Chapter Fifteen

Gold

Michael and Sarah spoke at length over cold ale. The sun beat down atop them and their tired bodies slumped easily into the soft grass. They laid staring up at the occasional pale cloud, sharing silence.

She was alike Oliver in many ways, but she was also about as different as one person could be from another. Michael let himself smile in the comfort of her. There was something unfailingly familiar about the feeling, but Michael closed his eyes on it and enjoyed the peace in his mind. Eventually they began to chat idly and they spoke of everything that came to mind, gently moving through discussions.

Michael avoided discussing his friends and his mother, feeling the ache of it all a touch too fiercely. He noticed that Sarah avoided discussing her father the same way, but instead of being out of love, he sensed it was closer to disappointment. He learned that her middle name was “Dae”, after her grandmother, that she’d trained in a dozen different hand-fighting styles, and like him was raised by only one parent.

After asking more about her mother, Sarah stretched out in the long grass and said, “She moved to Istol after I was born, actually, you’ve probably seen her. She’s just about the most gorgeous woman in the world. I’ve only really spent a handful of days with her, but she’s lovely.”

Michael sat up on his elbows, wondering if he’d ever met her, and said, “You don’t hold anything against her?”

Sarah shook her head. “She wasn’t the one who cheated. And I never really felt like I was the reason she left, so no.” Rather quickly, she moved to say, “What about you? You hate your father?”

Michael smiled softly and picked up his tankard. “You know… I hate how my mother doesn’t hate him, but she never seemed to want to hear a word against him.”

Sarah made a thoughtful noise and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Did you ever get the real explanation of all this,” she said, gesturing lazily to the fortress and the all-encompassing madness of their life.

“I got a crash-course and then Amekot’s show-and-tell, but to be honest I could use a pamphlet.”

Sarah’s bright eyes twinkled and she sat up straight, sitting across from him. “Fair warning, this discussion is beyond second-hand information, so there’s a bunch I don’t know and bunch more that nobody knows. There are three things we do understand, however poorly;” she put up a finger for each word, “Legacies, Arcancy and the Gargan.”

Michael nodded patiently. “Could you start with the Kings?”

Sarah nodded and smirked. “Creators, not kings. Khasm was literally darkness. They were born from Void. They may well have leaned one way or another but anyone who claims to know what it is, is a jack-ass.”

Michael blinked and sipped his drink, asking sincerely, “How so?”

Sarah shrugged. “Because assuming beings of power are inherently masculine just demonstrates an untold lack of critical thinking. After all, what sense does it make for a shapeless mass of shadow to follow the social rules of a society it had nothing to do with.”

Michael pointed at her in agreement. “Fair. It’s not like trees ask to be called ‘Sir.’”

Sarah tapped her nose encouragingly. “Exactly. See, the Riinins do it and now places like Groria are a nightmare. The rest of the world doesn’t need to join in. You all have big enough egos as it is. Nor are we excited about giving misogynists another reason to be loud.”

Michael chuckled and nodded. “Sold. Okay, so, Khasm... what did they look like?”

Sarah made an awkward face. “Most tales paint all the Gargan as dragon-like because Draendicans have trouble being original. We have found some Shanii depictions but they were all so different that-”

“Shanii?” Michael asked gently.

Sarah apologized and explained. “It means ‘Created Folk’.”

Michael nodded, the knowledge soothing him. “The depictions of the Gargan were different how? Like cats and dogs different?”

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“Like cats and trees.”

Michael frowned, cracking his fingers restlessly. “But if they’re all Gargan- all the same species -why were they so different?”

“The going idea is that it’s because they weren’t bred. Puppies look like their mothers because they pass down their traits. But Khasm created twelve children the same way that you or I would make a song- except with more divine magic.”

Michael sat back for a second and let the thought wash over him. Eventually he looked at Sarah and she only nodded appreciatively. He gestured for her to continue.

Sarah said, “So, the Gargan only crafted a new divinity when they believed the world was lacking something. First thing which Khasm conjured, according to legend, was Baeyne...”

Michael smiled and nodded. “Creator of Love, right?

“That’s right. And as soon as they were conjured, they were powerful enough to create others too. So, either alone, in pairs or in groups, the Gargan would use their creation magic and conjure other deities into existence. Like Farganon- Gargan of Bravery, who created Rageous to be Valour, as there was only bravery and no such thing as dutiful courage or any other variation of fearlessness until the gods made it. They did it for everything. And after they believed they were done, they filled the world with the Shanii. Creations. Until it went a little wrong, and I imagine your crash-course covered how that ended?”

Michael nodded and finished his tankard in thought. It was almost too poetic to be true but something about the idea was so understandable. “So, Arcancy, then? I was under the impression it was a Crekaen word for ‘antiquity’.”

Sarah waved the idea away, trying not distract herself. “It’s a Garganii word, but the old pronunciation and spelling is long-gone and it’s a word in every language now. It means Blood Magic.”

Michael glanced at her. “What?”

“Sounds sinister, but its more just descriptive. Jack- the Javen-lookalike from the Arena –mentioned my Arcancy earlier. Want me to show you?”

Michael nodded eagerly but a part of him was firm with worry. She motioned him closer and the young woman held out her hand, though not for him to take.

Sarah closed her eyes for the space of a moment and the tendons and muscles in her fingers began to tremble. The veins came alight with a fierce glow and from the midst of her palm, a smokeless flame roared to life, spreading to the tips of her fingers.

Michael did all he could not to retreat out of shock and watched the pale flames lick harmlessly at her flesh. “It doesn’t burn?”

Sarah gave a complicated tilt of her head and brought her fist toward him. “Not from heat. Feel.”

Michael hesitantly reached out over the tiny blaze and frowned when he couldn’t feel the slightest warmth. He gently touched her balled fist and it felt unchanged. It was then he noticed her hand twitching. “It hurts?”

Sarah nodded and let the tension in her face go. The fire snuffed out before her. She flexed the aforementioned hand and said, “My power isn’t a control over fire. The fire is just how it chooses to demonstrate itself.”

Michael smiled a touch. “Dramatic.”

“Back in the Arena, you wondered how your arrow could damage that Shade. Usually they can’t. But every weapon made in Fort Guardian, or brought here, is enchanted to shift and change and fight most kinds of creatures. My Arcancy works the same way as that magic.”

Michael ruffled his mismatched curls. “Let me get this straight. If you used your Arcancy to punch a- I don’t know- that wall. What would happen?”

Sarah held up her scrappy hands like a diagram. “I’d crack it. The Arcancy flame is all my different little parts being wrapped in something strong enough to equal the thing I’m attacking. It’s handy.”

Michael groaned at the wordplay but found himself staring at her scar-dotted hands.

Sarah followed his gaze and smiled timidly. Her face looked rather odd when it was sheered of its confidence.

“Do I have an Arcancy?” Michael asked, moving the conversation back into more comfortable territory.

Sarah pursed her lips. “Probably. You said earlier that you were hunted by a Nethotar, right? That means you have some form of Arcancy.”

Michael looked over to the great tall walls of the fortress and spied some archers at its ramparts, sitting and chatting while they maintained a lazy watch. “Nichole said the same. So, if a person has Arcancy, then they’re a Legacy?”

Sarah shook her head gently. “Some people believe being a Legacy is more to do with the knowledge, not the power. If you know the truth about the Gargan and if you fight monsters, then you’re a Legacy, so they say. Others, yes, say Blood Magic makes a Legacy, and that there are no two ways about it.”

Michael nodded and looked carefully at her. “And what do you say?”

Sarah frowned seriously and said with some resolution, “If you fight, you’re a Legacy. Important things are simple like that, I think. I hope.”

The central keep’s doors opened and out wandered a stocky swordsman with pale hair, tired eyes and the shadow of a beard. He looked at least hungover, if not a tad drunk.

Michael thought the word ‘Rogue’ was as good a descriptor as any for the young man, in frankly any sense.

“Mister Feller,” Sarah said, nodding formally, though her eyes were light with humour.

The fellow waved at Sarah lazily. He had to be at least twenty, though some sleep might have made him look a tad younger. He stooped into a bow. “Sarah.” The young man only then realised he didn’t recognise Michael and came down to a knee, offering him a hand. “Sorry- hi, you must be new!”

They exchanged casual pleasantries and Michael learned his name was Ilo Feller, that he was a ballista operator, and that he had excellent cheekbones and a flattering jawline.

“I was headed over to the obstacle course to try and knock Sidney down a spot, want to come?” Ilo asked.

Sarah snorted indignantly and said, “You can’t embarrass yourself alone?”

He glared and broke into a grin. “I’m not about to set a fort record with only the score-recorder watching.”

Michael waved his hands in confusion. “Wait, wait, wait. We have an obstacle course?”