Journey of Fire and Night (The Endless War Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Massive cracks split the ground and sand filled the air, forcing her to pull her veil over her mouth for protection. Ciara had to jump over these cracks, spaces that dropped into darkness and threatened to swallow her. The ground rumbled and she wondered if the earth shaper planned another attack. How many shapers had come from Ter? Enough to destroy their small village, but that wouldn’t take many to begin with.

  She reached the openings to the caverns but the sand in the air left a heavy haze, making it difficult to see much else. A dozen or so people lay on the ground, unmoving. Ciara didn’t stop to check on them. She couldn’t help them now, but she could help those still moving. Cries came from the nearest cavern, and she ducked inside.

  One of the children cowered in the back corner. She had wild eyes and black hair that spilled over her shoulders. A shaisa veil, cut differently for children than for adults, was tucked beneath her chin and was dark with her tears.

  As she neared, she recognized Syat. Had her mother been one of those she’d seen outside? Ciara hadn’t taken the time to determine who had fallen, had focused more on those she might be able to help.

  Ciara stuffed her spear through a loop in her belt and raised her hand, offering a soothing, “Shh. It’s Ciara S’shala.”

  The child cried even louder. Ciara scooped Syat in her arms, wishing Fas would have been as light as a child and that she had been able to bring him with her. Instead, he lay away from the village, his blood pooling into the hot sand, his life bleeding out with him.

  She stepped out of the cavern, wondering if it might not be better for Syat to remain within the caves. Not alone, though. She needed to find someone to sit with her. The attack continued as irregular shapings. Earth rumbled, leaving her steps unsteady, forcing her to watch the ground rather than looking ahead, leaving her fearful that she might tumble into some black abyss. The air was hotter than it should have been, even for Rens. Wind whipped, catching the sand and tearing at exposed flesh.

  Ciara shifted her arms so that she could adjust her shaisa over her mouth, protecting her from the wind and the sand.

  A thin woman of the village appeared out of the cloud of sand, wearing a tattered elouf of dark brown, her arms exposed. She tugged at it, trying to pull her arms back so that they would be protected from the wind, but failed. Wind pulled at the elouf, tearing it away from her chest and arms. She staggered forward and grunted. Dark gray hair caught in the wind, making her look every bit the wild woman Ter considered the people of Rens.

  “Ciara,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Only now did Ciara recognize the woman as Usal, one of the council elders. “Where is my father?”

  She waved to the east. “Fool grabbed his j’na and ran toward the attack. The Stormbringer knows there are precious few water seekers the way it is. If we lose Ness to these blasted shapers, I’m not sure we’ll be able to survive.”

  Ciara held Syat out to Usal. “Take her. I’ll go to my father.”

  Usal’s eyes glanced at the untipped j’na hanging from Ciara’s belt and nodded. “Go, girl. See if you can help.”

  Someone emerged from the next tent and Usal turned to them, leaving Ciara alone. She started to the east, staggering toward the sense of a shaping being built. She pulled her j’na out of the loop and ran with the spear, holding it in front of her. Every couple of steps, she passed a few more bodies. How many had the village lost already? They were few enough as it was that losing even a dozen was more than they could withstand, as if the Stormbringer had decided that Rens no longer deserved even these lands.

  The next attack built with sharp pressure and she grabbed her head in pain, fighting back the urge to scream. When it eased, she waited, half-expecting the ground to explode around her or for wind to send sand ripping across her skin, or even the air to take on more heat, baking her. Never water. Water shapers could not attack in Rens. The ability had other uses, those the people of Rens had learned to hone over the years. No attack came.

  Ciara continued onward, drawn toward the shaping she sensed much closer than even before. But if the shapers were close, how was it that she hadn’t been attacked?

  She paused long enough to use water sensing to search for her father. He was out here, but the sand and wind made finding anyone difficult. With her water seeking, she didn’t need to see him; she knew the rhythm of his heartbeat with barely any effort and listened for it. The only way she wouldn’t find it would be if he was dead.

  Ciara cursed herself. She couldn’t think like that. Her father was the strongest man in the village and the greatest nya’shin they had ever known. Even shapers of Ter wouldn’t stop him.

  Then she heard his heartbeat.

  It was distant, farther away than she would have expected, but steady. His pulse quickened at times, telling her that he moved. Then it began racing, a steady thrumming as she suspected he ran.

  Ciara sprinted for him, keeping the spear held out in her hands, doubting that it would be of any use with the sand blowing around her. She hadn’t any training to use the spear yet, only what she could come up with on her own. Fas had known how to use it, and Eshan, but neither had the same skill the nya’shin once had. Then there had been others to learn from, those with more ability than either of them possessed. Now, they had to learn what they could and fumble along. Or not, in Eshan’s case.

  “Father!” she cried out, knowing she was close. The wind howled, carrying her voice and her scream away from her, ripping as if a creature alive. Could Ter work with the elementals? There was no doubt that they were strong enough, and it would make even more sense why Rens fell so quickly before them, even with Rens having shapers of their own.

  Ciara practically ran into her father.

  He stood facing the wind, his arms straining as he held his j’na out before him. Ciara had always known him to be a strong man, and even as he aged, he’d been powerful, but seeing his arms straining against the wind and the way he spun his j’na, she realized she might have underestimated him.

  The osidan tip of the spear seemed to glow as he spun it, the letters that he’d placed into the metal reflecting the light in strange ways. The entire thing seemed to surge with power.

  Ciara nearly stumbled. This was the shaping that she’d detected, but it was more than should be possible, even for a water shaper like her father. How did he manage such strength?

  “Return to the village, Ciara. You and Fas will have to keep them safe until this passes.” He shouted over the wind, but somehow his words still carried to her.

  “Fas is gone!” Ciara didn’t know if her words carried, but she shouted just the same.

  The wind died for a moment, making her wonder if this powerful shaping was her father’s doing, but he shouldn’t be able to shape the wind. Rens had some wind shapers, just as there were a few earth shapers, but none of much power, and certainly none able to shape both wind and water.

  “Gone?”

  “The first attack. He broke his arm and his spear caught him in the gut.”

  Her father appeared out of the sand, and everything calmed around her. The wind stopped howling for a moment, the air cooled, and even the steady rumbling of the ground beneath her feet eased. “He’s a water shaper, Ciara. He would be able to heal himself.”

  “He didn’t want to waste the stores of water.”

  “Stormbringer blast them and their blasted attack,” her father swore.

  It was a measure of his irritation that he did. Ciara could remember only a few times in her life that her father had sworn. He was one of the most devout men she’d ever known, taking time twice each day to kneel before the sun and offer prayers as the priests required. Ciara was lucky if she managed to do so even once a day. Some days while searching for water, she forgot to do anything—she was focused so much on staying alive.

  “How many have fallen?” he asked.

  “I only saw—”

  He cut her off, raising his j’na and spinning it so that the
tip spiraled tightly. He swept this away from him, leaving her with the sense of a shaping that she still didn’t understand. “Not see, Ciara. You are a skilled water senser. You have no need for sight. How many do you sense?”

  In spite of the chaos of the storm and the shaping around her, and in spite of the curiosity she felt about what her father did with his spear, she closed her eyes and listened, using water sensing to reach for the villagers.

  Before she could sense anyone she knew, she had to settle her nerves. Her heart raced, the pulse leaving her on edge. With great, steadying breaths, she managed to slow her breathing and forced herself to find calm.

  It didn’t work. The attack had left her uncomfortable and anxious.

  Her father touched her arm and she opened her eyes to see him leaning toward her. “Focus on me first, Ciara. Master yourself before you can master anything else. Know that you can do this. You are a skilled water seeker, perhaps more so than me. Listen to me.”

  She swallowed and took another deep breath, sensing for her father. His heart came steadily, a regular rhythm. Ciara closed her eyes and focused on what she sensed of him, using that to help guide her. Her breaths came more easily, and she felt her heart slowing. As it did, she managed to reach beyond her, stretching out with sensing.

  Familiarity surged around her. Usal and Syat. Thelis. Jasy. Morash. Brans…

  Names rushed through her as she ticked off the villagers that she recognized. The village had contained over two hundred lives before the attack, and now she only detected one hundred and fifty. Nearly a quarter were lost. A quarter of their villagers who would never walk along the edge of the waste with her again, who would never sit around the circle singing the soft songs of Rens to keep back the darkness of night, carrying the stories of their people, but also a quarter of their people who would no longer thirst.

  Ciara pushed farther, searching to ensure that she didn’t miss anyone. Distantly, she was aware of Fas. His heart still beat, but for how much longer? He wouldn’t be able to survive an attack like he had suffered for much longer.

  “We must gather those who remain. We must lead them,” her father said to her.

  Another shaping built, this time coming from their other side. Her father whipped his head around, his j’na spiraling with his movement, and he held it out in front of him. The osidan tip surged with light and the hostile shaping failed.

  Had her father simply caught the shaping with his spear?

  He noticed her watching. “Answers will come, but later. We must go.”

  “Are there other Ter shapers coming?” she asked, already reaching through water sensing to try to detect where they might be.

  He shook his head. “Not others from Ter.”

  “What then?”

  Her father didn’t have the chance to answer. Darkness swirled over them, blocking the sun like thick storm clouds.

  Ciara looked up. Rain might provide some protection from the sand flying around them and might help with the air temperature.

  There was no storm cloud overhead. This was something different, something Ciara had never expected to see quite so close: draasin.

  The creature circled and flames spewed from its mouth, coming with billows of steam. It had thick black scales and spines that protruded from all around, poking from its head and neck. Massive wings caught the wind, making it appear like some huge desert bat.

  Stranger still, a shadowy figure sat atop its back. Shaping built from the figure, and Ciara’s father’s j’na again glowed before the shaping faded into nothing. He spun his j’na again, this time sending the strange light toward the draasin. The massive creature reared back and wind pressed against her as it flapped its great wings.

  Her father dragged her with him.

  “Will it attack?” she asked, feeling every bit a child for the terror that surged through her.

  “Not any longer.”

  “How do you know? How can you be certain it isn’t going to attack us like it attacked Eshan?”

  He didn’t need to answer.

  The creature banked, spewing fire as it did, and flew off into the night, leaving Ciara watching it depart and wondering if it might return to attack again.

  The wind swirling around the village died the farther that Ciara walked. Sand still hung in the air, leaving a haze of brown. Storms like this would often take days for the dust to settle out of the air. Were there any rain, it would tamp it down immediately, but then were there any rain, there would be no need for the nya’shin.

  Her father moved backward, pushing her behind him. The long, curved tip of his j’na swirled through the air, leaving a trail where it passed, almost as if the osidan tip calmed the sand. Shaped power built from him and his heart beat steadily, a steady drumming within his chest, but Ciara couldn’t tell much more than that.

  “You risk using that much of the water?” she asked. Manipulating water required there to be water to use. It was why Fas had told her to go on and now lay dying at the edge of the village.

  “This wastes nothing,” he said.

  “Then what of the draasin?” she asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

  The creature was no longer visible, but that didn’t make her feel any more comfortable. Between the clouds and the wind, it was possible the creature was still out there, still circling even though she couldn’t see it. The heat to the air had returned to what was normal for Rens, but even that didn’t mean it had gone.

  Then there was the shadowed figure she’d seen on the draasin. Could that have been a Ter shaper? She’d sensed shaping, more than what could be explained by her father’s ability.

  “He will not harm us,” her father said.

  Ciara had gone a few more steps, passing a tent that emerged from the cloud of dust and sensing no one within it—at least no one alive—when she stumbled. “He? How is it you know this, Father?”

  The tip of his j’na whistled through the air and power surged, streaking away from him. A muted grunt came from somewhere distant, and her father pushed her more quickly across the sand.

  “Later, Ciara.”

  They reached the entrance to the caves, only a few of them visible. Even with her veil in place, Ciara tasted too much sand and felt it scraping along her back. She would need a good scrubbing to remove all the grit, and even that wouldn’t take care of it all. Maybe one day she’d find enough water to soak in, like the stories of Ter claimed their people did.

  Ciara sensed Vanis approaching by the sound of the blood in his veins. The quick rhythm of his pulse told her how scared he was, but as he emerged from the cloud of sand, she saw none of that fear on his face. Vanis had a weathered face and didn’t wear a shaisa veil, clamping his mouth shut tightly instead. His eyes narrowed to lines to block as much sand as possible from them as well. His wrap barely covered him, leaving his chest exposed.

  “Ness. What is this?” Vanis demanded. He was not one of the council—he was not a water seeker—but as a weaver, he held a high place within the village. Ciara had seen the way that his nimble fingers could turn much of the long, reedy grasses they found throughout Rens, especially away from the heart of the waste, into blankets and mats and baskets. His looms took the thick fur from the shepa the village raised and turned it into the eloufs they wore.

  “An attack, Vanis. What did you think it was?” Her father didn’t look over at Vanis, instead focusing on the sky and swinging his j’na in a way that Ciara had never seen.

  There was a pattern to it that she could almost understand. With the movement, she swore the wind moved differently, as if it pulled the sand away from the air and pushed it out from the heart of the village, sending it in the direction of the original attack. That must be her imagination.

  “We’re nearly to the blasted waste already!” Vanis cried, his voice reflecting some of the panic that his pulse revealed. “They have never been seen here. The waste itself protects us! The draasin too!”

  Her father spun, turning
his j’na as he did and slamming it onto the ground. The earth seemed to rumble as he did. “We are as safe as we can be,” he said. “Gather what you can and move as many of the shepa as possible into the caves for the night.”

  Vanis shook his head. “Most scattered with the attack.”

  Ness took a breath and nodded. “Then we will have to make do. Your boys?”

  Vanis waved an arm toward the nearest cavern. “They’re with Usal. She’s gathering the children and the infirm.”

  “Good. Take the older children and have them push the shepa they can find back to the village.”

  Vanis’s heart pounded even faster and he reached for a waterskin at his waist, pulling it to his lips and taking a quick drink. “And then what, Ness? If we’re not safe here, where do we go?”

  Others had gathered around them by then. Thelis. Jasy. Morash. All either elders or tradesfolk who sat high in the village hierarchy. Jasy watched Ness, her flinty eyes peering over the top of her veil, and nodded. The others around them were uncertain and scared, and some were bloodied from the attack. So many had been lost tonight, and to what? The draasin and Ter? It didn’t make any sense. Rens had always revered the draasin, but if they were to attack—and with shapers—what would happen to her people?

  There was only one answer, but her father wouldn’t listen. Would any of the others?

  And if she was wrong, the entire village would suffer.

  “We need to move south,” Ciara said.

  Eyes turned to her, skimming past her shaisa to the half-formed j’na. The spear gave her words more weight.

  “South?” This from Morash. He was thin, nearly as old as her father, and had seen much in his time.

  “The nya’shin claims we can find a source of water to the south,” her father said.

  Even more people had gathered. They stood around her father as if Ter hadn’t just attacked, as if the ground hadn’t come alive and thrown them, the air grown hotter with the heat of the shapings, and the wind whipping as if wanting to flay them with sand. Instead, they focused on her father, watching to see what he would have them do. Ness might be ala’shin, but that didn’t mean he was followed blindly. The good of the village required that he be questioned, especially on decisions where so many could suffer.