Book 3: Chapter 26: Escape

Book 3: Chapter 26: Escape

Within a dark and humid room, a devout man practiced his craft.

The scents of earth, mildew, and sweet herbs surrounded him, standing in stark contrast to the haze that usually filled his domain. It had taken Solomon most of a week to create this place of worship—the holy ground upon which he would take steps on the stairway of ascension.

For as long as Solomon had been practicing alchemy, he had been inhaling the Cult of the Alchemist’s chi-suppressing smoke. Toward the end of his stay in Tropica, the burning qualities of the haze had seemed to decrease, his empowered body somehow withstanding the usually agony-inducing qualities of the Cult’s greatest creation.

He took a deep breath, marveling at the soothing characteristics his newest concoction seemed to have on his throat. Where his past workspaces made him feel physically ill, the vapors wafting up from his cauldron now caused his body to hum, as if it was healing all the prior punishment he had put it through.

Solomon had no doubt as to the ingredient causing this shift; it was the bark of the blue-trunked tree.

The decomposing plant matter was the basis of the brew he currently worked on, aided by medicinal herbs and plants that he’d found in the surrounding forest. This place of power seemed to make plantlife flourish; he hadn’t needed to travel far in order to find the ingredients he looked for, and Solomon could think of nowhere else on Kallis that he’d ever witnessed so much diversity.

Despite the wondrous soothing of his throat, Solomon’s brow knitted. The bark had irrefutable healing qualities, but it wasn’t doing what he’d hoped.

Much like he could feel the suppressing aspect of the haze he usually worked within, he could also sense the potent chi held within his concoction. It was there. He was sure of it. Yet he couldn’t harness its power. There had to be something missing—an ingredient, perhaps, but try as he might, Solomon couldn’t work out what it was.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus his will on the concoction, just as the Cult of the Alchemist’s doctrine instructed. He closed his eyes, imagining the outcome he desired. Solomon dressed in golden robes, the garb so rich that he shone as bright as the midday sun. The other members of the Cult of the Alchemist, prostate and bowing before him, their god. A pile of riches laying at his feet, brought forth by the kingdoms trying to gain his favor.

Something resonated within his abdomen as the scene played out in his mind’s eye. With exhilaration fueling his efforts, he imagined even more people praising him, and an even greater pile of gold. He strained, his body hunching as he sought to focus every ounce of will he had on that eventuality.

No matter how hard he tried, however, nothing happened. The vibration within remained just that—a vibration.

Despite his efforts, there was something nagging at him in the back of his mind. An immovable blockage that halted his progress. He did his best to ignore it, but the stray thought was like a rock in one’s shoe, only growing more agitating the longer it was left unremoved. Unlike the metaphorical stone, however, Solomon couldn’t just remove his boot and take it out.

There was something missing from the concoction, and no matter how many times he redoubled his efforts, nothing would change that fact.

He let out a sigh as he looked out at the waking world once more, the scene dissipating like a soluble compound in hot water. He couldn’t ascend until he found the missing ingredient.

Standing and stretching, he made for the door, intent on finding it.

***

A heavy breeze washed over me, flecking my skin with small drops of rain. I’d spent the morning fishing, hanging with my friends, and exacting vengeance. All in all, it left me feeling balanced, which was a good thing considering the blade of chi currently flying for my head.

Going full matrix, I dodged it.

Springing backward, I took off running toward shore, unable to halt my giggles despite the murder held in Roger’s eyes. “I had no choice!”

“There is always a choice!” he roared, standing upright in the waves.

“You were perfectly positioned for a good punting! What was I supposed to do?”

He would have to introduce her to his master if she ever returned to the capital—Tom Osnan Sr. could always use more pawns.

As the two tailoring apprentices joined their precession, Nathan nodded at Anna. She set her jaw and nodded back. She had volunteered to lead the distraction, which was another reason to be thankful for her service. Two of the newer members followed her as she headed to the east side of the village. They believed he would immediately come back and rescue them, which was a lie, of course, but trickery was perfectly fine if it meant they succeeded in extracting the nobles and getting them back to Gormona. They could be freed when the capital came and crushed this misguided cult calling itself a church.

After a few minutes, everyone but the three distractors reconvened within the corridor of the prison. Zeke met them there, having relieved the person on watch of their duties. They waited there in silence, every passing second making Nathan’s unease grow. Anna should have attacked by now. Had they been caught preemptively? Was she acting as a double agent, only pretending to—

Booom!

The prison walls shook with the force of the explosion, and a wicked grind spread over Nathan’s face. He took a deep breath and opened the gate to his core, allowing his ability to pour out and smother the area in stillness. The moment it was in place, Zeke used the keys to open the first cultivator’s door.

They moved deeper into the prison, releasing them one by one, and when they reached Tom Osnan Jr.’s cell, they all bowed, averting their eyes. Zeke slid forward and opened the bars. The second the captive was freed, a vice-like hand grabbed Nathan’s neck, forcing his face up. Tom Osnan’s expression was fiery, and he struck Nathan’s cheek with a savage blow.

Because of the chi roiling from Nathan’s core, Tom Osnan Jr.’s cultivation was sealed. The backhanded slap couldn’t have harmed a hair on his body, so he threw his head to the side, making it look as though the blow had devastated him.

A surge of chi bloomed far away as a barrage of abilities collided on the edge of the village, the reverberations from the clash more noticeable than the strike.

“That is for your tardiness, cultivator,” Tom Osnan Jr. spat. “Do better next time.”

“Yes, lord,” Nathan replied, staring at the ground despite being held by the neck.

Osnan let go, casting his gaze over the arrayed followers. “Release my wife. We’ve remained chained here for long enough.”

Nodding hurriedly, Zeke rushed down the hallway, swiftly unlocking her cell. For his efforts, he received a scowl from lady Osnan.

“Took you long enough,” she said. “Let us leave this place.”

Unlike the regular cultivators, the lord and his lady wife didn’t control their steps, all but running down the hallway. The entire time they moved, more abilities were unleashed by Anna, the other two followers, and the village heretics that had gone to answer their apparent assault. Each wave of force that hit his protective bubble made his smile spread wider.

The distraction was working.

Nathan was right behind the two Osnans as they stepped out on the street, so when they came to an abrupt stop, he almost barrelled into their backs.

“Wh-what?” he asked dumbly, not understanding why they’d paused.

A long silence stretched over the street, the silence growing thick as more of the loyal left the prison.

“You!” Tom Osnan Jr. growled.

Swallowing, Nathan leaned to peer around them.

Who he found there made his skin prickle and stomach drop.