Intermission: the Children

''Once in a thousand years, when the sun is settled in the sky in just the right way and when the moon and stars align perfectly, there are born children of destiny. As a means by which to encourage the people to forever remember their past, each millennium sees a series of glowing lights come floating down from the sky: one red; one blue; one yellow; one purple; one grey.''

 

''Thus, once in a thousand years, when the sun is settled in the sky in just the right way and when the moon and stars align perfectly, there are born children of destiny.''

“Heeeerb!!” came the voice. “Are you losing it? You can’t be so reckless when you gather the ryllah! If you crush it even a little bit, it will lose nearly all of its potency!”

“Oh, it will not,” Herb replied. “Everything’s fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Gross,” the girl responded. “You’re too old to use phrases like that. Now hurry up and use the tweezers to sever the stem.”

The old man rubbed his nose, looked at the girl, and pinched the stem between his forefinger and thumb, severing it. “Flower’s cut,” he said with a faint smile. The girl’s mouth dropped as she ran forward to collect the flower.

Delicately, she took it into her hands, glaring at him. “If this was improperly cut to the point that it is ineffectual in my potion, I swear, Herb…”

She was immediately cut off by Herb tousling her silvery hair and letting out a booming laugh. “You’ll boil rats in my soup until I spit fire out my ass, or something, right?” The girl nearly dropped the flower as her hand covered her mouth in a gasp. “Aw, lighten up, there, Florence. You’ve gotta trust in me a little more about plant stuffs. Remember: I’m the earthy one. You’re the windy one.”

Sticking her nose up at him, Florence stalked off with as much dignity as she could muster while she cradled the ryllah flower in one hand and smoothed out her hair with the other. Herb distinctly heard several words muttered in an undertone, including, “show you,” “stubborn old,” and a word that he wasn’t certain Florence knew the meaning of.

As Florence left, Herb heard some other words on the wind: ''“Come. Come. Come.''” He shouted at Florence, “Did you say something?” but she didn’t answer. Herb frowned a little, but shrugged and decided he must have imagined it.

Herb strolled back to the campfire at his leisure. He picked a spot near to the blazing fire and lay down against the ground, whistling contentedly to himself. Sometimes the little ones had to learn to relax a little more. Maybe they’d learn if they stuck around him long enough…

It wasn’t long before Marcus joined him. The young man sat cross-legged near to where Herb had laid and fixed him with a pointed stare. Herb paused in his whistling as he waited for Marcus to say something, but Marcus appeared to be waiting for Herb to speak. A few seconds went by, and Herb closed his eyes and went back to whistling.

Marcus tapped his shoulder. “Hey. I’m trying to talk to you, old man,” he said brusquely.

“Well,” replied Herb, “I know you’re not the wind Child, but you can still use air to make words. Go ahead, try it. I’ll listen.”

Marcus reddened. “You ass. Florence is all annoyed, and whenever she gets annoyed with you, she makes me help her clean all her precious vials and bottles twice as long as usual. I don’t have time for that!”

“Ah, yes,” the elder man said, folding his arms behind his head as he lay. “You are far too busy playing with sticks and imagining toy soldiers.”

“It’s a lance,” Marcus nearly shouted, “and we all need to train-- oh never mind, you’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Got it in one,” Herb answered. “You know, you really are getting much better.”

The lancer stood up suddenly. “Don’t you have anything better to do than tease people younger than you all day?”

Herb let loose his great, resounding laugh again. “Certainly. But nothing that’s more fun.” Marcus let out an exasperated grunt and turned to leave, but Herb paused him by adding seriously, “Marcus. Teasing stupid people isn’t fun for an old man. I’ve seen enough of them and they’re not worth my time. I tease you because you’re worth sticking around for. Don’t forget that when you’re vanquishing your toy soldiers.”

Marcus regarded him with an unreadable expression, then nodded curtly and walked off, leaving the old man alone.

''“Come. Come. Come.''”

Herb sat up and looked around, his expression puzzled. “Maybe I am losing it.”

The sun rose the next morning as it always did, casting long shadows across the mountains and causing four of them to stir from their beds. Marcus, of course, had done his best to remain awake but had fallen asleep during the last watch as Herb assumed he would, so the old man had woken up early to take his place. Herb nudged him with his foot as the others showed signs of stirring.

Marcus snapped awake, then looked at Herb shamefully. Herb smiled warmly. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll save my jokes for when next we’re alone.”

Marcus rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “At least this time I’ll deserve it.”

Sarina was the first to wake. She rolled out of bed with a movement like a cat, silky black hair rolling over her back as she turned. Herb glanced at Marcus and caught him staring when he thought he wasn’t looking, but that was typical of both of them: Marcus, getting caught up in women; Sarina, shifting her body in sultry ways without even trying. Maker, Herb thought, what a bad combination.

Morton rose next. Herb smiled. There was a kid with a head on his shoulders. If their little ragtag band had a leader, it would be Morton… or at least, it would be if not for Herb, himself! Morton always had their best interests at heart. He knew when to talk and when to listen; when to fight and when to relent. Sometimes Herb wondered what it would be like to see the world the way he did, as an interconnected weave of life and magic and aether. Fascinating.

Naturally, Florence slept in the latest. She had stayed up late working on potions to aid them in their quest today. She had grumbled about Herb’s job cutting the flowers but everything worked out in the end, just like Herb said it would. Florence was a nice enough kid, but a little too book-smart for her own good, in Herb’s own opinion. If only she’d put the book down and listen to him once in awhile, and learn from his magnificent experience rather than from the dusty old pages of a book. (After all, Herb thought to himself, looking rather disdainfully at the two books next to her sleeping back, I think I’m older than the books she’s been reading.)

Morton stepped over to Marcus when he stood and asked, “Watch was all right? I slept well with you looking out for us.” Marcus nodded silently, but Herb could sense his discomfort.

Herb clapped Marcus on the shoulder and said, “He did a fine job. Not a monster in sight.”

Marcus smiled weakly, then moved toward Florence to help her wake up. Herb watched him with a studious look. Even counting for all the times Marcus stared at Sarina, there was something about the tenderness and attention he paid to Florence that gave Herb pause to wonder about where his heart lay…

“''Come. Come. Come.''”

Maybe, Herb thought, I have more important things to think about...

When Florence was up, Morton asked everyone to gather near him. “All right,” he said seriously, “we’re about an hour away from Tildon’s farm, so we need to make sure we’re prepared and that we follow the plan to the letter.” Marcus rolled his eyes a little, but Florence was looking at Morton with rapt attention. Morton continued, “We approach as a five-man unit--”

“Three-man, two-woman unit,” interrupted Sarina.

“Five-person unit,” Morton corrected, with a sudden cough. “The Saints have informed us that Swiftglades have been seen in the area, slipping in and out of the forest and attacking farms along the treelines.”

“Swiftglades,” said Marcus with distaste. “My favourite type of orc.”

“Aren’t they everyone’s?” Sarina responded with a touch of sarcasm.

“The plan,” Morton said in a halfway exasperated tone, “is to approach the treeline. I’ll tap into the aether to see if they’re making use of any sort of magical concentration or device. Marcus and Sarina will take the left flank. Florence and Herb will take the right. We make our way through the forest to find any Swiftglades. If you’re spotted, blast magic into the air and we’ll converge.”

“It always sounds so seamless when he says it like that,” Florence commented. “I wonder what will go wrong.”

Marcus, Herb thought. Marcus went wrong.

Morton had discovered a concentration of aether stronger than he could have ever suspected. He didn’t know what it was, but had guesses, none of which made him happy.

The group had advanced into the forest based on the plan, but it wasn’t long until Marcus’ fire magic blasted into the sky. ''Sarina probably took the lead, Herb thought to himself grimly, and he probably cracked a branch and got spotted because he was too busy staring at her ass. Damn kids. ''That was the first problem.

The second problem was that Marcus chose to signal with his magic instead of letting Sarina signal with hers. Marcus’s flames erupted into the sky and caught onto the canopy of leaves above them. The swiftglade orcs were now converging on all of them, attempting to cut them off and prevent them from escaping the flames.

The five of them stood in a line, the fire overhead beginning to flutter down and orcs, perhaps twenty of them, taunting from just outside the fire’s range.

Marcus was trying to be all bravado to make up for his error, but the waver in his voice belied his false confidence. “Well, there’s only, like, twenty of them,” he said with a shaking voice. “Four each?”

“Five,” said Florence. “You handle them and I’ll support you with potions and healing. Keep them off me,” she warned.

“Ooh, can we do that? Call dibs?” Sarina asked. “Six for each of the boys, two for me, then,” she said silkily. “I’m worried about cracking a nail,” she added, with obvious dramatics.

“They’re going to crack more than that if we don’t take this more seriously,” Morton replied. “Herb, what’s around us?”

''“Come. Come. Come.”''

The voice almost felt like it had a direction this time. Herb felt a pull from behind him. Was there a way to kill two birds with one stone?

Herb glanced around. “Twenty orcs ahead. Countless flames above, thanks for that, Marcus. Trees that are mostly on fire behind us. Maybe one path behind us that we could make a break for if Sarina acts quickly and shoots some water back there.”

With moments, Morton nodded and said in a voice of authority, “Sarina, douse the path where Herb tells you to. Florence, give us a gust of wind to knock the orcs back, then turn and run. Marcus, you and I are backline; we follow last and we make sure any orcs that try to follow get cut down. Everyone ready?” A chorus of ayes echoed through the clearing. “Great. Go!”

Sarina whirled her hands around her and gathered condensation from the air and water from the plants at her feet. Herb shouted, “Right there!” and she commanded the water to follow the strings of aether she sent forward. Her liquid doused the path enough for the two of them to begin to run.

Florence’s hands were a blur as she whipped them around herself, the air following each motion. Suddenly, her body glowed with a purple aura and the winds howled around her. “Those who seek to harm us shall be Swept Away,” she intoned, and the air turned solid, slamming into the row of orcs and knocking them back with major force. The aura faded, and she turned to follow Sarina and Herb.

Marcus’s lance had already been in his hands. Morton drew a pair of daggers and the pair followed their group, watching backward the whole while. They ran as quickly as they could, dodging smoke and falling debris from the canopy, but by virtue of Sarina and Herb having to forge the trial, the orcs that were brave enough to pursue were gradually catching up.

The chase was brief but terrifying. The fires seemed to be following them through the trees as tenaciously as the orcs were. The five ultimately reached a clearing with a large silvery fountain, surrounded by rocks. Marcus went to touch it to cool down, but Florence grabbed his hand back.

“Stop!” she shouted. “That’s aether. Pure aether! That could kill you.”

Marcus withdrew his hand and said, “And the orcs and fire won’t?”

She snapped back, “Of course they will, but at least you’ll live for an extra minute!”

Herb held his large axe defensively before him. “Morton, if you have a plan, better share it quick.”

Morton looked at the orcs beginning to reach the clearing and replied, “I do, but you’re going to hate it.”

The old man sighed and answered, “You know, when you say that, I really, really always do.”

The young tactician glanced at the aether and said, “Something Lord Parath told me about the powers of the Children when Marcus and I first began learning. We come from the aether. We embody the aether. The aether lives and flows through us. We are its conduits.”

“Say it in fewer words,” Sarina snapped.

“This aether won’t harm us,” Morton said. “I’m guessing but… it might actually be our trump card.”

“Great. Fine,” Herb said suddenly, watching two orcs moving toward him menacingly. “How do we use it? One sentence.”

Morton shrugged. “Jump in?”

“No!” shouted Florence.

“''Come. Come. Come.”''

And suddenly, Herb realized. This was what was calling to him. This strange little fountain in the middle of the woods. Herb looked at it for a moment, and then said, “Okay.” He splashed into the aether and vanished with a brilliant flash of light.

“Herb!” Florence shouted as the elder man disappeared. “Wh-- Morton, ''what have you done?''”

An orc with a red bandanna and a scar across his chest flashed a sadistic grin as he stepped forward. “Only four to kill? Shame. The fifth was the smartest of all of you.” The orc’s right hand was adorned with bladed knuckles; his left had longer edges to catch blades swung at him. The left hand metal was worn, as if used frequently; the right hand blades looked incredibly sharp.

Marcus swallowed hard. “Listen. If we die--”

“If we die and it’s your fault,” Sarina replied smoothly, “I’ll kill you after you’re dead. You know that, right?”

“I… yeah,” he answered somberly. “Yeah.”

The orc rubbed his blades together. “Who’s first? Little girl?” He licked his lips, causing a wave of revulsion to roll through Florence. “Scared boy?” Marcus clenched his lance harder. “Or the two pretending not to be scared?” Morton and Sarina braced themselves against the ground, preparing themselves to move.

The orc dashed forward as a yellow light pierced the clearing. Herb fell from the sky, a yellow aura surrounding him as he descended before his friends and allies. The orc screamed as his knuckle blades split the air en route to Herb’s chest, but the old man simply stood his ground, dug his feet into the earth and said, “You are nothing before the earth beneath us. I Withstand all!” The orc punched Herb’s heart, but the blades cracked against the yellow aura and shattered, as though they had been struck against the hardest mountain in the world.

The orc fell backwards in fear. “Th-that’s not possible!”

“I know,” Herb said. “Looks. Smarts. Strength. All in one body. I’m the man who makes the impossible possible. For example,” he said, kneeling low, “if you’d have asked me this morning, I’d say it was impossible for one old man to kick twenty asses at once. Now? Now, I like those odds.” He grabbed the orc’s neck and drew him close. “I’ll let the next move be yours. Run away and live, or stick around. I can survive a swim. What do you think your odds are?”

Herb threw the orc at the ground. His enemy scrabbled backward and ran, bringing the second orc with him as he goes. The old man turned back and shrugged. “Well,” he said, “now that we’re not all going to die, maybe you kids should take a swim, too. It did wonders for me…” He looked up at the crackling leaves. “Sarina, do me a favour and go last so you can put out that oaf’s mistake first…”