Insurrection - Chapter Five
#20 of Blood And Water
Blood And Water - Insurrection
Part Two: FRAEN
Chapter Five
Ransley found himself successful in his hunt for food. He'd returned to Deacon and Bain only about an hour after he'd left, as the sun had begun to set. While the ulurn magi had only brought back small game, it was more than they had had. Deacon had helped him to cook it as they settled in for the night. The fox had, upon realizing that he technically had not eaten in nearly three days, been all too happy to devour swiftly every piece of meat that Ransley offered him.
Deacon had initially suggested that they head to the island of Lamis immediately after they had finished their food. It was Ransley who had talked him down from that. He'd cited exhaustion and a need to recover their strength before they journeyed so far. It was only after he'd helped Deacon to ascertain that Bain's injuries were not life-threatening that Deacon allowed the ferret to change his mind. Deacon elected to take the first watch, just in case the enemy magi or any predators thought that they would make easy prey.
But the night passed without incident, and Deacon took only as short a rest as he could before they set off. While the energy he regained from it was minor, it at least was not plagued with any more of his dreams. Given what he'd felt during the battle with the shade and what he'd discovered since, the fox wasn't so sure that was necessarily a good thing.
It was late in the morning when Deacon gathered Bain up in his arms and allowed Ransley to transport them both. Unease filled Deacon as Ransley placed a paw on his shoulder, and the fox gripped Bain all the tighter. Their lives were in Ransley's paws for the moment, Deacon felt fear run through him as the world vanished around them.
That unease lasted only for a second before blindingly bright sunlight stole Deacon's vision. He gasped and tilted his head down and away from the glare, and he reached out with his senses as he felt Ransley's paw drop away. "Where-"
"We are arrived," Ransley calmly replied. Deacon could sense the ferret still beside him, and as his mental awareness expanded outward he could sense several other people nearby. None of them, so far as he could tell, had any capacity for the arcane. "Welcome to Lamis, fox."
Deacon slowly tilted his head up and allowed his eyes to open again. The glare remained, but his sight began to adjust as he looked about himself. Ransley still stood beside him, just as he'd sensed. The ground, soft under his boots, revealed itself to be sand. They were on a beach, with the whisper of breeze through the trees before them and the crash of waves against the shore behind. He allowed himself a moment to drink in the alien sights as he shifted from one footpaw to the other to try and steady himself. The sand beneath him provided less purchase than the fox had expected, and he stumbled for a moment before he forced himself to still. "These are the Isles of the Demeresan?" he asked.
Ransley just snorted as he folded his arms. "One of them, yes. This one is Lamis. That one," he said as he nodded behind Deacon, "is Jurgen. The others are Silas and Pareen."
The fox turned to follow Ransley's gaze. Sure enough, well within sight range was another island. He frowned as he stared more intently at it. "And what is that?" he asked as he hefted Bain. "That silver construct there."
"The Iron Spear," Ransley said. As he spoke, the ferret began to start up the beach and toward the tree line. "The great citadel of the Lord of War. Did Oswell teach you nothing of theology while you studied under him?"
It was Deacon's turn to snort as he carefully hurried up behind Ransley. "Oswell thought faith in the gods a crutch and little more," he explained. "He taught that to rely on the blessings and whims of the divines would teach one to place no stock in one's own ability to shape their destiny."
A chuckle from the tree line caused both Deacon and Ransley to pause in their tracks. As the sound faded into an amused little sigh, the pair finally caught sight of another fox draped in simple brown-white vestments as he slipped around the trunk of a tree. "Some require a crutch to walk, though," the new fox said with a smile as he clasped his paws behind his back. "You would not begrudge the wounded person a salve to help him heal, would you?"
"I would not," Deacon answered as he looked the fox up and down. This new male seemed only a little older than Deacon himself, though he stood at least half a head shorter. "But the one we speak of certainly would."
"Then we should be thankful then that you are our guests and Oswell is not," the fox replied. He continued to smile as Deacon's expression turned to one of confusion. "Deacon, yes? And Bain Mazon? We have been expecting you. If you would follow me?" He turned away with a flick of his tail and began to slowly head back into the trees.
A frown creased Deacon's brow as he glanced at Ransley. The ferret stared back and offered a shrug. "And you say you've never been here?" Ransley asked.
Deacon shook his head. "Never. Can we trust him?"
Ransley gave another little shrug. He turned his gaze back on the vanishing vestments of the fox. "That was the attire of one of the scholar-monks of the Mother Almighty. They take few vows, but one of them is of honesty. You can trust anything he says." The ferret started to slowly follow the fox into the trees.
But Deacon hesitated a moment longer. "He did not exactly say we would be safe," he pointed out. "Just that we were expected."
"Funny how safety seems to be in short supply around you, isn't it?" Ransley flashed Deacon a quick smile before he parted a low-hanging branch and started off into the trees.
The fox rolled his eyes as he hefted Bain higher in his arms and started after the ferret. Ransley could be as sarcastic as he liked, but he had a point. There was danger after danger wherever Deacon went. Nowhere truly seemed safe anywhere, and he viewed each and every new person around him with suspicion. He trusted Bain completely, and that was all. Ransley may not have killed him when he lay helpless before him for two days, but Deacon still knew next to nothing about the enigmatic ferret or where he came from. What Ransley was really after, most importantly, was equally a mystery.
But they had come to Lamis for a reason, and the monk might have the means to help Bain while Deacon and Ransley sought out the confluence the ferret had mentioned. Deacon sighed as he pressed forward and carefully maneuvered himself and Bain between the branches. Bain, he reminded himself, was all that mattered. He had to ensure Bain's safety and well-being.
By the time Deacon had caught up to Ransley, the ferret had found the edge of a dirt path. Ahead of them, the monk continued his casual walk up along it as it wound between the trees. His tail swished happily behind him, as if everything was fine and wonderful in life. Bitterness twisted Deacon's muzzle for a moment. How lovely it must be, he thought, to be so ignorant of the reality of the world.
"Hey." He glanced to the side to see that Ransley was staring at him. "You alright? You look angry about something."
"It's not anger he's feeling," came the singsong voice of the fox ahead. "It's lament. Regret. A longing for a simpler existence." The monk glanced back over his shoulder and favored Deacon with a soft smile. "Am I right?"
Deacon opened his muzzle to snap of a quick response that no, the monk was wrong. He found himself pausing in mid-step to consider his words though, and the refusal died in his throat. He was right. Deacon was regretful. How much simpler might Deacon and Bain's lives have been if they'd met without the complication of magic? Would they even have met? Would they have come together as they had? Would they have been happy? "I... suppose you are," he admitted at last.
Ransley just looked more confused. "And how is it that you know so much about them?" he asked.
The question caused the other fox to smile as he turned his gaze instead on Ransley. "She told me, of course," responded the monk. "Come on. Not too far to go."
As he started forward again, Deacon spared Ransley a quick glance. The ferret looked almost uneasy as he watched the monk walk on. "What is it?" he asked, his voice lowered somewhat.
Ransley simply frowned as he shook his head and fell into step behind the monk. "Like you, I was trained to view the gods in a certain light. In my case, it was with less derision and more suspicion. The gods are beings with incredible power, and their followers can tap into that if they are favored by their god." He shook his head again. "Our magic is learned. Orderly. Divine power is chaotic and untempered. The gods can be capricious."
Another chuckle sounded ahead of them, and both Deacon and Ransley stared up at their guide. The monk didn't say anything, but the swishing of his tail turned into a little wag as he picked up his pace some to start around a curve in the road. Deacon lifted Bain up a little higher in his arms as he heaved a quiet sigh. The otter was heavy, and his arms had started to burn. A quick infusion of arcane energy into his muscles eased the burden, though it would last only a short time.
Thankfully, as he rounded the bend on the road after the monk, he believed he could see their destination. It was a village unlike anything Deacon had ever seen before. Colored stone paved the roads in hues of red and yellow and brown and white and everything in between. Where Bain's village had small farmhouses and Iounis possessed wooden structures, the buildings that rose along the streets of Lamis were elaborately carved stone. They were broadly based, with narrower tops that gave them an almost ziggurat-like appearance. They featured elaborate carvings of scripture, inlaid not with the gold Deacon expected but with wood.
The monk led them down the street and past the buildings. They were separated by lovingly carved statues, all featuring the same tall, beautiful, unclothed vixen with a belly swollen with child. Some showed her caressing her unborn child, while others showed her with arms open to invite an embrace. Another showed her paw placed on the head of a prostrated wolf, while another showed her leading a young horse by his hand. Her features were different in every single statue, but they all shared the same warm, maternal smile.
As he started forward a little faster, Deacon cleared his throat to attract the monk's attention. "And this is your goddess?" he asked as he glanced at the nearest statue. "The Mother Almighty?"
"This is a depiction of Her, yes," the monk replied. His head turned to brush over the nearest statue for a moment before he turned his eyes forward once more. "The Mother wears many faces. She is many things to many people."
"And what is she to you?" Deacon asked. Ahead, he could see an elaborate stone temple rise above a couple of the further buildings.
The monk turned to favor Deacon with a smile. "I think She is many things to me, as well," he replied. "Come on. Not much further now. You will find sanctuary and healing for your companion."
Deacon could do little more than sigh as he followed on. He clutched Bain tighter against his chest as he passed by a handful of other monks. They glanced his way as he moved between them, but he could sense no malice in either their face or their mind. Indeed, the only thing he felt consistently from the various monks of the Mother Almighty was concern for the otter in his arms.
There were no doors to the temple. Instead the road ended abruptly as the town gave way to a lush, beautifully-flowering garden. Flowers in every color under the sun rippled with the breeze as Deacon and Ransley were led delicately between them to the archway that marked the temple's entrance. Sweet-smelling flowers crawled up the archway, led by vines that curled about the stonework.
As the fox led the magi into the temple, Deacon could see that the same aesthetic of the town itself was reflected inside. The walls were carefully smoothed and carved stone. Runes and script adorned the walls, with what seemed to be living wood left to fill those grooves. A few windows held no glass at all and allowed the cool sea breeze to blow in and through the temple. Those that were glassed over each held a different shimmering hue, and they cast a kaleidescope of color across the temple floor. He winced as he passed under the rainbow light and rubbed at the side of his head. The glare made his entire skull ache.
Just inside the main hall past the archway rested a long altar, right before a grand mural. Deacon couldn't help but drink in its detail as he approached, so carefully and lovingly crafted was it. In it he could see a vixen -- the Mother Almighty, he supposed -- laid out on her back. A multitude of hands reached up from beneath to caress her back, even as one of her arms raised to reach toward a depiction of the heavens. The other paw gently draped over her pregnant belly, fingers clutched protectively at it.
"We each exalt Her name in different ways," the monk said. His words interrupted Deacon's stare, and he blinked as he turned to regard the other fox. "Some choose to carve the events of Her life. Some paint. Some write. Unfortunately, I've no talent in those crafts." He smiled nevertheless as he nodded behind Deacon and Ransley. "But I tend the garden. I encourage growth through love, as She does. Simple things help one to see the world that She cares about so much through Her eyes."
Deacon felt his teeth grit for a moment as he glanced up at the altar. It stretched as far as the depiction of the Mother Almighty in the mural, easily large enough for a person to lay atop. "You will have to forgive me," he replied as calmly as he could. "I had hoped for a healer, not... a gardener. And certainly not a theology lesson."
The fox winked back at Deacon even as Ransley began to scowl. "Do I look like a missionary to you?" he asked as his smile broadened. "Come. Set Bain down atop the altar. I will return in a moment." He offered the pair a little bow of his head as he turned away and hurried toward one of the side rooms.
Ransley watched him go with a sigh as Deacon followed the monk's instructions. "I'm sorry," he finally said once the monk had left the room. "If I'd known that this was the sort of reception we'd receive, I might have suggested we ignore the temples and the monks and just searched for the confluence ourselves."
"You do not know where it is?" asked Deacon as he settled Bain's arms and legs on the altar. His ears flattened as he looked up to glare at the ferret. "You said you studied this sort of thing. How can you know there is a confluence here and not know where it specifically is?"
The ferret's eyebrows lifted as his tail twitched. "You took alhiin root for your poor sleep. Do you know where alhiin root grows, and in which conditions it can be cultivated to its fullest potency?"
Deacon sighed as he glanced at the room the monk had vanished into. Ransley had a point. "Fair enough. But surely you must have some idea of where to start."
"Actually, I think I do. Sort of." Ransley began to gently tamp his footpaw down against the floor. "Confluence points are powerful. Magic runs free through them. It would be easy for a religious sect to misinterpret the powers that are made manifest there as divine might and, perhaps, erect a temple atop the site."
The fox blinked. "Here?" he asked.
Ransley just shrugged back. "Where else?" he asked. "People build settlements atop powerful magical locations all the time. The Noctus palace sits on a nexus of energies long considered divine. The Ahron built their city around the Font of Ages because of the Font of Ages. Magic is enticing. This could well be the confluence point we sought."
He fell silent as he glanced behind Deacon, and the fox returned to the sight of the monk on his way back. In his paw was clasped a small vial, and the pockets of his tunic bulged with new contents. "Apologies," he said as he returned to Deacon's side. "One of our younger novices wished to see if you were the ones we had been speaking of. Children can be very easily excitable. Here," he added as he passed Deacon the vial. "Hold this a moment, if you please."
Deacon tentatively plucked the vial from the monk and turned it over and over between his fingers. The gray liquid inside sloshed back and forth under his motions. "And what is this?" he asked.
"A particularly potent potion," the monk replied as he withdrew other vials, filled with herb and crushed wood, stone, and even sparkling crystal shards. "Carefully enchanted and then blessed by the Temple Mother herself. It will help fortify your companion's body for his return to you." He paused long enough to glance at Ransley as the ferret took on a confused expression. "What is it?"
The magi just shook his head. "I didn't expect you to have a functional knowledge of magical enchantment," he replied after a moment. "I thought only magi were taught that sort of skill."
The smile on the fox's muzzle broadened. "They are. Our Temple Mother is a well-versed magi with a fine understanding of the ilaen crafts. She came to the service of the Mother Almighty later in life, and her gifts have been very appreciated on Lamis." His eyes shifted to Deacon and his smile warmed. "What we are at one time is not necessarily what we are for all time. While the servants of the other divines may not understand this, the Mother certainly does. We aren't the sort who would turn away someone just because they practice magic. Anyone can change for the better, should they have the wisdom and the will to do so."
Deacon frowned a little, but he nodded along anyway. The monk's eyes looked like they were staring right through him; past him and deeper inside, as if they could illuminate the deepest corner of his soul. For all he knew, maybe the monk was capable. "I would like to believe that," he replied. "How will the potion aid Bain?"
"She told me what I would need to know," the monk replied with a smile and a shrug. "She said that he was pushed to a power he was not ready for. You have tried to heal his body, but his mind is lost elsewhere. Until the two are one again, you cannot restore him. The potion will call him back to his body." His smile grew. "However, the potion lacks one little thing needed to bring your companion back. It lacks you."
"Me?" Deacon echoed, suddenly confused.
The monk only looked amused by that confusion. "Something stronger than the power that has enraptured his mind is necessary to break him free. You are the gateway to that strength. The Mother has spoken to me of what you share." The fox's expression took on a hint of sadness as the tips of his ears started to droop slightly. "Let your feelings be known to him. They will help you find the strength to bring him back. I promise."
Deacon's slow -- if not quite understanding -- nod seemed to satisfy the monk, and he pointed toward the vial. "Then help him to drink that, and I will begin." From inside another pocket he withdrew a small wooden bowl and set it down beside Bain, and the fox began to pour portions of the contents of his other vials into it as he watched Deacon.
For his part, Deacon held his breath as he gently pried Bain's muzzle open. His fingers lingered for a moment on the otter's lips, and they brushed down them and along his cheek as he sighed softly once more. His fault. Bain was in that situation only because of Deacon. He had to set it right.
He paused for a moment as he looked up at the monk. The monk, it turned out, hadn't taken his eyes off Deacon the whole time. "You said she told you about Bain and I," he said. "Did she tell you what was wrong with him?"
"More than the affliction that you speak of. She said that he suffered in a great and terrible way," the monk sadly replied. "That there was a darkness inside him, slowly snuffing the light of his soul. She said that this was a thing that you could understand better than anyone, because you face the same affliction."
"Not quite the same, but close enough." Deacon shook his head as he thumbed off the cork that stopped up the vial. He sloshed the contents around again for a second before he gently eased one arm under Bain's head. He took a deep breath before he poured the contents of the vial into Bain's muzzle, and tilted the otter's head up slightly to help it slide down his throat.
As he set the otter's head back down again a moment later, it was with a wince and a cough from Bain. The liquid didn't come back up though, and Deacon stepped back as the monk continued to pour elements from his vials into the bowl.
He finally finished when the bowl was half full, and the contents came from each of his vials. The fox swished the bowl this way and that to mix its contents, and he smiled after a few seconds and set it down beside Bain before he stepped back. "Now we wait to see if you and the potion together can help restore him," he said.
Deacon frowned again as he glanced between Bain and the monk. "That's... that is it?" he asked. "You were not preparing some ritual? Some prayer or other?"
"Well, I could sink to my knees and beseech the Mother Almighty to grant me a healing touch that could rouse your companion from his current state if that would make you feel better," was the monk's coy reply. "I imagine your life is more dramatic than mine, and such things would be needlessly noisy for those of us here engaged in peaceful meditation and contemplation."
One of Deacon's eyebrows perked even as Ransley snorted in an attempt to hold back a laugh. "Are all followers of the Mother Almighty so glib?"
The monk smiled wider. Deacon thought it might swallow his entire face. "The fun ones are, yes," he answered with another wink.
Another cough from Bain brought Deacon's attention right back to the otter. He watched as Bain's brow furrowed, and settled a paw gently on Bain's shoulder as he watched the otter begin to tense. "Is he alright?" he asked.
"None of us are," the monk mumbled back as he glanced at his bowl. "As I said, the potion requires you, too. Stay with him. Let your touch calm him... guide him back to you."
"Guide him... what are you _talking_about?" Ransley asked. An edge entered his voice as Bain began to twitch. "He's right there! His mind is perfectly intact; I can sense it!"
The monk simply smiled as he shrugged and folded his arms. On the alter, Bain's twitches moved briefly into a series of convulsions that ran from head to tail before they settled. "And you trust always what your senses tell you in matters of magic?" he countered, before he glanced at Deacon. "Speak to him. Help him."
Deacon leaned in without hesitation, even as Ransley continued to stare skeptically at the otter. "Can you hear me, Bain?" Deacon whispered as his muzzle drew in closer to Bain's ears. The nearest one flicked under his breath. "It is okay, dear one. I am here. I'm right here." He glanced up at the monk, whose smile only seemed all the warmer. "I need you to come back, Bain... please. I need you here."
There was still silence from the otter as Deacon felt his whiskers tremble. His eyes welled up with tears as he leaned in further and touched his forehead to the top of Bain's head. He almost felt like he was saying goodbye; like Bain was already gone. "I can't do this without you, you know," he whispered. "I need you. I am not strong enough without you. I couldn't have stopped Oswell without you. I couldn't have driven off Haldane without you. I never..."
The words caught in his throat. Dimly, Deacon was aware of both the monk's and Ransley's eyes on him. In that moment, it didn't matter one bit. "I never knew what life was until you. I never imagined I could... enjoy existing. You changed my world, Bain. You _are_my world. You're everything... _everything_to me. Please. Please, please come back..."
Ransley sighed and shook his head as his tail lashed about. "This is a waste of our time, fox," he grumbled. "We should be searching for the confluence, or confirming it if it is indeed here. We can tap into its power and heal Bain, and then be on our-"
"Deacon?" the word from Bain cut Ransley off in the middle of his sentence, and the ferret looked down at Bain with surprise even as Deacon drew his head back. "Is... izzat you?"
Tears sparkled in Deacon's eyes as he smiled down at the otter. "I'm here, dear one," he replied, and he quickly swiped those tears away before he reached down to stroke over Bain's cheek. "You're okay. You're safe. You're going to be fine."
There was a quiet intake of breath from the monk as he stepped forward, but he bit his tongue even as Deacon looked his way. "Where're we?" Bain mumbled as one limp arm splayed over his head and rubbed groggily at his eyes. The other moved to do the same, but instead only succeeded in knocking the bowl beside him off the altar. It tumbled to the ground, and the contents spilled out across the stone floor as Bain gasped in surprise and tried to sit up. "Oh! I-"
"Shh, it served its purpose. You're fine," the monk reassured him. He stepped around the mess that had been made and placed a gently paw on Bain's shoulder. "Be calm. You are amongst friends. This is a temple of the Mother Almighty. You are very safe here, I promise you."
"Safe? Heh... if'n y'say so." The otter shook his head slowly as Deacon helped him to sit up. One arm clutched at his chest as he winced, his breath somewhat short. "Sorry. My muzz... tongue not workin' good." He blinked as he glanced over at the monk. "You... helped me?"
The monk just shrugged and smiled as he glanced at Bain. "You were brought here for help. The potion was not my doing, nor was it my heart that called to yours. I just helped bring everything together, that's all."
Bain gave a lazy smile as Deacon reached out to gently squeeze at his paw. "Thank you, then," he said. He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, they seemed more focused. "What's your name?"
"Vernell. And it's nice that _someone_asked." The monk smirked at Deacon as he lifted a paw. "You've had a lot on your mind. I don't hold it against you."
Deacon could only smile sheepishly back as he offered the monk his other paw. "Thank you, Vernell. For your kindness, and for your understanding." He glanced over at Ransley as Vernell grasped and gently shook his paw. The other magi continued to scowl at the otter. "What is wrong?"
The ferret shook his head. "That should not have worked," he replied.
"She said this as well," Vernell replied with a nod. "Allow me to save you some effort and tell you not to attempt to heal him. He is still physically weakened by the strain the Font of Ages put him through, and that will take time to recover given his condition."
Bain blinked with confusion even as Deacon quickly shook his head. He reached out idly with his mind and immediately could sense what Vernell was talking about. There was something about Bain that hadn't been there before. It was disruptive to his magic; it felt like insects buzzing inside his ears. The fox wasn't sure he would be able to push past that to infuse Bain with his healing fraen magic. The temptation to try was strong. "What is wrong?" he asked.
Vernell stepped forward and gently reached out to pull up on Bain's tunic. The otter leaned back and lifted his arm to allow the monk access. With the fabric out of the way, Deacon could at last see why the otter seemed oddly breathless. He'd landed awkwardly when the shield that contained the shade had failed and exploded, and it looked as though his sternum had been impacted hard. The fox reached out to run a finger as gently as he could over the otter's strangely misshapen lower ribs, but even that light touch caused Bain to hiss in pain. "That does not look good," he said with a shake of his head as he looked up at Vernell. "If I cannot heal him, is there more you can do?"
But the monk just shook his head. "Personally? No. With the aid of the Temple Mother? Alas, also no." The smile returned to his face as he waved a paw down at the knocked-over bowl. "But there is one who can aid you."
"The Mother Almighty?" Ransley asked with a perked, disbelieving eyebrow.
The monk looked up at the ferret, and the amusement on his face started to slip. "I understand that you may not place much faith in the gods in general, or in the Mother Herself specifically. But if you are going to continue to disparage Her name in Her own temple, then I will show you out in a manner that I assure you will not be pleasant. Children, the Mother teaches, often require a firm and guiding paw. You'll find mine firm enough."
"Ransley?" Bain said as the ferret turned more fully to face the monk. "You are the one who brought us here, and he is helping us... please be nice."
Both of Vernell's ears perked at the words, and his smile slowly returned. "And I intend to continue to help. You seek a place of power, yes? A melding of magical energies around a single point? She told me where to find it. I'm to take you there, once Bain is able to walk."
The incredulous look in Ransley's eyes remained, but it was Deacon who quickly replied. "Then we owe the Mother Almighty much. I can only hope our thanks are enough."
The monk began to laugh quietly as he glanced down at the spilled contents of the bowl again. "It is not the Mother that requires your thanks," he replied. "All She wishes is for her children to be happy. The one I have been speaking of is a healer, and she awaits you at your confluence." He waved a paw down toward the mess on the floor.
Deacon and Ransley both leaned down to look. Bain tried, but the pain in his chest prevented him from bending. Deacon frowned as he looked at the spilled crystal shards and herbs and clumps of soil and minerals. "What am I looking at?" he asked.
"I don't believe it," Ransley hissed as he took a step back. "That's Lamis. Silas... Jurgen... Pareen..." He pointed to clumps of the spilled materials in turn as he spoke and shook his head again. "That is a damn map, as accurate as any I've seen of the Isles of the Demeresan. How?"
"Pure coincidence, I would imagine," came the monk's coy reply. "What else could it be, I wonder? Surely not divine influence, in this holy place, with the Mother looking down upon us."
Ransley's glare could have melted iron, but Deacon paid it no mind as he knelt low. He stared at the depiction of Lamis on the ground and reached out toward it with a single, tentative fingertip. "Here?" he asked, as his fingertip hovered over a relatively large shard of red crystal.
Vernell nodded even as Ransley's eyes refocused on the matter before them. "That has to be the Dreamer's Peak. The volcano at the heart of the island."
"And it is there you will find her," Vernell added as he stood up tall again. He smiled wider as he offered his paw to Bain. "If you feel you can walk, I will take you as far as I can. You will be able to find your way to her from there."
"And who is this she you keep talking about, if not your goddess?" Ransley asked. He stepped back a little further from the map strewn across the ground as he eyed the monk. "You've taken your vows? Why do you deceive us?"
Deacon held up a paw to forestall any response from Vernell as he turned to the ferret. "Whoever she is, she offers us help through Vernell," he said. The fox allowed a growl to enter his tone as he stared Ransley down. "We do need a healer. If she's the one who provided him the information necessary to bring Bain back to us, then she is at the very least highly knowledgeable in matters arcane."
"And especially matters Ahron, if it was indeed the Font that drew Bain away in the first place," Ransley mused as he folded his arms. "Perhaps if so, she might even know how better to contain the shade that pursues you."
Deacon nodded. The prospect of obtaining more Ahron knowledge seemed to have piqued Ransley's interest. "And perhaps she can help us with our other problems," he agreed as he turned to Vernell. "It is no trouble for you to take us in that direction?"
The other fox simply smiled as he reached out to place a paw on Deacon's shoulder. "My path has already been decided for me. All the trouble that lies ahead is necessary, and I accept it all very, very gladly. You should, too." He nodded once, as if affirming his words to himself before he reached out with his other paw to Bain. "Come. Try to stand. We will help you."
Bain nodded tentatively as Ransley took another step back. Deacon moved in closer to help him swing his legs up and off the altar, and the otter slowly slid off it and onto his footpaws with a wince as both Deacon and Vernell steadied him. "That... doesn't feel so good."
"I didn't say it wouldn't be painful," Vernell pointed out with an apologetic-looking smile. "But I promise you, you will feel much better shortly. Try to take a step or two?"
Deacon nodded as he slid an arm around Bain's waist and helped draw him close. "I have you," he said as he nuzzled into the otter's cheek. "Don't worry. I do not plan to let go."
Bain smiled as he leaned in to nuzzle gently under the fox's chin. "I didn't think you would," he replied. Together with Deacon, the pair took a single, shaky step forward. The otter followed it up with another, and he smiled as he gave Vernell a nod. "I think I can, if we go slow."
Vernell nodded back to him and patted his shoulder. "Then slow it is," he replied. "Come. We will arrive by nightfall if we go now. She will be very pleased to see you all, I've no doubt."
The monk let his paw drift off Bain's shoulder as he moved toward the archway. Ransley hesitated before he followed along after, and Deacon frowned as the ferret turned his back. He'd understood Oswell's views on the gods well; his creator had been very unwilling to acknowledge that there was any being in the world more powerful than he was. He didn't like to leave his fate up to those who dwelled in the heavens and deigned not to interfere in lower affairs.
Ransley's attitude was something else entirely. It was as dismissive as Oswell's had ever been, to the point where Deacon wondered if such a thing was simply how most magi viewed the divines. But there was something else buried deep under that dismissal that Deacon could only barely sense. There was a gash there in his heart; a lingering resentment that the ferret had closed off as completely as possible. It bubbled away every time he looked at Vernell, and grew stronger every second he spent inside the Mother Almighty's temple. Whatever it was that had happened to him, it had wounded him deeply.
It was, unfortunately, a mystery that would have to wait. Bain's arm slipped around Deacon's back as the fox helped him move one slow step at a time, and he hugged the otter in close as he planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. He smiled as Bain leaned into his muzzle, and Deacon felt a genuine moment of hope. Whoever this female was that Vernell had been contacted by could potentially be the very thing that they needed. Maybe she knew how to help Bain stave off the degenerative effects that ailed him. Maybe she knew how to purge Oswell from within Deacon's mind. Maybe not.
What mattered more was the hope. That there was hope in his heart at all was a miracle. He didn't know to ascribe it to the Mother Almighty and her temple or to logic and reason, but the how and the why didn't matter as much to him. Bain was at his side. That, he reasoned, would be enough for the moment.
It wound up taking the better part of the rest of the day to make their way through the forests in the heart of the island and up the side of the volcano. Ransley led the way up, directed by Vernell. The two foxes helped brace Bain and eased the otter gently up between them as they made their ascent late in the afternoon. Bain, to his credit, kept his complaints about the heat and the climb and his pain to a minimum; he only had a snappy remark to make once every half hour or so.
Those remarks did die off when they finally reached the point where Vernell called on Ransley to stop. The path that they'd taken up the side of the volcano continued only a short way further, before it vanished into a cavern carved into the rock. The monk disengaged his arm from around Bain's middle as he stepped to the side. "This is as far as I go with you today."
Deacon frowned as he hugged Bain a little tighter to himself. He cast a glance up at Ransley, and even the ferret seemed confused. "You are not taking us right to her?" he asked.
"I already have," replied Vernell with a shrug. "I was told to bring you here, and so I have. I was told to take you no further, because the temple would need me tonight. I can't stay, even though I wish I could." He grinned wide. "I would have liked to have seen her."
Ransley's face took on a concerned expression once again. Deacon wondered if it had ever truly left the ferret's face. "You haven't even met the female who told you all of this? You've never spoken to her?"
Vernell didn't even spare the ferret a glance as he smiled warmly to Deacon and Bain. "Trust in her wisdom and her power, if you will not trust in my faith. It will not be misplaced." With that, the fox turned to head back down the path again.
He only made it a step before Bain's arm reached out to gently take a hold of Vernell's paw. He squeezed it gently as he smiled back at the monk. "Thank you for everything you've done for me," he said. "I know you said you just made everyone else's work come together, but... you're the one I saw. You're the one I know. Thank you."
The monk's other paw came down atop Bain's to squeeze it tightly back. "Be strong, Bain Mazon. You are not to die this day." He nodded to the otter as Bain bowed his head, and Vernell gently slid his paws back before he started down the path again.
Deacon watched him go and waited for the monk to be well out of sight and earshot before he turned to Ransley. "Do you see anything?" he asked. "Sense anything?"
"Nothing that would lead me to believe that the missionary has any clue about how to actually help us," the ferret growled back. "I cannot sense any nexus of magical energy. Do you feel the _fraen_aspects of the confluence, or are we completely mistaken and here for no reason?"
The fox narrowed his eyes as Bain tightened his grip on Deacon's middle. "Is there perhaps something you wish to share? Like, perhaps, why you have been nothing but belligerent since we met Vernell? Traveling here was your idea."
Ransley rolled his eyes. "Not because of clergy, like you initially suspected. I do not trust the servants of gods. That's all."
"Why not?" Bain asked as Deacon helped him approach. "It's not like they're cultists that worship the demonlords."
The ferret shook his head and started back up toward the cavern's mouth. "They may as well, so far as I'm concerned," he grumbled. "The question remains. Do we trust the missionary or do we turn around and hunt down the confluence ourselves?"
Deacon exchanged a quick glance at Bain as the otter stared in confusion at Ransley. "We are here already," he pointed out. "Bringing Bain all the way back down the side of the volcano would be an unpleasant thing. We may as well check to see if Vernell was in fact in earnest before we depart this place."
Bain nodded. "And I trust him," he added.
"That's your mistake, not mine," grumbled the ferret as he peered into the cave. "Do you smell that, at least?"
Deacon frowned as he started with Bain toward the edge of the cave. His nostrils flared as they took in the air, and one of his ears twitched as he savored the scents. It was faint, of course; the breeze near the entrance blew near everything away, but there was still something that came from within the cavern that was not natural. "Is that herb? Meat?"
"Both, I think. Hurray; this cave _is_inhabited." Ransley sighed and shook his head. "And since you will not be swayed by reason, I suppose we go forward. Let us see who or what exactly whispered in the little fox's ear."
Deacon watched him enter the cave with a grunt and a tired shake of his head, and the fox lifted his free paw to summon a small ball of flame into his grasp. The fire curled around his fingers and shed its flickering light across the stone walls as he and Bain limped after the ferret. The last thing he wanted was to trip Bain up in the dark.
It wasn't until the floor curved downward far enough to cut out the light of the day outside that Deacon saw Ransley freeze up in his tracks. The ferret's tail and ears were all twitching as he warily stared deeper into the cave. "What is it?" he murmured. The strange smells were stronger, now that the wind couldn't steal them away.
"We are not alone here," he whispered back. Deacon could feel him drawing on his ulurn energies as surely as he could feel the ferret's unease.
Bain coughed and shook his head. "I thought that was the point," he said. "Aren't we looking for someone?"
"And are you sure we found her?" Ransley countered. "Come. Slowly. Carefully. We do not know what we are walking into."
A flicker of motion caught the corner of Deacon's awareness, and he turned his head and his fiery paw toward what he thought he'd seen. "Hello?" he called out into the darkness. His voice echoed off the walls.
Ransley whirled on him immediately. "Are you insane?" he hissed as he slunk back against the wall. "Be silent!"
Deacon just glared at him for a moment. Vernell said that they would find help here, and the monk hadn't led them astray. He had, in fact, shown a remarkable knowledge of them that implied he had powerful help. That was the sort of help Deacon knew they needed and despite the risks, he knew he had to take the chance. "My name is Deacon!" he called out again. "I am here with Bain. We were told we would find help here."
"You're going to get us all killed, fox," Ransley snarled back. His ears perked up as he turned to stare down into the darkness of the cavern. Around a corner came a slight glow, and it grew brighter with every second. "There. Now you've won us attention. You had better be right about this."
"You need to be quiet," Deacon countered as he waved the ferret back. Ransley was quick and all-too happy to comply, and the fox turned to Bain. "Right?"
The otter nodded once. He stared forward hard as the glow approached and drew himself as tall as he could. "Right. I trust what Vernell said. I think he really wanted to help us."
Ransley sighed as he all but melted against the stone wall. "I bet you felt the same about Oswell when you met him, too," he grumbled.
Neither Bain nor Deacon had a response for that, and so both remained silent as they watched the light grow closer and closer to them. Deacon began to see the definition in the walls ahead as the curve in the cave became more defined by the illumination. He held his breath as he waited for its source to come into view.
What came was not what he'd expected. He'd thought it would be maybe a torch or an arcane gem, both held by some person or other. The swirling ball of white light that he spotted however left him speechless for a moment. It burned bright and warm, almost as though it was a miniature version of the sun itself. It held steady in the air as Deacon shielded his eyes from it. Beside him, Bain did the same. "H... hello?"
The orb bobbed in the air for a moment, and Deacon took a second to spare Ransley a glance. The ferret didn't look quite so afraid anymore, and in fact seemed more intrigued by the orb than anything else. Deacon turned back and reached out toward it as he banished the flames from his paw. A different warmth emanated from the orb, not as intense as his fraen magic but with a power behind it that sent heat all the way up his arm.
Then, before he could do anything more, the orb began to slowly retreat from him. It slipped back around the corner again and its light began to head further down the cavern. "I think we should follow it," Deacon announced.
"I agree," Bain added, and he stepped forward to quickly guide Deacon along with him.
Ransley fell into step with arms folded as he sighed. "Yes, let's chase the strange ball of light deeper into the volcano lair of some supposedly powerful hermit-magi. This couldn't possibly end badly."
The corner gave way to a branch in the passage, and Deacon immediately helped ease Bain down the nearest of the two after the orb's glow. It seemed to speed up as the pair gave chase, and for a moment Deacon wondered if Ransley had perhaps a point. If the orb or whomever commanded it was dangerous, they could be led into a trap.
But Vernell had possessed a surety that Deacon himself had lacked, and as he flicked his eyes to Bain for a moment he could see the same determination on the otter's features. Bain wanted to follow wherever it led, and Deacon couldn't begrudge him that. If there was even a chance that it could help stop the degeneration that plagued the otter, he knew he would face any challenge. The orb raced around another corner, and Deacon all but coaxed Bain into a jog after it. The otter huffed and winced with the effort, but the arm around his waist urged him on.
The orb itself had surprised Deacon with its appearance, but what lay behind the next corner surprised him further. It was a small cavern, warm and well-lit and furnished as though it were a home of sorts. A smokeless fire burned in a pit in the center of the cavern, with an iron pot held above it. A small mat lay against the far wall, along with what looked like a wooden dresser. Clothes were neatly folded atop it, dusty though they were.
And seated there with their back to Deacon and Bain sat a figure, ladle in their paw as they stirred at the contents of the pot.
Bain waved Deacon off as Ransley skidded to a halt behind them. The fox reluctantly let his arm slip from around Bain's waist as the otter leaned against the cavern wall. "You're the healer?" Deacon asked as the otter stepped closer.
"If you like," came a soft, almost raspy female voice. The figure slowly turned from the pot and lifted a brown paw to draw back the hood of her equally brown robe, and the softly smiling visage there was that of another otter. Older than Bain by far -- truly an elder in every sense of the word -- her gray eyes flicked to Deacon. "Though you should know that even I have my limits."
Deacon held her gaze as he stepped forward. "Please," he said as he waved a paw toward Bain. "He-"
"Is not the real reason you have come," the elderly otter interrupted, that little smile still on her lips as she looked the fox up and down. "And yet I sensed your concern for him as you made your ascent. Your needs for yourself mattered not. All you wanted was for him, no matter the cost."
Ransley cleared his throat as he tentatively stepped forward. One of the ferret's paws came to rest on Deacon's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "I ask, ancient one, that you-"
"Ancient?" the otter began to laugh as she slowly rose from the pot and let the ladle slip from her fingers. As she moved, Deacon could see four bowls set before her. "My, you have the gift of charisma, have you not?"
The ferret's eyes narrowed for a second as his paw dropped from Deacon's shoulder. "I meant only to ask that you do not discount the earnestness of our journey here based on... well, their perversion."
Both of the otter's bushy eyebrows lifted as she reached for the staff. She clutched the gnarled length all the tighter as she looked from Ransley to Deacon once more, before she turned an appraising eye on the ferret again. "Do not seek to expect that all are quite so narrow in their thinking as you, son of Cunliffe."
Even as Deacon and Bain frowned at Ransley, the ferret's eyes went wide. He stepped back and shook his head. "You... knew my father?"
"You wear him like a cloak," the otter grumbled. She started forward and used her staff as a walking stick for all of two steps before it tilted forward and jabbed at Ransley's chest. Now up on her footpaws, Deacon could see that her robes were likely as old as she looked. They were worn and tattered and gnarled as her staff as she prodded Ransley with it. "Your father, your mother, your brothers... I see you and know all I need to of them. Look at you. Hmm? You walk in the shadow of your ancestors and shame them. Step out of their shadows. Be who you were meant to be."
Again she jabbed at Ransley's chest, and the ferret stumbled back a couple more steps. She barely glanced at Deacon as she brushed past him, but her eyes fell on Bain as she smiled once again. "Hello again, old friend."
The confusion on Bain's face was clear to everyone around him, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he smiled back at the otter. "Have we met?" he asked.
As she came to a halt before Bain, the older otter placed her paw gently against his chest. "Not in this life, no," she replied as her smile grew. "But I knew you... long, long ago. You wore a different name and a different face, but I sense you inside nonetheless. Telanni survah, my child."
Both Deacon and Ransley exchanged a knowing glance the moment she spoke those foreign words. They may not have meant anything to Bain, but both of the magi were well versed in the language thanks to their respective arcane tutelage. The words positively crackled with the power that echoed through the old otter's blood. There could be no mistake. "Impossible. You're a sorceress," Deacon said at last. "You're a real, _living_Ahron sorceress."
"In the flesh, more or less," the otter agreed. She patted at Bain's chest before she lifted his tunic and let her paw drift up to his battered chest. "You may call me Aishah, if you care to call me anything at all. And I do apologize," she added as she glanced up at Bain again, "but there will be pain."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than light bloomed from beneath her paw. Bain cried out as arcane energy seared his chest inside and out, but the light faded before Deacon or Ransley could act. Her paw lifted again, and pristine fur and flesh lay beneath his tunic. His ribs were neatly set back in place. The damage was completely reversed. "However," she began again as both Deacon and Ransley looked on in surprise, "that was the easiest of what you ask of me. Would that purging the shadows on your back be so easy."
Deacon could only marvel as he stepped forward. While Bain ran his fingers up under his tunic, Deacon leaned down to gently run his fingers alongside them. The damage had not only healed, but he could sense no residual magic from the healing itself. That was, as far as he knew, completely impossible. "How... did you do that?" he asked as he glanced up at the otter. She'd already started back to the fire and resumed stirring the contents of her pot. "Healing magic is messy and inefficient. Everything I ever learned-"
"Came from the mind of a fool and a monster," interrupted Aishah. Her smile turned coy. "I am Ahronni, child; watcher of the turn of the ages. I feel the past and the future. I swim the river of time. I was there when the shadow Oswell first came to my people, and I was there when he started the war between us and the Noctus. I know why you are here, kilashi, and I know what you have done."
Deacon quickly lifted his paws to ward her off. "I am not Oswell," he pointed out.
Aishah looked amused as she eyed his paws. "Not yet," she countered. "Come. Sit." Her gaze turned into a glare as she leveled it at Ransley. "This one must remain?"
Bain smirked at the ferret. "You're just making all sorts of friends today, aren't you?"
Ransley's face twisted with indignation as he glanced at Bain, but he drew himself up tall and clasped his paws behind his back as he nodded to Aishah. "Not if it would displease you, honored one," he replied with a bow. "I will wait outside."
"He may not show respect, but Ransley has done nothing to harm us since we met him," Deacon said, before the ferret could turn and leave. He paused as the elderly otter tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, and he smiled back at her as he sat across the fire opposite her. Bain settled beside him, his arm linked around Deacon's. "Well... nothing I did not give him reason for. We are only here because he led us here. I trust him."
The Ahron otter turned her gaze on Ransley once more, but this time with no frown or glare. "His future is uncertain," she replied after a moment. "Abide him if you must, but beware the tear in his soul. It could swallow you complete if you let it."
It was Ransley whose eyes narrowed as he stared down the otter. "If this is how I am to be addressed then, Ahronni or not, I will wait outside. I can tell when I am not wanted."
"Please stay," Bain quickly said. He sat up and reached out toward the ferret, though Ransley was well out of reach. "I don't want you to go. Vernell's gone, and it's just us, and... I'd feel safer with you around."
With her head turned, Bain couldn't see the way Aishah's eyebrow perked up. Her eyes remained locked on Ransley, even as Deacon noticed the minute shift in her expression. "Sit, Ransley," he said at last, his voice low and quiet. "Please."
Aishah watched as an obviously uneasy Ransley slowly stepped forward and sank down beside Deacon. He bowed his head slightly to Aishah as his tail twitched. "I meant no offense... Aishah," he said.
"Of course not," Aishah replied with a wave of one paw. The other lifted the ladle and began to draw what looked to be some sort of soup into one of her bowls. "But you fear and you posture and you avoid that which you must face out of a want to walk an easier path." She offered the bowl to Ransley who eyed it with suspicion. "You wish to be right and do right and you cannot even see that which is before you. You are blinded by fear."
Deacon was grateful that the ferret remained silent through the sorceress' words. She held his gaze for a moment before she turned to Deacon. "And do not worry. I can hear you crying from here, child. It will be alright."
The fox scowled as he glanced at Bain. He just shrugged back as the magi turned back to Aishah. "I... am not crying, honored one," he replied.
"Not outside." She tapped lightly at her chest. "Here. Inside. In your heart, where you see what lies ahead, you weep. We will come to that." As she spoke, she ladled out more of her soup into another bowl and handed it off to the fox. "Would that I had something nice to say. Would that I had words of power to help you trust in yourself, to secure the day ahead where you win. Alas, I have not that sort of power."
Deacon was left confused as he held his bowl. He watched her start on the next as she turned her eyes to Bain. "And in you, I see so many questions. They burn like the stars themselves. Oh, if only I had time to tell the answers. You always enjoyed my stories." Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. "You go by Bain this time, yes?"
He nodded vigorously and bowed his head in gratitude as he took his offered bowl. "Yes, honored one. And thank you, for this soup." He smiled down at it and breathed deeply of the steam that wafted up before he looked up at Aishah again. "What... what have I gone by before?"
Her smile broadened slightly as she began to chuckle. "When I first met you, you were Ishaq. Later, by other names. Mahdi. Sahir. Taysir." Aishah shook her head as she filled her own bowl last and leaned back slightly. "I still remember when we met as children the first time. All you wished to do was play. You only ever wanted to see those around you smile. Even later, you kept that. I believe it to be the essence of your spirit, child. Oh, but that spirit gave you such power."
The otter began to smile. "I had magic?" he asked, and he had to force himself to calm down as he cleared his throat and glanced at Deacon. "I... they tell me I have a connection to _ilaen_power, as well as the Font. I can't really use either, though."
"Of course you can, child," Aishah replied with a chuckle. "Ahron sorcery is not about focus and ritual and channeling energy in the way that magi like these do." She waved a paw toward Deacon and Ransley as she shook her head. "Ahronni such as we direct our power by instinct, not training. Magi focus on the method; we let magic flow within us. If you close your eyes, even so far removed, you will feel the river sing to you, child. I know it, just as Ishaq knew it."
Even as Bain nodded slowly, Deacon leaned forward. "How could you have known him by so many names?" he asked.
Aishah simply shook her head. "All Ahronni are bound by that which you call the Font of Ages. For us, it is the Ahl Surven."
"Absolute death," Ransley mumbled.
"Eternal cycle," Aishah corrected him as she sipped from her bowl. "It is from the Ahl Surven that we come, and to the Ahl Surven that we return. We cycle through it, life after life, over and over. Most Ahronni age, wither and die. Their memories are brought back to the Ahl Surven, and our spirits are restored in new flesh." Her expression became somber as she sighed and took another sip of her soup. "At least, they used to be. Then the shadow came, and he brought war and destruction with him."
Deacon felt his teeth grit. "Oswell?" he asked, before he took a sip of the soup himself. The flavor was bitter and strong, but not altogether unpleasant.
Aishah nodded. "And now he brings war to you as well," she said. "The cost of the war will be great. There will be losses. Casualties you cannot bear. I am sorry. I wish I could offer you the solace and knowledge that they will go onto a better place in the embrace of the gods, but dark times cloud the days ahead."
"How can you know all of this?" Deacon asked. He watched Aishah smile softly back as he shook his head. "I've heard tales of Ahron and its people. Oswell taught me most everything he knew about them, and the truth that I held dear would barely fill a single page. The Font... the Ahl Surven gives you power, but... how can you be so sure of all of this?"
In response, the otter slowly set her bowl down and lifted both arms. The sleeves of her old robe rolled back as she pressed one claw to the underside of her left arm. With surprising strength, she pushed forward and drew the claw down to slice open her flesh. Deacon, Bain and Ransley all gasped, and the fox almost leaped across the flame to try and stop her.
But as she showed off the wound, blood refused to flow. The torn flesh hung under her fur in a deep gash that seemed completely frozen. "Not all Ahronni age, wither and die," she sighed. "Some of us are chosen. Some of us are elevated. Some of us choose to exist beyond time itself, and watch the turn of its tides."
Ransley looked dumbstruck as he stared at the wound. "Impossible," he muttered as he finally tore his eyes from her wound to stare into her eyes. "Immortality is impossible. No body can withstand the raw magic required to turn back age so completely."
"It is not turned back, but stopped entirely," Aishah said as she lowered her arms again. There was a soft, white glow that ran along her cut arm's underside, and Deacon presumed that to look again would show the wound neatly healed. "Few Ahronni choose the existence of the timeless ones, for it places a great burden on you. It takes a lifetime of study and devotion... sometimes two, or three, before that burden can be borne."
Bain looked confused. "What burden?"
Aishah stared at him for a second before she smiled. "I sometimes forget that though you have Ishaq's face, you are not Ishaq. You, Bain, are new." She shook her head slowly. "When you exit the flow of time in one means or another, you gain a... sense, for the flow of it. Mortal life is a blur; a rush from one goal to the next. Accomplishment. Power. Wealth. Love. Life... these things are different to an immortal. For the Ahronni who take the path of a timeless one, a special price is paid. We watch time pass, yes, but we see it unfold before us. We see the threads of destiny wind together."
"Then couldn't you see Oswell for what he was when he first came to your people?" Ransley asked. "Surely if you possess this sense of the flow of time and destiny, you could see him."
The older otter perked an eyebrow as she stared briefly at the ferret. "We cannot see those that extrude beyond the veil of time," she answered. "Fellow immortals, demons, divines... those are beyond time, and beyond sight. The destinies and futures of mortals however are easily divined. It is this that has allowed me to see these two so clearly."
Bain's eyes widened as he shook his head. "I... I'm sorry, but... my mother was a devoted follower of the Mistress of Fate. I was always taught that our fates were ours to decide, by Her divine blessing."
The old otter suddenly refused to meet Bain's gaze as she glanced down at her fire pit instead. "Not all fates can be changed, I fear," she replied. "The darkness that is coming, for example, cannot be stopped. It can be fought and it can be defeated, but it will come. It will come, and the world will burn to cast its shadow further."
Deacon took a deep breath as he turned to Ransley. The ferret was already looking at him. He must have drawn the same connection that Deacon had. "When I last faced Oswell, he warned of a great threat he was trying to stop," he said. "He said that a war was coming... a changing. Something that he'd apparently been preparing to stop for a long time. A black night, starless..." He shook his head. "If you know the future, you can help us. Tell us how to stop Oswell from consuming the world. Please."
The old sorceress smirked at Deacon. "Oswell will neither cause the destruction yet to come, nor will he be present to play a role at all in its events." Her eyes and her smile turned on Bain. "You have the strength to stop him in your heart, child. You will know when it is time."
"Oswell has lived for centuries, one way or another," Ransley said, even as Bain huddled in closer to Deacon's side. "He fancied himself an immortal, and I understand he had... powerful methods of perceiving the future. Did he know what was coming? Was everything he did... was it actually to try to save the world?"
Aishah shook her head quickly. "Close as he was, Oswell was still not a true immortal. The shadow was nothing but a parasite, who sought to master death in his own way and through his own means. He built host after host to contain and feed his power, and his knowledge and vision of what is to come is tainted by the darkness in his heart. And that," she added as she glanced at Deacon for a moment, "is why you are not him. You do not think like an immortal. You do not act like one. Your vision is clearer."
Deacon watched as her eyes dipped to focus instead on her fire. "And how can you be so sure?" he asked.
"Because the first thing to fade is compassion," Aishah sighed as she stared into the flames. Her voice lowered as she shook her head. "It is so, so easy to watch it go. You cannot feel compassion from others, and you no longer extend it to them. Joy follows. You cannot feel happiness of any sort. Your heart refuses to quicken at the sight of a loved one." Her eyes closed.
When no one spoke, she continued. "Love, of course, ceases to hold meaning. It carries no sway over the spirit of an immortal, because how can you love when you are doomed always to lose that which you care about? Your heart grows colder and colder, until you permit yourself to feel nothing. But as the shadows on your back know well, kilashi, it is not nothing that you feel.
"Anger remains, because you are enraged by what you have lost. Hatred remains, because none can understand you and fear what you have become. Apathy. Apathy personified is what you become as an immortal." Aishah shook her head again as she sipped once more of her soup.
As he gave Bain's paw a gentle squeeze, Deacon looked back over to her. "For an immortal yourself, you seem to care a considerable amount," he pointed out.
The otter simply smiled sadly back. "He was unprepared for the burden. Oswell fell into the trap of all immortals, kilashi. He chose to forget the value of life. There is no greater shame. I choose not to make this mistake. While every day challenges me to remember my experiences as a mortal... the monster I would be if I chose to surrender the fight is one I would not dare unleash upon this world. That is why you are not Oswell." She nodded to Bain, pressed close to him. "You hold onto love, and this I sense of you foremost of all. Oswell could never comprehend this."
Deacon allowed one finger to trace around the rim of his bowl. The steam that rose from his soup swirled with the gesture. "And what is this you keep calling me?" he asked as he looked up. "Kilashi. I am not familiar with the word."
"It is of the older dialects of the Ahronni," Aishah replied. She nodded toward the fox with the thinnest of smiles. "It is drawn from a term that the more arrogant of Ahron used to describe those who lacked a connection to the Ahl Surven. The Ahronni often viewed such individuals as empty vessels, or torashi. Kilashi were those few beyond our walls that sought the power, and were filled beyond what they could contain."
Understanding dawned as Deacon began to nod. "And because... parts of Oswell still linger inside me..." He glanced at Bain for a moment, but the otter didn't react. It was a good thing he didn't know just how much of Oswell Deacon could sense deep within his own mind.
"You too are filled beyond your capacity," Aishah finished for him. Her smile turned somber as she took a slow sip of her tea. "The shadows on your back take ever a greater hold. Already you can feel it, can you not? Hooks that drag through your mind and pull you out to make space for that which should have fallen to darkness a long, long time ago. It is more than your vessel can contain. Two vie for control. Only one may remain, kilashi. One, or none. This is why you have come here: to learn how to banish the shadows on your back and be free of him."
Deacon gulped as he felt his tail try to tuck between his legs. A look at Bain showed him more concerned, but still silent. "And can I be free of him?" he asked.
"That is up to you," Aishah replied. She began to rise slowly from her position by the fire and glanced to the side. A wave of her paw set the stone wall opposite her bedroll to rumbling, and a new, archer passageway began to form out of the solid rock. "To be free of Oswell's influence, you must confront Oswell's influence. You must understand him, and understand how he claws at you. I can aid you in this; I could set you on the path, if you would allow me."
Bain quickly sat up straight. "But you said I could stop him," he reminded the sorceress. "You said I had the strength to stop Oswell. Is... is that time now?"
Aishah simply smiled and shook her head at Bain. "No, child. You will know when you must gather your full strength to vanquish the shadow completely. For now, I must use what power I can to help your love find his own strength. He will need it, in the time to come." She stood as tall as she could as she stared down at Deacon and offered him her paw. "Your whole life is painted in flames. I ask you to walk through them with me, that I might guide you to the other side."
Deacon hesitated as he stared at that paw. Sudden trepidation swept through him; concern from some dark place inside him. He wondered for a moment if the concern was his, or if it was Oswell's. "Will it be dangerous?" he asked as he stood.
The sorceress' head tilted upward as she shrugged. "Fire burns," she simply replied.
"Doesn't it, though." Deacon turned to look at Ransley, and was completely unsurprised to see him frowning. "You don't think I should go."
Both of the ferret's ears perked as he shook his head. "Actually, I think you absolutely must," he replied. "There is only one power in the world that Oswell truly feared, and that is Ahron sorcery. If Ahron sorcery can burn him out of you, so much the better."
As Deacon's eyes drifted over to Bain, he saw the otter's face harden. He was looking right at Deacon, but the fox had seen that expression before. It wasn't Deacon he was seeing in those moments. It was Oswell. The same face. The same eyes. The same markings. Everything exactly the same, separated only by a handful of decades. "Destroy him, Deacon," Bain said, his voice little more than an uncharacteristic growl. "Don't just burn him out. Burn him. Anything that he's left in you."
It was the strongest endorsement he could have expected, but the hate that burned in Bain's eyes -- warranted or not -- was intimidating. Deacon could feel it boil off him in waves like steam, only empowered by that connection to the Font that he'd helped Bain rip open. It gave him strength, yes, but this new attitude from the otter was almost worrying. It was so unlike him.
But that could also have just been the effects of the degeneration. Deacon sighed as he closed his eyes. He couldn't be sure either way, but there was little choice to be made in the matter. Oswell had to be controlled. He'd felt that control slip while he'd battled the shade, and then again with those magi that had attacked. He couldn't risk Oswell's presence in his mind any longer. If there was even a chance that he could hurt Bain, he had to do anything to prevent it.
When he opened his eyes again, that trepidation still sang in the back of his mind. Deacon forced it down as he rounded the fire and took a deep breath. "I am ready," he said.
"No, you are not," Aishah replied with a shake of her head. She backed toward the new passage she'd created, and her whole body began to fade from sight. "Come, kilashi. Your future awaits." With that, her whole body vanished into nothingness. Her eyes seemed to remain for a moment as softly glowing orbs in the darkness before they too flickered out.
Deacon didn't allow his fear or concern to control him. He gathered his strength and his powers and strode into the mouth of the cave without looking back. He continued to walk forward as he heard the sound of stone grinding against stone at his back. He heard Bain's gasp and Ransley's shout as the light behind him narrowed.
Then the passage closed, and Deacon walked to his fate alone.