It was a warm night. Humid and stifling. Sulyvahn cursed the hot night air. He cursed the gnats flitting about his head and the crawling beetles scuttering through his clothing. He cursed the solid wooden cage containing him. And most of all, he cursed the human vagabonds who had put him here.
The world had not been what he had envisioned. Fire was a merciless element. Since his arrival, he had learned far more of what to despise about this world beyond the painting than what to enjoy.
How had he come to this? Perhaps the moment of his arrival was an ill omen.
He remembered falling through darkness and mist. For how long? It had felt like a scant moment stretched out into eons. The longest of nights, yet the passing of a single breath. The moment passed, the mist cleared and he stumbled to his feet in a stone ruin where a ragged painting stained with mold and blood hung from a wall. He had been ejected from his homeland into a great building, a cathedral like the one in the Painted World but of far greater proportions. It was long since worn away by time until little more than a shell remained. The roof was gone and rafters were silhouetted like ribcages against the blue sky.
Ah, the sky. Sulyvahn eagerly sought his way out of the ruined cathedral to see the true sun for the first time. And the moment he stepped out of the shadows into sunlight, he balked at the heat. This was not the brittle warmth of his homeland's sputtering fires. This was an unyielding force, a blanket that sought to smother him. Even through his skin of wood, he felt the lashes of the unrestrained light. His first instinct was to retreat back into the ruins and seek solace in the shade.
But, no, he resisted this impulse. He could not be impeded by this new world and its alien nature. He must endure. He must persevere through Fire. As his mentor had taught him, he could but grow in strength and wisdom step by step, each in its turn. He would learn to embrace the warmth, he insisted to himself. Thrive in it.
Such words spoken to cheer himself did little to lessen the misery of walking in daylight. Only his stubborn will sustained him. But through the pain, he witnessed the new world and marveled at it. The ground here was brown and red and soft. There was no trace of frost or ice. The grass was green and spread thick on the ground, growing tall in rich soil. The trees were laden not with needles but broad leaves that felt like parchment to the touch. Moss and fungus grew on their trunks, life feeding on life. He could not imagine such a thing in the Painted World, where everything struggled to clutch to enough to feed itself, much less give strength unto others. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, mice, lizards – all scrawny, sluggish specimens in the Painted World – here were plump and alert, dashing through the underbrush with vigorous speed. This was a world of true growth, true dynamism, where nothing remained static and dead.
Above, the birds glided from branch to branch. Their songs filled the air. He was confused at first by these foreign sounds that dared lift his heart with the stirrings of gladness. Eventually, he recalled stories the Corvians shared back home regarding their ancient birdkin, whose songs of beauty echoed the happiness that the forlorn crows once knew. From his people's grim parables, Sulyvahn would never have imagined their music could be so beautiful.
Night fell, and the pain of the heat subsided. Cold descended upon the land. And yet, the world's pulse kept steady, unfazed by the chill. To his astonishment, pinpricks of light began dancing around him, bobbing to and fro. He caught one in his hand and was astounded to see that these were small insects making the light. Even more awe-inspiring was a stream of running water. Not trickling slush hindered by ice, but truly a free-flowing torrent. He dipped a hand in it. Even the water was warm to the touch! He heard and saw abundant life gathered around this stream, the croaking and whistling of unseen animals and rippling on the surface caused by the things that lived within.
So much life. So much vitality. He could scarcely imagine that it could all exist in one place. This, then, was the pulsating, ever-growing life granted by Fire. Cruel though its heat may be to one of the Painted World, its effects were truly miraculous. He hungered for more sights. The nameless desire within him screamed out for more. Though he did not yet know what drove him on, he obeyed its demand.
He felt tireless. He kept walking until the night ended and the sun rose again into the sky. Then the heat returned. The morning was surprisingly agreeable, and he fancied that he could endure the sun's rays once again, but the higher the yellow orb rose in the sky, the more sweltering the heat became. If anything, it was worse than before. The smothering sensation rolling over him was nigh overwhelming. A sudden panicked thought that he would suffocate drove him to seek shelter in a ditch beneath an upturned tree. The air here was cool, and the feeling passed. Sulyvahn chided himself for the moment of weakness. He had not come to hide from the sun like a maggot in the dirt.
Just a moment, he decided, and he would resume his trek. In that time, he contented himself watching tiny insects scurry all about the fallen tree, creatures for which he had no name. He was as keen on them as a child making its first discovery.
A particularly striking creature with large, brightly colored wings fluttered onto the log and rested, opening and closing its wings. Sulyvahn observed it, fascinated by those wings – all iridescent whites and reds and yellows. With a quick motion, he caught it between his thumb and forefinger. The insect fought furiously against his grip, but it could do nothing. Sulyvahn held it close and inspected it, but he pinched too tightly and a wing crumbled in his hand. It fell onto the ground and dragged itself along pitifully, until it stumbled into a funnel web and was snatched up by a waiting spider.
For three days he walked through the forest without meeting anyone more intelligent than a woodland beast. On the fourth day, at last, he found a road. It was little more than a dirt path cleared through the undergrowth, but it was a sign of civilization. Sulyvahn followed it, keen on meeting the natives of this world.
The path descended into a flatland infested with ancient, twisted oaks and willows. Their roots broke up the muddy ground and their branches blotted out the sun. For a time Sulyvahn enjoyed the coolness of their shade. But by the time he was plodding ankle-deep through stagnant pools, he realized the path had disappeared into the marsh and he was lost. The waters of the bog filled up any footprints for him to retrace. Stubbornly defying the danger, he trekked onwards, seeking some way out of the bog. A step forward suddenly gave way to hungry slime, and he fell into a deep pool that sucked him down with every struggling movement. Sudden panic took hold of him. He flailed desperately for a handhold to hoist himself out of the pit. His hand brushed the leaves of a low-hanging willow. His fingers tightened around a slender branch and he pulled with all his strength. His body rose from the sucking mud. He lunged forward with his free hand to find solid ground onto which to drag himself. Inch by inch, he raised himself out of the bog, clinging to the willow limb for precious life until he reached firm soil.
He lay on a patch of dead grass, looking up into the sunlight blinking through the canopy. The sun winked at him, as if sharing a clever joke. Sulyvahn cursed it.
He snapped a branch off a tree and used it test for further patches of quicksand as he cautiously navigated the bog. Sometime in what must have been midday, he found its edge and left the marsh behind for a dusty hillock rising above the filth. The sun shone down in full force. Sulyvahn muttered imprecations against it as he crossed the hills. No trees here, no shade, only brown grass, dust, and jagged rocks in the gulches below.
Then, he saw a spiraling thread of smoke rising from beyond the next hill. He followed it and discovered that it came from a campfire in the middle of a gathering of tents huddled against the hillside. He peered closer. Its inhabitants were hunched beings covered in black feathers. They circled one of their kind who seemed older than the rest, holding a gnarled staff and speaking to them in a familiar tongue.
He could scarcely believe this concordance of fate. Corvians still dwelt in this world.
He drew closer to the gathering. Memories of the timid natives of his homeland, morbid yet hospitable, filled Sulyvahn's mind, and he approached them freely, announcing himself as a friend and kinsman.
In response, the Corvians' heads snapped to face the new arrival. They grew agitated and whispered amongst themselves. They pulled themselves away from Sulyvahn, and pointed at him while shrieking angrily. The old one raised its staff and screamed in a harsh voice. The dialect was cruder than that of his homeland, but Sulyvahn understood well enough.
"Intruder." "Enemy." "Kill."
A Corvian leapt at Sulyvahn like a pouncing wolf.
The young sorcerer was on his back, pain gnawing at his chest. His attacker beat him with clenched fists. As the blows struck him ceaselessly, instinct overcame Sulyvahn's shock. One hand grabbed the Corvian's neck and held it tight, the other grabbed his catalyst and jabbed the wand into its torso.
A blue-tinged arrow of magic pierced the Corvian. It died slowly, as it unable to comprehend the gaping hole where its stomach had been.
Sulyvahn pushed off the corpse and cast another arrow at the nearest foe rushing him. The Corvians leapt back, suddenly wary of this enemy and his spells. Then their elder screeched another command, and they came at him as one.
If not for his magic, he would have died. Soul arrows and frost rays wounded and killed many attackers. It came to a point where not even the elder's commands could prevent their retreat. Those who did not flee died or writhed on the ground clutching at frozen limbs.
Sulyvahn fought with desperation and with fury. Never before had he fought to kill a sentient being. Beneath the fear and instinctual aggression, a part of him wondered at how easily he accomplished it.
The elder was the last one to remain. It raised its staff and leapt in the air. Vestigial wings carried it in a glide toward Sulyvahn. The sorcerer dodged the lunge, but was caught unawares as the elder suddenly swiped at him in a wide arc. He tumbled through the dust, then was driven on like a pebble as the elder batted him again.
The world spun endlessly around Sulyvahn as he rolled along. He struck blindly with his catalyst. A ray of frost shot out wildly, spraying the whole area with crippling cold. A mangled scream told him he had hit his target.
Sulyvahn came to rest at the bottom of the hill. He rose to his feet. Above him, the elder was trying to crawl away. Its lower body was covered in ice. Sulyvahn approached it.
The elder looked over its shoulder and screamed something.
"Enemy," Sulyvahn translated. "Yes, I suppose. You made me so."
The elder's threats were lost amidst the gurgling rattles of its final breaths. Its trembling body stilled. The effort of combat and the injuries of Sulyvahn's frost spell had proven too much.
The rest of the Corvians had fled into crevasses and caves in the hills. Overcome with immense disgust, Sulyvahn turned from the settlement and followed the contour of the gulley deeper into the hill country.
The sun was beginning to set. How did they manage it? he wondered. The endless circle of night and day, of heat and cold, of two extremes clashing for dominance? No wonder the crow men here had gone mad.
Lost in such thoughts and ponderings, he did not see the shadow of a man cast by the growing twilight, nor did he anticipate the blow to the head that sent him to the ground. The second blow blurred his vision and sent shudders of pain through his body. Through his half-consciousness, he perceived being dragged somewhere. There was a roaring fire, rowdy voices and a cage. He was put in the cage.
Sulyvahn eventually regained his senses. It was night. The bandits were some distance away, gathered around a bonfire. They were human men. Strong and vigorous, not at all like the cowardly Corvians. They had bottles in hand. The stench of alcohol filled the air.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a voice rebuked him for ignoring the many warnings that had fallen on deaf ears. He suppressed the voice. He had no time for might-have-been's.
"What should we do with the wooden man?" one of the bandits asked.
"I say kill 'im. Freak o' nature has no right to exist."
"Bah! And waste a profit? Better than a crow man. You saw how he thrashed those savages."
"He's got magic," another spoke up. "Too dangerous to keep."
"No," a fourth insisted. "We sell him down south, to the circus. Or else, I know a couple of private collectors be interested in a specimen like that."
"He's a magician. No good can come from that. I'm with Fergus. Kill him and be done with it."
"Calm yourself, you nit. I have his catalyst with me. He's not casting any spells."
As they debated, Sulyvahn inspected his surroundings. The cage was solid and the lock was hard metal. Beside him, half-hidden in the flickering shadows cast by the fire, was a second cage. A figure was sitting in it, his legs spread out easily as if he were relaxing after a hard day's work.
The figure caught his gaze and looked at him. He was hard to see by the light of the fire, but Sulyvahn guessed that he was human, as well.
"Curious catch," the man said quietly. "Not from around these parts, I'd warrant?"
Sulyvahn remained silent.
"Not versed in the common tongue?"
Sulyvahn relented with a small nod. "I am."
"Good. Then perhaps we can benefit one another. Judging from the ruffians' talk, you are, like myself, pursuant to the magical arts, yes?"
"And if I am?"
"Well, I am a sorcerer of the Vinheim School. A pilgrim, one might say. Sadly unprepared for the dangers of this country, but, working together, I believe we can escape and teach these scoundrels a lesson in manners. You are not, by chance, capable of magic without a catalyst?"
Sulyvahn saw no point in evading the question. He answered in the negative.
"Shame. But it is a rare gift, after all. Fortunately, my plan is not dependent on it. We'll wait for these thugs to drink themselves unconscious. Then, I will free us, and we can reclaim our catalysts and supplies."
"How?"
"Through a bit of power I acquired during a visit to a Carthusian temple. Nasty business, but I won't bore you with the details. Trust me."
Trust did not come naturally to Sulyvahn after his experiences in this world. But he had no real choice in the matter, did he?
It was not a long wait for the bandits to fall asleep. Drink drove them to a stupor, and soon they were all snoring. The sorcerer of the Vinheim School crouched by the lock on his cage and held out a hand. In it glowed a tiny, red-hot flame.
Sulyvahn's curiosity drove him to ask, "What is that you hold?"
"Just a moment."
The flame's light exposed more of the sorcerer's appearance, revealing a hawkish face with thick eyebrows and a well-groomed goatee. Smoke rose from between his fingers. The lock heated red, then white, then oozed into slag. The sorcerer quietly opened the cage door and stepped out. He stretched his back, then proceeded to do the same to the lock on Sulyvahn's cage.
"Impressive. What is that magic?"
"Ssh, not quite so loud, my friend. I dabble in pyromancy. You don't know it?"
"No."
"A land of wooden-faced men and no pyromancy. I'd love to learn more of your kind. But first, our belongings …"
Quiet as a mouse, the Vinheim sorcerer tiptoed toward the gathering of sleeping bandits. With a stealthy tread that impressed even Sulyvahn, he navigated the maze of slumbering bodies and obtained a satchel from somewhere in their midst. While he retrieved his supplies, Sulyvahn's eyes searched for his own catalyst.
One of the bandits said he had the wand. Sure enough, he found it on the largest of the thugs laying closest to the fire. The catalyst was tucked into his belt. The insolence, for a brute to take such things for himself! Sulyvahn carefully undid the belt loop and took the wand up in his hands.
The fading fire popped, and a spark landed on his arm. Sulyvahn could not help himself. He gave a sharp gasp of surprise and fell back, his leg kicking another bandit. The man woke quickly and sat up, knife in hand. He looked up at Sulyvahn, and screamed a single vowel before a ray of frost silenced him.
It was enough. The other bandits woke, weapons at the ready.
The fight was short and bloody. Ice and magic erupted as the sorcerers defended themselves. Sulyvahn's frost paralyzed arms and legs and the Vinheim sorcerer's soul arrows and spears felled bandits left and right. A blow from behind caused Sulyvahn to stumble toward the fire. One man tried to seize his catalyst, but the "wooden man" was far stronger than he expected. Sulyvahn grabbed his arm and swung him around like a pendulum. He let go, and the man landed in the embers of the fire. His clothing caught alight, and he screamed as he thrashed on the ground. Sulyvahn ended his suffering with a summoned spear of frost.
The bandits quickly decided two sorcerers were not worth the blood. The survivors disappeared into the night.
The other sorcerer looked at the bandit's remains in the fire, both charred and iced, then to Sulyvahn with an expression halfway between admiration and fear.
"Violent, aren't you?"
"It is little more than they deserved, is it not? They attacked us, robbed us."
The man nodded. "Violence begets violence, as my old teacher would say. I'd hoped to avoid it, but such is life, as they say in Catarina. Come, I think we best be away."
The man hurried off with the confidence of one who knew where he was going. Sulyvahn followed him. What else was he to do at this junction?
The sorcerer cast a spell that lit a small orb of light for them to see by. They fled across hills and into ravines before stopping beneath an overhang of rock and tree roots. A small tent was set up here beside the ashes of a dead campfire. The sorcerer knelt down and dug into the ground beneath the tent. He pulled up a small wooden box that he placed in his backpack. He looked up at Sulyvahn.
"My campsite," he explained hurriedly. "Had to be sure this was still here. I'm sure you have a thousand questions. At least, we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we?" He rose to his feet and performed an elaborate bow. "I am Lucius of Vinheim, itinerant wandering scholar."
Sulyvahn tilted his head in bemusement. It was a surreal thing, this sorcerer introducing himself in so genteel a manner in the wilderness at night, so soon after a slaughter of common highwaymen.
"Your wanderings seem to lead you to trouble, Lucius."
Lucius looked slightly miffed at this. "I was not the only one in a cage. It is a hazard that may befall any fellow. Now, may I beg the honor of knowing your name, my good man?"
Sulyvahn hesitated. He knew nothing of this Lucius. Was he an enemy, too, leading him on until he struck when he had the advantage?
On the other hand, he had aided Sulyvahn so far, and proven to have some mettle against the robbers. And he was a sorcerer like himself. An educated man who could instruct him of this world. He may yet prove useful.
"I am called Sulyvahn. I am a sorcerer and a seeker of knowledge."
"Very good. The gods must have fated that we meet thusly, Sulyvahn. These lands are filled with bandits and beasts, and the lands I travel to are more dangerous still." He began packing his tent.
"If I recall correctly, the main road is east of here," Lucius said. He glanced at Sulyvahn out of the corner of his eye. "By chance, do you crave adventure as well as knowledge, Sulyvahn?"
"And what does Lucius of Vinheim consider an adventure?"
"Not a trusting fellow, I see. Not at all a shortcoming in these wild lands." He pushed the folded tent into a backpack and swung it over his shoulder. Between his satchel and the full pack, he looked like a lopsided turtle. "I am what you might call an excavator. A revelator of the buried past."
"I have travelled four days without sustenance and very little sleep. I am not disposed toward riddle talk at the moment."
"Hah! Not a waster of words. I wish I had that virtue. I seek a ruin of near-mythical status, one that my college does not believe exists. I know better. Don't ask me how, not yet at least, for it is a long story, but I have discovered the location of a city that contains knowledge and riches untold of. Come!" he marched past Sulyvahn into the night, his light orb hovering before him. "I sense the gods at work in our meeting. This is no coincidence, two sorcerers of our caliber meeting together in the untamed north! We shall seek it out together!" He turned with a flourish and looked upon Sulyvahn with a raised chin and triumphant expression enhanced by the glittering light of the orb.
"And if I'm not interested?"
Lucius's melodramatic posture vanished and he shrugged simply. "There is a crossroads inn about two days from here. There, you can hire a horse, travel anywhere you wish."
"Either way, I must travel with you?"
"Perhaps you'll learn to enjoy my company? Certainly, less chance of ambush travelling together." The theatrical grin reappeared. "Think of it. To share in the discovery of the age."
Sulyvahn wondered at this man. If all humans of the world beyond the Painting were as ... emotionally driven ... as Lucius, he pondered just how long he could endure such company.
"What is this city you are searching for?"
"Its name is forgotten. Legends call it simply the Profaned Capital. It lies far to the north, beneath the frozen tundra."
The north. Cold tundra. A land like the Painted World. Fate played cruel jokes, sometimes, Sulyvahn thought.
He considered his options. Lucius showed considerable trust in a stranger. Strange creatures, humans. They betray and ambush, then they trust needlessly. But Lucius seemed a friendly sort, if given to unnecessary dramatics. And a comrade on the road would indeed be advantageous.
The north. Snow and ice, as he had seen all his life.
"Either way," Lucius continued, "we need to seek shelter for the remainder of the night. You can sleep on it."
"Yes, that would be good," Sulyvahn replied.
They found a cave in the hillside concealed by shrubs. Half-hidden from the world, bereft of bandits and savages and blazing heat and anything else this world had sheathed in its arsenal.
Sulyvahn slept very little. He did not require as much sleep as others. Another piece of his hybrid heritage he would carry with him regardless what world he dwelt in. He awoke long before Lucius did. But he felt refreshed when he reemerged from the cave to see the sliver of dawn widening on the horizon. The morning air was soothing. He still clung to its cold. And a part of him detested that fact. He had left his homeland to escape the cold, to seek Fire. No, he corrected himself. To seek something more. He had seen the sun, seen Fire's pervasive power in this land, and it had been lacking. It must, thusly, be something else that he sought to fill the unnamed void in his soul.
He would discover what, someday. Knowledge? Purpose? Perhaps Lucius was more right than he knew. Perhaps there was a greater power at play in their meeting. Perhaps the cold beckoned to him once more, one final communion before he could release himself from its hold and truly find his place in the world of Fire.
The Profaned Capital. Where else had he to go, he who had no past in this land? He would go into the north with Lucius. He would see what fate would be unveiled before him. He would embrace it. He would grow beyond the limitations of his past.
He would become more than he now was. His nameless desire would be sated. Thus he swore to himself, by everything he was, and everything he might be.