The results were not encouraging.
The ground -- expansive and implacable -- raced up at him even as he watched; he estimated he had about six more seconds before impact. All around, above, and below him, other screaming figures -- men, Alvatri, Kulaku, Mukati, and even a Loathborn or two -- were flailing and shrieking just like him as they fell to their deaths. Worse, he could visibly see, in real-time, the bottom-most figures impacting and splattering at the termini of their journeys onto the gore-covered killing ground below, which made his impending death all the more visceral. Skylar fought with everything he had to tamp down his hysteria and focus.
I have to think. Weir won't help me here, and I can't count on the coat to save me; what options do I even have left? Do I pray to Gram or one of the Devari? He winced as a stoic alv priest smashed into the earth below him, bones snapping like celery in every direction as brains squirted out of a cracked skull. Okay, so much for that plan -- if Lucia and her Devari didn't save that guy, I'm not going to have any better luck. Is this really it? Should I just give everybody the finger with my last three seconds of existence?
Then, abruptly, he hit something solid in midair; the impact was jarring and painful, but not injurious, and whatever force had momentarily arrested him was gone almost instantly. Weirdly, he noticed that it had been a sort of angled impact, spinning him around slightly and pushing him to his right; immediately, a similar impact followed, then another, and then several more in rapid succession. Each impact rattled his teeth and bruised him, but also bled some of his velocity. Holy fratz. Is someone saving me? Am I actually gonna survive this?!
Belatedly, he realized that the oblique impacts were pulling him off to one side very markedly; instead of being about to crater into a messy death on the flat ground near the center of the hollow mountain's base, he was now falling towards a tangle of small bridges and passageways honeycombed into a large knot of stone along one side of the cavern wall. Then, on perhaps the twentieth jerking thud, the force ceased to yield; instead of bumping his way through the air, he was now sliding on what felt like invisible glass at a sharp but noticeably curved angle, translating his downwards momentum into sideways velocity with an uncanny and fluid efficiency. Almost before he knew it, he was sliding completely horizontally, and then dipping down and back up; the force of it hurled him into a parabola directly into the warren of bridges, chucked him with smooth and terrifying precision directly between two cloverleaf-overpasses, and then caught him again to bring him swiftly and smoothly down to a resting position on top of a little outcropping of rock. As he landed, shaking and grateful that he was dehydrated because it meant he hadn't pissed himself, he noticed he was not alone; he looked up, unsurprised and yet still shocked by what he saw.
This fourth Skylar looked much the same as the others, but harrowed and gaunt; his face and hair were covered with ash, and there was a hard set to his jaw and eyes that hadn't been there before. Skylar flinched; whatever horrors he'd been through thus far were clearly only the beginning. "Fratz, dude," he commented in shock, "what the drotz happened to you? I mean, me? Or us, even?"
"You'll see," the other Skylar replied grimly; he jerked his thumb backwards over his right shoulder towards a dark passageway into the rock behind him. "Get moving; everything's set up for you, so don't vark it up."
Skylar blinked. Wow, what a vix. Whoops, I guess I did resolve to be even more of a zopnop in the future, didn't I; guess everything's going exactly as planned. He nodded, taking a few shaky steps down a set of battered stone stairs, then turned to look back; the other Skylar was gazing out at the carnage happening everywhere below with a bleak expression. "Hey, um... are you okay?"
"No," the other Skylar answered curtly and disappeared, blinking out of existence like a popped soap bubble; Skylar winced again. Well, vark, that can't be good. Guess I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. Turning away from the slaughter happening in every direction, he hobbled with aches in every muscle down the stairs and through the doorway.
Beyond was a long hallway of rough black stone, clearly carved in great haste with less-than-ideal craftsmanship quite some time ago; it twisted and turned at various intervals, reducing the light from outside by large steps at each bend, until Skylar was shuffling through pitch blackness. Then, finally, he came to what he was hoping to see; a sharp rightward bend leading into a mining tunnel, with a secret door (visible only thanks to his weird blue night-vision from the coat) hidden in the corner such that the passage continued straight beyond.
Pressing himself up against the door and feeling for switches, he eventually found a slight depression which led to a tiny hole; without tools, it would have been useless to him, but he was fortunately now equipped with a lockpick he thought might suffice. Good thing there was no light in here, he thought to himself as he retrieved his thieves' tools and began trying to trigger the mechanism; guess my trap-o-vision only works in pitch darkness. I'll have to keep that in mind. In a trice, he had the mechanism triggered; the door slid open quietly, and he gathered up his tools and ducked inside before shutting it again behind him.
The space beyond was another hallway, this one much more polished and carefully-shaped; a leftward turn up ahead led to a large, expansive cubical space of more polished black stone, with walls so flat and perfectly-aligned that Skylar gawped at the precision. The corners are sharp enough to cut yourself on. In the center was another altar -- black stone of course, and also cubical -- upon which rested three things; a cloth-wrapped bundle, a wineskin, and a young man sitting cross-legged and meditating.
The youth appeared to be near Skylar's own physical age, but he could see at a glance that it was false; his hair and skin were albino-white, and he wore an equally white uniform of some type with flowing sleeves and long, broad pants that looked hauntingly familiar. That's a ha... uh, one of those things. Martial arts uniform. Ha... habbo? Hanban? Why can't I remember? He blinked and shook himself as the white youth opened his eyes -- pinkish-red with a cool blue tint around the very inner circumference of the irises. "Skylar Kass. Be welcome in my sanctuary."
The other youth hopped down off the altar with the smoothness of perfect training, and gestured; a small stool, perfectly cubical and carved out of more black stone, appeared without transition in front of the altar. "Please have a seat."
Cautiously, Skylar did so; his hands itched to grab something he could use as a weapon. "Uh, sure thing. Two questions; what is this, and who are you?"
"I am Aqu," said the young man calmly; he pronounced it "Akh" with an unvoiced u-sound at the end that was vaguely eastern-sounding. "The Devari of Distance. My Erszet is complex, but for your purposes, let us begin by stating that I have dominion over such things as Ice, Silence, and Precision; that should be enough for you to infer the remainder sufficiently." He gestured towards the bundle and wineskin. "Please, take your repast; I am informed that you have been undergoing some privation."
Slowly, Skylar realized that a tantalizing, delicious smell had been wafting from the cloth-wrapped bundle for some time; hands trembling, he carefully unwrapped it to reveal a large loaf of soft bread, thick and heavy with some unseen filling. "Oh my Gog. This is for me?" His brows came down in a scowl, and he glared at the Devari. "Is this a trap? Am I agreeing to something by eating this?"
"Not to my knowledge," said the Devari with a shrug. "It is not my doing; you -- or what I gather to be another version or facsimile of you -- left it here only moments ago. Beyond that, I have no additional information."
"Good enough." Skylar picked up the bread, heedless of his filthy and bloody hands, and bit into it like a starving man; the taste was indescribable even before he got to the filling, which was a reduced stew full of chewy potatoes, soft onions and carrots, and just enough thin threads of shredded beef not to upset his famished and abused stomach. "Buddy," mumbled Skylar through a mouthful of what felt like solid heroin, "if you wanted me to worship you, this is a really mishkot great start."
"I have no need of worship," the albino demurred, returning to his cross-legged pose; Skylar was intrigued to see that the young man had seated himself not on the floor, but on thin air roughly two feet up. Weird. But not that weird if you're a demigod, I guess. "Devari and mortals frequently misunderstand each other; my followers are in the habit of building spaces such as this, which pleases me, but there is no transactional aspect to our relationships. I aid those who further my plans, and oppose those who oppose them; it is straightforward and practical." Skylar took another huge bite, choked, and desperately scrambled to unscrew the wineskin and dump a dram of what tasted like boiled tea down his gullet before clearing his airway noisily; the Devari watched him dispassionately, making no move to aid or assist him and showing no concern whatsoever for his well-being. This is way better than Timurus, Skylar thought to himself as he gasped, red-faced and teary-eyed, for breath. Assuming, of course, this guy's telling the truth about anything.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"So," he finally managed, taking another sip of tea, "what's the plan? You brought me here, so I assume you have something you want me to do to 'further your plans', as you said it."
The Devari nodded. "I am to teach you another Art -- Alzasch -- which I expect you will find useful in the near future. Do not worry about getting back to your companions; I was informed they will survive without your immediate assistance." Like I cared about those jerks, Skylar thought to himself while taking another bite of stew-infused bread. "Like Weir, Alzasch is a Granted Art, so you will be able to use it at once; unlike Weir, however, it is an Open Art, so you must be quite explicit in your usage of it -- which I am given to understand may prove challenging to explain without proper preparations." The Devari reached into his uniform nonchalantly and produced a thick silver ring; he tossed it to Skylar, who failed to catch it, but it nonetheless fetched itself gracefully upon the altar and rolled perfectly to a stop as though it had been placed there. "That is an Anticuary -- a ring which has also been enchanted to grant the wielder the power of Alzasch -- so that you may truthfully assert you utilize the power within. However, you may still use the Art without the ring, though that is a fact I imagine you will wish to keep to yourself."
"Buddy, you have no idea." Skylar picked up the ring and jammed it quickly onto his ring finger; it sat there, cold and heavy, and did nothing immediately that he could discern. "So what's this Art, and how does it work? Does it suck less than Weir?"
"Unquestionably," the Devari replied, which made Skylar smile; that's right, vark you, Timurus. "The easiest way to understand it would be 'the Silencing of Motion' -- it arrests the movement of another object or effect of a concrete and physical nature, usually in a bid to protect someone or something from harm. I gather you are in the habit of being unwillingly interposed between safety and dangerous objects, so I reasoned that this would be a welcome capability."
"You reasoned correctly," Skylar agreed, "but isn't this against the rules? I thought I could only have one Art?"
Aqu shook his head. "Your patron may grant you as many Arts as they choose from within a particular Ersz they possess; for most who pact with a Devari, this means they are granted a handful of closely-related powers. For example, a typical follower may request from me the Art of Eisreichwer, which allows them to produce weapons formed from frozen water; once done, I may grant them other Arts of a similarly glacial nature, such as Phryx or Baluggan, but no Arts from my other aspects such as Geislacht. But you consumed the elan of Father directly -- you are most properly his chosen, not one of ours, and so you may bear one Art from each of us. In effect, we are Arts unto you, from a certain point of view."
"Wait." Skylar paused, his mouth full of bread and stew. "So I can use you guys as Arts?!"
"Not yours to command," the Devari corrected, "but rather that we are engaged towards your amelioration." That is a very worrying word choice, Skylar thought to himself apprehensively. "It is in your best interest, however, that you understand that this is a state of our choosing, not of your entitlement; displease us, and we will make life difficult for you." The albino's frost-tinged eyes flashed with divine power, but his expression stayed aloof.
Skylar gulped. "Uh, right. So how does this power work?"
"It is definitive; speak the declension of the participle of motion you wish to arrest, and it will be done. A gesture will redouble the power, but it is not strictly necessary." The Devari gestured, and tiny crystals of ice swarmed through the air like dust motes; as Skylar watched in awe, they coalesced into the demigod's outstretched hand and formed first a crystal, then a lump, and finally a perfectly spherical ball of snow. "For direct negation of velocity towards your person, the term is 'anhardt'; we will now demonstrate." With a swift and economical wind-up, the albino hurled the snowball at Skylar's head.
Skylar, who had not been at all ready for this, fumbled his stewbread and nearly dropped it; shifting it to one hand, he flung the other out to stop the projectile, and mumbled "Anhf-" through a mouthful of food before catching the snowball directly in the face. He spluttered, feeling embarrassed, as the Devari shrugged.
"As should be obvious, a certain amount of vigilance is required," Aqu commented; This frosak did that on purpose, Skylar fumed. "Shall we try again?"
After three or four tries, Skylar did successfully manage to use Alzasch; the snowball hung, rotating, in the air for a quick moment before falling to the ground with a splat noise. Skylar lowered his outstretched hand, panting; the power wasn't as exhausting to use as Weir's illusion capability, but it still tired him much more intensely than dodging. "Better than nothing, I guess. Will it block objects of any size?"
"Naturally," the Devari confirmed, "though the discipline required will, as one might expect, scale with the size and force of the object or effect to be halted. I should also make it very clear that this power cannot be used offensively; you may not perform such trespasses as halting an opponent's heartbeat, or halting only part of an object in order to cause mechanical stress along its structure from the force differential. It is important that you understand this from the outset, as any attempt to do so will cause the Art to fail -- likely with unpleasant consequences for you, if you are using it in an untenable situation." With a wiry, inhuman strength, he lifted himself up on his palms, then hopped down from his invisible perch onto his feet once more.
Skylar frowned, but nodded. "That's less than ideal, but I can accept it; I guess at least it means anybody else using this Art can't do the same to me, so that's something at least." Finishing the last of his meal, he shoved the little cubical stool back and relaxed, then noticed that Aqu was facing him squarely with a tense posture. "Uh, why do you look like you're about to kick my brux?"
"Timurus informed me that you have knowledge of martial arts beyond my current awareness," the Devari commented. "I was hoping you would condescend to a brief demonstration."
Skylar's frown deepened. "Martial arts? I don't know any martial arts." Do I? "Are you sure this isn't just Timurus pranking us both?"
"Possibly," the albino agreed. "But let us find out for certain." Then, without transition, he shot forward with the speed of a rifle bullet.
Skylar had no time to think, let alone use either of his Arts; instead, his body reacted instinctively, rolling and flinching backwards and to one side while his hands shot out to grip the other youth's uniform. With a twist and a jerk, he pulled the Devari off its feet, but the young man's body was quick and flexible, and he spun around to land in a poised arch with his own hands gripping the lapels of Skylar's coat. "It seems to have contained a grain of truth, at least."
"This isn't martial arts," Skylar grunted, twisting around for a hip thrust; the Devari evaded him effortlessly, hands still locked to his garment. "This is just wrestling. Applied topology and kinesthetics; parlor tricks." He stepped inside for a belly-to-belly suplex, but quickly discovered that that had been a mistake; as soon as his weight left his lead foot, the young albino swept his back foot and lofted him into the air, slamming him down painfully onto his back with a breath-stealing impact.
"Ow." Skylar coughed and curled up on one side, every bone and tendon in his body hurting. "See? Nothing worth... caring about."
"You would be well-served," Aqu commented, rising up to tower over him, "to remember that Devari and mortals are likely to 'care about' different things. But I am satisfied; you need not concern yourself with the specifics." He helped Skylar to his feet, stepped back, and suddenly looked backwards over his shoulder; when his gaze returned to Skylar's, it had a distant, chilly cast to it. "I am needed elsewhere. In future days, call my name in any sanctum dedicated to me, and I shall come if you are alone; but I do warn you, do not seek to use me as a cats-paw against your foes, Skylar Kass." Without transition, the Devari's eyes were pitch black from sclera to pupil, and Skylar shivered. "My goodwill -- such as it is -- does not extend to such insults." There was a sudden presence of cold -- more spiritual than thermal -- and Skylar was abruptly alone in the sanctum.
"Right," he muttered to himself, "wouldn't be another fun meeting with a Devari without all the threats and demoralization. And Gog forbid you teach me all the other words I might need to use this power effectively, oh no." He finished the last of the tea from the wineskin, then shoved it into a pocket of his coat; he started to throw the cloth which had wrapped the bread away, realized that littering here might count as defiling the sanctum, and wadded it up to shove into a different pocket instead. As he did so, however, he heard a distinct crinkle, and pulled it back out to examine it more closely.
Wadded up inside the checkered covering was a square of paper, folded over on itself a few times; Skylar opened it and was surprised to see his own handwriting, spelling out a series of sentences in the alphabet he recognized from his old world.
Rules of the Kalativa (the little time dial thing):
- 1. When used from your original/natural time stream, it will always send you somewhere else in space and time (won't send you five seconds into the past next to yourself).
- 2. When used from a foreign time stream, it will always send you back to where and when you were at the time of the previous activation (it puts you back).
- 3. Appears to follow a schedule of its own when determining whether it will activate and where/when it will send you. It can be influenced, but not controlled, and it can definitely activate itself.
- 4. These are not all the rules -- there are others you will have to figure out on your own.
- 5. Keep these rules to yourself -- someone else will explain them to you in your subjective future to avoid an ontological paradox, after which point you may record/will record/have recorded them on this piece of paper.
- 6. Fratz time grammar.
- 7. Don't trust anybody, especially yourself -- I haven't seen any versions of us that weren't actually us so far, but I can't prove it and all the other versions of me have been suspicious zubnaks, for which they presumably had good reasons, so let's follow their example.
- 8. I don't know yet if you can change the past or the future.
- 9. Reine is a huge frosak.
- 10. Hope you enjoyed the food, because break time is over -- use the Kalativa now, then haul brux to Elmat's Well to go cover for yourself. Don't forget to throw yourself off the bridge.
Skylar read it through again a second time, then a third, a smirk growing across his face; he forced himself to concentrate, doing his best to memorize the whole thing, before tearing it into little squares and swallowing it whole. Best news I've heard so far. With a mental sigh, he turned his attention to the stream, which he realized he'd been ignoring for a while now.
It kinda looks like future me is gonna put past me to work, if what I've been seeing is any indication. But at least future me will theoretically at some point be somewhere they have wheat and beef -- probably the past -- so I've got that to look forward to if it's accurate.
Still no guarantee this isn't all a giant mind-fratz, but if not, there's no argument that I'll deserve what's coming to me. Skylar sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled out the little sundial-like object. The note said it was called 'the Kalativa', but I should be careful about that until I hear it from an outside source. I probably don't have any choice about using it, but I might be able to put it off for a little while and get up to some degeneracy in the interim. He frowned. Assuming I have any particular degeneracy I want to do, besides maybe taking a sorbnek nap or something.
ARE WE ONLY SLAVES TO OUR FUTURE SELVES, OR