The road was dry and rocky, as the group moved across the mountainous terrain. The morning had been mostly silent, just as it had been prior. Before long, Ratakhan had picked up the pace once more, zealously renewed his tall tales.
"The story goes that when humans came to The First Lands, upon which we walk, the magical monsters and beasts hunted them. You see, humans are inherently weak. They require tools, and very few are magically gifted. So the king of the first humans came to the vastaya for help. We took pity on the weak ones, and taught them to do magic. We helped them learn and control the chaotic nature, so they could survive within it. They were not native to the environment, but we thought they had something to give, you see? And in time these short lived creatures could perhaps teach us a thing or two. Along with them, we invented a protective fence: The quinlon. You probably had some around where you live. Lived. I don't know what you were told, but these crystals are infused with magic that channel magic. Like a sieve, it separates different types of magic, depending on how it's made, it lets different kinds of magic through. A great way for those early humans to avoid chaotic magic, control it, and use it. Predictably, like the magic they used, they would manage to thrive within environments they could control. Vastaya and humans existed in relative balance for long, but as the humans multiply they disrupted the balance further and further. Now wild magic is hard to come by. The fence that used to shield the humans, became a cage to vastaya."
"Then what did the vastaya do?" "Well, the vastaya did nothing. Like humans we are not unified under one banner. Some of us think that it's just nature, and balance will find itself. Others think that humans have already expanded too far, and that we should retake some territory and let the wilds return to their natural state." "What do you think." "I think that whatever I feel doesn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, if I simply stay my soul and never truly reveal what I think I’ll have the upper hand." He gave a wink at Syndra, who did not reciprocate. She cast her eyes down, digesting the story he had told.
Silence once more overtook the pair, who had been walking in front of the two parents carrying their son. He stole a glance back towards the rear guard. Hushed Ratakhan whispered to Syndra.
“Whatever happened to your brother? I’ve tried asking your parents, but they won’t give me a straight answer.”
Syndra froze up. While the two kept walking, she turned her head to look back at the two walking a few trees’ lengths behind. Quietly she whispered back:
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“I… I happened. I am full of imbalance. I am cursed, and I hurt him.”
Ratakhan frowned, visibly confused.
“So.. You’re a mage?”
She shook her head downcast. Shame welled within.
“But you do magic?”
“I don’t do real magic, I just hurt. I can’t control it, so what good is it?”
He put a palm to her head in an awkward show of comfort. Even so, Syndra calmed. Their walk once more became mute. They walked unspeaking for a while, until the wind picked up. At first the warm sun combatted the cold, but as time went the air stung. Almost going through the band of travelers. The wind further increased in intensity. Upon the rocky plains, the group decided it would be best to seek shelter early and hope the storm would pass during the night. Within caves of the cliffs decorating the grassland they would seek sanctuary. The walls and ground were thankfully dry, yet cold to the touch. Quickly they started a campfire, and huddled around it, making plenty of room for the gurney. Ratakhan, not content letting the only noise be the wind’s howl, spoke once more of his destination:
“Have you heard of The Placidium?” He inquired.
Heads turned to face each other. Of course, everyone had heard of that sacred place of Ionian harmony. A place of learning and knowledge. A great font of magic. They all nodded.
“Right. So I was thinkin’, a mage without control, would she not be best placed within such a place? The many schools would be likely to take a young sorceress, don’t you think?” His cryptic question answered by Syndra’s father.
“Certainly, is that why you’re going?”
“No.” The answer was resolute, seeking to end the conversation as abrubtly as possible.
“But I must ask, why is your journey taking you to the coast, and not The Placidium? You have a young magic-infused child with you, seemingly unable to fully control it. She shall remain our burden.”
“Do not presume to know our story, or for what reason we travel. We would not dare desecrate the tranquility of that basilica with such disgusting magics. What has been done, shall be borne to the coast, where many travel, and chaos reigns. I implore you to not bring this subject to air once more. The elder set us on this path, and you will do well not to question it further.”
Evard’s eyes were wide, staring at Syndra, but she simply stared out of the cave, a vacant expression on her face, he looked to Ratakhan. He was about to speak once more, but the stares of the three family members, each revealing a unique expression. Fear, anger, disgust. He realized he should not press the issue further. He looked to Syndra, who had scuttled slightly away from the fire.
A sadness welled within the young man, realizing the twisted display before him. Knowing he could not disrupt the sacred bond of family, he simply put a pot on the fire, and solemnly prepared stew for the outcasts he had only known for only two days.