A Promise Sewn, A Promise Hewn

Bleen was a city plagued by Leviathan attacks. It fell to the Star-Shapers to tip the scales back in the favor of humanity, as they could command plasma and light from their stars, and could with a glance beguile the creatures that too called Malstray home. The city’s walls were vulnerable, stuck in a constant cycle of rebuilding its fallen sections, leaving the people within vulnerable as well.

    Star-Shaper Elder Hewview led three of his brightest pupils toward a nearby river called Metal Tear. Mot, Viprite, and Karthage were their names, and they were their Elder’s dearest friends and confidants. All of them carried long, burned spears, and were dressed in grass skirts and tunics made from plants and bark. He had also led them to Bleen fifteen ages prior, after their kind was exiled from the Kingdom Vestean to the south. His hair had fallen out after this, leaving the curved man bald, and looking more his age.

    He had to use the dull end of his spear as a cane, as he and his Shapers made their way to River Metal Tear, which flowed down from the Metal Mountains into Bleen’s eastern border. Never one to complain or make plain the discomfort he was in, Hewview had let old age take him where it pleased, without so much as a hint that his body was aching and stiffening with each passing day. Rounding up so many Leviathans had been one of his greatest challenges as of late, even if he wasn’t the one doing the beguiling. A robust procession of the great beasts followed behind him and his Shapers, temporarily subdued, awaiting orders.

    The Sun was high, the wind a calm, cool friend amongst the dry heat of a cloudless March day. Birds chittered zealously from the scattered trees around the Shapers, but hardly could be heard over the deep vocalizations of Chasmwalkers and Thundernecks, two of Gorr’s most majestic and gigantic herbivores. But Hewview and his Shapers weren’t here for herbivores, not even ones capable of such terrible destruction as the Cloud-Grazers around them.

    It was to be a quick hike to the second bend in River Metal Tear, and to the Shapers’ final destination: a spot where mega carnivores called Sickle Colossus loved to drink from the icy river. Bleen was the capital of the Kingdom Gorr, and its landscape was a vast sea of rolling hills and lush grasslands. An eclectic variety of Leviathans roamed nearly every inch of it, herbivores and carnivores alike, and made travel a harrowing endeavor if ill-prepared. If one was to venture north, hills would turn to mountains, mountains to icy peaks, and grasslands to harsh tundras.

    Elder Hewview had ventured north only once before, and had sworn to himself ever since that the cold had never really left his bones. Few knew this about him, but he was quite adept at keeping grudges, even if they were against Mother Nature herself.

    Plunking the bottom of his spear ahead of him into springy, juvenile grass, he strolled confidently and hastily ahead of his Shapers. The trio behind him were actually having trouble keeping up with the old man. And while they were no longer juveniles, Hewview was still a decade their senior, and had seen far more battle than the three of them. In fact, Hewview had seen nearly as much battle as Gorr’s very own king and queen—to which now he served with diligent passion. Their task had begun hours ago, and they were beginning to feel the weight of what they’d been asked to accomplish.

    But Hewview would not abandon their mission for sleep nor rest.

    They quickly strode around a rather steep hill, Metal Tear flowing with similar haste to their right.

    Hewview turned back to the beguiled Leviathans. “Stay here,” he said, and the beasts obliged.

    Then, as the Shapers left the hill behind, they were treated to a sight few wished to see as close as they were to it, especially without a wall to stand atop, or a plethora of well-armed soldiers. But Shapers often counted themselves as many soldiers; their gifts from their stars had made them some of the most formidable forces in existence—and they knew it.

    “Here they are, just as predicted,” Hewview said, his voice a measured whisper, so as to not startle the group of six Sickle Colossus ahead. He let his Shapers crowd around him, and the four of them crouched. His knees popped, and he had to stifle a grunt from leaping from his throat. “We want them all alive, so we’ll have to be quicker than they are. These are no lumbering Spearmouths or Shingle-Worms, these are some of the swiftest and most agile Gnashers in all of Malstray.” He turned back to the Shapers behind him. “You will all have to take two this time. Think you can handle it?”

    Karthage was the eldest next to Hewview. His left arm had been so badly burned that it was rendered useless, and hung limp at his side, tucked under a shall he normally kept draped over himself. His quiff of red hair often made Hewview jealous, though again, this information would never escape the Elder Shaper’s iron fortitude.

    “Consider it already done,” whispered Karthage, tipping the end of his spear toward two of the largest Leviathans in the bunch. His voice was already so smooth and reserved that when whispered it was barely audible. “Those two are mine.”

    Hewview tipped his spear toward a smaller Sickle Colossus out of the six, one with remarkable coloring in its dense feathers: a brilliant green and white. “That one there is a buck in its prime, see the scars and featherless patches in the shape of claw marks. That’s a hunter of hunters. Mot, you will beguile that one and its partner. Are you still keen on being the first to engage?”

    “Aye,” answered Mot. She was a smart, battle-hungry woman, and often was on the frontlines of whatever was happening—be it a debate or a battlefield. Her head was wrapped in a dense, green cloth, leaving only her eyes exposed, and she never went anywhere without the Tri-Pike horn she kept strapped to the back of her left hand. “I’ve plenty of ages yet to give, if it pleases you and the kingdom.”

    Elder Hewview had relied on her dozens of times in the past to initiate conflicts and draw enemy eyes, and would continue doing so until he had a reason not to—though, he was more inclined to believe Shapers would be allowed to thrive in Vestean again before that happened.

    He handed his spear back to the third Shaper, the youngest in his party, Viprite. “You cannot miss, Vip,” Hewview said, staring the Shaper in her brilliant, yellow eyes. “We’ve only thirty more minutes until the others shake off their beguilement. So, we’ve no time to dally.”

    “Never do,” Viprite replied with a toothless grin. She’d been stricken with a nasty plague back when she still lived in Vestean, which rotted out all of her teeth, and nearly killed her too. As resilient as a Shaper should be, however, she’d lived, and now served Hewview and Gorr as an expert marksmen.

    “Six of them and four of us,” said Hewview.

    “Hardly seems fair for them, huh?” said Karthage.

    Hewview smiled, nodded, then held up his hand, the three middle fingers bent in at their knuckles, with his pinky and thumb embracing in the middle. His Shapers reciprocated this gesture. Then, Mot zipped toward the Leviathans, carrying her spear above her shoulder. Beguiling a Leviathan meant sacrificing ages off the end of your life, therefore it was only used when absolutely necessary, and after careful consideration by the Shaper and their subordinates. Bleen desperately needed more protection; nearly all of the Leviathans they had at their disposal had been disposed of. It was time for the stores to be restocked, and there had to be someone to restock them. These six were to be the final batch in an already hefty number of Leviathans beguiled since Hewview and his Shapers set out from Bleen. Since the dawn of time had Shapers given their lives to causes such as this, and they’d earned a fitting reputation as a result of it. Most places in Malstray considered Shapers to be heroes, life-savers, healers, warriors, invaluable allies and resources.

    Mot cruised across the open terrain between her and her company and the Leviathans. The animals were finishing their drinks, and had started to move away from the river. Mot found a small hill, no more than four feet high, and slinked up to it on her belly. She positioned herself there, a good twenty feet away from her comrades, and forty from the Sickle Colossuses.

    She readied the grip on her spear, then shot upright. “For Bleen, be bled!” she cried, taking aim at the broad side of one of the Leviathans, and letting her spear fly.

    The group of Sickle Colossus poised themselves in the Shaper’s direction in one quick twitch of muscle and feather. Mot’s spear tore through the air in a swift arc, plunging down at the shoulder of the leftmost Leviathan. All five darted toward Mot, honking and chirping with rage—their peaceful morning ruined. Her spear found itself buried in the muddy grass behind the Leviathans, missing its mark by a breath. But Mot hadn’t meant for it to hit anything.

    “I see you!” Mot roared, waving on the group of swift animals. “And I’m here for you to taste, so come on!”

    Ten feet of the distance between Mot and the Leviathans gone in an instant, Hewview sprang to his feet, Viprite and Karthage popping up right after. With a shocking amount of grace and speed, Hewview hurled himself toward the vicious Leviathans.

    “Collot,” Hewview beckoned to his star. “The end of our goal lies before us! Aid me in seeing it well met!”

    The Elder Shaper’s head shuddered and grew warm in an instant, as the ethereal voice of his star populated it. “Heaping helpings, Hewview! Ha-ha! I hear renown in our future!”

    Hewview’s already bright blue eyes grew even brighter, and his hands swelled with blue light, disappearing beneath their own blinding, hot, oval hazes. Each of his Shapers too became aglow with their own light and heat, as they charged to meet the Leviathans. Mot was standing her ground, palms stuck out in front of her, swollen with white light. Hewview and the other two Shapers came at the Leviathans from the side. Karthage lobbed his spear at the stretch of land between Mot and the Leviathans. The heavy weapon plunged into the supple ground, halting the group of angry animals in their tracks. Hewview thrust one of his hands out toward Karthage’s spear, letting a stream of blue plasma fly. Blasting by the spear, Hewview’s plasma lit up the wild eyes of the Sickle Colossuses, and made them dart back toward the other spear behind them.

    Karthage and Viprite broke away from their Elder, the former sprinting around to the rear of the Leviathans, while the latter positioned herself at the pack’s right side. Karthage blasted a stream of plasma through the first spear, keeping the Leviathans from escaping back the way they had come.

    The animals’ bellows, hisses, swipes of sharp claw, and gnashes of long teeth would’ve been a fast deterrence to many others in audience to them, but not to Hewview and his Shapers. The distraught Leviathans might as well have been singing them their favorite tavern songs. Turning away from Karthage’s plasma, the animals tried to zip out to the right of Hewview’s attack from the front.

    “Hah!” Viprite growled, letting one of her spears go. It soared over the Leviathans, and landed on their left side, equidistant from the other two spears in front and behind them. The Leviathans again were halted by the sudden appearance of yet another of the long spears. “Yes!” The Leviathans came directly for her next, as it was the only side still free of obstacle. She twirled the other spear in her hands, then chucked it at the ground in front of her.

    As the forth spear was placed, and the Leviathans again stopped to rethink their plan, Mot cast two streams of plasma down over the left and right sides of the square her and her allies had created. The Sickle Colossuses were trapped.

    Without a second wasted, Karthage took himself as near to the plasma streams as he could, attempting to make eye contact with the two largest Leviathans. As the animals darted from corner to corner in the small box they’d been confined in, Karthage was able to catch one of their eyes. The Leviathan became still and quiet, its jaws shut, and its claws lowered. Hewview watched with a wide smile, his plasma holding steady in front of the pack. A second later, Karthage bobbed toward the second largest animal, and was able to catch its gaze as well. Karthage then hurried to Viprite’s side, tapping her on the shoulder. In an instant, the two Shapers swapped roles, Karthage blocking the rear exit with a plasma stream, while Viprite angled herself to catch the eyes of one of the great creatures.

    Within seconds, Viprite was able to subdue a third and then fourth out of the six. Afterwards, she hurried to the small hill Mot was on, tapping her on the shoulder. Mot released her streams of plasma so Viprite could replace them, then she hurried down to the corralled Leviathans. She chased the final two around for a few seconds before she caught the first with a serious gaze, and the last one came soon after—the prime specimen Elder Hewview had pointed out. And it did seem the most resistant to be beguiled, as its own serious gaze took Mot nearly twenty seconds to break through.

    “It is finished!” Mot shouted.

    All at once, the four streams of plasma dissipated, and each of their casters dimmed back to normal.

    Hewview strolled toward the beguiled Leviathans, his gait a little wonky without the support of his spear. He inspected them, his wide smile threatening to stretch his features beyond repair. “How are you all feeling?” he asked, turning back to his Shapers, as they gathered behind him.

    “Dull,” said Mot.

    “Shrunken,” said Viprite.

    “Hollow,” Karthage answered.

    “Three of my favorite feelings,” a woman’s voice said from behind them.

    They all spun to see that a masked and dark-cloaked figure had appeared. The person, if it was a person, was taller than them by a foot at least.

   “Who are you?” Mot called, palms held out, glowing. “What’s your business here?”

    The masked woman laughed. “Go on, tell them, Hewy.”

    The trio of Shapers stared at their Elder.

    Hewview cleared his throat, a fist placed over his mouth. “Our mission has yet to see its end, I’m afraid.”

    “I don’t understand,” said Viprite.

    “Yes,” said Hewview. He cleared his throat again. “We…You must beguile the Leviathans we’ve collected until their minds go sour.”

    His Shapers were silent for a moment.

    “Blasphemy!” Mot cried. “The Old Ways forbade us from such cruelty! All parties would perish!”

    “Precisely,” said the masked woman.

    Mot turned toward the tall stranger, palms ready to lash plasma out at her. Then, in a blink, the woman was behind Mot, a golden dagger pressed against the Shaper’s throat.

    “I must say, Hewy, you told us they would be ready and willing,” the masked woman said through her clenched teeth. “Impatient I’ve become, on a schedule I am.”

    Hewview turned to Viprite, who was poised to strike at the woman. He blasted her leg with a bubble of plasma, boiling it off her body. She screamed. Karthage, wide-eyed, hesitated to react, his mouth agape, eyes flicking between his friends.

    “Begin now,” demanded Hewview. He grabbed Viprite by her hair, and dragged her toward where the other Leviathans waited.

    The Sickle Colossuses followed him, while the masked woman escorted Mot and Karthage.

    “You have two choices,” said Hewview. “Be in pain and end it, or end yourselves before the pain comes.”

    Viprite screamed and sobbed. “End it!”

    “Very good.” Hewview lifted her by her hair, pointing her at the other Leviathans they’d beguiled today.

    Viprite’s eyes churned, as did the eyes of the Leviathans before her. She quickly shriveled, as the Leviathans frothed and raged. A final shriek left her, as her body crumpled into itself, and Hewview was left with only her hair as it slid off her deflated scalp. Mot and Karthage looked on in horror.

    “There’s still plenty left,” said the masked woman, sticking the end of her dagger through Mot’s throat. “And I’m in a terrible hurry.”

    Sobbing, Mot relented to fry the brains of the Leviathans they’d just captured. “I never let you down,” she said, as her body folded into itself, and she screamed a final scream of agony.

    Hewview hurried over to Karthage, and restrained his arms. The man was much too overwhelmed to fight back, but the Elder Shaper wasn’t taking any chances.

    “Why are you doing this?” Karthage asked, defeated. “We’ve known each other nearly two decades.”

    Hewview breathed in a long, sour breath in Karthage’s ear, and let it out in staggered chunks. “Nobody knows me. Never have, never will.”

    Karthage shut tight his eyelids. Realizing this, Hewview swiftly reached around to the man’s face, and burned the troublesome bits of skin away. The Elder Shaper held his old friend out at the Leviathans, and forced him to over-beguile them, turning them into blood-thirsty, unstoppable monsters. All the while, the masked woman stared at Hewview from behind her mask, as she let go of Mot’s dull, shrunken, hollow body.    

    Hewview felt her eyes on him as heavy as rainfall. “Collot?” he called out. But his star was speechless. He tensed his muscles, but his hands remained cold, lightless.