Author's Note: This is an excerpt from my larger, unpublished novel, "Superstitions: The Grimoire of Callings." I am currently trying to get this novel traditionally published an am still querying literary agents. If you are interested, the best place to reach me beyond this website is my twitter handle, @ambhou.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Forgehead and the Guild of Metalcasters
Mirori Steinar was not any kind of replacement for Ryia Ultor, Bringer of Storms.
No more than 16 summers old, and younger than Nali, he was dressed in robes the color of flame, and only had the new moon color’s of Vernerva emblazoned on his lapel. A new initiate. He knew that much, at least, from the Crown Mirori’s scoldings, and his crown mother’s own teachings. He would have felt more reassured if a Mirori with all three of the moon’s graces emblazoned on their robes would guide them to Forgehead, but Mirori Steinar seemed confident enough. He greeted them with a bright grin that looked almost endearing with the gap between his two front teeth. He stood at least a foot beneath both of their heights, and his brown and dappled hair curled around his ears, but his dark eyes were bright and watchful in a way that made Nali’s anxiety lessen: though, not by much. Mirori Steinar did not have much protection to offer them in steel, but he seemed nimble-footed and quick. He suspected he couldn’t complain much. Having a guide at all was welcoming. Flaren was more disconcerting than he recalled.
Nali suspected that he had never been this deep into the City of Flames before, but he only recalled gardens of ash and flames where generations of spitfire plants and baby salamanters were reared. Wherever that had been, he didn’t know. Childhood memories were often vague and filled with amazement, but Nali felt its familiar pull as Steinar led them both out and up of the quinta. Volcan’s Heart loomed in the distance. The large volcano was, blessedly, dormant, but Nali still had to endure his mother’s whipcrack of a ‘Nali!’ before his attention was ripped away from it. So much for codenames, though I’m sure I wouldn’t respond to it, either.
Steinar seemed to note that the two needed a moment to speak among themselves, and led them through a thinning crowd at a safe distance to where Aedia was able to speak. Even still, she did so quietly. “I want you to stay close to me. I’m not certain what Forgehead is like, but do not speak unless spoken to. I can handle it for the both of us, so that we may return to traveling quickly.”
“Do you distrust me that badly that you fear my own words will what, exactly? Give us away?” Nali said, unable to hide his indignation. “Or, perhaps, that I will like this better than the stifling atmosphere of the palace? The first few days of our journey were difficult, to be sure,” he added, sensing her growing displeasure, “but this is more of De’Olancia than I have ever seen.”
“De’Olancia is a diverse and beautiful kingdom, but we must remain focused. Perhaps you may visit the Mirori Order here to become initiated, if you so wish, but do you not think I can’t see you getting worse, Rayhinal?” She murmured. Nali’s stomach sank. “Lord Delmar knows of our imminent arrival, and this doubly serves to keep you safe from a potential Naught attack at the palace. Keeping ourselves in the wind will ensure Haus Regia survives.” Aedia’s usually bright and commanding eyes were surprisingly sullen. “I do not wish to force you to do anything you do not want to, my dove, but Raluce is not as kind. Come. The faster we find Redd a replacement, the faster we can get to Deadwood.”
Nali took her outstretched hand with reluctance, and fell into a close step beside her as Mirori Steinar began to lead them up a curved roadway that made his legs begin to ache, deep and exhausting. The hot, humid air did little to offer any comfort. The Flaren District burned hot and red, and Nali soon let go of his mother’s hand as sweat began to collect across his skin, barely dissuaded by a cool breeze that only greeted him for half a heartbeat. It was almost as if the sun burned twice as hot over the District. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true.
Soon, Steinar led them down a narrow alleyway, where the buildings leaned closer together so that it was cloaked in a sweet, but still warm, shadow. Nali breathed a sigh of relief. Even a little shade from the perfectly sunny day was welcome. When the small Mirori paused at the end of the alleyway, beside two old, aging statues of twin hellhounds much larger than the ones he saw roaming the streets, he had to swallow back his own fear. It was close to feeling like a trap, and he eyed Aedia’s reaction carefully as Steinar turned back to look at them.
He looked strangely keen, and Nali noticed that two bright, vibrant flames burned in the palms of his hands as he stretched them out for them to see. They made his eyes look molten. “It might be a bit overwhelming once we get inside, but have no fear! As long as you follow me, everything will be fine. I know just the man for you to see!”
“Who?” Nali asked, earning him a strong glare from Aedia, before the flames unleashed from Steinar’s hands and the statues roared to life.
Liquid flame seemed to coil and twist down the cracks in the ancient statues, but they burst to life as quickly as fire often did, and spurting flames hissed off of the ends of their tails as they dismounted their placements with a jarring thump onto the ground that reverberated through his legs. Nali scarcely breathed. Whipping their tails, shoots of fire shot from them like finely tuned whips, curling around one another before they made a graceful arc to whip and hiss into the cobblestone just below where Steinar stood. Burning gold, the stone gave way to reveal a large, flame-lit passageway larger than even the Trunnel, and the sounds of steel on steel and a flow of voices reached his eyes before the smell of smoke ever did. He was terrified and entranced at the same time. Steinar looked pleased.
“Forgehead was built underneath Flaren for better access to the raw materials needed to, you know…forge things, but only those involved with the trade know how to get inside. The types of things they create down there would make a thief quite rich!”
“How do you know, then?” Aedia asked, wary.
“My dad!” Steinar beamed. “He’s the best metalcaster I know, and I’m not just saying that! He’s president of the Guild, you know, so if anyone can help your friend, or even knows how to, it’s him.” His smile was wide and bright. “Come on!”
The little Mirori didn’t waste any time, and his small frame disappeared down the wide steps with the soft patter of his feet. Nali, this time, ignored his mother’s intense gaze, and began to follow in his wake at a quick pace. After Aedia had come inside, the mouth of the tunnel closed up behind them with the soft swoosh of flame, and it was as if they were descending into the core of the earth without a way out. It made him nervous, but the power he felt toiling beneath their feet was unimaginable. It called to him, and Nali felt his own heart leap uncertainly in his chest as he followed in Steinar’s footsteps. Though he had been ushered into the Arcane Arts by his mother, he sometimes wondered: what magic did he really excel at?
It was because Queen Aedia wanted him initiated into the Mirori Order, he knew, and he did have a knack for the Arcane…but he had also had a gift for mentis, when he was little. Each magus could manipulate a bit of each different branch, but one more often than not dominated the others. Sometimes, there would be those who would try to master all types of it. The idea of that was feared by most people. A magus who can bend every type of magic to his own will is exceedingly dangerous. Haus Sanctus had been known for it, and they had almost toppled De’Olancia before they themselves had been destroyed, but it still…intrigued Nali. A part of him wished he could be that powerful. Another part knew it could get him killed. If given the opportunity, though, to wield more than one, he was certain he would take it, for better or for worse.
Soon, the large, dim tunnel began to unfurl, and Nali hurried to keep up with Steinar as he rounded a corner. Light danced across his young features, and he hurried to keep up with him. He nearly slipped on the rocky stones beneath, but Steinar steadied him, and motioned his arm wide to the humongous, bright cavern that had opened up before them.
“Forgehead?”
“Forgehead,” Steinar answered, and Nali let out a wild laugh.
Medullam was a larger underground city, to be sure, but Forgehead glowed twice as bright. A large, winding river of lava seemed to burn somewhere in the distance of the cavern, but it was half as beautiful as the rest. Fires burned everywhere inside to give light to the dark cavern. Tunnels bigger than the roadways outside led off in all directions, and, even from their distance, Nali caught the sight of large, volcanic hellhounds pulling carts full of minerals and ores to and from. Most of the cavern was crowded with narrow streets and buildings that, if he took a guess, housed forgers and metalcasters. Spitfires, the famous, flame-filled urn shaped flowers grew all around the cave, and the different colored flames outside most of the settlements burned wild and writhing. At his questioning look, Steinar beamed. “The different colors and shapes in the fires show which metalcaster works there. Flags wouldn’t do well down here.” At that, Nali agreed, and followed him down the steep roadway. Aedia ended up latching herself onto his arm for balance, and they followed the Mirori into the clattering Forgehead with less apprehension and more curiosity. He half expected for his clothes to be covered in coal and ash by the time they would leave.
“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Aedia whispered, “but I quite like it. Perhaps I should get your father something while we’re here?”
“Weren’t you just dearly apprehensive?” He responded. “Perhaps he would like something. Maybe a sword. Who doesn’t enjoy a sword as a gift? We should only get him the hilt of one, though, so he can craft the blade out of water or ice: he is so jealous of Vierhymn’s own weapons that incorporate his arcane skills into them.”
“I didn’t know that,” Aedia murmured. “I’ll keep it in mind, but don’t let your tongue slip around your father.” At that, Nali snorted in amusement, and Steinar led them around a bend in the road where large, large hellhounds stood, vaguely spurting out flames along the fissures in their coal-black pelts.
They came up to a blackstone smith shop where the insignia of a large, winding basilisk would pour out from its flames, violet and red, and slither around the shop periodically, but the salamanters clinging to the walls didn’t seem to mind it. Steinar ushered them inside when the snake returned to its flames of origin, burning as bright as a Great Haus’s flag. Inside, the forge and bellows were immediately recognizable, and a large, burly man peered up from where he was hammering a thick blade across an anvil with dark, shrewd eyes.
“Stein,” he greeted them: or, more so, greeted his son, as he catapulted himself into his arms despite the coal and ash that clung to his father’s skin. It made Nali feel intrusive to watch. He ruffled Steinar’s hair affectionately, murmuring something that made his son laugh, before he turned his attention to Nali and Aedia. He was a large, burly man, and intimidating. Part of it was the scars that wound across his body.
Burn scars, they looked like—a lot like Ryia’s, he had noticed—but most looked healed despite their frequency across his pale skin. He was completely bald, and clothed in that rippling metallic fabric that seemed fireproof, except it framed him more like armor than a robe. His eyes were dark as coal and bright and flinty, slightly hidden by bushy eyebrows. Nali noticed the tattoo of a salamanter on his forearm, bright and burning, and the ink moved to shoot out flames from the lizard as its tail shot off, leaving the salamanter to scamper somewhere up and over his shoulder. When he noticed Nali staring, he crossed his arms.
“Who have you brought with you today, Steinar?” He asked, in a voice as rough and gruff as gravel.
“Two friends from the quinta! They came in with a boy who lost part of his leg, and…” he trailed off for a moment, timid, before finding his voice again. “Well, I thought you might help.”
The light of the forge and the torches around the room casted jagged shadows across their faces, but even Nali could see the flicker of resistance flash across his father’s face. “Do me a favor, Stein, and go check on Enya and the pups for me.” The hidden message underlying his words was clear and, sulking, Steinar obeyed, leaving Nali and Aedia alone with the President of the Guild of Metalcasters. For a moment, only the sharp crackles of flames broke through the silence.
“Is what he says true?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Nali blurted out, earning him a secret elbow into his side from Queen Aedia, but little of their inner squabble outwardly showed. At that, Steinar’s father squared his immensely broad, muscular shoulders, and Nali bit his tongue for one of the few times in his life. Wish I had thought of doing that sooner. I think he might kill us.
He moved on large, muscular legs toward where a sword was mounted on the wall, and lifted it with such a gentleness it was as if he were holding a baby: when he brought it down, though, Nali could see their reflections in the metal, swimming with red and gold. Looking closely, he could see waves of heat rising off of the blade, but he rested it against his palm without even a single flinch.
“I am no man to mess with. Ordinarily, that would come as no surprise, but many and more as of late seem to think that Branton Ciladere is one to be underestimated.” He stared at them, long and hard. “I would believe you more if you had brought the boy yourself.”
“We…we couldn’t,” Aedia said. For her part, she seemed as dignified and resolved as steel. “Archmirori Myla was tending to him, and recommended we come see you for a prosthetic. He—“
“Everyone far and wide knows of Myla,” Branton said, cutting her off with a dismissive brusqueness. “My son means well, but I do not trust you. Thieves and worse have been moving through Forgehead, as of late, and I would not put it above such cravens to use a mother and her child to get what they seek. I apologize if what you say is true, but my son should not have brought you here.” His eyes seemed to broker no argument, and he brought the sword he held down to clutch it by its handle, a clear warning. The blade caught in the firelight. It was as if it was made of liquid heat.
“Please,” Nali begged. His voice cracked to his own ears. “I just want him to be safe. He needs help.”
Branton’s eyes softened, but only a little. “I’m sorry, but I have to protect what I still have. I cannot help him. You should leave Forgehead before worse metalcasters than me take notice of you. They might think you’re one of them,” he said.
Nali was unsure of what to say, but Aedia, as if she were seeing something he didn’t, began to steer him toward the door with an iron grip. He resisted, trying to wrench away from her, but her grip was as solid as steel.
“No. We promised we’d help him,” Nali murmured, his words coming out in a desperate, low hiss.
“We can’t. Not here. You’re my first priority, Rayhinal, and it isn’t safe,” Aedia replied, leading him toward the door with growing strength. “We don’t want to be here when whoever he speaks of returns. We can try to get something else for Redd, but we have to go. Now.”
“No,” Nali snapped, wrenching free from her grip with a surprising jolt of pain echoing across his wrist. Holding back his hurt anger, he burst through the door that she had been herding him toward, and put all of his energy into his feet as he took off at a sprint down the nearest alleyway.
Fear was his first reaction—had he really just run away from his own mother, the Queen?—but it was quickly replaced with a bitter, almost self-destructive resolve. He was often known for being impulsive, and if he was to begin digging his own grave, why stop now? First he had taken Brenna’s dagger, and now this. Stealing was something Nali had a particular knack for. He wasn’t proud of it, but…if it meant stealing something for Redd…he would do it, and he nimbly pressed himself down another alleyway when he thought he saw a glimmer of silvery-blonde hair move against a tide of metalcasters and hellhounds. She would kill him, but perhaps would be moved to sympathy first if he had what he wanted.
Why am I so worried? She has no right to control me. I’m grown, Nali thought. That familiar spark of bitter resentment warmed the flames under his feet as he was forced to a brisk jog, and, padding down dark alleyways, the prince began to slink around Forgehead with a few wary glances over his shoulders. Ironically, he was proving Branton right, but what other choice did they have? Wouldn’t others refuse them, or worse—chase them out or have them doused in magma? He didn’t want to think that Naughtem Noctum had its hands in each Estate, but what other danger could organize a group to steal and pillage Forgehead at once? And for what?
Nali pushed his thoughts aside. It was time to commit. He had gotten this far, running from his mother’s grasp and dipping down side streets latent with dormant heat. Unlike Aedia, he wasn’t planning on leaving Forgehead empty-handed, and crept up to a dirty glass window carefully.
This time, his impulsivity was to be rewarded.
This shop had a flock of blazing songbirds and grouse clustered on its roof, flickering and bright, with the flaming insignia of a bird in flight stood outside it like some sort of flag. Inside, Nali could see a glimmering metal leg that seemed to be moving and contorting its shape based on the flowery hand movements of its creator. It was covered in gears and cogs, and he nearly jumped backwards and into a nearby wall when a jet of flame bursted from the sole of its foot. A powder keg prosthetic. Redd was sure to love it.
Casting a wary glance toward the roadway behind him, crowded with people and voices as loud as flame, Nali stepped inside the shop that proudly blazed its name as The Fire Grouse.
When the smith didn’t turn around to greet him, Nali simply stood there for a moment, watching her tinker with something he couldn’t see: the leg, though, a moment later, began to smoke, and she let out a quiet curse that even made him cringe. Dousing it in a pail of water to be greeted with strange, purple smoke, it was only when the prince cleared his throat that he had her attention. She turned around, clearly surprised.
“Oh. I suppose you want something,” she said, smudging something dark and ashy across the bridge of her nose as she pushed up the protective gear covering her face. Her hair was shaved low and close to her scalp, but her eyes were wide and blue, and she gave the impression of being a bit overwhelmed and brilliantly messy at the same time. Both of her legs were like mechanical stilts, whirling and clattering, and her left arm detached her mechanical hand for it to make a delicate arc through the air to come up to meet him. Nali took it and shook it, a bit confused.
“Figured I’d introduce myself with that one. This other one is quite dirty,” she said, raising her other hand that was covered in ash and dirt, but still clearly made of flesh and bone. “You’re not one of those folks coming through and stealing things, are you?”
“No…?” Nali said.
“Oh! Good. Didn’t think they’d come here anyway. Lot of them have been stealing weapons and swords for the past month or so, as it were,” she said, stoking the flames in a forge that burned emerald green. “I’m Merula, but you can call me Mere, if you’d like. I find familiarity makes for better company. You don’t look like you’re from around here, to be sure. Are you?” She suddenly asked, as if unsure, and her off-kilter intensity suddenly made Nali fumble for words.
“Oh. Er…no,” he finally said, offering a breathless laugh that was mostly forced. She is quite strange. “No, I’m from Denalda.”
“Oh, yeah? Whereabouts? My second cousin Grus moved there with his—oh, you don’t care about that. But where?”
“The Central District,” Nali answered, and, remembering that no one much other than the palace staff, the immensely wealthy, and Crown lived in the Central District, cringed. At that, Mere’s attention was firmly caught, and she crept up to him with a sudden rapture-like intensity. She got close enough for him to smell singed hair on her clothes, and she peered into his eyes without ever blinking much.
“So which one are you, then? Viera-what’s-it, or Raybinel?”
“Wh—what? It’s pronounced Rayhinal—“
“So that one! The red eyes are a giveaway. You should have considered that, you know.”
“Plenty of people have them. I think. We have a large family.”
“Hah! Not here!” She cackled, still staring at him with that peculiar quality she seemed to possess. Idly, Nali watched the image of a violet salamanter creep across her collarbone, and, when she noticed him staring, she grinned.
“It looks like a bug to swat at first, I know, but it’s not! I’m in the Guild! Pretty cool, right? I know, I know,” she said, crossing her arms as she puffed out her chest. “Anyways, what would you like?”
Nali stared at her for a moment before realizing that he had a moment to answer. “Oh. Well, my friend ended up getting part of his leg cut off—I’ll spare you the details,” he said, eyeing the sudden spark of curiosity in her eyes, “—and, well, we are in dire need of a prosthetic before we continue out of the city. Do you—?”
“Have one? Oh, yes! Quite a few, actually, but some are in better working order than others, I’m afraid. Did you like the powderkeg you saw from the window?”
Nali’s eyebrows furrowed. “How did you—“
“I’m well-versed in arcana, silly! I sensed you is all. I may look like a compelling ignesia, but, rest assured, I’m…” her bubbly enthusiasm suddenly trailed off, replaced by a graying, dark look and faltering voice that made his veins turn to ice. “…Not. Put out the fires. Quickly.”
At first, Nali didn’t move, but the moment the fires within her forge were extinguished, the force holding him in place loosened. He managed to extinguish the two flames burning closest to the door before the birds outside withered away into ash, and Mere tugged on his wrist, haphazardly yanking him behind a desk crafted from a thick slab of stone. In the sudden darkness, he could still see her place a finger over her lips for silence, and tried to calm his racing heart. Not a sound escaped his lips, and Nali’s mind raced.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on his terror until it became manifested. The dark shadows of men passed around and over the smudged windows beside them, and their voices, rough and deep, made him want to sink into the earth. Though muffled, he could still discern a few key words as they moved to the front of the store, knocking something over that let out a shattering sound like glass.
“…inside this one?”
“No…stay focused.”
“I’m sure we could use the little magus in there for something.”
Someone scoffed. “Not today. …That one?”
Some agreement happened out of sight, but barely a moment to breathe passed when the sound of a door ripping off of its hinges screeched through the oppressive silence in the once bustling Forgehead. He had never heard a sound like it before. A woman screamed, shrill and tremulous, and someone barked an order that Nali couldn’t understand, but the violence in it was more precise. He felt sick. Metal scraping on metal sliced through the air, and Nali was up on his feet before Mere could rip him back down to the ground. To her credit, though, she tried.
“Stop! What are you doing?” She hissed, her eyes glittering in the low light.
“You’re just going to let them do that, to whoever that is? Don’t you know them?”
“Sure, but—“
“But?”
Mere’s eyes hardened. “You don’t know what they’re like. They’ll tag my shop if they hear us, and then all I have will be ruined! Ruined!”
“Don’t you have a family? You’re no older than me,” Nali blurted out, but he realized his insensitivity too late: Mere’s grip loosened at his words, but her anger was clear. The softness of her fingers drifted free from Nali’s wrist, and, hardly looking back, he crept around the desk as quiet as a cat to peer out of the windows hugging either side of the front door. Forgehead was mostly dark and foreboding, now, but the men cloaked in darkness carried torches. This type of darkness was overbearing. He could feel her eyes burning into the back of his skull, and Nali shoved himself lower as one of the men’s eyes raked across the front of the Fire Grouse—or, at least what he thought could be his eyes. They all wore strange, howler-like masks that reminded him of the Pacriea, but worse. Their faces were obscured. It felt like Nali couldn’t even breathe without giving something away.
“They must not teach princes restraint wherever you got your formal education, do they?” Mere hissed, suddenly beside him. Nali nearly jolted because of how silently she had moved, but she held him steady. “And here I thought you were coming in to steal from me. You may be a good person, after all, but I still think you’re rash.”
“What? I wasn’t going to steal from you.”
“What, then? Use your princely charm for a royal ‘I owe you?’” She snorted. “I could tell, but it would make a good story for me, wouldn’t it?” Mere pushed herself up onto her knees, peering over the ledge of the window carefully. “You’d think the Guild would want to do something about this.”
“Branton, you mean? I met him. He’s…”
“A good man,” Mere said, a bit too sharp, before softening back down to a gentle whisper. “He has a lot to protect. His wife, his son, his hellhounds. They’ve stayed mostly away from him and others in the Guild, you know? He doesn’t want to risk that.”
“At the expense of…?”
“Today, at the expense of Auger family,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “But…things aren’t that simple, Ray.”
“…Ray?”
“Isn’t Ray your nickname?”
“No. It’s Nali.”
Mere stared. “Well, that’s not what I expected, but that’s beside the point, I suppose. Listen, Prince Charming, if we go out there—“
“We?”
“Let me finish!” She hissed. “If we go out there, not only will Branton have me banished from the Guild, but they could decide to—I don’t know—ransack Forgehead and ruin all of our livelihoods?”
“This place is made of fire!” Nali hissed. “Ignesias all around! You’re telling me that no one has tried to put their magic to good use?”
“I mean…that’s not a bad point. Can your little dagger-synk do anything to help us, you think?”
Nali realized Mere had snatched it from him, and was holding it in a graceful balancing act on her finger. She pulled it back from him when he reached for it, frowning, but eventually gave it back. “Don’t look so scandalized, Your Royal Highness. It’s cool, but another reason why we should not go out there! They’ll take it from you faster than I did!”
The scuffle outside seemed to have stopped, for a brief moment, but Mere had Nali’s attention. “Why? Is that what they’re after? Synks?”
“No, but I don’t think they’d refuse it. They’ve…it’s kind of a crazy story, actually, but my friend Thierry told me that he heard from Honorine that they’re looking for thunderlight blades.”
“Thunder…what?” Nali wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. “Thunderlight?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know why. It’s been a bit of a local legend here that only thunderlight blades could feasibly destroy our terrors of the night, but it’s just not true!” She talked with such quiet animation that Nali was stumped. “There’s no metal on this earth that could hold it, I tell you! We’ve all tried! Renaud tried to give them fakes a few weeks ago, and, well…they took the fakes, but his shop is now closed. Permanently.”
Nali stared at her for a moment, but before she could launch into another tangent, he interrupted her. “I’ll keep note of that, but we have to do something in the present…moment.” He trailed off as his eyes landed on the pale of water where the powderkeg leg sat, and, even from their short distance, he could see movement beginning to form at the edges of the bucket. He swallowed back his own apprehension. “Hey, Mere?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s going to happen when that leg comes bursting out of the water?”
Mere strained to turn around to look at what he was gawking out, and, rather than shock, she looked mildly curious. “Oh. I don’t know. It’ll be a good thing to find out what—“
The leg exploded in a flurry of steam and warped shrapnel from the bucket, disintegrated into stray pieces of metal as the underside of the mechanical foot burned almost white with extreme heat. Mere’s face was simultaneously awe-filled and worried, half-illuminated by the bright torrent of flames shooting out from her creation, and, for a few ear-shattering moments, it ricocheted around her shop with reckless abandon. Even the men outside had stopped to gawk, Nali thought, because the rest of the world was dark and silent as it catapulted around inside, narrowly whizzing over their ducked heads as it collapsed a shelf containing what looked like old records and blasted through a collection of discarded parts. He couldn’t help but watch it, even though he could hear Aedia’s scolding to cover his head from somewhere internal.
Finally, the leg hit the edge of the forge just right to launch itself out of the nearest window, and a man’s rough ‘Ow!’ sent a chill melting down Nali’s spine. In a moment, he could hear footsteps drawing close, and a clatter of curses. Raluce, be kind. I’ve done it now.
“Okay,” Mere breathed, quivering with either excitement or fear. “If we get out of this alive, I’ll let you keep that crazy rocker for a prosthetic. Free of charge.”
Nali was incredulous. “You don’t think we’ll get out of this, do you?”
At that, she grinned, “No, but it might be fun.” When she offered her hand, Nali took it, and came up to stand beside her with a shared look of anticipation moving between the both of them. Mere was at least a head shorter than him, likely two or three, but her mechanical hand detached with a soft whoosh of flame that gave him more confidence than it should have.
“Knock knock! Anyone—“ a man began to say, about to open the door, when Mere’s mechanical hand blasted through the heavy forged door to wallop him directly in the face.
Nali thought it best to keep the dagger hidden after Mere’s off-handed comment, and relished in the feeling of power collecting in the palms of his hands with an electric instability as the fighting began. He watched as parts of Mere’s legs and arms began to shoot off like little, sharp blades, rushing toward the ensemble of ten or more men like a flock of songbirds. As they bent down to cover their heads under the deluge of silver kisses, the blades conformed into a large, large visage of Silveria, the legendary bird of Elementia, and swooped down on them with a screech of scraping metal. It gave Nali an idea.
Using different branches of magic was not only perilous to the user, due to the high chance of a backfire, but it was also actively discouraged by the reputation Sanctus gave to those who could wield all five. At this moment, Nali didn’t care. The Blight is killing me as it is. Why not let this have a fair shot at it, too? The Auger family, bloodied and bruised, were cowering away from the fight, and Mere needed his help. He had always wanted to see if he could wield more than just arcana. What better place to try it then here, in a place covered with flames for the taking?
Nali imagined heat collecting and building underneath his skin, beckoning flames dark and deep from somewhere within the earth, and the flickering visage of Mere’s flock flickered back to life, burning bright and hot along the roofline. Already, Nali felt a difference: arcana drew from all over himself, but this elementa magic felt more like it was pouring out of his chest with power and heat, fed by somewhere deep within the chasms of his heart. It was more…emotional, and he was weak with simultaneous fear and excitement. He wasn’t certain how long he could hold it for. Before giving the flames a chance to flicker down, Nali unfurled his palms, making the flames higher and brighter, and sent the large flock down onto the men with a wide, intoxicated grin. The light and intertwining of the many colored flames was beautiful, nearly to the point where he was close to forgetting what he was doing. He was hurting people.
Men who had hurt others, to be true, but men with families all the same. If they were with Naughtem Noctum, though, he couldn’t think about it. The flames caught against their clothes, since none wore the metallic cloth so well-known to Flaren, and their howls were almost sickening. Mere was staring at him with a mixture of fear and surprise.
A jet of opulent darkness incarnate exploded from one of the men’s palms, extinguishing the flames, but it was the sickeningly sweet smell of ilicia that sent shockwaves down Nali’s body. So it’s true. One of the men made a sharp, snapping motion with his wrist, and an opalescent whip of emerald green flame emerged, sick and sharp. He snapped it toward Nali with a sharp whirl of sound as its long length went toward him, and the prince didn’t move quickly enough: it caught his left wrist, burning his skin away almost instantly.
The pain was yet to hit, but Nali already felt ill at the sight of it, bloodless and singed. He could barely look at it. Even still, he couldn’t leave Mere alone in this fight, and raised his right hand as his left hung limp. Illusions were something he rather had a gift for, and a sheathe of golden light exploded at the snap of his finger as the world around them was transformed to his liking.
Mere jumped back against the swing of a shadowy blade as Nali’s illusion took hold, grounded in his own memory of the incident. It was what made it stronger. He remembered what the sight of the Pacriea marching to Albaedia had looked like, glimmering, feathered armors a kaleidoscope of color under a bright but merciless sun. He had watched them from the Celestiun, but Vierhymn had shown him an enchantment to make the sight seem closer from their distance. Forces of solderias and howlers studded in armor began to converge on their battle site, snarling and roaring as if they were about to land a kill, and Reigner Leofwine, atop a great howler of his own, led the charge. Nali didn’t even give them the impression of a respectful intrusion: the illusion barreled forward, a hundred soldiers bearing arms, and he focused his attention to the composition of the men’s resolve. It didn’t matter if the illusions could not physically harm them in actuality. With enough of a gentle push, they could trick themselves into thinking the pain was true.
Nali gave them that push, diverting his attention between the men with such difficulty that he felt like his knees were about to buckle. Skilled though he was, the Blight made him weaker than an average arcana magus. What he had, though, beyond others, was grit, and he pushed forward, watching as the visages of solderias and howlers ripped across their flesh with teeth and sword, making the men howl in agony even though it was nothing more than an illusion. Despite himself, the rush of this battle filled him up more completely than anything else. Was this what it was like to be a knight? Was this what Vierhymn experienced, fighting in tourneys and expected to go into battle as a King?
A small part of him was inside each of them, now, convincing them that this pain was real, that this horror was real, that they were going to die at the hands of a hundred enemies with a pain that would never stop. Mere had stepped back, now, her flurry of blades retreating back into herself, but Nali’s grip was beginning to loosen. The metallic taste of blood had begun to pool into his mouth, coating his tongue. It was too much. It was costing him too much.
He tried reaching for the synk by his side, to brush his fingers on it to recompose himself and hold him steady, but his knees gave out before he could do so. Now, the pain in his wrist was becoming more concrete. No. This can’t be it. I’m stronger than this. I have to be.
The Blight made him hate himself, hate his own weakness when Vierhymn was so perfect, and Nali drew on that deep-seated resentment and shame for one last push. A part of him wanted to prove it to himself that he was capable of this…of wielding magic as skillfully as Hymn, as gracefully as his mother, as tactically as his father…and he didn’t hear Mere cry out to stop until the spell had already flown from his lips, a breathless, passionate “Destruia!”
The spell rebounded.
Maybe it was because of his exhaustion, or his anger, or some affront to Raluce that he had dared use elementa instead of the arcane arts that he was trained in, but the spell ricocheted back towards him in a sheathe of violet light. He saw it spread out toward him, an outstretched tunnel of purple death…until a golden streak of light dissipated it, curling around Nali with such a gentle, permeating warmth that he felt it sink into his muscles with exhausting relief.
He knew what caster this magic was borne from, and watched as the men were massacred.
Another sudden, golden sheathe of light slammed into the men with its many-tentacled force to send them flying, hurtling them into stone buildings that they merely bounced off of with bone-crushing cracks. When Aedia’s head rounded a corner, veiled in a cold, silent fury, he saw his mother wrapped in gold like a saint, and watched as she mouthed the word to a spell he knew well.
The few that were still standing were quickly cut down with blades of arcane light that emanated from her, quick and merciful, and the golden light that curled around his crumpled frame began to dissipate as Nali’s illusion faded to nothingness. Aedia had an anger that looked about her like a thundercloud as she approached Nali, but it was tempered with gentleness. She drew him into her arms carefully, inspecting his wrist with unreadable eyes.
Nali could scarcely move, let alone speak, but he was able to get to his feet with Aedia’s help, clinging to her side as Mirori Steinar and his father, Branton, rounded a corner. Steinar looked pale and childish, but Branton held the mockingly flame-coated blade that they had seen earlier. Mere was pale with fear, clutching the powderkeg leg with an expression that seemed to read, ‘Oops’, as she awaited her sentencing. Branton was cold with anger.
“You did this?” He asked, in a cold voice shaking with barely restrained fury.
Nali and Mere both pointed to each other, and they said it simultaneously. “It was her—“
“It was his—“
“Idea.”