Lynx: Dun, dun, dun! Chapter 2 all! Haha, look at that! I am on a roll!
Link: Ya, sure you are. Maybe you should wait to say that at the end of the chapter.
Marth: He has a point there. And aren't the opening comments usually reserved for disclaimers and warnings?
Lynx: (glares) Fine! Then do them you two ungrateful louts! (grumbles and stomps off)
Link: (rolls eyes) Other than the plot and the OCs, this crazy bitch owns nothing. Thank the Goddesses.
Marth: This will contain blood, possible gore, yaoi eventually, swearing, and who knows what else but when it comes up we'll put up a warning about it too.
Link: You can now go on to the chapter if you even bothered to read this in the first place. Later.
Lying Forgotten: Faith is a Lost Art, Did it Ever Exist
Zelda was experiencing a loss of aplomb, a serious loss. Never, in her entire thirty-eight years of life, had she ever felt so out of control of a situation. Not when Ganondorf had fooled her father, nor when he'd slipped into the Sacred Realm behind Link, and not even when he had subjugated Hyrule for seven long years. Even in those desperate times, she had had a plan, a way to return things to normal.
Now, as she looked around at her fellow sages who each stood on their respective platforms on the isle in the Sacred Realm, she for once stood blind to the future. There were no enlightening visions from the three Goddesses, no intuition on what to do. For Nayru's sake, she didn't even know what the root of the problem was.
She'd called a meeting of the sages in the hope that one of them might have a clue as to what they were facing. She's been sorely disappointed though; all of them were just as daunted as she was. This plague, in one form or another, was affecting all the races of Hyrule. What was worse, Impa had just told her that she hadn't had a report from Sheik for nearly two weeks. Perhaps it'd been silly of her but as Queen she'd pinned most of her hopes on Sheik discovering a way out of this mess for them.
Even that had failed now, her last ditch effort. She was out of options, out of ideas, out of fallbacks. Why had it come to this? Hadn't she been a good and faithful servant, caring unselfishly for her kingdom?
It wasn't fair.
Biting her trembling lip, Zelda blinked her exhaustion darkened eyes and titled her head up to stare at the ever shifting blue of the Sacred Realm, "We must do something."
Over on her ocean blue medallion, Ruto, Sage of Water and the true power behind the Zora throne, gave a petulant huff, "We are doing something. But none of what we're doing seems to have any effect at all."
Darunia, Big Brother of the Gorons and Sage of Fire, nodded and sighed tiredly, "It's true. And I fear that if we don't find a way to fight this plague soon, we will all return to the stone."
A choked sob made Zelda look down and over at the small, green-haired Kokiri girl standing on the medallion of Forest. She felt sympathy sweep through her; the Kokiri never had reason to fear death before this, "Saria, don't cry. We'll figure this out, I promise."
Pressing a small fist to her mouth, Saria scrunched her eyes closed, let out a deep breath and murmured, "I know, I'm sorry. This is all just so…trying. How do the other races live with this? This sadness? This sense of loss?" There was desperation in the girl's voice and in her eyes as she swept her gaze from one face to another.
It was Impa who answered, her usually stern face softened, "Death is simply a step one takes in their lifelong journey. We all eventually join each other again once more. It is not goodbye forever." Silence then, for they were wrapped up in dark musings of the people they had lost. Every face there was lined with weariness and defeat.
"Look at us, brought to a halt by a disease," Nabooru snarled, her dark-skinned fists clenched at her sides, "this must end!" The Gerudo leader emphasized her point by slamming one fist into another.
Raura, his age-lined face the same as it had been when Zelda had met him, tucked his hands up his sleeves and rested his arms on his ample belly, "And what do you suggest Sage of Spirit?" The look he leveled on Nabooru was searing, "Do not stomp and shout if you cannot place substance behind it. Such behavior is ill becoming of a sage."
"And don't you stand there and sneer at me Raura, when you're here tucked nice and safe in the Sacred Realm. Perhaps it's the same for the others, perhaps not, but this goddess forsaken plague is striking down our little ones. The Gerudo have lost fifteen children just this week!" Nabooru's expression was wild with inarticulate anger and overbearing grief. Strands of Nabooru's fiery red hair had escaped their confinement of her ponytail, something Zelda had never seen before on the dark-skinned woman.
Zelda shook her head, a hand pressed to her heart, "I'm sorry Nabooru. I had no idea this plague was affecting the Gerudo in such a way. I don't understand how but it seems to attack each of the races differently."
Shaking with the force of her emotions, Nabooru growled, her eyes dark with her pain, "When I get my hands on the bastard who's causing this, I'll give him back all the suffering he's caused us tenfold. Gerudo-style."
"You said he! Why did you say he Nabooru?!" Zelda demanded. She'd long ago learned to pay attention to the nuances of the other sages' powers. Nabooru, being the Sage of Spirit, had the curious ability to sometimes trace events back to their origins.
Startled, Nabooru released all the tension in her body, instead adopting a thoughtful pose. Pulling at her lip in concentration, Nabooru sunk into a trance as she stared unseeing out at the Sacred Realm. Suddenly a shiver raced down the woman's spine, "It feels male, but there's something else. It's twisted, bitter, resentful, a little bit crazy…and dark. Wherever this person belongs to, it's very dark, in the sense of tainted." Nabooru looked around at them all, her lips pulled down in a scowl, "I don't like this. It reeks of being Dark Magic."
"But this is good Nabooru, we finally have some sort of starting place." Zelda said, nearly breathless from relief, "When the next incident is reported, I'll go out personally and see if my powers can't sniff out this source you've found. If you can trace it at all, then this plague must be closely tied to its creator."
"Are you sure it's wise to put yourself at the risk of exposure, Queen Zelda?" Impa asked, her frown telling what she thought of such a course.
Zelda whirled to frown right back at her old care-taker, "If it means saving my people, then I will do anything." That said she turned her back on the Sheikah, "In fact, maybe all of us should attempt to trace this path with our powers. I know each of us is specialized in our abilities but I believe we each have the power to sense someone else's workings."
"You're correct there, Zelda," Darunia agreed, thumping his chest with enthusiasm, "I will do everything I can to tumble this obstacle, on my word as Big Brother of the Gorons."
Composed as ever, Raura nodded his head, "We each now have a task; I think it best we adjourn this meeting and set to them immediately. If none of you have anything further to add that is?"
In unison all the sages still living in the physical realm shook their heads, some eager, some reluctant. Seeing this, Raura gave another nod, his heavy white eyebrows gathered together on his forehead, "If one of you discovers something let me know and I shall contact the rest. I wish you all the best of luck and continue to pray for your safety."
Hearing that, each of the sages were enveloped in their respective colors as they teleported from the Sacred Realm. Zelda, last to go, watched as each light faded before she finally triggered the teleportation spell herself. When next she could see again, she was standing alone in her bedchamber. Its familiar furnishings reassured her, working to calm the vertigo she suffered from every time she teleported.
Tucking a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear, Zelda sat down on her bed, leaned over the bedside table and blew out the flickering candle. Then, climbing into the covers and settling herself for sleep, she lay her head down and closed her eyes. For the first time in three months, she didn't dream of people with foul, suppurating sores in their mouths and eyes crying tears of blood as they condemned her for letting them die.
xXx
He couldn't breathe. Wrenching at the heavy, blue-dyed cotton of his brand new journeyman robes, Marth tried to force air to circulate underneath them. It was ridiculous, having to wear such oppressive fabric on top of his normal tunic and trousers. And then having to stand in the stuffy adjuncts chamber while the heads droned out the ritual passages of ascension? If this kept up he was going to suffocate and then there would have been no point to this boring ceremony anyway.
Sweat kept pricking on his forehead. Wiping it away with the back of his hand for what felt like the millionth time, Marth swore expansively, unafraid of being scolded for improper language. When would they signal for him to enter already? It had nearly been an hour; surely they needed his presence by now.
He tugged at his robe's high neckline, a scowl affixed to his face. Since he had nothing better to do, he began to pace. More sweat built up on him, but he'd long since realized the futility of trying to stay dry underneath his clothes. This chamber was as good as a steam room anyway.
The real reason for his agitation had nothing to do with the room's temperature or his robe or how long he'd been waiting. What really had his stomach in knots was the fact that his father, mother and older sister were all sitting out there in the grand hall, attending his ascension ceremony. He hadn't seen his family in over two years, so he really had no idea how to react to their presence now.
This was a pickled mess in a rotten barrel for him. Not even getting to see the few friends he had among the royal guards was enough to outweigh the verging on terror he was experiencing because of his family. Flapping his robe again fruitlessly, Marth's pacing increased. He just wanted this done and over with already. All this waiting, and anticipating and running himself in mental circles, it was giving him a nasty headache.
As if they'd heard his plea, the door to the chamber magically unsealed and the Centrum was called, "Apprentice Marth Lowell, please grace us with your presence."
Hastily straightening his now rumpled robe, Marth smoothed his long bangs back, took a deep breath and entered the Hall of Pinnacles. Above him the ceiling was shrouded by swirling mists of ever-changing color, a demonstration of the skill and power of the mages who lived inside the Tower. There was no natural light filtering into this hall by means of windows; all illumination was provided by floating, flameless orbs interspersed in the air above. Rows of benches stretched from nearly the back of hall to the front platform; all told the hall was almost three hundred feet long.
It was all very intimidating, and purposeful and all together effective. Anyone entering the Hall of Pinnacles immediately knew to never take a Tower mage lightly. That was what this place was after all; an entire country and society living inside the white granite walls. Here was where boys came to be taught magic, and they grew to become mages. Not men but mages who were infinitely stronger and better than all the rest of humanity.
Eyes were on him from both sides and he'd become the center of attention in a way he'd never had before as he moved down the aisle between the pews. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. However, he'd been born to this as the Crown Prince of Altea. With a stoic face he moved down the aisle until he was standing in front of the Centrum where he then knelt and said, "I am here Centrum, to be judged and lifted upon your wisdom."
The old man's craggy face was creased with solemnity, his heavy ornate robes shrouding his sparse frame completely, "Apprentice Marth, you are here because it has been judged that you are ready for the rank of journeyman. Do you agree with this assessment?"
Marth nodded but kept his eyes on the ground, "I do Centrum."
Making a thoughtful noise in his throat, the Centrum turned to regard the panel of Masters standing ranked behind him, "And do any of you have a reason why Apprentice Marth should not gain the rank of Journeyman?"
All of them shook their heads after a long moment except for Merric, who Marth could see in a quick glance was fighting hard to keep a smile off his face. Seeing the Master in agreement, the Centrum returned to facing Marth, his wrinkled hands slipping from his sleeves to begin tracing burning sigils in the air above Marth's head, "Then henceforth, Marth Lowell shall be known by the rank of Journeyman mage. He will have all the privileges but also all the responsibilities that come with such a rank." With a final flare the sigils flashed and sunk down into Marth. The Centrum smiled then, offering him a hand up, "Rise, Journeyman Marth."
Taking the hand, Marth rose to his feet. Briefly he met Merric's eyes but then his attention was diverted by the Centrum proffering him a heavy medallion on a thick silver chain, "This is the symbol of your rank. I recommend you keep it on your person at all times. Now turn and face those who have to come to witness your raising."
Marth did as he'd been told after slipping the chain around his neck. For as far back as he could see there were faces looking up at him, silent and observing. He refused to look at the first row where his family sat; he couldn't bear to see disappointment in their eyes. Instead he looked as far back as he could and gave a fluid bow, "Thank you all. I will do my utmost to be the best journeyman in the history of the Tower."
Then there was clapping and cheering and Merric had come forward to put his arm around his shoulder. The Centrum had retreated, letting the other masters handle the commotion of the reception which was inevitable after any ascension ceremony.
Looking at Merric, Marth wondered, "You think I can avoid my father for a little while longer?"
Grinning at him, Merric steered him over to the left of the platform, "I don't see why not. There are plenty of people waiting to congratulate you and get in good with the Altean royalty."
"I could use some bootlicking. It always makes me feel better." Marth joked, grinning back at Merric as they stepped down off the platform. Merric wasn't able to respond because the crowd swarmed forward, closing in around them and all trying to get Marth's attention. Shaking his head, Marth put on his most charming smile and greeted an old woman holding her hand up to him.
xXx
There was a strange scent in the air, indefinable. It seemed to be permeating everything, slipping into every crack and crevasse. Zelda held a hand to her nose, trying to stop the scent from filling the scent receptors there. It was no use though because it seemed every time she breathed it filled her lungs, clinging to the flesh inside.
It made her feel dirty, sullied. No, no, it made her feel tainted. That was the word she wanted to describe the effect of this scent. Wherever this scent came from, it was nowhere good. This supported the feeling Nabooru had told them about during the meeting. Yes, just from this scent Zelda was now certain that whatever had manufactured the plague, it was not natural.
Hand still held before her nose, Zelda moved deeper down the main street of the small village that had been reported plagued-silenced just this morning. All the small houses were built of wood with thatch roofs. It was a very tidy place, little fences around vegetable gardens and no unsightly clutter in the streets. This village seemed a fairly prosperous place with little hardship in the daily lives of its inhabitants.
It saddened her that such a lovely place had been lost, the people gone forever. Perhaps as a ruler it made her unusual but she cherished every life under her protection. What was worse was that every minute she stood here mourning, the higher the probability became that another village would suffer the same fate. Steeling herself, Zelda let her hand drop and strode to the center of the village. There she knelt down, pressing both hands to the dirt of the main street.
Behind her the escort of guards was watching, ready for any sign of danger to their Queen. Zelda shut them out, sinking down deep inside her inner self to where her sage powers slept. With little effort she tapped into them, focusing their strength on picking up traces of Dark Magic. She was certain now that the source of the plague was tainted in a very bad way.
Tendrils of her power spread out around her, searching like hunting dogs for the trail their master wanted. Patiently she waited, praying to the Goddesses her efforts would bear fruit. After what seemed an eternity to her, one of the tendrils sent a ringing chime back to her. On its heels came the understanding that what it had found was the smell Zelda had noticed earlier. Thrilled, she commanded it to trace the scent, which it obediently did.
Excited, her breath quickening by the second, Zelda followed along behind her seeker. Hopefully, in a matter of minutes, she would know what was killing the races of Hyrule so indiscriminately. And she could bring the person who'd unleashed such a disease on them to justice. Make them pay for harming Hyrule and causing――
Agony seared through her. Hatred so intense it mimicked a frozen fire was tearing at her nerves. Nabooru had not been exaggerating: whoever this was they were jaded so bitterly that they were nothing but cruel, sharp edges in their soul. Oh, and the taint. The taint was enough to choke her and she couldn't believe this person, whoever they were, hadn't died from it. They'd succumbed, but hadn't died.
How had they not died?
She needed to hang on to the trace though, at least until she found something that would help her track down this person. Come on, just something, anything. Abruptly, a sharp knife of foreign magic sliced through her seeker, sending it hurtling back into her. Letting out a pained cry, Zelda cut off her magic. Falling back, she sprawled undignified on the ground, her chest heaving for air.
"Good Goddesses," she breathed, a sweat drop trickling down her forehead. Never before had she experienced her magic being cut so swiftly and expertly. She doubted the other magician had even had to expend any other energy beyond the cost of the spell. Whoever they were, they were powerful indeed.
"Queen Zelda, are you alright?"
Zelda turned her head to see Captain Reftin crouching by her side, his face creased with a worried frown. Giving herself a shake, she smiled reassuringly at him, "I'm fine Captain. There was just a little hiccup with my spell. Could you help me to my feet?"
Taking her proffered hand, the captain assisted her to her feet. He let go as soon as she was steady though, his hand going back to gripping his sword hilt, "I don't like the feel of this place, My Queen. I think we should leave soon; very soon preferably."
Zelda didn't see much point in arguing with him. She had the feeling if she tried to seek out the plague spreader, her spell would only be cut off again. She could do no more good here, "I agree Captain. Let us start heading back to the castle."
The man didn't even let a hint of surprise enter his expression though Zelda knew he must be feeling it, "As you say My Queen. After you."
Lifting her skirts, Zelda glided back to her carriage, passing between the guardsmen on the way. Yes, she needed to get back to the castle so she could call another meeting of the Sages and let them know what she had learned her. Hopefully, she would also be able to convince them of the necessity that they must all perform the seeker spell together. Or at least in a group of three.
Climbing into the carriage with the polite hand of a guardsman to steady her, she settled on the cushioned seat inside. Carefully she arranged her skirts around her then set to watching out the window. Captain Reftin wasted no time in getting his men mounted, and starting the small party back towards the palace. An efficient man; her captain.
Now if for once Raura would allow himself to see that efficiency was required as well. The old man was so caught up in tradition and the like that he couldn't see how much the world had changed. Though perhaps being locked in the Sacred Realm didn't help with that. There was only so much one could see through the eyes of a giant owl. One way or another though, she would make him see something had to be done.
It was her duty as the Queen of Hyrule.
xXx
Marth let out a deep sigh as the press of people around him eased after nearly two hours of constant small talk. Sometimes there were serious disadvantages to being royalty; such as people assuming you'd remember their name after a brief handshake over three years ago at a ridiculous dinner party of theirs. Honestly, the idea was simple ludicrous and unfair besides.
Royalty were supposed to be made of something better than mortal flesh though; thus he did have to remember the person's name or at least make it seem as if he did. A lesson his tutors had taught him well, thank goodness. The dance of social intricacies always made his head hurt.
Looking around the Hall of Pinnacles, he scanned the crowd to try and spot Merric, but he couldn't find his friend's green hair anywhere. Muttering darkly under his breath, Marth surreptitiously slipped off to a corner where he could maybe hide in peace for the rest of the reception. Though he'd joked earlier that bootlicking made him feel better, it always had the reverse effect of making him sick to his stomach. How could someone wish you a long life and plot your political downfall at the same time?
"Disgusting, immoral, flea-bitten curs; I hope their teeth rot in their heads." Marth grumbled, a hint of a glare narrowing his eyes.
"Careful son, they might hear you."
Starting at the voice, Marth turned his head to stare at the King of Altea as he approached. By the King's side, Marth's mother the Queen glided smoothly, her face serene. A little behind them his sister, Princess Elice and the heir apparent to the throne, was smiling as a hint of mischief danced in her eyes.
Unnecessarily smoothing the front of his robe, Marth cleared his throat and bent his neck in greeting, "Hello Father, Mother, Elice. Have you enjoyed the reception so far?"
Looking over the gathering, Elice gave a sigh and a small shrug of her shoulders, "As much as you have I suspect. This one is more stifling than any I've been to for months. Here I was thinking magicians would know how to make a party lively."
"Mages, not magicians," Marth corrected, scowling, "and most of these sacks of bones wouldn't know lively if they were brought back from the dead."
The comment made Elice laugh but his father frowned at him, brows furrowing, "That is no way to talk about your superiors, Marth." Lifting a hand, the king tapped the medallion hanging from Marth's neck, "You are part of them, so you must show the proper respect. I know I raised you to be better than this."
Laying a hand on her husband's arm, Liza said softly, "Stop lecturing him Cornelius. This is his day and he deserves praise for his achievement." She looked at Marth then, her teal bangs swaying and smiled, "Wonderful job by the way, darling."
Dropping his eyes to the floor, Marth rubbed embarrassedly at the bridge of his nose, "Thank you Mother. Though it never should have taken me this long to gain the title of journeyman."
Going around their parent, Elice placed an arm on Marth's shoulders, grinning, "Stop putting yourself down, brother mine. From what I've heard many of the masters didn't think one as old as you could attain the rank at all. You've proven them wrong which is an accomplishment in my book."
Marth chuckled, giving her a small grin back, "If you say so, Sis."
"I do." Elice nodded decisively, and then looked at their father, "Do you agree, King Cornelius?"
Rubbing the bridge of his own nose in perfect imitation of his son, Cornelius agreed, "I suppose so. Good work, son."
Marth felt a wave of relief and pride wash through him, and the dread he'd been feeling for a week eased. Slipping out from under Elice's arm, Marth gave his father a bow, "Thank you, sir."
"No thanks necessary, son." Cornelius insisted, clapping Marth on the shoulder when he straightened, "I forgot to mention to you in the letter we last sent that your fiancé Princess Shiida would be attending as well. Have you spoken to her yet?"
Repressing the natural urge to flinch, Marth shook his head, "No, I haven't. In fact I haven't even seen her."
Blinking, Cornelius frowned and surveyed the crowd, "That's strange. I was certain she would attach herself to you the moment she could."
Marth didn't feel the urge to mention that he had done his absolute best try and stay away from anyone he was personally familiar with, including his family. However, it was odd Shiida hadn't found him. Usually she was harder to get rid of than a leech. A very sky blue, swaggering, demanding leech, "If she's here, I'm sure she'll latch on soon enough."
Suddenly, arms indeed latched themselves around his right arm, a feminine voice murmuring in an attempt to be alluring, "Have you missed me, dearest?"
Marth nearly choked, just barely managing to stop himself from blanching. It was as if his words had been a summons even though he hadn't invoked magic of any kind. Seriously? Speak of her and she shall appear? Maybe Shiida was a succubus with a very powerful misdirection spell hiding her true identity.
Though the thought was ridiculous, Marth felt the sincere wish that it was true. Unfortunately, she was his fiancée and he was a prince, so he couldn't let his thoughts color his social interactions, "Like a drowning man misses air, beautiful."
Giggling, Shiida brought a hand up to cover her mouth as a blush tinted her pale cheeks, "Oh Marth, you rascal." Releasing his arm, she turned to give his father and mother a respectful curtsy, "King Cornelius, Queen Liza, it has been far too long since we last spoke. I hope you have both been well."
"Very well, thank you." Liza replied, smiling fondly, "I trust you have been well yourself?"
Shiida, smoothing her blue white-slashed silk skirts, nodded, "I have indeed been well. Talys has been very prosperous these last few years, our fishing market especially. One should never have anything to complain about if the economy is thriving."
Discreetly, Marth rolled his eyes. He had heard Shiida complain many times about the most inane of things, such as the wrong shade of silk or a servant not bowing quickly enough. Of course his parents were completely taken in by her pretty sentiment and duly impressed by her selflessness. Oh how he wish he could burst the illusion and−−
He was saved from making a fool of himself by Elice clearing her throat, "Shiida, it seems you've grown very well over these past few years. My compliments to your tailor, your dress is exquisite."
Shiida regarded Elice for a brief moment, before offering a curtsy while she shook her head, insisting, "Thank you, Princess Elice, for the compliment. I shall pass on your words of praise. Though I doubt I shall ever look as lovely in a dress as you yourself do." Marth's ear caught the hint of jealousy lacing those last words, though he doubted his parents had heard. They refused to believe any bad blood existed between their daughter and their future daughter-in-law.
"Well, there you are," Merric exclaimed, joining the group, "I've been looking for you everywhere." Moving to Marth's side, he placed a hand on his shoulder, "I forgot to tell you that you're required to summon a familiar in order to complete the ceremony. You aren't considered a full journeyman until you have a familiar."
Cornelius frowned, his thumbs hooked in his smooth leather belt, "What in the blazes is a familiar, Mage Merric. If it will interfere with Marth entering the political world then I will go have a talk with the masters now."
Blue eyes thinning in thought, Merric tapped his lips, "I suppose the best way to explain a familiar is to say they are a companion to a mage who helps enhance their magic. It is very much how I believe a swordsman and sword are."
"What will the familiar look like?" Liza tilted her head, curiosity plain in her eyes.
"More importantly, does it follow a person everywhere?" Cornelius demanded, his lips thin with displeasure.
Looking between the two, Merric tried to smile reassuringly but sweat was beading on his forehead, "Well, as you can see, my familiar is not with me right now so Marth's won't always be with him either. As for what his will look like, I cannot say my Lady Queen. Every journeyman must summon his own familiar, and because every person is different they summon one unique to them."
Marth saw his father starting to open his mouth to ask something more, so he looked at Merric and suggested, "We should probably get going. It's not good to keep the Heads waiting."
Merric nodded his head, relieved, "Yes, we probably should." Looking back at Marth's mother and father, he gave them a respectful bow, "Wonderful seeing you again, Your Majesties. I hope your stay at the Tower is enjoyable."
Already starting to edge away, Marth added, "I'll see you again later." He didn't wait to hear a reply, beginning to thread his way through the crowd. Merric was right on his heels, sticking close so they wouldn't be separated. Marth doubted the Heads would even bother with him if he showed up without his friend.
Once they were outside the hall of Pinnacles in a wide hallway, Merric gestured for them to go right, "I see your father hasn't changed much."
Marth barked a humorless laugh, "You expected him to?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Merric guided them down a smaller hall branching off the one they were walking down, "I thought maybe since you're older he would be a bit less abrupt with you."
"If only," Marth mumbled bitterly, scrubbing at his forehead to ward of the tiredness seeping into him, "but there's no use wishing for something that will never happen. So what does a summoning involve?"
"Well, all the necessary components should already be present and set up properly, so all you should need to do is invoke the magic."
"Wonderful." Lapsing into silence, Marth frowned at the floor as he walked beside Merric. It would be strange, having a familiar with him. He knew Merric's Excalibur well, in fact liked the wind elemental quite a lot, but having another living being tied to him through what amounted to be a soul-link? It was terrifying if he were to be truthful with himself.
When he'd first come to the Tower he'd seen a mage brought in who was weeping and raving in equal amounts, his mind broken to splinters. The man's familiar had been killed in a battle with a dark sorcerer, a violent death in any circumstance. In the three years since Marth had never seen that mage in the Tower, nor would anyone tell him what had happened to the man.
It was easy to see why the thought of having a familiar was not appealing to him. Besides, he might end up with one that was a smart-ass or sadistic or strange. No, not appealing at all, "Can I refuse to do this?"
For a moment Merric didn't reply then said, "No, you can't. If you do, you'll be put out of the Tower immediately and stripped of your rank."
Marth sighed, his shoulders slumping, "Great."
Merric put a comforting hand on Marth's shoulder, "Having a familiar is not as bad as you're imagining it to be. I would be lost without Excalibur, honest truth."
Shrugging again, Marth glared sideways at him, "There's no guarantee my familiar will be nearly as nice as Excalibur."
"No, there's not," Merric rolled his eyes then glared back, "and it would serve you right to get the most pig-headed familiar out there with the way you go on." Stopping, he pointed to the double doors at the end of the hall, "And now the moment of truth. Let's go."
Marth trailed in behind Merric as they entered the room. It was a windowless chamber, dark except where candles glowed in limbed stands. In the center of the smooth stone floor an intricate diagram was drawn, words written in the archaic language of magic interspersing the designs. The eight Heads, one of them the Centrum, were standing ringed around the design in the eight points of the compass. Their faces were all serious masks and not a word was spoken by them until the Centrum said, "Master Mage Merric, you may wait outside. You will be called when the summoning is complete."
Again no one spoke until the door closed behind Merric then the Centrum spoke again, "Journeyman Marth, please move to the center of the Ag Glaoch Eitseáil*."
Suppressing the butterflies threatening to fly up his throat, Marth moved to the center of the design, keeping his eyes locked with the Centrum's. When he was in place, the old man nodded, "Good. Now I'm sure Merric has told you what you will be doing in here. This is a very important moment for a mage, since the familiar you call will be your lifelong companion. You know the chant, correct?"
All Marth could make himself do was nod.
"Good." The Centrum stated, then gestured at Marth, "You may begin when ready, Journeyman."
Marth's tongue felt like leather in his mouth, the inside coated with cotton. Begin when he was ready? Well he wasn't freaking ready and he probably never would be! This wasn't some game or an exercise, this was something that would affect the rest of his life. But what choice did he have? None, like always.
Firming his shoulders, his let a breath gust from his nose and closed his eyes. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to watch. Slipping into the empty state of mind he entered when practicing with his sword, Marth spoke the first part of the chant. Immediately the magic dwelling inside him ignited with a spark, rising up to rush through his every pore. It would have surprised him if he could be surprised in this state of mind; his magic had never responded this quickly before.
As he began the second part of the chant, he vaguely heard the Heads start up a separate chant. That would be the spell which would contain the creature he called long enough for him to bond it. A summoned creature escaping hadn't happened in hundreds of years but there was no reason to tempt fate. He would never live down the shame of his creature was the first to break the record. Though he hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, he would not fail now that he'd begun.
The third part of the chant was the toughest; complex and long. Marth could already feel his magic drawing something here, to the Ag Glaoch Eitseáil; from the force he felt the creature must be resisting fiercely. He hoped that wasn't as bad as a sign as it seemed. Oh please, let him get something good that wouldn't cause him too many problems.
The last harsh sylable falling from his lips, Marth heaved for breath, sweat plastering his hair and clothes to him. Around him there was deathly silence; he felt fear prick him and his eyes flickered madly under his closed eyelids. Oh god, what if he had failed to summon anything? But he had felt his magic, felt the spell work. He couldn't have failed.
His doubts were smashed in the next second when a rage-filled scream pierced the air. Eyes flying open, Marth gazed in utter disbelief at the creature crouched across from mismatched eyes, the right a putrid yellow-green iris surrouded by red and the left a solid, milky white glowered balefully at him.
As his mind took in the entirety of what he was seeing Marth felt himself automatically recoil in horror. This thing was disgusting, loathsome, bizarre. There were huge, ribbed wings longer than the length of its body, and a whip-like, barbed tail lashing back and forth through the air. Both were attached to a body with skin an ashen grey in color; all of it covering corded muscle, no spare fat to be found and the ribs and joints forming prominent ridges. Hands and feet were tipped with large, cruel claws that glittered coal black in the light from the spell and candles.
However its face was the worst. On the right half the features looked as if someone had come and changed them so they resembled the razor edge of a sword. In contrast the left side, with its empty eye, was surrounded by skin that seemed made of metal or stone. The features on this side were muted, more like a suggestion of features, though they were experiencing no trouble in conveying the same demonic rage as their counterparts. Splitting both sides was a mouth wider than normal, the edges half-way up the cheek, which was filled with needlelike fangs. All of it was enhanced by the lank, tangled, so dark a brown it was almost black hair that was cut in jagged chunks which fell around its head. To tie together the overall appearance, there were two ridged horns that shifted in color from blood red to maroon curving out from its forehead before curling back and ending in wicked points up in the air.
Marth shook his head again hard, barely noticing the leather wrapped hilt of a sword peaking up over its shoulder before muttering a prayer under his breath as he met the demon's eyes again. That was the only thing this creature in front of him could be. Why his summoning had called a demon he couldn't fathom. He hadn't even ever studied the darker arts of magic, nor did he have a wish to. So a demon...it just...it made no sense!
"There has to be some mistake." He insisted, shifting his gaze to the Centrum and glaring at the old man for all he was worth.
"I was thinkin' the same thing."
Marth's head whipped back to the demon, his glare meeting its glower. He refused to acknowledge the shiver creeping up his spine from the sound of the demon's voice; like how rusted metal would sound if it could speak mixed with dead tree limbs creaking in a raging wind. There was no way he would form a familiar bond with this thing! If he had to listen to that voice every time it spoke, he would go mad, "Silence beast. Your opinion isn't wanted."
"Journeyman Marth!" the Centrum thundered, his face a stormcloud of disapproval, "That is no way to speak to the being who was called by your spell. You should be honored a demon answered; they make fearsomely powerful familiars and the Tower is sorely lacking them. Now finish the bonding or I will banish you from the Tower and tell your father his son was too cowardly to bond a familiar."
And what was he supposed to say to that? No? Hah, that would be the biggest mistake of his life. He would never be able to show his face to his father again. Heaving a disgruntled sigh through his nose, Marth started to search inside his pockets for something he could use to bond the demon. Most people chose to use a piece of jewelry of some kind; an earring or a ring.
"Bonding?" The demon hissed, his wings opening somewhat and his tail thumping the ground in agitation, "Not happening." Suddenly, the thing lunged towards the Centrum, his hand drawn back to slash the old man to shreds. An inch from the Centrum, the demon's hand struck a wall of magic which flashed golden at the impact. Shrieking, it retreated back from the wall, its eyes promising death to everyone in the room when it got free.
A jewel…that was it! Shifting his hand to a small pouch on his belt inside his robes, Marth slipped his hand inside and grabbed the smooth, cool stone his mother had given him when he left for the Tower. Pulling it out, he brought it up to eye-level to inspect it. The blue-green jewel was opaque, the colors strong and vibrant as they almost seemed to swirl inside it. Perfectly circular in shape, it was only half of a whole; the entire jewel having at some point in time been cut in half.
At the time when his mother had given it to him, she had told him it was called the Fire Emblem and that he should only use it in times of great need. Well if this wasn't a time of great need then he didn't know what was. Nodding to himself, Marth locked his gaze back on the demon. Murmuring the bonding spell under his breath, Marth watched the creature lunge at the containment spell again, screaming its fury.
Spell ready, he silently crept up behind the demon. He was glad the Centrum was keeping the thing's attention by speaking to it, otherwise it probably would have turned on him and ripped him limb from limb. Slowly, quietly, he got behind and to the side of it, the Fire Emblem clutched in his hand as it vibrated with magical energy.
Just as the thing spotted him, he leapt forward, slapping his hand to the side of the demon's head. Thankfully he had aimed right and the Fire Emblem was pressed to the demon's temple, flat side lying against the skin. Before the demon could jerk its head away, he knotted his fingers in its greasy hair to hold it in place.
Forcing its eyes to meet his, he demanded in a hard voice, "What is your name, demon?"
Bristling, its wings snapping open, the creature snarled and started, "Fuc—," but its jaw seized up as the bonding spell settled into its skin and forced it to say, "Searbh."
Lips curling in a small, triumphant smile, Marth said, "Well Searbh, my name is Marth Lowell, the Prince of Altea and a Journeyman Mage of Tower Arcanum."
"I care, why?" the demon sneered.
Marth smirked at it, "Because from this moment forth, you are now my familiar."
The Fire Emblem flared. Pulling his hand back, Marth watched in fascination as it turned white hot with heat. Searbh screamed, clapping its own hand where Marth's had been and falling to its knees. From underneath the demon's hand, black crawled out to form a swirling tattoo centered on the demon's yellow-green on red eye, the edges ending in sharp points. When the black was finished forming, thin golden streaks outlined the black then spilled into it, making intricate scrollwork inside the boundaries.
He'd never seen the bond mark a familiar so visibly, so he looked to the Centrum and asked, "Is this supposed to happen?"
The old man replied over Searbh's pained groaning, "It is, though it rarely does. A mark so complex is almost unheard of, but it is a good thing. It means the bond between you cannot be broken unless you break it."
"Flaming pieces of steaming horse shit!" Searbh cursed, glaring at them through his lashes, "I'll pay you back for this." His clawed hand was still pressed to his left temple, but his wings were folded tightly to his back now. The thump of his tail striking the floor was loud in the stuffy room.
"No, you won't," Marth stated, running a hand through his hair, "because I'm telling you not to. Centrum, if you could please release the containment spell?"
Marth felt the spell fall and he walked out of the Ag Glaoch Eitseáil, heading straight for the door, "Come along Searbh, it's time for bed."
Though the demon threw threats at him, it followed on his heels like a trained dog heeling its master.
Lynx: Mwu~haha~haha~ I feel so proud of myself. Only chapter 2 and already 17 pages in word.
Link: Some would argue longer doesn't necessarily mean better
Lynx: (glares) Well, I like long chapters, so too damn bad.
Marth: It would figure your tiny brain would follow by the saying of, "bigger is better".
Lynx: (fumes) It does not! And my brain is not tiny!
Link: (sighs, ignoring the other two as they continue to argue) Well readers, please R&R with your thoughts on the chapter if you feel so inclined. A warning: flames go to keep this crazy bitch warm at night so don't waste your time.
*Calling etching in Irish.
