A long journey ahead of us, an hour at the market was all we spent before beginning the next leg. It wasn't that we didn't yearn for longer rest, nor had the pain subsided, but we knew we'd need to hurry to Mochada if our new adversary was to head there himself. We already had a day's disadvantage and a horse to ration between us; there was no more time to waste. So, our death-bound duo, after picking up the missing parts, marched onwards to a hazy splotch at the bottom of the map—a lakefront villa renowned for the shine and shimmer of sun on its lapping waters. The same sun would light our way, warming our faces and chasing the same horizon that we did.
The first stretch was slow and unpleasant, cautiously ushering our little caravan down the steep and stony southern mountain face, but as our ears popped and the air put a little meat on its bones, the road smoothed out our ride with it. I might’ve preferred it a little warmer, but with our clean garments and the city behind us, I stopped shivering for the first time in days. Thereon, it was just how I remembered. The wind in my hair, the bounce and sway over the long hills of the endless country: who knew I could miss it? And, sure enough, I didn’t. In an hour I was doubled over, strewn like a cheap blanket over a swinging clothesline.
“Uggh. I’m starting to feel sick. Either my stomach forgot what to do with food, or another storm is on its way.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize you were a soothsayer, Kaiser. Is there no end to your bag of tricks?”
“If that’s what you want to call it, then I’d say you’re about to see the bottom.”
“Lovely. Well, fortune or not, you’re off the mark. The sky is clear for miles.”
While it looked that way, these were the kinds of things you got a sense for when you spent the better part of your life on your horse’s back. Something about the pressure, or at least the way my stomach reacted to it gave me a good enough indication. At least for now, I was happily proven wrong. In our first two days of travel, there was only a thin gray line on the northern horizon, the remnants of the blizzard, and if I read its intentions correctly, it wouldn’t encroach.
In due time and with minimal purging, my sore stomach had soothed, and I returned upright. Around seven days between Chenglei and Mochada, or at least per Samara’s estimates. We didn’t know what might happen when we arrived, if anything at all, but in the time until then there was nothing more to do than watch the scroll of unfamiliar terrain, and even that only lasted so long. It wasn’t but a day that it took for the scent of pine to leave our noses, and the hard soil of the mountainside softened under every step. The newly verdant valleys eventually rolled out flat before an endless indigo backdrop, uninterrupted by meddling trees.
This was unflinchingly dull. It felt to me like I’d crawled all the back to Abdera, and it was at least as uninteresting. As in previous bouts, Cordella and I leaned on one another, both to relieve our backs and to break away from the humdrum. I took the first lead, but we switched off now and again to give the other a rest. Having already exhausted most of our talking points on the way to Chenglei, our conversations this time around revolved around one topic.
Cordella cleared her throat and seated her chin on my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking. About what you said.”
“Something I said? Maybe a storm is brewing after all.”
“About being prepared. It may be my trademark, but I understand that we can’t always scrape by on your wit. If we want to avoid anymore close encounters, we should plan for the next.”
“Now you’re scaring me.” At my ribbing, she sunk her claws into mine—only retracting after my shrillest yelp. "Look, I'm glad you're thinking ahead, but how do we plan for the unforeseen? I might've mentioned strategy in the mine, but it wouldn't have mattered then. No planning could have prepared us for that."
“Maybe not, but there are things we can count on.”
“For instance?”
“I don’t know, perhaps the man who threatened us if we met again? Who would have killed you had I not come to your rescue? Is that a good enough example?”
“Hmm,” I muttered, taking my chin with my free hand and angling towards her. “Not ringing any bells. Maybe you aren’t remembering right?”
“Strange, though I suppose if an old man had pummeled me within an inch of my life, I might try to forget it too.”
I threw an elbow behind me, to which she tightened her grip on my waist to keep from flying off.
“I’m serious, Kaiser. Could you tell me about him?”
“What more is there to say? You saw him; his face was covered the whole time. He didn’t answer as many questions as he asked. We talked, he attacked, and well... you seem to understand as much as I do what happened after.”
“Sure, but how did he fight? It wasn’t until halfway through that I came to, but you were winded first I saw of you. Was he that much of a threat?”
"He may have been long in the tooth, but he didn't move like it. He was light on his feet yet heavy-handed, and his ether—barring you, I've never seen that kind of control. Why do you ask?"
‘Wel, if worse comes to worse, as we’ve come to expect of our future endeavors, our omen isn’t the only thing waiting in Mochada. If our attention is divided, then we have to be able to be able to face our targets without the other's help.“ She hushed for a moment, pressing her face lightly against my back. “If we were better rested, do you think you could...”
I shook my head. Before she could finish, I already knew what she was asking, and there was no chance. My strength was in outsmarting and identifying vulnerabilities, and that didn’t hold if my opponent had two legs. In our next battle, I could very well prove our weakest link.
“There’s no chance. You might be able to push him to his heels, but even at my peak, I don’t see myself capable. ”
She was quiet but, as was often the case with her, not for very long. “Why don’t we raise it then?”
“Sorry?”
“Your peak. Training is valid preparation, right?”
"You plan to teach me? With a sword? I somehow doubt—" Another cold set of talons dug into my back, so far that I swear they pressed through my chest.
"With magic, you ass. You said he wove ether better than you could; I'll teach you better yet. I'm sure we both stand to gain from trading techniques."
That somehow seemed less likely than what I proposed, but it made a certain sense. It was quite simple really. I just had to become a human siege weapon like she was, and any arch would bow to our feet. In just twenty years, he wouldn't stand a chance, if he stood at all.
"I don't doubt your abilities, but mine are another issue. There's not enough time in the world to bridge that gap."
“Oh, don’t be a pessimist. I’m not suggesting we reinvent ourselves, just that we may be due for a little practice. And who knows, with the tricks up my sleeves, you might surprise yourself with what you can learn in a week. I’m a superior sorceress, after all—your words—and these sleeves are exceptionally long."
For some reason or another, I hadn't the heart to tell her no—that tendency liked to resurface now and again—even if I was concerned that any time not spent riding would doom us further. But who knew? If she had that kind of confidence, the least I could do was have it in myself.
When later I announced to the professor that I'd be her first student, her head spun like an owl's, and I could swear our steed veered with it. I asked her what she had in store.
"I've a few things in mind, but I think it would make the most sense if I ask you. You know yourself better than I do, after all. What skills could use honing such that I, wisest Cordella, may be able to help?"
Grand as she was, I was glad she hadn't grown a swelled head. As for the question, I didn't know where else to start but with her as my template. I thought back to each of her feats, magical expressions the likes of which weren't found in my wildest dreams, but that she effortlessly manifested. More than her creativity though, what impressed me was her endurance. Even tapped, she had more left in her reserves than I had when full; if I could produce but a modicum...
"I want to deepen my well."
"Hmm."
"What? Is that not possible?"
"Possible, sure, but feasible is another question. To use magic is to use a muscle, just as any other, and to train it requires years of work. Years that we don't have."
"Ah, well I'm glad I spent the last thirty minutes thinking for you tell me what I told you an hour ago. Here I thought the 'all-powerful' would have the answers. 'Tricks'. Didn't you say something about that?"
She grinned. I knew she enjoyed the flattery. "I know magic, not miracles. The good news is that it would be time wasted. The trick to explosive manifestation isn't how much ether you have, but how efficiently you use it. Have you read any literature? Eschalot does a wonderful job summarizing."
“Mine was a more practical learning experience, repeat trial and error against my old man until it snapped together.”
“In that case, the first thing I suggest is to change your perspective. Stop thinking of ether as a ‘body’ and more as a flow.”
When I asked for clarification, she was all too happy to provide, commanding a scholarly tone and wealth of foundational knowledge with which to broaden my horizons. Our source of magic, as she explained it, was more akin to a brook than a well—forking and flowing loosely. It wasn’t concentrated in one point to be used at our command, rather, it was constantly produced and spent without our realizing. Therefore, magical prowess was a matter of capability and not capacity as I had suspected.
“It’s not so much about the amount of energy but how you consolidate it that affects your casting. By keeping it all centered, it’s less likely for the shallowest parts to dry up, and what does flow out will then do so with greater force.”
By her logic, if in each of us, there was a stream, in Cordella there was a river. It was true, she had more to draw from, but only because she had been practicing for longer than she could read. Her real strength was control. Because her spells shaved so little away from the source, she could wield it more liberally.
When finally I had a clearer vision of my goal, I came again to my sage for wisdom. "And how do I practice this consolidation?"
"It's hard to say."
My face fell. After having described the concept in so much detail, her responses continued to fall a little flat.
"With something so abstract, the process is a little more internal than you might expect. No chanting, candles, or chalk lines, just meditation. In the same way that you imagine what you want to conjure, you have to visualize your natural energy. Concentrate on what you want it to do, and it should follow your lead."
Meditation, then—a guise to spare her a few minutes of grumbling during the next stretch of motionless travel, but if it yielded growth, I was up to it. I was nothing if not introspective, so it would be the perfect task. What could be better for someone so lost in their head than something to find there?
“Oh, and what do you want to learn?”
“I’ll have to give it more thought,” she answered after several seconds of deliberation. “But don’t assume this lesson was free! I ought to have a bow in this hand by the end of the week.”
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Of all of the prospects, that one was by far the most terrifying. “If that’s what the lady so chooses.”
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On the third day of our pilgrimage, we awoke to that which had put my innards in disarray. A murk crawled over the distant curve of the grasslands, this time decidedly opposite of Chenglei. There wasn’t an immediate cause for concern; it kept its distance for as long as we kept our eyes on it, and so long as it didn’t obscure our great guiding light, we would remain on track regardless. But then, as all things left in the dark corners of your mind, it started to swell, and by the time it had once again made itself known, it was too late to keep at bay. The sun’s wards showed signs of certain failure, and shadows fell under the impregnable clay wall. Once it hardened, we knew we would lose our way, so we stretched the day for all it was worth.
By noon, or perhaps sometime before, we saw the culmination of the lord’s work—days of kneading that brooding cover until it was too heavy for the sky to hold. It dropped like a sheet over the horizon, rippling and racing back to meet us. When those first drops of warm spring rain dampened our brow, we retained a level of optimism, but what followed shattered our most cynical predictions. Mist turned into a spray, then into a parade of fine beads, and as it marched, its steady roll sped into a harsher one, stranding us in its wake and permitting only to watch as it grew stronger still.
On the plains before us wept an unrelenting barrage, pooling in every inch of open dirt in the hopes of slowing our pursuit. Were that the goal, it succeeded, shackling our legs and quartering our pace soon after its start, and the conditions only worsened thereon. We were drenched to the bone, dripping and desperate for a reprieve, but after hours of hearing its waves crash against the steppe, we stopped hoping.
The day crawled through a layer of mud, just as we found ourselves doing. Even at a slowed pace, it felt like being pelted with stones, a clattering so loud against the wet earth that we couldn't hear each other or ourselves. And when the sun finished its climb and began to drop, it was pointless to close our eyes. If it was hard to get comfortable on the back of a moving horse, it was worse when your horse was apt to shed his saddle at the first crack of thunder. What else could we do but keep on? There was no shelter to be found, and even as it washed away, there we no caves erupting from the flat landscape.
Then, a puddle of hope—or rather, a dry patch in a sea of doubt. A grove of trees stood tall in the turbid wasteland, illuminated by the dying light.
"A brief intermission," she insisted, and I didn't object. I was shaking and sore. The rain was warm enough, but a cold zephyr rolled in at our backs, and my soaked trousers didn't help my growing saddle pain. We just needed time to dry off a little.
I slid from the back of my steed and sunk heel-deep into the saturated ground which promptly oozed through the fabric and between my toes. "Ugh," I sighed, ignoring the mud and slumping against the tree to dull the needles in my back.
Though my sitting place was more liquid than solid, few drops made it through the boughs of the weeping oak, thick with foliage as they were. The conditions wouldn't allow us a fire, but it would suffice for a night; one was all we needed from the torturous rain. Any sleep I'd gotten so far was when Cordella took the reins, and to call it 'sleep' was less than honest.
Cordella rummaged through the contents of the bag and pulled out a woolly tarp with which to further soften the earth. "It doesn't quit. As much as it spits out, you'd think it'd run its course, but it just keeps on."
"I sure as hell don't the end of it," I agreed as I laid back further and let my eyes shut. I could hear her soothing the horse in a hushed tone before sprawling the canvas and collapsing next to me.
"You're positive there's not an outpost between here and Mochada? It wouldn't hurt to let this blow over, especially if it gets any worse."
"If there were, I'd jump at the chance, same as you. It's just an endless stretch of wetlands, best I can tell."
Thrice I'd checked, each time with higher scrutiny than the last, but I was awarded the same disappointment. Her maps weren't as detailed as her creature sketches, but from what I gathered from Samara, Mochada was extremely remote. Since it was built along a massive lake, they had all the fresh food they needed to be self-sustaining.
"Let me take a look if you wouldn't mind."
I left her to her devices. While the rain was a hindrance to our travel, I found its rhythm relaxing so long as it wasn't beating down on me. The drip from the leaves—tip, tap, tip, tap—and the splosh as it funneled into the puddle beneath. Hoping it might take me somewhere else, I followed the sound, and with luck, it took my hand and showed me the way, lulling me deeper and deeper to a place beneath the surface. It wasn't far—just enough that I could hear its thrumming on the canopy, but where Cordella's droning was a distant hum. Bliss.
For minutes I lay in that state until something shifted, and my eyes flicked open to see what might disturb the peace.
"Kaiser? Are you even listening to me? All of it! What are we supposed to do with this soggy mess?"
"Do you hear that?"
There was a short pause before her response. "I don't."
"Exactly," I said. "It stopped."
She glanced up and into the dark gray, still heavy in the sky, but suspended for the first time since it started. "That's great, but the damage is done. Our supplies are ruined! Our map and garb are waterlogged, our food is mush—how the hell are we going to get there now?!“
My teeth clenched. I knew what that meant, and I wasn't happy about it. With the daylight left, we had to move now or we may not get the chance again. No rest for us, but I guess I knew that already. "We have to take advantage of the turn of weather. No stops until we arrive or else I hope you like your bread green and blue."
She groaned. "But we've ridden all day! I can hardly keep my eyes open. Hell, you passed out as soon as you hit the tree! Just a little longer Kaiser..."
"You really are starting to sound like me." I could see the bulge in her throat as she gagged on any further complaint, her skin pale as the idea crept underneath. "Just sit back. I'll take the reins."
She eyed me skeptically, a slight lift to her brow but not the energy to fight me. "Okay. Just keep him steady for me. And yourself while you're at it."
Against the voices that plead otherwise, we rode again clinging tightly to what we could lest the smallest rock in the way send us flying. We were tired now, but come tomorrow, when the rain would pelt us again with its perpetual barrage, we'd be glad to have made the progress when we did. That's what I told myself despite the heaviness of my eyelids. The sublime sleep that awaited us at the end—the soaked blankets and bed rolls—it'd be worth it in the end.
Several times already, I'd given my mind away to split-second slumber, only to be jolted awake as the slick leads attempted to escape my grasp. Even with the clouds parted, the sun as my dwindling light did little to aid in my struggle, and I knew that when it finally set, I'd have no choice but to stop and give myself over to it entirely. I'd wait for the last shred of it to disappear, the thinnest glint sliding from the wet plains over the sheer horizon.
But when I thought it would, it didn't. “One, two, three,” I started under my breath, hoping that it might force time to tick on. Ten minutes I counted, and still it hung there at the furthest edge, content to mock me. “One, two, three...”
After twenty, I shut my eyes and rubbed them with cold fingers. I was tired was all. That was the only way to explain it. Only, when I opened them again, I was sure: it was growing.
"Cordella?" I gently stirred. "That light. What is that?"
Her head rose slowly from my back before resting like a bag of sand on my shoulder. She squinted and strained to see what I was so enamored by. "The sun?" she asked dryly.
"No. It's not, I'm sure. It has to be some kind of settlement. Either that or a mirage."
This jolted her into vigilance, though only partially. "But you said there weren't any, and I know I haven't been sleeping that long."
If we were right in our estimates, and I in my map-reading, then this was an unmarked commune, a lone chance to replenish our supplies and air our clothes. It could be unsafe, but we couldn't afford caution. The three of us were in poor sorts; our food was rotting, and our skin would follow. As always, in times of uncertainty, I asked the surer of the two of us:
"..."
It was just the confirmation I needed. I pulled the reins and skewed our course to the moonlit hamlet. The faint glow grew more radiant with our approach, and in time, I could make out buildings. It was a settlement after all. "We can only hope this place has accommodations for us." My musing as the spark for conversation, the tinder proved too wet to burn. My comrade had fallen victim to her languor.
The buildings encircled me, watching closely the strangers that came into town. They were phantoms with eyes of candlelight, burning low as their inhabitants retreated from the night, and at their center was a burning sconce—the decoy sun that drew us in like moths. A wakeful mind might have seen the threads, the silk that stuck to my shoes, but the warm luster was deeply inviting, and the town felt equally so.
Not far from the beacon was a quaint hostel, its extra floor easily recognizable among the otherwise indistinguishable abodes, and like the others, through its windows shone a soft light bleeding into the night. Before I could even dismount, I was greeted by the proprietor of the lodge—not a squeak from the doors behind him.
"Hail, traveler. You seek refuge, I take it?" He met with a welcoming smile and an energy that I didn't myself possess. "One room or two? Though, I'm sure you'll find our cots large enough for the both of you!"
In the corner of my mind, I fought the urge to reach out my hand, to wave and see if it passed through the grinning apparition. Instead, I peered over my shoulder and back. "Two, please."
He nodded and wrapped a lead around the neck of my steed. "Take any of the rooms upstairs and I'll tend to your horse free of charge. We can discuss payment tomorrow."
I was much too exhausted to hold suspicion of the man however dubious in retrospect. After rousing Cordella to a half-conscious state, we drug ourselves into the torpid tavern, quiet and barren, free of furniture or the people to sit in it but snug nonetheless. All that occupied the space were a few stools at the bar and a hearth enkindled with enough logs only to fill the room with the scent of pine. It was warm and bright—two things we'd been robbed of since setting foot in Chenglei. There would be time to enjoy it tomorrow.
After facing the ordeal that was the staircase, we split for the night with Cordella stumbling into the first room on the landing, and myself taking the one next to it. As promised, it was empty. I spent no more time examining the quarters before I dropped onto the edge of the plush, blanketed bed. Not bothering to wring myself out, I crawled into a wet ball in the center and let my aching back sing out its pain. It was wonderful. Everything I could desire in that moment, even if it was too good to be true. We'd been spiraling since the start, falling into every foothold along the way, and for once we stumbled in the right direction. Unlikely? Damned if I cared.