On Cosmic Tides

“Focus on cultivating at least four hours each day. Try and do as much of that continuously as you can. We need to keep up on the pest population, the cat can’t do all of it so no slacking on the rest of your chores either. Another two hours each day on exercise and your martial arts. Otherwise you’re free. I left a few books on Laskarian history so you can read those as well.”

Laurel could see Borin’s face falling more the longer she spoke.

“Are you sure I can’t come along?”

“Not this time. We don’t know how many wolves are in the pack.” She held up a hand to stall any protest. “You’re doing well. But you’re not ready yet.” When he still looked sad she gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. It didn’t really help but what did she know about modulating the moods of teenagers.

She left before he could muster any more arguments and made her way across the river, around and through the farms and pasture, and into the woods. The midsummer day was warm but not scorching, cooler under the shade of trees. It was a pleasant wander, but as afternoon bled into evening, Laurel hadn’t found any evidence of a wolf pack that might be harassing the outlying homesteads. There was every chance someone had seen a brown fox or a stray dog and panicked. But wandering the woods for a few days and getting paid for it was a good deal for her either way.

Another day of no predators, she decided to range further afield. She stopped at the rise of a small hill and turned her head up to the sky. The ambient mana had been increasing ever so slowly. Still not enough to use most techniques without exhausting herself. Flying was definitely out. Even the lightning demonstration for Borin had been more taxing than it should have been, relying almost entirely on her internal mana flows for the necessary power. She knew it was only a matter of time before her more external techniques would be once more at her fingertips. But the wait was excruciating. She missed the sky. Not since she learned how to fly after reaching expert level in the sect had she spent this long on the ground.

Ranging further out over the next two days, she eventually ran into the wolves. Only a handful of mangy beasts and not the dozens of dangerous animals she was led to expect. She strolled into the den. They all shrank back, tails tucked with some lackluster growls. They didn’t take much to dissuade. She flared her mana for a moment, speeding up the flow and letting it leak out into the world. These weren’t spirit beasts, but most animals instinctively understood when a greater predator stood in front of them. The tiny pack ran in the opposite direction of town. They wouldn’t come back to this area any time soon.

Laurel did her best to contain the annoyance, limiting herself to one rather vicious kick at a nearby tree. She could have brought Borin along for the experience and to keep an eye on his cultivation. He was getting close to a breakthrough and she wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything foolish.

She turned and made her way back home. A herd of deer crossed her path and a well-thrown knife brought a childless doe down, scattering the rest. She knelt to dress the kill. As her knife came close to the carcass she paused. Something was wrong. Her senses spread out around her. Nothing unexpected, just a normal forest. She prodded at the ambient mana as well but she felt nothing out of the ordinary. The feeling of dread got worse, balling into a pit in the bottom of her stomach. She abandoned the deer and ran.

********

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus inward. Borin had memorized the mantras Laurel spouted at him every day. To the point they sometimes featured in his dreams. Concentration broken, he decided it was time for chores. Laurel had been gone for a few days now. The first night had been uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being so isolated since she’d taken him out to the farm. If he had found the cat and cuddled it during the night, the scratches were easily hidden, and no one had to know.

The farmhouse was as clean as it could be. The old building had good bones, but it could use some more focused attention. Borin and Laurel could fix a door or rehang a shutter, but the roof needed replacing, as did the outer siding. That was part of the reason Laurel was out searching for predators. She’d told him she was a warrior, but Borin couldn’t help but worry about her hunting wolves alone. He kept busy to avoid considering he might be alone again. When Laurel got back he would talk to her about finding some more sect members, and teaching him more about fighting.

Outside, he went through the forms Laurel had taught him. Following his instructions, he went as slow as he could, only stumbling a few times throughout the entire set. The process repeated three times and he was covered in sweat by the end. The stream at the back of the property called to him, and he waded into an area with barely any current to splash around for a bit before lying on the bank to dry. A couple hours later he woke up from his nap and decided it was just about time to start dinner.

His feet slowed as he neared the farmhouse. The man and woman he’d met at the general store were waiting on the crumbling veranda. As he got closer he realized the door was open and another stranger emerged from inside.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!” Borin shouted and ran the rest of the way, stopping at the base of the steps.

“Borin, perfect! Just who we were looking for.” The man who’d spoken with Borin in the shop stepped forward, staying on the porch and looming over Borin.

“I don’t think I got your name. And what are you doing here, in our house?”

“Our names aren’t important, we just came to have a chat with you.”

Borin started to back away. “I think you should go.” He was about to turn and sprint for the trees when his back ran into something solid. Hands clamped around his upper arms as he was forced back into the house.

“None of that boy. Like I said, we’re just here to talk.”

*********

Borin was concerned. Or, if he was more precise, terrified. They’d forced him into a chair and tied his arms and legs to the solid wood. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, the big one that grabbed him was standing behind him, letting a knife flash into the corner of his vision every few moments. Even his last companion, the farm cat, had abandoned him, streaking out of the door before the leader had locked them all inside. There were five in all. The first man, still in all black, who did all the talking, and the ax-wielding woman from town. The larger man stood behind him, and another man and woman that looked like twins, fair-haired and blue eyed were by the ancient fireplace. They would have been the image of classic innocence if they didn’t have near-identical sneers when they looked at him.

“Listen here Borin. You answer all our questions and you never see us again. Sound good?” He didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “We know none of this is your fault, okay?

“Now when did your so-called master first target you?”

“Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just go and I won’t tell anyone. Please.”

“She showed up months ago and preyed on you Borin, it's not your fault. Tell us about Laurel, have you seen her do anything unusual or unexplainable.” The man behind him squeezed his shoulders in a mockery of comfort.

Borin felt panic clogging his throat. They were here for Laurel. Why, who were they bothering in the little farmhouse? A tiny thread of reason remained. Laurel had taken him in and he wouldn’t betray her. “Laurel’s teaching me how to hunt and forage. Nothing unusual.”

“I see you’re going to be difficult. Now, watch.”

Borin didn’t have any choice but to listen as the leader held his hand open in front of him. While Borin watched, the hand caught on fire. He instinctively flinched back, pulling at the restraints. His captors laughed at the reaction.

“You see? We know all about rogue mages and the perversions they run to when no one stops them. There’s no need to protect her, you’re the victim Borin. So why don’t you tell us, how has she hurt you?”

His breaths were coming in fast pants. He thought of the last few months. The first place since leaving home where he wasn’t tossed out after a mistake. Where someone saw something worthwhile in him, who helped him learn and grow. Borin gritted his teeth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Laurel hasn’t hurt me. Please let me go. Please.”

“It’s going to be the hard way then. Hold him down.” Meaty hands forced Borin further into the chair. The lead man approached, hand still aflame.

“No. Please. No, just let me go, please, no!”

*********

Laurel sped through Pevin as a blur, no longer concerned with keeping a low profile.The apprehension she’d felt before had morphed into a deep dread. She arrived at the farm at a flat sprint. There were two heartbeats as she crossed to the farmhouse to take everything in. Smashed windows. Open door. No noise. Ash on the wind. Then she was in the door.

“Borin? Bor–” she cut off with a low groan. “No. No no no no no.” He was drooped forward, tied to a chair. “Borin” her voice had dropped to a whisper. Laurel walked over and tipped his head back. She sank to her knees in front of him.

Sobs wracked her body as Laurel felt herself go hollow. She cried for Borin, she cried for the rest of her sect, she cried for herself, alone again. His eyes had been burnt out of his skull. There was a hole in the center of his chest, blood soaking the roughspun clothes the boy had arrived with, that she had never thought to replace.

A well of rage bubbled deep in her chest. Strands of hair stood on end as the static built up in the air. When she couldn’t hold it in anymore, a feral scream tore out of her throat. The farmhouse exploded as torrents of lightning arced from every limb. The roof and walls were shredded, wood and stone flying high into the air before slamming into the ground.

Laurel stood and walked out of the demolished building. A group of cultivators were approaching. They strolled down the path in a group, close enough to react if threatened, spread out enough that it would be difficult to hit more than one at a time. Professionals then. A tall, thin man wearing a black cloak was in the lead. He wore a smarmy smile as he and Laurel moved towards each other. More importantly, the man had no veil over his power at all. Adept level, and a fire cultivator.

The man opened his mouth to speak but Laurel had all the information she needed. The knife barely materialized in Laurel’s hand before she flung it faster than a mortal eye could track. She had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s eyes widen before he collapsed with a blade through his throat.

It took the other four a beat to realize what was happening, but that was enough for Laurel.

The woman on the left had just long enough to reach the hatchets on her hips before Laurel’s sword severed the head from the rest of her body.

The earth-aspected brawler tried to harden his skin. It might even have worked if Laurel didn’t have a master-level metal affinity that she was evolving to empower her blades. Stone-infused flesh cut just as easily as anything else.

The last pair ran. A bolt of lightning hit the man, his body falling to the ground, spasming uncontrollably. The hacking gasps of an animal that couldn’t force itself to breathe joined the crackling of flames as a backdrop to the grisly scene.

The woman had scrounged up courage to fight back. She raised a gun in a shaking hand. Laurel was too consumed by her fury to care. Burning pain spread across her right hip and shoulder, and then Laurel was on her. Two swings and the ice-blonde woman lost her hand and her life in quick succession.

Then there was silence. Laurel was aware of her wounds, but only distantly. Nothing felt real. She dragged herself back to the destroyed farmhouse and Borin’s body. With the last of her strength she clumsily applied some bandages before collapsing into unconsciousness.

********

Waking was easy. Forcing her eyes open to acknowledge the horror around her was far harder. Her body ached. The bullet wounds were the sharpest points, even though a master cultivator’s body was resilient enough that she wasn’t in danger. But the rest of her body ached with how quickly and violently she’d spent her mana, without the ambient mana to support the techniques. Small muscle spasms and bone-deep fatigue plagued every part of her, while her meridians felt like she’d set them on fire. Almost worse was the smell. She was tapped dry of mana, and the usual instinctive regulation of her senses was nowhere to be found. Ash and the beginnings of rot assaulted her nose, choked her breath and laid on her tongue, forcing her to taste the devastation. For the first time in her long life, she contemplated not getting up. She could just lay here as the world moved on around her, without grappling with the pain, or the sorrow, or her own spectacular failure.

Eventually Laurel did get up. She might deserve to relive every stubborn, ignorant decision that brought her to this place, but Borin didn’t. She staggered to her feet and looked around. Her apprentice’s body was on the floor where it had fallen, the farmhouse in pieces scattered across the surrounding fields. Their enemies could rot where they fell, but not Borin. Laurel forced her hands to work as she pulled him to the center of the floor, above the solid stone foundation. She found a beam that had supported the sealing, and gently laid it over the boy’s body. The same process she repeated throughout the day, pulling all the wooden pieces of the house back into a pyre. Even the small trickle of mana to put things in her storage tattoo was too much, so she carried the pieces herself, one by one. When her still fatigued muscles tried to give out, she kept going, fueled by willpower and spite. By sunset, every flammable part of the farm was gathered.

With shaking hands, Laurel struck at a piece of flint. After four tries, a spark leapt onto the nearby tinder. She stood witness for hours as it morphed into a blaze hot enough that a mortal would be forced back. Only her mana-infused skin let her stand so close.

She wouldn’t leave any of Borin to this place. It took hours for the fire to burn, and Laurel didn’t look away even once. Her mind layered the funeral pyre in front of her now with all her worst nightmares about the fate of the sect. They all said the same thing. You could have stopped it, you should have been there, you failed. The boy only wanted a place to belong, to put down roots, and it had been ripped away.

Despite her best efforts to keep a blank mind, the day’s labors had given her room to think. What her mind came up with was grim. The cultivators that killed Borin weren’t local. But was this a horrific coincidence or something darker? A connection had formed in her mind between the mayor’s gruff demeanor on her last visit and the scene before her. It was hard to fathom and Laurel fought against it. These people didn’t like magic, but to send someone out to kill them was a different thing entirely. To send cultivators was even more unbelievable. But the taste of truth was there anyway. They knew where to find Laurel’s tiny sect, and they knew enough to wait until she was gone.

Another horrifying realization gripped her then. The wolf pack was too far and too small to be a true danger to the farms. This had been planned, and the mayor at least was part of it, along with the owner of the general store. Maybe the entire town.

Laurel tried to breathe through the haze of red seeping into her vision. She was done. With this town, with this country, with this whole fucking continent. Echoes of Grandmaster Florin’s memory tablet waved for attention at the back of her mind. She still had a duty to fulfill, but she was doing it her way, and far from this cursed empire.

The fire died just before dawn. Laurel choked out the words of respect for those that fell in service to the sect, and gathered a few ashes in a small jade jar. She was recovered enough to store them in her tattoo, the safest place in the world to her estimation. Without another backward glance she made her way to town.

The streets were empty. Laurel’s senses blanketed the area, showing her where each citizen of the town was cowering in their homes. The mayor was in his office so Laurel walked straight in. No friendly smiles or offers to share a drink this time. She said nothing, staring at the man and wondering when her own judgment veered so sharply off a cliff.

“There are protocols, rules. If I hadn’t then my family would have been in danger.”

“Your family is in danger now.”

The man looked up from his feet at that, meeting Laurel’s eyes for a bare moment before looking down again. “Please. I acted alone, if you have any sense of justice please spare them.”

“Like you spared Borin? The worst thing that boy did was knock over something he shouldn’t have. They tortured him.”

Laurel watched any hope leave the man’s posture at those words. Good. He stayed silent. Rightly recognizing nothing would stop what happens next. She thought about torturing him. Tying him to a chair and burning out his eyes the way the enemy cultivators had done to Borin. It would feel good. But she was too tired and too heartsick to try and wheedle information from this man, information that was bound to be useless anyway. She looked at him for far too long, taking in the defeated slump of his shoulders, the wrinkles that spoke of a life of service and stress.

With no fanfare, her fist cocked back and then blasted forward. The mayor toppled backwards. It wasn’t enough to kill him. Probably. Laurel was past caring. She walked out of town and turned south, towards the more populated areas of the empire. Everything in her hoped that the town burned to the ground, but it wouldn’t be her that caused it.