Intermission: the Children

*Once in a thousand years, when the sun is*
settled in the sky in just the right way and when the moon and stars align
perfectly, there are born children of destiny. As a means by which to encourage
the people to forever remember their past, each millennium sees a series of
glowing lights come floating down from the sky: one red; one blue; one yellow;
one purple; one grey.

*Thus, once in a thousand years, when the sun is*
settled in the sky in just the right way and when the moon and stars align
perfectly, there are born children of destiny.

“Heeeerb!!”
came the voice. “Are you *losing* it?
You can’t be so reckless when you gather the ryllah! If you crush it even a
little bit, it will lose nearly all of its potency!”

“Oh,
it will not,” Herb replied. “Everything’s fine. Don’t get your panties in a
twist.”

“Gross,”
the girl responded. “You’re too old to use phrases like that. Now hurry up and
use the tweezers to sever the stem.”

The
old man rubbed his nose, looked at the girl, and pinched the stem between his forefinger
and thumb, severing it. “Flower’s cut,” he said with a faint smile.  The girl’s mouth dropped as she ran forward
to collect the flower.

Delicately,
she took it into her hands, glaring at him. “If this was improperly cut to the
point that it is ineffectual in my potion, I swear, Herb…”

She
was immediately cut off by Herb tousling her silvery hair and letting out a
booming laugh. “You’ll boil rats in my soup until I spit fire out my ass, or
something, right?” The girl nearly dropped the flower as her hand covered her
mouth in a gasp. “Aw, lighten up, there, Florence. You’ve gotta trust in me a
little more about plant stuffs. Remember: *I’m*
the earthy one. *You’re* the windy
one.”

Sticking
her nose up at him, Florence stalked off with as much dignity as she could
muster while she cradled the ryllah flower in one hand and smoothed out her
hair with the other. Herb distinctly heard several words muttered in an
undertone, including, “show *you*,”
“stubborn old,” and a word that he wasn’t certain Florence knew the meaning of.

As
Florence left, Herb heard some other words on the wind: *“Come. Come. Come.*” He shouted at Florence, “Did you say
something?” but she didn’t answer. Herb frowned a little, but shrugged and
decided he must have imagined it.

Herb
strolled back to the campfire at his leisure. He picked a spot near to the
blazing fire and lay down against the ground, whistling contentedly to himself.
Sometimes the little ones had to learn to relax a little more. Maybe they’d
learn if they stuck around him long enough…

It
wasn’t long before Marcus joined him. The young man sat cross-legged near to
where Herb had laid and fixed him with a pointed stare. Herb paused in his
whistling as he waited for Marcus to say something, but Marcus appeared to be
waiting for Herb to speak. A few seconds went by, and Herb closed his eyes and
went back to whistling.

Marcus
tapped his shoulder. “Hey. I’m trying to talk to you, old man,” he said
brusquely.

“Well,”
replied Herb, “I know you’re not the wind Child, but you can still use air to
make words. Go ahead, try it. I’ll listen.”

Marcus
reddened. “You ass. Florence is all annoyed, and whenever she gets annoyed with
*you*, she makes *me* help her clean all her precious vials and bottles twice as long
as usual. I don’t have time for that!”

“Ah,
yes,” the elder man said, folding his arms behind his head as he lay. “You are
far too busy playing with sticks and imagining toy soldiers.”

“It’s
a *lance*,” Marcus nearly shouted, “and
we all need to train-- oh never mind, you’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Got
it in one,” Herb answered. “You know, you really *are* getting much better.”

The
lancer stood up suddenly. “Don’t you have anything better to do than tease
people younger than you all day?”

Herb
let loose his great, resounding laugh again. “Certainly. But nothing that’s
more fun.” Marcus let out an exasperated grunt and turned to leave, but Herb
paused him by adding seriously, “Marcus. Teasing stupid people isn’t fun for an
old man. I’ve seen enough of them and they’re not worth my time. I tease you
because you’re worth sticking around for. Don’t forget that when you’re
vanquishing your toy soldiers.”

Marcus
regarded him with an unreadable expression, then nodded curtly and walked off,
leaving the old man alone.

*“Come. Come. Come.*”

Herb
sat up and looked around, his expression puzzled. “Maybe I *am* losing it.”

The
sun rose the next morning as it always did, casting long shadows across the
mountains and causing four of them to stir from their beds. Marcus, of course,
had done his best to remain awake but had fallen asleep during the last watch
as Herb assumed he would, so the old man had woken up early to take his place.
Herb nudged him with his foot as the others showed signs of stirring.

Marcus
snapped awake, then looked at Herb shamefully. Herb smiled warmly. “Don’t
worry,” he said. “I’ll save my jokes for when next we’re alone.”

Marcus
rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “At least this time I’ll deserve it.”

Sarina
was the first to wake. She rolled out of bed with a movement like a cat, silky
black hair rolling over her back as she turned. Herb glanced at Marcus and
caught him staring when he thought he wasn’t looking, but that was typical of
both of them: Marcus, getting caught up in women; Sarina, shifting her body in
sultry ways without even trying. *Maker*,
Herb thought, *what a bad combination*.

Morton
rose next. Herb smiled. *There* was a
kid with a head on his shoulders. If their little ragtag band had a leader, it
would be Morton… or at least, it would be if not for Herb, himself! Morton
always had their best interests at heart. He knew when to talk and when to
listen; when to fight and when to relent. Sometimes Herb wondered what it would
be like to see the world the way he did, as an interconnected weave of life and
magic and aether. Fascinating.

Naturally,
Florence slept in the latest. She had stayed up late working on potions to aid
them in their quest today. She had grumbled about Herb’s job cutting the
flowers but everything worked out in the end, just like Herb said it would.
Florence was a nice enough kid, but a little too book-smart for her own good,
in Herb’s own opinion. If only she’d put the book down and listen to him once
in awhile, and learn from his magnificent experience rather than from the dusty
old pages of a book. (*After all*, Herb
thought to himself, looking rather disdainfully at the two books next to her
sleeping back, *I think I’m older than the*
books she’s been reading*.)*

Morton
stepped over to Marcus when he stood and asked, “Watch was all right? I slept
well with you looking out for us.” Marcus nodded silently, but Herb could sense
his discomfort.

Herb
clapped Marcus on the shoulder and said, “He did a fine job. Not a monster in
sight.”

Marcus
smiled weakly, then moved toward Florence to help her wake up. Herb watched him
with a studious look. Even counting for all the times Marcus stared at Sarina,
there was something about the tenderness and attention he paid to Florence that
gave Herb pause to wonder about where his heart lay…

“*Come. Come. Come.*”

*Maybe,* Herb
thought, *I have more important things to*
think about...

When
Florence was up, Morton asked everyone to gather near him. “All right,” he said
seriously, “we’re about an hour away from Tildon’s farm, so we need to make
sure we’re prepared and that we follow the plan to the letter.” Marcus rolled
his eyes a little, but Florence was looking at Morton with rapt attention.
Morton continued, “We approach as a five-man unit--”

“Three-man,
two-woman unit,” interrupted Sarina.

“Five-*person* unit,” Morton corrected, with a
sudden cough. “The Saints have informed us that Swiftglades have been seen in
the area, slipping in and out of the forest and attacking farms along the
treelines.”

“Swiftglades,”
said Marcus with distaste. “My favourite type of orc.”

“Aren’t
they everyone’s?” Sarina responded with a touch of sarcasm.

“*The plan*,” Morton said in a halfway
exasperated tone, “is to approach the treeline. I’ll tap into the aether to see
if they’re making use of any sort of magical concentration or device. Marcus
and Sarina will take the left flank. Florence and Herb will take the right. We
make our way through the forest to find any Swiftglades. If you’re spotted,
blast magic into the air and we’ll converge.”

“It
always sounds so seamless when he says it like that,” Florence commented. “I
wonder what will go wrong.”

*Marcus*,
Herb thought. *Marcus went wrong.*

Morton
had discovered a concentration of aether stronger than he could have ever
suspected. He didn’t know what it was, but had guesses, none of which made him
happy.

The
group had advanced into the forest based on the plan, but it wasn’t long until
Marcus’ fire magic blasted into the sky. *Sarina*
probably took the lead*, Herb thought to himself grimly*, and he probably cracked a branch and got spotted because he was too
busy staring at her ass. Damn kids. *That was the first problem.*

The
second problem was that Marcus chose to signal with his magic instead of
letting Sarina signal with hers. Marcus’s flames erupted into the sky and
caught onto the canopy of leaves above them. The swiftglade orcs were now
converging on all of them, attempting to cut them off and prevent them from
escaping the flames.

The
five of them stood in a line, the fire overhead beginning to flutter down and
orcs, perhaps twenty of them, taunting from just outside the fire’s range.

Marcus
was trying to be all bravado to make up for his error, but the waver in his
voice belied his false confidence. “Well, there’s only, like, twenty of them,”
he said with a shaking voice. “Four each?”

“*Five*,” said Florence. “You handle them
and I’ll support you with potions and healing. Keep them off me,” she warned.

“Ooh,
can we do that? Call dibs?” Sarina asked. “Six for each of the boys, two for
me, then,” she said silkily. “I’m worried about cracking a nail,” she added,
with obvious dramatics.

“They’re
going to crack more than that if we don’t take this more seriously,” Morton
replied. “Herb, what’s around us?”

*“Come. Come. Come.”*

The
voice almost felt like it had a direction this time. Herb felt a pull from
behind him. Was there a way to kill two birds with one stone?

Herb
glanced around. “Twenty orcs ahead. Countless flames above, thanks for that,
Marcus. Trees that are mostly on fire behind us. Maybe one path behind us that
we could make a break for if Sarina acts quickly and shoots some water back
there.”

With
moments, Morton nodded and said in a voice of authority, “Sarina, douse the
path where Herb tells you to. Florence, give us a gust of wind to knock the
orcs back, then turn and run. Marcus, you and I are backline; we follow last
and we make sure any orcs that try to follow get cut down. Everyone ready?” A
chorus of ayes echoed through the clearing. “Great. *Go!*”

Sarina
whirled her hands around her and gathered condensation from the air and water
from the plants at her feet. Herb shouted, “Right there!” and she commanded the
water to follow the strings of aether she sent forward. Her liquid doused the
path enough for the two of them to begin to run.

Florence’s
hands were a blur as she whipped them around herself, the air following each
motion. Suddenly, her body glowed with a purple aura and the winds howled
around her. “Those who seek to harm us shall be Swept Away,” she intoned, and
the air turned solid, slamming into the row of orcs and knocking them back with
major force. The aura faded, and she turned to follow Sarina and Herb.

Marcus’s
lance had already been in his hands. Morton drew a pair of daggers and the pair
followed their group, watching backward the whole while. They ran as quickly as
they could, dodging smoke and falling debris from the canopy, but by virtue of
Sarina and Herb having to forge the trial, the orcs that were brave enough to
pursue were gradually catching up.

The
chase was brief but terrifying. The fires seemed to be following them through
the trees as tenaciously as the orcs were. The five ultimately reached a
clearing with a large silvery fountain, surrounded by rocks. Marcus went to
touch it to cool down, but Florence grabbed his hand back.

“Stop!”
she shouted. “That’s *aether*. Pure
aether! That could kill you.”

Marcus
withdrew his hand and said, “And the orcs and fire *won’t?*”

She
snapped back, “Of course they will, but at least you’ll live for an extra
minute!”

Herb
held his large axe defensively before him. “Morton, if you have a plan, better
share it quick.”

Morton
looked at the orcs beginning to reach the clearing and replied, “I do, but
you’re going to hate it.”

The
old man sighed and answered, “You know, when you say that, I really, really always
do.”

The
young tactician glanced at the aether and said, “Something Lord Parath told me
about the powers of the Children when Marcus and I first began learning. We
come from the aether. We embody the aether. The aether lives and flows through
us. We are its conduits.”

“*Say it in fewer words*,” Sarina snapped.

“This
aether won’t harm us,” Morton said. “I’m guessing but… it might actually be our
trump card.”

“Great.
Fine,” Herb said suddenly, watching two orcs moving toward him menacingly. “How
do we *use* it? One sentence.”

Morton
shrugged. “Jump in?”

“*No!*” shouted Florence.

“*Come. Come. **Come**.”*

And
suddenly, Herb realized. This was what was calling to him. This strange little
fountain in the middle of the woods. Herb looked at it for a moment, and then
said, “Okay.” He splashed into the aether and vanished with a brilliant flash
of light.

“*Herb!*” Florence shouted as the elder man
disappeared. “Wh-- Morton, *what have you*
done?*”*

An
orc with a red bandanna and a scar across his chest flashed a sadistic grin as
he stepped forward. “Only four to kill? Shame. The fifth was the smartest of
all of you.” The orc’s right hand was adorned with bladed knuckles; his left
had longer edges to catch blades swung at him. The left hand metal was worn, as
if used frequently; the right hand blades looked incredibly sharp.

Marcus
swallowed hard. “Listen. If we die--”

“If
we die and it’s your fault,” Sarina replied smoothly, “I’ll kill you after
you’re dead. You know that, right?”

“I…
yeah,” he answered somberly. “Yeah.”

The
orc rubbed his blades together. “Who’s first? Little girl?” He licked his lips,
causing a wave of revulsion to roll through Florence. “Scared boy?” Marcus
clenched his lance harder. “Or the two pretending not to be scared?” Morton and
Sarina braced themselves against the ground, preparing themselves to move.

The
orc dashed forward as a yellow light pierced the clearing. Herb fell from the
sky, a yellow aura surrounding him as he descended before his friends and
allies. The orc screamed as his knuckle blades split the air en route to Herb’s
chest, but the old man simply stood his ground, dug his feet into the earth and
said, “You are nothing before the earth beneath us. *I Withstand all!*” The orc punched Herb’s heart, but the blades
cracked against the yellow aura and shattered, as though they had been struck
against the hardest mountain in the world.

The
orc fell backwards in fear. “Th-that’s not possible!”

“I
know,” Herb said. “Looks. Smarts. Strength. All in one body. I’m the man who
makes the impossible possible. For example,” he said, kneeling low, “if you’d
have asked me this morning, I’d say it was impossible for one old man to kick
twenty asses at once. Now? Now, I like those odds.” He grabbed the orc’s neck
and drew him close. “I’ll let the next move be yours. Run away and live, or
stick around. *I* can survive a swim.
What do you think your odds are?”

Herb
threw the orc at the ground. His enemy scrabbled backward and ran, bringing the
second orc with him as he goes. The old man turned back and shrugged. “Well,”
he said, “now that we’re not all going to die, maybe you kids should take a
swim, too. It did wonders for me…” He looked up at the crackling leaves.
“Sarina, do me a favour and go last so you can put out that oaf’s mistake
first…”