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measured_wordsYea, here is the whole thing, verily!
I sleep now -_-
Shadows 3
He was, understandably, a little drunk. Possibly a lot drunk. The sake Nortia had brought out earlier had been strong as well as of good quality, and the subsequent rounds of ale and other lesser rice wine hadn't helped the matter. Still, he'd remembered: it was the Spirit Festival. Go to a temple at midnight, make a wish, call on the spirits and they might grant it.
Matteo didn't really have a wish, not a specific one. He had goals, ones he knew he could, and should, work towards on his own. He wanted guidance.
He didn't aim for a temple. They were too bright, too populated, for the spirit he sought. Instead, he let himself be drawn to the darkness, seeking the privacy of an alleyway where the light of the festival lanterns didn't intrude into the long shadows, and even his elven eyes had trouble distinguishing the outlines of the world.
He stopped trying to find the words he'd need in his muddled state. If it worked, they'd come. He tried instead to figure out if this conjuration was even possible. He wasn't sure. He'd been taught the basics, and nothing more. He was still working on mastering the dance itself - its steps and stillnesses. He was only the barest initiate into the world he hoped to contact here tonight.
Matteo moved into the darkness, not simply one foot forward, but a light, graceful fluid motion that carried him into the black. He drew a knife, letting it fall, blade down, into the packed earth, and closed his eyes. He thought, tried to think about his goal. Should he have brought some other sacrifice or boon? No, not for him.
He waited for a time, eyes closed, listening. There wouldn't be much to see - black on black, Shadow in a shadow. He heard - no, felt - something, and hesitated.
"Gordon?" His eyes snapped open, even though he knew there would be nothing to see. The shadows stared back.
“Hey, kid.” The voice was whispery thin, like paper rustling in the distance…. But the tone was right.
“Well, damn.” The sake was still blurring the edges of his thoughts. He’d had an excited hope that this might work, but he wasn’t sure if he’d really *believed* it.
“I’m as shocked as you are, I’m sure. Good to see you, Atremi.”
“Yeah well.” He couldn’t say the same – there was nothing to see. He leaned back against the alley wall, watching out into the street. “It’s good to hear from you at least.” He paused. He had a million questions for his boss – ex-boss – and didn’t know where to start. “I need some advice.”
“There’s not really a lot of…space between this realm and yours. That’s probably why I was able to slip through here. I’ve been able to keep up on some of what’s been happening.”
If you looked up ‘dedication’ in an encyclopedia, Matteo was sure you would find a picture of Gordon Fenning. Dying for his cause once wasn’t enough. He’d done it twice already – and not the kind of death a priest could bring you back from if you had enough money and not too much time had passed. The first time, he’d been captured and tortured to death by the Church of Salistrom in Exia. Gordon had carried a magic ring which allowed him to borrow, for a time, the body of another man – Walter Pellik. Once he’d reached Shinkyo and divulged his intelligence to the prince, he’d relinquished his nocturnal claims on Walter’s body and let himself move on.
But Gordon had also been a Shadowdancer. He had a debt to pay to the plane that had granted him his power in life. Matteo had heard this from Gordon himself – that when a Dancer died, his spirit would dwell on the plane of Shadow until his selected by some other to serve as their companion on Keth. Once that obligation was fulfilled he would finally be released to whatever afterlife the fates had chosen for him. It seemed Gordon wasn’t spending his time idly. Even in this state he was watching out for his prince and the Loyalist cause.
“Shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” He’d never seemed to have much outside of his work. It made a kind of sense to Matteo – humans had such short lives that if they wanted to excel at something, they just weren’t going to be able to fit in much else. Except that, mostly, they seemed to manage. Gordon was exceptional – he’d hardly let himself relax until his real last night of life. The elf may not have understood his boss’s single-mindedness, but he’d deeply respected his devotion to Exia and all it represented. “So, what should I be doing? I’m a little lost. We’re going to get kicked out of the city, and we still don’t know who the spy is.”
“Leaving here won’t be much of a loss. You’ll be able to keep a closer eye on people in a more isolated location. It will be harder for a spy to hide his activities. Just keep your eyes open.”
“I can do that.” It sounded simple enough. And he wasn’t alone. He’d just have to coordinate better with the other remaining members of Intel.
“I know you can.”
“It is hard to get them to listen, sometimes…. Everyone is so busy, when they’re even here.”
“Volaris will listen. He’s a very smart man. And I know you’ve got good ideas, kid.”
“Yeah, well. Plans are one thing. Execution is another. I’m sure it wouldn’t do to get caught investigating by the wrong people.”
“Keep training.”
“I will.”
“You’re closer to getting this than you think. You move well. You hide very well. The rest of it will come. You haven’t been at this very long. And you’ve already made the pact.”
It was true, though it was good to have encouragement from an outside source. Elves tended to be slow learners. Not because they weren’t as quick on the uptake as the other races, but because they simply had more time. His own university career demonstrated that ably enough. Even his time in the guard – a little over ten years now – had initially shown a slow pace of development. Granted, in the early years, he’d been learning to deal with all the distractions offered in a human city. It hadn’t been until the last four or maybe five years that he’d really thrown himself into things. More recent changes had taught him that time wasn’t always a luxury for Elves. He’d already been trained as a spy, but after the Fall he’d started trying to be more like Gordon.
“Thanks,” he replied. “Did you ever have a Shadow?” It wasn’t important, maybe, but it was one of the many things he was curious about. He’d guessed at Gordon’s abilities a long time ago, and his boss had been fairly forthcoming when confronted. He’d told Matteo that he showed potential.
“Of course.”
“I never saw it – I wasn’t sure.”
“That was the idea.”
Matteo could fairly hear him grinning in the darkness. He grinned back, looking deeper into the blackness that lay across the alley wall. Could he just make out a silhouette, or was it his drink-heightened imagination? “So, when I do get better at this…”
“I’ll be around. Until then this is the best you can get.”
Matteo nodded and looked back out into the street. It was well past midnight, but people in all sorts of fancy garb still wandered by on their way to or from parties intended theoretically to honour the spirits of Keth. None of them so much as glanced his way. “What about Triskin? Should I say anything to her?”
To his credit, Gordon barely skipped a beat. It was still a noticeable barely. “No. It will be better in the long run if you don’t blow your cover.”
He nodded, wondering if his boss had thought at all about this on that last night, or if he’d been too busy concentrating on the pretty elf who was offering him good time before the end. “Yeah.” Everyone wondered what, or rather who, the child would be more like: Gordon, or mild-mannered Walter, whose body had, so to speak, had the pleasure. People often neglected to consider that he or she also had a fair shot at inheriting Triskin’s charm and flair. “She’ll do alright. Hooked up with Sterling and all…” It was something of an awkward conversation topic, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Good job on that, by the way.”
“Heh, thanks.”
There was a brief pause – just long enough to silently agree to switch conversational gears.
“So,” the elf began again. “Got any other advice for what I should be doing?”
“You’re already on the right track. Do try and get them to move somewhere more secure. More isolated, like I said. That will make things easier. The only other thing I can say is – don’t bait Drulenth so much. He might be a punk, but he is an ally, and you need all the ones you can keep.”
“It’s too easy.” He shook his head. Dru was cocky – he just about walked in to Matteo’s taunts - but it was unwise to taunt a wizard in the first place.
“Maybe. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, but Gods, I’ve seen the mess you can get into if your allies are at odds with each other.”
“I bet you have.” Gordon (or as people commonly thought of it, Walter/Gordon) had traveled south with Hadyn, Valentine, Piove, Sterling, and Triskin. It was still not uncommon to hear that two or more of that group were fighting. Usually it was Piove and Valentine, but Matteo nevertheless envied the ‘on-again’ segments of their tumultuous relationship. Some said that Piove was a goddess. She looked it. Her joy brightened the heavens, and her anger could bring down fiery vengeance from skies that clouded black in an instant. Some of the sailors in Sterling’s fleet were known to whisper quiet prayers for her blessing when they set out on trips. Others courted her favour more openly with gems and other baubles intended to delight. She seemed to like Matteo alright so far. He had exciting songs and dances to teach her. The highest compliment that he’d yet received was that he was ‘less stuffy than Valentine’ – a good step in the right direction, as far as he was concerned. “I’ll try not to cause any honest strife, but I *am* a bard. People have certain expectations that I have to live up to. I took a class on witty repartee, you know.”
“Un-huh.”
“I’ll be care—“ He cut himself off.
“You saw it, then.”
“Yes.” Matteo stepped out to the end of the alley for a better look. There was no mistake. Just rounding the corner a block away was a figured dressed in the red robes of a priest of Salistrom. “I should follow them.”
“That would be a good start. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He was already moving off. No one knew for certain that the cult itself was active in Shinkyo, and this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Keeping his quarry just in sight, he blended into the thinning crowd of celebrants, and pursued.
--------------------------------
Hadyn looked at the invitation again, though he'd memorized the message. He was to attend a meeting of the Shinobi-no-Tetsujin, known in the Common tongue as the Quiet Sages. It wasn't a perfect translation, but it served. Common was a language that lacked subtlety. The invitation date was today's; day two of the three day Spirit Festival. The hour had passed some while ago. He'd arrived with Li Fei, and the Sages were now deliberating over private business before summoning him to plead his case. Li had told him that it wouldn't be long, but it seemed an eternity already. Volaris, with certain reservations, had vouched for Hadyn with Li. Li was a master illusionist, and knew the court wizard personally from his travels and research in the north. He'd been admitted to the Quiet Sages due to his work enchanting the Emperor's Palace of One Thousand Earthy Delights, in Tsiankio. Li had told Hadyn that Sorathis, Volaris's master and predecessor, had been one of the few outsiders ever admitted to their ranks. Hadyn hadn't decided whether or not he would pass that on: Volaris knew well enough already that he was living in the shadow of a much greater man, and it seemed unnecessary to increase his burden.
The court wizard had been slightly miffed not to have known of Li's connections as it was, though the illusionist had explained the situation clearly enough when they'd met together the previous day. Volaris had asked his ally for aid, but Li’s personal resources were not such that he could make any useful longterm contributions that would not have endangered his position with the Daimyo or at court. He had known that unless the Northerners had anything specific to offer in return, in terms of knowledge and information of interest to the other Sages, any appeals - even coming from Sorathis's apprentice - would fall on deaf ears. He had not known they'd possessed any valuable secrets to trade, considering their position, and had thus mentioned nothing. Hadyn, he'd warned, had better not be wasting their time.
Now, of course, they were wasting his. He glanced up at the pair of household guards stationed outside of Li's private library, and once again resisted the urge to pace or fidget. Teah lay stretched before him, her swishing tail reflecting his impatience. He was excited and nervous as well as impatient. Very, very nervous. Without the breakthroughs he'd had working with Ishitaka, he doubted he would have had the resolve to keep The Fear at bay today. Back in Exia, secret research groups like this had been among his many great fears. Though his kind was known to some on Keth, there were practical difficulties on a metaphysical level which prevented them from making many appearances. While this fact provided Hadyn with some assurances that his enemies from home would have a harder time reaching him, it meant he was a fairly unique specimen for unscrupulous researchers. Lendrick may have accused him of irrationality in regard to the subject, but he had an overwhelming desire not to with up as someone else's lab rat.
But this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Li had confirmed many of Ishitaka's rumours and suspicions about the resources available to the Sages, and also reinforced that their goal was a noble one - to safeguard dangerous knowledge. Hadyn hoped this meant that their membership was also held to somewhat higher ethical standards, but he wasn't willing to gamble on it. No, despite his wealth of knowledge and experience of the Outer Planes, he had something else to offer. He was hopeful that their material on demonology would prove useful not only to the cause of Exian liberation, but to his own personal problem with the Infernal as well.
They were currently debating whether or not the group thought his cause was important enough to merit access to such dangerous and forbidden lore. The odds looked good at the moment. He'd cast a Detect Thoughts spell minutes earlier to gain an impression of what was happening inside the library. Some of the minds assembled were closed to his probing, but of those he could sense many understood the danger represented by the invasions in the North. Some who did not held reservations, but were willing to listen to his explanation. He could sense curiosity about what he had to offer in return even among the few doubters. It was inevitable that they would at least decide to hear him out. He adjusted the folds of his formal kimono - a deep russet colour that matched his hair, belted in bronze and copper. The silk was patterned with falling autumn leaves in a soft golden yellow. He commissioned it some time ago, while shopping with Piove. It had been an odd day - a rare good mood where he hadn't minded her naive and flighty whims. She'd insisted that he buy 'something pretty.' Hadyn owned several pieces of Southern clothing, mostly adjusted to allow for his preference for hoods and cowls. They were similar to styles seen among his own people. Southerners themselves sometimes reminded him of the formal and order-seeking folk found at home. Or what had been home.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the doors were opened and he was invited into the assembly. There were twelve present. A significant percentage of the membership, notified by magic, had made special arrangements to attend the meeting. They were also formally dressed in various style of kimono, but all wore a midnight blue sash edged in swirling silver-grey - presumably a token of membership. Hadyn bowed low, trying to guess which of these was the resident demonology expert. They would be the final judge of whether or not this arrangement would be permissible.
He could hear a murmur pass tough the room, and did not unfold himself until it had passed. A wizened white-haired woman seated at the head of the low table fixed him with brilliant green eyes and addressed him in Southern.
"Zanne Hadyn - You come before us as an envoy from Bourne Lynel, Prince-in-Exile of the State of Exia, seeking our aid. I am Abe Sakura, Loremaster in the ways of the oni and other demons. You may address me as Master-Teacher, as it is your desire to learn from me. We have heard claims that Exia itself is now in the thrall of denizens of the Infernal Planes, and that this is why you have come to seek our wisdom. Tell us what you know of this enemy."
He bowed again. "Yes Master-Teacher." And then followed the explanation he had prepared, explaining his own experiences and observations during the Night of the Crimson Death; the intelligence retrieved after the fall by Gordon Fenning concerning the nature of the leaders of the church of Salistrom; the early attempts by that cult to infiltrate Trylith, using ritual murder to build a construct that could house another demonic power; and Lendrick's most recent report that similar efforts may be ongoing even further north in White Raven Harbour. He concluded by sharing their most recent intelligence about the nature of the Crimson Masks - the insane killing machines used to spread chaos before an attack - retrieved during the fall of Trylith. The Masks were demons themselves, ritually bound into unwilling human hosts. It had proved possible to cause the possessing entity to manifest by attacking the spirit directly, but this was an uncommon technique. The unfettered demon was more powerful than the Mask itself, and even more chaotic, making it too difficult for even the cult to control. One of the Loyalist members had been possessed and then rescued in this manner, which had allowed them to retrieve this information. He didn't mention that the Loyalist in question was a member of the unclean caste of Southern society. The fighting in Trylith had also allowed the scholars present to recover the bodies of several other Crimson Masks and examine the binding tattoos used in the ritual.
The Sages listened attentively, sometimes whispering to one another or taking some quick notes. Abe never took her eyes off of him.
"Thank you, Zanne," she said after he'd concluded. "Your presentation certainly highlighted the need for further investigation into the weaknesses of your enemies. But we cannot simply give you the information you seek - you must earn it, through work or trade. What have you to offer in exchange?"
And here it was. He didn't think it would be a hard sell, but the twelve solemn faces pointed his way made him nervous regardless. He must keep calm, keep control. "Anyone who knows any history of this continent has heard of the great Elven civilization that reigned here before Titan's Fall - the star that crashed into the earth and formed both Titan's Ring and the mountains that eventually form the barrier between north and south." Heads nodded. "Many of you will know something of the magics they employed - runic magic, capable of... We have only tales now. Things beyond out wildest imaginings." Hadyn paused slightly, and produced from his robe a thin clear tube incised with dull white runes. Either end was capped with a plug made of some unknown metallic compound, and each plug was set with a number of strange sockets.
"I know where one of these things is. It is alive... and it wants to speak to you."
----------------------------------
Matteo shifted his position very carefully, trying to stretch an hour's accumulated tension out of his legs while keeping very quiet. It had to be almost morning, and he was tired and stuck. Not three meters away were a number of cages holding Crimson Masks. Two of them were babbling incoherently and throwing themselves at the doors of their cells. Another was curled up into a ball in the corner, chewing on its hand and rhythmically beating its head against the wall. Thump. Thump. He'd started using the sound to mark the passage of time in the absence of natural light. A fourth simply lay on the hay-strewn ground, occasionally bursting into convulsive fits, peals of mad laughter, or both. The gibbering ones, he was sure, still knew he was there. The minute he showed himself again they would start screeching madly, cackling and grabbing out of their cells towards him. The others would join in and then one of the other cult members would come down to see what had set them off. That would be no good - he'd only barely escaped detection the first time it had happened. There were only so many places to hide in this room, and most of the good ones were a fair bit distant from his current location.
A row of stacked crates separated off the half of the room that wasn't full of cells from a table covered in alchemical supplies. He didn't understand much about the latter, but he knew that whatever he could do to muck up the cult's operation would be beneficial to his cause. There had been some things bubbling in strangely shaped glassware containers and he'd mixed them together in random proportions, adding in some powders he'd found in the crates for good measure. One of the concoctions had turned from black to a deep orange and clouded into a thick purple smoke that burned his lungs before dissipating into the air. He'd been more careful after that, but still managed to sabotage the rest of the supplies he could get at in the crates.
He could have stayed hidden there easily enough, but he'd never be able to escape. It was on the far side of the room from the sole entrance. Instead, he stayed crouched where he was, in the shadow of the crates and next to the door. He could hear preparations being made in the upper room and knew that it was only a matter of time before they made their move. They would be distracted when they came down to collect the Masks, and that’s when he'd make his bid for freedom.
Matteo was tired. He hadn't had the chance to meditate since the previous evening, and keeping still required a lot more control and effort than people who'd never tried it might credit. Relaxing at this point might be dangerous, and so he continued to wait. Another hundred thumps of the mask's head against the cell wall: another ten minutes or so. The commotion upstairs seemed to be increasing. There were heavier footfalls and more metallic clanking. Some of the cult members must be strapping themselves into the heavy armour he'd seen when he first snuck in. Any time now. He took a deep breath, and waited.
It was another ten minutes before they headed downstairs, three of them filing in carrying long rods with clamps at the ends big enough to fit around a man's neck. The Masks growled and shrank as the other red robed figures approached. A priest growled something unintelligible that made the hairs on the back of Matteo's neck stand up - Infernal, he guessed. The Masks seemed to understand, since they started gibbering and moving towards the doors of their cells. The two armoured men flanking the priest moved forward then - now was his chance. He slipped behind them and slunk cautiously up the short stone stairway. He was given no opportunity to pause at the top as another set of armoured men were about to head down. He stepped quickly into the gloom behind the rack where the wavy-bladed ceremonial weapons issued to the Masks for battle were currently housed. There were, he estimated, about fifteen cultists all together, and they were on the move. There was no time to waste.
He kept close to the shadows, like he'd been taught. He had to make it out of this room before he could do anything else. The people here were distracted, at least - they weren't expecting an enemy in their midst. Not for the first time since he'd abandoned his conversation with Gordon's Shadow, he cursed he fact that he'd fallen into this unprepared. The festival night was supposed to have been a chance to unwind. Instead, he'd learned the hard way that there was no such thing as 'off-duty' in a war like this. If only he had his cloak, and was dressed in more stealthy colours than the bold red and green he'd chosen in the hopes of catching the eye of some of the local ladies... At least he had a good set of knives, his component pouch, and his gloves. He still wouldn't bet on his chances if he were caught at this point.
But somehow, he wasn't. He made it to the door. A whispered word of magic, and it slammed open. He ran. The resulting moment of chaos gave him the time he needed to gain some distance.
At first he just ran to get away. He wasn't familiar enough with the city to orient himself easily while on the move, though he'd noted some key landmarks the night before. Everything looked different in the early dawn light. He needed to head towards the market district.... north, then, which meant crossing the river. Shinkyo was a large city, and though there were people about at this time of day, he had been running for twenty minutes straight without coming across a single conveniently placed horse. His legs were screaming for him to stop. He was sure the cult could follow him easily enough, too, simply by tracking the direction of the puzzled stares. Elves were a rare enough sight in the south when they weren't tearing through the streets like madmen before reasonable folks were even settling down to their morning meals. He ducked into an alley to catch his breath.
What he really needed was a better plan. He'd never make it to the compound if he had to keep up this pace. He wasn't sure where exactly the cultists were planning to start their rampage from or, for that matter, if the compound was their only target. They might have horses or even wagons, and Prince Lynel was currently housed at the Daimyo's palace further east. They might even head there first, but his best bet was to get to Volaris and the others, and hope that none of them had overindulged in the festivities. He needed transportation. Slipping through the alley to a neighboring street, Matteo hurried towards the waterfront.
Another ten minutes and he found what he was after: an inn with stables. He picked up a half-empty wine jar on the way to serve as a prop. Pausinged for a moment to make sure there was someone inside, he prepared for his entrance. He took a swig of the sake - a cheap vintage, even better - and was sure to spill some down the front of his shirt. He was positive that he looked otherwise properly disheveled. A song on his lips, he staggered into the stalls and looked around.
Right on cue, a pair of stable boys popped out of the hayloft to investigate, pitchforks in hand. Still singing, the elf relieved himself against one of the walls - just a strange but harmless drunk. He made a subtle alteration in his tone as the pair stared at him in confusion, and they were his: fascinated.
"Why don't the two of you saddle me up the fastest horse in this stable," he called out to them before picking up the next chorus. "Quickly now."
They looked at each other, and dropped their pitchforks as they scurried off to comply with the implanted compulsion. Minutes later, Matteo was riding hard for the north bridge, looking to make up as much lost time as possible. He'd left the boys the rest of the sake and a little cash, and hoped they wouldn't get in too much trouble.
If he listened closely, he imagined he could hear screaming in the distance ahead.
The narrow cobbled city streets were not a friendly place for a speeding horse, especially one ridden by someone unfamiliar with the intricacies of the city. The animal's hooves slid on stones well-polished with wear as it tried to jump a low bench in the street. It slid and spun, whinnying loudly as it struggled to right itself. Matteo rolled free of the stirrups just as it fell to its side and kicked out wildly. The fall knocked the wind out of him, and it was clear he'd lost his mount for the time being. The horse would recover, but not in time to bear him on to his destination. He was still revved up on adrenaline from the ride, and he knew he couldn't afford to lose his momentum at this point. The stall owner came over to help him to his feet, but he waved the man off. He was at least in the right district now. A little dazed, he set off once again at a slow sprint. His ankle was throbbing - he must have landed poorly, but he'd have to make it somehow.
He was feeling lightheaded by the time he stumbled into the street where the compound's main entrance was located. The imperial guards stationed outside weren't quite two hundred feet away, and Kurtis Trevyn, another Loyalist guard, stood outside speaking with them. Good enough. Matteo slumped against the side of the nearest building, ignoring for the moment the black spots invading his vision. He pulled a short piece of copper wire from his belt pouch, spoke a word of power, and gestured to the air.
"Kurtis," he whispered across the distance. "It's Matt. Go get Volaris. Tell him there are cultists and Masks. Headed here, right now. Coming from the south."
The spell's target froze and looked around. "What?"
"Just go." The elf's legs refused to comply with further orders from his brain, and he slid into a sitting position on the side of the street, exhausted. "I'll be there.... in a minute."
Except he never made it. He closed his eyes for just a moment's rest, and couldn't quite muster the energy required to fight back the blackness that rolled in as the adrenaline that had sustained his race to the compound finally failed.
-----------------------------
~Be careful. She has a strange smell.~
~What do you mean? Inhuman?~
~No. But she is dangerous.~
~Of course.~ He already knew that. The reasons he had sought the sages, and her specifically, guaranteed that she was dangerous to him specifically. Hadyn hoped he hadn’t sounded too peevish, but Teah generally knew better than to give him new unspecified things to worry about. He was already being careful with Abe. She was currently assessing him as they strolled silently through the small ornamental courtyard at the rear of Li Fei’s manse. Teah prowled after them though the narrow paths.
His speech had been very well received – the Sages were very interested. He’d passed around the artifact he’d brought with him – he had others stashed away back at the compound. Even the few who didn’t believe him about the machine were convinced he had found something of interest. But Abe reserved her right to the final vote, and she’d wanted to speak to him alone. They’d been walking for a few minutes now, and Hadyn was beginning to wonder if she would ever get around to setting up the next hoop for him to jump though. Caution he could understand, but with Southerners it was all about decorum. He was sure that if he only knew the right speeches to make, the right values to call on or challenge, that they would fall over themselves to give him what he wanted. Instead, he stifled his impatience and let the dangerous lmaster judge him.
Eventually, she broke the silence.
“You spoke well, Zanne. You are clearly a man of some intelligence. Your need is clear. Your offer – that also seems sincere.” She paused, and looked up at him, waiting.
“Thank you, master teacher.”
Her eyes narrowed. Had she been expecting something else?
“Give me your hand, boy.”
Teah growled, but Abe kept her eyes on Hadyn.
“Do you want to learn from me?”
“Yes.” Well, almost yes. He’d be happy to gain the information he needed without ever having to see the wrinkled little troll ever again, but that seemed an unlikely future. She held out her hand.
~She has a knife.~
He hesitated. Abe frowned – her mouth seemed made for it.
“Then you will never have this chance again. You and your prince have wasted our time.” She closed her fist and began to draw her hand back into the sleeve of her robe.
“Wait.” Hadyn held his left hand out, palm up. “Do it then.”
It was a small semi circle of jade, hardly a knife at all. It was not hafted, but the blunt flat edge was in patinaed copper. The cutting edge had been sharpened by removing short flakes of stone, giving it a serrated effect. Freshly traced sigils covered the copper, but he couldn’t make out any details. She sliced him quickly across the meatiest part of his palm, right below the thumb.
The pain was surprising, and he bit his tongue to keep from screaming in surprised. It didn’t bleed, but the exposed flesh turned black, as did the neighboring blood vessels. It burned like acid, but Abe kept hold of his wrist with a surprisingly firm grip. Teach growled again, hunching her shoulders in preparation for a certainly deadly pounce. The sage released him, backing away a few paces into a position where Hadyn was between her and the angry beast. The cat stepped quickly to her master’s side.
“Show me your hand,” she demanded cautiously.
~It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…~
~I could kill her.~
~No.~ He pulled back the sleeve of his kimono. The black tendrils had spread halfway up his forearm, but showed no sign of progressing past that point. Hadyn kept his jaw tightly clenched, but in his mind another voice was screaming in agony. He couldn’t uncurl his fist, and couldn’t recall consciously balling it. His nails bit into the wound.
“Interesting.” Abe took his hand again – the copper banded blade had disappeared back into her robe. “I could sense this taint, though you tried to mask it…. There are strong demonic influences throughout this city, but this interests me.”
He was having some problems concentrating on her words. The dark voice was distracting, though he didn’t feel in danger of losing control. Teah was nevertheless concerned, and had closed off her thought in case she might have to act against him. She kept her eyes on the Southerner for now.
“Great.” He reached for Nhabu’s potion, hoping it might counteract whatever she had done. The flask and a few other essential items were tucked away safely in his obi. He pulled the stopper out with his teeth and swallowed. It had no real flavour, just an impression of anise and something metallic in the aftertaste. Moments later, the voice dulled its roaring. His hand still hurt but the black veins had turned a silvery colour that contrasted less with his skin. Opening his hand revealed that the cut itself had healed imperfectly. An angry dark scar remained, and it was still sore. Abe watched.
“Tell me what is in that.”
Apart from the strange injury she had just inflicted on him, her imperious attitude was really starting to wear on his nerves. It was with smug pleasure that he could honestly reply, “I don’t know.”
Abe pursed her lips and held out her hand expectantly. Grudgingly, he reached out to her again.
~I don’t like her at all.~
~You’re not the one she cut. But she could still be useful.~
“A clever trick,” she declared after a brief examination, “But not a permanent fix.” She released him, apparently satisfied.
“What do you mean? What did you do?” Looking the limb over again, he wondered if it could be fully healed, or even restored, by magical means. It could, he was confident, be disguised through the normal precautions he took to disguise himself.
“Jade, when properly treated, reacts with resonance, or taint, from the Infernal Realms. My blade is specially enchanted. I carry it as a ward against my enemies.”
“But it can be healed.”
“No. The wound will remain to mark the taint. That is the nature of the magic. Only cleansing yourself of this evil influence can permanently heal you.”
He hoped she was lying, otherwise it sounded that as soon as the potion wore off, the wound and pain would return. He suspected that it was only the potion already active in his system that had stopped it from spreading further initially – not a comforting thought, considering his limited supply. He could experiment more later, and wished he had access to a healer that he trusted better than Ishitaka, or even Galawyn back with the Loyalists. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Ha!.” Was she condescending or amused? He lips pulled back into an expression that could pass easily for either a grimace or a smile. Hadyn did his best to conceal his frustration, anger, and growing concern.
“Well?” The other Quiet Sages were inside, waiting still to hear the final decision.
“Well, impatient child, I will give you access to the resources you seek, but in addition to divulging the location of this ancient living machine of stored lore, you will come and stay with me in Shiroeki once you and your associates are formally banished from this district. I must study your case more closely.”
Study him? He flinched. He didn’t trust her enough for that. For the Loyalists and a half-forgotten promise to a dying memory machine, it hardly seemed worth contemplating. For Lendrick, though, and for himself… The decision was less clear.
Abe continued after he failed to respond. “Your other option is that I will return and relate to the others that you have already been personally compromised by powerful demonic forces, that you represent a danger to this realm and all of Keth, and that you should be destroyed. If you or your familiar attempt to stop me, or if you flee, I assure you that the Sages, including those whose names and faces remain unknown to you, will find you and carry out your doom with utmost haste.”
He felt faint. “But you’re lying.”
“Am I.”
He had no answer. The others were certain to take her word over his. He could kill her and escape. He was good at hiding, but he’d put his few allies and friends at risk and be alone again, with even more powerful enemies actively seeking him. There would be nowhere for him to turn. Why, of all the reasonable personalities he had encountered among Southern scholars had he wound up dealing with this devious old witch?
“Do we have an accord?”
He nodded. Given time, he could find a way out of this predicament. Meanwhile, he would take advantage of the arrangement to learn what he could.
“Very well. I will speak to the others. You are free to return to your associates for the moment. Once Lord Souta orders your expulsion you will seek me in the capital. I will allow you one further week for travel and whatever other preparations you may require.”
“Yes, master-teacher.” The words tasted like poison. He wanted to scream, or run, or storm back inside and teach at least a few of the sages the perils of crossing an experienced wizard. Teah raged in his stead, stalking across the pathway behind him.
“Take this.” She detached a small charm from the end of her sash – a piece of jade in the shape of a shrine hanging from a braided red silk cord. “Like your potion, it will suppress the infernal power bound to you. It will also ward you from the powers of other demons.”
He took it warily. He would examine it more closely once he returned to the compound, or even if he were simply given a moment alone before he left. “And now I can go?”
The old woman nodded. Hadyn departed quickly, leaving her to deal with the rest of the council. His chances for any kind of freedom had been slim of late, and looked to be even rarer in the future, and he didn’t dare squander opportunities for even the briefest of escapes.
I sleep now -_-
Shadows 3
He was, understandably, a little drunk. Possibly a lot drunk. The sake Nortia had brought out earlier had been strong as well as of good quality, and the subsequent rounds of ale and other lesser rice wine hadn't helped the matter. Still, he'd remembered: it was the Spirit Festival. Go to a temple at midnight, make a wish, call on the spirits and they might grant it.
Matteo didn't really have a wish, not a specific one. He had goals, ones he knew he could, and should, work towards on his own. He wanted guidance.
He didn't aim for a temple. They were too bright, too populated, for the spirit he sought. Instead, he let himself be drawn to the darkness, seeking the privacy of an alleyway where the light of the festival lanterns didn't intrude into the long shadows, and even his elven eyes had trouble distinguishing the outlines of the world.
He stopped trying to find the words he'd need in his muddled state. If it worked, they'd come. He tried instead to figure out if this conjuration was even possible. He wasn't sure. He'd been taught the basics, and nothing more. He was still working on mastering the dance itself - its steps and stillnesses. He was only the barest initiate into the world he hoped to contact here tonight.
Matteo moved into the darkness, not simply one foot forward, but a light, graceful fluid motion that carried him into the black. He drew a knife, letting it fall, blade down, into the packed earth, and closed his eyes. He thought, tried to think about his goal. Should he have brought some other sacrifice or boon? No, not for him.
He waited for a time, eyes closed, listening. There wouldn't be much to see - black on black, Shadow in a shadow. He heard - no, felt - something, and hesitated.
"Gordon?" His eyes snapped open, even though he knew there would be nothing to see. The shadows stared back.
“Hey, kid.” The voice was whispery thin, like paper rustling in the distance…. But the tone was right.
“Well, damn.” The sake was still blurring the edges of his thoughts. He’d had an excited hope that this might work, but he wasn’t sure if he’d really *believed* it.
“I’m as shocked as you are, I’m sure. Good to see you, Atremi.”
“Yeah well.” He couldn’t say the same – there was nothing to see. He leaned back against the alley wall, watching out into the street. “It’s good to hear from you at least.” He paused. He had a million questions for his boss – ex-boss – and didn’t know where to start. “I need some advice.”
“There’s not really a lot of…space between this realm and yours. That’s probably why I was able to slip through here. I’ve been able to keep up on some of what’s been happening.”
If you looked up ‘dedication’ in an encyclopedia, Matteo was sure you would find a picture of Gordon Fenning. Dying for his cause once wasn’t enough. He’d done it twice already – and not the kind of death a priest could bring you back from if you had enough money and not too much time had passed. The first time, he’d been captured and tortured to death by the Church of Salistrom in Exia. Gordon had carried a magic ring which allowed him to borrow, for a time, the body of another man – Walter Pellik. Once he’d reached Shinkyo and divulged his intelligence to the prince, he’d relinquished his nocturnal claims on Walter’s body and let himself move on.
But Gordon had also been a Shadowdancer. He had a debt to pay to the plane that had granted him his power in life. Matteo had heard this from Gordon himself – that when a Dancer died, his spirit would dwell on the plane of Shadow until his selected by some other to serve as their companion on Keth. Once that obligation was fulfilled he would finally be released to whatever afterlife the fates had chosen for him. It seemed Gordon wasn’t spending his time idly. Even in this state he was watching out for his prince and the Loyalist cause.
“Shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” He’d never seemed to have much outside of his work. It made a kind of sense to Matteo – humans had such short lives that if they wanted to excel at something, they just weren’t going to be able to fit in much else. Except that, mostly, they seemed to manage. Gordon was exceptional – he’d hardly let himself relax until his real last night of life. The elf may not have understood his boss’s single-mindedness, but he’d deeply respected his devotion to Exia and all it represented. “So, what should I be doing? I’m a little lost. We’re going to get kicked out of the city, and we still don’t know who the spy is.”
“Leaving here won’t be much of a loss. You’ll be able to keep a closer eye on people in a more isolated location. It will be harder for a spy to hide his activities. Just keep your eyes open.”
“I can do that.” It sounded simple enough. And he wasn’t alone. He’d just have to coordinate better with the other remaining members of Intel.
“I know you can.”
“It is hard to get them to listen, sometimes…. Everyone is so busy, when they’re even here.”
“Volaris will listen. He’s a very smart man. And I know you’ve got good ideas, kid.”
“Yeah, well. Plans are one thing. Execution is another. I’m sure it wouldn’t do to get caught investigating by the wrong people.”
“Keep training.”
“I will.”
“You’re closer to getting this than you think. You move well. You hide very well. The rest of it will come. You haven’t been at this very long. And you’ve already made the pact.”
It was true, though it was good to have encouragement from an outside source. Elves tended to be slow learners. Not because they weren’t as quick on the uptake as the other races, but because they simply had more time. His own university career demonstrated that ably enough. Even his time in the guard – a little over ten years now – had initially shown a slow pace of development. Granted, in the early years, he’d been learning to deal with all the distractions offered in a human city. It hadn’t been until the last four or maybe five years that he’d really thrown himself into things. More recent changes had taught him that time wasn’t always a luxury for Elves. He’d already been trained as a spy, but after the Fall he’d started trying to be more like Gordon.
“Thanks,” he replied. “Did you ever have a Shadow?” It wasn’t important, maybe, but it was one of the many things he was curious about. He’d guessed at Gordon’s abilities a long time ago, and his boss had been fairly forthcoming when confronted. He’d told Matteo that he showed potential.
“Of course.”
“I never saw it – I wasn’t sure.”
“That was the idea.”
Matteo could fairly hear him grinning in the darkness. He grinned back, looking deeper into the blackness that lay across the alley wall. Could he just make out a silhouette, or was it his drink-heightened imagination? “So, when I do get better at this…”
“I’ll be around. Until then this is the best you can get.”
Matteo nodded and looked back out into the street. It was well past midnight, but people in all sorts of fancy garb still wandered by on their way to or from parties intended theoretically to honour the spirits of Keth. None of them so much as glanced his way. “What about Triskin? Should I say anything to her?”
To his credit, Gordon barely skipped a beat. It was still a noticeable barely. “No. It will be better in the long run if you don’t blow your cover.”
He nodded, wondering if his boss had thought at all about this on that last night, or if he’d been too busy concentrating on the pretty elf who was offering him good time before the end. “Yeah.” Everyone wondered what, or rather who, the child would be more like: Gordon, or mild-mannered Walter, whose body had, so to speak, had the pleasure. People often neglected to consider that he or she also had a fair shot at inheriting Triskin’s charm and flair. “She’ll do alright. Hooked up with Sterling and all…” It was something of an awkward conversation topic, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Good job on that, by the way.”
“Heh, thanks.”
There was a brief pause – just long enough to silently agree to switch conversational gears.
“So,” the elf began again. “Got any other advice for what I should be doing?”
“You’re already on the right track. Do try and get them to move somewhere more secure. More isolated, like I said. That will make things easier. The only other thing I can say is – don’t bait Drulenth so much. He might be a punk, but he is an ally, and you need all the ones you can keep.”
“It’s too easy.” He shook his head. Dru was cocky – he just about walked in to Matteo’s taunts - but it was unwise to taunt a wizard in the first place.
“Maybe. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, but Gods, I’ve seen the mess you can get into if your allies are at odds with each other.”
“I bet you have.” Gordon (or as people commonly thought of it, Walter/Gordon) had traveled south with Hadyn, Valentine, Piove, Sterling, and Triskin. It was still not uncommon to hear that two or more of that group were fighting. Usually it was Piove and Valentine, but Matteo nevertheless envied the ‘on-again’ segments of their tumultuous relationship. Some said that Piove was a goddess. She looked it. Her joy brightened the heavens, and her anger could bring down fiery vengeance from skies that clouded black in an instant. Some of the sailors in Sterling’s fleet were known to whisper quiet prayers for her blessing when they set out on trips. Others courted her favour more openly with gems and other baubles intended to delight. She seemed to like Matteo alright so far. He had exciting songs and dances to teach her. The highest compliment that he’d yet received was that he was ‘less stuffy than Valentine’ – a good step in the right direction, as far as he was concerned. “I’ll try not to cause any honest strife, but I *am* a bard. People have certain expectations that I have to live up to. I took a class on witty repartee, you know.”
“Un-huh.”
“I’ll be care—“ He cut himself off.
“You saw it, then.”
“Yes.” Matteo stepped out to the end of the alley for a better look. There was no mistake. Just rounding the corner a block away was a figured dressed in the red robes of a priest of Salistrom. “I should follow them.”
“That would be a good start. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He was already moving off. No one knew for certain that the cult itself was active in Shinkyo, and this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Keeping his quarry just in sight, he blended into the thinning crowd of celebrants, and pursued.
--------------------------------
Hadyn looked at the invitation again, though he'd memorized the message. He was to attend a meeting of the Shinobi-no-Tetsujin, known in the Common tongue as the Quiet Sages. It wasn't a perfect translation, but it served. Common was a language that lacked subtlety. The invitation date was today's; day two of the three day Spirit Festival. The hour had passed some while ago. He'd arrived with Li Fei, and the Sages were now deliberating over private business before summoning him to plead his case. Li had told him that it wouldn't be long, but it seemed an eternity already. Volaris, with certain reservations, had vouched for Hadyn with Li. Li was a master illusionist, and knew the court wizard personally from his travels and research in the north. He'd been admitted to the Quiet Sages due to his work enchanting the Emperor's Palace of One Thousand Earthy Delights, in Tsiankio. Li had told Hadyn that Sorathis, Volaris's master and predecessor, had been one of the few outsiders ever admitted to their ranks. Hadyn hadn't decided whether or not he would pass that on: Volaris knew well enough already that he was living in the shadow of a much greater man, and it seemed unnecessary to increase his burden.
The court wizard had been slightly miffed not to have known of Li's connections as it was, though the illusionist had explained the situation clearly enough when they'd met together the previous day. Volaris had asked his ally for aid, but Li’s personal resources were not such that he could make any useful longterm contributions that would not have endangered his position with the Daimyo or at court. He had known that unless the Northerners had anything specific to offer in return, in terms of knowledge and information of interest to the other Sages, any appeals - even coming from Sorathis's apprentice - would fall on deaf ears. He had not known they'd possessed any valuable secrets to trade, considering their position, and had thus mentioned nothing. Hadyn, he'd warned, had better not be wasting their time.
Now, of course, they were wasting his. He glanced up at the pair of household guards stationed outside of Li's private library, and once again resisted the urge to pace or fidget. Teah lay stretched before him, her swishing tail reflecting his impatience. He was excited and nervous as well as impatient. Very, very nervous. Without the breakthroughs he'd had working with Ishitaka, he doubted he would have had the resolve to keep The Fear at bay today. Back in Exia, secret research groups like this had been among his many great fears. Though his kind was known to some on Keth, there were practical difficulties on a metaphysical level which prevented them from making many appearances. While this fact provided Hadyn with some assurances that his enemies from home would have a harder time reaching him, it meant he was a fairly unique specimen for unscrupulous researchers. Lendrick may have accused him of irrationality in regard to the subject, but he had an overwhelming desire not to with up as someone else's lab rat.
But this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Li had confirmed many of Ishitaka's rumours and suspicions about the resources available to the Sages, and also reinforced that their goal was a noble one - to safeguard dangerous knowledge. Hadyn hoped this meant that their membership was also held to somewhat higher ethical standards, but he wasn't willing to gamble on it. No, despite his wealth of knowledge and experience of the Outer Planes, he had something else to offer. He was hopeful that their material on demonology would prove useful not only to the cause of Exian liberation, but to his own personal problem with the Infernal as well.
They were currently debating whether or not the group thought his cause was important enough to merit access to such dangerous and forbidden lore. The odds looked good at the moment. He'd cast a Detect Thoughts spell minutes earlier to gain an impression of what was happening inside the library. Some of the minds assembled were closed to his probing, but of those he could sense many understood the danger represented by the invasions in the North. Some who did not held reservations, but were willing to listen to his explanation. He could sense curiosity about what he had to offer in return even among the few doubters. It was inevitable that they would at least decide to hear him out. He adjusted the folds of his formal kimono - a deep russet colour that matched his hair, belted in bronze and copper. The silk was patterned with falling autumn leaves in a soft golden yellow. He commissioned it some time ago, while shopping with Piove. It had been an odd day - a rare good mood where he hadn't minded her naive and flighty whims. She'd insisted that he buy 'something pretty.' Hadyn owned several pieces of Southern clothing, mostly adjusted to allow for his preference for hoods and cowls. They were similar to styles seen among his own people. Southerners themselves sometimes reminded him of the formal and order-seeking folk found at home. Or what had been home.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the doors were opened and he was invited into the assembly. There were twelve present. A significant percentage of the membership, notified by magic, had made special arrangements to attend the meeting. They were also formally dressed in various style of kimono, but all wore a midnight blue sash edged in swirling silver-grey - presumably a token of membership. Hadyn bowed low, trying to guess which of these was the resident demonology expert. They would be the final judge of whether or not this arrangement would be permissible.
He could hear a murmur pass tough the room, and did not unfold himself until it had passed. A wizened white-haired woman seated at the head of the low table fixed him with brilliant green eyes and addressed him in Southern.
"Zanne Hadyn - You come before us as an envoy from Bourne Lynel, Prince-in-Exile of the State of Exia, seeking our aid. I am Abe Sakura, Loremaster in the ways of the oni and other demons. You may address me as Master-Teacher, as it is your desire to learn from me. We have heard claims that Exia itself is now in the thrall of denizens of the Infernal Planes, and that this is why you have come to seek our wisdom. Tell us what you know of this enemy."
He bowed again. "Yes Master-Teacher." And then followed the explanation he had prepared, explaining his own experiences and observations during the Night of the Crimson Death; the intelligence retrieved after the fall by Gordon Fenning concerning the nature of the leaders of the church of Salistrom; the early attempts by that cult to infiltrate Trylith, using ritual murder to build a construct that could house another demonic power; and Lendrick's most recent report that similar efforts may be ongoing even further north in White Raven Harbour. He concluded by sharing their most recent intelligence about the nature of the Crimson Masks - the insane killing machines used to spread chaos before an attack - retrieved during the fall of Trylith. The Masks were demons themselves, ritually bound into unwilling human hosts. It had proved possible to cause the possessing entity to manifest by attacking the spirit directly, but this was an uncommon technique. The unfettered demon was more powerful than the Mask itself, and even more chaotic, making it too difficult for even the cult to control. One of the Loyalist members had been possessed and then rescued in this manner, which had allowed them to retrieve this information. He didn't mention that the Loyalist in question was a member of the unclean caste of Southern society. The fighting in Trylith had also allowed the scholars present to recover the bodies of several other Crimson Masks and examine the binding tattoos used in the ritual.
The Sages listened attentively, sometimes whispering to one another or taking some quick notes. Abe never took her eyes off of him.
"Thank you, Zanne," she said after he'd concluded. "Your presentation certainly highlighted the need for further investigation into the weaknesses of your enemies. But we cannot simply give you the information you seek - you must earn it, through work or trade. What have you to offer in exchange?"
And here it was. He didn't think it would be a hard sell, but the twelve solemn faces pointed his way made him nervous regardless. He must keep calm, keep control. "Anyone who knows any history of this continent has heard of the great Elven civilization that reigned here before Titan's Fall - the star that crashed into the earth and formed both Titan's Ring and the mountains that eventually form the barrier between north and south." Heads nodded. "Many of you will know something of the magics they employed - runic magic, capable of... We have only tales now. Things beyond out wildest imaginings." Hadyn paused slightly, and produced from his robe a thin clear tube incised with dull white runes. Either end was capped with a plug made of some unknown metallic compound, and each plug was set with a number of strange sockets.
"I know where one of these things is. It is alive... and it wants to speak to you."
----------------------------------
Matteo shifted his position very carefully, trying to stretch an hour's accumulated tension out of his legs while keeping very quiet. It had to be almost morning, and he was tired and stuck. Not three meters away were a number of cages holding Crimson Masks. Two of them were babbling incoherently and throwing themselves at the doors of their cells. Another was curled up into a ball in the corner, chewing on its hand and rhythmically beating its head against the wall. Thump. Thump. He'd started using the sound to mark the passage of time in the absence of natural light. A fourth simply lay on the hay-strewn ground, occasionally bursting into convulsive fits, peals of mad laughter, or both. The gibbering ones, he was sure, still knew he was there. The minute he showed himself again they would start screeching madly, cackling and grabbing out of their cells towards him. The others would join in and then one of the other cult members would come down to see what had set them off. That would be no good - he'd only barely escaped detection the first time it had happened. There were only so many places to hide in this room, and most of the good ones were a fair bit distant from his current location.
A row of stacked crates separated off the half of the room that wasn't full of cells from a table covered in alchemical supplies. He didn't understand much about the latter, but he knew that whatever he could do to muck up the cult's operation would be beneficial to his cause. There had been some things bubbling in strangely shaped glassware containers and he'd mixed them together in random proportions, adding in some powders he'd found in the crates for good measure. One of the concoctions had turned from black to a deep orange and clouded into a thick purple smoke that burned his lungs before dissipating into the air. He'd been more careful after that, but still managed to sabotage the rest of the supplies he could get at in the crates.
He could have stayed hidden there easily enough, but he'd never be able to escape. It was on the far side of the room from the sole entrance. Instead, he stayed crouched where he was, in the shadow of the crates and next to the door. He could hear preparations being made in the upper room and knew that it was only a matter of time before they made their move. They would be distracted when they came down to collect the Masks, and that’s when he'd make his bid for freedom.
Matteo was tired. He hadn't had the chance to meditate since the previous evening, and keeping still required a lot more control and effort than people who'd never tried it might credit. Relaxing at this point might be dangerous, and so he continued to wait. Another hundred thumps of the mask's head against the cell wall: another ten minutes or so. The commotion upstairs seemed to be increasing. There were heavier footfalls and more metallic clanking. Some of the cult members must be strapping themselves into the heavy armour he'd seen when he first snuck in. Any time now. He took a deep breath, and waited.
It was another ten minutes before they headed downstairs, three of them filing in carrying long rods with clamps at the ends big enough to fit around a man's neck. The Masks growled and shrank as the other red robed figures approached. A priest growled something unintelligible that made the hairs on the back of Matteo's neck stand up - Infernal, he guessed. The Masks seemed to understand, since they started gibbering and moving towards the doors of their cells. The two armoured men flanking the priest moved forward then - now was his chance. He slipped behind them and slunk cautiously up the short stone stairway. He was given no opportunity to pause at the top as another set of armoured men were about to head down. He stepped quickly into the gloom behind the rack where the wavy-bladed ceremonial weapons issued to the Masks for battle were currently housed. There were, he estimated, about fifteen cultists all together, and they were on the move. There was no time to waste.
He kept close to the shadows, like he'd been taught. He had to make it out of this room before he could do anything else. The people here were distracted, at least - they weren't expecting an enemy in their midst. Not for the first time since he'd abandoned his conversation with Gordon's Shadow, he cursed he fact that he'd fallen into this unprepared. The festival night was supposed to have been a chance to unwind. Instead, he'd learned the hard way that there was no such thing as 'off-duty' in a war like this. If only he had his cloak, and was dressed in more stealthy colours than the bold red and green he'd chosen in the hopes of catching the eye of some of the local ladies... At least he had a good set of knives, his component pouch, and his gloves. He still wouldn't bet on his chances if he were caught at this point.
But somehow, he wasn't. He made it to the door. A whispered word of magic, and it slammed open. He ran. The resulting moment of chaos gave him the time he needed to gain some distance.
At first he just ran to get away. He wasn't familiar enough with the city to orient himself easily while on the move, though he'd noted some key landmarks the night before. Everything looked different in the early dawn light. He needed to head towards the market district.... north, then, which meant crossing the river. Shinkyo was a large city, and though there were people about at this time of day, he had been running for twenty minutes straight without coming across a single conveniently placed horse. His legs were screaming for him to stop. He was sure the cult could follow him easily enough, too, simply by tracking the direction of the puzzled stares. Elves were a rare enough sight in the south when they weren't tearing through the streets like madmen before reasonable folks were even settling down to their morning meals. He ducked into an alley to catch his breath.
What he really needed was a better plan. He'd never make it to the compound if he had to keep up this pace. He wasn't sure where exactly the cultists were planning to start their rampage from or, for that matter, if the compound was their only target. They might have horses or even wagons, and Prince Lynel was currently housed at the Daimyo's palace further east. They might even head there first, but his best bet was to get to Volaris and the others, and hope that none of them had overindulged in the festivities. He needed transportation. Slipping through the alley to a neighboring street, Matteo hurried towards the waterfront.
Another ten minutes and he found what he was after: an inn with stables. He picked up a half-empty wine jar on the way to serve as a prop. Pausinged for a moment to make sure there was someone inside, he prepared for his entrance. He took a swig of the sake - a cheap vintage, even better - and was sure to spill some down the front of his shirt. He was positive that he looked otherwise properly disheveled. A song on his lips, he staggered into the stalls and looked around.
Right on cue, a pair of stable boys popped out of the hayloft to investigate, pitchforks in hand. Still singing, the elf relieved himself against one of the walls - just a strange but harmless drunk. He made a subtle alteration in his tone as the pair stared at him in confusion, and they were his: fascinated.
"Why don't the two of you saddle me up the fastest horse in this stable," he called out to them before picking up the next chorus. "Quickly now."
They looked at each other, and dropped their pitchforks as they scurried off to comply with the implanted compulsion. Minutes later, Matteo was riding hard for the north bridge, looking to make up as much lost time as possible. He'd left the boys the rest of the sake and a little cash, and hoped they wouldn't get in too much trouble.
If he listened closely, he imagined he could hear screaming in the distance ahead.
The narrow cobbled city streets were not a friendly place for a speeding horse, especially one ridden by someone unfamiliar with the intricacies of the city. The animal's hooves slid on stones well-polished with wear as it tried to jump a low bench in the street. It slid and spun, whinnying loudly as it struggled to right itself. Matteo rolled free of the stirrups just as it fell to its side and kicked out wildly. The fall knocked the wind out of him, and it was clear he'd lost his mount for the time being. The horse would recover, but not in time to bear him on to his destination. He was still revved up on adrenaline from the ride, and he knew he couldn't afford to lose his momentum at this point. The stall owner came over to help him to his feet, but he waved the man off. He was at least in the right district now. A little dazed, he set off once again at a slow sprint. His ankle was throbbing - he must have landed poorly, but he'd have to make it somehow.
He was feeling lightheaded by the time he stumbled into the street where the compound's main entrance was located. The imperial guards stationed outside weren't quite two hundred feet away, and Kurtis Trevyn, another Loyalist guard, stood outside speaking with them. Good enough. Matteo slumped against the side of the nearest building, ignoring for the moment the black spots invading his vision. He pulled a short piece of copper wire from his belt pouch, spoke a word of power, and gestured to the air.
"Kurtis," he whispered across the distance. "It's Matt. Go get Volaris. Tell him there are cultists and Masks. Headed here, right now. Coming from the south."
The spell's target froze and looked around. "What?"
"Just go." The elf's legs refused to comply with further orders from his brain, and he slid into a sitting position on the side of the street, exhausted. "I'll be there.... in a minute."
Except he never made it. He closed his eyes for just a moment's rest, and couldn't quite muster the energy required to fight back the blackness that rolled in as the adrenaline that had sustained his race to the compound finally failed.
-----------------------------
~Be careful. She has a strange smell.~
~What do you mean? Inhuman?~
~No. But she is dangerous.~
~Of course.~ He already knew that. The reasons he had sought the sages, and her specifically, guaranteed that she was dangerous to him specifically. Hadyn hoped he hadn’t sounded too peevish, but Teah generally knew better than to give him new unspecified things to worry about. He was already being careful with Abe. She was currently assessing him as they strolled silently through the small ornamental courtyard at the rear of Li Fei’s manse. Teah prowled after them though the narrow paths.
His speech had been very well received – the Sages were very interested. He’d passed around the artifact he’d brought with him – he had others stashed away back at the compound. Even the few who didn’t believe him about the machine were convinced he had found something of interest. But Abe reserved her right to the final vote, and she’d wanted to speak to him alone. They’d been walking for a few minutes now, and Hadyn was beginning to wonder if she would ever get around to setting up the next hoop for him to jump though. Caution he could understand, but with Southerners it was all about decorum. He was sure that if he only knew the right speeches to make, the right values to call on or challenge, that they would fall over themselves to give him what he wanted. Instead, he stifled his impatience and let the dangerous lmaster judge him.
Eventually, she broke the silence.
“You spoke well, Zanne. You are clearly a man of some intelligence. Your need is clear. Your offer – that also seems sincere.” She paused, and looked up at him, waiting.
“Thank you, master teacher.”
Her eyes narrowed. Had she been expecting something else?
“Give me your hand, boy.”
Teah growled, but Abe kept her eyes on Hadyn.
“Do you want to learn from me?”
“Yes.” Well, almost yes. He’d be happy to gain the information he needed without ever having to see the wrinkled little troll ever again, but that seemed an unlikely future. She held out her hand.
~She has a knife.~
He hesitated. Abe frowned – her mouth seemed made for it.
“Then you will never have this chance again. You and your prince have wasted our time.” She closed her fist and began to draw her hand back into the sleeve of her robe.
“Wait.” Hadyn held his left hand out, palm up. “Do it then.”
It was a small semi circle of jade, hardly a knife at all. It was not hafted, but the blunt flat edge was in patinaed copper. The cutting edge had been sharpened by removing short flakes of stone, giving it a serrated effect. Freshly traced sigils covered the copper, but he couldn’t make out any details. She sliced him quickly across the meatiest part of his palm, right below the thumb.
The pain was surprising, and he bit his tongue to keep from screaming in surprised. It didn’t bleed, but the exposed flesh turned black, as did the neighboring blood vessels. It burned like acid, but Abe kept hold of his wrist with a surprisingly firm grip. Teach growled again, hunching her shoulders in preparation for a certainly deadly pounce. The sage released him, backing away a few paces into a position where Hadyn was between her and the angry beast. The cat stepped quickly to her master’s side.
“Show me your hand,” she demanded cautiously.
~It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…~
~I could kill her.~
~No.~ He pulled back the sleeve of his kimono. The black tendrils had spread halfway up his forearm, but showed no sign of progressing past that point. Hadyn kept his jaw tightly clenched, but in his mind another voice was screaming in agony. He couldn’t uncurl his fist, and couldn’t recall consciously balling it. His nails bit into the wound.
“Interesting.” Abe took his hand again – the copper banded blade had disappeared back into her robe. “I could sense this taint, though you tried to mask it…. There are strong demonic influences throughout this city, but this interests me.”
He was having some problems concentrating on her words. The dark voice was distracting, though he didn’t feel in danger of losing control. Teah was nevertheless concerned, and had closed off her thought in case she might have to act against him. She kept her eyes on the Southerner for now.
“Great.” He reached for Nhabu’s potion, hoping it might counteract whatever she had done. The flask and a few other essential items were tucked away safely in his obi. He pulled the stopper out with his teeth and swallowed. It had no real flavour, just an impression of anise and something metallic in the aftertaste. Moments later, the voice dulled its roaring. His hand still hurt but the black veins had turned a silvery colour that contrasted less with his skin. Opening his hand revealed that the cut itself had healed imperfectly. An angry dark scar remained, and it was still sore. Abe watched.
“Tell me what is in that.”
Apart from the strange injury she had just inflicted on him, her imperious attitude was really starting to wear on his nerves. It was with smug pleasure that he could honestly reply, “I don’t know.”
Abe pursed her lips and held out her hand expectantly. Grudgingly, he reached out to her again.
~I don’t like her at all.~
~You’re not the one she cut. But she could still be useful.~
“A clever trick,” she declared after a brief examination, “But not a permanent fix.” She released him, apparently satisfied.
“What do you mean? What did you do?” Looking the limb over again, he wondered if it could be fully healed, or even restored, by magical means. It could, he was confident, be disguised through the normal precautions he took to disguise himself.
“Jade, when properly treated, reacts with resonance, or taint, from the Infernal Realms. My blade is specially enchanted. I carry it as a ward against my enemies.”
“But it can be healed.”
“No. The wound will remain to mark the taint. That is the nature of the magic. Only cleansing yourself of this evil influence can permanently heal you.”
He hoped she was lying, otherwise it sounded that as soon as the potion wore off, the wound and pain would return. He suspected that it was only the potion already active in his system that had stopped it from spreading further initially – not a comforting thought, considering his limited supply. He could experiment more later, and wished he had access to a healer that he trusted better than Ishitaka, or even Galawyn back with the Loyalists. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Ha!.” Was she condescending or amused? He lips pulled back into an expression that could pass easily for either a grimace or a smile. Hadyn did his best to conceal his frustration, anger, and growing concern.
“Well?” The other Quiet Sages were inside, waiting still to hear the final decision.
“Well, impatient child, I will give you access to the resources you seek, but in addition to divulging the location of this ancient living machine of stored lore, you will come and stay with me in Shiroeki once you and your associates are formally banished from this district. I must study your case more closely.”
Study him? He flinched. He didn’t trust her enough for that. For the Loyalists and a half-forgotten promise to a dying memory machine, it hardly seemed worth contemplating. For Lendrick, though, and for himself… The decision was less clear.
Abe continued after he failed to respond. “Your other option is that I will return and relate to the others that you have already been personally compromised by powerful demonic forces, that you represent a danger to this realm and all of Keth, and that you should be destroyed. If you or your familiar attempt to stop me, or if you flee, I assure you that the Sages, including those whose names and faces remain unknown to you, will find you and carry out your doom with utmost haste.”
He felt faint. “But you’re lying.”
“Am I.”
He had no answer. The others were certain to take her word over his. He could kill her and escape. He was good at hiding, but he’d put his few allies and friends at risk and be alone again, with even more powerful enemies actively seeking him. There would be nowhere for him to turn. Why, of all the reasonable personalities he had encountered among Southern scholars had he wound up dealing with this devious old witch?
“Do we have an accord?”
He nodded. Given time, he could find a way out of this predicament. Meanwhile, he would take advantage of the arrangement to learn what he could.
“Very well. I will speak to the others. You are free to return to your associates for the moment. Once Lord Souta orders your expulsion you will seek me in the capital. I will allow you one further week for travel and whatever other preparations you may require.”
“Yes, master-teacher.” The words tasted like poison. He wanted to scream, or run, or storm back inside and teach at least a few of the sages the perils of crossing an experienced wizard. Teah raged in his stead, stalking across the pathway behind him.
“Take this.” She detached a small charm from the end of her sash – a piece of jade in the shape of a shrine hanging from a braided red silk cord. “Like your potion, it will suppress the infernal power bound to you. It will also ward you from the powers of other demons.”
He took it warily. He would examine it more closely once he returned to the compound, or even if he were simply given a moment alone before he left. “And now I can go?”
The old woman nodded. Hadyn departed quickly, leaving her to deal with the rest of the council. His chances for any kind of freedom had been slim of late, and looked to be even rarer in the future, and he didn’t dare squander opportunities for even the briefest of escapes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-09-11 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-11 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-17 07:30 pm (UTC)Oh, well. He wanted to learn, didn't he?
Heh.
t!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-17 07:42 pm (UTC)