Chương 58: Beginning of the End

The hole in the stone was a ragged, ugly thing. The architect of the fissure was no stonemason, but a desperate man with a fórsa-manifested pickaxe and a harsh taskmaster.

"I've seen puppies who could dig holes faster than this," the specter of King Cianán needled.

"Three weeks and this pathetic scoop of rock is the best you can give me?" Maitiú panted hard, his hands gripping his knees as he stood at the bottom of the hole.

"I'm doing my best… your Majesty…" And he was. He'd had no choice. King Cianán had hounded him every hour of every day since taking the old sailor into his service. Whenever Maitiú would collapse from exhaustion Cianán would fill him with healing fórsa again, demanding no breaks. No time off. Maitiú didn't even need to eat anymore. But he was feeling worn thin - he had energy, but his willpower was gone. Every time Cianán would top him up he felt like the ceiling to his strength kept getting lower and lower.

"You're almost there," the king explained patiently, pouring more fórsa into Maitiú.

"You just need to push a little harder." Maitiú groaned as power filled him again. He felt strongly that he would not survive too many more replenishments, but he could do nothing but heave his pickaxe back to his shoulder and begin digging into the hole once more. Then, after another two or three strikes, his foot broke through the gray stone, the rough edges scraping his calf painfully.

"Yes," King Cianán said, greed shining in his eyes.

"That's it, my boy, you've done it! Break on through!" After painfully freeing his foot, Maitiú managed to carve out a hole just big enough for him to slip through. The hole seemed to open into a cave, the floor of which was too far down to see. It was dark too - just an opening that seemed to go on forever. Maitiú looked up at his benefactor with pleading eyes. King Cianán shrugged.

"It's going to hurt." Shaking his head Maitiú began manifesting a rope and looking for a tree or stone to tie it to. The King shook his head.

"Boring." With one shove, he pushed Maitiú through the hole. The old sailor felt his stomach rise into his throat as he fell, the blue circle of the hole pulling away from him. The king's hand had been buzzy and soft - he was a projection, though such a good one Maitiú had not been able to tell for sure until now - but the strength behind it had been absolute. He fell longer than he could ever have imagined was possible. When he hit the ground he shattered his back and his skull.

After screaming there in agony for longer than he would have thought he needed to, King Cianán finally showed up, leaning over him. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, the king flooded him with fórsa yet again and his bones began to knit themselves back together.

"No time to lie around, Maitiú! You've struck the motherlode." As Maitiú struggled to his feet, Cianán made a gesture and globes of light filled the air. The cave was smoothly carved out, not the jagged sort of mess Maitiú had made of the hole above. It was clean and dry. No mushrooms or moss, no bats or rodents. Still as a grave and as looming as a cathedral. The King's lights led him forward to a stone table, which as far as Maitiú could see was the only feature in the whole place.

On the table lay a mysterious assortment of riches so great Maitiú forgot all about the weeks of hard labor and the backbreaking fall. On the table, seemingly burned into the stone, was a complex series of circles. If you took a map of the Tír and scribbled a lot more circles on it with some fancy runes, you might have a similar design. Inside ten of those circles were single tiny pearlescent teardrops. Maitiú reached one shaking hand towards the closest.

"Not that one," Cianán said, pointing instead to a different circle.

"Let's be elegant about this. Take it slow." The king's grin widened as Maitiú lifted the Drop from its place in the circle, broadening into a laugh that boomed villainously through the chamber. ✧✧✧ After two more weeks of training, Miriam was beginning to lose hope. She had found a lot of new techniques enabled by her River Adept class, but so far she had not crossed the threshold into Second. The "tree-ache haze," as Cian called it, was getting worse and worse. They couldn't wait anymore.

"Domhain holds no serious tricks," Cian said, pointing at a map. A map of himself, Miriam realized. The island was shaped like an eye, hemmed in by a huge moat of seawater and staggeringly tall cliffs jutting out of the ocean. There were three spots on the island circled in red - the largest to the south was Láthair Maol. Another in the middle was Domhain. The smallest was furthest north, a tiny red circle labeled Scior.

"You have to cross it, but it's not too hard if you have decent balance." If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"I'm not too worried about that," Cormac said. With his Luck no one would so much as sneeze wrong while in Domhain. Cian nodded.

"The real problem is Scior. There are almost two miles of ground between it and the far beach. It's the most deadly two miles on the entire island. Enemies there will be two rings higher than your starting Ring. That's Fifth for Róise and Cormac, Third for Miriam. Besides the enemies, the jungle itself will try to turn you back to Scior. That place has a certain fórsa gravity that makes it the sort of center of my whole existence."

"Any tips for making it through?" Róise asked. Cian shrugged.

"Those who do make it through tend to do so more on luck than anything else. Cormac might have an easier time. Just know that reality is not bending around you. If you can figure out the right direction, that is the direction you need to go. You'll get pulled and turned around, but North is North." Miriam stood and turned to her friends.

"There is something I want to say. I appreciate so much all of you volunteering to leave when I do. I have to go - I won't make it otherwise if I stay here longer. But you all don't have to yet. You'll stand a better chance at success if you stay here and earn at least one more Ring." Róise and Cormac exchanged glances. Cormac spoke up.

"Honestly, Miriam, we considered it. But in the end we agreed the best thing for us to do would be to support you." Roise nodded.

"Cormac told me about your decision to help in Shirren. That means the world to us - to me. I wouldn't have you out there on your own while we just do calisthenics in here. Besides, the villagers of Láthair Maol are eager to go, and we owe Cian enough not to let them get too impatient." Cian sighed.

"I do appreciate that, but I wish all of you would reconsider what Miriam said. As of now the path will… will be… very… risky…" He slumped forward, grasping hold of the table, gasping for breath.

"Cian!" Miriam was at his side in an instant.

"Are you okay?" The boy's face looked haunted and he was instantly sweaty, which was alarming. Miriam hadn't even thought he could sweat.

"Something's wrong!" Cormac wove threads as fast as he could but was stunned to see them all fracture as soon as they left his fingers. Black threads were popping up all around. Cian grimaced in pain, then his eyes went wide.

"Oh gods. He's here." Then he vanished. ✧✧✧ Maitiú was shaking on the smooth stone floor, trying to process his second Drop. King Cianán had informed him that it was a Drop of Jealousy, but Maitiú didn't care about that. All he cared about was the power that was breaking him apart and remolding him.

"There's diminishing returns to doing that, you know," King Cianán said casually.

"The more you absorb, the less you get from it. Something to do with your body becoming conditioned to the higher quality fórsa. At any rate, it doesn't matter when you have such a feast ahead of you." Maitiú felt the fórsa remaking his body settle in and he just lay on the ground, laughing softly to himself. He was Fourth now, he thought. He'd been expecting to jump up to Fifth, but he supposed the old man must know what he was talking about when he said there would be diminishing returns.

"Why are you here?" A small voice demanded from the dark of the cave.

"Ah, the guest of honor has arrived." King Cianán grinned, giving a little half-bow.

"Amazing what a man has to do to get an invitation to his son's house." Cian stepped out of the shadows and Maitiú flinched involuntarily. The boy was thrumming with power, rage seeping through every muscle in his body. His clothes were a deep black.

"You have received no invitation from me. Do you know how many thousands of years I waited to hear just one word from you? From the man who threw me down to the Tír like I was yesterday's soiled clothes? And suddenly you just show up like this? When you could have done that at any time?" King Cianán shrugged.

"I don't go hunting for every scrap of fórsa I leave around the countryside. The point of shedding all that power was to not have to deal with it anymore. I never expected it to have set up its own little kingdom. Also, as your elder parent, I must protest at that ghastly form you're wearing."

"Get out," Cian said quietly. Then louder: "Get out! Get out!" His voice shook the cave, and Maitiú hugged his hands to his ears. The king chuckled softly.

"Make me." Cian was across the cavern in a flash, one fist flying at King Cianán's head. The old man didn't even move, but suddenly he had caught Cian's hand with only his thumb and forefinger.

"Pathetic. If you're going to try to be like me, I insist you do a better job. I'm just a projection. You should be way stronger than this. Oh, is this why?" He gestured to the stone table.

"You so much wanted to not be like me that you've hobbled yourself with this… sad little altar here." The king flashed another grin.

"My friend Maitiú and I are going to fix that. Get you back on track. Maybe then we could have a more… interesting conversation." Cian's eyes went wide and he pulled his hand back.

"No… don't. Do you know what will happen to this island? To all the people on it? To… to me?" The King grinned toothily.

"I do know. I just don't care." Cian gaped at the King, looked down at Maitiú in horror, then vanished once again. King Cianán laughed again, and it hurt Maitiú's ears even more than Cian's shout had. ✧✧✧ Miriam sat waiting with the rest of her friends, murmuring to each other about Cian's disappearance. He'd never even shown a hint of the sort of fragility he'd displayed before he left. Cian might be a sentient island, and also in some ways their jailor, but he had quickly become their friend as well.

But he was a friend they'd never even considered having to be concerned about. Cian appeared again, crashing into the table as if careening from a run.

"Everyone… you have to get everyone out." The boy looked severely different. He had seemed to age five or six years. He was Miriam's height now, with a thin beard covering his face. His clothes were no longer his ubiquitous vest-and-pants combo, but longer, more flowing robes.

"Cian! What's wrong?" Miriam rushed to his side.

"He's here. And he's going to tear it all down." Cian swallowed hard.

"My father. The KIng." Cormac stood up so fast his chair clattered over.

"The King is here?"

"A projection. Ahhh. I don't have time to explain. A long time ago I made some changes to myself using Drops left from King Cianán's Walk. That's why I am the person you know and not… something else. But he's here. He and Maitiu are dismantling me." Cian's clenching hands tore the table to splinters.

"It's not safe here for anyone. You have to gather up the villagers. All of them, whether they want to leave or not."

"And do what?" Miriam asked. Cian looked her in the eyes, his own full of rippling pain. His voice was thick and guttural, angry. Threatening.

"Run!"