Cloud Warrior 05 - Forged in Fire

by Holmberg, D. K.

  Answers didn’t come, at least none that were easy.

  By the evening of that third day, the wagons reached the Gathering. Tan had grown increasingly tense the closer they came and the Aeta grew increasingly somber. Word had spread about the First Mother, and a mournful sense had come over everyone. Amia sat next to him atop the lead wagon, silently staring at the gathered families.

  He let the wagons slow, conserving some of his energy as he prepared for the possibility that he would need to shape spirit if any archivists remained. There was at least one more, the one who had summoned when he and Roine had answered. What would happen when these three archivists joined the other?

  Without needing to say a word, the wagons already gathered parted, splitting and widening the circle. Their caravan rolled into place, filling the gap. Tan didn’t feel that he should be a part of this, but didn’t move away from the circle. The Aeta were in the kingdoms and as Athan, it was his responsibility to ensure their safety.

  When the wagons came to a stop, the Mothers joined the other gathered Mothers.

  “What will happen now?” Tan asked.

  “They would have been mourning this entire time. They waited for the remaining families to arrive.”

  “Will there be others?” he asked.

  “I sense that this is it.”

  “What of the archivists?” Tan asked. He scanned the Aeta, looking for signs them, but couldn’t see them. Using a shaping of earth and spirit, he quested for them, searching in the wagons. Anyone standing in the middle of the circle able to shape would be one of the Mothers, or possibly the Daughters.

  “It depends upon the Mothers,” Amia said, “though it really depends on who is chosen to follow the First Mother. She will decide.”

  The sickly Mother motioned to Tan and Amia. The others stared, watching them, as the Mother spoke.

  “Is that our sign to go?” Tan asked.

  “Not yet,” Amia said.

  There was tension in her voice, though he didn’t feel it through their bond. Instead, he sensed a hint of apprehension—and also a sense of reluctant acceptance.

  What did Amia know?

  The Mothers started toward them, moving together. As they did, three men emerged from wagons on the far side of the circle. All wore the black robe signifying the archivists. Tan felt their shaping build simultaneously, with more power than he thought he’d be able to contain.

  Amia stood casually, as if expecting this. The shaping she crafted was more immense than anything he’d seen her perform outside of working with the First Mother while attempting to heal Cora. This was nothing like that shaping. This was elegant and complex, but powerful as well.

  As she shaped, Tan realized she drew through him, borrowing from his stores, and used this to lash out at the archivists.

  They didn’t have a chance to struggle. There was strength to their combined shaping, but it was nothing compared to what Amia managed. She overpowered them easily.

  They stopped near the fire as if to run. Tan held them with earth.

  Amia touched the band at her neck as the Mothers approached. The sense of apprehension from her intensified.

  “Daughter,” the Mother from their wagon said.

  Amia tipped her head. “I no longer have right to that title. I renounced my claim to the People.”

  The Mother smiled at her. “You may have renounced it, but the People have not renounced you. It became clear to me as we traveled that the First Mother had prepared for her passing.” She tottered forward another step, leaning fully on her cane. Tan sensed the effort she exerted to remain upright. “I do not know what transpired to convince you to renounce the People, and the Great Mother knows I may not need to know. If it is because of Tan, then the choice was a folly. He has proved himself many times to serve the People.” She caught Amia’s eyes, holding them with a commanding strength. “Will you follow his example? Will you serve the People?”

  Amia remained silent. He sensed the conflicted emotions running through her, but underneath was a sense of purpose that had been missing from her for so long.

  Do what you must, he sent through the connection.

  Amia tensed as she took a deep breath, facing the Mothers. Then a serene sense of peace worked over her and passed through the bond to Tan.

  “For now, I will serve,” she said.

  20

  A Decision Made

  When Tan returned to the house that night, the small room felt empty and cold without Amia. Now that she’d agreed to serve as First Mother, Amia remained behind with the Aeta, and had needed to meet with the other Mothers to decide the fate of the People, and the archivists. Since returning, Tan hadn’t bothered to start a fire in the hearth, even though it would not take much of a shaping. The chill flowing through him was not something fire would remove.

  He had pulled the window open, letting the combination of ashi and ara swirl through the room, carrying the sounds of the street below him. Voices carried from dozens of people still out at night. Music drifted distantly from a tavern somewhere, the first time he’d heard a sense of merriment coming from within the city since the attack months ago.

  He stood at the window, focusing on his connections. Asboel circled the distant countryside—probably Vatten, from what Tan could see through his shared sight—hunting with Sashari. Honl remained near Tan though was mostly silent, content to remain near his bond.

  Then there was Amia. That was the bond he most feared losing. He sensed her distantly, where she remained with the Gathering. For the first time in months, she exuded a sense of purpose. She was content.

  How would serving as First Mother change things between them? Not their bond; that would not change. But the physical sense of her was missing. He had become accustomed to having her with him and now she would not be. He could travel to her, but he couldn’t stay with her, not if he intended to serve as Athan. Responsibilities pulled them in different directions, drawn by the demands of their people. Would they ever be able to simply remain content, together?

  Now that they’d returned to Ethea, Tan couldn’t shake the thought that he needed to do more. Incendin couldn’t face Par-shon alone, and Doma couldn’t be left to suffer. As a shaper bound to the elementals, Tan could help. Wasn’t that the reason he’d been given the ability to speak to the elementals?

  A knock at the door pulled his attention away from his thoughts. They were troubled thoughts anyway, and he was thankful for the distraction.

  On the other side of the door, he found Zephra. She wore a heavy brown cloak and her graying hair was pulled into a braid. “Mother,” he said.

  “You’ve been gone. I expected you to return to the city after I showed you the draasin attack. Theondar expected you—”

  “Theondar expects me to do what is needed,” Tan said, gently reminding her that he was Athan. “It was not the draasin. They had not attacked the Aeta. This was something worse. The archivists, making it appear that it was the draasin or Incendin, for some reason I have yet to learn.” He wished he understood what would make them return to the Aeta. Could they have learned of Par-shon? Did they return for safety?

  “You’re certain?”

  “We found four more caravans. We were able to save three.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she tapped a finger on pursed lips. “That is where you’ve been. You’ve been saving the Aeta when Incendin continues to move and attack? You are Athan now, Tannen, you have greater responsibilities than—”

  “I do not need you to tell me what my responsibilities are, Mother. I am the Athan.”

  She hesitated before saying anything. “What of the Aeta, then?”

  “They are Gathering. The First Mother is gone and they have selected another.”

  Zephra frowned, glancing around the room and noting that Amia was missing. “I thought that she abandoned them.”

  “Only because she thought they abandoned her. I don’t think Amia ever really could leave the People. They are a part of
who she is.”

  “She was selected?” Zephra asked.

  Tan’s voice caught as he answered. “She was. She agreed to serve.”

  Without saying anything, his mother wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. For a moment, Tan was a child again, living in the mountains of Nor. For a moment, he was reminded of the closeness he’d once shared with his mother. Then she released the hug and pushed away from him.

  Tan forced confidence into his voice that he still didn’t completely feel. “She needed to do this. The Aeta needed her to serve.” He took a breath and pushed away. Much like Amia needed to serve, Tan was beginning to realize that he needed to do more than he had. Seeing Par-shon attacking had made that clear. If they left Doma helpless, what would happen by the time Par-shon reached the kingdoms? “What of you? What did you learn in Incendin?”

  “Their shapers are amassing. I’ve seen movement but have been unwilling to venture too close. I don’t know what it means.”

  “It means Par-shon attacks Incendin directly,” Tan said. Would Roine understand if he shared how he’d helped Incendin? Would any of the kingdoms’ shapers understand?

  Tan still wasn’t certain how he felt about helping Incendin. It was one thing to use them, but another to actively help. Incendin had destroyed his home, had taken his father, and everyone he’d ever known at the time, away from him. But had he not helped, Par-shon would have destroyed the city.

  “Good,” she said. “Let Incendin and Par-shon destroy each other. They will weaken each other, and the kingdoms will be safer for it.”

  Tan was not surprised that Zephra shared the same thought as Roine. They had lived through Incendin wars. “The kingdoms are not safer with Par-shon on our shores.”

  “But they aren’t on our shores, Tannen. They have come to Doma, and now to Incendin. I know you fear Par-shon, and I fear, too, what would happen were they to reach the kingdoms, but this is for the best. Theondar has us working to rebuild the barrier. In another month, we will have it reformed, strengthened again, and we will no longer have to fear Incendin crossing our borders.”

  “The barrier never really kept their shapers out,” Tan said. “Even the lisincend managed to cross. It will not keep Par-shon from us, either.”

  “They only crossed at great cost to themselves. We have learned since then. When complete, the barrier will seal out Par-shon and Incendin alike.”

  “Which means we seal ourselves inside?” Tan asked. That felt like cowardice, and worse: it abandoned the elementals beyond the barrier.

  His mother’s eyes narrowed. “I thought this would please you. You’ve seen what Incendin and Par-shon can do more closely than most. This will bring our people peace.”

  Whatever it did, building the barrier only delayed what was coming. He’d seen how Par-shon had attacked the village of Lashasn. What was next? Would Chenir suffer the same fate? How many would fall? How many elementals would be trapped and forced to bond in that time?

  Too many would suffer if he did nothing.

  “Has there been any additional word from Elle?” she asked.

  “None. Doma is silent.”

  Either she had died, or Par-shon had separated her from her bond, assuming that she had managed to form a bond to the udilm. Either way meant that she was lost. Yet there was something he could do, something that he began to suspect he had to do, especially now that he’d seen the way Par-shon attacked. If he waited much longer, the kingdoms would be in real danger.

  When he hesitated too long, Zephra studied him. “What do you intend, Athan?”

  He couldn’t tell if she used the title as a slight or if there was pride in her voice. Regardless, he didn’t know what he would do. There was what he wanted, different even than what others wanted of him, and then there was what was needed.

  None answered his mother’s question.

  “I will do what is best for the kingdoms,” he said.

  His mother let out a deep, gratified sigh. “I know you will. At least the Aeta have gathered within the kingdoms. You do not have to fear losing Amia.”

  Then she departed, leaving him staring after her, wishing that she could understand that though he might not have Amia with him, he would never really lose her.

  * * *

  The lower level of the archives was cool, no evidence of ashi blowing through, nothing but the damp walls suffused with the nymid and golud. Tan trailed his fingers along the stone as he made his way through the tunnels. Asboel was here and he needed to speak to him about his plan.

  He paused at the pool where he’d bonded the nymid. Green water swirled within, moving slowly. Tan touched it and found it cooler than before. Nymid, he sent. Is there word from the Child of Water?

  The nymid swirled with increased agitation, before settling. A streamer of green crawled up Tan’s arm, settling around his neck. He Who is Tan. You asked for word on the Child. Water still searches.

  Does she live?

  That was what he feared more than anything. Elle could be dead, and then what? Because he’d acted too slow? It was the same as what had happened to the Aeta. He had acted too slowly to be of any real help.

  He couldn’t do that with Par-shon, not and risk the entirety of the kingdoms. But acting as he suspected he needed meant more than risking his life facing Par-shon, it meant going against what Theondar wanted. If he did, the kingdoms’ shapers would not come to help. He would be isolated, but hopefully not alone.

  You will try to help the Child? the nymid asked.

  I think I have to, Tan said, coming to a decision. I’ve been given the ability to help the elementals, to keep them safe. If I do nothing, I have already failed.

  The nymid swirled up and around his neck, leaving him with a vague sensation, not at all unpleasant. The Mother chose well.

  Tan started toward the draasin den. He let his hand trail along the wall as he did, wishing he could somehow figure out the secret to reaching golud more easily. The elemental was there, he felt it, and he’d heard the distant sound of golud deep in his mind, but it was not consistent. He sighed; maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe all that mattered was that golud listened.

  Asboel waited for him inside the draasin den, his yellow eyes glowing with a keen intensity. The hatchlings weren’t in this part of the cavern. Maelen. You have made a choice, but you are uncertain.

  It’s what I must ask of you that makes me uncertain.

  Asboel made that strange chuckling sound that he did. Do not fear for the draasin, Maelen. There is a reason we have survived the longest.

  Because you were frozen?

  Asboel snorted fire at him. You have grown confident. You will need confidence with what you intend.

  This must stop, he started, thinking of the way Par-shon attempted to trap the elementals in Incendin, and it will start by clearing Doma. Only, I’m not certain whether it’s confidence or foolishness.

  Fools are confident without reason. You are no fool, Maelen.

  Tan wished he knew whether that was true. He turned in place, studying the rocks piled behind Asboel. Where are the hatchlings?

  They learn the hunt.

  I’m sorry I keep you from it, Tan said.

  It was Sashari’s turn for the lesson. You have a different hunt in mind.

  I do, but what I must ask puts you in danger. If Par-shon manages to capture you, there might be little I can do.

  You will know. You would come, Maelen. That is enough. Asboel stretched his neck forward to peer more closely at Tan.

  You will hunt with me? Tan asked.

  Asboel sniffed a streamer of fire at Tan. The fire melted away from him. I have already said that you will never hunt alone.

  Then we will go soon, but there are a few others I must ask.

  Sashari will come.

  And if you’re injured? Tan feared what would happen to the hatchlings were he to fail. They had nearly been lost once; he didn’t want to be the reason they were lost again.

  The hatchling
s will be safe if we fail in the hunt. They grow strong. Soon, they will be strong enough to take on a name. Do not fear for them, Maelen. Asboel crawled forward in the den and pressed his face close to Tan. This is what the Mother means for you to do. This is why the Mother aided our bond.

  I intend to return, Tan said.

  Asboel sniffed and made a soft grunting sound. All intend to return from the hunt. Not all can.

  The bonded cannot be allowed to force any more of the elementals. The others don’t see it, but if they reach these lands, in this place of convergence, there will be nothing to stop them.

  That is why we will stop them, Asboel agreed. That is a reason to hunt.

  21

  Price of Freedom

  As Tan entered the room where Cora was held, he found her with her hands folded in her lap flipping absently through a book lying open in front of her. Light from a shapers lantern lit her page, and a cracking fire raged in the hearth. The air smelled of cut flowers and the mint tea steaming from the cup set onto the table next to her.

  “You have been gone many days. There are some who worry about you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I should have warned you that I’d be gone.”

  “You owe me nothing,” she said, but he heard the sense of frustration in her voice at his silence. She’d agreed to the barrier formed by Amia’s shaping, but leaving her like that indefinitely—especially alone after what she’d gone through—seemed a cruel torment.

  “I owe you an explanation. And an opportunity.”

  Cora waited for him.

  “Par-shon has moved beyond Doma. They have begun attacking in Incendin.”

  Cora gripped her skirt, squeezing it in her fist. “You have heard this?”

  “I have seen. Three bonded shapers attacked a city on the northeastern edge. There was a single shaper there, not enough to stop them.”

  Her eyes fell closed. “What city was lost?”

  “None. At least not when I last saw.” Cora studied him, searching for answers. “I did what I could. There were three Par-shon shapers there.”