Olga McArrow
Cold obsidian
To Alan Jackson,
my friend and mentor
who made this translation
possible.
Thank you!
Cold obsidian
Book 1 of Obsidian Trilogy
All poems in the book translated by Alan Jackson
Omnis is a world of unstable magic where all creatures are born with a natural ability to stabilize and use it. All creatures, besides humans. They were the only species that inherited the flaw of their creators the immortal worldholders responsible for the very existence of Omnis.
To make things right, the worldholders created a system of three Horas with Hora Tenebris as the magic disperser and two other Horas Solaris and Lunaris as the stabilizers existing in equilibrium with each other. Inside the stabilized areas humans are free from their natural flaw and have full access to stable magic. But in a broad area where the stabilizers zones of influence intersect the magic is wild, anomalous. That area, known as No Mans Land, divides Omnis in two.
Horas are the foundation of human civilization in Omnis. They look like precious gems encased in gold and silver. They are protected by magic that would destroy anyone who dared to touch them unless its a worldholder as well. They are impossible to steal. Even more: stealing them is useless, because they have no secret powers at all. Yet someone has stolen them nonetheless.
Who is the thief? What does he or she want? How did they overcome the protective spell? Worldholders themselves are puzzled. One thing is certain here: something big is going on.
Wise are my deeps, dark my coldness;
One I have sought, a warrior-poet
Not thou, seeker! No swordwight thou,
No wise maker of the worlds song,
But a wild passion in thy pure breast
Hefts thy young soul; my heart trembles
Foreseeing thy death, myself thy bane,
Fate inescapable. The folk I see,
Hungry for fame, heart-slaved, mind-slaved,
Their shining lust by lich-light drawn
To the candle-flame of coveted pride,
Burn gloriously in battle with me
Not thou! Not thou! No gleam-grabber thou!
Not thou! Not thou! No war-drums beat
Dances for thee! No dern magecraft,
No snake-syllables with sophistry snare
Thy unmarred soul; my timeless chill
Warms with thy touch; no woning in thee
For cold sin's taint; tears openly scape
Thy meek eyelids; thy mind soft clad,
Thy heart borne low, hands widely spread,
Scorning to bully or beat down others,
Opens to truth, to all truths source,
Each listening mind; thy light their praise.
One day thy cause shall call thee hither,
Facing my hero with failing power;
His part, his lot, thy life to shend
On that day forelaid, thy loss, thy doom.
Chapter 1. At the edge of No Mans Land
It was blazing hot in Aren-castell that midday. Every fountain and every patch of shade was occupied by the citizens trying to escape the suns wrath. Life stood still. Dusty wind ruled the empty streets, sweeping sand, called aren by the locals, in tiny tornadoes leaving neat miniature dunes behind.
Aren-castell means literally sand castle and indeed the city looked like one, its little houses and towers resembling the ones a clumsy toddler would make while playing in a sandbox. A perfect illusion. The cement locals make with their aren is on a par with the Wanderers monolith when it comes to durability.
Vlada strode along the road, her thick boots breaking the neat wavy patterns of sand and dust settled there with every step.
On a hot day every desert city looks abandoned, she thought as she entered the city gates, unattended and wide open. Quite creepy.
She met citizens soon, though, beside the very first fountain on her way. If she hadnt known what to expect shed find this sight even more creepy than the seemingly abandoned city. There were only two types of faces there. All women and girls looked exactly like Del, their female ancestor: dark hair, black eyes, pale skin, and aquiline nose. Men and boys looked exactly like Emer, her husband, who had blond hair, green eyes, and dark skin.
Every city in Kuldagan desert is like this: copies on copies on copies, the founders features repeated in their descendants faces forever, without fail. Once youve seen a few youd miss the noisy and annoying port cities of Mirumir or Adjaen where population is so diverse no face in the crowd is similar to another.
Children that looked like twins splashed in the fountain and laughed shrilly. Adults that looked like twins chilled in the shade, chatting and nibbling on fried nuts. Innumerable nut shells littered the square answering every step with a loud crunch.
Vlada was promptly noticed by the locals but immediately dismissed as uninteresting. In their eyes she was just another Wanderer paying a brief visit to the city. Someone might have approached her and asked her for news if it hadnt been day.
True life in desert towns begins at night when the cruel sun sets allowing the sand to cool down. Then, amid the black velvet of desert darkness, the awakened cities shine as bright as the stars in the sky. People of Kuldagan work, trade, and live in general mostly at night. Days there are lazy, hot, and slow, filled with the idle chatter and the sounds of children splashing in fountains.
The Wanderers ways are different. They honor the day as much as the night. It occured to Vlada how nice it was to feel like a Wanderer again. Kuldagan had always been a jewel among Vladas memories. Its aren which is not exactly sand, monotonous rows of dunes, weird cities all had a special place in her heart. She shouldve visited them more often without waiting for a reason. Then she could have just walked there at her own pace, enjoying the singing sand, the velvety nights, the lazy flow of daytime. Instead, she must prepare herself for an unpleasant conversation shed rather not have
Little houses scattered along the street like oversized toy cubes. Each sported a sign or two advertising the goods their owners were selling. Vlada wasnt interested in souvenirs, though. What she needed now were food, weapons, and an inn. The word inn (dlar in the local tongue) marked five identical houses in a row. Not much of a choice. Food store was to open with the last ray of the sun, according to the sign. As to the weapon store, Vlada found it at the end of the street. A huge, screaming sign written in a fancy cursive suggested that the owners didnt see customers often and were getting desperate. Being open in daytime despite the merciless Kuldaganian weather was a telltale sign as well.
Vlada shifted the backpack on her sore shoulders and headed to the door. The street was so silent she could hear the old clock on top of one of the dlars ticking under the dusty glass.
Thick windowless walls of the store kept most of the heat away, so it was pleasantly cool inside. Several lamps hung from the ceiling on long cords keeping the lower level of the building well lit and the upper dark. Weapons were everywhere: on every wall and a dozen of wooden stands below, in the open, inviting anyone to hold them, take a closer look, drop a hair on the blade
The shopkeeper sat in a tall armchair with his back to the door, peacefully sleeping, it seemed. Kuldagan citizens are nocturnal beings. Staying awake during the day is not their thing.
Vlada decided to let him rest for now. She put her backpack on the floor and walked along the stands. She liked weapon stores since she was a kid. Such a pleasant distraction from the grim news seemed like a good idea at the moment.
She weighed a two-handed sword in her hands. That used to be her fathers favourite weapon, so she knew how to handle it, even though she found it too heavy to her taste. The morning stars took her attention next her grandfathers weapon of choice. Vlada took a closer look at each of them imagining what he would say about their designs, which things he would praise or curse, and how he would add a loud tsk! to every sentence when his emotions took over. It was always nice to remember him.
Bows and crossbows interested her less. Halberds, the city guards weapon, decorated in a peculiar way, took her attention for a while. Clubs and spears she passed.
The last stand displayed several katanas made by a local smith. Vlada stopped there. A katana was her weapon of choice. Of course, she didnt come to this shop for them, but why not take a look?
She cast her eye down to the collection of katanas. They looked good and were made in the same style, obviously by the same master. All but the one that looked just a little bit different as if someone really wanted to imitate the masters style but couldnt yet. An apprentice, maybe
A warm smile touched Vladas lips. She took the imperfect katana from the stand and made a few moves to feel the balance.
Whoa, lady! She heard a young voice. Careful!
It was the shopkeeper, now wide awake and watching her with a keen interest.
Sorry, master, Vlada apologised and put the katana back with a respectful bow.
Its okay, he waved carelessly. Im glad I was smart enough not to come too close to you Whats your name?
Vladislava. You can call me Vlada.
Kangassk. Just Kan to you. The young man bowed courteously.
Vlada gave him a closer look. Kangassk had dark skin its tone wasnt the pitch black the local men had, though, but rather chocolaty brown, black hair, and green eyes. He was shorter than the locals, and his face resembled neither Del nor Emer.
Youre not from this city, are you? she asked.
Oh, Im from here all right, Kan growled, obviously irritated. Im just a freak, the shame of my ancestors and all.
I wouldnt call you a freak, said Vlada, frank and straightforward as usual. I think youre a very handsome young man.
Kangassk shrugged, unconvinced.
So where are you from? Who are your ancestors? he asked.
Vlada smiled as she realized that the poor guy expected to hear the names of her city and its first people.
My family is known as Wanderers in Kuldagan, she said.
Wanderers, huh? Kans eyes brightened up. So it was your family who drove the rare fire dragons into extinction?
Yes. Kind of
You have my huge thanks then! Kan beamed. Aren-castell used to be their favourite resting spot during their breeding migrations. Imagine these scaly jerks perched on every roof like some crazy giant chickens! Everyone who dared to leave the house risked being eaten, fried, or both May the master forgive me, Im giving you 50% discount on everything!
So youre not the master?
No, just an apprentice. And a poor one if you take my masters word.
Okay so, will you show me your guns? Vlada went straight to business.
Ah, guns Firearms Kan hesitated.
Yes, them. I need one.
Why?
Im going to visit the Burnt Region.
Why? I wouldnt ever go there, not for love or money! I heard He took a deep breath, obviously preparing to tell her some cool story.
Guns, Kan, repeated Vlada in a cold, slightly impatient voice.
We dont have any, Kan confessed after an awkward pause. We used to have a lot while the gold rush was still a thing, but now people dont travel through the Burnt Region anymore, so we dont make guns and havent ordered gunpowder in years. You can go to Torgor and
Too bad! said Vlada, adding the disappointed tsk! sound, just like her grandfather used to do when he was displeased. Im in a hurry, Kan. I cant afford going back to Torgor. I guess Ill go to the Burnt Region as is: with a sword. How much do you want for this katana?
Kangassk gasped. During the next minute he made several attempts to say something, yet no sound came from his mouth. He looked like some unfortunate fountain fish suffocating on the sand. Finally, he gave up.
Fifty coins, he uttered painfully and then almost exploded with emotions: Vlada, please, no! Even with a gun, its dangerous to go there!
Calm down, Kangassk. Its not my first trip there. Vlaga gave him a condescending smile and put the coins into his hand.
Would you maybe like going somewhere tonight? Kan asked hopefully. We have a theater and
No, thanks. Id rather take a nap and be on my way in the morning.
Kangassk followed the girl everywhere like a homeless puppy looking just as sad and miserable. He carried her backpack; he made awkward attempts at small talk for he still wanted to talk her out of going to a certain death. She wouldnt listen. Finally, clearly tired of Kans attention, Vlada gently took him by the elbow and walked him out the dlar door. The conversation was over.
Back in his store, Kangassk still couldnt calm down. He either paced the room like a caged lion or sat at the table drumming his fingers on the laquered wood. Either way, his own thoughts were driving him up the wall. The utter silence of the typical Kuldagan midday made everything even worse. In a final attempt to distract himself, he grabbed the book he knew was an emotion killer: a thick and heavy Encyclopedia of No Mans Land. It was far too advanced a read for someone like Kangassk, so he never tried to storm the paragraphs, he went straight to the summaries instead. Those were nice and clear as if some kind soul, definitely not the author, took pity on the students the monstrous book had been written for.
No Mans Land is a region of unstable, wild magic. Even the weakest spells become unpredictable and explosive there.
Rule one: never use magic in No Mans Land and do not carry magical objects with you while travelling there.
Gunpowders explosive power varies from one region to another. In several regions (like Dead Region and Moon Region) gunpowder does not explode at all. Presumably, some gunpowder components may have a weak, residual magical powers, which the unstable magic of No Mans Land affects.
In the North and South areas where magic is stable gunpowder explodes only when used in large quantities. That limits its use to city cannons and mines. Same stays true for the most regions of No Mans Land, with small variations. Burnt Region stands out against the rest because of how little gunpowder you need there to produce an explosion. It makes the use of small guns possible.