Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God (28 page)

Crossing the trail, I look for any tracks between the woods and the water. There are a few from booted feet, probably armor booted, but none from bare feet. Perzey was still naked, when she dove into the river, so it is unlikely she passed this point on this side of the river.

I do not know if this trick is going to work, but I have no choice but to try it. Well, I have a choice, but I am going to try this anyway.

Charging down the river bank, I sprint onto the river's surface. My feet are sinking ankle deep into the water, it is harder to stay buoyant on water than mud. Keeping my ki flowing is not difficult. The hard part is not putting to much downward pressure into my steps, while running flat out. If I lose control in the middle of the river, I will sink. I do not have even close to enough strength to swim with the weight of my weapons and gear.

Something is wrong. I do not know if it a sound, or a scent or something else entirely, but something I notice subconsciously triggers a warning. I start randomly staggering my forward progress into angular dashes of irregular lengths. The arrows that zip into the water all around me confirm my premonition. With still more than a third of the river to cross, I randomize my movements and progress even more.

By the time the riverbank is only a few hundred feet ahead, multiple arrows have torn through my billowing cloak, but I still have not been hit. Seventy feet to the bank, an arrow bounces off my mail over my floating ribs. The mix of tantalum and tungsten in my armor is stronger than any armor I have encountered that is not an Item of Power.

Fifty feet, with an explosive burst of inertial force, I launch myself toward the shore. Water fountains into the air behind me, and I hug my knees tightly to my chest. With my body curled into a tight ball, I hit the ground rolling. As the roll brings the balls of my feet into contact with the ground, I push off with my legs, propelling myself to the side at an angle. Grabbing a tree trunk to halt my momentum, I flop onto my belly behind it.

Looking back along my trail, more than a dozen arrows are embedded in the ground. A group of five DokkAlfar arches are standing at the edge of the woods, on the opposite shore. They have arrows nocked and drawn, but they are not firing. The tips or the arrows are slowly moving back and forth. It is possible that they cannot see me in my current position. As I slither back farther into the brush and rise to a crouch, they still do not fire.

I am more than a little surprised that I can see them so clearly. The distance across the river is over 400 hundred yards, and I can still still distinguish the arrow heads, even if they are blurry at that distance. I do not remember my vision being so clear, during the trip from the Four Bones Goblin Lair to Bogwater.

Taking out Stone Feather Death, I nock an arrow and take aim. Slowly exhaling, at a speed that will take almost thirty seconds to completely exhale, I let the bowstring slip off my fingertips. The arrow steaks through the air in a bit of an arc. Even though my arrows do not break the sound barrier like Corialos', they are still travelling well over 500mph.

My target's head jerks slightly upward, and he dives to the side. It is too late avoid being hit, bit it was probably enough to save his life.

“AARRRRRR!”

Blood sprays out from his back in a cone shape, as the arrow punches completely through his shoulder. I was aiming for the center of his chest near the throat, but that will still put him out of commission. Even with a healer, he would not be shooting a bow for several days at the minimum.

I love DokkAlfar, they are so predictable in certain circumstances. The other four dive into the woods behind themselves, while leaving the one I shot to fend for himself. Having been knocked down by the impact of my arrow, he struggles to roll over and start belly crawling toward safety.

“AAAAARRRRRRR!”

My second arrow punches through the back of his knee at a very shallow angle. Even if he lives, he should be crippled, though strong enough healing magic could fix that too.

“Help me!” He is using the DokkAlfar tongue.

There is no sign of his friends, and no one comes out to help him. With only one working arm and one working leg, he is barely able to move forward any longer.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

My third arrows hit him in the ass, from the scream it probably drove all the way into his colon or intestines.

I kiss the muddy ground, as four arrows whistle through the air where I was a fraction of a second before. Staying on my belly, I slither toward the east, before rising again. I did not see where the arrows came from and do not particularly feel like playing tag with the other archers.

Using the thick brush along the river for cover, I travel along the river. Using steps from Shadow Fist, I do not disturb the brush or vines. Watching the muddy bank of the river and the grass and weeds, I do not see any sign of someone exiting the water, by the time I reach the large pool at the base of the water fall.

Except for the corpse, there is no sign of DokkAlfar near the camp. I do not think there are any of them anywhere close to the camp. Some reptiles, that resemble horned toads the size of medium dog breeds, are fighting over the corpse.

*Perzey? Where are you?*

Turning back to the west, I follow the course of the river. I again check for signs of Perzey exiting the river, but as expected, I find none. Reaching the point where I fought the DokkAlfar archers, I see the DokkAlfar leader there, with four of his soldiers. The four surviving archers are kneeling in front of him, explaining in detail what happened, but it does not sound much like the events I remember.”

“He completely disappeared, once he entered the woods. It had to be another spell from the caster that gave him the water walking.”

“Did you actually see the caster?”

The archer looks up at the DokkAlfar leader. “No, Captain. He stayed hidden on the far side of the river.”

“Then how do you know there was a caster there?”

The archer seems at a loss, simply staring for a moment. “The water walking. The way the human disappeared right before out eyes.”

“Fools! Idiots! Did you not listen to the Priest-Lord? This human is a ki adept. There is no telling what types of self-manipulation tricks he may possess. Search to the west along the river. Find the woman, if she is still alive.” The Priest-Captain's voice overflowing with contempt.

The DokkAlfar archers salute the Captain with closed fists held over their hearts, before turning to the west. Within a few dozen yards all of them have disappeared within the woods along the trail. The Captain watches them, until they are occluded from his sight, before turning to stare across the river.

So, the DokkAlfar do not yet have Perzey. Oddly, I feel a sense of relief and frown, when I realize it. I am getting completely fucked in the head, since I started fucking her. I do not understand why I am letting her get to me. Is it because she is my first fuck?

Angrily, I start moving toward the west, watching for any sign of Perzey again. I soon pass by the Shit Hole, with no indication of her fate. The Bull Rush River flows very rapidly from the base of the falls to the delta. With the amount of time that has passed, Perzey could have travelled quite a distance, if she stayed in the water. I increase my pace to a steady run, that is a bit faster than the speed of the current.

I keep calling for Perzey in the party chat, but I no longer expect any response. She either has lost the charm, is unconscious, or is dead.

At a bend in the river, a fallen tree, a very large one, extends into the river. Its branches still have a fair amount of dead leaves clinging to them, so it was probably knocked down in the last flood season. A pack of crocodiles is swarming around the trunk of the trying, while unsuccessfully making attempts to scramble up on it. I am not sure if pack is the right term to apply to crocodiles, but does it really matter? After all, they are not really crocodiles, just a reptile that bears a close resemblance to crocodiles.

The roots of the fallen tree are still hidden by the woods, and I cannot see anything on the visible part of the trunk. However, there has to be something there to attract over a dozen crocodiles, something they consider food.

As I move closer to the fallen tree, I stay inside the woods, and the crocodiles never seem to notice me. If they did spot me, they would certainly attack. While crocodiles may play at being logs in the water, when they are in this kind of feeding frenzy, they lack the intelligence to play dumb and lure me in.

Climbing onto the branch of a tree, I start moving through the canopy, instead of along the ground. I am still some fifty feet from the fallen tree, when road through the branches reaches and impasse. There is a gap where the branches of the fallen tree would have once been, but at least there is no longer anything blocking my view of the fallen tree's trunk.

Perzey is sprawled face-down on top of the trunk of the fallen tree. Still naked, her wounds have not stopped bleeding, and she is covered with drying blood. An arrow is embedded in the left side of her back. If not for the almost invisible movements of her ribs as she breathes, I would think she was dead. It is close to a miracle that she was able to somehow ascend to the top of that trunk.

A rush of anger fills me, and I draw my swords. Ki powering my legs, I leap at the nearest crocodile. As my feet touch the ground, my left hand sword cleaves into the crocodile, splitting it in twain. A shimmer of force surrounding the blade prevents any blood from clinging to it. As it starts to turn toward me, the next crocodile dies. The crocodiles are nothing but stupid if vicious animals, and they all die as soon they come withing reach of my blades.

Jumping onto the trunk, I check Perzey. A bloody froth coats her lips, and a liquid gurgling sound comes from her chest with every breath. The arrow has pierced her lung, but does not seem to have collapsed it. Her other wounds are not life-threatening, but some of the cuts from the DokkAlfar glaives are still deep.

While I know more about destroying bodies, human or otherwise, than almost everyone I can think of, I do not know enough about healing them. I am not sure if I can pull the arrow out without killing her. I compromise and slice off most of the shaft.

“Nnnn.” Perzey sounds like a beaten animal, as she tries to shrink away from the arrow.

“Aaaaahhhhh.” Her attempted shriek, when I pick her up, is still barely more than a quiet whimper. Even though her eyes open, she does not see anything around her, and she slumps against me, as the pain drives her deeper into unconsciousness.

Staring at her pain wracked face, with anger boiling inside of me, I think I understand. I have not stated it, but she is mine now. No matter her willingness or reluctance, Perzey belongs to me now. As long as I do not put her aside, she will be my property, until her death.

No DokkAlfar are visible across the river or back along it, but I know they are coming. They will chase me, until I exterminate them. Even if they did not hound me, I would hunt them, until every last one of them lay tortured and broken at my feet. They attempted to kill me. They attempted to destroy my property. They will suffer, before they die.

Long hours have passed, since the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the expanse of the delta lies before me. No boat will come from Bogwater before dawn, no matter how much I signal.

Perzey remains motionless in my leaden arms, her breathing so shallow I can barely feel it. Without help, she will not see this or any other sun rise.

The half-moon and the stars blur in and out of focus, as I look up at the sky. Burning pain throbs throughout my body, cresting and receding in time to my ragged breathing. I am an imbecile. I have pushed myself too hard, used too much ki for far too long. I am not a Half-Dvergar anymore. I am merely human.

Around three miles, can I stably control the massive amount of ki I will need long enough to cross the delta? My steps are already unsteady, as I begin to run across the surface of the delta waters. Pain darkens my already blurred vision, and my teeth are tightly clenched to keep from screaming. Growling, like an enraged animal's, echoes weirdly in the night, the volume rising as I exhale and falling as I inhale. Time blurs, and the water sucks at my feet like viscous mud. I do not know how far I have come, or how far I still need to go.

As my foot strikes something solid, and I begin to fall, I instinctively twist in midair to shield Perzey from the impact. A hard corner of stone drives the air from my lungs, and I lie here, panting like an animal.

“Who goes there? Stand and identify!”

Following the tramping of multiple sets of boots, a pool of light dimly illuminates the stone around me. I am laying at the bottom of one of the flights of stairs leading from the low stone wharves to the main level of the riverside docks.

Forcing myself to stand, I unsteadily ascend the steps. The watch patrol, six watchmen and the sergeant, back away. Their eyes and faces showing the fear in their hearts. I do not know what is so intimidating about me, that it would put this much fear into veteran watchmen.

“The best healer. Who? Where?” My voice sounds more like the snarling of a beast, than the voice of a human.

The sergeant swallows reflexively. “G-Garion the Humble. On Meadowlark Street. Chad show him the way!”

“M-M-M-Me?” The watchman's voice is more of a squeak than anything, as he stumbles out of the formation.

“You! Do it now!”

Chad looks at me, nearly trembling. “This way. Follow me.”

With Chad leading the way, I compel my legs to move in a straight line.

“Sarge, that power, who is … what was that?”

“A Master Adept, and with that aura, he's a destroyer. Pray that Garion keeps him happy, or we're fucked. There aren't five men in this town that can stand toe-to-toe with a Master Adept, and none of them are on the watch.”

The voices disappear behind me, as Chad leads me through the twists and turns of Bogwater's nighttime streets. After a few minutes, he stops outside a small stone building, and pounds on the doors.

“Deacon! Deacon Garion! Open the door! Deacon! Hurry, there's a badly wounded woman out here!”

The sound of a bolt sliding is audible through the door, and then, it opens. Standing in the doorway, a grey haired man in a grey robe stares at me.

“Lady's Grace. Bring her in! Quickly, this way!”

Inside, a small chapel is dimly lit by a pair of candles, next to an alter. Leading the way to a door in the middle of the right side wall, Garion opens it. Entering the room, he begins to light the myriad lamps around the periphery.

“Put her on the table.” He points to a block of white marble. Grooves are carved along the edges, to channel blood to the drain hole in one end of the table.

After laying Perzey on her side, I lean against the wall, near the door.

“Go wait in the chapel.”

When I do not move, Garion stares at me.

“Go wait in the chapel. You are in my way.”

“If Perzey dies, you'll follow her.”

“If do not sit down and rest,
you
will not live long enough to know if I save her. You have pushed yourself so far that you are closer to death than the woman.” Garion's voice is soft and calm, as he stares at me.

I am reluctant, without being able to discern the reason, but I move into the chapel and sit on one of the pews.

Garion does not close the door, as he turns back to work on Perzey. Flickering light, a mixture of rich earthy brown and dark forest green, surrounds his hands, as he lays one her chest and one on her head.

“Warrior. Warrior!”

I sit up, with a start, and look around.

Garion is standing in the doorway of the surgery, his hands and robe stained with blood. Behind him, Perzey lies on the stone table, her chest wrapped with white linen bandages.

“Take her to a bed in the back room. Then, remove your armor and clothing, before lying on the table.”

“I don't need any treatments.”

I pick up Perzey, and she moans softly. Seeing the open door in the back wall of the room, I take into the room and put her on one of the three cots inside.

“Even though you are no longer abusing your body with too much ki, you could still die. Do you understand how much damage you have done to yourself? Most of your organs are ready give out, from the abuse.”

Removing my armor and  clothes, I lay on my back on the cold marble. Garion places his glowing hands on my chest, and a green and brown mist spreads out over my body. A tingling, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, slowly fills my chest, before radiating outward into my limbs.

As the minutes turn into an hour and an hour into two, sweat beads on Garion's forehead, before running down his cheeks and neck. With labored breathing and deeply flushed features, he keeps pouring Power into my damaged body.

The burning pain fades, until only a dull ache subsumes my entire body.

Finally releasing his Power, Garion steps back and sits on a stool against the wall. He takes a jug of wine and a goblet from the cabinet next to his stool. Filling the goblet tot the brim, he takes a few sips, before upending the goblet and swallowing the wine in huge gulps. Shivering, he sets the goblet aside.

“I am curious, what burned those scars into your patterns?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are aware of what patterns are, and the nature of existence, three patterns conjoined, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I am able to heal scars, even old ones. As long as the damage does not change all three patterns, even the loss of a limb can be healed, but I cannot heal your scars. They have been etched into your patterns, all three, body, mind and soul. What type of Power or creature did that to you?”

My scars are burned into my patterns? I do not know what to make of that. Patterns are not easily changed from what I understand.

“I was in an accident as a child. I was trapped with a fire under me and burned alive for I don't know how long. There were no Powers involved. When I woke up in the hospital, I had these scars and the healers couldn't do anything about them.”

Garion frowns slightly. “Tell me the circumstances surrounding this accident.”

“My family was travelling in a sort of a wagon, with a mechanical device that moves it instead of animals. A similar wagon, only one ten time as big, lost control, and we were forced off the road and down a mountain side. My parents died in the crash, and I was trapped with burning fluids beneath me.”

Garion sighs. “I see. Sometimes, an individual's pattern can suffer damage from the individual's own beliefs. Whether body, mind or soul, if one believes that the damage should exist, he may force changes into the pattern to match the supposed damage.”

After staring at Garion for a few moments, I start to laugh. The decidedly insane noise fills the small church. My scars are self-inflicted. It sounds like some twisted form of my own survivor's guilt permanently damaged my patterns. That is just too fucking funny. It is too fucking apt, as well. I have always been my own worst enemy.

“That fucking figures. It just fucking figures.”

Garion stands up. “You should rest. The damage to your body will heal, and you will probably be several times stronger than you were before. Though, I do not recommend torturing your body like that again. If you were unable to find a healer as gifted as I am, you would almost certainly have died.”

“Yeah.” I look toward the room, where Perzey lies sleeping.