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LiverisGood
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Vesuvius00
Crusader Lord
DJAtomika
Emeth
The World
Konan375
Mahal Agha
"Something's not right."
The Palaparese Revolution: Chapter 4.3
Location: Palapar
Ambush in the Mushroom Forest
Five moons burned large and bright above the forests east of San Sameno: a spider's eyes watching those who moved through them. If only one was full, then the others expressed various half-lidded attitudes.
It had been a bit more than two weeks since Ceboyan had stood, somehow, against the Virangish onslaught. Two weeks had been enough for repairs to be made in the capital. It had been enough for elements of the fleet from Perrence to dock in places like Sabu. It had seen three Retanese junks, a squadron of Sawandi dhows, and observers from both Engyu and Nikan make an appearance.
Most of all, however, had come the Revidians: some thirty ships of the Marina Illustre. Every day, now, on the seas outside of Palapar, felt like a showdown. The beleaguered island's government continued in its attempts to gather supplies. Its enemies tried, as ever, to put a stop to this. It called upon its allies, and the world lurched another step closer to outright warfare.
Such grand concerns were far beyond the force that had landed on the remote coast, however. As the sun began to set, they wound their way through one of Sagand's most bizarre forests: a place to challenge even Tarlon's famed Writhing Wood. In truth, they could scarcely even see where it was that the glow came from, so diffused was it in this endless morass of fog and clinging mist.
With night fast approaching, they began to stop, set up camp, and dig in: a welcome rest on what would be a long slog towards Sabu to meet up with the larger of the two new forces that had landed. The endless mists of the fungal forest shimmered ethereal with a dangerous, unspoken promise and, at the fringes of their sensing range, the army's mages could sense figures, faint and hazy, as if masking their energy signatures.
It was just as Rezain turned to Dami that they struck.
Once the Virangish army stopped moving, Mahal took a breath of relief. She had adopted the mushroom tribe's style of blending in with the mist by painting her body white. The unique sap had slightly hardened on her skin, leaving her itching a bit. They had to act quickly before they realized they were there.
She crouched down as her hounds followed her, Sikuag remained high in the trees. Despite the five moons in the sky, their light barely reached the forest floor. Like shadows they moved quickly and quietly along the spongy earth. Her hounds kept close to her as their noses perked for attackers. Everything went smoothly until...
The heat clung to Lunara like a second skin. Heavy. Swollen. Every breath tasted of moss and soil.
Sweat slid down her spine and gathered beneath her armor, soaking the linen at her collar. She barely noticed. Over the days, no, maybe weeks, no, months? She wasn’t quite sure anymore. What Lunara was sure of was that she was used to the discomfort. What she wasn’t used to… what still gnawed quietly in the pit of her stomach was uncertainty. The fungal forest towered around them. Filling the air with uncertainty in its persistent white mist and fog.
She walked in silence, half-listening as the others muttered behind her.
“What are we doing in here?”
“Can’t believe they landed here. Madness.”
“Seriously, when Ceboyan is as close to our jaw as this, and instead we’re wrapped around chasing our tail.” The last one grumbled.
The commanding officer turned sharply, “Act like men. Stop sounding like boys.”
The words cracked through the haze and smacked like cold stones against their skulls. After that, the soldiers said nothing. Their boots did the talking, crunching against thick mulch and roots.
Lunara remained silent. She preferred it that way now. Before the war, before the… massacre. She vaguely remembered a girl with ideas, a woman trying to promote life over death, a princess trying to build a better world. But with what? Her mind traveled. What world could she have built months ago?
After experiencing firsthand the passions of both sides fighting for whatever justifications they could muster to feel better about their choice in taking the lives of others, what could she have done differently that wouldn’t have brought this schism to the surface? Nothing. This was her conclusion every time. The only path was to pick a side, manage the chaos, and find a role to drive change in the aftermath. As the others complained, she didn’t, because where they were headed was a rumor about Mahal. They said she was here. A rumor that Lunara was willing to bite.
She could almost imagine Mahal standing there. Waiting.
When Kashani had asked for a small detachment to make contact with Colonel Nedim Solak and the second Virangish force landing in the fungal forest, she immediately raised her name to volunteer. Officially, her priority was securing a link between Solak’s advance forces.
Unofficially…
Mahal.
Whatever Mahal had become, whatever lines she’d crossed, she was still Lunara’s sister. And Lunara would not let her die out here like some ghost in the trees. But she wouldn’t let her disappear into this rebellion either. There were limits to loyalty, even familial ones.
The forest thinned.
Light broke through, golden and harsh, bouncing off the ocean beyond. The trees gave way to the sweep of the beach. Solak’s banners snapped in the salty wind.
They’d made contact.
Many Virangish soldiers stood in partial formation on the sand, tending to their equipment. The scent of tar and brine wafted from the boats pulled onto shore. Colonel Solak stood near the edge of his army, his coat dusty, posture rigid, face unreadable.
Lunara didn’t stop walking. She moved toward them without hesitation, boots crunching the sand beneath her, the sun kissing her dark skin. Behind her, the others followed.
The mission had begun.
Lunara and the commanding officer approached Solak. The commanding officer had orders, and Lunara was the liaison and guide. She knew these lands. She was raised here. Lived here. Now, she fought here. In a brief conversation with Solak, the three broke in their respective directions. Solak went to give orders to his command while Lunara and their detachment took the lead in what would become a much larger Virangish formation. Once assembled, Lunara and Solak were at the helm.
“You made good time,” Lunara said.
“We had to.” Solak’s voice was low, deliberate. “Two Revidian ships shadowed us.”
She gave a slight nod. “And you chose this place to land?”
“Palapar’s waters are watched. We weren’t going to risk Sabu’s teeth. The forest gives us cover. Distance.”
Lunara glanced at the caps of the fungal forest above them and the roots entangled around the ground.
“It also slows you down.”
Solak’s jaw twitched. “Better slow than sunk.”
A short silence stretched between them as the company trudged past a cluster of mushrooms that glowed faintly. One of the soldiers muttered something about myths and legends of the fungal forest.
“We’ll want to angle west by the ridge trail,” Lunara said quietly, “It’ll be our best bet of entering the fight at Ceboyan if we’re guiding a column through.”
“You’ve walked it?”
“Twice. When I was younger.”
Solak grimaced. “Charming terrain.”
“It doesn’t care to be liked.” Lunara scanned the brushline. “Nor do the things that live in it.”
He didn’t ask for specifics. He was smart enough to know better.
“We pitch camp at the ridge’s base,” he said. “Then move at first light. If the forest wants blood, it must wait its turn.”
Lunara gave a curt nod.
“I’ll mark the safe points before nightfall.”
It was here that the Virangish set up camp. The tents pitched, the men became lively, and the atmosphere lightened. For now, these were fresh boots without cracks in their seams, blood on their dress, or memory to call back to when the surprising psychological toll of killing began. No, for now, some counseled their gods, others counseled one another, and for many, they livened their mind and body with spirits. When morning came, they’d learn quickly what it would mean to be a veteran of the Palaparese War.
Lunara, at the entrance of her tent, twisted her hair. A habit she did in front of the mirror back home, now a coping strategy for when her nerves were on edge. It wasn’t the upcoming battle of Ceboyan, but the idea that she might encounter Mahal out here. Her eyes scanned the edge of the camp. Her senses were drawing out to spot any signatures of other mages. The commanding officer of her detachment approached from the east, “Lady Lunara.” He nodded as he approached.
“Sgt. Sorhan.” Lunara acknowledged without looking. Her eyes were still scanning the edge of camp.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better than our first major order at the crossroads.”
“Ah yes, the crossroads were-“
“Pointless.”
He wasn’t going to fight her, nor would he defend what was an obvious strategic loss, even if the Virangish propaganda machine twisted it into a win on paper.
“We did what we had to, we survived.” He pulled out a worn metallic case, clicked it open, and reached delicately inside to draw out a rolled cigarette. He slipped the case back into his jacket pocket and reached in for a box of matches. Igniting a match across his boot, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
His hand then extended to Lunara, who was on the other side of her tent entrance, leaning against the post. She met his hand with her own and took the cigarette as if these two had exchanged like this before. She pursed her lips and inhaled the stimulating toxins from the plants grown in Palapar’s fields. The two continued their exchanges in silence until Lunara felt something, like something was hiding itself.
Normally, she’d have sensed nothing. The people of this region had practiced hiding themselves among the dense energy signatures and swirling mists of the mushroom forest for over a thousand years. They knew how to blend in. Amid the slowly moving miasma populated by mushroom lurkers, fog krakens, and lesser creatures, it was easy to lose an eeaiko or human-sized energy signature, much less the sight or sound of one. The rebel army creeping up on the ridge should not have been found, and they would have been fine were it not for one among their ranks with a different sort of agenda.
That one who did not want the Virangish army to be destroyed in an ambush was named Fiske Flachstrauch, or perhaps Faiskal al-Shujeria, or maybe Leander Keruanos, or something-or-other Hohnstein. He had assisted the rebellion, at first, with the highest-minded of ideals, only to be disappointed by the realities of a brutal civil war. Having judged the freedom fighters no better than their oppressors, he had taken matters into his own hands at least once already, robbing them of a victory at Orange Point before turning on the Virangish and assisting in the death of Piyale Karga. A conclusive win for either side would be a disaster, he had assessed.
However, with more supplies making it through the blockade, thanks to Revidian escort, the rebels had resupplied and rebuilt with astonishing speed and thoroughness. Their numbers had swelled for a final push and an attack on Sabu was imminent in retaliation for the repeated Virangish attempts on Ceboyan and the widespread devastation that city had faced. If this expeditionary force was wiped out, Sabu might very well fall and the war would end with a decisive victory for the rebels. The reprisals, not dissimilar to those he had already witnessed in Ceboyan and at the Blue Star Idasque, would be brutal, and one oppressor would merely trade places with another. He was convinced of it.
So it was that he used a careless bit of magic within range of the other side’s mages: he drew enough energy to a particular area - not where he was standing, of course - to mimic a couple of attackers preparing a spell or refreshing their camouflage. He was quick. He was careful. He even felt a twinge of guilt but, careful as he was, he was not of this place. He did not know it and its secrets as did his would-be ally Mahal. She was closer to him than he’d imagined, perfectly hidden within the fog. She sensed what he had done: an innocent mistake, an attempt to be a hero, or a betrayal?
Regardless of what it was, it set one cluster of Virangish on edge. They roused from their campfire and readied their magics and cast about with an eager anxiety into the murk.
Mahal’s eyes widened when she sensed the gift being used. Her eyes noticed the movement and lingered on the sight of two strangers preparing a spell. Immediately, her bat sight saw through the display. Their forms became transparent showing they weren’t alive.
Illusions?
She recalled no information of illusionists among the Virangish army. It didn’t mean there wasn’t any, but… Her eyes shifted toward Fiske, the nearest illusionist in their ranks. She narrowed her gaze directly on him. It wasn’t clear if she knew or just suspected. However, the reality was that this mistake might cost them the element of surprise and if she didn’t act now, their chance of success would be lost.
Mahal had an idea to counter the fumble with another false one. Mahal clicked her tongue then gestured for her hounds to rush forward into view. Puno cocked her head and stared with one eye but caught on immediately. She woofed her displeasure before she slipped from her master's side. Supok and Ngiti followed immediately, looking like a pack of strays. It wasn't a common sight, but it wouldn't be impossible. Especially since some elites let their pets run wild all the time.
The hounds drew upon their gift and rushed through the forest, skirting in view before disappearing. As if they had caught the scent of something trying to escape them. Naturally they would circle around back toward her.
For a moment, Fiske strained into the distance. Those dogs: they were Mahal’s. Why had she let them off their leashes? Was she planning something? Was she trying to bait the Virangish? Was she also trying to give their position away? Was she onto him!? He swept for energies that could be other people, but this group was maddeningly good at concealing their energy amid the kinetic swirls of the fog and chemical puffs of the lurkers and heat redistribution of the sweltering forest.
He didn’t know her game, but he decided to take the precaution of reaching out to hide the dogs behind an illusion.
When Mahal spotted the concealment magic, she tensed and more questions rose in her mind. If it was the enemy pulling the illusions then why conceal the dogs? Something was off, causing her anxiety to jump higher still. She recalled the same level of craftsmanship back in the talent show within the Academy. This ruled out any native born here without the training.
Either way, she didn't have time to play games with the culprit. They needed to get closer and strike quickly. Finding Kidlat nearby, she drew near and whispered to him. "Something's not right. I think we might have a traitor among us. Keep moving."
Her eyes were fixed on Fiske as she pulled away from Kidlat. They were nearly close enough to attack. However, if he tried to give their position away once more, she’d stop him.
The cigarette burned slowly between Lunara’s fingers, its tip flaring faintly. The fog clung low to the thick roots and shoulders of the forest, curling in lazy drifts like the smoke exhaled from Lunara’s lips. She passed it without words to Sohran. He took it with a nod, holding the nearly finished wrapped paper between scarred knuckles.
“Feels like the kind of air that doesn’t want to move,” he murmured.
Lunara didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the treeline, listening, feeling. Something was out there: a subtle distortion, a ripple, a faint pulse - the Gift.
“That was sloppy.”
Sohran tilted his head, “What was?”
She didn’t answer, not yet. Instead, she closed her eyes and let her senses stretch, breathing through the energy left hanging in the wind. The thread of it was unfamiliar. A light touch, but too clean.
Then, movement. Three shapes, low and fast, darting through the mists ahead. Lunara caught their silhouettes as they broke into view. Canine, lean, purposeful in their gait. There was a certain signature about these dogs she believed to have spotted. Something, she remembered.
Lunara knew it before her mind caught up.
Puno. Supak. Ngiti.
Mahal.
Lunara’s chest didn’t rise. Her pulse didn’t spike. But her spine went stiff. The dogs circled like they were chasing a scent. Yet, the dogs’ signature and the energy she’d sensed earlier differed. The dogs were covering for the first. She and Mahal had shared a womb. Shared a breath once. You didn’t unlearn the sense of your twin’s gift. Lunara felt Mahal out there. She knew the rebels had arrived.
She snapped her head at Sohran, “They’re here.”
“Who?”
“Rebels.”
“You sure?”
“I know those dogs. I know she’s here. That means, they’re here.”
Sohran tensed, his hand drifting near the hilt at his side.
“Inform Colonel Solak, now.” Lunara sharply said.
Sohran took off into camp.
Lunara took off into the woods. The hunt had begun.
It took Mahal moments to recognize the figure that separated from the camp and darted into the forest's haze. Lunara. She cursed her failure to account for her sister's presence. Then again, how could she have known? The two hadn't crossed paths since the night of short knives and the bloody aftermath.
Lunara's warning echoed in her memory. "Next time, you’ll not be treated as my sister but as an ally to murderers, an enemy, and I’m sorry.”
This would be far from a happy reunion. She expected her sister would kill her if given the chance, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same.
"Your sister misses you, do you miss her just as much?" Came Dalisay's voice from the back of her head. Mahal's heart twitched in pain at the words, knowing she did. But it didn't matter in the end. They were on opposite sides and destined to clash until one flame extinguished the other.
She prayed that things might be different, but what good did it ever do for her? None.
Seeing that the element of surprise was lost, Mahal screamed. "NOW!"
Her voice summoned the tribes from their hiding spots as they swarmed toward the camp. Despite Lunara's warning, the troops couldn't stir fast enough. Several arrows flew from within the mist. They whistled then thumped heavily into their targets, silencing their cries for help. Men and women painted in white charged with weapons raised. With a sharp command from Mahal, Sikuaq shot off her perch and flew above the camp. Her form shone like freshly frozen ice as her atomic swelled for an attack.
Meanwhile, Mahal's hounds continued to circle around to their master. Their braying sounds vibrated off the trees.
She focused on the camp.The Palaparese girl stepped out from the mist, facing several soldiers raising their guns. Drawing in the kinetic energy, she cast a shockwave on them.
Lunara spotted her sister while concealed in the brush. The ambush commenced, and the rebels took the initiative. The Virangish camp was roused before the first strike, but they were not fast enough to simultaneously respond to all the threats that emerged. As the Rebels made contact, Lunara seized the opportunity with Mahal, who focused on the Virangish defense. As Mahal was about to cast her gift on the camp, Lunara raised a single-shot pistol and fired, guiding the shot toward her sister’s hip. If the shot hit, it would pacify Mahal without killing her; if not, it would break Mahal’s concentration from focusing on the Virangish camp, giving Lunara’s allies more time to fortify their defenses without a mage disrupting their efforts.
A tug on her hair caught Mahal's attention. But it was too late. As the men pulled their triggers, gunpowder flashed and sent their iron balls flying. Mahal's hands slammed together. Air vibrated until it cracked with a deafening boom. The shockwave rippled forward. Earth scattered from its path until it hit the defense. Soldiers were sent flying to the rear ranks.
As the pistol fired, Supok was the first to rush out of the bush. Her large form leaped at Lunara, trying to knock her down with a tackle. Meanwhile, Mahal whipped around. Her hand slapped the bullet off course as it nicked her flesh. It brought her down to one knee causing her to stifle a cry.
Spotting Lunara yards away, Mahal focused on the pistol. The handle started to heat up and burn to the touch.
Supok’s launch gave Miray the advantage of surprise. From the tree tops, the nimble Goma cat fired down. Lunara tossed a charge of lightning at Miray to redirect onto Supok. From above, Supok would take a bite and shock. While the two beasts made contact, Lunara felt the heat increase on her pistol. It didn’t matter; she released the pistol to hang in the air.
Mahal kicked up a stone then shot it backwards. It smacked into the pistol, shattering the barrel upon impact unless Lunara did something. One moment she was there, the next gone back into the swirling mist.
Meanwhile, while Supok and Miray engaged, two more shapes came out of the brush. Puno sprung forward and up the tree, attempting to chase the goma cat down. Ngiti stopped in the clearing just below the feline then let out a booming bark. Kinetic energy snapped forward, clipping branches and leaves.
Mahal’s retreat gave Lunara the space to focus on all the pets. Miray had stunned Supok but reacted to Puno’s assault. Swiftly the two ran up into the canopy and as quickly as they went up, they came down. Lunara used her kinetic to throw the stunned Supok at Puno mid-chase. The two collided, barreling into some brush. Then, a third beast arrived to deliver a sonic bark, Lunara using her control of bosons, muffled the sound and impact for her and Miray.
After being knocked down, Puno snapped at Supok who pushed herself up. Both shook off their daze with a deep growl. Their heads snapped to the fleeing woman before taking off with Ngiti back into the mist.
Recognizing that Mahal’s pets were swarming her. Lunara chemically condensed the water vapors around her body. A fresh mist surrounded her, allowing her to shift from position behind the haze. The fight had continued inside the camp, which meant the Virang were overwhelmed. She headed back to defend those she could and get them out before it was too late.
In the thick of the fight. Steel on steel, gunpowder, and screams. These sounds reverberated underneath the stretched-out canopy of Mushroom Forest. Lunara’s feet took her the distance and back into friendly territory where the lines were drawn by the fighting and dying.
Sikuaq dipped from her perch and rose into the skies, spreading her wings wide. Her dark eyes drank in the carnage below before widening her jaws. A stream of flame erupted from her throat and sprayed across the first line. A few mages dampened the effect, but several burned.
Mahal and her dogs rounded to the other side of the camp as her snow wyvern distracted the line. Several arrows sailed into the air before they rained down on the camp. Dark shapes appeared like spectures, flowing alongside the rebels. Painted faces with dark circles were glimpsed as they picked off the brave and foolish, showing there was more still hidden in the forest.
“There are too many.” Lunara pointed out the obvious to a Colonel who felt this battle was important to turnaround.
“We will not let these cowards win!”
Lunara heard the snap of a round run by her ear and witnessed the bullet punch into an unlucky soldier who was pulling an injured man.
“We need to retreat. We won’t be useful to our mission if we don’t survive.” She pleaded with the Colonel as they defended against more oncoming rebel fighters. Mud kicked up at their faces, rounds whizzed by, and battle cries continued. They were in the middle of a slaughterhouse that they needed to escape.
“Dammit. Fine! Sound the retreat!” The Colonel ordered as sounds began to play, and the Virangish reacted in concert. Rebels continued to gain further ground in the camp as the Virang slowly broke their lines to retreat, with the stronger mages holding the rear guard. The mages bounded as the bulk of survivors followed their Colonel.
Lunara and Sohran were alongside a squad of Virangish soldiers firing at an advancing rebel party. Some rebels were finishing off Virang soldiers still behind in the camp, while others followed the retreat. Those who followed were cut down by squads like Sohran’s.
“Get out of here, Lunara!” Sohran said as he fired his rifle with his round guided by Lunara. The shot cracked the kneecap of an older rebel who yelled in resistance to both the pain and the fight.
“No, we came here together, we will leave together!” Lunara’s resolve was firm. She raised a fallen soldier up with her kinetic as a meat shield right as a volley of rifles ripped down a line from the side of the rebels. She tossed the body at them which disrupted their coordination and the squad of Virangish took the opportunity of the confusion to fire their own volley.
“Move!” Sohran shouted. The squad bounded back as the rebel line chasing them were forced to reorient themselves before another attack. This pace continued until the Virang were out of shots and the rebels kept coming.
“To our East!” A rebel came out of the brush with steel raised high, tackling one of the Virangish in the squad. Lunara pivoted, lashing the rebel into a tree with a snap of kinetic force, but it was too late. The blade was already buried deep in the Virangish’s soldier’s gut. Bloody sprayed across the grass. Then came the second, the third, the fourth.
They poured out of the brush like a flood.
“Lunara, go!” Sohran barked a second time, his voice sharp, desperate. He shoved her backward with his shoulder and raised his rifle again, the bayonet gleaming. Cutting one rebel down, but two more surged forward. Lunara lifted her hands, her Gift bursting, and she took too long. There were too many. Her vision blurred with smoke and blood, her body trembling, falling to her knees. She was hit, and she couldn’t reach him.
Sohran fought like a madman, and the rebels surrounded his position. A sabre found his ribs. A blade slashed across his thigh. His rifle clattered from his hand as he sank to one knee, still fighting, still resisting.
Their eyes met across the chaos, his fierce, hers wide with horror.
The last thing she heard was Sohran’s guttural roar as he plunged his dagger into one rebel’s neck before another sword cleaved him down. Lunara had finally bound the wound that paralyzed her in place. She was defended by other Virangish soldiers who quickly grabbed her to pull her back into a retreat.
Stumbling back, Lunara finally found her footing and retreated with the others. Her heart hammering in her chest, her face soaked with tears that she could not afford to wipe away as the chase continued.
The last thing Mahal saw was Lunara being hauled away. Mahal's skin was stained blood, her chest heaved with dying adrenaline. A knife went for her face causing her arm to jerk up and block it. The other brought her dagger into the attacker's side. She kicked him away before vanishing back into the mist.
After surviving the ambush, the remaining Virangish soldiers continued through the mushroom forest. As their forms detached from the clinging mists, their eyes turned to see the dawn. It bled across the skies with a brilliant red hue. A painful reflection of the earlier slaughter and large numbers lost. The rebels' ambush had worked well enough to diminish the number, but not wipe them out completely. Picking themselves up, the survivors continued their march toward the Plains of Fortuna. Some haunted by the encounter and others, hoping this final conflict might be an end to this war.
In the following weeks, any Virangish soldiers that dared to enter the mushroom forest met a similar encounter. Mahal had spoken with others over what she saw in the forest and her suspicions. As if sensing the danger, the man seemed to have vanished like the illusions he cast.
It had been a bit more than two weeks since Ceboyan had stood, somehow, against the Virangish onslaught. Two weeks had been enough for repairs to be made in the capital. It had been enough for elements of the fleet from Perrence to dock in places like Sabu. It had seen three Retanese junks, a squadron of Sawandi dhows, and observers from both Engyu and Nikan make an appearance.
Most of all, however, had come the Revidians: some thirty ships of the Marina Illustre. Every day, now, on the seas outside of Palapar, felt like a showdown. The beleaguered island's government continued in its attempts to gather supplies. Its enemies tried, as ever, to put a stop to this. It called upon its allies, and the world lurched another step closer to outright warfare.
Such grand concerns were far beyond the force that had landed on the remote coast, however. As the sun began to set, they wound their way through one of Sagand's most bizarre forests: a place to challenge even Tarlon's famed Writhing Wood. In truth, they could scarcely even see where it was that the glow came from, so diffused was it in this endless morass of fog and clinging mist.
With night fast approaching, they began to stop, set up camp, and dig in: a welcome rest on what would be a long slog towards Sabu to meet up with the larger of the two new forces that had landed. The endless mists of the fungal forest shimmered ethereal with a dangerous, unspoken promise and, at the fringes of their sensing range, the army's mages could sense figures, faint and hazy, as if masking their energy signatures.
It was just as Rezain turned to Dami that they struck.
Once the Virangish army stopped moving, Mahal took a breath of relief. She had adopted the mushroom tribe's style of blending in with the mist by painting her body white. The unique sap had slightly hardened on her skin, leaving her itching a bit. They had to act quickly before they realized they were there.
She crouched down as her hounds followed her, Sikuag remained high in the trees. Despite the five moons in the sky, their light barely reached the forest floor. Like shadows they moved quickly and quietly along the spongy earth. Her hounds kept close to her as their noses perked for attackers. Everything went smoothly until...
The heat clung to Lunara like a second skin. Heavy. Swollen. Every breath tasted of moss and soil.
Sweat slid down her spine and gathered beneath her armor, soaking the linen at her collar. She barely noticed. Over the days, no, maybe weeks, no, months? She wasn’t quite sure anymore. What Lunara was sure of was that she was used to the discomfort. What she wasn’t used to… what still gnawed quietly in the pit of her stomach was uncertainty. The fungal forest towered around them. Filling the air with uncertainty in its persistent white mist and fog.
She walked in silence, half-listening as the others muttered behind her.
“What are we doing in here?”
“Can’t believe they landed here. Madness.”
“Seriously, when Ceboyan is as close to our jaw as this, and instead we’re wrapped around chasing our tail.” The last one grumbled.
The commanding officer turned sharply, “Act like men. Stop sounding like boys.”
The words cracked through the haze and smacked like cold stones against their skulls. After that, the soldiers said nothing. Their boots did the talking, crunching against thick mulch and roots.
Lunara remained silent. She preferred it that way now. Before the war, before the… massacre. She vaguely remembered a girl with ideas, a woman trying to promote life over death, a princess trying to build a better world. But with what? Her mind traveled. What world could she have built months ago?
After experiencing firsthand the passions of both sides fighting for whatever justifications they could muster to feel better about their choice in taking the lives of others, what could she have done differently that wouldn’t have brought this schism to the surface? Nothing. This was her conclusion every time. The only path was to pick a side, manage the chaos, and find a role to drive change in the aftermath. As the others complained, she didn’t, because where they were headed was a rumor about Mahal. They said she was here. A rumor that Lunara was willing to bite.
She could almost imagine Mahal standing there. Waiting.
When Kashani had asked for a small detachment to make contact with Colonel Nedim Solak and the second Virangish force landing in the fungal forest, she immediately raised her name to volunteer. Officially, her priority was securing a link between Solak’s advance forces.
Unofficially…
Mahal.
Whatever Mahal had become, whatever lines she’d crossed, she was still Lunara’s sister. And Lunara would not let her die out here like some ghost in the trees. But she wouldn’t let her disappear into this rebellion either. There were limits to loyalty, even familial ones.
The forest thinned.
Light broke through, golden and harsh, bouncing off the ocean beyond. The trees gave way to the sweep of the beach. Solak’s banners snapped in the salty wind.
They’d made contact.
Many Virangish soldiers stood in partial formation on the sand, tending to their equipment. The scent of tar and brine wafted from the boats pulled onto shore. Colonel Solak stood near the edge of his army, his coat dusty, posture rigid, face unreadable.
Lunara didn’t stop walking. She moved toward them without hesitation, boots crunching the sand beneath her, the sun kissing her dark skin. Behind her, the others followed.
The mission had begun.
Lunara and the commanding officer approached Solak. The commanding officer had orders, and Lunara was the liaison and guide. She knew these lands. She was raised here. Lived here. Now, she fought here. In a brief conversation with Solak, the three broke in their respective directions. Solak went to give orders to his command while Lunara and their detachment took the lead in what would become a much larger Virangish formation. Once assembled, Lunara and Solak were at the helm.
“You made good time,” Lunara said.
“We had to.” Solak’s voice was low, deliberate. “Two Revidian ships shadowed us.”
She gave a slight nod. “And you chose this place to land?”
“Palapar’s waters are watched. We weren’t going to risk Sabu’s teeth. The forest gives us cover. Distance.”
Lunara glanced at the caps of the fungal forest above them and the roots entangled around the ground.
“It also slows you down.”
Solak’s jaw twitched. “Better slow than sunk.”
A short silence stretched between them as the company trudged past a cluster of mushrooms that glowed faintly. One of the soldiers muttered something about myths and legends of the fungal forest.
“We’ll want to angle west by the ridge trail,” Lunara said quietly, “It’ll be our best bet of entering the fight at Ceboyan if we’re guiding a column through.”
“You’ve walked it?”
“Twice. When I was younger.”
Solak grimaced. “Charming terrain.”
“It doesn’t care to be liked.” Lunara scanned the brushline. “Nor do the things that live in it.”
He didn’t ask for specifics. He was smart enough to know better.
“We pitch camp at the ridge’s base,” he said. “Then move at first light. If the forest wants blood, it must wait its turn.”
Lunara gave a curt nod.
“I’ll mark the safe points before nightfall.”
It was here that the Virangish set up camp. The tents pitched, the men became lively, and the atmosphere lightened. For now, these were fresh boots without cracks in their seams, blood on their dress, or memory to call back to when the surprising psychological toll of killing began. No, for now, some counseled their gods, others counseled one another, and for many, they livened their mind and body with spirits. When morning came, they’d learn quickly what it would mean to be a veteran of the Palaparese War.
Lunara, at the entrance of her tent, twisted her hair. A habit she did in front of the mirror back home, now a coping strategy for when her nerves were on edge. It wasn’t the upcoming battle of Ceboyan, but the idea that she might encounter Mahal out here. Her eyes scanned the edge of the camp. Her senses were drawing out to spot any signatures of other mages. The commanding officer of her detachment approached from the east, “Lady Lunara.” He nodded as he approached.
“Sgt. Sorhan.” Lunara acknowledged without looking. Her eyes were still scanning the edge of camp.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better than our first major order at the crossroads.”
“Ah yes, the crossroads were-“
“Pointless.”
He wasn’t going to fight her, nor would he defend what was an obvious strategic loss, even if the Virangish propaganda machine twisted it into a win on paper.
“We did what we had to, we survived.” He pulled out a worn metallic case, clicked it open, and reached delicately inside to draw out a rolled cigarette. He slipped the case back into his jacket pocket and reached in for a box of matches. Igniting a match across his boot, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
His hand then extended to Lunara, who was on the other side of her tent entrance, leaning against the post. She met his hand with her own and took the cigarette as if these two had exchanged like this before. She pursed her lips and inhaled the stimulating toxins from the plants grown in Palapar’s fields. The two continued their exchanges in silence until Lunara felt something, like something was hiding itself.
Normally, she’d have sensed nothing. The people of this region had practiced hiding themselves among the dense energy signatures and swirling mists of the mushroom forest for over a thousand years. They knew how to blend in. Amid the slowly moving miasma populated by mushroom lurkers, fog krakens, and lesser creatures, it was easy to lose an eeaiko or human-sized energy signature, much less the sight or sound of one. The rebel army creeping up on the ridge should not have been found, and they would have been fine were it not for one among their ranks with a different sort of agenda.
That one who did not want the Virangish army to be destroyed in an ambush was named Fiske Flachstrauch, or perhaps Faiskal al-Shujeria, or maybe Leander Keruanos, or something-or-other Hohnstein. He had assisted the rebellion, at first, with the highest-minded of ideals, only to be disappointed by the realities of a brutal civil war. Having judged the freedom fighters no better than their oppressors, he had taken matters into his own hands at least once already, robbing them of a victory at Orange Point before turning on the Virangish and assisting in the death of Piyale Karga. A conclusive win for either side would be a disaster, he had assessed.
However, with more supplies making it through the blockade, thanks to Revidian escort, the rebels had resupplied and rebuilt with astonishing speed and thoroughness. Their numbers had swelled for a final push and an attack on Sabu was imminent in retaliation for the repeated Virangish attempts on Ceboyan and the widespread devastation that city had faced. If this expeditionary force was wiped out, Sabu might very well fall and the war would end with a decisive victory for the rebels. The reprisals, not dissimilar to those he had already witnessed in Ceboyan and at the Blue Star Idasque, would be brutal, and one oppressor would merely trade places with another. He was convinced of it.
So it was that he used a careless bit of magic within range of the other side’s mages: he drew enough energy to a particular area - not where he was standing, of course - to mimic a couple of attackers preparing a spell or refreshing their camouflage. He was quick. He was careful. He even felt a twinge of guilt but, careful as he was, he was not of this place. He did not know it and its secrets as did his would-be ally Mahal. She was closer to him than he’d imagined, perfectly hidden within the fog. She sensed what he had done: an innocent mistake, an attempt to be a hero, or a betrayal?
Regardless of what it was, it set one cluster of Virangish on edge. They roused from their campfire and readied their magics and cast about with an eager anxiety into the murk.
Mahal’s eyes widened when she sensed the gift being used. Her eyes noticed the movement and lingered on the sight of two strangers preparing a spell. Immediately, her bat sight saw through the display. Their forms became transparent showing they weren’t alive.
Illusions?
She recalled no information of illusionists among the Virangish army. It didn’t mean there wasn’t any, but… Her eyes shifted toward Fiske, the nearest illusionist in their ranks. She narrowed her gaze directly on him. It wasn’t clear if she knew or just suspected. However, the reality was that this mistake might cost them the element of surprise and if she didn’t act now, their chance of success would be lost.
Mahal had an idea to counter the fumble with another false one. Mahal clicked her tongue then gestured for her hounds to rush forward into view. Puno cocked her head and stared with one eye but caught on immediately. She woofed her displeasure before she slipped from her master's side. Supok and Ngiti followed immediately, looking like a pack of strays. It wasn't a common sight, but it wouldn't be impossible. Especially since some elites let their pets run wild all the time.
The hounds drew upon their gift and rushed through the forest, skirting in view before disappearing. As if they had caught the scent of something trying to escape them. Naturally they would circle around back toward her.
For a moment, Fiske strained into the distance. Those dogs: they were Mahal’s. Why had she let them off their leashes? Was she planning something? Was she trying to bait the Virangish? Was she also trying to give their position away? Was she onto him!? He swept for energies that could be other people, but this group was maddeningly good at concealing their energy amid the kinetic swirls of the fog and chemical puffs of the lurkers and heat redistribution of the sweltering forest.
He didn’t know her game, but he decided to take the precaution of reaching out to hide the dogs behind an illusion.
When Mahal spotted the concealment magic, she tensed and more questions rose in her mind. If it was the enemy pulling the illusions then why conceal the dogs? Something was off, causing her anxiety to jump higher still. She recalled the same level of craftsmanship back in the talent show within the Academy. This ruled out any native born here without the training.
Either way, she didn't have time to play games with the culprit. They needed to get closer and strike quickly. Finding Kidlat nearby, she drew near and whispered to him. "Something's not right. I think we might have a traitor among us. Keep moving."
Her eyes were fixed on Fiske as she pulled away from Kidlat. They were nearly close enough to attack. However, if he tried to give their position away once more, she’d stop him.
The cigarette burned slowly between Lunara’s fingers, its tip flaring faintly. The fog clung low to the thick roots and shoulders of the forest, curling in lazy drifts like the smoke exhaled from Lunara’s lips. She passed it without words to Sohran. He took it with a nod, holding the nearly finished wrapped paper between scarred knuckles.
“Feels like the kind of air that doesn’t want to move,” he murmured.
Lunara didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the treeline, listening, feeling. Something was out there: a subtle distortion, a ripple, a faint pulse - the Gift.
“That was sloppy.”
Sohran tilted his head, “What was?”
She didn’t answer, not yet. Instead, she closed her eyes and let her senses stretch, breathing through the energy left hanging in the wind. The thread of it was unfamiliar. A light touch, but too clean.
Then, movement. Three shapes, low and fast, darting through the mists ahead. Lunara caught their silhouettes as they broke into view. Canine, lean, purposeful in their gait. There was a certain signature about these dogs she believed to have spotted. Something, she remembered.
Lunara knew it before her mind caught up.
Puno. Supak. Ngiti.
Mahal.
Lunara’s chest didn’t rise. Her pulse didn’t spike. But her spine went stiff. The dogs circled like they were chasing a scent. Yet, the dogs’ signature and the energy she’d sensed earlier differed. The dogs were covering for the first. She and Mahal had shared a womb. Shared a breath once. You didn’t unlearn the sense of your twin’s gift. Lunara felt Mahal out there. She knew the rebels had arrived.
She snapped her head at Sohran, “They’re here.”
“Who?”
“Rebels.”
“You sure?”
“I know those dogs. I know she’s here. That means, they’re here.”
Sohran tensed, his hand drifting near the hilt at his side.
“Inform Colonel Solak, now.” Lunara sharply said.
Sohran took off into camp.
Lunara took off into the woods. The hunt had begun.
It took Mahal moments to recognize the figure that separated from the camp and darted into the forest's haze. Lunara. She cursed her failure to account for her sister's presence. Then again, how could she have known? The two hadn't crossed paths since the night of short knives and the bloody aftermath.
Lunara's warning echoed in her memory. "Next time, you’ll not be treated as my sister but as an ally to murderers, an enemy, and I’m sorry.”
This would be far from a happy reunion. She expected her sister would kill her if given the chance, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same.
"Your sister misses you, do you miss her just as much?" Came Dalisay's voice from the back of her head. Mahal's heart twitched in pain at the words, knowing she did. But it didn't matter in the end. They were on opposite sides and destined to clash until one flame extinguished the other.
She prayed that things might be different, but what good did it ever do for her? None.
Seeing that the element of surprise was lost, Mahal screamed. "NOW!"
Her voice summoned the tribes from their hiding spots as they swarmed toward the camp. Despite Lunara's warning, the troops couldn't stir fast enough. Several arrows flew from within the mist. They whistled then thumped heavily into their targets, silencing their cries for help. Men and women painted in white charged with weapons raised. With a sharp command from Mahal, Sikuaq shot off her perch and flew above the camp. Her form shone like freshly frozen ice as her atomic swelled for an attack.
Meanwhile, Mahal's hounds continued to circle around to their master. Their braying sounds vibrated off the trees.
She focused on the camp.The Palaparese girl stepped out from the mist, facing several soldiers raising their guns. Drawing in the kinetic energy, she cast a shockwave on them.
Lunara spotted her sister while concealed in the brush. The ambush commenced, and the rebels took the initiative. The Virangish camp was roused before the first strike, but they were not fast enough to simultaneously respond to all the threats that emerged. As the Rebels made contact, Lunara seized the opportunity with Mahal, who focused on the Virangish defense. As Mahal was about to cast her gift on the camp, Lunara raised a single-shot pistol and fired, guiding the shot toward her sister’s hip. If the shot hit, it would pacify Mahal without killing her; if not, it would break Mahal’s concentration from focusing on the Virangish camp, giving Lunara’s allies more time to fortify their defenses without a mage disrupting their efforts.
A tug on her hair caught Mahal's attention. But it was too late. As the men pulled their triggers, gunpowder flashed and sent their iron balls flying. Mahal's hands slammed together. Air vibrated until it cracked with a deafening boom. The shockwave rippled forward. Earth scattered from its path until it hit the defense. Soldiers were sent flying to the rear ranks.
As the pistol fired, Supok was the first to rush out of the bush. Her large form leaped at Lunara, trying to knock her down with a tackle. Meanwhile, Mahal whipped around. Her hand slapped the bullet off course as it nicked her flesh. It brought her down to one knee causing her to stifle a cry.
Spotting Lunara yards away, Mahal focused on the pistol. The handle started to heat up and burn to the touch.
Supok’s launch gave Miray the advantage of surprise. From the tree tops, the nimble Goma cat fired down. Lunara tossed a charge of lightning at Miray to redirect onto Supok. From above, Supok would take a bite and shock. While the two beasts made contact, Lunara felt the heat increase on her pistol. It didn’t matter; she released the pistol to hang in the air.
Mahal kicked up a stone then shot it backwards. It smacked into the pistol, shattering the barrel upon impact unless Lunara did something. One moment she was there, the next gone back into the swirling mist.
Meanwhile, while Supok and Miray engaged, two more shapes came out of the brush. Puno sprung forward and up the tree, attempting to chase the goma cat down. Ngiti stopped in the clearing just below the feline then let out a booming bark. Kinetic energy snapped forward, clipping branches and leaves.
Mahal’s retreat gave Lunara the space to focus on all the pets. Miray had stunned Supok but reacted to Puno’s assault. Swiftly the two ran up into the canopy and as quickly as they went up, they came down. Lunara used her kinetic to throw the stunned Supok at Puno mid-chase. The two collided, barreling into some brush. Then, a third beast arrived to deliver a sonic bark, Lunara using her control of bosons, muffled the sound and impact for her and Miray.
After being knocked down, Puno snapped at Supok who pushed herself up. Both shook off their daze with a deep growl. Their heads snapped to the fleeing woman before taking off with Ngiti back into the mist.
Recognizing that Mahal’s pets were swarming her. Lunara chemically condensed the water vapors around her body. A fresh mist surrounded her, allowing her to shift from position behind the haze. The fight had continued inside the camp, which meant the Virang were overwhelmed. She headed back to defend those she could and get them out before it was too late.
In the thick of the fight. Steel on steel, gunpowder, and screams. These sounds reverberated underneath the stretched-out canopy of Mushroom Forest. Lunara’s feet took her the distance and back into friendly territory where the lines were drawn by the fighting and dying.
Sikuaq dipped from her perch and rose into the skies, spreading her wings wide. Her dark eyes drank in the carnage below before widening her jaws. A stream of flame erupted from her throat and sprayed across the first line. A few mages dampened the effect, but several burned.
Mahal and her dogs rounded to the other side of the camp as her snow wyvern distracted the line. Several arrows sailed into the air before they rained down on the camp. Dark shapes appeared like spectures, flowing alongside the rebels. Painted faces with dark circles were glimpsed as they picked off the brave and foolish, showing there was more still hidden in the forest.
“There are too many.” Lunara pointed out the obvious to a Colonel who felt this battle was important to turnaround.
“We will not let these cowards win!”
Lunara heard the snap of a round run by her ear and witnessed the bullet punch into an unlucky soldier who was pulling an injured man.
“We need to retreat. We won’t be useful to our mission if we don’t survive.” She pleaded with the Colonel as they defended against more oncoming rebel fighters. Mud kicked up at their faces, rounds whizzed by, and battle cries continued. They were in the middle of a slaughterhouse that they needed to escape.
“Dammit. Fine! Sound the retreat!” The Colonel ordered as sounds began to play, and the Virangish reacted in concert. Rebels continued to gain further ground in the camp as the Virang slowly broke their lines to retreat, with the stronger mages holding the rear guard. The mages bounded as the bulk of survivors followed their Colonel.
Lunara and Sohran were alongside a squad of Virangish soldiers firing at an advancing rebel party. Some rebels were finishing off Virang soldiers still behind in the camp, while others followed the retreat. Those who followed were cut down by squads like Sohran’s.
“Get out of here, Lunara!” Sohran said as he fired his rifle with his round guided by Lunara. The shot cracked the kneecap of an older rebel who yelled in resistance to both the pain and the fight.
“No, we came here together, we will leave together!” Lunara’s resolve was firm. She raised a fallen soldier up with her kinetic as a meat shield right as a volley of rifles ripped down a line from the side of the rebels. She tossed the body at them which disrupted their coordination and the squad of Virangish took the opportunity of the confusion to fire their own volley.
“Move!” Sohran shouted. The squad bounded back as the rebel line chasing them were forced to reorient themselves before another attack. This pace continued until the Virang were out of shots and the rebels kept coming.
“To our East!” A rebel came out of the brush with steel raised high, tackling one of the Virangish in the squad. Lunara pivoted, lashing the rebel into a tree with a snap of kinetic force, but it was too late. The blade was already buried deep in the Virangish’s soldier’s gut. Bloody sprayed across the grass. Then came the second, the third, the fourth.
They poured out of the brush like a flood.
“Lunara, go!” Sohran barked a second time, his voice sharp, desperate. He shoved her backward with his shoulder and raised his rifle again, the bayonet gleaming. Cutting one rebel down, but two more surged forward. Lunara lifted her hands, her Gift bursting, and she took too long. There were too many. Her vision blurred with smoke and blood, her body trembling, falling to her knees. She was hit, and she couldn’t reach him.
Sohran fought like a madman, and the rebels surrounded his position. A sabre found his ribs. A blade slashed across his thigh. His rifle clattered from his hand as he sank to one knee, still fighting, still resisting.
Their eyes met across the chaos, his fierce, hers wide with horror.
The last thing she heard was Sohran’s guttural roar as he plunged his dagger into one rebel’s neck before another sword cleaved him down. Lunara had finally bound the wound that paralyzed her in place. She was defended by other Virangish soldiers who quickly grabbed her to pull her back into a retreat.
Stumbling back, Lunara finally found her footing and retreated with the others. Her heart hammering in her chest, her face soaked with tears that she could not afford to wipe away as the chase continued.
The last thing Mahal saw was Lunara being hauled away. Mahal's skin was stained blood, her chest heaved with dying adrenaline. A knife went for her face causing her arm to jerk up and block it. The other brought her dagger into the attacker's side. She kicked him away before vanishing back into the mist.
After surviving the ambush, the remaining Virangish soldiers continued through the mushroom forest. As their forms detached from the clinging mists, their eyes turned to see the dawn. It bled across the skies with a brilliant red hue. A painful reflection of the earlier slaughter and large numbers lost. The rebels' ambush had worked well enough to diminish the number, but not wipe them out completely. Picking themselves up, the survivors continued their march toward the Plains of Fortuna. Some haunted by the encounter and others, hoping this final conflict might be an end to this war.
In the following weeks, any Virangish soldiers that dared to enter the mushroom forest met a similar encounter. Mahal had spoken with others over what she saw in the forest and her suspicions. As if sensing the danger, the man seemed to have vanished like the illusions he cast.
