“What was that?” Tyr asked. His body had mostly recovered, but physical wounds and mental exhaustion were different. He felt like a rag that had been wrung out and discarded. Left no time to properly rest before Daito had dragged him off onto another 'patrol' after finding more paladins stalking the streets of Leygein. The Jarl would solve it soon enough, but more time was necessary before they were expelled. Followers of Indura held no authority here, but they were still members of an official church and that gave them a measure of clout.
Daito alighted himself on a nearby boulder, seating himself in the familiar cross-legged position so alike to Varinn. His eyes were full of mirth, which set him apart from the grim lipped old man, as did his relative youth. Stubble was apparent on his face and his appearance unkempt, but unlike Tyr, Daito never seemed to tire. His near black eyes were bright and full of energy. “What was what?”
“Your magic!” Tyr replied impatiently. “You sang and played your lute, how did you do that?” Just strumming an instrument was enough to kill a man? Since when? Bardic magic certainly existed, but it didn't do that. If it were so powerful, everyone would have thrown away the art of evocation long ago – the study often considered the most lethal and appropriate for men of battle.
“I'm a bit more interested in what you did. Would you tell me if I asked?”
Tyr shook his head. Even if he wanted to, how was he supposed to explain what he'd seen to another person? He was absolutely sure that woman he'd seen was a goddess, or some kind of equivalent. How, and what it meant? He didn't know. Something had tried to hide him from her sight, but he'd refused it and slipped his bondage. Accepting some 'gift'. Too indistinct, not so literal, he still had no idea what it was, or how he was supposed to use it. The captain didn't seem intent to press the issue, shrugging.
“Magic, you say.” Daito mused, tasting the word on his tongue. “Not magic.” He raised a finger, searching for the right way to articulate such a mysterious concept. “Ki or chi, there are many names for it. Something you're well aware of, yes?” He removed his lute from its oiled leather and rested it gently on his lap. A body of dark, lacquered cherry wood, it was truly a work of art. Even the patterns in the wood grain looked like runes of enchantment to Tyr, if written in whatever language the trees and rivers spoke... “And not a lute, but a shamisen. An instrument of my people, they are similar in form – perhaps – but not the same. And you should lower your voice, I've no interest in educating a whiny child, and I'll leave your for the paladins if you keep addressing me in that tone. Show some respect to your elders.” His words were harsh, but the captain remained mischievous, smirking while he talked. Tyr understood well that while Daito was amused, the man wasn't joking, he really would throw Tyr to the proverbial wolfs. Or pigs, whatever the case.
Sighing, Tyr joined his 'captain', mimicking the cross-legged position and straightening his back, relaxing at the core and taking a deep breath. Enough to cause Daito to frown at Tyr's clear familiarity with the stance of his people, what they called the lotus position. The older man sat in the 'auspicious', so it hadn't come from him.
“But you used mana. Combining mana and spira shouldn't be possible.” Tyr wasn't sure how much Daito knew. He'd suspected, but he didn't know, and Abaddon had been a very poor excuse for a teacher. Thus, he framed his question in the best way possible to feign ignorance and bait the information he wanted out of the older man. Something more literal than the vague words of the professor. “Mana and spira are opposites. You can't combine them.”
“No, you can't.” Daito replied calmly. “You cannot combine two threads, but you can weave many together to create a rope that is much stronger than its individual fibers.”
“I don't understand.” Tyr lied.
“Yes you do, and you've no need for duplicity with me. You are already well aware of what it means to weave them, and I've seen you do it. Think of it like... Our soul and our physical body exist in two entirely different places at once. Not our physical body, but rather our presence – which may nor may not be different from the soul. I'm not some sage, so I'll try to explain it that way. My people call them hashira. The pillars of creation, or at least the lowest bricks comprising them perceptible to lowly mortals. They are not opposites, they just exist in different planes. I cannot take a rod of wood and rod of steel, and force them together into one thing, but that does not make them opposite. Spira is not anti-mana, and these two energy sources constantly work in tandem to balance the material realms. Make sense?”
Tyr nodded in contentment. This was exactly how he felt about them. Similar to what Abaddon had said about the 'pillars'. Though it was clear now that if this human knew so much – Abaddon had been feigning ignorance of his own. As to why he would do such a thing... Probably because the man wanted Tyr to figure it out for himself. Teaching in open ended riddles as Varinn had, leaving their students to find it through effort and contemplation, to earn it. In any case, it came down to personal responsibility, allowing them to understand that abusing it was foul. If it was an official discipline taught in academies worldwide and made common knowledge, the world would be an empty and dead place in generations. He still felt like there was more to it, but it was enough for now.
“As for the magic, which is fine – call it what you will. I'm not so anal as to force some distinction between the two and argue semantics... Song magic is... Similar to an arcanum, I suppose, some people insist it is – but I am not so sure. For those of us who have not awakened and have no arcanum – we can find ways to wield the power of our soul. The soul and the living self that exists in this world is ki, not mana. At least in humans, which is likely why all humans have an 'immortal soul' while most other races do not.” Daito's voice was stead and calm, staring off into the rolling hills of the highlands in the distance. His dark hair tousled by the gentle autumn breeze. Everywhere was green and fragrant, except the few trees that had begun to become orange and yellow at the leaves. “You can feel it, here, in this land. According to the legends of my ancestors, this was the first spot colonized by our people after we departed the western continent. Spira and mana alike are rich here. Can you feel it?”
Tyr did. It was subtle, less intense than in Amistad. Likely due to the lack of gathering arrays, but the ambient energy running through the land was far more consistent. It flowed more slowly, but it was a world away from the dull energy in Haran – and it became far more potent the further they left the city behind.
“I digress, though. So often my elders turn towards romance and wax on poetically about nature and the pondering of reality. I never took to that school of thought, personally.” Daito chuckled. “Song 'magic' is simply an expression of my soul. Of emotion. Men who do not have the mana necessary to resist the ki may die, but it's purpose is not necessarily to kill. They just weren't strong enough to keep their spirit within their body. It exists to communicate thought, stories, memories... Some cultures pass their ways and stories down through scrolls and tomes – but others choose to sing and pass down their traditions orally. My people do both, finding merit in each way.”
“I felt...” Tyr was not sure how to frame his response. What had he felt? “It was soothing, but it was also painful. What was the purpose of your song?”
“The song of death, one of many. That's not to say that there exists a 'spell', if you will, that can simply kill anybody I want to – it only works on men who refuse to face their living sense of regret. Your ki, superior to theirs, allowed you to hear it as it was meant to be heard. Which is to say the song of mourning, to face your own mortality and the temporary state of all things. To confront entropy and accept it as a natural force. Some go mad with it, as the paladins did, so mad and despondent that the beating of their heart simply ceases. If the biological mechanism is of interest to you.”
“Thank you.” Tyr nodded in contentment. Generally useless information, but it was good to get a baseline of Daito's power, and it led him to understanding better the 'song' Varinn was always talking about. He was so bard, but he understood it. A wall of emotion realized in the spira that could produce all manner of phenomena so unique to magic. “Would you be willing to teach it to me? I feel like even that short time spent listening allowed me to understand more, and I'd very much like to follow that thread.”
“Sure.” Daito replied with a soft shrug.
“...Really?” Tyr balked. “I hadn't expected it to be... That easy.”
“I cannot have children.” Daito responded. “I see no reason why I should not share with you this thing. After all, there's little guarantee you've any talent for it – and you know enough of our ways. I could tell from the moment I saw you fight that you have trained under a western master. Or one taught by western masters, the distinction is irrelevant. As far as I'm concerned, you're kin by association. And... It's important to get a reign on your spira, it can be just as dangerous as mana in the wrong hands.”
“I see.” Tyr replied. He wasn't sure what Daito meant by that, but it was well enough to find a new discipline to take the edge off. The man had refused to give him more of the blue chalk and his withdrawals from both the alcohol and dreamleaf were growing worse by the day. Another reason that Daito had taken him out into the countryside, he'd said. If Tyr's core were to experience any more stimulation, he'd become a walking bomb and threaten many lives. He was already a knotted ball of conflicting energies as it was, Daito had never seen anything like it. As a reflection of emotion and will, it was a dangerous weapon in the hands of such an unstable person. Only truly coming out when he lost control of his self-imposed sense of ego. “Where do we begin?”
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“Your C's are too hard.” Daito did his best to teach the boy, but given anything but a weapon – Tyr's fingers were far too clumsy for it. Slow, a terrible sense of rhythm, and clunky. Western culture was predicated around the arts, and it left him wondering why one of their masters had left Tyr in such an incomplete state. “Is it the withdrawals?”
“I doubt it, though it does little to help.” Tyr replied. They had discussed the thing at length after Tyr had become angry at being refused the opportunity to ween himself off of it. “It's... Something in my head keeps interrupting me while I'm trying to do as you ask. And this pick is, in all honest, fairly unwieldy. Why not just use a coin as the bards do?”
“The pick is nearly as important as the instrument itself.” It was enchanted, and Tyr knew that, he just didn't know toward what purpose. Acting as some kind of focus, and while the runes were extremely familiar to him, he didn't understand the grammatical format enough to figure them out. Just different enough from Abaddon's runes to be alien. “These are songs and melodies of emotion, remember? If your emotions conflict too much, it'll sound like garbage. This is not so simple as striking chords, you have to look inward, and share those feelings with your playing. Here, let me try something.” Daito sat himself across from Tyr and began to strum on his own shamisen. He carried replacements everywhere he went, but was already running out of the strings woven from an unknown metal as Tyr broke one after the other. He'd pay for them of course, but Daito didn't seem to mind.
He felt it again, but it was simpler, easier to get a hold on. Daito called it the 'song of centering' – or 'understanding' as there was no exact translation between the 'old tongue' and the common tongue. Oresundians referred to their own language as the 'old tongue', but this was different – leaving Tyr a bit confused. Their language was sing-song and lilting, beautiful in a sad and haunting sort of way, but Daito's language was smooth and flowing. Like comparing the beating of a drum to the strumming of a harp, they were world apart.
Tyr felt his every pore relax under the presence of the song until his entire life played out before him. Memories of he and Alex and Iscari playing as children. Things he shouldn't remember, before they were replaced by things that he did. He saw Micah, and Brenn, Tythas, the goblins and kobolds. The looks of pride, annoyance, Tiber's stern rebukes, the gentle brushing sound of Samson cleaning his armor beside the fire, and his own father.
The knotted strings inside of him began to twist under the sound, plucked from their knotted state until the individual threads began to reveal themselves. Like a scarlet ball of yarn that had been jumbled all up and left a mess. It was a pleasant feeling, ruined by some sort of foreboding, every thread was a connection with something else. Be that his 'friends', partner, even Aska, his sword. But before the process was even near finished, Daito stopped playing – eyeing Tyr's sternum cautiously. “Something is very wrong with you.” He concluded.
“Mmm...” Tyr replied, wiping the tear from his eye and clearing his throat of phlegm. “I'm dying, or I will die. Not really sure if it's an active process or not, but it doesn't really matter.”
Daito nodded slowly. It was Tyr's choice to consider his doom however he'd like, and there were far more toxic ways to compartmentalize things. He possessed many more gates than a normal person, which was not good, and over time all of the energy would break him down. Added onto whatever that thing inside of him. Daito had seen it, some face in the spira, and it had stared back at him – pushing him out.
Rare, but not unheard of. He'd just never felt anything so violent, typically the dao, or 'paths', were serene and gentle. Whereas Tyr possessed a mass of malignancy inside of him. Daito couldn't tell what it was, but he'd recognize 'yin' anywhere. Killing was what it was in his culture, it was all contextual, but Tyr had done quite a lot of that... Even liked it, existing a state of near constant disdain for everything around him with few exceptions. The dao was infinite, the path led by ones walk though life, and it shaped people as it was shaped by them. All reality was defined by it, everything that existed had its own unique presence in the realms above and below. Yin and yang, the threads that bind, and Tyr had far more of those than a man should. Eventually, it would break him, the dao wanted to be understood. It wanted to find symbiosis with thinking beings, to be used. The young man had no ability to grant that universal wish, not yet.
“On second observation, I think this path of communing with the song might help you a great deal. Don't you?”
Tyr nodded, content with the demonstration. It wasn't so simple as the math and science that lay behind making something sound good to his ears. Simply a reflection of emotion, of grasping one fundamental part of yourself and attuning with it. Whether it sounded good, or beautiful, didn't matter in the slightest.
He tried to focus on one emotion, and felt like he was grasping at it, but it would flee from his fingertips, every chord was akin to a stairway leading him to that place and it wasn't so easy as walking up it. He felt an incredible rush of spira coursing not only into the shamisen – but he himself. Every time he managed to strike a proper chord, it would circulate the hot energy all throughout his body. Daito raised his eyebrows in shock. It had taken him nearly a decade to discover this particular route of cultivation. While Tyr had a fairly unimpressive technique, and a very inconsistent one – he was improving at a visible speed.
A fast learner. But not a genius... Daito resisted the urge to cluck his tongue in disappointment. If Tyr had started with the world song, he might have been – but he was too incomplete in his current psyche to bring out true talent. It was more like he was good at memorization, rather than being naturally talented. Maybe, one day. If he masters it... He began playing in a steady, metronome tempo to guide Tyr toward finding a rhythm. Grabbing at a single emotion was extremely difficult, separating all others until only one remained. Only a true master could combine them all in a true reflection of the self. Daito had never been successful, but he could weave the strings of emotions together to create a hundred songs, and was considered a great talent. Perhaps his day would come in time.
There were many paths, to be crude, to 'power'. Power was perhaps an inappropriate word, the old masters had never cared to become 'stronger'. It was simply their path, the proper way through life, to find understanding and come nearer tranquility. All thought the dao, but Tyr had stepped down many paths. Of slaughter, cultivation, some connection to the divine, and all of their associated steps – leaving him all jumbled up inside.
Meanwhile, under Daito's careful observation, Tyr was stumped. He still played, but it was slow and the chords sounded like a choking duck. Hmm... Grabbing onto anger or rage should come easy to him, but it was easier said than done. He could feel them, but seizing upon them and separating the motivations that led to that particular emotion was hard. There was a source to all emotion and Tyr knew that until he looked beyond the petty reasons for them, he'd never really understand. It was like he was required to focus on one thing, and one thing only, emptying his mind of everything else – something he couldn't do. So, instead, he grabbed on all of them. Pulling all the strings together by force until he managed to produce a song. Opening his eyes to gleefully celebrate with Daito, he just stared in aghast wonder at what had happened.
Everything was gray-white and barren. A furious blizzard danced in flurries around him. Not a wasteland, but the kind of snow that carried the promise of the coming spring. Something that was really and truly part of the world. Something necessary. So real and vibrant, but cold and haunting all the same. Hope and the natural cycle cut with the yawning reality that it was all so fragile and easily broken. To take one step into that blizzard was to lose your life. There was understanding in unleashing that sound. To both the world, and himself. Tyr had been shackled by a need to make his father proud. A thirst for validation, to pull himself out of the hole he'd dug for himself in his mind, to be rid of that hiding place.
But now... He realized that he was more than that. Just Tyr, and nobody could ask anything else from him, he was real and an individual. A lesson learned in the understanding that everything was so insignificant that hiding from it all was impossible, a foolish thing. All other consideration could be thrown to the wind, the burden lifting from his shoulders and the hungering for substances along with it. Of course he wouldn't turn down a flagon, never in his life, but something just... Clicked. Not different, not some kind of new man.
Just Tyr.
When he understood that, the blizzard calmed itself. He was in this... Place, for weeks. All he could hear were the whistling winds and the plucking of strings as his body continued to play. He had no control over the sound, only the environment. Things remained lifeless, but the despondent void where hope went to die was gone. Like a vast puzzle, all of those knotted threads revealed one whole connection, and he was sure it was Iscari. His eyes were opened, in the metaphorical sense.
His real eyes followed, finding himself seated as he had been, no more than a few minutes having passed. Daito's body was sprawled and broken on the ground, alongside his shamisen and a ten meter wide stretch of earth that was wicked of all life. Even the critters and bugs below the earth were turned to mummified husks. Snow fell from a single circular gathering of clouds, landing on the dead earth and melting. Winter had come early on the far border of the state of Leygein.