Overwhelmed by the possibility, Galiana eyed Damal from a distance. What more of an example did she need? Damal had defended her city against a strike by the gods, but some stories and songs had it that he’d destroyed Jenoah. It wasn’t much different from how most Eztezians were normal men, outside of those from the Svenzar, but by use of constructs and with the Svenzar’s own size, the Eztezians had become synonymous with giants who protected the world.
“We need to inform the other councils,” she said, finally. “Call a gathering.”
“No,” Ryne said. “The Shadow Council will not waver in its support of Amuni, and the same can be said for the Whites and Ilumni. Both are staunch in their belief that the gods’ return is the only way to see harmony in Denestia. They’re fanatics. They would both rather scour the world of any who did not worship their gods. Neither of them are ready. Not yet.”
“Maybe, but faced with this, from the mouth of an Eztezian, they would have to change.”
“Wishful thinking, but you know better than that. They would see me dead.”
“Then it’s just us of the Gray. We still hold onto much of what the Tenets and Principles taught us. Besides, we probably have the greatest army of Matii seeing that-” She cut herself off. Why did she suddenly feel the need to work with Ryne, with Nerian? Did she dare believe what he said about being Manipulated? Suppose he was doing the same to her? She squinted but saw no Forging from the man.
“I see suspicion creeping across your face,” Ryne said. “If I wanted to harm the boy, or you, or Stefan or any others, I could have. Not one among you possesses the power to stop me.”
“Still as arrogant as ever, I see.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I swear in my brother’s name and by the blessings of the Streams, that I mean no harm. It is Denestia I want to help save.”
Oaths were not something Thanairen gave lightly. She’d never known him to break one. “Very well. What do you suggest we do?”
“First, Ancel must finish this portion of his training. Then we gather the rest of the Grays, find the other Eztezians, and discover the location of this Skadwaz. Instead of defending, it’s time we strike.”
A stab of sadness poked at Galiana’s chest. It must have shown or her face, because Ryne frowned at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Only three of the original Grays still live. The years of war with the White and Shadow have taken its toll. Only Sol Remus, Trucida Adler, and I are left.”
Ryne leaned back, face held to the sky, and shook his head. “Nothing is ever easy.” He looked at her once more. “Where are they?”
“Remus, you met already.”
“Let me guess … Jerem?”
She nodded. Even when he was younger, Thanairen had a knack for discovering the most intricate plots. “He is in Calisto, most likely. He has been working as much as he dared on this side of the Vallum and in Ostania. Trucida, last I heard, was somewhere in Everland. So you know, the Pathfinders belong to Jerem now.”
“The same Pathfinders who have been killing Matii? Depleting our numbers? Why hasn’t he reined them in?”
Galiana shrugged. “You can ask him when we get to Calisto.” She didn’t fully trust the man, and in ways, making them seem weaker than they were at present might work in her favor in case he had some treachery planned. What happened to the Setian under Nerian’s rule still gave her nightmares. That brought up another issue. How was she going to reveal this to Stefan?
“Well,” Ryne said, “Harval and Calisto it is then.”
“And afterward?”
“A land to reclaim.”
Chapter 35
From where he lay on the flattened grass, Ancel glared at the colossal sentient. The construct, had called itself Damal, Ryne’s brother and once a leader of the Eztezians. Supposedly the same Damal from legend, the one minstrel’s sang about, the one who according to the stories had sacrificed himself for Denestia, or destroyed Jenoah, depending on which telling you believed. Frustrated at yet another failure, Ancel punched the ground and got to his feet.
“Good, boy. I see fire in your eyes. It becomes you.” The sentient grinned, its mouth a yawning cavern.
Time had become a forgotten concept for Ancel. Days had bled into nights and into days again, each filled with near incessant training. Occasional rest and pauses to allow for a meal or a drink when Ryne, Galiana, or Mirza brought him food and kinai were the only breaks to the monotony. Beyond them asking after his well-being, Damal didn’t allow much conversation, cutting off any attempt at an extended talk. The kinai juice or fruit they brought was sweeter than any he had before, even his mother’s. Each time he partook, it more than simply invigorated him; the kinai drove away all fatigue, making him feel as if he could run a hundred miles, fight a dozen battles. Damal pushed him harder soon afterward.
And still, he’d learned nothing. Or at least that’s how he felt.
“I continue to tell you,” Damal’s mouth twitched into a smirk Ancel had grown to loathe, “these are not the essences outside that do your bidding simply by drawing on them. You must not only command Prima, but you must have absolute belief in what you do. Doubt yourself for one moment, one instant, and they will refuse your call.”
Easy for you to say. You’re not facing a three-storied house in the shape of a man.
“Succumbing to intimidation is weakness. Showing and reacting to fear are signs of doubt. Believe in Prima with the same fervor you would if you prayed for Ilumni’s help,” Damal commanded.
Ancel sighed. Regardless of how many times he tried, he found it difficult to apply the concepts. Belief in a god was one thing. Belief that the essences were his to command despite how they fought him was another. After witnessing what they could do, his fear was warranted. How could he forget he faced an Eztezian, a myth, a legend, here before him? Even though not of flesh and blood, Damal was no less real.
Sweat trickled down his brow as Ancel raised his sword once more. His last helping of kinai had been hours before, and both his legs and arms were beginning to feel like massive logs. Striated with both air and water essences, a transparent dome spread above and around them. The shield absorbed the impact of his body whenever he failed to block Damal’s Forgings. Its edges cushioned him as it bent, but never broke. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He refused to wipe at where it crawled from the corner of his lip and down into his bushy beard.
The beard reminded him yet again of how long he must have been inside the Entosis. At least three weeks by his count, but the growth said it had to be more.
He was still thinking when a soft whine made him glance up. A shaft of heat and light made solid by use of air slammed into his chest. The impact blew him backward. He flew at least twenty feet before he crashed into the barrier that this time wasn’t so forgiving.
Spots dancing before his eyes, he crawled to his feet. His head throbbed. Someone was speaking. Or at least he thought he heard words mixed in with the ringing in his head. His vision of Damal split into a dozen parts before becoming one again. A lopsided grin split its features, but its eyes weren’t smiling.
Enraged, Ancel charged Damal, sword out before him. He pulled on whatever essences he could, flinging Forgings at the sentient. All the skills he’d learned.
He sent fire blazing in a trail across the ground, leaving a swath of blackened grass in its wake. At the same time, he cast several balls of flame in a curving arc from the right and left. He connected with the skies above, finding particles of energy there, drawing on them to form lightning. Using the sun’s beams, he also whipped forth a spear of heat and light to strike at an angle above the blaze speeding toward Damal.
A single strike of lightning tore from the sky. The fire wave, the balls, and the spear struck at the same time. They dissipated before they hit Damal, not even leaving a concussion.
The sentient grinned even more broadly. “I told you such petty Forges will not work on one such as I.” He flu
ng a hand out.
Ancel felt as if the hand snatched him and tossed him sideways. He tried to turn to soften his fall, or at least roll, but he landed in a heap. Pain shot up his side and arm.
“You are weak, boy. You will stop no one in your current state. Pitiful.”
Ancel’s ribs throbbed and his arm hung limp as he struggled up onto his feet. He would not give in. Even if he had to fight to his death. Attempting to will the hurt away, he drew in ragged breaths. This time, he approached Damal carefully, one slow step at a time, grimacing as pain lanced up his side. Ancel gauged the distance between them, searching for any revealing movement or shift in the essences to signify an attack. The sentient simply watched him with a bemused expression.
The self-satisfied smile irked Ancel more than his failure. Steeling himself, he brought his sword down and dashed in. When he drew on the essences, he used them to strengthen his blade and lend him speed. Sword in one hand, he struck with a series of attacks, using primarily the Streams, feeding his annoyance into the Stances.
He swept from slices to stabs, kicks and lunges, faster and faster, more random with each strike. The jarring impact of his relatively tiny sword against Damal’s oversized weapon vibrated through his arms. Not once did Damal move his feet, but he parried each blow. The sentient was so large that all it needed to do was slightly shift its weapon. Ancel growled under his breath at the apparent ease with which Damal defended.
Reinforcing his arms with the strength of earth, Ancel swung harder. With the Streams, he moved faster. In his mind’s eye, he was a blur of movement.
Yet none of it mattered.
One sweep of its other hand, and Damal sent him soaring back into the barrier once more. He landed hard, rolling through dirt and grass, shearing skin from his forearm. Unable to move, he lay there, panting. Numerous aches and burns scoured his body. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
“I hope there are none you hold dear … a sister, a brother, a lover, a mother, a father … If there are, consider them dead. To stand against the Skadwaz, the shade, or any creature from beyond the Kassite is a fool’s dream for you. You may as well give up. Admit failure in this test.”
A piece of Ancel broke. Despair coiled inside him, threatening to choke him He’d wanted to become stronger to save his mother if she was still alive. Now, his father might also need his aid. With the chance in front of him here, all he’d managed was failure after failure. To add to it all, he’d finally reconciled with Irmina, only to have that snatched from him. And what of his people? Where were they now? Captured and imprisoned by the Tribunal? Or dead at the hands of a shadeling? On and on, voices and thoughts warred in his head.
A memory whispered in the back of his mind to seek the Eye. He did. Its confines did little to quench his heated emotions. A pull beyond its edges drew him. It was as if a light shone in the distance, beckoning him. Within all his fears lay something else.
It allowed him to stand after falling. Each time he thought he had no more, he’d found another reserve. He allowed his mind, body, and soul to drift to that light. When he touched it, he immediately recognized its caress.
His will. A simple refusal to lose.
Instead of picking out each individual feeling as they surged within him, Ancel took his will and with it, he thrust all his passion, fury, despair, all his aggression into the Streams represented by the Etchings on his arm and chest.
Damal would learn not to take him lightly.
Ancel no longer cared how long it took. He would be with Irmina again. He would save his father from imprisonment. He would help fulfill his father’s wish in bringing their people back together in Seti. He would find the black-armored man and defeat him. He would free Mother.
And I will pass this test.
“Light to balance shade. Light to show honor. Honor to show mercy,” he whispered.
Essences flooded him. He surrendered to them. White flashed through his vision. Light blinded him. Heat wilted his body. He screamed, expelling all that he was into the Etchings.
He felt more than he saw the being that burst forth. In an incandescent haze, it shot up into the air, taller, bigger, and more powerful than Damal. The construct was featureless, made of a blinding glow that made Ancel shield his eyes for a moment. As the light dimmed, it grew into the image of a stern-faced man wielding a sword of pure energy. From what he felt, Ancel knew he’d called forth a sentient.
The old voices of power stopped their gibbering even inside the Eye. He felt a connection between them and the essences he now held. The Entosis’ Mater uttered two words to them. They were tinged with scorn.
“Be gone.”
The malignant voices fled.
With eyes like sunlight, his sentient brought its attention to bear on Damal. The Eztezian gasped, and then bowed.
Chest heaving, Ancel could only stare. A noise next to him turned out to be Ryne, his expression one of awe.
“Your Prima construct,” Ryne intoned, “is one of Ilumni’s Battleguards. Praise Ilumni.” Reverence filled his voice.
Ancel’s gaze was riveted on the Battleguard. Somehow, he found his voice. “But-but they aren’t real. They’re stories.” Stories to make men have something to believe in, to push faith. “Aren’t they?”
“It was from the Battleguards that the gods created the original Eztezians,” Ryne said.
“Finally.” The sound came from the Battleguard. It was like a whisper on the wings of the wind. “One with righteous anger. My name is Etien. I am yours.”
A prickling sensation ran along Ancel’s arms, legs, and body. He held up his forearms. Etchings appeared, their artwork exquisite, displaying creatures, celestial bodies, what appeared to be moonlight, sunshine, and energy arcing through the air. Yet, as he looked he could tell they were incomplete. Still, he couldn’t help his shock.
“Once you have mastered one essence of an Etching, the rest of the power within it appears,” Etien declared. “Now, you must gain the others to complete the element of Streams and harness its full strength.”
Ancel trembled, but not from fear, from sheer pride, excitement, and the immense potency coursing through his Etchings.
Chapter 36
Almost two weeks since he’d gained Etien, Ancel and the others trekked through the snowdrifts of the Red Ridge Mountains toward Harval. He’d felt him coming, and sure enough, Charra had arrived soon after his ordeal and stayed close to him, often licking his Etchings, his tongue like leather layered with sand. Ancel found it quite odd, Charra’s reaction. As odd as the other points, similar to his bonds, that he sensed way to the north. He wondered what they could be before his mind drifted to Ryne’s revelation that he’d spent nine months in the Entosis learning to summon Etien. It was equivalent to three months in Denestia’s time. He hoped the rest of his training would be easier.
According to Galiana, they were heading to Harval to use a Travelshaft. Ancel couldn’t help the excitement bubbling within him at the prospect. He’d once dreamed of using the tunnels built by the Svenzar connecting each city across Denestia.
Ryne spent most days teaching him one Forge or another but nothing too powerful. The classes ranged from those as mundane as drawing water from wet wood, then using air and heat to start a fire, to how to hide his Forges. That last actually required using more of the Flows and Forms, which he often found difficult to do, but once he grasped a sense of it, he saw how the air and earth intertwined to make what he did disappear. If he concentrated hard enough, he picked out a slight distortion, but he needed to be within a few feet.
While training in the Entosis, another notable ability had become a part of him. His skill to see auras had increased to where it existed for the majority of his waking hours. Most of the time, he used it unconsciously, identifying small facets within the colorful swirls of his companions’ auras that reflected their intentions.
In the days since they renewed their trek, his mind constantly drifted to his father, his mother, and Ir
mina. His mood grew dark every time. The safety of Eldanhill’s other refugees also weighed on him. His father had left their survival in his hands, and he’d dashed it all away to save Ryne. He could only hope he’d made the correct decision.
Since returning from the Entosis, the link he felt through the pendant resonated with increased strength. He could almost pinpoint its location. Somewhere to the north. As tempting as it was to go racing off to discover if she was alive, he knew better. Discovering more about his enemy and saving what remained of the Setian was the first priority.
“Mirza,” Shin Galiana said, with a quick glance at his friend. “You know a few of the folk in Harval, yes?” Mirza nodded. “I need you to control that excitement of yours. Do not speak to anyone concerning us. Ever. Should anyone ask a question of you, tell them to see me. You too, Ancel.”
“Yes, Shin Galiana,” they both replied.
The evening air was crisp and cold, but not the freezing temperature from the prior days. Ryne and Galiana appeared to have become friends, chatting between each other and laughing. Sometimes Ancel felt as if he was watching two old acquaintances. Mirza also seemed to have taken to them better than before. He asked so many questions of them both, and at night, Ryne had begun showing his friend how to use the scythe Mirza now favored. He’d picked up the weapon thinking it was a spear back in Eldanhill. His friend was becoming quite adept with the weapon.
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