It was like the Gods had come down to earth to do war.
Sarraya flew at full speed through a blasted wasteland, a scene of carnage the likes of which she had never seen before, nor cared to ever see again. Just the memory of it was enough to make her shiver. The air was hot, nearly lethally hot from the lava, and the smell of sulfur and brimstone was heavy with the dust and the noxious gases erupting from the ground itself. Rock spires were laying on the ground, some melting in widening lakes of liquid rock, sending smoke and flames from the impurities in the rock wafting into the noxious air. The few pillars that still stood were all moved, leaning, and showed the signs that they had been subjected to unimaginable forces. The heat was so intense that she had to use her Druidic magic to protect herself from it, else she would die quickly as she flew into the raging firestorm that ringed the central area where the main battle had ensued. She darted through the surreal landscape, trying to find Tarrin before the pooling lava swept over him and burned him to cinders, her concern for her friend overshadowed by the awe of what she had just witnessed.
The power!
She had never seen such a display! The two of them had gone after each other with High Sorcery, and the earth itself had paid in blood for their conflict! The wounds were deep, raw, bleeding. Even now the fissure Tarrin had opened in the ground still oozed lava, and she could sense that it would become a volcano. It would not heal itself, it would simply grow into a mountain. The land had shaken, rock spires had toppled, and both the Weave and the All had shuddered violently in their battle. The Weave had been twisted, bent, warped, it had even moved while they were fighting one another, as if the presence of both of them at the same time, both using powerful magic, was nearly too much for the Weave to bear. It nearly tore, creating an effect similar to a miniature Breaking. The All had reacted to the raw power they sent at one another, and it had reacted to both of their magical spells that affected the land. Tarrin's little stunt with the fissure nearly sent the All spraying up out of the ground like the lava that still oozed forth, and that would have killed them all.
But he was still alive. How? She could feel that he was still alive, but he had crossed the line. He was being Consumed! She first wanted to rush to him, but a Sorcerer of his power meant that being Consumed would be absolutely disastrous, so she fled from the area when she realized that he had passed the point of no return. She had been feeling it, feeling the Weave itself writhe as the power of it tried to destroy him… and then it just stopped. She was absolutely mystified by that. It just stopped. That was supposed to be impossible. When a Sorcerer started the chain reaction of being Consumed, it was irreversible and unstoppable. And yet when it happened to Tarrin, it just stopped.
How?
She finally spotted him, laying on a risen section of ground, risen over the pooling lava before it, and to her surprise, the other one was standing before him, looking down at him. The ground had heaved and shifted when he made the fissure, and it made the start of it rise up as the land before it displaced the land surrounding it in order to make enough room to open the fissure. At that close proximity, the ambient heat of the lava should have been cooking him, but he looked unharmed. His hair and fur had even grown back. The other one wasn't attacking him now, she simply looked down at him.
A Selani with that kind of magical power? No. She had to be Sha'Kar. The Sha'Kar looked much like the Selani, and many in the circles of the forest folk speculated that the two were related. The Sha'Kar were long dead, but their affinity for Sorcery, and the agelessness it imparted to them, meant that it was entirely possible that at least one of them had survived. Because of that, she wasn't entirely surprised to see a Sha'Kar. This one was one of the Ancients, one of those Sha'Kar that had knowledge of the greatest of the secrets of Sorcery. But why had she attacked him in the first place? They were two unique beings. She should have been happy to see him! What provoked the assault, and the vicious battle that followed?
She completely ignored the Sha'Kar, blazing a straight line right to Tarrin's side. He lay on the hard ground, the leather clothing she made for him blackened and brittle from the heat of whatever happened. It was even smoking a little bit. But his hair and fur had regrown, and he had no obvious injuries. She landed on top of his chest and put her hands on him, used her Druidic powers to assense his physical condition-
– -and she was taken aback.
Something had changed inside him. It was subtle, but it was there. The power he'd used had had some kind of lasting effect on him, and she could sense that his connection to the Weave had changed in some unexplainable way. The Weave bent towards him now, just as it did towards the Sha'Kar. Outside of those things, he was perfectly fine. His body was exhausted, but after a long rest, he'd be just fine.
She darted up and was in the Sha'Kar woman's face in a heartbeat. "Who are you, and how dare you attack him!" she demanded hotly in her piping voice, her face showing her outrage.
The woman fixed the Faerie with a calm look, a look that shook the little Faerie's outrage-fueled indignation. She flitted back and away from the woman, getting a full taste of the sheer aura of intimidation the woman exuded. But Sarraya had spent much time around Triana, and the intimidating effect of the woman's presence didn't affect her for very long. She returned to a dangerously close distance from the woman's eyes quickly, and recovered her look of furious outrage.
"I did not attack him," the Sha'Kar snorted in a rich voice. "I did what was necessary. I hold no grudge against him."
"What kind of lame answer is that!" Sarraya flared, putting her hands on her hips. "I saw it with my own eyes!"
"If I meant him harm, he would be dead," the woman said flatly. "The Goddess sent me to test him."
"The-The Goddess? Tarrin's Goddess?"
She nodded. "As you may have realized, we are brother and sister," she said, reaching under her burned shirt and producing an amulet of untarnished silver. Unlike most Sorcerer's amulets, hers was a little different. The little concave star in the center had little lines running to the triangles, and it almost looked like a little spider. "Mother was getting cross with him, so she sent me to provoke him into losing control."
Sarraya's face turned a pale blue. "Why would she do such a thing!"
"Because he could not grow any more unless he faced his power," she replied with marked casualness. "It is an ordeal that all Weavespinners must undertake if they are to realize their true potential. Only in the moment of destruction can a Weavespinner attain communion with the Goddess. If they succeed, they may progress and discover the secrets of the Weave. If they fail, they die. Mother was getting angry that he kept finding ways to avert fate, so she sent me to make sure of it. His time is growing short, and he has no more time to waste floundering about."
"What would have happened if-" Sarraya said, but the look in the woman's eyes said it all. She swallowed. "He would have died?"
"It would have pained me to cause the death of a brother, but it had to be done," she said with genuine compassion in her voice. "But now it is ended. And I must go."
The woman turned and started walking away, the utter-black cloak absorbing the light, making her look like a two-dimensional figure against the hellish backdrop before her. "Hey, wait!" Sarraya shouted. "You nearly kill him, and now you leave him here?"
"He has you," she called without looking back.
"You think I can move him before he gets baked by this heat?"
She actually laughed. "Think, you foolish sprite. Should he not already be dead?"
Sarraya had no answer. If the heat was so intense that she had to protect herself with Druidic magic, then he should have been killed by it long before she reached them. And yet he was unharmed.
"Wait!" Sarraya shouted, but the shadow of the woman was gone, and something inside her told her that she was no longer there, even if she chased after her.
Sarraya bit her lip, fretting. What had just happened? Why did this figure from the past return to the present, return to attack Tarrin, but not to hurt him? What was this test the woman spoke about? How did Tarrin survive? It was madness! She looked down at him, and then she remembered the woman's words as her eyes locked on his amulet, an amulet that had changed.
Only in the moment of destruction can a Weavespinner attain communion with the Goddess.
It was a test! All this time, all those times he had nearly destroyed himself with Sorcery, they all were just precludes to this! If he was to ever find his true power, to find the answers that his Goddess told him to find, he would have to face the possibility of destruction by the very power he sought to master.
It certainly looked like he found that mastery. He was still alive, for one, and his amulet now looked exactly like the Sha'Kar woman's amulet. It had that same strange spidery-like alteration to the central star.
Of course. Sarraya chuckled. If they were called Weavespinners, what better symbol to represent them than a spider?
"I'm getting too old for this," she sighed, using Druidic magic to pick his inert form off the blisteringly hot ground.
Light.
There was light all around him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it deep inside, feel the radiant warmth of it as it shined upon him. It flowed, this light, flowed and pulsed and shimmered from one place to another, moving in a vast cycle of uncountable paths that all eventually began and ended at the same place. It was a heady feeling to sense the light, mystical in its underlying intent, moving of its own without rational rules to define its existence. Beneath the flowing of the light was a strange sound, a sound he could not hear, yet he could. It was a steady, rhythmic thumping, a gentle pulse of lifeblood through this ether river, a river that began where it ended and existed within a neverending cycle of self-replenishment.
It was a heartbeat.
That heartbeat was the collective energies of thousands and thousands of beings, all beating in perfect unison, hearts that sustained this vast web of interlaced rivers of light. They did not know that they worked together. They did not know that their lifeblood was also the lifeblood of this grand network. From the wellspring this light flowed, flowed through the hearts of those who circulated it, flowed through the heart of the world, and then it returned to the wellspring from whence it had come. It was an endless cycle, like the tides, the currents, the winds, the seasons. It had a beginning and an end, but the end was naught but the beginning of the next cycle.
He opened his eyes. He found himself adrift in a sea of vast black emptiness, except for the crisscrossing rivers of light that flowed around him, in all directions, extending into infinity to light the void, but never so numerous that the void was consumed by their presence. Those rivers nearest to him were warped, leaning towards him, yearning for him the way plants yearned towards the sun. The sight of it was beautiful, so beautiful that his heart felt like the most breathtaking sunrise would seem as dull grays on slate in comparison. His heart also sustained this vast web of light, but unlike others, he fully sensed what was happening, was aware of it.
The Goddess gives the power, but it is the hearts of the Sorcerers that bring it from the wellspring and deliver it to the land, he thought in a moment of revelation. Without the Sorcerers, there would be no magic in the world.
"You see truth, my son," the voice of the Goddess shimmered through the rivers of light, through the strands of the Weave. She was close, yet distant, near yet far, existing in a place that was both near him and beyond his imagination. "You see the truth of things that few have experienced. You have become what you were always meant to become."
"But what is that, Mother?" he called out into the void. "What good does it do me to know these things, when I can't do anything with them?"
"You underestimate the power of knowledge," she replied from her unseen place. "Did your battle not teach you that knowledge is the greatest form of power?"
He blinked. That was easy enough to agree with. That Sha'Kar woman had taken everything he did and twisted it back on him, with contemptuous ease. It wasn't because she was more powerful than him, it was because she had a greater knowledge about the Weave than he did. That knowledge made her the better of them.
"To influence a thing, you must first be aware of that thing," she told him. "You cannot master things you cannot understand. You cannot master your power without first understanding its truth."
That made sense. He couldn't deny that. "Mother… what was I meant to be?"
"What you are," she replied cryptically.
"But… but I'm not worthy of any of this," he said meekly. "I'm a half-crazy Were-cat who'd sooner kill you than shake your hand. I don't deserve to see such wondrous things. Why me?"
"Why not?"
She had asked that question of him every time he asked his own, and he still had yet to find a suitable answer for her. In this crazy, illogical world, it was only fitting that a feral Were-cat be given the responsibility for saving the very people he did not care about.
Fate, he had discovered, had a very strange sense of humor.
"Don't worry at it too long, my dear kitten," she said to him in a silvery voice, a voice full of humor, warmth, and love. "You have other things to consider."
"What?"
"You have faced your power, and have conquered it," she told him. "You have crossed over into a new realm of magical ability. You are now a true Weavespinner, in heart and soul as well as name. But as with any new beginning, there is a period of adjustment, of learning. And so it is with you, my dear child. You are so fond of thinking of things in linear terms, so consider it this way. One path has come to its destination, but another leads you off to the horizon. Your body has changed, as has your connection with the Weave. These are your first obstacles, the first challenges you must face and overcome."
"Changed? You mean I have to learn everything all over again?"
She laughed lightly. You see to the point, as always, she said winsomely. You have crossed into a new realm, Tarrin. In your prior land, you were the master. Now, you are again the Novice. You must relearn everything you learned before, because now, everything is different."
"But, but that other one was using High Sorcery," he reasoned. "That means that I can still use Sorcery the old way."
"You can use Sorcery in the way that other Sorcerers do, but that is but one aspect of your power, and it is also something you must learn again. Your connection to the Weave is different now. Surely you remember Dolanna's lessons."
He realized that he already knew the answer. "Every Sorcerer has his or her own way of touching the Weave," he repeated the lesson. "It's unique for every Sorcerer. It's why no Novice is permitted to read or study Sorcery before their first lessons, because it may contaminate their ability to use their magic."
"It is a personal communion, and it differs from person to person. But now, my Tarrin, you are a different person. So you must learn to touch the Weave anew."
That proposition seemed daunting. Learn it all again? Go through it all again? Suffer the dangers of his power all over again?
"No, my kitten," she said gently. "There is no more danger. There will never be danger of that sort again for you."
"What do you mean?"
"You are sui'kun now, Tarrin. That's a Sha'Kar term for Weavespinner. A Weavespinner cannot be harmed by the power of the Weave."
"I'm immune to Sorcery?"
"No. You are not immune to Sorcery. You will simply never again be threatened by its power. It cannot harm you, no matter how much of it you hold."
"So I can't be Consumed?"
"A Weavespinner cannot be Consumed," she affirmed. "My time grows short, kitten. You're about to wake up now, and you're not going to remember any of this immediately, because I don't want you interrupting your rest with your usual pondering. But you'll recover your memory after you rest, and I want you to think about it when you do remember."
"I will. Mother, who was that Sha'Kar woman?"
The Goddess laughed sweetly. "That is none of your business. But don't worry, you'll see her again someday. I guarantee it."
The sense of her seemed to both retreat and not move, a strange feeling of paradox, and then the web-covered black sky suddenly began to shift, then to spin. He felt a strange sensation behind his eyes, as if the real world was recalling his soul from the nether regions to which it had travelled. He closed his eyes as a sense that he was travelling a million longspans in a breath swept over him… and then there was nothing but darkness.
Light.
It seeped into his vision, interrupting the dark security of sleep, and it stirred him out of a deep, dreamless slumber, that and a strange sound that sounded like someone dragging a chain over stone.
With awakening came memories, images. A Sha'Kar woman, an Ancient. An Ancient that attacked him! They had fought, and he had lost control of his power, finally lost total control… but he hadn't been Consumed. Something else had happened, something strange, something inexplicable.
Something… beautiful.
Groaning, Tarrin returned to full consciousness as his senses seemed to reawaken with the rest of him. He could smell Sarraya somewhere about. He could smell sand and rock and dust, but there was also a latent smell like sulfur, like brimstone. A smell he had only just recently smelled, but the memory of it was very fresh. His body was spent, exhausted. The sun hung low on the horizon, meaning that it was either sunrise or sunset. The stone around him wasn't radiating heat and the wind was just starting to stir, so he knew that it was morning. The only reason he woke up was because he was hungry and thirsty.
That wasn't the only thing he noticed. He could see the Weave now, see it as a ghostly backdrop to reality. He could see the strands crisscrossing through the sky and the land, see them yet not see them, as if they were ghostly after-images that faded from view if there was something solid behind them. He could see them all, but it was as if he were looking upon them with a separate set of eyes. The strands of the Weave didn't interfere with his normal vision in the slightest. Almost as if both images were being imposed over one another, yet both were completely separate and could not interfere with one another. He could see the strands, and he could sense the power within them. Not just the flows and spheres, he could feel the true power within, the pulsating energy that flowed through them, and he could feel the eddies and currents, the bottlenecks and the rapids, the pools and the trickles that made up the energy of the strands. It was an energy that was part of the Weave, created by the seven spheres interacting with one another in ways that the modern Sorcerers could not comprehend.
The fight. His body still shivered over what had happened between him and the Sha'Kar. Magic on a level he didn't think possible had passed between them, and though he didn't remember it at the time, he began to recall the way the Weave shuddered as it struggled to meet the demands on it from the two of them. Well, most of it had come from him, aimed at her. He recalled that the Sha'Kar didn't really attack him with as much power as he used against her, using instead her experience and finesse to counter his attempts to use brute force. But the sense of her had not lied. He knew that she would have been able to meet him power for power, if it had come to that.
The battle was confusing. He was still alive, so why didn't she finish him off? Why did she attack him in the first place? She was Sha'Kar, an Ancient, and she had knowledge that didn't exist in the world anymore. What he wouldn't have given to spend an evening talking with someone like her! She was at least a thousand years old, and she had knowledge of the old powers, of the Weavespinners, knowledge he desperately needed. Such vast knowledge, and she had used it to literally spank him in a magical clash. He had no illusions about who had come out of their confrontation the winner.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she didn't come to kill him, but to test him. Maybe she was just there to take a measure of him, for some reason. She had to know something about him, after all. There was no way that she could have found him, called to him in that weird way, without knowing who he was, what he was doing, and where to find him. It was about the only reason he could think up for her to do such a wild thing.
Or maybe she knew exactly where to find him. She was a Sha'Kar, an Ancient, and that meant that she was a Sorcerer. She had to have an amulet around her neck just like him, and she answered to the Goddess the same way he did.
It had to be a test of some kind, because only about six people knew where he was. Sarraya, Triana, Keritanima, Allia, Fara'Nae… and the Goddess.
It was the only thing that made sense. The Sha'Kar had been sent, sent to test him in some manner.
But why? That was the question. Did the Goddess want him to get a taste of a real Weavespinner? Was it a lesson? An ordeal? A test of loyalty? A test of faith? A test of power?
On the other hand, if someone like that was really alive, what did she need him for anyway? That Sha'Kar Ancient could have easily taken the book from Shiika. She probably knew where it was all along. She may even know exactly where the Firestaff was located. Why send him, when she could have gotten it by now? It was certain that nobody living on this world could possibly take it from her. She was the paramount, the most powerful living being he'd ever seen.
It made very little sense. And since it had no easy answer, it was something best left to think about when he felt more rested.
Just moving was an effort. He was laying on his side, and his tail was numb from where he was laying on it. He managed to slide a paw under him, then push himself off the bare rock, but it felt like he weighed a thousand stones. He pulled himself off the ground, then pulled his tail out from under him and rolled over to sit down. He dropped the limp tail in his lap, waiting for the blood to flow back into it and reawaken it.
He nearly got knocked over when Sarraya slammed into him at full speed, her tiny body almost toppling him as she grabbed hold of his neck and hugged him fiercely. "Tarrin!" she said in excitement and relief. "You're awake!"
"You nearly knocked me back out," he wheezed, putting a paw down to steady himself. "For a little thing, you hit hard."
"Sorry," she said, letting go and hovering before him. "I take it you're tired?"
"That's an understatement," he said tonelessly. "I think the only reason I woke up was because I'm hungry."
"Well, say no more," she smiled. She motioned with her hand as he felt her come into contact with her Druidic power, and a large roasted goose simply appeared on the ground before him. The smell of it wafted to him, and it caused his stomach to almost take control of his body. "I usually don't steal like this, but this is a special condition." Then she giggled impishly. "I'm sure the cook who made it must be rubbing his eyes in disbelief about now."
"No doubt," he said with a tired smile, reaching down for it. It was still hot. She must have swiped it right off someone's dinner table with her Conjuring.
The goose was perfectly cooked-she'd probably Conjured it off some inn's main dining table-and the first bite unleashed an onslaught of ravenous hunger. He stripped both drumsticks before Sarraya had much of a chance to do anything, and he began working on the main body of the bird with his claws and teeth by the time she was sedately perched on a rock facing him. She'd Conjured up some berries for herself, and they shared a meal in relative silence, at least until Tarrin slowed down in his eating enough to speak between bites.
"How long was I asleep?" he asked.
"Just over the night," she replied. "I brought you over here to get you away from that mess you made."
"What mess?" he asked, but Sarraya was already pointing. He looked in the direction she indicated, and he saw a black pillar of smoke boiling up from the ground some distance away, spreading out into the high sky. The smoke was being distorted by the morning wind, wind caused by the sun's heating of the air, wind that rushed from the east to the west, then was turned back by the prevailing winds that came in from the west once the sun had heated the desert.
"That's your doing," she told him archly. "In ten years, there's going to be a mountain there."
"A mountain? What did I do?"
"You ripped a hole in the earth that runs all the way to the magma," she said casually, but he could tell that just saying it was of monumental importance to her. "I can't fix something that big, so it's just going to have to stay."
"Magma?"
"Liquid rock," she explained. "The earth rests on an ocean of liquid rock, so hot that you wouldn't even have time to feel pain if you fell into it. Not that you'd live long enough to get that close to it in the first place."
"Oh. My father calls it lava. He saw some when a volcano in Shace erupted."
"Lava, magma, it's the same thing," Sarraya shrugged. "Since your little hole goes all the way through, now it's spewing out of it. It'll cool off and turn back into rock, then build itself up into a mountain."
"The land isn't going to sink, is it?" he asked fearfully.
Sarraya gave him a curious look. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You said that the land floats on it. When you put a hole in a boat, it sinks."
She glanced at him, then laughed. "No, that's not going to happen. You don't know very much about the real way the world works, do you?"
"I'm not Phandebrass, Sarraya," he said defensively. "I know what my parents taught me, that's about it."
"All that time in the school in Suld, and you didn't learn anything?"
"They didn't give me much time to learn anything but Sorcery," he grunted in reply.
"Funny that you didn't know about the magma, yet you wove a spell to cause it to erupt."
"I do things I don't understand when I do that," he told her. "It's like when I'm like that, I know things I don't really know, and I forget them when it's over."
"Probably because you're in touch with the Weave," she speculated. "Nevermind. You don't look like you're up to a debate right now."
"No, not really," he said, looking back at the smoke. "So, that'll be a mountain?"
"A volcano, to be precise," she answered. "We can call it Mount Fury."
Tarrin chuckled ruefully. "At least it'd be a fitting name."
"Do you remember much about what happened?"
"Some," he replied. "I get the feeling that after a while, the rest will come back to me. What happened to that Sha'Kar woman?"
"She disappeared not long after you passed out," Sarraya said worriedly. "Tarrin, you were being Consumed. What happened? How did you weasel out of it?"
"I, I have no idea," he replied. "I don't really remember very much about that."
"The Sha'Kar spoke to me before she disappeared," she said. "She said she was there to test you. She said that she was sent to make you lose control."
"I had a feeling that was the case," he said calmly. "I thought about that a bit just before I opened my eyes. I couldn't think of any sane or rational reason she would have come here and attacked me that way."
"At least you're thinking," she teased, then she got serious again. "She said that you had to lose control if you were ever going to get stronger. She said that all Weavespinners had to face being Consumed. She said that if you survived, you were a Weavespinner."
"I thought I already was one."
"Maybe in name, but I think you had to do that to be able to use the power that the Weavespinners use. Can you feel anything different right now?"
"I can see the Weave, Sarraya," he answered, looking around and surveying it with his strange second sight. "I can see every strand, and I can feel the pulsing of the power flowing through them like blood through a body. I can feel that power pool up in the strands nearest to me, and feel them bend in towards me. Almost like I'm attracting them."
"I think you are," she agreed. "Look at your amulet."
Tarrin picked it up off his chest, and immediately saw the difference. The central star now had two bent lines coming out of each side, reaching out and touching the triangles that surrounded the star. The star looked vaguely like a spider with those little leg-like formations extending from it.
Spider. Weavespinner. How appropriate.
He touched the new features in his amulet gently, feeling it through the pad in his finger, marvelling at it. If this was what it meant to be a Weavespinner, why didn't he feel very much like celebrating?
"I didn't get much out of that Sha'Kar woman, but she did say that she was sent by the Goddess herself. I guess your patroness got tired of you figuring out ways to avoid losing control."
Tarrin chuckled. "That does seem to fit with what I know of her. My Goddess isn't one to wait too long, for just about anything." He stroked the amulet gently, almost lovingly, his emotions for his Goddess taking control of him for a brief moment. "In a way, I'm glad she did it this way. Better to face that moment here, against someone that wouldn't immediately finish me off if I survived, and where nobody else would get hurt."
"Hmm. That's a good point. I didn't think of that," Sarraya grunted in agreement. "Maybe it's why she told you to come out here. If you would have failed, the result would have been… momentous. To say the least."
"I can imagine. I remember a bit of what happened. I was full of power. When my body would have finally succumbed to it, all that power would have been released into the physical world. It would have been released as a Wildstrike. A really big Wildstrike."
"I know. When I realized what was happening, I tried to get as far away from you as I could. I hope you don't mind," she said quickly.
"I don't blame you at all," he told her with a warm smile. "I would have done the same thing."
"Good," she sighed. "I didn't want you to think I was running away from you, or abandoning you."
"You were doing the smart thing, Sarraya. I won't be mad at you for that. I completely understand."
She beamed for a moment, then started on another berry. "I hate to say it, but your sword is gone," she told him. "It's still over there. I was too busy worrying about you to look for it."
"Not a problem," he told her, holding out his paw. He was tired, but he felt strong enough to Summon it, and the sooner he did, the less energy it would take to retrieve it. He reached within, reached through the Cat within, and made contact with the vast source of power known as the All. The image and intent in his mind were clear, plain, and the All responded to the simple request immediately. But Sarraya had suddenly jumped into the air and screamed "Tarrin, no don't!"
But it was too late. There was a shimmering to his side, and the sword appeared in his hand.
A sword that was glowing white-hot from heat.
His immediate reaction was to drop it, to let go of it, as the heat of it assaulted his senses. He flinched away from it as he let go, rolling to the side as it clattered to the rocky ground, his heart going from slow to racing in half a breath. Adrenalin surged through him as it anticipated pain from his blunder.
Pain that never came.
His breathing becoming quick and shallow, he looked down at his paw, and saw that it was totally unmarked. Impossible! He could feel the heat of the sword. He could feel that it was so hot that it would instantly blacken flesh that came into contact with it. Yet it had not so much as singed him. The heat of it made his face feel tight, but it had not burned him. How could he feel the heat, yet not be burned?
"Tarrin!" Sarraya said in a strangled tone. "Are you alright?"
"It, it didn't hurt me," he said in confusion. He reached out towards it, felt its heat… but felt no pain. He reached closer and closer, but still there was heat but no pain. Then he put a finger on it and immediately recoiled. Again, he felt the heat, felt that the metal was a little rubbery from the heat, but there was no sizzling of flesh or singing of fur. "Sarraya, I can feel the heat, but it's not hurting me!" he exclaimed in shock, touching the weapon again. Then, courage bolstering him, he reached down and wrapped his paw around it, picking it up off the rock. He could feel the heat radiating against him. The air around it was so hot that it could burn the lungs, yet it did him no harm. He held it close to his vest for a moment, a vest that was already blackened from the exposure to heat before. He touched it to the leather, which immediately began to hiss and burn from contact with the blade. Then he shifted it and put the flat of it against his chest. Again, he felt the heat, but there was no pain involved with it. He pulled it away from his chest, and saw that aside from a bit of ash from the leather of the vest that was left behind by the blade, it didn't leave a mark on him.
"Amazing!" Tarrin exclaimed in awe. "Is it the sword?"
"It's you," Sarraya said quietly. " That's what the Sha'Kar woman meant!" she shouted suddenly, startling him. "That's what she meant when she pointed out that the heat should have already killed you! Whatever it is that's doing it has to be-"
"It's an aspect of a Weavespinner," he concluded for her. "I noticed that in the fight, that fire wouldn't hurt her. Oh, it burned her clothes, but it wasn't hurting her. I guess Weavespinners can't be hurt by heat, or fire. I wonder why."
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Sarraya laughed. "Fire is one of the few things that can hurt you, Tarrin. Or at least it used to be."
It was a weird feeling. He, Tarrin Kael, was now utterly invulnerable to heat. But he just didn't feel very much different than before. It's not like it was something flashy or gaudy, like when he was turned. Not something noticable, something that separated him from the rest of humanity. But Sarraya was right, it was very much welcome. It would keep the desert's heat from bothering him, at any rate.
But then again, it hadn't been bothering him before. It did at first, but days went by and he felt more and more comfortable. He thought it was because of his regeneration… but maybe it wasn't. Maybe, as he grew closer and closer to this new level of power, maybe this aspect of it had begun to appear in him. Maybe his tolerance for the heat had to do with his magical power and not his Were regeneration.
Tarrin chuckled ruefully. Cook a piece of meat enough times, it gets to the point where it can't get any more done. Maybe that's what happened to him.
"What do I do with this?" Tarrin asked, holding up the sword.
"I can't cool it off, it may damage the metal," Sarraya replied. "Just put it aside and make sure it stays flat. It's so hot, it may bend if you don't lay it flat."
He nodded, fidgeting the sword on the rocky flat until he found a position where the blade laid flatly on the ground. The leather bindings around the hilt were burned off, but that wasn't a great problem. "Alright, now what?"
"Now?" Sarraya asked. "Now we rest. You need to recover before we can start off again. While you're resting, I'm going to go over there and study it," she motioned at the pillar of smoke. "I've never had the chance to study a rift before. It should be interesting."
"Make sure you take notes, or Phandebrass will never forgive you," Tarrin told her, rising up onto his knees, then shifting into cat form. He then curled up into a small niche in the rock, near the heat of the sword, and closed his eyes. "I'll be right here," he told her in the manner of the Cat.
"Alright. I'll see you in a while."
Sarraya flitted off, leaving him to his rest. It was the first time he'd been in cat form since the trek across the plains of Yar Arak, but there wasn't any hollowness or pain this time. He was too weary, and he'd been too long in his humanoid form, had enough time to sort through the complex emotions that his cat side could not tolerate, the emotions that caused that pain in the first place. The eyeless face that always seemed to be behind his eyes also dimmed with the shift, as human morality was subjugated to the purity of instinctual thinking. It was something of a respite from the guilt that eyeless gaze incited in him, to lose himself in the serenity of the now, where the future and the past were nothing but empty shadows, and the present was all that mattered.
He relaxed, and allowed himself to drift off into a contented sleep. He'd have many things to think about later, but for now, all he wanted to do was sleep.
A day's rest did wonders for his body, but did little for his mind.
The memory of what the Goddess told him had slowly seeped back into his mind as he rested, and it caused him to have strange, disjointed dreams while sleeping in cat form. He usually didn't have memorable dreams when he slept in cat form, because his thoughts were filtered through the instincts of the Cat, but these were powerful thoughts, powerful images, and they were strong enough to penetrate into his alternate mental state.
He remembered the entire conversation with the Goddess as a dream, a dream he knew was nothing but recalled reality. After that, he dreamed about Allia and those with her. He dreamed that they were standing on a ship's deck, staring at a horizon filled with smoke, and a sense of foreboding seemed to hang over them like a pall. There were dark shadows over them, over all of them, but they seemed to focus around Dar. He dreamed of Keritanima, dreamed of her standing on a mountain of screaming skulls, weeping tears of blood as she ripped the fur from her muzzle and commanded the skulls to be silent. He dreamed of Jenna, standing before a massive steel door that glowed red-hot from heat, reaching out to it with no concept of the danger it posed, walking towards it steadily and stepping over the burned, smoking bodies of their parents. He dreamed of Faalken, his curly hair matted with spoor and the flesh torn from his face, standing on a rock spire and holding a flaming sword aloft. Just behind him stood Jegojah, his sword bloody and a resolute look on his withered features.
And he dreamed of Jesmind, standing in a small, cozy cottage before a fire, holding something small in her arms. He could see nothing but her back, but there was a sense of resolve in her that radiated from her. She turned to look at him, and the determination shone on her face like the sun. She held out whatever it was in her arms, and when he looked down at it, all he could see was a mass of blazing light.
The dreams disturbed him, deeply, because all of them held a grim sense of danger in them. What danger could they be in? And why did he dream of Faalken? Faalken was dead, long dead. What did the dreams mean? Even in his slumber, he fretted at the meaning behind them, if there was any meaning at all. It could just be his worry for his friends and sisters, his yearning for Jesmind, the sorrow over Faalken that had never truly eased inside him causing it. After coming so close to being Consumed, after having his magical abilities altered in such a manner, maybe the dreams were just an extension of the anxiety he felt at what had happened to him, and what he would have to face in the future.
After his mind settled enough, the dreams began again. But this time, it was a different sense, a different type of dream. He stood on a mountainside, looking down into a valley that held a large town, a town with no roads, no carts, only grassy pathways between houses and buildings, the smallest of them large enough to be called a mansion by any definition. People in robes walked about in the town, and there was an odd sense from them, like they were ghosts of the past resurrected into the future. The sky above was utterly black, but there was plenty of light by which to see.
This is where I have to go, he told himself absently. This is where the Book of Ages is going to lead us.
With that thought, the dream dissolved, and he spent the rest of his slumber in dreamless rest.
His mind didn't race again until he woke up, until he could apply his rational mind to the memories and images he's experienced while asleep. Everything they'd concluded was right. The Sha'Kar had been there to test him, to force him into either taking the next step or being destroyed by his own power. A power he could no longer touch, he knew now. He was again a Novice, unable to use his power until he learned how, and that would not be easy. He'd become so intimately familiar with his power that the very thought of having to use some other way to access it seemed alien to him. He was tainted now, tainted by his own past experience, and he'd have to forget everything he once knew before he could learn what he had to learn to regain his powers.
Sui'kun. It was a Sha'Kar word, a word that translated as soul-fire. The Goddess had used it to refer to him, told him that the Ancients used it to describe Weavespinners. What he was now. An entirely different kind of Sorcerer, and that meant that he had to learn an entirely new way to touch the Weave. To do it all over again. He remembered how aggravating and infuriating it had been the first time, and he knew it would be even worse now. It would be worse because he could see the Weave, sense it, feel its pulse in his soul, and it felt as if it were a part of him. That sensation made him feel like the Weave was but a thought away, but something told him that that was the very reason it was going to be so difficult to find his power again.
Until then, he didn't have the power to use, didn't have it to protect him. But he could still use his Druidic magic… so that meant harassing Sarraya for more indepth lessons. He wanted to learn more of it so he could better defend himself until he managed to find his power again. She'd argue, refuse, demand, even threaten, but she'd do it in the end. Sarraya got a little mischievious thrill out of teaching him things he wasn't supposed to know. It satisfied her rebellious nature. All he had to do was appeal to her on those terms, and she'd do anything he wanted her to do.
The dreams worried him. They worried him nearly as much as the eyeless face disturbed the Human in him. He could endure what hardship came to him, but he couldn't even stomach the idea that his friends and family might be suffering, might be enduring pain. Especially if it was his fault. He'd already lost Faalken, he didn't want to lose another friend, a sister. But the dreams were short, vague, and there just wasn't much to remember other than a few images and the feelings that those images incited.
There was so much on his mind, the last thing he needed was worries for the others to distract him.
He opened his eyes and yawned, then stretched. It was a little past midday by the sun, and it shone down on him with the full fury of its heat. Heat he could feel, but could no longer affect him. He was truly sui'kun, for the heat of the sun, of the rock, of the desert, it could not touch him. He had even held a sword glowing from being immersed in lava-magma, whatever it was called-and felt no pain from it. It hadn't even put a blister on his pads. He wondered idly if he could still sweat, or if he needed to, or if alot of physical exertion would make him hot. He wondered if his body could tolerate heat generated from within as well as it could tolerate heat that came from outside.
It was so strange. It was as if the power of High Sorcery had burned away the part of him that could be hurt by it, leaving the rest of him behind. That was as good an explanation as anything. He could feel the subtle differences inside himself, for he was very attuned to his own body. He was the same, but the power had also changed him in small ways. Small ways that had impressive outward effects. He had an even more acute sense of the Weave now, able to actually see it, and he couldn't be hurt by fire. Significant changes, but the changes felt very small when he sensed them inside himself.
He rose up, stretched, then sat down on his haunches. The sword was cool now, or at least it wasn't glowing anymore. It rested close to him, close enough to feel the radiance of its heat when he was falling asleep. Sarraya was still gone, probably hovering near the rift he'd made in the earth. It felt a little frightening to wake up in this vast land and find one's self alone, but he knew that Sarraya was close by. If he called out, he had no doubt that she would come flying back. He shifted back to his humanoid form absently, then reached down and picked up the sword. He would just wait for her to come back. She wouldn't be long, and she'd watched over him for so long that he figured she deserved a little time to herself. The sword was still a little on the warm side, but it wasn't so hot that it could hurt anyone. More than likely it was hot because it was black, and had been sitting out in the sunlight since daybreak. The metal showed no crystalization, no signs that the immersion in lava had damaged it. He pressed on the sword's blade with his paws tentatively, and found that it was still strong, still razor sharp, and still virtually unbreakable.
Whatever metal was used to make the blade, he just had to get more of it. The stuff was absolutely amazing.
Sometimes it made him laugh. To think a weapon like this, a sword of legendary properties, had been sitting over a bar in Dala Yar Arak before he claimed it for his own. He liked it, in a way, but it just wasn't his staff. But that was spilled milk at any rate, because his staff was gone. Destroyed by Shiika. He was travelling west, maybe he'd find himself an Ironwood tree along the way. Then he could make a new one.
Looking up at the Skybands, Tarrin tried to touch the Weave, just to see what would happen. He reached out to what he could see, what had always been there… and it wasn't. It was like it had been moved on him, moved just outside his reach, taunting him with its proximity yet not allowing him to make contact with it. That was generally what he expected to happen. The Goddess told him that he'd have to learn how to touch the Weave all over again. It was just strange that he was so attuned to it, so close to it, and yet he could not reach out and touch it. He knew it could be done. That Sha'Kar woman had used High Sorcery, and that required her to be touching the Weave. So there was a way to do it… he just had to figure it out. Without guidance, without instruction, without support. Not that mattered much to him. He was used to doing things by himself.
"Alright then," he said quietly to himself. "If that's the way it is, then that's the way it is." He reached down and picked up the sword, felt that the leather bindings had been burned off the hilt, but that was easy to fix. He'd rebind it tonight. It wasn't like there was anything out in this rocky wasteland to fight. He pulled off his scabbard, and found that while it was burned nearly to cinders. What wood and leather that was left of the scabbard was brittle and weak. His leather clothes as well were burned, gouged, and about ready to fall apart. That, too was easy enough to fix. He reached within, reached into the All through the Cat, and formed an image of new leather clothes and a scabbard exactly like the old ones. He willed those items to appear before him, and the All saw into his intent and responded. He felt the power flow through him, much more power than was normal for regular Conjuring, felt the drain it put on him to handle that extra power. He realized that he wasn't Conjuring or Summoning, he was Creating. Sarraya said that Creation required more energy than the other two related techniques. But, it seemed that it was something that he was strong enough to do.
While putting on the new clothes, he realized that the small pouch he kept on his belt was broken, and that the little coin charm device Anayi gave him was missing. It must have fallen out. He reached within again and willed it to appear in his paw, and the All responded. The little device appeared in his hand… hot enough to burn cloth if it was placed on top of it. It must have been laying out in that volcanic rift. He set it aside and allowed it to cool as he went about Summoning or Creating new versions of all his little personal possessions that he'd lost during the fight. He really didn't carry much, just the coin, a small dagger, and usually a small coil of leather thong for the bindings of the sword. His claws tore them frequently, requiring him to rewrap the hilt from time to time. After that was done, he finished putting on the new clothes and made sure the sword would fit in the new scabbard, then got ready to move. He didn't feel very comfortable where he was, and too much had happened in the last couple of days. He wanted to move on for the rest of the day, and then he'd talk it through with Sarraya in detail tonight, talk it through and have a chance to sort through it all.
Now he just had to get Sarraya's attention.
"Sarraya!" Tarrin boomed towards the rift, holding his paws up to his mouth to direct the sound. "Sarraya, I'm ready to go!"
He waited a few moments, but she didn't reply or appear.
The rift was only a short distance away. He started off in that direction, but before he got more than a few hundred paces towards it, Sarraya's tiny form appeared in the shimmering heat and haze from the sun and smoke of the rift. Her blue skin was smudged with black here and there, and her gossamer clothing was a bit singed and blackened in places. She came up to hover in front of him, a smile on her face. "You look fresh," she noted. "I take it we're leaving?"
"I'm ready to go. You have fun?"
"Yes, I consider a stroll through a volcanic wasteland to be so enjoyable," she said in a sarcastic tone. "But I did learn a few things."
"Like what?"
"Well, like lava can't melt other rocks immediately. It needs time. And that some kinds of rock won't melt. I tossed some sandstone into the lava, and it exploded."
"Exploded?"
"Yes, it was pretty neat. Maybe the sand that makes up the rock will melt, but the rock itself won't."
"Sand melts into glass."
"I know that, but the lava is too hot. It makes it do something else."
"Explode, from the sound of it."
"I'd guess so," she said.
"So, to put it in a nutshell, you were over there playing with the lava."
"Sometimes play can be educational," she said primly.
"Yes. I'm sure it can."
She slapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go already!"
Tarrin stood up to his full height and stared off towards the northwest, the way he intended to go. It was shimmering in the day's heat, but he could make out a large expanse of flat rocky waste, but there were rock spires and some irregular terrain on the horizon. With any luck, they'd come out of this barren expanse and get into the scrubby plains that Allia had described so often, plains where a surprising number of plants grew in the desert. Enough to support minimal herding. When he reached those plains, he would reach the Selani. He wasn't looking forward to meeting the Selani, but he was getting tired of looking at sand and rock. It would be nice to see some more of the desert.
Northwest. The way he was going. He had a great deal to learn, a great deal to do, and he'd learn it and do it while he was over that way. Quite a lot to look forward to. It wouldn't be easy, but then again, anything easy wasn't worth the effort. Part of him was dreading what was before him, but another part of him was looking forward to the challenge, looking forward to the experience. It would be a long, hard road, but the rewards he would find at the end of it would more than make it worth his while.
"Let's go," he mirrored her, and then he started off towards the northwest at a ground-eating pace that few could match for very long.
As much as he was ready to move on, the weather wouldn't cooperate. Tarrin and Sarraya were driven into a large cave before sunset by a small yet powerful sandstorm, and they'd had to retreat deeply into the cave to avoid the scouring wind. The sandstorm gave them time to eat supper and rest a while, and to talk. Tarrin related everything that had happened to him before he woke up, about his conversation with the Goddess, and he also told her about the dreams he'd had. He made sure to explain as much as he could about both the conversation and the dreams, and when he was done, he sat back and allowed the Faerie to think it over. Sarraya was a bit erratic and a little flaky, but she was exceptionally intelligent. She was alot like Phandebrass, easily misunderstood because of her unusual outward personality. He'd come to discover that Sarraya was both smart and keen, able to see to the heart of things very quickly. He could rely on her in that manner.
"Alright, so, whatever changed you altered your ability to touch the Weave," she said in a clinical voice, sitting on his knee and looking up at him. "Have you tried yet?"
He nodded. "Nothing. It's like it's not there. And it's really annoying, because I know it's there. I just can't find it."
"Sounds like most of this is going to be getting over your frustration," she said with a little grunt. "Knowing how you handle frustration, I think I'll keep my distance from you while you're trying."
"That may be a good idea," he agreed seriously. "I know it can be done, because that Sha'Kar woman was using High Sorcery. She also used Sorcery in some ways I can't even describe. I think those were Weavespinner ways."
"Try."
He groped for an explanation. "She didn't use Sorcery," he said helplessly. "It was like the magic was just there. She didn't draw it or weave it or do anything you have to do to use Sorcery."
"Well, your Goddess told you that there's more than one way to use Sorcery," Sarraya said. "This must be some sort of direct use. A way to use it that doesn't require any preparation or formulation. Almost like Druidic magic, if you think about it."
"How do you mean?"
"She just wanted it to happen, and it did," she explained. "That's the core of Druidic magic, if you recall. But this was much faster, and if you didn't feel anything from her, then it either doesn't take effort, or you weren't sensitive enough to feel what she did. Either would explain it."
"It has to take some effort, so I'd say that I couldn't feel what she did," he said with a little sigh. "That, or she did it so fast I couldn't make it out. She was an Ancient, Sarraya. She must be so good at magic that I couldn't even begin to keep track of her."
"Could you keep track of everything else she did?"
"Some of it," he replied. "She could weave spells so fast, I barely realized that she was releasing them before they were coming at me. She didn't use alot of power when we fought, she just out-wove me. She taught me a few things about Sorcery, that's for sure," he said with respect in his voice.
"Like what?"
"How to not only disrupt weaving, but to turn it against the weaver," he answered. "She attacked one of my weaves while I was weaving it, and caused it to collapse into an entirely different spell just by introducing a few stray flows into it. Then it blew up in my face."
"You didn't release it?"
"When she attacked it, she gained control over it. She was the one that released it, not me."
"So, you learned something already. You think you could incite another Sorcerer's spell into releasing before it's finished?"
"I think I could," he said after a moment of reflection. "Flows are flows. What they do depends on who controls them. I'm strong enough to wrest control from someone else. At least I would be if I could touch the Weave," he added in a growling voice.
"Well then, I'd say that the encounter did more good for you than we first thought," Sarraya told him with a smile.
"I hope so," he said absently, turning an ear to the wind. It was still howling outside.
"I don't think you should start right now," Sarraya told him. "Take a couple of days first. Think about everything, rest a while. You're not quite ready to take on something like this yet."
"I know, but I do know that I can't waste too much time."
"Why?"
"You told me that the Sha'Kar said that my time was running out," he replied. "I'm on a tight schedule here, it seems. So tight that the Goddess had to send the Sha'Kar to move me along. I'll wait a day, but that's all. Tomorrow night, I'm going to start trying to find my power again."
"I hate to say it, but you're right. I hate working on someone's strings," Sarraya grunted.
"We've been doing this since the start, Sarraya," he told her. "Sometimes, I think that I was born with those strings on me."
"Maybe. But look at it this way. At least you're having a very interesting life."
He looked at her, then laughed in spite of himself. "Want to trade?"
"Ah, no. I doubt I'd enjoy going through life as a boy."
"What difference does it make?"
"All the difference in the world," she replied. "Bodies are bodies, but souls are the true gender. If I were trapped in a man's body, I think I'd have a very hard time functioning in human society."
"You do already."
"I'm not human, am I?"
"Neither am I. At least not anymore."
"Would you want to go back?"
"I don't think about that, Sarraya," he said seriously. "I never think about what could have been. I can't change the past, so it's better if I don't dwell on things I can't change. This is the way it is, and that's life. I can't be changed back without dying in the process, so I'm stuck this way."
"Just for argument's sake, let's say you could. Would you want to?"
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stone behind him. When he closed his eyes, the eyeless face appeared in his mind, casting salt into his raw wounds yet again. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I've been this way for so long, I can't even imagine being another way. But-I just don't know, Sarraya."
"Tarrin… what do you think you'll do when this is all over?" she asked hesitantly.
"I haven't thought about it," he told her. "To be honest, I don't expect to live through this. And maybe that's for the best."
"Why say something like that?"
"I have something to focus on now. When this is over, I'll have nothing left in my life. Kerri will go back to Wikuna, and Allia will go back to the desert. I could visit, but I wouldn't be welcome in either place. I know that already. I'd have no purpose, no goal. And without something in my life, my ferality will take over. I'll end up like Mist, living in complete fear. I think I'd rather die than face that." He sighed. "I'm a Weavespinner, Sarraya. I know how powerful I am. Do you want someone like me out there, with all this power, and no constraints about using it?"
"Well… no."
"I've done enough damage already. I'm tired of destroying things, of killing people. The best thing that could happen out of all this is I end up getting killed when it's over."
"Well, I think that that's a defeatist attitude," she said sternly. "Triana would slap you for saying such things."
"Triana would understand," he told her. "She wouldn't like it, but she'd understand."
"Well, I don't understand, and I won't allow it. I absolutely forbid you to die."
Tarrin looked down at her, then chuckled. "And who made you queen of the universe, little dolly?"
"I did," she said flippantly. "And as queen of the universe, you can't disobey me. If you die on me, I'll kill you."
Tarrin laughed. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said in mock supplication.
"Now let's get some sleep," Sarraya said. "We have a long way to go."
"Isn't that the truth," Tarrin agreed in a distant tone. "A very long way to go."
The last rays of the sun peered over the twin mountains known as the Earth's Breast, shining their last on the grim stone fortress built at the top of a sheer mountain. It was known as Castle Keening, a name granted to it because of the fierce mountain winds that howled through the battlements at all hours of the day and night. Its builders designed it to guard the wide mountain pass which it overlooked, a protection from raiding Goblinoid tribes that would attack mining caravans that extracted the precious metals, iron, and lead that were abundant in the range that surrounded the triple lakes known as Petal Lakes. But as the Dals pushed the Goblinoids more and more out of the mountains to the south, the need for the grim fortress waned. It was left abandoned, fell into disrepair, after its service was no longer required. The memory of it faded as the deposits of metals were mined out in the southern reaches of the Petal Lakes region, as the miners moved to the north to exploit the mineral wealth that remained. The wide pass below was dotted with abandoned villages and solitary inns, respites from hard mountain travel for the miners and the merchants that came to buy their ores, and the wagoneers that transported it.
Now, the pass was filled with a thousand bonfires. The fires were those of Goblinoids, returned to their ancestral territory, returned for a terrible purpose. They stood in the shadow of the massive citadel on the mountaintop, a citadel that looked down on them with dark vision and inspired fear in them. Not because of the old fortress of grim stone, but of those who were within.
It was known as Castle Keening, but now the keening was rumored to be from the agonized screams of the many who had met their end within its walls. It was a major stronghold of the ki'zadun, a powerful network of mages, priests, spies, and dark entities whose main objective was nothing short of world domination. It was an organization that sought only to increase its own power, in any way possible. They had agents and operatives in nearly every major kingdom or duchy, and their fingers were spread across the world. Be it economical, political, or even militaristic, very little happened that the ki'zadun did not know about, or have a hand in. From the plains of Valkar to the streets of Wikuna, from Dusgaard to Pyrosia, from Suld to Shu Tung, the ki'zadun poisoned the entire world with their dark purpose.
Their nearest neighbors, Draconia and Daltochan, knew about Castle Keening, knew about who inhabited it, but that was of no importance. The ki'zadun now controlled both kingdoms, and it was their hand that guided the war with Sulasia, a war that was progressing on schedule. They had crippled Sulasia, and now their Draconian operatives had managed to incite war between Tykarthia and Ungardt, eliminating the greatest threats to them. Now they could amass their true armies without fear of retaliation, without fear of a pre-emptive assault. The dangerous Ungardt were now slaughtering Tykarthians, and the efficient armies of Sulasia were pinned back by the ears, trying to stop an invasion of Daltochan's armies and their Goblinoid allies. And what was most important, the Sorcerers of the katzh-dashi were sitting in Suld, unwilling to aid the Sulasian armies until Suld itself became threatened. The Dal threat kept them there, kept their members from travelling and seeking out the truth of the invasion, and their Goddess refused to grant them divine knowledge.
They would not understand until it was too late.
Kravon stood at the balcony of Castle Keening, staring down at the fires below, finding himself very pleased by the progression of events. Despite their setbacks with the Were-cat, everything else was moving smoothly. But, any good plan was bound to have a snag or two during its execution. So on the whole, he was content with the performance of his sycophants. He pulled his old cloak about him a bit as the wind took a raw quality, as the beginnings of winter had begun to show in the air. Winter came early in the high mountains, and it lingered long after the lower elevations had spring blossoms budding in the fields.
Yes, everything was running smoothly, except for one little snag.
He felt an oppressive weight behind his eyes, and then something that could only be described as ultimate cold settled into his soul. This is not the time to dawdle, minion, a disembodied voice drifted into the dark tunnels of Kravon's mind. You have not carried out my instructions.
"They will be done this night, my Master," Kravon replied aloud, replied in a very respectful tone. "Everything we require for your plan is now available to us. We will lay the enchantment as soon as the sun fades."
This must be done correctly, the voice said in a stern manner. Too much rides on this. The Were-cat has unlocked his true power, and for now, he is vulnerable.
"Pardon my ignorance, Master, but why is he vulnerable?"
He has lost his connection to his power, the voice responded. He must find it again before he can use his magic. Until he does, he is vulnerable. And it is in this window of opportunity that you must strike. Without his magic, he cannot defeat Jegojah.
"The desert Goddess may interfere. Do you wish us to send additional forces to ensure it doesn't happen?"
She will not. The Were-cat has not earned her respect, and until then, she will not protect him. Send only what I have commanded you to send.
"I understand, my Master. It will be done as you command."
Do not fail me in this, Kravon. And do not waste valuable assets in the future. Releasing Jula was a mistake. She is now in the hands of our enemy, and she can hurt us.
"I'm aware of that, my Master. I have already sent people to rectify the situation. Let me say in my own defense that it was a good plan at the time. None of us foresaw that the Were-cat could cure Jula of her madness. We all thought it impossible."
You are dealing with the Mi'Shara. You must expect the impossible. Do not bungle again. I can replace you as easily as you replace your minions. Do not forget that.
"I never forget that, my Master," he said in a low voice. "The sun is now set. I will see to your instructions immediately. Do you require anything else of me?"
Not now. Perform your tasks as I have given them.
"At once, my Master."
And with that, the tenuous connection dissolved, leaving Kravon chilled to his soul. Telepathic communion with the Master always left Kravon shaken and pale, and he leaned on the bannister of the balcony for support until warmth and energy returned to his limbs. The Master had given him a task to perform, a plan to carry out, and Kravon could appreciate the subtle effectiveness of this plan. If the Were-cat had no connection to his Sorcery, then he was indeed vulnerable. Very vulnerable. His triumphs over Jegojah came because of his magical powers. Without those powers, he would stand no chance against the Doomwalker.
A good plan. The Master never failed to impress him. It was why he followed the Master.
Feeling strength return to his body, Kravon pushed himself off the balcony, then turned and marched back into his laboratory without a glance behind. His magical assistants and minions were working diligently on his behalf, preparing the compounds and charms that would be needed for the conjuration that would take place that night. The Conjuring Circle had seen much activity lately, since the discovery of ancient spells that allowed the control of conjured Demons and other denizens of the Lower World. Those spells had proven to be potent, and now Castle Keening was guarded and protected by Demonic forces, forces loyal to Kravon and his Master. The messy examples they could set had inspired renewed loyalty and devotion to duty in the castle's occupants. The Demons had been instructed as to who was expendable and who was not, so their continued occasional reminders would keep his people properly motivated. One of them stood by the door, a huge vulture-like Demon called a Vrock, and another, a six-armed female with the lower body of a huge snake called a Marilith, was rifling through the library of magical spells in the library. The Marilith was exceptionally intelligent, and she was willing to share her intellect with Kravon and his master Wizards. She felt herself to be far above the humans she was tutoring, but her obedience to the Master kept her on her task.
The vast knowledge of a Marilith at Kravon's command. The might of the Demons to serve as the sword that would cleave the world in two, and make it the eternal domain of the Master. He felt confident that the whole world would soon be bowing before the katzh-dashi.
"The sun is set. It is time to begin the spell," Kravon announced in his dead voice, causing all activity in the laboratory to cease. "Are we prepared?"
"We have but one more component to prepare, but it will be done within the moment, great Master," one of his master Wizards replied. "It will be ready before we will begin."
"Excellent. Then let us go to the Conjuration Chamber and prepare."
This was a spell they had performed several times before, more than necessary, to be honest. The soul-trap that held Jegojah's spirit was ready, sitting on his desk, and a semi-conscious vessel that would serve as the Doomwalker's undead force was chained to the wall on the far side of the laboratory. Both were retrieved, and the Wizards formed a grim procession as they undertook the mental preparations for casting such a difficult spell. The Marilith tagged along at the end of the procession in curiosity, her sharp features showing her interest at seeing some human-magic.
Within the Conjuration Chamber, all was prepared. Three braziers on iron stands were lit, forming a triangle around the three-fold symbol inlaid into the floor with gold and other precious metals. It was a pentagram within a thaumaturgic triangle within a concentric circle, a triple-layered symbol of great warding power that was needed to summon and control the most powerful of the extra-dimensional entities. Such was necessary when summoning something as powerful as a Doomwalker.
The nine Wizards took their positions around the symbol, and the material components were cast into the symbol as were required. They would be the catalyst for the spell, causing it to activate. After that was done, the spell began. It began slowly, but built into a crescendo of magical power over time, as the nine voices joined into a discordant harmony with such power that it subdued the light of the braziers. They rose to such a pitch that the very air seemed to vibrate from the power of their words, and the wind outside calmed, pulled away, as if nature itself recoiled from the dark evil being done within.
Two guards threw the naked vessel into the symbol as the eight attendants fell silent, and Kravon's voice alone carried on. The voice was perfect, flawless, reciting words of arcane power of such magnitude that they caused the natural order of life to be usurped. He uttered one final word, a word that nearly put out the braziers, and then all was eerily silent.
Then the braziers exploded back to life, exploded into columns of fire, and the spell began. The man within the symbol suddenly screamed, jumping up off the floor like a dying fish, and then he thrashed about for a long moment as his screams echoed through the lit chamber. Then he ceased his thrashing, held immobile for a moment, and his skin began to pale, to gray. The figure stood up calmly as the mortal spirit of the man was cast out, and a dark shadow invaded what remained of the mortal shell. The presence of that dark spirit caused the flesh to putrify, the eyes to melt, the skin and flesh and muscle to wither and tighten around the bones. An arcane suit of armor wavered into being around the dessicated form, and red light erupted from the darkness of the eye sockets.
The form, hunched over, stood up straight and tall, and turned towards Kravon. "Why do ye summon Jegojah again?" it demanded in a rasping voice. "Told ye, Jegojah did, better destroy me ye should, yes."
"You are not here to bargain or threaten, Doomwalker," Kravon said. "Your mission remains before you. You have not completed it."
"Jegojah, he does not carry out the impossible, no. Be your maid, Jegojah would, before taking on the Weavespinner again, yes."
"This time, you don't have to worry about his power," Kravon said smoothly. "He has lost his magical powers for a time, and it is imperative you reach him and destroy him before he regains them."
"More to that one, there is, than magic," Jegojah grated. "A fine warrior, he is, a warrior of honor. Jegojah can fight, but the outcome, it is not certain, no."
"You are a Doomwalker," Kravon said coldly. "No mortal can defeat you."
"The Weavespinner, he is not mortal, no," Jegojah spat back. "The winds of luck favor one such as him, they do, yes."
"True. I will accede that much to you. That is why, this time, you will have help."
"Help?" Jegojah spat, then he cackled in laughter. "What help could ye grant Jegojah?"
Kravon looked to the door. The silent guard there opened it, and two mailed sentries escorted a third form through the door. It was a form in black, burned armor, carrying a large sword in a withered hand. The head of the figure was withered, decayed, with bone and gray flesh showing through the cracked skin, flesh infested with maggots, deteriorated long past the point of being recognizable. The eyes were long gone, replaced by twin points of red light.
It was another Doomwalker.
Jegojah looked closely at this new Doomwalker, looked very closely. The armor was familiar to it, it was a pattern and design it had seen before. There was a rent in the breastplate, running from the shoulder to the waist, crossing the chest and abdomen.
And beneath a wide burgonet helmet, there sprouted stray locks of curly black hair.
"No right!" Jegojah exploded. "No right, ye have, to disturb the rest of the fallen! Return him, ye will, return him to his rest right now!"
"You have no say in this," Kravon said in a dead voice. "Complete your mission, and both of you will be freed to rest for eternity. Refuse to obey me, and you will spend that eternity in the possession of my lovely associate here," he said, motioning towards the six-armed Demon. "I'm sure you know what her kind do with the souls of mortals. Is that fate what you desire?"
If there was anything that the inhuman Wizard could have said to intimidate a Doomwalker, that was it. There were some fates worse than death, worse that utter destruction. "That fate, no, Jegojah does not want it," it said in sudden supplication. "Jegojah will do as ye command. But when this is done, freedom, it will be granted, yes. One way or another."
"Then begone, and carry out your assigned tasks," Kravon said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"As ye command," Jegojah said sullenly. "Come, companion. A long way, we must go, yes. Let us get this overwith."
With that, both undead forms simply sank into the floor, merging into the stone, and were gone.
The whole thing was pleasing to Kravon. Jegojah should be able to carry it out alone, but with the other Doomwalker to aid it, this time victory was guaranteed.
It was worth the effort to find and retrieve that body. Months of searching paid off. When the Were-cat recognized the identity of the Doomwalker, the shock would be enough to give one of them the chance to finish it off.
You interest me, human, the Marilith, who called herself Shaz'beka, remarked. She did not speak, exclusively using the telepathic gifts common to her kind to communicate. You would give me the soul of the Doomwalker if he fails?
"My dear, consider his soul yours, whether he succeeds or not," Kravon said absently. "Given his failures and poor attitude, I feel your tender ministration is suitable punishment for his disobedient nature."
And the other?
"Also yours, to do with what you will," he said, holding out a new soul-trap, a crystal that glowed with a golden radiance. "But I can't give them to you until their mission is accomplished. I do hope you understand."
You are most generous, human. I find my service here to be less tedious.
"Anything for a fellow follower of the Master, my dear," he said magnaminously.
Indeed.
"We are finished here," Kravon announced. "Let us return to our other duties. Those two will not fail us."
And with that, the braziers were extinguished, and the room was evacuated. The doors were closed, and the room fell into darkness.
To: Title EoF