Darkening Sky, Chapter 3

  • Chapter 3

     

     

     

     

                    Cloud Top was more derelict than Torako remembered.

     

                    ‘Fifty years ago, this wall was still standing,’ he muttered as he turned his eye on a crumbling pile of cobblestones.

     

                    ‘Not much of the original buildings remain, but the architectural style is still very distinctive,’ Harrow remarked, a touch of awe in his usually level voice. ‘These are Ayleid structures. To be standing here in the flesh… Even in such a state, I can feel the power emanating from the masonry. So this is Heartland Elven magic.’

     

                    Master and student had trekked across the Jeralls and the Colovian Highlands to this particular section of the mountains. They had arrived two days sooner than Torako anticipated. Good. More time for the lesson to sink in.

     

                    ‘Correct,’ he said, nodding in approval. ‘Now, can you deduce the purpose of this site?’

     

                    ‘Mhm,’ Harrow frowned, running his silver stare to the centre of the ruins. ‘From what I can see of the walls, the site was originally open-aired… unless someone took the time and care to remove only the debris from the ceiling. Not a fort or some kind of shelter, then. Most space seems to have been allocated to the pillar in the centre.’

     

                    The pillar in question was also in ruin. Only two feet of it remained, crumbling above the base.

     

                    ‘And why would that be?’ Torako probed.

     

                    ‘I can feel most of the Magicka streams converging on that pillar.’ Harrow’s brow furrowed even more. ‘It may hold some kind of religious significance? No… as a shrine, this building would have been blasphemously shoddy for the Ayleids. A training ground for mages? There would be no reason for the pillar to take up the central position, though. A hub for magical communication? But if we take into account their aptitude for spellwork, the Ayleids would not have needed-’

     

                    ‘Consider our location,’ Torako hinted. ‘What is more common in high altitudes? If you keep in mind why I brought you here, the answer should be clear. Examine the Magicka circulating in the base of the pillar more closely.’

     

                    Harrow’s eyes widened, and he turned to face his master. ‘This pillar attracted lightning.’

     

                    ‘Indeed it did,’ Torako smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, it still does. Lightning strikes in sites like these hundreds of times more than in anywhere else.’

     

                    ‘On stone?’ Harrow wondered. ‘Typically, lightning should strike more in areas of high conductivity.’

     

                    ‘Remember, Magicka is an even better conductor of electricity than copper or gold,’ Torako reminded him. ‘That alone would not have been sufficient to attract so much lightning, however. That’s why I told you to examine the Magicka circulating in the base. Anything you find special about the streams?’

     

                    Harrow closed his eyes, concentrating. After a while, he opened his eyes, frustrated.

     

                    ‘I can’t quite put my finger on it, Master. Its essence feels similar to lightning, but… halved, somehow.’

     

                    ‘An apt description,’ Torako nodded again. ‘When learning to ride lightning, you became familiar with the Dwemer concept of Anthnekvagrelz – particles that carry a charge of electricity, too small for observation. If you have done any deep reading on the topic, and I believe you have, you will already know that there are two types of such particles.’

     

                    Harrow’s expression sharpened. ‘Of course, Master. Irkndvagrelz and Anumvagrelz. “Cloud particle” and “Earth particle” if my meagre Dwemeris serves me correctly.’

     

                    ‘Correct once again. In a common lightning strike, the negative-charge carrying Irkndvagrelz, found in the highest concentrations in the bottoms of clouds, calls to the opposing polarity, the positive-charge carrying Anumvagrelz, spread out on the earth. When this polarity becomes too great for normally insulative air to resist, lightning forms between them in an arc.’

     

                    ‘Ah. The Magicka circulating in the base of the pillar carries only Anumvagrelz.’

     

                    ‘Exactly,’ Torako said, pleased. ‘By circulating a small positive charge in the pillar, the Ayleid used this site to absorb and store the power of lightning. The spell you are here to learn today relies on that same principle.’

     

                    ‘That also was why you came here fifty years ago, Master?’

     

                    ‘Not many still pursue this esoteric technique,’ Torako rubbed his chin. ‘A select few shinobi every decade, perhaps a handful of Tamriellian mages. Cloud Top saw more activity in the Third Era. Practitioners from all across the continent would come to try their skill and luck… and most of the time, end up as charred corpses.’

     

                    ‘Corpses,’ Harrow said warily.

     

                    ‘Yes. The risk is great here, kit.’ Torako gestured at a skeleton buried under a pile of debris. ‘But the reward is great as well. Arcane lightning is a facsimile – poor imitations of lightning bolts created by infusing Magicka with electricity. With this spell, you will be able to produce true lightning.’

     

                    ‘True lightning…’ Harrow murmured. ‘How?’

     

                    ‘Every mage does it slightly differently. It was custom among the Cyrodilic Guilds to come here with a Welkynd Stone and temporarily restore full function to the pillar by striking it with a spell from their Shock school. These mages allow themselves to be smote with the descending lightning bolt – why they would do so, I do not know. Very few survive. Perhaps the ones that do are infused with the spell through their use of the Welkynd Stone.’

     

                    ‘Will we be taking that approach?’

     

                    ‘Of course not,’ Torako’s voice hardened. ‘We do not make use of spell tomes in Tsukikage as they promote inflexibility. The Cyrodilic method is no different. It chains the practitioner to a single variant of the spell. No, we will be doing this the Shadeclaw way. Gain an understanding of the process, then replicate the effect.’

     

                    Harrow nodded and began to gather Magicka. ‘Does the spell have a name, Master?’

     

                    Torako raised a hand, focusing on a section of collapsed wall. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.

     

                    ‘For Tamriellians, this technique is known as the Finger of the Mountain. In Akaviri, we call it – Yamayubi!

     

                    The air trembled, and from the clear morning sky streaked a lightning bolt of brilliant green. With a deafening crackle, the entire pile of rubble shattered. Dust and tiny shards of rock rained on the two shinobi. The smell of ozone filled Torako’s nostrils, and his fur stood on end for an instant.

     

                    ‘Incredible,’ Harrow breathed. ‘I’ve read that a true lightning bolt is thousands of times more potent than a bolt from a regular mage.’

     

                    ‘With the Yamayubi, you will be able to instantly dispatch almost any opponent, even those protected by magical wards. The lightning bolt is purely physical and does not contain a trace of Magicka,’ Torako panted, rubbing his numbed arm. It’s been a while since I felt the sting of Magicka exhaustion.

     

                    ‘Master, are you all right?’ Harrow looked at him, concerned.

     

                    ‘I’m fine,’ Torako said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. ‘The spell takes a staggering amount of Magicka. Casting it just once has consumed almost half of my reserves.’

     

                    Harrow’s eyebrows rose. ‘Master, your Magicka capacity is at least five times greater than mine.’

     

                    ‘The cost of a spell depends on a multitude of factors, but that is true,’ Torako replied. ‘I do not expect you to immediately be able to produce a Yamayubi in the field. For now, I am content with teaching you the theory. Afterwards… you will need to train on your own.’

     

                    Harrow frowned, and Torako laid a hand on his shoulder.

     

                    ‘Don’t worry, your Magicka capacity will naturally increase as you age. The more synapses you form, the greater your link to Aetherius, and the more power you can draw from the atmosphere. Add to that the gift of your blood, and by the time you reach my age, it is you who will have five times my Magicka.’

     

                    ‘As you say, Master.’ Harrow bowed. ‘For now, then, what do I do?’

     

                    ‘Use the central pillar to familiarise yourself with the essence of true lightning. Reach out with your mind’s eye. Touch the Magicka flowing within the pillar. Can you feel it?’

     

                    Harrow stretched a hand out towards the pillar. His fingers twitched, then he slowly nodded.

     

                    ‘Good. Now, slowly increase the positive electric charge circulating within the stones.’

     

                    The kit’s lips tightened. ‘It’s difficult… like trying to stop a waterfall with my bare hands.’

     

                    ‘Keep that image in mind. Picture the water – remember the stream of Anthnekvagrelz you jump into whenever you ride lightning? Imagine that same stream, now pooling into a lake. Force the particles to vibrate. Force the lake to boil.’

     

                    Harrow clenched his teeth, straining. ‘Boil,’ he growled. ‘Boil.’

     

                    Torako studied him as he worked, suddenly wondering if Valesse-ko ever looked like that when she first learned her craft.

     

                    ‘Now, with magic, reach into the sky above you. Pluck at a strand of Magicka, and force it into a coil. Pour a negative charge into that coil. Boil both lakes - the one below, of Anumvagrelz, and the one above, of Irkndvagrelz.’

     

                    Harrow’s scowl intensified, and Torako shook his head sympathetically. Dividing one’s attention like so was extremely difficult. The Finger of the Mountain required the circulation of a positive charge and a negative charge at the same time. A common ambidexterity exercise practiced in Tsukikage was to have a kit draw a square with one hand and a circle with the other. Yamayubi was similar in theory, only several thousand times more difficult in practice.

     

                    ‘Most of the time, a shinobi practices the silent kiai,’ he said, pacing around his student. ‘Since this spell is loud enough already, it should be all right for you to use a normal Akaviri kiai to focus your will. Say it. Yamayubi. It will help, I promise.’

     

                    ‘Yamayubi,’ Harrow uttered, a vein popping on his forehead. He took one step forward. Then another. ‘Yamayubi. Yamayubi!

     

                    An hour or so passed, and nothing happened. Harrow had moved so close to the pillar that he was almost touching it. Torako shifted, nervous. If the lightning struck now, it was sure to injure him.

     

                    With a grunt of frustration, the kit slapped his palm onto the pillar. Torako drew in a sharp breath. Then Harrow’s brow relaxed.

     

                    ‘I have it,’ he whispered. ‘It’s much easier when I make physical contact… The sensation is far easier to grasp… I have it. I have it…’

     

                    ‘Kit,’ Torako began, uneasy. Then Harrow bent his knees, straightened his arm and released his loudest kiai yet.

     

                    ‘YAMAYUBI!

     

                    The air rumbled and the sky opened.

     

                    ‘Harrow,’ Torako yelled. ‘Get out of there!’

     

                    He won’t make it, he realised, his arm already moving.

     

                    Torako hurled a lightning bolt past Harrow’s back across the ruins. His form disappeared into the electricity, stopping briefly behind his student as he scooped him up by the waist. They came to a halt after they had cleared thirty feet.

     

                    An instant later, the green lightning impacted. There was a crackle, then a steady, high-pitched hum as the pillar absorbed the massive surge of electricity. A tranquil glow filled Cloud Top.

     

                    ‘Never attempt that in the field,’ Torako chided. ‘You might be able to take out a target, but in such close proximity, you would undoubtedly take critical damage as well.’

     

                    ‘I understand,’ Harrow gasped, then groaned as he slid to the ground.

     

                    ‘The Ayleid spellwork embedded in the pillar should have reduced the cost of the technique to a fraction. It still managed to take a great deal more Magicka out of you than I anticipated,’ Torako frowned, examining his student. ‘Perhaps you’re still too young to attempt the Yamayubi.’

     

                    ‘Apologies, Master.’ Harrow hung his head.

     

                    ‘It’s no fault of yours. With more time and experience, I’m confident you will be able to perform the technique. You simply need more practice… tomorrow,’ Torako said sharply as Harrow made to rise. ‘Sit back down and focus on recovering your Magicka. I will still give verbal instruction, but the practical session of this lesson is over.’

     

                    ‘Very well,’ Harrow said reluctantly, and sat down in the lotus position, resting his hands on his thighs.

     

                    ‘I’m sure you have questions. Go on, we have time – we’ll be here until Fredas.’

     

                    Harrow opened his mouth, then closed it again. Torako could almost see the thoughts whizzing and bouncing about in his skull.

     

                    After a minute or so, he raised his head and asked, ‘Why is it green?’

     

                    Torako blinked, then laughed. I certainly wasn’t expecting such a simple question.

     

                    ‘The Yamayubi appeared green because we chose to use the clear air as a medium. Electrically excited particles of air take on an emerald hue. Different substances appear in different hues of light when infused with electricity. The most common forms of lightning are blue or purple in colour because they are caused by electrically excited water droplets – thunderclouds. The same is true for pure Magicka. Similarly, because the static charge was carried by plumes of ash and rock, crimson and orange lightning filled the air when the Red Mountain erupted.’

     

                    ‘How accurate is the technique?’

     

                    ‘Not very, considering the relatively large area that the positive and negative charges have to circulate in. You should be able to place the lightning bolt within a ten-foot radius. Luckily, most sentient beings are also conductors, so the Yamayubi should become naturally attracted to your target.’

     

                    ‘But if they used a length of metal, say a blade or a metal rod…’ Harrow mused.

     

                    ‘Then theoretically they might be able to draw the Yamayubi away from them by throwing it, yes. I highly doubt any being could react with such speed, however. This is true lightning, not an arcane projectile. A single second is enough for the arc to travel for miles.’

     

                    ‘What makes true lightning so much more deadly?’

     

                    Torako smiled. That relentless mind of yours is far deadlier than any lightning bolt.

     

                    ‘The fact that an arc of true lightning must break through an insulative substance means that the electric charge it carries must also be far greater than the charge most mages can infuse into a stream of Magicka…’

     

                    Their conversation went on over the entire day and late into the night.


     

                    Ambarro sat in a lecture hall with only two other kits from Year 182 inside.

     

                    ‘Shiyo, Cika, and Ambarro,’ Grandmaster Takarro was saying, his voice more solemn than Ambarro had ever heard it. ‘Out of the thirteen kits of your Year, only five of you have even attempted to take the Red Flask. Unfortunately, only the three of you have exhibited enough physical compatibility…’

     

                    ‘Takarro-ri, forgive my interruption,’ Cika blurted out. Her eyes were puffy. ‘Are Yuuzen-to and Io-do all right?’

     

                    Takarro raised a placating hand. ‘They are both recuperating in the hospice. The healers have expunged the potion from their system, and there should be no permanent damage.’

     

                    All three of the young Po’ Tun sighed in relief.

     

                    Ambarro did not consider himself squeamish – like all the other kits, his first kill had been at eleven years of age, and he had seen many, many missions after that. But the sight of two of his friends convulsing as they collapsed and wept blood had been enough to make him stare at his Flask in horror. It was the first time Year 182 had seen serious side effects for kits other than Harrow.

     

                    Even a Po’ Tun’s body could reject Rendanshu.

     

                    Eighth of the Nine Flasks, the Red Flask increased a shinobi’s vitality, endurance and already formidable regenerative ability by changing the chemical composition of their blood. Unfortunately, not everyone had the right physiology for the potion, as Yuuzen and Io found out firsthand.

     

                    Takarro’s voice snapped Ambarro out of his thoughts.

     

                    ‘I believe you all know why you are here,’ the Grandmaster said, his voice low.

     

                    ‘The Black Flask,’ Shiyo rasped. The Flask had not gone down particularly well for him. The healers told him it would be weeks before his throat and lungs returned to normal. Ambarro winced.

     

                    ‘I believe you have all been informed,’ Takarro said slowly. ‘Of exactly how likely you will be able to survive drinking the Black Flask.’

     

                    All three kits swallowed and stared at the evaluation slip they got from the healers.

     

                    Shiyo backed out first.

     

                    ‘Sixteen percent, Grandmaster,’ he coughed. ‘I am sorry, but I see no reason to take this gamble.’

     

                    Takarro nodded, and the crème-furred kit disappeared into the doorway.

     

                    Cika stared at her slip for what seemed like an eternity, then set it down with shaking hands.

     

                    ‘Thirty-nine percent,’ she said, smiling bitterly. ‘Better odds than Shiyo-to, but…’

     

                    ‘I understand,’ Takarro said gently.

     

                    Cika bowed, then left the hall. Ambarro tapped his fingers on his desk.

     

                    ‘Gran-’

     

                    ‘Whatever your choice,’ the Grandmaster said, looking him firmly in the eye. ‘I’ll stand behind it.’

     

                    ‘You took the Black Flask, Grandpa.’

     

                    ‘You are your own man,’ Takarro replied. ‘Don’t let me affect your decision. Consider it carefully. The Black Flask is known as the Flask of Death for a reason.’

     

                    ‘What-’ Ambarro cleared his throat, then started again. ‘What does the Black Flask even do?’

     

                    The Grandmaster was silent for a while.

     

                    ‘All creatures carry energy. There is arcane and magical energy in the nerves. There is mundane and vital energy in the blood. Then there is the third, almost never tapped-into source of energy, exponentially powerful for sentient beings. The soul.’

     

                    ‘I’m not following,’ Ambarro said, confused.

     

                    ‘The Black Flask allows you to consume your soul’s energy directly,’ Takarro said, almost in a whisper. ‘It opens the pathway to a host of magical abilities otherwise impossible to perform.’

     

                    ‘Like your Corpse Puppetry?’ Ambarro asked, his voice hushed.

     

                    ‘That’s one example, yes. It requires extremely fine control over my own essence. I am ashamed to say that I would not be capable of this level of necromancy without the Black Flask.’

     

                    ‘I’ve never even touched necromancy,’ Ambarro said, scratching his head. ‘What will I be able to do?’

     

                    ‘Everyone manifests their soul’s abilities differently,’ Takarro said. ‘That’s something you will have to find out for yourself – assuming, of course, you decide to take the Flask.’

     

                    Ambarro closed his eyes for a brief second. He unfurled his slip for the umpteenth time. He already knew his odds, but reading them still made his stomach plummet.

     

                    Fifty-two percent.

     

                    All his life, he’d been told that he had an advantage, that the Po’ Tun of his bloodline had always been able to weather even the Black Flask. I always thought I’d just gulp it down like the other eight potions.

     

                    Only now, when the moment was finally here, did he find out that he had little over a one-in-two chance of not dying.

     

                    He breathed in. He breathed out.

     

                    ‘I’ll take it.’

     

                    The Grandmaster nodded. Without another word, he produced a jet-black flask and placed it on his desk. Ambarro could hear liquid swirling within.

     

                    He pulled the stopper off. The smell was pungent, and the potion inside was as black as the flask itself.

     

                    Ambarro licked his lips, then poured the Black Flask into his mouth and swallowed. It tasted of ink and ash.

     

                    One minute passed.

     

                    He could feel the potion congealing inside his stomach.

     

                    Two minutes passed.

     

                    He paced around the lecture hall. Takarro was studying him, his expression unreadable.

     

                    Three minutes passed.

     

                    His heart pulsed once. It pulsed twice.

     

                    Then it burst. 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

Comments

7 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! and 4 others like this.
  • SpookyBorn2021
    SpookyBorn2021   ·  February 20, 2018
    Damn good ending here Harrow, well good chapter in general as always but the ending in particular is just masterfully done. 
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  August 17, 2017
    This brought back a few memories. 
    As to the end... Kill Bill style ending.... wow..........
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  August 16, 2017
    Well, you certainly went quite deep with all the Dwemeri stuff. I love it, Harrow, I just love it. Very detailed, making the spell very interesting indeed. Also, I see that in a way it is sort of compensation for Black Flask. Harrow is an Altmer, born for...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Well, you certainly went quite deep with all the Dwemeri stuff. I love it, Harrow, I just love it. Very detailed, making the spell very interesting indeed. Also, I see that in a way it is sort of compensation for Black Flask. Harrow is an Altmer, born for...  more
        ·  August 16, 2017
      Hehe. I used real-world fulminology as the basis for the Finger of the Mountain. The bolt is produced using the principle of dielectric breakdown. Anthnekvagrelz are subatomic particles - Anumvagrelz are protons, while Irkndvagrelz are electrons.
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  August 16, 2017
    Finger of the Mountain... lol. I'm sorry I can't take that word seriously after Karver's dirty jokes. :P
    Man, this chapter just poofed out from nowhere... almost like a shinobi.
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      Finger of the Mountain... lol. I'm sorry I can't take that word seriously after Karver's dirty jokes. :P
      Man, this chapter just poofed out from nowhere... almost like a shinobi.
        ·  August 16, 2017
      I've been inactive for quite a while. It's good to be back. >w<
    • Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      Finger of the Mountain... lol. I'm sorry I can't take that word seriously after Karver's dirty jokes. :P
      Man, this chapter just poofed out from nowhere... almost like a shinobi.
        ·  August 16, 2017
      My jokes are immortal... :D
      Gonna read it soon, Harrow. Looking forward to this one. :)