by B. A. Scott
“This oak has seen many years,” Daro said. “Now, we observe it in its final days. But what if it could be spared its passing?”
He held up a single acorn for all to see, then planted it next to the dying tree. With Verdure, Daro birthed from it a towering stalk, lively and lush with growth. He stood between the trunks—between the living and the dying—and placed a hand on each.
The other wielders watched as Daro, with a surge of magic, drained the new oak of life, and fed it into the other. Nexa gasped as the abundant trunk cracked, decayed and crumbled before her eyes.
When Daro finished, the once dying tree stood youthful, regenerated, as though it were in its prime.
Daro beamed at his accomplishment, but his pride vanished when he saw Nexa’s dreadful expression.
“Have you discovered a distortion of Verdure?” she asked.
“No Verdure is utilized,” Daro explained. “I have taken the vitality of this mighty stalk, and passed it to the other.”
“Its vitality?” asked Nexa.
“And that is what I’ve named this magic.”
“You—drained its life,” Nexa spoke with the utmost concern. “Daro, this is beyond worrisome.”
“It is a profound discovery,” Daro reasoned, taken aback by Nexa’s assessment.
“Have you still no regard for the natural order? This is not the first time one of your ‘discoveries—‘”
“I bear a deeper understanding of magic than most wielders ever dreamed,” Daro interrupted. “You would rather me resign myself to the comfort and safety of common spells, practiced for ages, when I’m brave enough to venture forth—to explore its potential and open doors to unexplored troves of mystic riches?”
“Daro, this defies the natural course of life,” Nexa said calmly.
“I disagree,” Daro told her. “It does not defy it. It transforms it. Think of the benefits. A field of crop, withered by drought, given new constitution. If I could master it on living men, a criminal, sentenced to death, could revitalize a sickly child on its deathbed. Or our army—our warriors—kept forever in their prime.”
“Or, in the wrong hands, a desperate tyrant’s path to immorality,” said Nexa.
“Were we not given Revival to heal our wounds?” Daro asked. “And the old tomes speak of the Celestial Blaze curing plagues. These, you would say, alter the fate of people who would otherwise die. Why are they condoned, and this, you so readily shun? It could save lives as well.”
“And destroy others,” said Nexa. “The difference is abhorrently clear. Your magic—this travesty—requires a victim.”
Daro paused, once again frustrated at the wielders’ lack of appreciation for his magical prowess.
“I don’t think you’re seeing this for what it is,” he said. “Fire, in the wrong hands, is death and destruction. But do we abandon it for such fears? No, we use it to bring warmth and comfort. To illuminate our path in the darkness. Why would we cower in reservation and waste our talents?”
“Some things,” said Nexa, “Belong to the Goddesses alone. We are not meant to hold such a power. Daro, you are blessed with insight not witnessed since the days of Idonitus. No one here questions your abilities. It is your ostensible lack of wisdom that concerns us—a maturity of perspective you cannot grasp. Just because we can explore such magic, doesn’t mean we should. Clearly, the conviction has yet to govern your heart—and your brilliant mind.”
“That’s the Goddesses speaking through you,” Daro said, reviling her words, for they reeked of caution and repression. “They’ve infected your mind with restraint.”
“As yours should be,” Nexa expressed.
“I will never share your fears, Nexa,” Daro spoke. “Fear keeps discovery at bay. Caution keeps exploration within the confines of comfort.”
“You have many years to make your discoveries and mark your place in the history books as one of the greatest wielders this world has ever known. But for your own good, abandon this path. And focus on mastering the fundamentals.”
“I’ve already mastered the fundamentals,” Daro snapped. “Far more than you ever will—any of you. And yet you would lecture me?”
The revulsion in Daro’s voice was borderline threatening, and Nexa knew the matter would only escalate, should their conversation continue.
“I believe this discussion has turned sour,” she said, attempting to dissolve the tension. “Let us return to Allestron and allow it to digest. We bear no ill will toward you, and are once again amazed at your incredible, albeit frightening aptitude. Thank you for your demonstration. But for now, consider in your meditations the ramifications of unreserved exploration.”
Having no intention of doing so, Daro nodded. He and the others mounted their horses, ready to return to Allestron—all but Nexa, who, once the area was clear, cast an impellment spell toward the oak, blasting its trunk, sending it crashing to the forest floor.
“What in blazes?!” Daro yelled, eyeing the stump that remained. “Nexa, why?”
“This tree was meant to die,” she answered, mounting her horse. “It was the will of the world.”
She led them away, but as they rode, Daro looked back, and with a flourish of Verdure, sprouted a sapling from the tree’s stump—a last defiance of Nexa’s ignorance.
“I have known their disapproval since the beginning,” Daro told Finwynn. “The goddesses advised against my pursuits of knowledge and had the audacity to call it guidance. The Sage, the Enchanters, complied out of blind reverence, naming me amoral, unethical.
I endured their reprimands for years. They forbade me from practicing magic for months on end, commanding meditation in hopes of gaining ‘perspective.’ They took me before the goddesses like some petulant child and begged them to purge me of my ambition. ‘Hopelessly misguided,’ they called me. ‘He persists along the path of the unrighteous.’
How hypocritical. How could this world permit the creation of things like the Gauntlet of Wrath, the Amulet of Oblivion and the Mask of Minds, yet see my work as deplorable? To this day, I cannot make sense of it.
I realized, then, that I would forever be ruled, governed, controlled. And so, I decided to leave Allestron. I would never achieve my fullest potential under their watchful guard.
Firstly, I set out to acquire powers thought unattainable for an Erygian—Wave from the Marineans and Flame from the Incinians.”
“They let you drink from their fountains?” Finwynn asked. “Never in a thousand years would they permit an Erygian.”
“Unless,” Daro spoke, “I offered something of equal worth. As it was, I held a trinket of knowledge they deemed adequate compensation.”
“What did you tell them?”
“There is a secret passage beneath Allestron,” said Daro. “It leads from the river straight to the palace’s lower levels. If ever there came a second War of Ages, they agreed, such information would prove invaluable. And so, they consented.
I tried on several occasions to acquire Fury from Juris Mercer, but Nexa had advised him many years before to never let me sip. In his ignorance, I was denied, no matter my offering.
After my travels, I found seclusion in the Amberleaf Wood—east of Allestron. There, my discoveries flourished. I was able to conduct my experiments without intervention. Without disapproval. I realized just how deep my understanding of the magical arts truly was. I learned of ways to unravel the laws of nature and in some cases, control them—bend the very fabric of life and longevity to my own will.”
“I have heard of those years,” said Finwynn. “An entire forest sucked dry of all life. Its trees, unmade. Its creatures, your victims. And when the last of life was drained from it, you turned to men.”
“Wanderers, vagabonds and thieves,” Daro said. “The world’s refuse, put to greater purpose.”
“And traders, merchants and ambassadors, you neglect to mention,” Finwynn argued. “News spread of the disappearances—that wood became an infamous passage. Your Sage would
never let your treachery persist.”
“I suppose it was only a matter of time before they came,” said Daro. “Nexa and her Enchanters arrived at dusk. It was autumn. I remember it well.”
“That must be it,” Nexa said, spotting a forlorn cottage in the wood. Scattered bones and deformed carcasses of men, women and beasts lay like discarded rubbish across the dry, cracked ground. The Sage and her eight enchanters dismounted their steeds.
Daro emerged from the cottage’s threshold, carrying a bundle of bloody rags, freezing in his step upon noticing his intruders.
“Daro Alakai,” Nexa spoke. “We’ve come to take you back to Allestron.”
“By glory, my old masters,” Daro said. “Welcome to the Amberleaf Wood.”
Nexa took a moment to observe that nothing amber remained of the once lush forest, for all was utterly defiled.
“Come peacefully,” said the Sage, as she and the Enchanters approached. “You’ve caused enough death as it is.”
“You outstep your bounds, Nexa. You have no right to threaten me,” Daro said. “I have abandoned my title, my position. Left Allestron. I am no longer a citizen under your rule.”
“You are an Erygian,” Nexa spoke. “And you have been tried as such. You cannot escape our judgment.”
“And what judgment is that?” Daro asked.
“You will no longer plague our lands,” said the Sage. “Can’t you see what you’ve done to this place? Are you still so blind? Can you still not realize the effect—the toll your discoveries take on the natural world?”
“When the first men discovered fire, did it not come at the cost of kindling?” Daro responded. “And healers—do they not learn a body’s inner workings by dissecting cadavers? Some would think it defiling corpses, but it is performed in the pursuit of knowledge—that they may save future lives with such understanding. And you, Nexa. How many flowers have you plucked? How many ferns and herbs have you uprooted—ripped from the earth—essential ingredients for your own magical draughts?”
“You have annihilated an entire forest,” Nexa argued. “And lured travelers to their doom. Tell us now. Have you laid any tricks about your haven? I admit, I expected an allurement charm, or a veil spell, at least.”
Daro remained casual in his demeanor, laying down his bloody bundle. “If I’d placed defenses,” he said, “that would mean I believed my endeavors to be wrong, unethical—deserving of concealment. That I would recognize you as my authority—and that, you are not.”
Nexa motioned to a nearby heap of bloodied bones.
“Is this what you’ve been doing?” she asked. “Is this how you would use your gifts?”
“I only dare what you fear to,” said Daro. “And I intend to continue my work.”
The Enchanters surrounded Daro, whose tone turned sour.
“So this is how it is,” Daro said, eyeing Nexa.
“You have brought it upon yourself,” said the Sage. “Bind him!” she commanded the Enchanters.
At once, nine spells bound Daro where he stood. The imprisoned man, rendered entirely immobile, struggled against his constraints as the Erygian wielders moved closer.
“It did not have to be this way,” Nexa said, drawing a black collar from her side.
Daro could not speak. He could not move. But he could see the furentus Nexa carried.
“There was little debate,” said the Sage, “as to whether or not we should remove this device from our junakothari.” She stood within reach of Daro, and the Enchanters dared to step closer as well. “The Suppressor,” Nexa continued, opening the shackle to be placed around Daro’s neck. “It will paralyze your body and your mind. Under its control, you will be taken back to Allestron, where you will face your judgment.”
Nexa reached out toward Daro, guiding the furentus toward his neck. Daro raged beneath his bonds, and before the Sage could clasp the Suppressor, he erupted with magic.
All the bonding spells shattered as a burst of impellment blasted all his enslavers to the ground. Daro summoned Flame, and set Nexa and her nearest Enchanters ablaze. They rolled and writhed, screaming in agony. A blast of Fury sought to strike his heart, but Daro shielded himself, then used Wave and Suspension to forge a barrier of icy daggers about him. In an instant, he sent them flying toward the remaining Enchanters. Those quick enough conjured shields, but those caught by surprise were impaled by the frozen spikes.
A vine of Verdure burst from the ground beneath Daro and ensnared his leg, sweeping him from his feet. He tried to stand, but Nexa—boiled and burned—collided with him, clasping her furentus around his throat.
Daro fell limp and his pupils dilated. Nexa gasped with difficulty as the three remaining Enchanters helped her stand. She looked to her fallen wielders, then back to Daro. “You are ended,” she said.
“I awoke deep inside the bowels of Allestron’s palace,” Daro told Finwynn. “The Suppressor was removed, but its effects lingered. Bound by numerous holding spells, I saw a portal of stone before me, a raging fire in its center.”
“For your blasphemy, and the all the incurable evil in your heart,” Nexa told me, blistered and scarred from our encounter, “may you see eternal torture in the most sinister circles of hell. For all the horrors you’ve wrought, you will suffer a Megalian Execution—to die, starved and scorched by an unforgiving sea of desolation.”
“The Wastelands,” I spoke, knowing no one ever survived. The portal would take me to that abominable place and close behind.
Nexa opened her palm, and guided me toward the portal—toward my fate. Its flames engulfed my flesh, and in a flash of fire, I dropped to sand and ash. My bonds released and hot wind blasted me as I landed, looking upward, watching the portal’s remnants vanish within a monument of black stone.
I laid there, paralyzed, until the effects diminished. I rose and saw the empty portal’s monument standing like a lonely pillar upon a great salt flat—so hot, so vast, that it reflected the sky above. And beyond it, the Megalian Wastelands stretched endlessly in every direction.
I walked for hours, conjuring Wave to quench my thirst. I fell, then crawled. My lips, already cracked. My eyes, red with sand. I do not know how many days passed, but just as I accepted death, I came upon a rocky protrusion—the entrance to a cave that delved deep underground. Inside, I hardly regarded the Erygian corpse, unmistakably the last victim of a Megalian Execution. In that place,” Daro paused, “that would-be tomb—is where they found me.”
“The demons,” Finwynn spoke.
“They emerged from the cave’s darkened depths. Primen, ready to rip me apart. But I pushed them back with a surge of Wave. Astonished at my power, they slurped every drop of water from their own skin, then fell to their knees, laid down their weapons and beckoned me to come with them. They spoke a language I’d never heard, but I saw the desperation in their eyes. I thought myself the most pitiful wretch to behold. But as I gazed upon their cowering frames, I pitied them more. And so, I followed.
I have discovered many things in my time. But I count what I saw that day among the greatest. A civilization, forsaken and ever dwindling. Feeding off the blood of their weak, their dead. That place—an enormous underground canyon they made their home. Naught but a shallow stream at its floor provided them any respite from their hell.
I brought to them a wellspring. Their stream became a river, drawing all manner of Wasteland creatures for them to feast upon. I forged tools of contentment, so that they might finally traverse the blight above with ease—a blight I attempted to transform into an oasis. I conjured rivers and vegetation with Wave and Verdure, but the Wastelands eventually consumed them. And so, life flourished below. I continued my work, and it was their privilege to offer themselves as sacrifices to a greater cause.”
“Prolonging your life,” said Finwynn.
“In time, I built my fortress above their realm, and brought the Wasteland portal to its halls.”
“Why in the name of the Creator would you do such a thing
?” Finwynn asked.
“I wasn’t the last to suffer a Megalian Execution,” Daro said. “All that passed into my new world became either my victims, or meat for my children. And it wasn’t just Erygians. I’m sure you’re aware, as plenty of Humans arrived through the ages. I’ve deduced that nearly all the nations have similar portals to the one I passed through in Allestron. And that they all feed into the same outlet. Unfortunately, the Wasteland counterpart did not allow for return passage. Only capable of delivery, never permitting entry—to my annoyance. I expect they didn’t want their treacherous exiled coming back through.
In the centuries that passed, I promised my children—”
“Demons, Daro,” Finwynn interrupted. “They are demons of the Old World. It was their destiny to perish.”
“Was it?” Daro asked. “Call it fate. Call it destiny. Call it what you will, I do not care. But recognize the will of the world for what it is. Why is it that I was cast out, but survived? I should have died. But fate spared me my end and has offered me justice.
And my subjects—you call them ‘demons.’ But they are the Children of the First Mothers. Your goddesses did everything in their power to smite them from existence. But why were they meant to endure? Why? Why would destiny allow their presence in this new world, when all that would forge it anew wished them dead?
And why, by what fortune did our paths cross? Why was I blessed with such insight into the magical arts that I would discover the means to lengthen life? To nurture their prosperity and over the centuries, build a nation to exact my revenge?
If they were meant to perish, why all these signs of providence?”
“It does not change the fact that their world was damned by the Creator,” said Finwynn.
“With that,” Daro said, raising a finger. “One cannot argue. But you refuse to acknowledge their salvation. In the world before, they warred constantly. Carnage and chaos were their every thought. But when faced with extermination, they banded together. Brothers and sisters of different races united for a single purpose—survival. Now, their hatred of one another has long been driven from their hearts. They have achieved peace and harmony and beyond.”
