Giving - Chapter 2

The Channeling

The sun had just begun to set by the time Cai arrived in front of the Conjurer’s Guild. Normally, the courtyard would be empty. Today, though, there were two young Hyur in conjurer’s robes, standing near the courtyard’s far edge. As Cai approached, one of these Hyur held a hand by her ear, speaking to someone via linkpearl. Cai raised her hand in friendly greeting, but received only a mild nod of acknowledgement in response. Expressions could be difficult to read from beneath the wide-brimmed hats that were part of an initiate’s uniform, but Cai felt confident that neither of these Hyur were particularly pleased to see her. Few from the Guild ever were, really. What was being said of her over the linkpearl, she wondered? “Hark, the Short One has come”?

Well, at least they know I’m here.

Cai walked past the courtyard, and through the entrance. The Guild itself was housed inside of a cave on the outskirts of the city. One had to walk a long indoor corridor to reach it, and it was through this corridor that Cai now passed, descending gradually down a long ramp, moving past rows of torches whose warm light reflected from the stone ceiling. Despite their warmth, it could get very cold inside the Guild, particularly in the autumn months– but Cai had dressed in her usual conjurer’s robes today, thick and dark and wonderfully warm.

Beyond warmth, though, her robes served to augment her ability to channel aether; and the rings, earrings, and circlet that she wore worked similarly, increasing her aetherial bandwidth even further. But none of these could support her to the same extent as her cane. Upon her back she carried it– a short and plain thing, made of yew, the mark of Nophica ingrained at its head. Without this, a conjurer would struggle to manifest even a single droplet of water or grain of sand, or call forth even a hint of a breeze. For the work she intended to do today, she would need all the bandwidth she could muster.

Cai reached the massive doors of the Conjurer’s Guild. One of them was, thankfully, open; these doors were not particularly heavy, but opening them could be difficult for someone of her stature. She walked inside, and looked around for the receptionist. But there was someone waiting for her– a man that Cai instantly recognized, a man she silently cautioned herself not to call “Ser Pointy” as she often did in private. He was silver-haired, his head crested with the small horns common among Padjal– with robes nearly as dark as her own, and a walnut cane adorned with spikes.

“E-Sumi-Yan,” said Cai, in greeting. It was customary to address a guildmaster by his title, not his name, but Cai rarely showed any regard for custom when it came to the Conjurer’s Guild. To his credit, E-Sumi-Yan offered no complaint, only a respectful nod.

“Conjurer Linn,” said the man. “Thank you for coming today. Please follow me.”

Cai nodded, and followed him– past the receptionist’s desk, into the main hall… and then, into a small room, off to the side. It was in this room, Cai knew, that E-Sumi-Yan lived and slept, though she had never been in it before. As she stepped inside the tiny chamber, she had to wonder if there had ever been as many people inside it as there were today. At the center of the room was a small cot, and at its side was a tiny table, with a single lantern glowing upon it. This lantern alone provided the room’s meager illumination– a strange thing, Cai considered, as she regarded the stack of thick books on the floor beside the bed. Into these modest quarters, a small crowd had gathered. Cela was seated on the bed, though her captain had stood when Cai entered the room.

“Thank you, Captain, but there’s no need to stand,” Cai spoke, waving her hand absently. “You’ll only tower above me further.”

Captain Volaire raised an eyebrow at this, but offered no rebuke. Cela’s face was set, betraying none of the anxiety she undoubtedly felt– and not just regarding her friend’s lack of respect for the chain of command.

E-Sumi-Yan closed the door behind Cai. “We are all here, then,” he spoke, his voice hollow and emotionless. “Let us be about it, then. Captain, if you would…”

Captain Volaire returned to his seat on the edge of the cot, and regarded Cai levelly. “I trust, Conjurer Linn, that you are unaware of the specifics of your task today.” His voice was firm, and not unkind, but he spoke with an authority beyond what his rank accorded.

Captain Volaire was the leader of the Order of the Twin Adder’s intelligence operations in Ghimlyt, an area between Aldenard and Ilsabard that had been contested for several months. There, the Garlean Empire had mounted an invasion, repelled only by the combined military might of the Eorzean Alliance– a joint partnership between the three major Eorzean city states, as well as the nation of Ishgard. As an intelligence officer herself, Cela often had said that intelligence operations were the most important component of the Alliance’s strategy in Ghimlyt, and Cai was hard-pressed to disagree with this in light of what Captain Volaire’s team had been able to achieve. In just a few short months, the Garlean Empire had deployed a variety of previously-known weapons– chemical and mechanical– that could have caused untold destruction, had not their presence and nature been discerned well in advance. There were some officers who might have considered such achievements a great personal victory, but to his credit, Captain Volaire was focused only on Eorzea’s defense. Cai hadn’t worked with him often, but she admired that about him.

“Captain, I’ve been informed that a spirit medium is needed, but nothing beyond that,” Cai replied. “I presume, however, that the guest– err, that the subject is a member of the Second Lieutenant’s division.”

Captain Volaire seemed genuinely surprised at this. “You presume this… why?”

“I cannot locate subjects within the Lifestream without the presence of a living person that has a relationship to the subject. The Second Lieutenant knows this, yet she came today with no one, other than yourself.”

Captain Volaire nodded. “Yes, you’re correct. The subject is First Class Sergeant Terrenus. I believe you’ve met him before.”

Instinctively, Cai’s eyes darted toward Cela. Her expression had not changed, but Cai suddenly realized why she had seemed so troubled the day before. This was not a request regarding an unknown officer from a distant division; this was a friend. This was Terry.

Cai knew well the sort of work that Cela’s division handled, having watched Cela rise through the ranks over several years, and having even been called upon to assist with this work at times. Most of it concerned intercepting and decoding messages sent within the Garlean military itself. Theirs was not the only division that dealt with intercepting messages, but theirs was the chief division responsible for decoding them. No message could be decoded without the help of someone who knew how the messages were encoded; and as a former resident of Garlemald, Terrenus was invaluable to Cela’s group in this regard.

“Sergeant Terrenus was recently reassigned as an undercover operative,” the Captain explained. “The Garleans changed codecs two months ago, and our intelligence efforts have been hindered as a result. He believed himself best-equipped of our group to infiltrate their ranks undetected, and for a time, it seemed to be working. But we’ve had no word from him in two weeks.”

“And you fear the worst,” Cai breathed.

“We hope for the best. But should the worst come to pass, it’s my hope that you can recover any intelligence he was able to gather.”

“Through channeling, that may be possible,” Cai acknowledged. “There is a degree of risk involved in that, of course.”

“Yes, the Second Lieutenant has informed me of the risks.” At this, the Captain turned toward E-Sumi-Yan. “My thanks to the Guildmaster for graciously accepting our request, particularly on such short notice.”

E-Sumi-Yan responded with a short nod, then turned his attention to Cai. “As you know, Conjurer Linn, this is the sort of business that the Guild prefers to avoid. Save for myself and Conjurer Elthea, there are none within our present ranks capable of overriding a malignant guest.”

Cai nodded. “I had originally requested Conjurer Elthea. But I understand now that this is a matter of some secrecy.”

“Just so,” said the Captain. “I trust you will not speak of this outside this chamber.”

“I will not.”

“Very good.” The Captain glanced at E-Sumi-Yan, then at Cela. “Are we ready to begin? Second Lieutenant, if you would.”

With that, Cela and the Captain exchanged places on the cot– and now, Cai was gazing into the eyes of her dearest friend, a strong woman steeling herself as best she could.

“Do you know… for certain?” Cela asked, in a low voice.

Cai reached behind her, and took hold of her cane. She held the cane with two hands, keeping it close to her body. The mark of Nophica upon her cane began to glow. Aether flowed through her, and through the cane– and as it did, she closed her eyes, and refocused her attention… away from the room, away from the Guild, away from Gridania, away from the physical plane. With practiced ease, she listened, she felt– and there it was:

The Lifestream, the source of all beings, living or dead.

Aetherial tethers bind all creatures to the Lifestream, for it is from the Lifestream that all life comes, and to the Lifestream that all life returns. Those conjurers with the fortitude to do so may navigate these tethers, like so many links in a chain, from one life to the next. In death, a creature’s essence returns to the Lifestream, but may still be located by means of the relationships formed with those who are still alive.

Relationships from one creature to another have a particular aetherial signature. Cai could see each of these, originating from Cela– her own relationship with Cai, her relationship with the Captain, even her relationship with the Guildmaster– each one distinct from the rest. There were others, including some that fed directly into the Lifestream itself: Cela’s relationships with the deceased. It was to these that Cai looked now, searching for a man she knew, a man she had met before.

It only took a moment.

“Yes,” Cai spoke. The light from the head of her cane faded, as she released her hold on the aether.

The room was quiet for some time, none daring to speak. It was the Captain, ultimately, who broke the silence.

“He was a good man,” said the Captain. “One of the best Garleans I ever knew, maybe the best. I hadn’t hoped for much, honestly, but… damn them. Damn them.”

“We need to know what… what happened to him,” Cela spoke, her voice strained. “Cai, can you…”

“Lieutenant, I must object to this,” said E-Sumi-Yan. “Forgive my bluntness, but given the circumstances, it is like that your man met with a grisly end. You are asking one of my conjurers to invite that pain into herself.”

Cela’s expression was contorted in frustration and grief. Cai wanted so badly to comfort her, but now was not the time. She turned to E-Sumi-Yan.

“It’s all right, Guildmaster,” Cai spoke. “I’ve done this before, and experienced worse.”

“…You are not adept at reassurance, Conjurer Linn.”

“I appreciate your concern, Guildmaster,” spoke the Captain, “but Sergeant Terrenus accepted the risks inherent in his duty, and Conjurer Linn has accepted the risks inherent in hers.”

Cai nodded to the Captain, appreciative. “Well said, ser.” She turned back to Cela. “I’ll invite the guest now. When I speak, I’ll speak with his voice. Make your request of him then, and be as direct as you can. You cannot add to the pain of the dead, but reliving their final moments can be difficult.”

Cela nodded stiffly, her face ashen. Cai closed her eyes, and the mark of Nophica again began to glow.

The Lifestream was not a place that one could visit– rather, it was something to be perceived. Cai knew it as something that surrounded her at all times, like air, or gravity. Not all conjurers understood how to perceive the Lifestream, and those who did often found their way to it along a road paved with tremendous personal trauma. But a conjurer who reached this point, a conjurer who understood what she was perceiving, could begin to distinguish the aether in the Lifestream from the aether of the land, and from there, distinguish the aether of the living from spirits– the aether of the dead.

Cai focused now on the spirit she had detected earlier, upon its color and its sound. This time, she knew exactly where to look, and within a few moments she heard the spirit’s sound, felt its resonance. Time had passed since then, of course, but spirits did not migrate; they simply were. They were guests. They had no will of their own, and were not something that a would-be host could control. But Cai could control herself. She could control her own resonance, projecting something that resonated in the same way as another spirit. She could accept the spirit as it grew within her, and share her will with it. With will, there could be agency, and memory, and awareness, unless the guest wished otherwise.

This process was called channeling. It had been practiced for almost as long as conjury itself, though with increasing rarity in modern times. Whether or not it was fair, those who practiced channeling with temperance were viewed in light of those who did not. There had been some conjurers, even within the past year or two, that had used channeling to restore a spirit within a reanimated corpse, with horrifying results. Those who practiced more restraint, however, were unlikely to invite a spirit into themselves. The mental and emotional strain was difficult for most conjurers to bear, and there was always a risk that the guest would refuse to relinquish the host’s will.

Cai pushed these concerns away, and set to work. Gradually, she felt the spirit of Terrenus begin to take hold. This is your home, she thought, repeating an oft-used refrain that helped her maintain peace. Welcome home.

Will, then. Awareness. She began to remember– memories that were not hers, pain that was not hers. Regret. Regret. It was always like this. She fought it as best she could. She knew where the boundary lay between herself and the guest, and she would not forget. But these memories felt as real to her now as her own, and they came upon her all at once. She felt as if she were falling. She leaned on her cane, grateful for its strength.

The memories began to sort themselves. The guest knew the timeline. The guest.

Cai opened her eyes, and looked down at her hands. What is this…? This was not his body; this was the body of a Lalafell. Is this actually me? Did I not… die? A sense of reassurance came from somewhere; he knew not where, but he understood. He was not alive, but had been summoned. Perhaps there was some role for him to play, yet. Hope.

Cai looked up, and into the eyes of a familiar young Miqo’te. Cela. His heart swelled at the sight of her. Cai drew herself up, and spoke.

“It is good to see you, Lieutenant.”

Cela said nothing, and her stoic expression betrayed nothing, but there was a sharp intake of breath from the person beside her. Cai turned her head– and instinctively raised her hand in a salute.

“Captain, ser.”

“…At ease, Sergeant.” The Captain’s voice was low and even, and he spoke with a practiced calm. “I imagine you have many questions. But I have one final mission for you today, son, and I don’t know how much time we’re going to have.”

Cai nodded. “Of course, Captain. The codec… I’ll need some paper, and a quill.”

The requested supplies were provided, and Cai set to work. He knew what to write, and she was more comfortable with Lalafell hands than he was. Together, they set to work, and went about their business in silence. The rest of the group seemed not to know what to say.

“Is it always like this?”

Not always, but… yeah. Survivor’s guilt.

“Guilt… how strange. What a waste of an emotion…”

Cai could not understand the symbols her hands were creating upon the page. Some of these were letters that she knew, some were numbers that she knew, but taken as a whole this seemed to be a page full of nonsense.

“Don’t worry; they know what this means.”

I’m glad someone does.

Cai glanced up at Cela, who seemed to be focusing intently on the contents of the page– perhaps as a distraction from other thoughts. He wanted so badly to say something to reassure her, but couldn’t imagine what to say.

She’s going to be all right.

“She is a friend, as you know… Thank you.”

Of course. She’s my friend, too.

Cai’s hand ceased its movements. She scanned the page once, then again. Yes, this looked right to him; this was everything he could remember. She lifted her head, and offered the page to Cela, who accepted it with a wordless nod.

“That is the codec that has been in use for the past … well, the past several weeks,” Cai said. “The Garleans are aware that I had discerned some of its details, but I don’t think they’re aware that I knew all of it.”

Captain Volaire nodded. “I presume you were attempting to send this to us when you were discovered?”

“Yes, ser,” Cai replied. Some of the memories of that day came into focus. Fear of discovery, then anguish, then regret, then despair. A long corridor. A rope.

“It was quick,” she continued. Her voice carried a confidence and reassurance that she did not feel.

The Captain leaned in, then, to look her directly in the eyes. He held her gaze firmly, and spoke.

“Don’t you worry about us, son,” the Captain said. “What you’ve done… what you’ve done… will save the lives of every man, every woman, every child that walks the woods today. We’re going to stop the Empire. We’re going to push them back, and ensure that none of those children will ever experience this kind of a threat again. We couldn’t have come this far without you, Sergeant. I don’t know how we’re going to replace you. But we are not going to stop.”

Cai was surprised at the effect of these words. The regret lifted. That much was a new experience. She felt such pride, such hope– it was remarkable. She saluted the Captain one last time, then turned to regard Cela.

Anything you want to say to her?

“…No. We were both prepared for this.”

Thank you for your service, Terry.

“I do have one last favor to ask, Conjurer Linn…”

And then he was gone, his duty fulfilled. He was at peace, to whatever extent possible. The memories he had brought, the pain he had brought– those things remained. She could keep them at a distance, for now– but she would need to reconcile them soon, for they were part of her now, and she would carry them forever.

Cai opened her eyes, and stood up straight. The mark of Nophica faded.

“It’s done,” she spoke.