45.

Kylinstrom

Their boots crunched down upon a more familiar place, into grass that felt somehow much more dry than that of Outer Calamon. There was a smell, too, of familiarity: a smell of lifeless woods, a smell of dark, rotten cacao and of bodies. Always the faintest smell of bodies.

The sky was lighter beyond Calamity's black sunlight, but still darker somehow. The air had a strange chill.

Then came the guards' armors, clattering noisily like clapping hands all around them. The horses brayed and clattered against the reins of their cart like dull chuckles.

Rosgir stepped forward between the entourage, "Welcome, my auspicious guests, to the outland!"

"The outland…?" asked Faunia. She reached for her white pack.

"Don't bother to check your maps; this is a place most recently charted! The citizens who inhabit this strange, foreboding land call it... Kylinstrom!"

Cedric nodded, unamused.

"Cedric—" Faunia began. She could tell by his stern, lightly bearded face that he already understood.

It was quieter than he had remembered; there were no ogres, no matter how tightly he held his blade at every sudden noise. There were no Sylvet, no matter how he prodded and watched the leylines like a Hunter scout, like a man on the run. There were scarcely any animals, and those that there were appeared no more hostile than skiddish cats and wary dogs.

"Maybe we can catch something to eat tonight, eh?" chimed Rosgir, "Though we've got no shortage of nonperishables, faster to quench the appetite with meat, I'd say."

"Cedric…" Faunia muttered again, giving him a hard look.

He answered, "We don't have time to stop right now. Our mission is to get Rosgir back to Aeon — if we endanger his survival at all, we're just begging for another conflict. Up against Aeon and Alisa, I wonder if even Rykaedi has the power to win. And, of course, we risk Kogar arriving every time she or anybody else uses their esera."

"I get it." Faunia nodded. "On the way back. On the way back, okay?"

Cedric nodded, too. There was something somber in her voice, like she didn't expect they would be coming back.

They did, however, walk through the cobbled streets of Dreslon, as it was more pointedly along the way, and Rosgir assured them that it was a safe path. They were forced to gawp at the burnt-out wooden homes, the unfinished stonewise construction now broken clusters of bricks and polished rocks. They were subject to that stench of rot from the piles of bodies, the pits dug outside the walls where green-skinned men and women lay still and lifeless, some of them without even slight wounds upon their bodies, some ripped and splattered open by Calamoni blades. And, Faunia knew, by Kogar's scythe.

Cedric pulled his hood up, walked faster ahead of the group.

"Dreslon is gone, Cedric." Faunia muttered. "I'm sorry…" She reached an arm out to console him, but he only walked faster.

They passed a building with a wooden signpost. He stopped walking suddenly, and Faunia almost trampled into him. The knights' clatters were distant for a moment, it was almost quiet. Almost.

Cedric wiped his cheek. There was something glistening there.

"Cedric!" Faunia cried in alarm. She looked up to the rotten signpost; it was covered in dull scratches. She could barely make out the singular name, 'Greslock's…'

He wiped harder with the dirty palm of his hand. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay—" She put her hands on his shoulders to console him.

"Greslock is dead. In the end, that green bastard won. He got what he wanted."

"What he wanted…?"

"He got what he wanted…" repeated Cedric.

"Greslock really cared about you, Cedric. You remember when we came through here last time, before the Rejoining, don't you?"

"Yeah," answered Cedric, "I remember." And he wiped, and wiped, and wiped…

"Look! Between the mountains!"

Cedric held his palm over his eyes to block out the overbearing sun, now completely unrestricted by Calamity, Hemah, or the dark trees of Siln.

The western path had taken them through Outer Calamon, through a sliver of Kylinstrom, and now beyond the plains of western Calamon where the Vehk mountains began to rise. Their footing had become more unstable throughout the day as mudslicks and gravel became the only narrow paths to walk.

Faunia stumbled to Cedric's side, across from the excited Rosgir, between the entourage of golden guards.

"Fucking Pit!" Faunia exclaimed. She hadn't expected the sight: gold-lidded cities, glistening walls of white, ornate statues and sculptures of such magnanimous size to be gazed upon even as far out as they were. A massive palace loomed over the place, architecture so intricate and pristine and magnificent that it rivaled, no, lambasted the Diplomats' Hall just to exist. The pillars were swirled with golden visages of dragons, all the way up to a domed roof of their mountaintop citadel. The Aeonic Palace, the Vehkeidon.

"The Aeonic tongue is an easy one to pick up, if you know sellish or another Alisan base language."

Faunia shook her head. Cedric did not rescind his eyes from the view.

"Well, the people we intend to convene with are familiar with Huntish. You two will do fine, though, they may expect some more…" He looked for the most polite word for it, "Courtesy, than you're used to. I'll pay your fees for noble clothes, haircuts, make-up… Say the word, and it is yours."

"A lofty cost with our negotiations not even yet begun." mused Cedric.

Rosgir smiled. "You are most esteemed people, you defenders of Calamon. Our king expects you both."

"How he even knows our names is yet a mystery to me." Faunia grazed her eyes over Cedric warily.

Cedric shrugged. "There's a lot we still don't know about this world, Faunia. Worst case scenario…" His voice fell into a mumble. His eyes flashed red, blue, white, and then… he winked unsarcastically.

Faunia sputtered a laugh. "I hardly expected that from you."

Rosgir lifted his eyebrows with a confused stare, then smacked his lips together twice, turned back to the path before them. "Well, no time to waste! Without the carriages we'll be running behind just a hair. They'll take the longer way, we'll reconvene opposite the mountain pass."

Then he slipped. The gravel gave way beneath his feet, sent him careening toward the ground.

Cedric flung his hand forward. Okella!

No tendrils came out. He sucked in a breath.

Faunia, too, was preoccupied, still half-chuckling at Cedric after his uncharacteristic wink.

A chill ran through Cedric's body.

And then Rosgir was back at his feet, standing in stunned confusion.

Cedric's eyes flashed red.

"Gah!" yelped Rosgir.

Faunia hissed in through her teeth, turned in surprise. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm good! I'm… I caught my balance...?" He glanced between the two of them. "It was you...? Truly, our King did not send for you heedlessly. You're… magi!"

Cedric grinned slightly. "Yeah. Spellswords."

Rosgir's smile was immense, he opened his mouth in some sort of awe. "Brilliant! Brilliant, brilliant! To wield not only blade, but the world's aether, too, is a feat insurmountable to many! You truly are wondrously skilled peoples!"

Faunia smiled, blushed, and looked away.

Cedric's smile twitched and fell.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Well, then, " said the scruffy boy, "let's get back to it."

"Then we do look upon the stars and beg, hold us in your moonlight, Iluminaé!" Rosgir threw his arms to the starlit sky and cried out, shaking his hands all the while.

Faunia's eyebrows contorted in a mocking sort, even with her interest in the subject matter, at Rosgir's flamboyant method of storytelling.

Cedric gave a dull clap.

Then the drunkerly old man fell harshly onto his log seat beyond the fire. "And so makes up our pantheon of gods."

"Only three." noted Faunia. "Far less than we've seen in Calamon."

"My dear, Calamon is a… mixup, they have no true culture of their own. Not to say anything negative of the lovely place, but, they are indeed like the melted steel of Vülo, the metallurgic fiend himself. They are an abrasive alloy, a craft of the finest quality ingredients, slammed by hammer and kindled by fire, tempered by the sizzling oils of Lake Avlos, the fiery doom itself!"

Cedric turned to Faunia with stark confusion on his face. She did her best to keep a polite smile when she turned back to Rosgir. "You know a lot, wizened one." But you speak in confusing metaphors that go nowhere. "Have you traveled much in your time?"

"Oh, yes!" he said with a swig from his steel tankard. Ale from a place called Opal, though they knew not whether it was a country or town. "Before I spoke with the King's own tongue, I was a merchant. Well, I did travel without aim for some time in between. Went to the four corners of the world, went by sea to the Jinn, by air to the spyres of Drevaria. The harshest place I'd been was the depth of the Soundless. That sea where… Well, where we're sitting now!" He padded the grassy dirt with his boot.

"How does one go below the ocean? Were you accompanied by frey?" Cedric's eyebrows were firmly raised.

"Oh, no! The frey weren't so flourishing as they are now. It was some manner of magic, a whole troupe of magi. We sought a mighty artefact, some olde relic from some place which no longer existed. A place named Kylinstrom."

"This place."

He nodded, growing serious. "This place. This very place. There was a crystal they wanted, hardly remember the name of it, now. Booze'll do that to you. But I still have the scars, mortal and immortal. I can still prove it, even empty-handed as we were upon return."

"I'd be very curious to know what you were looking for." Cedric said, looking to Faunia. She was still looking at Rosgir through the campfire, enamored with the sudden story.

"Now, this country, this place is much quieter than any I've been to. You can watch the stars with barely a night bird or bug to interrupt, you can walk through city streets barren of souls, woods barren of animals. We've hardly seen enough game to eat right our whole time through. Luckily, it takes only two days to cross the whole country from east to west. It's a shock that those such as yourselves are from this place!"

Faunia's eyebrows scrunched. She looked to Cedric. "How did you know that?"

"Heji is a Teller, dear! He knows everything about you, most probably down to your first lovers each, your parents' names each, every last intimate secret!"

Faunia looked disarmed, like she felt violated. Nothing is secret?

Cedric did not share her concern at that. He muttered out, "Kylinstrom… was not always a quiet place." His voice was barely louder than the crackle of the fire, the sputtering embers.

Faunia cast him a somber look.

He opened his mouth, glanced between them, and then hung his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Rosgir smiled. "I can feel your struggles both. You both carry heavy weights, much the same as those who have liked through the Jinn."

"What can you tell us about that place?" asked Faunia.

"I can tell you the truth. It is a festering nightmare. A place that none should go, that any should flee. A place damned to exist even while it tears itself apart, as the great god Heth does of his own skin."

Faunia nodded, she reached down for her pack to procure a notebook, flipped it open and hastily grabbed a magequill to write.

Then Rosgir violently lurched forward, choked up an explosion of spittle and booze into the flame. The fire sprayed sparks, bulged and shot a sudden burst of smoke pluming into the air.

Cedric tensed up. Faunia leapt to her feet and reached out, "Rosgir!"

His face contorted suddenly into white-pupiled sternness, so stern and strict in its lined furrowment that Faunia lurched her hand backward, resisting to aid him.

When he was finished, he coldly commanded, "I speak with the King's own tongue."

It wasn't a metaphor, Cedric realized, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"I am Heji Aeon the First. I thank you for accompanying Rosgir thus far, but I will be asking you to turn back now."

"Turn back?" Faunia's own eyebrows raised.

"There is no longer any parley to be had in Aeon. Rosgir will resist any attempt you make to continue along this road, to the extent of violence if you draw him to it. Our countries will not go to war, we will leave Calamon be."

"What's this about?" asked Cedric.

"The time for diplomacy is now over. We wish you great luck in returning to Calamon tomorrow."

They exchanged a wary glance.

And then Rosgir's tongue went limp, his jaw fell open. His eyes slowly rolled back into their proper places, restored him to a dim state of confusion, a muttering mess of struggling consciousness.

"Cedric…?" Faunia asked, looking to him for answers.

His face became hard. He rubbed his bearded chin, thought through the difficult situation with all of his voices, with every spare personality and thought he had.

And then it was time to turn in for the night…

X

The one calling himself Elos sprinted back from the hall. He turned around a corner, slammed his back against the dark wall, glanced out behind himself, panting…

Then he clutched his chest. He shut his mouth and forced his breathing through his nose. His heartbeat began to slow.

The clinking of chainmail spiked his adrenaline again. He hissed in a panicked breath. Footsteps. Not from the library chamber, but from…

"Elos!" he cried out as a heavy-lidded, tired-eyed sel began to approach. Red tabards, chainmail, curved horns to match his own, and violet skin.

There was another one behind him, not by far. The one in front said, "Still alive, if a little bloody?"

"Pek is…!" he began. His eyes caught the eyes of the man behind Elos. Another sel named Pek.

"Hmm? Did you not call upon the silence?"

"He — he did! But it was the other magic—"

"Ley magic? From an Etherian?" the second Elos mused as he approached. He looked to his Pek. "You hear that? We've got magic men here."

Pek nodded.

The panicked Elos said, "Liamik is dead. His blood covers me, I…"

"Liamik? I thought Pek was with you?"

The man shook with uncertainty and a sudden frustration. "You know who I am! Velazius!"

Elos nodded with a smile. "Velazius, for the crime of impersonating a soldier of the Alvaki Pact, you're subject to no less than immediate death."

His mouth swung open, his hand clawed clumsily at his hilt.

Relieved of your false name, relieved of your real. Goodbye, Velazius.

The real Elos drew his straight sword.

Pek shuffled his satchel uncomfortably. He touched the spot of light skin around his eye, slightly pink, slightly pale.

"N-no!" protested the young one. But it was too late. Elos' blade went true. The impersonator fell loose against the wall.

Pek nodded. "Smart of you. Don't need two of either of us running around."

"I expected mages of allsorts, and blades the same; better for younger ones than us to die where we should have. There's a few mortal men walking among these daemons."

"How many?"

"Three, I believe. Now we know two things: we know that they have mages, and we know that they do not know our names, else they'd have ensured our imposters' demise."

"What do you make of mages, Elos?"

He rubbed his chin. "Well, they say there are three powers. We form a triangle, men to the sel, sel to the daemons, daemons to the men. Two barriers, two maintainers, and one to breach."

Pek shook his thick head, counted on his fingers. "Should not there be a fourth? One to breach the once-ley?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Who can say how Drim intended such a barrier?" Elos placed two fingers to his lips then put them to the air.

Pek did the same. A prayer. They continued to walk.

Then Elos continued, "They say Drim built the ley barriers to keep out perverse ideas, to stop places like Calamon from flourishing. They say that Vei allows them to exist, in her great mercy. Vei was the first to breach the twice-ley, knower of all things. Allower of Knowledge."

"What do you make of Evra, then?" thick-headed Pek asked again.

"Petty, foolish mythos. Drim proves his existence through the Pact. Vei and Drei have come unto the world either themselves or by proxy through prophets. And Heji is reincarnated in the modern king. Our pantheon has implications beyond rumor and legend, it is living. It is breathing.."

"Evra's followers are heretics."

"Mmm."

They reached the library door.

"Hmm?" hummed Elos as he rattled the doorknob. "Locked."

"Locked." Pek swung an axe down from his shoulder.

KRNNNCH!

"Aaaaaaand... Unlocked." Elos smiled.

Just like that, the library door was shattered. The two stepped into that magelit library, blue light glowing all across towering bookshelves that reached up into infinite space, into boundless, endless time.

Elos took a deep breath, minded the scorch marks all over the nearest library shelves, minded the blue slime melted into the uninhabited table ahead of them. "Unlocked. This place reeks of magic."

Pek said, "I fear mages."

"Every good man fears something."

"Do you?"

"I never said I was a good man."

And they saw Okella on the ground.

And her blue eyes shone dark as she glared up with unimaginable, unexpected ferocity…