5063 words (20 minute read)

(Book 2) Chapter 09 - Sinister Plots and Forgotten Transgressions

A light mist ran over the ocean below, the waters tinged an unsightly grey by the overcast sky above. Through the center of it ran a long bridge that spanned off into the distance, a set of rails running along it.

Reanja found herself partially descending to better allow herself to follow it, grimacing at the chill of the mist hitting her skin. You had better be leading us to something worthwhile, Mikaboh warned. Our time is not to be wasted, little witch.

She turned to see that the spirit had descended to fly alongside her. In spite of his angry tone, his mouth still remained frozen in a smirk. "I assure you we’ll find something of worth in An Domhan’s ruins," she replied. "It’s where I found the magics of the Old Ones that served me so well during the War of the Five Tribes."

The witch reflected upon her memories of the battle that had destroyed the city and let out a soft chuckle. "I’m certain there will be something left that’ll be of use to you."

How we loathe the traveling in the material world, the evil spirit groaned. All of these human constructs are an absolute eyesore. What was the use of this bridge?

Reanja’s gaze drifted down to the tracks below for a moment. "These humans were quite fond of their constructs," she elaborated. "Often, they’d aim to create the most elaborate ones they could. This bridge was used by a metal vehicle to transport goods and travelers between An Domhan and the main continent. They were quite ingenuitive. And I may counter, what was the use of that wretched dog form you took on?"

Mikaboh gave a shrug. We suppose it must’ve been the moment. We get far too much pleasure from toying with Amah’s mind, he responded. The moment struck and we thought ’why not?’ Perhaps we’re out of practice?

The witch shook her head. "As long as it doesn’t make an encore," she remarked. "I really can’t stand animals in any regard."

You think your trivial issues matter to us? Mikaboh rejoined. At this moment our major concern is the remaining Bogwraiths we’ve sent to comb the surrounding areas for new recruits. More Boglords would be a boon to our plans, but so few material beings have been suitable enough to become one.

"’Few’ as in one, correct?" Reanja clarified.

The spirit’s grin sloped down into a sharp scowl. We could only assume that there would, at the very least, be one or two material beings like you in this world, he replied. But for the moment, yes.

She smirked slightly as her eyes turned to look ahead of them once more. The faint sight of countless crumbled structures atop a large island caught her attention. "We’re almost there," she announced.

Narrowing her shoulders, Reanja increased the speed of her progression, the island in the distance quickly growing larger in her line of sight. The pressure of the wind against her face became momentarily painful as she closed the tremendous gap between herself and the landmass. Rows of support beams connected to the bridge had cropped along its edges—leading up to a large, decrepit archway stationed where it met the solid earth of the island.

She slowed herself as she blew through the archway, flying past a small patch of grass and soil that the stone and pavement of the island’s ruins had not touched. A large construct of metal sat atop the very end of the rails at the foot of the tall, wrecked buildings that extended far into the isle’s center.

Reanja brought herself to a stop, steadily touching her feet to the cracked mortar that covered the ground. As she caught her breath, her gaze drifted to a rusted lamppost near where she’d landed. Mikaboh stood perched atop it, eagerly examining their surroundings.

You said that the humans of this land fled, did you not? the spirit queried, pointing to the enormous metal vehicle. Logically, that grotesque mode of conveyance should have been on the other end of the bridge in Eorthe.

"They fled by sea craft," Reanja replied. "I engaged the chief of the Brann Tribe in a particularly nasty battle on the bridge, so using the railway wasn’t an option. Even after six hundred years, I still find myself surprised that I managed to destroy him without damaging the bridge. That stubborn old coot spent three days in combat against me before he succumbed to me throwing his own fire spells back at him."

Mikaboh, unconcerned with her response, continued looking around the area. Such raw destruction, regardless of what you sought, he uttered. It seems you’ve shown us a bit of humanity through what is very much a remarkably human trait.

The witch growled under her breath at his comment. Unmoved by her annoyance, the malevolent spirit vanished and reappeared at the side of the enormous metal vehicle. A symbol of dashed hopes and a fall from grace, he pondered aloud. This unsightly human creation is so … Intriguing to us. What is this vehicle called?

"A locomotive," Reanja answered unenthusiastically.

The spirit floated alongside the vehicle, almost entranced with its appearance. "I suppose I’ll leave you to that," the witch remarked as she turned away from him. "I’ll return momentarily."

Her pace quickened as she proceeded down an alleyway leading away from the station. In a matter of minutes she had walked several blocks away from where she’d left Mikaboh. She found herself in front of a passageway sealed by rubble—once the entrance to a small building that stood nestled between two tall but askew towers. Stone figures of a tentacle-faced figure decorated its outer walls

Undeterred by the obstructed entryway, she held up a hand to the pile of rubble. Two strings of translucent chains erupted forth from her palm, tearing through the blockage and into the building’s structure. Dust stirred into the air as its framework struggled against the force of her assault. She sensed the chains had wrapped around what she sought and drew them back to herself, collapsing the remnants of the building as they tore out of it.

The chains finished withdrawing to her palm, a small coral box in her grip as they vanished. With a triumphant breath, she carefully looked over it. The blood-red stone was intricately carved with symbols of the same figure displayed on the outside walls of the temple. A small lock made of blackened metal sealed whatever rested inside. "I knew there would be something left," she uttered to herself. "Let’s just hope it’s worthwhile."

She scowled as she took full notice of the lock, realizing that she had no means to open it. An uproar of screeches and squeals drew her attention away from the object. Masses of inky black flowed through the sky above, spiraling down to the locomotive’s station. She slipped the box into her pocket and raced back to the station, every twist and turn down the streets seeming inconsequential.

She stopped at the edge of the alleyway before the station, finding herself speechless at what she saw. The masses spiraling down from the sky became more apparent, as she noticed countless yellow eyes speckled throughout them. They were flowing directly into the old locomotive.

Mikaboh stood suspended in the air in front of the vehicle, his hands extended upward as he broke into a fit of laughter. From this symbol of the human’s hubris and failure, we shall create the vehicle by which this world will be ended, he cackled. Fill it, Children of Nothingness. Become one with not simply its material but what it represents!

The locomotive’s metal began to noisily twist and reshape, darkening in the process. With a loud creak, the pilot and smokestack deformed into a malevolent, angry face. The bars that connected the drive wheels twisted into the shape of thin, emaciated arms; a talon-like hand at the front of them both.

As the plethora of Bogba’el finished flowing into its structure, the sky above returned to its previous overcast state. Hot, dry air poured out of the vehicle as a sinister, yellow glow emanated from its eyes. The machine shuddered before calling out an ear-splitting whistle. Behold, little witch. An Domhan’s hubris and regret given form: the Broodrail, Mikaboh declared. All aboard, dearies! Next stop, the Marsh of Sorrow.

#


Sarhu found himself squinting out of habit as he stood before the three Grand Spirits in an all-too-familiar white space. "For what reason have you requested an audience with us?" Ganesh’s voice bellowed down from the three pillars above.

"I’ve come to report something concerning I have discovered," the Earth Spirit began. "As I disclosed to all of you, Suhs and I had previously departed to the Lumea’s core to examine where the tectonic seal was originally placed to imprison Mikaboh."

"So, then what did you two find in your search?" Athena inquired.

The Earth Spirit sighed in vexation. "The seal is still there," he replied. "We have yet to deduce why or how, but the tectonic seal still remains … only without Mikaboh sealed beneath it."

Muttering amongst themselves, the three Grand Spirits traded glances. "This means that Amah’s actions did not directly result in his escape," Ganesh pondered.

"Her transgressions still cannot be overlooked," Athena countered. "However, such a development does complicate things further than we’d anticipated."

In a brief flurry of silver light, Tsu appeared alongside Sarhu. "With your permission, I would like to pay a visit to my sister," the moon spirit beseeched. "Even with the weapon Ogoun sent them to find protecting them from Mikaboh’s wrath, I will find no peace of mind until I am able to speak with her."

"And who is to protect you from Mikaboh?" Athena asked. "In our current state, a majority of the Spirit Order are far too weak to hold their own against him."

"My Arch Spirits and I have discussed this in detail," he responded. "There is great risk in doing so, but I have planned accordingly."

A loud huff echoed from the right pillar. "Dare we ask if you’d care to share what you have in mind?" Alignak queried.

#

"How is he alive?" Aurora demanded. "This chamber’s been sealed for six hundred years!"

Doug leaned in to examine the carvings on the coffin’s surface. "There are all kinds of wards on this case," he remarked. "Although a good lot of them are damaged. Still, it could have kept him preserved. The mages of Luce Vera delved into schools of magic that we could only dream of nowadays."

"It’s not the wards on the coffin that have kept him alive," Amah interjected. "This man is a Da’i Kii."

Everyone looked at her in confusion. "You said they went extinct," Lola commented.

The sun spirit shook her head. "That was what we thought," she began. "Yet this young man lays in a deep sleep, untouched by the centuries that have passed. A legendary trait of the Da’i Kii people is that time stands still for them while they sleep, which is part of why they were able to live such long lives. There is no other plausible explanation."

"So, then why is he down here?" Venice inquired.

Amah took in a ragged breath. "Those carvings on the coffin are wards intended to drain and disperse mana over long periods of time," she answered. "They’ve been draining his magic the entire time he’s been sealed here. Whoever did so was likely intending to euthanize him."

"You mean they were trying to kill him?" Jakea wondered. "Do you think he’s dangerous?"

"That’s a good assumption," Wesley remarked. "You don’t get facial scars that nasty outside of a war zone."

Lola sniffed the foot of the coffin. "Then should we just leave him here?" she asked.

Amah moved forward, putting her hands on the edge of the case’s lid. "No," the sun spirit answered. "Dangerous or not, he’s dreamt for centuries. He’s had time to reflect upon any wrongdoings he’s committed."

Doug caught her hands. "You assume that too easily," he dictated. "If he awakens, you could possibly be signing the death warrants of everyone here."

"He’s weakened by centuries of being down here," she defended. "If he is dangerous, it will take him a great deal of time to reclaim his previous strength. And in all good conscience, I cannot leave him down here."

She tore her hands from his grip and began pushing the coffin’s lid open. The thick glass gave out a low screech as it moved. "It’s too heavy," Amah panted. "I don’t think I’ll be able to get it open myself."

Venice moved beside her, taking hold of the lid’s edge at another point. "We’ll make it a group effort," he reassured her.

Lola pushed her shoulder into the lower portion of the coffin lid. "Ready when you two are."

After much effort and several more moments of loud scraping, the three of them finished pushing the lid aside. Doug let out an annoyed breath at the display, pulling a petal from the chrysanthemum blossom on his shirt. A low glow emanated from the flower fragment as it drifted from his hand to the collar of the young man’s jacket, growing into a new blossom that fastened itself to the fabric. "He may as well be able to breathe while he’s destroying us," the elder Sage grumbled.

"How long do you think it will take for him to wake up?" Carter asked.

The young man emitted a soft groan as his body began to move. Without opening his eyes, he attempted to step forward, stumbling slightly as he did. Venice caught him before he could completely lose his balance. "Easy there," the carpenter cautioned him.

His unscarred eye opened weakly. Letting out a slightly louder groan, the young man cradled his head in his unarmored hand. "Where’s the Grand Mage?" he inquired. "Why is it so dark here?"

"Don’t be alarmed, but you’ve been down here a long time," Amah replied. "Can you tell us your name?"

"R-Ruark," he struggled.

"Do you remember why they placed you in the sealed chamber?" she queried.

"Sealed … chamber?" he mumbled. "The Grand Mage said I’d be left upstairs in the Palazzo."

"You knew the Grand Mage?" Doug asked. "Then why did he seal you in this casing?"

"He was doing me a kindness," the man replied as he attempted to step forward again, stumbling more drastically than before.

The elder Sage caught him by the chest. "He’s a lot weaker than I thought," Amah observed. "We need to get him out of here."

Venice slipped himself under Ruark’s right arm, supporting the man’s weight on his shoulder. "Slow down," he advised. "Let us help you."

Lola gave the man’s pant leg a brief, yet curious sniff. His opened eye weakly drifted down to examine her, a faint gold glow emanating from the center of its yellow-green iris. He remained silent.

"Are you going to be able to handle helping him back up to the surface?" Aurora inquired.

"It’ll be fine," Venice replied.

"It’s just that he looks pretty heavy, and well … we all remember the incident in Bumi," she muttered.

"She’s right," Rook added. "We don’t want a repeat of that. Be mindful of your back."

"It’ll be fine," the carpenter growled back.

"What happened in Bumi?" Jakea asked.

"He threw out his back when we got into a fight with some mountain bandits by trying to deadlift a cask full of water over his head to throw at them," Carter responded.

Wesley snickered. "He was bedridden for a week."

"And you twisted your ankle during the same fight and spent the entire week after whining about it," Lola remarked.

"If I remember correctly, that entire incident ended with all three of you men bedridden," Aurora chided. "If Rook and Lola hadn’t managed to trip all of them off the dock, goodness only knows what they’d have done to that village."

Jakea strode past them with a heavy sigh. "If the six of you could please stop bickering until we get out of here, I’d greatly appreciate it."

Lola attempted to respond but found any words that would allow her to complain or protest escaped her. "Did you just use your Unnatural Gift on all of us?" Carter demanded.

"What about your griping about it violating free will?" Lola added.

The young woman glanced back toward them, a smirk plastered to her face. "It only works once per whoever or whatever I use it on," she responded. "You’ll be fine until we get back to the surface."

They were silent for a few moments. "So, what do we talk about now?" Wesley asked.

Ruark emitted an irritated groan, followed by a few sentences in an unrecognizable language. "You visited Bumi?" he offered, his exasperation with the group already apparent.

"A few months ago," Lola replied. "We stopped there after leaving Prithvi."

"Then from there we went to Lok, then Olk," Aurora added. "From there to Deiqao, then Jigu, and finally Chikyuu."

"It was a nice vacation until it was cut short by the world’s creepiest albino," the Buhund snarked.

The Da’i Kii’s functioning eye darted between the members of the group in confusion, as if begging for clarification. "She’s referring to an evil spirit we’re currently dealing with," Venice explained as they trudged forward.

They passed through the doorway out of the sealed chamber back into the outer hallway. "I was more concerned about the hyper-extended speech charm on her," Ruark replied. "And the one on the rooster, as well as the one on the cat. Is this common now?"

Lola’s ears shot up at his comment. A sense of unease washed over her as she internally questioned how the Da’i Kii had determined Sants, Rook, and herself were enchanted to speak. "The three of them absolutely reek of augmenting chi, and there’s also a faint musk in here that tells me that one of you survived Nyctelios’ Nerve Pinch," he added. "Which leads me to my next question: who are you people?"

The silence was almost deafening for the few moments that no one spoke, unnerved by the Da’i Kii’s observation to the point of speechlessness. Wordlessly, the group made their way back up the spiral staircase into the Palazzo’s main hall. Sam’s nails clicked loudly against the stone floor as he inched up beside Venice and Ruark, panting loudly before emitted a few low mumbles. "Ah," the Da’i Kii responded. "I suppose I can wait to hear the full story later … Do you lot happen to have names?"

The Parkahund barked back at him hoarsely, following it with with a long series of warbling sounds. Ruark scoffed. "Telling me everyone’s names doesn’t help if you don’t tell me who’s who," he reprimanded.

"Ru-rau," Sam retorted.

"You understand dog?" Doug inquired.

"I’ve understood canine since I was a child," Ruark explained. "My family tended to favor dogs for Na’Kama, so I learned it at an early age."

"Na-what-a?" Lola brayed.

Amah leaned down toward the Buhund the best she could without impeding her ability to walk forward. "Na’Kama are animal companions Da’i Kii kept," the Sun Spirit explained. "They were adopted into Da’i Kii family trees and treated like any other member of the family."

"Huh," the Buhund uttered as the group passed through the Palazzo’s front archway.

Ruark’s eye went wide at the sight of the city. "What happened while I was asleep?" he begged.

"Your people’s war ended," Venice answered.

"Basically, Luce Vera got buried in an underground cavern as a result of one of the final battles," Lola added. "Also, you’ve been asleep for six hundred years."

Rook swooped down from Aurora’s shoulder and perched on the Buhund’s back, giving her a single sharp peck in the middle of her forehead. She let out a yelp that echoed throughout the deserted city. "What was that for?" she demanded.

"To knock some sense into you," the rooster scolded. "Are you intent on giving him a heart attack? This is the sort of thing you usually ease someone into!"

Sants causally strode past her. "Dinner bird is right," the cat responded. "Humans have the fragile mind. Situation is to cause much shock upon realization."

Lola raised a brow at the cat’s syntax. "Speech magic we stole is not perfect copy," Sants added. "We have much issues with word-making."

She looked up to see that Rook was completely unamused by the name the cat had identified him with. The sound of Ruark clearing his throat recalled her attention. "So, six hundred years?" he questioned. "Is that why you’re all completely ignorant of Da’i Kii culture?"

Amah let out a mournful sigh. "Unfortunately, the Da’i Kii people are more or less extinct," she offered apologetically. "The War of the Five Tribes completely decimated their population. I’m so sorry."

The Da’i Kii shook his head. "I’m not surprised," Ruark remarked. "After that senseless war and all of the lives we destroyed, it seems more than fitting, doesn’t it?"

They continued along the path of tattered cobblestone leading out of the city. Lola looked back up to Rook, who was still perched atop her back. "He’s handling this pretty well," she whispered.

"Don’t be daft," the rooster growled back softly. "He’s probably in shock."

"I was in shock well before the war ended," Ruark snapped. "I have no more tears to cry over my people and the poor choices they made."

His head turned to glance down at the Buhund and the cockerel. "There’s no need for pretension or whispers around me," he advised. "I can hear anything you say no matter how softly you say it. One of the few benefits of being partially blinded: your other senses compensate for the loss."

"Boy, oh boy, you’re going to be a fun addition to the group," Lola snarked.

Venice grunted. "Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would have expected someone to lose a few stone from not eating for six centuries," he groaned.

"Venice, if your back is starting to bother you, you could just ask Wesley or me to take over," Carter sighed. "It’s exactly why we were concerned earlier."

"It’s not my back that’s bothering me," the carpenter replied. "It’s my shoulder. He’s a great deal heavier than he looks."

Ruark grumbled. "Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to insult a Spellsword?"

"He grew up in an orphanage," Lola interjected. "And none of us know what a Spellsword is."

Aurora strode up beside Venice and the Da’i Kii. "Your culture’s been extinct for the past six centuries, remember?"

"In their culture, Da’i Kii fell into a specialization based on their individual talents," Amah explained. "Examples would be Conjurers, Healers, Enchanters, and Alchemists. Spellswords were warriors who channeled their magics through weapons or martial arts, often being living weapons in and of themselves."

"If he’s one of those, then that explains the battle damage on his mug," Wesley remarked. "You’ve probably seen some nasty combat, haven’t ya?

"How my face ended up like this is no business of yours," the Da’i Kii replied coldly.

"Lay off him, Marion," Venice chided. "I think the scars give him character."

Wesley shuddered loudly. "Please don’t call me that."

Lola turned her attention away from the conversation to notice that they’d walked all the way to the outskirts of the city, right below the same passageway they entered through. She reluctantly stepped up to the uneven cavern floor, cautious of the unsteady footing yet relieved to finally be on her way back to the surface.

"So, what’s the plan once we get out of here?" Carter asked. "Concerning the chakram, I mean."

The Buhund’s gaze drifted back toward the group walking behind her.

"How so?" Doug queried.

"Well, you noticed it only responds to Lola, right?" Carter replied. "She’s not exactly trained to defend herself in combat."

"Are you saying I’m weak?" the Buhund snapped.

"He’s saying that you’re not trained to fight," Wesley countered. "And it’s not like any of us know how to train a dog for combat to begin with, let alone with a bladed weapon."

"It’s not that we doubt your abilities. My main concern is I don’t know how to train you," the former guard captain elaborated. "And I have my doubts that anyone else here knows how either."

"Amah might," Doug suggested. "She’s got a few millennia on everyone else here."

The Sun Spirit shook her head. "Nothing I’ve ever done has involved training a dog to use a weapon."

Light from the surface trickled down weakly through the passageway, slowly growing brighter as they continued upward. "Well, then it looks like we’re going to have to improvise," Carter sighed. "Marion, you’re going to have to teach her how to fence."

Wesley sputtered. "Why does it have to be me?"

"It has to be you because, despite all my tactical knowledge, I’ve never been as precise and skilled a fighter as you," the Carter replied. "Wielding that weapon means that Lola will be facing Mikaboh herself … which means she needs the best teacher we can get her when it comes to combat."

Carter’s words cut through Lola as she kept walking. For a moment, the weight of the entire situation seemed to become painfully obvious to her. The image of Mikaboh from their last encounter with him came to the forefront of her memory; a terrible and powerful force of evil that posed a genuine threat to the fabric of reality itself. When the Genesis Chakram chose only to respond to her a great responsibility had been entrusted to her. The pressure had begun to sink in: if she couldn’t figure out how to wield it effectively then the world would be destroyed, her friends and herself with it.

She felt something nudge her from behind, snapping her out of the trance she’d fallen into. Turning her head, she found herself face-to-face with Rook who was still perched atop her back. "Don’t let yourself get too overwhelmed," the rooster advised. "We’re all here to support you. You may be the one to face this, but we’re all going to be right behind you."

"Thanks, Rook," the Buhund wearied.

They found the daylight momentarily blinding when they exited the passageway. Low crackling sounded from overhead as the group’s mana torches burned out. "I’m so glad to be out of there," Doug sighed with relief.

As she examined the area outside of the passage entryway, Lola noticed the caravan was missing. "Guys, where’s the caravan?"

"Halt!" a voice called.

A cluster of armor-clad figures surrounded the group in a blink of an eye. Their outfits consisted of slim, body-covering armor, and domed helmets marked with a three-pronged crest. The eye holes of their helmets were covered by ruby-red lenses, making them appear all the more fearsome. One of them stepped forward from the group, holding a wide-bladed broadsword in front of them, poised to strike. The fringe of their helmet was highlighted with red markings not seen on the helmets of the others. "Robert Carter and Marion Wesley," they announced in a commanding male voice, "you are hereby under arrest for the crime of desertion! Do not try to resist."

"Who or what are they?!" Aurora exclaimed.

Wesley quickly drew his sword from the holster slung over his shoulder. "They’re Aerthican Soldiers," he answered.

"Our old company, too," Carter growled.

The group of soldiers kicked a figure forward onto the ground. It was Betty; both of her hands bound in metal cuffs. "Stop!" she protested. "You can’t fight them!"

"Why didn’t you fight back against them?" Doug protested.

The elder Sage looked up at him, her eyes alit with fury and desperation. "They have hostages!"

As those words escaped her lips, the back row of soldiers dragged forward what appeared to be a young man. Bruises blackened his face, dried blood caked to his nose and lips, with his hands bound behind him. The soldier standing next to him was holding a small crate in one hand from which a symphony of arachnid-like hissing sounded from inside; a wire cage containing a grey parrot with a broken wing hanging from their other hand. "The customs agents and the librarian?" Venice gasped. "How long have they been following us?"

"They haven’t been following you," a raspy female voice sounded from behind the group of soldiers. "I’ve been tracking you for them since you got into this country."

A woman sashayed out from the center of the swarm of Aerthican soldiers. She stood of average height, her long rust-red hair falling past her waist and curling tightly at its ends. Her hazel eyes coldly examined the group as she made her way to stand next to the soldier with the red-marked helm. "I told you I’d find who you were looking for, Colonel," she cooed. "Are you pleased with my work?"

"You will be compensated in due time, Alessa," the colonel replied. "Not before we ship these traitors back to our country to stand trial for their crimes, but after we dispose of their accomplices."

He motioned to the soldiers behind him. "Privates! Detain the humans and prepare the animals for rationing."

Lola and Rook gulped almost in unison as the Aerthican soldiers closed in on them.

Next Chapter: (Book 2) Chapter 10 - Aerthica’s Malice