From Cold Ashes Risen (The War Eternal Book 3)

by Rob J. Hayes

  Imiko glanced between me and the portal. I was struggling to keep it open along with the shield, but I didn't rush her. I knew it would be the last time I saw my friend, and I knew how much I would miss her. I didn't want to say goodbye. "What are you going to do?"

  I would have hugged her if I could have, but I needed to keep the shield up, at least until she was safe. The arrows had stopped, but I could still see the archers with their bows drawn and ready. My Khark Hounds were all but defeated, and the Hellions had already quit the battle, flying off now that they were released from any control.

  "I'm not going to let Hardt die. Not for me." My voice trembled.

  Imiko bit her lower lip and nodded, stepping backwards towards the portal. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'll tell Tamura. He'll know what to do. We'll find you."

  I smiled and nodded, and Imiko stepped backwards through the portal. As soon as she was through, I snapped it shut and lowered my hand, letting my bubble disperse. I turned my attention to the Iron Legion where he held Hardt captive.

  If we get in close, his minions won't be able to help. You distract him and I'll strike.

  "Surrender, Helsene. You know I'm not bluffing." The metal constricting Hardt tightened even further and my friend collapsed sideways, unable to breathe, let alone scream, despite the pain. There were footsteps behind me, soldiers from the Terrelan army closing in, weapons held at the ready.

  Once before, I had surrendered to the Terrelans, though not willingly. At the fall of Orran, Josef had blindsided me, knocked me down and distracted me long enough for Terrelan Sourcerers to shove Spiceweed in my mouth. This time I did it willingly, and with a little more dignity, though it is hard to retain dignity when retching so hard you burst blood vessels around your eyes. I chose to surrender, and even on my hands and knees, vomiting up my Sources and my breakfast both, the soldiers kept their distance.

  When I was done, I stood and continued forward, leaving my Sources behind in the sticky grass. I crossed the distance between the Iron Legion and myself, with Terrelan soldiers following close behind.

  Get us closer, Eskara. He'll let his guard down now that your magic is left behind. Get me close enough to strike.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my good hand and then held my arms out to the side as I approached. The Iron Legion narrowed his eyes and stretched out a hand towards Hardt, ready to crush him with a twitch of his fingers.

  "I surrender." My shoulders slumped with exhaustion as the words left my mouth. I had been holding it together so tightly, tension stacked atop tension, but those words were an admission. I was done. The Iron Legion knew it, the Terrelans knew it, and I knew it. Years of fighting them, of running from them, of planning my revenge. It was all over. I was done. They had won.

  Just a little closer.

  The Iron Legion took a step forward. Hardt was still lying on the ground, in agony and barely able to draw enough breath to stay conscious. But he was conscious, his eyes fixed on me and I could see the pain there. And oddly, pride as well. The Iron Legion took another step closer.

  I often wonder what might have happened had I been stronger, more capable. If I had let Ssserakis have its way. But I made a promise to myself that I would not let Hardt die, not for me and not at the hands of Loran Orran. I looked inside myself, found the space that Ssserakis inhabited within me, and walled it up, cutting my horror off from my shadow. The world around me seemed to brighten a little, the light bringing everything into sharper focus than before.

  Ssserakis raged. It wasn't just the missed opportunity, our mutual enemy was so close, and I had removed any chance we had of striking out at him, but the horror resented the cage I trapped it in. Ssserakis had become used to controlling my shadow as it saw fit, a way to influence the outside world at any time. I took that away. I can't even blame Ssserakis for the rage it let loose, I have been caged enough times myself, and I have always hated my captors and found ways to fight back.

  "What have you done to yourself, Helsene?" the Iron Legion said as he stepped forward. He was within striking distance now and I felt Ssserakis batter against the walls I had locked it behind.

  I lifted my stone arm. "Made a deal with Aerolis. The terms were steeper than I realised."

  "Djinn are not to be trusted."

  I grit my teeth. "Neither are you. Let him go."

  The Iron Legion glanced at Hardt and waved a hand. The metal bonds holding my friend released a little, enough to let him breathe deeply again, but they kept him bound. "His fate is for the Emperor to decide. The same as yours." The Iron Legion sighed and looked suddenly tired, his expression softening into the grandfatherly smile I remembered of old. "I gave you your freedom, Helsene. You should have taken it. Instead, you made a statement and now Aras Terrelan wants you." Loran shook his head. "He is not a kind man."

  "Where is Josef?" I spat the words at him.

  "Caged. Though in no danger, unlike you." The Iron Legion looked up as the soldiers drew closer. "Her power is gone. You can restrain her now."

  The Terrelans rushed forward and strong hands grabbed hold of me, pulling my arms behind me and securing them with chains. I took some small satisfaction at the murmur of surprise when they realised my left arm was made of stone. They still chained it to my right. I kept my gaze locked on the Iron Legion the entire time, focusing all my hatred and Ssserakis' into the glare. He met my flashing eyes without flinching.

  "Once before, I told you I hoped we had no cause to meet again, Helsene. Now I am certain we won't. He will destroy you." A sad sigh escaped his lips. "Goodbye." With that, the Iron Legion turned and walked away through the carnage of my army, his hands buried in the folds of his robes and his back bent under the weight of his unnatural years.

  The Terrelan soldiers held me there until the field marshal arrived. Then both I and Hardt were dragged away, bound and unable to do anything to escape the tortures planned for us.

  Chapter 24

  There is nothing quite like solitary incarceration to give a person time to think. Josef was not truly alone, of course, there were occupants in nearby cells and many of them spent much of their time, at least at the start, howling their indignation or begging for their freedom. Wasted words. The other prisoners could do nothing and did not care. Josef did not care.

  It is a terrifying thing to strip a person's benevolence away from them. Even more so for someone like Josef who only ever wanted to help others. To look inside for his compassion and find that he no longer cared should have broken him, except that he no longer cared.

  This is one of Josef's memories.

  He could feel them. Every single prisoner on this level had a spark to them, a little light in the darkness. Not a real light. There was no light. But they had a Biomantic light. Josef closes his eyes and concentrates, letting his senses mingle with his innate magic. There are thirty-one of them. Ragged souls, malnourished and rotting. Some are injured, others have simply lost their senses and no longer even know where they are. Or what they are. They are broken. But Josef could fix them. A nudge here, a push there, chemistry moved back into alignment, pathways corrected. He could fix them. But why should he? He can't find the effort. He doesn't care.

  One of the men still screams. He's two cages over, a big man and still healthy. He kicks at the door to his cell and screams even though his voice is raw from the effort. Josef wants the man to shut up like the rest of them. To sit down and accept his fate. If only he were closer. If only he could reach the man, he could shut him up. He could suck the fight right out of him and leave him quiet. Dead.

  Josef turns his senses inward and probes his Biomancy. He has always imagined his Sourcery as a sort of well. When he swallowed a Source, the well filled with magic and he could take from it at will. It would run empty eventually, of course, and if it did rejection would set in, but he was careful never to let that happen. When he regurgitated the Source, the well ran dry, the waters draining away in an instant. But there was no well inside him anymore. I
t had overflown, the waters engulfing everything around it. It was no longer a well, it was a lake, vast and deep. And always there.

  His palms no longer hurt and though the skin on them feels new and raw, there is no evidence that he ever skinned them. His toe no longer hurts. It has not been so long since his attempt at escape, he should not have healed so quickly. He reaches up and traces a hand along the scar at his throat. Yorin had cut his throat and the blade had bit deep. No one should have survived that sort of wound. But he did. He survived and he healed.

  Josef wraps his hand around his little finger and braces for the pain. He wrenches it to the side and hears it snap, feels the break as a rising wave of pain and nausea. He screams, adding his own voice to the other man's.

  "Shut up!" someone hisses in the darkness.

  Josef waits. He can feel his finger realigning, the bone knitting back together. With his Biomantic senses turned inward, he can feel it happening at a rate that should not be possible. And the waters of his lake are barely touched. He counts out the time in his head. Four minutes. Four minutes for a broken bone to heal as though the injury had never been.

  He puts the heel of his hand in his mouth and bites down hard. Again, the pain, though less this time. He was expecting it. He was bracing against it. He was numbing it somehow, another use of his Biomancy he hadn't even realised was possible. The blood in his mouth is sticky and metallic and he spits it out. His flesh knits back together in seconds. Before a minute is up the wound is completely closed.

  It's the Iron Legion's technique at work, Josef knows for a certainty. His innate Biomancy has been there ever since the Pit. No, even before that. It's been there ever since Loran first experiment on he and Eska. He injected them with Sources and changed them forever. But ever since Josef had started draining the life from his… Victims. They were victims and he would call them such. It sparked to life a brief flicker of guilt that he clung to, knowing it would not last and that when it disappeared, he would be truly lost. Somehow, draining the life from others was strengthening Josef, causing his well to overflow into a lake. Even though he was channelling that energy into Sources, a part of it stayed with him.

  What about the Iron Legion though? He had developed the technique. He had been using it for years before now. How long had he been draining the life from people, adding their power to his own? How many people had he murdered? How strong was he really?

  Josef saw his reserves as a lake, but then the Iron Legion must have an ocean!

  It was hopeless. It had been hopeless from the start. Josef drew his knees up and hugged them to his chest. There was no way out of this prison. The Iron Legion countered him at every turn. His power was too great, too unfathomable. He would not let Josef go. He would not let Josef stop. And with every life taken, Josef cared a little less.

  He sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. A broken thing like all the other prisoners. There was no hope. There was no respite. He had no fight left. The Iron Legion had won.

  Chapter 25

  I don't remember much of the journey to Juntorrow. I think I have blocked the details of it, for it was without a doubt one of the worst times of my life. Hardt's arm was set and he was marched along in manacles, kept under constant guard. He had it easy. The Terrelan soldiers blamed me for the deaths of their friends and comrades. Over five hundred dead and as many injured. They were right to blame me, it was my fault. That doesn't mean they were right to take my shoes away, tie me to the back of a horse, and force me to march along at speed or be dragged. The vanguard set a gruelling pace and I was forced to keep it. Each day was a monotonous agony of marching on blistered, bloody feet, dragging myself along beyond the limits of endurance. I was given a few sips of water each morning and when we made camp, barely enough to sustain me, and my throat felt like fire. They fed me once every two days and only on the scraps soldiers left behind. I was insulted, spat upon, tripped, and even punched by some of the more vicious soldiers. The field marshal did nothing to stop his troops.

  By the time we arrived at the outskirts of Juntorrow I was already on the verge of giving up. I felt like I had nothing left. The only thing keeping me on my feet was my own stubborn defiance. I refused to die, and the Terrelans refused to kill me. It's their way, and the Red Cells are there to force the issue. I mention this, because as bad as my forced march to Juntorrow was, my stay in the Red Cells was worse. Though at least there wasn't much in the way of walking. Something to be grateful for, I suppose.

  Whenever we stopped, I slumped. Whenever I slumped, someone hit me. We stopped outside of Juntorrow for hours and I earned more than a few new bruises. I briefly caught sight of Hardt and he was hunched over and bleeding from a cut on his head, his left eye swollen shut. We met each other's gaze for just a moment, and I found myself standing a little taller. Then, someone punched me, and I found myself on the floor instead. When tied to horse and it starts moving, you start moving. It's wise to make it your choice, especially when you're entering a city of cobbled streets.

  News of my arrival had spread. The people of Juntorrow shouted and jeered, some even throwing things at me. I took a stone to the face that sent me reeling and had to struggle to get back to my feet before the rope pulled taught. Their hate of me seemed a disproportionate thing. My actions could not have affected the citizens of Juntorrow to such a degree, but then I suppose it didn't need to. Maybe there had been lies told about me, news reported that turned me into an invading despot. Perhaps they hadn't even heard of me at all but jumped on the opportunity to throw mindless hate my way. People are like that sometimes, cheering on the suffering of others, often as a way to forget their own. I weathered the assaults without complaint, but my hatred and anger kindled inside once more.

  Ssserakis remained utterly silent. I was no longer blocking my horror from manipulating my shadow, but it was absent somehow. I couldn't even feel it inside. That saddened me far more than the fools shouting vitriol at me.

  Eventually we arrived at the gates to the Terrelan palace itself. We stopped there. I slumped and someone punched me in the kidney. As if it wasn't hard enough to find any comfort, a punch to the kidney only serves to compound the issue. Though I must admit, my pride rose a little then. To think I was important enough to warrant an audience with the Emperor himself before they dealt with me for good. I didn't understand the truth yet.

  The field marshal turned back to me. He didn't smile, as some people might have, but there was a savage satisfaction in his eyes, along with some pity. There is little that raises my defiant streak quite like pity.

  The gates were opened, and I was marched through with a combination of being pushed and dragged all at once. The Terrelan royal palace is a grand, sprawling thing that overlooks Juntorrow from a raised hill near the centre. It is a marvel of gleaming stone, stained glass windows, and towers. The tallest tower stood apart and alone at the zenith of a hundred polished white steps, it rose like a dark grey monolith at the centre of the palace. The Emperor's tower. It's said he could see all Juntorrow from the rooftop. A commanding view of his empire. I assumed that was where they were taking me, to be humbled in front of their ruler. Instead, I was pushed to the side, away from the tower and towards a squat, ugly building that looked out of place amidst the glory of the palace. It was an apt appearance. The soldiers pushed me towards the dungeon. Towards the Red Cells. I tried glancing behind, attempting to look for Hardt, but was cuffed about the head. My dignity was well and truly gone now.

  I was led into the darkness, lit only by flickering lantern light, and down into the depths. It was like returning home. Beaten and chained, led deep underground, my magic stripped from me, and nothing to look forward to but torture and death. The circle was complete. But unlike the Pit, there was no great cavern down in the Red Cells, no scabs nor digging, no rough-hewn walls or discarded tools. Down there were stairs, ordered corridors with equally spaced doors, and screams. Some were the wails of the damned, people long since devoid of sanity, and others
were of true pain brought about by torture at the hands of seasoned professionals. It was not long before I was adding my own screams to the cacophony, and they were never torn willingly from my throat.

  The field marshal was gone, but the soldiers who led me were no less rough with their treatment, and they even pulled me aside to give me a last beating before finally shoving me into my new home. One thing to be said for having an arm of solid stone, it does a good job of protecting your vitals when you're curled into a ball receiving a kicking. Eventually they opened a door and tossed me inside, slamming it shut behind me. I crumpled against a wall and didn't bother getting up. I'm not even sure I could have. Something felt broken inside, a rib maybe, and the pain was so excruciating even lying still was no respite. The darkness was complete and Ssserakis provided me no night sight. I closed my eyes and found some small measure of escape in the oblivion of sleep.

  I woke to light spilling into my cell from a small hole set head height in the door. For the first time, I could clearly see my new home and it's fair to say I'd lived in better. My cell was no larger than a cupboard, and even as short as I am, I was unable to stretch out fully in any direction unless I was standing. There was a bucket in one corner, and I was certain much of the unpleasant smell was coming from that direction, and above me hung a rope tied into a noose. That was it, nothing else in the cell but me and my pain. No window, no cot, no ratty blanket to sleep under, not even any straw to protect me from the cold stone floor. Everything in that cell was there to make the noose seem more tempting.

  Something passed in front of the hole in the door and obscured the light. I saw eyes peering at me for a moment, and then the sound of a key turning a lock. Then, the door pulled open. The light that flooded in nearly blinded me, despite being dim, and I pushed myself further back against the wall, shielding my eyes with my good arm and groaning in pain as my body reminded me I had a broken rib.