Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

“They taught me a great deal. How to climb. How to hide in shadows. How to move quickly through the forest and leave almost no trace. How to fight. I was not automatically adept at any of these things, but I wanted to fit, so I learned the skills as best I could, until I felt I had succeeded.”

Slanya’s gaze was riveted on Duvan as he spoke. Her face was somber in the firelight, as she waited for him to continue.

“If I had been paying attention to such things,” Duvan went on, “I would have noticed that I was never allowed to go on any trips outside of Wildhome, except on the rare circumstance that the chieftain went abroad. And even though I was a ward of the clerics of Silvanus, I was required to go with the chieftain whenever he traveled.

“I was not at all sure why at the time, but they considered me good luck.”

Duvan looked away from the fire. Their mote was still caught in a tightening spiral, moving toward a hurricane of spellplague. They were closing in on the storm’s outer arms. Perhaps their path would miss the center completely. Perhaps they’d veer wide and slingshot back around. Only time would reveal that. Duvan predicted he’d know the answer in less than an hour.

“So when I was thirteen,” he said, looking back to the fire, “the elven clerics of Silvanus, with the consent of the chieftain agreed that I would be invited to become a full adult member of their society. This was something I had been hoping for. I immediately accepted and was prepared for the flame-etch ceremony.

“The clerics created the symbol of a tree on my chest-nature and harmony with the trees and all that-representing Silvanus. They used metallic inks, blended with some materials that were supposed to attract the blue fire on the edges of the Plaguewrought Land, to etch the symbol on my chest.

“They spent days teaching me how to approach the spell-plague pockets. I needed to get close for the etching to work, but not so close that the spellplague would kill me.

“On the morning of the ceremony, I walked naked to the Plaguewrought Land border, searching for the white gauze. I found it easily and danced toward it, eager to have my scar and join the Wildhome elves as one of their own-or as close to one of their own as a n Tel’Quessir could ever be.

“But the edge of the changelands wouldn’t reach out and burn the symbol of Silvanus into my chest as it should have. So I pressed in a little farther, toward bluer fire. And just then, a wave of intense spellplague pulsed along the border veil as it sometimes did.”

Duvan took a breath, remembering the event like it had happened yesterday. “They screamed at me to run out. To dodge and flee. But I wanted to join them so badly. I couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong, why my etching hadn’t activated. All I could feel was my gut grown heavy and liquid.

“And then the surging wave of blue fire washed over me and blotted out the world. And in its wake …”

Duvan remembered the young elves and the elders yelling at him to run away. The fire would kill him or change him into a monster. He remembered feeling …

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing had changed. My gut slowly returned to normal. My chest etching remained untouched by the spellplague, and I emerged unharmed.

“After that my life took a completely different course. A more treacherous and sinister course.”

Slanya stared silently into the fire. Her own history of chaos flickered on the edges of her memory. Elusive.

She looked up, watching Duvan carefully as he paused in telling his story. He had packed and repacked their backpacks, had organized the firewood, and he kept looking out over the edge of the mote at the swirling vortex ahead. Now he paced, having nothing more to occupy his attention while he considered how to continue.

After a minute, Duvan went on, “They were surprised that I emerged from the Plaguewrought Land whole and untouched. And soon after, it became apparent that some of the elves were afraid of me. I was already a social outcast because of my race, but now I was alien.

“Boys and girls died during the fire-etching rituals. Not all, of course, but a goodly number. The rest were marked by the changelands-etched. Nobody came away untouched. It had never happened before.

“I found myself shunned. Friends I had worked so hard to make avoided me. Everyone whispered about me as I passed. They didn’t know what to do with me. And then Rhiazzshar came to me and made everything right. She was a young priestess of Silvanus-very beautiful, very kind. She befriended me and held me while I cried in her arms. I was desperate for some affection, and she was very comforting.

“Rhiazzshar told me that the others were afraid of me, that they didn’t understand why the changelands had had no effect. She wanted to know if I knew. But of course I had no idea. She said that we had to find out why so that we could convince the others that I was no threat. Then I would be accepted, perhaps even regarded as a hero.

“I asked her how I could do that, and she suggested I start by seeing what my limits were. How long can I resist the Plaguewrought Land? Is it just avoiding me, or am I impervious to it?

“I considered what she said, but I was afraid to try any of that. She held me and said it was all right.”

The emotion in Duvan’s voice tore at Slanya’s heart. Rhiazzshar had clearly meant something to him. She also realized that Duvan was revealing a great secret about himself. His ability to avoid the effects of the changelands wasn’t luck at all, and it was only partially rooted in knowledge. If what he had told her was true, Duvan was resistant to spellplague.

Around them, the sound of the storm had grown-a keening, scratchy wail, like an orchestra of sand rubbed on tin, punctuated by the booms of earth cracking apart and smashing together. It was close now, and Slanya needed to not think about it. So far, this mote had been drifting through a patch of calm, but it felt like it could pass into the storm at any moment.

“I fell in love with Rhiazzshar. She was my coming-of-age, really. After my failed fire-etching ceremony, she and I spent all our free time together, mostly isolated from the others. And the elders allowed it, which I suppose should have given me warning signs. But I was blissfully in love.

“Finally, one day, lying in bed after making love together, she convinced me to go back through the border veil. To be fair, I wanted to know what the limits of my ability were. But I wouldn’t have gone without her encouragement.

“At first I just went in for a minute, and then it was two, then five, until I was remaining inside the border of the changelands for an hour or longer, just coming out when I got so tired I couldn’t see clearly. And while the blue fire didn’t seem to be able to touch me, exposure to it made me exhausted.

“Every time when I would come out of the Plaguewrought Land, Rhiazzshar would hold me, caress me, and make love with me. We got into a cycle, and eventually I started to suspect she was manipulating me. I didn’t see it for such a long time. A woman like that can blind a man. Plus she was my only friend, and if she wasn’t really my friend, then I had no one. That prospect was too terrible to believe.

“I had to know for sure. So I decided to stop going in. I hadn’t tested the full limits of my spellplague resistance, but I knew enough to be content for a while. Rhiazzshar wasn’t happy with that decision. At first she tried to persuade me to keep learning more about my abilities, and when I refused, she tried harder. Her methods of persuasion were very enjoyable.” Duvan laughed wryly. “But when it became clear to her that I wasn’t going to keep testing myself, she changed. She told me that she wished it hadn’t come to this, that our pleasant fantasy could have continued indefinitely. But the safety of Wildhome and the Chondalwood was paramount. They needed to understand my ability fully. They needed to make sure I was no threat, and to find out how they could use me to protect them.