The Aether Knight

by E A Hooper

  When he opened his eyes, Pyre saw a shape out of the corner of his eyes. At first, he thought it to be his imaginary foe, the faceless warrior. He hadn’t seen him as much since leaving the dungeon, but sometimes Pyre mistook people in the distance for the shadowy warrior. They’re coming from the gatehouse. It must a guard.

  He turned his head to get a better look, but instead of a guard, he saw a man in an orange cloak. What the hell?

  The man nodded at Pyre and continued to the castle. Pyre stepped away from his tree and stared at the gatehouse. All the guards had faced away from the entrance as they conversed with one another. Did he walk right past them? Is he a regular visitor, or were they not paying attention?

  He followed the cloaked man to the castle doors. The man went inside, and Pyre followed. As he stepped inside, he saw several servants cleaning in the great hall. None of them turned to the man in the orange cloak as he walked across the hall. One even turned around just before he would’ve stepped into her line of sight. The servant went about wiping a suit of armor, not even noticing the man. When she turned back around, she saw Pyre and bowed to him.

  Pyre nodded and walked past the servant as the man went through a doorway. This is so bizarre. Who the hell is this guy?

  The amber-eyed thief pursued the man through the halls of the castle. Every servant and guard they passed seemed to turn their heads just before they would’ve seen the orange-cloaked man. Some of them spotted Pyre and said hello, but he marched through the hall after the mysterious man.

  We’re heading toward Reaper’s meeting hall, Pyre realized. He must work for Reaper. Maybe one of the lords or a general?

  “Hey, who are you?” Pyre finally asked the man.

  The cloaked man took three more steps and then stopped. “You can follow, but don’t let Reaper see you,” the man said without turning. He counted to three on his fingers and then continued down the hall, passing a room seconds before a servant stepped out. The open door blocked her vision of the cloaked man, and Pyre ran around the door and followed the man around a corner.

  They continued until they reached the doors of Reaper’s meeting hall. The orange-cloaked man leaned against the wall beside the door.

  “Now what?” Pyre asked.

  “Stand beside me,” the man said. “That way, we’ll be hidden behind the door when it opens.”

  Pyre obeyed the command and joined the man beside the door. He leaned against the wall and waited in silence. He thought he heard Reaper talking to someone inside the room. “Who’s he talking to?”

  “His wife, Anabella,” the man said. “This is the only point in time I could enter the castle without her seeing me.”

  “Oh,” Pyre said. “So, who the hell are you?”

  “Shush,” the man whispered.

  The door opened, and a woman with long, black hair stepped past them. She continued down the hall, forgetting to shut the door behind her.

  “Remember,” the man whispered to Pyre. “Don’t let yourself be seen.” The cloaked figure stepped around the corner and stood in the open doorway. “Hello, old friend.”

  “Kelison!” Reaper’s voice gasped. “You’re alive? After all these years?”

  “Please, call me Bastion. I’ve always felt like Kelison died from that terrible sickness. That’s when everything changed—when you changed.”

  “My old friend, if you only remembered what you saw in your sickness, you’d understand why I’ve done these things.”

  “I don’t need to remember. I’ve spent years piecing the future together like a puzzle. I know where all the strings of fate lead. I know that everything you’ve done has led us toward Ter’al’s survival.”

  Reaper fell silent for several seconds, and then Pyre heard a sigh of relief. “So, I’ve done the right thing? All the sacrifices I’ve made will matter?”

  “They’ll matter,” Bastion replied, solemnly. “But you haven’t done the right thing. You’ve done the necessary thing. And I’ve spent these last two decades hating you for it. Watching the strings of fate as you killed our friends. Hurt countless people. But I couldn’t interfere without pulling us off the path to save Ter’al. It pained me to watch everyone I care about die a thousand deaths on the strings of fate. I let my nephew die not long ago. His sacrifice slowed the first explorers from Fey’al.”

  Reaper gasped. “They’re already here?”

  “Only one survived. His survival was necessary. He’ll conspire with the Islanders and make a pact with them that will lead to a future invasion.”

  “But the Islanders are working with me.”

  “They’re opportunists. And this is the greatest opportunity they’ll ever have. However, working with the Islanders will later put the Feyans in a vulnerable position. They’ll rely too heavily on them and overextend themselves with their big invasion. If the rest of Ter’al is united by your grandchild, as I’ve seen on some of the strings, then Ter’al will win the war and crush the Feyans so badly they won’t be able to attempt a second invasion.”

  “My grandchild? So, Lilan will succeed at seducing Valx?”

  “She already has. She doesn’t even know she’s pregnant yet.”

  Reaper let out a noise that sounded like half a cry and half a laugh. “If only Dragon were here. If only he knew that we’d succeeded.”

  “Don’t celebrate yet, old friend. You should know, Lilan won’t survive long after she gives birth. She caught a blood disease from one of those slaves you made her kill.”

  “There’s nothing I can do to save her?”

  Pyre felt surprised, hearing the sadness in Reaper’s voice.

  “It’s too late,” Bastion said. “The strings of fate demand her death. The only path to survival is the path of sacrifice. I call it that because the only way Ter’al is saved is if we all lose something in the process.”

  “There must be another way,” Reaper begged.

  “There’s only one lone string that leads to Ter’al’s survival without everyone making tremendous sacrifices. I like to call it the path of forgiveness. It’s the path where you and Valx forgive one another for what you’ve done and what he’ll do. Where you make peace with one another.”

  “So, it’s an option? Forgiveness? After everything I’ve done?”

  “My friend, if I thought that path was viable, I wouldn’t be here today. I see hundreds of strings where you and Valx destroy one another. Your daughter triggered his metamorphosis by killing someone close to him. He’ll destroy her, you, and everything you’ve built if he gets the chance. Convincing him to forgive you is a near-impossible task. Already that string is wavering.”

  “But it wouldn’t hurt to try?”

  “If you can forgive him as well, but I don’t think you will.”

  “For what? Killing his brother?”

  “You’ll see in due time, my friend. The path of sacrifice is simply the easiest way to ensure Ter’al’s survival. All the major players in the grand puzzle of fate will have to suffer tremendous losses for Ter’al to be saved.”

  “I’ll do anything,” Reaper said. “If my daughter must die, I’ll see that her last days are happy. This blood disease won’t hurt the child will it?”

  “No, she’ll use her power to hold it back, but it will make her last days miserable and painful. There’s nothing you can do then to bring her happiness. Her suffering is simply another sacrifice that fate demands.”

  Reaper fell silent.

  “And that is only one of your sacrifices,” Bastion told the lord. “You say you’ll do anything to save Ter’al, but I can only wonder what string you’ll follow when the times comes. What you’d do if you lost everything that you cared about. If your dream of an empire was gone in a flash.” Bastion sighed. “But as much as it pains me to admit, if you make the right choices, Ter’al will survive.”

  “So, you must know the choice I have to make here?” Reaper asked. “You know I can’t let you leave. That I always had to kill you if we met again. I ca
n’t have you running around pulling on the strings of fate. You said it yourself that my choices led us this far. I’m the only one that can save Ter’al. I can’t let you interfere anymore.”

  “Of course, I know. The path of sacrifice requires that I die by your hands on this day.”

  “Fate itself has delivered you here to me. I’ve waited for years for a sign that everything I was doing mattered. That it would all mean something. This is my sign. My proof that I’m right in my convictions. That I’m the one who controls the fate of Ter’al—not those damned Feyans.”

  “You just reminded me of something I’ve seen on the strings of fate. Something your son Radu likes to say. He says there’re always unaccounted-for variables. Things you simply can’t control. He’s a smart young man. Smart as you. You’d best remember that saying, old friend.”

  “So, you’re saying I can’t control everything? It seems fate disagrees, Bastion. Every move I’ve made has brought Ter’al closer to salvation. Your death will bring us one step closer, so I thank you for this sacrifice, my friend. How would you like to leave this world? Decapitation would be fast and almost painless.”

  “Use your metamorphosis,” Bastion replied. “I’ve seen it on the strings of fate, but I’d like to see it in person. It’d be a good way to meet my end, and it would prevent me from suffering through an ascension.”

  “An ascension would be suffering?”

  “I’ve obsessed over the future for too many years. I’d hate for my mind to twist and turn every stone of fate. To peer down every corner, every path. To watch and watch, knowing I can’t change anything. Just as Dragon’s spirit watched his sons battle, I’d have to watch countless more deaths. Endless suffering.”

  “Surely, there’s a point in the future where the suffering is mitigated? With Ter’al united, there must be a bright future for this world.”

  “The world will keep turning, and people will still be people. I see a string that goes back to one of my ancestors. A man that knew our friend Shift in ancient times. He could look into people’s eyes and see their futures. He saw into Shift’s future and saw endless wars and suffering. He saw me dealing with the same problem of facing the future. And this will only keep happening. Even the Feyan War, as devastating as it might be, is only one more war in an endless cycle. Maybe it will lead to something good. Maybe your descendants will build a better world. But I’m too tired to keep looking for that perfect future. I’m ready to sacrifice myself like countless others to keep the wheel of civilization moving. So, hurry on with it, friend.”

  “Thank you for everything,” Reaper said, his voice quiet and sad.

  Pyre saw a green light emanate from the meeting hall, and then a dozen tendrils of emerald aether stabbed through Bastion. The cloaked man’s arms fell limp to his side, and his head lulled as two tendrils withdrew from his eye sockets. The other tendrils pulled out of him, and Kelison’s corpse fell to the ground.

  Pyre pulled away from the door, keeping his footsteps as light as he would during a burglary. He quickly sneaked down the hall and dipped around a corner before Reaper approached the body.

  He hurried to the eastern wing and stopped when he found a servant. “Where’s Tachios?”

  “He went to bed early,” she replied.

  “Where’s his room? I need to talk to him, immediately.”

  “Follow me,” the servant said with an intrigued stare. She led him down several halls to a lavish door. “This is his room, sir.” She bowed to Pyre and then withdrew down the hall.

  Pyre waited until the hall was clear to knock on the door. “Tachios! Let me in.”

  After several seconds, Tachios opened the door with a sleepy expression. “Brother, can this wait until morning?”

  “No, this can’t wait,” Pyre said, pushing past him and into the elaborately decorated bedroom. “Bastion was here.”

  “Bastion?” Tachios replied. He glanced around, and Pyre assumed he was looking at auras.

  “He’s already dead. Reaper killed him.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Do you see my face?” Pyre asked, making a serious expression.

  “No—blind, remember?”

  Pyre sighed. “Well, I have an extremely serious face. Like a Reaper, cold as Northern winter, kind of face right now. Bastion is alive—was alive—and used his future-seeing power to walk into the castle with only me noticing. He went to Reaper, had a talk, and then Reaper used metamorphosis to kill him.”

  “You sound serious,” Tachios said, worriedly. “How did you spot Bastion if he used his power to sneak in here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted me to overhear.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “Ah, let’s see if I remember everything. First, the Feyans are here.”

  “What?” Tachios shouted.

  “Well, they were here. Bastion’s nephew killed their explorers or something. But one survived and is making friends with the Islanders. Apparently, it will lead to an invasion in the future, but it also leads to us defeating them if everything goes right.”

  “That’s maddening. If they’ve already discovered us, the war will happen within our lifetime.”

  “We have at least enough time for Valx and Lilan’s child to grow up.”

  “Their—what?”

  “I guess Lilan seduced him. Not sure if I should congratulate my friend or my sister. Or maybe I should be upset. Never had a sister until now. Guess if that’s what she wanted, I should applaud her getting that grumpy, white-haired man into bed. Oh, but we should actually be sad because she’s dying.”

  Tachios gaped at Pyre. “You’re throwing a lot of information at me all at once.”

  “Blame stupid, dead Bastion,” Pyre said. “Or maybe this is Reaper’s fault. She caught a blood disease from those slaves she practiced her power on. Bastion says she’ll die a painful death, but she’ll use her power to keep her bad blood or whatever from reaching the baby.”

  Tachios sat on his bed and stared at nothing with his dull eyes. “I never got along with Lilan, but I don’t want my sister to suffer. Can we prevent this?”

  “Bastion says fate has us on a path of sacrifice. Basically, bad things are about to happen, but it will lead to Ter’al maybe surviving.”

  Tachios paused in contemplation. “Path of sacrifice? Like me losing my eyesight? Your captivity? Wyvern’s death? Lilan’s suffering? All of this is taking us toward a future where Ter’al might be saved?”

  “Maybe even my friend Lorrick’s death,” Pyre said, sinking against the wall. “The three kids I couldn’t save from Eldsworth. All the people I killed in the arena. Even Bels’s nightmarish marriage to Eldsworth. It’s all because of some gods-damned prophecy. And we’re not even at the end. Bastion hinted there was more suffering to come. More sacrifices to be made. Oh, gods. How could things get worse?”

  “And that’s the only way to save Ter’al?” Tachios asked.

  “He told Reaper that there was another path, but it required Reaper and Valx to forgive each other for the things they’ve done or will do.”

  “Do you think that could happen?”

  “Bastion said Lilan activated Valx’s metamorphosis by killing someone close to him. I suppose she snapped after she got what she wanted.”

  Tachios’s eyes widened. “But Lilan will die no matter what. Surely, he can forgive our father for his wrongdoings. Valx is your friend. Can’t you convince him that peace is more important?”

  Pyre leaned against the wall and thought about all the time he’d spent with Valx. “There’s nothing anyone can do if Valx is angry. We better pray to the gods he’s not at the peace summit.”

  Chapter 21

  Valx and Barthlomex stood beside one another in silence as soldiers shoveled dirt over Mil’s grave. The sky overhead remained clear and sunny, and only an occasional chill wind interrupted the funeral. Thod gave a short eulogy for the fallen medical guildsmen, but the king’s empty eyes and solemn
face couldn’t hide the sadness of learning his oldest son had died. He finished the eulogy, held his head low, and then left to return to his grieving wife.

  Mil’s companions from the medical guild waited by the grave for a long time. The ones she had become friends with cried, and some glared at Valx.

  They know it’s my fault, he told himself as he watched the dirt pile higher. I deserve their hate.

  After the grave was filled, Odestrog carried a large rock and planted it at the head of the grave. Valx created an aether dagger and carved Mil’s name into the rock before rejoining Barthlomex at the foot of the grave.

  One by one, the Highguardsmen stopped by Valx and Barthlomex to offer their condolences before leaving them to mourn. Yahn left last, patting Valx on the shoulder as he went. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Valx didn’t reply. He stood with hollow eyes, waiting until only he and Barthlomex remained by the grave. They stood for an hour after everyone else had departed.

  “I think—” Barthlomex said, struggling not to cry. “I think I’ll leave. There’s no reason for me to go to the peace summit anymore.”

  The white-haired man stared at the grave in silence.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Barthlomex asked. “You were only here for Mil. This war isn’t your responsibility.”

  “It’s my fault,” Valx said. “I’m responsible for Mil’s death.”

  Barthlomex hugged Valx. “It’s not your fault. That mad woman did this. She took my daughter from me. Not you.”

  Valx lowered his head and cried. After a minute, he swallowed his pain and raised his head. “I’m staying. I’ll kill her and Reaper. Even if I ruin any chance of a peace treaty.”

  The physician stared at him with dull eyes. “Good. Burn Varsith to the ground if you like. I don’t care about peace anymore.”