BETTER LEFT BURIED (PART FOUR)
“All the gods have an element or two associated with them. Father Sky has lightning, Sister Sun has fire, Uncle Trickster has sound; the list goes on. But of the Pantheon, I think none has a more suitable element as Master Time. Cold is an absence that alters, a preserver that destroys, it is what fills every ending and is also everything’s ending. There really couldn’t be a more perfect metaphor for the Tenth God.” - Writings of Saint Mira the Martyr
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“We left the Triskelion after that and found the dig site in chaos. Magus Urbain was dead, three others wounded, all caught in the accelerated’s path or the shrapnel it created. Thankfully, it sped off into the island’s south and we could evacuate back to the main camp. Once that was done, Yimik left for the mainland by feather, taking his master’s staff and word of our predicament to the tower. I assume his arrival was what shook my original message loose from the bureaucrats and let it reach your temple.”
Rellim absently cleaned his glasses as he reached his stories end. “After that, we mainly stayed at the camp, monitoring the growing number of refracted. For a while they kept to themselves, milling about the ruin, doing some crude digging but not much else. That ended three days ago; their excavation efforts became more… involved, and they started approaching us.”
Across from the Preceptor, the Paladin sat slightly hunched over, polearm on his lap, a frown accentuating his terrible scars. This ‘Cole’ had been silent the entire story, simply drinking in the information, his ever-deepening scowl the only sign of emotion or comprehension offered. While Rellim wouldn’t admit it, the grim intensity of his newfound ally was more than a little intimidating; and judging by how Proctor Olasis kept one hand on her sword at all time, he wasn’t the only one who felt similarly.
Gesturing at the crude walls surrounding them, Rellim continued speaking. “We prepared this little redoubt in case matters got bad enough to require abandoning the main camp. Which they did, before most of the supplies could be moved. The normal refracted sniffing about our tents was bad enough, once one of the accelerated got too close yesterday I decided it was time to evacuate.”
Finally, Cole broke his silence, asking. “Why here?”
Alvia shrugged, a lopsided smile crossing her face. “This is where I could find the best stone.”
Understanding crossed the Paladin’s face. “The destroyed trees and ripples on the rock… They can’t punch through your barricade.”
Nodding, Alvia replied. “It sounds like a cave-in when one hits, and the stone fragments test our wards, but it's better than ending up like poor old Urbain.”
Staring at the nearest wall, Cole considered this. “I’m assuming there isn’t a magical backlash when that happens. Do they still regenerate?”
Rellim answered. “No backlash, or at least not one any of us suffered; and we assume so. We’ve found no evidence of a body after each impact, and there is a trail leading away each time.”
That got Cole to pause for a moment. “And Knight-Proctor Haddon said each reflection was a reality-pocket, or something similar?”
Olasis jerked her head in confirmation, and the Paladin considered this. Slowly standing up, placing his halberd on one shoulder, Cole said. “I have an idea. Is there any way to track the accelerated?”
Token-Seer Thorim pulled a strange object from one pocket and set it on the map table. To the uninitiated it might look like a crude bit of tribal artistry using quartz and seashells; but in truth it was a cleverly made magical artifact. Pointing at the shells fastened to the trinket, Thorim slowly explained. “We’ve been trying to map their movements. Each of these shells is one half of a whole, the other is placed somewhere on the island and both will vibrate if something moves too fast near one of-”
Near the top of the strange device one of the parted seashells started to rattle. Sucking in a breath, the still not fully recovered Seer continued. “One of them is a kilometer east of us.”
Looking in that direction, Cole calmly said. “I’m going to try and capture or destroy it.”
After a moment of shock, the various magi reacted with incredulity. Proctor Olasis finally breaking her silence and lashing out with razor words. “Did you not listen to a word, the Preceptor said? Any damage done to them is reflected! Even if your god is protecting you, there's no way of knowing how long that will last! Besides, the first ones to accelerate were those we bound. Who knows what will happen next if you even succeed? Will they move even faster and run across the ocean, reaching the mainland?”
Trying to steer the discussion back in a more civil direction, Rellim interjected. “We’ve tried to capture more of the refracted, but with little luck, they either eventually broke free through brute force, or became accelerated. That state seems to activate when they’re impeded, so the Proctor has a point.”
Scratching at his short white-blond hair, the Paladin replied. “I’m not suggesting I run out there with my axe, some rope and a prayer, hoping for the best. I might know how the entity within the ruins is doing all this and what could stop it.”
Shutting his eyes, the Paladin explained his efforts to free the refracted souls and the subsequent occult double-vision he’d experienced. This new piece to the ever-growing puzzle itched at Rellim’s mind as a conclusion tried to gnaw its way to the forefront of consciousness. But thankfully for everyone, Cole had already put things together, or at least was closer than anyone else.
“The Mountebank, as you are calling it, can manipulate time, but not without limit or cost.” spoke Cole. “It couldn’t create a body or servitors from scratch but needed to take Abel and twist him; or… perhaps slice him is more accurate.”
Fishing through his bag, Cole found a small loaf of travel bread and held it up. “Imagine this is Abel, not physically, but chronologically. One end is his birth, the other is his death” Setting the loaf down on the stone table, he tapped the ‘death’ end of the bread and continued. “I don’t know why the thing in the ruins pulled him into the reflections, or if it even intended to kill him, but that matters little. No matter the Mountebank’s intentions, it ended Abel’s life, but not in any mundane way.”
Pulling a knife from his belt, Cole cut the death end of the loaf off and set it so it stood upright, his blade separating it from the rest of the bread. “This piece here is Abel’s death, an event that happened within a reality-pocket our foe can manipulate.” Gingerly, Cole took the slice of death and started tearing it into smaller pieces, setting them in a line on one side of the knife. Soon the intact loaf faced an army of crumbs kept away by polished steel. “I think this is what the Mountebank did to him.”
Picking up one of the crumbs, the Paladin explained. “The refracted I encountered seemed halfway between a copy and a corpse. They mimicked actions without reason and did tasks a laborer like Abel would know, but poorly. I thought strange necromancy was at fault at first, and in a way I might be right. Except instead of a dead body or captured soul being puppeteered, it's a man’s final moment.”
Dropping the fleck of bread onto the table, Cole knelt down then and did the strangest thing. He blew on the intact loaf like it was fresh from the oven and then on the crumbs, sending many scattering. Seeing the odd looks the surrounding magi were giving him, the Paladin managed to look sheepish, even with all his scars. “What I meant by that was the energy needed to manipulate a living person might be too much; but not a single moment’s refraction”
Deciding he needed to reevaluate his impression of the Paladin, Rellim leaned over the scattered bread crumbs and slowly nodded. “I think I understand what you are saying. If the Sidhe could bottle a moment and trade them, then perhaps the Mountebank can peel off parts of an instance and use them. Our opponent needs a medium to interact with our part of reality and is using the crumbs of Abel.”
Cole nodded, a tiny smile flickering across his face on being understood. Alvia who’d been staring at the scattered crumbs, asked. “Why are the refracted acting like Abel when he was alive then? Shouldn’t they be… well, not to be too morbid, but just be panicking?”
That got a grimace from the Paladin, an expression rendered horrific by his scars. “The brain doesn’t decay instantly. It actually retains much of its functions for some time after death. Judging by what Rellim described with the copies knocking on the walls and flapping their lips, I think that was exactly what the refracted could only do at first. But the Mountebank doesn’t want a captured moment, it wants a tool of some kind and has been quickly learning how to use Abel’s dying moment like some… some complicated piece of machinery. Except it clearly hasn’t figured out the exact minutia or cannot fully separate the useful functions from the not so useful.”
Leaning forward, Thorim wore a face of intense concentration. “Even if you are correct, how does this connect to capturing or destroying the refracted?”
Cole tapped a finger on some of the remaining crumbs. “The backlash and altered sensors tell us this is a magical phenomenon with a cost. That the Mountebank has tried to hide this cost or push it onto all of you is telling. I don’t think whatever is in those ruins is as strong as we fear. It has limits; limits that have forced it to rely on trickery and ambush. I want to push on those limits, and I think the accelerated are my best chance.”
Nodding in understanding, Rellim said. “Even if the Mountebank is… I don’t know, speeding up those captured moments, the required magic would be incredible.”
One of the Paladin’s hands drifted to his amulet and at his touch a faint silver-blue glow issued from it. “Yes, exactly. The refracted are the Mountebank’s tools, but the accelerated are its weapons and clearly changed to serve that purpose. I don’t know if that alteration is physical, biological, chronological or some mix, but my powers should be able to negate it. Master Time has gifted me with miracles of metaphysical cold. If I catch one of the accelerated I can freeze it and not suffer a backlash. Without being able to force the magical cost onto me, the Mountebank will need to invest more power to keep the accelerated functioning; power I will drain away with holy entropy.”
Alvia picked up the intact loaf of bread and started splitting pieces of it off. “Well, that’s a better idea than any we’ve had. But that brings us to how to capture one of them. I’ve seen human death priests work their magic and they always did it by touch. So unless you’ve got some special paladin skills, I imagine we need to find a way for you to get close enough without being turned to red mist.”
She handed a clump of Cole’s own bread to him which he took graciously. Staring at the dull brown piece, the Paladin replied. “Could you dig me a hole?”
The dwarf savant shrugged. “Simple, but good ideas often are. We’ll do it away from the camp in case this goes to slag, but it's manageable.”
Thunder rolled overhead then as the awaited storm finally found Mycio Island. Mutters and curses spread around the camp as hot summer rain started to sluice down from above. Retreating behind one of the tarps set up to block sun or shower, Rellim said. “I don’t think trying this during bad weather would be wise.”
Cole nodded and looked west. “Dark is also coming soon. Better we hunker down and wait for a clear dawn.”
Soon after the camp settled into a rhythm of preparations as the last few scouts and scavengers made their way back to the camp from outside. Rellim had been loath to scatter his subordinates across the island; but necessity forced the issue. They needed to gather supplies and information quietly. So he’d sent some of the more subtle and capable members of the expedition to fulfill that role to varying levels of success. That was what Adept Niello had been doing when she encountered Cole, and Rellim thought this alone justified the risk involved. But now thankfully all of them had returned, having grabbed more from the original camp and other dig sites while setting up Thorim’s sensor charms where prudent.
By the time night had fallen, the storm had grown, sending sheets of water down in a practical waterfall. Clever use of tarps and telekinesis kept the new camp damp but not soaked. So a cooking fire was managed and a poor tasting but filling stew was prepared. Now with a bowl of the thick broth, Rellim sat opposite Paladin Cole who hunched in one corner, checking over his equipment and pack. Cole had refused any of the soup, not wanting to impinge on the expedition’s supplies; which Rellim thought was silly after Alvia practically stole that loaf of bread.
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As he finished the bowl, Rellim asked a question that had been bothering him since the Paladin’s explanation of the time magic at work. “Who trained you in the arcane?”
Cole looked up from his pack, a confused expression on his face. “No one; I’m not a magi.”
Surprised, Rellim gestured with his spoon. “You fooled me. I’ve seen high circle lecturers of the deep mysteries offer poorer explanations of such complex magic. Does your mantle give you insight into the mechanics of such magic?”
That got a frown as the Paladin seemed to consider this. “That’s possible.”
Rellim paused to wipe fog from his glasses, sighing at the poor weather. “But you must have some history with magical study, even if you aren’t a true magi. No amateur, no matter how blessed, could reach those conclusions.”
A flicker of discomfort passed over Cole. “We don’t know if I’m right yet.”
Unwilling to let the matter rest, Rellim kept pushing. “I’d wager you are. Everything said made sense and I don’t think the Tenth God would send you our way for no reason. So now, tell me, where did you learn about magic.”
Cole’s expression became pained, an easy thing for his scarred face to do. “I…I knew an archmagi once. She taught me things, even though I’ve no talent for proper spellcraft.”
Deep sadness filled those words, and Rellim could almost taste the loss dripping from them. Whoever Cole’s mentor was, she no longer lived and was a very sore subject. Wincing, Rellim bowed his head, letting the awkward pause grow until he broke it with a change of subjects. “If you succeed and destroy an accelerated, then what next?”
The Paladin had been staring at his bag, lost in old memories, starting a little bit at Rellim’s words. “I hunt the rest of them down. Once the Mountebank is robbed of weapons, our options expand and we’ll have a plan to deal with any more it creates.”
Something in the clean simplicity of the plan tickled at Rellim’s memory, reminding him of his father and his general approach to the undead. “Like going for the arms and legs of a ghoul before freeing its soul.”
That got a small smile from Cole. “An apt comparison. You said your father was a restbringer, I take it you learned some things from him.”
Rellim bobbed his head in a nod and fiddled with his glasses. “Well, that was more a side-effect of his main occupation than anything else. I think you can imagine how important knowing ways to handle the undead can be for someone in his and my profession. But yes, I learned some things from him and try to pass on some of the more practical parts to my colleagues and students.”
Soon enough the unusual pair were swapping tricks and stories; learning much from each other. Even as the camp quieted down for the evening, Rellim and Cole kept up their conversation for another two hours. To the Preceptor’s surprise and unless he was sorely mistaken, the Paladin’s as well, they got along rather well. By the time the storm’s worst had passed, an odd comradery had formed between the holy warrior and arcane academic. It seemed to Rellim he and Cole were two different figures cut from remarkably similar cloth. The Preceptor was strained to think of anyone else besides himself who mixed such extensive arcane knowledge and long history with the unquiet dead.
Eventually when the need for sleep came calling and Rellim retired, he found himself moderately hopeful for the first time in weeks. The Tenth God had answered his pleas, be they official messages or silent prayer, with Paladin Cole. Perhaps now he and all those beneath him would survive this island and even learn a few valuable secrets to boot.
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Cole stared at the square pit at his feet. Measuring three meters by three meters it uncomfortably reminded him of some crude grave. Eyes moving up from the hole, Cole stared at the small berm of silvery material sticking out of the rock nearby. It was part of the Triskelion’s wider ruins and at Thorim’s suggestion their best chance at luring one of the accelerated. The token-seer had been busy mapping the sped-up refracted’s movements and noted they tended to stay close to places where the subterranean complex was exposed. They were guard dogs, and what better way to catch one then go poking about their assigned territory.
Turning about, the Paladin saw three more of the pits scattered around him in a rough cross formation. The soil and stone of the last was just settling as Aliva pulled her fingers from the ground and let the magic end. Nodding to himself, Cole addressed the dwarf savant. “That should be enough for now.”
Dusting dirt from her hands, Aliva walked towards the makeshift bunker she’d crafted nearby for her, Rellim and Olasis. “If this turns into arse-spoil is there anyone we should send your belongings to? That is if we get off this accursed island.”
Thinking of the skull hidden in his bag, Cole shook his head. “Bury them with whatever bits of me you find.”
The dwarf grimaced, clearly taking the immortal homunculus’s contingency planning as some morbid gesture. While the previous night and his conversation with Rellim had done much to soothe Cole’s fears about the magi, he desperately didn’t want to be exposed, but better that than losing Isabelle.
Walking towards the length of silver spiral sticking out of the ground, Cole did some final equipment checks. His axe hung from his belt and his amulet was fastened to one hand while the other carried a length of shaped quartz. Looking at the rune-etched stone, Cole felt the magic contained within. The magi had spent the morning thinking up a way to lure an accelerated in a fast but predictable manner and this was it. Olasis had put an enchantment meant to disrupt spacial magic onto the quartz, and her fellow magi had filled the gem with as much arcane power as they could. While no one thought the spell would have much of an effect, it would hopefully get the Mountebank and its minion’s attention.
Glancing over at the reshaped bit of stone his allies crouched within, Cole made a gesture of beginning. Alvia called out from the slit she’d left in the bunker. “Ready when you are.”
Raising the quartz up, wondering if he was about to add a new and spectacular form of death to his already long list of experiences, Cole brought the gem down on the exposed metal. A loud un-sound rang through the forest, a ripple in the Aether and reality itself that was felt with senses other than the traditional five. The alien metal of the ruin shook like a struck gong for a moment then stopped instantly. A strange sense of vertigo itched at Cole’s mind but more importantly he heard a tree explode somewhere in the distance.
Dropping the now cracked quartz, Cole ran to the space between the pits and offered prayers to his chosen god. The sound of vegetation dying violent deaths cut through the forest and with it came that same buzzing hum he’d encountered the day previous. Stance wide, arms at his sides, Cole felt like some bull leaper of fable ready to claim glory or doom before a cheering crowd. Senses peeled, the Paladin slowly shifted so he faced the oncoming accelerated.
As the buzzing grew louder and louder, Cole’s only warning was a tree perhaps a hundred meters away toppling over. Moving on instinct born from hundreds of duels, the homunculus turned paladin dove to the side just as thunder struck him. Ears ringing, Cole hit the ground and barely avoided falling into the nearest pit. The buzzing was an ear-splitting drone now and clouds of dust filled the air all around him. Slowly getting to his feet, hand on his axe’s hilt, Cole looked at the pit that he’d been standing directly in front of. A plume of stone-soot flowed out of the hole like some volcanic chimney.
Trying not to breathe the horrid dust in, Cole squinted and found its source. They’d succeed, one of the accelerated had fallen into the pit, but was now busy trying to burrow its way out. To Cole’s eyes the refracted man was just a blur of skin that bounced from wall to wall, sending up a constant shower of gravel and dust. Focusing on his amulet, Cole considered his options. Could he just exhale a breath of entropy down into the pit? Would that be enough? He really didn’t want to jump in after the refracted, but saw no other way to get a good grip on it.
Thankfully the captured copy of Abel started to slow, or at least stay in one spot. While still a blurred figure, it now stood at the pit’s center, head flicking about in a constant search for escape. The incredible speed extended to even its neck and Cole stared at the mixing after-images of a dead man’s face, forming into a chimeric parody. Deciding this was the best chance he would get, Cole marshaled his power and dove into the pit in a full body tackle.
As he sailed through the air, Cole wondered if his crude skill with Master Time’s gifts would be enough. It was a rare occasion when he used the powers of a paladin, and he could call up little more than a breath of killing cold or a brutally simple form of sanctification. But considering what he was about to try was a bit of both, perhaps this wouldn’t be an elaborate form of suicide.
The amulet in Cole’s hand glowed like a silver star and trails of frost billowed off him as huge amounts of holy power flowed through him. Slamming his hand into the accelerated, feeling his arm go instantly numb, Cole forced as much of the magic he channeled into the refracted as possible. The effect was instantaneous and impressive. With a horrible crack the refracted stopped vibrating, its body or perhaps its moment snapping back into something close to normalcy.
For the barest moment Cole found himself gripping onto a limp corpse slowly being covered in hoarfrost. But then the vibrations started again, growing in a slow escalating hum that flowed from Cole’s numb arm into the rest of his body. Fearing what might happen if he was still holding onto this copy when it reached top speed, the Paladin forced more power into the refracted. Entropy and energy warred within the copy while Cole held on, feeling his teeth rattle like castanets.
As he pulled more and more upon his mantle, Cole felt the occult senses that sometimes accompanied uses of power snap into place. Eyes wide, the Paladin saw the refracted truly for the first time. Yesterday, when he’d tried to free the common copies Cole witnessed paths, glimpses of what actions the refracted took. Now, that same double-vision came with greater clarity and deeper revelations. Cole hadn’t been seeing the past or future of the copies; he’d been seeing their totality. Abel hadn’t just been refracted into myriad simulacra, he’d been stretched along time. His final moment taken and pulled like sticky dough into formations the Mountebank found useful. Each copy was set along a specific path of actions, moving through time and space like a cart upon tracks. The accelerated were merely slices of a dead man’s time pushed into faster motion by a glut of alien energy and intent.
Knowing this, feeling this, Cole could touch the trapped refracted not just physically but chronologically. As a massive headache bloomed behind the Paladin’s eyes he groped at the stretched ends of the copy’s timeline and let pure entropy flow into them. Mind struggling to hold onto the information flowing through him, Cole focused on the accelerated’s timeline and squeezed.
Cole understood now what the backlash was. It wasn’t simply the magical cost being redirected, or at least not just that. The refracted’s past and future were formed and dictated by the Mountebank, set along a predestined path that defied the rules of time Cole understood. They did as they were told and when disrupted, the refracted simply… continued, not so much healing but skipping to the next moment in their assigned path, warping reality around them to fit with the Mountebank’s vision. But the cosmos did not look upon such trickery favorably and tried to correct events, and this is where Rellim’s nickname for their enemy proved its accuracy. By some unknown mechanism, the Mountebank hoodwinked existence, displacing the correction onto whatever made it required. A snapped thread was fixed and the weakest string in Thorim’s clothes broke. A blade went through a still heart and an old man suffered a heart attack. This was a slight-of-hand on a cosmic level; but one that didn’t work on Cole.
Gripping onto the refracted, flooding both it and himself with power while understanding filled his cracking mind, Cole felt…felt something grasping at him. There were no words for what pulled at the Paladin’s being, merely a vague sensation only noticed thanks to his altered perception. Oily thoughts/hands/feelers/words attempted to wrap around Cole, trying to get a solid enough grip/touch/leverage to gift/trick/push the truth/lie/perception/path onto him. As the entity worked, the headache growing deep in the Paladin’s skull became a knife of fire pressed ever deeper as he held onto the stretched/refracted/copy but he kept his grip. It had been only just a few years ago when Cole had experienced literal knives of fire; a little psychic bleed wasn’t enough to stop him.
After an instant and an eternity, Cole felt his channeled cold start to win the battle, slowly but inexorably consuming the broken moment of Abel. As the stretched instance was squeezed back into its proper shape by the ordered chaos of entropy, it started to collapse. Beneath Cole’s very hands he felt the copy start to flicker in and out of existence. It was a man’s final moment, a split-second trapped, copied and warped to an alien intelligence’s will. But once that will was beaten back and the rules of reality were reestablished… well what came after the last instance? Nothingness.
With a snap of displaced air the copy was destroyed, its parody of existence ending as all things would eventually under Master Time’s gaze. As Cole lay on his hands and knees, icy fog swirling about him, the Mountebank’s grip on him intensified. He could feel it coiling about him with greater and greater strength, but less and less success. Flashes of metaphor and esoteric truth swam behind Cole’s eyes. His god’s blessing made him slippery, hard for any chronological manipulation to touch; but more than that the universe wasn’t being fooled. Try as the Mountebank did, it could not shift time and existence so the damage fell upon Cole. So what little traction the creature gained upon his timestream was pointless and Cole now understood why. The universe knew what he was and in some twisted way accepted him. All that was knew Cole would not die. His body could be destroyed, his soul shredded, but he would not truly die. So the Mountebank’s lies fell upon deaf ears and its tool met total dissolution.
Staring at the ground of Aliva’s pit, feeling the entity retreat from him, Cole sucked in lungfuls of icy air, his body spasming as it tried to cope with too much that should not be. The world spun about the Paladin and as his powers faded he vomited, spilling icy bile onto the floor. Slumping onto his side, Cole stared at the ripple-marked wall of the pit and groaned. He’d hurt his arm and probably had some frostbite from his sloppy use of magic. But as faint memories of the Mountebank’s panicked retreat traced over his mind, Cole smiled.
He didn’t know how long he lay like that, but eventually the crack of stone pulled Cole from his malaise as Alvia summoned a staircase and the three magi descended to him. Looks of shock and concern were painted on all three of their faces. Weakly raising his head, Cole rasped. “I destroyed it.”
Olasis knelt down and put a hand on Cole’s numb arm. “Fire-and-iron! This is all just one bruise!”
Blearly, Cole looked at his already swelling arm and grunted. “Expected that.”
The Proctor got to work weaving healing magics over Cole and he let out a tired sigh as the pain lessened. In moments like these he wondered at his own sanity. Surely only a madman would keep throwing themselves (sometimes literally) into danger as sloppily as he did. Shutting his eyes sorted through all the flashes of insight his powers and encounters had gifted him. He’d seen and learned much in battling the Mountebank but only some of his already fading experiences were useful. Picking at them, Cole felt an idea start to form in his groggy head.
Meeting Rellim’s concerned face, Cole grunted. “I think I know how to stop it.”