From Cold Ashes Risen (The War Eternal Book 3)

by Rob J. Hayes

  We often use the word madness to invalidate another's opinion. In the case of the Rand and the Djinn, it is acceptable. They are madness. And so is their fucking war. I didn't know it at the time, but the Iron Legion sought to bring them back to the world. To fix it by repopulating the Rand. It was an act that could only rekindle the War Eternal, and just like before, it would be those of us caught in the middle who would pay the heaviest price.

  I could not contain Aerolis' power. But I could control it. First, though, I needed to amplify it even further. The Source I held in my left hand was not large, the size of a cherry, though ridged in some places and sharp in others. It would not go down easily, and it would be worse coming back up. It would also kill me in mere minutes. Time is never on our side. For us mere mortals time is disease, slowly eating away at us. It cannot be stopped, nor bargained with, nor even slowed. When I popped the Source in my mouth and swallowed it down, tensing at the pain and gagging on the blood as it scratched my throat, I felt time take notice. It was not Chronomancy that put me on the clock, not this time. It was Geomancy.

  Attunement does not dictate what type of magic a Sourcerer can use, but rather their resistance to the destructive effect of holding a Source inside. I am not a Geomancer, but I can use that school of magic. It's just that it will kill me much faster than the ones I am attuned to. Rather than days before rejection starts, I had minutes. Little time, and so much to achieve. Aerolis' attempts to subjugate weren't making things any easier. But the Djinn would be the architect of its own destruction if it continued, and I would carry it out. After all, its power was at my command now, and along with the Geomancy Source, and the knowledge of combining magic to strengthen it, I was in no mood to suffer Aerolis' tantrum.

  Reaching up with my left hand, I grabbed hold of a piece of Do'shan. Not a physical action, but rather something magical. I was combining Kinemancy and Geomancy and amplifying the result through Aerolis' own magic. I shouldn't have been able to move a hair at that range, yet I could feel the rock of Do'shan. I could sense the tiny fissures and faults. And with a sharp tug, I pulled a section of the mountain free. It was not a large chunk of rock I sent falling to the earth below, at least not in perspective. There was an entire mountain floating above me and I ripped free a chunk no larger than a few houses. Of course, it didn't need to be that large. I was proving a point. The spectacle worked. Everyone took notice, even Aerolis. We all watched the rock fall, the impact felt through our feet as it struck the ground and sent up a cloud of dust and dirt.

  What are you doing? The force of Aerolis' rage staggered me and I nearly collapsed to my knees from the assault. I must have looked so strange staggering about like a drunken fool, the conflict was all inside, invisible to the others. I could feel the strain the Djinn was putting on Ssserakis, and how close my horror was to being overcome.

  "Stop fighting me, Aerolis!" I hissed the words through clenched teeth as I reached my hand up once more and clutched at another section of Do'shan. "We made a deal. Either you honour it now and we all walk away happy, or I will tear your city from the sky before trapping you inside my own stone coffin!" To emphasise my point, I tore away another section of the mountain, letting rocks as large as manor houses fall to the ground. It was an emphatic display of power, and it cost me more than I was willing to admit. I couldn't let the Djinn realise that I would succumb to rejection long before I ripped even a tenth of the mountain out.

  You carry an abomination inside of you!

  I snorted. "It's a horror. My horror. And Ssserakis is welcome here. You are not! So, overcome your prejudice and stop fighting me. Help me save your people, Aerolis."

  The soldiers from the Pit looked caught between awe and the need to bolt and run. I could feel the fear on them, and Ssserakis was feeding on it to help in its struggle against the Djinn. My own friends looked as close to running as the soldiers, and I will admit that hurt a little. Even Hardt was tensed as though ready to launch into a sprint at a moment's notice.

  I felt the struggle cease as Aerolis pulled back from Ssserakis. There was hatred there, enmity built upon anger and disgust. They could hate each other all they wanted, just as long as they put it aside to obey me.

  You should hurry, terran. Aerolis' voice was smug inside my head. You don't have long. He wasn't wrong about that. I could feel something hot and wet dripping from my left ear, and my stomach was starting to cramp. Still so much to do, and so much time wasted on petty, useless conflict.

  Turning back towards the Forest of Ten, I stretched out a hand again. I could feel the Geomancy, the connection to the earth around me. I could feel fissures beneath my feet, and lines of power snaking through the dirt. I gripped hold of a chunk of earth beneath a section of the forest and lifted. Caked dirt rumbled and shifted, ripping free from its surroundings. Roots tore as the trees were pulled free from their deep connections. Then it all started to shake. Earth crumbled away, crushed in my magical grip. Trees toppled, falling back down to the ground. It all just fell apart in my hands.

  "I need your help," I said between deep breaths. Strange that I was so out of breath despite the exertion being magical rather than physical. Whatever the type of strain, it still takes a toll on the body. "I can channel the power, but I don't have the experience, Aerolis. I need your guidance." I wasn't a Geomancer. I had never been trained to use that school of magic. I had no idea what I was doing.

  For a moment there was nothing but silence. Try again.

  I did. I reached out and felt the magic travel along the ground between me and the forest. Then Aerolis was there with me, his presence in the magical energy flowing through me. He did not take control but guided me. Through the Djinn I could feel the ground more acutely than before. I could sense where the earth was toughest, oldest. How deep the roots dug through the dirt. And I could feel the ruined Djinn city beneath me. Together we tore a chunk of forest free from its surroundings. Dozens of paces wide, and almost as deep. Twenty trees in all, each one old and tall and strong. Together we raised that chunk of earth, holding it together even as we bore it upwards towards Do'shan.

  Each minute is a small eternity when you're dying from Source rejection. The Geomancy was killing me. I could feel blood leaking from my ears and nose, and even a trickle escaping from eyes. The cramps were blinding agony, spreading out from my stomach and reaching towards my limbs. I tried my best to ignore it all, but I could feel Ssserakis' panic. The horror's job was to keep Aerolis at bay, and to keep me together. The only way it could do the latter, was to take a portion of that pain into itself. To mitigate the damage being caused to me, by absorbing it. We both suffered that day, my horror and I. We both suffered, but Ssserakis sacrificed. After all, it hated the Djinn, and Aerolis would destroy Ssserakis if possible, and yet the horror still helped us.

  It takes a long time to raise tons of dirt and tree up through the sky, and Do'shan sat high up. Time passed, minutes maybe passed, far too long, considering. Still we raised up the section of forest until I could barely see it. I had to rely almost entirely upon Aerolis to guide it onto the top of the mountain, and when it was done, I felt drained. The pain was excruciating. It felt as though something had broken inside of me. Still, I wasn't ready to quit.

  It's too much. Ssserakis' voice was laboured.

  "Can you hold out?" The question might have been directed at my horror, but I was asking it of myself also. There was no answer. I took it as a positive sign.

  "Are you ready, Aerolis?"

  I felt curiosity from the Djinn. We had done what we had come to do. But I wasn't done. The power of a god inside made me arrogant. Arrogant enough to do something stupid beyond reason. Arrogant enough to think I could get away with it.

  I turned towards the rocks and towards the Pit. My friends and the soldiers were all staring at me in something like awe, or possibly terror. The two are quite often indistinguishable, which probably says a lot about the heroes we worship. Any enmity between the two groups was forgotten in the w
ake of what I had just done. They were about to see a far greater spectacle. They were about to witness the true power I could wield.

  I felt Aerolis in my limbs once more as I knelt and dug my fingers into the earth at me feet. My awareness spread out to encompass everything around me. We were closer to the Pit than I had thought, much closer. I could feel it beneath us; the caverns and tunnels, heat and activity. Like a hive of ants, the terrans below us swarmed in their daily lives. Digging, digging, digging. I turned my attention away from it, there would be time to deal with the Pit and the enemies I left down there later. To the east I felt what I was looking for, the ruined Djinn city. Through Aerolis I could feel it all, and it was far larger than I had once thought. The city almost as large as Ro'shan or Do'shan. Its tunnels sat dark and abandoned for the most part, but I could feel how they wove their way through the rock. Faults and seems. Weak walls and supporting pillars. It was too much for me to comprehend. My mind was not large enough to encompass it all, to see how it all connected. I was not built for such a thing. And I didn't need to be.

  "I am the conduit." A warping of my old mantra. But I suppose in some way they were also a submission. I let Aerolis take control, trusting Ssserakis to keep me me. I should quit while I was ahead.

  That was when I realised exactly what the Djinn was capable of. When I realised I had been fooling myself when I threatened the creature. Its power was beyond me, beyond anything I could hope to achieve. Even together and at our strongest, Ssserakis and I were no match for Aerolis. I think it said as much about the Iron Legion also, and the gulf of power that lay between us.

  The ground shook. That is an understatement. The tremors were so strong that some of the soldiers were knocked off their feet, and all crouched low to the ground, ready to run with nowhere to run to. Rocks broke free from nearby outcroppings, tumbling downhill. Nearby birds took to flight, and wildlife scattered in panic. Worms wriggled their way up to the surface and thrashed about in the dirt, unable to escape what was coming. The noise was deafening, yet I could still just about hear Hardt shouting. Luckily for us both, he didn't try to interfere.

  Then the ground cracked open. Rock shattered and deep holes opened up. The tremors grew even stronger. Two of the soldiers tried to flee but keeping their feet beneath them proved too difficult and they ended up sprawling and clutching at the grass as though it could keep them safe. One soldier began crawling towards me, sword drawn and ready. Horralain intercepted the man and punched him unconscious with vicious competency.

  My vision was dimming. The cramps seemed distant things, which was probably far worse than when they weren't. Blood ran from my ears and nose and eyes, and I could feel it dripping from my chin. My left arm felt — odd. Hard. Stiff. I could no longer feel my fingers. It was a bad sign, but I ignored it as Aerolis continued to wreak his power upon the world. He knew what I wanted, what I had decided to do, and was happy to sacrifice me to do it. It was a power no one had seen in years, possibly in generations. This display of Geomancy had been missing since last of the Rand and Djinn were killed or trapped. I was channelling the power of a god, and it was taking its toll.

  New rocks burst from the earth, ripping their way free into the open air. Earth shook free, revealing the city that lay beneath. A ruined city, rising from the soil into the light of day. More and more and more of it broke free from its confines. I could feel the strain such a display was putting upon the Djinn. He struggled to do it, but also revelled in the act. Aerolis was enjoying making his mark upon the world once more. If only he had realised it was not his mark, but mine.

  We could not raise the entire city, of course. Only a portion of it. A large portion, but far from its full extent. Even so, a hundred rooms all interconnected, two great cavernous halls. All encased in rock. It did not look like a city. It looked like a small mountain hollowed out. It would do. It would serve as the beginnings of my empire. My seat of power. The eventual resting place of the Corpse Throne.

  Beneath our feet I felt the panic. The prisoners of the Pit were terrified. Understandable. The earth shaking is one thing for those on the surface, something entirely different for those trapped underground.

  Eskara! Ssserakis was quiet, its voice almost lost in the noise, The strain on the horror too great. I could feel it starting to unravel, and that was something I could not allow. Something I couldn't bear.

  "Enough, Aerolis!" My own voice was strained also, breaking on the words. It, too, was lost in the noise. But it didn't need to reach far. The Djinn heard me, and he ignored me, continuing to exert his power on the earth, dragging more and more of the city up into the light. I could barely see from the blood in my eyes. The rejection was killing me. Killing us.

  I pulled my right hand from the earth and ignited it. Aerolis ignored me still, confident I could do nothing to stop him. So, I slapped my right hand down onto my left and ignited the rope tied around it. The skin felt strange, hard and rough, like the rock we were pulling from the ground. It took only a moment for the rope around my arm to incinerate. Suddenly Aerolis was being dragged away. The anchor to me gone, he could no longer stay. I helped him along with a push, finally kicking the Djinn out of my body. He fled with mocking laughter, certain the damage had already been done. Certain I was beyond repair. He might have been right about that.

  With Aerolis gone, I suddenly realised the Djinn had been delaying my Source rejection somehow. My left arm was numb, but the rest of me was wracked with spasming cramps. Blind from the blood in my eyes I reached for my snuff pouch. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything with my left hand.

  "Eska, what have you done?" Hardt's voice, oddly muted and full of sorrow. I didn't have time to ask him what he meant.

  I found the snuff pouch with my right hand and all but tore it open, pulling out a large clump of Spiceweed and shoving it in my mouth, chewing and swallowing as quickly as I could. We Sourcerers may be powerful, often afforded positions of high privilege for the magic we lend to those in charge, but we pay a hefty price and dignity is often amongst the cost. I have lost count of the number of times in my life where I have lay in a pool of my own vomit, retching up the Sources that afford me such power. This was one of them. I could barely move. Exhaustion and pain overcame me. Luckily, the spectacle I had just performed was more awe-inspiring than my debilitated state was embarrassing. Still, Horralain stood over me, Shatter in hand in case anyone came too close. Imiko rushed forward and pulled my hair away from the vomit. Tamura snatched up the Sources and secreted them away, while Hardt fussed over my left arm. I had just performed a miracle, a display of power no other in living memory had witnessed. I had just pulled a city from the earth. And yet, there I was, curled into a ball, wracked with pain, and unable to shift myself out of my own spreading bile, being tended to by friends with soothing words. I wish I could promise you it was the last time I have been in such a state, but I assure you, it is far from it. Overtaxing my body past the point of breaking is something of a bad habit of mine, one I seem entirely unable to break.

  "Eska, your arm." I had to wipe blood from my eyes to see what Hardt was talking about. I didn't really want to see. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, I could tell by the way I couldn't feel anything. Hardt ran his hands over my arm, poking it, prodding it, and I felt nothing.

  I couldn't hold it back any longer. Ssserakis was as weary as I had ever heard it, its voice small and quiet.

  Finally, I braced myself and summoned what little courage I had remaining. Bloody tears ran down my face, and I had earned every one of them. Geomancy rejection, late stage. My left arm had turned to stone.

  Chapter 16

  It didn't take long for my new ghosts to appear. They crept from the shadows, rose up through the rock, or even ran at me screaming silently. I recognised some of them, faces barely remembered from my time in the Pit, but most were lost in the gathering crowd. Ghosts are odd things, like memories slowly fading from the world. They start out as distinct figures who look just like
they did at the time of their death, but if they are kept in the world, then they begin to lose definition. Eventually all ghosts fade and become blurs, like those we encountered in the ruins of Picarr. Wait a little longer and they become no more than whispers on the wind, not of sound, but of thought or feeling. Longer still, and they become nothing, frayed away until there isn't even a thought remaining. These ghosts were fresh, distinct, angry. I would have given much to see Prig among them, the foreman who had tortured me for so long. The fucking bastard who had scarred my face so severely. To see him dead, dragged along in my wake, would have been a balm to my soul. But I saw no Prig, no Overseer. Only fellow scabs, Deko and his closest cronies. It was all the proof I needed. I had just murdered the Pit.

  Displacement, or so I am told. You cannot move a thing, without something taking its place. I pulled a city from the earth and in the void I left behind, rock and earth and water rushed in. Some great underground cavern was broken, and the water trapped within found new paths to flow into. A flood of cold, dark water drowned the Pit, filling every level and tunnel and cavern. Prisoners and soldiers alike were trapped there, died with water in their lungs, struggling to breathe. Others found they had no way out, the water blocked off their escape and they suffocated as the air ran out or starved with nothing left to eat. Or perhaps they turned on each other down in the deep, dark hole. Take away the light and the food and the hope, and it is surprising how quickly we terrans start to resemble our roots.

  Speaking of the Damned, they too suffered from my spectacle. Trapped in a city that was rising and crumbling in equal measure, they fell upon each other. Fear and confusion made stupid creatures lash out at each other. Whole caverns were lost, collapsed, and it would be impossible to count such a death toll. Strange, no ghosts of the Damned, nor of the imps from the city plagued me. Only the terrans from the Pit. I will admit, I have often wondered why that is. Perhaps they were simply too primitive to rise as ghosts. Some questions do not have answers, at least not ones we can fathom.