Good old Ironwood. Virtually indestructible.
Since it was alive, that meant that he could affect it. Despite being a little tired from the summoning, Tarrin reached within once more. This time, his image and intent were perfectly clear, and the All responded. The drain on him was noticable, but nothing like what he felt when he summoned the staff. The magic infused the staff, revitalizing the wood, bringing it back to full vigor, and the magic urged the wood to grow. The staff lengthened and thickened visibly, growing swiftly in his paw, until it had fleshed out to the exact dimensions he had envisioned. A good staff should be slightly taller than its owner, and thick enough to be easy to grip, but no thicker than necessary.
What Tarrin got when he was done was a staff that was an almost perfect replica of his old one, sized perfectly to his tall frame. It resembled his old staff, even down to the scratches on it; Tarrin realized that he must have been imagining his old staff when he used the spell to make the staff grow, and the All had taken that image and made it a blueprint rather than a guide. The new staff was proportioned for his new height, and it was a bit heavier, but other than that, it looked and felt exactly like his old one. The weight was no issue, since he himself was now stronger than he had been before, thanks to Shiika. Just looking at the staff made Tarrin smile just a little bit, and he felt as if some long lost friend had reappeared in his life.
He put the staff into the middle grip and felt its balance. It was perfect. The All had done more than just change the staff according to his image, it had changed it according to his desires. It had made him the perfect staff, the perfect weapon, and already, before he even swung it once, it felt like an extension of his arms. It felt like a part of him. And that was the key element that was lacking when he used the sword. He was aware of the sword, thought of the sword, took account of the sword. He didn't do that when using his staff. He didn't have to. He could fight with his staff in a state of total unthinking oblivion, working on reflex and training alone, and that gave him a reaction so fast that few could keep up with him, even when he was a human.
The sword. It was still on his back. But he wouldn't throw it away. Carrying it these months had taught him that each weapon had certain uses, and had advantages in some situations. He would keep and use them both. The sword would be used, but only when it had a greater advantage than his staff. Fighting kajats was a good example. His staff would probably just bounce off the scaly hide of one of those formidable reptiles.
"Well now," Sarraya said, "I wondered when you'd think to try that."
Tarrin shook off the reverie and looked towards the voice. Sarraya was hovering in the air not far from the single tree, a berry of some sort in her hand. "Conjured or Created?"
"Summoned," he replied. "I totally forgot about this one. I made it when I was younger and gave it to my sister. It's been sitting in her room for the last five years. I hope she doesn't mind if I take it back."
"She probably won't miss it," Sarraya said with a light laugh, but her expression turned sober. "You've been over here a while. What's bothering you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You usually don't do this," she replied. "That means something has you unsettled."
He blew out his breath, reminding himself that Sarraya wasn't half as scatterbrained as she seemed. In that way, she was alot like Keritanima. Sarraya had a keen insight into his mind. He wasn't sure if that was such a good thing, at least for her.
"Jegojah is coming," he announced bluntly, staring at her. "Coming into the desert. Coming after me."
"Seems to be rather suspicious timing," Sarraya said after a moment. "Convenient that he just happens to be on the way when you're unable to use Sorcery."
Tarrin noticed that she didn't ask how he knew. She just seemed to accept it as truth. "I know. The Goddess warned me about him coming, and I'm going to be ready. That's why I summoned a new staff, because I fight better with a staff than I do with a sword." He blew out his breath and looked right into her eyes. "There won't be a next time, Sarraya. This time will be the last time."
"Unless you have a miracle in your pocket, I don't see how you're going to do that," Sarraya told him. "If you destroy him, he'll just find another body and come back."
"This time I'm not going to do that," he grunted. "I've been thinking about this all last night and today, and I've come up with some ideas. I think the best way to eliminate Jegojah would be to imprison him and leave him somewhere where the Selani won't accidentally release him. So long as his current body isn't destroyed, I don't think he can just abandon it for another one."
"Clever idea, but that won't work either," Sarraya warned. "The ones who made him can recall his animating force and put it into a new body. The only way to stop a Doomwalker is to take the soultrap the Wizards who Conjured him used to create him. So long as they have his soul, they can just keep Conjuring him again and again, until they either get tired of it or he kills you."
Tarrin frowned. He hadn't considered that. The prospect that he had no real way to put an end to Jegojah once and for all was disheartening, and it made him just a little angry. There just had to be a way! He wasn't going to fight Jegojah again after this next time, that was something he had absolutely sworn to himself. There had to be some way to put Jegojah down permanently, something that didn't involve physically finding and taking the soultrap that held Jegojah's soul.
That put his plans off a little, but the simple fact that he had to be at the top of his game when Jegojah did arrive was still high in his mind. He'd have to think up some other way to permanently defeat Jegojah later, but for now, he still had to get ready for him.
"I know the Doomwalker is a pain in the butt, but there aren't any human bodies out here suitable for him, Tarrin," Sarraya soothed. "Chop him up and make him spend another couple of months travelling back into the desert."
"No," he said fiercely, motioning in her direction with his staff. "Jegojah killed Faalken, Sarraya. It's my fault Faalken died, but it was Jegojah that killed him. I'll never forgive him for that. I'll destroy Jegojah once and for all, no matter what it takes."
"And that," she said seriously, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."
"Why?" he demanded, staring at her intently.
"Because I've seen what happens when you get like that," she replied. "You'll kill yourself if you think that you can take Jegojah with you. Well, you're not much use to the rest of us dead, and I'm not going to be the one to go back to your sisters and Triana and tell them that I let you kill yourself in a tiff. You can forget that," she snorted. "Sometimes, 'at any cost' is a price too high to pay for the people you leave behind, Tarrin. Sometimes it's a price too high to pay for you. Think about that."
With that, she turned and flitted back to the other side of the oasis, leaving him alone with her words, alone with his thoughts.
Thoughts that could only agree with her.
He was awakened early the next morning by rage.
It startled him awake from his comfortable furry ball near the fire, assaulted his Cat-dominated mind and forced him to flounder to find full awareness. It wasn't coming from him, this was something outside. It took him a moment to sift through the strange feelings and realize that, that it wasn't him. They were emotions that the Cat in him wasn't well equipped to handle, so he shifted back into his humanoid form and knelt by the fire, a fire that Var was tending silently to ward off any Sandmen in the area.
It was coming from Jula. He realized that immediately, because what he was feeling was coming through her bond. It had been quite a while since he'd felt anything from her, so long he almost forgot about the bond, but this was intense. As complete a rage as he had ever sensed, even in himself. Only very strong emotions or strong disturbances in the mind or body's harmony came through the bond, serious ones that demanded the bond-holder's attention. It was a mechanism for parents to monitor their volitile cubs, and in this case, it was working all too well. Blind fury was raging through Jula's entire being, through her core, so intense was it that he could sense its depth from half a world away.