Curselock

Chapter 273: Math

“So what was that?” Glenny asked, stepping up beside his friend and eyeing the added thickness of his grimoire.

“That, my friend,” Leland began, “was ether – what Walker talked about.”

“Purplefiresoulsuckingheart?” Jude asked, combining all descriptors of Circle of Souls.

“Nope. Just ether-powered Circle of Souls.” Leland watched the last purple wisps of flame dancing around in the sky disappear. “So, I guess you two and Gelo better get to learning to use ether. Because that was…”

“Ridiculous?” Glenny supplied.

“Awesome?” Jude tried.

Leland thought for a moment. “I think the word I’m looking for is ‘scary.’ It was an accident I even used what little ether I had in my lungs. Can you imagine what a proper spell would look like? One with ether, a built up Heart-core, and true elements?” He paused, letting the question fester. “You’d be—”

Glenny’s mouth went slightly slack. “Lordly,” he uttered.

Shaking his head, Leland whispered, “You’d be above a Lord.”

No one spoke for a few seconds, allowing Gelo, Isobel, and Elin to catch up – one of whom was staring at Leland like she was standing before a king.

Gelo was first to ask, “Purplefireheart?”

Jude’s eyebrows shot straight up. “That’s almost exactly what I asked!”

“Ether,” Leland said listlessly, too tired to deal with Jude. “And can we talk more about it later? For now, we’ve got to—”

“Hold on,” huffed Isobel. “What happened to Seer?”

“Lodestar killed him…” He looked around. “Where is Lodestar, actually?”

The floating halo of metal and darkness appeared from nothing, his metaphysical eyes locked firmly onto his host. “I am here.”

“So you are.”

“You surprised me, Leland.”

That got an eyebrow raise. “That I didn’t fail to kill five Witches? Or that I’m far stronger than you think—”

“Please,” the parasite dared, his voice like a bird song if the birds were on fire, “I am ready to ‘talk.’ To explain why—”

“Not now,” Leland snapped. “Or have you forgotten there’s a horde of monsters and Witches barreling down on innocent defenders just over there!?”

He pointed across the desert, away from the Tear’s crackling, red lightning. There the bastion sat, stoic and operational. Hundreds ran around the battlements or below the main walls, fighting for their lives like ants defending their nest. Some used magic, some swords. Whichever the case, blood was spilled, turning the dark sand into a beach of soaked blood.

Lodestar rotated slowly like a clock, the pool of darkness at his center pulsing like a rock dropped into a calm lake. “Hmm. Afterward, then.”

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And with that, the parasite returned to the tattoo on his host’s back.

Leland scoffed, turning his attention to the group. “Time to fight.”

“Of course,” Glenny said with a smirk, conjuring daggers made of searing crimson energy.

“A bet to see who gets the most kills?” Jude asked, eagle wings appearing from his and his mirage’s backs.

“No way,” Gelo laughed, teal magic mixing with an Icey storm around her. “Leland would win by default… although,” she looked to the sky, finding dark rain clouds, “I might be able to repurpose those…”

Isobel locked eyes with Leland. “We are having a serious discussion when this is over.”

He shrugged. “Get in line.”

Elin decided now was the time. “I’m ready too—”

“No.”

“Not happening.”

“Does it look safe over there?”

The Legacy of the First Druid puckered her lips. “I can decide if I want to fight—”

“Not when I promised you wouldn’t die.” Leland considered a few things. “How about this? I need pointers on how to properly use Wildfire—”

“The Shamanism spell?” she asked, her voice fluttering high.

“Yeah. I haven’t tried it—”

“Why do you have one of my Legacy’s spells?”

Leland blinked a few times. “What do you think my payment was for your protection?”

Elin had openly gaped at him a few times by this point, but in this moment, she simply shook her head. “What is with you people?”

“Oh!” Gelo yelped. “You can test out Dual Minds or whatever that spell is called.”

“Dual Mind Resonance, yeah.” Leland glanced over at the fighting. “Maybe not when lives are on the line.”

Elin shook her head harder, the idea of “Leland” like a difficult math concept.

Knight Mason leaned over the battlements, his eyes locked firmly into the distance. Vaguely, he could hear his team leader shouting something about “throwing oil pots.” A defensive measure only meant for people like him – people with no ranged attacks, no arrows to fire, no magic to blast. Oil pots were the best he was going to get, all things considered. A flammable liquid, preamble to a fire mage’s destruction.

Like that would do anything, he thought, his eyes lingering in the distance where the purple flames had conquered the sky.

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He cursed his station, his position as “defender team C.” He hated being out of the fight, being one of the losers who sat atop the bastion with their thumbs in their butts. Relegated to throwing oil pots instead of clashing swords against flesh.

What did any of this matter? Whoever or whatever created those flames would come here and do the same. Either they were friendly and the battle would be over, or they were a Witch and the bastion would fall. Either way, a dozen oil pots weren’t going to help.

But still, he threw them – if only to get his team leader off his case. If the purple fire was coming to kill him, then best to make sure his ears weren’t ringing with orders during his final moments.

Briefly, with the idea of the end in his mind, he thought of the one he had already lost – her decapitated head was like a punch to the gut. He had been too weak back then, the phantom feeling of split-open guts a reminder of his faults.

That’s why he was stationed here in loser land throwing pots because his superiors thought he was unfit for combat. Apparently, when people survived lethal exposure, they change. And if Mason’s slouched, leaning posture was anything to go by, they were correct. The idea of simply falling from the battlements to a gruesome death below didn’t scare him anymore. Not like it used to at least.

So that was why he was here, because if he was down there, he’d die—

A thud sounded a dozen paces away. Yelling quickly followed.

“Could you not set me down nicely!” a woman screeched, her knotted hair like the starry sky above.

And while the sudden appearance of someone was cause for concern, Mason couldn’t bring himself to react… not with him standing right over there.

Vagrant Warden Leland Silver, rumored Harbinger who was said to be the savior of Ivory Reach. He floated softly down from the open sky, four pure white feathered wings and two raven black wings lowering him like a perching hawk. His purple-speckled eyes were locked onto the battles below, completely unconcerned with the woman yelling at him.

Not a moment later, a woman with a coiled centipede on her arm landed beside the Vagrant Warden, her arms filled with a fluffy, squirming coat – or rather, a fluffy, squirming bear. The woman let the cub down, brushing a layer of frost from her naked arms. She tried to hide a shiver, but Mason saw right through her attempts.

Her head jolted to the side, locking eyes with him. He looked away like he had just been caught peeking at someone else’s exam.

A vibrant warcry from above pulled Mason back to the oddities. Above he found another member of the Vagrant Warden’s party, the one with the axe. Wings sprouted from his back as well, but he obviously had far less control than did the Vagrant Warden. Eventually the man allowed himself to fall from the sky, landing in a kneel and scaring several of Mason’s team members.

Lastly, a young man cloaked in shadows appeared. Just… appeared.

Mason blinked a few times, his team leader screaming at the top of his lungs from a few paces away.

“Identify yourselves!”

It was the berserker who answered. Striking a mock salute, he proudly announced, “Team Fluffy Bear back from special assignment and looking to party!”

A hushed silence filled the battlement as all eyes turned toward them. Team Fluffy Bear? The suicidal team that was sent to solo-defend against a sneak attack from Seer himself? They’re back!?

The questions rolled off the tongue of everyone near, but Mason ignored them. Instead he focused on the Vagrant Warden, Leland Silver, otherwise known as the savior of his life and the reason he didn’t sleep at night.

Back then, when Mason’s guts were spilling from his armor, Leland Silver had appeared like a dazzling Lord slinging magic like a savant. He had been laughed at when the Captain read his report. Apparently calling an obvious mortal a “Lord” was something every commanding officer felt the need to share with their men.

Mason had ignored the name calling and jokes. He’d never forget how he felt in the moments watching Leland Silver work. Lordly, even though he knew it was wrong, felt right.

A question pulled Mason from his inner musing.

“What was that pillar of purple fire?” someone asked, pointing in the direction of the Tear. “Was that one of you!?”

The berserker answered with a pained expression. “No…” he mumbled, “no idea what that was. Crazy, right?”

Mason ignored the rest. He knew. He knew the source. Anyone with a brain could have figured it out. The purple flames were created by Leland Silver. And if tomorrow Mason was still made fun of for calling him “Lordly,” then he was quitting the military. Everyone saw the purple flames, everyone felt the absolute authority the spell cast over the landscape.

Even here, up on the battlements, everyone had frozen in the face of such a spell. Mason felt like a kid again, standing before his Lord on his nineteenth birthday, trying not to soil himself after every one of his Lord’s words.

“Like this?” Leland Silver asked the woman with starry hair, holding out his open palm. A single spark made way for writhing flames. Orange, white, and yellow mixed like an early snowfall during autumn, devouring his hand until only heat remained.

Leland Silver raised an eye at the show. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

“It is called Wildfire,” the starry haired woman mused while leaning against a nearby support pillar. She stared at the fire as if it was a stage dancer performing a once-in-a-lifetime rendition.

“Now what?”

She quirked her head to the side, motioning down to the monsters and Witches below. “Kill them, I guess. I was never given Wildfire as a spell, since, you know, the whole rogue thing. But I imagine it’s like any other spell.”

Mason tossed another oil pot, listening closely. Questions arose from their conversation, far too many questions.

“I don’t know, this spell feels alive.”

Starry hair girl huffed. “Well duh. It’s a Shamanism spell. Of course it’s alive. They don’t call Shamanism ‘living magic’ for nothing.”

“I guess that’s true,” Leland muttered before holding his engulfed hand up to eyelevel. “I want you to go out there and kill all the Witches.”

“Not like that. It’s not alive alive. It’s just… alive.”

Leland glanced at her. “Now that’s confusing. I guess I might as well learn by living.”

Slowly, he pointed his palm outward, aiming down at the battle. After a slight hesitation, the Wildfire dripped off, falling straight down like an overturned cup of viscus gravy. Fire exploded when it hit the ground, all of the tossed oil igniting.

“Woah!” Leland yelped. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Uh, that wasn’t you. That was something flammable.”

“Oh. Well what’s—”

He cut off his question as the slime-like fire started to crawl. It barreled over everything, obstacle and defender alive, traveling out from the bastion all the while burning nothing. Everyone standing on the battlements watched as a forward team fell victim to the living fire… only for the flames to roll right over them, leaving them confused and checking for injuries.

“Oh, it doesn’t harm people I think of as allies,” Leland mused in a slightly too happy tone, causing everyone who heard to shiver. “That’s good. I thought I would have to go down there and heal them.”

The Wildfire then came into contact with a monster, swarming it like burning ants. Flames soon consumed its whole body, giving it a terribly painful death. The spell continued on like nothing had happened, reaching a pack of monsters. Each fell similarly to the last, but strangely enough, the fire grew.

“The spell ‘eats’ it seems,” Leland said to the starry woman.

“It should grow as it burns things, yes,” she replied, “like a… wildfire…”

“Is it time yet?” the berserker asked. “I want to go fight! Please Leland! Please!”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not your handler.”

Mason glanced over, finding all of the Vagrant Warden’s party members watching two twins holding battle axes and flying with eagle wings fall from the battlements. All except for the one with the coiled centipede on her arm. She was nowhere—

“Ah!” Mason yelled, finding the woman one step behind him. “What—”

“A little eavesdropper, eh? Shouldn’t you be throwing pots?” She kicked the box of oil pots to his side.

“I-I— yes!” He scooted a few paces down the battlement, away from the Vagrant Warden and his team. Then he got back to work, tossing oil until his shoulder was sore.