by DJ Molles
“Squire,” he said.
“Yes, Paladin Senex?”
“Are you Confluent?”
“All squires for House Rennok are required to be so.”
Senex nodded. “When we enter, do so with confidence. Keep your head up. Don’t bow.”
“Don’t bow?”
“Don’t,” Senex confirmed, then entered the auditorium and strode towards the center with his shoulders back and his head up, his old back tightening and complaining—he would have much preferred to sit.
He kept his eyes forward, as though he was unconcerned with the massive beings sprawled out across the vast chamber. But out of his periphery he saw their attention on him—felt it, like a heat on the back of his neck. A heat that emanated from the green glow of their eyes.
He stopped in the very center of the auditorium. Turned first to his left, then to his right. “I have done as you requested,” he announced, trying to project as much strength into his voice as he could—a pale comparison to how it used to sound in his early years.
As he looked around at the strange figures surrounding him, he noted that they all sat in the same places as last time. Had they even moved from their spots? They had not left the auditorium, of that Senex was sure. Did they just sit here endlessly? Did they even speak to each other when they were alone? Or were their minds fixed on a different time and place?
Are they all mad?
Senex recognized Batu when he stirred. The deep, threatening rumble of his voice that Senex could feel in the soles of his feet.
“You have gathered all of your kind that do not possess Confluence?”
Senex met Batu’s gaze and held it with some effort. “I have. As you requested.”
The corners of Batu’s mouth wrinkled. Was that a smile? A smirk? A grimace?
“Good,” Batu said, languidly. A single massive hand swept slowly through the air. “Show them in.”
Senex nodded to the squire, and he shuffled off, moving quickly, as though relieved to be free of the auditorium, though he would only have to come right back in.
One of the huge figures leaned forward, placing an elbow upon its knee and resting its head upon one great fist. Senex recognized Halan the Eldest. “How many are there?”
“Over six hundred,” Senex answered.
Halan gave no response to this, but appeared to be staring at Senex. Was it disbelief in those craggy features? Anger? Or apathy?
Senex cleared his throat. “Can you teach that many?”
Halan reared his head and uttered a laugh that boomed like tectonic plates colliding. He pointed to Batu, across the auditorium. “Brother Batu. Can you teach that many?”
Batu’s teeth shown like steel plates. “It will not be an issue.”
“Pardon my ignorance,” Senex said into the silence that followed. “How are you capable of imparting Confluence? The legends have led me to believe that Confluence can only be passed on through blood.”
“And so it will be,” Batu answered, somewhat flippantly.
Senex’s stomach did a somersault as he heard the treads of many feet, echoing down the corridor. What did Batu mean by that? Did he mean to make them bleed? What sort of horrors were imagined behind the reticulated armor of his skull?
Batu stared at him, perhaps bemused—that was the impression that Senex got. “Worry not, Paladin Senex. I have no intention of spilling the blood of your children.”
Senex inclined his head respectfully—not a bow, just an acknowledgement.
The hundreds of un-Gifted filed their way into the chamber. Senex watched their faces fill with awe. They had seen the arrival of the Nine, but most of them had only caught sight of them at a distance, and ever since, they’d been in the auditorium.
They bunched together as they entered, shoulders rubbing and feet stepping on each other. Where in the passage and outside they had been spread out, now they seemed to make themselves smaller, fearing getting too close to these monstrous beings they called their forefathers.
They looked like a herd of frightened animals to Senex. And he hated them for that. Hated what the gods around him must be thinking as they looked down upon their shameful progeny.
The squire returned to Senex’s side. It didn’t escape Senex that his hands shook and he had to clasp them at his waist to keep them still. Other paladins stood at the entrance to the auditorium. The heads of their houses. Watching to see what might be done for their un-Gifted descendants and offspring.
“Is this all?” Batu rumbled, leaning forward on the edge of the throne he filled.
Senex was unsure if that required an answer. It seemed rhetorical, so he chose to stay silent.
Slowly, Batu’s head shook back and forth. “What shame you must feel to see your sons and daughters so weak. The rulers of this earth, degraded to such a point as to be indistinguishable from the ruled.”
“Have mercy on them, Batu,” Halan said, his voice a basal whisper, like waves crashing on rocks.
“Of course, Halan,” Batu replied. “As always, you are the eldest and wisest.” Batu then stood. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. Senex watched him rise to his full height, his head seeming capable of brushing the domed ceiling of the auditorium.
Batu raised his hands, and in the open palms, the air began to swirl and glow. “You un-Gifted, shames of your households, I will now teach you the ways of the gods. Watch carefully, for this lesson will only be taught once.”
Batu thrust his right hand towards the rear of the auditorium, and the massive stones that had stood for hundreds of years simply came apart in a rumble and shriek of friction. The air between Batu’s hand and the stones shimmered violently, and the stones shattered, but held together as though lashed by some magnetic power. Slowly, they bowed outwards. Light began to glow between the cracks, and for a moment, Senex thought that it was the green light of Confluence…
No. It was daylight.
The auditorium stood at the edge of The Clouds, and as the stones pressed out and began to separate and fall away, bright sunlight filled the space, and a stark blue sky beyond.
Breathless, unmoving, Senex and every other paladin, both the Gifted and the un-Gifted, stared out at that massive opening, a window, a doorway out into nothing.
What was the lesson? What could possibly be imparted by this show of force, no matter how impressive?
Batu’s left hand then rose up and he made a gesture with it. Just one, single swoop, as Senex might have to flip through images on a projection.
And with that gesture, a wind filled the auditorium—except that it was not wind. It was simply movement. Like the air itself had captured them all and was pulling them along its course, like a river.
Senex stumbled, caught his feet, and resisted the tide.
But it was irresistible to others.
In shock, Senex watched as the hundreds of un-Gifted were lifted off their feet as though by a massive swell, and carried towards the opening in the auditorium.
“Wait!” Senex cried out, but the air had thickened to the point that his words sounded muffled in his own ears. When he looked at the paladins around him, he saw their mouths open in silent cries.
The un-Gifted tumbled over each other, detritus caught in a wave.
And out they went. Every single one of them. They flew into the blue sky—and then they dropped. Flailing arms and legs, looking black against the brightness, and then disappearing.
The wind suddenly died.
The air rushed back into Senex’s lungs in a painful burst. He doubled over, then quickly righted himself, terrified to appear weak. His eyes jagged up to the other paladins—the heads of house that had come to watch, and saw the same horror on his own face mirrored in theirs.
He whirled around, unthinking. His gaze landed on Batu, who still stood with his hands outstretched. “What have you done?” Senex cried, knowing that he risked his own life the second that the words left his mouth. But he was old. Far from death, but he was not a
coward either. He had run his course.
Senex tried to rush to the edge of the auditorium, to look back over that great expanse through which the un-Gifted had been ejected. He made it a few steps before a wall of air seemed to encapsulate him, and his movements were like being stuck in tar.
Halan stood up, and for a brief moment, Senex thought that he would rebuke Batu the Trickster, but instead, his attention seemed to be on Senex.
“This is the lesson,” Halan boomed, his voice jarring Senex’s bones. “A god without powers is merely a human. And humans do not live on The Clouds with their rulers. You may think that what we have done is unmerciful, but that is because you have grown weak. You have grown fat and despicable. Our mercy is shown in how we have allowed you to witness this, so that you might not come to the same fate. And so mark this lesson well: weakness has no place amongst us.”
Halan sat down again. The weight of his body rumbled through the stones of the auditorium like a distant explosion. “You may go, and teach this lesson to your peers.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FLIGHT
“How long is this going to take?” Perry asked, as he and Mala moved to a quiet corner of the temple. “Because it’s kind of urgent that I get to Junction City. I can’t spend another week here learning to fly.”
Mala shrugged. “That depends on how adept you are.”
“Guesstimate for me.”
Mala stopped, looking briefly up at the statue of the Giver of Death—a grim, faceless effigy of someone that hadn’t really existed. “Ten minutes?”
Perry drew back. “What? That fast?”
The rest of his crew had followed him over. He assumed so that they could watch and make him nervous.
“She’s flattering you,” Stuber noted. “Mala, he’s really very clumsy.”
Mala nodded. “I’m aware of his clumsiness.”
Perry rolled his eyes. “I’m many things, Stuber, but clumsy isn’t one of them.”
“It’s an easy skill to learn,” Mala said. “But difficult to master. To fly accurately from landing point to landing point, as I do, requires training and finesse. However, you, by yourself, out in the middle of nowhere? You should be able to do it without hurting anyone. Except maybe yourself.”
“Comforting. What’s first?”
“First, lose the longstaff.”
Perry placed it against the wall, then stepped back towards the center of their impromptu training space.
“Now…” Mala said, easing herself down onto the floor in a cross-legged sitting position. Perry started to mimic her with a frown of confusion, but she waved him off. “No, you stand. I’m sitting because I’m going to pass out if I don’t. Now, it’s about the shape that you form your shield into. You’re using your shield to give you lift. You want it to fully encapsulate you, but you want the bottom of your shield to be wide, and concave. Like a dinner plate. Can you do that?”
Perry looked down at his feet. “If I do, my shield will melt these stones.”
“Not right now. I’m just asking if you can form your shield that accurately.”
“Oh. Yes, I can do that.”
“Good. So, step number one, you have to jump as high as you can. Once your feet leave the ground, you’ll form the shield as I instructed you, and then you pulse the bottom of it very sharply out. Imagine it as a bowstring—you’ll pulse it by pulling that concavity towards you and then snapping it back into place. If you do it sharply enough, that pulse will give you lift.”
Perry nodded. Waited. Glanced up at her.
“That’s it,” she stated. “Go ahead.”
“Alright…” Perry took a deep breath, connecting to his clasp, but not yet activating his shield. He hunkered down into a half-squat. “Easy to learn,” he murmured to himself. “Just pulse it like a bowstring. I can do that.”
He jumped. Activated his shield, picturing the form he wanted it to take as his feet left the ground—like a wide-bottomed egg all around him…
He hit the ground again, his shield slamming into it. A massive crack echoed through the space, and heat blasted up his legs. He yelped and jumped away from the superheated stone he’d created. A guilty glance down the temple showed a gathering of legionnaires staring at him. One of them was shaking his head, but the others apparently found it greatly amusing. They settled in for more of the show.
“Fuckers,” Perry mumbled bitterly.
“No, no,” Stuber called out, unnecessarily loud. “You’re doing great. I’m sure everyone destroys a temple their first time.”
Mala calmly waved a hand at Perry. “Try again. You’ll need to be quicker with that pulse. Is that really as high as you can jump?”
“Yes, that’s as high as I can jump,” Perry snapped. “I’m not a seven-foot-tall super human.”
“Sure,” Mala sighed. “Keep going back on the old ‘runt’ excuse. Regardless, try to jump higher, and pulse faster.”
Perry felt sweat breaking out on his lower back—not from effort, but simply from the nerves of having his friends, and now an entire squad of legionnaires, watching him with bemused expressions.
He centered himself. Focused. Tried again.
This time he formed his shield and pulsed it almost at the exact same moment that his feet left the ground.
He shot up. A moment of glee, like a dream coming true—followed by terror as he realized he’d launched himself at a bad angle and was careening towards the Giver of Death. His only thought was Don’t collapse the temple! So he extinguished his shield.
He slammed into the side of the massive statue with a bone-jarring crunch, and immediately fell. Five feet, flat on his back onto the hard stone ground, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
He coughed, laying there for a moment while he tried to wheeze some air back into his chest. Gods in the skies, but that hurt.
A trickle of laughter from the other side of the temple reached his ears.
“You okay?” Stuber asked, sounding like he didn’t really care much.
“Yeah,” Perry groaned. “Fine.”
He struggled back to his feet.
“That’s another thing,” Mala noted. “As you descend, you’ll want to make a much softer pulse just before you let your feet hit the ground. Otherwise, you’re just falling from whatever height you managed to launch yourself to.”
“Good to know,” Perry growled, his anger rising, helping him push away his nerves.
His third, fourth, and fifth attempts resulted in a bloody elbow, a turned ankle, and a large chunk of stone missing from the wall of the temple. And more laughter from the legionnaires. Who had now begun to call out encouragement, albeit sarcastically.
Ramming himself into rock structures gave him the most solid beating he’d had since his days in Hell’s Hollow. It was good, he figured. He’d started to forget what it felt like when he knew he was going to piss blood later.
“Try flapping!” a legionnaire called.
Perry swiped the dripping blood from his elbow and glared at Stuber. “One of you heathens is enough for me.”
“Please,” Stuber blew a raspberry. “I’ve been a model gentleman. Note the restraint I employed when I refrained from telling you that you probably don’t want to break your fall with your face.”
Perry smiled savagely at him. Gave him an angry wink. “You’re right. That’s great advice. I’ll try that this time.”
And with that, Perry launched himself into the air.
And flew.
Straight up—which was a victory—followed by another quick pulse which brought him to the sphincter puckering height of the statue’s faceless head. Then he began to fall. Straight down. Still feeling elated, but knowing that he needed to land before he bragged—one more pulse, gently this time…
Just before his feet hit the ground and sent his tibias into his throat, he pulsed again, gently this time.
And alighted. Just as soft and graceful as you please.
Perry grinned. “Did you s
ee that? I alighted. Clumsy my ass.”
Then he proceeded to give a rude gesture to Stuber, and the same to the legionnaire across the temple. They guffawed and offered him a round of applause.
“Very good,” Mala said with a pale smile.
“Should I do it again?”
“No, I think you have the basics down.”
“Thank the gods,” Perry breathed, slouching. “I don’t think I could take another mistake.”
“Well, make sure you don’t make a mistake out there,” Mala bobbed her head in a nebulous direction, which Perry took to mean out in the wastelands. “Break a leg out there and you won’t be able to jump again, and you’ll be stranded in the middle of nowhere by yourself.”
“Again, your words are so comforting.” Perry limped over to his group. “You’re so full of gentle, motherly instinct, it’s a wonder you don’t have children.”
Petra pointed to the leg he was favoring. “How’s your ankle?”
Perry waved it off. “It’s fine. Not broken. I’ve had worse.”
An awkward silence descended on the group. Perry, Teran, and Stuber seemed to be avoiding each other’s eyes. Mala, Petra, and Lucky watched them curiously, like observing some foreign tribal dance with an inscrutable purpose.
Stuber rubbed a knuckle under his nose and gestured outside. “You, uh, should probably use the daylight you got left.”
Perry sucked in a breath. “Right. Yeah. I should get going.”
More awkward silence.
Perry grunted, suddenly irritated at all three of them—himself included. “Alright, look. I’d love to have you guys with me, but I understand the position you’re in. Nothing to be done for it. And you guys are right. I can do this on my own. I guess I just started to see you guys as a bit of a…I don’t know…a security blanket.”
“You got your shield and your longstaff,” Stuber said. “And now you know how to fly. Or at least hurl yourself around. Which is close enough.”
Perry nodded, smiling. “Right. If things go bad, I can hurl myself out of danger at least.” He grew serious again. “But you guys can’t. Especially you, Teran.”
