Avengard: The Fall of Senvia

The cliffs where Senvia once rested stretched far north along the shore of the Ardent Sea, from the hollow point where the city once stood to the peninsula where the province of Kore was located. The expanse alongside the cliffs was covered much like the area outside of Senvia, with deep, spongy mosses covering a craggy rocky base, with short, dry grasses growing out above them. Near Senvia, the grasses were common, but as you moved north, they became increasingly replaced by moss and wildflowers.

In the summer months, those flowers blanketed the fields with mostly yellow, but also shades of blue not found anywhere else in nature. I've been all over, and I have never seen anything like it, except in arcane dyes in the clothes of high nobility. The natural dyes in those flowers couldn't be extracted by mundane or magical means, a mystery that long eluded the fashion artists of the continent of Avengard.

Most of the animals were birds, often unique and with brightly-coloured beaks, and they dived in and out of ever-present mists, vanishing entirely from view in a heartbeat.

It was a stunning place, if difficult to turn into a home. The winds that crashed over the ocean turned the area a frigid cold. There were no trees that close to the ocean, and even further away from the coast, forests dwindled the farther from Senvia you went. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but harsh and rough, even for a traveller just passing through.

It was why Kore had so few visitors, and why Senvia had never formed a stronger presence there. Lucky Lake was the furthest north anyone not preferring a notably colder climate would settle, and it was filled with the summer homes of nobility who could afford it. Lyana had a small cabin at Lana's Perch, a village on the north side of the lake that sheltered in an alpine forest, under a large cliff outcrop from the steep hills that surrounded the lake. It was lit in the winter by dozens of wrought-iron gas streetlamps, giving the village and its snow-covered rooftops and cobblestone streets a warm, ornate glow. Cozy, was the proper, accurate word. Silent. She only took me once, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life there, without ever a change in seasons.

Further east from the ocean, Eaden Helm was positioned as far north as one could go before entering the Plains of Refiriem, the wildlands that only champions dared to enter.

I had left this behind. The biome had shifted as I ran from the city when it vanished. The inn at the crossroads was surrounded by a forest that gradually adjoined those grassy fields, but no longer strictly alpine. Most of the trees dropped their leaves in autumn, and decorated the road with brilliant hues of orange, pink, and red. But it was spring, and instead there were buds and fresh sap that lit up the forest with a thousand delightful scents. The first insects had climbed out of their holes in bark and soil, and danced around the skies, too early in the season to pester our ears and noses over and over again. At that moment, they were welcome, and made everything feel like it was brimming with new life, even though the leaves hadn't quite come out yet.

Our path to Bell Haven was not direct. It set out straight east from the inn at the crossroads, which marked the halfway point between the two cities. The road curved and twisted as it went. Our trek would first take to the Lakeside Inn, a reasonable halfway point on the shore of Ghost Lake, and then dip into Durn for less than a day before re-emerging and continuing to the city. The entire thing would take two weeks.

For two weeks, I'd have to put up with his mewling.

He didn't complain as much as my words imply, nor was his voice annoying. If anything, it had a pleasant gravel to it. If he were a singer, and he chose to sing softly, he'd attract crowds. He'd have made a brilliant storyteller, too.

Three hours after we crossed into the deep woods that poked out the northwestern peak of Durn, before we dipped into the province itself, Eskir insisted on a break. It was the fifth one he'd insisted on since we'd left the inn, and his breaks were long.

"We've been riding for two days," he insisted. Apparently, his ass was hurting from all the sitting and doing nothing he'd been faced with.

"We can keep going," I said. "The horses can continue. We'll break when they do."

"Seriously, Xera."

"Seriously, Eskir. You're not the one pulling the wagon. You're not even pulling yourself."

He moved from the back of the wagon and placed his head next to mine. "And I am ever so grateful," he said sardonically. "So how about we give the horses another break, to let them really relax and..." He had to pause to think, unsure of how to make his point. "... appreciate the ride..."

"No."

"I'll give them a carrot!" he bribed.

"I'm not the horse," I said, shoving him back into the supplies. My Kindred strength was enough to topple him over with little effort.

"If we stop..." he thought out loud, "I'll..."

"Shut up?" I suggested.

"Sure!" he said, raising his finger. "That! If we stop for a break, I'll stop pestering you. If we don't, I'll pester you more! I'll nag and nag and nag until your ears bleed."

"You're a child."

I stopped the wagon in a small clearing that had formed around the road.

He leapt in soundless joy out of the wagon and began to stretch.

"You know," I said, "you could always just walk alongside the wagon. You don't need to ride."

"Stretching is nice," he said, "but sometimes I just need to stop moving and listen to the world. It's part of my Path."

I rolled my eyes loud enough for him to hear.

"You were in the Emperor's Guard!" he said. "How can you have such dismissive thoughts towards the Paths?"

"I've never been one much for religion," I said.

"Clearly."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" he insisted. "How long is this trek to Bell Haven, anyway? I haven't walked the road directly before."

"At your pace? Look at a map."

He shrugged. "I just mean, the road curves. It twists and turns. I have a map with me, but it must be a decade old, possibly outdated. Wait, what do you mean at my pace?"

"You're slow," I chuckled.

"I'm not slow!" He sounded offended.

"We're being pulled by horses," I explained. "That's only a little faster than a walking pace. This is slow."

He stared at me. "How much faster do you expect to go? Break the horses into a gallop the whole way there?"

I gave him a sarcastic look, and said honestly, "I ran from Senvia to the inn."

His jaw hung open. "You did what now?"

"The emperor's speech was at dawn. The city vanished in early midday, before the sun even hit its peak. I collapsed in front of the inn in the dead of night. It took me days to recover."

He slowly climbed back onto the wagon and perched himself on the edge of the railing. "You're being serious?"

"Do you expect me not to be?"

Eskir sat down beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked at it. "You ran... okay, Xera, listen to me, I just travelled that distance. I came to the inn from Senvia. It took me two weeks on foot."

"Yes," I said, still eyeing his hand. "As I said, you're slow."

"Humans don't travel that fast!"

"I'm not human." I removed his hand. He didn't seem to notice. "I'm Kindred."

"Nothing travels that fast!" he shouted, his arms swinging around to demonstrate how outlandish of a concept he thought this was. "What are you, a swift?"

I stared at him, confused.

"It's a bird," he said with a tone of exasperated disbelief. "They travel really far in a day. Never mind, I'm saying that you can't have done that. No way. Not a chance."

"You don't seem to know much about Kindred," I suggested.

"Xera, I am telling you, there's no way you did that. Maybe in your dreams, or it's been so long that your memory isn't sitting quite right. You must have slept."

I shifted away from him and dismounted the wagon myself. I didn't enjoy being dismissed so readily by someone who knew nothing about me. "Senvia has hired Kindred urgently before, and sent runners to Eaden Helm to summon them to war. That's about the same distance as Senvia to Bell Haven. It takes a single Kindred runner four days to reach the city, and they don't run until they collapse."

"That's not possible," he said.

"Not possible for a human."

"You are human! You're just... born with a few extra gifts."

"Right," I said caustically. "Strength, speed, endurance, that sort of thing. Including the ability to—"

"No!" he yelled over me, "Not including that level of stamina and speed! You would need to run... what, five times faster than me? And I'm not that slow."

I leaned back at the forceful volume in his voice, taken aback by his insistence, then forced myself to laugh. "You're that slow," I said. I was becoming increasingly annoyed, despite my laughter. "You're human. It's not your fault. I'm just... better than you."

"I'm human, and you're crazy," he said in defeat. With that, he bent over to gather some fallen branches. He laid them out in a half circle and kneeled down in it.

I peered at him in curiosity over his seemingly random actions. "Is this how you end all arguments? Just gather some sticks and stones and claim that my words won't hurt you? You're missing the stones."

"I'm meditating," he said.

"With sticks?" I looked around, almost expecting him to pull out something else to complete the puzzle, but there was nothing. Just the sticks. He didn't even take up a particularly meditative pose, he just kneeled in them.

"Do you have a problem with that?" he asked.

"No," I said innocently. "I just didn't think meditation included sticks."

"It's part of my Path."

"Sticks...?" I didn't know much about Pathoticism. In my opinion, it was a stupid religion. It was the only religion even legally permitted throughout most of the empire, but still, it was stupid. There were no gods, no greater powers at all. At the very least, I could understand theistic religions. Gods were an explanation for the mysteries of the world, and a destination for prayers to beings who could help you when all seemed lost. It didn't matter if they were real or not. They were an answer to people who had nothing left but those prayers.

Pathoticism had no prayers. It had meditation. Three core Paths, and a zenith Path, each one associated with a cardinal point, part of the self, and each with its own answer to enlightenment and ascension.

The Windward Path, following the eastern star, taught the way of the body, truth, and trust. As much as I disliked the religion, that one was my favourite. It wasn't suited to me, not by any means. It was far too much about going with the flow. Each of the Paths had a ritual that pilgrims could take. For the Windward Path, it was a walk through steep mountain cliffs, passing through a valley of rocks and shale and harsh winds, and emerging out to the warm light of an endless grassy plain. To navigate the mountains and harsh winds along exposed cliffsides, you had to trust yourself and your body, and know that each step you took was true.

I never thought I'd do very well in living by the words "wherever you go, any way the wind blows." It was never quite me.

The philosophy of the ritual was different from the ritual itself. Not everyone had a set of mountains with grassy plains in their backyards. Most would never set out on the journey of pilgrims. Most would never do the ritual at all, and those who did rarely did more than a simple hike on a windy day.

Then again, most would never ascend.

Nobody ever had. Not since Torin, the ancient warrior who had saved the continent of Avengard so many centuries prior with his sacrifice. And he followed the zenith path, the path of the warrior.

My Path.

The Path I was raised to follow, as Kindred and as a warrior. It was expected of me. The other three weren't good enough. I was supposed to achieve ascension like the great Torin, by dying on a battlefield, breath spent and sword drenched in red.

It was a stupid religion.

But from what I knew, none of the Paths used this ritual. None of them even asked for actual meditation from followers.

And yet, Eskir meditated. I heightened my senses, and I could hear the soft rise and fall of his chest. I could smell his breath passing in through his mouth and out through his nose, gentle and consistent.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. "Even your heart rate has slowed. How do you do that?"

"Practise," he grumbled. "And silence."

I stopped talking, but the curiosity drove me mad. It hurt my ears to talk while my senses were so sharp, but I had to ask. "Okay, but how though? Your body is almost acting like you're asleep."

He opened one eye. I was behind him, but I could hear his eyelid shlick open. "I would rather be in a proper glade with fallen leaves, of course. But this works. Provided I have some silence. All you have to do is sit down in a comfortable position, close your eyes, and listen to the world. Quietly. Without speaking."

"That doesn't look very comfortable," I blurted.

He sighed. "The kneeling is. The noise is not."

"What Path do you follow?"

"Any Path," he said in frustration, "as long as it's the one that gets you to shut up!"

I knelt beside him, held my breath, and listened to the world, as he said. My senses were so much better than his while I focused.

He sat there in a seiza, eyes closed, and breathing deeply and quietly.

I tried to do the same thing, but my body didn't want to listen. My clothes scraped against each other and the dirt. My feet got numb, and I had to reposition myself cross-legged to get comfortable. I felt an itch in my leg, and my hand shifted instinctively to scratch it, my fingers tingling in a light breeze that happened to pass through as I did. My hair ruffled, sounding like something between grass and a rough, rusted wire carved out too thin to stay still.

Nothing worked. The world wouldn't be quiet enough to submerge me in the silence I was hunting.

I could hear the scrambling of a mouse in a thicket fifty paces away. There was a light trickle of water from a stream falling down old leaves and water-licked stones, that would eventually join up with crashing white waves that struck against an empty pit as the river vanished underground until it reached a small and mostly underground natural reservoir that sourced Ghost Lake.

There was a trail line of ants, following the scent of their leader as it led them around a fallen twig, all announced by the shuffling of six legs, dozens of times over.

Behind me, a songbird ruffled its feathers. Beads of sweat formed on Eskir's skin from the midday heat, and their erratic, irregular droplets slammed against the ground with such fervour, those ants may have mistaken it for rain.

Everything made so much noise.

And then I heard it. Something I never would have heard normally, had I not been sitting in silence with heightened senses.

It was a snap in the trees.

Not from an animal. I could tell by the sound and the motion, even with my eyes closed, that it came from something that didn't exist. Not a mythological creature or something impossible, but literally from a source that produced no sound.

The snapping of a twig was the exception, a freak accident in defiance of the anomaly.

Somewhere in the forest, something without a shape was moving.