Conviction and Cultivation

"There are many different schools of cultivation."

Ms. Menia and Samhir sat under the shade of an old cottonwood while a small levy nearby chilled the late summer air. They'd all traveled away from the village and into the unforged valley of the mountain for their training sessions. Somewhere the fae nor the demonborn would have to worry about being seen. Nimara had Talis running in laps across the field, and the two watched as the young women bickered at each other.

"A great portion are religion based." Menia pointed to the staff next to Samhir. " Like the Eenoans and the remaining cultures of the North. The worship of gods lends them power. The Aasai and other tribes of Seval practice ancestral magic; granted to them by dead relatives and spirits." She looked at the young witch struggling around the field. Though she was of Aasai blood, she'd lived her entire life in Ipahn and both she and her sister had a hybrid of many practices. "Tellan is a hub of collective knowledge. The kingdom has crafted various colleges with cumulative curriculum over the last hundred years. It's been quite impressive. Their neighbors, the Evellian empire's cultivation is entirely based on self actualization. This is the magic used during Korins moonly rituals, the least stigmatized here in Ipahn. Also the easiest for the Ipanish to learn."

"What about the Maaroi?" Samhir still wasn't entirely clear on Mikhail's nature. He'd heard the fae referring to him as 'demon born'. He didn't know much about demons but he did know that they were mythically devious and evil creatures.

"Ah, the dark practitioners are a rarity. Probably the closest in practice and execution to the old sorcerers." It'd been another section omitted from her tome.

"How?"

"All other cultivations demand refining the mind; calming the thoughts and nerves. On the other hand, harnessing the energies of chaos requires deep and untamed emotions, sometimes good and sometimes bad. So for the dark magicians, their power is found in their physical flesh, tendons, bones and organs. Places where emotions physically manifest. It is most powerful when the mind and body are allowed to feel to their greatest potential.

Samhir squinted into the sunlight, scanning the treeline for the foreigner. He made random appearances here and there throughout the last moon, stopping in to give updates on the ship's progress to Ipahn, making arrangements for travel to the port in Ichar, checking in on him. But mostly back to whatever political duties he had before he came to investigate Korin, Samhir assumed. "Mikhail said if he touched the staff it would explode?"

"Mmm. I'm not sure if it would be quite so dramatic, perhaps so with the demon bonded to him," The old woman shrugged. She had met a handful of the rare magicians but this was the first time she had personally encountered a demon, "At the very least he could potentially ruin the energy within it and make it unusable. Dark magic requires a direct connection with the wielder's body because it corrodes and corrupts non sentient items. A weapon fit with its magic will rust in a day. Be dust within a week."

"I want to cultivate that kind of magic." He needed to be able to wield powerful magic if he was going to protect his daughter from those who wished her harm. Both of the fae had been respectful and cautious around Mikhail. Samhir wanted that kind of security.

Menia eyed the man. Not many actively desired to pursue such burdensome energy. "Dark practitioners are usually born with special bodies, Samhir."

The man thought of how Mikhail said that his ancestors had been giants.

"We could try, but it may harm you if it is not compatible."

Menia was certain he had cultivationial capabilities. When he'd taken the staff into his hands, he knew. Felt the way it came alive as it interacted with his energy. Honestly he was a little surprised he hadn't discovered these abilities sooner. Then again it wasn't like the state was super supportive of such endeavors anyways. Especially to him and his family.

"Hmm." Samhir stroked his chin. "Well what of Ipahn? Did we ever have our own?"

A smile was brought to the old woman's lips, the little historian in her pleased to share. "I am old enough to remember the stories from the elders when I was just a little girl. It is said that Ipahn was the origin of Alchemy."

"Alchemy?"

"We were masters of mixing science and cultivation. Manipulators of the elements and crafters of reality. It is believed that the alchemists are what led to the Declaration of Unity. Some say they created the energy crystal mines, while others claim they are the ones responsible for the great waste." Menia waved her hand. "But that's all hearsay. Genuine alchemists are perhaps even more rare than the dark practitioners." She had only ever heard of one. A woman who served the king of Tellan. But she had also heard that she was actually a true sorcerer, a dragon, a wraith, a banshee, and the king's cursed undead mistress doomed to serve him for all eternity. The existence of the woman was speculation at best. The most evidence was a well sketched clip from a news article she'd seen years ago of a pale haired beauty standing off to the side of the King and his third wife.

"You already have a great foundation for cultivation." The man was a tinkerer. He invented and engineered, knew of directing little currents of electricity, binding metals, cogs and screws. Creatives often found the path of energy manipulation easy and Samhir already had the knowledge of how to physically do so. "If we had more time before your departure, I could be of better assistance, but the situation is as it is."

Menia heaved a leather satchel into her lap, undid its buckles and pulled out two books. A thick one and a smaller pocket book. The thick one was ornate with carved covers of pressed strips of red bark. Little chips of shell flecked into its resin coated surface. Pages lined in black had an oily sheen as the midday sun lit the world.

The tiny one was a plain deep blue worn paperback. "These," Menia handed them to Samhir, "are from Tellan. They should do enough to give you a general idea of how to begin cultivating."

He hesitantly took the books. They were cool in his gentle grip. He squinted in worry towards the woman. "Are you sure?"

Air whistled through her nostrils as she pursed her lips. "Just do not get caught with it while in Ipahn. And if you do, do your best to destroy it before they can get their hands on it. I have already destroyed the identification numbers inside of them, but it would take little effort to find their original owner."

"You don't have to." Samhir shook his head and tried to hand them back. "It'll be two charges you know?"

She pushed him away, a steely resolve set in her brow. "I'm very aware." Certain books were registered to their owners in Ipahn. Writings that contained information on medicine, history, science, mathematics, magic and more. And it was a crime to give them away without officially transferring registration. Samhir had plenty of such state registered books, except those with magic and cultivation type matter. Neither he, Korin, or Ama could legally ever possess them. "I'm getting pretty old now, so I doubt they'd give me a public punishment. Perhaps a little slap on the wrists and a fine-"

"You're putting yourself in danger. Why?" He licked anxiety chewed lips and his voice fell, cracking a little as he spoke. "Why are you helping us?"

Old and weathered fingers intertwined in front of her, veins pushing through thin skin, gnarl-jointed from years of herbalism and writing. She looked to the sky and a little breeze cleared some of the still heat. A few wisps of silver hair fell from her bun. "I like you and your daughter. I think you are both very kind people who have drawn the short end of a stick. But the energy that came off that mountain was so immense, so terrifying- Everyone in the village was hollering, screaming in pain and writhing about. And when it was gone they all just went about as they were before. Not an eyelash to be batted. The young demonborn had your house warded and it protected you from the blast. But I have never felt such raw rage before. There is a mysterious and untamed well of power within your daughter that has been uncapped and it is incredibly angry."

He shook his head, shaggy hair brushing into his eyes. "Korin's never been an angry person."

"Korin has never been allowed to be an angry person. The girl woke up from a traumatic injury to find that hardly anyone believed she was who she was anymore. She watched her mothers fear turn to hatred and her father fall into addiction," The man's breath did a little hitch but Menia did not pause, "and despite that, at every corner and junction she has done what she needed to do to be accepted in her own home. That has involved skirting the crowd, simultaneously serving from the sidelines, and stifling any kind of expression. She has neither been allowed to feel, nor want, nor do. It is what the council and elders have taught her with their rules and rituals. It is what the community has enforced with their disdain. And it is not only something you have taught her but an example you have set with your actions.

"Now that she is no longer under the oppression of the village, but likely imprisoned by a truly malicious people, there will be no one there to stifle her but herself. When she can no longer hold up those walls, and everything she has never been allowed to be is put before her, I pray her rage does not feed on the injustice of her upbringing. She needs people who truly care about her and who can guide her. I'm willing to risk whatever punishment because–great heavens forbid it, but– if no one is there for her and she decides to take her revenge, there are no gods left in Imore to protect us from the wrath of a sorcerer."

"She wouldn't." His voice wobbled, a timid whisper.

Her shoulders rose and fell in an exasperated shrug. "I certainly don't think she will, but others will not share my sentiment. To the village, councils, and state it's not about whether or not she would, but that she is capable of it at all." Menia sighed. "The high council did not allow you to return home with your daughter because it was just a matter of quelling the paranoid. It was always obvious to those who had the sight and knowledge that something was different, dangerous, about Korin. Though the council likes to act mightier than cultivation and cosmic forces, they still fear them none the less. Ulyias, Teban and I made a promise to watch over you and your family." Minora, at the time, had been wildly upset to find that Menia's voice had carried sway within the capital. Though the elder would eventually develop a soft spot for Korin, it had not been that way in the beginning. The lone protestor amongst them almost landed the young child in the hands of the state. But the old scholar who studied all forms of magic, (and Ulyias' godless magic) was just the reassurance the high council needed.

"I did not make my promise to the high council or the state and all their stuffy bureaucracy. I made that promise to my community and one of its families. I intend to keep it. Those are the reasons I help you, so take the books. And here-"

Menia pulled one last thing from her satchel; a hand bound 'book', if it could be called that. Just an inch and half stack of loose leaf papers sewn together. Linen glued to the front and back pages giving it a protective shell.

"What is this one?"

"It is for Korin. It is everything I know of sorcery. I only had a month to compile it but I did my best to get it all in there."

Samhir thumbed through it's pages to find it filled with a script he did not know. "What language is this?"

"Ivanyian, the language of ancient ancestors of the Ipanish."

"A dead language? I don't think Korin will be able to read this?"

"She'll know."

"She will?"

"The birds in my dreams sometimes tell me things. They told me to write it in the old language so they must know that she will be able to read it."

"...I'll trust your word." Samhir wrapped his fingers around the three books, clenching them as if they were a lifeline.

He'd give his testimony tomorrow, and then he could finally begin the search for his daughter. Mikhail reassured him constantly that she was alive somewhere out there, that her trails were still vivid and bright on the landscape. Small flecks of faith that barely made tolerable the flavor of her absence. Cultivation would provide a new hope. He'd grow strong in his search and he'd find her. Then he'd help her protect herself from those who wished to harm or use her. No matter what it took.