Golden Sun: Wings of Anemos
Chapter 11 – Northern Steel
- \/\/ -
Once again, Ivan found himself fleeing. He recognized them for the dreams they were now, but even armed with that knowledge, he still felt compelled to run, compelled to fall, compelled to scream in terror.
Snow crunched beneath his feet as he ran through the dark forest, darting side to side around trees as they suddenly loomed out of the darkness. The snow had remained blessedly solid thus far, but he knew his luck would not hold. It was simply too early in the dream; the fall would come soon enough, likely borne of a patch of slush or ice hidden under the snow.
His stalker would eventually catch him, as she always did. The morbid truth only doubled his drive, giving him energy to continue the game for what seemed like hours. He had no weapon, and he had learned long ago that his Psynergy would always abandon him here. A fight was not an option, not while outmatched so completely.
At long last, his feet discovered that unfortunate clump of wet snow, feeling it slide out from underneath him as he crashed to the ground. The dull phantom ache of dream pain filled his body, paralyzing him and preventing him from returning to his feet. Instead he simply waited, hearing the snow crunch in the darkness beyond his vision, the herald of his own personal sleep reaper.
When Garet stepped into sight, however, Ivan suddenly found himself thoroughly confused. The man stood there with his arms crossed, staring at the boy with an enormous grin on his face. Ivan struggled to rise to his feet again, the terrible horror abruptly vanishing. As he stood up, though, Garet spoke.
"I told you that this day would come, Ivan. Do you remember our conversation? Do you feel your reward coming?" Garet held his arms out to his side as Ivan took a step away from his friend. "I don't let anything slide, Ivan."
The snow around them drew towards him in a similar way to how the man gathered flames, spiraling into a sphere hanging in front of him. The snowball grew as the ground around Garet turned green once more, grass sprouting up as if spring had arrived.
Only Garet did not stop at the same point he ended his fire spells. The snowball continued to grow, growing faster than the snow feeding it; in fact, Ivan had no idea where the man continued to drawn snow from anymore. But still the sphere grew.
His feet seemed trapped by the snow, locking him in his position as the snowball towered over him, passing two stories by now. The edges of the orb sparkled in the moonlight, glittering like eyes filled with laughter. Laughter at his misfortune.
The snowball began to roll, and as its shadow fell over Ivan, he could defend himself with naught but shouts.
- \/\/ -
"You would place our most guarded treasure in the hands of a foreigner? We hid it away so that none could use it, much less this child!"
"Only a relic from ancient times can stand against the ancients!"
"He was our enemy once before! Who's to say he won't turn on us again?"
"You would see the world die from your fear of action, you Valean!"
Piers placed his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. Proxians shouted at each other in increasing volumes, each seeking to make their point known. They gestured furiously as they grew louder, pointing frequently at Isaac, typically with great disgust.
Behind him, the fire crackled and burned brightly, casting an uncomfortable warmth on his back. He had learned during his previous time in the town that one's choices were to either shiver or sweat, and Proxians built their fireplaces accordingly. Though their natural resistance to the cold ensured they never felt it, if temperatures dropped enough, they would gradually become more fatigued, eventually falling unconscious and dying. Piers did not envy their unique trait; far better, he thought, to suffer the cold and be forewarned.
Trying to tune out the arguments, Piers stood up and turned around, looking around the house. Stone was difficult to come by this far north, as the ground was frozen throughout the majority of the year, so Proxians had crafted a thick, green pitch from local trees. They coated their wooden buildings in it, sealing gaps and adding a powerful layer of insulation to them.
Suddenly curious, Piers stepped away from the table and over to the nearest window. He looked at it carefully for a moment, then reached out and rapped a knuckle on the glass twice. Moving to the side and looking at it from as close to the wall as he could, he repeated the action, then nodded to himself. Not single-pane, of course; that would negate all work they had placed into their pitch. Not even double-pane, which provided well enough for the remainder of the world. Triple-pane was the Proxian standard, he noted, and the glass felt thick and strong. That made sense, he supposed. An entire civilization of Mars Adepts would be rather experienced with any trades involving fire.
He glanced back at the table, seeing a flurry of shaking fists and pointed fingers, Puelle attempting to mediate between the others, the elderly Altefeuer sitting back in his chair, calmly watching the catastrophe unfold before him, and Isaac attempting to slink as low in his chair as possible. Piers felt sorry for the young man. Felix would have been a far better choice, but circumstances had forced him elsewhere.
Turning away from the others, Piers crossed the room, pulled on his overcoat, and opened the door. The chill breeze that immediately flew in caused everyone to turn towards him, but he continued to ignore them and stepped outside, shutting it behind him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his thick coat and looked around him.
Winter had come to Prox, marking the most dangerous time of year for them, but even so, it looked leagues better than it had previously. For one, he could see a number of great waterwheels turning in the current of the river, which evidently remained flowing year-round, barring cataclysmic winters. Though he found himself interested in the various ways Proxians had put them to use, he reined in that line of thought, sticking instead to his original one. Abandoning one question for another would simply lead to a series of missing answers.
After asking for directions from the first person he came across, Piers made his way upstream, a light snow falling around him. The flakes danced through the sunlight in the breeze, making the air around him glitter, though he knew either the sunlight or snowfall would be short-lived. For the time being, however, he appreciated the beautiful calm surrounding him, treasuring his removal from that room.
They had arrived only hours before in Prox, finding its citizens rather unaware of their concerns. After meeting with Puelle, he explained to them that a great purple light had been seen to the north recently, briefly drowning out even the brilliant glow of Mars' beacon. Once Piers had explained to him the circumstances, he nodded in understanding. "Our village is only a single tree of the forest it once was," he said. "The entire north was once our domain. This is all that remains, to my knowledge."
However, when talk turned to Armageddon's blade, Puelle grew hesitant. Altefeuer advised him to call their town's council together if he was unsure, and the man agreed, stating that such an important decision should not be made alone.
They all arrived at Puelle's house almost two hours ago and had been arguing ever since.
Some concerns raised, both for and against looking for the blade, Piers knew to be valid. Some were just foolish, borne of fear and anger and misplaced pride. He knew Puelle had been right to call a council to make the decision, but he found himself growing increasingly irritated with their methods. Even given Isaac's rather unfortunate history with the Proxians, he could likely have quelled much of the arguing. They held him in a mixed light; some despised him for being Valean, some despised him for his part on Venus Lighthouse, some forgave him for the tragic misunderstandings that had led him astray, and some had never liked Saturos or Menardi much anyway.
All of them, though, recognized the power he held. Though none spoke of it aloud, behind doors and around corners, whispers flew of the two deceased Mars Adepts and their study of ancient Alchemy, of how they applied those concepts to unlock the draconian blood that flowed, however thinly these days, through the veins of all Proxians. They knew Isaac had overcome the pair, and above all else, Proxians valued strength. Not simply physical strength, but all kinds: strength of mind and strength of heart were as equally valued.
Liked or disliked, Isaac held considerable influence in Prox, though he knew nothing about it. He still felt wary in the town, knowing what he had deprived them of. Piers knew he would never try to exert his will on them, for fear of a terrible backlash.
So it would come to him. Piers shook his head as he walked. He was no leader. To try and still the storm that raged across that table would have been no different than trying to stop a summer's hurricane. The momentum was too great, the ferocity too strong. If he wanted to still them, he needed to first drag them over land and put them out of their element. His walking out would serve to confuse and worry them, he expected, as he had been the one to explain the situation to them. After a short while, he would return and deal with them again.
In the meantime, however, he had turned his attention towards something that had piqued his curiosity.
He knocked on the door to the building, waited a moment, then pulled open the door and stepped inside from the cold. Though he found the custom of not waiting for the owner to admit one inside a bit uncomfortable, the weather quickly made him thankful for that small cultural difference.
A rush of hot air greeted him as he stepped inside, slightly laden with the smell of iron and coal. He blinked several times upon entering, finding the entrance dimly lit, a significant difference from the sun-kissed snow outside.
"Eh? Who's there?"
A dark figure appeared, tall and thick, framed by the orange glow in the rear of the smithy. "I apologize for coming uninvited, but I was looking for the blacksmith."
The figure stepped closer, allowing Piers to see a man squinting at him through the gloom. "Yeah, that's me. You that Alex fellow, ain't you? Thought you died, or something."
Piers smiled, shaking his head. "Definitely the 'or something.' But no, my name is Piers. Piers Seul, of Lemuria."
The blacksmith shook his hand. "You're one of little Felix's friends. Sorry about that, never met you, I guess. Name's Einion Favager. Need something from me?"
The question carried no accusation or impatience, just the brusque tone of a busy man. Piers immediately kicked himself for his thoughtlessness. "No, no, I apologize. I only wanted to talk, but I'm interrupting your work. I'll let you get back to it."
Einion grunted. "Don't have a lot of work at the moment. Just teaching some of the boys, but they can go without me for a bit. They know their stuff, and I ain't about to turn down a man who comes this far north. What can I do you for?"
Piers scratched the side of his chin absently. "Nothing important, to be sure. I was just curious about some aspects of Prox. I've started work to get trade reestablished between the continents, so I can't help but think about things when I see them now."
"Like?" Einion said, cocking his head slightly.
"Well...the waterwheels were one of them," Piers said slowly, still wondering how to get around to his real question without offending the man. "I'm familiar with their design, but I'm not used to seeing them in an area that tends no crops."
The blacksmith grunted again, a crooked smile appearing on his face. A flash of insight suddenly translated the sound into laughter to Piers, the man's reactions suddenly fitting more clearly. "Not just for milling, those wheels. Useful for a bunch of things. C'mere," he said suddenly, gesturing for Piers to follow.
The Lemurian moved through the shop, following Einion into the back, where various metal pieces hung on racks and lay on tables, in various states of work. Some looked merely dirty to Piers, likely just needing a final cleaning and polishing before being complete. Some looked as if they had been dropped from Mars' aerie...repeatedly.
"I break stuff sometimes to give the boys work," Einion explained, seeing him looking at a piece so completely battered and warped that Piers could not even begin to guess its purpose. "Good practice. Keeps them busy."
Piers tore his eyes away from the twisted wreck and continued through the smithy, stopping with Einion a short distance away from a great forge. A comparatively small fire crackled in its center, but the two young men there ignored it, focused on their work at the anvil. One of them, looking to be slightly younger than Isaac, glanced up. "Oh, Ein, didn't hear you. Who's this?"
"One of the Dragonslayer's group," Einion said. "Just curious about the town. Keep working, and Terry, by Daedalus, switch out. Liam's got minutes before he's on the floor."
The first boy looked over at the one holding the hammer, as did Piers, finding him breathing rather heavily, drenched in sweat. "Damn it, Liam, say something!" he said, stepping over and taking the hammer from him. "Take a minute, grab some water, and we'll get back."
As Liam stumbled away slowly, Einion shook his head. "Keep an eye on your striker. Without him, you can't do anything." The man gestured to the side of the forge, where Piers could see a similarly large bellows. Behind it lay a complex construction of gears and axles, resting at the moment. "Connects up to the wheel. Lets us use the bellows automatically."
Piers nodded. "I assume the complexity is to allow different speeds at which to operate it?"
"Right," Einion said, then jerked a thumb at the anvil, where Terry waited.. "They don't get to use it, though. Little Terandi over there needs the muscle."
"Hey!" the boy shouted, patting his arms. "I've made a lot of progress!"
Einion grunted. "And you got a lot more to make still. Don't kill Liam while I'm gone."
As they walked back around to the front of the smithy, Piers asked quietly, "How long have you been smithing?"
"All my life," Einion said, leaning against a counter. "My father trained me. Hard, like I train them."
"Will they be able to handle it?" Piers asked. "Have you ever had anyone snap or break down?"
Einion shook his head. "If they couldn't take it, I wouldn't train them. Can't afford people losing it here. There'd be something else for them to do. Something more to their skills."
Piers nodded, more to himself. Prox had few enough people as it was, they needed to find ways to put everyone to effective use. People who became hurt, sick, or otherwise incapable of doing their jobs would simply be a drain on an already strained village. They had been recovering in the past year, he could see that much, but it would be many, many generations before their hard-won survival habits died out.
He turned to the side, looking at a number of completed works that decorated the front area. "Did you make these?" he asked, gesturing to a number of hanging pieces.
"I did," the man said plainly, with no hint of either pride or modesty. Just a fact.
Piers' eyes roved over them, seeing several metal tools, a small section of an iron gate, and what appeared to be a stove. As he moved on, though, they passed over a great sword. Almost instinctively he reached out for it, stopping himself just short of grasping the blade's handle. He snapped his hand back towards his chest and glanced behind him. "I apologize. I'm forgetting my place."
Einion snorted, shaking his head. "Never seen anyone so timid and bold at the same time. You know your way around a weapon, feel free. You cut yourself and it's your own fault."
"I understand. Thank you," Piers said, turning back and gently pulling the sword from the wall. It was longer than those he preferred, though he expected Garet would find it a comfortable length. Though Jenna often teased him for his love of enormous weapons, Piers had to admit, the man wielded them with enough terrifying force to rend small trees in two, but with enough precise finesse to write his name upon the fresh trunk.
But more than the size impressed Piers. Felix had taught him how to judge a blade, to get rough estimates of its durability and keenness, as well as its balance and comfort. While by no means did he consider himself an expert, Piers could tell that the sword would meet even Felix's high standards, possibly even exceed them.
Yet, to simply be hanging amongst a random assortment of tools and other mundane items, even in a smithy... Piers suddenly wondered if his question even needed asked, or even if Einion could answer it truthfully. He needed a different approach.
"This is an incredible blade," Piers said after a minute, looking at the blacksmith. "There must be a great story behind it."
"Story? No," Einion said with a grunt. "That's my reminder to a valuable lesson: always check the count of what you need."
Piers raised an eyebrow. "You mean this sword was one of many?"
"Yeah. Some work for the warriors. Miscounted and wound up with that one left over."
He placed the sword back on the wall as gently as a mother setting down a baby. "So if you were to put all your effort in a blade, to make your best work, would you say-"
"Every work is my best work," Einion said sharply, faint traces of anger flickering across his face. "I never hold back effort."
Piers immediately held up his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Please, forgive me. I meant no offense. I've just...never quite met a blacksmith like you."
His words seemed to calm Einion, and the man's voice dulled to its typical roughness. "Forgot others smith for money. Here, we just need a smith. Poor tools only come back to hurt me as well."
"I spoke without thinking, and for that, I apologize," Piers said, bowing his head. As he did, however, he could not help but think about the implications. Many blacksmiths had little practice in working steel to the best of their ability, because few people paid for such high craftsmanship. Thus, they rarely raised their limits.
Here was a man who not only held a natural talent to aid him in smithing, his Mars Psynergy, but also the devotion and discipline to make his best the standard. Every time he worked, his limits rose ever so slightly, to the point that even such a high quality blade as the one Piers had just held was no more than a routine job for him.
Einion had to be, if not the best, among the best blacksmiths on Weyard. Though it would take time to confirm it, Piers doubted his question really needed an objective answer. He could see the quality for himself, and it would help develop Prox with the trade routes he had planned. He had no doubt that others had similarly worked their Psynergy into their trades, giving them leagues of advantage over tradesman from other cities.
"I should get back," Piers said at last, glancing at the door. "I have some heads to cool and egos to deflate."
"Must be a town meeting," Einion said, then shook his head. "Lemme know if it works. I've been trying for years."
As the man turned around to return to his apprentices, Piers asked, "Master Einion...if I were to able to establish trade lines, would you be willing to participate in it?"
"Ain't no master," the man said immediately, though Piers suspected the words were reflexive. After another few moments, the smith looked over his shoulder. "If it helps Prox, I'll do what I need to. Whatever I need to."
Piers nodded, though the motion went unnoticed by Einion, who continued on his way. Pulling his coat around him tightly, Piers stepped back into the rapidly cooling afternoon, shivering as he did so. As predicted, the sun had vanished behind thick, grey clouds that continued to pour snow down around him.
The blacksmith knew well the quality of his work. What he had displayed had not quite been modesty...not directly, at least. It had struck Piers more as a casual acknowledgment that his work was the best, because he worked for it to be so. There was no pride in the work itself, merely the effort that went into it.
His work would benefit Prox, to be sure. His tempered steel would bring food, cloth, and all manner of semi-necessities to the village. They could fend for themselves, of course, but he doubted any would object to a means to make life easier, or at least to direct their efforts at alternative lines of work.
Their main export would be steel, to be sure, supplemented by glass, as well as their various chemical constructs, like the green and black pitches. Who would need it? Loho was always in need of new tools, and the materials they mined could be put to use by Einion and his apprentices here, in turn. If he could convince Kraden to build a port west of Tolbi, on the Great Western Sea, then he could connect the two cities – a great boon for Prox, since he planned to make Tolbi and Kalay the center of the economical world. If everything fell into place, the two cities would explode on either side of the Karagol, expanding their borders rapidly and requiring more trade.
"Needed some quiet time?"
Piers looked up from his thoughts to find Isaac walking towards him, his scarf fluttering in the gentle breeze. "Not really. I just thought of something that was more important to me than listening to them argue."
Isaac grinned. "That's a lot of things, I think. What was it?"
"The town's blacksmith," Piers said, nodding his head behind him. "I wanted to see if Mars Psynergy made him better than most."
Shaking his head, Isaac said, "We're deep in the northern wilds...again. Trying to save the world...again. And here you are, still thinking about your trade routes."
Piers shrugged, stepping beside the younger man. "We might save the world from the Anemoi, but we still need to save the world from itself. If we do nothing later, we may as well give Weyard over to the Anemoi now."
"What do you mean?" Isaac asked, glancing over as they began walking back towards Puelle's house.
He fell silent for a long moment, considering how to put his thoughts into words. He had set on this path some time ago, but rarely had to explain it to others. Most took it as a business entrepreneurship, never looking into it further than that. And why should they? It made sense to try and capitalize on Alchemy to restore the connections between civilizations.
After a minute he finally said, "The Wise One may have been cruel in his point, but it was valid. By returning Alchemy to the people of Weyard, we guarantee that they will eventually fall back into war. It may be in a year. It may be in a hundred years. It may be in thousands of years, but eventually, it will happen. World peace is only possible now because most are disconnected, but look what happens when they meet."
"Are you talking about when the Proxians came to Vale?" Isaac asked.
"Partially. Prox clashed with Vale. Kimbobo clashed with Madra. Tolbi and Lalivero. Champa and Izumo. Different cultures meet and when they disagree, they fight. Sometimes no words are even exchanged. The only thing preventing war is the distance between them.
"Soon, though, that distance will lessen. Cities will grow, travel will become easier, and these interactions will occur more frequently. Individuals will become faces for their country, whether by choice or circumstance, and one man's actions will guide a country to glory or ruin. Such is the fate of civilization."
Isaac frowned, the crunching of the snow punctuating Piers' words. "What do you plan on doing, then? How will trade routes fix things?"
"By introducing people to each other in a controlled fashion, showing each that the other has something to give," Piers said, demonstrating an exchange with his hands. "It starts their relationship off on the right foot."
"But that won't last," Isaac said. "Like you said, eventually, one person is all it takes to mess everything up."
Piers nodded. "True. But if you're counting on another country to provide the stone for your walls, can you really afford to go to war with them? What about the country that supplies you with weapons?"
"So the idea is to make them reliant on each other?"
"Exactly," Piers said. "Imagine: a world unified, not by peace and love for one another, but by material necessity. Economies could be used to settle disputes, rather than lives. By binding them all together, I don't simply prevent them from killing each other; I prevent them from wanting to kill each other, which is far more valuable." He looked over at Isaac. "Never forget that. People will often fight you for little reason when told to do something, but make them want to do it, and you will win almost every time."
Isaac nodded and the two fell back into silence. Piers began to wonder if Isaac had disagreed with his statement, or his reasons, or his mentality about the situation. There were too many possibilities, however, and dwelling on them would achieve nothing more than confusion and doubt.
When they finally entered Puelle's house once more, the room that made up the entire ground floor fell silent. Piers lingered in the doorway for a moment, slowly looking at each of the council members present, then stepped inside fully, allowing Isaac to close the door. He casually placed his overcoat back onto the wooden stand, rubbing his hands together as he turned back towards the table. "So. Are we all suitably cooled off? If anyone is not, I suggest a brisk walk outside. It's rather beautiful out at the moment."
"Do you patronize us, Lemurian?" one man asked. Piers recognized him as one of the store owners. "We are to decide whether or not the most powerful weapon in the history of Weyard is to be unleashed once more, and you mock us for discussing it at length?"
"Oh no, of course not," he said politely, spreading his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Though I may be accustomed to a more standard view of time, I am still Lemurian; I have plenty of patience for lengthy deliberations. However, I have very little patience for childish squabbling, which is what this has become."
The Proxian grew red of face, a feat which impressed Piers, given the man's already red skin. "Childish squabbling? You must be-"
"I would think about what you know of me carefully before finishing that sentence," Piers warned, waving a finger. "Else you might look like a terrible fool."
His mouth hung open in confusion for another second, then suddenly snapped shut, the man looking away. Piers turned towards the remainder and smiled. "Now, I have no desire to interfere with your politics. As you have said, the blade is a Proxian charge, and the decision to place that burden on another should be a Proxian decision. I will not make any attempt to sway your minds in either direction. All I ask is that a decision be reached, something which will never happen if you cannot talk about it reasonably. So I offer this ultimatum."
Piers cleared his throat and raised his voice, though the change in volume was unnecessary; not a sound could be heard in the room, save his words. "By dawn, I request that you make your choice. If you do not wish us to take the blade, we will leave and never speak of it again. If you will allow us to, I request some assistance in locating the blade, so that we may quickly employ its use. When our task is complete, we will return it here."
He paused for a moment. "However... If you cannot reach a decision in some fashion, then we will leave for the lighthouse and seek the blade ourselves, with or without your help. When we find the blade, then it will be as treasure-hunters, and the blade will remain in our hands."
Stepping back, he spread his hands to either side. "Esteemed members of the Proxian Council, I leave you to your decision." He subtly gestured for Isaac to follow, then strode past them, heading downstairs.
To his surprise, he found the basement pleasantly warm, despite being surrounded by the cold stone of Weyard on all sides. Another fire roared in a hearth down here, as well, and he once again found himself marveling at Proxian architecture.
Isaac followed behind him. "Was...that a good idea, Piers?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, not trying to convince them to give it to us."
Piers shook his head, turning around. "Prox is a proud nation. They do not like interference from outsiders, so any attempt to influence them would be counter-productive."
"They never minded Felix," Isaac pointed out.
"I can only assume, but I believe that his time spent living here have made him, in their eyes, a Proxian by adoption, if not birth," he said. "But we won't get very far invoking his name unless he's with us, unfortunately."
Isaac sighed. "Well, I guess we'll just have to hope they decide to give it to us."
"Weyard needs to choose to save itself," Piers said, pulling off his boots and sitting down on a bed. "If we cannot undertake the risks necessary to turn back the Anemos, then we are already lost."
- \/\/ -
Isaac paused, looking at the stone dragon perched beside the door. Its mouth was open in a vicious snarl, revealing a mouth full of carefully carved teeth. Wind had worn them down, but he suspected at the statue's completion, placing a hand inside the stone dragon's mouth would have a similar effect as with a live dragon.
He glanced up to find the dragon staring at him with a pair of inlaid rubies, glittering menacingly in the morning sun. The erosion had done nothing to dull the terrible glare set into the dragon's expression, however, and Isaac still expected the stone to suddenly crack and shatter, revealing a very live serpent beneath.
"Yeah, it's pretty. You going inside or not?"
Isaac glanced back briefly, mumbling a quick apology, then stepped past the stone sentinels into Mars Lighthouse. Instantly the cold vanished, leaving his body quite confused as it tried to adapt to the sudden change in temperature. He shook himself like a dog to throw off the loose flakes of snow he had gathered outside.
Behind him Piers stepped through the doorway, brushing the snow from himself in a much more dignified manner than Isaac, who felt numbly thankful Piers had been the only one to see his methods. The Lemurian looked around briefly, stepping beside Isaac, and said, "Well. I much prefer this lighthouse activated."
Puelle entered next, followed by the blacksmith, Einion. Neither man had any snow on him, low levels of Psynergy emanating from both, melting the snow as it touched them, then evaporating the water from their clothes. Isaac found himself slightly jealous of the Proxians; not only did they completely ignore all aspects of the cold, but he knew they used similar tricks for the heat, as well. Lamakan Desert had never quite faded from his mind, although it made the summer heat waves more bearable, knowing that the could, in fact, be worse.
"Hm." Einion glanced around the main chamber, then looked over at Puelle. "When summer comes, we oughta send some people up to fix things. When we can, at least."
Puelle frowned thoughtfully. "I'd rather hold off on restoration of the lighthouse until we've actually reclaimed the area. Prox is going to need expansion within the next few years, and I'd like to get a village built right here to support it."
"Might need expanded sooner than that," Madrona said, stepping inside as well, glancing around. "Deaths are way down this winter, especially in newborns. If this keeps up, we'll be swimming in babies this time next year."
Isaac looked over in time to see the older woman flare her Psynergy, removing all the snow she had allowed to gather. Prox's most experienced midwife stood only to the middle of Isaac's chest, but from the moment she had entered Puelle's house earlier this morning, Isaac knew better than to cross her. She carried herself like a seven foot behemoth, capable of ripping lesser mortals' heads off with one hand.
He fully believed her capable of it, too.
Puelle had asked the two to accompany them, unsure of what they might find inside the lighthouse. He praised them both as not only skilled Adepts, but experts at using their Psynergy in unique ways. Isaac had a pretty good idea how Einion used his. He tried very had not to imagine how Madrona used hers.
"What?" the woman asked, snapping Isaac out of his thoughts. "Need something?"
He suddenly realized that he had been staring at her. "Oh, uh, no ma'am. Sorry."
She raised an eyebrow, then turned to Puelle. "Do people realize that this child is really so witless?"
Puelle frowned, but refrained from answering, obviously recognizing her verbal trap. Isaac felt his face turn red as he turned back around, finding Piers smiling slightly. "You make it too easy for her," the man said softly, so only Isaac could hear.
Isaac mumbled a response so quietly that not even he was sure what had been said, choosing to look around the chamber instead of at anyone else.
Einion snorted. "Which direction, then?"
After making a show of considering his options, Isaac turned back around with the question he had been planning to ask all along. "Do the legends say anything about where the sword might be hidden? Mars Lighthouse is pretty big, after all."
The blacksmith shrugged and glanced at Puelle. "Nothing I've heard."
Puelle pursed his lips, looking around as Isaac had. "Well, I've really only heard about it being hidden 'deep within the lighthouse.' I'd say that rules out the ancillary towers."
Isaac nodded. "They were pretty straightforward," he said. "I don't think they could have hidden much there."
"I expect we'll find it somewhere in the basement."
His shoulders slumped, remembering how deep into the ground Mars Lighthouse ran. They had obviously constructed it in much warmer times, to dig through the permafrost that ran across the northern wilds. "Yeah, I had a feeling you would say that. Down we go, then."
As they crossed the central chamber, Isaac took the time to look around more. With the lighthouse having been active for a full year now, all ice had apparently vanished from it. All across the chamber he could clearly see the glittering green stones of the floor surrounded by the bright red stones of the walls, channeling the Mars Psynergy from Weyard to the beacon. Or was it the other way around? He shook his head; the basics of Alchemy were as far as he had gotten in his studies, and he had never resumed them after their journey, save what he taught himself in regards to his Psynergy.
Isaac stopped as they neared one of the walls, finding hieroglyphs covering the wall. As he neared, he could make out several different scenes: people surrounding a massive elk of some sort, people building ships along the coast, people kneeling down before a woman with wings.
"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at the woman.
Puelle glanced at the picture, then said, "Tiamat, queen of dragons. It's said that she chose the north for her domain because no one else would take it. Here she shaped ice into a man, then breathed life into him and took him as a lover. It was from them that the Proxians were born."
"A people of fire and ice," Piers muttered quietly. "Those that don't feel the cold, yet wield fire as they wish. A fitting birth for your culture."
Isaac began to glance further down the glyphs, but Piers tapped on his shoulder and shook his head. The young man nodded, understanding, and continued moving.
Over the next four hours they worked their way deeper and deeper into the lighthouse. Isaac had initially believed their navigation would be simple, given that he and Piers had crawled through the entire tower previously. Both underestimated the senseless and maddening layout of the lighthouse's hallways, however. It seemed as if the paths had been laid out specifically to confuse people, and once the thought occurred to Isaac, he realized it made sense.
The thought did little to improve his mood.
Eventually, and Isaac doubted they had improved on their previous time at all, they found the last staircase. Isaac stared at it numbly for a moment, consulting his mental map for their current floor, then let out a whoop. "Hey, this is it! We found it!"
Madrona walked over, eying the stairs suspiciously. "You're sure? There's only one level beneath us?"
"Three floors below ground," Isaac said firmly. "Trust me, I remember that much."
"Much? Given the extensive tour of the lighthouse you've brought us on, I'd hardly call that 'much,'" the woman said.
"Stop that, Ma," Puelle said sharply, standing in front of the stairs. "I'll have no disrespect in this room. Understood?"
Madrona nodded. "Of course."
Isaac spared a quick glance at Piers, but the Lemurian's face remained impassive as he motioned for the others to proceed first. Only once all of them had entered the stairwell did his eyes meet Isaac's, his head shaking in the barest of motions.
The Valean nodded, following the other man downstairs. He knew all too well why Felix had told the Proxians the story he did.
They continued down the hallway in silence, the only sounds that of their boots on the stone and the bubbling of magma beneath them. No sign of the blade had been found thus far; Isaac wondered how likely it would be for them to find anything concerning it here. The chamber was the deepest one in the lighthouse, used to channel the Mars energy from deep underground up through the construction, not for the hiding of legendary blades.
The footsteps stopped as they entered the reached the top of the stairs leading into the chamber proper. The three Proxians had halted, looking forward in a respectful silence. After a few moments, Puelle stepped forward, then turned around. "This is where it happened, then?"
Isaac simply nodded.
Puelle turned back around, eying the three dragon head statues along each wall. "...It is said that when Tiamat first gave birth, dragons and Proxians were all the same. Over time, some forgot how to become a dragon, while some forgot how to be human."
He walked over to the center of the room, kneeling down on the stone amidst the three statues. "It is a great tragedy when Proxians are forced into battle against a dragon, our long-lost brothers. A sad affair indeed."
"There are no records of any dragon successfully transforming into a human," Madrona said quietly to them, though her voice carried in the tall chamber. "It's believed that their minds are now lost completely. Felix did the beast a favor by slaying it. You all did."
Isaac swallowed thickly, feeling his throat tighten as he fought to keep his face as calm and composed as Piers'. "I...I wish we could have saved them. We tried, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"I wish that too," Puelle said softly. "Not a day goes by that I regret letting her make this trip."
"She and Agatio died to a dragon," Einion said. "I can think of no greater opponent to fall to."
"I would have preferred them both to have lived to old age and died in their sleep," Puelle snapped suddenly, not looking back at the other man. "They should have been the ones committing my soul to the flames."
"It was not their nature," the blacksmith said firmly, resting his hand on Puelle's shoulder in a contrasting gentleness. "They would never have allowed themselves to die as old women in their beds. They chose their cause, and died well. No warrior could ask for a better end."
Puelle sighed. "I know. This place just...makes me wish there had been another-"
A high-pitched screech dug into Isaac's ears, amplified by the chamber's construction. He spun around completely, looking in every direction, and found the source slithering towards them along the path they had walked earlier. The thick mass of light red scales screeched again, rearing up as it approached Isaac.
The young man barely gave the snake a second thought, his hand flying to his sword and drawing it in one smooth motion, the blade shearing through the snake with a spray of dark blood. He watched both halves of the monster fall to the ground, then turned around, walking up the stairs as he sheathed his sword, making a mental note to clean the blade when they left.
He had barely turned around before Madrona's arm reached out, snatched the front of his cloak, and jerked him forward. Before he could open his mouth to protest, she spun him around again.
At the base of the stairs, the body of the snake writhed, as if in agony. As Isaac watched, the bloody stump pushed outwards, then split, three snakes wiggling and squirming from inside the dead one. After a few seconds, though, he realized the snake was not opening up to reveal three new ones – three new heads had simply grown in the original's place.
His mouth fell open. He had no words to describe what he watched, and all available concentration had been directed towards keeping his stomach stable; seeing the flesh and blood tear and spray in such a horrific fashion had disturbed the natural order of things in his own body.
"It's a hydra!" Madrona shouted over her shoulder, pushing Isaac further back as Puelle and Einion stepped forward, the latter stretching his fingers. "Every time you remove a head, three more grow in its place!"
"One of those again," Piers muttered, stepping forward as well. "Good to know."
With another screech, the hydra practically flew up the steps, its body undulating endlessly in its charge. Puelle and Einion stepped back, Mars Psynergy pooling around them, but before they could work the power into any form, the hydra's mouths opened, spitting flaming liquid out towards them.
The two Adepts moved to opposite sides of the chamber to avoid the burning saliva, which the hydra took advantage of, flying forward towards Isaac. It obviously didn't care much for the beheading, he realized wryly.
He raised his hand, pulling stone up from the floor to block the serpent's path. It crashed headlong into the bricks, hissing furiously at the Valean, then darting around as Isaac frantically tried to shift his barriers.
The hissing continued as the surprisingly agile snake matched speed with Isaac, who continually shifted the rock around to stop the creature as the Proxians made their way back up the stairs. After watching the hydra slam into its third barrier, it reared back and hissed at him again.
In that instant Isaac realized the constant hiss had not been the hydra, but the tracks of black pitch in the chamber as they ignited. Felix had explained to him the material once, how it ignited, melted, then interacted with the air somehow to make it ignitable once again. He had not fully understood what Felix had been talking about, so Garet summarized it – black pitch was a reusable bomb fuse.
That bomb fuse had just been lit again.
"Get back!" he screamed, throwing a wave of unfocused telekinetic energy forward at Puelle and Einion as he pulled Madrona back, throwing his other arm out to push Piers back. On either side, the jeweled eyes set into the great dragon heads flashed briefly, filling the room with their light. In the next moment, Mars Psynergy poured from their mouths in the form of pure combustion energy.
A great explosion rocked the chamber and Isaac felt the floor shudder briefly. He had just enough time to realize how thin the stone beneath him really was before it gave way, collapsing beneath his feet. A great rush of hot air greeted him, as well as a pit of darkness, reaching up and swallowing him entirely.
As he fell he closed his eyes, reaching out with Psynergy. Stone. All around him, including the ground that was-
Isaac landed on the stone floor on his side painfully, rolling once before stopping. He could no longer feel his arm below the elbow, where it had struck the ground. Ignoring it for the moment, he shifted around, pushing himself up with his good arm and peering around the dark chamber they had landed in. "Piers? Anyone?"
"I'm here," the Lemurian said from a short distance away, accompanied by the clattering of loose stone.
"Over here," he heard Madrona say from the other side, the room quickly lighting up as flames appeared in her hands. She had already reached Isaac by the time he turned to her, ushering him over to Piers quickly. "Stay together, now. It's down here with us."
No sooner had the words left her mouth than another ear-piercing screech filled the chamber. Out of the darkness lurched the snake heads, dragging along their malformed body behind them. Isaac moved to redraw his sword, wanting something to defend himself with, while he noticed Piers reaching behind him for his Trident.
Madrona simply moved forward, her flames falling to the ground. Her hand flashed out three times as she approached the hydra, a dagger appearing as if from nowhere. One slash saw the throat of one head slit, the second saw a great gash sliced up another neck, while the central head quickly found a blade shoved directly up into its skull.
The creature gurgled once, but when Madrona ripped her blade free, blood and a green, viscous liquid leaking from the wound. Before Isaac could even ask what it was, the midwife flicked her free hand towards the small pool growing at the ground, small flickers of flame falling into it.
Instantly the trickle burst into flame, moving up the dangling green strand with ease. In the next moment, the hydra's head had caught fire, though Isaac knew the creature had already perished.
Madrona stepped away from the burning corpse, turning around and examining her knife. Flames danced along the edge of the blade, which was now tinted slightly green. "Huh," the woman said, looking over the dagger carefully. Pulling the sheath out of her sleeve with her other hand, she shoved it back inside, examining the opening. Upon finding no flames emerging from inside, she pulled the blade back out, and it instantly ignited upon contact with the air.
"Huh," she said once more. "That's pretty interesting. Must've hit the flame sac." She turned around and poked the lizard with her foot, then backed away. "It's a bit tragic, really: they grew and gained the ability to breath fire, but they never quite solved their problem with having such combustible blood. They kill themselves and each other constantly because of it."
Isaac looked at the fallen lizard, then up at the woman. "That...that was..."
The woman simply smiled at him, sheathing the blade on the inside of her wrist once more. "Midwifing is more than just delivering babies here. Close your mouth, you'll let in a breeze I don't think you can afford."
Feeling a bit foolish, Isaac snapped his hanging mouth shut as Piers laughed. "Come, let's find out where we are. The others are worried, I wager."
Madrona raised her hand, a bright glow spreading from it and illuminating the chamber, the only other light filtering down from high above. A pair of small dots appeared in the hole, making Isaac wonder just how far they had fallen. "Is everyone alright?"
"We're fine," Madrona called out, looking all around her. "The hydra's dead. We're going to take a look around down here, so wait a little bit for us."
"We'll come down too," Isaac heard Puelle say, but Madrona's voice cut across the chamber once more.
"No. We're lucky enough that no one hurt themselves on that fall. No need to press our luck there."
Isaac shook his head. "It's fine, I can get them down." Turning around before the woman could question or protest, he reached into the ground beneath him, slowly pulling the stone from its normal alignment. With another part of his mind, he pulled portions of the wall out as well, assisting his construction. When the stone finished shifting, a makeshift staircase had appeared, leading up to the broken floor. He rolled his mind over it once, smoothing and straightening segments that needed touched up, then shouted, "Alright, come on down."
As the other two descended, Madrona flung small flames around them. They landed amongst the loose rubble around them, flickering brightly and casting everything in a red hue. Given how most of the stone used in the lighthouse had already been dyed red, though, Isaac could not be sure how much had actually been tinted by the lighting. He wiped his forehead, only just now realizing how hot this chamber was, far warmer than the remainder of the lighthouse.
When she finished, she turned towards Isaac, staring at him pointedly. He fought the urge to shrink away from her steel gaze, though he could not stop his shoulders from raising slightly in instinct to better shield his neck. She snorted at the motion, grinning. "Looks like you're not completely hopeless after all."
With that said, she turned away and began walking in the only direction that did not show a wall reflecting her flames' flickers. The soft patter of boots on stone behind him told Isaac that the others had reached the bottom, so he simply followed her as she continued to both light their way and leave a trail behind.
Unlike before, they walked in silence this time, winding down along a gentle spiral path. Isaac knew none of them, including himself and Piers, had seen this level of the lighthouse before. He had heard of alterations being made to large buildings, sometimes accidentally sealing off chambers. Such events tended to give rise to rumors of people trapped inside, across the world.
People...or perhaps a sword.
An idea suddenly struck him. What if this chamber had originally been open, but had been sealed when the Proxians hid the sword away? What better way to prevent people from finding something than to leave no path leading to it?
He would never be able to say one way or the other, for sure. He doubted any hard evidence of the chamber's purpose would be evident after all these years, if present at all. Piers would likely be interested in hearing about his theory, though, so he filed the thought away for later.
Onto more pressing issues.
"What is that smell?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
Einion grunted from behind him. "Brimstone. Smells like death and ass."
"We're near a wound in Weyard," Piers said, pointing forward. "Look, you can see the glow on the rocks ahead."
Sure enough, when Isaac blocked Madrona's flame from his vision, he could see the slight red tint on the rocks at the furthest reach of the bend. As they continued forward, the glow became more and more prominent, eventually allowing the woman to douse her Psynergy entirely.
Shortly after she did so, the spiral path ended, as did the brick pathway, opening up instead into a great, underground cavern. If sweat had not already covered Isaac's body, he probably would have simply shriveled upon the blast of hot air that accompanied the sight.
An endless pool of magma stretched out from their rocky beach, bubbling and murmuring to them softly. Reds and golds filled the cavern, obliterating all other colors, including the ones they had worn. Islands of stone jutted upward among the molten sea, lingering remnants of the land that had once been here.
Isaac's eyes gravitated towards one in particular as something caught his eye: white. As the air shimmered and wavered in the intense heat, however, he could see nothing. Still, he knew something had caught his eye, something other than the various forms of rock. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what it was, too.
"So, let's say I wanted to hide something dangerous away from the world," he said slowly. "And that I wanted to hide it in a place where only my people could get to."
Madrona turned around slowly, nodding. "We've been fools. Why keep such a blade at all? Whatever apocalypse it held has been returned to Weyard's blood."
Puelle nodded grimly, but Isaac shook his head. "No. They either couldn't unmake it, or wouldn't. It doesn't matter." He raised his hand and pointed at the round island straight ahead. "What matters is currently waiting there."
The other four all followed his finger, staring out across the magma's surface. "I see nothing," Einion said.
"I did," Isaac said. "Something white. A reflection."
Puelle looked back at him dubiously. "It could simply be a piece of ore, worn smooth by the magma."
Isaac opened his mouth to object, but Piers spoke up instead, shaking his head. "No, I agree with Isaac. The Proxians would not have destroyed such a powerful weapon, nor made it completely unavailable. They would have ensured that only they could use it, if they deemed it necessary, and this seems like the ideal place for such a task. Watch."
The Lemurian stepped forward towards the magma, Mercury Psynergy radiating off him in waves to cool the air around him. Isaac briefly envied his four companions. With a wave of his hand, Piers called fresh water from the air, though Isaac could see it sapped him greatly; Mars and Venus ruled this deep beneath the surface. The water fell straight onto the magma a short distance in front of Piers, instantly bursting into steam.
The man held out his hand, pulling all the steam towards him to clear the view. Instead of the hardened magma Isaac expected to sea, nothing had changed. Either the water had not been able to cool it sufficiently for it to solidify, or it had simply remelted instantly. Regardless of the reason, Piers' point had been made – not even a Mercury Adept could hope to reach the sword.
Isaac turned to Puelle. "I can't raise the stone beneath it with all that magma over it. It's too heavy. I need you to shift it for a few seconds, long enough for me to raise a bridge."
"Won't work," Einion said from behind them. "Rock will be too weak. It'll melt again too fast."
The young man glanced back at the island, swallowed, then turned to the Proxians again. "How much magma do you think you can hold back?"
Madrona's mouth bent into a frown. "Idiot. Even if that red sea could be parted, you'd be dead in seconds from the heat alone."
"Not necessarily." Piers crossed his arms, tapping his fingers thoughtfully. "I could protect him from the heat, at least for a short while. Enough for him to get there and back, for sure."
Puelle shook his head. "I don't like this. One mistake on any of our parts and you'd be dead in an instant. We don't even know if the sword is there."
"I do," Isaac said firmly. "I know what I saw, and I'm willing to take that risk. We need this sword. I'm not about to turn back now."
The midwife looked at him curiously. "No? You intend to walk through a pool of magma to reach this blade? You intend to trust your life to four people, knowing that if one of them fails, you will burn until nothing is left? You have the foolish pride of the young, Valean. You think yourself invincible. Placing your life in the hands of people you've known for half a day is unspeakable stupidity."
Isaac stared back at her, though he fidgeted uncomfortably under her stare. "I've learned firsthand the determination a Proxian holds. I know that you'll collapse before you willingly surrender to your own exhaustion. I ask you: do you believe you are capable of getting me there?"
Madrona continued to stare at him for a long moment, her expression now unreadable. A magma bubble popped off to the side, splattering across the molten sea, but none of the Adepts paid it the slightest bit of attention. The woman eventually flicked her eyes away from Isaac, settling them on Einion. She stared silently at the blacksmith for a moment, then shifted her piercing gaze to Puelle. Her eyes remained fixated upon him for longer than Einion, but after a few moments more, she looked back at Isaac. "I do," she said at last.
Isaac turned to Einion, who merely nodded, then to Puelle. The man sighed, glancing at his two fellow Proxians briefly, then nodded as well. "I do."
"Then unless anyone has a better idea, I think we should go ahead with this plan," Isaac said, glancing around at the three. "If all of you say you can get me there, then I know Charon would have to personally visit if he wanted to bring me back."
"And a simple Mercuric aura will shield you from the heat?" Madrona asked, though her voice lacked the light scorn it carried earlier. "Such protection will only last minutes against this heat, if that."
Isaac shook his head. "I'll make it fast, so we don't run into any issues."
Einion raised an eyebrow. "You're going alone?"
"No offense, but it's probably better if everyone else stayed here and focused," he said. "Last thing we need is someone tripping and interrupting their concentration."
Puelle continued to frown, but nodded. "I still don't like it, but if you are set on this path, then I will not try and divert you. Instead, I pray that Tiamat protects you on your way."
"Tiamat won't be the one protecting him," Madrona said gently. "We will. Better to pray to her for strength."
The three Proxians stepped closer to the magma and Piers turned towards Isaac, speaking quietly. "Are you certain about this?" When Isaac simply nodded, Piers sighed. "Then I will do everything I can to shield you. You won't have long. A few minutes, at most."
"I won't need much," Isaac said firmly.
Three great pulses of Psynergy raced through the chamber, resonating with each other in a harmony that shook Isaac slightly with its potency. The magma churned once at the beach, then ebbed outward, leaving behind a blackened, steaming chunk of rock. It continued to push away from the trio of Proxians, creating an indent in the red ocean.
Isaac glanced up at Piers, who clapped a hand firmly on his shoulder. "I'll be with you," he said, and the Valean suddenly felt a cool mist coat his body. The temperature of the chamber dropped significantly to a spring morning's chill, causing him to shiver slightly.
Stepping forward, he found the chill quickly banished as he crossed the black line that marked the pool's edge. He could feel the heat through his boots, reminding him of the dark stones his friends used to climb on in the summer. Garet and Jenna would have competitions to see who could stand on the heated rocks the longest; Isaac always quickly became a non-competitor.
Suddenly he found himself wishing he had tried harder on their games, building up the tolerance the other two had. He never let his feet sit against the ground for very long, feeling as if they might catch fire, even with Piers' protection.
The dimple pressed forward, as did Isaac, feeling the ground slope down beneath him. The walls of molten rock rose above him as he willed the Proxians to push it forward faster. His silent request was met instead by the closing of the gap behind him, which he noticed only when the heat against his back grew suddenly.
He faced forward again. Now, truly, he was at Mars' mercy. All around him the magma bubbled and strained against the Psynergy holding it back. How much magma had they displaced? Mia had explained to him once that while moving water was fairly simple, pushing part of a body of water aside required far more effort. Not only did she have to move the water, she had to push the remainder of the surrounding water simultaneously, displacing it enough to have a place.
She could at least freeze it once that was done. Any attempt to solidify the molten rock would be futile; freezing it would be even worse. He had seen what happened when something very hot became very cold very quickly.
He hopped from one foot to the other as the bubble of safety moved onward. The island had appeared fairly close, though the distance had been distorted slightly by the heat, but Isaac suspected that thinking about how close it was would only lengthen the trip in his mind.
Sweat dribbled into one of his eyes. He reached up to wipe it away and found his entire face soaked, Piers' Psynergy hiding that as well. He patted down his neck experimentally and found it coated in sweat also.
Now his eyes had begun hurting, as well. Though the heat had certainly been diminished, the brilliant glow of the magma, especially so close, radiated with full force all around him. Everywhere he looked, bright orange filled his vision.
And then all of a sudden, it didn't.
Isaac blinked a few times, trying to clear the afterimage and figure out what had happened. After a few seconds, he realized he had reached the island – a sheer wall of black rock before him. He turned his head up, seeing the lip well above his jumping distance.
He glanced back briefly, judging his distance to the wall of magma behind him, which had thankfully stopped advancing, then reached forward with his mind, pulling stairs out from the black wall. He climbed them rather quickly, then turned around and waved towards the shore. The magma immediately collapsed back into the hole, burying his staircase in the golden liquid. Isaac quickly jumped back as the magma splashed up slightly, but it never came close to him.
Keeping Piers' words in mind, he turned around to search the small island, but searching proved pointless – impaled directly into the center of the oddly circular platform was a sword, buried nearly to the hilt in the stone.
Isaac could not help but gape at the blade. It had to be at least twice as wide as the broadswords Garet favored, and he had no idea how deep the blade ran. Some enormous gem sat in the center of the guard, reflecting the orange of the magma.
The young man shook his head; there would be time to admire it later. Stepping forward, he spread his feet wide and squatted down, taking hold of the large hilt with both hands. He took one deep breath, then jerked upwards, pulling with every ounce of strength in his body.
The blade refused to budge, so Isaac decided to cheat.
The rock holding the blade cracked slightly, opening up and allowing the sword to rise with ease. Isaac watched as the glittering steel continued to rise from the ground, never seeming to end. As his legs straightened and the pommel just passed the top of his head, the tip finally emerged, much to Isaac's relief.
In the next instant, though, the rock beneath him shuddered something fierce, nearly throwing him to the ground. Part of it then abruptly dropped several inches, making Isaac realize in an instant his mistake. Hadn't Einion even warned him about adjusting the rock? In using Psynergy to shift it, he opened it up to being melted by the magma. He confirmed with a quick sense that the island had indeed lost a considerable portion of its structure, including the middle where the sword had been lodged, where he had so recklessly shattered the rock.
The magma bubbled up as the platform dropped another few inches, a glob popping up near his feet. He backed away from it, only to find the other side dropping as well. Not good.
Well, if he had already wrecked the platform's base, he might as well finish the job.
Reaching down with his mind, he shattered the remaining portions, turning the island into a stone raft. He knew it would be a minute, perhaps, before the magma ate the remainder and moved on to claim him. He saw dimples forming in the magma in front of him, courtesy of the Proxians, but they didn't have the strength to shift all that magma from nothing. They would have to move a bubble from shore to get one there.
No time. Reaching down with his mind, he knew he would never be able to move his island to the beach in time. Instead he slipped past the island, past the magma, reaching for the old, hardened stone beneath it. He winced at his plan for a moment before starting it, taking comfort in the fact that if he died, it would at least be a quick death.
The ground beneath the magma cracked and trembled, shifting as seismic energy ripped through it. The effect on the surface was instantaneous: the magma bucked and heaved as vents opened beneath it, rocking the stone island Isaac stood on.
When a geyser of magma appeared a short distance away, Isaac wondered, not for the first time that day, if his idea had been terribly foolish. Some vague memories of Kraden's lectures surfaced in his mind, briefly mentioning pockets of highly pressurized molten rock beneath Weyard's surface.
They were very quickly overridden by thoughts of how to get the island to shore and get the hell out of there.
Abandoning all sense of caution, Isaac reached his mind beneath him and punched through the stone shell he had already fractured. The resulting eruption of magma very nearly capsized his island, ending everything there. He crouched down and placed a hand on the stone, instantly regretting it as he jerked it back from the intense heat. Instead he drew his sword, planting the tip into the rock and steadied it, praying that a stray gout of magma didn't decide it wanted his spot.
The eruption's wave pushed the island forward, moving smoothly towards the shore. He saw the others backing away, moving back up the stairs, and he felt Piers protection flicker briefly. It dimmed only for a second before restoring itself, but in that second, the heat struck Isaac like a hammer to the chest, taking his breath away.
In the next instant the cool barrier had returned, though the thick, suffocating sensation stuck with Isaac. As he approached the shore, rather than try and risk another eruption to push him the remainder of the distance, he gathered the stone up beneath him, then thrust it forward sharply. He flew into the air, carefully holding the two swords close to him as he landed on his side, rolling over their flat edges.
He rose to his feet immediately. "Okay, got it, time to go!"
The others needed little prompting as another burst of magma erupted from the pool's surface, the entire chamber rumbling from deep beneath them. They took the spiral hallway at a sprint, dashing back up to the hidden chamber in a fraction of the time it had taken them to descend.
Isaac glanced over his shoulder and found the orange glow following them. "Dammit," he muttered, turning around completely. Dropping his newly acquired sword to the ground, he gripped his original blade with both hands, thrusting it into the mortar between the bricks at his feet. It pierced the filling with ease, amplifying his Psynergy as he called out to the stones of the lighthouse.
He felt the Mars Psynergy pulsing through them as they shifted and he prayed it would be enough. The entrance to the spiral pathway wavered at the edges, then shifted inward as bricks moved around. The opening continued to shrink until the doorway and the walls were indistinguishable from each other.
A tense few moments passed as he felt the massive Mars power behind the wall grow, and grow, and grow...but after an eternity, it stopped growing. He could still feel the high concentration, likely because magma had flooded the entire tunnel, but it seemed that the bricks would hold.
Turning around once more, he promptly sat down on the floor, leaning back on his hands. A short distance away, he saw each of the others showing significant signs of fatigue as well, though not all of them were as blatant about it.
Safe from the magma now, Isaac leaned his head back, staring up at the partially destroyed ceiling. His mind finally caught up with him, and it only had one question.
Hadn't he done all this before?