2. FINDING FEET

A paralyzing panic gripped the traveler, who had resigned himself to being terrifyingly ordinary now. Without his abilities, he was naked and vulnerable; an aging animal wounded in the ferns. The notion of the afterlife gripped him; he pressed his fingernails into his palm until the pain forced him to acknowledge consciousness. Pain was pleasure, and there couldn’t be one without the other. If he could feel, he could heal, and he would be anew the force he had grown to be.

How did I lose the ability? Travel? Location? Magic

It centered upon Storm Veritas that only three explanations remained for his current impotence. The portal had stripped him of power; this would be temporary based on his conversations of the monks of the Citadel. Of course, in the grand ether of Althanas, “temporary” was a moving target, spanning from seconds to centuries. Second, the Red Forest could be suppressing his power. This was inconsistent with his last pilgrimage here, but it HAD been a long time. If Arius planned to create this trap, he could have cursed the woods before setting the snare. Breaking curses without the use of magic was well outside of Storm’s jurisdiction as well. Finally, Arius could have created a curse on the portal or upon Storm himself before jettisoning him to this remote abyss. All these options felt both reasonable and devastating, sobering conclusion. There was no easy path back.

The coming dark didn’t care about Storm’s predicament; the sun would fall at some point regardless of his woe. He still needed fire, and to set up shelter, as well as to protect from the night rains. The night rains of Raiera were clockwork; they would bring ample water to drink but douse any fire not protected.

Thank you, Karuka.

The once-wizard went to work in a flash, moving like a younger man as he collected well-covered assortments of branches, dead fir needles, and large, flat leaves. The rocks were unmissable; granite, quartz and flint lining the forest bed with enough frequency to guarantee a broken toe for any lazy, tired traveler. The work was silent release from the misery of his situation. It served as a fantastic respite from the pain. Using vines and needles he elevated a make-shift hammock by a tree, suspended six feed from the earth. A triangular array of small fires burned about him, with large, waxy leaves tethered to the tree to keep the little pyres dry.

The hours passed as minutes, and there was still too much time before the sun would set for Storm’s liking. Not enough time to find game to hunt, save a few rabbit pull-loops he had strewn about the area. Too much time to think and consider that which he had lost and the steep hill left to climb.

Can’t change shit from here. Need to get back. Getting out of this godforsaken forest is probably my best bet to get my powers back.

Red Forest. Raiera. That puts me north or northwest from Corone, and a decidedly long gods-damned way from Whitevale. Need to work south or southeast, find the coast, and find a port.

Might be five miles from the shore of fifty. Shit.

Packing his pipe, Storm used a small twig to transfer flame to the cherry-steeped tobacco. The effort was a mere annoyance, yet another reminder of his unceremonial fall from grace.

It had been twelve years since Storm Veritas last set foot upon Raiera. A mystical place full of wonder and magic, where he had fallen in love with Karuka, been taught to survive, and grown far stronger than the arrogant fool that had left Corone. Time had changed everything for him. Karuka was gone; a wonderful memory of a time long passed. So, too, had gone his boyish looks. The young man in his early thirties had been replaced by a forty-something who still had the lean, sinewy build of an athlete of his thirties, but had hair of white and gray, with eyes that had remained squinted nearly shut, with clouded grey replacing the once-sharp blue. Framing his eyes were deep crow’s feet; they were eyes that had seen tremendous loss.

Despite a drop in speed, and an aging that was decidedly unfair, he had also grown splendidly. At least he had grown in power before coming here; the wizard had ascended to obscene mastery over electromagnetic fields.

HAD ascended.

It was hard to view the world as a mere mortal again. Fire taking effort was a brutal nuisance. The presence of metal ore in these rocks would have made fine projectiles to hunt with. Travel would be easier without having to walk; the metal-soled shoes he still wore were absurd without being able to float freely over the floor.

He needed to cease the self-pity, but allowed himself to wallow for a single night. He waited for the rains to come before allowing himself to drift off; confirming the rain run-off were draining into a leaf-lined hole in the ground, which would make for an undoubtedly stomach-souring cessation from his thirst in the morning. The pressed wax kept the water to collect, but some debris would blow in as the winds carried dirt, bugs, and ash from the fires across the campsite.

In the darkness, beyond where the fire could kiss light upon the ground, a great beast sat and waited. Silently crouched and patient, the unseen monster stretched its long body for an extended stay, for a large meal had arrived at his doorstep.