Path of Dragons 13 - Chapter 56 - Bursting at the Seams

Benedict nimbly stepped around the woman lying on the floor.  She stirred slightly, but she didn’t awaken.  Meanwhile, he pushed past her, then dodged another three prone figures before slipping through the door. 

Not for the first time since he’d started sharing his home with refugees, he wanted to take a page out of Elijah’s book and simply leap free of the balcony.  Propriety kept him in check, though.

Even having escaped the confines of the packed house, he couldn’t ignore the crowded streets.  People were everywhere.  Some had built lean-tos against the buildings, while others had constructed tiny hovels in the narrow alleys.  The smell of so many people crowded into such a small place was overwhelming. 

And even the local ethera had thinned to the point where it could barely support the functions of the city.  Any more people, and the runic circles would begin to fail.  Already, the farms were barely hanging on as the vitality discs began to sputter.  Considering they worked by converting ethera into vitality, then redistributing it amongst the surrounding plant life, it was only a matter of time before they ceased to function entirely.

As a result, food was a constant issue.  The council had already begun to ration supplies, but that would only work for so long.  Not only had the farms grown less productive, but there just weren’t enough able-bodied hunters to venture out into the abyssal landscape to stalk monsters. 

More than once, they’d sent out  hunting parties that were too weak to do the job, and those people had never returned.  If those casualties had been anyone else, the council might have considered them an acceptable sacrifice.  Less mouths to feed.  But they were hunters, and their work formed the backbone of Dravkein’s food supply.

Even water had grown scarce as the filters wore down and needed to be replaced.  The city’s wells were growing dryer by the day, too. 

The message was clear.  Dravkein couldn’t support its current population.  And it wasn’t a surprising development, either.  Over the past few years, they’d received refugees from more than a dozen destroyed settlements.  The Emerald Guard’s hunt for Elijah had quickly turned into something far more expansive. 

According to Zek, it had been a long time coming.

No one ever believed Ithalon would allow the satellite settlements to exist indefinitely.  What had begun with Malkein had continued as the Emerald Guard – guided by the Silent Hunters – swept across the land, destroying any town they came across.  Some managed to resist a few attacks, but most were too small to put up much of a fight.  Eventually, they all sent martyrs to slow the attacking army while the other refugees escaped.

And they’d all eventually found their way to Dravkein.

At last count, more than a quarter million people now lived in a city whose population normally only reached a tenth of that.  And according to Zek, more would come.  Maybe twice as many, assuming that the populations of the remaining settlements managed to escape. 

Some hadn’t.

They were all slaughtered, as Zek had discovered when he’d gone on a months-long tour of the region.  He’d even visited a contact in Ithalon who claimed that the city remained in turmoil.  The riots that had erupted in the wake of the Hollow Voice’s death had been quickly quelled, though whispers of rebellion remained.

As a result, the Emerald Guard, the Cinder Priests, and the Silent Hunters hunted dissidents.  Entire families – some of whom could trace their lineages back to the days before excisement – had been eradicated, and on suspicion alone.  Very public executions had only served to further disturb the populace, which had sent the Synod into a frenzy.

After all, they’d always known about the satellite cities.  They just didn’t care about them.  But now?  After one of their own had died, then fled through Dravkein?  That knowledge turned to vendetta, and they’d sent a steady stream of fighters to eradicate every last one of them.

Dravkein had endured its own share of attacks.  Nearly once a month, an army would show up, only to be repelled by Benedict and the other defenders.  Often, he was the lynchpin of their defense, but there were other times his power had failed.  More than once, he’d almost died. 

He would have, if it weren’t for his comrades.  Men and women who’d put their lives on the line, not just for him, but for everyone in the city.  The ongoing fight had fostered an unfamiliar bond between Benedict and the others.  For the first time in his life, he truly cared about other people.

It had started with Jasai’i, but it had quickly come to encompass his comrades.  That, in turn, led him to embrace the residents of Dravkein as well as the refugees. 

And it wasn’t difficult to understand why.  Battle was a unique and well-documented bonding experience, and one to which Benedict was not immune.  In addition, he was often treated as a hero, which, while a bit embarrassing, endeared him to the people he was meant to save.

In short, he realized that he cared deeply about the fate of Dravkein and its population.

Now, what order they’d managed to instill was on the verge of collapsing.  The defense would soon fall as well.  Just as Zek had predicted, the Ithalonians hadn’t been outrun or outsmarted.  They’d allowed the refugees to escape, and in doing so, they’d ensured that Dravkein – which was the largest satellite settlement – would feel the strain of supporting so many people.

It had worked, too.  Obviously.

Never was that clearer than when he traversed the city.  The waste management system was overwhelmed, meaning that trash and offal decorated most streets.  That, in turn, fostered disease, especially among those who’d taken up residence right alongside that detritus. 

Most of the houses were full.  Crime ran rampant, mostly due to desperation.  People stole food, luxury items, and other supplies, and over the past couple of years, a robust black market economy had emerged. 

The authorities were aware of its existence.  They just didn’t have the resources to shut it down.  Not with the nearly monthly attacks against which to defend. 

Eventually, Benedict reached his destination.

Zek’s home was no more impressive than ever, and calling it utilitarian was generous.  It was just a simple square, one-bedroom affair that the old hunter claimed served his needs well enough.  Despite being the highest-level person in town – a demi-god, in fact – he refused better accommodations. 

Like the home Benedict shared with Jasai’i, Zek’s house was entirely full of refugees.  The hunter himself had chosen to camp on the flat roof, as evidenced by the glow of a flickering fire, visible from the street.

Benedict leaped, clearing the edge without issue.  His feet thudded down on the roof. 

“You need to work on your landings,” Zek said, sitting next to the fire.  He poked it with an iron rod.  Something simmered in a pot suspended above it, though from the smell, it was mostly water.  “You’re lucky you didn’t end up going through the roof.”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone inside.”

“And you think you achieved that goal?”

Benedict was about to answer when he heard a child’s cry coming from down below.  A few more rustles followed, evidence that he had not avoided waking the sleeping occupants. 

“I guess not,” he muttered, crossing the small roof and settling down next to Zek.  For a few moments, neither said anything as the hunter tended to the fire.  There was no wood to burn.  Instead, it relied on a combination of a runic hotplate combined with dried dung, which came with an appropriately acrid smell to which Benedict had long since grown accustomed.  “What are you cooking?” he asked at last.

“Tea.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that’s more like dirty water than a real beverage,” Zek admitted.  “Stores are running low.”

To that, Benedict nodded.

“It won’t be long before we need to expand.”

“We’ll never get the chance.  Ithalonian forces are massing for a final push.  We have six months.  Maybe a year.  Then, they’ll come at us in numbers.”

“We’ll fight them off,” Benedict insisted.  “We always do.”

Zek shook his head. “No.  We won’t.  This place is doomed.  You know it, too.  That’s why you advocated for leaving.”

Benedict had done just that during the last council meeting.  He wasn’t part of the ruling body itself, but his efforts on the battlefield had given him a voice.  He had chosen to use it plead with the council to begin a strategic retreat.  If they began soon, they might avoid pitched battle altogether.

The only problem was that none of them really knew where to go. 

From Benedict’s perspective, so long as they got further away from Ithalon, they would accomplish the goal.  They could settle anywhere.  They just needed to avoid the domains of powerful monsters when choosing a location.  Then, all it would take was the construction of a new nine-ring ritual and the infrastructure of a city.

He even believed they could build it bigger and better than before.  After all, there were Builders among the men and women living in Dravkein.  Tradesmen of all sorts.  Architects and Ethereal Engineers, too.  They could create a new, more advanced city far away from Ithalon’s grasping hands.

“They will follow,” Zek stated.  “They will not stop.  It doesn’t matter if we travel a hundred thousand miles away, they will keep coming until we’re all dead.”

“Why can’t they let us live in peace?”

Zek chuckled.  “Because we represent an example of what all those people in Ithalon could have.  Freedom.  Community.  Call it whatever you want, but the fact remains that we have it better out here.  Life is more difficult, but at least we don’t live under the thumb of insane demi-gods who wield unquestioned authority like a club meant to keep everyone in their assigned place.

“And you represent a threat to their power,” he finished.

Benedict sighed.  He’d never set out to upset the balance, but from everything Zek – and Elijah – had told him, the Synod didn’t deserve their authority. 

He glanced away, his eyes searching the dark horizon.  After a few moments, he asked, “Do you think he’s still alive out there?”

“No.”

“What about those pulses?  They’re becoming more frequent.”

The vitality pulses in question had drawn a good portion of the most powerful monsters away from the area.  And they’d all set out across the land in the direction of its origin.  To Benedict, it seemed obvious that Elijah was the cause, but Zek wasn’t so convinced. 

“Natural phenomena.”

Benedict shook his head.  “Didn’t start until after Elijah left.”

“That doesn’t change anything.  The man’s dead.”

He didn’t believe that for a second, largely because they’d not begun until Elijah had been gone for a while.  And Zek, for all his wisdom, didn’t know Elijah like Benedict did.  If anyone could change the fate of an entire planet, it was him. 

“I think we should leave Dravkein,” Benedict pointed out, repeating his opinion.  “If we don’t, we’re all going to die.”

“Everyone dies,” Zek stated, reaching up to scratch his creased face.  “Most of us have no choice in the timing or the cause.  That is just a fact of existence.  It doesn’t matter if you’re a mortal, a transcendent, or something in between – our days are numbered.”

“I’m aware of my own mortality, Zek.  But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stand there and let them win.”

“No.  I suppose it doesn’t.”

After that, the pair simply sat in silence.  For his part, Benedict stared off into the distance, wondering what Elijah was up to.  It seemed a given that the Druid was still out there, and if that was the case, he was obviously up to something.

“Theoretically, if we did want to reach the Cyst, how would we manage it?”

“Not possible.  We would die.”

“I’m just saying – if you had no choice but to embark on that journey.  You couldn’t stop, either.  How would you go about it?”

Zek tapped his chin, then repeated, “Not possible.”

“Humor me.”

After a few moments, the old hunter said, “Crystals.  Lots and lots of crystals.  That would be the first task.  We’d need extras for when the purification amulets wore out.  After that…crossing the Restless Sea is the biggest obstacle.  There’s only one man who could theoretically manage such a journey, but he’s dead.  Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Almost definitely.  If he’s not dead by now, he’s gone crazy.  Furik M’huel.  Explorer by archetype, some kind of Sailor by class.  Last I saw him was more than a hundred years ago, when he set out from Ithalon to search for other enclaves of survivors.  He said he was going to sail across the Serpent Ocean.  Since then, I heard he’s returned a few times.  When he’s not sailing, he’s lived with his crew about a thousand miles from here.  I’m surprised you and your friend never saw him during your trek.”

“Furik M’huel.  Do you think Ithalon will target him?”

Zek shook his head.  “No.  They’d be fools to do that.  Even if they could fight him, he and his crew would just flee into the ocean.”

“If we had him, could he help us cross the Restless Sea?”

“No.  It is a fool’s errand.  If we flee, we should go the opposite direction.  The Emerald Guard will follow, but perhaps not for a few years.  That is the only way we might survive.”

Benedict frowned.  It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but then again, he wasn’t certain that any answer would have satisfied him.  So, he sat there beside Zek, just staring at the fire and trying to think of answers to the question of how they were meant to survive the coming trials.

Even hours later, he’d thought of nothing.