Livia’s PoV - Limbo - Monastery of Will’s Hand
Between time spent talking and training together, the five days I promised Eb I wouldn’t exceed passed quickly. Finding myself in an outer courtyard on the receiving end of a fierce hug, I can only wonder where all the time went.
“I don’t know, you come for a visit and steal a teacher,” teases Amdirlain, her hug lingering as if she’s bargaining with the universe for more time together.
“I’ll come back to visit whenever Eb lets me. Master Duurth and I can exchange messages to know when that is suitable, so you don’t get to cheat,” I retort, not complaining about the hug.
“Ugh, no fair, I’m supposed to be the adult,” Amdirlain grumbles, her lips twitching playfully and her eyes gleam with a mix of emotions.
“Know you may open your Gate now, Novice Amdirlain,” says Master Duurth.
His instruction forces mother to focus her attention, but that she needs prompting lifts my mood. The difference in her affectionate reluctance compared to my birth mother’s cold dismissal was like day and night.
“Where you met up with Uncle Torm, and the others outside Xaos will do nicely,” I remind Amdirlain, and wave a finger when she tries to look innocent. “No peeking, móðir!”
“Meanie,” she grumbles, without pause in the casting. A point of light blooms into an open Gate showing a simple road and the strange gates of Xaos in the distance. “I’ve not given Cyrus entry access to home. Oh, remember, the bracers are yours if you want them, but pass on the rest to Mirage, not sure why I held onto some of it. It’s mostly stuff that she should destroy, given their origins.”
Amused by her fussing, I simply pat the Pouch of Holding with its contents of knick-knacks tied to my belt. “I didn’t think you would make him a guest there, even if he’s been helping. Eb says you’ve had too much bullshit from others who’ve claimed to be helping,” I reply. I give her a last kiss on the cheek before moving through the Gate; Cyrus follows along smoothly, his goodbyes long since said.
“Where do we go to from here?” asks Cyrus looking about when the Gate closes.
“We don’t go anywhere yet, I’ll send a message.” I reply, and casting the Spell, I target it silently with Eb’s new name, even as I speak the message aloud so Cyrus knows what I’m saying.
“Auntie Eb, my visit is over, and I even made curfew. Móðir says, you’re a fine big sister. Currently, I'm about a kilometre towards the spire along the road from Xaos.”
Eb’s reply is almost instant, and I smile at her cheerful tone.
“We’ll be with you shortly. We’ll depart for Cemna from there.”
“Oh crud,” I spit, and send another Message realising neither mother nor I have warned her about Cyrus. “I’ve got a visitor with me, not sure if you’ll want to warn Master Farhad to relax.”
There isn’t another response, but a few minutes later I feel the hairs at the back of my neck prickling like someone is scrying. They draw out the wait before a Gate opens a stone’s throw off to the left of the road.
Eb steps through in full Solar form, with golden armour, and white wings outstretched—Cyrus’ huff is amused, and I work to keep a calm face. It had taken everything I had to argue with her before and I would not back down now. The aura about her feels like being wrapped up in a hurricane of power,determined to shield you rather than crush.
“Guess I should have told you to chill, Aunt Eb,” I say. I’m glad for the distraction when Uncle Torm steps around Eb’s left-hand side—giving a trio of rustling wings plenty of space—his happy aura wrapped around his human form. His presence almost distracts me from the shocked look on Master Farhad’s face when he steps around her right, and sees Cyrus standing beside me.
It’s only when the Gate closes behind them that I realise Eb had been using her wings to block sight of where they’d come from.
“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to-”
“Honoured Ancestral Master Cyrus,” Farhad states wide-eyed, bowing deeper than I’d seen him ever do and then holds himself nearly bent at right angles.
“Steal my thunder, see if I care,” I murmur. So many factors in his greeting shock me: his instant recognition of Cyrus, lack of placid calm, but also the sheer respect he pays Cyrus. His reaction makes me realise the defiance I’d clung to for days, even mentally considering him simply Cyrus, without the Master I’ve unthinkingly given Farhad for years.
“Farhad, Livia has informed me of your ignorance regarding the order’s fate,” Cyrus says, without even a twitch to acknowledge the bow. “We safely evacuated most, far more than the western fleet apparently managed.”
“Might I ask what happened, Honoured Master Cyrus?”
“I will share the full story at a later time, but for now I’d appreciate introductions,” instructs Cyrus crisply, his usual amused air completely absent.
“Ancestral Master Cyrus, Founding Master of the Temple of the Western Steppes, Captain of the White Tiger Guards, and Immortal Servant of the Jade Emperor’s Court, allow this one the honour of introducing Ebusuku, Solar of…,”
Farhad stops so quickly his teeth click together before Ebusuku needs to warn about over sharing. For her part there hasn’t been a shift in her expression, though her aura shifts between amusement and concern at his flustered state.
“A mysterious Goddess frustrating a curious order about her name,” injected Cyrus, and a glimmer of his amusement returns. “Titles weigh much but can mean little between those that don’t know the background. Names are all that is required, Farhad. Please stand upright, there is no need to hold such a bow—we’re not in a formal Court.”
“My apologies Master Cyrus,” states Farhad quickly, and though he stands upright, the angle of his gaze makes it clear he’s not meeting Cyrus’ own. “Master Cyrus, might I introduce Ebusuku, Solar, you would consider her a greater western Shen. Also Torm, Planetar, also a greater western Shen, though his centre isn’t as strong.”
“Thank you for your service in introductions. Is this all we’ll be travelling with? Livia said the cleansing of the undead was a world spanning undertaking.”
“Other Celestials are already there working today, but another will be joining us that is not a Celestial,” says Farhad, his tone returning to his usual calm. “She has been assisting Amdirlain’s project, and I’d ask you to stay your hand, no matter how disrespectful her demeanour or words can be.”
My jaw almost drops, and I hear myself sputter. “Sidero is coming with us?”
Torm's ready laughter has me eying him suspiciously, but Ebusuku just calmly nods. “She needs to gain a lot of experience to evolve and I feel the timeframe for her being recalled got moved up somehow. Either that or something has changed since our initial arrangements.”
“As long as she doesn’t attack me or anyone I care to protect, I’ll stay my hand against her,” reassures Cyrus, and turns to Farhad. “Can she be worse than a Snake Mother?”
“She’s a western Devil,” affirms Farhad, and Cyrus’ eyebrows shoot towards his hairline.
Wanting to roll my eyes at Farhad’s poor representation, I wave for Cyrus’ attention. “Amdirlain wasn’t the only one cursed; the same individual sent two of her friends to Hell. Sidero has an aggressive outlook on life, but a lot of it is simply how she copes to keep her sanity.“
“Also, she’s not a Devil and calling her one will get her off side,” cautions Torm.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you’ll get your own insights quickly enough, Cyrus, maybe even without your Third-Eye,” I reply glibly, and Farhad gives a low gasp. “She’s trapped as a Kyton, an inhabitant of the western Hells. Have you heard of them?”
“I had little interest in the Devils, and Demons away from the centre of the Jade Emperor’s influence,” admits Cyrus.
“See, I told you; you need to live life to find the flaws in either your Soul or understanding. You were the one that told Amdirlain sitting under a tree is fine if you are a shrub.” I tease. “But don’t call her a Devil. They’re not and were there before the current hierarchy took control.”
My teasing lecture has Farhad almost choking in disbelief, but Cyrus motions him to relax.
“If you would give me a summary about her situation, shouldn’t she be seeking healing as your mother has?”
“Her behaviour, extending through multiple lives, compounds mother’s situation,” I reply, while I consider how to explain before I cut to the chase. “Pain excites her sexually, her own, or that of others, emotion or physical if she can taste it in the air. If she’s in a lot of pain—or the air is thick with it—her aura surges with pleasure and it makes her… erratic. She hates it, but the hate brings emotional pain, which causes more pleasure. I met her after a fight, and once the pain eased down, she was stable, snarky but stable.”
The look Torm gets from Ebusuku makes it clear he hadn’t told her about the situation after I left.
Cyrus doesn’t immediately reply, but when I’m about to prompt him he finally nods. “Very well, I shall see. She sounds like a risky companion for you to fight beside.”
“Livia won’t be fighting close to her; where you fight is your choice if you’re coming along,” states Ebusuku.
“I won’t be fighting,” Cyrus says.
I just look at him and blink, taking in the mischievous aura. “What are you up to?”
“I’ll play bait and bring them to you. Amdirlain calls it pulling mobs,” Cyrus replies smugly. “I don’t wish to slow your progress, so I’ve no intention of engaging unless absolutely necessary.”
“Then, why?”
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“Why come along? To seek the meaning of the Emperor’s koans and see you gain the strength to stand tall among your fellow monks. When you’ve fought enough that you need to meditate and practice insights learnt we’ll disengage,” states Cyrus. “Where will you be fighting?”
“That better not be a crack at my height,” I huff, and my baneful glare just broadens his smile. “I’ll be fighting undead in canyons away from the strongest regions of negative energy; the Lantern Archons normally clear those out.”
“Then that is where I’ll be as well,” states Cyrus, and gives a nod to Farhad. “I’ll share the tale of evacuation with Farhad when you are both resting from your fighting.”
At the continued awe in Farhad’s aura, the urge to tease him has me grinning, and he fixes me with a curious look. “What is it, Livia?”
“Aren’t you going to ask to know him properly?”
Farhad snorts and frowns at me, still fighting to keep his balance after his world got tipped over. “That would be too great an honour to request.”
“Are you going to engage with life or just let it pass you by, Cyrus?” I prompt and receive a matching snort from him.
“Since you feel it is too great for you to request, Farhad, I will make the request,” Cyrus says, and stepping away motions Farhad to join him. I don’t poke at the deliberate absence of Farhad’s title, given I’ve not credited his own.
While they’re sorting themselves out, I move over to hug Torm. “She misses you, Uncle Torm. I know Mirage made you that comms device, as you and Sidero call them, after you missed a message. Why don’t you send her one now?”
Concern sends ripples through the usual deep red of his aura, but he still gives me a smile. "If I start, I’ll be wanting to every time I think about her.”
“Okay. I wondered, that’s all. You might push her off-balance when she’s healing, or training, I get it,” I say. Though I exaggerate a bit by standing on tippy-toes, it’s still a reach to tap his chin. “She was going to go do some reading to broaden her understanding of Githzérai culture. Perfect time!”
“Don’t wear Mirage’s device out,” Ebusuku adds.
An excitement in Torm’s aura shortly after shows he didn’t waste time arguing, nor did Amdirlain with responding.
With his attention clearly elsewhere, Ebusuku gives me a smile. “We’ll watch the children play and then get Sidero.”
“Móðir said: quote, watch out for Master Cyrus’ levels, his numbers eclipse yours, five-digit defence and attack, end quote,” I report, and for once I make Ebusuku blink.
“We’ll watch Farhad struggle then,” she replies, and turns back to the pair, who still haven’t started. I can’t track their conversation, whatever tongue they're using is clearly not their native one so my Spell doesn’t translate.
Farhad starts and the pair blur, I’d expected Cyrus to treat it the same way as other sparring seasons I’d watched at the monastery. Instead, one moment Farhad attacks and the next he’s on the ground, only Cyrus’ momentary shifting stance making it clear he’d moved at all. Clearing his head with a quick shake Farhad rises, and the air glows—to me at least—forming a trail that suddenly ends. Cyrus’ posture shows no hint of strain or rush, but he simply flows back from the axe kick that smashed Farhad to the ground.
Every technique he counters with brutal precision, and I wonder what I set in motion with Master Farhad repeatedly knocked down. The sound of ruffling feathers is the only sign that Ebusuku fights back the urge to get involved. There is no malice in his aura, and his serene precision holds my own objections at bay. Then Týr’s insight is sitting upon my shoulders and makes everything clear; Farhad’s on trial. When Torm turns back, the nod he gives me shows he sees it too, and I wonder what he’s telling Amdirlain.
“In each place, the laws can be oppressive and unyielding or kind and merciful; sometimes the same law depending on the side on which you stand within a judgement,” Cyrus says suddenly as Farhad’s fingers dig into the ground. Their first words spoken in the almost hour since they began. When he spoke, Farhad had instantly stopped preparing to move again.
“Is it you that stands in judgement now?” asks Farhad, blood streaming from a lip split so badly I can see his teeth healing through the gap.
The question from Master Farhad doesn’t shift Master Cyrus’ expression an ounce in either anger or compassion. “You did not waver no matter that my response repeatedly overwhelmed you. So I would give you some points to think upon. It is up to you to decide if they are judgements or not.”
Cyrus clears his throat and starts only when Farhad nods.
“A lord sets the laws in his lands, yet within their boundaries bandits can set their own laws. Which would you follow if you met the bandits in their lair? Are not both law? When does one rightfully override another? If they are following their laws, does that make the bandits action acceptable? You moved as one focused on Law: what is the greater law?”
Though his tone was firm, it actually contained respect, and stepping back, he motions Farhad up, his familiar smile already back in place.
Farhad hadn’t moved while Cyrus spoke, but now he wipes the blood from his mouth before he rose. “I thought you’d argue my way is wrong, like the others.”
“If that is what they said, I’ll have words with them—that wasn’t in the records. To follow one’s Tao is to be true to oneself; you’ve shown an inner strength that they didn’t record. You have gained Immortal Spirit, and clearly have had it for some time, so why are you still human?”
“Is that not what defines an Immortal?”
Cyrus gives a slow headshake, but his expression is compassionate, not admonishing. “No, but once you find what does and transcend, then we’ll speak again. Who knows, one day you might stand more an equal to your wife.”
“I do not need to be equal to her; I need to be worthy of her,” refutes Farhad softly. His aura’s colours heat my complexion, and I glance up in time to see Ebusuku’s lips curl happily—her worry easing.
“You have changed Farhad, even if you don’t see it. The records’ account declared you flawed and sent away because you cared only about seeking power for yourself, to gain sovereignty over all you looked upon. If there is truth in that, I’m glad to see you’ve since learnt that the progression of the Soul means more than merely gaining power,” states Cyrus.
His words stop Farhad cold, and he doesn’t even blink but bows even deeper than he had before their exchange. “My thanks for your insights, Master Cyrus; the records, though missing the argument, were correct in that regard.”
Cyrus acknowledges him with a lesser bow, and held a hand—glowing with a pure white light—near Farhad’s shoulder. In a second the wounds I can see upon him are healed, and only bloodstains showed they were ever there.
“Next time the insights I provide you won’t need to involve a trial of your spirit, young Master Farhad,” says Cyrus, before bowing to Ebusuku. “You have a determined husband Ebusuku. I believe he has much potential and while it has taken a long road to reach this place it is not yet wasted.”
“The road he travelled led us to each other,” replied Ebusuku.
“Then perhaps finding you was what his Soul needed.”
I take a step back to relieve the crink in my neck from watching her shifts in expression, and catch Ebusuku’s mysterious smile. “I say it was what we both needed to reach a better state.”
Ignoring Cyrus' confused expression she glances at Torm. “Did you tell Amdirlain about these two getting to know each other?”
“I told her there was a delay because of an intense catch up going on,” Torm replies diplomatically, and my snicker turns his attention my way.
“Torm, she’d think Farhad and Ebusuku were delayed due to sex if you told her that,” I huff, and enjoy Torm going red. “I bet she changed the subject.”
“She did, and promised to set time aside each rest day to speak, since she’s doing better now,” Torm said happily, a change in a normally stern demeanour.
“No passing on messages from others,” snaps Ebusuku.
“I appreciate you’re protective of her, but you’re not the only one,” chides Torm firmly, drawing a frown from Ebusuku. “I’ve every intention of not letting others disturb her—for my own reasons—as well as instructions from Týr.”
“Why is your Deity protective of Amdirlain?” Cyrus asks right on the heels of his statement, a reminder of our conversation at the monastery.
“She’s helped his faithful in a number of ways previously,” I respond getting in before Torm can reply.
“Sidero has been expecting us to open a Gate for a while now,” Torm says, taking the only subtle approach suited to him, and completely changing the subject.
Ebusuku doesn’t even hesitate, and when the Gate opens focused on Sidero, she’s standing by a human-like statue—twice her height, apparently made of mithril—etching runes along its torso. It’s only upon finishing the one in progress that she bothers to look our way. With a casual pat on its side, the thing vanishes, I assume into her Inventory.
Crossing the threshold of the Gate, Sidero gives Ebusuku an edged-smile. “You finally ready to go? I sent Klipyl off to play ages ago.”
“That was a nice-looking toy,” Torm observes casually, deliberately keeping his gaze from Cyrus’ own.
“It will make a handy defensive linebacker and paperweight once I’ve finished with it,” said Sidero, her attention moving past us; I see a flicker of curiosity before a burst of pleasure washes through her aura the moment her gaze lands on Cyrus.
“I take it you didn’t find that on Letveri?” questions Ebusuku.
“Please, I made it. The cities had enough mithril to make a few of them, but forming them was the easy part. Mithril soaks up Mana so readily that getting all the enchantments in place will take some time,” Sidero explains. Her voice remains casual despite a chain tightening around her forearm so hard I expect to hear bones break.
Torm blinks at her phrasing, and beats me to asking a question. “Them? How many golems are you working on?”
“They’re not golems they’re statues with enchantments. I can control their movements so I don’t need any embedded intelligence getting in my way. They’re more to serve as a shield wall, I’ve got other toys for killing things, I’m looking forward to testing my upgrades on undead,” responds Sidero,
“Are you okay, Sidero?”
The simple question has her looking at me blankly, the surprise clear in her aura even if it’s hard to tell by her face. “You’re one of the few people to ask that for years, Livia. No, I’m not. The chains are being problematic; shall we get to grinding up undead already?”
“Why don’t you remove them?” Cyrus asks curiously.
Fear flares through her aura and chain loops that had been resting around her calves ratchet momentarily tighter. “My name’s Sidero, and you are?”
“I’m Cyrus.”
“Well, at least I know your name. Thanks for the introduction in advance,” Sidero says, her voice sickly sweet. “How about you save the personal questions until never? By my calculations, I’ll need to kill millions of undead if they’re only types of zombies and the clock is ticking.”
“A minute to midnight?”
I don’t understand what Torm says, but his tone implies a question, and Sidero nods sharply. “I might not even have that much time.”
Ebusuku opens a Gate up, and the sight of the barren wasteland sends a shiver up my spine. Judging from what I’ve heard, we’re atop a plateau between canyons, and in the distance black clouds move eerily, their course in opposition to the wind that is creating zephyrs in the dust.
Sidero doesn’t hesitate but strides through the Gate and a metal disc drops at her feet. The moment she steps atop it, the surface melds to her feet, and she ascends steeply faster than I can sprint. Metal cylinders larger than her torso appear in her wake, and spread out in an arc, keeping pace. Following the others, I can see a gathering of Lantern Archons streaming through another Gate with the blackness of Limbo visible through it. A flash of light draws my attention back towards Sidero, and I see bright bolts raining down from the cylinders striking towards targets within the canyon she’s following.
“Well, Sidero’s heading in the right direction for things to fight,” says Ebusuku casually. “But I could have gotten her there faster.”
“I don’t think she wants help,” Torm murmurs with surprising concern. “I sent her a message about how far to head before expecting serious trouble.”
The three of them give me a nod before they vanish. Glancing back to the Archons I see Mirage come through the gate, and signal us towards the closest canyon.
“It looks like this is us, or at least me,” I say, and move towards the top of the broken gate at the canyon’s mouth to spot a way down. Looking over the desolate tiers cut into the cliff wall, there are so many options among the broken buildings even without using a Flight Spell. It’s more about picking what path I didn’t want to take, but I can’t see any undead before my survey reaches the waterline.
“Master Cyrus, can I ask a question?”
“Can you? Didn’t you just ask one?”
Resisting the temptation to rub my face I can’t help but wonder if Amdirlain corrupted his humour or he was this way on his own. “How can Master Farhad transcend? He already has three Prestige Classes.”
“Considering what might happen with the evolution of your own Immortal Spirit?” suggests Cyrus serenely, giving me a knowing smile, his aura confident.
“How did-”
Cyrus’ nod comes before I cut myself off, and his smug look has my eyes narrowing.
“You didn’t know but you guessed, and I confirmed it by reacting.”
“More a moment of insight, your enlightenment and past memories are too strong for you not to possess Immortal Spirit. I really would like to know more about the life event that caused the change in your eyes.”
“That’s nice,” I say, making a motion to lock my lips and throw away the key.
“My first wife used to say that, and it always meant to mind my own business,” mutters Cyrus, his tone rich with amusement.
“Watch it or I’ll use the words I’m told wise men dread.” I tease, enjoying the light banter in the face of the surrounding desolation.
A nonchalant shrug accompanies exactly the sort of response I expect from him. “I’ve heard many words that bring dread to a wise man.”
“Fine, have it your way!”
Cyrus looks at me for a moment, and turns his attention to the canyon beneath us. “Where do you wish to position yourself?”
At the sound of movement in the building beneath us I point to the ledge before it. “I’ll make them come to me. You can bait them after I’ve cleared some space if it's needed.”