A Journey to the West

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 4 DAY 17

It took several days for Ruxian to replicate a sentient partition of himself. He doubled this achievement after an entire week, making him feel like an intelligent automaton watching the world through his multiple security cameras. The split perception of sound, scent, and sight so scrambled his brain that he quickly abandoned the thought of sending his clone to visit the imprisoned girls.

He still wasn’t sure about what to make of Paerawyn. Almerynd may have divulged upon the tyrant’s origin but had little to divulge beyond that. If anything, her encyclopaedic knowledge of the arcane arts only served to confirm Ruxian’s worst fear: his condition was – permanent. Bettering his magic to defeat the emperor was just the distraction he needed to scratch the itch of despair.

Dramien, when not joining Thogar and his men to patrol the forest, was slinging garash at the lakeside with the boys. Laughing when he struck water and smiling when he found aquatic life, Ruxian saw shades of the man who picked him up at the church. He seemed happy, confident. Perhaps the novel fishing exercise helped Dramien forget about the crimes of the Paerawyn dynasty.

It took only days for Thogar to complain, much to the displeasure of the female gallery, that they were giving away Dracon secrets to a Targonian. If anything, his protests only attracted women to the lakeside. By the time Almerynd discharged Naya from her cliffside prison facing Mogra’s watery grave, his every splash ended with a writhing fish on his stakes.

“Ruxian and I have a mission from Mother Blackmoon,” said Naya over dinner. “What will you do?”

Dramien set down his fork. “I shall accompany Lord Ruxian until he recovers his body and is safely home in his world.”

I don’t blame you, Dramien. Ruxian shaped a smiley face. You’ve done more than enough. I’m worried about Vera.

“She’s the daughter of the empire’s top general,” said Dramien. “She’s safer in Sothrend than running around the wilderness with her fugitive husband.”

That may be, but what if I never recover my body? Ruxian finally posed this question. Almerynd promised to help but guaranteed nothing.

The knight shook his head. “Regardless, Lord Ruxian. I cannot rest until I have exhausted every mean to restore you to your body.”

“We leave tonight,” said Naya. “Oh Ruxian, before I forget.” She produced a talisman. “Mother imbued this with your signature. Stick by me, and you should be able to act freely.”

She thinks of everything. Ruxian circled about the charm, unconvinced.

“That she does,” replied Naya. “Let’s make haste. Mother promised me a story when I get back.”

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 4 DAY 19

Naya wrinkled her nose at the crossed quarterstaff before her in disgust. After all, what was a Dracon without a garash? Hiding her contempt behind a large grin, she bowed to the guards, going as far as allowing them a generous view of her cleavage. Mother Blackmoon had named her the envoy of Mogravale and she would rather suffer a dizzying knock to the head than to fail the mission.

“Blackmoon’s pet,” said one of the guards, “go home. Our elder has no time for the bloodthirsty madwoman.”

With Almerynd’s charm working as intended Ruxian watched the exchange perched atop Naya’s horns. Having learned to conceal his signature and form, their horns could not distinguish his magic from Naya’s. Quietly, like how he imagined an explosive expert would disarm landmines, he probed their defences. The two men, busy arguing with Naya, had not noticed his subterfuge.

Instead of springing a pig-related insult, Naya took the hand of a guard and pressed it against her chest. “My brother, the Empire will not give you true peace.” As she spoke, Naya made eye contact with him and pulled his fingers a fraction lower. “They will not rest until they have your horn in a box. Please. I cannot stand the thought of good men suffering such insult and injury.” With that, she shed a tear. “At least grant me a meeting with your elder.”

It took no small effort from Ruxian to maintain his achromatic hue. When visiting a settlement yesterday, he had to hypnotise Naya into a fragile girl to garner sympathy. After rehearsing late into the night with Dramien, she looked a different person. Her tone, the opportune use of her feminine charms, and her false vulnerabilities nearly convinced even the ghost.

If her appeal to their baser instincts lowered their guard, her soft sobs hastened them to open the door. Still wiping away tear streaks, she thanked them and marched through the little forest township that held no more than a few dozen households. Naya smiled. This was not going to take long.

The entry of an unusual stranger naturally made Naya the centre of attention. A few elderlies watched her with wary eyes while the children stared at her horns. You really are popular. Remarked Ruxian as a swarm of boys abandoned their stick fighting training and raced to introduce themselves to her.

“One of those piglets pinched my bottom,” whispered Naya, replacing her smile with a pout the moment she left the square. “Remember his face, Ruxian. I’ll show him my backhand once he moves to Mogravale.”

Boys will be boys. This earned Ruxian a poke of her horns. Your wish is my command. He drifted a few paces ahead of Naya, slowly expanding his vision to avoid large magic ripples that might tickle a horn. With less than a dozen archery positions and no dugouts, he could already see Targonian infantry overrunning the small community. Why do they feel safe here?

“Too small and remote,” said Naya. “Would you fish from a pond or a lake?”

Ringing a bell to announce her arrival, Naya clambered up a rope ladder to the largest treehouse. Ruxian scouted ahead, peeking through the open window to see an elderly man stumbling towards the door. His frail frame made Ruxian recall his parents, who were on the cusp of retirement when he appeared on local television. Who would care for them if he does not return? Even this aloof youth of the digital era knew that this was a man he would help across the street, not bend to his will with mind control. Be at your persuasive best, Naya, or we’re both going to hell.

“I don’t know what that is but I’ll try,” replied Naya, greeting the old man with a large grin, lending her arm for support. “Hello, kind elder, I come bearing –”

“Little Blackmoon,” the old man interrupted with a hoarse wheeze. “Well, not so little now, I suppose. Oh, I don’t suppose you remember this old fart.”

Naya helped him into a rickety chair with cracked timber. “You must forgive me sir, but I don’t remember our meeting.”

“Your mother was the envoy then,” said the elder. “You were a lovely little lass. Every woman wanted a turn holding you, not that you’d let them, clinging to Roza like your life depended on it.” His face darkened and an edge crept into his voice. “Tell Almerynd Blackmoon that my answer is the same. Go home.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Naya sighed. “Ruxian.”

Then came the crisp click of snapping fingers. The old man hunched over in his chair, asleep. With the target in his grasp, Ruxian coalesced into his form. Staring down at the slumped figure, drooling from the mouth, limp arms dangling, Ruxian emitted a dark blue. Never figured guilt had a colour.

“You think I feel good about this?” Naya snapped. “Besides, a bit late for regrets now.”

Naya’s guilt pricked Ruxian as if he were a pincushion. This man knew her mother, someone she barely mentioned. The least he could do was focus on the task and ensure no harm came to the elder. When you wake up, you will migrate your folks to Mogravale for safety. Telling the truth did not ease his conscience. How you do it is up to you. Know that only Blackmoon can protect your people. With that, Ruxian went back into hiding, leaving Naya to rouse him.

“Sorry to have bothered you during your rest,” apologised Naya. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I don’t know my mother –”

“My people will make for Mogravale,” interrupted the elder, clutching Naya’s hands. “Tell Almerynd Blackmoon to expect us.”

Boys fought each other to offer Naya lilies as she left. Smiling, Naya shook their hands as she accepted each gift. By the time she reached the gates, she had a bouquet. Shedding one final tear, she waved them goodbye and shook hands with the guards.

As soon as she was out of sight, Naya laid down the flowers. They would not last the journey in any case. More importantly, she didn’t want to hear Dramien’s teasing again.

“That was quick,” said Dramien, who had stayed clear of the village. “I take it everything went well.”

Ruxian broke his silence. Didn’t feel like it.

“I’ve seen conquered Dracon hamlets,” replied a wistful Dramien. “It’s why I never led expeditions southward. Believe me when I say, Lord Ruxian, you did the right thing."

“Yeah, you did good, Ruxian,” agreed Naya, almost too cheerfully. “Now come on, fellow pilgrims. Westward!”