097 - The Witching Road

On the road again, to the west - Magnus walked out of the ruins of the town by the Empire Swamp and over the plains, in less than half a day coming to the edge of the forest. The same route - this very same path, a few months before he'd come this way in the other direction, stumbling and dragging his feet like a wretched walking corpse, covered in pus and black lines.

This was the same path . . only now, now everything about Magnus was different. No longer was the spectre of death hanging above him, no longer was he lost, struggling to find the slightest of hopes in misleading rumours.

The heavy clouds that hung over him in the swamp were nowhere to be found, only clear blue skies and a bright sun above. Magnus walked on, his pace unhurried, under the cover of the many high branches, the sounds of songbirds, the chirp and buzz of life.

Magnus halted by a stream, hearing a sudden rustle and seeing movement nearby. A deer emerged from the undergrowth, looking about and lowering its head to drink for the stream. Magnus found a smooth rock and, weighing it in his hand for a moment, threw it, striking the deer square on the head with tremendous force.

Humming happily, Magnus quickly collected enough kindling for a fire, pulling a leg from the deer and cooking it for several minutes until the flesh was properly roasted. Magnus cooked and ate, tore another leg and devoured it whole - joyfully devouring the meat until all what was left was a pile of gnawed and broken bones - cracked in half, the marrow sucked dry.

Hungry! So damn hungry! It wasn't until he had finished the whole deer that Magnus realised just how famished he had been - and how hungry he still was! Looking around the forest, he focused an aura of Mens on his eyes and ears, the many animals who prowled and hid in the bushes and just under the surface revealed themselves to him through their slightest of movements.

He gathered a handful of stones and soon had a brace of forest beasties set in the fire roasting merrily - a half dozen quail, three rabbits, and even another deer - all skinned and cleaned.

This was the life. If only there was a jar of wine to go along with the meat . . if only there was someone to share it with . .

Magnus finished up, wiping the grease from his chin and washing himself in the nearby stream, soon getting back on his way.

No rush - no need to run, it had only been a week and five days since he had seen the Witching Road slaughter Pete and the other hunters of the Horn - Waldemar said he would be going back to Juteheim, said to meet them there.

So . . what is the plan? The Witching Road . . with the knowledge and memories of Pontius and the other Alchemists he knew nearly everything there was about how the Alchemists functioned on the garden worlds - on Aquilonem and the other planets within the five star prison formation.

With this knowledge Magnus knew it would be easy enough to get onto the tower - as a visitor. All he would have to do is dress in the robes of Seer or a Martial Court Cultivator, the checks wouldn't be too stringent - he could just pretend to be an offworlder here for the auction, right? That would be easy - but it wouldn't give him access to the sensitive areas of the Revolving Tower.

There was a loophole - Magnus realized; he couldn't pretend to be an Alchemist, no way - not without a proper name-plate - it was impossible to forge one, they were genetically marked and given to students of the Tower, he would never make it past the outer security measures before being identified as an imposter. It was possible to pass himself off as a potential student though - now, with the abilities he'd devoured from the Alchemists he could wield Animus on the level of a Magister, but it would do him no good - potential students underwent rigorous tests and scans once accepted into the tower.

No, that wouldn't do. The loophole was in the family and guards that potential students could take with them. Subject to practically no scans or tests, the family and friends of students were permitted to enter the Tower and live alongside the students, even fulfilling menial roles and aiding in experiments.

Of course, no family member could ever have the same level of access as a proper Alchemist or student, but they were able to move in more sensitive areas, allowed to roam around unescorted, given access to the inner teleportation formations . . .

Yes. The best course of action in the now would be to find a talented student of Alchemy, one that the Alchemists already had their eyes on preferably, and attach himself to them. Several methods rose to mind - there were multiple potions and glyphs that could be subtly employed to place Magnus prominently in their mind.

One step at a time . . the Witching Road was his in - they took their orders directly from the Alchemist in charge of Juteheim, that much was obvious, Waldemar and the other high ups in the Witching Road were certainly traitors - selling their own, working with the Alchemists to tidy up after their experiments . . the very reason that the Hunters of the Horn had been slaughtered to a man.

Ah hells!

Magnus felt his blood boil, fists clenched so tight his fingers went white.

Just thinking about it . . . his fists itched for action. Those nobles who sold out their fellow man, who were so eager to betray others simply for the favour of the Alchemists.

They knew . . they knew the atrocities that the Alchemists visited on others, they knew that their experiments deformed and killed . . in Kloster, that bloody Lord Tygis and his son - they knew and they sold out the whole town to Festus. Waldemar . . he was doing just the bloody same, selling out every single one of the people of Jute - the Witching Road? Pah! Worse than a joke . . a fucking travesty.

Those of the Witching Road - he'd seen them, those deformed faces hidden under hoods - the ones that had shot the hunters to death - they had each been mutilated at the hands of an Alchemist, and now they were used by those same hands to hunt others.

Ah hells . .

Magnus walked on, for a week - deliberately taking it slow on the road, stopping where ever he wanted and hunting whatever took his fancy. He passed several remote villages, coming across a couple of woodsmen and hunters out in the depths of the forest, but for the most part the forest paths were his own.

For a week he walked, when he felt hungry he ate, when he felt tired he slept. In this time he barely gave a thought to the Sleeping Forest or to Hob, the only thing that might set him apart from a normal peasant travelling through the woods being the sword at his side.

He walked and planned - searching through his memories for any information that might be handy, fixing upon any fact to do with Celestials. In this week it could be said that Magnus underwent a transformation almost as profound as his physical transformation after devouring the giant lizard beneath the swamp - his mind expanding, absorbing the lives and experiences of those asleep within him.

The naive nearly dead boy who had staggered his way to the east only months before could now be said to be truly gone - in both body and mind. The Magnus that walked back west no longer looked a boy, no longer thought like a boy - now he strode, shoulders set, head upright, his eyes fixed firmly ahead on the path.

At the end of the week he came to the River Stor, a mile wide with no means of crossing except for the river barges are boats who ferried people across. Along the shores of the Stor were several settlements - it would be easy for Magnus to swim, hells, it would be easy for him to leap the river! The thought crossed his mind - why wait to be ferried? Just leap!

But, just as he readied himself he caught sight of someone rowing towards him - a ferryman from a far embankment taking a passenger across. Magnus stared - his vision amplified by Mens, seeing every detail of the ferryman and his passenger.

The passenger was no one, just an old woman with a wicker basket, but the ferryman . . Magnus eyes went round - the ferryman had tears streaming down his face, every now and again Magnus heard a mournful sob. The young ferryman rowed and weeped openly, the old woman offering him a handkerchief which he gladly took.

Magnus watched them come in only a little ways south of where he was, never once taking his eyes of the boat. Of all the people . . Caj! You son of a bitch! Ha!