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Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. He discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its grand prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-SEVEN: STRANGE TALES OF TWO STRANGERS One night before the Tournament. Cid eased himself back into the comfy cushioned chair in the corner of the manse’s dining area and sighed in relaxation. “Ahhhh…” He lifted the mug of tea that he had made for himself and inhaled deeply through his nose. Sweet and minty, with a hint of citrus. The Farrians were good at tea. It was too hot to drink quite yet, so he just sat like that for a while with both his hands around the mug, letting it warm them, enjoying its fragrance. Bliss. He had certainly earned a day off. They had all been training hard at the direction of young man Vish–even Cid. Although he was not planning to fight in the tournament–nothing could appeal to him less–he had joined in with the others’ training for the sake of the exercise, and because he wanted to show willing and that he was one of the group. Although due to his age he had not been able to keep up to anything like the pace of the whippersnappers, the Shadowfinger had still put him through his own paces, and Cid had ached all over when he had woken up this morning. He had needed the break. He stretched his legs out and drew in another deep breath of steaming tea. It had been a good day off, too. He had spent it wandering the city with his Granddaughter and young man Ryn, looking in the different shops and visiting the different ornamental gardens, chatting about everything and nothing–the Jewels, their prospects in the upcoming tournament which would start tomorrow, where they would go next if they managed to secure the Earth Emerald. It had all been very pleasant. And now, to have an evening to himself, just to sit and rest while everyone else was out, free for a while of their bickering and squabbling and the different attractions that simmered between them…it was as though all the children were out for the night and so he could enjoy himself in peace. No, he corrected himself, it was as though all the grandchildren were out for the night and so he could enjoy himself in peace. “Heh,” he chuckled to himself. “Don’t forget just quite how old you are, old man Cid.” He took a sip of the tea, now just about drinkable, and let it slide deliciously down his throat. He tipped his head back in the chair and shut his eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the sweet taste and the comfort of relaxing in this chair, without having to think for a few moments about the quest, or the danger they were all in, or how the fate of Mid rested on their shoulders, or how to keep this band of younglings alive for another day, or the terrible things he knew they would have to do that he didn’t want to think about. He might even take a nap in this chair, or fall asleep early for the night... Bliss, he thought again. From across the manse, the sound of the front door bursting open. Commotion. Shouts. The voices of the two boys, arguing. Oh no. Cid opened his eyes and sat up straight. Ryn and Sagar exploded into the dining room. “Cid!” Ryn began at once, running up to him and launching into a manic report. “Nuthea and I went to see a play and there was a Jewel-wielder there possibly two and she told us not to make a scene but then Sagar was really really drunk and came to find us because he and Elrann found some other jewel-related person in a pub but then he went up on the stage and got in a fight so I had to go up too but then we had to give away that we had elemental powers and the lead actor got angry and attacked us and–!” “Woah, woah!” Cid interrupted him, like he was soothing a spooked chocobo that he had lost control of. “Slow down, lad! One thing at a time! Tell me what’s happened, slowly.” “Don’ lissshen to him!” said Sagar, almost falling over himself as he stumbled over to one of the chairs at the dining table and sat clumsily astride it, putting his arms out to steady himself and then draping himself over the table. “He’sh telling it wrong! There wash a man singing about the Jewelesh, like he knew where they all were, so we went to find the prinshesh and the pup an’ tell ‘em, but then there wash thish dragon, an’…” The pirate ran out of steam, and now he did go over, his head lolling forward onto the table and hitting it with a smack, then stopping there. A short pause, and he began to snore loudly. Cid turned back to Ryn. “You try again,” he said. “Slowly.” “Um. Hello,” said a young female voice. Standing in the doorway was a short girl in a pale green ballroom-dress, with deep green hair cut short into a fringe and a bob, and huge, glittering green eyes. Her skin was very pale indeed, and she was wringing her hands. She looked as though she had just been through some sort of trauma. “Oh!” said Cid. “I didn’t notice you there. Hello, young lady. Please, come in, have some tea, take a chair!” Cid poured the girl a drink from the stove while Ryn got her a chair to sit on. The girl took the tea gratefully and perched on the edge of the chair. She was trembling, Cid noticed, little ripples forming in the mug of tea, which she clutched tight like she was holding onto the hand of a protecting parent. Definitely trauma, he thought with his Healer’s mind. When she was settled, Cid sat down at the table too and bade Ryn do the same. “Now,” he said to the boy over the sound of Sagar’s snoring. “Tell me slowly and carefully what has been happening and why you have brought back this poor young lady to the manse.” “Well–” began Ryn. The front door banged open again. “Grandfather!” came Nuthea’s voice from the entry hall. “Grandfather, are you up? There’s some things I’ve got to tell you!” She ran into the dining room, followed quickly by Elrann, followed by another newcomer: a man in a hooded grey traveller’s cloak with a lute-case slung over one shoulder, and the unusual contrast of dark skin and deep blue hair, which hung in thick locks down either side of his face. An Umbarian, Cid thought. The Sapphire-keepers. This one is far from home… “Hi, pops!” said Elrann cheerfully, taking her own seat at the table. “Some stuff’s been going down. Oh,” she said when she saw the green-haired girl, “spirit-girl! You made it! Welcome to the party.” She smiled with her eyes shut. When Nuthea also saw the green-haired girl seated at the table, she said, “Ah, you managed to bring her back, Ryn. Well done! Are you okay?” she asked the girl. “I’m f-fine,” stammered the girl. “Um…who are you?” “I am Princess Nuthea Kaleutheanna of the Matriarchy of Manolia,” Nuthea announced proudly. “I identified that you were employing spirit projection in that play and asked my friend here if he could set up a conversation with you.” “You mean the guy asleep over there who jumped onstage and attacked my dragon projection?” Nuthea deflated a bit. “Um, no. That part wasn’t planned. I meant my friend Ryn here. The one who, er, attacked your colleague’s lion projection.” Cid thought it best to interject here. “Excuse me, young ones, but could one of you please explain to me slowly and plainly what is going on, and why you have invited these two strangers back to our residence?” “Right,” said both Ryn and Nuthea at the same time. They looked at each other. “I’ll explain,” they each said again simultaneously. “You go,” said Ryn, ceding the floor at last to Nuthea. “Alright,” she said, accepting without another word, “what’s happened is that–” The front door banged again, cutting her off. Who’s left? Cid thought. Oh yes. Young man Vish. At least he should have managed to keep himself out of trouble, without poppy seed. There were no shouts or cries this time, just the slow thud of Vish’s footfall across the entry hall towards them. But the footsteps were irregular, and heavier than usual. It sounded like he was staggering, like he might be injured. Maybe that was why everyone stayed silent, listening to the erratic noise of the footsteps. Vish appeared in the doorway, a framed black figure. He just stood there for a moment, looking at all of them. He was breathing heavily, his loud, ragged breaths practically matching the volume of Sagar’s snoring, as he slumped against the doorjamb. Vish fell forwards onto his front onto the floor, hitting it with a light thwap. That was when Cid noticed the spotted trail of blood behind him, and the blood that was soaking out from him now onto the floor. “He’s hurt!” Cid cried, leaping up immediately and rushing over to the fallen Shadowfinger. “Quick, boys, help me get him onto his back!” Ryn and the newcomer Umbarian, whose name Cid didn’t even know yet, carefully pulled Vish over onto his back. The Shadowfinger groaned as he went over, not with pain, but what sounded like…pleasure. Oh no,

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. He discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-SIX: HUNTING FOR POPPY One day before the tournament. Vish was pissed off. As he stalked the stone-paved streets of some lower level of this wretched Farrian city, weaving in and out of the milling crowds, their inane chatter filling his ears, the hot noonday sun beating down on him, his limbs ached with longing and his heart was full of craving. Damn the old man, he thought to himself. Damn the boy for having mercy on me and allowing me to live when they defeated me outside Nont. Damn the poppy. I want the poppy. Damn Veln for betraying me. Damn them all to whatever hells may or may not exist. Another wave of craving hit him, right in his guts and loins, and he visualised himself taking a small black poppy seed and placing it into his mouth. Just as he had done a thousand times that day already, he imagined it coming to rest on his tongue, recalled its intense, sweet taste permeating his mouth. He imagined swallowing it, and the torrents of pleasure that would surge through his body as a result. But no true taste, no true pleasure came–only a shadow and an echo of past tastes and pleasures that left him hollow and wanting real poppy and in need of replaying the whole routine in his mind again. He bumped into someone, banging his face right into them. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” said the big brutish man with a bush of beard. Probably Dokanese. “I apologise,” said Vish, holding up his hands, not meaning it at all but wanting to move this latest irritant along as quickly as possible. “My mind was elsewhere.” That much was true at least. The man’s fat face softened, but only a little. “Well, be more careful next time, Aibarian.” Apparently the man was well-travelled enough to judge Vish’s nationality just from the small strip of skin visible from within his head covering. Perhaps by his style of dress too. The man walked off, leaving the Shadowfinger to his flashbacks and his poppy cravings. He walked on, and another craving-wave rolled through him. Actually, Vish reflected, he knew that at least one hell did exist. He knew it existed because he was experiencing it now. For some stupid reason he had agreed with the old man to space out his poppy hits, which meant that he couldn’t have one today. In an effort to focus on something other than his imagining taking poppy again, he tried to recall the conversation he had with him earlier that day. “Now master Vish,” the old man Cid had said to him at his door when the Shadowfinger had gone to see him to request some more poppy earlier that morning, “you know we agreed that you would start spacing out your hits and wait a bit longer until the next one.” “I’ve changed my mind,” Vish said. “I want one now.” “But you agreed to this.” Why had he agreed to it? He couldn’t even remember any more. “Maybe I did,” he said “but I’ve changed my mind. Give it to me now.” “Vish, you can’t just go back on your agreement like that so easily. You know, some poppyheads give up poppy all in one go, just stopping ‘cold chocobo’, and never go back. If the physical withdrawal symptoms can be managed safely, that is actually the best way to do it.” “What?!” Now the old man wasn’t just talking about spacing out the hits; now he was talking about stopping them altogether! “There is no way that I would ever do that.” “It might be the better way for you to do it. Ask the One. Ask the One to help you, to relieve you. He will.” “I don’t believe in your ‘One’, old man.” “Just try it. He believes in you.” That had really pissed Vish off. “Don’t give me that poodoo! Just give me my poppy, old man! I don’t believe in your ‘One’! He’s not real! What has he ever done for me? Where was he when my mother threw me out on the streets of Saudran to fend for myself? Where was he when I was begging and stealing and fighting among the street rats? Where was he when I was doing all the terrible things that I’ve done just to stay alive, and then to get my next poppy hit?” The old man, to his credit, had at least gone quiet for a moment at that, and bowed his head slightly in sympathy. “I do not have an easy answer for you,” Cid said. “All I can offer you is that I believe he saw those things happen, and that he felt them with you, that they grieved him, and that he has given you a way out of that life, now.” Vish considered the old man’s words for a moment. There was a certain…appeal to them. But they just seemed unreal to him. They seemed like an invented fantasy. Reality was much crueller. “I want my poppy, old man. Give it to me. Now.” Cid sighed. “No. You may be able to make your own choices, but so am I, and the poppy belongs to me. I am choosing not to give it to you now, and I’m sorry, but that’s the end of the matter. You need to begin to learn that you can survive, and even begin to experience some peace and enjoyment, without it. One week. That is my concession. You can have some more poppy seed in one week.” The old man closed the door in Vish’s face. Vish seethed, fury filling fibre of his body, along with the longing for the poppy, in fact only another expression of it. For a moment he considered bashing down the door, overpowering the old man, slitting his throat, and then stealing his whole poppy supply and running away from the group. And he had almost done it. But he hadn’t. Why didn’t I do it? he thought now as he traipsed the cobbled streets of Shun Pei. He should have just done it! But he hadn’t done it, he discovered, because somewhere, in a miniscule corner of his darkened mind, a tiny little shred of hope had appeared. The smallest sliver of a ray of hope had formed; hope that he might actually be able to come off the poppy one day and be freed of his all-consuming constant desperate craving for it. Damn the old man for planting that hope! And damn me for not being able to completely let go of it! Part of him, somewhere, remembered what it was like not to know the poppy, not to be consumed by the longing for the poppy. Part of him, somewhere, remembered what it was like to experience the joys of life unadulterated by craving and poppy. The memories of happiness were few and far between, but they were there: The play of warm sunlight on the back of his uncovered neck. The gentle morning breeze tickling his skin. Laughter, the company of friends. The touch and kiss of Eflana, his consort when he has been working for Veln. Maybe he could get his enjoyment of all of those things back? Vish stopped in his tracks. Instinctively, his feet had led him to a shopfront. More of a stall, really. The doors of a battered wooden shed opened right onto the dusty street of this level of the city. In the opening they created stood a rickety table with all different sorts of herbs, roots, and plants arrayed on it, which hung from the doors as well. Crushed up powders in jars. Different coloured liquids in stoppered-up bottles. The pale purple flowers of some exotic plant, plucked and laid out in little earthenware bowls. Behind the table hunched a withered old crone with a hump-back and a crooked nose, dressed in the brown robes that seemed to be worn by most of the Farrians on this level. “Medicines!” the woman screeched when she saw Vish had stopped, to clarify what exactly it was that was arrayed before him. “Get your medicines!” When Vish approached her she said “Looking for something in particular, good sir? There a specific ailment that’s troubling you?” Vish chose his words carefully. As far as he knew, poppy was outlawed in almost every single nation of Mid, including Farr, because of how it tended to make people addicted to it and ruin their lives, not to mention the side effects of making one particularly strong and agile during a hit. “Do you have anything for a…headache?” he said slowly. “Headache?!” said the woman. “Why, you need crushed minofin root, of course! You run out? Only one gold piece for a jar! Eat a spoonful every hour till you feel better, which will be soon!” Vish eyed the small jar of yellow powder that the woman held up to him and shook so that it danced around in a cloud. He was not impressed. He was not convinced that the powder would have any kind of effect on anyone, let alone on him. “That’s not what I’m looking for,” he said. “Do you have anything…… stronger?” He pulled down the front of his face-scarf down a little, just enough to expose some of his blackened mouth. The woman narrowed her eyes at him as she regarded him over her crooked nose. “I am sure I have no idea what you mean,” she said quietly. Damn, Vish thought and tugged the scarf back up He turned away from the stall and almost walked into a large Farrian man almost as rotund as he was tall. Again. The man he had bum

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted assassin. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its grand prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-FIVE: ACT TWO One night before the tournament. As soon as the red velvet curtain went down for the interval, Ryn turned to Nuthea from where he sat next to her and said “What do you mean she’s Jewel-touched?” He had tried to ask her while the play had been going on but it had been too difficult to talk in whispers without disturbing the people around them and making a scene–a different scene to the one happening on the stage, that is–so she had repeatedly shushed him, to his obvious frustration. “What do you mean?” he pressed her again, now he had the opportunity. Everyone else around them was talking about the spectacle of the first half of the play they had just watched. Nuthea brushed her hair out of her eyes. She felt slightly lightheaded. But she didn’t need to call the answer to mind. She had been going over and over it in her head ever since that lifelike dragon had appeared on stage. “One of the Jewels…” she answered him, speaking quietly so that they wouldn’t be overheard, but not so quietly that Ryn couldn’t hear. “...the ‘Spirit Carnelian’...is supposed to grant the gift of being able to ‘summon’ creatures from the spirit realm… to give physical, animal shape to projections of spirit. Not very much is known about it, except that, and it’s thought that the Jewel has been lost for many thousands of years. There are very few mentions of spirit-projectors in the lore; you have to go back centuries to find even a single one, and even then the references are somewhat…mythical. Some argue that the Spirit Carnelian has never been found since the One hid it somewhere in Mid or that it doesn’t exist at all–” “Well then how would anyone know about it?” Ryn butted in, interrupting her flow. Nuthea frowned. He could be so annoying sometimes, speaking over her. “Well, these are ancient legends we are talking about, obviously. Their origins are shrouded in distant time. But we can trust the sacred texts of Oneism. They have been right about the other Jewels so far, after all...” “So why do you think that actress has touched the ‘Spirit Carnelian’?” “You saw that dragon, Ryn. It was real.” “You don’t think it could have been some sort of stage trick, or made out of something else?” “Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” She had decided this while they had been watching the play. “Alright then,” said Ryn, and stood up. Nuthea grabbed his arm, horrified. “What are you doing?” He’s trying to be heroic, isn’t he? For my sake. Oh dear. “You want to go and talk to her, don’t you?” “Yes, but not now! If she is Jewel-touched, we will need to speak with her at length–ask her where she made contact with the Carnelian, whether she knows its present location, and so on...” Perhaps whether she even has it, Nuthea thought. “That will take some time, more than we will have during this interval, and if the second half of the play is delayed then we will cause a commotion and draw attention to ourselves. We should wait until the play has finished, then go and find her backstage.” “Okay.” To her immense relief, Ryn sat down again. They waited for the second half of the play to begin while the other members of the audience chattered excitedly around them, mainly about the dragon and how impressive it had been. From what Nuthea could overhear, the other audience members were convinced that it had been some sort of a trick, as nobody had been known to tame a real-life dragon before, at least in living memory. Her attention drifted away from the chatter. If we do get to speak to this young lady, which we must, how will we convince her that we know about the Jewels? Normally she would make a small display of her lightning projection, but there she faced the problem that she was still blocked for some reason, and her conversation with Cid hadn’t unblocked her. It had been nice to be distracted from all of that by the play, and then by the appearance of this spirit-summoning girl, and not to have to think about her lightning projection being blocked for a while. Nuthea sighed. She would have to rely on Ryn again to make a display of his fire projection in order to convince the girl that they had knowledge of the Jewels, just as she had done when they had been trying to gain an audience with the Governor. “Are you alright?” Ryn said to her, apparently having noticed her sighing. “Hm?” said Nuthea. “Oh, yes, thank you, just thinking…” She didn’t want to take advantage of Ryn, but it was very useful having him around for occasions such as this. The trouble is, I don’t want to lead him on, either… Was she leading him on? Why had she agreed to come to see a play with him? She had made it very clear that this wasn’t a signal of any kind of romantic interest. But then again, going to see a play with someone was quite an intimate activity in itself, regardless of what one called it…wasn’t it? And Sagar had been so rude to her; she had to admit that at least in part she had agreed to go with Ryn in order to spite the skypirate. That wasn’t really fair. All of this would be a lot easier if she knew how she felt about Ryn. The trouble was, she didn’t know how she really felt about him. He was her friend, for sure, and they had been through a lot together. They had already forgiven each other for a lot. And he was sweet, and sometimes charming, and sensitive. And handsome, in a youthful, boyish sort of way. But it was just too confusing and muddled to contemplate anything like that so soon after…so soon after her mother’s death. She had enough to think about at the moment, what with that, and finding the Jewels, and being blocked… Just then a clear bell rang from somewhere behind the curtain, signalling that the second act of the play was about to start. When complete quiet had fallen on the audience and the last of its chatter had died away, the curtains came back up. Zigfrid Alantherous was waiting behind them at centre stage in his finery, and immediately launched into a monologue about how he was going to find the Princess to rescue her from the Evil Dragon and save the kingdom which she represented. Nuthea wasn’t able to pay proper attention to it. She hadn’t been able to pay proper attention to the plot of the play ever since the green-haired girl had come on and summoned the dragon. She let it wash over her, waiting for the next appearance of the green-haired girl, waiting for the end of the play when they would go and find her to talk to her, contemplating how she would explain their plight to her and wondering what sort of attitude the girl would respond with. Eventually, the green-haired girl reappeared on the stage. She ran on from stage left, with big, deliberate movements to unconvincingly communicate that she was tired; huffing and puffing and overacting. This time the dragon followed her, its menacing green form pursuing her from offstage, powerful limbs pumping. The girl turned, then swooned, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and letting out a bad excuse for a falsetto scream. In response, the dragon reared its head and roared, opening its jaws to issue a plume of green flame into the air. The audience gasped. The dragon was more convincing in its acting than the girl was. Now Zigfrid sauntered onto the stage too, sharing a scene with the girl for the first time. The audience clapped. “Fear not, Princess!” he declared. “Now that I have found thee I will save thee from this fell beast!” He drew his fake sword–well, at least Nuthea assumed it was fake–and brandished it at the dragon, leaping forwards to do battle. Fortunately for him it didn’t simply breathe fire on him there and then and burn him to a cinder. Somebody in the audience yelled. Wait, why were they yelling? Nuthea twisted round in her seat. Other people were turning too, distracted even from the spectacle unfolding before them onstage. At the back of the playhouse near the doors, someone was causing a commotion. A flurry of irritated protests and shouting had started in reaction to it. “Oi!” “What do you think you’re doing?” “Hey, I paid good money for this seat–get off me!” Someone was stumbling over the rows of playhouse chairs clumsily, banging into people, knocking them over when they stood up to get out of their way, making all manner of fuss. Someone with an eye-patch, a ponytail and a somewhat fetching high-collared coat. Oh no. “Prinshesh!” yelled Sagar. “Pup! We’ve gots to show you shomething!” He was followed closely by purple-haired Elrann, and seemingly also with someone else in tow–a stranger in a grey cloak with their hood pulled up over their head, carrying a lute case and barely managing to keep out of harm’s way as Sagar dragge

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its grand prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-FOUR: THE NIGHT I MAKE IT WITH A WOMAN One night before the tournament. Sagar shoved the door of the public drinking house open and let Elrann go in first. “What a gentleman,” she quipped as she walked past him. “I’m a pirate second, gentleman first,” Sagar lied, grinning. Need to be on my best behaviour tonight, he thought as he followed her in. Tonight is going to be the first night that I make it with a woman. No rudeness. No brawling. No showing myself up. I need to impress her. It was dim and cosy inside the pub, the only light coming from the orange flickers of a log-fire in the hearth. At this evening hour it was almost full, mostly of Farrians, but also some travellers from other lands–a big burly Aibarian, a smattering of Rikalian traders in colourful ponchos, and even a Morekemian, from the looks of her long braid, though thankfully not an Imperial–she must be an exile or a runaway. In one corner a lute player sat shrouded in shadows underneath a hooded cloak, picking the strings of his instrument with his fingers and softly singing the words to some sky-shanty. Perfect. Just the right mood. I chose well. Well done me. They found a table with two seats, not too far from the bar, and took them. In spite of himself, Sagar’s mouth was dry. This was going to be the night that he first made it with a woman, but he wasn’t quite sure where to start–or at least he had forgotten where he was meant to start. If he had ever known. Elrann regarded him cooly with her purple eyes. “Aren’t you going to offer to buy me a drink?” “What? Yes! Of course! I mean, of course I am. I was just waiting for you to tell me what you wanted. What do you want, woman?” “What I want is for you to stop calling me that.” She likes it really. “But in the meantime, since you’re offering, pirate-man, I’ll take a rice-wine.” “Rice-wine?” Sagar said. “What in the hells is that? Don’t you want a good ale?” “You won’t get one here,” said Elrann. “Farrian ale tastes like chocobo-piss. It’s famous for it. They’re very good at their rice-wine, though. Try one. You’ll see.” Sagar grunted, then went and ordered their first two rice-wines from the bar. While the Farrian bartender fetched them for him, he reviewed his plan of attack. Alright. I know she’s interested in me ’cause she agreed to come to the pub with me in the first place. And we’ve made it here–it wasn’t some sort of trick. Trouble is, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to make things progress. So instead, I’ll just get really, really, really drunk. That’ll do it. A genius plan. It was a good thing he had swiped lots of coin from Cid for this evening. He took their drinks back to the table and clinked glasses with Elrann. The rice-wine tasted like…liquid fermented rice. It was strong. Elrann sighed contentedly and wiped her mouth. Sagar’s face stretched in astonishment. Where he had only taken a sip, the woman had downed the whole of her glass in one gulp. He became aware that he should probably be saying something. What? Complement her on her drinking ability. That was the sort of thing he had talked about with his crew, when they had still been alive. He opened his mouth to do so. “Shut up,” said the woman, holding up a hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, pirate-man, shut up. I’ve got something I need to talk to ya about. I’ve been putting it off for a while, trying to find the courage, ’specially cause if I’ve misjudged things then this is going to be mighty embarrassing for me, but I can’t wait any longer, and this seems to be my opportunity.” She looked around for a moment, as if checking that nobody else they knew was in this pub. They weren’t. Wow, that was easy, thought Sagar. I must just be that irresistible. He was aware that he was being uncharacteristically un-talkative. But that seemed to be working for him at the moment. Maybe he had been playing this all wrong. Maybe the best tactic was just to sit back, keep hit mouth shut and let her come to him. The woman was looking at him. Apparently he needed to say something. “Yeah?” he said in as nonchalant a manner as he could muster. “What is it, then?” “Pirate-man…” said Elrann. She looked him in the eyes again. “Sagar… As you know, I’ve been fascinated by airships for a long time. And as you’ve probably worked out by now, I have a bit of a fascination with airship pirates and captains as well.” Hope was truly stirring in Sagar’s chest now, and in his loins, but he kept his cool and kept up his relaxed skypirate-captain exterior. He wore it easily, as easily as he wore his awesome leather Captain’s Coat that he had inherited from his father. He was a professional at this, the best around. “Yeah?” he said nonchalantly. “Yeah, I do…” said Elrann. She sighed, looked over at the bar, caught the barman’s eye, held up two fingers and pointed at their table, then gave him a thumb-up when he had acknowledged what she wanted. How does she do that? She turned back to Sagar. “And…well, what I’m trying to say is that there’s a reason I do.” “I’m sure there is,” said Sagar, grinning. He leaned back a little in his chair, getting comfortable, and folded his arms. Play it cool. Don’t overcommit. You’re doing everything right, you dark cochobo. Elrann frowned slightly at him. “Yeah, there is. And the reason is…the reason is that my Mum… my Mum once told me about who my father was. Ya see, my mother was a rice-farmer from Zerlan who lived with her parents until I came along, and apparently my Dad…my Dad was a famous pirate skycaptain who slept with her once when he put into port in Zerlan.” Sagar frowned a little at that. He hadn’t been expecting this. It threw him a little. Okay, so she likes me ’cause of her Daddy issues. That’s a bit weird, but I can get on board with it. Whatever launches her airship. I’ve got my own Daddy issues too, most people do, though they don’t affect me in quite the same way… She was looking at him. He needed to say something again. “Yeah?” he said, a touch less nonchalantly than before. The barman arrived with two more drinks and set them down on the table before shuffling off again. “Pirate-man…” said Elrann, grasping her second drink, “what I’m trying to tell you is…don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?” A vision of taking her back to her room at their lodgings flashed through Sagar’s mind. He grinned. “I think I might be starting to catch on…” He lifted his first glass of rice-wine to his mouth for another sip. “Sagar…what I’m trying to tell you is that I think I might be your half-sister.” The rice-wine sprayed out of Sagar’s mouth in a shower. Most of it went on his trousers. Some went on the table. Some went on Elrann. A pause. “What?!” he said. A pause. “WHAT?!!” he exclaimed. A pause. “WHAT?!!!” he shouted. The background chatter of the pub stopped, and the other drinkers all turned in their seats to look at him. Even the lutist stopped his playing and singing for a moment. “Nothing to see here folks!” Elrann said to the room. “Just a little revelation about a potential long-lost sibling!” The drinkers went back to their drinks, the lutist to his lute, in apparent acceptance of this. Sagar, meanwhile, had frozen. His mind had gone slow. Fascination. Airships. Pirate-skycaptain. Half-sister. “Whaaaaaaaat?” he said one more time, much more quietly but very high-pitched, to the woman. “Think about it,” Elrann said to him, leaning in and keeping her voice low. “My father was a famous pirate skycaptain. My Mum never told me his name, and I’m not even sure that she ever knew his name, but she did tell me that he was the captain of a pirate airship, and that he wore a ponytail and a long leather coat, among other things. That’s why I’ve always had a fascination with airships and skypirates–because of hearing about my Dad. When I put two and two together was when pops said that your father was a pirate skycaptain. Ya never mentioned that yaself. I reckon that your Dad, the one who travelled around with pops for a while, must be the same as my Dad.” Sagar stared at nothing at all. He was struggling to process this. Fragments of words and images danced around in his mind. Memories of his father, in his long coat and ponytail, boasting about his amorous conquests to the men. The times he had flown into or over Zerlan as part of his Dad’s crew. Had he even been on the voyage when this had happened, too young to remember it, or to naïve to be aware of it? Had Elrann really been conceived by the same person, under similar circumstances that he had? But then…urgh! Why had he been attracted to this woman if he was partly related to

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-THREE: THE PRINCESS AND THE DRAGON One night before the Tournament. Ryn sat down next to Nuthea on one of the simple wooden chairs. Around them, about a hundred or so people were sitting on their own chairs too. The hubbub of the chattering crowd enveloped them like a warm blanket. The wooden seat was hard and uncomfortable, but Ryn barely noticed it. His pulse was quick inside his head and his heart fluttered about inside his chest. It was all he had been able to afford from the common purse, anyway. The balconies had been far too expensive. I’m out on a date with a princess, he thought. No, a Queen. We may not be ‘exploring the possibility of a romantic relationship’, but that’s still what this is. We’re spending time with each other just to spend time with each other. He was terrified. Don’t mess this up. He was keenly aware of her presence at her side, like a fire burning in his peripheral vision. Should he say something? Was he meant to say something? He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know if he should be looking at her. Were there even any ‘shoulds’ in this situation? Instead, he stared straight ahead. Over the many heads of the people sat in front of them–mainly short, stocky, tanned Farrians, but also people from other countries–he could see the raised wooden stage at the front of the room. At the moment it was bare and unoccupied, though on the wall at the back of it had been depicted a forest of tall trees with thick trunks and curved, finger-like branches reaching up to the ceiling of the play-house, bedecked with myriad painted-green leaves. “Tell me what this play is about again, Ryn?” said Nuthea next to him. A bolt of shock spasmed through Ryn and he nearly fell off his seat. He coughed on purpose and tried to make it look like it was the cough that had unsettled him, but he wasn’t sure how successfully he managed it. He glanced at her. She was still expecting an answer from him, her eyebrows raised quizzically. “Er,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s called ‘The Princess and the Dragon’. It looked pretty good from the poster–it had a very detailed picture of a fire-breathing dragon and an armoured knight fighting it.” Ryn had liked that. That had been what persuaded him to change plans from taking Nuthea to a tavern to taking her to a play. That and the fact that Sagar was going with Elrann to a tavern and he didn’t want to accidentally end up in the same one. “All I know is that it’s being put on by a traveling theatre troupe that just got into Shun Pei. They’re meant to be very good. They’re called the ‘Manniro’ or something.” “Oh, the Manyiro!” Nuthea corrected him. Of course she knew the proper pronunciation. Of course she had heard of them before. “I’ve seen them perform many times in the palace when they were passing through Orma!” Poodoo. Ryn had dared to hope that he had found something special that Nuthea had never experienced before. Perhaps sensing his disappointment, Nuthea said “They are excellent. The Manyiro are a traveling people group who make their living by performing plays. They’re the best at what they do in the whole of Mid. Have you never seen a Manyiro performance?” “Er…” Ryn decided he might as well tell the truth. “...no. I don’t think they ever came to Cleasor…” He had seen plays, of course, and been in silly little ones put on in his schoolhouse or the village hall. But no, he had never seen a Mid-famous traveling play-acting people-group perform before. Of course Nuthea had. “Well you are in for a treat,” said Nuthea. “I love watching the Manyiro perform. They are masters of their craft. This will be a great way to relax and take our minds off things before the Tournament. Good choice, Ryn.” Ryn brightened a little at that. He wanted so much for Nuthea to enjoy this. He also wanted so much to tell her how he felt about her…but one thing at a time. “Have you seen this particular play?” he asked her, wary. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘The Princess and the Dragon.’” Phew. That was something, at least. “Well, the poster for it looked really good.” Idiot. You said that already. Or something like that, anyway… Their conversation lulled. Ryn looked at the empty stage again. When was this play going to start? He cast around in his mind for something else to talk to her about. He couldn’t risk Nuthea growing bored. She had to enjoy this evening. This evening with him. Especially if she ever ended up going to a tavern with Sagar as well… But his mind had gone blank. What should he say to her? He remembered something. Something that he had been wondering about for a while. Yes, he could try that. “Nuthea?” “Yes?” “When you project lightning, why do you shout the word ‘bolt’?” “Ah, yes.” She appeared to take this as a signal to switch into lecture mode, but Ryn didn’t mind–at least she would be talking, which would buy him time to come up with more interesting things to say. “That’s called a ‘focus-word’. They’re not essential to use to project your element, but those who train in the use of Jewel-gifts usually end up employing them. You will find that when your mind is more focused, concentrated, or engaged, you will ‘spell’ (if you call it that—everyone has different names for it) more effectively and powerfully. So one technique that was developed very early on was to utter a word around which to focus the mind when you are ‘spelling’, or projecting, or manipulating your element, or whatever you want to call it. Naturally, the best word to use is the word most closely associated with whatever it is that you are projecting. So, when I am projecting a lightning bolt, I shout ‘bolt’. I would have taught you about focus-words before, but you seemed to be using them anyway.” “That’s right…” Ryn said, thinking back to the first time he had manifested fire, in his hometown, Cleasor, the day the Empire had attacked. “When I projected for the first time, I shouted ‘fire!’ when I did it, as far as I can remember. I just did it, without having to be told to do it. And I’ve been doing it instinctively, ever since then.” “There you go,” said Nuthea, nodding approvingly at him like a pleasing pupil. “See? That is your focus-word for projecting your element, naturally.” “But sometimes I’ve noticed you say the word but you don’t finish it properly—it changes into a sort of shout.” Nuthea’s nod became knowing rather than merely approving. “Yes, that does happen too. When you are casting a large spell—channelling large amounts of mana—the focus word is even more helpful and necessary to keep the element under your control, but it can be hard to get all of it out because the toll on the body from the projection is so great. So sometimes when I cast a particularly large lightning bolt, or series of lightning bolts, I lose control and the word loses its shape… I’m working on it, but at the use of certain levels of magic it becomes virtually possible not to let out a shout or even a scream at the end of the word. So sometimes it sounds a bit like ‘boltah’ or ‘boltaragh’ or even ‘boltagah’.” Ryn pondered this. “Thanks, that actually makes a lot of sense. I guess I should carry on using focus words to help me focus my ‘fire’.” “Absolutely. Captain Sagar and Grandfather Cid use them too—I’m sure you’ve heard them. I don’t know if Sagar was ever taught to use them–he probably just uses them on instinct too–but I’m sure Cid has specifically trained in using them. And as you practice and train and get stronger and more proficient in your gift and your mana capacity grows, you may find yourself developing different projection techniques as well, for which you may want to use different focus words. I haven’t developed any myself yet but I know Grandfather has several, for different techniques in manipulation of the element of light which gives energy to all living things: ‘cure’, ‘heal, ‘syphon, even just ‘raise’. He has been practicing for a long time and has a very large mana pool. He is very proficient in his gift.” “I think I may have actually starting doing that already…” Ryn realised out loud. “Once when I fought Vorr on the train in Imfis I suddenly found myself shouting ‘fireburst’ and I projected this really big and hot flame attack... It was more flame than I had ever projected before, and possibly ever have since. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever managed to project fire with the same intensity and ferocity since then… I can’t quite explain it; it’s still fire, but it’s like it comes from a different part of me, a deeper, more desperate part of me…” “Aha,” said N

https://mybook.to/sotj1 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted assassin. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its grand prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-TWO: TRAINING Six days until the Tournament. Nuthea surveyed the garden area of the little manse they had been given to lodge in. A wooden boundary-fence marked off an area about twenty metres wide and long. A patio floor of cream-coloured stone reflected the heat of the Farrian Summer morning sunshine. Aside from that it was bare except for a little ornamental pond and some potted plants off in the far corner. This will have to do, she thought. She regarded her troops, as she was coming to think of them: Ryn, Sagar, Elrann, Vish and Cid all stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a line facing her. She hadn’t even asked them to do that; they had just done it naturally when she had called them outside. She would make a fighting squad of them yet. “Okay, team,” she said. “The Governor has said that we can enter four people into the tournament, without us even having to go through the qualifying heats. So the first thing we need to do is choose which four of us will enter.” “Well obviously I’m the first choice,” said Sagar, putting his hands on his hips and sticking out his chest a little. Nuthea saw Ryn open his mouth but she jumped in first. “May I just remind you, Captain Sagar, that the Governor has told us that this will be a tournament of unarmed combat?” The pirate deflated ever so slightly, then frowned. “So what? I’m still the best fighter among us. Well, maybe joint best. I suppose the scumsucker is alright at fighting too…” “I have a question,” said Ryn, ignoring Sagar and putting up his hand like a school pupil. “Will we be allowed to use our elemental projection powers?” “I…” Nuthea hesitated. “I’m not sure. I didn’t ask about that.” “Of course we will,” said Sagar. “Now that they’ve got the Emerald, you can bet your arse that the Farrians will be using theirs. Hells, I wouldn’t be surprised if they enter Baldy into the tournament. Didn’t the Governor guy say that he was their strongest monk? And now he’s got earth powers, there’s no doubt he’ll use them…” Sagar’s voice trailed off. He was seeming less and less confident by the moment. “Well if that’s the case,” spoke up Elrann, “then I think it’s pretty obvious who we’re going to enter, isn’t it, princess-girl? I mean, I can handle myself in a fight, sure, but I much prefer to have my pistols and whip with me. I’m not so sure that I could take on a trained fighter as strong as monk-man, especially when he’s got earth powers now. The logical choice for who we enter is: you, farmboy and pirate-man, because of all your Jewel-thingamy-powers, and the bountyhunter because of his badass fighting skills.” Yes, thought Nuthea, that is the logical choice, except what you don’t know is that I’m blocked. “How does everyone feel about that?” she said out loud. Sagar folded his arms and nodded, clearly still trying to communicate an air of nonchalance. “I’ll fight,” said Ryn, rubbing his hand. “Shadowfinger Vish?” Nuthea said. Vish shrugged. “You know what I want. As long as you give it to me, I will fight for you. I have fought in ‘tournaments’ before, and won them.” “You have?!” “Yes. Both before I became a slave to the Empire, and since.” “Well,” said Elrann, “that settles it then, doesn’t it?” “Hold on,” said Nuthea, “let us give everyone a chance to speak. Grandfather, do you wish to fight?” Cid’s bushy eyebrows rose. He looked surprised to even be asked. “Oh goodness, no, Granddaughter, I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. I am happy to sit this one out.” “Even though you are more experienced than the rest of us and might not have to face the same obstacles in preparing for the tournament?” Nuthea tried to convey extra meaning through emphasis of the word and a tip of her head to one side. Cid’s eyes glittered, and she knew he had understood her. “Ah. Yes; even so. Do not worry. We have a week–I’m sure that is plenty of time for you to improve and to overcome any obstacles you might be facing in the way of your peak performance.” Nuthea nodded, taking his meaning in turn. “Then it is settled. Unless a better idea presents itself for whatever reason, myself, Ryn, Captain Sagar and Shadowfinger Vish will enter the tournament to compete for, and win, the Earth Emerald.” She turned to Vish. “Shadowfinger Vish, you are clearly the b…'' She paused, not wanting to set Sagar off again. “You are clearly highly proficient at hand-to-hand combat, especially when elemental projection is taken out of the calculations. Will you train us in what you know of unarmed combat?” Vish’s eyes were blank and unreadable above his face scarf as the rest of them awaited his response. “Will you give me poppy?” he said to Cid in return. “You know that you are meant to be coming off of it,” said Cid, “which is what you really want, remember? But yes, as part of withdrawing slowly, you can have some poppy in a week and a half. After the tournament.” The Shadowfinger was silent again, his eyes still blank. “I will train you,” he said at last. “Thank you,” said Nuthea. “Poodoo to that!” said Sagar, throwing up his hands. “I don’t need any fighting lessons, especially from an ex-Imperial scumsucker like him. I’m off to go and find myself a drink.” He began to stalk towards the manse, then stopped. “You coming, woman?” Elrann’s brows knotted. “Why would I be?” “Cause you agreed to go for a drink with me the other night?” Elrann scratched her chin. “Oh, right. Yeah, but not now. We said we would go in five days, on our day off from training before the tournament starts. I want to train with the others and see what the bountyhunter has to teach us.” “Whatever,” said Sagar, “suit yourself.” The door slammed behind him as he left the garden-courtyard. He was beginning to irk Nuthea somewhat. She refocused on the task at hand. “Here we go then,” she said, “Vish, you swap with me.” She traded places with the Shadowfinger to join the end of the lineup next to Cid, and Vish took the place in front of them all, facing them. The rest of them awaited Vish’s first instruction. Vish sighed deeply, a sound like the last breath going out of a corpse. “Alright, listen,” he said in his slightly exotic-accented, guttural tones. “I am good at fighting, but not for the reasons you think. When the…untrained think about schooling in the fighting arts, they imagine it is all about learning special routines and practicing certain steps, like learning to dance. And there is some of that. But a fight, a real fight, is not like a dance. In a real fight, any routines you might have learned, any special techniques with grand names like the monk performed, any semblance of control or poise you might have, go out the window, and you just become another animal trying to kill all the other animals to stay alive. And the fastest, most brutal, most vicious animal is the one that kills first, and so the one who gets to stay alive a little longer. Do you understand?” Nuthea blinked at the Shadowfinger. It was the most words she had ever heard him say all at once. He clearly knew, and thought, a lot about this subject. None of the others said anything either. They must be as surprised as she was. “I will assume that you do understand,” said Vish, giving them all a withering look. “All that said, there is some advantage to be had by rehearsing certain routines and steps, not because in an actual fight it will be possible to replicate them exactly, but because by rehearsing them strength is built, and because your unconscious memory might mean that small elements of the routines are reproduced in combat by reflex in potentially effective ways. All of you, stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and bend your knees slightly.” They did so. “Now bend your arms at the elbow and make fists with your hands, with your thumbnails pointing up, like this.” They did so. “Good. This will be your first rudimentary practice exercise: punching. Now, with me, twist your fist round and punch the air in front of you, alternating right and left hands. Right! Left! Right! Left!” Nuthea punched the air along with the others, falling into the rhythm of following Vish’s commands easily enough. She had done something similar to this with Evisca, her swordmistress at the palace, when she had been taught weaponry as a teenager, before she had been allowed to handle a blade. It seemed like a fairly basic exercise, but presumably Vish would work up to the more advanced techniques. Just then a bright blazing ball of fire shot past Vish and crashed into the fence several feet behind him, burning a hole in it and setting it on fire. “Oops,” said Ryn. “What in all the hells

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY-ONE: DELIBERATIONS AND SOLICITATIONS One week until the tournament. Ryn paced his room. It was a nice room, to be fair. Spacious, with a rug on the floor, a low, many-cushioned bed and a desk adorned with a vase of rainbow-coloured flowers. The nicest he had stayed in for…well, maybe ever. It was nicer than his bedroom had been at home. But that had been different, more special, because that had been where he had lived with his…Mother. Father. Hometown. But he wasn’t really interested in the niceness of his room right now. What he was interested in was the next part of the sequence of words that were forever running through his head, that had changed recently, though the last bit had remained the same: Find the Jewels. Save the world. Bring them back. Stay with Nuthea. “Stay with Nuthea,” he repeated out loud to himself. But what was the point of staying with Nuthea if all he was to her was just a travelling companion, or a fellow-Jewel-hunting-party-member, or even a friend? Of course, being her friend was a big deal in itself, to be fair–she was a lightning-wielding crown-princess from a faraway land, after all. But, Ryn had realised again, especially after he had forgiven her for her accidental part in what had happened to his hometown, that he didn’t just want to be her friend. He wanted to be more than her friend. Was he deluding himself in wondering if he ever could be more than her friend? He had been seventeen when he had met her, but he was fairly sure that his birthday had passed since he had been traveling with her, even if he had lost track of the months a while ago. That meant he was now eighteen–the age at which boys traditionally came of age in Efstan and became men. Nuthea was a bit older than him, he reckoned, but probably not much older. She was probably in her early twenties, Ryn reckoned–unless Manolians had some strange ability to look much younger than they actually were, which for all he knew could be a thing, though he hoped to the One that it wasn’t. If she was in her early twenties, she wasn’t too much older than him. Was she? It was an acceptable age-gap for a romantic involvement. Wasn’t it? He felt about her the same way he had felt about Carlotia, his most recent crush in Cleasor. Mother. Father. Hometown. Only not exactly the same way. She had been beautiful too, though nowhere near as beautiful as Nuthea. But she had been someone he viewed from far off, glimpsed across the classroom, and occasionally exchanged pleasantries with, which had lent fuel for the fire of his boyish, immature fantasies. This was different. He knew Nuthea; he had lived and travelled and fought alongside her for the past however many months, and grown with her too, and although some things about her irritated part of him no end–like the way she always loved to lecture people–somehow at the same time he found them bizarrely endearing. And now he found that not only could he not imagine never being with Nuthea, he was finding it very hard not to imagine being with her in a romantic way. It wasn’t even that he was hopelessly attracted to her–he didn’t even think about her in that way (much…). He just wanted to know her and be close to her. Perhaps even to…marry her? The problem was that she was a lightning-wielding crown-princess from a faraway land. And he was a…a what? What had Sagar called him that time? A ‘naive greenhorn pussywillow farmboy’. What did ‘pussywillow’ even mean in that context? It didn’t even make sense; it just sounded vaguely insulting. Stupid Sagar. Ryn was just the bookish son of a reasonably wealthy farm-owner in Cleasor, a backwater country town that didn’t even exist anymore, in Efstan, a northern Dokanese island that nobody cared about all that much, who hadn’t particularly made anything of himself. “No,” he said to himself, turning to take yet another lap of his well-paced room. I’m more than that. I’m Ruby-touched. I have the Gift of Fire. I’m capable of great things. In fact, I’ve done some great things already: I escaped from an Imperial skyship. I rescued Nuthea when Vish poisoned her. I defeated General Vorr, for goodness’ sake. The more troublesome problem was that even though he had done all those things, he felt like a scared, traumatised orphan boy who still often woke up from nightmares of his parents being murdered and his hometown being destroyed and who was still plagued by intrusive images of those things at all hours of the day. Which is also what I am. And when he thought about what he was presently trying to summon up the courage to go and do, butterflies collided in his stomach, his mouth went dry, and a strong pressure in his groin told him he needed to pee even though he hadn’t drunk anything in a while. He stopped his pacing. There was only one thing for it. He was going to pray. Correction. He was going to try to pray. “One God,” he said very quietly, staring at the grey stone of the room’s wall and feeling very foolish, hoping and trying to believe there was some ‘One’ out there listening to him, “please help me. Please give me the courage to speak to Nuthea and invite her to go to a tavern with me.” He fell silent, still staring at the wall. Was something meant to happen now? He didn’t feel any different. He didn’t feel anything at all. No voice from the sky. No emotional impression. No sense of direction. Nothing. The only difference was that now he left the room and went to go and talk to Nuthea. Perhaps the One helps those who help themselves, Ryn thought as he walked down the corridor to the stairs. His booted feet felt heavy as he took the steps one at a time, as if his body was trying to hold him back and prevent him from doing what he was doing. But he took the steps all the same. When he got to the upper floor, someone was already standing outside the first door, facing it as if waiting for a reply from within. “Sagar?!” Ryn said. “What are you doing here?” “What does it look like, pup?” Sagar said with a sneer. “I’m here to talk to the princess.” “No you’re not; I’m here to talk to the princess!” “Well I was here first. I beat you to it. Bad luck, pup. Now run along.” Heat rose in Ryn’s chest. He weighed his chances. He liked them. He had bested Sagar in a fight before, after all, as apparently Sagar’s air-alignment was slightly weak to his fire. The pirate had got here first, to be fair, but why should that matter? “Sagar? Ryn? What are you doing here?” Ryn whirled on his heel. Nuthea. * Ten minutes earlier. Sagar was frustrated. He felt strongly as though he was not making enough progress in bedding either the princess and/or the engineer-woman. Never mind that he had never actually bedded anyone before. He was convinced that all he needed was a little wine, a little moonlight, a little Captain Sagar charm and then they would be putty in his hands—he would be able to get one or both of them into his quarters. Except he had lost those. Somehow, inexplicably, he had lost his quarters when the princess had demanded that she and the engineer woman sleep in them instead, for ‘reasons of modesty’, as she had put it. Such were his thoughts as he sat on the bed in his room in this weird lodging place the Governor of Farr had put them in. The princess. This was all her fault. The princess had promised him ‘gold, gemstones, and beautiful women’. Fair enough, she had delivered on two of those, giving him an enormous chest of Manolian-minted gold pieces and precious non-magical gems as a reward for his safe delivery of her to Manolia and as a deposit to guarantee her further monthly payments while on this ‘quest’. He kept the chest under lock and key and slept above it in his hammock in the cabin. But the ‘beautiful woman’ part she had just outright tricked him about. True, there had been many beautiful women in Manolia, just like the princess had said, many beautiful warrior women, and Sagar had not failed to notice their excellent breeding, their strong and toned physiques, and their generally tremendous proportions. But how many of them had been assigned to him in polygamous marriage, or given to him as bedslaves for his new harem as a reward for his safe delivery of the princess to Manolia? Exactly none, that’s how kufeing many! Instead, he had been offered the choice to stay in Manolia with the many beautiful warrior women, but with no guarantee of bedding with any of them, or to enlist his services and his ship for the cause of this quest, where he could be around just two beautiful women–Nuthea and Elrann. And they were beautiful, to be sure, each in their own particular way. The princess in a very obvious, proud way that she wore like he wore his Captain’s Coat, and the engineer-woman in a more unc

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. He discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its grand prize, the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE THIRTY: BLOCKED Seven days till the tournament. The haggard Farrian official shut the stone doors of the Governor’s audience chamber behind him, the last to exit, and they slammed with finality. “Well then,” he said, the resentment detectable in his voice, “I suppose you had better come with me.” “Where is this ‘manse’ we’re staying in?” Ryn asked for the group, beating Nuthea to it. “It’s on this top level of the city,” said the official as he began to lead them across the stone floors. “For some reason he’s letting you stay in our finest guest accommodation, normally reserved for diplomats and dignitaries. I can’t think why.” He eyed Vish, barely keeping a sneer from his face. “He must want to keep a close eye on you.” Out of the building, into the brisk, crisp mountain air, along the way a bit, and the official led them to another of the miniature mountains-upon-the-mountain that were all over Shun Pei--another one of the spines of this gigantic conical porcupine, as Nuthea had come to think of it. Inside the earthen structure the walls and floor were made of polished grey stone. A circular atrium had several doors leading off it, with golden knockers each carved into the face of a monkey. At the centre of the atrium was a small fountain made of white stone which pumped water up by some hidden mechanism and sprayed it out in a glittering circle. Now this was more like it. This was more what Nuthea was used to. The Captain’s chamber on Wanderlust was tolerable, but not really up to standards. And, by the end, the Earth Temple had grown quite unbearable. This was much more to Nuthea’s tastes. “They are single rooms,” said the official, begrudgingly, “so you may each have your own. I am sure you are more than capable of deciding who will sleep where.” He pointed to a stone staircase at one end of the atrium. “There are a few more rooms on the upper floor. I suggest the young ladies sleep up there.” He pointed to the central door that led off from the atrium, the only one without a golden monkey-face knocker. “The dining area is through there. Servants will bring food there at sunrise, noon, and sundown. Each of your rooms locks from the inside, and the keys are in the rooms already. You should have everything you need. Oh, I nearly forgot...” He reached inside the folds of his blue robes and brought out a collection of small white papers, counted off six of them, then handed them to Nuthea. “What are these?” she asked, looking down at the square scraps of parchment covered in an inked script of strange symbols that she could not read. The Farrians had a very odd form of writing. “Your visitors’ papers,” said the official. “One for each of you. If you show these at the gates between any of the levels of the city, they will let you through, so you can pass between them as you wish. You are free to explore the city at your leisure and come and go as you please. Now you should have everything you need. The Governor’s tournament will be held in seven days’ time, next firstday, at Tenkachi, a town not far from Shun Pei. I will visit you again on seventhday to give you the details. If you need anything or have any problems, I can be found at the entry gate to this uppermost level. Enjoy your time in Shun Pei.” With that, he left, seemingly keen to get away from them as quickly as possible. “Well this is pretty sweet,” said Elrann when he had gone, looking around at the fountain, the floor, the golden door-knockers. “Much nicer digs than the last time I was in Shun Pei, anyway…” “Did you hear that?” said Ryn. “They have servants who are going to provide meals for us! No more hard tack and salted beef! We won’t even have to use Nuthea’s coin to buy food anymore!” “Well,” said Nuthea, “unless we want to explore the city and eat at inns for some of our meals to experience some of the local cuisine.” She didn’t see what the fuss was about. This was all perfectly normal. Although she supposed it wasn’t for Ryn and the others, and she was glad he was happy about it. I haven’t seen him this happy in...ever? “It’s not bad, it’s not bad,” acquiesced Sagar. “I mean, I’ve stayed in nicer places. But this will do.” “I suggest,” said Nuthea, “that we all take some time to settle into our rooms, and meet up again in the dining area at noon for our luncheon. Elrann and I will take two of the rooms on the upper floor, as the minister suggested. It is only proper that we have our own floor.” Sagar frowned, and looked as if he was about to do that growling thing he did and then open his mouth to protest, but Nuthea zapped him with a meaningful glare and managed to head it off. The skycaptain kept his mouth shut, and only a very faint growl came from it. Boys. He needs to learn to control himself. “Great,” said Ryn by contrast, “see you all at noon. Which room do you want, Cid?” “I’ll take this one,” said Cid, pointing to the nearest door. Nuthea and Elrann left them to it and went upstairs, each choosing one of the rooms on the upper floor. Nuthea shut the door to her room behind her and let out a long sigh. It had been a long time, travelling on that airship, all cooped up with everyone else, and then navigating that Farrian shrine and fighting to try and get hold of the Earth Emerald. Her companions were growing to become her closest friends–how couldn’t they, after all they had been through together?—but she still needed a break from them from time to time. Although, the only problem with taking a break from them was that it allowed her grief for her mother rose to the top of her mind. She felt the pang of it again now, a big gaping ache in her stomach, her chest, her heart. It was always with her; she was only distracted from it a little when she was with her companions and focusing on their quest. But she couldn’t spend all her time with them, and this was when she felt it most keenly. This must be how Ryn felt all the time, too. And he hadn’t just lost his mother, he had also lost his father, his friends, everyone he had ever known who had been part of his hometown of Cleasor. And it had all been her fault… No; I can’t go down that line of thinking again. I’ve dealt with that with the One. And then, on top of all of that, there was this problem that she had become…blocked. She held out her two pale hands in front of her, palms up, and willed for some lightning to appear. A jolt, a fizz, a spark, anything. Nothing happened. “Bolt,” she tried whispering under her breath. Nothing happened. At most, her arms ached a little. What was going on? It couldn’t just be that she was out of mana, because she felt physically fine. Tired and grieving, to be sure, but she had slept on the airship all the way back from the Farrian jungle and she had still been eating, so her mana levels should be fine. No, this was a deeper problem. She should at least be able to produce something in terms of lightning. But she hadn’t been able to for weeks now. She had thought that combat would sort things out, but it hadn’t. She had tried so hard to produce lightning to persuade the Farrian official to let them onto this level of the city, to attack the earthen golem guardians, to try to open the door on the second floor of the Temple, but she just hadn’t been able to, on any of those occasions. What was going on? She looked around her room, which she had not even bothered to do yet, so preoccupied had she been with her problems. Simple, yet comfortable. A mat on the floor which she presumed was where she would sleep. A wardrobe for her clothes. She would need to get one of the boys to bring over some of those from the ship. A mirror. A small desk and chair. She sat down on the chair, to think. How am I going to get myself...unblocked? She held out her hands on the desk in front of her. Her white, delicate, dainty hands. The hands of royalty. What was wrong with them? Why were they not producing what she wanted them to? The gift had always come so easily, so naturally to her, what with her having been touched with the Lightning Crystal at birth, but now the magic just wasn’t flowing anymore. Who could she turn to for help for this? Then the answer came to her, so obvious she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Grandfather. She stood up from the desk and went downstairs, finding the room that Cid had chosen earlier, and used the golden door-knocker. “Come!” came the eccentric yet friendly deep voice from within. “Hello, Granddaughter,” said Cid when she entered. She didn’t preface her visit with any niceties. She was too distressed. “Grandfather, I have a problem,” she said as she walked in. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “You have become bloc

Forgot to sort out the latest SOTJ episode recording so you get a free short story this month instead! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. He discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where with the help of the Farrian fighting monk HULD they have retrived the EARTH EMERALD, but Huld and the GOVERNOR of Farr might have other plans for it… EPISODE TWENTY-NINE: WE SHALL HAVE A TOURNAMENT “Well I must say I did not entirely expect you to return successfully,” said the Governor of Farr. They were back in his audience chamber on the summit of Shun-Pei, standing side-by-side a few paces away from his wide wooden desk. This time, Ryn noticed, two guards with shaven heads in green robes stood flanking each side of the desk, and there were two more behind them on the door as well. “It was rather difficult,” said Nuthea. “We had to fight golems, navigate a darkened labyrinth, herd some glow-worms, bypass a series of traps, and defeat an enormous plant monster... But we managed it in the end. Not least because of the help of your soldier Huld here.” Ryn sighed quietly. It had been a ‘rather difficult’ experience. They had all been very glad of a good meal and a rest on Wanderlust on their way back here. What am I doing on this crazy adventure, again? Oh, that’s right, I have nothing better to do, and everyone I knew from my life before is dead. Plus we’re saving the world. I suppose that’s quite important. Also, I get to stay around Nuthea. “I am sure it was very eventful for you,” said the Governor, scowling at them from underneath his large hat and behind the polished oak surface that separated him from them. “Show me then, Huld. I assume you have it?” “Yes Lord Governor,” said Huld. The hulking monk stepped forward, drawing something out from the folds of his brilliant green robes, and made to hand it to the Governor. “Don’t give it to me, you fool!” the Governor snapped, his jowls wobbling. “Put it down on the desk! I’m not getting mixed up in any of this magic business, if indeed it is magic…” Huld bowed his head. “Yes Lord Governor. I’m sorry Lord Governor.” He placed the object on the desk and took a step back to return to his place in the line. Only, he didn’t quite step back all the way—he stayed slightly further forward than the party. On the desk in front of him shone a small, brilliant leaf-green, oval emerald. “So,” said the Governor, “does it work?!” Not even a ‘well done’, Ryn thought. “Does it bestow earth-manipulation?” “Yes, Lord Governor.” “Show me.” Huld hesitated a moment, then raised a hand, palm up, as if he was a schoolmaster gesturing for the Governor to stand up out of his chair. Instead of that happening, with a small rumble some of the mountain-earth in front of the desk of which the floor was composed rose up to form a pointed cone, much like a miniature version of the towers which made up Shun-Pei, before falling back to flatness when Huld lowered his hand again. He already seemed to be getting more proficient at earth-manipulation in the short time since he had touched the emerald. Ryn noticed the eyebrow of one of the guards stood by the desk rise. “Good,” said the Governor. He nodded. “You may leave now, foreigners.” What? Ryn thought. “What?” Sagar said. “Pardon me?” said Nuthea. “You heard me, Manoloian,” said the Governor, grinding his teeth. “I suppose I am somewhat grateful to you for helping to retrieve the Emerald, even though I am sure that Huld did most of the work for you, but you may be on your way now.” “But Lord Governor,” Nuthea protested, “do you not remember what we agreed? You said that once we had retrieved the Emerald we could take it to keep it safe from the Emperor of Morekemia!” The Governor snorted. “As far as I remember, I said nothing of the sort. Now leave.” “Hey!” shouted Sagar, hand going to one of his swords. “You’re out of order, lard-arse!” Huld whirled round to face him immediately and raised both his hands. A rumble, the floor shook, and Ryn felt something press his hands against his hips and constrict around his waist. He looked down. Some of the earth from the floor had risen up and tightened around his body to trap him in a small mound. He wriggled against it, but it held him fast. On either side of him his companions had been trapped in five similar mounds, arms pinned to their sides. Not only that, but the four guards in the room had leapt in front of the governor’s desk and now stood there crouched in battle poses, two with hands held out in strange clawed postures, ready to strike, two brandishing long curved swords with green tassels hanging from their hilts. Ryn thought this was a little over the top. “You scumbag!” Sagar yelled from where he was affixed in place by Huld’s Earth attack. “You said that we could have the Jewel when we got it!” “To repeat,” said the Governor from behind his defensive wall of monks, “I said nothing of the sort. You asked to retrieve the Jewel, and you have, and now that you have delivered it safely to me, you may leave. Or suffer.” “But Lord Governor,” Nuthea persisted, still using the term of address that the Farrians favoured, “didn’t you hear anything we said to you about the Emperor? He has learned of the Jewels! He is seeking them! If you keep this Jewel, it will only be a matter of time before the Empire attack you to take it for themselves, and who knows what damage they will do to your great nation in the process? They will invade you, occupy you, maybe even enslave you! The Jewel will be much safer with us, hidden on a travelling airship, and you will be safer for it too, if you tell the Empire that it has been sent away! We only intend to protect it and keep it safe from the Emperor—our intentions are noble.” For just a moment, Ryn fancied that he saw the Governor’s scowl twitch into something else; a looser look of doubt. But then the scowl returned with a vengeance. “Why do you think it will be any better off with you than with us, Manolian? The Emerald belongs to Farr. Until you came along with your…abilities, we had hidden it so well that even we were unable to retrieve it.” He’s contradicting himself, Ryn thought. A moment ago he said that Huld must have done all the work to get it. “We will keep hold of it now, and use it to defend ourselves. We will use it on our soldier-monks, who are loyal to Farr, and imbue them with the power of earth-manipulation, like Huld here.” Cid took a turn. “But my Lord Governor, why do you think that doing that will protect you? This Emerald is just one of twelve Jewels, and the Empire are seeking all of them. We only came to you first because yours was the next Jewel that we had good information about the location of. Who knows which of the others they have knowledge of, or perhaps have already found? Indeed, the first Jewel they got hold of, before we took it back from them, was the Fire Ruby, and many of the Imperials were given fire abilities with it. And earth is weak to fire!” This time the Governor went quiet for a moment and his tongue moved round behind his thick lips, as if searching for fragments of food lodged between his teeth. When he broke his silence he spoke to his ‘best monk’. “Is what this foreigner says true, Huld?” Huld turned his head to reply, but kept his hands up to keep the party held firmly in their mounds of Earth. “I do not know, Lord Governor. I have no knowledge of whether Morekemia have given any of their soldiers fire projec—” “Not that!” the Governor barked at him. “Whether or not ‘earth is weak to fire’, as the geriatric said!” “Oh,” said Huld. “My apologies, Lord Governor.” He turned his head back to look at Ryn, uncertainty breaking out on his normally smiling face. “Um… Yes, I believe it is…” He spoke slowly, as if reluctant to admit what he was saying, still looking at Ryn. “In the Shrine to Eto, this boy with the fire abilities used them to great effect on its magical guardians, who were composed of either earthen or vegetative material… I… I do think it is accurate to say that were it not for his fire-projection we would not have been able to retrieve the Emerald...” “Hmmm…” Now the Governor’s scowl had morphed into a troubled frown. “I have had reports of aggressive Morekemian movements in the West assisted by supernatural fire-projection…”           “Yes, that’s right,” Nuthea chimed in. “We defeated and...killed a number of the soldiers who had obtained fire abilities when we retrieved the Ruby, but we don’t know how many who still have fire projection are still out there. Or what other Jewels the Emperor may have found and got his hands on by now, like Grandfather said.” The Governor made a ponderous noise again, and stared off into the distance at nothing in particular. He did not say anything for a few moments. Then: “I have the solution. You make an odd but interesting case, foreigners, and it is troubling that this ‘Fire Ruby’ is so effective against the element of earth, as H

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted assassin. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where, guided by the Farrian monk HULD, they have entered the ancient abandoned Earth Temple in order to attempt to retrieve the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE TWENTY-EIGHT: EARTH ELEMENTAL “I guess we needed that boulder after all,” the purple-haired engineer-girl was saying. “It pressed down the switch at the bottom of the pit, which opened those doors.” “Hmph,” spoke the ponytailed skypirate. “I could have done that. I would have found it eventually.” The engineer girl rolled her eyes at him. Huld was just grateful that they seemed to have made it through the trap-gauntlet, for now at least. He was astonished at the variety and ingenuity of the traps and designs that had been built into this shrine to Eto. Had they been part of the original architect’s intention, he wondered, or had the ‘Earth Emerald’ formed those, too, around itself, as the old man had talked about? “Come on everyone,” said the fireboy, who seemed to be the leader of the group when it wasn’t goldengirl or ponytail. “Let’s see what’s through these doors.” Huld walked forwards with the others through the steel doors. Now the pool of moving light from the collection of glow-worms in the floor, which they had been chasing for so long, moved with them, staying under their feet and following them through the doors. Beyond the doors it lit up another large, high-ceilinged chamber much like the one they had been in two floors ago. Only this chamber was somewhat smaller, in terms of its length and width, if not its height. And while it had the same brown-coloured earthen floor as the rest of the Shrine, this chamber’s walls and ceiling were made of stone, grey in the light from the worm-pool. There was no exit off of it that Huld could see. “I think we’ve reached the top level of the Temple that we saw outside!” said goldengirl. “About time, too,” said ponytail. “But what do we do now we’re here?” said fireboy. “Shouldn’t the Emerald be in this room somewhere?” “Hopefully…” said the old man. “But there might be one final puzzle, one last challenge…” “Well that’s just great…” grumbled ponytail. “Hey, what’s that over there?” said goldengirl. She was pointing at a small object on the floor in the centre of the room. Huld walked over to it with the others in the light from the glow-worms and inspected it. Growing right in the centre of the chamber was what to all appearances seemed to be a tiny plant. The plant jutted a few inches out of the earthen floor, its stalk and presumably roots extending down into it, green in the glow-worm light. It had a few little leaves which grew off the main stalk. It was more of a shoot than a plant, really. The whole thing did not look bigger than Huld’s hand. As they got closer to it, the edge of the light-pool touched the plant, and its leaves twitched. “Did you see that?!” said engineer-girl. All of a sudden the pool of light dissolved as the glow-worms all shot apart in different directions, trailing streaks of brightness across the floor as they moved away from the central point where they had been gathered. They moved faster than the party had yet seen, and made straight for the stone walls of the chamber. Which they began to eat through. The worms moved up through the walls, creating vertical lines of light in them, flaring white in the process just as they had done when they had eaten through the stone doors that had given them access to the previous chamber. None of the foreigners said anything, apparently too surprised and awestruck to do so, as Huld was. Instead they held up their hands to shield their eyes against the incredibly bright light. From behind Huld’s own upraised hand, the light moved up higher, till it was coming from above. Huld had to lift his hand higher above his head to block it out and stop it from blinding him. The worms must have eaten a path up to and through the ceiling of the chamber. Then the light started to move downwards again. The worms were methodically eating through the walls of the chamber from the top, down. A deep rumble sounded, punctuated by the occasional louder rise in pitch and volume, and the floor started to vibrate. It sounded like the walls were starting to crumble and fall away as the worms ate through them. And a new light had joined the glow-worm-light now, a warmer, yellower light, all-encompassing, impossible to block out with his hand. The sun. Warm air enveloped Huld’s face. He dropped his hand. As the last of the stone walls crumbled away, Huld looked round at the blue Farrian sky, the white clouds drifting aimlessly through it, the canopy-sea of green treetops that they were raised a little higher than on this earthen platform, the pinnacle of Eto’s magnificent ziggurat, which had now been entirely stripped of its top floor’s stone walls. The foreigners had dropped their hands too, and were looking round and staring open-mouthed at the scene like idiots. “Well, that was pretty cool,” said engineer-girl. “Indeed,” said the old man. “We’re definitely at the top of the Shrine then…” said fireboy pointlessly. “Yeah, but where’s the Jewel?” said ponytail. “Stay patient, Captain Sagar,” said goldengirl. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” The Shadowfinger, Vish, stayed silent, and barely ever said anything, Huld noted again. His one redeeming trait. “Er, guys…” said engineer-girl. “You’d better take a look at this…” Huld turned to see what she was talking about. Behind them, the plant in the floor, which they had been distracted from while the walls had been being eaten away, was growing. It had grown so fast that it was already as tall as engineer-girl, a much larger stalk slithering upwards into the air, more shoots and leaves sprouting off it and unfurling before their eyes, its base widening, thickening, pushing at the earth in which it was encased, roots starting to pop out of it like clenched fingers. “What in the hells?” said ponytail. The ground began to rumble again, then it split and cracked under their feet, a hundred jagged cracks zigzagging out from the plant’s base. They stumbled backwards to where the ground remained firm, gazes still locked on the rapidly growing plant. Now it was twice Huld’s height, and still growing, climbing, widening, not showing any signs of slowing. Then it roared. Can plants roar? Huld thought. They fell onto their backsides as in front of them even more of the floor split and crumbled away, and up out of it rose an enormous green plant monster. That was the only word Huld had for it. A tangled mass of knotted green and brown shoots and vines covered all over in leaves, even with bits of wood and branches discernible in the huge, seething mass of it, the plant monster was humanoid in shape, and at the top of its torso the shoots and vines were twisted into something that resembled a head, with an open space for a mouth which emitted an unnatural roar somewhere between that of a lion and a dragon. The little shoot sticking up from the floor, it turned out, had only been the tip of one of its fingers, which were each now a shoot of their own, at the ends of long arms of twisted vines. The plant monster had come up onto the platform hand-first, and used its arm to pull the rest of itself out of the ground. It stood before them now in the sunlight and open air atop the earthen platform at the summit of the earth shine, terrifying in its inhumanity, and roared at them again. The earth floor had re-formed itself underneath the monster to make the platform flat and complete once more. “What do we do?!” fireboy was yelling desperately. “What do we do?! “We fight it, you stupid pup!” ponytail shouted back. “Use your damn fire, quick!” “It’s an Earth Elemental!” called the old man. “It must be the guardian of the Emerald!” “Watch out!” cried goldengirl. The plant monster slammed a huge leafy hand down at the fireboy, but he managed to leap out of the way of it in time and it only smacked against empty floor. “Fire!” shouted fireboy, appropriately enough, and thrust out his hands in a gesture not entirely dissimilar from the Strike That Moves Mountains. Maybe he was copying it. Huld wouldn’t put it past a filthy foreigner to do something like that. Flames leapt from fireboy’s hands and engulfed the monster’s torso, setting it alight. It stepped back from fireboy and roared again, and Huld wondered if he didn’t detect pain in the roar this time. “It works!” yelled goldengirl. “More of that, Ryn! Can you help us out?” “Help you out with what?” “By setting our weapons on fire again!” “Why don’t I just attack it myself?!” “Don’t be greedy, pup!” yelled ponytail. “Don’t hog all the glory! There’s enough to go around!” “Alright...come here, everyone!” The other foreigners all rushed over to the boy while the plant monster roared and staggered ar

Previously on Saga of the Jewels… The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter, and HULD the fighting monk. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where under the guidance of the Farrian fighting monk HULD they have entered the Earth Temple in order to attempt to find the EARTH EMERALD… EPISODE TWENTY-SEVEN: THESE DOORS ARE MADE OF STONE “At least no more of those golem things appeared when you pushed the doors like last time,” Ryn called up to Sagar where the skypirate stood at the top of the flight of earthen stairs. “Yeah, that’s something…” said Elrann nearby. “Sure,” Sagar called down, “but how are we going to get through these doors? They’re shut fast, I tell you!” “Maybe Huld can try them?” Ryn suggested. “Rrrr,” came Sagar’s growl of irritation from above, echoing through the large hall. Despite himself, the side of Ryn’s mouth twitched up into a half-grin. “Fine! I wouldn’t say he’s much stronger than me, though!” Ryn turned to the monk, who wore his usual blank smile. “Do you mind having a go, Huld?” “I will try.” The monk plodded up on the steps and stood next to Sagar. He put his hands on the doors and pushed. “No,” he confirmed, “I am not strong enough to move these either.” “See?” said Sagar, holding out his hands sanctimoniously. “Why don’t you try your special technique thingy?” yelled up Elrann. “You mean The Strike That Moves Mountains?” Huld said. “Yeah! That one.” “Hang on,” Sagar called down, “the last time he did that, those golem things appeared and attacked us! We don’t want that to happen again!” “I’m ready with my fire,” Ryn said. “Yes,” said Nuthea, “but you are meant to be conserving your mana.” She shook her head at him like he was a naughty child. Annoyance tightened Ryn’s mouth, but it quickly turned to a suppressed laugh. Nuthea could be so bossy sometimes he just had to laugh at her. “Right,” said Elrann, “that could happen, but this is the best bet we’ve got at the moment.” “So would you like me to try?” said Huld deferentially from the top of the steps. He was the picture of politeness, but Ryn wondered if underneath that gentle giant exterior the monk was experiencing any irritation with them. “Yeah,” said Elrann. “Go for it!” “Rrrr,” growled Sagar. Huld set his feet, pulled back his hands behind his body and breathed in loudly, sucking in the stale air. Ryn braced himself. His fingers tingled, ready to summon flame if need be. Huld drove his open palms into the stone doors.  An almighty boom resounded throughout the chamber, followed by... …cavernous silence.  “Well that’s done absolutely nothing,” observed Sagar. “Again.”  The skypirate marched back down the stairs. Huld followed. “Anyone else got any smart ideas to try?” Sagar said in exasperation as the two of them re-joined the circle of the group in the faint glow-worm light. “It’s another puzzle…” said Cid, stroking his beard. “Like the last floor. Although it seems we may not be able to solve this one just by blasting through it, since these doors are made of stone.” “Rrrrr!” growled Sagar loudly, turning purple in the light from the glow-worms as he lost his temper. “This is a load of chocobo-poodoo! I’m sick of puzzles! There must be a simple way through!” All of a sudden he turned and ran back up the stairs, so fast he must be calling the wind to assist him, and indeed Ryn felt his hair flutter. When Sagar reached the top, this time he shouted “WIND!” and flung his hands forwards at the doors. The party didn’t see the gust but they felt the disturbance in the air even from where they were sitting on the floor.  The back-blast of his own wind attack off the doors knocked Sagar backwards, and he flew into the air away from them. His hands waved around frantically for a moment, but then he managed to convert his momentum into a backflip and put them out on either side of him to raise a smaller gust below himself and float to the floor more slowly.  Sagar touched down on the ground almost gracefully. “Godsdammit!” he yelled all the same, most ungracefully, frustrated that his attack hadn’t done anything to the doors. Ryn wasn’t sure why he evoked the gods, or the hells, so often when he didn’t even believe in them. “That was pretty cool, too,” said Elrann. That seemed to calm Sagar down a bit. He sighed, and let his hands drop to his sides. “It didn’t work, though...” “Of course not,” said Cid. “We’ve established that the element of Earth is highly resistant to the element of Wind.” “Yes thank you, old timer,” said Sagar, completely unthankfully. “I’ve had just about enough of you stating the bleeding obvious. I’d figured that out by now. So how are we going to get through them? Hey—you should try your fire, pup.” “You reckon?” Ryn said. For once the skypirate had spoken to him almost like he was an equal, even if he still used the same term of address as for a baby dog.  “Well why not?” Sagar said. “The old timer says earth is supposedly ‘weak’ to fire, isn’t it?” “But they’re made of stone.” “Have you got any better ideas?” Ryn shrugged, and walked up the steps to test out a small fire attack on the stone doors. It didn’t even mark them. They remained exactly as they were, indifferent and immovable. Next Elrann tried shooting them with one of her pistols. Then Cid tried saying some more magic words and passwords. Even Vish, under coercion, had a go at trying to work his blade into the very thin crack between the two doors and prise them open, but to no avail. For some reason Nuthea refused to even bother to try a lightning attack, though Ryn supposed that was fair enough. It made sense to him that lightning was likely to be completely ineffective against earth as an elemental pairing. Eventually they all found themselves sitting or lying in a circle on the worm-lit floor, tired, fed up and at a complete loss about how to get past the doors. “Welp, this is fun,” Elrann said sarcastically. “I guess we’re going to have to retrace our steps and find a way back, or else we’re going to die of starvation or thirst in here. Or boredom.” “Raarrrrr!” Sagar said. That was a really big one, Ryn thought. “There’s got to be a way through!” He slammed his fist onto the floor next to him where he sat. As he did so, Ryn noticed that the floor got a bit darker for a moment where he had hit it.  “Hey…” Ryn said. “Do that again, Sagar…” “Do what?” said Sagar. “Hit your fist on the ground.” “Why? Are you going loopy, pup?” “Just do it,” Ryn said impatiently. Then he thought he better add, “Please?” “Well, since you asked so nicely…” Sagar hit the ground with the side of his fist again, even harder than the last time. “There. Happy?!” This time Ryn saw them. When Sagar’s fist connected with the floor, the glow-worms inside the floor nearest the place that he hit wriggled quickly away from the point of impact for a moment, then slowly came back to it. “They’re moving!” “What are moving?!” “The glow-worms are moving away from your hand when you hit the floor!” Sagar thumped the floor again to test this. “...so they are. Who cares?” “That must be the key to solving the puzzle!” “What good is that going to do us, pup? It’s just moving some worms around.”  “No, don’t you see?” Ryn said. He stood up, and then tried stomping his foot on the ground. The glow worms wriggled away from the spot where he stomped, taking their light with them. He stomped again, somewhere else nearby, and some of the worms that had moved away from his first stomp kept going, moving away from this one too, so that it got a little darker around his foot. “We can affect them!” Ryn said. “We can move them, herd them!” The others were frowning at him. “What good is that going to do us?” said Sagar. “It’s a nice trick, but it’s not going to get us through those doors, pup, is it?” “No,” said Cid, standing up too, “I think young man Ryn might be onto something. The boy is right—the worms are the only things in this room that we can affect. It’s the best lead we’ve had so far. Come!” He started to stomp on the ground too and, while Ryn had to admit that the two of them looked quite silly taking big exaggerated steps around the darkened hall together, the worms moved for Cid as well. Nuthea joined in, then Elrann, then Huld (he got a lot of worms moving), then at their request even Vish. And at last Sagar breathed another big sigh and joined them too. The worms were definitely moving, only they were wriggling around inside the floor all over the place in random directions away from different people’s feet. “Hey!” Ryn called over the noise of their galumphing feet. “If we all stomp in the same place, we might be able to make them go in the same direction!” They all clumped together and began to stomp near each other, their footwear illumin

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