Kellog and Wellynd trudged along the Illuvian Highway. The road had taken a battering from the constant storms, leaving large swathes of muddy patches where the path dipped, and dried out sections that had been exposed to the high crosswinds. Despite this, they had been lucky with the weather. Infrequent drops of rain pattered against Wellynd’s cloak, but the turbulent clouds kept their distance, looming out over the sea.
Wellynd hadn’t anticipated the road deteriorating so severely, and found himself worrying that they wouldn’t reach Reven’s Crossing in time for Leofer’s final ferry.
It was just as they crested a hill, west of the village of Tevid’s Leap, that Wellynd nearly tripped as his foot sank into a deep patch of mud. Kellog, who seemed to be navigating the road with ease, stopped and took a swig from his waterskin as he watched Wellynd yank his leg free.
After escaping the obstinate mud, Wellynd removed his boot and scraped the muck out from inside with a stick. He glanced sidelong at Kellog as he tossed the stick aside.
“How are you doing that?” he asked, fixing his boot back on his foot.
“Doing what?” Kellog smiled as he tucked his waterskin back into his bag.
“Not getting stuck...your boots don’t even look wet.”
In fact, now that he took a longer look, Kellog’s boots appeared to have no mud on them at all.
“Ah” Kellog said, turning his foot to reveal dry treads. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
He stepped forward with one foot, planting it into the mud patch in front of where he stood. As his foot made contact with the ground, the mud around it briefly crumbled, drying immediately before Wellynd’s eyes. Holding it there for a second, Kellog lifted his foot and moved it back to the naturally dry spot on the side of the road. The dirt sank back into mud and became a cohesive wet mass once more.
“See?” He took his other foot, lunging forward again as the same thing happened. The wet mud solidified into dirt, and disappeared back into wet mud as he took his foot away.
“Well that’s convenient...you just let me get mud all over myself for the past hour? Why?” Wellynd curled his toes in his boots and felt a small amount of mud compact between them.
Kellog put his hands behind his back and leaned forward “It’s part of being an observer, Welly. You won’t get anywhere meaningful if you don’t notice things. New shapes, variations on ones we already know, all of these developments have come from observing the world. The Observatories make discoveries every year in Shape Theory and engineer new ways to manipulate kose, but the core principle has always been the same. Be astute. Remember that. I think you already have a natural inclination towards observation, but you should never forget it. Pay attention to everything you can. Not just the natural world, but the people that inhabit it, too. You’d be surprised at what you can learn from the seemingly most mundane goings of human life…And besides, I have to admit, it was kind of funny watching you get stuck in the mud.”
Kellog grinned and playfully hopped back as Wellynd kicked mud at him.
Wellynd scratched the side of his head. “Okay. Well, what I’m noticing is that you’re turning mud into dirt, or something close to…stone? So, it can’t be entirely different from what you taught me back at the cave.”
“Good. Believe it or not: It’s almost the same shape. Hm. Come over here and reduce this stone into dirt.” he gestured to a stone jutting out from the hillside next to the road.
Wellynd walked over and placed his hand on the stone. Taking a moment to pull the kose, he drew up the shape quickly and weaved it into the stone. The top section vanished, dematerializing into a fine dirt.
“Good. Now again. Faster.”
“Okay…” Wellynd thought he was quite quick. Apparently, the last week of recommitting the shape to memory and practicing weaving in secret wasn’t enough.
He did it again, this time quicker, relying on his muscle memory to form the shape without actively thinking about every line. More of the stone vanished, its remnant dirt dancing away as the sea-winds whipped across the road on their way up the mountainside.
“Again.” Kellog chimed. Wellynd did it again. And again. When Wellynd protested that they were taking too long and that the delay might cause them to miss the ferry. Kellog simply replied with “So what? Don’t think about that. Focus. Again.”
Fifty attempts later, most of which were successful, Kellog held up his hand. The large stone that had been jutting out of the side of the mountain was now halved in size, its smooth edge contrasting the angular cliff around it.
“Now that you’ve gotten a consistent rhythm, I want you to do the same thing, but use less kose. Try to retain enough to keep the shape.”
“But when I weave it, it all goes away. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Well, if you’ve been doing it that way, yes. Depending on the shape, the amount and intensity of kose affects several factors. But you don’t have to expel all of it. Pull kose, build the shape, and weave it at a trickle.” Kellog wiggled his fingers “Go ahead, try.”
Wellynd pulled kose and quickly constructed the shape. He was ever-aware of the searing pain that quickly formed, and he sometimes felt it tugging at his concentration, but he knew he could compartmentalize it. Keep it at bay.
He focused and began to weave into the stone, attempting to hold his mind’s shape together as the world acquiesced to his will, greedily tugging at the seams of the construct he’d formed.
The shape fell apart as another layer of stone turned to fine dirt.
Kellog said nothing. Wellynd tried again. It fell apart again.
On his third try, something different happened. He felt the stone turn to dirt, but only where the tips of his middle three fingers made contact. His thumb and pinky still touched solid stone. Opening his eyes, he saw a small depression of dirt surrounded by stone. More importantly, the shape still hung there in the empty space of his mind, the distant pain a dull reminder of its presence.
“Good. You’ve got it. Keep that shape. Begin pulling more kose. It should naturally bond to the shape you’ve already made. Focus on weaving. You just did it thirty times. Keep that rhythm.”
Wellynd pulled in more kose and to his surprise he felt it start to coalesce with the shape he already held. He focused on weaving it into the world, moving his hand to fresh stone with each pulse that flowed through him. He felt the cyclic nature of pull and push as he began to sweat.
As he adjusted to the cycling, he was able to increase the pace of each pull and push, until eventually, the stone was falling away at a constant rate.
There was, however, some variability in the efficacy of the weave. Sometimes the stone turned to fine dirt, and other times it fell off in larger sections. He continued for what felt like minutes, splitting his concentration between weaving the shape and controlling the flow of kose. Eventually, he got through the entire stone, and all that remained was a mound of stone chips and dust.
He stepped back, stretching his arm and taking deep breaths. The pain lingered, and he realized that his mind still clung to the shape he’d held. It took purposeful effort to expel it. Once he did, the radiating pain began to dissipate, and he felt a previously unrecognized tension release in his muscles.
“You’ve been holding that shape in your mind the whole hike?” Wellynd asked between breaths.
“No no. Only when I have to step through muddy patches. Though, it wouldn’t be difficult to keep it going the whole time. You took that up quite well. You’re learning quickly.”
Wellynd straightened his shoulders a bit. His practice had paid off.
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“But you said it’s a different shape, right? Can you show me?”
“Just slightly.” Kellog pointed to the dirt beside his feet.
Wellynd ambled over to Kellog’s side and looked down to see a perfectly etched shape that he had obviously weaved into the mud.
At first glance, the shape appeared exactly the same as the one he had just weaved into the stone. To better compare, Wellynd again began to pull kose and form the shape in the hollow space in his mind, comparing each cross-section with the one on the ground.
Then, he spotted it.
A section near the right side that normally dipped into a downward-facing semicircle, was instead turned upward. Wellynd squinted, looking over the shape once more to confirm he didn’t miss anything else.
“That’s it? That’s the only difference?” he asked, pointing to the upside-down segment.
“There’s two, actually.” Kellog raised an eyebrow, gesturing to another section of the dirt.
Wellynd examined the part of the shape Kellog was pointing at. It took him a second to notice that one line was broken.
“I thought that might have just been because of the mud. You keep that line broken on purpose?”
“Mhm.” Kellog said, crouching down and waving his hand over the broken line. “Normally, we use this shape permanently. Let’s say you wanted to dry out a patch of land. Maybe you’re building something. You’d keep this line intact. But by breaking this line I have turned this into what we commonly call an open shape. Not every line connects to another one. Open shapes require much less kose than a closed shape, but their effect only persists while you weave it. Some shapes are naturally opened. Some are naturally closed. As a general rule, most naturally closed shapes can be opened, but very few naturally opened ones can be closed. Calling the wind, or ‘Gusting’ as you call it, is a good example of a weave that always uses an open shape; I imagine that shape Henry taught you has several breaks in it. There is no closed shape for blowing the wind, or at least not one that I’ve ever heard of. ”
Wellynd visualized Henry’s shape, and sure enough there were several points where lines weren’t connected.
“What happens when I try to close the Gust shape? Does it still work?”
Kellog raised an eyebrow “Well. Try.”
Wellynd pulled in some kose and began to form Henry’s shape. He’d forgotten how complicated it was compared to the rock shape that Kellog had taught him, especially without the help of the artefact. With great difficulty, he formed the wind shape, and, through considerable effort, connected any open lines with any points that were closest to them.
He tried to weave it. Usually, when he would weave something, there would be some sort of response. It didn’t always accept the shape, but there would be resistance. With this shape, there was nothing. The kose was static. Wellynd released it and wiped the sweat away from his forehead.
“It didn’t work. It’s like I was…being ignored or something.”
Kellog readjusted the small pack on his shoulder and gestured to Wellynd to continue walking.
“Exactly. And the world, the wind, whatever it is, won’t respond. You’re offering a shape that your audience doesn’t understand. Try speaking common tongue to a local on the moorlands of northern Melyar. You’ll get a similar response. Or better yet, try chatting with a tree! Ask it to shed its leaves in summer. Your words will fall on no ears. Without the proper shape, you can’t communicate your will to it, though, you might demand it with axe or flame.”
Wellynd, who had started following after Kellog, stopped and frowned “Wait. But I did use that shape to make the wind blow for several minutes, if I remember correctly. At Recluse’s Cove. I wasn’t weaving the whole time.”
Kellog stopped too and turned back to Wellynd. “Yes. I remember you telling me that. It’s like the boulders in the cave. You’re somehow breaking the rules with that artefact and that kose that is locked away in the velunstun. I don’t really have an explanation for that. All I can say is that you should still learn all the rules because you’re still mostly bound by them, and until we figure out what’s going on, you ought to pay extra attention to how you are subverting them.”
“Got it.” replied Wellynd, watching on as Kellog practically skipped across another puddle, dirt hardening beneath his feet with each step. He frowned. How was he supposed to weave kose with his feet? He was about to call after Kellog and ask when he stopped himself. This would be the perfect opportunity to prove to Kellog, and himself, that he could figure things out on his own.
The solution to his problem came quite quickly. He’d been toying with weaving the shape when he remembered Neera’s comments back in the cave. She had said that you could focus the kose to a specific point in his body.
Wellynd figured the same rule might apply to actually weaving it. He decided to test his theory out on a small puddle.
Slowly, at first, he practiced the motion that Kellog had shown him, moving his foot back and forth onto the patch of mud as he delicately pulled continuous kose into the shape.
The first few tries, nothing happened. Directing the kose into his foot felt sluggish, and he couldn’t quite time it properly.
Eventually, however, he got the hang of it.
He would pull the required kose, ready his mind, and a step before crossing, he would weave the shape into the mud. Then, he’d simply walk across.
No wet feet.
The difficulty, and several soaked boots, came when the muddy stretches extended for multiple steps.
During these sections, he either became stranded on a newly hardened patch of dirt, unable to maintain the current weave while preparing his next step in time, or he’d resolve not to hesitate stepping forward into the patch only to weave the mud into dirt around his foot.
Wellynd became so frustrated with his failed timing that he decided to temporarily abandon his practice, instead choosing to walk around the larger mud patches, sometimes detouring so far that he had to jog to catch back up to Kellog.
He continued with this cycle for the next few hours, until they drew close to the descent to Reven’s Crossing. Wellynd, who had just successfully taken three steps in the mud while weaving the shape, noticed that his travelling companion had stopped up ahead.
Kellog stood on the crest of a hill, looking off into the distant grey clouds moving across the horizon.
“Storm?” Wellynd called out between breaths as he trudged up the steep incline.
Kellog turned. “No. Not yet at least.” His weathered face remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
As Wellynd crested the hill, the western strait between the island and Arta proper came into view. The waters churned, and whitecaps dotted the surface, but it wasn’t the impending weather that had caught Kellog’s attention.
Four large ships carved their way across the water, their massive dark hulls stark against the white waves. Their black and bronze sails were completely unfurled, drawn tight against the wind, cutting a fast clip southward down the strait.
Wellynd stopped and stood beside Kellog “Vertan ships? I always see them from this part of the road. Do you think they’re up to something?”
Kellog followed the small fleet with his eyes for a few more seconds before turning back to Wellynd and flashing a weathered smile “Who knows? There might just be bigger patrols about because of the attack. We ought to get moving.”
The Northern point of the island must have been hit hard by a storm recently, as the descent down to Reven’s Crossing was a precarious one. By the time they reached the Inn, even Kellog had mud caked to the bottom of his cloak. Though, Wellynd noticed, his shoes were still perfectly dry.
The sun had begun to set, the fading light casting the Goldenshore Inn in soft shadows that spilled onto the cobblestone path out front.
A customer stumbled forth from the doors, his shoulder brushing the unlit lantern and setting it swinging loosely back and forth. As the door closed, Wellynd caught a fleeting glimpse of flowing brown curls.
“Inn stays busy all year, does it?” asked Kellog, shielding the low hanging sun from his eyes.
“Yep. It’s a hard season for a lot of folk up here.”
A moment later, the door cracked open and the Inn’s light spilled forth, illuminating a familiar silhouette. Alara stilled the swinging lantern and opened its brass housing. She struck a match and lit the oil wick, adjusting the dial until the dancing flame cast a gentle glow across her face.
Shaking out the match, she turned and watched the drunk man stumble up the path momentarily before her eyes fell upon Wellynd and Kellog.
“Wellynd?” she called, squinting her eyes and taking a step forward. “Hey!” she walked a few more steps before quickening to a jog.
“Hey Alara” Wellynd said, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
“What are you doing here? Trip to the mainland?” She turned and tucked a curly lock of hair behind her ear, seemingly only now noticing Kellog. “Oh. Hello.” Alara looked sidelong at Wellynd.
Kellog stretched out his hand. “Kellog. Lovely Inn you have here.”
“Thanks. It’s my parents. They’re...” she briefly eyed the Inn. “Well there’s ups and downs, certainly. I’m actually headed to Revenshore tonight because of some...developments.”
“Developments?” Wellynd asked.
“No, no. Well, sorta. I guess.” Alara replied, fidgeting with the end ties of her apron. “Dad’s worked up over the increased Vertan presence at the docks. Said on his way home this morning he heard word of stricter security and levies in the coming days. Wants to stock up while we can.”
Wellynd turned to Kellog “Maybe the ships we saw earlier were in anticipation of that?”
The man grimaced. “Could be.”
The door to the Inn opened and spilled light into the courtyard. “Lara! Don’t have all night!” called Leofer.
She turned back to reply, but the door had already begun to swing closed. Alara’s eyes darted between Kellog and Wellynd. “Well, whatever is going on, this is your last chance to get over there tonight. Who knows when the next storm will hit. It’ll be fun.” Her eyes settled on Kellog “And you can explain who you are.”
Kellog chuckled “Whatever you say. Always up for an interrogation.”
