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Chapter 8: Songs, Magic, and Tattoos

I spoke with you again, I don't remember what you told me. I had a feeling that you were looking for something, telling me where to look. What was it? I had the feeling we were being watched, but I remembered nothing of what it was. I'm starting to think you are no Ghost.

Year of Wrath 1231, Season of Waiting D.81 Ilgor

"Well, since you put it like that. I don't see why we don't continue your education," His voice filled the field we were using for practice, like an anchor falling to the bottom of the sea. I tried to keep my focus as the power sank its claws into my mind. "In the way your previous mentor taught you!" 

My own humming filled the field, an opposite note apart, an octave lower than his. Cancelling his own music as the frequencies nullified. "Fine, let's dance." The air pressed against my limbs as my saber whipped out of its sheath without so much as a whisper. In a flash, I was within striking distance. 

His strong fist parried my strike, just inside my guard, like a true master. His next hit didn't even register in my mind as he was suddenly growing smaller. "No, he isn't getting smaller, you're going backward, Illy," I told myself, just before I hit the ground and tumbled like a ragdoll. 

Coming to a stop just before the tree line, dizzy and disoriented, but just cognizant enough to swat aside his next strike with a blast of air. "Slow, you need to react before it happens. Let's hear that voice louder, priestess!" His words silenced my spell, suddenly feeling far slower than I was before.

Kicking him hard in the stomach from my prone position on the ground, I heard his rib crack, as several muscles tore in my leg. I was used to this, healing myself as I got to my feet. While he skidded to a stop a few dozen feet away, pouring power into my voice like opening a floodgate. The sound of my heartbeat became my song, the sound in my voice quieting as the ground shot out from below me. 

The column of dust was blowing directly over him as I launched skyward. A change in pitch, my heartbeat calming as another blast of air shot me down toward him. Saber held with both hands. I landed square, both my feet against his shoulders, knocking him to the ground. "I win." The smirk on my face would have melted a midwinter snowstorm. 

A far quicker hand knocked my feet out from under me, my own song playing in my ears, words far removed from my own throat. "Neat trick, I think I'll use it." He disappeared under me like he was swallowed by the cold, frozen earth. 

Something told me to keep moving, changing pitch and an octave higher, the speed from the wind pushing me along. There was a snap, as something slashed through the air in front of me. The dust cloud parted as a shockwave of air tossed me back to the ground. "This tumbling is getting old..." I thought, as I waited for my body to rotate in the air, as I saw him standing there, hand outstretched. 

With as much power as I could muster, a silent scream left my mouth directly at him. Like watching the axe fall on one's neck, his hands blurred as he caught my magic in his hands. Guiding it into the ground, where it cracked the earth with explosive force. I could have watched my own eyelids close and open as he closed the distance. I never knew you could take someone else's magic like that. The next blink, he was in front of me again, as I turned skyward in my tumble. 

The sudden shift in momentum dislocated my shoulder, and my stomach lurched. He had grabbed my hands and pulled me toward him, crushing me into a tight bearhug as I dropped my saber to the ground. Face to face with him, I opened my mouth to use that same sonic screech I had just done. At point-blank range, he wouldn't be able to parry it. 

He sucked in a breath so long as to void the air itself, a vacuum. My voice was suddenly stripped of the air it needed, though his words still reached me while my attack was rendered pointless. "I see you were taught control, not precision. You were taught power, not imagination." 

He dropped me to the ground, a cushion of air surrounded my ears as I heard a dull snap and felt a shockwave pass through me. Just as quickly as it happened, the air around my ears depressurized. Reaching up to hold my shoulder, I would need to find a tree to pop my joint back in. Rising, looking at Gjorn with a new found respect. "You are something else. My old teacher never struggled to keep up with me, but he was always surprised by some of the things I could do. You," 

"Do you need help with that?" He asked, pointing to my shoulder. A quick nod, and with a quicker motion, he popped my shoulder back into its socket, while I stifled a yell. Though my reflexes healed the injured cartilage almost as fast. 

"What did you mean by predict before it happens?" I asked, the adrenaline from the quick bout already fading fast. Feeling tired, I stood my ground so Gjorn wouldn't think I couldn't handle some sparing. 

He pointed to the ground and told me to sit. "I can see that you've rested well, but you haven't really fought someone like me, have you?" He sat as well, in a position I thought looked quite like our own when we meditated as raiders. 

"I have only ever fought one other person, thing, with magic," I told him, letting my ears fall. The dust was clearing just enough to see several raiders whooping and hollering at getting to see me fight. Though they had their own standing orders from me to spar with the Dwarves, who, for all intents and purposes, were leaning against trees, catcalling things like "That's our King!" "Still undefeated!" 

"Oh, ignore them." He chuckled, "Overzealous fans is all. Was this your same masked and many-eyed teacher?"

I nodded, not used to this. I was expecting him to whip a weapon out and make me fight, while continuing his explanation. I couldn't tell if Gjorn was young or old for his people. I was told that he and Halgier were about the same age, yet he was far greyer than the other. Silver streaks through his beard, his eyes wiser, and the canyons through his skin told countless stories. 

"You can relax. I can hear your heartbeat, you know. I may not have your ears or your abilities for inaudible fluency, but I do use the same magic as you. That is for certain, now that I have been able to experience it myself." He told me with a smile. 

I flushed a little at his caring demeanor, forcing my heartbeat to calm even more. "Where do we start?" I asked. 

"Going to have to be more specific, Priestess Ilgor." I gave him an odd look at the mixing of titles, "You don't like Mother, you don't like Governor, you despise Chiefess, I shan't call you Father." 

"It's just Ilgor," I told him flatly. 

"Very well, Illy." He laughed at the annoyed look on my face. "Oh, please. I can't call you something so formal after the show you gave me in the caves." He bellowed as my green skin turned a deeper green tinted with crimson. "Very well, let's begin with some historical lessons, though we will keep your combined training going." He said as he rose from the ground. 

Extending a hand to help me up, he pulled me to my feet. "What do you want me to do?" I asked. 

"I want you to limit your voice; you throw your voice around with massive amounts of power. If we were on a battlefield, that may be wise, but in one on one combat, it wastes time. It leaves your spells open to grabbed and used against you. If I can hear your song, it is too loud." He said as he began walking toward the tree line, toward the main road. "I want you to start by warming the air around you, and you alone, do not melt the snow beneath your feet. I do not want to hear your humming at all. Once you can do that, we will move on to the next lesson." 

"I thought there was a song in this world that was part of everything. So why shouldn't my song be heard?" I asked, thinking back to what the Sorcerer had taught me. 

"Now, where did you hear that? That is a concept that not many have any knowledge of." Gjorn paused as he looked back at me. "There is a song to this world, I'm sure your previous teacher told you that sound would amplify your power. Well, to be more exact, your song does." 

"But, what does that mean? My song? I thought it was just adding a beat, a rhythm, a simple melody to magic." He stopped to listen, standing next to him, I added. "Is there something I am not seeing?"

"You have been told only one part of it. Your magic, your song, is born of a spark of power inside you. A gift that you were born with, point in fact, every thing was born with. That spark of power resonates with your species in particular, due to its source." He told me, continuing his walk. 

"What source is that?" I prodded.

"You have multiple vocal cords. I'd like you begin the exercise I described earlier. We can continue this conversation as we walk." He said without looking at me. 

"How did you know that?" I asked, as I began humming. 

"It wasn't hard to figure out, you've done it before. I'm willing to bet you have a set of three. One audible to me, one audible to the other Goblins, and one that can do both." He stopped, looking back at me. "You are too loud, you are melting the snow beneath you." 

I stood shocked. We knew that, but how did he? He's only ever experienced us recently, me on a handful of occasions before. My humming was interrupted by his observation. He cocked his head, presumably waiting for me to ask the obvious. It took a moment before I could actually respond to him. 

"Soften your music, Illy." His voice dropped far lower in frequency than his kind should have been able to; his voice was inaudible to the world around him, beyond me. The same type of voice we could use. 

"You are nothing but surprises," I said, matching his frequency. "How did..."

"I know that about your species? A people so secluded from the world, the only face the world has ever known as nothing more than marauders and bandits? Let's say you are awfully similar to something else." He said cryptically, though his voice was now several thousand octaves higher, again inaudible to anyone but us. 

"What are you talking about?" The itching curiosity forcing my legs forward. "How are you doing that?" 

"I use the same magic as you. While I lack the ability to speak in three different ways as you can, the source is very much the same." He told me, turning, walking back toward the main road again. "Please start the exercise again."

I stood there, dumbstruck. This Dwarf knew far more than he was letting on, so much like the Sorcerer. "Apparently, you have a knack for attracting these types." I thought to myself. Shaking my head and running a hand over my ears, I tried to hum softer. 

"No, not just physically quiet. Match your frequency with the world around you. I'm sure you know what sound that is; your people meditate to hear it frequently enough." He immediately corrected, not even slowing his pace. I had to jog to catch back up with him, trying to adjust my pitch with the background noise. 

"This is much more peaceful than the Sorcerer. It reminds me of how Kari would teach." I said, thinking back to those better days. She was always a gentle teacher, always reinforcing her sermons through repetition. Soft redirecting, she never yelled or scolded; she smiled when she taught.

Thinking back to the time when I was just a little girl, Kari showed Ysry, Msry, and me different plants that could be collected in the forest. Showing us a small bush filled to the brim with white berries, telling us that they were poisonous. If they were eaten, they'd turn your stomach before they reached the bottom of your throat. She had only walked a few paces away, pointing another one out. It looked exactly the same, except these berries had a little black dot on the bottom of them. She plucked a few off and plopped them in her mouth. 

She smiled as we squealed, telling us they were sweet. Something that we should always look for, we could dry them in the sun, and they'd be even sweeter. Letting us pick them for ourselves to enjoy. It wasn't a week later when I showed up with a basket full of them for Kari at the chapel. She took one look at them and told me to throw them all in the fire. I had picked only the poison ones by mistake. Telling me she loved the gesture, but I needed to be careful with plants. The smallest details make the biggest difference, as she brushed the dirt off them. Showing me that what I thought was the black dot was just where the berries had been touching the ground. 

"She must have been a very wise teacher. Patient." His voice shook me out of the memory, picking up my humming from where I left off. Though I could feel my own throat vibrating, I couldn't hear the noise. Though Gjorn had his head cocked to listen in the moment of silence. "Not quite, I can still hear it. Let up on pouring power into your voice; a trickle is often more than enough." 

"What do you mean, let up on the power?" I asked, as I felt my own voice grow louder without meaning to. 

"What were you taught? You can use magic and in a wide array of different ways to do so. What is magic?" He asked as his feet struck the cobblestones. We had reached the road. An ancient thing to the area, having been built back when Glaion hadn't built their walls yet. 

"That it is based on intent. So long as I can summon that power, and visualize or understand what it is doing, it does what I want it to do." We passed a group of merchants, who eyed me with the suspicion of a prostitute claiming to be a virgin. For the first time in history, the roads were safe from us. The sheer amount of traffic on the roads in the last few weeks would have made the mouths of every raider water like a dog given a bone to chew. Despite it being near the end of winter, this was unprecedented. 

"You understand a small portion of it, then. But you do not know what magic is. You never answered the question." Gjorn responded coolly, letting another caravan of wagons pass by while we waited on the side of the road. "Magic is a force that binds the processes of the world together. It is separate but entwined with concepts such as physics or chemistry. Magic is the force between forces; it is a stagnant energy waiting to be called upon." 

"What do you mean by stagnant energy? From what I understand of the natural processes of the world, energy always wants to move from more to less. Like water flowing downhill so that it may come to a stop in a pond." The roads felt different, like we could be welcomed on them one day. 

"A wonderful synopsis of equilibrium and entropy. Though those concepts will become far more relevant later. I am curious as to where you learned that, pardon me, but your people do not seem very inclined toward scientific understanding." He asked, looking back at me as we walked. 

"The smith who lives in the territory taught us much," I told him. Caleb wouldn't like it very much if I discussed too much about him. 

Gjorn was quiet for a while, letting me focus on the lesson he gave me. My voice was completely inaudible to even my ears, though I still kept melting the snow beneath me. I pulled my focus inward, trying not to let the song be anything more than my own body. Looking down at my footprints, the further we walked in silence, I was still melting the snow, but far less than I was before. "Javad." 

My song stopped immediately, surprised. "How did you know his real name?" 

"Do not let things distract you; keeping that inner song constant is what will always maintain a spell, well, a spell as you might call it." He stopped, turned around, and stared me down. A challenge, he raised his brow, waiting for me to continue the lesson before he would speak again. 

"Is this supposed to be some test? Is this supposed to test if I will obey him? Seeing if I can actually put into practice what he was saying? Was he testing my temperament?" The thoughts all ran through my mind, staring right back at him. I finally answered, "I would like to know how you knew his name. His real name, we call him Caleb, as he asked us to call him." 

Still, he didn't answer. What was this strange power dynamic he was trying? Setting a hand on my hip, "Are there limits to what I am allowed to ask, your gracious high majesty?" 

His face cracked with a grin, while mine only soured more. "There are limits on everything amongst the Branches of the Tree. Please, Ilgor. I would like to hear you sing again, even if I can no longer hear it." 

Soundlessly, my song filled the air again, warming my skin. "Ah, it's so effortless for you, I am pleased to see that!" He said jovially. Finally, answering my damn question, "Javad is a well-known traitor to the Romachian Caliphate, Javal Bin-al Kodat. Former Captain of the thirty-seventh brigade of riders. Let's call it a difference of philosophy that led to the destruction of his hometown. I knew who he was the second I saw him; it took Halgier a few moments longer. He is a powerful mage in his own right, but he has little control over it. Hence, why he is a practicing Artificer now."

"You couldn't have just told me this to begin with, why?" The heat in the air around me was wavering as the snow beneath my boots melted like a spring thaw. 

"That is the point. What you are doing right now, losing control, distracted by surprises, affects the songs within ourselves." He said, walking past me toward the city. 

"You are now the second person to tell me my emotions are a problem with magic." I sighed in frustration, letting go of the song entirely, trying a different tactic. Listening to my own heartbeat, feeling the blood move through my fingertips, feeling the warmth spread across my skin. Feeling the warmth inside my boots, not around my clothes. "How about you teach me everything I'm doing wrong?" 

"Your emotions are not the problem, though that is a wonderful workaround you just did." He added with his back turned to me. "I'm impressed, it took many a Wayfare to figure that one out, you are versatile, I'll give you that. Let us start with what I'm now understanding, where your foundations are weak."

We had left the tree line of the ancient forest, following a different route than what I was expecting. Headed straight for the central part of one of the small farming villages in the Outer Fields. "You have power and a great deal of it. You have been taught basic control, you have been taught how to control your voice, as well as teaching that to the rest of the Family so that they may communicate with others without their voices dragging their attention. You have been taught a wide variety of spellwork, and you can reflexively use healing magic. A talent that I think you have an extremely high affinity for, rare as far as Casters are concerned." 

The small town was quickly appearing from between the two small hills in which it was nestled. Fences and snow-covered fields passed us by as he continued. "You clearly know how to think like a Caster, someone who is comfortable using that force. But, you lack the basis of knowledge of where that power comes from, well." He paused to watch a group of farmers swinging an axe into a rotten tree by the side of town. "Most people do not know where that power comes from; they simply learn new things that they can do with it, and show very little concern over whether or not the hammer they are using is the right size." 

"Why does it matter that I know about its source?" I asked, "I can use magic without knowing it." 

"You'll find that it is far more than you believe. To you, I'd wager, exceedingly familiar spiritually. You already know that music is intrinsically tied to it. You already know that sound in general, however quiet, is as well." He said as we walked further into the town. He began humming a song to himself. 

"I was told that it was because of the Song's Afterglow. Though the Sorcerer never explained much about it. Music amplifies, resonates." I said, still enjoying the warmth over my skin. 

"There is much to that truth, though not in a way you understand. Let us start with the most basic principles, as well as dispelling the misunderstandings you already have. You have in you a spark. It is your soul, your spirit, your mind, your body. It is an aspect of you that cannot be changed, but can grow infinitely. That spark is what allows you to use magic at all; every single living creature is born with one, though a few choice creatures are born with a much brighter spark." He said as he interrupted his song to speak. 

"Which are?" I asked curiously. 

"Humans, Dwarves, Gnomes, Mistwalkers, Trolls, and Goblins. Though the Goblins are a recent and welcome discovery for us. There are" His mouth vanished, that curse again. The Sorcerer hated it, now having seen it more than a few times. His voice instantly disappeared with it, though it quickly returned as he carefully strung his words. "Four before them all, familiar, expansive." He said slowly, looking at me while he did so. "I'm sorry, but these lessons I typically give some place... elsewhere. The Branches of the Tree are not the most welcoming place for in-depth discussion."

"So there are four more beyond what you just told me," I said flatly, waiting to see if the curse would appear again. 

"No." He said just as flatly. 

"I'm assuming you can't explain the contradiction then," I told him as we rounded a corner into the village proper. 

"No." Wonderful. 

"Fine, back to this spark. How do I know about this spark? What do I do with it?" I asked, moving the conversation along. 

"When you use magic, you tap into your own spark, and with each usage, you enlarge the amount of light it can produce. The longer you do so, the greater the power you can draw from it." He said. 

It was my turn to stop and look back at him, "Are you telling me that this tiered structure I was told is irrelevant. If someone used magic enough their entire life, could they surpass what they were born with? So, someone of a lesser Talent can eventually grow to have a Domain?" While I still didn't understand it completely, I was under the impression from the Sorcerer that these levels were permanent. 

"Yes, that is the greatest folly modern magic subscribes to." He began, already smiling at my question, "These tiers, as you call them, are dependent on the brightness of their spark, but as with any flame, it only needs tending." 

"So where is the fuel?" I asked. 

"The Afterglow. As I said, magic is a stagnant energy, only needing a vector to influence the world. However, the amount of magic in this world is static, just as nothing can be created from nothing, magic is not created any longer." He pitched his voice down into an inaudible range for humans as he spoke. 

"Any longer. So it was once being created. Why not now?" I questioned, as his grin just got bigger. "Caleb tells me that nothing can ever truly be destroyed either; energy just changes form, and material is made of energy. So where does this fuel go..." It dawned on me then, as the Dwarf set his hand on my shoulder.

"It grows the spark." He finished my thought. "Think of it like a tree, or a volcano. The more the tree absorbs the light, the more it breathes in the air, the greater it becomes. Or as the volcano belches magma from the earth, it too grows. The more light a tree gets, the more water it takes in, the more air it breathes, the faster and larger it grows. The more the volcano erupts, the more it builds itself."

"So why don't more people know about this?" I asked, as the central plaza of the village surrounded us as we continued our walk.

"They do not wish it to be known; it is easier to obfuscate, disseminate, and dilute when no one knows the source. It hides the fact that this world is slowly dying." The certainty in his words made me pause. 

"Dying? What do you mean?" There was a line forming at a stall set up in front of one of the large buildings. "What do you think they're doing?" 

"You are nothing but questions. I enjoy that about you. Dying, it is not a topic for here, but yes." He walked past me toward the stall. Following him, the line was made of mostly adults, men, and women. Though a few children, dirty faced and with a hollow look in their eyes, were standing in line as well. 

Most of them had bags and traveling jackets on, moth eaten, full of holes, but many looked optimistic. The stall had several people taking down information from the people as they were led into the building. They didn't even give us a second glance, sitting on a bench just outside the door. We listened as the workers at the stall took their names, offered them positions in some factory that was being built in the old city. The ruins of the old dockside where I had first met Gjorn and Halgier. 

They told them that while the ruins were not comfortable yet, they would be given all the material they needed to rebuild the buildings while the factory was being constructed. They would be paid stipends to restore the buildings for the workers to live, as well as demolishing other buildings for material to be brought to the factory. "Lucas must be wanting to move quickly."

"Huh?" I turned to look at him while flaring my ears out to listen to the voices behind me. 

"I knew he would want to be gearing up for war quickly. I didn't think he would want to use the ruins for resources, though he wouldn't need to import building material then. It is all right there, I imagine this factory will be up and running in a few months if they are recruiting this aggressively in all the small towns around Glaion." Gjorn stroked his beard as he spoke. 

Though as he spoke, I heard the workers behind me tell the people in line that they would be required to wear henna. That got my attention, not knowing what it was, as several children were told that they would only be paid for running messages and delivering food to the crews. Though they were also led into the building, "What is this henna they are talking about?"

"Ah, well. A bit of a bittersweet magic, artificers need practice. Well, to explain it quickly," He watched as several people left the building on the other side, a waiting tractor billowing steam from its stack sat with a massive wagon hooked to it. The people who came out had their arms covered in tattoos, strange runes that flowed together. "Alchemical henna is what they call it; the runes are that part that matters most. The runic language of the Namoux was rediscovered in the last few decades as people finally began being able to decipher their language, thanks to me." 

"Wait, what? You caused that movement that Celeb and Khamere are part of?" I asked as we watched the wagon blow a great cloud of smoke into the air, its wheels beginning to move. A whistle sounded off as it moved its way east toward Glaion. 

"Oh yes, accompanied an archaeological team from Huron and Mhuzelt into one of the ruins north of Ligne. They were eager to know that I could read everything written there. Though much it was, how to say, need to know. There are things in this world that shouldn't be spoken aloud, and much of what was written there was the dark remnants of something long forgotten." He pulled open the bag at his side, pulling a richly scented cigar out of a small case, and handed it to me. 

It was already cut, like he had been planning on smoking it himself. Pulling a small knife out of another pocket, he pulled another out and quickly cut the cap off. "Quick lesson, do you know much about the compressibility of air?" He asked me.

"I'm not sure I even understand that." Smelling the thing was wonderful. Corojo, heavy, earthy, hints of cinnamon and raisins. 

"Focus on the tip of your finger, pull air into a single point, and keep feeding it. A simple song, but it comes in handy quite a bit." He hummed a fast note as a whooshing noise happened. The next moment, a small flame was on the tip of his finger, lighting the cigar. A self-satisfied look spread across his face. 

Concentrating, I repeated his instructions. The next moment, I too had a small flame on my finger. Wide eyed, I stared, but lit mine just as quickly. Silencing my voice, the flame went out. "That’s amazing." 

"It's a lovely cigar, isn't it?" He said, laughing at the look on my face. 

"I thought I could only control sound and air." The observation was clearly wrong as Gjorn took another puff of his stick. 

"You'll find there is very little difference between these 'elements' as modern Casters like to categorize them. Air is a versatile thing; you already made things cold before, haven't you? This is just the reverse, simple, yes?" The pleasant cloud of smoke surrounded us as he continued to talk. 

"But, back to the original question, Artifice uses this Namixian language for their magic to work. To put it as basically as I can, the ink acts as a conduit, the shape of the rune is the spell, and the power is given to the ink from the Artificer. They are typically much weaker than traditional magic, but they are endlessly versatile. So long as the right words are used in the right way, they can offer anything they would want. Most of the engines built these days are covered in them, etched right into the metal. Durability, heat coefficients, rust inhibition, and weight reduction. Just about anything, though, currently there are only a few hundred words that are fully understood." 

"That is quite a bit to take in." A cloud of smoke of my own joined his. 

"It is a language you know. You speak it." He said. "Go ahead, say anything in your tongue and watch the rune in the lamp above our heads glow."

"I already know that, Khamere asked me to do something similar. I didn't think it was so connected that way. How come the Forgemaster doesn't know that?" The question made me think about how Caleb had been getting better at his own work. 

"I refuse to give it to the Gnome. That inventor would discover more than they were capable of handling." Leaning forward, he continued his previous thought. "They use that ink to improve endurance in the workers, lets them handle more. Though in Huron it is often abused by their employers, a worker who doesn't have the marks isn't paid as much, and doesn't have as many opportunities. It is a production issue, they say, many would prefer not to use it, as it puts them at a certain amount of risk around all that machinery." 

"I see, that is unfortunate." I was beginning to wonder why no one was commenting that I was here; in fact, no one didn't even noticed us at all. I asked Gjorn why. 

"Because I'm not allowing them to notice." It dawned on me then that there wasn't any sound at all. Other than that whistle, there wasn't anything. "I wanted you to be able to see what this town was like without any hateful looks; beyond that, constant questions from the local citizens would have interrupted these lessons." 

A cool chill ran down my spine. What else was he capable of? Beyond that, he told me we use the same magic, but I had three voices to use. His single voice could do all this? Could I do something similar? He sighed as he watched the look on my face. "You already do something similar, Illy. That attention grabbing quirk of the Goblin's voice, that is a spell very similar to this." 

"But, I don't hear your voice. You aren't singing, humming, I can't even feel any magic coming from you." I said, taking another drag from the cigar. 

"Sound is a funny thing. That Afterglow we were speaking of, if you heard her original song," That was something, her song? "All sound is, is a frequency of energy. Sound is just energy that we can interpret into useful information. Though your species is able to process far more than you think you can. Just because you can't ‘hear’ something, doesn't mean it isn't happening. I imagine if you focused, you could hear the earth move below you, the currents in the ocean, the rising clouds in the sky."

He had a point to that; we did occasionally hear things that didn't make sense to us. But as we grew into adults, we're able to mostly tune it out. Only using the range we can hear, hearing certain sounds in the forest telling us something is moving or falling. "Does it have to be the ink?"

It was his turn to be confused, "What, we’re back on this?"

"You said that spells could be written on the skin. Does the ink have to be there for that to work?" I said, thinking about one very specific ritual that the clan used fairly frequently.

"In theory, no. As long as the rune was given power, it shouldn't matter; that's why the runes on most of the machines in the world have them." He said slowly, "Why would you want them? Your voice is far more powerful than anything they could do." 

"I have a few prayers that I'd like to be active at all times. I only have three voices, and while yes, I can change them quickly, I'd like to have a few anyway. Besides, you said no one can see us at the moment, let me show you something." I stood up, lifting my poncho over my dress. Lifting that and warming the skin now exposed to the cold winter air, I showed him one of the scars on my side from my ceremony. One of the Family had burned me with the symbol they wished their new priestess to have.

"Well, I see you still have no problem showing off your body like that," Gjorn said, tracing the scar with his finger. 

"I'm not showing you anything you haven't seen before. Besides, it's not like you're getting a good look at anything. But that scar is in the shape of generosity." I said, letting the dress fall back down while grabbing my poncho again. 

"No, it isn't. That symbol is part of generosity, but it isn't the full thing. That symbol means something closer to charity than it does graciousness. It needs a line through the middle, as well as a set of four dots along the bottom." He said, quickly drawing the correct symbol in the dirt with his foot. "Besides, that is a scar, not a tattoo." 

"Have you noticed the scars on the raiders?" I asked him. 

"I haven't paid that much attention to them," he said. 

"Scars, for us, are marks of existence. A life lived is one full of them; we treat them the same as Humans and their tattoos. Many of the raiders, as well as the Family, have prayers cut into them somewhere on their bodies. I don't have any, except for the accidental ones from when I became a priestess. Though I would love to have some if they can work like that." I said as I sat back down next to him. 

"There are Casters in this world that wear their spell books on their skin. They are rare, and they augment them by performing the real thing, but they are also known to the world as battlemages. They are treated as soldiers; they are treated as threats. I am considered one of them, but for very different reasons, as you can see." He waved a hand at the village around us, still not even a single comment from them for removing my clothing like that. 

"I would ask that you allow me to review these prayers before you use them. Wording is important. Structure is important; it must flow like a song for it to be as effective as possible." He said, rising from the bench. 

"What would that entail?" I asked, rising with him, the cigar having been forgotten on the ground.

"I think Khamere would love to have a look, as well as the process this involved. It might be something they would be looking for, especially if it meant they could establish a presence in the village. I imagine that Azorez would be interested in all this as well, though I don't think she'd be interested in getting them." He said. 

"Very well, I will have to prepare for this to happen. The knives must be cleaned, my own skin must be prepared as well. I'll have to use the help of some of the elders; I have never personally done this. I was never given the chance to watch Mother perform this either."

***

Year of Wrath 1231, Season of Waiting D.80 Vilorlith

The smell of dust filled the old room, my small footprints marking their way through the forgotten library beneath the city. I remembered it like the back of my hand, having built it for my children all that time ago. I wasn’t able to change form like I would have been able to do, that would have drawn far too much attention. 

The Shadows mustn’t be alerted that I was slowly regaining my strength. Illy was such a wonderful girl, curious, loving, and caring for the Children. That fae-born woman, though, her odd magic reeked of rot and decay, I shivered despite myself, thinking about when she touched me with it on the rock. I was no spark; I may be lingering here, but one of the dead I am not.

The corpse of one of my children still sat in the chair at the control panel, their fingers wrapped around the gun hanging at his side. “Tosk,” I whispered while placing a hand on his cheek, the image of his smiling face at me filled my mind. The bullet hole through his head was just a grim reminder of how I had failed. “I am sorry, my son. If only I hadn’t been so foolish all those years ago.”

I took the gun from his hand; his body had mummified in the library. We were always so careful to make sure this maintained a consistent environment. Even now, the old engines hummed quietly as the runes glowed, powering them. The city below the city, some of its functions having survived my wrath before the ash covered my cradle. Placing his hands over his chest, I kissed his forehead. “Rest well, we should have made something for your souls to go to after you died.” 

Turning back to the control panel, there was just enough power running for the array to be operational. Trying not to think about how many countless others would still be left in my city. Tracing a rune into the panel, I heard several of the shelves shift. 

Walking over to them, already knowing where the book I was looking for lay, it was quick enough to find. The original version of Skies Grace, the words of Rythia. Her words from before the War, though, much of this would be difficult to translate for her. If I were able to draw more power from her, I might be able to speak to her directly. 

I had already taken much from her, using her energy to regain what I had already had now. Though my blood being given back to me was immensely helpful, even if it had only been a few drops. Now, though, I would need to be careful; any amount of power I used would be noticed by the Shadows. I felt Syn, I knew she wasn’t dead, but I had no way of knowing where or what she was now. 

Heading back toward the entrance of the library, I returned to the surface. My legs felt weak from the climb, forcing the hatch open on the tower that was now buried under hundreds of feet of stone. I remembered watching Wyrai showing me his new inventions up here, his orbital platforms having launched from these very towers. 

Smiling at the memory, closing the hatch below me with the little strength I had. My own name in a rune stared back up at me as it absorbed the starlight feeding the engines below. “I’ll hold onto this for now. I need her to find Rythia’s body. Like her, I want to know what happened to my daughter. I’m going to have to push that Fae-woman. Illy is dealing with far to much to handle visions from me.”