Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  She had learned from Brother Cerador during their journey that powerful mages, who now ruled Vallonde, had constructed the portals centuries earlier to facilitate travel and trade throughout the nation. As a result, Vallonde had become an economic powerhouse with clout that far outweighed its small size.

  “Ten bits a head,” the bored toll collector said, glancing over the two monks with little interest.

  Cerador counted the required toll from his coin purse and handed it over.

  “Step on through. Don’t tarry, or you’ll hold up the line.”

  Mira followed a step behind as her mentor approached the portal. Without hesitation, he walked through. The soap bubble rippled, and a man and woman stepped forth from Hargelond just to Mira’s left. She took a deep breath and followed her mentor. In an instant, with virtually no disorientation, she passed from a cool, sunny day to a warm, humid, cloudy one. Puddles from a recent downpour filled the square.

  Other than the change in weather, the southern city appeared much the same, although smaller in size. Colorful people with their profusion of wares filled the square and city streets as before. The biggest difference was the omission of the hulking wizards’ tower dominating the skyline.

  Brother Cerador took a moment to orient himself then turned and led a brisk pace through the central square. Within minutes, they were through the majority of the bustle and following a road outside town and leading east, judging by the sun’s position. A swiftly flowing river ran alongside the road to their right.

  “See there, ahead?” Cerador asked. “The Arkada Mountains.”

  Mira smiled at the sight of the green masses of the familiar mountains in the distance. They made good time the rest of that day, Cerador quickening their pace as if in a hurry to reach their destination. Mira was anxious to get away from the crush of the city although the experience had proved quite eye-opening. They stopped an hour after dusk to make camp on a low rise overlooking the river. The road had turned south across a stone bridge and into southern Ketania. The path they were following was little more than a dirt track that would climb a high pass through the Arkada Mountains, and from there, they would reach the monastery in two days’ time.

  As she lay down in her bedroll, she couldn’t help but wonder what their return would bring. Master Dagun would speak with her first, then she would receive her Balance Quest. She was equally excited and nervous about her quest, but a few simple mantras allowed her to calm her mind and put those thoughts aside.

  She quickly fell asleep to the reassuring sounds of chirping crickets and the crackling of the small campfire while her mentor kept watch.

  ***

  Mira smiled when the ancient stone walls of the Illuminated Path Monastery appeared around the bend, as welcoming as an old friend. Built flush against the mountainside, she thought the grouped buildings resembled some of the black-capped songbirds always huddled together against winter’s bitter cold, on the eaves of the White Monastery. The giant aspen growing in the southern monastery’s courtyard spread its canopy overhead, green leaves shimmering in a light breeze. She remembered Master Dagun had once told her the aspen was unusual in that it grew so well alone. Normally, those trees thrived best when together in a grove, yet that one had stood there ever since the monks first called the monastery home.

  Strangely, she wondered whether she would stand tall on her own now that she was being sent away from the order on her own quest. Away from my brothers and sisters who support me, can I thrive as this giant tree? Will my service to the Balance bring honor upon those who have trained and nurtured me?

  The wide gates stood open as usual during the daytime. Past the gates, a long, narrow courtyard extended outward from the buildings on the left to a short wall and sheer cliff straight down to the valley below. Several monks were working the earth in the vegetable garden at the end of the courtyard, and one of them she recognized when he turned slightly.

  Mira barely suppressed a startled gasp at the sight of Master Dagun. The old man had always seemed ancient, like a brittle piece of leather with bright eyes and an easy smile, but now he truly looked ill. He had wasted away to the point that his bones stuck out prominently and sinew shifted beneath his parchment-thin skin. His normally tan complexion had a yellowish tint.

  He’d been imbibing the drake sumac resin, preparing to Ascend, she realized. To Ascend in such a manner was a great honor although it was a feat only performed by the strongest of will and ki, for it was torturous upon the body. Drake sumac resin was used commonly as a wood lacquer, waterproofing it and sealing it against the elements. When consumed, it was a slow-working poison, incapacitating to any not of strong mind and body.

  Master Dagun was to become a living statue while his soul Ascended to a higher plane in search of further enlightenment. She had to carefully compose her emotions, for the thought of losing the old man who was like a grandfather was sorrowful even though she knew she should be feeling joyful for him.

  “Miralei, my dear!” Master Dagun slowly got to his feet from where he had been kneeling in the soft earth. He walked toward her, still relatively spry despite his sickly appearance.

  Mira stopped before him and bowed low in respect. Master Dagun would have none of that, however. He stepped forward and embraced her, his thin arms feeling like sticks enfolding her. She was careful not to squeeze his bony back too hard when she returned his embrace.

  He held her at arm’s length and studied her. “Ah, my dear, you are looking vigorous. Your time at the White Monastery has made you into an exceptional young woman. I understand your studies are progressing well?” In the sunlight, his skin had a brassy sheen to it, a glimpse of the living statue he was soon to become.

  “Yes, Master Dagun, although I’m disheartened I’m not able to embrace the Weave yet.”

  “That will come in time. Although we do seem to be short of that, unfortunately. There is never enough time—that is the one thing all sages and wise men seem to agree on.” He greeted Brother Cerador, who bowed low as Mira had. “Come, I would speak with both of you in my chamber.”

  “I’ll gather some tea and a light repast, for Mira and I have been long on the road,” Brother Cerador offered.

  “Certainly, Brother,” Master Dagun replied. He beckoned Mira to walk with him.

  Her eyes went to the giant aspen in the center of the courtyard when they passed. The white bark of its thick trunk bore black scars from claw marks and fire, all caused by the rage of an angry spirit that Neratiri and her companions had battled in that very spot more than a score of years earlier. The day she found me in the village.

  “Thinking about her, are you?” Master Dagun’s eyes twinkled with good humor.

  He misses nothing. Mira nodded, unsure what to say.

  “I’m afraid the time is now upon us to fulfill our final debt to the Lady Neratiri, the path the Weave has chosen for you since you were an infant. Sooner than I’d like, unfortunately, but we shall make do as we always have.”

  “Of course, Master. I’m prepared, Balance willing.”

  Master Dagun’s chambers were austere although a bit more spacious than those of the other monks, as befitted his station. A simple desk with a hard wooden chair, a narrow pallet to sleep on, and an old battered chest were the only furnishings other than a bookshelf. The scrolls and tomes of the Order of the Illuminated Path filling the bookshelf were the only treasures Master Dagun had need or desire to keep.

  “Will you fetch a couple chairs from outside?” he asked.

  Mira returned with a pair of wooden chairs, identical to Master Dagun’s. Brother Cerador entered a moment later and set a tray on the desk. On it was a pot of green tea, three cups, and a bowl of apples and pears, along with a loaf of fresh bread.

  Cerador served them all tea, and once they were seated, Master Dagun regarded them.

  “You have trained her well, Brother. She is a woman grown, and her ki is strong, I sense.”

  “As is her fortitude and discip
line. She’s been an apt student. I could not have wished for one better.” Cerador nodded at her with a faint smile.

  Mira blushed at the compliment. She was surprised at his praise, for she’d always felt as though she fell short of whatever expectations Cerador had in training her as a Crimson Fist. She looked away, suddenly shy as their penetrating gazes rested on her, and noticed again the bowl of fruit. Her stomach rumbled at the sight, causing her to flush even more with embarrassment.

  Master Dagun chuckled. “Help yourself, child. You’ve had a long journey. Was the trip uneventful?” he asked Cerador.

  Mira gratefully took an apple and bit into it. She had to wipe the juice from the delicious fruit off her chin—they grew in the lower valley and were just as she remembered them from the years she’d lived there, crisp and juicy and slightly tart.

  “We encountered some bandits on the trail very near the White Monastery,” Cerador said. “Unusual, especially for so early in the season. Even though it’s summer down here, up north, winter is barely surrendering its clutches to warmer weather. They must have been either desperate or especially foolhardy, for they threatened us, demanding food and coin.”

  “And was it resolved in short order?” Master Dagun took a long sip of tea, unconcerned.

  “Yes. Miralei taught them a lesson they’ll not easily forget.” The ghost of a smile hovered on his face.

  Mira thought back on the fight. She’d incapacitated the bandits, intentionally inflicting hurt on another person for the first time in her life. The forms had come to her easily, as if the robbers had been moving in slow motion, and she knew instinctively what they were about to do and how to react to it. The opponents with extraordinary control of self, displaying no emotion or tell to reveal their moves, were the truly dangerous ones, she remembered Cerador had once told her.

  Master Dagun seemed pleased. He focused on Mira again. “Events are progressing faster than anticipated—some unknown force is stirring the southern empire to war, threatening the Balance.”

  He was silent for a long moment, so Mira spoke up. “What must I do, Master?”

  “You shall seek out the Lady Neratiri’s son and protect him, that he may fulfill his destiny.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Me? But I’m not even a full sister of the order yet. If he’s her son… isn’t he a powerful warrior himself? Or magic user perhaps?” She couldn’t fathom how her simple abilities could protect one such as the son of a demigod.

  “Ah, but you are. The honorifics just won’t be performed until this eve.” Master Dagun smiled as she sat up straighter, surprised. “Miralei, as you sit here before me, I see your skein in the Weave, the strands radiating outward like a sunburst. I see one fiber in particular, a lifeline nearly, seeking him out even as he draws others to him.”

  “Like the ripples in a pond?” Mira asked.

  Master Dagun had once taught her of the Weave and how people’s lives were like a handful of pebbles tossed in a pond, their ripples spreading out and interacting with the ripples of others. However, some individuals were so influential in the Weave that the waves they produced swept aside all others like a tsunami, even threatening to overflow the pond’s banks, as if a boulder had been dropped in.

  “Indeed.” Master Dagun nodded. “This young man will by necessity have had his heritage concealed from those around. The forces sowing discord seek him out though I don’t believe he has uncovered his talents yet. Thus, he’ll still be vulnerable. His precise location is unknown to me, yet I sense he’s in the southlands somewhere. Brother Cerador’s path lies elsewhere, and you yourself have not the woodland skills needed. Therefore, I’ll ask if Kennitt will be so kind as to escort you in your quest.”

  She remembered Kennitt from her youth. He was a ranger that lived in the wilderness in the valley below the monastery and was a staunch friend to the monks, often trading meat he hunted and trapped for bread and vegetables. He wasn’t much for conversation, yet none knew the lands better than he. If Neratiri’s son is hiding in the southlands, Kennitt can find him. If I could but see the Weave, it would be much easier. However, despite her renewed determination and lessons given by Cerador in their spare time at camp during the past week of their travels, the ability still eluded her.

  Master Dagun leaned forward and gripped her hand, his wise, piercing gaze pinning her in place. “I wish I could say your path will be easy, dear child, yet I fear it will not. You’ll be tested in ways you never thought possible. Would that I could switch roles with you, yet that is not in the pattern of the Weave, for such has it been since that day she rescued you from the ruins. Her influence has affected you ever since, much like a lodestone drawing iron filings.” He blinked then, and moisture filled his eyes.

  “I will do what is needed. I serve the Balance,” Mira replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “Indeed you do, bold heart.” His sad smile nearly caused her eyes to well up also. “But fear not, for you’ve the fortitude necessary to pay the Balance’s due, of that I have no doubt. Pay not too much heed to an old man’s sentimental thoughts.”

  Mira sat there, uncomfortable and emotional herself, not knowing how to reply.

  “I shall dispatch a messenger to Kennitt in the valley and see about the preparations for the ceremony,” Brother Cerador said, filling the awkward lull. When Master Dagun thanked him, he politely excused himself.

  “How much longer do you have until you Ascend?” Mira asked, changing the subject.

  “Not long, I suspect. Days rather than weeks. The resin of the drake sumac saps my strength and constitution greatly. I can tolerate naught but rice and tea and water now—soon my body will shut down completely, and I shall begin my next journey. My catacomb is already prepared—I’ll be sealed inside to harness my spirit until I Ascend, leaving but an effigy of this mortal shell behind. Alas, I fear we shan’t see each other again in this lifetime once you set foot outside these grounds on the morrow.” Master Dagun gently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a brass-colored, callused thumb. “Be not sorrowful for me, dear child, for my quest for further enlightenment is just beginning. Death is not the end but merely a stop along the journey.”

  Mira couldn’t control herself any longer. As tears streamed down her face, she moved to embrace the old man who was a grandfather to her and, for a brief time, allowed her emotions to get the better of her.

  ***

  The next morning, Mira said her farewells to Master Dagun, Brother Cerador, and the other members of the monastery, all two score of whom had turned out to see her off. She was able to control her emotions this day—the prior day’s weakness had been a much-needed release, and she felt renewed and much clearer, ready for the challenge ahead to preserve the Balance in all things.

  Kennitt, a sturdy man in his fifth decade but who looked a couple dozen years older from his deeply tanned and windburned skin, waited just outside the gates. A large horned owl sat on his shoulder, its striking amber eyes missing nothing.

  Around Mira’s waist rested the crimson sash she had been awarded the prior evening upon being inducted as a Crimson Fist, a militant and full sister in the Order of the Illuminated Path. Master Dagun had intoned the words while Brother Cerador secured the sash around her waist.

  She straightened the sash as she thought back on Master Dagun’s words. “Bold of spirit, stout of heart, strong of intellect and body, we welcome our sister, Miralei, into our fold. She was born and plucked from the ashes of Lakeshore and came into our order as a girl of ten summers. Now, she leaves through these same gates a woman grown and a fellow sister. The path she shall tread will be arduous, yet she shall persevere until the Balance is finished with her. I am proud to bestow the honor of the Crimson Fist upon her. Our best wishes go with you, Sister Miralei.”

  She cleared her throat, returning her thoughts to the present to address the patient group of monks standing before her. “I shall see you all again, my brothers and sisters, whether it be in this life
or the next. In all things, I serve the Balance.” Mira bowed low after saying the traditional words of one leaving on her Balance Quest.

  “Go in peace, Sister, and the Weave guide and protect you.” Master Dagun bowed in return.

  The other monks all applauded politely then approached her in an orderly line, each wishing her success on her quest. She thanked them and bowed to each. Finally, she reached the end of the line. Brother Cerador surprised her with a friendly hand clasp.

  “Go in peace, Sister Miralei, and the Weave guide and protect you,” he said. “As a Crimson Fist, be not hesitant to smite down those foes of the Balance, should the need arise.” He smiled at the last part, and she grinned in return.

  Then he stepped aside, and she faced Master Dagun. His skin seemed to shine even more metallic in the morning light than the day past, with a sheen like polished brass.

  Before she could speak, Master Dagun gave her a warm embrace. “There isn’t much more to be said, child. We shall meet again in the next life, of that I have no doubt. Go in peace, and the Weave guide and protect you.”

  “And you, Master Dagun. I look forward to our next meeting.” She bowed deeply, and when Master Dagun bowed in return, she turned on her heel and strode toward the monastery gates. She picked up her pack of meager possessions and her stout staff and didn’t look back, fearing that if she did, she’d have another moment of weakness with her emotions getting the better of her.

  “About time all that blathering was through,” Kennitt grumbled. He stood up from the boulder he was sitting on and walked down the path when she approached. An unstrung yew longbow was slung across his back along with his pack while a quiver of arrows hung from one hip. “The sun is already a quarter of the way in the sky.”