Darrin Ordin
"Uncle," Pen whined as I gently tucked her into bed, "That can't be the end to the story. There's gotta be more. You arrived at the scorpion's lair, but you won't tell me about the fight!"
I smiled slightly as I ruffled her dirty blonde hair. "Well, you'll just have to get a good night's sleep then. If you're good tomorrow at school, I'll tell you how we battled the monstrous scorpion!" I leaned forward, smiling sharply as I looked my daughter in the eye. "Your mom was there too, you know," I said conspiratorially. "She was the one who finally figured out its weakness."
Pen's green eyes–my eyes–sparkled with tired wonder. "Well, what was the weakness?"
I slowly stood, feeling an ache in my bad leg as I did so. I didn't let it show on my face, however. "You'll learn tomorrow night," I promised, my hand reaching for the light switch nearby. "I can't spoil it for you so soon."
I'd been telling my daughter old tales of my ascents through the tombs with the valiant Unblooded Party. Like the old epics of mythic heroes, I wove plotlines of intrigue and excitement that allowed us to connect more and more as the months wore on.
"Uncle," Pen said, only her green eyes peeking over the blanket, "Do you know when momma will wake up?"
My hand stalled as it snaked toward the light switch. I felt my throat clench as I thought of Dima, slumbering in a room not twenty feet from where we stood.
Except she might never wake up.
"The doctors said momma's really tired," I said, hoping my voice didn't waver. I needed to be strong for Dima. For our daughter. "She'll have to sleep for a long time before she's all better."
Pen's little brows furrowed in concern. "How long? They always say that. But not how long."
I forced my eyes forward. "A long time, my little fire." I inhaled a shuddering breath as Pen's eyes began to mist over, a child's confusion and grief overcoming her thoughts. "Tell you what, Pen," I said, holding her hand. "If you're extra good tomorrow, I'll get you that stuffed mana beast you've been wanting."
Pen blinked, seeming to forget the topic for the moment, her attention successfully diverted. "You promise?" she said slowly, seeming not to believe me. "Missus Danaver says that people can't break promises. So you need to promise."
"I promise," I said quietly.
"Okay," Pen said, sounding relieved.
Even after I shut out the light and my daughter slowly faded into a restful sleep, I watched with a crack in my heart.
Things had been hard since my final ascent. While I'd been saving up for retirement for a long time, Dima's medical services and the constant pressure from the highbloods I'd battled throughout my life made funds difficult. The other members of the Unblooded Party–which no longer included me–had chipped in what they could spare, but there was only so much they could do. Soon, I might have to sell my countryside estate to make ends meet.
But for Dima and Pen, I would do anything.
I quietly left Pen's room, closing the door behind me. The long hallway seemed to stretch onto infinity as I walked forward, intent on my own room.
But the talk I'd had with Pen penetrated my consciousness like a hot nail, my mind burning with pain. So when I reached a certain door, I found myself compelled to open it.
Dima lay comatose in the center of a large bed, her dirty blonde hair splayed out as it grew. Medical devices beeped around her as they provided her with sustenance and care, seeing her through a sleep she would never wake from.
My shadow was long and dark as it stretched into the room, the light of the hallway caressing my back. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "For failing to protect you. For failing our daughter," I croaked.
I'd said these words a hundred times at her bedside, quietly pleading for her to wake up. Even if to slap me across the face and curse my foolishness. Even if she were to impale me with hard eyes.
But for some reason, the wound in my heart was especially raw tonight. I stepped forward, kneeling by the bedside. But where I'd knelt beside Pen's bedside in quiet camaraderie, I stayed glued to the frame like a sinner seeking forgiveness before an altar.
Tears built along the edges of my eyes as my vision blurred, the scene so long ago replaying in my mind. Within that horrid undead zone, I watched as Dima's body flew like a broken doll as she pushed me away.
"I wasn't strong enough," I said, my voice cracking as I took my lover's hand. It wasn't nearly as warm as I remembered. "To protect you. To protect everyone. And… and I won't be. I don't know what I could do to wake you up, but… but I'm too weak. I…"
My words sputtered out as I broke down again, my shoulders heaving as tears struck the sheets like hammer blows. I wasn't the strong, confident leader of the Unblooded Party that I pretended to be for my daughter. That man died in the Relictombs, left behind as he watched the woman he loved break like a marionette. I was a weak, wretched thing, barely hanging onto the ledge.
I wept quietly for a time, the emotions tearing themselves from my chest as the monitors around me beeped apathetically.
Then I heard my doorbell ring. It was a simple chime that echoed through speakers placed in specific rooms, alerting me that a visitor was present.
I slammed my eyes shut, feeling anger surge in place of my grief. They always did this. Highblood Patamoor especially. There were many ways they invaded my life for my actions. Threatening shopkeepers so that I could not buy from them. Prodding at Pen's school and making each day more difficult. Making it difficult–if not impossible–to withdraw from my different savings accounts, or unjustly seizing my assets. And even simple things like ringing a doorbell in the middle of the night, forcing me to always be on edge.
Most days, those actions rolled off me like fire off a magma thorn's back. But today, I felt fury rise in its place.
I stood sharply, turning as my face stretched into a snarl. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? Why couldn't they just let us be? They'd won. I didn't bother them anymore in court. I didn't pester their enterprises for their sins any longer.
But still, like sensing the defeated air from a bluntbadger, they pounced and tore chunks of flesh from my hide with every step.
I marched out into the hallway, my mana flaring as it surged toward my emblem. If I needed to fight these bastards off, I'd do it if I had to. I stomped toward the door of my estate, flinging it wide and preparing to tell off whoever stood in the doorway.
But when I saw the identity of who had bothered me so late in the night, I felt the breath leave my lungs as if I'd been punched. Toren of Named Blood Daen stood solemnly on my doorstep, the night sky stretching behind him. His hair was longer than when I'd last seen it, and was tied in a sort of half-up, half-down style.
But I met his orange eyes.
My fury burned hot once more, but for a different reason. I spun, unable to think, and slammed the door shut with the force of a Martial Gale.
Except Toren had stepped forward, catching the door with apparent ease. One foot stood inside my home, a quiet refusal to leave.
I snarled in rising anger at the mage who had caused all of this. All the pain of these last months. "How dare you," I hissed, stalking forward as wind swirled around my fists. "How dare you show your face here, after what you've done. I should beat you into the ground and rip out your throat for what you've done to those I love. For all the harm you've caused this world."
Toren looked up at me, weathering my tirade without inflection. But the words he said in response hit me like an iron hyrax. "I haven't come to harm, Darrin," Toren said quietly. "I've come to heal her."
I stood frozen, my fury warring with my hope. Without Toren, the zone we'd entered wouldn't have claimed so many lives, each another failure for me to rescue. Dima wouldn't have suffered her coma because of my weakness.
But I also had heard the stories that filtered throughout Alacrya. The growing legend of Spellsong, the White Flame of Fiachra. I heard how he had slain the Vicar of Plague, and in the aftermath of the Plaguefire Incursion, kept to the healing camps for weeks.
If there was anyone who could heal Dima… Anyone…
I stood on a precipice. I could deny him. Should deny him, for all the pain he had caused. But he could heal, couldn't he?
I wavered for a moment on the steps.
Then I turned around, clenching my fists as the wind coating them dispersed. "Follow me, Lord Daen," I hissed, marching towards destiny. Toren followed mutely, his steps as soft as they were within the Undead Zone. "And if you harm a hair on her head, I will kill you myself."
—
Toren's eyes seemed to glow as he peered down at Dima's body. I felt my mana still roiling hot in my core, my emotions barely contained. I crossed my arms, tapping a finger against my bicep in a steady rhythm. I needed that to focus me. Keep me grounded.
"Well?" I grunted. "Can you heal her?"
Toren rested a hand over Dima's comatose body, the steady rise and fall of her chest alluding to her current state. I watched as orange-purple light streamed from his hands as his eyes closed.
"When I first healed you and Dima, I was unpracticed with this power of mine," Toren breathed out, a strange cadence in his voice. "I used it by instinct, unaware of the many intricacies of heartfire. But these past few weeks, I have grown."
I felt my breath hitch as I watched that light seep into Dima's body. I remembered the last time I witnessed this, when I had been close to death and the woman I love had laid limply in my arms. But now…
Then the light stopped, fizzling out from between Toren's fingers.
"What is wrong?" I demanded, moving over to Dima's side. "Why aren't you continuing?" I said harshly, looking up at the solemn young man as he stepped away.
"Because it is done," he said simply. "She's healed."
But still Dima did not stir. The cadence of her breathing did not shift, and her eyes did not open.
I stepped forward, grabbing the Named Blood by the collar of his expensive vest. "By the Vritra, Toren Daen, if you dare to lie to me again–"
"I am not," Toren said coolly. The even cadence of his words, the quiet understanding within them, only served to make me more angry. "She is merely sleeping now, but the block in her mind has been cleared. Come morning, she'll awake as ever."
My hand felt limp as I struggled to identify what I felt after that. Anger? That was still there. Disbelief? Mistrust? Yes, that too. But–
"Darry?" a voice said from behind me, bleary and raw. "What… where…"
My hands trembled as they released Toren's collar. I turned around slowly, feeling as if every muscle in my body creaked with the effort.
Dima blinked blearily, flashing uncomprehending blue eyes as she stared around the room, clearly dazed.
How long had it been since I'd seen those eyes?
And when they settled on me once more, I knelt, burying my head in my hands as I wept in relief.
Toren Daen
I turned to the doorway, wanting to leave this place behind me. I'd come here because I wanted to tie up any and all loose ends I bore to this continent, for fear I might not return.
I didn't want to talk to Darrin. He was ultimately correct in his blame for me: I had doomed dozens to a grizzly, horrible death in the Undead Zone. I had failed to save Alun and many others I would never learn the names of.
And how many others would be harmed by me in this literal war?
"Toren," Darrin's voice said from behind me as I stood in the doorway. "Are you just going to leave?"
I turned slightly, but didn't face the man. I fell back into the mask of the surgeon, setting my emotions aside for the moment so I could do what I needed to. "I'm going to war tomorrow," I said quietly. "And I didn't want to leave any regrets behind."
"Is that what we are to you?" Darrin said from the bed. I could sense from Dima's heartfire that she'd fallen back asleep, still too exhausted to remain conscious. "Regrets? Failures?"
My hands clenched. "No, Darrin," I said, turning around and looking at the man. "I made a conscious decision in the Relictombs to ascend. I knew the impact my presence had. And before you blame me for my callousness, let me tell you something."
I inhaled, then let out a steady breath as Darrin's eyes bored into my own. "To heal your lover, I needed to empathize with her. The magic doesn't work if I can't feel a modicum of my target's emotions."
"Then why?" Darrin demanded, standing up. His leg shifted slightly, clearly not set correctly. "Why did you do it if you knew the consequences, Lord Daen?!"
"Because there's a bigger war out there," I snapped back, my voice rising. "One beyond anything you can see right now. And I have to look at every fucking life in front of me and weigh it lesser. Deem it a necessary sacrifice for my goals. I don't take these steps on a whim, Darrin. I do them because I have to."
Darrin slumped back into the bed, a quiet, judging stare on his face. "You think that's better?" he sneered. "You believe the lives that are taken in your wake are worth whatever illusory goal you've set before you? That makes you no better than the highbloods I've always fought, Toren. This means that you looked at the value of human life–the infinite value of life–and weighed it as finite. You thought this through."
I gnashed my teeth as Darrin moved forward, his presence looming as he faced me. "I thank you for healing Dima, Toren, but you are not forgiven, and your actions will never be forgotten."
—
I stalked from the room, feeling fury roiling in my veins. I took deep breaths as I moved, fearful that I'd leave scorched footprints in the floorboards.
"You managed yourself well, Toren," Aurora said softly in my mind. "He was wrong to treat you so after your generosity."
No, he wasn't, I thought back sharply, reaching the doorway. For all that I preach of the value of human life, I believe the lives I take are worthwhile in the face of the end goal. Darrin was right about me.
"He does not know the true path you take," my bond said chidingly. "He does not understand the true necessity of your battles. A million lives, however precious, may always be lost in the wake of a great cause. Were he to know your goals, he would understand."
I felt my shoulders slump. How ironic was it that Aurora did not understand how this hurt me, either? At heart, she was a warrior. The loss of life–the frailty of it–was something she'd always been aware of. But me? I'd been raised thinking everyone my equal. That there was something fundamentally priceless in every soul. So, when I valued Dima's life below my own need to grow stronger, how did I justify my own actions?
Darrin viewed every life the same as I did. But I had still valued my own strength more.
Maybe that was why he bore such hatred in his intent, even after I healed Dima. I was not simply acting out of ignorance. I didn't view human life as worthless, as so many Alacryans did.
No. I viewed it as precious and allowed it to burn away regardless.
I sighed a deep, world-weary sigh. I had a couple more stops to make before I was ready. I strode forward, turning the door handle in front of me.
Then I paused, sifting through my dimension ring. With a flourish, I withdrew a single book.
Of Mana and Minds. I looked at the cover of the book I'd painstakingly annotated, outlining each and every attempt I'd looked for to allow true community between mages and nonmages.
I set the annotated book on a nearby table, feeling my hands tremble as I set it down. Darrin would certainly find it in the morning.
Then I fled from the estate, zipping away as if the High Sovereign himself were chasing me.
—
I slowly wove around the dark path, knowing where to place my feet by instinct. The thin dirt trail led me in twisting narrows under the moonlight. I kept my hands in my pockets as I strolled, observing the stars far above.
Aurora's relic stayed perched on my shoulder, thankfully silent as I was allowed my introspection. Thoughts flowed in a steady stream as I ascended the hill, the overgrown grass brushing my legs. A summer breeze warmed my bones as I continued on my trek.
The East Fiachran Cemetery was a place I visited often. But I didn't know how long it would be until I would step foot here once more.
My walk slowed as I reached a particular gravestone. Without mana enhancing my eyes or the stretching moonlight far above, I might not have been able to read the name along the headstone.
Norgan Daen.
It was a quaint gravestone. Norgan, ironically, would have preferred to have his corpse left in the Relictombs were he to fall in battle. But I suspected, had he known what I did about this world, he would have found a little patch of land on the top of a hill surprisingly fitting.
"I knew I'd find you here," a familiar voice said from behind me. "You've gotten predictable, Toren."
"Hey, Naereni," I said softly. "I thought you'd still be down with the other East Fiachrans making stew and music."
The Young Rat scoffed behind me. "I noticed when you left the fire a few hours ago. It's kinda my job to see things like that, but…" She sighed, something soul-weary leaving her body. "You're going to war tomorrow, aren't you?" she said in a quiet voice.
"I am," I affirmed, my eyes tracing the inlaid words on my brother's gravestone.
A silence stretched between the two of us that could swallow even the brightest star. "It feels like ever since you entered our lives, things have moved faster than I could even keep up with," Naereni suddenly said, moving forward. She looked down at the gravestone with me as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It was only eight months ago that we noticed you. And now Kar, Hof, and Auntie Greahd are gone. It's only me and Wade now out of the original crew, and you'll be leaving." She tapped her finger against her arm. "I don't know what to do next, Toren. I'm the Rat now. Not the Young Rat anymore. Karsien always knew what to do next, but I… I don't feel ready."
I looked up at the stars, tracing the many constellations. The Struggling Ascender stayed burning in my eyes. "I can't answer those questions for you, Naereni," I said quietly. "But I have a few people you might like to talk to if you want a bit of direction."
Naereni huffed. "Oh, do tell Toren," she said jokingly. "I'm sure your boundless wisdom will see me through this."
I rolled my eyes. "There's a man in Aramoor City named Alaric Maer," I said after a moment. "He's been in a similar business as you for a long time. If you still don't feel ready to take on the mantle of The Rat, try tracking him down. He could probably teach you a few things, too. There's more to him than his rough exterior."
Naereni averted her gaze "What's this Alaric's net worth?" she asked innocently, her hands twitching.
I chuckled aloud, mildly amused. "He's got about as much to his name as the East Fiachrans we care for. He burned everything else away in a search for what happened to his Vritra-blooded son. The results were… devastating," I said on a more somber note. "But he's got connections all across Etril. I think you'd find some common ground."
I paused. "Also, seek out Darrin Ordin and the Unblooded Party. If you ever need a few good people to talk to, then they're good options."
Naereni was silent for a long while. "What are you going to be doing in this war, Toren?" she asked. "I… I can't see these Dicathians as savages, or uncultured people. That's what the mages used to say we were, after all. And you've got some connection to the Dicathians too, but you aren't a monster. So what is the point of this war? For you?"
I sighed wearily, then opened my mouth to speak. "I'm no Dicathian, Naereni," I said truthfully. "I suppose part of me isn't truly Alacryan, either. But you're right about the other continent. They are people living their lives in peace, ignorant of the hammer blow that is about to befall them." I turned to the side, looking past the hill. Far away, the burning cookfires of East Fiachra's evening meeting burned in the sky. No longer was it only nonmages who attended. In the wake of the Plaguefire Incursion, these had blossomed into something that accepted and fed everyone.
Greahd's ashes had been spread across that plaza. She did not have a will, but Naereni had proposed a solution that would allow the Mother of Fiachra to always be with her people.
"It's my job to try and bind Alacrya to the Dicathian peoples. Because there is a war greater than the one we are about to fight on the horizon. With stakes larger than either of us can truly appreciate," I finally said.
Naereni sighed. "Scythe Seris… she's planning something, isn't she? Using you?"
I remained silent, Aurora's talons digging into my shoulder. "Just be ready for things to change once more, Naereni," I said finally. "I wish you and all of my home luck."
I turned to one of my few friends in this world, holding out a hand. "To the future of this city," I said, smiling from the depths of my heart.
When Naereni shook my hand, I had to maneuver us so that she didn't swipe my bronze cufflinks. But I felt the tremble in her hands anyway. "To the future of this continent," she said in turn, a fire in her eyes even as tears fell.