IGS #4, Chapter 7

Scorio

After the Heart Oaths were sworn, Leonis and Jova departed to collect their packs, leaving Moira and Scorio to wander LastRock until they found a quiet square. They’d walked in silence the whole way, both sunk in thought. Scorio’s alternated between doubt and optimism, but he looked up when Moira turned to face him full on. She didn’t speak, and after a moment he frowned at her pensive silence.

“What? Aren’t you going to tell me about my Pyre Lord powers?”

“Hmm. I’m curious.”

“About?”

“Why you’ve not been experimenting with your new powers by yourself.”

“I’ve been…” He shrugged, annoyed. “Busy.”

“Busy.”

Scorio thought on the journey from the Fury Spires to LastRock. The long afternoons he’d spent staring out at nothing, forearms resting on the railing ropes, the dunerunner endlessly coursing over the sands, and looked away.

“I fear you’re not ready for what’s to come,” said Moira softly. “What happened with Naomi near broke you, Scorio. Stop. I’m not looking for an argument. I’m stating facts. The young man who confronted me after his time in the Crucible was practically breathing fire. Now? You’re… withdrawn. Hardened. That fire’s banked to barely a glow.”

Scorio took a deep breath. “I appreciate the concern. But you’ve already convinced me to accept Jova and Leonis into my team. That’s an improvement, right? And regardless, I’m not going to stop.”

“I know that.” Moira allowed frustration to bleed into her words. “That’s the one unvarying constant about you. But look. What you’re attempting to do next will dwarf all that’s come before. Everything about the Silver Unfathom is bigger, more dangerous, and more complex than the Telurian Band. And then again for the Lustrous Maria. The Silverine fiends will be drawn to your pain like carrion birds to a carcass. Unless you can center, can find closure, can focus on what’s to come, you’ll not only fail to manifest your Pyre Lord powers, but you’ll be unequal to the task.”

“This has to be the worst inspirational speech I’ve ever heard.”

Moira smirked. “Pyre Lords don’t give each other inspirational speeches, Scorio. You’re a big boy now. You’ve earned the right to be taken seriously. But your own lack of interest in your new powers is cause for concern. If you go through the motions, you’ll not only fail yourself, you’ll fail those following your lead.”

“Jova can take care of herself.”

“I’m not talking about her. Could Kelona be any more naive and enthusiastic? There’s a dangerous amount of hero worship going on between her and you. Nyrix is more steady, but his temperament is that of a follower, and he’s never been beyond the Band.”

“And Xandera is a literal child,” agreed Scorio reluctantly. “Well. A child that can summon volcanoes.”

Moira raised her fist as if to bump his sternum, but held herself back. “You need to wake up. You need to rouse that fire. You need to find that outrage. And you’ll know you’ve done so when your thirst for power returns. Because right now? You look like you couldn’t care less about making Blood Baron.”

Because I don’t, he almost admitted, but caught himself. He wanted to argue out of sheer orneriness, but didn’t. She was right. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, I’ve got a gift for you.”

“Your touch?”

“I’m not an idiot. No. Something better. A sweet little present all wrapped in a bow and waiting for you at the Red Keep.”

Scorio raised a brow.

“Dameon. Remember him? A contact of mine tells me he’s working his influence at the Keep.”

A flickerflash of memories rushed through Scorio, and his hands curled into fists.

“There we go,” said Moira approvingly. “There’s no guarantee he’ll still be there when you arrive, especially if word reaches him that you’re coming, but I’d wager you’re looking forward to catching up.”

Scorio licked his dry lower lip and nodded ever so slowly.

“Good. Focus on that. Bring to mind your worst memories of what’s happened, what’s set you on this path, and let that propel you forward. Now. Are you in the right frame to focus on your growth?”

Scorio inhaled deeply and felt a smoldering anger that was more temperate than fury, steadier and more purposeful than mere rage. It was the deep burning core that had kept him going during his two years in the Crucible. That had remained after the white-hot heat of his vengeance had slaked itself on Evelyn and Davelos and Simeon and Ydrielle’s deaths.

Nothing could be right, nothing could be in joint and square while Dameon yet drew breath.

“I’m ready,” he rasped.

“Then listen well. One achieves Pyre Lord upon integrating your sense of self into a unified whole, drawing upon all prior revelations and developments. That unity of mind and heart is what allows us to begin our true mastery over mana. Before, we could only cajole what was immediately around us into our Hearts. Now? We can extend our will into the air, and siphon mana into our vortices which act as portals to our reservoirs.”

“Right,” said Scorio. “How do I summon them?”

“The technique depends on the mastery we developed when we transitioned from Flame Vault to Dread Blaze. The ability to finely control the rate and flow of mana into our Hearts. The vortices are an extension of that will. They are nothing in and of themselves; they’re just your attention cast out into the world.”

Scorio stared blankly at her.

“All right, a practical example. Say, over there. At the entrance to that street across the plaza. Can you draw the mana that’s pooled just beyond it?”

“No. It’s too far away.”

“For your old technique, yes. No longer. All I need do is will a vortex to go there, and I can siphon the mana directly across the intervening distance without it needing to actually travel to me. Pay close attention.”

Scorio focused on Moira with his Heart-sight, that intuitive sense that allowed him to visualize his own perfectly spherical Heart and detect the Bronze mana that swirled thickly about them.

From her chest flew forth a disturbance, a roiling complexity that was somehow recognizable as Moira’s, discernible in the same manner that a whirlpool is betrayed by the action of the water around it. It flitted across the plaza and stopped at the mouth of the far street, where it began to drain the Bronze swiftly into its spinning core.

“Now draw your attention back to my Heart. Can you sense the mana filling my reservoir?”

Scorio frowned and sought to see it. There. A hint of Moira’s Heart, large and craggy, black and gleaming like a shard of obsidian, vaguely rounded. And within? He squinted, as if that would help, and dimly, distantly, heard a rushing susurrus like a waterfall detected through a tract of woodland.

“Hmm.” Moira considered him. “You can see my Heart?”

“It’s… it comes and goes.” And in that moment he lost it.

“It seems you’ve exchanged finesse for brute force. I’m shocked. Really. It’s a sense that takes refinement, but… hmm. You ascended to Dread Blaze in only a couple of months. I thought at the time that reflected your supernatural mana-shaping talents. Now…?”

Had Scorio ever shared the secret of his Delightful Marinating Technique with Moira? In all the chaos and movement, he wasn’t sure. No. He’d enjoyed her shock and surprise, and explained his ascension flippantly at the time.

“I cheated. Kind of. Used a fiendish technique that’s similar to a Pyre Lord’s mana manipulation power to leapfrog the lesson.”

“I… see.” She clearly didn’t. “A blazeborn technique?”

“Imperial Ghost Toad.”

“So you sidestepped the mana-control aspect of ascension. How finely can you control the rate of influx into your reservoir?”

Scorio grimaced. “About as well as when I was a Flame Vault.”

“Well. You’re going to have to work on that. Accomplished Pyre Lords can tell at a glance the rank of another Great Soul by examining the state of their Heart and reservoir. It’s an important ability. Those with talent can even tell what type of mana’s been stocked, and how much of it lies in another’s reservoir. It’s also foundational to wielding your vortices.”

“Great.” Hadn’t Naomi warned him about the possibility of something like this? Too bad. What was done was done. “Still, I can already drain local mana directly into my Heart. Maybe I don’t need to depend on the vortices so much.”

“An interesting technique, this Toad ability of yours. But no. You said you couldn’t touch the mana across the plaza. With my four vortices I can tap distant mana all around us. I could, if I wanted, triangulate my vortices around you so that the area was rapidly drained and left you without any to call on.”

“My reservoir’s pretty big. I’d probably gut you before that became a problem.”

Moira smiled. “So sweet. But that’s a weak argument. If you want to continue advancing at the same rate, you’re going to have to shore up your weaknesses. Which means refining your control. Perhaps… I don’t know, perhaps your Toad technique will synergize with traditional Pyre Lord abilities in even more useful ways. But for now, you need to master the basic steps so that you can send forth vortices. Which, as I said, is but an extension of your will. Once your refinement is sufficiently exquisite, you can visualize them flying to where you need them to go. At higher ranks they’ll take on a life of their own, but for now they need active oversight.”

Scorio nodded glumly. “Fine. I’ll do the work.”

“Cheer up. Despite your shortcuts, you’re still at an advantage: your perfectly, impossibly spherical Heart will allow you to manifest many more vortices than anyone else.”

Scorio quirked a brow. “How so?”

“The number of vortices directly correlates with the perfection of your Heart. Do you recall how your Heart appeared when you first saw it?”

“Sure. Like a rough chunk of coal.”

“And if it had remained in that state, you’d have been lucky to summon a single vortex. But our ascension to Pyre Lord shapes and refines our Hearts as a byproduct of learning to manipulate our reservoirs and the mana around us. Most Great Souls smooth down the roughest edges, but no more. If you’ve glimpsed my Heart, you’ll see that I’ve only managed to sand it down into something approximating a very rough oval. But yours?”

“People keep calling it ridiculous.”

“Because it is. Your time in the Crucible continues to pay dividends. With such a perfect Heart, I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t summon a dozen vortices when you come fully into your power, something that most have to wait until they’re a Crimson Countess or the like.”

“Huh.” Scorio perked up. “So, I’m still pretty incredible.”

Moira rolled her eyes. “I’d pat you on the head if that wouldn’t make you scream in horror. Yes, Scorio. You’re still pretty incredible.”

Scorio allowed her droll, withering tone to wash right off him. “So. What do I need to do now?”

“All the hard work you skipped. Mana manipulation is essential to surviving deeper in Hell. What seems a luxury here is critical to dealing with the more advanced fiends, or Hell forfend, True Fiends. What Plassus did to you in the duel was but a taste of what battles are like in the depths. You have to master these fundamentals.”

Scorio saw the Blood Ox’s dolorous face once more as he summoned a fleck of Noumenon, and felt himself grow sober. “All right. Yes. I will.”

“Good. I’d recommend taking as much time as you can afford to work with mana, to control its rate of influx into your reservoir, and once you feel like your control is at its finest, begin externalizing that effort by pushing the gravitational pull a few inches or a foot outside your Heart. The sensation should be intuitive to you as a Pyre Lord, and is the first step in manifesting your vortices.”

Again Scorio could only nod.

“Also. You’re no doubt already aware, but neither Kelona nor Leonis can enter the Lustrous Maria without suffering from the Curse. I don’t know how close they are to making Dread Blaze, but they need to master the same technique if they’re to remain in your group. You could train together so as to help them along.”

“I’m not sure Leonis is going to be open to my help.”

“No.” Moira considered. “At least, not at first. But from what I’ve heard, he’s grown obsessive about his training. If he thinks he can use you to accomplish his goals, I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“Great.” Scorio went to press further, to ask her advice, or thoughts, on the events that had caused Leonis to sour, then thought better of it. “Thanks.”

“And I’ll urge you again: take your time getting to the Red Keep. Train. Try to help your companions rise through the ranks. Master your vortices. I know you want to find the Herdsmen yesterday, and kill them all the day before that, but you won’t be equal to the task, you or your team, if you all arrive at this Lost Cube as you are. You need to grow stronger. You need to train.”

“Right, right.” But Scorio brushed aside her words. “We’ll do our training at night as we head to the Keep. I kind of want to have a chat with Dameon.”

“You’re not listening to me.” To his surprise, Moira smiled. “But then few do until they’ve made a true mess and come asking me to rescue them. So, one more time: go slow. Train. You’re not ready for the Silverines and the entirety of the Unfathom.”

Scorio took a steadying breath, forcing himself to nod patiently. “I hear you. We’ll train. Hard.”

“Fine. I’ll check in with Nyrix twice each day. Morning and late afternoon. He can’t reach out to me, so I’ll err on the side of caution and reach out more often. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will. And I’ll keep you abreast of developments.”

“You’ve been a real help, Moira.” Scorio struggled to find the words. Even now he couldn’t just lower his guard. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll keep you informed as I go.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Remember. The more I know, the more I can help.” Her gaze glittered. “We’re on the same side, Scorio.”

For now, he almost said, and she must have sensed it, because she snorted in amusement and shook her head.

“And…” His words caught in his throat. If you hear anything about Naomi. But he couldn’t make himself ask. And it wasn’t as if Moira didn’t already know.

“Sure.” She understood regardless. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment they stood thus, regarding each other, then Moira smiled. “I almost suggested Ravenna accompany you.”

“You did?” He couldn’t mask his surprise. “Why?”

“She needs to get out more.” Moira looked away. “She’s driven, whip smart, and talented. But her experiences in this incarnation have been… harsh. She’s internalized some bad lessons. For one, she believes she needs to attach herself to more powerful people so as to grow in power herself.” Moira pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as she stared at some memory. “That’s not always a bad idea, but we all need experience in the field, relying on our judgments and instincts. Learning to trust our own intuition. But when I suggested she consider traveling with you, she refused.”

Scorio waited, listening.

“Ravenna believes she can grow powerful by association. As I become a locus of regional power, she will also rise. But that belief stems from pain and failure and loss of confidence, and it’ll only hold her back in the end.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Scorio.

“As am I.” Moira sighed. “Anyway, the reason her up is because, like me, you’re a Pyre Lord now. Which means others will look to you for guidance. Flame Vaults, Dread Blazes. They’re all still so caught up in what they need to accomplish next to advance that they fail to consider what’s really best for them in the long run. They’re all tactics, no strategy. That’s where you can help them most.”

“Me?” Scorio tried for a mocking smile. “Have you forgotten whom you’re talking to?”

“You’ve changed.” She considered him. “Loss and time will do that to all of us. You’re not the man you once were, for better or worse. So I know you’ll look out for Kelona and Nyrix, possibly even Leonis and Xandera. When the time comes, you’ll have to decide what’s best for them, even if they don’t agree. That’s what it means to be a Pyre Lord. To take care of those beneath your command.”

Scorio nodded. “I hear you. I’ll do my best.”

She laughed. “You’ll do more than that, I wager. At least, you have so far. Well.” Moira smoothed down the front of her robe. “I’ll be heading back to my work. When do you intend to leave?”

“Honestly? Soon. I’m not sure how far I can fly in my dragon form while carrying people, so I want to play it safe. I’d love to reach the first waystation before nightfall if possible.”

“Soon indeed, then. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“All right.” Scorio took a step back, considered the Pyre Lady, then inclined his head respectfully. “See you then.”

*

A small crowd turned out to watch them depart.

Lianshi and Juniper came, along with Taron, Fyrona, Merideva, and a handful of other, familiar faces. Moira and Ravenna stood at the front of the group, and Scorio’s chest grew tight as he considered all these companions and friends he was leaving behind.

But the time had come.

The air grew sharp with tension and excitement. Leonis and Jova had arrived a short while ago, their traveling packs light. Kelona couldn’t stop grinning. Nyrix kept double checking the great long straps that bound their two heavy packs together, and Xandera was skipping about the plaza, singing something under her breath and leaving burning footprints in her wake.

“So you’re off?” asked Lianshi, drawing close, her expression a complex mix of false heartiness, good cheer, and guilt. “Everything ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” said Scorio, and forced a smile. “As much food as we could scrounge, some tents, enough water to bathe in. Nothing left to be done, I think?”

“Ready to go!” beamed Xandera, drawing close. “At least, I am. The Silver Unfathom! I can’t wait to see my first Silverine Sun.”

“I’m jealous,” smiled Lianshi. “We’re heading out tomorrow. There’s still a whale-ship at the old army camp at the top of the Band. With a little luck, it’ll be there when we arrive, and carry us to the Fury Spires, where we’ll catch a ride back to the Fiery Shoals on the Celestial Coffer.”

“All the books are packed?” asked Scorio.

“Not nearly,” smiled Juniper. Tall and blonde, Juniper had grown tanned and strong in the years since he’d seen her last at Manticore’s Chasm camp. Settled, calm, but something in the depths of her gaze betrayed a haunted complexity. “She was up all night trying to decide what had to come, what could stay behind. She was convinced right till the end that we could simply take all of the several thousand books back with us.”

“They’re just so many—” began Lianshi, then visibly cut herself off. “I whittled it down to six medium-sized chests.”

“Huge chests,” said Juniper, tone fond as she slipped her arm through Lianshi’s.

“Moderately large chests,” allowed Lianshi.

“I’ll take a look at what you left behind,” said Ravenna, who’d drawn close. “Let you know if there’s anything of value.”

Lianshi’s eyes lit up. “Thank you.”

“Well.” Scorio took a deep breath. “The best of luck to you all. I don’t know when we’ll meet again, but take good care of yourselves till we do.”

“Our paths shall cross again,” said Moira quietly. “Whether in the Telurian Band, Bastion, or deeper in Hell, I don’t know, but we shall see each other again before the end comes.”

“In this life or the next,” said Nyrix.

For a moment they stood thus, heads bowed. Scorio felt the urge to embrace Lianshi, but it wasn’t her, not the Lianshi he wanted to hug. So instead he gave everyone a tight smile, a brisk nod, and walked away.

“Where’s he going?” he heard Juniper ask quietly.

“He needs room,” replied Lianshi. “Like, actual physical room.”

Scorio moved to the center of the plaza and cast about. This would do. He used his modified Delightful Secret Marinating Technique to begin pouring Bronze mana directly into his Heart, bypassing his reservoir, and it lit up with a great blaze as he simultaneously willed it to Ignite.

Power.

It suffused him, seemingly endless, effortlessly devoured by his huge and perfect Heart, which captured so much of the mana’s energy that almost none was lost.

For a moment Scorio hung his head, bemused, at the memory of how cracked it had once been, and how he used to lose almost a third of everything he burned to fissures riven deep in his old Heart.

No longer.

A deep breath, and he willed himself to change.

Power blossomed within him, and he grew.

Flowed up into his mighty new form, wings growing to extend, the size of sails, out over the plaza. His tail thrust back, mighty and muscular, and he fell to all fours as great talons dug into the rock and splintered the stone.

Power. Fell, draconic might. The plaza shrunk around him as he swelled in size, as big as a dunerunner, but longer, more lithe and catlike than those giant bugs, his neck sinuous, his jaw powerful and reinforced, a wealth of horns sweeping back from the crest of his head. Black scaled and plated, he inhaled deeply, his cart-sized chest expanding, and only then turned, mindful of not knocking over the plaza’s statue with his tail, to gaze at where everyone stood.

Juniper’s eyes were wide, her expression dazed, whereas Xandera looked ready to cheer. Jova’s face had gone hard and expressionless, while Leonis gaped. For a moment everyone simply stared, and then Nyrix hefted one of the huge packs.

The young man’s sangfroid in the face of Scorio’s overwhelming might was welcome.

“Ready?” asked the Dread Blaze, and Scorio padded over, his bulk moving with feline grace as he prowled across the plaza to lower down to his belly.

Nyrix hesitated, suddenly tentative, and then placed a boot on the elbow of Scorio’s front leg and levered himself up. With a grunt he heaved the pack over Scorio’s back, and Kelona lifted the second one so that the straps lay between the great horns that ran down his spine.

Scorio adjusted his weight, shifting his shoulders from side to side so that the large packs hung comfortably, and then brought his head around to nod at Nyrix. “That works.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” said Kelona, delighted, and then used but a fraction of her power to leap high and land on all fours atop Scorio’s back. “Between the wings? More by the shoulders?”

“Get comfortable,” Scorio replied, his voice magnified and deep, reverberating to fill the plaza. “We’ll figure it out as we fly.”

“How fast can you go?” asked Taron, tone hushed. The pale Pyre Lord and former unit leader was doing his level best not to look stunned. “Do you think you can reach the Red Keep in less than a week?”

“We’re going to find out,” replied Scorio. It was odd to feel Nyrix and Kelona finding a spot to sit athwart his shoulders and neck. Xandera laughed as she climbed with unabashed glee up his great back leg, and then lay down between his wings, her presence warm as a sunbaked stone.

He straightened his forelegs so that he was seated, and extended his wings out wide. “You might want to get back. The wind will be fierce.”

Jova had risen atop her plinth of stone, Leonis standing just behind, and with an inscrutable expression veered back and rose higher to peel away and ascend into the sky.

Everyone hurried into the mouth of the street, and then crowded close together but for Moira, who stood apart, hands on her hips, eyes shining as she gazed up at him.

“Hold on,” warned Scorio, and he sank deeper yet, than sprang up, hurling himself into the sky. His wings blasted downward, sending great drafts of dust and chipped stone flying.

For a moment the world felt jealous of his flight, sucked at him like treacherous mud, and he strained to tear himself free, but then he was aloft, sloping up and forward, out over the rooftops, gaining height with each huge wingbeat, powering up higher and higher.

Laughs and whoops came from Kelona and Xandera, and he felt them wriggling and holding on tight as his great muscles worked and surged beneath his scaled hide.

Faces turned up to watch them go as they flew over the first streets, people shouting and pointing, but Scorio ignored them. Tried to deny the satisfaction he derived from their surprise and shock.

Jova led the way, skimming out over LastRock. Scorio drank greedily of the ambient mana, willing it to flow directly into his burning Heart as he surged forward. With each wingbeat he pulsed forward, sliding through the arid air, and then they were over the great ruined walls and crossing the mesa itself, his shadow a diffuse blob that coursed over rocks and ravines.

Jova swayed out wide, glancing occasionally in his direction as she calibrated her speed. Was he holding her back? Pushing her too fast? How much would carrying Leonis tire her? The weight on his own back was significant. Would he be able to fly all day with his passengers?

Already he felt himself straining to pour enough Mana into his Heart, to maintain the equilibrium with the Mana draw this massive form demanded.

Questions that would inevitably answer themselves.

Faster he went, his shoulder and chest muscles warming pleasantly, his tail undulating and long like a war banner behind, his eyes immune to the wind.

“Here we go!” shouted Kelona as they reached the mesa’s end, and then all land fell away and they were truly out and into the sky, high above the distant desert, spearing south, ever south, toward the horizon.

Raw, savage anticipation filled Scorio’s being at last. They were quit of LastRock. Done with friends who were now strangers, strangers who were now friends. Leaving behind the complexities and shadows that had been dragging him down, making him melancholic, filling him with doubt.

Beyond them lay all of Hell, and he aimed to conquer it.