“It is the final test”
“What?” Said Jaala, trying to shake his head of the stupor he felt himself tangled in.
“Quiet strength, my friend,” Katashi replied evenly.
Jaala began with “I am a drop of–”.
“Silence, or you will kill us. To not resist is to die, but to fight it is the same. Like emerging from quicksand you must be steady and purposeful.”
Jaala nodded as eery echos of laughter flitted about them.
“And how will you defeat this,” came an ephemeral chorus of voices from all about them.
They rose slowly to see a thin column of spinning air moving toward them. It ploughed the earth before it, shattering rocks that lay in its path. Still constrained by the effects of the heavy air, Katashi steadily reached up and drew the obsidian blade of the fire elemental. He gripped it two-handed and his slow overhead swing came down right as the air reached them, shearing it in two and parting its destructive force around them.
However, as the column split it turned to vaporous masses that began to swirl about them, eventually blocking out the sun, the rocks, even the ground. The very air seemed to keen and wail all about them. Jaala began to lose his composure, clearly showing fear as he gripped Katashi’s shoulder.
Katashi felt something different though. Perhaps as he had always truly embraced the path of Wu Wei and the concept of nothingness the howling did not frighten him so much as unsettle his equilibrium.
They stood in the midst of the visual and thunderous cacophony, time having no meaning with all reference points eliminated. Katashi felt his sanity leaking away into the whirling mass about them. He began to say an old prayer, one of the first that the Zealots no longer recited after their shift to the precepts of Wu Wei. At first he repeated it in low tones, growing stronger and bolder with each incantation, until finally he shouted it out.
“The King of Kings leadeth us along the road of righteousness. He breatheth the air of life into all things. His sword and his shield protect me. He is the creator and the defender. Surely I will dwell at His hearth forever and the Elements will bow before us.”
The vapor about them drew up into a mask-like face, twice the height of a man, inches from Katashi’s own as it roared out “Your God of Old is dead to Us!”
Katashi stared evenly at the face. “He is not dead to me.”
The air elemental let out of a howl of rage, spinning several times and reforming to the size of a large war-shield a few spans from the two companions.
“What do you want, thief?”
Katashi started, clearly pained by the accusation. “I stole nothing.”
The face said nothing for a moment. “Perhaps not, yet still you hold Cuauhtemoc’s Pin. The pin that the dusky Guildsman promised us.”
Katashi tilted his head slightly in contemplation. Could this be the same man I was sent to ensure was dispatched? This Massoud of the Guild?
“Well he is not here, and we are. What would you trade with us for it,” demanded Jaala, stepping forward.
Peals of laughter echoed about them once again. “You think me a fool, old goat? Why would one of the Order of the Silk Shield barter away the most coveted item known to his kind as if it were a mere shiny brooch?”
Katashi echoed the elemental in puzzlement, “The Order of the Silk Shield?”
