Death Touch Chapter 37

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Previous Chapter

Sara

It was with great relief that Sara finally took her first steps into the city of Foldo. How appropriate that one of the final steps in their journey would lead to this place, she thought to herself as she gazed at the countless aged wooden structures that littered the city. Far too few people lived here, considering the significance of the Temple of the Children-- the first and only temple devoted to the demigods. Years of neglect had left the city in a poor condition and now the few locals were mostly those who devoted themselves to either Kerun or Maula.

It was morbid curiosity that draw Sara to temple, but the only one who seemed to be interested in joining her was the boy who had joined them while she was unconscious. Kevin the faekin, the Champion of Kerun was quite the enigma. Everything she had heard up to this point suggested that only the four Elder Gods had declared Champions in their war with Maula. The fact that he was here now made some sense, but why was she only just learning of him now?

After going their separate ways from the others, they made their way to the decrepit temple in silence. Kevin seemed to be preoccupied with something that might have been above her and, though he didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in talking, he wore a friendly smile on his face the entire time. When they stepped onto the temple grounds however, that smile faded into shock for an immediately apparent reason: the area was scattered with bodies. There were dozens of people in white robes that Sara remembered were associated with Kerun from her studies. This is not what I wanted my first encounter with Kerun worshippers to look like!

“These people are too far gone,” Kevin said mournfully as he knelt beside the body of a boy who might have been his age. 

Sara nodded and looked around. “We should give these people a proper service. It’s inappropriate to leave them like this!” Seriously! Why hasn’t anyone done anything about this?

“Everybody is terrified,” Kevin said with a frown as he continued to scan the bodies. “This was Maula’s work. Both she and Kerun had servants here and this bloodshed became inevitable the moment she decided to rebel again.”

Sara nodded and sighed. “That would explain why this city has seemed deserted, even for Foldo. Still, that means there is no one who can do it but us.”

Kevin didn’t seem to be listening as he had just stumbled onto a smaller body among the crowd. This one wasn’t human, but a young Kerunite, the Life God’s answer to the Maulans. These were gentle creatures, supposedly capable of harming anyone but their tall, shadowy counterparts. But those bulging white stone eyes, which normally glowed with a power that was said to destroy Maulans, were dim.

Kevin seemed to have a harder time accepting this casualty than the others as this pitiable sight had brought him to tears. He leaned over the tiny corpse and gasped as his tears fell on the body.

Sara watched patiently, deciding that the funerary rites she was anxious to perform could wait for him to pull himself together. But as the tears pooled on the creature’s body, that brilliant light returned to its eyes and it began to blink confusedly. Beaming with relief, the feykin stood up.

“Good! It wasn’t too late for this one!”

Sara observed with astonishment as the little fey skipped toward the boy and threw its arms around his leg. The kerunite chirped gratefully and nuzzled his shin as if the scene of death around them was nothing but an illusion.

“That is… unheard of! Amazing! What-- what did you do?”

“I have revived this creature with the power of Kerun,” Kevin said with a smile. “Fey creatures are not bound to Fadal as mortal spirits are, so I guess the threshold I have for doing so is much longer than usual.”

“Are you saying you can restore life to people as well?”

Kevin nodded solemnly as he glanced at the field of corpses once more. “Usually, but not so long after death. I wish I could do something for these people.”

“The funerary rites due to them is all we can do,” Sara said, a little pointedly.

Kevin nodded in agreement, smiling as if he had just heard this idea for the first time. “Agreed! Shall I go find help while you are sanctifying the site?”

Kevin didn’t wait for Sara to reply, but flitted away as if the matter were already settled. This left Sara to prepare for her ceremony alone. With a sigh, she set about cleansing the energy that the violence had disrupted by circling the collective of bodies. The second half of her circuit brought her close to the temple steps. As she walked past the temple, she glanced up toward it and was disappointed to see nobody. The temple had clearly been sealed when Maula’s acolytes purged their brethren. Still, it seems dangerous to be here alone!

Sara had finished her circle and began a prayer for Serenity to nourish the fouled earth when she heard someone approaching from behind. Figuring that Kevin had returned with some of their allies, she finished her prayer before standing to face her friends. But they weren’t there; the footsteps that she had heard belonged to a trio of maulans. The beasts hissed when she noticed them, causing her to recoil in surprise. But she had been prepared for such an encounter; with a tap of her foot, the earth itself spung up to grab all three of them. 

“Oi!” the largest of them roared! “You think a few rocks can hold us? You’ve only delayed your death, mortal!”

Sara raised her eyebrows at her furious captive. In her studies, she had learned that a maulan was said to become vocal after reaching an uncommon age. He might actually be older than me!

“Or perhaps I have delayed yours,” Sara said while scanning the area for anyone who could help her. “Until you break free, you are at my mercy. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be able to convince my comrades to share that mercy.”

“If I die, so be it! Who would want to live with the shame of displeasing our mistress?” the maulan said, his companions snarling in agreement.

“Anyone who actually values life, for starters,” Sara said calmly, though she did not feel that way. Where is everyone?

The maulans laughed uproariously until the vocal one responded, “Our lives are worthless! We are all but implements of the Gods! So few of us get the honor of ever actually being useful, so fuck your value for life!” When he finished, the maulans chortled.

Sara was saved the need for a retort out of nowhere as one of the maulans howled in pain and the others began to squirm around in confusion. A quick scan revealed the source of his discomfort: the kerunite that Kevin had revived had apparently been left with her to wander among its dead friends and it had apparently found its way onto a leg that remained exposed through Sara’s stone trap. Its eyes glowed more radiantly than before as the leg began to swell and it broke away bemusedly. As the rest of the maulan’s body swelled, it shrugged and began to hug the leg of another. 

The vocal maulan looked down at this point and gasped at the sight of the kerunite. “Get this little shit away from me!”

Sara watched with a combination of amusement and regret as the second of the three maulans began to swell uncontrollably. It was at this point that the first of them exploded into a cloud of acid green mist. This opened a space in Sara’s trap for the talking maulan to squeeze out through. His feet hit the ground on the side of freedom just as his other comrade exploded. Sara tried to trap him again, but found herself unable to move the earth in her exhaustion. She stumbled backwards as the leering creature kicked the kerunite as far away as he could, taking particular care to avoid touching its eyes.

“I told you that you were delaying the inevitable!” the maulan growled with a triumphant smirk. “All life is worthless! Except perhaps yours, which is why my mistress demands that I take it!”

Sara rolled her head back in desperation, willing her friends to show up. She thought she could see them when she turned her head to the right, but they were too far way to do anything. That didn’t stop them from sprinting toward her, but the maulan was close and his tail was faster than any of them. As far away as they were, neither Seth’s or Maya’s spells, nor Mia’s gun could help her. Sam didn’t even have any magic that she was aware of, and she knew nothing at all of Millie’s magic. She was completely helpless as she lied prone, ready to accept the fate that awaited her until a wandering thought somehow shifted the direction of her thoughts. Where is Kevin?

She looked up to see the fifth champion hovering a feet off the ground behind the maulan, his eyes popping with a fierce white glow. He looks like a kerunite! He grabbed the Maulan’s tail and held onto it with a strength she couldn’t have imagined in him. The maulan thrashed in agony as he tried to free his tail, but he couldn’t stop his body from swelling in the same way the others had. Kevin only released his grip when he exploded.

“I am happy for you to have experienced such a long life,” he murmured as he wiped a green splotch from his face.

Seth and the others caught up moments later and Mia was the first to offer a hand to help Sara up.

“He’s been making us all look bad,” she grumbled as she pulled the acolyte back to her feet.

“We should be grateful for his aid,” Sara replied with a sigh. “His power to wield the abilities of the fey gives us an unimaginable advantage against the maulans.”

“I was happy to help,” Kevin said with a smile. “This world needs its champions until Maula is returned to Fadal. All of them.”

Seth looked up toward the temple. “Still, I can’t believe you left her alone, here of all places! There could be more than maulans around here who want us dead!”

Kevin nodded in embarrassment. “You’re right! I wasn’t thinking! I’m sorry! But I would never have let anything happen to her!”

Sara pulled the boy into a tight hug and said, “It doesn’t matter! I was endangered only because I was careless. The fact remains that my continued existence is only because of you.”

Seth rolled his eyes and said, “Careless or not, you shouldn’t have been here alone. Master Karian told me while you were gone that Maula is building her army here! If we’re going to give these people a good cremation, we’d better do it quickly and get back to the safer side of town!”

Sara nodded and gestured toward the field of bodies. “Right! I have sanctified the ground. All that remains is to gather everyone up and prepare the pyre.”

“You heard her, everyone!” Seth barked. “I have some gloves for anyone who needs any!”

“Not me,” Mia said as she began to rummage through her backpack. “I keep my own for when I need to keep my fingerprints to myself.”

“Fair enough,” Sara said with a shrug as she beckoned to Seth. “Not you, though. I’ll need your fire magic to prepare the pyre.”

The work of gathering, sanctifying, and burning the corpses took up the entire day and the night which followed, during which Clint remained conspicuously absent. When Sara had said her rites for the final body Seth had laid on the pyre she finally asked what the other champion was up to.

“We took the other artifacts to him and set him to work on the Storm of Mercy,” the spellwarrior asked as he flicked his wrist to magically nourish the dying flames.

Sara’s eyes widened with surprise. “Wow, already? I wasn’t aware he had any background in forging weapons.”

“Well, you wouldn’t think so, but somehow the week you and Mia were gone was enough time for him to figure it out. I don’t say it enough, but that man is fucking smart!”

Sara shook her head slowly in disbelief. “As I understand it, that amount of progress in forging weapons is impossible, even for him! Even if he had a teacher, how does that person even know the pattern we need?”

Seth smirked. “Well, it helps that he went and found a direct descendant of the smith who helped the original champions make i. I could have found a guy like that eventually, but I’d have never thought to look for him in the first place. Fortunately, you don’t participate in such a legend without keeping its memory latched to your family for ages to come.”

“Do you suppose he’s working still on it this late? I want to see how he’s doing!” Sara said excitedly, but the spellwarrior shook his head.

“Even if he’s anywhere near done at this point, he can be a bit of a baby about pulling all-nighters, so he’s probably not in the best of moods,” Seth replied with a fond smile. “You should just go home and get some sleep. Maybe he’ll be done by the time we wake up.”

As it turned out, Clint had only finished the shaft of the halberd by the time she had arisen from a nap. What was more, the man had retired for a spell of his own by then, so she wasn’t able to ask any questions. She did meet Martin, but found no hope in his answers.

“It’ll be done when it’s done!” he had snapped.

Sara paced the streets around the city’s safe zone anxiously for the next day, stopping only to sleep. At this point in the quest, she felt that she had done all she could to help. With only the harrowing task of bringing the legendary halberd to life and the battle with Maula and her minions ahead of them, it was hard to figure out the role she would play in the next few days. She wanted so desperately to do something useful, which she realized was a severe contrast to the lifestyle she had followed in the monastery. The Doctrine of Tranquility had taught her to be patient and bring comfort to others as needed. But now as she waited for Clint to finish his work, she found herself thinking more proactively than before.

It was then that she realized that there was something she could do. Poor Clint must be so sore after all of the effort he had put into the forge. A touch of healing magic would not only help him to feel better, but leaving him in the physical condition to work faster than he must have been at the moment. As soon as the idea entered her head, it felt like the thing to do, so she walked to Martin’s workshop and slipped past the blacksmith to spare herself his unhelpful attitude.

She walked inside and found Clint bent over a table. She could see the blade of the Storm of Mercy protruding from beneath his torso, firmly attached to a golden pole. He did it! She smiled upon seeing the weapon and placed a hand on his back. Clint sat up slowly in his chair and looked up at the acolyte.

“Hm?” He mumbled.

“Easy,” Sara said soothingly as she prayed inwardly for Serenity to relieve him of his fatigue. “Just relax for a minute! You’ve worked so hard!”

“I’m not done yet,” he said quietly, but with noticeably less exhaustion in his voice. “It’s all in shape, but I can’t feel any of its power.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “I’m not sure that’s the sort of power a person can feel.”

Clint shook his head. “Oh, it is. I remember seeing it in my dream. I could feel its power from a few feet away, but now I can’t feel anything even when I hold it in my hand.”

“Well, the halberd is perfectly forged. Let’s go talk to Martin and see if he knows what’s wrong with it!”

Clint nodded in agreement and led the way back outside, where the blacksmith was busy tempering a sword. He looked up at once and smiled wryly as he saw the halberd. 

“Fine weapon, boy, but it’s no Storm of Mercy. Not yet.”

“But we’ve gathered all of the champions’ treasures and the halberd looks flawless!” Sara exclaimed. “What’s missing?”

Martin frowned and said, “Mind you, I don’t actually understand what this means. But there is one last step to complete the Storm of Mercy. You have to plunge the blade into the heart of Kerun. He is the source of the weapon’s power.”

Clint scratched his head with both hands in frustration. “Another puzzle now? When will this be over?”

Sara frowned sadly and placed her palm on his shoulder to comfort him. He had been through so much in the past few days. She could heal the ache in his muscles, but that did nothing to address the stress he was under. After spending so long hard at work on the halberd, he was clearly burned out.

“It’s okay,” she whispered gently. “There’s someone else we can ask now. Let’s get everyone together.”

The two of them returned to the inn where the rest of the party had been resting. They found them in the communal dining area, eating in silence. When Sara and Clint joined them, Seth whistled at the sight of the golden weapon Clint carried.

“So that’s the weapon that’s going to kill Maula, huh?” the spellwarrior mumbled with a slight look of reverence.

Maya turned to Seth and hugged him tightly. “Isn’t that great? We can finally go and break your curse now!”

Clint shook his head and said, “Not quite yet. As nice as this beauty looks, it’s no better than any other halberd.”

Seth slapped his palm to his forehead. “Oh come on! Isn’t there enough magic in all the crap we put into it already?”

“Not nearly,” Sara said with a glance to Kevin. “It seems that the Storm of Mercy draws power from Kerun. To complete it, we’re supposed to plunge it directly into his heart.”

Mia scoffed and slammed her palm on the table. “I thought the whole point of all of this was to banish a deity who has invaded our world? Where the fuck are we supposed to find another?”

Kevin stood up with a sigh. “Right here.”

Next Chapter

The Festival of Summer

Among the seasonal festivals that have arisen to honor the four Elder Gods, there is one that stands alone for its hype, attendance, and historical significance. When the bells of Dalaska and Resta City signal the first Chaotic temple sermons of the summer, a week-long festival is held in honor of Chaos. It takes very different forms whether its celebrated in Heron or Resta, but one thing is consistent with both versions: a tournament that draws warriors from across the country to compete for the ultimate prize. In the case of Heron, champions have traditionally received a valuable gift from each of the three houses, while those who participate in Resta's tournament compete for a rare honor called the Royal Boon-- the right to make any reasonable wish of the monarch. The purpose of the tournament isn't hard to guess, for Chaos values strength above all else and competition as a motivator for greatness.

In the First Age, during the Brokamac Clan's occupation of Coronos, the Pyrisians would host gladiatorial games pitting the locals against their own champions. To the Pyrisians, these fights were a test of honor; both their own and that of their new subjects while the Coronosians saw it as a constant attempt to assert the Brokamac clan's dominance. For many years, warriors of both peoples fought against each other for both glory and the Pyrisians' entertainment, with the eastlanders being motivated to win by promises of comfort and luxury to the champions. In this, the lesson the Pyrisians meant to impart to the Coronosians wasn't always clear. The Brokamac meant for their subjects to learn that only in strength can one live in comfort and safety, but they instead began to value the thrill of competition itself; in their minds, great satisfaction is owed to those who strive to be the best. 

This tradition ended when the Coronosians discovered magic. With the ability to stand on even footing with even the Brokamac's pyromancers, they won a greater share of their matches until the Brokamac clan leader, Ivan the Relentless, called off the games to spare his warriors further embarrassment. Many years later, the liberated state of Coronos merged with their southern neighbors to form a newer, stronger kingdom. This was followed by a stern proclamation to the people of Heron that the newly formed Kingdom of Resta was ready for any further threats from the north. The lords of the Piers, Crowmont, and Karn clans responded to this challenge not with aggression, but with an invitation: one more tournament held with Resta and Heron's greatest champions. The Restans accepted this invitation and offered the grounds of their newly built castle, Sunburst Keep, as the arena for the competition.

Historians from both countries agree that the tournament was a political maneuver meant to demoralized the newly unified country. While the Heronites had recently undergone a series of reforms that promoted isolationism over the imperialism of their ancestors, they saw Resta's proclamation as a threat and wanted to prove that this nubile giant could fall. The Malorans who controlled Resta's throne at the time were well aware of this, but doubled down on their insistence that they would no longer feel threatened by the north. But in a strange twist of fate, neither country was able to prove their point when the tournament ended in a draw between the first phoenix spellwarrior, Gaius Maloran and Altan Karn, the last surviving pyromancer of the First Age. 

Since the end of this tournament, the Heronites and Restans went their separate ways in amicable terms. The mutual respect that resulted from the tournament's result has stabilized relations between the two countries for the entirety of their respective existences. While their cultural differences cause them to keep each other at arm's length, their acknowledgement of each others' strength has foreclosed any potential hostility. At first, this tournament was a yearly tradition for which both countries traded the responsibility to host. Over the next decade, however, it became clear that the two cultures each valued something different about this tradition. So, each country formed its own version of the festival, offering praise to Chaos in their own distinct ways.

In Heron, the trappings of the Summer Festival are rooted in the theological purpose of the original tournaments. For the whole week of the festival, temple services are held every hour, which encourage attendees to reflect on Chaos' will for mortality. The tournament is the center of the festivities and encompasses four days out of the week. Games are held for children as well, including toy swordplay, archery, and wrestling. These allow children to prepare for the main event when they are old enough. The festival is catered with many of Heron's summer staples, including rabbit stew, sausages made with pork and smoked venison, fish cakes, and bread bowls. 

In Resta, the Summer Festival embraces the competitive nature that their Coronosian ancestors found in the original tournaments. While Resta's own tournament, the RGT, only encompasses the final two days of the festival, the other five days are devoted to various other athletic events; namely track and water sports. One of those days is generally devoted to experimental events meant to expose spectators to new sports, such as the freeform cycling race known as Blitzroll. For everyone else, Resta's summer festival is a lure for the bounty of firecrab one can eat there, whether its deep fried, packed into sausage, or diced into chili. Various other forms of seafood, as well as the fruits of Blackstone Farm, can also be found for those who can't handle the spice of firecrab.

The beginning of summer is a time of praise for Chaos for giving people the strength to be frequently become better than they are. While this virtue takes two vastly different forms, the lesson is clear: when this festival comes around, everyone is in for a bounty of hearty food and gripping entertainment.

It Comes for Those Who Don't Run Part 14

Back to the Beginning

Previous

You turn back and try to lose it down another path...

Aennin awoke with relief to dead silence in his room. This not only meant that the voice which haunted him had ceased to speak, but that he had woken up before Kana got home. He glanced at his bedside clock and found that it was less than an hour before dawn. Since leaving school, he did not usually wake up this early but, then again, he did not usually turn in as early as he did. As it turned out, drowning out the girl who spoke directly to his mind made him a motivated sleeper. With a yawn, he shrugged out of the clothes he had been wearing since the day before and began to prepare for the day. This time, he would be ready early so he could have a few minutes alone with his sister before she could pester him with the urgency of Katim's daily summons.

He didn't feel much like cooking, so he simply pulled a canister of mixed nuts and a bowl from the cupboard and pantry respectively and poured him a lead helping. With his bowl full of what would have to pass for that morning's breakfast in hand, he walked over to the dining table, where he found the cup he had drunk from the morning before. He picked up the cup and took it back to rinse it in the sink. But as he pumped the water, he suddenly realized that wasn't what he wanted to drink. He shook the cup dry and set it on the counter before slipping into the living room. There, he began to rummage through everything trying to find something better. He finally found what he was looking for in a compartment hidden beneath Anera's favorite chair: a bottle of her favorite bogwine.

He returned to the kitchen to pour what remained inside the bottle into his cup. He then settled into the table with his nuts and drink. As he chewed on his first handful of nuts, he began to ponder the pungent odor coming from his cup. It nearly nauseated him, but he was curious enough to try it anyway. After he had finished chewing, he gulped the food down with the wine-- and nearly spit it out.

"Well, that's enough of that, then," he muttered distastefully as he returned to the kitchen to replace the revolting drivel with some water.

As he stood up, however, he suddenly felt different. His limbs felt lighter and his head felt like it was floating. The sensation was subtle, but by the time he had reached the sink, he had already begun to rethink his plan. He understood then what made this drink so desirable to his mother. Even the ache that had followed him out of bed seemed to subside almost magically. Why waste such a miraculous elixir?

So, he finished the cup, then scrounged through more of his mother's things for more. She never seemed to run out, so it seemed unlikely that the bottle that was close to going empty was the only one around. Aennin's search seemed fruitless at first, for which he supposed he must blame Kana, but then his efforts led to their parents' bedroom. Neither of the siblings had walked into the master bedroom of the apartment since they lost their parents, but in this intoxicated daze, there was nothing to stop Aennin now.

He pushed open the door and gasped at the first glimpse of the room. The walls were etched with splatters of black paint and Anera's long-forgotten vanity seemed to have been replaced with a makeshift altar, on which a rotting goat's head rested. Aennin took this horrible sight in stride as his mission took precedence over this new mystery. Fortune favored Aennin at last when he rummaged through the closet and found another bottle hidden away in the pocket of a coat he hadn't seen his mother wear in years.

With another gulp of the disgusting, amazing drink put away, Aennin could once again turn his attention to the altar. Beneath the decaying skull was a card etched with his father's handwriting in only one word: Katim.

"Desperation can lead one to do things that would make them unrecognizable to their own family. How tragic that his gambit failed."

Aennin froze. Although the alcohol still held his nerves together, it could not contain the dread he felt at hearing that voice in his head once more. He was visited with a sudden urge to scrub his brain clean, but this impulse evoked laughter from her.

"You can't purify yourself by scouring what is already pure," the girl said in a playful tone.

"Who are you?" Aennin mumbled awkwardly.

"I'm the last goddess who heard your father's prayers," the girl said cryptically. "Alas, I don't receive many prayers--especially not from elves--but that is just one of many products of desperation."

Aennin's eyes widened with realization. He cursed his current state of intoxication, ashamed that a deity could see him in the act of something he was forbidden to do.

"I don't care what you do with your body," the goddess said with a trace of boredom in her voice. "Well, I might. That body could come in useful later."

"What do you want from me?" Aennin asked, unable to help himself from speaking despite being fully aware that it was unnecessary.

"Finally, the little elf asks!" the goddess chirped excitedly. "What I want is for you to take what I couldn't give to your father before he died."

Aennin's eyes wandered to the altar as his mind struggled to process what she was implying. He was talking to someone that elves in particular didn't pray to and the altar he had built to her held the name of his father's enemy.

 "My father actually prayed for you to kill Katim, didn't he? Lady Maula?"

"Right and right!" the goddess exclaimed. "Now he's dead but that doesn't mean I have to spare the vermin he wanted me to end. He went to a lot of trouble to earn my favor and he would want you to benefit from it."

"What did he do?"

"That doesn't matter and I highly doubt you want to know. Isn't knowing that he called out to me bad enough?"

Aennin shrugged and nodded. She had a point. He was tired of hearing worse and worse things about his father. Maula, the Goddess of Death, was the antithesis of Tanisian culture so even talking to her was a secret he planned to take to his grave. This thought incited a chuckle from the goddess.

"So, Katim is going to die? Just like that?"

"No, not just like that!" Maula snapped impatiently. "I'm sure you mortals love to view me as the type of person to just snap my fingers and make someone dead, but I'm not! For me to do this, there has to be a purpose!"

"I'm guessing my family's freedom isn't a good enough purpose," the boy mumbled in a disheartened tone that suddenly gave him pause. Did he seriously want Katim to die?

"Good guess!" Maula hissed. "No, Katim will die when I'm ready to kill him. Until then, I want you to stay close to him. The more you can learn from him, the more inclined I'll be to end his life."

Aennin tried to ask what the point of this command was, but she wouldn't respond. Finally, he shrugged and left the room with his bottle, which he hid in his room before returning to breakfast. He began to worry that this meant an end to his escape plan. If even a goddess wanted him near Katim, what right did he have to argue? He didn't know what would happen if he disobeyed Maula but, considering what she stood for, there was no sense in taking that risk. On the plus side, this could mean having the opportunity to watch Katim die.

But again, was Katim's death really what he wanted?

Next

The Confectioners' Domain

I thought I had escaped them forever. Two witches waiting beyond a small border town and nabbing a few people a year didn't seem like the sort of people who desired attention. A high-profile place like Resta's capitol city seemed like the ideal place to hide from such reclusive people. But I never counted on them having family in the city, or my scent. One Black Ames, they found me again so far away from their usual hunting grounds and strung me up by a chain. Before they could lower me into their vat of liquid candy, however, a spellwarrior came along and caused them to flee. He saved me, and I thanked him for hiding from the truth once more. Neither I, nor anyone else, could ever be safe with them alive. This was so obvious in hindsight, but I remained committed to my belief that they weren't interested in me personally. I just needed to get further out of their way. Maybe I'd give life in Heron a try.

It wasn't until the apprentice confectioner came to my door in search of answers that my denial began to chip away. She introduced herself as Camilla Winstrom, and she worked for a master of confections at her shop in town. She told me about her mentor, Deidre Dario, and the magical sweets that they made together. It was hard to trust her, of course, since so much of what she described sounded so much like what the witches got up to. But she had been prepared for my suspicion with a chocolate soldier that she carried around in his pocket. When she pulled off his wrapper, the little person marched around on my table, looking anything but sinister. Whatever I was seeing was far more gentle than anything I had seen in Freedom's Reach and it didn't fill me with the sense of dread that I had come to expect from the witches of Black Ames. The only explanation I have for not being as terrified of Miss Winstrom's magic as I was of theirs was this instinctual difference. 

Camilla then explained what she could piece together about the two witches and her mentor, whom they killed in cold blood shortly after coming so close to finishing me off. The spellwarrior who saved me showed up and went through the old woman's belongings afterwards and left with the recommendation that Camilla offer herself for the Hem Order's protection. But she couldn't hold still knowing that these witches were tarnishing the legacy of their own mother, a woman who had taught her so much. So she peeked at the spellwarrior's notes and found my address, then came to my home in order to beg me for my help. She bored through my resistance toward getting involved with the simple logic that I would never sleep properly again until they stopped being a threat to me. She then convinced me that I could help her just by showing her to the witches' home. I tried to tell her that they hadn't been to the place I had seen since I found it, but she was convinced that they'd leave enough behind from all the magic they use to give her an important clue.

So she convinced me to do something I thought was impossible. I returned to Freedom's Reach during Black Ames. I even walked her to the cliff-side cabin where I found the witches turning my friends into candy. The candy statues who were once people no longer decorated the yard, presumably passed into the hands of their families for burial. With them gone, the place looked even more eerie for its complete abandonment. But this didn't deter Camilla, who remained convinced that looking here would allow her to put her mentor's greatest regret to bed. She did some spell that caused her eyes to glow, which I guess enhanced her vision somehow because she seemed to be looking closely at everything in the cabin. She seemed to find something in one of the bookshelves that the spellwarriors and HDL agents who explored the place had apparently missed. She did some spells of her own until a strange glyph appeared on the wall.

Camilla told me that the glyph was a piece of spacial magic that would transport anyone who used it into an alternate space that looked like the cabin, but in which the witches could hide without fear of being discovered by anyone from the outside world. From that point, both of us had been clear on the point that she would go on alone, but fate intervened after she had left. When I was left alone in the cabin, I saw the two witches coming in from the outside. Seeing no other place to hide, I touched the glyph and soon found myself in a curious place. The space I occupied then certainly resembled the place I had come from, but the walls were not made from wood and the windows weren't glass. I was in a room made entirely out of candy. After leading me all of this way, I was disappointed--although not remotely surprised-- to find her scolding me for following her. But when I told her why, she sighed and told me that we would need to hide before the witches entered. We left the room, hoping to find more places to hide outside, but only found ourselves in a great hallway. We were in a castle that could have rivaled the size of the Gilded Keep and it was all made of sugar.

This only seemed to excite Camilla, however. A space so personal could be the only safe place for the witches' secrets, after all. So, while the witches hung their coats and prepared to put their feet up, we were moving from room to room, looking for any information that might have been laying around. It was in a dark, musty storage room that we found a journal which belonged to Camilla Dario, the witch who shared a name with her late mother's apprentice. In it, the witch wrote about how she and her sister had taken to studying magic to save their mother's failing candy shop. But as their skills developed, that concern slowly became trivial to them. It's hard to pinpoint the exact point in which their priorities shifted from saving their mother to obtaining power. They began to experiment with dark magic, which I only know is the worst kind of magic there is. Even Crane condemns it, but they didn't care. They wanted to know how to create an ideal world for their family, but they couldn't accept that there were limits to what they could do.

The witches nearly walked in on us then and there, but luckily walked right past our door. With the witch's journal in hand, we fled this magical place in the direction from which we had come and escaped through the glyph. Once we were outside the seemingly abandoned building, Camilla continued to read the journal while I rushed back to Freedom's Reach to get help. There, I found the spellwarrior who had saved me back in the capitol. He was on the witches' trail, but was close to giving up. The week was nearly over and he had still failed to find their hideout. It was thanks to Camilla's bravery and my willingness to go along with her that I was able to tell him where they could be found so he didn't have to wait another year for the chance to bring them to justice. He was so excited for this opportunity that he didn't even lecture me for endangering myself as I had. Instead, he asked me to lead him to the cabin. 

When we returned, the spellwarrior ventured into the glyph space to investigate the first solid lead he had ever been given in this case while Camilla told me more of what she had read of them. It seemed that the witches had followed a similar route to their mother, incorporating magic in their candy-making pursuits until they hit a wall in their ambitions. Their candy was good, but it wasn't the world-changing sweets that their mother had pined for. So, they turned to demons to help them to make their candy irresistible and the demons turned out to be extremely helpful, but at a cost. The demons could only subsist on the candy they created, but craved for mortal flesh. So, they combined magic with these evil creatures in order to turn people into candy so that their new servants could feed.

It was with sadness that Camilla watched the spellwarrior march out the defeated witches. To the very end, they continued to walk the path their mother did. They reached beyond the limits of sanity to become the best at something so important to them. At first, it wasn't about glory, but saving the dream their family shared. Now, with Deidre Dario dead and her daughters destined for a long imprisonment, that dream was left with Camilla Winstrom, the woman who walked into a store one day and discovered magic she had never before imagined. Had the family stayed together, these witches would have been the ones to inherit the legacy of The Spring Confectioner, but they had handed it to a stranger by following the wrong path. I think Camilla had grown to understand them as a sister might, but it was too late for them to be forming any bonds. Thanks to us, they would never hurt anyone again.

And in the end, that was all that mattered to me.

Sigil of Salica

This is a pendant which depicts the symbol mortals most commonly associate with Salica, Goddess of the Storm. The symbol represents the Goddess' familiar-- Karashartal, the mother of all krakens. Pendants like these usually drape the necks of Restan clergy who have been fully anointed in the Doctrine of Storms. Once earned, it allows priests to demonstrate their mastery of Salica's teachings to strangers and serves as a status symbol at the Blackstone Monastery, where masters frequently return to seek an education in the next of the gods' Doctrines.

Pendants like these are universally reviled outside of Resta, as only a citizen of the "Chosen Land" would ever see the need to wear their religion like a piece of jewelry. Besides this, the gold used to make the amulet and chain, as well as the magical threads used in the embroidery, make these pendants very expensive. Among the many reasons for a templar to protect an anointed priest in their pilgrimages, one of the most common is that the value of such a prize is a lure for robbers and bandits. The money one can make from selling this, or any other theological pendant from the Blackstone Monastery, would be enough to buy a house anywhere in the world.

Death Touch Chapter 36

With this, Death Touch only has four chapters left! This has been a long ride for me, but I'm going to finish strong! After several years on and off the shelf and months of queue-jumping, late updates (*cough*), and preemptive agonizing over the edits I'm going to make for the final draft, I intend to finish the story THIS MONTH. Regular content will continue for the next week or so, but then comes Death Touch Week, in which I'll be updating this story for four updates in a row! If you've been following the journey of Seth, Sara, Clint and Mia all this time, or even if you just started now and happened to like this chapter, make sure to congratulate me for coming closer than I ever have to completing my first novel on Twitter (and bask in the dark profile pic, which depicts one of our champions)!

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Clint 

“He’s resting at the Peakview Clinic. He’s pulled a few things from his fight, but nothing Sara can’t put right when she and Mia catch up.”

Sam delivered this message of Seth’s condition to Clint on a muggy afternoon the day after spellwarrior’s rescue from the blood mage hideout. The Intalan champion would have loved to be there when he was checked into this clinic, but something had caught his eye as soon as he had arrived in Foldo. Since then, he had turned his focus to their quest now that they were so close to the end.

A blacksmith had been working his outdoor forge with materials that looked similar to what Seth and Sam had acquired in Ridge. It was then that he remembered the pressing issue that awaited the champions. According to the legend, they were responsible for forging the Storm of Mercy and, now that they had collected three of the four artifacts needed to completed it, it was high time someone figured out how. With Sara and Mia walking through Flora Field and Seth physically indisposed, who better than him? The former of the three had once told him that his gift was learning quickly, which his newfound grasp on the ancient tongue proved. 

Fortunately, Clint didn’t need to look far for the ideal tutor. The sign above the door to the workshop indicated that the business was called “Steelworth Weaponry.” That could only mean that the man working in front of it was Martin Steelworth. Clint had discussed the legend of the original legendary halberd with Sara at the festival and had learned that the champions who defeated Maula the first time was aided by a metalworker named Patrick Steelworth. It was here in Foldo that Clint had hoped to find someone carrying his legacy and Martin fit that description perfectly.

The blacksmith had just poured a generous flow of molten steel into a mold that looked like the beginnings of a new axe head. Then, with a sigh, he looked up to Clint with a gruff stare. He was an old man whose burly physique was marred with countless burn scars that contrasted with the dark tan in his skin. More importantly at the moment, he seemed annoyed to have been interrupted even though Clint hadn’t yet said anything.

“See anything you like, young man?” he growled as diplomatically as a man working with hot metal could possibly be.

“Just your name, old man,” Clint replied with a biting emphasis on the last two words. Normally, only Seth would risk antagonizing him this way, but Clint could tell that Martin was not a man who liked to see weakness.

Martin narrowed his eyes at the champion and said, “Not many people are interested in my name. Who are you?”

Clint gave him a strong smirk in response. “Oh, just a modern counterpart to the people who needed the help of your famous ancestor.”

Martin wiped the sweat from his forehead and frowned. “If you want me to believe that, you’d better know what I need to see.”

Clint reached into his backpack and pulled out the dark black chain that Seth had been found with. “This is just one of the pieces. The blade is with a friend of mine in town. The spear is with some other friends and by the time they get here, they’ll have the other chain.”

Martin picked up the chain and examined it closely. “It’s not easy to create a forgery of this artifact, so I’m going to assume it’s genuine. So, what experience do you have forging weapons?”

Clint sighed and responded. “None. I’m a hunter.

The blacksmith rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to his shop. “Come on, then. I can tell this is going to take some time.”

So, Clint began his apprenticeship under the blacksmith. Martin wasn’t optimistic about his chances of learning the techniques he would need even within a month. But they couldn’t afford any shortcuts. Sara was certain that the Storm of Mercy could only be properly forged by the hands of someone anointed by the gods and the slightest mistake could unpredictably affect the finished weapon’s power. With this in mind, Martin let Clint do everything himself and kept most of his instructions strictly verbal. With this approach in mind, Clint picked up the basics quickly enough and, by the next afternoon, he only found himself struggling to refine his technique.

It was during his second failed test run that Sam had showed up to update him on Seth’s condition. The visit was a welcome excuse to take a break for the exhausted champion. Perhaps sensing the urgency that followed his purpose, Martin had been working him hard. He had reacted with extreme impatience with even the most reasonable requests to stop. But where thirst and the need to go to the bathroom was met with a reluctant dismissal, Martin couldn’t argue that Clint didn’t need to know what was happening to his comrades.

“How about the staff?” Clint asked with a frown as he studied the misshapen shaft he had just finished. “None of them touched him, did they?”

Sam shook her head. “It took some convincing, but they’re letting Maya take care of him. Thank the gods nothing serious happened to him.”

Clint nodded and dropped the failed attempt at a halberd on the counter. “That’s good. I’m sure he’ll be on his feet long before I get this worked out.”

Sam eyed the bent shaft with a smile. “You’re getting the hang of it faster than anyone else. Most people back in Ridge take twice as long just to get the metal to cool. Whatever techniques the man here uses must be exactly what you need.”

Clint shrugged, smiling weakly as he glanced at the forge that would be melting the ingots for his next attempt. “I know that. Believe it or not, I still have a firm grip on my patience so far.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, that won’t last for long if you lose focus. I should let you get back to it.”

Clint nodded gratefully. “Thanks for dropping in. Make sure Seth knows where to find me when he’s up and walking again!”

By the end of his fifth day, Clint had finally managed to put together a perfect shaft and was about to start learning the technique for the blade. Before he could begin this lesson, however, Martin had something else to talk about.

“Clint, m’boy, you’ve really impressed me with how fast you’ve been improving,” the usually-curmudgeonly blacksmith said with a wide grin. “I have something I want to give you.”

Martin then held out his hand and revealed a brass ring set with what appeared to be a chunk of amber. Clint took the ring tentatively and put it on his left hand almost immediately.

“Thanks,” the champion mumbled apprehensively. “What’s this for?”

Martin frowned and picked up the steel pole Clint had just finished. He seemed to be thinking about something. Clint was about to rouse him from his contemplation when he responded, “I had a dream in which you wore this ring. You were standing atop a crumbling black tower with a heavy wind whipping everything around, looking like the king of the world.”

Crane must want me to have it, Clint thought to himself, remembering the god’s affinity for wind. “Well thank you, Martin. I don’t know what to do with this yet, but I won’t let your gift go to waste. We’re going to win.”

The blacksmith merely grunted in approval and set him to work on the blade until nightfall. It was when he left for the night that he finally encountered Seth once more on his way back to the inn at which he’d been staying.

“Hey!” the spellwarrior said with a grin. “How come you haven’t visited, asshole?”

Clint rolled his eyes dramatically and smirked in response. “While you were loafing around, I’ve been working out how to make the weapon we need once we have everything together.”

“Speaking of which, where are the other two champions with the rest of the artifacts?”

Clint raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I dunno. They should have had plenty of time to catch up by now. Maybe they got held up by that other champion of Maula.”

“There’s two of those monsters?”

Clint nodded. “They had the safest path, though. It’s not like anyone could get hurt in Flora Field, right?”

“Tell that to my ex,” Seth said with a roll of his eyes.

It took Clint a great effort not to chuckle at the obvious mention of the fey spellwarrior, Millie Flora. I’m sure he’d love to forget her even now. “Well, we need to figure out for sure what happened to them. Do you think you can find them?”

Seth nodded and patted the summoning horn he kept tucked beneath his collar, smirking incredulously. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Between Millie and Inkfang, that should be no problem.”

“Do you think Inkfang remembers Millie’s scent?” Clint asked teasingly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seth said irritably. 

So, Seth left Foldo with Sam and Maya in tow. Clint hadn’t talked to any of them much in his time there, but now that they were gone, he felt somewhat lonely. As his only company, Martin was sufficient, but his instruction had only become more strict since they had begun learning to make the Storm of Mercy’s blade, which was far more complex than the shaft. It took all day for him to even finish his first attempt from the day before. When he passed it to Martin for inspection, however, the blacksmith merely tossed it aside carelessly. 

“It’s uneven! The point on the back is too short! Start again!”

Clint sighed and pulled a fresh ingot from the shelf to start his second attempt. He was starting to think it wasn’t necessary to start fresh every time he messed up, but that Martin was forcing him to do so only to give him more practice. This was a sensible approach to teaching, but Clint resented the extra work more and more as it took a toll on his muscles. 

He worked on this one late into the night, fearing the expense of any more time than necessary. It wasn’t healthy for him to push himself so hard, but he didn’t care. So much was riding on the completion of their quest. Maulans were out there killing people and his best friend was burdened with a deadly curse that made it impossible to tussle his hair as he liked to do. If he truly had a gift for learning rapidly, he considered it his responsibility to use that gift to bring a swift end to the death that Maula brought to the world.

It was nearly sunrise when Clint started to put the finishing touches on his second blade. His vision was blurred with fatigue to the point where he couldn’t tell how it was coming along. He stopped hammering and sighed. Martin can tell me what I messed up later. His eyes went unfocused and fluttered a few times before falling shut. That was the last thing he remembered before passing out on the floor of Martin’s workshop.

“Oy! Get up!”

Martin had walked in two hours later and began kicking him awake. Clint sat up sluggishly and looked around blearily. His muscles screamed with fatigue and his head throbbed as well. He looked up to his new mentor, who was holding what appeared to be an axe head in his left hand. He sighed and hung his head. At this moment, he didn’t care what Martin was going to say about his new blade. He didn’t have the strength to make another. Maybe when Seth came back with the others and Sara had a chance to heal him…

“You did a good job with this one,” Martin said gruffly as he held the blade for him to take. “There are some rough patches, but if you’re consistent I know you’ll get it right next time.”

Clint took the axe head with disbelief. Looking more closely, this one looked much more like the drawing he had seen in one of Richard’s history books. He couldn’t even see a single flaw, but he was tired and far less experienced than Martin, so he had no intention of arguing the point. He continued to study the blade intently until the blacksmith began to grow impatient.

“Oh, get off my floor! I have to open the shop! You can go rest until you’re ready to make the real thing.”

Music to my ears!

Next Chapter

The Astersong Siblings, Part 2

Part 1

“You did what?!” Atunis demanded, entirely forgetting his task in the storeroom, along with all else. “And after what happened last time? How could you still be foolish enough to meddle with this sort of thing? You are old enough to understand that actions have consequences, Eione!”

The young woman narrowed her eyes and scowled bitterly at her brother. “I did not come here to be judged. If you’re going to act like this, I should just leave things as they are.” She looked away from him with a snap of her head.

Atunis glared at the girl, shaking his head for a moment and taking a deep breath. He sighed resignedly. “You know we cannot do that. Now, where is it?”

“The eastern woods, near the cliff’s edge,” Eione replied quietly, folding her arms across her chest. “At least, that’s where it was when I left.”

“We need to hurry,” Atunis replied, furrowing his brow. “We should probably armed...or something.” He paused again, frowning pensively. “You should stay here. I will take care of it myself.”

“No,” Eione stated firmly, nearly cutting him off. “You need me and you know that. I don’t need you to be protective right now!”

A long pause. “Fine. Let’s go, then,” he replied with deep resignation.

***

The sound of Iris’ bird population grew louder and more varied as the siblings ventured deeper into the forest. The canopy overhead cast a pleasant shade as the two trekked in silence. 

After several minutes, Atunis broke this silence with a deep sigh. Eione glanced at him and tensely muttered, “We’re getting close.”

Atunis noticed that the birdsongs had faded significantly, giving the forest around them an eerie, empty feeling. The pair slowed to a stop, standing for a few moments among the quiet trees. In the silence, Atunis found himself once more becoming keenly aware of his mood. Eione’s problem made him nervous, certainly. And yet, the terror that had gripped him for the past few weeks had waned significantly. What was it about being in actual danger that was so much easier to deal with? He frowned pensively. 

“I hear something,” Eione replied, narrowing her eyes. 

Atunis swallowed as he listened intently to the sounds of the forest. She was right. A rustling sound could be heard several yards ahead.

“I just need it distracted long enough for me to work a spell,” Eione said, taking a deep breath.

“How big is this thing, exactly?”

Eione tapped her chin. “Big enough to be...problematic. Maybe.”

Atunis furrowed his brow. “That is disturbingly vague.”

Eione shrugged. “You’ll understand when you see it.” She paused and fidgeted for a moment. “You know, I’m actually quite proud of it. I just…” She frowned. “I would get in trouble if anyone actually saw it. And it’s difficult to control.”

Atunis sighed, furrowing his brow. “You shouldn’t be proud of something like this, Eione.” He turned her to him and looked her in the eye. “You can be proud of the fact you’re smart and skilled, but you don’t need to prove those things by using dark magic!”

Eione frowned, pulling away from him. “I didn’t do this to prove anything! Unlike you, I’m quite secure in my knowledge of my own capabilities. I did this because I wanted to. I wanted to see what would happen! I was curious! Not every action you disagree with is done as the result of some emotional damage. Sometimes people are just different than you and want different things!” She sighed, throwing her hands up. “Surely you can understand that if I put it simply enough.”

Atunis frowned, standing quietly for a few moments, unable to think of a good retort. “We should formulate a plan.”

Eione rolled her eyes again. “Maybe just try and keep its eyes on you while I work from a few yards away. I’ll try and work quickly.”

Atunis sighed. “I suppose that’ll have to do until I actually see what we’re dealing with.”

Eione began walking slowly in the direction of the rustling they had heard. Atunis deliberately overtook her, standing in front protectively. There was silence for a few moments as the pair halted on Atunis’ mark. There was the sound of a branch snapping, and Atunis’ vision faded to black.

***

Above, a clear sky glittered with bright stars, and the only sound was that of the water lapping against the side of the small vessel Atunis laid in. He felt a soft, warm presence beside him, and a deep sense of contentment. His heart swelled with love and gratitude, though he did not know for what. He sighed, simply gazing upwards.

***

Atunis blinked, bleary eyed, his head pounding as he gazed up at Iris’ familiar canopy. It was a few more seconds before the ringing in his ears gave way to the sounds of a struggle nearby. 

“Come on! Get up, you oaf!”

A flash of light overtook Atunis’ vision for a moment, and with it most of the pain in his head had cleared. He looked over at Eione. “Did you just heal m…”

His words trailed off as he saw what his sister was trying to keep off of her. His jaw dropped.

The abominable creature was about the size of a small horse, hexapedal, and covered on most of its body with thick, wiry hair similar to that which would be seen on an insect, though this beast’s limbs ended in six sharp, cloven hooves. Its back was covered in what looked like a tough, smooth shell that grew up and over the head of the animal, culminating in a jagged beetle’s horn. From beneath it beered out two eerie yellow eyes with rectangular pupils, similar to those a goat would bear, and from there, its long snout extended down to where two long, white fangs protruded from the creature’s mouth. 

Atunis stared at the thing for a few moments before feeling an unfamiliar rush of bravery. He quickly stood up to intervene, but quickly realized this had been a questionable idea. In startled response to Atunis’ rapid gesture, the beast stood on its hind set of legs and screeched loudly, the shell on its back splitting into two sets of large wings that buzzed wildly, whipping up the air around them and prompting a united scream from both of the siblings. Atunis grabbed Eione by the arm and began backing them both away slowly. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry! We’re sorry!” he urged, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, attempting to calm the beast. 

Eione squeezed Atunis’ shoulder. “Keep it looking at you,” she quietly uttered in his ear before backing away into the trees. 

Atunis took a deep breath, giving Eione a disdainful frown. “Fine.” He began approaching the creature, hoping to draw its gaze away from her. “Yes! Over here!” He circled in an arc in front of the beast as Eione moved farther off in the opposite direction, finding a spot behind a nearby tree to work her magic. She reached into her satchel and removed a small pouch. She began reciting an incantation as Atunis narrowed his eyes, locking them with the creature’s eerie gaze. He briefly wondered why he wasn’t more afraid, but quickly dismissed the thought as he focused on his task, watching as the creature lowered back onto its other four legs and began aggressively rearing its head towards Atunis. He jumped back, careful not to lose the creature’s attention or inadvertently startle it again. It began scraping the ground with one of its front hooves, as if it were getting ready to charge. Atunis’ heart jumped into his throat as he got ready to leap out of the way, but before he could, the creature suddenly dropped to the ground, unmoving. After a few moments of silence, he felt it was safe enough to approach the creature. He looked down at the animal, empathy and sadness welling up inside of him.

Seeing that her magic had worked, Eione slowly revealed herself once again. She sighed as she looked upon the creature. She glanced up at Atunis, but quickly looked away as she caught his gaze. He turned his eyes on her, his brow furrowed. 

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“I have a plan,” she replied quietly, folding her arms across her chest. “I was going to leave it with someone who could bring it to a temple for...healing. There...is no reason it needs to stay this way.”

Atunis nodded. “Good.”

***

Atunis leaned against one of the pillars outside the reliquary, rubbing his thumb over the medallion he had found earlier in the storeroom. Running his finger over the pattern was soothing in an odd way, though he found he didn’t really feel the need to be comforted at that moment. He sighed contently as he looked up, seeing his father approach. 

“Where did you run off to before?” the man asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “I was worried when you weren’t here before, but one of the girls said she saw you go into the woods with Eione. Do you feel any better?”

Atunis smiled and nodded. “Yes. I think I’m alright, actually. She...just wanted to lecture me about some interesting fern she found in the woods. You know how she can be with that sort of thing.”

Isra smiled in relief and nodded. “Indeed.”

Atunis hesitated for a moment, then held up the medallion. “I found this in the storeroom earlier. I wanted to ask you about it.”

Isra’s eyebrows perked. “That was in the storeroom? Esia,” he incanted, taking the disc from Atunis and holding it securely in his hands, as if it were very special to him. He looked at it intently. “Do you know what this is?”

Atunis raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued by his father’s reaction. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. I just know it’s enchanted, somehow,” he replied.

Isra nodded. “This has been in my family for generations,” he replied, seeming to avoid touching the etching on the front. He furrowed his brow. “The enchantment is Salican. It’s designed to transfer emotions and rudimentary thoughts,” he replied. “Did you touch the design?”

Atunis nodded, furrowing his brow and remembering the odd vision he had while passed out, and the rush of confidence that followed it. “Yes. Did that activate the magic?”

“Yes,” Isra replied with a smile. “And if you ever do it again, you should attempt to meditate or sleep while under its effects. It can evoke simple visions if you clear your mind sufficiently.”

Atunis chuckled lightly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll remember that. I do know that it made me feel...better. Than before.”

“That is not surprising,” Isra replied, slipping the medallion into the pocket of his robe. “I am glad it helped you. I should caution you, however, that it isn’t really intended for...medicinal use,” he explained. “This magic evokes specific emotions of a particular place and time,” he replied. “With use too frequent, one can become consumed by a need to return to a place and time that does not exist any longer.”

Atunis’ eyebrows perked. “I see…” He nodded in understanding before looking at his father curiously. “Do you know where it came from? Originally, I mean.”

Isra shook his head and sighed. “That knowledge has been lost to time, unfortunately. I wish I knew.” He chuckled, a hint of disappointment evident in his gaze. “There is a certain point in my, or our, lineage, where it has proven impossible to find what lies before,” he replied. “It is quite the mystery, and even with all the resources I have had at my disposal, I have made little headway. Perhaps you will do a better job of solving the mystery someday.” He smiled. “For now, I should put this somewhere safe.”

Atunis smiled back at his father as the man began heading back towards the seminary. As he gazed off into the distance, he spotted his sister glancing cautiously over her shoulder as she seemed to sneak back towards the forest path, carrying her satchel and a large tome.