NOVEL NEXT Chapter 134 - Reason
There was a song. A tune diminished long ago, now rising across the Resonance like being born anew from the ashes of a giant fire. It tingled in the back of Valens's neck, tingling there right underneath his skin, granting him a feeling of familiarity and awe.
In this cascading rhythm, the fast-approaching flames showed him the intricate web-work that fueled them constantly, spewing out from the Covenmother's core, mana threads so fine they looked like a fancy art piece. He wondered how long she had to spend weaving this beautiful piece in her studies, how hard it must be to fix and attach the ever-stretching threads into a perfect whole?
She was aiming to scorch them through with her flames. That intent was clear in her rising heartbeat. But there within, between the strong beats of her core, Valens caught slight skips that announced a certain anxiety. She held great confidence in her skill and level, surely, but something in her doubted this attempt with insidious suspicion.
Valens unfolded the tightly clutched fingers of Celme holding him back, gently stepping out and toward the flames, stretching a generous hand out to feel their warmth. The blasting fury of the spell gave way to a joyous appreciation as the first threads of vile fire touched the skin of his palm.
Then, slowly, they coiled around his arm and down his chest, playful little devils dancing wildly across with their song stretching wider and wider in the Resonance. The other threads of the spell, an Inferno of magnificent proportions, were drawn toward him quickly, leaving Celme and Nomad blinking at the sight.
It was, in a way, a Reunion. Valens almost felt a trickling of fury at his flames being used by a stranger's hands. When had he grown so close to this side of the magic, he wondered. When, indeed, had he begun to trust flames, to this forbidden field of magic many a Mage in the Empire so deeply feared?
Looking at those playful tendrils, he couldn't see why anyone would fear these little devils. They yearned for his touch, and he cherished the warmth he was presented by this gradual embrace he was given by the Inferno.
"You can't take her," he said after fixing the spell into a glob of molten fire, hovering over his right hand like a ball. The intensity of it sent waves of choking warmth across the room, forcing the Covenmother and the rest of the people to scrunch up uncomfortably. "Not before you explain yourself, that is."
The Covenmother's venomous gaze was fixed to that molten ball with intensity. She seemed reluctant to admit the truth of the situation, perhaps resenting the fact that she proved too weak to force a budding Surgemaster to oblige with her wishes.
But Valens knew underneath the mask of venom were questions. She wasn't weak. That was a fact that need not be told to anyone here. She would have blasted their group with her flames and left not a patch of ashes for the others to sweep away. There was little doubt in Valens's mind that she had a variety of other spells she had yet to unleash.
No. What happened in that short instant wasn't a matter of might, or levels. Those flames triggered a deep familiarity within Valens, and he reached to claim them as his own. It was as simple as picking a grass root out of the ground for him, a natural happenstance that came all too easily.
Which must be why the Covenmother looked troubled. If her Inferno didn't work, chances were her other fire-aligned spells would react the same to Valens's presence.
"You might have forgotten the old debts, or care little for them unlike the rest of your flock, but blood remembers," the Covenmother said, inhaling deeply as a heaviness fell over her eyes. She gestured at Selin. "You're ill-suited to teach her the ways of fire. Ill-suited to give her the education she needs to realize her potential. Leave us, Surgemaster. Let us go."
"You seem deeply concerned by this so-called old debts," Valens said, frowning out into her face, the molten ball of fire still hovering over his hand. "I have a feeling that those are relevant to what has conspired here, just now."
"They were gone," the Covenmother said, looking down at her own hands. Dying cinders fell in a sprinkle of sad rain from the tip of her fingers. "Without a warning, without a clear demand. Gone, in a moment's time, vanished from the surface of the world like winds of a receding storm. We have waited a century for a sign, anything in case a revelation might occur in the depthless skies, but there was nothing. The Surgemasters were gone, and those who were in their service left forgotten and alone."
"Those in their service?" Valens arched an eyebrow, turning and giving Nomad a look. He knew things that were foreign to a well-trained woman like Celme. He had claimed to have lived a dozen lives although he remembered little of them to speak. And yet, it was Nomad who had the most knowledge of the old among their group.
His false eyes gave Valens a silent answer. The undead didn't know anything.
At the question, the Covenmother's eyes widened and she scowled at Valens with confusion. An invisible poke at his core told Valens that she checked his level and his class once again, as if to ensure she had seen right.
"You're a Magister," she uttered shortly, confusion in her eyes deepened. "That's why you are here, in the Ashen City, preparing for the trial ahead of you. The Second Trial of the Surgemasters, ruling the City of Magisters to prove you're an able-minded commander of people. Not a mere champion of faith, but one that could lead humanity should there be a need for it."
This woman knows a lot about Surgemasters.
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Valens swept her with a gaze once again, trying to glimpse the confusion in those eyes, to judge whether it was genuine or a false mask with which she was intending to lead him off the course. Perhaps those words had been lies, told to quieten the air in the room after she had seen how easy it was for Valens to take control of her flames.
"You look surprised," the Covenmother continued. "You know of the trial, but not what it entails, blindly following the steps of your forefathers, guided by the System. How do you think you would fare in that blasted, ancient city with a flock as pitiful as yours, besieged by the creatures of the Shadow and claimed as a monument of victory in his name? You would die a pointless death, young Surgemaster, should you decide to venture into those lands."
"That would serve you well, eh?" Valens asked, feeling a smile creeping around his lips. He didn't know of this debt, but one thing was clear — that his death would solve a lot of complications for this woman. It was strange then that she instead seemingly tried to guide him away from his death. "But I don't think it's that simple. I want to know those debts, and why your flames obeyed me rather than keeping to the word of their mistress."
"Naive," the Covenmother said, shaking her head. "The Sisters of the Cinder Sigil were founded by Master Elengaart, in the Dark Ages when the sky was red and Fissures tore through the earth more often than the morning dew dared cling to the leaves. Destruction was a natural part of life, the line between death and life thinner than a strand of hair. Desperate, a pair of sisters, chanced across Master Elengaart after losing their village to a meteor storm. In his mercy, the Master granted the pair the gift of fire, for fire was the most elegant and mighty of the forces, a true blessing in times when it rained molten rocks born of flames."
The other sisters of the Coven took a united step toward the Covenmother, feverish gazes full of mirth, all looking into the big ball of fire hovering over Valens's hand.
"We took control of the raining meteors — our ancestors did. They relieved the world of a constant rain that streaked long gashes across the earth and left it battered and bruised by an endless storm," the Covenmother said. "All thanks to Master Elengaart, to his depthless wisdom and mercy, for he hadn't the heart to see the humans live afraid of a canopy that threatened to burn them down."
There was fire burning in her eyes as the Covenmother gazed at him. "Indebted to his grace, we have given an Ancient Oath to serve him and his line for eternity. He was the first Surgemaster we ever knew, but he wouldn't be the last, as his line flourished in the following ages."
"An allegiance?" Valens asked, curious.
"A Pact," the Covenmother said. "That stretches beyond the time when there was no System to govern the world, and we have paid our dues in duties both grave and sinister through the years. I'm afraid the First Sisters thought a man like Master Elengaart could keep his line fair and just for an eternity, never considering bad apples to grow out of that magnanimous tree. I don't blame them, for their service came out of desperation more than greed."
"Is that why—" Valens gazed heavily to Selin, who stood confused by the Covenmother. "The System has given her the Pyre Witch class? Because of my flames?"
"The Sisters of the Cinder Sigil," the Covenmother said. "The Broken Brotherhood of the Depths. The Lances of the East. So on and so forth. We weren't the only ones who lost our lifeblood when the Surgemasters abandoned these lands. Like us, they had to witness an age pass by them like spectators, watching the Shadow claim every land with its endless greed."
"There are others…" Valens swallowed. He felt the promise of a headache crawling from behind his neck as he tried to digest the information. The more he learned about the Surgemasters, the clearer it got how little he knew of his ancestry.
"You're alone," the Covenmother said just then, gesturing at him. "What of the others? Why have they sent you here all alone, giving you such a difficult task? What is your purpose here, Surgemaster? Have you come to re-ignite the embers of the past? To rise against the Shadow and force him, once again, to cower away in your presence?"
"I…" Valens shook his head, deciding to be honest. "I don't know."
"You don't?" The Covenmother seemed to have expected this answer. Her eyes swayed to Celme and Nomad, before fixing on Selin once again. "They don't know, do they? That you're here."
Valens gave her a slight nod.
"Yet this world knows," the Covenmother said. "It feels your presence like an old wound festering deep in its reaches. It reacts to your presence — the pain, the glory, the lost times of the past."
"What about you?" Valens asked. The task seemed daunting, and he knew the difficulty would rise with each Trial. If he could get the help of these people — powerful people — he could at least illuminate the darkness in which he coursed without clear guidance.
"We don't answer to a Magister without a crown," the Covenmother said, eyes narrowed with unreadable depth. "What I can do is show you the way of the forgotten city. If you can claim it as your own, then you can call your old blood to service. Trust not the legacy of your forefathers, however, for some of us have yet to forgive the pain of those times."
"Show me the way, will you?" Valens said. "Very well. I suppose I could use anything I can get in this damned place."
"Never trust a witch," Nomad commented from the side, earning a strong nod from Celme. "Everybody knows it. A pact or not, you never know what sort of wicked concoction they're boiling in those cauldrons."
"Good people exist," Valens said, placing a hand on Nomad's shoulder. The undead's eyes widened. "I found home in a faith so strange and mindless to my old self. I have grown to understand the difference is something to be appreciated, not feared like an enemy. I can't cling to the old ways, expecting they'll guide me out of this storm, friend. Either way, I have one life, and nothing else to lose."
Nomad's mouth opened for a second, then he closed it as he turned away. Celme looked distressed, baffled, confused. Selin, on the other hand, smiled at him. A beautiful smile, free of doubts. A genuine gesture that carried the weight of the past between them. Good people indeed, Valens thought. Not everyone was his enemy.
"I will take the girl," the Covenmother said, reaching with a hand and pulling Selin gently close to her. "She will learn our ways. Grow into a true Sister of the coven, a feared and respected witch of the Cinder Sigil. As she is now, she will become nothing but a burden to you in your storm."
"But Mr. Kosthal—" Selin tried to say, but the Covenmother shook her head at her.
"Patience, child," she said soothingly. "If fate wills it, we will all return to the service of the old, but for now, we must ensure we're prepared for what's to come."
"What's to come?" Valens scowled. "What do you mean by that?"
"You are a hurricane born with gift and duty, fated to oppose anything the Shadow has ever created in your kind's absence," the Covenmother said, a sad smile on her face. "You don't expect him to sit still and watch you from beyond the dark, do you? With each Trial, he'll become more aware of your presence. With each Trial, you'll grow into a true threat to his senses. Until, one day, he will decide to face you. That's when this world will break, once again, and you will be the reason for it."