Parting the Waters

Jalkut strode out of the cover of trees, robes swaying with each step, and was greeted by the blinding rays of a midday sun. He waited until his eyes adjusted before pulling back his hood. There was no reason to hide from prying eyes anymore. Not after today.

The ground beneath his feet soon gave way to slick mud, and Jalkut scowled. He hated this place. He allowed himself the slightest grin as he reminded himself of why he was here, of why he spent an entire night skulking about like a petty thief. He jammed the end of his staff into the soggy shoreline and unfurled a scroll he’d prepared months before. It contained a highly detailed, almost disgustingly extravagant map of the lake before him. Eight red dots demarcated around the perimeter of the lake formed an octagon, connected by a complex series of lines and arrows. The reagents at each location served a dual purpose: Containing and redirecting the energy of the spell, and surrounding him in a small bubble of quiet in order to minimize distractions during the casting. Just below the lowest red dot, a bright yellow circle demarcated his current location.

Jalkut swept his gaze up from the paper, to take one last look at the lake. The home of his enemies. Light danced off of the crests of surface ripples, the natural pattern of the water broken up in places by the trails of merfolk dashing through the waters. In the center of the lake, three spires which appeared to be made of ice, broke from the water. The boundary between spire and water was almost imperceptible, were it not for the various people gathered around their base. It was beautiful, he had to admit, but so was Immiruul, once. It didn’t help them, and it wouldn’t help the Mer.

A lesser mage might have balked at this challenge, might have looked for a better opportunity, sought some other solution, or given up entirely, but Jalkut was better than that.

Jalkut spread his arms apart. The gem embedded in the tangles of branches in his staff glowed, casting his face in a ghastly green. Then the sky darkened, wind flowed around him, and the light of the sun was devoured by his reagents. The sounds of panicked birds, and rustling trees faded away. Jalkut could almost hear the pounding of his heart in his ears.Despite the dimming light, Jalkut could see several merfolk shouting and panicking. Too late He thought

A blinding flash of light crashed into the center of the lake, directly in the center of the three spires. A split second later, a roar shook him even with the protection he had prepared, and he grit his teeth, struggling to maintain focus on the spellweaving. Straining against the natural laws, Jalkut brought his hands together, finishing the spell just before a wall of steam shrouded his vision. Not a moment too soon. A scalding cloud of boiling lakewater engulfed his bubble. The pain was staggering, and Jalkut was forced to use up a storage scroll to strengthen the wards protecting him

Jalkut’s shoulders sagged, and he was breathing heavy, but it was done. Long minutes passed then hours, as he waited for the spell to finish its work. Eventually, enough of the steam cleared to once again view the lake. But of course, the lake wasn’t there anymore. Jalkut grinned. A scorched lakebed, devoid of even trace puddles was all that was left. That, and the ruins of the famous submarine fortress, crown of the freshwater Mer, the Jetsam Obelisks. Now broken at his feet.

He wove a simple heat diffusion spell before stepping out onto the cracked, dry mud of the lakebed. Several flash-cooked animals lay on the outskirts of what had only a little while before been a thriving ecosystem. Jalkut thought it was a bit of a shame, but knew they had suffered very little in the grand scheme of things. Unlike the next corpses he encountered. As he walked through a now silent vista, tendrils of vapor streaming into the air around him. Merfolk littered the ground, mostly still recognizable. While air was a poor transmitter for heat, it did little to stop the violent force of the magic from rendering mortal flesh into a pulp. The opposite was true for those underwater. The mercifully quick death of the blast was cushioned, while the heat quickly entered the lake, and boiled the residents alive.

Jalkut looked down at the corpses and thought pitilessly. They would do worse to me. As he entered the half-molten gate which would lead him to his prize he noticed that a few of the guards who had used magic to survive the heat were watching him pass, gasping. They wouldn’t be stopping him today. Not like last time. He entered the throne room.

“You…” A voice called out in the silence. Jalkut saw the Mer’s king, alive and breathing, reclining on his throne, surrounded by dozens of guards. Every one of the fallen royal guards had died mid-casting. They had died keeping their king alive.

“How could you do this!?” He cried. “All of the innocent lives…”

Jalkut said nothing. Why should he? He knew what he was. Instead, he simply approached the throne, seeking his prize.

“As long as I live, you will not claim the keystone!” The king said, defiantly. He bagan casting a spell. A knife sprouted from his neck, and the incarnation was cut off by a bloody gurgle. Jalkut walked toward the king, and pulled his knife from the man’s neck. He had no time for grand speeches or gallant last stands.

The keystone was contained in an equally delicate and intricate metallic weave forged directly from the same block of material which comprised the throne. Jalkut studied it for a moment, wove a new spell over his knife, and in one cut, severed the gem from the throne. The ground rumbled. Jalkut was out of time. These buildings weren’t meant to stand without buoyancy. Besides, he had what he came here for.

Jalkut pulled his hood back up and walked out, leaving the desolate kingdom to crumble in his wake.