Silanatiell, the Empire's Taboo
Those in power who come to understand history and karma, and grasp the principles of magic, all reach the same conclusion.
—Becoming a mage oneself is no way for a person to live.
—But it should be possible to turn someone else into a mage.
—So why not create one?
The royalty of the Muet Kingdom, precursor to the Muet Empire, thought the same. They made contact with the Silanatiell family, who had only just begun to be called mages. And they promised unlimited support.
The Silanatiell family, just starting their history as mages, could not refuse the kingdom's offer. It didn't take long for the kingdom to devour the small family. The Silanatiells devolved into a puppet family of the Muet Kingdom. Every family member became a tool for magic, living and dying for its acquisition and advancement.
Had that been the end of it, the Silanatiells would never have become the empire's taboo.
The history of magic is one of special deeds and eccentricities. The power gained from actions and thoughts that differ from others. Strong magic is often tied to taboos. The Silanatiells became a hotbed for them. Acts tabooed by society were encouraged within the family.
The Muet Kingdom became the Muet Empire, and Viktorma Muesilrigo I became Viktorma Muesilrigo II. The second Viktorma was a man of ambition. He craved stronger power, stronger magic, and his will was reflected perfectly in the Silanatiell family.
And so, a monster was born from the Silanatiells. The one Silanatiell who devoured dozens of others and survived alone. Mar Silanatiell. The greatest, strongest mage. The taboo mage.
Marhal subdued the thrashing Marina. He pinned both her hands above her head and bound her legs with leather cord.
"Kill Mar Silanatiell. Yes, I'll kill Silanatiell. I'm Silanatiell. Only I can be Silanatiell. It's dark, cold, dark, it hurts. Where am I?"
"Brainwashing. 'Kill Mar Silanatiell.'"
It had seeped deep into her consciousness. He could tell without seeing just how far the imperial nobles had pushed her to the brink. A Silanatiell made to kill Silanatiell. In other words, Marina was a weapon crafted by the imperial nobles—and ultimately the emperor above them—to fight against Mar Silanatiell, the inhuman mage.
At the core of her consciousness lay the empire's brainwashing. Marina Silanatiell's human mind had been built atop that foundation. Now her conscious mind had flown away, exposing the unconscious base beneath.
'But why?'
Marina was human, so she could err in controlling her magic. But this wasn't mere fainting—her consciousness flying away entirely was abnormal. In this state, she was completely defenseless. Even the imperial nobles who made her would know that. They wouldn't have left her so vulnerable so easily.
'Ales.'
Marhal hadn't anticipated someone using the land's history this soon. It meant Ales had extraordinary talent in that area. If he'd used the land's power to curse Marina, it would explain the current phenomenon.
Marina's mutterings continued.
"Only you are Silanatiell. Only I am Silanatiell. Kill Mar Silanatiell. I'll kill Mar Silanatiell. So, you'll give me the light, right? Light, eyes, soul."
She was mimicking several people's voices. Likely those of the ones who brainwashed her. The pronunciation was imprecise, but it was clue enough for Marhal. He had a good idea which noble had brainwashed her.
Figuring out the noble behind her was good, but what came next was the problem. If this was temporary, fine—but if it persisted, normal life for her was impossible.
"Where am I? Who are you, big brother?"
"You don't remember?"
"My hands hurt."
Marhal released her hands. Freed, Marina groped for his. Her hand climbed his arm to his bicep.
"Dirty hands. Rough leather. Mercenary?"
"Can't you see?"
"Lost my eyes in a magic experiment. Where am I? Big brother? This air... it's not the capital's."
"This is the West. You're in the West."
"The West! Demons? Are there demons?"
"We're being chased by demons. We have to run now."
"Demons! No demons! Demons eat history."
Marina clung to Marhal's chest. Her arms around his neck, legs around his waist—like a child to a parent.
'Infantile regression. Better than her earlier ravings, at least.'
She couldn't think straight and was babbling nonsense before. This was progress. With time, she might recover further. If Ales was behind it, he held the key to lifting the curse.
Marhal stood. Pain stabbed his head with every jolt to his left arm. But his mobility was intact. Dealing with just Ales meant they still held the advantage.
He borrowed the surrounding wind and wrapped it around his body. Marhal leaped forward. Where he'd stood, a massive earthen spear erupted. More stake than spear.
Ales's voice came from above. He overlooked Marhal from atop a diagonally bent earthen pillar.
"Found you. Lowborn Marhal, you die by God's will! By this Ales's hand! God's proxy!"
Marhal vaulted to a nearby rooftop. Another stake sprouted where he'd been.
"How's that? God's power. Can a lowly mercenary stand against it? Answer me!"
"You used to have at least a shred of dignity, like food stuck in your teeth. Now even that's gone. Have you finally admitted your own vulgarity?"
"Rant all you like. I've been chosen by God as one of the elect! Your prattle changes no facts."
Dozens of earthen pillars surged around Ales. Each taller than buildings, thick as centuries-old trees. An impressive miracle. Records said Ales had wielded notable miracles even as a priest. If true, he was one who 'accumulated well.'
His talent blooming now was Marhal's misfortune.
The pillars loosed earthen arrows. Marhal spread the leather cord into a round shield and blocked them. Ales fired more. They slipped between the cords—but Marhal was gone from behind the shield. The cord fell like ordinary cloth.
Marhal fled far ahead. Ales glared, seeking the 'power' around him. He'd done it once before. He focused again to dispel Marhal's power, but a white shock hit his mind. His head snapped back like slamming a wall.
Blocking his power was a vast wall. Inhuman, distant. His power as God's proxy was absolute. But God had inscribed the name of that cursed being—who was His creation yet rejected Him—in scripture as a warning to the deluded.
"Demon! You're a demon! I'll slay the demon and fulfill God's will!"
Ales moved the pillars. Dozens converged on Marhal, pursuing him.
Running, Marhal flicked his hand back. The leather cord, returned to him, blocked the incoming earthen arrows. But he couldn't block hundreds. One pierced his leg, another his arm.
He yanked them out, roughly healed the surfaces with a miracle, and propelled himself with wind.
'This isn't why I gathered forces.'
To compensate for his martial weakness, Marhal had labored tirelessly. Given time, he could muster an army—including knights. He'd gathered knights of various circumstances for mobilization.
Yet here he was, toiling personally despite them. Regrettable.
The crumbled wall loomed. He'd seen Ales's soldiers en route, but they seemed more enthralled by Ales's miracles than pursuing him.
Makes sense. Few in the miracle trackers could wield such scale freely.
"Too much for mere talent. Influence of vast history, perhaps."
A human become demon. A knight stepping into hero territory. No law said a landlord couldn't wield the land's power differently.
Landing amid wall rubble, Marhal aimed to exit the city but halted at torso-constricting pain. Marina clung with arms and legs around his neck and waist.
"What's this? Explain. Why are my eyes like this?"
"Seems Ales cursed you. You're sane again, at least."
"Sane...? Oh."
The grip tightened. Marhal smacked her head. He'd choke or snap his neck first.
"Huh? Wha—what...? Why am I doing this?"
"You clung to me. Why ask me? Don't you know best?"
"I don't! What about that bastard Ales?"
"Chasing us from there. Right on our tail. So loosen your arms a bit."
Not whining—he could barely move. Marina's physical prowess exceeded his. Her full-force cling, especially legs squeezing waist and hips, prevented running.
Thuk.
An arrow struck his back. Blood splattered Marina's face.
"Kyaa, kyaak!"
She screamed, trying to drop. Marhal held her firm, seizing the loosened leg-gap to run again. Leaping the wall, endless wasteland greeted him.
"What the hell's happening? What occurred while I was out?!"
"Long story. More importantly, your magic?"
"Lost power under pressure. It'll return with time. Even using land history to suppress Silanatiell history, even briefly... what...?"
"Think later... no, just keep thinking."
Ales approached on an earthen pillar. Slower than before. New power taxing his mind? Or savoring the chase?
"Halt, demon! God's proxy will tear you apart!"
"He's insane?"
"Not sure about insane, but dangerous for sure."
"Behold! God's authority!"
In the dusty expanse, Ales changed tactics. Pillars beside him crumbled. The wasteland shook. Ropes erupted from earth—thick as Marhal's arms, whipping like lashes at arrow speed.
'Too strong to block, but not killing—aiming to bind. Small mercy.'
To humiliate or publicly execute as a demon, per his words. Either suited Marhal. As long as not instant death.
He braced for impact. But no shock came. Earth rose into a wall, blocking Ales's assault.
"Won't hold long! Hurry!"
Marina's eyes stayed shut. She'd barely reacted to the miracle's sense to form the shield. Cracks spidered the wall. Marhal was already moving.
"Wherever you flee in this land, there's no escape for you vermin!"
Ales's roar echoed inhumanly behind. Power of a late-bloomer landlord.
A man raced the wasteland. A woman clung tight to him. An earthen-pillar rider pursued. Horses galloped nearby. Sun set, moon risen, illuminating night. Varied tracks etched new history into the plain.