white Strands of Air, grasping them with ease, yet straining as he summoned a number of the deep, midnight-black ones. He was a Void mage, but not a particularly talented one. Having what he needed, he set to crafting the correct pattern, staring into the air, urging the Strands to go where they needed to go.
This particular Weave was complex and he took pride in knowing that he was one of the few mortals capable of such a feat. As he neared the completion of the Weave, he closed his eyes and drew forth the image of his office at Immylla.
The sound of a thick parchment sheet being torn in two filled the wilderness.
Opening his eyes, he spotted the telltale slit in front of him, hanging in midair. He reached out with a hand to touch the edge of the slit—an icy chill ran along his arm—and pulled it to one side, much as he would a curtain. Concentrated blackness waited for him inside. With one last look around—fixing the scene in his mind should he need to return—he stepped through the opening and disappeared into the void, letting the flap of reality fall back into place.
A few moments later, the slit disappeared with a small pop.
Chapter 6: Discovery
Once Kenders and Nikalys reached the bottom of the hill, they moved onto the road leading home. No longer made of yellow-tinted dirt, the way was instead a muddy mess that reminded Kenders of creamy butter. The muck significantly slowed their pace as they slipped in some places and got stuck in others.
Getting to this point had taken much longer than she would have liked. When the ijul had taken the slaughtered mages—aided by crackling white magic—from the bluff, they resumed their descent only to stop and hide in a bush when Kenders felt a surge of black and white. Since leaving their hiding place, Kenders had not felt any more magic.
A half-mile from the edge of town, they started to encounter debris. Muddied clumps of wet straw still tied in bundles lay scattered about, remnants of roof thatching. Splintered timbers and tree branches stuck up from the muck, forcing the siblings to go around them. Early, unripe olives dotted the ground. The wave had brought the harvest to town a few turns early.
Puddles and pools lay scattered about, some large enough to be considered ponds. The occasional bit of household furniture jutted up out of the mud: a chair, a table, a pot-stove. Spotting a child’s crib off the road a bit, Kenders turned her head yet listened carefully for an infant’s cry. There was none.
This terrain was both familiar and foreign. She had walked this path countless times before, but the destruction around her made it seem as if she were treading upon it for the first time. She shook her head without pause, caught in a state of perpetual shock.
It took them twice as long as it should have to finally reach the eastern edge of town. Or at least what had been the eastern edge of town.
Pointing to an empty plot of land, Kenders said, “Widow Johns’ house is gone.”
“All the houses are gone,” replied Nikalys.
Standing in mud, drowning in helplessness, Kenders muttered, “I don’t see how anyone survived.”
Nikalys clenched his jaw, sighed, and said, “Let’s go. I don’t want to linger.” He turned away and continued west. Kenders followed.
A short time later, they found the first body. Stopping a few paces from the corpse, brother and sister stared, silent. Kenders could tell that it was a man, but that was all. The poor soul lay face down in the mud, covered in yellow, slimy muck.
Fighting back the urge to get ill, Kenders quietly, “That’s not Father, is it?”
Nikalys hesitated—worrying her—before answering, “Father’s taller.”
“Jak?”
Shaking his head, Nikalys replied, “The hair is wrong.”
“Then who?”
Nikalys was quiet for a few heartbeats before sighing. “I don’t want to know.”
He stepped away from the corpse and continued into the village, squishing as he went.
Kenders followed,
This particular Weave was complex and he took pride in knowing that he was one of the few mortals capable of such a feat. As he neared the completion of the Weave, he closed his eyes and drew forth the image of his office at Immylla.
The sound of a thick parchment sheet being torn in two filled the wilderness.
Opening his eyes, he spotted the telltale slit in front of him, hanging in midair. He reached out with a hand to touch the edge of the slit—an icy chill ran along his arm—and pulled it to one side, much as he would a curtain. Concentrated blackness waited for him inside. With one last look around—fixing the scene in his mind should he need to return—he stepped through the opening and disappeared into the void, letting the flap of reality fall back into place.
A few moments later, the slit disappeared with a small pop.
Chapter 6: Discovery
Once Kenders and Nikalys reached the bottom of the hill, they moved onto the road leading home. No longer made of yellow-tinted dirt, the way was instead a muddy mess that reminded Kenders of creamy butter. The muck significantly slowed their pace as they slipped in some places and got stuck in others.
Getting to this point had taken much longer than she would have liked. When the ijul had taken the slaughtered mages—aided by crackling white magic—from the bluff, they resumed their descent only to stop and hide in a bush when Kenders felt a surge of black and white. Since leaving their hiding place, Kenders had not felt any more magic.
A half-mile from the edge of town, they started to encounter debris. Muddied clumps of wet straw still tied in bundles lay scattered about, remnants of roof thatching. Splintered timbers and tree branches stuck up from the muck, forcing the siblings to go around them. Early, unripe olives dotted the ground. The wave had brought the harvest to town a few turns early.
Puddles and pools lay scattered about, some large enough to be considered ponds. The occasional bit of household furniture jutted up out of the mud: a chair, a table, a pot-stove. Spotting a child’s crib off the road a bit, Kenders turned her head yet listened carefully for an infant’s cry. There was none.
This terrain was both familiar and foreign. She had walked this path countless times before, but the destruction around her made it seem as if she were treading upon it for the first time. She shook her head without pause, caught in a state of perpetual shock.
It took them twice as long as it should have to finally reach the eastern edge of town. Or at least what had been the eastern edge of town.
Pointing to an empty plot of land, Kenders said, “Widow Johns’ house is gone.”
“All the houses are gone,” replied Nikalys.
Standing in mud, drowning in helplessness, Kenders muttered, “I don’t see how anyone survived.”
Nikalys clenched his jaw, sighed, and said, “Let’s go. I don’t want to linger.” He turned away and continued west. Kenders followed.
A short time later, they found the first body. Stopping a few paces from the corpse, brother and sister stared, silent. Kenders could tell that it was a man, but that was all. The poor soul lay face down in the mud, covered in yellow, slimy muck.
Fighting back the urge to get ill, Kenders quietly, “That’s not Father, is it?”
Nikalys hesitated—worrying her—before answering, “Father’s taller.”
“Jak?”
Shaking his head, Nikalys replied, “The hair is wrong.”
“Then who?”
Nikalys was quiet for a few heartbeats before sighing. “I don’t want to know.”
He stepped away from the corpse and continued into the village, squishing as he went.
Kenders followed,
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