Every wish every man has ever uttered beneath his bated breath is held in the hold of some distantly approaching ship. You can watch as they bob over and under the horizon, but they will never dock nearby. The ship is always another ship.
Ducissa Niamh Macau settled her castle of stone gold and iron marble at the fore of the ancient docks. Any ship, any wish, bowed before her and begged the right to come true. Once upon a time of kindness, a time when the Lady Macau felt her heart grow sufficiently heavy, she might have allowed one or two wishes to grace the dreams of young boys and girls. That time had passed. Now, dreams were offered at a premium, and wishes were subject to their appropriate taxes and registrations.
The human goddess, the goddess of currency; the patron of profit.
Her angels, men clad in pearly white steel, stood at nearly seven foot each. Taller each than her spear, and much harder looking. Without a word, or even a mere acknowledgement of the simple mortals at their feet, they slid aside. The wrought iron gate edged open with just as little fair, and even less noise.
The house, or fortress, or temple, seemed closer in design to a village. There were a dozen houses across the stevs of fields within the guarded perimeter. Each built in the same fashion for a differing purpose.
There was a sealed smithy. A chimney as wide and tall as some watchtowers loomed over the stone house. The conical cap at its top held back the inevitable rains and split the abundant smoke out in all directions.
Aside the smithy was what looked to be a seamstress. Two women worked within as they peered out of the darkly tinted windows and caught their eyes upon the pilgrims routed for the holy lands.
Many other trades took place within the micronation, each of which resided within their own custom-built edifice.
They travelled along the golden path, doubtlessly paid for with blood by the pint. From gate to entrance was a greater journey than they had taken from their own borrowed manor to this apparently distant land.
Eventually, just before the sun gave up her strength and readied for her sapphire rest, they arrived at the temple’s grand vestibule.
“Master Sujin,” a young woman bowed. “I am pleased that you have returned to us so soon.”
“Amadel, how are you?” Sujin beamed. He made no note of the woman’s formality as he dashed before her and took her into his arms for a breathtaking hug. She giggled like a child as he lifted her off her feet.
“Sujin, stop it,” she cackled but made no attempt to part the hug. “I have to look proper for your guest.”
“Oh, of course!” Sujin suddenly realised. He released the young woman and helped her pat down her flowery service dress. “Amadel, this is Ashtik Sai-Weleg. The... er-”
“-Champion of Black, yes, we’ve been expecting you,” Amadel interrupted with a polite smile.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ashtik quietly, and awkwardly, insisted. “You two catch up. I’m in no hurry to meet the Lady.”
“That would be terribly inconsiderate of me, my lady,” Amadel protested. “Please, come in. It will soon grow chilly out.”
The black-haired woman held an arm out for the party, and Sujin was kind enough to proceed first. He looked back at Ash as he crossed the threshold in what must have been an attempt to comfort her.
----------------------------------------
The woman, Amadel, led Ash towards a comfy little room. It was so different from the rest of the palace. Humble and, dare she think, human. Cushions and blankets enough for an army of loungers. Not so thoroughly cleaned as to be utterly sterile, like every room she had seen so far. Ash was far from the sort to notice mess and imperfections, but so rare were they elsewhere that the abundance in this room became worthy of profound note. A dark ring atop a table beside a lounging couch from where some drink must have spilt. A slight tear in an old blanket that ought to have been retired a lifetime ago, and even a streak of dust atop a bookshelf where the only books looked to be some ancient musings on the principles of shipwrighting and basic economics.
“If you would sit here for a moment, Champion. The Lady will be with you shortly,” Amadel said. She offered a seat atop some red velvet cushion across from a well-used armchair. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”
“No, thank you. I will be okay,” Ash uncomfortably smiled as she took up her subtly designated seat.
Sujin took a seat beside the armchair and smiled at Ash as the other woman handed him a cup of tea. “I will go and fetch her. Just call if you need anything,” Amadel offered before bowing away.
“You can go with her, if you want,” Ash quietly snorted.
“We will catch up later, do not worry. I would not abandon you here,” he chuckled.
“Well, is she your... erm?” Ash tried to ask. The words failed her, and Sujin looked at her as though he didn’t know what she was asking. “Your, you know...” She mimicked a slightly too obscene gesture rather than outright asking anything.
“Oh, heavens no!” He gasped at the action. “There is no,” he washed a hand in her direction, “squishing going on, if that’s what you mean.”
“No?”
“Absolutely not,” he declared.
“Seems a shame, she’s cute.”
“Then, by all means, have at her. She is a dear and cherished friend. My oldest and greatest confidant. Close enough to a sister,” he shuddered. “I shall not reduce her by saying ‘and that is all we are’ for a dearest friend is more than a simple lover.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Ash giggled. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve just never met a man who wasn’t interested in a woman like her.”
“And now you have,” he sighed.
“And now I have,” she repeated.
In some attempt to avoid the awkwardness that she had accidentally stepped into, Ash allowed her eyes to dart across the room in search of some conversation piece. She found it within the large framed painting that hung over the fireplace. Within it stood three people. An older gentleman, an older woman, and what must have been their young daughter. The child clearly took more of her father’s looks than her mother’s. The father, an eastern man with a massive beard and dark skin, wrapped his hands around the daughter who looked as dark as he, despite her blatantly pale mother.
The daughter couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, though the painter had captured a strange lack of youth in her fiery orange eyes. Her flowing blonde hair had been held over her left shoulder and covered a fair amount of her deep red gown. She wore an ornate circlet, studded with rare gemstones carrying magical runes.
The mother, no doubt the lady of the house, wore a severe mask. The painter had captured in her gaze, a terrible power to condescend. She dressed in what might have been considered male clothes by Forgeland standards, though she adorned herself with fine jewellery and a face of makeup to mask the many wrinkles. Everything about her lacked vibrance. The jewels she wore held no tint, and were set into mirror-like platinum. Her clothes were a fascinating mix of beige and brown, with a single navy blue fogle... for contrast. Even her face, made up as it was, seemed utterly washed out and desaturated.
It seemed a brave choice for the artist. No doubt it was she who paid his wages, yet he made no attempt to enlighten her nor flatter her. Where her husband seemed to suppress a smile, and the daughter seemed rimmed by angel light, the Lady Macau herself was utterly grey and hollow, excepting one virtue granted to her. Her eyes. Though they held no passion, nor joyous expression, they were possibly the most striking piece of the artwork. Pure and bright emerald green.
“Is that the Lady Macau?” Ash quietly asked.
“Indeed, though this painting must be older than you now. I believe it was painted some, twenty summers past.”
“Are they all still... You know, ‘about’,” Ash awkwardly asked.
“No,” he sighed. “Tis’ just the lady now.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It's inevitable, really. In truth, the Lady thinks it to have been one of the best things to have ever happened to her, in a twisted kind of way. Though, I don’t know that she believes that. After he died, Kraimer – his name – she grew somewhat... nostalgic.”
The idea knocked her sick. That she could ever consider the death of her husband and daughter to be not only a good thing, but the ‘best’... She wondered what kind of monster she was to meet. Then her answer came, and the door creaked open.
“My Lady of house Macau,” Amadel announced as she held open the door.
The striking emerald eyes of the old painted lady did not match with the amethyst of Ash’s own. Instead, in came a radiant beauty with eyes of flaming orange and skin even darker and smoother than that of Ashtik.
She realised in an instant that the Lady of Macau was not the old mother, but the hollow daughter.
“My Lady, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Sujin said with a bow so deep, Ash thought he’d hit his head against the stone floor.
“Enough of that, my boy. Come,” the lady ordered with her slender arms outstretched for a hug. Sujin smiled as he entered her embrace. He stood a foot taller than her, though Ash noticed it would have been closer to two-foot had she not worn heels.
She jokingly pushed Sujin away from her as her eyes came upon Ashtik. A beaming smile caught her purple lips as her flaming eyes narrowed into a squint. She opened her arms again, though Ash didn’t so much as move a muscle at the invitation. The Lady snickered and crossed the space between them until Sujin chimed up. “My Lady, I doubt she would be comfortable with that. They in Maester Veil tend to take physical contact as an intimate act.”
“Ah, I see. My apologies darling. So many cultures, I get the customs all jumbled up. Maester Veil... You aren’t the ones who touch your noses together to say hello?” She asked with a terribly elegant air.
“My lady, that would be the Quiloks,” Sujin corrected.
“Ha, of course. The little mountain dwargons, ever so adorable. I had one on the staff for a time, but he was arrested for public indecency. A crying shame, he made excellent cocktails.”
She stepped away from Ash with a bowed head and a cheeky smile that only caught the left side of her lips. Her pure crimson and black gown flowed too long for her to properly step backwards, so Amadel had to hold it up as the Lady took her seat. She held a palm out and motioned for the others to sit, then she patted her hand on the cushion to her side as she looked towards the maid.
Amadel quietly took her seat beside the lady.
“So,” she quietly smirked. “What shall I call you? Ashtik? Huntress, Heretic, Sparrow-Knight, Star-slayer, Lady of dreams, or simply the Champion of Black? Heavens, how do you keep track?” She asked with an extravagant giggle. Ash noticed her left hand tapping against the wood of her lounger, while the overlong golden nails of her right hand stroked gently through Amadel’s hair. The girl seemed to thoroughly enjoy it, so much so that it no longer confused her why nothing had happened between her and Sujin.
“Just... Ashtik- or Ash,” she stuttered.
“Well... Ash,” the Lady breathed, “After all you have done for me, you can call me Niamh.”
“I- Done for you?”
“Oh, yes. You have brought my boy home to me, and you have made me quite the sum of money. My two favourite things in the whole wide world, wrapped up in a pretty blonde. Lucky me.”
“Money?” Ash dumbly repeated.
“Yes, darling,” she sighed. Her attention fell for a moment towards her maid as the points of her nails found the nape of her neck and left her quietly squirming. Her head lazily rolled back to Ash, who struggled to keep eye contact. “In the arena. Six-hundred to one. A little girl versus a mound of a man. How could I not bet on you? You were a sure thing!”
“You knew I was going to win?”
“I saw a girl, a third the size of her opponent, and I knew the look in her eye. She wasn’t scared; she was thinking. A woman’s weapon, I'm sure you agree. Any warrior who fights with thought is the victor in all battles. Naturally, I persisted in betting on you until the final bout, where I am sorry, but I did bet against you. Though in truth, I might say betting against you was a mistake,” she calmly considered.
“But I lost the finale. You were right too,” Ash nearly whispered.
“Indeed, yet it seemed to me a... final defeat.”
“I... Thank you, but I’m sure I have plenty of defeats to come,” Ash meekly protested. Her eyes couldn’t help but affix to the display at Niamh’s side. The maid put a visible effort in seeming collected, though it was a blatant effort as the Lady stroked along the side of her neck.
It seemed the Lady noticed Ash’s gaze, and doubled her efforts under the spectation. She brought her hand high and rustled through the dark mess of hair, circling the point of her nail effortlessly. Then, she brought her hand back down and wrapped her nails around the woman’s neck. It almost looked threatening, though the noise made by the maid was certainly not in protest.
“You do not seem the political type, Ash,” Niamh whispered. “I doubt it was even your idea to come and meet me, despite the obvious wisdom in it.” The lady drew her hand back and the maid followed it without thought. She chased the hand far enough that she had her head nestled against Niamh’s shoulder. “You will need someone to... aid you, in that realm. This is why you are here, no?”
“I... I don’t know,” Ash admitted. “I need help getting the king’s support.”
“Excellent,” she sighed, “and I can be that help. It must be fate that your Goden brought you to me, darling. Allow me to act on your behalf. I shall help you forge alliances across the world.” She returned her hand to the maid’s scalp and continued in her affections.
“And what do you want in return?” Ash asked.
“To save the world, darling. If I make a pretty penny along the way, so be it.”
“You want to profit off of me?”
“Everyone does, that’s what politics is; making money off of people rather than products. What’s wrong with profiting off the Black Prophet?” She smiled. “Oh, look at that, another name to add to the collection. You’re half as greedy as I.”
“I don’t-”
“-Somebody is going to profit, Ash. That’s how the world works. All you can do is make sure that money goes to the right people.”
“And you are the right people?”
“Better I than a warlord, no?”
“At least I know what a warlord is gonna do with the money.”
“I shall do what I have always done; comfort my city. Do you think these arenas and marble roads are as ancient as the temples? No, the gods do not care to expend their power here, so I expended mine. I gave the city new altars to pray at. Taverns for comfort, portals to show them the world, clothes on their backs.”
She bristled through the maid’s hair much more feverously. It left her a shuddering pile of dough in the Lady’s hands. Then, at the height of it, she suddenly stopped and left the maid to regain herself.
“Without me, the comforts of this city end. With you, these comforts can be afforded to the whole world. This ‘apocalypse’ can be something else entirely if we just seize it. With you at the helm, and me acting as a simple advisor, we could enlighten the whole continent! Maybe the entire world. Whatever you need, Ashtik, I offer. Comfort, control, money or men. I will take you to Raven Keep and have the king himself shine your shoes, if you wish it.”
The maid looked to her Lady with pleading eyes and a beaming blush, but received not so much as a glance.
“This is the price of my support, and it is a cheap one. I do not ask you to extort or ransom, nor shall I ever ask some immoral act of you. All I ask is that you allow me to forge you an empire of light,” she said with an utterly unabashed and pleading tone.
There were too many thoughts in her head. Too many considerations. Too many consequences. She knew that she needed alliances, and she knew that some would use her for ill gain, but she didn’t know if this Niamh Macau was one of these villains.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she truly was so worthless in regard to politics. Maybe it wouldn’t have been utterly awful to have an experienced negotiator on her side. Plus, Sujin seemed to trust her completely and he had never struck her as an ill-minded man.
“If I ever think you are... acting evil,” Ash whispered. “I’ll do what I must.”
“I understand. I swear I shall never put you in that position. Do we have an accord?”
“I hope so,” Ash nodded.
“Marvellous!” Niamh exploded. She jumped from her seat and nearly crumbled when she realised that she wore heels, though Sujin quickly caught her. “Thank you, dear.”
Once she was straight, she turned to Ash and shone her half-faced smirk. “I know your people do so hate hugs, but frankly – and excuse the language – that is bloody silly,” she said as she drew Ash into a deep embrace.
“Now,” she began as she withdrew and placed her hands on Ash’s shoulders. “I shall see where the duke’s organisation is up to, and then I shall drag you away to design you some appropriate attire for a royal audience. Something that screams, ‘single and ready for politically convenient marriage’.”
“I, er,” Ash tried to protest.
“Oh, relax darling. You do not actually have to marry, I mean, look at me. Thirty-six and single... and not at all sour about it... Not even slightly... Ahem. Alas, the appearance of eligibility will make others more willing to open negotiations with you; even if it is not strictly true.”
“Oh, okay,” Ash simply replied. “Do you... have any advice for me? Like, what I should bring with me, or what I should do to prepare?”
“What to bring with you... Well, castles are all built by men, I doubt there’s going to be many facilities for when you get your blood. Lots of unused cloths will come hand-”
“-I meant politically speaking,” Ash desperately interrupted.
“Ah,” Niamh snorted, “Of course. Well, all you truly require is that which is most important in life.”
“Food?” Ash guessed.
“No, darling,” Niamh sighed. “Friends, family... Those you can trust.”
“That seems a strange thing for you of all people to consider as the most important.”
“Oh, darling. Some folk are so poor; all they have is money. I am fortunate enough not to be amongst them,” she said as she clung to Amadel’s sleeve and shot a glance at Sujin. She drew a breath and puffed out her chest before declaring, “Now, I shall be having Sujin for a spot of lunch. He has no choice in the matter. But Ash darling, I would love to have you too, if you aren’t busy. Though I shan’t be so presumptuous as to force you.”
Ash sought to act as her sister would. To say ‘no’ would be an affront, and yet Ash couldn’t help but feel like she shouldn’t interrupt this strange reunion.
“I would love to,” Ash started, “but I am afraid I must... make away. My sister... awaits my presence from afar.”
“Ah, yes. Evara White-tongue. I’ve heard tell of the young lady. She is the more... socially inclined sister, no?”
“She is,” Sujin answered as Ash scrambled to find some words greater than three syllables. “With a fierce intelligence for her age, to boot. She and I spent the day at the library, I tell you she may so well have devoured the tomes, bindings and all. I truly believe the child will be Ashtik’s greatest asset, whatever may come.”
“Fabulous,” Niamh clapped, “know that the two of you are always welcome in my home. I would so love to meet this smaller, chattier version of you, Ash.”
“Thank you, my Lady. I will keep that in mind.”
“No, darling. I am not your lady; I am your ally. Maybe one day I shall be your first vassal? But until then, just call me Niamh. Now, off with you. I would be loath to delay the composition of your day.”
With a bow, Amadel ushered Ashtik away while Sujin and the Lady spoke of glad tiding and the adventures of Sujin’s pilgrimage.
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The majesty of the monastery was not lost upon repeat viewing. It was truly dreadful; in the way the word means when said before something unknowably and impossibly grand, and yet placed as though utterly mundane.
There was something there beyond just the marble and iron. An energy, a tension. Something in the vibrations of the air. The taste left by a thunderstrike, and the feeling that a lover was soon to be an ex-. Twists in her belly like the kicking of an unborn babe, and the lightness of head brought about by a round of bottled mistakes.
There was something missing. An abyss at the foundations. The throne of this goden lay dusty and alone. The priests worshipped at the absence of the very being that had – just weeks earlier – confirmed her as the Black Champion.
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It was he, Hevestiel - the lesser goden of iron, who had given her the words and, in those words, had told her future. “The night’s dreams have started; the victor will be left empty-hearted. They hold their dreams to thee; and leave you in misery. Ashtik Sai-Weleg, Sparrow-knight or white-hair. Thy shall hold a name for each star you darken; when the Champion of Black is made the greatest archon.”
She realised as she surmounted the great white staircase, that he had never said that she would win. “The victor will be left empty-hearted,” she whispered. Her foe, whoever it was that sought an end to the world, would have to be empty-hearted to do as they were prophesied. Did that mean that Ash was destined to lose?
“Good morrow, young mae. Might you be here for the tour?” An overly jolly young lad asked. It broke her concentration, and the thoughts quickly fled from her mind.
“I- No,” she simply answered, making no attempt to match his almost giddy demeanour. “I’m here to see my sister. She should be with the healer?”
“Ah, the young white-haired madame?”
“I’d guess,” Ash grunted. She did not mean to be rude, but she had had more than her fill of speaking with strangers for one day.
“Well, if you’d follow me, my lady. I can give you the little tour while we walk!”
Ash offered him a mumble in passionless agreement but she did not wait for him to lead the way. She walked straight through the front door and held it open for just enough time that the young lad could make his way through in a hurry.
“Well, this is the main entrance,” he said as though it wasn’t obvious. “Not an original piece of the temple. After the Champion war of the three-hundredth year of the twenty-fifth era, the front end of the temple was reduced to ruins by the Champion of Bronze... a now-defunct position, as I’m sure you know.”
As reluctant as Ash was to speak to the young man, she was somewhat interested in what he had to say. Naturally, she hid her interest as to discourage any attempt at conversation, but she did consider everything he said.
She knew that some nations kept the Baliat calendar, but she wasn’t sure how it worked; but that it tracked the world’s path around the supposedly distant sun. Her own people had no need to keep time beyond a lifetime, so they would measure years by the winters of eldest memory.
Why one would need to measure to the three-hundredth year was beyond her. Nobody could remember that far back, and whatever could have occurred back then would have no more impact on her today than her meal choice, three thousand meals ago.
They carried on through the cold iron corridors into a grand chamber where a hundred priests stood with their heads bowed. They all wore beat iron crowns. The women wore crowns with spikes that pointed towards the heavens, while the men wore spikes that faced the ground beneath them. They all dressed in simple blue robes and not one made a sound.
At the centre of the hall, a smith worked away at her forge. She beat a new crown from molten iron while what must have been a new acolyte knelt before the anvil.
“This is the induction ceremony,” the boy whispered. “Once the crown is forged, the acolyte must pick it up and quench it in the water. Only then shall they be inducted as a brother or sister.”
“That’s barbaric,” Ash whispered back.
“It is their way. A show of will. Proof that pain shall not deter you from your devotion.”
“What if they fail? What if they drop it?”
“Then they must pick it up.”
“And if they can’t? If the pain is too great?”
“Then a brother or sister will carry their burden. Another will quench the flame on their behalf.”
“Will the acolyte be kicked out?” Ash asked.
“Never. They will carry on their lives knowing that their brothers or sisters carry a scar on their behalf. There is nobody more loyal and devout than an acolyte who failed to quench the flame. It is that acolyte who later carries the flame for he who fails next.” The boy motioned out to the acolyte as they rose from their knee. It was only after he removed his hood that Ash realised it was a young man. Maybe a few years her senior with a thick and matted beard.
He walked in prayer over to the anvil, where the molten crown lay.
The crowd of priests chanted as he drew near, “Goden of iron, lord of the forge. Wield our hearts, steel our souls. Blood and iron, blood and iron. Creation and destruction. Ice and ash.”
The man did not scream as his hands burst into flame. Instead, his prayers became song. Panicked and frenzied, but utterly focused.
“Blood and iron! Creation and destruction! Ice and ash!” He bellowed as he took his first step towards the ice bucket. “My soul for you. My life for my family. Blood and Iron!”
He plunged the crown to the bottom of the bucket but seemed to find no comfort in the quickly boiling water. A jet of vapour sprung out and caught his eyes. At last, he screamed in agony, but he did not move. He stood with his crown beneath the water until it finally stopped bubbling and boiling.
“Shall we move along?” The young man offered.
Ashtik was dumbfounded. The young man had to have blinded himself for life. Nobody moved to help him, nobody so much as tilted their heads up from their prayers. It was not a display she could stomach any longer.
“Please,” she agreed.
----------------------------------------
The next hall was more like a school than a blood cult. Her guide excused himself as she entered before a round of children in fine silken clothes pranced through the corridor, playing at some war games. A tired-looking woman made after them, and begged for stillness.
A classroom full of teenagers, all around Evara’s age, sat around and studied over some historical texts. Ash assumed that Ev hid amongst them, but the little white beacon was nowhere to be seen.
“Can I help you... Champion?” A somewhat familiar voice, with an utterly unfamiliar accent, asked. Ash turned from the classroom window and, stood just before her, the bishop of steel; Satra. The woman who had first proclaimed her as a Champion.
“I, er, don’t think you’re supposed to call me that, Mother Satra,” Ash tried to joke.
“True enough. I am supposed to claim that you are the Heretic of Black and have my men run you through. Would you not rather we be a touch naughty?”
“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble on my account,” Ash bowed.
“We both know you are no heretic. A blasphemer, perhaps, but no heretic,” Satra said. “But why would you come to this temple? Even if the Forgelands are neutral, this chapel is still technically part of the Conclave. If some of the more... zealous priests discover who you are, there may be trouble.”
“My sister is with the healer. She is supposed to be learning magic,” Ash explained. “I just thought I should check in on her.”
“Oh, well worry not, Champion. The healer is far from a pious woman, she will be glad to meet you.”
“You make it sound like being pious is a bad thing. Aren’t you a bishop?”
“Piety in and of itself is no virtue, and a lack thereof is no flaw. Kana has spent her entire life in pursuit of the study of magic and healing. In that, she is a holier woman than most priests. The gods are not so small as to treat a life of service and virtue as lesser, simply because it was done for the adoration of man and not the veneration of the gods.”
Satra motioned for Ash to follow her. They carried along the sterile white corridors until they came upon a winding spiral staircase. The higher along they went, the less clean and unnatural things became. The painted panels ceased as they came to the topmost steps and instead, exposed stone bricks that seemed as old as time lay. Every angle and corner had been smoothed and rounded by countless millennia of use. Once the metal staircase had ended, and the old stones became the only path, the ground seemed so smoothed and worn that Ash could almost see her reflection beneath the grey of the blocks.
A granite door, as old and worn as everything else here, lay at the end of the corridor. A dozen yellow glowing runes lay on its surface and Satra ran a delicate hand over them. Her hand acted as a paintbrush as a trail of emerald shimmers streaked close behind. It marked some new rune, which seemed to act as a password. Once complete, the shape forced the massive stone door open.
“Shut that bloody door! Cold as the hells in here and you wanna be letting in the breeze?” A cranky old voice called out over the sound of the opening granite block.
“Oh,” the woman grunted. “Satra. What can I do you for?”
Satra bowed before the healer and humbly said, “Hello, Kana. This is the Sparrow-Knight I bel-”
“Ash!” Evara joyfully called out from some obscure nook. Ash and Satra had to draw much further into the room before they saw her. Amongst a score of dusty old desks, she sat alone. The dreary, lightless room around her seemed to dull her ever-vibrant little face and mute the tones of her beautiful little dress.
“So, this is... the Black Heretic?” The grand healer slowly realised.
“Come now, Kana. You are not so foolish as to believe that,” Satra sighed.
“Never assume me to be anything but a fool! You will be astonished at how often I will let you down. You, Heretic, come here,” the old woman ordered.
Ash slowly crossed the room, her eyes clinging to her thoroughly bored little sister. This Kana made no attempt to be civilised. She stunk of something like mushrooms, and looked as though she hadn’t bathed within Ash’s lifetime.
The old woman yanked Ash’s gauntleted hand out, and got to her inspection.
“It certainly is infused steel. Pure, utterly pure. I see the power reservoir, limited for now, will likely grow larger over time. Tell me, child; what type of magic does it use channel?” Kana robotically asked.
“I... am not sure,” Ash admitted.
“Well,” the old woman frustratedly sighed, “Does it ever glow... or explode... or do anything remotely magical?”
“Oh, yeah. It shoots lighting.”
“That would be magical then, yes,” Kana said with a force of effort not to shout in blatant frustration. “But what colour? Red? Gold?”
“Black... sometimes purple. Well, mostly a mix... half and half, I guess,” Ash recalled.
“Oh...” The old woman choked.
“Is that bad?”
“Purple energy is that of power. It is by far the rarest and most potent source, but wouldn’t be too shocking for a Champion of the Black Goden. It is the only directly destructive magical fount. Black energy, however... Now that is concerning.”
“Surely the Black Goden using black energy is expected?” Ash awkwardly asked.
“It's not a brand, you fool. The black fount is the corruption that is inherent to all magic. It is what destroys the minds of mages, and pulls demons into our world. When any magical energy is drawn, black energy is created in reaction. It is the cancer of all magicians.”
“So I shouldn’t use it?”
“You shouldn’t be able to, not without summoning an army of demon spawn. This will require much study,” Kana said, mostly to herself, as she paced along the room.
A few minutes passed in silence. At some point during the discussion, Satra had managed to sneak away, though she hadn’t closed the door behind herself.
“Excuse me, Madame Kana,” Evara meekly called from the back of the clearly unused classroom.
“Yes, yes, what is it?” Kana impatiently replied, wavering for a moment in her stationary marching.
“It's just that, I’ve finished my test,” Ev replied with an uncharacteristic timidity.
“Nonsense,” Kana dismissed, “You have another hour yet.”
“Yes, but... I don’t need it,” she said unsurely. Kana sighed as she made her way over to Ev’s desk, but her doubt quickly gave way to awe as she read over the paper.
“I thought you said you were an utter novice? That you have faced no sort of tutelage in your life?” Kana accused.
“I- I am!” Ev insisted. “I haven’t been schooled, but lessons in literacy by my village elder. I swear it.”
“Then how by the gods can you have possibly answered these questions? I have second-year pupils who cannot make so much as a guess at some of this.”
“My- My sister got me this,” Ev stuttered as she produced her novice guide from her carry pack.
“A novice guide? Outdated, but I suppose it has done its job. You have retained much, I am impressed. It seems you come from an extraordinary family. Tell me, do you have magical blood?”
Evara looked to Ash as though she had some answer beyond what Evara knew. “No,” Ash answered. “Nobody in our family has any magical talent, beyond Ev, obviously.”
“Fascinating,” Kana whispered.
“D- Does this mean you’ll teach me some spells?” Ev begged with a masked giddiness.
“Spells? Spells!?” Kana erupted. “Child, we are not witches in the woods casting warts upon foul-smelling men. Did you not hear me talking about corruption? Every ‘spell’ has a cost, and is not to be risked by an utter novice. It matters not how naturally adept you may be.”
“But what about the forest?” Ash interrupted. “She cast a spell then.”
“The forest?” Kana repeated.
“You didn’t tell her?” Ash shrieked. Ev shrunk away beneath her books and did all she could to avoid her sister's furious glare.
“Tell me what?”
“While we travelled here, my sister tried to enchant a rock. Something went wrong, and she erupted into a big... green... whirlwind of fire,” Ash recounted.
“That’s impossible...” Kana said, but self-doubt ended the protest before it could part her lips. After what looked to be some deeply complex thought, she finally slipped a breathy, “unless...”
She looked to Ash’s gauntlet, and then to the young Evara - who yet hid beneath her books in hopes that she would be forgotten.
“Both of you, follow,” Kana ordered.
----------------------------------------
They didn’t travel far. It took all her restraint not to remove her boot and throw it squarely at Evara’s head as they went. It was clear that Evara could feel the burning leer as it stabbed into the back of her head. She was unsubtle in her attempts to avoid matching Ash’s gaze, hiding her face and pacing far ahead of her sister.
They came upon a vast and empty chamber. Pale blue walls reached as high as the massive temple would allow. A rainbow of runes lined every few meters, with only a few purple symbols at the corners. Strange sconces sat beneath each rune and bore a stone carved face in each, only none of the faces were distinctly human. Some had two mouths, one over the other. Some had all too large eyes, while others had no eyes at all. One wore a cruel and sadistic grin across the wrinkles on the skin that should have been a left eye, while the right flowed with stone tears.
“All magic extracts a cost. All actions have a consequence. Allow me to show you,” Kana said with a deep and steadying breath. The old healer sat herself in the centre of the chamber. Her every breath echoed off the utterly devoid walls as she closed her eyes and almost looked in prayer.
“I will use a very simple magic. Champion, if you would present your spear?”
Ash drew Ser Stabby from his mount and placed him on the ground before the old woman.
Then, all at once, everything fell to silence. Not a breath echoed, not a footstep sounded and – after a disconcerting moment of realisation, for the first time in her life – Ash couldn’t hear her own pulse.
Instinct forced her to pop her ears, maybe to make sure they were still there. It made no difference. She couldn’t hear the blood rushing through her veins, nor the breath in her lungs.
“Tame Ignis roate. Ignis et Hevest,” the old healer whispered. Then the words weren’t her own, but those of the walls and sconces. Whispered words that slipped between the cracks and seams. Curses of vile death, blessings of loving life. It was not so far from how it had been when the goden had confirmed her, only much more subdued. A dozen ghosts whispered in her ears and crawled along her skin as something... powerful encircled the ancient healer.
Wisps of crimson starlight sprung and danced like the ancient fae of her bedtime tales. They wrapped around Kana and bounced from her every freckle before coalescing within her open palms.
Ash thought that might be the end of it, but it was barely the beginning. She quickly realised what the old hag had been talking about. The wisps were the magic, and this next part was the corruption.
Black veins sprouted. First, from her throat, then along each of her arteries. It enwrapped her entirely as the blackness engulfed her whole and swallowed all light that tried – in vain – to escape her.
Finally, it reached her eyes. It was as though her pupils had suffered an eternity of utter darkness, and had evolved to dilate wider than her eyes could possibly allow.
The next part forced Ash to take back her spear as she shielded her sister. The corruption exploded from the old woman’s mouth as twelve massive and hairy spider legs. They writhed and clawed at the open air as though they were desperately trying to claw their way out of the old woman. Despite the fact that it looked as if only the tips of the legs had erupted out, it still proved enough to lift the old woman a meter off the ground.
Ash stood ready to strike. She was sure something had gone wrong, until she saw the flailing body of the magician clasp her hands together. The action forced away the creature and powered it down, back into her throat, where the corruption slowly vanished.
Kana returned to her feet and drew what must have been her first breath, by the vigour of it. After a moment where all stood too confused to speak, she turned to the sisters with her hands clasped as though she had caught a butterfly.
“Magic,” she smiled as what she held flooded from between her fingers. It was light like they had never seen. The light of heaven’s belt, only close enough to take in hand. It swarmed them like a wave at high tide. Ash floated her hand through it and felt the slightest resistance as the crimson comets crashed against her. “And consequences.”
The surge spiralled back and gathered within the old woman’s hands yet again. It came as an impossibly vast orb, like a room filled with nought but mirrors sealed within a ball in her hands. Infinity, sealed within glass.
Kana beckoned for Ash’s spear, which she placed forth and allowed the tip to pierce the creation.
Once withdrawn, a sheen of beautifully patterned blue ice lay at the blade of her spear.
“Child, draw near,” the old woman whispered to Evara. The orb in her hands flickered in an instant from its crimson hue to that of a blue so deep and vibrant, the sunset might weep at the sight from sheer jealousy. Evara’s steely little eyes grew near as large as the orb as the old woman split it. In her left hand, the great creation, in her right hand, its smaller offspring. She offered the lesser to the child who held her little hands out to receive it gladly.
It floated an inch over her hands. Little liquid sparks jolted from it to her the gentle flesh at her palms, though the sensation didn’t seem to hurt.
“What do I do?” Evara asked with the single shallow breath she allowed herself.
“Whatever you want... You hold in your hands, the light of creation.” The old woman pulled a single strand of blue from her own orb and weaved it through the air into a great cloak of the softest fur.
“How- How do I do it?” Ev started to shake a little. It might have been fear or sheer excitement. A bead of sweat fell from her brow and scuffed over her makeup, before it dropped into the orb and burst into pure steam.
“Trust your instincts. This is magic, not science; what feels right, is right.”
Evara hesitated for a moment. She held a short breath, before furrowing her brow as though she had made some obvious realisation. Immediately, she blew against the orb like a late-night candle.
The blue orb shattered into a dust finer than any sand or powder. It twirled and sparkled on the imagined wind before spinning and twirling round and around. It was a gorgeous dance between a billion little dance partners. They pranced and spun down to the ground, where they melded together into a thick trunk. They continued on, and formed another trunk just beside themselves.
Evara was not passive in this. She looked like a grand composer as she forced a killer effort into instructing the particles on their very placement. She stitched together the very fabric of life as she joined the trunks together in what came to be a torso. She carried on without a trace of fatigue as she carved a face from the air. Kana’s awe grew more and more apparent as Evara worked without a single failure, nor so much as a hair out of place. She seemed somehow prouder of the child than Ash.
With a final flourish, and a final burst of stardust, her monument was complete.
A statue of a five-meter-tall knight in shimmering ghostly blue steel. A warrior deserving of legend.
“Evara... Child...” Was all Kana could manage. She seemed even more drained of breath than the child did. “The power required to create such a... masterpiece of a statue... I... Who are you?”
“Statue?” Evara repeated with a cocked brow. “No, he’s not a statue, look.”
She flicked a hand and robbed the warrior of his stillness. He took up his blade and flourished it before allowing it to come to rest upon his shoulder. He stood there, his massive plate torso heaving as he drew giant-sized breaths.
“Ev, that’s incred-”
“-DISPELL IT!” Kana screamed. She jolted across the hall and wrapped her hands around the child's shoulders, shaking her violently. “DISPELL IT NOW!”
“Let go of her,” Ash viciously ordered as the old woman continued to rattle the young girl.
“CHILD DISPELL IT!” She repeated in abject terror with absolutely no regard for the elder sister.
“Okay, okay! I will!” Ev said as she pulled away from the crazed old woman. She raised her hands as to take up some instinctive action, but she was too late.
There was a screaming. Simple and quiet, not quite human. Closer to the sound of a boiled kettle. That was what came first, anyway.
“It's not working,” Ev quietly realised. She repeated some strange action in a much more frantic way, but received the same result.
“The runes, quick!” The old woman cried. She rushed to a torch mounted against the entrance and lit the first carved sconce. The rune above it quickly lit with a vibrant golden glare. It was not enough.
The pale, almost transparent, blue of his armour shifted to a much darker and more sickly tone. The metal bubbled and popped while the warrior screamed in mouthless agony. He seized and shook like a man possessed by some violent illness. He creaked and writhed while his body burst into spores of black bile.
The legs, which she had realised were nought more than fingertips, burst from beneath his helm as his chest exploded into a visceral mess of tentacles and sharp little hairs.
The body of the knight became nought more than an inconvenience to the creature. It spread out far, its legs reaching from wall to wall and roof to floor. What had been Ev’s creation hung limply from its oozing neck while it stood upon the legs of hellspawn.
The sickly and plagued green and black legs stretched as though they had been crammed within the knight for a decade or more.
“Get behind me,” Ash ordered. Ev ran to her sister’s side, but the healer was too stuck by horror to edge away from her single lit sconce.
“Ash?” The little sister whispered.
The creature seemed to hear the plea. It decided upon its final form, and burst the body of its little warrior. A thousand, thousand rotating eyes all battled to get a glance of the vile Champion. The noise it made might have been a laugh, but it drained at her very soul.
“Light the runes... I’ll deal with it,” Ash spat.