A Bright and Shiny Life

An ornate carriage rolls out of the morning mist at a walk escorted by armed men. Two mounted chevaliers, and six footmen with breastplates and spears.

We wait under my concealment spell until they get to the predetermined spot on the forested road. Gebal whistles, and the attack begins.

The first volley of arrows kills two of the armoured guards and wounds one of the chevaliers’ horses, which bucks them to the ground before running a few steps and collapsing. At the same time, trees fall onto the path ahead and behind them, trapping the carriage in.

“Alright, stay here kid. You know what to do.” Gebal says, patting me on my back as he rises to lead the charge. A few of our best shots stay behind to do what they can, but the rest of the cell follows into the melee. I stay behind as instructed and maintain my spell.

The fighting is short and brutal. We outnumbered them two to one even before the initial volley, but that would normally only put us at an even fight against their vastly better arms and armour. However, my continued concealment spell pushes the scale overwhelmingly in our favour.

It’s not true invisibility– operating psychically rather than optically. Observers simply do not notice the targets unless overt action is taken. Shooting arrows is obviously an overt action, but it gets more complicated when applied to a group. The enemy notices the group rushing towards them, but some individuals in the group are ignored. One might focus on the yelling man charging them with an axe, while completely ignoring the silent one running just a few steps away.

The cell is well practiced in fighting under the spell’s effects. Each member fights in pairs. One acts as a distraction, while the other is unnoticed until they attack from behind. Like this, they quickly slaughter the foot escorts and driver.

The chevaliers don’t fare much better. The one who fell is quickly surrounded before they can recover and grappled from behind. Their throat is slit a moment later.

The one still on horseback squares up against Gebal (the biggest of the group and obviously our leader) and charges. Gebal stands his ground only for a trio of arrows to strike the horse from different directions a moment before they meet. The horse rears and collapses, and the chevalier goes down with it. Gebal rushes up with his maul and bashes their head in.

That done, they rip the carriage doors open and drag out its occupant.

“Your turn, kid.” Gebal shouts, and I rush to join them.

I study the noble, the daughter and heir of the count of this territory. I notice the silver necklace with the empty central gem socket. She has begun her yearlong formal introduction to high society, but not completed it– making her just a little younger than me.

“Please, you don’t need to hurt me.” She pleads with us as I gently trace my blood into arcane symbols on her face with my index and middle fingers. I find her eyes piercing– shifting constantly in terror as she sobs. “My father will pay whatever you want. Money, food, weapons… enchanted items. Any…”

I stab her in the stomach. “I give your soul to Anar.” I say, shuddering in ecstasy as power flows from her through the ritual knife into my body. It’s wonderful, exhilarating, intoxicating… and far less than I expected.

Odd. Nobles always give more when sacrificed, especially heirs. It takes a moment for me to realize the significance. “Imposter!” I shout.

“It’s a trap! Scatter!” Gebal shouts too late, the shrill whistle of a cascade orb already audible overhead.

We run anyway. I make it to the treeline when the whistling reaches its peak and I dive for cover– dropping the concealment spell to erect a shield over me. The world goes silent as the orb detonates on the carriage, sending a wave of force over us and into the forest.

Those who failed to find cover are pounded into paste, but even those who do find it aren’t safe. The trees around us shatter from the force, and arm long splinters slam against my shield– but the spell holds.

Gebal, who dove beside me, lacks such protection and so is pincushioned by a half dozen pieces– one in his neck. I don’t bother to check if he’s still alive before getting up and continuing to run.

I make my way through fallen trees, trying to keep my distance from the rest of the cell. Thinking they may be targeting me, I recast the concealment on only myself to break any tracking spell they might be using. My hearing gradually recovers from the detonation enough for me to make out more whistling, and I drop again a moment before an orb hits.

This one strikes farther away, and the reduced strain of only concealing myself means I can briefly keep both spells up. Not that my shield would hold against a direct hit.

The orbs continue bombarding us in random patterns. Each one kills maybe one of us in addition to destroying hectares of trees. Still, despite the vastness of the destruction each one brings it’s not wholly unreasonable to think someone other than me might survive. So, I dutifully head to the rendezvous point, dropping each time I hear an orb about to hit no matter how distant.

After an hour of running a roundabout route, I make it to the boulder by the river we agreed to fall back to. I wipe the sweat off my brow and wince in pain; my hand comes back red with blood. I didn’t even realize I was wounded.

Too exhausted from the run to treat the gash, I sit panting against the meeting stone. The most I can bring myself to do is pour some water on my head to wash the wound and apply a cleanish cloth to stem the bleeding.

My head snaps towards the sound of a twig doing likewise, and I see Ibil– a boy not much older than me– stumbling out the treeline. Relief washes his face when he sees me.

“What are you doing here Ibil?” I say, voiced laden with meaning as I see the gaping wound on his clavicle, an arm dangling useless to his side, and a face pale from blood loss.

He looks confused. “It’s the rendezvous point, isn’t it? … I don’t think anyone else made it Malz. We need to get going.”

“Not with that wound. You’ll die before we make it anywhere, and your blood trail will lead them to us.”

“Don’t you have medical herbs?” He asks, hopeful.

I shake my head. “You’re too far gone. Maybe if you could rest, but not on the move. Besides, you’ll slow me down.”

It takes a few moments for him to process this before he nods to himself to build up confidence. “Ok, yeah, you’re right. I spotted a group of riders with hounds. I’ll stay here to hold them off and give you time to get away.”

I think about this for a moment then am struck by sudden excitement. I think I manage to keep it from my face as I calmly refuse his suggestion with a measured shake of my head. “It’s honourable of you to face facts Ibil but that’s not really a good option. The blood loss might lull you to sleep before they reach you. Then they’ll capture you… alive.”

“…I mean, you’ll rescue me, right?”

I scoff. “Sure Ibil, like we rescued Linnar.

He winces at being reminded of the tortured shell of a comrade we rescued a few months back who still refuses to speak.

“… All right.” He stammers. “S-so what should we do? Should I just kill myself?”

“Ibil…” I say with as much warmth as I can fake. “I do seem to remember you saying you’d do anything to rid Caethlon of invaders.”

“Yeah, of course, what do you have…” He trails off in realization, his eyes fixed to the ritual dagger at my side. “Oh no… not that. It doesn’t have to be that, does it?”

“Ibil… it’s good of you to offer to kill yourself, but that just prevents harm to our cause; it doesn’t advance it. The strength I’ll gain from your sacrifice– your willing sacrifice– will not only allow me to escape, but permanently empower me to fight them. Just think, every invader I kill, it’ll be like you’re there killing them with me.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t want my soul to end up with Anar.”

“Willing sacrifices are treated much nicer… or so I hear.”

“Are they…? Maybe, but I guess I always thought my soul would go to Inarice when I died.”

“…I guess you’ll have to decide if helping rid our homeland of invaders is worth your afterlife plans.” I say impassively, my skin itching at the thought of what he has to offer. I resist the urge to say more. The less coerced he is, the better it’ll be.

He hesitates an agonizing amount of time– likely no more than seconds– before finally nodding yes. “All right, I’ll do it. You’ll… let the others know? That I didn’t shy away from my duty?”

“Of course, Ibil. Now, it’ll be better if you remove your tunic and lie down.”

He winces as he tries to take his top off, so I quickly stand to help and lower him to the ground. I take blood from my forehead wound and apply symbols on his head similar to the ones I used with the girl.

“Do you, willingly, commend your soul to Anar?” I ask.

He nods.

“I need you to say it out loud.”

He gulps. “Yes, I commend my soul to Anar.”

“Thankyou Ibil.” I say. He winces in expectation, but instead of stabbing I continue down his body to place marks on his torso.

He speaks. “Oh, we’re doing the whole thing?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, this is going to be more… uncomfortable than normal, but I need directions.” He nods, and I continue placing marks. I’m done a moment later, pausing only to double check my work before making a practiced shallow cut across his lower belly– careful to damage only the skin, and not the organs inside.

“Nnngggghhh!” He stifles a scream as I reach into his abdomen and carefully pull out his intestine.

I need to find another resistance cell, but the only one I know of is Tanyth’s, and only Gebal knew where his sister is supposed to be. I gently unspool the intestine, observing every detail as I run my hand along it– frantically trying to interpret every bulge or blemish according to the instructions of the Biblio Anar.

“Alright, northwest.” I say, hoping I remember the safety signifiers correctly. I’d get the Biblio out to double check, but it’s hard enough to read as it is without more bloodstains. Besides, I don’t think Ibil will last long enough for me to find the passage.

Seeing that he’s lost consciousness and could go any moment, I crawl over him and cover his eyes. “I give you to Anar.” I whisper, my mouth inches from his neck as I stab his heart with my ritual dagger.

I collapse from the ecstasy of power flowing into me. My breathing slows and my eyes roll back into my head. A tingling starts in my hands and moves up my arms to my spine where it splits up and down– finding its way to my scalp and all the way down to the soles of my feet.

It’s so much better when the sacrifice is willing– even better than the few times I’ve managed to snare a noble. If I knew it’d be this good, I’d have tried to convince my companions to give themselves to me sooner. I’ll have to exaggerate how much of the boon is permanent in my next cell.

My own heartbeat jolts me back to awareness. I am still sprawled on top of him. Judging by the shadows, it’s been no more than a few minutes. Invigorated, I leap up. I smile as my hand goes to my forehead and find the wound completely gone without a trace.

Having no time to revel, I quickly loot his body of any valuables. Just a few coins, a cheap tin locket, and some trail rations. He likely dropped his weapon when he got wounded. I go into the river and wash all the blood off I can. Once done, I turn and cast a spell sending a stream of fire to envelop Ibil’s body.

I hate giving my pursuers a smoke signal, but it’s necessary. While few of the empire’s mages actively practice anthropomancy, they have plenty skilled enough in general divination to deduce the outcome of my ritual. So, leaving his body intact would not only endanger myself, but could also lead them to whatever cell my ritual is sending me to.

I could have hacked apart his intestines, but a skilled enough diviner could eventually figure it out. Likely not before the information became irrelevant, but I can’t take that chance.

That done, I recast the concealment spell on myself, and head towards safety.