Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden, a reluctant Lacunai Mystic, is a part of a group of adventurers tasked with retrieving a dangerous item from a dangerous place. That's the kind of life he leads these days. After carefully discussing how to get to the obsidian idol of the dark cult, now is the time to follow through.

They have a plan, a couple of Northern warriors, and a keen nose for trouble. What could possibly go wrong?

Flashback: Jaden considers his place in the Lacunai stronghold

JADEN

He turned his back against the wind. It had been blowing down from the north all day, bringing with it the chilly air of an early winter. He pulled his cloak closer and hugged himself for warmth. Sounds from the courtyard below reached him where he stood at ramparts of the only place he had ever called home. The mountain citadel. The Lacunai stronghold. It had held many names over the centuries, but to him it had always been Talraman.

Down below him was a small gathering of people. He recognised Master Viskeri’s large stature, but the rest must be new arrivals. He remembered when he had first stood there. Despite having grown up in the citadel, having to stand there with the other initiates made the whole place seem different somehow. Those people had a lot of hard work ahead of them before they would be allowed to enter into the ranks of the mystics. He wondered about them, what had brought them here. Maybe some of them had, like him, been born here. From this distance it was hard to make out any familiar faces.

A movement in the corner of his eye made him turn into the wind a bit. He blinked to clear his eyes, and saw that someone else had joined him up at the high walls. She was tall, and had her long black hair pinned back. His own was flying free in the wind. Her ears bore a slight point, and her eyes were of a deep amber. She was his sister.

“Lilya,” he greeted her, and turned back to watch the Master of Initiates hold his speech. He couldn’t hear the words from here, but he recognised the feelings they evoked.

“Jaden,” she returned. Ever since their spirit quests, they had drifted apart a bit. Never the closest of siblings, the divide felt ever greater these days. He had himself to blame. At least some of it. He hadn’t borne his trial well. Her hard, light brown eyes sought his.

“Father is asking if you have made your decision about the offer, yet?” She spoke with crisp, clipped words. Ever since her quest, she had grown harder to read. Harder to feel. Just plain harder.

“Why doesn’t he ask me himself?” It was hard to keep bitterness out of his voice. Was he being petty?

“You’ve not been home lately. I’ve seen you in the library.”

“I’ve been… busy. Tell father I’ll give him my answer tomorrow.” Buy a little more time. He hadn’t made up his mind yet. How could he? Throw away everything he’s ever known, or throw away everything he’s ever been? Life had been easier before. Change was hard.

The night before

“So, what do we know about the Sons of Husk?” Stann had finished off his second tankard.

Some playing cards were lying face up on the table between him and Jaden, and they were overwhelmingly in his favour. Jaden had long since said his farewells to the copper coins they were playing for.

“They have managed to keep the ‘secret’ part of being a secret cult relatively well during the last decades,” Kellen began, using his deep voice to draw the attention of everyone in the group. He was still studying the map with the two women, but seemed to focus more on the outside of the building than the interior. “The stories that float around make them out as a strong, organised group of death worshippers.”

“Any organised opponent is dangerous, but it also makes them slightly more predictable.” The lady knight nodded slowly. She was already drawing up contingencies and strategies, being an organised opponent herself.

“That remains to be seen,” Kellen continued. “I’m concerned about the amount of magic defences we might have to deal with aside from the skull itself.” One of the group’s advantages was their unusually high number of magic users. In most of their previous battles they had been able to simply overpower their foes if they had the opportunity to prepare themselves.

“Do you believe they hide undead in their midst?” Mirena fiercely hated the unliving, one of the reasons she had argued for accepting this assignment. A death cult could harbour many horrors within its halls.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, but we can’t know for sure. There just isn’t very much knowledge about the Sons to go around to begin with. Either they have had very few defectors…” He left the last bit hanging meaningfully.

“Or the ones who got out aren’t talking. Can’t talk,” she finished.

“Precisely. However, Jaden? Don’t the Mystics host a grand library documenting many of the magic phenomenons of our world? Do you keep track of the different societies as well?”

Jaden put his hands together in thought, the thin gloves brushing against one another. Talraman did have a large collection of books about many kinds of magic. The very nature of the Lacunai depended on knowing as much as possible about every other source of magic, whether by man or monster.

“While the citadel archive is a match for the great library of the Solaris academy here in Tier, it takes a while for new knowledge to reach us, naturally. Anything I may have on them is at least a generation old,” he explained.

“Better than nothing,” Rhyce offered laconically. He sat by the table next to Stann and Jaden, one hand petting the inn’s cat. The fat tabby had taken an immediate liking to the archer when they arrived some days ago, and was by his side whenever they were here.

“You look like a storybook villain when you do that, you know?” Oleander laughed. She had tried to lure the cat away with treats, but to no avail. Rhyce had a good enough hand with animals it bordered on the supernatural. But she was also right. If he took better care of his unruly light brown to dark blonde hair, and dressed in something else than traveling leathers, he would make an iconic bad guy. Especially with a cat on his lap.

“Anyways,” Jaden stretched the word out to turn the attention back to him. “What little I do know about them paints a rather grim picture. After the first mentioning of them in various correspondences, it seems like they established a strong presence in northern Olmar. Obviously they’ve extended into Tier by now, and maybe even further north into Alband.”

He paused to gather his thoughts. He’d only read those letters once, when he was researching other magic using groups; and to be honest with himself, he spent more time reading about the spellsingers of the Ruby Lotus and their performances.

“As far as I can recall, they delved heavily into dark magic, nethermancy, and various soulbinding rituals. The name comes from how the ritual leaders essentially tie dead spirits to their bodies, drawing power from the semi-possessed state without surrendering control.”

“They eat ghosts?” Oleander succinctly summed up the explanation. She took a bite out of a wedge of cheese to demonstrate.

“Sure. Though the fact that they produce the ghosts first takes it beyond simply disturbing.” Jaden looked solemn. The practices of the Sons of Husk in the past were nothing short of abominable. There would be no telling how they’ve changed since the Lacunai first encountered them more than twenty years ago.

“To bind a soul, they reave a soul.” Mirena looked like she was trying to control her temper.

“Yes.” The looks on their faces showed that they all began to take the cult much more seriously.

The house looked like it had seen its best days. While still beautiful, and very spacious, most of the decorations and little things that made it into a home were missing. Even in the half-light they saw empty rectangles on the walls where paintings once had been displayed. Ten years ago, this home must’ve been awe-inspiring for visitors. Now it just felt empty.

They ran down the hallway as quickly as they dared to. At any moment, one of those doors could open up to reveal an armed cultist and without any of the real warriors of the group with them, Oleander and Jaden could end up in trouble before their job even began.

The splitting up had all been part of the plan. The others would cause a ruckus and draw any cultists in the building into a trap by the stairs, while the two of them snuck into the cult’s inner chamber through a secret passage. The plan was elegant in its simplicity.

By the sound coming from behind them, the plan was working magnificently. Kellen’s deep roar reached them at the same time as the building shook slightly. With his rune magic granting him mastery of stone and sea, the very walls here would become his weapons.
With no surprises heading their way Jaden pushed open the door to the library at the far end of the upper floor. He held up a hand, causing Oleander to stop close behind him. He went in first, sword drawn. Jaden might not be as skilled with the blade as Stann or Mirena, but he could definitely hold his own against most opponents.

“Alright, it looks clear.” He stepped in and let Oleander start looking for the opening mechanism of the hidden door. He didn’t close the door behind them. If anyone got in that way would have to get past their friends. They might also have to flee quickly once they had what they came for.

“What are we looking for?” He felt a little useless in situations like these. He wanted to help, but would more than likely just get in the way.

“We’re looking for a seeecret dooor,” she teased him.

“Well, clearly! But what does it look like?”

“Like something that wouldn’t look out of place in a library.” She was pulling at books expectantly, then twisted a heavy brass paperweight around a few times. She tapped her lips as she looked around on the other shelves.

“What, like a book? Or a bookend? One of the candleholders?” Jaden hadn’t picked up on her sarcasm the second time. The stress of borrowing time from their friends made him miss even obvious things, until they caught up with him. “Wait, you’re still joking, aren’t you?”

“Ask a stupid question,” she sang, scooting over to the next shelf. “Be of some use and show me what those keen elven senses of yours can do.”

“I’m not an elf, Ollie.”

Oleander just snickered and went on with her search.

“Fine, be that way. The door must be behind one of the shelves, right? Can’t we just tear them down?” Jaden had begun hearing the sound of fighting on their floor. Each minute they wasted would increase the risk of their friends getting hurt while buying them that time.

“And draw attention to ourselves? What if they heard a loud thump when one of those bookshelves hit the floor? That would jeopardise the entire plan!” He didn’t like it when she made more sense than he did. It made him question himself.

“Why can’t you ever just agree with me, Ollie?”

“If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong!” With that she went to the last shelf, closest to the outer wall. Jaden threw his hands in the air.

The redhead let her fingers skim across the books, before reaching in behind them with a triumphant squeak. Her hand found the handle that allowed her to swing the bookshelf door open, revealing a narrow and steep stairs going down into the darkness.

Stann slammed his shield into a tall and heavily built cultist. The man was knocked back down the stairs into the thick mist Kellen had called upon earlier. He heard the satisfying thud when the cultist’s tumble came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. His mirth was short lived as several more shapes stepped out of that mist.

Mirenas plan to hold the stairs was working. They could only come at them two at a time, and both of their shields provided a metal barrier that the cultists couldn’t easily overcome. While they stood their ground, groans and creaks from the house itself told them that Kellen was working his magic to create a painful experience for anyone willing to climb those stairs. Those who got up to fight the knight and the warrior all wore scrapes and cuts. Their eyes didn’t show any of the pain they must be feeling, however. Cold and hard. They had tombstone eyes.

Something buzzed past Stann’s ear, and another cultist fell back into the mists. A liquid howl told him that Rhyce’s aim was true. The archer didn’t seem to care about the poor visibility, and kept shooting down the stairs as soon as he saw the slightest swirl.

“Come, you walking atrocities! Face the sword of Telum!” Mirena yelled at their foes. She carried her god’s blessing of war, radiant and terrible. They would give the other two all the time they needed.

Soft boots padded down the steep, dark stairs. Oleander was reluctantly walking in the front if the Sons had known about the secret passage and left them any traps. Her attention to detail was excellent, and she often saw the tell-tales of pressure plates or hidden needles before anyone else. Jaden was a couple of steps behind her, two candle sized flames dancing above an open palm, his sword in the other hand.

They reached the bottom of the hidden stairs without any surprises. That was a good sign that the cult either didn’t know about the passage, or didn’t bother with it. There was a simple wooden door leading into what awaited them. From what Oleander’s sources had told them, behind that door was an old wine cellar. The cult had turned it from a collection of fine vintages, into a theatre of horrors. They looked at each other for a moment, and then she held up a hand with three fingers raised. She lowered the first, then the other, and finally the last. They burst out through the door with swords and knives drawn in case the cult left anyone behind to guard their treasures.

The cult had left an entire roomful of people.

They were clearly in the middle of a ritual, several standing in a circle around a dark altar dedicated to their dread lord. Next to the altar stood a man almost an entire head taller than Jaden, towering above the rest. His cowl was thrown back and showed a face heavily lined by years of watching the suffering of others, short hair more grey than brown. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, before they went to the centrepiece of the room. On the altar was a life sized skull carved out of a single block of obsidian, every surface covered with dark glyphs. The moment passed.

“Get them!” The tall man roared, pointing with his claw-like hands at the two intruders.

“Eat knives!” Oleander ducked down, almost throwing herself to the ground. Her knives made a ripping noise as they slashed the back of the closest person’s thighs and knees. She was rewarded by a surprised scream of pain as her foe dropped down next to her.

Jaden brought his sword up. They were incredibly outnumbered. At least nine to two. Well, eight now. They wouldn’t survive this without cheating. He swung his sword to drive back the nearby cultists who suddenly had heavy daggers ready to cut him down where he stood. He could see no mercy in their eyes and realised that he could not afford to offer any in return.

“Ollie! Cooking time!” Three to the left, one to the right. Another three right behind the first four, and the tall man. The leader. A magician for sure, but would he be able to counter Jaden’s spell?

When Oleander heard what her friend said, she immediately backpedalled behind him. They had done similar things in the past, and long since worked out a way to pass along combat tactics without alerting their enemies of what they were up to. Jaden held out his free hand like a fist. She could swear his amber eyes gleamed with a golden fire.

“Valignat!” The cultists screamed in surprise as flames fanned out from his hand.

It lifted its head from the shimmering caldera and gazed far toward the west. It could feel the pact draw upon its power. The scales of the salamander glowed bright as its Mystic borrowed some of its strength. It wasn’t a mighty salamander, but that explained why a novice Mystic had managed to bind it into a contract to begin with. It settled down against the scalding rocks again, content that whatever struggle its Mystic was involved in would not disturb a very important afternoon basking.

The tapestries depicting awful scenes or vividly celebrating some horrors were burning. The fire had spread quickly and almost reached the ceiling. As the initial flare died down, they could see how the ritual leader was surrounded by a dark purple bubble that held off the effects of the fireburst. The closest of the cultists were singed or burnt, and backing away from Jaden. The ones in the back seemed reluctant to get any nearer.

“Sorcerer!” One of the cultists backed up even further, pointing in alarm at Jaden. “They’ve sent mercenary mages against us!”

The protective bubble seemed to flicker, betraying how it was almost spent. That meant that the ritual leader was about the same strength as Jaden. He took this as a good sign, since that meant that together with his friends they could overpower the nethermancer if need be.

“Fall back. Get the others!” The tall man commanded, as they began to retreat out of the chamber.

Jaden sent another threatening gout of fire out of the door to make sure they stayed well clear. As soon as he stood clear, Oleander slammed the door shut and together they lifted a heavy bar to hold it shut. The cult clearly had intended to be on this side of the door if their enemies came to visit.

“Okay. Jay? We scared them off for now, but they’ll be back any minute with reinforcements.” She still held her knives ready, expecting hidden assassins to leap from any shadow.

“I know! We didn’t expect them to be holding a… a ceremony tonight. We saw most of them leave the house during the day!”

“Well, clearly some of them stayed behind! Nevermind that now. The skull, is it safe? Can we nick it?”

“Give me a few seconds,” Jaden sighed, stepping closer to the dreadful artefact. He tried to clear his mind. The Lacunai weren’t like other magic users around the world. It was a secret they liked to keep. Empty your mind. He could hear Oleander’s voice fading away as he opened himself to the world.

The strands of magic were all tangled up in here. The Sons of Husk had been practicing in this chamber for many years, and the resonance of their rites hung heavily in the air. It tainted the walls and floor. Trying to perceive a single aura in here was like grasping for a feather underwater. Push too quickly, and it would just float out of the way. He could hear heavy thumping, almost pulling him out of his trance.

“They brought axes!” The underwater analogy was fitting. Oleander’s voice sounded like it came from above the surface. Which it did, in a way.

He couldn’t get a clear read. Everything was flowing into each other.

“Is it safe? Can we grab it already?”

“I… I don’t know!” He returned to his normal senses, and saw the splintering of the door. They would be through in moments.

“Then guess! You’re the one who knows all this!” Oleander approached the altar, looking at him. They didn’t have any more time.

“But I…” he stared at the skull. It felt as if it was staring back at him, laughing at him. “Yes. They wouldn’t be using it in a ritual unless it was safe to handle.” Right?

“Good enough for me!” She didn’t even hesitate, but reached out and closed her hands around the obsidian death idol.

She immediately fell to the ground. She wasn’t moving.