A Time to Change Gears
42nd Day of Ope in the Third Month of Snow's Fall
4372 A.G.G. (261 Years Ago)
The Municipality of Bastion, The Deep Cities
The Continent of Hesijua
----------
On the Subjects of Killing and Motivations
It’s important, I think, to understand that not all killers are the same. There are those who would kill because they feel it’s the correct thing to do; they believe in its rightness. There are those who would kill out of necessity; to protect family, loved ones, their homelands or themselves. Then there are those that kill for the thrill. For the love of it. They revel in the slaughter; they’re thrilled by blood and anguish. Those who are always chasing the next high. The world’s true monsters.
Some would say that most people have the “killer instinct”. That we’re all born with it. I don’t believe that. Not all people have the ability to manifest that type of violence into reality. Not many could bring themselves to end another’s life regardless of the circumstances or the particulars. The truth is that most people are inherently adverse to violence. It’s the natural way of things. It’s like the old saying that lingers among my people; the Knights of the Order: You can always find ammunition on a battlefield.
People would have you believe that in the face of adversity, when a person is left with little other choice, that they’ll take a life in favor of extending their own. But I have seen that theory put to the test, and more often than not, seen it disproven in both men and mer. It does indeed take a singular type of person to tap into that kind of…darkness.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m one of those singular people.
Even after having my mind altered by drugs and drink; after being forced to change my nature with suppressive hekas; after years of denying my nature; after fighting and struggling against what I was and removing myself from the things that seemed to vex my soul, all of it was for naught once I found myself standing before the old man within the depths of the Grand Spire. A man who was the embodiment of all that I hated, all that I was and all that I feared that I’d become. With ease I allowed myself to once again fall into the primal. And it was in that state of mind I lingered after I killed the Old Knight. I can’t tell you how good it made me feel to hurt him. Euphoria distilled. My personal opiate. My…joy.
Yet despite all of that, I deplored the fact that I was compelled to do it.
That part of myself that I’d tried to keep buried for so long had once again been borne free. Fight had once again won out when flight would’ve been the smarter solution.
I had nowhere near the ability with heka or wherewithal needed to reconstruct the weave that held my anger at bay for so many years. And without it, I was as terrible and woeful as any of the monsters I would later find myself hunting as a munificence. I was the grotesque, who longed to be human again. And the horror of what I was, threatened to grow to vast new heights in the immediate aftermath of the impact of the thousands of tons of wicc that came crashing down atop us in the under-gardens.
----------
Samahdemn
The lower levels of The Spire were almost completely decimated by the overpressure from the flash fire caused by the mass of superheated boulders that crashed into the earth. The flames spread at a frightening velocity. Before I knew it, the protective wards I had surrounded myself with had completely collapsed under force, heat and the power of gravity. My spell weave had done just enough to save my life. Just enough. However, I still found myself undone and flung about like a rag doll. Everything was covered in flaming death. The sound of it all happening at once was deafening.
The smell of burning flesh and boiling blood was prevalent in the air.
The bodies of all manner of lifeless person, mer and fauna lay all about.
Everyone was dead. And had I been anything other than I was; had I not been Swalii, had I not been a Magi, I would’ve been as well. In fact, I think that the only thing that kept death from asphyxiation at bay as I lay unconscious were the restorative abilities of my Amalgamate.
As I jolted awake, I remember lying on the ground; my armour being on fire. Or, at least, I think it was on fire. Maybe I was just somewhat aware of heat creeping up my body…
I don’t know.
My chainmail was so hot that it was starting to feel as though it was burning through my gambeson to my skin. It was such a surreal moment in time.
Time…
It seemed to be going by at almost a snail’s pace.
I recall feeling something wet near me. My fingers were in it. Could’ve been someone’s blood. Could’ve been water. It could’ve been a combination of both. Who knows? I don’t recall how I got to my feet but the next thing I remember is moving slowly back toward the doors I entered through. Only to see fallen chunks of masonry and an uprooted flaming tree blocking my path.
Shitty. But at least the fire on my body was extinguished by this point…or the feeling of heat that I’d associated with fire. I have no idea how that happened either, but I was ever thankful for small favors.
Then the pain came to me. Nearly knocking me off of my feet.
Then…nothing.
I felt deadened to it all. At least for a while. A lot of my memory after that is a blank. The next thing that I recall is stumbling through smoke filled corridors nearer the surface levels. Some areas were exposed to the outside where the masonry had given way, others looked as if an earthquake had shaken everything free of their respective places and haphazardly scattered items all about. I could see the burning gardens and lake far below me through cracked windows; glowing hot stones covering the once lush grasses; some of them steaming in the water, causing the lake to boil. The sprinklers in the antechambers I staggered through wearily were raining down furiously. Corpses were sprawled about. The heat was oppressive.
Then, something exploded from the outside and the force of it blasted through the windows closest to me. A thousand pieces of shattered glass filled my vision. Heavy furniture was uplifted. I was thrown through a closed door.
Then…darkness.
----------
1st Day of Ojo Didi in the Fourth Month of Snow's Fall
4372 A.G.G. (261 Years Ago)
Shiulo City, Shiulo
The Islands of The Link
Sporadic images filled my hazy vision before being overwhelmed by darkness. Over and over again.
A woman speaking and reaching over my head.
A group of men in white coats speaking muffled words as other people stuck me with needles.
Someone talking to me and giving me directions that I’m barely understanding as they uncomfortably remove a tube from my throat while strangers rush in to hold me down.
People asking me to talk.
People telling me to stay calm.
People sticking things in my arms.
I feel as though I woke up a hundred times. And every time, sleep would reclaim me and I’d fall into forgetfulness.
I finally fully awoke to harsh light. My artificial eye adjusted itself smoothly, leaving my natural one to struggle on its own. I was in some manner of clean-room filled with what looked like bulky medical equipment and the walls refused to stop spinning no matter how much I willed it. My thoughts were jumbled beyond any ability to formulate a straight idea.
I simply lay there. Not knowing what was happening…not really caring. There was intermittent pain, shifting from moderate to intolerable and back again. Punctuated with rhythmic thuds all over. The silver lining of it all being that if I could feel pain in a body part, then it still worked.
The air was warm and sweet; not insanely hot or smelling of charcoal and burning flesh. Another good thing.
My body felt heavy. Too heavy to move. At least, right away.
I don’t know how long I lay there, trying to make sense of the world; trying to find myself again. But, eventually, I was able to force enough power through my arms and hands to feel around myself.
Tubes in my nose. Wires and leads. Cold steel…some type of restraints keeping my legs still and holding my arms to my side.
Frustration and confusion attempted to take root, but were chased away by logic as I came to the realization that I was fettered to a hospital bed.
As I focused, miscellaneous sounds started to filter into my ears. The soft scratching of a needle on a monitor. The sound of air blowing in from the floor vents. Talking from the hallways. Voices over the building’s internal speakers that were spewing information in hospital code.
I could hear someone, maybe the charge nurse, screaming outside at someone who I assumed to be an orderly- “You! You need to do your rounds! Now!”
“Yes sir!” a feminine voice replied hurriedly.
After feeling around within the scope of my ability with my fingertips for a few seconds more, I found a medication distribution control and slowly struggled to flip the hefty analog device so that I could see its labeling. On the back of it was a small tag that read “PROPERTY OF SHIULO MEDICAL”.
Shiulo? In The Link? What in the name of Brŭmal-
Shiulo was at least 5000 miles from Bastion. Above ground. And over an ocean. And I had no memory of making such a trek.
The room was painted in a stark white that beautifully reflected the suns’ vibrant gold tinted light coming in through the open windows. It saturated everything around me. The breeze felt amazing. The smells of butters, breads and coffees were drifting in on the wind from the town below. There was the sound of the bustle of life. People moving to and fro far beneath me; hustling to get their caffeine infused morning pick-me-ups and still be on time for their respective jobs.
Continuing to look about me, I saw the soft woods that cleanly covered the ergonomic counters in the room and efficient looking steel instruments of a magickal nature which were neatly organized about my bed.
Medical focuses.
In the corner, I could make out the shapes of what seemed to be parts of my armour and some of my weapons. But I didn’t feel as though I could be sure from the angle I was looking at them. Something was off about the silhouette that I took to be my glaive. The shape seemed…wrong.
Focus Samahdemn.
A strap across my chest kept me from sitting up. Kept me from removing the uncomfortable and slightly painful plastic tubes and needles from my person. In retrospect, a very dumb desire as I didn’t know what they were there for or what they were doing for me, but the logic of keeping everything where it was got lost in the illogic of the panic that was slowly overtaking me.
My head felt as though it were splitting. And it soon made me acutely aware that the gear-work machine next to my bed that was recording my vitals; whose scratching was at first somewhat soothing to me, was now screaming bloody murder in my ear. I must’ve shaken one of its many leads off of myself in my struggles.
I moved my fingers and toes about. Looked at my legs and arms within the scope of what wasn’t obscured by blankets. I could feel what could have been a few new scars on my chest and thighs. My skin felt tender and I was covered in medical gauze.
What have I done to myself?
I felt sick. I started to vomit, but was luckily able to force it back before I soiled myself with sickness.
The world before my eyes spun faster the more I tried to think or fought to move. And as my head hit the pillow during my futile struggle with my restraints, a shock was sent through my body that made me feel as though my skull had suddenly been laid into with a sledgehammer.
It wasn’t until I caught a hazy glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror that I realized that I’d been shaved bald. And further inspection quickly led to the discovery of a rather sizeable scar on the right side of my head nearly falling into my reconstructed eye with aggression. I traced it visually in horror to just above my ear where it split into two. One portion disappeared towards the nape of my neck. The other rounded the curvature of my skull until it likewise continued out of my sight.
“Be careful. You’ve had quite a bit of glass and wood embedded in your skull. You also have some pretty bad scar tissue from the burns. Luckily it looks like your armour saved you from a great deal worse.”
It was a lovely feminine voice. One that was calmingly familiar. A light accent. Not wholly different from mine, but far less aggressive in its presence. In my befuddlement, I couldn’t quite place it with a face or name however. I felt the woman’s hands removing an oxygen mask from my face. Allowing me to speak clearly.
“You…don’t say.” I struggled to express through parched lips. Talking was a painful exercise for me.
“Hmm. Quite.”
“Throat hurts.”
“No surprise. There was a breathing tube jammed down it. On the bright side, you seem to be doing far better than the last few times you woke up. You were so irate at one point that you tried to pull out your feeding tube and you attempted to strike the nursing staff.”
The alarm from the vital sign reader suddenly halted its head splitting noise. The needles on its recorder ceased all movement; its recording paper had stopped spinning. She must’ve switched it off.
“Hence…the manacles?” I questioned.
She laughed a bit to hard for my taste. “Yes. Hence your ‘manacles’. I suppose you can add those head scars,” she continued as she came to untie me and aid me in readjusting my position in the bed, “to the litany of other injuries you’ve acquired since you left us. I suppose it’s fortunate for you that you’re Swalii. The doctors assure me that if it hadn’t been for your Amalgamate… Well, they’re not sure you’d be alive.”
As my hands were freed, I greedily felt at the scar on my scalp. “Yeah. It seems th…that I really bit off more than I… could chew this time.”
“Speaking of which, you’ve no idea how difficult it is to find doctors who are versed in Swalii physiology. Let alone finding someplace that has medical equipment that could be considered advanced enough to treat your kind. Even here in the Link, we only have so much.”
“So…who’d you find to take…a knife to me?”
“Nobody. And there’s been more than a little guesswork done insofar as your vitals. At least two nurses contemplated ordering an ice bath when they saw your temperature.”
“I can…understand that.” I said with difficulty. “Seeing one hundred and three on…a thermometer. People forget… Amalgamates…are machines… That they’re constantly giving off…heat.”
“Hmm. Two others shrieked in fear and another feinted when your contact lens was discovered and your artificial eye was exposed during your initial triage examination. It’s a good thing you keep your letters of safe travel on you.”
I felt my shoulders shrug nearly of their own volition. “Nothing new there.”
“They didn’t expect you to come through for at least another week. Let alone for you to be moving with the extent of your internal injuries. Your little friend must be working overtime.”
“Must be.”
“Careful not to move too much.” She emphasized as she gently took my hand away from my scalp; placing it on the bed and touching my shoulder to relax me back into a reclined position. “Aside from all of the other apparatuses you have, you’ve a catheter too. It would be…uncomfortable for you if you actually tried to stand and accidently stepped on your tube. And I wouldn’t want you hurting yourself by fumbling blindly.”
“A what?” I questioned with bemused surprise. “Well…removing…that at some point would be nice.” I said sickly.
“How are you doing, aside from the obvious?” the voice moved to the foot of the bed as my eyes finally finished focusing. “Can you see me clearly?” I felt the mattress lurch slightly as she sat down on its edge. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
As I gazed at her, I realized that I’d not been mistaken in recognizing the voice. My eyes rolled and I smiled in spite of my situation. I felt utterly simple for not picking her out of my memory immediately. Even in my confusion, she was able to make me smile. Just as she always had. A wonderful woman with a glorious disposition unless you sparked her ire. It had been a long time indeed since I had seen her last.
“Yes, Lady Brigid, I…can see you and…the three fingers you’re…holding up.”
She was as much a vision to me now as she was all those years ago. Even in her dotage.
Brigid was, and always had been, a heavy-set woman. Although pleasantly so. She wasn’t what one would consider overweight, yet she wasn’t thin. She skirted the line in between and wore her weight very well. A dark skinned Dwalli with piercing black eyes and a beautifully thick and billowy grain of hair that she kept puffed into a nice sized sphere on her head. I remembered it from a time when it was black as coal. But now it was all salt and peppered with age. A truly lovely woman by any stretch.
“That’s good. That’s very good.” She stood and dusted the wrinkles out of her elegant ball room-ish gown. Magi women who had the good fortune to grow up in the Link tended to have a very ostentatious sense of fashion. “You’ve been out of it for quite a while now Sam.”
“How long?”
“A few days…and at least three surgeries.”
I slowly nodded my acknowledgement as I worked the angles of my circumstances in my head. Things couldn’t possibly go as I hoped they might now. It was quite literally the worst of all possible situations; completely unforeseen. Quiet exile from my home country was no longer an option. Even imprisonment would be a far-flung fantasy at this point. From what I could recall of the ruined hallways of the Spire and the fire therein, far too many peoples’ blood were on my hands.
“Are the…Hesijuan authorities…coming…for me?”
She laughed. It was the type of nervous laugh you release when you’re hoping someone is joking with you about a wholly unfunny topic. “They’ll soon be going after someone with impunity. That’s for certain.”
“Look, Brigid, I-”
Her head dipped sharply with a sigh; already fearing what I was about to say. “Samahdemn, what in the name of Brŭmal happened there? When you were brought in I was told that you were saved from the collapse but-.”
Collapse? I wondered to myself. “The spire collapsed?”
She nodded sadly. “Well…yes and no. It was mostly contained to the lower levels but there’s been some structural damage aboveground also. But the reports are still early ones.”
Had I been sitting upright, I’d have been hanging my head in shame. Why couldn’t I control myself? Why did I always have to act so rashly? Headlong assault had seemed like such a solid plan at the time. Or so I thought. “I lost control.”
“What do you mean you ‘lost control’?”
“I…I got angry. Irate. Cross. …Excited. I didn’t…think. It’s my fault… the chains holding…the wicc braziers in the…under-gardens gave way. Whatever this…collapse is that you’re talking…about, it happened because…of me.”
“What kind of unholy sabotage- ” she stated with wild disbelief. “I just don’t understand it. I can’t understand it. I inlaid that weave in your mind myself.”
I could understand her inability to conceive of what I’d done. When it came to the School of Illusionary Heka, few were more talented or respected than my old mentor in the Link. Illusion was her spiritual tie after all.
“There’s no reason that those bindings should’ve failed so completely. Maybe it has something to do with the way you keep getting absorbed in old memories…your mind has been an odd one ever since your joining. It could’ve put more of a strain on the weave than I anticipated. Then again, laboring over a weave with so much living machine inside of your body, especially one as delicate as the one I worked out for you, is…tricky. Regardless, whatever’s inside of you, whatever rage fuels you, it can’t be natural.”
“I guess.” I responded lamely. Stupidly. Taking the comment immediately for an insult. “How…bad was it? Did a lot of pe…people get hurt?”
Brigid seemed absolutely stupefied. The nervous laughter completely gone and she’d started pacing about the room. I can’t begin to imagine what she thought of that question. Especially considering her response.
“I was really hoping that you’d gotten hurt somewhere else. Anywhere else. But to hear that you were there from your own mouth. I was hoping I wouldn’t. ‘Did a lot of people get hurt?’ Are you kidding? I’ve absolutely no idea what kind of foolishness you’ve gotten involved in, or how you did whatever it is that you did, but it’s being publicized as the single worst accident in the nation’s history. The loss of life was…it was…fucking staggering.”
Did she say accident?
“According to all reports, after the chains gave way-” Her voice temporarily failed her. “The fires are still burning.”
What do you say at a time like this? There were no words. My stomach was turning backflips and I spun to the nearby bed pan to vomit. But it was only a dry heave.
“Smoke is still bellowing from the ground around the surface-city where the gargantuan fans that circulate The Undercity’s air are belching it out.” she continued; ignoring my personal suffering. “Many areas about the ground floor of the sub-spire have completely collapsed. Survivors…and bodies, are still being dug out. The shift in the ground that it all caused topside equated to earthquake-like damage. Entire nearby buildings and structures fell inwards and toppled to the ground. The financial toll can’t even begin to be calculated yet.”
“Putting aside the estimated three hundred and twenty million riyal in emergency aid being sent to Hesijua to be converted to…to…uh-”
“Riyal.”
“What?” she asked; a bit of flustery working its way into her voice.
“Riyal is the…Hesijuan currency.” I said slowly.
“Right. Fine. Riyal. It doesn’t really matter. The point I was working to is that there’s more than two hundred and fifty dead, and over a hundred and ninety injured with a good number of those being in critical condition.”
“That many?”
She nodded. “And that’s just the figures from the Spire proper, which are still rising. The numbers from the adjacent infrastructure both underground and topside are still being calculated. Respiratory injuries from dust inhalation, bystanders being wounded from collapsing masonry, panic induced injuries, the list goes on.
“Bastion’s hospitals are filling up and Estvar and Erifon are setting up triage centers to prepare to aid in receiving the overflow. Hundreds of people are still missing. It’s the only story that’s been covered by every newspaper and newscast on audio-voxes worldwide for days!”
She was enraged. And rightfully so. So was I. Mostly at myself. Even when I try to do good, all I can seem to do is destroy.
“So to answer your question, yes, Samahdemn. A lot of people were hurt!”
Was there any other wonderful news? I didn’t know. And I couldn’t dwell on it. The situation wasn’t going to get better as I sat still. I needed to remove myself from what was happening.
I had to focus on next steps.
Either, there was no one left alive who knew the truth of what happened, hence the incident being labeled an accident, in which case the Order was counting me among the dead and missing so my family was still safe, or they knew about me and no one was saying anything about it. Which meant that as badly as Lady Sovereign would want me for this, she would want me quietly; she would want me hid. That meant a special type of death. In which case my family was likely forfeit.
“Can anything…be done for me?” I asked.
She rubbed the ornate jewels about her neck in agitation. “You can’t be serious. Just now you all but admitted to murdering a currently unknown number of people and you’re only worried about yourself!?”
“I can’t…think about…the incident itself. I’m…I’m past that right now. I have to be. I…I need to know…if I can be…fixed. I need to make…sure that my anger will…stay under control if I’m going to get…around this.” Continuously talking was using every ounce of energy I could muster. I was getting tired.
“You’re past it? I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth.”
“I’m sorry…Brigid. I really am. It wasn’t my intention to…cause…any of that. If there was anything I…could do to take it back…I would. But it’s…done.” I breathed deep over the pressure of my knotted up stomach and aching head. “I had my reasons…for it and I don’t expect you…to truly understand even if I had th…the time to go through…it all. But I rea…really need you right now. I’m asking…you to bear with…me and not abandon…me yet. Please. Help…me.”
To this day, I don’t know if she empathized with me on some level, or if she was just sorry that I was brought to her alive. Maybe she felt responsible for me since she was the one who took me in and raised me in the way of the Craft. Maybe she just wanted me away from the Link. Regardless of her reasons, she resolved to aid me.
“Fine. Maybe what I need is another set of eyes. I suppose that I could call Lord Byron and we could try to re-bind you. Together.”
In spite of hearing the news that she’d help me, I was still awash with inner turmoil and rage at the situation. I wanted to break something. I wanted to scream. I probably would’ve lashed out in anger and frustration had I not been in so much pain.
I dry heaved again and screamed out- “Oh for fuck sake!”
“Would you rather we leave you as you are? Are you really so resigned to being a monster that you care not to be human?”
“No, you…you don’t understand. It’s not…the fact that you relented…and are going to…call for help.” The nauseating taste of stomach acid rose up in my throat. I pushed it back down. “Did I really need to…be sedated? This post-sleep sic…sickness is intolerable! It’s bad enough…that my head feels…like it wants…to split open. There has to be…at least seventy and five Rest…Restoration School Magisters in this…building alone. Why in Brŭmal…wouldn’t someone just prep…a healing circle?”
Brigid sighed heavily and came back towards me. She took in a few deep breaths and began to silently chant to herself as she placed one palm on my stomach and another on my head. The jewelry about her neck began to glow, making it known that this was no simple bauble…but her focus. Magickal characters encircled the necklace; phrases that floated in space about the jewels in a language unknown to most non-magi.
“You always did let your emotions drive you too much. They distract you from what you should already know. I taught you better.”
The very air around her hands began to luminesce. A lovely and soothing white light.
The queasiness subsided. The world no longer spun. My head didn’t ache so badly. I could speak easier. And as she felt the completeness of her work, she allowed her hands to glide to a meeting point at the center of my throat; a good bit of my soreness receding as she did.
“That’s better.” I said with relieved ease.
She smiled, more at herself than me I’d imagine, and removed her hands. The glow dissipated. Her focus once again appeared to be nothing more than an affluent necklace. “You know better than most that the body is a complex thing. Basic restorers can remove simple poisons or calm upset stomachs and remedy certain types of headaches, as I just did. More masterful Magi in the field can mend skin and muscle. Even treat hairline fractures and the like. But even the Restoration Hierarch himself has limits. Your cranial injuries were severe, to say the least. And you’d lost so much blood by the time you got here that it begged the question of your survival.”
She rubbed her hands together slowly as she talked. She always did enjoy the feel of the residual warmth that healing spells left on the fingers.
“Weaving anything that would’ve helped you would’ve taken far too much time and a number of people would have been needed. We didn’t have the luxury of pooling the numbers and having everyone wash with intent. So calling for a circle of Magisters and waiting for a calling of the corners was out of the question. You needed to go under the knife immediately. Traditionally.
“At the end of the day Samahdemn, there are always going to be situations in which there’s still no replacement for good old-fashioned surgery.”
“I was really that far gone?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“You’ve felt your head scars already. You tell me. As I said before, had it not been for your armour and that Amalgamate we’d no doubt not be having this conversation. When you arrived with Zåkÿntħos, we-”
“Wait. Who’s that again? Who’s Zåkÿntħos?”
Brigid’s face took on the universal look of someone who just took a bad step into a pile of dog manure in the aftermath of my question. She obviously didn’t mean to say that name.
“Zåkÿntħos is…not important. Not for you. Not right now.”
“Not important? How’s that? Because I’d say he’s very damned important. Is he new to the Link? Has he been here long? What was he doing in Bastion?”
A multitude of questions came swimming through my aching head needing to be addressed. Brigid knew that there was no need in trying to avoid it. I’d never let it go now that something like this had been dropped in front of me.
“No. He’s not new to us. He’s actually been something of a fixture in the Link’s eastern islands for, well…since before my time anyway.”
Before her time? Brigid was in her late fifties. He couldn’t have been in his sixties or seventies. Could he? And she was speaking of him as a singular individual…alone. I weighed almost ten and three stone at the time. And when you took into account my armour and weaponry, I’d have been near ten and eight. He had to be young in a relative sense to have anywhere near the strength or ability to drag or carry me out to safety…and-
He can’t have been Swalii. I’m the only one as far as I know. Heka doesn’t play well with artificial life. “Is he an elf, or a faun? They tend to be partial to christening their children with plays on Ångëlįc names.”
“No. Nor is he Swalii, as I’m sure you’ve already gathered.”
Now I was baffled. Could he have been human or dwarf? Even with assistance from heka, it would’ve been a struggle getting out of that madness. Could someone of such an advanced age have held their focus under such circumstances? To get me out of a crumbling underground tower and drag me to safety? Orcs and centaurs were renowned for their natural strength of will in spite of their relatively low Magi birth rates. But orcs, outside of their clan shamans, were not really heka weavers and centauri Mages tended to be culturally relegated to being herd leaders. And neither of these peoples ever really broke bread with more “civilized” cultures often.
But then again…how long had it been since I had been back in the Link?
----------
On the Subject of the Magickal Divide
The Great Rebellion and the subsequent Great Exile are well known cautionary tales. Even among the non-religious. The epic yarn has been illustrated in religious verse in the holy book of the Afua Maisha since the dawn of organized religion. Lumå’įl’s rise against His beloved Åmbrosįå in a vain attempt to wrestle the throne of Ëmpÿrë away from Her, with Their Dįvįnë daughter Så’Ħdënåħ at His side. And the duo’s fall after their defeat at the end of their three centuries long struggle in the Dįvįnë Realm.
Even more well known is the Ten and Five Year Wars; the conflict that saw these impossibly powerful beings and their armies descend upon the world and march to destroy each other. Their gifts tearing the lands asunder in ways that are scarcely comprehensible. Leaving scars on Mundus that have yet to heal nearly two millennia hence. There were none left untouched by the devastation and there’s scarcely a person alive today that can’t trace their lineage back to someone who perished during those years in one way or another.
Nearly unknown to most however is the War of the Drågons. A terrible bit of unhappiness between the Ǻngëlics and Fallen some thousand years before the Ten and Five Year Wars that waged on for nearly 3 centuries. Setting ablaze both the Dįvįnë Realm of Ëmpÿrë and the Dæmönic Plains of Brŭmal. A war fought over the possession of Drågons and their souls.
I couldn’t rightfully say why or how, but this conflict changed something. Its devastation affected nature. Or maybe forever destroyed it. And the heka that once flowed through the world started to slowly leave it.
It’s something that Mother Mundus has never recovered from. Nor do I believe it ever will.
Unbeknownst to mortal-kind, inborn magickal talent ever so slowly became far more common among the offspring of the First Races than any others. And by the time people started to notice, few still living could remember a time when there was no distinction between those who could manipulate The Flow and those who couldn’t.
Magickal education among the younger races waned as Magi birth gaps widened. A gap that continued to expand more and more with each passing year.
Eluvian, faunish, spriteish and fay-folk Magi eventually came to outnumber those of human and dwarves nearly four thousand to one. And human and dwarven Magi offspring in turn outnumbered those born to races such as the centaur and the Ma’Jong by an equivalent factor.
So it came to be of no surprise that children born to the horse-people who could spell weave were doted upon and held aloft. While any of the fox-people in servitude who were found to be able to hear the song of The Flow were either manipulated by their masters to serve their whims, sold for a grotesquely large amount of coin, or put to the sword along with any equally gifted human slave.
After all, the fear of a rebellion empowered by heka within the slave nations was far too great to allow such beings to live if they could not be controlled…
----------
“Brigid,” I asked, “did the Mages welcome any centaurs into the fold since I’ve been away?”
She nearly scoffed at the question. “Don’t be foolish.”
“Never mind then.” I didn’t quite believe her. The thought of it made me want to visit the Athenaeum and comb the Archives of the Magi. Or search through the shards contained there for evidence to the contrary. “He’s obviously an accomplished Magister. I was just brainstorming. I’m just surprised that I haven’t heard his name before in any of my circles. Zåkÿntħos, you say?”
Another sigh. “Yes.”
“Named after the Zåkÿntħos from the Afua Maisha? Wow. Talk about lofty parental expectations. He might as well have been named Sånįgron. One of the masters of Restoration? I mean, he’d have to be to stave off my death, right?
“No.”
“A necromancer from outside The Link then? Or maybe he’s an Assembly member?”
“No, yes and no. He’s not a necromantic. That’s an even further reach than the centaurs. Other than bodily experimentation, why would a necromancer care?”
“Good question.”
“And although he’s very powerful when it comes to manipulating the Flow, he had little to do with your continued living. I told you; that was mostly your Amalgamate. And no, he’s not part of the Assembly. He doesn’t hold a ruling seat among us. In fact, he turned one down many years ago.”
“What!? Brigid, talk to me! Who in the name of Brŭmal is he? What’s his interest in me? How did he know where I was? Why save me after everything I did? How’d we get here!?
Lady Brigid plopped back on the bed and placed her hands on my shoulders. The calming effect was almost immediate. “Quiet. Just for a moment. You’re getting far too ahead of yourself. And this isn’t the time. I can’t-” she paused to think about her words. “I can’t answer all of your questions right now. It’s not my place. There are things that you’re just not ready to know.”
“This is insane.”
“Sam…Zåkÿntħos, for lack of better words, took an interest in you a long time ago and has been watching your progress. Especially as a Magi.”
“Watching me? Can you at least tell me for how long?”
“As far as I know, ever since you first arrived to the Link, before you attended Ardour.”
That was understandable enough to me. Being a Swalii Magi and all, everyone was interested in me in the early days. “Okay. He has no seat. But is he important enough to have anyone’s ear who’s in power? Does the Magisterium heed him?”
“One or two people.”
“Is he the reason-”
“-You were allowed to be taught? That you progressed? No. Not really. I mean, he’s lent his voice on your behalf here and there, but your talent has always been your own.”
“Maybe.”
It suddenly felt as though someone had always been behind the scenes of my life, pushing me along. Everything I’d thought about myself seemed to be a lie. All of my struggles to change. All of my desire to be better.
I didn’t like that thought.
“That’s a lot of favor that I carry with a man I’ve never even seen.”
Brigid had taken to moving about the hospital room again as she continued to talk to me. “You’ve no doubt seen him at least once.”
“Have I now? What does he look like”
“Well…he, favors us. Our appearance. Oftentimes, but not always.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s just as I said. It wasn’t a riddle.”
“Brigid, he’s either Hesijuan or he’s Khanasan. It’s not an existential dilemma.”
“When I said ‘us’, I meant the superficial. Skin tone. Nose. Eyes. Lips. All that. If I were to be specific, he’s Khanasan. At least, he looks Khanasan; like a Dwalli. But by choice. He wasn’t born one. In fact he’s not human at all.”
----------
On the Subject of the "Familial-Race"
Khanas is home to two native peoples. One of them being the afore mentioned centaurs. The half-horse people who make their home primarily in the mild to cooler climes. The other being the “cousins” of us Swalii; the Dwalli. Humans. Dark of complexion and course hair. But lacking our tell-tale plugs.
It’s said that we were once the same people in the land of Hesijua. But the Technological Renaissance forever separated us culturally and ideologically. After this irrevocable fracturing of our peoples, the story goes that we split and the Dwalli spread themselves over the continent to the south; starting by making their homes in Khanas’ Dry Lands. Also known as the Great Desert. And they spread out from there.
Brigid was one of these desert cousins of mine.
The Dwalli aren’t very far removed from the eluvian in their views of nature; hence likely came this suspected desire to separate themselves from our technological expansion. And in so being, the Dwalli and the eluvian have shared much amongst each other since this estrangement and forged an ironclad relationship over the centuries. It’s from this relationship, in known-fact, that half-elves came into being.
But all of that’s another story entirely.
As we Swalii went so far as to take to melding our flesh with machines, they moved ever closer towards more natural and cosmic sciences. Their knowledge of such things allowed them to not only thrive in their new arid home, but also to create a powerful and utterly unique empire. An empire with a surprisingly wide political reach and great wealth pulled from the lands that ran well beyond its borders. Referred to today as the Great Kingdom of the Pyramids, its major cities boasted massive triangular structures that aligned with the stars in the heavens, extravagant tombs that weaved themselves deep beneath the sands and a people whose art was said to move many to weep.
----------
I could feel my eyes blinking my confusion.
“He’s what you’d best comprehend as a therianthropic.”
Now, they say laughter is the language of the soul. If that’s true, then my soul had a lot to say about that one. And after I was done grabbing my head and side in pain throughout what I’m sure was a hysterical looking guffaw, I responded with- “So you’re trying to tell me that I was saved by a man-wolf? Not only that, but a man-wolf mystic?”
She shook her head. “Common misconception. Therianthropy isn’t the same as lycanthropy. Therianthrops aren’t bound to a singular alternative form. They can become nearly any living thing they choose to of comparable size. But even then, Zåkÿntħos’ gifts aren’t beholden to such a limiting rule of nature.”
“I suppose.” I concurred skeptically. “So, a truly special snowflake then?”
Brigid shrugged her shoulders. “You jest. But at one time, his gift wasn’t as mythical to us as it is now. To my knowledge, his kind are now exceedingly rare in this world.” she answered with much gravity. “So few are they in number that they may as well be the fiction you mistake him to be. From everything that I know, and from everything that Zåkÿntħos himself has told us, their numbers were drastically reduced during the Ten and Five Year Wars. Afterward, most of his kind who remained…left.”
“Left for where?”
She refused to speak further.
“I see.” I responded. All jocularity gone after I realized she wasn’t being facetious. “If you say so. Let’s say I suspend my disbelief for the moment. What then? He fought his way into the depts of a fire consumed superstructure, saved me from certain destruction and most likely fought us all of the way out to- where?”
“To a conveyance nexus.”
“He carried me all the way into the heart of Hesijua City? No questions? And nobody stopped us? Did he have help? Any at all?”
Brigid waved her hands and halted the line of inquiry. “Look. There’s no more I can tell you. I shouldn’t have told you this much. It was his expressed wish that I not discuss him. A wish that he also conveyed to the Assembly. So like it or not, that’s the way it is. One day, you might understand if he so wills it.”
Stonewalled. By Brigid of all people. “Am I going to meet him? Formally?”
“If he deems it necessary.”
“I guess that’s all to be said about it then.”
“I guess so.” she concurred sadly. “I wish I didn’t have to keep you in the dark. But I ask that you’ll respect me enough in this to not ask me anymore.”
I relented. “Yes, of course. For now.” For the sake of preserving what was likely my only unburnt bridge in life, I forced myself to shift from the topic. “How long will I be kept here?”
“Well, the doctors would normally want to keep a patient with injuries as extensive as yours for at least a month. Observation. Followed by at least another ten and two months of detached observation; weekly check-ins and such. But, since you’ve got that Amalgamate inside of you and they’re not quite sure how it’s been affected, if it’s been affected, and how it’s supposed to function, they’ll no doubt want to push it further.”
I felt my eyes bug out of my skull. “Nearly a year of observation!?”
“For a cracked skull, loss of consciousness, internal injuries and burns? Of course!”
“No. That’s far too long.” I protested. “I’ve already been here too long as it is.”
“Do you have an appointment to keep or something? What are you planning on doing exactly? The doctors aren’t going to be inclined to release you yet, regardless of how you feel. And the hospital’s security is more than willing to keep you in that bed should you try to force the issue.”
“Push comes to shove, I suppose you could unhook me and I could try taking my chances with the window.” I looked around the area for evidence of a floor and found my room number on one of the poles which suspended the fluids that were being drip-fed into me. “A three story leap? My augmentations could protect me from that I’d wager. Even in my current state.”
“That wouldn’t be the case here. If your memory, of all people’s is affected so badly, then your being under observation is more than warranted. Since it seems that you don’t remember that Shiulo Medical is a free-floating structure. You wouldn’t be able to save yourself from the fall between the building’s displaced foundation and the ground two hundred meters below.”
----------
On the Subject of Magickal Displacement
Levitating structures of particular significance had been a practice of the great Mages of history for many lifetimes within the Link. The Flow usually takes a gathering of no less than ten master Magi to manipulate in this way. And it takes a great deal of time afterward to set properly. Altering nature on such a grand and enduring basis, is nothing short of…problematic. But once it’s done and gravity’s flow is permanently reversed about the area, it makes for quite a magnificent sight.
The literal “groundbreaking ceremonies” for these liftings are always grand events. Bands and singers; acres of food and merrymaking; marches and speeches; all manner of red carpet fanfare. More often than not, one could see important military commanders, diplomats, statesmen and stateswomen at these happenings. Even a few of the Magisterium Assembly depending on the building’s importance; such as it was the day that the Capitol Towers were ground broken.
I have never not recommended the experience to someone who has inquired about it. I think that it’s something that should be experienced at least once in one’s life if it’s at all possible.
I mean, how often do you get to see a building getting ripped from Mundus itself in defiance of all natural law and levitated towards the heavens as if they were in the lands of the Goddess Herself as written in the Holy Book; being anchored to the earth from their displaced base only by great chains of enchanted isilivere?
Truly there are few things like it in the world.
----------
“Everyone here is in danger as long as I remain.” I argued, frustrated. “If the Hesijuan government finds out the truth of what happened, which, eventually they will, the Magisterium could be implicated. And I need to be gone before then.”
“What? What does the Magisterium have to do with anything?”
“You know I caused the chains keeping the wicc suspended to break. But I didn’t say how.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “I used The Craft Brigid. I melted the chains. That’s how I made the wicc fall. It wasn’t sabotage.”
Brigid almost fainted into a nearby seat. She rubbed her face with one hand and her focus with another. There was no way for her to calculate the magnitude of these events. “You did wha-. You did wha- You’re lying!”
“No. The truth is the truth. I did it. I destroyed the chains through The Flow and crashed it all down on everyone’s heads. I killed all those people.”
I don’t think I’d ever seen her stupefied up until that moment. There was little that she hadn’t experienced or heard in her life. But this was definitely new to her.
“And you survived this how?”
“A barrier.”
“Someone actually aided you in this insanity? Who casted it? Did they survive?”
“No one aided me. I…casted it myself.”
Her eyes widened to an almost animated extent. “Simultaneous casting? You? Some of the greatest Magisters I know can’t manipulate multiple facets of the flow at once and you’re telling me that you did?”
I nodded.
She searched my face to attempt to divine the truth of the claim. But seemed to find no lie in it as she asked me- “Since when? How long have you been able to manipulate The Flow like that?”
I sighed and sank deeper into the well of regret that I was already wallowing in. I’d kept so many secrets from her over the years.
“Since…always. Since the beginning.”
“And you’ve never- Goddess DAMNIT!”
Hearing her take the Goddess’ name in vain was quite a thing. I can’t recall ever hearing her do it before.
“Sam, if what you say is even remotely true-” she started to say once she’d composed herself. I could almost see all the walls of disbelief shattering for her in a single moment. Acceptance of the situation descended onto her face in lieu of any better explanation. Logic was no longer logical. “By Åmbrosįå, you really are an abomination, aren’t you? And Zåkÿntħos saved you. And I’m the one who allowed you to thrive in the first place.”
The words cut me just as sure as if they were knives. Especially coming from her. I wanted to cry. “I know. I messed up. I messed up bad.”
“The public will burn us over this. Are you aware of that? The council will probably try to hand you over themselves if-” Lady Brigid stopped suddenly as a eureka moment washed over her features. “This has to be why he did it.”
“Why who did what?”
“Zåkÿntħos.”
“Why he saved me?”
“That and also why he’s watched you so closely. Nothing has mattered to him so much as you. And that’s saying a lot coming from someone such as him. It’s got to be why Zåkÿntħos was so closed lipped about everything. Maybe I’ve underestimated your importance. Maybe we’ve all underestimated what you’re capable of. He’s seeing something we’re not.”
“Wonderful. How does whatever you’re talking about help me?”
“Fortunately, the unbelievability of your story will most likely serve us. No one will suspect-”
“-Right now.” I interrupted. “No one will suspect right now. The Knight of the Drågon I killed told me that there were others who’d known that I was a Craft User for decades.”
Brigid shook her finger. “That’s to be expected. It’s a small world. Your family’s basically part of the Hesijuan nobility for Goddess’ sake. And you damn near became something of a minor celebrity among the Magisterium once you were found to have an affinity for heka.”
“I did?”
Brigid nodded. “With them and beyond. Whether you realized it or not. Papers were written about your situation.”
This was all news to me. “What papers?!”
“None of that really matters. How many common people pay attention to scientific journals from Hesijua? For the most part, you’re okay. But secrets, particularly the ones hiding in plain sight, are funny things. Very few are ever kept secret. Thanks in no small part to the remnants of technology from your people’s renaissance. It’s difficult to cloister information when the average man has access to those…bulky information displays.”
“Computers.”
“Whatever. Tell me; the Knight that you targeted?”
“Yes?”
“You weaved these spells in front of him?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. For the most part.”
“Hmm. Why did he allow you to work the enchantments if he knew what you were and that you intended to kill him with them?”
“I hid it from his sight for as long as I could. And when he finally did see me weaving, he was too curious to stop me right away.”
“He told you that?”
“I saw it in his face.”
She scoffed. “Curiosity killed the cat.” she whispered to herself.
“And it killed the Order apparently.” I snorted at my own dark humor but she failed to see what was funny about hundreds of dead souls. I straightened up and composed myself awkwardly.
“Samahdemn,” she continued, “I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of your situation. You may very well be the only Swalii Magi the world has seen since before the creation of your living machines. Everything about you is a mystery. Of the relative handful of people outside of The Link who may be actively aware of your story, it’s widely accepted or believed that your kind are spiritually dead to any higher forms of mysticism despite what we already know about you.
“In all truth, Samahdemn, you shouldn’t be possible. The way you’re able to tap into The Flow and use it to any degree, let alone to this magnitude-”
“Brigid-”
My former mentor shushed me with an upheld dark-skinned hand. “Let me finish. The irony is that, if you’d never been given that…thing inside you, your gifts could’ve been-” she paused, as if there were no words to describe where her thoughts were taking her. “-You could’ve been beautiful. You could’ve rivaled even our most accomplished Magisters. But with the anger in your spirit…”
I understood what she meant. I understood and within myself I agreed. “With or without my Amalgamate I should be-”
“-Dead.” she stated in a definite and almost wistful tone. “You shouldn’t have survived The Spire. Our bodies shouldn’t be able to withstand that type of ethereal strain.”
“Maybe the world would be better off.” I concurred.
Brigid shook her head in, what I believe, was in spite of herself. “Not for you to say. Not for me to say either. We’re all children of the Goddess and God and only they hold the power over those types of judgments. Zåkÿntħos could’ve allowed your life to end, but saw fit to save you. And that’s enough for me. It is enough. It will be enough.”
That’s right. Say it again. Convince yourself. I thought. “It’s obvious that you believe that this man can move mountains. So do you think he can help you and Lord Byron re-bind me? Assuming he’s as powerful as you think he is.”
“No. Not right now. He’s no longer here. He had…other things that required his attention.”
“More important than this? Really!?”
“His concerns are above your station Samahdemn. Remember your place!”
I was a grown man, hushed like a child. “Yes, My Lady. I’m sorry.”
I was out of my league. I’m still amazed that she didn’t just turn and end my life to appease the powers that be. After all, regardless of who this Zåkÿntħos was, as far as I was concerned, he wouldn’t possibly be able to convince both the Assembly of Magi and the Oratory as to my motives and assuage them once the shit hit the fan. Everyone would be out for blood. My blood.
Not Brigid though. Despite how important to Zåkÿntħos I may have been, there was little doubt that she loathed me now and there was no convincing her of anything. But even in that hatred, she didn’t want me dead. That wasn’t in her nature.
She ended up, instead, standing in the window. Seemingly contemplating what to do next. She had a way of standing that was undeniably her own. Head held high, shoulders squared, clothes always immaculate. Her poise was almost regal. And the way the suns’ golden light caressed her brown skin now…she was absolutely queenly.
I miss my old teacher.
“We have to get you out of the city. Soon.” she stated factually. “I can secure your shard so you won’t have to worry about being tracked. I think I know some people who owe me a favor or two who can handle fixing the hospital records and charts also.”
“Really?”
She was committed. No turning back. No second guessing. For her, things now had to be done to safeguard The Link. Favors called in. Strings pulled. Deals made. She was in a different mode of thinking.
I didn’t know this woman.
Brigid's brows furrowed as the look of concentration intensified on her face. “As far as the hospital’s trail goes, forging paper and falsifying records is easy.” said she. “However, it may already be too late. The lawmen are normally informed of gunshot victims who are admitted to hospitals. Here’s to hoping someone was lazy with their desk job on our end.
“As for your shard…well, the Archives are large beyond reckoning. Their contents run deep and their accounts are ancient. It’s not uncommon for things to get…lost in such vastness.” The implications in what she was proposing were dizzying.
“And if the hospital staff wasn’t lazy?”
“Then I have a workaround for that as well…I think. Peoples’ memories are short and they’re easily bought. When it’s all said and done, few here will remember your face. And fewer still will remember your paperwork.”
This was a side of Brigid I’d never seen. Grateful didn’t even begin to cover my feelings.
“I also have some…acquaintances, in Kazakoto who can help you.”
“How’s that?” I asked. “Who are they?”
She continued along her train of thought. Ignoring my questions. “I pray to the Goddess that any investigations that are conducted at the site won’t lead back to you. Let alone allowing the idea that you can duel cast make its way into the people’s consciousness. At this point, it’s too early to know if Bastion’s authorities will actually employ Mages to aid in their investigation efforts or not. But for now, let’s assume the worst.”
“Good luck with that. From what you said, that place is so charred and steeped in confusion, I doubt that anyone will ever fully know exactly what happened there.”
I may have snickered a bit. Many a dreadful thing tickled the darkness that floated about within me in those days. Brigid however wasn’t happy with the response or my joviality at all.
“That was very callous of you Samahdemn.”
“Yes My Lady. I apologize My Lady. However, that doesn’t make it untrue.”
“I suppose. But you can’t rely on that. It’s fortunate for you that my associates and I are accustomed to smuggling Magi to safety.”
I was dumbfounded. I had no knowledge of this “movement”. Never did.
“To what end?”
“Freedom for all of our kind from the shackles of a society which would neuter us; destroy our ability to feel The Flow.” She eyed me hard. “Even the stupid ones.”
I deserved that. But it didn’t stop me from retorting with- “Freedom huh? That’s high talk coming from people who still support slavery.”
She eyed me more closely. “I’ve never condoned the having of slaves. You know that. And, unfortunately, minds can be slow to change on matters that don’t affect them directly. You should know that better than most, shouldn’t you?”
“Maybe.” She had me there.
“The pot should be careful about calling the kettle black.”
I retreated from my point. “How long have you been doing this?” I asked while refusing to meet her gaze.
“Our sympathizers and routes have been in place long before my time. There have always been those who were opposed to governmental over-reach; immoral laws imposed on all for the benefit of the few. The segregation, the hatred, the oppression, the fear. Why do you think The Link was founded in the first place?”
“Well, that’s good I suppose.”
“Don’t get too excited. We’re usually getting people safely onto the isles…not the other way around to elsewhere. That requires a different logistical approach.”
Her wondering eyes seemed as if they’d jump from her head with the franticness of her internal thought process. “In the case that something is brought to light while I work to get you completely disappeared from record, Waimund and Jeruian should be able to keep you out of the scope of the authorities at some level. I just have to get you to them. Or vice versa.”
“Waimund and Jeruian? The friends who you’re saddling me with?”
“The same.”
“Government?”
“No. Although they have been known to work for different ones from time to time. But I think they’ll be able to hide you sufficiently nonetheless. Maybe even better than. And give you a job as well. Something that sits well with your…temperament.”
“Really?”
“Hmm.” she confirmed with a nod. “They’re independently established munificences.”
I scoffed. “That’s the plan? The actual plan? You want me to go traipsing around the countryside hunting down monsters as a glorified mercenary while a price falls on my head?”
“Yes. Hunting beasts for anyone and everyone. Munificences aren’t beholden to most laws in their line of work and they move with a surprising amount of impunity. It’s fairly easy for almost anyone to fall into the career and they’re tracked only by a single governing body; a body that protects its investments and normally asks very few questions. Munificences are far too few in number and provide far too important a service for them to be scrutinized too heavily. You wouldn’t be the first man of ill repute that’s been allowed to join their number in exchange for their willingness to hunt and kill malicious and dangerous beasts.”
“Do you know what the life expectancy is of a munificence Brigid? Don’t bother answering. It’s rhetorical. I’ll tell you; it’s short. Would you have me eaten alive by a gbahali or some other craziness?”
“Right now, I don’t rightly care Sam.”
“Well maybe you should. Do you actually think that the International Association of Munificence Huntsmen will just overlook what I’ve done because I register as a hunter?”
Brigid shook her head. “I’m not really sure what the I.A.M.H. will be willing to overlook, but it’s a safe bet that this would cross the line. Not that we have to worry about what they think since we won’t be telling them. And what other choice do you legitimately have? Munificences are needed. This isn’t in question. The Association needs willing volunteers. But is that enough that they’d ignore the destruction at the Grand Spire? Let’s not put it to the test.
“Both Jeruian and Waimund are solid. They’ll help me. Just keep your familial titles and your rank in The Order between you and them, and you should be fine. Keep your magickal affinity to yourself, naturally. Do all of that, and Waimund and Jeruian will keep you legitimately employed and flush with coin that can’t be tracked back to your homeland.” She looked at me sternly. “Your noble status and Knighthood will be of little help to you from now on.”
“Not that my family’s station has been helpful to me for a while now.” I whispered under my breath.
The logic of her plan was solid, if almost laughable. And I resolved myself to it quickly. Regardless of how noble I’d attempted to be with my actions, or how accidental the deaths of all those Hesijuans were, the fact remained that I was now a neophyte mass murderer. A monster, being tasked to kill monsters to hide his own grotesqueness.
The situation was practically dripping with irony. It was almost darkly poetic.
“It’s as good an idea as any other.” I said. “These friends of yours will be risking a great deal doing this. They could lose more than their livelihoods and business if this subterfuge is ever broken. Are you really so sure that they’ll help me?”
“Their businesses.” she corrected. “They each have dealings independent of each other. One is established in Est Dome and the other…in Hisra, if I’m not mistaken. Don’t worry about them. They’ve smuggled Magi before. None with the level of infamy you could potentially have rained down upon you, but they’ve been doing this long enough that they’ll know how to adjust. And more appropriately; more importantly, they won’t be helping you. They’ll be helping me.”
“Ah. I see. They’re former students.”
“No. Neither of them were born Magi. But we do have history beyond the movement.”
I could tell in her tone and body language that she didn’t want to go any farther with it. And I didn’t push. To this day I still don’t know what that past entailed. But in retrospect, it must have run pretty deep for the duo to agree to help me as much as they did.
“I’ll need some things then.” Now that my head was clearer, I could easily make out that it was, in fact, my equipment that I had spied in the room’s corner. Or what was left of it anyway. Mangled plate pieces. A destroyed hauberk. The remains of a single tasset. And then there was my glaive. I could see why the shape of the blade looked skewed earlier. It was twisted grotesquely. Most likely from the explosion, or the subsequent flight through the hallway door thereafter that rendered me unconscious.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure I know what you want. And I’m sure that you would. But it’s not prudent. Only those of your former order use glaives and it would draw too much attention to you to openly use one on a hunt. Besides, as you can clearly see-” she moved to the neat-ish pile and lifted the tech laden sword to bring it to the bed. “-it’s seen better days.”
I didn’t need to plug it into my arm to tell that it was a lost cause. It was destroyed quite completely. It was bent so badly that it would be forever wedged in its sheath. I ran my fingers across it in silent mourning.
“As far as we can tell, something must’ve impacted it with-”
“-Incredible force.” I completed.
“Indeed. You don’t remember?”
“No. It was intact before everything went black.”
“Then it’s clear that it was most likely destroyed protecting the small of your back from some type of debris.”
“I’m sure. I’d probably be a vegetable otherwise.”
I’d already made up in my mind that I’d forge another at some point. My sword after all, was a part of my soul. As was the belief of any Knight. Brigid wouldn’t have understood that. But she was nonetheless right. Now wasn’t the time to indulge that desire. I looked up at the remainder of my things.
“And the rest of my armour?”
“What was saved is just as lost as the sword, I’m afraid. The pistol is probably salvageable. But it doesn’t matter. You needn’t concern yourself. Keeping any of it is an unnecessary risk.” She removed the blade from my reach and placed it back on top of the pile. “I’ll have all of this melted down. It’ll all make a few nice metal staves. They tend to be great focuses for the Mages in the field of metallurgy. Consider it a charitable donation to the next generation.”
The decision had been made. At least she was nice enough to tell me what she was going to do with it all. Still, it saddened me to think of my sword being repurposed in such a fashion.
“I suppose.”
“Good.”
“How long before we’re able to do all of this?”
“First, we’ll have to do something to speed along your recovery. I’m sure that Lord Byron and I will be able to handle that once I’m able to get him here to aid in calming your anger once again.”
“That’s fine. It’s a good thing that I’ve been setting aside coin since…you know.”
“Since you were in the skin trade you mean?”
I breathed in and sighed so deeply that it hurt my chest. “Yeah. And then there’s what coin I took with me when I left home. At least I won’t be starting from scratch.”
“Where’s this coin of yours?”
“I have a few long standing accounts with Vinchi International and-.”
“-Okay. Good enough.” she interrupted; not allowing me to finish my explanation. “I’d suggest that you move all your coin and close those accounts. In fact, you should put Hesijuan banking behind you entirely. Pay someone else to do it. Have them pretend to be a family member grieving your death in the Spire. And no wire transfers. Convert it to cash. I know that whatever you have squirreled away is more than a pittance, so I’d suggest separate withdrawals of less than ten thousand regardless of the currency type. If anyone comes for you behind the Grand Spire collapse, your old accounts will be the first thing they’ll track…if they don’t freeze them all together. I have an off shore account in the Broken Chain where you can place your monies temporarily until you can move it properly.”
I couldn’t help but allow the small smile that I felt creeping onto my lips to completely form. “The Chain’s a sovereign nation. Totally independent. A lot of dwarven driven finance. Smart. Life is all about who you know huh?”
“Always is.”
“And where exactly would you suggest I put it all after it’s filtered through your accounts?”
Normally, I’d suggest redepositing it anywhere else. Between a couple of elsewheres actually. But given that you’re in a much different fiscal realm than most of those I help, I’d say that you should look at investing it.”
She stroked her focus in thought again.
“Maybe in property.”
“Property?”
Brigid nodded. “I’m pretty sure that Zåkÿntħos has some level of authority over a stretch of land near the Yavan Mountains that belongs to his people that’s been all but abandoned for quite some time. I’d need to do some digging with him but if I’m right, given its overall state of disrepair as I think I understand it, I’d dare say that his people don’t really hold it in the same regard that they once did. And he may actually be persuaded to leave it in your care to make use of.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m not kidding when I say it’s been neglected. If I’m being honest…I’m pretty sure I remember it being described as a hole.”
“Well, it’s something. And something is better than nothing.”
“If you’re able to come to terms, at best, it will at least give you someplace off the beaten path to lay your head. At worst, it can effectively stand as an asset that you can liquidate and get your coin out of when you need it. Assuming you put in the effort with it.”
I was utterly speechless. I certainly didn’t deserve such kindness. Regardless of the fact that it was all off of the back of my assumed importance to a man I’d never met. “Brigid, I really am sorry. I know I don’t mean that much to you. Not anymore.”
She looked at me intently. I don’t like to think that she’d have sacrificed me had it been an option. But I’m fairly certain that whatever her personal stakes may have been, they’d not have been enough alone to convince her to let me live for my transgressions. I’ll never forget that she simply said- “As I told you. Zåkÿntħos apparently feels that you yet have some importance and he needs you to live. And that’s enough for me.”
“I see then. Thank you anyway, for your help.” Mine was a remark dripping with self-pity.
“Thank him when you see him. Not me.” Hers was a remark coated in cold honesty.
“I wish I weren’t so much of a disappointment to you.”
She seemed to soften a bit at that. “Sam, my old pupil, if you truly have a desire in you to make amends, to make this up to the innocents you killed needlessly in Bastion or to those you endanger here within The Link, then do something more with yourself in the hereafter. Show Zåkÿntħos, if he’s truly saving you for some greater purpose, that you’re actually worth saving. And show me that there is still something of the promise that I saw in you all of those years ago when we first met.”
She hefted up my pile of mangled, incomplete equipment. Not a light task for the wizardess as it all weighed in excess of four stone. But she handled it deftly and moved towards the door.
“I’ll go and get everything situated. I’ll return sometime tomorrow. Rest in the meanwhile.”
“Rest? How am I going to accomplish that feat?”
She glanced at the control pad next to me. “Close your eyes. If that fails you, then tap the opiate button on your medical remote. If you don’t mind being stomach sick later, I’m willing to bet it’ll put you to sleep quite quickly.”
As good a plan as any I suppose. I tapped the thick button nearly without thinking about it. I was desperate to get my mind off of my problems.
Brigid was nearly out of the door when a sudden impulse shot through me and I nearly bolted into a sitting position. “Wait! Christine?!”
Shocked into stillness more out of the fact that I called her by her first name than my personal urgency, she turned to face me. “Something you need?”
“I’m sorry. Again. But could you…if it’s not too much trouble…”
“Yes?”
“I honestly can’t bring myself to let them get melted down. Leave the sword and the pistol please. For me. They have meaning to me that’s hard to explain to…well…someone who’s not ordained.”
She glanced at them briefly among the mound of cloth and metal in her hands. I don’t think she’d have agreed to it otherwise, but she must have been tired and ready to put our conversation behind her so that she could think in silence. Denying my request would most likely have spawned another debate or argument and there was just no time. Besides, now that she knew what had truly happened, she’d have realized that we were days behind the power curve. And we had to get the ball rolling quickly.
Keeping forward momentum was very important.
“Fine Samahdemn. I’ll leave the sword. And the gun I suppose. But we’ll all be forced to live with the consequences if you use them recklessly. Try to remember that.”
The last thing I clearly remember before succumbing to the medicine induced urge to slumber was Brigid placing the sword and pistol remains carefully on the table next at my bedside.