Bebo

Leer capítulos

	Chapter 3
	3 --------- The door opened once more and the red bearded one stood there, scanning the boys for a second. Fane was reminded of the man’s girth and formidable height. He was near enough a giant of men; with body-mass that seemed to defy science, he was hairy and strong featured, with massive arms that looked the size of old oak tree-trunks. He held rings of opaque grey in his hard edged eyes, lined as they were by the lashings of time’s whip. He stepped into the cell and his frown deepened as he stared at Kern. His gaze shifting to all corners of the small room, he searched the shadows for something, the sudden alarm on his face was evident, though he seemed to keep it in check. Finally he swore under his breath, ‘Where is Kern?’ He asked the two boys, not bothering to look their way as he checked behind the heavy wooden door. The two boys looked at each other. ‘There.’ Sec said, pointing directly at the chained man, who still hung sleeping. Tyrius turned back to face them and his eyes narrowed. ‘I see.’ He said. He raised his hand and gestured at the boys, a simple flick of his wrist and fingers. ‘Look again.’ He ordered. They did so, and Kern was no longer there. In his place hung two loose chains, fixed firmly to the wall as they had always been. The chains swayed softly as the ship rocked against the ocean’s current. Sec exclaimed and rose to his feet. ‘What did you do to him?’ He demanded of the mage. ‘Nothing.’ Tyrius said with calm patience, ‘It’s what he did to the both of you that should be the question.’ Fane looked up at the big man from the floor. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean that you have both been tricked. Kern has not been there for the past hour at least. He placed the image of himself still hanging there in your minds, which was why I could not see him when I entered.’ He didn’t acknowledge the confused looks that this explanation received. ‘It was an illusion. He made you see something that was not there … or in this case, he also hid something that was. The door opened, and closed, he probably even took the time to pick the locks, yet you did not see it.’ ‘He’s that powerful?’ Fane asked. ‘He has had many years to perfect his trickery, so yes. He is fairly good on a small scale.’ ‘What do you want with us?’ Fane ventured bravely. There was a pause from the mage as he considered this question, or perhaps how to answer it. ‘The answer to that question is a long one.’ He said, ‘And it is one that I would sooner explain in a more comfortable setting. Please, give me but a moment.’ Tyrius turned to the doorway and stepped out of it for a moment. Calling out loudly to a nearby friend he declared, ‘Muirayn, Kern has escaped. Take Gwynia and some of the crew and find him as soon as possible.’ He turned back to the two boys in the cell and beckoned for them to follow. As they did so, they couldn’t help but consider to possibilities of escape, or that they were being led somewhere from which they would never return. But they followed out of hope that their captor would let them live for such obedience, a natural reaction in such a situation. At last they came to a second room, which was comfortable and colourful to say the last. There were pots of flowers in this room, securely fastened to the walls by wooden trays. On the far side of the chamber was a comfortable looking bunk, doubled atop to make two feathered beds and in the centre of the room were 3 brown leather chairs, padded, and all facing one another, circled around a finely polished round table. Tyrius gestured for the boys to seat themselves, and they did so, put slightly at ease by the comfortable interior. Tyrius sat himself opposite Fane and Sec, placing his hands on his lap before him and pursing his lips in thought. The two boys waited patiently. ‘My name is Tyrius,’ The big man said gruffly, a serious expression on his stern face. ‘You need not fear me, nor do you need fear your fate. It is likely that you will grow to hate me even more than you already do, but I mean you no ill will. Know, before I begin, that my intentions, just as the intentions of the rest of my crew, are pure. We seek to help you, in a round about way.’ Sec spoke boldly, ‘A bloody fine way of showing it.’ Tyrius nodded once, ‘I apologise for your mistreatment, for your capture. I wish it did not have to be this way … my mission has always been a harsh one. But I beg of you, allow me to explain myself and my mission.’ Fane nodded slowly, not bothering to hide the anger in his eyes. He had to admit to himself that he half expected to wake up soon, but he knew it would not happen. No dream could be so … strange. First the Zard, their capture, the mysterious healing, then the strange girl in his vision … it was too much for a man to take in and deal with all in such a short space of time. Fane, like Sec, had the look of an individual accepting what he sees because he is waiting for the punch line; which - I might add - Fane was not looking forward to. ‘I suppose it’s necessary to start with the legends. The old stories of how the races believe they came to be, and thus, how magic came to be. I know you probably have heard some sort of interpretation of the old Antediluvian legends, or the teachings of the Autarchists, or the Chastittes,(*1) perhaps you’ve been told that it is simply a pack of old lies, spun to keep the masses under strict control. Admittedly, every race and part of the world has their own ideas of The Transcendence, and I do not know which one is correct, nor which are wrong. It is very possible that there are no Gods and that we made ourselves, as some philosophers theorise, but all I offer is the general beliefs of the overall known world…’ Of course, Fane had heard the stories. Every child heard them growing up, and many heard the stories regularly on visits to their churches or in reading their holy texts. His own family believed in a certain interpretation of the beginning of things, which was akin to Autarchy, but he was fully aware that abundantly different opinions on the subject existed worldwide. Tyrius went on, ‘At the start there were The Gods. Some say there was but one God, who took many different forms, but others say that there were many. There are claims that each of the races had their own Gods or God, and the evidence, it seems, points to that idea. They came to the earth, to Sheol, and they made each of the races, giving each of us different parts of Sheol to inhabit and to rule over. My own race, that is, the race of Humans, mostly believes that our Gods made us - gave us language and the tools for survival, and then something happened. Trouble in the heavens – they say - caused them to leave Sheol. Both Antediluvians and modern day Chastites believe that The Dark God, Mythyr, rose to some power in the heavens, and he challenged the good Gods in some way or another. Our Gods were forced to return to where they came in order to meet the challenge of the evil, and thus The Transcendence occurred. Before the good Gods left our world, however, they left us with certain things to protect us, so that the faithful might remain faithful, and that each of the races might survive in what was soon to become a very evil world indeed. Almost all the races believe this last part. *2 ‘To the Humans, they gave The Staff of Stars, the fabled holy relic of King Derrus. (*3) And they gave us The Commandments, which guide our volatile race even to this day.’ Fane was pleasantly surprised by the mage’s admission of Human kind being volatile. Very few Dreyhood respected The Commandments, for not only were they war-like by principle, but they had been tampered with over the centuries by corrupt kings and priests alike. ‘Lastly, and most importantly, The Gods gave us Magic.’ Sec gave Fane a sour look. His friend did not believe in magic, past or present. He was a warrior by heart, and believed in the strength of his own steel and little else. Tyrius leaned across the table slightly, his arms resting heavily on the finely polished wood. ‘Magic was given to all of the races, it was agreed upon by the Gods themselves that every race should have an equal share of it. So it was that somewhere in each of the race’s bloodlines, a single Sorcerer would arise every 50 years or so, to guide their own people, to protect them, and also to give each race an equal fighting chance of survival.’ Sec sighed, his impatience showing, ‘Look, Human, we know the story, we know all about religion and children’s fables of magic. But even those children were told that magic no longer exists, that it was ruined by a single spell by some ancient Furalian overlord or something.’ Tyrius nodded, ‘That is correct, Sec Rell, and the fables do say that, as do many of the history books. The fact remains that it is here. Magic has returned, and it did so at about the same time as The Great Fireball struck Minua some nine-hundred years ago. The belief amongst those of us who know of magic, is that magic was returned in that unholy bombardment, either by the gods themselves, or, as us Ryadellian and Furalian peoples believe; by the Dark God himself, as he was cast back down to the earth. Now, I’m not sure about all this Dark God stuff myself … frankly I’ve not seen any evidence to suggest or disprove the existence of such religious beliefs; but there it is, history or religion or a little bit of both. The simple fact is that magic is here.’ Sec eyed the big man suspiciously. ‘You friend knows it.’ Tyrius nodded towards Fane, ‘Fane, your gift, or what ever you might call it, what else could it be, but magical? I understand that you can project emotions into the hearts of animals?’ Fane frowned, not giving anything away, ‘Well,’ Tyrius went on, ‘In magic circles we call that the power of Influence. The art of Veratus, we call it. To influence the emotions and even thoughts of others, it is a powerful gift and a magical one.’ ‘Prove it!’ Sec interrupted again, his anger showing itself more frequently as he lost patience with the man. And rightly so; he had been snatched from his home and his family to be told children’s tales and religious interpretations of ancient history. ‘Show me some magic, right here and now.’ Tyrius calmly stared at the boy. Fane noted with some curiosity that the big man was almost constantly calm, his mannerisms and even his tone remained level and even soothing at times. Standing to his feet Tyrius half-closed his eyes in concentration, his arms levelled out before him as if cupping a bowl between his palms. The concentration on Tyrius’ face slowly became intense and his breathing quickened slightly as if the effort was equal to a brisk morning jog. It did not take him a second to give Sec the proof he needed: without a single word or gesture fire erupted from his hands, spiralling upwards in a small column of red heat. The two boys jumped back, Fane knocking his own chair clean over as he scrambled to get away from the mage. They watched in pure amazement as the pillar of swirling fire danced in the Human’s hands as if bewitched, and it was no trick, for they both felt the heat, even from across the room. Finally the mage released the spell and the fire dissipated and quickly dispersed like a snuffed candle blown out in the wind without leaving a trace that it had ever existed at all. Tyrius shook his hands and the steam emanating from them wavered and dissipated. ‘How…’ Sec exclaimed. ‘Magic.’ Tyrius said with a half-smile. ‘In this case, it was the magic of Catura; war magic, used in the practice of self defence. But I will save detailed explanations for another time.’ Fane was less shocked than Sec, but still suitably impressed and baffled. But then, he was numb to things such as these by now. The past two days had revealed many new truths and experiences, and at this point little could shock Fane truly. He knew deep down that it would all catch up with him though, and his imagination would spurn a whole host of explanations and possibilities as a result. Solemnly he returned to the table and picked up his chair. Seating himself, Fane asked ‘Please tell me why I was taken captive.’ He did not appear angry as he spoke … more sad and resigned than anything else. Tyrius nodded, returning to the chair himself and gesturing for Sec to follow suit. Clenching his jaw as he considered his words carefully, he looked uncomfortable. ‘I am from a secret order located far south. It has existed, in relative secret, for hundreds of years, and it is called The Order of Inato, named after its founder; a Meunos mage. His vision was to protect the world from magic. He made it his mission to round up young mages and teach them to control their gifts. They followed him willingly to the great island of Southkeep, where they constructed a secret world. You see; Inato believed that magic and The Races should be kept separate; that magic created more death and pain than it solved, that a person without control of their powers was a danger to themselves as well as to the world around them.’ Tyrius stared down at the table, as if remembering something, ‘But not all mages would come willingly. You see, power corrupts … and these were powerful independent mages. Governments and such did not know of their existence at the time, for the most part at least, so many elected to stay and to live their lives as kings amongst unsuspecting mortals. So many would not come with Inato, despite the perfect world he secretly built in the south; despite the land of learning and ultimate protection that it would offer when it was finished. These independent mages wanted superiority, to live amongst normal people and to rule over them perhaps, as sorcerer-kings rules over nations and races in times long past. ‘This of course, was in the early days of magic’s re-emergence, so something had to be done before the whole world found out about us, exposed by our anarchistic brothers. So we decided that for the good of all involved, we would need to abduct young mages from their homes at an early age, to take them by force and bring them to Southkeep before they became a danger to the world. It has been the same ever since.’ The two boys stared at the large man for a few silent seconds. Sec still stood, not quite believing anything, as always. Fane at last spoke: ‘What do you do with those you abduct?’ ‘We teach them, if they are willing to listen. We help them understand how to control their powers, so that some day they might contribute to our great libraries. We explore the possibilities of magic together and we record, we write, we help our own nation … which does include many non-magic users, as well as folk such as us, Fane.’ ‘What if we don’t want to be taught? What if we defy you?’ Fane pressed, his anger building slowly. Tyrius held up his hands and shook his head, ‘No harm will come to you, even then. Some come around; most, in the end see the wisdom of our cause. But if they do not, they are held as captives. None can leave Southkeep without the allowance of The Wardens, those who seal the island away from trespassers from without and from those who wish to escape. Some accept this, and they live out their lives peacefully on the island as content prisoners in a world without war and injustice. Some defy us utterly, and they attempt to fight back. These ones are judged individually. Some, I admit, are killed in battle, if they resist strongly enough. Some are simply placed under stronger confinement using stronger Convilis … sorry – I mean, warding magic.’ Fane would not accept this. ‘I wont have somebody tell me such a thing. How to live, where to live! I would be no better than a slave or a prisoner, practically both!’ He was incensed, which was highly unusual for Fane. ‘I would never use my power to help your cause. You took me away from my family … you tore me from my home! Because of you I may never see my family again!’ Sec, who had been snapped from his shocked stooper by Fane rant, joined in, ‘Me neither. What gives you the right to do something like this to us?’ He demanded, ‘Who are you to make this decision for us? To decide where we should live, for the good of the world as you see it? What gives you the right!?’ Sec stepped forward suddenly, his anger taking control. The small boy leapt over the table, his arms stretched as if to throttle the bigger man. Had Fane not been so surprised by this he would have tried to restrain his hot headed friend, but he was partially in awe of Sec’s blind bravery. Before Sec could reach Tyrius, he was turned away by an invisible force, sent reeling into the cabin wall where his ribs collided hard with the solid surface. Tyrius stepped forwards, his calm air in place as ever. ‘Sec, your bravery is admirable.’ The large mage said, looking down at him as the boy struggled to find his feet, ‘But it is folly. I could turn you away a thousand times, even as I sleep, and still you would not touch me.’ He turned so that he was facing both of them equally, ‘My job is that of a Seeker. Understand; I have sought out individuals like Fane and Kern all of my life, and all of them have resisted as you two do now. I have faced scorn, insults, even attempts at suicide. But it is my mission, and I believe in it so fully that I am willing to risk your hatred, even your scorn when and if you grow powerful enough to rain it down upon me. I do what I must. You have been taken from your homes, but one day you may come to see why it was needed.’ The man spoke in elaborate tones, neglected of emotional stringent, but still melodic in their own calming way. He reminded Fane of the holy men who sometimes came through Tylun, in the way that he spoke with conviction and unwavering faith in his cause, yet he spoke in peaceful, honeyed words. What he stood for - Fane hated, but he was in awe of the man’s awesome power and authority that he commanded, even with his voice alone. Still, Fane’s anger and defiance was only just beginning, ‘I will never see why, Tyrius. What you have done to me, what you have done to others … it is wrong!’ Tyrius nodded, his lips pursed in acceptance. He turned and walked to the door to the quarters. Without turning to face them again he said, ‘These are your quarters now. There are no locks on your doors, feel free to roam the ship as you please.’ And then he was gone, closing the door behind him. --- Sec winced, nursing his bruised ribs with his right hand as he lay on the bottom bunk. ‘That was a stupid thing to do wasn’t it?’ Fane nodded and laughed out loud, ‘Sec, I’ve known you to do some brave things in your life, but that was just … stupid!’ He grinned, ‘Attacking three armed Zard was one thing - even rushing into the battle to support the guards at Tylun that time, I could understand, at a push. But you just lunged, unarmed, at an all-powerful sorcerer, who just happened to also be a damned giant of a man! Did you see what he did with that flame? He could have burned you to ashes if he wanted to, Sec.’ Fane sat on the chair nearest to the bunk beds while he talked to his friend. The mood had eased somewhat since Tyrius had left. Yes, they were captive, but if their captors were to be believed, their fate wasn’t quite as harsh as they had first anticipated. While that brought Fane no comfort, he felt deep down that they would escape somehow, and they weren’t likely to lose their lives in the process. ‘I dunno, Fane, the time with the guards was pretty stupid.’ Sec laughed, wincing in pain some more. Fane nodded, ‘Aye, it was, indeed. There I was, standing in the crowd with the rest of the villagers as the home guard rode out to meet the Human raiders, and who do I see in their wake if it isn’t my oldest friend … the very brave - but also quite short – Sec Rell, running, not riding, into battle!’ Fane shook his head at the memory. They had only been 16, and Sec was still training even in the basic arts of swordsmanship and archery, but that hadn’t stopped him. Sec layed back, grinning at the memory. He hadn’t managed to actually meet the raiders, as a Dreyhood soldier had scooped him up and promptly returned him to his outraged Father, but he had earned some respect amongst his peers that day. ‘We aren’t going to see them for a long time, are we Fane? If at all…’ Fane was silent, the smile wiped from his face. ‘We may. If these villains do not intend to harm us, as they swear, then there might be some hope of an escape after all. Even if I have to pretend to follow them - to learn from them, and then betray them when they least expect it.’ He winked at his friend, ‘We’ll see home again. One way or another.’ He wasn’t sure he believed it himself, but he remained optimistic, if a little fearful. They were but 17 … still children, and to be taken from their homes like this was not something they could easily come to terms with. But between them they had bravery, strength, cheer, imagination and a little magic. They were a good team, Fane decided, and together they might make it through this. Sec rolled over slightly and faced skywards, ‘Fane, your not dishonest enough to do that, and we both know it.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Well … maybe not, but I have you to corrupt me.’ Sec nodded, ‘That’s true I guess,’ He said, laughing amusedly. ‘Me and Kern, probably.’ He looked back at Fane sharply as if remembering something, ‘How in hell did he do that, anyway? The Illusions? That’s just insane.’ Fane shrugged, ‘Any more insane than the many other things we’ve seen in the past two days?’ Sec conceded his friend’s point. ‘I’m sure he’ll turn up. As slimy as he seems, I think that our captors are too powerful to avoid for very long.’ Fane wasn’t too sure. There was something very cunning about Kern - and as young as he might be – he certainly did seem cunning. Either way, some good might come of the situation. Were he to return, they could use his aid in their escape. And if he did not … well at least they would be free of his mocking glares and jibes. --- Kern scuttled along the wood panels, his fingers finding purchase somehow in the splinters and cracks in the hull outer hull. Finally he gripped a rope that trailed some meters down over the ship’s starboard. Under him, the waves lashed at his ankles, making for an uncomfortable sleeping position. But at least here, hanging on the side of the ship, he would not be found while his illusionary guard was down. He smirked when he thought about it; it was the last place any of them would look, unless they decided to throw one of the prisoners overboard. Aside from anything else, they would never in a million years guess that the illusionist could stay in this position for 5 – 8 hours while he dozed in and out of sleep. It was a true gift that he was immensely proud of, as it had taken many years of sneaking, breaking, and illicit entering (as well as exiting), to perfect. It was all about training the muscles not to seize up, and training them not to relax if his mind drifted off. He had to concede, he was a master at not being found. But then, he had a great many young years of experience in the skill. Finding a deeper purchase with his left boot, he laid his head against the cold hull and locked his fingers around the moist length of tattered rope. He closed his eyes, absently hoping that he wouldn’t catch a cold. --- The dark came, and still Boseraphim had not returned. ‘Depression’s a strange thing, Fane,’ His Father said as they scoured the surrounding countryside for their relative. ‘A different thing can sadden a different man, whether they show it or not. And then it only takes a little thing to push them over the edge.’ Fane frowned. At the age of 16, he was still very young, so he did not fully understand his Brother’s frequent depression, or why his Brother was so saddened by events that did not directly involve him. ‘Sometimes…’ Gerad said, pushing a thorned bush to one side with his thick hunting boots, ‘…it can be nothing at all that depresses a man. Just the flow of everyday life as it passes before you, like sand as it slips through your fingers. You watch it pass by, and you can’t stop it, and all of it is wasted.’ Fane licked his lips as he traversed a difficult craggy mound and skirted a particularly sharp tree branch. ‘I suppose I should be sad, but I didn’t know those people. It is sad, but it doesn’t depress me. Maybe I’m just too happy to let things like that get me down.’ Gerad smiled, ‘You are that, Fane.’ They circled about the trees until they came to the ruins of an old stone cottage framed by wild nature. In the pale darkness they could just make out the figure of Boseraphim as he sat atop the rubble and snaking vines that had claimed the ruins like a tangled elemental hand come up from the soil to claim back the stones that were cut from its body long ago. Bo looked down as his Brother and Father approached. Fane could tell right away that he had been crying, as his cheeks were flustered and his eyes were puffed up. Gerad hauled himself up the rubble to come to sit next to his Son. Fane was a little too delicate (as well as scared) for the treacherous climb on the failing building, so he sat himself on the grass before his Brother, where he could see and hear what was about to be said. Gerad didn’t speak for a few moments. His soft expressive features turned distant for a while, and he became a silent gargoyle perched atop the grey ruins by his son’s side. Fane thought he would say nothing at all, but then Boseraphim spoke, instead. ‘It’s not fair, Father.’ Boseraphim said solemnly, his tear-streaked face agonised by the plight of some alien strangers who Fane fully admitted he never even really considered very often. Tylun was his home, and beyond the valley’s overshadowing hill and mountains, nothing much else mattered to him. Gerad turned to look at his son, ‘I know. It rarely is fair, Bo. Sometimes … it feels like nothing is… right?’ Bo did not look at his Father, ‘But then what is the point? What’s the point of living in such a cruel, brutal world? So … cold! It makes it hard for me to get up in the morning. How can I go about my life when all around me men and women suffer beyond words? The cruelty of the world is sometimes too much for me … for me to ...’ He trailed off, clenching his hands into balls of anger. ‘But is it yours to bear?’ Gerad asked. Boseraphim stared off into the shadows of the swaying trees around them, ‘Yes, because I’m part of this world. And how can I ignore the evils around me? That would make me no better than those soldiers who marched into Kortak and raped and slaughtered … and took back survivors as slaves and entertainment for their coliseums. Kortak was a peaceful city, Father …” His voice broke with the overwhelming emotion that rose up suddenly in his throat “The Four Isles were never meant to be involved in bloodshed. They were four isles of peace, and diplomacy. Does the wicked Human heart know no mercy? Do they have no honour or morality?’ *4 Gerad considered his reply for a moment. ‘Perhaps you judge a whole Race on the acts of those in charge. In all history, every nation - every Race has committed such atrocities … from the Tenakos to The Zard.’ ‘Well that makes me feel much better!’ Bo exclaimed, throwing a hand into the air. ‘Sorry.’ Gerad said, lapsing back into silence for a little while. Distantly a crow gurgled and squawked. ‘What you need to remember, Son, is that no – you cannot change the world. What you can change is what’s in here.’ He pointed to his own chest, giving Bo a weak smile, ‘It’s from the hearts of men that we build the world. But all must start with his own heart. We all must start with our own world, do you see? If all of us make such efforts … efforts to bring happiness into the lives of those few souls we touch in our lives … then the world becomes a better place.’ Boseraphim finally stared at his Father. Gerad continued: ‘So instead of hating the world, try loving it, and share that with the world you can change. We make the world what it is, collectively … all of us. Just because the rest of the world does not try, it does not go to say that we, also, should give up. Otherwise we become no better than the rest of them.’ Gerad smiled the expression familiar and warming to both of his Sons. It was a lesson that Fane would always remember, even though it had not been directed at himself. --- Kern awoke just before daybreak. He ached all over, but was pleasantly surprised that he had not woken floating in the middle of the ocean, despite the deeper sleep he had entered than originally intended. He braved the movement of his right hand and winced as the pain of a thousand bruises shot through it. Perhaps he’d find a more comfortable place to sleep tomorrow night. Such as under the keel. Silently he climbed the hull, positioning himself at the edge of the rail without going over. He steadied his thoughts, drawing up energy from within, ready to cast an illusion at the smallest notice, if such a feat became necessary. He was hoping that he would emerge too early in the day to be noticed, as there would probably still be a skeleton crew manning the ship, while the main bulk of the sailors rested. Closing his eyes he concentrated on his heartbeat. The organic thumping welled up inside of him until it boomed in his ears. He could feel his blood as it passed through his body, through every vein and artery, pumping through his limbs and his mind. Silently he drew power from the blood as he had been taught, reaching down inside himself to draw the spiritual energy of his being, ready to be used for the magic he might need to wield. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes, keeping his focus on the task at hand, keeping his mind on the concentration that would be needed for the spell of illusion. Offering a silent prayer to any god who might give a damn, he hopped over the railing - his eyes scanning the deck in a swift sweep. To his annoyance he noticed a group of bone-idol crewmen who were congregated directly on the opposite side of the ship to him. Luckily they had not yet noticed him, but a group illusion was much harder to set up than a single person. Quickly he formulated the image in his mind; the blank deck, devoid of the crouching form of Kern. He was not there, no sounds came from him, they could see right through him. He maintained the imaginary picture in his mind for a moment, filling in the blanks, painting the three-dimentional imaginary picture, taking care to paint over every detail that hinted at Kern’s presence (even his shadow). Then he released it. Focussing on the individual sailors, he cast the spell into their minds one at a time, the Invisible Hand reaching out from his life force to plunge deep into their own … tinkering with the fabric of their reality, changing their perceptions, their minds. Fortunately, he was done before any of the men had noticed him. It had only taken a split second or two, all in all, but that was usually enough for sober people to notice movement out of the corner of their eye. To his relief, these sailors were far from sober. Satisfied that none of the men could see him, he turned to his temporary escape route; the door leading down towards the cargo hold, where he would spend the remainder of the day hiding. He almost swore out loud when he saw the door swing open and two new sailors came through. He quickly repeated the magic spell on these two newcomers, using the mental image he still had fresh in his mind and simply repeating it. An illusion was cast into the minds of men individually, not the world in general, which was one drawback of being an illusionist. But then the two men stopped by the door, facing each other in deep conversation regarding some inane rubbish about their family members, from what he could tell. (Curse ‘em), he thought, (theys blocking me escape route!) He was tiring rather quickly due to the effort involved in using the magic. But now he would have to wait even longer for the two newcomers to move themselves. Sighing, he glanced around the deck. On one side he had the blocked doorway; opposite he had the group of drunken sailors laughing and exchanging banter heavily laced with an odd accent; and then on his right he had the upper tier of the main deck, which – despite holding the after hatch and Captain’s quarters - actually held more sailors and officers. He could not escape to his left, as there would be more foes to trick that way, and the main hatch in front of him was covered by the ship’s boat, who’s tarpaulin had been rolled back for the morning while it was being cleaned. He had no choice but to sit in wait until the doorway was un-obstructed. As he sat there, slowly getting quite bored, he glanced down at his feet and frowned in puzzlement. There were chalk lines on this part of the deck, set apart evenly by distance, the measurements clearly labelled for each yard as they laddered their way from fore-to-aft of the ships deck. His frown deepened behind the fringe of greasy hair. Why were there measurements here? He could not guess at the reason behind it. But then the reason presented itself. Lined up now - all facing his direction - the drunken sailors were still joking and laughing, urging one of their fellows on with jibes and manly words of encouragement. The man nodded, grinning and bragging about just how far his ‘swab would carry’. Kern nearly soiled himself. It was a spitting contest and they were all lined up ready to spit … right in Kern’s direction. Of course, they could not see him, the boy’s magic had seen to that. Cursing under his breath, he glanced around for some corner to hide in, but it was too late, the man had spat and the great mammoth green lump of flem was catapulted right at Kern’s face. The thief ducked nimbly, his reflexes saving him not only from a rather disgusting incident, but also from certain discovery. He wondered what the sailors would think if the spit stopped mid-flight and trickled down a wall of thin air. The crowd of sailors roared with laughter at the man’s poor attempt, patting him on the back as he shook his head in disappointment. Kern didn’t wait for the next contestant, scuttling backwards he slipped into the nearest corner, the area overshadowed by the ship’s boat, until his back was against the mainmast. He would be safe from the rain of spit here, he hoped. He sat there and waited on his haunches, his spells still very much in place, but the two men by the doorway still would not move. Worse still, they had begun to watch the contest with avid interest. Kern glared. He was far from amused. Finally the two men parted, standing aside from the door, and Kern saw his chance. He dived forwards, dodging a bullet of flem which sailed past his face as he hopped over the deck on silent feet of practiced stealth. The average man would not hear his footsteps, as the illusion protected him from this too, but he was taking no chances. He was perhaps only five yards away from the doorway when he saw why the men had stepped to the side. With horror, he stared directly at one of the mages – the blonde one, who they had called Muirayn. Unable to cast an illusion quick enough, the mage stared directly at Kern, wide eyed and accusing. ‘You!’ He said, pointing. His surprise gave him an opening; quicker than ever before, Kern cast a powerful illusion and simply disappeared from the sight of Muirayn as if he had teleported away. Scuttling backwards, the young thief sought to get some distance between himself and the young magic user. He hoped and prayed that the man could not dispel his illusions, and as it happened, Muirayn had not yet been taught that trick. Stepping forwards and calling for the other sailors to help him, Muirayn searched the air with his bare hands for the form of the escapee. Kern held his breath, remaining where he was so that the newly alerted men would not hear any creek of the ship’s boards. *5 Some of the sailors withdrew their swords, stepping forwards and swinging them slowly at the air before them threateningly, as if to scare Kern into giving himself up. Slowly, painstakingly, they circled around him, their eyes searching for any hint of the illusion that they at times were staring directly at. But Kern was good at what he did, and his illusions were very believable. Still, the circle came on, and some of the swords brushed past the man’s face as he lent away from them. He weaved this way and that so that he would not be discovered. The blades came too slowly to do any real damage, but they would still cut his skin, and he was fairly sure that he couldn’t trick the sailors to ignore the feel of their swords as they cut through skin. ‘He’s got to be here somewhere.’ The young Muirayn said to the crew. ‘Keep that door guarded, and one of you go and alert those at the poop and foredecks.’ Like a pantomime dance or a slow ritual ballet, Kern slipped in and out of the sailors, ducking, leaning, crawling away from them as they passed by. The illusionist was extremely nimble, graceful and stealthily, but it was only a matter of time before one of them caught him. He stood still as Muirayn walked by him, their noses almost touching as the blonde-haired man squinted into the thin air, searching for Kern with determination. Then Tyrius appeared behind the man guarding the doorway, and Kern simply turned and ran. In a blur of chaos, the bearded Human pushed past the sailor and gestured at the scene before him. The sprinting form of Kern materialised before the sailors; the illusion dispelled without much effort. As if in slow motion, Kern barged through the hulking form of a large sailor, and spinning, the Dreyhood thief twisted past the man’s grasp as he stumbled backwards. He jumped, scrambling upwards onto the higher deck, near to the helm, in a desperate effort to flee from his captors, for what end he did not know. Tyrius began running too; his giant legs pumping like the huge steel pistons of a machine, churning at an unnatural speed; which was especially shocking considering his mass. The large man jumped, and it turned into more than a jump; it was almost flight. As if gravity did not exist, Tyrius launched himself into the sky like some sort of winged-lion stalking its prey. He flew through the air and landed directly in the path of Kern, who skidded to a halt and stared at the Human with wide eyed shock. Not considering the danger, Kern swung a solid punch at the bigger man - his small fist aimed well. But with lightning reactions, the big man slapped away the blow with a well-practiced block akin to the style Kern had only seen in the Meunos monks from South Minua. Kern did not hesitate; he swung again at Tyrius’ stomach, and again at his face in a flurry of blows that were intended to at least phase the mage. But the bigger man turned both blows away easily, as if not even really trying, and all with a single arm. With a blur of motion, Tyrius struck back. A solid, stamping, chest-high kick, which crunched into Kern’s body, sending him literally tumbling backwards to the lower part of the deck, where he rolled head-over-heals, and at last landed face down in the largest glob of green flem he had ever seen. ------------------ *1 The differing opinions of the meanings of life are nowhere more varied as they are in the vast Human Empire. Four main schools of thought are taught by the peoples of Ryadell. Though I will not attempt to explain these four school now, they are called: Chastity (primarily the Western Human belief), Gragretian (named after Gragetor the First, also known as Anteduvian), The Church of Lamentation, and Autarchy. The latter is followed in majority by the Dreyhood people, who are Autarchistic to a ratio of 4:1 against neighboring religions. All four of these religions worship the same deities, but do it in different ways, and argue often about details and lifestyle. *2 The origins of Sheol as also vastly varied. While some races and churches agreed on one detail – such as the number of Gods, or the cause of The Great Fireball – these same people often disagreed on other, equally important matters, such as the afterlife; the purpose of life; and weather or not the “Gods” were actually Gods at all. Typically, such differing opinions – even within a certain race – became the motivations behind many wars and persecutions. *3 The relic was destroyed during the Age of Mistrust, in 308 AT (after Transcendence), by a single Drey warrior. In retaliation, Humanity wiped out the Drey entirely. *4 The Four Isles were set up in the year 470 AT as a valiant attempt by the Human nations (namely the Morvanian tribe, who owned most of Ryadell at this point) to restore peace, trade and diplomacy between the main warring races of the north. Three of these four isles (which were barely even colonized by Humans by this point) were given over to Eskan, Tenakos and Furalian peoples respectively. Kortak was given to the Furalian peoples; Kormere was given to the Tenakoshan race; Korgin was kept by Humanity; and Korzue was given over to the Eskaan people. *5 Illusion spells only placed the suggestion of sound in a person’s mind (or indeed lack thereof). A trained mind could quite easily pick up on these sounds, despite the covering of an illusion, simply because sound was much harder to hide than image. Scientifically, it has been theorized by scholars of Sheol, that the area of the brain that deals with sound is harder to manipulate than that which deals with image. The reason for this is that while vision is simply a matter of light and color, sound is carried – physically – by particles of vibrating air, thus making it harder to disguise in the mind of a person looking for them.
Revisar esta historia >>>