A Tale of Arcane Space: Lost & Found

"First one's always real bad, but it's never good either." She gestured down the hallway with the icon in her hand. "Just be glad you didn't vomit up all that delicious basilisk meat. Most people spew out a bucket-full on their first zap."

"Thank the Queen for small favors, then."

They headed down the hallway, and another door opened up into what looked like a bedroom, with several oddly-shaped chairs, a table, and a large bed and mattress big enough for several people to snooze on with plenty of room. Cori snorted. "Looks cozy. Is that the wash closet over there?"

"Yeah." Lindauriel was poking his head through another door. "Toilet -- looks like a dry-flush. Sink, shower stall." He stepped in, and twisted the faucet. "No water, though." He stood up and turned back to Cori, taking off one glove and dropped it to the floor. "Huh. Standard false-grav, feels like." He bent down to retrieve it, slipping it back on as he stood. "Feels steady."

They spent the next hour searching their surroundings. Several other doors opened up into more rooms -- one might have been a kitchen, another was full of empty shelves and foot-lockers, and one had two hatches, one on the floor, and one on the wall, which looked to be an airlock. Neither hatch budged an inch. The last room they found had the entire wall, floor, and ceiling made out of crystal, and was dominated by a large golden chair in the center, wide and high-backed, with an array of odd controls on the armrests.

Lindauriel bent down to look closely at those controls, being careful not to touch any of them. "I'm thinking this is the cockpit."

"Probably. These screens give the pilot visuals in all directions, like their chair is floating in free-fall. Everything about the decor and controls screams Orcish/Goblin collaboration, which would be right for the period." She patted the back of the chair. "If the Allied Armada had deployed another half-dozen of these monsters, we probably would've won the war. Saved a lot of nonhumans from the sun-damned camps." She glanced up. "Any of your family fight in the war?"

He looked around the room as he talked. "My great-grandmother did, but only at the very end. Shepherd's Promise tried to stay neutral through most of it, until the ruling council finally realized what the Hegemony really had planned -- but by then it was too late. Gran-Gran got the family and our assets off-world before the 'Cleansers' arrived, so my line got off light compared to most."

"Fucking fascists."

"Yeah."

Twenty minutes later, Lindauriel was sitting on one of the bedroom chairs, rubbing his feet now that he'd removed his suit and boots. "Any luck with the hatch?"

Cori sat down opposite him on the edge of the bed, and started unsealing herself. "Tried a precision mage-laser spell to cut through -- barely even made them warm. Definitely urutromium. How about on your end?"

He waggled his toes. "Still no audio from anyone, and I doubt they're hearing me. Nothing happened when I tried any of the cockpit controls, that I can tell. Whatever teleported us inside isn't responding now." He sighed. "However, I do have some good news. I'm not cut off from the Goddess inside here." He gestured to the table behind him, and made a gesture. With a flash of light, the pitcher filled with clear water, and the plates were piled with steaming hot food. "Behold the minor miracle of 'Wanderer's Repast'."

Pouring herself some water, she looked over her plate. "Handy trick. So at least we won't starve, or have to live off suit-infusions. What is this, chicken?"

He lifted up a bit of food from his own plate, which looked rather like a nugget of breaded meat. "It's a mix of protein and nutrient-rich vegetable matter. This stuff will keep us alive, but don't expect it to taste like home cooking. Still, anything's better than infusions."

Cori took a swallow from her cup. "Nice pure water, at least. So if you can cast in here, does that mean you can send a message to the ship?"

Lindauriel poured himself a cup as well. "Sadly, no. If there was another priest on the ship with access to divine energies, then I could maybe reach them using the Goddess as a conduit... but there isn't. And before you ask, the Captain's years at the Xiaolin Monastery does not make him an enshrined priest. I tried that already."

She grabbed a fork and took a nibble, pulling up the other chair and sitting at the table. "This isn't too bad, actually. Better than old battle-rations, that's for sure." She pointed to his hands. "So you can access your divine fire, right? Think that could burn our way out?"

He paused, one hand unconsciously touching the dagger on his hip. "...I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? Perfect temperature control, right? You could crank that up super-hot if you concentrated, I bet. C'mon, Lindy, don't be a little--"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" The elf priest had thrown his chair back, slammed his cup down hard on the table, and his eyes were pulsing with silver flame... with streaks of red flickering in the depths. "My. Name. Is. Lindauriel."

Cori leaned away from her crewmate, worry and a little fear creasing her brow. "Okay. Okay. No nicknames that rhyme with 'the weather's kind of windy'. Can we, ah, ratchet that down a notch or ten?"

Lindauriel stepped away from the table, shaking with emotion. He kicked savagely at the base of the wall -- and Cori noticed with wide eyes, left a small dent in the wall in the process. Turning away from her, he leaned his forehead against the door, gulping down air in staggered breaths. The flames had grown, his neck and arms now covered in silver and red... but as his breathing slowed, the flames turned pure silver again, receded back to his neck and face, and then faded away entirely.

After one last long breath, he turned back around. "I am so sorry. I haven't lost control like that in...years. I could have hurt you, or worse, and I can't apologize enough. I am so, so sorry." And with that, he slumped down to the floor, his back against the wall, tears flowing down his cheeks. He plucked the sheathed dagger from his hip, raised it as if he was about to throw it blindly across the room, but instead gingerly placed it down on the deck, and carefully pushed it far to one side away from him.

After a moment, Cori set herself down on the floor next to him, close but not directly touching. "That wasn't really about nicknames, was it. C'mon, talk it out, crewmate."

He took a deep breath, still not looking at her. "Not... really. I mean, it was, but not just that. That was just... the last spark that lit the fuse, I guess."

She gestured to the room they sat in. "Well, it's been a...rough couple of days. I mean, we all barely made it out of Zelefon alive, there's Sun knows how many gangsters and other asswipes probably trying to track us down inside this deathtrap of an asteroid belt, we're trapped inside an ancient wreck with no way to call for help, and to top it all off, in hindsight I've been kind of a bitch to you lately." She gave a small laugh, and lightly mock-punched his shoulder. "Which is clearly the most important thing in your universe. Sorry about that."

He managed a smile. "Move over existential dread, it's Goblin Attitude that makes the galaxy go 'round. Heh."

"In all seriousness, I apologize. I guess that name has some bad memories for you... but I have to admit, calling you Lindauriel is a bit of a mouthful. Is it okay if I just say 'Lin' instead?" He nodded, and she reached over, picked up his dagger, and handed it to him." "But, ah... what was the deal with that bright red tinge to the fire you were giving off? And 'losing control'? That sounds kind of ominous. We should talk about this."

He looked at her, and gave a resigned nod. "Yeah. We should." He held up his blade, and drew it, and indicated the runes etched along its length. "Do any of these mean anything to you?"

She looked it over. "They look like pictures of old Elvish runes I've seen, but my mage training was from other Goblins, we didn't cover Elf-style enchantments in much detail."

He nodded. "There is an enchantment on it -- that it can never be taken from me without my permission. If a pickpocket swiped it off my belt, it would reappear to me on its own a few seconds later, even if I never noticed it was gone." He sighed. "It also acts as a link... to my Teacher. And in order to continue this conversation -- and I apologize in advance, but -- I have to ask for your oath on something."

She sat up with interest. "This is getting good. What kind of oath?"

Lin scratched at his nose. "An oath of secrecy. What I'm about to tell you...the Captain knows about it, but no one else on the ship does, except George, and he accepted a hardware-lock on this knowledge."

This drew up Cori's eyebrows. "He willingly accepted that? George hates anyone tampering with his hardware."

"It was his idea, once he understood the situation. I need your oath that you will not share this knowledge with anyone. Not your family, not your loved ones, not even your TribeLord. No one."

"No worries there, my old TribeLord's a real prick. I wouldn't even share my grocery list with him." She watched his face. "You didn't make that up about George. You're really serious about this."

"As serious as Mummy Rot. If you don't want to give your oath, that's fine, but we'll have to change the subject right now."

She let out a long breath, and leaned back against the wall. "You're really willing to trust me with this huge secret?"

He nodded. "If you give your oath, I know you well enough that you'd rather die than break it. And you've saved everyone's lives more than once, mine included. I'm grateful for that."

"You're one of us, Lin. As far as I'm concerned, the Endurance is my Tribe. You're part of that Tribe. I take that seriously." She held out her hand. "May I use that knife for a second?"

He handed it over, and she drew it. "You're trusting me with a secret. That's heavy business, where I come from, more than you might know." She pressed the pad of her pinky finger to the blade's tip, drawing a small spot of blood. "Lindauriel Moonblossom, I give you my oath -- as a Goblin, as a Woman, as part of our Tribe, as all things that I am, that I will keep your words sacred and secret between us." She grasped his hand, and pressed the blooded finger to the inside of his wrist, smearing it in a line. "I will protect your words." She wiped the weapon's tip along her unitard's sleeve, and handed it back to him, hilt first.

He nodded, and returned the re-sheathed knife to his hip. "Thank you." He turned to look at her. "When I entered the Triune seminary, it was discovered that I had an affinity for the divine fire. Once I learned the technique of how to draw upon it, I could do so effortlessly. For some priests, it only comes with concentration and difficulty. But for me, it's as easy as lifting a finger." He held up a hand, and a little disk of white flame danced along his knuckles, like a performing trickster. "This skill was noted by the Church's leaders, and I was subjected to some additional tests to further gauge my moral fiber. After I completed my training as an ordained and enshrined priest of the Queen of Silence, I was reassigned to a new teacher, as a member of an organization outside of my church." He stood up, and poured himself a fresh cup of water, taking a long sip. "The Order of Tlaketh Crimson, named for the Priest of Bahamut from whom we draw inspiration -- and who was the original gateway for the Crimson Flame. But we are better known these days by a name given to us by others centuries ago -- the WarSaints."

"You're an honest-to-Sun WarSaint... holy shit." Cori stood up. "Okay, let's back up, I need to take this in. I mean, first off, I'm no theologian, but even I know that all priests of Bahamut... are dragons."

He nodded. "Exactly right. Honored Tlaketh was unusual for his people, in that he actively sought out contact with the 'smaller races', as dragons call us." He took a long sip, and sat down at the table, gesturing to the other chair. "He would meet with scholars and especially priests of other peoples, and found much to celebrate, in spite of and because of our countless differences. He would host gatherings of hundreds, where no topic was taboo, all opinions and philosophies examined in good faith. Where those of different races, creeds, and dogma could co-exist in harmony, strengthened and made wiser by broader minds and open hearts, no matter what star system they had traveled from."

Cori sat down, nibbling at her almost-forgotten meal. "When was this?"

"Just over a thousand years ago."

She laughed. "Somehow, I can imagine that governments of the time didn't exactly endorse this. Too much happy-hugging, sharing, caring, and everything else politicians always hate."

"Exactly. One or more of the political leaders of that time sent a battlefleet to one particularly large conclave, one that had attracted peaceful thinkers from hundreds of worlds. The fleet opened fire on the planet the instant they were in range, attempting to wipe out any and all traces of this ecumenical cooperation."

"How did they survive?"

"With this." Resting one hand on the table, palm up, he concentrated... and a pinprick of vivid red flame appeared over his hand. It wasn't the usual red/orange/yellow of the fires one would see on a torch or cooking flame, but a pure ruby-red color -- the same color that had tinged Lin's divine flames in that moment of stress, minutes before. "This is the Crimson Flame. Driven by his realization that those under his protection were in danger, Honored Tlaketh dove deep within his own soul, and found this within." He sat back and smiled. "Unlike your typical priest's divine fire, this power is not from a deity. It's believed to be of the galaxy itself, perhaps far beyond even that. Divine fire is the tool by which the gods create, destroy, and make their will known. But this instead... it joins with what you are, and amplifies all that one is. To an absurd degree."

With a visible effort, he willed the red light to vanish, and breathed deep. "A swordsman imbued with the Flame, like my teacher Gathor, can slice mountains in half with a single cut. A scryer like my friend Kindala can find hidden sights on the other side of the galaxy. A mage like you could change the course of a comet by an act of will. And a priest like myself can draw upon their god's power to a degree never before thought possible. Now imagine what a righteously enraged dragon, already filled with centuries of experience and accumulated power, would be capable of with that."

"It sounds terrifying."

"By all accounts, it was. Honored Tlaketh flew out into orbit in mere moments, not only blocking the fleet's fire with great walls of red light, but proceeded to rip the battlefleet apart with his talons, breath, and spells, slicing through diamond and steel like parchment. They turned the entire fleet's weapons on him, and although he managed to destroy them all, he was mortally wounded in the process. He crashed on the planet's surface, and twenty-three of his closest friends emerged from their shelter and flocked to his fallen body, desperately trying to heal him. But for each wound they closed, another would open in its place. Honored Tlaketh knew his end was coming, and gathered them close. He granted the Crimson Flame unto them, and begged that they use it to protect those who could not protect themselves, as he had done. Two days later, after imparting as much knowledge and wisdom as he could about this strange new power, and other things besides, he passed beyond the veil. The twenty-three founded our order, vowing to fulfill their inspiration's will."

He stood up, pacing nervously. "Over the centuries, the flame has been granted to those found deserving, but the numbers are kept at twenty-three. Partly out of tradition -- but also because the Flame cannot be divided further. We don't know why -- perhaps some remnant of Honored Tlaketh's will in the Flame itself. And it's just as well, because this Flame is a terrifying power, far too easy to misuse. Especially because using it... feels good. There's a euphoria to this power, that has been the downfall of other WarSaints before me. It's why I must be vigilant, and never use this power selfishly. Or carelessly. Through my dagger, my Teacher can monitor how I use my power. And if I use it rashly, undeservedly, then he will know."

Lin ran his fingers through his long curls. "And I nearly let it out at you, uncontrolled. I can never apologize enough."

She stood as well, clasping his shoulder. "But you didn't hurt me. You held onto your control. And I say you've apologized enough. Thank you for trusting me with your secret." She pointed towards the room with the two sealed hatches. "You're worried that if you try to burn your way out of this golem, that you'd lose control."

He nodded. "The Crimson Flame doesn't like to do small things. It wants to blaze free, to do the impossible, to revel in its own glory. If I unleash it in here, such a tight and enclosed space, I'm certain it would engulf you. I don't even know for sure if I could burn through fused Urutromium to begin with. I'm not willing to risk it."

"Makes sense." Coriolis glanced up at the compartment's ceiling. "Who knows? Maybe our crewmates will think of something clever to get us out of this."

***

Norrish's finger stabbed down on the intercom button at his helm station. "Damnit, Enrique! What's taking you two so long to fix that shuttle?"

A moment later, Enrique's voice came back, "With all due respect, Norrish -- get the fuck off my back. Snowdrop and I are working as fast as we can, but if I have to get out from under the shuttle and talk to you every time you get antsy, then it's just going to slow us down even more."

Norrish clenched his fists in frustration. "I just... I'm worried for them, you know?"

"And you think we're not? Kindly fuck off and fall on a force-lance projector, I'm getting back to work now. Asshole." With a snarl, Enrique shut off the intercom on his end.

Captain Liang turned from where he stood, looking over the graphics of the asteroid layout on the main monitor. "I warned you. When this is over, you should apologize to Enrique. I've not heard him that angry since that Elven Navy spy broke his heart back at the Pavonis Cluster last year."

"I just wish I could do something, sir. I'm no good for mechanic work, I know that much."

"If I may, Captain?" George spoke up, his holo-face appearing on the big screen. "I could deploy my remote body, and assist Enrique and Snowdrop in the shuttle bay. I daresay that body's nano-crafting could speed things up."

"Very kind of you to offer, Omikron George. I know you dislike using that shell, so I didn't want to suggest it."

A hatch opened in the side of the bridge, and a chrome-plated Kobold-shaped robotic body stepped forth, its eyes glowing with golden light. Like most Kobolds, it looked rather like a Draconian in miniature, half Snowdrop's height but svelte and trim compared to a Draconian's bulk. "The circuits in this are in poor shape. It itches and is somewhat painful to wear, but I will bear it for the sake of our friends." As the body moved through a series of test movements, its head came up and spoke in George's voice. "I plan to use my savings and my next profit-share to exchange this for an upgrade -- if that's alright with you, sir."

"By all means, George. Thank you for enduring this unpleasantness."

The mechanical Kobold bowed its head in salute. "We are the crew of the Endurance, Captain. This is what we all do. It is why we triumph. I'll head down there now."

Norrish tapped his fist against his chest. "You've got real heart, George."