CHAPTER 11 - LIKE FROM STORIES?

  “Acolyte?”’

  Levan turned.

  It was the woman.

  Equally accurate to say she was the woman he’d saved from the soldier as it was to say she haved him. She held the crying baby.

  “Best leave,” she said to him, looking around at the alleyway, her eyes skipping over the dead soldier as if he was something she simply was not capable of seeing. “You are new. Or I would have recognized you. Days joined?” she asked. She frowned. “Was it you who lead the Soliptics to us?”

  It was a good thing for Levan he had no idea what the woman meant, his reaction was geniune.

  “Never mind it,” she said. “Best change out of those robes, fast as you can, and never speak of your brief days at the temple again.”

  Then she tucked the child back close to her chest, and ran down the alleyway, cutting up to the right and disappearing, all before Levan could formulate the words to respond.

  Levan hesitated.

  Why am I still here? He wondered.

  He knew why. The reasons were ‘understandable.’ ‘Human,’ and ‘kind.’

  Just not ‘smart.’

  He turned and ran, following the woman’s path, though not the woman herself.

  Out of the alleyway and back onto the main street of the city, he made his way further upward.

  The sword, he realized, not a minute later.

  But still…could he go back?

  Then—an idea:

  “Aetherize,” he said, holding out his hand, feeling a bit foolish doing so.

  [ Failed! ]

  [ Increase your {Aetherize} skill to increase the distance from which you can Aetherize ]

  [ Skill: Aetherize | Lvl 1 | 5% ]

  The city was burning; he was running out of time.

  No chance I give up on that sword, though.

  He had to backtrack halfway through the alleyway before the skill worked.

  [ Item Added to Aetherial Stores: Shortsword ]

  He was out again. He didn’t claim anything else from the soldier. The armor might be useful, but..there were just some things he couldn’t do. He couldn’t go near the man again.

  All around him, the city was emptying—conquered.

  The lower rings were overrun by soldiers in the their red leathers.

  They’re putting out the fires, he realized, as a parting of buildings let him see nearly down to the perimeter wall.

  Putting out fires—because now the city that burned was now their own.

  He caught another glimpse of the mother with the baby as he reached the final heights. She cried, throwing out her arms as a man caught her in an embrace and the two sobbed, and laughed, and cried, their child between them.

  Levan couldn’t quite smile.

  There was that thought in his head again, the soldier sideways against the wall, the sword through his back, staring at him with those bloodshot eyes. Had there been small veins of green in those eyes? Little trickles of aether climbing their way into his brain?

  It burns.

  Levan blinked, shaking his head slightly, as if he could evict the thought like tossing a drunk out of a bar. Like he could grab it by the scruff of the collar and throw it on out the doors.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The last rivers of fleeing populous ran towards a series of postern gates at the rear of the city. The city was eerily empty, whether that was because of flight started during the attack, or far before, Levan couldn’t be sure.

  He fell in line a few families behind the woman with the baby.

  She pointed to him, and the man gave a gracious nod that Levan returned. Levan noticed that she had discarded the robes from the temple, with a shawl tied around her naked shoulders, and a skirt around her waist. Beside her was an old woman, notabely shawl-less.

  “No,” he read her lips, “No, I don’t know him,” she said. “Let’s go.” Then the family turned their attention away. They wanted to be free of dark alleyways and whatever murders and tragedies they held.

  They want to be free of all this. If they’re going to leave it behind, they want to leave the whole thing behind. She really doesn’t want to be seen as a priest. The…what was it, Siloptic? Soliptic?

  [ Codex > Factions > The Soliptic Order | ??? | Recognizable to the Chosen Soul by imagery of philosophers in horrified revelation. ]

  So you’re a Codex with no lore?

  [ Codex > Limitations | ??? ]

  …Sure.

  Out of the city lines of people in torchlit caravans and tributary streams ran into the countryside, forking in a dozen different directions.

  Levan slowed to a stop, his jaw open.

  After a long night, the sun had finally risen.

  And, for the first time, Levan got a good look beyond the city.

  Rolling hills of short yellow grass swept across the landscape like swirling dust ushered into a dustpan.

  The sun hid behind one of those hills, glowing brightly with the dawn. And more—celestial bodies he hadn’t noticed in the smoking haze of the city.

  His breath caught.

  There was something in the sky. White and crystalline, arctic blue and stone grey. An uncountable number of bits of rock and ice, all aligned against the gravity of the planet in a shape Levan had never seen up close.

  Rings, he realized.

  This planet has rings.

  “Acolyte?” someone said.

  Levan didn’t turn.

  Just stared at the rings.

  “Acolyte?”

  He turned.

  It was the man—brother, husband, whatever he was to the woman from the alleyway.

  “I’m not an acolyte,” Levan said, automatically. His eyes were still torn between the rolling yellow hills illuminated by the rising sun, and the icy ring in the sky.

  “V…very well, then,” the man said, clearing his throat. “A disguise quite…terribly chosen, then,” the man gave an uneasy laugh.

  Levan finally turned.

  The man was younger than he’d seemed from a distance. He’d washed his face, too, if the clear complexion and dried drops of wet ash were anything to go by.

  “You wear the robes of an acolyte,” the man said. “What are you, if not an acolyte?”

  The shock of the rings and the view of the new world still present in his mind, Levan shifted as much attention as he could to the man.

  “I’m just a…someone from another—” he began. “I’m not from here,” he landed on. “Sorry.”

  It wasn’t an exact answer to the questions the man—kid, really—had, but it was the best Levan could do at the moment.

  “I had plans to thank you,” he said, “For saving my wife and son.”

  “Wife?” Levan asked, raising an eyebrow.

  The boy frowned.

  “Yes,” he said, and looked back at the woman, who seemed equally uneasy. The kid swallowed a lump in his throat. “If perhaps your intentions were romantic, I regret to inform you that no such payment—”

  “No!” Levan said quickly, throwing up his hands. “Not that. You just seem young.”

  “I’m seventeen,” the kid said, bringing his feet to stand shoulder width apart and folding his arms. “Old enough to hold a sword. Innit, so.”

  Levan thought back to his home.

  What was army recruitment age, again?

  “Innit so,” Levan agreed with a nod, and that seemed to satisfy the young father.

  The man looked away, a dark expression on his face. “I wanted to give you something, to thank you. But anything I could give you would be taken away from the child.”

  “I don’t need anything,” Levan said, trying to give the young man a smile. The sun was still rising, and a new blaze ruptured through the hills, making it look more like Levan was grimacing into the sun, rather than smiling at the man.

  “Very well,” he said. “You have our eternal thanks.”

  Levan nodded, the father nodded, and then took off. “She saved me too, so we’re even!” Levan called.

  “Saved me as well,” the father called back, smiling at him, then looking back to the woman.

  Levan was ready to see the woman roll her eyes. Where he’d come, sincerity was called cheese, and to take anything seriously was considered childlike. To care for anything with passion, and not judge from a jaded distance, was called foolishness.

  But no one rolled their eyes.

  No one made any snide comments. No sarcasm. No meta commentary.

  The woman just smiled, cheeks turning scarlet, and she tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. She gave a look to the kid that Levan decided he would try to hold on to, even if it was a good deal harder to do than some of the tougher memories.

  That was strange.

  Refreshing—but strange.

  “Hey—” Levan thought, an idea occurring suddenly.

  The boy stopped.

  “These robes—who did the priests worship?” Levan asked.

  The man frowned. “I’m not sure. They keep to their secrecy. The Weaver, most people assume.”

  “The Weaver,” Levan repeated. “And what is he or she the god of?”

  “Well,” the boy said, scratching the back of his head. The rest of the population was walking, and the city was still under siege. He wanted to get going.

  “Erm…Weavin’, mostly.”

  “The Weaver, God of Weaving,” Levan said.

  “Yeh.”

  “Sure,” Levan said.

  He thought of the temple, the blood, the slaughtered acolytes and the seven summoning stones.

  “Goodbye, then,” the kid said.

  “Wait—“ Levan said, and though the kid stopped, he was now looking back and forth between the city and the refugee population making their way down the rolling hills.

  “Do they do anything strange?” Levan asked. “Like summon people from other worlds?” he searched his brain for the term. “Chosen Souls?”

  “Chosen Souls?” the kid said, a confused expression on his face. “Like from stories?”

  “…I don’t know,” Levan said.

  And, for a moment, a mask he didn’t know he’d been wearing slipped.

  There was a desperate, lost, terrified, and nervous face beneath. And when the mask slipped, Levan let it.

  “I don’t know,” the young father said. “Friend—we’ve got to go.”

  “Where could I learn more about the Weaver?”

  “Any major city, maybe Eastport, or Lethwen” he said. “If they still hold. But it’ll end up like…Sandesar.”

  He pulled his gaze away from the burning city. Away from Sandesar.