Olga McArrow
Hot Obsidian
Everyone knows Lifekeepers, the warriors of mercy, those who bring light and justice to the darkest corners of the world where even stable magic does not reach. But few know the Order of the Hot Obsidian, a small but ancient group of cultists running the Lifekeepers as a mere facade for their own agenda. Well, this book is about them. Them and the ten boys they send on a mission, knowing that only one of them will survive in the end.
We will learn about Kangassk’s father and mysterious the Hora thief along the way as well.
“Hot Obsidian” is the second book of Obsidian Trilogy but, since it explains the same events from the other side of the conflict, you can read it before “Cold Obsidian” just fine.
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Read the book with the author’s illustrations here: https://mildegard.ru
All poems in the book were translated from Russian by Alan Jackson. Visit his site as well: https://www.cosxhyp.xyz
To the outer world, domain of cruelty,
No warmth I yield, no due from my hot core;
An outcast spirit my true security -
Ill upon ill my gift, as herebefore.
When I was born, my fire, my heart-light glowed
Red through my dark volcanic glassy skin:
My frame, my prison, body, and abode -
My truth; hot fire in hard obsidian.
In the outer worlds, domains of cruelty,
No love I find from folk in either realm.
Have you the courage to take hold of me?
And in that throng of foes be overwhelmed?
No miser I, no niggard hoarding gold;
To you, whose brave heart or whose mind insane
This challenge takes, I will repay ten-fold:
A world I’ll give to you, in fief and main!
A human life a ripple is in the stream;
A thrush’s song, a snowflake in the spring.
My bearers fly, forgotten as a dream
At dawn; and I forgotten lingering.
So has it been, but now a promise sure,
Wrought by a sage, of immortality
For you, my bearer-youth, my end, my cure,
My heart-beat’s beat, my own eternity.
So take me, boy, your panoply of war,
Take me, your deathlessness, your hope, your crown,
Take me, and rule the world you’re destined for,
Take me, your power, your Hot Obsidian.
Chapter 1. Magrove temple
When the truth about the origins of a world gets forgotten, religions take its place. Small grains of the truth are still hidden in them but their adepts lack the tools to pick the precious grains out. They guess, they argue, they make statements without proof. Contradictions grow, sparkling endless wars between people, dividing them, consuming them, destroying them. That is how the Primal World fell, my children. Whether Omnis will follow its steps, is up to you to decide.
Hansai Donal. Forbidden Book of Omnis
Blessed is the one who has seen Magrove forest in spring when there is more purple than green. This is how diadems – local trees with long, drooping branches – bloom. In spring, their petals, purple on one side, white on the other, fall everywhere like snow and confetti, giving the forest an otherworldly look. It’s hard to get lost in this forest of thin trees and wide paths, unless you mean getting lost in thought.
Magrove forest is one of the sacred places for Lifekeepers, warriors of mercy. They wear simple clothes and lead simple lives. The only sure way to spot such a warrior is to look at his or her sword: it’s always, always a katana without a handguard. By removing handguards from their swords, the Lifekeepers open a way to the blunt side of the blade. That allows them to use a wide set of fighting techniques which would be impossible otherwise; the techniques they often use to immobilize their enemies without killing them. The techniques they use to save lives.
That day, ten great masters went through Magrove forest with their apprentices, all heading to the Temple of Life where they had agreed to meet. Godless, this temple had always been open for everyone, it celebrated life and made no demands.
It was a quiet morning filled with sunlight. Two dozen young Lifekeepers were practising sword katas in the temple yard while small groups of older warriors scattered around the temple garden spoke of life, death, and philosophy in hushed voices. No one wanted to disturb the serene silence of the magical spring. Everything – sparring sessions, loud debates, merry songs – could wait.
Blooming diadems – their rich aroma, their otherworldly colours, their petals softening footsteps on every path – reigned over everything here. The ancient city of Firaska was humming like a busy beehive not far away but its restlessness had no power in this place. Good. Young Lifekeepers needed peace and quiet to learn well. And old Lifekeepers needed the same to heal their wounds and keep their demons away.
The sun was slowly rising above the horizon, a tiny spark reflected thousands and thousands of times in droplets of morning dew. The dying night’s breath was still heavy on everything, big or small, and the air was cool and damp. Two men on the temple balcony wrapped their woollen cloaks around them to stay warm.
One of them was old, his hair a snowy crown, his eyes two frozen azure pools, his stance a display of power. His name was Sainarnemershghan Saidonatgarlyn (though the world knew him better by his pen name – Hansai Donal) and he well knew the history behind it. The history that had its roots in the fall of Erhaben.
The second man was younger, his hair barely grey at the temples, and looked so much like Sainar that there could be no mistake: those two were relatives. The younger man’s name was Kangassk Abadar.
“You’ve always been the first, son,” said Sainar with a proud smile. “I bet your apprentice has the same spirit. I haven’t seen him for so long! What can you tell me about your boy?”
“My Juel is a pureblood Faizul and that says it all,” said Abadar proudly. “He is a fearless warrior and a strong leader. He would already be leading armies to war back in his homeland.”
“Well, he’ll have to lead a group of nine boys for starters,” chuckled Sainar. “We’ll see how easy he finds it!”
“Where are you sending them, father?” asked Kangassk Abadar. There was scepticism in his voice and a hint of challenge. “And what is the point? Only three of them are adults. Okay, Majesta’s boy is sixteen and Orlaya’s is fifteen, but the rest are just little children.”
“It’s not your place to argue with me, son,” said Sainar, his voice as gentle as a blunt side of the blade touching a victim’s neck. “I will explain everything when the time comes. But first, I want to take a look at the boys.”
***
The apprentices of Sainar’s ten children had never met before. Now they stood in the temple’s library, all ten of them, and studied each other in silence. The sun was already high; its slanted rays fell into the library hall through the tall, narrow windows and gilded every dancing speckle of dust along the way. No other student shared the room with the ten young guests. They were alone in the spacious hall.
Juel Hak. His reddish skin and slant-eyed face leave no doubts about where he is from. Faizuls are nomadic tribes from the fringes of the charted Omnis. Hunt, war, and torture are what their kind is particularly good at. Civilized Omnis and its magic frighten them, so they usually stay away from the charted lands and spend their lives quarrelling between each other. Kangassk Abadar bought Juel from one of the tribes when the boy was only three. Now his apprentice is twenty-two and has no memories of his family but his character is still Faizulish to the bone. Luckily for him, this is exactly what makes Abadar proud.
Orion Jovib. A distant descendant of Ziga, the legendary pirate all port taverns from Adjaen to Mirumir still sing about. Jovibs remember their history as well as Saidonatgarlyns do, mostly because of their naming tradition: they always name the first son Orion, the second son Ziga and the first daughter Meralli. And then tell the kids why when they grow up and start asking questions.
Orion is eighteen. He has a relaxed attitude of someone who rarely dwells upon the past. Jovibs are like that: always open to changes. Pirates today, bards tomorrow, servants of justice the day after, then hermits and scholars, and then suddenly pirates again…
It’s hard to argue with Orion; it just always seems that he is one step ahead of you. Clever and cunning, he could have been a leader if he wanted. And not a despotic type like Juel but a charismatic one, making people wish to follow him… on any questionable path he chooses.
His teacher – Kangassk Lar – is not much older than Orion himself. Orion became Lar’s apprentice at the age of eight; Lar was twenty-one at the time. Now, when Orion is as tall as his master, they look like brothers.
Lainuver Boier. He is only eighteen, just like Orion, but is already a professional thief. Just like all the Kangassks’ apprentices, Lainuver is a powerful ambasiath – a magically talented person with untapped potential. The way he uses the properties of pure ambassa is quite unusual, though. He is good at being unnoticed when he wants to and at deceiving people.
His master – Kangassk Aranta – is a thief’s daughter. She has never really left her mother’s trade, so, naturally, she never regretted her apprentice’s choice.
Still, thief or no, Lainuver is not that bad as a person. He is well worth the Lifekeeper’s title.
Bala Maraskaran. A former slave boy from Ebony Islands, now an apprentice of a clumsy, accident-prone man known as Kangassk Majesta. This particular Kangassk brought a good deal of disappointment to his father and now his apprentice is following the same steps.
Bala is sixteen. His skin is pitch-black; his hair is bushy; his smile is pearly-white and very, very powerful. This is the kind of smile that makes people forgive him a shattered ancient vase or an expensive sword broken on the same day it was bought. Bala has a heart of gold. At sixteen, he is still a big, kind child.
Irin Fatum. He is fifteen, just a year younger than Bala. This boy rarely unsheathes his sword. Just like his master – Kangassk Orlaya, a short and fragile woman – Irin prefers bow and arrows. Longbows are out of his league yet but even a shortbow is a serious threat in his little hands. Especially if the arrows are poisoned. A pebble is not a toy in Irin’s hand either. Anything that can be shot or thrown, he will use as a weapon.
He rarely speaks. His habit of being silent for hours while waiting for a perfect moment to attack became a foundation of his personality. Size and age differences aside, Irin Fatum, the most questionable of the young Lifekeepers in the library, resembles a smaller version of Juel.
Those are the oldest of the ten. They fell into their roles as soon as they met.
In the newly-established hierarchy, Juel Hak became the leader, Orion Jovib – the leader’s rival, Irin Fatum – the leader’s ally. Lainuver Boier, impressed with Orion’s wit and cunning, allied with the pirate’s descendant. And Bala Maraskaran, the kindness itself, just kept trying to make everyone be nice to each other.
The big boys paid little attention to the rest of the ten for those were mere children.
Pai Prior. A boy of thirteen. An ambasiath, just like everyone there but an ambasiath who has always dreamed of being a mage like his parents. His master – Kangassk Vesperi – did her best to keep the boy away from magic but he still kept learning new spells somehow. Sometimes it seemed to her that he was inventing them from scratch. Maybe that was true.
What else is absolutely true is that no power in the world can stop the boy from practising magic. Restraining bracelets could, but this is the kind of spell only worldholders are allowed to cast, to poor Vesperi’s regret.
Sainar and Vesperi thought long and hard what to do with the boy and finally decided to let him be. His self-made spells are too simple and weak to hurt his ambasiath potential anyway. All Vesperi has to do is to keep Pai away from serious magic.
There is always a lively, flickering fire in that boy’s eyes, the kind of fire a poet or an artist has when inspiration lends them wings.
Milian Raven. Or, rather, Corvus. He is twelve. They say the language his surname belongs to had been long dead even before the worldholders left the Primal World to create Omnis. Milian likes ancient languages but still prefers the modern form of his surname, because, in his opinion, it sounds better.
Young Raven is a bookish kid, so unlike his master Kangassk Marini, a talkative woman with a bubbly, cheerful character. She would prefer a noisy tavern to a cosy library any day. Her apprentice – quite the opposite. Milian prefers books to people and fantasies to the real world.
He doesn’t like the other nine boys being there. Oh how much he would give for them to go away, so he could look through all the library books in peace! But no, they are not going away. They keep talking, they keep arguing, they keep fighting over their places in the team.
Milian instantly disliked both the newly established leader and his rival. And Lainuver too.
Kosta Ollardian. He is twelve, like Milian – only Milian is tall for his age but Kosta is short. For some reason, he looks especially sad with a sword.
There’s a big purple bruise on his right cheek; Kangassk Ollardian is ruthless with his son… Yes, son. The boy inherited his grandfather’s magical chalice filled with transformed magic – ambassa – to the brim, so Kangassk Ollardian talked Sainar into accepting Kosta as one of the chosen ten. No one is happy about that, though.
Kind and obedient, this boy has no warrior’s spirit in him at all. There is light in his heart but this is the light of a fire burning very low.
Oasis. A feral child of the urban jungle of Lumenik. He has never had a surname, never had a proper first name as well, and never knew his exact birth date. Is he twelve or thirteen? Or maybe fourteen? No one knows. The boy is short and stout and wide in the shoulders. His master – Kangassk Adgar – is proud of him despite Oasis doing very poorly in all things science: he started learning too late.
Oasis’s cheerfulness is akin to Bala’s but it's not accompanied by clumsiness. Clumsy children just don’t survive in an urban jungle.
Jarmin Fredery-Alan. The youngest of the ten. He is only six. His little sword looks like a cute toy even though it’s rather sharp. His master – Kangassk Eugenia – hasn’t had time to teach her little apprentice much yet but she loves him with all her heart like her own son.
Things took a bad turn after Juel made a cruel joke about Jarmin. The little boy burst into tears.
“Hey you, boar! Leave the kid alone!” Orion stepped up. That was brave and rather reckless of him, considering the difference in size and weight between him and the Faizul.
Jarmin ran up to his protector, hid his face in Orion’s sleeve and started bawling even louder. Jovib gently ruffled the child’s yellow hair.
“No true Lifekeeper would hurt a child,” Lainuver joined Orion with a menacing sneer.
“Friends, friends, please, let’s not fight in the holy place!” Bala jumped from his seat and stood between the rivals with his hands widely spread in a pleading gesture.
Juel and Orion exchanged looks. Faizul was fuming; the pirate’s descendant was smiling; but neither of them was going to forget the incident.
Meanwhile, the unseen hierarchy was rearranging itself behind their backs, some sympathies shifting to Juel’s side, the others – to Orion’s.
The rivals did drop the matter, just like Bala was pleading them to do, but only for now.
“Wipe your tears, young warrior. It’s all right now,” said Orion to the crying boy. “Just wait until you grow up! Then you can beat all the shit out of this stupid boar. I bet he won’t be so brave when you’re his size. Do you like stories? Maps? How about we find the biggest world map in this library and make some plans for our future journey?”
That did cheer little Jarmin up. Several minutes later, he was sitting on the lap of his new friend and looking at the biggest map he had ever seen. It even included some territories that most other maps just ignored: Faizul lands, for example.
The other boys, Juel and Irin excluded, crowded around the map as well, pointing at various cities they had visited with their masters and sharing their stories. Bala’s and Oasis’s stories were the best.
Bala had even visited Kuldagan once. When he was telling about it, everyone listened to him with bated breath; in Bala’s stories, Kuldagan Desert seemed a wonderful alien world full of wonders.
Oasis’ adventures in Lumenik Hive made everyone laugh. Like any good storyteller, he knew which words to choose when he saw the audience. He could have easily told the boys very truthful horror stories from his past life if they were in the mood for that kind of entertainment. But for now, he just wanted to cheer everyone up. And he did. Even Kosta and Milian snapped out of their gloomy mood and looked genuinely interested.
When Oasis stepped out of the spotlight, it was their turn to shine. Two wide intersecting circles going through all the map prompted a question about Horas, the magical stabilizers, and there Kosta and Milian, the bookish boys, were the experts.
Excited, Milian even took a dried up diadem fruit out of his pocket and slashed it with his pen-knife to illustrate his story better.
“Imagine that this dry tail here is Hora Solaris and this bump on the side is Hora Lunaris and there is a stabilizing field around each of them. If you leave just one Hora in the world, its influence will cover all the planet…” Milian was explaining, his eyes full of lively interest.
“It’ll detonate,” said Kosta sceptically and rested his head on his hand, thoughtful. “I read that someone had tried that in the past. Things went boom.”
“I know! I was getting to it!” Milian waved the argument aside. “So – hypothetically! – if we leave just one Hora, its influence will cover the whole planet. But if we add another, the tension between them will create a nice belt of a border dividing the planet into two magically stable halves. Intersecting circles don't show that!” That said, he drew a perfectly straight border between the tail and the bump. A crunch followed; two sugary halves of the fruit fell to the floor.
“The canonic way to draw the border has its practical use,” Pai Prior, the only practising mage among the ten, joined the discussion. “The strength of a Hora grows weaker as we move away from it. On the opposite side of the planet, it must be so weak that it fails to stabilize magic at all. And there, between the Horas, their influences conflict with each other, creating anomalies. It’s always good to know where your spells may randomly start exploding.”
“Bravo, colleagues!” Orion snapped his fingers. “You are both right! Let us proceed!”
Scientific lingo mixed with ordinary clowning around did the trick, making everyone involved in the discussion laugh.
Juel and Irin didn’t join in the fun. They sat on the opposite side of the long table and talked about Faizul battle tactics. Orion wanted to comment on the topic by describing said tactics as “Smash them with da ax!!!” but restrained himself. It was neither the time nor the place to add fuel to the fire.
The library had a tall, arched ceiling made from a single dark crystal, black on the inside and transparent on the outside. A balcony going around the crystalline structure offered a great view on the hall below that looked like a deep, sunlit well to the observers. Thanks to the wonderful acoustics of the place, the observers could perfectly hear everything that happened in the library.
Not a single word escaped the ears of ten Kangassks and their father standing on the balcony. They heard Juel’s cruel joke and Jarmin’s crying; Milian’s emotional lecture and Pai’s arguments; all the anger, all the laughter, everything.
Everyone had learned something while watching their own and their siblings’ apprentices that day. Sainar learned even more for he was keeping track of his children’s reactions as well. He saw Abadar frown at Juel’s actions and Lar grin at Orion’s. He saw Eugenia clench her fists when her Jarmin started to cry.
“Father!” Eugenia turned to him when she could no longer keep silent. “You can’t be serious about sending him on a mission! Jarmin is only six! I beg you: wait for a few years or at least don’t send him with the others!”
“My daughter,” said Sainar in a soft but relentless tone and stroked her hair like a little child’s, “everyone is equal in the eyes of destiny. Often, it’s the smallest and the weakest one that gets chosen. Also, don’t you see: he has his own protectors now!”
That was when Jarmin was crying while hiding his face in Orion’s sleeve.
