| Dharin had never seen the Magi camp, and he gaped at the beauty of the Spires of Trinlayra. The Tower itself - named Bantaehl by the Acharya - loomed in the center of four diamond columns, shimmering pale beneath a smiling moon. Stone gates had been constructed around the Spires to protect them from animals or worse, humans. Magi statues surrounded each spire; the faces of every model twisted in pain. It looked to be as if not a single Mage died peacefully. Nocturnal flowers bloomed around the feet of the Jihann sculptures, filling the air with the unexpected scent of sweet life. Glow bugs surrounded the myriad of blossoms, hovering like miniature stars. Sylvae chuckled, and one by one several of the insects simply popped. Seeing that no one else understood the joke, he shrugged and left the rest flitting anxiously around the obliterated shells of the other members of the hive. Few people stirred around Bantaehl, only a handful of men and women had permission to move about the Spires after the sun sank beneath the horizon, and the last meal of the day was served. None of the Magi, or servants of the same, paid any notice to the party crossing the cobbled path to the Bantaehl. Those that had permission to be out of chambers went about their business and did not tarry or loiter; whatever reason kept them away from their beds was to be done away with swiftly, or punishment was inevitable. Dharin noticed that Mal'aran refused to lift her eyes from the ground. He wished that she would have told him what had happened here, about her past and what motivated her, before... but now was not the time to hypothesize about explanations, he told himself. He completely ignored the fact that his Seer no longer had a tongue with which to flatter, scold or lecture him; instead his defense mechanism - over-analysis - kicked in as the party passed through a portal of thick air - a Cair'leih barrier against the elements and unwanted creatures. Mal'aran began panting, clutching her throat as she hyperventilated. Her spasms were ignored, and when she fell to her knees Sylvae and Lyahr each grabbed an elbow and dragged her through the labyrinthine halls. Looking at the structure from the outside, Dharin had assumed that the rooms would be small, cramped; the hallways would be narrow, and the furniture spare. His mind boggled attempting to account for the grandiose dimensions of the rooms and halls they passed. Logically, it did not fit together. He set his mind to solving the puzzle rather than watching the Seer struggle and gasp. He was in the process of deciding to let her go, to see her as just another being in the hopeless throng of hopeless people; to release pain and leave this world to its fate. Dharin noticed in the back of his mind that, despite honest efforts and his best attempts to better the world, nothing had changed. The world resisted change, its people resisted and struggled to cling to what had been. They knew, they understood - barely - what had already passed. To embrace change would mean to embrace a new world; to understand something they feared. These people had decided not to hope for a better world and remain secure in their suffering; it was into this group of people that Dharin was trying to let himself fall. The Seer had stopped gasping, and did not sob as she was dragged down flights of spiral stone. The Magi moved swiftly, setting their feet on each step for no more than a fraction of an instant. There was a span of a few minutes between the passing of the group through the gates of Trinlayra and Dharin and the Seer's imprisonment in a small room in the deep recesses of the grounds beneath Bantaehl. Dharin heard the lock click into place, and an assuring call that one of the five would return for them. He took in his surroundings slowly, not that there was anything remarkable about this room. A bed, a floor, a washbasin, cabinet and a lack of windows. A candle set into the wall had been left burning; their arrival had obviously been expected. Dharin sank to his knees, not bothering to take the few steps to the bed. The Seer knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were calm; she had stopped spasming once the other Magi had left. Dharin ran his fingers over the opal tear tracks embedded into her skin but pulled his hand away when she winced sadly. That single wince pulled him away from the mundane; he knew he could not allow himself to simply slip into the faceless mass. Wordlessly, they put their arms around one another. Dharin closed his eyes and listened as the Mage wept. "They are here, Acharya." The five Magi bowed, stepping into the room where the Acharya feigned sleep. The decorations were few, though the chamber was spacious. He sat at a table, writing and murmuring until the words registered. He stood and crossed his arms, giving a slight nod. His eyes were somber as candlelight flicked across his face. "Bring them to the garden, if you will." He sighed, crossing over to a door towards the back of his chamber. Acharya paused, his brow furrowing as he noticed that only five Magi had returned. "Once this matter is dealt with, you will account for the absence of Varesh." His tone implied that it did not bother him in the least; his back had turned before the Magi had nodded, their eyes exhibiting neither regret nor anxiety. Felanya tapped Corridan on the shoulder, and the two left through the door that they had entered. The last three Magi followed the Acharya through the dark portal, through hallways and past more statues of lost Magi. It would take several minutes for the three of them to weave through the passages that led to the garden. Corridan and Felanya retrieved the prisoners - that is truly what they had become, despite whatever titles they had held days ago - and escorted them to the heart of Bantaehl, the Garden. It was, in a word, immense. The ceiling rose four and a half meters above the heads of the Magi; the floor of the Garden covered roughly one hundred square meters. So far beneath the surface - twenty-six meters away from the reach of the sun's rays - the only plants that grew here were those that could survive, which thrived by the lights of the luminous insects Acharya had trained to proliferate here. The pale green light cast from the bodies of the glow bugs made everything in the Garden seem to shimmer and glow. The Acharya stood in the center of the Garden, holding a bright white blossom around which several glow bugs flitted nervously. Lyahr and Dalnek stood to his right, Sylvae to his left; each listening to the hum of the insects as they awaited their companions. Finally, a door covered in dark vines opened; Dharin and the Seer entered, pushed forward by Felanya and Corridan. They stood before the Acharya, Felanya and Corridan behind them - just in case. "Ayengar," the Acharya spoke softly, using the formal Kaer’melthek greeting for returning Cleansers. Dharin and the Seer nodded without thinking, it was force of habit to acknowledge the greeting immediately. "Yi kentalen shae't," he began. I regret this... "Kneel," Corridan commanded harshly; he and Felanya struck the Cleansers on the backs of their knees, forcing them to comply. "That isn't necessary," Acharya warned, but did not tell either of them to rise. "I know both of you must have questions." A deep fatigue resonated in his voice. "Lyahr, Dalnek, Corridan, and Felanya..." Each Mage immediately gave their attention to the Acharya once their name had been spoken. "Your presence is not necessary now. You make the hives uneasy." Though their eyebrows arched in curiosity, none of them questioned. Each of them had spent time in the Garden - or so they vaguely remembered - and had assumed that after centuries of enduring the presence of Magi that the insects would have become accustomed to the usual stirrings of energy; the dissonant feeling that accompanied the powers of a Mage. One by one they filed out of the door through which Corridan and Felanya had entered, not speaking a word to each other. They assured themselves that they would simply know when the Acharya would require explanations. The Acharya's focus shifted from the back of the retreating Magi to Dharin's eyes, expecting the inevitable question; the question that had always come first for one thousand, four hundred and thirty-two years. "Why?" The Tracker seemed so helpless and weak; his query barely resembled anything more than a breath. The Acharya couldn't resist. "Why not?" It was an easy answer for a complex idea; an answer which Dharin did not readily accept, by the look in his eyes. "Very well, which why do you want?" He smirked. "Why have you done this to us?" Dharin's lips pursed as he spoke. "Because you both belong to me. All Magi, all Cleansers belong to me," he smiled. A small laugh followed his proclamation of ownership. "Your army?" Dharin scoffed. "They will not always fight for you. Your pets are waking up; maybe their stars are speaking to them, opening their eyes to the fact that you are not what you seem." "Correct, I am not what I seem. As for those stars... The people of this world ignore their destinies. They fight what is meant to be, nullifying any wisdom this world tries to offer them. Their complete faith - accepting me as their saviour has allowed me to effectually, kill those stars. The people remain blind." Sylvae snickered at this; he had moved and now stood several paces to the Acharya's right. "But it is not necessary for them to see anything, nor is it even necessary for them to fight. I am an army in and of myself. No, Moon-Chylde," he spat those words scornfully. "I only require them to die for me." "What?" Dharin gaped in disbelief. "So much was lost with the Old World," Acharya sighed sadly. "Common sense being among those treasures. For a millennium and a half I have feared, needlessly, that someone might figure me out. Not those Taer'shal, they hold no real sway. Someone of importance, with credibility. A foolish fear, I realize now. In the Old World I would have had to kill you swiftly, without any explanation. And yet, the trust afforded me by this race allows me to help you understand why your deaths are necessary." "What are you?" As the Acharya had spoken, Dharin felt his heart flutter with every word. "Finally!" A few glow bugs fell to the floor, their fragile exoskeletons shattered by the Acharya's exclamation. "In all my years, no Cleanser has asked that. They take the blessing, part of my power and do not question the origins of my power. Not even my mute Seer," his smile was slightly disappointed. "You held so much promise, since I found you barely alive. Yours would have been a wonderful statue. The fact that you've fought off being lost for so long was really something unexpected." He shook his head, bringing himself back to the point. "I stood before the Rift, all that time ago, but I still remember so much. And yet-" His eyes slid to the door through which his Magi had left. That tiny smile returned to his eyes. "They almost made it, and I have spent centuries undoing the damage." It played again in his mind: the walls rebuilding themselves, the jubilant faces of the Six. Then, the great sword that had embedded itself into the body he now used, wielded by the hands that had been his. The wails that followed echoed in his ears from time to time. "You never sealed the Rift," Dharin spoke through his teeth, letting his mind register that he had fought -killed - for a lie. His parents had died - he too would perish - all for a lie. Seer had stood at some point, but Dharin remained kneeling, unsure that his legs would support him. And yet the Seer managed to look Acharya in the eyes, those cold blue eyes. She stood without shaking, her head held level. "Why would I have?" Those walls never belonged! The planes should have been left as they were created, and when the walls fell - as they were supposed to - those foolish children thought their hope could save their world." Something dark moved beneath Acharya's face, a shifting in the tone of his skin. "We -" he paused to correct himself. "They were all fools." Seer caught the correction and raised an eyebrow. Acharya smiled at the gesture. "This body belonged to one of the Six," he explained. "The one who led the Six was kind enough to fall to my blade and allow me to borrow it. Perhaps he is still there, somewhere, in the back of the mind he believes to be his. No great matter," he shrugged. Acharya had held this body for nearly a millennium and a half with no trouble; another century seemed no great feat to him. "Why do you even need the Magi, if the Six fell to your sword?" "As I said, I only need them to die. Once they die, their bodies solidify and their souls remain trapped within the Jihann. They belong to me," Acharya gestured to Sylvae and Seer as examples. "Even when they cease to breathe. It is the energies in those stones that will allow me to tear apart the walls that those six children made. I have so many uses for them, but I have no more uses for you." He stepped back, nodding to Sylvae. Glow bugs flitted away from the black-eyed Mage's grin. He raised his voice in a song that his sister immediately recognized - flamesong. Seer pulled Dharin closer to her, oddly with no fear in her eyes. A deep peace had settled in her mind; visions of Kelnai and Jenya wielding sword and Cair'leih, the stars shining brightly on them both played in a loop behind her eyes. She and her Tracker would die, but this was not the end. There is never truly an end. Deep black flames danced at their feet, pulling heat away from everything they touched. Dharin looked into Seer's eyes, and the two held on to each other. Hugging her legs, Dharin spoke softly as he felt her skin turn cold and solid. "Yi ehrvaenen ahnelle," he smiled as a silver tear fell from his eye. I love you ever... For the first time in one thousand, four hundred and thirty-two years, a Mage died with a smile on her face. |