4.8 An Unexpected Rescue

Bernt marched down the path, trying to keep up with Song as they made their way down the mountain toward the Phoenix Reaches where he’d left his things. He’d tried to come up with several arguments to convince the cultivator to come along, but he shouldn’t have bothered. Song practically jumped at the chance to “stretch his legs”.

True to his word, the cultivator set a breakneck pace down the mountain, even taking small detours to get a better view now and then as he waited for Bernt to catch up. Whenever he was in earshot, Bernt filled Song in on his theories about sorcery and what he’d learned from Uriah.

“If I’m right, Uriah will be able to manifest a spiritual sea with the help of a water elemental – provided we can find somewhere to summon one. Other intelligent creatures with sorcerous mana networks might be able to do it, too, but I don’t even know where to start with something like that. It’s safest to go with something straightforward like an unambiguous water affinity for a hydromancer. If that works, we’ll have to find other sources for at least the most common architectures.”

“Perhaps.” Song allowed, climbing up a boulder and scanning the horizon as if looking for something. When he came back down, he raised an eyebrow at Bernt. “I know what you are doing, Bernt. Telling me your ideas, or what you are considering will not convince me to reveal hidden knowledge to you. You must find your own path.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing!” Bernt retorted. “I am a sorcerer and a wizard. Mages approach magic from a standpoint of theoretical understanding. Wizards do that, plus additional research and experimentation. I’m not asking you to tell me your secrets, but I don’t know what’s secret and what’s common knowledge to you. I just want to make sure I learn everything I can.”

Song walked in silence for a moment, and Bernt wondered for a moment if he’d offended the man. Finally, though, he gave a deliberate nod.

“You’re telling me what you’ve learned so that I will know which obvious things you are not aware of.”

“Yes, exactly!” Bernt exclaimed. That wasn’t everything of course. He would have welcomed an impulsive correction to one of his ideas, or even just a few facial expressions to show him whether he was on the right track. But Song had a face like a stone statue. He’d gotten nothing.

“Very well.” Song said slowly. “An obvious thing… your spiritual sea was opened by the serendipitous intervention of a spirit from the hidden realm of fire. What makes you think that you will be able to summon a spirit of similar skill and power for your friend? Or that you might find any other creature that might possess an instinctual proclivity for such spiritual techniques at all?”

Brent frowned. He knew that trying to work with some other sorcerous creature was a shot in the dark, but Xul’evareg had suggested that all spirits had deep instinctive knowledge of their own natures. Working with elementals, at least, should be possible. The elemental who helped him had barely even recognized him as a lifeform, and it had still managed it somehow.

“It’s a potential problem,” he admitted, “but I don’t really see any way around it. We’re just going to have to experiment, unless you’re willing to tell me how you manifested your spiritual sea.”

Song blinked, opened his mouth, closed it again and then shrugged.

“It is not a secret. I, and all those like me, are blessed by the heavens to seize a small portion of the legacy of our ancestors. Your friend has probably already read about it in his novel – it’s quite famous.”

Bernt missed a step and stared. “Wait, what?” Song didn’t slow, and Bernt hurried to catch up. “What does that mean? What kind of legacy?”

“My spiritual sea was ignited in the traditional manner by a sliver of my honored ancestor’s power transformed into a spiritual manifestation pill,” Song explained. “These pills are located in a large bronze cauldron at the highest peak of the White Dragon Sect and guarded by an ancient expert. Any trueborn descendant of the clan may attempt to climb it and seize a piece for themselves.”

“So, you can all be cultivators? Why doesn’t everyone do it?” If it was so simple, the Madurian Empire should never have even been able to get a foothold on their continent. The colonists should have been thrown back into the sea long before they could gain a real foothold. As far as the official histories went, though, there hadn’t even been a war. It didn’t make any sense.

Song snorted as if he’d said something ridiculous. “Of course not! The aspirant must succeed in selecting a true pill from thousands of poison decoys. To survive requires the guidance of the heavens. A true cultivator will sense the energies and intent contained within. Only a fool would attempt to cheat, though it does happen sometimes. They always die.”

Bernt wondered whether he was being serious before deciding to let it go. He didn’t really need to know.

“Is there a way I can make pills like that? Ones that match my affinity, at least? Maybe I could help out a few pyromancers.” 

“You would fail and die before you formed a single pill.” Song explained bluntly. “You don’t understand the technique, you lack the skill, and you are far too weak to even attempt it. And it is fatal to the expert performing it – a sacrifice to raise a new generation. Do not pursue this idea further.”

As if realizing that he’d just given actual advice, he carefully schooled his features and picked up his pace again, leaving Bernt behind.

That was fine, for now. He’d learned something. Contrary to Finnerixes’ journal, Song’s people didn’t hunt the fae – they inherited the seeds of their power from their predecessors. It wasn’t literally in their blood, but he could see why they called it their bloodline.

The lack of shoes and the steep, rocky slope had limited Bernt’s progress on the way up to a crawl, but it still took another hour before they caught sight of the first of Bernt’s pyromantic waymarkers. As they approached it, Song examined it appreciatively.

“That’s a good trick, keeping it burning like that – you must save a lot of money on lamp oil! How long can it go?” He reached out as if to sweep his finger through the flame in passing.

Heart leaping out of his chest in surprise, Bernt seized control of his torch spell and put it out just as the cultivator touched it.”

“What was that?!” he cried out. “Who just touches a fire spell without thinking? Don’t ever do that again – you could have died!”

Song looked back at him curiously, eyebrows raised. He didn’t look alarmed at all. “Really? What does it do?”

“It burns ambient mana.” Bernt explained tensely, his heart still pounding. “Including the mana running through your spirit, if it gets through your skin. It could have set you on fire from the inside! I limited how much mana the spell can burn at once, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe to touch for a spellcaster. Can you imagine what it would have done to your hand if I hadn’t put it out when I did?”

“Hmm,” Song hummed thoughtfully. “So, it can really burn forever? That’s incredible. But you don’t need to worry about me, I wasn’t going to let it burn me.” He clapped Bernt on the shoulder and kept walking. 

Bernt followed, shaking his head. The cultivator wasn’t taking the danger nearly seriously enough. Then again, he supposed the man hadn’t seen what he had. Shivers ran down his back as the memory of Duergar mages writhing and shrieking as they burned up from the inside played once more in his mind’s eye. Shaking his head to himself, Bernt hurried after Song down the mountainside.

Originally, it had taken Bernt nearly a full day to drag himself up here from where he’d buried his things. As it turned out, going downhill, well rested without any broken bones and with proper footwear, they made it there an hour after noon. Song didn’t even look winded. Bernt, on the other hand, was bleeding into both boots as he cast his stone shaping spell to clear the rock that his last marker had been burning over. Climbing down mountains wasn’t the best way to break in a new pair of boots. He’d have risked trying to drink a healing potion, but he hadn’t remembered to buy any when he was in Norhold.

As he packed his possessions into his new bag, being careful not to damage the brittle, yellowed papers, Bernt noted that his stuff mostly just looked like random garbage. But it was valuable to him. Most importantly, he had the magical materials he’d collected back, as well as a handful of dried coal grass florets. Enough to attempt a few experiments. The stuff grew up here, too, but none of it appeared to be blooming as the grass down on the plain did.

As he rose, he held a dried stalk out to Song.

“What do you think?”

The cultivator accepted it, letting it sit in his open palm as he examined it. “It contains some low density energy with an aspect of fire… but I’m sure you know that.”

He handed it back distractedly, looking up and around as if he’d heard something. Bernt followed suit, but there wasn’t anything to see.

When Song didn’t continue, he prodded for more information. “Do you think it’s a good source of magical potential, to drive my growth? I’ve tried eating some, but I can’t really feel much of a difference.”

Song gave a noncommittal sort of sideways half nod. “Well, I’m sure you observed many creatures in the plains below grazing on it.”

Accepting the non-answer, Bernt sighed and pocketed the grass. Apparently, information about magical materials was considered a secret. He looked up to check the sky to the south and east for any of the telltale golden clouds that signalled an incoming storm of burning rain, but it was completely clear. A shame. He’d need to find time later to come back again in hopes of collecting some, and that meant he’d need to get his hands on an enchanted vessel that could actually contain it. Maybe he could find something in Norhold.

Disappointed, he turned to go back up the way they’d come only to find that Song was gone.

“Song?” There hadn’t even been any kind of noise. And how could he have disappeared so fast?

He was turning slowly, trying to find some sign of what happened when the cultivator suddenly appeared from behind a large boulder several hundred yards downhill carrying a ragged bundle over his shoulder. As he approached, the bundle moved, resolving into the shape of a woman dressed in rags. The skin on her lower arms was horrifically burned, and one of her hands was missing entirely.

Song moved quickly and efficiently. A minute later, he’d set his burden down in a shady spot, holding a small water skin up to her lips and talking to her in a soothing voice.

“Drink, little sister. You are safe. The great celestial Ru Zhin hears the voices of those in need, and she answers.”

The woman looked the next best thing to dead. She was skeletally thin, her lips were cracked and her clothes were practically destroyed. There was an empty sheath on her belt, but no pack or other equipment. Either she’d lost it, or she’d wandered into the Phoenix Reaches completely unprepared.

At first she barely responded. Then, as if finally realizing what she was tasting, she grabbed the water skin in her one hand and began to gulp it down. It was empty in seconds.

“What happened to you?” Bernt asked, unable to contain his curiosity. “How did you end up out here?”

“A demon called Varinoth.” She shuddered, then continued hoarsely. “It took me prisoner. Wanted to take me to its master or something. I killed it with my knife when it wasn’t paying attention, but there was so much fire. It… it just…” she trailed off, staring down at her stump.

A chill ran down Bernt’s spine. If Zijeregh’s thralls were still hunting for him down there, he might be responsible for what had happened to this woman. “What kind of demon was it?” he asked, “And how long ago? I fought some down there, too. And there were cultists, but I don’t think there are any left, now…”

As he spoke, she looked up at him and froze, eyes going wide. She whimpered in terror and thrashed weakly, as if trying to rise. Song shot Bernt a reproachful look and tried to calm her as though she were a spooked horse. 

Bernt didn’t care. He recognized her face, now. He reached for her burned arm and seized it, twisting it outward to reveal a familiar demonic glyph branded into her upper arm.

“Song… why would Ruzinia send you to save a cultist?”