009 – Povi’s Run

“Good, Brother Povi. Good. You are now the latest of your brethren to master the Step. It’s no Academy education—but it’s your next, heh, step in your fight against the Varran regime. I will never be able to cast it, not like you and your Brothers can. Take pride in your accomplishment, child. Now, quickly, return to the Outpost before they miss you. Your Canyon will show you the way.”

The [River] flowed through Povi’s veins as he ran towards New Gihn.

His feet barely touched the ground. Magic didn’t just make him faster—he was as the river as it carved a path through stone, swift and torrential, flowing and inevitable. With it, Povi could find the surest paths through the canyon floor with barely any effort, turning a landscape of jagged rock and hidden pitfalls into a smooth path.

Povi had been running for nearly an hour. He was certain that he’d lost his pursuers by now. Without access to [Canyon River Step] or a Gihn mind to cast it, they would struggle to pass through the canyons.

[Canyon River Step] was an ancient Gihn art, a weaving passed down through the ages among Povi’s people. Under Brother Inneol’s direction, he and his compatriots had reclaimed it from hidden repositories of Gihn knowledge tucked into the rock, hidden from the oppressor’s sights.

He let the river ebb away from his limbs as he sat down in an outcropping hidden from prying eyes. A wave of fatigue washed over him—he was still weak, but his mastery of the spell was improving every day.

Povi was born as the son of a good Gihn woman and a Varran soldier. The man had come to the then-small outpost eighteen years ago, to try to strengthen the Republic’s hold on the region.

He despised his father and everything he had stood for. He had died a few years ago in some skirmish against rebels—good riddance. Surely, the rebels were good Gihn men like Povi and his compatriots.

Povi had joined the Outpost as the Republic sent more and more of its men and materiel to Avna, to grow the base. Soon, settlers from all around the old Gihn territories began to flock to the prospering settlement. His mother had been happy for him, proud that he was following in his father’s footsteps.

He’d never felt more disgusted, with himself and his mother both. So disgusted, that when Inneol had approached him to truly be Burned, to light the fire of his very humanity to fight for what mattered, he leapt at the chance.

Now, Povi was Burned, just like Inneol.

He and the others worked tirelessly to bring about a free Gihn. It was a secret endeavor conducted in the dark, away from the prying eyes of the Varran soldiers of Avna. Every stolen item, every beast of burden raised away from the Varran machine was a small victory that kept their fire burning.

It was their mission, the fuel that set alight their souls. They would resist the Varran Republic and its hegemony—its military might, its insidiously pervasive war of culture. Even Gihns who’d lived here for generations, whose families were as Gihn as a person could be, were now referring to the region as Avna, not Gihn.

They used Varran names, took part in Varran customs, and were Varran in every way that mattered. Soon, there would be no Gihn. Everything that they used to be would be consumed by Varrah.

It was Inneol who had helped him to understand.

The Varran regime was seductive in its oppression. It offered peace and prosperity, but at the cost of their identity and history. It offered progress and enlightenment, but at the cost of all the ancient truths of the Gihn people. The Varrans offered much, that was true, but they demanded everything in return.

They stole the names of the land first, renaming the old places of the Gihn with words that felt foreign and wrong. They stole the children next, with their own stories and myths.

They watched, smug and satisfied, as children forgot the songs and stories of their ancestors. Now they demanded tales of the Storm Twins Zazuz and Zatom, of Ayle and Aru, of the Origa and the Titanomachy. Tales of Varran supremacy.

They claimed to be a republic, but they were an imperialist force enforcing their hegemony on the Gihn people.

The irony was not lost on Povi that the very words he used to describe the plight of the Gihn were themselves tools of Varran academia, distilled from dense discourse bandied about in Varran halls of learning. But to Povi and his compatriots, the words were weapons, stolen from the enemy to be wielded against them.

Inneol had helped the sons of the canyon reclaim their honor and culture. Without his aid, there would be no New Gihn. He was an accomplished mage, a match for any Karravar of the Republic. He’d stolen the secrets of Veomancy, hidden secrets the Karravar guarded jealously for fear of losing their monopoly on the Ve’un.

It was unfortunate that he’d been discovered, and not even by a Karravar or their Aspirant either. Some strange karra that had come in with the Karravar’s entourage. The mages had been in the tent where his fellow Burned brother was being interrogated. Could he have talked? No, impossible. The man had offered up more of his essence than Povi, had Burned for the cause more deeply than any of them, barring Inneol himself.

Either way, Povi wouldn’t be able to provide Inneol and his compatriots with intelligence from Outpost Avna anymore.

New Gihn. Their dream. It was to be a city ensconced in the canyons, safe from Varran interference. New Gihn would be a haven for all true Gihns, living as their ancestors had before the Varrans came. Povi and his compatriots worked to restore a long-lost dream of their independence. To rally and unite the disparate Gihn people. To be free.

Their recent attack on the Outpost was a great victory—they had captured their Varran Captain named Iorec in order to extract information on a new Ve’un wardstone that was rumored to be headed here. That was something they sorely needed, the only thing they left to make New Gihn a reality.

But Povi had seen the wardstone come in today with his own eyes. The time had finally come—and he, Povi, would be the one to bring word back to his compatriots.

They would steal the wardstone and Inneol would use it to expand the limited Ve’un of New Gihn so that their home could expand and flourish. Povi just needed to return to the camp that would become the beating heart of their future, to New Ghin.

He’d rested enough.

Povi breathed deeply, and reached for the [Canyon] and the [River], for all of the ideas they represented to his people. He retrieved a thin stick of Hindan blackwood from his pack—priceless to the ancients— and snapped in two with some effort to pay the activation cost of the spell.

[Canyon River Ste—

“Going somewhere?”

The spell failed to find purchase in reality as Povi froze up. He looked up at the source of the voice. There was a woman hanging in the air ten feet or so above him, the sun a near-blinding halo around her golden head.

It was the mage that had pointed at him back at Outpost Avna. Just how did she find him?

He hadn’t felt anything approaching—he hadn’t heard the woman, nor had he felt anything with a Semblance coming closer. And he would have. Brother Inneol had said he had a knack for sensing other beings’ in the weft and weave of reality. A mage who could float with seemingly no effort would have had a powerful Semblance, one that would have been impossible to miss.

“That’s a weave for… speed and dexterity? Rooted in… oh, the [Canyon] and the [River] I’m guessing your people venerate, and you’re tying it to your own [Blood] and circulatory system. Very cool.” She prattled on. But Povi had to escape—

“You aren’t planning on running, are you?” The mage asked, an eyebrow raised. Her hand was shaped into a karra’s sigil, ready to cast some sort of devilish Varran spell.

Povi stopped cold as he realized all too late that if the woman had tracked him here without him noticing, then he couldn’t afford to return to New Ghin. Any possibility of leading her there was too much of a risk, even though he was certain Inneol would be able to take on any mage and come out the victor.

He had to run, go in a different direction and throw the mage off his trail. He couldn’t waste any time. He completed his spell, channeling his desperation into it in an attempt to strengthen it.

“[Canyon River Step]!”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Povi ran. The world dissolved into a blur.

He shot forward, aiming for a tightly twisting ravine. He had to lose the woman in the canyon. Povi became a creature of pure motion as the magic empowered him. He vaulted over chasms, ran up the canyon’s sheer walls to avoid slippery terrain, and ran like his life depended on it. His feet found impossible purchase for instants at a time, the blessing of the ancient Gihn allowing him to be the river.

He was a force of nature. He was untamed and free.

But when he craned his neck to check, the woman was simply there, somehow easily keeping pace while she floated. She drifted along, as calm as could be.

“You can stop running, you know. I only approached because I already figured out where your friends are,” She said, her voice somehow carrying itself right to his ears as she spoke, “Your little brands are very distinct and none of you seem to be interested in hiding them at all.”

Lies. More Varran lies! Povi put on another burst of speed, pushing his legs to their limits. His vision began to tunnel.