Sweat dripped from Orlan as he took a breath, sliding his left foot forward and extending his right arm he clenched every muscle in his upper body while sending a gentle pulse of mana down his outstretched arm. After a moment he sensed a small disruption in the flow of mana. With a scowl he focused his mana down in that area, forming a complex knot of energy he felt the energy grinding away at the tiny imperfection. Physically it felt like someone had implanted a hot coal in the flesh of his arm, which is why he locked up his body, to prevent it from moving. It took a minute before the impurity broke apart under the torrent of mana, his body quickly expelling it as a drop of oily blood that seeped through his pores and dried. It joined a dozen other tiny drops of dried blood on the arm where other tiny impurities had been removed.
With a sigh he returned to the neutral stance with his fists at his waist and feet together. Slowly the pain in his arm faded, the muscle tissue growing back to replace the tainted cells at an increased rate thanks to the lingering mana. Taking another breath he turned to see Lailra standing at the entrance of the training room, openly checking out his sweat covered torso.
“Enjoying the show?” Orlan asked dryly as he walked over to grab a pitcher of water and take a long drink.
“Mmhmm,” she replied, playfully biting her thumb as she continued to unabashedly stare.
“I don’t know what you enjoy about seeing me like this,” he continued.
“That’s because you’re a man,” she said with a playful grin, grabbing a towel and walking over to help clean the tainted blood from his arm, “you only enjoy the results, us women, we enjoy the process as well.”
“If you say so,” he replied, rolling his eyes, but allowing her to scrub his arm, “honestly, I’d hoped I’d never have to go through this tempering again.”
“Then hurry up and get back to the sixth sphere,” she admonished lightly, “then your body will stop attempting to revert.”
“I’m working on it, can’t do it while we’re in motion,” he shrugged, “so, did you come here just to ogle me or is there something else?”
“Mmm?” she asked, looking up from his arm with a slight blush, “oh, yes, the mages conducted their initial investigation into the eye you brought back. They’re, hesitantly calling it the Seer’s Price for the moment. So far they’ve only worked out its aura, not any active effects, but that alone is… worrying.”
“How so?” asked Orlan, taking the towel from her so he could wipe the sweat from his body.
“Apparently it aids in, call it inspiration of those within the aura. Guiding them to figure things out faster than they otherwise would,” explained Lailra, “it’s a subtle effect, but still quite powerful. However, it exacts a price on those who are exposed to it for too long. From what they could tell there’s no limits to what this price could be, a limb, your sanity, even lifespan.”
“I told them Divine items are dangerous,” Orlan sighed.
“Don’t worry, they have the eye under lockdown, they attuned a warding box to contain its aura,” she assured him, “They also don’t think a few hours, or even a day or two of exposure would have any noticeable effect.”
“And any idea why the US government had it?”
“On that, I’ll admit, we are lacking,” she shrugged, “best they could offer is that, on both this side and the other, there are multiple myths of gods or figures that were both immensely powerful and missing an eye.”
“And they think these myths are based on an actual person?”
“It’s not impossible, but you know how twisted legends can become over time,” she replied, “beyond that the US government put out a statement accusing you of murdering a bunch of people during your escape, more than the one you said you did.”
“Wait, ‘a bunch’ of people?”
“Ya, they say you slaughtered the entire staff of the, uh, off site holding facility,” she said flatly, “even had a bunch of pictures of blood on concrete, body parts and…. Ya.”
“That… doesn’t make any sense,” Orlan scowled, “even if they don’t like, I wouldn’t think they’d want to intentionally aggravate me.”
“I don’t get it either,” Lailra agreed, “recommended we call Theo, he’s our one contact in the government that isn’t… openly hostile to us.”
“And you?”
“I…” she paused, taking a breath while Orlan pulled his tunic on, “I don’t know, I feel like we’re missing something.”
“A coverup perhaps? Wanting to obscure that they were holding me at a black site?” Orlan offered, “or keep the secret of their experiment with the marine?”
“I guess,” she said slowly, “I think that talking with Theo couldn’t hurt at the very least.”
“Then lets do that,” Orlan nodded.
\-\-\-\-\-
“Oh, Lord Protector Orlan was it?” Theo asked over the phone line.
“Being awfully formal there,” Orlan said skeptically.
“I’m supposed to do what I can to bring in the criminal known by that name, consider yourself informed,” the man said, “now that I’ve done everything I can to bring you in, what can I do?”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re taking the charges that seriously.”
“Cause I’m not,” snorted Theo, “I’ve seen the pictures, the uncensored ones, and I’ve seen what monsters subject to Orlan’s tender mercies look like. Those people were shot, not… taken apart by a blade or magic.”
“I could have stolen a gun to kill them, to obscure my actions,” Orlan replied.
“No, you’re straight forward, if you wanted someone dead, you’d kill them, but you wouldn’t butcher them. Despite what the official autopsies might say, I spoke with the coroner, they were cut apart after being killed.”
“Ok, so why frame me for all of this?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out, before this the government wasn’t a fan of yours, but they weren’t looking for an excuse to go to war with you,” Theo groaned, “especially not to the level of killing a dozen of our own people to fabricate an excuse.”
“Is that a real possibility?” Orlan asked, “war?”
“I… don’t know,” admitted Theo.
“Any suggestions?”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Start with telling me your side of the story.”
\-\-\-\-\-
“A marine?” Theo asked.
“Or army guy or something, he was in fatigues, clearly trained in combat and hopped up on magical steroids,” Orlan agreed.
“There was no mention of a marine, or any other soldier being present,” Theo said, the sound of shuffling papers coming over the line, “no mention of the armored van either.”
“So they’re covering up their magical experimentation?” Orlan asked.
“There could be more to it than that,” Theo sighed, “there’s a big investigation going on at the Pentagon after your rescue operation. I couldn’t get anything solid, but I have figured out that they’re trying to dig out the original blueprints and design of the Pentagon, considering those should have been destroyed that’s… worrying.”
“Why?”
“It means they found something that shouldn’t exist. I’ve been asking around and no one I’ve spoken to works in the section your knight was being held.”
“Meaning what exactly?” Orlan asked.
“I don’t know,” Theo sighed, “security is tight around the Pentagon, so it could mean nothing, but I can’t help but feel there is something going on. Something I can’t figure out.”
“I guess that brings me back to my original question, what do you suggest?”
“For one, we need a better way of communicating,” Theo said, “something more than this phone of yours.”
“I’m not letting you establish an embassy on my protectorate,” Orlan said instantly.
“That wouldn’t work anyways, not with your arrest out. No, I want something less formal, not connected to the government.”
“Like what?”
“You said on that podcast you intended train people to be mages? I can set up a non-profit that will aid you with that, including transporting a group of people to your island along with a bunch of equipment that we could use to talk.”
“Will there be any spies in this group?”
“Almost assuredly,” Theo barked a laugh, “from any and every government capable of manipulating someone onto that helicopter. But so what? I assume you have your own security procedures; I doubt anything we could do would compromise you.”
“We’re facing a food issue,” Lailra suddenly spoke up from beside Orlan, causing Nallia to reach out and put the phone on speaker, “many of our farms were destroyed during our transit to this side. We might not be able to handle a large influx of new mouths to feed.”
“Food is easy,” Theo said, “I’ll include a bunch of equipment to set up a satellite internet connection. I might even be able to swing a 5g cell tower if you’re interested.”
“How will we power all that?” Orlan asked.
“A gas generator should work.”
“And the government will allow you to do all this?” Lailra asked, “given Orlan’s status as a fugitive?”
“I’ll back date the documents to before the arrest warrant was out,” Theo dismissed, “besides, it’s not like non-profits refuse to work with nations ostensibly hostile to the US.”
“We’re not a nation,” Orlan said.
“You might want to rethink that policy, the best outcome here is if the major powers treat you like a nation. Hell, you’ve more land area that some real nations I could mention.”
“We’ll take your advice into consideration,” Lailra said before Orlan could respond.
“I’m sure,” Theo said, sounding unconvinced, “in any case, I’ll contact you when the non-profit is set up and connect you with the person in charge.”
Orlan simply gave Lailra a look as the phone line went dead and Nallia put the phone back in her personal space.
“When the first Protector Lords rose and bonded with their islands, they were regarded as kings,” Lailra said slowly, “the oath prevented them from claiming any inheritance or family tie, but the other kingdoms still treated the Protector Lords as the rulers of their own nations.”
“And how did that end up?” Orlan asked dryly.
“My point is that there’s precedent for this,” Lailra said with a glare, “there’s no framework for the nations on this side to interact with a Protector Lord, but a king of a small land? That they can wrap their heads around.”
“I’m not a king.”
“Nor am I saying you should be one,” Lailra sighed, pausing to gather her thoughts, “internally we can abide by the Protector’s Oath, claim no citizens, no land or noble titles and all that. But externally we can interact with others like a nation, speak through ambassadors, negotiate treaties… we’ll never claim to be a nation but that doesn’t mean we can’t pretend to be one until something better is worked out.”
“Is it too late to go back to the other side?” Orlan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “all I want to do is be left alone so I can kill monsters.”
“And in time they’ll figure out that’s in their best interests as well,” Lailra assured him, “but until then, we need a way to prevent conflict.”
“Might be too late for that.”
“Might be,” Lailra admitted.
\-\-\-\-\-
“You wanted to see me Grandmaster?” Orlan asked, joining the older man atop a small mountain on the south-easter side of his island. The man turned to fix Orlan with a glare, making his feelings on the title clear before turning back and gesturing to the sea in the direction the island was heading.
“There’s something weird ahead of us,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” Orlan said dryly.
“No, I mean literally, I can sense more mana in the aether, and the density is growing every hour.”
“How high will it get?”
“Still far short of tier one, but greater than anything we’ve see on this side so far,” he answered, “I’m confident we’ll find a powerful mana geyser near our destination, likely one on a ley line.”
“This side has ley lines?” Orlan asked, giving the older grandmaster a look, “I thought the aether was too weak for them to form.”
“It should be, my thought is that they’re old channels left over from before the splitting. But even that wouldn’t explain why its active.”
“You think the rifts are causing the ley lines to wake up?” Orlan asked.
“Or the ley lines waking up is drawing the rifts,” the grandmaster replied, “ley nodes are always a hotspot for rift activity.”
“What are you saying?”
“Just musing on some questions,” the older mage shrugged, “I actually called you because there’s a storm ahead of us, wanted to know if you want it taken care of.”
“Anything serious?”
“Not even a tier one storm,” the mage scoffed before sobering, “but it’s close, that’s why I noticed mana levels are rising as we travel. If a rift opens up near that storm, the mana could cause it to reach tier one.”
“And we’re expecting a rift to open up in the area,” Orlan said, “then go ahead, take care of it. I’ll talk with the treasurer about payment, might have to wait till we reach the mana geyser for me to condense the mana stones though.”
“That’s fine,” the grandmaster said, already forming a complex, six ring spell in front of himself, “honestly, I’m just happy to be doing my actual job, managing the weather. It’s far more complex than people think it is. I blame those shamans who claim to be able to do a dance and make it rain, the charlatans. In reality there’s more to the rain, far more. At times I’ve had to shape wind patterns for months just for a chance of rain, directing the air over a body of water before cooling and slowing when above the target area. That required a series of carefully constructed spells to prevent from disrupting the weather across the entire region.”
“And that’s how you charge the big bucks?” Orlan asked with a wry grin.
“And the wise leaders pay for it,” he replied with a chuckle of his own, runes beginning to fill the outer rings of the spell, “but this is what I’ve always enjoyed, what I’m good at.”
With a final touch the spell pulsed, a torrent of energy shooting into the distance before the spell circle dissipated like mist.
“There, the storm should subside in a few hours, I made sure to scatter the mana within the storm as well, just to ensure there’s no surprises if the rift appears.”
“Thanks,” Orlan said, patting the man on the shoulder, “you could probably make an easy living on this side as well, you know. I bet there are plenty of wise leaders ready to foot the bill if you can promise them rain, or disrupt storms.”
“And once someone else steps up to take over this damned title I’ll consider it,” the man nodded, “but until someone else reaches the seventh sphere I’m the most powerful damned mage on this side, near as we can tell. As much as I dislike the title, I’m not a coward, I won’t shirk my duty until I’m certain there’s someone who can take my place.”
\-\-\-\-\-
“And… wait, I’m getting word that Tropical Storm Sandra is breaking apart,” the weather reporter for a major news network said, hand to his ear, “surprisingly the storm, which was predicted to become a hurricane in the next few days has simply… dispersed. Do we have satellite images?”
After a moment of panic the green screen behind the man flickered and displayed the storm, now seeming to be in the middle of separating into dozens of smaller cloud systems.
“This is… quite unprecedented, it seems the storm is falling apart, almost like something cut it up,” the reporter said, seeming confused, “I’m being told that the odd floating island that appeared over Boston a couple weeks ago is moving in that direction, perhaps it is having some unknown effect on the surrounding weather?”
“Rare that there’s ever any breaking news in weather,” the main Anchor chuckled, the camera returning to her desk, “as Mike said the floating island is heading in that direction, and has shown many capabilities, so it might be related.”
“Or it could just be the air mass the island is pushing ahead of itself,” the co-anchor replied, “an island that large has to move a lot of air, that could have disrupted the storm.”
“It also could have made it worse, a storm is just a mass of moving air, after all, could this have caused the worst storm in recorded history? We’ll have more for you after these commercials.”