“Koga Hideki.”
Hideki looked up at his visitor.
He had seen her before. . . at a royal reception perhaps? A long
time ago. She was old, but she had some streaks of red in her
pale hair, and her face was mostly free of wrinkles.
He didn't bother wiping the
sweat from his forehead, as the cold winter breezes traveling
over the river cooled the drops for him. He had been in this
river spot for a long time, the Lifestone a daily reminder of
his failure. But still they came looking for the Shadowhunter
Armor, even though the threat of the Shadows had seemingly long
since passed.
Some lessons take long to fade.
And some should never be forgotten.
“What may I do for you?” He
had seen that face before, but he could not place it.
She laughed. It was not a
friendly laugh, and Hideki felt ashamed, like he had done
something wrong. “It is not what you can do for me, Koga
Hideki. It is what I can do for you. It is time for you to be
healed. For all of Hamud's victims to be healed. Prepare
yourself, armorer. The process is not free of pain,” she said,
smiling all the while.
Before he had time to respond,
she reached out her hand to his head. Hideki's screams entwined
with the chill wind, as they wove their way together down the
river.
He was running. He dashed along, nearly blind, through dark
stone corridors only visible when the occasional flash of energy
sparked along the wall. He couldn't remember where he was
running to, but he knew what he was running from.
The Atua Ngamaru glided a few
paces behind him.
More running. Sweat trailing
down his matted brow. Something was wrong. He couldn't see these
twisty corridors, yet not once did he collide with the solid
stone. There was only the running, feet pounding like the flat,
calloused palms of a shaman on his buadren, the cold
lightning-scented air scraping the water from his eyes
Sister Wind, are you here?
Please hear me!
The moan that rolled down the
corridors was hollow and strange. The anima were silent. They
did not speak here, but remained monoliths of light and shadow,
motion and shattering. Old were these anima, older than the
council fires. The Sisters had never touched the face of this
world, if there was a face within the endless falling. . .
Lightning flashed, sizzling
bolts of fiery light arcing up the walls. He had come to a
chamber, a tall dome of glistening stone. There were no visible
entrances. No exits. The Ngamaru hovered in a loose circle
around him, their sharp metal claws click-clacking against one
another.
He whirled from one to the next,
lips curling back, the blood of Aun pounding out the rhythm of
battle. He was a warrior, strong and mighty. He reached to his
belt for the familiar curves of his Taiaha, eager to meet Death
and hear her whispers. He would not be the only one to hear her
final words in this hell.
His hand came up with empty air.
His Taiaha was gone. They had taken his weapon. He screamed,
plunging to the ground. There was no escape. There was no
escape. There was no escape.
He was running. . .
Observation: Subject has been
in stasis period for one hundred eighty four Race 67a circadian
cycles. Query: Yet exertion moisture still is evidenced on his
forehead. Causation: Analysis needed.
Response: Energy analysis
indicates high-intensity mental activity. Local nomenclature:
Fever dreams.
The body of the Aun warrior
continued to stay still within its energy prison. It had not
moved in a very long time. An occasional drop of sweat made a
small plink as it fell against the stone floor. No one was there
to hear it.
“You were responsible for
them? Those. . . mockeries? I confess I can see no reason why
you think such admission would gain you favor here.”
“Ahh, milady, the
“candy-canes,” as some of the townspeople so cunningly
referred to them, were merely the beginning. A demonstration of
potential. I could do more. So much more. But I need help, help
from a person with power. Your puissance shines brightly around
you, milady. There is so much we could do. . .”
“Tell me more.”
He stood there, cloaked and
cloaked, for no eyes or ley-sense to see. He was disturbed by
the beauty of the room. Even more disturbed that he noticed the
beauty. That it appealed to him. He was. . . beyond such things,
yes? Logos. Concepts. Words. Do you feel? Yes, I feel. What
is your name? Candeth Martine. I feel the hammer breaking. Are
you Martine? Yes. Ankle shattering. Are you Martine? Yes!
Magnify receptors for lower upper limbs. Left lower arm
cracking. Are you Martine? Please, yes, please. Mercy.
Right lower arm breaking. Are you Martine? Please.
Please.
He looked down at the sleeping
form on the bed. She is so beautiful.
“Melanay?” he whispers.
“Melanay. I am broken. They have broken me, Melanay.” He is
crying. Real tears leaking from fake eyes. He reaches out a hand
to stroke her long blonde hair. Blonde? Illogical. Melanay's
hair was a deep russet brown. The figure below stirs.
He vanishes from the room. The
woman has a groggy recollection the next morning of a few wispy
purple bubbles dissipating in the middle of the night. She
dismisses it as a dream. She can only worry about so much.
He gathered up all his power and
hurled it at the wall of energy before him. It had no
discernible effect. He screamed in rage. There had to be a weak
link somewhere. He had gotten through. More power, rage fuelling
him to a depth of power he did not know he had, churning and
seething, a roiling reservoir of fury.
The explosion knocked him back,
almost taking his consciousness away. Fear made him fight off
the fatigue. Fool. So dangerous to lose one's awareness in this
place. The barriers remained, glowing and resolute.
He probed them once more,
knowing that there wouldn't be anything different, but desperate
all the same. It was a wall of knots, tendrils of energy tied
round and round each other. If only there was some way to cut or
slip through the knot. But he had tried, Martine had tried. . .
if Martine wasn't the answer. . . well maybe the other was. And
additional resources were finally reopening. Soon. It could be
soon.
Where did the Flammas come from?
So you have been keeping up with your studies, Borelean, even in
the wake of all this madness. Good.
It is an interesting question.
There are scattered Dericost text fragments that refer to. . .
well, I am getting too far afield.
Have patience, son. Yes, that is
a fearsome scowl. I'm sure one day when you are King you will
have courtiers truly shaking at the knees.
Ahh, a smile. A good sense of
humor is one of the most important things you need when walking
in the circles that lie ahead of you. Do not forget that.
Here is what I know for sure.
There are no references to Elementals appearing during the reign
of the Seaborne Empire. There was speculation, in regards to the
fragments I mentioned, but most credible scholars dismissed them
as ancient tribal superstitions. There were some experiments,
anyway, and some of those experiments actually furthered our
demiurgy. . . the making of Golems. But most of the studies
ended in abject failure, and some with a horrible demise.
That did not stop some from
creating a set of lore and rituals and passing it down from
generation to generation. It was supposed that the learning of
these rituals would empower one to be an “Elemental Mage.”
Yes! That's exactly the right
question. What could an Elemental Mage do, that a Hieromancer,
or a follower of the School of the Arm, could not? For most of
my lifetime, I believed the answer was nothing. They made claims
about being able to control the elements, to give them body and
intent, and make them subject to their will. These
“Elementals,” though, were never seen, and the Elementalist
Cabals had mostly died out during the later half of the Seaborne
reign.
But as you, or anyone in Dereth
could now inform me, the Elementals do exist. Flammas and worse
in the caldera of Mount Tenkarrdun. Scintillas on the plateau of
our reserve, Marae Lassel. I do not know where they come from. I
have. . . guesses, but I have had far too many other pressing
problems to investigate fully.
You chastised me earlier because
you thought I was hiding something from you. And it is true that
in order to do your duty you must have all the knowledge that
you can at your disposal. Even if that knowledge is no more than
a seed of concern to be planted now, to later grow into a tree
of a solution. So before we conclude this session, I will leave
you with this.
According to your people, to the
School of the Arm masters, the elemental magics are agents of
change. I know Celdiseth has tutored you in the Four Cardinal
Paths often enough. Flame consumes, Acid decays, yes, yes, you
know it, good.
But my people have long had a
much different view of the elemental expressions of mana,
Borelean. This view explains much of our reluctance to pursue
further studies in the area. In my next lesson, I will show you
the prism, and how it relates to the mana. But for now, this is
what you need to know.
Fire, frost, acid, lightning.
What do they all have in common?
They burn, Borelean, they all
burn.
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