Weight of Worlds

Dovar staggered to a halt outside the city, barely avoiding dumping Kirs into the churned slush before the gate. Falling to the ground just by the road, he flexed cold-cramped fingers. A headache had settled in deep behind his eyes, the chill wind scouring his head.

His spine felt like jelly. He’d managed a few extended travels, but this went beyond anything. His second-stage Flesh advancement held up under extended usage far better than first-stage, but carrying Kirs intensified the journey far more.

Kirs attempted to jump to her feet at the sudden drop into the snow, but barely managed an off-balance stagger before falling herself. She attempted to speak, but chills took the words from her chattering teeth.

“Where did you come from?” Someone asked. Dovar looked over to a see a man, second-stage by the look of his uniform, approaching cautiously. He glanced nervously to the north, then back to them.

“School,” Dovar said. It took multiple tries and shortening his sentence as much as possible.

The guard glanced toward the academy, to the East of the city. “Other school,” Kirs somehow managed. The man gave a hesitant nod and waved people over. They were pulled into the guardhouse, offered tea and heated towels.

After a few minutes of warming up, they managed a rough sketch of the situation to a captain of the city-guard. Judging from the looks he gave Kirs, he obviously recognized her from the work she’d done on the city’s ritual shield.

Eventually, they got warm and they were let go. They hurried through the frost-clogged streets, opting for their feet since Dovar was still recovering from the flight. The city seemed stuffed with people, as if everyone from a hundred miles or more had migrated to the capital.

They had to resort to back roads and alleys to make their way at a decent pace. Soon, however, they realized it wasn’t an issue of overfilling. No matter where they turned, once they got within a mile of the palace, every dead-end alley, dubious passage, and open road was filled with humanity.

Fear lived in the streets, crawling through the gaps of human press, between the raised hairs of the neck, and in the strained cries for help. Somehow, word had gotten out about Saleema and people remembered all too well the last time. The entire academy had been vacated, near upon ten-thousand tethered moving into the capital, either to the palace, the barracks, or the royal school.

The news of Saleema’s appearance combined with the sudden migration of most of the country’s power sent shrill horror down the spines of the people.

“This is looking to become a full-blown rebellion,” Kirs said, worried eyes examining the crowd from the roof of her home. Dovar nodded. The crowd, visible in the distance, teetered on the edge between panic and anger. Either way could tear the city apart before Saleema even got near. “How are you feeling?”

“Good enough,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulder. “For a small trip, at least.”

They were well above the crowds, closing on the palace when tether-senses locked onto Dovar. First one, then a dozen, then hundreds. The surrounding wind faltered, they slowed, then began dropping. The sheer weight of attention collapsing his Disciplines.

“Dovar?” Kirs asked, her voice rising.

Then ice appeared around them, a shell that caught and lowered them to the ground. The tether-sense winked away swiftly at some distantly yelled command. Below, they could hear the crowd murmuring. The ice was a thick opaque blue, unable to see through, and the wait was interminable.

They touched down with a slight crunch against the cobbles and ice shifted away to reveal the once mustached form of Master Orulf, Sansir’s onetime teacher and current leader of the academy. He peered down at them, frowning before dispersing the bubble entirely. People were crowding in around them.

They appeared to be in a part of the royal garden, behind the palace itself. Students, mostly the younger, less experienced ones, were gathered by the hundreds. Voices all joined into a droning buzz to sound out all else as they stared at the two newcomers. Orulf led them across the garden, shoving aside students until they came to a utility closet.

“You were at the school, right?” he asked, once they were mostly alone. “What happened?”

Kirs stepped forward. “We were attacked. I need a space and the tools necessary to work a ritual.”

Orulf hesitated, but the door opened before he could speak. “You’re Ranvir’s companions,” the newcomer said. Warp-master, he wore a traditional Ankirian uniform. “Thank you for saving them, Principal, I’ll take it from here.”

“Please,” rumbled the old master, disgruntled. “Go ahead.”

Idrees, the second-in-command of the Sleeping Sons, nodded and led them outside. The students pulled away from the severe-looking man. He was of a height with Dovar and bludgeoned a path with his tether-sense. Dovar exchanged a look with Kirs. She shrugged and followed him.

Soon, they were among the orderly ranks of the Sleeping Sons. Idrees quickly worked out a space for Kirs to work. It didn’t take her long to have a space opened back to the school, where all her resources lay. Dovar left before she could begin on something more complicated.

“You’ve seen her fight, then,” Idrees said. “What do we need?”

Dovar hesitated, surprised. “Uh, if Ranvir can’t beat her… we have a few plans that might help to take her down.” He gestured back toward Kirs. “Once the rest of the school comes, I’ll have another option as well.”

“But?”

“It’s going to require effort from everyone to take her down.”

Idrees raised an eyebrow. “Yet you think Ranvir could take her down on his own?”

“There’s a chance he could.”

Idrees shook his head and looked out across the camp. “What do you need? Asmar’s been with the Queen’s locked in council for nearly a full day, but we’ll do what we can.”

Dovar nodded. “Kirs is working on something to limit her mobility, but for that, we’ll need to get her within range of the ritual first. A funnel. We need to funnel her where we want.”

Idrees nodded, eyes narrowed. “Come.” He leapt in a rainbow flash and a crack of power, surging into the sky and onto the palace roof. Dovar followed more sluggishly, a stage below and more tired. Eventually, he made it to the eave and pulled himself up. Idrees was already pacing, his height making him seem lanky.

“That courtyard,” he said once Dovar joined him. A currently empty part of the inner palace gardens, arcades ringed a paved courtyard. With a small tower rising to look out over the cloister. It was small enough that a Cloak could reach across the width, but too long for to cover it all.

Dovar nodded slowly, looking around. “How would we lead her there?”

Idrees winced. “Historically, she might go on a rampage for a little while, but eventually, she makes her way toward powerful tethered.”

Dovar nodded. “That sounds simple enough.” He gazed out over the rest of the city. Saleema had attacked in the morning and he’d flown all day and through the night to get here. The midday light shining through an unopposed sky seemed wrong, as if poorly fit together.

“What about the people?” he asked, nodding towards the writhing mass gathered before the palace. Even from this distance, shouts could be heard.

Idrees shot him a look. “If we can spare the time, we’ll see about settling them.”

Nothing, then. We’ll do nothing and leave them to fend for themselves. He nodded, closing his eyes. They seamed together at the contact, straining his lids to pull them apart once more.

“You need rest.”

Dovar shook his head. “There’s work to do. I have to do.”

Idrees stepped between him and the view. “No, you don’t. Rest, recover. Once you’re strong, you can join us in preparation. Until then, get some sleep.”

Dovar stared into his cold orange eyes, but couldn’t force him to budge. Yet that glare burrowed into him, an authoritative presence bludgeoning him about the neck and shoulders until he hung his head. One thought filled his head as he descended. Asny.

He needed to get to his sister. He barely made the flight to the nearest rooftop, then enhanced leaps took him from building to building until he could make his way down to the street. Trudging through slushed and dirty paths, he soon found his way.

The door opened on the third knock, revealing Gudfrid. “Dovar?”

“You need to get out of the city,” he said, half-lidded eyes peering beyond her. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

She nodded and ushered him inside. The kitchen sat to the right of the entry hall’s narrow passage, the sitting room living at the end. “What’s happened?” she stepped into the kitchen. “We hear all these awful stories, but it’s hard to tell what to believe, these days. Have you gotten any rest?”

“Who’s… Dovar?” The door to the living room had opened, revealing Asny’s confused face. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “The city’s not safe any longer. We need to get out of here.”

“Come sit, have some tea and explain,” Gudfrid said with endless patience.

Her husband showing up behind Asny. Wiry bearded, the man was half Dovar’s height and weight. Already he had a kind smile on his lips and gestured toward the kitchen. “Sit yourself at our hearth and explain.”

Gudfrid appeared with an enticingly steaming cup. Reluctantly, Dovar nodded. The kitchen table had a bench on one side and chairs on the other. Dovar gulped the hot liquid down quickly, accepting the cushion the husband offered him. They puttered about, making sure everyone was comfortable. Dovar watched with half-lidded eyes as they chatted and laughed.

“Honey?”

He forced eyes open and shook his head. “No, I drank…” he looked down to find the cup refilled. “No thank you,” he finished. Asny looked at him worriedly, but the married couple seemed not to notice his state, Gudfrid slung a blanket over his shoulders. “That’s not necessary.”

The heat of the fire was sinking into his bones as he cradle the tea with his fingers, waiting for them to finish. He fell asleep long before they let their ruse drop. It took the combined effort of the entire family to lift him to bed, but Dovar stirred not an inch. Not even when they knocked his rear into the bed frame, trying to lift him high enough.

“Whose idea was to get one made this high?” the husband groaned.

Gudfrid smiled. “The one who cared about her husband’s sore back.”

He grinned and kissed her as they returned to the living room.