The Dark in the Blood. Mitrys trilogy vol. 1 ebook

Original title:

Kroniki Dwuświata

Mrok we krwi, Trylogia Mitrys – Tom I

DualRealm Chronicles

The Dark in the Blood, Mitrys Trilogy – Volume I

Copyright © by Paweł Kopijer, Gliwice 2023

Copyright © by PANKO company

All rights reserved

Cover art: Tomasz Ryger

Graphic & Cover Design: Anna Kopijer

Translation, Editing & Proofing: Marek Kazmierski

Typesetting: Andrzej Zyszczak – Zyszczak.pl

Layout: Firma PANKO

Styczyńskiego 3m1

44-100 Gliwice

Edition I

Gliwice 2023

Firma PANKO

ISBN: 978-83-967035-3-8

www: kopijer.pl

Fanpage: Facebook.com/powiescifantasy

YouTube – Paweł Kopijer

YouTube – boardgame: Mitrys

Lei Satanas makre des torri…

Allow Evil to walk its own path…

(From a Darzan Shamanic prayer)

THE TIME OF RENDING

The Age of Lions, Year 397, the Last

It was raining extraordinarily hard. The man crouching behind a massive tree trunk wiped his damp, cold face with the back of his hand. He was soaked to the bone, in spite of the hooded cloak covering his whole body. Drops of rain dripped from his hairy brows and the tip of a nose deformed by repeated blows, tickling as they flowed down a stubbly, scar covered chin.

‘The Dark Ones summoned this bloody downpour!’ he cursed to himself.

The forest he had been traversing did not offer much shelter from the howling storm. Flashes of lightning sliced the nighttime skies time and time again, causing the meadow he was now edging towards to light up in blinding instants and then fall back into complete darkness. The bandit concentrated on trying to work out what might be happening within a sizable wooden hut covered with sheets of canvas up ahead. He tried to see from a distance how many travelers were taking shelter within and who they might be. This makeshift construction looked like any other wondering souls might come across when traipsing along woodland trails. He could see through wind battered branches that a small campfire had been lit inside, some indistinct figures huddling round it. One thing he could be sure of – they were Darzans.

The roar of thunder overhead seemed to merge into one great wall of noise. This meant there was no chance of intruders being spotted by any guards posted outside the shelter – if any sentries had been posted at all. At any other time, the bandit would have considered such conditions to be favorable, but today things were different. He felt strange. The usual emotions which accompanied him at such times were absent today. He would normally feel excited, his imagination fueled by greed and cold, calculating logic. Yet right now, somehow, he only sensed an unpleasant unease creeping up from his belly towards his gullet, then back down again. He didn’t know why, but something told him that this was no ordinary ambush, and something was afoot which was unique, important and alien, a sensation which aroused waves of fear which washed over him along with the rain. The illogical conviction that he was the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time weighed heavy on his mind and irritated him at the same time. What he found most surprising, however, was that even though he had spent so many years living on the edges of conventional society, a time during which he had developed total mastery over his own feelings and responses, now he seemed to have no say in what was going through his body and mind.

‘Maybe this is not the right day on which to make a quick killing?’ he thought to himself, in spite of his own better judgement.

Licking his lips nervously, the skin already damp from the downpour, he forced himself to think hard and feel less.

‘There’ll be no rich pickings in there, that’s for sure, but the debts piling up since my last visit to Artichoke’s tavern have to be paid off and soon…’ he mused, knowing all too well those he owed money to, and how any delays with paying them back real soon would lead to certain death, and not at all the sort of glorious end he might have imagined for himself.

‘The times are also favorable… The Great King has spent months leading his armies against hordes of foreign invaders, and so that local lord who serves the King has had to leave his castle to be watched over by his stupid, young son. Wartime is always a time of great opportunities for those who work in my… profession,’ he thought, smiling to himself a little at last.

‘Come on, old man, those who don’t dare take risks are not deserving of fortune and respect,’ he mumbled himself as always in such situations. Once more, he checked his collection of knives was placed about his person in the fashion he knew would serve him well in all sorts of dangerous scenarios, then set off to hunt down some easy prey. Easy because in this sort of horrendous weather the element of surprise was on his side, and his chances of overwhelming a bunch of chattering fools and weaklings from nearby hamlets and farms certain. What could possibly stop Blacker, one of the most infamous bandits from Guardwood, from overwhelming a handful of harmless Darzans and stripping them of their savings?

Rolls of thunder and waves of rain lashing down the canvas roof and walls of the shelter muffled the screams of a woman giving birth inside it. She had spent long, hard months trying to stay alive, even though the agonies she was suffering had transported her mind into a world of madness. Fixated on one thought, one desire, she did her best to endure the torture her body and mind were being subjected to. All she longed for now was to end her struggles, nothing else mattered.

“Papa, is this lady… Once she gives birth, will she be ok again?” asked a light-haired girl clinging nervously onto her father’s tunic, trying to hug and hide behind his back.

“I know not, my lil’ darlin’,” the tall, hawk faced Darzan man said, stroking the girl’s head gently and smiling down at her assuringly. He tended to prefer telling the truth, even if it hurt some, but looking at the sadness and empathy twisting his daughter’s delicate features he thought to himself that in this case he’d better soothe the child’s heart a little. “But I do know that our Mage is the best midwife around, so be of good cheer and hope for the best, child.”

‘Yeah, let us hope,’ he said to himself, realizing he was falling into a pessimistic mood. Perhaps the unborn child was the cause of the woman’s madness, even if in part only. When the purification ritual had been performed the aura around the crazed woman did not clearly indicate that she was the one who had been marked by the Dark, rather than that which was to be born of her soon. There was no way of telling either way until she went into labour. For the time being, he recalled being assailed by a mind melting power which hit him when he tried, along with the healing wench, to touch the crazed woman’s spirit.

‘If only that force was not as charged with some repellent flaw,’ he pondered, sighing heavily. The very thought of what had hit him back then caused any hope in this time to instantly evaporate.

The storm outside seemed to grow even more loud and terrible. The heart of the woman in labour beat one last time and fell still. Once the old Darzan woman next to her began singing the traditional song of farewell, in order to show the departing soul where the path to the Light beyond was, a bolt of lightning struck mighty close to the rickety shelter. A huge branch torn from a nearby tree fell on top the man just then sneaking up behind it.

The elder who was in charge of the Darzan traveling party almost jumped up in shock. His whole body was now filled with unexpected waves of power which whirled around the inside of the shelter. The central point where all this energy was emanating from seemed to be this strange woman’s newborn child, now being wrapped in cloth nappies by the midwife. He approached the woman’s body and bent over it in order to close her eyelids. Frowning, he took a long, hard look at her face. Until now, all he had seen was a mask of pained madness, unnaturally wrinkled and twisted while the eyes kept on whirling with insane abandon. Now she looked completely different, as if she were a completely new person. Her features were relaxed, her eyes filled with calm and relief and… yes, he had to admit he could see a deep aura of happiness in her motionless gaze. Something in her features now seemed familiar to him, something which aroused memories, some long forgotten events. Soon enough, he realized exactly where he knew the woman from. Clearly remembering her name and life story.

“In the name of the Holiest Clan and the Blessed Blood of The Magni…” he groaned, air barely escaping his constricted throat. He could feel his whole world instantly sinking beneath a tide of growing despair and terror.

THE ISLAND OF ORIN

Year 17 of The Age of the Sword

I. The Trial of the Final Crossing

The Trial of the Final Crossing was called so for ample reason – being set by the Eldest One, it was meant to prove that students had completed their training and were ready to perform an exceptional role for the Darzan nation, and thus was not just a test of skill and knowledge, it was in fact a deadly challenge. Every year, graduating students were expected to meet and beat this challenge, resulting in death or permanent injury to most of those who dared take it.

Spark, the seventeen year old daughter of a blacksmith and herbalist from the Quaistas Clan, found the waiting part of the last in a series of tests to be the greatest challenge. Even though she was not a hot headed girl, she was energetic and quick to act, totally devoted to any tasks she took on, but this truly was an exceptional day. The chance to complete the task set before her was also the chance to start a whole new life she had always dreamed of. A life all the kids in her village wished for, even those who had not been born with the Gift. Completing seven years in the service of the Eldest One meant that, as well as being able to formally become a Sharim and thus earn the respect of the Darzan community, each graduate would be allowed to return home to their parents, friends and normal life. For young adepts, the process of learning magic directly from the Eldest One was most often a traumatic one, a time when childhood fancies were replaced with terrible pains, extreme demands upon the body, fierce challenges and terrible trials.

These were years spent mostly underground, in a maze of countless corridors and grottos hidden beneath the surface of an island cut off from the mainland. Being accompanied solely by a handful of other students and their masters was extremely taxing. This was a time completely devoted to intense training regimes involving the body and mind, designed to turn candidates (many of whom were still children) not just into instant adults, but also responsible novice qi-shamans. This was no place for play, for weakness or relaxation. None of the mentors, and especially not the sages, tolerated any jokes or disobedience, nor any instances of indecision and poor judgment, of insufficient determination and dedication. Some found this torturous regime too much to take – many were sent away from the Isle of Orin and returned to their hamlets and villages in shame, ignominy, rejected by their communities and labelled “kage”, meaning those who had wasted their gifts and failed to honor the hopes invested in them. Such rejects were summed up in the phrase: “Better be born without gifts and guile than it is to fail on olde Orin Isle”.

On this particular day, Spark had the chance to show she could finally face the Eldest One having proven herself to be above the status of adept. This was why she was so desperate to act, to get going and not sit around for hours concealed in a hiding place she herself had constructed in the central branches of a large, expansive akabra tree. None the less, being able to show she could remain still and wait as long as it was deemed necessary was the only way she knew of to pass the first stage of this rite of passage. She had to hunt down a mountain lotard, also known as a royal panthera, a feat which was almost impossible even taking into account her extensive training in the arts of tracking prey, using magic and various weapons – none of which guaranteed her mission would be successful. She had to focus and make best use of her innate intuition and creativity in order to stand any chance of success.

A typical royal panthera, one of the most fierce members of the feline species, had no weak points to target. Almost eighty kilograms of pure, predatory muscle giving the beast power, agility and speed, combined with perfect hearing, smell and almost supernatural eyesight made the mountain lotard king among all that walked the Isle of Orin, especially in its highland regions. Capable of climbing the tallest tree, able to swim or leap across any stream and climb the steepest, craggiest ravine, this fierce mountain cat had no equal.

And yet the mountain lotard, found only on this one particular island, had an additional, utterly unique characteristic – it was completely immune to magic spells. For hunters from the continent this did not matter, magic rituals having been banned completely since the times the Magni settled there, but for Spark, a Darzan candidate to become a shaman, this was no trifling matter. For her, it was a matter of life and death not to be able to use even the simplest disabling spell, one which could fell most foes, instead being forced to confront the wild fury of the meanest and most powerful beast on the Isle with nothing to depend on other than her slight, lithely girlish body. She had spent years honing her skills in hand to hand combat to perfection, yet still stood no chance in a direct stand off against this majestic predator. She had to fall back on thousands of hours of study she had performed, bent over ancient books and documents which charted the Isle’s wildlife. She had also spent countless evenings discussing this moment with Elias, one of the sages tasked with passing ancient wisdoms on to all the young adepts who had chosen to study on the Isle of Orin.

Once again, she performed a breathing exercise designed to loosen up her stiff and aching muscles and joints. Her plan really was very simple. Perhaps because simple solutions were ones she believed were the most likely to safely succeed. Or perhaps because in this particular case there was no point complicating matters. Having prepared for this mission over months, she now knew which watering hole to set her hiding place by, the one most likely to attract mountain pantheras and leave them at least a tiny bit vulnerable to kurrari bolts fired from her blowpipe. The weapon was relatively accurate at a distance of fifteen or so paces, the projectile it fired imbued with potent poisons. Her task was only to bring back a handful of the beast’s magical fur, and so she intended only to knock the lotard out without killing it. She felt sorry for these majestic animals, the same as she did any time she had to track and hunt for anything that lived and walked.

Alas, overcoming her feelings of sorrow and grief was one of the four key skills she was expected to develop as a Sharim due to serve the Darzan nation. Her mission was to lead, represent, heal and defend them all and so she had to devote herself wholly to her duty and destiny. All Sharim were respected and privileged members of their community, but for these bounties they had to pay with lives that were bound by responsibilities and sacrifices.

This hot, sunny day was on the one hand an ally to Spark’s quest, but on the other it turned the hours of waiting into a real nightmare. In her hunt, she not only had to cheat the lotard’s senses of sight and hearing, but its sense of smell too. Keeping still for hours on end was made worse by the itching she felt all over her body caused by a sticky, highly aromatic juice drawn from special bushes she had covered her skin with that morning. This substance, famed for its odor, now covered almost every inch of her flesh – in addition, she had also drank a substantial amount of the liquid just to be safe. The bush had a pleasant aroma in small doses, but its concentrated essence really was enough to cause the strongest head to spin and throats to gag.

The panthera appeared on the path up ahead unannounced. It stomped towards the stream and stopped. Spark only saw its ears moving slightly, searching for even the tiniest sound which might be concerning to the monstrous cat. The nose twitched too, inhaling all the smells around, but the lotard did not seem troubled by anything it sensed. It stood there as time went by, looking around without hurry, as if it was pondering something more important than its immediate surroundings.

‘If I had your powers, I would be a lot less guarded,’ Spark thought to herself. She had to concur with Elias who said to her once that to read and hear about the mountain panthera was one thing, but to see one in the flesh was something else. Once it moved at last, languidly swaying towards the stream, Spark could not tear her eyes away, captivated by the graceful movements and mighty muscles moving beneath a shiny, almost jet black yet slightly blue coat.

She had planned to do so only as a last resort, but unable to wait any longer she bit the little sphere she’d been holding between her teeth. The bitter, unique taste of the drug spread across her palate. ‘Just in case,’ she thought, breathing deeply, trying to justify the fear now suddenly overwhelming her mind. A mind she now forced to repeat soothing mantras so she could focus on her plan.

The mighty cat finally reached the shoreline, its neck craning backwards to ensure nothing was following it. Once it was satisfied that it had the watering hole all to itself, it dipped its mighty neck towards the water.

Thanks to the sense-heightening drug she had just ingested, Spark could see the scene in even greater detail. She could even hear the lotard’s tongue lapping the water, which worked in rhythm with the beating of Spark’s heart and the rush of blood all around her body. She slowly, carefully took a bolt from her pocket, one fitted with a blue fletching, and slid it into the uncomfortably long blowpipe. She rested one end of the pipe on a branch between her and the target, as she had practiced earlier. The distance was not a challenge in theory, but Spark knew she had to hit a very specific point on the beast’s body, and do it right the first time. Her training allowed her to all of a sudden block out everything that was happening all around in the woods, everything except her target. All that was left in the world was the cat and her own flesh now poised to make a few perfectly practiced moves.

She took a deep inhale and then, following a slight pause, she forced the air from her lungs in order to launch the projectile. She heard the bolt soar through the air. The predator up ahead growled quietly, then leapt up on all fours in a way which looked unnatural to Spark.

From that moment on, everything happened in a flash. The royal beast huffed and coughed, trying to paw at the sharp object now embedded at the top of its spinal column, at the base of the skull. The bolt was just out the reach of its claws, making the beast more and more enraged. Yet as it struggled, its movements became slower and heavier, its body now swaying uncertainly on all four paws.

“Sleep now, come on, sleep, good kitten,” Spark whispered inaudibly, almost turning her words into a lullaby. She watched as the drug she had mixed herself worked, quickly leading her hunt towards a successful conclusion. Fast, problem free, simple. Once the beast was downed, it was clear one dart was going to be enough to get the job done. Spark sighed a little more audibly now, closing her eyes and feeling the adrenaline rushing through her veins and brain.

‘I needn’t have used the sense enhancing potion,’ she thought to herself just before a familiar bark reached her ears from another direction. The beast by the water was perfectly still, but then the bark turned into a growl and the growl into a roar. Now she knew which way to look. Back where the lotard had first appeared upon the woodland path now stood another. Larger, its fur even more blue and shiny bright. Spark’s mouth instantly watered, her skin crawling with renewed fear. This time, the animal seemed to be staring right at her hiding place. Its fangs bared, its muscles poised to strike, forcing her to react in an instant.

With fleet elegance, she reached into her pocket and drew another bolt, this one fitted with a black feather fletching. Then she maneuvered the blowpipe in the right direction. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the predator making its way towards her. Bound after bound, racing forwards without slowing. Death incarnate. She took aim and fired while leaning back to get closer to the tree trunk in order to have something to take cover behind, in case the shot missed. She had no idea whether her aim had been true, and there was just enough time to grab for her Darzan hunting knife. That was when she saw the cat on a branch of the tree nearest to hers. The lotard swiped at Spark, but she blocked the blow with the armored gauntlet protecting her forearm. The impact knocked the knife from her hand, and next she felt another mighty paw smashing into her shoulder. The force was enough to send her flying from her hiding place. Falling, she clipped a few more branches on the way down before hitting the ground. The last thing she could remember was a riveting pain tearing through her body.

In regaining consciousness, she became aware of a damp and ticklish sensation upon her face. Spark opened her eyes and that was when something covered in rusty-red fur leapt off her head. Was it a weasel? As soon as she so much as thought of moving, her shoulder reminded her of why she was lying at the foot of the akabro tree. The wave of agony which flooded her body made her feel like vomiting instantly. Trained warrior instincts made her get a hold of herself, drawing on stores of strength and calm. The pain subsided somewhat, allowing Spark to get her bearings.

‘Well, I am still alive, so that second bolt must have hit home,’ she thought, lifting herself up onto a bent elbow, teeth gritted. She saw the body of the second mountain panthera, a male, lying next to the first, which was clearly a female. Neither one was moving. ‘Great, I killed her partner!’ Spark screamed inside, realizing what would happen if the female woke and realized what was up. ‘Poor beast, he misunderstood my intentions…’ Her fear was turning now into grief.

Spark composed herself, forcing her mind to work in analytical fashion as she had been taught by Reyvan, her rigorous fighting skills master. Sure, the mountain panthera was a smart beast, but it did not think the way humans do, acting purely on instinct. And it was instinct she now had to depend on to get her out of this predicament without any further worry or contemplation. Her priority was to tend to her wounds, then complete her mission and vanish from a spot where deadly danger was sleeping, but not for long. In fact, she giggled at herself for worrying about the couple lying close by instead of running for her life as far as her fleet feet would carry her.

She rose gingerly, in stages: first to her knees, then a pause… Then to her feet, another pause to still her spinning head… A glance at the animals before entering qi state which would allow her to use a little magic to speed up the healing process…

As soon as she could move without wincing, she moved towards the motionless bodies. Now, her focus was solely on carrying out her mission and ensuring her own safety was all her mind was occupied with. Thinking about this and that and the other would have to wait until her life was no longer hanging by a shiny blue hair.

* * *

It wasn’t until later that evening, sitting by a roaring camp fire and nibbling on the remains of a simple supper, that she allowed herself to review and analyze what had happened.

‘It seems the weasel saved my life when it decided to lick my face…’ Spark thought, remembering how the dazed female lotard was beginning to stir just as she began making her way back from the watering hole. If it wasn’t for that little critter, she may never have regained consciousness in time to escape. All in all, she’d been terribly lucky. Her fall had been broken by a soft bed of leaves at the foot of that mighty tree. They not only acted as a cushion, but clung to her wounds, releasing their healing properties in an instant, slowing the bleeding and allowing the body to begin recovering. She cringed at the thought of the deep gashes the second cat had inflicted on her arm and torso, wounds she had covered with special dressing even though the sight of her own flesh sliced wide open had made her wince.

‘Scars… I will have scars upon scars,’ Spark thought sadly, then smiled, ‘Scars are cool, they show a shaman can do more than cast spells…’

Resting by the roaring flames, she cast her thoughts back to the times before she’d been recruited. As a teenage kid, she would have found this sort of scenario to be tragically hopeless. She was a pretty lass, unusually attractive for a Darzan female, and drew admiring glances everywhere she went. Taller than other girls her age, she moved with unusual grace, her heart-shaped face, large blue eyes and long, straw colored hair the envy of all her peers. She’d become used to hearing compliments since she was little: “Oh, what a pretty child… What a cutie… She’ll have no trouble finding a mate”.

Along with her fine, feline looks, Spark was strong enough to impress boys her own age and be allowed to join in their games. She had often sat by a local stream with her best friend Nima, admiring boys swimming, allowing them to admire their shapely bodies and to comment the way they’d heard older women comparing the men of their tribe. Danil was the one who was most to her liking. A few years older than Spark, tall, slim yet already muscled and tanned, he made sure to always win the swimming competitions the boys would organize. His eyes reflected the deep, shimmering blue of the waves, and she couldn’t help falling into them any time he stopped to stare her way, making sure eye contact was established… Nima said he was wrong for Spark, that the two of them were like day and night. He was so dark skinned and moody, while Spark was pale and always smiling.

Sitting by that camp fire all alone Spark found all the memories of her childhood seemed like the stuff of distant fairytales, unreal and silly somehow. How often had she wondered what had happened back in the village since she’d left to start her training? Was her father still struggling with that old Ryvore? Had her younger brother Teo grown up and calmed down even a little? Was her mother a little happier than usual and had Nima found a boy to her liking? Following years of immersion in magical studies and warrior training, duties she’d been forced to perform with mechanical precision by her mentors, her childhood years now seemed like a time of pure and fleeting innocence.

“Yet such is the sequence of things for those born with the burden of having the gift,” she heard her tutors speaking in her mind. According to Darzan laws, children who showed signs of having been born sensitive to magical powers would be taken to see the Eldest One on the Isle of Orin and there to begin their training. Those who completed their schooling and passed the Trial of the Final Crossing would head home to the Land of Sid in order to serve their community as one of a long line of Sharim. Spark was expected to soon enough do her duty and become bound by the Great Vow which her nation had made to the first king of their continent. Having a well-trained shaman was important for each and every Darzan community, giving simple folk cause to feel proud and allowing them to hope for a better tomorrow. Shamans, according to the Vow, were the only ones allowed to use magic, even though key decisions in each settlement were made by councils of elders.

Spark smiled involuntarily when she recalled the faces of all those watching in her village as she passed the first test which showed she had the power of the Gift. Since she was little, she had dreamed of being able to wield magic, drawn to watch shamans practicing their skills any time she could. Even during playtimes, she always insisted on acting the role of the Sharim.

‘Now childish play becomes a struggle for survival,’ she found herself thinking in preparation for the next challenge she would have to pass before being allowed to enter the Hall of Visions. Was she about to be allowed to leave the Isle at last, or would she fail and be forced to spend another long and painful year training in order to be once more allowed to take on the Trial of the Final Crossing?

II. Moonbeam Moss

The trek to the edge of the Fathomless Void was not too much of a challenge, as long as one kept in mind all the legends and stories told about it at the adept school. Planning too was key to success. A day of marching awaited, then some swimming and climbing sections, allowing access to a narrow yet fathomless crevice. This was the opening to a vertical cave, the bottom of which was reportedly covered with Moonbeam Moss. The real challenge was climbing down into the abyss deep enough to reach the mythical plant. None of those who had been down there and returned was ever able to relate how they had succeeded, all mumbling unreal stories which had all the hallmarks of trauma induced by hallucinations.

Spark walked, ran, swam and climbed until she reached the edge of the abyss and sat on the edge of the crevice looking down into an absolute void.

“You are the last challenge I have to best in order to finally be free to return to the mainland. Let me leave the Isle of Oris, please, give me just a handful of your mossy treasures. What can I do to make you favorable to my quest? Can the void hear me? Is it possible?” Spark whispered into the darkness, hoping the essence of this mysterious place had ears as well as walls and traps.

Elias often said that the Fathomless Void was filled with ancient magic born of the very natural foundations of the Isle of Orin itself. Spark knew very little about this sort of power, because even the Eldest One, whenever asked about such matters, would become reticent and tended to fob his listeners off with vague responses or even complete silence. Strange, considering he was the one who had chosen this particular test for her today. All by itself her hand moved to the breast pocket where she kept a tiny vial of freshly prepared feline agility potion which she intended to deliver to the Eldest One as proof that she had bested the mountain panthera. Then, a voice in her head whispered firmly: “Ancient Orin Magic!”.

She uncorked the vial and took a firm swig. The taste was particularly foul, worse than any magic potion she’d sampled before. At first, nothing happened, but in due course she began having to squint as daylight began to blind her eyes.

A little later, even keeping her eyes tightly closed did not bring the desired relief. She stumbled around, hands over her eyes, trying to remember the lay of the land around her and find any spot that might have been shaded from the sun. All she could see with her mind’s eye was exposed rock, covered here and there with moss. The pain was starting to drill into the back of her head and then deep into her brain. The only solution within reach was the darkness the ravine up ahead contained. Struggling to overcome waves of pain induced nausea, Spark crawled towards the edge of the ravine and dropped her legs over it. ‘I’m gonna fall, as blind as a bat!’ she thought to herself, just as her finely honed instincts took over. “Focus, mind, focus child, nothing but focus, the task ahead is all that is…” she chanted to herself, echoing the reprimands and angry instructions her masters had issued her over and over again. “The more of your senses you focus on the task at hand, the less you shall feel that which gets in the way of your mission!” she growled through gritted teeth.

Climbing down the perfectly vertical wall of rock she discovered two things – both absolutely essential, all things considered. The further she descended the lesser her agony, for a start. And as the pain inside her head abated, her hands and feet became ever more adept at finding purchase on the sheer rock face. Rock climbing was a skill taught to all the adepts during their training, but Spark had never felt this light and this capable before, despite the terrifying conditions she was descending under. ‘So this is what feline agility magic feels like!’ she thought with some serious relief.

She kept on going down, heart beating ever more calmly inside her ribcage, relieved to find the pain had now abated almost completely. Then she paused and tried opening her eyes. Nothing. No difference, nothing at all emerged from the darkness. ‘Damn, I’ve gone blind!’ a scared little voice screamed in silence, but then she let go of one handhold and searched her hunting clothes for a small brooch used by Sharim during night hunts. The object glowed with lime green luminescence, not bright enough to scare off any potential prey, but enough to be able to see within a few inches of its range. Spark was relieved to find shapes emerging out of the black void, little cracks and crevices in the wall directly in front of her face. “Kid, will you start thinking at last!” she barked at the wall, enraged by her own lack of mental discipline. ‘What would a real Sharim do now?’ she mused…

Following logical thought processes she forced herself to trust that the effects of the feline potion would last at least another hour or so. This would help her find the moonbeam moss. She knew nothing about where it might be or what it might look like. All she could do was keep crisscrossing the sheer rock face in the hope of coming across some. She craned her neck to look back and saw that the opposite rock face was not far away. The faint light emitted by the brooch bounced off it, though barely. She began meditating in preparation for further descent, years of training taking over as she took a deep breath. Time passed by, and as she began to slide downwards inch by inch the rock she was clinging to for dear life became more porous and crumbly.

After what felt like an hour of climbing down the ravine, Spark’s left foot hit something that felt like a rock shelf or the bottom of the damned hole. Feeling around with her right foot she realized she had hit a platform of sorts, one which seemed to connect the two opposing walls of the ravine like a bridge. She crouched down upon it, allowing her muscles to rest after the extreme descent, and listened to the overwhelming silence. Next, she felt a gust of icy air and heard someone whispering in the dark. Her muscles instantly tightened, ready to react to anything which might befall her next. She peered into the darkness and caught sight of an opening in the opposing wall, something like an entrance to a grotto or some sort of side tunnel. To reach it, all she needed to do was climb up a few feet and crawl in. Another gust of cold air flew out of the opening and stroked her face, followed by another whisper. Spark crouched even lower, trying to listen to what the voice was saying. Now she realized the whisper was a combination of different voices, as if all sorts of creatures were hiding inside the tunnel. Her mind raced with all possible scenarios as to what might be hiding inside the dark opening, but her body, trained over the past seven long years, froze still, ready to pounce or flee as necessary. Listening intently, she tried to guess how many voices she could hear and what they might have been saying. They swirled in the air around her, too numerous to pick out and decode. It then dawned on her that some of the sounds did not belong in a place like this – the squeaks of doors being opened, the crying of a small child, the sudden howling of a wolf. Then a woman’s muffled scream…

Next, Spark realized a figure was emerging out of the shadows before her. As soon as her sight adjusted to the absence of light, she could make out that the thing now standing before her was some sort of creature she had never come across before. It seemed to be partly human in shape, especially the face. More than seven feet tall, it had massive shoulders, arms and hips, all covered in what seemed to be battle armor. Spark felt her heart now beating faster and faster. Her hunting outfit did not come with any serious weapons attached, so an attack from a heavily armed opponent was not going to be easy to deflect. When the monster roared and charged, Spark was instantly reminded of what she had been taught over and over again: “All fully trained warriors dream of opponents who are overconfident of victory. Surprise them the moment they engage and never let them find their bearings in combat,” words she had been forced to memorize and which now echoed in her mind.

A massive axe smashed into the rocky floor where Spark had been crouching just a second ago. Now the girl was on top of the beast’s back and busy cutting the backs of its legs with her hunting knife, mindful to make the cuts deep enough to sever tendons. The feline agility potion was helping her work precisely without thinking or wasting time. As soon as she was done inflicting damage with her meager weapon, she leapt off her foe’s back and landed in a crouch, ready for more attacks. What happened next, however, was something none of her extensive training had prepared her for. The beast, in spite of the wounds Spark had inflicted, charged forward across the bridge and vanished in the opposing wall… Running into and through it as if it was made of mist.

Spark rubbed her eyes and was about to follow, in order to check what the wall opposite was concealing, when another warrior, this time on horseback, emerged out of the darkness behind her. Suddenly, she was surrounded by different creatures engaged in combat. The clamor of flesh and armor clashing, screams of pain and triumph mingled with the smell of metal and blood filling the air around her. Men in full suits of armor, monsters not unlike the one she had just bested, other creatures too horrible to describe, along with dwarves covered in shiny chainmail – all this was now flailing about her as she crouched in total stillness, trying to fathom what was going on… Was the battle real? Why was no one paying her any attention? She rubbed her eyes, but the battle scene refused to vanish, suddenly replaced by a whole other scene.

Now she was witnessing a terrible slaughter. Houses appeared out of nowhere, most of which were on fire, their residents dying on the ground outside, some being tortured and raped by beastly soldiers whose faces were covered with silver masks, their features twisted in terrible grimaces. All around Spark was terror, excruciating pain and tangible hate, her emotions instantly swept up in all this suffering. She was aware what she was witnessing was an illusory projection, but they visions felt beyond real, the smells and sounds and sights overwhelming. Spark could not help empathizing with the victims of the terror she was being forced to watch, finding herself unable to turn away and cover her eyes and ears. Every atom in her body was roaring to get out of there, but it was only cold, hard logic which suggested the best way out. All of her attention was now focused in one direction she had kept in her mind: the opening in the wall at the end of the rocky bridge.

She raced towards it and as soon as she had climbed into the narrow opening the world around her became silent. She crawled a little further, then threw up. Every part of her body seemed to be shaking with pain. She needed to stay put and gather her wits in order to be able to explore this new setting and see how she could go about completing her quest.

Down the end of a long tunnel she could see a faint mist which glowed silver the way the sky might on a cold, cloudless night when the moon is full. She set off in its direction and soon enough found herself staring at the object of her quest. The side walls of the rocky corridor were covered in moss which glowed with silvery brightness! She stood there, captivated by its beauty, then reached out and touched the soft surface of the squishy plant. Contact with it instantly calmed her nerves, making her feel very calm and pleased. Just the way a person might feel sitting outside their own home on a warm summer’s evening, resting on a bench and watching tiny clouds floating past overhead. Spark felt the need to lie down in this living carpet and allow herself a long, carefree rest. Everything she had been worrying about and focusing on of late was now pushed to the back of her mind. She stepped forward, still sliding her hand along the moss lined walls, more and more in tune with the blessedly calm energy of this place. This was when, out of the corner of one eye, Spark spotted some shapes lying on the rocky floor nearby. Shapes which looked oddly, disturbingly familiar. Human skeletons in various positions scattered across the shimmering moss. ‘Lucky souls’, she thought to herself, feeling pangs of envy to think that others had gotten here before her and were still enjoying this extraordinary place, while she had only just arrived. She sat down on the soft, shimmering carpet of moss and felt like a newborn babe about to lie back and be cradled in a freshly laundered, fragrant bed sheet. Felt safe, loved, happy…

A figure, glowing dimly in the darkness, emerged out of the silvery mist. A tall, beautiful woman, long hair flowing down her back, approached Spark with delicate, measured steps. Her pale, floor length gown seemed to reflect what little light there was in this cavern. Her face was round, classically beautiful, her full lips and dark eyes making her look as statuesque as any goddess anyone might imagine. She emanated strength and grace as she calmly approached Spark, watching the girl intently.

“Who are you, lady, dear?” Spark whispered, afraid speaking out loud would break the soothing and divine spell of the place.

The woman did not answer at first, as if ignoring the question, then smiled a little and opened her lips to speak,

“Welcome, child of light,” she said, waving her hand in a gesture Spark interpreted as welcoming. “Different beings call me different names, but the one I like best is Evermother. If you wish, you can call me that.”

“Is this place your home, Evermother?” Spark asked, at a loss as to what to say next, fearing the woman was only another ghostly apparition.

The luminous lady sat down next to Spark, leaning back a little on one elbow as if in preparation for a nice, long, relaxing chat. Spark suddenly smelled the aroma of a flowering garden entering her nostrils. Before she could go about trying to work out where the smell was coming from, the woman spoke again,

“You are now in a place where your nature meets and intermingles with mine. It is a special sort of place, for me also, even though I might say it is as much mine as any other nearby. But it was here that I could sense the familiar vibrations which constitute who you are. I came to check their… alignment with me and they do indeed align.”

“What does all that mean and what will you do about it?” Spark asked, watching the woman’s face intently in order to see what sort of a reaction her words were having.

“I have existed for all eternity and my essence permeates all that is. I do not see any need to do anything about this or that or any other thing. The question I might ask is rather: what do YOU propose to do about it?”

“Well… I am not sure… I understand,” Spark said, starting to mumble a little. She wanted to be frank and direct, starting to sense something was amiss with her mission and that this strange figure might not be pleased to find out what her visitor came here for. The woman said nothing for a good, long while, all the time gazing into Spark’s wide open eyes.

“I will try to help you make sense of things, though I do admit that talking to people, even those marked by the light, has never come naturally or easily to me,” she said, evidently absorbed in thought, one of her fingers playfully twisting a lock of her long, fine hair. “Some representatives of your species are at times touched by the love of Those-Who-Are. This is extremely rare, but if it does happen then this very specific… this sensitivity to certain things is passed down from generation to generation until a given bloodline is extinct. This allows vibrations, of which everything that is animated is made, in such persons to harmonize fully with… Hmm, in a certain sense with me. This destiny you have inherited means that you… Are a part of me, a piece, a fragment, understand?”

Spark peered through the darkness at the woman, but the slight frown on her bright face showed she was not altogether pleased with her explanation.

“To be perfectly honest, Evermother, I do not. Forgive if I am not capable of understanding your words, but I know nothing of Those-Who-Are or the vibrations I am supposed to be made up of. Besides, you must be mistaken because I do not feel in any way specially gifted or marked, my family are simple, ordinary folks and…”

“You are, above all, very young,” the woman interrupted Spark. “In order to feel what it is I am talking about you have to learn how to listen to your own true self and this demands both talent and practice.” The goddess rose up off the mossy floor. “Sooner or later, this knowledge will reach you, especially considering you have such a wise teacher.”

Spark saw the woman smiling in a way which made it clear she knew more than she was ready to reveal. How was it possible? Did she know the Eldest One, was she watching from afar?

“Do excuse if I ask who it is you are referring to?” Spark asked, now feeling intrigued and rather frightened.

“Dear child of Light… I know all there is to know. Let me put that in another way: I have access to all knowledge, for I am the guardian of all that which creates… The world you exist in,” Evermother said and paused, seeing Spark’s face clouding over in confusion once again. “There is no point us talking now, this is not yet the right time for you to understand what there is to be understood.”

Spark was scared to see the tall woman waving her hand dismissively, but then her face lit up as if the goddess had thought of a brilliant new idea.

“If you wish, we can sneak a glance at what destiny the Creators have in mind for you,” Evermother said, smiling the way a young girl might when suggesting they play a trick on someone. “Would you like to know more about what awaits you?”

Spark swallowed hard to lubricate her suddenly very dry mouth, then began wondering – on the one hand, sure, who wouldn’t want to be shown their future, and yet was it right to go peeking at things which are naturally concealed from mere mortals?

“And if I should wish to look, what must I do?”

“Not much, in fact, because I am the only one capable of getting this information for you. I must say I am myself rather curious, and the place we find ourselves in today grants us this privilege.”

Spark nodded, though still unconvinced, to show she agreed. Evermother approached and placed the tips of her fingers against Spark’s temples, then closed her eyes. Spark felt as if she was falling into an abyss. Images flashed past her eyes as if in a speeded up dream. They flew past so quickly, it was impossible to see them all, much less retain them as memories. The one thing which struck Spark was a repeating image of a young warrior and the powerful emotions she felt upon seeing his face. It stood out from the crowd of other faces she was being shown, and she felt overwhelmingly attached and aroused by it. His big, golden eyes with their slitty, vertical pupils drew her in a way she found fascinating.

Evermother then drew her hands back and placed them against her dress, as if she had burnt herself. Expressions of wonder and horror appeared upon her bright face.

“Why do you, beings who come from me, always have to transform ever so suddenly?!” she asked, and her face went from appearing to be displeased to then deeply concerned. She stroked Spark’s hair and placed her hand upon the top of the girl’s head with tenderness which did not seem appropriate to her majestic demeanor.

“I saw… I think I saw a man,” Spark said, trying to make sense of what she had been shown. “A slim boy with eyes which were not human. His stare… Made me feel… A terrible pain, despair, everything surrounding him seemed to be filled with such agony… Is that what awaits me too?” Spark asked, putting her arms around herself in a protective gesture.

“The time will come when you will discover just how incredibly important that boy is to you, but he… I am sorry,” Evermother said, then bent down to embrace Spark in an unexpectedly human show of empathy. “I should not be doing this. It will probably change the course of events, but I want to give you something. A special sort of gift from me to you. Making you even more connected, entangled to me. It will allow you to go through what is destined with greater ease. This will spare you the trouble that comes with sudden changes that await along your path.”

Spark felt countless tiny needles pricking her skin, followed by a wave of all enveloping warmth. She did not know if to thank or not say anything at all. The sudden burst of Evermother’s soothing energy was not enough, however, to stop Spark feeling concerned about the visions she had just witnessed.

“But now go. Those who are counting on you are concerned about your absence,” Evermother mother said, gently pushing Spark towards the sky-blue opening which had suddenly appeared next to them. “And take some more of my moss with you, it may yet come in useful.”

Spark saw Evermother winking at her, to show she knew exactly why the young adept had climbed down into this impossible chasm. Unsure of what to do next, she curtsied and bowed her head a little, then vanished in the pulsating glow. This took her back to the underground tunnel right next to the glimmering moss patches and scattered human bones. Her thoughts were racing still, but this did not stop her realizing what fate awaited her if not for the magical dame’s sudden appearance. As soon as the soothing energy she had felt in Evermother’s presence faded away, Spark got busy trying to formulate strategic plans for what needed to be done next. Thinking about everything which had transpired just now was going to have to wait.

As she climbed back up to the top of the ravine, no more visions or dreamlike illusions appeared, but now she really felt the absence of the effects of the feline agility elixir she had consumed before starting her descent. The way back up was exhausting, so as soon as she was able to see dim starlight in the skies above she felt a wave of intense emotion flood right through her aching muscles. As she neared the top of the climb, she became aware that her mission was about to end successfully. Nothing now stood between her ambition and burning desire to become a Sharim! Tears started blinding her eyes even before she reached the top of the vertical rock face. Tears of happiness and indescribable relief. Seven long, arduous years she had fought to reach this moment. She was free. Free! Free at last!

Once over the edge of the precipice, she allowed herself to rest and dwell on what had happened. She had no need of hurry now – she could easily stroll back towards the Eldest One, knowing she had earned the right to enter the Hall of Visions and have him pick out the right color of robe for her new role as a mage.

Something told her to scream out loud, releasing a burst of joyful noise into the darkness that rolled across the nearby hills and echoed off them. As soon as she was ready to move on, a dark shape appeared out of the murky night. She instantly took up a fighting stance, her hand reaching back to the hunting knife strapped to her waist.

“Relax, girl. It’s me, Tulan,” said a familiar, deep voice, in a tone which allowed her muscles to at once be at ease. But why was her tracking skills teacher waiting for her here?

“I thought our rules firmly forbid anyone else from being involved in the Trial of the Final Crossing, or am I wrong, Tulan?” Spark asked, her voice faltering.

“For centuries, we have worked hard to make sure the rules were being followed to the letter,” the slim, dark haired shaman confirmed, walking towards Spark and studying her intently. His gait suggested he was tense and uncertain somehow, unlike his usual, composed self. “But as you know, when a week passes from the end of the time set for each trial, we begin our search for the absent candidate.”

“Only five days have gone by since I set off from the grotto.”

“We have no problems measuring time on the Isle of Orin, my dear,” Tulan said, now staring intently at the satchel hanging from Spark’s side. “Fifteen days have passed since we saw you last.”

“But that is not possible,” Spark countered, suddenly remembering what Evermother had said to her in parting. Had everything she saw happened for real? Even if so, her conversation with the mysterious divinity only lasted a few moments…

“Were you able to complete your quest, girl?”

Spark’s inherent sense of duty now made her instantly reach into her satchel and pull out a bundle of cloth which she then unwrapped. The silvery glow lit up the night around them, captivating both student and master. Tulan sighed with evident relief, then smiled gently.

“Congratulations. I will be honest in saying that, no matter how much I may like you as a person, I was not counting on your mission ending successfully. To be even more plain – once the moon had set this eve, I was planning on setting off home. Many of those who enter the void never ever emerge again.”

“And thank you for your… unsparing honesty,” Spark said, putting her treasure back into her satchel. “So very typical of everything which happens on this charming isle.”

Tulan was unique among all Spark’s other mentors. His kind and extraordinarily calm character resulted in relations which were truly friendly. At least as far as the relations between mentors and adepts was on the Isle. He once again smiled and took a piece of black bread from a knapsack, along with some ripeweed root which was used to treat those weakened by long term illness, and handed it all along with a waterskin to Spark.

“I suspect in good time you will come to value my honesty and miss it for all it is worth,” Tulan growled and watched his pupil trying to eat slowly, even though after a weeklong fast her body was desperate for fuel and hydration. He sat down in a crosslegged pose and said, “For now, eat slowly. News of your return has just reached the Eldest One. I am now to take you directly to the Hall of Visions.”

“Why are you so protective all of a sudden? I am a big girl now. And why should we be altering the traditional order of the ritual?” Spark asked, now rather unsettled by her mentor’s unusual behavior.

Tulan shrugged, making a face which gave nothing away.

“This is what the Eldest One requests, I am only doing his bidding. And I wouldn’t treat my company on your way back as any sort of special treatment.”

“Sure, only discipline and self-restraint matter on Orin,” Spark joked, suddenly delighted to know that her time on the Isle was coming to an end the way every bad dream finally had to stop.

She finished her meal in silence. The warm, cloudless night meant the human intellect became naturally stilled. As much as she wanted to forget all about her mentors and the pains they’d put her through in training, now the unique atmosphere of this place, filled with pleasant smells and sounds which soothed the senses, was something she wanted to memorize and hold on to forever. Especially seeing as in becoming a Sharim, sworn to serve her own tribe, she was unlikely to ever see this island again.

“Tulan…” she said, unsure of what to say next, but then took the opportunity to finally ask: “Tell me, how many… Candidates were chosen to take the trial and managed to get the Moonbeam Moss before me?”

The night was bright, but Spark still couldn’t read anything in the features of her tracker mentor. The prolonged delay in his answering, however, suggested the answer was not going to be simple or easy to give.

“As far as I know, several adepts came here to try, but…” Tulan turned his eyes towards the hills ahead of them. “From this place… Only the Eldest One and Reyvan returned. We’ve lost plenty of good, experienced Sharim to it.”

“Are you telling me that all the other candidates, apart from those two, were killed trying?”