Jakob shivered violently for a moment. “What was that?”
He didn’t get a chance to hear an answer. The sound came again, just as loud. It tore again through the forest, as if bouncing off the trees. It lasted longer this time, an occasional pause throughout, yet eventually died off again.
“What could make a noise like that?” Salindra asked. Her brown eyes were wide, her reclaimed confidence a memory.
Brohmin finally slowed to a stop. He breathed heavily and stood favoring one leg, but there was no other outward sign that their rapid pace was taxing him. “I have never heard its like,” he answered, as surprised as the rest.
Anda had a calm expression upon her face and looked toward the west. “I have,” she said, and they all turned to stare at her. “You have nothing to fear. The trees of this land are powerful.”
“What do you mean?” Salindra asked.
Anda didn’t answer, though she smiled and nodded to Jakob. He looked skyward, toward the trees around them. The trees are powerful. As he considered her words, he again saw the trees’ ahmaean, saw it as it flowed around everything, and was reminded of the trees of Anda’s land. There was a power to this forest, much like there was power to the daneamiin forest.
“The trees?” Brohmin asked. A note of skepticism touched his voice as he eyed the daneamiin for a long moment.
Anda nodded. “There is only one thing that sounds like this.”
Brohmin considered her carefully with his dark eyes, and his frown wrinkled his forehead. “It’s to the west of us,” Brohmin said. “For now. We must continue.”
They heard the sound several more times throughout the afternoon. Each time, it startled them, and each time, as harsh as the first time they heard it. The strange itch at the back of his head returned and was different from how it had felt before. No longer was it abrasive. Now there was a strange warmth, almost a recognition, and he did not push it away.
Was it the nemerahl? Probably not, he decided. Anda said the nemerahl avoided these lands. Maybe it was the pull from Alyta.
The rain continued on through the evening. Brohmin left the camp preparations to the others and lowered himself carefully to the ground where he leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. His lips moved soundlessly, and a peaceful expression crossed his face. Jakob watched for a little while before turning to help Salindra with the small fire she had started, gathering firewood and clearing the brush around it. Anda did something to the trees and created a small shelter from the rain.
“Jakob.”
He turned quickly and saw Brohmin standing behind him, staring at him. He looked calm, relaxed. Almost refreshed. As he moved toward Jakob, there was little remaining of the limp that had slowed them throughout the day. He motioned at him as he approached, signaling him to sit near the fire.
Brohmin joined him at the edge of the growing firelight and knelt in the soft underbrush. He glanced at Jakob with his iron eyes and stared for a long moment before speaking. “We haven’t had a chance before, but now that we’re here, when did you first start to see the ahmaean? Was it before we reached Avaneam?”
Jakob considered the question. There had been flashes before, he realized. The dark smoke he saw around the High Priest had certainly been his ahmaean. Had he seen it during the Turning Festival? He didn’t think so but hadn’t been thinking clearly at that time. He had never seen it around the Magi, but what he saw around Salindra was pale even now, so he wasn’t surprised. There had been the dreams, the waking visions, which he was now sure had been something more than simple dreams. The ahmaean had surrounded everything in his dreams, only he had not known what it was at the time.
Yet it had not been until they reached the Unknown Lands that he had seen it easily. What had happened? What had changed?
“After Avaneam,” he said. “Since then,” he shrugged, unsure how to continue, “it is hard not to see it.”
Brohmin nodded carefully. “Not many have the gift. Few men have claimed the ability.” He seemed as if he wanted to say more, but refrained.
“The Magi?” Jakob asked. He did not know what was happening to him but knew something strange was taking place. It seemed impossible that he had the abilities he did. Could he be Mageborn? He’d told the Deshmahne that he wasn’t a Mage, but how else could he explain the strangeness that had happened to him? What if he was becoming a Mage?
“I don’t think so,” Brohmin said, and then smiled. “The Magi can learn to see ahmaean, but it is not something they do easily.”
A strange relief washed through him. Not a Mage. He had not thought it likely, but there had been moments of concern. Still, if he wasn’t a Mage, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was becoming. “What then?” It was the question he had been hiding from himself for fear of the answer.
“Do you remember when I spoke of the first Conclave?” Brohmin began, and Jakob nodded. “The choosing, that which you saw in the heart of the forest, was the first. They sought a person to unite the people, one to return peace to men. You saw their concern, saw what Shoren struggled against, yet it was not enough. It has never been enough. Raime has seen to that.”
Brohmin paused as he collected his thoughts and turned to face the sky barely visible through the trees. The darkness of night had set upon them, and the flickering light of the fire pierced it, casting a warm glow around the forest. The man sighed, taking a deep breath as he did, before breathing out slowly. “The Conclave saw that there would come a person, one they called the nemah, a true Uniter, a peacebringer who could restore a long-term balance.”
It seemed an Urmahne dream to have permanent peace, something his father would have sought, a step along the pathway toward the return of the gods.
“You’ve told me this before. If this what you think is happening to me? You think I could be the nemah?” Jakob asked softly, starting to understand where Brohmin was leading him.
“Your time in the Cala maah was a test. Once an integral part of choosing the peacebringer, it was the failing of the Magi to understand that there was more.” He glanced over to Salindra. “You have been chosen as the Uniter. Endric saw to that, selecting you when he tasked you with carrying the trunk. The time in the Cala maah confirmed that you will be the next Uniter, much as I was confirmed.”
“You?”
Brohmin smiled. “The Magi thought they failed, but they did not. I served and was given a gift for my service. When my time as the Uniter ended, the Conclave made me the Hunter, and I still serve.”
Jakob shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Brohmin rested a hand on his shoulder. “You will learn what it means,” he started. “It is a responsibility unlike any other, and one that I am sure Endric did not thrust upon you lightly. It was to have been him, but perhaps he knew better than all of us.” He paused, and his eyes met Jakob’s. “There is much about you I don’t understand. I’m sure the answers will come.”
They sat in silence a moment. “Aruhn called me the Uniter of Men,” Jakob said.
Brohmin sighed. “Perhaps. The Cala maah translate nemah differently, but many who speak the ancient language do the same. The result is the same: this person will establish peace. Perhaps the sword was the key all along.”
Jakob thought about what Brohmin suggested. Even before Neamiin had awoken following his time in the Cala maah, he had experienced strangeness. There had been the visions and the strange waking dreams. There was his experience outside Rondalin when time had seemed to stop. And then again within the mountains when he had pulled the rocks down upon the groeliin. Then there was his rapid mastery of the sword when previously he had been average at best. Yet had any of it happened before he had held Neamiin?
No, he decided. He had been positively normal before retrieving the sword from his father’s quarters and holding Neamiin for the first time.
What was this sword turning him into? Could he be the nemah?
“You’re not certain,” Brohmin suggested.
Ja
kob nodded slowly, closing his eyes as memories of everything he had been through flashed through his mind. “I don’t know what’s happening, Brohmin. Could it all be related to the sword?”
“I don’t claim to understand everything in the world around us. I’ve seen much, experienced much in my life, but I’ve never seen anything like I have seen around you. Does it mean you are the nemah?” he asked. Giving a shrug, he said, “Maybe not, but there is only one other I know of who may be able to explain what is happening to you.”
“Alyta,” Jakob said.
Brohmin nodded. “So either way, we must find her and save her. For her sake and yours.”
The words hung heavily in the cool night air before Jakob nodded. There was a different level of urgency to their mission now.
As Brohmin stood, he rested a comforting hand on Jakob’s shoulder, squeezing with surprising strength, before walking away. The man did not say anything as he left, now barely a hitch to his step. Brohmin made his way over to Salindra, who frowned as he approached. She reached to check him over, and he waved a hand at her half-heartedly which she ignored. There was a small smile on Brohmin’s face as she worried over him.
Jakob sat, staring blankly at the crackling flames, enjoying the warmth the fire provided, and barely registered when Anda sat next to him.
“He spoke to you of the nemah,” she said.
Jakob looked over to her and was startled. Anda had done something to her features, creating a more human illusion. Her eyes slanted a little less. Eyebrows were filled in where before there had been none. And she had a full head of flowing golden hair, stretching down to fall to the middle of her back. She was stunning.
Yet Jakob could see through the illusion if he tried. If he focused on the energy surrounding her, the ahmaean swirling densely around her, he saw her daneamiin features again. Blinking, he forced his mind back to the question she had asked. “Um,” he stuttered, finding it suddenly difficult to organize his thoughts, “he did.”
Anda seemed to blush. Jakob was not certain, but it was almost as if her eyes flushed with color rather than her cheeks, but it passed quickly and was gone.
“Will I pass?” she asked quietly, avoiding his gaze.
He nodded. “You’re beautiful,” he said, catching himself. “You were beautiful before, though.” She touched his arm. It was a brief thing, but the peace she radiated filled him, and his fluttering heart slowed.
“Thank you,” she said, almost flushing again. She reached up to her golden hair and twirled her fingers through it. “This is an easy veil to maintain, and should make our passage easier.”
Jakob understood. He had been surprised when he first saw the daneamiin. Others would be as well, and not all would harbor good will toward her. “It will work, though I think you’re still too tall.”
She laughed. It was a sweet sound, and pure, and almost felt a part of the forest itself. “That is a more difficult veil to maintain,” she admitted. “So I will be tall.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
“Why?”
“That you must wear this disguise,” he answered. “That you’re stuck here with us unable to return home.”
She reached out and rested her hand lightly on his arm again. A wave of calm came with the touch and stayed with him. “I have many paths before me.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She caught his eyes and smiled. “Only that I do not worry about such matters,” she answered. “I will end where I am meant to be.”
Jakob surprised himself by laughing; it had been a long time since he had felt anything but nervousness and unease, yet it came easily with Anda. “I am glad of your company, Anda,” he told her.
“And I yours, Jakob Nialsen.”
She left her hand on his arm, and they sat staring at the fire, saying nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen
Roelle tensed in her saddle, uncomfortable with the proximity of the Deshmahne. Twelve Deshmahne, all with moderate markings, were mounted and rode in silence. She led them, listening for sounds of the merahl to guide them, having sent Lendra back to the Magi with word. Hopefully, the Magi and the Antrilii would follow Roelle and her new “recruits,” but not too closely. She didn't want to risk exposing the Magi to the Deshmahne. At least this way, she could keep them separate. For now.
She wondered how long she could manage to keep the Deshmahne from finding and pursuing the Magi. Maybe when the Deshmahne saw what they faced, they would lose interest in the Magi.
Trees ran along one side of the road, with rolling hills all around. The air had a bite to it, one that reminded her of the chill of the north. The sun hadn’t broken through the clouds, so the day was a drab gray. It fit her mood.
“Tell me, Sergeant, where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from Rondalin,” she said to the man leading the Deshmahne procession. He was a younger man with piercing blue eyes, a short shock of brown hair, and several days’ worth of growth on his face. He had a rugged handsomeness about him. The only thing marring it were the extensive Deshmahne markings starting on his arms and working up almost to his neck.
Roelle wondered if he had similar tattoos on his chest and back. She sensed a certain power from him and wondered if he could detect her connection to the manehlin as well. Hopefully not, she decided.
The sergeant stared straight ahead. Roelle had discovered his name was Fenick. It sounded like a northern name, and she wondered if he had come to Rondalin from one of the northern villages.
“I'm from a place called Inasl.”
For a moment, Roelle wished that Lendra were still with her. Having studied maps and geography, the historian had an understanding of such things that Roelle didn't possess. Would she have known where Inasl was? Would it matter?
“I'm not familiar with Inasl,” she told Fenick. The procession made their way east, and gradually south. Occasionally in the distance, she would hear the sound of the merahl and wondered if the Deshmahne recognized the sound. Fenick didn't seem to.
“Inasl is in the northwest, just beyond the upper foothills,” he said.
“How did you end up here?” she asked. “The attacks?”
He shrugged. “At least the rumors. Others come south, so I did too. Living in the north, you begin to realize help isn’t going to come. You need to find your own way.”
“What of the Denraen?”
He turned to her. “Captain tells me you’re searching for an audition with the Denraen. They don't take auditions.”
“By that, you mean you weren't chosen,” Selton said. He’d been riding nearby and had been mostly silent before now.
Roelle thought the comment a bit harsh, but it was a good point. It was possible that Fenick's anger came from the fact that he hadn't been chosen by the Denraen.
“Not chosen. Not offered a choosing. The Denraen haven't made their presence known in Inasl in a long time.”
“That's why you converted?” she asked.
Fenick nodded slowly. “The order demonstrates strength in the power of the gods. It's something I can see. Something I can feel.” His gaze drifted to the markings on his wrists that were visible. “The gods have given me strength, and they have given me the ability to help protect my people. That is more than the Denraen have ever done. More than even the Magi.”
He fell silent again, and Roelle didn't want to push the issue. Besides, he spoke the truth. The Magi hadn't done anything to help protect the people of this part of the world. They may have offered kings Magi advisors, but they never did anything more than that. For years, they hadn’t even tried to exert their influence in any meaningful way. Choosing the delegates had been the first time the Magi had attempted to intervene in as long as Roelle had lived.
“I thought you said these creatures were coming out of the north.”
Roelle nodded. “They’re out of the north. They seem to be moving somewhat east.”
“And will miss Rondalin?” Fenick asked.
“I don't know. We suspect there are more than what we’ve been able to track. If that's the case, some might miss Rondalin, but others… Others might attempt to destroy it.”
Fenick’s face darkened, but he said nothing, and they rode on in silence.
As they rode, the day grew long. Selton and Jhun remained quiet, but she detected their tension, both uncomfortable with the proximity to the Deshmahne. The Deshmahne, for their part, were silent. They were nothing like the violent aggressors the Magi had encountered before.
There was a difference—there had to be—though she didn’t know what it was. Maybe Fenick could help her.
“Tell me about the Deshmahne,” she said.
Fenick looked over. With his deep blue eyes, he was almost disarming. “If you are faithful to the Urmahne, you will find the ideals of the order difficult.”
Roelle almost sighed. “I'm not certain how faithful I am to the Urmahne,” she said. As she did, she realized that it was truer than she realized. She'd been raised to believe that the Urmahne meant peace, that they were the way to reach the gods, but what she had seen and had been forced to do felt nothing like that.
She didn't want to become like the Deshmahne, and didn't believe that violence and exerting force upon the world was the way to the gods, but she had begun to question. Maybe Fenick could provide her with some of the answers she sought.
“What would you like to know? The priests can tell you all you wish to know about the faith if that's what you would prefer. The order welcomes all who are willing to listen.”
“And you? What's your role?” Roelle asked.
“I'm a soldier. I thought you recognized that.”
“How do you serve the priests?” Selton asked, leaning toward Roelle. His hand remained close to the hilt of his sword, and Roelle suspected he was ready to unsheathe and attack if it became necessary. Would they be able to stop twelve Deshmahne if it came to that?
Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3) Page 11
