The Fey Conquest, # 2— “Volunteer Magicite”
- David Parker
- Oct 2, 2023
- 5 min read
[Short stories. Images generated by hotpot.ai]
“If I know those other three, they won’t show any restraint in gathering magicite,” said Swain, “and we need to think carefully about the people we arm,” he said, then added, “with what magicite, that is.”
The few men-at-arms that were allowed to represent the Fey Folk (from their own number) pleaded with him not to slay the ‘good’ espers.
“Why not turn only the dark espers into runes? Your god, Zakarum, would surely love it.”
The Separatists from Ivalice exchanged looks.
“What do you know of Zakarum?” said Numyst, the appointed Mouth of Zakarum.
“W-we just think he would spare the ones we love.”
Swain replied, “Ever since we got here, nearly every one of them stalks us.”
None dared to accuse him of being a wicked invader.
Then, one said, “What about the healers? They never hurt anyone.”
“That’s—” Swain began, then thought better of it. “Alright, we can’t let The Fletcher gain the edge, but bring me one of the healers alive. Otherwise, business as usual.”
Most of the Fey Folk he had pressed into service were anxious about serving an army that subjugated what Swain assumed were their gods. Thirty of them were amenable to the power that it offered, and began arming themselves by tolerating the pain required to turn the magicite into runes on their bodies. Three of those begged to be killed, until at length their trial was over. Seven of the Thirty professed that they would only accept Dark Magicite, which was the result of killing a dark esper, as killing the other kind of esper was against their conscience. However, those seven writhed for much longer than the others, which the Separatists had already learned was the consequence.
Of the seven who pledged only to accept dark magicite, only three kept their pledge. Their names were Krin, Maggik, and Wizen. Krest the wizard and Numyst kept watchful eyes on them, as soldiers who only wielded dark magicite were uncharted waters in the already uncharted waters where they sailed.
Forty-five recruits were being trained in wielding their various weapons, which were in short supply, by Garyf Minus One (a fletcher missing one finger), Stone the archer, and a volunteer sergeant named Lomar. The Fey Folk were a soft breed, and not all of the captives were suited for battle. Women, children, and the greenhorns were set to either to work crafting bows under the supervision of Mark the Bowyer, or fletching arrows after Minus (One) had trained them. Making bows proved the more difficult task. Garyf the Poleman was in the process of training a handful of the natives in crafting spears. As of now, none of his number had expertise in making shields, but Swain used his authority to press a handful of Fey Folk into learning how of their own accord. At this point, five rude escutcheons had been produced, only one of which was actually usable.
It was much easier to simply suffer long enough to use magicite— at least, in theory— and after the course of another week, five of the forty-five recruits chose runes over conventional training, and they gained another four from the newest conscripts willing to do the same.
At the same time, a total of twenty greenhorns were added to their number, along with swelling numbers of camp followers who were either waiting to be trained or designated with various tasks, such as laundry, cooking, tending fires, foraging, carrying loads, minding animals, and giving attention to the various males. Nine of their number had taken some of the women as wives, and two of those nine were Fey Folk, having understood that Swain’s presence was not likely to be dislodged, and thus believed in his strength.
At length, they finally found a small collection of espers capable of healing, one of which also imparted Vision, which would provide seemingly random visions of what was happening in various places in the Fey Realm.
“So,” said Swain, “Convince me not to turn you into magicite.”
The espers were small, appearing to be hybrids of angels and fairies. They had the appearance of conversing with each other, though no words were heard. Then one of them spoke.
“We are fit to be reborn,” s/he said (Swain could not tell the difference).
“And?” said Swain.
“It was foretold long ago that the espers would pass.”
There was a pause.
Swain said, “Well, no time like the present.”
“Rude,” said one of the espers.
Another chimed in, “Treat us like humans, please.”
Swain looked around, thinking.
Then said, “Well, if you’re passing on anyway, why shouldn’t I do it?”
They appeared to converse with each other.
One said, “We’re happy to be reborn. But we want you to convince us.”
“Convince me to kill you?”
“No,” said another, “we can volunteer to become magicite. It will hurt less for the both of us.”
Swain was illuminated. “Mouth,” he called. “Krest. Your services are needed.”
Numyst the Mouth and Krest approached the espers.
“Zakarum has ordained our presence,” said Numyst.
“Why don’t you already volunteer?” said Krest, “It sounds mutually beneficial.”
There was a brief fey conference.
“We know Zakarum, better than you do. We just want you to be nice to us, and be better than you are.”
The three humans exchanged looks.
“Fine,” said Swain, “Sounds good.”
“We want you to promise.”
“Promise!?” said Swain, “I already broke my oath to my liege in Ivalice. What good is that?”
“Then give us to someone else,” said the fey.
The three humans looked at each other. “Come with us,” said Krest, “and we’ll have a ceremony for you to receive your owner.”
The fey seemed to celebrate, then one said, “Is it scary to be reborn?”
“Probably,” said Swain, “if it was like that one time I already died.”
The faeries shivered.
“Nonsense,” said Numyst, “I will place the power of Zakarum upon us. We will ease your pain.”
The faeries celebrated again. “We like Zakarum. But not all humans.”
“Well, as long as it’s for the best,” said the cleric.
After that, within two days, the faeries chose their new masters, becoming runes on the bodies of their bearers. Two of them were Fey Folk, named Jasper and Gryn. They near effortlessly joined the flesh of their masters, until they were ‘reborn’.
Whatever that meant.
*-------------------------------------------*
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