Through Time

By Dabeagle

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Chapter 13

It was the trees in the end, of course, that warned them. Small creatures couldn't hope to travel as fast as the whispering of the leaves, the creak of the branch, the sigh of the forest. The trees carried the news to the elves, and to Cyrix who was so strong in the natural magic of the earth. The forest is a tremendous advantage, one not to be overlooked; that is of course, if there is someone that can speak the language of the leaf.

“You hear it?” Tel'Jasin asked, placing a hand on Cyrix's arm.

“Yes. It feels like the ones we saw before. They seem to be marching hard, not at us though. I don't think they are aware of us.” Cyrix stood calmly, taking in all the information the forest whispered. Many of the Guardians could now be seen, waiting for orders.

“No!” Cyrix clutched his ears and fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face and, as one, the Guardians gasped in shock and sorrow.

“They are burning. Guardians! Southwest, hurry!” Tel'Jasin waved his arm and broke into a loping run that covered as much distance as possible with the least amount of work. Cyrix struggled to his feet, and fueled by his anger, followed Tel'Jasin. The Guardians threw caution to the wind in favor of speed, and to the casual observer they would have seen no more perhaps than a ripple of earth-tones, so well hidden were they even at their top speed.

Even with as fast as the elves and Cyrix moved, they were not fast enough. Cyrix's heart beat as fast a as a deer in full flight from a predator, and still they felt the pain, the burning. Fire consuming, raging. The only cold comfort was that the beasts had to slow down to set the fires, shortening the Guardians intercept time. As the distance closed hand signals were passed, the greenery relayed orders and the small group fanned out to flank their unsuspecting enemy.

“Jasin, wait.” Cyrix stood still, listening.

“Great mother, there must be some mistake.” Tel'Jasin stood in shock for a moment before turning to Cyrix with his jaw set.

“You must turn back, continue on the path. You are too valuable to risk here.”

Cyrix glanced at Tel'Jasin, ready to retort when a cry went up, a cry so savage, so bloodcurdling that the only thing either of them could think was to wish upon every god they could think of that they never heard it again. Deep in their hearts, they knew they would hear it every time they closed their eyes. The beasts had been engaged in combat, the Guardians letting fly with volleys of arrows.

“Cyrix,” Tel'Jasin turned to order him to continue when a tree groaned, reaching down with it's branches and scooping Cyrix into it's grip, carrying him up and handing him to yet another tree, moving him to the crown of the forest. “Arrogant pup!”

News came swiftly. The guardians killed eight for every one they lost, and yet they were being overrun. The beasts came in sheer numbers too great for the Guardians to drive back or stave off. Geysers of earth erupted as the Guardians used what magic they possessed, and still the relentless stinking tide of beasts flowed towards them, devouring the Guardians they came close enough to swing an axe or a sword at. The elves battled, and while any three beasts at a time they could best, nine was more than even they could manage.

Tel'Jasin drew arrows and fired, fired in rapid succession. Fired true, each arrow homing in and impaling its target with a mortal blow, but even at that a quiver only holds so many arrows and he had no opportunity to recover any spent arrows; the relentless beasts waded through the underbrush, cleaving and hewing through foliage and foe alike.

At least Cyrix is safe, for now. They may never notice him in the canopy, thought Tel'Jasin.

In front of Tel'Jasin the ground suddenly burst upward, and then buckled dropping away. The earth broke away in both directions, separating the invading mass from the remaining Guardians. Many of the beasts fell forward into the widening chasm, pushed forward by the relentless forward push of their compatriots. Trees pulled massive roots from the ground and literally walked to avoid the deepening moat.

On the far side, where the contingent of beasts howled their frustration and became temporarily trapped, Cyrix once more reached to the trees still surrounding the interlopers. Massive branches swung down, large sweeping motions that knocked even more into the chasm. Others scooped howling, grunting warriors and threw them into the air, allowing them to fall to earth as ugly stones. The largest trees, those with the thickest branches swung downward and crushed the invaders flat into the unforgiving earth.

Tearing his eyes away from the unprecedented working of natural magic he spied Cyrix on the crown of a tree, arms outstretched, and small puffs of green leaves bursting from his hands from thin air. His arms waved as he directed their wooden brethren in their own defense, and by proxy of the Guardians.

A spray of water plumed in the distance, an underground water supply having been breached. Slowly the trench began to fill, and the corpses of the interlopers began to rise. The stench of battle unsettled Tel'Jasin's stomach. The trees lowered Cyrix and he strode to the very edge of the chasm. There, on a horse that must surely have died ages ago, sat the General of this army, a necromancer. His clothes were ragged, dirty. His eyes, even from a distance, were aglow with malevolence.

He spread his arms wide from the back of his horse and gossamer tendrils of night wove from his hands and touched the fallen beast soldiers one by one, and they slowly stirred. Cyrix held his hand out in front of him, palm down, and to his touch flew one pebble. Then another. Soon small stones gathered and fused forming a bow made of stone. He bent down and removed an arrow from a fallen foe's eye and notched it in the bow, aimed and let fly.

The arrow flew true, midway blossoming into white fire and striking the necromancer in the chest. He and his mount burst into white fire, a heat that was felt across the great divide. The flame leapt from the dead necromancer to each of his newly risen creations, burning them to the ground.

“That was...that was the Stonebow!” Tel'Jasin stood gaping at Cyrix. Cyrix glanced at the weapon as if seeing it for the first time. He decided it could be discussed later.

“How badly were we hurt?” Cyrix murmured to Tel'Jasin.

“Badly enough. We did not anticipate their numbers, but none who passed here went without taking ten of his murderers with him.” He sighed deeply. “They must be returned to the Earth Mother. Come.”

Each of the defeated Guardians were lain against the trunk of a tree, many of whom had stood and walked or who fought in the previous conflict. Tel'Jasin stood in front of one of the trees, for all the world like a tombstone for the fallen Guardian, and began a low, mournful lament.

As he sang the dirge small roots sprang from underneath the body, and as they grew over the still form they sprouted leaves. The roots gradually grew thicker until they began branches, cocooning the Guardian in their wooden embrace. Tel'Jasin fell silent, but the remaining Guardians who were able, walked from tree to tree and sang until each slain warrior was returned home.

“We, of the West Wood, believe that the Earth Mother placed us here to protect the forest and it's natural inhabitants. When we are no longer able to carry out her wishes, we return to her bosom to be reborn.” Tel'Jasin murmured quietly. He glanced up into Cyrix's eyes and saw that the whites of his eyes had gone a rich, earthy brown. “If I do not come home, you must bring me here and sing me back into my mothers arms, do you understand? You must not allow me to never return home, Cyrix Stonebow.”

“If it is within my power, I do so swear.” Cyrix replied. He disregarded youthful protestations that leapt to mind, refusing to admit that either of them may not come back. After seeing the enemy in such great numbers he knew, neither of them may return.

They made camp and tended to their wounded, and prepared to strike for the west as soon as they were able.


Balthazar ate the water reed slowly. Water was scarce, but the reed doubled as food and water and so was worth it's weight in any other food you might care to mention. They had stopped in the heat of the day, Santana taking pity on Regina's whining of heat and hurt feet. Regina, in fact, had been whining since they set out and continued to try and turn Santana against Balthazar. What she failed to realize is that they were all hot, thirsty and had aching feet. Her bitching just amplified the discomfort.

Making things worse still was the fact that almost as soon as they began to walk Regina had very nearly broken her ankle. She was following Santana and complaining bitterly that he and she should strike out on their own, and Balthazar was fine with that: anything to stop the sound of her voice. It did stop for a moment when she stepped awkwardly over an uneven portion of the parched ground, but then she screamed bloody murder and when Balthazar looked at her he realized that their progress with her was slowed considerably. Her ankle was already beginning to swell.

Santana tended to her and Balthazar watched them both. He wasn't immune to her cries, regardless of his personal dislike for her. Santana, good soul that he was, didn't know how to help her. Balthazar sighed to himself; he knew he was going to be asked to look anyway so he saved some time and bent to examine her leg.

“No! Don't touch me!” she cried out and tried to jerk her ankle away.

“Regina! Be still!” Santana commanded in a tone Balthazar didn't know he possessed. Apparently Regina didn't know it either as she sat stunned into silence. Balthazar resumed looking at the swelling ankle and forlornly thought there wasn't anything he could do. As he looked at the ankle he began to notice details. Places where it looked as if blood would flow. He saw a piece of her ankle that looked over extended and could plainly see the damage and swelling from inside her ankle. He blinked. Still there. He was seeing inside the ankle, beneath the flesh!

“Santana,” he said with a voice that had a lot more shaking in it than he'd ever admit. “What do you see when you look at her ankle?”

“It's swollen. Might be broken, I can't be sure. She's going to be in pain.”

Balthazar looked at the ankle again, considering Santana's assessment while trying to keep his composure with the realization that he was seeing inside her ankle. Just thinking about her ankle being broken brought a new view into focus, and he realized that he could now see her bones. He inhaled sharply, and still worked hard to maintain the facade of being calm and collected. He studied the bones and saw nothing jagged or otherwise appearing broken.

“No, I don't think it's broken.” Balthazar replied. “Let me see her other ankle.”

Santana moved her leg so that the other ankle was visible to Balthazar. He compared the two and noted the differences. He felt an itch in the front of his brain, some thought that refused to come to the surface. Instinct guided him, and he held his hands over her wounded ankle. She muttered darkly and tried to pull away but Santana held her in place and shot her a stern look. Balthazar looked up at her.

“You're injured. You can't walk. We aren't far enough away from the raiding group that killed everyone at the manor house. If I don't try to do something to help, they will catch us and we will die. I'd rather leave you behind and live. I wouldn't like to do it, but I would. Now hold still.”

So saying he allowed his hands to glide back out and hover over the ankle. Light, so feeble as to be barely noticeable, collected under his hand. If one were to watch closely small bubbles of light could bee seen to flow in towards his hand, collecting until there was a bright yellow light under his hand. Like a lance it shot down and into the wounded ankle, tracking the quivering leg as Regina twisted in fear and anticipation of pain. The light flashed brighter for a moment, then faded to nothing.

Regina coughed violently for a moment, spewing black oily smoke before regaining her composure.

“Did you see that foul blackness coming from me? He tried to kill me!” She stood up and backed away from Balthazar with a finger pointed accusingly. “You saw it Santana, that killing smoke! He used magic on me and,”

“Healed you.” Santana cut her off. She stared at him in shock for a moment as he pointed down at the ankle she was standing on, pain free. “He healed you, Regina. By my fathers beard, you're healthy again!”

She wasn't done of course, but Balthazar was. She tried to rant feebly but he didn't care, he'd done his best and no one could say differently. So he turned from her and began walking West. Gradually they'd both fallen in with him, but if that was wise he wasn't to say.

Since leaving the river they had been walking across baked ground, the few trees they had encountered had been shriveled and long dead, providing no shade whatsoever. It was hot enough that the water reeds were dehydrating in their bag, a fact that was not lost on Balthazar. They needed to find food and water soon, preferably before their water supply ran out. At least Regina was quiet while eating, it kept her mouth otherwise occupied.

They stayed as covered as they could manage in the heat, to protect and to conserve their body's water. In the distance was more and more of nothing.

“Bally, I can't imagine what has happened. All of this can't have always been a wasteland, could it?” Santana asked.

“I wouldn't think so. The trees, though dead now, had nourishment at some point.” Balthazar replied. He absently wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. He itched to pull back the hooded garment that covered him head to foot, hood and all, but with his pale skin he was safer covering up with the light material.

“It used to be farmlands,” Regina offered.

“Really? How long ago?” Balthazar asked.

“When I was little, my family worked land out this way. Can't say how long ago, I was small when the land was unworkable. My father said the land had been failing for years before that, though.” She had snaked her hand in and snagged a second water reed, but for the moment Balthazar wasn't going to challenge her. If the land had been drying for years, then it could be a natural thing. Even if what they had seen at the house and what had happened to him, or what he'd caused to happen, were magic there was no proof the drying land was also magic.

“Well, the sun is falling in the sky again. Perhaps it will cool down some. If we can find a bit of cover we can hole up for a day or two and travel at night again. I don't like being exposed like this, Bally.”

“I agree, but we've had no choice.”

Since fleeing the manor house they had intended to walk by night and hole up during the day. Animals had driven them off the first time and since then they'd not found anything. Night was cooler and they were so tired they slept all of it away, and now paid for it by traveling in the heat of the day.

Slowly they stood, brushed the dust from their clothes and moved west again. They passed more stunted trees, and several hours later came upon one burned to a cinder. The earth was scorched and a smell sent them reeling. Gagging Balthazar and Santana moved in for a closer look. Dead bodies lay in a large hole, burnt. They didn't look like people though, they looked like humans mixed with boars and cattle. They were badly decomposing and the smell was more than they could stand.

They skirted around the scene.

“What do you suppose happened?” Santana asked.

“I don't know,” Balthazar shook his head.

“'Twas magic, like yours. Destroys everything,” Regina muttered.

“You know something about magic?” Balthazar asked, ignoring her destructive comment.

She eyed him suspiciously. Santana frowned at her and she started talking.

“Only what my Ma and Da told me. There used to be powerful magics in the world, only a few could use it. They went mad, caused lots of people to die, lots of destruction. Magic i'nt a good thing.”

Balthazar walked in silence. If magic was a dangerous thing that died out a long time ago, how had it come back? She didn't say it died out, he chided himself, just that it's users had gone mad.

“Regina, did all the magic users go mad and die?”

“'Parently not,” she glared at him.

“Regina!” Santana exclaimed at her.

“Well I dunno, do I look like I'm a magic be damned sorceress? D'ya think I'd a been pretending to be a scullery maid if'n I was? Not me, if I could do that I'd a been a princess or some like.” she sniffed.

“I think Bally's wondering just what else you might know, Regina,” Santana gave her a critical eye, “You could pass for a princess though.”

Balthazar looked away and rolled his eyes. If only they would find a nice place to go screw each other silly he'd get some peace.

“Well,” Regina said preening under his compliment, “I only know what I hear tell, but not all magic died out. Just the ones what could be special powerful like with nature. Regular magic was still around, but some of the wizards could use the planet to power themselfs and those were the ones that made all the mess.”

Balthazar considered this. If magic was still around that explained the attack the previous night, but that didn't explain what happened to him. Rocks falling, protecting Santana or his eyes being all white. He shivered despite the heat, a cold chill racing down his back.

“Bally, look,” Santana pointed ahead. Balthazar looked up and saw town walls and dead bodies like the ones they had seen in the pit scattered around the walls. As they approached they saw that most had the flesh seared from their bones. More animal and man configurations than they had seen at the pit presented themselves; Balthazar had to look up and concentrate on breathing to settle himself. They moved on past the grim sight of burned bodies and to the ruined gates of the walled town.

Inside the walls the first few buildings were destroyed; thick mud walls with thatch had been hacked and burned. Probably some of the dead monsters outside the walls had done some of this.

“Stop!” The group turned to face a young woman and an old man, both clearly worn but determined. They faced them with sharpened pikes but were otherwise clearly not soldiers. “Who are you?”

“Travelers, seeking shelter, food and water.” Santana replied. Regina tucked in close to him.

“We have none to spare, leave this place!” The woman called out and lowered her pike so its point faced them.

“Please, water at least. There must be a well?” Santana asked.

“Cassandra, look at his eyes!” The old man hissed, unconsciously lowering his pike. The woman, called Cassandra, glanced at the old man and returned her attention to the three in front of her.

“You,” she gestured at Balthazar. “Step a little closer.”

Balthazar did as she requested, though he was sorely tempted to blow something up just to get some shade in one of these buildings. He wondered if he could blow things up.

“Your eyes. You are a worker of the earth. A healer. You must come, we have many wounded, many dying. They need your help.”

“Just a moment ago you were going to deny us food, water and shelter. Now you think I should help you?” Balthazar asked.

“These are strange times, we defend what little we can!” She replied fiercely. Balthazar could understand that position, he'd taken it many times himself. He was still a bit peevish about her greeting, but on the other hand she seemed to know something about the magic he had in him, so a bargain would be struck at some point.

“Take me to the wounded.”

Hours later Balthazar sat in one of the many buildings that were unoccupied. Cassandra brought him food, nothing of real note except that it wasn't a water reed. Fresh water to drink and to bathe with and he was getting it all in blessed shade. Who knew life's wants could be so simple? Santana and Regina sat in the same room with him, they had worked as well, tending wounds and changing dressings. They looked as drained as Balthazar felt.

“Tell me, what happened here?” Balthazar asked, then took a bite of the bread provided.

“We'd had word for weeks, rumors really, of strange things being seen to the east. Men with the heads of oxen, a lions jaws or the horns of a ram. Waters turning sour and drying, killing the land around it as it did.” Cassandra wiped her forehead and sipped her water. “A man came five days ago. He and his wife and children. He was ill, the village healer said that it was consumption, there was nothing to be done but ease his passing.”

“Is he the one that told you of the changes to the east?” Balthazar asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “He told us what he had seen, but we did not believe him, because he was so sick.” Her voice had trailed off to a whisper. “His wife, she protested that she had seen these things as well, but we did not believe her. We should have listened.”

“Those dead outside, they attacked. What about the ones in the pit?” Santana asked.

“We dragged as many as we could there, to keep the stink of them away, and the insects, but many of us have sickened anyway. You worked magic, magic that my grandmama described to me as a child. Are you Quirinu?”

“I have never heard that word before,” Balthazar told her. “You fought back with fire?”

“Not us, the man did. Ciano. From his hands, flames burned like I have never seen before. They shot out straight, burning through any thing in it's path. He also must have been Quirinu.”

“What is Quirinu?” Balthazar asked.

“Ancient magic, the magic of the world. It comes from the ground below, the air we breath, the water we drink and the fires that burn. There is a fifth, the spirit of all living things as one.” She regarded Balthazar with a look of wonder. “I believe that is what you are, Healer.”

A low murmur came from outside the building, the noises of an uncertain crowd. Cassandra gave Balthazar a smile and stood.

“By what name do you call yourself?”

“Balthazar.” He replied.

She nodded and walked to the doorway and through the cloth strung across the opening. Balthazar sipped his water to wash down the last of his bread. His only thought was getting some sleep, but as Cassandra re-entered he realized that was not to be.

“What happened to Ciano?” Regina asked. Balthazar looking at her in surprise.

“He died, defending us and his family. His magic burned so hot that he became consumed by it.” Cassandra looked down for a moment, the room remaining respectfully silent.

“Magic, a cursed thing.” Regina muttered.

“Balthazar, if I could trouble you before you rest. Some of the villagers would like to pay their respects for the healing you have done today.” Cassandra beamed at him. Balthazar got an uneasy lurch in his stomach, something he'd learned to pay attention to. It always sensed trouble before he could see it coming. Damned if he could see what it was now.

He stood slowly and followed her to the doorway and as he stepped through the cloth the murmuring of the crowd stopped. The remainder of the village must be here, Balthazar thought. The crowd fell to their knees one by one, then in sections until the entire village knelt before him.

“All hail the return of the Quirinu! All hail Balthazar Lifeblood!” Cassandra called out to the crowd.

“All hail Balthazar Lifeblood! All hail the Quirinu!” The crowd responded in a frenzy.

Balthazar's stomach lurched violently. Not good.


Seconds after surfing down the underground river, the light Aaron had produced glided off his hand and flew out a few feet ahead of him. This made his job navigating that much simpler, and he concentrated on keeping his balance. This, of course, was impossible since he'd never surfed in his life, not even skateboarded. When he did fall, he found he simply fell onto his moving disk of water and so decided to sit and be comfortable for the trip.

Having found the Guardian of the Air Sphere had provided some good information, but his top priority now was finding Keir and ensuring his safety. As he flew through the semi darkness of the underground river, his mind wandered back to William. As much as he missed him, their worlds could never properly mesh. He'd always thought that if two people loved each other, that was that. After having experienced it, he realized it was far more complicated.

Family could make for problems, like King Corvan had. Not to mention the whole kingdom and succession of the throne, little things like that can make a love affair difficult to maintain.

As he cruised along he heard the distant sound of thunder. That wasn't quite right, but there was definitely aloud noise, he thought to himself. He sat up and realized that there was a light ahead, something brighter and just beyond the sphere he'd made. He scrambled to his feet just in time to see the water under him fall away...and he was falling with it.

Concentrating as hard as his mind could, considering he was scared witless, he gathered the water molecules under him again to support and stop arrest his descent. His descent did slow, but not stop and he splashed into the water. He surfaced and rubbed water from his eyes as he tread water. Focusing once more he used the water to lift himself up and stand on top of the lake he found himself in.

He was inside a tremendous underground cavern. Sunlight filtered in through holes in the ceiling of the cavern and allowed grass and small, bush like trees to grow in the distance. He began to walk, concentrating on keeping the water under him solid and trying to drive it from his clothes at the same time. He studied the cavern as he walked towards shore. The river he'd been traveling in emptied abruptly, water cascading through the air. At one time the river may have continued onward, perhaps in the time of the Guardian, but that was long since past. He had no idea where he was or how to proceed.

Reaching shore he found himself overwhelmed by a sense of despair. The river had been his way to Keir, to Merriman and now? He was trapped underground, alone, of a world that wasn't his own. A world where his first love had been left behind and his only friend was missing. As he slogged to shore his despair overwhelmed him and he collapsed on the beach, sobbing, allowing the emotion to consume him. He cried out in anger and frustration and heartache, pounding the sand uselessly with one hand; as effectual as he felt he'd been.

At last the spent emotion, the journey, all of it overwhelmed him and he slept.

“Wake!”

Aaron heard the command and bounced into consciousness, confused and defensive. As he turned away from the bush-trees behind him he came face to face with a large group of people on the beach. Reflexively he spun a shield of water and hardened it, something between he and the unknown people.

“We mean you no harm, waterwalker.” The person in front of the group stepped forward. “We have come to you in peace.”

Aaron did a quick study of the group. They were all pale, though they didn't appear unhealthy. They wore little in the way of clothing, and what they did have on seemed to be more like plant life than anything else. He saw no weapons nor did any of them advance on him. Slowly he allowed the ice to return to water and dropped it onto the sand.

“Greetings Waterwalker. We are the Obani. Are you injured?”

Aaron did a quick check on his body and addressed the leader. “No.”

“We have waited for you for generations, Waterwalker. Would you like to eat before meeting the Oracle?”

His stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He nodded and slowly approached the leader, “Food would be welcome.” He replied. “What do you mean you have waited for me?” He asked. The leader gestured for him to walk with him, and Aaron fell into step beside the man, and the group parted to let them through.

“The Obani are the Living Healers of the planet. Our natural gift is to use the energies of life to repair, restore and maintain the living. When the world was sundered our order was sent here by our founder to preserve the Oracle and wait for the Waterwalker. You are to be the first.”

“The first what? What are you talking about?” Aaron stopped. He was beginning to feel as though he'd stepped into a trap and these people expected him to do something for them that he knew nothing about.

“The first to claim their knowledge, of course. The Oracle will explain to you and deliver prophecy.” The man turned from him, “Come,” he beckoned, “We shall eat and then you will see.” He smiled.

Aaron followed, but more because he had nothing else to do. He was in a cavern with no way out that he knew of. These people must know of a way out, he reasoned. Also they appeared to be non-threatening, but their mysterious tone crap was making him edgy. Besides, he was hungry.

They followed a small trail, single file, until it ended in a clearing. Small wooden structures had been built here, homes for the Obani. Many of those behind them dispersed, but it was with the excitement of anticipation. They went quickly to buildings and entered, excited discussion breaking out before their doors closed. Near the back of this small village they entered a dwelling and Aaron was shocked to silence.

The wood was glowing inside, flashing with deep burls and wood grain that seemed to twinkle at him. The floor was wood and there was a large square table with rolled leaves on it, stuffed with something he couldn't see but that instantly set his mouth to watering. Glasses of water were at each place setting, minus the plate.

“Sit, be relaxed, once we have a meal we shall go to the Oracle. It is wise to eat before speaking to the Oracle, it can be some time before the conversation is done.”

Aaron sat at the table and a large woman bustled in from a doorway on the other side of the room. She was beaming at him and carrying wooden plates. She grabbed several of the leafy burrito looking things and placed them on a plate and then in front of him. She dished up one for his guide and then filled two more plates before calling out behind her.

“Tiaga!”

A young girl bounced into the room and stopped dead looking at Aaron. “You are the Waterwalker?” she said in a tone that left him feeling like she was clearly unimpressed.

“Tiaga,” His guide said in a tone of warning. She bowed her head and sat at the table. They sat in silence for several minutes before the woman spoke up, looking at Aaron.

“The meal does not satisfy you?” her voice was tinged with worry.

“I haven't ...It smells wonderful, I didn't want to be rude and eat first.” Aaron replied, giving the woman a small smile.

“An honored guest must eat before any other, please, eat.” The man replied. Aaron bobbed his head and looked down at the food. The outer layer seemed to be one large leaf. He picked one up and slowly brought it to his mouth and bit off a piece. The leaf melted in his mouth replaced by the warm interior that oozed like cheese. Glancing at the interior it looked a lot like cheese inside, and beans and other greenery. The combination was good, and raised to excellent owing to the fact that he was extremely hungry.

The rest of the table began to eat as well, the woman sneaking smiling glances at him, the man simply observing the table and the girl giving him skeptical looks.

“What are your names?” Aaron asked after he had eaten one whole leaf burrito, as he'd dubbed them.

“I am Manus and this is my wife, Rugala. Our daughter, of course, is Tiaga.”

“It's nice to meet you, thank you for the food, it's very good.” Rugula beamed even wider, if that was possible.

“It is called Profentedi, a staple of our diet,” Manus replied. “My wife makes the best in the village.”

“Are you the leader of the village?”

“We have no leader. We all follow the Oracle. It's ways provide the path for our daily lives.”

“You can see where that got us,” Tiaga mumbled.

“Forgive my daughter, Waterwalker. The young do not always follow the path of their elders. She has many questions that have not been satisfied by the Oracle and seeks understanding. The wisdom to hide that frustration and to not appear unkind has eluded her, thus far.” Manus responded, fixing Tiaga with a withering glare. She dropped her gaze again.

They continued to eat and Aaron found that after two, he was overstuffed. He leaned back in his chair and considered the family he was with. He was more interested in Tiaga since the other two were plainly assuming he fulfilled some prophesy or something, like he was expected. She wasn't convinced, and it would be a good idea to hear what a skeptic thought.

“Tiaga, can I ask why it is you don't seem to like me?”

She looked at him in surprise and then at her father. Manus nodded at her curtly and she turned to face Aaron.

“Ever since I was born I've been hearing the legend of the Waterwalker, how we were chosen and tasked by Obani herself to watch over the Oracle. It teaches us as we protect it.”

“Legend?' he prompted.

“Yes. The Legend of the Waterwalker says,” she rolled her eyes, “A great Quayala will come and show who they are by walking on the water, controlling the element.” She looked in Aaron's eyes, “Clearly that has yet to happen, whatever Brodly claims to have seen.”

“Brodly?” Aaron looked at Manus.

“Brodly was on the beach when he said you came from the water that falls from the wall, and that you walked across the top to the beach, where you chanted and slept.”

He grunted. Chanted before sleeping? Either the guy that saw him had no idea what crying was or he'd covered for him.

He looked at Tiaga, “So you don't believe Brodly.”

“He'd say anything to keep someone here he deemed comely. He knows we blindfold and remove all interlopers, unless they are a danger, then they must be killed to prevent others who may be aggressors from finding the Oracle.”

“I see. So you would rather think me a danger because you don't like Brodly?”

“I like Brodly, I'll like him more when he comes to his senses and realizes he can't have a family without a wife.”

Well, that straightened that out, Aaron thought to himself. “So besides that, you doubt me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said aggressively. Her father frowned and started to open his mouth as her mother rose to reprimand her, Aaron's eyes went all blue and the water in Tiaga's glass began to swirl, then pop out and dance on the table, a mini whirlpool that fed in on itself. The family gasped at the display of water magic. Aaron slowed the molecules, making the water very, very cold and then it leaped forward and splashed Tiaga in the face.”

“Whoops,” Aaron said to her.

“You have been water blessed, child, despite your sharp tongue,” Manus smiled.

“He was not blessing me, father,” she said quietly while drying her face with a cloth. She looked at Aaron and said with a convincing amount of remorse, “ I heartily apologize, Waterwalker.”

“No big deal,” he replied, feeling foolish for embarrassing her.

“Your meal is complete?” Manus asked.

“Yes,thank you,” Aaron replied.

“Then let us consult the Oracle.”

Manus led him from the home, the mother and daughter remained behind.

“Does your village feel as Tiaga does about people like Brodly?” Aaron asked. They had to talk about something while walking, and whether or not he was safe for his orientation seemed like handy information to have.

“Our village is small, the hope is that all men will find a wife, to sustain the village. We will gain new villagers from lost travelers on occasion, they will lie with many of our women to infuse new blood into the village. No one is forced into a union they do not want. Brodly is a good man, but there is no one else in the village that feels as he does. It is difficult for him.”

“Travelers just...sleep with the women of the village?” Aaron gaped.

“Our way is strange to you?” Manus smiled, “We must have new blood, for if we do not then damaged children are born, slow witted and unable to function. To survive, we must. A traveler is cause for rejoicing, as it brings new life to the village.”

“I see,” Aaron said as they walked between two shrubs that guarded an opening in the rock. Murmurs could be heard from inside the opening and as they entered and began to descend a slow path, Aaron realized this hall was the duplicate of the chamber he found the Guardian of Air in, and the Air Orb. Small orbs were glowing down the tunnel, cleanly carved from the stone surrounding them, and lit their way to the chamber he knew he'd find.

This chamber was larger, rows of stone seats ringed the dais in the center where a deep blue ball of water spun slowly on it's axis. Manus took a seat with the rest of the villagers. Aaron realized they were here to watch this event, one they had waited for their whole lives. He walked around the orb slowly, soaking in the moment. All the questions he had about water could now be answered, all he couldn't obtain from the Air Guardian. He heard shuffling and Tiaga and Rugala quickly sat down next to Manus.

The room was deadly silent as he reached out and touched the Orb.

“Welcome, Water Master.”

Aaron clearly heard this before the water crashed over him, enveloping him.


Sitting in the chair atop the Tower of the Sun was a draining experience, Keir realized. The chair acted as an amplifier, taking his natural power and allowing him to channel much more than he could have mustered on his own. Amoro sat across the room from him, on the floor, with a small basket of food and water that his wife had packed for them. Each day they would unbury part of Merriman, only to have at least half of it covered again by morning.

Keir had decided the best way to make progress was to clear away some of the sand surrounding the city edges, so they wouldn't flow in later. It would have been easier of he could have Aaron here to wash some of it away, but he knew that wasn't possible. Thinking of Aaron brought a pang of regret, of loss, and he lost his focus and slumped forward in his chair.

“The sun is high, Master, You should eat, your body needs it.” Amoro stood and brought the meager food basket to Keir. Keir looked at him and Amoro smiled encouragingly and gestured with the basket. Keir nodded and levered himself out of the chair. It was surprisingly comfortable considering it looked to be made of crystal. He reached into the proffered basket and withdrew a modest sandwich. He bit a piece of absently while gazing through one of the tower's windows.

“Once the city begins to clear, some will wake and be able to help you,” Amoro told him as he took a seat on the floor.

“Wake?” Keir turned to regard the older man. “Wake like people? Why don't you sit in a chair?”

“A chair? Oh no, not in this chamber, not me. I don't have the kind of magic to sit in those chairs, that would be dangerous. The chairs amplify, yes, but you must be able to control that amplified magic. My wife tells me I can't control a dust devil!” Amoro wheezed a dusty cough.

“All right,” Keir smiled, “What was that you were saying about waking?”

“Oh, well, yes of course. Merriman requires magic being worked to be active. Quala magic is the most powerful individually speaking, and it being worked energizes the city. When the end grew near, Merriman protected it's residents by pulling them into itself, holding them through time as the decades passed, safe guarding them until such time as the city rose again.”

“So, what, there's people buried in the sand? People? They'd be mummies by now!” Keir exclaimed.

“Held deep in slumber, the legend says. When the Quala return, Merriman will wake and so will her citizens. They can help you, they are all wizards, much stronger than myself.”

“Well, help I can use. Back to it I guess.” Keir walked away from the window and stretched, then settled into the clear chair. He took a few deep breaths and then relaxed into the chair. He closed his eyes and the city appeared in his mind, like an overhead map and he began to channel the air into a funnel again, working around the edges of the city, gradually revealing walls. With the chair amplification he'd completely unearthed the city walls and had little worry that the sand would flow back; at least not anytime soon. If he'd have been strong in Earth this would have been over in no time.

He worked for days, dividing the city into sections in his mind. The exhaustion was acute; by the end of the day he was often too tired to leave the tower. Uncovering the city had become an obsession, a goal that was worthy of the work and dedication he poured into it, something to be proud of. Wait till Aaron sees this!

At the thought of Aaron, he always lost focus and became melancholy. He wished he'd been able to talk to him, to tell him what was happening and where he was. He missed him, and Roland to a lesser extent. After it became clear the Kingdom's alleged requirements would always trump anything in their personal lives. He could understand it to a point, but his marrying and producing children with someone else...that he couldn't handle. Still, he missed them both, oftentimes painfully so.

Keir had begun clearing the part of the city at the base of the Tower of the Sun, if nothing else so he could see his work progress. He cleared the large square the tower was in, and then began to work the surrounding streets. The streets radiated away from the tower as if rays from a sun, something of that nature. He worked diligently, moving tons and tons of sand, branching out farther and farther from the tower. On the sixth day he decided to take half a day off and just walk through what had been uncovered. Amoro fretfully walked with him.

“Why do you seem so nervous?” Keir asked.

“I have only heard of these streets, I never thought to see them. They are exactly as described, handed down over these long generations.” Amoro said, his voice tremulous.

Keir stopped and simply took in one of the buildings. Art Deco was the phrase that came to mind as he looked at the buildings, streamlined and with chrome accents. The buildings had a stepped motif that was both inviting and seemed so very old. Keir stepped up to one of the buildings, a modest affair. Chrome ran about the door frame and over the door the two lines of quicksilver met and formed a male face with a curious hat on it's head, something like a soldier in roman times perhaps.

“How many generations?” Keir asked.

“My lord?” Amoro inquired.

“You said these streets had been described to you for generations, how many?”

“I don't rightly know, my lord. I do know that the city and my family line has some...history.”

“What sort of history?” Keir asked as his hand grazed the silver chrome of the door frame. The silver glowed, becoming fluid yet holding it's shape. The eyes of the decorative figure above the door glowed a deep molten gray and whole structure seemed to sigh.

“Oh dear.” Amoro muttered. Shuffling movement could be heard behind the door. Muttering and finally the door burst open and a man who appeared to be in his late forties opened the door.

“My bones hurt. What year is it?” He squinted at Keir and Amoro.

“The year is lost to time, my lord.” Amoro bowed.

“Here, youngling, how much of the city is awake? I need someone to clean up in there, it's dusty something horrible.”

“You're the only one awake.” Keir replied, after taking time to make sure he still had a tongue to speak with. He'd wondered, briefly, if he'd lost it since he couldn't seem to make a sound.

“Oh, the first? Well then, who woke me?” he looked up and down the deserted street.

“I did.” Keir answered.

“You?” The man appraised him. His hand reached out and took hold of Keir by the temples, and Keir twisted, pulling out of the man's grip.

“Hey, hands off!” Keir growled.

“Whelp, where did you get such power? You can't be old enough to know how to wield it, you have no beard!” The man grumped and fixed Keir with a glare, then slid over to look at Amoro, whose head was still bowed. “You had something to do with this. Out with it!”

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are? I just did you a favor awakening you, even if I don't know how I did it, you think that means you can be rude?” Keir huffed.

“I am Harman Truehammer.” He said it such a way that he expected it to have an effect. Keir yawned at him, but Amoro gasped. “You have some idea, this whelp who doesn't know his betters. Out with it then, what's the state? You, wake others.” Harman reached out and made as if to walk away with Amoro, but Keir wasn't about to be talked to that way. No one was walking over him, not again.

“No!” Keir thundered and the wind began to circle in the street, picking up small bits of sand that hadn't left with it's compatriots when the street had been cleaned before.

Harman turned and glared at him, made a small gesture which Keir recognized as the silent spell. He knew he didn't need to open his mouth to have the wind speak for him. The wind picked up and spun around Harman, centered on him until the older man stopped squealing threats and instead lost consciousness from lack of air. The silent spell dropped from Keir and he, in turn dropped the wind from Harman.

“My lord, you shouldn't have done that. The Truehammers are a most respected family. There will be repercussions!” Amoro wring his hands.

“I don't think so. They need me to finish what I've started, and unless I'm mistaken, they can't keep things running once it's uncovered without me. I won't be talked to that way, the old jerk,” Keir huffed and looked away. Privately he was a little scared how strong he'd become, he could have killed the contrary guy.

“Amoro. You said you had history, and apparently you know this guy's family. Why don't you fill me in?” Keir wove air and tied up his new friend and dragged him along on a bed of air.

“M..Merriman is a mageocracy, but there is great deference to some of the older families. There was a system of laws, a government and a judiciary. That last part my family is horribly familiar with.”

Harman began to wake and Keir wove silent to keep him from annoying him too much. After short consideration, he used air to plug his ears as well, lest his discussion come back to haunt him. Truehammer struggled a bit as he came awake, but Keir put him out of his mind. He motioned to Amoro to continue.

“One of my ancestors, she ran afoul of the laws. She married another woman, a sorceress of great power. The Truehammers were the leaders of the mage council and banished her and all her family from the city, for all time.”

“That seems way out of proportion,” Keir muttered feeling uneasy about waking a city of homophobes.

“The times were different, the Quala were dying off and the city elders needed every possible opportunity to produce another Quala. Their kind of love was known to run in families, and so they sent them all away.” Amoro hung his head.

“That's just dumb.”

“In the end it proved to be a poor ruling, I am told. Some saw the punishment as too harsh, or disagreed that a crime had been committed. It broke some parts of the city in to factions. The question was asked if girls would be forced to mate with stronger mages in the hopes of producing Quala as well? If you can banish an entire family for who one loves, who was to say what the council would do next?”

“This guy was on that council?”

“He was.”

“Sounds like real leadership material. Maybe I should let my next clearing pass of air toss him a few miles from the city, might be easiest for everyone involved.”

“The city you waken, it's mages, they will be from another age. They may not be easy to sway; after all the days of banishing whole families was very recent, for them.”

“We'll see,” Keir muttered as they reached the base of the tower. He turned and unplugged Harman's ears. The man glared murder at Keir, but he didn't much care.

“Listen up, friend. I'm a Quantum, a Quala or whatever you know it as. You need me to get this city up and running. I am not an errand boy and you aren't my master, or anyone else's for that matter. Your people have been asleep for hundreds of years, times have changed. You are going to help me or I'll toss you so far away we won't even be able to hear you splat.” Keir glared at Harman.

“Splat?” Amoro asked.

“You know, squished.” Keir looked at him.

“Squished?”

“Uh, yeah. Like if you dropped him from up really high and he hit the ground,” Keir slapped his hands together for emphasis, “splat!”

“Aha! Splat, I like this word.” Amoro smiled and looked at Harman, who looked a tad less sure of himself.

Keir turned the man loose, but was ready to bind him in a split second if need be. Harman stood slowly, eying Keir the whole way.

“Hundreds of years you say?” Harman looked down at the ground.

“That's right.” Keir answered.

“How is that possible?” Harman muttered.

“My lord, I believe the city was supposed to weather the destruction of the Quala, awakening when they returned.”

“Well yes, that was the idea,” Harman looked at Amoro in annoyance, “But we expected maybe a generation, there wasn't enough power in the city to keep everyone in it alive.” He glanced down the streets arrayed out from the tower, “The longer the city stays covered, the fewer we will find alive.”

“I suggest you help me then,” Keir replied. The idea that people had woken, entombed in their homes and left to die as the city lost the power to keep them alive made his stomach clench and threaten to eject the meager meal he'd had.

“Yes, for now. I'll awaken when has been uncovered, get their help and at the same time help to conserve the power the city has left.” Harman yawned and stretched suddenly, “Ye gods I feel so stiff!”

“I will get water and bread, my lord,” Amoro ducked his head and scampered off. Keir eyed Harman warily and then shrugged. He'd keep an eye on hiim, toss him if he had to. Keir ascended the Tower of the Sun and resumed his seat. He closed his eyes and saw the image where Harman was, going from door to door. Keir started on the street farthest from him and gathered the fury of the air, clearing sand away from the waking city.

All the while he was wondering how much of a problem Truehammer would be. Aaron, I need your help!

To be continued? Previous Chapter