On Cosmic Tides

The kilometers melted away before Laurel’s loping stride and cultivator stamina. The scenery had shifted from sprawling forests with the occasional clearing into rolling plains and open prairie, with a few large copses of trees.That evening the road crossed over a massive river. She took a moment to pause in the center of the bridge and look across the plains. The river was a glimmering band of golds and purples as the sun neared the horizon. Grasses swayed in the breeze and Laurel took the moment to stop and appreciate the land she was traveling through. Memories she had avoided while in survival mode the last few weeks floated to the surface.

Martin skimming along the surface of a different river, causing a wake to splash the rest of their group relaxing on the shore. Imelda coaxing some of the plants to grow into rude sculptures, while Farin told them all off for their lack of dignity, before he joined in with a laugh. She slowly released her breath.

Cultivators at their stage didn’t age physically, so there was a chance her friends were fine, even after whatever untold number of years she had been trapped. They may even have left this world to continue their adventures in the wider cosmos. Without her. The bittersweet thought left her feeling very alone as she continued down the road.

Evidence of large-scale planning for the region came to light as Laurel made her way through the next two towns. Each was about two days of travel down the road from the last, on a roughly straight line from northwest to southeast. Each also had one major crop or good they seemed to produce, for which the towns were named. She explored both in the same patterns established in Northwest Peach Orchard 2. She would stop for a few days, listen in to learn what she could of the language and any other useful information, and then move on. From this she deduced she was in a region known as ‘the borderlands’, though the border of what, exactly, remained a mystery.

As she approached where the fifth town should be, if the pattern continued, something pricked at her senses off to the side. Curiosity burning, she slipped into the ditch next to the road and activated her stealth technique. The countryside had returned to a forest, though much younger growth than the forest she’d run through while contemplating the end of the world. Dappled light filtered all the way to the forest floor, and there was less underbrush, easing her way off the road. She used her understanding of air to prevent sounds from carrying away from her as she carefully placed each footstep.

The mana flows had gotten deeper and more turbulent as she approached the next village. If she was lucky, it would be a true Town, in the old sense, where she might glean some more information about the state of the world from the local cultivators. While the villagers seemed like pleasant folk, they didn’t spend their evenings discussing the kind of large scale history and geography Laurel needed. Those rougher mana flows also attracted monsters, and so she followed her spiritual senses to the swirl. When she arrived, she stood and dropped her stealth working. No spirit beasts had made this area their home. Instead a deep purple flower stood alone in the center of a small glade. As she knelt beside the plant, careful to avoid touching it or breathing too close, she caught the silver glimmer on the edges of the petals.

A slow smile spread across Laurel’s face. Twilight Breath flowers were an excellent resource for young cultivators. She had fond memories of hunting for such flowers with her friends in their youth. This particular flower would make the mana channels in the body of whoever consumed it more elastic for a period of time, and thus allowing for a day or so of easier cultivation. It was useless at her current level. Laurel sent her senses into the earth and pushed a bit more mana towards the flower before heading back to the road.

Hours later the forest ended at a sharp line. The monotonous screen of trees was replaced by a large town. Easily big enough to contain a dozen or more of the villages she had passed through the prior weeks. A river almost a kilometer wide formed a natural border on the east, with water wheels peeking out from behind some of the buildings, while barges and other craft floated around the docks. The buildings themselves were made of bricks painted white, with slate-tiled roofs. Throughout, gleaming brass pipes reflected the sunlight, occasionally disgorging steam or smoke, creating a thin haze over certain neighborhoods. Roads identical to the one Laurel had been running down spread out from the town like spokes on a wheel. Or a spider’s web.

Laurel cataloged all this in the background while her focus was on the spiritual infrastructure. She stopped to take a scan of the Town Core. Any population center this big would have one, and the state of a Core always gave information on the local cultivators. She found nothing at all. The local mana was in turmoil, as though the Core had been left entirely wild. Spirit beasts had been non-existent as she traveled, but eventually some would be attracted by the mana density around so many people. If the town grew to the size of a city they might start manifesting in the streets. Where was everyone? A Town should have at least one small sect or some independent cultivators taking advantage of resources the population generated in exchange for protection. But she would swear there was nothing of the sort here. Not a Town, not even a Village. Just a bunch of mortals that would fall like reaped wheat if a beast wave ever hit.

Frowning, Laurel’s spiritual senses reached more forcefully towards the town. A gross breach of protocol if there was a local sect, but she needed more information. She felt for any ordered pattern in the mana flows that might indicate an enchantment or natural treasure. Even just a building with some mana-infused materials or artwork would be a welcome surprise. The feelings she got back were fuzzy at best. There certainly weren’t any cultivators.

Puzzled but ultimately hoping for the best, Laurel made her way into town. Instead of sneaking in to hide on rooftops she simply walked in like a citizen returning from a stroll. This time, she even had enough foresight to store her weapons first. A guard holding one of the long weapons she’d seen on the villagers waved her in from where he was leaning against the closest building.

It was a town that should have been exactly like dozens of others she had visited through her long life, and in some manners, it was. Every building or industry a group of mortals needed to thrive was represented. There were general goods shops, tailors, potters, smiths, wood crafters, and more. But they were all alien. The smiths had hammers powered by the movement of the river along with other contraptions she had no name for. The tailor was selling fully-made clothes, in so many fabrics and colors no peasant Laurel had ever met could have afforded even a fraction of the items. More impressive than anything else was the section of the general store with shelf after shelf of different books. What was in the past a respectable library for a noble house was now sold with the same cavalier attitude as travel rations and camping gear. When the proprietor saw her stare he came over to offer suggestions.

“Anything in particular I could help you find?” the jolly-looking man asked. His gray beard and wide smile gave the impression of a kindly grandfather, but the glint in his eye clued Laurel into the merchant’s soul underneath.

Laurel was almost paralyzed with the choices. The founding purpose of her sect was to gather and safeguard knowledge, and here was a treasure trove. Only the slight concern about avoiding attention kept her from clearing out the whole store. Instead she moderated her impulses to only get what she actually needed.

“Do you have any general history books you might recommend? I’m also looking for some local maps. And if you have a reading primer I’ll take that as well, for my niece.” She decided on what might be the most useful to her current state. The last explanation was tacked on to avoid suspicion. Sifting through thoughts could teach the spoken language, but not the written form.

“Of course, of course!” The shopkeeper went from shelf to shelf with unerring precision and drew out three books, then walked to the camping gear area and pulled up a tightly rolled parchment.

“History of the Laskarian Empire, Marksen’s Reading Primer for Children, and the most recent edition of the Laskar Survey Bureau Official Atlas. I’ll also throw a local map in with that last one since the Borderlands won’t be in the Atlas until the settlement gets big enough for a regional governor,” he said with a smile, bustling back to the main counter with her items. “Anything else you need?”

“This should be enough for now,” Laurel said, trying to suppress her growing alarm. Her impulse to look at the books was coming back to bite her. She had enough supplies in her spatial tattoo to last her month, or more likely years alone in the wilderness. What she did not have was any local money. The last few weeks had revealed most transactions used some form of currency, direct bartering having fallen out of style. Being reluctant to steal from the villagers meant she was now in a rather awkward position. She mentally skimmed through various personal items that she had in her storage tattoo scrambling for anything that would be of interest to the shopkeeper.

“That will be five silver then young lady.” The man was smiling still, but Laurel was unsure if haggling was expected, and she did not want to cause a scene.

“I’m a bit light on silver at the moment, would you consider a trade?” Before the man could say anything, she pulled out the glow stone from her prison cell. Most of the taverns and shops she’d seen in her travels were using oil lamps, and she hardly needed a souvenir of the whole ordeal.

The man looked at Laurel, then at the stone, then back at Laurel. “I’m sorry miss but I can’t take a rock in trade for the books.” He spoke the words slowly, as though placating a child. Offensive as it was, she kept her expression a pleasant mask. She could seethe on the inside.

“My mistake, I don’t think you have these in the Borderlands.” Laurel said. Her smile was more a baring of teeth as she felt her annoyance growing at having to explain such basics. Most mortals she had met before had at least heard of enchanted items, even if ownership was limited to the wealthy. “It’s a glow stone. If you tap it twice it will use the ambient mana to function as a light, and then if you tap it three times it will stop glowing.”

The shopkeeper’s grin turned impossibly more condescending, with a touch of pity thrown in. Seeing Laurel was not about to back down, he hesitantly tapped the stone, which started glowing. He leapt back and started shouting.

“Get that thing out of here! I don’t know what kind of trick this is but we don’t stand for that shit here.” He rushed to the door. “Guards! Help, witch! Guards!”

Laurel didn’t understand what was going on, but she wasn’t stupid enough to hang around to find out. The man was still blocking the door so she hopped out the open window and dashed away. Right after she decided there were certain locals she didn’t mind stealing from so much and tucked the books into her spatial storage, along with the glowstone.

As she sprinted down the road two guards ambled onto the street in front of her on a regular patrol. With cries of “witch” still being shouted from the merchant, one of them grabbed the weapon where it was slung across his back and knelt to aim directly at Laurel. She flung a hasty mana shield around her then angled towards the next cross street. Just before she broke the sight line, a loud pop echoed through the street and a searing pain blossomed in her lower abdomen.

“Fuck” she hissed out, feeling the blood as it gushed down her side. Mortal weapons should not be powerful enough to break through cultivator defenses. Even if air mana made a flimsy shield. Running footsteps sounded out from the guards still in pursuit. A thread of mana sealed the wound and she kept running. She could heal it later but she needed to stop leaving a trail a blind man could follow.

Ducking around as many corners as possible, Laurel eventually found a deserted alley behind a row of shops. With no one in sight, she stripped out of her blood-soaked clothing and pulled on the closest she had to what the locals wore.

“What the fuck just happened?” she muttered to herself. She pulled her sharpest knife out of storage and sliced her hair to be shoulder-length from where it had hung down to the middle of her back. Once she’d changed her appearance as much as she was able in such a short time, she sauntered out of the other end of the alley as though she had no worries in the world. Luckily brown hair and eyes made it easy enough to blend in with the locals.

Her wound ached with every step. A continuous stream of mana was keeping anything from getting worse but she would need focus to fully heal the wound. And soon. She toyed with the idea of just leaving this horrible town behind. Laurel was hardly inclined to hang around a group of people actively hostile towards her. But she wanted more information. It was becoming ridiculous that she apparently couldn’t interact with a mortal in this age without leading to violence.

Her flight had taken her to the more trade-focused part of the town. Large metal constructs belched steam around her. Inside the buildings she heard the clanking of undetermined industry. Peeking inside one window she saw men and women assembling something the workers called an engine. Each person appeared to be working on a separate task to build the whole unit. The next building down housed a loom built to the proportions of a giant, and the one after that was less noisy, the workers treating large canvas sheets with tar. Throughout all of it, Laurel couldn’t feel even a twinge of mana in use beyond her own. She belatedly realized the constructs the farmers had been using to harvest must have functioned without mana as well. For quite violent people, these Laskarians were more accomplished in mortal fabrication than any group Laurel had ever seen.

Was the shopkeeper’s reaction just an individual’s absurd prejudice or a sign of a greater trend? That could explain the lack of a sect to maintain the town’s core. Maybe the people in this town were here because they’d wanted to find somewhere without any cultivators, as foolish and shortsighted as that would be. Formidable as they were, the new mortal weapons would not be fearsome enough to destroy some of the advanced beasts that would challenge a population of this size. Laurel loitered in the industrial district until the workers left for the day, meditating in a mostly-hidden side street to speed up the healing her body was naturally doing on her wound. Her weeks of skulking around the local villages meant dropping into her attention-diverting mana working was as easy as slipping into a new breathing pattern.

Keeping enough distance to avoid suspicion, she followed the laborers when they left for the day. Large groups were stopping to eat and drink in local taverns before heading home. Easing into the shadows next to one such building, she reached out and prodded some of the ambient mana, leveraging her own air attunement to carry words to her more clearly. It was easier than diverting attention, and had served her well in an ill-spent youth.

“This month’s news sheet came in yesterday from the provincial capital.” Laurel seized on the chance to learn more about the world beyond the sparsely populated area she had been traveling through.

“Anything interesting?”

“Nah, same as usual, but apparently there are rumors coming in from Laskar City that the Meristans are declaring themselves open to magic, officially.”

“Pfft. Please don’t tell me you actually think magic is real. No one can make firebolts fly through the air with their mind.”

Laurel was so stunned by this expression of ignorance that she almost missed what came next.

“If it wasn’t real, the Governor’s Council wouldn’t have outlawed it. And now those perverts in Merista are letting that kind of unnatural monster roam free. Contrary bastards.” The disgusting sound of someone spitting accompanied this last declaration.

“Doesn’t really matter for us out here does it?”

“Well, no. But it will if the rumors turn into a real war.”

“Listen boy, the empire’s been rumored to be about to go to war with Merista, or Garinth or the Western Nomads for the last 30 years, and it hasn’t happened. Don’t pay too much mind to rumors from half a world away.”

Laurel listened for another few minutes, but nothing else was important enough to linger over. Back in the industrial district, a sheltered rooftop provided a safe place to meditate. She was panting by the time she made it up, her side still aching, though thankfully the wound hadn’t split back open. She didn’t dare sleep, and spent the night contemplating what she heard. Somehow, this country had outlawed cultivation. Or at least the Borderlands had. Even more astounding, it must have worked, given the lack of any evidence of conscious mana manipulation in the entire region. That kind of zealotry would inevitably lead to tragedy for this barely-tamed corner of the world. These people were setting themselves up for destruction when their towns started drawing spirit beasts.

That realization had her feeling trapped in her own skin. She had delayed too long in returning to her sect. Gathering information was all well and good but if this kind of attitude was allowed to spread, nothing good could follow. The sect elders would already have a plan, they had dealt with such short-sighted rulers before.

The next dawn was hidden behind a drizzling mist. Laurel used a burst of mana manipulation imbued with her will and air attunement to keep it from soaking her through as she set out along the eastward road. She walked until the town was no longer in view, keeping her senses spread out behind her in case the merchant had managed to form a mob to seek out any lone strangers. With a thought, she pulled a necklace from her spatial tattoo. It was a gray rock suspended on a black leather cord, nondescript except for the faintest rune etched on the surface. As she held the stone flat on her palm and sent some mana to it, the rune blurred and morphed until it became a faint arrow pointing northeast. Every acolyte of the Eternal Archive was required to make one of the beacons before they were allowed to complete missions for the sect. Attuned to the Legacy Stone, it would always point the way home.

*********

The landscape faded between forests and plains as Laurel continued her journey. As she moved further east, the land became more tamed. There were villages much closer together than the first ones she had run into, along with another two larger towns, bordering on Cities in population, if not in Core cultivation. Her resentment for the Laskarian Empire continued to build every time she was forced to slow from her normal pace and walk as though she were still a mortal. Worse, she learned that the fuzzy feeling from her senses in the first town was due to a preponderance of lead in all the metal constructs the mortals had created. The mana blocking property was lessened by the dilution of the metal in various alloys, but the headache it left her with when she tried to use her senses through the wrong walls almost had her swearing vengeance on the entire country.

In each town she passed, she listened for news and gossip. A picture of the modern world slowly pieced together from a hundred disparate rumors. Laurel didn’t like what she saw. Magic – which was apparently the modern term for cultivation and all forms of mana manipulation – was officially illegal in the Empire. But it had only been a noticeable presence in the world for a few generations. As she’d seen in the first town, some people believed it to be entirely fake, or even a conspiracy from their enemies to hide technological advancements.

People had survived, even flourished, with less than the bare minimum of mana, but the world had been remade in the process. Laurel continued to check at each settlement, but she’d seen no evidence of cultivators acting in secret. The City Cores were uncultivated, and the ambient mana around the population centers was entirely out of control.

Another layer of lofty morals drifted away as she began taking a few coins here and there from various merchants or well-dressed citizens she encountered. Shame boiled beneath her skin any time she let her hand slip into a pocket or lock-box. Stealing from mortals was beneath her. But it seemed when she had no other choice, dignity was easily spent. There was very little bartering in any of the towns she stopped in, and she was worried about bringing out anything either too exotic, or overtly magical to trade.

Tensions with a country called Merista were on the rise, or had always been high, or maybe were actually lessening. Rumors varied. No matter the actual situation, to Laurel the foreign country represented hope that the entire world hadn’t gone insane. The Empire was currently focused on consolidating the borderlands as a new province, and was providing incentives for their citizens to settle in one of the farming towns she had passed through.