Boris

‘Svol’s light be with you, Commander. The Fatherland can never be conquered; its reign can never be contested. You have done well, but it is time to return home to the Fatherland. May its glory forever endure.’

Boris looked up from the missive which had supposedly come from Svol. The ass, Viktor, sat in his usual position in the war room, enjoying the ministrations of his maidservants.

“So, that’s it? We just… give up?” he asked and his voice rumbled in the war room. “What about Timofey and Faye? They deserve to be avenged.”

“Timofey was defeated because he was over-confident,” Viktor said with his eyes closed. “Faye is not yet dead—”

“What?”

“You heard me right, Boris. She lives…”

“We found nothing of her remains. I assumed—”

“You assumed wrongly. Faye is hard to kill, even for me. She’s alive” — Viktor stood up — “and I intend to get her back.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Boris would have jumped to his feet if his oversized, overly dense, and heavy body and limbs would allow it.

“You need to report back to Svol. This is not your mission, Boris. Whoever it was that captured her is a lot more powerful than we know.”

“How do you even know she is alive?”

The Elite Judge looked at him for the first time since they were both put together on this mission. Eyes so blue they put the beauty of the ocean to shame, regarded him with near interest. Boris felt like he was being seen for the first time in many seasons.

“We Elites are connected, Boris. A connection that is far deeper and stronger than anything you’ll ever experience with a lover.” He walked up to the window and his coterie of maidservants followed, attending to his every whims and needs. “We can tell when another is in distress, when they fuck… or die.”

Boris looked away from the scene. It was almost too much to watch. If he ever became an Elite, he wasn’t going to be another Viktor. Notwithstanding, he couldn’t. He was no Golden Boy.

“That is… humbling,” he said. And it truly was. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to allow anyone into his heart like that. “But is she well? Or has she been tortured to near-death?”

Viktor sighed. “Of that, I do not know — for some strange reason. Our mission here has failed, Boris. There is nothing to do here anymore. We’ve handed Alvric a few hundred thousand Messengers to use as shields for the time being.

“Go back to Svol and you will be assigned another mission. I will retrieve Faye. That is my new mission.”

“This is a slap in the face for the Fatherland, isn’t it?” Boris said, and the Golden Boy stilled. He had hit something big… he knew it. “What is it?”

Viktor kept mute.

“Winning here was already guaranteed. All the Scions of Vorthe, right at the tips of our fingers. We should have crushed their defenses and they should be rotting away already in forgotten cells in the dungeon worlds…”

“But for some reason…” Viktor picked off where he stopped, “they aren’t. Vorthe didn’t intervene. They should have… the heathens were weak and inexperienced, regardless of the fact they just came back from an adventure on an alien world. We underestimated them. It was all right before our eyes and we didn’t see it. Vorthe didn’t intervene because they didn’t ha— no. They placed a bet on him.”

“Him?”

“The Spawn…”

Boris ground his teeth at the mention of that name until they ached. “He was inconsequential. A pest in the grand scheme of things. How…?”

“We know not how or what Vorthe knows — not even Alvric knows. But the Church is now more interested in him. Alvric will do their due diligence and keep us informed about his whereabouts.”

“They have been ordered to keep a close watch.”

“A trifling errand they are failing at I believe, Commander,” a new voice said from the entrance of the war room.

They both turned to see the head analyst walking into the room. He bowed with his right hand to his chest.

“Your grace?” he addressed Viktor. “We have orders to dismantle the sand table. We are to return at once.”

“As you were,” Viktor said. “You said they are failing at keeping the Spawn in their sights?”

“Yes, your grace. They have no idea where he might be right now. He vanished after the portal was destroyed and they have failed to locate him ever since.”

“Svol’s manly balls!” Boris cursed.

“Language, Commander,” Viktor cautioned, then he turned back to the head analyst. “He has most likely gone to Alvion. Is my airhorse ready?”

“Ah…” The analyst became nonplussed, wanting to correct the Golden Boy but not knowing how to.

Boris scoffed. “Don’t let the Artificers Guild hear you call it that, Viktor. They aren’t known to be forgiving.”

Viktor shrugged and the maids rushed to adjust the shoulder pads of his coat and patted him down. How superficial can one really get?

“Your grace, it’s… called a… Pegasus,” the head analyst stuttered out a response.

“A Pegasus is a mythical beast,” Viktor countered. “Tell me, does the machine look mythical to you?”

The analyst looked away. Boris stood, tired of the seemingly useless conversation.

“Your patience is admirable for an Elite, Viktor,” he said, walking away. “I’m bored already.”

Viktor gestured for the analyst to leave. His patience was one of the things Boris truly admired about him but he wasn’t going to tell him that.

“If the Alvrics can’t find the Spawn, we need to push them,” he said as he got to the door.

“That order will come from the brass,” the Golden Boy said. “We no longer hold authority here.”

“I have a feeling we never did. Svol’s light bears me witness; the Alvrics never showed up after the introductions.”

“One more thing for you to report then,” Viktor said.

~~~

“So beautiful!” Sheela exclaimed as they flew over the southern jungles of Vorthe. “I never knew the world could look so astounding this high up!”

Jerome hummed in reply, enjoying the flight just as much as her. “It’s the dream, Sheela. This is the best way to travel. Flying yourself is exhilarating for sure, but riding on the back of a dragon is the way to go.”

Nyx glared at him and scoffed. “You call a golem made out of dirt and some cheap runes a dragon?”

The golem dragon’s wings beat in time to her words and it made a low, deep rumbling sound.

“You hurt his feelings, Nyx. Remember those runes are sympathetic runes. It feels what I feel, and I feel what it feels in turn.” He caressed the back of the golem, giving Nyx a playful look. “Or perhaps you wish to take its place?”

“Not on your life, Jerome!”

“Easy, easy.” Jerome held his hands up in surrender, chuckling. He could almost see fumes rise from her head in her anger. “I’m just playing with you.”

“Are you sure we won’t be shot out of the sky?” Ms. Tara asked, looking down toward the earth.

“You should enjoy the moment, Ms. Tara,” he said. “Like Csala here. The air is cleaner up here. The altitude just… washes away your troubles.”

“Or makes them seem insignificant,” Csala said. She was splayed beside him with her eyes closed and a small smile on her face. She purred from time to time in satisfaction which made Jerome smile in turn.

“Besides, we are over forty thousand feet in the air — too far up for anyone to hit,” Jerome continued. “Except by a very powerful sacred artist. But Achilleia is covering our tracks. There’s an invisible bubble around us right now, preventing our auras from leaking out into the world.”

“Wow!” Sheela exclaimed. “That’s incredible.”

“Hm-hmm.”

“It’s a remarkable thing,” Csala said and everyone turned to her. “Succubi can see aura in the air so you may not appreciate this stealthiness as much as I do.”

“That’s incredible, Csala,” Ms. Tara said, taking her hand in hers. “Care to share what it feels like to see aura?”

“It’s like the essence we saw in the void world, only thinner. It trails you everywhere and there’s nothing you — well, I — can do about it. But a succubus can’t see her own aura in the air, which is scary. Because you may not know when it’ll be used to track you down.

“Of course, it disperses slowly over time until nothing of the trail is left.”

“How long does it take to disperse completely?” Jerome asked.

“Approximately forty-eight hours.”

Jerome shifted to face her. “It’s almost strange hearing you speak that word… ‘hour’.”

She smiled at him. “Achilleia has been teaching us” — then she glared at him — “and you have been keeping knowledge away from us Jerome.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The rest of the ladies, besides Nyx, began to hound him with questions, all at the same time that he didn’t know who to answer first.

Achilleia do something!

“You got yourself into this mess, Xerae. You can get yourself out of it.”

“Alright, ladies, stop. You know I love you all” — that melted them all immediately — “and I want what’s best for us.” He drew all three of them into his embrace. “But there has just been too much going on that I didn’t think about it, hmm?”

He kissed them all, one at a time, and on the lips to show his sincerity. “I promise to do better next time, okay? Do you forgive me?”

All three of them whined and complained for a few seconds before relenting.

“Nice, Xerae. You’ve got a silver tongue on you, I see.”

I can be smooth when I want to be, he said, smiling to himself.

“I’ve heard from Achilleia that Alvion has some nice places to eat with mouth-watering cuisine and relaxation centers,” he said. “How about when we save the day, we all find one of these eateries and indulge in some much-needed down time.”

“Down time?” Csala asked.

“Just another way of saying, relax and do nothing, really,” he responded.

Jerome looked over at Nyx as she gazed over the clouds. She was acting like she wasn’t interested in their conversation but he could tell she wanted to be a part of it, to belong. But she didn’t know how to.

“I don’t know,” Sheela said, breaking away from the group hug. “I wish to return home… to see my family. I know my father would be worried sick for me.”

“Then we’ll get you home, Sheela,” Jerome said.

“They may very well be in Alvion, don’t you think?” Nyx said and they all turned to her. It almost felt like she was trying to announce her presence.

“No,” Jerome shook his head. “The war is happening on two fronts. The Church is also trying to get into Vorthe through the Redwood Forest.”

“It’s not going to be as easy as that,” Sheela said. “Beyond the Redwood Forest is the Deadlands. A place filled with tainted magical beasts, whose natures have been warped beyond recognition.”

“I never knew about that…” Jerome said. Achilleia?

“Vorthe probably didn’t mention it because it wouldn’t have been of any use to you… that’s if you will lose your mind to the darkness in the near future.”

What an interesting vote of confidence that is.

“Only large groups of sacred artists venture into the deadlands, Jerome,” Sheela continued. “Or groups with Sails to fly. But even that has its limits. See, the deadlands were said to have been bled dry of essence during the Cataclysm and nothing can grow there. It’s a patched wasteland that the castaways of society call home.”

“Let me guess,” Jerome said as a feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. “Those who wield the darkness.”

Sheela looked at him in shock. “That’s not public knowledge, Jerome. How did you know that?”

“Vorthe takes care of its own. But I’ve never seen any wielder of darkness in Vorthe before.” He shrugged. “It could only mean that they are castaways.”

“They are part of the reasons we protect the redwood forests. They corrupt everything they touch with the darkness and it warps their minds, just like the deadlands have done to its magical beast population.”

Jerome looked into her eyes to see if she held any prejudice against them, if she would hold any prejudice against him in the future.

“Have you met them before?” he asked.

Sheela shook her head. Was that pity he was sensing from her? Jerome noticed Nyx’s attention was on her as well.

“I’ve only ever heard stories about them. They used to be diviners, or at least their leaders used to be. They broke off to found their own faction due to discovering the darkness. Not much is said concerning why they did it though, only that they wanted power…

“It’s a pity… my father says they are to be killed on sight; he says they are extremely dangerous and unstable. They cannot be reasoned with and so the only mercy we can afford them is to put them down, not that that’s something easy to do.

“They are very strong and like the darkness in the forest of shadows in Terra Praeta—”

“Dark forest,” Jerome corrected and she smiled at him. “Your shadows don’t do what those trees did, do they?”

“Dark forest,” she said and mouthed ‘sorry’. “They can consume the essence in your veins. From the description, it’s worse than the Messengers’ ability.”

“Interesting…” Ms. Tara said.

“What if I told you—”

“Jerome, don’t,” Nyx said. Everyone looked at her and she sighed. “I’ve seen what you become and it’s not that.”

Nyx had a way of making discussions uncomfortable and she had just done it again. The silence that followed her declaration was louder than the tale about the diviners.

“I know I won’t, Nyx,” Jerome said after a while. “But I’d like them to be prepared.” He looked each of the women around in the eyes and sighed, noticing their worry. “In the near future, I’ll—”

Something jerked him off the golem and he found himself floating midair without trying. Someone cleared their throat.

“Excuse me, ladies—”

“Elder Thorlin?” Jerome and Sheela said together.

“Yes, yes, it’s me. You would not mind if I borrow Jerome here for a few hundred breaths, hmm?”

Everyone paused, watching the elderly man with awe. His white hair and beard, coupled with his white flowing robe, gave him an air of ancientness. But even as white as his hair was, his gait and demeanor showed his vitality and strength. And his face was not as wrinkled as one would expect.

“Light be with you First Elder. But how did you even find us?” Jerome asked.

“Oh, I did not!” He laughed heartily. “I just waited here like the Sovereign told me to. And Oh! Congratulations on winning the Battle of Black Gate!”

“The Battle of Black Gate?” everyone said.

Achilleia?

“I’m as clueless as you are, Xerae. Remember, this world is not my territory. I can’t just go investigating and gathering data like I run the place. The name makes sense though. You made it your mission to close the gateway, didn’t you?”

He looked at Nyx whose eyes were filled with caution as she sat still like a predator, ready to pounce. The elder must truly unnerve her.

“Yes! That’s what everyone is calling it! Ahahah! By the way, this is an impressive construct, Jerome.”

“Huh, thank you?”

“How did you even get something this big and heavy to fly?” the elder asked. “The amount of essence it would take to lift off would be impressive! Not to talk of the ingenuity of runes and scripts needed to make it function like this.”

The Elders eyes were filled with admiration as he spoke. Jerome would have felt proud if it wasn’t so strange to have the second in command in Vorthe, the second most powerful person in the Royal Family coming to meet him personally.

“Now, if I have your blessings, fair maidens, I would like to take Jerome to meet the Sovereign.”

“Take me with you,” Nyx said hastily and floated off the flying golem.

“Why, of course! He would love to meet you as well.” He glanced at Csala for a moment and Jerome cleared his throat to get his attention.

“Can we go now?” He turned to the ladies remaining on the golem. “Stay safe, okay?”

“We will, Jerome,” Ms. Tara said. “Take care of him, Lady Nyx.”

“I will,” Nyx said, and the next thing Jerome saw was darkness.

He blinked and they were somewhere else entirely. Thick white fog covered his view and everywhere around. A quick scan — using the pod — returned no meaningful result though. “I didn’t even sense the use of essence.”

“I am a Saint, Jerome.” Elder Thorlin chuckled, caressing his long white beard. “I wouldn’t be a good one if I didn’t know how to mask my essence, or the use of it. Here we are.”

They floated through the fog toward some unknown position. As they went, the fog seemed to part away for them. A cold wind blew through it but didn’t blow the fog away. Jerome felt chills run up his spine.

“Welcome, Jerome,” the Sovereign’s voice reached him. “And I see you brought a guest.”

All of a sudden, the fog visibly receded away from him and the Sovereign came into view. Like the Saint beside him, the Sovereign wore a long white robe that gave him an air of authority. Even if he was dressed as a beggar, Jerome knew his aura wouldn’t change.

“Light be with you, Sovereign,” Jerome greeted with a bow.

There was someone else with him. An old woman. She looked very feeble and her frail-looking limbs were wrapped around a staff that she hugged to herself. Her long salt and pepper hair was dressed elaborately at the top of her head and she held herself with the same regal gait like the Sovereign.

“Light be with you, madam,” he greeted her, but with much less certainty as to whether he did it right. Jerome would have thought her a mortal but like everyone else, she was floating mid air.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed and her eyes, which were closed, opened in a joyous expression. “You fly without a Skysail.”

He reared back at the statement. Not many people noticed it so soon.

“This is the Divine Mother, Jerome. Madam Asirimari.”

“That’s a long string of syllables for a name,” Jerome muttered.

The madam chuckled. “Oh, you can just call me Divine Mother, or Madam Mari.”

“Funny,” the Sovereign said with a slight tilt of his head. “You always make me say it in full. I would have thought I was the exception.”

“Only your children get to call me Mari. You don’t get that privilege, uncle.”

“Uncle?” Jerome looked between the two of them, amused at the light banter. He didn’t miss the fact she had referred to him as the Sovereign’s child.

The Sovereign cleared his throat and the sound of his voice filled Jerome’s head with an absoluteness that blocked out everything he was thinking about.

“Focus, Xerae,” Achilleia said and the fog cleared. “I’ll try my best to reduce the effect of his presence on you.”

Thanks, Achilleia.

“The diviners have a custom of giving children two or three syllable names or longer — their own children though, not that of others. It is believed it makes them powerful. You must have noticed that most names are just one or two syllables long.”

“Huh,” he muttered. “Funny… the longest name I’ve ever heard was that of a Terra Praetan. Forester is the only person I know with a three syllable name.”

“Ah!” Madam Mari exclaimed. “You’ve met Forester, my boy. He’s a powerful one, isn’t he?”

Jerome shrugged and said nothing, not wanting to ruin the pride he was seeing in Madam Mari’s eyes.

“Hmm,” the Sovereign said. “Powerful but full of himself.”

“He’s just young and foolish at the moment,” Madam Mari waved off the Sovereign. “In time, when he comes into his maturity, he’ll temper himself with humility.”

In a way, Jerome believed that the process for that had already started.

“After all, you were not very different from him when you were young, were you?” Madam Mari added.

Jerome almost smiled at the Sovereign — almost. He turned away, refusing to look at the man. If he did at that moment, he’d smile, or worse, laugh… that wouldn’t bode well for him.

“I understand that you reached out to him during the Battle of Black Gate, and he answered?” the Sovereign said after a moment.

Jerome nodded. “Yes, Sovereign.”

“I know his help was not of much good, Jerome. But…” the Sovereign seemed tongue-tied a moment later but Jerome understood where this was going — or at least he thought he did.

“I made him a promise to be there whenever he needs my help,” he said.

The Sovereign nodded and looked him in the eyes. “There surely will come a time when he needs your help, when all of Vorthe will need your help.”

Jerome felt his gaze hold him still for a few seconds, the weight of it communicating the gravity of his words better than the words themselves.

“I understand that you made a deal with Ivar,” the Sovereign said a moment later.

Jerome nodded, shaking off the previous feeling. “He was very persistent. But I would like to see Old Wen first before anything.”

The Sovereign nodded. “You have grown, Jerome. I believe you are ready…” He turned his head to look in a certain direction, eyes distant. Jerome was sure that was the direction of the northern mountains.

“Ready to take up the darkness,” Madam Mari continued. “It is no small burden we place on you little one, but I am sure you are up to the task.”

“I didn’t know the diviners knew of me…” Jerome said. “Of what I am.”

The First Elder, who had been silent all this while, gently stroked him on the back in a soothing manner. It was quite fatherly.

“That is of no use at the moment,” the Sovereign said. “What matters more is that you have taken up the mantle of power… oh Chosen of Ilyrrah.”

Jerome’s gaze widened in shock.