Clint
The struggle to speak with Crane was starting to draw aggravating comments from the temple scholars by the start of his third day at the effort. He had since gotten some sleep and was starting fresh, which had inspired a fresh wave of taunts from the ever-studious clerics. Sara had insisted that he would do a lot better if he wasn’t so tired and, now that he was back at it, had showed up to the grand temple to cheer him on.
“Ignore them,” she said. “They’re not as smart as they think they are.”
Clint didn’t need to be told this. He knew that the way the clerics cut their sleeping hours as much as possible to absorb more information was the wrong approach. They were so obsessed with learning as much as they possibly could that they did not consider that sleep would actually help them to retain more of that information. The taunting itself would never have bothered him normally, but it was interfering with his concentration.
In frustration, Clint grabbed a scroll of ancient text and heaved it at the clique of intellectual clerics. They looked scandalized as the paper unfurled in midair and nearly ripped from the force of his throw.
“What are you doing, you brainless oaf?” Richard Blackstone shrieked. “That is a priceless document!”
Clint glared at his younger brother and scoffed. “No, it’s a cheap copy of a priceless document. Now get the hell out of here and let me concentrate or I’m going to find something heavier.”
“The High Priest will not stand for this!” one of the clerics whined.
“Perhaps not,” Sara said coolly. “You should go tell him what you did. Make sure to take your time getting there so we can be rid of you longer.”
“You are wasting your time,” Richard said darkly. “No one has ever mastered the ancient language so quickly and I wager you couldn’t master it half as quickly as average. Crane will see that you have no potential soon enough, if he hasn‘t already.”
As promised, Clint grabbed the pewter stand on which the scroll had been resting and flung it at the group. This time, the object struck Richard in the shoulder. The force of the strike knocked him to the ground. The other clerics immediately rushed to his side and examined him with looks of concerned.
“What are you doing? You could have killed him!” one of them bleated.
Clint rolled his eyes. “Sure, if I had missed. But he’ll be one of the first to tell you that doesn’t happen often. Now go to the High Priest or the infirmary. I don’t care. Just get out of my sight.”
Sara had rushed over to Richard along with the other clerics. With a quickly murmured prayer to Serenity, the bruise that had formed on his shoulder vanished. Clint watched with awe as Richard sat up and glared at the priestess.
“I didn’t ask for you to help me,” he murmured.
Sara clicked her tongue impatiently. “You shouldn’t have to if your need is genuine. Now, I suggest you stop provoking your brother. He has important work to do and he can’t do it with you here.”
Richard gave Sara an unreadable look that lasted for about ten seconds. Finally, he stood up and sighed.
“If Clint ever makes anything worthy of Crane out of himself, it will be because you carried him,” he said before turning to walk away.
The other acolytes watched Richard leave confusedly. When he was gone, they had turned back to Clint with looks that promised further words of abuse. What they saw on the altar however stopped them in their tracks. He had already grabbed another pewter stand and was poised to throw it. They fled then, muttering about Clint’s eventual comeuppance.
When he and Sara were finally alone, Clint grumbled, “I can’t believe I’ve been comparing myself to those wimps.”
Sara shrugged. “Such is the curse of Crane’s following. They prize their intellect to the exclusion of everything else. They’ll never be able to understand a guy like you.”
Clint was sure of that now. He may never understand why any of these otherwise brilliant scholars were passed over by Crane, but he knew plenty that they didn’t. He didn’t like to stick his nose in a book or scroll, but he could almost justify claiming to be as smart as any of them. With this thought to buoy him, he was ready to try again.
“You’re right. Now, let’s prove them wrong.”
Clint sat cross-legged in front of the statue of Crane and began to concentrate. Sara had explained that to speak to the gods, one must link with the deity in question by empathizing with their personalities. While Sara would simply relax to feel Serenity’s presence, Clint must think critically. He tried to block out everything around him and focus on his ruminations.
Okay, there isn’t much time left. The maulans are on the move and the spellwarriors and templars have joined up to meet them in battle. Maula herself has been silent since she cursed Seth, but that won’t last long. She must be working on a way to manifest herself in this world. To do that, she’ll need a mortal servant. Like a champion of her own. So, which approach do we need to take? If we stop her champion, she won’t be able to show herself in this world. But how long until she finds someone else? Not to mention we don’t even know who this hypothetical champion is.
Come to think of it, we still don’t know who the fourth champion is yet. There are supposed to be four of us, but… ah damnit! I can’t get sidetracked now. Sara said to let her worry about getting everyone together. I need to focus on figuring out what to actually do. Okay, so I obviously need to start by following the path of Helen and Nicholai. What do I know about them?
Well, I know a lot. The magisters love to tell that story. So, Helen and Nicholai were the champions of Serenity and Ragos. They ended up defeating Maula using a halberd enchanted with the power of the infant god Kerun. They called it the Storm of Mercy. But what happened to the halberd after that? Find the weapon and we’ll have our weapon against Maula even if she does take a physical form. It won’t be easy to find, though. Is it even real?
“Oh, I can assure you that it’s real.”
Clint nearly jumped when he heard the voice. This had been what he was waiting for. Alright, moment of truth. Don’t screw this up.
“Calm yourself, Clint Blackstone. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Crane’s voice had a high pitch that was delivered in a sweet tone. He had never expected what he was hearing, but this was unimportant at the moment.
“So you say the Storm of Mercy is real,” Clint said eagerly. “What happened to it?”
“The Storm of Mercy was only a temporary blessing from Kerun,” Crane said matter-of-factly.
“Once it fulfilled its purpose, it was broken back down into its original components.”
“What were these components?” Clint asked. “Where can we find them?”
“Well, that’s the complicated part,” the deity said regretfully. “You see, the Storm of Mercy was forged by Artix Maloran using the signature weapons of the three others who opposed her. There was the spear belonging to Helen, the sword wielded by Nicholai, and a spiked chain that Orion once used. Unfortunately, no one knows where all three might be found.”
The last of Crane’s words drove a stake into Clint’s gut. “Damn.”
“Not to worry,” Crane said cheerfully. “You see, my brother and I have always known where Nicholai hid his sword. Unfortunately, the location of the spear and chain is unknown to us. And I am sure that Pacil and Torma know the location of Helen’s spear.”
“Pacil and Torma?”
“My sister and the sister-of-my-sister,” Crane said with a chuckle. “You would call them Serenity and Salica, I’m sure.”
“What about the chain?” Clint asked, eager to shave off this digression before it became a tangent.
“As to that, unfortunately, I can’t say,” Crane replied worriedly. “You see, the knowledge of Orion’s chain were passed on to her descendants. Only the model 2A mortals have a chance of helping you to find it.”
That response seemed to be begging the question, “What do you mean by model 2A?”
“Model 2A? You know Orion’s model?”
“You mean elves?”
“Ah! Precisely! They were originally designated Model 2, but after Pacil altered them, I couldn’t very well retain their original designation any longer. Does that help?”
Clint felt his head shaking. “No, not really.”
“Very well, I shall make an honest effort to confine my vocabulary to mortal designations going forward. At any rate, I can’t help you find the chain. But you will find the sword in a place you call Lightning Ridge.”
Clint’s head was swimming with unfamiliar words at this point, but when he heard the name “Lightning Ridge” he perked up. Here, finally, was a clue that would bring them closer to defeating Maula. Moreover, Lightning Ridge was by no means unfamiliar ground to him. What gave him pause, however, was that he should have seen the sword before, unless…
“Is it in the Snake Caves?” he asked.
“Very astute! I am glad that I have chosen a champion who has been to the place before! Quite a stroke of accidental brilliance, I say!” Crane said.
Clint struggled to suppress a groan. Even during his rough adventures through Lightning Ridge, Seth had been clear that they should stay away from any of its caves. They were known to be inhabited by giant snakes who were nearly invincible. Only the most seasoned of warriors dared to venture there.
“Well, I think I know what I need to know. Before I get to it, I just have one more question. I’m pretty sure I already know the answer at this point, but why did you choose me?”
Crane actually chuckled at that. With his voice, the sound grated on Clint’s ears, but he bore it anticipation of the coming response.
“You ask that as you prepare to go into certain danger? Very well, then. You see, the Model 1s who worship us have various essential statistics that highlight their potential. As you might have guessed unless I’ve completely misjudged you, mine are the most intelligent. But other than that one statistic, I’ve been completely unlucky with my following. To be frank, you are the first mortal in existence who is worthy to represent me and be called a champion. Could you imagine any of those sycophants in my Grand Temple braving the Snake Caves?”
Clint smiled in spite of himself. “Most would think it’s stupid to try.”
“And that is why they are unworthy,” Crane hissed. “Their logic would go so far as to declare such a course of action to be suicidal. You, on the other hand, recognize that it’s important to go nonetheless and your mental facilities will be used to keep yourself alive in the process. I could have had a champion alongside Helen and Nicholai before if even one of my followers had the strength and bravery you possess. Those are qualities that are favored more by Ragos than myself, sure, but no one who lacks them would survive the work you have ahead of you. Is this response satisfactory?”
Clint nodded and stood up. “Yes, I thought as much. Thank you.”
He then opened his eyes to see Sara staring anxiously at him. He smiled confidently. “It worked.”
Sara clapped her hands jubilantly. “Fantastic! So, you know where to go?”
Clint’s face took on a grim look. “I do, and it’s too dangerous for you to come with me. I’m going to Lightning Ridge.”
Sara’s eyes widened with shock. “You want to go to that horrible place alone? No one goes there alone! Are you mad?”
“I don’t think I’ll be alone,” Clint said. He didn’t know why he thought that. In fact, it was more of a feeling than a thought.
Fortunately, Sara had taken some meaning from his words. “True. You’re in Crane’s hands now. There’s not much left for me to do here.”
Something about Sara’s words hand sounded uncomfortably final, leading him to ask, “Where do you plan to go next?”
Sara’s eyes rolled to the ceiling as she considered the question. Finally, she answered. “Well, I think I should go to the capitol and look into the Summer Festival. I might find the Avatar of Salica there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Clint said with a smile. “Keep in touch.”
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