Solo A Boy Alone

[Keene Ward]

The eightieth day of spring, 515 AV

He stood at the mouth of the ravine, staff in hand, a small speck against an expansive backdrop of cold, dark stone. The winds were quiet, as if his own somber soul had infected them, pulling them from their lofty heights to lay bound by invisible chains at his feet. The Wardens had left him to his own devices, having departed bells before. The light was slowly beginning to wan into the darkness of night, and Keene started once more into the breach of earth that rose like obsidian gates, welcoming him with a forlorn silence as a grave might receive the bones of the damned. Wilhelmina remained silent, tucked away in his pocket as a reminder of what he had failed to do that day. He made no effort to speak to her, the seething ice of her hatred pressing against where the doll met his leather clad skin. Everything had gone wrong, twisted down a path that continued out before him, writhing its way into the depths of some unknown depravity.

The crunch of his boots against the stone echoed throughout the massive walls as he moved, the ghostly echo of an unseen host following each step, the illusion of company only further reminding him of his self-imposed isolation. Many thoughts flitted through his weary mind, but the loudest of them were those of survival. Whether alone or with comrades, it did not change the fact that the ravine hardly boasted a hospitable environment. As far as he could tell, eyes scanning the surroundings he passed with quick, critical movements, there were no natural shelters. Though the path was warped, the walls of stone rose straight and rigid, faces pocked with crags sheer and foreboding. Vegetation was sparse, and what little there was was grey and sickly, as if it were more a disease upon the stone than life fighting for purchase. There was nothing welcoming about his new domain, and while Keene did not consciously find the setting fitting for his dampened moods, the subconscious link with the environment's bleak state helped to alleviate what otherwise should have been a feeling of anxious trepidation in the face of the ravine's eerie aura.

With each chime, the light grew weaker. The shadows cast by the cliffs grew larger, and though there was still a half bell's worth of sunlight in the failing evening left, Keene had to call upon his reimantic flames to serve as a guide prematurely due to the ever increasing blanket of darkness that the ravine seemed so intent upon casting over him. The pale blue flames flickered, their source of fuel kept under careful control so that they remained little more than a sputtering candle's worth of light casting his own shadow to combat those of the walls around him. Onward he trekked, the slight drain of res negligible and necessary to allow him the time he needed to decide on what he would do for the night. Remaining awake, res burning, until the morning was certainly an option, but not one that Keene favored. The alternatives were to create or find a camp of sorts, but without knowing anything about the terrain he had been left in - flora and fauna especially - he did not feel it wise to simply lie down and sleep where any passing creature might find him.

In quiet, contemplative turmoil, Keene found that his journey had taken him deep into the recesses of the ravine. Had there ever been the chance to move in any direction but forward, there was no doubt he most certainly would have become lost with darkness on either side of him, the stone absorbing the frail light that floated just east of his head. Parts of the cliff's face, however, seemed to absorb more light than they should. While the rocks did not possess the sheen of the obsidian in the caverns of Mt. Merlus, they did not share the inky blackness that parts of the walls seemed to possess. Drawing nearer to the closer rise of stone, Keene inspected the darker areas, finding them hollow breaches in the integrity of the rock face. There was more, a skittering motion just out of the light's influence as he approached, a clicking echo muffled by the unseen depths into which the holes wormed towards destinations unknown.

Drawing back from the pockmarked walls, Keene continued on, his focus placed on the rise of stone beside him, noting that the tunnels varied in size, from about the width of his thumb to recesses reminiscent of caves. After passing by the tenth of the larger entryways, Keene decided it was better to traverse the caverns than to risk stumbling into the Heartlands, one of the only things the female Warden had forbade him from doing. Though the skittering click that echoed off of the walls that eagerly swallowed him as he ducked into a reasonable spacious tunnel sent a reflexive shiver of apprehension down his spine, Keene pressed on. His pace was far more reserved than before, the little magical light floating several steps ahead of him tethered by the thin bluish line of res that kept it lit. Shadows shifted before him, and while he kept his gaze in front of him, the hairs on the back of his neck suggested that the scurrying figures inhabited the shadows behind him as well.

Then came the whispers.

[Keene Ward]

Human. Human. Human.

The words were voiceless, husks of language that he could understand but not quite place. They were not hostile, not in the traditional sense. Though the scurrying figures that just barely managed to avoid exposure beneath the conservative circle of his light's radius seemed more agitated. He stopped his advance, the shifting of legs and quiet crumbling of stone coming to halt in reflection of his gradual slip into inertia. The words stopped as well, filling the cramped tunnel with a silence that felt almost curious. There were no breezes beneath the earth to assist Keene in his appraisal of his situation, but if there was sentience about him, there was only one reasonable course of action.

"I am human." His voice, even at the bare whisper of speech he employed, sounded at a volume far greater than he anticipated. There was a shift in the darkness, but nothing so great as to imply preparation for an attack. It was, more or less, a good start. "What are you?"

There was silence once more for a few ticks before the words hissed through the air. Human. Human. Human. The word began to grow in intensity. The shadows shivered, phantom images of segmented legs darting in and out of the light's glow betraying the nature of those gathered around him. Determining that it was, perhaps, in his best interests to leave the burrow he had wandered into in favor of the open but far less inhabited ravine, Keene turned, footsteps still soft though gathering speed as he embarked upon his egress. The voices rose, suggesting accusation far more than simple curiosity, and while Keene remained unharmed, it was clear he had stumbled into territory that was not his own. The spiders would have to be dealt with, certainly, but he was tired, homeless, and not in the mood for an extended extermination.

When he finally broke free of the tunnel, he let his flame grow brighter some, illuminating a far greater circle about him, more than enough to give him a solid appearance of the eight legged creatures that recoiled from the light, scuttling back into the recesses of the ravine, still whispering Human. Human. even as they disappeared from sight. It was unclear what they had wished to do with him, as the creatures had held the superiority in numbers that, even had he fought back, would have eventually overwhelmed him. He considered the spiders' lack of aggression to be a warning, or perhaps something more like advice. The tunnels were out of bounds, at least for the time being, and Keene, in his weary minded state, did not have many qualms with the situation as it stood in that moment.

Unable to continue onward and unwilling to retreat any further, Keene let his res drift from his finger tips, the drain on his soul acknowledged as taxing but nothing life threatening. Carefully, he let the res slip into the earth around him, the flame still glowing steadily beside him as he eyed the equidistant lines on all three sides of him. Pulling his hands upwards, the stone was drawn by his res, rising up in thick slabs that angled to a point, leaning on each other like a pyramid. In spite of the careful nature in which he had placed the djed, the three triangles were far from perfect, and they fit together in a sloppy clash of edges. Not wanting to crush himself, Keene drew up three supporting pillars, joining stone to stone by transmuting some of the res used to attract the stone so that the slabs were no longer in danger of immediately collapsing upon him. He repeated the procedure with a fourth, triangular slab and pillar to support it.

Drawing in the res that was left, Keene steadied his breathing. He could feel the tax of the stone in his body, his already heavy limbs feeling for all the world as if they were made of the pale white stone he had only just transmuted. Stilling mind and body, Keene slowly adjusted his djed, letting it slip from the confines of his existence to drift in pale, iridescent clouds all around him. As he moved the mist about, carefully shifting it through the cracks in the stone, his already agitated djed found it an easy path to flow into his senses. Using his auristic sight, Keene tracked the movements of his own djed, pressing it onto and around the stone barrier he had constructed, tasking the shield with his own essence that only he might pass through it. The shield, as it solidified into a pale blue, icy frost, rose several feet up towards the middle of the stone slabs on every side. When that was done, Keene took a few chimes forcing his djed to still, to drift from the addictive path of augmented sight and allow him rest.

And rest came, even as Keene slumped down, the efforts of his magic finally claiming the last bit of whatever endurance he had had left. With his defenses constructed for the night, Keene let his eyes close, consciousness slipping from him as easily as the unperceived ghost drifted from her straw confines. Wilhelmina drifted over the exhausted young Warden, eyes flashing a furious rage before dimming to that of frustrated sadness. Though he did not deserve her help, the ghost kept watch over him, curious eyes observing the shield's effective resistance of the spiders' advances. Though, when light broke over the horizon, she slipped back into the doll, not quite ready to face the man who had denied her her revenge.

[Keene Ward]

The eighty-second day of spring, 515 AV

He woke to the light peek through the chinks in his stone tent's walls, though where he had laid out the shield, no light sneaked through. Blearily, he rubbed his eyes, finding his entire body to have an ache that was hardly unprecedented. He had used quite a bit of magic the day prior, and as he pushed himself to his feet with a tightness in his jaw, he felt a tightness on his upper lip. A quick brush of his shirt's cuff over the area in question revealed this his nose had let blood escape some time during the night. Taking a few more wipes to remove what more he could of the rusty remains, Keene stood in a crouch, focusing his attention on the shield that surrounded him. Little by little, he took it apart, working through the sizable gaps between the slabs until it was finally dismantled, drifting off into the air around him, most of it unusable.

With what little workable djed he had left, Keene thrust the pale blue liquid forward, drawing with it one of the stone slabs, breaking the upper half away from its place to be set carefully down beside the stone structure, he was once more allowed access into the outside world. Not wanting to waste his res, Keene drew it back up into him, inhaling it through his nose as he stared out into the bleak, dismal landscape around him. It was just as featureless as it had been before, only the tunnels that marked the ravine's walls were far more notable in the obfuscated morning light than they had been in the inky darkness of the night. From what he could tell, glancing first towards where he suspected he'd come from then towards where he assumed the Heartlands to lie still deeper down the path, he hadn't traveled quite as far as he'd first thought. Though he was certainly well within the ravine's influence, there was no indication that it ended anywhere soon in either direction.

As he gathered his bearings, there came a familiar sound. It was metallic squeak, one that repeated itself in a methodical pattern: chink chink... squik... chick chick... squik. More than that, there was a voice, metallic and lifeless. "Follow follow." Just a tick before Keene identified the wholly out of place noises of a follower golem, the mechanical automaton appeared from around a wind in the ravine's path. It was one of the larger transporter golems, more of a glorified cart than anything else. Stowed within its carriage's barrow were items that he found far more welcome than the artificial life that bore them. His rucksack, several burlap sacks of the food he had kept in the cavern, a bundle of firewood, and the few tools he had purchased earlier in the season were carefully unloaded. With its directive met, the golem paused for a few ticks before it made a slow, ambling turn, wheeling its way back the way it had come.

Staring down at the welcome supplies, Keene carried them into the stone pavilion. Taking a handful of almonds from one of the sacks, Keene thoughtfully munched on them as he surveyed his meager residence. With his belongings filling the majority of the room the stone lean-to provided, he doubted he could use the shelter for another night without expanding. The stiffness in his joints and the faint coppery taste on his tongue that mingled with the savory sweetness of his breakfast suggested that it would be unwise to expend much more of his djed without absolute necessity. Shields, he supposed, were an option, but they too required djed that he was loathe to expend without good reason. Protection of his supplies was reason, certainly, but one could replace stolen food. One could not replace one's own life.

As it seemed djed was necessary for any useful course of action, Keene finished off the handful of almonds before starting in on a stick of jerky. He slipped down to the ground, back resting against the sturdy, clumsy structure as he ate. Finding his water flask in the mess of objects that had been packed away in his rucksack, Keene took a swig, eyeing a conspicuous sheet of folded parchment just under where the water flask had been sitting. Unfolding the letter, Keene read as he ate, the steady rate of food uninterrupted. He needed his djed replenished, or at the very least strengthened enough to get him through the next night.

Keene,
What you did was stupid and reckless. I don't expect you to understand the gravity of your own actions. You've already proven your aptitude for magic doesn't extend into the world of politics. This was your choice, and while I don't understand it, I don't want you dead because of it. Do your best to stay alive, but know that unless you're called for, the mountain is no longer your business. Good luck, Warden.

Folding the letter once more, Keene returned it to his pack before reaching for more food. It was going to be a long, long day.

[Keene Ward]

The majority of the day was split between eating and resting. Though he would have preferred to do anything more than simply sitting on the ground, stuffing his face, there were more pressing matters he needed to attend to than his own restlessness. It seemed that the light of day kept the spiders at bay, though he hadn't seen or heard many of them out in the open, even during the depths of the night's concealing blanket, which led him to believe the creatures were territorial but not invasive. There was also the possibility they were not well equipped to handle the light, as it had seemed they were more than capable in the darkness. Whatever the case, none of the spiders approached him, not even the smaller, more common looking arachnids. All kept their distance from him, and Keene made no move to give them any reason to change their behavior.

The heat of the day settled in, wrapping around him in a lazy, suffocating caress. He found the act of doing nothing to be far more difficult than most of the training he had so far undergone. His forced state of stupor found his mind wandering, and only when he felt his stomach protest at the thought of more food did he notice the steady chill of the doll in his pocket. It had never left, but its constant presence had faded into the back of his attentions. With his body recuperating, Keene had little else to do, and found that while the chances of Wilhelmina speaking to him were hardly in his favor, the alternative was to sit in growing agitation at his helplessness. Drawing the doll from its place within his pocket, Keene held it up before him. The occluded light had faded into the beginnings of the afternoon, and while no sunlight directly fell upon the boy and the doll, there was plenty of light to examine the rudimentary child's toy.

It was an effigy of straw and string, more of a representation of a human than possessing any true qualities of its own. Due to Wilhelmina's presence, it was cold to touch, like an earth facing stone or chilled winter cavern. Carefully, he set the doll on his lap, eyes drifting to settle on the sparse surroundings about them. Several sentences ran though his mind before he finally spoke, and when he did, his voice was distant and cool. "You are upset." The doll remained silent, no indication that his words had been heard let along acknowledged. Still, Keene had found that verbal processing was something that was not without benefit. Whether the ghost listened to him or not, he decided to speak his mind. It was much like his conversation with the god that had marked him. His words left his lips, drifting out into the open air to be heard by the stone and sky before disappearing into the past. It was, in a way, relaxing to him, and there were times he simply let his eyes close, the words taking their time as they drifted across his tongue.

"I am upset as well. This place... Sahova. It's not what I expected. I wanted to learn, to grow, to understand... And I have, I think. My understanding of magic is more than I had ever thought it might become. I am stronger, faster, more adept... But I overestimated myself. I made mistakes, and I don't know how to fix them. People have died because I was weak, and now..." He paused, eyes staring up contemplatively at the clouds above him. "Now I have thrown away the only true chance I had at revenge." He sighed, letting his eyes close with a heaviness that came from more than his own weariness and the heat of the day. "I said I would help you, Wilhelmina, but I am not certain I can any longer." He fell back into silence, eyes focused on a small pile of rocks a short distance from him. The island had given him a false sense of superiority, one he had embraced without a second thought. Just as quickly as he had risen, he was cast down in the most peculiar of ways: a promotion as humbling as if he had been slapped on the hand for stealing sweets. It was humiliating, certainly, but he welcomed it. His place was not among the stars but the world beneath them, to labor and toil in pursuit of the knowledge he sought. To think highly of himself, as he had demonstrated, was nothing more than detriment.

"No. You can." The voice came from within the doll, a frustrated lilt to the child's whine joined in with her following command. "Go and fight him now. Just do it. I don't... Why didn't you do it before?" Though she was certainly angry, it seemed the child had calmed some, not enough to forgive him, certainly, but enough for them to speak.

"I don't know." Keene shook his head, a slight sigh escaping his lips. "I thought myself clever for striking a deal, perhaps. I wanted power, and instead I got... this." He made a vague gesture to the surroundings about them. The Wardens had, in all likely hood, saved his life. He had been given a position among their ranks, one that was in theory equal, but in reality just another leash to keep him in check. He welcomed it, certainly, as the alternative would have been something far worse for all his blunders, but it was not what he had expected. He did not bemoan his fate, but had he simply killed the Master, at least one thing would have been accomplished, rather than a new chapter started before the first even ended. "Does revenge mean so much to you, Wilhelmina?"

The doll was silent for a time, and the question hung in the air as heavy as the heat that held it. "Yes."

Keene nodded, shifting in place to find a position marginally more comfortable. "Why?" He knew his own goals were fueled by his lack of purpose. Mella had been his purpose, then magic itself. He had strayed from magic alone, dallying in the affairs of petty humanity like revenge, love, even freedom. All those things were superfluous, unnecessary diversions that had only kept him from his research, from his purpose. He knew what it was to be consumed by one's goals. He'd seen it tear apart his master; felt it pull and tug at his own soul. Though Wilhelmina was just a child, Keene wondered if her own convictions were just as strong.

"B-because..." There was frustration in her voice, a confusion born of naivety surely. "Because he killed me."

"I killed you, Wilhelmina."

Another pause settled between them. "But you... You wouldn't have killed me if he didn't do... what he did..." Her conviction was slipping. "Right?"

He offered her a shrug, unsure whether she could see him or not, and not particularly worried about the details of it. "Unless you gave me reason to, I doubt it."

"Then it's his fault."

"Is it?"

"...I don't know."

"Neither do I."

[Keene Ward]

Wilhelmina let out a frustrated shout. "I hate him! I hate him!" The doll shuddered in his lap as Wilhelmina's volume increased into a wailing howl. "I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him!" Eventually, her words devolved into senseless shouting, her shrill tones echoing throughout the ravine, piteous had they not been filled with such burning rage. When she finally calmed, Wilhelmina poised a question, voice still tinged with her frustrations. "Don't you want revenge? For that man?" It was a needling inquiry, one that the child used to get a rise out of him, to join her in her misery.

Keene, however, only shook his head, jaw clenched for a tick before his voice met her own in a cool, calm contrast. "Boswell is gone. He didn't stay, like you did. There is nothing for me to avenge... Not for him, anyway." It was true, and he knew it to be true. Still, he felt the slightest twinge in his chest, an echo of the fury he had felt just outside the Master's door, just within reach of quenching the flames that had risen within him. Yet, he had doused them with pride, stifled his desire for revenge by swallowing a bite he had not even chewed, and the result had left him hollow. Where Wilhelmina burned, Keene only smoldered. There was nothing left for him within the citadel. He had lost his chance, and while the wilds would continue to hone him, teaching him lessons that could be found in no scroll or tome, the world of research that the sleepless Sahovans had busied themselves with tirelessly was out of his reach. It was disappointing, but telling none the less. Mella had prepared him to work as a tool, and a tool could not its own decisions make.

Another frustrated howl emanated from the doll, but Wilhelmina did not say anything else for a time. As the bells had passed, Keene had begun to feel some strength return to him. His djed was hardly replenished, but there was more to work with than before. Slowly, he stood, stretching as he did so and taking care to set the doll down beside him. Whether Wilhelmina wanted to continue the conversation or not after her respite, Keene had work to do. Drawing the res from within himself, he set about pulling up several more slabs of stone. He worked steadily, arranging the slabs so that there were two stone pyramids, side by side, though he kept both openings facing each other with only about a foot in between. Once that was done and the integrity of the stones checked with careful applications of his own weight against them, Keene started out towards one of the tunnels. He needed a sample of the spiders to shield against, as it was far more efficient to shield against only the spiders rather than everything but himself.

All the while, the doll remained silent.

It didn't take him long to find a specimen, legs curled and body smashed from intruding feet the night before, Keene picked it up, returning to his camp before letting his djed slough off of him in rolling clouds, drifting through the creature as it copied the signature held within it. Once the djed was properly tasked, Keene set about shielding first the stone that housed his supplies then wrapping it around the three walled "tent" he planned to spend his nights in. Careful to anchor the shield properly around the entrance, he finished the final shield by solidifying the djed into its frosty form, pulling it over the opening with steady care. Testing the shield, Keene tapped the spider's corpse against the shield, a pale green flash indicating that the task had been successful. Using the last of the djed to wrap around the spider to place it in a shield of its own, Keene set it on the ground, his work for the day done and then some with the drain it had taken on him. He had pushed his limits, but he had secured his campsite for the time being.

Slumping down, Keene leaned back against the stones he'd drawn from the various holes around him. Though he had only felt weary before, his body demanded sleep after the work he had put his djed through, and he obliged its request by stooping into his sleeping quarters, the hard stone ground of little consequence in the face of his exhaustion. As he drew steady, calming breaths, consciousness drifting in and out as the sky's light shifted towards the late evening, Wilhelmina spoke again. This time, however, her voice was cold and bitter, just reaching his ears before he drifted off into dreamless sleep.

"You promised."