The Disciple's Lament
Frost had settled into the mountains early. Snow soon followed, draping the high conifers in a blanket of pristine white. The nesters were hibernating on their stores, while the wanderers nibbled at dying grass and the hunters followed the wanderers.
There was a grizzly bear in the region; he stayed clear of her. There was a wolf, who might have been were... could have made for a decent conversation, but one could never tell with were; he would rather not have his head bitten off by a temperamental manwolf, if it were a man at all.
There was something else, too... a touch of malice in the air, barely warm enough to feel. He was second-guessing, for it was there and gone again, but he never took these things for granted.
The elf followed the cold trail of the wolf, backtracking to a telltale bank in the snow. Mud and dirt and slush, all kicked up into the pile. He pulled off his mittens and began to dig at the surface, soon getting deep into the cache. It was a foal of some kind... the wolf was smart enough to know his size. Not much left... but enough to make a meal out of, for a scavenging thief.
He paused. Listening, sensing for anything that would explain his uneasiness, he narrowed his eyes, dimming their glow. Beyond the dead-silence of winter, and the cold creeping into his fingers... He pulled the wooly muffler down, his breath turning to frost in the pre-dawn light. He threw back his hood, following over his shoulder to where his sword rested peacefully.
Maybe it was the wolf – there was a degree of magic in lycanthropy, after all – but this felt like the Otherworld. Either way, a fight was a fight, and he was one to take every advantage he could have.
It moved – a man, a magician perhaps – faster than he could see.
---
He awoke disoriented, and swelteringly itchy, bundled in furs against a chill that was no longer there. He couldn't remember where he was, or why he was there... the last thing he did remember was the lodge at Minhear, and that didn't make any sense at all. He found his reflection staring back at him from the polished metal floor, and sighed; it fogged up his likeness, but he was lost in his own illustrious eyes. But the barely audible sct't't, sc't, was starting to get to him, and at last he labored to sit up straight and figure out where he had landed himself.
It was dim at first, and light beyond. He blinked and squinted, shedding his bulky furs as he followed the line of oddly polished floor to where it met steel-iron bars. Beyond was where the brightness came from, lanterns in a room methodical organized and classified. A man scribbling at a table, ignoring him completely.
A laboratory, his mind reacted, as the adrenaline kicked in. Sheer instinct shut down everything else, and he reached for a sword that was – he already knew – missing. He fought to keep control, but the simple reality kept beat with his pulse. You're in a cage.
The man looked up from his letters, and stood for a closer look. A clean, unassuming type, in dirty white robes, he smiled thinly. The elf scowled; the ceiling was low, barely high enough to stand, and he paced the length of the cage restlessly, trying to thwart his uneasy uncertainty.
"I see you're awake," the man said, returning to his parchment to scribble something more.
"And you are...?"
"Not important."
"Of that, I'm certain," the elf scoffed. The man's smile didn't waver, and if he were phased at all it showed as the mere pause in his breath. Then again, that could have been swallowed laughter, and the elf wouldn't have known the difference.
"Perhaps you could enlighten me," the man continued, "And for the sake of good will, let's start simple. What is your name?"
The elf didn't answer, and the man sighed softly. "Expected, let me assure you."
"Why am I here?"
"To further my research." There was a glint in his eye, and the elf's lips curled back from his teeth in silent repugnance. "Don't worry, you won't feel a thing, I promise."
"Well, then. Perhaps you could tell me the story behind that tattoo of yours. Is it... tribal?"
The man wandered over to the cage again, quiet and confident. The elf lunged, catching the man against the bars. He ought to have broken the cad's neck, but he was a moment too late, a moment too slow, for something hit him, then... strong and painful and corrupt. He fell back, and the man recovered; whatever had happened, it was a hindrance, but the elf was laughing to see that the other had fear in his eyes.
"Hmph," he huffed indignantly, straightening his clothes. "I'll come back when you're feeling more courteous."
The man left. Moments ticked by. Ostensibly, the elf fell to pacing again. He was in a cage, set into the wall and four foot off the ground. His sword was gone, he was in a cage, and there was a ... what? A scientist? The spacious room was a study, with a... what he had taken for a desk was a table, covered with implements he could only guess at. There was one door, and... five, other cages. They were empty, except... for the dwarf peering at him from across the room.
"So he's caught himself another one, has he?" She tipped her head towards him as he noticed her. "Who might I be welcoming?"
He didn't answer, merely stared, and she laughed gruffly. "Not a confederate, kid, but I am the only one likely to remember you here."
And not like it matters, he thought grimly. But he shrugged anyway.
"I was... am." He sighed. It wasn't like the title ever just went away. "I am a Light Warrior."
"He up and caught himself a Light Warrior? Ain't that a story..." she chuckled, "So would you skewer me if I were to ask what's up with the tattoo? Can't say I saw all of it from here, but it looked damn near impressive."
"Have you heard of the River of Blood?"
"Not in this lifetime."
The elf smiled. "Then it's just a tattoo." He paused for thought, and focused on the shining, amber eyes across from him. "'Another one'?"
"Aye, another one," the dwarf nodded to the cage beside his. "He seems to have lost interest in dwarves, but he's gone out and been hunting elves like nothing."
He looked, for although he thought the cage was empty. Twisting just so to see between the bars, he caught sight of a pale form crumpled just barely out of sight. He grew angry, and began pacing again.
"Oh, they're all different and interesting to talk to. The first was scared, the third was serene... that one's already lost. We're all like him, all human, sir, if you forgive me saying so, but he doesn't want to see it."
There were no excuses good enough and no words obscene enough. Someone was going to die, slowly and painfully by his hand. And he was going to enjoy it. He examined the cage, following the seams, looking for a door or a lock; for where there was a lock, there was a way.
"It's above you, believe it or not. He's got a servant, does most of the heavy work."
He stopped searching. Sour, he sulked, eyeing the dwarf as if she had personally spoiled his plan. "How long have you been here?"
"Some months," she grinned, "Likely, I could tell you anything you like, 'cept how to find the way out."
---
He waited, solemn, patient, for the man to return. He waited in vain, for he blacked out first, and woke up weaker than before. It was odd, and he didn't ask, but the man didn't return and he blacked out twice more before he awoke – or dreamed – of the fiends bloody activities. It was no wonder he was so tired, if he were being bled night after night.
He wasn't sure that was it, but he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he sang and chanted to keep himself sane, and talked to the dwarf when he couldn't. At last, the man returned to the lab, and the elf was ready for him.
The day was kind to him – it was a night of the Otherworld's domain – and the magic overflowed. The energy summoned effortlessly, a Word was all it took. The temperature dropped, and the air grew dry as he called forth the power of water... the power of ice. The shard crashed across the room, hovering its length. The man stood, slackjawed and shocked, but otherwise unaffected. The elf scowled… the magic was too powerful, and he had missed. The ice dropped, shattering across the floor.
"Impressive," the man crooned at last, relaxing only slightly as the elf dropped from the exhaustion of casting. "I must remember to be more careful around you."
The elf mumbled, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?"
"Why?" The elf lolled his head up to glare at the man, but his hair cascaded into his eyes. "Are. You. Doing. This."
"Oh. Oh, That." The man smiled, honestly. "I'm glad you asked. You see, I've been curious about the longevity of the demihumans for a long time... A human's lifespan is, in comparison, minute, but it may be possible for my studies to contribute to sharing your... racial qualities with humans, dwarves... anyone who wanted to live longer.
"I'm not that far, yet, of course. Right now, I merely want to see what allows for an elf to live substantially longer than the rest of us," he tilted his head, as if convinced into divulging a secret. "Put tritely, I want to see what makes you tick."
There was a subtle undercurrent to that; the elf could see the fear and uncertainty. This man wasn't in it for the species at all; he was looking for immortality.
"Is that all?" He was pacing again, and he stopped, consciously. "You're torturing us for that? You really want to know?" He had the man's attention now, full and undivided. He didn't care. He laughed. "We are your myths and legends, brought to life in flesh and blood. We are both worlds, in the light of the moons or the darkness without. We are one, without the tertiary pieces that would make a human whole. We live because we want to, and that's more than I can say for your whole rotting species."
The man stared. Something had cracked, and he sighed, disappointed. Frustrated.
"I think you're lying," he said, stopping to examine the ice that cracked underfoot. "Really quite... interesting."
He departed shaking, and left the elf disgruntled.
"Ha! You scared him good," the dwarf crowed, "I don't think he's ever done caught a magic user before. Not a chance, you couldn't just do that to the bars, could you?"
"Cold iron," the elf huffed, collapsing back to the floor, "is impervious to magic. Always has been. You can chill it, chill a man through it, but..."
He thought about it, and sat up sharply. He wasn't certain, but then he was never certain, and for that he felt control ebbing back. He studied the bars for a moment, before standing and pulling back his sleeves for artistic flair. After all, he had an audience, however singular she was.
How do true mages do it? There was enough magic tonight to keep him full for a barrage of attempts, but all he needed was one. Focused on points of nothing, he curled his hands to encircle the bars. The temperature dropped, he could feel the cold frost creeping over his fingers. Pulling his hands back, he sighed softly the Word.
There was a deafening snap as the metal fractured. Shivering, he pushed, burning his hands, and the iron cracked outward. Cushioning the sharp iron with his furs, he scrambled up to squeeze outward, and leapt gracefully to freedom below.
From the laboratory floor, he could see the cages properly. Square, set high on to their own platforms and reaching upwards into the vaulted ceiling, he found the lock annoying at the center of the wall of bars, and annoyingly out of sight and out of reach.
Can't have that. He found a metal implement, the first manageable for the purpose, and clambered up to the lock on the dwarf's cage. It was simple, and that made it more irritating. He slid down fast, catching the bars before they fell outward and keeping them from crashing down on his head. She stepped down, carefully, and bowed. She helped him with the third cage, and he crept inside to study the occupant closer while she kept a watch out.
The other elf was young – a mere child – and indeed fading. Bled white, she barely even breathed.
---
There was so much death that it led the way out clearly, as if he had known the place from childhood. They followed the stone passage for a time, but the elf stopped short and knelt by the wall, setting the girl down carefully.
"Stay here," he said, "Or go, but take her with you. If she dies, I'll have your beard."
"What are you going to do?" the dwarf began to ask, but he was gone already.
---
It was a honeycomb of passages, and he'd seen the like before. Half of them were real, and the other half, he guessed, illusion.
"So you got free, as I knew you would." He was new, but not unexpected. The elf paused, taking the odd man in stride. This was the alleged servant, and was more powerful than the alleged scientist, he could tell that.
"You're behind this?" he asked, cautious lest it were true.
"No," said the stranger, "I am a prisoner here, as you are."
"Oh, really?"
"Make no mistake," the big man grinned, "It is I who caught you, I who keep you, but I do so under the instruction of the one who bound me. Free me, and you free yourself."
"Jinn."
"Precisely."
The elf grinned. Of course no petty human was this clever.
---
…clever, but unreasonable. I suspect that I will be needing a new specimen before long, for
The man looked up, and looked again. He paled, the elaborate quill falling from his fingers. There was no movement, save his frantic breathing, and he reached for the summon bell. But he cried out, the dagger bloomed from the back of his hand. Desperate now, he grasped for the bell, and sounded it in a frantic victory. But nothing happened.
"Oh, he's gone, gone away," the elf said, languidly retrieving his dagger from the man's hand. "I wanted your full attention, is all."
"So, you want to know about immortality, eh?" He followed the contour of the room, and stood over the man's shoulder, examining the papers. Tsking, he shook his head, and waved a hand over them; they crumpled and burst into a tiny flame. "No good. You're on the wrong track entirely."
"Well, first you won't need these." He moved along the bookshelves, trailing his fingers along the bindings. With the one exception, of which he quirked an eyebrow curiously and tucked into his shirt, he set the books cheerfully alight. "Far too primitive. You need much better, along the lines of… oh, theurgic microbiology, for starters."
"Who do you think you are?" The books crackled and hissed, louder than he thought possible. But the elf grinned brightly, and his soft voice carried strong over the din of the fire.
"Nepithet."
"You can't kill me." He was fearfully, certain, backing towards the edge of the light. He could still escape, he could still reason, he could-
"Oh, I certainly can kill you..."
"You can't, you wouldn't be any better than-"
"...but I won't."
The man nearly dropped in relief, catching the near-wall for his balance. The elf cleaned his knife, and sheathed it at his hip; he brushed his hair from his eyes and nodded forward, behind.
"I prefer to watch them do it."
The crackling, hissing, snarling was close, now, but the man couldn't move.
---
He returned, cheerfully humming, and barely stopped to gather the elfin girl in his arms as he swept past. The dwarf paused at this, but fell in line beside him as they walked down the tunnel. The air chilled, not cold but with a hint of autumn, and the stone soon gave way to forest and the moons' light. They were free, and likely to remain so if her companion's mirth meant anything.
"So what's your name, kind sir?" she asked at last, breaking the reticence as the elf glanced about for his bearings.
"Tarn," he replied, "Yours?"
"Gigress. My thanks for the phenomenal rescue."
The elf smirked. "My pleasure."
the end
Working Title: The Value of Surprise
Inspiration: I honestly can't remember. The reworked title stems from a parallel to FFIII, though.
Noteworthy: First appearance: Nepithet.
Disambiguation: But I had odds and ends in a draft from a few years ago, scrapped it, and rewrote the entire thing within a day. Not a good strategy, overall, but I'm glad to have finally gotten it out of my system. Because of the age of the idea, this takes part in a slightly different continuity of the project which Origin Story is a part. Although it could probably fit with some squishiness, 'tis merely a simple Halloween fic.
Derivative work of material © Squaresoft, Square-Enix.