Chapter 8: New Roads

Chapter 8: New Roads

Orellen Enclave

Ossumun Empire

five years after Hamila's prophecy

New Roads

The woman was standing by the window again, a distant expression on her face as her red-stained fingers traced patterns on the bubbled glass. She stood barefoot, her long brown hair hanging unbrushed down her back.

At least this time she remembered to put on her robe, Yora thought.

Atra, dear, she said quietly. Come away from the window. You mustnt be seen here in the Enclave. Not yet. Remember?

Atra glanced over, her movements unnaturally slow. Healer Yora, she said. Iven is coming today.

That had been yesterday, but there was no reason to upset Atra at this point. For the past six months, her mind had been muddled. It was a wonder shed managed to keep her head for as long as she had, given how many potions she took each day. Yoras one solace was that shed most likely recover, once they no longer had to dose her.

If any of us can ever truly recover from the choices weve made.

Yes, Iven will be here later, the healer said. Youd best get to bed and have a little nap so youll be well rested when he arrives.

Oh, I should, Atra murmured, one of her stained hands drifting down to touch the swollen expanse of her stomach. Its good for the babies.

She allowed Yora to steer her back to bed, not complaining when the gray-haired woman locked the shutters over the windows with a spell. Yora tucked her in, arranging the pillows and blankets for her comfort, and Atra stared at her all the while, her pupils dilated.

Its been long enough, hasnt it? she asked, a frown creasing her face. Years. Lots of years. Rella isnt three anymore?

Over the past few days, this had become a great worry for her. She had asked Yora many times about the ages of her children. Rella is eight, she said heavily, already knowing how Atra would react. Nearly nine. We bought more time than anyone expected of us.

No. Atra shook her head. Thats not enough. Shes still too young. I can hold on longer.

Well consider it, Yora lied.

Atra smiled at her. I was raised by blood magicians. I know ways to strengthen the body. I can do it. I thought the power was evil in my youth. I even ran away from home to escape from it. But it can save my children now.

Atra Yora looked down at her. The red stains weren't just on the womans hands. They ran all the way up to her shoulders. Dont upset her more. Well talk about it after your nap.

A faint chiming sound rang through the house, and a crystal set into the wall flashed suddenly white. Yora grimaced. That was the signal for her to head to the crypt at once.

Is it Patriarch Megimon? asked Atra, gazing at the crystal with dilated pupils.

Its the honored Patriarch, Yora agreed.

The infrequently used title was probably meaningless to a man whod crossed the threshold to a higher world decades ago, but the Seniors had brushed it off and bestowed it on Megimon anyway.

When Iven had first said they needed the aid of an ascended member of the family if they were to have any hope of survival, Yora had scoffed. Well, then, she'd thought, I guess well all just die.

There were instructions in the archives for sending a message to that mysterious place, left behind centuries before by an ancestor. And technically, the family had enough low and mid-rank spatial sorcerers to do it. But those few practitioners who had managed to ascend didnt come back. It was madness to think they might.

Yet Iven had insisted. No other course of action he'd found would produce a better outcome, he said. So the call went out, a plea to anyone who would answer it.

Everyone involved had been struck dumb with shock when, a day later, the great Megimon Orellen had stepped out of thin air into the middle of the Seniors' Hall dining room. He'd done it as easily as any of them might step through a doorway.

Ah, he said, looking around the room. This place hasnt changed at all. I say, Dowither, is that you, young man? Youve grown a beard!

Yora vaguely remembered Megimon from six decades previously. Hed had some kind of a falling out with the other Seniors and left to pursue his own advancement without the familys support. Ten or so years after that, they learned hed left the world behind.

To have made it to the Magus rank and crossed the threshold was an almost unfathomable accomplishment, but Megimon seemed to be a humble man. Anytime one of them called him Great Magus he looked positively pained.

Hes brought another one to us, said Atra. She smiled softly at the glowing crystal. How many is that? I used to be so good at remembering all of themI wanted to remember themthey deserve that much, but now

Its nothing to worry yourself over, dear, said Yora. Ill always remember the number for you. This will be nine hundred forty-three.

So many?

Here they are, Patriarch, Yora said.

Three corpses waited on the familiar blood-stained table. Megimon wished Yora would just pick one of them herself, but it wouldnt do for him to be squeamish on top of being far less of a practitioner than she imagined him to be. Yora removed the sheets from two of them.

This one is around seven, so perhaps hed be best, she said, gesturing toward the larger boy. The other was malnourished even before the plague took him, but he appears to be four or five. As I said, their condition is not as good as it might be, but theyre the last Atra tied to herself and Iven with her blood magic before she lost her way.

Megimon saw the familiar marksdark red thumbprint-sized smears. One on the older boys hip. One on the smaller ones foot.

From peasant children dead of plague to this placethese children were Megimons distant relations now, through that old and frightening magic.

Why is this the best solution? He asked the question more of himself than of Yora, but the healer muttered an answer anyway.

More roads without axes.

Pardon?

Forgive me, Patriarch. It was just something Iven supposedly said. Will you choose the older boy, then?

The little one, said Megimon, with no hesitation.

She looked surprised, but she only nodded and carefully pulled the sheet over the other body.

Megimon took the golden Disc from his robes. He placed it on the small boys chest and began turning the concentric rings of metal that made up the device to the proper settings. The soul was kept safely inside it until the proper moment, and half a dozen different runes were glowing as a result.

He had only had a few failures during the transfer process, thanks to the Discs craftsmanship more than his own skill. He already knew this wouldnt be one of them. Megimon couldnt actually read half of the runes on this complex artifact, but he did recognize the one that indicated planar permanence. It was glowing bizarrely bright.

High planar permanence meant a soul, for whatever reason, was disinclined to evanesce upon the death of the body. It also meant it was strong enough to be attached to a new body without dying of the trauma.

Sticky little fellow, arent you? Megimon thought. Sorry about Lutcha. I hope your next life ends better.

A few minutes later, his work was done. Yora took over at once.

Usually, Megimon left at this point, but he felt more loyalty and guilt than usual toward this newborn Orellen. He stayed, watching Yora do mysterious healery things to the body.

Soon, the chest began to move. The fingers twitched.

Then, Yora activated the spells that would freeze the childs life functionsjust like she had for all of his new brothers and sisters in the crypt.

They would have to wait a while to truly live.

Megimon expected it wouldnt be long.

Elph was having a good dream.

Naer was having a terrible dream.

He and his little sister were running after their father, chasing him through the middle of the village. Father had the warmest laugh.

His parents were crying over him. Everything hurt. The floor was so hard through his thin mat. He was so tired.

Wait, said Elph, looking down at the pale little boy hed almost tripped over. He lay on a filthy mat right on the ground, and he was obviously very sick. He looked foreign. And he had curly hair, like Fanna. What is this? Who are you?

Naer closed his eyes.

Youre dying! Elph cried. Then, he realized that wasnt quite right. The little boy was already dead. Wasnt he?

The small body was dissolving. It was turning into sand.

Oh, said Elph, as the wind around him picked up speed, blowing the sand away faster and faster, youre not here anymore. Not really.

The boy was gone. The village was gone. And thenElph started to go, too. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were dissolving just like the little boy had.

Youre not here anymore either, the wind howled.

Not really.