unless you are a god already?
My last point. There are several ways I can conceive of for one to exist after death and remain conscious amongst the ether. One is the path of betterment; another is the path of corruption. While the former leads to beings we call gods, the latter leads to those whom we call demons, those who can only exist through the suffering and consumption of others. They act in opposition to the gods, working to devour all others while selfishly sustaining themselves, destroying all life and potential instead of creating it. To the creatures that seek to live their lives unhindered, such demons are a terrible threat. They cannot be allowed to proliferate and must be countered by those who cherish life at all costs. If any such beings were to gain a foothold on this world, the results could be disastrous, to say the least.
I have not heard of any demons interfering with this world for many ages, but of course, there are many ways for them to get here. Indeed, they are ever trying to do so-whispering in the back of our minds when we are weak and needy, they can sound infinitely enticing with their promises of power. They may even grant it, temporarily, in order to take that which they covet most.
Hopefully, no one in their right mind would listen to such demons-it being such a foolish act. Of course, not
I pray I have passed on long before we see this day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tindal was a land of grassy hills and meadows at the very limits of the Turian Empire. Further east, there were only woods and mountains, devoid of civilisation. Beyond that, the Eastern Reaches sprawled all the way up to the endless Paatin Wastes. Villages were scattered about and, occasionally, Samuel found himself passing through what could almost pass as a small town. The roadside fields were sown with grains or filled with grazing cattle, goats and black-faced sheep. Every so often, a wagon would slowly creak by along the bumpy, rain-scoured road, its driver eyeing Samuel with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Few from central Turia ever had need to visit these distant parts, and the local people had their own customs, traditions and style of dress that marked Samuel instantly as a stranger.
Their accents were thick and curling and they seemed to have an entire collection of words that were entirely unique and often had Samuel in a quandary as to their meaning.
Samuel pulled his cloak tight as it fought to fly free, tugged at insistently by the bitter wind that howled across the hilltops. Here, far from the reach of the Order of Magicians, Samuel’s robes were simply protection from the elements. The affiliation such clothes represented was lost amongst the simple folk in these parts. People here seemed much less complicated than in the cities, yet their lives were far more difficult. Their very faces showed hardship and often despair. Magical cures and remedies were unknown in these far-thrown lands, replaced by boiled roots and poultices that did little to improve any but the feeblest of ailments. Many a bone ached with arthritis and many a tooth was blackened or lost. It was a sorry state of affairs for anyone to live in such a manner.
Jess-as he had named his horse, after his favourite and only cousin- began unsteadily down the long slope towards the frosty meadows below, where the sporadic dots of milling animals could be seen amongst the short grasses. Samuel patted the purse at his hip and winced as he felt its lack of substance. Spells had granted him food and a bed before, but now, in these distant lands, it was only coin which gained favour. The mention of magic often caused misgivings and Samuel had long since abandoned using his spells. Even the use of these Imperial coins had become difficult. The peasants preferred to barter, or use ancient currency from a time in their history before the Empire had marched across their lands. The people eyed and bit Samuel’s coins, scrutinising them well, before begrudgingly handing Samuel his provisions.
The wind blew up again and his eyes began to water. He hoped it was not too much further before he reached his destination, for he had long grown tired of travel. It had taken over a month to reach these distant parts and he had no idea how much longer his journey would last. He was certainly feeling tattered around the edges and could do with a long bath and a good rest.
After leaving Turia, Samuel had passed through his home nation of Marlen. Reaching Stable Canthem, he had stayed shortly at
The Three Toads Inn was now run by a northern family who had no knowledge of Jessicah or her wretched parents. Samuel only hoped that, wherever she was, Jessicah was happy and that her mother and father were somehow miserable.
While in Stable Canthem, Samuel had also called upon Mr Joshua who still traded in secrets and not-so-legal wares, and who was utterly astounded and overjoyed to see him (after he had recovered from the fright of having a magician come striding into his office). Mr Joshua had declared he thought he would never see Samuel again, let alone dressed in the robes of the Order. He stated that he always knew there was something special about Samuel, the moment he had set eyes on him. He even looked into his records to see how much money he still owed Samuel, but Samuel only laughed and waved the offer off.
Mr Joshua made several offers for Samuel to join him in partnership, but Samuel had to politely refuse. However, he did gladly pass on all he knew about the recent events in Cintar while Mr Joshua nodded and smiled as he listened, no doubt memorising every single word. Mr Joshua was genuinely disappointed with himself when he could shed no light on the whereabouts of Jessicah. He could only say that some ill-conceived scheme of her father had left them packing in the middle hours of the night. Samuel was disappointed by the news, for he had been rehearsing the moment when he would reveal his horse’s name, and had imagined many times the feigned look of disgust on her face, followed by the giggles and laughs they would have together. Still, he was surprised how very little escaped Mr Joshua’s attention. Promising to visit at some time in the future, Samuel had turned from Stable Canthem and continued on his way.
His path had led him back through Stable Waterford, the tiny village of his birth, where he was met with a bouquet of familiar scents and sights. The houses and buildings looked virtually unchanged and children ran and played in the streets, exactly as he remembered them doing when he was one of them.
Samuel had spied the weaving stall belonging to Tom’s and he went on in, with a childish grin on his face. Tom’s parents were both inside, each looking a little greyer and a little plumper in the face.
‘Hello, there,’ Tom’s mother greeted him, standing up from her small stool, surrounded by half-finished baskets and lengths of mill plant strips. Her face slowly showed recognition and surprise as she looked up at him. ‘Samuel? Is that you?’
Samuel did not have time to reply before she had leapt up and thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. She seemed to have shrunk greatly since Samuel last saw her.
‘Yes! Yes!’ Samuel replied, laughing. ‘It’s me.’
Tom’s father then stood and tried to shake his hand almost off his arm, while Tom’s mother continued tackling him. He had a modest smile on his face. ‘Good to see you, lad,’ he declared earnestly.
They then sat together on their small, wicker stools and Samuel told them all about his exciting life in the big
