Insurrection - Chapter Two
#17 of Blood And Water
Blood And Water - Insurrection
Part One: ULURN
Chapter Two
When the swirl of flame receded, Deacon found himself looking upon the town of Iounis for the first time.
Larger than the village that Bain had come from, it stretched a not inconsiderable distance across the little valley that it was nestled within. The gateway to the southern reaches of the Noctus Imperium, he'd read it referred to. Even from a distance atop an overlooking hill, Deacon could see the bustle of bodies in the early morning light. He'd never seen so many with his own eyes.
The fox felt Bain's paw tighten in its grip on his. A glance to the side showed a broad smile on the otter's muzzle as he stared down at the town once again, and Deacon could sense how pleased he was to be there. The weight of his purpose in traveling to the town couldn't help the warmth that he felt at the sight of Bain's grin. He was so happy to be back. Deacon was just happy to see him smile.
It didn't help grant him any additional strength, however. Transposing both himself and Bain across the miles to Iounis in his exhausted state left him to sink down to a crouch. Bain's paw on his shoulder was a comfort, but Deacon felt his vision blur as he fought to keep his eyes open. Sleep. He needed sleep.
Later. Deacon forced himself to focus his mind if not his eyes. He could feel it there in the back of his mind. There, that familiar crackle of fiery magic. He let that power spread through his entire body. It suffused him with new strength and set his nerves alight with refreshed energy. Slowly, he felt his muscles stop their tired twitching. Slowly, he felt his eyes focus again. Slowly, he felt the lethargy fade away.
It was only when he lifted his head that he realized that Bain was before him. The otter looked even more worried than when they had lurched away from the remains of the manor. "Deacon, talk to me," he pleaded. At some point, both of his paws had lifted to squeeze at the fox's shoulders. "Please. What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Deacon opened his muzzle to reply, but found it scorched dry by his powers. He rolled his eyes as he worked his tongue about his mouth to try and force moisture to it. "No," he replied after a moment, and he smiled as he lifted a paw of his own to pat over one of Bain's. "But I will be. All of this has taken a toll on me. Magic is all that sustains me at this point. I needed a moment to..." He frowned at the otter. "What is it now?"
"Isn't that dangerous?" Bain asked. He turned his paw over to interlock his fingers with Deacon's. "I mean... you're just filling yourself with magic, right? Isn't that gonna be bad?"
Deacon couldn't keep the wince from his face. He'd hoped the question would simply never come up. "It is not ideal, no," he admitted with a slow shake of his head. "And using it as I just did, without preparation and so extensively... yes, that can be harmful." He forced a reassuring smile to his muzzle as the concern on the otter's face dialed up a notch. "I take great care with my use of magic, dear one. Fear not. I will do nothing deliberately to harm myself."
Bain didn't seem too convinced, and Deacon let his gaze drift past the otter. "So, that is Iounis?" he asked, as he nodded toward the town. He knew the answer, but if it helped draw Bain's attention away...
It seemed to work. The otter followed Deacon's eyes with a nod, and his muzzle even twitched with the hint of a smile. "I think you might even like it, once we get down there," he replied. "Not the same as that stuffy old house. Fresh air. Less dust. More people... looks like it's a market day, I guess. It felt like I was back home, but... more."
The fox nodded along as he brought his footpaws back up under him again. His legs felt weaker than he'd like, but Deacon nevertheless forced himself up on them. If Bain had been correct, perhaps here he could rest properly. He felt as though he could sleep for days, and so much the better if plenty of people were there to trade. It would be relatively easy to lose himself in the crowd, magi or no. "So long as we are careful, it may as well be for the moment," Deacon agreed.
A second of hesitation gave way before Deacon took a tentative step forward, and he fought the sigh of relief when he failed to lose his balance and tumble to the ground. That surge of arcane power had done the trick. "Now. Tell me more of this alchemist you spoke to. I would know what we are about to walk into, if you please."
Bain nodded. Unbidden, one of his paws slipped out to grab the fox's arm. It helped to steady him and, though he'd not asked for it, Deacon was simultaneously glad for the help and frustrated by his own weakness. "Ransley, I think his name was. Nice ferret. He was real curious about what was so bad that you needed to take alhiin root to help you sleep."
"I can only imagine," Deacon muttered to himself. The root had plenty of less than savory uses, after all. "And he was satisfied with what you told him?"
Again there came a nod as Bain led him down toward the road. "Mmm. I didn't tell him anything about you. Almost felt like I was going to a few times, but I caught myself." He glanced over at the fox and smiled. "I think he was more interested in your dreams. When I told him you weren't sleeping well, he wondered about your dreams. He thought he might be able to help you work through them."
Deacon felt his teeth grind and hoped that the otter couldn't see it. Perhaps coming to Iounis was a mistake. "Oswell had told me of charlatans who thought that they could divine truth and prophecy from dreams, dear one. You should not be so quick to trust a complete stranger."
"You trusted me," Bain pointed out as his smile melted into a smirk.
There was no response to that, and Deacon could do nothing but shake off the otter's arm as they drew onto the road. Iounis was minutes away; the last thing he wanted was for the town's militia to discover that a too-friendly otter youth and the magi with whom he'd entered a blasphemous and vile physical relationship were about to walk amongst them.
All for the best, too. No sooner had Deacon disengaged from Bain's guiding paw than an older badger carrying wicker baskets full of fruit started out of the town and down toward them. Deacon offered her a friendly smile as they approach one another, and she started to return it before her eyes caught on his robes. Inwardly, Deacon felt the urge to sigh. There it was. Recognition for what he was. The knowledge that he was magi.
The smile was not returned. Her gaze shifted away, as she gave Deacon and Bain a wide berth. She refused eye contact, or to even come close to it. Her gait quickened until she was past the pair, and then it quickened further as she all but raced to avoid them. "What's wrong with her?" Bain whispered to him.
"In your village, Oswell and I came as heroes," Deacon whispered back. He lifted his gaze to the town's southern entrance and the pair of armored figures that stood before its gates. "You will find that magi are not quite so welcome elsewhere in the Imperium. Hail!" he added, somewhat louder as he waved a paw toward the guards.
Just as with the badger, the wolf and the skunk that stood before Deacon took in his robes and ignored his friendly welcome. Their leathers, worn and obviously well-battered, were strapped against strong, well-trained bodies. Their spears looked to be of fair quality, though not quite as fine as those Deacon had seen up close no more than a few months prior. Royal guards this pair weren't, but capable warriors nonetheless. "State your business, magi," growled the skunk.
As Bain continued to look confused, Deacon raised both of his paws to reveal his empty palms. Had Oswell endured this everywhere he had traveled as well? "Peace, my friend," he replied. "I-"
"We ain't your friend, magi," the wolf interrupted. "Answer the question or leave."
Again there was the gritting of teeth as Deacon's ears flattened. "I seek an apothecary to help cure an illness," he replied after a moment. "I heard I could find what I am looking for here."
The skunk snorted once. "You heard wrong, magi. On your way."
"You don't even know what he's looking for, or why," Bain interrupted with a shake of his head. The otter looked like he couldn't believe what was happening.
Deacon, however, did. "It does not matter what I am looking for," he replied before the guards could utter a word. His smile returned, but it was cooler than it had been before. Knowing. "I suspect their stocks are low, or the traders have not been through, or there have been thefts lately. Or perhaps some other such inconvenience that would prevent our imposition."
Both the skunk and the wolf mirrored the fox's smile, and the lupine guard nodded. "Now. Off you go, before we get you gone."
With a grumble of frustration, Bain began to turn away. Deacon's outstretched arm caught the otter before he could go too far, and only the otter could see the way Deacon's paw curled into a fist. A lick of flame curled out from between his fingers before he controlled his frustration. "No. We have not yet obtained what we have come for. Please allow us to pass. I assure you, we bear no ill will toward any of your townspeople."
The skunk's eyebrows lifted, while his companion's ears perked up. The latter only looked amused as Bain frowned at Deacon. "What are you doing?" he hissed.
"You really wanna test us, magi?" asked the skunk. Deacon could see the way his paw tightened around his spear. He was almost spoiling for a fight right then.
But that was the last thing Deacon wanted. Instead he held the guard's stare as he reached out with his mind. "No," he replied as he began to probe his way into the thoughts of both guards. "You do not wish to test me."
Implanting a thought or desire into another being's mind was no difficult task, but ensuring that the individual would not reject it was another matter entirely. They wanted to drive him off, and they would sink to violence if they felt even the slightest bit pressured. Killing them, while simple, would not earn Deacon any favors.
Then he found it. Right there, in the heart of their minds, he coiled his thoughts into a pool of impulse; a puddle of interest. It spooled out as their emotions shifted and melted with the flow of his impulse, and Deacon smiled. "After all, there are greater threats right now than us... what with all the gaophan and bandits plaguing this region. Why exhaust yourselves with one weak, passive magi when there is glory to be had facing greater threats?"
His smile warmed as both of the guards scanned him once again and took stock of his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. Glory, he could see, was not appealing to them. Recognizing that he was nothing compared to them; that he was weak and they were strong? That, as they smirked at him, Deacon knew had been the right thought to prey on. "Could probably sneeze and knock you down," snorted the skunk.
"Start any trouble though, and we'll run you through without a moment's thought," added the wolf. Derision colored his tone, but both he and his companion stepped back.
The way was clear, for the moment. "Come along, Bain," he said as he waved the otter forward and made his way past the warriors. "Before they no longer see fit to grace us with their favor."
He was only dimly aware of Bain following along behind him as Deacon entered Iounis for the first time. Immediately he was struck with how right Bain had been. The only village that Deacon had ever visited in person in his whole life had been Bain's, with Oswell. His brief trip to the Imperium capital had been limited to a quick jaunt through magical means into and out of the palace, in much the same manner he'd used to transport himself and Bain to Iounis. Neither time had he the chance to stop and take in the details.
Now, even in his tired state, Deacon found himself impressed. There were more people than he had ever seen in one place at a time. The streets were full of people going one place or another, and down the main road he could barely see the other end of the town through all the bodies. Where there weren't people, there were buildings. Where there were neither seemed to be market stalls. Free space was at a premium.
And they had done it all without magic. As he waded through the growing crowd and tried his best to put out of his mind the stares that several leveled at him, Deacon felt he could begin to understand their mistrust. Their time, energy and hard work had gone into building this town. They had toiled for gods only knew how long with their paws to forge this collective home. To them, he realized, magic must seem so easy. A perfect shortcut. A crutch. An endless wellspring of power and help and ease that they could never hope to grasp.
There were signs of magic, of course. The narrow stone pillars that lined the main road bore arcane crystals at their peak. A moment's concentration allowed Deacon to feel the intermingled fraen and aerun energies that swirled inside them, waiting for darkness to allow their light to shine. The well that caught his attention just barely off the main road bubbled with an ilaen enchantment. The ulurn powers that...
Wait, ulurn powers?
Bain almost bumped into Deacon as he felt himself suddenly come to a stop. "Ow; hey! What's going on?"
"Shh," Deacon hissed as he spun around. Paranoia roused, he reached out to try to pinpoint the fragmented sense of that earth magic. "The shade that attacked at the manor bore _ulurn_magic," he whispered to the otter. His voice could barely be heard over the crowd. "This town has limited enchantments, but I sense something more powerful here."
"It's back?" Bain asked. He too began to quickly scan the crowd.
That was the question. If the shade was driven mad by its quest for vengeance, it was possible it would attack in public and in broad daylight. Was this what Oswell had to contend with every time he ventured beyond the manor? Fear, that a new and powerful threat was behind every corner? "I do not believe so," Deacon replied. He wasn't sure if the reassurance was for Bain's benefit or for his own. "Where is this alchemist you spoke of?"
"Just a little further up," answered Bain. He pointed further up the crowded road and past the stalls to a squat building near the other end of the town. Even as he pointed it out, his eyes drifted lower and to the side. "Oh! Oh, please can we try some of that?"
Deacon blinked with confusion before he turned to follow Bain's gaze. The stall that had enraptured him so seemed to possess some _fraen-_enchanted recess, above which a portly equine slowly turned lengths of skewered meat. The fox sighed as he reached back to tug gently at Bain's arm. "Perhaps later. Once we have settled somewhat, we will have ample time to sample the local cultures."
Bain huffed his frustration as Deacon led him on. "We'd better do an awful lot of sampling, then," he muttered. "If we're gonna be running from guards and demons and-"
"Quiet!" Deacon hissed as he turned to glare at the otter. A few heads turned to regard him with curiosity, but none seemed to have heard Bain's words over the crowd. "You... you cannot simply speak of such things in the open! Do you want us to be clapped in irons and marched off to Noctus? Corella will not protect us if we give people reason to arrest us!"
"But why-" Bain began.
"No, Bain," interrupted Deacon with a raised paw and a cocked eyebrow. Both of the fox's ears flattened as he shook his head. "Look around. Look at the people about us. Do they seem different to the last time you were here?"
Deacon watched the otter slowly turn himself about. He watched as Bain's gaze shifted over the crowd, meeting people's eyes for only a moment before they quickly glanced away and hurried along. He saw the change in the otter's face, from frustration to confusion. The fox could even see the twitch of fear behind his eyes, and sighed. "You see it?"
"They look like they're afraid of us," he whispered back after a moment. Then, he shook his head. "Some look... angrier."
"Angry just to see us," Deacon agreed as he tugged Bain a little closer and started for the alchemist's shop. "Me, for being a magi. You, for being in my company. Do you understand now, Bain? Do you see why I am behaving this way?"
The otter nodded slowly. His expression turned remorseful as he cast one more quick look around. "But why are they?" he asked.
That was a question Deacon couldn't fully answer. "Oswell... used to say that they were unenlightened," he replied, his voice a little lower than before. "They they were jealous and fearful and rash and stupid and had to be led with a firm paw, lest it enter their minds for a moment that they number great enough to overwhelm as a wall of flesh and blade. I believe he was right in only one regard."
"Jealous?" Bain offered.
"Fearful," corrected Deacon. He paused as they reached the store's front door. "We are all born fearing that which we do not understand. For me to stand amongst them, talking of being chased by demons and guards? Fear is a flame, dear one. We must not stoke it higher if we can help it, or the inferno will consume us. You understand, yes?" He smiled as Bain nodded along. "That is why you do not fear me. These people are not so lucky."
Bain's eyes drifted past Deacon to the door. "And do you think Ransley will understand?"
There was no answer that would satisfy the otter completely, so Deacon settled for a little shrug. "I can only hope," he replied as he turned to gently push the door open.
Immediately upon entering, Deacon's nostrils were assailed with the smell of incense. It hung thick and potent in the air, and it filled his lungs almost more than the air itself did. The fox fought back a cough as his eyes watered. "Oh my," he mumbled under his breath as he closed his eyes for a moment and held his breath.
It took him a moment to steady himself against the frame of the door. The magi held his breath for a moment as he opened his eyes once more. Shelves and shelves of jars and vials lined the shop. Small incense sticks were stuck at each end of the shelves, filling the air with more of their scent than Deacon had been prepared for. At the far end of the store rested a small counter covered with unsorted papers, and another stick of incense burned atop it as a flagrant fire hazard. The fox forced his mind to focus and block out the offending scent.
The effort required was greater than he would ever admit, but Deacon found his airways clear when he finally took a cautious breath again. The scent did not overpower anymore, and he frowned as he glanced over at Bain. Somehow, the otter hadn't even noticed the smell at all. He'd simply bounded over to one shelf in particular, staring at a small, glowing powder sample in a jar there. "You cannot smell that?" he asked as he allowed the door to close behind him.
Before Bain could offer an answer, the beaded curtain behind the desk parted to reveal a ferret in a nondescript brown tunic hurrying toward it. "So sorry!" he breathlessly called out as he settled behind the counter with a warm smile. "Welcome, travelers, to... oh! Bain, wasn't it? Welcome back again to Barka's Alchemical Solutions! You were the nice fellow who was looking for Alhiin root for his friend, right?"
Bain's muzzle broke into a smile at the familiar voice and he strode up the counter right away. "Yes, actually! Hello again, Ransley. Thanks again for your help last time!"
"You remember all your customers so well, do you?" asked Deacon as he stepped forward alongside a grinning Bain.
The ferret's smile slipped at the fox's words, but it returned in full force a moment later as he nodded and waved toward the otter. "Well, when you're in the business of serving the needs of your customers? It certainly pays, often literally, to recognize them!" Ransley cocked an eyebrow as he looked Deacon up and down. "Would you be the friend for whom he fetched the Alhiin root, then? I wondered if I would meet you."
Deacon nodded as he forced his ears to remained perked up. There was something odd; something off about the ferret that he couldn't place. If not for the overpowering incense, he might have been able to focus on figuring out what it was. His exhaustion kept him from doing more than one thing at a time, unfortunately. "I am he, yes," he replied with a slight bow to his head. "Thank you. The Alhiin root was very useful."
"Well, as I told young Bain here it seemed to be an excessive solution to a small problem, but I suspect you know your situation better than I do." Ransley's smile grew wider as he folded his arms across his chest. "He didn't say you were a magi, though. Curious."
"It's okay!" Bain said before Deacon could utter a word. "You've only just met him, but I promise he's... he's harmless. Very friendly."
The smile fell off the ferret's face entirely as he regarded Deacon's cautious stare again. "Harmless? A magi?"
Deacon forced a smile to his own muzzle. "Harmless to you and to this town, perhaps," he corrected with a wave of his paw. "I am not here to cause trouble. I am here, in fact, because Bain suggested you might have a means by which you could help me with some trouble I have been having. I am Deacon, and more importantly I am quite capable of reimbursing you several times over for your wares."
"Well, we at Barka's Alchemical Solutions are always happy to help out such wealthy clients in need," the ferret replied. His smile returned again as he slipped around to the front of the counter and leaned back against it. "Especially since you were kind enough to offer your name, and be so up-front about your magical power. But in order to properly help you, we must know what it is that our esteemed clientele actually need. You were having trouble sleeping, yes?"
"Yes, quite a fair bit of trouble, in fact." Deacon allowed his mind to relax on forcing out the offending incense as he reached out instead with his senses to tease at the ferret's surface thoughts. The smell almost overcame him again, but he held enough concentration to keep himself from gagging. "Though I admit, this incense of yours is quite strong. I suspect I will not be able to sleep so long as I reek of it. I cannot imagine how you bear its potency."
As Ransley laughed, Deacon finally felt it. It wasn't the ferret himself so much, but the incense in the air. The enchantment was subtle, but what with his recent exposure it would have taken a miracle for Deacon to have completely missed it. Ulurn magic, laced into the incense. It felt like a simple weave meant to distract, not harm. Such a thing would be perfect for a shopkeeper to obtain; cloud the minds of his customers, entice them to pay more, or buy more, or whatever else he required. Shrewd business, indeed.
But once he knew what to look for, Deacon could feel something else. He could see Ransley's laughter die away, his expression touched with confusion as Deacon focused on him. It took a moment to push through the haze of the incense, but once he had his focus Deacon was sure. There was a connection between the enchantment in the smoke and the ferret before him. Ransley's entire spirit thrummed with ulurn_magic; the same _ulurn magic that had forged the weave in the incense. The ferret was no apothecary. He was magi.
And as Ransley's eyes met Deacon's, the ferret knew that Deacon knew. Breath caught in the ferret's throat as their eyes met. Locked. Held.
"Bain?" Deacon said as he tilted his head toward the otter. "Would you do me a small favor and chase down that meat vendor you pointed out on the way in? I should like to know how much his little skewers would cost, and I can sense your hunger. I would rather not keep you waiting if I can help it."
While he kept his stare fixed on Ransley, Deacon could feel the otter's elation as clear as day. "Hmm? Oh! Uh, of course!" he replied with a nod, even as he backed toward the door in a hurry. "I'll be back in a moment." With little more than a broad grin, the otter turned and dashed back out into the street. In a moment, it was just Deacon and Ransley.
The ferret slowly lifted a paw. "Please, wait-" he began.
"Who are you?" Deacon demanded. His voice was cold as he lifted one paw. Fire curled around his knuckles as he pointed a single finger at the ferret. "Really, who are you? I will ask only once, and I promise that an answer I dislike will prove most unpleasant for you."
Ransley's paw dropped back to his side as his brow furrowed. "Quaint," he mumbled. "Oswell would never _ask_for information."
Deacon's eyes narrowed even as he felt that flash of anger ignite another burst of flame in his grip. "You will find that our similarities end with physical appearance. I am not Oswell, and I asked you a question."
"Yes. One you said you would not repeat, and yet you allow me to speak without answering. You are really not him." The ferret shook his head as the flames in Deacon's grip burned brighter. "Oh, please. Enough with the pointless displays of power. I've absolutely no wish to harm you."
"Then answer the question." The words came through Deacon's gritted teeth.
Ransley huffed a quiet sigh. "My name is Ransley Cunliffe. That is who I really am." His muzzle twitched and the corner curled up into the barest smile. "Your turn. Who are you? Really?"
"I am asking questions presently, thank you," Deacon replied with a shake of his head. "You know of Oswell. You obviously know who I am."
"What you are," the ferret corrected him. His tone became momentarily condescending as he nodded toward the store's door. "And yes, I know. I know better than most... like that little otter, Bain. You obviously inspire great loyalty in your friends. Does he know what you are, or do you keep that little morsel of truth from him as Oswell would have done?"
Deacon felt his teeth grit. Oswell would never have permitted him to show his frustration and anger, but Oswell was gone and Deacon was free to let his feelings show. He could feel it beyond himself too; a deep, loathsome hate boiled off of this Ransley. There was something darkly pained about him. Something Oswell had done? "What I do and do not tell my companions is my business. Yours, I suspect, involves the dispatching of shades to handle matters you are incapable of taking on directly."
Both of the ferret's eyebrows lifted as he smiled. "Demonic association is a very serious accusation, fox. Are you so pleasant to all of the people you meet, or am I something special?"
"I think you fail to understand how the process of this interrogation is meant to go, Cunliffe." Deacon's eyes narrowed. He was being toyed with.
Ransley snorted. "I think you fail to understand how little I fear you, Oswell."
Once upon a time, an insult would have never incensed Deacon so. Once upon a time however, he would have failed to grasp the depth of that insult. Patience snapped, and the fox lashed out with his mind as his muzzle curled into a snarl.
To the average outside observer, both magi stood stock still on opposite sides of the counter. One might have noticed the intensity of their held stares, or the fist-curled fingers. Perhaps if close enough, one could have heard the low growl in Deacon's throat. They might even have noted Ransley's hiss or the twitch to his legs and tail, though the sound he made was considerably quieter.
But to the observer steeped in magical training, a war was underway. One's thoughts were shaped into bolts of energy that sought to break the mental defenses of the other. Deacon's initial, anger-fueled spike found itself expended uselessly against an iron-clad will. He felt Ransley's mind press outward, a teasing step that just dared the fox to strike again. Bait, Deacon suspected as he regathered his strength.
Instead of a battering ram, he forged his thoughts into a blade. He thrust forward with a flicker of intent as Ransley's mind retreated back from the blow again. The ferret's will swept the blow aside with greater ease than Deacon would have expected, and he found himself swiftly pushed into a defensive mental stance. Green light danced in Ransley's eyes as he pressed his counterattack.
It came not as a bludgeon or a stab, but an ensnaring ribbon; a coil of extended will that encircled Deacon's thoughts and constricted about them. It happened faster than Deacon was prepared for, and pain lanced through his head as little tendrils of Ransley's will invaded his mind. The flames in his paw sputtered out as he fought to bring all his focus to bear and forced those tendrils back from his consciousness.
Not without damage, though. Deacon felt himself shudder with pain as memories burst to the surface of his mind. He felt the last time he'd seen Oswell flicker across his consciousness, and he pushed the memory out of his awareness as best he could. Such a distraction would be disastrous, if he wasn't focused and prepared for Ransley's next assault.
But it never came. Instead the ferret's thoughts withdrew behind that impenetrable will as he began to bounce ever so slightly from one footpaw to the other. "You certainly spoke truth, fox," Ransley said, and the words managed to reach Deacon in spite of his concentration on the ferret's defenses. "Your similarity to Oswell ends with physicality. I wonder at how you managed to vanquish him. You lack his will, and you certainly lack his power."
Deacon flattened his ears as he gathered himself for another strike against Ransley's mind, and his growl deepened as he felt the ferret pull back into himself to prepare for the attack. "And his rigidity," he muttered, as he struck.
But not with a spear of thought, as the ferret had prepared for. Instead, Deacon's narrowed eyes belied a pulse of arcane force. It swept over Ransley before he could prepare for the physical impact, and the ferret was blasted off the floor and against the wall with the force of Deacon's blow. The fox's paw lifted as Ransley shifted his attention to try and break the telekinetic grip, but Deacon simply lifted a single finger and pointed it at Ransley's head.
Focused on the telekinetic field that held him aloft, Ransley's mind was preoccupied. It gave Deacon the chance he needed to reach in with his full strength, and the ferret dropped to the ground as Deacon's thoughts spread through the ferret like roots through the soil. He planted himself firmly as Ransley started to compose himself, but the pain of such a pervasive invasion would certainly keep him from the focus he needed to take control of his mind back.
The fox began to pant as he felt his body lean forward. His thoughts slipped deeper and deeper into Ransley. They pried open memories long buried and dredged up moments lost to the ferret. It was the only defense Ransley had left to muster for the moment; with Deacon's consciousness so present within his own mind, his focus was on sealing off that which he didn't want the fox to find.
That left everything else fair game, though. Deacon felt his whole body tremble with strain as he pushed deeper and deeper into the core of Ransley. His whole self tingled with the effort as he pored over the fragments of the ferret's past that he could reach. "Do not fight me," he hissed, and the words echoed through the ferret's entire being as Deacon pushed on. What was Ransley fighting so hard to hold back? "This will be so much easier... if you just... stop... fighting."
As his panting increased in pace and fervency, Deacon heard the last sound he would have expected. It was laughter. A moment's diverted concentration revealed that it was in fact the ferret's. "I could say the same," he replied, and Deacon felt a moment's fear as he heard the voice. Ransley didn't sound pained in the slightest. "Can you feel that? How weak you grow? How exhausted you must be, fox."
Then, too late, Deacon understood why Ransley didn't sound like a being in pain. Burrowed so deeply in the ferret's memories of ordinary times and unimportant moments, the fox hadn't noticed the way every other thought and memory in Ransley's mind had been fortified. He wasn't fighting back pain because he'd stopped fighting back. Deacon's invasive will had been channeled down an easier path that his tired mind had been all too happy to trek.
It was impossible to describe the feeling of Ransley's forced eviction of Deacon's mental attack. It approximated a paw wrapped around the base of a plant, firmly grasped and coldly uprooted. Every tendril of Deacon's consciousness that had poured into Ransley's head was ripped free; every trace of the fox's mind purged with such fervor that through the daze of sudden agony Deacon wondered why Ransley himself wasn't suffering even a fraction of the pain he was subjected to.
Vision went white for a moment as the vulpine magi found himself fully returned to his physical body. Deacon stumbled back and found himself dimly aware of a paw as it flailed to grip at a shelf. The sound of tinkling glass on the wood floor from the vials he knocked over went almost unheard as he struggled to force his mind and body to focus. His legs wouldn't respond. His vision returned as a wave of shimmering color that would not settle.
As his legs gave out, weak arms lifted to protect Deacon's face from the ground that rushed up toward him. He felt pain lance through his limbs as he hit the floor, and the air rushed out of him in a gasp as his head began to spin. It wasn't the magi that he could hear walk toward him, rummaging around in his mind. It was psychic shock; the backlash from being so thoroughly forced out of Ransley's head.
Deacon's eyes focused once more for a brief second, whereby he could fix his eyes on Ransley's boots. Then his eyes crossed again as he slumped down to the floor, and the ferret _tsk_ed quietly above him. "How disappointing," he grumbled. To Deacon, the words sounded like they came from beneath ten feet of water. Terror gripped him as he felt an unseen force rise up inside him and tug him towards oblivion.
Then his eyelids fluttered closed, and the magi simply hadn't the strength to open them again.
Overwhelmed so easily, after all I accomplished?
So much wasted effort to be felled by something so slight.
We are greater than this; I am greater than this.
Embrace it, boy.
Listen... attend, and obey.
Listen...