Something else caught the prophet’s eye. Standing ominously in alcoves ringing the walls were whitened statues of the eleven Aura. Statues for the Great Spirits, and an altar for the Creator… It’s a Shrine! He was almost ecstatic at the revelation. Probably the last one in the entire Golden Nation! That had to mean the shamans were allies… it had to.
As soon as they had entered, the eight shamans split into two equal groups, heading towards the center of the room, flanking the altar and forming a loose circle around it. Gribly sensed that Gramling knew, more or less, what they were to do, so he followed his lead. They slipped in at the end of the lines, completing the ten-person circle.
We’re in. They’re on our side. Gribly had to clamp down on his composure in order not to look violently startled. Gramling had just spoken into his mind! When he had recovered, he glanced surreptitiously at his twin, reaching out in like manner.
How… how do you know?
I know.
Then, the shamans raised their staffs in unison, beginning a low chant in a language Gribly didn’t understand. It rose and fell, gradually growing louder and higher, but always controlled and transcendent. It was like no music he had ever encountered, nor like any words he had ever heard spoken by clerics of Vast.
The leader of the Kinn, Lordyte Gorgoris, stepped forward from his place in the circle, directly opposite the twins. He began to speak in the commontongue, but his voice rose and fell in perfect unison with the chanting of his brethren. It was a masterful, rolling cadence, made even more powerful by the words he spoke.
“Four turns of the sun remain. Beyond the veil of cloud, the Aura gaze down. Beyond this spectral haze, the Legion await. Two sides, two worlds, and the pawns imprisoned between. One thousand years have passed, yet we remember. We, the Faithful, stay here still. We guard the last secret, we protect the last Faith. When all has fallen, we remain.”
He raised his staff, and the chant intensified.
“There stands but one against the storm. One, whose name has been forgotten by men and nymphs. We, the Faithful, remember. In the prison of the darkness, in the fire of the Blaze, one still remains. We are the enslaved people, the deathly race. We are counted as foes, yet we keep back the storm with our hearts of fire.”
The song sank lower, deeper than Gribly thought any voices could go.
“At last, the Prophet returns. The Prodigal has brought him, and our ancient debt is repaid. Blood will be shed at the end, but a trial still awaits. All in on the edge of a knife… and the sleepers awaken. The Golden One shall break the seal, and the Black One shall rise. The Gray One shall nip at his heels, and the White One shall die.”
The shaman pointed at Gribly’s heart with his staff, and from across the space he felt a burning tug… identical to what he felt when opening a Dream Portal. The chanting reached its climax, and Gorgoris spread his arms wide, nearly shouting the last words.
“The armies of chaos have arrayed! The Last War is in motion! The Day of Norne is nearly upon us! The Prophet has returned! Let the world cry out to the heavens! The Kinn shall rise again, and no demon shall ever enslave… this… holy… people! Ashen, we call you! Last of the Aura! Secret defender! Master of the holy prison! Keeper of the Legion’s key! We call you forth! Your prophet has come!”
What in the…
The area over the altar burst alight in a shower of white sparks. Something like ghostly mist seemed to rise from the white stone, igniting when the sparks made contact with it. There was flare of light, brighter than the sun… then nothing.
Gribly tried to shut out the pain in his eyes. The sparks and mist had vanished, and the shamans had stopped their chant. He rubbed his eyes tentatively, trying to blink away the burning image. When he finally did, his mouth opened in surprise.
Over the altar hovered the transparent, ghostly image of a gray-hooded someone, arms crossed, with a long, flowing cloak and sleeves. His face was mostly hidden, but Gribly thought he caught a glimpse of dark flesh… a Kinn.
Then it hit him. Not a ghost… but an Aura. The Kinn shamans had made contact with a fourth Aura… named Ashen. That had been the reason for the chanting, and the reason they were here.
Did you know about this? He projected the thought to Gramling, who, luckily, appeared to have heard it.
No. I thought… but he fell silent, and would not elaborate.
Gribly looked warily around. Why had this been done? How had they even summoned an Aura in the first place? Traveller had said the rest of the Aura were unreachable… that they had not been in Vast or the Golden Nation for eons.
Think, Brother. It was Gramling’s voice again. Gribly wondered if it was safe to converse this way, but the shamans seemed content to stare at the Aura’s flickering image and say nothing.
Think?
Legends tell that the Eleven Aura imprisoned nine archdemons in a special, impenetrable prison in the Otherworld. That’s the Legion- traitorous Aura. But one escaped… Sheolus. Traveller and Wanderwillow have been hunting him since. They want to throw him back into that prison, without letting any of the other Legion free again.
But…?
But what if it doesn’t work like that? What if Sheolus didn’t escape…
Gribly’s eyes grew wide. You mean… he switched places. With Ashen. This Aura we’re looking at now.
Yes.
Traveller must have known. Good Creator of the Sands… he knew we’d come here on our own. He knew we’d meet Ashen!
Further ruminations were cut off, as the ghostly image of the mysterious Aura moved slightly, facing Gorgoris and the shamans, opening an age-wrinkled mouth to speak. His voice- for Gribly had to assume it was a male- was deep, and rich… but ancient. It sounded rough, as if it had not been used in many an age.
“It has been long… my children. The day… is late. How… have you… acquired the power… to call on me?”
Gorgoris looked too frightened by his success to even answer. He pointed his staff soundless at Gribly. The specter of Ashen turned, and Gribly felt the Aura’s piercing gaze strike deep into the core of his being.
So. You, who were foretold, have come. But… for what purpose? Ashen’s voice sounded in his mind, stronger and more robust, able through the Power of Spirit to convey his meaning all the more clearly. Gribly’s heart was pounding, his pulse beating in his ears louder than a war-drum… but he knew he had to respond.
I have come to free you, O Aura. I have come to destroy the false god Sheolus, and proclaim the victory of the Creator. But I need guidance. I cannot do it on my own.
There was a lengthy pause, during which Gribly realized all eyes in the room were locked on him. The Faithful did not look as if they could hear him, but Gramling’s eyebrows were slightly raised, in the posture that Gribly knew to mean he could hear all that went on.
There is… something amiss, Ashen spoke at last. His ghostly hood moved just slightly, taking them both in. One should there be… yet there are two. Who can read this riddle?
Not I, Gribly replied.
Nor I, Gramling added, though Gribly thought he saw a guarded look in his brother’s eye.
Another pause. Gribly could feel his breath rising and falling slowly, and his heart-rate dropping back to normal. However solemn, there was something calming about the presence of the Aura, weak as it was… just as there had been a soothing quality to the chant of the Faithful.
Very well. Ashen seemed content with their answers. I shall endeavor to teach you both all you need know, in order to fulfill the destiny the other Aura have placed upon you. Listen, my sons. Learn how you might free me, return order to the heavens and the earth, and put an end to the black taint of the Legion once and for all.
Chapter Ten: Histrya Vox
Ashen conversed with the prophets mentally, for hour after hour. Eventually, all the shamans but Gorgoris took their leave, having fulfilled their duty in bringing the prophets and the hidden Aura together. Gribly and Gramling spent the rest of the day wit
h Ashen… and when they had finished, they were never the same.
Ashen was the Colorless Aura. He had no title, no recognition, except what the Kinn had given him. His tale began at the shaping of the world, sweeping forward through time, and ending with the present day. It was a rush of words, feelings, visions and sensations. It was in no language of the world, but they understood it as clearly- clearer, in fact- than if it had been written on paper in the commontongue.
Put as simply as possible, in an account any mortal could understand, it went more or less as such:
In the beginning, there were twenty Great Spirits, known to mortals as the Aura. There are many legends among you, dealing with our origins in the mind of the Creator, and our earliest existence. The Ancients of your world wrote hymns to us, recounting our Song of Creation, such as we were commanded to sing, for the purpose of ordering the worlds.
You may or may not have heard the tale, and if so, it may not have been in detail. Such as mortals can understand it, I shall put it forth to you here.
Many of us thought, when the Creator put it in us to create the world, that we would be given dominion over it. Perhaps we would have succeeded in our good-intentioned aims. Perhaps not. I do not know. But when the skies had been woven and the Sceptre formed, we were shocked to learn that we would not be the rulers of this new place…
The Creator intended to make this world free. And some of us… nine of us… believed that He was wrong. This belief led to rebellion, and the founding of the Legion. Traveller, Wanderwillow, and I were some of the Aura’s fiercest supporters. Thanks in large part to us, the Legion was routed… but the conflict saddened the Creator, and He has since become withdrawn. He does not neglect that which He creates, but…
A Spirit does not die, because in the physical sense, he does not live, either. To deal with our defeated brethren, the other Aura and I decided to seal them in the Spirit World, in a prison anchored to the Physical World. In this way, they would never escape.
But it did not go as we planned. The one formerly known as Aurum Therestore, had masqueraded as one of our own. He betrayed us during the weaving of the prison, during which we combined all Five Elements… it was weakened, and by the time we discovered his treachery, it was falling to pieces. He was imprisoned along with the other Legion… but I knew now they would not be held.
So I, Ashen, made the choice that has sparked this millennia of war. I gave myself into the clutches of the Legion, by entering the prison myself, to keep it from shattering. My will is what now holds it together, and has for a thousand years. But the one you call Sheolus had predicted such. At the time, I was the Silver Aura, and he the Gold. He knew me, and I him, more than any others. He used my selfless action to escape the prison… and I could not follow. The blood debt had already been paid.
Now he menaces the world with his dark might. He has corrupted another of us, as I see from your mortal memories. Automo… the poor, weak fool. He was ever lacking in nobility… but never mind it. The other Aura, it seems, would not believe Traveller and Wanderwillow. Your story… it makes me wonder whether my other brethren have not grown too proud… whether they truly care for mortals as the Creator intended they should.
I do not know the plans of my brethren, the Gray and the Brown. But I suspect they knew and intended that you should both meet me, if not in this half-present way. I still reside in the prison, and it has taken much of me to respond with only part of my consciousness to this spiritual call of the Faithful and you, the Prophets.
You wish to know how to defeat Sheolus? He is not your greatest foe, but he is the wisest and most cunning. His core, as you may now suspect, is connected to the physical half of the Legion’s prison. Destroy him, and you unleash his brethren. Set me free to fight for you, and you unleash those I have given my life to bind.
But, should you wait for the Day of Norne to come, the physical half and spiritual half of the prisons shall unite. The World and the Otherworld will collide, and the prison will be whole once more. The cycle of ages will repeat, and the Aura will have one last chance to re-seal the prison, and stop the Legion once and for all.
But they could not do it then, and they cannot do it alone, not even now. They need YOU. Both of you.
Learn all you can from my servants, the Faithful. With their aid it should not be hard to learn the methods needed to destroy the core of Sheolus. But you MUST do so only on the Day of Norne. Only then will you be able to tap into the Power of Spirit enough to bind the Legion forever. Sheolus shall die, I shall be released, and our sole remaining enemy will be Automo. He will be easily cowed, and if he will not repent, he shall join his brethren in the Pit.
It will not be easy. It will entail pain like you, and you… and even I… have never felt before.
Here is the secret. The problem. The obstacle.
It will take your lives.
Separately, we shall each fall. Together, it will still happen.
But if we stand together, at the bitter end… we will give the world a chance. Will you accept this duty?
I will, Gribly said, never hesitating.
As will I, Gramling concluded.
Then be at peace. The end is near.
At the end of the account, Ashen bade the two brothers farewell, and faded away into oblivion. Gribly and Gramling were totally silent.
All they had known about the Aura, and the Legion, and their destinies… it had all been thrown down. This was the truth, bleeding, painful, but true all the same. It never occurred to them to doubt… they had gone beyond such things. The road was set. They had already committed to following it, wherever it led.
There was no going back.
Chapter Eleven: Magise Ambala
And so it was that the eight shamans of the Faithful, led by the former Lordyte Gorgoris, put into motion the second rebellion of the Golden Nation. After filling them in on what Ashen had said, Gramling had been ready to provide them with the location of Sheolus’s core. But as it happened, Gorgoris already knew.
“We call it Goldenmount,” he told them. “We have always known it to be the seat of Sheolus’s power… though we did not know exactly how, or what might be done. Now we will begin transporting our most elite Spirit Striders through a Dream Portal, those who for long have masqueraded as Malcytes and Morgens. They will wait for us, gathering power until we ourselves come through on the Day of Norne. Then we will strike, and make an end of this.”
Separately, it appeared, there was also being planned a general rebellion among the Golden Nation populace, as well as with rebel doomclerics and even the Argentor lords. As for the actual destruction of Goldenmount…
“Much has been lost, of Spirit Striding,” Gorgoris explained to them, when he had taken them out alone to the windswept dunes just north of the broken tower. “Much was forgotten, in the purge of the Pit Striders, hundreds of years ago… and much we were simply too weak to accomplish, until the increasing power of these latter days. But the Faithful have ever made records of their most powerful Strides, safeguarding them for just such a time as this.”
Gribly walked a short distance away, still close enough to listen, gazing out over the infinite sea of sand. He felt more alive here than he had in any place in Vast. It was like his homeland… only stronger. Older. Larger. Wider. Wilder.
“…Fire.” Gorgoris concluded. Gribly turned, surprised he hadn’t caught what was said.
“Could you repeat that last bit?”
“We won’t get anywhere if you’re not paying attention,” Gramling snorted. “He said he’d teach you a better method of making fire than just heating up the elements, like Elia does.”
“Oh.” Gribly tapped his foot, feeling strangely at a loss without Traveller’s staff, which the elder Strider had instructed him to leave behind. He had told Gramling much the same, saying that the extra effort would better help them to grow in the strength they would need to defeat Sheolus.
“I shall not teach him,” Gorgoris said, drawin
g up beside Gribly. “You shall, Gramling.”
“Me?” Gramling looked genuinely surprised.
“Yes,” Gorgoris said, looking exasperated. “I am not so young as I once was… and you are my superior at summoning fellsparks, I should think.”
“Oh.” When Gramling appeared to get over his shock, he wore a strange grin on his face. Shuffling over to Gribly, he took a loose stance beside him, stretching his hands and arms, warming up for the Stride.
Great, Gribly grumbled to himself, I get schooled by my own brother!
“Just show me,” he said aloud.
“What?” Gramling’s eyebrow twitched. “You can’t learn just from seeing it…”
“Just do it.”
Gramling grinned again, wider. “Taking the hard route, eh? All right.” He took several steps away from them both, and Gorgoris motioned Gribly to move some distance away. They both did. “Watch me carefully, and try to identify what I’m doing with my Striding,” Gramling said. “It shouldn’t be possible for you to pick it up so fast… but who knows?”
Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six) Page 9
