Ten of Swords (Draft Only)

Chapter 9

There should not have been that much magic available to him there. Either his natural sense for the arcane sources had dulled, or somewhere nearby was a sealed breach that was leaking. When he had entered that place, he had felt very little natural energy. The sensation of dark magics hit him like the foul stench of death, a scent he was uncomfortably familiar with. Yet, when he cast his spell, the power of it shocked him. He'd not cast a spell of such magnitude in so long that he had almost believed her would never be able to ever again.

When night fell, he took off on his own to investigate. The skeletons of the building around him were a grim reminder of white pride wrought. To think that the role one played in the writing of history was worthy of any means necessary was foolish and evil. It was not the first time, and it would not be the last. He had seen the same story play out again, and again, and again.

That was why he looked for the breach. Not to make himself stronger, no. He knew very well he still had many unseen wounds that would need to heal, and that power taken from a source was only ever temporary. The breach would be wherever the stench was strongest. Its seal must have been weakened by time and the force of the spirits passing from one realm into the next. Aetherglow did not react. Nor did helfire. Darkflame lit, and sustained. This breach was not connected to the spaces between or the infernal, but to the Dark Sea.

His face contorted. He hated that place. His faith told him that the guilty could swim in that inky black ocean for an eternity and never reach the other side, weighed down by that which tied them eternally to the earthly realm. The concept disturbed him greatly. It was for that reason that he harboured such a strong fear of death.

The spirits moved into view, following as he moved with the fire. The crystal focus of his staff helped him visualise and transfer the energy from his surroundings into the crystal, down the staff and through his finger tips, through his body and into the fire above his palm. Curious things, wanting to be heard. Their voices were soft and pleading, but he ignored them. They would move on, eventually. Though they may be helped along, all things moved away from the earthly realm in time. He followed the direction of the flame, to where it burned brightest.

It was there, in the ruins of the bunkhouse. Many more spirits gathered there, watching him, pleading to be heard. Before he could continue his search however, he felt something in the air change. A small spirit expressed excitement. Spirits were adept at decerning the nature of things, and it knew that someone approached that might be able to save it. That someone of course, was that woman. The one that the healer called 'Elie,' and the boy called 'mother.' In her presence, he could not continue his search. Seeing the blade in her hand he knew he had to be careful. The spirits would get their wish it seemed.

It had been a long time since he had witnessed a true ritual of passing. The woman herself wouldn't have known that was what she was doing however, as it seemed it was simply in her nature to try to help. It was futile. There would always be spirits in need of help. So many that the weight of their collective grief could crush entire civilizations. A long time ago, he devoted himself to listening to their stories and helping them pass over. After hearing so many of the same stories, he had grown numb to them, convinced that there had to be something else he could do. Something greater. Something that would prevent such suffering from ever happening again.

He hadn't been expecting her to treat the spirits of those who had attacked them with such tenderness. Something about it all had caught him off-guard. His concentration wavered, and something from deep inside him stirred. Tears fell. They felt like they belonged to someone who was long gone, and yet he had never before been quite so aware of where he stood. The flame died not because the spirits were gone, but because he could no longer sustain it. The energy from the breach was still present, but he couldn't focus.