Staying ahead of the brooding stormfront consumes every second of our lives. We jog day and night, ignoring cold and heat alike, not even pausing to cook or eat. Instead, Orav hands out jerked strips of meat while we move, and we refill our water using one of Azariah’s emergency survival Skills.
All I want to do is practice my new Skill, [Glass Animation], but I don’t have that luxury at the moment. We’re keeping up a demanding pace that leaves no time for anything other than the grueling march to avoid the driving rain and ominous thunder at our backs.
It’s not enough.
Above us, the windows of heaven open. Unrelenting rains pound the formerly-parched wastelands, soaking us to the bone and turning the red dirt into thick, clinging mud. Keeping our footing becomes almost impossible, although Azariah, Orav, and Lionel seem to handle it much better than the rest of us.
Azariah points to a low rise perhaps ten minutes away. “Up there! Take shelter!”
We struggle on toward the hill, but the mud becomes so thick and deep as the greedy ground drinks up the endless rain that we’re slipping and falling. Behind us, thunder ruptures the sky. Great sheets of dazzling white lightning explode, blinding and leaving behind afterimages.
I can’t see, crawling around in disoriented terror. I reach out with my Domain, trying to get my bearings, but it’s difficult to orient myself while sliding around in the mud. Moving forward feels impossible. Bile rises in my throat, and fear grips my heart in icy talons. Is this where my journey ends?
“Up! Run,” Azariah yells. He pulls me to my feet and breathes out a cloud of pipe smoke in front of us. Smoke curls and billows, spreading out at our feet, and it hardens into a rough sheet that resembles concrete.
I step onto it, half-pushed by Aariah, and begin walking. Traction immediately improves, allowing us to join our guide when he sprints ahead. He blows out more and more smoke as we move, replacing the track in front of us. I run for all I’m worth, not wanting to get caught out in the gale-force winds, pelting rain, and occasional shards of hail. Each droplet stings my cheeks, and the sharp hail draws blood, which runs hot and mingles with the cold rainwater as it washes down into my matted beard.
Just as I think I can’t run anymore— desperate for air, my chest heaving and my heart pounding in my chest like Mikko hammering at the forge—we reach the top of the hill. It’s hardly even a hill, but compared with the mostly flat topography of the Barrens, it may as well be a mountain. And, best of all, there’s a cave carved into the rocky outcropping at the top.
We pile inside, needing no prompting from Azariah to hurry. He drops his Skill as soon as we’re in, panting from the exertion of hardening his smoke into a walkway big enough for an entire group of people to run on at the same time. Gasping for air, he tries to talk, but it takes him almost half a minute before he spits out the words.
“Seal. Close off the cave.” He breaks off, bending over with his hands on his knees, and vomits all over the floor. His eyes look dull and vacant, and his forehead is slick with a sheen of sweat, not rain. He’s badly overdrawn his mana to build us a causeway over the thick mud, and now he’s paying the price.
“Mikko! Drag those boulders over,” I command, pointing at a pile of rocks and rubble at the back of the cave. “I’ll glass em, melt it down, and spread it across the mouth of the cave.”
My brother lurches into motion, rushing to the back of the conical room. He hauls the rocks effortlessly, dashing back and forth along the silca-flecked floors to grab a new boulder and carrying them to the front. At the mouth of the cave, he stacks the rocks up to obscure the howling, angry sky outside, and nods at me when he’s done.
I place my hand on the rough, gray-and-brown rocks, and channel [Vitrification], turning them into a massive amount of glass. It takes nearly all my mana, due to the sheer amount of the material I’m transmuting, but I have enough energy left to melt it all with my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. My new cores are amazing. With Melina and Avelina working in tandem, we copy the same technique we used for the window in Totten’s tower. [Object Manipulation] spreads out the glass thin to cover the gap, and [Strong as Stone] reinforces the hastily-prepared window.
“Take the spare cores if you’re almost out,” I tell Melina, knowing that she’ll need to use [In the Blink of an Eye] and [Flawless Annealing] in conjunction to ensure that the glass sets. I don’t want to risk something getting through.
“Is that strong enough to hold a mana-awakened beast?” Orav asks, eyeing the window with open skepticism. “We should still set a watch.”
“Agreed. You’re up first,” I say.
Orav nods, taking up a position where he can see outside while resting on a flat, fallen rock, leaning against the wall of the cave. “I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep, everyone. Storms like this last a day or two. Maybe longer. It’s the first of the season, so it’s hard to predict.”
“Thanks. We’re counting on your expertise,” I say, nodding at Orav. “Lio, can you take care of Azariah? Make sure it’s just mana-related. I didn’t see anything happen to him, but I’d rather not take any chances.”
“On it!” Lionel says, hopping to his feet. He scurries over to our guide, whose ashen face looks less hale than usual. A few applications of his healing magic later, Lionel shrugs. “Seems fine. Nothing else I can really do for him. Used all my healing Skills, just to be safe. Don’t think my [Lesser Neutralizing Touch] does anything for mana poisoning, though.”
“Thanks for checking. We’ll see what he suggests once he’s awake. For now, let’s all get some rest. Like Orav said, we might be holed up for a while, so let’s take full advantage of the time that we have. No sense wasting a chance to recover.”
=+=
As it turns out, setting a watch was smart. Midway through the second day of furious storms, a massive, centipede-like monster tries to break its way into the cave while I’m sleeping, shrieking and hurling itself against the glass barrier. Armored in big, gray, overlapping scales and covered in mottled brown patterns, it blends into the surroundings—except for its fearsome, open pink maw with ringed rows of triangular teeth.
Rakesh’s panicked cries wake us up as it skitters up the hill toward us. Three times as long as a wagon, it somehow moves with astonishing agility for its size.
“I didn’t notice it approaching until just now! Can it get through? Looks like it can break things with that horn,” Rakesh asks, pointing at the sturdy spike projecting from its forehead. Panic rolls off him in waves.
“We got this!” I shout.
Forewarned just in time, I expand my Domain and slam against it mentally, halting it in its tracks at a heavy mana cost. “Fall back, Rakesh. Good work spotting it.”
The centipede shakes its great head side to side, then lets out an ear-splitting shriek and charges at the glass as fast as it can. Its legs move in mesmerizing unison, propelling it at us as quickly as a horse at full gallop.
Cracks radiate across the surface of the window when it hits. Despite [Strong as Stone], the glass is too thin to withstand this kind of beating. We’ll have to layer it with a few more panes to make it hold up, but I lack the raw material to fuel the transmutation. Still, the barrier does its job, and the monster rebounds with a sickening crack as its horn splinters.
Twin axes materialize in Azariah’s hands. He takes a stance in front of the window, ready for when the beast breaks through. Mikko joins him, hefting his shield and hammer. The grim set of their faces declares that they won’t let the beast past them.
Anger flares within me. This is my team. It can find some other prey. My glass pseudo cores have recharged over the last day and a half, so I pour mana into my [Arcane Domain]. I seize the mana in the air outside, overcharging my Domain as powerfully as I can, and calling on my keenest understanding of the concept of sharpness to rip apart its carapace in a storm of invisible blades.
The beast stumbles, roaring in pain, but doesn’t stop. It crashes into the glass again, and this time it shatters it completely. It plows onward, colliding with Mikko and cracking his shield.
He stops its charge.
Straining for all he’s worth, Mikko shouts in defiance, pushing back against the beast. He swings his glass hammer, crushing armor and sending green ichor flying. “Attack! Drive it off!”
We rally at his warcry, launching whatever attacks we have available. Lionel’s rapier is a glittering stinger, piercing its left eye. Axes trailing streamers of gray smoke bisect two sets of legs. Paper birds swarm its right eye, exploding into sharp strips that shred their target.
Whoa! That’s new.
I draw hungrily on the mana in my larger glass cores, preparing to boil the beast’s brains in its shell, when blue-white flames engulf the huge beast in glorious heat, sending it flying out of the cave in an explosion of fire.
“Leave my friends alone!” Avelina screams, stalking out of the mouth of the cave with her hands lifted. Undaunted by the driving rain, she marches onward. Fire blazes around her, so hot that the water evaporates in a sizzle before it can even touch her. She thrusts out both hands, and a stream of liquid flame gushes forward, overwhelming the ugly creature and setting its entire body on fire.
Avelina spins on her heel and strides straight back into the cave, her chin held high. She makes her way to a stone in the back of the cave and sits, folding her legs under her and staring at the wall.
The centipede writhes in agony, shrieking for nearly five minutes before it finally dies. No one feels like going back to sleep again. We move on as soon as the rain finally stops just after daybreak. Orav suggests butchering the monster for meat, but no one takes him up on the offer.
“Better this way. Gotta get used to daylight again and sleepin at night,” Azariah explains gruffly when we groan about lack of sleep. He’s mostly shaken off the effects of using so much mana, but he’s more subdued than usual.
Along the way, we’re forced to dodge one more storm by climbing onto a small plateau and hunkering down in the cold, wet, wretched weather. Exposed to the elements, there’s not much we can do to keep dry or warm; even with [Greater Heat Manipulation], I’m fighting a losing battle.
Regardless of how miserable we are, it’s still better than getting caught down below. Flash floods surge past our spot, frothing with white-water fury. I’d rather be alive, thank you.
A day out from Loch LaMara, we get a break in the clouds, and Azariah picks up the pace of travel. I don’t complain; it’s nice to be back under the light of the sun. Returning to a day-time dynamic is far stranger at first than I anticipated, though. Without even realizing it, I’ve become wholly acclimated to our nocturnal existence. The heat and light of the daytime seem almost overwhelming now, a garish reminder of the chaos of the world around us, but I’ll take it over the sleet and hail that comes with the severe storms.
Still, daytime living is a good policy now that we’re reaching the border of the Barrens and passing into cooler climates. The rest of the world operates during the day time, while it’s light out and people can easily see, so we have to follow along. It used to be normal for me, but it’s odd how quickly I adapted to a different mode of existence. People are endlessly fascinating that way; we find ways to change, grow, and thrive in any environment.
The Barrens are all but gone now, giving way to bushlands and small stands of trees. On the far horizon, foothills and even the occasional small mountains poke up through the purple haze of dawn. Just on the other side, we’ll finally reach the inland sea. Bolstered by the thought of a hot meal and a soft bed, we push onward. The hours fly by until we reach the top of the last hill and behold our destination at last.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“I present to you the port of Loch LaMara,” Azariah says grandly, gesturing with his pipe. Trailing his ever-present gray smoke, the pipe inscribes a lazy circle in the air, which pops into a perfect circle a moment later, creating a mirror to display the sea-side town in greater detail.
Not many people line the streets. The few shops are boarded up in preparation for the stormy season. Ramshackle warehouses dominate the cityscape. Not very many houses or residential units appear to exist, which makes sense since people pass through, but don’t tend to stay long. Over a dozen quays jut out into the dark waters of the inland sea.
The people who work here are almost all in logistics, according to Rakesh. The laborers travel with the ships, loading up goods and then pulling double-duty as the crew when they sail to the next destination. Unlike Halmuth, which serves as a trade hub, Loch Lamara is nothing more than a glorified stopover. Strategic, but barely civilization.
“Who knew there was so much water in the entire world,” Orav whispers. He stares at the picture in the scrying circle, a hungry expression in his eyes at finally getting a look at the inland sea. “We’d never have to search out springs again if we lived here.”
Something about his childlike awe at seeing a body of water lifts my spirits. I should see more of the joy and wonder of the world around me, instead of wallowing in cynicism. I vow to take more time to enjoy seeing the sights. I’ve always wanted to travel the world. I just didn’t know it was so dangerous.
Still, there’s something off about the image before us. Loch LaMara is the only port on this side of the inland sea, since it’s the only place with a harbor. For some reason I expected more ship traffic.
Or, really, any ship traffic.
Swallowing my pride, I approach Azariah to see what he knows. I lift an eyebrow and point down toward the docks. “Where are all the people? Looks less popular than a restaurant with a rat infestation. Shouldn’t the Loch LaMara jetties be full of boats and barges?”
Azariah puffs on his pipe. When he answers me, he looks regretful more than anything. “Stormy season. We dallied far too long in Halmuth. Sailin is outta the question now.”
I bite down on my first thoughtless reply, take a deep breath, and say, “I thought you said sailing across the sea would cut a month off travel time? Now we’re stuck here?”
“I did, and it will. Problem is findin a captain. You see any watercraft capable of that kind of voyage? Even if you did pick out a boat, no one’ll sail now. Two storms deep into the season.” He sniffs, looking up at the sky. “Next storm’s on the horizon, too. Might as well ask them to slit their own throats.”
“What choice do we have?”
He shrugs. “We circle around the long way. No other options that I can think of—well, no other safe options. Rumor says we can meet with the sea-people, but I can’t get a read on em with my Skill.”
I squint at him. “The sea-people? Never heard of them. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget I mentioned it,” Azariah says, scowling. “That’s a last-ditch measure, and I ain’t putin too much weight in hearsay.”
“Why didn’t your pathfinding Skill alert you?” I ask him in a measured tone. Inwardly, I’m seething, but I’m trying to be more even-keeled. As our leader, I can’t afford to act rashly or let my emotions get the better of me. That doesn’t mean ignoring my feelings; it just means that I have to consider how my actions impact others. Learning to see the bigger picture, instead of doing what I want, is part of the burden of leadership.
Azariah puffs on his pipe once more, his favorite tactic when he doesn’t want to give me an answer. His brow is furrowed, and he looks troubled, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s taking his time to cook up a line to feed me. Yet when he finally heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his shaggy head, I believe he’s sincere. “That’s the thing. I consulted my Skill. Always do. It’s led us here every time.”
I tamp down my natural skepticism and consider his words, trying to get to the heart of the matter. “Oh? You think there’s something more going on that meets the eye?”
He nods slowly, still drawing on his pipe. He breathes out a thick wreath of smoke. “Stay on guard. I don’t have a good feelin about the place. We’ll know more soon enough.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I say stiffly. I still don’t trust Azariah, but until I can figure out his angle, I’d be stupid to ignore his warning. Remaining vigilant is smart anyway, so it’s not like he’s counseling us to do something that I wouldn’t already want to do. All I want to do is find a place to relax for the night and work on my glass animals, but my team comes first.
“Yep,” he murmurs, still staring at the town in his strange, smokey mirror. He tugs on his ear a few times, then resumes walking, letting the scrying mirror dissipate.
“You heard Azariah. Stay watchful, but look out for opportunities to continue our journey. Don’t let your guard down,” I instruct my team.
Sticking as close together as we can without creating uncomfortable resonance between all the glass cores we’re carrying, we pick our way across the foothills, following a winding path that’s smoother and better maintained than anything we’ve dealt with in the Barrens for the last few weeks. It’s a good reminder that we’re returning to civilization.
Civilized doesn’t mean safe, though.
“Nuri! Look at their street lamps. They’re using the same models that we have at home,” Melina points out cheerfully.
“Must be a standard across Densmore. I did wonder why the glass panes we made were so uniform. For some reason, I just assumed that Mikko’s forge made the iron frames.”
“We do, but they’re based on a template,” Mikko says. “Makes it easy to churn out a ton of em all at once. Simple work to hand off to an [Apprentice Blacksmith] or less skilled laborer, since it always follows the same basic pattern.”
I nod. “Smart. That probably freed you up for more interesting things, like working on all the pieces of the Iron Lunk.”
“I’m flattered that you thought I was beyond basic work, Nuri, but I made my fair share of those street lamps. Silaraon asked for so many of them that it was all hands on deck. Eventually I did work my way up, but it wasn’t right away.”
“Maybe they’ll have work for us,” I say, squinting at the lights through my Domain. Now that Azariah dropped his smoke-based illusion that gave us a bird’s-eye view of Loch LaMara, I have to find alternate ways to see what’s going on. They don’t seem to be in good shape, which isn’t great right before a stormy season. If someone’s caught outside at night, trying to get to safety, then it will make the dark all the more difficult to navigate.
Maybe I can duplicate what Azariah is able to do, I muse. Since I can connect to imbued glass now, then maybe I can display what I’m able to sense in my Domain. I just have to figure out a way to show it to the other people in our team. A few small rondells, like hand-mirrors, would be a perfect way to share. Between Rakesh’s birds and my animated glass—assuming I can figure out how to use it properly—we’ll have eyes and ears on everything around us. No one can surprise us again.
“Would you mind lowering your defenses and showing me that scrying magic again, Azariah?” I ask as politely as I can.
“Trying to steal from me?” Azariah barks.
“Only if you’re willing.”
“Diplomatic for a thief,” he mutters, but his lips unexpectedly twitch into a smile. “Mebbe I’ll show ya.”
Just when I think he’s going to turn me down, he breathes out a smoke in a slow stream, forming the Skill with exacting precision. I watch as closely as I can, although my Viewing is still far from consistent or advanced. I need to practice more before I see Mbukhe again. He’s much quieter than Casella, but he has more demanding standards.
“That’s more complicated than I thought at first,” I say while watching the dizzying Skill unfold. “It’s not going to be easy to duplicate. Might take me weeks. Would you mind if I draw it out later? Rakesh and Melina are helping me write down runic arrays and create a dictionary of what we discover.”
“Guess so,” Azariah grumbles.
From him, that’s downright friendly. I’ll take a win however I can, so I nod my thanks and fall silent as we continue our journey into town. An hour later, we descend from the craggy hills and reach the low walls surrounding the port of Loch LaMara proper. There aren’t any [Guards] at the gate, which is a surprise after Halmuth. Even so, it’s not exactly a warm welcome.
The broad, flat fields surrounding the walls are completely bare for at least two hundred paces. Not a single weed pushes up from the ground. No pebbles or stray mounds of dirt mar the ground. I assume that someone’s watching at all times, keeping tabs on anyone who tries to enter the city.
“They’re in the watchtower to your left,” Orav says quietly, making a point not to look in that direction. “Might look unattended, but I don’t think they’re slacking. Foreboding, huh?”
“Not the warmest welcome,” I agree.
I tuck away that bit of information, although I don’t acknowledge his words or give myself away by craning my neck to stare in the direction indicated. Azariah already warned us to stay on guard during our time here, so I’d be foolish not to listen.
Still. Couldn’t we go to a single place that’s friendly and safe? I’m getting tired of always watching my back—and things won’t exactly improve once we get to Gilead. I don’t think we’re on our way to a vacation. Even if we come out with advanced healing Skills or a Class evolution for Lionel, and a restored body and channels for me, it won’t be an easy or fun visit, I’ll wager. Nothing the [Inquisitors] are looking into ever proves as simple as it seems on the surface.
“Should be an inn this way,” Azariah says. His smoke forms itself into an elaborate sign, pointing the way for us to follow. We trot along behind him, lured on by the promise of real beds and a change of menu. We’ve eaten well in the Barrens—which seems like a strange name to me, now that I’ve seen how mana-rich the creatures are that call the wilderness their home—but it’s still nice to eat something fresh.
Just as the inn comes into sight a few streets over, lightning splits the sky. A deep and bone-rattling clap of thunder shakes the heavens.
I glance up in shock; only a moment ago, the clouds had barely begun to darken, but it’s almost pitch-black out now as winds rage and enormous thunderclouds loom high overhead. I’m reminded of the chaos storms that ravaged Silaraon after I emerged from the Greater Rift when I adventured with Tem, but this looks entirely natural.
“Inside!” Azariah yells, breaking into a sprint. Watching his short legs pump as fast as the stout man can move spurs us all into action. We’ve had more than enough storms over the past week to last us a lifetime.
The rain falls on us like a sluice gate opened above us, dumping more water than I ever would have thought possible in such a short amount of time, if I hadn’t survived two storms just like it recently. This close to a body of water, however, the bad weather is even more extreme. The cobblestones beneath us grow slick with water, but we lean into each other as we run down the street, huddling together for support. Each fat raindrop hits like a flung stone, so we put our heads down and run for all we’re worth.
A man waits for us at the entrance to the inn, waving us on with a grim look in his eyes. He’s wearing an oil-slicked raincoat, even though he doesn’t leave the overhanging eaves of the inn’s front porch, and he’s holding a lantern up to guide us.
“Sea’s bounty be yours, travelers! Last ones in for the season,” he calls out, cupping his free hand to his mouth.
We run through the driving rain and make it the last few dozen paces to his inn, leaping up the steps to join him on the porch. Mikko shakes off water like a wet dog, and I wipe my eyes as one of the stinging drops hits me in the face.
Azariah snorts out smoke, and it turns into scalding steam, evaporating the water off his body. I follow his lead, flexing my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and clearing off the water from the entire team in one pulse of power.
“Handy,” the innkeeper mutters. He gives me a hard look. “Don’t get a lot of high ranking folk out here, especially not on foot. Staying long?” Then he laughs ruefully. “Well. Not like you have much of a choice anymore. Nowhere to go.”
His weather-lined face is more deeply tanned than I’d expect from someone who works inside. He looks more like a retired seaman, and the limp in his right leg seems to reinforce that he’s changed careers not entirely of his own volition. His hair is white as sugar, and he’s slightly overweight, but his sky-blue eyes are sharp and lively.
I shrug. “Not staying if we can help it. Doesn’t seem like much we can do with the storm hitting, though.”
He grunts non-committedly. “Curious time to roam into town. Come on, then. Let’s get you sorted. Name’s Ned.”
I can’t seem to place where Ned’s from. His accent is lilting in a way that we don’t hear in the borderlands very often, but he lacks the usual paleness of the far North, and his eyes say Easterner. I’ll bet he’s got stories to tell, but they’ll have to wait.
“Rooms sound fantastic after the Barrens. Orav, you sticking with us?”
“Got nowhere to go for now,” Orav says awkwardly. He fumbles at his belt pouch for his money bag, but I wave him off.
“Just bunk with one of us for now. You’ve been a big help with hunting food, so it’s the least we can do to repay you.”
“Where you folks headed, anyhow?” Ned asks.
“Osaria,” Azariah says, at the same time that I blurt out, “Gilead.” We exchange glances, and I chuckle and shrug when Ned’s piercing gaze grows even sharper.
Our [Smokeborn Pathfinder] takes the lead, summoning up a puff of pipe smoke and shaping it into a map of Densmore and its surrounding territories. He draws a line in scorching red fire, right across the undulating gray background of smoke. Flickering and spitting, the line goes from Loch LaMara through Gilead, and then hooks Southwest toward Osaria.
“That’s why he’s our guide,” I say, smiling broadly and nodding toward Azariah. A few of my teammates join me in an awkward chuckle, and we move on as though nothing happened. I hope I didn’t inadvertently cause us any trouble by telling Ned where we’re going. Sternly, I remind myself to keep an eye out for that sort of thing in the future. I’m too quick to give away information that I shouldn’t.
A leader needs to learn to control his tongue—and that means starting with my thoughts. I have to curb my worst impulses, discard my worries and selfishness. I can’t endanger my team because I’m thoughtless or reckless.
Ned ushers us to a side hall past the main great room, which seems strangely empty for an inn at a trading port. “Everyone left yesterday. Whole place is empty. Take whichever rooms you want; let me know, and I’ll get you keys. Food’s on at the noon bell. Hope you like fish.”
“Anything’s better than jerky,” Lionel mutters, which sets off a round of chuckles, though Orav looks mildly offended.
Soon, we’re fed, dried, and exchanging stories with Ned. Like most fishermen, he’s got an amazing knack for telling tall tales, and the team lets off steam laughing at his obvious lies about catching eels bigger than the inn, or seeing fish-people wave to him from beneath the waves of Loch LaMara.
Yawning overtakes me after a few hours, and I bid our friendly host farewell to get settled into my room. I crawl under the covers and sleep for the rest of the day and all through the night, glad to be done with our wilderness crossing. It’s nice to be back in civilization. I’ve got a good feeling about Loch LaMara.