Fen, Dylan, and Paul walked out of the door and into the orchard on Earth.

“I feel sorry for Lawrence,” Dylan said as they set foot on Earth.

“Yeah. My mom said that he’s been pestering her and my dad about going with them to attack compounds.” Paul answered, “But he can’t. Too risky.”

“Now...hold still for a moment.”

Fen pulled the wand from his waist belt once more and whipped it around the air. He said something in the Efran tongue that neither Seth nor Dylan could understand, and soon a layer of mist fell over the three of them. It was always an odd feeling; watching one’s body melt into mist, and no matter how much he wanted to, Paul couldn’t get used to it. After all three of them joined the mists, the fox thing cast another spell that would cause fog to fall in a mile-and-a-half radius around the door leading to Efra.

Wordlessly, the three of them flowed through the sea of mist toward the town of Porterville. If a word were to be spoken, the spell would end for that person, according to Fen, so Dylan pressed her, ‘hand,’ against her, ‘mouth,’ to make sure not a single sound escaped as they followed the vague form of the fox over the highway. A military patrol rolled by and passed through the form of Fen as they hovered over the tarmac and over the flooded southern banks of the Tule River. The three of them stepped over the waters toward the other side. Halfway over, Dylan glanced down and saw something massive stirring underneath; a shadow of a large snake or something, and it took all she had not to scream. It vanished as quickly as it came into view, and Dylan dismissed it as something she had imagined.

Within the canopy of leaves that surrounded the northern banks, Fen released the spells as soon as they were high enough up the banks to not be washed away by the currents. The last of the doors on this section of riverbank was a gate that stood in between the charred remains of two trees that stood upright; their roots slowly being eroded by the rising river. They had checked it yesterday: a level 30. While Fen didn’t have a level like Seth and Dylan, he said he’d be comparable to Nyt in terms of strength, so if they needed help, he’d be there. The gate itself was much like the trees that it was connected to; a shiny door as black as coal, with a shimmering carapace of wind-polished soot. Paul leads the way into Efra; the gate swinging inwards into blackness. Dylan stepped in after him, and Fen followed closely behind.

They stepped into the edge of a city, next to a roaring river. Sprawling trees that looked like upward-reaching willows surrounded them and cast long shadows across the ground. Birds called overhead, and strange animals lapped up at the waters of the river; creatures with the bodies of squirrels, but the tails of scorpions. And birds as large as deer. Behind them, a large gatehouse sat half-burned and half-buried in verdant overgrowth.

“What’s the goal?” Fen whispered from behind Dylan as he motioned for both she and Paul to stoop low in the long-reaching blades of grass. Dylan slipped her bag off of her shoulder, slowly unzipped it, and reached it to pull out her Shard.

“Reynard,” she whispered in a hushed tone, “What’s the goal here?”

Destroy the outpost, sweetheart.

The fox answered.

“Thank you, Reynard."

You’re welcome, be safe okay?

He was always so nice to her. Dylan slid the Shard back into her bag and relayed the message to the both of them with the same hushed whisper.

“Outpost...well let’s follow the river for now,” Paul said.

“Should we kill some of those animals to send back?”

Fen nodded. It would be good to get some more materials for elixirs and potions and food. Fish was well and good, but it was probably getting old for a majority of the people in the cove. He crept forward with his wand drawn toward the edge of the river and pointed the curved wand down at the scorpion-tailed squirrel. With a whispered incantation, a bubble of boiling water forms around the creature and pulls it into the waters. Once the bubble emerged on their side, the creature was already dead. Fen waved his hand and the creature’s body turned into mist. The mist lingered around Fen’s feet. Another quick, whispered incantation and a bubble formed around the head of the deer-sized bird. It tried to fight back; thrashing around as its claws dug long trenches in the soft loam, and tore up the grass as the ball of water dragged it deep into the river.

Unlike the smaller one, this one was still living by the time it got to shore. Fen’s magic wouldn’t work on it if it were still alive, so he drew a dagger from somewhere within the folds of his flowing robes and jammed it into the creature’s chest. Ruby-red blood flowed out and stained the grass, and once it stopped moving it, too, turned into mist. This mist hung around Fen’s middle.

The three of them crept along the river bank, following the smell of smoke in the air. Soon, through the thick canopy, clouds of black, billowing smoke could be seen among the river. They climbed down the hills as they followed the river’s flow until it terminated in a cascade that fell to fill a small lake. Sat around the lake, nestled in the overhanging alcove, there was a town surrounded by two layers of stone walls. In the middle of the lake was a two-story fort connected to the shore by a wooden bridge. The sound of manual labor — picking smashing against stone, hammers smashing against metal, and wood being sawed in the distant woods just beyond the bit of cultivated land that lay beyond the walls.

Ratmen, Satyrs, and Dogmen all meandered about. Some were training with one another, while others were supervising other chained Efrans — the cat and deer people, carrying quarried stone, or mined metals, to a supply depot near the edge of the town. As Dylan eyed the rat-like creatures below, anger swelled within her. They were the most evil of them all. Her hand white-knuckled around the hilt of her blade. Her teeth grit so tight that they might have cracked if Fen hadn’t put his hand on her shoulder.

“I will help you with this one.” Fen said, “There are too many for the two of you to handle. Now, what would be the best option in this situation?”

“Stay here.” Paul said, “And initiate long-range attacks to draw them up the slope.”

The boy motioned to a sloped path hidden from view behind a thicket of brier.

“Good, good. Or…” Fen glanced at the river rushing beside them, “We could quicken the flow of the river and wash away the outpost in one fell swoop, right?”

“No.” Dylan shot that down instantly, “There are prisoners down there.”

“Good. You keep your morals despite your hatred of the enemy. Not killing the innocent will become a core tenant of the Four Peaks.” He said, “Now, shall we begin?”

Dylan approached the edge of the cliff, drew her sword and pointed it down into the town; aiming at those creatures training in the dusty yard between the rows of barracks and the rim of the lake and recited one of the spells that Lawrence had taught her. Fen joined her and pointed his wand in the same direction.

“A volley, oh djinn.”

She could only manifest three arrows of wind and flame about half the size of her blade’s length. She let them loose down into the crowd. The trainees didn’t even have time to notice as they crashed into them. Only one of them hit their targets; their wiry, black fur catching on fire immediately. After Dylan’s volley, Fen sent one of his own; a cloud of scalding rain fell over the training grounds, as they ran for cover. Paul, meanwhile, picked up a stone and chucked it into the fleeing. With his enhanced strength, it was a simple thing to chuck it at speeds comparable to that of an arrow let loose from a war bow. The stone hit one of the ratmen square on the middle of its back and it collapsed into the dust. It tried to pull itself away, but another Djinn’s Volley ended its futile attempt.

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Shouts arose from the outpost town, as those supervising the captured Efrans led them into buildings, and hurried out while locking the doors behind them. They wouldn’t kill their slaves; with the state of Efra as it is, slaves were hard to come by; especially for Unblooded doors. They had to wait for the merchants that carried ichor artifacts with them to arrive through the fogwall, and that only happened once a year.

The enemy Efrans gathered in the middle of the outpost town; their backs pressed against the walls as they looked for the direction that the attack was coming from. Once more, Dylan let out another volley aimed at those she could see. The flaming arrows arced downward and streaked across the clearing to slam into the body of those pressed against it. This time, each one hit. She felt a bit of her fatigue clear as they were consumed in flame.

“Reynard can you put 2 in strength and one into magic?”

She felt the muscles in her arms and legs pump and her core burn momentarily. The peeling of a bell from one of the watchtowers draws the attention of those within the garrison in the middle of the lake. A stream of soldiers rushed out of the building and across the bridge. When they were about a quarter of the way across, Seth picked up a large boulder about the size of his head and chucked it down toward it. The wind howled around it like a stone flung from a trebuchet as it slammed into the stone bridge and crumbled it where it collided. Those it crashed against were crushed almost immediately, the rest around them were tossed into the waters of the lake. The cobblestone bridge melted as two long spikes jut out from one edge of the bridge to connect with the other as a large minotaur rushed out of the door of the fortress. The creature turned its large, horned head toward the cliff face above the roaring waterfall. It pulled one of its large axes to the side and swiped up. A chunk of the stone bridge broke off and flew up.

Fen grabbed hold of Dylan’s shoulder and pulled her back just in time for the boulder to crash through the canopy.

“They know where we are, they’ll come, so get ready.”

Dylan swallowed a bead of fear built up in her throat and nodded. She held her short blade in front of her, and held her body sideways just as she had learned from the skills she had purchased when starting out. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Paul looked calm and composed as always; the point of the pole sword pointed forward as the din of approaching feet and hooves down the curling paths drew closer and closer.

“A volley, oh djinn” Dylan muttered.

Three arrows of wind and flame formed above her as the sound neared the bend a couple of dozen of feet away. As soon as the first pair of black, beady eyes peered around the corner she let them loose. The arrows collided against the front ranks, and they fell to the side, rolling around in the dust in an attempt to put them out as the Efrans continued their charge up hill.

“Eagon; thou tyrant of the Boreal winds, lend to me thine lance.”

Paul muttered once the next rank was a mere six yards from him. A spinning, pointed gale formed at the tip of his weapon that flew forth as he stabbed forward with his weapon. The spinning, frozen wind howled forward; ice forming in the air as it moved, and slammed into the chest of the closest one. Sharp shards of ice cut long round lacerations into its chest and its throat as they were twisted into its body like a drill bit being pressed to its bare flesh. The sides of the Northwind’s Lance broke apart the moment it collided against the creature’s chest as cut similar marks into the sides of the throat of the dogman next to it, and tore a chunk of the pointed ear of a ratman on the other side. The satyr and the dogman died, while the ratman pressed on; ignoring the blood flowing on the side of its head. Its eyes glanced back toward those climbing, and it slowed its steps. Too late. Dylan bounded forward like a cat and stabbed her blade upward into the untrained creature’s diaphragm. Her hazel eyes held only hate for the gray furred creature as it lurched forward; all the air driven from its lungs.

“A spear, oh djinn.”

A flaming spear formed inside of the ratman and burst through it like the shot of a .45. Blood splattered over the young girl as she drew her blade out.

“Dance for me, oh djinn.”

“Dylan, get back here!” Fen called as the young girl dove into the fray.

The wind and flame dome searing all those she came across as her blade stabbed and slashed at the ratmen within. Paul rushed forward with his weapon as well; swinging downward to cleave the skull of a dogman. Both of the children killed a handful before they had cleaved through the recruits and got to the more experienced Efrans. A satyr slammed the head of a two handed mace into Dylan’s solar-plexus; sending her flying backwards a little. She doubled over once she found her footing, and the Satyr stepped forward and raised its mace overhead. A ball of steaming water slammed into its face. Followed by another, then another. It fell back, giving Dylan enough time to recover and stab her sword up through the creatures rib and into its heart. It slumped forward, and Dylan stepped out of the way as it fell to the ground

Two dogmen fell upon Paul; their curved scimitars pressing him back. He worked to parry both with the blade at the end of his pole sword, and then with the wooden shaft. But one found its way to slide across his flesh. The Repel Lawrence had cast on him before hand shimmered as it deflected the blade, but a kick from the other sent him sprawling back. They fell upon him with stabs and slashes; slowly chipping away at the defensive spell. A gout of boiling water fell over them, and they screamed; falling back a step. Paul took this opportunity and sprung up; swinging his weapon as he did so. The long blade connected with the knee of the nearest dogman and split through it like a sharp axe through dried wood. The creature collapsed to its right, and rolled around in agony, bleeding out on the thin dusty road. He swung up with his next swing cutting a long line through the gut of the other; cutting through the creature’s gambeson and flesh. Its guts fell out of its body as its arms fell to its front in an attempt to hold them all in.

The minotaur; the commander of the outpost, no doubt, pushed its way forward through the wavering ranks. It carried two hooked axes with long crescent like blades. Its red fur bristled as it snorted loudly. Both Dylan and Paul retreated a step; an instinctual feeling that they were facing a monster that neither of them could defeat on their own. That single step, however, was a fatal mistake. A spike of packed soil jutted out of the ground and slammed into the back of Paul’s knee, causing him to kneel momentarily. The minotaur lunged forward and swung downward with both of its axes. The force pushed him to the ground and shattered his Repel.

“Lend me thy blade, oh djinn.”

An arc of flame launched out from Dylan’s slashing blade and collided against the minotaur’s shoulder. It staggered for a moment as Dylan stabbed downward. She was batted aside with a heavy punch that sent her bouncing up the slope. The minotaur turned its attention back to Paul, who was trying to push himself off the ground. A heavy stomp of its hoof on his back stops that notion as it once more rose its axes above its head.

Fen rushed forward and deflected the axes with his wrist slamming into the flat of the blades. With its chest now wide open, Fen slammed both of his curled wrists into the creature’s chest, forcing it back a step. Before it could recover, Fen landed a kick up into the creature’s chin in a manner that Paul had seen Shaolin monks do on TV; with his leg nearly completely parallel with his body. The force of the kick lifted the minotaur off its feet a little, but that little was enough as he landed a slammed his foot down and launched forward with his knee; slamming it into the creature’s middle, sending him flying backward.

“You two did good.” Fen said as he pointed his wand forward at the prone creature, “Now get to your bags and drink a couple of the potions. Don’t want to make your family worry.”

Paul nodded and picked himself off the ground, wincing as he did so. Fen noted this, and would ask Lawrence to heal him once they were done. A back injury is no joke. Before the minotaur could stand up, Fen stabbed forward with his curved horn wand and stuck it into the creature’s mouth, and uttered an incantation.

“Mother of Rain, Father of Flame I command you both to join together.” *

A gout of boiling water spat out of the wand and flushed down the minotaur’s throat. Fen held a special hatred for minotaurs. Their wicked brier magics enslaved many of his friends in the labor camp he grew up in. Their whips were hard, and frequent, and their horns, powerful. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and Efra, for the first time in thousands of years, had a possible future. But it would be a future without these things.

The minotaur thrashed about, but Fen stomped on the creature’s wrist; snapping it like a twig. It tried to cast earth magic, but Fen stopped that with a counter that turned the ground into thick mud. The resistance only lasted a few seconds as the boiling water filled the creature’s lungs. Once done, mist consumed the minotaur and hung around Fen’s head. He bent down and picked up one of the swords that had been discarded by the dogmen killed by Paul and launched himself forward.

Dylan watched; trying to learn something from the fox creature’s dance like motions; how his sword seemed to be everywhere at once, and how the blood flowed around him like a crimson ribbon, but there was nothing she could learn. How could a living body move like that? How could something so beautiful cause such carnage?