by Rob J. Hayes
The Djinn, Aerolis, said immortality is not possible for a terran. It's a lie, but also a truth. The Djinn may be masters of time, but the Rand are masters of flesh. The Rand have remade terrans before. They can do it again.
The original plan still stands. I must bring back the Rand. Enough of them to remake me. Not as a terran, but as something greater. Something immortal.
Josef shuts the journal with a slap and listens to his own rapid breathing. It feels as though the book is staring at him, judging him somehow. It's just a book. But it's not. It's a descent into madness. He snatches it off the desk and throws it away, listening to it slide along the floor into the darkness.
Is that his fate? Being forced to steal lives from others until he no longer cares? Until guilt is a word with no meaning? No. He can't do it. He can't become that.
Josef stands and calms his breathing, remembering the old techniques the tutors taught him. Deep breaths in and out, slow and rhythmic, in and out. He has to escape. There must be a way to escape. And he will find it.
Chapter 20
Weeks after Horralain's death and Coby had yet to show herself again. I wasn't fooled. The vengeful Aspect was still out there somewhere. Hardt had returned, sullen as a storm cloud. We didn't speak, just shared angry glances. I missed him. I needed someone to talk to about Horralain, someone to share my pain and anger with. Ishtar just pushed booze at me whenever I brought up the subject. Imiko vanished the moment I said his name, and Tamura claimed the thug was still with us, as though he could see the ghost who drifted after me. Horralain's spirit was as watchful of me in death as the man had been in life. I considered unravelling him like I had with Deko, to give him a measure of peace in the nothing of true death, but I couldn't. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to another friend for good. I wasn't even sure it was what he would want.
Under guidance from Ishtar, I sent scouts out toward Juntorrow, the capital and seat of the Emperor's power. We all knew he wouldn't allow me to fester inside his empire. Word came back that an army had been raised, two thousand soldiers at least, and a handful of battle Sourcerers. It was more than enough to crush my little rebellion ten times over, but sometimes it's good for a ruler to crush their enemies into the ground. It makes an example of them, reduces the probability of others rising. Besides, we were the first real rebellion since Orran fell. The Emperor intended to put us down hard. I was ready for it. I knew it was going to happen. But being ready for something and being prepared for it are two very different things.
Ishtar told me we couldn't win. Hardt said the same, though he wouldn't say it to me directly. The soldiers who had joined me from the Pit were loath to agree with anything Ishtar said, and most of the time they barely acknowledged her existence, but on this they agreed. We were a few hundred people, and only half of those had any battle experience. I was one Sourcerer. We couldn't win against an army, nor against an empire drawn against us. Some counselled surrender, others said we would be wise to flee into the Forest of Ten and hide amidst the dense trees. I chose another option. I chose to meet the Emperor and his army before he reached my city, and I chose to leave all my soldiers behind.
I marched south with all the bravado I could muster and gave Tamura orders to keep the home fires burning. The old Aspect was far better at organising the day to day affairs of a city than I ever was. I thought Hardt would stay, leave me to my madness, but the big man joined me without a word. Ishtar too, though that was no surprise. My pahht sword tutor was sick of the stares and whispers. She was sick of Terrelan. I was most surprised that Imiko joined me. She wanted nothing to do with war, of course. I have often thought about Imiko and why she followed along as she did. I believe she was swept up in my wake, lost and unable to realise she would have been so much better off by abandoning me and my lost cause. Things would have gone so much better had all my friends just left me to face down the Emperor's army alone. I suppose that is the truest act of friendship I have ever witnessed. They were willing to follow me into the depths of madness, even knowing it was suicide. They couldn't have known I had a plan, because I didn't tell them.
Many times, I have ruminated about my own reasons for taking the fight to the Emperor and his armies in such a brazen way. I have concluded that war is a part of me. I have often thought that children born in war never truly leave it behind. The Orran-Terrelan war was already well under way when I was born and more than that, I was raised into it. I was raised for it. The tutors at the academy taught me to kill for one simple reason. I am the weapon. War is who I am. I cannot seem to leave it behind no matter how hard, or how many times I try. Even in times of peace, surrounded by friends and loved ones, I still look for the next fight.
Three days south from the Pit we made camp. It was far enough that my city would not get caught up in the battle, and also far enough we would have time to prepare. In some ways it felt a lot like old times, a small group of us battling hardship. But too much had changed. Ishtar worried, always finding a new blade to sharpen and never seeming happy with the result. Hardt grumbled to the others and said not a word to me, even when I faced him and demanded it. Imiko looked sick to her stomach by the thought of what was to come. She had no idea.
That first night I left them to their fire and melancholic company, striking out alone into the darkness. "Are you ready?"
Are you?
"No. But I don't think I have much of a choice. We're running out of time. His armies will be here soon."
I could feel my horror's amusement. We will crush this weak Emperor into the dirt, and then find the Iron Legion. Nothing will stop us. I swear it. There was a pause of anticipation and I knew what Ssserakis wanted.
"I swear it also." A savage grin tugged my mouth open, bravado to disguise the pain I was about to feel. "Now let's find our army and bring it across."
I have mentioned before that all magic comes with a price, and the price for Impomancy is pain. I would liken it to giving birth, but the experience differs so wildly depending upon what the Sourcerer brings across. You see, it is not like Portamancy, the Sourcerer uses their own body as a conduit to bring the creatures from the Other World across. And I was intending to bring some big fucking creatures across.
Start small, Eskara. It has been a while since you have done this. I sensed something else in my horror's words. Trepidation. It was not truly for me, that Ssserakis wanted to build up to the bigger monsters, but for itself. It had been trapped in my world for a long time, and trapped inside of me for even longer. Ssserakis feared its control over the creatures of its home might have waned a little. The concept seemed somewhat laughable when I think of it. As long as there was fear, Ssserakis would dominate all but the strongest of Sevoari's inhabitants.
Khark Hounds have always been a favourite of mine. They are large, ferocious, and intimidating, and I have rarely been one for subtlety. However, the hounds do not come across easily. Each Khark Hound claws its way free of the Sourcerer, opening small wounds in the flesh and dragging itself out of the bloody rents, growing to full size only once they are across. All creatures from the Other World start small, as we conduits are small. Even now there is much about Impomancy I simply do not understand, and I very much doubt any of the Rand would be willing to enlighten me on the intricacies. I summoned twenty Khark Hounds that night, each one clawing itself out of my flesh in blood and pain. Ssserakis sealed my wounds with shadowy thread, aiding my healing through some power I did not care to understand, but it still hurt. Each hound joined the others, and before long I had a pack the likes of which had not been seen on Ovaeris since the Orran-Terrelan war.
They should not have listened to me, should have been beyond my control. There is, after all, a limit to the number of creatures an Impomancer can dominate, and losing control of even one almost always results in death. But there was no magic in play there. I severed the link to each of the hounds almost as soon as they were across. Ssserakis worked through me, dominating the monsters. This was my plan. Between us we woul
d bring over an army to fight for me. An army of monsters. An army loyal to me and no one else. One that would never break or show mercy.
When I had summoned my pack of Khark Hounds, I returned once more to the Other World. Most Sourcerers appeared there as a spirit of sorts, ethereal and unsubstantial, but not me. Perhaps it was Ssserakis' influence, or maybe it was the magic I had absorbed over the years, but I manifested a body in Sevoari, and the creatures of that world could see me as surely as I could see them. I let my horror guide me, searching out the beasts best suited to the war I was intending to fight. Hellions came next, each one tearing out of my stomach with such pain I was certain they had split me open. But there were no wounds, only agony. Eight of the flying monstrosities was all I could manage that night before the exhaustion caught up with me. I ordered all my minions to hide in a nearby cave, to wait out the harsh light of day, while I recovered. I knew with a certainty the next night would be a greater trial, because I had even worse monsters to summon yet.
Ishtar came to me that day, the first of my friends to voice their concerns. "What is this, terrible student? I thought the plan was to negotiate. Secure your city and people. Now, I see you are creating monsters."
"I'm not creating them." The words slurred wearily from my mouth. It was too much effort even standing and I trudged back towards our little camp. "I'm summoning them."
"What does it matter? They were not here, and now they are. You bring them here. Why?"
"To fight."
Ishtar snorted, gripping hold of my shoulder so I had to stop. I had not the strength left to brush her off. "You cannot fight an empire on your own, Eskara."
You're not alone.
"I'm not alone." I tried to back away from her, but Ishtar's clawed hands gripped even tighter. "I have Ssserakis."
"What is that?"
Wake up, Eskara. Ssserakis shouted the words in my head and I realised in my exhaustion I had been about to reveal my horror.
"I'm not alone," I repeated. "I have you, and Imiko, and Hardt, and an army from the Other World."
Ishtar gave me a push and I stumbled, somehow staying on my feet. "An army of monsters. This is how you wish to fight your war? Your meaningless war."
"It's not meaningless!" I spat at her. "The Terrelan Emperor destroyed Orran, threw me into the Pit, sent Prena after me."
"All at the request of this Iron Legion." Ishtar grimaced. Her ankle hadn't properly healed, would never properly heal. For a warrior of such prowess, I could see how much it angered Ishtar at times, and yet she made it her own. She was more graceful with her limp than I have ever been.
"And they both have to pay!"
Ishtar shook her head. "You want revenge, terrible student. I understand this. But what you are undertaking is revenge on a kingdom, not a person. The people should not suffer because you cannot find your target. I taught you better than that. I taught you to be precise."
"You taught me to swing a sword."
"With precision."
I let out a frustrated growl. "What is it you want, Ishtar? This is me. This is what I was trained to do, to fight a war."
"There is no war unless you start one. A good mercenary knows this. We fight in wars, other people's wars, but we relish the times of peace."
She doesn't understand, Eskara.
I shook my head, exhausted, and continued towards our little camp where Imiko and Hardt watched us. "You don't understand, Ishtar."
"And you are doing a poor job of helping me to."
I waved my stone arm at her dismissively and stumbled on. "If you don't like my methods, you're free to leave."
"You are a curse, Eskara," Ishtar shouted after me. I stopped but didn't turn back to her. "You destroy everything you touch. Everyone you touch. My company, my friends, gone. Your big Terrelan monster, gone. Your lover, gone. All because you cannot give up the fight. How many more have to die? How many more do you have to kill before you take responsibility for the war you are trying to start?"
I waited for a few more moments, long enough I was certain her tirade was over, then continued to our little camp. Ishtar was wrong. I didn't start this war. The Emperor did that. He threw me to the Pit, he sent Prena Neralis to kill me. He was sending an army to kill me. He would not stop until I was dead, and I would not give him the satisfaction.
The others watched me as I slumped down next to our fire. Hardt was cooking something over it, a pot of stew, it smelled delicious. I don't even remember closing my eyes. One moment I was staring at the pot of stew, and the next everything was black. When I woke the sun was slipping over the western horizon; I had slept the entire day. It was not the first time. I often slept through the days and found myself more active at night. And the days I was awake, I had spent underground. More and more of my time was spent in darkness than light. I don't think it was a conscious decision, but it just felt natural somehow. Signs of change. Signs I ignored.
Ishtar was gone. Her pack, her swords, her bedroll, all gone. I looked for her on the horizon, all the horizons, but she was gone. That hurt. I wondered if I could have said something to make her stay. But it was probably for the best. I didn't need her to fight. I didn't need her at all. Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.
"She left," Imiko said when she noticed me looking. "Said what you were doing was madness and we'd all be wise to follow her."
"But you stayed," I said numbly. I loved her for that.
Hardt dumped a bowl of cold stew in front of me without a word, but his glare spoke volumes. I wished he would talk to me again, but I was too proud to break the silence that had grown bitter between us. Too proud to apologise for the rift I had caused. Just like I had been with Josef.
I tried to hide it, but Ishtar's leaving hurt. I'd told her to go, all but called her a fool, but I didn't think she'd actually leave. It reminded me of Yorin, storming off the moment we escaped the Pit, telling me there was something wrong with me. They both said it. They both saw it.
We didn't need him and we don't need her.
"Which way did she go?" I asked.
It doesn't matter. We have more minions to summon.
Imiko shook her head. "She said not to tell you." There was sadness in her eyes. My fault. Imiko had been happy before she had met me.
After the stew, I went back out into the night, and Ssserakis and I continued to raise our army.
There is a list of creatures from Sevoari that have been banned. After all, there must be rules even in warfare. Orran adhered to the rules, as does Terrelan, and as far as I am aware so too does Polasia. Even the non-terran kingdoms have agreed to the banning of summoning certain monsters. There is a reason for every one of them. Some, like the Abomination, will not be controlled. They break whatever hold the Sourcerer has over them and wreak devastation upon our world. Others are too intelligent to be allowed in our world. The lords of Sevoari are on the banned list for just such a reason. But there are other creatures that are banned because they are just too destructive to use in warfare. The Yurthammer is one such creature.
I was sick of playing by other people's rules.
Yurthammers are monstrous creatures of large enough size that they could crush a house and barely notice. They have stout back legs, thick with muscle, but not very agile. Their front legs, in contrast, are much thinner and longer. Their bodies are bulbous, covered in green scales, their bulk threatening to overwhelm their legs. There are thick spines running all the way down their backs and to the tip of their reptilian tales, that glow with a warm inner light that pulses through a variety of colours. Despite all of this, their heads are the most repulsive thing about the Yurthammer. Dozens of eyes hang on prehensile fleshy tendrils that move back and forth, twisting upon each other like a tangle of eels, or hair blown in the wind. They do not blink but focus with an unnerving intensity. Their mouths are huge, as wide as their bodies, and open up to show row upon row of curved, backward facing teeth that open out to engulf their prey when they feed, dragging creatures into t
he gaping maw. They are slow moving beasts. Even a lame child could outrun one of them, so you might wonder why they are banned. What use could such a thing have in the field of war? Well, it certainly helps that they can belch pockets of clumped poison gas that is so corrosive it eats through metal and causes skin to boil on the bone. Whichever long dead terran dreamed up Yurthammers had a strange imagination. The Rand are even odder for believing it would make a good inhabitant of the Djinn's fledgling world.
I had never before brought a Yurthammer across and had no idea of what to expect beyond the certainty of pain. They are transferred across with a belch as repugnant as their own. I have eaten a variety of foods in my life, including cave fungi, and a garn delicacy called urun, which I later discovered was actually the egg sacks of garn that had not been fertilised. If that does not convince you of the strangeness of their people, I do not know what will. My point is this, the belch of bringing across a Yurthammer is by far the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted, and it burns like liquid fire on the way up too. The revolting gas then quickly expands and coalesces into a creature that smells just as bad. I sometimes wonder if that is the true reason for the monsters being banned, not the devastation they can wreak, but the smell of them.
I brought five Yurthammers across that night. Ssserakis pushed for more, having taken me to a place in Sevoari where a pack of thirty of the beasts lounged, but I could stand neither the effort, nor the smell or taste for one more moment. For the second morning in a row, I stumbled back to our little camp and collapsed into my bedroll. At least on that second day none of my friends abandoned me.
Chapter 21
How many people had Josef been made to kill before he seized upon his chance to escape? Too many. We all like to think we are only what we make of ourselves, but the truth is we are often what others make of us. Josef was made into a murderer, and only the hope of escape kept his sanity, tattered as it was, together. He wanted to escape, to flee the Iron Legion and his machinations. Josef wanted to find me. Even estranged as we were, he never lost that desire. I think, perhaps, it was because he recognised that only together could we hope to stand against Loran Orran.
