Remember
Episode Four: Consequences of War
Chapter Three
"War?" Timpani hovered near the cloaked home's front door, eager to see for herself. "No, tell me they're not attacking again."
Merletoph opened the door for her, and they both emerged into the early morning air. Even though the sky was just beginning to brighten, Timpani could see a cloud of smoke rising in the distance, barely visible through the trees.
"No… why are they doing this again? Why now?"
"Lady Timpani," Merletoph sighed, "I think perhaps…"
"Don't say it." She hung her head, the answer to the question weighing deep on her heart. Oh, Blumiere… Suddenly, she gasped. "Blumiere! He might be in trouble!"
She began to run for the town but Merletoph called out to her, "No, milady! You can't hope to stop them now!"
"I don't plan on stopping them! I'm going to find Blumiere and get him out of there!"
"And how do you plan on doing that?"
"I was planning on coming up with something when I got there!"
"Foolish." Merletoph shook his head. "Lady Timpani, without any magic to protect you, even stepping foot on that battlefield would make you vulnerable to grave injury."
"Then teach me something," Timpani took a step towards the sage. "Give me some magic that would allow me to defend myself."
Merletoph exhaled slowly, deep in thought. "There is only one thing I can teach you."
Timpani nodded, waiting for him to continue.
"Teleportation can be learned by anyone willing to study the techniques. However, as soon as you make your first move from one space to another, you will obtain a soul signature. And that, milady, would put a target on your back. Anyone else who can teleport would be able to track your location while you are on this world, and a powerful magic user would be able to track you across any world or dimension."
"Well, that doesn't make sense at all."
"Why not?"
"Blumiere's father never found him when he was with me in the meadow. And you just saw him teleport back home. Why wasn't he tracked?"
Merletoph put a hand to his chin. "His signature was cloaked, though I'm not sure how… Likely a powerful mage from his tribe did it for him."
"He couldn't do that himself?"
"It is a very powerful spell. I did not think there were any mages that powerful left. The tribe's power is significantly weaker than it used to be."
"I'll have to ask him about it later," Timpani pressed, remembering the urgent matter at hand. "Is there really nothing else you can teach me that would help me?"
Again, Merletoph closed his eyes in thought. "There is nothing I can teach you… but perhaps there is something I can give you."
"Give me?"
"Yes. A shield of magic. However, since you are not magically inclined yourself, I am not sure how long it will last."
Timpani stared at him. "Why didn't you mention that to begin with?"
"It might not work."
"I was going to leave without anything at all!" Timpani huffed. "And I would like to leave now, if you don't mind."
Merletoph, knowing she was too stubborn to sway, gave in. "Very well, Lady Timpani. I will use the spell on you. But please, be careful."
"Of course." She stepped closer to him, waiting for him to cast the spell. With closed eyes he folded his hands in front of him and concentrated, muttering something beneath his breath. A moment later Timpani felt a warm sensation envelop her, starting at the top of her head and making its way down to her feet. Light rotated around her in swirls and then dissipated, leaving her feeling no different than before. "Did… Did it work?"
"I... believe so." Merletoph's tone was unconvincing.
"I guess we'll see, then," Timpani started for the trees again. "I am going to find Blumiere, Merletoph. I will come see you and Mimi later."
The sage grunted. "Please, Lady Timpani—"
"I'll be careful. Don't worry." And with that, Timpani disappeared into the forest.
A hesitant silence fell over the crowd of human warriors as the dark mage emerged from the smoke, magic orb at the ready. The castle's front door did not bear even a scratch, and all previous plans of a sneak attack had been thrown out the window. At a loss of what to do, many of them anxiously inched towards the cliff's exit, now unconfident in their odds of winning this fight.
Clay, however, was not ready to back down. "What are you waiting for? Attack!" He picked up a bob-omb off of the ground, lit it, and hurled it at the looming figure, but the explosive bounced off of him and ricocheted towards another warrior, who cried out and batted it away with his sword. The air around the mage rippled.
"A barrier?" Kathleen whispered. She was half-shielding Ronan with one arm, her body rigid.
Frantically, Clay picked up another bob-omb, and still no other warrior moved to help him. Ronan, having no weapon, was unable to attack or defend himself; he tried to inch further behind Kathleen, hoping to remove himself from the mage's line of sight.
But he could not move his feet. In a panic he tried to lift each one off of the ground, but they were stuck fast. Hysteric chattering from the other warriors told Ronan he was not the only one in such a predicament. Further examination of the ground around his feet revealed that the grass was glowing softly, rippling in subtle lines. The dark mage stepped towards Clay, unaffected by the spell. Each step set off circular ripples, as if he were walking on water.
As the warrior leader prepared to throw his bob-omb, the mage disappeared suddenly, coming back into view right behind Clay. He grabbed Clay's wrist, causing him to drop the unlit bob-omb onto the ground. It stuck into place, frozen like the crowd of humans.
"Humans!" the mage boomed. "Your kind is not welcome here!"
Clay struggled and yelled. Despite the fact that this was the man who forced him to fight, Ronan longed to help him in some way. Above him, Kathleen covered her mouth to hold back a cry of terror.
"It seems you are slow to learn." the purple-caped mage twisted Clay's wrist, eliciting more yelling. "May this be an example to you."
He dug his thumb into Clay's wrist and immediately the man began to spasm, gagging and screaming. His eyes widened and his back arched as he tried to escape the pain that was ravaging his body. A gargled choking sound took place of the screaming and Clay spat blood, doubling over and going limp, only held up by the wrist the mage was grasping. Then the commotion halted abruptly, and Clay's body crumbled, blackened, completely unrecognizable. Pieces of him lay like ashes on the ground.
Ronan whimpered and allowed Kathleen to pull him closer to her. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the terrible image to leave his mind.
"I trust you will not come back," the mage said before teleporting away, leaving the stunned group of warriors behind.
As soon as he disappeared Ronan felt his feet relax as they were released from the ground. Kathleen took his hand and pulled him toward the castle's gate, holding her sword in front of her as a shield. Other warriors followed them closely, but were cut off by another mage, who appeared right behind Kathleen. They made it behind the gate just in time and, without looking back, they fled the battlefield.
"We're alright," Kathleen gasped, "It'll be alright, we made it." Ronan noticed that she was blinking rapidly, likely trying to hold back tears.
"I-is… Did he… die?" Ronan stuttered, asking only for confirmation.
"Don't be worryin' about that lad. We made it okay and that's all that matters."
Not a moment after she spoke, a young man vaulted over the short cliff above them and landed in front of them, magic orb in hand.
Kathleen staggered backwards but remained firm. Stepping in front of Ronan, she readied her sword and prepared for battle.
As Blumiere approached his brothers, he surveyed the battle. There were only about 15 humans that he could see, three of whom were attacking Henri and Dorian with swords. His Aunt Lucienne was holding her own against a group of five humans, and his oldest brother Abany was attacking three more near the gate. In front of the castle doors, Perrin and Arabelle, siblings, were tag-teaming to take down the remainder of the rogue group.
Out of the corner of his eye, Blumiere saw his closest brother, Rene, hurtle over the cliff and onto the pathway below, likely to stop some humans who were trying to escape.
He shuddered and reluctantly pressed his thumb and forefinger together, feeling the familiar ache of the blood clotting in his fingertips, mixing with magic to create a projectile orb he could throw at any attackers.
But he didn't want to attack anyone. He wanted desperately for this age-old feud to end, for all of his Tribe's misdeeds to be erased, forgotten. It was a foolish aspiration, he knew, but in this moment it was something he wanted more than anything else.
To be able to see Timpani without worrying about being caught… His heart ached to think of her. Where was she right now? He prayed to the Ancients that she was still with Merletoph, safe and away from this mess.
"Blumiere, watch out!" He tensed and stepped backwards as Dorian intercepted a sword that was swinging his way. The human wielding it cried out and grabbed at his arm, clutching where Dorian's magic orb had hit.
"Quit daydreaming and fight!" his brother hissed, turning to fight another human who was gaining the confidence to strike.
Blumiere turned back to the injured man, who had fallen to one knee. He felt sick to his stomach, seeing what his Tribe was capable of. And this was not even the full extent of their power.
If father was able to call upon the Dark Prognosticus, none of these humans would be standing right now. His father didn't even have access to the spells written within the tome's pages. In fact, the extent of Basile's magical abilities were only a few steps above Blumiere's. He knew some higher level spells, and his attacks were much stronger.
His eyes glazed. I wonder if Father can cloak soul signatures…
"Hey," before Blumiere could ponder that thought, the human kneeling in front of him spoke up. "Why don't you… finish me off already…?" The man's arm had started to deteriorate, and blood was bubbling at the corner of his mouth.
Blumiere glanced upward. Their eyes met. Immediately recognition filled the human's expression.
"H-hey, you're the one from the—URK!"
The man slumped forward, dead, a blackened hole carved out of his chest. Blumiere took in a shaky breath and withdrew his outstretched hand, realizing what he'd done.
He turned and ran, ignoring Dorian's surprised exclamation. Entering the courtyard, Blumiere rounded the corner and reached the back of the castle, where the chapel stood, its white granite walls standing out in a great contrast to the castle's dark obsidian. He hadn't gotten very far before he realized another human was following him. This one wasn't injured, save for a small scrape above their eye, but that wasn't something that could have been caused by magic.
What Blumiere immediately took notice of, however, was that the man was carrying a torch. It was a long metal pole with a spear on one end and a cone on the other end that held the flame. In the other hand he held a short sword, which Blumiere hoped would be his weapon of choice.
"Honestly, I'm surprised you're still alive."
What? It took Blumiere a moment to recognize the man as the leader of the fire dancers. He was the one who had nearly taken his life last night.
"I thought that monster finished you off. How did you manage to escape, hmm?"
Blumiere tensed as the man vaulted forward, swinging his sword in his direction. In his hand he had readied another magic orb, and he released it in the man's direction in hopes of defending himself. Both men stepped backward, unscathed.
"You made a grave mistake in trying to attack us last night. And on the night of the festival?" He chuckled and shook his head. "This time I will not fail, demon. I will make sure you never torment our town again."
"I never tormented you!" Blumiere exclaimed, "I did nothing to harm you!" He closed his fist, allowing the orb in his hand to dissolve and fall to the ground. "And I will not harm you. Our Tribe is not as evil as you think it is."
Torch blazing, the man leapt forward once more, aiming for Blumiere's head with the tip of the flaming weapon. "I just watched you murder Elijah! I have no doubt that you intend to harm me!"
He was going to die anyway! This excuse did nothing to lessen the guilt Blumiere felt on the matter, and he knew it would not suffice in stopping his attacker. He sidestepped, the heat from the flames barely singing his hair. Panic overwhelmed him and he veered away, running back toward the battlefield.
The man was faster. He easily surpassed Blumiere and swiped his sword in front of his path. He ducked, rolling to one side and scrambling to his feet once more.
I've got to disarm him! If he wasn't going to attack, Blumiere needed to make sure the human couldn't harm him.
Lunging for the man, Blumiere waited for him to swing a weapon in self-defense. The torch came flying his way; Blumiere made a grab for the hand that was holding it. Only a brief moment of contact was needed for him to administer his spell.
The man's body froze mid-attack, but Blumiere was too late to stop the flame from colliding with him. A portion of his cape caught fire. He unclipped it and threw it to the ground, singeing his left hand in the process. He bit back a cry of pain and seized the torch from the man's hand.
Before he could take the sword, the warrior broke free from the spell and aimed a vicious blow at Blumiere. He raised the pole of the torch and deflected it.
Again Blumiere pleaded, "Put down your weapon! I don't want to harm you!" But the man attacked with full force, leaving Blumiere with no choice.
Over and over again the weapons clashed, metal clanging against metal. The warrior attacked and Blumiere defended, but the blue-faced man was quickly running out of strength. He was not suited to this style of fighting, and the intruder's hobby of fire dancing seemed to have trained him in diligence, agility and perseverance.
A powerful blow finally knocked the torch out of Blumiere's hand. Thrown off-balance, he stumbled and took a hit to his left bicep. The man kicked Blumiere's feet out from under him and he toppled onto his back with a thud.
An anguished cry filled the air as Blumiere clutched his injured arm. Blood oozed from the wound, spilling onto the grass and staining his shirt dark crimson.
"Now die, demon." the man had retrieved the torch and was pointing it at Blumiere's chest, inching it closer and closer each second. "Let the Queen of the Afterlife know that Gargamel sent you—"
Blumiere dared to look up from his cowering state to see why the man had stopped—and gasped.
Gargamel was frozen in midair, choking and gagging. His face was a white-pale color, unnatural even for a human. Eyes bulging, he gasped and stared at Blumiere, as if begging for help.
Aldrik materialized behind the torch-wielding warrior, suspending him with a magical spell. With a snap of his fingers, Aldrik set the hems of Gargamel's clothes on fire.
Scrambling to his feet, Blumiere shouted over the hysterical screaming of Gargamel. "Uncle, stop! Killing the humans will only make things worse!"
The warrior continued to writhe, the flames cutting into his flesh now. "He was going to kill you, Blumiere. Vermin as such do not deserve to live long enough to attack again."
"He wouldn't have attacked in the first place if…" Blumiere's retort died in his throat. If he hadn't been seen during the festival, none of the humans would have attacked at all. This was all his fault.
By now there was no saving Gargamel. His hoarse cries had shriveled up with the rest of his body, and the smell of burning flesh was so overwhelming Blumiere thought he might gag. Gargamel. Elijah. Both of these men had died because of him, and all of the humans that were going to die during this battle were here on his account.
Gargamel's ashes floated to the ground. Aldrik placed a hand on his grieving nephew's shoulder and said, "Come with me, Blumiere."
"We were just leavin' sir," Kathleen said, quiet but firm. Her sword was aimed steadily at the mage who was blocking their path. Ronan admired her courage. "If you let us pass, we won't be comin' back."
The mage uttered a low, sinister chuckle. "Nice try, human. But if you wanted to make it home in one piece, you shouldn't have come in the first place."
Kathleen gritted her teeth. Ronan knew what words she was struggling to contain, so he said them for her.
"We didn't want teh come! We were forced!"
The mage tilted his head to the side, seeming to notice Ronan for the first time. "And why would they force a child to fight?"
Ronan glanced at Kathleen. He'd been wondering himself for a while; the men had come in looking for his father, but besides the fact that they suspected he had something to do with Blumiere's arrival at the festival, they didn't really have a reason to make him fight in his father's stead. He'd been no help at all so far.
"Because we're immigrants," Kathleen snapped. "And the townspeople don't want anythin' to do with us. They forced us to live outside of their town, and now they're forcin' us to fight."
Ronan's grandmother had never given reason for the location of their home. And the people in town didn't treat him like an outsider. But now he realized that his family and Kathleen had been cast aside from the very beginning.
Just like the Tribe of Darkness.
He watched the mage carefully. The blue-tinted face remained stoic, but there was something in his eyes, if only for a moment, that Ronan recognized as sympathy. A few seconds passed before he replied.
"Whether or not you belong to this world doesn't matter. You are a human. And I have orders to kill any human on castle grounds." Without any more hesitation, the mage released the magic orb he held in Kathleen's direction.
The red-headed warrior sliced it with a well-aimed sword strike, causing the projectile to splatter onto the grassy earth. Then, jumping in front of Ronan, Kathleen advanced a few steps in order to make an attack of her own. But the mage had another orb ready, so Kathleen was forced to swing at that in order to protect herself. She swung the sword over her head, split the orb, and then lunged straight for the blue-faced man, managing to hit him right in the side.
The mage fell to one knee, gasping, and on the way down he made a grab for Kathleen's empty hand. Ronan watched with confusion; why was he leaving himself open for attack? But all things were made clear when, as soon as the man touched her skin, Kathleen froze solid.
"Hey, wait—" Without thinking, Ronan stepped forward to intervene. But before he could do anything, the mage switched his grip on Kathleen's wrist, and suddenly she jolted out of her immobilized state. She staggered backward, crying out in pain.
"What did you do to me?" Kathleen was struggling to stay on her feet, but the mage wasn't doing much better himself. Dark crimson blood was flowing from the wound in his side, and he clutching at it, moaning. He didn't answer Kathleen.
Ronan fretted by her side. "What 'appened?" He pressed closer to her, trying to help her stand. Then he noticed the dark blue veins on her arm, near the wrist the mage had grabbed.
"We 'ave teh go," Kathleen gasped, trying to push Ronan further down the hill. Ronan nodded, and helped her go as fast as she could. After they passed the injured mage, Kathleen seemed to gain more strength. But the marks on her arms were spreading, and had by now reached her shoulder.
"We can make it," Ronan cried, pleading rather than encouraging Kathleen. His heart was beating at a ferocious speed, and with each step he looked back to see if the mage would get up and follow them. At last they rounded the first corner of the descending pathway, and he was filled with relief. Kathleen was able to pick up the pace again, and in no time they'd passed the second corner. The gate was in sight.
Their hope and courage was snuffed out in one single moment as the air in front of them rippled, signaling a dimensional traveler. The injured mage from before appeared before them, on his feet again. Immediately he threw a magic orb at Kathleen. Unable to defend herself in time, the crackling ball struck her right in the stomach, and she collapsed, nearly taking Ronan down with her.
"Kathleen!" Ronan clung to her arm. She coughed, struggling to breathe.
"R...run...," she managed, gasping for air. As she coughed again, flecks of blood painted the grass.
Tears were stinging Ronan's eyes. He couldn't leave her! She was supposed to bring him back home! But he didn't have much time to make a choice. The mage was still standing in front of him, staring at him with glazed eyes.
"Please, help her," Ronan whimpered. He knew his plea was in vain, but he couldn't run now. And Kathleen's grip on his hand was loosening. The sword was lying at his feet, and as he glanced at it, he wondered if he would be able to defend himself with it.
"Human vermin," the mage spat. He'd followed Ronan's gaze and scowled. Without another word, he aimed an orb at Ronan's chest. It hit its mark and, as Ronan yowled and slumped forward, the mage teleported away, leaving behind two motionless figures.