Chapter 4 - Sanasalin

The directionless heir to a kingdom faces his self-doubt, and meets his father's deity.

Verginius Star System 

Annaserria Asteroid Belt

Oxygenated Region

“So what’s the deal, are there aliens?” 

Arty had finished replacing the corroded pipes on his ship. Still awaiting Rachael’s decision as to whether or not she wanted to trust Arty and go with him, or wait for the next pilot to come along, the pair had retreated into the Buzz for a respite. They had both agreed that it was only a matter of time before she came out and joined them. Arty still hadn’t given them any reason not to trust him and his intentions, and regardless they had no way of telling how long they’d be stranded in the asteroid field before someone else arrived. But Arty advised that they needn’t rush Rachael’s decision, and that doing so could cause her to act rashly, just to spite them. They were in no hurry, and so Arty had brought James inside his ship to share a drink. James had been initially excited to see the inside of the craft, but to his dismay it was rather bland. Arty had explained that it was a converted troop transport ship, but to James’ eyes very little converting had been undertaken. It was extremely reminiscent of the typical transport helicopter: lines of seats, complete with belts, sat against each wall, while a mess of pipes and wires ran across the walls and ceiling. Arty’s controls were at the front (the original control panel had been removed, and replaced with a line of computer towers jerry-rigged together), and several silos sat in the centre of the craft, into which the pipes fed. 

“This’s called Kaneef,” the pilot said, screwing open a can of drink and handing it to James. “It’s pretty good, especially when its warmed up a bit. Just make sure you get the right sort. They make different kinds for different species, and different planets too. This’s Emborioum Red.”

James took a sip. It reminded him of red wine, but with something else which he couldn’t identify. 

“So there are aliens?” he asked, sitting down in one of the many empty seats. Arty flashed a sly smile.

“What, political aliens?” 

“F**k off, just tell me,” James said, dryly. 

“Yes there are aliens. Tho don’t call anyone an alien. Call them by their species name, or their common name, though careful that they don’t consider it a racial slur. Technically an alien is anyone who doesn’t have citizenship of a particular planet, or whatever, so even if we go to an all-human planet we’d still be aliens. But yes, there are other sentient species running around. Let’s see, there are the Greys of course, they just look like grey aliens, you know? Pale, tall, big heads, that kind of thing. And there are the Amborotion, they’re like big lizard people. Not the nicest of folk. Uh, what else… ah, yeah, uh, the Okaridi. They’re a bit… out there. You wont see many of them where we’re going. Maybe a couple here and there. They’ve got an exoskeleton, you’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em. But don’t shake their hands, they’re kinda poisonous. Uh, there’s the Teutholodians. Tootholodians? No, Teutholodians. They’re big squids, basically. There’s humans, of course. Am I forgetting something? Ah, the Kasurans. They’re kinda like big ants. Wont ever see one of them unless we go to Kasura. Thinks that’s all of them. I guess unless you count the Ozlones, though I don’t. They’re a Grey subspecies. Oh, yeah, there’s a few subspecies as well. There’s like five types of Grey, there’s amphibious and aquatic and land Okaridi, uh, you get the point. There’s even a couple subspecies of human.”

“Really? What’d they look like? What makes them different?”

Settling down in the seat next to James, Arty took a long draught of his own Kaneef, and set it aside. 

“Well,” he said, unscrewing his second can, “the Iridescans are easy, they look just like us, mostly. Usually they’re a bit taller, and they’re all different colours. Like bright colours. Bright blue and green and things like that. They were, ah, originally created to be sex slaves, but they’ve got independence now so that’s good. They got it a few generations back, but it’s a big touchy subject. So they’re Homo iridesia, we’re Homo inferma (yeah I know just go with it), and then there’s Homo Susceptor. They’re a bit special. Come from around here, actually. In this star system. They look just like us, but they have magic.”

“Like, seriously?” James asked, “Because if your messing with me, I’ve got no f*****g idea, I’m just taking you at your word.”

“I know it sounds dumb,” Arty said, taking another sip, “and I dunno how it works, but yeah, they have magic.”

“What sort of magic?” 

“All sorts. Some can shoot fireballs or freeze water. Or make shadows move. All sorts of things. Truth is I haven’t been around too many, which is a shame. But I’ve see a couple. They’re real, and the Greys have studied them an’ everything. It all checks out. Hope you get a chance to see one of them in action sometime. They mainly live on the planets in this region, Pieria and uh, whatwasit, Aterakarus. But they’re controlled by the Union, not the Empire, so we can’t really go sightseeing.”

“Right.” James said, “You know you haven’t told me what the difference is yet, right? Are we part of the Empire?” 

Arty nodded. “And relations with the Union aren’t the greatest at the moment, so they’re unlikely to let us in to have a squiz at their natives. You should see ‘em in action though. They’re something else.”

***

Verginius Star System 

Planet Aterakarus

Aterakarian Mainland (Supercontinent)

East Coast

Kingdom of the Glass Mountains

The two young people lay back into the bed, their strength spent, their skin damp, their breaths rapid, but slowing. It was the girl who spoke first. 

“<That was amazing.>” She whispered, rolling onto her side to look at her partner. As she did so, she neglected to keep the covers pulled around her, and so revealed her naked chest to him. She was too tired, too satisfied, to care much about that now, especially so soon after he had ripped her clothes off her. Besides, the night air was hot and humid, and the sound of rain falling outside was extremely relaxing. 

He didn’t move. Lady Cessily, heir to the Glass Mountains, raised her hand, tentatively. Her skin, inherited from her mother, was baby blue, with chimeric swirls which marked her as a Susceptor. Her partner, Sanasalin, had them too, only his were much more distinct. Sanasalin’s skin was a mixture of porcelain-white and dark violet, swirling together like ink blots on a white canvas. Whereas she was wholly her mother in that aspect, Sanasalin was a perfect mixture of both his mother and father, combining to form his brilliant complexion, the stark contrasting colours a testament to his genealogy.

Sanasalin finally turned his head toward Cessily, and reached out a hand to stroke the side of her face. He didn’t speak to her, not using words. Instead his thoughts flowed through their physical connection and she heard them as clearly as she would her own thoughts. 

<You’re beautiful.> he told her, wordlessly. 

“<Do you think my parents heard?>” She asked, glancing toward the door to her bedroom, as though it were to burst open any moment now. Sanasalin sighed. 

<No.> 

Reaching a hand under the covers, Sanasalin reached between her legs, and as he touched her, he invaded her mind. As he pleasured her, he didn’t need to hear her gasps to know that he was doing well. He heard every thought, every shiver of emotion, and reacted accordingly. Every private part of her body and mind was exposed to him. She ought to be embarrassed; in her naivety she thought it was romantic. 

Cessily climaxed quickly, and Sanasalin relinquished his hold on her. She collapsed back into her pillows, her naked chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“<You’re amazing!>” she sighed. “<Ah, I love you, Sanasalin!>”

“<I love you too, Cessily.>” Sanasalin replied, automatically. 

“<I still can’t believe you broke the Protection Act to be with me.>” 

“<You’re worth it.>” Sanasalin said, causing the girl to purr and nuzzle up closer to him. She was cold and clammy from her sweat, which refused to evaporate in the humidity. 

He wasn’t, Sanasalin reflected, speaking untruthfully. The Protection Act didn’t scare him, not while they were so far from Landing City, and he was more than willing to hike through the rain and the dark if it meant sex; he liked the dark and could see just as well at night as he could in the day, albeit in black and white. 

“<I wish we didn’t have to skulk around.>” Cessily was saying, her arms and legs wound tight around him. Sanasalin absentmindedly stroked her slimmer form. 

“<Have you…>” Cessily hesitated, “<Have you spoken to your father any more since I saw you last? About marrying me?>”

Sanasalin bristled in annoyance. For a moment he was about to answer truthfully, that of course he hadn’t, because there was no point. His father wasn’t about to change his mind, no matter how many times Sanasalin asked him. 

“<He remains resolute.>” Sanasalin told her. “<I am to marry the second daughter of the Lady of the Gamelands. The first daughter, if he has his way. Relations between your Glass Mountains and the our Ochre Mines are too healthy; my father wants me to bolster our relationship with the Gamelands, and if Lady Guiles changes her mind and decides to invade the Mines again, my father would have a nice little hostage, ready made.>”  

Cessily sighed, sadly, and kissed him. 

“<You’ll still visit me though, won’t you?>”

“<Of course. At least until you’re married as well. Provided you don’t move too far away, we might be able to continue afterwards.>”

Whilst both men and women could own lands and govern citizens, in the case of marriages it was traditional for men to remain in the land of their parents’, eventually inheriting it, while women moved away from their homeland. 

“<Perhaps I should marry your little brother.>” Cessily said, breathily, into his ear, as she did when she wanted to arouse him. But her words undid her efforts. 

“<Then I’d be able to live with you forever, and sneak away with you whenever we->”

“<I should be going.>” Sanasalin interjected, detaching himself from her tangled limbs and clambering off the bed. “<It’ll be morning soon.>”

He began to scoop up his clothes.

“<What?>” Cessily looked crestfallen, “<Can’t you stay longer?>

Sanasalin didn’t bother to answer her. 

“<What about the Protection Act?>” Cessily said, drawing her knees up to her chest and pulling the blanket tightly around herself in his absence. 

Sanasalin, belting up his pants, let out a derisive laugh. 

“<There are no Invaders out there tonight, in the rain and the dark,>” he told her, “<Even if they knew I’d break curfew, I’m too much effort to be worth their time.>” 

Cessily clearly didn’t know what to say to that, so she watched in silence as he buttoned up his shirt, and pulled on a silken violet waistcoat. He stepped into steel-caped boots, and pulled on a pair of supple leather gloves. Over it all went a thick travelling cloak - hot and heavy, but very effective at keeping him dry even in the monsoon rain - and a conical hat made from leaves and dried grasses and sealed with wax. He also tied a scarf over his face, but this was mostly to cover his eyes and mouth from spiderwebs strung up between the trees.

Dressed so thoroughly, Sanasalin was unable to kiss Cessily goodbye, even if he had been so inclined. Instead he held her hand briefly, before turning toward the far window. Opening the rafters to their full extent, Sanasalin swung his right leg out, feeling for purchase. Cessily’s room, like all structures built by the people of the Glass Mountains, was a tree-house, built high up in the canopy and suspended between the surrounding trees by ropes and chains. Though well made, the houses were not meant to be permanent structures, but instead were assembled and destroyed according to the tribes’ needs to roam through the forest, lest they deplete any particular area of resources. This meant that there was no need for perfection in their designs, just structural stability, and there were usually plenty of spots where the floorboards protruded out from the walls, giving careful climbers a place to stand, if they could reach it in the first place. Finding one such spot, where a corner of wood jutted out from the wall, just under the window, Sanasalin applied his weight to it, and found it sturdy. Swinging his left leg out without another word to Cessily, Sanasalin gripped the external walls of the house, and readied himself for his descent to the forest floor.

It was raining hard, as was typical for the rainy season. Buckets collected by the large jungle leaves above dropped at once, splashing down through the darkness. The canopy above rippled like the sea during a storm, but no lightning lit the night, and no thunder clapped. There was no sound but the overwhelming white noise of the rain, and nothing to see but darkness.  

But sanasalin was particularly good at seeing through darkness. Just as in the day one could tell the difference between colours in a rainbow, he could tell apart the pitch of his own shadow from the comparative glow of the atmosphere, filtering down through the trees. Even in day, it was dark in the rainforest, with so little light filtering down through the thick canopy that the sun never reached the undergrowth. Now, at night, each raindrop refracted a different shade of shadow, like a tiny globe, falling to earth. In the spaces where two shadows crossed, more light was displaced, deepening the darkness. In amongst the densely packed trees, infinite variations of shadow spread through the air and along the ground, as intricate as the shades of colour on an oil painting. 

From his place on the edge of Cessily’s room, Sanasalin jumped, aiming for the bow of a nearby eucalypt. He landed hard, and for a moment thought he’d gotten purchase. Then the outer layer of bark, wet from the rain and weakened by the burrowing of parasitic moths, sloughed off. Sanasalin fell. 

He crashed through the lower canopy, every palm frond serving to slow him down, before landing on a rotten log, which collapsed beneath him. For a moment he was dazed, and didn’t move. But the rain as still falling, and the rotten log was riddled with insects, which urged him to his feet. His many layers and the rain-sodden undergrowth had softened his fall, but his hat had split. Sanasalin threw it aside. 

He’d always been useless at climbing. Cessily had no idea, but in order to make his dramatic entrance through the trees and in through her window, he had called in a favour from his younger brother. Veine was a phytokinetic, and more naturally gifted when it came to activities such as climbing trees. 

To most things, really. But he’d expected to stay at Cessily’s until morning, and had sent Veine away. He was on his own for now. 

Sanasalin swept his sopping wet hair from his face, and blinked furiously as dripping ochre filled his eyes. Tears welled, and Sanasalin automatically tried to wipe them clean with his shirt sleeve, instantly staining it with violet streaks. Seeing this, Sanasalin sighed, and surrendered to the inevitable. He shrugged out of his overcoat, and let it drop to the ground. Instantly sopping wet, Sanasalin unbuttoned his silken waistcoat, slid it backward down his arms. His white undershirt, stained and already transparent from the rain, was easier to discard. His gloves were wet and encrusted with bark, but Sanasalin kept them, as they were good quality and would protect his hands if he needed to do any more climbing before he reached his home in the Ochre Mines. In the bucketing rain, the remaining ochre flowed freely from his bare chest. Beneath the paint, his skin was a swirl of porcelain, intermingled with splashes of pale violet, so faint it was hardly visible.  

A beam of yellow light flared behind him; someone had flicked on a torch. Sanasalin’s vision, so adept in the darkness, was overwhelmed. The world was bleached a blinding white, and spots exploded before him. 

“Kel binon-li us?” called the owner of the flashlight. The powerful beam dipped. Through teary eyes, Sanasalin saw a young woman with short hair, dressed in hunting garb. She held a torch in one hand, and a spear and matching launcher in the other. Her clothes bore no insignia, but her words betrayed her allegiance: she was speaking Volapuk, the language of the Invaders. And now that she was no longer blinding him with her torch, he could see that the skin on his face was plain, unmarked by chimeric banding. She was an Anglon, a hybrid species born from the forced breeding of a Susceptor (the magic-capable race that Sanasalin belonged to) and a plain-skinned non-magic variety of human called Inferma, which the Invaders imported from faraway planets. Anglons were completely incapable of using magic, as were their descendants, and so they had never properly integrated into existing Susceptor kingdoms. Instead they tended to live in their own clans, or amongst the Invaders, which explained why this one spoke like them. Sanasalin knew only two words of Volapuk: tutatakon, which meant Invader, and brodat, which meant murder. 

“Kiopo ol komon de?” The woman called. She paused a moment, waiting for him to answer. 

“Ob sukon nunan, nemu Ozlone reiganef.” Barked the woman, “Ob kredon om tavon al Kol-Meinane, ad kosgolon lord de regan.”

Sanasalin just stared at her.  

Apparently realising that he had no idea what she was saying, the Anglon waved him off, and began to wander away, sweeping the ground with the beam of her torch.  Suddenly Sanasalin realised what she was doing out there in the middle of the night: searching. Why she’d pick such a miserable time to comb the woods he had no idea, but given her proximity to Cessily’s tribe it was plain what she was looking for. The Kingdom of the Glass Mountains may be static, but it’s people migrated every few months, making them difficult to keep track of. If the Invaders were out to cause trouble for the Glass Mountains, and they were using the storms for cover…

Sanasalin glanced upward. The rain was bucketing down, obscuring any view of the tribe’s tree houses from their position on the ground. The Anglon, unable to see in the dark at all, would have no idea that the kingdom sat so close, but if she discovered the tribe it would only be a matter of time before the Invaders arrived in force. His kingdom, the Ochre Mines, owed nothing to the Glass Mountains, but in the face of their mutual oppressors he was obliged to help defend their privacy. 

The Anglon had turned her back. She was no longer paying attention to him. Sanasalin cupped his hands, and gathered the darkness around him, shaping it into a solid mass the size of an apple. The magical lump quivered in his hands, eager to disperse back into the atmosphere. Remembering what his father had always told him, Sanasalin took that potential energy and redirected it, concentrating it to one point, behind the shadowy ball. He let go, and the newly made projectile shot forward, toward the Anglon. Sanasalin’s aim was perfect, and the shadowy lump struck her square in the back. Fast as it was, the shot didn’t have much weight behind it, and dissipated upon impact, causing little damage. The Anglon stumbled forward, but didn’t fall. She straightened up and turned, furious. She lifted her torch and flashed it at him, and Sanasalin turned just in time to avoid being blinded. Fearing he’d made a terrible mistake, Sanasalin broke into a run, leaping over a fallen log and onto the gametrail which headed downhill. 

“Dolon!” She yelled after him. 

Sanasalin didn’t pause, he didn’t glance back. The beam of the Anglon’s torch was shaking wildly - she was coming after him. With any luck she’d be going slow, so as to avoid tripping down the thin trail in the dark and the wet, and so Sanasalin ran as fast as he could to increase the distance between them. The path sloped, snaking down the side of a steep hill. To his right, the embankment rose up, held in place by centuries-worth of roots, while to his left the ground fell away to almost a sheer drop for ten or so metres, before the path winded back across the hill. Not a fatal fall, but it would hurt. If the Anglon fell, it would give him plenty of time to hide. 

Remembering another technique his father had taught him, Sanasalin began to gather the darkness around him, cloaking himself in it. If he could make it thick enough, he might as well be invisible. Maybe he could send the Anglon down the slope with a sudden push…

The Anglon’s flashlight flared, dissipating his cloak of shadow and disarming him so thoroughly that his foot slipped, and the next he knew Sanasalin was sliding down the slope. Mud and leaves parted before him, then he hit a sapling tree which held firm. Its branches rocked, loosing a cascade of water. He groaned in pain, and slipped, sliding away down the slope again, and finally rolling back onto the gametrail. 

“<Please…>” he moaned, rolling onto his back. He couldn’t see the Anglon’s torch any more, and couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the rain, but she couldn’t be far away. Most likely she was taking a slower, safer route down the hillside, but even so he doubted he’d be able to rise and escape in time. 

“If your listening…>”

Sanasalin had never paid much attention to his parents’ gods. He’d inherited their magic through genetics, not the divine. His mother prayed to her god regularly, though her grasp of psionikinesis remained extremely limited. His father rarely prayed, but his innate skill in umbrakinesis had allowed him to rise from a common farmhand to the ruler of the Ochre Mines. But he had, on occasion, spoken about his deity. 

The Great Lady was a wolf-like beast, with the mind of a woman, tired and worn-down by the world. She was, in Parveno’s mind, a wise old matriarch: gentle, curious, and above all else, sympathetic. Though he usually scoffed at the suggestion, Parveno had always maintained that if Sanasalin ever needed desperate help, the Great Lady would intervene. Perhaps that was why, without planning or reason, Sanasalin found himself praying to the Great Lady.

“<I need your help. Please. Come to me.>”

The Anglon had caught up. Her torch flared as she bore down upon him. But now the light was dark, and her steps had slowed. She still appeared to be running, but it took an age for each foot to fall. The rain stopped, droplets hanging motionless in the air like beads.

And there she was, her dark form intersecting trees and shrubs, exactly as Parveno had always described her. A beast of shadow and darkness that walked on four legs and massive paws. She looked thin and bony, but also strong, and large enough to look him in the eye. And how very human her eyes were. She said no words nor made no noise, but stepped quietly closer, peering at him knowingly. She cocked her head, her fur rippling as though in wind, though the air was still. As he watched, her fur seemed to run, like ink through water, until it trailed out behind her like tendrils. They quivered, and snaked through the air toward Sanasalin. He almost took a step back, but it struck him that doing so might offend the Great Lady, and the Anglon was so very close. 

The Great Lady’s tendrils slithered over him, intersecting with his own shadow, and piercing his mind. At once he was transported. No longer was he on the narrow game trail, part way down a hill in a sodden rainforest. The Anglon was gone. He was standing in a field, whose grasses rippled in strange winds which Sanasalin could not feel. There was no stars above, no atmospheric glow, and the horizon seemed to stretch forever. There were no lights at all, as far as Sanasalin could see, but everything was perfectly lit, as though the air itself was emitting a dark, ethereal glow. 

“<This is a mindscape.>” The Great Lady said, settling down upon her haunches before him, “<Your mindscape. Our conversation here should only take the shortest of moments in real time; I thought the apparent safety of this realm would comfort you. When we are finished, I shall wake you and time shall resume.>”

Sanasalin glanced around the dark, empty realm. He didn’t feel comforted, especially knowing that the Anglon’s attack was still taking place, and he would be unceremoniously plopped back into the middle of it once the Great Lady was finished with him. The grasses around him twitched as he thought this, and flattened to spell out intricate patterns which held no meaning to Sanasalin. The Great Lady, however, glanced around and gained some understanding. Her beastly head turned back to him, and those sad, human eyes pierced him.

“<I have the power to save you, but I will not.>” She told him, having read his thoughts as easily as he’d heard them himself. “<I will assist you, however.>”

She draw in a breath, and said: “<Your father->” 

Sanasalin laughed, bitterly. “<Don’t talk to me about my father.>”

“<You are your father.>” She insisted. “<More than you know. Half of your self comes from him, and the other half your mother. You are Parveno and you are Clayre, a more perfect product of their union than any treaty or trade agreement.>”

“<Exactly!>” Sanasalin said, gesturing at his bare chest, where the porcelain splashes he’d inherited from his mother interrupted his otherwise uniformly dark violet skin. “<I’m half of him! Thanks to her, I can only ever be half of what he is! I can never be as strong as he is. Do you think he would have been troubled by a lone Anglon? At night, when we’re strongest?>”

The Great Lady smiled at him.

“<Your father has neglected to tell you his entire story.>” she explained, “<You see, when I first met Parveno, his umbrakinesis was so diluted, that he scarcely resembled a Susceptor at all. He believed himself an Anglon, no different to the woman engaging with you now. I came to this planet looking for umbrakinetics to incorporate into my family. I found your father when he prayed to me, just like I found you just now. He asked me to give him strength, and I lent it to him. 

“<Don’t misunderstand me. His mastery over umbrakinesis is his own. I altered his genetics to increase his natural affinity for shadow magic, but he practised his art for years before making his presence known to the world. I do deal easy shortcuts. But I am more than happy to assist him, whenever he requires. Just as I am happy to assist you now.

“<I have come, again, looking for umbrakinetics here in the forests of your planet. I planned to seek Parveno himself, but it appears that he… his future does not align with what I require of him. You, however. Your only half of your father, but you are also half of your mother.>”

“<That’s just it though, isn’t it?>” Sanasalin protested, “<I’m half of what they are. I can’t do the things that my father can do! I can’t make shadows solid and tangible. And I can’t dive into people’s minds and warp them like my grandfather can, mother refuses to show me how!>”

“<To be fair,>” The Great Lady said, gently, “<Neither of your parents have shown to be effective teachers. But fret not; I will take over that burden from now on. After I remove some of your genetic blocks, of course, just like I did with Parveno.>”

For a moment, Sanasalin couldn’t process what the Great Lady had said. Then his heart leapt as he realised what she had said. Trained by the Great Lady herself! He had never thought to attribute his slow growth as an umbrakinetic to his father’s teaching style, or to the genes he’d inherited, always placing the blame on his own failings of strength and character. To learn that he was no different from his father, that his magic could be unblocked, and that he was to be taught by the Great Lady herself!

At the very least, he thought to himself, it’d save him from his current predicament. 

Still attuned to his mind, the Great Lady heard his thoughts and answered them, as if he’d spoken aloud. 

“<You prayed to me, and so I can lend you power to defeat that woman.>” the Great Lady told him. “<But only to defeat her. Do not kill her, nor wound her too badly. I come here with tidings of the future - of yours and of your planet, and many planets throughout the galaxy - and in accepting my assistance, your agreeing to help me. There’s no need to explain everything now; just know that your futures are intricately tied.>”

Sanasalin nodded. It wasn’t as though he could refuse. The Great Lady stood and regarded him a moment, as if stuck with misgivings. Then she leapt forward, and merged herself with Sanasalin’s own shadow. Instantly Sanasalin felt his power swell to heights he’d scarcely imagined. His perceptions increased, so that rather than seeing, he could feel every surface that the darkness touched, and sense it as an infinitely complex map around him. He raised his arms, and found his movements assisted by the darkness which had wrapped around them. Compared to the clunky pull of tendons which he’d grown used to, this shadow-assisted movement was precise, strong, and perfectly attuned to his intentions. He jumped lightly, and soared several metres into the air, and hung there, unaffected by gravity. He laughed, and in response the air quivered with delight. The grasses flattened around him as he landed. The idea that he’d been threatened by a powerless Anglon was ludicrous. 

And with that, the mindscape dissipated, and he was once again in the Glass Mountain forest, crouched on that tiny game trail, rain thundering down form above. The Anglon, who had been making a slow and steady way down the path to meet him, came to a halt. She clutched a short wooden spear, and a launcher. She’d already slid the two parts together, and was holding it ready. Sanasalin smiled, and stepped off the ground, into the air. The Anglon backed away, clearly surprised by his unprecedented display of power, and threw the spear at him. The launcher could propel the spear as fast as a bullet from a kinetic firearm, but Sanasalin deflected the projectile with a lazy wave of his arm, and the rush of darkness that flowed with it. 

The Anglon didn’t waste any time; she turned and fled, leaping off the side of the game trail and down the hill. She managed it better than Sanasalin had, staying on her feet and dodging several trees as she sprinted away from him. But Sanasalin was simply too powerful. The shadows of the trees tightened around her, and like giant hands hoisted her up, and deposited her back on the path. As soon as the shadows released her, the Anglon attempted to flee again, rolling backward and off the path, but Sanasalin caught her again and lifted her up to him. 

“<Stop running away.>” he told her. With scarcely a thought, he summoned a knife of shadows in the air, and cut a slash in the Anglon’s leg, causing her to scream in pain. Sanasalin threw her roughly back onto the game trail, and landed beside her. 

<That’s enough,> a small voice in his head seemed to say. <She’s no threat to you any more.>

Sanasalin ignored it. She might not be a threat any more, but she had been intending to kill him. She deserved the same. He strode over to her, a shadowy sword materialising in his hand.

<No!>

Suddenly all that power the Great Lady bestowed upon him was gone. He clutched frantically at the blade in his hand, but the weapon now felt impossibly heavy. It slipped from his grip, and dissipated into the air. The next thing he knew, Sanasalin’s legs caved beneath him, his senses confused and muddied. He thrashed for a moment, before regaining himself and rolling over to see the Anglon, bleeding heavily, crawling toward her dropped spear. Sanasalin pushed at the air, but only succeeded in sending a ripple of darkness washing over her, barely affecting the huntress. 

She was closer to the spear than he was now. Sanasalin rose to his feet, and wobbled, his head spinning. 

She’d reached the spear. Clutching it in her right hand, the Anglon rose to her feet, her left hand braced against a sodden eycalypt for support. She slashed at him, daring him to come within range. Sanasalin glanced around wildly, looking for something which might help… 

His eyes settled on a length of rotting log which had fallen close to the path, which still retained the tips of several branches. Sanasaling grabbed at one of these, and pulled. It came away easily; the log had rotted through, both from rain and insects, and the small branch was flimsy. The Anglon, looking triumphant, stumbled forward. Sanasalin turned to face her, clutching his soggy branch. He couldn’t pray for help this time - he doubted the Great Lady would ever appear to him again - and his own umbrakinesis was too weak. The Great Lady had been right about one thing though: he was half his father, but he was also half his mother. His mother, youngest daughter of Lord Dimitri of the Redwater, descendant of a long line of psionikinetics. He’d inherited that power, the ability to delve into the minds of others, as revealed by the porcelain streaks on his skin. He’d never used the power offensively before, and his mother had never taught him how to utilise it correctly. He usually employed it during sex with Cessily, but he’d explored her mind thoroughly enough to know which parts to pleasure, and which parts could cause pain. 

It was his only chance.

Enveloping the branch in psionic energy, Sanasalin stepped toward the Anglon. Seeing only the branch, and not the invisible magic which flowed around it, the Anglon stumbled straight into the incorporeal blade, which slid through her clothes and into her chest, encountering no resistance whatsoever. The Anglon stopped, her chest heaving. Feeling their minds connected, Sanasalin lashed out. The Anglon simply at Sanasalin in anguish, in confusion, then she eyes glazed over. Sanasalin felt the connection between their minds break. The Anglon collapsed, face down in the mud, and did not move. 

Sanasalin dropped his stick. He wobbled on unstable legs, and leaned against a tree for support. He watched the Anglon cautiously for a moment, suspecting a trick. He didn’t have absolute faith in his psionikinesis, after all. He had to check. 

Kneeling down beside the Anglon, Sanasalin pushed her head to the side, and jumped with fright. Her eyes were open and staring, despite the muck which had covered her face. Still she didn’t move. Sanasalin flipped her torso over, so she was lying on her back. Her legs didn’t want to follow, and became somewhat tangled, not that the Anglon seemed to care. Her open eyes stared blankly ahead of her, oblivious to the rain that was still bucketing down. Sanasalin lifted one of her arms and let it go again. It dropped awkwardly. Finally convinced, Sanasalin sat down beside her. He was exhausted, and when he tried to rise he found his legs were shaking, and would not take his weight. His arms felt heavy, and despite the rain and the muck, his place on the game trail felt like the most comfortable spot in the world. Figuring that he probably deserved a short rest, and would be fine to move on in a few minutes, Sanasalin settled his back up against a tree, and almost immediately fell asleep. 

Author's Note

the first part of this chapter ties in with the other characters, James and Rachael, from previous chapters.