The familiar hum and vibration washed over Fiher as he sat with his eyes shut in his makeshift camp. His back rested on a boulder behind him. He reached out with the Intuition. when trying to find a particular place or person, it was like exploring a forest for the first time at night. There was a sense of getting closer to safety, or a threat of being lost forever. Whichever sensation got stronger told the Seer where to go next. Making the wrong call would only cost him his sanity. He moved slowly through the mental highways, stopping at each jump and feeling closely.
He reached an intersection that resonated with familiarity. Finally. The Mahari sensed him quickly and joined him in the void. She seemed to materialize into the dark spaces in his mind. Although his eyes were closed, the vision of her was as crisp as if she was standing next to him on a clear and sunny day, even though the rest of the psychic world was gloomy.
The sharp growl of Xenaran echoed in the empty space around him as the Mahari spoke, “I feared you were killed.”
“I am here. I found her. I saw what she can do. I think killing her may be a waste of a resource we could use.”
“Perhaps it would be better if you were dead, then. She is of no use to us. She is dangerous. As your sudden change of opinion shows.”
“She is a child. She did not change my mind with ideas. She changed them by being the very thing we have always sought.”
“It does not matter that she is a child. She is not Xenai. She could never be trusted.”
Fiher felt his agitation rise and was glad that the projections showed their natural forms, which did not include the emotive smoke that surrounded them. He controlled his voice carefully, “She could be made.”
The Mahari took a step toward his mind. The increased proximity brought her presence bearing down on him like being buried in rubble. She stayed there, looking over him. He felt as though she looked into every corner of his mind. Does she think I was captured and somehow being used? He projected a graceful bow, lowering himself to one knee before her.
“You genuinely believe she could be made?” She asked.
Fiher growled, “She is strong. So strong the source flows from her without her thinking about it. She could be the solution to the problem the other Inari have given us.”
“Is she as strong in will as in source?”
Fiher’s gut twisted as he told the lie, keeping his head bowed, “She is young. She can be molded.”
“Very well. Come back to Shouding. I will take it to the Maharin. Such a plan requires a majority to execute.”
“Yes, Mahari.”
He had barely spoken the words before the image of her waved in the air then dissipated. He could not help but think she had given in too easily. Fiher could not disobey a second order. It was time to go home.
* * *
Two Weeks Later
The old stone building was crumbling into the bay, detracting from the majesty of the vaulted ceilings. The large scenic windows had long ago broken and fallen out of their casings. After eighty years of earthquakes and disrepair, the home of the Maharin was nothing like the sanctuary he remembered from his first days as a Xenai. Yet, the building still felt like home, no matter how afraid he was of the people that resided inside.
He pushed himself up into a straight posture, ridding himself of the distinctive hunch of the lower Xenai, and he strode into the building. The foyer was filled with the curved forms of other Xenai, bustling in and out of the various entrances. They brought offerings to the Mahari. Most commonly, fresh fish from the morning’s catches. The rare offering plate was filled with small bunches of fruit. Those who could not spare the food brought in the oddities they found. Most of the common Xenai had no idea their Old World treasures were simply thrown into the ocean at the end of the day.
Fiher weaved through the others and approached the two guards at the inner door. The oppressive aura of the Mahari lapped over them. They turned and opened the door, waving him through.
The inner room was the largest in the compound. A circular dais has been crafted from the stone of nearby buildings, along with rows of seats that rose to form a half circle toward the back of the platform. It held the sixteen members of the Maharin. Six sat on the bottom row, five in the next, then four in the second to last. The highest row had one seat, elaborately crafted by manipulating stone. Patterned runes rose from the base across the back and arm rests. Upon it, Sat the Mahari. Her cloud of smoke billowed around her like a dress, flowing onto the step below before dissipating.
Many of the Maharin continued their conversations with each other as Fiher entered, seemingly unaware that anyone had joined them. The Mahari sat, back straight, and watched him approach.
“Tell us about the child,” She said. Her voice echoed in the large otherwise empty room. The Maharin fell silent and turned to look at Fiher.
Fiher stepped onto the circular patchwork of stone, bowing when he reached the center. “The child is more powerful than we had assumed. She knows all five elements with little training.”
The Maharin murmured to each other.
“Doesn’t this just make it more important to eliminate her? We can’t leave a sourcemancer in the hands of The Pact,” Dajin said. He was a second level and most importantly a strong supporter of the Mahari.
A ripple of agreement traveled through the Maharin.
“I agree that she cannot be left with the pact.” Fiher said, stepping forward. The motion stilled the whispers of concern and brought the attention back to him. “We must make her. We need her power on our side, but she also could be the one to resist the dulling.”
Another round of arguments arose. Merende stood. “The assassin is right. We cannot waste an opportunity to push our species forward. We lose too many of us every day, fighting the Pact. Let us take from them what we need to continue.”
The dais was quiet, but Fiher saw many of the Maharin nodding their heads.
The Mahari stood, “there is no way to know if she can be made. She is older than most we have been successful with, and she is stubborn. Even if she survived, she could turn against us,“ She stared Fiher in the eyes as she made her statement.
Of course, she knows the child’s nature—It was pointless to hide it.
The Maharin turned towards her and inclined their heads, gesture of deferment. All except Merende, who turned to look at her, but did not show any sign of changing his opinion.
“We must send a new group of assassins, since the last were compromised,“ she said.
Merende sighed audibly. One at a time, the other Maharin laid their right arm into the crook of the left then raised the left arm. Merende was the only one to abstain. The vote was cast. The child would die.
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