East Laveles, Outer Warrlorn
Maedalia
The wheat reeds ran coarse through her fingers. They no longer grew as tall as she remembered, or maybe it had just been that long since she last returned home. Naturally, she blamed the believers who had done nothing but pray for the mercy of Zalhéyda whilst moving no muscle to protect her people from the beginnings of war. Zurena could just about tolerate the self-righteous and spiritually indulgent athien and katine of Inner City. She had no patience for listening to people clinging to the hope that a Daemon they did not truly believe in would come to their aid. Inner City had its own fair share of deceitful bad actors, of course. All she could see around her were power obsessed social climbers using the name of their supposed high protectors to further their own ambitions. She had had to meld into their perfidious design in order to earn herself a chance within the pristine white walls and had hated each second of those years. Unfortunately, you could not make a name for yourself from nothing by being difficult. The second she was given a chance to flee into the unknown, far away from their façades, she would always take it. However the days of entertaining the more fortunate would never be put behind her if she wanted her explorations to last.
In these outerlands, where nobody earned more than the food upon their plates and the beds in which they found peace, belief was most of what anyone had. Yet their words bore through her flesh and scraped at her bones with the same roughness as thirsted straw against toughened callouses. The air stood still to attention the same as the armed soldiers who guarded the gates of the Outer City’s soulstone walls behind her. Heat poured down on her from the sun with a burdening weight on her psyche. The irrigation channels throughout the sprawling fields of East Laveles were low, dry, bogged; infested with larvae and winged pests. The murky colour of the water she was able to see she did not care to describe even in her own mind.
Various settlements claimed these open plains outside the walls as their home. Not long ago, the delicate air currents guided these flowering fields step by cautious step. Carefully leading them to play their part in a captivating and harmonic performance. A visual display of duality between the sky above and earth below. So much seemed to have changed within what felt like such a short expedition. The Navikyrlands had not been kind to the explorer and it seemed that nature had been even less so to her homeland.
Zurena raised her hand to block out the sun's blinding warmth, glancing upwards to see where the Black Moon was casting its shadow that day. West. Typical. A sudden burst of colourful sound caught her ear and she turned to her side to watch on as two children on the field across from her both shared the burdening weight of a full pail. No doubt both their hands were covered in thickened skin from all the tools they were made to use day to day. Too heavy for them to wield properly, she was sure. They had likely both earned their fair share of bruises from unwilling-to-be-sheared sheep or uncomfortable-and-kicking-when-milked cows already. She was too far to hear exactly what they were singing together. It sounded like something from her own childhood, a familiar and soft comfort. Like the gentle hug from a loved one you haven’t seen in far too long a time, or the first sip of freshly brewed tea during the cold snowstorms of her expedition north. She was just close enough to make out that they were both smiling. These people lived happily, perhaps even happier than those of Inner City like Zurena. Simplicity in direction. To know you were to wake, task, and sleep each day must have held comfort for them. She envied their heedlessness of the world outside their lives yet she knew she would crumble under the distasteful monotony. Her eyes wandered to the much older farmhand working away in the same field slightly further up as he used his bare hands to uproot fresh yet narrow carrots. Sweat covered his body and glistened in the sunlight - but so too did his look of pride as he turned to see his two children heading towards him.
‘Avira, Mae, San-viera!’ Brougg bellowed back to the children from behind her. Both kids stopped in their tracks to turn and wave over to both Zurena and her father. The man uprooting carrots, who she now recognised as Parsen Kessecks - also waved to them both as he threw what little he had dug up into his straw basket. Only a mother’s touch could turn what little they salvaged into a hearty meal. Zurena now remembered that this farmer was the same man who had shown Brougg, when they were just boys, the tricks he’d learnt from his own Pa on how to tame the farm animals they lived alongside. Brougg still had the hoof-shaped scar on his shoulder as proof of his first attempt to calm Parsen’s horse all those years ago. This story Brougg had told Zurena often during her childhood. His boyish stubbornness to overcome his failure had led him to becoming a quite well respected horsehand in Outer City. He also claimed the lashings he took from his own Pa due to the expense of the practitioners hurt more than the injury itself. She was never quite sure whether to take that in jest or as a true moment of vulnerability from her Pa. His career he took great pride in - and had not changed since his daughter’s newfound high status.
‘Deif…’ She cursed just quietly enough for Brougg not to hear. The song the two children had been singing was the same song her father had sung to her as a child. The tale of the first three katine - Avira, Mae, and Sanviera - touched by the power of the Black Caracal. The story told of their devotion to the Daemon, and their ascension to her domain. Ghia Saephi. The innocence of belief was a nostalgic feeling to reminisce upon, yet it still left a sick taste in her mouth when the memory was over.
Zurena gave a weak wave, embarrassed she had not recognised the man who had taught her how to track the prints of a fox when she was just eight years old. A disrespectful act one would not get away with so easily within the gossiping walls of Inner City. She turned away from the family to watch her father Brougg behind her rolling a hay bale further up the field they stood on. The metal crossbow on his back made a heavy and emetic clattering against the bone of his spine. Breaking away from her spiral of thoughts, she soon followed.
‘Suppose this in’t much in comparison with your hunt up north now is it?’
Zurena had been so long in her own mind for so long she struggled to remember what she and Brougg had travelled there to do. Her father had a sharp eye, and a sharper mind still.
‘We can always go back if yer feelin’ a bit out of sorts Zuri.’ There were layers to Brougg’s tone. Zurena felt the guilt of her inattentiveness towards the man who raised scratching at her conscience. She’d been away several years, and her Pa was simply excited to have his only child back home with him. He would never say it plainly - but she often caught the hints of his worries for her safety on the ventures she went out on across the continent. .
‘You mustn’t overexert yourself father. That’s plenty far enough.’
The greyed man stopped and turned to Zurena with mild amusement.
‘Inner City’s made my girl as prim and proper as their own now has it? Couple years ago I were your Pa!’ Brougg’s deafeningly hoarse laughter echoed across the open plains. A hearty orchestra in which you could hear his lifetime of mead drinking, horse handling, and anédum oil smoking play their part within. His heavy hand playfully shook Zurena by the shoulder before he turned and began to roll the bundled straw further, stopping a couple dozen more feet ahead of where she stood. He turned the bale to face the painted side towards them both and walked back to where she stood - dry reeds snapping beneath his weathered boots.
‘Shame ‘bout these crops for Parsen,’ had his steps become heavier since she last saw him? ‘But ‘least it gives us a range for target practice for now.’
She lightly grunted in agreement as she unstrapped her own crossbow from her back and began to load her first bolt.
‘What metal are these made from again? Hefty little bugger.’
‘Salledon Steel.’ she curtly replied as she aimed her first shot and quickly fired.
‘Bullseye! As expected of my Zuri,’ Brougg shouted with pride as he smiled to his daughter, ‘bet that snowbear didn’t know what hit him!’
‘I killed her with a spear Pa,’ she corrected frankly, stepping aside to give Brougg space to line his shot.
‘My sincerest apologies, m’lady.’
‘Accepted… Are you aiming for the target?’ Zurena couldn’t help but smirk as she watched the metal bolt veer off to the left of the bale with a whistle in the wind before sticking itself into a bogged canal.
Brougg went on to blame the weight of the foreign metal for every shot that missed the hay bale until the sun took pity upon the fields and began to retreat itself beneath the horizon.
The smell of anédum oil clouded the air as Brougg lit his pipe on their walk back to the gates.
‘Why don’t they call you the Bullseye Hunter?’ he asked between puffs.
After a moment of rumination, Zurena decided that it was likely her reputation as a non-believer that separated her from the crowd amongst the upper-echelon of the Inner City. Besides, she would never let herself be known as something so self-involved and unbecoming. Her craft was centred around her ability to source and preserve, not her ability to kill. In truth, Zurena took many names. Which was used often depended on who you were to ask the question. Inner City knew her as Pagan Poacheress. A title planted to her reputation with a sting from those in the Inner City who were both amused and unnerved by her lack of faith in Daemons. If you journeyed up north-west, into the otienese rainforests where most of her pelts were sourced, the sun-hunters there would spit at mention of her kind. She supposed that was name enough.
This seemed to be answer enough for her father as he continued to smoke in silence for a few more moments until another question bubbled its way to the surface.
‘So them aches in there,’ Brougg pointed to her forehead, ‘have you thought anymore about going to a seer yet? I’m sure there are plenty around Inner City as well.’
"Absolutely not,” her reply was uncomfortably curt, ‘I refuse to pay coin for their theatrics.’
‘Your mother cured me of my tremble.’
‘She got you hooked on anédum and made you pay her a premium to send it overseas.’
‘And do I tremble? I do not. So I thank her and Xalón’s guidance for allowing me to continue the job that kept a roof above your head for so long.’ The call of birds retreating to their nests acted as a call to arms as Zurena and Brougg’s words began to cut through the air between them. Trills and chirps of a miniature nocturnal orchestra cheered on the conflict brewing before them.
‘I’m sure she thanks your pockets for paying for her plentiful visits to bordellos.’
Brougg puffed again at his pipe.
‘We all have our vices.’
‘Weaknesses, you mean. She exploits you - admit it. All she has ever cared about is coin and sex.’ The heat of Zurena’s hatred for her so-called gifted mother had always somehow managed to break through her stoicism like a festering virus in the beginnings of a hot fever.
‘No practitioner in this Outer City could help me, yet your mother did.’
Like a true believer, Brougg’s faith was an immovable force. Yet Zurena did not back down in the face of confrontation - even with Pa.
‘She disgusts me.’
‘She brought you into this world, Zuri.’
‘And I look forward to the day in which she leaves it. As I always have and always will.’
Brougg held his pipe in his mouth without taking in a breath as he looked towards the sky that had darkened. Not quite enough to camouflage the Black Moon amongst its vastness.
‘I might never know how to change how you feel. . .’ He no longer spoke with an edge, his introspective moment had softened his demeanour, ‘and you may never understand what I mean when I say I’ve made peace with your mother. The same way I made peace with your choice to no longer believe in the Daemons.’
Zurena had had quite enough of this routine debacle. It seemed each time she came to visit her father, old wounds just couldn’t help but remind people of the pain they felt when they were newly bled. Yet she could never resist getting the last word in.
‘To pick favourites amongst their believers is a privilege unbecoming of a true omnibenevolent being. Even more so, to choose someone who lies for their own gain and steals money from the less fortunate as a bestowed is an atrocity in itself.’
Zurena’s intolerance of those above was unwavering in strength as Brougg’s own belief..
‘Deif zal-hé Daemons, father.’
Although she expected a reaction, her words had not even managed to break even his stride. His head did not turn to look down upon her, and his inhale was as steady as the breath that formed the coming clouds.
Walking back to the walls had felt both new and familiar. She remembered how small the soulstone bricks had made her feel when she was a young girl. She would run her fingers along the rough grooves between them but could never reach the fifth row and always caught herself on the same jagged shard that stuck out like a nail-trap each time. Now she could reach the ninth row with ease. If they weren’t approaching the gateguards, perhaps she would have jumped to try and reach even higher. Clad in heavy steel armour and wearing helmets that obscured any sign of humanity within, the guards took one glance towards the emerald crest that donned Zurena’s chestplate before opening the silver gates for herself and Brougg. Her father made brief mention of the surprising ease of entry passing the guards, as he always did. She watched as he refilled his pipe with fresh oil and began to lead the way home.
Zurena was too taken back by the foul state and clanging chorus of the Outer City atmosphere to form any kind of cohesive thought for conversation. The pungent filth of both human and animal invaded her senses. The overworked ground beneath her feet that her leather boots began to sink into. The uninhibited cries, shouts, and wrestling roars of the outerfolk at night. Crowds of drunken men and women swarmed the taverns and stumbled in each direction down the streets. Zurena had to purposefully reign in her curiosity after accidentally turning towards the sounds of not-so-discreet pleasures of the night. They called out from the same alleyways between buildings where buckets full of plague were thrown from upper windows.
She had been spoiled by the cleanliness of the Inner City and isolation of the outside world so much so she could no longer hold the same smile her father so easily donned as he came across familiar faces and gave them his good graces.
This place was where Zurena had been raised by Brougg. The first ever friends she made she had to earn the respect of by pickpocketing tradesfolk in the markets and escaping from guards through alleyways too narrow for a fully grown adult to worm their way into and follow. These were the people that lived at the lowest and outermost levels within the walls of Warrlorn. Life here she now saw was mundane and unpleasant yet, as a child with no true concept of the world around her, she had once found her fun in playful maleficence amongst the bedlam. Throwing rotten food and jagged stones at the armoured men on the outskirts so accurately it bruised their paper-thin egos when their returning fire missed four times over. She competed with the other ruffian children for who could climb the highest up the wall that separated the Outer and Middle City regions before getting spotted and dragged down by even more angered gateguards. Still, she never lost any games or gambles she took and had found joy in her impoverished life in Outer City once. Part of her despised how she could no longer seem to stand simply the sight nor smell of it. As if she had grown too proud to admit this was part of her, the same way the athien of Inner City barely acknowledged Outer City as even part of the capital. They’d much rather claim the largest city of Maedalia to be plentiful and open to opportunities, whilst pushing away any and all outsiders from having even a chance at a legacy. The pagan poacheress had been a unique exemption thanks only to her eccentric sponsorship.
Brougg had declined Zurena’s offer to move him to the Inner City years past, or even the Middle City if he wanted. He claimed he was too stuck in his ways to fit in with the fancies. She’d never pushed the matter further much. Outer City was his home and as much as she loved her father, his proletariat accent and unwaveringly overfamiliar attitude would rub abrasively against the educated. He simply didn’t have the capacity or desire to adapt to their ways. She couldn’t blame him for that. Zurena had been only young, room still for remodelling.
A sudden decoupage of heavy hoofprints upon gnarled earth parted the blundering crowds of people beside Zurena and Brougg as well-adorned stallions made their way hastily towards Middle City’s golden gates. As the explorer turned to look at the riders passing them by, she caught the lead horseman looking back towards her, likely noticing the crest upon her breast. His horse let out a loud cry in contest of his sudden pull of the reins, turning the city folk’s attention to it as it came to an abrupt and rather clumsy halt. As the well adorned and heavily armoured rider jumped down from his companion, Zurena noticed his own crest. The same as she wore. His dismount was far too hasty and he landed with an unpleasant sound in the dirt, sending mud up onto his gilded steel armour, inlay with priceless gems and embossed across the heart with his house sigil. The emerald whitewolf. The man tipped his helm towards Zurena and pulled back his mail coif - revealing his thick head of curly blonde hair as he rested his hand on the matching emerald hilt of his sword strapped to his waist.
‘My dear Zurena!’ he exclaimed with arms now outstretched to embrace. As Zurena stepped forward to receive his affections, Brougg stood away in silence. Pipe still in hand. Burning with indifference.
‘Anzin. It is so lovely to see you again after all these years..’
As people walked by, their gait slowed down to take in the sobering presence of the high-born horse and rider. The others of his entourage had stopped just further uphill. All were facing towards them, spears upright. This was no ordinary Inner City man. Sir Anzin, the head of House Skyne, was a Statesman and one of eleven members of the Royal Circle of Warrlorn. He was perhaps the most influential person in the entire country at this very moment. The man that had been handling Maedalia’s international affairs to prevent the escalations of war with Eidolon. A war in which no country, even beyond their continent, would be spared from loss. No doubt he had just returned from the capital of Eidolon, likely sent by the Circle to lay down conditions in which if the opposing country crossed, Maedalia and her people would be forced to retaliate upon.
Anzin turned his attention to Brougg with a politically wide smile. They had met before, as Anzin needed Brougg’s permission for him to bring Zurena to Inner City to receive education when she was a teenager. Yet Brougg had never seemed to warm to the man, despite his thankfulness towards him for giving Zurena such an opportunity in life. Sir Anzin Skyne was the man who had chosen to sponsor a young and bashful Zurena Pallens from Outer City in whom he saw incredible potential - and had been correct in doing so. Through his wealth and prestige, he was able to grant her everything she needed in order to both pursue and become successful in her passions. Anzin, a devout follower of Kyn, was one believer Zurena had incredible respect for. Her Kyn were not too common in southern Maedalia. The first followers had sailed over from Nadir Island to the east, bringing with them their religion hundreds of years ago. Anzin was a direct descendant of one of the first sailors, and wore the emblem of the whitewolf with unfaltering pride.
‘Brougg - You are looking well my friend. How do you like Octavia’s latest invention?’ Anzin motioned towards the crossbow strapped onto the lowly horsehands back.
‘Heavy.’ he replied, bringing his pipe to his lips and turning away from Anzin as he blew out his clouds.
The statesman’s smile weakened, unable to completely hide his distaste for Brougg’s habit.
After an awkward pause, Anzin turned his attention back to his protégé.
‘Well, I am incredibly glad I caught your crest amongst the crowd! There is much to discuss, and little time to explain but I’m sure this will interest you greatly.’
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Zurena could feel the weight of his excitement in his voice as Anzin remounted his horse. The same horse who had likely been travelling for endless miles through dirt but had managed to keep its mane and coat as clear as the whitelight from the True Moon. The statesman had clearly learned something on his latest political visit that he was desperate to share with Zurena.
She looked towards her father. Brouggs eyes were cast towards the drunken crowds of men laughing by the tavern across the street.
‘Father, D’you mind? I will make sure to visit you again soon.’
He had already begun to make steps towards the crowds where he would soon blend in amongst the bustling indulgence.
‘Just sort that ache out of yours Zuri. Don’t worry about making time - Sounds like you’ll be busy.’
She nodded towards him even though she knew he couldn’t see. Even still a hand rose up to signal a goodbye, a backwards wave from her father before his silhouette was lost within the sea of outerfolk. Anzin reached out an arm to help Zurena up onto horseback before they began the ride towards Inner City.
#
This part of Warrlorn had its own atmosphere that had stuck with Zurena since she first visited in her adolescence.. The great glass ceiling that helmed this part of Warrlorn and the thick marble walls served as physical barriers between Inner City and the rest of the world. There was no rain, no wind, no crowds. The air here was filled deliberately with the scent of fresh lavender and citrus. Air filters had been invented to keep the unpleasant smells of the rest of the capital from reaching its centre. The pathways and roads were clean, as if untrodden upon, and the only brown earth you could see were deliberate patches of fresh vegetable gardens in the gardens to each side. The buildings here were tall, marked with family crests upon their doors and domed with painted metals to reflect the colours of their wealth. Anzin’s own home was beyond the waters of Evym Castle, as was necessary for a member of the Royal Circle. The wide moat encircled the King and his closest allies. A protective barrier with only one drawbridge to cross over which appeared shallow but was in truth as deep as the castle was tall. As was law, you could not travel across the bridge on horseback and so they all had to walk alongside.
As Zurena looked up towards the peak of the royal castle where the metallic gold reflected the true moon’s whitelight, Anzin began to indulge her in his discoveries.
‘Eidolon is a very interesting country. Have you ever spent enough time to notice?’ the statesman asked as they began to make their way across. Either side of the bridge ever few yards stood more and more guardsmen. Watching and scanning each member of the statesman’s group as if any sudden unexpected movement would throw them into action.
With his free hand Anzin calmly brushed the mane of his horse. His other hand leant rested again atop the hilt of his sword.
‘I’ve passed through several times. Only near their borders with Maedalia and never long enough to be noticed. Journeying inland as an outsider alone is too great a risk and I’ve never had need. There aren’t many rare pelts to be found in a land full of dry earth and active volcanoes that are worth risking my life over.’
The country of Eidolon was unforgiving and governed by eristic and powerful people. What they lacked in natural diversity, they made up for in inventive ingenuity and military strength. They had already attempted an invasion of Donbeyr which only failed due to Maedalia’s selfish interference. Now they had their eyes set upon Otienan, and were already pushing at its borders.
‘Really? I thought they’d practically invite you in! You are a fellow pagan after all, even Saffiana prefers you to the rest of us in the Circle.’
The woman Anzin mentioned was both a member of the Royal Circle and an eidolonese inventor. Another unique exception allowed so much status and freedom within Inner City due to the royal families decision. Saffiana Doffreux had been the person responsible for harnessing the thermal energy of Salledon’s active volcano to become a power and heat source for the entire northern half of Eidolon. Not an easy feat to achieve. However, she had fled to Maedalia when their King had attempted to force her to militarise her inventions and she had refused. The result was an incredible high price upon her head that still stood to this day, despite a decade having gone by.
It was also true that ever since the Elivi family had taken over the eidolonese throne nearly a century and a half ago worship of Daemons had been outlawed. King Kraen Elevi, a direct descendant, now commanded from the throne and the punishment of the talented had only grown more and more severe with the years. Rumours had begun to spread on the continent of Eidolon’s secret militia who would hunt down anyone suspected of being talented within their borders, and wipe their existence from any records.
‘I don’t exactly look the part of an eidolonese, sadly.’ Zurena joked, referencing the distinctive characteristics of their country's native people..
‘Thankfully so…I don’t think the innerfolk could cope with two red-eyed pagans within their walls.’
From the satchel strapped to the side of the horse’s saddle Anzin pulled a wrapped parchment, ‘I want you to take a look at this and tell me what you make of it.’ The Statesman unfurled the paper and handed the parchment over to Zurena. She studied it for a few moments before rolling it back up again.
‘A black jaguar. Rare, but nothing special. Who’s commissioned it?’
Anzin gave a satisfied grin, as if hoping that would be her assumption.
‘It’s not a commission my dear. Take another look, and note the annotations. They’ve even named it Jagnoir.’
Curious to find out what Anzin was getting at, Zurena took another look. This was how the statesman liked to play his game. He wanted her to discover something for herself, rather than him telling her what she’s looking for. Around the rather well drawn sketch of the creature were small drawings of various weapons. Spears, arrows, swords. All classic otienese weapons. Beneath each weapon the word ineffective was written repeatedly in oti-berldossian.
‘Is this from a sunhunter?’
Anzin nodded.
‘What was it doing in Eidolon?’
‘It was sourced from a spy I have in Avestakris. The markings on the parchment indicate that this was supposed to reach the hands of King Kraen. There’s rumours his son Prince Demetrius is helping their forces push on the borders with Otienan. My source believes this was sent by him.’
Zurena did not understand. She couldn’t work out what their royal family wanted to do with a sunhunter’s notes about a jaguar they failed to kill. She took another glance at the depiction of the animal, now paying close attention to the detail within its shading. As she squinted her eyes she could see a word forming with its fur. Anzin glanced down at the parchment again.
‘Do you see it now, my dear?’
Zurena stopped in her tracks which led the train of horse and riders behind her to follow suit. Without warning, the ache in her mind came back to bite her from behind the eyes as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
‘Anzin this is ridiculous. Animals can not be talented, nevermind heretics.’
Her expression was unamused. The same she wore as a child when her father hadn’t realised she was too old to still believe in monsters and faeries.
‘So I also thought! But what would that red-eyed royal want with some sunhunter’s farcical parchments if he didn’t have some kind of explanation. Something to make this make sense.’
From his pocket he pulled out a small cow-leather pouch fashioned with green and yellow aéromi pigment. Anzin unbuttoned its clasp to reveal its contents. It held a smal clump of black fur as smooth as the southern tides, no bigger than what could be held in the palms of a child.
‘Hold some of it. I want you to try your best to split the fibres.’
As Zurena grasps with her fingertips at a few strands, the weight of what she held was the first indicator. For what should have been no more noticeable than the weight of a feather upon water, the hairs in her hand were enough to make her slightly strain. She took a bolt from the quiver she strapped to her waist and attempted to split a few hairs using the salledon steeled tips. Upon contact, the once soft and silken hairs immediately stood as stiff as glass fibres. As Zurena applied more pressure, she began to notice that the hairs were beginning to scratch away at the surface of the bolt’s steel.
Anzin motioned for her to return the fur to the pouch and continue walking. Gateguards had begun to stare. Zurena stared at the blemished bolt she held in her hand, completely bewildered by what she had just witnessed. She now understood why Anzin had been so excited to share his discovery. Nothing like this had ever been seen in recorded history.
‘Think of what this means, an arcane animal?’ Anzin couldn’t help but laugh as Zurena’s mind became stuck on the same discovery that he had likely made weeks prior, ‘This could change everything most think is true about talents.’
This was indeed an immense discovery. To be talented meant you had an arcane connection which was said to only be achievable through either channelling daemonic arcana or being chosen to be bestowed by a Daemon itself. However, across the last hundreds years, exceptions to this divine rule had begun to emerge. People capable of wielding arcane talents that had no connection whatsoever to Daemons, some of which were said to have been as powerful as those bestowed by those above. The most famous of these kinds of people, known as Heretics, was named Gurmok Hyaldin. Brougg had told Zurena the story of when he was a boy, a man capable of turning his skin’s heat to that of a volcano’s core at will had used this talent to melt his way through the soulstone walls and had nearly succeeding in reaching and killing the King of Maedalia at the time. Stopped only by the gateguards of the very moat, who were said to have impaled him repeatedly with hundreds of spears in order to reach his heart before he was able to turn them to molten metal. Gurmok was a fisherman who had journeyed from Alsauk, an island that Maedalia had absorbed into their lands as part of their demands of victory after the war of Donbeyr. His attempt on the King’s life was thought to be in retaliation to Maedalia’s deliberate crippling of eidolonese trade-routes with eastern countries that had ruined the livelihoods of the alsauken people and caused widespread poverty across the island. Eidolon had of course claimed no knowledge or involvement of the attack, yet doubt still stood strong amongst Maedalia’s people.
Not all heretics defied Daemons. Within Aérom Citadel’s arcanum, a man named Jouxn Provensen had the talent of seinarcana and was a devout solist. Although the ability to shake the earth was an extremely dangerous and powerful talent, Jouxn had been taught to control his gift by the Masters of the arcanum and had earned his title as a widely respected Mowk himself. Nobody knew exactly where heretics powers came from, or why they had only started appearing in relatively recent times. Most still feared what they represented. An affront to Daemons. A challenge to their belief system. And so, it was encouraged for heretics to not reveal themselves unless they were willing to risk their lives and become the targets of witch-hunts. Aérom Arcanum seemed to be the only place in which they’d been known to exist without challenge on the heavily religious continent of Berldost. Eidolon treated heretics with the same aggression as any other arcanist, and so they too would vanish from view within mere days of discovery.
What Zurena knew for certain was that there were no known records of an arcane animal ever existing. This black jaguar, Jagnoir, was the first of its kind.
‘Are we certain it is not one of the druids of the rainforest?’ Zurena had never had the displeasure of meeting the hidden guardians of Aerom, and hoped she would never have to. She had learned of their existence when planning her first expedition northwards when she had just entered adulthood. Humans bestowed directly by the Daemon of Change - Bontuanti - capable of transforming their bodies into the creatures they hunted.
‘If the notes here are true, then yes.’ Anzin confidently replied, ‘Bontuanti only gave them the ability to alter their bodies. Daemons cannot bestow a power like this.’
As they came to the end of the bridge and remounted their horses, Zurena folded the parchment and placed it back into the satchel.
‘Do we know if this creature is intelligent?’ She shouted through the wind and above the noise of thundering hooves against the roads.
Anzin shook his head, ‘We know no more than it exists in Otienan, and that Eidolon is looking for it as we speak.’
A race against time, it seemed. Anzin had clearly involved her in this discovery because her skills and experience were invaluable for a situation like this.
‘How do we know they don’t already have Jagnoir?’
‘Because we haven’t been invaded yet!’
Intelligent or not, it was obvious to even a common outerfolk that this invincible creature had the capability of turning the tides of any war. Even the eidolonese crown would forgo their tradition of persecuting the talented if it meant they could win every war henceforth. Zurena couldn’t help but be thankful of how lucky they had been that a human had not been born with this talent, if it was indeed random chance that determined who and what became a heretic.
Like a dagger through flesh, her ache struck true once again at her mind. It seemed to only rear its unwelcome head after the sun had set - as if determined to deny her from as much rest as possible. Her head leant forward into Anzin’s back as they neared his home.
‘Zurena?’ The steed slowed down its pace as the statesman looked over his shoulder in concern.
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted as she pressed a palm to her eye to apply some relief, ‘Just pains of the mind..’
As they stopped outside Anzin’s grand home, practically a small castle of his own, he helped her down from his horse. The entourage that had followed dispersed to take their positions around the territory for the night.
‘My dear Zurena, let me call for Khowyn. We can’t have you like this when there is so much to achieve.’
The explorer wanted to object, but the pain began to split her words apart before she could have a chance to speak them. As Anzin supported her with an arm whilst they walked to his grand doors, her vision slowly began to unblur back into focus.
‘How long have you been like this?’
‘I don’t know… Not too long. I just need a moment to rest.’
The white doors gracefully swung open and a familiar face welcomed the explorer into their home. An unmistakable vision of beauty and eminence.
‘Lady Gysae,’ Zurena greeted her in a formal embrace.
The lady of the house held her there for much longer than formalities permitted.
‘You’ve been gone too long my sweet child, we’ve all missed you dearly.’
Lady Gysae had always pampered Zurena, more than happy to welcome her into their family and had treated her as if she were their own child. She wiped away a loose tear with a gloved-hand before recomposing herself and inviting them both inside. She embraced her husband in a similar fashion and led Zurena down the hallway.
‘Come now. Octavia will be thrilled to see you again.’
Lady Gysae was the epitome of regal. Her emerald silken gown denoted House Skyne whilst the golden circlet fitted neatly into her amber curls donned the impressive falcon-crest of her bloodline. Despite her marriage to Anzin, she did not take his name during the ceremony. As was tradition for those of royal lineage. She remained Lady Gysae Evym. Younger sister to King Tonir Evym of Maedalia. Zurena had only met one other person born into such privilege and with such pure heart. Octavia Skyne. Anzin and Lady Gysae’s daughter and the famed inventor Zurena had been working closely alongside since her sponsorship.
Before she had earned enough to purchase her own property, this had been Zurena’s home for several years. Everything had remained impossibly intact, just as immaculate as she had remembered. Wide hallways with pure white tiled floors, pillars and ceilings made of luchisian almond marble that had been deliberately cracked and fixed with ethereal golden joinery. A home only an obscene amount of wealth could afford. The building may have been generations old, but Anzin and Octavia had made sure to respect and care for it as an extension of themselves. A symbol of pride and establishment.
Sat at the dinner table which had been laden with a feast enough to feed a village was Octavia Skyne who hadn’t yet noticed anybody enter the room as she had her goggle-covered eyes transfixed on the pieces of metal she studied with her chisel before her.
‘Octavia, stop dirtying the tablecloth with your tools and welcome back your sister.’
‘Just a moment Mother, I’ve almost found -’ The reality of Lady Gysae’s words finally pulled her daughter’s eyes away from her project as she leapt up from her chair and hurriedly came over to hug Zurena.
Much was exchanged without need for words as the two best friends welcomed each other's company again after so many years apart. Octavia looked almost an exact mirror of her mother if you ignored the way she dressed like a blacksmith and wore goggles that made her eyes look almost three times larger than they really were.
Just like their home, her sponsor’s family hadn’t changed at all either. Anzin was still an eccentric diplomat with outlandish, Lady Gysae was still a Queen at heart, and Octavia was still the same girl who had shown Zurena how to create a bow and arrow from a bundle of sticks and metal scraps with a hammer and a nail. Except now, Octavia was a master weaponsmith who had earned the crest of House Skyne’s placement on the blade of every sword of Warrlorn’s gateguards.
A heavy sound resonated throughout the household before the doors swung open once again. Light conversation echoed down the hallway as Anzin and another face Zurena somewhat recognised joined them at the dining table.
‘Zurena, Khowyn is here to see you. It’ll just take a moment.’ Anzin’s voice was instilled with the loving concern of a father, and the explorer hadn’t the heart to turn him away. She decided she could endure the blathering of a xalóni channeler if it meant putting Anzin’s mind at rest over her afflicitons.
Promising to rejoin them after the session, Zurena parted from Octavia and Lady Gysae and followed Khowyn to a separate room in which he could do his readings.
‘How are you feeling Ms Pallens? I imagine you are quite exhausted after your expedition to The Navikyrlands. How long were you away again?’ Khowyn’s attempt at encouraging conversation was typical of his kind. They wanted you to answer your own questions for yourself, she believed. Yes, maybe she was tired and had pushed herself too far on her expeditions. Maybe that could have been the cause of her aches. Maybe it was her body having to adjust to the temperature and then readjust back to normality that had caused a shift in her psyche and prevented her from being able to sleep a full night since. These were all things that this Seer wanted her to say, but she would not play his game.
‘I’m well. It was nothing out of the ordinary, actually. I quite enjoyed the solitude of the ice mountains.’
Khowyn watched her with inquisitive eyes as his hand reached to scratch at his beard. He was quite young for an Inner City Seer. No more than a few years on herself.
‘May I do a reading?’ he asked suddenly. Zurena was quite surprised his questions had ended so early. Perhaps he had understood her unwillingness to co-operate from her reputation, or perhaps he wanted it to be over as quickly as she did.
She nodded her head as he came forward and held her palm in his own, turning hers down and holding his face up beneath. She watched Khowyn’s face as his eyes closed and he began to concentrate.
Like a sailor at sea directing his ship using the stars, lines of blue light began to spread out slowly from where their palms connected. Stretching out in straight lines before reaching a pressure point and altering their trajectory. As the lines began to creep upwards towards Zurena’s head she could feel her heartbeat quicken. She had not allowed anybody to use xalóni talent on her since she was a child. Memories of her mother flickered past her vision. Images of her entire body being covered in white lines that lit up the room in the dark of the night. Her mothers words echoing out, the sounds overlapping so she couldn’t discern the words she was saying.
As the lights reached her neck, they came to a sudden halt and began to flicker haphazardly. Noticing the sudden shift in energy, Khowyn opened his eyes to reveal they were glowing in the same blue light that now covered Zurena’s body from the neck down.
‘How strange. I can’t seem to reach your mind. . . Although I’ve never tried channelling for a pagan.’
‘Nobody has ever reached me,’ Zurena explained, yet her heartbeat was still rising at the sign of the lights, ‘Xalóni talent just doesn’t work on me.’
Without warning and as if responding to the invasive arcana, her mind began to ache once again. This time the pain was even greater than on the bridge before and began to spread from her mind to her eyes. Creeping down her spine.
Khowyn watched as his talent began to recede with haste against his own will. As if protecting himself, he removed his hand and severed the connection.
‘How did you do that?’
‘I’m not doing anything.’ The pain now clawed at her vision and the room darkened as if she were temporarily blinded. Her mother’s voice returned once again, encircling her like vultures above a soon-to-be carcass. As she tried to concentrate through the pain to attempt to discern what torments she was being hounded with, she began to realise that the voice she heard was not that of her mother, but of something entirely foreign. Someone she had never heard before. The voice spoke in whispers, and then shouts. Then both at once, then silence. Until finally, Zurena was able to make sense of a phrase within the noise. Although she couldn’t understand the words she was hearing, she somehow made sense of its meaning.
Obey me, my weapon.
The fear shocked her system back into reality as her vision reintroduced her back into the room, across from Khowyn who was now standing away from her. He had clearly been spooked by her body’s resilience to his talent. That part had not scared the poacher. The alien voice she had heard speaking in a language she had never known, yet had somehow translated in her own mind, was what scared her.
‘I simply don’t believe. You can tell Anzin I’m fine but your talents can’t help me.’ Her words were meant to assure the Seer, but partly herself too. She couldn’t make sense of what had happened. But, despite her confusion and concern, she couldn’t let this get in the way of her next objective.
‘You’re right,’ Khowyn admitted, ‘I can’t help you. I think you need a xalóni Mowk.’
Angered seethed through the gaps in Zurena’s clenched teeth.
‘I think you need to leave. You have clearly never met a true pagan before. We don’t need you, and you don’t want to anger me. I don’t answer to your idol.’
It was mostly a fruitless threat, but enough to scare away the Seer. No doubt he would spread the story of his encounter with her amongst Inner City. Zurena couldn’t care what he said as long as it was outside of her earshot. Khowyn took his things, readjusted his shawl, and left the room and Zurena in lonely silence. She let out a heavy sigh as she leaned back in her chair and attempted to wipe the experience from her mind. Yet she couldn’t overcome that feelin she felt when she heard those words. Almost like complete powerlessness. As if she had no choice but to Obey. But who it was she did not understand and truthfully speaking did not want to find out. The only thing she obeyed was herself. No voice in her mind likely planted there by corrupt believers could change that about her, no matter how much they tried. That, she was sure of.
As she made sure no signs of her aches were going to return any time soon, she left the room and rejoined her adopted family for dinner. It seemed Khowyn had promptly left after their session. Anzin made no mention of him or Zurena’s affliction, instead focusing on discussing the plans to find Jagnoir over their meal. Octavia tossed in her willingness to contribute inventions towards its capture, whilst Lady Gysae reprimanded her husband for trying to send Zurena away again as soon as she had returned home. In truth Zurena had originally thought to stay home for a couple months to recover from her aches. Her encounter with Khowyn and Anzin’s discovery had given her more than reason enough to change her mind. She was already committed to beating the eidolonese in the discovery and capture of the heretic beast. Even more alluring was Anzin’s offer to put her forward as a candidate for the Royal Circle if she were to succeed. The statesman was sure they could not refuse her after such a feat.
To be born of Outer City, and a pagan through and through on the Royal Circle would be an incredible feat within itself. There was no greater a time than doing so than now with the encroaching war with Eidolon.
Zurena spent that sleepless night drafting routes through Aérom Rainforest and making minor adjustments to the schematics that Octavia had sketched up at the dinner table for traps capable of possibly capturing an unkillable beast.
To capture the first heretic beast and become part of the Royal Circle. Perhaps that would be a satisfying legacy.