AbyssalRoadTrip
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Hell's Songbird - 7
🕑 Added 2021-12-02 03:02:26 +0000 UTC“Mind your feet.”
I’ve barely registered her words when Ilya teleports us again, and I only get the first notes. The rock underfoot crumbles, tipping me towards rushing water. A spike of panic and thinking up has my wings pressed flat against the ceiling before I can stop. The tunnel we’re in adds to my growing list of places I never want to visit again.
The only illumination present is from a wall of greenish-blue light but it can’t penetrate the dark surging waters rushing beneath me. Yet despite all the water there’s no dampness in the air. I inhale from habit, and a sharp dry odour smacks me in the face; as heavy as the scent is, the hazy, sleepy notes from the water beckons for my attention. Its music is in sharp contrast to both the focused intensity coming from Ilya and the melodic beauty of the curtain. The curtain’s shimmering radiance—and its music—pushes back the greyness of Hades and the oblivion that the water promises.
“Close, I almost teleported us out. Never touch the River Styx, the slightest touch or sip of its waters and you’ll forget. The greater the contact, the more you’ll forget, and for longer. A mouthful will probably wash your memories away forever. The only thing that might remain would be your Erinys instincts,” Ilya’s explanation sends a shudder through me.
Tension seizes me up, and when I nod, the movement is as jerky as a puppet. “I’ll avoid it.”
“This is one of the few Gates to the Outlands not guarded; the river is the only obstruction needed. In either direction, the tunnel roof comes down and meets the water.”
A pair of swords suddenly appear in her hands, and Ilya steps through the curtain. Her music vanishes amid its chorus, leaving me along with the sorrowful temptation below. A promise of oblivion, to set all the horrors I’ve seen and heard aside. It’s a siren call I push away, and with my bow in hand, I step through the curtain.
The energy both pull me along, and part before me, and I find myself on a ledge so high up it makes the Empire State view seem a pre-school height. I gasp at the view before me, and air so fresh, so sweet slips across my tongue. The land stretches out further than I can see, it is so beautiful. Far below are trees and so much greenery covering an undulating countryside under brilliant sunlight and a canopy of white, fluffy clouds. A greyish-white and smooth cliff has replaced the rough stone on the other side. The music swells in the air, and echoes through me, setting me humming, and I can feel it in my bones.
“Welcome to the Outlands. Pick any direction—save up—and you could fly forever. It’s an infinite Plane with Gates to every planet and every Plane, including one to the first layer of Hell. Though anything living going through that one doesn’t stay that way. Be extremely careful which Gates you go through if you come here alone.” Ilya says, her tone serious and firm.
“This is all the sunlight I need; let’s just stay here.”
The words escape me in a sigh, and Ilya doesn’t respond at first, but her music grows regretful and longing. Her gaze weighs on me as I look over the countryside. With such beauty about it’s a pleasure to actually pick out details.
Ilya’s reply is a soft, regretful whisper. “We can’t. If we stay, they’ll eventually come looking for us. If we don’t have substantial progress by then, they’ll enforce a lateral promotion on one or both of us.”
“What is a lateral promotion?” I ask, and her silence prompts me to explain. “I’ve heard that term but didn’t get any context.”
“The smartest, twistiest minds run Hell. You can’t really get ahead, or even survive well unless you apply your brains. Some types of Devils aren’t as intelligent as others, though their forms might be physically powerful. Depending on how nasty they were feeling, I’d be lucky to be a Bearded Devil wielding a bardiche atop the wall fending off every major assault.”
I don’t remember seeing any Devil with facial hair. “What’s a Bearded Devil?”
The grimace Ilya gives matches the ugliness of the song. “You’ve likely seen them around, red-skinned, big black horns, with so many spikes growing along their jawline it gives the appearance of a beard. In the brains department, they don’t have two rocks to bang together. That’s enough about them; next is the Gate to Cemna, just one world that’ll show you why I hate Demons.”
Ilya teleports us again, and a natural cave cut into a hillside appears before us—a yellowish-white Gate gleaming in its mouth. Trees loom high overhead, and swaying branches set dappled shadows across the small clearing. Floral scents and bird calls are thick in the woods around us. Not waiting for Ilya to prompt, I check the Gate with True Sight and see the swirling energy flowing in both directions.
[True Sight [B](9->10)]
Ilya motions towards the Gate before I’m done, only to cut off as she glances at my face. “Good. The world’s name is Cemna, but I never discovered how the Demons were unleashed upon it. I was there for a few weeks, looting the local equivalent of a Wizard’s school. Undead are thick about the place, normally bows aren’t good for injuring undead but your bow will be fine if you can connect. No need for head shots, they don’t have heads.”
Images of headless zombies groping their way through ruins comes to mind. “What? How do they see?”
Ilya’s lips twitch, but she suppresses the smile before explaining. “They have six legs, arms, and eyes spread evenly around an upright tubular torso, but only one non-chewing mouth. It’s impossible to flank them, any carried weapons, even sheathed, expect them to use.”
With that she steps through the Gate and, stealing another glance about me, I follow. A bitter wind howls through the cavern we’ve entered, polishing the icy floor smooth. The Gate’s curtain of energy reflecting from the floor, and gleaming from frost-covered stone walls, push back the darkness. The sheer lack of rock formation makes me wonder at the consistency of the gale. Those surfaces not ice are polished rock, only a few curved hollows retain any debris. The snowdrifts there showed a few odd stones poking through.
Ilya sounds amused at the confusion I know I’m showing. “Did you expect us to come out straight into a ruin?”
“You still have your swords out?” I say, nodding at them.
The swords disappear as fast as they appeared, and Ilya moves off. Flying against the wind, she leaves me to follow in her wake.
“Always be ready for a fight; trouble can come when you least expect it. Last time that passage was open; since the wind is still going strong we’ll take that path,” Ilya says, motioning upward towards a a hole on one edge of the ceiling. “While I could Teleport us, it’s better if you have seen locations about this world. Also will let us get some training done first.”
“Any exits down below?” I ask, wondering how the wind makes it back out again.
“I don’t know what lies beneath; I’ve never had cause to explore downwards,” Ilya replies, only to look back as I choke down a snicker.
“Nevermind, lead the way.”
Ilya flies up through a series of curving tunnels and exits out an ice cave that serves as a funnel. The focused wind makes it hard going and Flight pushes ahead. Not even able to fly straight into the wind, zigzagging back and forth, I finally make it free.
[Flight [Ap](24->25)]
“Teleport back down the tunnel,” Ilya commands as soon as I get free.
“What? Why?” I ask, hearing the heat in my words. I don’t know how long it’s taken to fly through that wind tunnel, and I’ve no desire to do it again.
“Do it,” Ilya insists, her unyielding music matching the fierceness in her gaze. “You strained to get out of there. You need places that will push you if you’re going to survive. Use it while it still has an effect. They shoved you out the door without the training you should have gotten.”
The wind across the mountain said buffets me as I fight to stay near her. “But I can just Teleport out.”
“You didn’t before, and sometimes it won’t be possible. Now do it again. Do you want to stay weak? They expect you to get destroyed.” roars Ilya. The furious notes in her song buffeting me worse than the wind. “Are you going to let Hell grind you into the dirt?”
No sooner do I appear in the tunnel than the wind sweeps me up and slams me into something—a wall? floor? My vision swims, as the whiteness whirls around me, walls and floor spin about too fast and blend into one. The wind dumps me to the ground and I go slipping across the rough ice, gouging at it with my nails to stop. Blood streaming from my nose, I spit out the mouthfuls of it until it finally stops and look at the black blood steaming on the ice.
[Mundane Materials [M] (5->6)]
“Taking too long, flap those wings bird brain!” Ilya’s words scream in my ear, under the notes of the spell.
I can feel the cold through my leathers but at least it isn’t damaging me. My hands don’t show any effect from the cold but seeing the stark white flesh and the black nails is still jarring. Slowly, getting to my feet I stop and slap myself feeling the stinging pain more than the cold. I focus on rising in and pushing against the wind.
Sunshine was what I wanted, not a blasted ice cave. The wind seems even stronger than before as meter by meter I fight my way up the tunnel. I’m pushing as hard as I can but the wind grows only stronger. When I reach the back of the cave mouth, I hear the music. Tinkling notes of a Spell surging to me within the wind.
Oh, you bitch!
I can see Ilya outside the cave mouth holding her position effortlessly in the air. Her wings flapping with gentle motions, keeping herself suspended before the cave. She’s glowing in True Sight and the energy suddenly blazes bluish-white. The surge of wind crashes me into the wall even harder than before and sets me tumbling again. A snap reverberates up my back, and pain sears through my spine. Sliding along with my wings trapped under me, fire lights up my nerves. The pain pulsing through me doesn’t stop when I finally hit a snowdrift caught on a curve. The shallow layer of white isn’t a buffer for the rocks beneath.
[Flight [Ap](27->28)
True Sight [B](10->11)
Improved Regeneration [Ap](1->2)
Fly [Ap](25->27)
Pain Tolerance (1->2)
Mundane Materials [M] (6->9)]
The last of Mr Message notes don’t bring me any joy as the pain fades away and I clawed for purchase as I get to my feet. My wings heal with a pop that makes me scream, and I wonder when I dislocated them.
“Heal up and go again. You’re all blood-stained, Isa.”
Isa? At least that’s better than bloody Isaac—it’s still a boy’s name.
Hands full of ice help me scour blood from my face, but I feel it caked in my hair. The stickiness of it seeping around under my leathers, and in through my feathers.
“She’s making this harder than it needs to be.” the wind snatched away the words, but it still helps me focus. “Ilya isn’t making it harder than it needs to be. She’s making it as hard as she can. I need to get stronger.”
My Profile shows my health at fifty-seven so I sprawl flat on the ice, and let the wind howl over me not wanting to risk being spilled. I’m not sure how long I’m lying there but Ilya’s voice in my ear startles me. “If you’re done resting, go again, or you won’t see any sunshine today.”
I plan to enjoy lots of sunshine, even if it isn’t today.
The setting sun makes for a beautiful sky by the time I get out, stretching mysterious shadows across the lands ahead of me. Vast snow-covered peaks are behind us, and the wind is clean and crisp. Long runs of pure undisturbed snow make me itch for a set of skis, but I’m sure I won’t find a rental store.
I don’t know how long getting free took—certainly hours. Every time I fell, Ilya gave me time to heal then verbally poked me to go again. Though I can feel the difference in my flying, especially after the message for getting into Journeyman rank came. Fly’s progression seemed to make more difference, providing unexpected instincts to angle my body and react with the wind instead of just forcing my way through it. My body tilting to adjust to it as the message came was strange, but my wings flexed differently, bringing together pieces from all my various attempts. I exit the cave at barely a jog, but even with Ilya glowing with Mana I don’t have to zig-zag.
[Flight [J](17->18)
Fly [J](1->2)]
The moment I’m out of line with her, my pace becomes a sprint and I race away. The fresh air here tastes so good, ever breath a wonder that lightens my insides. A glance shows Ilya still waiting by the cave, and I loop back around. Slowing on my approach, I manage not to faceplant into her.
“What was that you were casting?”
“It’s used to fill sails in becalmed ships, I can sustain it for hours on end,” Ilya replies smugly.
From the strength of the music I certainly believe her; I can almost hear sails snapping full from its power, unless I’m thinking about all the bones I broke. “How long was I in there?”
“Pay more attention to how you’re flying not just pushing yourself to fly faster. You don’t use your wings enough,” Ilya says, frowning at my immediate groan.
I flap them about but have Flight hold me in place. “I don’t need them to fly.”
Ilya spins about and a wing smashes me into the rock ledge before the cave. I only just get a hand up before I hit, but a crack resounds through my forearm, pain throbs in my shoulder. She addresses me in a tone that is harsh and critical yet the music that accompanies them is sorrowful.
“So what? They’re not just for flying, they’re also weapons, but unless you practice using them there is no way you’ll ever have enough control. When you’re flying into the wind, pay attention to how you angle them. You were working far too hard.”
I’m so sick of hurting, I want to scream and cry. I so want more sunshine, but I clamp down on my outburst. The cold air helps calm me before I respond, and the song from my healing wounds. I distract myself by listening to the fading music from the break within the bone. “Did you go through something like this?”
“Worse. Heal up and then we’re going to get off this mountain,” orders Ilya. “You could go again, but continually repeating the same activity reduces your improvement; Need to mix it up to keep progressing.”
“What level would my Flight and Fly have been if I’d gone through the training?”
Ilya lands next to me to offer a hand up, her tone softening. “A sensible question, most of those in my training squad had at least Adept—in the mid-levels—before we graduated.”
The broken wrist straightens of its own accord, a splinter of bone withdrawing into flesh brings a lessening of pain. I grip her offered forearm with my other hand as she hauls me to my feet. The ease with which she helps me to my feet makes me wonder if she could have killed me just then, but her answer has me curious. “Most? What about you? What did your imprint show it as?”
“I’d got it into the Master rank,” answers Ilya almost reluctantly, her expression shadowed with emotions. Proud notes, mix with the music I’d heard from her when we first met, sorrow and regret carry through her song. “Your skills improve faster when you focus on what you’re doing with them. Practice the right way, and practice lots if you want to get skills progressing.”
“Is it time to teleport to the ruins you spoke of?” I ask hopefully.
The headshake I get from Ilya doesn’t surprise me. “Not at all. You’re going to fly down this mountain and play dodge through the boulders. Keep as close to the ground as possible. Find the balance between your Flight strength, and the way you hold your body balanced while flying. You need to turn it with the motions; your wings and Power shouldn’t be doing all the work. If you do it correctly, it will also force Acrobatics and Balance to progress.”
“What will you be doing?”
“Watching from above you to make sure nothing on the mountainside tries to eat you on the way down,” replies Ilya cheerfully. “I want you talking into my mind. Since you can send words to me, you should also be able to hear my surface thoughts. I’ll give you directions and corrections.”
“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” I ask, taking in the rough terrain away from the pristine slopes I still want to ski.
“The worse your focus, the longer the pain will last. It’s all in your control,” retorts Ilya, the cheer making her voice vibrant. “Get to the mountain’s base fast enough to satisfy me or we’re going to keep repeating this training.”
“Aren’t we meant to kill things?”
Ilya gives me a predatory smile. “Your arm looks healed, so get started. If you feel the slope isn’t a sufficient challenge, I could give you some arrows to dodge.”
I get started, and race towards the rocks Ilya pointed out. With the setting sun painting the snow, and its glare in my eyes, I try to avoid face-planting while keeping close to the ground. Black slope wipe-outs in SSX Tricky look painful for a reason—they are.
My progress rushes up into the Adept ranks, but then it grinds to a near halt. By the time I’m on my third run, the sun has long since set, and I’m flying by moonlight Flight and Fly have been advancing hesitantly.
Leaning into another swooping turn, I drop a wingtip and keep spinning in a full loop to avoid rockfall ahead. Coming out of it my toes dig furrows in the snow as I force myself upwards without losing speed. The sudden drag pulls me skipping towards the rocks I’d just avoided.
[Acrobatics [Ap](1->2)
Balance [B](19->20)
Fly [Ad](3->4)]
Just before impact, I Teleport past and hear Ilya’s grumbling thoughts as I fold my wings back to slip between trees and gain a bit of height. “You shouldn’t have required that Teleport.”
The distraction of her thoughts cost me. Branches snagging a wing pull me around, and the spin keeps going. Wind-packed snow bursts upwards around my impact and cascades down on top of me.
“Owie.”
The snow I face-planted into muffled the word, but with my Telepathy linking us, Ilya laughs. “Heal, go back up-slope, and try it again.”
“Meanie.”
This time the projection of the word is deliberate but her mental laughter doesn’t ease.
Morning sunlight washes over me as Ilya finally lets me rest. Scrubbing in the freezing cold water of a pool at the mountain’s base gets the blood out of my hair and my wings. In the shadows of the mountains, it’s well into the late morning before the sunlight hit where I’ve been training.
“You’ve got the basics down now,” Ilya says from her perch near the pool, while I’m busy scrubbing my leather clean. Sprays of water from her spell washing across my wings, and back feel good.
Flexing into the spray, I give her a huff. “I think I paid my mountain fees with feathers.”
“Likely, but they’ll have already grown back,” Ilya replies, her tone matter of fact for all the dancing lightness in her song.
“What now, oh great one?” I ask as I turn the leathers inside out on the grass to let the interior dry.
“Great one,” Ilya snorts, “Hardly. I’m considered expendable—and preferably spent—by at least two Devils and likely a fair number more.”
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me why they hate you while my armour dries?”
“Not sharing my tale with you,” states Ilya, the spray already stopped. “Get out your daggers, we’ll start with the basics of those since you’re more skilled with your bow.”
“But my armour is drying,” I protest.
Ilya shakes her head and gives me a grin. “Did I say to put it on? I’d prefer not to have to patch it while you learn the basics. Your flesh heals, the hide of that armour would need repairing.“
“Will this hurt worse than the mountain?” I ask. Snatching up the sheathed daggers, I shot her a glance and then I didn’t climb out but Teleport from the pool.
Her edged smile, said it all.
