Skyclad - Chapter 39: Dirt

Morgan Mackenzie clapped her hands with satisfaction, giggling and dancing in place. “That was awesome!” she said after Althenea shifted forms several more times in Terisa’s hand. The discordant sense of confusion no longer radiated from the soul in the weapons, and she basked in the satisfaction. It had been an itch she couldn't scratch, constantly abrading her mind through [Spell Resonance] even aside from her own compassion driving her to help. That and the sheer coolness factor! 

Dropping a mountain on the swarming ant things these new friends called skitterlings had been impressive enough to see, but from a magical standpoint it had not been exactly challenging or even all that fun. Once she had shaken loose the deeper layers of earth and stone, gravity and inertia had taken care of the rest. It had required her to expend most of her reserves at the time, but it was not exactly a working of great skill. Helping the woman’s soul had been satisfying in a totally visceral way, and a test of her skill with enchantments. Similar to building her own earthen campsites, but even better.

The woman with the amazing suit of armor was grinning as well. Morgan was extremely interested in the enchanted --circuitry was the only word that fit in her mind-- that threaded from hundreds of segmented points along Dana’s spine into the metal she wore. She didn’t think the engineer even realized how intricate her own prosthetic was; Morgan was sure her [Mana Sight] provided much more insight into the magic within the metal than the sensors built into the other woman’s helmet.

She sensed heavy footfalls behind her, and turned to see the massive half-Ursaran, Foz, looming close. “Gratitude,” he said in a deep and rumbling voice. “A favor is owed, when you call.”

Almost out of reflex she gave a slight bow. “It really wasn’t a big deal, but I won’t argue,” she said. The bear-like man radiated a sort of solidity and strength to her senses, and he had prepared excellent food. Good manners don’t cost me anything, she thought to herself as Terisa’s husband lumbered back towards the other beastkin youths.

Noting a distinct absence on her shoulder, she looked around for Lulu. The fort and its temporary denizens seemed to have attracted hordes of the scrubby’s brood and descendants, although none were as large and poofy as their matriarch and progenitor. Faint wurbling tones permeated the background noise of the fort, and she could see loofahs scrubbling their way around on almost every surface in sight. More seemed to arrive with every hour, drawn by the massive expenditures of magic and the scent of blood in the air around Castra Pristis.

She found Lulu next to Wuffle, the necromancer’s pet. Said necromancer was solemnly pacing circles around the funeral biers, and Morgan’s mood was dampened by the reminder. She had defended herself, but her fires were indiscriminately destructive. One shrouded figure lay on a slightly taller bier of stacked wood than the others. She had hoped to have been able to speak with Nessara about magic, and possibly learn new skills or spells. Learning that the woman could not have been saved once she had been taken had been cold comfort to soothe her own guilt, and the memory of the mage thanking her as she died twisted the knife even deeper.

“She was a good woman, and a good friend,” said Terisa, stepping closer to Morgan. The inquisitive audience to Althenea’s transformation had dispersed as the evening’s darkening skies heralded the approaching time of the funeral. “We were once a merry band of naive ambition, her and Kojeg and I, following in my sister’s footsteps looking for adventure.” The huntress rested one hand on the holster holding the Colt, seeming almost apprehensive. 

“How did she-? Your sister, I mean.” Morgan didn’t quite know how to phrase the question, but the other woman understood.

“She left home and earned a name for herself while I was still a child, and I sought the same fame and glory.” Terisa spoke softly, watching as Biggles continued to thread his way in circles around the shrouded bodies. The magic of spirits and the cycle of life and death felt different to Morgan than her own elemental affinities, yet still potent for all its strangeness. “It was just Nessara and myself at first, and we met Kojeg soon after heading out on our own. We worked as guards for merchant caravans, chased down bounties, or other contracts. But we never could seem to reach the same heights Althenea had, so I always pushed us for harder jobs.”

“My brothers compete with each other like that, always trying to outdo each other,” replied Morgan. She returned to silence, letting Terisa speak at her own pace.

“Foz had joined us by then, although we hadn’t married yet. The four of us took a contract to look into some disappearances in the southern forests of Weldtir. We thought it might have been slavers or just regular banditry, so we didn’t wait and went in by ourselves.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the huntress. “Not either, I assume?”

Terisa’s grim smile was all the answer she needed. “Warlock. Not a dabbler getting their toes wet either. A full fledged demon-binding warlock, and a [Soul Mage], or some variant. The [Oracle] had already informed the Rangers of Forvale, but Althenea didn’t arrive in time to stop us. She got there just in time to save me from the bastard, but he was crafty and had a vengeance spell set to go off when he died. It destroyed her body and trapped her in the gem. She took my place. And now you have saved her.”

“It was the least I could-”

“No.” Hard eyes met hers, the flat gaze giving weight to the statement of fact. “A debt is owed.”

“I don’t know how to answer that!” exclaimed the sorceress with exasperation. Lulu had returned while they spoke, and climbed back up to her shoulder upon sensing Morgan’s distress.

“Then think on it. Dana tells me you cannot repair the bridge, so Foz and I, at least, will travel with you until we leave the Wildlands however that may happen. There is time.”

“It’s not that I can’t fix the bridge. I can’t do it before winter. There’s a ley line running along the bottom of the gorge, which means we’d have to work slow and careful. It’s not like a nexus or a node where two or more lines meet. There’s no extra mana being given off.” Morgan shrugged in resignation. “If it was a nexus like at my valley, I could use the excess magic and get us across in just a few days. But if I tried that here, the flow of magic would pull mine in instead of giving me a boost. So I can’t tap into it. My dad could, or at least I think he could. But he protects the lines, he doesn’t mess with them.”

The necromancer had finished his ritual, quietly approaching as the two women talked. “It is done,” he said, weariness tinting his voice. “Give everyone some time to make their peace with lost friends, before lighting the fires.”

“Was that soul magic?” asked Morgan. “I could feel something, but it wasn’t like any of my own magic.”

Biggles looked almost offended at the comparison. “It is not magic. Not in the way of mages or sorcerers. Not quite prayer either.” He leaned on his staff, catching his breath. “Necromancers, we talk directly to the spirits, although talk is really too strong of a word. Some can impart enough mana to them to allow for manifesting words, but for myself it is a matter of images and feelings.”

“I don’t know how much Dana has told you about our world,” said Morgan, “but necromancy doesn’t exactly have a nice reputation in our stories. At all.”

Terisa chuckled. “The stigma is one they all face. Biggles here is one of the better ones.”

“Much is misunderstood about my craft, it’s true. A few bad seeds ruin it for all of us. Using necromancy to bind souls to empower the caster or their constructs or raise corpses is a shortcut to power for the greedy and stupid. I find it much more effective to bargain on equal terms.” He shook his head vigorously. “The other methods come with a whole host of problems, not least of which would be the [Oracle]’s attention.”

“Oracles have their own reputation in Earth’s mythology; most of them are insane,” replied Morgan. “I think I follow what you mean about necromancy though. Probably not the kind of magic I’ll ever be into.”

“An [Oracle] most certainly can go insane, it has happened before,” added Terisa. “But they usually have other problems. Going blind is common, or driven to suicide by their visions. It was the [Oracle] who helped Althenea the first time, offering to send her to the other side or let her stay with me.”

“Sounds powerful,” said the sorceress.

Biggles shook his head again. “They can be, but they’re an extreme example of powers and prices. Where the [Oracle] has authority depends on a lot of things that only the [Oracle] herself knows. Where she has the authority it is absolute, where she does not she is powerless.”

“You were seen, when you arrived on Anfealt. All of the Worldwalkers were. The [Oracle]’s vision was announced at every temple and chapel from Stormbreak to East Harbor. They call Dana ‘The Broken’, and you can only be the one known as ‘The Burning Woman’.” Terisa seemed saddened once again. “Nessara was supposedly sent by the Magisterium to look for sign of you, and it may even be true, depending on when and how she was taken.”

Morgan grimaced, shuddering with memory. “I really don’t like that I killed innocent victims. The Deskren have a lot to answer for.”

“If you’re going against the Empire you’ll need help, and I’ll get to pay off that debt all the sooner,” said the Huntress. “I owe a debt to them as well, and I intend to pay it. I bounced Nessara’s children on my knee, and I do not look forward to my next visit to Stormbreak to tell Kanessa what has happened.”

Dana had hung back, growing more agitated as they talked. Morgan turned as the other woman’s suit buzzed and whirred through several different configurations before returning to a normal-seeming armored form.

“It’s all bullshit!” The engineer seemed on the verge of screaming with the epithet. “Four hundred years and nobody’s done anything about them?” The outburst was as much a demand as a question.

“We’ve fought several wars with them,” retorted the Huntress. “I was in the last one myself.”

“That’s bullshit too. None of you have been to war. You’ve just fought them off when they go on raiding campaigns to take more slaves.”

“Uh oh…” murmured Morgan, backing away from the other two women as tempers flared.

“Careful lass.” Kojeg tried to step between Dana and the Huntress, but the engineer whirled on him, even more angry.  He continued in a softer tone. “The Empire are no’ the only ones we’ve fought against. An’ you just gave Terisa a weapon of war of your own world.”

“I’ve skimmed enough of your books to get an idea,” spat Dana. “You march twenty thousand onto a field and think it is a mighty host. A hundred thousand in one army? I can count the number of times that’s happened in Anfealt’s written histories without needing the toes I don’t have!”

“Your world may have better technologies than ours, but we are no strangers to destruction, Dana,” said Terisa calmly, keeping a strict reign on her temper. “It isn’t as simple as marching to the Empire. Nothing can cross the Elemental Desert, not since the battle at Oasa that ended the First Deskren War. Dead sands stretching farther than any two of the northern nations added together, and it was a jungle forest before the war.”

“Half a million people died in that campaign, most of them on that very day or the weeks that followed,” added Biggles almost meekly.

“That may be true, but it isn’t an excuse for that!” she said, pointing at Nessara’s bundled form on the funeral bier. “Four hundred years, and that still happens?”

“What would ye have us do?” asked Kojeg. “Kings and Queens and Thanes and High Councils, all needs see to their own people and borders before all else.”

“I’m gonna build us an airship to get us out of the Wildlands, and your Thanes are going to owe me for that. What is built once can be copied.”

“For summat such as that, by my beard ye can name price to the Thuns and they shall pay it.”

“My price is that you stop hiding in your tunnels and actually fight, like the other nations are gathering at Possibility to do.”

“The Stoneborn have no part in the Bargain of Kings.”

“That’s an excuse for cowards! If no one else was fighting them then you should have been leading the way!”

“Lass, be very careful of ye next words,” said the dwarf, expression flat and cold.

Dana stalked from side to side, shaking her head. Her suit went from two legs to four to six, spider-like motions taking over her gait. “You want to know how we make war, Kojeg? What’s different about it, and what it means?”

“If it helps ye calm down, by all means educate me.”

She suddenly rushed forwards, shoving him back a single step. The front-most legs of her suit speared into the rocky ground, anchoring her in place. “We take your dirt. You were standing here, and now this dirt is mine.” The dwarf simply stared at her in confusion, but she shoved him again and took another step forward. “Now this dirt is mine. It is no longer yours.” 

She repeated the action again as he opened his mouth to protest. “Again.” Another push. “And again. It’s not about killing. That is merely a side effect.” Another push, and Kojeg had backed up almost to where Morgan stood with Biggles. 

“We take your dirt, and it is ours. And we do not stop.” She pushed again. “Until you are broken down, exhausted. Until you have no more dirt. No place to retreat. No shelter. No rest. You think a half a million dead is a war? We’ve lost nearly that many in single battles that stretched out for weeks or months. A hundred times that many in a single war. A hundred thousand dead with a single bomb! And we did it twice for good measure!”

Kojeg seemed at a loss for words, and Terisa was struck equally silent. Tears had appeared on Dana’s cheeks as she ranted, but the anger burned cold instead of fading. Morgan spoke up softly, giving the other woman time to compose herself.

“She’s not wrong. It’s that bad or worse on Earth. And she’s telling the truth about the way the Army handles war, at least the way my dad always told me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Terisa.

“The Marines kick in the door. The Navy rules the seas. The Air Force commands the sky. And-”

“-the Army takes your dirt,” finished Dana. “I’m sorry Kojeg,” she said. “I shouldn’t take it out on you, but Nessara was a friend, and I don’t have many of those!”

“If ye wish to join the fight against the Deskren with the surface nations, I’ll be right there with ye, lass. But to ask the Thuns to march? It may be a flying ship t’would spur the Thanes. I cannae say.”

“It just doesn’t make sense. A dozen nations and kingdoms, the Beast Tribes, the Gnomes, and the Dwarves, and nobody has put an end to this empire.”

“The southern continent is larger than the north, and more populous. It’s a bigger task than you think, when the desert is in the way and any invasion would be by sea,” offered Terisa gently.

“Airships will make that excuse worthless,” said the engineer.

“Tis a hard thing to believe, a flying ship,” said Kojeg.

Dana looked to Morgan. “If her valley is a safe place to stay for a couple of months, I can do it. Maybe four months, depending on materials if everyone pitches in for labor. I’ll need lots of witchwood, the taller the trees the better.”

“Nowhere is truly safe in the Wildlands, but my place is safer than most,” answered the sorceress. “And I’d love to see a flying ship,” she said with a grin. The last rays of the evening sun faded from beyond the walls of the fort, torches and campfires painting ominous dancing shadows upon the tents and low stone buildings. As the day gave way to the night, the necromancer spoke up with a voice that seemed to have grown in power as the light faded away.

“It is time, Miss Morgan. You offered a gift of fire to cleanse this place of death, and the spirits have crossed with the dusk.”

She nodded, suddenly solemn once again, before turning to the stacked pallets of wood and their grim decorations. Lulu wurbled softly from her shoulder as she gathered her magic. A funeral pyre? She thought to herself. I’ll give them one to remember!

With a thought, seven mana crystals appeared from her storage runes to float around her. She drew even more deeply on her mana and they flickered into bright incandescent purple light, banishing the shadows. Terisa and Kojeg stepped back, covering their eyes as Dana’s helmet sprouted a shaded visor. At first she could hear faint murmurs from the crowd gathered around the dead, but the rising hum of her magic soon drowned out all sound from her ears.

Threads of Fire, spread through the stacked wooden pallets, caused only embers to form as the heat increased by her will. Then she activated [Spell Surge], raising her arms as pillars of flame engulfed the fallen. A dozen spears of indigo and violet, reaching nearly a hundred paces into the night sky. She lowered her arms, releasing the magic and returning the crystals to her [Runic Belt] as the burst of heat washed over the fort. She stood quietly for several minutes, unsure of what she was expected to do next.

“Thank you,” Terisa spoke next to her. Even with [Spell Resonance] she had not sensed the other woman’s approach. 

“It was the least I could do. I wish there’d been a better way.”

“You didn’t put the collar around her neck, but you freed her from it before she died. Few of those so enslaved ever get to say the same.”

“Hopefully more will by the time we’re done,” said Dana from her other side, now composed and calm once again. With her helmet fully retracted the engineer stood next to Morgan and Terisa. 

Updrafts from the flames stirred the winds, whipping dust into the air on currents the sorceress could feel tugging at her mane of hair. Lulu wurbled and hopped up and down on her shoulder, earning an affectionate pat. “I’m looking forward to seeing exactly how you plan to build a ship that can fly,” she said to the other Worldwalker.

“There’s a couple different options,” came the response, but she was interrupted as Lulu bounced insistently up and down once again. 

The scrubby seemed to be trying to jump higher, wurbling and warbling, and Biggles’s own Wuffle followed suit. Then the rest of the loofahs around the wagons and tents joined in as the winds quickened. Suddenly Lulu sprang upwards into the wind with a mighty hop, leaving a trail of foamy soap bubbles in her wake before one big bubble formed itself around the precocious puffball. The scrubby wurbled frantically in panicked surprise as the winds drew it upwards before the bubble gave way with a pop to return a frantic Lulu to her mistress’s arms.

“Actually that’s the method I was leaning towards, simple air bags and displacement for lift…” Dana trailed off as hundreds of scrubbies were suddenly airborne, riding the wind currents into the sky.

“Lulu!” exclaimed Morgan. “What did you do!?”