Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  It was basically the same tent, but now the acrid stench of waste filtered in, mixed with the cloying sweet smell of hazish. Behind Scythe stood a gargantuan Altan warrior, clearly pleased with something. Elsewhere in the tent, Silbane could see moving forms that hinted at bare flesh and oil. “Not everything is as it seems.”

  Silbane dropped his head to his chest, knowing now he had been part of a grand illusion, an exhibition of power far beyond anything he could accomplish easily. He coughed once and spit blood, then said, “I am not giving you Arek.”

  Something Scythe must have read in Silbane’s mind showed him the futility of pursuing this line of questioning. He backed away, staring at the master and thinking. Then he motioned to the warrior and said, “U’Zar, I am not finished with him.”

  He looked at Silbane and said in a conspiratorial voice, “No escapes.” The smile that followed was bright and clean, free of anger or worry, a far cry from the man who looked about to kill him a moment earlier. To Silbane, it was like looking at a door that sat unevenly on its hinge when open, yet where no defect could be seen when closed.

  Scythe moved closer and Silbane felt his right arm go numb again. “I also know about Themun’s Finder.” Scythe reached in and in one motion ripped the charm from around Silbane’s neck. “If you won’t help me find Arek, this will.”

  Silbane sat stunned, his mind dazed again. It was clear to him now that with the torc on he felt nothing, no connection to the Way. Without that, he was effectively blind. Everyone on the Isle could be dead. Then he found himself thinking about beautiful summer days, where the sun set with its warm, orange glow. Something whispered in his mind, you need to rest.

  “What will you do with that?” asked the giant, referring to the charm.

  Scythe looped it around a nail above Silbane’s head. “I will create a portal web on this side, should the boy be foolish enough to use it to get to his master. Post additional guards outside this tent. If we are lucky, we won’t have to do anything. He’ll join us on his own and open a door for me into Bara’cor.”

  The nomad shook his head and grumbled, “You have made it clear that Bara’cor’s dwarven stone is proof against your magic, so we throw our men at her walls. Why not use this charm to enter?”

  “We will, in due time,” Scythe answered, his eyes resting on Silbane. “Once the Finder is used, the portal opening cannot be moved. We do not know the whereabouts of his apprentice. What if he has been captured by Bara’cor’s forces? What if the other end opens to an iron and granite cell?”

  Scythe turned to the leader of the nomads and said, “Let us both be patient for a day and see what transpires. You want the fortress and I want to achieve the Gate within. Our interests are still aligned, but we must be sure no one can stop us.” He looked back at the dazed master. “I suspect his apprentice will come to us at his first opportunity.”

  Then he put a hand on the u’zar’s massive forearm and added, “Prepare an assault team to enter Bara’cor. It is a good suggestion.”

  Silbane shook his head, and his eyes flamed in anger. “Lies! I would have felt the death of Themun.” The words tore from his mouth.

  Scythe moved over and sat back down across from Silbane. He grabbed the water skin from the ground and took a long swig, then said, “I would consider sparing you, though. Losing any practitioners of the Way is tragic, and as I said before, you are a good man.”

  Silbane looked at Scythe, hatred smoldering in his eyes. He did not believe anyone on the Isle was dead. The thought was inconceivable, and he knew they were the land’s last hope.

  Scythe looked at Silbane, his head cocked to one side. “The land’s last hope? You still don’t understand, do you?”

  Scythe stood. Smiling down on the master he said, “You are not the land’s last hope. I am.”

  With that, he turned and motioned to his guards who formed up on either side. He looked at the clanchief and said, “I go to prepare the portal web. Wait here and guard him carefully.”

  He looked at Silbane and gestured. At once Silbane felt lethargy come over him, a quiet lassitude that offered him the luxury of sleep. It seemed so natural to him, to be tired now. After his apprentice arrived, he knew everything would be all right.

  Scythe said to the nomad chieftain, “Keep him alive until I give the order. He shrugs off my enchantments too quickly... some side effect of his training. It only invites trouble, but I want his apprentice. If what he thinks is true, the boy is dangerous, to both of us.”

  “What of that collar?” the nomad asked. “Can he not just remove it?”

  “No, Hemendra. I have seen to that.”

  Silbane came more awake, watching as a gap of light appeared from the departure of the insane mage. Into the gap stepped Hemendra, who looked at the master with a strange expression on his face. Contempt mixed with something that Silbane in his addled state could not identify. He realized he could now move his head and speak.

  His mind cleared, as if a fog had been blown away by a clean spring breeze. With his newfound clarity he looked at the clanchief and said, “My apprentice will never come here. You and I are soldiers. It would be better to get this over with now.”

  Hemendra tilted his massive head to one side and said, “Redrobe has requested you be kept alive until your apprentice arrives.” The big man leaned forward and said, “I will follow his suggestion.” With a smile, he turned and left the tent.

  As Silbane watched him leave, a crushing sense of failure closed in around him. Worst of all was the fear that Scythe was right and everyone on the Isle was truly dead. With the torc blocking his path to the Way, he had no way of truly knowing. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. All hope was not yet lost, he reassured himself.

  Something tickled the back of his mind. In addition to the physical training they endured on the Isle, much of their learning went into understanding an opponent’s mental state. The nomad chieftain, Hemendra, had said something... something that didn’t fit well with his demeanor around Scythe.

  Then it struck him, the clanchief had used the word “suggestion.” Perhaps the mage’s help was not as welcome as he thought. Here was a potential weakness, and Silbane prepared himself for any opening that might show itself, however small. For now, all he could do was sit and wait, the heat of the day soaking in through the very air itself.

  A hot breeze blew into the tent, stirring the various trappings. As he sat and waited, he thought again about the torc, the Isle, and about his friend Themun. Could he be dead, as Scythe had said? He took a deep breath. If so, the loss hit him deeply. He rested his head back and his mind flew to the first time he and Themun had met....

  Journal Entry ... unsure

  Victorious, healing… I am tired, too tired to write this morning. Facing it was the key... courage, faith in oneself.

  I do not know how long I have slept. The world here is similar to our own, yet vastly different. It is the reflection of our dreams and hopes, so the fact that it is mostly beautiful speaks to our secret wish for a better place, some sort of heavenly abode for the afterlife. It is where we all end, hence the dragon’s question about “who has died?” I didn’t understand, but regardless, enslavement is not an option. It is the only choice left to us if we continue as the dreamers.

  As I have written, here our thoughts are as dangerous as reality, for our thoughts bring the Aeris into focus. But my encounter with the dark thing below the castle has taught me my first valuable lesson. Though I dream it, I can still destroy it. In fact, I know I am destined to do exactly this.

  I am surrounded now by little helpers. I cannot explain what they are... Imps? Sprites? They are tiny beings that seem to know what I want and fetch it for me, whether it be food, paper, ink, water... I know my mind is creating these supplies, but why small creatures to fetch them? I must research this more.

  They are, however, a pleasant distraction.

  HISTORIES: SILBANE

  Teaching children the Way of Ma
king,

  Reveals the core of your true self.

  A child will show you, through deed and action,

  A mirror of who you really are.

  —Lore Father Argus Rillaran, The Way

  Silbane felt his father’s rough hands push him forward, not unkindly. “He’s ready.”

  The older man standing in front of him nodded and said, “We’ll see.” A wry smile flashed across his face and he stooped, coming eye to eye with the eight year old. “I am Themun Dreys, Lore Father of this isle. Are you ready, young lord of Petracles?”

  “Of course,” Silbane piped. “Been ready forever.” The latter came out matter-of-factly.

  The man stood up, and to Silbane it seemed as if his eyes were smiling. “Really?”

  The boy simply nodded, surmising from the man’s demeanor that he wasn’t looking for an answer.

  “All right,” Themun said, laughing, holding up a hand. “Give us a moment.”

  Silbane shrugged, looking expectantly at the stone dais and the concentric circles inscribed upon it, his mind already whirling through possibilities and permutations on the space and shapes. He barely registered it when the man called Themun spoke again to his father.

  “He won’t be harmed. If he shows Talent, we will provide him, and you, refuge.”

  “Doubtful, but the king’s law requires I turn him over to Deft. And that I won’t do.”

  Themun raised an eyebrow. “She lives?” It was rumored that Alion Deft had died, many years ago.

  “She’s dead, but others of her line continue, much to the land’s ill. The unjust always seem to have more children maligned to carry on their work. But we won’t risk Sil,” the man said, squeezing his son’s shoulders again.

  Silbane felt himself turned around and enveloped in his father’s bear-like arms.

  “Remember all your puzzles... you were always good at figuring things out.”

  Silbane rolled his eyes, but hugged back. They were so concerned all the time. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew he’d be fine. And how long would this hug last?

  “He won’t be harmed,” the other man said, reassuring his father again.

  Silbane’s father let go, reluctantly, then stood up, looking around. “You’ve done well for yourself here. Your services are still in demand?”

  Themun inclined his head and answered, “Only when a subtle hand is needed.”

  “Seems that will always be the case, King’s Law or not.” Then he cast his eyes about the Testing area and asked, “Where do you want us?”

  The lore father gestured to the left, a path that led to a small garden. There, the Lord and Lady Petracles could wait for the outcome of their son’s test.

  Few knew of this place, and fewer still dared the journey. It took real coin and not an inconsiderable amount of luck for his father to find the Isle. And though Silbane and his father were lords of the land, they still defied the King’s Law. Should they be discovered, it would mean a quick and harsh end to House Petracles. They risked much on the off chance the boy showed some Talent.

  Most parents worried about their child passing the test, but Lord Petracles was different. He acted as if Silbane’s power was a foregone conclusion and seemed more worried about what would happen once he passed.

  “What do you know of this test?” Themun asked the young lord.

  Silbane looked up, meeting the lore father’s eyes without waver. “Nothing, sir. Can’t be that hard, though.”

  “Why?”

  The boy was quiet, then he said, “If it’s too hard, you’d be turning away people you want to save. So there must be a way to pass.”

  Themun was silent for a moment, impressed with the boy’s insight, then he laughed and asked, “And what if you don’t pass?”

  Silbane shook his head and a seriousness encompassed him like a cloak. “Don’t worry.”

  “We normally give this test to more advanced students,” the lore father explained. “But your parents have come here at great expense.”

  Silbane looked around, then simply said, “Things attacked our land. We escaped.”

  “If you’re accepted, your parents will have a home here.”

  The boy didn’t respond. The man hadn’t asked him a question. He just stood still, looking at the circle. Eventually, his curious mind blurted, “I stand there?” It was less a question and more a deduction. He just wanted to get started.

  Themun’s mouth tugged up on one end. “Yes.”

  The boy didn’t wait for leave, but scampered to the central octagon tile, jumping at the last moment to land in its center.

  “Fine. Stand ready. Four walls, each based on one of the elements, will rise. Your task is to get through them. If you can’t, I’ll drop the walls and come get you. Don’t be afraid.”

  Silbane rolled his eyes again. Everyone sounded like a parents.

  Before he could finish the thought, four concentric circles sprang up. The closest was made of water and behind that, earth. Beyond that, he could see nothing else.

  He looked at the swirling wall of water before him. It rushed by with a dull roar, echoing through the small, circular chamber it created. He pushed a finger into the wall and felt his hand swept aside by the current. How many had tried to defeat it by pushing through? That would never work.

  Stepping into the current could be deadly, as both drowning and broken limbs could result from the wall of water smashing him into the wall of earth. Since this also was not a desirable outcome, his mind continued its analysis. Silbane had always been told he over thought things, but here it served him well.

  Wait... the wall of earth? His thoughts narrowed, his quick mind flitting through possibilities, discarding each quickly when it did not suit his means. The older man had mentioned four walls, so he assumed air and fire would be the last elements.

  The order might matter, he thought at first. He turned that over in his mind, running through the combinations and quickly came to the realization that it wouldn’t. A slow smile broke out on his face as the answer came to him.

  He positioned his hand, knife-edged, into the water. It cut a line within the stream and threatened to pull him in, but he resisted. He pushed hard, making the gush of water obey his simple redirection. He kept his hand open and still, then angled it, just so.

  Water, hitting the flat blade of his palm, flowed in the direction of his choosing. He tilted his palm more and the stream of water hit the wall of earth. Slowly, the earth became mud. Soaked into submission, it fell away in a mix of brown sludge and dirt. As the hole widened, he continued until there was an arch in the wall of earth that was large enough for him to stand in. Beyond it, he could see the wall of air.

  Then, without hesitation, he pushed both hands against the wall of water and jumped through the momentary gap he’d created in the current. The water wall grabbed at him but he was quick. Because he had hollowed out a space first, he stumbled and fell inside the arch in the wall of earth, instead of being pulled and pummeled by the racing current.

  “Should I keep going?”

  There was no answer.

  The boy added, “I will do the same, bending earth into air, and pushing air into fire.”

  There was still no answer, so Silbane heaved a sigh. “Either the fire will eat the air, or the air will move the fire out of the way. If fire wins, I’ll use water, and you know how that will end.” He made a calculated guess, but his conviction never wavered.

  A moment passed, then two. Then the walls collapsed. Outside the circle stood Themun, smiling. “You are a boastful child.” He paused, then added, “But there seems no point in continuing your test.”

  Silbane didn’t know what that meant, so he asked, “I’m accepted?”

  “Would it matter if I said no?”

  Silbane looked down, not sure if the lore father was kidding. “I want to be here. I won’t give up,” he said most seriously.

  The lore father moved forward and clapped a hand on the boy’s
shoulder. “No, I doubt you would. You are accepted. Don’t worry, your parents are also free to live here, should they choose to do so. Tell them of your success.” Themun gestured to the path on his left.

  “Yes!” Silbane smiled, a beam of sunshine the lore father couldn’t help but return.

  “There are many rules to living here. See Adept Thera and she will answer any questions you or your family have.”

  Silbane looked at the older man, not quite sure how to ask his next question. He had heard stories from his father about this place. Though he had never doubted his own ability, and despite his belief that the test had to have a relatively easy answer, it now occurred to him that many may not pass.

  The test wasn’t about power, it was about thinking, and there were very few who could unravel this water puzzle, despite whatever Talent they had. He looked up, his brows knit, and asked, sheepishly, “Is it true that only one in a hundred are accepted?”

  “No.” Themun’s mock sternness put Silbane in his place. “Go find your parents.”

  It was clear the man was not going to answer is question with anything more than a simple ‘no’, so Silbane nodded, a gesture that included his whole body in a miniature bow, and ran off.

  Themun shrugged, mentally correcting Silbane’s guess as the boy scampered off. It was closer to one in a thousand.

  Part II

  THE NEXT MISSION

  When you are comfortable, you are vulnerable.

  Maintain discipline, master your weakness.

  With repetition, discomfort will feel safe,

  And you will begin to see weakness in others.

  —Tir Combat Academy, Basic Forms & Stances

  Prime and Two returned to the cabin, but neither looked happy. They moved over to where Three stood quietly conferring with Four. The group spoke softly in turns, each nodding as their leader explained something. Then the four turned and made their way back to where Kisan stood with Five.