The dove circled down slowly toward the forest, riding an updraft of warm, humid air from the vast expanse of greenery below. Although it could scent flowers and succulent fruit on the wind, it ignored its own hunger for the moment, driven by a more urgent imperative. It glided slowly over the treetops, scanning. There---standing lightly in the delicate topmost branches of an ancient conifer. The dove picked up speed for a landing approach.
A hand, long-fingered and elegant, partially sheathed in mirror-bright metal, flicked out. Attracted to the brightness, the bird landed eagerly on one finger, aware that this was a human being, yet unafraid. Its rudimentary mind remembered the scent of this one. This scent had always brought pleasure, in the past; perhaps there would be pettings and scratchings of places it could never reach, and perhaps rich seeds that it could never find.
Mirufi Yu drew in his arm across his chest, idly stroking the dove with his free hand, cooing softly to it. It had flown swiftly, and he would reward it in a moment. For now, however, duty came first. He touched its small mind, requesting the information he had sent it to find. Almost immediately---it liked him---he was given images of men. The bird could not give him great detail, for most men looked alike to it, but he didn't need details about their appearance. Just their locations, and numbers.
They had crossed the river. Ah, that was right---Garunetto's gift was teleportation. A surprisingly useful talent; because of it, he was now one of the most influential members of the Sorcerer class. Few Sorcerers felt comfortable crossing a man who could appear right in the middle of their bedrooms and kill them, or who could deposit an army on their front doorstep in the blink of an eye.
Yet until recently, Garunetto had been a formidable, but generally truce-abiding, nobleman ruling a small territory in the North. His subjects had few complaints; Garunetto was a stern taskmaster, but fair and honorable. So why, now, was he leading a rebellious force of his fellow Sorcerers in a violation of the truce that he, like all of them, had pledged to uphold?
Mirufi sighed and scratched the dove's hard little head; it cooed under his fingers. Every time he began to think that their world might actually stand a chance of becoming peaceful, he was confronted yet again with a reminder of the frailties of human beings, both Sorcerer and commoner alike. Fear, plain and simple, was what motivated an otherwise honorable man to participate in a completely dishonorable campaign. Fear was what motivated Garunetto's companions, too, despite the common Sorcerer assertion that they feared no mere commoner. Why else would twelve of the most powerful Sorcerers of the land come together in an alliance? Sorcerers were zealous in guarding their power and sovereignity, and the only thing that kept them from each others' throats was their need to present a united front to the commoners of the Spooner continent. And yet, among these twelve---the Conclave, they called themselves---were mortal enemies and blood-rivals whose conflicts went back centuries. All overcome, in the name of fear.
He dismissed the thought, focusing on the issue at hand. Five hundred men, spread across the valley, and he sensed Lady Torumarin's web of power strung between them. Searching. For what? The bird didn't know, and Mirufi felt his jaw tighten. No doubt as they approached their destination, the Conclave was becoming edgy, convinced that their enemies might detect them, and so perhaps they meant to find their enemies first. They'd done a better job of shielding themselves from scrutiny than they'd thought, however; the School was as yet unaware of their approach. There were no scouts abroad in the forest for the Conclave to find. But...
...but there were Sorcerer Hunters.
Mirufi frowned, calculating rapidly. It would be a simple matter to warn Carrot and the others. And yet...
Raising his free hand, he drew a half-circle in the air, creating an impermeable shield around himself. Not to protect against any outside threat, however; this shield was designed to hide the emanations of his own magic from the Sorcerers making their way through the forest now. Once he'd sealed the bubble carefully so that no hint of his presence could be detected, he opened his mind and reached out to his mistress, opening his hand flat before him, palm up.
Her image appeared above his palm, faint and hazy, no more than a few centimeters high. He bowed his head to her respectfully. "The Conclave has grown bold, Mamu. Their men number five hundred."
She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, but clear as chimes. "Not enough to be considered an army, but more than enough, with the Sorcerers' help, to overwhelm the School completely. I have appealed to the Faarunerian high court again, and have been reminded that a violation of the truce on both sides will result in invalidation---and war. We cannot intervene."
Mirufi scowled. "Even if these fools are violating the truce themselves?"
"They have not yet done so, remember. And they do not represent the majority of Sorcerers, officially. If they proceed with this attack, they will be censured---but the truce will be maintained." She shook her head. "War must be avoided at all costs, Mirufi. Millions died, in the last one."
He sighed, silently hating the ineffectual government, the hypocritical laws, and, for a moment, the truce that bound them all. But she was right, as always. "Hai. However, the Conclave's forces are spread out, apparently searching for something in this valley. They're bound to happen on Carrot and the others. I'd like to intervene."
She considered this for a long moment. "You know that we cannot allow our personal feelings to interfere with our goals in this, Mirufi." He nodded, but felt the tension in the pit of his stomach ease when she smiled a little. "But so long as no one knows you helped them, or that you were even present, I don't see why not. Just a warning. It will have to be up to them to escape. We cannot fight their battles for them."
The tension returned, although not as sharply as before. "Mamu-sama... it is an army that they face. With twelve powerful Sorcerers at its head."
She nodded, her turquoise eyes darker than usual with compassion and shared concern. "It will be difficult for them. But remember---these children have faced Zaha's full might and survived. They can handle this." He said nothing, and she sighed, sensing his distress. "I know you care for them, Mirufi. I do, too."
But duty came first, she didn't add, and he nodded acknowledgement of both the spoken and unspoken reminders. "Hai." He bowed over his hand, carefully keeping the dove balanced.
She nodded. "All is still proceeding as I have forseen. They will survive this... incident. The real danger is yet to come. Report to me again when you can."
He inclined his head. "Wakarimashita." He closed his hand into a fist, banishing the image, and then dismissed the shield. The dove trilled softly to him, and he regarded it for a moment, thoughtfully, before crooning back and then lifting his hand to deposit the bird on his shoulderplate.
There had been a time, once, when he had been full participant in the matters of the world. He had left that time behind him when he'd taken up the mantle of a Haz Knight, and for the most part, he'd never regretted that choice. At times like this, however...
Sighing, he stepped away from the tree branch and began floating slowly toward the floor of the forest. It never got any easier to watch these endless cycles of injustice and violence. It was why he'd come so much to treasure the quiet, human moments that he stole from time to time with Carrot and the others, vicariously absorbing some of their fiery youthful vitality whenever he could. When this was all over... would any of that vitality remain? Or would they one day become as jaded as himself, with old hearts in young bodies, and only duty to give them comfort?
Well. He allowed himself a smirk of mischievous amusement. Duty and... other things.
Landing silently on a carpet of moss, he began looking around for something to offer his avian companion in reward for good service.
The gates swung open. And Marron beheld the Mizu School of Magic for the first time in seven years.
It was the sights that struck him first. The village, nestled against the mountain's flank: small, with only few dozen buildings. The cobblestoned pathways, accentuated here and there by elaborate stone sculptures. The mica-flecked stone in the building walls, gleaming and sparkling in the sun, and the depthless dark of the obsidian walls that enclosed all, invisible from without. The lake where he'd learned to swim, the fields where he'd learned to work, the practice grounds where he'd learned to fight, the gardens where he'd learned to meditate. The tower, rising above all.
Then sound caught his attention. The voices of young teens, chanting from the garden; a class was going through its mantras. Distantly, within the mountain itself, he could hear a periodic hollow rumbling, as if some giant moved restlessly beneath the stone. Ah, yes---the advanced class in offensive magic, practicing abilities that could destroy cities in the heavily-shielded caverns. Children's voices---and now he saw them, running toward him, whooping and shouting in their excitement.
He suppressed a momentary shock. Had he ever looked so young?
He kept walking as the gates swung shut behind him, smiling at the children when they gathered around him excitedly, touching his robes and remarking to each other. Not to him. They knew he'd come for the trial, and the ritual demanded that he remain silent from the moment he entered the gates until the process was over. For good or for ill.
He approached the ritual house and stopped before the pathway that led to it, waiting. The children fell silent and drew back, watching with wide eyes.
They had all been taught the proper protocols. They had all observed others, from time to time, putting them into practice. They had also seen the failures, being dragged or carried out of the house's other door.
It was too late to think of that. And he had made up his mind a long time ago.
Was he watching from somewhere else, unseen? Was he among these faceless attendants? Did he even care enough about Marron to watch or attend?
Too late to worry about that, too.
He straightened and stood with arms hanging limp at his sides, hands spread, to show that he had come with only the clothing on his back---and the power within himself. And as he'd expected, four figures emerged, hooded, clad in black robes from head to toe, features indistinguishable. They approached, two by two, and stopped on either side of the path leading into the house, which stood open. Waiting for him.
He took a deep breath, and stepped onto the path.
Carrot stabbed his sword-tip into a chunk of firewood idly, vaguely pleased by the chuffing sound the blade made as it bit into the dry wood, not really caring that it was bad for the sword. He'd caught Tira and Chocora watching him across the fire in concern, but he ignored them. They'd probably take Gateau's side anyway.
Gateau could fall headfirst into the Suporoko River, for all he cared. The bastard had corrupted his little brother.
They had been friends, once, he and Marron---best friends. He'd always known there was something fey about his brother, but he'd always dismissed it as simply... Marron. They had once known everything about each other. Somewhere along the way, things had changed. Somehow, they'd become virtual strangers to one another. And now this.
He'd always joked about it, but he'd never really believed it. Marron really was... a pervert.
And you're just figuring it out? Gateau's derisive baritone echoed in his mind, and he ground his teeth.
"Kuso..." He stabbed the blade into the wood again, and the wood split apart, startling him out of his reverie. Blinking, he looked up, and saw Tira and Chocora glance at each other again, then focus on him, clearly deciding that enough was enough.
"Carro'..." Tira's voice was gentle as always, compassionate. "Maybe if you talked about it, it wouldn't bother you so much, whatever it is."
"It's about Marron and Gateau. Isn't it?" Chocora watched him frankly.
Carrot stared back at her, suddenly suspicious. "Yeah. You knew about them?"
Chocora frowned a little, expression suddenly guarded. Tira, beside her, suddenly looked away. Confirming his suspicions. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Anger flared again, and he stabbed his sword into the ground, leaving it there as he got up to pace back and forth on his side of the fire, glaring at them. "Oh, I think you do. I think you both know that Gateau's been trying to get into my little brother's pants, and you know Marron's actually been thinking about taking him up on it. Ne? That's what I mean. Were you going to tell me at any point, or just let me go on wondering why Marron's been so moody lately?"
They stared at him, shocked by his vehemence. For a moment. Then Chocora scowled.
"It was none of your business," she said sharply. "They're both adults. Whatever happens between Marron and Gateau is between Marron and Gateau." She rose from her bedroll and began to pack, her movements quick and angry. "For another thing, we thought you already knew. Gateau's always liked him, that was obvious. And it's not as if Marron's tried to hide anything from you."
He stopped, turning swiftly. "What the hell do you mean by that? He didn't tell me. He doesn't tell me anything, anymore!"
Tira spoke softly, her eyes lowered and voice soft. "Meaning he told me he tried to talk to you about it, once, a long time ago, back when we all first got back together and started working for Big Mamu. And you covered your ears and said you didn't want to hear any more." She looked up at him, finally; her gaze was solemn. "Is that true?"
The angry beat of his thoughts faltered, suddenly. He had forgotten that day. "I..."
"Because if it is, and if you're angry now because he doesn't talk to you anymore about his private life, and if you're taking it out on us and Gateau because of that, I think you're mad at the wrong people, ne?"
Tira's voice never rose above a soft murmur, but it didn't need to. If she'd screamed the words, they couldn't have pierced him more deeply.
He stared back at her, feeling the last of his anger drain away only to be replaced by a sick, falling sensation in the pit of his stomach. That was when they all heard the sound above, and jumped.
Dazed, Carrot looked up to see a huge flock of birds taking flight, calling alarm to each other as they flew swiftly overhead and away. He frowned, then jumped again as Gateau trotted back into the clearing.
"Put out the fire. Birds don't just take off like that in the middle of the day unless something startles them. I think we might have company."
"Company?" Tira got to her feet. "Who? We're in the middle of nowhere."
"I don't know. But I don't like taking chances."
Chocora noded and moved past Carrot to start putting out the fire, and Gateau glanced at Carrot, expression coolly indifferent.
"You think Marron will be able to find us, if we move camp?"
"Huh?" Carrot blinked, then frowned, trying to pull his mind out of the circular rut into which Tira had shoved it. "Oh. Yes. You know he can always find me."
Gateau nodded tersely. "Fine, then. We move." He looked back the way he had come, frowning through the trees, although there was nothing to see but the now-silent forest. "I've got a really bad feeling about this."
Mirufi Yu stood amid the trees, watching the last of the birds take flight, and smiled to himself, looking down at the dove. "Arigatou, my friend. Thank you for your help. Safe flying."
He lifted his hand and tossed the dove into the air. Its white wings unfurled, caught the updraft, and carried it quickly into the sky. He watched until the last fluttering wingbeats had faded away and the forest had fallen silent again, then held still, listening, smiling at the sound of Gateau's deep voice, echoing up from the forest floor beneath the tree where he perched. Excellent.
He leaped into the air, flickered, and then was gone.
They had stripped him and bathed him carefully but thoroughly, and then in the cool chamber he had been anointed with the oils of the ceremony: fragrant juniper, pungent myrrh, a little sweet nutmeg. The scents filled the room and his mind, pulling his consciousness into the near-trance level that the ritual would require, heightening his senses to painful keenness.
He held still as they drew his arms out from his sides, each of them taking one limb apiece and painting, in an ink whose ingredients had been a secret to the school for centuries, runes and symbols over every inch of his skin. When his arms and legs were done, they painted his face, torso, even his genitals, until he was covered literally from head to toe in the language of power.
Now, his mind already expanding into the higher realms, he could feel the effects of the workings upon him, like so many different gravities tugging at his heart. Runes of the elements, of space and time, of heart and soul, slowly penetrating his skin and sinking into his blood and bone and sinew. Seeking out their seats within him, to slowly unlock the bonds that had held his true power dormant in his unconscious, bringing those powers to the fore in all their thrilling, dangerous intensity.
He could not leave the ritual house---voluntarily---unless he mastered those powers. If he did not... at best, the power would sink back into dormancy, taking most of his consciousness with it, leaving only a gibbering shell. At worst, it would turn upon him and destroy him. Leaving nothing.
And if he succeeded... the power would be his, tamed and responsive to his will. No longer would he need to focus his energies through wards and incantations---his hands would be the conduit, and his mind the weapon. It would change him, in ways he could not begin to guess. He would become, at last, a true Mage.
They took his hands and he opened his eyes, only a little surprised to discover that he had closed them. The inks and brushes had been put away. He walked calmly with them as they led him through a door into another chamber.
It was dark here---utterly, terrifyingly dark. A shadow of darkness itself. Only the touch of other hands kept him focused. Even the floor beneath his feet seemed to fade as he walked further into the room, and now he felt as if he was gliding along with his attendants, floating just a few inches above wherever the floor should have been. Their feet made no sound. He could no longer smell the mingled fragrances of the oils and the rune-ink. When he gasped, he could not taste the air with his tongue.
Then, abruptly, the hands let go.
He hovered, alone, in the darkness. Whether his attendants had left him or not, he could not say. There was only him and the darkness. Unending.
Fear flowered in his mind, and he fought to keep it in check. This was nothing more than sensory deprivation; he'd read of the technique long ago. It was intended to force the mind to operate beyond the level of the five senses---to loosen his consciousness from the limitations of flesh, for a time. Sternly he got a grip on himself, telling his heart to slow and his fears to subside. He wasn't sure what they wanted of him, but this was the first of the tests, it seemed. And so he would be ready for anything.
The darkness grew choking, oppressive. Time stretched on, whether for minutes or hours he could not say. Twenty-four hours, he reminded himself. After twenty-four hours, they would let him out of the ritual house, one way or the other. He would not be here forever.
So he took a deep breath---hearing nothing, feeling no air enter his lungs, aware that he had done so only because he believed that he had---and tried to assume a proper trance state. And in that moment, the runes on his body flared into shocking brightness.
He saw them---although he could not see the flesh upon which they were written---in searing characters of light, in the shape of his body. Sullen red on his left leg; runes of fire. Dull gold of earth down his right. White-hot air, on his left arm. Wavering blue, on his torso and back. The blue-black un-light of the soul, winding around his right arm. Characters of all kinds on his face. They burned. They hurt.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind past the pain, willing himself to rise above it. But he could not. The pain was too intense and growing by the second, beyond his ability to endure---until he was certain that this was the end, he would die screaming and insane, and his brother would receive nothing but a withered, charred husk of a corpse to bury.
And then, suddenly, the pain was gone. He opened his eyes.
He stood just within the gates of the school. Before him, the gates unsealed and swung open slowly. A family rode in on horseback, two adults and a boy---small, pretty, shy, familiar. The people of the school began to gather around them, excited to have visitors. The boy was himself, he realized with a shock. The man and woman were his parents, come to bring their youngest son to the Mizu School.
The boy was frightened and deeply unhappy. At his parents' urging, he dismounted, lingering near his mother; he looked around the gathering of strangers and cringed. And then the crowd parted and a man---
---stood before him. "Hello, Marron."
He blinked, and stared. Beyond the man, the scene went on, with the Apricot greeting another version of the man standing in front of him now, then introducing the boy Marron to everyone. No one seemed to see the other Marron, or the man standing before him.
"Zeii," Marron whispered.
"Not really."
The voice was the same---deep, soft-spoken, unfailingly gentle. The eyes were the same: young-old, a blue so deep and fathomless and vivid that they hardly seemed human, and indeed, were not. The boyishly tousled white hair, so out of place on the ageless face and body, the tall, slightly awkward frame... all of it was the same. It was Zeii.
"But I'm not him, Marron." The lips---he remembered those well, oh yes---stretched in a gentle smile. A long-fingered hand lifted, touched Marron's cheek, the tip of one forefinger brushing his lips. Marron inhaled and shivered at the sudden shock of warmth that ran through him, even here in this strange dreamworld. "I was never so perfect, except in your memories. But that's what I'm here for, you see. Your memories."
He stepped close, hand slipping into Marron's hair to cup his head, blue eyes gazing down into black with an unbelievable compassion and affection. Marron stared back, caught like a deer in a hunter's sights, held motionless by those eyes and that one caressing hand.
"M-my memories?"
"Aa. This is the test, my sweet dancer. The runes written into your flesh have awakened your true power, and it's greater than even I ever imagined. So great that it's killing you." Zeii's free hand slipped around him, palm pressing into the small of his back, and he thought crazily that he didn't feel like he was dying, oh not at all...
A soft chuckle near his ear, warm breath stirring his hair. "Pay attention. This isn't real. Your mind has conjured me, and this whole world of your memories, to protect itself against the testing. To keep you sane. Your body and your will, even now, are fighting the power, forcing it into submission so that it will be yours, instead of owning you. You must keep your mind intact during this process. Do you understand?"
"H-hai..."
"Good." The lips touched his cheek, and he closed his eyes. "For me, Marron. For your brother. For yourself. This is why you're here. Remember that."
And then his lips, and the fingers in his hair, were gone. Startled, Marron opened his eyes. Zeii was gone, and only the gentle breath of an afternoon breeze lingered to stir his hair.
He closed his eyes, sighing against the ache that came unbidden, and then took a deep breath, focusing himself. Zeii had shown him the key. To survive, he had only to remember.
In the distance he could hear the children of the school, chattering among themselves excitedly about the visitors and the new boy who would be joining them. He heard the boy, shyly answering one of the other children's questions. He opened his eyes---
---and became that boy again.
**End Ch. 3