The Squire's Tale

[Sandshark]

Intermission: The Torchbearer's Burden

The stories said that Magnolia was a land of angels. After meeting Chaska, Lucas found that very hard to doubt.

The young girl was one of the most pure-hearted people he'd met, and coming from him that was saying a lot. As starry-eyed as he'd been in his youth, and as naïve about the world at large, there was always a bit of prosaic pragmatism in him. The shepherd's son emerging time and again to push back against the knightly fantasy he had grown up with. Chaska had no such devil on her shoulder. The purity of her ideals was born in a walled garden; a life lived in isolation from others- even her peers.

When he chose to guide her it had been out of duty, and out of a sense of kinship in spirit. She had wanted to know, and he had given her the chance to learn. She had wanted a friend, and he had given her someone to lean on. Now things were different.

Her power grew with every lesson and so did her confidence and faith. That fire he had nurtured in her heart was healthy and crackling now. A torch against the dark night brought on by the war. She was everything he wanted in a successor, someone who would surely carry on the legacy that was left to him.

So why was he still uneasy?

This was one of those times he wished he had Sasha to talk to. Her teaching had seemed effortless. Not on his part, of course, he felt he always struggled to make even the smallest progress. On hers. The seasoned knight hadn't been much older than he when she taught him. No more than a few years difference at most. Did she ever worry that her pupils would stray from their virtues? Did she ever wonder if she would live to see them reach their goals?

Maybe she had.

It was not as if doubt could be completely banished. Even Moa, who had all fear burned from her heart by Dyn's black flames, still sometimes had doubts. She was still sometimes troubled. Lucas had no such scourging to steel his soul, but he had means of shoring up his mindset. Meditation could clear away distractions, and Holy Magic could banish fear from his heart, but those were not the same.

Doubt was different. It was not something he could think his way out of. It required action.

He took a deep breath, and stood. The first rays of daylight were cresting the eastern sea. Back inside the Dragon Scale, his apprentice was likely already waking. She would accept his instruction with an eager mind, and he could give her no less than his best.

A smile formed on his face, and he brushed errant locks of golden hair from his eyes.

No matter how much doubt, he now bore a torch that lit the way for someone else. That feeling filled him with pride. And the doubt? Maybe it was good. He couldn't let himself get too cocky. Someone was depending on him.

With that thought pushing him forward, he made for the inn. Another new day, another chance to learn.

[Sandshark]

Act III Scene II - Parting the Waters

In the springtime, high in the Tarians, the winter snowmelt faded beneath the bright light of the rising sun. It flowed from the icy fingers of glacial ravines in small rivulets, feeding down the valleys to join the great rivers below. That rush of water wore away at the earth over hundreds of years, etching indelible marks upon the countryside.

To resist such power directly was all but impossible. To stand within it? That was a different question.

In practicing with barriers and shields, Lucas had come to know that no matter his strength of will there were things that could break through a shield. No barrier was truly perfect if all it did was take hits. He had meditated on the question for over a year now, searching for an alternative even as he build up the strength of his body and mind. And one day it came to him: a stone in the riverbed remains unmoved when water flows around it, not against it.

When rushing water charges down valleys, it obliterates all in its path. Even when it gurgles down little brooks there are things that are washed away. But often stones are left in the center of the riverbed, seemingly struck by the full weight of the water yet they do not move. The water moves about them and they remain. By deflecting energy away he could save his strength. He would not be invulnerable to damage, but he would suffer smaller, lighter wounds if he achieved fine control over the shielding power of Holy Magic.

To that end, he had to know what it meant to be the stone in the riverbed.

So he had come to the mountains once again, to a wide, flat-bottomed river that flowed swiftly with frigid meltwater. It would be a test of two things: his concentration, and his skill.

He stripped down to bare flesh and put his gear on a nearby rock, safely away from the water's edge. Taking a deep breath he strode towards the bank. The wind whipped across him; even in the spring there was a chill in the mountain air. This was the first part of the test. He could have warded off the cold with his mana, but he needed to know he could rely on his calm for casting no matter what situation he was in. He would only channel once he was immersed in the center of the river. The freezing cold would stand in for the pain and shock of injury, or the confusion of battle.

As he stepped out into the river's flow he felt the chill strike him like fire. Pins of agony seared in his feet and calves, running up as far as the water rose against his skin. It rose higher and higher, until he was immersed up to his waist in the flowing water. His whole body was numb from the cold now, even in the places the water didn't reach.

With stiff muscles, he brought his hands up and out, opening his palms in supplication to the heavens.

That golden light flowed through his body, bringing feeling back to his extremities. And with it those stinging pins that not even a rush of mana could push away. He grimaced, nearly losing focus, but pushed it aside. This was supposed to be the easy part. If he failed to even begin the training he'd be going home in shame.

His hands reached out. A halting breath in, a measured breath out.

A veil of golden light blossomed from his hands, intersecting the water as it formed before him. This was what he was used to: a simple barrier, a wall of light large enough to cover his body from the front. But it would not be enough to stop the flow of water. The current bunched up and whirled around, eddying across its edges and sending turbulent flows behind to lap against his body. That was his enemy's magic. It would overwhelm him if this was the best he could do.

He brought his hands together as his eyes traced over all he could see. Golden light flowed from his heart and poured out through his eyes. It trailed like pipe-smoke up from the corners, that trace of blue that sizzled at the edge with sparks of sunlight.

Slowly the shape changed.

From a rectangular shield to a wedge. Folding there into smaller shapes, expanding, shifting. As he worked through the problem in his mind's eye he envisioned the light encircling him, above and below. Little by little it came into being, the smooth surface shimmering with a sunlit glow. It grew and flowed until finally he could no longer feel the water run against him. He stood within a golden sphere, and the water that rose to his waist was still within it.

The second step. Now he needed to integrate it.

Lucas drew the barrier back within himself, folding it into the aura of gold that signified his magic. From there he forced it out, little by little, merged with the sunlit halo of power that emanated from him.

The first sign was warm air on his skin. He looked down, only to see that he was standing in a void in the water. Where the aura stretched out from his body, the water retreated, held back by the barrier of light that had been stitched into his spirit. He pushed himself a little more, extending the aura back out around him. Little by little he found that he could push the water back, forming that globe once again as his spirit surged, and letting it fall away as his power ebbed.

The third step. Now he needed to wield it.

Standing still amidst the flow was one thing, but translating that into fighting prowess was another. He not only needed to master himself, he needed to master his enemy. Fighting powerful Magi would mean stepping through the eddies of their power. He could not match strength for strength without flagging, just as he could not push away all the water in the river. He would need to sense the ebb and flow, the currents of magic that came towards him, and step into them knowing where the openings lay.

The water would be his guide.

He could feel the water move against the golden barrier, feeling the sensations as if they were brushing against his spirit. As he took his first few halting steps, he felt the water eddy and whorl around him. Each movement changed the calculus, altering the path of the flow and demanding a revised motion. It would not be enough to predict the motion with his mind. He needed to feel it in his heart.

He stepped forward.

Water shifted around him and he shifted his weight between his legs. He no longer measured every step, but cast himself forward through the rushing water. As eddies pushed and jostled his legs he let his aura ebb and flow along with it, pushing where the flow was weak and relenting where the water pushed back. All he had to do was breathe, channel, move. The cycle of his breath matched the flow of the water, and the motions of his arms and legs cut through the rushing current with greater and greater ease.

Feeling his strength, he tensed his muscles and shoved off, dashing forward as if to make a deadly strike against a foe. His body surged forward, and his spirit flexed and compressed around him, surging him forward in a shell of golden light that moved with the eddies of the water. To his surprise he covered nearly the whole distance of a normal dash, and as he pivoted to see where he had come from... Not a single trail in the surface of the water.

He had done it.

This was the truth that would lead him forward. Towards a style of persistence that fit with his movements. If he could succeed in parting the waters, he could part the currents of magic that others struck him with. And if he could do that, he could perhaps learn how to fight them to exhaustion without exhausting himself. A way of fighting that suited a defender; a man who stood for peace against brutality. The man he wanted to become.

Lucas left the river behind. He could return to his beloved with pride in his heart, for he was one step closer to his goal.

[Sandshark]

Intermission: The Long Road

Prickles of pain woke Lucas into darkness.

A full moon cast its glow on the young man where he lay, facing his lover, his injured arm lying limply between them on the bed.

He took deep breaths, trying to push away the feeling of the dozen needles sewn into his bones. The foreign metal rebinding his inner circuits. Amo said the pain would pass soon. He prayed it did. For the last few days he'd often woken like this, feeling pins and needles as the Lax Essence began to wear thin. The price of hubris.

With his right hand he reached out, his fingertips barely reaching Moa's shoulder before he stopped himself. It would pain him more if she woke to find him suffering.

He let out a long sigh through his nose. Confronting Elysia had been the wrong choice. One he'd made because he felt stronger than he'd ever been. Yet compared to her, who had the weight of experience and her own equipment to wield against him, he was still no more than a novice. He could not protect the honor of his new family with faith alone.

Once again he had to become stronger.

Once again there was a mountain to climb.

Lucas rolled over, turning away from Moa and draping his left arm gingerly down on the bed. He peered out across the half-lit room, his eyes losing focus as his mind turned inward. Where would he turn, if it wasn't to his own faith? Finding someone to craft him a weapon could bring him a measure of power. As could new armor, and personal training and effort. But his reliance on his own strength had brought him up against a wall yet again. A barrier he could not break, even though it was Barriers he had mastered.

His goal seemed to retreat two steps for every one he took towards it.

Clack...

Rustle...

A sharp claw snaked around his neck, and with it came a small body, warm with inner fire. Still asleep, perhaps, or half-awake.

Desiring warmth.

His goal.

There was nothing more to it than this. The long road to strength was neverending, but reaching that pinnacle shouldn't make him lose sight of what he really wanted. To bring warmth to the one he loved. His promise to Amo, his solemn duty: to make sure she lived a life that made her happy.

And getting hurt would not make her happy.

[Sandshark]

Marginalia: Ástvinur

Scrawled in the corner of the original manuscript is a Vanirhallan poem, expressing the incomparable feeling of comforting one's love after a long time parted.
Comparing with the original, one of the words has been replaced.

Stóðu vit tvau í túni,
Tók Chas um mik sínum
Höndum haukligt kvendi
Hárfögr ok griet sáran;
Titt flugu tár af tróðu,
Til segir hugr um vilja,
Strauk drifhvítum dúki
Drós um hvarminn ljósa.