The air was heavy with death. The village was mostly abandoned. What remained of its residents were husks, too weak to face the road of travel, living off whatever rotten scraps were left of their stores. Skippii strode down the central road, his legionnaires in tow, but the auxiliaries were more reluctant to enter. Many climbed over the hillside to circumvent it, and the cavalry sought another path around.

Kylinissa rode to the fore of their party and extended her arms, hands splayed. A breeze shifted the still air, blowing outwards from them. She turned to Skippii and gave a slight nod atop her steed. They breathed easier after that.

At the village centre was a clearing, and a well. Scraps of timber and canvas marked the skeletons of decayed trading posts. It seemed that they had been abandoned for many seasons, except that no weeds grew in their place. In fact, there was very little of life left in the village, save for a mucus-like fungus, and stinging flies that clumped above stagnant pools.

Tenoris swatted his neck with his spear's haft. "We came to feast, but linger and we shall become the feasted upon."

"Be careful of the pools," Thales said. "Do not stray. Touch no metal, breath no gases."

"So this is the land we came to conquer," Cur said. "What is left of it."

"How recent is this?" Drusilla said. The brawny legionnaire turned from their group and raised his spear to hail a watchful villager. "When did this plague come?"

Thales translated for him. The villager–an old, haggard woman–bowed their head into their crooked hands and whispered something.

"Speak up," Drusilla said.

She murmured to herself, shaking her head, clutching at her thinning hair. It came off in clumps between her fingers, and when she raised her head again, her eyes were bloodshot and foam was at her lips.

She enunciated a phrase, then repeated it faster, and faster.

Thales translated grimly. "The lady of ruin flees red spears… flees old gods… and leaves the dinner table barren."

The old crow staggered to her feet. Skippii saw a flash of youth in her eyes–burried beneath so much ruin. She could not be older than thirty, but her stick-thin legs shook violently as she came towards Drusilla, picking up speed, half falling onto his shield.

"Hē kyria tēs phthoras pheugei erythras doras." She gripped Drusilla's cloak in the dirt. He backed away, but didn't retreat so far that she fell onto her face. Thales came to her side and spoke something in Philoxenian, then helped her to her feet.

As soon as he was free, Drusilla fell back towards his companions, as though stepping back into the phalanx. His complexion had paled, and his eyes were wide. "What heretic did this?" His jaw ground the words.

"Hjingolia," Skippii whispered, afraid to speak the name too loudly. "We haven't encountered her before, but Thales has some knowledge.

The old philosopher helped the woman back to her porch, where he seated her in a chair. He spoke to her softly, then pressed a hand to her forehead. She stilled. Her shaking stopped.

"We should leave quickly," Thales said. "We're not welcome."

"Not welcome?" Drusilla said. "We've come to rid the land of this filth. They should be glad to see us, even if it is in their final hour. We should make a fanfare. Let them know that their suffering will be repaid long after their deaths."

"They blame us," Thales said as their company continued down the road. "They blame you, the legion, for bringing war. Life before was hard. I know it in detail. No one opposed the cults. But there was a limit to their cruelty, for those who obeyed. Villages like these may los a maiden each spring, and the tax levy may be high… there may have been kidnappings in the night, and abuse, but they survived it all. Until now. Until the heretic has fled."

"And left behind the land in ruin," Skippii said. "Scorched earth. I remember, it's a strategy I've seen before."

Cur gave him a skeptical glance.

"When I was much younger," he said. "The Urkun slew a ranch of cows and spilled their guts so that they would rot in the sunlight, and not provide an easy meal for our legion. It stuck with me... That careless slaughter."

"War sweeps before us in waves," Arius said. "We can expect more places like this, I predict."

Beyond the town, they quickened their pace to put the sight and stench from sight. Thales walked beside Skippii, leading his donkey, which carried his provisions and supplies.

"It is about time I told you all I know about Hjingolia," Thales said. "You have seen much of her work today, but be wary of any and all things that may carry disease. It can be carried on the wind itself–or in a pin-prick. We must warn all of the men about drinking water, or foraging from carcasses, no matter how recently dead. And lavender should be gathered where it can be found, and rags soaked in salt for the stench and for bandaging wounds–however minor–in these parts."

Kylinissa turned in her saddle ahead of them and regarded Thales. "Know you much of these heretics, philosopher?"

"A little," he said somewhat guardedly. "That which is common knowledge for a traveler in these parts, and an enemy of the heretical gods."

"Know you their weakness?"

"A blade. A fire," he responded. "And the thunder, if Kylin would be so kind enough as to bring it to the bear."

"Who could do this?" Skippii asked, meaning to come between the thaugic practitioner and the high priestess. "A cultist? Or would it have taken a magus?"

"Several, I fear," Thales said. "The apostles of Hjingolia are not champions of domination as you find with Cosmipox and Grakor. Their evil arts are more broad and impunitive. They kill civilians, animals and flora alike. They possess few skills in battle–as I have been told–but require only the slightest touch… the most minute edge of a blade to infect, and kill. Be very wary of them."

"They shan't get close," Skippii said. Though the land was diseased, his power underfoot remained the same. Cor's thaugia was unblemished by the plague on the surface. "I don't fear these corpse-makers. They'll burn like dry leaves in their own drought."

"Fearsome words," Tenoris hummed, marching beside him. "Let us hasten the hour of this bonfire." Then raising his voice, he spoke. "Make haste, my fellows. Vengeance for these sorry peopels awaits us. The Imperator spoke that a defence would be made at Thyalos. We can expect to meet our accursed foe there."

***

The northernmost mountains came ever closer, rising from the horizon. Scouts returned routinely with reports of the worsening land. Skippii instructed them to search for cleaner pastures and forests, and led his company away from the road–away from the villages, and towards more remote farmsteads. These were less stricken by the plague, though a nasty scent ever lingered on the wind.

He took to boiling the water they gathered each night and morning. Thales spread his hand over each basin, dropping a single grain of salt into the waters to purify them with an evocation.

"He's praying for its purity," Skippii explained when Kylinissa came to him with curiosity. "A lesser God. A Philoxenian one."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The truth of Thales' thaugia was not his to tell. Kylinissa narrowed her eyes perceptibly, but did not press further.

He trained each night with Claie's company. Each day, he practiced evocating a Basalt Shield, quickening the process without reducing its quality. By the fourth day, he had the process down to twenty seconds, by Cliae's count. But by the seventh day, he had mastered it in just six.

Developing his Ashen Shroud took more concentration, and was harder to compose. The vapour and smoke which rose from the earth were errant and fleeting, but before they evaporated beyond his reach, they possessed a sliver of his Eruption Aura energy. With a deep inhale, he willed them towards him. The winds did not shift at his command, but their tendrils of vapour began to tilt their necks towards him. Each day, the shroud they formed was thicker, until by the seventh day, he was able to form a concentrated fog.

"Can you see me?" he asked Cliae.

"Gone," they replied from nearby.

Shutting his eyes, Skippii focussed on the thaugia in the mists. It twinkled in his mind like embers fluttering away from the fire. With an exhale, he blew them apart. A small window of clear air opened before him revealing a nearby grove, inside which his company's campfires glowed.

Moving his hand slowly, he parted the clouds–shaping the evocation to his will. Within was smoke, and vapour, and ash–but no longer did it dissipate. He smiled to himself, then in a moment of inspiration he bellowed his lungs and thrust his arms out wide.

The cloud wooshed forward for ten metres before evaporating in the air. He glanced at Cliae with a grin. "If I kept the heat, that could be a scalding cloud."

"It could," they mused, scrawling in their tablet. "Ashen Shroud and Scalding Cloud. They are sibling evocations, so it makes sense that they rhyme."

"Of course," Skippii half-teased. "Pretty essential."

Cliae did not seem to realise his jest. "Do we have time for one more?"

Skippii glanced at the sky. The moon was high. The night was deep. But they were near Thylaos now–no more than four days of travel. His route had avoided the main roads and added two days to their journey, but he would rather arrive in good health than in haste.

"Yeah, go on then." He stood over his chronicler, inspecting their notes with an effortless firelight in his palm.

"There are two areas of interest," Cliae said. "The, erm… clay structures that you were moulding and giving life to. That could be… explored."

"You didn't like that one, did you?" Skippii said.

"I see a future application of it," Cliae stammered. "But, for now. Well, what good will be little clay snakes in battle?"

"I thought that about your Ashen Shroud evocation at first," Skippii said. "Listen, the inspiration was the stone golems at the temple. If I could mould something like that…"

"I have been thinking, and I fear that we are a long way from that, though," Cliae said. "The next step might be to mould a clump–a dwarf-like shape. Then what? The larger the shape, the more weight it will hold–the harder to control, move and maintain. We can try it, but how far are you away from moulding a man? One week? Two? I would predict maybe a month of training. It is possible, I am sure. But is it worth our investment, when, by all accounts, you are surrounded by able-bodied fighting men?"

Skippii sulked a little while he listened to Cliae's advice. "I just know it will be worth it in the end if I can control a golem like that."

"Of course, I agree," Cliae said quickly, and kindly. "But we are constricted by this quest. I thought it would be best to equip you for the immediate task ahead–for the besieging of Thyalos. Perhaps, once it is over, and while we are waiting there for our next command, we may train more lengthy powers such as this. These which require a proper investment, and deserve more time committed to their labour."

"Okay," Skippii smiled. "You've placated me. That's enough of the mealy language. Give it to me straight. What should I train next, master?"

Cliae laughed. "Well, student… I think it would be wise to explore your Lava Essence some more. It is the least developed of your magia's layers. Sorry, I mean thaugia."

"Don't let Thales hear you misusing that," Skippii said. "He won't be very happy."

"Not much of a temple-goer is he?" Cliae said.

"Quite the opposite. But that's something he and I have in common."

A natural lull followed, then Cliae broke the silence. "Right, anyway… I want to see your Lava Essence on the surface. I want to see its light and heat. Can you draw it from your skin like Enkindle Flames, or from the earth?"

For a time, Skippii meditated. He looked inwards on his core–the glowing heat that spread throughout his body. Each layer was distributed evenly. Eruption Aura crackled like a golden halo on his skin; beneath, his Lava Essence flowed with his blood, glowing bright red and orange; and deeper still, in his bones, was his Magmatic Core.

But as he focussed on that middle layer, it began to grow and outshine the others. There was an intense heat stored within his flesh. Clenching his fist, he could direct it into his palm and melt stone itself to form a Blister Bolt. But could he force the lava to reveal itself?

His heart raced and sweat coated his body, forming a thin mist. He breathed deeply and steadily, controlling the heat, but still, the urge to run and leap and fight screamed within him. The layer was entwined with his emotions, inescapably his to bear. He could not release it as much as he could not will his own blood to burst from the seams of his body.

"I don't know," he said, voice wavering with energy. "It's bound to me. It's in my blood."

"There is none of it elsewhere?" Cliae said. "Underground maybe?"

Directing his thoughts downwards, Skippii sensed the magnitude of the earth. His Magmatic Core alighted likewise, and grew within him, diminishing his Lava Essence somewhat. Between the layers was a constant desire for equilibrium, like sediment settling in a mug. Now, all he sought was the liquid heat, and there it was, deep underground. A sliver of power. Straining, he reached out with his mind, and came to touch it. But it was cold to him. And it had a heartbeat of its own.

With a gasp, Skippii released his pent-up thaugia. His breath sent a billow of vapour up in the air, and he knelt on the ground panting.

"It's very hard to contain," he said, lips dry. "To control. It wants to move. To fight. That energy–the Lava Essence–is the essence of combat."

"Whereas Eruption Aura is the spark of thought and life, and the Magmatic Core is the root, the soul," Cliae said, checking their notes.

"You could say that," Skippii said, rising. "I think there are limitations to each. I think, for now, let's work within the bounds of what we know. There's no point straining to try and change the nature of a thing."

"Okay," Cliae conceded. "I may have gotten carried away with a specific image in mind."

"What's that?" Skippii laughed as they made their way back to camp.

"A vision," Cliae said. "Well, an early-morning dream. Nothing prophetic, I'm sure."

"Well, now that you've laurelled it, it's bound to come true."

"No," Cliae smiled. "It's just my dreaming mind. You said once that the power of the volcano was in your hands. At the Sleeping Mountain, right after your awakening. Tenoris suggested we send a river of lava down the mountainside upon the city walls."

Skippii laughed shortly. "Very strategic of him."

"Yeah. But, in a different context… perhaps such a power could be applicable."

"Well then we best find another sleeping mountain," Skippii said. "Because that's where all the power came from. Briefly, I was united with it–with Cor themselves–but power like that…" He trailed off as a thought struck him. "Just now, I sensed a Lava Essence deep underground, but it was not my own. Probably, it was Cor's. His blood. And when my powers were awakened, it was mine too, but briefly. Such power would destroy me now, I'm sure. But, if I could wield a fraction of it…"

"Can you beseech him?" Cliae asked.

"I don't think so," Skippii sighed. "The Gods talk to me more than the Primordial earth, and the Gods are supposed to be my blasted enemy. I don't think there's much humanity to his mind… to its mind. It doesn't entreat or bargain. It just seethes in its dungeon, wanting revenge."

"Do you feel that too?" Cliae asked, almost a whisper.

"No," he said. "Not at all. Our minds are not linked that way, thankfully. I am my own man."

"Good," Cliae chuckled. "Phew."

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