Chapter 11: Katuel.
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The Sutherlands, near Mount Xatal, Month: 94, Year: 226.
The cart groaned as it crested another rise, its wheels clattering over the uneven stone path. Inside, the man shifted with difficulty, pressing his chest against the seat while his wings stretched stiffly toward the low roof. Traveling in carts was uncomfortable for anyone, but Haksari carts had not been built for someone with wings or a tail, making the travel very difficult to endure. His limbs twitched with fatigue, and a faint tremor ran through his fingers as he adjusted his position again, chasing some elusive moment of comfort.
He hadn't concerned himself with any of this in the old days, back when he could fly. But the disease had slowly stolen his precision, strength, and ease, leaving him fighting for stability in every motion. Now that he could no longer fly, and even walking felt like a challenge, he had little option but to keep depending on these comfortless Haksari carts.
Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to wait inside much longer. A familiar hissing sound of steam interrupted his thoughts. A faint, sharp tang of sulfur accompanied the noise. It was the first sign they were near the shelter. In the Southernlands, everyone knew that most settlements, no matter how small, were built near hot springs. The geysers and the warm earth beneath them were lifelines in this frozen part of the world, keeping homes and streets livable during the difficult long nights and the even more brutal and long winters.
As the cart drew closer, the shelter came into view, a sprawling complex of stone buildings, their thick, weathered walls glistening faintly with frost. Pitch-black vines crawled up the walls, feeding off the heat radiating from the ground below, their eerie tendrils holding on against the stone. Around the shelter, towering branching structures resembling twisted trees loomed, their dark forms rising through the mist.
Like the vines, these peculiar growths thrived on the geothermal warmth, a common sight near the hot springs in this region, where though sunlight might be scarce for dozens of consecutive months, the heat of the earth would remain constant. Steam curled lazily from the many chimneys, mingling with the cold air to create a stark contrast. The warmth that radiated from the shelter was almost palpable, even from the cart.
Finally, the cart shuddered to a halt. He exhaled slowly in relief, pressing his hand against the wooden frame to steady himself. He reached for his cane, and he carefully maneuvered himself upright, swaying until he reclaimed balance. The cart felt like a moving cage, and stepping out of it after so many hours felt like a taste of freedom.
His boots crunched against frost-rimed stone as he exited. Then, with visible effort, he spread his wings and tail. The joints cracked, with relief as he set them back close to his body. He had once soared above these valleys, catching thermal winds with ease, now even the short descent from a cart had left his legs trembling.
“Come out, Oztlali, we’re finally here.”
Several consecutive sounds were heard emerging from the back of the cart. Suddenly, a small creature darted out of the cart. Its sleek, pinkish body gleamed in the morning sunlight, and its wide, curious eyes scanned the surroundings as it flitted past him. Its webbed limbs paddled quickly, rushing to the front door of the building.
The creature reached the door of the enclosure first, but rather than knocking, it paused, sniffing the air with the excitement of a new arrival.
A familiar voice called from the top of a watchtower. “Well, if it isn’t Katuel of Intika. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Katuel lifted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Xolani the burier,” he said. “I was hoping to surprise you, but I suspect Xat-he’s nose gave me away.”
A low rumbling sound came from behind the tower, and out stepped a massive creature covered in shimmering brown fur. Its snout twitched as it moved in a playful manner, its enormous body dwarfing Katuel. Xolani jumped lightly from the terrace, landing softly before approaching Katuel.
“He smelled you about an hour ago,” Xolani said with a confident grin. “We decided to take a break and say hello.”
“Saves me the trouble of looking for you,” Katuel replied with a small, knowing glance as the two beasts began playfully circling one another.
Xolani smiled curiously as he approached even further. “You haven’t answered. What brings you here?”
Katuel didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached into his satchel, pulling out a small glass bottle filled with a deep red liquid.
Xolani’s eyes narrowed, concern flashing across his face. “I see,” he muttered, his voice deeper now. After a moment of silence, he asked, “When?”
Katuel’s voice was soft, tinged with sorrow. “He went to sleep at dusk of the last long night… simply didn’t wake up.”
The silence between them grew longer, and Xolani’s gaze flickered to the bottle before returning to Katuel’s face. There was no surprise in his eyes, only acceptance.
The followers of Oltikán never drank anything except plain water. Never except for two particular circumstances. The first exception was whenever they required medicine to treat an illness. The second exception was whenever they would celebrate the life of someone who recently passed away, they would toast the deceased with a bottle of Ocelomiel.
Katuel, parted the silence with a calm voice, "The heir summoned me, and since I was already heading in this direction, I thought I'd rather tell you in person. How about we give a toast, in honor of the old man?"
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Xolani nodded in acceptance. He stepped aside, opening the door to the shelter. “Then let’s give the old man a toast.”
Inside, the contrast was overwhelming.
The biting cold gave way to comforting warmth. As Katuel slowly and clumsily removed his boots, he took in the bustling scene. Failed aspirants, most already washed and fed, sat in small groups, talking and laughing as they shared stories of their trial. Plates of hot food and mugs of steaming water cluttered the tables. Though disappointment lingered in their eyes, the sense of camaraderie and relief was unmistakable.
He murmured, “The first trial of Oltikán.” After a pause to take in the scene, he added, “Sure brings back memories.”
“We actually met the master here,” Xolani said, glancing around. “Even back then, he was old and cranky.”
Katuel looked to a far corner of the room, where now a lonely plant in a pot rested. “Right. It was over there ….. there used to be a table.” Even now, the old marks of the table they once used were still printed on the wooden floor.
Xolani chose a table near the corner where their master had once shared a meal with the two of them, he pulled out a chair for Katuel and gestured in invitation for him to sit. Katuel sat, resting his cane against the table’s edge. Xolani poured the red liquor into two glasses, placing one in front of Katuel and lifting the other to his lips.
Then he smiled. “Think I’m gonna let you get away with incompetence just because your parents are Vessels?” He chuckled softly. “That was the first thing he ever said to me.”
Katuel laughed. “I remember. It was because you were late for our first meeting with him. I’d forgotten that.”
Xolani pointed to the cane. “That’s Master Cuaxili’s cane.” His smile turned nostalgic. “He swung that thing in front of me so many times… I don’t think I’ll ever miss it.”
Katuel grinned and mimicked the master’s infamous gesture with the cane.
Xolani burst into laughter, loud enough to draw glances from across the room. When he finally caught his breath, he asked gently, “This past year… You were the one taking care of him, right?”
Katuel let out a short, tired laugh. “It was more him taking care of me than the other way around.”
Xolani’s gaze dropped to Katuel’s trembling hands as he lifted the glass. “How’ve you been, friend?”
Katuel hesitated. “Some days are better than others… but overall, I’m doing better.”
He stared into the distance, his voice softer now. “You know, I was ready to give up. When I lost the ability to fly… to channel magic. I thought I was done.”
He looked into the distance, as if master Cuaxili was sitting right across.
“It was the master who told me to get out of my ass and do something. I was ready to give up, many times. Old man just wouldn't let me.”
“Well, don't give up now, just because he's not around to chase you with that cane.” Xolani poured his glass full again before continuing. “I′ve heard of all of the great things you've done lately. Flight or no flight, magic or no magic. Oltikán still has great plans for you ….. I know it.”
Out of nowhere, their conversation was suddenly interrupted. A pair of attendants stumbled through the doorway, half-carrying a young woman between them. Her face was pale, lips tight against the pain, and her shoulder jutting forward unnaturally. She whimpered whenever they shifted her weight.
“She'll have to wait,” one attendant called over his shoulder. “The healer’s tending an emergency outside the shelter. Just give her clean and dry clothes. She’ll be tended to once the healer returns.”
Katuel’s gaze fixed on the girl’s shoulder, as he unceremoniously swallowed the last zip of the red liquor. He pushed against the table, rising with difficulty, cane trembling beneath his grip.
“No,” he said, his voice firm despite the quaver. “I believe this can't wait.”
The attendants turned, faces tightening with suspicion. Murmurs rippled through the room. One spat the words aloud: “And since when does a stranger, a Drakvari no less, tell us how to do our job?”
Xolani stepped forward with an angry gaze, his silhouette casting a large shadow on the floor from the sunlight that peeked from behind the windows, the staff stepped back in fear. “You would be wise to listen to this man,” he said quietly, but his tone left no room for doubt.
The attendants stiffened, glancing at each other, their grips faltering. The one who had just spoken out bowed. “My apologies, master Xolani.”
Katuel steadied himself, wings drawn close. He limped closer, lowering himself beside her with effort. He laid a hand gently against her wrist, feeling along the pale skin, then looked to Xolani.
Here,” he said, pointing. “Feel for the beat beneath your fingers.”
Xolani pressed his hand where Katuel directed, waiting, frowning. “A pulse, but very weak,” he muttered.
Katuel closed his eyes briefly. “We don't have a lot of time. I don't have the strength to do this myself. You must all follow my instructions exactly.”
The staff guided the young woman to the nursery. The girl’s wide eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at Katuel.
He leaned close, resting a trembling hand upon her brow. “My strength is not what it once was,” he murmured, voice low but steady. “The little magic I still hold cannot banish the pain entirely, but it will dull it for a while.” His gaze met hers, grave and unwavering.“This will hurt, but it must be done, else you may never use this arm again.”
She nodded faintly, jaw clenched.
Katuel straightened. “Xolani, take her wrist. Hold it steady and do not let go. You there…” he pointed to one of the attendants, “hold her body firm, lest she move and we undo the work.”
They obeyed, tension thick in the air.
“Now… pull,” Katuel commanded.
Xolani drew the arm outward, slow but strong. The girl cried out, her back arching, the sound raw enough to silence the entire hall. Sweat beaded on Xolani’s brow as he kept the steady traction.
“Not too fast,” Katuel warned. “Hold… hold…”
Then, with a sharp, audible pop, the shoulder slid back into its socket. The girl gasped, her body sagging into the nursery bed.
Katuel’s voice cut through the stunned quiet. “Check her wrist again.”
Xolani’s fingers pressed the skin once more. His eyes widened. “It beats. Strong.”
A wave of relief swept the small crowd. The attendants who had doubted Katuel moments before now stood wordless, shame and gratitude mixing on their faces.
Oztlali padded closer, circling Katuel with playful familiarity. A soft hiss rose from its skin, and a small cloud of steam drifted into the cold air. Katuel lifted a trembling hand, gathering the vapor. Slowly, the mist condensed into a sphere of water, wavering and fragile in his palm. Though the shape quivered with his unsteady grip, the act itself was unmistakable.
A whisper broke from one of the staff. “A celestial…”
Another voice followed, hushed and reverent. “Then… he’s a Vessel of Oltikán?”
Xolani simply nodded, needing no words.
Katuel lowered himself beside the young woman, placing the fragile sphere of water into her frostbitten hands. Steam curled faintly as it touched her skin, warmth seeping into her fingers. Bit by bit, the angry pallor of her hands eased, color returning as the water worked its quiet restoration.
“The worst is over,” he told her softly. “But there is more yet to be done.”
She nodded, eyes glistening with relief.
Katuel’s gaze lifted briefly toward the staff. “I could use your help.”
This time, no one hesitated. Voices rose at once, eager, almost desperate. “Tell us what to do!”
Hours later, Katuel found Xolani waiting outside. His friend wore that familiar smug smile.
“See?” Xolani said, tilting his head toward the shelter. “Great plans for you yet.”
Katuel only exhaled a faint laugh and nodded. “Seems I’m not going to get a break. Even without the old man chasing me around, am I?”
“Seems not,” Xolani replied.
For a while, the two stood in silence, gazing up at the stars scattered across the frozen sky. Their breath rose like pale smoke into the night.
“I forgot to ask you,” Xolani said at last, his voice quieter now. “You said the Heir summoned you to the capital… What does the busiest man in the Southernlands want with you?”
Katuel shrugged lightly, leaning on his cane. “Didn’t say in the letter.”
Xolani’s smile lingered, proudly, as though he already suspected more. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
To Katuel of Intika,
Word of your resilience and deeds has not gone unnoticed. I write to you with a request of the utmost importance. Though I cannot reveal much in writing, I must ask that you make the journey to Oltikea and present yourself at the palace.
May Oltikán’s hand steady your path until you reach us.
I await your arrival, and I look forward to seeing you soon.
With trust,
Noztel Ilhuikat
Heir of Oltikán
Damath's Pilgrimage.
Chapter 15: Damath II (Part 1).
Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story.
