Patrick Laplante
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PtM Book 14 - Chapter 40: Life
🕑 Added 2022-03-14 23:46:13 +0000 UTC1/5 this week!
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Drezil’s eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were a mess, and his claws were broken and bleeding. He hadn’t slept or spoken to anyone in days, lest his concentration slip.
The object of his focus was naturally his unfinished sculpture. He still had no idea what sort of stone it was made of, nor did he care. What mattered was that the sculpture was nearing completion, with only a thin layer still separating it from its most perfect state.
He knew that when finished, the statue would live.
The warehouse was draped in darkness. What little illumination existed in the room came from the thick layer of white stone dust. A thick puddle of grime coated a wide area around the statue where his sweat and blood had mingled with it.
Even so, none of the grime dared touch the pristine objects. It was an incarnation of purity, and nothing could contaminate it.
So he carved. He carved like there was no tomorrow.
In truth, Drezil wasn’t sure he would survive the statue’s completion. Even so, he knew that if completing it required the price of his poor life, he would gladly pay it.
So focused he was on his task at hand that he ignored the army advancing on them. He’d been told to retreat, but he’d chosen to disobey. He could have helped with the evacuation, but he didn’t.
The statue was more important. He could feel it in his bones.
Merenthal was wrong. His mission was worthy.
So he carved, only pausing when he felt a tingling at the back of his neck. “You’re early,” Drezil said, not looking up. “I thought you were going to give me three days.”
Merenthal grunted and walked farther into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. The light was blinding and distracting.
“Three days you will have. Half a day still remains. I just came here to talk, since perhaps it will motivate you.” Drezil said nothing, which Merenthal took as permission to continue. “The humans are gone. We’re on our own. The enemy is advancing.”
“I know,” Drezil answered. “You already ordered the evacuation.”
Merenthal nodded. “But what you might not know is that the attack was too sudden. We can only partially evacuate and leave the rest behind.”
Drezil noticed his clawed fists clenching, noticed the elder Runebound clansman’s heartbeat speed up slightly. Even so, he continued the delicate task of carving out tiny details in the statue’s feathered wings despite his broken and bloodied hands.
“You gave me three days,” Drezil finally said. “Do what you can, and I will do what I can. This is my duty. You have yours.”
“There’s more, of course,” Merenthal said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother coming to find you. It seems that Sedrannah has convinced half of the priests to forcefully declare her high priestess without the elders’ approval. She’s determined to pull our clansmen out of this conflict and abandon Verdant Crossroads.”
That gave Drezil pause. Briefly. “It sounds like you have a choice to make.” He winced as one of his statues was smashed apart by a very angry inkborn demon.
“Have you no shame?” Merenthal said with gritted teeth. “If you say something, anything, they’ll resist her!”
Drezil returned his look impassively. “Likewise, if you say something, anything, they will resist as well. It’s not a very difficult concept.”
“You…”
“I have my path, and you have yours,” Drezil continued. “Even with half our clan at risk, you refuse to denounce her. Refuse to take action. All for the sake of tradition. All for the sake of things that are dead, when it’s the people that live.”
Merenthal shivered but said nothing. “Fine. Stay here and die for all I care. I’m done with you.”
Drezil said nothing as Merenthal left. He wasn’t sure what choice Merenthal would ultimately make, but he knew that it was out of his hands. As it should be.
***
Drezil continued carving for several more hours, both noting and ignoring the deadline as it passed. He did not stop, and Merenthal did not come fetch him. Finally, he could continue in peace.
If only he wasn’t so exhausted.
Drezil’s body was filthy. His clothes were rags and his skin covered in sweat, blood, and grime. None of this found its way onto the statue, of course—any filth that settled on it slipped off it in moments.
Should I take a shower after I’m done? Drezil wondered. Will I even be alive when I’m finished? So focused was he on these questions that he hadn’t noticed that his hands were no longer moving. His claws were no longer shaping. And when he went to continue, he found that he could not. Not because he was unable to move, but because there was nothing further he could carve.
Finally, after so many months, he’d finished.
And nothing was happening.
There was no great miracle, no resonance with the Great Divine. Nothing.
For the first time in over half a year, Drezil was at a loss. He’d finished his work, but this statue was clearly not finished.
Compared to all his previous works, the statue was perfect and filled with energy, and even vitality, strangely enough. Yet somehow, despite all this, despite the intricate runework that covered its entire surface and penetrated deep into the stone, there was something missing.
On a whim, he cut himself with a dagger. He smeared his black blood over the statue in the hopes it would absorb it. The wound wasn’t a serious one, but in his weakened state, it rendered him dizzy. He fell backward as he watched the blood run off the statue’s pristine surface like water would wax.
Did it need something else? Perhaps his life? He briefly entertained the thought of plunging his dagger into his own breast but immediately dismissed that thought. If it were his instincts hinting he should do this, he might consider it, but this was just pure delirium.
The experience was understandably frustrating for Drezil. After all, this was his masterpiece. It would be his greatest work. He vaguely felt that it would be his finest creation, the first of many, which was why, once again, he told himself it was best if he didn’t die.
The combination of hope, helplessness, success, and failure struck Drezil with another wave of dizziness. He sank to his knees and realized that, for the first time in months, he had nothing to do.
This sudden emptiness was a seed that sprouted into the gloom of his lonely soul and quickly became a carrion-eating vine that grew in the deep corners of his mind. It most definitely wasn’t a tree, because trees were pure. Trees were fearless.
Afraid? When had Drezil been afraid in these recent months? The thought struck him as odd, but he realized that yes, he was afraid, and of the darkness in the room no less. He feared that cold and all-encompassing darkness that not even the stone dust in the room could illuminate. Not because of what it hid, but because it revealed his failures by contrast. The statue was there, surrounded by nothing. A failure. A waste of his effort and obsession.
Had he just been wasting his time? Was his faith misplaced? If that was the case, there was no redeeming him. He could faintly feel that outside this room, his tribe was on the verge of a civil war, all because he’d abandoned his duties for something he saw as more important.
But he’d failed. He’d failed, and now he was left with nothing. The shadows deepened. His awareness dimmed.
Then he saw it.
A single spark appeared inside the room.
It was a faint point that just about anyone could snuff out. He wanted to protect it, wanted to keep it safe, but to his surprise, the darkness didn’t threaten it.
The spark seemed to feed on the darkness. Like a ravenous insect eating at an elephant, it tore away at the black sheet that covered the entire room. It grew to the size of candle flame, nothing but the smallest of fires, but it was warm, and for the first time in months, Drezil could feel.
A comfortable feeling filled his entire body. It warmed his blood, his bones, and his marrow. It soothed the creases on his face and washed away his worries.
The flame was now the size of a fist. It had a pulse. A beat. A cadence. Every gentle thrum caused his heart to quicken and his mind to race.
Hesitantly, he took it in his hands. The flame was warm to the touch. Simply holding it chased away what remained of his misery. With this fire in his hands, he felt happy, as though warm arms were wrapping themselves around him. Holding him. Loving him.
He wanted this moment to last forever. He wanted to go back in time.
He had so many regrets.
If only…
If only…
When a few drops of liquid dropped on his shoulder, he realized that this was not a figment of his imagination. He wasn’t dreaming. The flame was real, and so were the arms embracing him.
The chin resting on his shoulder was equally real, and so was the shivering woman lending him warmth.
She was here when he most needed her, despite how poorly he’d treated her.
He wanted to reach around and console her but hesitated. Did he even dare?
Drezil blinked and realized that just like her, he was crying.
The two of them remained as they were, frozen in time, watching the fire. The mass of flickering flames grew and shrank as they breathed. Warming them. Healing them.
It was a flame full of love. Full of hope. And full of pain. “I’m sorry,” Drezil said, looking past the flame at the statue. “I don’t know what came over me. All I knew was that I needed to finish it, so I stayed.”
“I know,” Graceful Twilight whispered. “I know.” She pulled away, and Drezil felt a damp cloth hit the back of his head. How long had it been since he’d cleaned himself off?
“I didn’t have time for anything else,” Drezil said. “But what’s the use? I finished my work, but not the statue. And now I’m lost. I don’t know what’s missing.”
Graceful Twilight took his hand and cradled the beating fire. “Watch,” she said, then blew on the flame. It flew over to the statue and settled upon its chest, then sank into the stone like it was mud.
The statue pulsed.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
Each beat was greater than the last. A hundred beats marked off two minutes of time, after which the beating weakened but evened out.
As the heart continued beating, the statue transformed. Tongues of colored flame spread out across the white statue, creating a medley of colors like emerald, cerulean, ruby, and sapphire.
Drezil had seen iridescent flames before, and these were not it. These flames were pure and filled with emotion and a life of their own.
When the statue blinked, it finally dawned on Drezil what was happening. The creature shivered and began to breathe. It quirked its head and looked at the two of them. Drezil felt a connection to the creature, and a connection to Graceful Twilight. It would answer to no one but them.
“All it needed was a heart…” Drezil whispered.
“Yes,” Graceful Twilight said. “Isn’t our child beautiful?”
He wasn’t able to answer her, because in that moment, he heard one message after another booming inside his mind.
Quest Complete: Carve the mysterious stone you have found into a satisfactory statue.
Reward: Demonic Carving Art (Inkborn Specific, Transferable). Massive demon energy bounty granted.
Bonus Objective Complete: Carve a Blood-Bound Living Statue.
Reward: Fusion-realm quest requirement waived. Complete demon energy bounty granted.
The first demon energy bounty poured into his core, refining and transforming his bloodline and forcing him up into the next level. He broke past the late investiture realm, which he’d been stuck at all this time.
This was quickly followed up by an infusion of demonic energy that caused his aura to rise meteorically. It did not stop until he reached the fusion realm.
His awareness instantly expanded and merged with his surroundings. The instant he broke through, he felt a few familiar presences—Merenthal, a few other fusion-realm demons from Verdant Crossroads, a distant Bloodfur. Sedrannah he only felt briefly.
Graceful Twilight also broke through. This made sense, since this was a shared accomplishment. Their breakthrough was simultaneous, and a mysterious force enveloped them, causing their auras to mingle.
Drezil’s ink merged Graceful Twilight’s, and vice versa; runic bindings snuck up Graceful Twilight’s arms and onto her body in the shape of a burning phoenix. Graceful Twilight’s ink poured into Drezil, causing his blood to boil and sizzle. The bindings on his arms and legs and torso transformed, and while his name did not change, he was no longer the same Drezil.
Finally, the transformation ended. Many presences reached out in congratulations. Drezil only answered one, which was Merenthal, and informed him he would be out shortly. Something important was happening on his end, but he had no idea what it was.
Nor did he care.
After all, he had statues to awaken.
A whole warehouse of them.
***
The Runebound Clan was historically a resource-poor clan, not for lack of skill but because of its insistence on the nomadic lifestyle required to guard the sacred deserts. The harsh weather conditions, combined with the lack of a permanent base, was not exactly conducive to accumulating wealth.
Tradition therefore mandated that things remain simple. This included furniture, clothes, and customs, and even methods of negotiating and resolving conflicts.
Merenthal therefore took no insult as he sat at a two-person table, which was little more than a board of varnished wood supported by little pegs. It was simple, transportable, and he’d used such a table many times in his life. His host, Sedrannah, had offered him a seat on a hard, weather-beaten cushion and had taken a seat on a similar one.
Before each of them was a single cup of hot “tea,” which was actually a few tablespoons of grain rations boiled in inky oasis water. The flavor was slightly bitter but nostalgic, as this was a staple across all Runebound Clan tribes.
Neither Merenthal nor his counterpart exchanged pleasantries. They already knew how they felt about each other, and the moment of silence was just a formality. This naturally did not prevent Merenthal from getting a read on his opponent before discussions began. Sedrannah’s posture was confident, and her aura smug, indicating recent success.
“You look happy,” Merenthal said. “I take it that you secured a few more votes before our meeting?”
“I did,” Sedrannah said, inclining her head. “Moreover, I and the other priests and priestesses held a discussion on the subject of returning to our nomadic roots. Settling down simply isn’t suitable for our people. We’ve been nomadic for as long as any of us can remember—why change?”
Merenthal had been expecting such words, so he took a sip of scalding grain water. “Won’t you reconsider your position?”
“Why should I?” Sedrannah asked. “This is who we are, Merenthal. We are nomads, and we always have been. The situation right now should make it obvious why this is the best lifestyle for us. Look at the meaningless wars these city-dwellers participate in and would drag us into.” She shook her head. “Better to take our clansmen and go. Verdant Crossroads can take care of its own problems. We are not obligated to take up arms just because they want to fight over a few parcels of land.”
Merenthal gave her long, hard look, less to intimidate and more to reaffirm his decision. There were many words he could take back, but these next words, he could not. “That is indeed unfortunate, Priestess Sedrannah,” he finally said. “Your words might be considered wise by some, but I am afraid I can’t accept them.”
“You don’t need to accept them,” Sedrannah said. “It is customary to obey your high priestess. And before you say I don’t have the support for the position, you should know that I’ve already gathered it. In a few days at most, the position will be official.”
“Yet I was raised in a simple way and was told to do things in simple manners,” Merenthal said. “Be kind to your neighbors. Help your friends. Give water to strangers in need. Fight for what you believe in. That sort of thing. What you have obtained is the support of our most cowardly and most traditional priests, and even they would not dare go against these simple teachings. Your thoughts and words go against the Kerava Tribe’s values, Sedrannah, and that is something I cannot accept in a high priestess.”
“That is not something that you can dictate, Merenthal,” Sedrannah hissed.
“Yet I must—for our survival,” Merenthal said. “Tell me, Sedrannah, did the priests from the traditional faction agree with your decision to migrate, or did they simply agree to instate you as high priestess and pay lip service to your thoughts on returning to nomadic life?”
Sedrannah snorted. “There is no difference.”
“There is and you know it,” Merenthal snapped. “I have spoken to each and every one of these so-called supporters, and though they have agreed to support your nominations, they have more than a few misgivings. They support you for the sake of tradition, Sedrannah, but little else. So I ask you one last time: reconsider.”
“No.” Her reply was simple and firm, which also greatly simplified how Merenthal would deal with her.
“Then I am afraid we are not a good match, Sedrannah,” Merenthal said. “Leave. Get lost. Our Kerava Tribe doesn’t need someone like you.”
Sedrannah’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”
“I told you to leave,” Merenthal said.
“Hah! You think you can just chase me away?” Sedrannah said. “With your pitiful initial-fusion cultivation?”
“You must leave, and if you do not, I will be forced to take action,” Merenthal reiterated. “For the sake of my tribe.”
“You are not in charge of this tribe, Merenthal,” Sedrannah said. “Only a high priestess can lead a tribe, Merenthal, or have you forgotten even that? Your powers are formidable, I’ll grant you that, but in the end, you are just a brute.” Her aura began to leak out and fuse with the air around her. Formations sprung to life out of nowhere and attempted to wrap themselves around Merenthal.
Merenthal remained calm. He responded by flicking a single finger, shattering her formations. A suffocating pressure weighed down on the priestess, and in seconds, she found herself unable to breathe. Frustrated by her failure to assert dominance, she summoned her demon weapon, a compass, and her demon armor, covered in golden priest patterns. They looked impressive to the inexperienced, but Merenthal had seen Shakkanah’s armor, and even he could tell it was lacking.
She left him no choice. Merenthal sighed and summoned his own armor and demon weapon, a heavy saber. Both were a half size larger than normal and inky black. “I wasn’t asking, Sedrannah, I was telling. Bloodfur, come out. The rest of you as well.”
A black-furred member of the Star-Eye Clan and three other demons suddenly emerged from a curtain of inky waters invisible to anyone but them.
“You would bring outsidersinto this?” Sedrannah hissed.
“Outsiders and insiders, whatever it takes,” Merenthal confirmed. “Leave.”
Aside from Bloodfur, the three other fusion-realm demons were from the Runebound Clan. Two of them were his seniors by many centuries, while one of them was barely two hundred years old and had just broken through. “The Kerava Tribe does not need you,” the eldest among them said. “Leave.”
“Your antics have gone on long enough,” the second eldest said. “Leave.”
“I may be young, but I am not blind,” the youngest said. “Nothing good can come of foul water. Leave. You are not welcome. We will not tolerate your presence.”
“You dare reject our traditions?” Sedrannah said. “You would reject a high priestess elected by her peers? Have you no humility? Have you no shame?”
“To be clear, it is you we reject,” the eldest said. “You are a cancer, Sedrannah. A growth that saps the life out of the main body. You and our tribesmen are not cut from the same cloth, and our values differ too greatly. We gave you a chance, but you squandered it. You cannot stay.”
“Values are determined by the priestesses that interpret the Great Divine,” Sedrannah said. “It is not for the likes of common people to interpret.”
“I’m afraid you are mistaken on that point,” Merenthal said. “Values are inherent to the tribe and are passed down in the tribe regardless of whether or not there are priests or priestesses. The duty of a priestess is to facilitate the transfer of these values and impart wisdom that might otherwise be lost between generations.”
“That is not a choice for you all to make!” Sedrannah said. “You are going against tradition!”
“The people are alive, and traditions are dead,” Merenthal said. “Don’t get me wrong, Sedrannah. I see the benefits of having a high priestess, both practical and spiritual. Your skills are useful, and we happened to lack them, so we gave you a chance to change your ways. We pointed you in the right direction, but you refused our good intentions time and time again.”
“After your clash with Clear Sky, we saw you change your approach,” the second elder said. “We’d hoped you had turned over a new leaf. If you had, we might have accepted you, but in the end, your actions give you away. You are a coward, Sedrannah, and we have no place for cowards in the Kerava Tribe.”
The youngest spat at her feet. “You would flee after we gave our word to fight to the death. How worthy of you! How honorable! You would abandon our friends in their time of great need! Our tribe has wandered the dangers of the Kerava Desert for a hundred thousand years, and never have we shirked away from danger when our duty called us. If not for the markings on your skin, I would never believe we share the same blood.”
“You crossed our bottom line, Sedrannah,” Merenthal said. “That is why you must leave.”
Sedrannah frowned, and her eyes flickered between each of the elders, then to Bloodfur, and finally, to Merenthal. She was clearly outnumbered by aggressive opponents. “Fine,” she said. “If it’s so important to you all, we can negotiate.”
“I’m afraid its past time for discussions,” Merenthal said. He looked to each of the clan elders, who nodded. “You are not welcome here. You never were. We are finished with your poisonous ways. You will leave this place and cease your interactions with members of our tribe, and you will do so within the hour. If you do not, we will kill you. By any means, foul or fair.”
Sedrannah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Merenthal treated her words as empty air. “If you try to take refuge among our people to avoid your banishment, we will kill you in front of them. There will be a bit of chaos, but the chaos will be manageable. Similarly, if you try to poach our people on the way out, I will know, and we will kill you just the same.”
Sedrannah clenched her teeth. “Fine, then! I challenge you!”
Merenthal chuckled, then proceeded to increase the weight of his aura, which had long since filled the room. “While I alone am enough to kill you, I will not accept your challenge. You do not have the qualifications to challenge me. If you wish to die, however, the elders and I will be happy to join forces and put you down. In our eyes, you are not worthy of a fair battle, because you have no honor. So make your choice: leave or die.”
By now, Sedrannah’s arms were trembling. Her high priestess robes were dripping with sweat. “I will leave, but you will regret this.” She barely choked out the words.
“Excellent,” Merenthal said, easing off the pressure. “If you dare return, know that only death awaits you. This will not change, not even if the high priestess of Shanarah tribe pleads for us to spare you.”
Sedrannah stood up stiffly from her spot at the short table. “I will leave, but know that what you have done is unforgiveable. You have betrayed our people. You have gone against tradition.”
“It is not treachery to defy tradition for the sake of our people and our values,” Merenthal said. “We were once nomads, but with the disappearance of Kerava’s curse, our desert-dwelling days are over. Our mission has changed. And in time, we will produce priests and priestesses worthy of the mantle of high priestess who understand this. It is they who will guide our tribe in this new era.”
He felt a flicker of power then. A pair of demons breaking through not far away. The pulse came from the signstone mines. He greeted both new arrivals with a grin while Sedrannah paled.
“Impossible!” she said. “He’d barely entered late-investiture realm last week! How could he break through to the fusion realm so quickly?”
“I am also quite surprised, but I know firsthand that with us inkborn, nothing is impossible,” Merenthal said. “It relates to one’s purpose, which is something that you are incapable of understanding. It seems he was right—he has found his purpose and his path, just as I have found mine. I wonder how that statue of his turned out. It should be quite pretty.”
“You will regret this,” Sedrannah said.
“I highly doubt it,” Merenthal said. “Those two breakthroughs are an omen, Sedrannah, and only serve as further confirmation that we have made the right decision. Now, are you going to leave, or do we have to make you?” He peered out the window to judge the time. “You have three quarters of an hour to pack up your things and go. If you’re not gone by then, you will regret it.”
Sedrannah gave him one last venomous look before charging out the door and closing it with such force that it splintered.
