A/N: Heya folks! As usual when I yoink musical lyrics for these stories, credit to the original musicians. First song is obviously from the legendary band Queen, "A Kind of Magic". Second song is from The Score, song is called "Higher" (stripped version), with a minor modification to two lines to make it fully appropriate coming from Rhuadhán. I would strongly suggest that if you want the full benefit of the lyrics, maybe pull it up on youtube and give it a listen as you're reading the last scene. It's an awesome frigging song.
Chapter 6
Ascension or Bust
Approximately fifty minutes before dawn, with the eastern sky showing the first signs of lightening, Rhuadhán's success at passing the Test of Shiva-Tsal became apparent to those awaiting him at the Drölma summit. An energy that could only be the Master of Magic's could be sensed approaching at a speed that few outside of Rhuadhán could accomplish climbing up the treacherous slope.
Dalamar stared with confusion in the direction of his incoming Shalafi. With as much as Rhuadhán had needed to expend his magic so far to survive the dangers of the trek, his magical reserves should be becoming depleted and needing be conserved for the Ritual of Ascension. But his master was clearly surrounding himself with magic, and that magic radiated out as though there had been no such strains to it and he wasn't concerned with moderating it.
As Mönkbold likewise picked up on his friend's magic and let out a quiet triumphant cheer, the dark elf noticed something else. There were other magical signatures trailing his master, almost hidden by the force of Rhuadhán's magic.
Dalamar reached for his crystal to cast his scrying spell to discover what was shadowing his master and potentially needed to be intercepted, only to remember that his master was undoubtedly using his Time magic, again. The spell would fail if he tried. The dark elf left his rocky alcove and began walking parallel to the sacred khora in the direction his master was coming from, heading for an advantageous spot as they came up the slope. "Batzorig, Nominchono has company. It's undoubtedly spirits tailing him."
The wolves didn't need to be told anything more than that, leaping to their feet and pulling amulets from their belts in case there were too many for the other's magic to handle.
Rhuadhán's approach suddenly slowed, then came to a halt, and he was still out of sight. Small bursts of magic were released in rapid succession, and the outer auras of bright flashes of crystalline light or pulses of dark magic could be seen flaring and clashing in tandem.
A magical fight was clearly breaking out, but Dalamar wasn't able to get a better look at what was happening. He was at the edge of a ledge, with only the option of stepping onto the khora itself to have a passage down to his master or head up further and around the mountain slope, away from the action.
If his master was engaging in a fight with something, however, that meant he wasn't tapping into Time. He couldn't manage to do both at the same time yet. Dalamar had barely retrieved his crystal, however, when the exchanges of magical attacks ceased. Given that he could still sense his master's aura of magic radiating out, he had clearly been the victor in whatever just took place. Which was simultaneously a relief for Rhuadhán's survival and a concern for if that fight had been conducted in some way that might have gone against the rules for Kangri Rinpoche. Of course, if his master had reactively managed to cast some sort of magic that had killed an attacker and disqualified him, it was too late to do anything about it now.
Dalamar heard his Shalafi before he saw him. More precisely, he heard his master singing. And, as had been the case when they had reached Kangri Rinpoche roughly twelve hours earlier, he wasn't singing a prayer or mantra.
"...One dream, one soul
One prize, one goal..."
Dalamar groaned in aggravation as he registered what the breathless, mocking, exhilarated words were... His Shalafi was an absolute Prima Donna.
Rhuadhán's singing continued, even as another flash of crystalline magic went off.
"...One golden glance of what should be..."
The aura of the crystalline magic felt like some sort of warding magic, but Dalamar knew it wasn't one of the spells Rhuadhán had stored in one of his amulets.
"...It's a kind of magic..."
Rhuadhán's taunting laughter could be clearly heard for a few seconds... And then guttural, bestial growls from something rumbled out in response.
That warding magic wasn't something Dalamar could immediately identify. What in the Abyss was his Shalafi casting? And what was he casting it at? And why was he seeming so lackadaisical about it?!
"...One shaft of light that shows the way.
No mortal man can win this day..."
His Shalafi finally came up and around the side of the mountain enough for Dalamar to see him, staff in one hand and digging into the snowy, rocky ground, the other hand grabbing whatever was available to pull himself up onto the last false summit. Rhuadhán looked quite disheveled, and it was clear from even some hundred meters off that he was having difficulties putting weight on his feet. And even still, the Master of Magic was continuing to sing.
"...It's a kind of magic...
The bell that rings inside your mind..."
And then Dalamar saw the symbols on the Staff of Milarepa ignite with the crystalline warding magic and send a pulse out towards whatever was pursuing his master but not yet in sight.
"...Is challenging the doors of Time..."
Rhuadhán found his footing on the tiny flat stretch of the false summit and glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled himself to stand up straight with the staff. Unconcerned by whatever he apparently saw in pursuit, his gaze, which had returned at some point to its normal hue of sapphire, turned forward to scan the path to make his next climb. He caught sight of his mentor and gave a cheeky grin. "Incoming Hound of Anubis, Magie! And this last one's a persistent mad lad! He's not an official part of the test, so feel free to blast him!"
"Stop fooling around and get up here!" Dalamar snapped down at him, gaze darting towards the aura coming up behind his master. The magic was all too familiar, resonating as a darkness that sucked in the light around it and gave none back.
Dalamar didn't need acute elven sight to know Rhuadhán rolled his eyes at that order, and his young master yelled back, "In case you didn't notice, I'm working on that! Dahareslin has my back 'til I get up there!"
The dark elf's eyebrows flew together in confusion. "Dahareslin?"
Rhuadhán started picking out his path up the steep incline, but called back with laughter in his voice, "The staff!"
Dalamar stared down at his master, aghast, barely noticing the hulking, armored form coming into sight behind his master. "You renamed the staff 'Ruby Peach'?!"
Rhuadhán's laughter was unrepentant and he called back, "She seems to like it!"
As if to affirm the Master of Magic's statement, the staff let out another flare of magic. A shield briefly formed to block the bolt of negative energy the Warrior of Anubis sent flying like a spear at Rhuadhán's back.
As the magical spear shattered and dissipated, Rhuadhán went back to singing as he struggled up the path.
"...The waiting seems eternity.
The day will dawn of sanity..."
Dalamar shook his head in exasperation and heaved a sigh, something he did far too often these days, as he pulled a gilded jet amulet in the shape of an ankh from his belt. Dark eyes tracked the spectral figure as it tried to gain ground on his master, but kept being blasted back several paces by the amla staff in the Master of Magic's possession.
"...Is this a kind of magic?
There can be only one...
...This rage that lasts a thousand years
Will soon be done...
...This flame that burns inside of me...
...I'm hearing secret harmonies..."
Rhuadhán was nearly level with him, about six meters away, when the hound was finally in range.
Swift words in Sihir were spoken as the amulet was raised, words that finally drew the specter's attention from its singing quarry and to the figure outside the sacred khora and initially out of sight. The inky maw of the canine warrior opened with a renewed snarl that echoed across the space between them, and spears rippled into existence in both of its clawed hands.
Magical projectiles were launched one after the other at the dark elf; each bolt of negative energy carrying with it the potential to utterly suck out the life force of an entity struck.
Dalamar calmly shifted out of the way, chanting uninterrupted as he stepped to the left to avoid the first and then ducked his head to avoid the second.
Jet amulet was deftly launched at the hound and the magic now imbuing it sent it flying with unerring accuracy for the beast. Before the specter could decide what to do, the ankh collided with its chest and burst like the stone was no more substantial than a soap bubble.
The moment after the indigo hued magic came into contact with the hound, the specter disappeared from where it stood, banished back to the Underworld, without time to issue so much as a snarl of protest.
Rhuadhán paused his ascent, about fifty meters from Drölma Rock and the path beginning to level out, to look over his shoulder. His grin widened upon seeing the danger removed and then turned his sapphire gaze to his mentor. "Thanks, Magie!"
Dalamar pointed ahead. "Thank me by getting yourself past Drölma Do before something else pops up to try stopping you!" He could clearly see the eyeroll from his Shalafi this time, but Rhuadhán did as ordered. At the pained pace his master was capable of hiking at, Dalamar was able to circle around and have about a minute of waiting with the wolves before his master finished his ascent and limped past the massive marker of Drölma Rock.
As the young Champion stepped off the sacred khora, he said, "Bloody hell! That was a trek! How am I doing on time?"
Dalamar discreetly conjured one of his watches onto his wrist under his deel's sleeve and then pulled back the sleeve to glance at it. "You have thirty-two minutes and some twenty odd seconds until the first ray of sun hits this summit."
Rhuadhán let out a celebratory whoop and stumbled forward to receive congratulations from their companions.
"You have everything you need?" Dalamar asked, raising his voice to be heard over the exchange his master and Mönkbold were having as they clapped each other on the back.
"Yes, Magie," Rhuadhán drawled out. His free hand went into one pouch and he withdrew the large tri-colored feather, and then gestured to a laden pouch. "Water from the Lake of Compassion, my new favorite artifact- the dear Dahareslin, and the Feather of Ma'at. All set to go for dawn." As he put the feather back in its pouch for safekeeping, he added, "Think a bloke could spare ten minutes to rest his bleeding feet?"
Dalamar nodded and said with mild reprimand, "And your magic. There's no need to keep it radiating out like you are."
Rhuadhán laughed, plopping himself down where he stood and letting the staff lay across his lap. "Maybe not, but I can't dial it down at the moment. That last stretch after Shiva-Tsal? I can see why they call it The Path of Rebirth and say that it seems as though completing the khora removes a lifetime's worth of sins from a soul. That stretch positively resonates with latent magic of The Three and is like taking a great big hit of cosmic cocaine." The Master of Magic gave another laugh, but winced as he shifted his leg and took a look at the sole of one of his bruised and lacerated feet. "Oh, that's going to be some scars, salve or not... Bugger me sideways."
"You'll survive without being crippled for it," Dalamar said dispassionately, evaluating the damage from where he stood.
"Right ray of empathy, as always," Rhuadhán said with a huff. He looked over to Batzorig and asked in Mongolian, "Am I allowed to bandage my feet now? Or do I have to wait until after my ascent and coming back down?"
Batzorig thought on that a few seconds, and then his massive shoulders gave a shrug. "I cannot recall anything being said specifically about that, Nominchono. I would not chance it until after, as you may have completed the khora, but haven't been granted the Vajra yet."
"I thought you might say that," Rhuadhán said with resignation. "I can bear this a bit longer then."
"How are you feeling otherwise?" Dalamar asked. "Outside of whatever temporary high you're apparently enjoying at the moment?"
Rhuadhán considered the question, attention turning inward to catalogue his various injuries. He eventually said, "I'll survive. A bit banged up, but nothing that won't heal with a few days of proper rest..." He then asked, impish grin forming, "Hey, Magie? Can I borrow that watch for a few minutes?"
"You want to borrow my watch?" Dalamar asked, glancing down at it and then back to his master.
Rhuadhán gave a nod, grin widening. "Had a thought that'll help me keep my mind off my feet and on my goal, and I want to get the timing just right."
Dalamar asked with a hint of suspicion, switching to Sihir so the wolves wouldn't understand what was being said, "Just what are you planning, little master?"
"Nothing you need worry about," Rhuadhán replied, likewise in Sihir. "Let me borrow your wrist clock." This time, there was no mistaking it for a request.
Dalamar sighed as he began to unlatch his watch. "Are you planning something else to annoy Majere?"
Rhuadhán shook his head and said, a little too smoothly, "Of course not. I'm just going to make sure my ascent goes smoothly and with some style."
"You need to be concerned with performing the ritual correctly so the Rainbow Bridge forms and you make it safely over."
"It's going to form when I order it to form," Rhuadhán stated dismissively, accepting the watch from his mentor. "There is nothing he can do to stop me from coming up that mountain and claiming what's rightfully mine."
"Would you please attempt to not provoke him any further?" Dalamar asked with more than a hint of frustration leaking out. "Just for one exchange? This ritual is going to be difficult enough for you as it is. The Diamond Vessel might be yours to claim, but you have to reach it first and he can make things far more difficult than they otherwise would be."
"My very existence is enough to provoke him," Rhuadhán countered bluntly. "I'm not going to bow to his will, like some beaten dog hoping to get an accepting pat on the head from its abusive owner. He might possess the Diamond Vessel, but The Three only left it to him for safekeeping until I returned to this world. I've reincarnated, and now I'm going up that mountain. He's going to hand it, and anything connected to it, over and then stay out of my way." Interrupting what his mentor was about to say, he ordered in English, "I'm going to need to start preparing for the ascent up the Bifrost in just a few minutes. Give me some silence to relax and regroup while I can."
Dalamar gave a small bow to that order. "As you say, Master."
Rhuadhán cast an annoyed glance his way for the sarcasm, then sighed and went into a silent meditation with his gaze focused on the ticking second hand of the watch.
Dalamar fell into silence as well, mindful of what yet awaited his master. Rhuadhán had managed to make it around the khora and collect everything needed to make this attempt, but the potentially hardest part was about to be undertaken.
To ascend to the top of Kangri Rinpoche, one had to possess a clear sense of their truest self and a strong command of magic, which they knew Rhuadhán had on both accounts more than most; but they also had to possess a soul that resonated with a high enough divine purpose, sufficiently unburdened by the weight of sin and karmic dissonance.
If a petitioner was blatantly unworthy in the latter regard, they'd find themselves failing to be able to properly transmute the potion made of the ingredients gathered. If they were teetering on the cusp of worthiness, they might be able, with enough force of will, to make the potion take form. The Master of Magic's soul was in a somewhat damaged state due to the experiments he had put himself through in his previous attempts to ascend to godhood, and with having his entire first incarnation obliterated from his soul's memory to keep him from going apocalyptic again. They were hoping that his attempts to fix some of those damages, both between the attempts at reaching godhood and particularly during this incarnation, had made sufficient enough progress. As for the weight of karmic baggage from his many questionable actions, which could cling to his soul and create discordant vibrations that could render the potion useless... Well, Dalamar didn't have a clear idea on how exactly that was calculated, but he was considerably concerned that it might be the biggest monkey wrench in their plans.
The fact that Rhuadhán had managed to traverse the khora as he had seemed to indicate that he had made significant strides towards both of those goals, but given just how much damage and baggage someone like him had, it remained to be seen if those strides were enough.
Because even if the potion was successfully transmuted, then came drinking the potion. And those who drank the potion were subjected to a test of self-discipline and inner awareness as they opened themselves up as a channel for the magic needed to summon the Rainbow Bridge and cross the threshold into the outer plane of the Realm of the Gods. If one couldn't maintain their focus during whatever magical psychedelic trip that was, they would find their souls detaching from their body and being swallowed up by the magic they were channeling. Which would result in either ending up on any number of planes of existence as the magic went wild, or their soul being torn apart beyond any but the more powerful of gods' capability to constitute.
Given that Rhuadhán was the Master of Magic, an Archmage without peer and an accomplished High Priest of The Three, even if this incarnation was young, they weren't so worried about him losing control. He had opened up similar sorts of bridges between a multitude of Realms on numerous occasions.
However, even if he could theoretically control that volume of magic with its disorienting effects, this particular method of planar crossing wasn't some variation of tearing a hole through to another Realm through sheer force of will and Arcane power, as the Master of Magic usually did. This particular ritual required attuning oneself to that other Realm and passively slipping into it in a state that was compatible enough with it to not be reactively ejected as a foreign entity. None of the mages overseeing the Master of Time's current training were quite sure what that actually entailed in practice, having never personally traversed the Realm of the Gods and not having any formal training in "divine" magics. Even Lemuel, with all his time spent learning mystic practices of this world that the monks practiced, hadn't experienced such a feat, nor seen another perform it. Solinari's High Priests said that it was a ritual that built off the theories of astral projection, but went several steps further to transport both body and soul, and to a location outside of their own world. But, like Lemuel, those High Priests didn't have any firsthand experiences or observations to relate, only having a few scattered accounts passed down from when a few ancients like Milarepa had undertaken some form of this ritual.
Rhuadhán was undertaking this endeavor with only educated guesses as to what affect it might have on him, an admittedly fuzzy idea of how he needed to channel the magic to accomplish what was intended, and with less than ideal conditions because of the current state of his soul. The hope was that his intuitive understanding of magic would fill in whatever gaps their theories had once the ritual was in progress, that he would be able to observe and evaluate the effects firsthand and then have a full understanding of how to properly direct the magic as needed, and that his strength of will would allow him to suppress whatever discordant energy his soul might be carrying so he wasn't denied entrance at the point of entry into the Realm of the Gods.
And now, on top of trying to undertake such a risky endeavor, Rhuadhán was apparently wanting to add some last minute element to the mix of factors for "style". Something that he could see his master was calculating while meditating, tapping a hand to the staff he had up and decided to rebrand from the name it had carried the last millennia since its creation. And because he was the Master of Magic and had willed for the staff to carry that new name, it had been so. The staff had apparently accepted its new name and now the artifact actively worked its previously dormant magics towards protecting its new owner. Just like that. As though such an extraordinary feat was no different than the mundane purchasing of a new car and giving it a nickname.
Dalamar held back a sigh, wondering if his master was going to be able to command the Bifrost that easily, or if he was going to end up trying to explain gruesome details of a critical mishap that ended his Shalafi's latest incarnation to Antimodes and Horkin. Unpleasant as that would be, and devastating to their plans with the looming conflicts against Takhisis, the dark elf wasn't about to engage in an argument with his Master just before said master needed to undertake the ritual. If such an argument didn't outright ruin his concentration for the ritual and cause him to miss his opening, or cause distracted thoughts during the ritual and subsequent harm ensuing, it would still be an incident that his Shalafi was likely to tuck away in his mind and eventually be given some sort of retribution for.
Dalamar was willing to push and challenge his Master on issues he was certain he'd be vindicated on when his Shalafi was working with his full faculties and a matured mentality, but he had the feeling this wasn't one of those issues. Raistlin hated being told how to work his magic by those he deemed lesser in knowledge, which was everyone outside of The Three... and, in certain instances, even those deities weren't excluded.
No, it was far better for his survival and well-being to just let Rhuadhán have his way on this. If he screwed this ritual up by getting too cocky and doing something counterproductive, he'd probably survive, or at the very least his soul would, and he'd have no one to blame for the failure but himself.
.
.
.
Fifteen minutes before dawn broke over the summit, Rhuadhán snapped himself out of his meditations and hefted himself to his feet. The wolves briefly wished him luck and then stepped back off to one side. Magie silently pulled a bowl from the supply bag and handed it over; a bowl made of lapis lazuli, almost half a meter wide and only three millimetres thick, and so shallow one might almost consider it a deeply set plate.
The Master of Magic limped over to the spot he needed to be next to Drölma Do and set the lapis bowl on top of it. The large ivory vial containing the sacred waters from Gauri Kund was next pulled and the contents slowly poured into the bowl as words of Sihir were recited. The green tinged water took on a faint emerald glow as it answered the call of magic. Chanting new words, in a repeating pattern with differing inflections for each pass, he once more removed the Feather of Ma'at from its pouch. He could feel the feather from that ancient creature vibrating as his magic infused it.
When the Feather of Ma'at vibrated at the same frequency as his magic, Rhuadhán let the feather drop into the bowl of water, continuing his chanting. The Feather of Ma'at touched down on the water and floated on top, instead of being immediately weighed down by whatever karmic baggage his soul carried, which was promising.
The emerald glow from the sacred waters intensified as it came into contact with that enchanted feather. The magic of the waters spread up along the vane of the feather, swiftly washing out its natural black and red coloring and making it shimmer with a multitude of emerald hues. And then, as the mage-priest continued chanting, the Feather of Ma'at seemingly disintegrated, becoming one with the waters of Gauri Kund. There was a flash of emerald light, and then the waters subsided back to a quiet hum of magic.
A vindicated smirk curled on Rhuadhán's lips as his chanting came to a close. Grasping his staff in one hand, he lifted the bowl to his lips with the other. Drinking down the enchanted brew in a few gulps, the Master of Magic felt refreshing pulses of magic flood through his veins, and in its wake was a feeling that was almost impossible to quantify because of the seemingly contradictory nature of it.
It was a sense of lightness, as though he was as insubstantial as the air one breathed or a ray of sunshine like those just minutes away from being shone. And yet, at the same time, he felt all too corporeal and grounded as he became rapidly aware of the ground beneath his feet, and the features of the mountain around him- from the individual flakes of newly fallen snow piled up on the ground, to the ancient rocks that laid beneath them, to the even more ancient layers of undisturbed dirt and stone delving deeper and deeper into the Earth and up into the peak of Kangri Rinpoche. He could feel the pains in his body, but as a distant thing. He could feel the anticipation of some crows as they awakened for the day and took flight in search of breakfast. He could sense the excitement from Mönkbold as his friend sensed and saw the higher magics being performed. He could sense one of the domesticated yaks slumbering down the mountain in an encampment shift uncomfortably as its mate leaned against it while also slumbering. He could feel the collective surging hope of the wolves, as they likewise bore witness to each step of the ritual being completed, that the Ariunkhan had finally come forth to help turn the coming war in their favor. He was racing alongside a colony of ants as they scurried about to bring bits of late autumn seeds and flowers into their stockpile for the coming winter. He was feeling each of the heavy sighs Magie made as his mentor waited and watched in stoic silence.
He was everywhere and nowhere, everything and nothing. It was all connected by the forces that made up existence, infinite little pieces in the great cosmic machine. An impossibly complex interweaving of the strands of Soul and Life and Magic and Death and Time and Consciousness, ebbing and flowing both within each minuscule facet and with each other, with no two creations quite like the other, even of its own kind, and ever changing in itself as the various forces of the universe affected them.
It took every bit of his rapidly fraying concentration, but Rhuadhán recognized the danger of allowing himself to get lost in the feeling he was being inundated with, of allowing his analytical mind to try to catalogue and make sense of it all. He didn't have the time to be pondering the mysteries of life, nor could he risk losing his grasp on his awareness of his personal existence. He turned his attention to his staff, to tightening his grip on it and focusing his awareness on the feel of his fingers applying pressure to the warm amla wood to help stay in control of the magic coursing through him. He focused on his personal flow of magic, his own body's natural rhythms, the subtle pulses of magic imbued into his staff. The feelings and sensations caused by the ritual were ever present, but they began to fade to the background of his mind like a subdued buzz of white noise.
Once assured he wasn't about to lose his grip on his active consciousness, Rhuadhán sluggishly slipped his hand into the pouch he had placed Magie's watch in and pulled it back out. The golden second hand was ticking away at its normal pace, but it felt like it was both moving too fast and too slow. The Master of Time knew it was just the magic temporarily skewing his perception and continued concentrating on the second hand, making his mind focus on it until his breathing was keeping a steady pace according to the intervals counted. When he was assured of that stability, he worked to make sense of the actual time being told by the clockwork piece, and then made himself do the math of when dawn was, steadily drawing back in his focus to tighter control.
That accomplished, and with just under six minutes left before his ascent, Rhuadhán turned his gaze towards the summit. He was physically next to the great Drölma Rock, but he needed to be up there. It normally seemed such an imposing distance, yet it almost felt like he could reach out and scoop up some of the snow blanketing the pristine summit. He could almost feel the icy flakes beneath his aching feet, hear their crunch as he walked atop them, making his mark on the untouched snow. But reaching the snowy top of the summit wasn't his true destination.
He needed to go beyond that physical place. There was a place atop the summit, invisible to the mortal eye and most aided means of viewing. A place that wasn't a place like any known to mankind. A place he could now sense and see; both as a distant glimmer of magic across the chasm of space between where he stood on Drölma summit and where it resided atop Kangri Rinpoche, and as a swirling vortex of power that had a pull akin to gravity and seemed so near that it couldn't help but draw him in if he wasn't anchored down. It was a doorway that resonated with an energy that was like a beacon of serenity and power, calling those who could sense it to come home and take refuge in its sanctuary. That was where he needed to be. That was where he needed the Rainbow Bridge to connect to so he could cross into the Realm of the Gods. A Realm that he knew he had every right to set forth into, to claim what was his by rights and merit.
All he had to do was will the bridge to take form, for the magic swirling around him to carry him up there, and he'd have a major victory towards the goal he had spent his existence working towards. There was no proper incantation to direct the magic into crafting the bridge, however, because each and every being resonated differently than the next and needed a unique vibration of magic to transport them. Their own signature of existence keyed into the magics of the Rainbow Bridge. The same signature of being that he had infused the Feather of Ma'at with, that had set this magic into motion. He knew who he was- the Master of Magic, by virtue of his patrons' blessings and his innate skill at wielding Magic; and he was Majikahla, the Master of Time, by rights of his taming and partnership with that tempestuous primordial force of Creation. He knew what he was capable of. He was capable of anything he had the ability to imagine because he commanded the very forces of reality and bent them to his will. Magic and Time were his to command, and they were connected to everything that had ever existed in Creation, and all the needed magic to form the Rainbow Bridge was around him at this particular point in Time.
Rhuadhán called up words of another kind to mind to keep his concentration focused on his goal. It was a shame that so few people were present to witness what he was about to do; he almost hoped Anubis coerced Milarepa and Naro Bönchung into watching this from whatever spot in the Underworld they were currently residing in. He was taking a page out of his favorite Not-So-Silent Prophets' book and sending out a message that couldn't be ignored by those it was meant to reach.
He was Majikahla- Master of Time, Master of Magic; and he was going to give that old guilt-ridden monk-priest and drum-beating, death-worshipping cultist, as well as the hypocritical bastard and his posse of sentient sex toys currently at the top of the mountain, and all those who might someday come after and hear legends of this fateful morning, a lesson on how to make a memorable ascension up Kangri Rinpoche and claim a mantle of power.
.
.
.
Dalamar watched with a keen interest as his Shalafi prepared to undertake the Ritual of Ascension. Upon drinking down the sacred brew, that aura of magic that had been steadily emanating from the Master of Time started to pulse and fluctuate wildly. There were momentary sparks of glimmering eldritch light around him, a flash here and there of almost tendril-like ethereal formations stretching out from his body. A shift in his energy that even the wolves were able to notice, given the quiet murmurs of surprise coming from the group behind the dark elf.
As Rhuadhán concentrated on his breathing exercises, the magic around him began to stabilize. The pulses of magic settled into a just visible golden haze around him, bathing his skin in a metallic sheen that was duller than the permanent magical infusion Dalamar remembered from so long ago. Rhuadhan's long fingers began tapping out a beat on the staff's wood, the same beat he had been working on while taking his short rest.
Dalamar nervously turned his gaze to the east, where dawn was blossoming in a riot of crimson and azure and citrine across the sky. His Shalafi was keeping control of his magic for the moment, but he needed to get working on actually using it. They had perhaps three minutes left before the sun actually broke the horizon and cast its first rays on the Drölma summit. He wasn't sure just what his master was planning, but he was cutting this far too close for comfort.
Then Rhuadhán glanced his way and, free hand still tapping, a deft toss sent Dalamar's watch sailing through the air back to him. Sapphire gaze was trained back on Kangri Rinpoche before the watch was caught, and the Master of Time shifted his stance, bracing himself with his amla staff, orienting himself towards the summit a few more degrees.
Tapping on staff with agile fingers became tapping the butt of the staff to the ground.
Dalamar glanced at his watch, and he saw there was only two minutes and twenty-eight seconds left before daybreak. Dark gaze turned back up to his Shalafi. Rhuadhán was continuing his drumming, almost looking lost in a trance. Was he going to keep drumming right up to, or past dawn, lost in trying to control his magic?
Just as the dark elf's mouth was opening to call a quiet warning to his Shalafi that the threshold for ascension was nearly on them, Rhuadhán began to sing a new song, a song Dalamar hadn't heard before, voice resolute and defiant, keeping time with the percussion of his staff-
"I've been up, I've been down
Seen the world from the ground
But I hear the drumming
Now my veins are pumping..."
The ambient magic around Rhuadhán began swirling around him in a vortex, wavering and shimmering like a heat wave in the muted pre-dawn lighting on the summit.
"...Scraped my knees, bruised my heart
Where you end is not where you start
Resistance is crumbling
Cause you know I'm coming..."
With every passing second, as The Master of Magic's voice was pitched and echoing up towards Kangri Rinpoche's summit, the whirlwind of magic around him picked up in intensity. An intensity that felt like it may very well have been a palpable manifestation of Rhuadhán's determination to ascend as he planned.
"...I'm done with the noise that life seems to bring
But I'll use my voice, it's my turn to sing
Woo, woo. Woo woo."
Crystalline hues began to spark, swiftly passing glints in the golden tempest, casting miniature rainbows across the grey face of Drölma Do, and the stone and snow littered ground around the mage-priest, and along the smooth golden-red wood of the amla staff. Rhuadhán's voice pitched louder, echoing with a near inhuman depth of vibration as the magic he was calling on infused the words.
"...You know that...
All my life
I have been waiting, I have been waiting for this.
All my life
I have been fighting, I have been fighting for this..."
The staff stopped its tapping, Rhuadhán lifting it and pointing it up to the summit of Kangri Rinpoche. The magic rushing around him shifted with the motion, extending out from his body and rushing up the length of the staff. But it didn't extend out further than the staff, the Master of Magic keeping it contained and building in force.
"...Dream in my soul
And I won't let it go...
You know that
All my life
You try to keep me down but I just get higher..."
Flashes of magic around Rhuadhán became an iridescent kaleidoscope, almost dizzying to try watching. And with the riot of color dazzling the eyes, Dalamar hardly noticed that his master's feet started tapping the ground beneath him with the rhythm in place of the staff's staccato.
"...Woah, oh I...
You try to keep me down but I just get higher..."
Tendrils of magic rapidly expanded out from Rhuadhán's outstretched arm and staff now, separate from one another, multiplying too fast to keep count of. And the magic at his feet could be seen coalescing there as well, as though each tap was fusing a metaphysical thread to the Earth.
"...Broke my bones, tasted blood
Burned my wings close to the sun
But I'll keep on flying
I'm too young for dying..."
The prismatic magic rapidly twisted in and around itself, using the Master of Magic as its focal point, tendrils joining and coiling.
"...Cause there's a dream I can taste
Think it's time I break my chains
And run with the giants
Like smoke, I'm rising..."
The first semblances of a "structure" could be seen forming. Unlike stories of the Bifrost, however, it looked less like two ends of a rainbow bridge arcing and more like outstretched wings arching and touching above his head and a great tail fanning out down to his feet.
"...I'm done with the noise that life seems to bring
But I'll use my voice, it's my turn to sing.
Woo, woo. Woo woo..."
The magic intensified, just as the sun's rays reaching up from the horizon were. It was becoming difficult to make out Rhuadhán's form within the tempest, even as his voice reverberated all the louder. Dalamar was becoming worried that outside parties, even at a couple miles away, might see the brilliant light of the magic or hear his master's voice echoing as it was. Rhuadhán seemed utterly oblivious to his magical performance potentially compromising their secrecy and security, voice booming its way forth.
"...You know that
All my life
I have been waiting, I have been waiting for this
All my life
I have been fighting, I have been fighting for this..."
The crystalline infused golden light grew to such an intensity as it stretched and fanned out, more and more taking on the form of some immense bird, that Dalamar and the wolves lost sight of Rhuadhán, having to turn their gazes away to protect their eyes.
"...Dream in my soul
And I won't let it go
You know that
All my life
You try to keep me down but I just get higher!"
The last word was said with enough magical force behind it that it reverberated out like a clap of thunder, and at the same moment the first ray of sunlight touched the magical tempest.
It could be felt more than seen by the others present that, like a flick of fire touching a keg of gunpowder, Rhuadhán's magic was unleashed in a blast of power and finished spellwork.
One moment The Master of Time and that tempest were there, and then he was gone from their midst.
And all that was left in the wake of his magical flight was a deafening silence and a brilliant rainbow that stretched from where he had been standing up to the summit of Kangri Rinpoche.
The Master of Time had successfully entered the Realm of the Gods.
An unbidden smirk crossed the dark elf's lips as a sardonic thought crossed his mind. 'I bet Majere is regretting his stunts right about now... The Three preserve that Divine Monk if my Shalafi's temper snaps.'