Chapter 9: Shadows of the Ancients

Chapter 9: Shadows of the Ancients

After finishing his meeting with Sacred Oak, Marcus went off deeper into the Eloran wilderness and found a secluded spot on the bank of a small river to sit down and think. The spot he picked was a nice patch of grass situated in the shade of a willow tree, and suspiciously free of any weeds or rocks, so Marcus suspected this was a secret fishing spot for some nearby villager. Still, they weren’t here now, and Marcus would hopefully be long gone by the time anyone else came here.

Although the talk with the ancient tree had left him somewhat shaken, he found his mood improving quickly. He was in no immediate danger, and the day was quite nice. The sun shone brightly on the riverbank, lessened to just the right brightness by the branches of the willow beside him, and the bird calls that surrounded him were a pleasant kind of noise. The kind that drowned out annoying thoughts and helped him relax.

The mosquitos would normally be a problem, but his magic warded them away.

Entranced by the scenery, Marcus let his mind wander and began to wave his hands in front of him, his palms and fingers shifting from one mystic gesture to another. At first, nothing really happened, but then the dust and loose gravel around him began to fly into the air and converge into a floating ball of earth in front of him.

It wasn’t really a spell. It was instead a kind of instinctual application of mana borne out of a lifetime of repetition and practice. This kind of magic was sometimes developed into legitimate combat moves and useful magic abilities by various adept traditions, but mages like Marcus typically only used them as shaping exercises – a way for them to practice their control over mana and gain insight into various logos, which they could then later use to learn and cast actual spells.

Marcus was actually really bad at this sort of thing. His soul was powerful and well suited for spell casting, but he had no elemental affinity whatsoever. His foundational technique also didn’t help here, as the Soul Tree Technique wasn’t particularly great at anything specific. People who excelled in this kind of unstructured magic were usually elemental specialists or bloodline users who focused heavily on one specific type of magic. Marcus was instead more like a magpie, collecting every shiny new spell he encountered, no matter how disconnected and incompatible it was with the rest of his arsenal.

Still. Marcus was a powerful mage with a powerful soul, so his unstructured magic capabilities were no joke. He continued accumulating loose earth into a ball in front of him, streams of dust converging into it from all directions, until it was a little smaller than his own head. Then, his gestures shifted, and instead of earth he started telekinetically picking up droplets of water from the river to add them to the sphere.

He wanted to create a layer of water on top of the soil, but that proved to be harder than he thought it would be, because the loose material kept absorbing the water. Instead of a sphere of earth surrounded by water, he got an ugly muddy sphere.

After adding some more water into the mess, he suddenly stopped gesturing. Tiny droplets of water hung still in the air, as the sphere of mud kept floating in front of him, even as his arms dropped to his side. He frowned. This wasn’t going to work.

He flicked his hand dismissively in front of him, and the mud sphere was launched away from him and into the center of the river, where it entered the water with a massive splash. Marcus watched the ripples spread across the river surface for a while, took a deep breath, and then started waving his hands again.

This time, he didn’t just lump the soil he levitated together into a loose ball. Instead, he compacted the dust and soil as he worked, hardening it and gradually turning it into something more akin to stone. He then added a few actual rocks and pebbles and formed a stone crust over the sphere, and then started adding the water, picking up water droplets from the river again and adding it to the sphere. Some of it still got absorbed by the rock, but enough stayed that he managed to create a layer of water on top of it. He carefully raised and deformed some of the rocky crust of the sphere upward, creating tiny islands and continents that jutted out of the water layer, and then heated some of the water droplets until they turned into steam. He separated that steam into tiny clumps, streams, and vortices and set them dancing just above the surface of the sphere.

With the final flip of his hand, he set the sphere in motion, causing it to spin in place, and leaned back to admire his work. His very own miniature planet... should he add anything else?

Unbidden, the vision he experienced some time ago forced itself to the forefront of his consciousness, demanding to be remembered. The memory of the collapsing planet overlaid itself onto the planetary sculpture in front of him, and he found his creation suddenly crumbling, breaking up, imploding...

Marcus sent the mini-planet hurtling through the air and into the center of the river, where it met the same fate as his earlier failed creation. He stared at the expanding ripples for a moment, and then shook his head to clear it. He had distracted himself long enough.

He took a potion bottle out of his pocket and stared at it contemplatively. To anyone else, the bottle would appear to be empty. However, Marcus could clearly see a tiny ghostly mote of light bobbing up and down in the containment field of the magical bottle. It was the soul seed he had made under the Sacred Oak’s tutelage.

The soul seed in his hand represented an immense potential for power. Not just in the sense it was a nigh-undetectable spy device, but also in the sense that the spell allowed him to relatively painlessly separate pieces of his own soul. In his estimation, recovering the loss inflicted by this one soul seed should take him... about two weeks, at most. And in the meantime, his power was very slightly lessened, but he was overall mostly just as capable as he always was. That was unreal. Usually that threw a mage’s entire inner core into turmoil, severed their attunement to some or all of their spells, made their thoughts sluggish, and vented part of their mana reserves into the local environment. In the immediate aftermath, a mage was unable to cast anything but the simplest of spells, and a full recovery took months to complete. Comparing all of that with what happened when creating a soul seed, the difference was like night and day... and Marcus had a strong suspicion that any ritual or magic item that required a piece of the caster’s soul would readily accept a soul seed in its stead. They might even work better that way.

Additionally, the ease with which Marcus could make soul seeds meant that ‘expanding his soul tree outwards’ as Sacred Oak put it, would be a lot quicker and easier than Marcus thought it would be. He thought he would be able to implant two or three of these a year, and at the cost of his own immediate advancement... but now, he understood that he could hand these out at the rate of twenty to forty a year without really impacting himself much.

Marcus had initially doubted this spell would do much for him, since it was unlikely he would get much out of people below the rank of spirit manifestation, and it was impossible to predict whether someone could reach spirit manifestation at the start of their career. Even with all the natural talent in the world and with the best teachers money could buy, betting on a specific student to reach that far amounted to gambling.

But if you could bet on forty people each year, well... that was a lot of chances to get it right.

That aside, he was wondering what to do with the soul seed in the bottle. According to Sacred Oak, a soul seed would wither and die if not attached to a soul within a day or two of creation. Marcus didn’t want to implant it into some random passerby, but he also didn’t just want to waste it... this was a piece of his soul, for heaven’s sake!

He shifted the bottle in his hand for several seconds, at a loss for what to do, when he suddenly realized he could always do what his tree teacher did and put it into an animal. He had criticized the tree for it, but knowing what he knew now... he kind of liked the idea. It would allow him to study the effects of the spell on something inconsequential before he used it on an actual human being.

For the next few minutes, Marcus walked along the riverbank, looking at various animals he encountered. Perhaps it was his change in behavior, or the way he was looking at things, but the animals that had been mostly ignoring him until now suddenly became skittish and quiet. Even the cacophony of birds singing around the riverbank lessened around him as he walked. He considered a stork, a deer, and an otter, but they all fled from him as soon as they noticed him and he didn’t feel like chasing after them.

Finally, he spotted a river turtle resting on one of the stones next to a river. It also tried to escape him as soon as he approached, but it was too slow, and he managed to flip it on its back with a wind spell before it could dive into the water. He quickly picked it up by the sides of its shell, and then retreated back to his spot under the willow to perform the magic in relative peace.

He studied the river turtle as he walked, noting that it seemed to be in good health. It was just a simple animal without a hint of spirit, but Marcus could swear it was glaring at him when he peered into the depths of its shell, where it had retreated to after he caught it.

The turtle was a great choice, he felt. Turtles were famously long-lived and not common prey animals, so the soul seed should have plenty of time to root itself into its soul. On top of that, if he simply placed it on its back, it would be unable to get away from him and escape, so he could focus on the magic without worrying how to restrain the beast.

However, the moment he approached his spot under the willow, an alternative option suddenly occur to him. He stopped in his tracks, turtle still held in front of him, and stared at the large willow tree.

He could just... implant the soul seed into another tree. Wouldn’t that be even better than a turtle? The willow in front of him was also very long-lived, unlikely to be eaten any time soon, and surely very compatible with this sort of magic...

He glanced at the turtle in his hand, and then at the willow, torn by indecision. Finally, after several seconds, he realized: why not both?

He had just marveled at how easy and painless it was to create soul seeds. What was stopping him from creating another right here and now? Two research subjects were better than one, right?

Half an hour later, Marcus watched one very annoyed turtle jump into the river and swim away, unaware that it had just become a host of his soul fragment. To his right, the willow looked unchanged, but it too had become a branch of his soul tree.

Marcus didn’t sense anything from either of them. According to Sacred Oak, this was perfectly normal, as it took time for the soul seed to integrate itself into a host soul. The tree was vague about how long that would take, so Marcus suspected it might be a while. That said, one of the few soul magic spells that Marcus had learned in his travels was a tracking spell that allowed him to sense parts of his soul, regardless of distance or obstacles between them. It was originally intended for tracking down lost spellbooks and other magic items made out of caster’s soul, but soul seeds were also valid targets. Casting that spell allowed Marcus to track the turtle underwater as it sped away from him, so at the very least he knew that the implantation process was a full success.

Now all he could do was wait.

* * * *

Marcus had something of a plan for the next few days. He was going to wander around rural Elora, visiting various villages and checking them out for a good place to settle down in and build his academy. It should be a place with lots of room to grow, with access to plenty of trees, and somewhat isolated so that people couldn’t bother him and his students too easily. But other than that, he didn’t have anything specific in mind. Some mages invested a lot of attention in calculating a proper location for their home, taking into account things like the flow of geomantic leylines, historical significance, alignment of the stars, and so on. But Marcus felt most of that was meaningless, so he didn’t bother. Besides, most of the good spots were already taken, especially in Elora, and he couldn’t just walk in and take over.

All of that turned out to be meaningless, however, because before he could begin his search, a snow griffon landed next to the orphanage. Someone had come for him.

Marcus looked at the creature from the safety of the orphanage building, taking note of its greyish fur decorated with leopard-like spots, its long fluffy tail, and its owl-like head, and let out an audible sigh of relief. Out of all the possibilities, this was the best one. Griffons were very widespread across Tasloa, but they came in a wide array of different types and subspecies. Snow griffons like this one were a rare sight, found only on the highest mountain peaks and plateaus. There was really only one person Marcus could imagine owning this kind of griffon.

By the time he approached the creature, Beortan had already dismounted, and was rummaging inside the leather bags strapped to the griffon’s side in search of something. The man quickly turned when he sensed Marcus approaching and the two stared at each other for a second.

Beortan was a tall, imposing-looking man. He had a short, neatly-trimmed beard, thick bushy eyebrows, and a wide-shouldered build. His black hair was long, but tied into a tight bun on top of his head. Despite being an elder of the Great Sea academy like Marcus, he eschewed current academy fashions and instead wore a primitive-looking outfit made out of beast furs, with a steel dagger prominently displayed on his belt. Marcus had heard some say back in the Great Sea that Beortan was a typical example of the mountain barbarian tribesman, but Marcus had visited some of those mountain tribes. Even by their standards, Beortan was a particularly intimidating figure.

Marcus cleared his throat and began to speak.

“First, let me begin by saying that-“

“Save it,” Beortan told him curtly.

Marcus hesitated, not sure how to react to that. He glanced at the snow griffon waiting patiently beside them, and the beast stared back at him unflinchingly with its bright yellow eyes, its emotions inscrutable.

Beortan snorted at him derisively. “Let’s just say I’ve had to suffer a lot of embarrassment thanks to you and leave it at that. I was rightly furious at you when I heard you fled like a dog with a tail between its legs, but after a while... eh. What’s done is done. Just don’t do this again, yeah?”

“Yeah...” Marcus agreed uncertainly. He expected Beortan to be way madder than this. He certainly would be, in his place.

“Hey,” Beortan suddenly said. “Are you alright now?”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Are you still upset at your loss?” Beortan pressed.

“Oh. No, not anymore,” Marcus said, shaking his head.

“That’s good,” Beortan said, nodding. He sighed, casting his gaze upwards for a moment, as if offering a prayer to the gods. “Marcus, Marcus... what am I going to do with you, my battle brother? We could have used you in the last war, you know?”

“I heard,” Marcus said.

“I am, but I managed to convince them you’d be tired after a long journey and that you’d need to rest for a day before you could meet them,” Beortan told him. “They probably saw through me, but they didn’t seem bothered. They’ve waited for six years already, so what’s one more day?”

Beortan turned around and walked away in the direction of the city, motioning with his hand for Marcus to follow after him.

“So where are we really going?’” Marcus asked.

“We’re going to meet your remaining supporters,” Beortan said.

“I still have some supporters?” Marcus asked, greatly surprised.

“Very few, but yes,” Beortan said, not bothering to turn around. Marcus sped up his pace so he could catch up to him and walk beside him. “There is me, of course, and also Publius – that old librarian you worked for during your apprenticeship. There is also this one-armed warrior adept called Fabius who claims he served under you during the First Academy War and still remembers you fondly. And finally, there is one person that you’ve never met until today.”

“A person I’ve never met...” Marcus repeated slowly. “Why would they be a supporter of me, then?”

“You’ll see,” Beortan said mysteriously. “He’ll explain it to you better than me, so just be patient until we get there.”

‘There’ turned out to be a very familiar and nostalgic place for Marcus. It was an old library where Marcus had been assigned to work as a helper during his time as a student at the Great Sea Academy. Back then, the place was a run-down wreck on the verge of collapse, run by an old mage called Publius who seemed to have given up on both maintaining the place properly and his own life in general.

Today, the place looked clean and intact, and Marcus saw plenty of people going in and out of it as he and Beortan approached. Apparently the meeting he was about to participate in was going to happen here of all places.

“Publius is your most zealous supporter,” Beortan explained. “Even more so than me. Not long after you left a bunch of anonymous attackers painted the entire wall of the library with insults and threats, but he didn’t let that stop him for arguing in your favor to anyone who would listen. He’s just an average mage too, not a powerhouse like you and me, so that took real courage if you ask me...”

Marcus sighed internally. “He didn’t have to do any of that. I wish he didn’t risk his life for something pointless like this.”

“Clearly he didn’t think it was pointless,” Beortan pointed out. “Let’s go in and meet your fans.”

* * * *

Once inside, they were quickly found by Publius, who... looked even older than Marcus remembered. Publius had been an old man already when Marcus met him as a young student, and was now in his eighties, and it showed. His skin was heavily wrinkled and covered in dark splotches, and his movements were slow and shaky. Despite this, the man’s eyes lit up the moment he saw Marcus and he loudly greeted him and started bombarding him with various questions.

Marcus knew why Publius was acting this way. It was Marcus who had helped the old man renovate his library and saved his family from bankruptcy, so he definitely felt he deserved some good will from the old man... but he didn’t expect the old man’s gratitude to be this strong.

“You will have to forgive the rest of my family, Master Marcus,” Publius said sadly. “They-“

“Forget it. I know how it is,” Marcus told him, waving him off. “I won’t hold it against them.”

“Hmm. Yes. I knew you would understand,” Publius said, nodding. “I am old and I don’t care what they do to me, but they have to think of their future. This room is secluded enough. Sit down and I will call the other two over.”

The room they were in was a very simple one, probably intended for group reading sessions, and featured one large oval table with a number of chairs surrounding it. Marcus and Beortan sat down, but didn’t have to wait long before Publius returned with two more people.

One of them was a smiling muscular man who was missing one arm. A toothpick stuck out of his mouth, and although he didn’t give Marcus any enthusiastic greetings, he did give him a good-natured wave with his one good arm. Marcus remembered this Fabius fellow. He was one of his more reliable soldiers during the war, and he felt he was very fair to him – and to all men and women who served under him during that time – but he didn’t think he had done anything special to deserve his gratitude.

He turned his attention to the other man. He was a proud-looking man dressed in a simple-looking, yet clearly expensive black robe made out of finest silk. He carried a staff in his hand, tipped with a small sculpture of some kind of monstrous aquatic creature, he was completely bald, and he sported a long black beard.

His dress and mannerisms suggested that he saw himself as powerful, but he was not a spirit manifestation mage. He was also completely unfamiliar to Marcus, so he assumed this was the mysterious ‘supporter’ he was yet to meet.

Unlike Fabius, who immediately picked a seat opposite of Marcus and Beortan and sat down, the unknown man stopped in the middle of the room and bowed slightly towards them. Or, Marcus realized, towards him specifically.

“Greetings, Master Marcus,” the man said. “I am Risid Gardhelm, though the locals call me Calvus, so you may too. I am the High Priest of the Temple of Dark Waters.”

Marcus gave Calvus a long, scrutinizing look. Temple of Dark Waters... that was an interesting name for an organization. Unlike mage academies and other adept organizations, priests didn’t have any kind of minor organization coexisting with them. There were only three Temples allowed to openly operate on the planet – the Temple of the Illuminated Pantheon, The Raven Temple, and the Temple of the Sun and the Moon. Any heretics attempting to found a new ‘temple’ were quickly destroyed as soon as they were found.

This was because all Temples were backed by one or more actual gods, and they didn’t tolerate competition. After the first abyssal incursion, the Illuminated Pantheon strong-armed all the neutral gods into joining them, and killed off any who would not accept their offer.

Since then, any new temples were either demon-worshipping cults in disguise, or dedicated to alien gods of distant worlds, and the Illuminated Pantheon tolerated neither.

“I understand the look in your eyes,” Calvus said, joining the others around the table. “Let me assure you that I will bring you no trouble with the established temples. We have permission for what we do from the Illuminated Pantheon.”

“How can that be possible?” Marcus asked. “Why would they make an exception for you?”

“Although we are called a temple, the god we worship is already dead,” Calvus explained. “We draw power from his corpse, which lies on the bottom of the ocean in a nearby sea trench.”

Marcus didn’t know what to say to that. What an... interesting deity to worship.

“Although they’re strange, Temple of Dark Waters is an old organization and the Illuminated Temple has known about them for centuries and never acted against them,” Beortan told him. “Whatever trouble Calvus brings your way, it won’t be due to heresy.”

“I’m not here to bring trouble,” Calvus assured him. “In fact, I am here simply to introduce myself and express a desire for friendship. That is all.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, really,” Calvus said, nodding seriously.

Marcus rubbed his forehead, saying nothing for a moment. He looked around the table, studying the group in front of him. Fabius was pouring himself another glass of wine from the bottle Publius had brought in on the meeting, and seemed to be barely listening to the conversation.

“Before we go any further,” Marcus began, “I just want to say I have no intention in involving myself in academy politics anymore. That chapter of my life is done as far as I’m concerned. So if you’re hoping for some kind of benefits by associating with me, I would really reconsider.”

“Eh, don’t be so serious,” Fabius said, taking a sip of wine and leaning back in satisfaction. “This is just a meeting between friends. I don’t know about the others, but I’m here to meet my old commander and hear if he had some interesting stories to tell to an old soldier. Figured you might also need some help after being absent for so long. I know I have only one arm left, but I’m pretty handy with things. Instead of worrying that we’ll ask for favors, why don’t you tell us if there is something we can do for you. That’s what we’re here for, after all.”

Marcus thought about it. Well, there was one thing they could possibly help with...

“I’m currently mostly preoccupied with finding a suitable place to buy and reorganize into a small academy,” he told them. “I am planning to take on some students, and I need a place to house and teach them. If you know a suitable place, I... would...”

He trailed off when he noticed everyone except Calvus was sitting straighter and looking at him in surprise.

“What?” he protested, annoyed. “It’s really not that strange that I’m taking on students, is it?”

“Ahem,” Fabius suddenly cleared his throat. “Actually, General, I happen to have a son that is coming of age soon and he has always looked up to you...”

“Master Marcus,” Publius said, “my great-granddaughter has recently been tested by the academy and they found she has great innate talent for magic...”

“Marcus, my battle brother...” Beortan began.

“Beortan, you’re a sixth rank mage, why would you need me to-“ Marcus began.

“You wouldn’t snub your best friend who has stayed loyal to you throughout all these years of absence, would you?” Beortan asked him in a grave tone of voice.

Marcus glanced at Calvus, but the man seemed to have no intention of saying anything. He looked calm and stoic, but Marcus could see hints of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Please...” he begged. “One at a time... stop speaking over each other and talk to me one at a time...”