From Cold Ashes Risen (The War Eternal Book 3)

by Rob J. Hayes

  Enough! Ssserakis blinked first and the cold inside lessened, I could feel the heat of the Pyromancy Source once more, spreading throughout my body, warming parts of me on the verge of failure. I snapped the portal closed, and collapsed, sprawling on the sandy ground.

  For a long time, we both sat in silence. Defiance and pride and stubborn pig-headedness making both of us sulk. Neither of us wanted to be the first to talk. We'd just come so close to destroying each other and yet the truth remained. We were stuck together. I could not get rid of Ssserakis without dying, and the truth the horror was already coming to realise was that it had nowhere else to go. I was its best chance of going home, even if I didn't know how to do it. Well, maybe not its best chance, but I truly believe Ssserakis would take its chances beyond the portal rather than beg the Iron Legion for help.

  Silence is a disease. It infects, grows, peels away all that is good and clean, and leaves behind putrid flesh. It can take a healthy relationship and turn it sour, and I was under no false belief, the relationship I shared with Ssserakis was not healthy, but the horror was mine. Mine. Mine alone. My constant companion. My secret no one else knew. We fought and we hurt each other, but it was not the damage or pain or fear that was truly threatening to tear us apart. It was the silence that followed in its wake. It is hard to cut diseased flesh from a body, harder still to convince the afflicted that it is necessary. Silence is the same. It's so much easier to wallow in silence, to allow the relationship to wither and die, than it is to extend a word of apology.

  "I will find a way." It was not an apology I offered. In some ways, many ways, it was both better and worse. Any apology I uttered, Ssserakis would know for a lie. Instead, I offered my passenger a promise, offered in genuine honesty. "I don't know how to send you home, Ssserakis. But I will find a way. But not until my desires are met."

  What desires?

  "Vengeance." I wouldn't name it justice, not to Ssserakis. The others would want to hear it, but my horror would want to know the truth. "The Emperor and the Iron Legion have to pay. Once they have, I will find a way to send you home, no matter the cost."

  I need more.

  "I won't give up my vengeance." I'm not sure I could, in all honesty. The desire to see it wrought had lessened for a while. That was due to Silva's influence. In her arms I found a different reason for living. But I had chosen the pursuit of power over the woman I loved, and now my vengeance was all I had left.

  I need a promise. Swear to me you will stop at nothing to enact your vengeance. Regardless of the cost, lives or otherwise. Stop at nothing. Kill the monster who brought me to this hateful world, and then send me home!

  I nodded. "I promise."

  If you take one lesson away from my story, from the mistakes I have made in my life, let it be this: Do not make promises. They hold us, bind us in a way that goes beyond the physical. They make manifest desire and purpose. To make a promise is to offer up your own hands in slavery and damn the consequences. I have made many promises in my life, and the truth is I have broken most of them. Each time, I think I broke a part of myself with it.

  That day, I left the tower with answers, more questions, and most importantly, a purpose. One I knew Ssserakis would hold me to.

  Chapter 12

  The following weeks saw me struggling with the true message of Aerolis' memory. I replayed it in my mind over and over again, and soon discovered that Ssserakis saw things in that memory that I did not. The horror saw the emotion clearer than I and sensed the tension in the way the Djinn moved and spoke. It was far more astute in the subtleties of the body language of a race who had no true bodies, save for whatever element they took. We struggled with it together. The tension between us was not forgotten, nor the fact that we had come so close killing one another, but it was forgiven. And not just by me.

  Aerolis would be no more help. The Djinn clearly considered his debt paid in full, and I had the distinct feeling that summoning him again would do little to shed any light on the matter. He gave me a riddle, and I would uncover the solution myself.

  We took the time to heal. Ishtar's ankle never truly recovered, leaving a limp that afflicted her with every step, but she became quite nimble with a crutch. Our training continued, and despite improving, I felt she improved even faster. I still could not win against her. I couldn't even land a single blow. Imiko brooded. Her conscience threatened to unravel her, and the inactivity made her obnoxious. She was a true pain to be around in those days, and I found I missed my friend. I could fondly remember her levity and wit and the good humour that followed in her wake, but they were gone. I had no idea how to fix the situation, and even Hardt struggled to console her.

  Hardt himself chafed. There was little to do up on Do'shan. The city was built and entirely unsustainable. We passed over land and sea, forest and desert. We couldn't stop. There was no anchor in place on Do'shan, and even if Mezula stopped Ro'shan, our flying city would just orbit around it. There were no flyers, and no chain, and no way for the people below to reach us. Supplies were running low, and starvation was becoming a real issue. Hardt found he had nothing to do. Horralain suffered a similar problem and contented himself with days of following me around, watching my back. I wonder what the big man thought when he saw me talking to my horror. Perhaps he thought me mad.

  Tamura, I think, was the only one of us who found the change of pace to his liking. The crazy old Aspect happily spent so many of his days lounging around and staring at the sky, or studying the architecture Aerolis had risen around us. Immortality gives a different perspective on life. It is easier to feel like a day is wasted, when you have a limited number of them.

  Eventually I went to Tamura for the answers I could not reason out myself. He has always possessed wisdom for those patient enough to decipher his ramblings. I found him sitting on the rooftop of the empty building we called home, tending a cook pot and a dying fire. Where he had found the kindling to start a fire, I had no idea, there was no wood left on Do'shan. One of the many things our lofty position in the sky denied us.

  "What are you cooking?" I asked as I sat down across from him, lowering myself to sit cross legged.

  The old Aspect shrugged. "Mostly rat." Even with food supplies as low as they were, rats still found something to sustain them. I didn't want to think too hard about what the little beasts might be eating.

  I delayed, unsure of how to ask my questions. I find awkward conversations are best treated like swimming in the sea. It's going to be cold and unpleasant, but better to dive right in than inch forwards. "Tamura, what do you know about the Weapons of Ten?"

  "Ahh, from the Forest of Ten." Tamura drew in a deep breath and smiled. "Ten fires in the night. Ten knights to rescue ten damsels…"

  "No." It is best to interrupt someone at the beginning, before they become invested. "I want the truth, Tamura. Where do the weapons come from?" In his memory, Aerolis had said they could fashion weapons that could kill the Rand. It was the only reason I could think of that the Djinn was so scared of Shatter.

  "Truth… Truth is like pain. A little provides clarity, focus, even inspiration. Too much of it distracting and quickly becomes tiresome. A good story is like this stew." Tamura seemed content with that as an explanation and wasn't in any hurry to share more.

  This creature is mad. There is too much Rand in him. Too many lies clouding the truth.

  "A stew is a mix of different ingredients in one pot." It is a point of pride that I was becoming so adept at decoding Tamura's riddles.

  "The rat is tough and stringy. But with the right mix of ingredients, all becomes edible." Tamura drew in a deep breath and then looked at the pot with something like sadness. "But it can never be a rat again."

  "The rat is the truth?" I asked slowly. "Everything else is the lie."

  Tamura nodded and then poked a gnarled finger at his head. "All is stew." He giggled and then scratched at something underneath his matted tangle of grey locks.

  I leaned forward and pl
ucked the wooden ladle from Tamura's hands, smiling at the curious look it put on his face. I stirred the stew for a moment, swirling the ingredients about until I found what I was looking for. I scooped up a chunk of rat and tipped the ladle slightly, letting all the liquid and everything else drain away. Then I passed the ladle back to Tamura.

  "It might not be scurrying about anymore, but look, a piece of rat."

  Tamura giggled and nodded. He could be so childlike at times, throwing his whole self into the moment. That is something we lose as we get older. Children have a singularity of purpose and will. They aim for what they want and pursue it without a mind for anything else. The older we get the more we find other things to consider in that pursuit. Our will becomes diluted, our focus wider, encompassing more. We become scattered. It is hard to say which is truly the more useful state of mind, perhaps there is a healthy balance we can achieve somewhere between both.

  "Yes. Yes," Tamura nodded again. "But this is not rat." He giggled and returned the ladle to the pot, stirring once again.

  We will find nothing here but madness and lies, Eskara.

  "Tell me about the Weapons of Ten," I said again.

  He leaned forward. "They fell from the sky." He said it with such wonder in his voice, as if, even now, after so many years, it was still a marvel to him.

  "As weapons?"

  "No. Weapons don't fall from the sky unless dropped. As metal."

  "Bars to a cage," I mused, thinking of something I had heard within Aerolis' memory. "Forged from their prison."

  "Yes!" Tamura's eyes darted left and right, as though he was just realising it himself. I think perhaps he was. So many of his memories were lost to him, locked behind walls and blockages he did not know how to shift. But with the right prodding, it was possible to poke holes and let the knowledge flow out.

  Aerolis said they would make weapons from their prison.

  I looked up. Lokar and Lursa were visible. Our two moons ever grinding their way into one another. Spinning together in their eternal dance. I could see them clearly, close and huge. The day was dull and the sky was clear, and if I squinted, I could even see the cracks where Lokar was crushing and forcing its way into Lursa. I could see that chunks of the moons had broken away and were being held in the strange gravity up there. They looked so small, but each of those chunks was probably the size of Isha. Lursa was larger today, her bulk turned toward us, obscuring so much Lokar. One male moon, one female moon. How had it taken me so long to realise?

  "The moons," I said.

  "Yes, yes!" Tamura nodded eagerly. "Two moons there were, Lokar and Lursa, cavorting through the sky. Lokar pursued his sister endlessly, caught in her wake, drawn by her size. Ever dancing. Ever running. Ever drawing nearer to the final embrace. And then, one day." Tamura dropped the ladle and clapped his hands together with a slap. "Lokar caught his sister. They tumbled and turned and cracked and crushed. Two became one."

  "And the metal fell from the moons when they collided?"

  "Yes."

  The weapons aren't of your world.

  I shook my head. "No, they are not." I turned my attention back to Tamura. "The Rand and the Djinn, they were prisoners. Our moons were their gaols."

  Tamura giggled and rocked back and forth. "Immortals trapped. Locked away like children shut in a room. Brawling, fighting, sniping. Always creating a mess. It doesn't like mess. Likes order."

  "What does?"

  "I don't know." Tamura slapped a hand to his head once, twice, and a third time, as though trying to shake something loose. "I cannot… see. Can't remember. There is… something bigger, greater. A parent? No. Not all terms fit, no matter how accurate. Creator?"

  "The thing that put them in their prisons?" I asked.

  "Yes. Something… unknowable. My mother feared it. All I remember is her fear of it."

  "The thing beyond the portals?"

  Tamura cocked his head at that. "The eye. It watches us all, but not all windows are open."

  That's why it is so interested in us. It senses me. It senses that the Rand created me and cannot understand how when they have such limited imagination. It does not understand I come from you, not it.

  "Except I was there with you. Surely it knows about terrans?"

  Some things are beneath your notice. Small things. An ant you step on do not even notice.

  Tamura watched me having a conversation with myself and said nothing about it. I will admit I was becoming quite lax with hiding my horror from the world, often talking to Ssserakis regardless of who was around.

  "So, the moons collided. Their prisons were broken, and they came here, to Ovaeris." Tamura nodded at my words. "And they brought their war with them."

  It was a sobering realisation. We were taught that the collision of our moons was just something that happened, a point in history that had little effect, save for campfire stories and the occasional moon shower of precious metal. The truth went far beyond that. Before the moons collided, the terrans were uncivilised beasts, the creatures I call the Damned. The pahht looked similar for the most part, but were feral creatures without much intelligence, walking on all fours and only upright when they stood still. As for the tahren, who knew what little beasts they were before the Rand. If not for the breaking our moons, we would all still be like that. The world would belong to the garn and the mur and the monsters. Some of Ovaeris' grandest cities would never have come to being, our skies would be clear of flying mountains. Sevoari and all its inhabitants simply wouldn't exist. The collision of our moons wasn't just some fixed point in history, it was the bloody beginning of history, of everything we now are. It was now clear to me, and undoubtedly true, that the Rand and the Djinn did not belong here. They were immigrants, fleeing a prison sentence imposed upon them. Yet it was also true they had certainly made their mark on our world. They had shaped it to their will, made it and us what we are today. We owed everything to them.

  And yet, they had also brought a war to our world that has devastated it again and again. They played with the natural order of things and convinced us to worship them as gods. They created another world full of monsters, nightmares plucked straight from our worst dreams. They thought of us as worthless. At best we were pawns to be used in the great war they fought against each other. At worst we were nothing to them, lives not even worth considering. And on a personal level, their war cost me Silva. I may have wielded the weapon that struck the blow, but it was Mezula who directed it. It was Mezula who sent her daughter to die in her place.

  It's fair to say the realisation put my head in something of a spin. Distantly, I heard Tamura muttering as he stirred the stew, and I could feel Ssserakis talking, but I was lost in my own thoughts.

  "The weapons," I said eventually. "Why is Aerolis so scared of the hammer? Because it can kill him?"

  Tamura glanced over towards Horralain. The big thug sat at the edge of the rooftop, apart from us and apparently uninterested in our conversation, despite the topic. "The metal was designed to contain their magic. It would be a poor prison if it did not."

  How does any of this help us unlock the potential of the Sources you carry? Knowing where the Rand and Djinn come from does nothing but make you feel superior for the knowing.

  The horror wasn't wrong there. Secrets make us feel powerful, and pride in power has always been one of my failings.

  "I don't know." There were ways I could use what I now knew. Perhaps leverage with which to extort something else from the Djinn. Then again perhaps it wouldn't care. Aerolis had shown me that memory willingly, he must have known I would have seen the betrayal he and Mezula had planned.

  "Consider the stew," Tamura said with knowing nod of his head.

  "Aren't we done with the stew metaphor?"

  Tamura shrugged and cracked a grin. It was good to see him smile again. For a long time even his spirits had seemed buried beneath mounds of misery. "Stew is varied. So many uses, so many possibilities. Do you know what's in the stew?"

/>   "Rat?"

  He shot me a withering look. "And?"

  "I have no idea."

  Tamura giggled. "You don't want to know."

  There is a creature in my world who will answer any one question with the truth. But it only answers each question once, and it may not answer the question you asked.

  "What?"

  The creature is mad. And so is this one.

  "Each ingredient has a flavour, a taste all of its own." Tamura leaned forward and drew in a deep breath through his nose, savouring the smell of the stew. Then he choked on the smell. "Hopefully it will taste better than it smells. Taste better than its parts."

  It all started to make sense. You understand this fool?

  "The tutors at the academy told us never to mix magic. They said it was dangerous."

  Again, Tamura chuckled, shaking his head. "Not all rules are made to protect. Many are there to contain. But perhaps they were right. You have already broken the rules. Are you dangerous?"

  He was right, of course. Tamura was almost always right. I just hadn't seen it before. The tutors told us that mixing magic from different Sources was dangerous and volatile, and in some ways, they were right, but they were also fools with little ambition. The magic of Sources, of the Rand and Djinn, was never meant to be used alone. It's in their very nature, in the rules that bind them. They are stronger together than apart. As more of them died, their power diminished. At their height, the Djinn created a world. They did not do that separately, they combined their power, all of them working as one towards a common goal.

  The tutors taught us that mixing magic externally is safe enough. It is, after all, the very spirit of Augmancy, placing enchantments on items requires a secondary magical attunement to direct the enchantment. You cannot create a flaming sword with Augmancy alone, it requires Pyromancy as well, applied to the metal afterwards. However, mixing magic internally speeds rejection, and can lead to breakdowns. Both statements are true, but they left out the part where mixing magic internally increases the power exponentially.