Fable - Ask Soil and Bubbles

[Noa]

Some time had passed since Roki’s misstep in battle with, as the Knights would soon learn, Rory Bellamy. Syr Noa had felt a twinge of pride that Roki had sorta-kinda-almost outwitted one of the Bloody Bellamy’s that were known to cause more trouble than Roki had. More importantly, she was glad he had remained safe. There had been rumors that Rory Bellamy could take souls of anyone, not just animals or Ur Beasts. She wondered if the Bellamy had thought about taking Roki’s soul but wondered far more why the Bellamy had been where in the forest in the first place.

It was a question with an answer she could not receive under any normal means and so she had wondered about it less and less as time passed. Instead, Ne had tricked her into volunteering for the efforts being made to assist the forest and to ease the damage that had been done. The numbers didn’t lie and Roki’s fire had burned bright and hot, even while contained, and the air had been fouled due to the strange mushrooms that came from the enslaved beast belonging to Rory.

Noa supposed that while she didn’t want total responsibility of the efforts being made, she was glad that she could help in ways many Knights could not. She had reached out to the monks in Cais Vihara, asking for a considerable amount of their “healing” waters to purify the soil in case that the strange mushrooms and spores could have some power over the soil.

She was surprised that they had agreed, although it always helped when she could snag Helena’s signature for important matters. Really, if she weren’t blind, she’d be forging Helena’s signature on anything she could. Heck, she’d be writing her own letters then! Instead, she had to make due by cutting out Helena’s signed initials on the report she had approved and pasting it to her letter that she had gotten Syr Cymbeline to write for her. (She had little idea that Cymbeline had not sent the letter with the crudely constructed “initiative” prompted by Helena’s initials and instead sent a new one that involved a lot less sardonic words and was far more refined, and most importantly, without lies.)

The response had been fortunate and today was the day that the monks would arrive. Weeks later since she sent the letter, but she supposed weeks were better than never.

Either way, Noa planned on doing very little with the monks. They had the healing water, they would do their chants, and Roki would do the rest! Hence why Noa was reclining against Ne, wearing her bamboo sandogasa to keep the sun from burning her sensitive skin. She had a fan in one hand and a container of alcohol in the other, drinking the spirit as if it were water and making sure a steady breeze continued to keep her and Ne cool.

“How’s it going over there, Roki?” She shouted, although she figured Roki wasn’t too far away from her. “Soil nice and tilled?” Noa brought the bottle to her lips.

Roki

 

[Roki]

It was... going.

The little hand plow, with its metal wheels, had gotten stuck in soil, and he was tooling around with that. A small metal hand tool, a rod for prodding and poking and jamming things out of the way. Currently levering against the wheels axel and the stubborn stone that would not relent.

"...Fine!" he grunt, as ahe sputtered. Drew in a lungful of air that made him look part frog, ready to croak, and laid down all of his weight onto the oddly angled tool. The mechanical plow whipped back and fell into the dirt with a cloud of dust.

The little pebble plinked off another rock in the dirt, and thud into the still ashen soil.

Roki coughed, and grunt. Got up, fanned the dust out of his face. "Just fine," he muttered.

---

Noa

 

[Noa]

A long swig of her favorite cheap rice wine that quenched her thirst just enough for her to bring the emerald green bottle back down. She didn’t bother in corking it. She’d finish this before the monks arrived, and luckily she had another one hidden on her for when they did arrive.

She expected Agata to be leading them. If Noa was expected to deal with Agata she needed to be substantially tipsy and at least belligerent drunk by the time she left. Ne chuffed, the albino tiger rather fond of Agata who had been the one to first find them because of birdsong or whatever.

Agata had a bad habit of over-treating the tiger, which she reverently referred to as Humbled One.

“Careful!” Noa shouted, using a free hand to cup around her scarred mouth. “You don’t wanna lose one of your eyes, do ya, Roki?” It would be just like some higher power to give her a half-blind pyromaniac squire. Maybe one of the old Valen gods, chuckling to themselves as they made it a joke of sorts, ‘the blind leading the blind.’ They would think to themselves while cackling at their clever—

Ne nudged his Knight. Noa picked up the bottle to take a couple of chugs so great that she had to gasp for air as she set the bottle down. Right. This was serious. She corked the bottle before getting up, finally feeling a buzz that would make her ready to handle the ascetic nature of the monks. A deep sigh.

“So, Roki, listen.” Ne got up with a yawn, flicking his ears and tail as if there were flies around and bothering him. The buzzing pests never swarmed around the tiger’s face. Most critters had too much respect for Ne to do so, whether they knew it or not. Noa was led to Roki. “About the monks. You can’t tell them you started the fire. Blame it on the Bellamy.”

Roki

 

[Roki]

Roki's brow scrunched. "I appreciate the warning, Syr," he said, with a bit of heat in his voice. Huffed, and sighed.

Syr Noa was here on his account. He had to remember that. He doubt that she wanted to be here any more than he did. Much less, waiting for ascetic monks. Though, that begged the question. How did Syr Noa ever get in with such a crowd?

He stood, and dusted his pants with hardy slaps of his hand. Rolld his shoulder, and grabbed the handles to the tilling contraption. Smiled at the memory of getting the forge up to the proper heat, and watching as the stout arms hammered the metal to his specifications. Used lightning to shave, just a tad more from the holes punched through, when the smiths were too tired to go on.

In other words, he wasn't much listening.

All he had heard was, Blame it on the Bellamy.

"What?" he said, startling up straight. "Why... what do you mean?" he asked, looking to his mentor, who approached behind the great tiger beast.

Noa

 

[Noa]

Noa took a long, deep breath and held it for a moment. Exhaled and waited, not breathing. She wanted to feel her lungs without air, and was quiet for a long moment. Sometimes she liked fighting the urge to breathe, the slow heat that could be found in her chest as she refused her body a single breath. She could feel her throat want to constrict, the lightness in her head grow.

When she finally took a breath, she placed a hand on Ne’s head. Blind eyes were in the direction of where Roki stood. Her lips had pressed into a tight line before relaxing, matching the lackadaisical way she moved a hand up into the air.

“Cais Vihara is almost like Astenvale Monastery. There’s a lot of differences.” Noa said with a subdued softness in her deep voice. “The monks there respect the Valen Wylds. Not many people do. You’ve heard of the sad reconstruction of Liadin. Espressa is not immune from such a fate. It’s why the Bellamy’s are… threats.” She didn’t believe them to be enemies exactly. She thought human nature may be fickle but it could change.

“Burning down a forest, even by accident, it’s like kicking a dog on purpose to them. They have rules. Many rules.” A roar seemed to rumble from Ne’s throat. “They have good intentions. And the water and prayers they bring will save this forest.” Now Noa shook her head, another long sigh leaving her lips. “It’s just better if they think it was because of a Bellamy. If they thought it was you, they could think that the Knights are… not… all… about the… Valen Wylds and the… gods?” She stumbled over her words, and not from her intoxication.

Roki

 

[Roki]

Roki struggled to take in all Noa had said.

He. He respected the wylds. He had never hurt a fly! Sure, he had butchered plenty of game but, and he had helped kill a few chickens to prepare for the meals but, but that was different! Like the creatures of the forest, the knights had to eat, and, well, he had to cook! Had to feed them.

Wait, no. This wasn't about his cooking.

"The gods?" he asked, clear in his confusion as he stood beside the metal contraption he and his fellows had help build. A thing of iron and will, that helped him and the small folk who used such tools tend to the fields, all the easier. His brow scrunched. "I mean, I... I don't," he saw the Bellamy as their enemies. Greedy, self interested, self serving mongers who cared for little else beyond their own position.

They stole spirits!

Yet. To just blame the Bellamy when it was clearly his mistake. When the ruin was fault of his recklessness. Of his weakness, to give in to the will of fire so easily.

"You want me to lie?" he said with soft disgust.

Noa

 

[Noa]

“Yes.” Noa whispered, unsure if her words could reach Roki but sure the squire could read her lips. “I know you’re a good squire, you’ll make a good Knight one day. I don’t doubt that. But Roki, the monks aren’t like the Knights.” There was a firmness even though she was frowning.

She felt guilty, for making the squire lie. No, not the squire, her squire. The first she ever had to mentor. It had never been because she wasn’t capable, there was something about the Order that had suited her. Perhaps it was because of the teachings from the monks, or maybe even her being blind, but the Knights of Anathaeum enveloped her beyond the physical. It was home. It was rightness.

“They might not even ask what happens. If they do, they’ll ask me, not you.” She said quickly, as if that made her request any better. “I’ll explain, I mean, I already explained in a letter, and then we can just move on to what’s important: regrowing the forest.”

Roki

 

[Roki]

Roki was not new to lying.

Truth be told, the squire lied all the time. Well, back at the Monastery. Lied to cover for his fellow squires. Lied to Mara about how he had gotten enough sleep the night before and how he was perfectly fine to go off and avoid boring old duties and traingings and... things that all felt rather inconsequential.

"Syr, I... Noa," he struggled to find his words. His eyes down cast. "I... hurt people,"

Noa

 

[Noa]

“I know.” Noa’s voice was still a whisper. She moved to Roki’s side and patted his shoulder in some form of solidarity. “Roki, all actions a have consequences. Good and bad, they all intermingle and it’s hard to think what the best course of action could be until we think back on it. The Knights know you made a mistake. The Monks? They’ll think you did it on purpose.” There was a moment when Noa thought back to her childhood.

Hungry. Cold. Thin.

Yet strangely, she had felt in tune to nature, to herself. Nowadays she needed alcohol to feel like herself or music. Music was a lovely distraction. It made her feel whole and complete.

“Think of it this way, Roki. No one owns the land, this is known. But Cais Vihara? They act like all land is theirs. Anything near the Valen Wylds is under their protection. All they do is bless the water and the air and yet they act like they’re in charge of it all. So you lie to keep the peace, to let them be deluded, and we fix up this forest without issue. Isn’t that a win?”

Roki

 

[Roki]

It was hard to hold the words of his mentor to memory, as his heart raced, and he felt as if all of his being, from his fingertips to the ends of his hairs, curled upon itself. Anxiety turned to static in his mind as thoughts raced back and for between the then, and the now.

It had only been some weeks since he had faced the Bellamy. Rory. The smell of the rot-smoke still fresh at the back of his nose. Lingered on each new breath he tried to draw in.

Felt his lungs fill with air. His widened, and he was back in that shroud of smoke. Back amidst the fire.

Think of it this way... Anything near the Valen... lie to keep the peace, to let them be deluded.

His eyes snapped to her. Brow cocked as his breath came back. Shallow, he gripped his fingers. Let them loose. Gripped them again.

"A... win?" He asked. All he had thought about that day was winning. He looked to the forest. To the burn scarred trees that had survived, and those that had turned to charred husks. Tall reminders of his folly. He gulped down all his mentor had asked of him. It did not make sense to argue now. He looked to Ne. As if the great beast could grant him some enlightenment.

"I... guess so, Syr," he agreed. If in word, at least, and what was a Knight without their word?

Noa

 

[Noa]

Ne wasn’t a fan of Noa’s lying, or her advice to Roki that he should also lie. But as the limpid blue eyes of the tiger met Roki’s unsure gaze, Ne could do little in giving his advice. Not because he couldn’t speak, he very much could express himself with a squint of his eyes, curl of his lip, flick of his ears or a twitch of his whiskers. It was because he, for once, agreed with Noa.

They didn’t agree on much, but they could agree with how Agata would react to the knowledge that it was Roki who had sent the forest ablaze. Even if the squire had good intentions for doing so, it would do little against the monk’s shared philosophy. Ne stepped forward, pressing his big head hard against Roki’s chest, pushing him lightly but with such force that the cooking wizard would need to take a step back.

He purred to help ease the anxiety in the young man’s heart and continued to demand more of his attention while Noa took time to plan her next words carefully. A part of her knew it was better to tell Roki not to lie, but then again she still very much believed she had sent a letter to Cais Vihara with Helena’s initials.

“Hey, but, you know what the monks doing? Eating. Well. Sometimes. Not really. But they sure do love rice. Don’t you make the best rice ever? All it is boiling some water but maaaaaaan,” Noa drew out the word as she continued lying, “your rice? The best I ever had. I don’t know how you do it. You should tell the monks your secret. They’ll get a hoot out of it.” Ne paused his insistent nuzzling to give a pointed look at Noa, growling.

“Or not. Because it’s a secret. Gotta keep it for yourself.” Another low growl from the tiger and Noa grinned like any rockstar would when called out on their bullshit.

Roki

 

[Roki]

Roki was glad for Ne's affections. The heavy push, and the weight press of their massive head, helped the squire feel more at ease. Sifting his fingers through the great tiger's thick scruff, helped him all the more. The powerful rumble of his purr, a thing that seemed to settle his heart. Calm his nerves.

A good scritch, and scratch behind the ears, and some hefty pats about the beast's big neck.

"The secret to good rice is well known," he said with a sure nod. "Its all about the wash, and making sure you have the right amount of water," he looked to Noa. "Don't... Aren't the Monks all about water?" he asked with a quirked brow. "I'm sure they know all about good rice," he asserted. He looked to Ne, who growled at Noa, and the young man shook his head. "Syr, are you... bullshitting me?" he asked, in honest surprise.

Noa

 

[Noa]

“On Ne’s life, I’m not.” Ne’s heavy tail thwacked against Noa’s side, unbalancing her just enough to make her cloudy eyes widen in surprise. She steadied herself with both hands out to the side and straightened when she was sure she wasn’t going to be knocked by her spirit companion once again. “I’m serious. The monks have an agenda against rice! It’s either mush or too hard and never seasoned. Between you and me, the monks would find mayonnaise spicy.” Noa shook her head, just right when Ne had decided to knock her flat on her back and the hum of a chant was carried through the air.

Ne turned his head to the sound, spotting the lines of monks in a formation that was pleasing and right to the Valen gods. The monks were in robes of orange, yellow, red or blue with signified their rank. Some had shaven heads, some did not, it wasn’t a requirement unless the monk themselves found it to be important to their own journey and devotion. A young woman in blue was in front, swinging an orange lantern in a gentle circle. Manifestations of translucent carp and goldfish flashed with ethereal light and followed the direction of the of the lantern. The air was being cleansed for all of those behind her.

“Damn,” Noa said. She hadn’t turned her head, didn’t need to. “They’ve already started.” The three monks in red were behind her, one with a large drum, one with a pair of fish blocks, and one with two different sets of bells in either hand. The hard, structured chanting seemed to deviate from the more soft, melodic music; and yet there was balance and harmony in the duality, creating a song that was better with these conflicting traits than if they had all perfectly matched.

While the procession had at once looked far away, sound and light had been deceiving, and in another moment or two, the monks would be very close. They parted from their formation and the chant changed. The four at the front continued on with their ritual while the other two dozen or so kneeled and pulled out their plain prayer beads. They bowed their head in unison.

“Noa.” A voice carried easily despite the music and the chants. Noa sighed and turned, coming face to face with
Agata. Her hair was short, face deceivingly youthful, and presence omnipotent if one focused enough. Agata seemed to be in the air, in the sky, the sun and the soil. She was the north, the east, the south and the west, as if every direction led back to her. At least, that was how Noa always felt Agata, like something that tried to collect all of itself into one small place but they were too great to be fully contained. It unnerved her that she never truly knew where Agata was or where she was going. “You’re unbalanced.”

“Ne tried knocking me over earlier.” The albino tiger chuffed, moving away from Roki to press his massive head into Agatha’s chest. His voice rumbled in his throat, twitching his whiskers as the leader of the monks bowed her head, murmuring respectful prayers before allowing herself the grandeur of touching Ne. The tiger’s tongue rasped graciously along Agatha’s hand. “This is Roki, a squire.” Dark eyes finally landed on the squire.

“Hm.” Agata said. “He’s unbalanced, too.”

“Well, you know what they say. Like mentor like squire.” Ne’s tail found a way to swat at Noa once more. She laughed as her hand went to a sheathed sword as she debated giving him a taste of his own medicine. Noa’s hand fell limply to her side as Agata transfixed her with a look that Noa didn’t need to see, she could feel it. The music stopped and the chant ended.

“No.” Agata corrected. “You’re drunk, he isn’t. He’s blocked because of something else.” She peered closely at Roki. “Is that hair of yours natural?”

Roki

 

[Roki]

Mouth agape. Eyes wide. Roki was in awe of the performance. The show. At least, it felt like a show. A procession. Almost like a parrade. With a rhythm he could feel pulse through the ground and stir the air itself.

Was this where Syr Noa had learned how to play her music? Fill the air with her performers of smoke?

On went the chants. On went their instruments. On went the march. Until there was a shift. A change as sure as a river did flow. They parted and sat and the instruments played on, soft beneath the chants that gave way to solemn bow.

Breathless. Roki watched as one stepped forward. Proud as the Captains, with the quiet strength that came with a confidence tested. Proven. Roki looked down at the floor, felt himself stand a little taller, a little straighter. But his feet felt uneven. His hands fidgety.

By the boughs. He thought, as . Syr Noa wasn't kidding about the stuffiness. He spied Ne, pleased as a newt in mud.

This is Roki, a squire."

Roki's eyes widened, and his head bolted up, lips tight and hands stiff at his sides.

He's unbalanced, too.

"Wha- op," he shut up fast. His stomach felt tight, and his brow wanted to furrow. He breathed out a hot breath. Had his eyes look at something, anything. Not Agata.

You're drunk, he isn't. A blink at that. A quick glance at his mentor. Was she? Had he not- Something else... His eyes flit back, a little noise in his throat as he gulped down some spit. Is that hair of yours natural?

"Uh..." he cleared his throat. Gave a sharp nod. "Yes, Master Agata, it is," he added. Tittered. Smiled weakly. This was going to be quite the encounter.

Noa

 

[Noa]

“You got purple hair?” Noa asked, milky eyes widening in surprised. “Super cool.” She had no idea what purple looked like, the richness and vibrancy of it that was so easy to make soft and whimsical. She did know that it was rare for people to have hair other than blonde, brown, red or black. What color was hers again?

“Hm.” Agata murmured thoughtfully, and though her neutral expression didn’t change, there was a part of her that still seemed displeased; if not by Roki’s answer than by Noa’s encouragement. Ne continued to beg for attention, partially because he wanted it and partially because he sought to take some of the tension out of the air. “Much potential in you.” She said to Roki. “Once you unblock all this muck.” She gestured from Roki’s gut and up to his heart. “This,” she twirled a finger around his throat and head. “Is surprisingly clear. But nothing flows the way it should be—“

“Agata, he’s fine.” Noa interjected, not bothering to respect the monk’s title. “He’s young, he’s still learning, he’s gonna figure it all out.”

“Hm. Same could be said for you. Ina, come here.” The woman that had been holding the lantern came forth from where she bowed. Lantern still in her hand, through the thin paper one could still see the spirit koi fish swirling around inside. Ina dipped her head. She carried an expression much like Agata. “Same age as the squire, maybe younger. But you see how she—“

“I can’t see. I’m blind, remember?” Now Agatha’s face finally soured. Ina looked surprised that someone dared to interrupt the monk. Ne turned his head, as if he, too, were surprised by Noa’s insolence. The knight shrugged and then pulled out the bottle of alcohol she thought she had hid so well inside robes. “We do things differently here. Now, are you gonna help us or just keep lecturing us?” She popped the bottle open once more and took a long, loud swig.

Ina used a hand to cover her mouth. The ever-stern Agata huffed, but with a flick of her wrist, everything in Noa’s bottle was purified and was water. The best tasting water she had had in a long time, but that was besides the point.

“You’re lucky I changed your diapers for so long I consider you a daughter.” Agata said with a scowl, her face matching Noa’s expression as if they were really mother and daughter. She put a hand on Ina’s shoulder. “We will begin the purification.” Her gaze went to Roki. “You should come with us, Squire. You could learn something useful.”

“You can go, Roki.” Noa said, shoulders stiff but her voice was airy. “If you’re curious, you should see what they do.”

Roki

 

[Roki]

A proud grin crept across his face at his mentor's compliment. Not that she could see anything but, well, Noa was pretty damn cool. And pretty pretty to boot. "Thanks, Syr!"

His eyes widened and he bolted up straight again. Sucked in his breath and closed his eyes as he awaited Agata's judgement.

A little sound of thought. Roki tried not to think too much about what he heard. He heard a lot. But he felt that now, he needed to listen. Even if he didn't like what he heard. Even if all kinds of thoughts spurred through his mind, like lightning and fire. He had to remember the currents. Cool and clear. The water.

Much potential in you.

His eyes opened again, wide and full. He blinked. Shut his gaze and bowed his head.

Once you unblock all this muck.

Even without seeing her hand, he felt it move before him. From the center of his gut, to the beat of his heart. The length of his spine there, almost felt like it was glowing. Bright with a circulation, only to slow down and stiffin again.

Was that the gunk she was referring to?

Noa came to his defense. Roki's eyes popped open as he looked to her.

Ina stepped forward, and Roki looked to her next. She bowed, and Roki, instinctively, bowed in return. He didn't know if it was rude or impolite, but it... felt like the right thing to do.

The exchange that happened next left him mixed up. He hadn't felt like Agata was lecturing. Not entirely. He did not have the words for it. But Noa, Syr Noa, almost seemed to want to fight with her. The air about her tense.

So when Ina and Agata walked away, Roki was, confused. Mixed up. "Syr," he started, soft of voice as he relaxed beside her.

You can go, Roki...

He gave a nod. Then a second. "I, I will," he assured. He turned toward the procession of monks, and hurried after with quick steps.

There was so much he wanted to know. About the monks, about their magick, and about the past that seemed to leave Syr Noa so closed to all of this.

For now, he hurried to catch up with Ina and Agata. Stopped behind them, with a clearing of his throat, and nod before he quietly fell into their step. Tried his best to mimic how they carried themselves.

Felt, calmer within their wake.

Noa

 

[Noa]

Ina brought a hand up to cover her mouth, looking over at Roki and giving him a look that was smug and knowing: his mimicking did little to help him blend in with the monks of Cais Vihara. The briefest glimmer in her dark eyes displayed how endearing she found the half-orc to be. Agata, however, felt differently about Roki’s actions.

“Stop peacocking.” She said, a hand faster than a whip going out to slap the center of Roki’s back. “Walk how you walk. Just find the balance in your steps.” Agata didn’t even bother to look at the squire, and something unspoken brought Ina to no longer look at Roki but straight ahead instead. “Don’t favor one foot over the other.” Agata added. Music began once more as the head monk raised her right hand. Ina began to swing her lantern in a fluid arc once more. “Think of your muscles as either red or white. Your body can’t only be all red or all white, sometimes you need speed, sometimes you need strength.” The woman stared straight ahead as she spoke.

“Red would be strength, white would be speed. Both are needed, aren’t they, Squire Roki?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “If you could combine them, it would be pink. Full of strength, full of speed, no longer having to lack one thing for the other. That,” a hand reached into the left sleeve of her robe, “is the power of harmony. No longer choosing one over the other.” She pulled out eight sticks of incense and when she exhaled, sparks danced about the clove-scented sticks until fire caught.

The koi from Ina’s lantern danced about the air like it was a shallow pond, reflecting the sunlight along the ground. Their bright scales danced along the floor like walking through the forest on a bright summer day, light and shadow dappling the ground in a pattern that only nature could create.

“So what did you favor that day, Squire Roki? Strength or speed?” Agata asked.

Roki

 

[Roki]

Through a cracked lid, Roki saw the look cast back at him. Mischievous as it was bright. It made his stomach flutter. Was she laughing at him? Thought he looked funny? Was it his purple hair?

He puffed up with a breath and squeezed his eyes tighter. His steps taking on a slight wobble as he forced the mimicry, a little too far.

Smack.

He started up straight. True straight. Felt it there between the blades of his shoulder and the core of his stomach. It... wasn't how he would walk.

Red. White. Balance. He blinked. Huffed a breath. Tried to ease his steps again. He did favor his right foot's lead stride. And, it well. Oh she was still talking. He took in a breath. Let it out. Relaxed. Or, tried to. Until he didn't really try at all.

It as in how Agata spoke. A rush of words. Knowledge. Wisdom. Things he could feel that she had gained by listening to another. Things that were far greater than he, or her, and would rush over him. Drown him, if he did not heed them.

Man, he really liked how the lantern swung. How Ina walked. Pink. Full of speed and strength with every step. He was sure she moved in that way. Pink as a blossom. Pink as a peach.

Harmony...

Oh shit. He blinked. Gulped. Retraced his thoughts. Had asked Master Hilling one too many times to repeat the question to know NOT to ask Agata to repeat the question. Oh, but how the koi swam in its languid dance about the air above them. How its scales shimmered, and showed their light across the ground. Like sunlight come pour through the leaves. Soft and kaleidoscopic in its hues of gold and green.

Strenght... or speed.

He gulped. Frowned. "I... I wanted both, M-master-" no, "Lady Agata," he answered. Bowed his head, as he recalled that day again. Felt the gentle dance of light from the bright fish turn to raging memory.

Flames. Beautiful then too. Golden and white and raging. Power. "I wanted strength," he confessed. "I wanted power,"

Noa

 

[Noa]

“Not ‘Lady,’ I own no wealth or land or familial ties” Agata corrected, “Ascended Agata, Most Virtuous Agata, but Master will do, as will Monk, if you so happen to forget. But, never Agata.” If Ina had the briefest kiss of mischievousness belonging to either Roki or Noa, she might have snickered at the half orc again, coy and coquettish. She was neither of those things, the robes she wore too heavy and quick to stifle anything that strayed from the fine line of harmony.

“You’re breathing wrong.” She added, more correction but with little explanation that would help a stranger to the teachings of Cais Vihara. Agata didn’t much care about Roki’s opinion, or Noa’s. In her dark eyes was only duty and passion, both which were needed for her asceticism, her mysticism. Her serious face made all the more stern by the endlessness found in her gaze, time and space unwound into unblemished simplicity.

“If you want strength, you breathe through your tanden. In your lower belly.” She inhaled deeply, conscious of how air moved through her, how her breath expanded her diaphragm and brought energy into her body. When she exhaled through her mouth, something had changed. Nothing that was visual was different, no change in weight or length of step; but something that was knowing, much like how Noa was unable to see but was born to only know, whatever Agata had done, everyone could only know she was different.

“Try it with me. Let’s see if your mentor had the sense to teach you something other than how to drink and eat.”

Roki

 

[Roki]

Roki gulped at being reprimanded. "Ascended, Most virtues," he half whispered under his breath. "Monk," he said with nod. He rose. Saw Ina, a portrait of serenity.

Another correction snapped him out of his daze, and he found himself lost in the endless depth of Monk Agata's gaze. Like the death of a distant star. Where once a brave flame burned against the pitch mantle of the night, there was only the simplicity of darkness.

He knew of only one other person with such a brutally honest look in their eyes. The Captain of Dusk.

A truth, so unflinchingly simple, that there was no refuting it. All things that were, came to an end. The same truth, mirrored here in what almost seemed the opposite of the wandering Captain. A form as hewn by discipline, as the Captain was guided by chaos.

Yet was it not the Captain of Dusk who so oft sat across from him? Set firm the boundary of order, through which he could not pass?

He felt like he would be crushed, by all the thoughts that fluxed through the channels of his mind. With a strong exhale, he pushed out the breath from his lungs, and tried to think less, and listen more.

His tenden, his lower belly. He remembered Master Brambleshell mention something about the belly. She had called it his trunk. Where his roots gathered, and fed his body with... no he couldn't remember that part.

But he could remember Syr Noa's songs. Could rememebr the smoke players billow out from her pipe. How they rolled onto the earth, and sat with their flutes, drums, and harps.

It was the steady trill of the flute that called to him then. And sang to him now. Each note. Each scale and trill soared high. But he could feel it. Where it had come from.

Slowly. He could feel himself match the breath he heard Agata take in, and let out. Slowly. He felt their breaths get closer. Closer. To whatever line of power the Monk guided him towards.

Noa

 

[Noa]

Not needing to watch because she could feel, Agata kept her breath steady to further lead Roki to their destination. While the three of them walked, with Ina now trailing behind them, there was an invisible separation that was taking place. To the physical eye, the trio continued at the same pace as they had been walking. To the untrained eye, Ina was behind them.

But as Agata led Roki further down the path that only the two of them were on, Ina would get left behind. They traversed a new path entirely, one that hadn’t been etched out by mortals or fauna or fae.

“Keep breathing.” Agata said, leaning towards the squire and wrapping an arm heavy with cloth and duty around his shoulders. She covered the eye furthest from her, letting Roki see through one eye the product of proper breathing.

The world was water color and pencil, thick with details and textures that often went unnoticed by a single glance. The light from the sun, the shade from the clouds, the shape of shadows contrasting against the grain of dirt. Despite the landscape they walked upon being barren, Roki would see life in the ground and air. Spirits dancing and floating, wisps and haze of color that could never be recreated again.

It was grander than a psychedelic dream and yet comforting and familiar. The hum from monk voices and the tempo from their instruments aided in the window to the sublime.

“Keep breathing,” the monk instructed again, no longer needing to move her lips. Other shapes, shoddy and bland, moved crudely through the majestic world that would violate nearly all of mortality’s eyes. As Agata and Roki came closer to these shapes, Roki would begin to recognize them. They would be blurry and lacking, but before his sole eye that Agata fostered, he would see his fight with Rory Bellamy, would be able to watch everything.

The only thing that would be clear was the Urr Wolf, filled with rot. Swirls of taint and sour, decay in all its frightening glory. Green, the color of beginning and growth, and yellow, the color of vomit and bile, not Fighting but cycling around each other, trusting each other, working together like partners in life.

Bright blue shackles chained the wolf to one shadowy figure. From the spry figure that danced around, swirls of heat and flame, red spirits attacking green spirits, red spirits going to the Urr Beast.

Agata’s nails dug into the bridge of Roki’s nose. When she turned, Roki would turn with her. He would see the shape of him and Agata walking, looking through a mirror with many more mirrors in between. He would see the fuzzy, translucent form of Ina, features muted and indistinguishable. Beyond her and the monks, they would both see Noa and Ne, and for once, Noa was able to look Roki directly in the eye— even if Agata’s hand covered it.

“Let him go.” The scowl didn’t belong on her easygoing face but it was there nonetheless. “Agata, let him go.” Noa’s voice was powerful, able to transcend clearly through the noise from the monks. Agata did not let Roki go and he would see the Corvidii run past and through him. He would see other woodland creatures, trying to escape the hungry fire. He would feel the heat, see the vivid colors begin to melt, see unseemly change of green to gray, swirling and diffusing, tainting and corroding.

Roki

 

[Roki]

And he would see what had become of them.

As the tongues of countless colors danced. His own shadow there with it. Noa there beside it all. Tall and beautiful, and strong. She saw it, as much as he did.

She had to.

It was in her eyes as it was in his.

Refracted across the countless mirrors. Between the spirits of green, yellow, and red.

Beyond the blend of all the colors between the veils. Fabrics of reality twist. Turned. Burned brighter than anything he could have claimed to see.

His eyes wide to it all. One covered, one bare.

Both saw all he had done. Only that eye, hidden in the cool darkness, wept as the other bared on.

His breath, however, crumpled. Grew weak. Grey in his mouth. Soot.

He choked a ragged pull of his lungs. Coughed. Sucked in desperate breath as he went on. Trying to breath.

Was this what they had felt? The corvodii. The creatures of the forest. The Urr Wolf?

Guardian of rot. Bed of life.

He coughed the more. In that path beyond the path. While his body went on, hungry for each breath.

His feet felt boundless. Rootless. How he wanted to touch the ground. Be green as shamrocks, and those little drakes that tended them.

Had he burned them too?

"I am a death dealer," he wheezed out with ragged breath. "I am a fire, without kindness," how he cried from one eye. "I am a tree without roots," his voice thrummed in chords that felt not his own, yet wholly his. "I am a child of the grey world, hungry for colors pure,"

Noa

 

[Noa]

Noa took a step forward, Ne’s shoulder firmly pressed against the outside of her hip. They walked as one, each step tempered to travel the shortest distance to Agata. Neither could be detracted by the light and the memories of the land, they had been here before and could navigate it safely. Too many could get lost, lose track of time and turn to dust before they even had a chance to blink twice.

“Roki, you’re not.” Noa began, Ne rumbling after her. It would be hard for anyone other than Noa to discern if he was in agreement with her words or not. “You made a mistake, you’re young, that’s what young people do.” Agata’s hold on Roki held tight and firm, his tears unable to loosen her wisened grasp. The Enlightened Monk of Cais Vihara, believer in the resurrection of the Vale and its gods and guardians, once known as Agata the Loyal Dog of the Pure Ones, opened her downturned mouth.

“Mortals are born soft and supple; dead they are stiff and hard. Plants are born tender and pliant; dead, they are brittle and dry. Thus whoever is stiff and inflexible is a disciple of death. Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life.” She recited the ancient teachings, reminding her old disciple of the truth, teaching the squire within her grasp the truth.

Roki