The Magician 40

Orison came to with a jolt of soul searing pain. It felt like pieces of him were being ripped out, leaving bloody wounds in their wake. He opened his eyes to see the final trails of shadowy smoke still being blown over him from the carnivorous mouth of his 'father'.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to flay the torturing man alive but words of the dark Marshlander shackled his voice for the time being. "If you utter a single unneeded sound between now and nightfall, I'll murder your pet bastet and force you to eat his heart."

The person in question nearly dropped the pack he was carrying, eyes darting wildly for an escape route. "And if he runs, he'll grow a set of dagger handles as spine decorations."

The old woman frowned but kept her own council as she said. "Three breaths left to spare. Boys, it may not seem like it but holding your tongue now will be the best decision you ever made... All three of you."

She pointedly locked her milky eyes on the bastet. Swallowing dryly, he nodded. The oppressive and quiet journey lasted for another few minutes before a friendly looking Centerland man came into view on a course to cross paths.

The man, who was in his mid twenties and carried himself like a soldier, greeted them and looked them over curiously when only the Marshlander returned it. "On my way to the Dragonblood's home. Depending on where you folks are headed, I might have useful news. Maybe you could help me out by sharing some in return? Never can be too safe when traveling in the north country. Even the tamed parts can turn wild in a moment's notice."

When the Marshlander gave his trademark needle point smile, the Centerland man shivered a little. "News of Bauldur's return isn't common knowledge this far east. There was a set of bandits casing his house just this morning, in fact."

It was the bastet's turn to catch a chill.

The Marshlander shrugged. "It should be safe enough, though. The lady of the house should be there by the time you arrive. I missed her by a little, myself. If you'd be so kind as to let her know the little whelp she'll be missing is in the hands of the man who fought with Baulder in the land of souls, I'd appreciate it. Her husband can vouch when he arrives."

The Centerland man nodded as his smile slipped a notch. "The bards will only remember him and not all the work that others did to make his victory possible."

The Marshlander hissed, a tiny sliver of shadowy smoke rolling up a nostril. "Bards want a good, clean story. Omitted truths and lies to gloss over unpleasant and INCONVENIENT details are to be expected. I was compensated well enough to hold my tongue and endure the injustice of it all. I doubt everyone involved will be so fortunate."

The young soldier in travelers garb chuckled. "There's no doubt about that!"

Locking eyes with Orison, he said, "Must have been shocked to find out that the Hero of the Northlands who adopted you, ran into your real father on his adventures. Try not to be too disappointed. Your old man may not measure up to the Dragonblood but if he was strong enough to stand by Baulder's side, he's still one of the best among us... Anything you'd like for me to tell your mother of a few months?"

Orison was about to respond when he remembered the threats and dire warnings. He looked to the Marshlander who nodded reluctantly, cautioning him to make it brief.

Mind whirring, he remembered something he had. "Tell Mama Yaya that no matter where I go, the precious things she shared, I'll carry them with me always."

Flashing the boy a crescent eyed smile, the Centerland man turned his gaze back to the Marshlander. "If you find yourself in the empire, look up the Tulius brothers. I'm sure one of us will be around... My older brother's wife wouldn't mind seeing an elder from Obsidian Island for some advice either, I'm sure. With how they couldn't even wait to get home to tie the knot, I'm sure she'll be expecting by the time they get to the Capitol."

The old woman said, "A kind offer. Giving a mother to be some words of wisdom would be a pleasure in exchange for a welcoming hearth."

As soon as the soldier in disguise was out of sight, she said, "Speaking of a welcoming hearth, I don't suppose you know of any shortcuts to one. I know we had things to do along the way but making it to our destination is the greater goal and I may have miscalculated in exchanging my sight for a vision so soon. I fear it may have affected my health."

The Marshlander huffed out in frustration. "I do and I'm more than happy to skip annoyances but... as long as it's understood that I tried my best. I don't want people holding things against me that were beyond my control, especially..."

He looked at Orison and then away into the horizon before firming up his resolve. A little further up the road, he led the group into the woods. It was hard going for the old woman and her helper but nearly two hours later, he called them to a halt in front of a patch of red stalked plants.

After doing some experimental digging, he confirmed whatever he was looking for. Some kind of buried magic circle made of silver was underneath. After marring a part of the design with his dagger, he quickly made another hole depositing all the coins he had on him in it.

"If you have any wealth to contribute, I ask you to do so. We're not going to be able to take it with us this way," the Marshlander said.

"Why bother?" the old woman asked in confusion.

Serpentine eyes locked with milky ones and said, "It's courtesy. No matter how powerful a person becomes, might be, it's never a wasted effort to make when possible."

The old woman cackled. "Kind of like second chances? The reality of your relationship to the boy never felt as real to me as it does in this moment."

He growled, "Toss your coins or don't, I'm ready to bury the compensation and be gone.

Looking at the rest, he added, "It's not nightfall yet and the place we go next is a place of silence more than any other. That goes for us all, not just you. Heed me this time like never before. Even I can't stop you from suffering if you break it there."

Fishing out a red crystal laden finger bone, the Marshlander broke it after ushering everyone into a tight circle. In a cascade of dull red light they were surrounded by darkness. A large, calloused hand gripped Orison by the back of the neck and guided him.

Feeling light, barefoot and a touch chilled, the young mage felt around himself to realize he was completely naked. Not only that, he was also hairless. He even felt slightly raw and chafed as if he had been scrubbed of all dead skin. The most important thing was that he had lost his hope.

Hidden among his clothes was an heirloom of Droya's. If this had all been some kind of trap or plot, it could have been used as a way to scry for his location. The same could apply to many items of his laying around the house but it was easier to scry for an item than a person. Items could be followed actively from a single cast if they had a long time owner near the caster. There were a great deal many ways to stop scrying as well but it was hard to stop scrying on an item that no one knew about.

He suddenly understood what the detour was about. His coded message had easily been deciphered and thwarted. It made him more convinced than ever. Whatever was going on, it was shady.

On their walk through the darkness, he had plenty of time to imagine a myriad of strange reasons for his sudden kidnapping. Each was more sinister than the last. When he was yanked up and had his face bound for another round of shadow smoke roasting, that suspicion turned into agony driven fear.

When something foreign and clawing to stay in place was blasted out of his damaged insides to screech in defiance, he wanted to join it. But, the instantaneous snuffing of its presence into the silent darkness marked an end to all thoughts of rebellion. The diminishing of his soul and the building fog in his mind made him far more compliant.

It didn't take long to discover that it wasn't merely a product of his 'father's torture. The old woman staggered and nearly fell. The large hand that gripped the back of his neck was replaced by a smaller one on his shoulder. The old woman's helper and the dark Marshlander had taken over each other's guiding responsibilities.

When he felt like he was going to stagger and fall at any moment, much like the old woman had earlier, a dull red cascade of light fell over them a second time. Under it's illumination, inky and chitinous creatures scuttled back into the surrounding sightless darkness. The young mage noted that they weren't naked anymore but draped with a filmy cover of shadowed robes. Before they disappeared, a misshapen, sickly white hand raised in a farewell gesture from an oversized hooded robe to the side of the bloody lighted teleport circle.

There had been another guide the whole time and it was far from any type of sentient life Orison knew. Under the dullness of his thoughts and flagging strength, the young mage shuddered. As they appeared in a rocky beach cave, he was grateful he'd never have to know what hideous, frightening features were hidden by that robe.

Under a flagging and bleeding spirit, the young mage barely even registered the surprised and chipper welcome of a young Centerland man. Trying his best to banish the horrifying pictures his mind produced to pair with the robed creature, he focused in on the conversation between the young archer and his abductor. Given that they seemed to know each other, there was little chance of rescue. And even if there had been some kind of assistance he could draw out, it would be a pointless effort from a person his 'father' could likely cut down with ease.

"You weren't supposed to arrive here for a couple of weeks. Centurion Calix is at the consulate but I could run ahead to the foreign embassy for someone to meet you. Don't know how much of a hurry you're in but there's no need to walk with that granny and young 'un, looking a might pekid," he said with a sympathetic smile.

The Marshlander waved his hand in lazy dismissal. "We're going to get them fixed up... What I need from you is to make sure no strange surprises come to bother us while we do it. There's some delicate parts in what we're about to do that could get dangerous if interrupted."

The archer nodded and went to stand guard just outside the mouth.

After walking over to the back of the cave, the dark Marshlander returned with a jade box. "I know I'm your least favorite person in existence right now but listen to my directions carefully. There's a scroll in this box. I'm going to get you to bleed on it. A little after that, some things are going to jump out of it into you.

"Beaten up inside like you are, it's going to hurt but I need you to endure and keep from screaming or you'll get that young man's curiosity looking into things I'll have to silence him over... Eventually you'll reach the end of what you can hold.

"Pass whatever you can't use to that old bag of bones over there. Do it earlier if you feel like something heavy is going to try to pull things down deeper. It might feel like it's a good thing but its not. Same for anything that might try to reach out to you to spare its life...

"If you don't follow my instructions, I'll have to blow it out of you and you know how much that hurts. This is the part where I start trying to heal you back up after getting rid of the bad things. Don't do something dumb to keep me from succeeding."

By that point, any bravery had been 'blown' out of the young mage already. A mere mention of the shadowy breath would have had him toeing the line without the need for further threats. Despite that, untrusting of the dull eyed boy not to make a mistake, the Marshlander kept a firm hand to the center of Orison's chest as he reopened the nick on his son's thumb.

Drop of blood dripped onto the oddly holographic looking formation on the yellowed parchment, the young mage watched a gold ball and ring shoot towards him. There was something familiar about it but he couldn't quite place what it was. Lost in trying to catch the fleeting moment of deja vu, he missed the opportunity to study the ripple of devouring intent that sucked the ring and gold ball into him.

First was the sensation of an angry old man trying to fight towards his soul. As that man's malicious grudge was ripped to shreds, it was followed by the desperate psychic emanation, filled with pain and fear, of something innocent and child-like. Orison was distracted from the itching and burning sensations of spiritual healing by it and so was the boy beside the dying old woman. That mostly unremarkable boy was nearly on the verge of tears before his jaw compressed into a tooth enamel cracking grimace.

Distracted as he was, the young mage missed the moment when a desolate gravity started to rise from the depths of himself. But before it could build for more than a moment, a puff of shadowy smoke against the back of his neck prompted him to move over to the old woman. He was unsure of what to do after that, however.

It didn't matter. With a jarring slap to his back, Orison bent double over her. And as their chests momentarily touched, a slew of incompatible essence and matter slammed from him into the old woman. As the sound of a fragile bone cracking filled the air, she sucked in a shuddering and rattling gasp.

Whatever happened after that, the young mage had nothing to do with it. All the torture and overwhelming events had sent him over the edge. The oblivion of unconsciousness had never felt so welcomed.