Seven Reimagined, A new view of an old story Options

[Renee]

I think I've been mooned by a gnome at least once. I was at a Grateful Dead concert at the time though, so that probably doesn't count.

WHAT? THey wanted to expel Aela???? For cryin' out loud. She's the one who helped them so!

Yes, I am with Aela on that one. If she didn't have all those talents, maybe the others might not have spoken up for her.

[SubRosa]

Grits: That arm band idea with colored beads or streamers sounds like a great idea!

The crested ibis came from a documentary called Wild China. There is an indigenous people (Dai or Tai I think), who do not go out to work in the fields until the crested ibis fly into them first.

Theut is a god of magic (like RL Hermes), so he would not be the one to pray to for sweaty muscles. Though he would probably appreciate them as much as Loria...



Acadian: We will indeed see more of Vesia, and lean more about her, and Agrigento in the process.

I do hope that Aela's awkwardness makes her more endearing. My hope is that it will give most people something to relate to in her. I am sure we have all felt awkward, and not known what to say or do, at some time in our lives.

That was indeed a not, not a nor. Thanks for the catch!


Renee: Given what might have been floating around in the air at that concert, there is no telling what you may have seen!

I didn't think someone like Aecha would just let things drop, so I worked in her end run play against Aela. Whether the other villagers are more accepting than her, or just more practical, is one of those things we will probably never truly know.



Chapter 13.5

Aela finished digging the ditch that day. As she predicted, Venca reminded her to dig out that little land bridge she had left for moving the cut bamboo into the village. He seemed impressed with her work however, and they took a tour of the breastworks as night fell. He even approved of how she had set the timbers of the wall to alternate between chest height and head height, like a crenellated parapet on a castle. She knew from experience that the higher sections would give the defenders refuge from missiles, while the lower ones would give them positions through which to attack with their own bows or spears.

"It would have taken hundreds of men to dig this out in the time you did it. Not to mention to reset the timber wall. I'm impressed." Before Aela could let the words of praise go to her head, he continued. "Tomorrow you can dig that tunnel between the distillery and the stable."

So the next day Aela found herself toiling within the bowels of the earth, with only a spell to see by. More than ever she was thankful for the gnome, who did not so much dig the soil out of the ground as shift it aside to create the passage. That made it unnecessary to cart wagonloads of dirt out of the ground. The earth spirit also took the local stones and fused them together into single, seamless pieces of rock. From these he created braces every six feet or so to prevent the ceiling from collapsing.

As the tunnel ran a much shorter distance than the moat, Aela finished her work by noon. She emerged to find Venca leading the effort to build shields from the timber they had felled in the previous days. At his direction the villagers cut the wood into planks. These they laid over one another in a crisscross pattern of two layers, held together by fish glue. These half-inch thick cores were cut into round discs just under three feet in diameter. A hand grip was added to the interior by way of a long strip of wood that ran from one end of the shield to the other. The edges were rimmed with rawhide, and the outside was faced in linen glued to its surface. Then finally each finished shield was treated with oil to waterproof it.

In the meantime Phereinon continued hacking the bamboo they had collected into spears, poles, and spikes for the frises, and punji sticks for the currently dry moat. The taciturn woman appeared to take the task as seriously as she did her battle in the streets of Veia, and her face remained a mask of razor-sharp focus the entire time.

They took a break for a simple lunch of rice flavored with what Aela had come to think of as Teodon brown sauce. It was a condiment which the saurians put on nearly everything. So far as Aela could tell, it was a fish sauce spiced with garlic, basil, and lemongrass.

Alcheon showed them how to eat the meal with Teodon kuaizi sticks: two slender bamboo sticks held between the fingers and thumb in lieu of a fork or spoon. At least he tried to teach them. Of all the other mercenaries, only Dhasan was able to master using the sticks. The fumbling attempts of Aela and the others brought amused giggles and chuckles from the villagers. Aela imagined that she would have an easier time using her bare fingers, and like most of the others, she eventually surrendered and used a wooden spoon. Phereinon did not even try, nor eat any of the lunch at all. Instead she continued working upon the bamboo.

The next day Venca was training the villagers in the use of spear and shield. Only the children and the elderly were left out. Even old Hyunsu, who tried to beg off the combat training, was dragged into the line by Ranazu. The Rasen pointed out that despite his age, the Teodon was still as fit and capable as a marsh croc.

Unlike the individual training that Venca had offered on the Nakdeok Queen, this was something entirely different. Instead he taught the villagers to stand in line and form a shield wall. The first rank would kneel and ground their round shields. They were so tightly packed that the edges of their shields overlapped with those to either side. The second rank would then step right up beside the first and hold their shields high, so they filled the gaps left above and between the first rank's shields. The end result was a double row of overlapping shields that faced Venca, appearing as immovable as the timber wall surrounding the village.

The Rasen tested the strength of the wall with a single kick from a lorcras-armored boot. The entire wall collapsed under the blow, and the villagers fell hither and thither. Even those nowhere near the Rasen's kick scurried away like mice. Venca was left in the aftermath, shaking his head in dismay. It was clear to Aela that the drill instructor had a great deal of work ahead of him…

* * *

Dhasan took a break from planting punji stakes in the ditch surrounding the hamlet. He climbed the dirt wall of the dry moat on hands and feet, frequently slipping in the loose soil. He wanted to curse at the difficulty. But the thought of his enemies having to make the same climb while he fired arrows at them made it all worthwhile.

Once he had reached the top, the vulpine easily scampered over the crenellated wall. Settling down inside, he drew forth a short piece of bamboo bearing a single line of holes along its length. Taking out his carving knife, he cut a final hole in the shaft. Once he was satisfied it was just right, the Asokar held the flute sideways to his lips, and blew a gentle breath of air through the instrument.

A soft whistle issued from the flute, like the sound of a bird. Working the key holes with the pads of his fingers, Dhasan transformed the simple noise into a haunting melody. As he played, his memory fled back to his days as a kit, when his mother had first taught him the flute.

Thoughts of Kye Rim, Agrigento, and bandits fled from his mind. Dhasan found himself sitting on his mother's lap outside their home in Hiakwia. The hot sun warmed his fur, and his tail danced in delight as his mother played for him.

"Let me play, mommy!" he cried, pawing for the slender flute in his mother's hands. The golden-furred vixen smiled back him, and obligingly lowered the musical instrument to his lips. Yet the sound that issued forth was anything but musical!

"Who farted!" his father laughed. He was tall and lean, with dark red fur that faded to soft white under his chin. Today he wore his ironleaf armor, and carried his flatbow bow strapped across his back. He bent down to lift Dhasan in his paws, and the young Asokar responded with a contented yip as his father held him to his shoulder. But in no time at all he felt himself lowered to the ground, and then it was his mother who embraced his father.

"It is time then Skiriki?" she said with a dread in her voice that the cub could not understand.

"Aye Taipa," his father responded grimly. "The tuskers have been drawn out near Serpent's Bluff. Today we shall finish them, and avenge what they did last winter."

"Will the round-ears assist?"

"Aye," his father nodded in assent. "Their fighters will meet us on the road. They will probably bring those chariots again."

"Then don't try to ride them this time!" Dhasan's mother admonished. "And stay behind the shield-bearers, and don't be a hero. One father is worth any ten of those."

"Aye, aye woman," his father threw up his paws in surrender. "And I won't drink the water, or talk to strangers. Cannot an Asokar have any fun?"

"Just bring yourself home alive," his mother fretted.

"That is Skiriki's promise," he declared. "And you my little kit, when I return from chastising those orcs, perhaps I shall teach this one to use the bow? Then my son shall become a real Asokar warrior!"

"Yes I will!" Dhasan cried.

"Until then, watch for serpents, and defend the house," his father said. "I will be back before my scent fades in the air."

But of course he never returned.

"Dhasan!"

The voice snapped the Asokar out of his reverie. He looked up, and found that the Teodon trader Daehyun was walking up earthen rampart. He carried a self-bow made of bamboo in one hand, and a brace of bamboo arrows rose up from the quiver slung over his shoulder.

"I was about to go hunting," the Teodon said. "I thought you might wish to join me."

"Aye," Dhasan grinned. "Anything to get away from these stakes. Though I suspect they will still be waiting for me when I return."

"If we return with a pig, or sika deer, the work will go much easier."

"At least our stomachs will be full eh?" Dhasan smiled. "Let me get my bow and quiver…"



Shield Wall training

[Acadian]

Another episode full of busy preparations as you continue to build tension for the likely big battle. Aela’s mud-buddy is even better at digging tunnels than moats! Shields, punjii stakes, spears all being crafted. Venca’s testing of the shield wall was both proof of progress as well as a humorous reminder that much remains to be done.

Kuaizi sticks and the frustration that comes with learning to use them. I think most folks can identify with that!

A poignant memory from Dhasan that gives us another tantalizing morsel of his background – nicely done.

[Grits]

Oh dear, and that shield wall shaped up so nicely. Now Venca needs to make some warriors to put behind it.

What a lovely and haunting glimpse into Dhasan’s past. Their vulpine ways and phrases felt perfectly natural.

[SubRosa]

Acadian: I really liked Dhasan's flashback to childhood. So much of who he is today is rooted in his feelings toward his father, who never came home.

And I have never been able to use chopsticks myself!


Grits: Venca definitely has his work cut out for him. But then again, doing so shows just what he brings to the team, besides just a sword and a strong back.

I love taking modern terms and phraseology and adapting them to different cultures and species.




Chapter 14

"This is the Sepulcher of the Voracious One?" Sindeok breathed quietly.

"It was," Dark-Eye murmured.

Sindeok started, he had thought his voice had been too low to hear. He hoped his captain would not take offense. He had worked hard to stay in Dark-Eye's favor, much to the displeasure of the other raider lieutenants. The last thing he needed to do was incur their master's wrath. That would prove fatal.

"What has happened here?" Girim, the leader of the band's mages spoke. "A battle?"

Sindeok looked over what had once been either a settlement or fort. It was too crude to be called a castle. In some places the wooden walls that surrounded it were still intact. But wide swaths of the fortification had been battered down, or burnt to ash.

A spring bubbled outside of the walls, and ran off to form a narrow stream. It wound away out of sight between the high pinnacles of the Stone Forest, which rose up all around the site. The irregular stone columns jutted into the sky like broken bones from a skeleton. In some places brush and small trees sprouted from footholds in the stone towers, but most were as barren as old corpses.

They ventured deeper into the ruins, to find stone and wooden buildings in various stages of decimation. Some only had doors broken down or windows smashed in. Others had roofs burned out, and one or more walls tumbled down. A few were nothing but piles of scorched rubble. The structures ended at a large open square that was littered with broken spears, splintered boards from shattered shields, and other detritus. A tall mound of earth and stone rose beyond. A dark opening yawned within its side, rimmed with unmortared stones.

A tall pile of bones rose beside the mouth of the tunnel. The remains looked odd to Sindeok. They all lacked tails, and their necks were unnaturally short. He imagined that they must have been from humans, and mused that the soft-skins looked even stranger with their flesh off than with it on.

"This is the work of bounty hunters!" Dark-Eye spat.

"How can you tell?" Girim wondered.

"The heads are missing," the captain explained. "They took them for proof of the kills."

The other bandits looked about with unease. The site of the massacre did not aid Sindeok's nerves either. But something smelled different about this place. It was not the soot or few rotting strips of flesh left on the skeletons. It was something more subtle, yet infinitely more potent.

There was magic in the air, he realized. Powerful magic. Its savory aroma filled his nostrils like the smell of a roast duck once did. His stomach murmured at the thought, and at the sight of the bared bones. This was a holy place. But he suspected a place only sacred to those like himself, who had feasted upon the flesh of the manaborn.

"It appears our brothers are no more," Girim frowned. "Yet perhaps we can still salvage something from the ruins?"

"Aye, spread out, see if the bounty hunters left anything of value!" Dark-Eye cried.

Sindeok doubted that they had. Whoever had caused the massacre appeared to have been as skilled at looting as they had been at killing. But he was not about to voice that opinion. In fact, he kept his lips very tight. Dark-Eye had led them here to find allies for the fight to come. Discovering their potential friends dead did not weigh in their captain's favor. He would be looking for any opportunity to reaffirm his authority over the men. Sindeok did not much like the idea of something dramatic happening to him, to prove their leader's power.

"You two, come with me." Dark-Eye looked to Girim and Sindeok, and without another word led them into the mound.

Sindeok quickly realized that it was not a natural formation. The ceiling was held up by massive slabs of irregular stones. The walls to either side were of smaller stones, so carefully fitted into place that no mortar was needed. The former nangdo suspected that mortar had not yet been invented at the time this was built. He had read about the ruins of the Mound People, who had lived in the lands to the north before the time of the Rasenna, before even the Arvern. He imagined this might be one of their creations.

The others made no light as they stepped into the darkness. As he guessed they must have done, Sindeok focused his mind, and channeled his mana into his Dark-Seeing spell. He had learned it years before, when he had first joined the Celestial Flight company. All hwarang had to be able to fight in total darkness if need be after all.

The fragrant smell of magic came much stronger here, filling him with a feeling of strength. It was as if the air itself was charged with an energy that found a home in his bones. It was almost like a drug, and Sindeok could not help but to bare his teeth with predatory joy. This place made him want to hunt, to kill, to carve flesh from bones and devour it. Not any flesh of course, only that of the manaborn would do.

"This is a place of great power," Girim said beside him. "The Devourer has sanctified it with her presence. I can see why your allies made their stronghold here."

"Aye, this barrow has long been a holy place to Manaha, and our brother eaters," Dark-Eye said. "It was here that I learned to fight with the longsword, and the true depths of the Voracious One's power.

Sindeok looked about, and finally realized that the tunnel was indeed a burial place. Now he saw small niches in the walls. These played host to dusty bones that must have been thousands of years old. Several times they passed by corridors that ran off to either side. But Dark-Eye paid them no heed. Instead he led them directly to the end of the tunnel.

There it widened into a semicircular chamber. A great cauldron was knocked over on its side near the center of the room, with the skeletal remains of legs jutting out from within its wide lip. Ribs and a spine were scattered about nearby, and a pair of iron shackles hung from the ceiling overhead, with wrists and hands still bound within them.

A second, headless skeleton lay nearby. Scorch marks scored the walls and floor, and other bits of charred bone and other debris littered the end of the room. Sindeok could still smell the faint trace of magic in the air. Some sort of arcane bolts, he imagined. To mundane eyes it would have seemed like lightning. But he could still feel the power that had lurked beneath the elemental force. Whoever had destroyed this place had possessed great magical strength.

Dark-Eye ignored the cauldron and skeletons, and crossed the room with a handful of confident strides. He stepped into a large pile of scorched detritus, before a short pedestal of stone. Sindeok wondered if some sort of idol or shrine had stood atop the stone, only to have been shattered into the wreckage on the ground.

Dark-Eye leaned down over the pedestal, and seemed to hunt around it with his hands. A click came to Sindeok's ears, followed by a rumble of triumph from his captain's crimson-banded throat.

"The bounty hunters did not find the barrow's real treasures after all," he said, satisfaction plainly evident in his voice. Straightening up, he turned to reveal a book and amulet in one hand, and a small egg-like object in the other. Sindeok smelled power in all three items, especially in the egg. In fact, the latter nearly overwhelmed his magical senses.

"Take this Girim." Dark-Eye handed the bone amulet to the raider mage. "It will shield you from enemy spells."

"This is for you Sindeok." The bandit-lord gave the book to the former nangdo. Sindeok noted that the binding was made of leather, and it took only a moment for him to realize that it was human leather. This brought a smile to his face, and he casually opened it to the title page.

"Recipes For A New Age, by Pherein Phonon." Sindeok read aloud. He wondered if it was some form of cannibal cookbook?

"It is a copy of a treatise on spellcraft," Dark-Eye said. "The original was written by the Scale-Breaker herself, over five thousand years ago. The binding is newer however." Dark-Eye winked. "It will teach you the arts of concealing your aura, summoning aetherial blades, creating enhanced poisons, and other techniques useful for a revolutionary, or an assassin."

"The Scale-Breaker herself?" Sindeok stared at the tome with new-found respect. Then his eyes narrowed. "But it is written in our tongue? Was the Phereinon not a soft-skin?"

"The writing changes to match the language of whomever is reading it," the raider captain explained. "An elf will see it in elvish. A Skanjr will see their runes. It can be used by one of any race, to overthrow any power."

Sindeok stared at the page with rapt fascination. Like all members of the Celestial Flight company, he had been taught the basics of magic and sensing the aether. This would teach him so much more. It was power, something he had quickly learned equaled life in Dark-Eye's company.

He looked back to his captain, and saw that the red-scaled Teodon had lifted his eye patch, revealing the scarred, gaping ruin beneath. In his hand was the egg-like object. Sindeok saw that it was blood red in color, and seemed to be made of some sort of resin, like an insect's secretion. It stank of magic, like a pile of rotting corpses. Just sensing it made him hungry…

Dark-Eye raised it up and placed the object directly into his empty eye-socket. He screamed then. It was the only time Sindeok had ever seen him acknowledge pain. A searing noise came to the former nangdo's ears, like that of burning flesh. Dark-Eye hunched over, with both hands covering his face.

Girim reached out to steady the captain, but the black-striped raider batted the mage's hand away. Even now, he would accept no assistance. After a few moments the sizzling noise abated, and Dark-Eye rose to his full height once more. For a moment Sindeok thought he saw something within the new eye's crimson surface. A tenebrous landscape of dread and corruption. Then Dark-Eye drew his eye patch down over the terrible artifact, and the nightmare vision was gone.

"Nothing can stop us now," Dark-Eye crowed.

[Acadian]

"This is the work of bounty hunters!" Dark-Eye spat.
"How can you tell?" Girim wondered.
"The heads are missing," the captain explained. "They took them for proof of the kills."
- - A grisly but reasoned observation.

This episode was suitably ominous and disconcerting as the reptilian cannibals discovered the looted site.

By Azura! Dark-Eye just got a lot darker – literally.

The Seven wield some potent magicks but here, we learn that so do their foes. . . .


Nit: "Aye, spread out, see if they bounty hunters left anything of value!" Dark-Eye cried.' - - the vs they?

[Grits]

Yikes, the raiders have an instruction book written by the Scale-Breaker herself. That and the artifacts made things a lot scarier!

I loved this chapter! The sense of dread just kept creeping up to the last line!

[SubRosa]

Acadian: This part of the story is short on action. So I added that last interlude with the bandits as a way to increase the tension, and remind the reader that yes, the bad guys are out there. I also used it as an opportunity to show where Dark-Eye got that oh so deadly artifact he later uses. Finally, it will give Sindeok an opportunity to grow in power and threat himself.



Grits: I liked making the book one written by Phereinon, teaching all the things you need to overthrow the Dark Elves, or any other despot for that matter. It is a great example of the kind of thing that would be held in the restricted library of a university. Since the powers that be would not want that kind of knowledge out - how to cloak auras, summon weapons, etc...




Chapter 15.1

Aela woke during the night with an odd feeling. Something was tickling at the back of her mind. It was like a sound just too quiet to hear, or a scent too scarce to smell. She could not put her finger on just what it might be. Whatever it was, it did not feel threatening. It just seemed that there was something she was not paying attention to, that she ought to notice.

Asaryl had always encouraged her to follow her intuitions. "Some people say it is your mind trying to tell you something," the old elf had said. "Others say it is the amhranai, gently plucking at the strings of your soul. Either way, it is wise to listen."

The Arvern sat up and looked around. Nothing appeared untoward within the single room of Ranazu's abode. There were no lights, or loud noises. The other mercenaries were scattered around asleep on their bedrolls or mats. Except for Phereinon, who was nowhere to be found. That did not surprise Aela, as she had long ago noted that the white-haired woman often woke during the night. She had found her on other occasions quietly reading, or outside taking extra watch shifts and practicing with her sword.

Aela rose from her bedroll and did her best to tip-toe across the room. Still, boards squeaked underfoot. She was obliged to make a contrite face at Dhasan when the vulpine lifted his head when she tried to pass. Clearly she was no sneak thief. The Asokar said nothing, and simply lowered his head back to his sleeping mat as she went by.

Aela stepped outside and closed the rattan door behind her with a muted sigh of relief. The village around her was quiet. But Aela noted that across the town square a figure sat upon the wooden platform in front of the brewery, near the alarm bell. She pulled her boots on and descended the steps from the porch to the earth below. Then she made her way to the mysterious figure.

As she drew near, she was able to make out the hood and cape that the figure wore. It was Phereinon, as she had suspected. The other woman sat with her back to Aela and seemed to be hunched over, doing something in her lap.

Aela did not bother trying to aesense Phereinon. She had long since learned the futility of that. Nor did she try to mask the sound of her approach. She was not here to pry. She was simply following her instincts.

From just a few feet away Aela saw that the white-haired woman held a dagger in one hand. It was a simple, thin weapon, with no crossbar and a plain handle. She imagined it could be easily concealed in the fold of a legging or up a sleeve. As Aela watched, Phereinon drew its blade across her arm, slicing her corpse-white flesh open as if it was butter.

The cut went deep. Deep enough for Aela to see bone, and something else. Something that did not belong in any living body. It looked like thin tendrils of crystal, that spread this way and that throughout her flesh. Even without actively aesensing, and even through the mask upon Phereinon's aura, Aela felt the power flowing through the unusual material. It reminded Aela of criosaine, the glowing crystal of the Light Elves. But where the elven crystal was warm and bright, this felt cold and piercing, like veins of ice.

That thought made Aela realize something else. She saw no veins or arteries within the rent flesh, nor was there any blood. Instead the crystal had replaced all of Phereinon's blood vessels that were visible.

As Aela watched, the sundered crystalline structures from either side of the wound reached out and welded themselves back together. Flesh was drawn after it, sealing the injury closed in just a moment. Not even a scar was left behind. If she had not seen it, Aela would never have guessed the injury had ever existed.

Her mind reeled. What on earth was that crystal? What was Phereinon? That she was undead had been clear for some time. But she had never heard of a deadwalker like this.

"You know that is not healthy." Aela slipped back into years of training and experience as a healer. That was at least a safe, familiar ground for her to tread upon. One in which she could think, and act, with at least some certainty.

"As you can see, it will heal." As if to underscore her words, Phereinon drew the knife across another portion of her arm. Again, the Arvern Witch saw white flesh slice in twain, only to knit back together as healthy and perfect as before. If the word health could even be applied to a person like Phereinon...

"I did not mean physically," Aela said. "I realize that cutting might feel like it is helping you right now. But it is not a positive behavior. It will only bring more issues in the future."

"That is not why I do it." Phereinon took the knife - still completely free of blood or any other form of detritus - and tucked it out of sight within one of her leg wrappings. She looked back at Aela.

"Tell me, do you dream?"

"Yes." Aela sat down beside the other woman. "Since I was a child, I dreamed of a world where I was as normal as everyone else. Lately, I dream of a world that does not care that I am not."

"That is not what I meant," Phereinon shook her head. "I mean simple, ordinary dreams, at night, when you sleep."

"Well of course." Aela fought the urge to feel foolish for waxing philosophical over such an entirely mundane question."Everyone dreams, even if they do not remember it."

"Everyone who sleeps," Phereinon corrected her. "I have not dreamed for five thousand years. I can still remember them, sometimes. I dreamed of seeing the sky again, of feeling the wind on my face again, of playing with my sister again..."

"Tell me, when you dream, do you feel pain?" she asked.

"No, never," Aela shook her head, "fear, anxiety, doubt, yes, but never actual, physical pain."

"Sometimes I cut myself, to remind myself that this is real," Phereinon said. "So I know that I am not still back in that lightless cell, or strapped to that table. The pain tells me I am not imagining all of this, to escape from reality."

"I did not think that the dead could feel pain," Aela said without really thinking. She almost caught her breath afterward. She had finally acknowledged the pink hadrosaur in the room. Now the dice would fall where they would.

"Our pain is what defines us." Phereinon's eyes glowed brightly in the starlight, as if they were stars themselves, plucked from the sky and planted within her skull. "We become trapped in what we were feeling when we died. Pain, terror, hate, fury, whatever it was, we sink into it like the Kye Rim mud. Most of us are consumed by it."

"And you?" Aela ventured a more carefully considered question.

"The pain is always burning down there, with the anger, the outrage, the longing to strike out." Phereinon said. "I try to rule it, and use it constructively. But I do not always succeed. Accepting the horror of what I have done helps. It reminds me that there will always be consequences for my actions."

"What of yourself?"

"I have my darkness too," Aela found herself nodding with the dead woman. "I get so... furious sometimes. When I changed to living female, my roommate and his friends tried to murder me. Afterward the school put me on trial for it. The truth did not matter. I only got through that because one of my teachers fought for me."

"That wasn't the only time something like that happened of course," Aela fumed. "Not only to me either. Later I found out from one of the girls at the school that the same ones who attacked me had raped her, and many of the other female students. Naturally the school never did anything about any of it, because they were all from good families. It wouldn't be right to ruin their lives after all..."

"It makes me not trust people," Aela said. "Sometimes it makes me want to lash out, and kill them, to just kill everyone who threatens me."

"But you don't?" Phereinon asked.

"No," Aela said, "not yet at least. I'm not a beast, and I won't be the monster they try to pretend I am. I have to be better than them. I am better than them."

"I envy you for your restraint," Phereinon said. "I have drank deeply from the cup of vengeance. I still bear the scars upon my soul, just as the Earth still bears the scars upon its surface."

"Are you the real Phereinon then?" Aela asked bluntly. "The White Death, who killed the Dark Elves and turned Tiwanku into a desert?"

"Not all the Dark Elves it seems..." Phereinon murmured, almost too low to hear. Then her voice rose strong and firm. "Yes, I am. I did not do it all alone of course, and it wasn't called Tiwanku then. But I started the war. I would not listen to reason. I would not allow for mercy, or conciliation. I was ready to die, again, for my vengeance. I reveled in it. I choked on it. I nearly drowned in it. It was only after a mountain of lava obliterated Moctragloir that I saw that I was not the hero of my tale. I was the villain. I was the monster. The stories are true, I created genocide."

"Moctragloir?"

"Dawn's Glory," Phereinon explained, "the ancient capital of the Silor. It was once the greatest and most beautiful city in the world. Or so the elves said at least. Now it is nothing but ashes and nightmares."

Aela laid a comforting hand upon the dead woman's shoulder. "You just made me realize something," she said by some imp of the perverse, "you make me feel normal."

Phereinon laughed.

[Acadian]

A fascinating look into a bit of Phereinon’s history as well as who/what she is.

"I did not think that the dead could feel pain," Aela said without really thinking. She almost caught her breath afterward. She had finally acknowledged the pink hadrosaur in the room. Now the dice would fall where they would.'
- - Pink hadrosaur indeed! I understand Aela’s concern about the words she just loosed but, but I’m quite confident that Aela’s ability to sense life and death is no surprise to Phereinon.

'Aela laid a comforting hand upon the dead woman's shoulder. "You just made me realize something," she said by some imp of the perverse, "you make me feel normal."
- - What a delightfully obvious but unexpected observation from Aela! I love it – as well as Phereinon’s laughing response.

[Grits]

I think I held my breath throughout the entire conversation between Aela and Phereinon. What an exquisite scene. Phereinon’s laugh at the end was perfect. *standing ovation*

[SubRosa]

Acadian: That glimpse into Phereinon's nature, and her history, was fun to write.

Of course she knows that Aela knows she is undead. In fact, she is counting on it, because Aela will have to know if she is going to help her in the City of the Dead. But Aela does not know that Phereinon knows that she knows... But there was just no pretending to ignore it anymore.



Grits: I loved writing that conversation of Aela and Phereinon bonding. It humanizes both of them so well. The laugh at the end was my favorite part too. That was not part of my outline. I just got to that point and it was exactly the thing Phereinon would do.




Chapter 15.2

"Will this work for making your potions?"

Aela smiled as she looked over the black lacquered alembic and its attendant jugs and pots. It was far larger than she would normally use for making potions. The alembic itself stood several feet high, and sat upon a simple oven created by a stone cradle with an open space beneath for firewood. Likewise, the terra cotta pots and jugs would hold gallons of liquid, not the usual sip-sized doses one normally brewed.

"It's a little big, but I think it will work," Aela judged. "I'll just make it all in one big batch. Thankfully I gathered a quite a bit of white lotus yesterday afternoon. I can start making healing potions with that. I saw water lilies and swamp rosemallows on the walk here from the Nakdeok. Maybe tomorrow I can gather some up and make a batch of endurance potions, and another of armored skin brews."

"I am afraid we probably do not have enough bottles to go around to put it all in," Vesia spread her hands out. "I suppose we could just keep each in a different jug."

"Just so long as no one mistakes them for soju, and drinks them all!" Aela winked.

"The sacers forbid!" Vesia laughed. "Why don't you come in and have some tea before you get started?"

"I was hoping you would say that," Aela admitted. Ever since she had sampled some of Vesia's Teodon White Tea, she had been thinking of little else every time she took a drink.

Like Ranazu's abode, Vesia's home was a sparely furnished affair. It was laid out in the same manner, with an area for sleeping mats in the back, hearth and kitchen in the center, and living space by the front door. Aela noted that unlike Ranazu, Vesia kept a small case of books. She noted several alchemical volumes, a few on history, and finally a dozen novels by Juna Austenos and others. Her eye also noted that there was only one sleeping mat rolled up in the back of the home.

"I read many of these books at Ingenium," Aela thought aloud, "that alchemical one by Menalis, and Gokan's Ingredient Guides of Kye Rim and Rase."

"Those were my father's," Vesia said from where she sat at the hearthstone, where she struck up a low blaze. The Rasen filled a simple iron teapot with water and set it on a metal grill above the hearth. Then while the water heated, she produced a pair of worn clay cups and a jar of crushed tea leaves. "He was one of the original founders of Agrigento."

"So yours is a new settlement?" Aela lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yes," Vesia admitted. "Well relatively. Our parents came here from Alalia over three decades ago. They were joined by many Teodon when they reached Kye Rim, and together they created Agrigento."

"That is quite a change," Aela said. "To go from a city as large as Alalia to here."

"You mean from the cosmopolitan heart of Rase to the middle of nowhere?" Vesia said. "Perhaps not quite as much as it might seem. My parents - and the other founders - were not rich. They were all laborers. They scraped up every last coin they could save or steal for the journey. The same was true of the Teodon. They were all copperless mud tails: third sons and fourth daughters, and others with nowhere to go. For them, Agrigento was a chance for a new start."

"They did well for themselves," Aela said honestly. She had seen Alalia's slums while she had attended the Ingenium. Thousands were crowded into six and seven story tall tenement buildings that were likely to catch fire or simply collapse at a moment's notice. That of course was for those lucky enough to afford such a place, and were not left to sleep in the alleys. A little farming village like Agrigento was charming in comparison.

"So where did the soju come into it?" Aela wondered.

"My father had worked in a brewery," Vesia said, "sweeping, carrying jugs, things like that. But he paid attention to what the brewers were doing, and made his own at home. When he got here he learned of the Teodon's native drink. Since they had the rice, he started making it with that cookery behind the house. Daehyun's father got the idea to sell it in Veia, where it would bring in the most coin. One thing led to another, and the whole village ended up pitching in. In time they had sold enough soju to buy the copper for one vat. That brought in the money for another vat, and so on."

"It sounds like Vinos truly blessed you," Aela said. Yet she could not tie that story of prosperity to what she saw when she looked around the simple interior of the Rasen's home. The Agrigento in Vesia's tale seemed to have nothing in common with the one she resided in.

"I suppose the wine god did, until the raiders came," Vesia frowned. "They took everything. I used to have a lovely ceramic tea service painted with cranes. Now I just have this old rubbish."

Vesia opened the lid of the teapot with a bunched up cloth, and a steady line of steam rose up from within.

"Almost boiling," she observed.

Lifting the pot from the grill, Vesia laid it aside on the hearth stone. Then she set a chipped infuser into one cup, added tea leaves, and poured hot water within. The Rasen spent a few minutes gently raising and lowering the infuser to swirl the leaves around. Then she did the same with the second cup.

She offered the first cup to Aela, who took a tentative sip of the hot liquid. The Arvern found the delicate, slightly sweet taste of the tea to be a wonder on her taste buds. The Rasen led her to a pair of chairs near the front door, with a small round table between them, all of rattan.

Aela leaned back in her chair with cup in hand and relaxed. "This is lovely," she breathed. The Rasen accidentally brushed against her as she moved to the other chair, gently sliding her fingers through Aela's long brown hair. The other woman's touch felt as inviting as the tea, and Aela wondered how accidental it might have been.

"So what happened to your parents?" Aela asked, glancing to the single sleeping mat. "I noticed that you live alone."

"My father died ten years ago," Vesia scowled. "He was bit by a taipan in the forest. By the time they had carried him back to the village, it was too late…"

"I am sorry to hear that," Aela said softly. Now she understood the Rasen's clenched fists when they had come across the venomous serpent on the way into the village.

"My mother…" Vesia shrugged. "Well, I never really knew her. She left when I was just a few years old."

"Why?" In spite of her decision not to pry, Aela could not help but to ask. "Did she return to Alalia?"

"I don't know," Vesia sighed. "One night while we were sleeping she just packed her things and left. We woke up in the morning and she was gone. I have no idea why she left, or where she went to."

"That must have been very difficult," Aela said honestly.

"I suppose," Vesia frowned. "But as I said, I was so young, I barely even remember her at all. I just grew up…, how I grew up. But what about yourself? How did your family take you being a semnotatoi?"

"In a word: badly," Aela stared into her cup. "I was born in Aulertil, and people like myself are no more welcome there than in Rase."

"Do you face a great deal of trouble because of it?" Vesia set her cup down on the table between them, and let her hands linger there.

"At times," Aela admitted. She brushed an errant lock of hair from her face, and followed the Rasen by setting her cup down on the table as well. "There always seems to be someone who notices, and cannot live without reminding me how of how wrong it is for me to exist."

"That must be frustrating," Vesia breathed. Her fingers reached out ever so slightly, and brushed against Aela's. "Some people can be so narrow-minded."

"Well, it is a relief to meet someone who is not," Aela let her fingertips gently caress those of the other woman.

Aela's heart was a hammer in her chest, and she had to fight to keep her breath calm and even. Was Vesia really interested in her, that way? Did she feel that way about the Rasen? After all, her experience with romance consisted almost entirely of observing Loria and his adventures with other men.

"Well, I look at you, and I see a woman." Vesia drew her hand away. "I did not even realize what you were at first. But even after I did, I cannot say it really changed much."

"It changes everything for most people," Aela frowned.

"What about Loria?" Vesia asked innocently. "The two of you are… close, are you not?"

"Loria and I?" Aela mused. "He's my best friend. He has been since we met at the Ingenium."

"So he's..."

"Just a friend," Aela insisted. "He's not interested in women. And I have never been interested in men."

"Really?" Vesia seemed to mull that over for a while, prompting Aela to continue.

"So what about yourself?" the Arvern asked. "With all of the men around here, is there someone special?"

"No," Vesia said, crossing her arms in front of her, "not at all."

Aela resisted the urge to lift an eyebrow. Not so much what the Rasen had said, but from what had been left unsaid. Vesia looked to be nearly thirty, an age which few Rasen women seemed to reach without becoming married. On one hand Vesia appeared to be almost screaming that she was sapphic. But on the other hand, Aela had been wrong before. She of all people knew that no one was entirely what they appeared to be...

* * *

Alcheon and Aecha stood atop one of the hills ringing Agrigento's small valley. A field of white orchids stretched out around them, lending their sweet scent to the air. To the west, the lowering sun splashed a brilliant shade of gold across the horizon, drawing the gazes of both Teodon.

"So you are Hyunsu's daughter?" Alcheon turned to the water priestess.

"I am," the water priestess said. "He did not tell you and your companions this?"

"Nay," Alcheon shook his head. "Your father never mentioned anything at all."

"Why am I not surprised?" The Teodon woman sighed. "He wanted me to hide when you arrived."

"Why?" Alcheon scratched the scales behind his head in confusion.

"He feared that those who were hired might be little different from the raiders," Aecha said.

"What if that had been so?" Alcheon asked.

"Daehyun would never bring such to our village," Aecha stated plainly. "Nor would Vesia. Besides, my dowsing crystal told me that your company meant us no harm as soon as you arrived."

"It did?" Alcheon eyed the curious pendant that dangled from the other Teodon's neck. Shaped like an hourglass, the clear crystal was sheathed with delicate strands of bronze. The blue water contained within glowed with a soft light, just as it had the first day he had laid eyes upon the water priestess.

"What does your crystal say of me?"

"It says that his tail does not waver in the face of danger." One of Aecha's hands slid across the male Teodon's wrist. "That his scales are strong and fit, and that his heart is true."

Alcheon stood a little straighter at the compliments. Aecha's words made him feel like he was taller, that his shoulders were wider, and his chest was deeper. He turned his arm so that her fingers slid into the palm of his hand. Moving it ever so slightly, he found her fingers intertwining with his own.

"It is unfair that you can see so much with your powers," the Teodon observed, "while I am but a mortal Teodon."

"Good!" Aecha smiled wryly. She briefly turned to watch the sunset, then looked back to the young warrior. "This is how it should be between males and females."

"Says the female!" Alcheon laughed. Then he turned seriously once more. "How did you become the mudang?"

"It was always meant to be," Aecha replied. "My mother was a water priestess before me, and her mother before her. Some day my daughter will also be the priestess after me."

"You seem very certain," Alcheon noted.

"Our destiny is our destiny," Aecha said plainly. "We are as our ancestors made us. We can be nothing else."

Alcheon thought about that, but said nothing in reply. He had left the rice fields of his home to make his own destiny as a warrior. Meeting the dry-foot Aela had only proven to him that his fate was his own to make. Yet here he was back in the rice fields once more, albeit this time with a spear rather than a basket. Had his ancestors preordained him to live and die in a rice paddy? Or was his future still his to make?




Traditional soju distillery

Soju dok

[Acadian]

You open this episode with some welcome easter egg humor. Juna Austenos and Vinos the god of wine indeed! It looks like Aela will be doing some potion brewing on a grand scale!

Then a delightfully delicate dance of exploration between Aela and Vesia. A dance left unfinished – for now. I rather like Vesia’s attitude regarding semnotatoi that I would summarize as, ‘If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, who cares how it got to be a duck?’

Finally, a scene between the two Teodon that showcases the eternal question of how much of one’s destiny is fate and how much is self-made. Aecha is consistent in her absolute certainty of her view whereas Alcheon has seen enough of the world to question that view.

[Grits]

I love the big potion jugs. This is after all a gigantic community effort, as it turns out getting the soju operation going was as well! Neat.

Vesia’s way of connecting with Aela was as delicate and lightly sweet as her tea. Aela’s reserve is perfectly understandable given what she has shared about her past.

My tea olives are blooming right now, so I can imagine what a field of blooming orchids must smell like! Alcheon’s thoughts in the last paragraph flowed so naturally from their conversation, it was a joy to read.

[Renee]

Sounds like they're using chopsticks!

I really enjoyed Chapter 14...always wanted to go on some sort of excavation like that. The "no mortar" part sounds just like the way original pyramids were made. Like giant jigsaw blocks which somehow fit together perfectly. Wow, a book that automatically translates itself. That's creepy!

[SubRosa]

Acadian: I could not resist keeping in the Jane Austen reference from the Elder Scrolls version of Seven. I cannot remember if Vinos is just a humorous creation of mine, or if he is a reference to some real life obscure deity. I think the first. But I don't remember anymore!

That last episode was mostly about setting up a future romance or not-romance between Aela and Vesia. Vesia is indeed one of those rare people who can accept people for what they are, rather than looking for excuses not to.

The Alcheon/Aecha scene was indeed meant to juxtapose those two worlviews - that everything is determined by Fate vs. we make our own Fates. I hope it also stands out that as the town's water priestess, it is very convenient for her to believe that her possessing her position - one of respect and authority - was ordained by the Universe. While Alcheon - a simple mud-tailed farmer - wants very much to believe that he can make his own destiny, one that does not entail being a nobody with muddy feet.



Grits: Besides doing some 'shipping between Aela and Vesia, that last episode was about giving the reader some more back history on Agrigento, so the entire hamlet (hopefully) seems a bit more grounded and real.



Renee: They were using chopsticks. I wanted to add some more racial/cultural flavor to Kye Rim, so went with them instead of forks and spoons. I did not want to sound too colloquial, so used the standard Chinese word kuàizi instead.

The Dark Barrow / Sepulchur of Sepulcher of the Voracious One is based upon Bronze Age tombs, which were built before mortar was invented or at least common. So it is all massive stones fitted together. I spent a lot of time looking at Mystery Hill here in America in particular. Places like that have a wonderfully spooky feel.




Chapter 15.3

Aela sat back after their meal of stir fried rice and bamboo shoot noodles, and sipped her white tea.

"You should have some soju," Hrafngoelir reinforced her words by drinking the native beverage. "It is really good. I'm tempted to take some back north to sell in the longhouses of my people."

"Aye, have some," Dhasan barked. "It will put hair on your chest!"

"Indeed, look what it's done for him," Loria remarked dryly, nodding to the vulpine's red fur.

Aela tried not to laugh, and noticed Phereinon rise from her spot in Ranazu's cramped house. The pale woman's bowl was still half-full of rice and noodles, and her cup of water barely touched. She left without a word, prompting several of the others to pass silent glances back and forth.

"There she goes again," Hrafngoelir murmured in a low voice. "She eats like a bird. Less than a bird, and then always leaves after dinner."

"She is going to vomit," Dhasan said.

"What?" Alcheon stared wide eyed.

"Aye," the Asokar nodded. "I have followed her. She does it every night after dinner. She regurgitates everything she ate and drank during the day."

"She... purges?" Hrafngoelir's eyes beetled in surprise. "If it is to stay thin, I don't see the issue, given how little she eats."

"I don't think that is it," Dhasan shook his head. "The food, it is not digested. There is not even any bile. It looks like it was chewed and spat back out."

"So she really does not eat at all." Now Venca spoke. "She does not sweat, even after all day working in the sun."

"While wearing a cape..." Alcheon added.

"I'd melt if I tried that," Hrafngoelir murmured.

"Sometimes I think she forgets to breathe," Venca continued, "and to blink. Then there is her skin..."

"It's white as a corpse's," Hrafngoelir said.

"Because she is a corpse," Venca declared. "I am sure we have all seen it for days now, since we came here at least. Phereinon is undead."

"Our mages seem strangely silent in this matter," Alcheon looked to Aela and Loria. "Surely if Phereinon was what you say, they would have seen it sooner than anyone?"

Loria did not reply. Instead the elf looked pointedly at Aela.

"Phereinon is unique," Aela said carefully. She took her time, concentrating on controlling her breathing and remaining calm. How did you face this conversation Asaryl, when I was the subject?

"She is not a vampire, living off others either psychically or through blood. Loria and I have watched the villagers carefully, as have Aecha and Vesia. There are none of the tell-tale signs of unexplained weakness or debilitation."

"I did not think our local mudang was so... eager to lend you her assistance, in any matter," Venca said diplomatically.

"Not after the mudslinging..." Dhasan smiled.

"She didn't know it came from me," Aela admitted. "I had Vesia ask for me. Neither of them know the real reason why."

"So what then?" Hrafngoelir asked. "She's no again-walker like we have in Skanlond. They are plainly dead and decayed."

"She's no bekaak, as we have back home," Dhasan said. "You can see through their skin, what little they have."

"Obviously she's no ghost or wraith," Venca said. "She is physical enough after all. Her visit to the graveyard made me wonder if she was a ghoul. But it has not been disturbed. Not that I have ever heard of a ghoul that looked as good as her. She might be a lich of some kind, though certainly a well-preserved one."

"It does not really matter what she is," Aela declared. "It only matters what she does - and doesn't - do. What she has not done is harm anyone."

"Why am I not surprised that you defending her?" Venca grumbled.

"I don't understand," Alcheon interjected with what Aela could tell was genuine confusion. "Undead are monsters, that must be destroyed. Do they not?"

"That is exactly what they said about me in the Ingenium," Aela frowned. "A monster, evil, everyone knew it. I won't treat Phereinon the same."

"This is nothing like that," Venca rolled his eyes in frustration. "You are allowing your own past to cloud your judgment. This isn't about you, or some damned fool gender-bigots."

"Her judgment is not clouded," Loria finally spoke. "The two of us have studied Phereinon for some time, since we first laid eyes upon her in fact. And just for your edification, this very same conversation did take place in the highest halls of the Ingenium. The entire school learned of it, and eventually the rest of the city as well."

"Aela, I do not doubt your sincerity," Dhasan held his hands together, fingers interlaced in the Asokar symbol for peace. "But has it occurred to you that Phereinon might be deceiving you? Can you be sure she is not playing the long game? What if she is taking the time to gain our trust now, so that she can betray us later when our guard is lowered?"

"She doesn't need to do that," Aela declared. "If she wanted to kill us, we would all be dead already."

"Don't overestimate her," Venca said. "We are not exactly tyros here."

"I know," Aela said. "But I have seen her in action, and she was holding back then."

"I want to believe you," Hrafngoelir said. "You want us to trust her. But what is wisdom here?"

"Would you, a Skanjr, trust an elf?" Part of Aela loathed to pull upon that thread of Hrafngoelir's past - to the elf Ryolin - whom she had confessed some form of relationship with. It was personal. But she suspected that much of this argument was personal, and that appealing to emotion might be more important than to logic.

"That is exactly the question is it not?" Loria spoke before the Northerner could answer. "Can we trust Phereinon? Since we are asking it, why not ask other, just as relevant questions?"

"Can we trust a Rasen?" The Light Elf turned his gaze upon Venca. "After all, they are the homicidal zealots who created the Sacerdotium. For over a thousand years they tortured and murdered hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, in their twisted conception of religion."

"And what of you," Loria turned to Hrafngoelir. "Everyone knows the Skanjr are bloodthirsty marauders, who place no value on life, and will betray even their kinsmen for wealth and power. They are practically beasts."

"Then there are the Asokar," Loria turned to Dhasan. "They are not even practically beasts. They are the real thing!"

"Let us not forget that elves, aside from being arrogant and foolish, always have their own agendas." Dhasan crossed arms before his chest, but he did not seem angry. Rather Aela thought he actually looked satisfied. "One can never trust an elf."

"Exactly!" Loria cried. "He understands - which is a small miracle considering... Prejudgments could be made upon all of us, based upon nothing but willful misrepresentation and racial or cultural bias. None of us are beyond one imputation or another. Only a fool judges another by the skin they wear. It is the individual's actions that tell the tale of their hearts."

"I have no heart." Phereinon's voice sliced through the house like an icy wind. "It was cut from me five thousand years ago."

Along with the others, Aela turned to face the dead woman. She stood in the doorway, still wearing her armor. Her hood was thrown back, and her gray cape spilled down across her shoulders like a frozen waterfall. Aela noted that she did not have her sword out. She would have felt its presence in the aether after all.

"I expected this conversation to come sooner." Phereinon stepped fully into the house and let the door shut behind her. "Maintaining the pretense of life is no longer as important as it once was."

She crossed the room. As Aela and the others stared, she casually sat in her usual spot and moved her half-eaten dinner aside. She seemed utterly oblivious to the tension in the room. Given what she knew of the deadwalker, Aela was sure that was not the case. Clearly, her confidence knew no bounds.

"You want to know if I plan to kill you," she said calmly, as if she was discussing the weather. "If I will drain your life energy, or devour your souls, or simply rip you limb from limb. I have no need to do the first, I cannot do the second, and will only do the third if you force me to."

"Well you have stones, I will give you that!" Dhasan laughed. That relieved Aela. If he could joke, she knew the Asokar had not closed his mind.

"We want to believe you," Hrafngoelir said. "Give us something to help us."

"Very well," Phereinon turned to Aela and Loria. "Look, and tell them what you see."

Aela slipped her awareness into the aether, and beheld the deadwalker. The cloak that had so inviolably shielded her aura had vanished. Now Aela saw it all, saw it for real. It literally chilled her to the bones.

To begin with, the pale woman had not been merely boasting when she said she had no heart. The organ was literally absent from her chest. Instead Aela felt a frozen mass where it should have been, as if a glacier was buried there. As before when she had witnessed Phereinon cutting herself, it reminded her of criosaine, the glowing crystal of the Light Elves. But this was different, altered. Where criosaine was warm and cheering, this was cold, and cast dark shadows across her soul. It burned there as only ice can, and spread out through Phereinon's aura like a spiderweb of frostbite.

Aela could see that the strands of the horrific crystal did not grow out from the core of her undead heart at random. Rather they clearly followed the lines of her blood vessels. Aela followed the threads of power to be certain, and saw that indeed, her entire circulatory system had been replaced with the magical substance.

As she watched, Aela felt mana flow along that crystalline network. It streamed through both arteries and veins, down into the capillaries, and from there soaked directly into Phereinon's body. The Witch traced the mana back to its source, the dead, frozen heart that shone so terribly within the swordswoman's chest. But the heart did not create the mana. That was impossible after all. Instead Aela felt the power falling into that nexus from the outside world. It reminded her of a bottomless well that soaked up all the rain that fell into and around it.

Aela noted that her former veins did not return mana or anything else to the heart, as they would do with blood in a normal circulatory system. Within Phereinon both arteries and veins now performed the same task of distributing energy. As she watched even more closely, she noted that the energy was not being drawn in by just the heart alone after all. Instead mana was soaking directly into all parts of the crystalline lattice. It was just that being larger, the heart attracted more power than the arteries and veins. But it appeared that even if somehow this undead heart were cut out or annihilated, the rest of Phereinon's crystal vessels would carry on without it. Perhaps even regenerate it, as it seemed to do with every other part of her body.

"She is right," Aela said. "She does not need to steal anyone's life energy, or devour souls."

"Amazing!" Loria breathed. "She absorbs the mana from the air around us, the same as any mage. But it powers her body. Like a tree absorbing energy from the sun. Did you do this yourself?"

"No," Phereinon replied curtly. "I never asked for this. I never wanted this."

Aela continued to study the deadwalker's aura. She had faced undead before. But had never had the time to just look at them, to intensely study how they worked. Part of her wanted to peer into every nook and cranny of Phereinon's being, to learn, to understand. But another part of her recoiled at violating the other woman's privacy. How would she feel if someone else did the same, and treated her like an insect on a page?

With that Aela snapped back from the aether to her meat body. That was enough. She would look no more unless Phereinon asked her to.

With her flesh and blood eyes, Aela saw that the deadwalker's own eyes now glowed silver-white, like twin moons shining brightly from the snowy slopes of her face. Apparently this was her natural state, and only the cloaking of her aura dampened her eyes to make them appear normal as well.

Aela wondered if this was what normal people felt like around her. Which side was it better to be on?

"I have never met an undead who simply sat and talked," Dhasan said. "Mostly I have just killed them. Does that make me narrow-minded?"

"I have killed undead as well," Loria replied, "as well as the living. I have killed Teodon, Skanjr, Arvern, and Rasenna. Does that make me prejudiced? The common thread here is not the what, but the why. We all have our reasons, usually because they were a threat to us and others. Not because of their race, or their... state of being.

"So what is your reason for being here?" Venca looked at Phereinon. "It cannot be for the money."

"I am here for her." Phereinon looked pointedly at Aela. The Arvern suddenly felt uncomfortable, as all eyes fell upon her. She hoped that she was not blushing like an idiot.

"To tell the truth, I am here for her as well," Hrafngoelir said.

"So am I," Dhasan admitted, rubbing one paw behind his head.

"And I am here for Hrafn," Venca declared.

"I am here for Loria," Aela spoke up.

"Well I am here for the money," the Light Elf insisted. "I think these outlaws will pay out well. The last band of miscreants did."

"What about you Alcheon?" Aela asked the young Teodon. "Why are you here?"

"Because I cannot spend my life planting rice," he responded quietly.

"Well, don't we make for a motley collection?" Venca seemed to almost laugh. "I don't know how we will fight together."

"We will fight very well," Aela found herself saying. "Not in spite of our differences, but because of them. That is what makes us strong."

"I cannot track someone over miles of woodland, or sneak through a fortress with less sound than the wind, but Dhasan can." The Arvern looked from person to person around her. "I would probably chop my own leg off if I tried to swing a sword like Hrafn's, let alone Venca's. Speaking of him, I could never train and organize people to fight as he can. Loria would dislocate a shoulder if he tried throwing a javelin like Alcheon's, and we'd all starve if he was hunting for us. But I daresay none of you can throw a fireball or break a spell, or reattach a severed limb."

"So what can Phereinon do?" Dhasan asked.

"She draws insects," Loria said dryly.

[haute ecole rider]

Nice conversation about the pink (or should I say white) pachyderm in the room! I quite liked how Loria and Aela turned the others' arguments back on themselves, especially where biases are involved. Not all vampires are evil, as Julian learned so long ago. Not all undead are unthinking monsters. Not all Rasen are zealous proselytizers. And so on.

I am still enjoying this story, Rosa - I may not comment as often as others, but do count me among the Seven's fandom . . .

[Acadian]

An absolutely wonderful episode! It flowed perfectly from a nice dinner into a discussion of the undead White Hair.

I’m sure Aela was uncomfortable being placed in the spot of confirming Phereinon’s status as undead and what it meant to the Seven. This time however, words did not fail her; rather, her phrasing was magnificent in its truth and simplicity:
"It does not really matter what she is," Aela declared. "It only matters what she does - and doesn't - do. What she has not done is harm anyone."

Phereinon’s opening herself up to Aela’s ‘inspection’ was fascinating and sheds much light on the undead woman. Just as Aela’s self-imposed limits of intrusion and her simple description of the results speak well of Aela’s good nature and how the witch embraces the responsibility that comes with her abilities.

I’m so glad the Seven seems up for keeping Phereinon – to intentionally lose over 1/7th of their combat power would be pretty self-defeating.

"So what can Phereinon do?" Dhasan asked.
"She draws insects," Loria said dryly.
- - Well done – very clever, creative and perfect to finish on a note of humor.

[Grits]

Oh my gosh, this scene is fantastic. I don’t think I breathed until the end. This felt like the natural culmination of Aela’s reflections about herself and Phereinon so far.

Phereinon’s mechanics are fascinating. Finding out some answers about her was even cooler than I could have guessed. Aela’s sensitivity made me check my own curiosity. That was beautiful.

"Well I am here for the money," the Light Elf insisted.

I laughed out loud. Leave it to Loria, he can bring the attention back to himself just by being Loria.

Whew! What a scene!

[SubRosa]

haute ecole rider: The silver eyed white pachyderm in the room! That whole conversation was all about biases, including those held for good reason, such as killing undead as a matter of course. So Aela and Loria tried to put the whole thing on an emotional level, which is where our biases live.




Acadian: It is nice that Aela found the right things to say, when so often she is tongue-tied. Perhaps because she was not talking about herself? In an case, not always being so glib does make it come across as a victory when she does find the right thing to say.

Aela knows what is like to be on the other side of that intrusive study. Like when Camna was studying her, like a bug on a page. That kind of thing has taught Aela a measure of empathy and ethics. She does not want to treat other people they way they treat her.

I think losing Phereinon would mean losing about 6/7ths of their combat force!

Loria's ending remark was one of those things that just spilled out onto the page without any thought. It was Loria speaking through me.



Grits: Phereinon is basically a magical cyborg. I had fun working on what makes her tick, and how she is different from all other forms of undead. The nearest thing to what she is would be a Lich. But even Liches don't work like she does.

Just like the bug line, Loria's money line just came right out without me having to think about it. That is just who he is.

It is always fun writing scenes with Phereinon in them. Many scenes are not exactly filler, but they are just serving a purpose of getting from one place in the story to the next, perhaps adding in some interesting tidbits of information about the characters or locale. OTOH, every scene with Phereinon is a big deal. There is always some major payoff in events or revelations, that make you hold your breath.




Chapter 15.4

Dhasan picked up a slender bamboo shaft from the pile beside him and eyed it carefully. First he looked it over from end to end to insure its straightness. Then his gaze roved over it in search of defects. He noted the weight of the arrow, and painted that in ink at the base of the shaft. Then he found the tiny holes that Daehyun had drilled into each node of the bamboo stalk. Dhasan knew that this was to release the steam that would have built up within the hollow tube and burst it while it had been heat-treated.

Once he was satisfied that it would fly straight and true, he lifted a length of sinew from his knee and put it in his mouth. He wet it with his saliva, then carefully set it to one end of the shaft and began wrapping it around the front end of the arrow. He took his time, and covered the bamboo with the tough fiber. He knew that this would reinforce the arrow and absorb some of the impact when it struck. Once he was finished, he secured it with a layer of fish glue bubbling in the pot next to him. Then he flipped the arrow around and did the same for the nock end of the projectile. Finished, he picked up another arrow shaft and began the process all over again.

He heard the steps of the porch creak outside as someone small climbed up. They were too light even for Aela. He did not look up. Instead he concentrated upon his work. Then his nostrils caught a scent, and he smiled.

"Gyeong, have you brought more arrows from your father?"

"How can you tell it is me," the young Teodon's voice was loud and strong in Dhasan's ears.

"A hunter's magic," Dhasan smiled. "Perhaps one day you will learn it too."

"I don't know what I will learn…" the youth murmured.

That prompted the Asokar to finally lift his gaze to the boy. Like his father, the spines that grew along his head were orange and banded with black. Unlike him his lustrous scales were not green and brown. Instead they were entirely emerald in hue, darker on his back and lighter along his belly. His mother's contribution, Dhasan mused, and a good color for a woodsrunner.

"What is this you speak of Gyeong?"

The youthful Teodon dropped the bundle of unfinished arrow-shafts he carried into the small pile Dhasan had yet to start working on. His tail seemed to drag, and his spines hung low against the scales of his head.

"I just wish my father was brave, like you," he sighed.

"Is your brain in your tail?" Dhasan set the half-finished arrow down and give his full attention to the boy. "Your father Daehyun has no shortage of bravery. He is a man to be respected!"

"He's like all the others," Gyeong frowned. "They all bow and scrape and beg when the raiders come. I never thought he and the others would fight."

"Oh you foolish young man." Dhasan rose to his feet and laid one hand on the young Teodon's shoulder. "Is that what you think? That all of your parent's are cowards?"

The youth said nothing. He merely stared at the planks of the floor.

"I wish I had a father who was brave enough not to fight," the vulpine warrior declared. "It is easy to rush into battle. What is hard is swallowing one's pride, and thinking of one's family first, instead of one's ahuacatls! I wish my father had that kind of courage. I wished I did as well."

"But Dhasan!" Gyeong protested. "He and the others run when the mercenary in black kicks their shields with his boots!

"That is because he wants to live for you!" Dhasan could not resist smacking the young man against the side of his head. It was not a hard blow. Just a tap really, to get his attention. "What will happen to you if he dies? If your mother dies? He is responsible for you and your sisters. He must sacrifice, and suffer whatever cruelties and indignities that fate chooses to hurl upon him. And he does it gladly, to protect you! That is true courage! That is real courage. The rest of us are just swaggering crumheads compared to the people of your village."

"Now return to your father and appreciate the good you have in your life!" Dhasan waved the youth toward the open doorway. "And bring me more of those pheasant feathers, I will begin fletching soon!"

* * *

As she did every morning, Phereinon performed one of her many fighting routines. This time she went back to one of the first she had ever learned - the orcish form of Ayi, or bear. It taught one to fight multiple opponents from all sides. It was filled with quick, flowing motions of parry and riposte, along with energetic footwork and body movement. She followed the intricate choreography around the empty space of the square, and for not the first time she was reminded of the dancing lessons that she and Shiryn had received when they were children, so long ago...

She pushed thoughts of the Silor down, as always. Some things did not bear to dwell upon, not even five thousand years later. Instead she concentrated upon the kata, and lost herself in the dance of steel. By the time she was finished she felt loose and limber, ready for a new day.

As she had every morning since arriving in Agrigento, Phereinon noted that she was being watched. This time the spy finally decided to approach her however. It was Ranazu, the young Rasen whose home she and the other seven were living in. Well, residing in at least.

"You're incredible!" the Rasen proclaimed.

Phereinon simply stared at the farmer. She never liked people complimenting her. It usually meant they wanted something from her. Something she would likely be unwilling to give.

"Will you train me?" Ranazu continued when it became obvious that the deadwalker was not going to reply.

"Train you?" Phereinon finally did speak. "What is wrong with the training Venca is giving you and the others?"

"It isn't with the sword," Ranazu sighed. "He's teaching us to fight in a mass. There's no skill to it! It's all about standing in place, or walking forward, or walking backward. We're not learning anything!"

"That is how you fight in a shield wall," Phereinon said bluntly. "Individual skill means little in pitched battles. It is all about how well you keep to your formation, and how you endure. Follow Venca's instruction. You will live, and be victorious."

"But that is not enough!" the young Rasen's eyes glowed with a light Phereinon had seen far too often. She could see that he did not care if he lived or died. Ranazu only wanted blood.

"It is more than enough!" Phereinon snapped. "I will not teach you."

The swordswoman turned away from the farmer, and began to walk away. She was stopped by a hand upon her shoulder. She suppressed the urge to crush his ribs with a back kick. Or to take his arm with Malediction. Instead she turned to look at Ranazu, and then his hand. After a moment, the Rasen withdrew the offending member, but not before he spoke again.

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, you will die," Phereinon said. "Or you will live, and become a monster like I am. I will be responsible for neither."

"Monster?" the farmer sputtered. "I saw you in the street, back in Veia. You're a hero!"

"Beating others unconscious does not make one a hero, just a violent thug." Phereinon growled. "A hero sacrifices for others. A hero gives of themselves. I have nothing to give, but my hate, my rage, and my pain. I look in your eyes, and I see the same."

"I am not kind enough for you, is that it?" Ranazu fumed. "I am not gentle enough? That's a fine thing for a hired killer to say! Why should I not be able to fight like you? I could kill them all!"

Before she knew it, Phereinon found her hand wrapped around the Rasen's throat. She restrained herself from crushing it, but not from lifting him as high into the air as her arm could reach.

"Then who after that?" she hissed. "The other villagers who did not fight hard enough to satisfy your bloodlust? Those who criticize you? Those who still have what you have lost? How many would you put under the ground? A dozen? A hundred? A million?"

"I have trained boys like you before," Phereinon went on. "They were all just as angry and self-righteous as you are. I saw them grow to become cruel, hateful men. I filled a thousand graveyards with the bodies they left behind."

"Not again." She released him, and allowed him to fall to the ground, clawing at his throat for breath.

"Do you think those raiders who murdered and ate who was it… your wife… your sister, are monsters?" Phereinon said. "They know nothing of horror. I am horror. I will not spread that evil upon the world, not again."

"Be better than that," she insisted. "Be braver than me. Make a new life, like Aela. Don't hide behind revenge. It will consume you like an endless glacier, and leave you a cold, lifeless husk."

[haute ecole rider]

I was interested in Dhasan and Gyeong's conversation. TBH, I had been waiting for that one, as it is one of the most powerful moments in The Magnificent Seven, when Charles Bronson has almost exactly that same conversation with the village boys. It's wonderful, as always, and I am glad you used that scene with your own twist.

Ah, Pherenion, she is her own story. Not part of the lore that is the Seven Samurai/Magnificent Seven but interwoven into it quite nicely. She supports this story beautifully, and yet . . . and yet, there is another story being told between the lines, so so speak. You are doing an amazing job doing this, and I am enjoying these scenes where she really shines (and I'm not talking about her crystalline glow, either).