A Different Deliora
Chapter One: Furubasutā
As the moon rides steadily over the horizon, upon a hill at the edge of the wood squats a castle, its crude stonework bathed in cold silvery light. Strange and ancient carvings and runes decorate the ponderous gate. Heavy vines climbing up the walls. The castle is old, its unfamiliar form testament to an ancient mind and an ancient craft. Flickering candle light dances on a leaded windowpane. Inside, the corridors are dark and silent. Under low arched ceilings the uneven floors are paved with stone blocks. Perched over lintels and crouched in niches are icons with the heads of unfortunate demons. A sleep on a straw palette in a room strewn with vegetables and crockery is Macao Conbolt, a wrinkled old retainer. A flickering candle and empty jug are beside the bed. He is snoring gently.
Just beyond the sleeping old body is the conjuring room. This circular chamber at the heart of the castle is stuffed with parchments, scrolls, dusty books, bronze braziers, glass retorts, chemical salts, birds both stuffed and caged. An iron candelabra stands on a work table, tapers burning. In the soft glow it seems that the room is unoccupied, but no, moving in the background is a shadowy figure, preparing for a magical deed. Feet are positioned carefully within a pentagram chiselled into the floor. A scroll is consulted; up comes an arm and "Ice-Make Aisu Gaizā!" a voice blurts out…
…Nothing happens.
"Come on, candles, out!" whispers the voice in frustration but the little flames stand at attention without as much as a tremble.
"Ice-Make Ransu!" he shouts again, but it's no use. With a sigh, the figure moves forward into the light. Revealed in the glow is the discouraged face and dark blue eyes of Gray Fullbuster, demon-slayer's apprentice. Gray's most prominent feature is his spiky, raven hair. Carrying the candelabra, the youth trudges up a circular staircase towards the castle turret.
The highest point of the castle is a turret, open to the stars and the night air. Here, more magic is afoot. Silver Fullbuster; a tall, well-built man appearing to be in his thirties or forties with eyes of black and, like his son's, so is his hair, kept short and styled into a number of spiky strands pointing backwards, with some prominent ones topping his forehead; his thin sideburns reach down to the stubble covering the majority of his chin. He has a sharp face, marked facial features and a slight hint of wrinkles below his eyes. A long and massive scar extends from his hairline to his lower left ear; a battle scar from one of the many demons he's sent back to hell.
Silver pours water from a silver ewer into a stone bowl. As the surface ripples disappear he leans forward and gazes into the pool. All at once his face hardens as the distant sounds of screams and thunder reach his ears. Lights and shadows, reflected from within the basin, play across his face. His frown deepens as the sound of his own voice comes to him from the vision in the water - Etherious Deriora - suddenly squelched by the roar of magic beams and an ugly snarl. At that moment Gray reaches the top of the steps and holds up the candelabra. There's something wrong. Silver, startled from his trance, slaps the water out of the basin and turns to confront his son. Gray is taken aback by the man's grim countenance.
"What's the matter? What's happened?" asked Gray in his usual cool demeanour.
"I've just seen something. Something of consequence to you" replied the old wizard, Gray waits for his father to continue but obviously needs to prompt him for some reason.
"To me?" he asks in an almost distracted tone. A calm smile breaks across the mage's face.
"Yes. My own death" he answers in an equally calm and disconcerting tone. With a distracted gesture he sends several small ice-shards at the flames to extinguish themselves. "Perhaps we had better hasten your training."
Outside the castle wall Macao is feeding the chickens and ducks. He straightens up and squints through the early morning mists. On a distant hillock two figures are moving toward the woods. Silver and Gray Hobbling slowly with the aid of a pair of canes, Silver guides his pupil across a wooden bridge and along a stream into the forest. Silver's face is stern and clearly troubled, in a hushed tone, he says
"This wood, these leaves, the birds, the very dome of heaven, once they all rang with one great chord; and philosophers like me kept it all in tune. Now, new voices are singing new songs. Have you mastered the Ice Demon Slayer Form?" he asked sharply.
Gray stalked slowly behind his father and teacher, avoiding eye contact "Of course."
"You have?" responded Silver with bitter scepticism so harsh, it made Gray stumble a bit.
"Well, almost." He said finally.
"It's very difficult. Have you committed to memory the scrolls of stances for Ice-Magic?" Silver asked staring at his son with even more scepticism.
"The first two chapters." Replied Gray with a disinterested shrug of his shoulders; breaking eye contact again.
"That's not enough. And what about the Ice-Make: Vambrace that was invented by your Grandfather?"
"To tell the truth, I haven't dared try it. I hate books. I hate drill. I want a real action. What's the point, anyway?" said Gray, scowling now at this constant and useless interrogation.
"The point? The point is you don't know it, and you're neither ice-mage nor slayer without it. It was my hope to train you, to meld your abilities and understandings... I still believe you have some talent. Somewhere. But there's no time now. When I'm gone, half the powers in the universe will vanish with me. And what's the use of a few lingering skills if they're left in the hands of a child?" Silver questioned more to himself than anyone else, suddenly he snaps out of his reverie "Listen!"
Gray stops immediately and looks around "I don't hear anything," he whispers.
Silver gauges the young man standing before him and makes a decision.
"Here, wear this," reaching under his cloak he lifts off a fine silver chain with an amulet, which resembles a sword with a stone in it, dangling from it. He drapes it around Gray's neck. Gray instinctively wraps his hand around the pendant. He cocks an ear.
"Voices! Singing on the road!" He hastens forward to an outcrop, eager to have a look. Silver does not follow. Instead, striking a stance "Ice-Make Kaito" which creates a kite under the mage which allowing to fly in the air. Awkwardly, the old man clambers takes off.
"I don't see anything?" says Gray, he turns back, but the wizard is gone. A shadow falls over him. He looks up. There, sixty meters above the tree tops his master is soaring on the wind. The old conjurer squints into the distance. Far away and far below a company of dull walkers winds along the margins of the forest. They are singing a mournful round. Gray gawks skyward.
"We have visitors!" shouts Silver at the young apprentice.
Clustering together in the centre of a wide reception hall is a contingent of weary peasants, awkward amidst the dusty rugs, drapes and heavy furniture. Their leader is a fine boned youth, not yet twenty. Like the others, he is uneasy; his name is Mr Lockser. Macao Conbolt enters and sets a tray of mead before them. He leaves without a word. The visitors stare glumly at the refreshment, but are too timid to go near it.
Gray helps Silver prepare for the audience back in the conjuring room. The demon-slayer peers at himself in a full-length mirror, adjusting the hem of a black, closely fitting shirt, possessing a grey furred collar as well as light grey over-sleeves, almost reaching up to the shoulders, whose hems are secured by two sets of double stitching; the back of his shirt bears a light motif consisting of a circle with a segmented, upwards arc below it. Hanging from Silver's waist and covering his sides are two dark yellow, tassel-like cloths; he wears brown gloves over his hands and forearms and has his dark brown, baggy pants tucked inside brown boots. Over his shirt, the Ice-Demon Slayer dons a grey, segmented metal chest plate, bearing the writing "Absolute Zerø", Silver's nickname, on the left pectoral; secured to it by two round, golden clasps is a long, brownish white cape hanging over the man's shoulders. Silver's armour is completed by two blue, rounded pauldrons, possessing metal-coloured edges and squared protrusions on the upper and lower edges, each adorned by golden symbols.
"Looks foreboding enough, don't you think?" asks Silver as Gray sat with a mild catatonic disinterest. "You know, The Gold-Demon Slayer wore this whenever he changed lead into gold. He could really do that, you know. I never could. Too bad - you'd stand to inherit some real wealth," chuckles the ice mage to his student.
"You're in a morbid frame of mind. What's all this about dying? You don't even look sick." says Gray with annoyance.
"You still wearing that amulet?" enquires Silver as he checks his buckles, Gray nods staring at the ceiling out of boredom. "Good. Don't lose it. It still belongs to me." He backs away from the mirror and runs a hand through his raven hair.
"Now, Ice-Whelp, get yourself a handful of that Hakobe Ice over there..."
The demon-slayer starts down a circular stone staircase. The visitors in the hall watch warily as a door swings open and Gray makes his entrance, his face expressionless and hands pressed together. He looks rather young to be the famous Silver. Gray allows a moment to go by, and then throws his arms wide. With an icy flash, Silver appears in the doorway in a misty explosion of tiny ice shards. Alarmed, the visitors retreat.
"Hyōjin: Nanarenbu!" shouts Silver and around the room candles flare in their niches, the fireplace, the birch logs are suddenly ablaze with stilted blue flames. Silver totters to the hearth and extends his fingers toward the warmth.
"Welcome to Furubasutā. I am Absolute Zerø. Which one of you calls himself; Mr Lockser?" asks Silver in a subtle but inviting tone. The travellers are suitably dazzled by the magician's performance. The young leader of the party screws up his courage and speaks.
"That would be me. We are here on behalf-"
"I know why you're here," interrupted Silver, "You're a delegation from Galuna Island, from beyond Fiore. Let's see the artefacts."
The travellers exchange nervous glances. Mr Lockser motions to one of his companions. The man steps forward and hands over a leather pouch. One by one, Mr Lockser places the contents on the table for Silver's inspection.
"A bone. Scorched. A rock, fire-blackened. Black Ivory." At this, Silver advances and closely examines three shimmering iridescent disks as big as saucers.
"All right. How did you come by these?"
"I found them. At the mouth of the lair," answers the young boy, puffing out his chest quite noticeably with pride.
"What else?" asks Silver, grimly. Mr Lockser reaches under his tunic and withdraws what appears to be a curved sword. He jabs it into the table.
"A claw."
"That's no claw. It's the tip of an arch-demon horn." Whispers Silver, trying to hide the shock in his voice. He runs a finger along a serrated edge and gazes bleakly at his visitors. "This is no ordinary demon…"
Mr Lockser has lost all trace of timidity. "Who else can we turn to? We all know what we're dealing with here. This is one of your kind. And only a necromancer such as you can rid us of it. You're the only demon-slayer left. We've even tried getting help from the Dragon and God slayers, they are helpless against it! I've already lost a dear friend of mine to this beast…"
With a sigh, Silver lowers himself into a chair. He rubs his legs and shakes his head.
"Every district, upon the solstices and the equinoxes there's a new victim!"
"My daughter, for one," says a grizzled old peasant named Wakaba. People concurring with him sounding in about their missing family members.
"All women?" guesses Silver, with a hint of bored foreboding in his body language.
"Girls. Virgins, to be exact, chosen by lot," chimes in Mr Lockser
Gray edges over to the table and inspects the ivory and horn tip.
"Father, don't you think –"
"Silence!" bellows Silver unexpectedly and broods for a while.
"Are you afraid of demons, Ice-Demon slayer?"
"Not even a little. Demon-slayers and demons go back a long long time together. If it weren't for demons, there wouldn't be any demon-slayers. This Demon however, is Deliora…" he pauses for a moment in thought. "All right. I'll go."