Coming to Power

by T J Marquis

  “The Althene will bear a light in his eyes,” she informed him. “I see it, a ring like the sun round a mischievous moon. Are you the Althene?” She took his hand without permission, scanned the lines in his palm. “But no, the Althene is not only Restorer, but Slayer of thousands.” Jon flinched and reclaimed his hand as she began to trace a line across his skin. The woman turned away to rejoin her companions, muttering, “These hands are clean.”

  “That was weird,” Jon said to his companions, who looked as puzzled as he was. “Let’s get out of here.”

  When they were well on their way, Jon inquired aloud, “What do you guys think that was about?”

  “Her words had the ring of superstition,” Dahm said. “Admittedly not something necessary for my people to know before we travel, in most cases, so I can’t help you decode.”

  “There is a light in your eyes, Jon; I noticed almost immediately,” said Bahabe.

  Jon rolled his eyes up, “No, I can’t handle superstition,” he said, pained. “The words of the Light were one thing - it felt right. That lady… it wasn’t much but it felt wrong.”

  Bahabe smiled to cheer his odd discomfort. “Well you haven’t slain any thousands lately, like she said. I’d say you’re clear.”

  Jon grunted.

  They marched eastward along the wide dirt road until late afternoon, passing less and less inbound traffic as they went. Their map indicated a fortified town called Otu a few days northeast along the road, and another town further northeast called Ota, that was nestled in a pass across the mountains. That route would lead them into the large adjacent country called Enkann, via an apparently important highway simply called the Road. Due north from Otu about ten day’s march was the capital of Anek, Anescama, marked with an icon much like the inscription on the coins of Anek. When they’d asked a few locals about a city with towers, they’d been told that was the nearest place one might be found, though there was another large city far to the east, in Enkann.

  They stopped for the evening a dozen or so miles outside of Bayport, and set up camp a stone’s throw from the narrowing trail. Once they had eaten of some fresh fruit, cheese and bread acquired in Bayport, Jon hunkered down next to Dahm as the big man began to fashion a new sword. Bahabe practiced making windows of light nearby.

  “On Zhamann, stonecraft is considered a gift from the ageless god Cenaprim,” Dahm was saying. “He sends his spirit servants to quicken the energies of the stones of our world, stabilizing it against the forces of darkness and causing the very stones to cry out his praise. Thus the practice of stonecraft is relatively easy to begin, our world’s stone being willing to be reshaped into that which each shaper may need. It’s harder in a world like this - like most - where the earth is old and slow to change, but it can be done, as you’ve seen.”

  Dahm sank his fingers into the ground, churning out grass and weeds, breaking clumps into loose dirt. Jon copied his every move.

  “Normally I wouldn’t bother to try and teach even another wizard stonecraft, outside of Zhamann, but I sense from your story, Jon, that your power may allow it. So we’ll try.”

  Dahm showed Jon how to tease the organic matter out from among the tiny molecules of sand, and soon had a smooth splinter of hardened stone between his fingers. Jon bent his Light to the task but did not fare as well. His fragile sliver of minerals would hold together a moment, then crumble like a dry sand castle. Jon wondered if he could brute force the stonecraft, but remembered when he’d tried to do so in lifting shells telekinetically at Bahabe’s cove. The shells had exploded. Better to take his time and learn Dahm’s subtle craft the right way, though he continued to wonder what made different applications of power harder to use.

  Dahm’s sculpting skill was beyond exceptional, and it seemed the only thing impeding rapid progress was the purity of the minerals he had to work with. In a handful of minutes, he had shaped his sword’s pommel and part of the handle. Jon imagined microscopic bonds forming with each pass of his nimble fingers, and remained constantly awestruck. He wondered too if there was some type of transmutation happening as Dahm plied his craft, the very atoms of each mineral brought together in various combinations according to Dahm’s gift.

  Bahabe started the evening’s fire as dusk settled in. Then she lay back on her pallet and watched the stars beginning to peek out of the firmament, listening to Dahm instruct Jon. When full dark had set in and the fire was high, Dahm began to tell a story.

  Chapter 6

  Dam's Story

  Dahm was up to the hilt of his stone sword when he began the tale, and Jon had completed a ball of stone that might one day become a pommel. They each continued working as Dahm spoke.

  “I was but an apprentice to Master Zhamann when the greatest curse struck our world. Our world itself was his namesake, as had been the tradition of all masters from times long past. Though we never learned whether the first people in our world came from elsewhere, or were native-born, we had always been blessed with otherwise extensive insight into the workings of Zhamann. You two may have some knowledge as to the cosmology of your earths, but we understood ours almost completely.

  “Zhamann was long in a state of flux, a world of light and life, dipping in and out of deep darkness in regular phases. The phase of light is cool and comforting, like early spring in most worlds I’ve seen, but the dark is hot, burning up leaves and grass, water and the weak. You look at me as if that is strange, but remember, to me, it is the natural state of things. I ask only that you open your minds.

  “The two-hundred fifty-sixth Master Zhamann was the most devout in his line, worshipping Cenaprim day and night, and the ministers of stone - solemn, quiet spirits - were sent by Cenaprim to reveal to him a possibility for the world long overlooked by us all.

  “If we were to strengthen the foundations of the planet, building great pillars to undergird it along its circumference, we could stabilize the phases of Zhamann and suspend it in the light, allowing life to truly flourish for the first time in history.

  “It was a massive project that would consume the lives of many generations, but the two-hundred fifty-sixth Master began it alone. It wasn’t long before he saw the need to recruit others to the cause, and he formed the first council of stone masters in the years prior to his death. This began a new tradition among Cenaprim’s worshippers that continued until the lifetime of the two-hundred sixty-fourth Master Zhamann, when the pillars of the earth were completed. After this, the planet basked in an endless phase of prosperous light.

  “Now men of all stripes could learn the stonecraft, as I’ve told you, but there were always those who had the greatest aptitude, the purest hearts in service to the Ageless Cenaprim. In most eras, there were seven of these on the council, and every now and then, there were as many as eight.

  “During my long apprenticeship to the five-hundred twelfth Master, there were eight on the council. Zhamann himself, a bold man, and last to take the planet’s name as his own; Vorden, a man of the wilds as enamoured of trees and growing things as he was with stone; Avan, the single most empathetic - and tallest - woman I’ve ever known; Lanai her beautiful sister, and the woman I loved; the elderly but still mischievous twins Rodan and Danset; Corel the eldest, a man always looking to the skies; and Camulen, young, brash, and the downfall of us all.

  “In every generation since the founding of the Council of Masters, it had been their mission to maintain the Pillars of Zhamann and ensure that nothing caused us to phase into darkness ever again. On the surface, it seemed that everyone was doing their job, gathering stone and sand to transport to the pillars and patch cracks caused by the eternal flickering heat of the dark, even learning to recombine the atoms of plant matter into minerals. It became clear that eventually, we would have to strike out from our world and import stone to ensure the continued maintenance of the Pillars, and Corel, Rodan and Danset began to research the power that would allow us to do so. You saw me use it today.

  “But Camulen retreated b
eneath the waves of the sea in a fortress made of glass and did not emerge for many years. All the masters wondered what he was up to, being that he’d never seemed the reclusive type, but no one suspected him of experimenting with anything dangerous, so no one bothered to go and look for themselves. One day, he resurfaced at last and traveled swiftly to the mountain home of my master. The excitement in his voice was palpable.

  “‘I’ve found the ultimate answer!’ he told Zhamann, who listened to him in puzzlement. Camulen claimed to have discovered a power that would toughen mankind, skin and bone, and make us impervious to the burning heat of the darkness. He said that he had come to believe, even to know, that the planet’s endless cycle had been the right way of things, pure and holy, and that we sinned by circumventing the changes of phase. I listened as he told my master of a beautiful ministering servant of Cenaprim that had come to aid him years ago, a spirit like a man of great stature, promising to guide Camulen to this new power.

  “Of course my master heard the madness in Camulen’s voice, the desperate elation of arcane discovery, and Zhamann calmly tried to talk Camulen down. He gently explained that Camulen’s new belief was indeed the heresy, but the man’s spirit was as fiery as his red hair, and he quickly became irate, irrational. My master had led a long life, and learned many skills, so when Camulen struck out at him I was not prepared to see Zhamann bow down to death. With a simple sword not much different from what I am now crafting, Camulen pierced Zhamann’s heart, as well as my own. In my vengeful rage, I rose up against the rogue master and struck him once in the chest, instantly turning his heart and blood to stone. He had not even a moment to take a last breath. Only later did I remember my master’s vows of pacifism, and great was my remorse at having killed a man so readily. Nevertheless, the damage was done.

  “What Camulen had thought a blessing was in fact the greatest curse I have ever encountered. I began to receive communications from afar that the women of the land were becoming frail and sick. I went first to my home village, to inquire of my mother, but she and my sisters had passed before I arrived. Then I traveled to my darling Lanai’s temple, but she had passed as well.”

  Dahm swallowed hard and took a moment to collect himself. He did not speak more about the passing of his beloved.

  “It was a disease we had never seen before, being naturally hardy people. The very air and light of the world caused every last woman to break out in hives and sores, some withering away over the course of days. Most of the victims, however, seized up in odd reactions and suffocated to death. We never discovered the full truth of what Camulen had done, for he had flooded his underwater fortress after burning the evidence of his research. And we never learned more of the creature who had come to guide him. Yet it became clear after a number of years that his spell or curse had already been unleashed. Camulen must have set it free before striking out to spread the news of his discovery among the masters.

  “Over time, we realized that the same unnatural power that was meant to bless men with resistance to the darkness also caused us age very slowly. Yet it was not a holy power that was given to us, for the gift of long life was negated by the death of our better halves. The power to survive had cost us the lives of all women.”

  There was a long silence as the magnitude of Dahm’s statement set in. Bahabe could hardly breathe, and Jon was thinking of all the women who’d graced his life. What would it have been like without them?

  “How did your son handle that?” Bahabe asked quietly.

  Eventually Dahm continued, “Most likely, my son was not yet born.”

  Jon and Bahabe were puzzled.

  “Though I’d long desired to wed Lanai, we had agreed that I should complete my apprenticeship first, and become the ninth master. I would have loved to know our children…” he breathed.

  “As our population began to decline due to deaths from violence or accident, maintenance of the Pillars began to fall to the wayside, and the world slipped again into phases of darkness, shallow at first, but ever-deepening. We had to find another way to keep our world alive and in the light.

  “For many years I hated Cenaprim for allowing this devastating fate to befall us. I still prayed to him, but it was in anger and often condescension. But the God of the Rock remained steadfast, yet silent toward my fury. Rains came, crops grew, and finally we completed the method that would allow us to cross between the realms of existence. If we wanted Zhamann to thrive and not slowly decay, we would have to bring women into our world from elsewhere, or so we thought.

  Bahabe looked crestfallen, “But they died too.”

  Dahm nodded, “The curse remains ever active. And so our last hope was to find sons, to keep the world alive until we find a way to restore the natural state, if ever we do.”

  “So you’re not after a son that’s lost,” Jon said, “but a son to adopt.”

  “Yes,” Dahm said, “but he must be willing, and he must be lost to his former life.”

  Of all Jon had lost, and all Bahabe never yet had, nothing seemed to compare to the fate of Dahm’s homeworld. So they simply sat with their new friend by the fire, too hot on this warm summer night, yet still welcome as a ward against darkness.

  Jon was in awe of the big man. All that sorrow, the seeming betrayal of the very god Dahm served, and yet he went about his journey in jollity, with verve. Jon thought he would do anything to help this man find his son.

  The vacuum Bahabe had felt in trying to sense Dahm’s emotions had been filled with knowledge, and she reflected deeply on learning a person in this natural way. For the first time, her empathy seemed nothing to fear, but instead a superficial tool, a mere glimpse into the deep seas of another person.

  In the morning they set out on the old dirt road to the Anekan fort of Otu. It was a few days of quiet travel, during which Dahm finished sculpting his stone sword, and the little party was not harassed by any more mythical creatures. The sandy coastal landscape gave way to arid plains, and the fresh air and sun scrubbed away many cares. They were welcomed warmly at the fort, where there was a waystation for civilian travelers. Jon was surprised that even this military installation boasted no electricity. He wondered what it took to get access to fuel and power in Anek. The soldiers there seemed to think Dahm was some kind of mercenary and engaged him in soldierly talk.

  The Anekan soldiers seemed a happy lot, well provisioned and unconcerned, with no potential threats on the horizon. The night’s stay was quiet and safe, and the next morning was business as usual until the lookout rang the alarm from her tower on the ramparts. An attack was incoming.

  Chapter 7

  The Vanguard

  Malok had never been more glad to leave a place behind than when his two battalions slogged out of Anek’s southern swamps. It was a common misconception among humans that the green folk thrived in such places and preferred them to, say, an open meadow.

  The ogre-giant himself felt most at home behind well-built fortifications. The scent of old stone and treated wood filled his large nostrils with ecstasy and enlivened his battle-focused mind.

  Though the undead among his army would go wherever they were led, many of his living underlings seemed to prefer loitering in a charred, desecrated human village, or wallowing back home in the polluted coastal cities of Nul, where drink and pleasure could be found. Such places were but rot to Malok - one the disappointing end to glorious battle, the other housing the complacency of a pointless urban life. His passion lay in the hunt, the fight, a journey skirting the shadow of death. Few of his people truly felt the same, and the ones that did were leaders elsewhere in the campaign.

  So far it was thought that the Anekans had no clue this horde from the nation of Nul was coming. Still, the army’s main body would remain south and east of the Fold, as the vanguard roamed far ahead.

  Anek was a young country, and all intelligence thus far had indicated they had little in the way of defense. Even Anek’s capital could be taken, if the un-fortified towns supportin
g its construction were decimated first.

  Alas, that was many days hence, weeks or months even, depending on how much fight the people of Anek had in them. Malok hoped it was a lot.

  The vanguard rested on the prairie north of the swamps for a number of days, awaiting word from special forces coming down from the Fold mountains eastward. Malok waited impatiently and felt his relief mount again when his lookouts spotted the Reds riding in on their mounts. It was not the most inconspicuous way to travel, clad in blood-painted iron, but his nation’s elite troops weren’t much known for modesty. Malok stepped out of the commander’s tent, saw the train of goods the Reds brought in tow, and grinned.

  The first of the Red's beastmen rode into camp, ignoring all guard posts and checkpoints and making straight for the vanguard’s commander. Shanko had always been the boldest of the bunch, and he stopped his horse short, in front of Malok, swinging out of the saddle in one smooth motion. He had the aspect of a wolf. His orange, matted fur was rank with his scent, and his long rows of teeth were bared in a grin.

  “We got the good stuff, chief,” Shanko growled with pleasure. “The guns, the old cannons, everything the Doom said would be there. The barges are slow, but some of the guys are flying them down the Fold’s south slopes. We didn’t want to take the chance an Anekan outrider would see them airborne. They’ll catch up with us in a few days, and they’ve got the big cannons onboard. Look at this,” he said, dark eyes wild. He drew from its sheath a long, straight blade with a small crossguard. The metal of the blade had a slight tinge of blueness. It looked to be a fine sword, but Malok failed to see what made it exceptional.