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(A little lost? Read the Intro, the Prelude, and if you’re game, Chapter One)

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Arc II, Chapter Six

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Aye, the man and the ocean danced a macabre rhythm

as had been done, and will be done, beyond the eclipse of time

The bitter chill of the black water.

The gritty sting of the brackish wind.

As formidable as they were, they found themselves crashing against qualities immobile:

the ironclad walls of a fearless man’s will.

On and on the clash endured as the heavens watched with bated breath

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At least, this was the spirit the boy had hoped for.

The maneuver he was attempting was something he had never tried before. Or even imagined in his wildest dreams.

There was no precedent. Nothing he could compare it to. No hypothesis, no best guess. Whatever was supposed to happen was essentially unknowable.

Nevertheless, he harbored an expectation of some sort of clash. A struggle. Some sort of traction. Something. Anything.

Maedoc stood pressed against the edge of the wall, his eyes peeled and alert as he waited for some fashion of ball to begin rolling.

His hands were primed, like a snake ready to strike. The boy eyed his target, who was currently looking at a small book of sorts. Every so often he would crane his head up and peer over his shoulders. Still waiting for his guest, Maedoc assumed.

As of yet, nothing appeared out of the ordinary with him.

While his hands did indeed feel more than adequately charged with energy, he was unable to feel it doing anything, or traveling anywhere. Instead it seemed to simply sit there, radiantly at rest, gently humming to itself as it washed over his bones.

Taking a moment to himself, he had to admit: it felt good.

The youth made a silent wish to be in a place where he could be alone to flesh this out. Nurture it, allow it to grow like some beautiful, invisible houseplant. With zero need to crash the entirety of it into a malicious stranger.

Unfortunately, at this place and time, it was an inevitability.

The invisible houseplant was not to be.

Shifting his focus, he closed his eyes and thought to himself.

What to do?

If he could only get close to the man, he would almost certainly feel a simmering toxicity behind the man’s every action and spoken word. Especially if he pointed the Ray at him. Then it wasn’t a problem at all . . .

Ah. Well. Duh.

Rolling his eyes open, he promptly tweaked the direction of his Ray. The tapered end was dipped an inch lower, moved a little to the right, and was now facing the center of Mr. Chair’s torso.

Holding his breath, he froze his position and felt for a shift as carefully as he could.

Any second now, surely . . .

Five seconds went by. Ten. Around the 15 second mark, he was beginning to run out of oxygen.

Maybe holding the breath wasn’t such a good idea.

As if on cue, another occurrence took place as to confirm this notion. Maedoc noticed that the energy charge he had so capably brought to life was beginning to wane. The rich vibration that had been singing admirably up until now was receding, bit by bit, to the hand holding his Ray.

This wouldn’t do at all.

Maedoc opened his eyes and mouth wide, exhaling the stagnant air. Taking a few breaths, he found the sensation quickly return to its former glory. This was a relief to the boy.

It seemed that air was important to energy, too. Just like a person, a plant, a flame . . .

Or a furnace.

The hairs on the back of the boy’s neck stood the littlest bit on end. That night still had a special sort of hold on him. Thinking back on it, the principles of air and breath were a consistent theme for many of his more notable experiences. Both now and — as he had recently found out — deep within his past.

Perhaps it could do him another service?

As naturally as putting on a glove, the silhouette of the furnace crept to the forefront of his vision. This time around, one part in particular stood out to him.

That fiendish metal dial.

Closing his eyes once again, this image became all he could see. In the next moment, Maedoc witnessed a hand materialize and approach the dial, dutifully wrapping each finger around it. A second passed, then two, before the hand ever so slowly began to turn towards the left.

Exhaling in matched time, Maedoc encountered what he had been waiting for these past few moments.

He felt something happen.

Much like the lazy breeze the boy encountered when placing his hand across the structure’s air intake, a movement could now be detected. It felt like he was pouring an exquisite fluid out of a small, elegant pitcher.

Where it fell to couldn’t be seen. Where it seeped off to upon hitting this mystery surface, he hadn’t a clue.

But it was going somewhere. And Maedoc did his very best to wish it unto Mr. Chair’s heart.

Drip, drip, drip. Slowly but surely, something was beginning to unfurl within the person before him.

The boy could say, without hesitation, that it was a flower no creature would want to be around.

The formerly featureless energetic barricade of his target had begun to fall away. Not all at once but petal by petal, ever so slowly. As this took place Maedoc felt a place of utter desolation materialize in his mind.

Sharp. Hard. Twisted. Dry.

Hungry. Still. Jagged. Dead.

It felt familiar. Like something he would try and avoid when he was a younger child. There was no fun to be had here. Nothing but boredom at best, and personal injury at worst.

A dried up stickerbush was the first visual he received, its thorns still very much intact. Hardened after months in the sun, it propped itself up at sharp angles — a foreboding skeleton. One which defends its turf even after death.

Another petal fell. And then one more.

No. A stickerbush, even a dead one, was too vibrant for this place. A bush of this manner still harbored potential for life.

Smaller creatures could catch a break in its shade. Evade capture by larger predators. It could even be burned for warmth, if needed.

It served a purpose.

What he felt now was less than that. The ultimate deterrent to living creatures. What was it?

As the final petals left their perch, the scene became clear.

It was a riverbed.

The water had long since dried up, or simply chosen to take itself elsewhere. Somewhere far away from here. Spurned by life itself, the bed had become tangibly bitter in numerous ways.

The soil, devoid of nutrients, was cracked and crumbled from its endless exposure to heat and wind. Most of it had been blown away to reveal a most unfortunate manner of stones. Sharp to the touch, it was not a place you went to enjoy yourself.

It was a place you went only if you had to. Or by unfortunate accident. Left for dead.

Maedoc felt himself welling up with despair. Not for himself, but the individual it belonged to.

Who would choose this for himself?

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was forced? Or he was sick.

That’s certainly how it felt. Like something sickened, and dying from it.

Dying, or already dead.

The dial of the furnace returned once more, blocking out all other vision. The hand creaked it further to the left as he took a longer, slower inhalation.

Maybe this wasn’t a war after all. Maybe it wasn’t about having enough teeth and claws to reduce each other to tatters.

Maybe this was . . . mercy.

The boy’s heart — which had become predictably hardened and tight during all that had transgressed — began to loosen. It was as though his ribs had become unbuckled, and the interior of his chest cavity could now finally achieve a proper breath.

Blurring from his senses, the dial faded from view as the parched riverbed made its return.

Maedoc now knew where all this energy had to go.

The blinding light of a bleak and unwavering sun dimmed as a torrent of fluidic energy spun itself across the scene. Crashing against the riverbed’s diminutive banks, spray splattering into the air, it swirled upon itself as it spread throughout the expanse.

This riverbed was not exceedingly large, and the fluid found itself enveloping the ground with relative ease. The overly dry nature was quickly transformed into its precise opposite.

He opened his eyes, downright charmed with what had transpired. With a slight smile formed across his lips, he sought his target.

His smile was replaced with a gasp of shock. The man was no longer in his seat!

Maedoc jolted his vision around the bar, both eager and fearful to see what had become of Mr. Chair. Before he could finish, a shadow fell upon him.

“You there.”

The lad spun around to find the missing fellow, looking just a little out of sorts.

He stood there quite stiffly, much like a tin solider a child might wind up. His mouth seemed to be nursing a lemon wedge before, but it now appeared he had swallowed the fruit in its entirety. His lips smashed together as he spoke, as though he was trying to start a fire with them.

And the boy was uncertain, but it appeared the man was holding his breath.

“Where is the restroom?”

Since the man was standing in front of the torchlight, Maedoc was unable to see his eyes. Regardless, he was surprised to perceive that the stranger felt like . . . nothing.

This was new.

Of the few times he had clashed with N.O.Bs before, they would typically feel “flared up.” Like a bee’s nest all shook up. Not that he would ever do such a thing.

Even the man’s voice, which had so aggravated the boy earlier, seemed muted. Tired. Deflated.

His brain too occupied to speak, Maedoc pointed a finger down the hall. Unblinking, the man silently turned away, his eyes slow to leave the boy’s face. The man wasn’t intimidating physically, nor energetically, though he did his best to appear so. Even if his noxious energy was nullified, the boy found the encounter just a little spooky.

But a little spooky sure beats feeling sick as a dog. If this was all he had to deal with, he could get used to it.

Maedoc watched the man walk down the hall. It was a stilted and mechanical march, which appeared to have a fair amount of effort poured in to look “casual.” The boy — an expert in awkward situations — knew full well the dynamics of the “forced casual strut,” and this was a prime example of it.

His smile was now in full bloom.

Never before would he have ever entertained the thought that someone could be affected from a distance. Beyond throwing rocks or insults, of course. To do it purely through energy was a notion he found positively dreamy.

A funny manner of itch — like the sort one gets directly before a sneeze — drew itself across his bones. A subtle sort of excitement with a hunger all its own. He couldn’t explain why, but Maedoc felt deep down that he was only just beginning to scratch the surface of something wonderful.

It was at that moment the boy heard the kitchen door bang open.

“Food’s on!” Stollin announced hoarsely. “Maedoc, can you help get these plates out to these kind folk?”

As much as he wished he could stay pressed against his secretive wall, he knew that the show must go on.

Taking an extra large inhale, he stepped out from his hideaway and walked towards the bustling cluster of people. Not unexpectedly he found a subtle pressure placed upon him, one which steadily grew stronger as more and more sets of eyes fixated on their approaching waiter.

To his surprise, he found himself feeling much like a tin roof in a rainstorm: aware of the torrent pressing in on him, but entirely unaffected by it. It was a surreal feeling for the boy, who was often stung by events as simple as a prolonged silence.

It dawned on the boy that his current amassment of energy made for quite the cushioning.

Maedoc quickly wove his way through the tables, glancing up to see Stollin’s face glisten in the torchlight. His expression — a lopsided half-smile — looked a little forced, and at the same time relieved. Perhaps he thought the crowd would loosen up once they received their grub?

If only it could be that easy . . .

Stepping aside, he allowed Maedoc entry to the kitchen before closing the door behind them. The man brought a darkly colored handkerchief up to his face, mopping it vigorously. Though once he had finished, the boy couldn’t see a visual difference in moisture content. The cloth was likely fully drenched at this point.

Glancing around the kitchen, he felt his mouth go wide. Stollin had covered every surface with plates and platters of what looked to be every scrap of food they had. Seafood, potatoes, soups and salads crowded the room, making it look even more cramped than usual. The boy had no idea Stollin was such a prolific chef. Apparently a little stress went a long way.

“Maedoc?” the man sighed, staring at the array of food as though it were a scourge of wild pigs. “Remind me to make a big sign that designates a maximum occupancy.”

Nodding in agreement, Maedoc had no qualms with doing so. Maybe another sign should be right beneath it: “No N.O.Bs allowed.”

How great a world would that be? This whole situation, solved by a wooden sign.

Exhaling loudly, Stollin turned to him.

“Well, let’s get this over with. Go ahead and grab that apron next to the door, put it on.”

Peering behind him, the boy located a single black apron hanging on a crude metal hook. He grabbed it promptly, tying it neatly behind his back.

It was a good thing the Ray was so modestly sized, Maedoc thought to himself. He found no difficulty in making knots while it sat in his hand. Convenient.

“I laid these out in the order of our tables. Every single one has multiple plates, so prepare to have your hands full.”

It took a few seconds, but as Stollin loaded up with plate after plate, Maedoc’s heart began to sink.

Hands full . . .

That meant he would be unable to hold his Ray.

Maedoc was on his own.

“Alright, you’re up. Grab those three and follow my lead.”

Unable to think of anything better, he squeezed his hand behind the apron and stuck the Ray into his waistband. He was the sort to wear his belt extra tight, given his scrawny frame. Maedoc was uncertain whether it would stay in place, so he did his best to walk as gingerly as possible.

Steamed mussels. Boiled noodles with ground pepper and chopped leeks. Sliced bread. Three plates, one table.

Hustling dishes from kitchen to table was no problem for Maedoc. Doing this while under invisible assault, however, might prove to be another thing entirely.

The boy took a few deeper breaths as he scooped the plates up, sliding them back along the length of his arm. Stollin gave a small whistle as he motioned him towards the door. Straightening his posture, the man pressed against the door with his back and exited the kitchen.

“Dinner is served!” bellowed Stollin, the oos and aahs of his audience audible even from the kitchen.

Finally a positive reaction, Maedoc thought to himself. He wondered if his entrance would be anywhere near as celebrated.

Careful to avoid the swing of the door, Maedoc slipped through while it was still open. Knowing he had only a few seconds before he would be immersed in a veritable sea of N.O.Bs, the boy strained to feel the Ray behind his belt.

He thought he felt something. A small sort of “weightlessness,” maybe, though it was hard to tell.

Looking up, he witnessed Stollin offloading his last plate at the table nearest the kitchen door. Smiling at the customer, he turned to Maedoc with an impatient grimace as he pointed to the table on his right. With a jolt the boy hurried over to the table in double time.

As he approached the steadily more raucous crowd, he felt the anxiety he had harbored earlier make a speedy recovery. All eyes were upon him once again, and apparently they were on at full blast. Rather than stare into the glassy abyss, he watched his feet as he continued forward.

Blowing air past his lips, he heard them whistle faintly as he emptied himself of excess air. Ever since he was young, Maedoc found that the act of hearing his breath was mildly calming, and thus mildly helpful in awkward situations. And while this situation was a couple stones’ throws away from being merely awkward, it did prove soothing to him.

Thinking back on it, his breathing had always played a part in his well-being. The boy made a note of it to never take such simple, automatic actions for granted.

Now fully expelled of his air, Maedoc looked up from the ground as he breathed in. His eyes widened as he looked to the table to find it unoccupied. Breath caught in his throat he glanced over at Stollin, who returned only a shrug.

“This is the right table. Just set them down, I’m heading back.”

Eager to get all of this over and done with, the man briskly left the scene. Right as he did, Maedoc saw a man make a beeline straight for the abandoned table, head hung low. He appeared to be holding a chair.

Oh great. Him.

“Look at me, doing your job for you!” the man jeered fiercely, his nasal tone erupting in full force. With a voice this bent out of shape, it was a miracle the man could even breathe.

“Oh wow, you found one . . . ” Maedoc replied with faux surprise. “Where’d you find it, I looked everywhere . . . ”

The man had no trouble weaving through the tables given his narrow frame, even whilst lugging furniture. He dropped it at the table, its legs hitting the floor with a loud bang.

“I found it in your dungeon of a bathroom,” the man grunted as he placed himself upon the reclaimed seat. Maedoc studied him silently, taking note of every difference he could perceive in his demeanor.

He was still rude. Still rather annoying. Yet his voice lacked the bite it had only moments earlier. And the lighting was a little dim, so it was difficult to tell, but he swore the man looked just a smidgen more . . . pink.

The memory of the parched “deadness” he felt within the man was still freshly etched in his mind. A sad, pained state that he couldn’t imagine living with personally. Maedoc was drawn to feel bad for the man, but he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at his abrasive demeanor.

In short, the boy was conflicted.

Mr. Chair scanned the walls with his eyes in a second’s time, upon which he whistled and waved at someone Maedoc could not see. A large, toothy smile plastered itself across the man’s face — a feat the boy did not fathom possible given his tiny, puckered mouth.

“Hey you,” said a sassy voice behind Maedoc. Adjusting his plates, he craned his neck to see who could possibly have uttered such a phrase.

For it was a voice so utterly nasal in quality, it made Mr. Chair sound like rolling thunder.

Brushing past him, an even narrower man entered the scene and sat down at the table. Brandishing a bald head with an impressive shine, he turned to Mr. Chair and bestowed upon him a most sultry of looks.

“A meal? For me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t thank me too quick, I’d hardly call these items a meal.”

“Oh, you’re so bad.”

Maedoc didn’t cook the food or anything, but it was the first time he’d heard a cooked meal called an item. In fact, these two were acting a little funny . . .

The long, probing stare into each others’ eyes. Their movements and tone. The boy began to wonder if they were in a relationship. Maedoc had heard of men being into other men, but he had never before seen it in person. Donnegal was apparently an old fashioned establishment. Nothing too out of the ordinary ever really happened. Besides Cynwrig.

Now here he was, eye to eye with a homosexual N.O.B duo. There was something so novel about it, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

My life is becoming so utterly strange.

“Hey, monkey boy, let’s cut the grinning. You going to feed us or what?” the bald one wheezed.

The newcomer spoke to Maedoc in his powerfully high pitched tone. Just like Mr. Chair before him, the words found their way under the boy’s skin. It was as though his very bones were being scratched with a rusty nail. It wasn’t exactly painful, not directly, but it was uncomfortable and downright “dirtying” in its nature.

What an aggravating individual.

“Yes! Sorry, sorry . . . ”

As he slid the plates off his arms, Maedoc was careful to pace his breathing for optimal energy “kindling.” Longer, deeper, and slower inhales. Equally paced exhales. This, he found, was the best way for him to catch the spark of Aetheric energy. With any luck, he hoped to achieve the same overabundance he had just moments before.

Though without holding the Ray in his hand, he was having trouble getting there.

“Maedoc, was it?” the first man asked. After his thorough “soaking” just moments earlier, the boy noticed that his voice was nowhere near as grating.

It seemed his earlier maneuver had been somewhat successful. Maedoc smiled the smallest grin to himself.

Unloading his last plate, he nodded silently to the man, doing his best to keep his focus on the Ray. While it didn’t compare to the ease of energetic access his left hand provided, he did notice a unique sort of elation begin to spread. Down his legs, up his torso. The slightest tickle of energy could be felt in both his hands, too — a good sign.

“I have a small series of questions for you.”

The boy very nearly rolled his eyes. It physically hurt not to do so. Who in the world says a line like that? If you have questions, ask.

Announcing that you have questions reminded the boy too much of school.

Fortuitous timing, too, to be interrogated here and now. Right when his focus was required most.

Doing his utmost to maintain his breathing, Maedoc conjured a full smile and faced the man.

“I’m all ears.”

Mr. Chair returned a tight-lipped smirk as he took a quick inhale and pointed at the plate before him.

“These mussels, were they caught today?”

The boy looked off to the side, doing his best to appear deep in thought. Instead, he was simply waiting a few seconds to spout a ‘yes.’

As he waited, he couldn’t help but notice the accomplice of Mr. Chair staring intently at him. A vacant, empty look with eyes widened a little more than was usual.

What was it with these guys and the widened eyes? It was certainly becoming a theme.

“Yes, I believe it was Burr who brought these in this morning. Fresh from the lake.”

There was never anyone named Burr in Donnegal.

“Which part?”

Maedoc blinked hard, trying to grasp the point of this question. Everyone wants fresh seafood, but the fishing location . . . ? That’s excessive.

It was at this point that Maedoc found himself feeling flustered. Well, it began that way. The flustering soon made way for a mild headache, which then dipped down into his chest and blossomed into a hearty anxious sprawl.

He was no stranger to these sensations. In fact, they were essentially an everyday occurrence for him. It was the fact that all of them landed within the span of five seconds that made him curious, to say the least.

Glancing over to the accomplice, he saw that his staring had yet to abate. Unblinking. Consistent.

It’s this guy, isn’t it. He’s the source.

“Um. Well sir, the fishermen change locations often, so honestly it’s hard to say.”

A silence fell over them.

“Though mussels are usually grabbed near the shore, so . . . ”

Maedoc shifted his eyes to the newcomer, as he did his best to “stream” into him.

” . . . I’d say near the shore.”

The boy knew his technique would be ten times easier to achieve if he wasn’t having a conversation with someone.

This splitting of his focus was killing any ability he had to move energy around. And the longer he spoke without addressing this growing thorn in his side, the worse he felt.

Knowing he had the littlest moment to look the second man in the eye before the next inane query, he pushed all the power he could muster into the man’s skull. Maedoc felt his face flush the slightest bit red as he strained to make any manner of impact upon him. Yet even with all of his effort, he simply had no time to acquire enough charge, nor to tune into his core. The man didn’t blink, twitch, nothing. Zero effect.

Once a moment or two of sustained eye contact had passed, the second man blinked lazily and looked to his cohort, as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all. It reminded Maedoc of the duo who entered town earlier that day, next to the stream.

Seems these N.O.Bs only stare for as long as they can get away with.

While his second-long assault was an undeniable failure, he did learn something: focus and charge were key. Both were required to make even the smallest dent. Wanting something to his utmost simply wasn’t enough.

He needed to get away.

“I’m sorry sir, but I do have a lot of other people to serve. Food’s getting cold and all, so —”

“I’m sure. Just one more. This bread here . . . ”

What did the boy expect? An escape like that would have been far too easy.

” . . . what grains were used for the flour?”

Suddenly it clicked. All of this made sense now.

These people were stalling him.

Wasting his time. Stealing his focus.

They must know that this was annoying to drudge through. But this may not have been the ultimate goal. Was it possible they knew this maneuver made his molding of energy more difficult?

Not to mention the two-pronged nature of this offense. One person questions away repeatedly, while the other serves up a continual dose of ethereal poison. Without time or focus to drum up any nature of energy, the boy was a sitting duck. And since he was focused on the conversation, he was unable to address the poison itself. Even if he had the time and the energy already available, he would be unable to direct it effectively while actively distracted.

He had to admit, it was a smart tactic. One he had no countermeasure for.

Either that, or the man was truly, deeply curious about every nuance of his food.

At this point, however, Maedoc was tiring of making excuses for this crowd.

It was becoming obvious that these people — all of them — were purposely toying with him.

Fortunately he was the one to harvest those grains, so it took zero thought for him to reply.

“A blend of potato and oat. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Maedoc turned around quickly and marched off, leaving them no time to squeeze in another line. He did hear one of them mutter that potatoes were not a type of grain, but these pointless statements were no longer his concern.

He was free. For now.

Not knowing when his focus would be stolen next, the boy placed his hand over his belt. Even though he wasn’t physically touching it, he could feel the Ray radiating under his palm. To his surprise, he found its pleasant sensation wrapping around his arm and shoulder within seconds. While his heart was still feeling heavy from his previous encounter, he could feel it being soothed almost right away.

This process was becoming more and more streamlined. There’s some good news, Maedoc thought to himself.

” . . . Alastrine.”

It was murmured at the end of a jumble of words, but it was enough to make the boy freeze in his tracks. His mind shifted gears instantly as his thoughts came crashing to a halt. Even the hand nursing his Ray fell limp to his side.

No one in this bar knew his last name. Not even Stollin.

Of everyone in the entire village, only Cynwrig was aware. Of this, Maedoc was dead certain.

That man was the only one he had ever heard say it out loud. To hear it spoken by another — it made his ears burn in earnest. His heart began to ache with a powerful curiosity.

How is it that someone else knew? And a stranger, at that?

Looking to his left, he saw two imposing figures sitting at a table. Darkly dressed, they both sported black hair and immaculately trimmed beards. Not much else could be seen, for they donned hoods that covered a generous portion of their faces.

Despite their appearance, Maedoc couldn’t help but approach them. Almost as if he were in a trance.

“What’s that?” he breathed quietly.

“Nothing. I wasn’t speaking to you.”

“Did you say Alastrine?”

“No. You misheard.”

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

“C’mon Maedoc, what’s taking you so long?”

Stollin marched behind him as he guided him towards the kitchen.

“If I have any of these people send these dishes back because they’re cold, it’s YOUR head.”

The boy’s brain was a jumbled mess. Walking in a daze, he found himself losing his bearings.

He was certain he heard Alastrine. There’s no other word that sounds remotely similar.

As they entered the kitchen, Stollin lunged over to the remaining plates and piled them upon the boy’s arms. He was aware that Stollin told him a table to bring it to, but none of it registered.

Someone outside the village knows me.

It was all he could think about. An itch slowly grew in his bones, a manifestation of longing that he had never felt before. One he was powerless to put words to.

He had to speak with them again.

Pushing his way back through the kitchen door, he bumbled his way towards their table.

Upon locking his eyes on it, he was met with a harsh surprise.

The men were nowhere to be found.

A squeaking of hinges was heard as a surly faced Stollin pressed through the door behind him, a salad hoisted in each hand.

“You’re lucky these last plates are meant to be cold, otherwise —”

“Stollin, sorry, but do you know who was sitting at that table?” Maedoc pleaded hurriedly.

The man, not at all used to the lad interrupting him, was taken aback. He didn’t know whether to be angry, annoyed, or worried. Too worn to make up his mind, he decided upon a neutral response.

“Who, I dunno. They only ever said a few words to me.”

A silence fell upon them as Maedoc’s heart sank.

“I did ask them where they hail from, like I do with all the newbies. All they told me was that they came through the mountain path and were headed back tonight. I got the impression they were the private type.”

The mountain path . . . 

Something about that route seemed familiar to Maedoc. Where had he recently heard about it? He knew it was recent — Oh. Right.

Cynwrig’s proposal to leave town, meet some teacher. It would take him up that very same route.

Funny how that works out.

There was only one table without plates on it, and it was a simple enough matter to unload them. The people sitting at it said nothing — not even a thank you — but the silence was sweet music to the boy’s ears.

The patrons now sated with food, Maedoc could finally have a moment to himself. The past twenty minutes felt as though he’d been treading water with no end in sight.

Now that he could take a breath and relax, he realized he was exhausted.

Lumbering his way to the back of the tavern, he leaned against the end of the bar as he splayed his arms out on either side. With the endless distractions now abated, it was a surprisingly simple matter to feel the effects of the Ray.

Indeed, its output reached his hands with little trouble, causing them to feel warm and more “plugged in” to their surroundings. It was more subtle than the standard, handheld Conduction — maybe a quarter of the power, at most — but this made it easier to bask in.

It was more akin to pleasant background noise than an actual instrument playing.

Feeling deeper into the ambiance, Maedoc noticed that he could feel the bones in his legs buzzing ever so slightly. This was most certainly absent when he held the Ray in his hand. It made sense: placing Aether closer to the legs further involves them in the energetic “circuit.” Though if he pulled his old intention-magnet trick again, he could likely pull the energy to his legs from any setup of his choosing.

The boy smiled to himself. This energy stuff is truly a joy to unravel. Finally, something his brain was good at.

Just how far could he take this if he had a proper teacher?

As soon as the possibility flickered across his mind, a bittersweet notion washed over him.

If this power was developed to its maximum, what would become of these people before him? These pitiful creatures?

His earlier encounter with Mr. Chair showed him a side that he would never have guessed they have. A barren and starved inner landscape. Cut off from any semblance of fullness, vibrancy, life. The walking dead.

Looking to the man and his cohort, Maedoc saw them gnashing the bread in their teeth with mouths wide as they chattered to each other loudly. The entire room was loud, granted, but the alto quality of their speech cut through it all the same.

They even look like utter menaces, the boy thought to himself. Simply watching them triggered a pang of annoyance in his gut.

He was unaware of a sickness or trauma that forced people to act so callous and grating. Not to mention the calculated nature of their energetic offense. It was clear that they CHOSE to come after him. To make his life uncomfortable.

Was everything Cynwrig said true? Were they simply determined to snuff out anyone with a little more energy than they felt comfortable with?

Or are they somehow a victim, too? Caught up in someone else’s game?

This sort of thinking was gaining him nothing but a growing headache. It seems he couldn’t escape them today. Placing a hand on top of his head, he pressed down and closed his eyes. Maybe a little pressure would help? Why not.

As he slowly opened his lids, a most terrifying sight greeted him. Silhouetted by the light of an entrance left wide open was curse incarnate: the Toad Woman.

The entirety of Maedoc’s thinking plummeted like felled lumber. He could almost hear the pervasive thud! as it crashed upon the inside of his skull.

A mix of fear and excitement began to creep into his gut and beyond. Instinct alone guided his noggin-perched hand to drop down to his belt and retrieve his Ray.

Unfortunately this was not a seamless maneuver for the boy, and he found himself fumbling at his pants for longer than he would have liked.

Damn this apron!

The eagle eyed lady, promptly marching her way towards him, observed this in full detail. Her face contorted further still, and now displayed a tangible note of disgust.

“Where I come from, the wait staff refrains from having their hands in their pants,” she muttered under her breath.

As Maedoc had predicted, a sickly and quite familiar heaviness began to fold over him. He was beginning to regret taking the last minute to relax and mull over his life.

In hindsight, it would have been wiser to prepare for war.

Maybe this was how his days would play out from now on. A continual mental and emotional bracing for harassment.

“It would appear this is the only eatery in this town,” the woman spat as she glared at the floor, “and though it kills me to say this, I am forced to be your customer.”

Beats being forced to have a conversation with you, Maedoc mumbled mentally. His brain slowly regained function as his hand firmly grasped the Ray and fell to his side.

While a general wash of Aetheric energy could be felt throughout his body, it was not a proper “density” to stage a proper counterattack. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt certain that she would be a great deal tougher than the man he had bested many minutes earlier.

If he was to take her down, he had mere seconds to amass the ammunition needed.

The boy took a cleansing breath. Then he spoke.

“Sorry, my belt was . . .”

It was the moment that he opened his mouth that the woman peered up from the ground.

Those pallid, manufactured eyes crept past his face and down the back of his skull, mocking the very quintessence of what it was to be human. For the second time this day, the sight of them both frightened and enraged him.

Their very existence felt like a lie. Something that shouldn’t be.

Churning his anger into bravery, he buckled down.

“Actually I’m . . . I’m sorry to say, but we’re out of food.”

The dial turned an inch to the left.

A small flood of energy breezed its way into his arm as the Ray came to life. Maedoc was surprised at first, unaware that he had done much at all to prompt this. All he knew was that it felt good, to be brave. Freeing.

The woman widened her gaze to maximum capacity, making her face look even more exaggerated than before. The absurdity of it all only made the boy more determined. Even as the weight upon his heart grew, and the anxiety in his gut rose higher, he couldn’t help but take a step forward.

He was actually walking towards this creature. What was he doing?

At this point, he had no conscious analysis of his actions. An exceedingly rare scenario for the boy always stuck within his own head.

“Yes. It’s all gone, I’m afraid. All these . . . people . . . well, it’s more of a crowd than we’re used to,” he confessed, raising his hands in a nonchalant manner as he shook his head sheepishly.

Despite the racing of his heart, he found his throat surprisingly relaxed, and his body free to move as he pleased.

He had found his voice. And he wasn’t afraid to use it.

“Better luck next time?”

The smallest smile began to creep up the edge of his lips. It was by no means visible, but audibly it was ever so slightly perceptible. A number of heads at the surrounding tables slowly swiveled to take note of the ensuing scene.

“Better luck next time . . . ” the woman parroted, nodding to herself as she glanced downwards. A sort of dread began to creep up the boy’s spine as the conversations that were previously at full boil waned in volume.

“Listen to me, young man,” the woman said, taking a step forward just as he did.

Her eyes bolted to meet his, renewed with a venom most potent. Despite his small rush of bravery, Maedoc couldn’t help but feel the breath in his throat buckle and falter.

“This is not how an eatery is to be run. It is a MOCKERY, and FAR from what we DESERVE.”

Her voice rose to fill the tavern. More heads turned to witness the developing scene as Maedoc struggled to hear himself think. And while he did his best to drum up energy from his Ray, he found his willpower deteriorating fast.

Fear was setting in as he found himself unable to focus.

“I understand children your age aren’t too keen on RESPONSIBILITY, but being the only eatery in town you are RESPONSIBLE to us.”

There she goes again. Belittlement and shame were the tools of the trade with this one. It was plain for Maedoc to see, though this didn’t much soften the blow.

Most annoying of all was her enunciation. A little pause took place before and after her key words, which were said slowly and much louder than the rest.

It was meant to make him feel stupid.

The dial turned an additional inch to the left.

“I’ll have you know something, Maedoc. It is unfortunate, but we’ll be seeing a LOT of each other from here on out. I enjoy a prepared meal. And for that to work, I require CHANGES to be made.”

The woman nodded along furiously in tune to her spoken tempo. Maedoc couldn’t help but observe her overly active fingers as they gesticulated with her words, firing towards him with each emphasized uttering. Every time she did this, he felt as though he were being pelted by small stones.

It was bizarre, but no more bizarre than the past few days. And while it didn’t physically hurt him, it did make him feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but blink each time she did so.

Realizing that this conversation was steering in directions above his pay grade, he scanned the room for any sign of Stollin. As long as the man could step in and give him a moment of rest — to focus — then maybe . . .

“Oh I’m sorry, am I BORING YOU? Eyes on me, Maedoc!”

Another few inches were lost to the left.

The lad felt his head getting hot as he grit his teeth together. His breathing automatically kicked up a notch as he felt himself getting restless — restless to the point that he felt himself beginning to shudder. A pressure was growing within him, and he found himself harboring a new sort of fear.

He was afraid of what he might do if this went on much longer.

“I’m going to be living in your town now, and if it’s worth a damn it should be GRACIOUS to its newcomers. We are the ones who will put this place on the map, really make it in to something. We are the lifeblood of a village that desires to thrive, and we will get the RESPECT that we DESERVE. Do you understand?”

Closing his eyes he nodded, doing his utmost to maintain composure. He knew he couldn’t keep them shut — not with this woman — so he forced them open with all the willpower he could muster.

“We’re here now. And we’re here to stay. If it’s to match my expectations, CHANGES will be made.”

Changes.

“It’s within your interest to keep me happy, Maedoc. Happy me, happy we. That’s how it works. For that to happen, CHANGES will be made.”

Something was happening. The boy felt the pressure in his body dropping fast. Which was entirely the opposite of what had been taking place over the past hour.

Where was it all going? Just an instant ago he felt primed to explode.

“Well, what do you have to say, Maedoc?”

It was then that he felt it. All the pressure he was amassing just moments ago was faintly perceived by its upward motion. Surging all the way down from the lengths of his toes, he felt a warm current race up his legs and tickle his tailbone. But only for a moment.

This undulating mass of heat raced its way up his spine, filling his throat with golden light — or so it felt. His belly stretched forward as he felt it “unhinge” from the nervous tension that had kept it compacted and tied down.

“SPEAK UP, CHILD! How will you bring about the CHANGES that we DESERVE?”

“Changes . . .” the boy breathed hoarsely, his head leaning back as his neck relaxed and his throat broadened. The swell of heat that billowed up through his body was tangibly shifting his position as it rushed to fill his skull with strong, churning spirals.

This pooling lasted all of two seconds before Maedoc felt a *pop* as the heat rocketed clean through the top of his head and towards the heavens.

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. . .

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. . .

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. . .

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. . .

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I AM THE FURNACE

Incinerator which feeds upon Fates

Embodiment of Flame

Incarceration of the old

Harbinger of the new

Change, incarnate

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End of Arc II, Chapter Six

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End of Arc II

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[sf_button colour=”black” type=”standard” size=”standard” link=”https://aetheric.org/tas-arc-iii-chapter-one/” target=”_self” icon=”” dropshadow=”no” extraclass=””]Arc III, Chapter One[/sf_button]

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