by Swanson, Jay
No... He closed his eyes and pulled back his hands. There was no stopping this.
And there hadn't been. It didn't stop the pain of losing Cid, nor did it make it any easier to walk away from him now, but walk away he must. There were greater things at stake, and Cid had played his part. You can rest now, old man. Rest.
The anger was still there, though. He stood, collecting himself as an explosives technician might gather nitrous. The volatility roiling just under the surface scared him, and threatened to spark that lack of stability introduced by the Shadow King. He had to contain it, to control himself as he could sense Tristram doing every minute he was in his presence. There was nothing left to do here. He had to move on or risk losing himself and everything that hung in the balance.
“What do we do with him?” Ardin didn't even raise his head to ask the question. Disbelief tied his stare to the corpse like an anchor.
“Burn him.” Tristram knelt over the man in brown, healing his wounds as Ardin wished he could have done for the Fisherman. “Armor, weapons and all. To bury him is to feed him to the monsters of the Relequim. To leave his affects is to supply trophies for his enemies. Burn his body, Ardin; he would desire as much.”
Ardin looked around the field now as the sun began to set in the west. Bodies littered the ground as far as he could see, some whole, others in pieces.
“Is this what the world would become if we stood by and watched?”
Tristram alighted at his side, following his stare along the rolling ground. “This is but a foretaste, Ardin. Scarcely a dream in comparison to the waking nightmare that awaits us should the Relequim succeed where his will is bent.”
“There are so many...”
“There will be far more who die in far more horrific ways if he is not stopped. There is something in the north, Ardin, something that he has been developing in darkness for centuries. The Islendans are wrong in their belief that the evil was born of Trua. The Eastern Empire is not their true enemy. His intentions have always been clear; to rule and destroy mankind is the one certainty we may have when dealing with him at any time. But his methods have yet to be revealed. Guide these people to the sea, Ardin. If Oscilian was successful in his task, ships should be on their way to meet you now. Get what remains of these people off of this continent, then join us to the north. The Relequim is planning his attack on Veria, and it is during his invasion that we might find our chance to strike at his heart.”
“What about Veria?” The foreign name for his own Continent felt strange on his lips. “Will you leave it undefended?”
“Veria is better defended than many know, Ardin. His method of warfare never led to the development of the technology your people possess. It is one of their few advantages. He must strike them while they are divided, for he knows he is not strong enough to attack them while united. But even should your people fall, we must take the opportunity their sacrifice provides to ensure that the Relequim never succeeds.”
“We?” Ardin looked up at the giant that floated next to him. He wondered what his face would look like, if he had ever even had one to go behind the low mask and under that hollow hood.
“Even combined, the Brethren are not enough to stand against the Relequim. His strength is unified in one form, where ours is divided into three. He has been pouring himself into something, however, bending what he has learned about the spiritual realm to some purpose that keeps his surplus of power at bay. If that has not changed from the last time we faced him, your presence may be enough to turn the tide when the time comes to face him.”
“You expect me to fight him?” Ardin took a step back. “I could barely keep my feet when standing in that room with him.”
“Next time you will not be alone. And you will not be expected to engage him directly. We need your power, the power of the Magess Charsi, to bring him to his knees. This time we aim not to imprison but to destroy him.”
“Can... can you do that?” Ardin felt little comfort in the warrior's words. “Destroy him?”
“None of us knows, but we will try. We must try, for to allow his return again would be unacceptable. Mankind alone may survive this age, Ardin. The Magi are gone, and soon we Greater Beings will follow. The Titans are all but extinct, and after we cleanse the land of the Relequim's abominations there will be few monsters left of which to speak. Our future promises to be grim, but there is hope beyond the struggle. Stand with us in this last fight. To so choose is to fight to give meaning to the deaths of those you loved, where otherwise they would merely be counted among the slaughtered.”
Counted among the slaughtered? Ardin's stomach pulled at him to think that his family could die for nothing. But Tristram was right. If the Relequim was defeated, they would have died to stop him. If he was victorious, they would only have done what the rest were destined to do.
“Your love for the girl is evident, Ardin. If you fight for anything, fight to be with her again. For if the Relequim destroys you, there is a chance he can break your link to her and separate you forever.”
“That's possible?” Ardin was taken aback even further. “Just keep the good news coming...”
“He has been able to separate the Magi from their destined path, Ardin. It has only occurred a few times that we know of, but somehow it is possible. We don't know where they have gone, yet we fear the worst. In your case, he cannot accomplish as much for you are human, and humanity carries a special bond in the spiritual realm that is unbreakable. But you may lose your inherited path nonetheless.”
Or I could run, Ardin thought before he brushed the thought aside. No. I started this and I've seen it this far... He stared back off towards the setting sun. There wasn't anger now, there was only sadness. A deep and unyielding tug at his very core to think of all those he had loved. Of all he had lost. Cid... what would you do if you were here? But he knew the answer to that innately.
“I'll stand with you,” he said after a long silence. “I have no other choice.”
Tristram was gone in a flash, though somehow Ardin could sense him depart in ways he had never noticed before. His link to the Atmosphere through the Shadow widened his perception beautifully, even if he didn't yet fully understand it. The man in brown was still ailing somewhat from his injuries, but had been patched up well enough to continue on. His name, he said, was Hevetican, and he offered Ardin his condolences before he would even permit them to discuss their route. Ardin appreciated the weight the old man gave to the Fisherman's death.
Ardin sighed, the loss still heavy on him. I'll have time to mourn you properly someday, Cid. Just not yet. Not yet.
Hevetican's eyes had been wide at the appearance of Tristram, but they grew even wider to see Ardin burn the Fisherman's body to ash in seconds. Ardin no longer truly noticed people's reactions to his power; they were a natural side effect now.
They made their way into the hills, following a trail stamped out clearly by thousands of feet before them. The bodies of a few of the Granhal lay scattered in the more narrow sections, crushed under massive rocks and stabbed with small blades. Ardin was as surprised by the old man's reaction as he was by the sight itself. Hevetican seemed unfazed in the least.
They rounded the corner to the higher part of the trail, and Ardin found out why. Fifty young olive-skinned men awaited them bunched up in a space that was broad enough for only five to pass. They smiled to see Hevetican, who waved to them before they rushed down to greet him.
He spoke in a tongue Ardin had never heard before, then turned to explain. “These are the ones who ambushed those we saw below. They were prepared to stand in this gap and die to buy those escaping more time.” To recount what he knew to Ardin only made Hevetican's pride beam all the brighter. The relief on each and every face that they would not have to see their commitment through was plain to Ardin, who stood apart to watch them celebrate with hugs and kisses.
“Come.” Hevetican took Ardin by the hand. “It is getting late in the day. We must rejoin the rest and
make camp, but first... can you...”
He looked up at the high walls of the natural cleft in the stone. Ardin understood well enough, and gestured that they should make their way ahead. He walked slowly behind them, watching as they laughed and slapped each other on the back. He envied their carefree joy in spite of the slaughter below. They had survived another day and proved themselves at the same time. It compounded Ardin's loneliness to see their love for each other.
He turned after walking fifty feet into the cleft, halfway to the other side where the path worked its way up and over a hill. He sighed, and raised his hand. The warmth came at the slightest suggestion, swirling up and through him in such a familiar way that he scarcely noticed it at all. He opened his hand, sending out his grip on the walls, then closed it into a tight fist. The first ten feet of the cleft were left untouched, but the following twenty were brought together in what must have felt to the old stone to be a cataclysmic event. He raised the broken slate up, heating and re-solidifying it in a manner he had thought impossible until he applied himself to the task.
“God help us if this is all that stands between us and destruction,” he said to no one as he turned to follow his new companions.
The march to the coast was long and dull. The people were slow for all their wounds and wear, but their hearts were lighter. They were no longer hunted, to their knowledge, and no longer feared betrayal from their ancient rivals-turned-stewards. They may have been relatively unprotected, but many of them had never expected to make it this far in the first place. Most seemed content to die free in place of wallowing in the prison camps that had been their homes for so long.
Ardin wasn't sure any more where he stood at the moment, nor what options were truly open to him. The long walk to the coast was providing him with more time to think than he really wanted. The people were more welcoming than he had expected; every night he was ushered to a different campsite to share a meal. He didn't speak the language and rarely found someone with whom to talk, but he knew they were grateful for him nonetheless. The story of his arrival had spread well ahead of him, and his white armor and cape marked him for the man to whom deference was owed. He still didn't know where the armor had come from, though he expected it was somehow tied to the Shadow King.
The lack of companionship brought its own sense of loneliness, and soon he found himself thinking of Cid, wishing the old man was around to warn him of danger or play some joke and laugh his belly laugh. Their companionship had been brief, but so intense that Ardin felt he had hardly known life without him. Those thoughts only led him to Alisia. How he would call her to himself now was a mystery he had yet to even approach, let alone unravel.
The people he found himself traveling with now were strange in almost every way to him. To every meal they added the spiciest herb he had ever tasted, and they added it in plenty. He had never eaten food so hot, nor so strange in texture. They ate out of shared bowls, each person digging into the same dish on the ground with one hand. The stuff wasn't all that appealing to Ardin at first. He particularly disliked eating out of the same bowl. But he came to like it after a few meals, and the shared dish soon was a normal part of every meal to him. Still, it made him miss food from home with every bite.
For all they had been through, the people laughed and sang a lot, much more than what he had briefly seen when they had been under the care of the Islendans. They even tried to teach him some of their language once in a while, but he felt like his tongue swelled up and stuck to the roof of his mouth every time he tried.
Hevetican visited him regularly. It didn't take long for the Truan to fill him in on everything that had transpired in his absence. Ardin was shocked at the Greatbow's treachery, angered that he would turn on Cid. If he hadn't shot the Fisherman, Ardin was convinced his friend would still be alive today. Hevetican surprised Ardin, however; for all the fear and hatred he had heard the Islendans spew about Truans, he seemed eloquent and reasonable enough. To Ardin's surprised relief, he was discovering that the Truans were warm and welcoming.
Tristram had pointed out the mark of the Demon in Hevetican as a caution, but noted that he had stood to give his life against the Demon's forces. Ardin wondered if the old Truan truly was a threat from time to time, but if the old man looked to keep him disarmed, he was doing a fantastic job of it. He would pull out plants and roots as they walked among the low trees that dotted the landscape, teaching Ardin their healing or harmful properties, showing him how his people mixed leaves and roots to make salves, how they thought of it as magic.
Then one night he pulled Ardin aside to show him his own magic. He had been the chief magician in the royal courts of Trua before it fell, he told Ardin. Now he was but a shepherd of a nearly-exterminated flock. He was the guardian of lost arts, some of which were Truan, some of which were Thranish, but most of which were offshoots of the Demon's own.
“The only real difference,” he said, “is in how you perceive the world around you. The Magaic arts are about creation. The Magi used their imaginations to train their bodies to take the Atmosphere and build with it. They would call upon the broader scope of reality in the same way you do, appealing to it in a way and creating what wouldn't otherwise naturally occur. Eventually, like I have seen you do, they could manipulate the Atmosphere thoughtlessly.
“The Relequim, however, looks at the Atmosphere as a tool for subjugation. Instead of creating or willing fire into existence, for example, the Relequim enslaves it and turns it to his will.”
“I don't think I understand.” The whole concept seemed like mincing words to Ardin. “He's still using his imagination, like me, and the result is the same, isn't it?”
“Not entirely. One goes against the grain of how the universe was designed.” The Truan rubbed his beard for a moment as he thought of how to describe it. “Imagine you wanted to pass a great distance, and a horse happened by. Imagine that horse is the Atmosphere, and it is yours to manipulate to your purpose. The way the Magi trained their minds to operate would be much the same as enticing that horse into a partnership. You offer it something, be it friendship or food, and it agrees to take you where you need to go.”
“You befriend the Atmosphere?” Ardin's incredulity seeped through.
“It is simply an analogy.” Hevetican dismissed the sarcasm with a brush of the hand. “The Relequim would subjugate the horse, capturing it and forcing it to do his bidding. He would assert his dominance over it and get to where he was going as an expression of that control.”
“Isn't that just two sides of the same coin?” Ardin asked. “I don't understand why it's different, let alone bad.”
“You are obviously familiar with your own methods; over time they will actually build you into a stronger and healthier creature, for they are healthy methods that align with the way things are to be. The Demon's methods are effective, often more so than your own, but they come at a cost to both parties. For the affected, the subjugation crushes the soul, or in the case of matter, it tears it apart at its foundational level. The one wielding the power is corrupted over time and also begins to deteriorate at a very foundational level.
“Humans that take on the Demon's craft and work towards its mastery often go mad or die of strange illnesses long before their time. I know a little of that vein of magic, but have held myself back for fear of that very cost. It is a price that I am simply not willing to pay.”
“Why are you telling me all this then? If what you're saying is true, I wouldn't want to pursue those methods either. Ever.”
“No,” Hevetican conceded. “But you should learn to recognize them when they manifest. You haven't seen them in me, though the signs are surely there, thus I know you will miss them in others. I would teach you to recognize those who have been brought into the Demon's fold at a distance, so you don't find the need to defend yourself when they have drawn near.”
“Will I be able to tell so easily?”
“You have a great power, Ardin, and that power will s
how them to you.”
Ardin laughed to himself at the mention of his power, as if it were a third party in his plight. It wasn't so far off the mark when it was put like that. “If it wasn't for my power, I would have died a dozen times over by now.”
“You are walking a path predestined by the gods, and in their wisdom they have brought you to us in our time of greatest need.”
“Gods?” The plurality caught Ardin off guard. “I thought there was only one Creator.”
“That is the way of the west and the people across the sea to whom you belong. But there are many, and they protect you even now.”
The concept threw Ardin's mind into a brief spin. It took a while for words to form. “Is the Demon one of your gods?”
“No.” Hevetican shook his head as he took a grim expression. “He would have us believe he was such, but we no longer worship him. He is evil, a Dread god. We fear the Dread gods, but they are as mortal as the rest.”
“So you still think he's... God?”
“Not 'God,' a god.” Hevetican swept his hand over the sky as they walked. “The gods take many forms, but the most powerful are the Swift and Dread gods. They fight an endless conquest to bring the universe under dominion. The Swift seek to bring everything under the dominion of light and order. The Dread under dominion of darkness and chaos. Many fight independently of the others, like the Relequim. In his own madness he believes himself to be the only god, though the Swift gods certainly proved him wrong at his internment.
“The Dread gods have been greatly subdued, but they are returning. Their numbers are few, but they make new gods in the north as we speak, while the Swift gods do nothing. The Islendans speak of war with the East, and my people with the West, but the only true enemy lies in the North. The Swift gods have believed themselves secure in their peace, young Ardin, but they were wrong. We are in a great danger.”
