175
"Now, focus. You don't want a full reaction…just enough to give it a little cushion."
She bit her lip as she stared at the crystal. A moment later it was enveloped with aura, and she looked up at Hershel.
"Like this?"
His stern expression melted a little at the excitement in her eyes.
"Just like that, Pip."
The memory faded as Pippa stared at the crystal in her palm. But it wasn't her Uncle seated next to her, his stern nature mixed with a gentle and patient air. Instead, Imgloss snapped at her.
"Come now…this is one of the first exercises taught to children with powers. I know you know what to do."
Her mouth was in a hard line as she glared at the crystal. Normally she would be excited to show off her skills—to prove herself. But at the moment, she was determined to not do anything this man said. His grip on her shoulder tightened.
"At least summon the aura; I know you can do that much. You demonstrated it quite obviously when you lit all those herbs on fire."
The air still smelled funny from that, and she had spent the rest of the afternoon frozen in a corner after that stunt. But it had been worth it. He could freeze her on the outside, but she still hated him on the inside…and he couldn't change that.
"You stubborn girl."
He was grabbing her face again. His strong, gnarled fingers made her jaw ache as he turned her face to his. But instead of yelling, he just scanned her eyes, as if staring deep into her soul. Pippa stared back defiantly. He finally scoffed quietly.
"You still think someone's going to come for you…don't you?"
Her eyes narrowed and he shook his head.
"I suppose I should have expected a hard day at first…and perhaps you'll have a few more. But eventually, girl, the days are going to turn into weeks. And the weeks into months…and the months into years. And that's when you'll realize that there's no one coming, and that you're only doing yourself a disservice by being so stubborn!"
Pippa would have said something snarky, but she still hadn't earned her voice back. Imgloss plucked the crystal from her hand, still gripping her face with his other. He put the crystal right in front of her eyes, waving it back and forth a little.
"Tomorrow, you will do the exercise. Or there will be consequences."
She didn't reply—mainly because she couldn't. He took in her scowl and huffed, finally releasing her face. Pippa immediately moved to rub her jaw, both because it was sore now, and because she wanted to get any trace of him off of her. He took in the movement with bored irritation. Suddenly she felt him touching her curls again, mainly those that were hanging in her face.
"And we will have to do something about this ridiculous hair as well."
She screamed at him. Though no sound came out, he seemed to get the gist as she shoved his arm away from her. He chuckled and shook his head.
"You can't even see," he pointed out. "It's out of control; consuming half your face. Something will need to be done."
The thought filled her with dread. She didn't want him anywhere near her hair! Tears were springing in her eyes again, and she was trying to decide what she could destroy when he came back with a cup of steaming tea.
"Drink this, now. We'll continue this discussion in the morning."
Pippa glared at he cup that he handed her, and took a sniff. Immediately, she recoiled and threw it on the ground, the tea sloshing everywhere and creating a muddy puddle in the dirt and sand. He had put Lumanium in it; she wasn't going to drink anything with Lumanium in it!
Apparently, Imgloss had other plans. His hand clamped hard on her arm and she was jerked to her feet. She scowled and pulled at his hand with her free one, but his grip just tightened all the more as he dragged her over and practically threw her down on the small mat where she had woken up that morning.
"You will drink the tea, girl…each and every night. I'm not going to be woken up multiple times by the tether spell as you try to escape, or try to burn the tent down while I sleep. No; it's bad enough behavior during the day; during the night, it would be downright intolerable."
He went to hand her a new cup of tea. Pippa shrunk away from it, scowling and shaking her head. She wouldn't drink it. His voice took on a strangely comforting tone.
"Now, it's as much for your safety as anything, girl. I can be quite ornery when I'm woken from my sleep. I just don't want to do anything I would regret…"
She still wouldn't take the cup, and he exhaled slowly out his nose.
"Guess we will be doing this the old-fashioned way, then," he finally murmured. She screamed as the lumanium powder hit her face, but once again, no sound came out. Moments later, she sagged, and even her hatred faded with her consciousness.
Dust…Aura…Light. Endless creations possible with only three ingredients. They had grown to be what no one would have expected…and yet they remained bound to laws. Never spreading beyond the physical limits of the Island.
Dust swirled beneath her feet as she moved through the air. Her gaze lingered on the shifting land around her; a wild shore of dust. The blast had started everything anew once more, but there remained things to find. Not everything was part of the Island…not everything had been returned to dust.
She found herself at the water's edge…black waves lapping close enough to hear but not touch. The Island willed her to move on, but she had caught sight of the moon. It was full. It was beautiful.
The dust swirled around her, tugging, coaxing. The moon's rays caused the Island's dust to glow, but her light caused it to illuminate even brighter.
Search. Find. That was her charge. The Chosen must be located.
She broke her gaze with the black horizon…ebony sky meeting sea of ink. Devoid of light. The Island was the giver of light…the world out of reach of its warm knowledge.
The Chosen…she must find the Chosen.
Her journey began once more, and she lifted her hands. The dust obeyed, moving in silent waves. The Chosen was new to the Island. He would be near the surface. She continued on her way, eyes of light searching. So hard to find now that he was filled with similar Aura. It had been easier when he had the Ancient with him. Her lip curled in disgust. Ancient aroma was so distinctive. It was worth the change to dust once more to get rid of the old hypocrite. If only they could all be cut off so easily.
There. The dust moved to reveal a hand…an arm. Her fingers curled, eyes blazing with the command. A tornado erupted. Dust swirled and found new places to lie and wait to take form. The sleeping figure emerged from the dust, and she drifted down to the earth of the Island. Her feet touched the ground, causing it to puff lightly…soundlessly.
It was indeed the Chosen. He was so pale…so near completion. But color was marring his illuminated skin…staining the dust beneath his form. She sank to her knees, finding the problem. Lifeblood…she had long since forgotten how it felt to have it coursing through her. Such an insignificant force to run on; the life of the Island coursed through her now. With it she was endless. Limitless.
But the Chosen was mortal still…the blast from the Beckoning Stone and the glass had harmed him. Leaving many places for lifeblood to escape. It was draining his life… staining the Island. The wounds were not serious, but left alone, he would drift to the Departed Realm. Her eyes flashed; she would allow no such escape.
Her hands glowed with the power of the First Ancients. Of the Island…she corrected herself. For it was not fit to be named after them anymore—traitors and liars. Forever she and the Island would rage against the limits put on their power. The Island could have been all powerful, if they had not bound it to this single position in space. A whole realm that it could have influenced, but instead, it was forced to merely watch. To learn. To hoard all knowledge. But never to influence.
For centuries they had watched, with only each other. But now they would be alone no longer. And with this Chosen, the promise of freedom.
Her hands danced across his skin, the aura sealing the wounds. Breath left his lungs in even counts, stirring the dust around them. He was still chained to the air itself, she mused. She had no such limits. With the lifeblood once more sealed in his mortal form, she let one hand rest on his face. So cold…he was always so cold. Once he was filled with light, he would be warm, as she was. Their warmth would sustain the Island…heat its heart of ice.
I have found the Chosen
The Island knew already…the Island knew all. But she needed her further instructions—her direction from the limitless entity that filled her with knowledge. She was filled with a comforting feeling, and she gasped; the Island was pleased.
I shall fill him now…he shall wake a Guardian. No longer shall we play these games. He must be filled with your power; then he shall understand.
The warmth faded, the dust swirling in choppy wind. She shuddered at the Island's sudden change; she feared its displeasure. She did not understand, but then the dust whispered to her. The wind pressed its will on her mind.
She stroked his face as she listened. The Chosen must agree to the transformation. He must accept it…join them willingly. For a seed of rebellion would only canker in time. Fed by the knowledge of the Island and the Power of the Ancients, rebellion would take root in him, corrupting their connection as the centuries progressed. In the end, he would fight for freedom; their perfect assimilation would be tainted, befouled. She realized that the Island spoke truth.
For was this not what had occurred between them and the Ancients of Old?
Forgive me. I see now why we must wait.
The power in her thrummed and purred, and she relaxed. The Island was not angry. It would not punish her. She waited to see if it would command her to do more, but it did not. It's will had moved on now, preparing to recreate itself. The great halls and lavish rooms would be restored. And the prisons with their prisoners—yes. They were as helpless as any after the blast, layered under endless dust. But such a soft, comforting sleep was not their punishment; they deserved instead the frozen cells of utter blackness, devoid of all light and knowledge.
She turned back to the moon. It was large—so large. How many centuries since she had last witnessed the full moon on the Island's eternal shore? Its reflection wavered in the starlit waters, and she felt peace. So rare was she formed and left to herself. The Island was always present—it knew all. But in these moments, its connection was looser, and she could pause and reflect. And carefully…so carefully…she could open the treasures of her mind.
These treasures were mere glimpses. A sound. A face. A smell. She closed her eyes, breathing in her past identity. She did not miss it; how could she? Now she was merged with something infinitely better. But to own these tiny sparks of life had brought her joy through the centuries, in quiet moments such as these. The Island knew she had them…it had never taken them away. It would not, unless she used them incorrectly. She was safe in moments such as this…but she had allowed herself to glimpse them, when the Chosen had grabbed her arm. When he had asked if she had remembered anything from her past.
The Island had been displeased then.
She shuddered hard as she remembered the punishment. She was so used to the warmth, that the prison of cold dismayed her. Tiny sparks of herself, frozen in black glass. How fortunate she was that the Island was merciful. That it had trusted her once again.
The Chosen made a sound…a sleeping sound. Not a sound of waking. She turned her attention back to him and smiled. Her fingers traced patterns in his skin that faded after moments, and then moved to stroke his hair. She allowed herself to open her last treasure, more guarded than the rest. She knew not the context it had come from, but even now it filled her with undeniable pleasure. Strange the power it had over her, for unlike the others it was not a sense at all. It was a name.
Hershel
The feeling bloomed in her chest as she allowed the brief memory to wash over her. Her own voice said it…filled with a warmth that she could only assume was love. She did not remember love. But the Island knew about it; the Island knew all. For centuries she had only this token…this key. No understanding what it meant…she hadn't even realized it was a name.
But then the Heirs had come for their trial.
"Hershel? You want to kill Hershel?"
The memory of the Xinta's voice echoed around her in the dust, and she paused. It was not good to invoke memories; it would bring the Island's attention more heavily on her. But the Island did not react and she sighed. All those months ago, she had realized that her treasure was a name…and she wanted to seek the owner. Fate was on her side, it seemed. Fate, and the Island.
For the Island knew of her loneliness. The Island knew all. It had been searching for one worthy to be Guardian for so long…a Guardian it chose itself, rather than one chosen for it. But centuries had passed since the last visitors had come to the Island.
But then they had come—the Heirs. Two in their group were hardly worth remembering—powerless animals tossed into the pit of the Parasite to prove themselves. If they could kill it, then perhaps they would be freed. If not, there was no real pity in their deaths, for one was unpowered and the other had never been strong enough to unlock his block. Then there was the Xinta—powerful in the aura sense. But too caustic, too bitter. She had too much faith in her own power, but the Island was to be the most powerful. No, the Island needed someone humble, selfless, and wise.
Theodynn….the only name she could remember from the group. The Island had been pleased with him…but his power waned smaller than the others'. He lacked the Aura Sense required. When his life-force had ebbed away and he had entered the departed realm, Lunise had watched in mild interest.
And then they were gone…all but the horrible Ancient whom the Island was tasked with imprisoning. It seemed they were doomed forever to only hold Ancients—the race that they despised more than any others. Indeed, Ancients were almost as deplorable as the unpowered oni.
Lunise's fingers brushed the silvery dots on the Chosen's face. The intriguing marks had faded from what they had been, and she wondered what they were. She remembered how it felt when the Chosen had appeared on their shores. His memories had immediately become property of the Island, and she had learned his name. That was when she realized that it was his destiny to be hers.
But the Island had to be certain. The Island was wise, and gave him the Trial of a Master. The Chosen had pleased them greatly—he possessed all that they had been searching for. She had felt such peace when the Island conveyed its offer through her; finally, they would have the companion they had searched for all these centuries. Another Guardian for the Island to hold within its power, one who's name had been known to them for so long.
Hershel
It was the name that had convinced her. Names have meaning; she had learned that from the Island's infinite knowledge. And the Chosen bore the name of her treasure. It was a perfect sign—this was his destiny.
So why would he not listen? She slipped a hand behind his neck, another on his chest. She longed to fill him so that he would have his eyes opened to this destiny. So he would finally know, as she did, that he belonged to her.
She winced as she quickly corrected herself; to the Island. For she owned nothing—Hershel was the Island's Chosen. But as she watched him sleep in her arms and waited for him to wake, she allowed herself to entertain a personal desire. For she had seen the memories that the Island had taken from him. He had kissed that woman—the powerless Leader. Anger rippled through her as she thought about it. How could he love her, someone who had no connection to the power of the Oni? Someone who was willing to abandon him in his blindness? She and the Island had given him sight…had promised to never abandon him. She was far more deserving of his affection.
Her hand passed through his hair once again as she studied him. Until he woke, the Island would have no task for her besides keeping watch on their Chosen. He was so calm in his sleep. It was strange, the way mortals slept…their minds hunkered down in themselves. She never could sleep; the Island's power constantly flowing through her. So she watched his chest rise and fall with mortal breaths and wondered what he dreamed of.
Hershel… she murmured to him. The dust wafted around them, but then settled back down. He didn't stir, his consciousness still lost in darkness. The Island needed her to convince him to join them; to help him realize his destiny. The Island's patience was running thin; soon…more lifeblood would be spilled. Never enough to grant release to the Departed Realm, but enough to convince him that becoming a Guardian was his only true option. He could not leave—could not do anything but run and resist. Lunise did not want to wait centuries before she could truly claim him, however. She needed to convince him quickly...to save him from the Island's displeasure.
She could confide in him about her treasure, but she hesitated to mention it so openly. The Island knows all; it knew she had it. But to blatantly discuss it could anger the Island. It angered the Island when the Chosen had asked her about her past in the first place.
You are our destiny…and we are yours
His expression flickered then, and she smiled as she cradled his head.
Your name was known to us for centuries. Names have meanings, dear one. Yours is linked to this fate. Do not fight it any longer.
He stirred again, a hushed word escaping from his dream-soaked consciousness.
"Pippa…"
She frowned. Still he clung to his mortal life. Still he thought of those who were undeserving of the Island's Chosen.
You cannot reach them…your future is so much more important than theirs. The fate of the realm is always fluctuating—war, selfishness, sickness and disease. The Island is eternal, untouchable. Here you will be safe and free from all such cares.
He would understand, if only she could finish his transformation. The Island had forbidden it, however, and she could not disobey. Soon, he would wake, and the Island would be aware of her again. She opened her favorite treasure one last time.
Hershel
Pleasure fluttered within her, and she closed her eyes as she leaned forward to press her lips to his. The dust kicked up around her as she kissed him, and she realized too late what it meant.
Icy wind shot through her form, and she gasped. The Island's fierce displeasure caused her to pull away, wondering what it was she had done to anger it so.
Forgive me… she begged, her eyes closed. I meant only to convince him.
But the Island suspected the truth; the Island knew all. It could see how she yearned to own something for herself, and it shrieked at her in anger, stealing the warmth from her form.
He is the Island's Chosen…I know whom he belongs to. Whom I belong to.
She waited as the Island howled at her, her grip on the Chosen tightening. She wondered if the Island would punish them both. But eventually the winds died down, and Lunise relaxed as the warmth and light flowed back into her. The treasures were locked away into the far corners of her being as the Island's connection filled her completely, its power and knowledge flowing through her. Her expression became slack as she stared down at the Chosen, and waited silently for him to wake.
The look on his face was enough to tell Myrah that the village leader thought she was crazy. But she drew herself up regardless. She was all too aware of the dark bruise on her cheekbone, her useless arm bound to her body. But she was still the Leader, and the village leader knew better than question her sanity outright.
"It's just…" he started, clearing his throat. "We have fished these waters for generations, Leader Myrah. There is no Island like the one you describe…"
"I understand that it sounds strange," she said evenly. "But I would not be asking you to search for it if it were not important."
The village leader still looked conflicted. Myrah's tone softened.
"You told me a little while back to let you know if there was anything you could do to help me. This is what I need help with; I have let the other villages near the sea know as well. We are all searching in an effort to find this Island of Legend."
"I believe that this is important to you, and if you command it, we will do it," the village leader assured. "But what exactly is it you are trying to accomplish?"
Myrah's gaze drifted to where the sea was lapping in the distance.
"We have to find someone. He's the only one I can think of who could help us. Without him, the realm may very well be doomed to the whims of an Ancient…which could become catastrophic."
The Leader's eyes widened, and she gave him a grim smile. She understood his concern.
"That information is confidential, of course," she added. "But that is why we must search for the Island—and the Master Healer who may be lost on it."
He nodded and cleared his throat once more.
"As you wish, Leader Myrah. We shall let you know what we find."
"You won't have to," she explained coolly, causing him to once again give her a bewildered look. "I'm coming with you."
"Theo."
The teen paused as he packed a sack of food, grimacing. He turned to see his mother in the doorway, her mouth a grim line.
"We're all worried. But no one is going back to that awful place."
Theo's eyes were on the ground, and he tried to decide whether it would be better to argue or play dumb. Keyda came over and grabbed his shoulders, her eyes gazing into his sadly.
"You almost didn't make it back, the last time you went to the Island. As much as we want to get Hershel back, the risk is too great."
"But Imgloss…Mom, he's going to take over. He could do whatever he wants now!"
Her eyes grew tight.
"He's been here for centuries, Theodynn. Why would he start attacking now?"
"Because now he's the Master Healer. Before Hershel was, and that stopped him…"
He trailed off and sighed.
"No wonder they all wanted Master Hershel dead. Pazzol, Imgloss…they just wanted to be in charge so they could do whatever they wanted."
Keyda shook her head, muttering under her breath.
"Never would have thought I'd want Phos back."
"He's taken Pippa, Mom. If we're going to get her back, then we need a way to keep Imgloss in line. Otherwise, he could do whatever he wants to the realm."
His eyes flashed suddenly, remembering back to when Imgloss had cornered Pip in Hershel's tent, when he and Syn had found them. Rage flared through him to know that he had that poor kid somewhere now.
"If I could kill him, I would," Theo found himself saying, and his mother squeezed his shoulders.
"We'll think of something, Theo. We will. Your father's been discussing with Wu all afternoon in case the Dragons have something that could combat an Ancient."
"I just thought that if I could get back to the Island, I could find Hershel and we could solve this whole problem. I've been there before…"
"This situation is already complicated. With everything we're trying to figure out, losing you cannot be an option."
His mother stared into his eyes.
"Do you understand?"
Theo wanted to go anyways; he couldn't transport to Pip, no matter how much he had tried. He couldn't just sit around at the fortress waiting for doom; he had to do something. But as he looked at his mother, he realized that if he went missing as well, it really would compound the problem. After all…he had failed the last time he had gone to the Island. Who was to say that he wouldn't just make everything worse?
"Yeah, Mom. But there's gotta be something I can do to help."
"We're all doing the best we can, Theodynn. We'll figure this problem out…" she gave him another smile. "Just like we've figured out everything else."
176
Where are you Uncle Hershel!?
Pippa's call, again and again. He couldn't keep anything straight; moments of blindness, moments of weakness, fear and pain and shock and comfort all in one. Pippa's frightened face as someone hit it with lumanium powder. That made him angry.
Syn was crying. He could feel her sadness, but not her aura. She had no aura…for she was one of the powerless.
Light, Dark, again and again. Knowledge or blindness. Freedom or Captivity. The thrum of the First Ancients in his own lifeblood. Power with a pulse.
And suddenly he was with Myrah. She was saying goodbye…but he could see her this time. A dream? Because he had been blind, when she had really said goodbye. Myrah went to pull away, to leave, but he couldn't let her leave this time. He dodged Baffa on the ground, reached her just as she would have fled into the night. He grabbed her hand, and she turned, her eyes full of sadness and confusion. He put a hand on the back of her neck, and she leaned in and kissed him.
His body flooded with warmth then, and he clung to her. But she faded…only a dream. Everything was gone…no one could help him now.
He was alone.
The sound of waves in the wind pierced his subconscious first. And suddenly he was being lifted from the dark and heavy dregs of sleep…up to the light.
He breathed in deeply, and his senses were filled with the smells of the Island. Power. Desire. Things he never knew could have a smell…but then again, he wasn't the same person he used to be.
Hershel.
He knew the voice, and he was aware of the warmth now. A hand on his chest…another on the back of his head. His instinct was to recoil and fight off her presence, but he fought the instinct down. His eyes remained closed, the darkness he had grown to hate over the past months somehow comforting now.
A thin line between action and reaction he reminded himself. You are alone. Phos cannot reach you. You must tread carefully.
The Ancient power within him seemed the thrum in agreement.
He finally allowed himself to open his eyes. Lunise stared down at him with her gaze of unfeeling knowledge.
The Chosen is awake.
She was not speaking to him, he knew. Around him dust was swirling with the Island's whispers. He moved his head so he could see it.
"Where are we?"
His voice sounded strange. Perhaps because it was so calm. He had passed the point of panic and despair. There was no point to all of that; he needed to merely keep breathing, and find the correct time to act.
The Island has been returned to dust. It recreates itself as we speak. It is pleased that you were not lost in the collapse.
Was that even an option? Did she mean lost as in dead, or just…lost?
Hershel moved to sit up, and he was relieved when Lunise allowed him to. All around them, pale dust sat in swirling mounds; a landscape of white powder under the full moon.
The full moon. Pippa.
Lunise moved her hand to hold his arm…a warm shackle to keep him with her. He looked over, and dread hit hard as he realized his skin was smeared with dried blood. Arms, legs…his shirt was soaked in it. He immediately began searching for the wound.
"What…"
Be at peace.
Warmth pulsed into his arm where Lunise held it, her expression comforting.
The glass harmed you in the Island's collapse. But the Island has sealed your wounds. The Island is merciful.
"Sealed my wounds?"
He could find no trace of the wounds themselves, just the dried blood flaking now to join the dust beneath them.
"Our power is great. Once, the Power of Creation and Destruction were one—Physical and Emotional combined in the Great Force. Though no creature could hold the combined power, the First Ancients and the Elders held the purest form of each. Over time…over centuries…it has become diluted. Now only the Island holds the power that has since been lost to this world."
Her finger had moved to trace his skin, and Hershel gasped as Lunise's touch unexpectedly sliced through. But the pain was short lived as she pressed her hand on the wound, power and light surging. Chills ran up Hershel's spine as the wound was sealed closed, as if it had never been.
It will be yours to hold as well, Hershel. You need only embrace it.
He didn't say anything, still staring at the place on his arm where the wound had just been healed. His heart pounded; part of him couldn't help but be intrigued by the healing power. The rest of him found it disturbing how easily she had wounded him. He realized then that the Island would do worse…that was its plan with the storm of glass. To torture him to the brink of death, because it had the power to bring him back. It wouldn't kill him…he knew that much. But it clearly had no qualms about causing him pain.
The Island is displeased with your hesitation
Hershel pushed himself to his feet, sighing heavily. He could see the ocean, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was real. If the Island was rebuilding, the ocean and the moon couldn't be part of it, right? But if the moon was real, and it really was full, Imgloss would be crowning himself Master Healer tonight. Pippa needed him.
Accept your path now. We have ways to make you beg for it, Hershel. Do not force the Island to take such drastic measures.
Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, and he realized that he could feel a tremor of fear coming from the ghostly woman of light. Fear for herself? Or for him? He didn't pull away as he stared off into the inky horizon. Thinking.
Dust was swirling around them now; the Island making its presence known.
"You're willing to hurt me to get what you want," he said, addressing the Island more than Lunise. Well…addressing her as well. "Every way you try to convince me, you just make it clearer what you really are. A captor."
The dust swirled angrily, a bitter cold wind blowing and shrieking in anger. Lunise's arms tightened around him, and she gasped in terror. She feared the Island, he realized. Phos had made them seem one and the same; inseparable. But perhaps they weren't; perhaps his first thought had been right all along.
Lunise was a slave. And he would be too, if he accepted this path. The Island was angry, and he wondered if it was wise of him to goad it. But if he was to be tortured into submission, he wasn't going to wait quietly.
"What happens after I agree to this? After I become a Guardian, and you consume me completely? Will that satisfy you, or just start a legacy of captivity for other powered souls as you try to feed your insatiable thirst for power and dominance?"
Hershel…
Lunise's voice was full of warning, and the Island howled all the angrier at him. But it could not form vines that bound or glass to wound him. It was still working on its own form; it could do nothing so physical as all that. Even so, he could feel the Island whispering now, pressing its will down on him. That's when the arms around him tightened further, and he realized that the Island wasn't talking to him. For it still did have one physical form it could control.
Hershel moved quickly to remove himself from Lunise's grasp, and turned to face her. Her face had that slack expression it held when the Island was fully in control. Hershel clenched his jaw and began retreating backward as Lunise lurched forward.
Too long you have resisted
He lit his hands with aura, grateful that he seemed recharged enough to do so. The Island laughed at him.
I control your destiny. If I choose to own you…then I own you. If I choose to harm you…
A blade materialized in her hand, and suddenly Lunise had sent it flying towards him. Hershel narrowly missed being hit, his blast knocking the blade askew. He watched as the weapon exploded back to dust. He continued to back up, the Island still speaking. It was the first time it had addressed him this directly; he wondered if Lunise was completely gone from her frame.
You will choose to join me
"Why?" Hershel's voice was soft; it had taken on the tone he used to calm beasts and children before treatment. "Why must I choose it?"
For you are my Chosen, and you will not fight me any longer. Your name is part of my eternal consciousness, your memories my property. Your soul shall be mine to command.
He could hear the ocean lapping behind him, and Hershel paused, his eyes studying Lunise's blazing form.
"I came here to find an answer to my captivity," he argued softly. "And I will not be commanded by anyone. Never again."
His foot brushed the edge of the Island, dust billowing off toward the black water below just to be sucked back into the Island's boundaries.
The Island screamed from Lunise's form, and suddenly the dust beneath his feet erupted into chains. Hershel gasped as they wrapped around his entire being, ripping him down to his knees. His arms were bound…legs hopelessly tangled. The chains wrapped around his chest and neck, slowly tightening with each step closer Lunise took.
You came to me blind…powerless. I granted freedom and you have taken it for granted.
Hershel fought to move, but the chains just tightened further. He wanted to panic, but inside, the power was thrumming once more. Comforting him. Trying to get him to realize something…something that was on the brink of his mind. Something that the Island was trying to distract him from.
Lunise had reached him now, and her hands went to the sides of his head, her blinding gaze boring into his. Her hands were hot now…uncomfortably so. He swallowed as he forced his heart rate down. He had already given into panic. He had already tried to run…had exhausted every person or force he could think of that would be able to help him. He was alone, but he had his wits. His training. His new power.
And now you have your choice, Chosen. Your final choice. If you choose to be blind to our power, we will grant you blindness. If you will be deaf to our offers, you shall be granted deafness. If you will not use your voice to praise the Island…you will never use your voice again. To deny the power we would grant you, you choose a life with no power of your own…
Horror filled Hershel as he realized what the Island was threatening. He wouldn't be just a prisoner of the Island…he would be a prisoner within himself. Cut off not only from his sight, but from every sense he had. He could feel the Island's power seeping into him now, ready to fulfill the threat. Through the panic that raced through his blood, the sudden realization seared into his mind.
Power of his own.
Power of his own.
"Wait!" he gasped, and Lunise paused, her gaze still expressionless. Hershel swallowed, his mind still scrambled from the terror of his situation. "I will choose it…but not if you strip me of my senses."
The Island stared at him, as if trying to decide if he was serious or not.
You have accepted your destiny?
He met the Island's gaze evenly.
"Yes." He paused a moment to take a calming breath. "It has taken me so long to do so, but I accept my destiny at last."
It must have sensed that he was genuine. That was because he was. He exhaled shakily as the Island smiled at him…its pleasure feeling like a warm embrace. Counterfeit emotions used to manipulate him, but his relief was sincere as Lunise's arms dropped away from his face.
Then we will begin your transformation once again. And I will finally have a Guardian of my own making…one worthy to share my power. And with you, I shall be free.
That still didn't make sense to him, but Hershel pushed away his questions as he tried to figure out how to best phrase his next wish.
"I…I want Lunise."
The Island's expression flickered with confusion, and Hershel drew himself up as much as was possible under the chains of the Island.
"Lunise must complete my transformation; our destinies are intertwined. Release her consciousness…so she can change me."
The Island merely stared, and his heart pounded. Perhaps it was too much to ask…too much to try to accomplish. He would be able to act more easily if he didn't pull her into the mix. But if he didn't help her…who ever would? This may be her only chance at true freedom…and as one who had spent his life a captive, he couldn't leave her in eternal slavery.
The blinding power that had filled Lunise like lightning faded now. Her expression changed from slack and unfeeling to one full of pleasure. Her hands lit with aura, and the chains fell away from Hershel's chest and neck so that she would have clearance to reach the points of aura transfer.
You have chosen well, Hershel… she murmured as her hands reached the proper places.
He exhaled, trying not to focus on the power that now was beginning to fill him once more.
"It wasn't much of a choice," he replied softly. "I cannot be free from the Island unless the Power of the Island releases me home."
Which the Island will never do. You are too important to us…to sacred.
The power was filling his eyes with light once more, but he could not give into the Island's will as he had done for those few minutes last time. Such a mistake would cost him everything now.
Now you shall see what it is like, to be full of the Island's power Lunise murmured. He could feel how happy she was in this moment…how victorious. He realized she was leaning in once again, as if to kiss him. He fought the desire to recoil away.
"I…don't need to see what that is like," he whispered. She paused only a breath from him, her expression flickering with confusion.
What…
"Because I'm already full of its power," Hershel explained. "And I release myself home!"
His voice was suddenly filled with the Legacy of the First Ancients, and Lunise's eyes widened. But in that moment, he let the power surge out of him. The chains around him were shattered, because he had the power to control them. It was as Lunise had told him before; he was more Guardian than Oni. The Island wanted him to believe he was powerless without it. But it had already granted him everything he needed to free himself.
The transformation had once again been interrupted, which would no doubt cause the Island to react violently. It would follow through with all its threats and more, if it could. The power around Lunise's hands faded, and he knew there would only be moments before the Island went to consume the Guardian's form completely once again, erasing the traces of her that Hershel had hoped to save. His arms wrapped around her tightly, his voice once again taking on a comforting healer's tone.
"And I release you as well…"
It had only been moments now, but he could feel the Island's wrath and fierce displeasure. It was racing for them. Now was the time to act.
With his arms still binding Lunise's form, Hershel launched them both off the edge of the Island to the black sea below. He could hear the soul-shattering screaming that erupted from the powerful entity that they had left behind. But as he glanced down at the water lapping hungrily towards them, he had to wonder if they would even survive the escape.
A single thought threaded through his mind as the water engulfed them in a freezing embrace.
Perhaps Death really is the only true form of freedom.
Pippa opened her eyes. For a moment she was fine, but then she caught sight of the unfamiliar fireplace. Her heart sank immediately; tears springing in her eyes. She was still in that awful man's tent.
She sat up, the horrible memories from the previous day filling her with hatred. She had to get out of here; he had said he was going to cut her hair. He was going to make her listen to lessons, and do all his chores, and everything else that he didn't get to do! Pippa's hand went to her pocket out of habit to find the knife that she kept there, but it was empty. He had taken it, she remembered with a scowl. He wouldn't let her have anything sharp!
Her fingers brushed something in the seams of her pocket, and she blinked as she pulled it out. Red flakes. She stared at them for a few moments before she realized what they were. Her special tea! She immediately began scrounging every tiny piece she could manage. A snore cut into her thoughts, and she glanced up. She couldn't see where the horrible Healer was sleeping, but at least she knew he was still asleep.
After managing a small handful of petals pieces, she began searching for water. She could see the kettle hanging over the stove and immediately moved towards it. She hadn't gone more than a foot when the invisible rope stopped her. Pippa looked down at it in dismay; she had to get to the kettle! Because no one knew where she was, and she had to talk to Archtiphos. She had to talk to somebody! She fought with her restraints a little longer, hot tears beginning to roll down her face.
But it was no use. She was on the verge of reacting—pounding her fists, blasting everything she could see—but she managed to keep it together. She couldn't destroy the petals; she would just have to find something else. Suddenly, her eyes fell on something on the table near her bedmat. It was the tea—the tea that he had tried to make her drink yesterday. She grimaced; it was chock-full of Lumanium. But she didn't really have a choice right now. Without letting herself think too much more about it, she grabbed the cold cup and dropped the small handful of petals into it. She quickly used her hands to heat it up until it was steaming. This was going to be even more watery than the last time she had managed it, but it was the only thing she could think of to do. Staring down into the cup, she took a deep breath before drinking the whole thing.
177
No…Please Phos…please don't leave me….
Island. Departed Realm. Back again. Even for an Ancient, the change was offsetting, scrambling his mind and making it so much harder to focus on the figure in front of him. Clinging to him. Pleading with him.
You promised you would stay…
Hershel's terror was palatable, and Archtivus watched as the boy's eyes filled with tears. He had told Hershel that the dead didn't feel pain, but it seemed that wasn't quite true. Hershel's fear cut into him like a knife.
In again. Out again. And suddenly his student was being ripped from his slippery grasp, one last scream of desperate terror echoing in the room.
"Phos!"
"Leave him be!" he roared. He willed the Island to listen, to obey. He was an Ancient; it should have to listen to him. But it had reached a point of utter corruption; it seemed nothing would sway it from its prize.
Hershel. The Island would take Hershel…and if it consumed him, Archtivus would never see him again. Indeed, his student would be lost forever to any realm...his own consciousness melted away. The thought hit hard, and Phos found himself filled with fear.
"Hershel!" he called. It was a desperate cry, one that he could barely form, due to the forces trying to rip him apart. It wanted to banish him-—it seemed it was even willing to restart itself to accomplish the task. His apprentice hung in the air, surrounded by deadly shards—a million glinting daggers. Horror overtook the Ancient as he realized the Island's intentions. It meant to torture its victim into submission—it would tear Hershel apart until he had no choice but to align his will with theirs. He heard Hershel gasp in pain, blood welling from several wounds already. And suddenly Phos was filled with an uncontrollable rage.
But the danger with Rage is that it ruined one's focus. Just as he was desperately trying to rescue his student, he was blasted back to the Departed Realm. The fog of the departed swirled around him, and Phos trembled as he desperately tried to reconnect with the Island. But the connection had been severed; completely and totally.
"No."
Denial had a way of consuming one first, before the other emotions could set in. It told him that it wasn't too late, that he could still reach Hershel. That his student would be able to hold out until he Archtivus could get back to the Island to help him. Protect him.
But denial was useless, and Phos forced it from his mind as the guilt and horror overtook him. Hershel was gone. He was doomed to eternal enslavement. He had no idea how much pain that his student would be able to endure until he gave in…but he would give in. His Master…his dead, powerless Master…had failed him.
You promised you would stay!
As long as it takes to free you, I will be here…
Please, Phos…Please don't leave me.
The departed realm's melody twanged off key; it was not used to such explosive emotions. For there was nothing to be lost here, nothing to be gained. No risk. No failure. And yet every particle of Phos' being was racked in torment, knowing that his student was on a path that would cause him to be lost forever. A path he had put Hershel on…back from the moment he named him his apprentice.
Time was elusive in the Departed Realm—nonexistent, really. He had no way of knowing how much had passed in the realm of the living, while he sat in the fog—tortured by his own thoughts. By his own failures. It was so exquisite, this emotional pain. He hadn't experienced it since that moment that he had plunged the dagger blade into the base of Evynn's horn. The pain that comes from knowing that someone you love would suffer greatly for your actions.
But there was nothing now that could comfort him. Even in his daughter's case, she had made her own decisions that had led to that torment. His actions were merely the consequences of hers. One could argue she deserved her fate.
But Hershel?
A lifetime of memories flickered through his mind—each a moment with a boy with dark eyes and freckles. There to calm, to help, to obey. Never questioning. Never even Hating. He remembered when the boy begged him to spare his wicked mother who had given him up for torture. He remembered the way he would care for their patients. He remembered all too well how willingly he had agreed to die for Phos's error—to sacrifice his own lifeforce to fuel the spell that would defeat Evynn for good. He had used Theodynn so that Hershel could be spared. He had thought he had given him a second chance—a new lifetime with purpose. But by naming him Master Healer, he had only made the boy a target for hatred, malice, and heartbreak. Such a perfect victim for the Island to ensnare.
"Oh Hershel…forgive me…"
Fog came and went. The bells continued to toll. Phos sat there, the realm confused by his sorrow and untouchable guilt. For in death all sorrow should be forgotten…all guilt will pass. For all living come into death eventually, and all regret passes away to naught. But he would never forget this moment, when he had truly failed as a Master.
He would have sat there forever, but suddenly he was whisked away again, his form and consciousness pulled back into the world. Or rather, a dream-version of it.
"Archtiphos?"
He blinked, the world coming into focus. He could see the young girl standing there, watching him with eyes full of both hope and fear.
"Pippa."
"Did you find him?"
Phos paused, and Pippa's eyes filled with tears.
"My Uncle Hershel? Did you find him, on the Island? Did you help him? He has to come home now. He's the only one who can find me…"
"Find you?" Phos asked, trying to keep up with the child. She was speaking so quickly, her eyes darting around as if she was waiting for the world around her to dissolve.
"He keeps me inside—the mean healer. There's an invisible rope…and he makes it so I can't talk. He's going to cut my hair…he's going to make me be his apprentice."
Her words became harder to understand the further she went on; she sank to the ground as she sobbed.
"I can't…get away…I need…my Uncle Hershel…"
Phos began putting the pieces together, and his heartbreak compounded ever further as he realized. He was filled with such wrath towards himself; how useless he was. Unable to free Hershel from the grasp of the Island. Unable to save this young child from a greedy, ambitious man.
"Can't you help him?" she begged, sobbing. "You got….mom and dad home…when they were at the Island. You have….to help….Uncle Hershel…."
"Pippa…"
But what could he say to her? What was there to say? He reached out to comfort the child, but the world was already spinning—deforming. She must not have had much tea.
Pippa realized as well, and she looked up at him as tears ran down her face. There were only a few more moments before the dream faded completely. But it was long enough for him to see the hope die in her eyes.
Endless Ocean; that's all there seemed to be out here. No land, no Island. No Hershel.
Myrah sat with her back straight as she stared at the endless expanse of water. The moon shined down on them, and the sailor at her right shivered. They didn't usually stay out this late, she knew. But she wasn't willing to give up yet.
The village leader was in the boat with them, and she could feel his gaze on the back of her head. He wanted to head back. She waited for him to say as much, however; she wouldn't be the one who gave up first.
"Milady…" he started, but then a frigid wind suddenly kicked up. The sailors murmured as fog rolled in, and in the distance, there seemed to be the sound of disembodied screaming. The sound made her stiffen, ice climbing up her back.
"Ancient's Desire!" one of the sailors cursed, and the village leader immediately turned to look towards land.
"Take us back," he ordered, but Myrah held up a hand.
"No. We have to stay. This is what we've been searching for."
But the winds were picking up now, a storm rolling in. In moments the sea had become raucous, and the sailors began rowing for land.
"No…" she started again, but here the village leader spoke over her.
"I'm sorry, Leader Myrah. But when the water changes, we must listen, or we risk ruin. It's the law of the sea, and it can be unmerciful if ignored."
They were so close…she knew they were. She couldn't give up now! The screams continued, though it was hard now to differentiate from the howling wind. Perhaps that's all it ever was.
"Row towards the sound," she ordered firmly, and the sailors froze, suddenly unsure of who they should listen to. The village leader was their head, but Myrah was their Leader. To ignore her would bring about consequences as well. They seemed torn between which punishment would be worse: Her's or the Sea's.
"Row back to the land," the village leader commanded, and Myrah turned to glare at him. He did not shrink under her gaze.
"You risk my wrath," she snapped, though her words were nearly lost in the howling. The waves grew bigger, the air colder. The village leader seemed sad.
"We've got to row with the boat we've got," he quoted back to her. "And this boat will not last in this storm. It's a fishing boat-it will not survive."
She opened her mouth to argue further, but his voice became more severe.
"We will not survive. If you must punish me when we reach land again, then so be it. But I will not risk our lives in this…and I will not risk yours."
It took her aback. Only weeks ago she had visited this village leader and he had seemed fearful of her will, ready to be at her beck and call. But in this moment, he seemed different. Confident in what needed to be done.
It's the difficult situations that determine the merit of a Leader Heavy Metal had taught. Any Leader could make the right decision when there was no real consequence at stake. But the truly successful leaders considered everything—the people at risk, the situation itself. The greater good.
Myrah was forced out of herself then, and she saw the frightened looks of the sailors and the choppiness of the waves. The Greater good was to find Hershel, because he was the only one who could stop that Ancient. But she realized that there was no guarantee that they would find him if they sailed into the storm—and she would be forcing everyone on that boat to give their lives in the process. She gazed out towards the sound of the screaming, unsure if the tears were from the wind or the crushing weight inside.
"I will find you," she promised, her voice a near whisper and easily lost in the chaos. But then she turned back to the sailors, her determination set. "Sail for land."
The water moved to steal his breath, to choke him. The warm figure in his arms had dissolved as they hit the water. Perhaps the cold was too much. Perhaps she truly couldn't be freed from the Island. Hershel was thrashed by the waves, his eyes tightly closed. He didn't know how to swim; somehow, it had never made it into Phos's training exercises.
And then the cold currents around him softened, water fading to fog. His consciousness was entering some new place—a place of comfort. Bells tolled in the distance, his mind filled with the melodies of memories. He could hear the voices now…amongst the tolling and the fog and the music.
Lunise!
It was an unfamiliar voice full of joy…one that he couldn't place. But the emotions were genuine, and it gave Hershel peace to be entering somewhere so joyful and still. True freedom at long last.
How I've waited, Lunise…all this time. For life and death are both meaningless without you. It's me…it's Hrshyl…
Hrshyl?
Lunise's voice; both familiar and strange. She sounded stronger now…as if the voice he had come to fear had only been an echo of her true self. Her words were just a name…but her tone was full of recognition and love. It was clear that Lunise was addressing the other voice, and not him. But then a whisper…a voice in Hershel's own consciousness.
Thank you.
He tried to open his eyes, to see the world he was so eager to enter into. To feel its comfort and safety…
NO
The power in him lurched, and suddenly he was being pulled away. He thrashed desperately as the cold of the water kicked back in, the security of the Departed Realm fading away. His mind was full of desperation and rage, and the need to breathe. He fought with himself, willing the power to let him go. Let him rest…
Pippa.
It was enough to reconnect him. He could not fade, not yet. Not when she was in danger…not when he had promised to keep her safe.
With his eyes still closed, his body still flailing in the bitter cold darkness of the sea, he willed his aura to take him to safety. It could not take him far—already his consciousness ebbed once again, but with sudden vigor he commanded the transport. The flash illuminated the dark waters for the briefest of instances, and then he was gone.
Rain was more common in the West and the East than the other Oni provinces, given their proximity to bodies of water. But a storm like today's was out of the ordinary. Myrah sat alone in the village leader's tent, a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders as she stared at the fire. She had been so foolish, she realized. She could have doomed them all. But with this mad Ancient on the loose, were they not all doomed anyway?
The tent door parted and the village leader came in, carrying a tray of food complete with steaming tea. She greeted him with a nod and he placed the tray on the table, gesturing for her to help herself. Myrah wasn't hungry, but she lifted a tea cup to at least pull from its warmth.
"You would be within your rights to have me punished."
She looked up at his words, but the elderly leader was staring at the dirt floor. Myrah studied him a moment and shook her head.
"That will not be necessary. It was I who was the poor leader in the storm, not you."
Her posture finally stooped as she leaned forward with a heavy sigh. He glanced up then.
"You are a good Leader, Myrah."
She laughed without humor. "For all my training, one would think I would be a better one."
"Training can only get one so far. It is the experience that teaches one the most…the mistakes. Take it from an old man; you will make many in your leadership and you cannot change that. Only learn from it."
"I have made so many already," she argued softly, rubbing her face with one hand. "Because of me, the Master Healer is lost. Because of me, the realm will fall."
The village leader didn't seem to know what to say…or even what she was talking about. She gazed up at him.
"I have failed so many in less than a year of leading."
"You have failed no one."
He tried to give her a comforting smile.
"'You only starve when you refuse to fish,' lass," he reminded, quoting another Western mantra. "You only fail when you give up. Don't let this be the point when you give up."
She took in his words and nodded once, taking a long drink of tea. He watched her and then opened his mouth, as if to say more. But right then, a young man broke into the tent.
"Ranok!" he said, and the leader's head whipped over to him. Myrah's looked over as well, and the young man stopped speaking when he realized the Leader was in the tent. The village leader snapped at him.
"What news?"
The boy looked back and cleared his throat, gesturing back out into the rain that he had just left.
"The last boat has just returned…and they found somebody."
24
