Dawn’s light bathed Dytifrourá. Hills, forests, and the great valley were all awash in the sun’s golden core as it bled across the vast horizon and softened into a vibrant orange, hearty red, and eventually scattered beneath the dark mountains in a haze of violet and lavender.
Spectral Oroneiros, ever watching, towered over it all in the distance.
Sweet morning air filled his nostrils with every breath, suffused with the scent of fir and pine. The faint smell of decaying leaves and earth were comforting to Kosta, punctuated by the crisp breeze.
And Clymere, ever grumpy in the mornings, complained incessantly.
“I’m all for making the most of the day, but getting up at this hour is just indecent. Most of the birds are still asleep!”
“Not everyone wishes the day started at noon.”
“Smart people do.”
Kosta rolled his eyes.
“And why are we sitting here anyways? Shouldn’t we be off roaming the hills or something to find some phaetra?”
He ignored her pestering. Instead, Kosta knelt at the base of the great tree that watched over this section of the forest. They were only a mile or so outside Dytifrourá’s walls, still in sight of the town from this hill, but Kosta would go no further without adhering to his little ritual.
Kosta cast his eyes upward to admire the dendrac tree. It stood tall and proud in the dawn’s light, rising up two hundred feet to tower above the rest of the forest. Not a single warp or imperfection marred its great trunk. An enormous canopy of straight branches projected out into a vast network which supported hundreds of birds, squirrels, insects, and dozens of other species which fed upon the golden berries that sprouted from its shimmering flowers.
The dendrac blazed like a bronze beacon in the summer months. Whenever the sun struck its brass bark, the light would scatter across the mountainside until dusk fell. Even then, the moon’s light sometimes lent it a ghostly hue that illuminated the town itself. The tree held power in its brass form… but more than that, Kosta could always find inspiration at its base.
Its bark boasted the hue and consistency of bronze, laced with fine patterns of filigree that mirrored the intricate knots of its branches, and even a strong man with mighty tools would be unable to fell it. Roots of the same hardness extended out from its base to delve deep within the earth. Several nearby boulders had been broken into far smaller pieces by the passing of the root tips, ground down and split as they grew.
The dendrac was truly beautiful, another of the natural world’s brilliant gems.
Even the forest floor was gold, layered thick with a fine coating of the dendrac’s brass leaves. Some of their luster had faded away with their separation from their progenitor, but even now they shone beautifully in the faint sunlight that pierced the forest canopy to glitter across their surface.
He knelt before it and laid a reverent hand against the tree’s enormous base. The metallic bark was cool with morning mist, but he knew from experience that by noon it would grow searing hot. As always, Kosta fed a little offering of his own magic to the tree. Whatever consciousness it possessed considered it sluggishly, then drank the power up after a moment just as most trees sipped upon lifegiving water.
Kosta felt the enormity of its presence grow warm, though his meager offering might only have stirred its vast appetite rather than sate it. It might have been a trick of the light, but Kosta swore that its bark’s brass hue gained a few tiny streaks of gold.
Clink.
Clymere poked the tree with her spear tip. Even apeironic bronze had no hope of scratching the surface of something like the dendrac’s armored bark.
“It’s very pretty. You know what would make it even better though?” Clymere grinned. Flames crawled up the length of her spear and swirled around the conductive tip. The light cast her face into stark relief, and Kosta suddenly found the little burst of inspiration that he’d hoped for.
Perhaps it was just coincidence, but at that moment a chattering squirrel hopped from branch to branch high above. The strain must have been too much for the dendrac’s bronze limbs (doubtful) as one of their small, straight ends succumbed to the earth’s call and fell down to conk Clymere on her bare head.
“Hey!” She waved her spear at the tree, but wisely extinguished the flames as she barely dodged another fallen branch. That squirrel must have been quite well fed. “I was just kidding! Ugh.”
Clymere hurriedly tossed her helmet on before another branch could come for her. The silvery plume flared to life and burst from the helmet’s top like a ghostly flame as it fed upon her power.
Kosta stood tall and dipped his head to the dendrac once again.
“You deserved that.”
“Maybe.” Clymere grumbled. She clutched her spear tighter. “Now maybe I’m just biased, but I really think that damn tree would look better on fire. Stop it!” She dodged a berry tossed by a squirrel with surprisingly adept aim. Those berry casings were shaped from the same metallic substance as the bark, so she’d made a good choice.
“What else is new? You think everything would look better on fire.” Kosta brushed the damp earth from his knees and wrinkled his nose distastefully as he realized a bit of the brass hue of the dendrac’s fallen leaves had stained his chiton. At least it was pretty.
After a moment’s consideration, he took his dirt-covered hands and wiped them on Clymere’s linothorax armor. He laughed at her protests and dodged a lazy punch.
Clymere shook it off.
“Don’t hate me because I’m right. Anyways, let’s get going. We don’t want to get stuck out here at night,” Clymere said as she glanced distrustfully into the deeper portions of the forest. Nothing foul lived so close to Dytifrourá (unless it wished to be hunted and slain by a cackling Clymere) but you never knew what might stray nearby. “Let’s not tempt the beasties.”
“That shouldn’t be necessary. Phaetra only blooms during the day regardless. It’ll retreat beneath the earth once the sun falls.”
His sister nodded as they set off into the mountains. Kosta trained himself to be aware of their surroundings, even if Clymere assured him that nothing too dangerous would come around these parts. It was difficult not to drift away into daydreams whenever he caught sight of a beautiful view or statuesque tree, but Clymere had beaten the importance of remaining alert into his head.
It was because of that extra care that he caught Clymere’s stiff movements. She moved like the crone Isidora, all stiff and shambling. Now that he really looked at her, even her face, normally painted with an easy smile, was pinched and weary. Dark rings circled her green eyes. Faint bruises mottled her olive skin.
All in all, she looked awful.
“I didn’t realize that my sister had been replaced by a shambling corpse,” Kosta said. “Did Headsman Linus put you through the paces again?”
“He’s been drilling us hard. It’s the only reason that I have today off.” It must have been bad if even she sounded miserable. Clymere wasn’t one to shy away from hard work and long hours on the training field. “The Hesperians have been testing Fort Phylax recently. Raids, merchants harassed, dead goats covered in shit flung at the wall… the usual.”
Kosta’s nose wrinkled. “Unpleasant.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Headsman Linus is selecting a handful of us to support the garrison there. I don’t mind the rest, but if a dead goat even touches me I’m going to burn everything west of Phylax to the ground.”
What amusement he felt died down the moment he considered the full ramifications of her words. “You’re leaving Dytifrourá?”
He stepped over a knotted tangle of bronze roots which encircled a plain grey stone as they descended the dendrac’s mountain. There was no point scanning the earth for the bloom of the phaetra stone here. It would only rise where sunlight broke past the canopy dayround, and the dendrac ensured only a few lucky rays broke past its leaves.
Clymere groaned as she forced her weary limbs over the same knot. Part of Kosta wondered whether she should even have accompanied him today, but Clymere never would have offered if she wasn’t in fighting shape.
“I still haven’t told Mama or Papa. They’ll just worry.”
“Well I’m not telling them,” Kosta said. “Papa just said he’d write me a recommendation. I’m not poking the bear now.”
Smoke billowed from Clymere’s nostrils. “He did?!” She whipped around to grin at him, all hints of exhaustion wiped away. “That’s amazing, Kosta! I’m so happy for you.”
His heart felt lighter as Clymere, delighted by his news, continued to press him with a dizzying avalanche of questions until he felt as if his brain would burst. “Well, it’s not done yet.”
Clymere didn’t quite droop, but some of her enthusiasm bled away. “I should have guessed. It’s Papa we’re talking about. He could squeeze blood from a stone.”
Kosta’s lips curled. “He is. I have to create a masterwork for him.”
“For Papa?” Clymere winced. She was distracted enough that her helmet smashed through a gossamer net of spider web, though she burned it away with an errant flicker of power. It went up in a brief flash of flame and gossamer strands of curling smoke.
“For Papa,” Kosta confirmed. Dread pooled in his gut just at the thought of offering up a piece for his father to purview, but Kosta forced himself to brush it off and look at the bright side. At least he had a direction now! His dream was in reach, even if it felt like climbing a mountain with nothing but his bare hands.
He winced when Clymere thumped him on the shoulder with her free hand. “You’ll do it,” she said with utmost confidence. “You always do.”
Kosta cracked a smile as he ducked an overhanging branch. Their conversation reduced to a dull murmur as they left the safety of the dendrac’s mountain and found themselves fully outside the protection of the town.
Great forests, chiseled peaks, and the blue veins of waterways rolled out beyond them.
Dytifrourá cleared most vegetation or significant obstacles like boulders within the valley proper in order to open up the entire expanse to their sentries’ gaze, but out here there was no such precaution. The militia maintained various outposts upriver of the Ischyrópota in order to guard the town against the interference of the Hesperians, but Kosta and Clymere were far from their town’s watchful eye.
Danger potentially lurked behind every corner. Each of the countless trees which dotted these mountains with green and gold and white offered a new threat. Most were home to simple creatures: scurrying rodents, a thousand varieties of singing birds, fleet-footed deer which would scatter at a glance if you stumbled upon them, and a handful of great predators.
They had nothing to fear from mundane creatures. Many possessed some sort of magic inherent to their being, of course. Some waxed in power thanks to the proximity of a natural wonder or a mighty artifact. Quite a few beasts near towns and large cities grew cunning and wise far beyond their inborn limits, but such intelligence often led them to range far from civilization.
Lynx and even bears (except perhaps a she-bear with cubs) would keep far from Kosta and Clymere, especially if Clymere conjured up light, flame, and smoke.
Kosta supposed that most humans would stay far from her after a display like that as well. The smart ones, anyways.
It wasn’t unheard of for a rogue cyclops to stumble upon these lands. They normally clung to each other in great mountain conclaves to the distant west, but occasionally an exile was forced east. Dytifrourá’s militia often encouraged them to move on, but particularly stubborn ones might linger and make a habit of robbing travelers.
They rarely lasted long after that.
Kosta had even seen a minotaur once! Clymere had firmly steered him away from the Lifestitch Aretan’s inhuman child and marked the location for Headsman Linus the moment that they’d returned to the safety of Dytifrourá.
Clymere wasn’t one to stray from a fight, but Kosta understood her caution in this instance. The minotaur was massive. It stood nearly twice the height of a man and was built like a mountainside to boot. Rippling muscle flexed with every movement, punctuated by the sheer strength of its barrel chest, broad shoulders, and arms so thick and corded with muscle that even Headsman Linus was put to shame. Every inch of the monster was blanketed in a short fuzz of roan fur.
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The minotaur rippled with tightly coiled power just waiting to be unleashed. Kosta feared to imagine what it might do with that great bronze hammer that it lugged around.
But as fearsome as it was, what had unsettled Kosta most was the oddly human face set in the bestial bull’s head. Its bright, alert eyes had been framed by curled horns black as night and the great, snuffling nose of a bull set in its center. That dichotomy had fascinated him and inspired more than one piece.
Clymere still had a minotaur model somewhere in her quarters… then again, Clymere never threw out any of his gifts. He’d started to give them more carefully and less frequently for fear of her room in the barracks overflowing with sculptures, statues, and random projects born from bouts of obsession.
Only an hour or so had passed before they found themselves in a small meadow bathed in the early morning sun. Such a sight immediately piqued Kosta’s interest and he hastened. “Come! Come! This is a perfect spot.”
A few deer milled around grazing, but took one look at Kosta and Clymere as they broke through the trees and dashed away.
Beautiful.
He admired their graceful forms as they fled and committed the moment to memory. Frustrating as these mountain expeditions could be at times, little things like this made it all worth it. Every moment spent outside the walls of Dytifrourá offered potential. Life within the walls was often static and routine. Weeks could slip away as if mere seconds.
The outside was rife with danger. Every moment was unique, full of potential threat but also potential beauty. One misstep could force you into confrontation with some unseen monster or treacherous terrain. The likelihood of those mishaps trained him to watch more sharply than he ever would in the safety of the town, and by watching sharply he gained ever more insight into form and shape and function, all the beautiful things that made the world work.
“There’s some!” Clymere broke him from his reverie. She beamed and dashed across the meadow to a glittering collection of sunbathed flowers. She peered closer and groaned. “Ugh. I don’t think there’s enough to be useful. Maybe next year.”
Kosta trusted Clymere’s judgment, but still paused to check the phaetra over. The stones were brilliant in the sunshine, its floral structure bright as polished rubies, but its immediate beauty was overshadowed by disappointment at the lode’s immature size.
Phaetra was an odd stone, colored like a gloriously molten rose with deep veins of white and gold laced throughout. The enchanted stone was frustratingly demanding to work with. Whereas any mundane stone would eventually yield to Kosta’s well-trained magic, the power infused into the phaetra by the sun’s rays and whatever place of power it grew upon would enable the phaetra to resist his attempts to alter its form. Phaetra tended to bloom in sites of valor: a meadow where a great beast had been felled, the blood-stained stones of a battlefield, or the place of a last stand.
Wherever magical blood had been spilled and the sun’s rays struck, phaetra thrived.
Despite the stubborn nature of the material, phaetra was well worth the trouble of seeking out. Ordinary stone had its own virtues. Great enchantments could be worked into them to imbue the material with a myriad of effects, but such power would often fade over time unless maintained. Everything desired to return to its own nature. Eventually whatever magic had been invested into the rock would be rejected.
Phaetra held a font of its own power. A good phaetra corestone could sustain enchantments indefinitely with minimal oversight. The bigger the core, the more potent the magic it could feed. As such it was perfect for longstanding works such as the wardstone that Linus desired from Kosta.
The phaetra’s magic didn’t always play nicely with certain enchantments, but a creative and clever mind could find ways to bridge that gap.
Thankfully, phaetra was reliably harvested. Otherwise Kosta might never have the opportunity to lay hands upon such a useful material. The great powers would have stockpiled it all and hoarded it like a drakon. No, phaetra generally accumulated in vast sheets, almost like rose-gold moss. Little cores of harvested magic would climb above the initial layer, then bloom to unfold into new layers of phaetra.
Almost all lodes were too small to be useful, but phaetra could be gathered year after year from the same source if one took the care to harvest it with restraint. Most collectors weren’t so delicate. Phaetra was a prize for greedy hunters and woodsmen, who would often tear entire sheets up to extract immediate profit.
As someone who didn’t want to spend a small fortune each year, Kosta resolved to find his own sources. Such hunts were time-consuming and involved Kosta owing regular favors to Clymere, but it was a worthy investment.
He would never stray into these forests without her protection.
Kosta measured the phaetra with a glance. “Too small,” he sighed with only a hint of disappointment. Dytifrourá had received a great influx of settlers in recent years as the Dipoli pushed westward. It was good for business, but it meant that pickings had been scarce.
Few pushed deeply into the woods, however. Delicate little colonies of the rosy stone had sprung up all over the place, but the molten sheets were too juvenile to develop the buds that Kosta needed. “Let’s move on.”
“We’ll be back for you next year,” Clymere said as she jabbed her spear threateningly at the tiny stone buds. They didn’t react. “I’m watching you, you little bastards.”
Surprisingly, they didn’t react to that either. The undeveloped phaetra bloom just glittered cheerfully in the morning sun, greedily drinking up the radiant light.
Kosta pointed up at a nearby peak that towered a little higher than the rest, although it was little more than an anthill in comparison to faded Oroneiros. “Let’s see if we can find a good vantage point there,” Kosta said. “We don’t need to climb all the way, but we might be able to see a few open spots where phaetra’s likely to bloom. Do you have the map?”
“Duh,” Clymere said. She tapped a jeweled bracelet bound tightly to her wrist. It was a fine little piece of expert craftsmanship that she’d managed to pick up in the market last year. Smoke billowed from Clymere’s nostrils as power flooded her, then the jewel shone red. After a moment, a hazy projection of Dytifrourá’s topography materialized in the air.
It was always satisfying to watch the spectral hills and mountains unfold from the bracelet. The town itself was just a small dot in the center, but the bracelet tracked their exploration quite effectively. There were many blank sections in the map - it only tracked places they had been, although visiting merchants boasted of similar items that could model the entire continent, or at least Seltgi itself, with amazing accuracy.
There were helpful little markers that they’d made in the past. Most were just relics of Clymere’s militia expeditions - monster dens, abandoned ruins, anything that could be useful to the town, really - but she’d maintained a few for the resources that Kosta so frequently needed as well.
Clymere tapped a tiny crystal embedded on the bracelet’s bottom. Several orange dots blazed to life in the projection. “I swung by a few of the spots we discovered last year on a hunting trip—discreetly!” Clymere said hurriedly as Kosta scowled. “Most have been picked over. I’ve saved the ones that may be useful in the future, but I doubt they’re ready now.”
Kosta groaned. Damn vultures! “So we really do have to find a new source. Wonderful.”
Clymere swung an arm around his shoulders and jostled him, ignoring his tone that said he found the situation anything but. “Isn’t it? Think of all the family bonding opportunities! Mama and Papa will be so jealous.”
“Papa wouldn’t give a damn if it meant keeping him from his work—”
“Oh wow, I wonder who that reminds me of?”
“—and Mama will have a conniption if she hears about us venturing beyond the walls.” Kosta ignored Clymere’s little jibe. Given the endless hours she spent training, on patrol, or hunting dangers in the wilds, she had zero room to talk. “So no, I don’t think they’ll be very jealous.”
They kept their conversation hushed as they ventured deeper and deeper into the mountains. While the potential danger of their surroundings pressed in constantly, Kosta felt almost as relaxed as when he was in his workshop. A little block of clay kept his hands busy, and so long as his hands were busy his mind could stay at peace.
Clymere and Kosta were able to seek out a few more phaetra lodes exposed to the sun, but all were practically newborn, only just beginning to form their secondary sheets. Phaetra wasn’t safe to sustainably harvest until its stalks approached the quaternary level.
But at least they could mark the locations and return at a later date. It was still in the early days of spring, fresh from the winter snows and spring equinox, so perhaps by summer the phaetra might have bloomed to an acceptable extent. Harvesting phaetra was normally a question of years, not months, but occasionally a lode developed quickly if given the proper conditions.
Phaetra colonies remained stagnant during winter. The spring equinox marked the beginning of their growth, which would continue to wax until the summer solstice. From there it would still expand (albeit at a glacially slow crawl) until the fall equinox.
Its growth would be stymied until the warm beginnings of spring and the cycle would begin anew.
By early afternoon Kosta’s legs burned, his mood had begun to sour, and a foul concoction of sweat, dust, and tree resin had coated his hands and arms. Perhaps it was his fault for seeking out trees to carve wood samples from (and save himself a bit of coin at the market) but the disgusting sensation of the viscous fluid clinging to his fingers left him in a constant state of irritation.
It would take ages to clean! Perhaps Mama could scour it clean with her abrasive magic, but he was leery of disturbing her. She’d been distant as of late, unwilling to even leave their childhood home without great necessity. Negotiations, business deals, and her constant hunt for a leg up had consumed her for the past few months.
The sun weighed heavily upon them, but Kosta knew that it could fall treacherously fast.
“We probably need to head back,” Kosta said. He couldn’t help but groan at the thought of returning empty handed. “I’ll call in that other expedition you promised me when we have a free day.”
Frustration boiled within him. He needed that phaetra. Kosta had collected a few scraps, but that wouldn’t be sufficient for the keystone. The only other alternative would be the market. Those hawkish merchants would sniff his desperation out in an instant and shave off his future profit!
More importantly, they would delay his goal. They would keep him from Argyropolis. From the great workshops. From his dream of endless creation.
Clymere’s back was turned to him as she led the way through the old hunting trails. Her armor allowed her to plow right through most of the brambles and thorny branches that strayed into the path. Kosta would have been a mess of sweat and sore limbs within an hour of hiking in all that gear, but Clymere seemed unbothered.
She rarely sweated to begin with. The inner fire that sustained her meant even all that thick linen and bronze barely kept her warm enough to be comfortable. Her baths normally consisted of more boiling steam than water.
“It’s getting a bit late,” Clymere acknowledged. She kept pushing forward. “Kosta… how much do you trust me?”
“A little less when you ask a question like that,” Kosta said, then sobered as she sent him a dirty look. “With my life.”
“Good.”
They reached a small open space. It was indistinguishable from the rest of the mountains: a few logs laid about the clearing and a flat stone jutted from the hard-packed soil, while a handful of saplings attempted to sprout up to pierce the canopy above.
Clymere gestured for him to follow as she approached the mundane rock and knelt on one knee. “So trust me on this. We might be able to turn this around. This technique is unfinished. I didn’t want to show this off yet, but…”
With her piece said, Clymere reached into her leather pack and withdrew a small pouch woven of wispy fabric. It appeared so thin and insubstantial that it was almost transparent in the afternoon sun. The contents were only just hidden from his curious eyes.
Clymere took a deep breath and pulled the string to open up the pouch. Kosta recoiled.
“What the hell?”
Ash and little white scraps—bone—spilled over the rock to form a dusty little heap.
Kosta squinted as some of the surviving bones grew recognizable to him. Most of them had been charred and burnt, broken to fragments by great heat, but just enough survived to give him an idea of what he was looking at.
“Clymere, why do you have a dead bird in your pocket and how is it supposed to help us?”
“Shut up and watch.”
He folded his arm, a little disgusted as she brushed her fingers against the mess. Clymere had better not touch him with that hand!
Clymere breathed.
In.
The temperature spiked. A great swell of heat burst from her, banishing the faint mountain chill from Kosta.
Out.
It faded away. Kosta’s skin cried out with disappointment as the blessed warmth vanished.
In.
The heat was sweltering now. A light glow hung about Clymere like a burning cloak. She must have appeared like a beacon to anyone in the distance.
Out.
The mountain’s chill set in again.
As Clymere breathed, a light pressure mounted. It was nothing compared to the gravity of Headsman Linus’ might or the sunlit power of Evanthe’s reassuring presence, but it was power all the same. It was no more than Kosta could muster, yet Clymere’s was so much more vibrant than the expression of his own soul.
Kosta’s magic was slow, steady, and even. His great workings took time, yet they could stand the test of ages.
Clymere? She burned.
Little red flames, delicate and fragile as the little bird’s bones, danced within the ashes. He could only stare as Clymere invested magic deep into the core of those faded remnants of what once was. And as she did, the fire grew.
“My fire stokes your ashes. Burn again!” Clymere declared, voice reverberating with power. With magic.
And it did.
Bones and ash rose. They danced in the air like smoke above a flame, then coalesced and settled into the faint approximation of a little bird. Its shape wavered, indistinct in the rippling air that surrounded it, and formed more the impression or suggestion of a sparrow rather than a true replica.
Its ‘beak’ opened and the crackling of flames filled the air. The fires that danced within its ashen shell raged for a moment, then smoothed out to become a radiant skin for the creature. It hopped once on the stone as if remembering echoes of its old life, spread its wings, and darted into the air.
“Shit!” Clymere barely managed to snuff out the flames of the bird’s passing as cinders scattered from its burning wings and ignited dried leaves, dead wood, and branches. Trails of smoke marked its passing as it darted through the canopy and ascended a short distance into the sky.
“That’s new,” Kosta remarked, tracking it through the sky. Reanimation of any sort was rare, but not unheard of. It could never bring something back in full. All it could beckon forth were echoes. Fragments. Memories disconnected by space, time, and the veil of death.
It was a hollow art, but a useful one. The Dipoli employed it in their Nostan legions, though less pragmatic nations like Kalogi might have frowned on it.
“A little trick I discovered,” Clymere said as she took a deep inhale. “The bird flew into the side of the barracks a few months ago. I tried to help it, but… well, I’m no nurse. So I put it out of its misery instead. But that didn’t go according to plan. So now we have a guide!”
Kosta had a thousand questions, but he shook them all away for now. His sister seemed a little anxious—quite unlike Clymere—for his reaction.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Kosta felt a hunger rise in him. An aerial view was just what they needed!
When no screams of horror or accusations of forbidden sorcery were flung her way, Clymere grinned. She rose, pounded her spear once into the dirt, and pointed its bladed tip off into the distance. Little trails of smoke scattered grey above the hunter’s trail. Clymere’s bird had already flown quite some distance.
“We’ll find you that rock today. I swear!” Clymere cast off the fog of exhaustion that hung over her since working her magic. A little light poured from her eyes, nose, and mouth for a moment and then she was ready to go.
“Come on!”