of my power I failed. I lost everything but my will; and as I have once been told by my enemy, our soul and our will are what shape who we are. I can see that you have a strong will and an even stronger soul.”
She shuddered and then slowly nodded her head, but didn’t respond. Vin continued walking, still keeping her steady. He knew how exhausted she must feel. Having your body invaded by another was not a pleasant experience.
“I don’t even know how I am going to take the city back…” Kyarra whispered. “By now the Lashian Empire must’ve moved their forces in.”
“We will figure it out, I promise you that,” Vin said resolutely, giving her a reassuring squeeze with his arm.
“Thank you…and I am sorry for the way I’ve acted before.”
“It is forgotten, honored sister.”
They walked for only a few steps more before she spoke again. “Ashara told me that the Arashan forced your soul from your body, and put you into this one.”
“That is correct.”
“What did it feel like?” she asked tiredly.
“Like being pulled by burning chains.”
She shuddered. “How old are you, really?”
“I’ve lost count during my imprisonment, but I wasn’t very old for a spirit artist.”
“Can you give me a number?” Kyarra pressed.
Vin sighed. “The days on your world are slightly longer than on my world, and you have years a few days longer as well. If my conversion is correct, then I am somewhere around thirty-five of your years old.”
“Huh…”
“What?” Vin asked.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Technically, I am far older than you.”
Vin smiled. He could guess how tired she was if her mind was wandering this much. “You don’t remember your past lives.”
“It doesn’t really matter. I carry the responsibility of all of those decisions.”
Vin considered that for a moment, and then nodded. “You are right. That makes you older.”
He felt her smile against his shoulder. Then, when they reached the tower, Vin led her inside.
* * *
Vin ran through the forest. His technique allowed him to see through the dark easily, and his eyes followed his prey with no problem. The small rabbit ran among the roots and rocks, used to being a helpless prey, attempting to escape Vin. Yet for all that helplessness, Vin somehow could not catch it, and a nagging feeling kept intruding on his mind. He kept turning back, looking into the dark but seeing nothing. Yet his senses told him that he was not alone, that something was following him even though he could not see it or sense it. He kept running through the forest, the rabbit now forgotten as he increased his speed. A laugh echoed off the trees surrounding him, and in that moment Vin knew that he was no longer the hunter—now he was the prey.
Vin opened his eyes and woke from the strange dream, his heart beating like crazy. He slowed his breathing and got himself under control slowly. He then stood up and saw Ashara and Kyarra, both of whom were still asleep. Without waking them, he stepped outside. He stretched as the last vestiges of the dream left him, and pointed himself toward the forest. He visited the stream for a quick refreshing dip in the pond and then he headed deeper into the forest. Once far enough away, he stopped and Shaped. Two short swords formed in his arms. He studied them for a moment. They again looked as if they were made out of a single piece of crystal, with the handles and the blade black, with a few details defined by blue. They were the blades that he had gotten as a gift from a clan that had been courting him, long ago. They hadn’t been blessed arms, only simple steel; but nothing on Orb was simple. They were works of art. The twisting dragons of the handle met at the beginning of the blade, and were made to appear as if the blade were coming from their mouths.
He expanded his senses and looked at them more closely. He had known this Shaping technique for a long time, but never had he created something quite like this. A simple spear or a sword had been the most that he could manage before. He suspected that it had something to do with his ki affinity as well, as with his new body. He was still testing out the limits of what he could do. He dismissed one sword and then studied the other one closely. Quickly, he found exactly what he was looking for. A tiny ki thread connected the blade to his palm—so tiny, in fact, that it wasn’t even visible. He could only detect it with his senses. He remembered the feeling of throwing the spear in Tourran, and he had a suspicion. He decided to try something.
He kept the blade balanced on his opened palm and focused. He steadied his breathing and cycled in his rhythm, then willed th
e blade to move. Slowly it rose from his palm, and he smiled. Keeping his will focused, he made it spin slowly, and then he looked around. With a thought and a short burst of ki, he sent the blade flying through the air. It shot from above his palm and embedded itself into a tree some fifty paces away. He kept sending ki through the thread and kept the Shaping technique up, and the blade remained in the tree. Then he cut the thread, and as soon as he did so he felt his Shaping technique break and the blade shattered into aura.
He created another blade and did the same thing, sending it flying to the same tree. Now he tried to will it back to him, and he felt the thread tremble, but the blade remained where it was. He tried adding more ki, but it remained the same. He frowned, and started walking forward, keeping the Shaping technique and the thread up. Then, once he had closed the distance to around ten paces, he felt a response. The blade quivered and left the tree, flying toward him. He guided it to float in front of him and turned it around in every way he could, even behind him, using his senses to guide it where he could not see.
Then he left it, floating, just over his shoulder. He focused his will and his ki, making another Shaping technique and creating another blade; this time, however, he tried to make it in the air. His body could expel ki through any part of itself, and he hoped that he could guide and assemble it into a blade without using his hands. His previous Shaping technique quivered as he bumbled his way through the process.
Another blade made out of ki manifested over his shoulder. He repeated the same thing again over his other shoulder, and yet another blade appeared. Then he did it again. When he tried the fifth one, his Shaping technique broke and all blades shattered.
He grimaced as he felt the backlash of the techniques breaking, but he shook it off quickly. With a bit more experimenting, he figured out that four was his hard limit for how many he could hold at once.
He tried to devise a few movements that would allow him to use the blades in fighting, instead of just sending them flying. He discovered that the range where he had precise control over the blades seemed to be less than five paces, which was around the same range he had with his spear. He then tried several combinations, using a spear in hand and two blades flying around him, or four blades as he used fighting hand-to-hand techniques, along with various other combinations. Then he experimented with the distance and accuracy. His maximum range seemed around sixty paces for throwing them; after that, the thread broke and his technique shattered.