JamesMartin
Sa souvraya niende misain ye
Staff member
Administrator
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down.
Anyra, of course, looked down.
Beneath her, the ground fell away even as she leapt over the cliff's edge. A hundred paces away, the other side of the chasm—and a thousand paces down, the ground that would rush up to meet her if her focus wavered. She tried not to let the fall go to her head, to distract her from the image in her mind of the winds carrying her across the chasm like a bird in flight. It was that focus that was the key to it all—the easiest trick to understand, the hardest to master. The purity of thought and of intent, the total certainty of what needed to happen that allowed the ancient powers to flow.
Once, that had been difficult for her. Once, leaping across even a sinkhole had strained her, in spite of the safe landing in the water at the bottom. Now though, acolyte robes and long dark hair flowing behind her, she landed on the far side of the chasm without even breaking stride. She sprinted across the dusty ground, the sweltering air of early afternoon creating distortions around the edge of her vision. She couldn't be out for much longer, that much was plain. Some still believed that the full heat of the afternoon sun could be lived in if one was prepared, but she remained sceptical; even this heat had her sweat running in rivers down her face and that was with constant movement to cool her. Full heat would have even the most well prepared dehydrated to the point of madness within hours. It was said that the Elders did it, when the end of their years approached, wandering out into the desert with nothing but their magic to sustain them. The method at least made sense—it couldn't be too hard to focus on survival when one was dying, but the level of belief required seemed insurmountable to her. The next rule, the one that in her experience, only came with practice; Anything was possible, so long as one believed wholeheartedly that it was. Sometimes, that was easy enough—one could always believe it was possible to jump a chasm you had just seen someone else jump—but the attempts to do something she had never seen done seemed like madness to her.
Another chasm, another leap. This one was only as deep as the last one had been wide, Anyra didn't even need to think to maintain the image this time. She was nearing the settlement now, her second to last stop on her journey across the great desert. Soon enough, she'd shed the robes of an acolyte and be accepted into the order itself. One more night of running, a few dozen more leaps and she'd be home again. Still, in spite of her month-long pilgrimage nearing its end, her nerves were starting to grow. She had been told that before the end, the meaning of the third rule would be clear to her—yet the words, echoing clearly in her mind, still seemed as elusive as ever. She thought of the others she had known come back from the desert, how calm they seemed, how effortless their use of the power had grown—yet here she was, as skilled as ever, yet nothing near that level. Perhaps she had failed in some way, missed something—yet for all her time spent thinking, no clarity had come.
True power comes from the ancestors—and power demands sacrifice.
As the settlement came into view, the rule echoed in her mind, yet she couldn't decide why. At a distance, no one was visible between the low buildings. It was late, they must be inside by now. This was an old place, that much was obvious—worn by what must have been centuries of storms. It almost seemed a miracle anyone could still live there. Anyra took a final, powerful leap, the winds carrying her to the very centre of the settlement. The well was what she needed—to refill her waterbag and take shelter from the coming heat.
As soon as she landed, she knew something was wrong. The well was there, but the smooth white stones around the edge had crumbled like old plaster. She hardly needed to look inside to know that the well was long dead, swollen with dust. She felt a panic in her breathing, her mind racing. Maybe there was another well? She didn't have time to move forward or back, just arriving here before the worst of the heat had pushed her to the limit. She would need to seek shelter, to seek inhabitants. Sudden clarity blosssomed and she rushed to the nearest house, yanking the wooden door. It burst outwards, along with a flood of sand that covered her feet and ankles. Abandoned, long abandoned. She rushed to the next house, and the next, each was more dead than the least. She was panicked, sand coated her skin, stuck to the sweat that was no longer just from the growing heat. No one was here. No one had lived here in centuries—and yet her directions had been specific, she must stay in this place. Others had done it—a final stop on their journey, the most sacred by far.
She wandered through the town, desperate. The last mouthful of water barely served to clear the dust that built in her throat. Was it hotter or was she caught in a flight of fancy? She suddenly found herself making her way towards the temple. This place was sacred, wasn't it? Perhaps that was the trick, the reason for all this. She passed between the columns, the roof was open to the stars and shrines to the ancestors lined both sides of the structure. She approached the largest, right at the end. She saw the words written on the shrine and didn't even notice her knees giving out beneath her. The script was ancient, but the words were stark.
Power demands sacrifice.
She focused all her intent, all her belief, into cooling the air around her. Into summoning water from the air, every trick she had been taught or could imagine. But the air was too dry, the sun was too hot and she felt her strength waning more and more with each struggle. She had never seen the sun reach so high in the sky, never imagined one could live long enough to see it to its pinnacle. She was suddenly no longer kneeling, her next breath pulled sand into her lungs, she couldn't even lift her head. Voices seemed to come from the air, which now twisted at the edge of her vision in almost human form. Not any humans she had ever seen though—humans older than the sands themselves, bent over, wrinkled and decrepit, gaunt enough that in the brief flashes of awareness she maintained, she wondered if perhaps in this place, corpses lived rather than men. Yet they shimmered and shifted with the wind and now, that wind carried voices. A chorus, a thousand hushed voices from ancient, parched throats whispering until it filled her ears like a roar.
"Power comes from us—and all we ask in return is a simple offering."
She found herself looking up, unsure how she yet lived. The figure that reached out to her was a woman, insubstantial as all the others, yet not so fleeting. This one did not vanish, the ancient crone stretching out her hands to rest on Anyra's temples. They felt solid, even as the world around her grew insubstantial. She was dying, this much she knew—or perhaps, she was already dead. She heard one voice louder and clearer than all the rest "Your offering is accepted—I will use it well".
She felt herself being torn from her own body, felt the soul of the crone enter it. the sensation of heat on her skin, of sweat and sand and death—it was all going. She tried to struggle, tried to resist. Her awareness drifted, insubstantial as those figures that had surrounded her, even as below her, her own body rose, heat pushed away by power she could never have dreamed of. She strained one final time before the darkness came.
The darkness, at least, was cool.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bathyna watched from beside the well as the figure drifted down. The acolyte robes were dirty as her face, her hair was filled with sand, the figure was gaunt from her time in the desert but her elder sister was unmistakable in her features. She rushed forward to embrace Anyra, a grin on her face. "You're back!" she said excitedly. "Is it true what they say? Does it all make sense now?"
Her sister's smile seemed strained, not as easy as it had once been—but then, it was a hard journey, no one ever seemed to come back the same. "Well, Anyra?' She insisted.
"Anyra" Her sister repeated, as though hearing the name for the first time. "Oh yes, it all makes sense now. Things are so very clear. You'll understand before too long... one more year and you can make the run yourself, I think."
Bathyna was practically giddy with excitement. All her years of study and in just one more, she would finally be given understanding.
She could hardly wait.
Anyra, of course, looked down.
Beneath her, the ground fell away even as she leapt over the cliff's edge. A hundred paces away, the other side of the chasm—and a thousand paces down, the ground that would rush up to meet her if her focus wavered. She tried not to let the fall go to her head, to distract her from the image in her mind of the winds carrying her across the chasm like a bird in flight. It was that focus that was the key to it all—the easiest trick to understand, the hardest to master. The purity of thought and of intent, the total certainty of what needed to happen that allowed the ancient powers to flow.
Once, that had been difficult for her. Once, leaping across even a sinkhole had strained her, in spite of the safe landing in the water at the bottom. Now though, acolyte robes and long dark hair flowing behind her, she landed on the far side of the chasm without even breaking stride. She sprinted across the dusty ground, the sweltering air of early afternoon creating distortions around the edge of her vision. She couldn't be out for much longer, that much was plain. Some still believed that the full heat of the afternoon sun could be lived in if one was prepared, but she remained sceptical; even this heat had her sweat running in rivers down her face and that was with constant movement to cool her. Full heat would have even the most well prepared dehydrated to the point of madness within hours. It was said that the Elders did it, when the end of their years approached, wandering out into the desert with nothing but their magic to sustain them. The method at least made sense—it couldn't be too hard to focus on survival when one was dying, but the level of belief required seemed insurmountable to her. The next rule, the one that in her experience, only came with practice; Anything was possible, so long as one believed wholeheartedly that it was. Sometimes, that was easy enough—one could always believe it was possible to jump a chasm you had just seen someone else jump—but the attempts to do something she had never seen done seemed like madness to her.
Another chasm, another leap. This one was only as deep as the last one had been wide, Anyra didn't even need to think to maintain the image this time. She was nearing the settlement now, her second to last stop on her journey across the great desert. Soon enough, she'd shed the robes of an acolyte and be accepted into the order itself. One more night of running, a few dozen more leaps and she'd be home again. Still, in spite of her month-long pilgrimage nearing its end, her nerves were starting to grow. She had been told that before the end, the meaning of the third rule would be clear to her—yet the words, echoing clearly in her mind, still seemed as elusive as ever. She thought of the others she had known come back from the desert, how calm they seemed, how effortless their use of the power had grown—yet here she was, as skilled as ever, yet nothing near that level. Perhaps she had failed in some way, missed something—yet for all her time spent thinking, no clarity had come.
True power comes from the ancestors—and power demands sacrifice.
As the settlement came into view, the rule echoed in her mind, yet she couldn't decide why. At a distance, no one was visible between the low buildings. It was late, they must be inside by now. This was an old place, that much was obvious—worn by what must have been centuries of storms. It almost seemed a miracle anyone could still live there. Anyra took a final, powerful leap, the winds carrying her to the very centre of the settlement. The well was what she needed—to refill her waterbag and take shelter from the coming heat.
As soon as she landed, she knew something was wrong. The well was there, but the smooth white stones around the edge had crumbled like old plaster. She hardly needed to look inside to know that the well was long dead, swollen with dust. She felt a panic in her breathing, her mind racing. Maybe there was another well? She didn't have time to move forward or back, just arriving here before the worst of the heat had pushed her to the limit. She would need to seek shelter, to seek inhabitants. Sudden clarity blosssomed and she rushed to the nearest house, yanking the wooden door. It burst outwards, along with a flood of sand that covered her feet and ankles. Abandoned, long abandoned. She rushed to the next house, and the next, each was more dead than the least. She was panicked, sand coated her skin, stuck to the sweat that was no longer just from the growing heat. No one was here. No one had lived here in centuries—and yet her directions had been specific, she must stay in this place. Others had done it—a final stop on their journey, the most sacred by far.
She wandered through the town, desperate. The last mouthful of water barely served to clear the dust that built in her throat. Was it hotter or was she caught in a flight of fancy? She suddenly found herself making her way towards the temple. This place was sacred, wasn't it? Perhaps that was the trick, the reason for all this. She passed between the columns, the roof was open to the stars and shrines to the ancestors lined both sides of the structure. She approached the largest, right at the end. She saw the words written on the shrine and didn't even notice her knees giving out beneath her. The script was ancient, but the words were stark.
Power demands sacrifice.
She focused all her intent, all her belief, into cooling the air around her. Into summoning water from the air, every trick she had been taught or could imagine. But the air was too dry, the sun was too hot and she felt her strength waning more and more with each struggle. She had never seen the sun reach so high in the sky, never imagined one could live long enough to see it to its pinnacle. She was suddenly no longer kneeling, her next breath pulled sand into her lungs, she couldn't even lift her head. Voices seemed to come from the air, which now twisted at the edge of her vision in almost human form. Not any humans she had ever seen though—humans older than the sands themselves, bent over, wrinkled and decrepit, gaunt enough that in the brief flashes of awareness she maintained, she wondered if perhaps in this place, corpses lived rather than men. Yet they shimmered and shifted with the wind and now, that wind carried voices. A chorus, a thousand hushed voices from ancient, parched throats whispering until it filled her ears like a roar.
"Power comes from us—and all we ask in return is a simple offering."
She found herself looking up, unsure how she yet lived. The figure that reached out to her was a woman, insubstantial as all the others, yet not so fleeting. This one did not vanish, the ancient crone stretching out her hands to rest on Anyra's temples. They felt solid, even as the world around her grew insubstantial. She was dying, this much she knew—or perhaps, she was already dead. She heard one voice louder and clearer than all the rest "Your offering is accepted—I will use it well".
She felt herself being torn from her own body, felt the soul of the crone enter it. the sensation of heat on her skin, of sweat and sand and death—it was all going. She tried to struggle, tried to resist. Her awareness drifted, insubstantial as those figures that had surrounded her, even as below her, her own body rose, heat pushed away by power she could never have dreamed of. She strained one final time before the darkness came.
The darkness, at least, was cool.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bathyna watched from beside the well as the figure drifted down. The acolyte robes were dirty as her face, her hair was filled with sand, the figure was gaunt from her time in the desert but her elder sister was unmistakable in her features. She rushed forward to embrace Anyra, a grin on her face. "You're back!" she said excitedly. "Is it true what they say? Does it all make sense now?"
Her sister's smile seemed strained, not as easy as it had once been—but then, it was a hard journey, no one ever seemed to come back the same. "Well, Anyra?' She insisted.
"Anyra" Her sister repeated, as though hearing the name for the first time. "Oh yes, it all makes sense now. Things are so very clear. You'll understand before too long... one more year and you can make the run yourself, I think."
Bathyna was practically giddy with excitement. All her years of study and in just one more, she would finally be given understanding.
She could hardly wait.