Millennial Mage

Tala finally understood Mistress Cerna’s reaction to having fewer ‘out of the city’ assignments.

At least she thought she did.

They’d been in the folded space for more than two full days as Mistress Kep dug through, checking and triple checking the information on the prisoner and their best approaches.

Master Clevnis had taken some time to explain things to Tala, emphasizing that the reason that he was doing so was specifically because this was her first cell, and not for any other reason.

“It is standard practice to review all the materials provided by the creators of the cell as closely as possible, and for the Paragon in Command to consult others through the Archive.”

That had confused Tala a bit, so she’d inquired further, “Why would that be necessary? Didn’t the people who left this information want us to succeed?”

“Obviously they did, but sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know, and they couldn’t possibly have known what we don’t know, now. Even when language isn’t a barrier, culture sometimes shifts, the currently most popular stories, even different trends and understandings of magic. A famous case comes from when early human Mages were seemingly all Guides, and apparently focused on more vague schools, like fire, water, earth, and such. The messages they left on a couple of cells insisted that it would take four highly advanced magic users or someone they called an Exemplar—which was basically a Mage who could use all four of what they believed to be the primary zones of magic at the time.”

Tala blinked a few times. “What? Why would people think that magic was divided in that way?”

He shrugged. “Human history goes back a long way, but we’ve always known our magic functions differently than arcane magics. Our understanding has evolved through the eons to what it is today. I would bet that before you and I are both dead and in the ground, at least one thing that we believe to be fundamentally true will be seen as laughably inaccurate.”

She grunted. Yeah, that’s probably true. “So, it’s common practice to consult other experts to make sure there’s not something that got lost through translation, time, culture, or common understanding?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Huh. I suppose that makes sense.”

On the morning of the fourth day within the folded space, Mistress Kep was finally satisfied.

The unit gathered around her in the morning light as she laid out how things stood, “We are good to get started. I have my plan for repairing and refreshing the seal, and the advice I gave you stands.”

They each nodded.

Mistress Cerna smiled brightly, “Let’s get it done! How long will you need to execute the repairs?”

“Not more than three hours. From what I can see, the damage is very concentrated, rather than a general erosion of containment.”

Master Clevnis clapped his hands together. “Alright. We know the plan, but let’s go over the high points one last time so there’s no confusion: Masters Limmestare and Girt are on physical deflection, if violence breaks out, I will be the first responder, with Mistress Vanga’s primary duty being to keep the prisoner well away from death’s door.”

Tala felt herself twitch at the saying, a thought occurring to her. Do you think… could ‘Death’ be in one of these cells, so death’s door is a cultural reference to a real thing?

-…really? You’re considering this now? He’s used that exact turn of phrase a dozen times over the last days.-

Well… I didn’t think about it earlier…

-Focus Tala.-

“Mistress Tala is on bodily intervention, and Mistress Cerna will fill in the gaps.”

They all nodded their agreement.

Terry wouldn’t be coming with them, and they had all agreed that Tala should leave Kit outside, just to be safe.

And that was that. They were ready.

Mistress Kep gestured and one of the roof tiles suddenly lit with power as the Paragon altered the fundamentals of the universe to gain access to the cell.

Obviously, the cells couldn’t be composed of active magics, not unless their creators had bound a fount to their maintenance. While that was seemingly done in some cases, it was by far the exception, especially since modern humanity had to have the capacity to enact these cells at need, and they had neither the resources nor the willingness to use such methods.

I wonder what they would do these days if active magics are required?

-I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.-

The tile seemed to open, growing larger and revealing an entrance. A platform appeared before the opening, and a staircase extended downward to where they waited.

There was no hesitation as the unit sped up the stairs, followed by Mistress Kep.

As Tala and her companions entered the new passageway, she saw the Paragon step to the side, onto the platform, and explode with power.

Tens of thousands of tendrils of magic—each seemingly manually controlled—reached out, moving independently, as copper, silver, and golden spell-lines began to spark and flare across the woman’s body in a truly mesmerizing display.

Tala only hesitated for a moment, but that was sufficient for her to truly appreciate the gap in power and proficiency between the Paragon and even the long-lived Refined she was now working with.

I wonder how old Mistress Kep truly is?

As the unit moved down the passageway, Tala saw bodies tense then relax and heard the muttered pronouncements, foreswearing oaths, bindings, and bonds.

Tala followed suit, noticing that she, herself, had tensed up when she entered the dark, stone-lined hallway. She forced herself to relax even as she spoke under her breath, “I enter where I am granted access, accepting no debts, making no promises, and allowing no bonds. I am not, and never will be, associated with what lies ahead, except in passing.”

-Wordy, but thorough.-

We’ll work on it.

The hallway had no light source, but it was bright enough for Refined to walk with ease due to the reflected morning light behind, and the unknown illumination well ahead.

The floor was smooth and level, the stones fitted perfectly into place, and not disrupted by anything despite the passage of time.

The hall was nearly a hundred yards long before it opened out into the dappled light of an old-growth forest.

Tala glanced behind herself and saw the passage leading straight back into a hillside. Through that, she could easily see the threads of Mistress Kep’s magic on the other side.

Perfectly straight.

A soft, but firm, voice came to them, not shouted, but carrying nonetheless, but Tala couldn’t quite make out the words.

She turned to regard the speaker and beheld the prisoner for the first time.

He was tall, likely around seven and a half feet in height, and built like a bear. His skin was the dark brown of mahogany. His ears were long and pointed, extending almost straight outward to poke free of his mane of hair. That very hair on his head, and that making up his beard, was the brown of deep-forest bark, streaked through with near-black, and his eyes were the dark blue of a deep ocean.

Tala frowned. It’s been ages since I’ve seen an ocean. Why would that descriptor come to mind?

-It’s fitting, isn’t it?-

Maybe, it also might be that that’s how he wanted himself viewed…

-Don’t get yourself tied up in knots, Tala.-

Right, focus.

Regardless, the effect was for him to appear to be a statue, carved out of wood, with inlays and embellishments added it.

The prisoner was clad in simple leathers, excessively patched, but meticulously cared for. On one side, he had a tightly bound, incredibly thick tome hanging from his belt. Opposite that, hung a large hatchet, but that was just in proportion to him. To Tala, it would have been a massive war-ax.

It was then that something grabbed her attention and held it for a long breath.

His hands were incredibly badly burned, the flesh looking like molded wax, glowing runes seared into his skin in patterns that somehow seemed at once both crude and impossibly complex.

Tala’s gaze jerked away when she caught movement in the corner of her vison as an owl that looked comically small in comparison to the big man swooped down to land on the prisoner’s shoulder.

The bird couldn’t have been more than a few inches in height, but its eyes held hints of a keen intelligence.

The man spoke again, and Tala realized that she hadn’t somehow missed what he’d said the first time. It was in another language.

She blinked a few times, then barked a laugh. All that fear of him influencing us, and he doesn’t even speak our language. Of course, he doesn’t! The languages outside weren’t ours, so why would his be?

Master Limmestare put a kind, restraining hand on Tala’s shoulder, and she nodded once, indicating that she understood. No speaking if they could help it.

Her outburst had been understandable, but she needed to be careful.

The large man tilted his head to the side, then the runes on his hands flickered with a rolling, multi-hued light. His entire aura rippled through the spectrum along with the light seeming trapped within the burned symbols, and the flesh around them seem almost to melt a little further.

Everyone held themselves ready but didn’t directly react.

Masters Girt and Limmestare turned and began to block off the tunnel with a bulwark of rock woven through with layers of interlaced glass-fiber.

The light faded from the prisoner’s runes, and he smiled. “Now, you should be able to understand me, yes?”

No one responded.

“Though you are not responding, I can tell by the light in your eyes that we are communicating. Good, good. That is an excellent start to a parole meeting.” He smiled again, his attitude seemingly genuine. “I imagine that they didn’t leave evidence of my name, and as I do not recognize any of you, I will assume that my”—he glanced around at the seemingly extensive forest—“benefactors are no more. I am interested why you are all speaking the tongue of the star-touched, but that can wait. I am Khesed, in my language it means loving kindness or loving loyalty. May I know who you are?”

Mistress Cerna smiled and gave a small bow. “I will be whom you speak with, and I am called Cerna.”

“Cerna, a lovely name. Is there any proper form of address that is needed for polite society? I would hate to be rude in my ignorance.”

After the barest hesitation, she nodded. “Most would call me, ‘Mistress Cerna.’”

“’Mistress?’ A title of power, then.” He nodded approvingly. “Likely from the ‘Mistress or Master of the Ships.’ I do so love those old tales, tales from before the splintering. I had not realized that enough of the star-touched had survived to…” The man’s eyes widened. “There was an Anointed star-touched… what was his name?”

Khesed grimaced slightly, turning his head and looking down to his right, clearly in thought.

“Ahh, it escapes me after all these years. Did such a being achieve deification and rise to enough prominence that his language has overtaken your culture?”

Mistress Cerna shrugged. “I am unsure what you mean, but that is alright. We are far removed in time from each other. It is only natural that we should not easily find common jargon.”

A small smile tugged at the prisoner’s lips. “Wisely put. But where are my manners. Can I offer you some refreshments? Some food? If we are to discuss my release, it should be in what comfort I can offer.”

The Refined shook her head. “My apologies, Khesed, but we are not here to discuss your release. We are here to ensure that you remain.”

A flicker of anger moved through his eyes. “The world turns, magic flows, and great deeds abound. I am missing so many beautiful stories.” He lifted a finger and pointed directly at Tala. “Her, I can sense the stories radiating off of her. She is the youngest of you by far, but I know more than a million words could be spent telling of her short life already. You must let me learn.” He turned back to gaze straight into Mistress Cerna’s eyes, arm falling to his side once more. “Please, Mistress Cerna. Let me go forth and piece together all the history that I have missed.”

She shook her head. “No. I cannot.”

“But look at you!” He gestured emphatically. “You’re all human. All of you. I’d never have imagined such a gathering of your weak-willed kind, not with the power I sense within, woven through your very beings. You somehow each have seemingly endless power trickling through you. I had only heard rumors of such things, and even then only in theory. Has the promise of limitless magic really been fulfilled to the extent that even humans have such a supply? What have I missed?”

What? He can’t be unaware of gates. A fount was found in the other area. Is he lying to draw us in?

-Or that might not be a fount in the traditional sense.-

Tala held her face stoic, but wanted to grimace. And we can’t ask based on what he said, or that would taint any discovery with a connection to him.

-Don’t worry. They said they’d analyze it thoroughly, once we got back to Alefast. His words won’t change anything.-

Mistress Cerna hadn’t let herself be led off track, and she answered simply, “I cannot tell you.”

The prisoner turned, drawing his ax and swinging it in one—obviously well practiced—motion that was almost too fast for Tala to follow.

The ax passed through a nearby tree without slowing as Khesed let out a single, forest-shaking roar of frustration.

There was an explosion of woodchips away from the strike, and away from the watching humans, before the tree dropped almost straight down, the now free trunk thumping end first into the newly created stump before the whole tree-top tipped, falling into the woods to bounce off, scrape against, and crack against other trees before crashing to the ground.

Khesed took a few deep, full breaths, clearly pulling himself back together before he turned around to face them again.

“I apologize for my outburst. I am a historian. My deepest passion is to gather the truth of our past and pass it on, that we may learn from our ancestors. If you will not allow me out, please, let me tell you the tales I know, that I may at least be assured that my life’s work is not for nothing.”

“We cannot do that. We know how you take over others if you die. We cannot allow you to form those connections.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh. “You know nothing. Were that my goal, I would already have succeeded.” He indicated Tala again. “Her story, at least, will be told—I can feel the echoes of it throughout reality—, and when it is, I will be mentioned within. I am, somehow, special to her, in her tale. I might be the spitting image of a family member or lost friend.” He looked down at himself and smiled ruefully. “Though, I doubt that. I might be the first of my species she has seen, or the first prisoner in one of these cursed cells whom she has encountered. Regardless, I am something to her, and so when her tale is retold, I will be included, if not in this world, then in others. The magic of stories is far reaching, Mistress, and good stories want to be told.”

There was a long, ominous silence that stretched out for nearly a minute before Khesed continued.

“But as I said, that is not my aim. Yes, I must live to collect and tell stories, and I regret that others die so I might live, but is not a revealer of history more needed than the average citizen? Do I not have the right to safeguard my own life, regardless of the cost?”

“No. We are all worthy of life, none more than any other.”

He raised his finger to point at her, then to her husband, then to the others in the unit, his voice dropping low with fervor, “And yet you are each steeped and entangled in tales of endless bloodshed, violence, and the ending of sapient life. I only took life when I was slain by others. I have never sought the blood of thinking beings, I have simply not allowed myself to be slain. How is that a crime?”

“Because those you killed were not those who attacked you.”

Khesed huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “And you know that for a fact, do you? Who is more tied to the life of a man than the one who cuts it short? The great sages of my day found my means of self-defense distasteful, because they weren’t above its effects. If they wanted me killed, they couldn’t get around my lifesaving magics, and so they deemed me a threat.”

Mistress Cerna shook her head. “We are not going to listen to your story, Khesed. We are here because this is a cell, and this is our duty, the fact that it is you in here doesn’t factor in in the slightest.”

He gave her a long look. “Then, you would have me attempt to fight my way free? Is that why your friends have so laughably blockaded the tunnel?”

“I would have you wait peacefully until we depart.”

“And leave me trapped once again, you mean. Bound to an eternity with no information, no chance to learn of the wonders unfolding in my world?”

“It is how it must be.”

His eyes hardened, and he looked at each in turn. “So be it.”