Chapter 93: Chapter 88. The Divine Firewalls

“Hello, Jargal.”

His reaction was immediate. Barely avoiding the blade pressing on his neck, he threw himself away from me as much as his tied legs could let him.

“Leave my mind!” He wheezed.

And as much as Sophia was willing to tolerate.

With a loud bang, her tail smashed into the ground and my knees buckled from the sudden magical overload. Compared to Jargal’s magic ‘trying’ to kill me by typing strongly worded messages, Sophia grabbed our ‘conversation’ and crumpled it like it was paper. Harald engaged to stall or expel the intruder but there was nothing to intercept — that wasn’t some sort of a shamanistic sensory mindlink but a figurative sledgehammer that shattered the connection itself.

Feeling my skinsuit opening heat-dumping vents, I glanced at our captive. Jargal was frozen mid-air and in time.

Well, if he was going to suffer a similar feedback, that would happen in my future.

I felt the moisture on my lips. A nosebleed. Unsurprising, considering the spike in blood pressure to accommodate Harald and my brain, but concerning — I didn’t want Jargal to collapse from a brain haemorrhage as soon as the time started to tick for him again. There were times when killing was necessary, but I didn’t think it was one of those times right now. Especially when he could very likely be the Rosetta stone for my understanding of magic.

I took a breath. “Okay… what the fuck?”

“Did he speak the truth?” Sophia pressed. Her tail swished left to right in agitation but her arms were crossed on her chest. Her kaftan — alight with runes.

“What? No, he did not. I wasn’t in his mind, rather his magic approached mine.” Her eyes narrowed and I clarified, “Well, you could say he reached the walls of a city that is my mind. What was different this time around was him knowing how to knock on the closed city gates. I simply greeted him from the ramparts above.”

She watched me for a few seconds and sighed. “The tongue of a wolf and the heart of a hare. Are you familiar with the final spells, Erf?”

I scratched my head. “The ones that wermages cast when they feel that their life is about to end? But that wasn’t-”

“Because I interrupted him. I don’t know how exactly you, a murk, could ‘greet him from the ramparts’ but the shaman decided you were about to claim his Spark and body.”

I glanced at Jargal again, whether she was speaking the truth or not, his scowl looked convincing. More than convincing, if I thought about it a little bit longer — my greeting was innocuous, but I was looking at the situation from a position of safety. A curious mind in front of an enigmatic puzzle. Jargal had a completely different point of view in this situation. “How much of a difference would that be compared to our previous battle?”

“The difference is that we are inside my arusak. You might be lucky enough to have his mind magic warped and tough enough to survive his element spells, but I am not going to let him torch this place for your convenience.”

I pointedly glanced at the blood on my fingers.

Her tail coiled under her and Sophia leaned back as if sitting on a chair, her amber eyes glowing at me with magical power. In the middle of our usual discussions, it was easy to forget that I was dealing with one of the strongest wermages of Emanai. If not the strongest. Yes, her brother often overshadowed her, if not in strength but at least in skill and mindset, but she was still the true head of Shebet with her Matriarch playing the role of a second fiddle. Or an assistant, tasked with ruling duties that Sophia deemed too boring.

“Why do you look like you were expecting this outcome, Erf? Maybe not the shaman’s reaction but you were planning on ‘greeting him from the ramparts’ from the beginning, didn’t you? Why were you so eager to risk your life? His stories?” She scoffed. “He might’ve found your request palatable to his pride, but I know you well enough to recognise the ruse. What are you truly after to risk your skin so much and how much you aren’t telling me already?”

Sophia paused and glanced at the frozen shaman. “Do you truly wish for me to ask such questions as he listens? I don’t mind you gifting a floating basket to the Kausar twins or empowering your wives with your unorthodox insights — they are daughters of Emanai and their strength is her strength. His allegiances lie elsewhere. Knowing you and your propensity to cast waves around, you might be lucky if he is dead by the morning light. If not through your ‘greetings’, then by my decision. And if you empower the enemy right before the battle somehow, neither your sadaq, Aikerim Adal, nor even my brother will keep you safe from my wrath.”

Her tail pushed lifted her from the seating position and she leaned over to me. “A few tendays ago, I might’ve allowed you to continue without words of caution. Without my spell to pause and reconsider your next decision. Just so that I could snatch you when you stumbled. I expect you to appreciate my efforts and advice by being more forthcoming at the very least.”

I could hide so much behind the private affairs of Aikerim’s Manor, but Sophia was the General here, the queen of this army and her word was the law. Especially when it came to military matters. The captured shaman was very much a military matter. And this was the likely ‘price’ Sophia was after, not just a mere pouch of gold I was thinking of acquiring him with.

Wergild? Wermagegild? Semantics didn’t matter right now.

I nodded. While I could burn this bridge and walk away, I wasn’t ready to give up the figurative Rosetta stone that was Jargal with his forcibly translated magic. By the virtue of Harald witnessing two of his ‘attacks’, I now had the detailed recordings of his original ‘death spell’ and the modified version after Harald rearranged his mind. And while I couldn’t make heads or tails of the former, I now had the precise if not even literal translation in the form of the latter. Two versions to contrast and compare. And the recording of Sophia’s incursion as well. Neither was I ready to shatter the tentative peace between me and the Censor just when the goddess of this land was moving to suppress Aikerim’s — and by extension my — growth. “Remember our conversation about other languages?”

“You think in another tongue? The one you called Latin?”

“Worse, I think in another language system. It is not even designed to be pronounced with a mouth. Think of the music I was playing — did you feel emotions within it? The sorrows and joys? All of that was intentional yet done without speaking words, yet you felt it. Music can be used as another language system.”

“Why?” she pressed. “To defend yourself against the spells targeting the mind? The shamans of Barsashahr can’t possess murks and his attempt was borne out of desperation. Do not think that your tricks had kept you safe — he was doomed to fail.”

“On the contrary. This system is designed to facilitate communication. To transfer information without wasting time on something so inefficient as talking. You know when someone’s single glance tells you a whole story? I am talking about that kind of efficiency.”

“Why?”

I stretched my arm out and twisted my wrist toward her. “Why do you think I can use my Lashes as if they are just another part of my body? I talk to them. Not with my mouth, but with my mind.”

Sophia stared as the lash bit into my flesh, connecting itself to Harald. It was a daring move, but Albin’s revelation reminded me that I needed as much political capital as I could get. I needed allies and I needed favours. Specifically, with the sudden influx of divine activity around me, I very much needed his sister in my corner. No, not only did I want ‘the voice and the ears of our goddess’ to be genial towards me, but I needed her not to see me as a threat to Emanai in any shape or form.

“This is likely why Jargal’s spell was partially successful in the first place,” I murmured as my lash leisurely twisted and turned in front of Sophia like a mesmerising tentacle. “Because unlike other murks, my ‘mind’ is predisposed to ‘outside connections’. But the connection itself wasn’t enough. You know better than me that a wermage can grab something heavy with their power yet fail to lift it. The shaman experienced something similar — he touched my ‘mind’ but had no idea how to tug on it so his command for my death went nowhere.”

“Yet you affected him.”

I nodded. “Because just as this shaman knows how to ‘sing’ so that animals become his eyes and ears, I know how to ‘talk’ to my lashes so they become my appendages. I don’t know how his spell did it but it worked just enough for both of us to meet somewhere in the middle. And just as he was trying to ‘sing’ ‘die!’ to me, I ‘told’ him ‘I don’t understand your babbling, so here is a short codex worth of words in my language and how they are supposed to be used’.” I shrugged. “The action was not intentional nor was it designed with wermages and their spells in mind. My expectations about him waking up at all were very slim, but, just as all wermages are, he is quite resilient. When you said that his magic was now cursed, I knew that my command affected him one way or the other. I came here to see how much of an effect it was and him speaking my thought-language was one of the possibilities I was considering. A faint one but I guess that is magic for you. Just as you see me use unorthodox shortcuts to obtain unorthodox results, I am constantly baffled at what magic can do in turn. Just as you are dismayed at me ‘wasting’ nearly a hundred artefacts for a musical instrument, I am ecstatic that I now have a portable piano I can roll like a towel.”

Sophia sighed and rubbed her temples. “The words you speak… they sound like something only a true madman would say so I know they are true.” Her hand reached out and grabbed my wrist. “What manner of being are you, Erf?”

“A different form of murk, I would say. A road not taken? Magic can shape humans into many forms but murks have their differences too. My skills might seem wondrous but they are the way they are from centuries of perfection and innovation by those who walked the path before me. I have no doubts that someone as powerful as you has at least one or likely a couple of farming estates — you know what tree grafting is. The healers of your arms know about skin grafting to cure most grievous wounds and burns too. The lash is nothing but a very intricate and highly specialised graft for my body to bear. Chirp? Its kind was bred to be fast and resilient just as you breed pigeons for their beautiful plumage and homing abilities. My skills in math? Ask yourself — was anything I shared with you beyond your comprehension? Was your mind incapable of reaching those conclusions yourself?”

She puffed her chest. “Who do you think I am? If I’d spent all my time studying numbers-”

“Precisely. There is nothing I know that people of Emanai can’t discover for themselves, given sufficient time and a desire to walk my path. What sets me apart from others is that I have this knowledge now. My tools and tricks? In the eyes of an illiterate murk, even a blacksmith is a magician for they can turn red soil into a sharp sword or a sturdy hammer.”

Her fingers let go of my wrist. “An artisan of odd crafts, indeed. What kind of craft did shaman stir in you? Can you control him like one of your whips?”

I shook my head. “Unlikely. I can speak to him but only when his magic forms a bridge between us. And my lashes are incapable of refusing my orders for they have no mind of their own. He can think for himself. He might be affected by my words but that’s persuasion, not direct control.”

“What about him using your whips, then?”

“Probably not the lashes themselves — they are useless without the direct connection to my arms. Obviously, with magic involved, anything is possible but his arms wouldn’t survive the strain. Something more active, like Chirp? I will make sure that it isn’t anywhere close to him for the time being. I will do it for his sake as well — Chirp isn’t particularly ‘patient’ when it’s talking. If the mere handshake protocols knocked the shaman out for a day, a single exchange with Chirp would likely keep him bedridden for a tenday. But then again — magic.

“On the other hand, I can learn very much a lot when it comes to my knowledge and language directly interacting with a wermage body and mind. And then I can share my findings.”

Sophia blinked her frown away only to roll her eyes. “Share it? Truly?”

“With my wives.”

“Ah.”

“Imagine Anaise Hilal with similar lashes, flying through the battlefield and raining thunder spells on the enemies of Emanai. I will share it with my children. I wonder if that was what Goddess saw in Anaise’s future when she spoke about witnessing her firstborn.” I smiled. “For someone who often lacks it, family matters a lot to me, Sophia Chasya. I do not seek the demise of others, nor do I seek the titles and accolades I have no idea about. Aikerim Adal was shrewd enough to notice it and she quickly bound me with a sadaq and then her daughter. Your brother was kind to me by helping me secure my mother and my uncle. I also have occasional cravings of curiosity to satisfy but I can keep my vices in check. Deep down, I am a very simple man — help me keep my family safe and you will have my gratitude.”

I paused and glanced at the shaman. “Who knows, maybe with the insight I gain from him I can learn how to share my knowledge of math in a span of a few heartbeats rather than sending wermages into frothing convulsions. I am sure you would appreciate not wasting your time sitting beside Virnan Shah as I slowly write theorems and proofs on the blackboard.”

“Help? You belong to a House that is one of the strongest among the Emanai elite…” Sophia trailed off only to squint her eyes at me. “No, you aren’t talking about that kind of safety, aren’t you? You aren’t talking to Sophia Shebet Chasya, nor are you talking to the General of Kiannika and Ulastai. You are asking the Censor.”

I looked at her. “What makes me worry is that my actions could be seen as threatening to the Emanai way of life; not because they are but because they are mysterious. Just like this shaman saw my greeting as a threat to his existence. I want to make sure that my actions are judged by their actual intent and, if they are still deemed to be unwelcome, I wish to have a chance to correct myself before it is too late. I want my family to grow and prosper, but not if that growth will only bring them doom.”

Smirking, Sophia leaned closer. Her fingers trailed up my chest and grasped my chin.

“And what would I get from it?” She purred. “Hmm? That is quite a favour you are asking of me.”

“Think about the future, Sophia Chasya. Now you are the General and I am but one of the Maniple messengers. My rank requires me to be at your arusak, whether as the follower of my First Spear or alone. My rank demands me to obey your commands. To venture into the night and to slay your enemies in the name of Emanai. To perform tasks in a way only I can. Whether it is to weaken the horses of the enemy, retrieve Emanai lost honour… or prank your brother into a date with Mushaf Davlat. Things would change drastically, once we are back in Samat, you know? I won’t be a spear of Kiannika — I will become the Alchemist of Aikerim Adal once again. Once again, our meetings would only consist of occasional lectures on math…”

“You will come to me anyway. If only to seek the wisdom of the Censor.”

Internally, I rolled my eyes — she was quickly returning to her old tricks again. And while I was willing to offer her a bone, I wasn’t planning on giving her the rest of my freedom, mind, and soul.

My hand reached out and grabbed her cheek. “Why do we need to fight, Sophia Chasya? Why not simply work togeth-”

Her tail slammed into my body, sending me on a short trip across the tiny prison.

Her mouth, agape. “You cheeky, little…”

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I shrugged while still standing on her wall, the wooden partitions of her arusak were sturdy enough to interrupt my flight and my lash was quick to anchor me to the first surface I had landed on. “My offer isn’t one of desperation but to continue our current, amicable relationship. You have your power and influence and I have my tricks — neither is in the need of another but each of us will benefit from a deal.”

“Stop talking while off the ground like a child,” she snapped back at me as if by a reflex. Considering the propensity of Albin to sit on his tail or even float in the air, I could guess who was the target of those statements in her childhood.

I let go of the wall with my lash but remained standing on it. Now that my soles were touching the surface, my dendrites could work just as well. I even took a small stroll around — the gravity was pulling me sideways but walking on surfaces under variable acceleration conditions was part of the Navigator skillset. “The concept of ground is very much relative, Sophia Chasya.”

“Your tricks won’t fool me, I know how you keep yourself steady. Get down here — we have a prisoner to interrogate!”

“Of course.” I took a long trek across two walls and a ceiling. “And a battle to win.”

She glared at me as I walked all the way down; her previous mood was long gone. “Three favours, Erf. And that is for me to consider your proposition. Fulfil them to my satisfaction first and then we can discuss my future help.”

Well, the apparent exchange rate between daimon and Censor favours was three to one. A bit pricey but within my expectations. I was asking her for assistance in divine matters. “What kind of favours do you have in mind?”

“The Erf kind.” Came the vague reply.

I raised an eyebrow. Both of us could play this game.

“Bring me three gifts or serve me three times. Be warned, however, I won’t be dazzled with floating baskets, glass lenses, or even silly cutlery that my brother desires so much.” Her eyes glanced down at my lash. “Make use of the shaman and surprise me with what you can come up with. Who knows, if you impress me well enough, I might count that as multiple favours at once. Don’t dally either. You have other tasks right now but, if I see no effort from you once the winter passes, I will assume you are wasting my time. And make appropriate decisions on this matter.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Sophia Chasya.”

XXX

Jargal landed on the floor with a dull thud. Within a single heartbeat, he was back on his feet with his eyes staring in disbelief at the magical shackles on his wrists. “When…” He shook his head. “That creature hides its magic! It is no murk!”

“I know what he is,” the general of Emanai arms smirked at him. “And he is here by my command.”

“What do you want!?”

“I already told you, Jargal.” the creature wearing the murk flesh spoke to the side. “I want to help you get your magic back.”

“Lies! I felt you digging in my mind!”

“Moi?” Jargal shivered as he heard that sound. He understood it, without ever hearing it before in his life. “No, my nosy shaman, it was you who was digging in my mind. All I did was greet you.”

“That was no greeting! That was…” he stumbled, unable to find the spoken words for the thoughts galloping through his mind.

“A mere greeting,” the creature repeated. “What you are forgetting, shaman, is where you were. My mind. My domain. Using your mind spell, you’ve walked into my universe. And its creator greeted you back. Be grateful that I kept my greeting benign and approachable for if you barely survived the initial handshake, you wouldn’t fare better against a dedicated attack. So I say it again. Hello, Jargal.”

The words came to him without thinking. “Hello, Erf.”

XXX

My next speech was once again interrupted by the shaman freezing like a rusty machine without the necessary level of maintenance. I sighed and hung my head low. I had a sinking feeling that such frequent time stops were bad for someone’s health. I just wasn’t sure whose — was shaman being frozen like an icicle or was I being thrown into some magical hyper-time? Or was Sophia using some special incense today?

“Erf,” the voice growled behind me, “what was that ‘creator’ talk about?”

And I naively thought we came here to interrogate the captive.

“Balls.”

Albin Emanai Wazara

The card slid into the deck, and deck — into his sleeve. His hand reached out through space and picked the guitar from one of his storage warehouses. Mother was dubious about the eighth Pillar and for good reasons too — the decision was crass in its bluntness and had few benefits when it came to long-term results. If there were any at all — Albin didn’t bother to look that far ahead.

He didn’t need to — his Sight would reveal the wermage part anyway and the whole path was currently being thrown into turmoil. Not by Bragge himself, but his recent actions made every divination about his family more than suspect. The rakshas of Barsashahr couldn’t match the Sight of Emanai heurisks, so they were quick to muddle the waters whenever they could. And just as Sophia was vexed by their scion, Catriona and her Fate-seekers were busy revising their prophecies about the Archomilea at large.

Leaving Albin to act as he pleased. Including the creation of decrees. The short-sighted decrees that had no future in themselves and only the present.

His fingers danced across the familiar strings, playing his favourite melody that he would be playing quite often and for a long time.

Aikerim Adal wouldn’t be allowed to claim the mines. Not now and not here. Not with the other Pillars still floundering in the darkness of what was to come. The power and influence Erf was giving to her, intentionally or not, was unthinkable. A roaring beast that could trample any enemy she might have just as easily as it could kill her. A gift to the prosperity of Emanai or the shortest path to its doom. Cait would have none of it, one way or the other — she didn’t spend centuries of her time, carefully drawing on the canvas that was Emanai, just for someone to barge in and start splashing paint over her art. And Erf was… too much of a murk to be patient.

But Albin trusted his instincts. And the plans were in turmoil already — what was but a tiny nudge in the comparison? A tiny nudge that was already reshaping the future by this very moment. Albin could feel the River of Fate slowly probing a new path laid out in front of it. Another year or two and Flow would rush into a new direction.

“I am sorry, my friend, but I need you to rely on my sister just a little bit longer,” he murmured to his absent listener. “For your sake, for the sake of your Domina, and the sake of Emanai. And now, the less pleasant matters…”

His magic lifted a bell and shook it, summoning his assistant.

“Manipular?” The Kamshad wermage was quick to appear in his tent.

“Take this letter and the token gift,” he passed to her a sealed scroll and an intricately engraved brooch of gold and Arksite, “and head to the Kiannika’s first maniple. Deliver them into the hands of Mushaf Kosenya Davlat and no one else. Tell her…”

He paused and waved his hand around in the air. “Tell her she piqued my curiosity and I cordially invite her to share a jar of wine.”

His assistant gave him one final glance but her training quickly took over. Tightly gripping the scroll and the gift, she disappeared through the flap of his tent like the first grain of sand falling through a timeglass.

Bragge Archomilea the Third

“How much food do we have left?”

“Worry not, oh Great Lord, your warriors will outlast the winter itself if that is your order. They have plenty of meat and cheese, while our horses gorge on the plundered wheat.”

Bragge didn’t bother to rebuke the pathetic attempt at flattery. Twisting a blue pebble in his fingers, he cast a quick glance at the mind of the prostrated sheyda. Ten suns or so. He could continue shifting his army until then, seeking a better time and space for the decisive battle and forcing the enemy general to react to his movements, but he would have no other choice but to act once the supplies grew low. Yes, the harsh steppe of Barsashahr birthed true warriors, the ones who could ride and fight for days without food. Yes, the soft-bellied westerners quickly grew weak and sluggish once they found themselves without supplies. So far, neither army was close to starvation yet both of them were cut off from future supplies.

While he stood on these shores, the Emanai forces had no hope of reaching their shipments. While he stood on these shores, his army was far away from the supply caravans they had no choice but to leave behind.

“Any messengers of mine coming through?” Bragge continued. His army was better positioned but only slightly so — the heurisk general might’ve been caught unawares by his movement but her reaction was still immediate. And predictable, as the reactions of heurisks in an unexpected situation often were. She had plenty of food, or she wouldn’t have dared.

“The curse of Rurkha still haunts us,” the chieftain grunted. “Even our scouts start to disappear.”

“She stole the arrow,” the Rurkha shaman hissed from her seat. “The thieves are harbouring cursed secrets and dabbling with Forest Walkers!”

“Stop covering your shame with the words of doom!”

“Cease,” Bragge murmured, halting the brewing spat in his presence. “The Rurkha shaman speaks true — that was no messenger of mine and the enemy undoubtedly hides… They hide many things. It is the nature of Emanai to steal. Whether we speak about land or knowledge, it matters little.”

He paused, listening to the faint song from far away. Someone tried to speak once more, but he hissed everyone inside his ger into silence. Slowly but surely, the fangs bared themselves from his mouth.

“Hrok Chahar.”

The Chahar chieftain quickly bowed down. “My scouts will bring you news tomorrow without any doubts, my Lord!”

“No. Send only the necessary few and tell the rest of your warriors to rest.” Bragge’s gaze slid across every chieftain that their shaman. “That is an order to all of you.”

“Erdem shaman, have the warriors of your tribe reached the edge of the Forest?”

The shaman of the Rurkha tribe gave him a similar bow. “They have, Great Lord.”

“Good, they might earn their honour back tomorrow.”

His hand reached out and placed the pebble, inserting it into one of the many handfuls of stones already lying on the table in front of him. “For tomorrow, we attack.”

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