by Ember Lane
A terrible vibration rippled through the table. Pog glanced under. His astonished expression told me the light had bored through it. Chancing a peek, I saw a matching, glowing disk slowly lowering to the floor.
Sutech smiled at me. “Worried yet? Worried that my daughter didn’t value your life?”
“I trust her.”
“In answer to your question, Mezzerain of Kyrie, he is overseeing my forces in Tharameer. I’ll admit, I was caught off guard there. A question for a question. What’s this Lincoln like?”
The shaft doubled in size—the disc too. Yet now its light was more bearable, less saturated. It stirred the very room, tossing Sutech’s charts around, mugs, ink pots, stripping his desk’s top. The din, the clatter, surrounded us, and the column of light sped up, extinguishing lanterns, then swooping them up and adding them to the whirlwind around us.
“More than one man, a giant.”
“A giant?” Sutech shouted over the roar.
The table shuddered, a crack snaking along its middle. Parts of the floor were ripped up, planks flying around.
“A giant of a man!” Mezzerain growled as the column cut through the cabin’s ceiling, scattering those above and opening us up to the thunderous sky. Shouts, screams, calls for calm, filled my ears as the last of the table vanished upward in a chaotic twister.
We glared at each other, wondering who’d be the first to blink, but we were in the eye of it, its true destruction being wreaked outside, sails sucked in, ropes whipping, bodies flailing. Standing now, our precarious platform a mere wood disc, the light consumed all, and still Sutech Charm stared at me.
“It seems she didn’t value your life as much as you thought,” Sutech shouted.
Fear began to win hold of my heart. Pog’s hand reached for mine, gripping it tightly. I grabbed Mezzerain’s fingers, clawing them closer and holding firm.
“Make a ring!” Pog screamed, pulling Charm near.
The beam stuttered again, its light staggering then doubling in size. Its end reached up into the clouds, drawing them in, mixing them like black-and-mauve paints. The ship finally succumbed, exploding out, disintegrating, sucked into the vortex, and drawn up into our hellish maelstrom. The thunderous roar whipping around us drowned out the screams of the dying.
We’d risen, no longer standing, seemingly held in suspension. Sutech’s calm had vanished—mine too. Mezzerain’s eyes were wide, true fear etched on his face. Pog grinned still, like this twister was the start of an adventure.
The light dimmed below us, the cylinder’s swirling sides coming together, moving up, as we lurched, leaned, and tore across the sea. I could see nothing, barring the streaking detritus, hear nothing but the cacophony of the maelstrom’s chaos, but somehow I knew we were headed for the raging mists.
Our screams had died now. We clung to each other, accepting our common fate. No sword would help us. No magic would shield us from what was to come. Whatever was Star’s intention, the mists now commanded our destiny, and only that roiling, boiling tumult knew what that might be.
The tube expanded, my grip strained, fingers getting torn apart. I tried to shout to Pog but knew my words were lost before they’d passed my lips. Torn from Sutech’s grip, he floundered, his feet getting sucked into the swirling wall. Sutech fought to get ahold of him, a fateful mistake. Losing his own grip of Mezzerain, Sutech slipped from any purchase, any leverage. His mouth gaped opened as he accepted his error as he was sucked into the gray.
Pog mouthed something to me and smiled, and he let go.
“No!” I screamed. “No, Pog!” but we were undone. Our ring was broken. Mezzerain’s hand snapped away from mine, the big man vanishing in a tumble, a rising somersault. “Oh shit!” I screamed and accepted my fate.
Tossing, turning, spinning, debris slapped me, my body contorted, forced to bend, to arch, to twist. The howling wind flipped me around, tumbled me like I was a golden leaf in an autumnal gale. Shoving me, bullying me, the winds jostled, forcing me farther into their kingdom, drawing me deeper into their raging wall.
I began to fall, its downward gusts now more forceful than the upward. Then as if I’d passed through some invisible perimeter, crossed an unseen line, the gusts weakened, countering each other to stillness, and I truly began to fall but like a feather not a stone, cushioned on the occasional updraft. A surreal reality surrounded me, one of gray-and-white wisps, of a blinking sun, idyllic peace after the chaos before.
Tranquility encompassed me, folding through my body in soft waves of compassion. My troubles vanished, shedding my trauma. Star hovered close by, her ethereal self shining like a full moon on a clear spring night. Yet she said nothing, just looked down at me, smiling with motherly eyes as she reached out, holding my hand, the warmth of her love filling me.
My body stiffened. Star’s grip held me firmly. Pain, like none I’d felt before, suddenly erupted within me. It began in my loins. A whirlwind of sawing agony as though my innards were being hollowed out. As fast as it had come, it ended, but my respite was brief. From the source of my agony, a fresh hell came as white-hot fingers burrowed their way through me, opening seared channels within, two tunneling through my legs, more upward, traveling my spine, branching across my shoulders, and down my arms.
I screamed, death’s cry, but focused on Star, on her radiance, and I bore my agony with her. It was then, as the fingers burrowed into my mind, that I felt my other hand grasped. Star glanced across my juddering body, mouthing the words, “Thank you,” and I followed her gaze, and I looked upon Poleyna, who returned my gaze.
“And so it is set. Travel to Speaker’s Isle and rouse the witches. The time is at hand: they must venture to the six and prepare.”
“Six?”
“Trappas Shyl, Kataspay, Cendrullia, Zhang Zhou, Sharreff, and Variant.”
“What of Valkyrie?”
“Speaker’s Isle is in Valkyrie.”
“And Ruse?”
She reached out, brushing my forehead. “Ruse is your task.”
Poleyna has set the fifth Veil of Lamerell. Rouse the Witches of Speaker’s Isle and send them on to fulfill their destiny.
“Prepare,” Poleyna said. “The magic of Mandrake, of shaman and wizard alike, is no good beyond the mists. You now have raw magic—the magic of the old ones. Learn it fast.”
Then it came, an avalanche of agony, pain running through me, electrifying every single nerve ending at once. I convulsed, bled torment from my every pore. It came in waves, my flesh rendered helpless before its meddling as its fingers, its white-headed needles, thrust through me, opening, stitching, joining, ending my serenity.
I began to fall. Their hands released mine and they receded. Then I plummeted.
“Star!” I cried, even through my pain, not wanting her to leave me again.
Crashing to the ground, my broken body shattering, the land then heaped a new torment on me, knitting those sundered bones, remaking me in one fraction of a second as my persecution became complete.
I lay there, deep breaths, deep, pain-free breaths, tiredness washing through me as I accustomed myself to my new channels, my new flow.
Eventually, I woke, not sure I’d even slept, and I sat up to look upon a fresh scape. But it was no idyllic vale, no gloss of green grass that I’d settled on. It was a mess of flotsam riddled with rotting fish, drying seaweed, and crusted salt—a desolate dystopia—a lonely place where silence existed after the roar of the mists.
What had Star done? Had she engineered all our deaths? Destroyed and remade us all?
The wastelands stretched away either side of me. The mists towered up behind, but this side, that torrent was more settled, cloud-like, soaking me through with its fog as I crouched on discarded jetsam.
I took another breath, hugging my knees, my urgency gathering. The silence was eerie, threatening, but beyond the line of discarded detritus, glistening rock ledges peered above a still sea, offering me hope in this bleakest of places. A stuttering gasp this tim
e, and I straightened.
“Where the hell am I?”
One thing was obvious. I was no longer in Mandrake. The mist wall curved away on both sides of me, not encompassing, but arcing. Its roar was muted, like this land deserved its peace—a heavy fog, mystical, rather than raging mists.
She’d said Valkyrie, but how could that be?
“Pog! Mezzerain!” Picking my way over the debris, the rocks my aim, I shouted for them until my lungs hurt. Only when I reached my target, only then did I turn again and look at the wall behind, and I gasped at its expanse, so much larger on this side, like sheer ice cliffs, which now separated me from my Mandrake. “Shit.” I crouched on the rock.
The sea spread either side of me, gentle golden waves lapping against the blush rock. The sun was low on the western horizon, amber hints coloring its light. The island, more atoll, seemed to point toward it, though nothing farther was apparent to me.
“Pog! Mezzerain! Sutech!” I walked toward the isle’s end, spying a path of white-capped waves that hinted at shallow waters. Out of options, I walked the submerged way.
“Come on, Alexa, fight for it!”
I forged on.
My gamble paid off as my hazardous path became shallower, and I came to another island. This one was slightly higher. I clambered up its small rock face to see hints of burnished green. My stomach grumbled. I called again as I reached down, touching a clump of grass like I’d never seen one before. It slowly dawned on me that I was separated from everyone: from Mezzerain, Pog, and Sutech Charm, for sure, but also from the rest—Sedge Prentice, Glenwyth, Megan, and Cutter, among others.
I searched out my guild tabs, searched out my dialogue boxes, Pog’s profile, Marista's, Lincoln's, any of them, all of them, but it was all grayed out as if I’d suddenly fallen offline. I called for my fiberstone staff and conjured a glowsphere atop it—more for comfort than anything—the night was drawing in fast.
Making my way farther inland, I realized I was merely on a slightly larger lump of rock than the previous one, luckily, if any of the day could be called luck. Another small causeway led on from it, this time to a jutting silhouette on the now golden horizon.
A last glance around, and I walked on. My glowsphere sprayed its light around, picking out my way. Waves lapped over my feet, but the causeway rose, soon dry, a mix of gravel and scree. Behind me, the mist wall resembled a gold-leafed edifice. It was beautiful, but I now knew what that beauty hid.
Night had a firm grip by the time my path changed. It turned, rising sharply, a ledge growing on one side of me, the moonlit water on the other. Climbing up, desperately hoping for more than just a rocky outcrop, I welcomed the rich smell of reed grass and smoke—I could smell smoke. My heart leaped, hope gushing in, and I scrambled up. Two glowering eyes welcomed me, not a beast’s glare, a dwelling.
I marched up to it, yearning for its fire, its heat, and I wrapped on its door, hoping beyond all hope for a friendly face and not the fight I expected. I brought my shamanic cycle back to the fore of my mind, hiding my brewing magic behind my back, but it was no longer there. As soon as that realization hit me, my glowsphere popped and all fell to shadow.
My head exploded in pain, my knees buckled, and I bit the dirt.
“Got her!”
Name: Alexa Drey. Race: Human. Type: Chancer.
Age: 24. Alignment: Ward of the Old Ways. XP: 85,672.
Level: 22. Profession: Chooser. Un/Al pts: 0. Reputation: Known.
Health Points: 550/550 Energy: 510/510 Mana: 3920/3920 Shadow Mana: 0/3000
HP Regen: 55/Min EN Regen: 51/Min MA Regen: 93/Min SMA Regen: NA
Attributes: (Level, Bonuses)
Vitality: (12, 38), Stamina: (12, 5)*3, Intelligence: (98, 0)*4
Charisma: (6, 6), Wisdom: (23, 8)*3, Luck: (7, 5)
Humility: (2, 0), Compassion: (3, 0), Strength: (3, 20), Agility: (19, 0)
XXXXXXXXXXX
Talents:
Tongues of Time, The Veils of Lamerell.
Quests:
Seek out the Legend of Billy Long Thumb. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Unknown.
The Veils of Lamerell. Status: Incomplete. Reward: Death.
Sub Quest: The master is now the slave, his command now his prisoner. Free the gambler, end his torment, and confront one of five. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Catch a thief. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Seek the Prince of a Cheated House. Canelo James lives and holds the answers. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Seek Sutech Charm and tell him his daughter’s wish. Status: Complete.
Sub Quest: Release the Witches of Speaker’s Isle that they might spread the word. Status: Incomplete.
Chapter Two
Melinka
A constant drip, a gray-flagged floor with straw covering it—fresh straw. The cell’s walls were around four feet high with light beaming down from a shaft in one corner. I pushed myself to my knees, crawling to its iron-braced door.
What the hell?
Where the hell?
The questions rolled around my head. The door yielded no secrets. The shaft was just that—too narrow to climb up, barred at the top anyhow. I checked my guild menus again—still grayed out.
Sitting cross-legged, I began to meditate, to focus on my inner self, just like Zenith had taught me. Its fire grew and pulsed up me, cycling my mana and bringing calm to me where my predicament demanded its absence. But something felt off—something had changed. Questions, though, stole my curiosity.
Why hadn’t I saved them?
How had the mists beaten me?
My magic was supposed to be infinite; that’s what those squiggly signs meant, so why did I feel so inhibited—so limited? I had the fancy spells, the Quazede's Lightning, Flame of Demon, all those things, yet something was missing.
Something Poleyna had said haunted me.
What was it?
I let my mana flood through me, searching out an answer. What had altered? Hunting down my shadowmana, knowing I needed to understand that too, I pushed my mana through me, through newly imagined channels, letting it soak into every cell, hoping it would seek out its opposite and reveal its truth to me.
Who was Quazede? That was a question I posed to myself as I saturated myself.
Why was I restricting my ability to cast magic based on this Quazede's spell? If I had unlimited magic, how come my arcane shield had failed to fend off the poison spewed by the mutant beetles all that time ago in the City of Spokes.
What had Poleyna said?
Why did I need other people’s spells?
Why had Star died?
If I couldn’t protect my friends, my tiny army, what hope did I truly have?
Why had I lost Pog, Mezzerain, and Sutech Charm?
Who was Quazede?
Why was the bastard limiting me?
I hunted for my shadowmana. The black knight’s dagger knew where it lurked; it could call it, his staff too. The darkness within them drew it from me, yet I only called for them when anger gripped my heart. Perhaps they were the flux, the activator. I snapped my eyes open. The cell remained unchanged. I called for his dagger and bade my shadowmana forward. Nothing.
Unequipping it, I tried to conjure some anger, though that hardly fit my tranquil mood—my resignation. So I pondered revenge for Star, Pog too, and Mezzerain but couldn’t muster any fight. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps my fight had gone.
My anger came from my gut—that was where it birthed. As soon as I became angry, my gut clenched; my breath became short; my heart quickened, and my blood became flooded with adrenaline. Did I really need the flux of a token to call my darker magic to the fore?
I conjured a glowsphere, noticing no muttered words were needed, just a thought. It appeared on my palm, its usual marbled gray, spraying its customary silver around, and lighting up the stone cell. I held it out, cupping it in both hands. “I need to make you evil.” Narrowing my eyes, I tried to burn evil into it.
But it d
idn’t feel right.
Why a sphere?
I teased its top to a point, drawing its light along it then fashioning a blade, a guard, grip, and pommel. I imagined its blade dripping with blood, surprised when the gray turned to red. “Cool.”
Touching its point with my palm, I collapsed it all back to a sphere.
“Sword!” I cried, and it sprang back into being.
“Black knight's sword!”
I felt the rush of my shadowmana as it filled my light-sword. To my utter surprise, it turned black, radiating evil. I looked again, deep inside me, at the root of my tree, surprised when no tree existed there, no roots, more a series of membranous plates all stacked close. Channels conglomerated, flowing to tubes that ran around me like some new, integrated, lymphatic system. I drew my mana in, seeing it rush between the plates, but only filling alternate spaces, so I took a chance and dove deep into my rage, pulling my shadowmana from its dark refuge, from my black heart.
It flooded between, filling those empty voids, and I understood.
I had my new magic. It was ready, ready to be mixed; all I needed was to call it forward, let it congregate within this new structure inside me. This was their gift to me, the source of my agony.
But it wasn’t worth the price.
I’d lost Pog. I’d lost everyone.
I checked my stat sheet, but it was empty as if that no longer mattered, just the main tabs and quests remaining. I had no tree. Quazede didn’t limit me anymore. I had this new, all encompassing magic within me—these plates that could mix and blend the mana and anti-mana—that could both draw it and unleash it from every cell within me.
It was a gift, an understanding, that all I’d learned in Mandrake only really suited that place, that a new system was demanded for beyond the mists. All I had to do was understand it—and fast.
