XXXIV.

Mind

They stood around the circle as it began to glow. Cedric and Okella braced themselves. Ithlo stood back.

"O, might beyond our realm, into the plunged and sacred sea of seas, the dirac, the abyss, and the pit. From hell make your presence known, grant the boy words unknown, and ley to cure a fitful plight. Make certain that his blood bleeds red for eons and decades beyond his youth, and passes it to even those uncouth."

His half-rhyme seemed to satisfy the circle, as a thin veil of green fog began to pour out.

Then came the clicking of a heel — someone was approaching from somewhere. From the poison fog, a silhouette began to form.

That's him — Throkos' true form. He's…

Before he could get a good look—

BWSHHHH!

The communion circle burst into horrid vapor. Rithi collapsed and clawed at this throat. Falskar recoiled and sprung to his feet. The skin around Rithi's mouth began to crackle and break...

Cedric stumbled backward. The poison caused his own throat to lock up — the conscious world was becoming visible again through the illusion. His watering eyes locked onto Falskar. The boy's irises had turned green. His face contorted in pain and terror.

Then Cedric's eyes locked onto another figure — black and purple robes, pale skin... She was standing far, through where the wall should have been. But it was all fading to black now. And Rykaedi grinned sinisterly all the while.

He stumbled back and the vision was gone. Okella's tendrils retracted into his wrist. Throkos glared, spun a kick across the ground, and knocked Cedric down. But then, Cedric had never been standing. He was right back where he was before the illusions started. Something was off — Throkos still looked as he had in the flashback, young and carefree. The stern rage locked in his eyes was not fitting to his face.

Grivonym was in the poison-baron's hand. He stood looming over Cedric for longer than he should have. His grip tightened.

"If you've questions, ask them yourself." The voice was hissed. The respirator began to reform, and Falskar was once again replaced by Throkos.

There were a thousand ways Cedric could have attacked — but he knew they wouldn't work. The poison was targeting his Etherians. One of the poisons, at least. The sweat pouring from his forehead and arms told him that another poison was wracking his body as well. And the twisting visions weren't helping matters.

"You're clever." Cedric admitted through panting. "And you stopped Okella's attack. I'm impressed, admittedly."

Throkos shifted his head. He brandished Grivonym again.

"What are you after?"

There went the blade. Cedric winced. But the tip only scraped his raised cheek, and a small ounce of esera leaked out. He turned back to Throkos, almost disappointedly.

"You don't want to kill me, do you?"

"I've killed ten thousand men all the same as you. I've killed more than you'll ever meet in your life. I do not hesitate. But the poison would destroy my target if I killed you now, or if I cut you with the Dragonrend." He ran his dark finger along the edge of the blade. A green mist began to pour out, but quickly quenched.

Cedric wanted to move, wanted to lunge and strike and cast him dead in a second… but he couldn't move at all, anymore. The other poison... a paralyzing venom.

As though reading his thoughts, Throkos' eyes became gleeful. "There is a flower that grows alongside the Terenden Lake where Kylinstrom once sat, and now sits again, north of the Soundless Depth. The esuria flower; it's an interesting thing: it's the only thing on Caloria that naturally creates a potent toxin effective only against Etherians. It blocks their connection to the Etherian ley, meaning that they are currently waiting in your bloodstream as a gas — ready to be spread into the air to die as they dissolve. Your nightmarish paralysis is a simple extract from the northern welberry, nothing special, nor hard to obtain."

At least no one can say he's not studied.

Throkos leaned his head back. His long dreads began to hover all around him.

"I inherited an elder god — one that was at Serkukan's height, the first god of envy and disgust, a deity of venom, poison, cruel botany and vile cures." He leaned in so that Cedric could smell the faint stench of rot from the mask. A horrid gas hissed into the air as the bolts unfastened themselves. The mask fell… "I inherited the Scourge God, Ahkilesti."

His respirator dangled by his waist. Cedric gasped and winced but couldn't pull away. Throkos' mouth was rotten, squirming with maggots and blood, fluids leaked from the holes in his lower jaw, and dripped onto Cedric's face. The smell was unimaginable, like waste, like a sewer… like the dead. The teeth were yellowed. Browned. Broken. Shattered, caved in, misplaced and mismatched.

And his nose was gone as though sliced clean through with a sharp blade, down to the height of his cheeks. Cedric could see right up into… he didn't want to think about it. He shut his eyes.

"That's all well and good — but you've played all of your cards without even making your demand. So what do you want? Or were you planning on just keeping me here forever?"

"I want Okella. And Ithlo'vatis."

Cedric tried to raise an eyebrow but failed.

"And I want to watch you suffer."

"You want Kogar dead, don't you? Isn't that why—"

"Open your eyes. It's impolite to speak without making eye contact."

His eyelids began to burn like fire. He couldn't help but open them, and stare into Throkos' bulbous, bulging eyes. His own eyes began to water and tear.

"Work together with us." offered the boy. "Join us, and we'll kill him together. We can mend you, give you what you want."

"I want to watch you suffer." he repeated.

Cedric's breaths became labored and shallow. The paralysis had reached his lungs. He could feel his heart rate begin to slow.

The second he begins to release the esuria poison…

Don't, Cedric.

He winced. It'd already begun to release slightly. Okella was returning. He could feel the presences of Ithlo and Tirolith return to his mind. Serkukan was still out of reach… but that's not Throkos' doing.

The poison-baron twisted Grivonym into a downward point. He raised his arms aloft.

"You… waste so much breath… just to… kill me…" Cedric mustered. His breathing was hollow. His voice was faint. The world was becoming dim.

"I like my prey to know how I've outwitted them. The same way I elaborated my doing to your friend — his name was… Greslock?"

Cedric's eyes widened, even with the paralysis holding his burning eyelids taut.

"Oh, yes. I walked the aisles of his shop. I toppled baskets and shelves and scattered his life's work across moldy wooden floorboards. He was already choking, gagging by the time I reached the counter. He begged for mercy — he'd been alive for so long, hundreds of years. And an ogre never forgets. He remembered everything from the first. Even when Tovas and Kasian wiped the minds of the men when Dyosius slipped and tore Kylinstrom from the land for his experiments, the ogres never forgot. They aren't men. They aren't alisars. They're bastard creations of the magi and sorcerers from the Jinn. They're vile, inhuman rats. Imitations of life, their skins polluted, their breeding ruthless and sickening, designed by nature to be violent and unruly. Their lives worth nothing..."

His lungs could no longer move. His vision began to tunnel in and fade...

And then he gasped. He was back in Dreslon, in Greslock's shop. He took his legs down from atop the counter in a daze, sat up in his chair…

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"There you go. How many damn times did I have to ask before you actually listened?"

Cedric lifted his head to look across the counter.

Greslock was there, dark green skin and gray hair. He looked smaller than he was, hiding behind the counter with his tiny spectacles pushed up to his face.

"Greslock!" he gasped again.

Then there was a flash — he was on the floor, against a wall. The ogre lumbered over to him from across the store, knelt down beside him with a bowl of water in his hand.

Cedric grabbed it and drank. It poured out the sides, all over him. His side ached. A red glow crept from his jacket.

"I have some medical supplies, here… I won't charge you." muttered the ogre. He was younger, then. Black hair instead of gray.

Cedric reached his shaking hand out to the ogre. Their hands clasped—

"—You're dying, ain't ya?"

Cedric gasped. His throat was dry. They were in Haketh then, he thought. He wasn't sure. But the ogre was certainly old again, covered in wrinkles and gray hair. His grip tightened.

"I knew it would go this way eventually, when you came back to Dreslon, with that Hunter following you. It's my mistake, I should have done a better job… I should have stopped you from going into Freiya. But I suppose there's no escaping the past, is there? Or I wouldn't be here, in this shop. And you wouldn't be here, so far from home…"

Cedric could taste blood. But it was a poison, wasn't it? Why could he taste…

Back to the floor of the shop. The water bowl was toppled over beside him. Greslock had pulled the blinds shut and was clumsily tending at his wound with a suture.

"A spear, right? Something about the precision, I've got a feeling… lucky that it missed the intestines, or you'd have worse than just a stitching. That'd be a long trek to Cromer looking for a real doctor, worse for your wallet still if you wanted a healer."

Cedric groaned. "They're after me… The Sylv—"

Greslock whistled loudly to shut him up. He took a quick look through the blinds with his beefy fingers.

Cedric shut his eyes and gave up on trying to explain.

"Let's strike us a deal, boy. You don't say anything about your past, I don't say anything about mine. I'll give you a couple coins, I'll give you steady work. Income. Under the table so the Hunters don't hear your name. Your name was…?"

"Lor… Cedric."

"Cedric, eh? Uncommon name around Siln. Mind you, I don't say that with any sort of speculation. I don't want to know, really. I just want to help."

Cedric shut his eyes. There was a strange comfort to the situation. There was a warmth in Greslock's shop unmatched by the cold winter around. He'd stay there a winter. Maybe two. Maybe more, should the income be steady enough. And then… Well, anything could happen. He could settle down, find a better career, find love, work and travel and play like the rest of the buffoons who made life liveable in such a place.

Greslock stood with a hefty huff and lumbered away. A dull smile crossed Cedric's lips.

But the red crystal glowing from inside of his jacket sang a different tune. A tune of blood and death, an endless trail of misery and heartache.

And the wall was quickly becoming the black floor of Haketh once again, as the crashing waves of the poison reached a low tide once again…

X

What does it mean — the Sylvet being out here? Did our history chase us all the way to the north? Is Alisa damned to repeat the fate of Kylinstrom?

No, surely I'm overexaggerating. But then… here I am, once again on the opposite side of those tattooed warlords. This time they'll have my head.

"Faunia." Eson held out a waterskin to her.

She took it and sat on the grass against the tree.

"You alright?"

"Why are the Sylvet here?"

"Where did you think they went? Back to hell?"

"Hell… what happened to calling it The Pit?"

"Things change. You've changed, yourself."

"No I haven't. I'm the same coward I was in Freiya. I'm the same girl who couldn't do a damn thing against him…"

Eson rubbed his chin, which had grown a patch of itchy hairs.

"I'm useless out here. I want to go home."

"To Cromer? Best of luck."

To Calamon. To where my friends…

She paused at the thought.

I hope Cedric is alright. I hope…

A cart pulled through their encampment, dragged by horses. A cart with Calamonian bodies in it. Bodies for burning. The steel armor of the Sylvet knight was still atop it.

She exhaled deeply. Her cheeks puffed out.

"Are you alright?" Eson asked again.

"No. No, I'm not."

Percy and Ana walked out of the tent behind her. They'd finished their notes on the tattoos, on the strange soldier they'd decapitated and autopsied.

"Eson! Faunia! What are you two twiddling around for?" Ana smiled her rounded smile.

"Faunia's got some heat exhaustion." Eson lied.

Faunia put her head into her hands.

Ana pouted. Percy cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Expect an Etherian." Eson mused. "Wonder if we should."

"Expect Etherians, plural." Ana corrected.

He shrugged. "Same difference. The sel will have no trouble with them."

"And if they do?"

"Have trouble? Then I'll take up the blade against them. Same as fighting any other mage."

It's not, you idiot.

"As if." said Ana. "You haven't a clue. You're all ego, aren't you?"

"Oy!" he jokingly declined the accusation. "Percy'll cut 'em down, right boy?"

The young soldier flinched at the summon. "Y-yes, sir."

Ana crossed her arms with a smug smirk. "Us Orphans won't have any trouble, sel or not. We're winter-hardened and stoic. And I much prefer the heat to the frost." Then she glanced at Faunia. "Sorry."

"You're crazy to prefer this." Eson fanned his face. "At least in Freiya we could sneak emberstones 'neath our armor to keep warm."

"Shh!" she chuckled as Lezat wandered by.

They both mockingly saluted him. Percy perked up with his own genuine salute.

When he passed, Eson and Ana couldn't contain their laughter.

"We got a lot past the old fool. It's gotten easier, still, what with him drinking 'round the clock." Eson shrugged.

Faunia covered her ears. She couldn't listen to the playful banter anymore.

None of them are taking this seriously. I came to stop this war. I need to go back to Alisa, to get Lyros to dismiss his soldiers before…

From here, it should barely take half a week by sturgoth. Meanwhile, our plan to reach Calamon will take us until the end of Locus. It's impossible…

And then what happens to the undefended Calamoni people?

Her stomach turned. She looked away.

Eson glanced over. "Hey, why don't we give Faunia some space? I've got you in a game of cards, Percy."

Ana piqued up in excitement at the offer.

"I always lose…" The boy shook his head.

Nevertheless, Eson threw an arm over his shoulder and escorted the two away.

You and me both.

A few quiet moments later, there was a grumbled sigh beside her. Someone had sat down.

"You know, Faunia," began Lezat, "we're soldiers. We do what is demanded of us. It doesn't matter if our enemies are ogres, Sylvet, daemons, dragons… We signed up to do the work, not to ask questions. Not to complain."

Not like you gave me a choice.

“Well, eh, back then it was Welkar’s choice. Not like you had much say as a young girl. Now, well…”

He patted her on the knee.

"Our enemy now is calamity, destruction itself. It's a noble cause. If you don't think so…" His eyes glanced either way. "I'll steal you a sturgoth and let you on your way."

A sturgoth?

He stuck four fingers into his mouth and whistled a two-beat whistle. Then he smacked his lips, as though dissatisfied with the taste.

Only Kyvir's men rode on the sturgoth, beige quadruped lizards whose legs were just long enough that the Sel wouldn't scrape through the thorns or the insects while on their backs. Their faces were round, and always were their mouths curved like a smile laid upright toward the sun. Even their small, beady eyes seemed to be smiling when they ran, especially when they saw food or began to sweat, and their jaws hung open to catch the air.

Soon, one hastily approached them.

Lezat nodded to her. "I'd let you go, if you had somewhere better to be. But I fear that Lyros is beyond persuading, now. The war will be in full swing within a month. Put away those thoughts of ending this war peacefully."

She stared at the beast. It stared back at her. He opened his mouth a few times. His eyes were unblinking.

Before she could make up her mind, a sel soldier came by and took the reins. He cast a nasty look to the two Orphans as he dragged his beast away, and muttered something like "Di'vel til."

Lezat laughed, "Well, you get the idea. You say the word — so long as we haven't yet reached the Alisan Way, you say the word and I'd be glad to send you in the right direction. You're only here by a mistake, anyway."

Faunia looked somberly at the old man. She could only muster, "Thank you, Lezat."