“So what shall I tell them?”
“All you know about Ryne. Answer their questions truthfully.”
“Won’t that implicate you-” she cut off her whisper as another High Shin, at least eight multicolored stripes adorning his silver sleeves, strode by. The man bowed slightly to Jerem, whose own robes bore several more stripes than his counterpart’s.
“Take a moment to think about exactly what you know.”
Irmina mulled over the events in her head, starting with Jerem training her to become an Ashishin assassin, to her discovery of the Dorns being responsible for her parents’ deaths. She considered the task Jerem set her before she could seek revenge, which led to Ryne and his companion, Sakari. She breathed deep as she remembered Sakari’s color-shifting eyes and his ability to use a skill similar to her beast-taming to delve into her mind. Not to mention the black creature with its many tentacles he’d transformed into when she killed him.
She dredged up every tidbit she could, including Taeria’s revelations and the knowledge imparted by Herald Bodo. Not even her discovery of Setian living on this side of the Vallum of Light revealed much about Jerem, although it did shed light on Ryne’s history.
In the final battle in Castere, Voliny revealed Ryne’s many incarnations. Lives of legends and myths. He himself was Nerian the Shadowbearer, the Setian king and a leader among the shade-the one who had issued the commands that began the demise of much of Ostania and her family.
She squeezed her eyes tight at the thought. With the chance before her, instead of killing Ryne, she’d destroyed Sakari. An act she still did not fully comprehend.
Why kill Sakari? The thought still haunted her as did the man’s eyes and his ability to heal almost any wound as well as his armor itself. She blamed the strange affinity she felt to Ryne at the end with the sudden appearance of swaths of Mater pouring through the air.
In all this, what did she really know of Jerem’s own plans? Hardly anything.
However, she did know what she would not tell them. Whatever it took, she would drive the pinprick from her mind that she’d felt ever since that night in Castere. It pulled her in Eldanhill’s direction. She found the idea scary enough without thinking about the Exalted.
She didn’t realize Jerem stopped until she bumped into his back. Before them was a huge door, the Lightstorm insignia emblazoned across its surface. To either side, Dagodin soldiers stood at attention, their gazes seeing nothing and everything.
“Ready?” Jerem asked.
“Yes,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded stronger than her knees felt.
The door slowly swung inward.
Chapter 5
Behind Ancel, Charra’s grunting barks and growls changed to roars. Wolves howled.
Dear Ilumni, keep them safe, he prayed in earnest. He steeled his back and shoulders. The dizziness he expected swept through him for a moment before it subsided.
As always, he had no explanation for the phenomenon. He wondered if it was a part of his new power or had anything to do with the strange dreams he had trouble remembering at times. The ones he did recall were so vivid he thought he could touch the black leaves in the even blacker forests and feel the power rippling through Jenoah’s streets and spires during the distant battle that occupied his fantasy. Recently, those dreams had increased in frequency.
Charra’s roars broke him from his reverie. The wolves answered. A grim reminder of what his father and Kachien were fighting.
Ancel pushed the images from his mind and concentrated on the route ahead. No real path showed through the snow and ice-laden brush, and he adjusted several times to skirt a tree. When a stray branch snagged at his legs, cloak, or hitched onto the litter, he swore some god or daemon was conspiring against him. On several occasions, he hacked away such an offending limb. If not for the fact winter’s grip squeezed the land and much of the brush had lost its foliage, the progress through the woods may have been nigh impossible. As it stood, branches snapped off, some requiring more effort, but they broke all the same. Pulled by the force of his Da’s horse, the litter helped clear a path more than it hindered.
The trip reminded him of earlier that summer when shadelings chased him and Mirza. The memory brought a fresh surge of fear. He found himself peering into the darker patches of the woods, jumping at shadows. At any moment, he expected shadelings to leap from the forest’s recesses. Either wraithwolves, green eyes glowing, their fur blackened char, as they ran first on two legs like a man before dropping on all fours to leap and bound; or darkwraiths, their man-like forms more gray smoke than solid flesh. No such beasts revealed themselves. He mouthed a silent prayer to Ilumni.
Despite his faith and the clearer spaces around him, he remained unconvinced of his relative safety. Shadelings hadn’t been spotted in more than two months now. He’d hunted down several to appease his anger, need for revenge, and to prove himself. When those outlets expired, he turned to hunting the regular wolves. Suppose there was some stray shadeling everyone missed? Finding the Eye, he worked the thought from his mind.
Within the Eye, he took in all around him. Auras bloomed in the form of colors across any living thing. The insects, the birds, small cretins foraging among the undergrowth, even the trees. It was like looking at the world through a rainbow. Over time, he’d learned each color represented the essences that existed within everything. They also gave him a hint of intention. From what he saw, nothing threatening existed within his surroundings.
Late afternoon was dragging on into evening and the cold day becoming colder. Seen through the cover of oak and cedar, white and gray saturated the sky like dirty milk. Heralds of a snowstorm. Snowflakes trickled through such openings to land on his cloak and leather-armored arms, dissolving before they accumulated. The white of frosted leaves and branches, and in some places icicles from frozen water runoff, sprinkled the area. Ancel crunched a passage through, breaking the stillness around him. He shushed the horse to calm whenever a wolf howled.
More confident than before, he weaved his way through, gaze focused ahead so as not to allow the fear of pursuit to overwhelm him. The cold became a needle pricking in his gut and tingling his toes, heightening the sense of urgency within him. He goaded the horse on.
Gray and white flashed across his periphery. He tracked the movement, the beast tearing through undergrowth to reach him. A breath whooshed out of him when he realized it was Charra.
The daggerpaw needed no commands. Charra bounded ahead, crashing through any obstacles in the way that wasn’t a tree. His bone hackles lopped off saplings as if a blademaster hewed a path.
Ancel urged more speed from the horse. With Charra clearing the way, their speed doubled, and he resorted to jogging to keep up. He flirted with the idea of mounting, but the position of the ropes around the shoulders and down the saddle appeared to be a pain his balls could do without.
The next hour dragged by with the horse laboring, steam rising from its mouth as it snorted and flicked its head to one side. Ancel slowed their progress, giving the animal time to rest. He removed the waterskin from the saddle and finally stopped. Chest heaving in deep breaths, the horse bowed its head as Ancel let the water run into his cupped hand below its mouth. The mount slurped greedily at the liquid.
Deep indentations marked where the ropes had pressed against the horse’s shoulders. Sweat coated its brown hair. Stefan’s mount was used to frolicking or going on short runs not this sort of physical labor.
Ancel strode around to the litter to inspect the giant. His chest still moved at the same steady rate. The arrow wound no longer bled, but Ancel still worried. The man’s skin, where not covered by the Etchings, had grown more discolored, more frostbitten to where his lips were a ruinous black.
Whatever was happening, they needed to reach Eldanhill and Galiana Calestis as soon as possible. Ancel hurried back to the horse and set it moving again. The litter edged forward, and soon they were travelling at a steady pace. Ancel tugged on the reins
for a little more speed.
The trip stretched on. He no longer heard the noise of the wolves behind him. Birds twittered and flitted from branch to branch. A rabbit hopped near their path before stopping to give them a curious glance then bounding away in a blur. The cold seeped in deeper and the snowfall increased, quickly accumulating on his cloak. He hunkered down within the folds of the garment.
The crunches of following feet sounded nearby.
One quick step drew him even with his father’s saddle. He removed his bow from where it hung and turned to face the noise. His hand went up to his quiver, and he nocked an arrow without thought and aimed toward the footsteps. Swirls of snow and an oak tree obscured his vision.
When the first form jogged from behind the tree, tension eased from Ancel’s shoulder and arms, and he brought his hand from the arrow’s feathery fletching. The shape resolved into his father in his sleeveless, hooded fur jacket. Kachien appeared soon after, moving with a slight limp. Ancel drew fletching to ear again at what followed behind them.
Several wolves, heads low to the ground, slunk back and forth across the path he’d carved through the forest. He counted at least six or seven. More were sure to be close by, out of sight, possibly flanking them. Sure enough, he picked out flashes of gray among the trees farther to their east and west. The animals intended to cut them off.
“Pass me your quiver,” Stefan wheezed as he reached him. Blood decorated his fur and leather armor.
Ancel slung the strap from across his shoulder and back and passed it to his father. By this time, Kachien arrived, her limp a little more pronounced. Her clothing displayed several rents, exposing tanned flesh. Blood trickled from paw scratches in those areas. The holes from bite marks on her thigh were plain to see. She shivered profusely. Ancel removed his cloak and fur and threw it over the diminutive woman’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said between clenched teeth, fixing her golden hair over the fur.
“We only managed to escape because one of the packs decided to make a territory challenge,” Stefan nodded to where more gray forms slunk through the distant trees to the east.
“How much time do we have before the fight’s decided?” Ancel asked.
“Not much. These fellows appear just to be tracking us until then.”
“It makes no difference now,” Kachien said, her voice strained. “Look.”
Ancel glanced to where she nodded. The end of the Greenleaf Forest was in sight. Beyond were five-foot stone pillars-supports for an unfinished fence or wall of some type-stretching for several thousand feet. Unless the wolves intended to attack them on open pastures, they were safe. Even if the animals did attack, the group would be well within sight from Eldanhill’s towers. Help would be forthcoming.
The mumble of a deep voice made Ancel look back toward the litter.
Discolored face and all, the giant propped himself up on one arm. His emerald gaze took them in. Something flickered behind his eyes when they passed over Stefan, and he muttered, “Y-you … dead …” Then he focused on Kachien, features hardening, the recognition unmistakable. He lifted his sword and pointed at her. “A-And you-” He collapsed in a boneless heap onto the wood, his eyes fluttering shut.
Ancel gave them both an incredulous stare. “Do you know him?”
His father shook his head.
“Yes and no,” Kachien said.
Ancel frowned.
“Remember I told you I had a task to protect a boy and watch a man in Carnas?”
Thinking back to that time in the Randane’s sewers, Ancel nodded.
“He is that man.”
Chapter 6
Irmina waited patiently as she’d been doing for several hours now, inspecting the foyer and marveling at its cleanliness. Anything to keep her attention off the angry voice emanating from the inner room where the Exalted resided. Paintings decorated the closest wall. On the other side were bookshelves lined with glass-encased tomes, the vellum within as fragile as a mummified carcass. The dead-eyed expression of the High Shin standing before the shelves dissuaded her urge to approach the cases.
Back the way she came, silver-armored Dagodin stood guard at evenly spaced intervals on a bridge that spanned the library below. Small lightstones hanging from chains around their neck, several dozen High Shin drifted among neat piles of aged books, stopping to jot down notes. Irmina yearned to go down into the Iluminus’ renowned Great Library and question its Custodians. The annals beckoned to her with promises of unraveling the truth of her family’s demise. Surprisingly, the entire area lacked the mustiness of old paper. It was devoid of odor. The missing scent evoked a sense of emptiness.
High Shin Jerem’s voice rose behind the lone door in the foyer. Irmina fidgeted as she turned to face the entrance once more. She could count on one hand the number of times Jerem ever became that angry. Even muffled to the point where she could not make out the words, the vehemence attached to his tone was plain.
She winced at another shout from her mentor. If someone else spoke to the man, they were indiscernible. The large oak doors swung open as if blown by a powerful gust.
Face livid, High Shin Jerem stormed from the room. “May Ilumni have mercy on you all,” he yelled, and stalked away. He winked as he drew abreast of her before he strode toward the bridge, muttering to himself.
“Irmina?”
“Yes,” she managed, still gaping at Jerem. She turned to face a dark-haired High Shin with tight, disapproving eyes. A lump formed in her throat. The High Shin hadn’t addressed her by any form of title.
“The Exalted will see you now.”
Legs wooden, the stone floor seemingly miles beneath her feet, Irmina bowed and approached the door. A near blinding luminescence filled the room beyond. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the opening and into the light. The door swung shut behind her with a soft click.
“Irmina Nagel,” a disembodied voice said from all around her.
Irmina paused. Compared to outside, which was practically devoid of scent, the Exalted’s room reeked. The pungent odor reminded her of decomposition, festering wounds, of something dying. Her pulse quickened as she remembered the stink from the Wraithwoods and from the shadelings in Castere Keep. If she was anywhere but the Iluminus, she would have sworn the shade inhabited the room. Involuntarily, her hand slid down to her empty scabbard.
“You were brought here today to show you are worthy of the calling you seek.” This second voice was different, almost as if water dripped while the person spoke. It chased the thoughts from her mind. “There will be but one chance for you to turn back and resume your duties as an Ashishin. Now is your chance. Decide.”
Irmina licked her lips and then cleared her throat. “What happens if I don’t want to decide?”
“Then we may decide to strip you of your current status. Uncertainty is unbecoming for an Ashishin.” This voice hissed like water poured over hot coals.
“And if I fail?”
“You will be nothing.” Another new voice, this time with a musical tinkle.
A Raijin, an Ashishin, or nothing. Why can’t these things ever be simple?
“Choose.” The command was like a rumble of thunder. For some reason it irritated her.
“Suppose I turned back now, what then?”
“You will remain an Ashishin until the end of your days,” the disembodied voice announced.
Well, that didn’t sound so bad. There are worse ways to die.
“Many have failed before you. Many have decided not to proceed,” said the hiss.
“There is no shame if you lack the ability.” The person with the musical tone was almost mocking.
The speeches continued in a susurrus, goading her, giving her doubts, some encouraging, some belittling. They spilled forth so fast, her head spun. It was as if a crowd surrounded her, taunting. She always hated being bullied. Temper flaring, she opened her mouth to answer then abruptly stopped. Now she understood why Jerem shouted earlier, why he was
so out of character, why he winked. A reminder.
Irmina sought the control of the Eye. She floated within its center while her anger, fear, confusion, and a dozen other emotions skittered on the outside. She said nothing.
Moments passed with the voices’ taunts. Abruptly, they stopped.
Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.
“Good,” disembodied said. “A Raijin must know when not to speak.”
“However, there is still a choice to be made. Do you wish to take the test?” asked the voice that dripped.
She offered no answer.
“Good. A Raijin must never be forced into any decision but their own.” The response came in a hiss.
“Why did you allow he who was responsible for your family’s demise to go free?” The musical voice continued in rhythmic tones, “Why did you spare the life of one of the greatest threats to our rule? A threat to peace?”
Irmina gritted her teeth, almost losing her hold on the Eye with the mention of her family. “Everything is not always what it seems.”
“Good,” disembodied said. “A Raijin must see what others cannot.”
“Do you understand why we do what we do? Why the values of Streamean worship is so important?” All the voices rang out in a chorus.
Irmina almost smiled. “Unity.”
“Why?”
“It’s the basis of the greatest strength. The togetherness of the gods, the religions, and man are the way for survival and prosperity, so is the unity of mind, body, and Mater.”
The room became quiet. Slowly, the silence grew to something palpable in Irmina’s chest. Then the voices began to whisper. Unrecognizable, the conversation flitted back and forth.
“There’s another issue before us,” the Exalted said in concert.
Irmina waited patiently.
“High Ashishin are taught to plot against each other. This is one of the ways to see who is worthy of becoming Exalted. But none has been so bold as your High Shin Jerem.”
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