Chapter 14: Magthor and Madness

The ball of fay-fire wavered for a brief second before it blew itself out completely. Cursing, the young boy tried again, but the spell was not properly formed and a large ball of fire erupted from his hands and careered off, luckily flying into the pond.

"Renny? What are you doing back there? More campfires? We've got the stove going if you've found anything to cook." A woman's voice came from inside the thatched cottage, loud and merry. She loved her only son, her sixth child. Before him stood five sisters, the eldest three had already married and moved out of the farm, though. The father, a merchant supplier of many high places in Windbloom, was away in the capital on business to the new king, Alturr. If she had read his hints well enough, the wife mused, then he was to be teaching Alturr's young son, Magthor, about farming and the importance of it to the Allied Lands' wellbeing. A prestigious job indeed!

Her son was secretive. After he had been attacked a few months ago by some forest wolves, he had become more and more reclusive, spending long parts of the day in the forest, coming back tired and infuriated.

"Ma?" He asked, removing his boots at the entrance to the cottage, "What's for dinner?"

The mother smiled. "Stew. Ellie and Joanie just went to fetch some more wood."

The boy groaned. "We had stew yesterday. With all this stuff Da does in the capital, can't we afford better food?"

"Yes," she scolded him, rapping his knee with her wooden spoon. "But we save it, Renny, so that you can go off to live in the capital and make your own fortune, for your own family."

It was cold. Very cold. The chilling breezes from the Sea of Rogues wafted off the coast, up the Tor Delta and into the marshes during the winter, freezing the ground solid. It made a nice change from the ever-present squelching feeling one got when stepping out over the area. Not that many people came here any more, to this place. Nobody wanted to, much. What was here, anyway? Swamp. Swamp and bad memories.

The cavern was, to every race, no matter how good their architecture, magnificent in every respect. At the very core of the crystal city, it was as wide as a field and the same in length. The floor ad been polished down so finely that it reflected the ceiling above it in stunning realism. Large, sharpened crystals, a light red in colour, hung what looked like precariously from the ceiling. The enchantment that kept them there was enduring, however. At the centre and the back of the chamber, the crystals had been exquisitely carved into a throne, a high as two men and as wide as one. This was the main underground chamber.

There were several more, but they had not been explored for many years. The main part of the city was on the surface, where those who had once dwelled here truly belonged. But war was war, and defense came at the price of freedom.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water was not good. The chamber had been flooded before, and it would be if such leaks were not dried up. Without the Halfling magic, the whole city was disintegrating, slowly. Sinking beneath the marshes.

And the king of Roedrenmon could not allow such a thing to happen.

"My I ask your name, fair lady?" His voice was deep and smooth, red eyes glinting under the chandeliers. From humble beginnings, he had quickly entered the life of the aristocrats of Windbloom, like he was born for it. He was shaking inside, however, asking this lady to dance tonight- that was a dare from his best friend. This party was for his Eighteenth birthday, and Magthor was having fun calling even more shots than usual. At his request, Barren had gone and asked Lady Erina's daughter, the object of fancy among many young men (and possibly some young women, if gossip was to be believed) of the high end of Windbloom.

"Fair? You do me too much flattery, sir. Nomako, that is my name. Yours?"

Barren's eyes widened. "Barren, madam. Your name is distinctly different from many we hear around here." He explained, rolling the name over his tongue, not for the first time.

She smiled, a few strands of tawny hair falling from the fancy style she had that night. "My firstmother lived over the south sea. Mother always wanted to name me like them- she even taught me some of the symbols they use as words. I find it fascinating."

"Would you name your child by their conventions?" Barren asked, though he was taken aback at the boldness of his question. Courting was supposed to be very dry and stately.

"Mm," Nomako nodded, more hair falling. "A girl, I'd name her after my firstmother. Shizuru. It's a beautiful name, I can write the symbol for it. Would you like to see?"

Drip. Drip. Drip. Two leaks in one day were not good. In fact, it was difficult not to get mad. But what good would anger do in this situation? None, that's what. The dripping soon stopped. The air inside the chamber was nice, warm enough but not stifling. With winter fast encroaching, there would be no need to venture out now. Not even if anyone came looking.

Women were stupid. Long ago, this was figured out. They would come, whether the weather was cold or not. They were obstinate and had no real plans: they were just acting straight into the hands of prophecy. Prophecy was a real bastard. Prophecy only ever made people know how they were to gruesomely die years before the time. Prophecy was useless. Women were, too. It made sense that women and prophecy would go together.

What was most disconcerting, however, was the state of things down south. Silly humans. Stupid women. Useless Prophecy.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

WATER!

STUPID STUPID WATER!

Fire. Fire was better. Fire made water evaporate, fire fixed things. Water just made you wet. Wet and cold. Water was stupid. Like humans and women and prophecy.

"You bastard!" Magthor roared, jumping at Barren with his sword in hand, eyes blazing. "You slept with her. MY betrothed! The prince's betrothed! How could you! We were best friends! You PROMISED!"

Barren shrugged and picked some dirt from under his fingernails, thinking about what he would have for supper tonight. Magthor's sword rushed in from the right, but he grabbed in mid-swing and seared fire magic through it- he knew that his best friend would be using the thin cloth handle as opposed to a safer leather one that her had given the prince a few years ago. Though more out of spite than in thought for it's use, Magthor was still stupid. The sword became white-hot and melted on the spot, falling onto both Barren, who remained unscathed, and Magthor, who cried out in pain.

"You're a mage! Bastard!"

Barren shrugged, feeling the liquid ooze over his hands harmlessly. "You did not need to know."

"Did you perhaps tell my betrothed? Whilst you and her lay together?"

"That was ONCE." Barren said, staring at the man of twenty-seven in front of him. He was not in good shape- his father was deathly ill with lungrot, and his mother was practically dead with grief. He and his fiancée were in the middle of a spat, mainly over the fact that Barren had slept with her a few weeks ago. If Magthor had one weakness, it was in bed. Apparently, Nomako was dissatisfied enough to seek relief in his more talented counterpart, Barren. "And besides, it's your fault. If you were better in the sack-"

Magthor, without sword, swung a punch. Barren caught it and came up underneath, hitting the wind out of the prince. They were lucky the courtyard was deserted- they would have started a brawl now if they had been in public.

"For so many years, I took you under my wing and taught you about life in the City! You were nothing but an illiterate country bumpkin when you came here, and you repay all of this by sleeping with my fiancée?"

"…Yes. Seems about fair," Barren snickered. "Silly boy."

The loud thump of footsteps stopped Magthor in his retort. Two of his mother's closest friends from across the South Seas, Haruka and Yukino, both talented healers, looked tired and distraught.

"You highness," Haruka breathed, regaining her breath. "Your father- the king- is dying. You have little lime left with him."

Haruka frowned, her words not having made perfect sense. Yukino's soft speech helped her. "Time, Haruka,"

Shameful about being corrected, she shrugged it off and led Magthor and Barren, conflict forgotten, up to the king's chamber.

The Halflings had always worshipped earthly deities. Shame, that. They didn't go up to the Plane of Divinity or Suspension, they just floated around aimlessly, unable to do anything but watch. The Halflings were a pack first and foremost, and would not leave without every single member of their race. That was why they remained in Roedrenmon.

Before, the spirits had just flitted around aimlessly, lost in eternal mourning for their homeland. Now, they had a purpose. Their spirits were condensed into little balls of fay-fire, like the ones that had been so vainly conjured back then, but now creating several hundred thousand was not taxing at all. They were companions, subjects answerable to the king of Roedrenmon. They fetched the little food their king needed, for after so long they were not entirely sure as to what he had become. Down here so long, mumbling to himself, occasionally shouting names and places and curses at the drip of water that came every day. The king scared them, but also gave them hope. Hope through fire and company, for when they had form, they could see each other. Communicate. Families, lovers, friends had all been reunited under the king. They owed eternal thanks to him, and this served him best as they could.

STUPID WATER!

SILLY BOY! ONCE! ONCE!

They all heard it. The King was shouting again, fire swirling around him, but doing no harm. He was inside a fireproof crystal prison, effectively. The spirits knew he had done it one purpose, that he had once hurt many people.

His skin felt like it was going to burst from the pressure. His uncontrollable magic writhed and burned beneath it, causing Barren to cry out in pain. There was never any reprieve from these episodes, never anything strong enough to quell them. The thick jungle rippled round him and leaves began to droop in the increased heat. The mage kept going, though, kept stumbling back to his dwelling, to the square metre of home that kept him sane. And Barren knew that he was close to losing it. How easy would it be to let go, to give in to the magic? The pain would end. The burning would stop. But what of the world? He did not know how powerful he was, only that he was more skilled that any other mage in the Allied Lands, and probably the Host Tribes too. The Mid'Realm was not known for its mages, so that was why Barren had fled here- to hide where nobody could sense the massive leakage of his power.

He had little contact with the races that lived here- he had fled up to the far northwest, where nobody lived. Once, he had ventured to En'Terrek. There was a child there, he sensed, with huge magic. He felt sorry for it- did they know that this madness, this pain, waited them? Could anything be done to prevent this?

No. It was the curse of Magic. The repercussions that came with power. The reason mages rarely graced their end years.

A bolt of searing fire coursed under Barren's skin and he staggered, then fell. Then another, and another. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a mushroom cloud of fire spurted out. His eyes, his ears, his nose- they all spewed fire agonizingly. It was too much. Too painful. Barren gave in, like he had promised never to do. He relaxed and let his mind be consumed in the flames.

When he woke up, things had changed.

"Where is my daughter?"

A/N: Sorry that that had no Mai HiME characters or ShizNat in, but I promise that this story needs it. For development and background and stuff. But there will be ShizNat, I know you want it (most of you), but it will not be sudden 'bang, they're in love'. It will take a while.

Please review, it keeps me going!

~Emiri