| The march was uneventful. Seer's eyes teared up from fatigue, Felanya set small fires to mark their passage; nothing out of the ordinary came to pass. The carts were forced to stop outside the massive nearly crystalline gates. The Dheral of the city, the man in control, loathed the Acharya and all things associated with him. The shrewd man known as Rheim was intelligent enough to never openly admit his animosity towards the Cleansers and their leader; the reason he gave for denying admittance to the carts was that their soiled wheels might mar the beautiful glassy streets of the city in which he reigned. Grumbling, Tearahn agreed to stay behind with the carts. The children were carefully herded to a shelter made constructed of an amalgamation of pigmented glass. Hues of blue, green, and violet ran in streaks through the walls, mixing with its original colours; at one point the building might have been a deep garnet. Every child gasped as they passed through the doors, awed by the myriad of colour. The setting sun made every building in the Crystal City seem to glow. Once inside, it took close to an hour to get every child settled. The matron of the shelter, a slight and mistrustful woman, seemed less than pleased to have thirteen more orphans to feed, clothe, and console. Her terse expression as she found beds for all the new children softened once Jenya had given her a fat purse of coins, and a few grins. Jenya's son, Shorin, watched the exchange with cold hatred in his eyes. The boy stood apart from the other children; there was no doubt that he was Jenya's child. While Shorin's hair was not as curly as his father's, they shared the same shade of blonde. After finishing his conversation with the matron, Jenya walked tentatively up to Shorin. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, and winced when the boy stepped away with a disgusted look on his face. "Don't think I'm just leaving you here," Jenya whispered. His gaze flicked to Dharin and Seer for help, but they were engaged in their own conversation. The rest of the Cleansers, the Magi in particular, had decided that seeing to the safety of the children was none of their concern. Shorin said nothing and only stared begrudgingly at his father. He was young, just six years old, but a fierce intelligence shone in his small, golden eyes. "I'll be coming back for you," Jenya promised sadly. Even though the thought gave Shorin a faint glimmer of hope, he did not trust his father, and he did not trust promises. He knew his father would not return to this city to retrieve him. "Yi talren ahniven, threlkar," Shorin whispered with a pained straining in his voice, and scampered away to play with the other children before it was time to sleep. Jenya blinked, startled by the words that had left his son's mouth. The boy was emotionally damaged - that much was obvious - so Jenya tried not to let the words hurt him, but the strangeness of that tongue... Nobody had spoken that language in centuries, but his son enunciated those words flawlessly. He walked towards the door, crestfallen, and joined Seer and Dharin. "I deserved that," he muttered. There was an unusual tightness around his eyes. Dharin arched an eyebrow inquisitively. Few things bothered Jenya. "What happened?" Jenya wasn't paying attention; instead of answering Dharin's question he only muttered "My son speaks the language of the Dead Houses. Incredible." Dharin placed a hand on Jenya's shoulder, bringing his focus back. "What did he say to you?" "He said, 'I hate you, father.'" Jenya almost wanted to laugh at the oddness of it all. "Shorin said that in Kaer'melthek? Nobody speaks-" Dharin fell silent, thinking. He just blinked and shook his head. Jenya gave a slight nod, changing the subject and breaking the silence eagerly. "We should find that inn," he said as he pushed through the glass doors. Seer noticed as they walked out that the doors had no hinges, and made no noise. As the three stepped into the night air the rest of the Cleansers joined them. There was a strong Taer'shal influence here in Dor'atehn, so the group of nine knew to stay close together. The Taer'shal were neither stupid nor few, and a group of fanatics could easily pick off a lagging Cleanser, if the Cleanser were careless and inattentive enough, especially once the city was darkened. The coran’hai of this city had long since been destroyed by Rheim, so once the sun set a few lamps were lit along each street. As her bare feet struck the glass streets softly her head filled with visions. The visions were of hundreds of weeping Magi, their milky tears mingling and covering the ground, solidifying to form the present day streets of Dor'atehn - the City of Tears. As her mind was ripped to some place else, Seer heard Magi Song filling the air, sculpting the tears into massive blocks, hollowing them out into inhabitable buildings; charging the air and heating it to force the new city to harden faster. She felt the immense sadness that had caused so many Magi to sob uncontrollably: sadness over the final breaking of the Houses of the Sun and Moon - the Dead Houses. The visions filling her sight told her the legends and the purpose of this city: Dor'atehn was built over a massive graveyard for the Children of the Sun and Moon. The City of Tears was, in itself, a memorial to the peacekeepers that had established themselves before the Acharya was accepted. The Children of the Moon had all been logical, analytical, practical, and intelligent beyond belief. With black hair and turquoise eyes, they were polar opposites of their allies, the Children of the Sun. Someone tapped Seer on the shoulder, pulling her from her dreamlike state. Felanya smirked and cocked her head. “We found the place.” They stood before a two-story building, its walls the deep bluish-violet of long formed bruises. The signpost hanging over the doors was a crude painting of a wilting flower. Awkward lettering at the top of the sign stated that this was the inn of the Festering Rose. Multicoloured ribbons streamed from the sides of the sign stirring restlessly in the breeze. As near as the group of nine could tell, this was the place they had been looking for. Dharin stepped in first, followed by Seer, Jenya, Kelnai, and everyone else. The barkeep nodded to Dharin, but his beady eyes widened upon seeing the opal, ruby, onyx, and bluish locks of the Magi. Rather than saying anything, the barkeep only coughed uncomfortably, and pointed to the main hall with a gnarled thumb. Stepping past the staring customers, the Cleansers passed into the massive room, separated from the common room only by a black archway streaked with garnet. The room was empty, except for the Acharya lounging on one of the fur covered chairs. He stood, with a slight smirk on his face. “Glad to see you all made it.” Felanya stepped forward, clearing a few aquamarine hairs from her eyes. “Of course you are,” she spoke sarcastically. “Where to now, great one?” Seer rolled her eyes. “Felanya, shut up.” Jenya was struggling not to laugh. The other Trackers, Sha’en and Lalreth simply stood, staring at the Acharya. Previously, the Acharya only spoke to Seer and Kelnai, but since Corridan joined the group the younger Trackers had become mistrustful. Acharya sighed, holding up a hand for silence. Felanya stared at her bare feet, shifting them somewhat nervously. “I need the nine of you to travel to Shivralliah.” “Home,” Corridan smirked. His smirk faded as Acharya shot him a warning glance. “It isn’t home anymore, Corridan. Remember this. It will not be the place you left. Everyone should remember you, but they may not welcome you with open arms. They will not shun you, thankfully. The Taer’shal are a weak presence there, but all the same, I advise you to remain careful.” He spoke like a parent to a child. “Why Shivralliah,” Seer asked softly. “What do you need us there for?” “A new Mage, particularly powerful, has started to show himself. He could match you someday, Seer.” Acharya smiled. Something in that smile made Dharin uneasy. “I need for you to retrieve him and bring him to Trinlayra to be trained.” The name of the Magi graveyard, Trinlayra, brought slight chills to Seer’s spine. She would have been content never visiting that place again. Instead of showing her reluctance, she only nodded. “Should we leave tonight?” “If you wish, it would probably be for the better if you got there quickly, yet if it were necessary, I would find it acceptable for you all to rest here for a night.” “We can leave tonight, if we have to,” Lalreth finally spoke. After breaking her silence, Acharya noticed that Dharin had not spoken at all. “We’ll see,” Acharya muttered. “Pardon me, I believe I need to speak with Dharin and Seer alone.” He waved a hand, and all but the Mage and the Tracker left the room. “Something is not right with you both. I sense your uneasiness. What is amiss?” Dharin took a deep breath. “I want to leave your service. I don’t want to be a Tracker anymore.” He was slightly shocked to hear those words leave his mouth. The Acharya nodded and shifted his focus to Seer. “And you, my pet, what is troubling your mind?” “I’m leaving with him.” She looked him in the eyes as she spoke, one of the few who never shied away from the thick aura of power surrounding this living god. “I see. If that is truly what the both of you wish, I cannot stand in your way. But I have a request,” he rarely made requests, but Acharya respected these two as his near-equals. “Complete this last mission, and I will free you from any obligations to me. Please.” Dharin’s eyes widened slightly, he was taken aback by the last word the Acharya spoke. He looked to Seer, and once she had nodded, he said softly, “All right. I am sorry to leave your side; it has been an honour to fight for your cause.” The Acharya smiled again, somewhat sadly. Once the two had left the main room to join the other Cleansers, and leave the city, he took his seat again and thought. It disappointed him, and saddened him that his most powerful Mage had decided to leave, but it was an eventuality that he had told himself long ago he would have to face. The only issue now was how he should handle her departure. There were so many choices… The group of nine settled into their respective carts after giving their new orders to the servants. They slept somewhat peacefully, or rather, as peacefully as they ever had. Seer’s dreams were still riven with images of fire and blood, Kelnai dreamt of massive creatures covered in spikes and gore. Dharin and Jenya’s dreams were troubled by images of the Dead Houses - perhaps recalled from stories Seer had told, or in books they had read. The dreams of Corridan and Felanya were never troubled, and Sha’en and Lalreth had not killed enough to have nightmares yet. Clouds gathered in the skies as the convoy headed to the northeast. |