Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  “In other words, the stronger my feelings, the stronger I’ll be?” Ancel asked.

  “Yes, but there are still limits. Overdo it and we break the protection the Etchings provide. However, if you’re Forging Prima, the power is further restricted by the amount you have stored. Forging beyond those limits will tear your mind and body apart. Similar to what you began when you saved me.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Ancel said dryly.

  Ryne smiled. He didn’t want to scare his ward, but the boy had to know what he faced. “Think of what is about to happen as a test. In fact, it is a test. Back when they were more with comparable power, maybe one in a thousand would pass after gaining their first Etching. Within every test, there is a part of you that you must cling to. Your will. Your spirit. Perseverance.”

  “Like The Disciplines,” Ancel said. “Bravery, prevailing, overcoming. Strength by conquering your weakness.”

  “Exactly. Now,” Ryne continued, “I’m sure the first day you saw my Etchings and yours, you thought of tattoos or artwork. Well, to put it simply, that is what they are. They depict things that exist or have existed. Why do you think that is?”

  Ancel’s brows drew together in a studious frown. He squinted, emerald eyes shifting from side to side as he searched for an answer. Then his face lit up. “For the same reason a Forging won’t work without a base. There needs to be something there, something tangible for the essences to draw upon.”

  “Good. Imagine if you could dredge up every experience you ever had, and everything you learned at any time you wanted into something physical. For sake of understanding, the Etchings are memories. Memories collected by the netherlings since the day of their creation. Combined with Prima, you call upon those memories, those drawings to summon what’s there. The constructs come forth in the form of energy, a solid, or a liquid.”

  “The Streams, the Forms, and the Flows,” Ancel whispered in awe.

  “Yes. Unlike the one Galiana or you made, these are sentient, each possessing a measure of intelligence.”

  “They’re alive?”

  “Well, not exactly. If you want to consider that they’re made of Prima which is inhabited by living beings, then technically, you could say yes,” Ryne said. “But really, they are not. They can communicate with you and are aware of what’s happening, but for the most part, they’re just memories that can make use of stored knowledge and respond to circumstances. They contain no sela, no essences of life and death.”

  Teaching Ancel brought back memories of the first day Damal had used the Tenets to summon a Hengen from the Etchings on his arm. Bigger than a barn, the beast had unfurled its leathery wings and exhaled heat and cold as it screeched. The conflicting temperatures and the stench of its breath convinced him it was real, even if all of its kind was supposed to be long dead. Damal commanded the creature to fly. Dust kicked up from the ground when the Hengen took off. Ryne recalled his first lesson had been to find a way to defeat the beast.

  “Did you ever fight against the gods?”

  The question caught Ryne by surprise, but he answered as quickly as he could, keeping his expression flat. “No. Those battles were before my time, but the ones who taught me certainly did.”

  Ancel appeared to deflate at his admission but then quickly perked up. “Did they ever tell you how they defeated Amuni and the other gods?”

  “As usual you’re seeking to dive into the ocean before you know the water’s depth or how rough the sea is. The only thing going too fast ever gained a warrior is death. Each thing in its place and time. Before we even broach the subject of the gods, Hydae, or any other beast or man you might face, first comes your test and the Tenets.”

  “I-”

  “In this, I will not be moved.” Ryne reined in his annoyance. The same aspects that made Ancel a more than worthy student also lent to his impatience.

  For the briefest of moments, Ancel’s shoulders slumped, and then he exhaled and gave a nod.

  “Good.” Ryne straightened, preparing himself for what was to come. He inhaled, relishing the perfumed aromas feathering the breeze, the animal droppings staining the air, and nature’s cries and calls. They became one with the picture of beauty all around him. “Now, the first part of what you must learn is that it makes no difference how you recite the Tenets. They can be done mentally or orally. The importance is your connection to Mater. Although different, remember the essences outside are made from Prima. Connect to them and to Prima within your Etchings. What is outside must join with what exists inside in harmony.”

  Ryne opened himself to Prima. In a torrent, the essences flooded him. He gritted his teeth against the euphoric feeling. It was like being a part of the tiniest nuances of the world, and then opening up to see the entire Omniverse. He could tell where tiny feelers from miniscule insects brushed his arms, the movement of sweat as it began to ease up his pores before his Etchings absorbed the liquids as part of the Flows. The sun beating down became one with him as he gobbled up the light and heat it offered. His feet absorbed bits of the earth.

  “This is Light’s Tenet. Light to balance shade. Light to show honor. Honor to show mercy.”

  At the same time, he thrust the power of light and heat into the Etching of the Guardians on his chest. He chose one among them.

  A white luminance shot up into the air several feet from Ryne. Hand upraised to shield his eyes, Ancel stumbled away, his mouth wide, fear in his eyes.

  The bar of radiance resolved into a life-like replica of Damal, his colossal figure spanning up the cliff face behind them, at least four times Ryne’s height. Essences of the Streams, primarily heat and light mixed with touches of shade, encompassed his body. Transparent at first, they coalesced and became solid. Within moments, the construct of Damal was clothed in leather armor covered with Etchings. The identical way Ryne remembered him before Damal left for his final battle in Jenoah.

  “Brother,” Damal said, golden eyes shining, voice a rumble. “You called?”

  “Yes.” Ryne smiled as he nodded toward Ancel. “I have brought you a student. Ancel, this is a sentient, all that remains of my brother Damal, one of the first Eztezians.”

  Damal’s countenance glowed. He cocked his head to one side, and then stared out toward the kinai orchard. “You brought a student, and an old friend.”

  Brows drawing together, Ryne squinted in the same direction. He scowled. How the woman had managed to deceive him was a mystery. Old anger bubbled to the surface. Fists clenched, he strode toward Galiana.

  Chapter 34

  Galiana spun to the feel of power emanating from behind her. Reminiscent of a flood drowning an open plain, it washed over her. Even the animals grazing from the kinai fruit appeared to experience it. Their plaintive cries filled the air. Several herds trotted away.

  “What-!” Mirza exclaimed.

  She opened her Matersense to a surge of essences stronger than any she’d ever experienced. More powerful than when Ancel had drawn power from the Chainin. They also were different to the ones outside of the Entosis: less malevolent, calm, almost comforting.

  A transparent dome of energy encompassed the area where she’d left Ryne watching over Ancel. Within its borders, she made out a titanic construct of a man stretching at least thirty feet. Dark hair in long braids hung down past his shoulders. Golden eyes dominated his face. He was staring at Ancel. Shrouded by the dome, the construct’s features seemed familiar.

  She attempted to draw on the essences around her, to attack the dome, but nothing happened. It wasn’t that she was blocked. The essences simply did not respond to her call. Clenching her fist, she strained her mind, willing them to do as she commanded.

  Nothing.

  “They won’t respond to you here, not if you intend to harm one of their own.”

  A shimmer resolved into Ryne, Etchings aglow, striding toward her.

  “Wha-What is that thing?” Mirza asked. “And what’s it doing to Ancel.”

  “Teach
ing him how to use his Etchings,” Ryne answered. “He will be fine. I assure you. Mirza, if you don’t mind, continue picking the kinai. Ancel will need some when his session is finished.” He peered toward her, expression grim, eyes unflinching. “Galiana, if you will …” He gestured beyond the orchard’s red blooms.

  Galiana frowned at Ryne’s demeanor, but his words concerning Ancel eased some of the concern from her mind. “After you.”

  The big man turned and strode away, his leather molding to his body like an extra covering of skin. She followed.

  “What is this about?” she asked as they cleared the orchard’s edge.

  “You.”

  Galiana almost missed a step. What could he be referring to? Unless … She dismissed the thought. “What is it about me?”

  “Don’t play with me.” He eased the pace and length of his steps until she caught up to him. When she did, he stopped, and stared toward the distant mist-shrouded peaks. “You’ve made an art of hiding who you are.”

  This time she did miss a step. Having not released her Matersense, she considered attempting to bind the man, but the earlier futility lent her caution. Besides, for better than a thousand years her deceptions had been perfect. She made her face into an implacable mask, betraying no emotion.

  He turned to face her, his eyes jeweled pinpoints, his jaw iron. “When I’d look at you in Benez, I often thought I knew you. I mean other than being High Ashishin Galiana. And I did, Exalted Jenoah Amelie, once White, but now leader of the Gray Council.”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous. Exalted Amelie died some thousand years ago.”

  “I thought the same too, until my brother’s essences revealed you.”

  Ryne had to be guessing. Sure, the essences here were stronger than those outside. They matched those rumored to have existed back when the first Tribunal made the Iluminus and Damal Adelfried appointed her as Exalted. Wait. Openmouthed, she turned slowly and stared back the way they’d come. The giant construct was still visible. She recognized the face now.

  Damal. One of the leaders among the Eztezians, her first mentor and lover. So he did die. She choked up. All these years spent hoping he had managed to save her city. If Damal was dead, then Jenoah, her home, her city, it was ….

  Ryne’s words came to her again. His brother. Memories of Damal’s younger brother swept through her; a man full of life and power, destined to become one of the most powerful Eztezians. For reasons unknown, he’d thrown himself at the shade’s armies for countless years since the Kassite sealed away his brother. In the end, with no gods to fight, he’d spearheaded the attacks against his own who’d went mad. During this time, he helped create the Great Divide. After that, he’d vanished like the other Eztezians. She faced him, unable to hide the shock on her face. “Thanairen?”

  His voice softened. “That was my name once, but I cast it away after my brother’s death. I flung myself headlong after the Skadwaz, seeking revenge.” For a brief moment, pain flashed across his face, before his expression soured. “Until I found out how he died.”

  Jenoah Amelie-no, she couldn’t think of herself by that name now-she was Galiana Calestis. Yet, she remembered that other life, and the events leading up to Damal’s defense of her home. Instead of sending an army of Matii to help Damal, the White and Shadow Councils of the original Tribunal decided the best course was to keep their armies on this side of the Kassite. It began the end of the Tribunal as she knew it. The Ashishin tried to reform their own since, assuming the old name, but the stain of their betrayal to one sworn to protect them tainted the relationships between the councils and the Matii. Since that day, they remained splintered.

  To this day, thousands of years later, she still had faith that somehow Damal survived. If she ever surrendered to despair, she would be giving up hope on the world. The memory dredged up old pain and a longing to be by his side that she’d buried time and again.

  So many years spent pointing one faction or another toward the Chronicles, all for a chance to breach the Kassite’s seal and find him. A great weight settled on her shoulders. Her age, her lost life, dead lover, failure as a leader, came crashing down. If not for Ryne’s hand grabbing her arm, she would have fallen to her knees.

  Something else Ryne said struck her. Galiana pushed away from him. Few lived from Benez who knew her role as High Ashishin. She searched his face, studying the lines of his jaw, removing the scars on his face, imagining him without his Etchings. She gasped.

  “You were also Nerian.” She managed in a barely audible whisper. Now she understood why Jerem kept Ryne’s existence, his identity, such a secret. All hope lost, she turned to flee, but again his massive hand on her shoulder stopped her. Slowly, she faced him.

  “Yes,” he said, shoulders slumping, his face becoming a cringing mass of anguish.

  “Why?” she pleaded. “Why would you do that to your own people? Was it because of Damal?”

  He squeezed his eyes tight. When he opened them, his face embodied serenity. “I felt when Damal died, the pain he endured. For years, I dreamt of revenge on the councils, but I had a greater purpose. A purpose given to me by him. His final words to me were that no matter how the gods turned out, the people themselves were still more important. He made me promise to put Denestia first. It’s why I pushed myself so hard in battle for so many centuries after. Until I lost myself.

  “My brother knew there were those among the Skadwaz who Amuni had taken for his own. Those he’d given power to match us. Helped by several of the remaining Eztezians, one of them captured me, invaded my thoughts through Manipulation, made me become Nerian. Whoever he is, he used me to help force the following of the Chronicles, as well as for one other task. Only I could release the power stored within the Great Divide. Only I could free the other Eztezians from their prison. You see, we recognized the threat we represented, but at the same time the world would one day need us. So we sealed off our power and locked ourselves away.

  “This Skadwaz knew. I assume it must be by development of a Bloodline Affinity. He also used you and the other councils to keep searching out powerful Matii, to spark the wars, to create founts of sela, to feed on your emotions, to feed himself power. Tell me, who is Ancel’s mother? And don’t say she’s a High Shin or some such.”

  Galiana cleared her throat, trying to find words. Finally, she said, “She’s my sister.”

  “And following the Chronicles that you believed were leading you true, you found a man strong in Eztezian blood, his father.”

  She nodded.

  “Still there has to be more than that. I see the way Prima reacts to him.”

  Galiana let out a long, protracted breath. “He was born in here.”

  A stunned silence followed.

  “I’ve never been inside before, but somehow she knew of this place. She said a voice told her of its existence. We came to the entrance one day. I couldn’t see it, but I could tell where the power congregated. Only Thania with her Gift was strong enough to pass through.”

  When Ryne finally spoke, his voice was low. “She chose this place because of what she thought happened in Benez with her other children. She couldn’t have known what giving birth here meant or would do. Before today, I would say no one knew.” His voice became distant, lost in his assessment. “But whoever led her here did. Using your belief in the Chronicles, they guided her. They hoped to ensure the Eztezian created was powerful enough to break the Chainin. They knew Ancel’s act combined with the power I released from the Great Divide so long ago would unleash Prima into the world.”

  Galiana’s mind whirled. For years, she and Jerem had worked with the belief much of the Chronicles were true, or at least predictions of what might occur. What if they were another ploy, similar to the ones the Tribunal already used? Misdirection and deception using man’s tendency to believe in a savior, destiny, in prophecy. She couldn’t believe her gullibility. How could she have not seen this? Had she not done the same when she and the other Exalted first
formed the Devout so many years ago? Repeat the same words enough times and eventually it carries a truth of its own. Repeat it in the right places, to the right ears, and one can make people believe. A tightness gripped her chest. “How much of the Chronicles are lies?”

  “Not lies, but a composition of dreams, nightmares, visions, theories passed down by us. If an Eztezian claimed to have been linked to all the Planes of Existence-Past, Present, and Future-who would say he was not? The gods made us. The netherlings gave us more power. Surely, we could see all things. Convincing isn’t it?

  “Little exists to separate what is real from what isn’t, what is carefully crafted stories, and what might truly be prophecy. There are those among the netherlings, known as the Nine, who seek to harness power for themselves. They have been guiding us to specific paths that serve their purpose. It’s one of the reasons we decided to seal the gods themselves. To protect them. Only by killing the gods can the Nine take their places.

  “Then there are other factions, some who believe the world is better off with the gods regardless of what they’ve done in the past. It’s been my suspicion over the years that they are behind the Skadwaz or are Skadwaz, looking to ensure their master returns. From what I witnessed at the Chainin, this Skadwaz can draw on Prima. Not only that, but its release will tempt the other remaining Eztezians. If they can find concentrations of Prima, they no longer need to find an Entosis to recharge. But why? This is all wrong.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Galiana said, although what Ryne said rang with truth. “I cannot imagine deception on this grand a scale.”

  “Oh?” Ryne said. “So then what you’ve taught at the Mysteras or all across Denestia is true? Or the way blame was laid at Nerian’s feet. How about that? Didn’t the Tribunal themselves fail to reveal every Matii that was at the brink to purposely goad me to act? Didn’t they play me against the Erastonians, making me believe the Erastonians were responsible for the release of shadelings into Seti? The war between Astoca and Cardia and their subsequent split was because the Tribunal considered their ancestors to be their strongest adversary, and therefore drove a wedge between them with broken treaties and mishandled trade policies. Is any of that less grand a scale? It all affected the world. You worked events the same as the Nine does. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Nine are planted deep in the Iluminus.”