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measured_wordsComplete! It's been written for a while, but I finally had a chance to type it up today! My life has been quite busy of late. In any case, I hope you enjoy it :) There are two new sections here, for a change.
Shadows 8
It was the second day after he’d talked to Volaris – the real Volaris. Matteo hadn’t dared stay in he village any longer after that, and had slowly been putting as much distance as he could between himself and the shrine. It was hard going. He had to stick to the road to make any progress at all, but had to be careful of strangers who crossed his path. So far, he’d been lucky and seen none. Cheng was right – this was a real backwater. No one had come for him yet either – whatever the cult had planned for the villagers apparently demanded their full attention and resources. Maybe Geron just didn’t expect him to live.
Gordon kept him going. The Shadow could move ahead easily and keep an eye out for any danger. He also watched for secluded places that Matteo could stop and rest, as he needed fairly frequent breaks. Gordon kept him moving forward rather than crawling back when his cravings were at their worst. Even with his help, Matteo wasn’t sure he could make it. The supplies he’d managed to scavenge wouldn’t last forever and he’d been forced to abandon a lot of them when he’d given up on riding. His leg hurt too much no matter what he’d tried, and it left him too weak to control the horse. Nothing to do but stagger on as long as he could – he refused to give Geron the satisfaction of his death.
He tried paying attention to his surroundings. If he cold give Volaris a better idea of where he was, he knew the Loyalists would come. But he’d never learned the name of Cheng’s village. Hunan province was quite large, and the Prince just didn’t have the manpower to cover such a wide area without reference to some better landmarks. He paused to consider the low hills that peaked out over the horizon to the northwest. Everything seemed so far away. He’d even left behind the tree line of the shrine’s forest this morning. There was nothing here but gently rolling prairie, left wild save for the dirt road that amble westward towards civilization. In the distance he could make out a dust cloud, kicked up by riders headed his way. It would be hours before their paths crossed, and Gordon would warn him what to expect long before. It wasn’t even noon – the sun was still angling up towards its zenith.
He ploughed onwards limping carefully and leaning heavily on his staff. He’d wrapped his hands in cloth to protect his scars and prevent any new blisters. Eventually, a long shadow glided to a halt in front of him. Gordon’s outline was much more distinct in the daylight – tall and broad shouldered as he’d been in life, but filed in with inky blackness. His features were visible only in profiled silhouette.
“Four travelers, one horse, one covered donkey cart.” His voice retained that same dry quality of rustling paper from their first contact at the Spirit Festival, but his mentor’s capacity for expression was more limited. Everything was more basic than it had been even in the shrine. He’d warned this might happened. “Scavengers. Eta.”
They wouldn’t be armed, then, or at least not well, though they might try to rob him if they thought he had anything of value. They’d probably seen the smoke from the village when it burned and were coming to look for work or take what they could from the dead. He’d warn them away if he could.
Matteo was resting at the top of a small hill when they reached him. Gordon had tried to convince him to hide, that it would be better just to save himself and let these people meet their own fate. He couldn’t do it, and the Shadow hadn’t really invested too much effort. Giving the cult more victims was an unsettling choice on too many levels.
The rider reached him first – a small man with his feet wrapped in rags. He pulled up beside the Elf, sizing him up. Matteo wondered how he appeared. He was dirty from traveling, and his freshest wounds were still healing – slim scabs on his face and elsewhere that he hoped wouldn’t add to his scars. He lifted a hand in greeting. The rider nodded in suspicious acknowledgement, then turned his mount and headed back to the others. Matteo watched him go, noting his poor horsemanship. He’d probably found the horse, if he hadn’t stolen it, and would likely be killed for the offense of even daring to touch it if any Samurai caught him with the animal.
The completed party turned up a short time later. A different man rode the horse this time, reigning up awkwardly in front of Matteo. He was larger, and had a thick wooden club hanging from a ratty sash. Like the first rider, he was dressed in rags, though he had sandals. The cart pulled to a stop a few meters away, out of danger incase anything should happen. A woman sat on the driver’s bench, holding the reigns of a sorry looking black donkey. Two others – the first rider and a second woman – stood to either side of the animal, with the girl resting her hand on its flank. Four pairs of suspicious eyes regarded him where he sat, spread legs, staff laid across his lap for the moment.
“Greetings, traveler-san.” The leader’s tone was grudging, his respect merely convention expected of the lowest caste. Behind him, the girl near the donkey leaned over to whisper to her companions. The driver nodded.
Matteo smiled again in greeting and made to get up, slowly and ungracefully. The eta all tensed, but he hoped his message was clear – he was no threat.
They waited for him to speak. The trio in the rear shared uneasy glances when he remained silent. The rider tried another question, his voice filled full of bravado.
“Do you hail from the village ahead?”
He nodded.
Another pause, then, “Can you tell us what lies ahead?”
No, would that he could. Matteo shook his head, looking away from the group.
“No?”
“Can you speak?” The girl beside the donkey spoke up in a shy voice. The rider gave her a sharp look, but frowned as Matteo once again indicated the negative.
“Is the village safe?” She stepped forward, carefully avoiding the rider’s disapproving scowl. The other man – they all seemed quite young, now that he could get a better look at them – slipped around to stand beside her.
“Qiu!”
She hung her head, though she kept her eyes on Matteo. He shook his head for the third time, more emphatically now. He felt a little dizzy afterwards.
“Genming.” This time it was the woman in the cart who spoke, and she beckoned the rider over. With a warning glance at the Elf he dismounted, tossing the reigns in the vicinity of the smaller man. He was fairly tall for a Southerner, and might even have been quite large if malnutrition hadn’t eroded his broad frame into leanness. His dirty black hair was cut roughly so that it fell just above his shoulders in the back, and his eyes in the front. The other man stepped towards the startled horse, and Qiu followed. She was just as ragged, with her long hair bound into uneven tails with twisted rags. None of them wore real kimonos, but scuffed trousers that fell just below the knee and ratty tunics.
Matteo tried another smile as they approached. Qiu seemed curious if nervous, but her companion held her back, keeping the reigns loosely in his other hand as the horse backed away slightly, attuned to the tension of the scene.
“He could be dangerous, Qiu.”
“He doesn’t look dangerous, Minsheng. You won’t hurt us will you?”
He smiled again. “Un-uh.” Basic sounds he could still manage, and he hoped the understood. Qiu looked cautiously relieved, but looked to Minsheng for his reaction. The small southerner was shorter than Matteo, and his attention was divided. Seeing that the boy was about to get stepped on, the Elf stepped forward. He took the reigns higher up, controlling the horse’s head. He was no great rider himself, not these days, but he’d clearly been around more than these people. The animal snorted nervously and tried to throw back its neck. Lacking leverage, and finding itself in more capable hands, it settled down with another soft snort.
“Hey, what are you doing over there!” Genming glowered over at them, leaving off his private conversation.
“It’s alright,” Minsheng called back, grudgingly taking back the reigns the way he’d been shown, but the leader made his way over regardless.
“The village isn’t safe, Genming.”
“No?” He looked to Matteo, who just held up his mangled hands. The bandages wrapped around them were conveniently bloody from burst blisters and where some of the deeper cuts kept reopening.
“You’re a foreigner.”
Matteo nodded. If they were as deep into the Empire as he suspected, they might never have seen an Elf, or at least not be familiar enough to recognize one with his ears docked. The eta leader frowned.
“Did the villagers do this to you?”
He might have lied, but since he wasn’t sure what the group would do either way, he decided against betting on Genming’s social beliefs. Someone who abused a foreigner might not abuse an eta…. But they might. Matteo frowned as he shook his head, then drew his thumb across his throat hoping they’d get the point.
“They tried to kill you?”
“I think he means they are dead.” The cart driver had dismounted during this exchange and came to stand with the others. Her voice was quiet, but had an aura of composure that the others lacked. Matteo nodded in response.
“All of them?” Qiu looked to the other woman in dismay after she had the Elf’s answer: dead or as good as dead. “Well if there is no one alive, that means no one to pay us to wash corpses, Chiyo.”
“What happened? How did you escape?”
“How do you expect him to answer?” Qiu scowled at Genming. “He can’t speak.”
“That’s convenient.”
This was a waste of time. As soon as the cult had people to spare, they’d come looking for him and anyone who helped him. He needed to get some real distance away before Geron tried any other tricks to lure him back. It was a heavy thought – chilling – but there was a small voice at the back of his head more than wiling to be lured. Geron was the only one who could really silence the worst of his cravings. He knew it wasn’t just his resolve weakening. Just thinking about it now made him feel lightheaded. As for the eta, if he had no words to convince them, maybe he could show them.
He closed his eye and concentrated. He wasn’t quite used to his Shadow powers yet as they came from an outside source, unlike his own magic. He coalesced the shadow material between his hands, forming it into images. A miniature version of the ruined village appeared. For extra effect, he populated it with a number of Crimson Masks running madly through the streets, they dual blades dripping with blood.
“Oni!” Minsheng stepped back from the sight. The others seemed equally disturbed as he turned his head to take in their reactions. He hoped it was the image and not his manifestation of the illusion, but let it go just in case. He shouldn’t have let himself think about the Agony – it was breaking his concentration. He leaned against his staff, feeling a bit dizzy.
Genming took Chiyo by the arm, and the two repaired back towards the cart. With a sly glance after them and a quick sympathetic smile at Matteo, Qiu stole after them. Minsheng readjusted his position in relation to the horse and glanced after the others. He was quiet a moment while Matteo tried to fight off his cravings.
“Did you see the oni?”
Matteo snapped his eye open, startled by the quiet youth’s question. He nodded.
“Are they the ones who hurt you?”
He couldn’t explain. The Masks weren’t really oni the way Minsheng understood. It was complicated to put into hand gestures, and he didn’t feel up to the attempt. He shrugged weakly. Maybe Gordon had been right. At the least, he shouldn’t have waited for them to catch up to him. He wasn’t feeling like continuing right now, and certainly wasn’t far enough away. Only two days travel – practically nothing.
“Are you well?”
Of course he wasn’t. he was going to die out here, sooner rather than later, and with no access to the one thing that cold give him any peace! Matteo looked back the way he’d come, knowing that it didn’t matter what he decided. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Despite the sweat sticking his shirt to his skin, he felt cold, and shivered.
“Chiyo!” Minsheng stepped back. “I think he is sick…”
“If sir is not offended by my unclean touch, I am a healer.” Where had she come from? Snuck up on his blind side? He nodded. He could use a healer, and didn’t care too much where she came from at this point. If he could only concentrate for a moment, he could remember the song, and the trick Gordon had taught him. Chiyo was whispering her own magic, and he barely felt her touch when the cool sensation of a healing spell washed over him. His fresh wounds closed over, though he felt the now-familiar tightness in his chest, and coughed. The spell was still a relief, and once he could breathe again, he did feel somewhat stronger. She cast another spell, and though he couldn’t feel any effects, she seemed satisfied. “You aren’t going to die today. Your condition isn’t catching?”
He shook his head. Of course they were worried about themselves. They probably had a hard enough time gaining admittance to towns and villages as it was. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a look that passed between Chiyo and Genming. The priestess turned back to him, a calm smile on her lips. “Then you should travel with us.”
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~Hadyn. I need you to meet me outside the city. Tomorrow at noon, near the Sink Gate.~
Volaris’s voice was an unexpected intrusion. He’d been reading an account by a Kethan adventurer into the Infernal plane. Many scholars doubted its authenticity, expecting that anyone traveling there very long would be driven mad, but it was an interesting comparison for Hadyn. If he didn’t consider it a threat to his survival, he might have authored an account of his own travels by now.
~I will be there.~
Abe was gone again on her own mysterious business, and he could spare the time. Considering briefly what the other wizard might want, he returned to his book.
Hadyn teleported out to the sink the next day. He had papers that allowed him to pass freely, and hoped to avoid trouble when he reentered Shiroeki. He’d been in and out on a number of errands now, and was getting a better feel for the process. He left Teah behind this time. She’d been out hunting for the past two days anyway. He missed her presence, though she was never truly out of touch. She was restless at the compound with nothing to do.
The teleport sink acted like a magical magnet. Anyone attempting to teleport within a day’s travel of the city was drawn to the sink, which was armed with a full legion. Access to the Imperial capital was tightly regulated and even using the sink, which sat beside the main road into town, required either a special passport, a silver tongue, or a heavy bribe. Hadyn wondered which the Court Wizard would employ. This particular sink was designed to redirect individuals into small cells. Larger groups found themselves inside a high-walled arena overlooked by archers and wizards.
Once released from the cells, travelers were led trough a section of offices until they stood in the courtyard under the large arch leading out to the road – a symbolic gate. People traveling on to Shiroeki at this point could have their passports cleared in advance at the offices to facilitate their admittance. After processing, Hadyn tried to make himself unobtrusive near the base of the arch while waiting for Volaris. A short while later, a tall magenta-robed figure emerged into the yard, glanced around, and headed his way.
“Hadyn! Excellent to see you – lets head somewhere we can talk more comfortably.” He seized the younger man’s hand and shook.
“Volaris.” Hadyn escaped his grip and followed out of the courtyard. Volaris headed off to the side of the road and cast a spell, summoning a Secure Shelter.
“There we are – privacy.” He opened the door and ushered his companion inside. “Tea?” The cabin came fully equipped and with a cheery fire already burning. Volaris headed directly to the cupboards and produced a pot and a pitcher of water, hardly pausing to catch Hadyn’s acquiescing nod. “How’s your research going?”
“It’s fine. I brought you some notes. I doubt any of it will be useful at this point.” He handed over a scroll case containing some loose sheaves which Volaris tucked into a pouch in his belt.
“I’m sure you’ll turn up something good – Abe’s resources must be truly impressive.” Volaris’s eyes shone with unabashed curiousity.
“Her library, at least, is quite exhaustive.”
“Good, good…. Is she giving you much direction in your studies?”
“Some.” In fact, he rarely saw her more than once a week, and had developed a suspicion that the material she kept at her estate was only a fragment of her collection. She spent much of her time elsewhere – Teah had followed her for a day out of boredom, but had lost her at the same gate where they were now meeting. He certainly didn’t mind being left on his own with the library and lab at his disposal.
Volaris nodded. “Have you heard anything from the other sages?”
“They are still investigating the materials I brought them, but are planning to make an expedition as soon as they completed arrangements with the Dwarven authorities.” The thinking machine he’d officially traded his apprenticeship for was in the Dwarven tunnels that passed from Bellaboca and the Northern Kingdoms and the Southern Empire, or Chuushin-ippin no Teikoku. He wasn’t sure if they would expect him to go or not. He was curious what all they would learn, but he had other priorities. His companion sighed as he poured the tea.
“They might never share what they learn you know. In better times… Well I guess it doesn’t matter. We have enough to worry about.”
Hadyn nodded. In better times, he might have shared his information with the Court Wizard instead of the mysterious Quiet Sages, and Volaris might have been the one leading a party of academics in quest of ancient lore. Instead, the black haired mage spent all his time helping the prince and chancellor manage the Loyalist camp. It wasn’t an especially likely scenario – Hadyn remained wary of other wizards – but the point was that Volaris’s talents were currently being wasted. “What have you been working on?”
“I’ve been playing diplomat with Tavik in Nampung.” Case in point, Hadyn thought. “There are a number of interests there who are sympathetic to Exia. I’m mostly there for show – Chancellor Tavik could handle these sorts of things in his sleep, but it looks better if he’s not the only official.”
“So you were in the area, then.” Nampung was an island off the western coast, and was fairly independent from the Empire. It was small, but had a fair amount of Economic clout and acted as an emporium for exporting Southern goods throughout the rest of Keth. Sterling’s company did a fair amount of trading there, and may well have provided the contacts necessary for this mission.
“I was, I suppose, though this isn’t a social call, I’m afraid.”
Hadyn nodded. it would have been a bit annoying to have to come out all this way just to say hello. “What is it?”
“I’m sure heard that one of out people went missing after the attacks in Shinkyo – An elf named Matteo Atremi. He was captured by the Cult. I’m sure you can imagine the unpleasantness that came from that, though they didn’t actually kill him.”
“What did they take him for?” Hadyn had heard about the missing Elf, and wondered at the time at the resources they’d invested into searching for a lone man. From what he’d picked up since, someone in Shinkyo had managed to track down the cult’s headquarters, but they’d cleared out and left no trace. Volaris had already queried him about how he might be hidden from magical detection, but he hadn’t had any new theories to add.
“We’re not sure. Information maybe. Or maybe they’re just a bunch of sick evil bastards. I’ve been in contact with him recently, using Sending. He’s managed to get away from them, but he’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Go on.” Hadyn wondered what this had to do with him.
“I’d like to just send someone to pick him up, but there are some problems with that. We still can’t detect him with scrying, and he can’t tell us why that is either. He is somewhere in the South – that much we know – but he’s traveling with another group and isn’t sure where he is. The cult cut out his tongue, so he can’t just ask.” Volaris frowned, unhappy with the situation. “He’s also quite sick, and isn’t always entirely coherent when I try to contact him. I understand that they are moving west towards Shiroeki, but I’m not sure he’ll survive the trip.” He paused, setting down his tea. “Have you ever heard of a drug called ‘Agony’?”
“I have.”
“I know a little about it – enough to say that it is bad news. It’s highly addictive and magical in nature. The cult used it on him while he was in their power, and he hasn’t recovered.”
“Agony is a compound made from the essence of pain, harvested magically from torture subjects. It is, as you said, very addictive – I’ve heard of demons using it Someone who was already in a weakened state would have little chance of resisting. It produces, initially, feelings of intense euphoria. If an addict doesn’t get daily doses, their body begins to shut down and they can die quite quickly. From what I understand, after exposure to the intense pleasure the drug induces, the subject’s senses just can’t handle reality.” Volaris’s frown continued to deepen. “Are you sure it was agony? It’s an odd choice for a torture drug.”
“That’s what Matteo said. I gather that the person who did it is uncommonly disturbed.”
“How long has it been?”
“Almost a week, I think. It is hard to have a complex conversation using only sending.”
“If he was going to die, he’d be dead.”
“I think one of the people he is traveling with is a cleric of some sort.”
“Remove Disease should take care of the problem. Otherwise, anything that can give him strength when he is at his weakest.”
“I’ve told him that already. I don’t think this woman is powerful enough to cure him, though.”
Hadyn scowled. He hated it when people asked for his advice and just told him they’d already thought of whatever he’d said. Why ask? He wasn’t such an accomplished healer compared to others Volaris could consult. “Well, she can probably keep him alive, at least.”
“Alright. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t likely to get any worse. I was concerned that the cult might try to use the addiction against him somehow, but he’s in no condition to contact them that I can see, and I haven’t told him anything about our activities just in case. When he gets to Shiroeki, though, I want him brought to us as quickly as possible.”
Hadyn blinked. “Right. Just have him come and knock on Abe’s door – I’m sure they’ll let him right in.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Hadyn. He’s very resourceful. If nothing else, I can contact you once he’s in the city.”
He sighed. “Have him leave a message at Suoh-Hu with Ling and Wei Yeoh, if he can. It’s in the port trading district outside the walls.”
“I will.” He stood. “It’s been good to see you, Hadyn. You’re looking well.”
“It’s been good to get away. Good to see you, Volaris.”
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This was a good day. He even had some energy for moving around outside the cart. Minsheng and Qiu were off with their satchel full of salvage that Genming has collected and more or less repaired. They’d left behind the cracked lute that had become Matteo’s personal project. He wasn’t sure where they’d picked it up, but the group had done a lot of traveling. And now they were headed west towards the coast. He’d promised them money if they could get him that far. It had taken a while to get his message across, but Chiyo, at least, could read some.
The instrument was missing a string, but that only seemed fair considering that he was missing half his fingers. The body was cracked but he’d scammed some twine and glue and managed to doctor it up so that the tone was at least passable. It was never going to be in tune, but it was playable. The only songs he could manage were simple in any case – his hands wouldn’t let him tackle anything more complicated. The music helped him to relax and to offset some of his cravings by giving him something else to focus on. The rest of the time he had to rely on Chiyo.
His music also helped him feel that he was contributing something towards his own upkeep. On days like today, he could sit outside and play while Genming worked. Sometimes people gave them a little money or food, or their interest might be piqued enough that they would at least come and browse through the eta’s wares.
Chiyo found employment according to her calling, blessing the dead, washing their bodies and preparing their spirits to face the final path. Even priests of the Order of Repose were rare in the rural provinces, but she’d found less and less work as they approached more settled western lands. Sometimes she took the younger pair when they ran out of saleable goods to peddle. It kept them from stealing too much or getting into other trouble.
The travelers weren’t having much luck at this particular hamlet so far. They’d come in the night before, Matteo guessed. He’d been pretty out of it, and it could have been earlier. Travelling days were generally rough on him. He plucked aimlessly at his instrument, testing out new methods of improvisation while Genming worked on stitching up a torn pavilion one of the locals had brought over. It was the only work they’d had save a couple of coins tossed Matteo’s way. The area was rich in neither coin nor resources – Genming was being paid in rice.
Clouds in the afternoon threatened rain and promised cooler weather that night. Fall was upon them, and there might be frost. Genming left to gather firewood while he had the chance. It was quiet for a while, with most of the locals concentrating on their own affairs – mostly ensuring that the last of the rice harvest was brought in and properly stored. About half an hour after he left, Minsheng returned. The youth slid quietly up to the side of the cart with an earthen pot of still wriggling fish. He looked around, passed it to Matteo while he jumped up carefully. His sister was nowhere in sight, and he had none of the items they’d set out with that morning. He crept over towards the elf, who was looking for a fairly safe spot for the fish, and crouched down in a pile of bedding.
“Where is Genming?”
Matteo gestured at their meager supply of dry firewood, stacked on the other side of the cart.
Minsheng nodded, doing his best to keep his body low while occasionally peeking over the high sides of the cart. He ignored Matteo’s curious looks, and after a while he crawled out to a position where he could see better.
Qiu appeared a short time later, moving furtively from the shadows in an alley across the street. She paused, moving forward to try and catch their attention. Matteo tapped her brother on the shoulder, but he’d already spotted her and waved back. Glancing around once more, she skipped over and crouched down beside Minsheng. The two glanced cautiously at the elf before huddling together to conspire in hushed tones. Qiu began.
“Did you get them?”
“Yes, but they chased me.”
“Me too – I had to hide the pack so I could get away.”
“Where is it now?”
“In a warehouse, near the mill. Where is Genming?”
“I think he is getting more wood. Chiyo is still waiting for that grandmother to die.”
“If we wait for them, the mill men will find it and take everything!” They both sounded scared and upset, but Minsheng tended to be calmer despite the fact that he was younger by a year or two. Qiu couldn’t be more than sixteen.
“Qiu…. If they catch you back there, they will just beat you until they give it to you anyway, and that is if you are lucky. If Genming were here…”
“Well, he isn’t. And *he* will surely beat us if we lose everything save for a few measly fish!”
“If we go back now, we might well have never fled – they will still be looking for us.”
“Maybe…” She eyed Matteo. He was listening curiously, trying to figure out just what the pair had gotten themselves into. “We went to trade at the mill,” she explained, “but they just took what they wanted without giving us anything. So we snuck into their fish pond so we wouldn’t get in trouble with Genming, but they caught us.”
He nodded knowingly. She was clearly glossing over some details, but it essentially rang true. Except for the part where Genming might beat them. He didn’t seem the type, unless he’d been on good behaviour since Matteo had joined the little band. Qiu certainly seemed to expect it, though, and bit her lip worriedly.
Minsheng shook his head. “It won’t be like that, Qiu. We will just be more poor and tired until we have something else to sell.” He looked over at the half-finished pavilion and the few unfinished items Genming had in store. “Whenever that will be.”
Qiu ignored her brother and, with a cautious peek over the side of the cart, clambered over closer to Matteo.
“Could you help us?”
Could he?
Minsheng frowned. “Qiu, he is sick. He can’t even sit up most days.”
“He is sitting up today! And he is gaijin. That will make them wary.”
“Wary just means they will beat him too. How will he stop them?”
“I don’t know…” She cast her eyes downward, but stole a glance Matteo’s way.
It was probably a bad idea. No. Definitely. But, if nothing else, his fortunes were tied to these people for the moment, and he doubted they were so attached to him that they’d put up with the burden he represented if they were really stretched tight for food. Today was a good day for him – surely even as weakened as he was, he cold handle a few small town brutes. He flashed her a sly smile.
She smirked back, returning to her argument with renewed convictions. “He escaped from Oni, Minsheng. He will be fine!”
Her brother looked between the two of them uncertain in the face of Matteo’s apparent confidence. Finally, he shrugged in defeat and settled down on Matteo’s mat. “I will wait for Genming.”
Matteo combed his fingers through his dirty hair and adjusted the now ratty strip of cloth over his bad eye while Qiu wrenched his staff out from the miscellany that had piled up over the past few weeks. Minsheng still looked dubious, but voiced no objections when they headed back to the alley where Qiu had initially emerged.
She led him cautiously through the back streets, chattering excitedly about how she and her brother had found themselves in this predicament. Thankfully, she let him set the pace – it was best to take it easy and not wear himself out. Qiu saw it as an adventure, with herself cast as the maligned heroine. Her problem was real, and of course it was serious, but she had no apprehension of failure. The possibility served only to strengthen her resolve. It was refreshing, after everything Matteo had seen and experienced since the Spirit Festival. Chang had been determined and confident to a point, but he’d lacked innocence. He’d also failed – killed in an instant by Geron’s spell. Qiu’s crusade might seem less noble than rescuing family from the clutches of the Crimson Cult’s more depraved elements, but it also had a higher chance of success. As long as he didn’t tire himself out too quickly and collapse on her.
He’d tried to keep from getting too stiff by stretching and limping around the wagon on the days he felt more ambulatory, but this was the furthest he’d ventured by a long shot. As liberating as it was, he knew he’d be paying for it later. The further they got, the more he relied on the staff. Qiu gave him a few anxious look, but he reassured her with a smile.
They crossed the village slowly. Eventually, his companion paused and crept into the shadows of a woodpile. Matteo crouched, carefully, beside her. She pointed to a building across an empty lot with several low slotted windows wide enough to admit someone slender and small. Pulling her bulky satchel though would have been more difficult, but some of the slats blocking ingress were obviously loose.
Gordon was with them, of course, darkening Matteo’s shadow when patches of more convenient darkness were lacking. He slid away now, as Matteo and Qiu watched for signs of movement and other potential threats. They saw nothing, and she crept closer, slipping inside quickly. Once her form disappeared from sight, Matteo stood, stretching his stiff leg carefully, and shuffled over to where he could keep better watch.
The Shadow returned shortly, whispering a warning. Four men were approaching. Three were armed only with wooden bokken, but the last had a real sword. Matteo readjusted his posture and leaned on his staff. He could hear Qiu coming back towards the window where she’d already removed the slats for a quick get away. He rapped his knuckles against the sill to encourage her to hurry.
She clambered out, handing him the recovered goods just as the men came into view. He slung the bag carefully over his shoulder – it felt a lot heavier than he’d expected. They started to shuffle off back the way they’d come when their pursuers called out after them.
“She’s back!”
They were on his bad side, so he turned his head to get a better view. The front man was pointing at them with his wooden sword. Qiu tried to quickly duck out of sight, but it was too late. The two similarly armed men stepped up beside their fellow. The fourth, who looked much younger despite being better armed, stayed back.
“Where do you think you are going, you little thief!”
She shrank behind Matteo, her boldness somewhat diminished. “I’m not a thief,” she whispered into his back.
Matteo said nothing. He reached back and patted her on the shoulder, and gave her a gentle nudge backwards.
“Hey! Get out of the way!”
The pair had made it close enough to the alley that he could block the men from taking off after her through at least the most direct route, and this lot didn’t seem like very complex thinkers. He let the bag slide of his shoulder, landing with rattling clunk, and took his staff in both hands.
“Who do you think you are?”
“Another thief, it seems.”
They converged. Matteo smiled, barring his broken teeth. One of the Southerners spat at him, and the leading man took the first swing.
It was an arrogant strike – forceful but in poor form, as though he weren’t worth the effort and wasn’t expecting a challenge. Matteo twisted out of the way easily, sweeping his attacker’s feet from underneath him and burying it between the next man’s legs on the upswing as he stepped forward to take his leader’s place. The third was a bit more careful with his strike, landing a fairly solid blow on the Elf’s shoulder by taking advantage of his blind spot. The blow jolted all the way down his arm, and he was surprised at just how much it hurt. If they’d been using real swords, he would be in serious trouble. He returned the favour with a solid smack to the side of the man’s head.
The one he’d tripped interrupted his follow-up strike by punching him in the injured thigh with the guard of his bokken. Matteo saw stars, and he barely grounded his staff before he toppled. His illness hadn’t completely destroyed his reflexes, though, and he reacted swiftly. Shifting all his weight to his good leg, he slammed the man full in the fact with the butt of his staff, breaking at least his nose.
“Enough.”
The other two backed off when the youth behind them spoke. His voice was clear and authoritative. The one on the ground dropped his weapon and scrabbled back, trying to stop the flow of blood.
“Is this how you seek honour? Chasing dirty eta and fighting with cripples? This is done.” He took his hand off the hilt of his sheathed sword, and turned away. Matteo could just make out Gordon hovering barely an arm’s length away. The two standing men looked to each other, and lowered their weapons, chorusing their “yes, my lord”s. They helped up their fellow instead, backing off watchfully.
Qiu reappeared before he had quite recovered, and retrieved her satchel. She took his right hand, still a bit numbed from that first blow now that the adrenalin was wearing off, and led him away. It started raining before they made it halfway back, and he was soaked and thoroughly chilled when they made reached the wagon. Genming was especially grumpy, but Qiu and Minsheng made sure he was as comfortable and dry as possible after he crawled, shivering, under the awning. H is body was already exacting the toll or that little exercise. There was a dark black bruise spreading across his shoulder and his leg seized with painful spasms. The soaking he’d taken invited fever in its wake, and he was too weak to fight it on his own. As he stretched out to try and rest, however, he didn’t feel regret – only satisfaction.
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Hadyn hadn’t had much time to himself lately. The extra research Volaris had asked him to do was proving more complicated than expected. He couldn’t find any reference to the Shrine of the Fallen - at least none that could help him pinpoint its physical location. The Court Wizard assured him at their last conference that it wasn’t pressing, but his inability to turn up anything concrete bothered him. He’d looked for reference to other areas of demonic activity in the South, but could only turn up a few references to the Sato Shrine. The shrine had held Seijun, a demon-killing sword, until the Loyalists had retrieved it a few months ago. Despite the wealth of resources Abe presented him, she was clearly holding back more than he’d previously suspected.
He now had less enthusiasm for pursuing the projects she assigned, and this no doubt contributed to his desire to indulge in further personal scrying. He’d successfully put it out of his mind since his first experiment spying into his birth home, but recent readings had brought on a new bout of nostalgia. This time he had a person rather than a place in mind.
Even before he’d fled, he hadn’t seen his cousin in almost a year. Ja’Yari’d opted to start early training at the same monastery as her mother, Hadyn’s paternal aunt. She was the only family he’d been close to at all who was still alive.
He decided to use Abe’s ball again, even though he’d recently learned a more powerful scrying spell. It would give him a bit of a buffer in case she was with anyone who might be able to detect the magic. He also wanted another chance to test its other properties. Plus using Abe’s implements for personal indulgence provided him a small measure of petty satisfaction. He prepared the ball, controlling its energies, and concentrated on Ja’Yari. She would have changed a lot in the intervening six years, but it was the personal connection that mattered – he had known her well, and they were tied by blood.
The image came sharply into focus more easily than he’d anticipated. She knelt in front of a crackling campfire, eyes closed, in a pose of meditation. Her reddish hair, the same colour as his own, was cropped close to her skull. It was a monk’s cut. Her body was lean and wiry, and she wore only a little clothing – tight cloth binding her chest and short pants with no shoes. She looked like her mother.
She was clearly not on their home plane. The geography was too natural, with a forest surrounding the clearing where she camped with a small group of others. A few sleeping forms, one snoring, huddled around the fire. Some were stirring as dawn light spread tentative probes into the clearing. In the background, peeking out above the treeline, was the roof of a crumbling old building.
A man approached from behind. He was tall with coppery skin. His hair and eyes were a flickering orange-red that almost seemed like flames – Fire Genasi. The Genasi were part elemental, like Piove in some ways. Their links to the elemental planes were not quite as dominant. Her father was a god, a minor one influencing the weather and wind in her home region. Their nature was similarly reflected in their personality, however, and they often traveled the planes to test themselves and gain power. It wasn’t terribly surprising to find one in his cousin’s company.
As the Genasi approached, her eyes flashed open. They flickered momentarily with an intense anger before calm asserted itself and she addressed her companion, asserting her readiness. Intrigued by her reaction, he tried to see inside her mind. Some crystal balls were imbued with extra effects – both basic thought detection and telepathy were possible and could have been very useful. Other possibilities such as the ability to see the invisible or see through illusion would be harder to test.
The device made no response to his attempts, and he decded instead to cast a spell of his own. Her surface thoughts were preoccupied with her current job – retrieving some magic necklace from the ruins. It was guarded by Lizardmen, and she was considering tactics. There was also an undercurrent of annoyance with her companion for disturbing her meditation, but none of that explained the anger he’d seen moments before. She’d buried it, her monkish training helping her assert control of her. She stood and stretched, frowning.
Hadyn delved deeper as the connection strengthened – buried wasn’t banished. Ja’Yari began moving through her martial forms, trying to further center herself while the others broke camp. As she cleared her mind, it became easier for Hadyn to navigate – soon the hidden anger was the only thing left. It drove her – he could sense as much before reaching the source. Nervous tension wracked his body but he focused his will, paranoia overriding caution. He pushed through the barriers his cousin had erected, and hate came spilling through.
He broke the link, but she’d become aware of him, of an alien intrusion, I that final moment. She called for her companions, but he was already withdrawing from the scrying. One of them might be a mage.
Hadyn sat alone again in Abe’s workroom, starring in shock at the empty ball. Ja’Yari hated him. He pushed the device away quickly, as though she might reach through it and strangle him if he kept too close. Fear mounted at the edges of his consciousness, and he pushed himself away from the table. Why? Where was she? What would she – could she – do? How close was she? Could she be on Keth already?
He backed into a shelf and slid to the floor, his mind reeling. It was true, then – everything he’d feared. They were coming for him. They’d turned everyone against him. He was lost. Hadyn closed his eyes, shutting out the room, and curling inwards. He didn’t even notice when Teah returned from her distant prowling to stretch out, alert, at his side.
Shadows 8
It was the second day after he’d talked to Volaris – the real Volaris. Matteo hadn’t dared stay in he village any longer after that, and had slowly been putting as much distance as he could between himself and the shrine. It was hard going. He had to stick to the road to make any progress at all, but had to be careful of strangers who crossed his path. So far, he’d been lucky and seen none. Cheng was right – this was a real backwater. No one had come for him yet either – whatever the cult had planned for the villagers apparently demanded their full attention and resources. Maybe Geron just didn’t expect him to live.
Gordon kept him going. The Shadow could move ahead easily and keep an eye out for any danger. He also watched for secluded places that Matteo could stop and rest, as he needed fairly frequent breaks. Gordon kept him moving forward rather than crawling back when his cravings were at their worst. Even with his help, Matteo wasn’t sure he could make it. The supplies he’d managed to scavenge wouldn’t last forever and he’d been forced to abandon a lot of them when he’d given up on riding. His leg hurt too much no matter what he’d tried, and it left him too weak to control the horse. Nothing to do but stagger on as long as he could – he refused to give Geron the satisfaction of his death.
He tried paying attention to his surroundings. If he cold give Volaris a better idea of where he was, he knew the Loyalists would come. But he’d never learned the name of Cheng’s village. Hunan province was quite large, and the Prince just didn’t have the manpower to cover such a wide area without reference to some better landmarks. He paused to consider the low hills that peaked out over the horizon to the northwest. Everything seemed so far away. He’d even left behind the tree line of the shrine’s forest this morning. There was nothing here but gently rolling prairie, left wild save for the dirt road that amble westward towards civilization. In the distance he could make out a dust cloud, kicked up by riders headed his way. It would be hours before their paths crossed, and Gordon would warn him what to expect long before. It wasn’t even noon – the sun was still angling up towards its zenith.
He ploughed onwards limping carefully and leaning heavily on his staff. He’d wrapped his hands in cloth to protect his scars and prevent any new blisters. Eventually, a long shadow glided to a halt in front of him. Gordon’s outline was much more distinct in the daylight – tall and broad shouldered as he’d been in life, but filed in with inky blackness. His features were visible only in profiled silhouette.
“Four travelers, one horse, one covered donkey cart.” His voice retained that same dry quality of rustling paper from their first contact at the Spirit Festival, but his mentor’s capacity for expression was more limited. Everything was more basic than it had been even in the shrine. He’d warned this might happened. “Scavengers. Eta.”
They wouldn’t be armed, then, or at least not well, though they might try to rob him if they thought he had anything of value. They’d probably seen the smoke from the village when it burned and were coming to look for work or take what they could from the dead. He’d warn them away if he could.
Matteo was resting at the top of a small hill when they reached him. Gordon had tried to convince him to hide, that it would be better just to save himself and let these people meet their own fate. He couldn’t do it, and the Shadow hadn’t really invested too much effort. Giving the cult more victims was an unsettling choice on too many levels.
The rider reached him first – a small man with his feet wrapped in rags. He pulled up beside the Elf, sizing him up. Matteo wondered how he appeared. He was dirty from traveling, and his freshest wounds were still healing – slim scabs on his face and elsewhere that he hoped wouldn’t add to his scars. He lifted a hand in greeting. The rider nodded in suspicious acknowledgement, then turned his mount and headed back to the others. Matteo watched him go, noting his poor horsemanship. He’d probably found the horse, if he hadn’t stolen it, and would likely be killed for the offense of even daring to touch it if any Samurai caught him with the animal.
The completed party turned up a short time later. A different man rode the horse this time, reigning up awkwardly in front of Matteo. He was larger, and had a thick wooden club hanging from a ratty sash. Like the first rider, he was dressed in rags, though he had sandals. The cart pulled to a stop a few meters away, out of danger incase anything should happen. A woman sat on the driver’s bench, holding the reigns of a sorry looking black donkey. Two others – the first rider and a second woman – stood to either side of the animal, with the girl resting her hand on its flank. Four pairs of suspicious eyes regarded him where he sat, spread legs, staff laid across his lap for the moment.
“Greetings, traveler-san.” The leader’s tone was grudging, his respect merely convention expected of the lowest caste. Behind him, the girl near the donkey leaned over to whisper to her companions. The driver nodded.
Matteo smiled again in greeting and made to get up, slowly and ungracefully. The eta all tensed, but he hoped his message was clear – he was no threat.
They waited for him to speak. The trio in the rear shared uneasy glances when he remained silent. The rider tried another question, his voice filled full of bravado.
“Do you hail from the village ahead?”
He nodded.
Another pause, then, “Can you tell us what lies ahead?”
No, would that he could. Matteo shook his head, looking away from the group.
“No?”
“Can you speak?” The girl beside the donkey spoke up in a shy voice. The rider gave her a sharp look, but frowned as Matteo once again indicated the negative.
“Is the village safe?” She stepped forward, carefully avoiding the rider’s disapproving scowl. The other man – they all seemed quite young, now that he could get a better look at them – slipped around to stand beside her.
“Qiu!”
She hung her head, though she kept her eyes on Matteo. He shook his head for the third time, more emphatically now. He felt a little dizzy afterwards.
“Genming.” This time it was the woman in the cart who spoke, and she beckoned the rider over. With a warning glance at the Elf he dismounted, tossing the reigns in the vicinity of the smaller man. He was fairly tall for a Southerner, and might even have been quite large if malnutrition hadn’t eroded his broad frame into leanness. His dirty black hair was cut roughly so that it fell just above his shoulders in the back, and his eyes in the front. The other man stepped towards the startled horse, and Qiu followed. She was just as ragged, with her long hair bound into uneven tails with twisted rags. None of them wore real kimonos, but scuffed trousers that fell just below the knee and ratty tunics.
Matteo tried another smile as they approached. Qiu seemed curious if nervous, but her companion held her back, keeping the reigns loosely in his other hand as the horse backed away slightly, attuned to the tension of the scene.
“He could be dangerous, Qiu.”
“He doesn’t look dangerous, Minsheng. You won’t hurt us will you?”
He smiled again. “Un-uh.” Basic sounds he could still manage, and he hoped the understood. Qiu looked cautiously relieved, but looked to Minsheng for his reaction. The small southerner was shorter than Matteo, and his attention was divided. Seeing that the boy was about to get stepped on, the Elf stepped forward. He took the reigns higher up, controlling the horse’s head. He was no great rider himself, not these days, but he’d clearly been around more than these people. The animal snorted nervously and tried to throw back its neck. Lacking leverage, and finding itself in more capable hands, it settled down with another soft snort.
“Hey, what are you doing over there!” Genming glowered over at them, leaving off his private conversation.
“It’s alright,” Minsheng called back, grudgingly taking back the reigns the way he’d been shown, but the leader made his way over regardless.
“The village isn’t safe, Genming.”
“No?” He looked to Matteo, who just held up his mangled hands. The bandages wrapped around them were conveniently bloody from burst blisters and where some of the deeper cuts kept reopening.
“You’re a foreigner.”
Matteo nodded. If they were as deep into the Empire as he suspected, they might never have seen an Elf, or at least not be familiar enough to recognize one with his ears docked. The eta leader frowned.
“Did the villagers do this to you?”
He might have lied, but since he wasn’t sure what the group would do either way, he decided against betting on Genming’s social beliefs. Someone who abused a foreigner might not abuse an eta…. But they might. Matteo frowned as he shook his head, then drew his thumb across his throat hoping they’d get the point.
“They tried to kill you?”
“I think he means they are dead.” The cart driver had dismounted during this exchange and came to stand with the others. Her voice was quiet, but had an aura of composure that the others lacked. Matteo nodded in response.
“All of them?” Qiu looked to the other woman in dismay after she had the Elf’s answer: dead or as good as dead. “Well if there is no one alive, that means no one to pay us to wash corpses, Chiyo.”
“What happened? How did you escape?”
“How do you expect him to answer?” Qiu scowled at Genming. “He can’t speak.”
“That’s convenient.”
This was a waste of time. As soon as the cult had people to spare, they’d come looking for him and anyone who helped him. He needed to get some real distance away before Geron tried any other tricks to lure him back. It was a heavy thought – chilling – but there was a small voice at the back of his head more than wiling to be lured. Geron was the only one who could really silence the worst of his cravings. He knew it wasn’t just his resolve weakening. Just thinking about it now made him feel lightheaded. As for the eta, if he had no words to convince them, maybe he could show them.
He closed his eye and concentrated. He wasn’t quite used to his Shadow powers yet as they came from an outside source, unlike his own magic. He coalesced the shadow material between his hands, forming it into images. A miniature version of the ruined village appeared. For extra effect, he populated it with a number of Crimson Masks running madly through the streets, they dual blades dripping with blood.
“Oni!” Minsheng stepped back from the sight. The others seemed equally disturbed as he turned his head to take in their reactions. He hoped it was the image and not his manifestation of the illusion, but let it go just in case. He shouldn’t have let himself think about the Agony – it was breaking his concentration. He leaned against his staff, feeling a bit dizzy.
Genming took Chiyo by the arm, and the two repaired back towards the cart. With a sly glance after them and a quick sympathetic smile at Matteo, Qiu stole after them. Minsheng readjusted his position in relation to the horse and glanced after the others. He was quiet a moment while Matteo tried to fight off his cravings.
“Did you see the oni?”
Matteo snapped his eye open, startled by the quiet youth’s question. He nodded.
“Are they the ones who hurt you?”
He couldn’t explain. The Masks weren’t really oni the way Minsheng understood. It was complicated to put into hand gestures, and he didn’t feel up to the attempt. He shrugged weakly. Maybe Gordon had been right. At the least, he shouldn’t have waited for them to catch up to him. He wasn’t feeling like continuing right now, and certainly wasn’t far enough away. Only two days travel – practically nothing.
“Are you well?”
Of course he wasn’t. he was going to die out here, sooner rather than later, and with no access to the one thing that cold give him any peace! Matteo looked back the way he’d come, knowing that it didn’t matter what he decided. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Despite the sweat sticking his shirt to his skin, he felt cold, and shivered.
“Chiyo!” Minsheng stepped back. “I think he is sick…”
“If sir is not offended by my unclean touch, I am a healer.” Where had she come from? Snuck up on his blind side? He nodded. He could use a healer, and didn’t care too much where she came from at this point. If he could only concentrate for a moment, he could remember the song, and the trick Gordon had taught him. Chiyo was whispering her own magic, and he barely felt her touch when the cool sensation of a healing spell washed over him. His fresh wounds closed over, though he felt the now-familiar tightness in his chest, and coughed. The spell was still a relief, and once he could breathe again, he did feel somewhat stronger. She cast another spell, and though he couldn’t feel any effects, she seemed satisfied. “You aren’t going to die today. Your condition isn’t catching?”
He shook his head. Of course they were worried about themselves. They probably had a hard enough time gaining admittance to towns and villages as it was. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a look that passed between Chiyo and Genming. The priestess turned back to him, a calm smile on her lips. “Then you should travel with us.”
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~Hadyn. I need you to meet me outside the city. Tomorrow at noon, near the Sink Gate.~
Volaris’s voice was an unexpected intrusion. He’d been reading an account by a Kethan adventurer into the Infernal plane. Many scholars doubted its authenticity, expecting that anyone traveling there very long would be driven mad, but it was an interesting comparison for Hadyn. If he didn’t consider it a threat to his survival, he might have authored an account of his own travels by now.
~I will be there.~
Abe was gone again on her own mysterious business, and he could spare the time. Considering briefly what the other wizard might want, he returned to his book.
Hadyn teleported out to the sink the next day. He had papers that allowed him to pass freely, and hoped to avoid trouble when he reentered Shiroeki. He’d been in and out on a number of errands now, and was getting a better feel for the process. He left Teah behind this time. She’d been out hunting for the past two days anyway. He missed her presence, though she was never truly out of touch. She was restless at the compound with nothing to do.
The teleport sink acted like a magical magnet. Anyone attempting to teleport within a day’s travel of the city was drawn to the sink, which was armed with a full legion. Access to the Imperial capital was tightly regulated and even using the sink, which sat beside the main road into town, required either a special passport, a silver tongue, or a heavy bribe. Hadyn wondered which the Court Wizard would employ. This particular sink was designed to redirect individuals into small cells. Larger groups found themselves inside a high-walled arena overlooked by archers and wizards.
Once released from the cells, travelers were led trough a section of offices until they stood in the courtyard under the large arch leading out to the road – a symbolic gate. People traveling on to Shiroeki at this point could have their passports cleared in advance at the offices to facilitate their admittance. After processing, Hadyn tried to make himself unobtrusive near the base of the arch while waiting for Volaris. A short while later, a tall magenta-robed figure emerged into the yard, glanced around, and headed his way.
“Hadyn! Excellent to see you – lets head somewhere we can talk more comfortably.” He seized the younger man’s hand and shook.
“Volaris.” Hadyn escaped his grip and followed out of the courtyard. Volaris headed off to the side of the road and cast a spell, summoning a Secure Shelter.
“There we are – privacy.” He opened the door and ushered his companion inside. “Tea?” The cabin came fully equipped and with a cheery fire already burning. Volaris headed directly to the cupboards and produced a pot and a pitcher of water, hardly pausing to catch Hadyn’s acquiescing nod. “How’s your research going?”
“It’s fine. I brought you some notes. I doubt any of it will be useful at this point.” He handed over a scroll case containing some loose sheaves which Volaris tucked into a pouch in his belt.
“I’m sure you’ll turn up something good – Abe’s resources must be truly impressive.” Volaris’s eyes shone with unabashed curiousity.
“Her library, at least, is quite exhaustive.”
“Good, good…. Is she giving you much direction in your studies?”
“Some.” In fact, he rarely saw her more than once a week, and had developed a suspicion that the material she kept at her estate was only a fragment of her collection. She spent much of her time elsewhere – Teah had followed her for a day out of boredom, but had lost her at the same gate where they were now meeting. He certainly didn’t mind being left on his own with the library and lab at his disposal.
Volaris nodded. “Have you heard anything from the other sages?”
“They are still investigating the materials I brought them, but are planning to make an expedition as soon as they completed arrangements with the Dwarven authorities.” The thinking machine he’d officially traded his apprenticeship for was in the Dwarven tunnels that passed from Bellaboca and the Northern Kingdoms and the Southern Empire, or Chuushin-ippin no Teikoku. He wasn’t sure if they would expect him to go or not. He was curious what all they would learn, but he had other priorities. His companion sighed as he poured the tea.
“They might never share what they learn you know. In better times… Well I guess it doesn’t matter. We have enough to worry about.”
Hadyn nodded. In better times, he might have shared his information with the Court Wizard instead of the mysterious Quiet Sages, and Volaris might have been the one leading a party of academics in quest of ancient lore. Instead, the black haired mage spent all his time helping the prince and chancellor manage the Loyalist camp. It wasn’t an especially likely scenario – Hadyn remained wary of other wizards – but the point was that Volaris’s talents were currently being wasted. “What have you been working on?”
“I’ve been playing diplomat with Tavik in Nampung.” Case in point, Hadyn thought. “There are a number of interests there who are sympathetic to Exia. I’m mostly there for show – Chancellor Tavik could handle these sorts of things in his sleep, but it looks better if he’s not the only official.”
“So you were in the area, then.” Nampung was an island off the western coast, and was fairly independent from the Empire. It was small, but had a fair amount of Economic clout and acted as an emporium for exporting Southern goods throughout the rest of Keth. Sterling’s company did a fair amount of trading there, and may well have provided the contacts necessary for this mission.
“I was, I suppose, though this isn’t a social call, I’m afraid.”
Hadyn nodded. it would have been a bit annoying to have to come out all this way just to say hello. “What is it?”
“I’m sure heard that one of out people went missing after the attacks in Shinkyo – An elf named Matteo Atremi. He was captured by the Cult. I’m sure you can imagine the unpleasantness that came from that, though they didn’t actually kill him.”
“What did they take him for?” Hadyn had heard about the missing Elf, and wondered at the time at the resources they’d invested into searching for a lone man. From what he’d picked up since, someone in Shinkyo had managed to track down the cult’s headquarters, but they’d cleared out and left no trace. Volaris had already queried him about how he might be hidden from magical detection, but he hadn’t had any new theories to add.
“We’re not sure. Information maybe. Or maybe they’re just a bunch of sick evil bastards. I’ve been in contact with him recently, using Sending. He’s managed to get away from them, but he’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Go on.” Hadyn wondered what this had to do with him.
“I’d like to just send someone to pick him up, but there are some problems with that. We still can’t detect him with scrying, and he can’t tell us why that is either. He is somewhere in the South – that much we know – but he’s traveling with another group and isn’t sure where he is. The cult cut out his tongue, so he can’t just ask.” Volaris frowned, unhappy with the situation. “He’s also quite sick, and isn’t always entirely coherent when I try to contact him. I understand that they are moving west towards Shiroeki, but I’m not sure he’ll survive the trip.” He paused, setting down his tea. “Have you ever heard of a drug called ‘Agony’?”
“I have.”
“I know a little about it – enough to say that it is bad news. It’s highly addictive and magical in nature. The cult used it on him while he was in their power, and he hasn’t recovered.”
“Agony is a compound made from the essence of pain, harvested magically from torture subjects. It is, as you said, very addictive – I’ve heard of demons using it Someone who was already in a weakened state would have little chance of resisting. It produces, initially, feelings of intense euphoria. If an addict doesn’t get daily doses, their body begins to shut down and they can die quite quickly. From what I understand, after exposure to the intense pleasure the drug induces, the subject’s senses just can’t handle reality.” Volaris’s frown continued to deepen. “Are you sure it was agony? It’s an odd choice for a torture drug.”
“That’s what Matteo said. I gather that the person who did it is uncommonly disturbed.”
“How long has it been?”
“Almost a week, I think. It is hard to have a complex conversation using only sending.”
“If he was going to die, he’d be dead.”
“I think one of the people he is traveling with is a cleric of some sort.”
“Remove Disease should take care of the problem. Otherwise, anything that can give him strength when he is at his weakest.”
“I’ve told him that already. I don’t think this woman is powerful enough to cure him, though.”
Hadyn scowled. He hated it when people asked for his advice and just told him they’d already thought of whatever he’d said. Why ask? He wasn’t such an accomplished healer compared to others Volaris could consult. “Well, she can probably keep him alive, at least.”
“Alright. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t likely to get any worse. I was concerned that the cult might try to use the addiction against him somehow, but he’s in no condition to contact them that I can see, and I haven’t told him anything about our activities just in case. When he gets to Shiroeki, though, I want him brought to us as quickly as possible.”
Hadyn blinked. “Right. Just have him come and knock on Abe’s door – I’m sure they’ll let him right in.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Hadyn. He’s very resourceful. If nothing else, I can contact you once he’s in the city.”
He sighed. “Have him leave a message at Suoh-Hu with Ling and Wei Yeoh, if he can. It’s in the port trading district outside the walls.”
“I will.” He stood. “It’s been good to see you, Hadyn. You’re looking well.”
“It’s been good to get away. Good to see you, Volaris.”
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This was a good day. He even had some energy for moving around outside the cart. Minsheng and Qiu were off with their satchel full of salvage that Genming has collected and more or less repaired. They’d left behind the cracked lute that had become Matteo’s personal project. He wasn’t sure where they’d picked it up, but the group had done a lot of traveling. And now they were headed west towards the coast. He’d promised them money if they could get him that far. It had taken a while to get his message across, but Chiyo, at least, could read some.
The instrument was missing a string, but that only seemed fair considering that he was missing half his fingers. The body was cracked but he’d scammed some twine and glue and managed to doctor it up so that the tone was at least passable. It was never going to be in tune, but it was playable. The only songs he could manage were simple in any case – his hands wouldn’t let him tackle anything more complicated. The music helped him to relax and to offset some of his cravings by giving him something else to focus on. The rest of the time he had to rely on Chiyo.
His music also helped him feel that he was contributing something towards his own upkeep. On days like today, he could sit outside and play while Genming worked. Sometimes people gave them a little money or food, or their interest might be piqued enough that they would at least come and browse through the eta’s wares.
Chiyo found employment according to her calling, blessing the dead, washing their bodies and preparing their spirits to face the final path. Even priests of the Order of Repose were rare in the rural provinces, but she’d found less and less work as they approached more settled western lands. Sometimes she took the younger pair when they ran out of saleable goods to peddle. It kept them from stealing too much or getting into other trouble.
The travelers weren’t having much luck at this particular hamlet so far. They’d come in the night before, Matteo guessed. He’d been pretty out of it, and it could have been earlier. Travelling days were generally rough on him. He plucked aimlessly at his instrument, testing out new methods of improvisation while Genming worked on stitching up a torn pavilion one of the locals had brought over. It was the only work they’d had save a couple of coins tossed Matteo’s way. The area was rich in neither coin nor resources – Genming was being paid in rice.
Clouds in the afternoon threatened rain and promised cooler weather that night. Fall was upon them, and there might be frost. Genming left to gather firewood while he had the chance. It was quiet for a while, with most of the locals concentrating on their own affairs – mostly ensuring that the last of the rice harvest was brought in and properly stored. About half an hour after he left, Minsheng returned. The youth slid quietly up to the side of the cart with an earthen pot of still wriggling fish. He looked around, passed it to Matteo while he jumped up carefully. His sister was nowhere in sight, and he had none of the items they’d set out with that morning. He crept over towards the elf, who was looking for a fairly safe spot for the fish, and crouched down in a pile of bedding.
“Where is Genming?”
Matteo gestured at their meager supply of dry firewood, stacked on the other side of the cart.
Minsheng nodded, doing his best to keep his body low while occasionally peeking over the high sides of the cart. He ignored Matteo’s curious looks, and after a while he crawled out to a position where he could see better.
Qiu appeared a short time later, moving furtively from the shadows in an alley across the street. She paused, moving forward to try and catch their attention. Matteo tapped her brother on the shoulder, but he’d already spotted her and waved back. Glancing around once more, she skipped over and crouched down beside Minsheng. The two glanced cautiously at the elf before huddling together to conspire in hushed tones. Qiu began.
“Did you get them?”
“Yes, but they chased me.”
“Me too – I had to hide the pack so I could get away.”
“Where is it now?”
“In a warehouse, near the mill. Where is Genming?”
“I think he is getting more wood. Chiyo is still waiting for that grandmother to die.”
“If we wait for them, the mill men will find it and take everything!” They both sounded scared and upset, but Minsheng tended to be calmer despite the fact that he was younger by a year or two. Qiu couldn’t be more than sixteen.
“Qiu…. If they catch you back there, they will just beat you until they give it to you anyway, and that is if you are lucky. If Genming were here…”
“Well, he isn’t. And *he* will surely beat us if we lose everything save for a few measly fish!”
“If we go back now, we might well have never fled – they will still be looking for us.”
“Maybe…” She eyed Matteo. He was listening curiously, trying to figure out just what the pair had gotten themselves into. “We went to trade at the mill,” she explained, “but they just took what they wanted without giving us anything. So we snuck into their fish pond so we wouldn’t get in trouble with Genming, but they caught us.”
He nodded knowingly. She was clearly glossing over some details, but it essentially rang true. Except for the part where Genming might beat them. He didn’t seem the type, unless he’d been on good behaviour since Matteo had joined the little band. Qiu certainly seemed to expect it, though, and bit her lip worriedly.
Minsheng shook his head. “It won’t be like that, Qiu. We will just be more poor and tired until we have something else to sell.” He looked over at the half-finished pavilion and the few unfinished items Genming had in store. “Whenever that will be.”
Qiu ignored her brother and, with a cautious peek over the side of the cart, clambered over closer to Matteo.
“Could you help us?”
Could he?
Minsheng frowned. “Qiu, he is sick. He can’t even sit up most days.”
“He is sitting up today! And he is gaijin. That will make them wary.”
“Wary just means they will beat him too. How will he stop them?”
“I don’t know…” She cast her eyes downward, but stole a glance Matteo’s way.
It was probably a bad idea. No. Definitely. But, if nothing else, his fortunes were tied to these people for the moment, and he doubted they were so attached to him that they’d put up with the burden he represented if they were really stretched tight for food. Today was a good day for him – surely even as weakened as he was, he cold handle a few small town brutes. He flashed her a sly smile.
She smirked back, returning to her argument with renewed convictions. “He escaped from Oni, Minsheng. He will be fine!”
Her brother looked between the two of them uncertain in the face of Matteo’s apparent confidence. Finally, he shrugged in defeat and settled down on Matteo’s mat. “I will wait for Genming.”
Matteo combed his fingers through his dirty hair and adjusted the now ratty strip of cloth over his bad eye while Qiu wrenched his staff out from the miscellany that had piled up over the past few weeks. Minsheng still looked dubious, but voiced no objections when they headed back to the alley where Qiu had initially emerged.
She led him cautiously through the back streets, chattering excitedly about how she and her brother had found themselves in this predicament. Thankfully, she let him set the pace – it was best to take it easy and not wear himself out. Qiu saw it as an adventure, with herself cast as the maligned heroine. Her problem was real, and of course it was serious, but she had no apprehension of failure. The possibility served only to strengthen her resolve. It was refreshing, after everything Matteo had seen and experienced since the Spirit Festival. Chang had been determined and confident to a point, but he’d lacked innocence. He’d also failed – killed in an instant by Geron’s spell. Qiu’s crusade might seem less noble than rescuing family from the clutches of the Crimson Cult’s more depraved elements, but it also had a higher chance of success. As long as he didn’t tire himself out too quickly and collapse on her.
He’d tried to keep from getting too stiff by stretching and limping around the wagon on the days he felt more ambulatory, but this was the furthest he’d ventured by a long shot. As liberating as it was, he knew he’d be paying for it later. The further they got, the more he relied on the staff. Qiu gave him a few anxious look, but he reassured her with a smile.
They crossed the village slowly. Eventually, his companion paused and crept into the shadows of a woodpile. Matteo crouched, carefully, beside her. She pointed to a building across an empty lot with several low slotted windows wide enough to admit someone slender and small. Pulling her bulky satchel though would have been more difficult, but some of the slats blocking ingress were obviously loose.
Gordon was with them, of course, darkening Matteo’s shadow when patches of more convenient darkness were lacking. He slid away now, as Matteo and Qiu watched for signs of movement and other potential threats. They saw nothing, and she crept closer, slipping inside quickly. Once her form disappeared from sight, Matteo stood, stretching his stiff leg carefully, and shuffled over to where he could keep better watch.
The Shadow returned shortly, whispering a warning. Four men were approaching. Three were armed only with wooden bokken, but the last had a real sword. Matteo readjusted his posture and leaned on his staff. He could hear Qiu coming back towards the window where she’d already removed the slats for a quick get away. He rapped his knuckles against the sill to encourage her to hurry.
She clambered out, handing him the recovered goods just as the men came into view. He slung the bag carefully over his shoulder – it felt a lot heavier than he’d expected. They started to shuffle off back the way they’d come when their pursuers called out after them.
“She’s back!”
They were on his bad side, so he turned his head to get a better view. The front man was pointing at them with his wooden sword. Qiu tried to quickly duck out of sight, but it was too late. The two similarly armed men stepped up beside their fellow. The fourth, who looked much younger despite being better armed, stayed back.
“Where do you think you are going, you little thief!”
She shrank behind Matteo, her boldness somewhat diminished. “I’m not a thief,” she whispered into his back.
Matteo said nothing. He reached back and patted her on the shoulder, and gave her a gentle nudge backwards.
“Hey! Get out of the way!”
The pair had made it close enough to the alley that he could block the men from taking off after her through at least the most direct route, and this lot didn’t seem like very complex thinkers. He let the bag slide of his shoulder, landing with rattling clunk, and took his staff in both hands.
“Who do you think you are?”
“Another thief, it seems.”
They converged. Matteo smiled, barring his broken teeth. One of the Southerners spat at him, and the leading man took the first swing.
It was an arrogant strike – forceful but in poor form, as though he weren’t worth the effort and wasn’t expecting a challenge. Matteo twisted out of the way easily, sweeping his attacker’s feet from underneath him and burying it between the next man’s legs on the upswing as he stepped forward to take his leader’s place. The third was a bit more careful with his strike, landing a fairly solid blow on the Elf’s shoulder by taking advantage of his blind spot. The blow jolted all the way down his arm, and he was surprised at just how much it hurt. If they’d been using real swords, he would be in serious trouble. He returned the favour with a solid smack to the side of the man’s head.
The one he’d tripped interrupted his follow-up strike by punching him in the injured thigh with the guard of his bokken. Matteo saw stars, and he barely grounded his staff before he toppled. His illness hadn’t completely destroyed his reflexes, though, and he reacted swiftly. Shifting all his weight to his good leg, he slammed the man full in the fact with the butt of his staff, breaking at least his nose.
“Enough.”
The other two backed off when the youth behind them spoke. His voice was clear and authoritative. The one on the ground dropped his weapon and scrabbled back, trying to stop the flow of blood.
“Is this how you seek honour? Chasing dirty eta and fighting with cripples? This is done.” He took his hand off the hilt of his sheathed sword, and turned away. Matteo could just make out Gordon hovering barely an arm’s length away. The two standing men looked to each other, and lowered their weapons, chorusing their “yes, my lord”s. They helped up their fellow instead, backing off watchfully.
Qiu reappeared before he had quite recovered, and retrieved her satchel. She took his right hand, still a bit numbed from that first blow now that the adrenalin was wearing off, and led him away. It started raining before they made it halfway back, and he was soaked and thoroughly chilled when they made reached the wagon. Genming was especially grumpy, but Qiu and Minsheng made sure he was as comfortable and dry as possible after he crawled, shivering, under the awning. H is body was already exacting the toll or that little exercise. There was a dark black bruise spreading across his shoulder and his leg seized with painful spasms. The soaking he’d taken invited fever in its wake, and he was too weak to fight it on his own. As he stretched out to try and rest, however, he didn’t feel regret – only satisfaction.
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Hadyn hadn’t had much time to himself lately. The extra research Volaris had asked him to do was proving more complicated than expected. He couldn’t find any reference to the Shrine of the Fallen - at least none that could help him pinpoint its physical location. The Court Wizard assured him at their last conference that it wasn’t pressing, but his inability to turn up anything concrete bothered him. He’d looked for reference to other areas of demonic activity in the South, but could only turn up a few references to the Sato Shrine. The shrine had held Seijun, a demon-killing sword, until the Loyalists had retrieved it a few months ago. Despite the wealth of resources Abe presented him, she was clearly holding back more than he’d previously suspected.
He now had less enthusiasm for pursuing the projects she assigned, and this no doubt contributed to his desire to indulge in further personal scrying. He’d successfully put it out of his mind since his first experiment spying into his birth home, but recent readings had brought on a new bout of nostalgia. This time he had a person rather than a place in mind.
Even before he’d fled, he hadn’t seen his cousin in almost a year. Ja’Yari’d opted to start early training at the same monastery as her mother, Hadyn’s paternal aunt. She was the only family he’d been close to at all who was still alive.
He decided to use Abe’s ball again, even though he’d recently learned a more powerful scrying spell. It would give him a bit of a buffer in case she was with anyone who might be able to detect the magic. He also wanted another chance to test its other properties. Plus using Abe’s implements for personal indulgence provided him a small measure of petty satisfaction. He prepared the ball, controlling its energies, and concentrated on Ja’Yari. She would have changed a lot in the intervening six years, but it was the personal connection that mattered – he had known her well, and they were tied by blood.
The image came sharply into focus more easily than he’d anticipated. She knelt in front of a crackling campfire, eyes closed, in a pose of meditation. Her reddish hair, the same colour as his own, was cropped close to her skull. It was a monk’s cut. Her body was lean and wiry, and she wore only a little clothing – tight cloth binding her chest and short pants with no shoes. She looked like her mother.
She was clearly not on their home plane. The geography was too natural, with a forest surrounding the clearing where she camped with a small group of others. A few sleeping forms, one snoring, huddled around the fire. Some were stirring as dawn light spread tentative probes into the clearing. In the background, peeking out above the treeline, was the roof of a crumbling old building.
A man approached from behind. He was tall with coppery skin. His hair and eyes were a flickering orange-red that almost seemed like flames – Fire Genasi. The Genasi were part elemental, like Piove in some ways. Their links to the elemental planes were not quite as dominant. Her father was a god, a minor one influencing the weather and wind in her home region. Their nature was similarly reflected in their personality, however, and they often traveled the planes to test themselves and gain power. It wasn’t terribly surprising to find one in his cousin’s company.
As the Genasi approached, her eyes flashed open. They flickered momentarily with an intense anger before calm asserted itself and she addressed her companion, asserting her readiness. Intrigued by her reaction, he tried to see inside her mind. Some crystal balls were imbued with extra effects – both basic thought detection and telepathy were possible and could have been very useful. Other possibilities such as the ability to see the invisible or see through illusion would be harder to test.
The device made no response to his attempts, and he decded instead to cast a spell of his own. Her surface thoughts were preoccupied with her current job – retrieving some magic necklace from the ruins. It was guarded by Lizardmen, and she was considering tactics. There was also an undercurrent of annoyance with her companion for disturbing her meditation, but none of that explained the anger he’d seen moments before. She’d buried it, her monkish training helping her assert control of her. She stood and stretched, frowning.
Hadyn delved deeper as the connection strengthened – buried wasn’t banished. Ja’Yari began moving through her martial forms, trying to further center herself while the others broke camp. As she cleared her mind, it became easier for Hadyn to navigate – soon the hidden anger was the only thing left. It drove her – he could sense as much before reaching the source. Nervous tension wracked his body but he focused his will, paranoia overriding caution. He pushed through the barriers his cousin had erected, and hate came spilling through.
He broke the link, but she’d become aware of him, of an alien intrusion, I that final moment. She called for her companions, but he was already withdrawing from the scrying. One of them might be a mage.
Hadyn sat alone again in Abe’s workroom, starring in shock at the empty ball. Ja’Yari hated him. He pushed the device away quickly, as though she might reach through it and strangle him if he kept too close. Fear mounted at the edges of his consciousness, and he pushed himself away from the table. Why? Where was she? What would she – could she – do? How close was she? Could she be on Keth already?
He backed into a shelf and slid to the floor, his mind reeling. It was true, then – everything he’d feared. They were coming for him. They’d turned everyone against him. He was lost. Hadyn closed his eyes, shutting out the room, and curling inwards. He didn’t even notice when Teah returned from her distant prowling to stretch out, alert, at his side.
