I am ever grateful for Moder. Without him, my mission would be lost. No other holds as much Kraken as I do, none dare. It is a burden, a power, a poison. A sin. And if confession has a place, it is here.
To the ignorant, it must have seemed a whim, a mere renaming, but I never admitted the truth. Kraken cannot exist without its avatar. Bacchus. It is his gift, his curse, a taint that seeps into the already impure. To a fool, it is indistinguishable from any other power. To those who truly see, it is night bleeding into day.
Had I known of the other beast before signing the contract, would I have still taken the pact? Bacchus claims all creatures from the Other can take any form. Shifting. Hiding. Deceiving. I have hunted the Inverse in his name, but I know now, I was chasing phantoms, shadows slipping through my fingers. I see it now. It did not flee. It did not vanish. It became something.
The Garru. There is no other explanation. They were mindless once. Now, they are something else. Even now, I know it watches, shifting, waiting among them. A monster wearing mortal flesh.
But despite my age, my wisdom, my contract, there are things I will never understand. The Void does not answer to reason, nor do the creatures spawned there.
After washing his mouth out and apologizing profusely, Kurt felt like a new man. Quena, for her part, was all business that morning. Following through on his word, Kurt had decided to team up with his little brother's once crush. The fact that she appeared the way she had, at just this time, couldn't be a coincidence, but whether the fates were granting a curse or a blessing had yet to be decided. For now, he had to operate relative to his goals and balance it with the safety of his family. He had to get his father out of the line fire, and put an end to this pointless conflict. After that...
Find me, Kurt.
Kurt shook his head. Quena took notice as they stood outside their cave. Kurt put a hand up to stall the question before it started. “It's nothing.” Looking out at the sunrise, he noted the redness to the distant clouds, and how scenic it was. Kurt grabbed some salted and dried meat from his pack and offered it to Quena. She took it, thanking him before she started chewing.
“Well, since we have an all-powerful Priorius among us, what do you say we charge into the enemy camp and demand surrender?” Kurt said, all bravado.
Quena raised a fist to her mouth to cover it, laughter bubbling out despite her chewing. “Gods, no. Please don't put this all on me.”
Kurt looked inquisitive as he asked, “Why not? Aren't you blessed by the Gods? Just whip up a storm or burn them to cinders. I don't really care which.” He flicked his hand out as though it was the most nonchalant comment ever made. “Dorian could do some pretty wicked things, and he was just a pup. You're, what, seventeen? Eighteen? You should be able to mop up this whole mess by noon.”
“Ha! If it worked like that, I wouldn't be the second wave, and there wouldn't be three more arriving the day after tomorrow. I'm here for reconnaissance, unless I can be certain of an outcome, I'm to avoid confrontation. I hope you understand that. I want to help, but I'm not willing to risk my freedom.” Her tone was serious as she ended her statement, her face looking grim.
“Well, why not? You mean to tell me you can't just drop the earth from beneath them, or why not just throw boulders at them?” Kurt's voice was laced with disbelief, he had seen what his little brother could do before, why was Quena holding back?
“I can't tell you much, but we should probably get moving. Do you have a plan?” Quena looked at him, and Kurt was confused by the implied demand she carried in her voice.
“Of course I have a plan.” He didn't.
She tried to glare at him but found herself smiling. When she didn't say anything, Kurt decided to continue as though he hadn't found her in his cave. And it is my god's damned cave, whether she can shape stone or not.
“Next step will be just as you mentioned, reconnaissance. First, we look for trails that have seen heavy traffic lately. We can't walk along those trails, so we'll need to move through heavy brush. Right now, we have to find two separate camps. I'm going to assume that we can't be seen by either, because no matter the camp, they'll shoot us down and ask questions later.” Quena thought about this for a moment and nodded her head. “If we find the Kressian camp first, we verify, then leave in search of the Metan camp. If we find my father's camp first, we gather them and we head back to our barricade.”
“You don't think I can reshape that cave to support that many people, do you?” Quena asked, incredulity written on her face.
That hadn't even occurred to Kurt, so before answering honestly, he asked, “can't you?”
Her mouth puckered slightly before she spoke. “Like I said, it really doesn't work like that. Stone Shaping isn't my best field, I'm best at broad range empa-telepathic expression. I can still shape, but to make that cave into an entire system? Gods, three or four days, maybe?” She shrugged, then continued, “Not to mention I'd be completely exhausted and in immediate need of all the salt you could find” she paused for a moment, realizing that Kurt didn't understand. “or I'd go catatonic, probably coma and death shortly after.” Quena seemed to take on an educative air but kept a grave undertone as she explained.
Kurt let that sink in for a moment as he pointed to where they should start walking and proceeded to head in that direction. “So, when Dorian beat that troll to a pulp, he should have, what, went into shock?”
Quena looked stun for a moment, but recovered. She quickly asked, “troll?” Then stifled a laugh.
Sensing how ridiculous it sounded, he quickly added, “I mean, it wasn't really a troll, but troll is the closest I can get to describing it. Real nasty looking thing,” Kurt began growing animated as he saw that he had an audience for this story for the first time. “It was all kinds of haggard and distorted. It had disproportionate limbs and was covered in spots of thick skin. The boils too, but the look of them was nothing compared to the smell.”
Quena looked away, putting a hand up. “Okay, I get it.”
“You don't believe me, do you?” Kurt asked.
“I believe that you believe it.” She said, sounding sincere.
Kurt glared for a moment before nearly walking into a sapling. Quena giggled, but Kurt just kept on. “So why didn't Dorian convulse and die after ripping the thing apart?” He subconsciously cursed himself, Gwendos' goatly gonads, you get an audience and you don't know how to stay on subject.
“Like many that end up at the Monastery, your brother was likely just a vessel. A true Priorius is Primed in every primal force, and will have a natural understanding of runes, casting, and manipulations of both Gia and Shade. All will experience memories, but never of their own lives. A Priorius will simply remember more as they age.” She tapered off towards the end, realizing she had likely confused Kurt more than answering his questions.
“Hmm, that's strange. Dorian never just remembered, he'd get all spacey for a moment, then be fine again. He never mentioned having new memories that he understood.” Kurt looked pensive but made it to the tree line. “Keep behind me, I promise not to hit you with any branches.” He smiled back at Quena that seemed rueful. “But I make no promises about breaking wind.” Then he headed into the tree line.
Quena laughed, to Kurt it sounded haughty, but still it held the bell like cadence Diana's laugh carried. Something deep down was unnerved by it, but he stuffed it down. Still laughing, Quena said, “that would be highly inappropriate.”
Kurt looked back, confused at the contradiction between her statement and her behavior. He caught her eye for a second, and Kurt couldn't help but notice something predatory there. He ignored it.
“We should be able to speak freely like this, for a few more miles” he ducked a low hanging pine before holding it up for Quena. “After that, we'll have to keep it down. I can show you a few simple hand gestures that the trappers use.”
She seemed rather excited about this, so Kurt spent some time explaining a few gestures and what they meant. Once again, however, with his attention on his audience, he tripped. Before he landed, Quena moved in a blur, grabbing Kurt by the back of his belt and pulling him back. For the briefest moment, Kurt was dumbfounded. Not by her ability to move like that, but by her eyes. They were normally brown, but for a short time as they stood inches away from each other, Kurt was completely captivated by her glowing yellow eyes. Then by her high cheekbones, the light brown hair that lofted to either side of her elegant neck, and then her general silhouette from the beams of light that broke through the pines and cast her body in shadow.
Realizing that he was gawking, he stepped back, rubbing the back of his head. “My savior,” he said, then grunted a thanks before returning to the brush. Calm down boy, heel. Plenty of doe in the wood, you should leave that one alone.
Kurt had chastised himself, but took a moment to ask himself why he had. Dorian had a crush on a young girl, as he's just a young boy. Quena wasn't that young girl anymore, she was a young woman. Dorian had a long way to catch up if Quena was the kind of creature he sought to capture. Still, why do I feel guilty?
Time grew distant as terrain grew less forgiving. Quena had brandished a black crescent and stretched it, making a crude kind of walking staff. Meanwhile, Kurt had been using his little brother's gift and it was a perpetual reminder of his presence.
“Fight me,” Dorian said, grinning wickedly.
Kurt closed his eyes and took a slow, deliberate breath. He wanted to think, to focus, but his mind had felt sluggish ever since he returned to Metan. The sight of his home in ruins, the makeshift barricades, and the haunted faces of his people gnawed at him. Deep down, he knew he was struggling to accept the truth, that his home was no longer a certainty.
The Trapper’s House, once a place of training and discipline, had become a refuge for the sick and dying. The streets he knew so well, and the wilderness he had called his paradise, were now fractured remnants of a past that no longer existed. The idea of Metan as an unshakable constant had been stripped away, and in its place was something fragile, something at risk of vanishing entirely.
He felt it unsettling something in him, creeping into his decisions, dulling his instincts. It was a dangerous thing, doubt.
And he knew it.
Quena had begun to fall behind, so Kurt took a moment to even out his breathing before she caught up. The day wasn't terrible. There weren't many spots where the soil had warmed enough yet to become mud. It was brisk, but between his gear and hauling it, he was warm enough. The air was quiet and calm, something he hadn't really noticed until that moment. The sound of Quena's heavy breathing became the only apparent sound around.
Quena approached looking winded but no worse for wear. Kurt gave her the signal to stop, but it took her a second to notice it. When she did, she stopped and glanced about.
Kurt moved silently as he could as he headed her way. They were in a valley, after all, and when the wind didn't blow a voice could be heard from a good way off. Kurt came up and leaned against a thick tree.
Keeping his voice low, he whispered, “I want to get to a clearing, we'll take a short break there and come up with our next step.” Quena bobbed her head in silent agreement as she took a few long breaths. She was already showing early signs of fatigue, even little Dorian would keep up for a few hours yet. Wherever she'd been for all this time, she hadn't gotten out much.
“You know,” Kurt whispered, “with that facial expression, you kind of remind me of my little brother. Maybe it's a Priorius thing,” he lightly snickered. “Maybe hiking about in the Wilds is just draining to all the divine magics you guys use.” He wiggled his fingers at her.
The glare he got back wasn't outrage, it was inquisitive, the kind of curious inquiry one does before considering homicide. Kurt put both hands up, feeling as though he was being probed for weakness. He smiled but held her eye. After a moment she seemed ready to go, so Kurt began heading towards what he was relatively sure to be a low meadow.
He was certain there were several animal trails near the meadow as there was a small freshwater spring. It was rocky in areas, which wouldn't be a problem if spring were further along. Unfortunately, the dead grass had matted over the tops of the stony ground there, collecting moisture, it made the terrain far worse for a short time. What’s worse is that it was spring, and hibernation had likely ended only a few weeks before. Most larger animals were well adapted to handle such a muddy shit hole, humans were heavily disadvantaged there but Kurt was betting the local human activity had scared most of them off.
They came to the edge of the clearing and Kurt pointed. Across a straight of river rock mixed with sediment, at an intersection of two soon to be streams, a wedge of trees stood densely. It was better than he had hoped. After another ten minutes, the pair were panting just outside the juncture. Kurt held a hand to his mouth and whispered, “take your pack off, and take a breather. Keep as quiet as you can, sound carries here.”
Quena wasted no time in removing her travel pack, a small thing really. She had her woolen sleeping bag uncoiled, and she strode towards the wooded area. Head held high, she scampered up the steep incline finding a boulder adjacent to a fallen tree limb. Stepping on the solid limb, she stretched a hand out towards the boulder and she seemed to slow for a moment. The stone shaped itself into a kind of platform, where Quena laid down.
“What are you doing?” Kurt whispered at her.
“Keeping my edge. Wake me when you’re ready to go,” came the curt reply. The stone was almost silent as it moved, making crescent shaped bars across the top of her makeshift bed. As the last one finally stopped moving, the gaps in between were filled with blackness.
Stunned, Kurt took a moment to admire the creation. If Dorian could have done something like that, they could have walked right through walls. The chaos we could have spread would have been legendary! Kurt mused, momentarily lost in the thought. Just as the sound of his own breathing finally quieted, he caught a faint sound in the air. It wasn't very distinct but was unique. Tilting his head, he concentrated, catching the off-hand echo of people talking a long ways off.
Kurt lowered his center and put a hand over one ear. Turning himself ever so slowly, he got a rough idea of where the sound was coming from. Brandishing his staff, he headed in that direction, figuring he could do some quick scouting before Quena woke up from her nap.
Over the next hour Kurt seriously considered whether the Gods were playing pranks on him or if he just had awful luck. Shortly after he started out, a storm front loomed into view. The black clouds seemed to stall there, adding a mounting sensation of dread to sit heavily at the back of his mind. He got turned around and lost his place as he was brooding over the possibility of a storm. Lost, he had to hike back and leave markers for the return trip. Having made sure he knew his path home, he followed the noises through the thick brush, only stalling to mark various trees or spots. As he did, a mid-morning mist sprinkled down softly through the mostly leafless trees creating a muddy slop that sapped the energy from him. After his first fall, the rain seemed to fatten up, adding additional treachery to his march. After his second fall that slid him down a slope into a bank of muddy grass, he was filthy and half drenched. After his third, he put up no more pretenses at being dry or warm. That's also when he heard the first loud rumble off in the distance.
Visibility noticeably dropped as the storm cloud moved closer to the sun and he reflexively thought of the time, remembering where Quena lay sleeping. That rock thing is probably waterproof, right?
A mounting concern began running through his head, ranging from her not so happy attitude when she woke up to rain, to her being trapped at the bottom of a stream, stuck in a stone coffin of doom!
Kurt chuckled to himself at the thought, trying to lighten his mood. He sloughed off some mud, when a familiar sound whistled past his ear.
Instinctively, he knew what he had to do. Without hesitation, he bolted. The arrow that landed in front of him didn't require inspection, Kurt knew enough of where the archer was to know the general direction to head. A few shouts from behind him verified his assumption, and despite the slippery terrain he came surprisingly close to what it must feel like to fly. Kurt used every available surface as he ran, vaulting from tree stump, to log, to stone, he found traction wherever he could. He kept his footing light whenever he had to run across the mud, for he knew a fall at this time could cost his life.
He did eventually fall, sliding through the mud at a pace just passed “out of control.” Oh fuck, he thought as he headed for a tree, taking the brunt of his momentum against its trunk, he rebounded to land face first in the mud. Luckily, though he was slightly dazed, he was no worse for wear and heaved onward.
When he finally found his way back, having lost track of his markers as he fled for his life, the sky had become completely overcast and the rain had begun in earnest. Fat drops plopped around him, the sparse green foliage seemed to dance in his periphery, making Kurt jump for fear of another arrow or a hungry beast.
The upside to this volatile weather, Kurt thought as he began catching his breath, is that those Kressian bastards won’t have the visibility to get a clean shot. I doubt they kept up, spotting me in weather like this wouldn't be possible. Unless they have a Priorius with them, I should be able to slow down a bit, I won’t do Quena any good if I show up with a broken neck.
Despite his thoughts, he kept a fair pace through the vegetation, recognizing what he needed to get back to what he expected to be a peninsula by the time he arrived. To his own detriment, Kurt was right.
The stream, a few hours prior being bone dry, now resembled a raging rapid more than a subtle stream. The peninsula was still there, though the tree at the far edge had begun to slant at an odd angle, the violent water surrounding Quena was washing away the little highland at an alarming rate. Thinking quickly, worried that time was swiftly becoming more important than safety, Kurt ran down the edge of the bank until he came to a particularly narrow spot. He prepared himself, looking at the gap for a long moment. This is fucking stupid! What the hell am I doing?
He didn't have the nerve, though he did have the recklessness, still though, he stalled there for too long. Thunder rumbled above him, and he backed up a touch to lean against a nearby tree. He took his staff in hand, holding the far edge and extending it in front of himself. He took a long breath, preparing his mettle for the test at hand. Despite his boldness, that wasn't what motivated him to move. No, it was the sound of a whistle followed by a thud in the nearby tree that gave flight to his legs.
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Sprinting as best as he could in the muddy yet rocky terrain, Kurt lodged the pole into the center of the stream as he vaulted his way across. At first, he worried his staff wouldn't find the purchase it needed. Then he noted that he was using his staff, something that wasn't more than six feet, to pole vault himself across something he obviously couldn't get across. Stretching, his one hand met the edge of the bank before the raging waters whipped him away, a fleeting ember consumed by a bonfire.
Scrabbling, he lost his staff, reaching for anything to grab hold of. His hand slipped over rocks and debris, until he found purchase on something solid. A root! By the gods, I've been saved by a root!
Climbing, he pulled his head above water, taking a gasping breath. He hadn't been under long, but the process was draining, and he was afraid that as his head got above the surface he'd get hit by a surge and end up trying to breath water. To avoid this, he held from gasping in the vital air for a long enough time to ensure he'd be breathing what he was supposed to. Climbing, he found the dirt was still muddy and had little stability. Frantic he'd get shot any moment, he levered himself up and leaned heavily on the tree he knew would be lost any second. The top of the tree finally fell, and Kurt leaped towards the oddly shaped stone containing his companion. As soon as the top of the tree was gripped by the rapids, it lurched outward, taking a large portion of his peninsula with it.
“Quena! It’s time to wake up! Quena!” Kurt shouted at the half gray half black stone. He didn't know what to do, but knew if he stayed there long, they'd either drown or start growing arrows out of their backs. As both options were shitty, he decided to kick the stone. Sadly, it was the best idea he had, until he nearly broke his toe. The following “best” idea was to lean close to the stone and begin shouting as loud as he could.
Grabbing where he last saw her head, he took a soggy breath in an attempt to inhale passed the torrential downpour. Just as he was about to shout, he felt something. It was a kind of pressure, indescribable, as though his own body extended beyond that of his corporeal form. Then, for the briefest moment, he felt every hair on his body lift. He hugged the cask of Quena tightly just as the ground shook so hard his chest vibrated, and a flash so bright it nearly blinded him behind his shut eyes. Something tickled at the back of his mind, something fragile crumbled away, and before he knew it, his own world disappeared.
“How does it feel to know that you're the squire to your little brother?” Cackled Moder, his hood flipping back, revealing a head that resembled ruined eggs. “Now, young squire, shall we begin with the basics?” Moder's elongated nose and pointed ears bobbed as he spoke.
Moder exhaled with a hiss, extending an arm. A darkness pooled in his hand, emanating a faint light. Gripping it, a dark shape extended. When it stopped it looked like a drawn triangle that was missing the last line, it had a perfect ninety-degree angle. The black juxtaposed to the white of Moder's skin created a stark contrast that caught Kurt's eye. He stared blankly as Moder's instruction began.
“You will not inherit any of his primal abilities, sadly.” Moder tossed the black thing out into the broad chamber, and the sound of it whipping through the air echoed back to the two standing there. The torches on the walls didn't emit near as much light as the ceiling stone, but both were required to keep the pitch black of the underground at bay.
“You will inherit his form, though, and the ability to manipulate it.” As he spoke, he threw. The thrown object arched through the air back at Moder, where he caught it deftly. “There are rules,” His clawed fingers grabbed the object. “You may take the Kraken, pardon, Shade and stretch it,” Moder stretched one side, elongating it. “Shrink it,” he shortened the edge, “or hold it in mass.” A green light started to glow from the thing he held, and it began to shift and distort. He pushed it out, and the mass hit the stone floor, making a loud cracking sound. “Holding in mass isn't recommended, for the cost you pay.”
Interested, he asked, “cost?”
Moder cackled, and some of his skin flaked away and drifted down to rest at his feet. Kurt was going to lose his lunch if he saw that happen again, which reminded him that he hadn't eaten lunch or anything for that matter in longer than he knew. His stomach agreed.
“Mostly, metabolic, sometimes exhaustion when you've done too much too soon.” He idly scratched the top of his head, and a section of uneven flesh plopped onto the floor. It started to move. “Don't worry,” Moder said, flashing a fanged smile, “I'm a very special case.”
After several troll-like creatures arrived with haunches of meat, freshly cooked, Kurt could have leaped for joy. Kurt took several bites before he stopped chewing, a question on his face. He looked to Moder, who happened to be devouring his meal like a tiger at a lamb, when their eyes met. Lifting his head, he said, “Kruktek, he was brave, but stupid.”
Kurt heaved, when Moder and his fledglings erupted in their “kek” shriek. Kurt did all he could to empty his guts, but as he put a hand up to his mouth, Moder shouted, “don't!” The abrupt change and the sudden quiet was the only reason he hadn't purged his insides. “It’s bear, and not even the one you saw earlier. Calm yourself and eat, meat is a luxury to us.”
Kurt stopped himself, looking over the meat. He hadn't had bear before, so he couldn't tell if Moder was lying or not. Resigned, he sighed and took a seat on a nearby stone, there he ate quietly. He watched the creatures converse in their strange language, engaging in customs Kurt simply didn't understand.
Moder noted the young man sitting by himself and came by. It was odd seeing such a haggard and pale creature walking over on some kind of social visit. It made Kurt a little uncomfortable, as though he'd befriended one of Kressor's nine demons and it wanted a chat. Moder sent a gout of darkness out and formed the stone next to and under Kurt into a chair. It was curved at the right spots, it was pretty comfortable for stone.
“They're K-k-idiots.” Moder said, taking a seat.
“I'm sure.” Kurt replied before taking another bite of the bear flesh. He was still really hungry.
“I'm not trying to belittle them, my children lack many of the things that most creatures have.” Moder was looking at them forlornly.
Seeing the odd expression on the monster, Kurt spoke through a mouthful of meat. “Like what?”
Moder looked over, his oversized head turned, his dark eyes taking Kurt in. “Most lack the essentials and die off quickly. Some are born k-without a brain, or a liver, or some other vital organ. Once, one poor child was born without skin. It wailed for roughly five minutes before I decided to... recycle it.” There was a disgusted look on Moder's face, but he kept on. “One day, perhaps, one of them will be... more. Truthfully, I wish to die well before such a fate befalls any life I spawn.” Moder frowned. “Which is why we must return to your training.” Moder looked thoughtful for a moment, then swiftly finished his meal, creating a mess of running juices that ran down his face. It looked like blood.
Not fully sated, but no longer famished, Kurt decided to prolong the conversation. “All right then, explain how all this works while I finish up. I'm sure I'll figure it out.” He ripped into another bite, bear might not be what he expected, but it was similar to pork in texture albeit a lot gamier.
“K-k-k-arrogant youth.” Moder muttered as he wiped his bloody face clean. “In truth, many squires died before long, a problem with the binding. In the last few millennia, I have found a way to bind without the drain on yourself. If the one-sided binding, as they did in ages past, were used, Dorian would quickly begin draining your life to power his own. Many lasted about a year or more, some longer, but always they became frail and withered away.” Moder placed his hands down on his chair, and somehow Kurt could sense that he was using his power again. The stone chamber began to shift around them, various walls, stairs and platforms were erected. “The cost of your ongoing life, however, is that your fate is tied to your brother's now, though not the other way around. This is one of my finest works, before, only a creature of spirit could be bound in such a way.”
“Creature of spirit?” Kurt felt rushed as he ate, so he spoke quickly before eating some more. His mouth was starting to grow dry, but he chewed on.
Noting Kurt's efforts at chewing were slowing, Moder did something and where his right hand would rest on his chair, a bowl formed. A hole in the center opened up, and after a moment the bowl filled with water. Neat trick.
“Yes, creatures of spirit. They can take many forms, a Garru, a bear, a cattle dog, whatever they see fit.”
“They? Like they can choose?” Kurt said after bending down and drinking deeply.
“Yes, they can choose what they inhabit. It’s difficult to say for certain, but I believe they prefer creatures with little sentience. There are exceptions, of course. Most spirit-born beings are fragments of something greater, mere pieces of a whole. I suspect there are others scattered throughout the world, but only one true originator within our little pocket of existence. I, myself, have been bound by one. In a way, though, now that your younger brother is here, that bond will soon unravel.”
Moder paused, then let out a low chuckle. “It has been so long since I’ve spoken your tongue without fear, I seem to have lost my point.” His expression shifted, his mouth tightening, and for a moment he looked almost… constipated.
Kurt nearly laughed, but something in the back of his mind, the nagging weight of unease, kept him from it.
“Now, this power. Many of your people have it now, but they are broken. There is a capacity that each has, but your people have been bred, genetically altered, so that despite the vast reserves of power you could possess you simply have no way of accessing them. Do your people have spectacles?”
Kurt thought it was an odd question to ask, so he quickly explained. “Yes, but nobody knows how they're made. We have to trade Vega to have the priests craft them for us.”
Moder nodded, "It is fascinating how technology shifts over the ages. Knowledge is lost, and secrets fall into the hands of those who seek control." He let out a brief laugh. "Just two thousand years ago, your people had as much Steelfyre as they wished. Swords were common, as were countless tools designed for durability and efficiency. There was no restriction, no limitation. But after the last revolution, Bacchus decreed that technological advancement and steel weapons were to be outlawed."
The revelation of such a notion was breathtaking to Kurt. Steel was so rare for them, their entire economy revolved around it. Iron could still be found, especially in Kresson, but the ability to make steel and refine it was one of the most purchased items that Metan bought in to. Kurt had a feeling that made him sick.
“There is no shortage on Steelfyre, is there?”
“I'm sure I've already said so, but no. Giving up control is something he cannot abide.” The scowl on Moder's face was tremulous. “Once again I've fallen off topic. Your people are like the frame set for the spectacles but without the lenses. You can't focus, there is something wrong with how your bodies use the Gia. Though, I believe that this direct manipulation is exactly what will cause his downfall. Despite how easily your people can be bound by his will, one in ten thousand has an opposing effect.”
Kurt had finished his meal but was too enthralled by the lecture to interject. It was like seeing the truth of the world for the first time, and so many things were coming together in his mind. He nodded Moder to continue, giving him his full attention.
“That opposing effect has finally come. Priorius were only ever born when this power first entered our world, after the wreckage settled, after the great calamity. Some vessels were born and their Gia clotted so heavily that they remained until they found a new vessel, but after a few deaths, they dissolved into the ether of the earth as all others do. No, a true Priorius' essence is anathema to the residual Gia of the world. All the true Priorius have been captured, harnessed, reserved and tucked away, never to be rebirthed again. There are a few that remain loyal to Bacchus, but they are rare, and their memories incomplete. But, the birth of a new true Priorius has not happened since the Calamity. Until now.” Moder smiled broadly, his wide mouth and sharp teeth on full display.
With a lurch, the chair dropped out from beneath Kurt, flattening into rough stone. Kurt rolled as he landed, ass over elbows, and stayed crouched for a moment. I guess this means it’s time for work.
Moder, already standing, began instructing instead of lecturing. “This is the most challenging part, it's easiest to feel it through a focus point, your hand or your chest.” Moder put both hands out, and a dark light cast from his body. From all sides, the Shade shot out, wedging itself in a circle around Moder. “Now, that should make things easier.” In each hand, a light began to glow, not the dark light as it had before, but a bright green. “Close your eyes and invest all your senses on your focus point.”
Kurt did so, focusing his attention on his right hand. “Gia and Shade, in truth, are both sides of the same coin. It is hard acquiring purity, that can only be defined by the will of the one using it, but for now, imagine how your palm feels. The skin there, the sense of its location without seeing it. Now push, imagine you're very soul is pushing itself out from that point.”
Kurt concentrated, doing as he was told. He pushed, imagined the point, felt the electrical impulses from the center of his chest, through his arm, stopping at his palm. For thirty seconds or more, he listened to the disturbing voice of Moder explaining how to do as he had done. Thinking he had it, he opened one eye and saw that he looked like a fucking idiot. He frowned.
“Did you think this would be easy?” Moder croaked, then gasped. “Come then, little squire, you'll need to show more commitment than that.”
Kurt concentrated, closing his eyes again. A long time passed as he concentrated, but nothing came of it. Frustrated, Kurt dropped his arm and began pacing. He took calm breathes, trying to clear his mind. “Perhaps, you're not the mind your brother has...” Moder thought for a moment, about as much time as it took Kurt to take three long breaths.
Overlarge eyes went wide, and a smile broke onto Moder's face. “Little squire?”
Exasperated, Kurt looked over. “Stop calling me that.” His voice echoed off the stone walls, and for a moment it seemed as though the light of the chamber dimmed.
“If you can't do this, then I have little use for you.” Moder, with a sudden ferocity, shouted, “little squire, defend yourself!” With an animalistic growl, all of the corner-shaped pieces of Shade zapped back into Moder, and in the blink of an eye, he was holding two long pieces of darkness. Instead of a full corner, one side had been shortened, making for a kind of hook. Faster than Kurt could react, Moder leaped towards him, swinging low with one hand and leveling the other at Kurt's chest. Kurt moved to jump back, but his ankle had already been caught by Moder's hook-like weapon. He landed flat on his back and let out a woof as all the air seemed to vacate his lungs at once.
The next thing he knew, Moder was above him, swinging down hard at Kurt's face. He rolled, narrowly avoiding having his face caved in by the monster. Kurt pushed off the ground as he rolled, using his momentum to stand and face his opponent. Then Moder was on him again, swinging broadly in an attempt to capitalize on Kurt's disorientation. Kurt stumbled back, then ducked another blow aimed for his head. He turned, making a barrel roll almost immediately to gain some quick distance between his assailant. Gods be damned, but that monster is fast.
Kurt took to a crouch, circling his opponent. He felt naked without anything to defend himself with, so he held his hands out wide, anticipating an oncoming assault. Moder cackled and threw one of his weapons. Kurt dodged, and shot an angry look in Moder's direction. Another one came, and Kurt dodged, before two more came his direction. Moder laughed and began hurling one Shade shard after another at him, Kurt dodging in turn.
Before he knew it, he was running. Making for the edge of the chamber, looking up to the ledge above that held sconces. That could be something.
Dashing, he hurdled one spike after another, the glowing black sticking out of the stone as Moder missed. One came too close and he stumbled, coming to the ground like an avalanche. Sitting up, slightly dazed, he looked for something to act as a shield. There wasn't any immediate cover, or he would have dived for that, but the only thing surrounding him were the Shade bolts, now shaped as the ninety degree angle he had seen before. Fuck it then, he thought as he was taken by a reckless whim.
Reaching out, he grasped the black cut and pulled it out of the stone slab. As he took it, an unnerving sensation took over his insides. It felt, for lack of a better way to describe it, like the removal of a long booger. Or maybe like removing a rag from a bloody nose too soon, the moment you feel the elongated mass sliding past parts of you that are unknown until touched. This was even worse, it felt like that but started at the root of his spine, pulling something across his whole body in a wave that was both revulsion and ecstasy. He had to shut his eyes as the nauseating feeling twisted his stomach in a knot.
When he opened them, he stared down at a stone sarcophagus. He put a hand to the black bars that ran across the front, and he felt that wave of nausea fill him. He watched this time, as his hand touched the surface, skin to black, a white bubble seemed to emerge from the point of contact. It covered the bar, then the next and the next, until it writhed. He took it in, having the strangest experience logged in to his mind’s eye. A young man, hansom, blond and fit walking in from out of nowhere, booming “who, in the fuck, is in my cave?!” He didn't relive it, but the memory was suddenly his, as though he were the one to have it. The black swirled, and he thought he'd stop, but the darkness that mixed with his light followed him. As it did, he had to pull back, it hurt.
As he fell back, his hand flailed, catching just the tip of an arrow as it flew past. Don't these assholes ever take a hint?
“Quena! It's time to go! Now!” Kurt kept low, rolling on to his gut. He crawled forward, trying to use the stone feature for cover. He was just about to yell right into the hollow of the rock, when Quena lurched up. Realizing the folly of such a move, he grabbed her by her robes and pulled her down into the mud. An arrow sank just beside her, but she didn't see it.
“What in the name of the Gods do you think you're doing?” She yelled as she began to get up.
Kurt pulled her down again, shouting, “saving your hide, now get down!” He held her there, and despite the sky darkening overhead, he could make her out clearly. She stared at him, eyes wide, but not with fear. Outrage was the flavor of her expression, with a dash of confusion for good measure. She notably calmed, and her eyes began to glow. She was holding his shirt back, when she had done so, Kurt had no idea, but she gripped him tightly. Slowly, as their eyes met, something shifted in her demeanor. A sly grin quirked at the corner of her mouth.
Kurt, late to the party as per usual, finally had an idea of what her facial expression might imply, let her go. “There are archers!” He shouted over the storm. “I don't know who, but they've followed me for the last hour!”
Her facial expression shifted, realization dawning. “You were supposed to wake me up in twenty minutes!” She complained, and Kurt was aghast at the notion. If he wasn’t under so much stress, he wouldn't have even considered how he woke her up this time. He cut short his outrage when Quena reached out a hand, and the small stone before them spread wide, creating a half dome over them.
With the sound of the rain and storm muted, he could finally hear his own thoughts. If the storm was some kind of joke, this was a bad one. There were usually one or two storms like this every year, and Kurt had the feeling that this one was only going to get worse.
He didn't have to shout this time, but still spoke loudly. “We need to get out of here.”
“No shit!” She boomed back, looking angry, or possibly embarrassed? Was she blushing?
“I mean soon, look.” He gestured to the side, which was technically above their heads. The edge of the rapids were quickly withering away the edge of their peninsula and it wouldn't be long before the entire thing was mud dissolving in the swift currents.
“Okay, you know the layout here. We need to get somewhere safe, do you know anything nearby?” She was quickly coming to speed with the situation it seemed, and Kurt nodded.
“Our closest option is a hut, but I doubt it will be safe through this storm and the archers. I can think of three caves nearby but we'll have to cross the rapids. Barring that, there's an alcove we can weather the storm in on this landmass, but it won't do shit for the archers. Its more than a mile off though.”
“It will have to do. Stretching stone is easier when its whole, I doubt there's a stone that large around an edge and who knows how long it would be before we found it.”
Kurt thought about the thin spot where he had attempted to vault over but disregarded it. That spot was likely covered, and as soon as they came to a bank, they'd both be out of tree cover. So instead, he set his direction and nodded.
She held a finger up as he started to stand. She reached out to his face, and he was suddenly immobilized, remembering Diana reaching for his face in the same way.
Instead of what he remembered, she passed his face and touched the stone. A spiraling mass of liquid stone appeared there, and she sat up to reach down to their feet. She placed the stone to each of his boots, and when it came away he saw half inch spikes protruding there. She didn't quite do the same thing to herself, instead she made a kind of half sandal, only covering the ball of each foot. Then she coated her upper torso in something one would consider a breastplate. She reached out and did the same to Kurt. It was stiff, but once he sat up he saw that it wouldn't hinder his movement much, though his stomach was exposed. That was when she noticed the gash on his arm and pointed.
“That's no good, you're bleeding like a goat. One second.” Warmth came over his entire arm, then the rest of his body. He felt better, like he had been resting there for a day. Looking down, the cut was gone, just some pink flesh where it had been.
“Sorry, no time to hold it shut. We should go.”
As she said that, three arrows landed down by their feet. Quena beckoned to the stone, and it shifted, now covering that side of them. Kurt nodded in agreement, then asked, “ready?”
She nodded, and from a four-point stance, Kurt ran. A loud grinding noise started to permeate the raucous sound of the storm, then sizzling. A bright flash came from behind him, and he couldn't help but turn his head the first moment he had. The boulder was gone, and across the way from the overflowing stream, he could make out small lights that were swiftly going out. Then, at a wholly inhuman speed, Quena had run like a blur, stopping abruptly in front of him.
“Come on you idiot! I can't run like that much more, let’s go!” She was waiting on Kurt. Oh yeah, she doesn't know where they were heading.
After taking a single heartbeat to appreciate her forward thinking in a moment of crisis, he took off. The spikes on his boots really helped, but he had to add an extra kick every tenth step or so or he’d be carrying half the forest with him. Still, he didn't falter for lack of footing, and for a brief moment, a smile broke onto his face. It was ridiculous, sprinting through an epic storm for fear of being shot in the back. Ludacris, but something here felt right.
It was the Wilds, and in a way, it was playing its music to Kurt. As the sparse leaves danced to the rhythm of the rain, he too felt that rhythm as a song of liberation. The trees that passed were the notes to a feral instrument, the brush at his knees the never-ending twill of harmony, his sporadic heartbeat offset to the intravenous thunder that gave his music the base it required. All of this, and more, were what made the song of his living life. Though he was in direct peril, the defining song filled him with a joy unmatched as he rode along the cliff's edge of mortality.