Mystic Pursuit, page 1
First published by Cosmic Egg Books, 2023
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Text copyright: Erik Daniel Boudreau 2021
ISBN: 978 1 80341 034 0
978 1 80341 035 7 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021950006
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For Vanessa & Aili
Contents
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
It was a world like our own, in an age lost to time. For millennia, humans co-existed peacefully alongside several orders of enchanted beings, the mystics. Without political division or social hierarchy the world’s five known realms were distinguishable only by terrain and climate, with humans and mystics interspersed freely amongst the vast, organic diversity around them.
Aside from a handful of remote island chains, all dry land was limited to a lone continental spread, traversable from coast-to-coast in five days by fleet horse—a lean, powerful breed known for its unrivaled speed and stamina. Despite the land’s modest breadth, however, it was endowed with a staggering array of territories, from lush, humid rainforests to barren, sun-parched desert.
Comprising the mystics were three distinct orders, each distinguishable by appearance, ability, and nature.
First were the Masdazii, or matter-mystics. Ceaselessly practical in nature, the Masdazii averaged a head taller than the typical human, though they were most easily recognizable by their girth. Their thick, soft bodies and pale, thin, almost translucent skin belied the coarseness of their disposition. All the same, the Masdazii governed the composition and properties for all inanimate objects, from the tallest mountains down to the infinitesimally minute particles within them.
The second mystic tribe was the Lii-jit, or life-mystics. The Lii-jit contrasted rather starkly against the portly, sallow matter-mystics. Their comparatively compact height and lean, muscular bodies left them ideally suited to a highly agile existence. Also differing from the Masdazii was the Lii-jit’s tendency toward impulsiveness and passion. They governed the natural life cycle of all living things, from before birth, through a healthy existence, and into the transition to the next world.
While the life-mystics guided all living things to the next world, on their arrival, they were governed by the final band of mystics, the Ohlinn, or spirit-mystics. The Ohlinn served as a channel between this world and the next, unifying the spirits of all sentient beings whether human or mystic. These tall, slender beings possessed long, dark hair with a streak of silver cascading behind each ear and moved with the grace of a gentle evening breeze.
Together, the three mystic tribes brought order to the world, with each both supporting and relying upon the others.
Overseeing this grand orchestration was a single, all powerful being, the Voduss Grei, more commonly called the Gray Mystic. From a soaring, white, sacred tower, encircled by a jagged volcanic crater deep within the Bray desert, the reigning Gray Mystic sat in quiet contemplation, perpetually in tune with the spiritual and material oscillation of the surrounding world.
When imbalance struck, as tends to happen amidst the machinations of living things, and one domain began overtaking the others, the Gray Mystic would be prompted into action. Silently intuiting his will into his mystic followers, the Gray Mystic would incite whatever response was deemed necessary to avert the crisis and once again restore order. Life, matter, and spirit, in perfect synchronicity.
The noble lineage of the Voduss Grei continued in this manner, uninterrupted for millennia, until the time of Noryssin, the last of the Gray Mystics. For five generations, Noryssin faithfully fulfilled his duty, maintaining and facilitating the balance of all worldly things.
Until a fateful vision spurred Noryssin to unleash a series of catastrophic events, beginning with the destruction of Merrin Ells, an idyllic human village by the sea. It was the first of what came to be known as Noryssin’s Three Betrayals, and it thrust the world into chaos.
CHAPTER ONE
In the distance, a flicker of light burst into the night, followed by the faint rattle of thunder. Standing alone in a grassy field littered with tents, wagons and supply crates, the young man glanced up at the cloud-filled sky and forced a breath into his chest. Composing himself, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the hilt of his still-sheathed sword and resumed his watch.
For twelve long nights Hajassin had assumed the duty of evening sentry, wading slowly through the encampment while the other soldiers slept, ensuring the army’s safety as they traversed the vast and ever-changing landscape, perpetually assured by those around him that they would soon be at their destination.
Hajassin gazed upon the array of canopies around him, illuminated by the light of the camp’s dying central fire. He was surrounded by mercenaries. Warriors. Murderers. The most skilled, ruthless, and loyal fighters from the farthest reaches of the known world. The greatest human army ever assembled.
Hajassin was not like them—that much he knew. The others seemed acutely aware of the fact as well, relegating him to the most menial of chores. Tasks reserved for either the broken-down old soldiers or the uselessly young: cooking, laundering, tending to minor wounds inflicted upon the true warriors during combat training. And night sentry.
Scarcely a month prior, Hajassin had been toiling amidst the drudgery of modest village life when the caravan arrived, searching for fit, passionate recruits. Despite the protests of his mother, his fate was sealed. The allure of participating in a war against a seemingly insurmountable enemy proved too great a temptation to resist. For a young man scarcely beyond the crest of adolescence, it was the promise of glory and adventure. However, the further he ventured from the security of his family and the closer he drew toward the looming specter of war, the more he began to realize he had made a grave mistake.
Far ahead, scarcely visible in the haze of moonlight, was their destination. A thick ridge of black jutting up along the horizon. A vast, towering forest containing countless lives the human army aimed to descend upon at first morning light. The enemy.
A second flash of light lit up the clouds ahead as Hajassin made his way toward the settlement’s outer perimeter, nerves mounting with every step. A rumbling echoed across the sky, louder than before. Hajassin partially unsheathed his sword at the sound, nervously peering over both shoulders. The crisp, static-laced night air filled his nostrils as he glanced up at the sky. It seemed as though the very weather itself were bristling with aggression. Ever since joining the cursed army, nearly every day had been met with some form of anomalous climate issue, from bitter cold winds to droughts, to sudden, torrential downpours.
Reassured that he was still alone, Hajassin ventured forth, further from the light of the settlement’s central fire and toward the posts where the numerous transport and riding animals were kept.
“Almost there,” mouthed the young soldier as he passed the final pair of tents, his heartbeat throbbing loudly in his ear.
He was rapidly approaching the point of no return. Abandoning his post would doubtless be met with swift consequences, while the punishment for attempting to defect from his army on the eve of battle would most assuredly be worse. An unfortunate caveat of joining the great human cause was that there were only two ways of leaving the army: death and victory. Hajassin feared the former and cared not for the bloodshed needed to attain the latter. He just wanted to go home.
He weaved through the rows of resting pack mules and powerful, elegant fleet horses, gently patting their sides as he passed by to keep them calm. For each of the past twelve nights, Hajassin had played his escape over and over in his head. He had even picked out the very fleet horse he planned to take—fast enough to take him far from the army, while small enough to be manageable for a novice rider. Unfortunately, it had taken him the entirety of the past twelve nights to muster both the courage and the desperation to attempt his escape.
But the time had come.
Finding his pre-selected horse, Hajassin thoughtfully loosened the horse’s tether and began leading it from the pack. As he did so, a crash of thunder rolled down from above, this time in near-perfect sync with the flash of lightning. The storm had arrived.
Hajassin placed a hand upon the horse’s back, on the verge of mounting his ride, when another sound emerged from the settlement behind him.
“Soldier,” a voice called out, “I question the value of a sentry who abandons what he has been charged with protecting.”
A wave of dread washed over Hajassin.
“My—my Lord—” he stuttered, his legs growing weak as he slowly turned around.
“Unless, of course, you were merely ripe with enthusiasm over our impending attack,” smirked the figure. “However, as I made clear some time ago, we strike the mystics with the rise of the morning sun, still several hours yet.”
“Lakos—” muttered Hajassin, frozen in place as the figure approached.
“You know you mustn’t leave,” said Lakos, continuing to draw nearer to the frantic young man. “Not now.”
By the light of the dying fire, Hajassin could see that Lakos’s normally tied, blonde, shoulder-length hair now fell messily to the sides of his face. Still, the tussled look did nothing to soften his cold, penetrating stare. And while he had, for the evening, abandoned the tarnished metal armor that typically shielded his chest, his omnipresent longsword still clung loyally to his hip.
“My lord… I’m sorry,” said Hajassin, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m not a soldier. I can’t do this.”
Lakos drew closer still, hands held up acceptingly. “My boy—Hajassin, is it? I appreciate that this is all a lot to take in. We stand on the precipice of greatness. We are, all of us, on the verge of becoming legends. Liberating humans from mystic tyranny. It’s our time to reign. There is no other place in all the known world where an ambitious young human should wish to be.”
“But Lakos, I’m not like you!” cried Hajassin. “I’m just a boy from a simple village. I hold no ill intent toward the mystics.”
Lakos’s eyes lit up. “But don’t you see? You’re exactly like me,” he said. “I, too, was merely a boy from a simple village. I was younger than you when the Gray Mystic Noryssin and his wretched kind saw fit to destroy my home, my world, and my life.” He glanced wistfully up at the night sky. “The night of Noryssin’s Three Betrayals, the sky was alight with stars. Far greater than tonight. But once that mystic demon unleashed his fury upon us, everything changed. Every star above suffocated by a blanket of gray. Of course, you were but a spark in your mother’s eye at the time, but surely you’ve heard the tales.”
Not waiting for a reply, Lakos continued. “The rains, pelting relentlessly down upon us. The rolling seas, battering our homes with waves the size of the sacred tower itself. And then those cursed Masdazii matter-mystics appearing and joining in the massacre.” He looked over to Hajassin, whose gaze had shifted from his accuser to the dark, open field ahead. Taking a step towards the young soldier, Lakos scoffed. “Am I boring you, boy?”
“My lord, not at all,” replied Hajassin, returning his nervous gaze to Lakos. “I know the legend very well.”
“Ha!” burst Lakos. “A legend. Is that all it is to you? A fantasy, kept safely at arm’s length? Might I impress upon you that this is all very real. I feel it as if the past thirty years have been but a heartbeat. The passage of time does not lay its dust upon certain memories. Certain actions. And the consequences of that night plague our kind to this day. And that is exactly why we are charged with this task—why I was chosen by the fates, whoever they may be, to bring the human order to greatness. Why, the villainous Gray Mystic himself knew it was so when he was spurred to attack. And while he succeeded in leaving my cherished home in ruin, he failed to take my life. For no being can alter the course of fate, no matter how greatly he may wish to do so. And as your so-called legend tells, I have spent thirty long years acquiring both the skill and the army to see that future realized.” His eyes softened a touch as he edged closer to the young soldier. “Hajassin, my boy, see this fate realized alongside me and future generations will speak of your legend. This is our fate.”
Hajassin, his hand still resting upon his horse, glanced briefly back to the dark forest ahead.
Taking notice, Lakos grasped the hilt of his longsword, but kept it securely in its sheath. “Listen, boy,” he said sternly. “This discussion is finished. You are a soldier in my army and you will obey my instruction. You will remain with us until we have launched our attack. And then, if you still live, you may return home to your family.”
Hajassin shook his head just as a loud crack of thunder burst out from above. The sudden sound caused his fleet horse to jolt a half-stride forward which, in turn, pulled Hajassin slightly off balance. The jarring sequence also served to rob Hajassin of his inhibitions. Like a tightly coiled spring suddenly released, a torrent of thoughts and fears and frustrations came streaming forth. “I’m sorry—but I can’t. This is wrong. I can’t be a part of decimating an entire mystic order. And why the Ohlinn? The legend says that it was only the Masdazii, the matter-mystics, who supported Noryssin’s siege on Merrin Ells. In fact, I always thought that the Ohlinn spirit-mystics actually came to the aid of Merrin Ells during the attack.” His tirade complete and the dread of consequence now upon him, Hajassin felt his knees grow weak.
“Aid?” Lakos laughed, the rage in his eyes betraying his composure. “Self-preservation, perhaps, but aid—I think not. The Ohlinn happened to reside in the very forest that borders Merrin Ells. When Noryssin and his oafish Masdazii minions were burning, drowning and battering my people, they merely feared that the attack would spill over into the Valla Forest. They confronted the Masdazii not to defend humans, but to ensure that the battle stayed confined to a human village.”
“But is that just cause to decimate their kind?” asked Hajassin, unable to restrain himself.
“The Ohlinn must pay for their selfishness. The Masdazii for their deeds,” Lakos replied.
Hajassin felt his fate grow increasingly dim with every adversarial word, yet he couldn’t stop. “And the Lii-jit? They were not involved whatsoever in Noryssin’s Three Betrayals. And yet if you strive to rid the world of all mystic orders, then they, too, must be eliminated.”
“There is blood on the hands of the life-mystics as well, my boy. Failure to act justly—failure to act at all—is as great a violation of morality as the crime itself. They are all guilty, and the time has come for all mystics to pay the ultimate price. And if you, Hajassin, will not be a part of their justice, then I’m afraid that your battle must end tonight.” Lakos stepped towards Hajassin, who darted back accordingly.
“And where precisely do you plan to go?” asked Lakos calmly. “Your options are few. The only human village within range is Merrin Ells, and I assure you, they would not be welcoming of a defecting soldier.”
Hajassin glanced over toward the forest, and then quickly back to Lakos.
A wide smile stretched across Lakos’s face. “I see. You expect to ride through to the Valla Forest and into the waiting embrace of the Ohlinn. Ha!” He laughed heartily. “Those despised spirit-mystics have shown clearly their ambivalence toward human peril. I can only imagine how they would receive a human soldier diverged from the very army set out to destroy them.”
