Ehmmmm… slow and steady wins the race?
Who the heck decided that writing should be so hard.
When he arrived in Ataraxia, Ingressus hated proximity to others. A Nestoris who stepped too close, a Mendoris that passed behind him, a Sendaris who passed him on a narrow bridge– all would send his pulse skyward, his muscles tense to fight or run. The lessons that any markings but red meant death had been hammered in hard for over two decades of life and even harder by the raid, and even after the council's verdict, he hadn't put faith in Galleous's protection being enough to keep him from harm. He would watch nearby Ardoni like a hawk, and would physically retreat or prepare to push them away if someone came too close for comfort. He'd nearly struck a Sendaris in the throat once after she'd grabbed his shoulder unexpectedly.
But as time went on, Ingressus began to slowly relax, eventually coming to understand that even if he wasn't particularly liked by most, he wasn't likely to be directly harmed. There were suspicious looks, cutting remarks, occasionally a provoking shove from Selarin or those like him– but there was never a blade raised, never a Song sounded against him, never blows with intent to harm. They didn't like or trust him, but they didn't hate him fiercely enough to go against Galleous and try to kill him. Ingressus could live with that. And after the years had continued to prove that and the Ataraxians had gotten more used to him, Ingressus in turn had gotten significantly calmer about contact. Though he still valued his personal space, he could handle crowded streets, a tap on the shoulder, a handshake, without tensing up or wishing for a weapon.
Of course, Luciren's flying leap of a hug would startle anyone. At least she'd gained the habit of calling your name before she latched onto you.
"Hey," Ingressus greeted, untangling himself as Volerik entered the forge more calmly and Galleous, now soaked from dropping a water bucket in surprise, uttered some censored curses. "What's new?"
"We're having a campfire night!" Luciren announced happily. "You wanna come?"
"A what?"
"It's when a bunch of us get together and have a campfire outside," Volerik explained. "We get to tell stories, cook food over the fire, and stay outside until we get cold or fall asleep."
"Our friend Ailera always tries to make cookies over the fire," Luciren added. "Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but it's always fun either way."
"This kid'll be great at that," Galleous observed, tossing rags on the floor to soak up the water spill. "I've seen him cooking food over the lava when he's bored. Luciren, get over here, you get to help me clean this."
"Wait, why?" Luciren asked.
Galleous tossed her a sponge. "You startled me into dropping it, you get to help clean up."
"Fiiiiine." Luciren dropped the sponge on the spill and began sopping it up with her foot.
"So, you gonna come?" Volerik asked Ingressus. "I bet you've got stories none of us have heard before."
Ingressus hesitated. "How many people come to these?"
He didn't often mix well with social gatherings. With the majority of the Ardoni population, Ingressus's dynamic was simply mutual noninterference– "you don't bother me, I won't bother you. If we have to interact, we do what we need to do and be on our way." He had his small circle of friends, and that was that.
"Maybe ten?" Volerik answered, looking at the ceiling as he thought. "Maybe a little more? But they're all nice, though, you don't have to worry."
Ingressus was still unsure. Luciren, noticing his hesitation, ran over and grabbed onto his arm. "Come on, it'll be fun! At least come for a little while."
"All right, all right," Ingressus relented. "I'll check things out."
"Yeah!" Luciren leaped into the air, pumping her fist.
"Come to Rosebush Island at sundown," Volerik said, also grinning in victory. "And bring some food."
As sundown neared, Ingressus packed up some slabs of steak and chicken and left the forge behind. Rosebush Island was on the northern edge of Ataraxia, a smaller island that had never really been developed. Ingressus had wandered over to the island before on occasion– Ataraxia was small enough that if you lived there for any length of time, you would probably end up walking every path sooner or later. He had noticed the patch of ash and charcoal half-hidden under the grass, surrounded by some logs and low stones. Apparently campfire nights like the one he'd been invited to were a fairly regular occurrence.
The sun was level with the distant mountains when Ingressus passed the marketplace. He paused in his journey, taking in the bright streaks of red and orange above the horizon. The sky shone with the colors of his clan, his family, his home.
Ingressus leaned against a tree, taking in the view. The horizon-reddened sunlight painted the land in golden hues, turning stone to amber and water to honey. The western mountains were already devoid of sunlight, their shadowed slopes contrasting sharply with the bright rays of sunlight streaking through the air and the flame-colored sky above them.
As a child back in the mountains, the sunset had been a signal of danger; dropping temperatures, roaming undead, predators that would stalk the night in search of prey. And yet for Ingressus, the glow that bled across the horizon had been a source of imagination, ever since he'd noticed how his own unusual orange gradient would match that of the sky. As a child he'd daydreamed a number of fantasy meanings behind the similarity: being the descendant of a sky deity or being chosen by the sun, prophesized for some grand destiny to bring his people back into the light. (He'd been quite proud of that metaphor, at sixteen.) He would imagine going on grand adventures, traveling across Ardonia and seeking out ancient, hidden relics, before finally confronting the Champion and the evil Masters who had sent the raids again and again. It had been good fun, for a child born to a dying clan.
Those childhood fantasies had faded by now. He knew there was no sky deity– or that if there was, whatever species it oversaw wasn't the Ardoni. Same for the sun. The traces of orange in his markings was just a fluke of genetics. But the bright colors of sunset still held meaning to him– he couldn't look at the sheets of red and not remember his people, those who were gone and those who remained. It was as if nature itself was giving tribute to the exiled clan, painting the Voltaris colors across the sky in defiance of the raiders' desire for genocide.
Ingressus reached out a hand to the sunset, circling the distant sun with his fingertips. His clan was still out there, far to the north. Perhaps some of them were watching the same sunset as he was.
The sun sank behind the mountains. Ingressus watched until the red faded from the sky, then turned and walked on.
Despite the setting sun, Ataraxia wasn't yet asleep. With the natural defense against monsters the floating islands offered, there were still many people out enjoying the warm night. A trio of Felina were racing through the treetops and over people's roofs, chasing each other across the island without touching the ground. An island over there was a handful of Ardoni performing some play for a small audience. Galleous had been asleep on a bench in his yard when Ingressus had left, his latest sappy novel lying on his chest where it had fallen. Galleous had denied it fervently for all the seven years Ingressus had known him, but Ingressus knew the blacksmith was a sucker for mushy things.
Saylor was crossing the bridge to Orchid Island just as Ingressus was, accompanied by a couple friends. All three were armed: Saylor with his sword, his friends with a mace, bow, and shield.
"Hey, Ingressus," Saylor greeted when he spotted him. "We were gonna go hunting for skeletons, want to join us?"
"I have plans already," Ingressus said. "Enjoy your hunt."
Saylor nodded in understanding. "If we don't come back, we went to Perennis Ridge."
"I'll point the search parties there."
"Cool." Saylor gave him a wave. "See you around."
Ingressus returned the farewell and went on his way. Two bridges later, he reached Rosebush Island. There were a number of people already there, gathered around an unlit firepit at the center of the clearing. Most were younger than him, around the twins' age, but he saw a few who were older, closer to him in relative age. A Nestoris and a Felina were crouched by the firepit, building up the wood for the blaze while the younger children were running around the clearing, laughing with abandon.
"Hey, you came!"
Volerik waved at Ingressus from where he was engaged in a game of keep-away. "Glad to see– ah!"
A Human had lunged at him in his moment of distraction, and Volerik had to dodge away and bolt across the clearing to escape.
The Felina by the firepit had glanced up at Volerik's words. "Ah, cool, more almost-adult supervision. Welcome."
He held out a hand as Ingressus joined them and Ailera gave a distracted greeting. "Ingressus, right? I'm Sukey. I don't think we've formally met."
Ingressus shook his hand. "Yeah, that's right."
He'd seen Sukey around before, though he wouldn't have been able to place his name. The Felina had a faint pattern of scars near his jaw, as if he'd been smacked with a piece of cactus.
Sukey noticed his attention and tapped at the scars. "Ever taken a pufferfish to the face before?"
"No." Ingressus said slowly.
Sukey nodded approvingly. "Good call. It's rough."
"How does that even happen?" Ingressus wondered.
Sukey laughed, gesturing at the air. "Fishing trip gone wrong. I was out with Uncle Remus by the ocean, when a fish took my bait. I started to reel it in, but then a passing dolphin decided it wanted the fish for lunch more than I did. It grabbed my catch and began to swim away. I, of course, put up a fight, yanking on the line so hard I'm surprised my rod didn't break. Might've been better for me if it did, though, because the dolphin let go and the fish flew out of the water like a deranged bat, smacked me right in the cheek."
He mimed the impact, pressing a fist to his face.
"Aren't they poisonous?" Ailera asked, glancing up as she sparked her flint and steel.
"Oh, yeah," Sukey said, nodding vigorously. "It huuurt like Nether, all I remember is being curled up on the ground and sobbing my eyes out. I swear my face was puffed up as big as the fish for a week."
Ingressus winced in sympathy.
They were distracted from further conversation when a peal of shouts and running footsteps rang out from behind them. Ailera looked up with a yelp and Sukey and Ingressus both reacted, catching the child between them before she could fall onto the woodpile.
Luciren grinned cheerfully up at them. "Hello!"
Ingressus set her back on her feet. "Of course it's you."
"Mom always says I have personality." Luciren bolted off again, leaping over the still-unlit firepit as the rest of the children split around it to chase her. "Bye!"
Ailera watched them go, blowing out a puff of air. "Phew. Don't get me wrong, she's great, I'm sure she's a lot of fun, but I wouldn't have the energy to have her as a sister. I don't envy you or Volerik."
Ingressus shrugged. "You get used to her."
Sukey blinked. "Wait, are you related to them?"
"Not by blood."
"There goes one rumor about you, then." A Sendaris appeared, dropping down onto a low rock by the firepit. "Some people have wondered if you were Kittrian's kid."
Ingressus snorted. "Why, because she accepted me from the start?"
The Sendaris lifted his hands. "Hey, in the absence of facts, people will invent their own truths."
"So I've noticed," Ingressus said flatly. He was well aware that he had been the prime subject of gossip for at least a month after the rest of Ataraxia had learned of his existence. Some people hadn't paid enough attention to ensure the subject of said gossip wasn't in earshot while they spun their made-up tales. It had led to a number of arguments that had done nothing for his fledgeling reputation.
"Hi, Rigeleus, by the way," Sukey said.
Ailera struck the flint and steel again with a frustrated growl but then froze, staring expectantly at the kindling. A faint orange spark had caught on a clump of dry grass, smoldering faintly orange amid the twigs. Sukey clenched his hands into fists, staring at the spark and whispering "come on, come on, come on, come on…"
Ingressus crouched down and blew gently on the ember. It brightened, flickered, and then finally became flame. The four watched it spread, feeding it kindling and twigs until the flames licked at the logs and reached orange tendrils to the darkening sky.
"Oy!" Rigeleus called to the kids still running around the clearing. "Dinnertime!"
In Ingressus's experience, there were a few different ways the younger kids could go when presented with someone they were told was dangerous. Some would accept their parents' warning without question, getting nervous or straight-up hiding when Ingressus was around. Other, bolder kids would be more curious than afraid, and as irritating as the repeated stares and questions were, he had also learned that kids like that could be the most open-minded Ardoni.
Volerik had promised him that the campfire-goers were nice. Ingressus had been skeptical; kindness to a pleasant clanless child didn't guarantee kindness to a pricklier, adolescent Voltaris. But to Ingressus's pleasant surprise, most of the people around the fire seemed to be in the latter category. He realized he at least vaguely knew most of them– Ailera was an apprentice tanner, who'd sold to him and Galleous before. A lot of the younger kids were Luciren and Volerik's friends, less immediately friendly to him than the twins, but still willing to give his proximity a chance. They weren't all relaxed– a younger Kaltaris with Saylor's markings kept looking hurriedly away when Ingressus glanced in her direction– but the atmosphere was more pleasant than Ingressus would have wagered on.
Ingressus was pulling a chunk of steak from the flames when a Human child appeared at his shoulder. Ingressus started in surprise, nearly losing the steak, but the Human didn't seem to notice.
"Matt said you helped get me out of trouble," the human whispered, causing Ingressus to prick his ear up to hear. "So I wanted to say thanks."
"You're Joseph?" Ingressus asked.
"Yep." the Human nodded.
Ingressus glanced at him. He looked fairly young, even for a Human– maybe around the twin's relative age.
"How did you manage to steal the slimeballs from Mr. Duncan in the first place?" he asked quietly.
"He has a little window into his basement," Joseph said. "I can fit through it. And I knew he had slimeballs, so I thought I'd go and look for them for Matt and Leah."
Ingressus looked the kid over. "I have to admire your dedication."
Across the fire, Sukey stood and clanged a rock against a metal plate. "All right, everyone! I think it's officially dark by most species' standards. Perfect time to tell a bunch of stories that are so scary you won't sleep for a week and that will make all your parents hate me for suggesting this. Or maybe you'd rather tell a happy story that drives away the darkness in our hearts and leaves us feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. The choice is yours, even if you just choose to sit back and laugh or cry or scream at other people's stories."
Scattered giggles rose around the campfire, and Sukey spread his arms theatrically. "And now, without further ado… someone go first."
He flopped back down on his log.
Ingressus tended to the fire as the tales began, stirring the coals and adding more firewood to keep things warm for those who were still eating. Ailera dropped balls of cookie dough onto a flat rock and eased it into the coals, and Ingressus built up the fire around it.
The tales were varied. Some were funny, some were spooky. Some he suspected had been made up on the spot, others had the sense of having been repeated time and again through the generations.
"...but as the baby dragon grew, it got harder and harder for Landon to keep it hidden from the rest of his village," Madaris was saying. "Back then, people thought the End was a place of death, and that the dragons came from the void and wanted to destroy the rest of the realms so that nothing would interrupt it…"
Ingressus looked up from the fire. He knew this story. It was the legend of the first enderknights, the beginning of the partnership between the dragons and the Humans they chose. Gyarus had told it dozens of times back in the mountains, and several of the children had known it by heart. Gyarus had used more epic language than Madaris was, but as the Sendaris went on, Ingressus could tell the story was the same.
And there it was again. The hollowness in his chest, the emptiness in his heart, the memories of his early life seeming to taunt him with how close they were to what he was seeing now. His group would gather around the fire almost every night, huddling together against the cold and sharing a meal among themselves. The night would fall and the wind would kick up outside the caves, but the fire would warm them and the stories they shared would take them to another place, a better place.
Ingressus dug his stick into the coals, wishing he could will the memories away. Why couldn't he just enjoy the campfire, without the memories of those he'd lost pulling at his mind?
"Are you okay?"
Volerik had wandered over to Ingressus's log, and had sat down beside him.
"You look sad," he said quietly, white eyes studying Ingressus with concern.
Ingressus was silent for a long moment, staring into the red coals. "I miss my clan," he admitted. "All of this– it's a lot like what we used to do."
"Do you want to go back?" Volerik asked. "To the Barrier Mountains?"
Ingressus started to answer, then paused. Did he?
Once, the answer to that question would've been obvious. Of course he wanted to go back, back to where he belonged, back to the relative safety that the mountains afforded him. If he could go back safely he would've leapt at the chance, fleeing Ataraxia and returning to the only home he'd ever known.
But now… after seven years…
Vedarin had always said that the Barrier Mountains weren't really home. That acting like they were, letting the kids believe they were, was like giving up– accepting that they would never be able to leave or return to Voltaria. Lyrinia had always told him off for it, in late-night arguments the adults thought the kids couldn't hear. She claimed that any home was better than none.
But what was home for him? What had it ever been? His group had been lucky if they could stay in one camp for a year; it couldn't have been a place. So then what had it meant, to come home after a long hunting trip? To be wishing for the patrols to return home safe? It seemed that home was wherever they had last put their feet.
And now there was no one left but him. No one to make the mountains any more home than anywhere else. And without them, if he was being fully honest, there was nothing making the cold, barren, blizzard-blasted mountains particularly appealing.
"No," he admitted finally, letting out a sigh. "There's nothing left for me there. There wouldn't be any point."
Volerik was still staring at him, but he didn't meet the younger Ardoni's eyes. He prayed that Volerik wouldn't ask more, prayed he wouldn't have to either lie or tell him the whole, terrible truth.
And now Volerik was hugging him. Ingressus looked down to see Volerik leaning against him, arms wrapped around his middle.
"Mom said not to ask you about what happened before you came here," he said. "So I won't. I hope this makes you feel better instead."
A warm feeling rose in Ingressus's chest, and he put an arm around Volerik in turn. "It does."
Volerik stayed leaning against Ingressus for two more stories. So when Keira's turn came and she stood to begin her tale, he could feel Volerik shiver against him.
"What is it?" Ingressus asked him.
Volerik groaned quietly. "Whenever she does this, it means she's going to tell a really scary story."
"Our tale begins in the realm of darkness." Keira prowled around the fire as she spoke, like a cat circling its wounded prey. "Of emptiness, of primordial chaos, where destruction is the way of existence and any life is born to death. It is here, in the depths of the void where even dragons fear to fly, where the demons hold court."
The rest of Keira's story only continued to prove Volerik more right. The Human spun a tale of monsters and blood, of kingdoms falling to the demon's claws, of entire races going extinct, powerless to do so much as bruise the tormentor who killed without even being seen.
"Though the mages cast the most powerful spell they could, they could not destroy the monster entirely," she finished. "To this day the demon still lurks; in the shadows just beyond the fire, in the blind spot of your eye, on the edges of graveyards: waiting, waiting for the day when the last of the line of its jailers dies…"
Her words trailed off, the silence hanging over them like a shadow. Volerik was clinging to Ingressus's arm so tightly he could feel his pulse under the younger boy's grip. And then…
"BOO!"
Ingressus jumped despite himself. Volerik shrieked and hid behind him, a chorus of screams rose around the fire, and Keira doubled over with laughter.
"Oh my– oh my Nether, your faces!" she gasped for breath as she laughed. "That was perfect!"
Ailera threw a chicken bone at her. "You are evil. Pure evil."
"Thank you!"
Sukey sat up again, his ears still folded back from the scare. "Well. That was a very pleasant autobiography. Thank you very much for your honesty, Keira, it was very brave of you to admit to such acts."
"Come back next time for his biography," Keira stage-whispered, poking a finger at him.
"Anyway," Sukey said, ignoring her. "I refuse to let that nightmare fuel be the last story of the night. Anyone else want to go, or do I need to come up with something?"
"Do you have a story, Ingressus?" Luciren asked.
Everyone went quiet, and a half-dozen pairs of glowing eyes turned to look at Ingressus. The children looked nervous, but Ingressus chose to believe that was because of the aftereffects of Keira's story rather than because of him. Besides, the Felina child was looking as tense as the Ardoni kids.
Volerik scooted out from behind Ingressus again. "Oh, yeah. What kind of stories did you tell back in the mountains? Any good ones?"
"Yeah." Ingressus poked his stick in the fire, a faint smile tugging at him as he remembered his favorite legend. "Have you heard of Syrma Voltaris?"
He was met by a field of blank stares, and a few head-shakes.
Of course not, a bitter part of him whispered. Why would the world remember a Voltaris hero?
"She was the greatest explorer of her age," he said, recalling the start of the tale. "She lived over a thousand years ago, when the time of the enderkings had barely begun. She served under two kings as a mapmaker, traveling to the far reaches of Ardonia and scouting the land for dangers, safe havens, and sites of magic. She explored the ancient cities far underground, faced the queen of a creeper hive more than once, and even made journeys to the Nether under the blessing of Queen Felsicor."
The freedom Syrma had had to travel the continent was a huge part of the legend's appeal when Ingressus was younger. It still was now.
"In her centuries of traveling the continent, she met many challenges, from mercenary groups to angered spirits to the warden itself. But her greatest adventure came on the uncharted isles to the east of the continent. The mists around those isles don't just block your eyesight– they play havoc with compasses, block out the stars– they even shroud the sun's passage across the sky. It was said that those who come across the isles rarely return, and that those who do can never find them again. Syrma, naturally, took that as a challenge."
A scattering of giggles rose from around the fire.
"Syrma knew people all over the continent, and through her work for the enderkings, she was allowed access to their archives. It took a few decades, but she managed to track down enough leads that she believed she had enough of an idea where the isles were located. And so she gathered supplies and chartered a small ship, crossing the oceans in search of the mysterious lands. True to her estimations, the ship soon encountered a dense wall of mist. Their compasses lost all orientation, pointing in every imaginable direction with no two in common. The wind shifted constantly, leaving it anyone's guess as to their heading. But they forged on, journeying through the mists until at last, a forested shore appeared ahead of them."
"The isles!" Luciren cheered.
"It was," Ingressus confirmed. "Syrma had found the isles– intentionally. Something no one had ever done before. They were eager to explore and map the islands, but they would soon learn they weren't alone on the isles."
No matter how many times Ingressus had heard the story, he would always get chills whenever Gyarus would say this line. He had some inexplicable way of making the simple phrase sound menacing.
"Should we be worried?" Madaris asked.
"Yes. The inhabitants of the islands– they didn't have good intentions. They were searching the islands for the source of the mists, believing that there was some ancient artifact that shrouded the islands and hid them from the outside world. They wanted that power for themselves, and they would use travelers who washed up on the island to help them search for it. When they found Syrma's team, all they saw was more hands to labor for them. They attacked the team one night, intent on taking them all prisoner. The team fought back hard, but the searchers were stronger. Syrma alone managed to escape. She ran as far and as hard as she could, fleeing across rivers and through the dense treetops, until finally the searchers were lost behind her.
"Syrma was injured and exhausted, lost in the misty forest with no knowledge of where she was, and little of what she was up against. But her team, her friends, were in danger. The searchers had taken them alive, so she knew there was a chance to rescue them. So while her wounds healed she prepared and planned for a rescue mission. She found the searchers' camp, and watched and listened to their plans. She wandered the mist-shrouded island, mapping it out until she knew it like her own markings; until she knew every cavern, every hiding place, every ambush site. She prepared stashes of supplies in hidden chests across the island, ready for their escape.
"But despite all her preparation, she knew there were too many searchers for her to face alone. She would need help, a small army to combat theirs. So Syrma turned her eyes to the searchers' prisoners. There were many, and though the searchers kept them weakened and imprisoned, they were the force Syrma needed. So, when she had done everything she could to prepare herself for escape, she let the searchers catch her."
"She let them catch her?"
"She had a plan," Ingressus assured his audience. "And the plan was to rally the prisoners against their captors. So as she was made to venture through the deepest caves, she whispered words of rebellion to her companions. Strategies, plans, vulnerabilities she'd discovered, words of hope to those long without it. She had learned the searchers' strengths and weaknesses, and she was learning those of the prisoners, too. Even as she endured the searchers' cruelty, even as she and her companions and allies were worked to the bone in the searchers' caves and mines, she persisted, watching and waiting and planning. And when the time came to fight back, they did, with all the fury of those who have suffered long. The searchers weren't about to let them go, but the prisoners had prepared for that as well, slipping poisonous flowers into the searchers' food the previous night. Over half the searchers were crippled by blindness, nausea, weakened limbs, or all three, and they were easily defeated, their weapons falling into the hands of the prisoners. The rest stood no chance against the revenge of those they once imprisoned.
"It was Syrma herself who faced down the lead searcher, a mage who sought to control the mist's power for his own purposes. He sent every spell he had against her, determined to destroy her for standing up to him. He summoned golems against her, turned the ground to ice, concealed himself with illusions. But even as she was burned by his spells, battered and bloody, she fought on without relenting, bringing to bear all her strength and cunning. But still, the mage was powerful, and a focused blast of power threw Syrma across the battlefield. She landed hard but still she staggered up, hearing the mage begin a lightning spell. Such a curse would kill anyone in the vicinity, whether loyal searcher or rebelling prisoner. The mage would kill his own people, those who had followed him without question, to destroy his enemies. And so Syrma staggered forward, snatching a sword from the ground and throwing it with all her strength at the mage, piercing him right through the heart. The spell ruptured and burst through his skin, burning his body to ashes as if it had never been."
He stabbed his stick into the flames and knocked a log into the coals, sending a flurry of sparks into the air as the children oooohed appreciatively. Ingressus grinned as well, imagining how much greater the energy from an interrupted lightning spell would have been.
"With the death of the mage, the searchers were left leaderless, and those who remained surrendered with pleas for their lives. Many of the former prisoners wanted to kill them– it would have been well deserved, after all they had done. But Aludra, one of Syrma's companions on her original expedition, convinced them to take the searchers back to Ardonia, where they could be tried for their crimes. The searchers were thrown into their own dungeons, and the prisoners took over their base until they could heal, and prepare for the journey back to Ardonia."
Ingressus paused. He had always tended to lose interest at the story's conclusion. With the mage dead and the searchers now powerless, the most exciting parts were over. But everyone was still staring expectantly at him, so he finished the tale.
"The sailors among them exchanged the stories of their travels through the mists, pooling their knowledge in preparation for the journey back home. They left the island together, stealing one of the searchers' vessels to accommodate their large number. And though the mists were no less deceptive on the way out, after several days of travel they broke through under a star-filled sky. Many of the oldest of the lost travelers wept openly at the sight of the sky they'd never thought they would see again.
"Despite much searching, despite all the records Syrma's team had kept on their journeys, none of them ever did find the uncharted isles again. The edges of the world hold their secrets close, and reveal them only at their leisure. To this day, the location of the isles remains unknown. Perhaps they will remain so forever."
Ingressus fell silent, the story over. Everyone was silent for a moment, until Luciren began clapping vigorously.
"That was awesome!" she cheered. "Do all mages catch fire when they die?"
"No," Ingressus said. "There's backlash if you cut off a spell like that in the middle, and the more powerful it is, the more energy gets released. All of the power of the lightning backfired onto the mage, and being dead already, he couldn't direct it safely away from him."
"Wait, but Songs don't work like that," Alcyone said, scratching his head. "If you're readying an Aggressium blast, you can stop without firing it or hurting yourself."
"Different kinds of magic work differently."
"Oh yeah," Keira mused. "Like, a chest won't explode in your face if you break it, even though it won't be preserving its contents anymore."
The chatter continued into the night. Though the storytelling was over, no one seemed inclined to go home, even as the stars inched across the sky overhead. Volerik pointed up at the stars, yawning as he tried to identify what constellations they were from. Soon he was slumped over, asleep against Ingressus's side. Luciren was still awake and alert, engaged in a debate with Saylor's sister about… whether ghasts were related to squids?
The fire flickered lower and lower as the night went on. Ingressus couldn't reach to stoke the flames anymore, but then again, it was a warm night. No one would freeze if the fire went out, and the open air and the lights of Ataraxia would keep the monsters of the night far away. So Ingressus relaxed, watching the others and listening to Volerik snoring softly.
Ingressus's wandering mind was pulled back to earth as someone across the fire called his name. "Ingressus! You're from up north, right?"
Ingressus blinked, focusing on the two children who were staring intently at him. "Yes?"
"Have you ever seen a polar bear?"
Ingressus tried to recall what they had been arguing about before they turned to him. "I have."
The Felina cut off her friend. "Are they bigger than horses, or smaller?"
Ingressus thought back, trying to gauge the size difference. He'd seen a polar bear up close once, when a hunting patrol had crossed paths with the beast. He remembered staring in awe at the animal as it plodded calmly past, his mother's hand gripping his shoulder.
"Don't startle it," she had breathed. "Leave it alone and it will leave us alone."
At the time the polar bear had easily been the biggest living thing Ingressus had ever seen, but…
"Horses are taller," he said finally. "But the bears have a lot more bulk to them."
"Ha!" the Felina cheered triumphantly. "I told you!"
"He said horses were taller, though!" the Mendoris protested.
"Bulkiness counts as size!"
"No it doesn't! Horses are taller, so they're bigger!"
"If you have a skinny stick that's as tall as you, aren't you still bigger than the stick?"
In Ingressus's mind, bulk counted for size. He would be more terrified of an angry bear than an angry horse. But he figured this wasn't his argument. He listened in amusement to the children debating each other, until another voice spoke up.
"So why'd you leave the Barrier Mountains, anyway?"
Ingressus went still, but Rigeleus didn't notice, leaning forward as he studied him. "I mean, you've been here for seven years, and still no one has any clue. You haven't said anything, Galleous hasn't said anything– people have even asked Kittrian, and even she doesn't seem to have a clue."
Ingressus's voice was cold. "That's because it's not your business."
Rigeleus took the hint and shut up, gaining a sudden interest in a nearby rock. But the question had been asked, the creeper was loose– the topic was no longer buried.
"Come on," Madaris said, far too eagerly for the darkness crowding Ingressus's thoughts. "You're the only one in Ataraxia with a mysterious past, you've got to tell us something."
"No," Ingressus said through clenched teeth. "I don't."
They were just children, they didn't understand, they had never known the life of danger his people led. It wasn't their fault, but if one more person—
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to relive it!" Ingressus snarled.
The asker jumped, flinching back. Everyone stared at Ingressus but he didn't care, if this made them drop the subject then so be it. "I wish it had never happened! I wish I was back there with my family. I'd give up ever being able to leave the mountains again if it would bring them back."
He felt Volerik stir against him and glanced down, taking a deep breath.
"You want to know why I'm here?" he asked, his voice low. "I'm here because I was lucky enough to be found by someone who didn't kill me on sight. I'm still here because there's nowhere else for me to go, and because if no one here has killed me by now, I figure they probably won't. But my presence here does not give you free reign to pry into my life, especially when none of you could ever understand."
Everyone was silent. Ingressus averted his gaze, staring at the ground as his eyes burned with unshed tears.
They didn't know. Of course they didn't, he had never told anyone. But couldn't they have guessed? They knew about the feud, the war, the raids, couldn't they have guessed what he had lost? That he hadn't left of his own free will?
They were just children, children in a way that he and his clan had never been. They had never been faced with death so regularly, hadn't had to learn to set snares or staunch bleeding or the most effective way to sever tendons or blood vessels of a larger foe because it was so certain their life would depend on it. Death, fear, violence– it wasn't the obvious possibility it was for him.
They didn't understand. They never would. But it was so Songs-blasted hard not to resent their curiosity.
"I don't think you're a spy," Alcyone said, speaking into the silence. "My dad does, but I don't think it makes sense. The Guardians wouldn't have let you in if you were."
The Guardians. Ingressus snorted inwardly. The obvious factor, that few cared to consider when gauging his intentions.
"Ask him what he thinks I'm spying on," Ingressus told him. "And see if he has an answer."
Alcyone cocked his head in confusion. Ingressus elaborated.
"If there's something in Ataraxia worth spying on, then fine. I can see why he might think that. But if he only thinks I'm some spy because I'm Voltaris, then he's just paranoid. Either way, I don't care. I'm not ashamed of my clan."
The Mendoris child spoke up hesitantly. "What were the Voltaris like?"
Ingressus looked at him, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, I can tell you miss them. And my mom says that talking about people you miss can help you not be so sad."
Luciren perked up. "Oh, yeah. Everyone's afraid of the Voltaris, but you're not scary, so maybe they're wrong. But only if you want to."
Some of the children looked unsure at the 'you're not scary' part. Ingressus chose not to ignore that.
He had always resisted talking about his clan. Who knew what information could be used against them? But what if… what if his words could do some good, instead?
In the Barrier Mountains, he had known nothing of the other clans except for their hatred of his. Nestoris, Kaltaris, Sendaris, Mendoris– they were nothing else except the enemy, ruthless bloodspillers who cared for nothing but the death of every Voltaris on the continent. But in Ataraxia, even as he had flinched away from proximity and kept a wall at his back, he had seen the other side of the four clans: the love of parents for their children, the kindness of neighbors towards one another, how ready they were to pitch in to help other townsfolk after a setback. He had seen, even as he resisted the thought, that the other clans didn't exist solely to destroy his. That there was more to them than the murderers.
The Ataraxians hadn't changed their perspectives on his people in the same way. But as he looked around the campfire and saw the questioning, curious, anticipating expressions all turned to him, he thought maybe… maybe they'll be willing to listen.
"We didn't have much in the mountains," he said, gazing into the coals. "Food was scarce, there were blizzards, and the terrain was harsh. We would shelter wherever we could, anywhere we had some protection from the weather or predators. And the raiders– we never knew when an attack would come. We never knew how long we had. But we would use whatever we could to take care of each other, to try and give ourselves the best chance we could of lasting a little longer. Alnitak– I don't know if he actually had a spell that could make prey come to his snares, but I swear he was a miracle worker, the number of times he kept us from starving. My mom, Lyrinia, she was the best archer in our camp. She could hit a rabbit through the eye from across a ravine."
Ingressus faltered, fighting back a tear. Lyrinia had died years before the raid, saving the other hunters in her patrol from an avalanche. Ingressus remembered lying unmoving on the ground for days afterwards, refusing to speak to anyone or even to eat until Sinaran had sat beside him and refused to leave until he accepted some food.
"Sinaran was like the big sister or aunt to all of us. She'd always have a way to keep the youngest kids occupied in the camp while the adults were patrolling. Her brother Sorays would've gotten along well with Leah– Nether, he'd have gotten along with all of you, everyone liked him. He was really interested in redstone, especially. He got his hands on a piston and a lever once, and he spent a whole afternoon launching us off it into a snowbank. The adults always said he was a kid who got older but never grew up."
Ingressus lifted his gaze, staring up at the sky. "Then there was Raiden; he was missing two fingers on one hand, and he had a different story about how it happened every time someone would ask. Sometimes he'd say he fought a bear, other times that it was frostbite from pulling a fish out of the ocean with his bare hands, once he even said he'd been cursed by a witch. Every time one of us got caught doing something we shouldn't, you could be sure he would somehow find a way to claim he'd lost his fingers doing the same thing.
"Isanor, he claimed that he had been to Voltaria. None of us were sure whether or not it was true, but we all wanted to believe him, because if he could go there, then maybe one day the rest of us could too."
Ingressus continued to speak, spooling the memories out before him like a tapestry. He told them about Tamera, self-proclaimed and completely deserving queen of snow crafting. About Gyarus, who knew every legend ever told and had meneged to entertain the clan when a blizzard had them snowed in in a cave for a week. About Ritanil, who knew five different ways that every Song in existence could be used. About her apprentice Algolus, who matched Ritanil's cryptic sayings with an equal amount of sarcasm. About Vedarin, who acted tough and cold but who would always comfort the children after a nightmare. About Argentum and Cendir, brother and sister, his friends who'd sat by his side for days after his mother's death. Kaitos, Alhena, and Zaurak, who took in the orphans of their camp as their own. Asellus, his grandmother, who'd snuck alone into Frostown to free Menkar after he'd been caught on a supply run, and how Dominus had been paralyzed with indecision when they returned about chastising his clanmate versus yelling at his mother-in-law. Carolin, who could shape rock with her magic, and Rasalus, who could climb a sheer cliff without even needing that skill. Alnair, who could predict the severity of a blizzard to within an inch of snowfall. Mirzam, who had found a stand of apple trees and had brought dozens of the rare treat to the clan. And Azha, the stargazer, who could tell the time of night, the season, where they were and how far they'd traveled with half a glance at the sky.
He had always thought it was delusional to say that telling the stories of the dead would give them a kind of life again. Those who were gone were gone, and words couldn't bring them back. But here, around the fire, speaking their names and what had defined them the most to him– they deserved to be remembered, to not have their names be lost to time. And now they would be remembered, even if it was just by a bunch of Ataraxian children. They wouldn't be forgotten in the ruins of their camp, in the snow that covered them. There would be others who could speak to their existence, who could say they were real, they existed, they didn't deserve this.
"And my dad, Dominus, he kept us safe through the good times and the bad times– he led us, guided us through snowstorms, found us new places to live again and again– even when we thought there was nowhere left to go—"
Ingressus was openly crying by this point, tears running down his face. Volerik had woken up and was hugging him again, and Luciren joined them, wrapping her arms around Ingressus's shoulders and squeezing him in a hug. Joseph leaned in and rested a hand on his shoulder, and Ingressus closed his eyes, letting his shaking breaths slow under the dual embrace.
"They sounded nice," Sukey said quietly. "I wish we could've met them."
"Sounds like the horror stories got things pretty wrong," Rigeleus agreed.
"We just want to go home," Ingressus said hollowly. "Go back to Voltaria and live in peace."
The Mendoris from the polar bear argument spoke up. "When I'm a Master, I'll help that happen."
Ingressus glanced up, bemused. "When?"
"It's been his lifelong ambition," Ailera said wryly.
Sukey shifted on his log, his eyes reflecting yellow. "I don't know much about the history between the Ardoni clans," he said. "I don't know what reason the other four clans have– or claim to have– for what they do. But, you know– I believe that things get better in the world as time goes on, even if it takes a long time. This can't go on forever." He met Ingressus's gaze. "There's gonna be peace someday. I believe that for you."
"I hope you're right."
The fire's embers cooled under the night breeze, their light fading from orange to red and then to nothing at all. People drifted off once more, leaning on logs or their friends or simply sprawling out in the grass. Keira, it turned out, snored loudly, and a half-asleep Sukey had to slap her more than once.
Ingressus leaned back on his rock, the twins asleep against him. He gazed up at the sky through the patchy canopy, at the black canvas dotted with stars. He could see the leg of the Bear to the north. The bright star at the base of the Shepherd twinkled among its fellows, glowing like a spark of sun captured by the sky. The Northern Star shone over the mountains, and Ingressus remembered Azha pointing to it and telling them if you can find this star, you'll always find your way.
The same constellations shone over Ataraxia as Northwind. They were shifted, it was true, the constellations further to the north than they had been. Foreign stars governed the southern skies, and yet, Ingressus could still find the ones whose light he'd grown up under.
Some beings worshiped the stars. The Glacians viewed the Northern Star as a god, looking to it for spiritual as well as directional guidance. The Voltaris had never taken on that belief, but the sight of the unmoving star, shining there in the heavens, gave Ingressus comfort. Things had changed, changed in ways that he never would have predicted or believed he could handle. And yet… the world turned on. He had survived, he had endured. He had lost everyone and everything, but the world hadn't forsaken him. Though his group was gone he was still safe, still had a place among those who had accepted him as if he were their own family.
When Ingressus fell asleep, his dreams were undisturbed.
(8237 words)
If I'd thought of any of these campfire stories ahead of time, there might've been some significant foreshadowing here.
Need a fantasy name or fifteen in a hurry? Open up some constellation diagrams and look at names of stars.