ARC 8-56 (LITTLE WATER)

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?! Put that down!”

The protests of the barmaid were ignored as Callan tossed aside the tables his audience were seated at, forcing them to their feet. Little Water didn’t know what to make of him pouring unfinished drinks in succession, forming a small puddle. No one spoke out against him; the patrons paying any attention cheered Callan on. They saw an unexpected show but Little Water detected something more. His actions carried purpose, even if she couldn’t understand the logic behind them. At least, not immediately.

Things became clearer when the redhead from before returned to Callan’s side. He looked far more uncertain than his steadfast leader but he didn’t shy away from the attention as their audience focused on him. Once Callan finished his work, he motioned toward the redhead.

“Come, Shiver.”

At the soft call, translucent limbs appeared from behind the redhead’s back, curling to grasp his shoulders. A full dozen of them, their slim shape and needle points reminding Little Water of icicles. A white, bulbous body followed, the milky visage only deviating by a short, red bar over its middle. Four shiny black eyes gazed out at the crowd with unexpected intelligence. Little Water had to suppress a shudder as they passed over her.

Whatever he was meant to do, the man hesitated. Something that displeased Callan. Little Water recognized the look on his face; her sisters had looked at her the same way for many years. 

“Now, Reed,” Callan said sharply, his eyes full of disdain.

His form full of reluctance, the redhead made gestures with his fingers. Like a marionette guided by strings, the wispy creature hanging off his shoulders began to move. It crawled down the length of his body until it reached the floor. The crowd collectively reared back but the creature didn’t pay them any mind as it walked in a tight circle around its master. Where its legs passed, deep grooves appeared in the floor, the spilled drink pouring into it.

When a full circle was made, Reed jumped out of the circle, his creatures climbing onto his back before disappearing from view. The barmaid had returned to continue expressing her displeasure about them ruining her floor, joined by a heavyset man with thick arms and a fearsome scowl. Neither did the poor man any good. He tried to force Callan out of the bar but his shouting cut off abruptly when a knife appeared at his throat.

The woman carrying it was a slight thing, short and skinny. That was how she went unnoticed until she was in lethal range. The display killed the humor of the patrons, a few of them voicing protests while a handful moved towards the door. Most of them were frozen along with the crowd Callan was playing to, held captive by the surprising events.

“This is Fey,” Callan announced, gesturing toward the woman holding a man at knife point. “Bastard daughter of a nothing hunter, one of the poorest souls the city has to offer. She has a common earth affinity and no schooling to make use of it. A sickly body as a child and low stamina as an adolescent meant she could never learn a proper trade or find good work. She’s survived by consorting with thugs, playing on people’s natural desire to overlook her. The city considered her no better than a wild animal, chasing her off when she got too close to her betters and preferring to put her out of their minds otherwise. No one would ever think she would amount to anything. But tonight, she will become more than any of you.”

Little Water couldn’t make out much of the tiny woman’s expression, as ratty purple hair, likely a distortion of the zone, fell into her face, but her body language spoke of assignment. She lowered her knife and stepped closer to Callan. The man she’d been threatening looked ready to tackle her but the barmaid caught his arm. Her fear sobered him and he backed away, turning to the patrons and yelling for them to come to his aide. They ignore him; no one is willing to risk their lives for a spilled drink and broken furniture.

With a roar of frustration, the man stomps toward the door with the barmaid at his heels, yelling over his shoulder that he planned to return with guards. He was quickly forgotten once he disappeared, the room focused on Callan as he raised his voice.

“How do the weak become powerful? The answer is simpler than you think. Sacrifice. The blessed can sacrifice simple things, like their time and effort. For the unfortunate, if you want power, you have to be willing to give more. Your blood. Your service. Maybe…your life.”

“Oi!” The dissenting hunter finally found his voice again after Callan’s dramatics. “What are you trying to do to us?”

“Nothing. You still haven’t proved you are worthy of considering. Be quiet and listen. Tonight belongs to Fey.” Callan’s dark eyes remained stern as he turned to the woman. “It’s time. You know what to do.”

Fey eagerly stepped into the circle, kneeling in its center. Little Water could hear every scrape of the knife as the woman carved into the floor. When she stood, the estrazi’s sharp eyes caught a rough circle smaller than her hand where Fey had knelt. Inside were a variable and a coefficient.

Everything snapped into place for Little Water. This Callan was a summoner and he was attempting to recruit more to his cause.

Every female was taught the history of the estrazi. The majesties raised them to be their agents, a subtle touch to maintain the fragile order of the world. The first Great Mothers had hunted down all manner of threats but there were none quite as insidious as the threat of summoning. 

What made it so horrifying was that it allowed weak creatures to conjure enormously powerful threats. The art wasn’t dangerous in itself; the rules imposed on the world by the Guardian all elementals spoke of made it so no visitor could harm the world unless provided an opportunity by its summoner. Unfortunately, the number of intelligent creatures that would endanger the world in pursuit of selfish ambitions was staggeringly high. Just as terrible was the sheer breadth of threats that could come from it. According to her lessons, an unpredictable enemy was far worse than a strong one.

In the old times, Little Water might have tried proving herself to the brood by hunting summoners down and destroying their knowledge. But the war had decimated the estrazi’s numbers. There weren't enough of them to dedicate to anything beyond their primary duty, the guardianship of the Defiler. To her, summoners were legends, not dissimilar to the ridiculous monsters described to children to keep them obedient.

Lou was a summoner but the fact tended to slip Little Water’s mind. As a Calamity, she was a much larger threat than anything she might be interested in bringing over from another realm. Callan was much closer to the stories she was taught, a weak being turning themselves into a door for catastrophe to walk through. Watching him as he stood beside the woman attempting the summoning, fascination warred with the nagging voices echoing her lessons. She had to fight the urge to rush the pair and put an end to the show. It might be worth reporting if she was ever confident in returning home without being killed, but she was more concerned about how anything happening tonight might interest Lou.

The room watched with rapt attention as the woman pushed her mana into the circle, making the drink filling the grooves glow with the bright blue of the water affinity.

“Aubrrtor, I invite you,” she intoned breathlessly. Little Water noted that she had used a name. From what she knew, that was rare and proved that whoever this group was, they had resources and had prepared well.

The room collectively gasped as they felt the weight of something greater than anything they could imagine settle on them. The air over the circle trembled before a shimmering line appeared in the center. A red hand exited the seam in space, the first realm-crossing Little Water had ever witnessed. Six more hands followed, the seven limbs grasping the intangible edges of the gate and pushing against them, hauling the creature into the world.

Little Water was appalled to see even more arms emerge, ranging in shades from scarlet to a fleshy pink, attached to a bulging torso. Sounds of retching, cursing, and hushed prayer filled the room as the thing settled onto a dozen palms, its multitude of fingers flexing. Despite its lack of head and eyes, Little Water was sure that the mass of meat was focused on Fey, its prospective contractor.

A thought that was confirmed when another being, a small yellow bird, with a curved beak and six wings, flew through the rift between realms and landed on one of the elemental’s many outstretched palms.

“Humans,” the avian-like being scoffed in a voice that would have been sweet were it not filled with such obvious derision. “Should have guessed. Well? What do you want?”