Drops of dew clung onto the blades of grass that carpeted the famous plains of Sacae. Shafts of pale morning sunlight struck them, and the land seemed to glitter like the minuscule gemstones imbedded in magic tome covers.
A girl donned in a light olive green dress and a pale cyan cloak was perched upon a branch of a tree among a small cluster of others. She fingered her three magic tomes, one from each school of magic, brushing away her medium length midnight-blue hair as it fell into her vision, and decided on a simple Lightning tome to study.
She opened the book, the cover flipping over with a sticky sound. She stared at the first page, dark brown eyes wide.
She had been careful not to get her hopes up, so this time the disappointment she felt was subdued. The letters of the ancient words were murky, as if she was trying to read it while submerged underwater, and impossible to decipher. This seemed to happen every time she was alone, but whenever she had company, human and animal alike, she could suddenly comprehend the spells, the words flashing in sharp focus...
Sighing, she put away the Lightning tome and switched to Fire. She yielded the same results with the Anima tome, and even squinted as she fingered page by page through the Flux tome, to no avail. Despite supposedly suppressing her disappointment, waves of it crashed through her mind like the tides of the Southern Sea. But when she really asked herself, was she really expecting anything new to occur today? Day after day of glancing through her tomes only to see blurred lines staring back at her ought to have taught her something already, and there was no point in wasting any more time. She slowly and methodically placed her tomes back in her almost-empty pack, thinking about where to head for the day. Her age-old map and the stale information from a Lycian village six months ago told her that the Lorca Tribe would most likely be passing by the area in the easternmost of Sacae-
Her hand was still clutched around the spine of the Lightning tome when it happened. Her mind flared from an onslaught of Light. Excited and knowing what this meant, Serena threw open her tome, and awaiting her on each page were the spells, suddenly crystal clear. She then chanced a glance down.
As she suspected, a lone deer stopped its trek to munch peacefully on the grass. For reasons unknown, Serena had noticed that in the Sacaen ecosystem, deer tended to emit a Light aura. Serena could feel it, feel Light pulsing from its soul with every beat of its tender heart, and waiting no more, let loose a Lightning spell. The deer fell silently and immediately; Serena hoped it was a quick and painless death. As soon as the deer and its soul were gone, so was Serena, and as she returned to her neutral state, the words of the Lightning spell were once again as gray and hazy as morning fog.
She put away her tome and dropped down to her kill, her thin, worn sandals doing little to stem the impact of landing. The deer's head and neck was severely mutilated, but its body was untouched. Sick as it was, she smiled slightly to herself. Her aim was improving, although it could have something to do with Light magic's uncanny accuracy. With her dagger, she set about to stripping the deer's hide- she could just imagine how much the Sacaens would like it, she couldn't wait to present it to them and get a look at their Anima-infused souls. Then she could begin to train up her Anima magic (she wondered when the last time she had opened her Fire time for use was) and then when she was done with that-
Don't count your chickens before they hatch, she reminded herself. But it was difficult to stave away the feelings bubbling inside her, excitement and happiness about being a part of Sacaen culture, exploring the land, meeting new friends (or at least just having company after all these lonely months), and of course, training her Anima with the people of the purest Anima-souls on Elibe- after all, Anima was the magic of truth, and the people of Sacae never lie.
But this might not necessarily happen, thought the truthful, and in this case, negative side of her mind. As her blade meticulously picked away at the deer pelt, her mind contemplated her future. If they wouldn't take her in or she couldn't find them, then she would... she would... she didn't know. If worst came to worst, she could follow the streams and her map and return to civilization, she supposed, but the very idea was most appalling and unappealing.
The shadows were considerably shorter and darker by the time she finished extracting the hide and the hooves (did Sacaens use deer hooves?) and there was still the matter of its meat. It was raw and unfit for digestion, and times like these made her wish she was a regular Mage and could conjure up magical, non-smoking Fire at will to cook it. But she wasn't a regular Mage and for now she would have to make do with washing it in a brook while waiting for a creature with an Anima-affinity to trot up.
Like a vicious hornet, coming back again and again, no matter how much she pushed the thought to the back of her head the same thought would return to haunt her mind: Maybe you aren't like most mages because you don't have a soul...
And she cut off that thought before it could continue to evolve.
She cut some slabs of meat with her dagger. It would sustain her for some time, and for that she was grateful. Clutching the warm, slippery, bloody slabs of meat in her hands and wandering around was not her ideal way of preparing a meal. If anything, she felt as though she was baiting vicious carnivores to attack her.
No sooner than the thought crossed her mind did a gray wolf step into view, a good distance away but still too close for her likings. It nearly scared the wits off her until she noticed its size. It was much too small to be a wolf and it was not in a pack. So it was a fox. Did foxes even eat meat? She wasn't certain, but the gray fox bounding toward her confirmed her thoughts. As it approached, her mind sensed the fox's Anima-affinity and snapped into wakefulness. Amita was ready.
Tossing the bonier chunk of meat toward the animal, she whipped out her Fire tome. One hand still grasping venison, Amita clumsily flipped to a page with the other and cast it at the fox. Managing to just catch the meat aflame, she also chucked in the slab in her hand and when the fire dissipated, there lay some blackened lumps of food- one of which was already half-bitten- and a very charred fox. She congratulated herself for executing such a rushed but successful plan.
Amita left her mind again, and the Fire tome was once again useless. Putting it away and carelessly wiping her grimy fingers on her light blue cloak, she sank her teeth into what was left of the bait, sprinkled some precious salt on the whole cutting of venison, and left the dead fox where it was.
That was a strangely-behaving fox; even with her limited knowledge of wild animals, she was not sure they usually behaved like that. Still, she decided not to dwell on it. She had only walked about twenty paces when her conscience commanded her legs to scurry back to the fox and bury it under some leaves.
That is so something Serena would do, she thought as the last leaf fell in place. Amita, her Anima self, might not have cared as much, but Serena, her Light self, did. She laughed inwardly. Most people, she guessed, did not divide themselves into different people and name them, why was she so odd?
Well, no, they're not different, it's not like I transform into different people or anything. They're still me, just emphasizing on different aspects of me, she argued with herself. And when I can't access them, I just return to boring defenseless me.
You know that's not what I mean, she thought back. Maybe I like to do this because I don't have a soul-
Once again, the thought was left unfinished.
A glittering something caught her eye. It was sunlight kissing water in a sparkling embrace. The water from a small creek gurgled happily into a pond. Before she had even realized it a smile already played across her face. She had been searching for a place where she could bathe and scrub her clothes and wash her midnight blue hair (her scalp itched at the thought of letting her mud-caked hair go another second without being washed).
A ring of trees served as a natural curtain. Privacy was an added luxury, and without another thought she dumped off her pack, disrobed, and stepped into the water.
It was cold, but not nearly as cold as she was expecting, and she stayed in the water long enough to cleanse her skin and hair until not a speck of dirt remained. While she would have loved to take a swim, the size of the pond- or lack of size- rendered it nearly impossible, unless she transformed into one of the many sleek silver fish that would glide in the water, stop, then dart away in a different direction. They were too small to eat so she didn't bother catching any.
Dripping water with every step, she waded out of the pond. Unsure of what exactly to do next (she scolded herself for not thinking ahead), she resorted to standing in a patch of sun in order to dry off, turning red-faced even though no one was in the vicinity, and thanked her lucky stars it wasn't too windy. She dried quicker than she'd expected, so she put her shift and dress back on and stooped by the water to rinse her cloak. After hanging it on a low tree branch she headed to the trickle of water to replenish her water supply and clean her dagger. When that was done, she simply sat, waiting for her cloak and her hair to dry.
Watching that dry was about as fun as watching ink dry, so blowing her damp hair out of her face (looking almost black), she circled the pond and with a last glance at her cloak (it was safe), stepped out of the safety of the trees and gazed into the plains.
There was nothing but undisturbed plains for miles and miles. The vast ocean of luscious green grass spread to the horizon, the rolling hills reminiscent of soft flowing waves, blades of grass constantly turning over with each breeze. The scent of the green radiated from every leaf in sight.
It was a breathtaking view. So it was with a reluctant heart that she turned back to check on her cloak. It was still soaked and chill to the touch, and she gave up, deciding that running around with it on in the sun would dry it faster.
Clasping it together at the front, she picked up her sack of tomes and headed out, this time to a different area. As the trees parted and she entered a clearing, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Not fifty paces away was a white cloth tent. A ger, she remembered they were called. This one was larger than the other two scattered beside it, and was round with a red curtain. She knew, from what little studying she could conduct, that it must be the chief's tent.
Fear and exhilaration caught in her throat, all at once. Her fantasies and daydreams that she had called plans to meet the Sacaens crumbled to nothing at the sight of the tents. This was real. She only had one chance to introduce herself and ask to acculturate with them. She would have to also explain that she wanted to practice Anima magic, and what if that frightened them? What if her offering offended them? Did Sacaens even use deer hides? What if... What if she wasn't accepted?
Stop panicking, the calmer part of her commanded. Think this through. If they don't accept you, then... Hmmm... You could return to Etruria or Bern... Or try to find another Sacaen tribe... But be careful when you do. One wrong move could give them cause to attack. You realize doing this could risk your life. Maybe you should end your quest and escape now with your life intact.
No! Another part of her mind screamed. I came all this way to train, not to run! I came, knowing the consequences of failure... I think. Besides, I don't want to live through life with any regrets. I want to be able to say, 'As I look back on my life, I regret nothing. I did everything I wanted to do.'
Yes, I'm certain this will be very comforting when you die by the hand of strangers. At that, she quit arguing with herself.
A man strode out of the tent. He was unkempt and unruly, swinging his enormous axe so hard she could hear the menacing whoosh where she hid, back in the copse. She hadn't even noticed her feet carried her back to the trees.
I guess that's him. The chief. It's now or never. She willed her feet to move. And I choose... Never. She sprang back in her hiding place.
Coward, one half of her brain scoffed while the other snapped, Quiet! Something's not right.
She stilled herself, concentrating hard, resorting to observing his aura. The chief was... yes, had an Anima-affinity... But... It was average. Not extraordinary. Not better than the Etrurians she'd encountered.
She sank to the ground, feeling her heart plummet. She had come all this way... and the Sacaens weren't even that special?
No, she said. I choose not to believe this.
You wish to delude yourself?
I, well, yes, I suppose. I'd rather call it, 'just making sure'.
You mean, 'not being able to accept the facts'.
Well, based on my facts, Sacaens have horses. He has none, and I see none. Also, Sacaens wield swords or bows. They're much easier to forge or make than axes and much more practical in this environment. So, I conclude that-
Before she could conclude anything, the chief roared and scampered away. Two others, wielding axes and looking as though they hadn't bathed in weeks, hurried out of the smaller tents to follow him.
Curious as to where they were heading, she left the trees once again, a finger on each tome, the marshy ground silencing her footsteps.
A burst of Anima prodded her mind, but she didn't revert to Amita. Rather, another one was vying for space in her head. They fought for dominance in her mind, and she thought her head was going to crack open, it hurt so much, she pawed in her sack for-
Ah, got it. Popping off the top she took a swig of Pure Water, and the voices in her mind dulled down. That other feeling in her head, that other person... She had not heard it in so long she'd almost forgotten a third one existed, Miana. It was that nearly nobody she'd ever met had a Dark-affinity, so she rarely had even a chance to train her dark magic.
So who was out there with a Dark-affinity? She glanced out at the field, and the scene was surprised her so much that she simply stared for a moment.
The chief and his two tribesmen were fighting a figure in blue and green. It moved so fast she couldn't identify the blue blur at first, but as something flashed in the sunlight and a tribesman fell, she realized it was a sword-wielding woman with long pine-green hair tied back.
This woman was Sacaen. Anima flowed out of her like nothing she'd ever felt before, a thousand foxes nor a hundred of those axe-wielding men possessed the amount of Anima she had in her soul. In her mind, Amita simply relished on the abundant Anima. But who was the woman guarding?
He was no Sacaen. He was unarmed but standing close to her. His emerald cloak and chestnut hair shone in the sun, and he seemed to be doing nothing. She wanted to scream to the woman "Leave him!" until she saw her nodding at the man every once in a while before commencing some sort of attack. He was advising her...
His soul was the source of the Dark feeling emanating across the field. The two people in her head were roused again, wishing to best the other and take command of her mind.
Yes, she could have chosen Anima. It would have been an good choice. But she chose to give up the good choice for something excellent: Dark magic training. She could train with Anima any time, but when was the next time she would meet someone with the Dark-affinity?
The Anima and Light tomes slipped from her hand. Miana stepped into view and with apprehension, raised her hands.
She'd almost forgotten the drawbacks of Dark magic: power in exchange for your soul. See, you do have a soul... Right? a tiny bit of her thought, but the bulk of her mind was focused on warding off the energies and spirits that threatened to swallow her soul at the first sign of weakness.
The words in the book seemed to shimmer as she shakily cast the spell, pulling some of the Dark waves of magic that undulated from the man. The innate, instinctual yearning to fall in the hands of the darkness was great, so great. She could hardly concentrate for the dark spirits, hissing and biting at her mind like bloodthirsty serpents. Miana stumbled and shut her eyes; it was as though someone had snuck up from behind and wrapped their arms around her, trying to drag her down. But she held her ground, refused to be pulled into everlasting darkness, if only barely, and found her will to resist. The darkness receded like an ocean wave.
A curious sensation followed. The spirits that she thought has left her mind manifested into something like cold thick sap. Still trapped within her, it seeped down, seeming to exit through the soles of her sandals and into the ground. A moment later, it surged above ground. It was the solid embodiment of shadow, and its tentacles grasped onto any living thing in reach.
Piercing shrieks rang. Miana's eyes snapped open, and she watched in horror. Shafts of shadow were clinging to the woman, and she was desperately struggling against it. An enemy saw this opportunity to raise his axe, grinning exuberantly, and as it fell-
The green-clad man, with strenuous effort, pulled the woman to safety, and the darkness turned to the enemy and with a horrified scream he was yanked underground, out of sight.
All eyes turned to Miana with visages of fear and suspicion. Miana was still shaking off the feeling of fear of her own actions. How could she forget that Dark magic was the least accurate of the three disciplines?
The last remaining foe turned away from her two allies in favor of her. "You can't stand up against me. I am Batta the Beast!" he bellowed. He charged.
She was petrified with fear, staring wide-eyed at the crude axe. As he approached closer it occurred to her to MOVE!
Gasping she jumped to the left; the axe sliced downward without meeting flesh. No time for relief, the axe was curling toward her.
Miana screamed as she dove away. She landed- thud!- on the dusty ground on all fours. Then, realizing she was still alive, she scrambled to her feet and ran.
Don't run away! Just run enough to give yourself distance. Air rushed into her mouth, but not the kind that supplied her with a breath, it was the panicky, frigid kind of wind that filled her lungs as she tore away from the Beast, who gave chase. Her wet cloak flapped loudly in the wind, its heavier-than-usual weight slowing her down tremendously.
This is going nowhere. Just attack! Miana whirled around to see Batta some paces away, axe clutched high in the air.
Miana looked down. The letters seemed to tremble and blur- oh, it was just her hands shaking- and she was whispering the spell, raising her hand-
The spell was cut off mid-chant; better the spell than my head, she thought as she looked up and ducked just in time, instinctively shielding her face with her arm. The swish of the axe was such that she could feel it blowing her hair out her face. She'd never engaged in combat so close to the opponent before.
Now! She yelled the spell, standing back up and directing it right at Batta, point blank.
The feeling of the shadows within sank into the ground again from her feet, like roots, and this time, with her hand pointed straight at the brigand- she was close enough that she could grab his axe- the roots unerringly sought out the enemy.
But he was stronger than his henchmen. Fighting the vines of darkness, he pulled and thrashed and tried to hack the living shadows. Miana cried out with the effort of keeping the darkness wrapped around him; it was as if he was wrestling her to the ground; any second now, the grip of darkness would loosen and if it turned to her allies or herself, the aftermath were unthinkable.
As she had thought, the darkness ceased its clash with the brigand. She prepared herself for the inevitable-
"Drop your weapon. Now."
Huh?
Miana opened her eyes- she had not realized she'd closed them- and was face to face not with Batta, but with the Dark-affinity man. Just behind him, she saw blood streaming on the ground in little rivulets, and her eyes followed them to the source: The bandit, stabbed clean through, though also bearing ugly markings from where the darkness seared his skin. The woman drew her sword out with the strangest expression of her face- regret, but also anger?- and hurried to join him.
Oh. So the darkness was gone because he was too. But she could not express her relief when another threat loomed over her, literally.
Only now did his words register in his mind, and the tome tumbled to the ground, landing splayed out like a fan. It was more of a refreshment than it brought fear; the Dark pouring out of his soul was too much for her to handle while she was carrying her own source of Dark magic: the Flux tome. Even so, Miana's head did bow from being in such close proximity to the Dark aura.
"I-I-I'm sorry about almost hurting you," she blurted to the woman once she caught up, "I didn't mean to. I'm not very good with Dark magic; I've never really trained with it before." Her apology rose in the air and hung there like a heavy curtain. The woman seemed troubled at "Dark magic", perhaps she'd never heard of it before. Meanwhile she was emanating Anima from her soul, and Miana began to fidget a bit.
The man looked unimpressed. But the woman said only, "I believe you. What's you name?"
Now Miana froze. Was she to say "Miana" or the name of her neutral form? "Well, it depends," she answered in a calm voice that belied her panic, worried that she gave away too much information.
"On what?" The man retorted. Miana decided she did not like him very much.
"People like you," she said simply.
He said nothing in return, opting to stand back. The woman said, "If you don't want to tell us your name, fine. But why were you fighting?"
"Didn't I tell you already? I never quite trained with Dark magic before." She spoke only to the woman, feeling more composed and calm. The fright of the fight was ebbing away. "Therefore, I want to train it up."
"You would use human beings as your target?" She replied, suspicion leaking on her face.
Now Miana deadpanned. "Well, obviously not all human beings, or I'd be fighting you, yes? It appeared as though you were targeting human beings though and needed help, and I wanted training, so I came. Due to my lack of skill with this magic, I almost- unintentionally- harmed you, but in the end we were all safe and we worked together in the end to being down the Beast."
Not a word was said in reply. Miana was unnerved by the calm way the man scrutinized her. Was he a calculating sort of person? After all, it was easier to know the minds of enemies by listening to them, understanding them. She tried to give away nothing, feeling as though she was not doing a spectacular job, and began inspecting him. The woman seemed oblivious to their silent observing.
"My goal is like yours, traveler," the woman said finally, splitting the tense atmosphere as though she had sliced the air with her sword. Both looked at her now. "I myself wanted to train and grow stronger, so that one day-" and she clamped her mouth shut here.
"My name is Miana." She ignored the unfinished statement, though in her mind she pondered what it meant and could entail. "And how do you intend to train?"
"Mark traveled here as well." She gestured to the man. "And I was hoping to travel with him elsewhere." Her voice trailed off, as though she wasn't certain such a thing would happen, but was hoping it would anyway.
"Leave behind your tribe?" Miana's voice raised in pitch. "But why?"
Mark and the woman exchanged looks. Finally, she said, "I haven't given you my name, have I? It's Lyn, of the Lorca tribe."
Miana gasped and broke into a grin. "Lorca! I've been looking for them! Where are they? Can you show me?"
Mark and Lyn exchanged glances again, only this time, rather dark looks. Miana's excitement simmered down a notch and she ceased bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Tension pervaded the air as though a chill wind had settled in.
Mark spoke up this time. "I supposed I'll begin the tale. Lyn can supply us with... the rest, if she's up to the task. First, before I begin, I'd like to ask you something.
"Why were you fighting the bandits? Why them and not us? Or why not them and us?"
Miana was taken aback by this question for an instant, then was inwardly panicking as she struggled to find an answer that wouldn't give her away. "Oh. I, uh, um, I just... knew," she answered feebly, eyes on the ground. For reasons unknown, she just could not look into Mark's piercing green eyes.
"Really? You just... knew." Mark's expression was unpleasant, the beginnings of a cruel smirk twitching on his lips. "As if that isn't suspicious at all. Tell me then, who were they?"
"Well, originally, I had thought they might be the chief of the Lorca tribe, because I had gotten wind of them and a village just outside Sacae told me that they would be passing by this area-" she gestured to the surrounding plains, "but then as we fought I noticed that they didn't seem to be Sacaen, and I had no u-use for them." She stumbled over the last words, cursing herself for not thinking before speaking. Now Mark was most likely even more suspicious of her. Her hopes of traveling with him were beginning to fade away like smoke in the air.
"No use for them? That was worded... Interestingly. So then, you have use for us?" He mused to himself. Now her chances of traveling with him was diminishing even more. Miana decided she did not like him much as an enemy.
"Get to the point. Why did you ask me all this?"
"Because... Those people, as you concluded, were not Sacaens. They were filthy outlaws who would do any dirty work to survive. Lyn has a particular grudge against bandits. The Lorca that you were looking for... When did you come by information about them?"
"Around mid-spring. I've lost track of dates."
"That explains it." He looked back at Lyn, who was glaring at the grass with such intensity it was as though she was trying to burn a hole through the ground. "This story is yours now."
Lyn paused, unable to look up from the ground. Mark stepped back, silently. Miana fidgeted some more (she was itching to reach into her pack for some Pure Water).
"I've already told Mark this, as you've probably guess by now. But yes, I have to strength to tell my story again." She waved off a concerned expression on Mark's face.
"The Lorca tribe... was shattered. They are," she choked a bit, "no more. Six months ago, bandits attacked us... And so many of my people died that night.
My father was the chieftain, and as their daughter I had a special privilege. I was the only woman in the tribe who was allowed to learn the ways of the sword. This was temporary, because-" and Lyn stopped speaking.
"What was temporary?" Miana asked in a tiny voice. Lyn refused to say a word.
"Can't you tell she's not ready to tell us?" Mark snapped. So Mark doesn't know either, Miana thought.
"...Thank you Mark. I'm sorry." Lyn buried her face in her hands. "Another time.
"As I was saying, I tried to help fight them off. But I was unskilled, weak. No one wanted to follow the ideas of a woman, and the men of the tribe tried to defeat them while we stayed back. They were... brave... displayed true bravery to the very end...
"Soon, I was the only left. Not even the women or helpless children were spared! And I've been alone for so long..."
Miana sympathized. Traveling by herself through the plains of Sacae took a toll on her emotional well being, only having her other selves for company. Only she'd had a goal. Lyn had none. She must have been more than devastated...
"Today has taught me something. I need to grow stronger by going out into the world. And I can't be on my own anymore. I need people," Lyn declared. "And then I can avenge my father- no, my tribe's meaningless deaths."
"Yes." Mark smiled. "I'll be your strategist, and you can be the peerless warrior."
"And I'll be your mage, to cover your back... If you'll have me," Miana added.
"Lyn, I would find it wise to bring Miana with us. Despite her questionable skill with magic and battling in general, if she improves them, having someone to take out threats from a distance would be most beneficial. And as she said, she can cover you back." Mark held out his hands in defeat. "I may know the ways of war, but I don't know the ways of being in one."
"Excellent! Of course we'll take you along." Lyn beamed at Miana. The two shared a grin. Miana realized she hadn't truly smiled since six months ago, and guessed the same went for Lyn.
"That's great! We'll go on adventures and journeys. How exciting!" Miana hopped from foot to foot.
"How old are you? You are such a child," Mark huffed.
"Well, I can't always be boring and sullen, can I?" Miana said, "and I'm almost fifteen."
"Ah, so your childish behavior matches your stature."
"I'll have you know I'm about five feet tall."
By now, the mutterings in her mind was unbearable. Miana reaching in her pack for some Pure Water, chugged some down, nearly choked, and then picked up her Flux. The people in her head dispersed at the first taste of the Pure Water.
"Are you truly a shaman?" Mark asked, eyeing her pastel-colored outfit.
"Sometimes," she answered mysteriously. "I'll explain," she cut in before Mark could say, "What do you mean?" or "How suspicious."
"I'm not a regular magic-user. You saw how I just drank the Pure Water? No, that's too complicated." Miana stopped to think. "I'll start by pointing out those orange and yellow things there, in the distance." With her finger she pointed behind them, at the tomes she'd dropped by the copse.
Lyn could not identify them. "What are they?"
"I'll show you come with me." She started toward her books. The two followed close behind. As they neared, Mark frowned as he squinted.
"Are those...?" He trailed off as his suspicions were confirmed. Miana picked up her Fire and Lightning tomes, still sparkling despite the mud, and placed them inside her satchel.
"You can use all three disciplines?" Mark asked, now his voice higher-pitched with surprise.
"Just hear me out, please. I can use all three," Miana said, and Mark gaped, "but I cannot use them at will. I need to be around someone, preferably not someone who is already a magic user.
"People like you," Miana now faced Lyn, "you fight with your strength and with your weapons of metal. However, everyone contains a wellspring of magic within their soul. So if I borrow magic from magic-users, they can perceive it right away. The type of magic depends on your affinity, or the month you were born in. As you know, Fire month is the first one, then Lightning, then Thunder, then Shine-"
"Then Elfire, Aureola, Ice, Water, Wind, Light, Dark, and the last one is Anima, we know the order of the months," Mark finished listing them impatiently, though with a rhythm to it.
Miana smiled. "Oh, so you know the nursery song too. So most people are born in either a Light spell month or an Anima spell month."
"I myself was born in Thunder," Lyn brought up.
"What about Ice, Water, and Wind?" Mark queried. Lyn said nothing, not knowing much about magic in general from her swords-and-bows background.
"Wind counts as Anima, despite the lack of an existing Wind tome. Ice and Water, unfortunately, are useless to me. Why? Because I need to be around someone with a magical affinity."
"It looks like you can't explain Ice and Water with magic," Lyn piped up.
"Yeah. So, as I was saying, I need to be around someone with a magical affinity to use magic. I draw out magic from their soul to use. And I think I can't do it myself because..."
"You don't have one?" Mark supplied.
"I think so." Miana heaved a heavy sigh. "And even though I was born in Anima, ironically I still need other people in order to create Anima magic... Anyways, I've only met two Dark-affinities in my whole life: my father and you. My father died when I was young, so naturally I've had minimal practice with it."
"But aren't there more of them?" Lyn asked. "Lots of people can be born in Dark."
"One generation ago, there was much persecution for Darks," Mark said in a tight voice. "They were hunted down by Lights and Animas for using 'the cursed magic'. It was a bad time to be a magic-user... Even now, Darks are forbidden to be wed in a church and produce children. There aren't many of them left, and most live in hiding."
"That's why I need you, Mark. To do magic. So sorry to force my company onto you." Miana smirked. "And Lyn, you know the saying 'The people of Sacae never lie'?"
"Yes, of course I do."
"Thought you'd like to know: Anima is the magic of nature, and attacks with the might of truth. Your soul bubbles over with Anima. It's why I came to Sacae in the first place. To see if the saying holds true. And it does with you. Hey, that rhymed," Miana noted.
"And when I think about it, there is a Sacaen superstition that married women should conceive during autumn so that their child can be born in spring or summer. It makes sense now. During spring and summer is when most of the Anima months take place!" Lyn gasped in realization.
"So you can use all three types of magic by taking magic from people-" Mark started.
"Or animals to use it-" Miana added.
"-and you want to travel with us," he summarized.
"Yeah. By the way I dress in lighter colors because most of the time I use Anima or Light," Miana added as an afterthought. "Anyway, what I will say now is very important. Listen closely.
"Both of you have very bright souls, very... loud ones, you could say. I can use Dark magic if I'm around a Dark and if I'm touching a Dark tome. The tomes are my only sources of magic I own. Alternatively, if I'm touching an Anima tome, I could draw magic from Lyn and use Anima. Same with Light, if there was a Light-affinity person around. That's how I use the three schools of magic.
"Also, my personality changes slightly with the type of magic I use. Miana is the name I use for Dark- that's why I said that my name depends on people like you, Mark- Amita for Anima, and Serena for Light. That's all. I'm still the same person though. And since both of you are standing so close to me, Lyn, you're rousing Amita with your Anima-ness. She wants to surface but Mark is the only reason I'm still Miana. I can hear Amita in my head right now..." Both backed away from Miana as though she was carrying a highly contagious disease.
"Don't worry," Miana said, though she made no move toward them, "when it becomes too much that's when I drink Pure Water. It dulls them down. Anything else I forgot to mention?"
"Can you heal? With staves?" Mark asked.
"That has been a mystery for me for years. I can't. Not even a little, and not even if I'm in a hospital full of clerics."
"It's getting darker," Lyn remarked. "Let's return to my ger. A ger is-"
"A type of round hut Sacaens use, correct?" Miana said. "I know from books."
"Okay. Good for you, Miana." Heralded with a chilly wind, they made their way into Lyn's home.
o-o-o
"I want to head to Bulgur first," Lyn said as she passed out bowls of steaming soup, the venison donated by Miana and the herbs by Lyn. "To pick up supplies."
The three were sitting cross-legged around the cooking fire, their faces illuminated by firelight. Overhead the half-moon was looking below, watching them dine. Sitting in the fire was the pot of soup, a wooden ladle inside. Miana wondered how it didn't catch fire.
"We'll need food of course, hardtack and dried meat and such, perhaps a map if we can afford it-" Mark listed.
"I have a map here." Miana pulled hers out and handed it to Mark. He took it, frowning as he looked it over.
"Your map is outdated," he said, "and the cartographer must not have been educated anyways. Etruria is left of the mountains, not in it. Thria is above Ryerde, Khathelet is not spelled with a 'C', and Valor is not a Western Isle!" He laughed aloud as he returned it to its suddenly put-out owner.
"But, I took it from the royal archives of Bern!"
"Bern?" Mark sputtered as if she had just said she stole it from under the king's nose, which she might as well have done; it wasn't even that difficult. "Impossible. Security there is top-notch; you'd be hounded by wyvern riders. Your map is all wrong anyway. You probably got it from another place, maybe Araphen."
"Well, how would you know? You don't have a map," Miana shot. "And besides, the place I went to seemed all riled up anyway. Didn't seem to care less that I stuck the map in a tome of mine."
"Then we'll get a map as well." Lyn took it in her hands and looked it over also, but her eyes seemed a bit glazed over. Miana supposed she was still suffering from telling her story, having to relive it.
"So that's food, a map, and anything else?" Miana said. "My weapons are fine, and yours, Lyn?"
"Fine too."
"Okay, then what should we bring with us? Bedrolls, pots, first-aid things, weapons too- Say Mark, how did make it all this way without being adept at some sort of weapon? Did you hire an escort?"
Mark sipped his soup straight from the bowl, then said, "Of course not. Tacticians don't make good money, you know. It was all I could do just to afford my little excursion here. I have a knife." Mark pulled it out and placed it on the table.
"That piddly little thing?" Miana commented. "It's hardly even the size of your hand." The knife was a short, stubby little thing, and double-edged with a point on top. Its handle was also nondescript, oak wood by the looks of it, except for the polished green pebble in the center.
"I didn't say I was going to use it," Mark said. ("Reckless," Miana muttered.) "I could sell it though. That stone in the middle is a Nabatan jadeite."
"Is it a family treasure?" Lyn set down her soup into her lap.
"Yes, but-"
"Why would you sell it? It's a part of your family history! Keep it," Lyn urged, and Miana agreed.
"Alright." Mark put it back in a pocket of his robes.
The night was quiet but for the stray howl of a wolf and the crackling fire. Now that autumn was dawning upon Elibe, the crickets were back underground and the gnats blown elsewhere. Miana shivered as a hard wind greeted them; she yearned to huddle closer to the fire but did not wish to catch on fire. They finished their soup in silence, each wrapped around their own thoughts, and put out the fire.
"We'll sleep in the ger. It's safer," Lyn said. The others agreed.
Lyn slipped into her bedroll. Mark lay down on his own on the opposite side of the ger. Miana was not resting though. She was up and about, poking around the hut.
"Are you looking for something?" Lyn asked.
"That's right. I was wondering if you could show me your ceremonial masks?"
Lyn stared at her.
"Ceremonial masks?" Lyn repeated slowly, as if wondering if she'd heard wrong.
"Yeah," Miana said in the same slow pace Lyn used. "The ones you wear for your lunar festivals?"
Lyn blinked. "Lunar festivals?" She repeated, nonplussed.
Miana nodded.
Both looked at each other, confused, waiting for an explanation.
Then Miana chuckled, breaking the silence. "Looks like the books were wrong then."
"What do you mean?"
"When I was doing research on Sacae last winter, there were few books to be found. Much of the information was biased and unreliable, as they were written by non-Sacaens. But there a few things I thought would be correct, one of which was this one passage about your lunar festivals."
"What did it say?" Mark now sat up, listening.
"'The sava-' wait, let me paraphrase it. 'The people of Sacae hold lunar celebrations at the turn of the full moon. They pray to Father Sky for bountiful game by chanting and dancing around a tall bonfire. They wear intricately carved masks depicting the creation of Elibe and the plains,'" Miana recited. "So does that sound about right?"
"Any text that has the word 'savages' in it should be automatically disqualified," Mark pointed out, smirking. "Of course it's not right."
"Shut up," Miana said, but teasingly, as she realized the truth of his words. In hindsight, it seemed extremely obvious. Mark's smirk only widened.
Lyn blinked again. "Well, this doesn't apply to the Lorca tribe. We never do that."
"Oh." Miana sighed.
"But do the books say anything about the Lorca?" Lyn inquired.
"No. Not much. They just say that you tend to settle around regions of Southeast Sacae." Miana's face brightened. "Why don't you write about it?"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I mean, I can't write. Nor read," Lyn explained. And then Miana remembered the indifference Lyn expressed when she picked up her tomes, the way her eyes raked over the map and saw nothing.
"No one's ever taught me how. Only my father, as the chieftain, could read and write, though he rarely did; messengers don't come by often. It was already enough that I could even touch a sword, and I've never really been interested in learning to read and write. Until now.
"It sounds like not many people know the truth about Sacae. No one knows its history, its endless grassy plains and wildlife, life as a nomad. And I'll be the first to do so," Lyn said. Somehow, her quiet resolution seemed bolder than if she'd shouted it.
"We'll teach you letters. Me and Mark," Miana said, poking a glance at him.
"Yes. We'll begin first thing tomorrow."
Thank you for reading all the way to the end! So anyway, for this story (yet another FE7 tactician/adventure story), please disregard everyone's canon affinity (Lyn's is actually Wind.) Updates will be about, maybe every few weeks.
