IGS #4, Chapter 3

Scorio

“Wait, what?” Scorio rushed to the edge of the roof just in time to see Moira land on the ruptured sidewalk and dust off her hands. “Jova? You want me to team up with Jova?”

Moira pretended to consider, then nodded. “Yes. I told her to wait in my office. Let’s go.” And she strode off down the street.

Scorio gaped. For a moment his anger and melancholy were overwhelmed by sheer disbelief. Then he clenched his jaw, bit back the urge to curse the skies, and simply leaped off the roof as he Ignited and extruded his wings to glide down the block, wheel sharply, and landed before Moira, cutting off her path.

“You can grow your wings without entering your scaled form?” Moira raised a brow. “Very nice.”

“I - what?” Scorio glanced over his shoulder to realize she was correct. His wings furled behind his back, their tops arching up over his head, and he realized that this was the first time he’d ever manifested them while still looking human. “Oh. Huh.”

“You really should look into all of the benefits of being a Pyre Lord.” And then she stepped smartly around him and continued down the street.

“Wait!” He dismissed his wings and rushed to cut her off again. “Wait. Stop. Jova? Are you mad?”

“Mad? No. Why?”

“Because…” How to cram the madness of her suggestion into words? “She tried to kill me. She followed Dameon’s orders for two years after his betrayal. She… I don’t trust her. I can’t trust her. You know this!”

Moira sighed and crossed her arms. “Do you honestly think she’s an evil person?”

“Evil?” Scorio threw up his arms. “That’s too simplistic.”

“So that’s a ‘no’. What she is, Scorio, is one of the most formidable Great Souls that ever lived with the greatest potential for changing the course of this war. She’s as fierce as she is driven, but also limited in a curious way, as strangely unaware of her own interior workings as you are of your impact on others and your growing reputation.”

“That’s great. I don’t care. She saw Leonis and Lianshi’s graves and chose to prioritize her own growth. She tried to kill me over accepting Dameon duped her. I won’t travel with her. I can’t trust her.”

“She wouldn’t be my first choice for your traveling companion if everyone else wasn’t dead.” Moira stepped in closer, and her authority, her power, suddenly charged the air. “But they are dead, Scorio. And you are teetering on the brink of self-destructive grief. Better you angry than numb. Better you wary than uncaring. Jova will not only be an incredible asset in the Silver Unfathom, but she’s one of the few living people who knows you from your Academy days, who has made a mark in your life, and who can match you for strength of will. Think of her as a necessary evil, if you must, but with her in your group your chances of success will explode.”

Scorio spluttered as he fought to find the right words, to convey just how outrageous this suggestion was.

But Moira didn’t give him the chance. “If you were you focused and balanced and ready to take care of those who will follow you, I’d not make the suggestion. But Kelona and Nyrix and Xandera all need you at your best. The Silver Unfathom is perilous, Scorio, more perilous than any previous band of Hell you’ve seen. Kelona is a Flame Vault, Nyrix a Dread Blaze, and Xandera a child. You know nothing about what you face, and flying into the world of the Silverines with grief blinding your senses will doom you all. And we can’t lose you, Scorio.”

“We?”

“We Great Souls. From the most recent reborn Char to the Imperators in the Twilight Cradle, we, as a race, need you.”

Scorio turned away, scoffing.

“I’m serious!” Moira’s voice was a whipcrack. “We’ve a handful of years left to win this war and so far? I’ve not much confidence that we will. But in only three years you’ve upturned all the accepted norms of upper Hell, have revealed Bravurn to be a traitor and Herdsmen both, forged an allegiance with the blazeborn, helped destroy the Blood Ox, and  more! You’re clearly Whispered, but even that doesn’t explain your extraordinary capacity for bringing change to Hell.”

She took a breath, settling herself. “So yes. If I deem it necessary that you travel with Jova so as to weather your grief, then I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen.” She stepped in closer. “Make up your mind, Scorio. Are you capable of grieving for your friends and feeling all those awful emotions, or are you an inhuman construct that wants to drive itself to its very limits only so as to hide from its pain? Because if you refuse to take care of yourself, you need to stop complaining about Jova’s past mistakes and accept her for the lifeline she really is.”

Moira’s eyes flashed, and Scorio realized she’d come within arm’s reach of where he stood. Which was dangerous. She had but to lift her hand and she could touch his arm.

But he felt rooted to the spot, held in place by her blazing stare, her impatience, her anger.

Never had he seen Moira like this. She was still controlled, still poised, but furious at his… what? Stupidity? Inadequacy? Limitations?

Scorio took a deep breath. Strangely, her own raw emotion helped calm his. “I understand where you’re coming from. But some things, some betrayals, simply can’t be forgiven.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive her.” Moira’s tone softened a fraction. “Just recognize that right now she’s a sovereign remedy for what ails you. Even if her presence serves only to keep your anger alive, that’s better than being numb.”

“Until she betrays me again.”

“She won’t. Did you know Charoth asked her to accompany him to the Emerald Reach and their serve the Seamstress directly?”

“I… no?”

“She refused. Obviously. Why?”

“Why?” Scorio’s thoughts spun.

“You will recall, of course, that it was she who approached Aezryna and Charoth with her plan to steal away the fiends from the Blood Ox. Why was she so willing to work with them then, but now, no longer?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“No. You don’t.” She arched a brow. “Might it not be worth asking her?”

Scorio licked his lower lip. “You’re saying she wants to travel with me?”

Moira laughed. “She doesn’t know I’m setting this up. She’s as liable to walk out when we arrive as you are to not even show. But how about this: just ask her. Ask why she refused Charoth’s offer. If her answer fails to move you, I’ll stop pressing for you to travel together.”

Scorio took a step back and rubbed at his jaw. This felt like a trap. An ambush. But he couldn’t see Moira’s angle. What could Jova reveal that would cause him to trust her again?

Nothing.

“Good,” said Moira, not waiting for him to respond. “Now let’s go. I’d hate for this entire situation to be rendered moot because we spent too much time yapping in the street.”

Scorio watched Moira stride past him again, then, reluctantly, followed. His thoughts continued to whirl like leaves. Jova had refused Charoth? That invitation was a true honor. Charoth was a lauded Blood Baron and one of the Seamstress’ key lieutenants. The Seamstress herself was a Crimson Countess, just one step shy of becoming an Imperator. Why would Jova refuse such an obvious path to power?

Why would she remain at LastRock?

He couldn’t come up with an answer.

Moira swept through the shattered streets and some aspect of her attitude kept other Great Souls from approaching. Scorio followed in her wake, bemused, uncertain, curious despite himself, and all too soon they reached the city’s center. The massive pile of rubble was a testament to just how huge Jova’s previous seat of power had been, and under which Xandera had discovered the Lost Library. From its center now rose a new tower, slender and improbable, to a stunning height of some forty yards. Its top swelled to encompass the solitary chamber Jova had created for herself, its architecture as brutal and plain as the rest of the buildings in town.

But Moira led him to the administration hall from which she and Ravenna orchestrated upper Hell’s affairs. She strode through the large archway without hesitation. Scorio lingered for a moment outside, knowing that he should just turn away, not bother with any of this, but at the last he followed after.

He was curious.

That was all.

Jova stood at the far end of the hall, arms crossed and staring moodily into a dead hearth. Ravenna and a couple of other Great Souls were working at the long table that ran down the chamber’s center, and from their glances and tight expressions it was clear the silence had been awkward.

“Jova. Excellent. Thank you for your patience.” Moira’s pace relaxed to a casual saunter. Ravenna and the other Great Souls rose to leave, though Ravenna caught Scorio’s eye with a look that might have been one of warning.

Jova turned to watch them approach. She was clad, as ever, in her faded, utilitarian black robes, belted tightly at the waist with a black sash. Half her scalp was shorn to a black fuzz, the other grown out long and combed over to fall to one shoulder. Her stare was somewhere between fierce and sullen, her heavy-lidded eyes lined with black kohl. Her black painted lips were pursed, her arms crossed, and she waited in silence for them to reach her.

“Well now.” Moira’s tone had grown amiable, her manner relaxed. “The moment’s here at last. I have a proposal that I know you’ll both find objectionable, but there is a reason to my madness. Please. I insist. Let’s sit.”

Jova’s gaze flicked from Moira to Scorio like a lash. Moira hadn’t been lying about keeping her in the dark. A single vertical line marred her brow, but she complied, like a panther slowly settling back upon its branch while waiting for prey to draw a little closer.

Scorio sat, but remained poised at the edge of the chair.

“Jova, as you know, Scorio leaves for the Silver Unfathom today. Flame Vault Kelona and Dread Blaze Nyrix intend to accompany him, along with the blazeborn, Xandera Sextus.”

Jova nodded a fraction of a fraction of an inch.

“It’s my belief that Scorio’s quest to uncover the truth about the Herdsmen will have massive repercussions across Hell. As you know, Bravurn himself was revealed to be an agent in league with the Blood Ox. Who knows how deep the corruption goes, or who else might be complicit?”

“I know of his quest,” said Jova quietly.

“Then you’ll not be surprised when I say it’s of the greatest importance that he succeed in the Silver Unfathom. Toward that end, I’ve invited you here so that you both may talk, and, perhaps, find a means of working together toward that end.”

Jova’s lip curled into a sneer. “You want me to work for him?”

“Hardly. Yes, you’re a Dread Blaze, but in raw potential I believe you to be his equal.” Moira’s tone had turned dry. “It’s my hope you find it in you to work together as such.”

“Ha.” Jova stood. “You’re wasting my time. Scorio and I…” She trailed off, glanced at him, then shook her head. “He’s made his position clear.”

“But if he were to change his mind?”

“I haven’t,” said Scorio.

“See?” Jova’s smile was flat and utterly without humor. “So much for that. Good luck on your travels, Scorio.”

“Before you leave.” Moira’s voice became sharp and commanding, sufficiently so that it arrested Jova as she turned to leave. “Answer one question.”

Jova slowly turned back, gaze narrowed anew. “And why should I do that?”

Moira gestured to Scorio and sat back.

Great.

But he did want to know. Curiosity, nothing more. So, voice steady, he met her smoldering gaze. “Why didn’t you accept Charoth’s offer?”

Jova considered him. “Why do you care?”

“Who said I did? But it’s not like you. Turning down the easiest road to power.”

“Heh.” Now Jova did smile, as if appreciating the blow. “I’ll see you both around.”

“Jova.” Moira’s voice was no longer a whipcrack, but softer now, an entreaty. “You agreed to meet with us. You came for a reason. Whatever that reason was, it’s worth just sharing that much. Why? Why didn’t you leave LastRock?”

Jova remained standing, but now she raised her chin to gaze down upon Moira and Scorio both, considering. Scorio met her stare full-on. Either she’d leave, or she wouldn’t. But he’d not chase after her.

“I don’t know.” Jova’s words, when they finally came, had a raw edge to them that seemed to surprise even her. “I don’t know why I’ve been hanging around this place. But.” Her tone grew sharp as if in anticipation of Moira’s next line of argument. “It wasn’t in the hopes of being invited to ride follow Scorio’s to greater glory. I’m just trying to decide my own next move. That’s all.”

“Unless your path takes you back to Bastion, you’ll need to travel through the Unfathom. Is it so unreasonable to suggest that you do so together?” Moira glanced at Scorio, gauging, clearly aware of how precarious the moment was. “Nobody’s asking you to be friends. But travel companions—willing to fight off fiends and go just a certain distance together—that’s not unreasonable, is it?”

The air grew turgid with tension as Scorio and Jova locked eyes. He thought of her chasing him and Naomi as they fled toward the Rainwall, how she’d plunged into the maelstrom after him, intent on his death. Thought of that moment in Praximar’s study, later, with the Chancelor dead at their feet, when she’d tentatively, hesitantly, told him that she was traveling to LastRock, insinuating, offering perhaps… but no.

Another memory returned to him. Two pathetic little gravestones growing amidst the weeds, the terminal points for both his friends, and the sign of when everything had begun to fall apart.

“I don’t think so,” they both said simultaneously.

Moira laughed. “Well. You can’t blame me for trying. Very well. I’ve no authority over you, and doubt I ever had. Thank you for your time, Jova.”

Who stepped out from the little knot of armchairs, ready to depart, till Scorio startled. “Jova, wait.”

She frowned and looked back.

“Here.” He dug into his robe and pulled out a battered leather journal. It was so old that the leather was cracked, the pages within yellowed. “This is yours. We found it in the Lost Library a few days back. Been meaning to give it to you.”

Jova hesitated, clearly wrong-footed, then took the journal and cracked it open. One dark brow rose. “It’s my writing. Fine. Thank you.” And she slid it inside her robe.

“Safe travels,” said Scorio, suddenly aware, almost painfully so, that he might never see her again. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She considered him, tonguing the inside of her cheek, then gave him an up-nod. “Same to you. Moira.”

And with that she strode down the length of the hall and out into the brightening morning light.

“I guess that didn’t go how you’d hoped,” said Scorio.

“No. But like I said, you can’t fault me for trying. On paper it seemed the smart, logical move. Two talented, hard-headed Great Souls with a shared past and uncertain future. Both at a loss, both in need of guidance, both of whom would be sharpened by having someone to contend with. This is a mistake, Scorio. Your chances of success have just dropped.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“No, but this time there are younger, more vulnerable people depending on you.”

Scorio stared resentfully at her. “They’re adults, Moira. You make them sound like children.”

“You know what I mean,” she said distractedly. “Then my second suggestion. Stay in LastRock and give them enough training to rank them up. Nyrix might be close to Pyre Lord, and Kelona could stand to make Dread Blaze. You know enough about the process—and I would be willing to help—that with a few months you could leave here with vastly more powerful allies.”

“No.” The word burst out of his lips before he could think. “I… I can’t stay. I can’t just… no. I have to keep going.”

Moira sighed. “Very well. Do you intend to leave today?”

Even though it was what he wanted, the prospect gave Scorio no joy. Like a cloud sliding before the sun, the thought of winging his way into the Silver Unfathom dulled his emotions and darkened his mood. He sat back in the chair. “Sure.”

Moira just watched him.

Annoyed, Scorio summoned some spirit. “I mean, yes. I’ll say my goodbyes, then we’ll fly south toward the Crimson Keep.”

“Take my advice, in this if nothing else: stay one more night. You should be well rested when you depart, and right now you’re anything but. That, and we should all sit down to review what you’re going to be facing in the Unfathom. The Silverines are like nothing you’ve yet encountered.”

Scorio nodded, and his gratitude for being delayed surprised him.

“That, and it’s time you started working on your Pyre Lord powers. Can you send forth your vortices yet?”

“I… no.”

Moira raised a brow. “Have you tried?”

Scorio flushed and looked down at his hands. “I just made Pyre Lord. I did by accident while fighting Bravurn, but… I mean, I just ascended after having made Dread Blaze a few weeks before that. After rising from Flame Vault a few months before that.”

“Oh, really?” Her tone affected false surprise. “This must be the first time I’ve ever heard you arguing for a break.”

Scorio thumbed the calluses on his palm. They were hard ridges, earned by months of backbreaking work with Naomi while shattering rocks under Dameon’s eye. And made permanent when he’d tempered his body Gold. They’d balked at nothing back then to advance. Now, looking back at those memories, he couldn’t even remember the reason why.

Huh.

Scorio sank deeper into the memories. Those long nights lying awake in the bunkhouse, too sore and exhausted to sleep. The way he and Naomi had slowly drifted away from their friends, purposefully separated by the nature of their brutal toil as the others had gone into the Chasm to meditate in Bronze. How they’d tackle each boulder, haul each sledge, over and over again, cleansing their bodies of Coal.

Now?

With his current drive he didn’t think he’d have lasted a week.

Scorio exhaled bitterly.

“Your Pyre Lord powers are numerous and varied,” said Moira softly. “You should be able to read other Great Souls’ Hearts and determine their rank. You should be able to send forth vortices to some distance and siphon mana directly into your reservoir. Your dark vision should now be perfected, and your mastery of your own powers increased. You should even, should you practice or have the talent for it, be able to imprint your mana with your essence, marking it as irrevocably yours in a way that sets the stage for your later powers.”

Scorio nodded, numbness setting in again.

“But none of that will manifest if you don’t work on it.” Moira was peering at him, no doubt seeking to draw his gaze, but he stared steadfastly at his hands. “I can, however, teach you the theory behind these new abilities. I’ll make it quick, if that’s your concern.”

“Yeah.” He inhaled deeply and sat up. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” To say any less would be to further underscore the validity of her concerns.

Moira nodded gravely. “It would be my pleasure. And don’t worry. I won’t nag. I’ve said my piece, and will trust that you remember my words when you’re ready to truly hear them.”

Scorio snorted. “Much appreciated.”

“Well.” Moira stood. “Why don’t you go set your companions’ worries to rest, and inform them of the days’ plans. Sleep, eat, rest, and I’ll come find you this afternoon so that we may practice and prepare for what lies in wait in the Unfathom.”

Scorio rose. Fatigue washed over him as if summoned by Moira’s words. But… it wasn’t really physical exhaustion. His Gold-tempered body was capable of withstanding a night without sleep. This was… what?

It didn’t matter. He’d rest, eat, and no doubt feel better soon.

“Thank you, Moira.” Scorio met her hazel gaze and inclined his head in a half-bow, maintaining eye contact as he did so. “You said earlier that you weren’t sure if I considered you a friend. Don’t doubt it.”

Her smile was small and quiet and pleased, but she inclined her head in turn and when she straightened it was gone. “I’m happy to hear that. Rest well, Scorio. I’ll come visit soon.”

Scorio stood tall, forced a smile, then exited the hall. He followed the same path Jova had taken just a few moments before. Thought of her stern stare, her imperious poise, her intolerant manner.

No. It was far better to travel without her.

Better alone than with a traitor.

So thinking, Scorio stepped out into the dawn light, and set off in search of his friends.