*COMPLETE* "People don't believe in us anymore. They don't believe that in the end we will do what is right. We can't let them down. We can't let Ben win."
Decisions made on top of the lonely, wind-swept cliff of Lethinor reverberate around the five...
The road is long and undulating, like the slow slither of a snake, tan and pebble-backed, winding its way through tree and brush.
They go on horse, and the slow, rhythmic motion of the beast beneath her lulls Allayria into a dull trance in which time simply seems to melt through her. She feels stronger now, better able to pull the patched bits of her up and over the ruins, a passable face for this old but new world.
In this warm, burgundy cloak and thick, ever-green scarf wrapped close around her back and face, she feels contained. Those fragmenting cracks that fissure, spider-like, can be staved off until she has the protection of the darkness.
They bring with them books and scrolls as well as vials and cases. Part of it is for show—as reason for Ruben and his newest apprentice to visit Commander Beinsho. Another part of it is to ward off the beautiful loneliness of the twinkling night; an excuse for Ruben, face lit by candlelight, to use his rich baritone; an excuse for her to not have to answer.
She had been afraid it would be texts about technique, texts about history—
Her hands clutch at the reins, tendons scorching-white against her knuckles, until she pries them apart, in slow, shaky intervals.
But they are stories. Some of them fables, some of them lullabies, some of them grand, sprawling epics. And these people's lives seem to pass over her, hovering, ghost-like, as she lays flat on her back, face up toward the stars. Their joys twine in her, their angers stew, and their sorrows sink in, down to that dead weigh hanging deep in there, so the warm tears slide soundlessly from the corners of her eyes. He doesn't light a fire so she can cry in the dark.
Sometimes she wants him to say something, to break this strange, wordless truce between them, but she dreads it. She dreads having to speak about it.
So he teaches her. They review defensive moves at dusk, while setting up camp, and during the long days' journeys he teaches her small tricks—Skilling sweat off one's brow, sieving rock and dirt apart, pulling water out of plants. With these small victories, he starts her on a more challenging task.
"A key part of basic Skilling is being able to see your material," he says as the noon suns beat down on them. "In order to control it, you need to be able to see it or feel it. But with enough practice, simply knowing where that material is and visualizing its transformation will allow you to manipulate it."
He shows the rock to her, allowing her to feel it between her fingers, before placing it in the knapsack slung behind his saddle.
"Remove the rock."
The sweat is running in long, beading streams down her face by the time she realizes it's not going to work. Not yet. When bright, pink splotches stain her cheeks she feels a warm hand on her shoulder.
"No one gets it the first time," he tells her, pulling the rock out and placing it back into her palms. "Before you try again, close your eyes and try to visualize the rock in your palm. Don't just feel it with your hands, sense it with your Skill. Start to control it, and then look for the connection between you."
Her eyes slide closed and she sits there for a while, feeling the rough edges against her fingers, holding the memory of its appearance in the forefront of her mind. She begins to turn her hands away from each other, like opposite ends of a book, and feels the rock begin to stretch apart. She sees it then, the soft white glow set against the dark red of her eyelids that seems to drift out from her hands to the dark shape of the rock.
"Even non-Skillers such as I can see it, if we train ourselves to. In time you will be able to see others' strength and flexibility, and measure them against your own.
"I don't think you will find an equal. You have an extraordinary amount of Skill, Allayria."
The rock shatters in her hand and she looks away, anger rushing to her aid as the tears threaten to overflow. It's frustration and rage that grips her now, making her hands shake and her teeth clench into granite as the debris trails off behind her horse.
Can I do nothing without being reminded of it?
The forests grow wilder as the ground rises up, first in rolling hills, then into long, jutting mountains that climb up into the clouds. Their road begins to climb alongside them, and eventually the trees sink beneath them.
"Did you find a small, round device with me?" Allayria asks him once, stopping and looking out into the valley below. "When... It would be small, no bigger than my palm and metallic. Cold—it was cold."
Ruben looks over at her curiously.
"No," he answers. "I don't know of anything like that. Was it something important?"
"No," Allayria says, looking away. "No, it was just— Never mind. It doesn't matter."
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A/N: Stranger Things, Stranger Things, Stranger Things. Just finished episode 6. I love Steve. And his hair. Mostly his hair.
In actual related news, this chapter has another callback quote from the "Sensory Creatures" chapter of Paragon and a mention of the device found with Serfigue in the "Disguises" chapter. Allayria obtains it in the "The Little Black Book."
And as always, a full view of the artwork, "AchelousRecounts," can be found on my deviantart account here: https://asimsluvr.deviantart.com/art/Achelous-Recounts-334590751. Face reference: skydancer-stock.
