"You've looked like that since after the fight with Josef," Hardt said as I shoved shrooms into my mouth and went about unenthusiastically chewing. He placed our one clay cup on the ground in front of me and I saw it was brimming with water. There is something to be said for a land coated in a blanket of snow, it is easy to find water. It was icy and refreshing,
"Chronomancy," I said it around a mouthful of chewing and I doubt it sounded right, but Hardt seemed to understand and Tamura had a look on his face that said he already knew better than I did. "Speeds up the body but comes at such a heavy price. A double cost, it both ages the Sourcerer and burns the body's resources."
"That's why you suddenly look so much older?"
I nodded. I still hadn't had chance to look at myself. Mirrors weren't just lying around. But we had water. I picked up the little clay cup and held it below my face, looking down into water as the sloshing quieted. I did look older. It wasn't just the gaunt complexion and papery skin. I had new lines on my face. The jagged scar of flesh on my left cheek looked weathered. I had lost so many years in so short a time. Age is odd like that. The more years you have, the less you have left.
There was nothing I could do about it. I lifted the cup to my lips and drank deep. I was quite thirsty and it wasn't long before we were melting another cup of snow over the little fire.
"Where are we?" I asked after I'd had my fill of shrooms. It wasn't so much that I was feeling full, but I don't think I could have stomached any more of the things. Besides, Tamura had spitted the rabbit and was busy cooking it and I could feel my mouth watering at the thought of real meat. I wasn't the only one. In all the time we were down in the Pit we ate stale bread, cold gruel, and shrooms. I had been down there for just over six months. Tamura had been down there for longer than I had been alive. I doubted he even remembered the taste of meat and not just because of his addled mind.
"The Forest of Ten," Tamura said. "Ten fires in the night. Ten knights to rescue ten damsels. Ten times thrown back from the forest edge. Ten times they tried. Ten cries went up when morning broke and ten damsels were never seen again.
"Ten tears were shed by Lokar and Lursa. Ten rocks made holes in the ground. Ten weapons found where once were none. Ten brothers went to war. Ten thousand died upon the fields and ten times that number grieved.
"Ten weapons lost and forged anew. Ten Sources to lend power. Ten artefacts of great renown hidden from greedy eyes. Ten kingdoms built and then ten more. Ten wars fought, ten empires burned. And now, just two remain."
"One," I said, my voice bitter with the admission. "One empire remains. Terrelan."
Tamura looked up from the spit. "Then ten weapons have become one. Or maybe lost again." He giggled then and let go of the spit, spreading his arms wide. "The Forest of Ten."
I glanced over to find Hardt staring into the flames. "You butchered the song, old man. The bards sing it with ten verses."
Tamura shrugged. "The truth is like power. Many claim to have it, but few really know what it even means."
"What?" Hardt asked.
"Your bards are fools," Tamura said and then broke into a wild giggle.
Hardt sighed. "It's just a forest. A place we can hide for a while. It'll keep us covered while we go wherever we're going." He looked at me then as though I should have the answer. I had led us all from the Pit and through the ruined Djinn city, but here I was lost. I knew nothing about the area. I had never seen a map with the Forest of Ten on it. I was also too weary to care.
"For now, we just keep moving," I said. "Josef said the overseer would send others if he didn't return. And Yorin was heading west when he left. If he keeps going, he'll head right back to the Pit and they will probably torture our story from him. We'll just keep going." It was the closest I had to a plan.
"And then what? We just run? Keep running?" It was clear Hardt wanted to know my intentions there and then, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. I think maybe he wanted to know what his brother had died for. I sometimes wonder if I had given another answer, whether he might have left me and stormed off on his own like Yorin. Maybe he wanted to with the answer I did give.
"And then one day we return and pay back Prig and Deko and the overseer and everyone else who made our lives hell down there." Cold rage made my words sharp. I glanced up at Hardt, pinning him with a bright blue stare. "And the emperor as well. But first I need power. I need Sources, ones that won't kill me."
I was naive back then, foolish even. I thought just having a few Sources inside my stomach would make all the difference. I never even stopped to consider how little difference it made when the Orran empire fell. No, back then I had no idea what true power was. And I had no idea what strength really meant. Some lessons take longer to learn than others. Some knowledge comes with a terrible price.
Hardt fell silent then. He looked old suddenly. Sat against a chessop tree, his shirt long since lost to the clutching claws of the Damned, his body covered in little red scratches. I wondered when he had stopped shaving. The fuzz on his face was starting to curl and mat together. I think I saw him crying silent tears, fat drops of water catching the firelight as they ran down the lines of his face. I wanted to comfort him. But I didn't know how. We had both so recently lost a brother and I knew there were no words that could help. I wasn't even sure I was the right one to offer any. It was my brother who had killed his, after all. Instead I turned away from his grief, and shoved down my own. It was easier to not feel it, than confront the tempest of emotions.
"We have these," Tamura said and I looked across the fire to see him playing with two small crystals, each no larger than a marble, and each coated in blood. Sources. A Chronomancy Source from deep within the Djinn city. And a Kinemancy Source, given to Josef by the overseer. It was Josef's blood on the two Sources.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't crave them. It wasn't so long ago the Chronomancy Source almost killed me, and it wasn't so long ago that Josef almost killed me with the Kinemancy Source. If I swallowed either of them then I knew they'd complete the job. Sources were never meant to be ingested by people, even those attuned to the magic are hurt and eventually killed by it. The only way to stop that is to retch up the Source before too much damage is done. But my body has never liked to give up the power once it is inside. Only Spiceweed has ever allowed me to regurgitate a Source and I used what little we had to stop Josef. Still, even knowing they would kill me, I wanted them. I knew, no matter how many shrooms I ate, my hunger would never be sated until I had a Source sitting inside my stomach. It's an addiction, you see, one all Sourcerers share. To feel that core of power inside, leaking magic into your body, there is no feeling quite like it. It's not quite pleasure, and it is often painful. It is like raising your face to the sun after a long night of cold. Filling your belly after a year of starvation. Not pleasure, nor pain, but comfort. A feeling of rightness.
I think I may have been staring. The lust for power has always been strong in me and never more so than back then, when my vengeance was so strong in my mind. When I thought I had no power of my own and wanted it, needed it to burn away all those who had wronged me. Tamura lifted the Sources up to his face and poked his tongue out at me. Despite everything I had been through, or maybe because of it, I laughed. Then Tamura opened his mouth and popped one of the Sources inside.