Another question nagged at the back of his mind. Did the Setian or the Tribunal understand the Chainin’s primary purpose? The divya kept one of the wards on the Kassite intact, and in turn helped to seal the Nether. Activate enough of its power and one risked shattering the respective ward. Whoever had taken Ancel’s mother must have known this. They’d pushed the boy until the essences carried him over the edge, and he accepted their power. Coupled with the Key, Ancel had unwittingly broken the ward, releasing Prima essences—the power required by the Nine to rule over men and gods. What creatures were now able to cross unhindered from the Nether and the realms beyond? Ryne shuddered.
Opposite him, beyond the Chainin, soldiers shifted into formations, the inferno reflecting off their armor and weapons. Matii, every one of them. Among their number stood a man and a woman in gold robes with crimson and white along the edges. Stripes lined the sleeves.
The man had no aura.
Ryne grimaced. To the left and right of the High Shin, arrayed in a loose formation, were a dozen others in silversteel armor, their faces hidden behind full helms. Above them flew two battle standards: the Lightstorm and the Golden Road of the Pathfinders.
“Cease whatever you intend,” boomed the man’s voice.
Ryne glanced over his shoulder.
Swords brandished, several of the Tribunal’s Dagodin marched through the snow and took up positions in front of Ancel and the others. Both young men had their bows drawn, fletching to ear. Kachien was shifting from side to side, daggers in hand.
“No.” Ryne faced the High Shin once more.
The auras around the female High Shin and the Pathfinders bloomed brighter. Mater drew together in ever thickening bands. The essences built until they entwined with that already in the air around the Chainin. They formed complete elements, triggering those imbued within the silvery surface. Light flared from the divya, followed by a thunderous crack. The power amplified tenfold.
“The time is now,” whispered the voice of malevolence within the essences.
“Use our power as you will,” said the softer voice that often advised caution.
“We are yours,” added a third, deeper yet more insistent resonance.
“You are mine,” Ryne stressed. He linked the heat of the bonfire with the bands of essences, and then forced that power into his Etchings depicting the sun’s eternal flames. “High Shin … Pathfinders! You are aware of what I hold. Return the way you came or burn.”
Shocked expressions abounded. The man simply looked on. The Tribunal’s Matii hesitated for a moment before they again pulled on more of the elements.
Smiling, Ryne accepted their gift. The power roiled up into him in a searing wave. He concentrated on the Chainin. “Heat to balance metal. Heat to evoke passion. Passion is unrelenting.”
“No!” yelled the male High Shin.
Behind him, Ryne heard multiple crackles and swishes. Portals opening and closing. He unleashed the essence of the Streams he’d summoned when he invoked heat’s Tenet.
Liquid flame shot out from an Etching on his arm in the shape of a bird. The conflagration grew to the size of a house. Its wings cast shadows like gigantic blades, the wind when they flapped buffeting him. The representation of the essence enveloped the Chainin.
The silversteel divya began to melt, collapsing into itself. A thick puddle of slag formed, steam rising off its surface in hissing spurts.
Heated blasts washing over him in ever-increasing amounts, Ryne chanted, “Cold to balance fire. Cold to evoke temperance. Temperance is all encompassing.”
Another essence of the Streams swept forth, this from the Etchings of the great North, its snows, icy expanses, and frozen peaks. A miniature mountain with shining eyes grew next to Ryne. When it reached its full height, it spanned thirty feet. Like an avalanche, the summons swallowed the flames and the heat. Liquid metal pooled on the black soil and cooled. The flow became a trickle before it stopped altogether, frozen solid.
Ryne released his hold on his Matersense and staggered from the protective zone around what remained of the Chainin. Body shivering from the sudden, immense cold, he keeled over onto something soft. When he finally managed to focus, he realized he’d fallen face first into snow. A shadow fell across his face.
“What happened?” The shadow resolved into Ancel, eyes wide with awe, fear, and concern.
“T-The flames d-didn’t generate enough e-energy …” Ryne hugged himself to calm the spasms, “to properly summon the essences of fire. I had to use my own body heat.” He’d known the risk when he tried. Neither heat nor cold belonged to him, and his use of them was restricted. The High Shin, or whatever he was, had left him no choice. Better to destroy the Chainin than allow it to fall into the wrong hands.
“Take it easy,” Ancel said. “We can rest here if you need to.”
Ryne waved him closer. “No. We can’t. I think the Chainin was the only reason the Tribunal hasn’t attacked Eldanhill yet. With your mother gone, I suspect they wanted to use the divya for themselves and find out if anyone else in your town could harness its power.”
“Then why did you destroy it?”
“I … we can’t afford to let them have it.” Ryne gasped for breath. Using two Forges of that magnitude at once while feeding the essences his own sela left him drained. “The Exalted wish to rival the gods. They will do whatever it takes, including kill any that stand in their way.”
“Well, we can’t carry you.”
“In the bags, there’s kinai juice,” Ryne wheezed. “Bring it for me.”
Ancel left and returned moments later with a waterskin. Ryne gulped down the contents, some of the sweet juice dripping on his cheek, neck, and down his chest. His Etchings shifted to absorb the spillage.
The energy and Mater imparted from kinai surged through him. His back arched with the rush of pain and ecstasy it brought. The effect would only be temporary. Combined with the trek to Ancel, this Forging had cost him more sela than was wise to use. The essences stored within his Etchings were almost depleted. He needed an Entosis as soon as possible.
He pushed to his knees, paused to gather himself, and then he stood. “I’ll be fine for now. It will be a while before the elements in this area are stable enough for the Tribunal to Materialize here again. Unless they use some other location, that buys us maybe a day. Regardless, if they’re smart, they will come here first to see what happened to the Chainin and who controls it.”
“They’ll be able to see it’s gone if they come from anywhere north of here,” Mirza said.
Ryne glanced toward the Kelvore’s jagged fangs where they disappeared into the clouds and mists. The young man was right. Unless.
He linked with Ancel, this time not simply to communicate, but the full connection.
Ancel’s eyes shot open.
“Don’t panic,” Ryne said in Ancel’s head. “Relax. Seek the Eye.” He saw through his ward’s eyes. In turn, Ancel could do the same. “Your Etching is mainly heat and light, but there’s a bit of the Forms within it. Most Etchings contain a part of the Forms as that helps to shape everything.”
Features smoothing, Ancel nodded.
“Good. Now, from the Eye choose the emotions that correspond to your Etchings, to the Streams.” He felt Ancel tap into his passion, his aggression, his despair, his love.
Ancel’s face contorted with strain, but he did not give up.
“Eaaaasy, allow the Eye to do its work. Let the essences feed on your sela as they need.” He waited a moment until Ancel’s features relaxed. “Now, dip into the Forms.”
Ancel drew on his stubbornness, his steadfastness. The boy had that to spare in droves to go along with his will.
Ryne smiled at the way Ancel grasped the concepts so easily. The continual practice had paid off. “In your mind, picture the Chainin. Ex
actly how it looked. Delve into what’s left. Connect to the Forms that created the divya, and those of the earth beneath it.”
Eyes closed, Ancel’s brow furrowed tightly.
“Excellent. Remember, for any Forging to work, there must be a base, a model of sorts for the essences to draw upon. A source of heat for fire or cold for ice. Once you have a model, you then add or subtract, using the essences to create the Forge you want. Now, holding the image, tell your Etching to construct what you see.”
Moments passed and nothing happened. Then, the ground rumbled.
A smooth-sided earthen spire rose up from beneath the melted metal. The silversteel toppled to one side with a resounding crash. When the construct reached the appropriate height, it stopped.
Ryne smiled. Ancel was better than he dreamed.
“The metal is malleable. Think of what you saw before and cover your construct’s surface.”
Screeching and bending, the noise grating against his ears, the metal rose and wrapped around the earthen spire. It became identical to the real divya.
Ryne broke his link. His vision receded to only his once more.
Sweat pouring down his brow, Ancel panted heavily.
Kachien and Mirza gawked at the new structure, their gazes shifting from Ancel to Ryne.
“Perfect.” Ryne beamed. “Congratulations. You have created your first construct and completed your first major class in Materforging using your Etchings.”
Chapter 22
Darkness came early to Whitewater Falls and Eldanhill as it often did this time of year. The sky bled orange and pink. Shadows lengthened and prowled the land. Through the looking glass, Shin Galiana watched the changes from where she stood before the half-open, stained glass window on the Streamean Temple’s topmost floor. Next to her, Irmina wrung her hands, her expectant gaze locked on the northeast.
Any Matii with enough power felt the elements unleashed earlier. The Forges originated from two locations Galiana knew well. One was from the glen Stefan and his cohort marched off to that morning. The other came from the direction of Stefan’s old home. The latter had been far more powerful. Ryne’s request for kinai made sense now. He’d gone, most likely taking Ancel with him, to the divya at the winery.
Did he use the boy to activate the Chainin once again? If so, for what purpose? She dismissed any need for him to lengthen his life. Being an Eztezian negated such a possibility. Who he was should have lent her comfort, but instead she couldn’t help the uneasiness prickling at her thoughts. His race had broken much of the world before. What would he do with such power as the Chainin held?
One problem at a time, she reminded herself. Deal with the issues you can handle.
Her thoughts swung to Stefan, his Dagodin cohort, and the dozen men and women with him powerful enough to be Ashishin. A few of them once were. In fact, some among those had been Alzari and after that, Setian. She sighed. Her people had lost so much. What had once been a title of honor was now no more than a handful of assassins and fighters who wielded a fraction of their former power and were exiled to ravaged clanholds. The Tribunal had altered the Alzari’s true history in all the Iluminus’ records. Outside in the world, the Devout spread the same teaching. Now, the name Alzari referred to the outcasts, the half-breeds like Kachien. The Setian might be alive, but little existed of their proud heritage.
Yet, here in Granadia, they found a new life in the Mysteras. With Stefan once again leading, there might still be hope. So why did she feel this knot in her gut? The crawling fear that told her something was horribly wrong?
Both parties should have returned already. To make matters worse, the eagles she sent out to the glen had not come back either. None of this boded well, so she had prepared.
Dagodin lined Eldanhill’s walls, interspersed with any other Matii strong enough to Forge. Torches highlighted their forms, set every few feet for easy access to the archers. Several bonfires illuminated the Seifer, Nema and other soldiers waiting inside the ramparts. Even from where she stood, the odor of burning pitch was strong. The remainder of the folk not related to the Setian were well on their way to Old Paltz. They would continue on to Descane and take a ferry across to Dosteri lands. Their exodus gave her a sense of relief.
The shadows continued to lengthen, the colors in the sky giving way to ghostly hues with the rising of Denestia’s twin moons.
AWOOOOOOO! The sudden wail of a horn jarred her.
Two more short reports followed, then another longer bray. Eldanhill’s Dagodin were returning.
Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat as she waited. Another short blast meant they had been victorious.
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
She hissed. The men were in trouble.
From below rose shouted commands and barked orders. Galiana strained her eyes in the direction of the horns. They blared again, two more long notes, somewhere northwest within the Greenleaf, not far from its edge.
Several flaming arrows lit up the dark sky. Aided by Forges, they flew farther and faster than any bow could manage. At the perimeter of the forest, they bloomed, lighting the trees and the fields.
Dagodin galloped from among the ice-covered woods. Galiana began to count, but stopped as she realized how few they were. Many of the mounts carried two soldiers. Another group on foot ran from the tree line.
Stefan Dorn brought up their rear. He stopped and the men on foot with him. Each one wielded a bow.
A keening wail echoed from the woods. Howls quickly followed. Galiana’s mouth dried. An ear-splitting shriek made her cover her ears. What in Ilumni’s name…?
Stefan and those on foot formed a line. Wielding a gigantic longbow as tall as himself, he drew fletching to ear and loosed. The other archers did the same, firing in concert.
Galiana let her gaze follow the flight of arrows by the power imbued into them. They shot among the trees and disappeared.
Hollow booms resonated moments later. The forest lit up as miniature explosions toppled trees and kicked up bursts of snow.
A gasp escaped her lips.
Blackness boiled within the woods. Shadelings by the thousands advanced, their bodies rippling like an undulating, obsidian serpent.
Another volley from the archers. Another series of explosions. Then they turned and ran for Eldanhill’s walls.
“They won’t make it if we don’t do something,” Irmina cried.
“We will. Link with me.”
Galiana felt the power Irmina already held reach out and touch hers. The essences caressed, then became one.
Through the link, Galiana led Irmina to what she wanted. The other woman responded as if she’d done it a thousand times. Galiana shrugged off her initial surprise and continued.
Within the stones of the Streamean Temple, she and Thania Dorn had worked for years to store light essences, imbuing them into the rock as the workers constructed the building. Now, she called on that power. Mater flooded up into her in an incandescent torrent. When she gazed over at Irmina, the younger woman’s eyes glowed.
Galiana directed the Streams across town to its counterpart: Eldanhill’s ramparts. From there she reached farther, to the next connection: the pillars that appeared to be simple supports for an unfinished wall or fence encircling Eldanhill. The builders had hewn the bricks from stone that belonged to the same quarry.
Irmina sucked in a breath. “You recreated the Forging used in message maps for the Heralds.”
“Yes. A twist, just like so, and it becomes a defensive weapon.”
The first shadelings crossed the tree line. Wraithwolves put their snouts to the air and howled. Back and forth in front of them, the smoky forms of darkwraiths sped, holding the beasts in check. Shadowy forms alighted from the sky, followed by piercing wails. Several dozen daemons landed on spindly legs, insect-
like wings flitting so rapidly they were a blur. Their tentacles uncoiled from around their heads like a mass of black ropes.
An ear-rending screech pealed once more.
The shadelings charged.
The Dagodin archers along the walls fired. Arrows rose in an arc, before falling among the shadelings. Explosions rocked the ground, sending up snow and earth, bodies and blood.
Undaunted, the wraithwolves and their nebulous counterparts stretched onward in a black wave, washing over the fields. They howled and screeched as some fell, but their charge did not so much as pause. The daemons watched. Galiana refused to think on the reason they waited.
The fleeing Dagodin looked back, desperately trying to reach the walls. Most of those on horseback had already made it to the gates.
Galiana triggered the Forging.
Eldanhill’s walls lit up. A blue luminance flew from them straight out to the pillars like the metal spokes of a wagon-wheel, the town at its center. For thousands of feet around Eldanhill, the ethereal glow bathed the ground and air.
Stefan and his archers retreated inside the pillars.
“Release,” Galiana said.
The light thrummed, shot out from the Streamean Temple, into the walls, then from there, into the pillars. With a great whoosh, the luminescence ricocheted into the sky from the pillars in a steady bar, joining each spoke. When the circle closed, a glowing wall surrounded Eldanhill, stretching up to cast its glare into the clouds.
When the first shadelings struck the barrier, they disintegrated.
The soldiers along the ramparts cheered. Fists and weapons pumped into the air.
The earlier scream pierced their triumphant cries. This time, the shadelings stopped, many loping back and forth near the barrier before they fled to the Greenleaf Forest.
“Come,” Galiana said, breathing labored, shoulders and feet heavy. “There will be plenty who need mending.”
Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood Page 17
