Chapter 83: TEARS OF THE UNDER

The mysteries that had dominated his life to this point had been generally political in nature. Most utterly predictable as the greedy inclinations of those who always believe they deserve more than they have earned or fall into the trap that is the lure of power. The scheming, as it seemed was universal among their class.

In light of recent events Risens’s mind had been awakened to mysteries beyond his wildest imagination. A land, that if he understood correctly, could be unlocked and modified by his thoughts alone. Without needed confirmation from Mother Raven, he knew the Under would play a outsized role in the eventual development of his home among the Barren. He had no idea if the passages, the entrance through the circular stone building would always remain the same or if they would change with each new visit. It would be something he’d figure out soon enough, he was certain.

“I assume the Under plays a role in the development of the Barren,” he noted.

Mother Raven stopped as she reached the side of the vessel he’d recovered. Leaning forward she inhaled a deep audible breath as she smelled the frozen liquid. She tapped on the surface of the ice with her pointed fingernail before shaking her head and dragging it across the surface. The high-pitched scraping sound that resonated seemed to ripple through him, immediately twisting his stomach into knots. It was disturbingly similar to the sound of the cries that emanated from the carrion when they had plunged into the pool.

“Astute,” she nodded. “The wealth of materials is not something to be taken lightly. Though I’ve never been stepped foot into its domain, it is a place unlike not unlike this.”

She crossed the room silently, stopping as she reached the side of the vessel. Mother raven bent down audibly inhaling as she smelling the frozen block. She tapped at the solid liquid with her finger, the reports sounding eerily similar to the clicks of talons, as the ravens danced across the stone tiles of the alley.

“What you see before you is called Tears of the Under,” she explained. “There is but one bowl in existence that can carry it across the frozen void to the Barren and you bear the only means to unfreeze it.”

She abandoned the newly formed pedestal shifting slowly to the stone hearth along the wall.

“The Raven Talons are chilled. Start a fire, fledgling,” she ordered.

The comment was curious yet Risens found himself moving without questioning the request. His hands fell to the handles of the blades finding that them confusingly silent though he could feel the anxious energy that trembled in them. True to Mother Raven’s words, the handles felt alarmingly cold, colder than he’d noted even at the heights of the Shial Sliver mountains. Normally, he’d have attributed the sensation to the overwhelming bloodlust, though now it felt far more subdued and pensive. It was as if they shivered.

He had neared the door when the agitated tone of her voice clipped his movements.

“Where do you think you’re going, fledgling?” She demanded. “There is a hearth for a reason is there not?”

“I only go to collect tinder…” He’d only just started when her words interrupted his explanation.

“Come here,” she ordered, though a touch of the venom in her tone had eased. “Have you learned nothing of this place yet. You will find everything you need is here.”

From where she was perched on the edge of the stone step to the fireplace she motioned her hand to the waiting hearth. He struggled to hide his shock as a neatly arranged pile of sticks and tinder waited patiently for a spark. His curious glance shifted to her as he approached slowly.

“The Barren is what you will make of it,” she offered. “If you survive long enough, you may one day learn to control it with relative ease. For now, the effort will be exhausting.”

She offered only the slightest hint of a smirk that crossed her lips.

“You are confused. It seems to be a prevailing feature one which I hope soon fades, like night before the coming day,” she continued. “Before you ask, it was not I who set this here but you. As I have said, the Barren is yours to command, though I admit, my suggestion may have had some influence on the desired outcome.”

Risens crossed slowly to the small pile of tinder and sticks within the hearth. Carefully, as it touching it would break the illusion, he reach down, collecting one of the larger limbs from the top of the structure. There was no question that it was real though it had not been there, nor were there tree to have foraged the material from.

“Light the fire,” she insisted. Returning the stick to the fire, his hands fell to his belt moving to collect the striker that was thoughtfully built into its design.

“No, fledgling. You still do not understand,” she rose quickly, slapping his hand away from the tool. Stopping in front of him she glared up at his. Her stature may have been small yet her presence was considerable. She tapped her finger against his temple.

“Use this.”

Risens opened his mouth to question the unexpected request and the impossibility of its application. He was no mage. He could not call fire into existence with a mere thought or phrase.

The sudden burst of light and wash of heat forced hom to take a step back from the hearth as the flame flared into existence. Risens held out his hand, letting the heat warm his palms. That he was astonished would have been an understatement.

“How?” Was all he could muster for words as he stared into the flickering blaze.

Mother Raven grinned as she appraised the fire, then him.

“The Barren is your to command, not unlike a mage can control the elements,” she explained. “The order has long sought to convince others that their gift is far more special, far more substantive than it is. It is merely an understanding, at least on a base level of where their true power exists.”

“Here,” he breathed.

“Ah, you do see,” she crowed. “Though they do not have access like you, nor understand it like you do, and you will, their strength flows from here, not the natural world. Insufferable fools, all of them. They claim superiority and mastery over others, though they themselves are clueless as to the true origin of the strength. 

“Look at the fire. The wood you see being consumed by the greedy flames has texture and weight though it merely behaves as your expectations have dictated it should,” she continued. “You could have lit the fire independent of the fuel, though it is appearance that drove this lesson. Think of the ethereal mageLights the magus’s create. The alchemical essence is merely a weak distillate of that which exists here in abundance.”

The information was eye-opening. Having no proclivity toward the arcane arts, Risens had given little thought to the realities of the craft. Until the application of his Brands, he’d relied on skills that focused on strength, agility and speed. Everything he had achieved, he had worked for. Sweat was measured in buckets. Blood granted far too frequently. Tears had been saved for the moments when the watchful eyes and vengeful hands of his master weren’t able to reach him. He had honed his lethal proficiency through countless hours of rigorous physical training. He was certain that the magus trained as hard, yet the fountain from where their power flowed had been a mystery to him. 

“Am I to be a magus? Is that my destiny?” He inquired.

The emotionless eyes of Mother Raven hardened into daggers of ice. He felt the glare stab through his body before the first sound issued from her throat. Risens steeled himself for the tone that he knew was to follow.

“Perhaps, one day you will comprehend the necessary skills should you not manage to find yourself dead first. Do not dare lower yourself to their standards. It is unbecoming of the mantle you bear. You are already far more than any among their number will achieve, Then their feeble minds could ever understand,” she snapped at him, the volume and angst of her voice echoing through the small shelter. As quickly as the anger had swelled, it ebbed, he voice softening as her words continued.

“The magus’s who bury their heads in tomes, who ward against sounds and other ailments, even those who create fire, ice and lightning will never be afforded the limitless possibility you can achieve,” she continued. The fire that had ignited her animosity had settled, cracking away like the small blaze in the hearth. “They merely sip at the drips of strength that seep through the cracks between the Barren and their realm while you drink to excess. 

She stepped away, sliding back to the edge of the heath, perching again on the corner of the leading edge. 

“If you live long enough, you will come to understand the power at your fingertips,” she whispered, her attention focused on the fire, not him. “You have experienced firsthand but a taste of the dangers that await you in the Under, far more will be required and you are still not ready.”

“The Carrion.”

She cocked her head awkwardly to the side, favoring him with a peculiar look. It was almost as if she was perplex that he knew the name before she had uttered it.

“It was the Raven Talons,” Risens answered the question etched into her features. “They were afraid. It was they who spoke the name, who warned me of the danger.”

“They were neither afraid, nor warned you,” she snapped. “They have their own desires. They understood that which you were ignorant too. They were aware that their blades would cause no harm. Long have they remained dormant. They hunger holds no equal.”

Risens’s mind traveled back to the frustrating battle with the carrion in the Under and to the blades he wore comfortably on his hips. The creatures had been impervious to any attack until he’d tossed them into the water. Somehow the innocuous liquid had made them vulnerable to his attacks. Once doused, the Raven Talons slipped through their carapace’s with ease.

“It was the water, the Tears of the Under that granted the power to defeat them,” he added.

“Yes, and it is the tears that will alow the talons to continue to do so,” she added. There was a rising sense of irritation that flavored her voice. He’d not spent this much time in her presence since she had revealed herself to him, and she’d never been this informative, though she continued to insult his abilities at every opportunity. “Too much time has passed. The blades need warmth now.”

Mother Raven ushered him closer to the flames with a curt wave of her hands. He took a moment to inspect the fire as he approach as bidden. He could see no difference in the blaze that ate away at the wood. Ember floated into the air, disappearing up the chimney, the occasional pop and hiss of steam were everything he’d come to expect from the event. Even the air was flavored by the sweet yet acrid tang of the smoke. Again, by Mother Raven’s words, it was a fete of his own making, though he had no concept of how.

Risens had never even the slightest inclination or desire to practice the magical arts. The possibilities and the allure at the present burned off any previous reservations.

“Remove the Raven Talons from their sheath, fledgling. It is time they feel the warmth again,” she whispered with a surprising reverence. An unexpected chill ran through his body as he drew the steel. The expectant, insatiable urge for bloodshed was muted beneath the wicked cackle that resonated from within.

“It is time.”

Their screams which oftentimes sounded in unison now felt as if they were joined by a chorus of thousands of voices screaming in near unison. The glowing symbols that enumerated their duration flashed into view.

“Plunge them into the flame.. Bury them in the ash until they glow red,” Mother Raven insisted. “This is as much a forging for you as it is for them. Do not break your contact until they are heated through.

“Steel yourself. This will hurt.”