July Teaser 2008: Shattered Lines

[Keebler]

Shattered Lines


Prince Borelean watched Asheron’s hands with fascination. In the rigorous education his mother had arranged for him, he had been spending more time in magical training and rather less at swordplay and strategy. One of the lessons he’d first learned was the importance of one’s hands in the esoteric art of geomancy. Naturally, Asheron proved to be a font of both geomantic knowledge and dextrous hand gestures. Always an eager student, Borelean watched every twitch and finger-waggle to see what he could learn.


Asheron’s hands were long, expressive, deft, and scarred. You could practically read his history of magical experimentation, failure, recovery, and renewal in the ancient skin and in the complex movements his hands descried. Because Borelean had spent so long studying the mage’s movements, he could detect the very slight tremor in Asheron’s hands, belying the calm and confident posture the Yalain archmage assumed for his two students.


Prince Borelean and his fellow student, Hoshino Kei, were in Asheron’s private sanctum, serving as his assistants and seconds in the ritual to follow. The two of them flanked him, Borelean to his right and Kei to his left, as he stood in front of an altar that held a wide, shallow silver bowl. Kei carried a silver ewer of distilled water, and Borelean held in his hands a platter heaped with black dirt from the gardens of Asheron’s island.


Borelean had not dared to ask why he and Kei, young and inexperienced as they were, should serve as Asheron’s apprentices for this ritual when there were many older, more experienced, more practiced geomancers to be found. His mother had heartily approved Asheron’s request, and not even the legendary curmudgeon Harlune complained when Asheron announced that the two young novices would serve as his seconds. Certainly the archmage himself seemed to have no doubt in his choice of assistants. He had warned them that the ritual would be difficult and draining, and would require them to follow his directions absolutely and with no question.


Finally, Asheron signaled that he was ready to begin. The air in the chamber, already cold and still, seemed to turn even frostier. Borelean could see Kei resisting the urge to shiver. He himself felt the chill seeping into his bones. Asheron gestured with his left hand, and Kei slowly poured the water into the wide silver bowl, filling it almost to its top. Then, with a gesture from the mage’s right hand, Borelean began to tip in the clods of earth. The dirt seemed to spread over the surface of the water, rather than sinking to the bottom or turning to mud.


Borelean could hear Asheron whispering under his breath as water and earth mingled but did not mix in the bowl. He was only starting to learn the language that Asheron used, so he could not understand everything that was said, but he clearly heard repetition of the words for “water” and “earth” as the elements swirled in the bowl. Finally, Borelean could see a form taking place before them. The earth in the bowl moved across the surface of the water, guided by Asheron’s words and hands, and began to resolve itself into the familiar shape of the island of Dereth, including the major nearby islands: the Halaetans, Vesayens, Aerlinthe, Marae Lassell, Vissidal, the Dark Isle…


When at last earth and water stood still in the bowl, they had created a model of Dereth that was perfect in every way. From snowcapped mountains to miniature forests, to even the clumps of tiny buildings that marked human settlements. Asheron’s spoken words took on a different rhythm, and as Borelean recognized the word for “wind”, he saw a network of lines forming, overlaid in purple and blue. The lines criss-crossed the surface of the world, casting a faint eldritch light, and wherever they intersected, the light brightened and pulsed. Borelean could see hundreds, thousands of these intersections. Each line and each intersection seemed to flow with a different thickness and strength. It was beautiful. He stopped breathing as he lost himself in the wonderful complexity of this map – a map he recognized as the ley line network of Dereth.


Asheron’s chanting continued, and now he saw a darker color moving through some of the larger lines – flowing through them like water through a riverbed, tainting the lines, spreading out through nodes to other lines…


Soon the map was almost entirely overrun with this corruption. It was stronger in some places than others, and already Borelean could see some spots that were significantly darker than others. “The corruption of T’thuun,” Borelean realized, remembering the scouting reports he’d heard in his mother’s audience chamber. He knew geomantically trained scouts and surveyors had been scouring Dereth for weeks, mapping the lines and trying to assemble a coherent picture of the threat the corruption posed.


Asheron held his left hand out over the miniature Dereth, palm down. Tiny points of light formed on his palm and fingertips, then flared to life. White light flowed in tiny streams from six points on Asheron’s hand onto the model of Dereth, seeming to draw a line from the hand to six of the most heavily tainted spots on the map. Spots that seemed to almost mirror each other along an east-west axis. Three in the north, three in the south… Branching off from some of the strongest ley lines…


The light from Asheron’s hand flowed into these dark spots, and all Borelean could think of was water rushing into a drought-struck land. The map seemed to drink up all the light and demand more. Asheron kept his left hand in position, channeling light into the map through those tiny streams. Watching that hand, Borelean saw the faintest tremors, revealing the strain that this geomancy put on the ancient archmage. He barely heard Asheron’s request: “Borelean… Kei… Please, put your hands on my shoulders. Do not let go. I must… borrow some of your strength. For what lies ahead.”


Dutifully, both apprentices placed their hands on Asheron’s shoulders, and immediately Borelean felt the drain. He could feel his energy, his life force, draining from him, through Asheron, and into the model of Dereth… or was the energy flowing into Dereth itself? He broke out of his contemplation as Asheron held up his right hand, palm side up, over the island model. In his right hand appeared a golden pyramid with faint etchings on it, no larger than his palm.


Asheron’s voice grew louder when he unveiled the pyramid. There was a burst of magical energy, a shudder rippling through all three participants in the ritual, and suddenly the pyramid cast a bright, golden glow. Visible streams of golden light flowed from the pyramid, wove themselves into the streams coming from Asheron’s left hand, and flowed into the six nodes that Asheron had already invested. As more light flowed to the map, the six points on the map grew brighter and brighter, while the pyramid in Asheron’s right hand seemed to gradually dim. It grew steadily darker and even insubstantial until, with little warning, it simply vanished from Asheron’s hand altogether.


Asheron’s voice built to a crescendo, and Borelean recognized the repetition of the word “blood”, which was also very similar to the word for “mana”. Asheron kept his left hand poised above the map, still a conduit for this magical light to flood into the six nodes, while he groped at his belt with his now-free right hand. Now Kei noticed how much Asheron’s hand was shaking, and she gave a soft gasp of terror. The two young apprentices shared a worried glance, but Asheron did not seem to notice their movement.


Shouting the words of magic, Asheron’s right hand whipped upward unexpectedly, and light glinted off a bronze blade. As Asheron cried out the last desperate words of his ritual, he cut open his left palm with the blade. Blood flowed from the wound and into the light streams, mingling into a tawny gold color.


The drain was visible on all of them now. He could see Kei’s terror and confusion as the life force flowed out of her, even as it flowed out of him. He felt his head go light, felt Asheron’s shoulder tilt under his hand, saw Kei swaying…


It seemed like he closed his eyes for just a quick moment, like the onset of sleep on the edge of exhaustion. He must have blacked out for that moment, because when he opened his eyes, he was on his knees, slumped against the altar but still mostly upright. Asheron and Kei were both on the floor, as if they had been knocked back from the silver bowl that bore the living model of Dereth. They were both pale as death, unconscious, but breathing softly. Asheron seemed to still be mouthing words, though Borelean couldn’t hear what he was saying. His wounded left hand was bent and curled up tightly in the air, dark drops of blood beading in the palm and flowing down his wrist and forearm.


Borelean looked at the map, and saw that the dark nodes of extreme corruption had been… neutralized. Surrounded by tiny circle of light. When he looked closer, he saw that the light at each point was fragile, seemingly under attack from the tainted lines that flowed into them. And at the center of each of the six nodes sat a tiny, perfect pyramid, lit with white and gold light, twin to the one Asheron had conjured.