Rynth: Four Beats

| 7th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |

Idri and Calliope made themselves over to Raoul and Avil, watchfully trudging past even as the Mauler-Bear kept a teeth-gritted watch on their movements. Teyrhar stood resolute and unmoving in its view, quickly shielding the girls from its lone bloodshot eye. The other still bled a now calm spill, the pain still aching. It shifted to view the massive hunk of a monk. From how it carried itself that moment, there was no doubt that its foe dwarfed it in size.

Giving into its crazed instincts, the bear rose to its hind legs and roared, slashing at the air in front of it with barely restrained rage. Now it was taller, but only by a mere finger.

“Be silent!” shouted Teyrhar, his voice somehow piercing the deafening aura of its roars and silencing it. He released his grip on his pewter staff and raised his burly arms above his head, adopting the signature pose meant to intimidate beasts of his ilk. “Begone. I will not tolerate you any longer. Return to seclusion in the forest. Take one more step, and I will ensure you will not live to feed your bloodlust.”

The motion forced a shudder into the Mauler-Bear—the first it had felt in years. An ordinary beast would have turned tail and fled. But not it. Life existed only for battle, and retreat never once occurred as an option in the years it had terrorized Jek-Alturi. Nor would it now.

It charged on, motion prepared to knock Teyrhar off his feet. He remained steadfast in its way and clashed against its entire furry mass. For a few moments, he was beaten in strength and nearly launched back. He raged, pushing back and stopping the bear in its tracks. For a while, the two of them engaged in a pushback, neither side making any notable stride forward. The Mauler-Bear expelled a hefty mass of spit with its next roar, aimed directly at his features.

“Should we help?” Avil muttered, arms crossed in blatant interest. “We’re in the perfect position to sneak in some attacks.”

Raoul shook his head, kicking his leg back and forth. “He said he’d handle it. I don’t want to interrupt lest we break his flow. Maybe if he gets overpowered and knocked to the ground.”

Their strength contest broke the next instant. Teyrhar sweeped a leg right under the bear, knocking it off its feet. Carrying that same momentum, he yanked it back and into the air before slamming it back down. Audible cracks from broken bones sounded, followed closely by whimpers. He continued the assault, pinning the bear beneath his bulk. It raised its maws to shield itself, but Teyrhar blew through both with a single strike that punched through and connected with its snout, forcing another disturbing crack.

The Mauler-Bear only thrashed and roar in resistance that much more, but its strikes were far too flimsy to even faze Teyrhar. He slammed his fists down again and again, intentionally targeting the spots that had already bruised and dented from his attacks in order to inflict as much pain as possible. In one final display, the bear growled a weak growl, only for him to shut it up almost instantly as he gripped its throat with both hands, suffocating it.

“Begone!”

A third crack, this one louder than the first two. It marked the final disgraceful breath of the Mauler-Bear. Its struggling quickly ceased, jerking subsiding within seconds. Huffing, Teyrhar picked himself up and wiped the spittle off his face. Then, he bowed, offering it a final silent prayer.

“May you find respite in your next life.”

Raoul motioned a ‘wow’ with his lips. “That was quick and brutal. I didn’t think it could be overpowered like that.”

“His strength is terrifying,” Cali added. “It reminds me of Idri.”

“Is… is that a compliment?” Idri tilted her head.

“It is, do not worry.”

Approaching them, Teyrhar lost all trace of seriousness on his face, and he slumped himself over, retrieving his discarded staff with relaxed arms—no doubt to make himself appear not so terrifying to the four children who had just watched him tear apart an adult man and a bear nearly twice as tall as them in the span of a few minutes, and with an entirely different demeanor about him the entire time.

“I apologize for that display,” he said. “Before my venture into the Heir of Waters’ clergy, I held a… drastically different vocation as a brigand and sellsword. I was not the most coolheaded back then.”

“Is that why you went ‘rah-rah-rah!’ and ‘begone!’ earlier while fighting?” Idri giggled, deepening her voice to mimic his intonations. “You were an entirely different person.”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “I still lose myself in the throes of battle, and as such prefer not to engage in it unless necessary.”

“And this was necessary?” Avil asked.

“Of course! It was in the service of my deity and to protect you four. Speaking of, what brings you children to this holy site? It is not every day I encounter those as young as you here. This is a site of pilgrimage, and thus often only visited by devout worshippers of Il-Lancasta or tourists who seek to take a picture to post online.”

“We’re on a journey around the world,” replied Raoul. “We’re traveling to the city of Vonas a couple of days over, and figured a little bit of sightseeing wouldn’t hurt. Didn’t think we’d run into a cult. Are they actually one?”

Teyrhar nodded. “Ah, yes. The Cult of Misericorde. They are thought to be a budding cult, recently established; no more than a few years ago, in fact. I do not have much contact with the outside world save for my biweekly visits to the nearby village for supplies. It was in last month’s newspaper that I took notice of the headlines depicting the cult’s increasing presence.”

He continued. “Will you children stay for a bit? I am more than willing to offer you information, but it would be no good for us to stand out here in the blistering heat. I can take you all atop the waterfall—I reside in a cabin there. We might enjoy the company of a perfect cup of tea.”

The four of them turned to each other. No refusals. They all nodded in agreement, and Teyrhar lightened up, immediately beckoning them forth as he hurried into the wash basin. They tiptoed over to the deeper end, stopping just before the water reached waist-length. Teyrhar gripped his staff tightly and began chanting in Istharynth.

“Monais turil Il-Lancasta, aksa-akmi ninvaasu.”

Under his command, the flow of water—both from the waterfall and the general movement in the wash basin—ceased. Parts of the mass tensed, gathering up tightly underneath the five of them. Then, it hardened, remaining liquid but somehow possessing the rigidty of a tangible platform, and relaxed into ovals that slowly raised them off the surface and into the air.

“Whoa!” Idri gasped, almost tripping over as her senses jumbled at the shift in position. Luckily, Cali was close by and caught her by the fabric of her dress-robes. “Thank you, Cali.”

Raoul and Avil marveled at the spell. It wasn’t a particularly high-tier one. Water Steps was only Tier 3 in Il-Lancasta’s Divinitas spell catalogue, and yet either Teyrhar’s beseeching of his god or the unmistakeable holy energy of the site helped in bringing it to the next level.

The platforms brought them closer, only an arm’s length away from the waterfall and the face of the statue of Il-Lancasta after only half a minute. By then, the run and rush of water had continued, now amplifying to rapid crashes into the basin below. Idri reached a hand out, beaming as the cold drenched her right sleeve.

Finally, the platforms pushed them over the top, a quaint cabin fashioned from cut logs of oak made itself known, carved gable roof and all. Teyrhar stepped onto the cliff first, waiting as the Batan climbed over. Dismissing the platforms with a wave of his hand, he strided over to the door and pushed it open.

“Come in.”