XXXIX.

Return

"We should not expect such luck with similarly experienced opponents in the future." Ithlo remarked.

Luck, thought Cedric. Feels we're short of that, lately.

They were rushing down a set of stonewise stairs, a cramped corridor, through an underground passage…

A heavy steel door with a barred window blocked the end. An old dungeon, by the look of it. The handle was rusted, the latch was stuck in place by age.

Cedric opened it first with a heavy shove of his shoulder. Ithlo followed him into the dust. Okella limped behind with Tirolith's aid, but collapsed to the floor once they were inside.

"Are you alright?" asked Tirolith.

"No! That scorch, that… Oh!" Okella cried out in pain. She curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her sides.

Cedric glanced at her. A pang of guilt, of sympathy and sadness, rattled his mind. He hissed in a breath, then turned back into the cool dungeon.

Though the dark cobbles of the cell were still marked with blood, whichever devices had once been used for torture were no more. They'd been replaced by dark tables mounted beneath eternal torches, bookshelves holding ancient tomes, jars and vases holding scrolls of all sorts.

"I've never been in here," Ithlo said, "I would surmise that the scrolls hold those schematics which we seek."

Cedric hurried over and plucked a handful of scrolls from a black jar.

Okella still sobbed and wailed on the ground beside Tirolith.

"I can't heal her! I don't know what kind of attack this was, but it's… it's horrible!"

Dyosius. It had to be Dyosius. Cedric's heart raced. He shuddered in a shaky breath, then opened up a scroll.

Ithlo'vatis nodded. His intuition was on the mark. The scroll depicted symbols of a language foreign and unknown to Cedric. As foreign as the silent magic Jirtu had wielded, if somewhat less intimidating. Draekonic, a tongue that hasn't been used since the second Kylinstromi era.

How lucky for me that the schematics are color-coded.

His eyes went wide. For once, Ithlo'vatis shared the expression.

"It's Dyosius."

An eight-colored ring, letters drawn in a circle with intricately woven lines to connect them. Red, blue, green, black, white, yellow, and purple.

"I've never seen yellow… Hemah, maybe? The sun? Or lightning? Air?"

"I thought this might be the case…"

Cedric raised his head to the shaded Ithlo'vatis.

"These are all old schematics, Cedric. These are based on mortal concepts of Etherians in the earliest eras of man."

"What are you saying?"

"There's nothing we can do with these."

"No. No, come on. There's got to be…" He scrounged through more scrolls, crinkled them up, unrolled them, crushed and threw them away. His mind knew the truth. But he couldn't accept it. "Come on. Look, can't you do something with this?" He crumpled the page in his hands. "Can't you!?"

Ithlo shook his head. "They're incomprehensible by modern standards. Devices in the first era followed these theories, but they've long since been abandoned, Cedric. These theories crumbled apart, the etheric mages of Llueves could hold them together no longer. Etherians do not function like this. Liara knew the secret, apparently. But I fear there are very few mortal men or women with such understanding. And the art of creating devices is not one allowed to Etherians."

"What about Dyosius?"

"Algirak built it off of an old schematic, eons ago. We likely no longer have those tools, even. And now that Jirtu is not amiable..."

"We've fucked up. I've fucked up, completely."

"Not to say that all is lost, but... perhaps we should have been pursuing Faunia instead."

Cedric screamed out in rage, complete frustration. He threw jars, launched books, tore schematics in half. He pounded his foot against the table repeatedly, beat down on it, toppled it over, knocking dust up into the air…

"I can't fucking believe this! We've wasted our opportunity! We've failed!"

"Just because we've been searching in the wrong place does not mean we've failed."

The world was becoming thin. Okella's consciousness was wavering.

"There were insurmountable obstacles to overcome toward this goal, Cedric. Even if we had the schematic and someone to build it, we would still need the Etherians themselves. If our schematic required one that we do not currently hold… I fear we'd be at our end regardless."

"You didn't say anything?"

"That is not my obligation."

Cedric turned to him with frothing rage. Then he turned toward another bookshelf, stuck his arm behind all the books to tear them out…

Thoom.

Something very heavy fell to the ground and gave pause to his rage — a small black chest with a golden lock. Purple etchings covered its shimmering surface.

They turned to each other very briefly. Then Cedric shouted, "Okella, hold on!" before he picked the thing up and heaved it onto one of the other tables. "Where might a key be?"

Ithlo put his hand against the lock. A bronze gear appeared around his wrist and spun rapidly counter-clockwise. In just a moment, the lock clicked open.

Cedric nodded in surprise, then quickly popped it open. There were more scrolls in there, but most strangely, most of them were blurry to look at, as though his eyesight failed only on their surfaces.

"You can memorize these, yeah?"

"Only the ones which are clear in his memory."

Cedric pulled open one of the blurry ones. The text was scrambled and moving constantly. There was no information to be gained from it. "These could be anything."

He opened two more blurry ones to no avail, leaving just two normal scrolls in the container. He took one and sprawled it out.

Ithlo'vatis let out a hum of approval. "It's Dyosius. The second Dyosius."

"They're making a second?"

Ithlo'vatis stared at it for a long moment. It was more intricate, more finely woven than the first one. There were three two rings and one center circle to it, and all the same colors as the first. "Dyosius Stabilis — a perfected version of Algirak's magnum opus."

Then Cedric tossed it aside. He pulled open the last scroll.

Tirolith was on her way over; there was nothing else she could do for the hurting Okella. When she saw the scroll over Cedric's shoulder, she covered her mouth in horror. "No!"

Ithlo's eyes widened and shrank. "This says Doshilm. God-killer."

Cedric felt a smile creeping onto his face. We've done it. This is—

"—Horrible!"

His smile fell at Tirolith's cry.

"They wouldn't dare, would they?"

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Ithlo nodded. "They would."

She held her mouth and fled their company. Okella writhed on the ground.

"What is it? Tell me, what am I looking at?"

"These are sel symbols. Those aren't Etherians being fused, they're men. In other words,

They're blending people together. To make a weapon."

His face suddenly matched Tirolith's horror. He stared at it for a long moment, the eight-symboled diagram with words all around it.

Though his face was marred with the horror of it, his mind sang a different tune. I can use this. I can get this to Faunia, we can…

"This page also describes a barrier the sel people can form over a region. Perhaps she intends to build a shield against Kogar and Tartys, to protect Calamon?"

Why would she want to protect Calamon…?

The world became dim. The candles flickered and blew out.

"This reality is collapsing, Cedric. Quickly — you know what we must do."

"I know." He nodded. "Okella?"

The second that the conscious world was visible again, Cedric grabbed the air between himself and Jirtu.

Jirtu gasped — his face twisted into blistering rage. He reached his glowing hand out for the wounded, young Okella.

"Dont you fucking dare! I'll kill her, her blood will be on your hands!"

Cedric flinched.

I'm sorry, Okella.

His hands rotated. He slammed them together into a clap. Reality and space twisted until he was once again outside, and the gate of Haketh slammed shut before him. The ley settled until the lines flattened through the gateway, and Haketh was no more.

The last thing he saw was the blast of energy from Jirtu's palm. He slammed his eyes shut, turned away.

He fell to his knees once the world was fully restored. The chilled air of the library was quickly usurped by the heat of Hemah's sun. He pounded at the boiling stones beneath him. "Fuck. Fuck! All of that effort… No matter who I try to help, they all get hurt or die! Okella, Ivalié… Throkos died because we were too busy fighting each other, Rithi died because I took his Etherian! I can't fucking do anything right!"

"Okella will likely not perish."

"Likely? Fucking likely? What happened to Truth? What happened to knowing, regardless of what we remember and witness?"

"Do not take my abilities for granted."

He turned back to the ground. He struck the stones again and his knuckles began to bleed. "She was hurt. She gave her all for me, and then she was hurt."

"The consequence of this happening has yet to be seen. Her powers are yet developing."

"You just don't care at all. You don't give a shit. You're just like Ivalié; cold and heartless. I've lived through unimaginable pain, but… I'm ready to take it all back. I'm ready to accept what Greslock... What he..." His fingers dug at the dirt and balled up into fists. "Nobody has to die anymore. Nobody."

"Raising Evra will not bring him back, nor the rest. I can show you what the consequence will be—"

"No. I understand full well what Llestren'vatis expected from me, what Greslock wanted, what Faunia wants. I know what Algirak wanted to stop, why Evra was trapped in place, why Serkukan was swayed to end him. I understand Truth, and I know what comes next. Nothing is beyond her reach. This is all within her plan."

Finally, Cedric climbed to his feet. His body felt heavy, though his mind was lighter.

And then he saw the burning landscape of a Calamon under fire. Caine-riddled bodies littered the streets, smoke plumed into the sky. Bandits tore doors from houses and ran into the terrored screams of the inhabitants.

Cedric's throat locked up. He wanted to scream out in desperation, in yet another loss of control, a loss of life and safety and sanity.

But then there was the white glint of a knight. A silver armored knight. Not Faunia — but a Hunter nonetheless.

He exhaled. Steeled himself. His hands became fists.

And the Hunters of Calamon drew their blades to the bandits.

X

Faunia took to Percy's trail in a great rush. They rode for two days and two nights straight before the sakkava, white-red monkey creatures, began to pelt them both with berries and stones and nuts from the trees. It was no problem at all until one of the berries struck her sturgoth in the nose, and he became more infatuated with that than following Percy.

“Dammit!” Faunia shouted when her beast turned. She tugged the reins as hard as she could, but it was far too late; Percy was gone through the thick of it.

Shit, I’ll just have to take the Alisan Way. If I can even find my way back to it… Whichever path he’s following, it’s already proven doubly efficient, and damn good at avoiding the armies. I’m going to lose time… I’d just better hope he doesn’t catch up to Kyvir before I do.

Her beast turned, and ran to the east, toward where the path should be…

By the third day, she’d lost her stamina. Her eyes could barely stay open, and she was suddenly impressed that she’d managed to keep them open so far at all.

I need to camp, or…

Her sturgoth was panting as well. He hadn’t the stamina to continue. Neither of them did.

But I’m too far out to go back, too far short to reach Alisa in time… What do I do? What would Cedric do?

Faunia slumped off the side of her sturgoth and plopped into the mud. She rolled over twice while her beast ran off into the trees, tried to whistle… but couldn’t muster the energy. And then she was still. She tried once to swallow. Her throat resisted it and constrained. Silent.

There was soon a rattling, familiar yet vague. A wagon, rolling through here? Her wagon had gotten stuck many times on the way, and they’d abandoned it in the end. Such terrain was not fit for a vehicle like such, even along the Way, and they’d had to pull it themselves. It was safe to say that she hadn’t thought anything out properly. She’d never had a plan all along. I should have stayed with Cedric.

“Ah, who do we have here?” said a kinder voice, a man’s voice.

She forced her eyes open. It was a man in a straw hat, in light beige clothes, with a dull smile across his face.

It’s you, she wanted to say. The man who brought me to Calamon… What are you doing here, of all places?

“Come with me, Faunia.”

She didn’t reply.

“I’ve got water in my wagon, should you join me.”

Silence. The man looked around at the chirping animals, the strange sounds from the trees, the buzzing and humming of insects.

“Last opportunity. You can die out here, should you choose, but I think you’ll find it much more enjoyable to come with me to Alisa. I’ve got a message for Lyros, urgent as all things.”

“Uu…” Faunia groaned. She reached a hand out for him. When he didn’t take it, she dropped it limply. And then, just a moment later, she began to sit up.

The man was already atop his wagon, swatting the reins.

Her eyes opened at the sound. She heard the crack of the whips, the whinny of the horses… but there were no horses. Just a lone wagon, a lone man, and the green-glowing fireflies of the Way, high up in the trees to mark the safest path.

“We’ll be there by the seventh, should you hurry. That’ll give us a week to get you to Calamon, just in time for the invasion. Or, at least, in time for your part in it.”

How would that be possible? She wondered. But she didn’t bother to ask. She was sure it was a mirage. She was sure…

And then there were the gates of Alisa.

7th of Locus

Tenth Bell

- The Alisan Waygate -

The waygates of Alisa were grander than anything she’d seen in her entire life. She didn’t remember crossing them the first time. She only remembered the torture and imprisonment she had endured after crossing through them. It was probably an ambush, they’d probably shut down Tirolith the second she emerged through the gates, captured them both, and sent her Etherian away. But now Tirolith had gone missing, she knew. That’s what they’d been stomping about when she was with Lezat, wasn’t it? A missing Etherian? It had to be Tirolith. There was no other way. No other possibility.

She steeled herself.

The first waygate was thousands of paces high, a massive bronze and gold arch that stretched over the point where Alisa began properly, and many more followed along the Way. It gave an impressive sense of grandeur, even unlike Calamon had often done. It gave her body an uncomfortable chill, even in the jungle heat.

The golden circle in the center of the arch was hollow through to the other side. A clock of a different age, a different culture. She furrowed her brow at the time.

“We’re here, we’re here.” said the chauffeur. “I did say we’d arrive by the seventh, didn’t I? Now we’ve just got one more day until we reach the main city, and we’ll make our way to the Capillary.”

“The Capillary? I’m not here to visit Lyros, I’m here to stop…” She paused. He didn’t know, and he didn’t need to know. It was her business alone, the dealings with Etherians.

“You’ll find Kyvir and Percival no matter which path you take, dear Faunia.”

Her brow twitched. How does he know…?

“We’ve arrived before them, anyhow. It would be best for you to reach Lyros now, before the other one shows up.”

“Who?”

“Erm, what’s his name? Kasval? No, that’s not right. Kasian! No, no… I’m sure I know it…”

Not Kogar. Don’t say Kogar.

“Kromer!” The man stuck a finger into the air as if he’d caught the name he sought. “Kromer is coming, and things’ll get ugly when he arrives. Let Lyros and Vindicus know, they’ll handle it. But only if they have ample time to prepare. You must let them know the second we arrive in the city.”

Faunia nodded solemnly. Kromer. Kromer…

I can do this. I have to do this…

And they watched as the massive wooden and bronze cities, and the oceans beyond, became visible over the hill’s zenith…