Chapter Forty-Six: Absence of Mind
Selriph clawed futilely at the air, his hands a knife’s blade away from meeting the stone. Then, gravity exerted its grip, his fingers parting ways from the sharp edges of the ravine, his body beginning its freefall into the lethal abyss below.
No…! I just need a little more…!
What came next was once again pure improvisational preservation, although this time, it was mixed with a degree of rehearsed, learned reflex.
He felt the arcane energy well up within his body as it split from his core. The energy travelling to his lower limbs transmuted to the heat of pyromantic energy. The red energy travelled from his core, the familiar warmth flooding into his feet as jets of flame spewed out once more. The roar of flames mixed with the crumbling cacophony of the collapsing stone bridge around him.
In the same second, his upper limbs flared with azure energy, an arcane hand extension reaching out as his descent slowed, then reversed.
As the arcane implement came into form, its fingers found a perch on the very ledge that had slipped his grasp. Selriph flexed his muscles, pulling himself.
This, combined with the upward momentum generated by his arcane means of propulsion underfoot, allowed his physical fingers to pass the threshold of the ledge he had just missed, his palms and arms slapped the jagged, shale-like texture, the jagged creases drawing a sharp pain on his palm—price for solid ground, paid for in a superficial drawing of blood.
With a heaving groan, he pulled himself up. The movement was an exact echo of the arduous vaulting action from his first escape from the cursed city. Only this time, venom or wounds did not fog him. The adrenaline gave him a diamond blade’s clarity, and the residual momentum from the jet of flames made the action feel like he was carrying a fraction of his weight.
With each subsequent shuffle, he felt the comforting security of the ground slowly pass from his chest, down to his torso, his left knee catching the ledge just as that rocky touch passed his pelvis. Then he flexed his left leg, causing his body to slide across the jagged floor, the faint rip of fabric audible despite the rumbling echoes through the cavern.
Then he came to a stop, the comforting embrace of earth pressing up against him from head to toe, the impending relief of the ordeal held back as he awaited the next auditory cue.
That came a few seconds later — the distinct sound of rock impacting the cavern below, followed by a massive metallic clang.
The sounds fell into a decrescendo as the crackle of rocks faded, the chorus of disturbance fading into memory and echoes in the cavern.
Still, Selriph did not expel a sigh of relief. Not yet; instead, he crawled like a rabid dog across the ground, as far away from the ravine he had just avoided — an unnecessary act given the relative solidity of the earth beneath him.
But it was to provide the youth a peace of mind, more so than any actual need for safety.
For he was waiting for one final sound; one that would truly signify the end of the ordeal.
And it came just as his vision glimpsed the hind legs of his faithful canine companion.
No scribe could dictate the sound that came—a simple boom would not suffice.
A wave of arcane energy surged through the solid earth beneath him, with a distinct static humming through his body. Then came the deafening concussive wave of air from the cavern below, causing the very ground to tremble.
Moisture and solid pellets rained down from above, and the boy questioned whether the falling debris signalled an untimely, imminent cave-in.
Only the distinct white splatter along with the relative calmness of the dire wolf signalled that it was, in all likelihood, the breaking of glacial and earthen stalactites.
The cause? The detonation of the mithril monstrosity’s core.
Once more, the noise tapered away. This time, final. Rocks and ice ceased their clatter from the ceiling, and the vibrations throughout the cavern came to a stop.
A deafening silence descended, a soundlessness that even Selriph’s keen mind could not recall.
Only then did the sigh come, breaking the quiet postlude.
For minutes, Selriph lay on the earth, practically unmoving. That wasn’t due to the absence of life or fatigue from his pyromantic acrobatics that pulled him out of the maws of death.
No, his mind was taking the reprieve to register what had happened.
They had narrowly escaped the mithril monstrosity. Only Kela remained—in no small part due to the timely intervention of the wolf—her figure hunched over near the walls; a position she crawled to while Selriph experienced his inert introspection, relatively unscathed compared to her brother.
A single thought came through his mind:
At least she is alive to help clear the tunnels.
As the thought left the threshold of his thoughts, he felt soft bumps, or rather prods, on his shoulder, as the warm, musty odour of the dire wolf’s breath came on his face.
That accompanied a low growl, almost in silent disagreement with the utilitarian sentiment that had passed through his wits.
In all likelihood, Emmett was just ensuring the youth still had life in him; after all, he had not moved a muscle since his exhale; his breath was barely noticeable as he calmed himself.
What am I thinking? She just lost her brother…that should be the last thing on my mind.
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Selriph shook his head, a gesture that mirrored the internal bidding away of the fog of unfeeling transactionalism as he righted himself, the wolf’s gaze tracing him, unreadable.
The frosty air seeped through the tears in his garments. The scent in the cavern was a mix of dampness and a metallic aftertaste, likely from the mithrilite and rocky particles still floating in the air.
“Kela…?” Selriph’s voice rang clear in the hollow cavern.
No response came; the elf hunched over, head buried in her knees.
No whimper, no cry, no sob.
Just silence.
Selriph paced over to her, the footfall almost inaudible, wary of the turbulence of emotions that would have been racing through her mind. After all, it didn’t take an endowed intellect to know that what he felt in the aftermath of the disaster at the warehouse paled in comparison to what she was feeling.
This was different; it had to be. Selriph had no love for the woodsman, so when he perished, the fallout was manageable.
The solitary youth loved no one, or rather, no one loved him; the son his father never wanted.
What should I say…? Should I just wait…?
His gaze shot around in the gloom, the azure mithril and the glowmoss the only luminescent materials.
The cavern was still, dead silent, but a faint sound cut through the thin, humming streak in his ears—scuttling, from the remaining residents of these caves.
We cannot stay here…
Or perhaps that was an illusion conjured by his mind—one that prodded him to the urgency of removing himself and the elf from this lair.
He called out once more, softer, meeker than the first time. “Kela? We have to move…”
A twitch came from the slumped-over elf, her pointed ears perking up at the words, though her forehead remained on her knees.
A fragile thread of sound escaped her. “Why didn’t….”
The rest of the words were consumed by a mumble.
“Why didn’t…? Apologies, I didn’t catch you.” His voice was calm, almost teetering on the edge of flat, High Eldeitian formality.
“Why… why didn’t you…” Her voice slowly built in clarity, yet shook precariously.
Selriph, his brow furrowed with confusion and genuine concern, looked at her, his voice soft. “Why didn’t I what? Leave you? You must be mad. Why would I?—”.
Her head bolted up unnaturally, as if pulled by a marionette string. Selriph froze; his hair stood on end at the building scowl on her face, a prelude to an impending rise in emotion.
Nothing left their lips for seconds, which felt like an eternity.
Her crimson eyes met his ocean-blue, tears welling in the corners of her irises, reflecting the faint light in the cavern.
Nothing could describe her expression. Sadness, grief, and anger twisted into a singular expression—accompanying the pure bellow of emotion that came out.
“Why didn’t you look?!”
Her voice was a yowl of pure distress, a torrent of sound like an overblown dam finally giving way.
Selriph’s eyes widened, stepping back as if a shrieking ghoul had appeared where the elf sat. “I don’t… what do you mean?”
Then a flurry of words came. “Why didn’t you keep an eye on us?! With your power, your talent, you could have stopped the golem before Kaelan… before he…” her voice cracked as heaving sobs broke her words, the tears streaming down her face.
“Kela…! I couldn’t have anything against that thing, he…”
Selriph didn’t need the light of the sun to know he’d made a mistake. His chest tightened as a wave of Kela’s grieving anger consumed her.
“Horseshite! You pulled me out! If you had been standing there and watching us like I told you, you could have saved Kaelan.”
A fog rolled over Selriph’s mind, his lips moving on their own, unable to filter or process what would come out. “I couldn’t have… There wouldn’t have been enough time.”
“Liar, I saw what you did on that bridge.” Her fingers pointed towards the chasm, a charged buzz of energy rising from her body. “You blocked the blade. You blocked that fuckin blade.”
Selriph stepped back, the weight, or rather, the truth of her words looming like a shadow that eclipsed the mithril construct that had towered over him mere minutes ago.
“But no! You were off in your own world. Lost in your own thoughts, caring about the things that matter to you!”
Selriph’s reply came, the contagion of frailty began to slip into his lips, and his jaw shook. “I… I was looking at Oagat’s notes. There were—”
“There it is. Your stupid books. Your childish dreams. You were off in your head! I saw you—staring blankly! You weren’t there!”
Selriph’s brows contorted, and the sharpness of her words cut deeper than anything he had experienced before.
She rose to her feet, her frame now taut and electrified with tension, a massive reversal from her near-inert state minutes prior.
“What were you doing? Huh?” her final word ringing in his ears. “Thinking of how you were going to wipe your arse with Oagat’s fancy scribbles?! Or maybe you were fantasising about how that hunk of metal in your bag would be a pretty paperweight for your precious books in whatever half-baked academy takes a shitestain like you?!” She stalked toward him, brown energy welling in the balled fists, her head bent low and her gaze locked onto his like a predator closing in on its prey.
Selriph’s fist clenched as he willed himself to stifle the words of protest, instead seeking to move to concede to calm the elf. “Look, I am sorry. I made a mistake. I don’t know what it must feel like to lose—”
A high-pitched smack rang out, a sharp pain brimming across his left cheek as his neck snapped to the side. Then the world went black. When his vision returned, he saw the outstretched palm of the golden-haired elf, still brimming with maroon arcane energy.
Selriph kept his gaze on the ground as the next flurry of words came.
“No fucking shite, you don’t know what it feels like to lose someone. Someone so cold, so detached, so calculating as you! You could be showered in love and yet you wouldn’t be able to tell that from a pile of turds.”
Selriph turned, his gaze passing the myriad of scars hidden beneath the fabric of his clothes. A flame of fury was budding in his heart, although tempered by the cold sting. “You know nothing about me…”
“I know exactly what you are—a coward! I don’t need to be an old sage to know you were some noble brat who just swung a sword well. You probably threw a tantrum when you actually had to fight for something.” She paused, coughing as her snot caught in her throat.
“The biggest joke of all was that the gods granted you all that arcane might. For what?! Wasted on a cur like you.” The moisture from her outburst pelted his cheek like frosty daggers.
The lump in Selriph’s throat stifled any protest he could muster.
“What is it? Got nothing to say? Nothing without your wonderful schemes?!”
An answer could not spark to life, muffled by the suffocation of Selriph’s whirling thoughts.
“Say something! C’mon, tell me. Rebute me, like you would in those arcane classes you are so eager to attend, all while thousands of us suffer under Eldeitia’s heel!” Her feet stomped on the ground, a terramancy-infused punctuation to her statement.
Then, silence, with the hum of Kela’s magical energy the only sound in the cavern.
Seconds passed, perhaps even a minute.
The boy said nothing as he felt the cold caressing touch of the crimson that flowed down his cheek.
Selriph braced himself for what would be the final piece in the trifecta of bellowing grief.
But what came next was anything but.
It was a cold dismissal.
“Get away from me,” her voice low, hoarse, devoid of any warmth.
Selriph looked up, and his gaze found Kela’s face, now hidden by a veil of her dishevelled hair. It hung there like a withered curtain, drawn across her features.
The cavern, which was once filled with the sound of desperate flight and furious grief, remained hushed.
Selriph stood motionless for a moment.
Then he turned and walked away.
Without a word.
In the darkness, his eyes traced to the half-caved-in exit of the cavern, one easily overcome with a simple vaulting manoeuvre.
The cold draft touched the blood leaking over his left cheek as he placed a leg over the crumbled earth.
Then, he turned back, not to the elf, but to the wolf.
Emmett, who had been silently observing the raw exchange from the shadowy corner, simply watched, his brown eyes fixed on the elf.
Unmoving from his spot—a silent disagreement to Selriph’s path of retreat.
Selriph turned towards the tunnel, exit beyond, words of dry command escaping his lips. “You heard what she said; get away from her.”
Without another word, he slipped through, into the passage he had used to enter the cavern, leaving the grieving elf behind.
Her final call for comfort—a muffled sob—went unanswered by the runaway youth.
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